There was a senior chap we played with at Spring Rose who was very fond of me from the get-go and took me under his wing. He would drop me off at home after games or practices and occasionally take me with him just for a drive.
He was a winger and his name was Lungile "Sticks" Orie. He was quick around the park, had a mean punt, and was a real asset to the team. During the days of sporting segregation he had made the KwaZakhele Rugby Union (Kwaru) juniors.
I thought he was a cool guy, especially because he was senior to me and liked my company. There was no car at home, so I enjoyed the fact that I could bum a lift regularly from a team-mate and hang out with him and his friends on weekends.Our bond developed further as I rose higher in the sport and wanted more representative colours. It was he who introduced me to Edwin Ncula. Ncula's home was in Zwide and he was apparently the person who could help me get more exposure in rugby's upper echelons in Port Elizabeth. Ncula was a well-known administrator. He was also part of the old National Sports Congress run by Mthobi Tyamzashe, Mluleki George, Gideon Sam and the like.Sticks continued to pick me up and take me home from games when I never knew how I was going to get back - something I was eternally grateful for. I could ask him to take me anywhere and he'd help out. He became the older brother I wish I had.
Later in 1995, however, I was shocked to find out that one of the "businesses" he had was selling mandrax. My mother Khathie could not stand the bloke. She kept telling me that he was an organised shoplifter, and she knew this because she worked at Jet Stores and had seen him and his gang in action. She had trepidations when he picked me up and always asked what my involvement was with him. I kept fending her off, telling her that we were only associated through rugby.
He was a nice guy and you would never guess that he was a drug-dealing thug. For a while I never saw him with the mandrax tablets everyone said he was selling but he always had a stash of hard cash. We went out quite often, to parties and gatherings, but Sticks never drank or smoked and was always alert.
But he loved women and changed them like you would nappies. The stacks of cash gave him an authority of sorts over some women who hung around him - they liked the fact that he could provide almost anything. As a hormonal adolescent, I was also starting to get interested by the fairer sex. Sometimes Sticks would "send" me to go talk to a woman, so that I could get "laid". I have to say, I learnt the art of talking to women from him. He had a silky smooth tongue and could camouflage his drug-lord persona expertly.
A certain respectThe strange thing about living in the township is that drug lords are given a certain respect and carry with them an unmistakeable aura. They are either feared or revered - the line between the two was paper thin. You have to have a ruthless streak to be a successful drug lord. Drug lords always have money and are very generous, and this added to the twisted sense of camaraderie people felt around Sticks.Sometimes Sticks and I would train together. He would take me down to the beach and we would jog together to keep our fitness up. Despite his shady dealings, he was one of the most supportive people I had in my life at the time.When I needed to write my learner's licence test in Alice, he drove me to the testing station car and I came back with my learner's. We went to Alice because back then it could take you three months to get a testing date in Port Elizabeth, but in remote towns such as Alice, you could book and get tested the same day. I never paid a cent for petrol; I was so blinded by his benevolence that I only saw his good side. This youthful blindness would catch up with me in a major way later on.
But then I got to see the proof of his drug dealing first hand. One day I was climbing into his red Ford Sapphire when I stumbled upon a moneybag pregnant with whitish tablets. On the way to dropping me off at home, he asked me to keep the bag for him for a short while because he was going somewhere and he didn't want to take that bag along. I knew straight away what the pills were.
Illegal stash
I took the bag of pills inside, hidden neatly inside my gym bag - I had to make sure that my mother and grandmother didn't suspect a thing. They would have blown their lids if they found out that I was in possession of Sticks's illegal stash. It was nerve-racking.Mandrax tablets are thick, imprinted with an emblem resembling a swastika with a sword running through it. When I was alone I studied one pill, looked at it closely, smelled it.
The only drug I knew then was dagga, which I also never touched, but I had been around plenty people who smoked it. Luckily I had the sense not to experiment with the drugs or try to pawn them in the streets behind Sticks's back.I had also never considered what might happen if we were ever stopped by cops or what would happen if he got caught and I was in the car with him and his drugs. I shudder when I think about it now, because if he had been bust, I would have taken the rap along with him. He could even deny that they were his and claim they were mine and I would have ended up doing jail time.
The more digging I did the more the trips we took to various townships and to coloured areas began to make sense: he was collecting his money. What was initially just a joy ride suddenly took a darker turn in my mind.
Our relationship took a downturn after that but it wasn't because I confronted him about it. I just kept my mouth shut and continued as though things were normal. But things weren't normal. I was growing up and I had to steer my life and goals away from that which threatened to curtail my goals and visions.
We, however, remained cordial for years after I left Port Elizabeth to play for Griquas. When I came back from the Springbok tour of Argentina in 2000 I even gave Sticks one of my Bok jerseys as a show of appreciation for all he had done to give me a leg up in life.
Dark side
But his dark side constantly found a way to dirty the big brother-little brother relationship we had fostered. I drew the line in our friendship for good when my career was threatened by his dodgy activities.One day he sent me to Motherwell to get him some "stuff" with one of his associates. The route to Motherwell takes you north on the N2 freeway, away from the Port Elizabeth CBD if you're coming from New Brighton, then you branch off onto St George Street and continue straight towards Njoli Street. As we branched off the freeway we met a police roadblock.Unbeknownst to me, a big bag of mandrax pills had been stowed under the driver's seat. Suddenly Sticks's friend in the passenger's seat started sweating nervously and mentioned to me in hush tones that there was mandrax in the car. I was stunned, but somehow I remained calm as we approached the roadblock behind a queue of vehicles. I knew the police would stop us - there was no way of escaping. And we were indeed stopped.
I was facing triple danger at this point: I was already a Springbok; I was facing the possibility of being caught carrying narcotics; and I was in danger of bringing my family into shame. I kept thinking about what the headlines would say in the morning: "Springbok caught dealing drugs". I saw my career going up in smoke.After a brief conversation, in which they asked about my career and what it felt like to be a Bok, I was allowed to pass through the roadblock without being searched. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. But as we drove off, I was fuming. I was angry that the pair of them had put me in such a dangerous situation. I went and gave Sticks his car back; I never wanted anything else to do with him after that. I never spoke to him again.
•  Being a Black Springbok - The Thando Manana Story, by Sibusiso Mjikeliso (Pan MacMillan, R285)Telling Thando's tale
I had taken leave from work  and caught a bus home to East London, where I'd borrowed one of my dad's  cars, but it broke down the night before I went to Port Elizabeth to start the first of  our epic recording sessions. I'd hitchhiked the three-hour distance to Port Elizabeth, but I didn't really care.
Obstacles like that almost pale into insignificance  when your dream is within sight.
Thando hosted me almost every time I was in Port Elizabeth - we weren't merely recording, we were developing a friendship. I think that's the only way this book could have been done. I told him not to leave out a single detail. And he never did.
- Sibusiso Mjikeliso
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