CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR - THE PLAN IN ACTION
The old witchdoctor approached the valley cautiously, Mthoko by his side ready to fight anyone who mistook them for the enemy. They were unsure of Gatsheni’s precise battle plan and it would not do to surprise the amadoda now as they would be primed for a kill and could attack at any provocation.
The approach seemed still and silent and the two men were impressed at the way the warriors had hidden themselves, as there was no evidence of the skilfully laid ambush. They reached the head of the valley by the baobab trees and held their arms aloft to show they were not armed and called out, ‘Lotjhani, hello.’ They stopped and waited for a reply, ensuring that they were clearly visible from any point in the valley. There was silence. The breeze wafted through the yellow grasses, whispering the words of the spirits, but of mortal man, there was not a word.
‘Gatsheni, it is us. Can you hear?’ Mthoko called again, but again silence enveloped them, causing them to tremble, waiting for the first strike. They looked at each other and started to walk slowly further down the valley floor, their arms still raised high, nervously looking all around them as they went. There was still no sign of the impi and not a sound from anywhere.
Suddenly, Mthoko stopped and grabbed the old man’s arm. ‘Look, there,’ he said, pointing to a spot at the far end of the valley, ‘who is that standing there?’
The old man looked and his tired eyes just managed to discern a sole figure, standing alone, without movement or sound. They looked at each other again in bewilderment then continued to make progress towards the figure.
As they got closer, they could see that it was Gatsheni, just standing looking up at the vast blue sky but with tears streaming down his face.
‘What is wrong, old man??’ Mthoko asked. ‘Where are the amadoda, the brave warriors of the Matabele?’ he taunted him a little, unsure of the situation.
The old induna turned slowly and looked at him. ‘The Matabele warriors are brave,’ he said, ‘more brave than the Mashona will ever know.’
‘So where are they, Old Man.’ Again Mthoko taunted, pleased to see the arrogance of this man had been wiped away. ‘Could they not manage this task?’
Gatsheni continued to stare at the young man, his red-rimmed eyes burning with hate and the disappointment of knowing that his people had deserted him. The indunas had chosen their safe, comfortable lives over glory on the battlefield and the chance to right the wrongs of the past. He despised them now, cowards not worthy of the title induna of the Matabele nation, he wished them dead, all of them, to rot in their graves, forgotten and despised. How could they have done this to him? He had summoned the spirits right there in front of their eyes and yet they had chosen to disobey, to ignore the words of Mlimo, to disregard the history of the kings and disrespect his ancestors; that last crime would be unforgivable.
As he stared into the laughing face of the Mashona jackal pup, the hatred welled up and as he suddenly felt a surge of spirits inside him, he leapt at the younger, stronger man, determined to kill him where he stood. Every muscle on his body stood proud as he attacked, hands reaching and clawing for the man’s throat, all his weight propelled forward into the body of his enemy.
Mthoko was taken by surprise at the attack, but he was young and fit and with a simple sidestep and a swinging punch, he felled the pathetic old man in one blow. He kicked him as he collapsed to the ground and spat on his prostrate form as he rolled in the dust.
‘Don’t make me laugh, Old Man. You are weak and finished. The Matabele people are now our slaves and you are the dogs here to do our bidding, to roll in the dirt and always will it be so.’
Gatsheni felt the stinging pain of the blows, but tried to stand. His body gave up though and he sagged back down into the dirt, the tears of frustration flowing down his face and dripping to the ground.
The old witchdoctor bent down and placed a hand on him. ‘I am sorry Nkosi, but the world has changed and you have to change too. The ways of our ancestors have gone forever. We must pass the world on to the young now.’
He stood and a tear appeared at his own eye as he witnessed the final humiliation of a noble induna. He turned and walked away, leaving the Matabele warrior in the dust.
Acacia - Secrets of an African Painting Page 35
