Marikana widow's labour of love for slain husband

Sitelega Gadlela's name was the 12th to be read at the start of the Marikana commission of inquiry on October 1 2012.

Read at the behest of the inquiry's chairman, retired Judge Ian Farlam, the names of all those who had died during the Marikana strike fell off advocate Bantubonke Tokota's tongue.

The gesture was, said Farlam, "in memory of our fallen fathers, uncles, brothers, countrymen and friends whose death will always be in the heart of all South Africans as we commence this difficult task".

In November last year, the commission shut down and on March 31 a report was handed to President Jacob Zuma.

In the meantime, life has had to go on for all the families who sat through the painful testimonies at the inquiry.

block_quotes_start The thought of going underground has always been scary. But I had to do it for my children back home. Mining is not really for women block_quotes_end

For some 41 families, moving on has come with an almost incomprehensible conclusion - relatives travelling from distant towns to Lonmin's operations in Marikana to take up varied roles at the company that had employed their loved ones at the time of their death.

This week, two "replacement relatives" spoke of their experiences as underground miners - a brother and a widow who have traded their freedom for a life in the bowels of the earth, facing frightening experiences of stepping into jobs they never thought they would have to take up.

Betty Gadlela, after being visited in Swaziland in October last year by representatives of Lonmin and the Association of Mineworkers and Construction Union, decided that she could not entrust the livelihood of her family to anyone but herself.

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Leaving behind four children at a boarding school and her seven-year-old with relatives, Gadlela now rents a R350 room at a mining compound.

"The thought of going underground has always been scary. But I had to do it for my children back home. Mining is not really for women. It is cold underground, but the more experienced men were supportive and willing to help carry some of the equipment. One thing I learnt is you have to walk carefully as there are areas with large open squares. You step in any of the squares ... it is easy to fall."

Her husband died on that terrible August 16 2012, a day after his 50th birthday. He was shot twice while trying to escape from the police.

"Coming here was the only way that I saw was easy for me to support the family. It's hard being a miner, but when you have nothing back home, you have no choice but to settle for anything that comes your way."

The R12500 monthly wage demand that had brought Sitelega - who had been a miner for 20 years - and his mining comrades to the Marikana koppie during an unprotected strike is something that eludes his widow, too: "He made more only when he worked overtime, but his basic salary was less. Even our money is far less than the R12500 he was fighting for.

"At the end of this month, Amcu promised a R1000 increase and another one next year. But even then my salary will be less than R10000."

Like Betty Gadlela, Anele Jokanisi never imagined that he would trade a rural existence for his brother's life as an underground machine operator.

Yet, in October last year, Jokanisi found himself moving from the Eastern Cape to North West because his mother, Joyce, had chosen him to replace his brother Sammy. Having disappeared on August 13 2012, Sammy was found three days later - in a Rustenburg morgue.

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Joyce, who attended several Marikana commission sittings, said this week that her son was hit by a stun grenade thrown from a police helicopter a few days before they would open fire on striking miners and killed a further 34.

During the past two years, Lonmin has spent more than R5-million educating the children of the Marikana massacre widows.

Jokanisi, 29, is among 10 relatives currently being trained as miners.

Others have taken on cleaning jobs, nursing and general office work.

For the father of two, a part-time bricklayer back home in Hombe village near Lusikisiki in the Eastern Cape, working at Lonmin means he now has to look after his brother's children, aged between eight and 14.

"When the kids come from school, they need to be fed," said Joyce. "They come with dirty clothes that have to be washed and ironed.

"My husband's salary is not enough to feed everyone in the family. With Anele working, I am able to cater for some of their needs."

She said Sammy was not married and would give her almost half of his salary for his children's schooling and other items needed by his five younger siblings, who are in high school.

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"The wound of losing my son will never heal. He never smoked or drank and helped a lot in this family. Sometimes I blamed my husband for encouraging him to take the mining job," Joyce said from the family home in the Eastern Cape this week.

Jokanisi said he had never dreamt of becoming a miner.

"My brother always said that the job was dangerous. People are trapped inside the mine and it takes hours to be rescued.

"He complained about the little money. My plan was to do something better."

But he has had to adapt to getting up at 3.30am to prepare for his job.

Going underground for the first time, Jokanisi said, was scary.

"Miss one step ... you're gone. We walk 8km carrying this stuff on our backs."

But he had no option - knowing that the burden of his family's expectations and caring for his brother's children now rested with him.

"I'm like their father now. The little money I get here ... I must make sure I send them at least R2000 every month for food and other school items."

Jokanisi, Gadlela and the families of slain and injured miners are waiting for Zuma to reveal on June 30 how diligently he has considered Farlam's report of 600 pages.