What drew me to insist on watching Rise ‘76 as soon as possible, was that it’s a Tiisetso Mashifane wa Noni production starring one of my new favourite performers, Alex Sono. Divine and I were also due for a date, just the two of us. 

 

I walked into the Mannie Manim Theatre at The Market Theatre, Saturday afternoon, immediately taken back in time by Sankomota’s Vukani.  “Whoever is doing this was technical about the emotion of the play,” I wrote in the Notes App. The sound is so Black, ancient, something you can’t quite describe using words alone. The prologue music immersed me into this world from the very first note. 

 

I hesitated finding a perfect seat for us as she would join me later. And settled on the third row, right, in the middle of the bench. I sat next to an Indian woman who was joined by a friend or sibling to my right side. Then a Black couple on my left. I had hoped no one would fill that space but it felt even warmer that this show was so well-attended. 

 

TIME AND PLACE

The stage set is a simple wooden frame with three open 3D deep blocks, a door on either side of the middle block. And later I learned, there are other doors exactly on either side of that middle block too. 

We are taken back in time through a projector that marks the dates - year, month, day and time. That layer, specifically the font used, tied the story beautifully. For me, it’s that it somehow felt like literature played a critical role in the telling of this story, as well. The projector also added a cinematic touch therefore creating a layered theatre experience. Today, I feel a story feels fuller with all the mediums put together. The visual, the audio, the text. And when you do use the one, it’s only inclusive to have at least one more medium. And Rise ‘76 delivered that.

 

THE PLAYERS, THEIR GAME(S)

Kedibone Moloi played by Zilungile Mbombo kicked the play off with an accent I struggled to receive. I eventually got used to it as it translated across the entire cast. Time. Accents also depict time.  

Learning this specific story about Bafana Buthelezi, played by Alex Sono, and Kedibone educated me extensively on the inception of the June 16 ‘76 Soweto Uprising protests. 

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Like many South Africans, my understanding of June 16 had been shaped by Sam Nzima's iconic photograph. But there's more. Real lives affected, real families and an entire generation(s). 

Black students were rejecting Afrikaans as the primary learning language and it led to one of the most tragic days in the history of South Africa. I’m reminded that there is so much we may take for granted. Or rather, it’s easy for us to take small privileges for granted because we do not know. 

 

Bafana Buthelezi resorted to ‘radical poetry’ to get his point across regarding this unfairness in the education system. That moved me.  Because again, literature and art continue to be the keys that will free us, that will speak for us, that will bring about change. Expression as a whole. 

 

The school principal Alfie Ndlovu, played by Botlhale Mahlangu, is introduced and his portrayal of masculinity intrigues me. I’m curious about his reference. I think if I can check that man, I might get some understanding of what is ‘wrong’ about the men in our country. Or men generally, depending on again, who and where his reference is from. He really executes this so well. The kind of man who thinks they are doing good and great in the world but there are pockets of passive oppression and violence and misogyny. 

 

When there are finally four people on stage, all Black -  Alfie, Bafana, Kedibone and Melody, our society back then in 1976 still reflected what I see today in 2026. They proposed ‘radical poetry’, and his dismissive reaction was expected. We can even acknowledge the unhealthy ways men can or will move in the world, but just not do anything about it. Predictable and excused. Like Jonasi from The Polygamist. 

 

Melody Moloto. 

When Melody Moloto, the teacher, played by Mfuneli Ntumbuka, is introduced, my first thought is, “Fit eating!”. I’m immediately drawn to her style. Her hair. Her jewellery. And this stays with me throughout the play as she switches between different women roles, including being Bafana Buthelezi’s mother. I enjoyed the detail in her style because it reflected how cool Black women were and still are. That class. I love that they expressed themselves through clothing. As she morphed into the different women characters, you learn that women are the most mimicable characters. We've seen it across all media, especially with the rise of skits on social media. Always beautiful, stylish, resourceful. 

 

Here’s one other thing that stood out to me. She was paid R150 per month. Details like that really tickled me because today, we are so hostile and don’t talk about how much we earn. But it is so important for us, for the next generation. To be able to know how the world viewed and valued us where money is concerned and how we should aim, fight and ask for more in the future. Where the investment should be made. 

 

Ben Albertyne plays Constable Nicholas Villiers and he is hilarious. Literally, he does not have to say a word. And his portrayal of the character is just, spot on. The slow waltz, semi bowing of his head, hands at the back. The slow chewing of gum. The way he fixes his button when assaulting Bafana. He is so choreographed. I love the accent. It is deep Afrikaans. And it’s men like this that move as if they have a higher purpose than everyone else. White men who give their violence and brutality purpose, are weak. Do you know what the first thing I thought was when trying to understand the character, “What is his trauma?” And how does he deal with it?  

 

The Lieutenant-Colonel played by Deon Lotz enters the stage chin up, tea in cup. He’s another one with an exotic accent. Very interesting accent. Mix of British English and Italian. He’s also quite dramatic in his portrayal of elegance and power. I guess that’s how most people in power, the police specifically, have this rehearsed dance they do with the body. Elegant. Soft but really we know it’s passive aggressive. It’s hostile. Forced not earned. 

The police uniform sits well on the white officers. Tailored, perfect. But it looks so comical, too big on the black officer. It is obviously symbolic, and a lovely way to just indicate the lack of care they had in making something that makes sense for him.

 

The song the ensemble sings together for the very first time is a Gwijo. 

Oh man, a Gwijo is the sound of freedom. 

 

Ben Albertyne and Sbuja Dywili play across many roles. And they are each distinct. But each White and Black. Very interesting, that. Dywili plays a comic Sergeant Joseph Tladi.  

 

Bafana’s mother hides certain books from the officers. Again, literature stands out. It is the first way we have to resist that can and will last. Because even back then, Black people wrote about life, oppression and freedom.  So much that they had to hide the books. So we will write. They hid Chinua Achebe. Wole Soyinka. And now, who is the equivalent of our time in 2026? Koleka Putuma, one. Lebo Mashile. Who else? Modise Sekgothe. Books. We need the books. Jefferson Tshabalala. Protect them. 

 

The officers were placed above the theatre, pacing up and down as the tragedy that was the shootings took place on the ground. It was just like surveillance. The guys in real power watching a violence they orchestrated take place. Similar to the present. It’s happening online. March on March. The real players are up there, surveilling.  Why did he not do it, the superintendent? Why did he just watch?  He makes the young police guy take the shot. And I wonder how many officers are brainwashed to this extent. 

 

THE SHOT

The gunshot sound took everyone in the audience by storm. You can only imagine a real one. That actually killed people, that took a life. The characters were left scared. Trauma. Stuck. The sound of the gun. It reminded me of the RU protests. A life ends for resistance. Education. And you know what hits harder, these are real life events that actually happened.

After the massacre, a lot of things broke me. I’ll write them in list form: 

• When the aunt/mother asks that the child’s body is taken before the police take it. 

• When people could not locate their loved ones 

• When they came looking for a little child among the dead bodies and it was stuck under another’s. 

• These were lives taken by insecure white police officers, acting in service of a system rather than out of any purpose or conviction of their own.

• That people in power, in government, had done this injustice under a dirty ‘law’. 

 

The mother wailed like a dog. That sound. It was painful. She was hurting. Like an animal. Breathing heavily. Loudly, after those gunshots. Crying from the inside. 

 

They said that 176 students died. But that child was number 2498.  That’s what he used to identify the child. Can you imagine? 

 

My friend was crying in the theatre. A small little dress;  4-year old’s. Shot on the chest. Her nose smashed because she was running away. The mom was coloured. That detail educated and moved me. Coloured people are as traumatised, they are even more displaced in this story. Because it’s always Black and white. But they were also oppressed. They were also hurt. They are also traumatised. 

Open caskets I’d say, as raw as they are, were a way for families to show communities firsthand, the injustice that their people suffered at the hands of the government. They were sites of resistance.Children need to know how their parents and forefathers were treated. It’s information, it’s important data. 

 

This play revealed so much to me. Like that there were pathologists that chose to lie. And that  pathologists are an important part of the human race’s story. In all ways. They have power. 

 

How were the funerals generally? I’m crying at the funeral planning and proceedings part of the play. Because my gran’s funeral is the last connection I make to her. It was beautiful. Yeah it’s important. I gotta immortalise it.

No dry eyes in the theatre. Sniffs. 

 

A bullet. That’s how it starts. How it started. 

Rise ‘76 is a real reflection of the June 16 Soweto Uprising that touches on stories like the sisters’, the teachers, the police officers, the nurses, the mothers and the witnesses, every normal person.  I think that we sometimes forget that it was a blatant act of use of power on normal Black children. Children. That is not something you want to forget. You make sure to commemorate that. 

Because, Black people have their own thoughts. We have ideas. We were aggressed for speaking up for ourselves on something absolutely valid. Lol. 

 

Tiiseto’s directorial choices hit at every part of the work. The culture, the subculture, the unspoken passive aggressive violence, the Black family and home. And what that trauma does and has done. For me especially in the wardrobe. And in the things that I guess, make us Black or White. And you see that it is all learned. All passed down. 

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I think for the entire play, my biggest question is, “What are the references”?

Because it becomes important that we archive.

Document.

So that we are accurately represented in the future.

And this.

Without Sam Nzima's photograph, how else would we have known? 

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As I left the theatre, one of the ushers asked,

 “Would you watch it again?”

“Not anytime soon”, I conclude.