Reggie Nolutshungu (left), Dutch Piyo (middle), and Sonwabo (right).
He died on the road | He died on the road | He never had enough money | To pay his room or board | And he was a friend of mine
Reggie Nolutshungu might have possessed little in the way of 'stuff', but his pedigree and personality were the glue that held all of us together. With Nyamazile 'Dutch' Piyo (the community historian with as gentle a soul as Reggie's), you had a pair of friends and teachers few could envisage entering their lives.
To sit around the table in Reggie's kitchen was to be in the presence of masters. His wisdom was immeasurable and I hope to God (or Jah) his son, Nyerere, has retained as much of his own as his father's breadth of vision. Nyerere, an ardent Rastafarian back then, would stand in Bennie Street cursing the Babylon waters being dispensed at Zations across the road.
Like many of those pictured in this series of scans, Reggie died early of an unknown illness, brought on by what we like to call 'poverty'. I did not attend his funeral. We'd lost too much.
Kobus introduced me to Reggie, but he was a friend of mine.
I stole away and cried | I stole away and cried | 'Cause I never had too much money | And I never been quite satisfied | And he was a friend of mine
Bob Dylan | He Was A Friend Of Mine
