The Sculptors of Mapungubwe

by Zakes Mda

  A man piled up twigs and sticks a short distance from the carvers and soon five plump impalas were roasting.

  Rendani ignored Chata’s snide remark. As soon as the women placed the bowls on the floor he reached for a chunk of meat and began chewing, staring hard at Chata in a challenging manner. But Chata’s attention was drawn to the maidens who had brought the beer. They were from his neighbourhood below the hill. Among them were the three friends: Marubini, Chido and Danai. They were dressed in matching brown and white kudu front-and-back aprons; in addition to cowrie shells their jewellery included glass-bead necklaces and bands with geometric glass-bead patterns criss-crossing their chests and emphasising their firm breasts. They wore copper bangles and anklets that made rhythmic percussive sounds as they walked. All three had matching hairdos, displaying the latest fashion of shaving the head very smoothly on all sides except on the very top and locking the long hair that remained with red ochre or brown clay. It was obvious that they wanted to look their best because they knew that they were serving beer and food to the artists of the land, among whom were some of the most eligible bachelors in Mapungubwe. Others, of course, would be frisky married men who were still looking around to marry more wives – adding trophies to their collections – but those would not be the prime catch for any ambitious maiden who would rather be the first wife and wield power over the homestead, the husband, all the subsequent wives, and all the children, irrespective of which wife had given birth to them.

  Chata did not notice that Rendani’s gaze had shifted from him to Chido. His eyes spoke of nothing but desire for the buxom young woman whose chest heaved elatedly every time she laughed. Chata’s own gaze was fixed on Marubini. She did notice and began to fidget as his eyes seemed to penetrate deep into her bosom. Chata’s rude stare always made her uneasy; that was just one of the reasons she did not like him. He, on the other hand, thought she had developed into a true ndzhinga – a beautiful, well-groomed and well-dressed person. She had grown up and blossomed before his eyes and he had not noticed. He had not taken her seriously. Until last night when she visited his dreams unprovoked, she was the last person he spent any waking moments thinking about.

  At that moment the drummers interrupted his thoughts with their booming sound and a gigantic man blew the hwamanda, a bugle-sounding horn that sent the spirits into a tizz of exhilaration. That’s what people liked about the carving of the Royal Palisades. It became a festive occasion for everyone. Those families who valued tradition and could afford it cooked food and brewed beer which they contributed to Baba-Munene’s compound for the feeding of the carvers. Often there was so much food that the carvers would have their fill and the rest of the community, especially children, who came to watch the pounding of the drums and the dances that sometimes accompanied them were able to get some of the food as well.

  When the drums stopped without any dancers volunteering with their gyrations, except for a swaswi joker performing some silly dance here and there, the women lazily started a song while waiting for the bowls and other containers so that they could take them back to their homes. But the three friends did not join in the song. They stood to one side, a short distance away, and giggled among themselves, obviously gossiping about the others. Chata sauntered towards them and made a point of staring at Marubini’s chest with exaggerated admiration.

  “You are wearing nice beads, Marubini,” he said.

  “She made them herself,” said Chido helpfully.

  “I didn’t know you’re a bead maker?”

  “Why would you know anything about me?”

  “Hey, I know more than you think,” said Chata, laughing.

  Chido whispered to Danai: “I told you he likes her.”

  “I’ve seen you in ways that you’ll never know,” said Chata.

  That unsettled Marubini. What could he have seen? Was he spying on her, perhaps when she was bathing in the river? Surely a grown man like him would not stoop to that kind of behaviour which was normally reserved for the kind of herdboys who had not been taught good manners by their parents.

  “What did he see?” asked Chido. “What did you see, Chata?”

  “Have you been spying on us, you idiotic man?” asked Marubini.

  “Only in my dreams.”

  “He dreams of you, Marubini,” said Danai, sighing longingly.

  “You were in my dreams last night, beautiful one. You were dancing a cappella in a pool of purple water under a full yellow moon. There was utter silence. Not even your movements made the slightest sound. What could it mean?”

  “It is worse than I thought,” said Marubini looking horrified. “He spies on me in his dreams.”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything. You gave me your back all the while.”

  “I hate you,” she said walking away. “I hate you, Chata.”

  “Why do you bother dreaming about her?” asked Danai. “You know she doesn’t care for you.”

  Marubini took refuge among the singing women and feebly joined them in their song.

  “I don’t control my dreams, Danai.”

  “How’s your mirror, Chata? Still working well?” asked Chido.

  “My mirror is doing fine, thank you. You can visit it if you like and see your beautiful faces. But come with Marubini as well.”

  “Not after what you did to her,” said Danai. “She’ll never talk to you again, ever.”

  “She didn’t say that.”

  “I know her; she’s my friend. You saw her naked body in your dreams. You must have seen things you were not supposed to see.”

  “I didn’t see anything. I swear I didn’t see anything.”

  The girls left him standing there. They joined Marubini among the singing women. Rendani had been watching with interest all along, while battling with a roasted leg of impala. He sidled up to Chata and, with a smirk on his face, said, “It looks like the maidens of Mapungubwe would rather stay as far away from you as possible, mukomana. I’d suggest that when they cleanse the land for rain clouds to gather they must cleanse you as well. Only then will your years of drought come to an end.”

  While Chata was busy searching his head for a riposte Rendani danced out of the fenced-in area to the rhythm of the women’s song and the throbbing drums. Those who were looking in his direction cheered and applauded and howled like the jackal after which the town and the hill were named.

  THE SMALL HOUSE HAD been deserted for some years before it was taken over by the strange people who came to Mapungubwe one dry summer. It used to belong to a widow – one of the old residents of Mapungubwe before the town was flooded by the newcomers who migrated from the settlements to the south. The aged lady passed on without leaving an heir and her property remained abandoned. Children used to play house in it. They stopped when drunks who were too lazy to go to the dongas on the outskirts of town began to use it to relieve themselves. Even though the thatch on the roof had a gaping hole and part of the wall had been eaten by the weather until it was so thin that it would tumble down if anyone leaned on it, the strangers made the house their night-time place of refuge. It must have taken a lot of effort to clean out all the waste matter in it.

  They called themselves the Namaqua; a woman and her ragtag brood of five children ranging from a toddler to a girl who was on the doorstep of maidenhood, as evidenced by the breasts that were beginning to emerge. They said they came from the furthermost west where the land met the sea and the sun dipped into the vast waters in a blaze of pink and purple in the evening. Over many moons hunger had driven them across immense tracts of deserts and hills and valleys until they reached Mapungubwe. The journey must have been a long one for the child who was now a toddler was born on this trek. When they started on the journey the husband and father was part of the group, but disease had killed him. Its real source must have been his broken heart after he lost all his cattle in a dispute with Damara neigh
bours. His wife buried him among the bushes and continued the long walk until the group arrived at Mapungubwe.

  During the day mother and children could be seen begging in the town. They must have been tired of living on wild berries, marula fruit and roots, and had become partial to the home-cooked delights of Mapungubweans. Kindly citizens ceremoniously placed victuals in their wooden bowls. When their stomachs were full they could be seen huddled together under an emaciated marula tree to escape the broiling rays of a relentless and rainless summer.

  The people ridiculed them for their light complexion – a stark contrast to the ebony colour of the people of the kingdom. The latter had seen light-complexioned people before. Some of the Swahili traders were very light, almost as light as Arabs, while others were as dark as Mapungubweans. They came in a wide range of shades. Occasionally the Swahili were accompanied by men from Arabia and Persia whose hair was like the manes of lions. But the lightness of these Namaqua strangers was different. It was yellowish, like the ochre that young women used to beautify their faces. Their hair was not thick and woolly but grew like scattered grain on their heads.

  Those Mapungubweans who had prospected for gold further west assured everyone that the strangers were not an aberration. They were a clan that came from a greater people who called themselves the Khoikhoi and were famed for their long-horned cattle that they used as beasts of burden.

  But the band that came to Mapungubwe that summer was so indigent that no one would have imagined they once were cattle owners.

  One day, at about midday, Chata was sitting outside his house admiring himself in his mirror when he saw the ragtag lot coming from Ma Chirikure’s house. He had seen them before in the town and had not paid any particular attention to them. But as they passed in front of his house with their wooden bowls full of Ma Chirikure’s bean soup and sorghum bread his eyes followed them. He marvelled at the woman’s high cheekbones, her matted hair and her gaunt posture. He was struck by an impish idea and beckoned them to his veranda. He showed the mirror to the woman and let her look at herself. She grinned in astonishment at her image. He let her hold the mirror; it was no longer a big deal with him now and he could let someone else hold it. He shooed the children away and ushered the woman into his house.

  The woman was in the house for a long time. The children were seen huddled together on the side of the footpath for many hours. When hunger began to gnaw their insides they ate Ma Chirikure’s bean soup and bread. When the three friends – Marubini, Danai and Chido – returned from the river late in the afternoon they saw the children sitting there as if they were holding a vigil, their eyes fixed on Chata’s door.

  “What is the problem?” asked Marubini. “Where’s your mother?”

  The children uttered something in their clicky tongue mixing it with smatterings of Mapungubwean. The maidens understood very clearly that the Namaqua beggar woman was being held captive in Chata’s house, leaving her children stranded outside. They looked at one another in shock, shook their heads, and then broke out laughing as they continued with their stroll.

  “And this is the man who has stars in his eyes whenever he sees you,” said Chido to Marubini. Chido and Danai liked to tease Marubini about Chata and this infuriated her. The maidens went about their business, which was at that moment bead making at Danai’s home where they were being trained in the art by Danai’s mother, and forgot about Chata and the Namaqua woman.

  When the Namaqua woman left Chata’s house late that afternoon she was wearing a gift of tanned impala skin which she would use as a kaross from then on. On many occasions when Chata was not at the mine the beggar woman was seen entering his house when the sun was directly above the heads of women hoeing the fields, only to come out when the sun was about to hide behind the hills and the cattle were coming home from the grazing lands. The beggar children took to holding vigils outside Chata’s house, singing lullaby-sounding ditties in their clicks, until their mother emerged. Then they would walk in single file to the hovel where they spent the nights.

  People began to gossip about Chata’s activities. When men chose to stray from the path of virtue they did it at night when the eyes of the world were locked in slumber. But there was Chata, in the glare of daylight, doing things that his neighbours found hard to explain. No one knew what was happening inside that house, but imagination could not be restrained.

  “Chata is a disgrace,” said Chido one day as they passed the singing children outside Chata’s house.

  “What makes you think he is a disgrace?” asked Marubini.

  “You’re defending him?” asked Danai.

  “Chata is not beholden to anyone. He is a khombe who can do what he pleases with himself,” said Marubini, emphasising that the man was a bachelor.

  “She’s a beggar woman with a brood of five,” said Danai.

  “She’s a foreign woman,” added Chido.

  “What difference does it make?” asked Marubini. “His mother was a foreign woman too. Maybe his father as well, for all we know.”

  “This will only result in misfortune that will spread in all the land,” said Chido. “It is this kind of behaviour that is causing the drought we are suffering today.”

  She didn’t tell them, though, that this last part of her statement came directly from Rendani. They knew that Rendani had been showing a lot of interest in Chido lately, for what maiden would keep it a secret from her friends when one of the grandees of the land was casting his beady eye in her direction? But what she kept secret was the fact that her parents had been summoned to the hilltop where Rendani assigned them to spy on Chata. Rendani was the man they hoped would ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage. People were already talking about that. People were observant about such things. First he built an extra house indicating that he was ready to take the plunge one more time, and then Rendani’s senior wife invited Chido over to a pottery group of hilltop women. The patrician women on the hill did not socialise with the commoners in the town at the foot of the hill. It was obvious to everyone that Rendani’s wives wanted to know Chido better, to appraise her so as to ascertain whether she would be the right fit for a co-wife. There was gossip that the whole venture was vehemently opposed by Princess Dova who did not want to lose her status as the junior wife. This was all the more reason the other wives were eager to have Chido join their ranks and replace the proud Princess Dova in that favoured position. So, people talked about these things, and expected that any day now they would see Zwanga and his relatives descend the hill with appropriate gifts of beasts, beads, ivory and gold, to ask for Chido’s hand. They even started treating Chido with some deference, which embarrassed her no end and was a source of mirth for her two friends.

  Chido’s parents, therefore, were delighted to take reports of Chata’s activities to the man they thought would one day be their son-in-law. They observed the beggar woman walking down the path in her new kaross followed by her ragtag brood, and then stepping softly into Chata’s house while the children remained outside singing a lullaby. Chido’s father and sometimes his wife would then climb the hill to report what they saw. It was the same report every day, and the couple did not understand why the report should be made daily because nothing ever changed. They did not know that Rendani was making a tally of the number of times Chata had neglected his mining duties to spend shameless days with a foreign beggar behind closed doors.

  Chata’s routine did not change much even when the Swahili traders came for gold and ivory. He went to work at the mine once or twice a week and spent the rest of the days at home with the Namaqua woman. Behind a bolted door. Anopa faithfully continued with the mining, although the mine was no longer yielding as much gold as it used to when Zwanga was still active both in mining and in creating sculptures, weapons, tools and implements.

  Since Chata spent so much time locked in his house he was not aware that a few days before the Swahili merchants arrived,
the King had decreed that for one full year all gold mined in the kingdom and all ivory should be for export only; none should be used domestically. Those who were privy to royal affairs said that the Royal Household had accumulated heavy debts because of its addiction to the luxury goods that the traders brought from Arabia, China and India and the King needed more gold tribute from his subjects in order to repay the creditors, who happened to be the same traders.

  Chata got to hear of this decree from Anopa when he went to the mine after an absence of many days. He thought the King – or rather Baba-Munene who was the King’s mouth, ears and eyes – had gone mad. He paid enough nduvho – or gifts and offerings to the King – and it did not make sense that he was now prohibited from using his own gold to create either art or jewellery. Other sculptors and goldsmiths throughout the kingdom were just as unhappy about the decree.

  Chata went to see Rendani as soon as he returned to the town. He found him at the leopards’ den feeding dead kudu to his two leopards. He threw chunks of meat through the open door and watched them reach for it and wrestle with it before they sank their teeth into it. He enjoyed their growls and snarls as they greedily devoured the carcass. Chata wondered what medicine he had used on these normally proud beasts to make them so tame that they did not leap out of the door, attack their master and dash for freedom out there in the wide wild world.

  “What is this I hear about the new decree, mukomana?”

  “Which decree? The one about silk or the one about gold?” asked Rendani.

  Chata did not know there was a decree about silk.