A great man is no more. He left us when we least expected. It’s been quite difficult to come to terms with the news of the passing of Mbongeni Ngema. He was my brother’s keeper. We were brothers-in-arms.
Twenty-four hours after Ngema lost his precious life in a head-on collision returning from delivering a eulogy at the funeral of his longtime manager, Mom Sheila Paris, in Lusikisiki in SA’s Eastern Cape province, the terrible news is beginning to sink in painfully.
Munt’omnyama, as Ngema and I were fond of calling each other along with a few members of his inner circle, will live forever in our hearts and minds. Ngema was larger than life. He lived it to the fullest, packing tons of fond memories in the 68 years God allocated him on His earth.
Ngema was a workaholic, but also played just as hard, sometimes a tad too hard. We chilled at our dwellings with our spouses, imbibing our chosen drinks, and breaking bread as if it were our last supper.
He loved his meal, filled with different kinds of meat and pap, and invariably sprinkled what he called “pele-pele” – Zulu for the raw chillies that he often picked from our garden to give his meal a desirable oomph. Once surrounded by his close circle of friends he easily let his gut down, feeling secure.
Ngema was futuristic, visionary is the word, always looking into what tomorrow will have in store. He could be haphazard in his approach to projects, but damn, Munt’omnyama could chase a goal with real vigour. He left his native KwaZulu Natal toward the tail-end of the 1970s and set his big eyes on the city of gold, Johannesburg.
He had nothing, absolutely nothing to call his, other than himself. He arrived in Joburg armed only with big but invisible dreams to become somebody. He landed in Soweto to join a cast of the man known as the doyen of black theatre, Bra Gibson Kente’s How Long, among others, and never looked back.
Like a rags-to-riches tale of a countryside boy, he rode in Johannesburg’s taxis, busses and trains. The experience in Jozi, a moniker for Johannesburg, led him to share them in his hit song Stimela sase Zola.
Street-wise, smart, clever. Ngema could survive in any situation. He took to the ghettoes like fish to water, and composed songs about the ghetto life that dominated the airwaves and cemented his role as a traditional vernacular music artist of note.
We had many plans and dreams to still pursue with Ngema, notably his authorized biography. His globe-trotting habits hampered our progress in this regard, and Ngema was hopeful that the task would be completed someday.
He may be gone, gone too soon for a man of such impeccable value to humanity and mankind. But he left us with much more to be grateful for.
Among the memories that I shall cherish forever was his intriguing tribute to the legendary Muhammad Ali, captured in his stage play Magic @ 4 am at the Johannesburg State Theatre.
To the surprise of us all, Ngema had secretly flown the great Ali himself all the way from the States to attend the opening show in person, all the while unbeknown to a packed theatre until at the end when he unwrapped the joyful secret.
Ali came walking, nay, dancing down the aisle, throwing punches as he clearly reminisced about floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.
To crown it all, the moment was made more poignant by the fact that Ngema’s younger brother, the late Bhoi, had played Ali magnificently in the play.
There is also another of Ngema’s kid brothers who is into theatre, too. Nhlanhla is his name. He’s a great director in his own right. Another of my great time with Ngema was working on the play Lion of the East in Witbank, Mpumalanga.
The play was about the historic injustice of an era when white potato farmers mercilessly killed black labourers and used their corpses as manure for the potatoes. It is one of the many untold race-based horrors of SA.
Ngema dug out the story and told it powerfully through theatre. Ngema could oh, unearth talent, and once his big eyes had spotted talent his magnanimous heart and spirit ensured that such talent was nurtured. For the Lion of the East play, Ngema used raw talent from the province. I saw first-hand his magic at songwriting and music composition.
Attending the daily rehearsal sessions was so exciting to the public that the theatre in Emalahleni (Witbank) would be packed daily. Ngema had too many friends, and I count myself immensely privileged to have been among his friends.
Ngema was so generous to friends that he could effortlessly remove a rock out of the way for a friend in need. In return, it was, and still is, impossible not to lift a finger for Munt’omnyama.
He dodged all of us – family, friends, country, continent and the world. He was at home in KwaMashu, Umlazi, Soweto or New York and Washington.
He walked with kings and queens and kept his common touch. We thank God for your life Ngema. It brightened and enriched the entire universe like a firmament of hope.
For you, I bid farewell with the book of 2 Timothy 4: 7-8.
It reads: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord…will award to me on that day.”
Rest well Munt’omnyama.
Rest in power and strength, and rise in glory.
Hamba kahle, son of the soil.
Fare thee well, Mr Sarafina.
Love always, Abbey Makoe.
