Humility Is The Trait That Was RraGaone
Pamela Dube | Monday June 26, 2017 15:43
The first I heard the name Masire was as a young pupil at Fredrick Maherero Memorial Primary School in Mahalapye. The first president, Sir Seretse Khama had passed on and the man from the “far off” village of Kanye had assumed the reigns.
But it was not what the teachers were sharing, but what I was constantly hearing from my grandmother, Mma Onkgopotse and her friends.
They did not have kind words about the new President, and as I always sat next to my granny’s big pot of tea, I would gather the news (my journalism training) that a demonstration at the Kgotla was being planned to object to Seretse’s head in the P10 note being replaced by Masire’s. On the day of the demonstration, I tagged along.
Dragged by my granny really! I must have been 10 years of age. When we arrived, the not so big but vocal crowd was charged up. The group, which ironically included businessman and our neighbour, Rre Motiakone, the father to the man who read President Ian Khama’s statement announcing Sir Ketumile’s passing last week, George Tlhalerwa, had one mission in mind – to burn the P10 notes.
As a child and with no elder brave enough to do the deed, I was pushed forward and told to strike the match (I always say this was my introduction to activism).
As I nervously stood, the late Kgosi Resaapele Senai asked me if I wanted to go to jail. I did not know what jail was, but I knew it could not have been a good place because he pointed to the lepodisi la Kgotla and explained that the man would handcuff me because it was illegal to burn the money.
After this explanation, Kgosi Senai dispersed the crowd with the promise to call a meeting to explain why the notes had changed. I don’t know if the meeting ever took place, but what I know is over time, my grandmother’s language and attitude towards Mminaphiri changed. She spoke well of the man.
A little over 10 year later, I found myself sitting in a small aircraft, face-to-face staring at the face on the P10 note. It was months into the profession, and my first ever air travel.
We were in a small aircraft, from Gaborone to Selebi-Phikwe where the President was to open a shaft at the BCL Mine. Also on board was the then Minister of Minerals, Archibald Mogwe, the pilot and Masire’s sole detail, a tall dark man from Special Branch.
Minutes in mid-air, we experienced turbulences, and being a novice in air travel, and having just had greasy magwinya and tea for breakfast, I felt nauseous and my facial expression must have warned the President what was to come. He threw over the woolen coat he had on his lap, just as I started delivering the morning contents in between wretching. He then offered his handkerchief to wipe my face.
He then pointed to the security man, who stood and collected thePpresident’s now soiled personal items. Eish!
Seeing I was embarrassed by the episode, he assured me it was normal, and even claimed he had done that a lot. As he was saying that, he belted out in his unique belly laughter that I was hearing for the first time, and was to many years to come.
It was at that point that Rre Mogwe, a man with a dry sense of humour, looked at me and asked for my name.
He then proceeded to tell me that “kana ha sefofane se se ka wa, Radio Botswana e tlaabo e bega e re Tautona Masire le Tona Mogwe ba sule mo kotsing ya sefofane le batho ba bangwe ba le bararo…” It was not much for the fact that the minister had just declared me a nonentity, but the thought of crashing that must have drained the colour off my face.
RraGaone must have seen that because he immediately rebuked the minister to “stop scaring the poor child.”
That was my first real encounter with President Masire, and in many years to come as I covered his many meetings, especially the Kgotla meetings which I enjoyed the most, I found not just a leader of special traits, but a man of humility. A man who not only related to ordinary people, but found time to engage and consult.
He would find himself in difficult situations, faced pointed and even critical questions and comments, but always responded.
Many have shared anecdotes of his Kgotla meetings, and how he would respond to questions with honour, and at times, some will say ridicule. But unlike in today’s hostile and intolerant political terrain, in his time, Masire would step forward and debate issues and people would leave the meetings satisfied.
As media workers, especially in the private media, we had our own battles with the late statesman. The draconian Media Practitioners Act of 1998 first came during the Masire era. When the late Clara Olsen hurriedly handed the reigns to me as the chairperson of the Press Council of Botswana, just three months into the establishment of the self-regulatory body, I recall the conversation in her living room in Tlokweng.
The year was 2003, and the night before she had been attacked by gun wielding muscular men, who scarred her security guard never to return. The thugs, whom MmaOli was convinced were no ordinary thieves, only drove away when her neighbour, Rre Olebile Gaborone, came shooting into the air.
“Pam, I am nervous for you because these are different times. You know we have fought and opposed attempts to silence the media, but during Masire’s time, we engaged. We talked across the table, and Rre Masire put his arguments across. These days…” Yes, indeed, these days! RraGaone, for all his faults, and you would expect that from someone who ruled for 18 years, and even longer considering the fact that he was there in 1966, left a legacy that many could and should learn from.
As Dr Gaositwe Chiepe said in remembrance, you could say he walked with kings but was a man with ordinary people. In one of his Facebook posts over the weekend, Kabo Diamond Moseki wondered why is that accomplished statesmen like Sir Ketumile and Nelson Mandela had so much humility.
My response was “kgodiso”. One’s upbringing can mould the person to be what they are. For me personally, the two leaders had something in common. They treated people with dignity, and seemed to always want to know you personally. On that first aircraft journey, RraGaone got to know more than my name. He wanted to know whose child I was.
I told him my mother’s name, Onkgopotse, and when he introduced me to MmaGaone months later, I was shocked when he related this detail and the fact that I was from Mahalapye, even teasing and wondering if I knew people of Mahalapye “ba kile bare ba tshuba tlhogo yame...Haahaahaahaa!” To which MmaGaone nudged him, but left me a bit uncomfortable knowing my history with the incident.
The same happened with my first interview with Mandela. When he enquired, I told him I was not from KwaZulu but from a village in the central district of Botswana called Mahalapye. Every time I found myself in the company of the South African leader, he would enquire after the parents.
So, it happened that on the day I was part of Mandela’s first State Visit to Botswana in 1995. I became some sort of celebrity among my colleagues as the two Presidents remembered that. Typical of Botswana protocol officials, the media contingent had not been catered for at the Presidential luncheon at the State House.
As we stood with my South African media colleagues (I was with The Sowetan at the time) at the State House gate, and Mandela’s spokesperson, the late Parks Mankadlane was arguing with the security to let us in, the two Presidents suddenly appeared behind him, and as we were hurriedly pushed in, Rre Masire noticed me and wondered what the girl from Mahalapye was doing with the South African crowd. Mandela looked at him and said, “you know her? Yes, she is from that village in the central district…” and they both laughed. As I say, I was a momentarily a hit.
I have heard many other colleagues speak of this of our late statesman – being able to remember and relate to people at personal level made him a unique and a special leader. Even in our criticism and exposes of the rot in his administration, or even personal as was the case with the issues about amassing of farms, the NDB monies and DeBeers debacle, he would not, at least publicly, personalise.
He would take you aside, try and explain but not hold a grudge and be vengeful, as some of leaders of today seem to be. He was tolerant and allowed divergent views. That is the man I knew. A democrat. A special and true leader to all, regardless of their political persuasions.
A man who related and engaged across board. A man who, like all of us had faults, but when forced to, admitted to and tried to correct. A man of humility! As our father rests, I pray that his spirit of building a better Botswana for all is remembered and we come to a position where tolerance and drive for peace is restored. A botsadi bo robale!