Better known to most people as the father of Connie Ferguson, the South African-based TV actress and businesswoman, in the martial arts fraternity Fisher Masilo is the revered elder statesman of karate. However, his sporting background extends beyond karate. He has left his footprints in diverse sports arenas such as football pitches as well as wrestling and boxing rings.
Tough as steel even at age 76, the 5th Dan Black Belt still trains intensely each day.
The training has always been part of Masilo’s life for as long as he can remember. He tells a story of how his grandfather once found him in the bushes exercising on a homemade punching bag filled with sand.
“Everybody thought I was not normal, so my grandfather called a traditional doctor to have a look at me. Fortunately, the doctor could not detect anything wrong with me,” he says.
His explanation is that the route was carved out for him by circumstances, having been a victim of bullying. He was a child of two distinct worlds, the very rural Tshidilamolomo and the cosmopolitan Johannesburg, in which the common factor was the misery endured by the weaklings. In his home village, the bullying was based on age.
“The older boys could actually send you to steal food from your own home and you would do it,” he recalls.
That experience convinced him that to survive, one had to be able to defend themselves. This conviction was reinforced when he went to join his mother, who worked in Johannesburg. The National Party had just come into power, and apartheid laws were being implemented by zealous officials. If Tshidilamolomo had been hell, surviving in the Johannesburg streets was worse than hell. The whites went all out to put the black man in his place, under the jackboot. In the townships, the black gangsters had a reign of terror over fellow blacks.
To survive in such an environment, most youngsters turned to boxing and karate. Something interesting happened around that time, and overnight young black men could dream a different kind of dream. Jack Ntuli, South Africa’s first black professional boxer, won a major title whose proceeds allowed him to build what by township standard was a grand mansion. Masilo was caught in the frenzy ÔÇô and the boy from Tshidilamolomo donned the gloves as well. He did box professionally, but it appears he never attained the success of Ntuli. It could well have been that at any given time, Masilo had concurrent sporting interests. For instance, when he lived in Kimberly, he represented the province then known as Griqualand West in boxing, soccer and karate.
The trivialities of apartheid were never far off, and sometimes they bordered on the outright silly. As a wrestler, he could never fight whites, which limited his progress, leading him to finally quit the sport to concentrate on boxing. But it was in karate that Masilo really made his mark. He had just been graded an Orange Belt when the white instructor who trained them noticed Masilo’s immense talent. He made it known to Masilo that he was wasting his time in the township, where there were no facilities and his training partners were still somewhat behind in the basics of the sport. The white instructor devised a plan to help his student gain access to good training, but it was quite risky.
“The plan was that I should be in white suburb by 4am each morning where we would train until just before sunrise when I would go back to the township,” he states.
That was his first experience of how a sport could bring down racial barriers. The white instructor’s deed might seem like a small gesture now, but back then it was a huge risk that required a great deal of courage and conviction.
In 1976 he made the decision to relocate back to Botswana. He made Lobatse his home, and has been here since. He started a karate club at Cumberland Hotel, where he worked. He explains that the present casino stands on what was the dojo.
He states that while his was not the first club in town (he mentions that Patrick Makgabenyana already had a club in Lobatse), the one initiative he introduced was the karate syllabus.
I ask him how many students have gone through his hands. He laughs so hard I feel a bit awkward.
“I have trained many students,” he finally says. “Both here and in South Africa. But the difference is that at least in South Africa my contribution is recognized, while at home nobody cares.”
Then he points to a framed certificate that occupies a place of pride in his living room. It was awarded in 2004 when he was inducted into the South African Martial Arts Hall of Fame.
“I have trained many students from both the National Health Institute and Lobatse Secondary School. My students were trained to be very tough,” he states.
So what does he make of the state of karate in Botswana?
“Karate has grown a great deal.” He states. “The major problem I see is lack of sponsorship. If karate was accorded the kind of recognition that football gets, Botswana would go far.”
He looks at the growing popularity of karate and shares that it was not always like this. He explains that when the early clubs were established, it was a struggle to win the approval of various authorities.
“There was a stereotype about karate as a sport that promoted violence and disobedience. The parents’ attitude was even worse,” he says.
He is pleased by the growing unity among the different karate styles in Botswana, which he sees as a sign of maturity.
As a long term resident of Lobatse and a former local councillor, I ask him what he thinks of the town’s future. He has a bleak assessment of a town that seems to be fast approaching its Armageddon.
“I foresee a high incidence of violent crime that even the police will not be able to contain. It’s going to be a survival of the fittest. Lobatse is going to perish. All traders will relocate to Gaborone. Who can save Lobatse when government is not interested?” he asks.
How does he feel watching life ebb away slowly from his town?
“I am very disappointed,” he answers. “In the old days, we used to go to South African mines to look for employment. We can no longer depend on South Africa to take care of our unemployment problem. We have to solve our own problems. Botswana is sitting on a time-bomb. We are in danger and we need to act now. If the BMC (Botswana Meat Commission) closes, that would be the end of Lobatse.”
So what needs to be done?
“It’s already late,” he states. “Batswana must take their destiny in their own hands. Without changing the government we will continue to take three steps forward and three steps backwards; we won’t achieve anything.”
