In 21st century South Africa, Apartheid plays many roles. In some spaces, it is a deep wound that continues to speak into the everyday lived reality of its people, in others it lingers like a spectre in public institutions, road names and colonial artefacts. In the realm of film, it is equally contentious. Apartheid in historical films acts as an important archive, but critics have oft argued that this broad, complex period had begun to be reduced to a single genre - where black South African pain and white offence was on display for the world over and over.

Phumi Morare is doing something different. In her short film, Lakutshon’ Ilanga, she traces the line between history and heritage, between the macro political and the hyper-personal. Shrugging off genre concerns, she has made an earnest, raw and honestly harrowing film which reminds its local audience that the violence of Apartheid is but a generation away, and its international audience that we have not simply moved on. The film, which takes its name from the famous, haunting tune by Miriam Makeba (most recently reimagined by contemporary jazz artist Nduduzo Makhatini), is an ode to the day-to-day experiences that stitched together the lives of our parents and grandparents, and allows their stories to have new life on screen.

“I wanted to be able to tell a story about our history, that was also a personal history. First that meant locating the moment of what it meant to be a black South African woman in the 1980s, with the understanding that there were multiple pressures,” explains Morare. “I do agree that there was a point where we were making a lot of Apartheid films, but my approach was to focus on the small, the ordinary. As much as Apartheid ripped our country apart, I don’t think we get into the extent to which it ripped our families apart too.”

The central character of the film is a young black nurse called Lerato, who is responsible for her siblings and their wellbeing - a story known well in South Africa even today, where child headed households are the norm, and over 60 percent of children are registered for birth certificates without the inclusion of a father. Lerato is black, poor and a woman - a triple oppression evident in modern times, but significantly exacerbated by the constrained and erased lives of these groups under Apartheid law.

The story is also set at the height of South Africa’s State of Emergency and the serious escalation of violent struggle by the ANC’s armed wing, Mkhonto we Sizwe. It’s a fraught moment to speak into and Morare’s success in this film is not trying to be all things to all people in this historical moment. Instead, she zeroes in on the minute details that made up the horrors of the dying years of Apartheid. Lerato is under strain and abused in her work in the hospital, and must shield her younger siblings from what Fanon called “the omnipresent death” which black bodies are so accustomed to. Indeed, her brother turns to politics and is caught by the police, who are significantly more brutal than any South African history textbook will ever admit. For Morare, this is a reflective story for many families, including her own.

“The incident was actually something which happened to my mom and my uncle, and even though it was so horrifying to me, she was quite nonchalant as she told me,” she says. “I mean today we are aware of the violence in South Africa but to hear that that brutality was so ordinary and normal, it really affected me… The interesting thing is that when my family did see the film it allowed them to talk and process and heal some wounds. That’s why focusing in on one family and experience still has the potential to speak to lots of people.”

Lakutshon’ Ilanga requires the South African audience to confront many demons. As the so-called “gender-based violence capital of the world”, the country is currently contending with a systemic abuse of women - emotional, physical and particularly sexual. While many analysts peg this to issues of patriarchy, the film tackles a historical disregard for women and the control over their bodies. In one scene we are confronted with the casual way in which men engage with Lerato’s body, and the historical and indeed social reasons why she cannot retaliate.

“You know it’s so weird, so many people say, ‘Why doesn’t she say something? Why doesn’t she fight back?’, forgetting that the context is so different. She can’t speak because she’s black, she’s a woman and she faces violence. This is also the 1980s, even if we weren’t talking about Apartheid, workplace harassment was normal then. Those are the layers, it’s not just about South Africa and that time period, it speaks into so many different moments,” explains Morare.

Writing in the Daily Maverick, writer Sarah Hoek describes Lakusthon’ilanga as “a tribute to Africa, mothers and everyday heroes” and this rings true. In his now seminal 1989 book, The Rediscovery of the Ordinary, writer and scholar Prof Njabulo Ndebele agues that the stories of South Africa should move beyond the tropes of oppressor or oppressed, anti-Apartheid hero or black victim. In it, he argues for a politics of the ordinary, where we begin to go deep into the inner worlds and everyday encounters of living while black, while woman, while poor, and draw our universal lessons from this understanding. Morare achieves just this - reaching into a complicated family archive to record, to recognise and redistribute the lessons of our painful past. It is an ode to family, to resilience and to the glory of the fight behind us, and motivation for the ones ahead.

Lakutshon’ Ilanga was screened at part of the Los Angeles Pan African Film and Arts Festival 2021.

Words by Binwe Adebayo

Published on 07/03/2021