Place of Crying: Inkaba Yakho Iphi? (Where Is Your Navel?)

By Judy Witt

INKABA YAKHO IPHI? (WHERE IS YOUR NAVEL?)

Three storiesthose of the Xhosa and the Khoikhoi tribes, the British soldiers and the settlers, and the burghers and the Boersare told in parallel.

Her Khoikhoi mother, had named her Coti after the wife of Cagn, the supreme god of the San people. Her skin shone like gold, the skin of the San.
He had been watching as she bathed in the lagoon, blinded by her sleek beauty as she stepped out. The fading sunlight on the water drops covered her golden skin like jewels. Coti gasped when she saw him.
He was Tshane, great-great-grandson of a Xhosa chief and named after one of the first Rharhabe Xhosa kings or paramount (supreme) chiefs. His mother was from the Gcaleka Xhosa clan. Tshane represented the amaXhosa, the fierce people of Xhosa. He was magnificent as he stood still and talla warrior, black as ebony; his toned muscles rippled. He was nervous. She was not afraid of him.
She prayed now to the wise and powerful Tsui-Goab, the Khoi supreme god, to protect her from Guanab, the cunning god of evil. Her grandmother had warned that this was an evil love, brought about by the trickster god, Haitsa-Aibib. Haitsa-Aibib could change his form at will. Was he the fish eagle that had thrown the cloud over her?

Lt. Ian Bentley sat his horse on a hill overlooking the coastal foothills of the Amatola Mountains. From his position, he had a good view of the sea and also the Xhosa village below him. It was baking hot under the African sun, and he looked forward to the cool evening. He sweated in his thick red tunic, made for cooler climates, and his horse fidgeted from the flies. Taking his eyeglass from his tunic, he focused on the village below.

Conraad du Randt, the burghers leader, raised his arm for silence. Yes, my people. First, they free the slaves and tell us to pay them. Now they have equality before the law? These heathens are our subordinates, damned in the eyes of God! Given to us to teach them Christian ways! Our land! Our lifestyle! Is God-given and earned by conquest!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543401653

Judy Witt

Judy Witt was born in Natal in South Africa on January 1944. She was raised by Zulu women and then Xhosa women when the family moved to Port Elizabeth in the Eastern Cape. The family later moved to Southern Rhodesia and Northern Rhodesia during the years those countries were fighting for freedom and independence. Caught up in the violence and terror that evolved and the Congo Revolution spillover, they returned to South Africa the day before Zambias independence. Judy now lives in Sydney Australia with her husband, four married children, nine grandchildren, and one great-grandchild.

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Copyright © 2017 by Judy Witt.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2017909266

ISBN:                  Hardcover                        978-1-5434-0167-7

                            Softcover                           978-1-5434-0166-0

                            eBook                                978-1-5434-0165-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/01/2018

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1:     Tears On The Shore – 1833

Chapter 2:     Rain Chameleon - 1833

Chapter 3:     The Wedding - 1833

Chapter 4:     Aftermath Of Mfecane - 1833

Chapter 5:     Mxolisi - 1834

Chapter 6:     The British Soldiers - 1834

Chapter 7:     Lt. Bentley - 1834

Chapter 8:     Summonsing The Spirits- 1834

Chapter 9:     Lt. Bentley Xhosa Indaba - 1835

Chapter 10:   Birds Of Omen - 1835

Chapter 11:   Hurry Wackalong Smite - 1835

Chapter 12:   Fish River And Bathurst To Grahamstown - 1835

Chapter 13:   Evil Makes A Friend - 1835

Chapter 14:   The Fort - 1835

Chapter 15:   The Leopard Hunt - 1835

Chapter 16:   Evil Destroys Itself - 1835

Chapter 17:   Initiation Of Ntombetle - 1835

Chapter 18:   Bush War - 1835

Chapter 19:   The Healing Garden - 1835

Chapter 20:   Elephant Walk – 1835

Chapter 21:   Death Of Chief Hintsa – 1835

Chapter 22:   Return Of The Soldiers – 1835

Chapter 23:   New Life, New Beginning – 1835

Chapter 24:   Mfengu Amnesty – 1835

Chapter 25:   Nomhle And Thembani – 1835

Chapter 26:   Love Letters And Traders – 1835

Chapter 27:   Proposals And Proclamations – 1836

Chapter 28:   The Call Of The Shades – 1837

Chapter 29:   Treaties And Trekkers – 1837

Chapter 30:   Treachery, Carriages, And Kids – 1838

Chapter 31:   Initiation Of Ntombetle As Sangoma – 1839

Chapter 32:   Gifts And Sangomas – 1839

Chapter 33:   Darkness Falls – 1840

Chapter 34:   Final Indaba – 1840

Chapter 35:   Ntombetle: Sangoma Earth Mother – 1840

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To Nelson Mandela

Thank you, our Madiba, Tata (father) of the nation. You are held in deep respect for your courage and your fight for freedom against great odds.

You were a true Xhosa leader who strove for peace and reconciliation of all the peoples of South Africa. We salute you.

To Jennifer Drummond

Enthusiastic amateur historian, Jenny lives in Bathurst on the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Bathurst is the height of activity around this story and Jenny has been instrumental in the writing of this book. And has dedicated many hours to ensure that the events, places, and times remain true throughout the story. Her attention to detail with help and advice, including some ghost-writing, has been the making of this story. Thank you, Jenny, with all my heart as without you, there would be no story.

To Theophilus ‘Theo’ Hahn, Ph.D. (1881)

Below is the hunter’s prayer of the native tribes of south-west Africa and the Khoikhoi of Southern Africa, as translated by Theo, the son of a Nama missionary who had grown up amongst the Khoi.

O Heitsi-Eibib. Hail, our forefather, send luck to me. Give into my hand the wild game. Let me find honeycomb and sweet roots. And I will sing your praise. Are you not our father’s father? You, Heitsi-Eibib?

PROLOGUE

There are many opinions on the causes of the Mfecane or the ‘crushing’ which led to the breaking of Southern Africa’s traditional tribal boundaries during the nineteenth century. Most suggest that a combination of European settlement and Zulu territorial expansion played primary roles. However, the Mfecane began many years before.

A progressive scattering of Nguni tribes, Khoikhoi, and Bushmen began arguably in earnest around the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and even before that, when tribe warred against tribe, the strong hunted the weak, and the interaction at the Cape of the early white settlers, who found a seemingly semi deserted new land.

It is not the intention with this book to discuss truths or falsehoods of events prior to the timeline of the story, which is a tale of fiction in the main based on historical events of the time. Now, the results of Shaka’s maniacal genocide of his own people and others were still very much in evidence. He was murdered by his half-brother Dingane (Dingaan) in 1828, who attempted to continue Shaka’s military successes. He was not Shaka and failed more times than he succeeded. The motivation was always to gain land, stock, and power with the elimination of all opposition. Indeed, Shaka’s impi of superbly trained warriors had already pursued thousands far north to the Limpopo River, east to Swaziland, and west to the Sahara; those who surrendered were recruited into his ever growing army and inherited by Dingane (Dingaan) at his death.

Survivors also fled into Xhosaland. Having lost all they had, they joined up with Xhosa misfits and Khoi renegades and were dubbed the Mfengu, or the wanderers. The Mfengu existed on stolen spoils of the settlers and Xhosa or joined Xhosa tribes, becoming subjugated to them and were called dogs. Shaka prudently avoided entering Xhosaland and clashing with the British, with whom he preferred to remain on good terms. He was known to have sent emissaries with gifts to the British king and welcomed the missionaries who were protected by him. Such is the enigma of Shaka!

This story starts at the beginning of the sixth Xhosa war: Dingane (Dingaan) is on the Zulu throne. The Mfengu wander Xhosaland and harass its people, with rising tensions between the British and Dutch settlers and Xhosa. The Great Fish River acts as the buffer between them. There are more than two sides to this story. There are many; and so, I have tried here to portray the good and the bad of all parties, their customs and beliefs, as well as their tragedies and hopes amidst the unfolding of a tale of the main characters’ personal and conflicted attempts to find a middle ground of understanding and, ultimately, peace.

CHAPTER 1

TEARS ON THE SHORE – 1833

Coti lay on the sand in the place where the Mpako River entered the sea. Her village lay farther up near the Amatola Mountains. She had walked a long way to find this place and enjoy the privacy of the lagoon. The captured seawater was peaceful, warm, and calming. Coti had a habit of wandering away from the village to be with nature and talk to the creatures she found along the way. The soft click, click, click sounds that she made as she walked and talked to the animals allowed her to pass unafraid.

Khoikhoi, her mother Ciki, had named her Coti after the wife of Cagn, the supreme god of the San people. Her skin shone like gold, the skin of the San. Khoi custom is that girls are named after the father’s side, but Coti’s father had died before she was born, and his family whereabouts were unknown.

The Xhosa people called this the Place of Thunder after the sound the sea made when it crashed through the hole in the cliff face pushing through the Ecca shale and sandstone cliff. Coti had heard of souls crying before, but today the sea was silent as she thought about the story the old women had told her . . .

A beautiful young girl had fallen in love with a mythical creature, a human-like sea creature with flippers for hands and feet. They became lovers, and he wanted her to join him in the sea. Her father was angry and forbade her to see her lover. One night, with the rising tide, the angry sea people gathered on the ocean side of the cliff face. With the help of a large fish, they rammed the rock until they broke through the cliff, causing the sea to flood. This frightened the villagers, who then ran away. Swimming into the lagoon as she sang and cried, the beautiful girl joined her lover as they disappeared through the hole, united in love forever.

The way the wind blew on some days, Coti thought she could hear the singing and crying of the sea creatures.

She gazed into the sea ripples and tried to catch a glimpse of the lovers, but heard only the sound of soft crying as the sea washed over the sand like tears to the shore.

The full moon was rising. Coti believed the Khoi myth that the moon was the physical manifestation of a supreme being associated with heaven. It was more orange and red than yellow. It sent streaky fingers of fire through the fading blue windows of the stars, then rippled over the water to be crushed by the surf.

Her sharp senses, learned as a hunter, alerted her to a presence—man or beast? She couldn’t see through the thick bush that ran along the shore line. Coti had entered the cool salty water naked to freshen and soothe her hot, dry skin. Standing up, with ears and eyes alert, she spoke softly. If it was an animal, her click, click, click sounds would let it know that she meant it no harm. She soon realised it was a person as there was no response to her calls; an animal would have made its presence known.

He had been watching as she bathed in the lagoon, blinded by her sleek beauty as she stepped out. The fading sunlight on the water drops covered her golden skin like jewels. Coti gasped when she saw him. They stood staring at each other; both were out of place, each going a little too far from the safety of their villages and kraals. The thought of running did not occur to her as she gazed at his face. His eyes were dark and soft, not fierce or angry as the stories she’d had been told of his tribe.

He was Tshane, great-great-grandson of a Xhosa chief and named after one of the first Rharhabe Xhosa kings or paramount (supreme) chiefs. His mother was from the Gcaleka Xhosa clan. Tshane represented the amaXhosa, the fierce people of Xhosa. He was magnificent as he stood still and tall—a warrior, black as ebony; his toned muscles rippled. He was nervous. She was not afraid of him.

He stepped away from the bush where Coti could clearly see him and laid his assegai beside him on the sand. One step and then another, he approached her slowly, with arms raised and open palms. He was there in peace. He stopped at arm’s length from Coti, who had not moved.

She stepped towards him, and he folded her to his body. His strong, hot scent excited her as they lay on the sand at the water’s edge; the cool water did not calm their passion. The natural oil of his skin let her hands slide easily over his body and over his firm bottom. There was no shame in her desire.

She knew he wanted her by the way he held her and gave her his body—strong yet gentle as he thrust himself into her again and again until they rolled apart, exhausted by passion, hot with sweat. She lay on her back, softly panting, breath short as her back arched in desire and yearning. Her body shivered with emotion, her skin tingled, and her heart fluttered as she rose from the sand.

They cleansed themselves in the rising sea, the churning froth of its foam energising their new love.

Tshane had to leave, and Coti had to return to her village as the night set in and the darkness brought its own perils. Tshane promised to return for her and disappeared into the thick bush from where he had come.

Coti’s mother cried when she revealed her love for Tshane, and her grandmother turned away, saying it was evil and the doing of Guanab (the destroyer), the god of evil. She was afraid that he would send them the sleep of death if they gave him cause to come out of his dark retreat.

Coti returned to the lagoon each week in the hope of seeing Tshane, but he was never there. She lay on the sand. Her hands followed the path of his hands over her firm breasts with nipples erect and down over her flat stomach, then under the small skirt made of softened animal skin and over her moist, coarse body hair. He had kissed her there as his hands and mouth had explored her body, finding that dark place that he now claimed as his. Coti could feel the excitement and the tingling of her skin as she remembered their love.

They had found the lagoon, their place of love, a place of the ancestral spirits; and Coti believed that the ancestral dream spirit would make their dreams come true. Filled with sadness, she turned to leave. Her movement stirred a large bird that had been watching for fish in the river. The majestic fish eagle rose from its perch to fly across the sky high above the river, throwing a shadow over her.

She prayed now to the wise and powerful Tsui-Goab, the Khoi supreme god, to protect her from Guanab, the cunning god of evil. Her grandmother had warned that this was an evil love, brought about by the trickster god, Haitsa-Aibib.

Haitsa-Aibib could change his form at will. Was he the fish eagle that had thrown the cloud over her?

Hands held against her stomach, she sensed life stirring; and with thighs trembling, she started to cry. Unsure what to do knowing how her elders would react. They were of two tribes. She was not Xhosa like Tshane, she was Khoi.

The early morning light filtered down on Tshane as he stood at the edge of the village, waiting for Coti’s people to waken. He wouldn’t harm them, but they didn’t know that.

Coti was the first to rise. Standing erect, she was slim and small-boned with large eyes and high cheekbones. Her skin was the colour of the sun, and the sand caught the morning light as it flickered over her. Her hair, short with tight tufts of curl, was almost the colour of her skin; she was one with the sand. A little taller than most of her tribe, she stood out.

Tshane said her name softly in quick double clicks, ‘Co-ti’. She turned and went to him. He indicated a need to be quick. They must leave immediately.

Promising herself that she would return, Coti hastily left the village to go with him—avoiding the saddened eyes of her mother and the angry eyes of her grandmother, who had turned her back. She was all they had, and she had done all the hunting and gathering of herbs and sweet roots. But Coti needed her own life; now already past the normal age for marriage, unlike some of the young girls, she had not found the one yet. Her mother pointed out that she was too fussy and should have been a boy. The village boys trained and hunted with her as if she were a brother.

They left the safety of the beautiful Amatola Mountains and the valley where the Khoikhoi, men of men, grazed their herds across fertile valleys in peace. The Great Escarpment rose high above sea level. The area was densely forested with yellow-wood, white stinkwood, and Cape chestnuts. The slopes were also home to deep indigenous woods such as Kologha and Kubusie and capped with flower-rich Montana grassland. The Khoi enjoyed the scenic beauty of lush forests, ravines, and waterfalls.

The arrival of the Xhosa herders driven by the Mfengu from the north had displaced the Khoi. War was stirring, and Coti understood the Khoi resentment of the Xhosa.

They walked southwards for several days. Taking their time, they learnt about each other as they continued towards the Great Fish River; the Khoi called it Oub (fish), which ran close to his village. They never grew tired, with the night’s passion giving them strength for the next day’s journey.

They were expecting her. Tshane had declared his love for Coti to his uncle, Chief Nkokheli. Reluctantly, he allowed Tshane to bring her back with him. Perhaps he would grow tired of her and take another girl who was more suitable. The old women in the village shook their heads; there were many beautiful girls in the village with eyes for Tshane.

Coti’s narrow hips were not like those of the Xhosa women, whose strong full bodies were built for childbearing; they were voluptuous with full breasts. They did not accept her skinny pale body to be worthy of Xhosa royalty.

Her bathing routine in the river was watched with amusement by the Xhosa girls, who only occasionally went to the river to bathe as they preferred to rub red mud on their skin as protection against insects and the sun. Coti shivered next to the river as the night closed around her, and she ran back to the safety of the village. Tshane had warned her about bathing alone and told her that women must always go in a group, but they never called her. Tshane would be leaving soon on a scouting trip to make sure the Mfengu were not too close.

Before he left, Tshane announced that he wanted to marry Coti. The chief sighed; he loved his nephew, but she was Khoi. He knew better than to challenge Tshane and recognised that he had become a man. Besides, Xhosa men could have more than one wife. He gazed over the village and saw many more suitable girls; perhaps he would choose another later.

CHAPTER 2

RAIN CHAMELEON - 1833

The village returned to normal, and the wedding preparations were under way. Tshane knew that Coti expected him to send a few scouts to her mother with a message, but Coti also knew that they would not come. She understood that it was dangerous to travel away from the safety of their village.

The day arrived when the small scout group of hunters made ready to go to her village with the news. They took with them two cows and a goat as gifts for Coti’s mother and payment for the bride. On their way home, they would hunt and kill some game for the wedding feast.

Coti rose early and, in true Khoi custom, turned her face to the east, where the first light would appear. The first light of life was brought by the Red Dawn, who lived in heaven’s beautiful light and sunshine. She prayed to Heitsi-Eibib, their father’s father, for their safe return and luck with the hunt.

‘Hail, our forefather, send luck to me!’ Coti raised her arms to the sky, with palms outwards and open. ‘Give into their hands the wild game.’ The old woman in the doorway watched her pray. ‘Let them find the honeycomb and sweet roots.’ Said Coti raising her voice in song. ‘And I will sing your praise. Are you not our father’s father? You, Heitsi-Eibib?’

The old tara, the woman ruler of the house, kept watching Coti from inside the cover of the umsamo, the sangoma hut of the ancestors and wisdom. She was intrigued by this girl with her different ways. For some time, she had been watching her as her uncle Chief Nkokheli had asked her to do. This girl was not to be feared yet had a strange way and influence with nature. Khoi people had little wish for witchcraft; although aware of its existence, they did not dabble in it. Rather, her mother had taught Coti that natural straight actions were better qualities than witchcraft.

The old woman continued to watch Coti start her wedding preparations with the help of a young girl. The wedding must follow Xhosa tradition. She had been given the task of finding a Xhosa name for Coti as it was custom for Xhosa married women to change their names. This required a sign indicating a true name. She had seen a vision of Coti in her dream and decided that this name would be Ntombetle, which she could shorten as Ntombe (pretty girl).

The village with the family hut groups felt more like home now, and Coti enjoyed the company of Xhosa women; they were always happy and singing. The dry ground at her feet raised a dust cloud as she shuffled her bare foot back and forth. The old woman’s dog with its dusty coat sauntered over, sniffed at her feet, and licked her toes. Coti giggled as the dog thumped down to lie at her feet, a cloud of dust rising and floating down on him. Chickens were out early, pecking around the huts as they looked for thrown-out and spilt corn grain. The slabs of smooth stone, shiny and hollowed with the constant grinding of corn with stone against stone, reflected the morning sun as it rose in splendour over the village, sending shafts of light back up to the heavens.

Always worried that Tshane and his scouts would not return, Coti’s eyes and ears searched the surrounding forest in the direction they had left. There was no sound of them. They would announce their return in harmony with slow, low singing. The women would immediately start the fires, knowing they were nearly home and would have a small buck they had killed.

The village was waking up. Babies crying were hastily attended to with soft singing and sounds of comfort as they were put to the breast, and mothers wrapped and tied them on their backs in colourful cloth. Any mother could breastfeed any child; all children were considered the responsibility of all the women. This was ubuntu, ‘I am, because we are, to care for and share’. Small children wearing nothing but beads ran around, laughing and chasing one another as the women started to light small fires. Ground corn compacted into bread with only goat’s milk as Xhosa women did not eat eggs now sizzled on the hot stone slabs placed on the fires. The smell and sounds of morning filled the air.

The women began to prepare other meals for the day. Umngqusho (a meal made up of maize beans and spice) and morogo (a combination of green edible leaves including bean and beetroot leaves) were most popular with the men and children, and these were eaten with their fingers.

After breakfast, the older women sat around the fires cross-legged on grass mats, smoking through long clay pipes using home-ground tobacco leaves or dagga. Heavily beaded and ringed, they had large earrings that were pushed through holes in their ears, shining in the sun. They spoke of the wedding, laughing at the innocence of Coti with her little-girl body. Men preferred fuller girls with ample bosom, wide hips, and a large round bottom. What was Tshane thinking with this slip of a girl? She would not cope in childbirth as Tshane was a large solid man as his son would be. Coti could die; they became sad and troubled as experience had shown them babies too large brought pain and suffering to both mother and child if they survived. They would seek advice from the old tara woman sangoma so that they were prepared.

Coti’s thoughts went back to the dry ground and wilted, sunburnt bush. The village looked tired and needed rain to cleanse the earth, brighten the huts, and wash away the dust before the wedding. Stepping out in the direction of the river where she would bathe, Coti remembered seeing a dwarf chameleon gripping a branch overhanging the path. She would look for the little