The Class of 1976
Growing up in Stellenbosch
Donavan Wanza grew up in Stellenbosch, a town known for its natural beauty, mountains, and vineyards, but also a place marked by deep histories of exclusion and dispossession. For many who visit, Stellenbosch presents itself as peaceful and picturesque. For others, it carries memories of loss, removal, and struggle. Donavan’s life unfolded within this tension. His story is not widely known, yet it forms part of the lived history of the town and the people who experienced apartheid not as an idea, but as a daily reality.
He was part of a family of six. His parents were Aubrey and Maria Wanza, the latter widely known in the community as “Moeder”. He had three sisters, Bonita, June and Seugnet, and two brothers, Benjamin and Herchelle. The family was closely connected, and their home was a place where community life often extended beyond the immediate household. His mother played a significant role in this. She was active in the Labour Party and was known for her strong presence in the community. People turned to her for support, advice, and assistance. The name “Moeder” reflected not only her role within her own family but also her position within the broader community. She was known to be firm, direct, and unwilling to tolerate injustice.
1976 and the turning point
The events of 1976 marked a turning point in the lives of many young people across South Africa, including in Stellenbosch. The uprising in Soweto, which began in response to the imposition of Afrikaans as a medium of instruction, resonated across the country. In Stellenbosch, the moment took on its own form. For Donavan and others, the struggle was not primarily about language. It was about justice and freedom more broadly. The conditions under which people lived, the restrictions they faced, and the inequalities they experienced shaped their response.
Donavan emerged during this period as a student leader at Luckhoff School in Ida’s Valley. He played a central role in initiating what became one of the first student uprisings in Stellenbosch. On the day of the protest, students broke the school gate and moved out into the streets. Donavan led them towards Die Vlakte, an area from which people had been forcibly removed under the Group Areas Act. The intention to move towards that space carried symbolic weight. It was not only a physical movement, but also a confrontation with the history of removal and loss.
As the group moved, word spread ahead of them. At the old Luckhoff School building and the nearby Rhenish Primary School, children were alerted that the students were coming. Many ran out of the school in panic before the group arrived. The unfolding of events was not entirely planned. The idea of storming the old school building emerged in the moment. It was an action shaped by both spontaneity and a deep sense of what that space represented. The building itself stood as a reminder of displacement, of a community that had been uprooted and relocated.
The police eventually intervened before the students could reach their destination. They were stopped near what is now the entrance to the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research. The students were forced to turn back. As they returned, they sang freedom songs, their voices carrying through the streets of Ida’s Valley. For those who witnessed it, the memory remained. It marked a moment when young people in Stellenbosch publicly expressed their refusal to accept the conditions under which they lived.
Working in the shadows
After the uprising, Donavan became a target for the security police. His involvement had placed him in direct opposition to the state, and the risks he faced increased significantly. In response, he began to operate more quietly. Meetings were held discreetly, and movement had to be carefully managed. This was not only for his own safety, but also for the protection of his family. The presence of the police in the area was constant, and any visible activity could lead to arrest, detention, or worse.
He went into hiding for a period and stayed at the home of Father Ted Goodyear, the local Anglican priest. The rectory provided a space where he could remain out of sight. It was not a place where the police would easily look for him. During this time, he had little to no contact with others. The isolation was part of what was required to remain hidden. While he was in hiding, the police continued to visit his family home, searching for information about his whereabouts.
These visits were accompanied by threats. On one occasion, a policeman known as Inspector Odendaal, referred to in the community as “Toutjies hare”, threatened his sister Bonita, saying that he would kill her if she did not reveal where Donavan was. The pressure placed on the family was intense. The house was searched repeatedly, with the police looking for any evidence of his involvement in the struggle.
During one of these searches, a notebook in which Donavan had recorded his thoughts and activities was left in plain view on a table in his room. It contained information that could have been used against him. Despite searching the house thoroughly, the police did not notice it. The family later reflected on this moment as something that could easily have led to his immediate arrest. Instead, it passed unnoticed.
After several weeks, Donavan’s father convinced him to hand himself over to the police. The decision was not taken lightly. Once in custody, he was detained and subjected to torture and assault. He remained in prison for about a month. During this time, he was scheduled to appear in court on two occasions, but he was not brought before the magistrate. The injuries he had sustained were visible, and his appearance in court would have exposed what had been done to him. When he was eventually released, the effects of the detention were clear. He was physically weakened and carried the trauma of what he had experienced.
After detention
Despite what he had gone through, Donavan completed his matric that same year at Luckhoff School. This was a significant achievement, given the circumstances. The year had been marked by upheaval, detention, and violence, yet he managed to complete his schooling. After matric, he found employment at Safmarine, where he worked for a period before moving on to work at Stellenbosch Farmers’ Winery.
Outwardly, it appeared that he had stepped back from active involvement in the struggle. However, those close to him understood that this did not mean a complete withdrawal. People who had been shaped by the experiences he had gone through did not simply detach from the broader struggle. Even if his role was less visible, the orientation remained.
His final days
In September 1980, Donavan suddenly fell ill on a Sunday afternoon. His condition deteriorated quickly, and he was taken to hospital. As his health worsened, he was transferred to Somerset Hospital and later to Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town. Within a short period, his condition became critical. He lost his eyesight and most of his hearing in the space of about two weeks. The speed with which his health declined raised questions for the family.
In the final moments before his death, he made a gesture that remained with those present. He raised his hand, with his index finger and little finger extended, and indicated to his sister Bonita that between those two fingers, much had happened. The meaning of this gesture was not explained in words, but it was understood within the context of what he had lived through. It pointed to experiences that could not easily be spoken about.
Shortly after making this gesture, he began to sing the hymn “Amazing Grace”. Those present listened as he sang. It was a moment that brought together faith, memory, and the reality of what was happening. Soon after singing, he passed away. The memory of that moment remained with the family. It became one of the ways in which they held onto him.
Questions that remain
The circumstances surrounding his death were never fully explained. The official documentation did not provide a clear cause. The family believed that his sudden illness and rapid decline were not natural. They suspected that he may have been poisoned by the security police. This belief was shaped by the broader context in which he had lived and the treatment he had received while in detention. However, no definitive answers were given.
The uncertainty surrounding his death became part of the family’s experience. It left questions that were never resolved and contributed to a sense that the full truth had not been told. The absence of clear answers did not diminish the impact of his life, but it added another layer to how his story was remembered.
Moeder
Four months after Donavan’s death, his mother passed away. She was forty-four years old. Those close to the family described her death as being linked to the grief and stress she carried after losing her son. The bond between Donavan and his mother had been strong. He confided in her, and she was closely aware of what he was involved in. Her role in the community and within the family had been central. Her loss, coming so soon after his, compounded the impact on the family.
Remembering Donavan
When Donavan is remembered, it is not only for what he did, but also for how he lived. He was known as someone who did not place himself at the centre of things. His involvement in the struggle was not about recognition. It was about a sense of responsibility and commitment to something larger than himself.
His story forms part of the history of Stellenbosch, even if it has not always been widely told. It exists in the memories of those who knew him, in the accounts passed down within the family, and in the spaces where these events unfolded. Like many others, his life was shaped by a time in which the cost of opposing apartheid was often very high.
Donavan Wanza was twenty-one years old