by Zakes Mda
Baba-Munene – the ears, the mouth and the eyes of the King – knew that his very position as the Younger Father of the Nation was at stake. He had to be seen to be doing something so that blame was removed from the door of the Royal Homestead.
“A rainmaking festival,” said Rendani. “That’s what we need. A festival that compares in splendour and glamour and plentiful food with a harvest festival.”
It was a wonderful idea. People would see that the King was undaunted. And that Mapungubwe was prepared to laugh in the face of the evil forces that were responsible for the drought. The evil forces themselves would see that Mapungubweans were a defiant people. Rendani was indeed a genius. Baba-Munene felt that he was fortunate to have him as his son-in-law, his Royal Sculptor, his special adviser, and now also an esteemed member of the Council of Elders. He had fought a difficult battle to have him accepted into the Council of Elders by the other elders, taking his dead father’s place. Most of the elders felt that he was not old enough to be an elder. His hair had not greyed one bit. To them he was a baby who still smelled of his mother’s milk. But Baba-Munene had prevailed upon them by enlisting the help of the diviners and spirit mediums who said that the message they were receiving from the world of the ancestors was that Zwanga would be much more effective in interceding with Mwali on behalf of the people of Mapungubwe if his son took his place in the Council. This was paying off for Baba-Munene. Rendani was always a source of brilliant ideas and indeed his father, who never really appreciated him, would be proud of him.
Despite the fear that food in the hozi granaries would not last long, and that soon the stockade kraals at the cattle posts would house fewer and leaner animals, people contributed millet, sorghum, beans, cowpeas and beasts for slaughter for a feast to beat all feasts. Women were seen marching in single file to Baba-Munene’s compound with clay pots of beer on their heads. The people of Mapungubwe were going to eat and drink drought out of their kingdom. Every family contributed something, even those who would not be attending the feast because they were at the cattle posts, or had relocated to the temporary field houses waiting to cultivate the land at the slightest drizzle, sent their children and relatives to the top of the hill with food. Chata sent Ma Chirikure with his own contribution of cowpeas and millet. She also brewed some potent sorghum beer and took it up the hill in a clay pot. Even some miners and the families from those mining villages that were less than a day’s journey from the town attended. After all, in this terrible drought mining was an almost impossible task; rainy seasons were also mining seasons.
The crowds were too big for Baba-Munene’s compound. They gathered instead on a slight slope just below the Royal Homestead. The older ones sat on the boulders while the youth stood among the shrubs or on the rocks to have a better view of the performances taking place on a clearing below. It seemed that people found their age-mates without any effort at all, as if they had an age-group detecting mechanism implanted in them. There was a lot of banter from those who had not seen each other for quite some time.
Chata had been reluctant to attend, especially after the cold shoulder he had received after Zwanga died, but Ma Chirikure convinced him to swallow his pride and do his bit for the kingdom. After all, when it rained it rained for everyone. He too would benefit from the results of the rainmaking festival.
The muscular bodies of the drummers glistened with perspiration in the sun as they pounded on the taut cowhide. The booming sounds sent tremors through the ground that could be felt even by the aged ones who could not climb the hill to participate in the festivities. Then an orchestra of mbilas, the xylophones of the spirits, and kudu horns joined in. A troop of dancers, young men newly graduated from initiation schools, took to the arena and their robust soles hit the ground so hard it was small wonder it did not crack. Young women sang for them and clapped hands. Among them Marubini, Chido and Danai stood out.
Chata stood in the crowd a short distance from them. Whereas everyone else’s eyes were on the dancers and the antics of the musicians who were themselves moving to the rhythm of their music, Chata’s eyes were on the young women. They, of course, noticed this and started teasing Marubini about it.
“It is you he is eyeing,” Danai said to Marubini.
“He dares defile us with his gaze after the things he did to that Khoikhoi woman,” said Marubini.
“Oh, I hate that Chata!” said Chido.
The others agreed that Chido had a much stronger reason for hating Chata. The story went that Zwanga was preparing to send a delegation to formally negotiate bridewealth with Chido’s parents when Chata was charged with crimes against the people of Mapungubwe. Zwanga’s mission had to be postponed as his focus was now on the case, not only as a member of the Council of Elders, but also as the man who brought up the ungrateful reprobate as his own son. When Chata refused to take responsibility for his actions like a man, and when he announced to the court that he had been taught to be a man by his mother, thus impugning the man who had brought him up, Zwanga was a broken man. He just seemed to lose the will to live, which made Rendani very angry. Not just with Chata, but with Zwanga himself who obviously was still very enamoured of Chata. The story further went that Chata had hastened Zwanga’s death. By so doing he delayed Chido’s marriage to Rendani, which up to that point had not happened because Rendani was now preoccupied with matters of state after taking his father’s place in the Council of Elders. Only Mwali knew when the marriage would take place. It was all Chata’s fault.
Chata was oblivious of these grudges against him as his gaze moved from the women to the dancers and to the musicians. He was in awe of the musicians’ skills and regretted that he never had the opportunity to learn to play any of the instruments that produced such magical sounds. There was no place for music at Zwanga’s mining compound. His gaze returned to the young women and fixed on Marubini’s long arms and legs, and on her copper bangles and anklets.
A hwamanda player came to the fore and his horn bellowed like a wounded bull. The drums changed to a slower rhythm as the troop of young men left the arena. They were replaced by more mature dancers who moved with gravitas and aplomb. They were of Chata’s age-group and he did not hesitate to take to the arena with them. For a while he moved to their rhythm. Soon he was possessed by the spirit of the hwamanda, the mbila and the drums and he sprang upwards and spun in the air before landing on the ground on his hands.
“Oh, that Chata! He likes big things,” said Danai to the others.
“There he goes, spoiling the men’s dignified dance with his silly antics,” said Chido.
“He’s just showing off,” said Marubini.
But the dancing men didn’t seem to think so. They gave him space and danced in their solemn manner to the sides of the arena where they maintained their rhythm. They had danced with him before and knew what he was going to do next. It was the dance that he had learnt from the brown and white gazelles of the wild, thanks to the !Kung woman. She used to tell him: “Our way of life is learnt from the animals. Observe the animals and learn.” Thus he had observed the brown and white gazelle and learnt how to dance from its leaps. He had improved on those leaps and added the suppleness of the snake, the power of the snorting buffalo and the playfulness of the vervet monkey.
Women broke into ululations and the musicians played a faster rhythm in keeping with his movements. A dirty urchin sprang into the arena and copied Chata’s movements. It was Chenayi, the slow boy who was the butt of the children’s cruel games.
“Get the boy out of here,” yelled some of the men.
But Chata signalled to them to let the boy alone.
The boy imitated him as he danced the dance of the cantering quagga. It was very funny and left the people in stitches.
Chata’s dance was causing a lot of excitement in the crowd. Rendani watched and laughed with the rest of the elders, the youngest of their group. But inside he was not laughing. He k
new exactly what Chata was trying to do – he was trying to win back the people’s favour after his disgrace. And the suckers were sucking up. Just one silly dance was enough to make them forget that he was responsible for the rainless plight of the nation.
“He has the gall to prance around when he has not paid the fine,” said Baba-Munene.
“Before we judge him harshly we must call him to the court to find out why he has not paid the fine,” said Rendani.
“You are such a good and forgiving man,” said Baba-Munene. “We are blessed to have you as one of our elders. But no, I am not going to demean the King by begging Chata to pay the fine. We’ll use other methods to discipline this son of a phuli.”
Rendani did not know what methods he could mean. But whatever they turned out to be he was looking forward to them with glee. He was going to savour the downfall of this impudent man to the very last morsel.
Chata made one final leap and disappeared in the crowd. Chenayi was left dancing alone until the music stopped a short while later.
Marubini turned to her astonished friends and said, “Evil cannot reside in a body that harbours such exquisite dance moves.”
None of them could pretend they were not moved by his dance. The two girls pretended they did not notice that Marubini’s eyes had become glassy with unshed tears.
Chata was no longer there when the women served food and beer and the young men placed chunks of meat from spit-roasted cows and game on fresh hides before each of the age-groups of males and females. He was walking down the hill to feed his quagga and to bask in the shimmer of his gold.
He missed the final dance of the festival. The dance that people would talk about for generations to come. He heard only the next day when Ma Chirikure walked in ankle-deep water from her house to his that when it was the turn of the nubile maidens to dance Marubini and her friends took to the arena. This was the Dance of the Virgins. At first there was nothing remarkable about the movements. They were the usual sensual steps that left men drooling. But something unusual happened. Marubini broke away from the carefully choreographed shaking of the breasts and the bottoms. She leapt up and then crawled like a hunter stalking quarry. And then she turned and became the stalked beast. Her dance proceeded like that; at one time she was the hunter and at another time the hunted, sometimes in quick succession. Some of the dancers thought it was great fun and followed her movements. When her movements became more frenzied it was as if the maidens were competing with one another to see who would get tired first. The drummers and the xylophones kept up with the frenzy. The hwamanda and the other horns were silenced.
“Is this the birth of a new dance?” asked Baba-Munene.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” said Rendani.
It was no longer the kind of dance that left the men drooling. It messed up their diaphragms, made their hearts beat faster, and left them fearful. They did not know what the cause of their fear was. They were just afraid. Very afraid. As the competition gained momentum many of the dancers gradually fell by the wayside until she alone remained.
Marubini. She danced for a long time, until the sun splashed the horizon with pink and purple and yellow and red. Until it set behind the hills. Until the stars and the crescent provided the light. Until men and women brought flaming torches to continue enjoying the festivities, and especially Marubini’s dance, into the night. It seemed to the onlookers that she was repeating some of Chata’s moves, but with more elegance and grace. She was a gazelle. And a snake. And a buffalo. She soared like an eagle and swooped like a kite on a hapless rodent. She became a mole hill. Then an anthill. Then a mountain. She flowed like a river, and became bubbly like the water at the confluence of the Limpopo and the Shashe. She was drenched in perspiration as if she had dived fully clothed into the river. So was the whole orchestra. Some of the mistlike drops fell on the people in the front like a drizzle.
And then there was a drizzle. A real drizzle from the sky. Because people were holding flaming torches they were not aware that the stars and the crescent had disappeared and the sky wore a blanket of thick black clouds. The revellers were shaken by a loud thunderclap and a flash of lightning. And then the drizzle became a downpour. The torches went out and there was darkness. People began to disperse. They took to their heels. Except for Chido and Danai who stood there waiting for their friend, transfixed by awe.
That was all Ma Chirikure saw and narrated to Chata. She had scrambled with the throngs who walked in the downpour. There was so much exhilaration as they stumbled down the hill that the fear of being struck by lightning was completely banished. They were just grateful for the rain and the dance that brought it about and were chatting excitedly.
For a while after the crowds had left Marubini stood breathless in the centre of the arena. There was more thunder and lightning, and in its repeated flashes Chido and Danai could see Rendani approach Marubini. He was holding a gold bracelet and he gave it to her. But she did not take it. Her arms remained dangling at her sides as she breathed fast and deeply. Rendani reached for her hand and held it with both of his hands. And then he put the bracelet on her wrist. He made to go, but before he could walk past Chido and Danai whose eyes were agog despite the fat drops falling from the sky, he returned to Marubini.
“You cannot walk home in this rain,” he said. “We don’t want you to be struck by lightning. You can wait at my compound until it stops, and then I’ll ask some members of the Royal Guard to accompany you home.”
He said this last part with appropriate pomposity because it spoke of the power he wielded in the kingdom; the young woman had to take note that even the Royal Guard was at his beck and call.
“I’m with my friends,” said Marubini.
“My compound is big enough for all of you.”
Rendani led Marubini, Chido and Danai to the unoccupied house that he had built for a prospective fourth wife and left them there.
“They say this is going to be your house, Chido,” said Marubini as she sprawled on a grass mat. Normally the girls joked about Chido’s impending rise in status, but this time the two girls did not respond to the ribbing. Instead they were staring at the gold bracelet.
“Just an appreciation for my dance,” said Marubini as she looked at the bracelet nervously.
“You shouldn’t have taken it,” said Danai.
“You saw I didn’t take it. He placed it on my wrist.”
Chido stood there looking wounded.
“He didn’t so much as look at Chido. You know he’s betrothed to Chido; you shouldn’t have accepted the gift,” repeated Danai.
“He’s not betrothed to Chido yet. They’ll only be betrothed after his people have asked for her hand in marriage and have negotiated the bridewealth,” said Marubini defiantly. She was becoming exasperated by the insinuation that her friend was making.
“You know that they’ll be betrothed. The whole town of Mapungubwe knows that,” said Danai.
“Is that why you danced like a woman possessed by evil spirits?” asked Chido. “To impress him?”
“To steal him away from Chido?” added Danai. She was always the crude one, the less subtle one.
Marubini just shrugged at Chido’s insecurity, stretched her long limbs on the mat, and shut her eyes to rest her tired body.
“So it is true?” said Danai.
“I was not dancing to impress Rendani. I was dancing for Chata.”
The two girls could not help laughing despite the whiff of betrayal that permeated the room.
“You hate Chata,” said Chido.
“I don’t hate him. I think he is an idiot, that’s all. He performed his dance to show off.”
“Maybe even to impress you,” said Danai.
“I performed mine to show him anything he can do I can do better.”
She didn’t know that Chata was not there to see her make t
hat soaring statement.
“That’s why I took his dance of the creatures of the wilderness and danced it better and longer. I am the dancer of Mapungubwe. Dance is my thing, not his. How dare he use it to atone for his transgressions against the people of this kingdom?”
ABDUL WA SALIM BROUGHT a gift from Sidon by way of Kilwa, a concubine for Baba-Munene from Hamisi wa Babu who was keen to make peace with the people of Mapungubwe for some indiscretion that had happened many years before. Hamisi wa Babu would like to be allowed back into the kingdom to trade without hindrance and without threat of execution by the Royal Guard. He was confident that his gift would be much appreciated because she was a healthy well-fed woman who had been a courtesan to the Swahili and Arab merchant classes until they lost taste for her when younger ladies of pleasure flooded the market. She was therefore experienced in the ways of the bedroom. She had not aged that much either; only slight crow’s feet could be detected by the observant and she easily disguised them with bold kohl.
One did not refuse a present, especially if it was meant as a peace offering – the kind of gift that was called nduvho or homage to a chief. Baba-Munene therefore made a show of welcoming the woman in his homestead, but kept her in a dwelling all by herself away from everyone else. The only people who had any contact with her were his daughters who took turns to take her food and wild fruits and honey, and a swaswi joker who tried in vain to make her laugh.
Baba-Munene had no use for her. He was a traditional man who was steeped in the old ways. A foreign woman whose skin was so light she might as well be a ghost and whose hair was long and straight like the tail of a quagga did not capture his fancy. He therefore tried to pass her on to his favourite son-in-law.
But first he had a clandestine meeting with Princess Dova to sound her out. Initially the Princess voiced opposition to the whole idea, in the same way that she continued her stand against any further marriage by Rendani.
