EXTRACT | 'Faces and Phases of Reconciliation: A Memoir of a Special Kind' by Tinyiko Maluleke

ABOUT THE BOOK

In this captivating collection of essays, Tinyiko Maluleke invites his readers on a journey that begins with his eventful boyhood in Soweto and his upbringing thereafter in Limpopo. His heartfelt reflections on the roles of mothers, grandmothers and aunts in his own childhood and in the upbringing of his peers, heroes and heroines, will resonate deeply with readers. In the truest sense, this is a “feminist” book — one that powerfully highlights and celebrates the vital contributions of women to national development.

This memoir traces Maluleke’s journey through academia, his rise through the ranks, and the invaluable lessons he learnt along the way. Woven into his personal narrative is a broader reflection on the South African experience, encouraging readers to reconsider the history of the country: its villages, townships and even their own identities.

Maluleke delivers unflinching analysis of critical issues facing South Africa, blending rigorous scholarship with a masterful command of diverse literary genres and writing styles. More than just a memoir, this book is both a tribute and a testament to the moments, places, and people — both celebrated and unsung — that have shaped his perspective. His incisive profiles of fellow university leaders are particularly compelling.

Faces and Phases of Resilience will make you think, laugh, yell and cry. More than just a personal memoir, it is the memoir of a country, a historical epoch, and a people. It's an invitation into the tragedy, beauty and hope that define South Africa. Forty-nine chapters later, the book closes with a haunting essay on the scourge of xenophobia, culminating in a chillingly titled reflection, The Day I Die — an ironic foretelling of Maluleke’s own death — that lingers long after the final page.

EXTRACT 

Michelle Obama in Soweto

Shortly after 5am on Wednesday, June 22 2011, I woke up early and hit the road. Michelle Obama was billed to speak at the historic Regina Mundi Church in Soweto and I was determined to be among her audience. To avoid traffic, I took the Pretoria-Joburg western bypass. I arrived within an hour and immediately joined the rapidly growing queue in front of the church. It was a bitterly cold morning — about 2°C. I whipped out my ID and invitation for verification at the accreditation desk. When the lady there horribly mispronounced my name in a heavy southern American accent, I smiled understandingly. Further on, at the security cubicle, I gladly offered my body to be searched thoroughly.

Three hours and 45 minutes later, US First Lady Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama walked up to the podium and sent the crowd into a frenzy. At that moment I realised I preferred that she and not her husband — Barack Obama — had come to my country. I also didn’t mind that the president of my own country — Jacob Zuma — was nowhere to be seen.

A moment earlier Graça Machel had introduced Michelle with grace and finesse. She said, among other things, that Michelle was “a daughter of African heritage, the queen of our world, an inspiration, one who stands shoulder to shoulder with Barack Obama, one who redefines womanhood in the 21st century, one of the most powerful women in the world who nevertheless remains accessible, powerful without being aloof, powerful without being aggressive” and “one of the most inspiring leaders of the world today”. I was struck by the authenticity with which Machel showered the accolades. Hers was not the voice of duty, protocol, or officialdom. It felt genuine. I loved this introduction which spoke of Michelle’s character, her political acumen, and the global impact of her leadership. Machel painted a complex rather than simplistic picture of Michelle. She spoke of a feminist thinker and practitioner, the wife of Barack, mother of Malia and Sasha, community activist, daughter of Marian Robinson, community servant and intellectual. Seven years later, in 2018, Michelle wrote a riveting book that tells her own story.

There she was, the US first lady — ten metres from where I sat inside Regina Mundi. Here was this woman, born of working-class parents and apparently raised in a one-bedroom apartment. Here was this woman whose parents sacrificed so much to pay for her and her brother’s education. Here she was, in Soweto, paying homage to the 1976 generation of protesting students. She lauded the “independence generation, freedom generation” and the struggle inheritance they left. “The question today is, what will you make of that inheritance? What legacy will you leave for your children and your grandchildren? What generation will you be?’ she asked her audience, with a rhetorical nimbleness we have come to associate with her husband.

She spoke of Africa and Africa’s place in the world today. ‘When it comes to the defining challenges of times, creating jobs in our global economy, promoting democracy and development, confronting climate change, extremism, poverty and disease, for all these, the world is looking to Africa as a vital partner.” Her audience was jolted, bewitched and awed all at once. She debunked the popular belief that leadership is about being president, prime minister, army general, parliamentarian or having a fancy title.

What, according to Michelle, is leadership?

“True leadership, leadership that lifts families, leadership that sustains communities and transforms nations, that kind of leadership rarely starts in palaces or parliaments. That kind of leadership is not limited only to those of a certain age or status. That kind of leadership is not just about dramatic events that change the course of history in an instant. Instead, true leadership often happens with the smallest acts, in the most unexpected places, by the most unlikely individuals.” One of the best definitions of leadership I had heard in a long time. Then Michelle threw down the gauntlet at the youth of Africa and the world, challenging them to be “the generation to ensure that women are no longer second-class citizens, that girls take their rightful places in our schools … [a generation] that stands up and says that violence against women in any form, in any place, including the home, especially the home, that it is not just a women’s rights violation but a human-rights violation and has no place in society”.

With the phrase “as my husband says” or “in mine and my husband’s experience” she interrupted herself with monotonous regularity. There was no shyness about that she regards her husband’s mission as hers also. She seemed to revel in telling the story of how she quit a high-powered and high-paying job as a lawyer to work alongside her husband in the apparently lowly work of serving the community in the south side of Chicago.

Though my ego was stung when she did not come to the row of seats where yours truly was seated when she was shaking hands with the crowds, I was glad to be in her company, inside the historic Regina Mundi Hall, on that day.

An anecdotal story is told about Barack and Michelle having lunch at a restaurant — it is pure fiction, I think. The restaurant owner takes an unusually active interest in Michelle. Or so thinks Barack. It turns out that Michelle and the restaurant owner went to the same high school or something. “See, had you not met me, you might today be married to a mere restaurant owner,” said Barack with a glint of glee in his eye. Michelle pauses and she smiles. “Not a chance, Barack. If I was married to him, he’d be the president of the United States of America today.” Ouch.

Faces And Phases of Resilience: A Memoir of a Special Kind by Tinyiko Maluleke is published by Tracey McDonald Publishers. Extract provided by Janine Daniels on behalf of JDoubleD Publicity.