Johannesburg: ‘KuJoni’ legacy lives on...
It was Easter Sunday when a good childhood friend of mine sent me a sentimental present. I knew it was also a token reminder that, at my advanced age, I should be thankful for having so far survived the turmoils and outrageous fortunes of this world. Indeed we are more and more becoming very rare and few in this class.
The present was - classical to the present digital world - an electronically mailed musical number by the legendary South African golden ladies, the Dark City Sisters. And the song was none other than the famous ‘Langa More.’ Those of us who grew up in the 1960s - and grew up in the Southern Highlands of Bongoland, to be more precise - knew this number by heart. It was second only to the national anthem in popularity.
And this was no accident because there was a strong umbilical cord between these regions and Johannesburg, or ‘KuJoni’ as the city was fondly called.
Thousands of strong young men from these regions - the Bena, Nyakyusa, Kinga, Wanji, Sangu, Safwa, Nyasa, Ngoni, and many others - were routinely trooping to South Africa to work in gold mines.
From the 1940s to the 1960s, it was sort of a privilege to be recruited and ‘shipped’ to work in the mines in Mandela Land!’
Many of these young men never returned home for one reason or another. But those who returned were feted and seen as heroes. Even the village belles preferred these ‘heroes’ over us virtually ‘home country-bound lads.
It had to be that way. The ‘KuJoni’ boys had all the advantages. They came back with at least a suit, shirt and tie, a bicycle - and, more importantly: a miner’s helmet fitted with a torch.
This last item was an important tool in navigating at night through the dark village paths to the local ‘native’ brew joints.
It was at these village pubs where the ‘KuJonis’ also displayed their newly-acquired Zulu ‘gumboot’ dances and vocals. And, in due cause, they popularised such numbers as the ‘Langa More’.
No wonder I grew up fondly dreaming of South Africa as a land of milk and honey. It was only after I consummately ‘chewed’ through some classic novels by powerful South African writers - including ‘Mine Boy’ by Peter Brahams, and ‘Cry the Beloved Country’ by Alan Paton - that I realised it was not all ‘milk and honey’ in that land. Actually, it was the extreme opposite. It goes without saying that, on my first visit to South Africa, I made a point of visiting one of the largest gold mines there. The country has 86 gold mines.
The one I visited was the South Deep. Located some 45 kilometres south-west of Johannesburg in the Witwatersrand Basin, it is the world’s largest gold mine, by reserves.
It is also the 7th deepest mine in the world, with a mine depth of up to 2,998 metres: about three kilometres below the Planet Earth’s surface.
In the nearby shanty town, there were indeed some elderly offspring of miners from Bongoland of that era. But, none knew exactly where their roots were in Bongoland. And they all spoke Zulu, English and a smattering of some Afrikaans, Boers languages.
Notwithstanding, the umbilical cord is still there.
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The author is a veteran journalist and communication expert based in Arusha
