On the road with Uncle John and Ausi Sonti to bury Ray Phiri( Pt1)
Botsalo Ntuane | Friday July 28, 2017 15:44
12 July
Ray Phiri is dead. A flurry of activity follows this Wednesday morning as radio and television stations swing into action with tributes flooding in after what is a completely unforeseen demise.
Only those who read South African papers were aware that for the past fortnight this creative light in the musical firmament of this part of the world had been ailing. In fact there had been a minor skirmish when it was reported somewhere that Ray was lying in Nelspruit hospital, stricken because his medical aid funds had been exhausted.
A family spokesperson dismissed the reports and pleaded for the musician to be left in privacy to recuperate. That was a temporary respite because a few days later he succumbed to what was disclosed as lung cancer. He was 70-years-old. Locally, as elsewhere in the music fraternity, there was disbelief and shock that Ray was gone. That fateful Wednesday morning I conveyed my feelings into the Joburg radio station Talk 702 which I listen to over the internet every night right into the morning.
Local radio stations also dedicated some of their programming to his music and remembrance call ins. A group of local musicians and promoters started talking logistics of travel whilst awaiting details from across the border. It then emerges that not much would be happening for the remainder of the week. Whenever a death occurs I always wonder why we cannot adopt an Islamic practice where the deceased is laid to rest within 24 hours.
Now I was not so sure I would have wanted Ray to be buried so soon without paying my respects. But still I remain convinced Muslims have hit on a good thing with quick burials. In fact before mortuaries became a common feature, apparently locals also disposed of their dead as quickly, sans coffins and the gaudiness associated with what we witness today. Mourners from faraway places would then arrive at their own convenience to condole (go tshidisa) the bereaved.
14-18 July
Things are shifting into gear and a whatsapp group is being set up. Word is that the memorial service is set for Thursday with the funeral on Saturday. Where is the question? It emerges both activities will take place in Nelspruit, which is Ray’s hometown. A Google check shows that it is not a place nearby and any thoughts of travel would require serious preparation.
The administrator of the whatsapp group is trying to collate all the relevant information for purposes of finalising travel and other plans. I take it upon myself to call places of lodging in Nelspruit and block book some rooms until such time we know how many will be travelling. In group discussions the question of Uncle John Selokwane comes up. Will he be travelling or not? As somebody who played with Ray for years, most notably on Graceland and the subsequent tours under Paul Simon he surely would be grieving more than many of us and certainly planning to travel.
I call Uncle John as we now refer to him in his dotage to find out about travel plans, only to find out he did not have any, although he wishes to be in attendance. Upon hearing this I offer to drive him to Nelspruit. Not only did I love Ray’s music during his sojourns with Stimela and Graceland, but this would be an ideal opportunity to spend extended time with the legend whose only interaction between us in the past five years has been about two interviews I did with him.
The first n 2012 was when I wrote an article reflecting on the 20 years since he first arrived home on Born At The Right Time tour and some years later on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the Harare concerts when we had a chat over the phone to fill in the gaps for another piece I was putting together. In all the five articles I have written about Graceland thus far, Uncle John has been a valuable resource and lodestar in many respects. Surely some many favours deserve some reciprocity on my part.
19 July
It has been a week since Ray died. Finally around 2.30pm we pull out of the family home in Broadhurst but not before Uncle John informs me the house burned down some time ago and it cost him a fortune, literally an arm and a leg to restore it to habitable standard. For a man whose life has been music, I feel for him when he laments the thousands of records/both vinyl and cd lost in the inferno. Irreplaceable posterity and even heirlooms I think to myself. The saving grace is that the guitars were salvaged. Joining us on the trip is Ausi Lizzie, the spouse and off we go to bury Ray.
The last time I drove to Joburg was ages ago but it is a smooth drive, with a pit stop in Rustenburg for refreshments. Sonti Mndebele calls to find out where we are. We should hit the city of gold around 9pm and she promises to send directions to her home in Midrand. On cue we are hit by the bout of disease of doubt that afflicts drivers unfamiliar with foreign roads. Instead of following directions as given we branch off or off ramp as they say here in the middle of nowhere, only to find ourselves lost. We have also given up on the GPS cellphone navigation which appears to have thrown a tantrum and only speaks when its mood is right. Not for the first time I realise petrol attendants are very resourceful folk.
Despite, presumably owning no vehicles of their own, many a lost driver has been rescued by these individuals. Finally we find our way to Sonti’s residence, an apartment in a gated community in a swanky part of the city. Having presented ourselves safe and in one piece to her very relieved self, we make our way to the hotel just a few blocks down the road. We agree to pick her up 6am.
20 July
At crack of dawn, we are in Sonti’s driveway. Before we drive off, she quietly requests that we pray for a safe trip. I am little taken aback because I have not done this in my life. Normally I just get in the car and just drive. Done with prayer we get on the road. But things are not as straight forward. To negotiate our way out of Joburg, Sonti clarifies directions from two individuals who tell us to head to Pretoria and look for the Emalahleni off ramp . The fatal mistake which would set us back by over an hour is to skip the Polokwane off ramp as instructed. We find ourselves in Pretoria and like country bumpkins must reset our bearings after assistance from a Good Samaritan. We retrace our way back to Joburg, and connect to the right off ramp. The memorial service in Nelspruit is set for 11am and ahead of us is some three hours of driving.
Sonti Mndebele
I remember reading a piece on Lisa Fischer, the long serving backing singer for The Rolling Stones. She explains how she has come to terms with her role and revels in it. She compares herself to some of her counterparts in the trade who hankered for stardom, to occupy centre stage leading their bands. For many it just never worked out which is why she has found contentment in the shadows, seeing the world, having loads of fun and singing behind some of the best musicians ever. Upon meeting Sonti I wonder if she too shares the views of Lisa Fischer given that her entire career has been in the shadows as a backing singer and dancer.
This is my first meeting with Sonti. My abiding recollection of her is the joyous dancing behind Paul Simon at Rufaro Stadium in Harare 1987 during the The African Concert. Singing soprano she lined up with her partners in song, Nobambo Fazerkely and Nomsa Caluza. It has been over 30 years since that time and obviously she has changed a lot. But she still looks elegant and well groomed.
The three hours to Nelspruit reveals a well travelled and cosmopolitan lady whose life and career warrants a book on its own. Bubbly, loquacious and free spirited, she is the raconteur on this journey. With Sonti around there is no need to have the radio on. She is radio personified. What strikes me is her closeness to Uncle John whom she clearly adores and relates as a younger sister to an older sibling. As we burn up the kilometres the puzzle of this acquaintanceship unfolds layer by layer. As a matter of fact she comes across as a family member of sorts given the manner in which she engages with Ausi Lizzy.
They ask each other about different family members and also compare notes on musicians they have encountered over the years. Apparently Sonti met Uncle John back in 1984 when she came back from Europeto work on recordings with Hugh Masekela and Kalahari. The band was to later travel to London after the Boer attacks which killed refugees and locals alike, only missing Hugh Masekela by a whisker because he had moved out of the targeted house. But Sonti had been here before, arriving as part of the 1976 exodus, when students who had been at the forefront of the protests against Bantu education skipped the country to escape the regime onslaught. Life is a function of luck.
That is how instead of ending up permanently in Dukwe refugee camp Sonti was taken on by Henrietta Mogapi who became her benefactor. But she did spend some days there following a round up by the authorities and in her view she would have died had she not found a way out of the camp. The conditions were appalling and for someone who belonged to the urban black township class of South Africa who had no experience of rural life, Dukwe was too steep a mountain to contend with. It was a traumatic episode. Redemption came in the form of a letter inviting her to join Sounds of Soweto in Germany. In Botswana she was part of the band Dashiki made up of locals and exiles and Julian Bahula who engineered her passage to Germany had met her again during the MEDU Festival held in Gaborone 1979. In Europe Sonti explored every opportunity which saw her freelancing with many groups.
It was round about this time that she met Hugh Masekela in London after Ipi –Tombi the musical, of which she was an original member, completed its revival run in Ivory Coast and they returned to Gaborone for the Kalahari project. In the car, we are besides ourselves with laughter when she fondly narrates anecdotes about Miriam Makeba, her mentor with whom she sang for many years. It is through Miriam that she ended up with Graceland. When Paul Simon asked Mama Africa to join his touring group, she insisted on bringing along her three backing girls and the rest is history. Sonti reserves a very affectionate spot in her heart for Mama Africa with whom she shares part Swazi heritage. Her dad was a Swati from Ermelo and her mother from Mmadinare, which she says explains her Botswana dialect of the vernacular contrasted with the version spoken the other side of the border. So in a manner of speaking Graceland reunited the brother and sister John and Sonti.
John Selolwane
Music flows in the veins of John Selolwane and oozes out of his every pore. His father, known as John Blackie Selolwane was the first African to make a recording of popular music in the Bechuanaland Protectorate. Between his job as a clerk for Riley’s merchants he dabbled in music playing the accordion and saxophone instruments of choice. John Jnr, who lost his mother at an early age, was shipped off to his grandparents in Bulawayo for schooling. An attack of measles affected his eyesight and he had to go for prolonged treatment at Roodeport Eye Hospital in South Africa where he was to spend some three years.
During his time there he took up the pennywhistle which was a popular instrument of that era. Upon return to Bulawayo, and back at school he found interest in the guitar. As he reminisces on his formative years, Uncle John opines that the Rhodesians might have oppressed the black majority but they made sure in terms of education and life skills they gave them some choices for as long as it was not in areas reserved for whites.
A youth music group called The Blasters was formed around this time which became popular on the wedding and party circuit. They also played in hotels but had to be snuck in through the kitchen entrance due to the segregation policies of the time.
The final part of this article will be published next week