Wednesday 17 December 2014

The Valley of the Kings


The Valley of the Kings   

 Not only Egypt has a Valley of the Kings, for we in KwaZulu-Natal on the Eastern seaboard of South Africa have our own. These are not the pharaohs of ancient history, but rather the kings of the Zulu nation who rose from comparative obscurity under the warrior-king Shaka ka Senzangakhona to become a nation of almost ten million people. Let me tell you about the early days of their story.


Shaka, twelfth king of the Zulus

      In the late 1500s, under the ageing patriarch Malandela’ s leadership, a small group of people who were in due course to form the main line of Zulu kings, migrated down the Umfolozi River with their followers to settle in the country that became known as Zululand. During their migration, Malandela’s two sons Zulu and Qwabe began to deepen a festering quarrel. 

      Day by day the feud sizzled on, with a remark here and a jibe there, and mutual loathing evident between the leaders. Then, early one morning, Qwabe confronted  his father Malandela.

        As the grizzled patriarch sat outside his hut eating sorghum bread prepared by his wife, Qwabe strode up to him. The aggressive young man wore the sullen look of an aggrieved party, and his greeting was curt. Squatting a few paces away, he scowling at his father. His face was grim and angry. There was a long silence. Malandela could see Qwabe’s supporters shuffle uneasily in the background and then bend to get their spears, awaiting the outcome of the confrontation.

“Speak, my son,” he prompted, leaning forward with his hands open to show that he had no weapon hidden from his son.

“It is the cow,” was the surly reply. Qwabe wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Little rivulets of sweat coursed down his cheeks to drip onto his bare chest.

“The cow?”

“The white cow. The heifer with the short horns. It is now with the herd of Zulu. Yet it is mine!”

The old man stirred uneasily, his eyes carefully searching the hard faces of those beyond. Turning back to Qwabe, he looked him straight in the eyes.

“But that is not true,” he said.

The young man shuffled uneasily and tried to hold his father’s gaze.

“And I, Qwabe, am the oldest son!”

Malandela paused, his brow knitted. He stood up stiffly. At sixty-three, he was a tall, impressive figure. Looking down at Qwabe, he spoke firmly.

“Nozinja is my great wife. It was her cow, for I gave it to her. The heifer now belongs to Zulu.”

Qwabe merely grunted.

Malandela now stood with feet apart to face his son more squarely. They had travelled a long way, he and his wives and sons. It had been a difficult journey. Despite the hard times, they had stood together. They must not now tear themselves apart over the matter of a cow!

“I said: the heifer is now Zulu’s.”

Qwabe leapt up to confront his father, his face like thunder. His eyes were little pinpricks of fury as he spat out his reply.

“So you have chosen Zulu!” he hissed.

“There has been no choosing yet!” Malandela responded decisively. He, too, was now angry. He stood firmly erect, his breath coming in gasps as he strove to control his anger. Then, with an imperious wave of his hand, he said, “Now go. And let that be an end of it!”

For a time the two men stood glaring at each other; then Qwabe spun on his heel and stalked raging back to his supporters. There were muttered growls of anger from the men, and for a moment, it looked as if they would surge forward to attack Zulu’s group. Then they checked, and the awful moment passed.

The next morning the clan set off early. They moved east, leaving behind the little gurgling waters of the Mpembeni and Mkhumbane streams, and headed over the Mtonjaneni heights to get into the valley of the Mfule River beyond.

Qwabe’s men led the migrants through a growth of long yellow thatching grass, driving their own small herd of cattle that now included two heifers stolen from the herd of Zulu. The heir saw this. Accompanied by a band of close friends, all armed and ready for action, he approached his father to demand retribution.

“Do you see, father, they have stolen my beasts,” he asserted, pointing out where the backs of his cows showed for a moment above the grass. “Do you expect me to stand back?”

In reply to his younger son’s question, Malandela was firm. “Let them go,” he ordered.

“But he is a thief!” the younger man asserted, with a vicious swipe of his assegai that severed neatly a thick tuft of grass growing beside the path.

“He is also your brother,” Malandela responded quickly. He paused, bent over, and picked the severed stems of grass from the ground to hold them high in his right hand. “Do you see,” he said gently, counting the stems, “there are more stems here than there are people in all of our clan.” Do you want to see them also wither and die?” He let the stems fall, one by one, to the ground.

“But remember, father, it was you who wanted to reckon with the Lembe thieves.”

“Yes, my son, but the Lembe were not our people.”

Zulu stalked for a time at his father’s side, striving hard to control his anger, then decided not to challenge the old man who had so skilfully guided them through the terrors and triumphs of their journey. The day would come, he felt, when the followers of Zulu would reckon with the men of Qwabe. From that time on, he lingered at the back of the migration with forty of his close followers, who drove before them the remaining white cattle, including the beautiful heifer that was the main cause of the row, and a dozen goats.

Zulu was tempted to turn from the path, and make his way back to the shallow valley they had left. He had liked the little valley, and had been reluctant to move from its green summer pastures. Set within gently rolling hills, the basin drew its liquid nourishment from the Mpembeni, Nzololo, Mkumbane, and Mzimhlanga streams. Most of these watercourses looked as if they would provide enough reserves even in the dry winter months, when much of the stony ground would show amidst the rank, dry grass scattered with thorny mimosa scrub and common tree euphorbias. In the worst drought years, the great Umfolozi River was always there to the north, and the Mhlatuze to the south.

The low hills would make good sites for homesteads, from which one could see the cattle grazing. Although Zulu was tempted to split from the group, he knew that the rumour of a ‘smelling out’ by the people of Babanango had now reached his father. If any hostile group caught up with them, the old man would need his son’s support. With a great effort of will, Zulu followed as Malandela urged his followers on towards the Mfule River and an uncertain future.

As the party moved down the Mfule River towards the Mhlatuze River valley to the south, Malandela lost more members of his clan. The main party had passed a patch of wild melons in the dusk without seeing it, and had gone on to cross a nearby stream as it rose in the summer rains; but a few who had stayed behind to forage for food had stumbled across the ripe fruit. Finding themselves unable to cross the churning brown waters, they had squatted where they had found the melons and begun to gorge on them. They then settled down to sleep after their feast.

Next morning when the river had subsided, the melon-eaters refused to join Malandela, saying they were tired of the endless quarrelling. The old man had shouted back angrily at them, telling them he had no use for laggards. He challenged them to stay where they were camped, if that was their wish. They had responded by shouting back rudely, and the parties had split. During the following weeks, the foragers established a small village, calling themselves the amaNgadeni clan, meaning ‘those amongst the melons.’

It was only after the main party had moved on again that Malandela realized that some of the precious white cattle had remained with those left behind.

Malandela and his remaining followers trudged southwards into the beautiful valley of the Mhlatuze River, and then camped on the fertile lands of a low ridge on the south bank, above which the church of the Mandawe Cross was built three hundred years later. The clan erected a homestead named Odwini, which means ‘the nest of bees’.

The little settlement flourished, with Nozinja and the other women planting fields of sorghum, wild melons, and sweet potatoes. Their herds and flocks grazed on the grasslands beside the dense reed beds of the Mhlatuze. Wild game was more plentiful here than in any part the migrants had visited. There were elephant, hippopotamus and buffalo in great numbers, also a wide variety of antelope and birds. The community thrived, and grew in numbers.

Then old Malandela, grizzled and worn out with the burden of his leadership, fell ill.

When he heard of his father’s illness, Zulu hurried to the old man’s side to be with him as he died. Unsure of his reception, he found his father lying on a bed of softened hide, with Nosinja and their attendants seated around the old chief. Malandela turned his head to catch a glimpse of the son who he loved despite the grief the young man had caused him. There was a flicker of recognition. He gestured for the attendants to leave.

“You, my son, will be a great leader,” he murmured at last. “And they shall call you Nkosinkulu. There shall be many after you.”

Zulu sat for a long time in respectful silence, waiting for Malandela to summon the strength to go on.

“But there will come another, one of your descendants. He will endure great hardships. He will have a will of iron. He will live by the blade of the assegai. He will make your descendants a mighty people, as great in number as the grass in the fields.”

Turning his face away, the great patriarch died quietly in peace. Bereft at the loss of her husband, in due course Nozinja went back to her own clan, the Qwabe.

Malandela’s retainers buried him in some green place, beneath a great euphorbia tree, that people can no longer recall with precision; and took up abode with the ancient shades that resided there.

After the death of Malandela, the old tensions between Qwabe and Zulu surfaced again, and there was a final, ugly row between the parties. The opposing sides hurled insults and threats at each other, and then the groups split finally amidst a torrent of abuse.

Flushed with resentment and set on moving away from his rival, Qwabe trudged off to the southeast, driving most of the cattle with him. His followers settled amongst the Ngoye Hills, and during the years that followed also established themselves in increasing numbers on the lower Mhlatuze River. Indeed, they were to name themselves “The great reed bed of the Umhlatuze,” growing into a tribe whose hatred of the Zulu clan was still felt after the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879, when Qwabe trackers helped with the capture of King Cetshwayo.

Still attracted to the valley they had left a year or two before, Zulu and his mother trudged back up the course of the Mfule River to Mtonjaneni, and skirted the heights to work their way down the Mkumbane Stream. With a few dozen followers and some cattle and goats, they settled on a low ridge between the Mkumbane and Nzololo Streams, with a good view of the surrounding hills.

Here Zulu lived for many years, with his small clan expanding through judicious marriages and the incorporation of a few followers from other clans.

Zulu was a well-respected leader, although his followers were few. In accord with his father’s prophesy, in later years he became known as Nkosinkulu, the great chief. When he died in about the year 1709, he had established the lineage of the small group of people who were to rise to become the mighty Zulu nation.

The story of these great chiefs (let us call them kings, since the valley in which many of them are buried is known as ‘The valley of the kings’, or eMakhoseni) is cast in deep shadows. A man by the name of Ntombela might have acted as regent until a new king was of age to rule; but since the lists of kings handed down by oral tradition vary greatly, there is no certainty on the matter.

It seems that Phunga followed Zulu, with Mageba, ‘the friendly and well-liked one’ assuming the kingship after him. Mageba built Makheni, ‘the sweet-smelling place’ that became a site for debates of great tribal importance. Next in line came Ndaba, ‘the man of affairs’ with Jama, an awe-inspiring and powerful figure, following in the royal lineage. Jama built his capital village near the Mpembeni Stream a few kilometres above its confluence with the Maphophoma. The king named it Nobamba, meaning ‘the place of unity’. Over time, it became a most important site in the national life of the Zulus. Some accounts say they built Nobamba even before the reign of Jama, perhaps as early as the time of Mageba, thus gaining great venerability and adding distinction to the lives of the Zulus living in its surrounds.

These ancient kings held their positions as descendants in the direct line of ancestors of the clan. They were the only ones who could approach the ancestors directly for their help and blessing for the people as a whole. They had great powers and privileges but, in turn, their duties demanded much of them. They had to be on good terms with their forebears, and must be mentally and physically capable; also capable of making powerful magic that would benefit their people.

The kings also represented unity in the tribe, were the centre of agricultural and war ritual, and were the main practitioners of ‘medicine’. To injure the king was to injure the people who owed allegiance to him. The nation universally abhorred and condemned regicide by an assassin from within their ranks.

The people revered and praised the king as ‘father’. Their welfare was in his hands. He must bring rain in times of drought, by his own devices or through the employment of doctors. He also presided on such great occasions as the First-fruits Ceremony to mark the time of harvest, after which the people might eat their crops. He was also the state treasurer. The king controlled much of the cattle wealth of the tribe and the people consequently expected him to use it to their benefit. In times of stress and misfortune such as a prolonged drought, they would look to the king for benefits in the form of cattle and grain.

The king was also custodian of the Inkatha, or royal coil. As thick as a tractor tyre, this great symbol of unity was a coil of grass covered with several python skins. It was saturated with powerful medicines that senior sangomas had added to it from time to time. They derived these substances from the body dirt, or insila, of the great kings, as well as from such other regular additions as a sample of vomit from the army as the war doctors prepared the warriors with magic medicines before a campaign. Over many, many years, with each new accretion of medicine, the inkatha gained enormously in magical power and potency. The nation held the giant coil in awe.

Consecrated during important ceremonies, the inkatha safeguarded the nation and served to ward off malignant influences. The kings used it for all great occasions when there was a need to bring blessings from the ancestors on the tribe and for this purpose it was kept at the military kraal, or ikhanda, known as isiKlebene.

Gradually the little valley in which Zulu had settled so many years before became the focal point of Zulu tribal life. The early kings who came after Zulu lie buried there, and the Zulus gave the name eMakhoseni (Kings) to the valley. Just as the Nile Valley has its ‘Valley of the Kings’, the Zulus could soon claim the same distinction.

In these earlier times, councillors buried a notable person such as a chief in a deep pit with a pile of rocks placed overhead to keep scavengers such as hyenas from getting to the body. In later times, during the period when villages of a thousand huts became more common and the administrative senior died, burials became more complex and steeped in ritual.

To bury a notable person, especially someone recognized as a paramount chief, or in Western terms, a king, the retainers left the body for a time to desiccate and dehydrate. The period immediately after a natural death was a time of reflection during which period the population referred to the person as if he or she were still living, although the occurrence of their death might be widely known.

“The king is slightly indisposed,” the senior councillors would say, with some delicacy, of the dead man. “It is not convenient at this time to see him.”

This allowed domestic matters, and if applicable state affairs, to be settled.

Retainers then dug a deep pit at the top end of the main cattle enclosure, where dung and urine washed downhill by rain did not penetrate. It was often where the great person had held court. It would be the depth of a man’s height, or sometimes deeper.
 
For people of note, the diggers constructed a side chamber so that only hard compacted soil would be overhead. This prevented wild, predatory creatures such as hyenas from getting to the body.

Attendants usually wrapped the body in a sitting position within the hide of a steer, with thongs to secure the coverings. They left the body in its hut to dry out. A fire of aromatic wood would disguise the stench and people stuffed aromatic herbs up their nostrils as a further barrier. On desiccation of the body, the stench would dissipate. Only then would burial take place.
 
Attendants might be strangled, and interred to serve the monarch in the afterlife. Retainers buried precious objects with the king, but not his spears lest he use these in due course to wreak vengeance on the living.

Since communities often abandoned their homestead or village after the death and burial of its head, it would gradually return to grassland, nourished by the considerable covering of cattle dung in the kraal. Guards assumed duty at the gravesite to ensure that the rocks covering the grave stayed in place, and that fires did not desecrate it.
 
With the absence of fires, the seeds of shrubs and trees would thrive, bringing a small thicket. This could attract various creatures, amongst which might be snakes. When a small snake appeared, some regarded it as the spirit of the notable, who was signifying his satisfaction with the burial proceedings. When someone observed a large snake in the vicinity, the satisfaction had clearly evolved to approval. The king was then well pleased with his burial arrangements.

If servants were obliged to bury a king far from the Makhosini, retainers would select a site in the valley and plant a tree such as zizifus mucronata, the buffalo thorn, on his behalf. A pile of rocks marked the spot and kept scavengers away. They then brought the ancestral spirit back home by transporting it in a fresh, resilient mucronata branch, to reside at last in the famous valley.

King Cetshwayo is buried in the Nkandla forest area to the south of eMakhoseni
 
Although he lies buried not far from the Nsuze River near the Mome Gorge far to the south, Cetshwayo’s Emakhoseni 'site' is near that of Mageba. Zulu, Phunga, Mageba, Ndaba, Jama, and Senzangakhona all lie in the valley, several kilometres from each other in a great semi-circle. According to oral testimony, Ndaba and Jama are the most revered of all the ancient kings.

When the great king Jama, ‘the man with the stern countenance’ died, his son Senzangakhona was in his teens. Regarding the youngster as too young for the burdens of state, Mudhli and Mnkhabayi (the grandson and granddaughter of Ndaba, father of Jama), acted as regents.

A handsome and well-proportioned youngster, Senzangakhona was in every way a good candidate for the future kingship. The regents expected him to rule well, drawing strength from the long line of capable kings going back to the patriarch Zulu.

He knew of the prophesy of Malandela those many years before, since the remarkable oral tradition of the Zulus had ensured that such things were kept alive This tradition was now the responsibility of the regents Mudhli and especially Mnkhabayi. Mnkhabayi was Senzangakhona’s domineering older sister. She had been co-regent since Jama died in 1781, and exuded power.

Senzangakhona felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Perhaps he would become the long-awaited, great military leader, or else father a remarkable son who in adulthood would raise the fortunes of the Zulu nation and bring them to statehood. Unknown to him at the time, in due course it was the latter imagining that was to triumph with the birth of a son known as Shaka.

1 comment: