Mosioua Gerard Patrick “Terror” Lekota, in all that he did and was, would not be confined to being silent. Indeed, he made his presence felt, defying invisibility.
Quick to laugh and take the mickey out of most people he was familiar with, reduce those he had problems with, known for his instant repartee, and free with his emotions, he was often troubled by what he confronted, from my knowledge of him for over 50 years.
Mosioua—he would insist on the correct Sesotho pronunciation of his first name, which he loved, hating Patrick—was a fervent adherent of Black Consciousness (BC) soon after being conscientised and joining the South African Students Organisation (SASO) at the University of the North, Sovenga (an apartheid acronym for this university reserved for Sotho, Venda, Shangaan speakers, now University of Limpopo) dismissing those influenced by apartheid colonial narratives who assumed that because he was pro-black, he had to be anti-white.
He would dismiss as non-white any black person—those classified as bantu, coloured, Indian—who was unable to emerge from their imposed shell of indignity and assault on their selfhood and diminished sense of self.
After the fall of the popular uprising against the military dictatorship in Portugal April 25 1974, two of our neighbouring countries, Mozambique and Angola (Pretoria controlled SW Africa then, now Namibia) were going to be freed.
The SASO and Black People’s Convention (BPC) leadership decided to hold Viva Frelimo rallies across the country on September 25 1974 to celebrate freedom in the former Portuguese colonies.
Frelimo our immediate neighbour, with a shared language, was feared by the apartheid regime but revered by many South Africans. After the announcement on 22nd September, the majority were abuzz with anticipation, while the apartheid regime knew that this day was the 10th anniversary of Frelimo declaring the armed struggle.
Mosioua (SASO permanent organiser) shared an outhouse in Clermont with Muntu Myeza, former SASO president (Pandelani Nefolovhodwe was president), and SASO Secretary-General, who became the public face of the Viva Frelimo rallies.
Threats by the regime and commandos led to the banning of the rallies on the morning of September 25. Rallies went ahead at Sovenga and many student leaders were arrested, including current South African President Cyril Ramaphosa, Nefolovhodwe, the SRC president Kaborone Sedibe. The hundreds gathering at Curries Fountain, Durban, were baton-charged and had dogs unleashed against them, and many were charged.
Muntu, Mosioua, Strini Moodley and I were among those arrested, held in solitary confinement in Pretoria Prison, tortured (some of the notorious Security Branch police sought amnesty from the TRC) and eventually charged on the evening of Friday, January 31 1975, in a special sitting of the Pretoria Magistrates Court, with a heavy security police presence.
The case was called in Afrikaans, and while only Strini and I did not do Afrikaans in school, most of the accused who knew the language (including Mosioua, who was quite proficient) protested that English translation was needed.
That audacity in the presence of our torturers became the hallmark of our open defiance in the face of the might of the apartheid regime. Mosioua, Strini and I were not blessed with singing voices, but did we belt out Unzima lom thwalo, Bangaganani, Senzeni na? and other freedom songs from prison to the Palace of Justice and back.
Mosioua and my co-accused would give fond names to people who would regularly wait in the morning and evenings to get a glimpse of us, escorted by heavily armed police during court sessions.
Mosioua, ever trying to outdo other smart aleck co-accused, would sometimes feel hurt and lapse into silence or retort with anger. Our natural argumentativeness and our laughter would become so loud that warders, within weeks, removed us from a communal cell back to isolation in single cells.
After bail was refused by the attorney general, Mosioua would constantly give reasons for why he should get bail. While knowing that this would not happen, we supported this so that he would stop this obsession and instructed our lawyers to apply for bail, despite their unwillingness to do so.
David Soggot, one of our lawyers, was a soft-spoken person, whom Mosioua called Soggy, and he fondly called Lek. About a fortnight after the application was made, Adv Soggot was livid.
“You made us look like fools. I used what you said. The security police laughed at us. You did not tell us that you already had a child with the woman we built our application on!”
For a while Mosioua dropped the matter, only to spring back with using the country was Christian and he should be allowed to marry his betrothed. On a Saturday a few weeks later, Mosioua was taken to an office in the prison administration where a priest conducted the marriage ceremony, and after kissing his bride, he was promptly returned to the cell, gave an account of what occurred in extreme dudgeon. “What did you expect? They would allow you a conjugal visit?”
In February 1976, as an excuse to meet with prospective defence witnesses, our attorney Shun Chetty brought the BPC leadership (Kenny Rachidi, Drake Koka, Thandisizwe Mazibuko, Aubrey Mokoena, Seth Mazibuko and Dan Montsisi of the Soweto Student Representative Council) to meet with us in prison.
After the usual greetings, Kenny quieted us, saying that the opposition to Afrikaans being imposed as a language of instruction was rising and “something big is going to happen. When it does, you will be convicted.”
Mosioua was to my right and was about to raise a question, which I stopped: “We’re leaders, but we’re in prison. You are our leaders out there, and what happens to us shouldn’t matter. The Struggle continues.” All agreed. June 16 1976 erupted and was a singular game changer.
On 21 December 1976, when we were sentenced under the notorious Terrorism Act (for no act of violence but espousing BC unashamedly, walking tall, with dignity, a full sense of self and agency, we appeared in court with all our hair and beards shaved, dressed in black. The judge asked about our shorn hair, and our lawyer replied, “The accused are ready for their sentences.”
The nine of us were transported to Robben Island that December, joining UWC students in the isolation block. In January 1977 the walls, separating each section of the maximum security prison, started to be built to suppress the spirit of 1976, which, sadly, Mosioua will not commemorate the 50th anniversary of.
