We Are Fighting the World. Gary Kynoch

of the responsibilities and expectations that accompanied group membership. SO’s account of joining Matsieng in 1972 is typical of the process: “When I joined I was surrounded by all the members and the morena told me all the rules. He asked me whether I was ready to fight any rival and I said yes. Will you kill anyone who tries to kill you, he asked. When you are arrested you must not inform on others, he told me. You must keep all our information secret from the police. They said, this is what we need you to do. And they told me not to tell the other miners our secrets. Even in Lesotho you were not supposed to tell anything concerning Marashea.”

      There were no qualifications for membership other than the ability to speak Sesotho. Men simply presented themselves to the group, expressed their desire to join, agreed to abide by the rules, and paid an initial fee. Different groups constantly sought new members as there was strength, both military and financial, in numbers. Most often, potential members were introduced to the group by established Marashea who were “homeboys,” workmates, or relatives. BM joined in 1968 after he was invited by fellow mineworkers: “When I started working on the mine I found men in my compound room who stayed outside the mine compound on weekends. . . . There were five Marashea in my room and this influenced me to follow them on weekends. I asked them, what was this Marashea? They explained to me and I became interested.”

      Some male Marashea were introduced to the group through family connections, often an uncle or a cousin. I am also aware of several instances of brothers belonging to the same group and sons following fathers into the Marashea. However, there has never been an established pattern of generational succession in the Marashea. Indeed, some informants report that groups discouraged close relatives from joining because of the dangerous lives led by Marashea. “People from the same family were not allowed to join. That was done so that when my brother dies I would support his family and also to prevent the death of two people in the same family” (DG).¹⁶ Most veterans we spoke with, male and female, regard Borashea as a harsh life and hope for something better for their children. I have not learned of any parents encouraging their children to become Marashea, and several informants indicated that they had forbidden their children to join. However, some young men became Marashea against their fathers’ wishes. As DB replied when asked whether it was common for the sons or brothers of Marashea to join the group, “It happened because when you are here, your son goes to the mines somewhere and one day you see him holding molamu [fighting stick] and there is nothing you can do.” Certainly sons did not succeed fathers as leaders, and there was no core of family at the heart of the organization as with the Cape Town area “mafia” gangs.¹⁷

      The most common reasons cited by male informants for becoming Marashea were physical security and access to women.¹⁸ Urban locations could be dangerous environments, especially for migrants, and group membership provided a measure of safety. In the 1940s and 1950s the Mpondo in particular are remembered for preying on Basotho: “I joined Marashea to protect Basotho who were ill-treated by Mapondo. Some were even killed in the bush when they walked from one mine to another. The Mapondo gathered at the railway stations to rob and kill Basotho” (MK). WL echoes these sentiments: “Mapondo used to beat us. Therefore I joined in order to be safe. I started enjoying life when I became a member.” Additionally, Basotho from southern Lesotho were sometimes targeted for intimidation and assault by Matsekha groups, as were northerners by Matsieng. Consequently, men joined their homeboys for protection. Joining a fighting association for safety is not without irony. However, even though collective violence was a staple of life in the Marashea, members judged that group security was preferable to the vulnerability of isolation.

      Male veterans acknowledge that the gangs led harsh and often brutal lives. Most were arrested and all saw comrades die. However, male respondents reminisced fondly about the access to women that their status as Marashea afforded. Nonmembers had to pay to enjoy the company of women under Russian control. Former miner TL remembers:

      If one of the miners who was not a member had maybe a woman outside, say a girlfriend or so, the Marashea would say that since that person is not a member he should pay something like a protection fee . . . because they are protecting all women outside. So these guys had to pay such fees, and if they didn’t pay, they take the woman away and she’s not going to be yours anymore. It was not like there were some negotiations, they would do what they wanted to do because they were a large group and they could force people into whatever idea they wanted.¹⁹

      Russians were frequently given a woman and had free access to unattached women affiliated with the group. GK reports that his life improved significantly once he joined the Marashea. “What made me join was my love for women. I found that I was spending a lot of money to pay for women and this made me join in order to get them for free and without intimidation. I lived a happy life as Lerashea because I got what I always wanted.” “Mako” Thabane, a Matsieng commander in the 1950s and 1960s, declared, “There were many women to be had as Lerashea. There is no other reason why I became Lerashea except it meant entertainment” (Molefi Thabane, 15 June 1987, Bonner transcript). Others were motivated by an attachment to a particular woman. “I joined Marashea because the woman I loved lived in a squatter camp next to the mine and I was not free to see that woman unless I paid a fee to the Marashea. I joined because as a member it was easy for me to live with her” (KB). CN, who worked on a Free State mine in the 1970s, rated access to women as the primary benefit of Borashea, “because in the mine compound life is difficult and very lonely.”

      Of course, men joined the group for a combination of reasons. WL, as stated above, joined for personal security, but also “because I was attracted to their life. They lived a bold life in Gauteng. When I saw Basotho putting on their blankets I became attracted and decided to join them in order to be like them.” Pride caused TC to become Lerashea: “I was working at Buffel [Buffelsfontein mine] and Marashea from Gauteng were coming here for stokvels. They would sometimes provoke me, saying that I was not a man, so I joined to show them that I was also a man like themselves. I had been to initiation school and I had learned molamu and I did not want to be mocked by other men.” A long-serving Matsieng veteran viewed membership as an effective strategy to thwart personal enemies: “When I worked [at St. Helena] as a miner there was a troublesome supervisor who undermined me. He even demanded bribes from people. And there was a Shangaan cook at the kitchen who gave me bones instead of meat, and I decided to join Marashea because of those two people so that I could get revenge against them” (PK). For LT, affiliation with the Marashea offered the best prospect of survival. “I was forced to join because I lost my job. I had no money to return home and there was nobody to assist me to get home.” The Marashea became more commercially oriented as the numbers of malofa increased over the years and many members joined for primarily economic reasons. KI, on the contrary, viewed membership as the fulfillment of a long-standing dream: “When I came out of initiation school I was interested in the people called Marashea in South Africa. I wanted to go to the mines so that I could join them. When I arrived there I visited Thabong, where I met Marashea. Since I was already interested I decided to join immediately. . . . I told myself when I was growing up that I would undergo initiation and thereafter go to the mines and join the Marashea.” Mineworkers sometimes commented on the social life available as a result of membership. “The good things about being Lerashea were to have security and a place where one can enjoy himself because on the mines life is too lonely for those who stay in the compound” (KI).

      Large numbers of Basotho women have migrated to the urban and mining centers of South Africa since at least the early 1900s. Bonner, Tshidiso Maloka, and Judy Gay all assert that widows and abandoned wives made up the largest proportion of female migrants from the early years of the century to the 1970s.²⁰ These women left Lesotho for a variety of reasons, including ill treatment by in-laws, the search for husbands who failed to send remittances, and desperate economic circumstances. Oral evidence indicates that these motivations, especially the economic imperative, continue to be the prime factors driving women to leave Lesotho. While it has become more difficult for Basotho women to migrate legally to South Africa since 1963, large numbers have continued to undertake the journey.²¹ Farm areas near the mines have long been the destination of homeland women whose options were severely constrained by influx regulations. Since the relaxation and eventual abolition of influx control in the 1980s, former homeland residents have poured into informal settlements