Known on the field play as LTD, a devout liberation seeker off the field, Nkosi Molala’s life on earth totalled 64 years.
LTD stood for “Let Them Dance”. This was a nom de guerre Nkosi Molala got for his bewitching football wizardry. In the spell of his juggling presence, the soccer ball delighted under his happy feet to thrill fans, ripping applause on grandstands, met with obliging standing ovations for scored or enabled goal scored, for the referee to order it as so. This was while doing sporting duty for Pretoria-based Bantu Callies, later known as Pretoria Callies in blue and white outfit.
Molala was a star among notable stars such as Lucas “Masterpieces” Moripe, Patrick “Frelimo” Dibetla, George “Mastermind” Kgobe, and Jan “Malombo” Lechaba, all of whom were instrumental in Molala joining Callies.
Bantu Callies as a name would not have survived long for the club for its derogatory implications with Molala on the team, albeit a short-lived tenure.
Political influences could not be missed. Nicknamed “Frelimo”, Dibetla was an inseparable and most reliable player to Molala. It did not surprise when Molala was picked to represent the country in the SA Black X1 in 1974.
Portuguese colonial rule had just collapsed in Mozambique with the takeover of Frelimo in 1974.
The viva Frelimo rallies staged by SASO/BPC put the Black Consciousness Movement on a collision course with the anti-liberation minority government of South Africa.
The SASO/BPC Treason Trial, also known as the Black Consciousness Trial, following the banned Frelimo Rallies, from 31 January 1975 to 21 December 1976, was in the country’s administrative capital, Molala’s hometown in Pretoria to miss. Black Consciousness was in the air, alive and kicking, awakening to be touched by.
Joining the team in 1972, Molala was in conflict with the oppressive system four years later, which saw him detained in 1976, aged 25.
He could have been a priest of the Catholic Church if wishes had swayed in the pulpit direction.
Conscious and comfortable in a castle of his black skin, for his liberation desiring being to proudly dwell in, politics was inevitable.
Since God does not like the ugly, the gospel of doing something higher to believe in, for the good of humanity, in his eyes, black people were not designated to be lesser beings in the Supreme Being’s creation. That gospel placed Molala in the pulpit of liberation.
He was arrested for his political activities. He was charged with sabotage and served six years, bringing his professional soccer career to a premature end after being sent to Robben Island and was released in 1983.
The Azanian People’s Organisation (AZAPO) was Molala’s next political stop to join in 1983. He was elected AZAPO deputy president in 1985 in the most trying times that the BC Movement was under attack within and outside the liberation movement, with the obvious white hidden guiding hand of apartheid death squads pepping up hostilities to militate against black solidarity amongst liberation forces.
Losing an eye after being shot with a teargas canister, Molala remained unfazed to serve as AZAPO President from deputy president from 1986 to 1990, which saw the ANC and PAC unbanned on February 2, 1990.
Reputed as the upright in the land of the rotten, LTD is remembered as an adorable star that shone bright with bewildering skill on the soccer pitch.
Days when soccer was a joy to watch.
As usual, colonial orientation to football, which could not cope with the wizardry of bewitching black skill on the field, came with what was called the acquisition of technical capability through coaching.
We had, just in 1996, on being accepted by FIFA, by the way, won the Africa Cup of Nations without overseas acquired technical skills. We played our soccer. We played OUR GAME.
As soon as we played their soccer, so did our misfortune begin, loss after loss. The soccer calendar got adjusted to suit that of Europe to solve the conflict between SA-based overseas club players’ duty versus country duty. See how changes to status quo settings are engineered? And it was persuasive; these are opportunities for our talent to hit the world stage exposure. We never asked where the world begins and ends. The world certainly does not begin with us. It begins with them. They are the world. They are the standard and holders of the standards.
We are not the world. Even their political leaders are world or global leaders. What are our leaders? They are NOT until by validation and by likes and dislikes of the logic of foreign capitals. The superiority psychology of it is subliminal to notice. If they could muster this about us politically, repeating the same on the sports field was a sheer walk in the park. And our subordination was signed, sealed and delivered with our cooperation.
The resurrection of our style of play at club level has become a lesson at the national football level as a winning formula to go back to. Sundowns set the return to source trend. So is Orlando Pirates going back to the source too. Kaiser Chiefs is waking up to being: it is OK to be ourselves.
These being of ourselves is what LTD was to make our soccer a joy to watch.
Nothing immiserates us than not being ourselves in victory or in defeat. Nothing takes away from us our essence, in victory or defeat, when we stay who we genuinely are, than the plasticity we are encouraged not to be ourselves. Ubuntu Bethu, which Mbulelo Mzamane called The Usness of Us. We have what the world does not have.
And we think we are better off being the copycats of others, undermining our talent and power in politics and on the sports field.
On and off the field as well as in politics, we do not play our game; we play their game. We obey their rules and follow their styles of play.
We are yet to institute our rules to be affirmative to the entertaining style of play where winning was not everything, losing was not the end of the world, and laughter was galore to bring joy inside the tears of fans’ tears.
All this cemented a bewitching artistic flair on the field that is yet to be approximated in former colonial countries to be matched pound for pound.
We no longer dance to our music, we dance to their tune. No wonder they call the shots all the way, on and off the field.
Not in LTD’s days. Born September 5, 1951, Molala died a day before his birthday, September 4, 2016.
