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Article Excerpt
Abstract: When I began conducting research as a graduate student in southern Africa in 1973, I was following in the wake of an intrepid group of American scholars--Gwendolyn Carter, Tom Karis, Dan Johns and Gail Gerhart--who were amassing a remarkable collection of documents on the South African freedom struggle for their From Protest to Challenge (1972-1977) series. They challenged archival/library research that favored government or establishment sources by creating an alternative archive that laid the foundation for reconstructing modern South Africa's freedom struggle. My own experience with documentary collecting on political and religious movements over the past three decades has been unconventional to say the least--and has even involved sifting through dustbins to retrieve documents. Because of my extended relationships with individuals, groups, and communities, my own efforts at documentary collection and retrieval have yielded totally unexpected and often surprising results. This essay is a reflection on the methodology of documentary collection with a focus on two case studies from the eastern Cape: 1) the discovery and return of the long-lost Ark of the Covenant of the Israelite church group and 2) the search for the burial site of the African woman prophet Nontetha in Pretoria and the return and reburial of her remains at her home.
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In 1980, I was conducting research in Lesotho on Lekhotla la Bafo (LLB), a Basotho anti-colonial movement that had been the precursor of the modern political party, the Basotho Congress Party (BCP). A decade earlier, the BCP was on its way to winning the country's first post-independence election when Prime Minister Leabua Jonathan declared the election results null and void. After the BCP staged an abortive coup in 1973, many BCP leaders fled into exile and any group linked to it in any fashion was targeted for retribution by the Jonathan regime. Hence, when I began interviewing the elderly members of Lekhotla la Bafo, they were naturally reluctant to divulge much. In one case, a person closed all the curtains and doors in his home before he spoke to me. Shortly after that encounter, I stumbled across rich source material when another historian and I located a LLB veteran, Hlakane Mokhithi, on the outskirts of Maputsoe. Although Mokhithi's memory had dimmed, he was willing to share a document that he had preserved for decades. He rummaged in an ash-heap in the burnt-out shell of a building and pulled out a piece of piece of plastic sheeting wrapped around a hand-written notebook of LLB songs. [1] This was a major find since members had not been willing to sing any of their songs to me. [2]
During the decades that I have been researching history in southern Africa, I experienced many other occasions when I retrieved evidence through persistently digging through other kinds of ash heaps. Whether in Lesotho or South Africa, I operated in a super-charged political environment in which I had to develop instincts and skills--not taught in the classroom--for tracking down new sources of documentation in unorthodox ways and places and coping sensitively and tactfully with a basic reality--that the "politics of inequality," as Gwendolyn Carter put it, erected barriers that impinged on all research undertakings.
For example, many Africans had an absolute skepticism of any researcher--especially a white researcher--who came into their lives. Based on long and painful experiences with political authority, their assumption was that anyone asking questions was not likely to be gathering evidence that would benefit them. There was not much I could do to overcome this stigma except to be honest and forthright and hope that with time people would begin to trust and open up to me. In some cases that took a long time. One schoolteacher who assisted me in the Ciskei and Transkei in 1974 told me years later that he had remained skeptical of me for months and kept a close eye on my behavior before he began to trust me.
Nevertheless, there were occasions when someone agreed to talk with me that I fully expected to be reticent. One such case was a venerable Communist Party of South Africa (CPSA) veteran, Edwin Mofutsanyana, who was living deep in the rugged Maluti mountains in Lesotho. He had been the CPSA's primary liaison with LLB and its leader, Josiel Lefela, since the 1930s. In 1959, as the political crisis in South Africa was reaching a boiling point, Mofutsanyana concluded that he would likely be arrested soon. He weighed his options of staying within the country or fleeing into exile. After choosing the latter, he rejected heading north in favor of seeking sanctuary in northern Lesotho, a mere twenty miles from his birthplace in Qwa Qwa. After his Nhlapho kinsmen hid him in a village nestled on Lesotho's border with South Africa, he hopped on a bus to look for Lefela at his home in Mapoteng. By coincidence, Lefela was holding court on the bus and took him in, eventually finding him a place to hide out. After working closely with Lefela and Lesotho's Communist Party during the 1960s, Mofutsanyana moved to a remote area to live, as he phrased it, "with the monkeys in the mountains." [3]
Over time Mofutsanyana disappeared from sight. When I became aware of his links to LLB, I had few clues to his whereabouts. Gani Surtie, a Maseru businessman whose Indian trader father had known Mofutsanyana since the 1930s, was certain he was still alive (at least he had not heard that he had died) and pinpointed the area, Kota ha Pentsi in the Leribe district, where he was most likely to be living. Armed with that scant information, I set off on a crisp wintry day in a sturdy Volkswagen Beetle on a rugged track that eventually turned into little more than a horse trail. At each trading store I made inquiries about Mofutsanyana. Just when I was ready to give up and turn back, I encountered some people who volunteered that there was a man, Tente Majara, who lived on a nearby hillside, who knew him. Indeed, when Majara, a longtime LLB member, came down to meet me, he confirmed that he knew Mofutsanyana well. After I explained my reasons for wanting to speak with him, Majara agreed to take my hastily scribbled note of introduction to Mofutsanyana on horseback.
When my note reached Mofutsanyana, it touched off a fierce debate among the villagers that he did not reveal to me for several years. Sensing a trap, some villagers warned him that I must be from the South Africa Special Branch and that my research interest in him was really a ruse to kidnap him and consign him to prison in South Africa. However, he decided to take a chance because of a recent dream in which Lefela, who died in 1965, appeared to him. The pair took off on a long jaunt in the mountains. They discussed many issues, and the end of their trek, Lefela turned to Mofutsanyana and advised him that a stranger was going to appear soon in his life and that he must speak with him. By a fortuitous stroke of luck, my note appeared the next day. Although a hardened Bolshevik in his Party heyday, Mofutsanyana culturally was a person who placed great stock in his dreams throughout his life. He ignored the cautions to steer clear of me and instead sent me a note: "I do welcome your providence given appointment whole heartedly." I did not appreciate the reference to "providence" until much later.
He set a date to meet me at Tente Majara's place in about three weeks, but given the glacial pace of mail delivery in Lesotho, his letter did not reach me until the date of the appointment had passed. After patiently waiting three days for...
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