Stories of Ndabazabantu and Other Stories

By Mzuvukile Maqetuka

In the Xhosa language, Ndabazabantu means ‘he who knows all the gossip about the enigmatic, as well as stories of the people of his town or village.’ The character was first created in the author’s collection of short stories, Children from Exile and other Stories. Ndabazabantu’s stories are refreshingly innocent, dramatic and poignant, and most of them hark back to a simpler lifestyle experienced by black folk living in the platteland – small country towns – from the 1950s to the 1980s.
Of course, the unsavoury antics of apartheid regime do not escape Ndabazabantu’s satirical and occasionally scathing tongue. But this is not an angry book of recriminatory rhetoric. The author has chosen mainly to reflect on how these people made most of their lives under trying circumstances, and the stories focus on the culture, humour and pathos experienced by those check and jowl in the township known as uMasizakhe.
In this collection, the author delves into a wide variety of themes, including culture, religion, anti-Christianity and beliefs in ghosts, mermaids and the tokoloshe.
Several of the stories hark back to the author’s previous collection, Camdeboo Stories, providing further details and explanations. This is best seen in ‘Concert in the Church Hall’ where the origin of the conflict between the uncle, Kleynhans, and Charlien is explained. While Stories of Ndabazabantu can be enjoyed on its own, if the reader has read Camdeboo Stories, a total picture will emerge. Could Stories of Ndabazabantu then be classified as a sequel to Camdeboo? I will leave this to the reader and critics.
The character and versatility of Ndabazabantu starts to mature in this book. He delves deep into cultural issues such as the dowry, and demonstrates that this is not solely the practice of Africans alone, but is rather a world-wide phenomenon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Feb 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781543768237

Mzuvukile Maqetuka

The author was born and raised in the small town of Graaff-Reinet in South Africa. He is a graduate of the University of Westminster, London in the United Kingdom where he qualified in contemporary media practice. Mzuvukile Maqetuka is an established author of six books with his latest novel, Jim Is Tied Of Joburg. He is presently resident in Moscow, Russia where he serves as South Africa’s ambassador

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 by Mzuvukile Maqetuka.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/singapore

Contents

Dedication

Notes on Ndabazabantu

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

The Other Stories

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Blurb

49408.png

Dedication

Bereavement and Mourning (Africa)

by Meshack Owino

PDF EPUB KINDLE Print

49408.png

Notes on Ndabazabantu

I N THE XHOSA language, Ndabazabantu means ‘he who knows all the gossip about the enigmatic, as well as stories of the people of his town or village.’ The character was first created in the author’s collection of short stories, Children from Exile and other Stories . Ndabazabantu’s stories are refreshingly innocent, dramatic and poignant, and most of them hark back to a simpler lifestyle experienced by black folk living in the platteland – small country towns – from the 1950s to the 1980s.

Of course, the unsavoury antics of apartheid regime do not escape Ndabazabantu’s satirical and occasionally scathing tongue. But this is not an angry book of recriminatory rhetoric. The author has chosen mainly to reflect on how these people made most of their lives under trying circumstances, and the stories focus on the culture, humour and pathos experienced by those check and jowl in the township known as uMasizakhe.

In this collection, the author delves into a wide variety of themes, including culture, religion, anti-Christianity and beliefs in ghosts, mermaids and the tokoloshe.

Several of the stories hark back to the author’s previous collection, Camdeboo Stories, providing further details and explanations. This is best seen in ‘Concert in the Church Hall’ where the origin of the conflict between the uncle, Kleynhans, and Charlien is explained. While Stories of Ndabazabantu can be enjoyed on its own, if the reader has read Camdeboo Stories, a total picture will emerge. Could Stories of Ndabazabantu then be classified as a sequel to Camdeboo? I will leave this to the reader and critics.

The character and versatility of Ndabazabantu starts to mature in this book. He delves deep into cultural issues such as the dowry, and demonstrates that this is not solely the practice of Africans alone, but is rather a world-wide phenomenon.

Author November 2021

49408.png

One

N DABAZABANTU WAS ECSTATIC. He was seated with his friends Matroos, Asval, Mzobe, Suikerbossie, and Thembani, sipping African beer out of a calabash that kept circulating through the circle in which they were seated. This was not one of those storytelling evenings around the brazier. Ndabazabantu had decided to share with them something that had been bothering him for some time, something that had always bogged his mind: how it came about that his father, Mpayipheli, on his deathbed had left a wish that he be buried in the traditional way in the village of Tarka.

It was a hot summer evening. The light of the unclouded sky provided a harsh glare. Ndabazabantu’s hovel was full of jovial activity, as children and other onlookers hung on the wire mesh that fenced the house, others scanning out of the the corners of their eyes as they passed. Although children were not usually allowed to stand close to their elders, this evening was different.

‘I am telling you, gentlemen, these white people are one of a kind. I do not know where they get all these stories. Every day their heads are infested with new ones as if they scoop them like water from the wells. Just yesterday I visited Reverend Charleston of the Methodist Church in town to discuss something personal.’

‘You, Ndabazabantu? Visiting umlungu? UMfundisi – a white priest, nogal – in town?’ asked Mzobe, shocked beyond belief.

‘Ndiyakuxelela, just like that. What about the permit to enter the town at that hour? I didn’t see you leave your house all day,’ Suikerbossie chipped in.

‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Suikerbossie, but Reverend Charleston was seated in his big dining room when I arrived last night. I was served coffee and biscuits out of white cups and saucers, not in these steel mugs that we use here,’ insisted Ndabazabantu. ‘We greeted each other like old friends. And after some time, he said to me, You see, Ndabazabantu, there are things you natives need to know. Do you know how your forefathers used to grieve when death struck? Do you know how you used to bury your dead? How your people mourned?

‘I looked at the man, while pondering the three questions he had posed. And the truth was, which I at first did not admit to him, that I did not know. The only thing I knew was how we bury our dead now – funerals presided over by people such as Charleston, preaching, singing Hallelujah. But he chipped in when he realized I had no clue.’ Ndabazabantu looked at his friends, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

‘The Reverend continued. "The reason your father left you with that wish was because he wanted to be buried as per African rituals. History and historical knowledge are important, Ndabazabantu. Your people were exposed to different things during World War I, including how we white people grieve, mourn and bury our dead. Many of your people copied, in parrot-fashion, our ways of doing things.

‘"The wartime experiences of African families and soldiers led to major changes in African ideas and belief systems with regards to illness, death, burials, and remembrance. Many Africans participated in World War I, as you might know, and a great number lost their lives. As a result of African participation and experience in the war, many African families began to adopt Western mourning practices.

‘However, the nature and trajectory of change in the African mode of grieving were not uniform. Some continued to follow traditional African customs, some adopted entirely Christian or Western customs, while others combined the two traditions. But I can say with certainty that today, most people in this location have adopted Christianity and Western customs.

‘I lifted my hand, indicating to the man of the cloth to pause. And I said, "Mfundisi, why are you only telling me now?"’

‘And what was his response? This sounds interesting,’ Asval interjected.

‘Wait, Asval, and listen,’ said Ndaba. ‘The reverend continued, "Ndaba, not all of us agreed with some of the things that happened to your people. Some of us came into this land to teach you how to read and write, not to dissuade you out of your customs.

‘"Many African families were shocked by the sheer number of casualties they witnessed during the war. And did you know that in various parts of the African continent, the perception of these events differed? For example, Africans in Senegal characterized World War I as ‘a very, very bad thing’ or as ‘the worst thing they ever saw,’ while those in Malawi equated the war with tengatenga – military labour.

‘"Others in East Africa associated the war with military labour units such as the Carrier Corps (Kariokor) and death. Indeed, years after the war ended, many Africans continued to remember the war as a very destructive event that took the lives of many of their people. So it was here in your own country. Remember the Mendi that sank off the English Channel? Thousands of native South Africans died on that ship. It was a sacrilege when the dead bodies had to be thrown into the sea," he explained, in plain language.

‘I looked at the man, perplexed by the ease with which he talked of death and the throwing of bodies into the water. It seemed as if he was talking of throwing away the bodies of animals. He took a sip from his cup and continued.

‘"So Ndaba, the wish of your father is not out of the blue. He saw his parents being buried in Tarka, and that is how he wanted to be buried, but your family did not listen to his wishes. And it would not be quixotic to do as your culture dictates; slaughter a goat or sheep, and ask for pardon for not having listened to his wish. I think that is why this thing has been with you all the years since his death. I am an old man now, Ndabazabantu, and have worked as a priest amongst your people for a very, very long time. I have witnessed burials of your people, some in Western modes, and I have also attended those of the amaqaba – people who wear red blankets and paint their faces in red or white amber.

‘"The villagers of Hewu, near Queenstown, not far from my home village, bury their dead seated upright in a grave, clad in their best clothing. Their pipe and last pouch of tobacco is stuck in their mouth, along with a tin of African sorghum or amarhewu – a fermented maize meal. It is the elders that lower the body into the grave, with the eldest in the clan wishing the deceased farewell, telling the ancestors to receive him or her in the land of the dead. You see, all persons are buried in a dignified manner, irrespective of how they died, and irrespective of their status in society. This was the African culture that I found when I arrived in your country, Ndaba." He paused and took another sip, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

‘I then asked, And what went wrong? Where and when did we relinquish all those rites?

‘"That is a good question, Ndaba. But I will have to come back to it. Let me just finish by telling you about other parts of the continent and how others practice these customs first. Did you know the Chewa people of central and southern Africa upheld traditional practices and funerary rites? Bereaved families often invited members of the feared Nyau Secret Society to perform death rituals at funerals. The Nyau society consisted of initiated members of Chewa and Nyanja people.

‘"Among traditional Luo families, respected family members of the deceased and community elders would lead the family in mourning. Members of the community would visit the dead soldier’s home, singing his praises and reciting dirges, while condemning the evil spirits for taking away a great member of their community. Young and elderly men would run helter-skelter about the dead man’s homestead, wielding spears and shields and bows and arrows, in mock battles with the evil spirits.

‘"Members of the community would slaughter animals to feed mourners and pay homage to the dead. Families observing traditional rites believed that doing otherwise could invite curses from the dead soldier, and misfortune would follow for the community at large.

‘"Many African families performed traditional funeral rites without the bodies of the dead, as many African soldiers died far away from home, in places where bodies could not be retrieved.

‘"The Luo, for example, usually buried the fruit of the yago tree in a grave in the dead soldier’s homestead, in the same manner they would have buried his body. Other African families ceremonially buried various objects to represent and commemorate the deaths of soldiers whose bodies were absent. Such families also remembered the dead soldiers by naming children born in the community after them.

‘"The experience of African families and soldiers during the war, in particular, and under colonialism, in general, led to major changes in African ideas, beliefs, and practices about illness, death, burial, and remembrance. We saw this change during and after World War I, when, for example, African families that had converted to Christianity and adopted Western customs began to bury their dead soldiers in the Christian manner.

‘"Exactly how many Africans converted to Christianity during the early colonial period is not clear. It is clear, however, that after families had converted to Christianity, they often observed Christian practices during burial ceremonies.

‘"Among many South African Christian converts, for example, many bereaved families would invite not their traditional elders, but rather an ordained minister to lead the mourners in grieving and burying the dead. The minister would lead the mourners in reading Bible passages, singing hymns, and blessing the soul of the dead before he was buried according to Christian tradition.

‘"African families also yielded authority to the colonial military officials to bury their dead in war cemeteries both in Africa and Europe. Instead of insisting on traditional ceremonies, they began to accept and observe colonial military customs. In the same vein, African families began to recognize colonial monuments built to honor and glorify the sacrifices and heroic accomplishments of living and dead African soldiers during the war.

‘African families in Kenya, for example, were often in awe of the statue of three soldiers that stands on Kenyatta Avenue in Nairobi, a monument built in honor of the East African contingent of the British Army. While some African families perpetuated traditional modes of mourning, and others adopted Western practices, still others tried to straddle both traditional and Western spaces in funerary customs and other facets of life. Such families were very common.

‘He looked at me, not blinking. And I wondered why he was doing this. Was he hypnotizing me as his forebears did to my ancestors? Were they not the ones who tricked the Nongqawuse into causing the amaXhosa to wipe out all their cattle? I was adamant that this was not going to happen again. I closed my eyes and said, That is enough, Reverend, you have said a lot.

‘"You see, Ndaba, I am telling you how my forebears took everything from your people, but you cannot stand the truth. What do you want me to say? It never happened? No, my friend, you will find no other truth than this one.

‘"The story does not end with the places I have mentioned so far. Take a look at the Igbo, for example. They believed that their ancestors lived amongst them, a permanent presence among the living, even long after death. He or she was seen as an onlooker, giving rewards or punishment according to the behavior of the living. The Abanyole, a sub-group of the Abaluhya of Kenya, also believed that the spirits of the dead were capable of rewarding or punishing the living.

‘"Among Ghana’s Ashanti, families, relatives, and members of the community would mourn at the homestead of the deceased. On such occasions, the Ashanti performed solemn rites on the dead, offered sacrifices in his memory, and participated in elaborate burial ceremonies. Every able-bodied adult member of the Ashanti community was generally expected to attend burial ceremonies because it was believed that the dead would notice those present and those absent, and would offer their blessings and curses accordingly.

‘"The Abanyala sub-group of the Abaluhya of Kenya performed ceremonies commemorating the end of mourning by slaughtering and eating chickens and cows at the homestead of the deceased. Among the Baganda of Uganda, the state of mourning was ended by a ceremony called ‘destroying death’ – okwaabya olumbe. This ceremony involved the eating of a chicken by the male relatives who gathered in the house of the deceased.

‘"Ndaba, the truth is, Africans universally believed that life was sacred and that every person had the right to proper treatment and care in both life and death. The vast majority of Africans believed in treating the ill, the injured, the dying and the dead with care. However, different African communities – ethnic, regional, and religious – traditionally dealt with matters of illness, death, bereavement, and mourning in different ways.

‘"The way the Yoruba of Nigeria mourned, grieved and remembered the dead was not always the same as that of the Gikuyu of Kenya. Take for example the way the Nandi of Kenya and the Igbo of Nigeria handled the bodies of the dying and the dead. The Nandi would often move the very ill and dying out of their homesteads to be left in a faraway open field. If the sick person recovered from this ordeal, they would be welcomed back into the homestead, but if they died, the body would be left for the hyenas to devour.

‘"Meanwhile, the Igbo kept the ill and dying within the homestead to receive treatment until they died or recovered. If a person died, they would be buried in a grave within the homestead. Yet, in spite of these differences, there were certain shared overarching characteristics in African beliefs and practices regarding illness, death, bereavement, and remembrance of the dead.

‘"Nearly all African communities regarded illness and death with great trepidation. Human beings were expected to live and enjoy a normal life until death in old age, and many African families believed that an early death was not a natural occurrence. Anything that interfered with the natural course of life and brought about illness or premature death was believed to be caused by sorcery or evil spirits. Consequently, Africans took elaborate measures, including traditional ceremonies, to ward off illness, death, and bereavement, including during wartime.

‘You are an enlightened, Ndabazabantu. You are the best storyteller in the whole region. Go tell your people the truth about how their ancestors were tricked into abandoning their culture, customs, and practices, concluded Reverend Charleston as he ushered me out of his house. I was astounded and perplexed as I made my way home.’

‘So, Ndabazabantu. Now that you know what your father meant before he passed on, what are you going to do about it?’ asked Suikerbossie. ‘Slaughter a cow, a chicken, and brew sorghum beer to appease your ancestors?’

‘Truth is, Suikerbossie, I do not know. And what difference is it going to make? The old man passed on decades ago, in a far-flung land that I have only been to when I was a toddler. I do not even know if there are any of my kin in Tarka today,’ responded Ndaba.

‘It is worth trying,’ said Masemola.

49408.png

Two

E VERYONE IN THE district knew that the Sneeuberge – or Snouberege, as the old people used to call it – was infested with demonic creatures like tokoloshe (dwarf-like water sprites), mamlambo (mermaids), and ghosts. Christians described such utterings as ‘sabre-rattling’ by the backward people of the Karoo, who found all manner of words to describe their ignorance.

But this censorious ‘sabre-rattling’ from the likes of Vundla, a priest who traveled through the Sneeuberg Mountains every month, came to an abrupt end when he hired Asval to take him to Wintershoek Farm for a sermon.

‘Are you sure we have to leave Xhogwana at that haunting hour of the day, Vundla?’ asked Asval, an experienced traveller of that notorious road.

‘What do you mean, Masemola?’ responded Vundla. Masemola knew that the client was king. He had to do what Vundla wanted. But he also knew that to travel from Graaff Reinet at nine would mean that at midnight, they would still be on the steep, demon-infested road. Nonetheless, he agreed to pick Vundla up from his house at exactly seven o’clock that Friday evening.

The only town paper, the Graaff Reinet Advertiser, had reported several cases over the years of people dying of heart attacks while traveling the road. ‘The tokoloshe, ghosts, and mermaids encountered at night were the cause of these deaths,’ the newspaper reported.

Thunderous clouds swirled around the new moon as Masemola drove through town an hour after dark. Mere patches of light were afforded by the gaps in the clouds. The roads were drenched in sheets of rain as they drove up the road passing the Nqweba dam towards Murraysburg. There were flashes of lightning in the background as well.

The night is ripe for the demonic forces languishing in this part of town, thought Masemola to himself. On his left-hand side, Vundla was in the passenger seat of the donkey cart.

‘Are you comfortable in your seat, Vundla?’ asked Masemola, as he whipped the donkeys to pull faster.

‘Oh yes, Masemola. Praise the Lord. Vundla is well and good,’ he responded.

They drove in silence for some time.

Vundla, a priest from the New Apostle Church of God, had heard stories of the Sneeuberg Mountains. But as a man of God, he considered them figments of the unchristian imagination. African customary things. ‘Witchcraft is a thing of the uncivilized past,’ he used to say.

But Vundla had to admit there was something in him this evening he could not explain even to himself, let alone to Masemola. He was a bit unsettled, looking left to right every minute, trying not to let Masemola see his nervousness.

He lifted his body from his seat slightly, shifted and wiped imaginary beads of sweat from his brow. His left eye twitched. ‘It is dark on this road,’ he said.

‘I hope you are not scared of darkness, Vundla. Yes, this road is dark, but as we go up the slope, it will get darker and darker. But do not worry.’

‘Why do you say I should not worry, Masemola? What is there to worry about?’ he responded.

‘The darkness, Vundla,’ Masemola continued, knowing he had to keep his friend busy talking. ‘Truth is, many stories have been