Broken River Tent

by Mphuthumi Ntabeni

  “‘The royal blood of the son of Ngqika has been shed and can only be avenged by blood. From now on we shall meet force with force.’ That washow Maqoma roused his people.

  “He advised Thyali not to rush to war, however, but to give them time to organise. He was waiting for guns from some of the old Graaff-Reinet Boers whom he knew. The KhoiKhoi who were enlisted in the colonial army were agitated by the racist and unfair manner in which they were treated there; every day they approached the Xhosas, to join against the colonial government and whites in general. More and more renegades from the colony were settling on their land, advising on how to deal with the colonial government, and secretly supplying them with firearms. Many of the Xhosa warriors had not yet learnt to fire guns, so Maqoma told Thyali to delay the war a little. They also needed more time to intercept and hold up wagons for gunpowder and bullets. In the previous wars the small number of those who had guns had to resort to improvisation for bullets, using almost every metal, from zinc to pewter stripped from the farmhouses they raided; they even made wadding with Bibles.

  “To buy some time to organise Maqoma sent a letter to the white commander urging him to give a satisfactory conclusion to the matter of Xhonxo’s incident by returning the confiscated cattle with an apology, to help him control his people. Meantime, the Xhosas, from the mountains of Nkonkobe to the sea were aflame, seeking revenge attacks. Almost all Xhosaland stood in anger. Several of Hintsa’s chiefs stood with amaNgqika also, even though Hintsa was compelled to remain neutral. His land across the Kei, Gcalekaland, became a refuge for the safekeeping of all the cattle. Even some Thembus who saw the legitimacy of the position deserted their chiefs who refused to enter the war; they went to stand with Maqoma against the colonial armies. Only Gqunukhwebe chiefs Phato, Khama and Chungwa, who feared the colony, did not join. Phato and Khama betrayed the lineage, earning Maqoma’s rancour. It was very difficult for him to forgive them this betrayal, especially as they had married some of his sisters. With these exceptions, the whole Xhosa nation joined amaNgqika in what they saw as the final stand against colonial oppression that would decide things once and for all. The whole of Xhosaland was in the grip of a roaring war against the colonial forces. The white colonial government got wind of the war preparations and sent an official message to Maqoma to cease them. He sent back his answer in one line:

  “‘Sir, when cornered, even the cur will turn.’”

  When Phila went silent Matswane said, “Babes, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but, had I known the sound of Maqoma’s voice I would say you’re starting to sound like him. It’s starting to give me the creeps.”

  Intab’Enzima: Mount Misery

  PHILA WAS STARTLED FROM SLEEP BY THE noise of the bathroom lock latching. He fought a flicker of panic before remembering Matswane. He was not used to having someone around. What made her lock the door, he wondered, as he got out of bed to open the window and let in the grainy morning light, followed by lazy warm air that carried the smell of the sea. He went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. From there he studied the coming day while the coffee percolated. His thoughts combed through the history of the Kat River Settlement, Maqoma’s land, given to the KhoiKhoi and Mfengu by the British authorities – lush valleys with gulches of black earth, and an explosion of mountain ranges with extreme inclines and terrifying declivities. Cacti and bitter aloes grew in abundance against the high rocks. Phila had always been drawn to the ragged ravines and deep gorges whenever he drove through them on his way home to Queenstown. He never suspected the terrain contained so much hidden history. The scales were falling from his eyes.

  Some of that land, ever prone to participate in history, was parcelled out to black veterans of the First World War, some of whom Mqhayi had immortalised in his poem about the sinking of the ship Mendi. The greater part was now occupied by citrus farmers. Oranges grew magnificently in those cool valleys and were a main industry for the region.

  Outside, the birds twittered. Phila sat drinking his coffee and looking into the mirror of the past. When he got up to get himself a refill he heard Matswane entering the kitchen. She was wearing a smile, blue denim cutoffs and a white T-shirt, and tying her hair in a ponytail. Her swimming eyes had a look that politely questioned the plans of the day. With a smell of Eden she kissed him on the cheek.

  “I think we must visit the Kat River valley today,” Phila said, pouring her coffee.

  “Where’s that?” Matswane asked, her somewhat peremptory tone indicating that she felt sprung upon.

  Phila pulled out a chair for her, keeping one hand on her coffee mug.

  “How long will it take us?” she asked. “I still need to get to King.” The thought of King spoilt the happy mood for Phila. “Aah … it’s not too far from here,” he said, avoiding the question. “You know where Fort Beaufort is?”

  Mat shook her head.

  “Well, that’s where we’re going. It’s less than 150ks. We can proceed to King from there.”

  The day waved blue as they set off. In the passenger seat Phila struggled to fend off sleep. Matswane chatted to him as she drove, staying the progress of his soapbox musing. Phila sat, listening to her talk from an impotent distance, which inspired numbness in him. These days the major renown of the town Fort Beaufort was its psychiatric hospital and that one of the best agricultural schools in the country was there. Delving back into its history, Phila recalled that during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries it used to be vibrant with Wesleyan missionary activity; it also hosted the second biggest institute for black education after Lovedale College. This institution, Healdtown, produced the first black teachers and journalists, who became the initial catalysts for establishing the movement of black resistance later known as the African National Congress. It was there, too, that his parents had met and fallen in love. And the eventual informal amalgamation of Lovedale and Healdtown gave birth to Fort Hare College. Phila was thinking about all this when Mat broke his train of thought.

  “You still haven’t explained where in Fort Beaufort we’re going, babes,” she declared as they entered the town, which was named Bofolo according to the Xhosa, “but it looks like we’re here.”

  They pulled into a Total service station to fill up with petrol and buy a few supplies from the shop. As they walked back to the car, Phila said, “The place we’re going to is just outside town. You did bring hiking shoes, didn’t you, Mat, as I asked you to?” He winked, because he had forgotten to tell her, not that it mattered anyway because she had no change of clothes in his B&B.

  Matswane feigned throwing daggers at him. “I’m sure my takkies will do just fine,” she said. “If the going gets too hard, I’ll just wait for you in the car.”

  The road trembled in the heat as they drove towards Hogsback through a muted countryside. After twenty minutes or so Phila indicated that Matswane should take the next exit, which was an unmarked gravel road towards the mountain fastness and a few villages clinging onto the western hills. In the further distance still was an assemblage of wattle and daub houses with thatched roofs stuck to the mountainside like spittle on a wall. That village looked bigger but it was probably hard to get to. They drove a dusty-bumpy drive for another twenty minutes before they were literally at the foot of the mountains.

  “My dear, meet the notorious Winterberg mountains, Nkonkobe to the denizens of this area,” declared Phila as Matswane turned off the car’s engine and allowed silence to enter the open windows.

  Phila got out first, then Mat followed him. For once she seemed to have no words. They were surrounded by an explosion of mountain ranges. Phila was pointing to where the mountains started in a steep climb on the west and saying something about the Kroomie plains. From that summit were waterfalls that came down in crushing sounds, which reverberated where they stood. Phila indicated that the mountain adjacent was the beginning of Amathole, and if they were to follow that line they would reach the back of where they had been the previous day, and probably
be able to overlook Maqoma’s grave, or at least the brush of the forest that guarded it. And were they to climb Nkonkobe all the way up on the other side, they would be met by the small town of Cathcart, from which would be a few kilometres to his home town of Queenstown. Mat listened in fascinated silence. The realisation that they were about to jaunt up the mountain took the gleam out of her eye a little, but she was a good sport. Phila took a back carrier bag from the boot and packed the bottles of water and sandwiches they’d bought at the garage shop into it.

  “And off we go to explore wounds of history,” Phila joked, while Matswane was tying the laces of her takkies.

  “Now, now, babes!” She clicked the car alarm and the hazards winced.

  The fastness of the Nkonkobe range, of which Kroomie formed one of its biggest summits, was a natural fort for the Xhosas to hide when fighting their colonial enemies. The range went all the way to form Amathole towards East London. It had enabled Maqoma and his warriors to hide in safety, and then to stage one of the most devastating battles of the Frontier Wars, the Battle of Waterkloof. Waterkloof, shaped roughly like a horseshoe, was the highest among the broken spurs of the ranges that formed precipitous valleys and gorges.

  After conquering the first hill, Phila and Matswane got into their stride. Then began the woods, with their low light and high humidity.

  “They call this Woodcutter’s Path,” Phila said in a low voice.

  “Why are we whispering, babe?” Matswane asked. giving him a concerned look.

  “Well, we’re in the wild now. We wouldn’t want to attract the attention of leopards or something.” Phila maintained a serious visage before bursting out laughing at her expression. “I’m pulling your leg. The leopards have been pushed deep into the mountains. And they’re nocturnal animals anyway.”

  “Shit!” Mat exclaimed. “That still doesn’t make me feel any better.” She panted in file after Phila. The woods were a mix of yellowwood, assegai trees and ironwood.

  It was steep going and to preserve energy Phila and Matswane fell quiet as they climbed. After they had cleared the woods, where bush pheasants and whirring partridges kept scaring Mat when they burst out of the cover of the bush, the path opened into a long narrow valley before bottling into an egress. Further on the terrain became stony, before they got to a high cliff where they could see the dark mouths of many caverns. Extending between the branches of the trees dotted about were thick twists of monkey-rope. On their right the terrain was thickly wooded, clotted with underbrush and creeper vines.

  They stopped for a few minutes to catch their breath and drink some water. Phila took a few steps on his own, feeling the breeze cool him through his damp shirt. When he turned round he saw Mat looking at him enquiringly. “Shall we go on?” she asked. “Before I change my mind?”

  They reached the nek of the mountain where the sheer cliff drop made it impossible to proceed. Phila reckoned its high point above would be what the Xhosas called Intab’Enzima and the British named Mount Misery. If they could find a way to proceed from the other side, he said, he estimated the peak would take about forty minutes to climb. They decided to go around. Down below was a scenic cut of steep valleys, some ending in cul-de-sac dams.

  “Let me guess,” Matswane said as she scrambled up the rocky cliff. “There was some kind of a war here?”

  “Indeed, the most decisive one.”

  “I thought as much.” Matswane looked up the mountain, where the path before them leaped into bleak vastness. “But really? Here?”

  “Imagine the British soldiers climbing here – the redcoats – encumbered with their woollen uniforms, all their weaponry and other gear, bayonets, heavy belts and all. Chasing after nimble and almost naked Xhosas, who carried with them just five assegais and a small pouch of dried food reserves; only a few of them had rifles. Stupid as he was, instead of waiting for them to run out of food, Smith ordered that they be flushed out of these woods and chased from the mountain cliffs. It was organised suicide for the Brits.”

  Phila, whose forehead was beaded with perspiration, noticed Matswane’s hesitation and he threw her a look of kindness. “Sure you’re up to this?” he asked.

  Matswane dismissed his concern with a shrug of her shoulders and set off with admirable determination. Phila had to dash to catch up with her.

  “Down below here, close to where the orange farms are now,” he said after getting his breath back, “the British colonial government created the Kat River Settlement. It was an experiment, a conglomeration of KhoiKhoi from the Cape Colony and Mfengus as landowning blacks within British territory. They were to act as a buffer between the Xhosas and the white subjects of the British Crown. It simultaneously provided a convenient way of getting rid of squatters on white farms.” He could feel his thigh muscles tensing.

  “Ah! So the divide-and-rule strategy of coloureds and Africans started long ago?” Matswane commented. She stopped abruptly to avoid a terrifying declivity, at which point she gave Phila a look that intimated she was done.

  “Even further back,” he said, hoping to engage her interest and encourage her to keep walking. “It began in the Cape of Good Hope, then spread to Algoa Bay. What they didn’t expect, though, was that Stockenström, who was basically the founder of the Kat River Settlement, had other designs. It became the first settlement where natives successfully adopted Western civilisation. On a given day it looked like a typical rural town anywhere in Britain: shopkeepers selling their wares, children going to church and to school, and so forth. The difference was that they were native children. It became the best success story for missionary activity anywhere in the world, and the Reads – remember the missionaries I told you about? – were at the centre of it. But, needless to say, the success of the settlement couldn’t be taken for what it was.

  The Grahamstown Journal used its newspaper pages to print vitriol, complaining about kaffirs gaining airs and being given ideas of revolt. The usual racist nonsense the media perpetrate.

  “Maqoma’s genius was in feeding the fire of the Kat River Settlement into an open rebellion, which became known in history as the Kat River Rebellion. He even married another coloured wife to cement the bonds between his tribe and the rebels. He ended up with an additional division of Kat River rebels in his warrior camps. In no time the colonial government suffered mutiny in those ranks, and for that reason decided to disband the Cape Mounted Rifles, which was mostly made up of KhoiKhoi and Mfengus. This only served to add hundreds of British-trained KhoiKhoi and Mfengus to the Xhosa ranks. They weren’t much more than a collection of miscellaneous, unruly rabble who wanted to make good their escape from British law enforcement, but they were fierce and useful in war. And their intimate knowledge of the fighting ways of the British came in handy for Maqoma.

  “Maqoma, always given to open-air, rabble-rousing speeches, planned his attacks: Sandile was to concentrate on the Amathole area, Matroos, the KhoiKhoi leader he had secured to his side, was to take the Fort Beaufort town area, and he placed himself here, in these mountains, in between the two for easy access when they required his assistance. They were supposed to listen to his co-ordination so that they might all concentrate the strength of their attacks in one place at a time. But Sandile and Matroos were both hotheads who wanted to steal the thunder of war glory for themselves. They had initial success, especially with bush ambushes, which was a big part of Maqoma’s strategy. These fostered their daring. Matroos went for the eye of the octopus by attacking Fort Beaufort town, in broad daylight. The battle was protracted but in the end Matroos’s KhoiKhoi rebels lost, and Matroos himself was shot dead in that war. The Khoi replaced him with Botha, who had a better head. Sandile, after a few successful skirmishes had whetted his appetite, made a plunder of attacking Fort Peddie, also in broad daylight. It was a replay of Nxele’s war on a smaller but just as tragic scale.

  “Maqoma had a hard time persuading the KhoiKhoi rebels – who had suffered heavy losses in the Fort Beaufort war – back into
war, but with Botha’s help he managed it. He thought this would be the last of the wars with the British, and thus wanted it to be decisive. He met up with Hans Branders, another Khoi rebel leader, and convinced him to lend his support. He desperately needed the rebel leader’s skills and prowess if his guerrilla tactics were to be effective. With the ammunition from the Kat River rebels, and his knowledge of the area, Maqoma believed they had an ultimate advantage. He believed they would be invincible. This was the planning he was trying to impress on his not-so-strategic fellow Xhosa chiefs, who lacked his prudence and intelligence.”

  Beyond the brow the hill flattened into the green table of Kroomie.

  A boy, wrapped in an ochre blanket, led a drove of mooing heifers in their direction.

  “Up there would be Intab’Enzima.” Phila pointed across, not sure how to circumvent the precipitous hills to get there. Matswane screwed her eyes to see where Phila’s finger was pointing. “That was where the Xhosa warriors ensconced themselves during the bush war – what history would term the Waterkloof Battle. It was the only battle in which the Xhosas clearly won the day against the British.”

  “Surely you don’t expect us to reach that height today?” Matswane asked, stopping to catch her breath. She reached out for Phila’s back, took out and opened her bottle of water and took a swig from it. Above them, beyond the gorge to the summit, was a tangled maze of massifs and lengthening shadows. Phila had to agree she had a point.

  Forfeiting the last climb, they inspected the mountain aeries around them before turning back.