The Heart of Redness: A Novel (8 page)

These were utterances that were guaranteed to cause a lot of mirth among his listeners. They found it funny that the way to the white man’s heaven was through trousers and dresses. In any case, this Goliath looked hilarious in his ill-fitting black suit that used to belong to Merriman.

The gospel men made sense only when they talked of the resurrection. When Merriman told the people that one day all humankind would rise from the dead, they were joyous. They said they would like to see their grandfathers and all their relatives who had left this world for that of the ancestors.

But still, they continued to find the utterances that came from Goliath’s mouth quite ridiculous. Where did he get the nerve to be the spokesman of the god of the white man he knew nothing about?

“This man is from such a distinguished family. His father was King Sarhili’s councillor. What is he doing with these people who were cast into the sea?” Twin-Twin asked.

“We had our own prophets who are now with the ancestors,” cried Twin. “We had Ntsikana who prophesied the coming of the white man. Then we had Nxele who told us about our own god, Mdalidephu, who was in opposition to Thixo, the god of the white man. Now we have Mlanjeni. We do not need these people with their false prophets and false gods.”

This was before Mlanjeni died of tuberculosis.

But Twin shouldn’t have mentioned his name, for this inflamed Twin-Twin. He demanded that Twin should withdraw Mlanjeni’s name from the list of prophets, because he was not a true prophet.

“Look what happened to us in the war! Where is our father now as we speak?” demanded Twin-Twin.

But Twin was adamant that Mlanjeni was a true prophet in the same league as Ntsikana and Nxele.

Relatives had to be called to separate the twins from a bloody stick duel. The elders of the village had to sit down and negotiate peace between the children of Xikixa. The twins shook hands and swore in the name of their headless father never to fight again.

Once again they became close to each other.

But another evil struck. A marauding disease that attacked cattle in their kraals, in the veld, and even in distant mountain cattle-posts. It crept in during the night, seizing its victims when they least expected it. No one had ever heard of it before, but those who had contact with the white settlements came with the news that it was lungsickness.

Raging lungsickness. Strutting around like a bully. Laughing in the faces of grown men as they wept when they saw their favorite cattle wane away.

White people knew of lungsickness because it came from their country. There were reports that it had killed many cattle across the seas in the land of the whites. It was brought to the land of the amaXhosa nation by Friesland bulls that came in a Dutch ship two years earlier, in 1853. Therefore even the best of the isiXhosa doctors did not know how to cure lungsickness.

The disease was traveling the land of the amaXhosa people and of the amaMfengu like a wild fire. Cattle owners were trying to escape it by driving their herds to mountainous and secluded places. Yet many cattle were lost.

Soon enough the disease attacked the twins’ village. Twin-Twin wept as he watched his favorite bull die a horrible and protracted death. First it was constipated. Then it became diarrheic. It gasped for air, its tongue hanging out. When it died he was relieved that at last the pain was over, and he was determined to escape with his remaining herds. Twin did not need persuading. He too had suffered losses. He agreed with Twin-Twin that they should take their families and drive their cattle to new pastures where they could establish new homesteads.

As if lungsickness was not enough, the maize in the fields was attacked by a disease that left it whimpering and blighted. It crept through the roots and killed the plant before the corn could ripen. It certainly was not going to be a year of plenty.

Such a calamity had never been seen in kwaXhosa before. It was the work of malevolent spirits and of ubuthi, of witchcraft. The twins hoped that in a new settlement they would escape all this.

The twins’ great trek took many days. It was a slow and painful journey, made even slower by the women and children, and by the pigs and chickens. During the day the trekkers camped so that the cattle could graze and the wives and their daughters could cook food. Those who were tired slept. When night fell they moved on again. They were accompanied and protected by the Seven Sisters, the stars from which the Khoikhoi were descended. The seven daughters of Tsiqwa. He who told his stories in heaven. The Creator.

Qukezwa led the way, for she knew the language of the stars. She rode reinless on Gxagxa, Twin’s brown-and-white horse, which seemed to know exactly where to go without being guided by her.

Twin was proud of his wife. She could do things that Twin-Twin’s numerous wives could not do. Even though people had constantly laughed at the foreign woman who used to open her thighs for the British soldiers, now her people’s stars were leading everyone to fresh pastures. Twin-Twin should be grateful, instead of making snide remarks whenever the couple added a stone and aromatic herbs to the piles of stones they sometimes came across at the crossroads, and then asked someone called Tsiqwa for his guidance and protection.

Every night the twins shook with fear when they saw rivers of fire raging down the mountains. They knew immediately that this was the path to avoid, for it was the path of the disease.

“The stars tell me that we must move until the sea stops us,” Qukezwa told them.

After many weeks the twins reached Qolorha. Twin and Qukezwa established their home in the village of Ngcizele. They were so close to the sea that even as they slept at night they could hear the sound of the waves. Here was plenty of grazing land for Twin’s cattle.

Twin-Twin and his many wives settled in the small village of KwaFeni a few miles away. Here too were great pastures for his cattle.

Life was beautiful. But it was not completely free of disease. Sometimes the dastardly lungsickness crept in in the deep of the night, seized a prized ox, and drained it of flesh and blood. By this time, experience had taught the twins a few tricks. They separated the sick ox from the rest of the herd until it died. Then they buried the carcass far away from the village.

The twins soon saw Mhlakaza again, for it happened that Qolorha was his ancestral home. He had built his single hut near the Gxarha River, and had called an
imbhizo
—a public meeting—of the people of the Qolorha area, including the villages of KwaFeni and Ngcizele, to discuss the wonders that had happened in his homestead.

Qukezwa knew him at once and whispered to Twin, “Hey, is that not Wilhelm Goliath?”

“Yes,” shouted Twin in amazement, “it is the gospel man, Wilhelm Goliath!”

“You dare call me by that name again!” said Mhlakaza angrily. “I am not Wilhelm Goliath. I am Mhlakaza.”

Twin did not understand what was wrong, for the man used to call himself Wilhelm Goliath, and would have been angry if he had been addressed as Mhlakaza.

“He is sensitive about being called by that name,” a man standing next to them said.

He explained to Twin and Qukezwa that when Merriman stopped walking and was confined to the church in Grahamstown, Mhlakaza’s days as a gospel man came to an end. At first the holy man engaged him to teach isiXhosa at a school, and built him a hut in his garden. But he was not a happy man at the holy man’s household. Merriman and his wife treated him like a servant, whereas on the road he had been a gospel man in his own right. He felt that Merriman’s wife didn’t like him. She called him a dreamy sort of fellow. And this convinced him that his enthusiasm for the gospel was not taken seriously by Merriman’s family. So he left and came to live next to his sister’s homestead
near the Gxarha River. He gave up on the god of the white man, and reverted to the true god of his fathers.

“I have called you here, my countrymen, because a wonderful thing has happened!” said Mhlakaza, addressing the small group of men and women who had gathered outside his hut. “Three days ago my niece, Nongqawuse, and my sister-in-law, Nombanda, went to the fields to chase away the birds that like to feed on the sorghum.”

“Indeed that is wonderful,” said Twin-Twin sarcastically. “His children went to scare the birds in the fields, and he has called the whole nation to tell us about it.”

But Mhlakaza ignored the amateur comedian and continued his speech. He called two young girls to stand in front of the people. “This older one is Nongqawuse,” he said. “She is fifteen years old. I took her as my own daughter after her parents were murdered by British soldiers during the War of Mlanjeni”. This eight-year-old one is Nombanda, my wife’s sister. Now, when these children were in the fields, a wonderful thing happened.”

“The man has said that already,” said Twin. “Get on with the story. Tell us what happened.”

“Does he know that we have left our fields and our cattle unattended?” asked Twin-Twin. Others agreed with him.

“Don’t be in a hurry for the gravy before the meat is ready,” said Mhlakaza, demanding their patience. “Nongqawuse heard a voice calling her name behind the usundu bush.”

“Was it not you, Twin-Twin, trying to seduce the poor girl behind the usundu bush? You are well known as a naughty man who loves young blood!” heckled another man, trying to be funny as well. But no one laughed. People were curious to hear more about the voice behind the usundu bush.

Mhlakaza went on, “At first she thought she hadn’t heard well, and continued to play with Nombanda and to chase the birds. The voice persisted. She slowly walked to the bush, while Nombanda remained transfixed. At that time mist rose around the bush. The faces of two Strangers appeared in the mist and addressed her.”

“What did they say?” people wanted to know. “Who did they say they were?”

“Let the girl tell us herself,” demanded Twin-Twin.

“Come, my child, and give us the message of the Strangers,” said Mhlakaza.

Nongqawuse shyly stepped forward. She was unkempt and looked like a waif. In the manner of all great prophets she seemed confused and disorientated most of the time.

“Who were the Strangers, my child?” asked Twin.

“I do not know, father,” replied Nongqawuse. “They said they were messengers of Naphakade, He-Who-Is-Forever, the descendant of Sifuba-Sibanzi, the Broad-Chested-One.”

People were confused. They had not heard of He-Who-Is-Forever, nor of the Broad-Chested-One. Obviously these must be the new names of the god of the amaXhosa people . . . the one who is known by everyone as Qamata or Mvelingqangi. . . the one who was called Mdalidephu by Prophet Nxele.

Nongqawuse continued, “The Strangers said I must tell the nation that all cattle now living must be slaughtered. They have been reared by contaminated hands because there are people who deal in witchcraft. The fields must not be cultivated, but great new grain pits must be dug, new houses must be built, and great strong cattle kraals must be erected. Cut out new milk sacks and weave many doors from
buka
roots. The Strangers say that the whole community of the dead will arise. When the time is ripe they will arise from the dead, and new cattle will fill the kraals. The people must leave their witchcraft, for soon they will be examined by diviners.”

Mhlakaza said that at first he had treated the message of the Strangers as a joke. But they had appeared to Nongqawuse again, and ordered her to give the message to her uncle. He had therefore told the chiefs and was given permission to call the imbhizo.

He urged those present not to take the words of the Strangers lightly.

“The rapid spread of lungsickness is proving the Strangers right,” he said. “The existing cattle are rotten and unclean. They have been bewitched. They must all be destroyed. You have all been wicked, and therefore everything that belongs to you is bad. Destroy everything.
The new people who will arise from the dead will come with new cattle, horses, goats, sheep, dogs, fowl, and any other animals that the people may want. But the new animals of the new people cannot mix with your polluted ones. So destroy them. Destroy everything. Destroy the corn in your fields and in your granaries. Nongqawuse has told us that when the new people come there will be a new world of contentment and no one will ever lead a troubled life again.”

As Camagu drives his Toyota Corolla on the gravel road he concludes that a generous artist painted the village of Qolorha-by-Sea, using splashes of lush color. It is a canvas where blue and green dominate. It is the blue of the skies and the distant hills, of the ocean and the rivers that flow into it. The green is of the meadows and the valleys, the tall grass and the usundu palms.

He is pleased to see that there are some people here who still wear isiXhosa costume. They are few, though. Most of the men and women he passes on the road don’t dress any differently from people of the city.

It is sad, he thinks, that when nations of the world wear their costumes with pride, the amaXhosa people despise theirs. They were taught by missionaries that it is a sign of civilization, of
ubugqobhoka
, to despise isikhakha as the clothing of the
amaqaba
—those who have not seen the light and who still smear themselves with red ochre.

Even today the civilized ones condescendingly visit the clothes of the amaqaba, and wear them as curiosities during special cultural occasions. As their everyday attire the civilized ones wear German and Java prints that are embroidered in the West African tradition, but they still boast that they are in African dress. To them, African fashion means West African, and never the clothing of the amaXhosa or some other ethnic group of South Africa.

Camagu parks his car and walks into Vulindlela Trading Store. There is a long line of people who are waiting to be served. He is not sure whether he should go to the counter and make his inquiry or join the queue. He thinks everyone is looking at him with suspicion. To them he looks like the kind of person who thinks he is better than the
common village folk, and who will therefore jump the queue. He decides to join it.