by Zakes Mda
But the ragamuffin was not interested in the coin; he knew exactly where to reach into the threadbare waistcoat to grab a pocket watch before dashing away, with the watch chain twirling in the light of the street gas lamps. The gentleman staggered and fell.
Em-Pee ran after the ragamuffin while the other Zulus went to assist the couple. There was no way an emaciated street urchin could outrun a Zulu warrior. The boy cursed and screamed as Em-Pee grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and brought him back to his victim. He forced him to give the watch back and apologise.
Em-Pee was struck by the ragamuffin’s soft features. He could easily be a girl. An idea hit him. This could be the new Zazel. It would just take some work to scrub off all the filth, make him up and dress him as a girl.
It did take some convincing, but with the promise not to call the coppers on him and instead give him the opportunity for stardom, he allowed himself to be led into the presence of The Great Farini by the blackamoors. The impresario bought the idea, and young Czeslaw Trzetrzelewska, alias Slaw, became a member of Farini’s troupe. He was made up into a lady and shot from a cannon.
But he was also used for other roles. As he grew big and strong with good feeding, his skin was darkened with black cork, and he became a native of some invented Indian Ocean islands. Sometimes he was painted brown with shoe polish and pitted against Mpiyezintombi in the battle of the savage races where, as a tiny but powerful warrior, he felled the giant Zulu in a David-and-Goliath confrontation.
As soon as Slaw was settled in his routine as Zazel ii, the Zulus resumed their demand for a raise and improved work conditions. The Great Farini felt aggrieved that they were continuing with their ingratitude.
And then Ulundi happened, adding to his woes.
The news came in dribs and drabs. No one had believed the greatest military force in the world would allow savages to get away with victory, yet no one expected Chelmsford’s revenge would happen so soon and so swiftly. On 4 July 1879, only six months after Isandlwana, a force of twenty thousand Zulu soldiers was brought to its knees by seventeen thousand Red Coats of Her Majesty the Queen and their allies.
Em-Pee was sitting outside a marquee giving reading and writing lessons to Slaw. He was proud of the young man; he was catching on very fast. Slaw had resisted at first because he had not believed that a Black man from Africa could teach him anything, but he had since gained more respect for his ‘guv’, as he had then taken to addressing Em-Pee.
The Great Farini came scampering towards them, waving a sheaf of papers.
‘Maybe he is going to offer you more money, guv,’ said Slaw softly.
It was meant only for Em-Pee’s ears but Farini heard him. He perched himself next to them. ‘That is all you can think of? Money?’
‘Just a joke, sir, Mr Great Farini,’ said Slaw.
‘We have more problems than your demands for more money,’ said Farini, brandishing the papers in Em-Pee’s face. ‘Your people have let us down. They were thoroughly defeated at the Battle of Ulundi. That’s not good for my business. Who will pay to watch defeated savages?’
He read for them from The Evening Star on ‘The Capture of Ulundi’. A smarting Lord Chelmsford had ordered the return of four hundred and fourteen cattle Cetshwayo had sent to Natal in his attempt to sue for peace. Instead he sent Her Majesty’s forces, numbering thousands of Europeans and hundreds of natives, to raze the Zulu Kingdom at its very heart.
By noon Ulundi was in flames, and during the day all the military kraals of the Zulu army in the valley of Umvolosi were destroyed.
One would have thought there would be joy in Farini’s voice as he read this. But no, there was sadness. Em-Pee experienced even more sadness but did not want to show it.
The only excited person was Slaw. As Farini read, he screamed, ‘Give ’em hell, Charley, give ’em hell! Battyfang ’em, John Bull!’
Farini, on the other hand, was struck by the discovery that there were natives who fought on the side of the British and therefore the British could not claim all the glory. As he read on, he discovered that in the cavalry were five hundred mounted Basotho men under Colonel Chrode.
‘The king! What do they say happened to King Cetshwayo?’ asked Em-Pee, agitated. He was sad that he could hear of this war only from the side of the British and their war correspondents. He yearned to get the side of his people.
Farini skimmed through the papers looking for news of the Zulu king.
There is no further news of Cetewayo, who left Ulundi on the 3rd inst. The Natal Witness publishes the following description of the battle by the correspondent of the London Daily Telegraph: – The British marched in hollow square, the 8th regiment and Gatlin battery forming with the 90th regiment …
Farini stopped right there. He was not interested in the details of how the battle was fought and won, or how the Zulus were flying before the advancing cavalry, bolting up the mountain until they were out of reach. Like Em-Pee, but for different reasons, he was interested in the fate of Cetshwayo.
‘If Cetewayo dies, the Zulus lose their shine. If the Zulus lose their shine, you can kiss your job goodbye,’ said Farini, as he stood up abruptly and scurried away.
‘Thank heavens I am not a Zulu, guv,’ said Slaw. ‘The cannon doesn’t depend on any war.’
‘You are becoming too fat for the cannon,’ said Em-Pee. ‘You may kiss your job goodbye too.’
Later they learned that Cetshwayo had not been killed. He had gone into hiding but was captured a month later. Em-Pee’s eyes were misty with unshed tears when he saw a newspaper picture of him with his jailers. He was not in chains, as one would expect of a prisoner, but was standing majestically in front of a cannon on the Cape of Good Hope Castle ramparts, wearing a well-tailored European suit and hat. Next to him were his custodian, Captain Ruscombe Poole, and his interpreter, Henry Longcast, who was leaning against the cannon. Two of the king’s lieutenants stood behind the cannon. Em-Pee thought he could identify one of them but was not sure because the picture was too grainy. Em-Pee suspected that if he had not fled from the Zulu Kingdom, he would have been one of those men. After all, he used to prepare the king’s bath that he took on the iNkatha.
As it turned out, Farini’s fortunes did not fall with Ulundi. Instead they rose. British audiences were even more eager to see the noble savages that had finally been subdued by the might of the British Empire after first disgracing the imperial forces at Isandlwana. For the rest of the year the performances went on, and the disgruntled Zulus continued to press for more money.
Finally they reached the end of their patience and went on strike. On Saturday, 3 January 1880, a standing-room-only house was waiting for the Zulus at the Aq, but they were nowhere to be seen. Various human curiosities had paraded, danced and exhibited themselves in their several forms of grotesquerie, but without the promised Zulus, the audience felt cheated. They started chanting for the Zulus. A livid Farini had to promise them a partial refund of the admission fees they had paid.
For weeks, the Zulus stood their ground. The Great Farini tried many tricks, even confiscating their clothes. The Zulus went to court with, Farini suspected, the assistance of liberal bleeding-hearts – particularly church people. He felt betrayed, for he had always treated his natives like his own family. He told the Justice of the Peace that he merely took their clothes to prevent them from wandering in the streets of London where they could be victims of crime.
Em-Pee, on the other hand, revealed that the Zulus had been offered more money by a rival impresario and Farini was trying to prevent them from selling their labour where it would be rewarded fairly.
‘All we want is to be paid what we deserve for our work,’ he said.
‘I am willing to pay for their way back to Africa,’ said Farini.
The newspapers had a field day with this strike, condemning the savages for ingratitude. Em-Pee read an article in The Daily Telegraph to his mates where the reporter was urging the police to ‘arrest these wretche
d creatures immediately’ for loitering, refusing to fulfil the terms of their contract with their employer, and living high on the hog on the police court’s poor boxes. The Zulus laughed out loud when Em-Pee got to the part where the newspaper said: Meanwhile London is threatened by an impi of outrageous Zulus, determined to live here, but equally determined not to work.
The Justice of the Peace advised the parties to work out an amicable solution. The Great Farini offered to decrease the number of performances and to improve their wages.
When the Zulus returned to work, many things had changed. Farini had imported new Zulus from France, and these included a Zulu princess called Amazulu. He billed them as Farini’s Friendly Zulus. As an antithesis to Em-Pee’s troupe of ferocious Zulus, the Parisian Zulus smiled a lot and only played games. Instead of threatening audiences with their assegais, they used the spears to compete with audience members at target aiming, and of course they hit the bullseye all the time. Unlike Em-Pee’s Zulus, Farini’s Friendly Zulus were said to be loyal to the British Crown.
Em-Pee suspected that Farini had introduced them to placate those who were trying to censor his human zoo. Noise was coming from various quarters, mostly the religious establishment, trying to shut Farini down.
Then P.T. Barnum saved the day by inviting The Great Farini and his human curiosities to join his ever-expanding big tent in New York. When Em-Pee showed reluctance to sail to yet another country, Farini convinced him that it was only a temporary move; it was important to export the Zulus to New York before Cetshwayo’s shine wore off.
* * *
Between decks midway through the voyage is not the most pleasant place to be. Not only are the two toilets at each end of the deck exuding unpleasant odours, but the stench of unwashed bodies and decaying food and the fumes of rum permeate the area. It is not unbearable; the passengers have all become inured to it. They have no choice.
The Irishmen are beginning to thaw towards the Zulus, all thanks to Slaw, who shuttles between the groups, telling each side stories of heroism of the other. The Zulus have even performed some dances, which fascinated the ladies. They are more star-struck when they hear that Slaw and ‘his’ Zulus are going to join P.T. Barnum.
The men are jealous of the attention paid to the savages.They refer to the women as slags, which makes them angry and more defiant. Some women even lend the Zulus their pillows and blankets; Farini had not warned Em-Pee and his mates that you have to bring your own bedding in steerage. But the Zulus were managing all right, covering themselves with burlap sacks and rolling some up for pillows.
One woman who particularly fusses over the Zulus introduces herself as Aoife Murphy and declares, as soon as she hears they are prospective P.T. Barnum stars, that she has always wanted to join the circus. She can sing like a nightingale and dance like a prima ballerina. The Zulus teach her Zulu songs; she teaches them Irish songs.
Aoife Murphy stands in front of the Zulus as they sprawl on their straw mattresses and sings for them the Zulu lullaby Thula, thula sana. Occasionally she sips from a bottle of rum, makes faces, and holds it high above her head as she butchers the song. The Zulus don’t seem to be paying much attention to her. They are either dozing off or having a soft conversation among themselves. An Irishman occasionally yells, ‘Shut up, slut!’
Only Em-Pee is staring at her, goggle-eyed.
4
New York City – July 1885
The Dinka Princess
When Em-Pee sees her for the first time she is in a cage perched on a buckboard wagon. She wears a papier-mâché crown painted gold, and a patchwork cape of mink, otter and kodiak fur. The first thing that attracts him is her complexion. She is pitch black. Blacker than any night. Almost purple in her blackness. She is gangly, her legs twisted awkwardly to fit in the small cage. She squats uncomfortably, her head resting between her knees and her spindly arms wrapped tightly around them. Her fur coat covers her whole body and most of the floor of the cage, so that one is unable to say what dress or shoes she is wearing, if any.
He reads on a carved wooden cartouche attached to the cage that she is from the Dinka tribe in Sudan. She is called Dinkie the Dinka Princess, and is owned by Monsieur Duval, proprietor of Duval Ethnological Expositions.
He would have looked and moved on, but she smiles at him. Just vaguely. That is enough. He freezes and gazes at her. She averts her eyes slightly and once more the empty stare takes over.
He has been in Madison Square Park before, scouting for respectable performance venues outside the Tenderloin district, but has never seen the Dinka Princess. Only cages with pygmies, individual men and women or family units. Or some exotic creatures of the African and South American jungles – mandrills and drills, marmosets and moustached emperor tamarins, the latter in meshed-wire cages instead of behind iron bars. The Dinka Princess must be a new acquisition. Unless she has been transferred from a human zoo in another part of the city.
There are no pygmies today, so Dinkie is hogging all the attention. She is not doing anything, just sitting there with fiery red lips, thick and slightly pursed. Yet spectators are particularly engrossed in her, as if she is performing a hypnotic dance.
Their children are fascinated by the mandrills and other simians.
Men push Em-Pee to the side to get a better view of the caged woman. He is invisible. He is the only Black person in this crowd. The only one not in bondage. He tries to resist but the human tide is too powerful for him and soon he finds himself at the edge of the crowd. Nonetheless his steadfast gaze does not shift from the woman. Her gaze does not shift from the emptiness in the sky.
A few moments later, it does. Her eyes seem to be searching in the crowd and land on the spot where Em-Pee had previously been standing. They show some disappointment that he has been replaced by an old codger in an equally old British police visor cap. The eyes sweep the crowd once more, and brighten when they land on Em-Pee, meeting his and locking them in an unblinking stare. Em-Pee thinks he detects a smile. A slight one. Perhaps a suggestion of one. He smiles back. A really broad one. She smiles for real. Her teeth are blindingly white.
The heads of the spectators all turn to see what she is smiling at. They do not see Em-Pee. He is invisible. Instead, above his head, they see the exotic simians in their cages and the screeching children trying to provoke them to screech back. The spectators think that’s what the caged woman is smiling at. How cute. They break into gentle laughter.
Em-Pee smiles even more broadly. The Dinka Princess stares at him curiously. Her brow and nose are glistening with perspiration. The July sun is merciless. She must be broiling in the small cage under such a heavy fur cape. But her nonchalance, broken only by vague smiles whenever her eyes drift to him, belies that.
He is attacked by sudden elation. It is a strange and fearful feeling. He walks slowly backwards while still gazing at the woman in the cage, until he is clear of the crowd, then he breaks into a run. He feels very bouncy all the way and is afraid that he may be getting sick. He does not return to Slaw and the troupe but goes straight to his tenement at Five Points.
‘What’s the matter, Em-Pee? Somebody’s chasing you?’ asks Aoife. He almost bumps into her and Mavo at the door. ‘And you home so early?’
‘Not feeling so good,’ he says. ‘You can leave Mavo. I am not going out tonight.’
This excites four-year-old Mavo. He goes to the circus with his mother every day, while his father is performing elsewhere, and enjoys being babysat by clowns, gymnasts, human curiosities and trapeze artists when his mother is performing. But staying home with his father for a change is a rare treat.
Aoife looks at Em-Pee suspiciously, shakes her head and leaves.
Soon Em-Pee regrets volunteering to look after the boy. He is much too active and won’t let his father lie on the bed and rest. He wants a pillow fight, and the father fights back half-heartedly. He is still light-headed.
* * *
Mavo, named after an ancestor of the Mkhize c
lan, Mavovo, was conceived on the very first night Em-Pee landed in America almost five years ago.
When the steamship entered New York harbour, there was great excitement among the passengers, particularly the steerage folk, who would finally get some reprieve from the stuffy dungeon. Em-Pee’s relief was that finally he and Aoife would go their separate ways, though, admittedly, he had grown fond of her. She had become quite enamoured of him as well, and took every opportunity to fuss over him. It was worse when she had had a few tots of rum. She planted herself next to him on the straw mattress and sang Zulu songs. The Zulus had taught her a few more in addition to the lullaby, and they were in stitches at her mispronunciation of the words.
But they had finally arrived at the Port of New York, and she was sure to go her way.
After Farini had settled with the collector of customs and the passengers had all gone through the Emigrant Landing Depot at Castle Garden in Battery Park, a process that took only a few hours, thanks to the help from P.T. Barnum’s men who had come to meet the Zulus, Aoife told Em-Pee she was coming along. No one, not even Em-Pee, had seen this coming. She announced that she had made no arrangements for anyone to meet her, for she had no one, unlike the many steerage passengers who had excited relatives and friends meeting them.
‘She’s your problem, guv,’ said Slaw with a naughty twinkle in his eye.
‘I’m not a problem,’ said Aoife. ‘Just ask your boss to give me work.’
Farini did not wait to be asked. He turned and looked at her patronisingly. ‘What can you do?’ he asked.
‘I can sing. Em-Pee’s my witness.’
‘Maybe you can, but we’re not vaudeville,’ said Farini dismissively and walked on.
‘I can be an entertainer in many other ways,’ said Aoife, skipping after him like a child.
