It is said that in life there are three kinds of people: those who make things happen, those who watch as things happen and those who wonder what happened.
Anyone who had the privilege to come into contact with the late Rev Motlapepule Chabaku, the Struggle stalwart, community leader extra-ordinaire and colourful priest who died last week, would attest to her ever-ready willingness to take a lead in improving the lot of others.
A typical political animal, Chabaku seized every opportunity to conscientise the Moroka community in Soweto where she lived.
In Rockville, her closest people knew her as “Mistress June” from her early years as a teacher.
Most of the original residents of this area, including Chabaku, were removed from Western, around Sophiatown, during the apartheid government’s forced removals of blacks from more developed areas earmarked for whites in the late 1950s.
Chabaku hated injustice in any form.
I knew her from my childhood as a wonderful neighbour, a mentor and a pillar of strength for the vulnerable and those in distress.
She was present at social events and was a constant feature at funerals and tombstone unveilings. To her, all people were equal and she treated them with an equal measure of respect.
She could engage in intellectual discourse, scholarly debate or bread-and-butter issues without feeling lost. In fact, she derived pleasure from opening the eyes of others.
Whenever she could address a crowd, her theme was always the same: black unity and solidarity.
At the height of apartheid in the 1970s when spies or impimpis plagued the townships, Chabaku went to high schools around Soweto preaching about the ethos of “black unity and solidarity”.
A former MK soldier who is now a major in the SA Air Force recalls vividly a 1972 address at Naledi High School, when Chabaku said: “I am not saying that just because we are blacks we shouldn’t have differences of opinion. But I want us to be like dogs. Dogs can fight among themselves but when they see a hare they stop and all give chase. That’s how we must behave toward apartheid and its agents.”
When my uncle was robbed of his car and shot dead in his driveway in Rockville in 1990, Chabaku came to our family’s side to offer support.
During the funeral, over which she presided, Chabaku invoked her favourite theme of “black unity and solidarity” against crime and thugs, likening them to the “third force”.
An orator whose favourite figures of speech were parables and metaphors, she preached about fingers, saying: “A hand has five fingers. All of them are different in shape and size and perform different tasks. When they co-operate, together they form a fist. It is the fist that knocks down opponents during a fight because of its power. Individually, none of the fingers can muster such power. They have to work together to achieve their collective goal.”
From the Moroka Dutch Reformed church pulpit, she preached: “Unity is strength.”
Chabaku had remarkable patience with everyone who cared to listen to her point of view. She walked from Vundla Drive – her residential street – holding a handbag and a Bible, her huge crucifix necklace around her neck, greeting men, women and children.
Lately, she was in poor health but refused to be restricted to her home. Such was her unwavering love for people that she cared more about them than her personal circumstances.
At the dawn of our new democratic order she was elected as Speaker of the Free State legislature, where she provided real oomph and zest in the running of the provincial government. She was hailed as one of the uniting forces in the running of the administration.
From there she was redeployed to the National Assembly in Cape Town. I stumbled into her in the corridors of Parliament, limping and looking tired.
I whispered in her ear: “I think you should retire from these things now. You’ve served. It’s enough.”
She mustered strength and hit back: “My laaitie jy kom met kak! Hierdie is onse tyd om goetes laat reg maak.” (My boy you come with nonsense. This is our time to make things right).
Soon thereafter the ANC redeployed her to the Gauteng legislature, where she also provided members with that motherly love and a moral compass.
She will be truly missed. Rest in peace, mama wethu.
l Makoe is the founder and editor-in-chief of Royal News Services.