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The apprenticeship years - Athol Fugard Issue
Twentieth Century Literature, Winter, 1993 by Sheila Fugard
We had further meetings and discussions, and other roles were cast. Ken Gampu, a tall, bearded unemployed man from Durban, was given the role of Tobias. Ken, with a fine speaking voice, later became well known in South African films. No-Good Friday gave him his first chance as an actor. Zakes Mokae, who had just turned twenty, and hardly ever spoke, was Athol's choice for the role of "first thug." Athol sensed the acting potential of this young man, who had been a protege of Father Trevor Huddleston, an English cleric who was a political activist in Sophiatown. Zakes had been a member of Father Huddleston's jazz group. He was withdrawn, yet behind his shy grin he was able to project an undertone of menace. No-Good Friday was the beginning of Zakes's career, which was to continue in Athol's later plays in the United States, as well as in movies. Preddie Ramphele, a man about town, in a smart suit, jazzy tie, and patent-leather shoes, was given a small role. He brought his girl friend, Gladys Sibisi, to a reading. We immediately pounced, and took over her life.
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I think there was desperation in our possession of Gladys. She was simply impounded into the cast. We thrust a script into her hands and coaxed words out of her. Of all the actors, Gladys proved to be the toughest problem. Dealing with her required enormous patience. She stayed in a woman's hostel close to one of the mine dumps that ringed Johannesburg, and had to be fetched at five-thirty in the afternoon, for she could not manage to get to rehearsals on her own. We could not take the chance of losing Gladys, so we agreed to pick her up. Men were not allowed in the hostel. While Athol waited in our limping Jeep station wagon, I dutifully went in and knocked on Gladys's door. She would let me into her room, and I would allow myself half an hour to get her out. I would sit on the bed, and wait. Gladys, at a dressing table, would put on her make-up . . . very slowly. There was little conversation between us other than my desperate "Please, Gladys, please hurry. We will be late for rehearsal." Gladys would mumble a reply, but stay firmly at her dressing table. Then she would try on various items of clothing and preen in front of the mirror. I dutifully waited, tapped my foot, made desultory noises, and again pleaded with her to hurry. No matter how hard I tried, from the moment of my arrival it always took Gladys half an hour to get ready.
Finally, we were outside the hostel. I pushed Gladys into the station wagon while Athol, who looked fired and desperate, heaved a sigh of relief. We drove back to the motortown area where we rehearsed. On our arrival, I had to get Gladys something to eat. I would go into a nearby Greek shop and buy either a meat pie or a hamburger, which I would then thrust into her waiting hands. I think for Gladys I must have been appalling to deal with. She probably saw me as a bossy and manipulative young white woman. Yet we could not let Gladys escape. We desperately needed her for the show. So this absurd routine of the hostel visit and the hamburger was a dreaded but necessary chore for Athol, and particularly for me.
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