I’m delighted to say that the 1960s in South Africa was another time altogether.

I was running the drama department for the northern province of our National Theatre. What particularly frustrated me was that out of the 65 full-time actors in our company, not a single one was black and we didn’t play to any black audiences.

It was kind of a sealed off thing by whites, about whites and for whites. I was in my mid-20s and aware that there was an extraordinary wealth of talent in our country from all walks of life; English, Afrikaans, white and black.

I used to go to all these performances with black actors about black society issues; what was going on in the Townships and in their lives. That led to my understanding that something wonderful could happen if I could get these fantastic black actors and fantastic white actors on stage at the same time, working with black and white directors.

Within that drama department we did a whole load of things that I suppose would now be called “cheats”. We’d get a black stagehand onto the stage and get them acting that way. If the board of our drama department objected to anything we’d just say “No, no, they’re just stagehands; they were getting the next scene ready.

We built a theatre for our youth company where we would hold open dress rehearsals. We’d say to all these other companies, of all different races, come down on a Tuesday night and have a look. We’d have very fruitful discussions afterwards; an exchange between the actors, the directors and the audience.

I was setting up a dialogue between the haves and the have-nots, because the people who were coming to these things weren’t allowed to perform in traditional venues.

The other thing we started to do was tour our work in the townships. That was another “cheat”: I would get the rights to a play, get to know the playwright and tell them that it would help us if they could write a letter, saying; “You can only have my work if you perform it in the townships as well as in the city.”

Then I would go to the board and say “Gosh, look, they say we have to take this work to the township. We’ll have to do it because we’ve performed it once already.”

My family weren’t very wealthy at all; my mum was a single mum and my dad died when I was much younger. So I got in to the theatre to earn money to buy my bicycle and first pair of long trousers. One of the guys who sold drinks with me at the cricket also worked in the theatre. He offered me his job while he was away on his school holidays so I started working as an usher at fifteen. I was hooked from the first night.

My only advice is do it. Get in a room with a bunch of actors and do it. Once it’s made, it will find a life of its own.

One of the most successful pieces of work we ever did at the Market Theatre was Woza Albert! by Mbongeni Ngema and Percy Mtwa (pictured). When they brought it to me I said, “This is a very nice piece of glass. We need to find the diamond cutter that turns it in to a precious jewel. Come back to me when you’ve chosen a director.”

They told me that they wanted Barney Simon, the Artistic Director of The Market Theatre – probably the best and busiest guy in the city. They waited for months, but finally they went in to a rehearsal room, Barney fell in love with them and the rest is history.

It only happened because these two guys had the courage to stand up for something they believed in. In short, they just did it.

Mannie Manim was talking to Nell Frizzell.

Mannie Manim will be judging at NSDF from 9 to 15 April. Mannie will also be leading workshops on The Making of the Market Theatre and Lighting in South Africa from 1960 to the present.

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Image of Woza Albert courtesy of Ruphin Coudyzer