It was on the first day, the opening of the 2010 Fifa World Cup when I heard a voice behind me say “sorry, I need your help”.
I turned around and saw a short, old man with cameras and lenses strapped to his body. They looked heavy on him. He was wearing a balaclava, rolled township-style into a hat.
This man pleaded, with a full smile, that I help get him into the stadium. I was a media volunteer and on that day was issuing what they call “SAD” passes to the media, and this man needed that pass. His name was not on the list.
I realised it was Bra Alf Kumalo. Like many of the other photographers he had at least three cameras and lenses with him but held in his hand, as he always did, an old film camera. I’ve wondered why he was still using it in this digital age but never asked him.
With vuvuzelas blurring outside and the media making its way into the stadium Bra Alf looked restless, he was itching for action. He needed this. He needed one last great moment to document. He couldn’t afford to miss the first football extravaganza in Africa.
This is one of our greatest lens men, I thought, he’s always been there to capture the moment. I had read about how he had forced his way through hostile Africa, even arrested briefly, to ensure he got to the “Rumble in the Jungle” fight between George Foreman and Muhammad Ali. I couldn’t refuse him what might be his last, our last, big sporting spectacle in Africa – a stone’s throw away from his house in Soweto.
I gave him a pass and promised to give him day passes to other games. He was grateful, a humble man. He smiled and said “thank you”.
I got another thank you from him the next time he came around – he took a photo of me. He gave me his business card and told me to collect my photo from his office. I promised to but never got a chance.
Bra Alf told me about the launch of his new book 8115: Prisoner’s Home. He had launched Through My Lens a year earlier. Things were looking good for him.
I asked him to greet Jabu, his son, also a photographer, at the Sunday Sun and Daily Sun. He was surprised that I knew Jabu. I told him I had worked with his son and how good he was with the camera. This was Bra Alf’s chance to brag. He didn’t.
I had picked up the same from Jabu during the years we’d worked together – he never really talked about his father or bragged. Actually many of us didn’t know he was Bra Alf’s son. Even when Alf received accolades internationally and locally, including the Order of Ikhamanga in 2004 or was invited to lunch with Nelson Mandela, Jabu never made much of it.
Those who worked and lived with Bra Alf say he was a historian, teacher and someone who liked sharing. It’s not surprising that he shared his house in Soweto with young up-and-coming photographers.
His humility took him far and close to people, he used photography to make friends the world over.
I had personally never worked with him, I wasn’t even an idea in my mum’s head when he took his first photo but I’m glad, like many, that I was touched and inspired by this extraordinary individual.
RIP Mntungwa!
If Bra Alf accomplished anything in this world, it was to make a resounding statement that apartheid and white racism – with all its repressive and brutal laws – could not stop any man who knew not only who he was but what he wanted to do with his life. It is am amazing feat that he went on to become of the continent’s and world iconic photographers. His life was a testament to a man who knew where he was going.
The tragedy is that when he was alive, he struggled to get funds to get his photography school and museum going. Now that he is dead, we wish to lionize him. But he ran the race very well despite what happened to him.
He came from the old school and was accommodating and tolerant as depicted in the Bang Bang Club. May his soul rest in peace.
Two of my closest friends (Bras of mine actually) in the 80′s and early 90′s were press photographers Ken Oosterbroek and Kevin Carter – both off them passed away in 1994 after years of putting themselves in the front line alongside Alf while exposing apartheid for the brutal system it was – and I can recall the absolute respect that Bra Alf commanded in these two young white men, and other young photographers, and how they would be looking out for tips and tricks from the ‘old’ master.
RIP Bra Alf – I wonder if you had any idea just how many lives you touched….
@ Isaac
What a wonderful tribute to a man so well-deserving of it! Beautifully written.
Nice tribute. If you put aside the typical ANC rhetoric espoused by Sandile you must see that Alf was (nearly wrote is; sadly) a great inspiration and example that skin colour means nothing as regards ability, humanity, determination and achievement. Fantastic.
It is wonderful to be in range of people like Alf’s life experiences. Boy oh boy that must have been an adventure as witnessed by his photography. It’s a pity that it could just be downloaded and saved. Why do we not respect and carry people like him shoulder high during their lifetimes?
What I do mean it’s a pity that his memory could not just be downloaded and saved. Sorry.
I had the pleasure of meeting Ntate Bra Alf Kumalo at Waterkloof airforce base- when America’s first lady Michelle Obama was visiting South Africa. We waited for hours at the airport for her plane to arrive. I remember that it was freezing on that evening so all journalists/ photographers were seating inside. Jo’bugers were not mixing with Pretorians. Bored with waiting, i then approached Ntate Alf. I was a attracted to him by the many cameras he had and wanted know where he worked and who he was. He told me his name and gave me his business card. i told him that i know Jabu Kumalo and he is working at our Jo’burg office. i asked whether he knew him- then he said to me that he was Jabu’s father. Like Isaac explained, Bra Alf was a very humble man. We had ample time on our side and he also told about his gallery in Soweto. When i learned of his passing i was sad that our country has lost a great man. I was also happy that i got a chance to meet someone so great and humble like him. Thanks for sharing this Isaac. It is a nice read.
What a wonderful sharing
I remember a picture of a young woman cooking which touched my heart. Such a simple, everyday task but he captured its soul.
Such a great talent and, like van Gough, to only be really treasured later in time