Malome Motosi Lehlohonolo Raymond Makhaya (on the right) had the most infectious spirit. Everyone, especially his nieces and nephews, always lit up when he was around. He was constantly exhibiting his incredible smile too, heightened by the signature gap in his teeth.
I remember him through his love for music, especially reggae, his family and friends and particularly his close relationship with his eldest sibling, my mother. He displayed the utmost respect for her, but they were also best friends, blasting "Wailers" records on Sunday afternoons, reminiscing on their youth in the Lesotho mountains.
Most poignant however, was his fight for freedom in apartheid South Africa, a cause which brought heavy strains to the family with the constant arrests and physical brutality the apartheid police bestowed upon my grandmother whilst looking for him.
For all his passionate and taxing work against apartheid, I never saw a glint of hatred in his eyes (instead, one of the few times I saw him in a negative mood was on the 11th of September, 1987, the day Peter Tosh was assassinated.)
At every turn, he continually promised his elder sister that the day will come when the majority will rightfully rule, a day that did come, but without his physical presence around us.
The last time I saw him was 29th December 1989. In the middle of the street I begged him to bring me along to an anti-apartheid rally where De Klerk would be speaking. This time, surprisingly, he adamantly refused, and it was the last anyone of us would see him. Although having been arrested before, he always came back. We always found him. To this day, after many searches, no one knows what happened to him.
That day, the day before his birthday, will never be erased from my memory. More so, I'll never forget his face every time he laughed. Malome was a family man, a friend, musician, mechanic, gentleman, tennis player, best dancer, politician, activist, guerilla freedom fighter, Letebele. I know he's still alive and still every one of these.
We miss him terribly.
Shombela Mdege.
*I took this photograph when I was 4 years old, urged on by Malome and his best friend.
** Dedicated to the brave people at home who lost their lives on this day in 1960, in Sharpville. We will get there.
