Staffrider Vol.3 No.1 Feb 1980 - DISA

Profile/Modikwe DikobeModikwe Dikobe was bom in 1913 at Seabe, in theMoretele district He attended St. Cyprian school and thenAlbert St, School between 1924 and 1932, selling newspaperspart-time. He was secretary of the 1942 Alexandrabus dispute and worked with Alexandra squatters in 1946. In1948 he contested the advisory board election in Orlando,and in that year was secretary of ASINAMALL In 1959 hewas involved in organising African shop workers, and throughthe trade union, he published and wrote in a monthlyjournal,< Shopworker\ His book, The Marabi Dance was% published in 1963, and he is now r~"~ J s 'Y ot uoornronteinwhich will cover the history of blacks in Johannesburg basedmainly on his own experiences and memories. The workreflects three processes: the movement of people off the landinto the towns; a discussion of early black life in Johannesburgincluding the beginnings of segregation; and the shiftingof people out of towns onto the land again. The piece wepublish here reflects the pre-apartheid period: the days whenblacks could still own restaurants etc., and is a fictional discussionof the kind that took place in a cafe that was frequentedby ANC sympathisers.Star CafeThe name Star sounds grand to me.It is because its owner Mr Moretsele,affectinately called Retsi, was a man ofthe people. He was like that when hearrived in Pretoria, and later in thegolden city, some sixty years ago.He was born in Sekhukhuneland inthe late eighties. Being a country boywithout education, he worked as adomestic servant where he learned toread and write. He was a follower ofMatseke and Makgatho, Transvaalleaders of Transvaal National Congress.He later joined a national organisation.At the marital age, he lived in theslums of the city. And by hard effortshe found a house in Western NativeTownship. Nkadimeng of MunicipalWorkers Union helped him to find ahouse in Newclare (Western NativeTownship as it's better known.)Low wages and unsuitability of jobstaught him to undo himself, in a wayfamiliar to others who find out to dofor themselves. He ran an unlicensedKoffie-Kar. 'I did not sleep/ he wouldsay, I baked fat cakes on returning fromwork.' He was then working in commercialdistributive trade.'I sold fat cakes, to Market Street,wholesale. The workers there called meRetse. Selling fat cakes earned me betterthan I was receiving from my employer.I ventured into the Koffie-Kar business.A hard task, moving from place toplace.Then I applied for a licence for acafe. I got this cafe . . . * He stopped. Aninspector was passing, then vanishedinto an alley of Indian fruit sellers.'Bastard, subsidises his earnings bybribery. I am sorry for these poorcreatures. They are poorly paid, but willnot budge from claiming baasskap.'Then someone arrived and took aquick table. He was reading a newspaper.'Well Afred, how is your unionworking?' 'Tough job,' he replied.Municipal workers will not tolerate delayin increasing wages. They wantrationing done away with.'- \\Modikwe Dikobe at his home at Seabe, photos, Paul WeinbergAt home with his family'What about negotiation?''Well, Retsi'. He sighed. 'You are abusinessman. A union of workers can beof use to you. Recognition is to youradvantage, if only you have a yellowunion.''I don't understand.''What I mean, Mr Moretsele, is thatthe City Council is contemplating recognition,on condition it has its ownchosen officials. It is in fact negotiatingon those conditions.''Are you selling the workers?''I intend walking out if my secretarysuccumbs to the council's demands.'The sellout took place, however,before MrMoretsile realised it. Nkadimengwas selling down the river therefuse-removers' rights. Mr Nkadimengwas, without much ado, placed in amunicipal house. And, effortlessly, hefound Mr Moretsele a house.Mr Moretsele was a staunch supporterof the left wing. He and Dr Dadoowere personal friends. His other ardentIndia friend was Nana Sitha, who livedin Pretoria. 'You go pass Marabastad,Retsi, me give you message. Pass toPietersburg,' Nana Sitha would say.'You India, no good. Friend here.Your house, me not come in frontdoor.'You're a friend, me no chase away,you sit by table with me.'Moretsele was a modest man, man ofthe people. Job seekers took rest in StarCafe.Then, when Moretsele was buried, asquare in Western Native Townshipwitnessed for the first time black andwhite bemoaning the death of Retsi.OBITUARYDead. I've left MoretseleStains undoneDispossession, land-hungerAnd the right to liveThat you too shall carry onFrom where he shall leave.STAFFRIDER, FEBRUARY 1980 7