His brother, who was hoping for a better salary, was shot by police in Marikana in the worst massacre in South Africa since the end of apartheid: Ten years later, Nolufefe Noki is still awaiting an explanation.
Nicknamed “the man with the green blanket,” Mgcineni “Mambush” Noki, then 30, had become a figure in the protests of thousands of miners. He enthusiastically encouraged his fellow campaigners with a raised fist.
Until August 16, 2012. “We don’t know what happened,” says her sister, a slim 42-year-old woman with a hoarse voice, at her home in Mqanduli in the east of the country.
All she knows is that the police came and “many were killed”.
Thirty-four to be exact. And 78 wounded, in a chaos of dust and tear gas. A drama that has deeply shaped the young South African democracy.
Since then, a handful of police officers have appeared, but prosecutors say none have been convicted. Half of the claims for compensation submitted have been settled, Attorney General Fhedzisani Pandelani said on Wednesday, saying it was “regrettable” that these proceedings had taken so long.
An official inquiry has questioned the “police tactics” used that day and recommended that those responsible for the bloodshed near the platinum mine, more than an hour’s drive north-west of Johannesburg, be prosecuted a few years ago.
Abandoned Tomb
For the survivors and the families of the victims, the memory of the events is intact.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m still in so much trouble,” breathes Nolufefe Noki, boots on, in the small vegetable garden behind his traditional round house.
A majority of the miners hail from remote areas like this. The women stay in the country with their children, the men hire more than a thousand kilometers away.
Mambush sent the equivalent of 150 euros a month to his family. In 2012, he returned to the country in a coffin.
“I was told I couldn’t see the body, that it was too damaged,” her sister said, looking lost. His grave in the middle of the hills is covered with weeds. Nobody has the heart to care for it.
Mzoxolo Magidiwana, a striking miner, escaped the massacre with nine gunshot wounds and a pay rise. Today he lives in a workers’ home near the hill where the police shot.
“The government doesn’t care about us,” said the burly 34-year-old. “It’s been ten years now, our lives should have gotten better. On the contrary, everything got worse.”
– mourning impossible –
Even before the massacre, ten people had died in clashes on the fringes of the strike.
Aisha Fundi’s husband Hassan, a security guard, was killed by strikers. As part of the repairs, she was offered a job at the mine, which she feels is very inappropriate.
“Me and my children want justice,” says the 49-year-old mother of two, who at least wants to know who killed her husband.
His fear is that his assassins are still working in the mine. She may encounter them without knowing it.
Victims and families are stuck in their grief. “There was no justice,” says sociologist Trevor Ngwane, and the “Marikana” region remains traumatized.
We still face “an open grave,” political commentator Onkgopotse Tabane said this week during an event organized by AMCU, the country’s largest mining union.