Muzi Manyike was a rugby prodigy who went out one day and never came back. Four years later, there are still no answers.
The tragedy of Manyike has largely been forgotten, overtaken by new names, new faces.
But Manyike’s story must never be forgotten.
Reported missing
As told by Clinton van der Berg on the Got Game website, in early November 2020, Muzilikazi Manyike was last seen in Pretoria when CCTV cameras picked him up leaving his car, not bothering to take the keys.
On November 10, his father Douglas reported him missing at the Randfontein police station, not far from the family home.
Two weeks later, the news media reported that he was missing.
The next day, private investigator Mike Bolhuis was hired to help search for the youngster.
For almost three months, there was no word.
And then, on February 16, 2021, the worst news was confirmed: The 20-year-old’s body had been found alongside the R101 near Hammanskraal.
His remains were later identified at the Ga Rankuwa mortuary.
It was a sad, devastating conclusion to a life rich with promise, ambition and the care-free attitude of youth.
Manyike had been among the most popular students at Jeppe Boys High, a perpetually happy youngster who happened to be an excellent rugby player who enjoyed a full scholarship on account of this talent. He was also headboy of the school.
With fast feet, good hands and sharp attacking instincts, he was equally adept playing flyhalf and centre.
He tore teams to pieces and it was little surprise when in 2018 he was selected for the SA Schools team, going on to captain the side against Wales.
He also represented the Golden Lions at age-group level, South Africa’s under-18s, and wore the Green and Gold at the African Youth Games in Algeria and the Youth Olympics in Argentina.
He was, by all accounts, a blazing talent, a view endorsed by YouTube, which shows a running flyhalf with a devilish sidestep.
“He was a great guy, a good leader and a friend to me,” said Stravino Jacobs, the Bulls wing who played in the same SA under-18 team.
“He had lots of skill and great fitness. What happened shocked everybody. I wondered what had gone on.”
Mishap and mystery
At the time of his death, Manyike was on the cusp of joining the SA Rugby Sevens Academy, notwithstanding him having told high performance manager Marius Schoeman that he had “issues” to sort out.
The future was his to take charge of.
Somewhere along the way, however, something went badly wrong.
For all those months he was missing, some surmised, it was because he didn’t want to be found.
Yet another insider, who knew him well, told me that Manyike had become mixed up in the wrong crowd.
Drugs may have been involved.
With few people talking, though, it is difficult to parse facts from innuendo.
There was even talk that he had jumped off a bridge.
The lack of clarity only fuelled these rumours and even now, almost four years later, the mystery remains.
“It went very quiet, we still have no idea what really happened,” said a schoolmaster from Jeppe where Manyike was a hostel boarder.
He spoke of the pressure placed on schoolboy stars, mentioning one young cricketer who was on an R8 000 monthly contract with the Lions.
This pressure, I was told, even extends to successful youngsters who get caught up in “black tax” born out of a sense of obligation whereby they are expected to repay the family for their support growing up.
“When these kids leave school, they are often treated like a piece of meat. No one is mentoring them. At school they are governed by structure whereas a lot of black kids don’t have that support at home.”
Mike Bechet, who was head of sport at Jeppe, described Manyike as “a helluva lekker oke.”
“He would often be last out the changerooms, picking up the litter. He was such a caring guy.”
Jeppe has an egalitarian policy: all rugby players are treated equally. There is no hierarchy between first team boys and fourth team boys, or age-group youngsters. Bullying and arrogance aren’t tolerated.
This suited Manyike’s personality. As the first boy from the town of Randfontein on Johannesburg’s western side to attend Jeppe, he believed he had a responsibility to represent his community with honour.
In his matric year, he told SuperSport, “It’s been incredibly busy as headboy but I’ve loved every minute of it. I was the first boy from Randfontein to come to Jeppe and I decided in Grade Eight to make the most of the journey. I resolved right at the start that the one thing I would never be faulted on was my attitude.”
By all accounts, he was a model student, as popular with the teachers and coaches as he was with the student body.
Indeed, there is a moving video on TikTok of the boys singing a fulsome tribute in the wake of his passing.
Risks and wrong turns
When Manyike went missing, his agent, Kobus Porter, hopped in his car and visited Manyike’s parents in Randfontein.
“I was very concerned, he just disappeared,” said Porter, who represents over 30 players.
“It was a very sad story, no one knew. We never got answers.”
Porter knows that fingers were pointed at him. Agents are seen as devious money-grabbers, but he’s satisfied that Manyike was given adequate support by financial coaches and the like.
“We don’t do it all ourselves, we help them manage,” he said.
“I thought his parents were on top of it too.”
Porter rated Manyike highly. “He was a proper player … we’d already signed him to play for the Blitzboks to help develop his game. I’ve no idea about the rumours [linked to his disappearance] but when we’d meet he was always the most friendly, clever kid. I’d ask, ‘you fine, you good?’ He’d say ‘always great’.”
It was a view shared by Carl Spilhaus, one of the menere of SA schools rugby, who coached Manyike and is Jeppe’s director of rugby with previous stints at KES and Dale College.
“We don’t know what happened,” he said last month.
“I don’t know what to say. Could we have done things differently? It’s a conversation we wanted to have. [His death] hit us all very hard. It was worrying.”
He speculated that leaving the comfort of Jeppe, with its safeguards and protective cloak, may have caused Manyike to struggle.
“I’m not pointing fingers, but when he left school maybe the stress levels became too much. The Jeppe environment is a very caring one, but when you leave you don’t have that protection.
“Muzi was very special, a fantastic athlete and a helluva mature young kid. His loss really made us ask serious questions. Are we equipping them well enough, even though we don’t put first XV players on a pedestal? We make it clear on a regular basis that there’s no difference whether you play in the third XV or under-14E.”
Spilhaus, a tough task master, praised Manyike’s humility.
“He was so humble, he never wore his honours blazer. He was the first captain I ever worked with who would clean the dressing room after a game. He was a servant leader.”
Like several people interviewed, Spilhaus speculated that cultural and historic differences often hobbled black boys. In many cases, the culture is not better or worse, it’s just different from the prevailing culture.
“For black boys it’s really tough. But in schools like Jeppe, KES, Dale, Queens, it’s easier because there are many black boys. Yet many [white] coaches don’t understand their culture. Siya Kolisi has done a lot to change this. Myself, when I was at Dale it was the first time I had heard boys sing before a game.”
Kolisi, of course, has made singing a staple of the Springboks and he often leads the chorus.
“Many coaches don’t understand this,” says Spilhaus, while bemoaning the preponderance of white coaches at all levels.
“Culturally, there are differences. If you don’t study these differences, or properly understand, or make an attempt to, you potentially offend people.”
In his efforts to better understand the tragedy, Spilhaus sought counsel from old boy Jake White, and Reg Hammond, the school psychologist who spent many hours over the years with several of the players, among them Manyike.
White could easily relate given his recent experience with Sbu Nkosi, who ironically also called Jeppe his alma mater and has fallen badly by the wayside in recent years. Attempts by the Bulls and Cheetahs to rehabilitate (and help) him after an unhappy time at the Sharks were unsuccessful.
“You look at Sbu – same school, and you wonder,” said White from the sidelines at Loftus Versfeld where he coaches the Bulls.
Too quick, too easy, too early
He compares the situation in SA with Japan, where he coached previously. There, local players first study and get a degree so that by the time they graduate to professional rugby they are well-rounded young men.
“In South Africa many, many guys don’t make it. They get an under-19 or under-21 contract, yet for every success, probably a hundred fall by the wayside. There are few like Cameron Hanekom or Canan Moodie who thrive as youngsters. For many, it’s too quick, too easy, too early. Schoolboy hero becomes ‘junior hero’, and some can’t handle that. Now you’re getting cash but at 19 you’re not an adult. You get sucked into a web. When that [scenario] implodes, it’s not pleasant.”
Manyike’s journey is thus a cautionary tale, a stark reminder of what can go wrong when players veer off track.
“Muzi had everything going for him, but wasn’t sure how to handle it. It’s tougher for African kids, I’ve learned. It’s like the island kids from the South Pacific, the breadwinners for their villages. That’s pressure.”
Few people were more cut up about Manyike’s death than Drickus Venter, the Jeppe first XV coach.
Having coached the player at under-15, under-16 and first team level, and overseen him as head of grade for three years, it’s fair to say that Venter had developed a special bond with the gifted playmaker.
“I don’t have the answers . . . he was a special boy. I’ve coached for almost 16 years at Jeppe – special players like Tyrone Green, Hacjivah Dayimani, Wandisile Simelane – and Muzi was one of the most talented I’d seen in my life. He was exceptional; great feet, speed, composure, time on the ball. And he was a phenomenal leader.”
Venter said that the age group teams were outstanding and even as Manyike’s reputation grew, few could defend against him. Opposition teams tried to block him or shut him down, but part of his talent was drawing defenders and putting his team-mates away. He seemed to have more time on the ball than most. Something was always on when he was in possession.
“One of the most outstanding things is he was a folk hero for the B, C and D team players. The guys followed him like glue.”
He, in turn, was never too big or too busy to watch the lesser teams. He would often saunter to the outer fields to support the other sides.
“Muzi was like a man in a boy’s body,” said Venter.
“He seemed to have an old head on his shoulders. He never wore his full colours. ‘I’m a regular Jeppe guy’, he’d say.”
Venter was shattered when he heard that Manyike had gone missing.
He sent him messages urging him to make contact.
“We’re all here for you, just reach out.”
Venter never heard back.
The youngster’s death rocked the tight knit community.
“Jeppe is a brotherhood, we all live each other’s lives,” said Venter.
“The kids aren’t just players, they become your sons, you become a father to them.”
Indeed, many members of the 2018 team still play in a local action cricket group where Venter is among their number. Manyike, their beloved captain, is never far from their thoughts.
The brotherhood
Hammond, who was at Jeppe for 19 years, signing off last year as the school psychologist and human development specialist, was another who warmed to Manyike.
“It was a privilege to know Muzi,” he said last week.
“We were very close, especially when he became headboy and first XV captain. There was a lot of pressure . . . Jeppe isn’t even quiet during holidays, there’s always a busy, bustling atmosphere.”
About four years ago there was a reckoning among the Jeppe teaching faculty. Several boys, among them headboys and deputies, had run into trouble, getting into “wrong stuff”.
There was a big shift towards equipping the boys with the mental and emotional skills required as teenagers.
Hammond was taken aback when Manyike once said to him, “Coach, I never knew I could bleed.”
“He was a demi-god and at Jeppe, which creates such a magnificent sense of belonging, he felt he had to live up to expectations.”
He recalled Manyike once storming off the field after coach Spilhaus had given the boys a shellacking.
“Muzi was an absolute perfectionist, and he demanded this of himself and the players. But [that day] he buckled under the pressure.”
Chastened, he was back the next day, smiling and ready.
Asked about his time at school in another SuperSport interview, Manyike had only good things to say.
“I enjoyed it. The school is amazing, I loved every second of it. What’s left now is memories and experiences. Every time I visit the school, I can still feel the energy, it’s beautiful.”
Hammond says that if Manyike had had a rough weekend, he knew he could sit with him on a Monday.
“Muzi was an immensely sensitive soul. He had the most wonderful physique, and a very kind and sensitive demeanour. He was a demi-god and he started believing that. He was a thinker, and also very vulnerable.”
Hammond doubts that Manyike was offered a proper safety net as a young professional with the Lions. It angers him, but he’s gained succour knowing that the Lions – post Manyike’s death – identified former Springbok Wessel Roux as a figure who would counsel and assist young players as a qualified mental and life coach.
Meeting Hammond, it’s easy to sense that Manyike’s death still unnerves him. He seemingly can’t come to terms with it, partly because there are still so many unanswered questions.
“When he went missing, I spoke to some of his friends, who said there’s nothing to worry about.”
One boy said “he went to find himself”. The remark hinted at something altogether darker, more worrying.
“Normally, I’d expect to see him, but I never did. When they hired that private detective, I thought that’s the best of the best. But then … his dad called to say they had identified his body.”
I spoke briefly to his father Douglas, who didn’t want to be interviewed. Subsequent messages went unanswered. And then, yesterday, he responded thus: “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
Indications were that young Muzi had been hit by a car. Hammond didn’t want to countenance the possibility of suicide, knowing how he thrilled to the joy of life.
Yet, if he had succumbed to drugs – a view that strengthened the more people I spoke to – who knows what demons he may have been struggling with?
Can you identify with the tragic story of Muzi Manyike?
Let us know by clicking on the comment tab below this article or send a WhatsApp to 060 011 021 1
Subscribe to The South African website’s newsletters and follow us on WhatsApp for the latest news.
Src: TheSouthAfrican.com - https://rugga.co.za/lions/death-of-a-golden-child-the-muzi-manyike-story/
