The Piper System Blog

I had an interesting experience chatting to my uncle (what’s the English for your grandfathers brother? That’s the problem with being a second language English speaker) [That would be your Great Uncle - Ed]. I was telling him about some other African martial arts. I also told him about my stick fighting experience in Enyokeni kwaZulu Natal. We were talking about differences. I then asked him about teaching stick fighting to people of other races. I mentioned Jason and another interested Jewish friend of mine, coming down to have a chat with him and playing with other guys.

He told me of the two hardest matches he ever had, one against a Zulu called Ganda ka Jobe and against another boy from the Tsomo district called Mpethu (maggot). This was the 50’s when stick fighting was banned and one could go to jail for it. The migrant workers used it a form of rebellion against their living conditions. To use my grandfather’s words, “We played sticks to prove that we weren’t tools for the system. We played because we were men and to show them (government) that though we lost our lands our spirit was never defeated”.

My grand uncle is 80 years old and is a wealth of information especially if you can keep him focused. So, as usual he went on this rambling story about his experiences in the mine playing with Zulu, Ndebele and Shangaan stick fighters in the Germiston men’s hostel. He said he had grown over-confident because he could win or intimidate some fighters with his size. That was until Ganda came along to challenge him; he was about the same size as him and was taller. On the following Sunday morning and they played on the mine dumps. He said for the first time in his life his guard was penetrated and he was thrown to the ground. The harder he hit Ganda the harder he came back, his nose flaring and his eyes red. He said the fight ended with a draw as both of them gave up.

The second fight was with a young man from a farm in Tsomo, he was apparently a strong fighter who had been easily beating some other boys. Apparently the young man heard he was there and came riding a horse at the crack of dawn to challenge him. He was unsure about this so he delayed until was left with no choice. Eventually they sparred and he lost to Mpethu. His older brother (my granddad) was angry about this and invited the boy to play with him the next week. Mpethu was then mercilessly thrashed and ended up with a broken arm. His family reacted and made things difficult for granddad and he had to leave Tsomo for Natal.

I finally tracked this Mpethu. He now owns a farm outside Grahamstown and spoke to me about the fight. He has such a wealth of information on technique and tradition, and tells some amazing stories of the stick fighters he knew in Tsomo, including my grandfather. The way he paints him, he had the same glint in his eyes that I have when speaking of Muhammad Ali, Yukio Tani or Helio Gracie. He did not even mind his arm getting broken and dismissed it as part of the game. His parents did not see it that way though; my grandfather had lifted his hand against a white farmer’s son and beat him. That was unheard of in 1940’s South Africa.

So I am looking at a stick fighting legend who is a white guy. That is why my door is open and I will welcome everyone of whatever race to learn stick fighting. You see, to me it is about two men facing each other in the quest for truth. If then it is for truth that I am searching, it should transcend all boundaries created by culture, language and race.

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