(On June 16, 1976, the youth of Soweto, Johannesburg’s overwhelmingly black township, rose up to protest a new rule making Afrikaans the language of instruction in their schools—a language most people did not know well. They were led by Tsitsi Mashinini, a charismatic high schooler. The nationwide outburst Tsitsi made that day would change South Africa and his family forever. Fact In 2007, many of Tsietsi’s 12 siblings, and even their parents, Nomkhitha and Joseph, were swept up in the ensuing political violence, in which hundreds of protesters were killed and thousands injured.th Anniversary of the rebellion.)
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In Soweto, police launched a raid on the Mashinis’ home that night, apparently searching for Tsitsi. The first impression was terrible. The police arrived around two in the morning and blocked the surrounding roads with their “Hippos” armored personnel carriers. Nomkhitha and Joseph woke up to a deafening sound at the door; Torches were shining in every window, there was light
Policemen with their guns pointed. They shouted in African language to open the door. Joseph let them in and about a dozen guards, black and white, ransacked the house, shining their lights into the eyes of sleepy children, rummaging through cupboards, peeking under beds and behind stoves, tearing apart belongings in search of them. A white officer demanded to see Tsietsi.
“He’s not here, he never came home,” Nomkhitha stammered, pulling the blanket around her nightgown.
“Where is he staying?”
“We don’t know.”
Angered, the policemen came out of the house. Joseph, Nomkhitha and the children stood quietly around the dining room table, trying to calm their pounding hearts; Small children were trembling with cold and fear. Nomkhitha put the little children back to bed. Then he, Joseph and others began to fix the chaos left by the police. They had just finished and were going to sleep when they heard a thunderous sound: torches were shining in every window, guns were visible in front of the lights, people were shouting in African that they were going to kick down the door. Joseph ran from his bed to open the bolt. And another raid began.
From that point on, police raided Mashinini’s house night after night. Often, they came several times within a span of a few hours. They unleashed a kind of psychological terror on the family, especially the youngest members. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared and darkness fell over the settlement, some small children started asking Nomkhitha, “Will the police come tonight? Will the police come tonight?” They began to wake up at every noise, running to their parents’ bedside. At the first sign of the arrival of the “hippos”, the youth woke everyone up; The family was usually waiting for the police to arrive.
I wish she were calm, I wish she were calm.
Eventually, Nomkhitha’s exhaustion and anger at having her home violated overcame her fear. “Get out of my bedroom!” She yelled at the policemen who were busy throwing the contents of her dresser on the floor. “How dare you touch my things!” Once she started scolding the security personnel about their weapons. “I wouldn’t answer your questions if I had all these big guns in my house. Get out with these guns, they’re scaring my kids, they can’t sleep at night.”
Surprisingly, the policemen complied by keeping the large weapons outside in their cars; The commanding officer explained to Joseph that he had to lay down his weapons for his own safety.
On another occasion, Nomkhitha refused to answer their inquiries until they sat down on chairs. “It’s not my culture!” she yelled at a group. “If you want to talk to me, take seats. Take seats!” Nomkhitha shouted at the policemen in Xhosa and English; They swore him in an African language, muttering about infidel Bitches that give birth to terrorists. The opponents created a wonderful scene in the dark of night, exchanging insults in mutually incomprehensible languages.
Nomkhitha’s harshness drove Joseph mad. Unlike his wife, Joseph was quiet, polite, and careful not to do anything to disturb the intruders. After the police leave, Joseph will plead with Nomkhita not to provoke them; He feared that the security officers might do something terrible because of his belligerence. Nomkhitha replied that he was very inactive. But his anger scared even the children. Ten-year-old Tshepiso would put his hands over his ears to block out the conversation between his mother and the policemen and would say to himself over and over: I wish she would be quiet, I wish she would be quiet.
Even after the withdrawal of security officials, Mashinini house remained under constant surveillance. A Volkswagen Beetle was always, rather conspicuously, parked across the street; The other was stationed on the road. Nevertheless, Tsitsi managed to enter the house every few days. He would quietly go to his family’s back and peek through the leaves covering the fence. If no policeman was visible, he would whistle loudly which his brothers and sisters would recognize. The noise made them run into the courtyard. Tsiitsy sent one of them to the front as a lookout, while the others anxiously asked him questions about his activities.
They told stories of their escape and taught revolutionary slogans to the youth. “Amandala!” They punched the air with their closed fists and chanted, “Black Power!” If he was feeling particularly adventurous, Tsetsi would enter the house to shower, change his clothes, eat food – all the while singing anti-apartheid songs. Sometimes he would stay even for an hour. Tshietsi would then crawl towards the fence, check the area for “hippos” and disappear into the maze of Soweto’s backyards.
As if police brutality was not punishment enough, some friends and relatives ostracized the Mashininis.
Nomkhitha eagerly awaited Tsetsi’s visits; They let him know that he is alive. But he also feared for her safety every minute he spent at home. With all the raids and surveillance, the police were bound to find Tsitsi in the house one day. Nomkhitha could not understand why they kept remembering him. He begins to suspect that they are following Tsetsi, hoping he will lead them to fellow student leaders. Or perhaps black policemen, who often patrolled the house without their white commanding officer, were secretly sympathetic to the rebellion.
As if police brutality was not punishment enough, some friends and relatives ostracized the Mashininis. Some people avoided Nomkhitha, he said, because she was Tsietsi’s mother; This was the reason why children died or were in jail. Others stopped talking to all family members. Some particularly malicious rumors were spread: If you go to Mashinini’s house, you will be arrested; If you are seen with Machinini, you will be arrested; And so on. (One piece of gossip was that Nomkhitha was a sangomaA witch doctor.) This condemnation had a very bad effect on him and Joseph.
However, not everyone treated the couple as untouchables. He received much support in his church: there the minister prayed for children who were in detention or had run away and often mentioned the Mashinini family in particular. The members apparently visited the home of Joseph and Nomkhitha to attend special services for students. And many congregants expressed their admiration for Tsitsi. They came forward to tell stories of past meetings with them. While some were obvious fabrications, intended to promote the narrator’s relationship with Tsetsi, most appeared to be true. Anecdotes expressed pride in knowing Tsetsi and solidarity with his family.
However, Nomkhitha feared that Tsetsi’s luck would run out. And, if the police caught him, he believed he would die in custody. Authorities said he had hanged himself, or jumped from a window, or done some other unbelievable thing, which was offered as an explanation for the many activists who died in police custody. When Nomkhitha spoke about his concerns, Tsitsi made fun of him. “I wish I could see my own funeral,” he laughed with all the arrogance of youth. Tsitsi said to a black journalist: “I don’t say they can’t catch me. I know they can kill me at any time. They don’t know they can’t kill the spirit. They will kill me now, but a day or an hour later there will be another Tsitsi.”
One evening, Tsietsi appeared at home to say goodbye to his family. His arrival took Nomakhitha by surprise; She had recently read a story in the newspapers, planted by a veteran anti-apartheid activist, that Tsetsi had fled South Africa. Tsietsi was pleased with this strategy. Now the way to go was clear, he explained, but for fear of being trapped further he did not tell his parents when he was leaving or what his destination was. Nomkhitha kissed and hugged Tsietsi; She clung to him for an extra second, not wanting to let him go.
Yet she knew he would be safer outside the country. Nomakhitha was consoled by the belief that he would soon return; If the rebellion continues in this manner, South Africa will be independent within a year or two. Joseph said he wanted to pray. The family formed a circle, folded hands and bowed their heads as Joseph prayed for their son’s safety. Then Tsietsi walked away smiling and waving and disappeared into the night.
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From a burning hunger. Used by permission of the publisher, Ohio University Press. Copyright © 2026 by Linda Schuster
