Broken River Tent Page 16

‘It gained him a substantial following. In fact, there are many similarities between Nxele’s and Ntsikana’s messages. The differences are mostly in the details and their respective attitudes towards white people. Our people figured any god who was angry with the white man must be a good one and their friend in turn. This god, according to Nxele, was going to plead the case of the Xhosas against the white people, and those who die believing they would be resurrected.

  ‘Ndlambe, in whose chieftainship Nxele resided, could not ignore Nxele’s popularity. He decided to utilise it for his own ends. He stirred Nxele’s teachings towards a more militant tone against the colonists, largely because they were allies of his arch enemy nephew, Ngqika, my father. Mdalidiphu was now not only in opposition to the white man’s religion, but actively going to throw white people back in the sea for murdering Tayi.’

  ‘I see now why they say Nxele was the founder of the Pan Africanist Movement.’

  ‘White people’s guns would fire water, Nxele said, if a united Xhosa nation believed in Mdalidiphu and went to war against them. He went around the land proclaiming these prophecies and inciting people. I remember hearing him once, shouting and spinning like a dying fly. I took him for a madman, of course.

  There they come!

  They’ve crossed the Qagqiwa!

  They’ve crossed the Nqweba,

  Only one river more,

  The Nxuba

  Then they’ll be on our land.

  What’ll become of you then?

  ‘He was preaching to the converted. And his madness became contagious because it was narrating what was happening as the white colonial government kept confiscating land from us through the leading hand of Graham. The Ndlambe had just been expelled from their land across iNxuba. Thus Nxele managed to raise himself to the eminence of a great chief without being born into aristocracy. When Ngqika, whose light was waning then, realised there was no escaping the power of Nxele, he tried to bribe him into the ruling class by offering to take his sister’s hand. Nxele refused the offer with contempt. There’s no worse humiliation for a chief than to be refused marriage by a commoner. It is a clear indication of a fallen power. Just about the only people who still invested the authority of chieftaincy on Ngqika at that time were the colonial government. He had lost popularity with most Xhosas because he had shown his weakness by ruling through fear rather than consensus, something amaXhosa, with their deep streak of democracy, do not tolerate.

  ‘Nxele moved further away from Christianity. He rejected the white man’s clothes, went back to his ochre, as the saying goes. He married two young KhoiKhoi women as a sign of his rejection of the white man’s teaching against polygamy; started demanding cattle zokuruma, like all diviners. He summoned people to come and witness the resurrection of the dead beneath a boulder at the Gompo River, at the foot of the Amathole. There he ordered them to enter the water and wash. The people entered the waters in tumult, as though they were charging at an enemy, bellowing war cries and throwing water on their breasts and shoulders. Nxele tried to dissuade them from this but they did not refrain. When the promised resurrection of the dead was not forthcoming Nxele informed them that it was because of their obduracy, their refusal to stop shouting war cries. This, Nxele told them, scared the dead people back to their graves.’

  ‘Oh dear! Were people really that gullible?’

  ‘Nxele had a mystical hold on them. Since they saw fit to follow their own headstrong will, and did not listen to what he told them, said Nxele, they had only themselves to blame. He dismissed them. Told them to go back to their homes to repent. The people saw the error of their ways and went back to their huts, repentant. Thus did Nxele’s reputation remain intact. How he was not killed in the riot of that day says a lot about his persuasive skills.’

  ‘It is always easy, in retrospect, to see the ingenious manner by which the likes of Nxele lied and fill the gaps of cosmological beliefs,’ Phila tried to contribute, but Maqoma cut him off.

  ‘The problem was we had no successful belief for dealing with the question of what happens after death. So when white people came telling us about resurrection, they gave substance to our vague longings, and explained a lot of things to many. All of a sudden, because of this resurrection thing, life did not appear absurd. We always suspected we would meet our loved ones again some day, almost in the same manner we believed our ancestors to be alive somewhere. The white people came with a concrete teaching about it, written in their magic book with the red mouth. Hearing such things from the mouth of one of our own, Nxele, gave people assurance of things to come. Nxele, unlike Ntsikana, was cunning enough to conform his prophecies and teachings to the expectations of the people. That is why he was more successful in the short run.

  ‘Ntsikana, on the other hand, spoke from a non-compromising inner conviction of the truth. He gave an unadulterated version of his visions and dreams – hence he was a failure in the short run. People everywhere are never partial to the truth before it overcomes all their lies. They drink it only like medicine, as a last option. Ntsikana came to our tribe objecting to Nxele’s prophecies, though not completely to Tayi, whose father, according to him, was Dal’ubomi, whom the Xhosas knew as Qamata. This was how Ntsikana phrased his teachings:

  Things are bad at Gaga. Nxele has told people lies. Dal’ubomi is coming to fence this land against lies. The true God is Mhlabazihlangana [Nations-mix] and is Ndikhoyo-Naphakade [I Forever Am]. His son has lightning supernatural eyes, and is Sifuba-Sibanzi [Broad-Chested Tayi] with love for all nations he wants to unite by and in love.

  Sele! Sele!

  Ahom, ahom, ahom!

  He came to me at the Lake of Arms [Breakfast Vlei].

  Nation of Phalo!

  Respond! Respond!

  You’re being called by Heaven.

  Hom! Homna! Hom, Hom!

  The sound says as He comes.

  Proclaim this at Gqorha!

  Proclaim it at Mankazana.

  He is the shield of truth!

  He is the maker of stars and Pleiades.

  He amalgamates flocks rejecting each other.

  His name is Dal’ubomi.

  The creator of all life!

  ‘At some stage all these prophecies got so confusing that nobody cared a fart about the name of the true god if only he promised to chase white people away from our land, and bring an end to droughts and new diseases brought by white people, like rinderpest. That’s how Nxele and his faction got to be so popular; a wretched thing that was to finally bring our nation to its knees.

  ‘I often asked myself, when I was incarcerated at the leper colony, if the lure of the River People became too compelling for Nxele when he was on the island. Or the remembrance of things he left behind, at home; the familiar mountains, rivers and valleys of our land. Did this lead to his daring the salt waters that swallowed him? How I envied him when the longing for my hearth and kin overtook me in that dungeon. When I imagined the sights and smells of our aloe-scented plains. If you must take me home one last time my gratitude shall be eternal.’

  ‘Can’t you do that on your own?’

  ‘I know the dead are not your responsibility, but I can see things bound by time only through your eyes. At least Nxele died like a man. After his popularity and moral fall at Gompo I worried about the reproaches his soul must have been making against the water dungeon of Robben Island.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about your death. There’s something not right, almost a mystery about it in the government chronicles of Robben Island.’

  ‘It was a long time ago; left well alone. Let sleeping dogs lie. No, my death was not from natural causes; it was more on the lines of your friend Steve Biko.’ Maqoma looked more sad than angry.

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘I was the nemesis of white people in the colony. Many of them held a grudge or two against me. When I was incarcerated, at the white government’s mercy, many came to pay me back that grudge.’

  ‘The whi
te government, naturally, encouraged that sort of thing.’

  ‘They did nothing to stop it. Once, at the leper colony,’ he lowered his voice, ‘when the tired face of the moon sailed the sky, its luminous shafts washing the night with a silvery shine, I saw things on the sea. Nxele came riding the back of a sea beast, leaping from one rock to another. In the water it swam at an amazing speed, but once it got to land it stood up and walked on its legs. The legs had seven-inch toes. When I approached Nxele, wishing to learn where he came from since everyone was expecting his imminent return back home, wanting to know how come his horse swam with such alacrity on water, he took fright and ran to the sea with the animal hot on his heels. I tried to chase after them but my joints were stiff with rheumatism. I stood no chance against the agility of that duo.’

  ‘So you people really expected Nxele to come back after the British incarcerated him on Robben Island?’

  ‘He was the hope of a defeated people, their last hope. It was by then becoming clear that white people had been taking the land, and with it were fast enslaving us. Nxele promised to come back with the River People to fight our cause and chase the whites back to the sea.’

  ‘What did the Russians have to do with these River People of yours?’

  ‘In retrospect, I now understand that the Russians and Chinese were also starting a war with the British then. The whole thing got jumbled up in our people’s telling, from ship news they received now and then. The people were still nursing a vague hope that either the Russians or the Chinese would rescue them from the oppressive British hold.’

  ‘Amazing how nothing ever really changes.’

  ‘So Nongqawuse, when she talked about the coming of the River People, was giving colour to our people’s vague longings and mutterings. Hence her so-called prophecies were received by ready ears. They were meant to raise revolt against the British and they appealed to people’s credulity and superstitions.’

  ‘With that, the final doom of the nation came?’

  ‘Indeed. But I am now putting the cart before the horses. Many things happened before we got to that point, things it is my duty to tell you about.

  ‘The day Nxele visited me I walked back to my cell-house when I could not catch up with him. But things took a turn. When I turned I saw Nxele approaching me again, more hesitant this time. His mild face was suffused with sadness and distorted by what I could only read as grief. The strange animal again flanked him. When I tried to address him the animal raised its hackles, denoting its displeasure at my attempt. Try as I might I couldn’t find my voice. Nxele spoke to me in a falsetto voice, his skin appearing as if he was under histaminic attack. It looked like a white person’s skin gets when they’re distressed. “You’re wrestling with fate, Maqoma,” he began. I’ll never forget those words so long as I live.’

  ‘You mean so long as you’re dead.’ Phila attempted a chuckle, trying to banish the rising fear within him. Maqoma didn’t appear to notice his ironic wit.

  ‘I wasn’t sure what Nxele meant. I remained confused. Then he spoke again, this time more decisively, his whole body rearranging itself, growing fur, or something of animal integument, as if afflicted by lycanthropy. “What you see happening to this animal and me,” he told me, “is an allegory of your life. You shall live like a wolf, swimming in the dark forest in order to forge war on your enemies. Your agility to move around the forest shall be like you saw this animal swim in the sea. Like it, you shall be able to walk on land also, inspiring great fear in your enemies and brethren.” His voice sounded ancient, like one tired with the burden of world age. It seemed as if he himself was slightly astonished by his prophetic knowledge. He continued: “We’re only men, Maqoma. The indomitable wheels of fate grind us into powder, or raise us to great heights, with or without our volition.”

  ‘He talked to me of many things, like what he called the indomitable strength of the British Empire, “always aiming to emulate the Roman vice”. He narrated how the city of Rome became the proud mistress of the universe by organising a band of ruffians to effect the plunder and rapine of its neighbours. How the city was made rich by oppressing millions of people around the world. “What at first it obtained by violence and plunder assumed the softer name of revenue when they instituted themselves as an empire. The power originally usurped by the fathers was inherited by the sons, who tortured it into their inheritance by legal invention. What they could not achieve by fraud and murder, like their parents, they devised legality to make it law and called it enterprise. To steal land was not enough. They needed to write it on paper so that it gained legality of rule of law by ruse of governance invented to serve their rapacity. They keep systems of oppression by the intrigue of their courts of law and then call it government. Then establish heads in their leading bands of robbers, calling them kings and emperors, presidents and prime ministers. They parcel out pieces of land around the world, dividing it into dominions that serve the coffers of their empire. And, as is always the case in these things, they begin to quarrel with each other, thus sowing the seeds of the downfall of all of us.”

  ‘Some of what he told me I later I learnt here from my friend Titus Petronius, who used to be the son of wealthy Romans and courtier to Emperor Nero in his living years. Titus and I are assigned to the same level of the living dead in the house of ancestors. At present he’s somewhere in the United States on a similar assignment to mine. Petronius and I have a lot in common, although we lived centuries apart. He spent most of his earthly days carousing through the back alleys of Rome, dallying with prostitutes and loose aristocratic ladies; making himself a nuisance in marketplaces, drinking places, temples, crowded tenements and aristocrats’ villas. I relate to that. But Petronius had enough sense to see through Roman pretensions of greed. His famous line you might know: The Fates are bent on war, the search for wealth continues …’

  ‘Nothing has changed much,’ Phila tried to assure Maqoma, suddenly aware of how many times he had said this, ‘except, perhaps, the pretenders to the empire have acquired more subtlety, calling their quest “wars of freedom”. The quest for greed and power still goes on. Modern Rome drains the world for insatiable profit of commerce, pursuing peace by perpetual wars of greed.’

  ‘Empiric strength is the cause for wanting to be in wars of possession. Nxele said to me, “As for you, you say in your heart they’ll never take your land while you are still alive. Well, Hector alone killed Patroclus, yet to avenge him Achilles became a veritable killing machine, until the river Xanthus choked with the bodies of the Trojan dead. Where does it end, Maqoma?” I felt like Damien, torn to pieces by the horses of my passions.’

  ‘I see Petronius has been teaching you a lot of classical literature.’

  ‘A penetrating silence fell between Nxele and me. His rheumy eyes fastened on me a while, inviting my own nakedness towards my heart, before his image extinguished itself from my eyes. That was just before I was freed by the colonial government from my first incarceration at the leper colony. It took some time for me to understand the full meaning of the dream. I learnt later that it is misfortune that teaches us to be true to ourselves, not dreams.’

  ‘Am I dreaming?’ Phila, who by then had goosebumps, asked, expecting Maqoma to ignore him as usual. ‘Or am I in the arms of misfortune?’

  ‘Only you know the answer to that,’ Maqoma replied.

  The Coming of Nxele

  PHILA WOKE AT 5AM. HE HAD FALLEN asleep in the car, which was still parked on the street. He opened the door to be greeted by the pink fingers of dawn caressing the hills, building confidence into the day. His head felt clubbed and his neck strained. He cupped his hands to strike a match and light a cigarette.

  ‘Your smoking sticks are strange; don’t they burn your mouth?’

  ‘No, they just give us cancer.’

  ‘And that’s a good thing?’

  ‘I still want to know more about Nxele. I fell asleep yesterday, well, this morning.’ Phila looked around to see if there
was a shop open for coffee but could not see one. Good coffee was extremely difficult to find in small towns anyway, he consoled himself.

  ‘I’ll tell you more some other time. Now you need to take me somewhere.’

  ‘Where are we off to?’ Phila was sure his mouth smelled like a sewer. ‘I need to brush my teeth.’

  ‘I need to check things from that hill.’ Maqoma pointed beyond the Settlers Monument. ‘It was after the Battle of Amalinde I came here, still sickly but relying on the effects of the sleep-inducing Cuika water to cope with my nights and days. The humiliation of defeat at Amalinde was still fresh on my mind. If it is true about the child being the father of the man,’ he said as he waited for Phila to fire up the engine, ‘then the children we were in that battle killed the men we might have been. Had I only taken heed of Ntsikana’s admonishments, our enemies would not have prevailed over us.’

  Phila drove to the foot of Monument Hill, where he parked the car. They began the climb on foot. The steep rise was tortuous.

  ‘You keep saying the glamour of our nation dimmed with the renunciation of Ntsikana’s vision. Explain, please?’ Phila asked, more resigned to his fate than excited by the prospects. He was also trying to take his mind off his suffering body. The playful respect of a grandfather and grandson was now getting established between them.

  ‘Oh, how I wish we had listened to the son of Gaba.’

  ‘People never listen to prophets; not ones from their hometowns anyway. We’re blind when our temperaments rush us to our fates.’

  ‘I used to think that if there be blame in the whole matter, it lay with my father, Ngqika. He should have known better than to let young hot bloods lead so important a war. Now, having had time to think and confront myself, exposed to my own weaknesses, I know better. It requires much courage and relentless light to expose one’s psyche to truth. Our fates are not in the stars, but in the gauges of our bile.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Phila’s mouth tasted of bile, and his head hammered. ‘I am often amazed how the turn of a historical event, wars, could have been averted had the main actors had better characters.’