Xhosa literature

PUBLICATIONS OF THE OPLAND COLLECTION

OF XHOSA LITERATURE

General Editors: Jeff Opland and Pamela Maseko

under the auspices of the NRF SARChI Chair:

Intellectualisation of African Languages,
Multilingualism and Education, Rhodes University

The Opland Collection of Xhosa Literature is the academic library of Jeff

Opland assembled in the course of his research into Xhosa folklore, especially
praise poetry, and the history of Xhosa literature. Its contents include field
recordings of Xhosa poets (1969–85), books and pamphlets in isiXhosa, and
copies of literature published in ephemera. The Publications Series draws
on material in the Collection, and presents diplomatic editions with English
translations of significant works in isiXhosa, for the most part previously
unrecognised or unavailable as published books, and studies of material in the
Collection.

Volume 1: William Wellington Gqoba, Isizwe esinembali: Xhosa histories

and poetry (1873–1888), edited by Jeff Opland, Wandile Kuse and
Pamela Maseko
Volume 2: D.L.P. Yali-Manisi, Iimbali zamanyange: historical poems, edited
by Jeff Opland and Pamela Maseko
Volume 3: John Solilo, Umoya wembongi: collected poems (1922–1935),
edited by Jeff Opland and Peter T. Mtuze
Volume 4: S.E.K. Mqhayi, Iziganeko zesizwe: occasional poems (1900–1943),
edited by Jeff Opland and Peter T. Mtuze
Volume 5: Xhosa poets and poetry, by Jeff Opland
Volume 6: Xhosa literature: spoken and printed words, by Jeff Opland
PUBLICATIONS OF THE OPLAND COLLECTION OF XHOSA LITERATURE

VOLUME 6

Xhosa literature

Spoken and printed words

Jeff Opland
Published in 2018 by University of KwaZulu-Natal Press
Private Bag X01
Scottsville, 3209
Pietermaritzburg
South Africa
Email: books@ukzn.ac.za
Website: www.ukznpress.co.za

© 2018 Jeff Opland

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission
in writing from University of KwaZulu-Natal Press.

ISBN: 978-1-86914-386-2
e-ISBN: 978-1-86914-387-9

Managing editor: Sally Hines

Editor: Karen Press
Proofreader: Cathy Munro
Typesetter: Patricia Comrie
Cover design: MDesign
Cover photographs: centre, Wilson Mkhaliphi performing an izibongo (photo:
Jeff Opland); left, the first issue of Umshumayeli wendaba
(1837), the first Xhosa periodical; top right and bottom left,
the cover of G.B. Sinxo’s Imfene ka Debeza (1925), the first
Xhosa drama; bottom right, the title page of Noyi’s Iziqwenge
zembali yamaXosa (1838), set but not published

The financial assistance of the National Institute of Humanities

and Social Sciences (NIHSS) towards this research is hereby
acknowledged. Opinions expressed and conclusions arrived at
are those of the author and editors and are not necessarily to
be attributed to the NIHSS.

Printed and bound in South Africa by Paarl Media

For Russell
Khawutsho ke, Njinga-yolwazi:
Esi sizwe samaXhosa usithande ngani na,
Singaba sikuphandle sakusola ngantoni na
Le nt’ ukwaziy’ ukushiy’ imazi namathole akokwenu,
Zide ziqingqith’ iicawa ulala kude nekhaya,
Ujikelezana neelali nezixeko zamaXhosa,
Usimba, ugrumba, uphanda uphutha-putha!
Ngathi sisemnyamen’ esi sitya kukudal’ usifuna!
Yenza id’ ibonwe kaloku le nt’ uyibhomeleyo,
Uyijokileyo, ubonakal’ uzilahlele wonke kuyo!

extract from “Igalelo likaProfesa J. Opland”

(Burns-Ncamashe 1979: 39)

So tell us, Professor,

why you love this Xhosa nation,
what attracted you to it,
to leave your wife and children,
and week after week sleep far from home,
looping through Xhosa towns and settlements,
digging, scratching, scraping, grubbing!
What you seek seems hidden deep!
Quick now, let’s see what obsesses you,
what you persist in devoting your all to!
Contents

Preface ix
Foreword Peter T. Mtuze xiii
Acknowledgements xv

Prologue 1
1 Oral tradition, books, newspapers 3

Oral tradition 19
2 History as literature 21
3 Two recorded poems by S.E.K. Mqhayi 48
4 Izibongo as invocation 73
5 The imbongi as trickster (with P.A. McAllister) 85
6 Izibongo on the cusp of change 104

Books 133
7 The first Xhosa novel: S.E.K. Mqhayi’s U-Samson (1907) 135
8 The publication of A.C. Jordan’s novel, Ingqumbo
yeminyanya (1940) 168
9 The earliest published poem on Nelson Mandela (1954) 184

Newspapers 199
10 Nineteenth-century Xhosa literature 201
11 Fighting with the pen 230
12 The newspaper as empowering medium: the case of
Nontsizi Mgqwetho 269
13 Abantu-Batho and the Xhosa poets 288
Epilogue 335
14 A creative response to izibongo: The Dassie and
the Hunter (2005) 337

Bibliography 354
Index 367
Preface

In Xhosa poets and poetry, published in 1998, I assembled thirteen

previously published essays on Xhosa literature, to which I added a
further essay to outsmart the unlucky number. Although the chapters
were originally published separately, the fourteen essays were grouped
into four sections, reflecting my interests at that time: improvisation,
structure, poets and print. Despite my attempt to sidestep the jinx, bad
luck dogged the book: the original publisher was almost immediately
taken over by a second publisher; the book was poorly distributed,
languished, and went out of print not long after. A revised and updated
version, consisting of essays published between 1974 and 1996, was
published as Volume 5 in the present series. The present book can be
considered a companion volume to Xhosa poets and poetry: it consists of
revised versions of ten previously published articles, three unpublished
conference papers, and a contribution to a Festschrift that failed to find
a publisher. They span 35 years of research into literature in the Xhosa
language (isiXhosa), from 1977 to 2012, in the course of which time
my interest shifted from oral poetry in general – and Anglo-Saxon and
Xhosa oral poetry in particular – to Xhosa oral poetry (izibongo) in its
own right, to Xhosa literature published in books and finally to Xhosa
literature published in newspapers and ephemera. In the course of my
career, medieval studies initially took precedence over other fields of
interest, but Anglo-Saxon literature was territory fairly well charted by
scholars, Xhosa literature very much less so, so I was gradually drawn
to the South African material, freely available if you searched it out but
little studied, a much more appealing field of enterprise for that very
reason. The world of scholarship, I felt, could do without my views
on Beowulf or Chaucer, whereas Xhosa literature struck me as equally
inviting but more demanding of attention.

ix
 When I commenced my fieldwork on izibongo in 1969, I had
only two articles written by Archie Mafeje (1963, 1967) to guide me.
In the passage of time, scholars such as Russell Kaschula, Wandile
Kuse, Peter Mtuze and A.T. Wainwright, and poets (iimbongi) such
as S.M. Burns-Ncamashe, Nelson Mabunu, David Yali-Manisi and
Melikaya Mbutuma contributed to my understanding and appreciation
of izibongo. The representation of izibongo in books, and the peculiar
problems facing Xhosa poets trying to secure publication for their
work, drew my growing interest, but when I came to explore Xhosa
literature in newspapers I had only a series of twelve popular articles by
A.C. Jordan as my guide, and over time I have been left pretty much
alone in my focus on Xhosa literature printed in newspapers.1 I
reached the conclusions that no history of Xhosa literature could be
balanced and complete unless it included a consideration of literature in
newspapers; that newspapers offered a crucial source of information on
early Xhosa-language authors, their lives and times; and that many of
the major contributors to newspapers never saw their work published as
books. Furthermore, when contributions to newspapers were included in
books, they were often subjected to mangling and heavy-handed editing:
reclaiming the original texts published in newspapers, I realised, could
correct the imbalance in the perception of Xhosa literature, and restore
the texts in closer accordance with the authors’ intentions. So I have
come of late to recognise the need to edit and translate the writings
of major Xhosa authors whose work is now unknown, or whose total
output is not fully appreciated.2
The essays in the present volume are arranged for convenience
into three sections, named for each of the three media in which Xhosa
literature flourishes or has flourished – the spoken word, newspapers
and books – but these categories are not water-tight: they interconnect
and animate each other, and so, too, I hope, will the essays in this book,
despite their separation into distinct sections. A prologue introduces the
three media, and an epilogue attempts to image their interanimation by
discussing a printed book that presents itself as an oral poem, a printed

1. The articles by Jordan were originally published between 1957 and 1960 in Africa
South and reprinted, though poorly edited, in 1973 (Jordan 1973).
2. Opland (2007), Wauchope (2008) and Mqhayi (2009) were forerunners of the
present series of publications.

x
text that turns inward to address in the mode of his poetic declamations
the oral poet who inspired it.
In the course of this journey of enquiry and discovery, I was
fortunate to secure the financial support of a number of agencies,
whose generosity I gratefully acknowledge: the Chairman’s Fund of
the Chamber of Mines, the Committee on Research at Vassar College,
the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, the British Academy and
the Andrew Mellon Foundation. I have been fortunate in securing the
aid of colleagues in the understanding of Xhosa texts, facilitating the
translations included in this volume: S.M. Burns-Ncamashe, Wandile
Kuse, Wele Manona, Pamela Maseko, Buntu Mfenyana, Vuyani
Mqingwana, Peter Mtuze, Phyllis Ntantala, Abner Nyamende and
D.L.P. Yali-Manisi.3 I have been encouraged and sustained over the
years in various ways by the interest, encouragement, help, support
and inspiration of friends and colleagues, some of whose names spring
happily to mind: Neil and Penny Berens, Duncan Brown, Relda and
Mark Donaldson, Graham Furniss, Tony Gordon-Smith, Gerald
Heusing, Russell Kaschula, Peter Limb, Chris and Julia Mann, Patrick
McAllister, Norman and Jean Mearns, Bryn Morgan, Martin Orwin,
Jeff and Mary-Louise Peires, Sandy Shell, Andrew and Heather Tracey,
and Ekkehard Wolff. A special word of thanks must be reserved for my
children Janine and Samantha and especially, latterly, Bronwyn and
Miles, but in particular Daniel for his loyalty and constant promotion
of my work. And I reserve a final expression of gratitude for my loving
wife Melanie, who bore so much of the burden while I gallivanted
about the countryside or obsessively invested my desk.
This book is dedicated to my eldest son, Russell. Many years ago,
I intended a collection of essays to be dedicated to him, but it failed
to proceed to publication, and as the years passed by he was unfairly
relegated to the back of the queue. I am delighted with this book finally
to redress the injustice: he was, and remains, the first.

Godalming
26 April 2016

3. All unaccredited translations in this volume are my own, for the most part guided
by one of those mentioned here.

xi
Foreword

This is another monumental contribution by Professor Jeff Opland to

the isiXhosa literary heritage. The book is a fantastic reflection of a
great mind on the evolution of isiXhosa literature from oral literature
to the newspaper age, culminating in the emergence of isiXhosa books.
Professor Opland should be commended for continually unearthing
vast amounts of isiXhosa literary texts that could have ended in
oblivion were it not for his unfailing commitment to this research, and
his analytical mind. His deep-rooted interest in these texts spans many
decades of pioneering work.
A strong feature of the book, as is the case with the whole series,
is its frank commentary on censorship and other restrictive editorial
policies of the missionary, and later commercial, presses that produced
the first written secular literature.
One of the remarkable elements of the book is the inclusion of a
number of historical narratives, amabali, from the earlier centuries. This
subgenre had always been eschewed and overlooked in earlier works
largely because the authorities of the time stifled black sentiments
on some issues and yet ambali were one of the most common ways
of promoting oral traditions. They formed the common institutional
memory. It is therefore gratifying to see them included in the isiXhosa
literary canon.
The book reaches its climax in the third section when it touches
on two recorded poems by the renowned poet laureate, S.E.K. Mqhayi.
This is followed by discussions of poems by several celebrated poets
such as Yali-Manisi, Zolani Mkiva and many others. Needless to say
Professor Opland has a predilection for isiXhosa oral poetry, as a result
he is the leading researcher in the field.

xiii
 The value of these poems is threefold. The first is the unearthing
of rare material, the second is the ability of the author of the book to
assess its contribution to the isiXhosa literary canon, and the third is the
running commentary of the collector on issues that are mind-boggling
and obscure to today’s literary scholarship. These include references to
people, incidents, events and popular historiography that are unknown
in our times.
The rest of the book contains laudable discussions of contemporary
poetry and insights on how some of the writers struggled against
oppressive editorial policies, and won. A classic example of such a
fight is A.C. Jordan’s refusal to have his novel Ingqumbo yeminyanya
truncated to suit the whims of its editor.
The book will be a valuable addition to the series. It encapsulates
some of the views that are characteristic of the incisive commentary of
Professor Opland on the development of isiXhosa literature over the
years.

Peter T. Mtuze
Emeritus Professor
Rhodes University

xiv
Acknowledgements

The author is grateful to publishers and editors for permission to reprint

in this volume revised versions of articles that have appeared elsewhere.
The chapters are based on the following sources:

Chapter 1: 2012. “Where can you find Xhosa literature?”

Unpublished paper presented to a one-day symposium on “The Book in
Africa” held in London on 20 October.
Chapter 3: 1977. “Two unpublished poems by S.E.K. Mqhayi”.
Research in African Literatures 8: 27–53.
Chapter 4: 2002. “Izibongo as invocation”. Unpublished paper
presented to a conference on “Orality and Literacy II: The World of the
Spirits” held in Brussels in October.
Chapter 5: 2010. “The Xhosa imbongi as trickster” (with
P.A. McAllister). Journal of African Cultural Studies 22 (2): 157–67.
Chapter 6: 2003. “What is remembered in Xhosa izibongo”.
Unpublished paper presented to a conference on “Orality and Literacy
III: Memory” held in Houston on 10–12 October 2003.
Chapter 7: 2007. “The first novel in Xhosa”. Research in African
Literatures 38 (4): 87–110.
Chapter 8: 1990. “The publication of A.C. Jordan’s Xhosa novel
Ingqumbo yeminyanya (1940)”. Research in African Literatures 21:
135–47.
Chapter 9: 2000. “What’s in a poem? The Philip Balkwill Memorial
Lecture, Charterhouse, Godalming, 28 April 2000”. Current Writing 12:
1–20.
Chapter 10: 2004. “Nineteenth-century Xhosa literature”. Kronos:
Journal of Cape History 30: 22–46.

xv
 Chapter 11: 2003. “Fighting with the pen: the appropriation of the
press by early Xhosa writers”. In: Orality, Literacy, and Colonialism
in Southern Africa, edited by J.A. Draper. Atlanta: Society of Biblical
Literature, Leiden: E.J. Brill and Pietermaritzburg: Cluster Publications.
Chapter 12: 2008. “The newspaper as empowering medium of
Xhosa literature: the case of Nontsizi Mgqwetho”. In: Beyond the
Language Issue: The Production, Mediation and Reception of Creative
Writing in African Languages, edited by A. Oed and U. Reuster-Jahn.
Mainzer Beiträge zur Afrikaforschung 19. Köln: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag.
Chapter 13: 2012. “Abantu-Batho and the Xhosa poets”. In: The
People’s Paper: A Centenary History and Anthology of Abantu-Batho,
edited by P. Limb. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.
Chapter 14: 2005. “A creative response to Xhosa praise poetry”. In:
Oralité Africaine et Création, edited by A.-M. Dauphin-Tinturier and
J. Derive. Paris: Karthala.

xvi
Prologue
1

Oral tradition, books, newspapers

Among all the world’s peoples, none has been found to be lacking in
language. And among all the world’s linguistic communities, none has
been found to lack a heightened form of speech, that artful crafting of
words we term literature, words spoken creatively for the appreciation
of listeners. Whatever manifold forms it might take, spoken literature,
or oral literature, is as universal as language.
The Xhosa language, isiXhosa, is spoken by the amaXhosa,
the Xhosa people largely settled north and south of the Kei River in
southeastern Africa, who themselves split in the eighteenth century
into the Rharhabe and Gcaleka peoples.1 The same language is also
spoken by other related groups of the so-called Cape Nguni stretching
northwards along the coastal band up to KwaZulu: the Thembu,

1. In South Africa the Xhosa term isiXhosa (as distinct from umXhosa, for example,
a Xhosa person; amaXhosa, the Xhosa people; or ubuXhosa, Xhosa identity)
has recently become fairly current in English to refer to the Xhosa language but,
while it might be more specific and accurate than the English term Xhosa for the
language of the Cape Nguni peoples, it is subject to confusion and engenders
ungrammaticality (the isiXhosa people, for example) and redundancy (the isiXhosa
language) among those with no knowledge of isiXhosa, and the term has gained
no currency outside South Africa. In this book, if the context clearly implies a
reference to the language, the English term Xhosa will be employed in preference
to isiXhosa, since non-standard dialects of the language do not enter the discussion.
This practice is consistent with English usage: we refer to the languages as
German, not Deutsch, as French, not Français. There is no greater inaccuracy
inherent in this practice than in referring to English literature, even though
that literature might be produced by people who are Irish or Scottish, Indian or
American. The various ethnic groupings who speak the Xhosa language – Xhosa,
Thembu, Mpondomise, Xesibe, Mpondo and Bhaca – will be referred to by name
when necessary, or will be referred to collectively as the Xhosa-speaking peoples,
or the Cape Nguni, as context demands.

3
4   PROLOGUE

Mpondo, Mpondomise, Xesibe, Bomvana and Bhaca of the Eastern

Cape Province. The language isiXhosa was spoken by the Xhosa people
among whom the earliest Christian missionaries in the Eastern Cape
settled, but all the Cape Nguni speak dialectal forms of isiXhosa, and
all of them share the same forms of oral literature: poetry and song,
riddles and proverbs, speeches, tales and history. Although by the end of
the twentieth century genres like amabali (histories) were weakening,
and others like izibongo (poetry) were changing, these oral traditions
persist to this day and there is no reason at all to doubt their existence
in precolonial times.2 The Xhosa vocabulary absorbed words from the
aboriginal Khoi and San (also referred to as Hottentot and Bushman)
inhabitants of South Africa in the course of the steady southward
migration of the Cape Nguni, and the vocabulary absorbed additional
loan words from Afrikaans- and English-speaking settlers with whom
they increasingly interacted after the eighteenth century, but the
structure and integrity of the language itself did not change appreciably
as a result of these culture contacts and lexical borrowings. Nor did its
literary traditions.
Agents of British missionary societies introduced Xhosa speakers
to writing and literacy from the start of the nineteenth century. A
Xhosa speaker was first taught to write her name in 1800 by Dr
J.T. van der Kemp, an agent of the London Missionary Society.3 Van der
Kemp also attempted the first systematic transcription of the language,
and assembled a vocabulary of some 700 words, but his mission to the
Xhosa people was short-lived. John Bennie, an agent of the Glasgow
Missionary Society, learnt Xhosa after his arrival at the Tyhume mission
station in Xhosa territory in 1821, and engaged in “reducing to form
and rule this language which hitherto floated in the wind”. 4 By the time
a printing press was brought to Tyhume in 1823, Bennie was ready with
his transcription of the language, and Xhosa was printed for the first
time three days later, on 19 December. In 1830, Bennie’s transcription
of the Xhosa language was adopted as standard by all missionary

2. On Xhosa amabali, see chapter 2; on recent changes in Xhosa izibongo, see

chapter 6 and Kaschula (2002).
3. See chapter 10. For a biography of Van der Kemp, see Enklaar (1988).
4. Quoted in Shepherd (1971: 4).
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   5

societies operating in the eastern Cape. Throughout the nineteenth

century, however, very few books containing secular Xhosa literature
were produced: books issuing from the various mission presses initially
tended to be linguistic or religious, didactic rather than literary. 5 With
very few exceptions, books containing secular creative literature in
Xhosa emerged only as from the first decade of the twentieth century. 6
Xhosa traditions of oral literature have defied the prognostications
of Western academic theorists: orality has not meekly succumbed to
the introduction of literacy, oral performers have not been silenced
and were not much concerned to talk back to the metropole. Although
some have weakened and some have altered, by and large Xhosa oral
literary traditions have continued from precolonial times to the present.
Xhosa praise poets (iimbongi) performed in Pretoria at the inauguration
of Nelson Mandela as president in 1994 and later again at the opening
of the first parliamentary session; an imbongi performed during the
opening ceremony of the FIFA World Cup in 2010 – the same poet,
Zolani Mkiva, who has made television commercials for a South
African bank and who has produced two audio CDs and videos of his
performances posted on YouTube.7 With or without the advantage in
distribution that modern media afford, poets continue to produce poetry
and storytellers continue to narrate folktales. If you are disposed to
accept oral literature as literature – and many are not so disposed –
you can find Xhosa literature today in the mouths of performers as you
could in centuries past, if you are prepared to seek it out. But generally
speaking the oral performance is ephemeral and local, and does not
enjoy wide distribution. As the rural population shifts to the cities,
as urban sophisticates come to identify with a global community, the
currency of oral traditions and the salience of oral literature come under
pressure, naturally, to alter.
The introduction of writing and printing in the nineteenth century did
not substantially affect Xhosa oral literary traditions, any more than it
affected the structure of the language spoken by the people. Precolonial

5. See chapter 10.

6. See chapter 7.
7. See chapter 6.
6   PROLOGUE

oral genres persisted throughout the colonial period, ignoring the

radical social changes introduced by the arrival of European settlers
or incorporating (often unflattering) references to them. For example,
new riddles were coined depicting white innovations from African
perspectives, such as

Ndina’ ziduli zam zimhlophe zikulo lonke elimiweyo zik῾ulu—

Zizindlu zecawa
What are the big white termite-heaps found all over the
country? – Churches

Ndina’ mntu wam uhleli kwanti etafeni, akat῾eti῾ namntu—

Ibakane
Who stands far out on the veld, without ever talking to anyone?
– A beacon8

but the riddling tradition did not cease. Xhosa oral poetry also came
to incorporate references to Europeans and their innovations: when the
first missionary visited Hintsa in April 1825, he recorded in his journal
the performance of a poem in praise of the king, a regular poetic account
of the day’s events, that celebrated the hospitality Hintsa had shown his
white visitors earlier that same day.9 Later, when European settlement
had become widespread, in his personal izibongo a youngster named
himself uSikisi (six o’clock) for the bell that drove men to work, like
cattle, in white towns, by implication praising himself as more powerful
than the workers controlled by the European concept of time:

Ntsimb’ enamandla ngu sikisi;

Ndaya e Rini ndafika amadoda
Equtywa ngu sikisi;
Ndafika e Qonce amadoda
Esebenza kwango sikisi;
Ndabuyela e Tinara,
Amadoda elaulwa kwa ngu sikisi.10

8. Godfrey (1927). Robert Sobukwe collected 382 riddles for his 1958 honours
dissertation (see Sobukwe 1971).
9. See chapter 5.
10. Rubusana (1911: 386).
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   7

Six o’clock’s a powerful bell!

I reached Grahamstown to find men
herded by six o’clock;
I reached King William’s Town to find men
toiling at six o’clock;
back in Uitenhage I found men
bullied by six o’clock.11

Throughout the nineteenth century, and well into the twentieth,

books and paper and writing were associated in Xhosa oral poetry
with colonial guns and artillery as agents of territorial dispossession.12
Writing is untrustworthy: Nowawe son of Ndlambe is

Ngundab’ encwadini ziyinto eninzi,

Zincinan’ indaba eziyinyaniso.13

news in a book about many things,

but not much of the news is the truth.

The book is associated with war in these lines from the praises of
Sarhili son of Hintsa:

Incwadi yemfazwe ibomvu ngegazi,

Ibe zililo kwabase-Mlungwini14

The book of war is red with blood:

there was weeping among the whites.

Nontsizi Mgqwetho, one of the dominant poets of the 1920s, associated

the bible with the musket:

Zay’ konxa i Afrika ngamakamandela

Nange Bhaibhile, mipu, zayikahlela

11. See Jordan (1973: 22).

12. Opland (2017: chapter 14).
13. Rubusana (1911: 271).
14. Rubusana (1911: 232).
8   PROLOGUE

Ukhonyizililo Umzi we Afrika

Zipi i Bhayibile namhla Magqob῾oka?

They clapped shackles on you, Africa,

hurled you down with bible and musket;
the homestead of Africa raises a cry.
Christians, where are your bibles today?15

The same associations persisted in the oral performances of the Thembu

poet D.L.P. Yali-Manisi. Addressing Divinity students in Grahamstown
in 1977, he said:

Kuba nangena neza nipheth’ ibhayibhile

Nathi masamkel’ umqulu
Silahl’ amasiko nezithethe
Sayithabath’ iBhayibhile sanilandela
Wajik’ umfundisi walijoni
Waxakath’ imfakadolo wagomboz’ inkanunu
Zagqum’ iintaba zikaRharhabe
Kwaqhum’ uthuli latsh’ ilizwe16

for you entered with bible in hand,

“Receive the great book,
and spurn lore and custom.”
We took up the bible and followed you,
priest transformed into soldier,
he raised his rifle and blasted his cannon,
Rharhabe’s mountains roared,
dust arose and the country flared.

Xhosa oral poetry tended to view the book with suspicion and rejected
the technology of print. The oral tradition of izibongo itself did not
substantially alter, despite the incorporation of such contemporary

15. Opland (2007: 185).

16. Extract from an unpublished recording held in The Opland Collection of Xhosa
Literature.
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   9

references, until later, under the influence of new media, urbanisation

and, ultimately, the inception of a democratic South Africa in 1994. 17
Writing and printing as such did not eradicate extant traditions of
verbal creativity in Xhosa, notwithstanding the influential theoretical
contentions of scholars such as Walter J. Ong.18 Quite the opposite:
Xhosa oral traditions reflected social change, and were themselves fed
into the early printing of the language, initially through oral dictation.
The growth and development of Xhosa literature in print in the early
nineteenth century was to a significant degree informed by modes
of speech, and took place not in printed books, but in the ephemeral
medium of mission newspapers and journals, which commenced
publication in 1838, and continued sporadically for the next 50 years.
The last quarter of the nineteenth century witnessed an explosion of
secular literature in print, not in the medium of books, but in newspapers,
and major components of these newspapers derived from oral modes
such as poetry, historical narratives and social news. Although
missionaries themselves were the dominant authors initially, some
of the editors were at pains to encourage contributions from mother-
tongue speakers. As from the latter half of the century, correspondence
columns grew in popularity. Gradually, a literary elite emerged. But a
growing mobilisation for political involvement and churches free of
white control expressed itself in the desire for an independent press.
In 1884 J.T. Jabavu, a former editor of Isigidimi sama-Xosa (The
Xhosa messenger), a Lovedale newspaper, established a newspaper of
his own in King William’s Town, Imvo zabantsundu (Black opinion),
with funding from white politicians, and it proved so popular that
Isigidimi yielded and ceased publication at the end of 1888, the last of
the nineteenth-century mission newspapers. In 1897 a second bilingual
newspaper, Izwi labantu (The voice of the people), was established in
East London with funding from rival white politicians. By the end of
the century, then, before books containing creative literature had started
to appear in appreciable numbers, the eastern Cape could boast a pair
of rival secular newspapers, explicitly political, under black editorial

17. See chapter 6.

18. See Ong (1982).
10   PROLOGUE

control. In the twentieth century, a number of multilingual newspapers

commenced publication in Johannesburg, and newspapers continued to
express black opinion until the mid-1950s, when the apartheid policy
of Bantu Education was introduced and control of black newspapers
returned to white hands.
For 70 years, then, from the mid-1880s to the mid-1950s, relatively
independent newspapers under black editorial control appealed to a
black readership, and all of them, without exception, were significant
vehicles of Xhosa literature: poetry, fiction, humour, travelogues,
history and social news. Although some of these contributions were
subsequently collected and incorporated into books, by and large this
considerable literary output is unrecognised by scholars and unknown to
the general public. We miss the growth to maturity of Xhosa literature
in print during the nineteenth century, and we fail to understand fully
its further development in the first half of the twentieth century, if we
overlook the literature contained in these Xhosa-language newspapers. 19
A substantial number of the works of literature published as books in
the twentieth century drew on prior publication in newspapers; many
of the major authors of books in Xhosa also wrote for newspapers. But
much of the literature contributed to newspapers has not subsequently
appeared in print, and given the ephemeral nature of the medium is
now consigned to obscurity or has been irretrievably lost. Literature in
all three media – the spoken word, and the printed word in books and
in newspapers – must be taken into account in any proper history of
Xhosa literature.
The failure to take account of Xhosa literature in newspapers invites
an inaccurate conception of Xhosa literature. Many authors, some of
considerable substance, wrote only for newspapers. Women were
actively involved in the performance of oral forms such as folktales,
praise poetry and song, but a woman could not traditionally serve as
an imbongi to the king. Perhaps because of this gender differentiation
in oral genres, women such as Laetitia Kakaza, Victoria Swartbooi and
Zora Futshane feature among the authors of some of the earliest novels,
but no women are mentioned as poets in any of the various attempts to

19. See Opland (2017: chapter 11) for a detailed account of Xhosa literature in
newspapers.
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   11

sketch the history of Xhosa literature.20 One might conclude that only
men wrote poetry, or that men enjoyed an exclusive monopoly over
volumes of poetry published in the Xhosa language. Yet from 1920
to 1929, Nontsizi Mgqwetho contributed over a hundred poems to the
Johannesburg newspaper Umteteli wa Bantu (The people’s spokesman),
poems of such vibrant energy as to rank her among the foremost of
Xhosa poets. None of her poems was ever included in a book: the
recovery of her bustling poetry from the pages of newspapers (and their
collection and publication as The Nation’s Bounty: The Xhosa Poetry of
Nontsizi Mgqwetho) must radically challenge our perception of Xhosa
literature.21
From an early stage, the capacity of the print media to preserve oral
traditions in a more permanent form was recognised. The pioneering
Xhosa missionary Tiyo Soga, for example, educated in Scotland, in
1862 portrayed the new Lovedale newspaper Indaba (News) as a
traveller entering hospitable Xhosa homes and exchanging news with
the people, as was their custom after dinner.22 But bound volumes of the
newspaper, he claimed, could preserve speech forms:

Nditike haikambe namhla, kuba kwelopepa Lendaba

ngati ndibona isitya esihle sokulondoloza imbali, nendaba
namavo, asekaya. Izendzo zohlanga zingapezu kwenkomo,
nemali, nokudhla. Ubefanele ukuti oyakulizuza elopepa
aman’ukuwalondoloza amapepa ngamapepa, aze ati akwanela
awase kubabopi bencwadi endziwe imiqulu ngemiqulu, zizeke
ezoncwadi zihlale zisisitya esibekele usapo ilifa lamavo. 23

20. Accounts of the history of Xhosa literature may be found in Gérard (1971,
1981); Mahlasela (1973); Ntuli and Swanepoel (1993); Pahl, Jafta and Jolobe
(1971); Qangule (1968); Satyo (1983); Scheub (1985); aspects are treated in
Shepherd (1955) and Opland (1983, 2017). Between 1957 and 1960, A.C. Jordan
wrote a series of twelve popular articles intended to track the development of
Xhosa literature from oral tradition to newspapers, but the series, posthumously
published as Towards an African Literature: The Emergence of Literary Form in
Xhosa (1973), was interrupted and never completed.
21. Opland (2007); see further chapters 12 and 13 below.
22. On Soga, see Chalmers (1878); Ndletyana (2008a); Williams (1978, 1983).
23. Indaba (1 August 1862: 10).
12   PROLOGUE

But I say now’s our chance! For I see this newspaper Indaba
as a lovely bowl to contain our local histories, news and
traditions. A nation is concerned with much more than cattle,
money and eating. A subscriber to this newspaper should
preserve successive issues, sufficient to bind into a succession
of volumes, so that these books constitute a bowl in which to
store a heritage of oral tradition for our children.

In the last two decades of the nineteenth century newspapers such as

Isigidimi sama-Xosa and Imvo zabantsundu came to realise Soga’s
ambitions, and among the earliest books published in the twentieth
century were collections of traditional poetry and ethnic histories edited
or composed by the likes of W.D. Cingo (1925, 1927), Richard Tainton
Kawa (1929), Victor Poto Ndamase (1927), H.M. Ndawo (1928, 1939)
and W.B. Rubusana (1911).
Although the missionaries were eager to involve their pupils and
converts in the culture of reading and writing through the agency of
their serial publications, all mission newspapers explicitly eschewed
political comment: the content was tightly controlled. When the
principal of Lovedale, James Stewart, travelled overseas, he asked
his colleague Jane Waterston to keep a watchful eye on the content
of Isigidimi sama-Xosa, edited by Elijah Makiwane.24 Literature was
tentatively considered fit to print, but within severe constraints in
form and content: what was printed conformed to a Western, Christian
conception of literature. When Stewart as editor of The Kaffir Express
received an izibongo produced during the circumcision of a chief’s son,
he rejected it for publication on the grounds that the poem provided
an inducement to heathen practices, and the editor of Isigidimi in 1884
created a storm of protest from his readers when he rejected as too
political a contribution from the popular poet Jonas Ntsiko.25 The poetry
published in Lovedale’s newspapers was initially framed in European
metres with European rhyming schemes. Only after 1884 did poems in
the form of traditional izibongo appear in Lovedale’s Isigidimi. Such
controls over the printed word contrasted strongly with the performance
of izibongo: the imbongi enjoyed the licence to criticise authority

24. Opland (2017: 300).

25. Opland (2017: 336–7); Jordan (1973: 96–100).
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   13

figures with impunity, or to use ribald language. Attempts were rarely

made to silence iimbongi, although under K.D. Mathanzima’s Bantustan
Transkei poets were intimidated and, at least once, imprisoned. 26
Strict control of content was a feature not only of mission
newspapers. When mission presses and, later, commercial publishers
came to produce Xhosa books containing secular literature, they were
designed largely for use in schools. Publishers issued contracts agreeing
to publish submissions to the presses on condition that the book was
selected for prescription by the educational authorities, and there was
considerable collusion between publishers and prescribing authorities. 27
Even today, few books are read after school; there are generally no
Xhosa books to be found on sale in bookshops or at airports. Tourists
and the general South African public alike might easily be forgiven
for assuming there is no literature in the Xhosa language. H.W. Pahl
blamed the paucity of works of Xhosa literature on the apathy of the
reading public: at a celebration at Lovedale on 29 March 1971 to mark
the 150th anniversary of the arrival of the first Scottish missionaries in
South Africa, Pahl remarked that

[h]itherto the biggest hindrance to the development and growth

of Xhosa literature has been the indifference to, the lack of
interest in, their own literature on the part of the Xhosa-
speaking people. The general public does not read Xhosa books
and the only market for such books is to be found in school
and church. Publishers are not charitable institutions and will
thus not publish books for which there is no demand. It is for
that reason that the production of Xhosa literature is limited to
the needs of the school and the church. No literature can grow
under such restrictive, stifling conditions imposed upon it by
the apathy of people themselves. We hope that the time will
come when the Xhosa public will read and take an interest in
books written in Xhosa and thus liberate Xhosa literary art from
its present bonds and provide the stimulus that is necessary for
the growth of the literature of this beautiful language. 28

26. Opland (1983: 266–7).

27. Opland (2017: chapter 13).
28. Pahl, Jafta and Jolobe (1971: 2).
14   PROLOGUE

In a South Africa free of white political control for 25 years, one might
have hoped for a shift in this unfortunate set of circumstances, for the
liberation of Xhosa literary art that Pahl looked forward to, but 45 years
after he delivered his address, not much has changed. A local newspaper
in Grahamstown recently conducted a survey on the language of choice
for readers. Businessman Ali Adam responded, “It’s not that people
don’t want to read material in isiXhosa, it’s just that there is no material
available. Even biographies [of black persons] are written in English.” 29
The publication of Xhosa books primarily for school consumption
produces a number of consequences. A history of Xhosa literature based
on published books alone must inevitably be a skewed history: Xhosa
books, on the whole, are designed to be read by children, otherwise
they will not be published at all.30 The content of Xhosa books is
restricted; politics has been elided as a topic, or driven into subversion,
implication, allegory or symbolism. The language of Xhosa books is
standardised, homogenised, bowdlerised. Generally speaking, Xhosa
books up to the present time are written by adults for a readership of
schoolchildren. As the imbongi D.L.P. Yali-Manisi put it in an interview
in 1988:

Well, with our people it’s very difficult to publish what we write
because it has to be approved by the government. You don’t
just write and sell your manuscript to the press. If you send
it to the publisher, the publisher would get one to read it and
then send the manuscript to the Department of Education. So
if the Department of Education feels that you are too political
for your thing then they just say, “No, this is not a good book.
There’s no need for publishing it because it won’t be used in
schools.” And what we write is almost used in schools: the old
people don’t like reading. So for one to be a writer must try
that the book he writes would fit the schools. You must write
rubbish, let me say so. You must write rubbish, not tell the truth
about the situation. If you want to write a book about poetry, so
you just have to talk about trees, rivers and all my nothings. 31

29. Grocott’s Mail (24 August 2012: 4).

30. A notable exception is A.C. Jordan’s classic novel Ingqumbo yeminyanya,
published in 1940: see chapter 8.
31. For a transcription of the full interview, see Opland (2005: 324–2).
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   15

The oral performance appeals immediately and directly to the

assembled audience; the printed word is usually mediated by editors,
who operate subject to their own academic, ideological or commercial
imperatives. In order to avoid this control of the press, independent
newspapers were established, offering a relatively free forum to
correspondents and contributors.32 Authors determined to publish their
books free of restrictions resorted to private publication. Rubusana
paid for the publication of both editions of his pioneering anthology
Zemk’inkomo magwalandini, the contents of which were drawn from
oral tradition and, largely, the newspapers Indaba, Isigidimi and Izwi
labantu.33 Mqhayi paid for the publication of the first Xhosa novel,
U-Samson, which at the time was read as a political parable.34 In
1950 L.M.S. Ngcwabe paid for the printing of the first edition of his
volume of poetry Khala zome (Cry your heart out),35 and D.L.P. Yali-
Manisi did the same for his second volume of poetry, Inguqu, which
contained the earliest published poem in praise of Nelson Mandela.36
If self-publication was not an option for authors, they had no recourse
but to submit their books to the mission or commercial control of the
presses. Many submissions were turned down by publishers: Lovedale
rejected Mqhayi’s biography of Rubusana for its political content,
as well as his plea for the acceptance of circumcision on religious
grounds; both manuscripts are now lost.37 Editors have been extremely
cavalier in their treatment of material written by others. Rubusana
introduced paragraphs about his own family into Gqoba’s history of the
Xhosa people that he reprinted in Zemk’inkomo magwalandini,38 and
W.G. Bennie extensively altered many of the texts Mqhayi produced
for him for inclusion in his Lovedale Xhosa Readers and Imibengo.
Bennie was also responsible for the abridgement of Mqhayi’s classic
novel Ityala lamawele: a fifth edition of the novel exists with many

32. See chapter 11.

33. Rubusana (1911). On Rubusana, see Mqhayi (2009: 436–1, 496–9), Ngqongqo
(2008).
34. See chapter 7.
35. See Opland (2017: 373–4).
36. See chapter 9.
37. Opland (2017: 340); Peires (1980).
38. Gqoba (2015: 290 note 6).
16   PROLOGUE

pages excised and Bennie’s extravagant emendations to the remaining

text.39 As late as 1957, Herbert Pahl, writing as Inspector of Bantu
Education on behalf of the Xhosa Language Committee, approached
the Witwatersrand University Press with a request to reprint Mqhayi’s
final volume of poetry, Inzuzo, in the revised Xhosa orthography with
the excision of four lines from one poem, and two from another: “The
former refer to sexual pleasures and cause embarrassment in mixed
classes. The latter refer to a scandal at Lovedale and are libellous.” 40
All subsequent editions of Inzuzo silently exclude the six lines.
The transcription of Xhosa devised by John Bennie in the early
1820s served for over a century. Ironically, the first major revision of
Bennie’s orthographical system was devised by his grandson, William
Govan Bennie, and became compulsory for books prescribed for
schools as from 1937. Amongst other innovations, the new orthography
introduced symbols not commonly found on the standard typewriter
keyboard. Its introduction had a damaging effect on the development of
Xhosa literature: manuscripts were rejected by Lovedale if they were not
written in the new orthography. In 1955, under the guidance of Herbert
Pahl, the orthography was revised yet again, and the unpopular symbols
were dropped.41 D.L.P. Yali-Manisi’s first volume of poetry, Izibongo
zeenkosi zamaXhosa (Praise poems of Xhosa chiefs), published by
Lovedale in 1953 in Bennie’s orthography, was immediately rendered
ineligible for school use by the introduction of Pahl’s orthography; it
was not widely distributed, and earned very little for its author. 42 This
top-down tinkering with the representation of the language, which
inhibited the development of literature in books, did not especially
affect the appearance of literature in newspapers, since no newspaper
accepted W.G. Bennie’s controversial revision of the orthography, and
all were able to make an easy transition to Pahl’s orthography, which

39. Cory MS 16,321 (b); see Mqhayi (2009: 19). The undated sixth edition
incorporates Bennie’s drastic cuts to the fifth edition (Mqhayi: 1922). Peires’s
account of Lovedale’s treatment of Ityala lamawele notes that, contrary to
Mqhayi’s wishes, only the abridged edition is now in print (Peires 1980: 79).
40. H.W. Pahl to Prof. D.T. Cole, 27 February 1957, Wits University Press archives.
41. See Opland (2017: chapter 13) on these orthographical innovations and their
deleterious effects.
42. See chapter 9.
 ORAL TRADITION, BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS   17

contained none of the alien symbols and largely affected spelling and
word division alone.
Since Xhosa literature in published books was directed at a school
market, it was constrained to respect the guidelines of educational
authorities, resulting in a standardisation of the Xhosa language.
One form of Xhosa alone formed the basis of the texts, and that was
made to conform in vocabulary and grammar. Newspapers reflected
colloquial usage far more closely, with their greater tolerance for
foreign words, dialectal forms and “irregular” grammar. It is to the
progression of newspapers throughout the nineteenth century that we
must look for primary linguistic evidence, evidence of change finessed
by the standardised language of Xhosa books. The newspapers also
provide evidence of how knowledgeable Xhosa speakers grappled with
the representation of their language independent of white input and
decree. From its formation in 1879, the Native Education Association
concerned itself with Xhosa orthography,43 and in the successive pages
of Xhosa newspapers we may track various editorial attempts to reflect
aspiration and voicing half a century before W.G. Bennie addressed this
weakness in his grandfather’s transcription of the language.
Newspaper reports reveal that the Native Education Association
also appointed a committee charged with compiling a history of the
Xhosa-speaking peoples; the committee comprised authorities who had
all established their reputations as historians through contributions to
newspapers, namely Pambani Jeremiah Mzimba, William Wellington
Gqoba and William Kobe Ntsikana. In 1891 and 1892, Isaac Williams
Wauchope contributed to Imvo an extended series of commentaries on
proverbs designed not simply to explain their meanings, as Gqoba had
done before him, but to demonstrate the existence of a coherent, pre-
Christian system of ethics. When asked by a reader to produce a book of
his commentaries, the first published example of systematic Cape Nguni
philosophy, Wauchope felt that there would be an insufficient readership
to sustain their publication in the form of a book.44 Xhosa-language
books have always been subject to commercial imperatives, educational
constraints, ideological considerations, linguistic standardisation;

43. See Gqoba (2015: 492–517), for example.

44. Wauchope (2008: 245–311).
18   PROLOGUE

Xhosa newspapers have always stood much closer to the way people
spoke the language, to the way people expressed themselves freely and
creatively, and were concerned about the typographical representation
of their language without prompting from European authorities.
Newspapers engendered a literary community, an interaction
between authors and readers and among authors themselves, the kind
of sustaining and encouraging community that has never really existed
for Xhosa books. Mqhayi, for example, addressed Nontsizi Mgqwetho
directly at the end of one of his poems and wrote an obituary poem on
the death of John Solilo; Solilo wrote a poem in praise of Mqhayi. 45
Oral literature was fed into newspapers and, ultimately, books, but
there was no equal and opposite flow. These and other distinctions can
be drawn between the three media through which Xhosa literature is
propagated, justifying the division of the essays in this volume into
its three sections, but it should be evident that the three media are not
mutually exclusive. The first essay in the section on oral tradition,
for example, treats an oral genre but exploits evidence published in
newspapers; similarly, chapter 7 attempts to reconstruct the contents
of a lost novel from correspondence in newspapers. The literary
work of Mqhayi is addressed in all three sections. Poets like Nontsizi
Mgqwetho and D.L.P. Yali-Manisi performed before audiences as oral
poets, but also wrote for newspapers, although Manisi published books
and Mgqwetho did not; Manisi performed as an imbongi, although
Mgqwetho, restrained by her gender, was free to do so only when she
moved from her rural home to Johannesburg. A special plea is entered
here for the recognition of literature published in newspapers because it
has largely been overlooked, but it is a depressing feature of scholarship
on South African literature in general that Xhosa literature has been
comparatively marginalised, misunderstood or misrepresented. The
essays in this book constitute an attempt to redress that deficiency, and
to establish a literary, cultural and historical context within which to
place the edited volumes in this series of publications.

45. For Mqhayi on Mgqwetho, see Mqhayi (2017: 242–3); this poem was reprinted
in Mqhayi’s Imihobe nemibongo (1927: 16–20), but the passage referring to
Mgqwetho was omitted. For Mqhayi on Solilo, see Imbongi yesi Zwe, “Umfi
Umfu. John Solilo”, Imvo (9 March 1940: 4); for Solilo on Mqhayi, see Solilo
(1925: 20–1); Solilo (2016: 114–17).
Oral tradition
2

History as literature

Consistent with Western conceptions of literature, African historical

narratives have tended to be marginalised as “truth” or “non-fiction” and
passed over as objects of literary interest in favour of such “creative”
forms as folktales and praise poems, proverbs and riddles. Historical
and biographical writing is prominent in isiXhosa publications, and
is significant in the early development of printed literature, yet it is
generally overlooked in accounts of the history of Xhosa literature.
Historical narratives, known as amabali, occur in oral tradition, yet
they have been perhaps the most neglected of Xhosa oral genres, and
isiXhosa histories and ethnographies rarely attract the attention of
literary scholars. I would like to suggest that historical writing should
be incorporated into the canon of Xhosa literature: the ibali is a major
form of Xhosa oral literature, and there are significant continuities
between the oral ibali and written histories and biographies. The
admission of historical writing as literature also resolves problems in
the assessment of published works and their authors.
“Non-fictional” writing – history, biography and ethnography –
constituted a major component of the Xhosa literature that started to
appear in books in the first decade of the twentieth century, and of
English books produced by Xhosa-speaking authors. Examples from
the first three decades of the century alone include:

Bud-M’Belle’s Kafir Scholar’s Companion (1903)

John Knox Bokwe’s monographs on Ntsikana, Ntsikana: The Story of
an African Hymn (1904) and Ntsikana: The Story of an African
Convert (1914) and his cantata on Nehemiah Indoda yamadoda
(1905)

21
22   ORAL TRADITION

W.B. Rubusana’s unsurpassed anthology of history, ethnography and

poetry Zemk’inkomo magwalandini (1906, with a second edition in
1911)
I.W. Wauchope’s The Natives and Their Missionaries (1908)
A.Z. Mazingi’s exposition of law and custom Umteto nama siko abantu
abamnyama (1910)
Charles Pamla’s booklet criticising Xhosa custom (1913)
T.B. Soga’s ethnography Intlalo ka Xosa (1916)
Adonis Lavisa’s biography of Veldtman Bikitsha Ngobom bo-mfi
Captain Veldtman (1917)
B.J. Ross’s account of frontier wars Amabali emfazwe zakwa-Xosa
(1918)
S.E.K. Mqhayi’s biography of Nathaniel Cyril Mhala, U So-
Gqumahashe (1921)
biographies of their fathers by D.D.T. Jabavu, The Life of John
Tengo Jabavu (1922, in English) and L.N. Mzimba, Ibali lobomi
nomsebenzi womfi umfundisi Pambani Jeremiah Mzimba (1923, in
Xhosa)
W.D. Cingo’s history of the Mpondo, Xesibe, Bhaca and Mpondomise,
Ibali lama Mpondo nama Baca, Xesibe, Mpondomise (1925)
Mqhayi’s biography of Bokwe, U-bomi bom-Fundisi u John Knox
Bokwe (1925a)
Ross’s biography of Tshaka, U-Tshaka (1925)
histories of the Thembu by Cingo, Ibali laba Tembu (1927) and of the
Mpondo by Victor Poto Ndamase, Ama-Mpondo: ibali ne-ntlalo
(1927)
Mqhayi’s little monograph on ritual sacrifice Idini (1928)
Ross’s treatment of Ntsikana, U-Ntsikana (1928)
Jabavu’s account of his journey to Jerusalem, E-Jerusalem (1929)
Kawa’s posthumous history of the Mfengu, I-bali lama Mfengu (1929)
two major works of history, The South-Eastern Bantu (1930), and
ethnography, The ama-Xosa: Life and Customs (1931) by John
Henderson Soga, written in Xhosa but to date published only in
English translation.

None of these pioneering works receives more than a passing nod, and
few indeed are even mentioned, in the accounts of Xhosa literature by
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   23

Gérard (1971, 1981), Mahlasela (1973), Satyo (1983), Scheub (1985),

and Ntuli and Swanepoel (1993).
Preceding these early twentieth-century books, in the nineteenth
century, one finds a precocious booklet containing three accounts of
Mpondomise history produced by the Anglican Mission Press in 1876,
and the unpublished Xhosa history (1838) by Noyi son of Gciniswa,
both of which identify themselves as amabali: the 1876 volume
is entitled Imbali zamam-Pondomisi akwa Mditshwa (Histories of
Mditshwa’s Mpondomise), and Noyi’s Iziqwenge zembali yamaXosa
(Scraps of Xhosa history) commences with the words “Embalini kutiwa”
(History says).1 Apart from these two works, throughout the nineteenth
century a substantial volume of historical writing was included in
Xhosa newspapers. The earliest periodicals, largely written by white
missionaries, to a greater or lesser extent encouraged contributions from
Xhosa-speaking readers, dictated to missionaries if necessary. Jivashe’s
account of an encounter with a refugee from the Mfecane appeared
in Umshumayeli wendaba in April 1839, M. Malisa’s narrative of the
smallpox epidemic appeared in Isibuto samavo in July 1844, and an
anonymous account of Ntsikana appeared in Ikwezi in February 1845.2
In the latter half of the nineteenth century, in periodicals like Indaba,
Isigidimi sama-Xosa and Imvo zabantsundu, authors such as John Knox
Bokwe, William Wellington Gqoba, William Kobe Ntsikana, John Muir
Vimbe and Isaac Williams Wauchope earned reputations as historians.
Clearly, historical writing constitutes a major component of Xhosa
publications in the first century of printing, yet it draws scant attention
from literary scholars, and its oral reflex, the ibali, has attracted
relatively little interest.
Two scholars have dealt with the ibali. In an appendix to his history
of the early Xhosa kingdom, which draws on extensive fieldwork, Jeff
Peires assesses Xhosa historiography, both oral and written. He notes
that the tradition of oral amabali has suffered decline in the twentieth
century, and lists twelve “basic amabali”, most of which “every well-

1. See Opland and Mtuze (1994: 62–6) for the full text.
2. Opland (2017: chapter 11).
24   ORAL TRADITION

informed Xhosa knows”.3 Harold Scheub has consistently located

amabali within the ambit of literature: the ibali, he writes, alongside
poetry (izibongo) and folktales (iintsomi), is “the third major genre
of oral tradition among the Xhosa”. It is “an art form that, like the
imaginative intsomi, partakes of contemporary and ancient images,
organizing them by means of patterns”.4 In works such as The Tongue is
Fire (1996) Scheub presents oral poetry, folktales and history as forms
of storytelling, implicitly making the case for the ibali as literature. In
the shaping of this attitude he acknowledges indebtedness to the oral
historian Mdukiswa Tyabashe, whose African perspective is clearly at
variance with Western notions of documentary history. When he related
the history of his Mpondomise people, Scheub writes, Tyabashe did not
hesitate

to include in that history Xhosa stories clearly seen as fictional,

working all, history and fiction, into a seamless narrative. The
purpose of history, he insisted, was not simply to reconstruct
the past, but to place that past into a contemporary context. To
do that, to order the past in terms of the present, and to order
the present in terms of the past, took the skills of a storyteller. It
was not simply a narrative of the past that interested Tyabashe,
but the devising of a narrative that contained strands of the past
interwoven with threads of the present: the rich combination
was the fabric of his society. Past and present have a reciprocal
relationship, he averred, each influencing and shaping the
audience’s experience of the other. For him, there was no such
thing as an objective history, nor was there an accounting of
the past for its own sake. . . . The historian, said Tyabashe, has
a repertory of images, both historical and folkloric, but that by
itself is not enough. The historian must be a poet, an artist, at
the same time as he is a source of remembrance. The past comes
to life in the words of the historian, he said, because the past
is always experienced within the figures, images, and events of

3. Peires (1981: 184).

4. Scheub (1996: 538).
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   25

the present. . . . [For Tyabashe it] is not by accident that many

historians in oral societies are also poets. The historian who is
not a poet can only deal with surface chronologies, he insisted;
the historian who is a poet takes us to essential history, to the
meaning of human experience – as perceived then, yes, but
especially as it is perceived now.5

The greatest Xhosa imbongi was Samuel Edward Krune Mqhayi

(1875–1945); a volume of Mqhayi’s historical and biographical writing
published in 2009 reveals him to be one of the greatest of Xhosa
historians as well.6 The young Mqhayi was eager for education, walked
six miles a day to school, and qualified as a teacher. Though he taught,
on and off, from 1897 until 1925, he found himself ill at ease with the
history syllabus, which celebrated British heroes to the exclusion of
black South Africans. As he wrote in 1927:

Indoda engalaziyo ibali lezinto zakowayo ihleli imaziny’

abutuntu, ihlezinga kwinto yonke eyenzayo; yiyo lento
imfundi ezi zikolise ngamagwala kangakanana; kungakuba
azibaliselwanga nto ngoyise, zaza zati paya ezi Sinaleni nase zi
Kolejini zafundiswa urezu lwama bali, enyanisweni zafundiswa
ulahleko lodwa, kuba kuzo zonke ezi Sinala sinazo kufundiswa
ibali labantu abanye, ama Ngesi qa; ngawo edwa abantu abane
ngqondo, nobulumko, nolwazi, ngawo odwa amak’alipa eli
zweni, into ezinga zange zoyiswe sizwe emhlabeni; zide ziti
nezona zazi wayo ukuba aziveli kuwo izinto azixele ukuba
zezawo, abe ke ngokwe njenjalo oko exelela izizwe ezingaziyo
ukuba ziwoyike ngokungapaya kwe mfanelo, ziwahlonele
ngokugqitileyo entlonelweni eyiyo.

A person who knows nothing of the historical events of his

people lives his life with blunt teeth, he can’t really get his teeth
into anything he does. That is why these educated people set

5. Scheub (1996: xviii–xxi).

6. Mqhayi (2009).
26   ORAL TRADITION

up none but cowards for emulation, because their fathers did

not narrate any history to them, and in those training schools
and colleges they are taught a chronicle of history, but in fact
their education has entirely duped them, because in all our
training schools the history of only one nation is studied, the
English; they are the only people with intelligence, prudence,
knowledge, they alone have national heroes, they have never
been defeated by any other nation on earth; they claim as theirs
even those things that clearly did not originate with them, and
in this way they indoctrinate nations who do not appreciate that
their awe of the English is overblown, that their respect for
them is out of all proportion.7

Mqhayi received his own education in the history of his people through
oral traditions he absorbed during two formative periods spent in the
rural district of Centane from 1885 to 1891, and again from 1900 to
1906. After resigning from his teaching post at Lovedale in 1925,
Mqhayi devoted the last twenty years of his life to the service of his
people, to writing and translation, and to his oral performances as the
dominant imbongi of his age or any other age. He was the most prolific
of Xhosa authors, producing translations, poetry, essays, history,
novels, monographs, biographies and an autobiography. Many of his
historical narratives probably derived from, and reveal the form of, the
oral amabali he heard in Centane.
Consider, for example, his accounts of the career of the Xhosa
king Ngqika (c. 1779–1829), during whose time Christian missionaries
were first admitted to Xhosa territory, who succeeded to the rule of
an independent nation free of white control, but who embarked on an
ill-advised policy of collaboration with the white colonists and died
with white settlers increasingly encroaching on his ancestral territory.
Mqhayi wrote an article on Ngqika as one of a pair of historical studies
published in 1912, a second article in 1928, and a third in 1932. The
1912 article appeared in two instalments, and concluded with a poem
about Ngqika, omitted here:

7. Mqhayi (2009: 28–9).

 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   27

“Ndinomntu Ngelendibik’ Ezulwini.”—Ngqika.

U Ngqika luhabahaba lwelizwe lonke lipela; ufana nomlu

wenyama, wona ati umntu wonke azitatele isicwili aye kwenza
ubulungisa ngaso, ati omnye aziqashele iqasho aye kukafula
ngalo; ati wumbi azityutulele inxaxheba ayekwenza ngayo
into eqondwe nguye. Nam lo ngesi sicwilana ndisi tabatayo ku
Ngqika, andizi kugqiba yena; kuba ibali lika Ngqika lipantse
ukusitabata sonke isizwe sasema Xhoseni.
U Ngqika ngunyana ka Mlau, unina ngu Yese. U Mlau
uzalwa ngu Rarabe, unina ka Mlau lowo ngu Nojoli lowa ibizwe
ngaye lantaba iluxande ipezu ko Somaseti. U Nojoli ke umka
Rarabe, wayezele u Khinzela (intombi), u Mlau, u Ndlambe, u
Nukwa, no Ntsusa (intombi). U Rarabe kukunene kuka Palo,
u Palo ezalwa ngu Tshiwo, u Tshiwo ezalwa ngu Ngconde, u
Ngconde ezalwa ngu Togu, u Togu ezalwa ngu Sikom, u Sikom
ezalwa ngu Nchwangu, u Nchwangu ezalwa ngu Tshawe, u
Tshawe ezalwa ngu Xhosa. U Xhosa lo ke lolunye udayidayi
olungenakuze lufezwe, ufana netyalike ezi ukuba kudala ziko,
zinceda abantu esi-hogweni, kanti ke noko kuseko ezisaya
zivela kube kusitiwa zezona-zona. U Xhosa ke unjalo; yiyo
lento ati akugqiba ukukonzisa zonke ezi zizwana zikoyo apa,
uve ngoku zijika zisiti nanku oyena Xhosa unguye efolonywa
apa e Qonce.

II

U Mlau, njengoko ndake ndatsho wabhubha esemncinane

kakulu, esazele u Ngqika lo ngo Yese, no Ntimbo ngo Tsekwa;
wabhubha seluko uduli lweyona nkosikazi iza kuzala inkosi;
kutiwa wati ebesomisa imbola pandle, wati uyangena kwabe
kungasekuko yintloko,—wajukujeleka kwa oko kwapela.
Isiroro saba konina bo Ngqika no Ntimbo, kuba nabo babe
ngabuncame nganto ubukosikazi, asanceda nto isiroro kuba
ayidange ivuke inkosi. Kutiwe sisizwe u Ndlambe makasele
28   ORAL TRADITION

ngena kulo ntombi ibizisiwe, avusele umkuluwa wake (u

Mlau) imbewu. Andazi ukuba ama Xhosa ayedibene pina
nelosiko le Bhaibile. U Ndlambe akayivumanga lonto, wada
watetiswa komkulu kwa Gcaleka, nanguyise u Rarabe kuba
waye seko; wayitabata ke okunene lontokazi, koko yati
jiqi umntwana wamnye u Tuba (intombi), ayabuye izale.
Ngelixesha ke u Rarabe naye waye ngaseko ebhubhele e Xuka
eba Tenjini ngexesha awaye nempambano nama Qwati ngo
Ntsusa intombi yake. Isizwe ngoku sasijongise ku Ndlambe
ukuba alaule anga pazanyiswa nto. Kweso situba kwakuse
sandleni sika Ndlambe ukuba enziwe u Kumkani endaweni ka
Rarabe uyise; kodwa akavumanga u Ndlambe ukuba isizwe
silahlekele kwelocala, wapikela yena ukwalata ku Ngqika
esiti nantsi inkosi yenu. Kuzo zonke intlanga ke amapakati
lawa apambili adla ngokunga yitandi inkosi enezwi layo, adla
ngokukolwa sisiyamngana ayakuti amane ukusiqata; kubenjalo
ke ngo Ngqika; amapakati akamfunanga ngokunga mfuni, esiti
yinkosi nina le inje ubudlongodlongo? Atsho efuna u Ntimbo.
U Ndlambe ngelake icala akakolwanga ngokunga kolwa ngu
Ntimbo, esiti lomntwana akapilile, atsho ati “Ndobakona
kukunchwaba futi?” U Ndlambe eteta ngokunchwaba futi
nje utsho kuba uyise u Rarabe ufe enaye apo e Xuka, u Mlau
ufe ekwanaye, ngoku kuza kufa u Ntimbo eko, aze azuzane
nokuroreleka kokungati ezinkosi zigutywa nguye. Ute ngoku u
Ndlambe akuqonda ukuba akaboni ngakubona kunye nepakati,
akatanda kuwunqumla umsinga aze abe sengozini, ute tyisha
wayekelela umxakato, nanko etuma izidyoli ngasese eziya
kuxela oku Komkulu, watsho wati yena umfake u Ngqika
kulandlu yakulo Tuba, ngoko ke yena ucinga ukuba ngu Ngqika
omakabe yinkosi endaweni kayise. Okunene u Kumkani u
Kauta mhla weza kukhuza umzi ngo Mlau no Rarabe, wamti
jize u Ngqika ngesidanga sobuhlalu (igolide) ukubonisa ukuba
umenza u Kumkani; u Ntimbo wanikwa intshuntshe ukubonisa
ukuba uyakuzivulela indawo ngomkonto. Uyigcine ngalondlela
ke inkwenkwe yomkuluwa wake wada wayalusa. Kute esutwini
paya, ati kanti amapakati ako Yese, kulo Ngqika amhlohla
lomntwana omnye umoya; ati kanti wona abona ukuba u
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   29

Ndlambe uyabupanga ubukosi buka Ngqika, aqonda nokuqonda

ukuba wona mabandla ka Mlau, u Ndlambe akawase-so,
awufaka ngamandla lomoya ku Ngqika, kangangokuba u Ngqika
awubonakalise ese lirwala; waqala wangumntu ohamba nxam
noyise lo, kupela engqongwe ngapamakati akokwabo. Bokuba
futi ebekubako amadatyana ashushu pakati kwempi ka Ndlambe
nale ka Ngqika zingazi nto inkosi ezi. Ude ke u Ndlambe
ngenxa yoku watanda ukuba bangabi ndawonye nonyana
lo. Ute nonyana kuba wayekwa lidlongodlongo, warentula
kwapela kuyise, engekazinikelwa kakuhle zonke imfanelo
zakowabo, nomzi ka Nukwa (ama Gasela la) akazange ade
awanikelwe, yiyo lento nanamhlanje asebubukosi obusasondele
kwa Ndlambe. Isenza ezizinto nje ke le kwekwe ka Mlawu,
uyisekazi u Ndlambe upikele ukuyibonga. Kude kwalelixesha
u Ngqika ahlute u Tutula, u Ndlambe ewakataza amapakati ake
ngokupikela ukubonga amabandla ka Ngqika esiti, “Amabandla
ekwekw’ am.” Kwesi situba zite izitunywa ezivela Komkulu
kwa Kauta ezizisa umteto Ekunene zazibini,—sasodwa esiya ku
Ndlambe, sasodwa esiya ku Ngqika. Ukwenjenje oku i Komkulu
lalibonisa ukuba lalixolisiwe sisipato sika Ndlambe, ngoko ke
alinakumnikela ukuba abe pantsi ko Ngqika. Unanamhla ama
Ndlambe akazange ade abe sezandleni zama Ngqika.

III

Ngo Tutula. Ndiyakolwa ukuba u Ngqika wenziwa kwangala

mapakati anje intlamba yawo ukuze amqumbise kangaka
uyisekazi. Lamapakati ke ako Yese okunene ibingamadoda
abungonyamara, angakwaziyo ukoyika nokuba yintonina.
Apikela ukufunza kwimpi eyayicim’ ilanga ka Ndlambe, nama
Gcaleka nezinye izizwana ngemfazwe yama Linde. Iqinga lika
Ndlambe lokuyilwa lemfazwe, watabata indwe kwizitwala-
ndwe, wayifaka kumagwala, zati izitwala-ndwe zahamba
mbibinxa. Uyazi ke ngokwesiko lesi Xosa, otwele indwe
akamnanzile lo ungatwele ndwe, nokuba selebinza esitinina;
nqwa nalento yokuba um-Xosa ekuxolele ukuqwengwa
iziquluba yingqeqe, kunokuba enze ihlazo ngokujingisana
30   ORAL TRADITION

nayo. Ite ityutywa ngezikali indwe ka Ngqika yile mibibinxa ka

Ndlambe yabe inyakatisa ikwinele pambili kula ndwe ihlehlayo.
Zazalisa lomalinde ezo zijora ziqamelisene ngengalo. Kukuze
ke u Ngqika aye kuhlebela abelungu, o Qina ka Qonono.
Ngo Nyengana (Dr. van der Kemp). Inyengana ngokwesi
Xosa, yile nqayana ingezanga kupumela ebunzi, angaba
ke lomfundisi waye njalo kusinina. Ute lomfundisi akufika
ku Ndlambe e Mnyameni, wati u Ndlambe inkosi enkulu
ngu Ngqika; weza okunene umfundisi lowo kwa Ngqika,
wavunyelwa ukuba alishumayele Ilizwi esizweni. Koko
umfundisi lowo akahlalanga, unyatele e Debe napantsi kwama
Hlati (Pirie), ujike wabuyela kwalapo wayevela kona.
Ngo Ntsikana. Uvelile u Ntsikana unyana ka Gaba, esiti tu
ngakwa Ndlambe e Gqora, kwi sitili sase Ngqushwa. Lomntu ke
kakade waye ngumntu walapa kwa Ngqika, wayeye bumini kwa
Ndlambe, ngexesha lemibono ka Nxele; uyazi ukuba u Nxele
wayesiti ama Ngqika la ahlala epete igazi, ngoko ke aya kuba
zimbomvane, emke nesaqwiti. Ufikelwa li Lizwi ke u Ntsikana
elapo kwa Ndlambe. Ute u Ntsikana esiza ku Ngqika wabe esiti
kokona kulungileyo ukuba luti oludaba ndilugoduse ndiluse
Komkulu kuba kakade ibiludaba lwakona. Ite into ka Mlawu
yakuluva oludaba luka Ntsikana yalutakazelela yasel’ ingena.
Ate kaloku amapakati ake abunqumqesi, aye ecinga nokucinga
ukuba seletshilo nje u Ngqika ukuti lento uyayingena akuko
bani uyakubuye amsombulule. Aqalile ke enza umfelandawonye
kwelokuba aze angalandelwa bani ukuze eve ububi bokuba
yedwa. Atsho atumela kuye ilizwi eliti: “Obu bukosi uya
bulahla na, njengokuba uye kuzenza i Lawo nje?” Ute yena
ukupendula: “Ubukosi andibulahli, ndenzela nina isizinzo; nani
sondelani ningene kulento, nditume nina ukuya kuyishumayela
emaziko, na Komkulu kulo Tete.” Hayi, amqabalaka kwapela
amabandla ako Yese, wada wabonakala ebuyela kwakuwo.
Wabuyela kwakuwo kubonakala ukuba intliziyo yona yoyisiwe
zinyaniso zika Ntsikana kuba emva koko ebemana ukuviwa,
nokuba kuse mdudweni, etyandyuluka esiti: “Ndinomntu
ngelendibik’ ezulwini!”
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   31

IV

Abafundisi. Ititshala ziya kukolwa kukuva ukuba u Ngqika

naye wayeke wangu titshala. Kute ukufika kwabafundisi
waqonda u Ngqika ukuba kufike ezona zihlobo ziza kumxhasa
kulanto seleyivile ku Ntsikana, wasondelelana nabo, wafunda
naye o ‘a’ kwingqekembe apa zemiti, ekwakufundwa kuzo
kuqala. Ite inkosi yawazi kamsinya lamagama, kwabonakala
ukuba mayibe ngu titshala, ifundise abo bangekakwazi.
Emdudweni. U Ngqika kutiwa ubengumdaka omnyama
omde. Emidudweni ubetanda kunene ukuya kungena nezinye
ingxiba eziketiweyo. Kutiwa ubewuyeka umdudo ude ube
ntsuku mbini nantatu; kwale xa upakati avele umfo ka Mlau,
ati ukuti tu kwake neqela lake, kunge kukufika kwa mahashe
omkwelo, kuke kukweleliswe abantwana namaxego, kufumane
kube sipotshongela, uqalwe pantsi umdudo. Kutiwa waka wati
eye kwasemdudweni kwimi Dange, e Balura, wafika apo kuko
ngxilimbela ibete yena namakaba ake aketiweyo bangamatolana
kuyo, igxwala ngakuye, ipika nokuba kusisa kuse itate unyawo
kunezolo; yaye imi Dange ikungele kulengximbela iyiteta, isiti:

“Nants’ into yako Gxwal’ inyamakazi,

Ngcape nesigodlo, mtya netunga,
Bad’ elidawuwa lase Jadu!”

Ude u Mhlekazi wafuna ukuqonda ukuba lengxilimbela

ingubanina wapina? Kutiwe ke lo ngu Mqayi unyana ka
Sheshegu, um Zima. Ite inkosi yakuva ukuba ngum Zima,
yakumbula ukuba kanene ama Zima ngaba Tembu abate ukuze
babe kweli lizwe beza ngamakosazana, yasel’ inyuka nengalo
inkosi, isiti “Hlelinje ngumntu wakowetu lo nimfihle apa?”
Itsho yamhlasela yemka naye, yakupa igqiza lenkomo ukuya
kuxolisa kwimi Dange. Waqala eloxesha u Mqayi uyise wo
Rune no Nzanzana ukuba ngumfo wakulo Jingqi kwa Ngqika.
32   ORAL TRADITION

Imbongi. Inkosi ke ibikutanda ukubongwa, njenge nkosi

zonke. Kutiwa imbongi yake ibisiti tu enkalweni iwatsho
nokuba mabini pambi kokuba iye kungena Komkulu. Kute ke
ngomnye umhla imbongi ihamba namanye amanene bexoxa
ngomcimbi owawushushu, suke yade yaya kufika ingakange
itsho; yotuka ngento seyibharamla isiti: “Inani ukuba into
isidumise isidumise, zesiti sakubon’ ukuba sesiqhelile isiti
tya?—Yibambeni!!” Yapuma ngezituba lomini imbongi
yakomkulu ukuya kungena ngesiko.
Yake yati enye indoda, eyayi bunxhatu-nxhatu, (koba
ngabom ingenguye u Bomboto), ngokubona amatokazi azuzwa
yimbongi, yacinga ukuba nayo ike ilinge ngenye imini. Okunene
ke ivakele seyisitsho ngomnye umhla, koko ite isati: “Awu!
Awu!” yabetwa kakubi emlonyeni kwatiwa:—“Yintoni lento
imbi kangaka? Ihlambela bani? Yibambeni!” Yeka ke imbongi
entsha ukubabeleka abazicatyana ukuya kwela kwantsiza.
Kutiwa ibiseyimana ukuti xa ikanuka inkomo itumele umntu
komkulu ayokuti “iti landoda imbi iyakude ize ngokwayo
ke.” Okunene ubedla ngokugoduka eqhuba umtunywa lowo.
Ngaxa limbi indoda leyo ibiya iti tu ngokwayo enkalweni,
imemeze iti “Ndode ndize kufika ke!” Bekusiti ke kwa oko
kukutshwe umfana, ayihlangabeze lonto. U Ngqika ubetanda
ukubongwa nayi nkawu,—kute ngexesha abelungu ababese
Ngqakayi, batanda ukutenga inkawu ebantwini, ngentsimbi,
ubesiti ngaxa limbi u Ngqika ayibambe inkawu ayiyeke ihambe
esiti:—“Abantu bakowetu aba nibakonxa kuba benzenina,
intlaka seyide yabubuqenene nje ingenamtyi?” Yoti ke inkawu
ukwenjenjeya, ukuya kutshona esingeni, ihamba inyeka,
avakale ke u Mhlekazi:—“Yintonina lent’ ibuso bumnyama
bunje, ayitshon’ ukuti enkosi ka Mlau?”

VI

U Ngqika uzele kakulu, njengokuba nabafazi bebelinani

elinobom; kodwa ivela tanci ibe ngu Maqoma, ozelwe ngu
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   33

Notonto wenziwa uku Nene, ngawo lama Jingqi angevayo. U

Tyali ulandele u Maqoma, yena ke uzelwe ngu Nonibe, wenziwa
i Xhiba, yiyo imi Ngcangatelo le. U Sandile eyona nkulu, uvele
mva le yena, ngongabanga sondliwa nanguyise lowo, yena
wondliwe ngu Tyali no Maqoma, bamkulisa kakuhle, bade
bamalusa, bamnikela ubukosi bake, waye umfo naye ebatobele
abakuluwa abo.
U Sandile ke uzalwa ngu Sutu, ngawo ama Mbombo la.
Eligama liti Sandile, lenkosi yayitiywa ngesilungu kusitiwa
ngu “Alexander,” kekaloku tina asikwazanga ukutsho, saba
siyapelela ku “Sandile.” U Ngqika ubengumfo onezwi lake;
noko ebengeciko nakalipa kwatini, kodwa utandeke kakulu
kubelungu nakubafundisi ekufikeni kwabo, waye etandwa
ngokungazenzisiyo sisizwe sake. Unchwatyelwe e Mkubiso
(Burnshill) e Xesi.

“If only I had someone to tell Heaven about me.” – Ngqika

Ngqika is a capacious granary to the whole of the country;

he is like a cut of meat from which everyone takes a slice
for himself and goes off to do justice to it; and another takes
a portion for himself and uses it to keep warriors from harm;
another rips a shank off for himself and treats it any way he
chooses. As for me, I am not going to finish the little slice of
Ngqika I take; for the story of Ngqika effectively embraces the
entire Xhosa nation.
Ngqika is the son of Mlawu, and his mother is Yese. Mlawu
is Rharhabe’s offspring, and his mother is Nojoli after whom
the mountain that ranges above Somerset East is named. Nojoli,
the wife of Rharhabe, gave birth to Khinzela (a girl), Mlawu,
Ndlambe, Nukwa and Ntsusa (a girl). Rharhabe is in the Right
Hand House of Phalo; Phalo is the son of Tshiwo, Tshiwo is the
son of Ngconde, Ngconde is the son of Togu, Togu is the son of
Sikhomo, Sikhomo is the son of Ngcwangu, Ngcwangu is the
son of Tshawe, Tshawe is the son of Xhosa. Xhosa is another
34   ORAL TRADITION

object discarded before completion. He is like the churches

that have stood for a long time, saving people in hell, yet new
churches are emerging which are said to be authentic. Xhosa
is like that; that is why, his sovereignty over all the little local
tribes at an end, they now turn round and say the real Xhosa is
being created here in King William’s Town.

II

As I once said, Mlawu died very young, having fathered

Ngqika with Yese and Ntimbo with Tsekwa; he died with the
bridal party of the woman who was to mother the next king
already there. It is said he was drying his ochre outside when
he came in complaining of a headache – and suddenly dropped
down dead. The mothers of Ngqika and Ntimbo were suspected,
because neither of them had relinquished their status as senior
wives. But suspicion was pointless because the chief never
returned to life. The nation then asked Ndlambe to take the
young woman who had been brought there and produce a child
on behalf of his brother (Mlawu). I do not know where the Xhosa
came to learn about that biblical tradition. Ndlambe would not
agree until he was persuaded by the Great Place of Gcaleka and
by his father Rharhabe, who was still alive; then he did indeed
take that woman, but she produced only one child, Thuba (a
daughter), and never gave birth again. By this time Rharhabe
was no longer there, having fallen at the Xuka in Thembuland
in the clash with the Qwathi over his daughter Ntsusa. Now the
nation turned to Ndlambe to rule unhindered. At this stage it
was in Ndlambe’s power to be made king in succession to his
father Rharhabe, but Ndlambe would not permit the nation to
suffer through this decision and kept on pointing to Ngqika,
saying here is your king. In all nations the leading councillors
do not usually like a king who speaks his mind, they usually
prefer someone tame they can easily manipulate; such was
the case with Ngqika. The councillors did not care for his
inquisitive disposition, saying what kind of chief is this who is
so hot-headed? They declared themselves in favour of Ntimbo.
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   35

For his part Ndlambe had no faith in the choice of Ntimbo,

saying this child was not in good health, adding “I don’t like
burying people all the time.” Ndlambe spoke about burying
people all the time because he was with his father Rharhabe
when he died at the Xuka, he was with Mlawu when he died,
now Ntimbo would die in his presence, which might suggest
the possibility that he was responsible for the death of these
kings. Now when Ndlambe realised that he did not see eye to
eye with the councillors, he had no desire to cut off the water
and make trouble for himself. He gave way to a degree and sent
a secret messenger to inform the Great Place that he had placed
Ngqika in Thuba’s house because he believed that Ngqika
should succeed his father as king. Indeed when King Khawuta
came to the homestead for the formal expression of condolence
for the deaths of Mlawu and Rharhabe and the appointment of a
successor, he tied a chest ornament of gold on Ngqika to show
that he was making him king; Ntimbo was given a long-bladed
assegai to show that he would create his own space with a spear.
Ndlambe dealt with his brother’s son accordingly until he had
him initiated. During the initiation, however, the councillors
from Yese’s house crammed a particular attitude into the child;
they saw Ndlambe usurping Ngqika as king with no regard for
Mlawu’s people, and they stuffed this attitude into Ngqika so
forcefully that he saw things this way as a fresh initiate. He
began to walk aside from his uncle and was surrounded by his
councillors alone. Quite often there were heated scraps between
Ndlambe’s and Ngqika’s men behind the chiefs’ backs. And
so in the end Ndlambe felt that he and his nephew should not
occupy the same place. Because the nephew was hot-headed,
he grabbed what he could from his uncle before he could be
peaceably handed all his due, and Nukwa’s people (the Gasela)
were not yet transferred to him, so even today their chiefdom
holds to the Ndlambe. While Mlawu’s boy was acting like
this, his uncle Ndlambe was at pains to praise him. Up to the
point that Ngqika abducted Thuthula, Ndlambe worried his
councillors by taking pains to praise Ngqika’s people, calling
them “My boy’s people”. At this stage two messengers went
36   ORAL TRADITION

out from Khawuta’s Great Place to deliver instructions to the

Right Hand House – one went to Ndlambe and another to
Ngqika. By this the Great Place showed that it was pleased with
Ndlambe’s rule, so it declined to subject him to Ngqika. To this
day the Ndlambe are not entirely subject to the control of the
Ngqika.

III

The Thuthula episode. I believe that the negative attitude

inspired in Ngqika by his councillors led to his infuriating
his uncle in this way. The councillors from Yese’s house were
indeed lion-hearted and knew no fear. They took pains to incite
Ndlambe’s army, which blotted out the sun, the Gcaleka and the
other groupings involved in the Battle of Amalinde. Ndlambe’s
strategem in the conduct of this war was to take the crane
feather headdresses from the veterans and give them to the
cowards, so that the veterans looked like cripples. You know
that according to Xhosa tradition someone who wears crane
feathers disdains anyone who does not, however hard he stabs;
this is exactly the same as a Xhosa letting a tyke nip his heels
rather than suffer the disgrace of engaging with it. As Ngqika’s
veterans were being cut to shreds by Ndlambe’s cripples, the
former kept advancing on the retreating veterans. Those heroes
filled the depressions, their heads on each other’s arms. That
was why Ngqika went to spill his secrets to the whites, who
halter a pregnant cow.
The Van der Kemp episode. In Xhosa inyengana is a bald
pate: it could be that this missionary had that feature. When
this missionary came to Ndlambe at Alexandria, Ndlambe said
that Ngqika was the king; so this missionary actually came to
Ngqika territory and was allowed to preach the Word to the
nation. But the missionary did not stay long. He tramped on to
Debe below the forests (Pirie), turned and went back to where
he had come from.
The Ntsikana episode. Ntsikana, the son of Gabha, arrived
after travelling from Gqorha in the Peddie district of Ndlambe
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   37

territory. Originally he lived here in Ngqika territory, and had

recently settled in Ndlambe territory, at the time of Nxele’s
visions. Do you know that Nxele used to say that because the
Ngqika touched blood all the time they would become ants
swept away in a storm? The Word came to Ntsikana while he
was over there in Ndlambe territory. Ntsikana came to Ngqika
saying it was the right thing to do “for me to bring this news
home to the Great Place because that is where the news was
announced some time ago”. When Mlawu’s son heard this
news of Ntsikana’s he assented to it and participated. But
his councillors hesitated, thinking that once Ngqika said he
was accepting this no one would be able to wrench him free.
They then began to form a tight group saying everyone should
leave him alone so he could feel how bad it was to be isolated.
They sent to him a message that said: “Are you abandoning
the kingship to act like a Hottentot?” He replied: “I am not
abandoning the kingship, I am building security for you; come
near and join this thing so I can send you to preach it in homes
and to the Thethe Great Place.” But no, Yese’s people entirely
rejected him until he returned to them of his own accord.
Though he did return to them of his own accord, it was clear
that Ntsikana’s truth had vanquished his heart, because after
that he was often heard crying out at a dance: “If only I had
someone to tell Heaven about me!”

IV

The missionaries. Teachers will be pleased to learn that

Ngqika himself once became a teacher. When the missionaries
arrived Ngqika realised that friends had come to support him
in this thing he had heard from Ntsikana. They made contact
and he studied the alphabet on the wooden tablets originally
used for lessons. Soon the king knew these words and so it was
obvious that he should become a teacher and teach the ignorant.
At a dance. It is said that Ngqika was dark and tall. He very
much enjoyed participating in dances in the company of other
hand-picked tall men. It is said that he would stay away from
38   ORAL TRADITION

the dance for two or three days, then right in the middle the son
of Mlawu would suddenly appear with his team like the arrival
of racehorses. Then the young and the old would be moved out
of the way amid much ado, and the dancing would start afresh.
It is said that he once went to a dance among the Dange at the
Bhalurha and arrived to find a giant who whipped him and his
chosen elite, reducing them to little calves, taunting him, and
the next morning he would take to his feet more energetically
than on the previous night. The Dange fully supported this giant
and said of him:

“That’s your thing, Taunt the Wild Beast,

Mouthpiece and trumpet, rope and milkpail,
Brindled ox from Jadu!”

In the end His Royal Highness wanted to know who this

giant was and where he came from. He was told that this was
Mqhayi the son of Sheshegu of the Zima clan. When the king
learnt he was a Zima he remembered that the Zima were really
Thembu who had come to this country with the princesses. The
king adopted him saying, “So you are hiding someone from
my home here?” He then claimed him and took him off with
him and sent a herd of cattle to pacify the Dange. At that point
Mqhayi the father of Krune and Nzanzana became a Jingqi in
Ngqika territory.8

The poet. Just like every king, the king liked his praises
sung. It is said that his poet would appear on a ridge and utter
some praises before entering the Great Place. One day the poet
was in the company of other gentlemen and they were engaged

8. This Mqhayi is the author’s great-grandfather. Mqhayi tells this story often, for
example in his autobiography (Mqhayi [1939] 1964: chapter 3). The Jingqi were
the people of Maqoma, Ngqika’s son.
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   39

in a heated discussion, so that the poet finally arrived without

uttering a word. He was startled by an angry roar: “How can
this thing praise us and praise us and when we are used to it
suddenly stop? Scrag him!!” That day the poet of the Great
Place narrowly escaped.
One day a layabout (it might have been Bomboto) saw the
heifers earned by the poet, and decided to try his hand at it.
He was indeed heard mouthing something one day, but while
he was still saying “Awu! Awu!” he was rudely interrupted
with: “What’s this ugly thing? Who is he defiling? Scrag him!”
The new poet took to his heels to save himself. It is said that
whenever he craved cattle he would send someone to the Great
Place to say “That ugly man says that he will eventually have
to come himself.” And the messenger would usually go home
driving cattle. Sometimes this man would himself appear on the
ridge shouting “Don’t make me come over!” Then a young man
would be sent to intercept him. Ngqika enjoyed being praised,
even by a monkey. When the whites were at Ngqakayi they
loved to buy a monkey from the people for beads. Once Ngqika
seized a monkey and set it free, saying “What have our people
done to be chained like this, with plenty of gum for them out of
reach?” As the monkey made its way towards the mimosa bush,
glancing behind it as it went, His Highness was heard to say:
“What is this black-faced thing? Doesn’t it say ‘Thank you, son
of Mlawu’?”

VI

Ngqika produced many children, as he had many wives,

but the firstborn was Maqoma, whose mother was Nothonto of
the Right Hand House. These are the rebellious Jingqi. After
Maqoma came Tyhali, whose mother was Nonibe of the Xhiba
House. These are the Ngcangathelo. Sandile, the heir, was born
much later. He was not even raised by his father but by Tyhali
and Maqoma, who brought him up well, had him initiated and
handed him his kingship. For his part the fellow listened to his
elder brothers.
40   ORAL TRADITION

Sandile’s mother was Suthu. These are the Mbombo. The

name Sandile comes from the English name “Alexander”. We
had difficulty pronouncing this, so we ended up with “Sandile”.
Ngqika insisted on having his say. However he was not eloquent
and by no means brave. But he was a favourite of the whites
and the missionaries when they arrived. He was also much
loved in public by his nation. He was buried at Burnshill on the
Keiskamma river.9

On the evidence of Mqhayi’s three versions of Ngqika’s biography

alone, amabali, like folk narratives in general, were episodic; like praise
poems and folktales, they consisted of recurrent building blocks, which
could be omitted or expanded, or arranged in different order, from
one performance to another. Appreciation of this structure is aided by
Mqhayi’s division of his narrative into paragraphs, and his occasional
insertion of subheadings. In this, his earliest version of Ngqika’s life,
Mqhayi begins with an introductory flourish on Ngqika’s significance,
in which he depicts the king as a portion of meat from which everyone
takes a slice, isicwili. He returns to this image at the end of the article,
introducing the concluding poem with the words “Mandisipete esam
isicwili Mhleli ngokuti . . .” (Editor, let me finish my little slice by
saying . . .). After the introduction, Mqhayi proceeds through the
following paragraphs:

1 Ngqika’s genealogy
2 the early death of Ngqika’s father Mlawu, the succession dispute
and Ngqika’s later estrangement from the regent, his uncle Ndlambe
3 Ngqika’s abduction of his uncle’s wife Thuthula and the subsequent
Battle of Amalinde (1818)
4 the pioneering Christian mission of Dr van der Kemp (1799–1800)
5 the influence of the prophet Ntsikana
6 Ngqika as mission teacher
7 Ngqika’s meeting with the author’s great-grandfather Mqhayi at a
dance
8 Ngqika’s imbongi

9. Mqhayi (2009: 92–103).

 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   41

9 a rival poet
10 Ngqika’s children
11 his heir Sandile, and a brief concluding assessment.

Peires lists “The quarrel between Ngqika and Ndlambe: (a) the
abduction of Thuthula (b) Ngqika seeks help from the whites” as one of
the twelve basic amabali commonly known at the time of his fieldwork
in the mid-1970s.10 Mqhayi offers little information on Ngqika’s relation
with the whites here, though he goes into detail on the subject in his
later articles. Some of the above eleven units in this first version of the
life of Ngqika are brief; they are sometimes expanded elsewhere.
Mqhayi’s second article on Ngqika in 1928 omits reference to Van
der Kemp and the concluding poem, and the topic of Ngqika as dancer
is shortened (and reference to Mqhayi omitted). Extended accounts of
Ngqika’s imprisonment of Ndlambe and the clash with the Gcaleka,
and of his meeting with the Governor Lord Charles Somerset, are
introduced:

1 Ngqika’s genealogy
2 the death of Mlawu, the succession dispute and Ngqika’s estrangement
from Ndlambe, hostilities between Ngqika and Ndlambe, Ndlambe
seeks refuge with the Gcaleka, his capture and imprisonment by
Ngqika
3 Ngqika attacks the Gcaleka in reprisal
4 Ndlambe escapes
5 the abduction of Thuthula
6 Ngqika’s involvement with the whites and the Battle of Amalinde
7 Ngqika’s children
8 “Further points”: Ngqika’s enjoyment of poetry, his imbongi and
a rival poet; Ntsikana and missionaries; Ngqika’s enjoyment of
dancing.11

The emphasis is less on Ngqika’s involvement with Christianity and

more on his divisive dealings with whites and his fraught relations

10. Peires (1981: 184).

11. Mqhayi (2009: 258–73).
42   ORAL TRADITION

with Ndlambe and his neighbours. The contents are largely consistent
with the earlier version, with a number of elements compressed into a
concluding round-up.
In 1932 Mqhayi responded to a request for further information
about the location of Ngqika’s grave. He starts by saying he has
recently visited the grave, and concludes with an exact location and
a few lines of Ngqika’s praise poem (as distinct from the poem with
which he concluded his first article, which is an original poem of
his own composition). But after his opening paragraph Mqhayi says
“Ndinamaqabaza endike ndawenza futi ngaye u Mhlekazi lo. Nangoku
ndinga ndingake nditi gqaba abe mabini matatu ndiyeke ndingadli
isituba sepepa” (I have a few points I often make about His Majesty.
For the moment, I want to make only two or three comments and
not take up space in the newspaper), and he then proceeds to a brief
account, selecting the following topics in separate paragraphs:

1 Ngqika’s parentage and character

2 Ngqika’s installation as king and his estrangement from Ndlambe
3 Ndlambe seeks refuge with the Gcaleka, his capture and imprisonment
by Ngqika
4 Ngqika attacks the Gcaleka in reprisal
5 Ngqika’s involvement with the whites
6 the Battle of Amalinde
7 Ngqika’s involvement with Christianity
8 Ngqika as mission teacher.12

Mqhayi’s three essays on Ngqika, produced over a period of twenty

years, display a consistency of narrative themes. These themes can be
expanded or contracted, or omitted altogether, as occasion demands.
The account of Ngqika’s imbongi and the rival poet in the first article,
for example, is much shortened in the second, and omitted in the third.
These narrative units may form part of other amabali. For example,
Mqhayi’s 1928 essay on the origin of the Ndlambe people following
Ndlambe’s split with Ngqika mentions Ndlambe’s regency and Ngqika’s

12. Mqhayi (2009: 422–7).

 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   43

installation as king by Khawuta, Ngqika’s estrangement from Ndlambe,

Ndlambe’s flight to the Gcaleka, his capture by Ngqika, the raid on
the Gcaleka, Ndlambe’s escape and the Battle of Amalinde. 13 Some of
these topics are reduced to a few words only, and often these few words
include memorable words or phrases that clearly form an irreducible
narrative core. For example, the second article on Ngqika tells of the
malicious rumours spread about Ndlambe by Ngqika’s councillors
while Ngqika was undergoing initiation:

Kuyavakala ukuba u Ndlambe wayigcina okunene inkwenkwe

yomkuluwa wake wade wayalusa, umdak’ omnyama ongqongqo,
osukileyo kanobom egadeni, idlongodlongo lomfo ongoyikiyo.
Ute esengu mkweta umfo ka Mlawu, wahle wabonisa ukuba
akazi kuba nanto noyisekazi u Ndlambe. Lowo moya kumhlope
ukuba wawufakwa ngamapakati ako kwabo; awapikela ukuti u
Ndlambe lo ufuna ubuk’osi bake, uya bubulala obuka Ngqika.
Ute uyapuma nje esutwini wabe engasenanto noyisekazi lo;
selengqongwe zizijora zako Yese ezikohlakele kunene, into
ezati ukumbiza u Ndlambe ngu “Mduna”, zapikela ukuteta
ngokuti “Lo Mduna umka nabantu kuba bamqelile.”

It is clear that Ndlambe took particular care of his elder

brother’s son, and saw to his initiation, a tough, dark black
fellow, quite tall, a fearless hothead. Even while Mlawu’s
son was still in the initiation lodge, he showed little regard
for his uncle Ndlambe. It is obvious his attitude was
influenced by his councillors, who kept on saying Ndlambe
coveted Ngqika’s kingship and wanted to undermine it. On
his emergence from the initiation school he demonstrated
contempt for his uncle and kept company with Yese’s
unscrupulous thugs who called Ndlambe “Big Shot” and
kept repeating “This Big Shot’s making off with the people
because they’re used to him.”14

13. Mqhayi (2009: 298–305).

14. Mqhayi (2009: 264–5).
44   ORAL TRADITION

The third article on Ngqika has:

Ukwaluswa waluselwa e Xukwane, (Knox Station) Middle

Drift, esaluswa nguyisekazi lowo. Koko amabandla ako Yese,
izijor’ezikulu, zimhlute kwase sutwini apo, zamtabatela
emandleni kuzo, ukuze angabuye azane no Ndlambe lowo;
zitsho zamtiya igama u Ndlambe zati ngu “Mduna” yayinteto
efuti ke leyo iti: “Lo Mduna umka nabantu benkosi kuba
bamqelile,— makabonelwe indawo yake!”

He underwent initiation at Knox Station, Middledrift, and was

sponsored for circumcision by his uncle. But supporters of Yese,
major thugs, forcibly removed him from the initiation lodge in
order to influence him, so that he no longer associated with
Ndlambe; they referred to Ndlambe as “Big Shot”, often saying
things like “This Big Shot’s making off with the king’s people
because they’re used to him – he should be shown his place!” 15

In the article on the origin of the Ndlambe, this is reduced to “uqale ku

Ndlambe wamcasa ngamandla, bamtiya negama lokuba ngu ‘Mduna’
bati, ‘Lo Mduna umka nabantu kuba bemqelile’” (his opposition to his
uncle grew intense, and they called him Big Shot and said, “This Big
Shot’s making off with the people because they’re used to him”). 16
Structurally, then, these three amabali of Ngqika reveal a set of
memorised tags that generate blocks of narrative that can be expanded
or contracted, and that can migrate between amabali from one
performance to another. Harold Scheub recognised these features in his
study of iintsomi (folktales), calling them core-clichés and expansible
images.17 Isabel Hofmeyr recognised the same structure in the
historical narratives she studied among the Sotho and Ndebele of the
northern Transvaal: “The system of core clichés or images that Scheub
described as lying at the heart of the Xhosa storytelling system was also

15. Mqhayi (2009: 422–3).

16. Mqhayi (2009: 298–9).
17. Scheub (1970).
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   45

apparent in the oral historical narrative with which I was dealing.” 18

The pejorative nickname Mduna (Big Shot) is an example of a core-
cliché, which alone would serve as a shorthand mnemonic for the story
of Ngqika’s estrangement from Ndlambe under the malicious influence
of the councillors of his mother Yese. Other core-clichés in Mqhayi’s
earliest account of Ngqika, repeated elsewhere, are the saying that serves
as a subtitle to the piece, “Ndinomntu ngelendibik’ ezulwini” (If only I
had someone to tell Heaven about me), which would recall his reluctant
withdrawal from Dr van der Kemp’s mission under the influence of
his councillors; Ndlambe’s comment “Ndobakona kukunchwaba futi?”
(I don’t like burying people all the time), which would call to mind
his support for Ngqika’s succession; and “Yibambeni!” (Scrag him!),
which would suggest the story of Ngqika’s poet and his rival. The little
three-line izibongo of Mqhayi’s great-grandfather Mqhayi suggests
Ngqika’s love of dancing, his adoption of Mqhayi and their closeness,
and can be found too in Mqhayi’s autobiographical writing, such as his
autobiography and the section on his father Ziwani incorporated into
his biography of Nathaniel Cyril Mhala.19
The structure of core-clichés and expansible images, identified
by Scheub as underlying iintsomi, seems also to underlie historical
narratives among the Xhosa, the Sotho and the Ndebele. A similar
structure can also be discerned in songs. Deidre Hansen observes: “The
words of Xhosa songs are suggested by social situations. Each of the
different musical categories has a number of stock word-phrases which
are always associated with it. When singers perform they draw freely
on these ‘ready-made’ phrases, repeating them, altering them . . . or
even adding their own original words, all of which allude to or stress
the central theme of the song, or even the social situation.” 20 And I have
made the case for a similar structure in izibongo, which at heart consist
of names that can be expanded into a line or a set of lines forming
units that can appear in a different order in various versions of poems
on the same subject.21 If there is a consistency of form and structure

18. Hofmeyr (1993: 5).

19. Mqhayi (2009: 160–91).
20. Hansen (1981: 243–4).
21. Opland (2017: chapter 4); see also chapter 4 below.
46   ORAL TRADITION

shared by oral folktales, praise poems, songs and historical narratives,

where is the logic in categorising tales, poems and songs as literature,
but excluding history from the same category?
Authors such as W.W. Gqoba and Mqhayi wrote both poetry and
historical articles: are we to include the former in their literary output,
but to exclude the latter? Mqhayi’s historical articles often conclude
with original poems: are the poems literature but not the history? When
the obscurity of Yorùbá oríkì is elucidated by the performance of an
ìtàn, is the poem literature but the historical narrative not?22 The Zulu
imbongi Msebenzi produced an extended narrative about the Ngwane
leader Masumpa for N.J. van Warmelo in 1937, enlivened by direct
speech, in explanation of the first line of Masumpa’s izibongo;23 in his
magnificent saga of his grandfather Matiwane, Msebenzi frequently
interjects authenticating praises into his narrative, as Mqhayi does when
he tells the story of his great-grandfather’s friendship with Ngqika.
Are the poetic praises mere literary titbits embedded in non-fictional,
non-literary prose?24 Any awkwardness in classification is eliminated if
history is simply admitted as literature. The first edition of Mqhayi’s
classic historical novel Ityala lamawele (The case of the twins, 1914),
consists of nine chapters set in the time of the Gcaleka king Hintsa,
who died in 1835. Subsequent editions extended the novel to sixteen
chapters, and added a set of historical essays and poems treating events
and personalities up to the present: “In the latter half of the book,
fiction and fictitious characters disappear, and we have true history,” as
A.C. Jordan observed.25 But the addition of the historical pieces does not
detract from the literary character of the work. Ityala lamawele is not
deficient in literary unity, for “to be fully appreciated, Ityala lamaWele,
though partly fact and partly fiction, partly verse and partly prose, must
be viewed as a whole. Then it has the effect of a great epic drama in
which the bard, like a Greek Chorus, comments upon, or predicts,

22. Barber (2003).

23. Msebenzi (1938: 8).
24. Medieval Icelandic family sagas frequently incorporate authenticating poems in
much the same way; no one suggests that the poems qualify as “literature” but
that the historical prose narratives, because they are based on “fact”, do not.
25. Jordan (1973: 108).
 H I S TO RY A S L I T E R AT U R E   47

the fortunes of his people.”26 Properly contextualised in the realm of

performance, amabali are creative productions, sharing characteristic
features with other forms of folklore. There is sound reason to adopt
an African perspective on literature and to classify history as literature
when, drawing on oral amabali, history enters the medium of print.

26. Jordan (1973: 109).

3

Two recorded poems by S.E.K. Mqhayi

Samuel Edward Krune Mqhayi, whose historical writing we considered

in the preceding chapter, is the most significant figure in the history of
Xhosa literature. In terms of printed output, he was the most prolific
writer, the author of translations, novels, poems, articles, essays,
biographies and historical studies; his public performances as an
imbongi were almost reverently recalled by those who were privileged
to hear him. These oral poems died as soon as they were uttered, of
course, but the sound of Mqhayi’s sonorous voice is preserved on six
78 rpm shellac records released in 1933, the first commercial recordings
produced by a Xhosa imbongi.1 The two poems on one of those discs
are presented here, with commentary.
The record itself is Columbia AE 61. On one side, the label has
“Ah Velile” and the additional number WEA 1833; on the reverse side,
it has “A! Silimela!” and the number WEA 1826. The relevant record
company officials informed me that the masters and all documentary
information on the recordings had been destroyed by the controlling
company. In a letter to me dated 29 July 1975, the late Hugh Tracey,
then director of the International Library of African Music in
Roodepoort, confirmed the destruction of the relevant materials, noting
that “I myself took part in this series of AE Columbia discs and they
were recorded around 1932/33 and published the following year”.
The Xhosa texts are printed here without punctuation in order
not to prejudice the possibility of an alternative translation. A new
line indicates that the poet has paused for breath, a typographical

1. Copies of five of the six records are housed in The Opland Collection of Xhosa
Literature.

48
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   49

representation of a significant aspect of the oral performance of izibongo,

since a breath group tends to be a sense group. This practice is followed
consistently even though some “lines” clearly ought to be written as
two separate lines (see the notes to lines 10 and 35 of the first poem)
and even though the introductory section to the first poem (ll. 1–5)
clearly ought to be written as prose. This readily reveals two differences
between poetry and ordinary discourse. First, no line of either poem is
as long as line 4 in the prose prologue: the poet in performance pauses
for breath at more regular intervals than the ordinary speaker does.
Second, in the prose prologue to the first poem there is no elision of
vowels between words (kaFaku ezalwa, l. 2; nkosi amaNgqika onke, l.
4; yesizwe ithi, l. 5). Everyday speakers of Xhosa do elide vowels, but
not nearly as frequently as the imbongi does in his izibongo, where the
first of two juxtaposed vowels is either elided (as in Kulok’ int’ enkul’
ithwashuza, l. 14, for Kuloko into enkulu ithwashuza) or modified to a
semivowel (as in Kulokw’ ezikaGonya, l. 11, for Kuloko ezikaGonya;
or sitshw’ uSisu-senkomo, l. 35, for sitsho uSisu-senkomo), unless the
poet is speaking slowly or deliberately or unless he pauses before the
second word. In the first poem (ll. 6–72) there are no juxtaposed vowels
except between ezantsi and angubhinq’ in line 7 and between kaNikani
and okaNikani in line 35, at both of which points there is a slight pause
or hesitation in delivery. There are, of course, vowel juxtapositions
between the end of one line and the start of the next (as between lines
22 and 23, for example, or between lines 28 and 29), but here the poet
has paused to take a breath: the admission of vowels at the end of a line
even though a vowel starts the next line affords another justification for
the typographical practice of equating a breath group with a “line” of
Xhosa oral poetry.
The translations and commentaries for both texts are heavily
indebted to information supplied by Herbert Pahl and A.M. Sityana,
and particularly Chief S.M. Burns-Ncamashe (A! Zilimbola!), who
was intimately connected with persons mentioned in the poems,
who was involved in some of the events alluded to, and who knew
Mqhayi personally. Chief Ncamashe was for many years an eminent
Rharhabe imbongi before becoming chief of the Gwali people. During
the interviews I held with him in which we discussed the two poems
(in Alice on 6 April 1976 and in Zwelitsha on 3 May 1976), Chief
50   ORAL TRADITION

Ncamashe produced so much information on Mqhayi and on matters

anthropological, ethnographic, linguistic, and historical that I have
quoted him at length in the commentary on the poems.
It should be noted that Xhosa chiefdoms take their names from
the chief who originally established the independent kingdom; thus
the Rharhabe, for example, are those Xhosa-speaking people who are
descended from the followers of Rharhabe, or who owe allegiance to
a descendant of the king, just as the Victorians were subjects of Queen
Victoria. Kings and chiefs are given additional names (izikhahlelo)
on their accession: Chief Ncamashe’s isikhahlelo, for example, was
uZilimbola, Archie Sandile’s was uVelile. The izikhahlelo operate
as alternative names – so that you could refer to the chief as “Chief
Ncamashe” or simply “Zilimbola” – and are used as a form of greeting
– you exclaimed “A! Zilimbola!” on meeting the chief or in saluting
him. The imbongi often incorporates this latter form into his izibongo,
as in the two poems printed here.
Mqhayi himself introduces the subject of his first poem:

A Velile
Ikwekwe kaFaku ezalwa nguNobantu
Igama layo nguArchie Sandile
Yeyona nkosi amaNgqika onke selejonge kuyo
ngaphesheya nangaphonoshono kweNciba
5 Imbongi yesizwe ithi ngayo
Yimbishi-mbishi yingqishi-ngqishi
Ngumabhinqel’ ezantsi ang’ ubhinq’ isikhaka
Kant’ ubhinq’ ibhulukhwe
Kokw’ ezi bhulukhwe zimagwagusha
10 Bezifun’ ukuya kwezikayisemkhulu bezifun’ ukuya
kwezikaGonya
Kulokw’ ezikaGonya zimagwashu
Umntwan’ enkosi yinzinzilili
Ngesaphul’ abant’ uk’b’ ebelekwa
Kulok’ int’ enkul’ ithwashuza ngokwayo
15 Ikhe yalinga kamb’ intlanjana yoMdiza
Yath’ ingambeleka yon’ imkhukulise
Koko yathwal’ inkabi yehashe
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   51

Yayishiy’ inzinzilili ngasemva

Kuze sifike sithabath’ iintonga
20 Sibuye nomfo wasemaMbalwini
Hayi nkos’ isoyikek’ umntakaFaku
Kub’ unobugqirh’ obusegazini
Uzimisela kwangokwakhe
Uthi qwab’ eli liso x’ abon’ utshaba
25 Athi qwab’ eli x’ abon’ isihlobo
Yintw’ engqob’ isenqinen’ ukusing’ eMthatha
Kub’ iphuthum’ amaxhoba kaMlawu
Umacekis’ ingcek’ abuy’ ayiphuthume
Umaphuthum’ ingcek’ abuy’ ayicekise
30 Umty’ omtyenen’ osukwe kowawo
Kub’ usukwe ngooyise nooyisemkhulu
Xa nditshoyo nditheth’ uBonisani noGawushigqili
Hay’ umfo kaHolide ngokukwaz’ ukusoka
Aba bakaZaze ngababuzeli
35 Siyamdela thin’ umfo kaNikani okaNikani sitshw’ uSisu-
senkomo
Ndlela zini n’ ezi zineentsasa namaqhekeza
Sikhe sakholwa ngemihla kaZimasile
Hayi bafo baseBhayi nikwazil’ ukusoka
Nikwazil’ ukuyisok’ inkosi yenu
40 Seyincinan’ indawan’ esiyixakayo
Asiwabon’ amabal’ eenkomo zenu
Mzi waseRhini nowaseKapa nani thina siyanibulela
Kokw’ asiwabon’ amabal’ eenkomo zenu
Yingxow’ enkul’ umfo kaFaku
45 Yingxow’ enkul’ enemilenze
Afaka kuy’ amadun’ akowabo
Yintw’ efunde yafunda yada yayityekeza
Ndith’ asinkos’ ukukwaz’ ukugweba
Yamgweb’ uMabutho walala ngophothe
50 Yamgweb’ uGushiphela yamsakasa
Ijong’ emahlathini x’ ikhuph’ isigwebo
Apho balele khon’ ooMgolombane
Thathan’ intonga ninik’ uSilimela
USilimela ngokaNdluzodaka kwaNdlambe
52   ORAL TRADITION

55 Thathan’ intonga ninik’ uGushiphela

UGushiphela ngokaMenziwa kwaMdushane
Thathan’ intonga ninik’ uMgcawezulu
UMgcawezulu ngokaNonqane kwaNtinde
Thathan’ intonga ninik’ uRhamncwana
60 URhamncwana ngokaJali kwesikaMqhayi
Thathan’ intonga ninik’ uDingindlovu
UDingindlovu ngokaDom Toyise kumaGasela
Mna ndiyakuthath’ okaKak’ abe ngumsimelelo
Ndithath’ uSilimel’ abe yintonga yam yokuhomba
65 Tarhuni maMbombo nani maMbede
Kuthiwani n’ ukuthethwa ngomnt’ osesekampini
Kukho siqhamo sini n’ esiseGxarha
Vulan’ umtyhi maMbombo mabandla kaSuthu
Vulan’ umtyhi maMbede mabandl’ akoPosi
70 Vulani luhlal’ ulutho lwenu
Vulani lungen’ ulutho lwenu
Ncincilili

Hail, Velile!
The son of Faku and Nobantu,
his name is Archie Sandile.
He’s the chief all Transkei and Ciskei Ngqika acknowledge.
5 The national poet says of him:
He’s stout, with a heavy step.
He ties his garment like a skirt round the hips,
yet he’s wearing trousers,
though they’re extra large trousers,
10 like those of his grandfather, like those of Gonya;
but Gonya’s fitted loosely.
The son of a chief’s heavily built,
he’d be too heavy to carry,
but the great one prefers to swish off on his own.
15 The Mdiza tried to carry him
and wash him downstream,
but washed away only his horse,
leaving the stout one behind.
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   53

So we took our staves to divine,

20 and returned with a Mbalu fellow.
How revered he is, the son of Faku!
Supernatural powers flow through his veins:
his diviner’s status is self-conferred.
A wink with one eye means an enemy,
25 with the other it means a friend.
He’s swift on the way to Mthatha
to reclaim those left by Mlawu.
He spurns white clay then reclaims it;
he reclaims white clay then spurns it.
30 He’s a supple thong worked by its owner:
he’s been worked by his fathers and grandfathers,
Bonisani and Gawushigqili.
What fine gifts Auld gives initiates!
These Zaze men would fight for him.
35 We complain of Nikani and Sisusenkomo:
look at these paths strewn with broken bottles!
All was well in Zimasile’s time!
Port Elizabeth men, you’ve given good gifts,
you’ve given your chief fine presents.
40 Just one little thing still puzzles us:
we don’t see your cattle’s colours.
We also thank those of you from Grahamstown and Cape
Town,
though we don’t see your cattle’s colours.
Faku’s son’s a big bag,
45 a big bag with legs left on:
he’s plenty of room for all his dignitaries.
He’s so full of learning he burps it up.
His judgments in lawsuits are shrewd:
he sentenced Mabutho and knocked him flat,
50 he sentenced Gushiphela and ripped him to shreds.
In passing judgment he faces the forests
where forefathers like Mgolombane rest.
Take the staff to hand to Silimela;
Silimela’s the son of Ndluzodaka of the Ndlambe.
54   ORAL TRADITION

55 Take the staff to hand to Gushiphela;

Gushiphela’s the son of Menziwa of the Dushane.
Take the staff to hand to Mgcawezulu;
Mgcawezulu’s the son of Nonqane of the Ntinde.
Take the staff to hand to Rhamncwana;
60 Rhamncwana’s the son of Jali of the Mqhayi.
Take the staff to hand to Dingindlovu;
Dingindlovu’s the son of Dom Toyise of the Gasela.
Remember Kaka’s son in this;
give prominence to Silimela.
65 Mercy, Mbombo and Mbede.
How can one speak of a prisoner?
What’s expected from Gxarha?
Yield, Mbombo, Suthu’s people,
yield, Mbede, Noposi’s people,
70 make way for your own to settle among you,
make way for your own to enter.
I end there!

Commentary
I have commented elsewhere on phrases in the first 52 lines of this
poem that recurred in the izibongo (oral and written) of other poets;2
I do not propose to repeat that material in the following notes. In this
commentary, sections in quotation marks are transcribed from the
discussions I held with Chief Ncamashe.

line 4 Many Rharhabe people live east of the Kei River (Transkei) in
the Centane district in Gcaleka territory, where they were forcibly
removed after the last frontier war in 1878, although the Rharhabe
ruler lives on the western side of the Kei (Ciskei). This unwanted
division of the people proves to be one of the central concerns of
this poem.
lines 7–8 “Trousers are foreign to Xhosa men and often when they
wear trousers it’s near the navel: they raise the trousers high up.
Mqhayi is aware of this. Xhosa men wear trousers on braces but

2. Opland (2017: 71–82).

 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   55

in addition to make sure that the trousers are worn right up a belt
is added. So the braces are not used only to keep the trousers on
but the belt is in addition used to keep the trousers raised usually.
It’s boys, uncircumcised boys, who keep their trousers lower down.
How the thing started I don’t know, but men usually don’t do that.
Now here he’s making a contrast between the way men wear their
trousers with which Sandile differs. He doesn’t wear his trousers
like other men do, rather does he wear trousers woman fashion,
when they wear their own isikhaka [skirt]. . . . He is being both
factual and witty.”
line 9 The first line of the izibongo of Gonya, Velile’s grandfather, has
the phrase ubulukwe zimagwashu.3
line 10 This line is evidently intended to be two with the division
coming after kwezikayisemkhulu; as such the two lines would
exhibit the recurrent trope of parallelism.4 Cf. the comment on line
35 below.
line 14 Ukuthwashuza is to walk with the sound made by the trousers
as one leg brushes against the other.
line 15 The Mdiza is the Green River, which crosses the national road
seven miles south of King William’s Town. The drowning episode
occurred in the 1930s, after Velile’s initiation; it must accordingly
have taken place shortly before this recording was made.
lines 19–20 In an interview on 18 August 1977, Chief Ncamashe
clarified this reference for me, repeating information supplied to
him by Nolwandle, Velile’s widow, three days earlier. Velile and
a councillor rode to a meeting in King William’s Town. It rained
heavily on their return journey. They did not travel straight back to
Velile’s Great Place at Mngqesha, but diverted to a kraal that Velile
wished to visit at Xhukwane in the Middledrift district, crossing
the Mdiza River on their way. The river was full, Velile’s horse
plunged in, and both horse and rider were taken by the torrent.
Velile managed to grasp a branch on the river bank, but the horse
was swept downstream. The councillor took fright and rode off

3. Rubusana (1911: 250).

4. On traditional techniques in Southeastern Bantu praise poetry, see Lestrade (1935,
1937).
56   ORAL TRADITION

without reporting the incident to nearby huts. The storm subsided

at sundown. People who went to the river in search of their cattle
heard a shout: Velile called for a rope, and he scrambled out with
their help. They failed to recognise him, he identified himself, and
they entertained him. A diviner smelt out a member of the Mbalu
clan from Cwarhu, who had bewitched Velile so that whenever he
rode that horse he would suffer misfortune.
The day of this incident was marked by an omen. As Velile
was setting out, a dog behaved curiously, barking at the two horses
as they left. The horses showed reluctance to move despite the
urging of the riders. Everyone remarked that something was about
to happen.
lines 22–23 Normally, novice diviners attach themselves to a
mentor, but this would not be necessary for Velile: “By virtue of
his inheritance, his heredity, he does not need to come under an
experienced witchdoctor in order to become one: he is automatically
one, from his ancestry.” The supernatural powers in Velile’s blood
derive from Yese, the wife of Mlawu and mother of Ngqika.
According to Chief Ncamashe, “she was called iCamagu, a person
who had supernatural powers, who could see through things. . . . In
fact, there is evidence that she advised him [Ngqika] to consult
[Lord Charles] Somerset to assist him in his battle against Ndlambe”
after Ngqika’s defeat at Amalinde in 1818, a disastrous internecine
conflict that was the culmination of tension between Ngqika and his
uncle Ndlambe.5
lines 24–25 A fanciful reference to Velile’s habit of half-closing one
eye when looking at someone.
lines 26–27 “The fact is that Mqhayi is making use of his knowledge
of what was then called Native Administration. The Bantu tribes in
the Transkei had their head office in Umtata, and any chief who has
any wishes concerning people there on whom he has claims must
negotiate through Umtata. That is the background. But in particular,
until he was installed as chief under the Bantu Authorities Act, those
Rharhabe who went to the Transkei after the 1878–79 war did not

5. On the calling of future diviners into the river, see Hirst (1997). On the battle of
Amalinde, see Mqhayi (2009: 311–23).
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   57

recognise any Transkeian chief but Velile Sandile. And there was an
attempt (I know that, I participated in this) to make all the Rharhabe
in the Centane district fall under the Ciskei Administration because
they are not Transkeians and that all their taxes would come to the
Ciskei coffers, and that was intended to improve the stipends of
Chief Sandile because the number of subjects is taken into account
in assessing the stipends of the chief.”
lines 28–29 This couplet, exhibiting chiasmus, refers to the visit of the
Prince of Wales to South Africa in 1925. At that time Velile was in
the circumcision school in the Centane district, his body smeared
with the traditional white clay (ingceke): in order to meet the
prince, he had to wash off the clay. After the meeting, at which the
prince presented him with a silver-topped cane, Velile returned to
the lodge and once again smeared his body with the clay, washing it
off again only on his emergence as an initiate (ikrwala).
lines 30–32 As a youth, Velile lived in Transkei, where he was trained
in the ways of chiefs by Bonisani and Gawushigqili, sons of Sandile
(the son and successor of Ngqika).
lines 33–34 Holide is Rev. J.M. Auld of the Presbyterian Church of
South Africa, a missionary to the emigrant Rharhabe in Centane
who advised Noposi in the administration of Ngqika affairs after
the death of her husband Sandile.6 Mqhayi praises Auld for the
handsome gift he presented to Velile on his initiation, and contrasts
this with the inferior gift of the Mqhayis (“the men of Zaze”). Zaze
was the brother of Krune, both of the Mqhayi family and both
Ngqika councillors in Centane. Yet Mqhayi does not condemn this
inferior gift: he labels his relatives ababuzeli, people who undertake
to fight on behalf of a friend. As Chief Ncamashe put it, “Holide did
shine very much because of his gift, but where the Mqhayis shine
is when the chief has a quarrel with someone else, then you see the
Mqhayis there. This time Holide did far better, and then he tries to
justify their doing less by saying after all Holide is of a higher order
of councillors and the Mqhayis are of a lesser order and they have
a different duty.”

6. On Auld, see Mqhayi (2009, 440–5).

58   ORAL TRADITION

line 35 As with line 10, this is evidently intended to be two lines

broken at kaNikani, the two lines exhibiting linking. Sisu-senkomo
is Nikani’s isikhahlelo. Bisset Nikani was a Ntinde chieftain, a
former teacher closely associated with Velile. Mqhayi criticises him
for introdudng Velile to European liquor (l. 36).
line 37 Zimasile was a leading councillor in the Qombolo location in
Centane, Velile’s home in Transkei. Mqhayi would have preferred
Velile to have fallen under the influence of men like Zimasile rather
than Nikani: Velile became a heavy drinker.
lines 40–43 The Ngqika in the urban areas of Port Elizabeth,
Grahamstown and Cape Town gave acceptable presents, but they
sent money rather than the traditional gift of cattle.
lines 44–46 “The traditional tobacco bag is made from animal skin,
and when the flesh and bones are taken out there is a way of
skinning the animal such that the skin will be left intact to form a
bag. The legs are usually left; they’re never removed. The tobacco
is not only in the main body of the bag but also in the legs, in
those holes which represent the legs. Now here (this is figurative,
of course) he says now the son of Faku is a big bag, a big bag
with the legs left on so that into those legs he can put his men,
men who are close to him, prominent men, amadun’ akowabo. That
means that because he is a Paramount Chief he has room for all the
chieftains, for all the traditional councillors: that is the meaning.
He’s such a big man that under him he has room for that man to be
something important, either an important chieftain or an important
headman or an important councillor, by virtue of being Paramount
Chief. He’s in a position to give honours.” Kropf confirms Chief
Ncamashe’s explanation of the phrase unxowa enemilenze, and
points out that the izibongo of Sarhili, the Gcaleka king, “has the
expression int’ enxowa enemilenze i-fak’ abasikwayo, kuba ifihl’
abakwa-Pato nabakwa-Sandili; and refers to the refuge afforded
to thieves, looking for whom was like looking for a small article
which had slipped into one of the legs of a skin-bag”.7 The version
of the izibongo of Sarhili as printed in Rubusana contains the
couplet Yintsundu yo-Nomsa, unxowa inemilenze/Yokufak’ amadun’

7. Kropf (1915: 299).

 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   59

akowabo, o-Pato no-Sandile.8 Mqhayi’s lines 44–46 are clearly

indebted to a version closer to Rubusana’s than to Kropf’s.
line 47 Velile studied at Lovedale, near Alice.
lines 48–52 “Mabutho and Gushiphela were chiefs. Gushiphela is
the father of the present Minister of Agriculture in the Ciskei,
Zimlindile Siwani. Gushiphela claimed that he was the most senior
chief in the Ciskei while Velile was young, and Gushiphela opposed
the recognition of Velile in the Ciskei because he claimed that all
of Velile’s people were in the Transkei and therefore his rights, his
people, his everything is in the Transkei. This is a reference to it.
Mabutho was a supporter of Gushiphela. This came up as soon as
Velile was recognised in 1935. Then these claims came up, and
at the Cwarhu Great Place they were settled.” Mgolombane is
the isikhahlelo of Sandile the son of Ngqika. According to Chief
Ncamashe, “the reference to the forests is to mark those who fought
against the whites during the Kafir Wars and those who were loyal
to the whites. Here, Gushiphela is a son of a chief who cooperated
with the British at a time when the Sandiles and the Maqomas
and the Tyhalis were engaged in the war against these people. So
here he says when Velile is to decide a case involving one of those
sellouts, then he looks at the forests and remembers those serious
times. . . . The reference to the forest, the second point about it is
that we as fighters prefer to fight in the forest, we fought better
in the forest than in the plains. When we fought one black group
against another it was alright in the plains, but when it came to the
whites who had the guns then the forest gave us cover.”
lines 53–62 “Let us take a stick representing authority – in other words,
give a stick to each one of these chiefs, give them authority but
under Sandile. When he mentions these chiefs in turn – these are
Ciskei chiefs and he says ‘Don’t think this man is a Transkeian, this
Sandile, these are his subjects: Silimela of the Ndlambes, Gushiphela
of the imiDushane, Mgcawezulu of the Ntindes.’ . . . These are the
subchiefs who should owe allegiance to Velile Sandile.”
lines 63–64 “Kaka is one of the amaTshawe who play a very prominent
part; they’re the senior councillors among the Ndlambes of Silimela.

8. Rubusana (1911: 231).

60   ORAL TRADITION

Now he is in other words suggesting an allocation of positions . . . in

other words he’s saying, ‘It is the duty of the Paramount Chief to
allocate positions of authority to the various chiefs’: So-and-so must
be recognised by his tribe as their head because Velile has installed
him, and So-and-so – but in the case of Kaka not being a chief, he
feels he must allocate a place. . . . I’ll tell you where the Kakas
come in. When Mlawu died, he left Ngqika and other sons, but his
wife cohabited with another man and Kaka was born. But he was
still according to custom regarded as also being a son of Mlawu,
as you know the custom. So seeing that Kaka is a descendant of
the great princess who was regarded as having mysterious powers
and supernatural powers . . . if he mentions chiefs being the heads
of tribes, then he must give a place to Kaka. In other words, he’s
suggesting to Sandile that he must recognise Kaka as being of some
importance too.

Opland: Doesn’t he say that all these people that you’ve

mentioned, Gushiphela, Mgcawezulu, Rhamncwana,
Dingindlovu, you should recognise those, but for my own
part, me, I’ll pay homage to Kaka and Silimela because he
says “I shall take the son of Kaka”?
Ncamashe: Yes, you see, there [in ll. 50–62] if you notice he
says the tribe must recognise these people, but he, Mqhayi,
now he doesn’t ask the tribe to do this [ll. 63–64] . . . he
says, “I as the tribal poet will impose upon you Kaka as such
and such a thing; by virtue of my authority and position as
poet of the tribe, as national poet, this is what I’ll offer you.
I don’t have to consult you now.” In all these other cases he
has been saying now the tribe should do this, the tribe should
do this, but now I as the recognised national poet, this is what
I want to give you. . . . Do you know, when he says “I will do
this,” it is a figurative way of saying “Velile should do this.”
When he says “I shall do this” he doesn’t mean he himself as
Mqhayi, as national poet, but this is the literal meaning I’m
giving you now, I’m giving you the literal meaning. But all
this refers to Velile.”
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   61

Opland: Does the imbongi in that particular instance then speak

in the person of the chief, or speak for the chief?
Ncamashe: No, no. For example I can say in Xhosa talking
about you to – you see, here’s A, B, C. I’m B, I’m talking
to C about A. Say “A wears glasses,” just like that, then he,
everybody understands. But only those who know Xhosa
very well will know, if you are the only person wearing
glasses here, if I say “I am wearing glasses” then they know
that I am referring to you. . . . It’s an indirect reference. So
here it is Mqhayi here speaking as if he is Sandile. Have you
understood the reference to Silimela? In addition to Silimela
[in l. 53] having to get a stick of authority from Sandile just
merely as head of the Ndlambes, Mqhayi suggests that he
should be so close to Sandile, you see, he must not just be
like the others, a chief, but he must be so close to Sandile
as an ornament is close to that person who likes it. . . . He’s
making suggestions now, he says “Look, young Sandile, if I
were you I would make the Ndlambe chief as close to you as
possible.” Do you know why he says that? Until this day, long
after the war between Ndlambe and Ngqika, the Ndlambes
still hate the Ngqikas. So Mqhayi here is acting as a pacifist,
you see, he’s trying to unite the Rharhabe people . . . he’s
trying to give a picture of a broken nation which must yet be
built up because it has certain important people who must be
brought out as being the heroes of the nation, and these who
are now, who belong to this generation must remember that.
So here he is trying to pacify the two tribes because at the
time of saying this poem, although originally a Ngqika (his
ancestors, his father and grandfather were not Ndlambes), he
was the first Mqhayi to become a Ndlambe and he became a
prominent Ndlambe and he was highly respected there and he
knew the differences between the Ngqikas and the Ndlambes
and this is a reference to it. He’s trying to unify the chiefs
now.

line 65 Mbombo and Mbede were, respectively, the favourite oxen of

Ngqika and of his son Sandile, and furnish alternative names for the
62   ORAL TRADITION

followers of the chiefs: the Mbombo and the Mbede are the Ngqika
people.
line 66 “He says, ‘Despite my wishes, despite the expression of all
these ideas, what can I do as a poet, what can I do? Because Velile
is a victim of British authority, he has been trodden down. What is
the use? I have said all these things, but he is in a camp.’ What does
that mean? His people are in Kentani [Centane]. You see when the
Ngqikas talk of the people in Kentani, they were encamped there
by the British, taken away, you see the British took their land there,
changed it into European farms, and then took the owners of that
land and put them in a camp in Gcalekaland. That camp is, this
camp here you can put as a footnote: ‘Centane district’. He says
the real greatness of Sandile lies with his own Ngqikas because the
imiDushane are not Ngqikas they are Ndlambes, the Ntindes are not
Ngqikas, the Mqhayis are Ndlambes, the Toyises are Rharhabes but
not Ngqikas, so what is the use of saying all these things because
those who are really Velile Sandile’s own people are in Kentani and
Velile’s spirit is with them there.”
line 67 “Gxarha is in the Transkei and falls under the Gcalekas: this
is a reference to the placing of the Rharhabe under the authority of
the Gcalekas. What will the Ngqikas benefit, he says, what can they
benefit from being placed under the authority of a chief not of their
own? You see they were disintegrated, Mqhayi is referring to the
disintegration of the Rharhabes. The head of the Rharhabes is in the
Ciskei; the particular section that belongs to the Paramount Chief
is in the Transkei. There’s that big division, and what is the use of
having this situation where the head of the tribe is in one part of the
country and the rest of his own people, because each chief has his
own people and Sandile’s people are in the Transkei.”

Opland: Now this is all referring back to that line 26 and 27

about going to Umtata to collect – ?
Ncamashe: Exactly. You see now in the conclusion he’s thinking
of the struggle, and that was a very big struggle in which I at
the end of it I participated also. You see during the days of
the United Party the recognition of chiefs was just nonsense,
but the Nationalists when they took over tried to revive it
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   63

and Mqhayi died before this Bantu Authorities Act was

ever attempted, and he was fighting for it, and now this is a
reference to it. It shows how concerned and worried [he was]
about the position of chieftainship during his days.

line 68 Suthu was a Thembu princess, the wife of Ngqika and the
mother of Sandile.9
line 69 Noposi was the wife of Sandile, who was childless. Accordingly,
the eldest son of a junior wife was placed in Noposi’s house and
became her son, and this child was Gonya.10
lines 70–71 Opland: Is he now speaking from Centane, wanting to
come to Ngqika’s and Sandile’s Great Place?
Ncamashe: Exactly, that’s what he said. In other words, he
sponsors the idea of Sandile [Velile] being accepted in the
Transkei as the head of the Rharhabe there no matter where
he lives.
line 72 Ncincilili is a traditional closure used by many iimbongi.

In line 64 of this poem, Mqhayi urges that special prominence be

accorded to Solani Silimela, the popular chief of the Ndlambe, in whose
area Mqhayi himself resided. Mqhayi served Silimela as a councillor,
becoming known as Silimela’s prime minister, and on occasion travelled
with both Velile and Silimela as councillor and imbongi.11 Mqhayi
married Silimela’s daughter Winnie in 1939. Silimela is the subject of
the poem on the reverse side of the recording:

A Silimela
AmaNdlamb’ amatsha
Hay’ amaNdlamb’ amatsha
Inkos’ ’am ngumntakaNdluzodaka
5 Yindod’ ezalwa ngabantw’ ababini

9. See Mqhayi (2009: 414–21).

10. Rubusana (1911: 245).
11. See S.E.R. M[qayi] (1932) for his account of one such journey to Qombolo in
Centane.
64   ORAL TRADITION

Izalwa nguMakinana noNopasi

UNopasi yintombi kaMon’ umhlophe kaNtshunqe
Umhlophe kaNtshunqe kwaBomvana
NguLuhad’ igama lakhe
10 Umbambo zemka zabuyelela
Ngaphantsi kwelitye kuyoyikeka
Kuba zilaph’ iinzwana namadikazi
Ngubani n’ ongevanga
Ngubani n’ ongevang’ ukuba sithwasil’ isilimela kwaNdlambe
15 Isilimela ke yinkwenkwez’ enkulu yakwaPhalo
Incwadi yaphum’ eGqolongc’ ivela kuLayithi noTshalisi
Yawel’ iNciba yawel’ uMbhashe
Kwal’ uk’b’ ifik’ eMgazana yathetha
Yathi goduka Makinan’ ufil’ uyihlo
20 Ufel’ eMthuman’ emazants’ eQangqalala
Goduk’ uye kubus’ amaNdlamb’ akanamntu
Wath’ uMakinana ndiyeza ndisavun’ amazimba
Wath’ esitsho wab’ eyifak’ eyakowabo yakuloNkanti
Wankqenkqeza phambil’ uNtakamhlophe
25 Wath’ uk’ba abesek’ngeneni kweTyityaba wafik’ uFeni
yafik’ incwadi kaFen’ isithi
Buya Makinan’ ilizwe selonakele
Wath’ uMakinana hayi asilisiko lakoweth’ ukubuya ngomva
Wath’ esitsho wab’ etyhudis’ ejonge phambili
Uth’ ak’ba seMpethu wafik’ uFeni ngesiqu wathi ndithi
30 Ndithi buya Makinana uza nerhola
Wath’ uMakinana hayi
Asilisiko lakoweth’ ukubuya ngomva
Kwalil’ uk’b’ abeseDrayibhoso
Yavel’ eyakwaNtsasan’ ityeth’ iintong’ ezinkone
35 Kulapho yaqala khon’ ukugagana
Yatshay’ impampile yaseMlungwini
Yatshay’ impampile yasemaXhoseni
Yaw’ imikhuthuk’ amacal’ omabini
Yarhox’ ekaNtsasana yasinga kwaseQumrha
40 Wee tyuu uNdluzodaka
Waya kutsho kuNdanda kooVece kuXesimagqagala
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   65

Bizan’ izizwe kuza kwabiw’ iinkwenkwezi

Iinkwenkwezi mazabiwe
Nina beSuthu
45 Thathan’ uCanzibe
Niya kwabelana nabaTshwana nabaTshopi
Nazo zonk’ eziny’ intlang’ ezinezishuba
Nina bakwaZulu
Thathan’ amakroza
50 Niya kwabelana namaSwazi namaTshopi namaTshangana
Neziny’ intlang’ ezingamajarha
Nina baseBritani thathan’ iKhwezi
Niya kubambana namaJamani namaBhulu
Noko nibantu bangakwaziy’ ukwabelana
55 Nisuke nenz’ imfazwe yamaBhulu neyamaJamani
Siza kubambana ngeSilimela thina mabandla kaPhalo
Yona nkwenkwez’ inkulu
Kuba yinkwenkwezi yokubal’ iminyaka
Yokubal’ iminyaka yobudoda
60 Yokubal’ iminyaka yobudoda
Iminyaka yobudoda
Ncincilili

Hail, Silimela!
The new Ndlambe,
oh, the new Ndlambe!
My chief’s the son of Ndluzodaka,
5 a man born of two people,
born of Makinana and Nopasi.
Nopasi’s the daughter of Moni, white son of Ntshunqe,
white son of Ntshunqe of Bomvanaland.
Her name’s Luhadi,
10 whose ribs rose and fell.
The rock screens a shocking sight:
beaus consort there with flirts.
Who hasn’t heard?
Who hasn’t heard the Pleiades shone in Ndlambeland?
15 The Pleiades, magnificent stars in Phalo’s land.
66   ORAL TRADITION

A letter from Brownlee and Wright left Gqolonci,

crossed the Kei, crossed the Mbashe,
and spoke when it reached Mgazana,
saying, “Come home, Makinana, your father’s dead.
20 He died at Mthumane below Qangqalala.
Come home to serve the leaderless Ndlambe.”
Makinana said, “I’m coming, I’m still reaping corn.”
So saying he urged his Nkanti onward,
with Ntakamhlophe himself comfortably leading.
25 As he entered Tyityaba, Fynn came, Fynn’s letter came
saying,
“Turn back, Makinana, the country’s destroyed.”
Makinana said, “No, it’s not our way to turn our backs.”
So saying he pressed on with eyes facing forward.
As he reached Mpethu, Fynn himself came and said, “I say,
30 I say turn back, Makinana, you’re leading a warband.”
Makinana said, “No,
it’s not our way to turn our backs.”
As he roared into Draaibosch,
white soldiers appeared with rifles raised,
35 and there they engaged one another.
White weapons discharged;
Xhosa weapons discharged.
Veterans fell on both sides.
The whites retreated to Komga.
40 Ndluzodaka took off hotfoot
to join forces with Sandile.
Summon the nations to apportion stars.
Let the stars be apportioned.
You Sotho,
45 take Canopus,
share it with Tswana and Chopi,
and those who wear loin cloths.
You Zulu,
take Orion’s Belt,
50 share it with Swazi, Chopi and Shangaan,
and with the uncircumcised.
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   67

You British, take Venus,

scrap over it with Germans and Boers,
since you don’t find it easy to share:
55 you wage war on Boers and Germans.
We people of Phalo will scrap over the Pleiades,
that magnificent constellation:
it’s the stars that measure the passage of years,
that measure the years of manhood,
60 that measure the years of manhood,
the years of manhood.
I end there!

Commentary
lines 2–3 Mqhayi ends his 1932 essay on Makinana with the statement
that Makinana was buried “mhla amaNdlamb’ amatsha oze afumane
isiqwengana somhlaba ngase Xinira” (on the day the new Ndlambe
were to receive a tiny scrap of land near Xinirha);12 he uses the
bitterly ironic phrase “the new Ndlambe” recurrently to lament
Ndlambe territorial dispossession and enforced removal.
lines 4–8 Silimela was the son of Makinana, the son of Mhala, the son
of Ndlambe. Makinana’s isikhahlelo was Ndluzodaka. Makinana’s
mother was Nopasi the daughter of the Bomvana chief Moni, who
was descended from a white castaway on the Mpondo coast.13 In an
article published in 1932, Mqhayi offered a detailed characterisation
of Makinana, who preferred the company of his dogs to the company
of men, spoke in a rasping voice, was devoted to the pursuit of war
and studied the movements of ants for insight into battle strategy. 14
lines 9–12 The allusion in these lines is obscure, although some sexual
scandal seems to have been exposed by Nopasi (also known as
Luhadi).
line 14 Isilimela is the name for the Pleiades, a constellation of
considerable significance to the Xhosa, since they reckon the years
of manhood as the number of appearances of the Pleiades after

12. Mqhayi (2009: 412–13).

13. Crampton (2004: 184–5).
14. Mqhayi (2009: 406–13).
68   ORAL TRADITION

circumcision; see lines 56–61 below. Chief Ncamashe explained,

“In our custom and tradition the years of boyhood are not counted.
When a man asks you ‘How old are you?’ you start from the year
you were circumcised, all the others were childhood years, they
count for nothing. . . . When a man is asked ‘How old are you?’ in
Xhosa fashion he is asked ‘How many izilimela are you?’, the years
dating from the date of your circumcision.” Mqhayi plays on the
identity of the name of this revered constellation and the name of
the subject of his poem.
line 15 The Xhosa king, Phalo, the son of Tshiwo, was the father of
Gcaleka and Rharhabe.
line 16 The Gqolonci is a tributary of the Kubusi River, in turn a
tributary of the Kei River in the Stutterheim district. ULayithi is
W. Wright, resident magistrate with Sandile.15 UTshalisi is Charles
Brownlee, son of the pioneering missionary John Brownlee, a
prominent figure in frontier history, who was at the time the Cape
Secretary for Native Affairs.
line 18 Mgazana is the name of a river near Port St Johns in
Bomvanaland.
line 20 Mhala died in 1875. In 1877 the last frontier conflict,
Ngcayechibi’s War, broke out. Initially, Sarhili’s Gcaleka in the
Transkei were the principal target of the colonial forces, but
Sandile’s Ngqika in the Ciskei were drawn in. Makinana was living
among the Gcaleka at the time. As Mqhayi wrote in 1932, “Ubiziwe
u Makinana, selese Kobonqaba ku Centane ngu Rulumente, ukuba
aze kutabata indawo kayise kuma Ndlambe; koko ute uyawela labe
ilizwe selifile ngo Ncayecibi; suke ngoku u Rulumente wamtata
njengomntu oza nerola lemfazwe, wanqandwa shushu, waya kutsho
kwa ku Rili emva” (While at Kobonqaba in Centane, Makinana was
summoned by the government to reclaim his father’s place with
the Ndlambe, but on his way back Ngcayechibi’s War broke out;
now the government considered him an instigator of this war, he
was hotly pursued and he returned to Sarhili).16 According to West
Fynn, the resident magistrate with Sarhili, a meeting was held with

15. Milton (1983: 266).

16. Mqhayi (2009: 410–11).
 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   69

Brownlee and Fynn in December in which Makinana was ordered

to disarm and return home. Makinana protested strenuously, and
stormed out of the meeting. Shortly thereafter, Fynn received a
request from Makinana for a pass to allow him to cross the border in
pursuit of one of his followers who was absconding to Ngqikaland;
Fynn issued this pass on Brownlee’s authority. Makinana’s request
for a pass was subsequently seen as a ruse to secure immunity from
police interference, since he planned to leave for Ngqikaland – and
did in fact leave – immediately after walking out of the meeting. On
learning this, Brownlee ordered a detachment of police to intercept
Makinana in his attempt to join up with the Ngqika, but this proved
unsuccessful, although the police did engage Makinana’s people at
Draaibosch in a minor skirmish.17
line 23 The Nkanti regiment is named after Makinana’s favourite ox.
line 25 This line is unusually long, perhaps because Mqhayi says that
Fynn arrived and he immediately corrects himself by saying that a
message from Fynn arrived; cf. line 29. This kind of slip seems to
indicate that Mqhayi was not reading from a text in the recording
studio, but was composing his poem in performance; cf. also lines
46 and 50, where the Chopis are mentioned in both lists.
line 38 In his explanation of the use of the word imikhuthuka, Chief
Ncamashe said that “here it refers to the appearance of warriors
when they are fighting, if you looked at their faces then you could
read the emotions that are running right through them”. Literally,
the word describes anything that has been bared, such as a shaven
scalp, or the earth after the grass has been destroyed by drought.
line 41 One of the praises of Sandile, the son of Ngqika, is “Ndanda
kooVece kuXesi-magqagala” (He flutters over Vece, the rocky
Keiskamma).18
lines 52–61 Mqhayi incorporated the same idea into his poem about
the Prince of Wales in Inzuzo:

Thina singumz’ owab’ inkwenkwezi;

Nalo kamb’ iKhwez’ inkwenkwez’ akowenu.

17. Fynn (1911: 17).

18. Rubusana (1911: 247).
70   ORAL TRADITION

Sibambana ngeSilimela thina, —

Yona nkwenkwezi yokubal’ iminyaka, —
Iminyaka yobudoda, yobudoda!19

We’re a people that apportion stars;

over there’s the morning star, the star of your people.
We share the Pleiades,
the star for measuring years,
the years of manhood, of manhood.

In 1938, Mqhayi visited Healdtown, where Nelson Mandela was in his

final year as a student. Sixty years later, Mandela recalled the izibongo
Mqhayi produced on that occasion, which included a similar passage,
and the reaction the performance evoked in him:

Mqhayi then began to recite his well-known poem in which

he apportions the stars in the heavens to the various nations of
the world. I had never before heard it. Roving the stage and
gesturing with his assegai towards the sky, he said that to the
people of Europe – the French, the Germans, the English – “I
give you the Milky Way, the largest constellation, for you are a
strange people, full of greed and envy, who quarrel over plenty.”
He allocated certain stars to the Asian nations, and to North
and South America. He then discussed Africa and separated the
continent into different nations, giving specific constellations to
different tribes. He had been dancing about the stage, waving
his spear, modulating his voice, and now, suddenly, he became
still, and lowered his voice.
“Now, come you, O House of Xhosa,” he said, and slowly
began to lower himself so that he was on one knee. “I give
unto you the most important and transcendant star, the Morning
Star, for you are a proud and powerful people. It is the star for
counting the years – the years of manhood.” When he spoke this
last word, he dropped his head to his chest. We rose to our feet,
clapping and cheering. I did not want ever to stop applauding. I

19. Mqhayi (1942: 61).

 T W O R E C O R D E D P O E M S B Y S.E.K. M Q H AY I   71

felt such intense pride at that point, not as an African, but as a

Xhosa; I felt like one of the chosen people.20

The Velile is a portrait of its subject. The chief is placed in a

genealogical context. His physical characteristics are alluded to – he is
stout (ll. 6–11) and heavy (ll. 12–13), and has one droopy eye (ll. 24–
25) – as well as his personal attributes – he has been well educated (ll.
30–31, 47), he drinks too much (l. 36), he is firm in judgement (l. 48).
Significant events in which he participated are mentioned: his narrow
escape from drowning (ll. 15–18), his attempt to win official regency
over the Transkei Ngqika (ll. 26–27), his meeting with the Prince of
Wales (ll. 28–29), and his clash with Mabutho and Gushiphela (ll. 49–
50). These topics are common ingredients of praise poetry. Mqhayi’s
izibongo about Velile defines Velile; in a very real sense, it is Velile.
Throughout, Mqhayi functions as a traditional imbongi. The term is
usually translated as “praise poet”, but it is clear that the poet deals in
censure as well as praise, as in the allusion to Velile’s drinking or the
assessment of the gifts he received on his initiation. As A.C. Jordan put
it, “one of the essential qualities of ubumbongi [being a poet] was true
patriotism, not blind loyalty to the person of the chief, but loyalty to
the principles that the chieftainship does or ought to stand for”. 21 The
imbongi is committed to telling the truth as he sees it. The criticism
of chief or people voiced by the imbongi is not designed to promote
civil dissent; on the contrary, the imbongi is a powerful force acting to
sustain the social norm: he publicly criticises excess or deviation in a
person so that such a person’s behaviour might return to the established
norm or so that others in his audience might be encouraged to conform.
The imbongi functions as an inciter, inspiring in his audience loyalty
for their chief, urging them to follow certain courses of action or certain
codes of behaviour. Clearly, this poem addresses an imagined audience,
urging them to settle the tension between Ngqika and Ndlambe. The
imbongi is intimately involved not only with the chieftainship but
with the life of the people he serves; he functions here as political
commentator. He functions also as historian, custodian of legends and

20. Mandela (1994: 49).

21. Jordan (1973: 112).
72   ORAL TRADITION

lore: not only does Mqhayi present in this poem genealogical details of
Velile’s parents and grandfather, he alludes to the supernatural powers
of his great-grandfather’s grandmother and his traditional education at
the hands of his grandfather’s brothers, to the contemporary Ndlambe
chieftains and their parents, to the Mbombo and Mbede, and to Suthu
and Nopasi. When I asked people who had heard Mqhayi perform what
qualities he possessed that marked him as so much better than other
poets, the answer I most frequently received cited his knowledge of
genealogical details such as these.
The Silimela is different in approach, being in part more explicitly
narrative than the Velile. It falls into two clear sections, neither of them
referring directly to Silimela. The first part concerns Silimela’s father,
Makinana, and the second, punning on Silimela’s name, deals with the
stars. Yet quite clearly Silimela is the subject of the poem, and he is
praised by Mqhayi. The father’s valour redounds to the credit of the son:
such a man influences Silimela’s destiny and that of the Ndlambe. The
narrative passage also includes the fine heroic line “Asilisiko lakoweth’
ukubuya ngomva” repeated twice (ll. 27 and 32), emphasised the second
time by an impressive pause after the disapproving “Hayi” at the end of
line 31. The effect is to exhort the audience to emulate such a code. The
astronomical section brings Mqhayi’s humour into play, particularly in
his slighting reference to the Anglo-Boer War and the First World War
(ll. 54–55). The point of the distribution of the stars is that the Xhosa
revere isilimela, the Pleiades, and through the pun Mqhayi succeeds in
praising his chief’s eminence, stature, and importance. It is allusive and
oblique, but none the less effective for that.
A pioneer in so many respects in the history of Xhosa literature
(see chapter 7 below, for example), S.E.K. Mqhayi was also the first
imbongi to enter the recording studio, seeking through the developing
technology of recorded sound a wider audience for the Xhosa oral poet,
as he did so successfully in print.
4

Izibongo as invocation

In the course of my first field trip to Mfengu territory near Peddie in

July 1969, I met an old man, Wilson Mkhaliphi, who loved to compose
and recite izibongo, although he was not himself an imbongi. He was
flattered by my interest in his poetry, and saddened when the security
police abruptly ordered me to leave the area. He offered to compose a
poem in my honour. I recorded it on the day of my enforced departure
(see cover photo). Wilson recited it proudly, remarking when he had
concluded that I would travel home safely now that he had recited it.
Would that be because I had heard his words, and would be inspired
by them to drive carefully, I asked. No, he replied: I would travel home
safely whether or not I was present to hear him recite the poem. Xhosa
izibongo have the power to express and arouse strong emotions; but
Xhosa izibongo also have power in and of themselves.
The power inherent in izibongo derives from their association with
the ancestors, from their function as invocation. I was reminded of this
in a hotel in Kokstad in August 1976, when a waiter with whom I struck
up a conversation told me that he was from the Cape but was married
to a local Mpondo woman from Lusikisiki. He knew his own izibongo,
he said, but he declined to recite it for me: his ancestors were not
Mpondo, he explained, and he might cause trouble for himself if they
were invoked in Mpondoland through the recitation of his poem. This
belief system is often held to be incompatible with Christianity: the
venerable Xhosa poet St John Page Yako once told me of his reluctance
to exercise his talent in performing izibongo on the grounds that he was
a Christian minister.
Whoever utters an izibongo in whatever circumstance on whatever
subject, the poem exhibits a basic structure. It consists ultimately of a

73
74   ORAL TRADITION

set of nouns or nominal formulations. The nouns tend to be metaphors

or compounds, alternative names of the subject of the poem. These
metaphoric names might or might not be extended into a verse, or a
succession of verses forming a stanza. The izibongo of any person
consists of a set of these “praises”, composed by the subjects or by
their associates at disparate times in their careers, commemorating
their qualities and actions, relating them to clan and lineage; izibongo
thus consist of a set of names, nouns in apposition to each other, each
of which might be extended or embellished. The izibongo of a clan
consists of such praise references to a lineage of ancestors of the clan.
The personal praise poems of individuals would be recited by them
during their lifetime, and remembered after their death by those close to
them. The Thembu imbongi, the late David Yali-Manisi, for example, as
an adult could still recall the poem his grandmother used to recite about
his father, Johnson Mpungutyana Yali-Manisi:

SiNgqala
Mbokothw’ isebunzi
Mbumbulu ayingeni
Siya ngengcola kwaMhlungulwana
Ncotshe emaNcotsheni1

Beating Heart.
Stone on the forehead,
the bullet doesn’t enter:
we invade Mhlungulwana’s land with spears.
The Ncotshe’s Ncotshe.

He is a heart, a stone and a distinguished member of the warrior Ncotshe

clan; during a raid on Mhlungulwana’s territory a bullet struck him on
the forehead but failed to penetrate the skull. S.E.K. Mqhayi records in
his autobiography a poem that a young boy used to recite about him:

1. The texts of all Manisi’s poems cited here are located in The Opland Collection of
Xhosa Literature. Translations are the product of collaboration between the poet
and myself.
 I Z I B O N G O A S I N V O C AT I O N   75

Lugag’ olubomvu
Esaluphosa singamakhwenkwe,
Saluphosa noko sesingamadoda;
Lility’ elingquthu lasemaZimeni.
Usihlambela bhafini, ngokwenkosazana;
Usigoxa kamileni ngokwenkosi yomlungu
Ntak’ enamandla sisinagogo,
Kuba sibalek’ amathumb’ elenga-lenga.2

He’s a red robin,

which we couldn’t catch as boys:
though we were men we still couldn’t catch it.
He’s a massive stone of the Zima clan.
Washer in a bath, like a princess;
hider in a room, like a European lord.
The powerful bird’s the barbet:
it flees with its guts spilling out.

Mqhayi is seen as a robin (ugaga), a stone (ilitye), someone who

washes (usihlambela), someone who is secretive (usigoxa) and a bird
(intaka). The same structure of praise names extended into verses or
stanzas is found in izibongo composed for animals. Rubusana prints the
poem Elijah Rebe of the Gqunukhwebe composed about his horse:

Nonyak’ ulovane luyalup῾ala

Kuba lup῾um’ umqosho pezu kwamehlo.
Ungqanga ngqengeshe,
Umfene mtshana ngakwa-Radebe.
Ujeke yebaba, usap῾a nkomo,
Umanqin’ amdaka, udalas’ emdeni.
Umlungu wase-P῾ewuleni,
Ugwangqa mhlope njengenyama,
Umq῾ubi wenkom’ ezinoq῾onga zaselwandle.3

2. Mqhayi ([1939] 1964: 87).

3. Rubusana (1911: 365).
76   ORAL TRADITION

This year the chameleon ages:

he’s grown thick knobs above the eyes.
The great one,
baboon-nephew at the Rhadebes,
fearful one, giver of cattle,
one with brown legs, who jogs on the boundary.
The white man of Phewuleni,
the pale grey one like meat.4
Herdsman of daubed cattle down to the sea.

And the same structure can be discerned in clan praises. As an imbongi,

David Yali-Manisi frequently produced izibongo about members of the
Thembu royal family. In about 1650 the Thembu kingdom was riven
by civil war between Hlanga and Dlomo. Hlanga had succeeded his
father to the kingship, but was deposed by his younger brother Dlomo.
Rule passed in the latter half of the seventeenth century and during
the eighteenth century from Dlomo through Hala, Madiba, Tato and
Zondwa to Ndaba, kings named in the royal Dlomo clan praises as
given to me by Manisi:

uDlom’ omdlanga
uSokhawulela
uNgqolomsila
uYem-yem
uVela zimbentsele
uMadiba owadib’ iindonga
uZondwa ziintshaba
uSoPhitshi

Dlomo armed with spears,

Leapfrogger,
Strutter,
Scatterer,
Appearer and they exposed themselves.

4. Jadezweni (1999: 3).

 I Z I B O N G O A S I N V O C AT I O N   77

Filler who filled ditches.

Object of enemies’ hatred.
Father of Phitshi.

The first five lines are names applied to Dlomo, who usurped the
kingdom from his brother Hlanga. Dlomo fights, leaps over his brother’s
back, struts in pride at his victory, which scattered and dispersed the
Thembu; when he returned from the battle, the jubilant women lifted
their skirts to expose themselves in joyous abandon. These five lines
thus consist of alternative names for Dlomo, the first and last of which
are extended into a qualifying line. Under Madiba, Dlomo’s grandson,
the rift in the kingdom was breached, so Madiba became known as
Madiba owadib’ iindonga (Filler who filled ditches) for building
bridges between divided sections of the community (a praise name
appropriately applied to Nelson Mandela, who was descended from this
lineage). Madiba’s grandson Zondwa was known as Zondwa ziintshaba
(Object of enemies’ hatred). His son Ndaba could be called SoPhitshi
(Father of Phitshi), since Phitshi was his firstborn son. So the Dlomo
praises consist of praise references to a sequence of successors to the
Thembu kingdom, ancestors of the Thembu kings. Extracts from the
personal praise poems of members of a lineage, strung together, form
the praises of a family or of a clan.
The praises of the Zulu king Dingana included the lines

Vezi kof’ abantu, kosal’ izibongo

Izona zosale zibadabula,
Izona zosale zibalilel’ emanxiweni

Vezi, though people may die, praises remain,

these will remain and bring grief for them,
remain and lament them in empty homes.5

Izibongo outlive the subjects they celebrate. A proverbial saying

has it thus: “lento umntu iyemka noko ibongwayo” (a person will die

5. Rycroft and Ngcobo (1988: 74–5).

78   ORAL TRADITION

despite being praised). The izibongo has power to sustain life, though
insufficient power to stave off death. These poems derive their power
from their function as invocations of the ancestors, whose names are
uttered in reciting the izibongo, thereby conjuring the presence of the
ancestors invoked. Among the testimonies collected by Henry Callaway
in the nineteenth century about Zulu religious practices and beliefs is
one by Mpengula Mbanda on this mode of communication with the
ancestors (amathongo):

Uyise u igugu kakulu kubantwana bake noma e nga se ko.Ku

ti labo a se be kulile be m azisisa kakulu ukuba-mnene
kwake nobukqawe bake. Ku ti uma ku kona ubuhlungu pakati
kwomuzi, indodana enkulu i m bonge ngezibongo zake a zi
zuza umhla e lwa empini, a wa weze ngamazibukwana onke;
i m tetisa ngokuti, “Ku nga ze ku fe tina nje. U se u bheke’bani?
A si fe si pele, si bone uma u ya ’ungena pi na? U ya ’kudhla
izintete; ku sa yi ’kubizwa ’ndawo uma u bulale owako umuzi.”
Ngemva kwaloko ke ngoku m bonga kwabo, b’ em’ isibindi
ngokuti, “U zwile; u za ’kwelapa, izifo zi pume.”
Ku njalo ke ukutemba kwabantwana etongweni eli uyise.

Their father is a great treasure to them even when he is dead.

And those of his children who are already grown up know
him thoroughly, his gentleness, and his bravery. And if there
is illness in a village, the eldest son lauds him with the laud-
giving names [imbonge ngezibongo] which he gained when
fighting with the enemy, and at the same time lauds all the other
Amatongo; the son reproves the father, saying, “We for our
parts may just die. Who are you looking after? Let us die all of
us, that we may see into whose house you will enter. You will
eat grasshoppers; you will no longer be invited to go any where,
if you destroy your own village.”
After that, because they have worshipped him [mbonga],
they take courage saying, “He has heard; he will come and treat
our diseases, and they will cease.”
 I Z I B O N G O A S I N V O C AT I O N   79

Such, then, is the faith which children have in the Itongo

which is their father.6

More than a century later, in conversation with two students in

the United States on 12 April 1988, David Yali-Manisi referred to the
currency of this belief system among the Xhosa-speaking peoples. “Is
there a religious aspect to praising?” asked one of the students.
“Yes, of course,” replied Manisi. “You see, when one is praising,
singing the clan praises, it’s something religious because in the clan
praises one would mention his ancestors and by praising the ancestors
he’s invoking his ancestors’ spirits to pay attention and take care of the
family or the clan. For instance, if there’s a ritual at one’s kraal, an old
man or just a man who’s talented with the clan praises would stand up
and produce a poem about the ancestors.”
“Is there a link when that happens between the living and the dead,
through the poetry somehow? I mean, is there a belief that somehow –”
“Well, let’s say at one’s homestead they have a ritual and the clan
is there, with some neighbours of course, and then when they slaughter
a beast they have to call the ancestors to be with them, spiritually, of
course. Then to call them is to sing praises about them, calling them by
their names, in their order. You call one and you produce a poem about
him, you call another one and you produce a poem about him, and so
forth.”7
In November of 1979, Manisi recited his lineage for me in Xhosa,
in so doing identifying himself with his ancestors and with their places
of residence:

Mna ndinguNdala, ndinguMomane, ndingamabandla

kaNobathana, kwaNobaza, kwaTe, kwaMangcethe,
kwaNgcangula, kwaMarhula, kwaSimbiwa kaGcayiya,
kaNtonganagazi, kwaMsunusidumbu, kwesaMathole.

As for me, I am Ndala, I am Momane, I am from the clan of

Nobathana, at Nobaza’s place, at Te’s place, at Mangcethe’s

6. Callaway ([1870] 1970: 145–6).

7. Opland (2005: 324).
80   ORAL TRADITION

place, at Ngcangula’s place, at Marhula’s place, at Simbiwa’s

place the son of Gcayiya, the son of Ntonganagazi, at
Msunusidumbu’s place, at Mathole’s place.

These names would be incorporated into poems of appeal to the

ancestors, prayers of supplication (izinqulo) when family or clan are
assembled. On 20 December 1979, Manisi gave me the following
hypothetical example of such an invocation:

Makube njalo. Kube hele

Tarhuni nkomo zikaNdala zikaMomane zikaMsunusidumbu
zikaTe zikaMangcethe zikaNgcangula
zikaMarhula zikaGcayiya kaNtonganagazi
Mabandla kaYal’ izidengane
kaNobathana kaNobaza
sicamagush’ emini
kwiNyange lemihla ngemihla
Nisondele nize nalo
zesibe ndawonye
ze sizicelele zonke esizifunayo
Sifun’ inzala sifun’ ukutya
sifun’ imfuyo kuSonini-nanini
Asisikelele sithetheleleni
abekufutshane nathi
Camagu!!

Let it be so. We are blessed.

Peace, cattle of Ndala, of Momane, of Msunusidumbu,
of Te, of Mangcethe, of Ngcangula,
of Marhula, of Gcayiya the son of Ntonganagazi.
People of Yali zidengane [who brings the ignorant to
understanding]
the son of Nobathana the son of Nobaza,
we’re offering this sacrifice in the daytime
to the perpetual presence.
Approach and bring him
 I Z I B O N G O A S I N V O C AT I O N   81

so that we’re all together,

so that we can ask him for all we want:
we want children, we want food,
we want stock from the Eternal.
Let him bless us. Speak on our behalf
so that he’s close to us.
Bless us!

“At all rituals,” writes Bigalke about the Ndlambe, “the clan name
. . . and/or one or more clan praise names are called in the invocation.
In addition, in the mortuary rituals the name of the deceased is
mentioned . . . and sometimes the name of his father and grandfather.” 8
This invocation, isinqulo, the sacrifice of an animal and the brewing of
beer are integral ingredients in significant rituals when members of the
clan gather. In the invocation,

the ancestors are called upon and informed why the beast is
being offered. All clan ancestors are, by implication, addressed
by the use of the clan name and, usually, one or other of the
clan praise names (izinqulo). This reflects the important place
of deceased members of the lineage and clan and of their living
descendants who are present at the ritual.9

McAllister records that at beerdrink rituals associated with the departure

or return of migrant labourers, the ancestors are always invoked.
Ndlebezendja, a Gcaleka of the Cirha clan, for example, addressing the
ancestors as sacred cattle, said in Xhosa on departure for work:

Cattle of Qhangqolo, of Hlomla. It is old, it has horns. Cattle

of Nxibana, of the elephant’s jawbone, of Gubela, of Sihabe,
of the daughter of Mva’s lover, who is from the place of the
amaBamba. I hope I will travel and return again as before.10

8. Bigalke (1969: 114).

9. Bigalke (1969: 130).
10. McAllister (1979: 121).
82   ORAL TRADITION

In theory all rural people participate in this oral poetic tradition.

Boys make up poems about cattle while herding, poems about animals
of the veld, themselves or their friends. These poems they utter
boastfully about themselves, or about their friends to encourage them,
while stickfighting or dancing, while hunting or while racing cattle or
horses. Women compose poems about themselves and their associates
and know the poems of their clans and their husbands’ clans. The poems
of deceased men are cited in ancestral invocations together with the
clan poems. Names and the poetry developed from them are current in
domestic life or the life of the clan in everyday discourse. Poetry is also
current in the political domain, on an elevated public level, focusing on
the chief and the chiefdom. Early in the nineteenth century, Lichtenstein
observed that “the Koossas, when they want to affirm anything very
solemnly, or to utter any malediction, make use of the name of their
king, or of some of his ancestors”.11 The chief is the sacral ruler of the
kingdom, embodying the people: “The head of the tribe was the Chief,
the father and protector of his people and the representative of the tribe,
so that any injury done to him was an injury to the whole tribe.” 12 Again,
“[the] mystical idea that in the chief resides the life and well-being of
the tribe, that as the head of the tribe, and as such the repository of
wisdom, endowed with the power to guide the collective members of
the tribal body, and nourish the body politic; all this surrounds him
with a halo more enduring than any outward symbol.” 13 The chief
“is, in fact, the symbol of tribal unity; in his person all the complex
emotions which go to form the solidarity of the tribe are centred – he
is the tribe.”14 Thus Manisi referred to his chief Manzezulu Mthikrakra
in August 1976 as “yinkosi yomgquba ngendalo” (a true chief by birth),
“Yint’ ebuhle buhlel’ esizweni” (one whose beauty infuses the nation).15
The imbongi is the poet of the chiefdom; as such, he produces
poems in honour of the chief, in effect invoking the royal ancestors in
naming them, ensuring their sympathetic attention to the affairs of the
chiefdom and thus ensuring the well-being of the chiefdom as a whole.

11 . Lichtenstein ([1812] 1928: 310).

12. Bennie (1939: 24).
13. J.H. Soga (1931: 30).
14. Hammond-Tooke (1954: 34).
15. Opland (2017: 182, 184).
 I Z I B O N G O A S I N V O C AT I O N   83

The praises of nineteenth-century chiefs readily reveal a structure

identical to that of the personal and clan praises. Here, for example, are
the praises of Mpangazitha of the Hlubi:

Ngu Mpangazitâ wabo Jobe,

U-Zulu liyasa liyasibekela,
U-Mtâtâmb’ ônje ngelipêzulu,
Lona ladl’ umnt’ ’alabekwa mlandu.
Yi-Ngidi ka Zikode no Dlomo—
Eyatî gidi pâkatî komhlaba . . .
Zat’ izizwe zonke zabikelana.
Ngu-Fohloza ngenduk’ enobucôpô;
Nguyena Mbuyisa sizwe. . . .
Yimbâbala ka Mashiyi no-Dlomo.
Eyagweb’ igijima.16

The Despoiler-of-the-enemy, kinsman of Jobe,

He is the clearing-and-frowning skies,
A thunderer like the heavens above,
Ever smiting man, but never decried;
He is the thudding myriads of Zikode and Dlomo
That came thudding amidst the land
Till all the nations quaked with fear;
He is the wielder of the brain-weighted club,
The true guardian of his people.
He is the fleet-footed buck of Mashiya and Dlomo
That gores as it dashes along.17

And so we have a nesting set of poems operating in an intersecting

hierarchy of domains. In day-to-day life people coin names for
themselves or their associates, collections of which constitute personal
poems that can pass into poems of the lineage that can be used to invoke
the domestic ancestors; on ritual occasions, recitation of the clan praises
ensures the sympathetic attention of the clan ancestors to the affairs of

16. Ndawo (1928: 16).

17. Jordan (1973: 24–5).
84   ORAL TRADITION

members of the clan; and on occasions of national significance, the

imbongi’s praises of the chief, in invoking the ancestors of the chief,
serve to strengthen the chiefdom as a whole. Through the names of the
ancestors, the past is rendered relevant to the present, in order to shape
the future: in the izibongo of the imbongi, time is collapsed.
5

The imbongi as trickster

(with P.A. McAllister)

The imbongi served a number of significant social functions: he (the

imbongi was traditionally always a male) inspired strong emotions,
recorded clan and family relationships, alluded to historical events and
commented on current affairs. He confirmed a sense of identity in his
audiences as members of a chiefdom or nation; he upheld praiseworthy
virtues and decried behaviour detrimental to society. His izibongo had
sacral power: as we have seen in the preceding chapter, by invoking the
names of departed ancestors he conjured their presence and facilitated
communication between the living and the dead. The ceremonial praises
of the imbongi in effect ensured the beneficent attention of the departed
royal shades to the ruling king, and through him to the kingdom as
a whole. Izibongo were often cryptic, referring to circumstances or
qualities in compressed, often metaphoric allusions: resolving the
obscurities entailed the performance of a separate narrative (ibali),
either by the poet or by some other informed person, as Chief
Ncamashe did for me in explaining the allusions in Mqhayi’s recorded
poems on Velile and Silimela.1 Although izibongo roused emotions,
although his performance was normally an important aspect of political
ritual, the imbongi on occasion deliberately puzzled his audience, made
outrageous claims or used obscene language. The arch-communicator
confused his public; the truth-teller trafficked in lies. We wish to suggest
here that the imbongi assumed a sacred stance in a liminal position:
many of the apparent contradictions in the practice of his art can be
resolved by comparing the Cape Nguni imbongi to other liminal figures

1. See chapter 3 above.

85
86   ORAL TRADITION

of sacred character, in particular that complex character of universal

myth and folklore, the trickster, as well as by understanding the liminal
nature of praise poetry itself as part of a cultural performance designed
to facilitate reflexivity on the part of an audience. 2
The imbongi was associated with the chief or king often as a member
of the royal entourage. On significant public and ritual occasions he
produced poems in praise of the chief, referring to his lineage, his
qualities and actions, commenting on the social or political context of
the performance. In the normal course of events, in the absence of pomp
and ceremony, he seems to have performed on a regular basis. The
two earliest references to the imbongi, evidently recording precolonial
practice, both testify to these aspects of the content and domestic context
of poetic performances. On his first visit to the Gcaleka king Hintsa, the
Methodist missionary James Whitworth noted in his journal entry for 6
April 1825: “At sunset a man proclaimed aloud the transactions of the
day, which seems to be the usual custom, ending with ‘Our Captain is a
great Captain. When the white men came to see him, he received them
kindly, and gave them an ox to eat.’ ”3 Two months later, Whitworth’s
colleague Stephen Kay also observed the performance of an imbongi
when he called on the Ndlambe chief Mdushane to request permission
to establish a mission station in his territory:

Early the following morning I was awakened by the vociferous

shouts of one of the heralds, who was proclaiming, with
stentorian voice, the praises of his Chief, ascribing to him
all the great deeds of the age, together with the majesty of
the mightiest. The love of fame is a ruling passion, and the
Caffrarian rulers are exceedingly fond of flattery; hence, we
generally find members of this class of menials about them.4

Both Whitworth and Kay comment on the laudatory content of the

performances; suggestively, both of them locate the performances at the
liminal times of sunrise and sunset.

2. Turner (1986).
3. Whitworth (1825: 567).
4. Kay (1833: 75).
 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   87

The imbongi could incite his audience to loyalty to the king, acting
in that way as a modern cheerleader, but despite Kay’s comment on the
Xhosa rulers’ fondness for praise, the imbongi could also criticise his
subject: he was essentially a soothsayer, a truth-teller. The nineteenth-
century poem on Hintsa’s son Mtshiki, for example, is less than
flattering:

Yimb῾adlul’ ukuk῾up’ umoya,

Intw’ eyati yamumit῾a zap῾el’ impundu,
Yati yakuzala zand’ ukuvela.
Ir῾asowa, ugxel’ egxumeka,
Ungqengqa ngezibond’ inge ngumf’ omhle.5

He’s a fart expelling wind,

whose bum puckered as his guts ballooned,
then swelled again as the air erupted.
A fop, a regular fixture,
rolled out by officials like a fine fellow.

Mqhayi wrote an izibongo in preparation for the visit of the Prince of

Wales to King William’s Town in 1925 that included the following
lines:

Hamba kwedini yase Bilitani!

Tomb’ elifingiz’ imfingimfingi. . . .
Tombo liyafixiza liyapanyaza
Lifingz’ i Fatyi no Mfundisi;
Lifingiz’ u Mfundisi ne Ruluwa;
Lifingiz’ i Ruluwa ne Bāyibîle;
Lifingiz’ i Báyibíle ne Nkanunu;
Lifingiz’ i Nkanunu ne Mfundo;
Lifingiz’ i Mfundo ne Mbodlela;
Lifingiz’ i Mbodlela ne Tempile;
Lifingiz’ i Tempile ne Mfakadolo;
Lifingiz’ i Mfakadolo ne Ndlamhlaba.

5. Rubusana (1911: 243).

88   ORAL TRADITION

Enamhla siyimfingwane singenandawo.

Taru Bilitani sive yipina,—
Taru Bilitan’ enkulu!
Gqitela pambili Mhlekazi!

Go, boy from Britain!

Fountain that sweeps away hordes . . .
Fountain that crowds in and blurs the sight,
that bears off keg and priest;
that bears off priest and gunpowder;
that bears off gunpowder and bible;
that bears off bible and cannon;
that bears off cannon and schooling;
that bears off schooling and the bottle;
that bears off the bottle and abstainers;
that bears off abstainers and breechloader;
that bears off breechloader and pauper.
So today we’re vagrants lacking a place.
Peace, Britain, which must we accept –
Peace, Great Britain!
Move on, Awesome One!6

Not only could he criticise those in authority, the imbongi, creator of

the highest form of literary art, was also free to use obscene language
unacceptable in everyday conversation. The early nineteenth-century
imbongi makes clear his disgust at Ngqika’s abduction of his uncle’s
wife Thuthula, in effect committing incest, in the concluding lines of
his izibongo:

Nguso-Qaco, untshikintshikikazi;
Ulima bemsusa ing’ asindawo yake.
Oka-Matshitshilili, uvumb’ eligxot’ izizwe.
Pum’ entangeni, wabe inkomo,
Ubumlala-nj’unyok’ ubusiti woyiva pin’ imb῾atu kwedini?7

6. Mqhayi (2017: 254–5).

7. Rubusana (1911: 246).
 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   89

He’s an ill-tempered grumbler,

chased off while ploughing like the land wasn’t his.
Stubborn, his stench scatters nations.
Leave the hut of seclusion and distribute cattle!
When you slept with your mother, kid, who was left to support
you?

The Thembu imbongi David Yali-Manisi reacted to the presence of

white women in the audience of one of his performances in Alice in
1974 with an obscene image:

Ndiyayithand’ intombi yomLungu,

kodw’ andingelali nentombi yomLungu,
kuba yint’ enamanyala,
ithi nesethambeken’ iqengqelek’ ize kunyel’ endlwini.

I really love a white girl,

but I could never sleep with a white girl,
for she’s a creature of filth:
when she’s up in the fields she runs all the way down just to sit
in her house and shit.8

In accordance with his status as liminal figure and facilitator

of public reflexivity, the imbongi in performance was accorded the
licence to speak his mind as he saw fit in the language of his choice,
occasionally in language that violated the bounds of decency. He
voiced criticisms and comments that could not otherwise be articulated
in public, at times trenchant and explicit, at times sly and oblique. He
was a master of language, poetic, outrageous or obscure. The obscurity
was deliberate; his poems were designed at times to shock and puzzle
his audience, to throw them off balance in order more effectively to
drive their message home, to jar them into reflecting on his words
and to shape and mould public opinion, attitudes and behaviour.
After voicing outspoken criticism, the Thembu imbongi Melikaya
Mbutuma was fond of undercutting his boldness by exclaiming

8. Opland (2005: 128).

90   ORAL TRADITION

“Gxebe mntan’omhle andithethi nto” (Excuse me, my prince, I

haven’t said anything). More than one poet used the self-deprecating
line “Andimbongi ndingumntwana” (I’m not a poet, I’m just a boy).
In 1999 I invited David Manisi to explain a puzzling reference in one
of his poems. A couplet in praise of the Thembu paramount Sabatha
Dalindyebo made no sense to me: “Umazol’ axel’ iziziba zoMbhashe;
UMbhash’ oseXukash’ ukuzal’ uxel’ amakhowa” (Still as Mbashe pools,
where the Mbashe meets the Xuka no mushrooms grow). What did the
mushrooms signify? Manisi explained: “Sometimes the poet can say a
line not actually meaning anything but to make the people laugh. It’s
not always serious. You say something surprising to amaze or to make
people laugh or amuse.”9 On a visit to the United States in 1988 Manisi
concluded a seminar at Vassar College on 25 February with a poem
including these lines:

Ndiyabulela ukuthi ndakuba phakathi kwenu nindigqonge,

Ndiyabulela ukuthi ndakuba phakathi kwenu ndijojelwe,
Ukuze nam ndibalule, ndibangul’ amava.
Kumnand’ ukuthetha, kunzim’ ukwenza,
Kunzim’ ukwenza, kulul’ ukuthetha;
Gxebe, nto zimnandi, hay’ ukuthetha.
Bantu bani n’ aba banenzondelelo
Yokuphand’ inyaniso abangayaziyo?
Nto zinolwimi hay’ imbongi!
Nokholelwa na ningazi nje?
Nokholelwa na ningeva nje?
Kuba ithetha isiqaxaca.

I’m pleased you sat down with me while I was with you,
I’m pleased you sniffed at me while I was with you,
letting me sift and uncover my thoughts.
It’s splendid to talk but hard to act,
it’s hard to act but easy to talk;
well, everything’s splendid, especially talking.

9. Opland (2005: 380).

 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   91

What people are these with patience

to seek the truth about what they don’t know?
Nobody lies like a poet!
Will you trust me, in your ignorance?
Will you trust me, bereft of senses?
For the poet speaks in utter obscurity.10

Nto zinolwimi hayi imbongi: everyone’s tongue wags, everyone tells

lies, but the imbongi is the greatest liar of all, he tells the students
seeking from him the truth about what they don’t know. The poet
speaks in obscurity indeed. The vatic soothsayer, the sage and social
critic warns his student audience, as he does on a number of occasions
elsewhere, that poets are monumental liars! But on one such occasion,
at an academic conference in Durban in July 1985, he qualified this
outrageous claim, undercutting his own dissembling:

Nto zimnandi hay’ ukudwekesha;

Nto zimnandi hay’ ukutheth’ ungaphendulwa;
Kodwa nto ziyoyikeka hay’ ukuxoka.
Nto ziyaxoka hay’ iimbongi;
Kodwa iimbong’ azixoki,
Zilawul’ amathongo njengokw’ evela.

Everything’s splendid except idle chatter!

Everything’s splendid except one-way talk!
But there’s nothing to fear apart from lies,
and nobody lies like a poet!
But poets don’t really tell lies:
they give voice to visions revealed by the ancestors. 11

The imbongi’s poetic performance is directed at his own ancestors,

in circumstances where this is appropriate, for it is from them that he
draws his poetic inspiration. When he praises the chief his royal poetry
includes references to the praise names of the chief and the chief’s

10. Opland (2005: 298).

11 . Opland (2005: 252).
92   ORAL TRADITION

ancestors, and in this way the imbongi ensures the sympathetic attention
of the royal ancestors to the well-being of the nation. The diviner
(igqirha), too, communicates with the ancestors: “In divination, the
diviner is the source of oracular speech par excellence, that is speech
connected with the ancestors and ritual performance. Diviners generally
speak in divination as though their communications issue directly from
the paternal ancestors. . . . Indeed, the diviner is the spokesman of the
shades.”12
The imbongi was accorded the licence to criticise with impunity, to
use ribald language and make outrageous statements. Some informants
remark that it was considered shameful to kill an imbongi in battle, even
while he was exhorting the troops. The imbongi’s performance style is
aggressive, he is intimidating in performance, brandishing spears or
fighting sticks, occasionally hurling spears into the ground to agitate
the ancestors. In 1873 a journalist’s description of a meeting between
Hintsa’s son Sarhili (Kreli) and Charles Brownlee, the Secretary of
Native Affairs, records their martial demeanour: “Behind Mr. Fynn’s
house Kreli drew in rein, and the whole body of horsemen paused for a
few minutes during which time the imbongi – the wild minstrels of the
rude chief – chanted his praises. These improvisatori with their huge
shields of ox-hide and bundles of assegais were the very beau ideal of
savage warriors.”13 As a safeguard against police harassment Melikaya
Mbutuma used to carry an exculpating document signed by a magistrate
explaining that the assegais he bore were customary and not weapons
of aggression. The imbongi brandished spears in performance, and also
wore a cloak and hat of animal skin. Only the chief, the diviner and
the imbongi, all three distinguished by their connection with ancestral
ritual, wore animal skins in the performance of their duties. Chiefs wore
leopard skin. Diviners also wore animal skins, and are closely associated
with sacred animals, invoking the power of animals in their work and
interpreting the animals that appear in the dreams of their clients.
Sometimes, these animals (amarhamncwa) are representative of clan
ancestors or messengers with whom the diviner is in communication. 14

12. Hirst (1997: 228).

13. The Standard and Mail (18 January 1873).
14. Hirst (1990).
 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   93

Neither Whitworth nor Kay mentions the imbongi’s accoutrements,

but two Zulu izimbongi depicted in Gardiner’s account of his visit to
Dingana in 1835, from a sketch “taken on the spot”,15 brandish clubs,
and one “was so completely enveloped in the entire skin of a panther,
his own eyes piercing through the very holes in the skull, and his neck
and shoulders streaming with long lappets of the same fur, that he bore
no resemblance to a human being”.16

Two Zulu izimbongi from Gardiner (1836, facing page 59).

Much of the ritual force of the imbongi’s poetry derived from his
invocation of the alternative names of his subject, or the names of
his subject’s ancestors, or the names of the ancestors of his clan. In
everyday life, people might greet and honour each other in this way,
calling each other by clan name and reciting the clan praises of the
person being greeted: the verb ukubonga refers not only to the high
art of the imbongi but also to the act of reciting the clan praises, and

15. Gardiner (1836: iii).

16. Gardiner (1836: 59).
94   ORAL TRADITION

the same verb is used when an individual seeks to invoke his or her
own ancestors in ritual contexts through calling out their praise names.
As Bigalke noted of clan rituals among the Ndlambe, “clan names are
mentioned or called at all types of ritual . . . so that the ‘shades’ are
invited to be present on all occasions when lineage members and their
clansmen gather.”17 Praise poems might be recited in the course of ritual
oratory, where they serve to attract the attention of the ancestors 18, and
rituals themselves are often referred to metaphorically by Xhosa people
as ukubonga, performing a praise poem.19
Names formed the core of the izibongo line, their nodes, which
could be extended into lines or groups of lines. Very frequently these
nodes consisted of animal metaphors: subjects of poems are referred
to as a black snake cleaving a pool, a python uncoiling and moving
off, an elephant browsing homewards, a secretary bird strutting in
walking. Humans are not so much likened to animals in similes as they
are identified with animals through metaphors. Metaphors are created
by giving nouns the characteristic Bantu language nominal prefix of
the personal class, class 1a. Thus, for example, ikhala, the Cape aloe,
is a noun of class 3, but to call someone ukhala, using the personal
prefix, would be to call him Aloe, a personal name, or a metaphor. A
noun of class 3 would normally demand the prefix li- of its predicate:
ikhala lilumla umntwana, the aloe weans a child (when its bitter juice
is rubbed on the mother’s breast). The izibongo of Matanzima son of
Sandile, however, refers to him as UKhalakhulu liluml’ abantwana
(Great Aloe that weans children): ikhala is given the personal class 1a
prefix, uKhala, yet the verb retains the class 3 prefix of ikhala. This
violation of the norms of isiXhosa syntax is unique to the imbongi’s
izibongo.
The royal praises of the imbongi invoked the royal ancestors, just
as the ancestors could be invoked in theory by any clansman or lineage
head. The imbongi’s role with regard to royal subjects, however, might
have been a tacit acknowledgement of the power of the chief’s words:
personal praises could be recited by anyone, but the chief’s praises were

17. Bigalke (1969: 95).

18. McAllister (2006: 265).
19. McAllister (2006: 136).
 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   95

so powerful that they required a surrogate voice. As Kwesi Yankah

observes of Ghanaian royal discourse, “in formal situations, a Ghanaian
chief or king does not speak directly to an audience in his presence; he
speaks only through his okyeame, who relays or repeats his words to
the audience present, whose words to the chief must also pass through
the okyeame”.20 Yankah surveys examples of surrogate speech in Africa,
which he relates to the need for royal distance, the preservation of the
sanctity of the king as associate of the ancestors.21 So too, in Xhosa
judicial hearings,

[the] chief is head of the council, but he dare not veto a

decision of this court [of councillors] except at the peril of his
reputation and authority in the tribe. The decision or finding of
the councillors becomes his finding, and when announced by
the appointed spokesman of the court is given in the name of
the chief. The decision is always prefaced by the remark, “Iti
inkosi” – “The chief says”.22

In judicial hearings, “[the] principals and witnesses are then recalled,

and a councillor appointed for the purpose gives a resume of the case,
going over the main points in the case, and finally giving isi-gwebo –
the judgment of the court in the chief’s name”.23 As the Gwali chief
S.M. Burns-Ncamashe put it:

KumaXhosa inkosi ibitolikelwa, ukuba ndim lo ndihamba

nobani, ndithi ke molweni bafondini, athi molweni bafondini,
“ke kaloku silapha nje”, ikwakukuphinda le nto kuba ilizwi
lenkosi lingathi ngqo, liphume apha, lingachanani nabantu
aba. Kuba nokuba kuyancokolwa ebusuku, ndilapha mna nala
mapakathi ndiyinkosi pha, ndiza kuncokola nomhlekazi lo ke,
“mfondini phaya e Gwali ubona nje . . .” atolike aphinde le nto
bendiyithetha, imihla yakudala.

20. Yankah (1995: 8).

21. Yankah (1995: 15–17).
22. J.H. Soga (1931: 28–9).
23. J.H. Soga (1931: 42).
96   ORAL TRADITION

Amongst the Xhosa, the king should have a speaker. If the

king should say for instance, “Good morning, fellows,” my
interpreter should repeat the same words to the people, so that
my voice should not go directly to the people. Even when there
is a conversation at night, he should relay my conversation to
the other King especially in the presence of other people. If I
were to say to him, “Man, you know, at Gwali, things are . . .”
then he would repeat that. It was like that during the olden
days.24

In affirming the identity of their subjects, Xhosa izibongo share

with other forms of praise poetry a fondness for binary structures, for
polarities: you are this person, they say, or a member of this clan or
chiefdom, and not some other. These established polarities, however
– the white settlers offered the bible but produced a rifle; they fought
with cannon, we fought with spears – must ultimately be resolved, the
norms of society must be affirmed and harmony restored. For example,
in 1988 David Manisi produced an izibongo at Harvard University that
included these lines:

Tarhuni! lusaphondini lwamagorha kwakunye nezazi!

Tarhuni! lusapho lwaseAmerika!
Tarhuni! mz’ omhle waseHavadi!
Iint’ ezaty’ imfundo zayitya zayityekeza
Iint’ ezayity’ imfundo zad’ iintloko zabhukuxa . . .

Ndiphuma kwilizwe lembonde-mbonde

Ndiphuma kwilizwe lembonde-ndimunye
Ndiphuma kwilizwe lezivuka-vuka
Andithethi nto ke ngeloMzantsi Afrika,
Aph’ indod’ ilala ngamanzi
Ibuye isel’ amanzi xa yivuka . . .

Kodwa mzindin’ omhle waseAmerika

Aniyiboni na le mbudu-mbudu

24. Saule (1996: 242).

 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   97

Ixakekis’ umnt’ omnyam’ eMzantsi Afrika

Afil’ amadoda yirhuluwa
Afil’ amadoda kukuhlal’ esiQithini
Iintlolongw’ azizali ziyaphuphuma
Kub’ abantu bafun’ amalungelo
Ngelishw’ amalungelo bawaqhotyoshelwe
Atyiwa ngumntu mnye kuphela
Ngonwelana ziyephu-yephu wasentshonalanga
Owangen’ eAfrika ngemfakadolo
Yabhodl’ inkanunu kwanuk’ umswane
Sibe kuphindisa ngengcola nentshuntshe . . .

Xa ndilapho ndibik’ imbandezelo yakokwethu

Kuba nathi siyarhal’ ukuyity’ imfundo
Siyitye koko singayityekezi siyigcine
Kub’ eyethw’ imfundo kokwethw’ iphuntshiwe
Yenzelw’ iziqwaka kwakunye nezaqhaga

Peace, you family of heroes and sages!

Peace, family of America!
Peace, fair homestead of Harvard!
Things who ate education and ate on till they puked,
things who ate education until their heads bloated . . .

I come from a land of turmoil,

I come from a land of confusion,
I come from a land of dissension,
but I’ve nothing to say of South Africa,
where a man drinks water and goes to sleep hungry
and has nothing but water to drink when he wakes . . .

But you handsome American people,

don’t you see this agonised writhing
that torments the black in South Africa?
Men die in the reek of gunpowder,
men die in the Island prison.
The jails aren’t just full, they’re crammed to capacity,
98   ORAL TRADITION

for the people strive for their rights.

Alas that they’re blocked from attaining their rights,
which are granted to only one race,
the white from the west with free-flowing hair,
who irrupted Africa at the point of a musket.
The cannon thundered and stank like a fart.
We responded with spear and assegai . . .

And so I report on our people’s oppression,

for we too yearn to eat education,
to eat and absorb and not puke it up,
for back home education we’re offered is stunted:
it’s designed for idiots and cretins.25

In this extraordinary poem, polarities are established between

Americans and black South Africans (Americans are handsome, settled,
well-fed and educated, black South Africans are restricted, abused,
starving and ill-educated) as well as between black South Africans and
white (whites are free and well-armed, blacks are oppressed, imprisoned
and inadequately armed). The need to restore balance can be picked
out if you follow just the imagery of eating. Americans have consumed
an excess of education. They have eaten so much education that they
burp it up. Black South Africans, on the other hand, drink water when
they go to sleep, and have only water to drink when they wake. Black
South Africans are engaged in a struggle for their rights, where rights
are “eaten” only by whites. The import of the poem is that if America
shared its abundant education, starving black South Africans would
eat it and, unlike Americans, not burp it up. American excess would
be consumed by black South Africans, who would be better equipped
thereby to confront their oppressors. Balance would be restored.
Binary oppositions, sometimes in the form of what Victor Turner
called the opposition between structure and anti-structure, are integral
to his concept of liminal states: “This coincidence of opposite processes
and notions in a single representation characterizes the peculiar unity

25. Opland (2005: 304–6); Opland (2017: 153–7).

 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   99

of the liminal: that which is neither this nor that, and yet is both.”26
This is essential to the reflexive quality of the imbongi’s poetry. It
is a rhetorical device that uses contrast, contradiction and ambiguity
to enhance the message and to facilitate what Turner called “public
reflexivity”, a quality typically associated with liminal situations and
personae. Reflexivity refers to the way in which members of a group
“turn, bend or reflect back upon themselves, upon the relations, actions,
symbols, meanings, codes, roles, statuses, social structures, ethical and
legal rules, and other sociocultural components which make up their
public ‘selves’.”27 Reflexivity here enables the audience critically, if
subconsciously, to take stock, to examine their own society and norms,
and to consider alternatives. The imbongi provides the mirrors in which
people examine themselves.
From Turner’s insights into the nature of ritual performance it
becomes clear that it is the performed nature of the imbongi’s poetry
that is crucial in facilitating reflexivity and the re-creation of order. The
performance is itself, like the imbongi, a liminal space, betwixt and
between the normal course of quotidian experience. Inverting reality,
subverting social categories and suspending social realities enable the
imbongi to establish the performance as a metacommunicative frame
within which to consider alternative ways of being, but ultimately to
re-construct and communicate meaning, drawing on experience and
casting it in literary form. In the case of the praises of Cape Nguni
chiefs, the poetry enabled the audience to make assessments of how
well the chief was performing his duties.28
According to Manton Hirst, “the diviner is a liminal, marginal
figure set apart, by vocation and training, as the spokesperson of the
ancestors. . . . The diviner, the ancestors, the river, the colour white,
and so forth, are symbols of the mediatory principle, which is closely
connected to inspired speech and language.” 29 The imbongi also
inhabits the margins, publicly expressing the opinions of the ruled to
the ruler, wearing animal skins where people are gathered, bearing

26. Turner (1967: 99).

27. Turner (1986: 24).
28. Cf. Comaroff (1975).
29. Hirst (1997: 228).
100   ORAL TRADITION

weapons of war in times of peace. His poetry, the highest form of

verbal art, invokes the ancestors, but violates grammatical norms, uses
shocking language, criticises authority and indeed undermines his own
authority as a truth-teller. His ambiguity is related to the requirements
of mediation and immunity. His essential “disorderliness”30 is necessary
to enable his creativity, the resolution of indeterminacy, a consideration
of alternative modes of being (in what Turner called the subjunctive
mood) and ultimately the restoration of order and structure. In this
sense the imbongi bears comparison with the universal trickster figure
of folklore and mythology, identified by Karl Kerényi as a liminal
figure: he is “the spirit of disorder, the enemy of boundaries” whose
function is “to add disorder to order and so make a whole, to render
possible, within the fixed bounds of what is permitted, an experience
of what is not permitted,” a “powerful life-spirit”.31 The Dassie and the
Hunter depicted the late David Manisi in these terms:

Like the diviner’s skins, David’s springbok skin signified his

union with the animal world: he bridged the world inside the
settled umzi, the Xhosa homestead, and the wild world outside.
So too, humans are associated in his poetry with animals
through metaphor: the elephant browsing homeward, the
striding secretary bird. His position is essentially liminal, on the
border between states: he goes beyond the human to define what
is human. His liminal state is acknowledged through his poetry.
He uses Xhosa, but pushes the language to poetic extremes, he is
a master of Intethw’ engqongqotho yasemaXhoseni, the peerless
language of the Xhosa people, but not the polite language of
social discourse: he criticises publicly, makes outrageous
statements, uses obscenities. He exaggerates, puzzles, distorts
or lies, yet above all he tells the truth. He praises but blames:
against Nto zinolwimi hay’ imbongi, (everyone tells lies, but
no-one more than the poet), is placed Kodwa iimbong’ azixoki,
Zilawul’ amathongo njengokw’ evela (But poets don’t really tell
lies: they voice visions revealed by the ancestors).32

30. Douglas (1966).

31. Kerényi (1972: 185–6).
32. Opland (2005: 385).
 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   101

The Xhosa imbongi readily fits the pattern of other African trickster
figures. Robert D. Pelton writes of the West African spider character,
Ananse: “Tricksterlike, Ananse speaks the truth by dissembling. . . .
Somehow, his slipperiness fulfills the nation’s need for healthy
commerce between what is above and what is below, between male and
female, between apparent and hidden order.”33 And later,

Ananse is a metamorph, an embodiment of liminality, because

of his animal form. He is a living connection between the wild
and the social, between the potentially and the actually human
. . . Ananse faces two ways – out into the bush and in toward
the depth of human life. As he masters the animals and claims
what is theirs for men, he also reveals the hidden roots of man’s
life.34

Of Legba’s transforming liminality Pelton writes:

Thus he dissolves the boundaries between artifact and nature,

betweeen animal and man, and between the living and the dead
until commerce has a field large enough to play itself through
satisfactorily. This transforming power, working especially
through divination for the enlargement and clarification of the
familial and social fields, gives Legba his unique place of honor
in Fon society. The Fon set him squarely at all the joints and
crossings of the social order to make sure that transactions
become transformations as they are meant to.35

Again, Legba “is the master of a uniquely Fon dialectic, by which the
great cosmic dualisms are brought into balance with each other”. 36
Ultimately, Pelton concludes, “[the] trickster is wonderful because he
is the image of that yearning – that driving energy of inclusion which
is itself an image of final boundlessness – which sets the social order in

33. Pelton (1980: 2).

34. Pelton (1980: 57).
35. Pelton (1980: 89–90).
36. Pelton (1980: 111).
102   ORAL TRADITION

motion and keeps it spinning, which holds heaven and earth in balance,
which names the nameless and speaks the unspeakable”.37 In his poetic
performances,

David [Manisi] puzzles and insults his audience, uses lewd

or outrageous language, exploits the resources of the Xhosa
language to coin new words and creates nonsense words, all to
get you involved, and once he has your attention he draws you
into his poem, works his work on you and burps you out again.
As you leap from one pole to the other, you start to comprehend
the space between: not a world of polar oppositions but of
compromise, the middle way, the most constructive for society.
David urges war in order to ensure peace, he courts animosity
in order to level differences. He presents as an ideal a world of
humanity in harmony with nature and the environment, and of
people in harmony with people.38

Viewed as trickster, the imbongi invites comparison with figures

associated with Western European rulers, such as the Roman scurra39
or the medieval court fool: “The ‘trickster’ figure that anthropologists
have identified in myths and legends across a wide range of early
cultures as chaos-maker and sower of discord, but who at the same
time is able to win boons for mankind from the creator-gods, is here
bound and contained in a mutually advantageous partnership with tribal
chieftain or king.”40 Unlike the medieval court fool, the imbongi is not
an entertainer, or a jester: his role is too serious for clowning. Nor is he
strictly a servant of the king so much as of the kingdom. Nonetheless,
Southworth’s comments suggest that the imbongi embodies qualities
peculiarly African, as well as widely universal:

The curious double-act of king and fool, master and servant,

substance and shadow, may thus be seen as a universal, symbolic

37. Pelton (1980: 283–4).

38. Opland (2005: 387).
39. Corbett (1986).
40. Southworth (1998: 3).
 THE IMBONGI AS TRICKSTER   103

expression of the antithesis lying at the heart of the autocratic

state between the forces of order and disorder, of structured
authority and incipient anarchy, in which the conditional nature
of the fool’s licence (“so far but no further”) gives reassurance
that ultimately order will always prevail.41

41. Southworth (1998: 31).

6

Izibongo on the cusp of change

The imbongi, master wordsmith and poetic trickster, drew on the

past to affect the present and shape a more equitable future. Through
invocations of the ancestors and references to sacred territory, izibongo
collapsed time in exercising their power of influence, brought the
past and future to bear in the moment of performance.1 A social
transformation took place in South Africa with the unbanning of the
liberation organisations and the release of Nelson Mandela from
prison in 1990, and the transition to a democratic government in 1994.
How has the Xhosa tradition of izibongo been affected by the death
of apartheid and the access to power of the African National Congress
(ANC)?
Two iimbongi emerged into public prominence under the new
dispensation, free of the taint of “praising” illegitimate chiefs.
Sthembile Mlangeni and Zolani Mkiva produced izibongo at the
inauguration of Nelson Mandela as President of South Africa in
Pretoria in May 1994 and later in the Houses of Parliament at the first
sitting of the new parliament. The latter performances were not greeted
with universal delight: Martha Olckers, a National Party member of
parliament, grumbled, “In spite of good intentions one can hurt people.
I mean a praise-singer in parliament, and dressed the way he is. And
clapping and ululating. It used to be a very dignified place and this is
a terrible cultural shock for us.”2 The imbongi has emerged from the
ethnic homelands to become a relatively familiar figure in democratic
South Africa; his lively, histrionic performances are welcomed by the

1. See further, Opland (1983: chapter 5), and chapter 4 above.

2. The Argus (26 May 1994: 14).

104
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   105

population at large. Duncan Brown has argued convincingly that such

iimbongi perpetuate the tradition of izibongo transmitted to them by
iimbongi from earlier times, a tradition that persisted through colonial
British rule and the apartheid regime.3 But we should take care not
to generalise too swiftly. Sthembile Mlangeni’s performance at the
inauguration of the president in 1994 was markedly different in certain
respects from that of Zolani Mkiva.
Sandra Klopper remarks that “there were obvious and arguably
significant differences between Mlangeni’s dress and that of Mkiva,
suggesting that their understanding of the tradition in which they are
working is not entirely compatible”.4 It was not in dress alone that
the two iimbongi differed. Mhlobo Jadezweni, who transcribed and
translated the two performances in Pretoria, observes that Mlangeni as
an imbongi is “more traditional” than Mkiva.5 Certainly it is easier to
associate Mlangeni’s poem with the poetry we have been discussing
thus far. This, in Jadezweni’s transcription and translation, was the
izibongo Mlangeni produced at the presidential inauguration:

Inamb’ emakhanda-khanda
yakuloThembeka
yakuloNomathokazi
Inamb’emakhanda-khanda
yakuloBaliwe
yakuloNotyatyu-u-u!
Ashukum’ amathambo-o
Amathambo kaJohn Dube-e
Amathambo kaKotana-a
Amatharrrbo kaAlbert Luthuli-i
Amathambo kaOliver Thambo-o-o
Amathambo ka
Tshonyan’onkone
nguChris Ha-a-ni

3. Brown (1996).
4. Klopper (1995: 46).
5. Jadezweni (1999: 11). Extracts from Jadezweni (1999) are reprinted in this chapter
by kind permission of the Director, Institut für Afrikanistik, University of Leipzig.
106   ORAL TRADITION

athi Mayibuy’iAfrika
mayibuye!
Nalo ke ufafa olumadolo-dolo
lukaJongintaba
lukaTato, lukaNdaba
lukaNgubengcuka
lukaDalindyebo
lukaMandela
ixhiba likaNgubengcuka
lukaVaroyi, kaNkonka
Phezu kaloku komlambo
iQunu
Ndiyamhloniph’umfazi wase
MaMpemvini
owasizalel’igwangqa
ndithetha mna uNosekeni
UNosekeni Mfondini
Yiyo leyo ke Rolihlahla
eli hlahla larholwa mhlamnene
larholw’ezizweni
larholw’eZambiya
Yiyo loo nto kaloku
Yiyo loo nto uKaunda
wathi wakulijonga
walulilela
Aa! Dalibhunga
Ndee gram!

The python with many heads

Of the home of Thembeka
Of the home of Nomathokazi
The python with many heads
Of the home of Baliwe
Of the home of Notyatyu-u-
The bones rattle
The bones of John Dube-e
The bones of Kotana
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   107

The bones of Albert Luthuli-i-i

The bones of Oliver Tambo-o-o
The bones of
Tshonyane the colourful one
He is Chris Ha-a-ani
The bones say, Africa must return
Return!
There’s the lofty one
Of Jongintaba
Of Hlahlo, of Ndaba
Of Ngubengcuka
Of Dalindyebo
Of Mandela
The great house of Ngubengcuka
Of Varoyi, of Nkonka
Of course on the banks of the river Qunu
I respect the woman of the Mpemvu clan
Who gave birth for us a light complexioned one
I mean Nosekeni
Nosekeni my mate
There it is Rolihlahla
This branch was pulled out long ago
It was pulled out in far away countries
It was pulled out in Zambia
Of course, that’s why
That’s why Kaunda
When he looked at it
He cried Hail Dalibhunga
I disappear!6

Mlangeni’s diction incorporates praises current in the tradition, such as

the many-headed python and the trembling bones, he accords Mandela
his royal salutation (Hail, Dalibhunga) and plays on his given name
Rholihlahla (tug the branch), sets him in a patrilineal context, mentions

6. Jadezweni (1999: 14–17).

108   ORAL TRADITION

his home in Qunu and his mother Nosekeni and her clan. The only
slight departure from traditional poems such as iimbongi produced
before the collapse of apartheid might be the citation of the departed
leaders of the ANC (Dube, Luthuli, Kotana, Hani, etc.), setting Mandela
in the genealogical context of both his royal and his political family.
Zolani Mkiva’s izibongo on this occasion, on the other hand, contained
passages in English as well as in a number of other languages, as he
greeted and acknowledged the support of world figures such as Fidel
Castro, Yasser Arafat and Boutros Boutros-Ghali. Mandela was not
referred to by his royal praise names, nor related to his ancestors: he
was simply “Mandela”. Like Mlangeni, however, Mkiva named the
ANC heroes Joe Slovo, Jay Naidoo, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and
others, but these were living heroes, not the departed. Mkiva’s izibongo
might be seen to herald departures from the tradition that Mlangeni
represented.
There have been continuities between the public performances of
izibongo in modern South Africa, and there have been departures from
the tradition in recent years. A major efflorescence of izibongo has
taken place in post-apartheid South Africa, with poets experiencing
greater freedom to perform and taking the liberty to do so. After
South Africa earned readmission to the international community, with
access to global media, Xhosa izibongo has increasingly found an
international stage, and world figures have increasingly become the
subjects of Xhosa poetry. Iimbongi greeted the arrival in the country
of the British Queen and the Pope, just as Mqhayi greeted the Prince
of Wales in King William’s Town in 1925. When Seamus Heaney was
awarded an honorary doctorate by Rhodes University in August 2003,
two iimbongi praised him at a poetry reading in St George’s Cathedral
in Grahamstown. In March 2000 Mkiva accompanied the South
African boxer Vuyani Bungu to London for his fight against Naseem
Hamed. Hamed won the fight, but complained about the presence of the
imbongi:

Earlier the South African had been heralded into the ring by a
tribal praise singer, Zolani Mkhiva, who produced incantations
in Xhosa calling on his ancestors to help his man.
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   109

At the post-fight conference Hamed took issue with Mkhiva,

calling him a “voodoo man” who had tried to intimidate him.
But Hamed, who recited a passage from the Koran before
the opening bell, said: “There is nothing out there that can put
me off or break my concentration.”7

When Nelson Mandela was invested as a Fellow of Magdalene College,

Cambridge, in 2001, Jongi Klaas, a South African student at the
college, greeted him with a spontaneous izibongo: “The ceremonials
over, academics were surprised to see a postgraduate student rise from
the front row and perform an impromptu tribal dance saluting Mr
Mandela as a Xhosa chief.” Klaas commented after his performance, “I
didn’t plan to do the Ukubonga. It just happened because this was such
a touching moment for me. We are from the same tribe and I wanted to
salute Mr Mandela. I’ll never forget it.”8
Mkiva performed an izibongo at the opening of the FIFA World
Cup in 2010 and at the memorial celebration of Nelson Mandela’s life
in December 2013, two internationally televised events. In a departure
from traditional practice, too, women have claimed the right to act as
iimbongi. At a recent literary festival in Grahamstown, which included
a reading of Chris Mann’s poetry by Janet Suzman, “she and all the
people onstage taking part in the Festival, and special guests were
serenaded flat out by praise-poet after praise-poet, women included. It
was marvellous.”9 Mkiva himself has taken full advantage of the media:
he has his own website, www.poetofafrica.com, and has released
two audio CDs; in 1999 a film was made of his early life entitled
Mandela’s Poet Laureate: Zolani Mkiva. He has travelled widely, and
has appeared onstage in performance with rap singer Gil Scott-Heron;
YouTube features a number of commercial videos of his performances.

7. BBC News Online (12 March 2000).

8. The Times (3 May 2001).
9. Jackie Shipman, personal communication; see Kaschula (2002: chapter 5) on
women as performing poets, and web reports on Jessica Mbangeni such as http://
bookslive.co.za/blog/2008/06/24/profile-on-sas-only-woman-imbongi-jessica-
mbangeni, accessed 22 March 2014.
110   ORAL TRADITION

He has opened a school for iimbongi, formalising for the first time the
essentially informal path followed by anyone wishing to become an
imbongi.
If we locate Zolani Mkiva in the context of earlier poets, we might
be able to capture the Xhosa tradition of izibongo in the process of
rapid change, in response to the seismic shift in political control of the
country. I should like to set Mkiva alongside two other iimbongi, all
three of them, like Mandela himself, members of Thembu chiefdoms:
D.L.P. Yali-Manisi (1926–1999), whose public career was pursued
under the apartheid regime, and who produced his last oral poem in
1988; and Bongani Sithole (1937–2003), whose career spanned the
political transformation of South Africa.

David Yali-Manisi was an imbongi rooted in the past: his cognomen

Imbongi entsha (the new poet) signified his status as successor to the
greatest of all Xhosa iimbongi, S.E.K. Mqhayi. Though Manisi never
actually heard Mqhayi perform, he had profound respect for him,
sharing Mqhayi’s reverence for the Xhosa prophet Ntsikana, who
died in May 1821, acting as official poet at the annual celebrations in
honour of Ntsikana, as Mqhayi had done, and writing poems in praise
of Mqhayi.10 Mqhayi’s books inspired him as a fledgling poet. So too
did listening to history recounted to him by relatives and the repetition
of poems recited to him. The diction and imagery of Manisi’s izibongo
have close affinities to the praise poems of nineteenth-century chiefs;11
his poems are rich in metaphoric reference to animals that had long
since vanished from his environment – the elephant browsing treetops
on its way home, the secretary bird’s long-legged gait, leopards and
lions rending their prey. The world Manisi experienced, the broader
social and political contexts of his performances, was a harsh world of
brutality, inequality and deprivation, and he constantly evoked images
of the past that located present injustices in a historical context, in
hopes of securing a different future.

10. On Ntsikana, the revered and influential Xhosa prophet, see Booi (2008); Bokwe
(1914); Hodgson (1980); Holt (1954: 111–27).
11 . Collected in Rubusana (1911); for translations of eight of these poems, see
Opland (1992: 182, 184, 217–18).
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   111

At the start of his career, Manisi was associated with his chief,
Kaiser Mathanzima. In his poetry, he regularly referred to Mathanzima’s
journey to study at the University of Fort Hare in Alice, to his height
and physical allure. Such “praises” could be both flattering and critical:
Mathanzima was the first chief to earn a university degree, but in so
doing he entered white spheres of influence that distanced him from
the concerns of his people and aligned him with the agents of apartheid
whom Manisi, as an ANC supporter, bitterly opposed. In lines that
recur throughout his poetry, Manisi characterised Mathanzima as a
chief somewhat aloof, self-important and set apart from other chiefs.
Mathanzima, as Manisi characterised him, was driven by ambition and
sensitive about his superior status: speaking in Mathanzima’s voice,
Manisi was fond of saying:

Ngundenziwe nguwe ke mqalandini

Ukuze ndiginy’ umbeng’ onothuthu
Kambe mn’ andingezojeli ndiyindulavu
Indwatyula yakwaMthikrakra12

I’m your creature, Greed,

so I wolfed down the tidbit with ashes still on it,
though because of my rank I don’t cook for myself:
I’m the prized tower of Mthikrakra’s place.

Mathanzima appears to be a chief like any other, but careful examination

reveals differences that set him apart:

Ngubhayi nafelane kuyazalana,

Kuloko kwahlukana ngemigc’ ukubabanzi;

12. Lines repeated in performances recorded on 20 December 1970, 15 July 1972

and 26 October 1976. Recordings of Manisi’s oral performances as well as his
published books, from which quotations in this chapter are taken, are housed in
The Opland Collection of Xhosa Literature; the recordings were transcribed by
Manisi and translated by Opland and Manisi. A detailed account of Manisi’s life,
together with many of his poems in translation, can be found in Opland (2005);
an edition and translation of eight of his narrative poems, including his epic
Imfazwe kaMlanjeni (Mlanjeni’s War), can be found in Yali-Manisi (2015).
112   ORAL TRADITION

Ngugusha ziyafana ngokubamdaka,

Nabazaziyo bazahlula ngeempawu;
Gqirha negqwirha kuyelamana,
Kuloko kwahlukana ngeshologu.13

he’s all blankets look alike,

yet the width of their stripes differs;
all dusty sheep look the same,
those who know their markings can tell them apart;
the diviner’s much like the witch,
but their inspiration distinguishes them.

Mathanzima’s career has brought him into contact and collaboration

with whites, he “finds friends in foreign nations” (Edal’ izihlobo
nasezizweni), and as a result his people suffer: he is “a herdsman of
crippled cattle” (Umalusi weenkom’ ezinoqhonqa), “A herdsman of
racists’ victims” (Ukwalus’ abant’ abahleli phantsi kwegxagxa). This
recent historical context for Mathanzima, alluding to his personal
career and attributes, was amplified by deeper historical references
to his genealogy and to his ancestral territory. On 15 July 1972, in
performance, Manisi said:

Yint’ etheth’ eQamata kuhlokome zonk’ iintlambo

Ithetha phantsi koMngqanga
Zixokozel’ iintaba zakwaTato
Ithi yakuthetha ibe ngangagungqa nentaba kaMngqanga
Kuloko kuphendul’ uLukhanji
Ath’ uLukhanj’ esentshonalanga
Awagob’ amagongom’ ajong’ intab’ eQoyi
Phezu kwedolophana yeNgcobo
Aph’ alele khon’ uNgubengcuka

When he speaks at Qamata all rivers resound;

he speaks below Mngqanga
and the mountains echo in Tato’s territory;

13. In performances recorded on 15 July 1972, 26 October 1976 and 27 April 1974.
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   113

when he speaks Mount Mngqanga appears to tremble,

but it’s Lukhanji that replies,
while in the west Lukhanji swivels
to face the mountain of Qoyi
above the town of Engcobo,
where Ngubengcuka lies buried.

Deeper historical references recurred as themes in Manisi’s poetry

whatever the subject or occasion, but the past Manisi laid before his
audiences was selective and consistent: his izibongo were filled with
depictions of the nineteenth-century frontier wars that culminated in the
loss of independence and territory for the Xhosa-speaking peoples. 14
Although these references were sometimes to specific incidents and
characters (Lord Charles Somerset, for example, or the Battle of
Gwatyu), they tended to depict themes of technological inequality
in the conflict, and of the duplicity of the missionaries whose bibles
readily turned into breechloaders. In performance on 26 October 1976,
the white “thugs”

Iint’ ezeza zibek’ uQamata ngaphambili

Zathi zakufika zesuk’ ikhola zayiphethula
Zathabath’ imfakadolo zayifak’ ekhwapheni
Yadl’ inziniya kumnt’ oNtsundu
Sibe kuphendula ngebhunguza nomkhonto
Hayi seza ze
Kuba la madod’ alw’ esese kweentaba
Asibetha ngenkanunu
Singangagananga ngezifuba

came bearing God before them,

but when they came they reversed their collar
and slapped a musket under their arms:
the lash devoured the blacks.
We responded with kierie and assegai

14. See Milton (1983), Mostert (1992) and Peires (1981); on the last frontier war, the
War of Ngcayechibi, see Smith (2012) and Spicer (1978).
114   ORAL TRADITION

but oh, it was utterly useless:

these men fought from behind the mountains,
they thrashed us with their cannon,
spurning hand to hand combat.

Or again, on 10 July 1977,

Siyawanibulela mabandl’ asemaSatlani

Kuba nangena neza nipheth’ ibhayibhile
Nathi masamkel’ umqulu
Silahl’ amasiko nezithethe
Sayithabath’ iBhayibhile sanilandela
Wajik’ umfundisi walijoni
Waxakath’ imfakadolo wagomboz’ inkanunu
Zagqum’ iintaba zikaRharhabe
Kwaqhum’ uthuli latsh’ ilizwe

We’re grateful to you, Settler tribes,

you entered bearing the bible,
and you said, “Accept the tome
and spurn lore and custom.”
We took up the bible and followed you,
minister turned into soldier,
he raised his musket and blasted his cannon.
Rharhabe’s mountains roared,
dust arose, the land was aflame.

To an audience of black schoolchildren on 13 June 1979, he said:

Xa kulapho ke, ntomb’ ezintle zomzi kaPhalo

Xa kulapho ke, madun’ amahl’ akwaRharhabe
Mathol’ ezala kulandelwa
Mathol’ ezinxibamxhaka
Mathol’ eendwalutho
Lo mhlaba kaPhal’ uxakekile
Kub’ amaNges’ awuxhiphula ngenkanunu nemfakadolo
Bay’ ooyihlo besilwa ngekheme nentshuntshe
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   115

Kungoko siyimpalala neembacu

Kumhlaba wookhoko bethu

So then, lovely girls of Phalo’s homestead!

So then, handsome leaders of Rharhabe’s land!
Sons of those who refuse to flee,
sons of heroes with ivory armbands,
sons of warriors of renown,
this land of Phalo’s in trouble,
for English cannon and musket bit it,
yet your fathers fought with spear and assegai;
that’s why we’re tramps and vagabonds
in the land of our very own ancestors.

The response Manisi exhorted from his audiences to the inequities of

the present was a renewal of the historical struggle, but not a military
renewal. He urged the schoolchildren:

Yondelani ke, niqinisek’ emfundweni

Kub’ alikhw’ ilizw’ elifunyanwa zizidenge
Hay’ izipayi-payi nezipam-pam
Iint’ ezingayiboniy’ indlel’ eziyihambayo
Hay’ izityhifilili neziyathinga
Iint’ ezingaziyo kuqiqa
Nini k’ ababekw’ entendeni
Ukuze nibe ziinkokeli zengomso
Nihlanganisane nisuke nii khunkqu
Nithi le Afrik’ ibiyeyoobawo kakade
Nathi namhlanje siyayiphuthuma
Ningayiphuthumi ngekrwana nengcola
Niyiphuthume ngokubaza kweengqondo
Aph’ ezingqondweni zenu kuhlal’ iinkwenkwezi
Kudanyaz’ ilanga libasele nenyanga
Ukuze lo mhlaba siwufumane
Singabi ngaw’ amadladiya
Kwakunye neendlavini noophokopayi
Kuloko sibe ngabantu bohlanga
116   ORAL TRADITION

So set your sights and take root in learning,

for no country’s ever been won by fools.
Oh the dunces and dumb-bells,
blind to the road they follow;
oh the dummies and dodos,
strangers to understanding.
Now you’ve been set in motion,
to be tomorrow’s leaders,
come together as one,
saying, “Back then our fathers held this Africa,
and today we’re simply taking it back.”
Don’t take it back with spear and assegai,
reclaim it with keenness of mind,
make of your minds a home for stars,
where the blazing sun illumines the moon,
so we control this land once again.
Don’t gulp your food down greedily,
as if we were ragmen or firebrands:
let’s be a people fit for a nation.

Manisi anticipated a day when precious black sticks preserved in

dung might be retrieved for a liberated nation: of Chief Manzezulu
Mthikrakra, he said on 19 August 1976:

Yint’ eentonga zimnyama zisemgqubeni

Zihlel’ eXhibeni likaMthikrakra
Siya kuza siziphuthume mini sidibanis’ amaduna
Omgquba nomthonyama kaNdaba

He holds black sticks in safekeeping

at Mthikrakra’s Xhiba house:
we’ll bring them to light when we gather the leaders
of Ndaba’s princes and warriors.

Whatever the contexts of performance, Manisi’s most frequently

recurring images were of conflict between black and white, of unequal
battle in the past that banished black leaders from their people and
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   117

territory to die on Robben Island, of white deception and black

dispossession; he urged education as the tool to regain black rights, so
that whites might be engaged on equal terms in order to redress past
inequities. Manisi looked forward to the release of legitimate black
leaders, and their assembly before a liberated nation. He used a phrase
of the revered prophet Ntsikana to praise those who promoted racial
harmony, those who “gather differing flocks into one” (Nguhlanganis’
imihlamb’ isalana). Although he lived to see a free South Africa, in his
final years Manisi was crippled by spinal tuberculosis, and was unable
to give poetic expression to the realisation of his passionate ambitions:
his last public performance was in 1988, and he died in obscurity in
1999.

Manisi was born and lived in the chiefdom of Kaiser Mathanzima. In

his early career he was associated with Mathanzima as his imbongi but
he broke with his chief in the early fifties when Mathanzima inclined
towards collaboration with the grand scheme of apartheid. Manisi
continued to produce poems about Mathanzima from time to time,
but they were always critical of him for his collaboration with whites;
instead, he sought alternative forums for his poetic performances and
found them increasingly on university campuses. When Mathanzima
as President of Transkei suppressed his political opponent Sabatha
Dalindyebo, Mathanzima’s superior in the Thembu royal house, another
Thembu imbongi, Bongani Sithole, pursued an option different from
that adopted by Manisi: in 1982 he withdrew from public performance
of izibongo altogether. He “rolled up his blankets as there was no one
worthy of praising”.15 Kaschula and Matyumza have published some
seventeen of Sithole’s poems produced between October 1989 and
November 1992, including Sithole’s first performance after his seven-
year self-imposed silence, and a number of poems on Nelson Mandela,
including one produced just two months after Mandela’s release from
prison on 11 February 1990. This series of poems reflects the startling
political changes in South Africa:

15. Kaschula (2002: 158).

118   ORAL TRADITION

Ngoba kaloku nants’ i-Afrika,

Ikhulul’ impahl’ emnyama
Ingena kwezimhlophe,
Ifun’ ukuqhaqhazela.

Here is Africa,
Removing its black mourning clothes,
And putting on its white clothing,
It wants to shine.16

Sithole focused on the moment: his poems lack the historical depth of
Manisi’s izibongo. Only in genealogies of chiefs did Sithole take his
listeners back over a century, and then only the names were cited with
little specific detail about the events of their lifetimes or their characters:

Giya Afrika giya!

Ngoba ndisibonil’ isidanga nesidabane somXhosa.
Ndayibona indalo, ehlangene amaAfrika.
Wahlangan’ uXhosa,
UXhosa kaNgconde, kaMalangana,
KaTshatshu kaNkosiyamntu.
Xa ndithetha ngoNkosiyamntu ndithetha ngoPhalo.
UPhalo wakuloKhohlel’ intw’ ebomvu,
UKohlel’ intwebomvu wakuloChas’ abeLungu,
UChasabeLung’ uthole legqwirha kaloku kwaGcaleka.

Dance, Africa, dance!

Because I have seen the dancing cloak of Xhosa,
I have seen nature – united Africans.
The people of Xhosa came together,
The Xhosa of Ngconde and Malangana,
Of Tshatshu and Nkosiyamntu.
When I speak of Nkosiyamntu I speak of Phalo,
Phalo the powerful one,

16. Kaschula and Matyumza (1996: 46–7).

 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   119

The one who coughs red and opposed the whites,

He opposed the whites, this son of a witch from the Gcalekas. 17

Sithole would cite royal genealogies, but the expansion of the names
into historical references, as of Phalo here, was rare, and the genealogies
were not ordered. Indeed, at one point, Sithole touched on the ill-
treatment of Sabatha Dalindyebo but veered away from it, urging “Let
us forget the past” (Masiziphose kwelokulibal’ izilandu).18 The political
situation teetered on a knife edge, presumably, and animosities of the
recent past should not disturb delicate negotiations.
Although he produced poems about Xhosa and Mpondo chiefs,
Sithole lived in Mthatha and concentrated his poetic efforts on Thembu
chiefs, of whom Nelson Mandela was one. He praised the ANC or the
South African Communist Party where appropriate, but he remained
a Thembu imbongi; where he referred to the heroes of the ANC, the
list was confined to contemporaries of Mandela. For the most part, the
series of poems deals with Thembu politics, the dignified reburial of the
body of Sabatha Dalindyebo, the election of his son Buyelekhaya as his
successor and the controversial appointment of a regent in his minority.
In those poems dealing with Nelson Mandela, history started in 1918
with his birth, and continued with his early guardianship under David
Jongintaba Dalindyebo, his flight to Johannesburg and his involvement
with the ANC, his imprisonment and the poet’s meeting with him in
1957. Perhaps because the praises of Mandela were still too fresh to
have settled into regular poetic expression, it is not an especially vivid
account: “It’s a problem, a real problem” (Yingxaki yingxubakaxaka),
starts a poem from 1991,

Kub’ uDalibhunga kaMandela ucholwa nguTat’ uWalter Sisulu

eGoli,
Uphum’ eqhwesha kwaJongintaba eMqhekezweni ethat’ ijoyini,
Engayigqibanga imfundo yakhe eFort Hare apho wathunyelwa
khona

17. Kaschula and Matyumza (1996: 46–9).

18. Kaschula and Matyumza (1996: 29).
120   ORAL TRADITION

Because Dalibhunga of Mandela was taken by Walter Sisulu in

Johannesburg,
He absconded from Jongintaba in Mqhekezweni and went to
work,
Having not finished his education at Fort Hare where he was
sent.19

Present uncertainty and hopes for the future occupied Sithole more than
the past. Political prisoners had been released:

Kungoko ngoku ndiske ndanexhala,

Kuba amaBhulu ebesithi abacikide
Ngokubagcin’ eRobben Island.
Suka zaphum’ iinkosi zakwizwe lakowethu amaQhawe
namagorha.
Aphum’ iintloko zimhlophe kodw’ ubuchophe busindile,
Aphum’ enobuchopho bokuqiqa.

That is why I have developed fear,

Because the whites thought they have strained them,
By keeping them on Robben Island,
All of a sudden the kings of our nation are out, the brave, the
warriors,
They came out grey-headed, but the brain is not affected,
They came out with brains to reason20

and Sithole looked to Mandela to lead the nation to freedom. In 1992

he said:

Nyakandini ka-1918 sikothulel’ umqwazi.

Ngoba kaloku usiphathel’ uDalibhunga.
Awu-u! Dalibhunga ndiyakukhahlela.
Yavel’ into kaRholihlahla madoda.

19. Kaschula (2002: 248, 250).

20. Kaschula (2002: 248–50).
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   121

Kwatsho kwenzek’ isimanga,

Lwakhal’ usana, lwathi amandla-a-a-a!
Aqal’ amaBhul’ ajik’ ebusweni ngob’ ev’ inyaniso.
Amthath’ ambek’ esiqithini ngob’ ev’ inyaniso.
Ngoba kalok’ uRhulument’ uyasinzonzisa.
Ngoba kalok’ uRhulument’ uyasinzonzisa.
Zithe xa ziphel’ ii-eyitisi mado-o-oda!
Zithe xa ziphel’ ii-eyitisi zavel’ izinto.
Zithe xa xiphela ii-eyitisi yakhululek’ iNamibiya.
Zithe xa ziphela ii-eyitisi bakhululek’ abaNtsundu.
Ngoba kaloku bebevalelw’ eziseleni.

Hayi Hayi madoda!

Yavel’ into kaRholihlahla.
Aa! Rholihlahla mhlekazi!
Ayahlokom’ amathamb’ ento zooMahlangu.
Ayashukum’ amathamb’ ento zooGoniwe.
Ngoba kaloku kumhla lajiy’ igazi.
Yi-ini lo mhlab’ uphalele.
Uphalel’ umhlaba hayi madod’ uphalele.
Ngoba kaloku uRhulument’ uyasinzonzisa.

Hamba nto kaRholihlahla,

Hamb’ umxelel’ uDikleki lo.
Hamba nto kaRholihlahla,
Uxel’ ukuba kudala sicinezeleka.
Nani nina nilapha hambani.
Qhubelani phambil’ inkululeko yabantu.
Ngoba kalok’ uRhulument’ uyasizonzisa.

Mawuth’ uphel’ unyaka sibe sikhululekile.

Ngoba kudala sakhala.
Kwangathi kuyaphendulwa.

We take off our hats to the year of 1918,

Because you brought us Dalibhunga,
Awu-u! Dalibhunga I salute you.
122   ORAL TRADITION

Rholihlahla appeared, men.

And then a miracle happened,
The infant shouted and called out: Amandla-a-a (Power)!
The boers started, their faces changed because they heard the
truth,
They took him and placed him in jail because they heard the
truth,
Because, you see, the government is destroying us,
Because, you see, the government is destroying us.
When the eighties ended, men!
When the eighties ended, things happened.
At the end of the eighties Namibia gained independence.
At the end of the eighties this black nation was freed.
Because, you see, they had been locked in the cells.

No, no, men!

The one – Rholihlahla – appeared,
Hail! Rholihlahla, Sir!
The bones of the Mahlangus are shaking,
The bones of the Goniwes are moving,
Because today the blood has thickened,
Alas, this land has bled.
This land has bled, no men, it has bled,
Because the government is destroying us.
Go Rholihlahla,
Go and tell De Klerk,
Go Rholihlahla,
And state that we’ve long been suffering,
You who are here to go,
And continue the people’s fight for freedom.
Because the government is destroying us.

Let this year end with our freedom,

Because we’ve been crying for a long time,
And it appears as if there is an answer.21

21. Kaschula and Matyumza (1996: 68–71).

 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   123

Although the ANC and other resistance organisations had been

unbanned in 1990, South Africa was still ruled by the apartheid
government. As in Manisi’s poetry, the land was still in turmoil. But
the historical correlative for that state was not the nineteenth-century
frontier wars of dispossession with the English as the enemy so much as
the imprisonment of black leaders for the preceding thirty years by the
Afrikaner government. Sithole anticipated the swift demise of apartheid
that Manisi in his performed poetry could never see as imminent.

Sithole was drawn back into poetic service by the fall of K.D.
Mathanzima that heralded the collapse of the homeland and apartheid
system. Though he sensed it was close, Sithole could not yet see that
collapse, and could only hope for the ultimate triumph of Mandela.
Zolani Mkiva bore no such doubts. He burst into prominence in his
first public performance as an irrepressible 23-year-old imbongi,
at the inauguration of Nelson Mandela as President in Pretoria on
10 May 1994. If Manisi and Sithole were still essentially Thembu
poets, Mkiva, also a Thembu, is a child of the rainbow nation. Manisi
and Sithole performed with traditional animal skin cloaks and hats;
Mkiva in performance has come to wear a porcupine quill hat and
flashy dashikis; he carries an elaborately carved mace rather than the
assegais of earlier iimbongi. Unlike Manisi and Sithole, whose formal
education was limited, Mkiva has earned university degrees. Mkiva
exploits the media adroitly, and is well aware of the international
audience television affords him, a medium Sithole and Manisi never
gained access to as performers, although through the agency of Russell
Kaschula Sithole has found space on the internet.22
The texts of two of Mkiva’s public performances reflect a new
conception of the imbongi as the poet of a unified nation looking
outward on an international arena rather than on a local audience
looking ethnically inward. At the presidential inauguration in
Pretoria in May 1994, Mkiva’s izibongo followed the opening poem
by another imbongi, Sthembile Mlangeni. In its depth of historical
reference Mlangeni’s poem bore strong similarities to the izibongo
of Sithole. Mkiva’s inaugural poem, however, which immediately

22. Kaschula and Mostert (2009). On Mkiva, see D’Abdon (2014).

124   ORAL TRADITION

followed Mlangeni’s, proclaimed a new order. For one, reflecting

the international array of assembled guests, and responding to their
incomprehension of Xhosa, Mkiva deployed frequent code switching,
embedding English, Afrikaans, Latin and other African languages in his
Xhosa izibongo. After a dramatic opening in Xhosa claiming that the
umbilical cord had been snapped, the anchors of hatred and oppression
severed, Mkiva switched to English. He quoted in English remarks he
claimed to have overheard from Fidel Castro, Yasser Arafat, Boutros
Boutros-Ghali. This announced the arrival of a new day, in which the
poet invited the heroes of the struggle to stand up and be recognised
for their efforts: Mandela, Joe Slovo, Jay Naidoo, Desmond Tutu and
others. The only reference to the past came indirectly in the conclusion,
with a contemptuous, dismissive switch to Afrikaans:

(inaudible)
Yaqhawuk’imbeleko!
Yaqhawuk’imbeleko!
Yaqhawuk’imbeleko!
Zaqhawuk ii-ankire
zentiyo nengcinezelo
The ruffians
of racism
...
(inaudible)
are no longer
The days of baasskap
are over.
Nguye lowo ke uMandela
Zahlokom’izizwe zehlabathi ziphela
Hayi kaloku ndimvil’uFidel Castro
The Commandant General
of the International
defence units
ndimvile esithi Solidarity
in Action
SOLIDARITY FOR EVER
A, Hayi ke!
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   125

Ndimvile uYasser Arafat

the Chairman of the PLO
A! hayi, esithi long live
the Struggle against Apartheid
Long live!
Hayi Maqabane
Ziyatheth’izizwe
Ziyatheth’iinkokeli
Ndimvile kaloku
uBoutros Boutros Ghali
esithi:
it will be contra bonos mores
of the masses of South Africa
not to liberate themselves.
Hayi, Maqabane
Ziyatheth’izizwe!
Ziyatheth’iinkokeli
A. Hayi! Maqabane
Ifikile ke imini
ebikad’ilindelwe
Yiyo loo nto
sithi:
Bantu Basemhlab’uhlangene
yimani nithi gomololo!
A! hayi, Maqabane
Ntengu-ntengu-Macetyana
kazi abantu beli lizwe
babenze ni na?
Yima Mandela
uthi gomololo!
Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
kazi Amakomanisi
Ayenze ntoni na?
Yima Joe Slovo
uthi Gomololo!
A! hayi, Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
kazi ukuba abasebenzi beli lizwe
126   ORAL TRADITION

babenze ntoni na?

Yima Jay Naidoo
uthi gomololo!
A! hayi, ntengu-ntengu
Macetyana
kazi ukuba abefundisintsapho beli lizwe
babenze ntoni na?
Yima Shepherd Mdladlana
uthi gomololo!
Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
kazi ukuba abefundisi
bakwalizwi
babenze ntoni?
Yima Arch Bishop
uthi gomololo!
Ntengu-ntengu macetyana
Bantu baseMzantsi Afrika
yimani nithi gomololo!
Nguye lowo kuMandela
zikhalile izizwe zehlabathi
zikhalil’izizwe
Ndimvil’uColonel Gadaffi
esithi”
“Karambanini
Karambanini, akuyatagayi tafra”
A, hayi! watheth’uSam Nujoma
esithi! “emangulukenenge eso sili”
A, hayi! “oljo esimbo
uThemba ufike Mpamwe”
A, hayi! ziyatheth’ izizwe
ziyatheth’iinkokeli
“Vryheid of dood
oorwinning is gewis”
This is what we have said in the past
and the struggle continues
Aluta!
Aluta!
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   127

The blanket of the baby snaps

The blanket of the baby snaps
The blanket of the baby snaps
The anchors break
Of hatred and oppression
The anchors break
Of hatred and oppression
The ruffians
of racism
are no longer
The days of baasskap
are over
There he is Mandela!
The nations of the world called all
Yes, of course, I heard Fidel Castro
The commandant General of the
International defence units
I heard him say “Solidarity in Action”
SOLIDARITY FOR EVER
Oh no! then
I heard Yasser Arafat
the Chairman of the PLO
Oh no! saying “long live
the Struggle against Apartheid
Long live!
Oh no, Comrades
The nations are talking
The leaders are talking
Of course, I heard Boutros Boutros Ghali saying
“It will be
contra bonos mores
of the masses of South Africa
Not to liberate themselves.”
Oh no! Comrades
The nations are talking
Oh no! Comrades
the day has arrived
128   ORAL TRADITION

the day that has long been awaited

That is why we say:
People of the land that has been unified
Stand up and be upright!
Oh no! Comrades
“Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana!
I wonder, what had
the people of this country done wrong?”23
Stand Mandela
and be upright!
“Ntengu-ntengu macetyana
I wonder what had the communists done wrong?
Stand Joe Slovo
and be upright!
Oh no, ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
I wonder what had the workers of this country done wrong?
Stand Jay Naidoo
and be upright!
Oh no, Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
I wonder what had the students of this country done wrong?
Stand Sbusiso Bhengu
and be upright
Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
I wonder what had the teachers done wrong?
Stand Shepherd Mdladlana
and be upright!
Ntengu-ntengu Macetyana
I wonder what had the ministers of religion done wong?
Stand Archbishop
and be upright!
Ntengu ntengu macetyana
People of South Africa

23. Mkiva deploys as a refrain the fancied cry of the fork-tailed drongo, which
Robert Godfrey (1941: 75) gives as “Thengu, thengu, macetywana! kazi ukuba
benze nto ni na abantwana benkosi, Nombande” (Tengu! Chips! I wonder what
the children of the chief have done, Nombande!).
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   129

Stand up and be upright!

There he is then Mandela
The nations of the world cried
The nations cried
I heard Colonel Gadaffi say:
Karambani, akuyatagayi tafra”
Oh no Sam Nujoma spoke
saying: “emangulukenenge eso sili”
Oh no “oljo esimbo uThemba ufike Mpamwe”
Oh, no! the nations are talking
The leaders are talking
“Freedom or death
Victory is certain”
This is what we have said in the past
and the struggle continues
Aluta!
Aluta! 24

For his diverse international audience, Mkiva omitted any connection

between Mandela and his Thembu lineage, locating him instead in a
roll call of heroes of the struggle against apartheid; baasskap and the
Afrikaans language represent the vanquished foe. The new ethnic
identity is South African; Mkiva is a citizen of a free country under an
ANC government, taking its place in the community of nations.
The only other published poem by Mkiva was produced at a
graduation ceremony at the University of the Western Cape (UWC) in
March 1995. On this occasion, Mkiva criticised the apartheid homeland
system (personified as uMbombayi) in vague terms and at length,
concluding after 34 lines:

Ndithetha ngoMbombayi kodwa namhlanje uMbombayi

ubhubhile
Yiyo loo nto sisithi bye bye Mbombayi

24. Jadezweni (1999: 15–17, 18–19).

130   ORAL TRADITION

I speak of Mbombayi, but today Mbombayi’s dead

That is why we say, bye bye Mbombayi.25

Only then does he turn to address the graduates, offering six lines
repeating the slogan “Unity is strength” in six different languages
before finishing:

Yiyo loo nto sithi bath’ abanye kopano ke matla

Yiyo loo nto sithi bath’ abanye collective action is better than
one
Yiyo loo nto sithi bath’ abanye eendrag maak mag
Yiyo loo nto sithi bath’ abanye unity is strength
Yiyo loo nto sithi bath’ abanye ex unitate vires
Yiyo loo nto sithi umanyano ngamandla
Congratulations dear students congratulations
Well do-o-ne graduates well do-o-ne
Ri-i-i-se UWC ri-i-i-se
Hoya-a hoyi-i hoyo-o hoyu-u-u-u!

That is why we say some say Kopano ke matla (Unity is

strength [Sotho])
That is why we say some say collective action is better than
one
That is why we say some say Eendrag maak mag (Unity is
strength [Afrikaans])
That is why we say some say Unity is strength
That is why we say some say Ex unitate vires (Unity is
strength [Latin])
That is why we say Umanyano ngamandla (Unity is strength
[Xhosa])
Congratulations dear students congratulations
Well done graduates well done
Rise UWC rise
Hoya-a hoyi-i hoyo-o hoyu-u-u-u!26

25. Neethling (2001: 51–2).

26. Neethling (2001: 51–2).
 IZIBONGO ON THE CUSP OF CHANGE   131

When Manisi addressed the students of Rhodes University or Vassar

College, he was at pains to remind them of their founding benefactors
Cecil John Rhodes and Matthew Vassar; Mkiva is more concerned to
parade his own linguistic skills before the students of the University
of the Western Cape, with his puns and paranomasia, to dazzle the
audience with his verbal ingenuity. He is more enraptured with
the sound of his words than their sense. The imbongi has become a
showman. On his CDs and YouTube videos, Mkiva sets his poetry to
musical rhythms, identifying his performance more with the styles of
popular southern African poets like Mzwakhe Mbuli and Albert Nyathi
than with Bongani Sithole and David Manisi.
Manisi displayed verbal pyrotechnics too. He consciously celebrated
what he once termed “intethw’ engqongqotho yasemaXhoseni” (the
peerless language of the Xhosa people); his deep, rich, rural diction,
steeped in the African terrain, must at times have dazzled and puzzled
his audiences every bit as much as Mkiva’s grasshopper boundings
do his. Each imbongi is disconcerting and unsettling in his own style.
Manisi celebrated the Xhosa language; for Mkiva Xhosa, though his
home tongue, is just one of many in a modern, urban, cosmopolitan
society, a high-tech world of bricks and highways eons apart from
Manisi’s boyhood spent tending goats in the veld. Each of the poets
in his own way sublimates or suppresses the horrors of apartheid,
Manisi reliving colonial history, Sithole focusing fixedly on local
politics and Mkiva, with his eye on the task of conciliation and future
nation-building, consigning the recent past to the margins of memory.
The world confronting the poets’ audiences has altered: not for Mkiva
the animals of the wild or the demure tapping of winsome maidens on
musical bows, but rather the racy rhythms and flashing lights of rap
music. Of course there were poets in precolonial times, poets throughout
the century of frontier warfare, poets other than Mqhayi in the first half
of the twentieth century; there were poets other than Manisi and Sithole
under apartheid, and Mkiva is not the only imbongi in contemporary
South Africa. If any conclusion can be drawn from this study, however,
it would seem to be no more than the obvious: history as a sustaining
context of identity alters as the identity alters, as the demands and
expectations and composition of the audiences change, as the poets’
conceptions of their audiences and their needs and aspirations change.
132   ORAL TRADITION

The history you need as a black person under apartheid is not quite the
same as the history needed as you hold your breath while a seemingly
entrenched political system cracks and crumbles, or the history needed
for a newborn generation of liberated citizens, when black sticks have
been retrieved and the leaders of Ndaba’s princes and warriors have
been assembled before a dancing Africa.
Books
7

The first Xhosa novel: S.E.K. Mqhayi’s

U-Samson (1907)

Writing and literacy were introduced to the Xhosa-speaking peoples

on the eastern Cape frontier of South Africa by English and Scottish
missionaries at the start of the nineteenth century. Printing was initially
intended to aid the process of conversion, and early publications in
and on the Xhosa language were directed at the mission community,
but as literacy and schooling spread, the need was felt for reading
material for the converts after they left school, so as from 1837 mission
journals and newspapers were established. Remaining under mission
control until 1888, a succession of mission newspapers increasingly
attracted contributions from native speakers of Xhosa, until an emergent
African elite perceived the power of the press and in 1884 began to
publish secular newspapers under their own control. These early
newspapers produced a literary cadre from whose ranks were drawn
the authors of creative writing in books, which appeared in the first decade
of the twentieth century. The author of the first novel, entitled
U-Samson, was actively involved in oral tradition as a praise poet,
and he was already a prolific contributor to newspapers. U-Samson
(Samson) was published in 1907 and its author became in time the
pre-eminent figure in the history of Xhosa literature, Samuel Edward
Krune Mqhayi.
It is by no means agreed among scholars that Mqhayi’s 25-page
booklet was the first Xhosa novel, but then again the history of literature
in the Xhosa language has not yet been satisfactorily defined. Those
who write on the subject offer a wide diversity of opinion. Harold
Scheub claimed that H.M. Ndawo’s Uhambo lukaGqoboka (1909)

135
136   BOOKS

was “the first Xhosa novel”;1 Albert Gérard said that U-Samson, “an
adaptation of the Bible story of Samson”, was Mqhayi’s first published
work but that Ityala lamawele (1914) was his “first original work”;2
Ndawo, however, “should be considered the founder of the Xhosa
novel”.3 R.H.W. Shepherd, subsequently editor of the Lovedale Press,
which printed U-Samson, referred to it as a pamphlet: “A few years
afterwards he published a pamphlet entitled Samson. The edition was
soon sold out, and people spoke in high terms of it.”4 A.C. Jordan,
who himself owned a copy of the book, correctly identified it as “a
novelette”.5 Jordan’s copy is not among his collection of papers at the
University of Fort Hare, and I have been unsuccessful in my attempts to
obtain a copy anywhere, but Wandile Kuse, who read Jordan’s copy in
Wisconsin in the course of research for his PhD dissertation on Mqhayi,
is now quite firm in his recollection that U-Samson is a novel and not
merely a retelling of the biblical story.6 With Kuse’s confirmation, and
despite its disappearance, U-Samson can be firmly established as the
first novel in Xhosa, it can be located within a historical and literary
context, and some suggestion of its content can be reclaimed. For much
of this information we are indebted to the reception of the book as
reflected in the correspondence columns of contemporary newspapers.
In his autobiography, U-Mqhayi wase-Ntab’ozuko (Mqhayi of
Mount Glory), published in 1939, Mqhayi established briefly the social
and political context for the publication of the book. Of his early career,
at about the turn of the century, he wrote,

Ngeli xesha ke sasimi ngezantya, sizama umzi oNtsundu

ukuba umanyane, uthethe izwi elinye, ukhale ngesikhalo
esinye embusweni. Intoni? Akukho nto yakha yawunqabela
umzi oNtsundu njengaloo nto! Yaye impatho ophethwe
ngayo ziidolophu ingeyiyo; ibe yanele ukuba ibamanye
abantu babe yimbumba, kodwa hayi. Abafundisi nabo baye

1. Scheub (1985: 573).

2. Gérard (1971: 54).
3. Gérard (1971: 63).
4. Shepherd (1955: 113).
5. Jordan (1973: 104).
6. Personal communication.
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   137

bephelelwa bubuhlobo nathi, ngenxa yeenkqekeko zaMabandla.

URulumente usingene yena ngembumbulu enkulu yobuhlanga,
ubuMfengu nobuXhosa.7

At this time we were busy organising the people in order to be

able to speak in one voice in political affairs, but found that
nothing was more difficult for the Black races. Even the hard
rule of some Municipalities failed to unite them. European
ministers were losing confidence in us, as a result of secessions
in the Churches, while the government seemed to be playing off
one tribe of Natives against another.8

It was a time of political mobility amongst blacks, ineffective because of

black disunity fostered by the ruling whites; and a time of ecclesiastical
secession and the formation of independent African churches. 9 Mqhayi’s
autobiography was translated for Diedrich Westermann (and published
in German in 1938 as a chapter of Westermann’s Afrikaner erzählen ihr
Leben a year before Mqhayi’s autobiography itself was published) by
the prominent educationist W.G. Bennie, the translation quoted above.
Crucially, Bennie, the son and grandson of missionary teachers, who
was educated at Lovedale and in time became Mqhayi’s literary mentor,
blunted the reference in Mqhayi’s last sentence (“The government
pierced us with that massive missile fired at nationhood, Mfengu and
Xhosa ethnicity”), probably because Xhosa-Mfengu rivalry was still
too intense and divisive, an enduring sore point in mission circles.
The tension between the Mfengu and Xhosa communities dominated
social interaction on the eastern Cape frontier, and constituted a
major factor in the reception of U-Samson. Mqhayi referred to the rift
in the community as a “demon” in a later characterisation of Chief
Nathaniel Cyril Mhala, the first editor of the East London newspaper
Izwi labantu, as “u-Sobantu obengenayo konke naledemoni yobu Xosa-

7. Mqhayi (1964: 66–7).

8. Scott (1976: 28), a volume that contains W.G. Bennie’s abridged translation of
Mqhayi’s autobiography as well as John Knox Bokwe’s translation, from the third
edition of Ityala lamawele, of two of the chapters Bennie subsequently excised
from Mqhayi’s novel (see chapter 1 above).
9. See Odendaal (1984, 2012) on early black political mobilisation.
138   BOOKS

Mfengu edungudelisa umzi” (Father of People quite untouched by this

demon of Xhosa-Mfengu identity disrupting the community). 10 The ill-
feeling between Xhosa and Mfengu derived at least in part from white
missionary interference in black affairs in the first half of the nineteenth
century.
In the eighteenth century, Xhosa-speaking pastoralists moving
southwards down the eastern seaboard of southern Africa came into
contact – occasionally violent – with Europeans of Dutch descent
moving up the same coastal seaboard from the southwest. Clashes
between black and white on this eastern frontier persisted throughout
the nineteenth century, especially after the British occupied the Cape
for the second time in 1806 and some 5 000 British settlers were
located along the frontier in 1820: open hostilities flared up in Hintsa’s
War of 1834–35, the War of the Axe (1846–47), Mlanjeni’s War (1850–
53) and the final War of Ngcayechibi (1878–79).11 In response to the
gradual territorial dispossession of the Xhosa-speaking peoples, and
their increasing subjugation to white control, millenarian prophets
arose inciting war (Nxele in 1819, Mlanjeni in 1850) or the catastrophic
slaughter of cattle in 1856–57 occasioned by the visions of the teenage
girl Nongqawuse. The cattle-killing was seized upon as an opportunity
to integrate frontier blacks into the white farming economy;12 economic
integration was rapidly furthered by migrant black labour essential to
the inland mining industry following the discovery of diamonds in 1867
and gold in 1885.
Warfare was not confined to European and Xhosa. Bhaca fought
Thembu, Ngqika fought Ndlambe, Rharhabe fought Qwathi, Gcaleka
fought Thembu; the northeasternmost of the Xhosa-speaking peoples
were disrupted by an influx of refugees fleeing the Zulu king Shaka’s
territorial expansion early in the nineteenth century. These refugees
came to be known collectively as the amaMfengu, derived from the
verb ukumfenguza, to wander destitute. On the pretext that they had
become the slaves of the Gcaleka, the Methodist missionary John Ayliff
gathered and moved them in 1835 after Hintsa’s War, resettling them as

10. Mqayi (1921: 20); Mqhayi (2009: 182–3).

11 . See Milton (1983), Mostert (1992) and Peires (1981).
12. See Peires (1989).
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   139

a buffer between the Gcaleka to the east and the British settlers to the
west. The Mfengu thereafter tended to side with their white patrons in
the frontier wars, and were bitterly resented by the Xhosa. The Mfengu
proclaimed loyalty to the British crown and attended mission schools,
which were initially viewed with suspicion by the Xhosa chiefs. Tension
and rivalry between Xhosa and Mfengu persisted. The Mfengu tended
to be assimilationist, the Xhosa nationalist, political strategies reflected
respectively in the first two independent Xhosa-language newspapers,
Imvo zabantsundu and Izwi labantu.
The history of Xhosa newspapers in the nineteenth century has been
set out elsewhere.13 Initially, these journals served as an extension of
the mission enterprise, increasingly through the agency of the Lovedale
Institution, founded in 1841. As R.H.W. Shepherd subsequently put it,

[in] all its efforts for the spread of literature Lovedale recognized
that there was a danger lest the missionary agencies, having in
their schools taught vast numbers to read, should leave non-
Christian and even anti-religious elements to supply the reading
matter. . . . Great numbers were being taught to read. While in
school and when they left it it was imperative that they find
within their reach literature suited to their every need, in order
that they might have an understanding grasp of Christian life
and morals.14

Lovedale’s monthly Indaba (News), published between 1862 and 1865,

clearly enunciated its evangelical aims:

The Indaba, it is intended, shall contain a Digest of Home

and Foreign News, especially as they bear on the interests of
the Native Tribes: brief notices of Missionary operations and
successes, in this as well as in other lands: and Articles, and,
above all, Spiritual Enlightenment of those for whom it is
specially designed. In every department, local and party politics
will, as far as possible, be avoided.15

13. See Opland (2004); Opland (2017: chapter 11).

14. Shepherd (1971: 104).
15. Indaba (August 1862: 13).
140   BOOKS

Despite the tight editorial control, Indaba fostered the tentative

emergence of a literary elite: some native Xhosa-speakers became
regular contributors, John Muir Vimbe, for example, William Kobe
Ntsikana and Tiyo Soga, translator of the first part of Bunyan’s The
Pilgrim’s Progress, published as Uhambo lomhambi in 1867.16
Under its first principal, William Govan, Lovedale offered all its
students a standard Victorian education. As the social and political
implications of this educational policy came to be realised, a shift
was introduced for black students towards a vocational education
that minimised the study of the classics and mathematics and stressed
vocational subjects.17 Govan’s reaction was predictable, according to
Shepherd:

With his feeling that any lowering of the standard of education

was to be deprecated, and his strong conviction that education
among a primitive people was advanced by the higher education
of the few rather than the elementary education of the many and
that Africans were so mixed up with Europeans in South Africa
as to render it necessary for them to be placed on an equal
footing in matters of education, it could hardly be expected that
he would accept the new order of things.18

Govan tendered his resignation and was replaced in 1870 by James

Stewart. Stewart soon launched a bilingual newspaper of his own, The
Kaffir Express; as from 1876 the Xhosa pages were published separately
as Isigidimi sama-Xosa (The Xhosa messenger) and the English edition
became known as The Christian Express. Stewart sought to exercise
tight control of the content, excluding politics and anything that he saw
as an inducement to Xhosa readers to return to a pagan past (including
poetry in traditional form). Ultimately, Isigidimi ceased publication
in December 1888, the last of the mission newspapers, in the face
of competition from the first secular newspaper, Imvo zabantsundu,
established in 1884 in King William’s Town by John Tengo Jabavu,

16. On Soga’s translation of Bunyan, see Hofmeyr (2004: chapter 5).

17. See Ashley (1974: 204–6).
18. Shepherd (1971: 30).
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   141

the frustrated young former editor of Isigidimi. In the last quarter of

the nineteenth century an educated African elite had emerged that was
determined to co-opt European strategies and technology in the service
of its own ends, among them the publication of politically explicit
newspapers.19
Independent-minded Africans were active not only in politics, but
also in church affairs. In 1884 Nehemiah Tile formed the Thembu
National Church; in 1900 James Dwane founded his American-inspired
Order of Ethiopia. In this spirit John Tengo Jabavu launched Imvo in
1884 after a three-year spell as editor of Isigidimi.20 Stewart disapproved
of Jabavu’s active campaigning for a white electoral candidate; Jabavu
chafed under the editorial restrictions imposed on him by Stewart. So
Jabavu raised funds from white politicians to found a newspaper of
his own in King William’s Town, Imvo zabantsundu. Jabavu believed
that blacks should vote for sympathetic white politicians, who would
act in the best interests of blacks, but in time, with a shift in political
alliances, he found himself supporting a party that included the
Afrikaner Bond, an organisation dedicated to promoting Afrikaners
and eradicating black rights. Jabavu was Mfengu. In reaction, a second
group that included Chief Nathaniel Cyril Mhala and Walter Benson
Rubusana raised funds from liberal politicians like Cecil John Rhodes
to establish a second independent newspaper in East London in 1897,
Izwi labantu (The voice of the people). They were all Xhosa, and the
ensuing rivalry between Imvo and Izwi was intense. Rubusana would
go on to stand for election himself, and became the first and only black
person elected to the Cape Provincial Council in 1910. But by then Izwi
had failed, having ceased publication in the previous year.
On 9 November 1897, in its first issue, Izwi published a poem in its
praise written by Gompo; subsequent issues continued to feature poems
by Imbongi yakwaGompo (the East London poet), the first pseudonym
adopted by the 22-year-old S.E.K. Mqhayi.21 Mqhayi had left Lovedale
in 1897, and had accepted a teaching post in East London through

19. See chapters 10 and 11 below.

20. See Ngcongco (1979).
21. On Mqhayi, see Scott (1976), M. Qangule (2008) and the introduction to Mqhayi
(2009).
142   BOOKS

the agency of Rubusana. In East London he became active in church

and community affairs. As he says in his autobiography, “Ndifakwe
ngamandla nasekubeni ndibhale imicimbi yeentlanganiso zomzi, mhla
kudityenweyo. Kuthe kanti kukungena kwam oko kwizinto zesizwe,
neembambano abaNtsundu nabaMhlophe.”22 Bennie translates: “At East
London I became secretary to the Congregation and to the Vigilance
Association. This gave me my introduction to social questions, and the
question of the relations of the races”;23 Mqhayi’s Xhosa is explicit that
the races are black and white (“abaNtsundu nabaMhlophe”). Mqhayi
tells us that he submitted two unsigned poems for the first issue of Izwi;
Rubusana informed Mqhayi that his poems had been accepted and were
to appear under the pseudonym Imbongi yakwaGompo, a name Mqhayi
embraced, enjoying the attempts in the community to discover the
identity of the poet who continued to contribute to the newspaper under
this pseudonym. In time Mqhayi became involved in editing Izwi and,
subsequently, also Imvo. Rivalry between Imvo and Izwi extended to
the literary field: when Mqhayi published in Izwi a poem in exuberant
traditional Xhosa style, he was criticised in Imvo by their resident poet,
Hadi waseluhlangeni (Jonas Ntsiko), who wrote in the formalised style
and strict metre of Alexander Pope.24
When Jabavu left to found Imvo, the editorship of Isigidimi was
assumed by W.W. Gqoba. For over three years, Isigidimi scorned its
upstart journalistic neighbour, but Gqoba died suddenly in April
1888, and Isigidimi ceased publication in December, leaving the field
to Imvo. Under Gqoba, Isigidimi exploded with Xhosa literature,
much of it contributed by Gqoba himself. The last two decades of
the nineteenth century saw the emergence of an African literary elite
in the eastern Cape, among them writers like Hadi waseluhlangeni,
I.W. Wauchope and Gqoba, who were free to express themselves in
newspapers on topics and in styles of their own choice, before the
publication of the first books of literature in the Xhosa language. 25

22. Mqhayi ([1939] 1964: 65).

23. Scott (1976: 27).
24. See Kuse (1978: 19–27).
25. Gqoba’s collected writings can be found in Gqoba (2015); a selection of
Wauchope’s writings can be found in Wauchope (2008).
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   143

The first decade of the twentieth century started with the war
between the Boer republics and Britain and progressed to the formation
of the Union of South Africa in 1910 through a period of increasing
political frustration among South Africa’s blacks characterised by A.C.
Jordan as “the mounting anguish”.26 Rubusana joined other black leaders
on a deputation to Britain in a fruitless appeal for the recognition of
black rights. The same decade saw the publication of the first original
works of Xhosa literature in book form. The idea of Xhosa books had
been raised in the press, but rejected as inopportune on commercial
grounds. In 1888, for example, a few months before his death, with
rivalry between the independent Imvo and the mission Isigidimi at
its height, Gqoba somewhat dispiritedly replied to an appeal for the
collection and publication of articles that had appeared in Isigidimi:

Inteto yako asikuko nokunyanisa kodwa ke kuko into

esisixaki kubantu abafundileyo abantsundu, uninzi lwabo
alukatali nto yakuhlanga nokuba yiyipina. Alukatalele kufunda
na ncwadi yasi Xosa, nayasi Ngesi kwa na pepa la ndaba
nokuba lelayipina inteto, into leyo enganiki temba nankutazo
nakwabebelinga ukwenza incwadi ezinajalo. Into ekulayo
ngamakwele (jealousies) not national ambition, ati lowo
akuvelisa into, babe nekwele abangayaziyo bade bayinyelise
nokuyinyelisa nje ngempungutye eyazigxekayo idiliya
yakubona ingazifikeleli ngemitsi yayo. Ziyakutengwa ngubani
na ke ezo ncwadi?27

What you say is quite true, but there is a problem with

educated black people: most of them don’t care about national
issues, whatever their nature. They don’t care about reading
Xhosa-language books, or English ones, or even newspapers
in any language, which discourages and disheartens those who
try to write such things. Instead jealousies are on the increase
rather than national ambition, so when something does appear
the ignorant grow jealous to the extent that they criticise it like

26. Jordan (1973: 97–102).

27. Isigidimi (2 April 1888: 29).
144   BOOKS

the fox who criticised the grapes he couldn’t jump up and reach.
So, who will buy these books?

And three years later Wauchope similarly rejected an appeal for the
publication of his series of articles explaining Xhosa proverbs for
the younger generation: “While feeling certain of the great value this
kind of folklore will be a generation or two hence, I doubt if their
publication at the present time would repay the expense of printing.” 28
In 1903, however, the Lovedale Press issued Isaiah Bud M’belle’s
miscellany Kafir Scholar’s Companion containing chapters on Xhosa
literature and the Xhosa press, proverbs and versification, as well as
notes on vocabulary and grammar, and a bibliography of ethnographic
works; in 1904 Lovedale published John Knox Bokwe’s Ntsikana:
The Story of an African Hymn, based on articles that had appeared in
The Christian Express in 1878 and 1879; and in 1905 Bokwe’s Indoda
yamadoda, based on articles that had appeared in Imvo in 1899 on the
prophet Nehemiah, including the text of Bokwe’s much-loved hymn
Vuka Deborah. A contemporary review of this volume by L.L.B. opens
with this paragraph:

The above title, which means “A Man Among Men,” is

that of a new publication by the Rev. J. Knox Bokwe of Ugie
Mission. The story, which is that of Nehemiah and the Jewish
people of his time from the release to the rebuilding of the walls
of Jerusalem, is in the form of a cantata, each chapter being
relieved by a suitable song. The music is “of African origin;”
as a matter of fact it is composed by the author himself and
appeared in his “Lovedale Music.”29

Bokwe’s original four-part series on Nehemiah in Imvo contained

neither songs nor music; the newspaper prose version was expanded
for the book, and its character altered into a cantata with the addition
of music. By 1905, then, Lovedale had started to publish independent
works by Xhosa writers in English and in Xhosa. Both M’Belle and
Bokwe had cut their literary teeth on contributions to newspapers.

28. Imvo (12 November 1891: 3), reprinted in Wauchope (2008: 291).
29. Izwi (6 February 1906: 2).
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   145

This new mission initiative was accompanied by discussion, much

of it ill-informed, in the General Missionary Conferences. At the Second
General Missionary Conference for South Africa held at Johannesburg
in July 1906, Rev. D.D. Stormont appealed for the publication of
“Christian literary propaganda”. He observed that education “amongst
the Native peoples” was growing: “Now ignorance can only be
dispelled by knowledge, and in these days the handmaid of knowledge
is literature; i.e. the press, the magazine and the book. The spirit of
enquiry is abroad, and it cannot be suppressed. It falls to the Christian
Church to meet its demands.”30
Missionaries had recently accepted the crucial role literature could
play in furthering their goals, but had not yet taken action, Stormont
argued, since no literature had yet been produced:

The Literature for Natives, either in English or in Native

languages, might be fully discussed in a chapter as long and as
accurate as that famous chapter devoted to Snakes in Ireland:
“There are none.” Anyhow beyond the titles of two or three
small booklets, or translation, the present writer has not been
able to find much that could be called literature. 31

At the same meeting, a better informed response to Stormont’s appeal

came from Rev. Edouard Jacottet, who would in the following year
issue Thomas Mofolo’s Moeti oa Bochabela (The traveller to the east),
the first Southern Sotho novel, from the Morija Press. Jacottet remarked
that Stormont “saw no Native literature because he did not take pains
to see it. A literature was coming into being of considerable proportions
in Natal, the Transvaal and the Orange River Colony. Lately there had
been a revival of interest for Sesuto literature.”32 Supporting Jacottet,
A.W. Baker “testified to the desire of the Natives coming under his
observation for books and newspapers”.33 While the missionaries
debated and pontificated, two Xhosa authors took matters into their
own hands.

30. Stormont (1906: 73).

31. Stormont (1906: 69).
32. Stormont (1906: 77).
33. Stormont (1906: 77).
146   BOOKS

In 1906 Rubusana paid for the printing of his pioneering anthology

Zemk’inkomo magwalandini (There go your cattle, you cowards) by
Butler and Tanner of Frome and London. Rubusana was in Europe
in 1905 in connection with the bible translation, and might have
made arrangements then; he engaged an agent in Johannesburg to
handle distribution of the volume in South Africa.34 The latter part
of the volume, which ran to a second edition in 1911, consists of an
unsurpassed collection of praise poems of nineteenth-century chiefs,
commoners, cattle and horses; the first part is made up of poems and
articles culled from early Xhosa newspapers, principally Izwi labantu
and Isigidimi sama-Xosa, and featuring Mqhayi, Gqoba, William Kobe
Ntsikana and other members of the literary elite that had emerged in the
previous twenty years. In the following year Rubusana’s young protégé
S.E.K. Mqhayi paid for the printing of U-Samson by the Lovedale
Press. The fact that both Rubusana and Mqhayi themselves paid for
the publication of their books probably stemmed from a desire for
independence, free of mission control, in the spirit of the establishment
of Imvo and Izwi. Mqhayi issued an advertisement in Izwi labantu on
30 July 1907 that appeared ten times, in each subsequent edition until 1
October 1907:

“U-SAMSON”
Ixabiso yi 6d ne 7d ngeposi.

Eli ligama LENCWADI ENTSHA (ebomvu-kupuma).

Imbali ka SAMSON etsoliselwe kakulu kmLisela [sic] nom
Tinjana okwi Afrika ese Zantsi.

Inokufunyanwa e Lovedale, e Bhayi, e Kapa, e Krugersdorp,

kwa Centane, kwi Ofisi ye “Zwi” e Monti, nakwezinye indawo.
Makufundw’ incwadi
Kupel’ ukuhlala ngabanye.
S.E. RUNE-MQAYI
P.O. Box 1,
East London

34. Mf 4905, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London.

 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   147

“SAMSON”
The price is 6d, 7d including postage.

This is the name of a NEW BOOK (pale red).

This is the story of SAMSON aimed at South African youth.

It can be purchased in Lovedale, Port Elizabeth, Cape

Town, Krugersdorp, Centane, the Office of Izwi in East London
and in other places.
Let us read books
and stop gossiping about others.

Mqhayi addressed U-Samson especially to black youth, with a hint of

political activism (the appearance of the book was not noted by the
General Missionary Conferences that discussed native literature again
in 1909); he was also at pains to establish that the book was printed at
Lovedale but had issued from the offices of Izwi, and that he controlled
its distribution. On 25 August 1908 a second advertisement appeared in
Izwi over Mqhayi’s name announcing the availability of his book at the
forthcoming Convention of the South African Native Congress:

Konvenshoni e Lovedale
IYAKUMBONA
U SAMSON –
Incwadi enemfundiso
Incwadi enenyaniso
Ilungele abadala
Ilungele nabantwana.

Ixabiso ekaya yi 6d. ne 7d. ngeposi.

Itengiswa zi Arente kwindawo ngendawo. Itengiswa nase

LOVEDALE apo yashicilelwa kona. Umtombo wayo ukwi
Ofisi ye ZWI. Bhala utunyelwe ubenayo ekaya usingi se ku
S.E. MQAYI,
P.O. Box 1
East London.
148   BOOKS

The Convention in Lovedale

WILL SEE
SAMSON –
A book containing education
a book containing truth
suitable for adults
suitable for youth.

The local price is 6d, 7d including postage.

It is available from agents in various places. It is also on

sale in Lovedale where it was printed. Its source is the IZWI
Office. Write to have a copy sent to you at home to
S.E. MQAYI,
P.O. Box 1
East London.

Mqhayi tried unsuccessfully to place an advertisement for the book

in Imvo. In a letter to the editor of Izwi published on 19 November 1907,
he noted that the editor of Imvo had failed to print the advertisement
Mqhayi sent him. James Ntshona wrote angrily from the Imvo office
on 20 November disputing Mqhayi’s claim: Mqhayi had sent a request
for a quotation for the advertisement, Ntshona maintained, but had not
responded to the quote: “Bekungatinina ukuba Incwadana yake kubeko
izwi ngayo Emveni kanti noko kunokumangalwa isaziso sayo?” (How
could a word about his booklet appear in Imvo when its quote was
not accepted?)35 Mqhayi’s reaction was published in the 10 December
issue of Izwi. He confirmed that no advertisement for his book had
been published in Imvo. He had not received the quotation, he claimed,
and accused Imvo of dissembling. He repeated Ntshona’s rhetorical
question, and replied “Andazi” (I don’t know), concluding

Kodwa ke (a) Imvo le ayishicileli zona izinto enezaziso

zazo kupela; (b) bendicinga mna ukuti ingaba yilento yokuba

35. Izwi (26 November 1907: 3).

 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   149

Imvo leyo yayitunyelwe ngesisa ikopi ka Samson. Esi saziso

ndisatanda ukusibona, nexabiso ndilitunyelwe. Esi izaziso
zesimahla bendingazilangazelele nganto zona; kodwa ke
ndiyazibulela.

But then (a) Imvo does not print only those items about
which it has carried an advertisement; (b) I thought it was
because Imvo was sent a free copy of Samson. I am pleased to
see this advertisement, and the benefit it yielded me. I did not
much care for the free advertisements but I thank you for them.

The free advertisements Mqhayi thanked Imvo for were the publicity
for U-Samson aroused by the caustic review Imvo published in two
parts on 12 and 19 November, written by Isaac Williams Wauchope.
Bokwe’s Indoda yamadoda, dealing as it did with the release of
the Israelites from captivity and the rebuilding of the temple, offered
a model for South African blacks living under white control. Mqhayi’s
U-Samson seems to have been by design politically focused on the
youth. Kuse observed that “Mqhayi’s first prose piece to be published
was social and political commentary. The novella uSamson was a
metaphor for the situation of his people and was also an adaptation of
the biblical story of Samson and Delilah.”36 Twenty-five years earlier, in
1882, Wauchope had directed an appeal to the youth to submit petitions
for the release of the Xhosa chiefs from imprisonment on Robben
Island.37 He might well have identified with Mqhayi’s cause, but in the
event he did not. Mqhayi had sent Imvo a review copy of his book; he
had approached the King William’s Town newspaper for a quote on an
advertisement. No advertisement was ever run by Imvo; it published
Wauchope’s diatribe and only one other mention of U-Samson in
its pages, a letter on 3 December from G.W. Tyamzashe deploring
Wauchope’s review and the furore it aroused. Imvo responded to the
first Xhosa novel with disdain, in the context of its bitter rivalry with
Izwi, and more broadly in the context of the tense relations between the
Xhosa and Mfengu communities.

36. Kuse (1978: 14).

37. Isigidimi (1 June 1882: 4–5), reprinted in Wauchope (2008: 164–9).
150   BOOKS

The episodic account of Samson in Judges 13–16 relates an angel’s

appearance to the barren wife of Manoa, announcing her imminent
conception, instructing her not to cut her son’s hair, “and he shall begin
to deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (13: 2). Samson
marries a Philistine woman, kills the lion, his wife wheedles the riddle
answer from him, and he slaughters 30 Philistines, as a result of which
Samson is denied access to his wife and sets the fields on fire with
burning foxes. His wife and her father are executed, the Philistines raid
Samson and arrest him (in handing him over his friends reproach him:
“Do you not know that the Philistines are rulers over us? What then is
this you have done to us?”). He escapes and slaughters the Philistines
with the jawbone of an ass. Samson embarks on a relationship with a
prostitute in Gaza, and escapes from ambush carrying off the city gates.
He courts Delilah, she wheedles from him the secret of his strength, he
is blinded and, after his hair has grown again, destroys the house at the
festival of thanks to Dagon. Twice Judges mentions that Samson was
a judge for twenty years, but no details are given of his legal career.
The principal thrust of Wauchope’s criticism was Mqhayi’s deviation
from this biblical narrative. Wauchope makes his position clear in the
opening of his snide review:

Lencwadana ibhekiswa “kumlisela.” Uti umbhali wayo

“ucapule kulo ncwadi isisimakade,” eteta iBible. Ngati kuye i
Bible le yincwadi yokufumane umntu “acapule” paya napaya,
axomekelele, ongeze nezake ingcinga ukuzalisa indawo acinga
yena ukuba kwaposiswa ukuba zingafakwa.
Lembali ka Samson “umlisela” maze uyifunde usazi ukuba
kuko into eninzi engekoyo ezi Bhalweni, kuko umpunga
ongenguwo walawo maxesha ka Samson, obonakala mhlope
ukuba “ucapule” umbhali kula maxesha alamagora alahlekisa
abantu ngalamaxesha, waya kudibanisa nebali lika Samson. . . .
Udwabe nje ngentloko wabeta ecaleni kuzo zonke ezinguqulo
ze Bible zikoyo. Yingozi enkulu ke leyo ebonisa ukuba ingapela
i Bible le ukuba iyekelwe kulo mbhali.38

38. Imvo (12 November 1907: 3).

 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   151

This booklet is aimed at the youth. Its author states that “he
has quoted from this eternal book,” meaning the bible. It seems
that to him the bible is a book anyone can pick up and “quote”
here and there, with malicious intent, supplementing from
imagination those places where one feels there are errors or
omissions.
This story of Samson should be read by “the youth” in full
knowledge that it contains many things that do not appear in
the Scriptures, that it has an undertone foreign to Samson’s
times, as it is quite clear that the author has “quoted” incidents
from the times of modern heroes in order to mislead, and has
added these to the story of Samson. . . . He just wrote off the
top of his head and misread all the available bible translations.
This is very dangerous: clearly, if left to this author, the bible is
doomed.

Wauchope criticised Mqhayi’s departure from the biblical text to

introduce details of contemporary relevance, embellishing the sparse
narrative, adding incidents and details of setting and characterisation.
Some of Wauchope’s comments descended to a petty level, as he
himself conceded:

Page 13.—‘Batsha nalondlu.—Ewe okunene batshiswa

abobantu, kodwa ayiko indawo eti batsha nendlu. Ezindawo
angati ongaqondiyo lucuku; kodwa ingapela tu i Bhayibhile
ukuba kuvumelekile ukufaka izihlomelo kubafundisi bayo.

Page 13. They burnt in that house. Yes it’s true that those people
were burnt, but nothing says that the house burnt down too.
Someone lacking understanding might consider these comments
petty, but the bible would be completely doomed if its ministers
were allowed to interpolate additions.

In the same vein he criticised Mqhayi for fleshing out the

characterisation of Manoa (“The bible doesn’t say whether Manoa
was good or bad”), for adding chapter 2 on customs (and confusing
customs and commandments), for fabricating chapter 3 on Samson’s
152   BOOKS

childhood, for adding the detail that the Philistine woman Samson
courted was mocked by her people and pitied when she agreed to marry
him, for mentioning the hills and bushes Samson passed through on his
way to his in-laws, for calling Samson “inkokeli yesizwe” (a national
leader) at his wedding, for saying that Samson was unaccompanied
at his wedding “Kuba ebe ngena kufumana bantu kowabo ngokunga
cingelwa nto kwake” (Because he could not get people from his own
home because he was not admired by his own people), for saying of
Samson’s future father-in-law “Lom Filistiya wayenayo ingqondo
yokumbona lomfana ukuba une zipiwo ezikulu, kanjalo njengendoda
enkulu, wayebubona ubupakamo bengqondo yake” (That Philistine had
the perception to appreciate that the young man had great gifts and, as
a man of rank, he also perceived the depth of his intellect), for having
Samson disappointed on learning his wife had been given to another
man, for claiming that Samson enlisted support to catch the foxes,
and for saying that those who handed Samson to the Philistines were
perturbed and fled home in fear, but he ended by commending Mqhayi
for entitling chapter 9 “Ukwapuka kwamandla” (The loss of strength):

Isiqendu IX., Ukwapuka kwamandla. U Mr. Mqayi ngati ufuna

ukuvuleka amehlo ngoku. Abantu ababedesha amagora (Hero
worshippers), badla ngokuvuleka amehlo bakubona amandla
egora esapuka. Baqale babone amaratshi. Sisifundo sokuqala
kulencwadi esine siyalo esihle kumlisela, ukuti msa ukuya
kuqala abantu ngabom endaweni yabo. Wumbi umntu angati
waye yawa zingela amankazana, kodwa umbhali akaboni nto
apo—‘ugangiwe’ u Samson ezihambela.

Chapter 9. The loss of strength. Now it appears Mr Mqhayi is

prepared to open his eyes. Hero worshippers’ eyes normally
open when they see a hero’s strength lost. Then they start to see
pride. This is the first lesson in this book, warning the youth not
to rouse people in their own places. A bad person roams about
hunting women, but the author doesn’t appreciate that: Samson
was “pounced upon” as he went on his way.
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   153

And Wauchope commended the moral Mqhayi sets on his story on page
22:

He ke, ude wanyanisa umbhali kwizwi ati, “Maninzi ngalemihla

amadoda atanda ukuteta ngomlomo esiti ayakubuye enze oku
nokuya, kodwa ibe yinkohla ukuyenza lonto, kuba izipiwo
zawo azitengise ko Delila abayimihlali, imali, amawonga.”—
Unyanise kakulu. Maninzi amadoda afuna ukuba zinkokeli,
ebatembisa abantu amatamsanqa aza kubenzela wona, kanti
ezomali zabantu azama awazo amawonga ngazo. Kwinto ze
politics, kwinto zonqulo kwinto zamalungelo emihlaba, kuko
injojeli ezipikele ukulahlekisa abantu ezibangele ukuba sibe
zezintsali sizizo.

Aha, the author finally speaks the truth when he says, “There
are many men nowadays who love to say over and again they
will do this or that but are then unable to because they have
sold their gifts to the Delilahs of pleasure, money and status.”
Too true. Many men want to be leaders, promising people the
benefits they are going to achieve for them, yet the people’s
money is used to promote their own status. In politics, prayer,
and land rights, there are competing experts who mislead the
people, fostering discord.

Wauchope’s heaviest sarcasm and most scathing criticism, however,

was directed not so much at Mqhayi as at Rubusana, whom Mqhayi
credited with offering him advice on his book:

Andazi ukuba u “Rev. Dr. Rubusana” yiyipina eyona nto wati

revise yona. Into endiyiqondayo kukuba uqale ngaye kwi
“ntshayelelo” wada waya kupela ngaye kwipepa lokugqibela
(25). Ekubonakala ukuba lamagora wazisa “umlisela” ngawo
mabini—ngu Samson no “Rev. Dr. Rubusana.” Sesinye isixaki
neso.

I do not know what the “Rev. Dr Rubusana” actually did to

revise the text. All I understand is that he started with him in
154   BOOKS

the “introduction” and ended with him on the last page (25).
It seems there are two heroes he presents to “the youth” in
the book – Samson and “Rev. Dr Rubusana.” That is a major
problem.

Rubusana’s knowledge of Hebrew was called into question (as, in

passing, was the validity of his American doctorate):

Isiqendu III. “Umntwana u Samson”—Sonke esi sahluko

sesitatu yintsomi—yile iti Haba haba. Igama eliti Samson ngesi
Ngesi liteta ukuti solar. Andazi ke ukuba ubuhle bungena pina.
Kambe uti u Rev. W. Rubusana ka “Zemk’ Inkomo,” yena
wapasa isi Hebere kwabafayo abafundisi, atsho kwinto engaziwa
mntu kwabakoyo. Utulana olunjengem alunakugxeka nto ke
kwinguqulo yegama lesi Hebere ngu Mr Mqayi encediswa ngu
“Dr” lowo wase Monti.

Chapter 3. “Samson the child” – The whole of this third chapter

is a fairytale – it’s a lie. The name Samson in English means
solar. I don’t know where physical beauty comes in. Yet Rev.
W. Rubusana of Zemk’ inkomo says he studied Hebrew
successfully under late missionaries; none of those living
knows anything about it. A nonentity like myself can hardly
cast aspersions on the translation of a Hebrew word by Mr
Mqayi with the help of this “Dr” from East London.

When Wauchope criticises Mqhayi for his embellishments, he lumps

him together with Rubusana, as in “Uti ‘abangcatshi bake lalise
libakohlile basaba baya ngendawo zabo beguba’ Zezombhali ezo
indaba, kunye no Mr. Reviser. Asizazi tina zidenge” (He says, “his
betrayers were confused and fled home trembling in fear.” This is news
from the author and Mr Reviser. Fools like us know nothing about
that). U-Samson, he argues, misleads its readers by inviting them to
expect biblical narrative, not fiction; so too, Rubusana’s Zemk’ inkomo
misleads in containing the writing of many and not just Rubusana, who
is presented as the author. And Wauchope concluded his review with
a dismissive comparison of Samson and Rubusana, with a final dig at
Mqhayi, whom he depicted as Rubusana’s praise poet:
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   155

Elibali liqale ngombulelo ku Dr. Rubusana, lipela

ngomqukumbelo wamazwi elogora lanamhla. Kula magora
mabini elinye alipumelelanga kuba aliwakululanga ama
Sirayeli. Elamva alikapumeleli ntweni, asika ncami ke. Kodwa
ngati ezimbongi zalo ziyakulenza ukuba ligaxaze. Kwanga
kungebinjalo.

This story started with thanks to Dr Rubusana, and ends with

concluding words from that modern hero. Of these two heroes,
one did not succeed because he failed to free the Israelites. The
latter has not yet succeeded in anything, though we live in hope.
But it looks like his praise poets will soon get him to work. Let
it not be so.

Wauchope’s broadsides apart, we can draw some conclusions about

U-Samson. The red-covered book, 25 pages long, was printed by the
Lovedale Press but probably paid for and certainly distributed by the
author himself. The only biblical episode Wauchope does not refer to
in his review is Samson’s dalliance with the Philistine prostitute, but
it might well have been included: Mqhayi seems to have followed the
narrative closely. To it he added details of setting and characterisation,
and at least two sections, a chapter on Hebrew customs and another on
Samson’s childhood. In a later booklet, Idini (1928), on Xhosa rituals
of sacrifice, Mqhayi was at pains to establish parallels between Hebrew
and Xhosa custom, and this may have been his motive for the second
chapter of U-Samson.39 Certainly missionary responses to Xhosa
custom had for some time been a topic of impassioned debate in the
press, a major contributor to the controversy being I.W. Wauchope. The
principal innovation in Mqhayi’s text was in fleshing out the character
of Samson (in the chapter on his childhood and elsewhere), in appeals
to the Xhosa youth and in references to Dr Rubusana. Mqhayi made
Samson intelligent, a solitary figure, handsome and attractive to women
(who lay in wait for him), self-confident and heedless of advice, quick
to retaliate, a national leader despised by his own people and somewhat
alienated from them. Much of this derives logically from biblical

39. Mqayi (1928).

156   BOOKS

narrative. His alienation, for example, would explain his courtship of

Philistine women, but the latter trait seems to have been given especial
emphasis. Of the chapter on Samson’s childhood, Wauchope wrote:

Lo Samson ngoku lihilihili, into ehamba ezindle, igeza, into

engahlali ’ndlwini, into “edlala into zayo ipele ngelayo.” . . .
Lo Samson uhamba ezintabeni ati ukuba sekaya lomini kukale
abafazi besiti “Hlala mntanam ndiyakuyibeta lanto inwele
zimayakayaka.”

This Samson is now a vagabond who roams the veld raving,

who does not want to stay at home, someone “who does as he
pleases.” . . . This Samson walks the mountains and when he
returns home for a day the women cry out saying “Please stay,
my child. I’m going to whip that thing with unruly hair.”

Mqhayi created a hero withdrawn from his people, isolated, and lacking
domestic support and sympathy.
Mqhayi might well have appealed to the youth to admire and throw
their weight behind an intelligent national leader who was not drawing
sufficient support, who would work for the liberation of his people
from foreign control through aggressive confrontation. He seems to
have been critical of those who failed to support such a leader in the
past, and addressed the youth as a new constituency. Wauchope chose
to agree with Mqhayi on this point, that such a leader lost strength
and lacked support, but criticised the leader for divisive, self-seeking
strategies that elicited apathy. Both Mqhayi and Wauchope assailed a
community that lacked cohesion, that had split over Xhosa and Mfengu
strategies of engagement. Writing for the King William’s Town-based
Imvo, Wauchope seems to have identified Mqhayi’s Samson with a
faction from East London, where Izwi was published. Indeed, Wauchope
seems to read Mqhayi’s story of Samson and the characterisation of
his hero as a thinly veiled figure of Mqhayi’s mentor W.B. Rubusana.
This suggestion would explain Wauchope’s vituperative response to
Mqhayi’s novel, as dismissive of the author as of Rubusana.
Mqhayi himself responded to Wauchope’s criticism calmly, with
wit and grace, turning it deftly to his advantage. On 19 November Izwi
carried this letter:
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   157

U Samson

U Rev Isaac W. Wauchope umfundisi wakowetu kwam, ose

Bofolo, unencwadi azibhala kwipepa le Mvo ngayo lencwadana.
Incwadi zalemfundisi zibhalwe ngendlela endingati ukuyibiza
yeyona ndlela isisitete kuti ma Xosa kuba inkwenkwe xa
ibongwayo ibizwa ngarabaxa, ukuze kuqondwe ukuba inesimbo.
Kodwa xa yenileyo ibizelwa ecaleni iboniswe iziposo zayo,
iyalwe okanye yohlwaywe.
U Mhleli welopepa ndati ndakumtumela isaziso ngo
‘Samson’ akaze wasifaka; kodwa ndiyabulela kuba kwinqaku
awake walenza u Mhleli lowo, baba baninzi abayifunayo
incwadana le. Anditandabuzi ukuba ezi incwadi (articles)
zibalwa ngu mfundisi ka bawo, ziyakwenza isaziso esizeleyo.
U Samson ufunyanwa: E Bhayi, ko Messrs A. Ross, S.G.
Heshu, J.G. Gaba no F. Bom; Komani, Mr. RB Mlilwana; e-Rini,
ku Mr Wm Maqanda; e-Kapa, Messrs L. Soha, DD Tywakadi;
Centane, Mr. Russel Koti; Kimberley, Miss IG Bobo; Cullinan,
Mr Wm Ludada; Mt Coke Mr J Tunyiswa. Ndiyayishiya I Monti
kwanabatengisi abatate idazini nganye.
Ukuba u Rev. I. Wauchope angatanda ukunditengisela e
Bhofolo paya bangambulela kakulu abantu bakona kunye nam.
U Samson azikabi ntatu inyanga eshicilelwe, kodwa ikopi
ezitengiweyo zingapezu kwama 500; ndandishicilele iwaka e
Lovedale. Ngalendlela ndiyaqonda ukuba awakowetu azimisele
ukuyixasa lencwadana nango ncedo lwabafundisi abamana
ukundilola besenjenje, nabanye ngezinye indlela endiya kubuye
ndizibeke nezo incwadi (letters) esishicilelweni.
Oyifunayo atumele izitampo ze 7d kumniniyo.
S.E. MQAYI,
P.O. Box 1,
East London.40

40. Izwi (19 November 1907: 3).

158   BOOKS

Samson

Rev. Isaac W. Wauchope, one of our ministers in Fort Beaufort,

has written letters to Imvo about this booklet. The letters of this
minister are written in a style I regard as traditional among us
Xhosa people, because when a boy is praised he is addressed
roughly so that he can be seen to have his own way of doing
things. But when he has done wrong he is taken aside and
shown his failings, encouraged or punished.
When I sent the Editor of that paper an advertisement
about Samson he failed to publish it; but I am grateful because
the remarks the Editor published led many people to want
the booklet. I have no doubt that these articles written by my
brother the minister will serve as the finest advertisement.
Samson can be obtained: in Port Elizabeth, from Messrs
A. Ross, S.G. Heshu, J.G. Gaba and F. Bom; in Queenstown,
from Mr R.B. Mlilwana; in Grahamstown, from Mr Wm
Maqanda; in Cape Town, from Messrs L. Soha, D.D. Tywakadi;
in Centane, from Mr Russell Koti; in Kimberley, from Miss
I.G. Bobo; in Cullinan, from Mr Wm Ludada; in Mt Coke, from
Mr J. Thunyiswa. I omit East London, from sellers who have
taken a dozen each.
If Rev. I. Wauchope would like to sell the book for me over
there in Fort Beaufort the local people and myself would be
most grateful to him.
It is hardly three months since the publication of Samson,
but over 500 copies have been sold; I had one thousand printed
in Lovedale. In this way I believe our community is prepared
to support this booklet, with the help of ministers who keep
whetting me, and others whose suggestions I will return to in
future, and also the letters being published.
Anyone who wants a copy should send 7d in stamps to the
author.
S.E. Mqayi

Wauchope’s review in Imvo elicited a lively correspondence

in Izwi critical of Wauchope and Jabavu, encouraging and praising
Mqhayi’s effort. Many denounced Wauchope’s transparent attack on
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   159

Rubusana, and bemoaned the factionalism of Christian sects. Some

accused Wauchope of jealousy and urged him to write a book of his
own. “Umona asinto inaciko” (jealousy lacks eloquence), intoned
Bryce Balfour. Mqhayi had clearly started something: a number of
correspondents looked forward to further books. D.D. Vena suggested
that Wauchope was jealous of Rubusana, slyly advising Mqhayi to
consult Wauchope when he produced a second book. M. Sam Buqa
wrote from Cape Town:

Ndiyasela mhleli lombulelo egameni lomtinjana nomlisela.

Emzini ontsundu owenze incwadi ezizezi. Indoda Yamadoda
ngumfundisi u Bokwe, Zemk’ inkomo Magwalandini Dr.
Rubusana u Samson Mr. S.E. Rune-Mqayi noko ngati kute
cwaka nje umtinjana uyaqwala sela, uyayiva. Lemikwazo
yomitatu. Lemikwazo i Balulekile, ncam zeningapiki, nento
eziminwe mide. Kukuhlala komntu oswele umsebenzi ukuba
nomnwe omde. Wokuhlaba izinto ezisentywenza ngabantu.
Engenanto yena enzayona.
U I.W.W. Besiya kumpendula sitete naye xa ebevele
necebo lobudoda. Mhlaumbi nencwadi, kungenjalo kwelelani
ngasemva, nipulapule imikwazo yamadoda akonza amawawo.
Pulapula wena usempelazwe.41

A word of thanks, Editor, in the name of the teenage girls and

boys, to the black nation that has produced the following books:
Indoda Yamadoda by Rev. Bokwe, Zemk’ inkomo Magwalandini
by Dr Rubusana, U-Samson by Mr S.E. Rune-Mqayi. Though
everything seems quiet the youth are watching carefully and
listening. These three voices of theirs are conspicuous. Pay no
attention to long-fingered creatures. Long fingers grow on idle
hands. They criticise the work of others while they do nothing
themselves.
We would have responded to I.W.W. and talked to him
had he come up with a manly solution. Perhaps even a book,
otherwise stand back and heed the voices of men who serve
their people. Pay attention, you in the wilderness.

41. Izwi (10 December 1907: 4).

160   BOOKS

In the same issue Kleinboy Dyani wrote from Ndabeni in Cape Town:
“Lixesha ngoku mfundisi lokuba amadoda antloko zintle enze incwadi
zokunceda isizwe” (Now is the time, minister, for intelligent men to
write beautiful books to aid the nation). And he caught the significance
of Mqhayi’s achievement:

Malunga nencwadi ka Mr Mqayi yena akasenancwadi ngoku

loncwadi seyiyincwadi yomzi wonke ontsundu wase South
Africa, kuba yapuma ezandleni zake seyiyeyam ngoku nose
Matshona nose Zambesi nokwa Zulu, nokwa Mzilikazi yeyake.42

As for Mr Mqhayi’s book I can say he no longer has a book.

This book now belongs to all the black people of South Africa,
for it has left his hands. It is now mine, and among the Shona
of Zambesi, it belongs to one who is in the land of Zulu and
Mzilikazi.

Wauchope would indeed produce a book of his own in the following

year, the subversive The Natives and Their Missionaries published by
the Lovedale Press in 1908.43 In the same year Wauchope was found
guilty of forging a parishioner’s will and sentenced to hard labour
in Tokai prison. He emerged after serving two years of a three-year
sentence (in the course of which his wife Naniwe died), published
a series of poems he had written in prison, joined the South African
Native Labour Contingent and was drowned on the troopship Mendi
in the English Channel on the night of 21 February 1917, heroically
urging his doomed colleagues to stay calm and die like proud
Africans.44 Mqhayi went on to become the greatest and most prolific
figure in Xhosa literature, publishing prize-winning fiction, poetry,
an autobiography and translations, contributing regularly to various
newspapers while continuing to serve as the most distinguished
praise poet the Xhosa tradition has known. He was the author of

42. Izwi (10 December 1907: 4).

43. See chapter 10 below. The booklet is reprinted in Wauchope (2008: 39–74).
44. See the introduction to Wauchope (2008) for these and other biographical details.
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   161

such classics as Ityala lamawele (1914), U-bomi bom-fundisi u John

Knox Bokwe (1925), Imihobe nemibongo (1927), U-Don Jadu (1929),
Umhlekazi uHintsa (1937), UMqhayi waseNtab’ozuko (1939) and
Inzuzo (1942). Pre-eminent as he is in the history of Xhosa literature,
Lovedale rejected some of his works for publication: on 18 April 1940,
R.H.W. Shepherd returned Mqhayi’s biography of Rubusana, explaining
that it showed bias in recording relations between Rubusana and
Jabavu: “As a missionary press, we cannot allow ourselves to become
involved in political controversy making for division among the Bantu
people.”45 Clearly missionary circles remained sensitive to the Xhosa-
Mfengu tension.
As a young boy Mqhayi fled from fights, earning the poetic criticism
“Ntak’ enamandla sisinagogo / Kuba sibalek’ amathumb’ elenga-lenga”
(the powerful bird’s the barbet: it flees with its guts spilling out). 46 His
generosity of spirit and reluctance to engage in fights characterised his
response to Wauchope. In 1911, while Wauchope was in prison, Mqhayi
wrote an obituary for Naniwe, Wauchope’s wife, and in 1935 published
“Umfi u Mfundisi Isaac William Wauchope” (The late Rev. Isaac
William Wauchope), a fulsome tribute to Wauchope who, in his death
ten years after he published his intemperate criticism of U-Samson, had
become a national hero as worthy of emulation as Samson or Rubusana.
Mqhayi’s is the earliest source of evidence linking Wauchope to his
legendary actions on the sinking troopship, predating the earliest source
the most recent commentator was able to locate.47

Uthi owayelapho kuxa ngoku igorha lakwa Ngqika elizalwa

ngamanye, lithe qabavu phaya logama itshonayo inqanawa!
Line thuba njengomthandazeli lokuba lingene ephenyaneni
lisinde, kodwa aliyi! Liyawuthethela loomkosi ungenabani
nokuwuthethela ukuba uzele, ufe ngokwamagora abephume
umkosi! Kuthiwa uthi:—

45. Cory Library for Historical Research, Rhodes University, MS 16,321c.

46. Mqhayi ([1939] 1964: 79).
47. Clothier (1987: 58). For a historical novel on the incident based on archival
research see Shepherd (2016).
162   BOOKS

Zolani kaloku ma Laundini!

Kwamkeleni ngoguzol’ ukufa kwenu!
Nantso lonto benize kuyo!
Nawashiyela lont’ amakhay’ enu,
Taruni makhaliph’ akowethu!
Taruni mathol’ amagora,
Namha nikwimini yokuphela,
Lungisani izibuko lokugqibela! . . .

Ngakho ukutshona kwayo lenqanawa ama Xhosa

alahlekelwe ngoonyana bawo abathembhekileyo; kodwa lathi
lakuvakala igama lalo mfundisi, phakathi kwabangasekoyo,
wenzakala ngakumbhi umzi, kwaqondakala ukuba u Xhosa
ufumene isiva esibi, nelahleko enkulu, nokutshonelwa
yinkwenkwezi yakhe eqaqambe kunene.

Awu!!!
Savakal’ isililo sika Nojoli,
Isikhalo nesijwili somka Rarabe,
Intokazi kaNomagwayi wase Mbo.
Ililel’ uluhle olumke namangaba-ngaba,
Ite’alufanga lusing’ emandleni!
Tarhuni mabandla ka Palo,
Mabandla ka Ngconde ka Butsolo-bentonga.
Kungabanje k’ umz’ unyembelekile,
Yatshon’ inkwenkwezi ka Cizama
Waphuk’ umqol’ umzi ka Xhosa!
Eyona nkwenkwezi yokugasa kwethu,
Thole lesilo lafa lithetha,
Lafa libongisela lafa liyolela!
Wath’ umntu nants’ inkongolo yokufa,
Iza ngebhaqo kwelase mzini.
Kwingxingw’ ephakathi kwenkunz’ ezimbini. . . .

Hamba nzwan’ enkulu yakwa Cizama!

Nguwen’ uyakuty’ isithubi no Thixo.
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   163

Thina ma Xhos’ asimz’ ufayo

Sigwetywa ngovuko lwabafileyo
Ukufa kuthi yinzuzo nengenelo.
Luba kulap’ amandla azuzwa khona;
Kuba kulap’ amend’ azuzwa khona;
Hamba Cizama sikuvumele,
Wasa kusilibal’ aph’ e Nyangwaneni.
Ncincilili!
Ncincilili!!
Ncincilili!!!48

Those who were there say the hero from Ngqika’s land
descended from heroes was standing aside now as the ship
was sinking! As a chaplain he had the opportunity to board a
boat and save himself, but he didn’t! He was appealing to the
leaderless soldiers urging them to stay calm, and die like heroes
on their way to war. We hear that he said:

Now then stay calm my countrymen!

Calmly face your death!
This is what you came to do!
This is why you left your homes!
Peace, our own brave warriors!
Peace, you sons of heroes,
this is your final day today,
prepare for the ultimate ford! . . .

With the sinking of this ship, the Xhosa people lost their
dependable sons; but when the name of this chaplain was
mentioned among the dead, the nation was dealt a grievous
blow. Clearly Xhosa himself suffered a severe wound, a massive
loss, at the setting of this brilliant star of his.

48. The Bantu World (19 January 1935: 6); the full article is reprinted, with
translation, in Wauchope (2008: 399–411) and Mqhayi (2009: 470–85).
164   BOOKS

Ow!!!
Nojoli’s cry was heard,
the keening cry of Rharhabe’s wife,
daughter of Nomagwayi of eMbo,
bewailing the beauty swept out to sea,
saying death hadn’t claimed them, they were growing in
strength!
Peace, Phalo’s people,
Ngconde’s, Butsolobentonga’s.
At times like these a nation despairs.
Chizama’s star has set,
the Xhosa nation’s back is broken!
The best of stars we took such pride in,
the animal cub died while talking,
died giving heart, securing his testament!
Someone said what an unseemly death,
suddenly coming in alien territory,
in a strait between two bulls. . . .

Go, prince of Chizama’s place!

You’ll be eating porridge with God.
We Xhosa people never die,
we’re judged when the dead arise,
death to us is profit and gain,
for there we get our strength,
for there we get our speed.
Go, Chizama, we grant you leave.
Never forget us there in the highest.
I end there!
I end there!!
There I end!!!

The bible is eminently susceptible to literary appropriation. It can

be the object of humour and parody, as in an American “street corner
song”:
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   165

Samson was a strong man of the John L. Sullivan school,

He slew ten thousand Philistines with the jawbone of a
mule.
But Delilah captured him and filled him full of gin,
Slashed off his hair and the coppers run him in.

Samson was a husky guy as everyone should know,

He used to lift five hundred pounds as strong man in his
show.
One week the bill was rotten, all the actors had a souse,
But the strong-man act of Samson’s, it just brought down
the house.49

Mqhayi’s intention in U-Samson was graver, less flippant, closer to

Zora Neale Hurston’s in her novel Moses: Man of the Mountain (1939),
in which she drew parallels with the situation of African Americans
by giving black folk speech to her Hebrew characters. Like Hurston’s
Harlem Renaissance novel and the American street song, Mqhayi seems
to have incorporated explicit links between the biblical narrative and
his own times; it is clear from the newspaper correspondence that
contemporary readers readily drew political parallels, identifying
Samson with W.B. Rubusana, recognising Samson as a hero who
actively resisted his people’s oppression.
In 1909 Henry Masila Ndawo’s allegorical novel Uhambo luka
Gqoboka (Convert’s journey), indebted to Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s
Progress, was published by the Lovedale Institution. According to
Gérard, “[it] tells the story of an African’s indomitable struggle to give
up heathenism and embrace the Christian faith”.50 Laetitia Kakaza wrote
two pious novels that were published in 1913, Intyatyambo yomzi (The
flower of the home), “dealing with the fortitude of a girl who overcame
temptations until the day of her death”,51 and 1914, UTandiwe wakwa
Gcaleka (Tandiwe of the Gcaleka). Mqhayi’s U-Samson, unlike these
works, used biblical material to political ends: it was secular in intent.

49. Cohen (1952: 299).

50. Gérard (1971: 63).
51. Gérard (1971: 65).
166   BOOKS

His second novel, Ityala lamawele (The case of the twins), published
in the same year as Kakaza’s second novel, was set in earlier times,
and was designed to demonstrate that the Xhosa had developed a
legal system independent of white jurisprudence. Mqhayi achieved
widespread celebrity as a Xhosa author. He was accorded the honorific
soubriquet Imbongi yesizwe jikelele (the poet of the entire country), for
rising above parochial considerations and addressing the black people
of South Africa as a whole. Mqhayi sought the well-being of all of
South Africa’s black people, unfailingly political as an imbongi or a
writer. In Wandile Kuse’s view,

[his] first novel, an adaptation of the biblical story of “Samson

and Delilah”, entitled USamson (1907), offered a critique of
South African society in the years following the Anglo-Boer
War. He conceived of the “natives” as the impotent “sleeping
giant” who, in the words of Shakespeare’s Mercutio, willed and
wished “a plague on both your houses”. The image was sustained
by the Titan’s act which brought to ruin the edifice constructed
by the collusion of liberal white men and reactionary racists at
the expense of the indigenous peoples of South Africa. Mqhayi
was always aware that the intrusion of Europeans into the
patterns of behaviour and politics of Africans was not always
gentle and altruistic.52

In his autobiography, Mqhayi writes of Izwi labantu:

Iphepha livalwe sendikhe ndabhala, ndashicilelwa

incwadana egama ndathi, nguSamson; yashicilelwa
eLovedale. Badywidana abantu ngayo yaphela. Baye beyibuka
beyithakazelela kakhulu; kuba neencwadi zesiXhosa oko
zazingekabi ngakanani. Isamana ukubuzwa nangoku loo
ncwadana kum. Ndithembise ukuba iza kushicilelwa, iimeko
zakulunga.53

52. Kuse (1978: 50).

53. Mqhayi ([1939] 1964: 68).
 THE FIRST XHOSA NOVEL   167

Before the paper was closed, I had written a pamphlet

entitled Samson and had it printed at Lovedale. People soon
bought out the edition, and spoke in high terms about it. Further
there was not much of Xhosa literature in those days. Enquiries
for a second edition are still made, and I hope to republish it as
soon as circumstances permit.54

Circumstances never did permit, but to his unsurpassed contributions

to Xhosa literature may now be added S.E.K. Mqhayi’s singular
achievement as the author of the first Xhosa novel.

54. Scott (1976: 29).

8

The publication of A.C. Jordan’s novel,

Ingqumbo yeminyanya (1940)

In 1976 I visited Lovedale regularly. I was spending a year as

University Fellow at the Institute of Social and Economic Research
at Rhodes University in Grahamstown, and my research into Xhosa
literature led me to Lovedale, on a rutted road just beyond the waning
eastern Cape town of Alice straddling the banks of the Tyhume River.
The Lovedale Mission enjoys an enviable record of achievement
in secondary education in South Africa, especially black education,
an achievement chronicled amongst others by R.H.W. Shepherd,
Lovedale’s last principal from 1942 until 1955; in 1955 the Governing
Council met for the last time before transmitting control of the school
to the South African government under the provisions of the Bantu
Education Act (No. 47 of 1953).1 The Lovedale Press, however, was
not affected by the terms of the Act, and continued to produce works of
literature in Xhosa and other southern African languages. In this field it
boasts an unrivalled record: the Xhosa language was printed for the first
time in 1823 in the Tyhume valley, Lovedale was the leading mission
institution that contributed to the development and early flowering of
Xhosa literature through the publication of newspapers and journals
in the nineteenth century, and Lovedale published the overwhelming

1. Shepherd (1941). I am indebted to the late Phyllis Ntantala, A.C. Jordan’s widow,
for reading and commenting on a draft of the original article on which this chapter
is based, for offering me the benefit of her personal recollections, and for much
else besides. I am also grateful to the De Beers Chairman’s Fund Educational Trust
for a grant that facilitated my research into Xhosa literature in 1984 and 1985,
during which time I was able to examine the Cory Library holdings in detail.

168
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   169

majority of the classics of Xhosa literature in the twentieth century.

From 1932 to 1958, during the heyday of this publishing enterprise,
Shepherd served as director of the Press. In the mid-seventies, Lovedale
(in traumatic transition yet again) was for me a fruitful source of early
editions of Xhosa books and pamphlets, garnered from dusty piles in
derelict sheds. So I made a point of frequently calling on the managing
director of the Press, Rob Raven.
On one such visit, Raven and I descended a narrow flight of worn
wooden steps and turned a corner down an ill-lit corridor cramped by
piles of papers stuffed into four tomato crates measuring about 1 m
by 50 cm by 50 cm. “What’s this?” I asked. “Oh, that’s just rubbish
we’re clearing out,” Raven replied, showing no interest. I paused to
leaf through some of the papers, and was immediately struck by what
I saw. I urged Raven not to discard the boxes, and raced anxiously
back to Grahamstown to meet hurriedly with Michael Berning, head
of the Cory Library for Historical Research at Rhodes University;
arrangements were speedily concluded, and a few weeks later I returned
to Lovedale to load the boxes into the trunk of a car and transfer them
to safe-keeping in the Cory Library. The contents far exceeded the high
expectations aroused by my cursory inspection, and now constitute an
indispensable collection for the study of the as-yet-unwritten history of
Xhosa literature and the operation of the Lovedale Press.2 Amongst those
papers, for example, was the unique typescript of Sol Plaatje’s Mhudi
(1930), the first English novel published by a black South African; the
typescript formed the basis of Stephen Gray’s revised edition of Mhudi
in 1978. The papers included copies of Shepherd’s correspondence
with authors, readers’ reports, minutes of committee meetings, and
printing accounts. The collection has prompted an assessment of
Shepherd’s virtual control of Xhosa publishing that is somewhat at
variance with the image of the benign patron he himself provides in his
own writings.3 In 1940, the Lovedale Press issued a novel written by
a promising teacher from Kroonstad, A.C. Jordan. Jordan’s Ingqumbo

2. No surveys of the history of Xhosa literature have any pretensions to completeness,

but aspects of that history can be found in the works cited in footnote 20 of
chapter 1 above.
3. See Peires (1980), Opland (2017: chapter 12) and White (1992).
170   BOOKS

yeminyanya (The wrath of the ancestors) has come to be recognised as

the finest novel ever produced in Xhosa. Persistent rumours assert that
Shepherd initially refused to publish the novel unless Jordan altered
the conclusion, or that Shepherd (or the Department of Education)
deliberately delayed its publication. Shepherd’s correspondence with
Jordan is among the Lovedale papers on deposit in the Cory Library.
The history of the publication of Ingqumbo yeminyanya can now be
established.4
Z.S. Qangule offers the following account of Jordan’s early career:

Archibald Campbell Jordan was born in the rural village of

Mbokothwana, in the district of Tsolo, Transkei, on 30 October
1906. He obtained his early education at Tsolo.
After taking a teacher’s training course at St John’s College,
Umtata, he proceeded to Lovedale on a merit bursary, and later
to Fort Hare, where he took the B.A. degree.
In January 1935 he took up a teaching post in Kroonstad,
in one of the first urban secondary schools for Africans in the
country, and after a while he accepted a temporary post at
Healdtown High School. But at the beginning of 1936 he was
back in his old post in Kroonstad, where he remained until the
end of 1944.5

Jordan makes his first appearance in the social columns in the 4 August
1934 issue of Umteteli wa Bantu (a weekly newspaper under black
editorial control published by the Chamber of Mines in Johannesburg),
where he is shown in a photograph of the bridal party at the wedding
on 27 June of Mr A. Madala (Jordan’s uncle) to Miss E.R. Mbebe at
St John’s, Mthatha. From 1935 on, the contributions of Umteteli’s
Kroonstad correspondent are frequently graced by a photograph (always
the same photograph) of a youthful, earnest Jordan. His departure for
Healdtown is noted on 15 June 1935 (“Kroonstad loses a man of learning
and of musical ability”: 6), and his return to Kroonstad is noted on 18

4. Unless otherwise noted, all quotations from Shepherd’s correspondence in this

chapter are from Cory MS 16, 314(c).
5. Qangule (1974: 1).
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   171

January 1936 (“Mr. Jordan’s educational and academic attainments and

the part he has played in the student life are well known”: 5). On 20
June, Umteteli recorded Jordan’s election as chairman of the Kroonstad
branch of the African Teachers’ Association and then, under the heading
“African literature”, continued:

Mr. Archibald C. Jordan, B.A., senior Lecturer in English of the

United Bantu School, President, Local Teachers’ Association, is
a budding author. He has under print a Xosa novel “Ingqumbo
Yeminyanya,” being an epic depicting the first contact of the
early Africans with Western civilisation. Mr. Jordan is a rising
exponent of Bantu thought.

This is the earliest public announcement of Jordan’s literary aspirations,

and of the theme of his novel, though it was a little premature to
announce that the novel was “under print”.
It was not until early in 1938 that Jordan approached the Lovedale
Press about publication of Ingqumbo yeminyana. The earliest item in
Cory MS 16, 314(c) is a letter from Jordan to the manager of the press
written from Mbokotwana, Tsolo on 12 January. Jordan introduces
himself as the author of a novel “written in the New Orthography, 6 and
the theme is strictly original and typically African”. Jordan mentions
that W.G. Bennie has read the novel in manuscript and thought highly of
it; he asks if Lovedale would be interested in seeing the work. Shepherd
replied on 19 January, inviting Jordan to submit his manuscript. On
5 February, Jordan writes to say that the manuscript has been sent by
registered mail. He continues:

I send herewith a summary of the plot. In this summary I have

all but omitted the first part, which is mainly a description of
the hero’s youthful days, his adventurous arrival from abroad,
and the attempts made by the regent chief – the villain of the
story – to murder him. But I hope the summary I have given
you will give you an idea of the main theme.

6. The orthography was introduced in 1937: see Opland (2017: chapter 13).
172   BOOKS

Jordan’s three-page handwritten summary of his novel is in the Cory

file:

IngQumbo yemiNyanya.
(Summary of Plot)
Zwelinzima, a young Pondomise chief who has had his
education at Lovedale and Fort Hare, returns to rule his own
people after nineteen years of absence. He finds that it was his
father’s dying wish that he should marry a Baca princess – an
uneducated young woman. With the support of the educated
Christian section, and in spite of the protestations of the
“Reds,”7 he ignores his father’s wish and marries Thembeka, a
clever young woman whom he had known and loved during his
school days at Lovedale. She is a Fingo girl and no princess.
Together they at once work hard for the upliftment of the tribe.
They help all progressive movements in the district. The chief
is a clear-minded man and a good debater. He soons [sic] shines
in the Transkeian Bunga, and is made representative of that
Council in the Fort Hare Governing Council.
But he soon finds that there is an undercurrent of suspicion
among the “Reds.” They are prejudiced against his wife who
is other than the “Ancestors’ choice” and who is no princess.
She and the chief do not respect the old tribal traditions which
are interwoven with superstition. In fact, the two are fighting
tooth and nail to root out superstition. In her confinement
the queen is sent to St Lucy’s Hospital at St Cuthbert’s,
and when the young prince is born the tribal ceremonies
are not observed. Nor is the queen “visited” by the tribal
totem, a snake that is supposed to visit Pondomise queens in
confinement. The “Red’s” explanation is that the Ancestors
are wroth because the queen is not their choice, and she does

7. Xhosa-speaking people who adhered to traditional systems of belief and continued

to wear blankets dyed in red ochre as distinct from the European dress assumed by
converts to Christianity were known as amaqaba, those who smear ochre, a term
translated awkwardly as “red” or “red blanket”: see Dubb (1966); Pauw (1975).
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   173

not “hlonipha”.8 When the “Ancestor” does “visit” the child at

last, the queen kills the “Ancestor”! To save her life the chief
takes her to her own people.
During her absence the “Reds” clamour for “a real
queen” – the Baca princess. The Fingos are called “amaveza-
ndlebe” (bastards)9 and driven away from the tribal meetings.
The Christian Pondomise dissociate themselves with any move
to force the chief to marry the Baca princess while his Christian
wife lives. They therefore follow the Fingos.
There is a definite division. The “Reds” try to force the chief,
but he is stubborn. They therefore accuse the chief of serving
the “trousers-wearing” section only, and thus “dividing his own
father’s womb.” They subsequently aim a very effective blow at
the chief by boycotting all the schools, and threatening violence
on the teachers. A Christian sub-chief who accompanies the
Father Superior of St. Cuthbert’s to collect schoolchildren is
brutally murdered, and Father Williams himself is saved by a
woman who throws herself over his prostrate body before he
is beaten to death. An African minister is nearly murdered near
Nqadu. A “Red” uncle of the chief, who is just beginning to
see truth, is assassinated near the village of Tsolo after making
a brilliant speech in which he encouraged the chief to make a
“tremendous sacrifice” for the unity of the tribe – even if the
chief himself has to be victim. Civil war begins to take definite
shape. The followers of the murdered sub-chiefs want to avenge
their leaders. The only person who can avert it is the chief by
giving in to the “Reds” who still clamour for the Baca princess.
Amidst a fierce mental conflict the chief resigns himself, and
consents to make a formal marriage with the Baca princess.
Before the marriage takes place, Thembeka the queen who
can no longer stand the strain, runs mad. (Of course the “Reds”
conclude that this is punishment from the wrathful Ancestors).

8. Ukuhlonipha is the practice observed by a woman of showing respect to the senior

male members of her husband’s family by the avoidance of uttering any of the
syllables of their names: see Finlayson (1978).
9. Literally, those who are just beginning to show their ears and hence, more properly
“upstarts”.
174   BOOKS

Thembeka one day snatches her little son and runs away with
him. She tries to jump over a flooded river and she and the baby
are drowned.
The sad chief feels he must follow, and a week later his
dead body is fished out of the pool where his wife’s body was
found.

Shepherd acknowledged receipt of the manuscript in a letter to

Jordan dated 10 February 1938. A handwritten note on the copy of the
letter records that Shepherd handed the manuscript to I. Oldjohn “to
examine” on 21 February. Oldjohn wrote to Shepherd on 14 March to
say that he found the novel “most fascinating”, and enclosed a report,
only the third page of which survives:

In conclusion, the author reveals himself as one who can really

conceive an interesting plot, with interesting characters, and
keep the story and the personages going without getting bogged
in rhetoric and irrelevance. The MS has pains and cleverness
enough spent on it to make it one of the foremost Xhosa novels.
I, therefore, recommend publication in its present form.

The last sentence is struck through, and underneath it Shepherd wrote

“(Conclusion of Mr Oldjohn’s quote)”.10 Shepherd called for a printer’s
quote, and A.D. McNab (Publications and Bookstore Manager at
Lovedale, 1929–1954) wrote back to say that “[t]he published price of
a 1000 edition of this book would be 7/6 and of a 2000 edition, 6/-.”
The typewritten figure 2000 is underlined twice in ink: presumably it
was Shepherd’s decision to print the larger quantity. Shepherd wrote to
Jordan on 6 May 1938:

With reference to our previous correspondence regarding

your MS. INGQUMBO YEMINYANYA, we have given it
very careful consideration. I would like to congratulate you

10. The first two pages of Oldjohn’s original report might be missing because they
were used in setting Oldjohn’s review of the novel (Oldjohn 1940).
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   175

on producing a novel which is likely to take a high place in

literature of its kind.
We would have preferred to see the story end in a different
fashion. There is a suggestion of the triumph of evil over good.
I understand, however, that you have fully discussed this matter
with Mr. Bennie and that you do not see your way, from an
artistic point of view, to alter the end.
We would be prepared to publish a two thousand edition
of the book, to sell at 6/- per copy and to allow you a royalty
of 10% on the first edition, 12½% on the second and 15% on
the third and subsequent editions. I attach specimen form of
agreement and shall be glad to know whether it meets with your
approval. If so I shall send it completed and in duplicate for
your signature.

Jordan replied on 10 May to say “how exceedingly glad” he was at

the acceptance of the manuscript for publication. He thanked Shepherd
“heartily for the kind things you say about it”, and indicated his
approval of the specimen form of agreement. Shepherd sent the forms
of agreement for Jordan’s signature on 18 May 1938, three months and
one week after receiving the manuscript.
If there was little delay in processing the manuscript, it was to be
almost two years before the book was finally published. On 23 April
1938 Umteteli’s Kroonstad correspondent announced the impending
publication of the novel. Under the heading “New African (Bantu)
Books” and accompanied by the now-familiar photograph of Jordan,
the short report read:

Mr. A.C. Jordan, B.A., Senior English Lecturer of the High

School of the United Bantu School here, informs me that he
expects publication of his Xosa book to be made soon. Mr.
Jordan added that he was busy writing short Xosa stories. Mr.
Jordan is a past president of the local Teachers’ Association and
a Vice-President of the O.F.S. African Teachers’ Association.11

11 . Umteteli (23 April 1938: 7).

176   BOOKS

Umteteli’s correspondent from Lovedale-Alice, “Spectator”, reported

later in the year on a trip undertaken by Rev. J.J.R. Jolobe of the
Lovedale Bible School to the Orange Free State, where he met a number
of alumni of Lovedale and Fort Hare, Jordan among them:

His first novel, which is being printed and published by the

Lovedale Press, will soon be out. All lovers of Bantu literature
should get a copy of this book. It deals with the clash of cultures
– between the Western and the African.12

But Jordan’s expectations of early publication were not fulfilled. On

29 December 1938 he wrote to Shepherd from Mbokotwana School,
Tsolo to express his anxiety:

Although you did not state anything definitely to me,

I was hoping that at the latest I would see the first proofs of
“IngQumbo yeminNyanya” during the Christmas Holidays,
so that I could go through them during the quiet time in the
country.
As I am busy collecting material for another literary work
I should like to know when I shall be able to look through the
proofs, for I should like to arrange a suitable programme.

To which Shepherd gently responded on 5 January 1939:

I regret that owing to the pressure of other immediate work

we were unable to have your MS. set up before the end of the
year. I regret too that I cannot say when it will be undertaken
but I trust its publication will not be unduly delayed. I may
mention that your experience is one which almost all authors
pass through.

Nothing else in the file dates from 1939, but the following year was a
busy one for Jordan. The Mthatha newspaper Umthunywa carried a report

12. Umteteli (13 August 1938: 19).

 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   177

on 19 January 1940 of Jordan’s wedding on 2 January to Priscilla P.

Nonkosi Ntantala at the bride’s home mission of Duff, Idutywa. 13
Ingqumbo yeminyanya seems to have been published in March of
1940. Shepherd sent out complimentary copies, and the earliest reply
in the file, dated 21 March, testifies to the pre-publication reputation of
the novel. Janet P. McCall wrote to Shepherd from the Library of the
South African Native College, Fort Hare, to thank him for the book.
She continues:

It is already in circulation, and before it arrived I had requests

for it; so you can see it is going to lead a very active life here.
The fact that Jordan was a student here, of course, stimulates
interest; but I believe he was a clever fellow, and doubtless the
book in itself is good.

Another expression of gratitude comes from G.P. Lestrade, Professor of

African Languages at the University of Cape Town, but the novel evokes
a less enthusiastic response from official sources: on 21 November 1940
the Controller of Stores in the Department of the Administrator, Cape
Province, writes with regret to inform Shepherd that “the Department
is not prepared to accept for inclusion in the catalogue of books and
requisites approved for use in the primary schools your publication
‘Ingqumbo Yeminyanya’, and the fee paid by you at the time this book
was submitted is accordingly forfeited”.
But in the black press the reaction to the publication was almost
universally enthusiastic. The oldest independent black newspaper, Imvo
zabantsundu, published in King William’s Town, devoted leaders to the
new publication on its editorial page in Xhosa on 27 April and in English
(under the heading “A brilliant novel”) on 4 May. The latter refers to
the novel as “easily the best production in the Xhosa tongue”. N.K.
praised the richness of the diction and the author’s deep knowledge of
custom and ways of speech in Umteteli.14 G.C.’s review in Umthunywa
summarises the plot, and comments on the conclusion: “The misfortune
is not allowed to fall only upon the progressive Christian party, but it

13. Ntantala’s autobiography, A Life’s Mosaic, was published in 1992.

14. Umteteli (27 April 1940: 10).
178   BOOKS

is certainly a triumph (apparently) for the backward people. The ‘Wrath

of the Ancestors’ is made visible to them. I hope the author would say
the triumph is only temporary.”15 In his obituary of Jordan, Daniel
Kunene (one of Jordan’s students at Kroonstad and at the University of
Cape Town, and subsequently Jordan’s successor at the University of
Wisconsin at Madison) recalled the immediate effect of the novel:

Ingqumbo yeminyanya had burst into the South African Bantu-

language literary scene, and had immediately been recognized
as being a great tragedy, the creation of a master mind. Students
at boarding schools and colleges broke residence regulations
by continuing to read the gripping story after lights-off, with
candles sheltered under blankets against the tell-tale windows.
Illiterate men who had heard about it got school-boys to read it
to them and would not let them be until they had read the last
word.16

Despite reservations such as both Shepherd and Umthunywa’s

reviewer expressed about the conclusion, reservations that were
probably shared by readers in the Department of the Administrator
acting as arbiters of what impressionable schoolchildren should read,
the reputation of Ingqumbo yeminyanya is today unimpaired: it has
few challengers for the title of the most accomplished novel ever
produced in Xhosa. Scholarly articles and dissertations are devoted to
its analysis. A dramatised version was performed in Port Elizabeth in
1960, and the novel was frequently serialised for radio broadcast; a film
script was prepared in 1979, and the novel was serialised for television.
But although the Lovedale Press subsequently published both Jordan’s
collection of essays and stories Kwezo mpindo zeTsitsa (Along the
banks of the Tsitsa River, 1972) and his translation of Ingqumbo
yeminyanya (under the title The wrath of the ancestors in 1980), they

15. Umthunywa (24 May 1940: 5).

16. Kunene (1969: 26). The South African Outlook 98 (1968) carried a set of
obituaries under the heading “A.C. Jordan – a tribute” by Lincoln Mkentane
(“The man”: 193), F.J. Rumsey (“His roots”: 194), Harold Scheub, one of
Jordan’s Wisconsin students (“Teacher”: 194), and S.M. Tindleni (“Author”: 194,
200). See also Kaschula (1992).
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   179

were a long time in coming and, indeed, both volumes appeared after
Jordan’s death in 1968. The manager of the Lovedale Press, Rob Raven,
wrote to Mrs Jordan shortly after Jordan’s death to say that Lovedale
had in its possession the manuscript of Kwezo mpindo zeTsitsa, and
that they would be eager to publish it; she gave her consent. Jordan
had submitted a draft of his translation of Ingqumbo yeminyanya to
Ronald Segal, former editor of Africa South (which originally published
Jordan’s series of twelve articles “Towards an African literature”
between 1957 and 1960); Segal liked parts of it, but was uncomfortable
with Jordan’s archaic, Victorian English and advised him to redraft it
in a more modern style. Preoccupied with his doctoral dissertation (the
degree was awarded by the University of Cape Town in 1956), and then
disrupted by his emigration to the United States (in 1961), Jordan set
the project aside until he had settled in Madison. After Jordan’s death,
Raven approached Mrs Jordan about the translation, and expressed
Lovedale’s interest in it. Mrs Jordan revised the manuscript slightly
(“I just crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s,” she told me), and submitted
it in the late seventies. R.L. Peteni of the English Department at the
University of Fort Hare served as Lovedale’s reader, and recommended
it for publication. Lovedale published it in 1980 as “translated from the
original by the Author with the help of Priscilla P. Jordan”.
The Cory Library file records the strain that developed in relations
between Jordan and Shepherd following the publication of Ingqumbo
yeminyanya in 1940. On 1 March 1945, Shepherd wrote to Jordan
about a manuscript of his – certainly the collection we know he was
working on in 1938, subsequently published as Kwezo mpindo zeTsitsa
– that was still under consideration by the Press: “it is not yet definitely
accepted, though I expect it will soon be.” And four years later, on 8
November 1949, Jordan wrote to Shepherd from the School of African
Studies at the University of Cape Town (where he had been appointed a
lecturer in 1946):

With the help of one or two of my past students (English-

speaking) I am preparing an English translation of INGQUMBO
YEMINYANYA for publication. Kindly let me know at your
earliest convenience if there are any formalities to be observed
between the Lovedale Press and myself in this matter.
180   BOOKS

At this stage, Shepherd’s Lovedale correspondence file reveals no overt

tension between him and Jordan, but the tone soon changes for the
worse.
Shepherd replies to Jordan’s enquiry about the translation of
Ingqumbo yeminyanya on 15 November 1949, pointing out that “the
MS. belongs to us as the original publishers, and any use made of it
in another connection would be required to be referred to us, with full
particulars, for negotiation”. Jordan fires a response from Crawford
near Cape Town on 18 January 1950:

In reply to your letter of 15th November, 1949, I wish to

state that in my reading of the contract, while the Lovedale
Press is “the sole printers and publishers” of INGQUMBO
YEMINYANYA, the original MS is nevertheless my property.
Further, since the contract makes no mention of translation
rights, I think I am at liberty to make use of the original MS for
purposes of translation and negotiate directly with any publisher
I fancy.
Yours faithfully,

[signed] A.C. Jordan

P.S. Kindly acknowledge receipt of this leeter [sic].

[signed] A.C. Jordan

Shepherd’s response is curt and testy. On 16 February he writes to

Jordan:

Your letter of 18th ulto. was duly received. As it is clear that

you wish to put relationships between yourself as author and
ourselves as publishers on a purely legal footing, we are quite
willing that this should be done.

The gauntlet is picked up, and the matter passes into legal hands.
Joseph Urdang, Attorney-at-Law in Athlone, Cape, writes to Shepherd
on 2 March 1950 (the letter is signed by J. Viljoen, a typist in Urdang’s
office), to say that he has in hand Jordan’s letter of 18 January and
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   181

Shepherd’s reply of 16 February, he endorses his client’s contention

about translation rights, and calls on Shepherd to accept this position.
Shepherd’s prickly reply is dated 17 March:

We have received your letter of 3rd March [sic] re Mr A.C.

Jordan and INGQUMBU [sic] YEMINYANYA. We would point
out that the Form of Agreement constitutes the Lovedale Press
as the sole printers and publishers of the work. There is nothing
in the Agreement stipulating that the author has reserved to
himself the rights of translation.
May I mention that one of my own works, published in
London, was translated into Chinese, but the original publishers
in English, did not consult me before arranging for this. They
acted on the terms of my form of Agreement with them which
was similar to that of the Lovedale Press with Mr Jordan.
If the legal position is as Mr Jordan and you interpret it, we
see no reason for our having been consulted at all, originally or
even now.
May we point out that the original publication was carried
through by us at big initial cost to the Lovedale Press but
with not a penny of cost to Mr. Jordan. We admit that we
have not lost by this, but it is the first time in our experience
that an author has not shown ordinary appreciation of such
circumstances by proposing that the Lovedale Press should
undertake the publication of any translation he desired, and so
leaving it to us to suggest that he seek publication elsewhere if
we desired to do so.
We would only add, that, despite the foregoing, we are
not now interested in any English translation on INGQUMBO
YEMINYANYA and we give him every right to negotiate
elsewhere. When the relationship of author and publisher is put
on the footing Mr. Jordan favours, it is not worth extending or
even maintaining.

The final item in Cory MS 16, 314(c) is a terse acknowledgement of

receipt of this letter by Urdang (the letter is signed by S. Peterson, a
clerk in Urdang’s employ) on 21 March 1950.
182   BOOKS

It is evident from the second paragraph of his letter to Jordan on

6 May 1938 that Shepherd was uncomfortable with the conclusion of
the novel and that he was in communication with W.G. Bennie on this
point prior to the publication of the novel. In 1955 he wrote of Jordan’s
novel:

One book, however, has been an exception. A.C. Jordan’s

Ingumbo Yeminyana was on a larger scale than former novels,
and it was an ambitious attempt to reveal the workings of the
African soul as it awakened to the claims of a higher type of
life, while yet set in a pagan environment and fighting a grim
fight with conservative and reactionary forces. But more: the
author showed himself to have a conception of artistic values
that was praiseworthy. At the close of the book the forces of
evil, of paganism and reaction, win, and there is a veritable
blood-bath. Some who read the book in manuscript begged
the author to give it a different and more happy ending. But
he turned a deaf ear to such pleadings. “This is how it came to
me,” he declared, and declined to do violence to his own artistic
conceptions.17

Nonetheless it is clear from Shepherd’s correspondence files that he did

not assume the position that Lovedale would publish the novel only if
Jordan altered the ending, nor did he (or the Department of Education)
restrain its publication. Nor is it true that Shepherd “refused to concede
the author the right to publish a translation of his great novel Ingqumbo
yemiNyanya (The Wrath of the Ancestors), elsewhere”;18 Shepherd
explicitly relinquished that right to Jordan in the final paragraph of his
letter to Urdang dated 17 March 1950.
In March of 1945 Shepherd had the manuscript of Jordan’s Kwezo
mpindo zeTsitsa in hand and hoped to publish it soon, but Lovedale
finally published the book only in 1972, after Jordan’s death and on
the initiative of Rob Raven. Can Shepherd be blamed for the inordinate
delay in the publication of Jordan’s collection of essays and short

17. Shepherd (1955: 179).

18. Peires (1980: 74).
 T H E P U B L I C AT I O N O F A.C. J O R D A N'S N O V E L   183

stories? Mrs Jordan recalls that by the time he took up his post at the
University of Cape Town in 1946 Jordan had at least a verbal agreement
with Shepherd that Lovedale would publish the volume. Lovedale
experienced an unsettling strike in 1946, and after 1950 lived with the
knowledge that it would lose its independence under the provisions
of the Bantu Education Act. In this period of radical uncertainty, the
activities of the Press were curtailed. Shepherd’s successor as director
of the Press, R.J. White, was a bookbinder by trade, and Lovedale’s
publication programme seems to have faltered until Raven assumed
control as White’s successor. Jordan was impatient at the delay in
publication, but never angry, and he never held Shepherd accountable
for it, according to Mrs Jordan, despite their differences over the
translation rights to Ingqumbo yeminyanya.
As director of the Lovedale Press, R.H.W. Shepherd was certainly
capable of heavy-handed censorship and suppression of manuscripts
he found uncongenial to Lovedale’s mission, but he informed
A.C. Jordan three months after receipt of the manuscript of Ingqumbo
yeminyanya that Lovedale was willing to publish the novel, and, despite
wartime shortages, to its credit the Lovedale Press published the most
distinguished novel yet produced in the Xhosa language only two years
after its receipt.
9

The earliest published poem on Nelson

Mandela (1954)

The late D.L.P. Yali-Manisi had little luck with his early poetry
published in books. His first major publication, Izibongo zeenkosi zama-
Xhosa (Izibongo of Xhosa chiefs), was published by the Lovedale Press
in 1952, when the poet was 23 years old. As a pupil at Lovedale, with
a burgeoning public career as an imbongi, Manisi had submitted two
manuscripts of poetry to R.H.W. Shepherd, principal of Lovedale and
director of the Lovedale Press: Izibongo zeenkosi zama-Xhosa and Zabuy’
iindlezan’ entlazaneni (The suckling cows return to morning pasture).
In 1948, Shepherd expelled Manisi from Lovedale for “disturbing the
peace” by singing the praises of a pupil involved in an altercation;
in 1952 Lovedale published both volumes of poetry under the title
Izibongo zeenkosi zama-Xhosa, with Zabuy’ iindlezan’ entlazaneni
featuring puzzlingly as a subtitle. Manisi was paid a flat sum of £25 and
was offered no royalties, which is perhaps just as well: the book was
issued in the orthography introduced in 1937, which was supplanted
in 1955. It was redundant as soon as it was published; it achieved little
distribution and sales. Perhaps as a result of this experience, Manisi
himself paid for the printing of his second volume of poetry, Inguqu
(A return home), by a Queenstown printer in 1954. Manisi seems to
have been unaware that the printer was not a publisher. He took some
copies himself, which he distributed personally; the balance remained
with the printer, who did nothing to distribute them. A third volume of
poetry was lost by the Transkei education minister to whom it had been
submitted. Over twenty years after the printing of Inguqu the Institute
of Social and Economic Research at Rhodes University published three

184
 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   185

more volumes of Manisi’s poetry (in 1977, 1980 and 1983), but only
300 copies of each were printed and distribution was ineffective. The
Institute subsequently transferred the rights to Via Afrika, which issued
only one of the volumes, the epic poem Imfazwe kaMlanjeni (Mlanjeni’s
war), in 1991.1
The slim, 36-page Inguqu contained a Preface by Dorrington
Nobaza, the poet’s great-uncle, which explained the significance of the
title:

Eli gama ke liqheleke kakhulu kwintetho yesiXhosa. Eyona

nto lithetha yona kukuthi wakuba ulahlekile okanye emva
kokuba ubalekile wemka endaweni yakho ubuye uphindele
kuyo; ulikhumbule ikamva lakho ngemvo nomxhelo. Kule
ncwadana ke umfo kaYali-Manisi uthi ma sikhumbule ikamva
lethu; ma sibuyele intetho yethu sifunde ukuzaakha ngezithethe
zethu namasiko ethu, nje ngoko wobona umfundi kwimfundiso
yezibongo ezikule ncwadi.2

This term is common in Xhosa lore. The real meaning is that

if you leave your original home – perhaps you get lost or run
away – and then you return home, you become aware of your
traditions in your emotions and conscience. In this booklet the
son of Yali-Manisi urges us to be sensitive to our past, to return
to our language and learn to build ourselves up through our
traditions and customs, as the reader will perceive through the
lesson of the poetry in this book.

The penultimate item was a remarkable poem honouring and

encouraging Nelson Mandela, the earliest recorded poem about the
future president of South Africa, astonishingly percipient of his
character and potential, and remarkably prophetic about his future and

1. For a detailed account of Manisi’s life and career, including many of his poems
in translation, see Opland (2005); for an attempt to divine Manisi’s literary
motivations, see Neser (2011).
2. Yali-Manisi (1954: i).
186   BOOKS

that of Africa’s emergent nations. The book was printed in the 1937
orthography, updated here by the poet:

UNkosi Rolihlahla Nelson Mandela

(Aa! Zwe-liya-shukuma!)

Ilizwe liya shukuma maLawu ndini!

Iintlambo zonke ziya xokozela;
Iintaba zonke ziya didizela;
Izizw’ ezikhulu zimangalisiwe;
Kuba izizwana ziya gqushalaza.
Ziya qhashambula, ziya binyalaza.
Inen’ ilizwe liya shukuma,
Inen’ ilizwe liya shukuma.

AA! Zwe-liya-shukuma!
UZwe-liya-shukuma ngumdaka kaMandela,
Umdak’ onobomi wakwaSokhawulela,
KwaDlom’ omdlanga, kwaNgqol’ omsila,
Inxhanxhos’ ehamba ngamadolo yakwaHala,
Intsimb’ edl’ ezinye yakwaNdaba.
UKhala mqadi wafa yintsika,
Umty’ ondindilili wasemaNtandeni.

Umgawuli wezint’ ezisemeveni,

Egec’ iintsunguzi zobudenge;
UMavelel’ iimbombo zomhlaba;
Uzama-zam’ ilizwe lizama-zame;
UMabijel’ ilizwe nje ngechanti.
Izilenz’ elidala kwaweLigwa,
Liye ngokusela kwaweZambesi;
Umkhonzi wezizwe zeAfrika.

Ubakhonzil’ abaMbo nabaNguni;

Wabakhonz’ abeSuthu nabaTshwana;
Wawakhonz’ amaZulu kaSenza-ngaKhona;
Wawakhonz’ amaSwazi namaNdebele;
 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   187

Wawakhonz’ amaTshona, amaNyasa namaKhalanga;

Wadib’ izizw’ ezikhulu nezincinane,
Edal’ umanyano lwamaAfrika,
Ukuz’ inimb’ ibe nye yezizwe.

Yimbuzu-mbuz’ enje ngesinaliti,

Inzwan’ enkulu pakwaMthikrakra;
Umbol’ izizazob’ into kaMandela.
Umafenalwa ziidanga nezidabane;
Umafanelwa yimbol’ engayiqabi,
Azi nge kuyini na beth’ eyiqaba?
Umagxagxamis’ amagxagx’ axhalabe,
Umaphongomis’ izizwe ziphonyoze.

AA! Zwe-liya-shukuma!
AA! Ndlela-zimhlophe kaMandela!
UZwe-liya-shukuma’ elibizwa zizizwe;
UNdlela-zimhloph’ elibizwa yimBongi;
Kub’ udale kwaamhloph’ eAfrika;
Laphum’ ilanga latshis’ ooTshinga-liya-tsha.
Baphutshuk’ ooBakaqana ligqats’ ezinkqayini;
Bagungquz’ ooMgulukudu besoyik’ imbuthu-mbuthu;
Baphongom’ ooReme betshelwe sicheko
Zantantazel’ iinyhwagi zibon’ ukutsha kwelizwe.

Thetha mfo kaMandela! Thetha nkosi yam!

Theth’ ungoyiki kusekh’ impund’ eAfrika!
Ma z’ ungaboyik’ ooS’ wana-sibomvana,
OoSobindeka nooQhinga-libentsile.
Bonga bakubon’ amadlala,
Kanti kukrakr’ inyaniso;
Kuba kamb’ ihlaba ngokwekhala,
Budul’ ububengeqa nobungqwangangqwili.

Thetha mThemb’ ungoyiki kusekh’ amadoda!

Theth’ ungoyiki kusekh’ amadod’ eAfrika!
Mhlawumbi la mathamb’ angarashaza;
188   BOOKS

Lith’ ithambo libuyele kwithambo lalo;

Kub’ uThix’ uSomAndl’ uya lawula,
Uyawa khawulezis’ amaxesh’ aKhe.
Ubukuq’ izikumkan’ ezikhulu,
Aphakamis’ izizwan’ ezidelekileyo.

Thetha kwedin’ akwaZondw’ ungoyiki!

Ungazoyik’ iinyhwagi neembodla.
Nokufa kusakulindele,
Kwaye kusakulungele;
Ube iidini lesizwe sikaNtu,
Kub’ ungumntwan’ egazi ngendalo.
Wavelel’ ukuthwal’ ezo nzingo neenzima,
Ezinye nezinye phezu kwezinye.
Ngaman’ uThixo wakusikelela,
Wakuphumeza, wakuthamsanqelisa,
Uboyis’ ububi neent’ ezimbi.
Ma kube njalo nkosi yam.

Chief Rholihlahla Nelson Mandela (Hail, Earth Tremor!)

The earth’s trembling, sirs!

the rivers all roaring;
the mountains all shaking;
mighty nations are puzzled,
for little nations are writhing,
straining, striving to burst their bonds.
The earth’s trembling indeed,
the earth’s trembling indeed.

Hail, Earth Tremor!

Earth Tremor’s Mandela’s dun-skinned son,
vibrant dun-skin at Sokhawulela’s home,
at armed Dlomo’s, at Ngqolomsila’s,
a secretary bird so tall it stoops in walking at Hala’s home,
iron-eating iron at Ndaba’s home,
“Yell, rafter, the pillar’s your downfall,”
tough thong of the Ntandenis.
 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   189

Hacker in thorn brakes,

scything swathes through ignorance;
colossus astride the earth;
rocker rocking the land,
encoiling it like chanti,
snake that swims the Vaal,
but sips the Zambesi;
servant of Africa’s nations.

You’ve rendered service to Mbo and Nguni,

to Sotho and Tswana,
to Senzangakhona’s Zulu,
to Swazi and Ndebele,
to Shona, Nyasa, Kalanga;
you’ve bridged nations great and small,
forging African unity:
all its nations are gripped in one birth pang.

Piercing needle,
handsome at Mthikrakra’s home,
torso daubed with ochre, Mandela’s son.
Beads and loin cloths suit him,
though ochre suits him he spurns it:
if he’d used it, what then?
Hustler disrupting tramps,
niggling thorn in the flesh of nations.

Hail, Earth Tremor!

Hail, Mandela’s gleaming road!
Nations name you Earth Tremor;
the poet names you Gleaming Road:
you set Africa blazing;
the rising sun scorched arrant rogues,
flushed the thugs with roasted pates;
hasslers rattled in fear of the rabble;
bereft of plans the ruffians dithered;
the genets fled the flaring land.
190   BOOKS

Speak, Mandela’s son! Speak, my chief!

Speak out fearlessly: there’re remnants in Africa!
Hold no fear of sunburnt bellies,
shoulder-shruggers and white flag wavers.
Let them note your blemishes:
the truth is bitter,
goes deep like aloe,
contempt and cruelty crumple before it.

Speak out fearlessly, Thembu, there are still men!

Speak out fearlessly, there’re still men in Africa!
Those bones can stir,
link up with each other,
for God Almighty reigns,
he quickens his times,
dashes mighty kingdoms,
raises scorned statelets.

Speak out fearlessly, son of Zondwa,

uncowed by genets or wild cats!
Even if death’s in store,
you’ve been readied to serve
as blood offering for blacks,
for you’re a royal prince.
You were born to bear these trials and burdens,
loads and loads stacked on loads.
May the Lord bless you,
grant you success
in confronting the lackeys of evil.
Let it be so, my chief.

Shortly before it was published in 1954, Manisi travelled to

Johannesburg to represent his home district of Queenstown at a meeting
of the ANC. As a political organisation, the ANC was not at that stage
banned in South Africa, but it was becoming increasingly militant in
its opposition to the apartheid regime, and Nelson Mandela, who had
committed himself to the freedom struggle, had organised the Defiance
 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   191

Campaign in 1952 and had been banned and confined to his house in
Orlando, one of the black townships of Johannesburg. In defiance of
his banning order, however, Mandela put in an appearance at the ANC
meeting, and Manisi was deeply impressed by what he had to say. He
wrote the poem on his return to his rural home in the Khundulu valley
near Queenstown.
Nelson Mandela starts his inspirational autobiography, Long Walk
to Freedom, with these words:

Apart from life, a strong constitution and an abiding connection

to the Thembu royal house, the only thing my father bestowed
upon me at birth was a name, Rolihlahla. In Xhosa, Rolihlahla
literally means “pulling the branch of a tree”, but its colloquial
meaning more accurately would be “troublemaker”. I do not
believe that names are destiny or that my father somehow
divined my future, but in later years, friends and relatives would
ascribe to my birth name the many storms I have both caused
and weathered.3

Names are of vital importance in Cape Nguni life, and in Xhosa poetry.
A person might be called by many different names: by the name given
to him at birth, by the various nicknames he might earn, by the name
of his father, grandfather or other ancestors, the name of his clan or
any of his clan ancestors, the name of his chief or his chief’s ancestors,
the name of his chiefs’ favourite ox, and so on. Members of the royal
family in addition have a salutation name by which they are formally
greeted. So the title of Manisi’s poem gives Mandela’s birth name,
Rholihlahla, and a formal royal salutation, A! Zweliyashukuma! (Hail,
The-Country’s-Quaking). Manisi plays on this salutation name in the
first stanza, evoking as a prelude to his poem an image of physical
disruption in the land, seismic disturbance caused by small groupings
stirring and flexing their political muscles. This vision of junior players
in the international family of nations rousing themselves to cast off
the yoke of the mighty colonial powers, puny Davids ranged against

3. Mandela (1994: 3).

192   BOOKS

Goliaths, was offered by Manisi three years before Ghana became the
first African state to gain independence in 1957.
In the second stanza the poet establishes Mandela’s royal lineage:
he is descended from the militant seventeenth-century chief Dlomo,
who was also known as Sokhawulela (Leapfrogger) for usurping the
kingdom, and as Ngqolomsila, the erect tail of a preening baboon, for
strutting after his victory over his elder brother Hlanga. Dlomo’s son
was Hala, whose great-grandson was Zondwa (mentioned in the final
stanza); Zondwa’s son was Ndaba. The poet not only lists some of
Mandela’s royal ancestors in this stanza, he also characterises at the
same time his subject’s physical and personal qualities in deft images:
Mandela is tall and light-skinned, powerful and resilient (“iron-eating
iron” and a “tough thong”), and capable of undermining the established
order: cry out in trepidation, rafter, the pillar on which you rest is
capable of engineering your downfall.
The images in the third stanza testify to Mandela’s stature in
clarifying the issues of the liberation struggle and upsetting the unjust
order not only in the Transvaal where he was living and working at
the time (bounded to the south by the Vaal River), not only among the
Xhosa-speaking peoples (Mbo and Nguni), but throughout South Africa
and beyond its borders. The fourth stanza extends the poet’s claim that
Mandela is the “servant of Africa’s nations”: Mandela, he asserts, is
contributing to that groundswell movement alluded to in the opening
stanza. All the nations of Africa are parturient, ready to give birth. In
1954 it was an aspiration that Manisi hopefully anticipated.
Manisi then turns to the effect of Mandela’s political activity.
Mandela has moved away from his home in Transkei after being raised
in traditional Thembu ways, where he would have smeared his body
with red ochre and worn ornamental beads. He has challenged white
authority, and become a problem for the whites, the racist “tramps”
of the fifth stanza. Manisi accords Mandela an alternative name,
“Glittering Road”, for blazing a clear trail for others to emulate: his
powerful light is compared to the sun, which scorches the white rogues,
thugs, hasslers, ruffians and genets (a genet is a scavenging wild cat).
The threat of Mandela evokes consternation among the white rulers.
In the last three stanzas Manisi addresses Mandela directly,
exhorting him to continue to speak out against injustice, rousing
 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   193

sympathetic blacks to the cause and ignoring those who would prefer to
bask idly in the sun, apathetically inactive, but who criticise Mandela
for his involvement. Mandela has truth and God on his side, and the
support of his ancestors (“Those bones can stir and link up with each
other”). The colonial yoke can be cast off in Africa, even if Mandela has
to suffer in the process. In 1954, David Manisi urged Nelson Mandela
in this poem to persist on his collision course with the apartheid
regime, to confront “the lackeys of evil”. The rest, of course, is history.
Mandela was charged with treason in 1956, but acquitted five years
later. In 1960, after the Sharpeville massacre, the ANC was banned,
and Mandela went underground to organise resistance; he was arrested
in 1962 and sentenced to five years’ imprisonment, extended, in 1964,
to a life sentence largely served on the infamous Robben Island. In
1990, having suffered “loads and loads stacked on loads” of “trials and
burdens”, Nelson Mandela was released, to become in 1994 the first
president of a free South Africa. The balance of his life proved to be a
glittering road indeed.
This poem might be a little more accessible after all the local
references have been explained, with the help of the poet, but it would
be fair to concede that the poem’s intense compression makes it
perplexing on first reading. Its meaning is evident if you are familiar
with its traditional mode of expression, with the distinctive way it
communicates its message. For many years past, scholars have been
puzzled by poems like these, dismissing them as incoherent, their poetic
qualities buried under a detailed academic apparatus of commentary
and exegesis in order to render their meaning intelligible. But they
are perfectly intelligible to their intended audience, however much
consternation they might arouse in Western scholars.
What the poet is doing, basically, is ascribing to his subject a set
of names. Much of the poem is expressed in terms of a noun qualified
by a word or phrase: Mandela is a secretary bird, he is “iron-eating
iron”, a “hacker in thorn brakes”, a “colossus bestriding the earth”, a
“rocker who rocks the land”, a “piercing needle”, a “hustler disrupting
tramps” and so on. All these serve to characterise Mandela, but they
are puzzling to Western eyes until it is realised that they are simply a
set of names, nominal constructions in apposition to each other, and
to the subject of the poem. The poem lacks the coherence we expect
194   BOOKS

of narrative, for example, because finite verbs and logical connections

are often omitted: we are offered a concatenation of nominal images,
like beads on a thread, each a separate facet contributing to the effect
of the whole. Poetic unity is to be sought in the details and images
they convey, sometimes contradictory (as personalities might be in their
traits) but, like a pointillist painting, constituting a consistent artistic
vision of the subject made up of individual brush daubs. To approach
this poem sympathetically, we need to lay aside our preconceptions
of what poetry is, of poetic unity. In his masterly short story “A
rose for Emily”, William Faulkner deliberately fractures the normal
chronological sequence of narrative; he conveys the distinction between
chronological narrative coherence and the idiosyncratic style he adopts
in his story when he writes of the older members of Emily Grierson’s
generation “confusing time with its mathematical progression, as the
old do, to whom all the past is not a diminishing road but, instead,
a huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches”.4 The one-
dimensional narrative model is set against a two-dimensional model,
the mathematical line is contrasted with the open space of a meadow.
Oral poetry in the Xhosa language (izibongo) is not linear, as, generally,
is Western narrative, but spatial.
No wonder Western scholars have been perplexed: underpinning
izibongo is a radically different philosophy from theirs. The American
geologist Stephen Jay Gould differentiates two contrasting conceptions
of time:

At one end of the dichotomy – I shall call it time’s arrow –

history is an irreversible sequence of unrepeatable events. Each
moment occupies its own distinct position in a temporal series,
and all moments, considered in proper sequence, tell a story of
linked events moving in a direction.
At the other end – I shall call it time’s cycle – events have
no meaning as distinct episodes with causal impact upon a
contingent history. Fundamental states are immanent in time,
always present and never changing. Apparent motions are parts

4. Faulkner (1985: 129).

 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   195

of repeating cycles, and differences of the past will be realities

of the future. Time has no direction.5

The proper model of an izibongo is not so much a single string of beads

on a necklace as a mat of varicoloured beads, each bead imaginatively
referring to others of the same colour, forming a complex unity out
of diverse elements. Each of the nominal constructions in the poem
presents, often metaphorically, a facet of Mandela’s personality,
genealogy, achievements. Like a meadow dotted with flowers, they
express individual aspects of the whole man, relating to each other
and all relating to the subject of the poem. In defining the qualities and
characterisitics of a human being, in establishing their subjects’ social
connections and interactions, in capturing their distinctive identity in
the present and their links with events and personalities of the past,
izibongo deal with fundamental states immanent in time. We are here
ultimately involved in a religious belief system, not entirely foreign to
Western religions, in which linear time is collapsed, and the dimensions
of past and future are one with the present. The structures of izibongo
reflect a philosophy of cyclical, sacral time.
Oral poetry among the Cape Nguni essentially serves to establish
identity. Izibongo assert the personal identity of an individual in
relation to his living associates and his dead ancestors. They are often
incorporated into prayers, or recited as a prelude to communication
with the ancestors, who after death are held to maintain a sympathetic
interest in the affairs of the living. Xhosa izibongo, in other words,
have power, as we saw in chapter 4 above. In her study of oriki, Yorùbá
praise poetry in Nigeria, Karin Barber observes that

when the performer utters oriki, what she is doing is bestowing

on the subject a plethora of elaborations of, and alternatives
and equivalents to, his own names . . . The vocative is also
evocative. Oriki call a subject’s qualities to life, and allow
them to expand. Uttering a subject’s oriki is thus a process of
empowerment. The subject’s latent qualities are activated and

5. Gould (1987: 10–11).

196   BOOKS

enhanced . . . The dead, addressed by their oriki, can be recalled

to the world of the living. It is in and through an oriki chant that
the performer empowers and encourages the ancestor to return
to the living household of his descendants . . . Thus oriki make
possible the crossing from the world of the dead to the world of
the living, making the past present again. 6

At the end of one of my early research trips to Xhosa territory, an

old man once declaimed a poem he had composed about me as I was
preparing to depart for home, claiming that the poem would ensure my
safe journey home, whether I was present to hear it or not. The last three
stanzas of Manisi’s poem encourage Mandela to persist in his course of
action: they address Mandela directly. But the poem was published in
an obscure book that Mandela never saw. Nonetheless, whether or not
his chief is present, the imbongi will refer to him and address him in his
poetry, for his poetry serves to establish the authority of the chief, to
strengthen him and through him his people. Manisi’s poem was written
to confirm Mandela in his approved course, whether or not he heard or
read the poem.
For many years, very few people indeed had read this poem,
until it was made one of the poems prescribed for the senior Xhosa
examination in schools in 2008, with no benefit accruing to members
of Manisi’s family. Authors who write in Xhosa have suffered badly
at the hands of publishers, who have often demanded changes, or
rejected for publication all but those texts in harmony with mission or
government ideologies; there is little readership of Xhosa books, which
are in the main designed for prescription in schools and thus intended
for an audience of children. In the apartheid era, Manisi’s outspoken
poem on Mandela, encouraging him in his opposition to government
policy, would not have been published by any South African publisher.
Privately published by the author, it was condemned to immediate
obscurity. Often enough, the imbongi has enjoyed free access to his
audience only through the restricted medium of the spoken voice,
and opportunities for even this were confined in Manisi’s case after
he spurned the patronage of his chief in protest against his political

6. Barber (1991: 74–6).

 THE EARLIEST PUBLISHED POEM ON NELSON MANDELA   197

collaboration with whites. The poet kept a few copies of Inguqu in his
hut in the Khundulu valley, distributing them by hand. Privately printed
by the author, the volume effectively remained unknown for 40 years.
The original text of the earliest poem in honour of Nelson Mandela was
republished in 1994; the English translation appeared in 2000, 2002 and
again in 2005;7 it is currently prescribed reading for grade 12 students
and has found a new life in a liberated country. David Manisi’s poem
on Nelson Mandela deserves wider recognition and acknowledgement
as the earliest published Xhosa poem celebrating Mandela. The poet,
too, merits recognition as one of the great South African poets, an
imbongi whose career was blighted by the politics of apartheid and the
economics of the publication of books in the Xhosa language.

7. Opland (2000, 2002); Opland (2005: 71–3); Opland and Mtuze (1994: 166–9).
Newspapers
10

Nineteenth-century Xhosa literature

Of all the indigenous languages of South Africa – excluding English

but including Afrikaans – Xhosa was the first to be systematically
transcribed and printed, and the first to develop into a mature, well-
established literature in print, a process that took place entirely
in the nineteenth century. If we conceive of literature in terms of
Western models, however, as most critics have tended to do, we will
miss this development almost entirely, for very few works of Xhosa
creative literature – certainly no original poetry, novels or plays –
appear as books until late in the first decade of the twentieth century.
Nonetheless, Xhosa verbal creativity expresses itself throughout the
nineteenth century in oral forms well established in precolonial times
and – initially in Christian mission journals but in the last two decades
in independent secular newspapers – grows and flourishes in print and
comes to speak powerfully in its own voice by the century’s end. In the
first chapter I argued for the consideration of Xhosa literature in three
media, printed books, the spoken word and newspapers: here I offer a
more detailed account of nineteenth-century Xhosa literature in these
three media in order to establish the significance of newspapers in the
early period.

Literature in books
The story of creative literature printed in books – the staple of Western
European literary histories – can be swiftly told. The transcription
of spoken Xhosa commenced with shipwrecked European sailors,
travellers and hunters traversing the territory of the Xhosa-speaking
peoples: William Hubberly, for example, who was shipwrecked on the
Grosvenor and spent four months in Xhosa territory in 1782, included

201
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authenticating observations in his journal such as “As we were going

through a village, two of the natives brought out some milk, and wanted
zimbe for it, the name they give their ornaments”, and “As soon as
we arrived, I was sent to get firewood, which they call kuney, and in
the afternoon was stationed to look after the calves”.1 The Swedish
naturalist Anders Sparrman, who travelled in the Cape between
1772 and 1776, published in 1783 a list of over 60 words, which he
collected near the Sundays River;2 a more ambitious effort to record
Xhosa vocabulary was undertaken by the pioneer missionary J.T. van
der Kemp, who compiled a list of some 600 words in the course of
his stay in the chiefdom of Ngqika between July 1799 and December
1800.3 Apart from these word lists, Van der Kemp might well have been
the first person to record coherent Xhosa sentences. In his diary entry
for 30 October 1800, Ngqika appeals to the missionary for rain; Van
der Kemp goes for a walk, reflects, “then returned to Gika’s Caffrees
and said ‘Jesus Christus, intakha Thiko, Inkoessi zal izoulou. Dia khou
thetha au le: lo khou nika invoula, mina kossliwe’ (Jesus Christ, the
son of God, is Lord of Heaven. I will speak to him, and he will give
rain; I cannot).”4 His successor as missionary to the Xhosa people,
Joseph Williams, died on 23 August 1818 after only two years in the
field, and left no written legacy in Xhosa, but the succeeding mission
station established by John Brownlee at Tyhume on 6 June 1820 bore
considerable literary fruit. Brownlee was joined in November 1821 by
two Scottish missionaries, W.R. Thomson and John Bennie. Bennie set
himself to learning Dutch, and then turned to Xhosa, “reducing to form
and rule this language which hitherto floated in the wind”, as he put it. 5
When a printing press arrived at Tyhume with John Ross in December
1823, Bennie was ready with his transcription of the Xhosa language:
three days after its arrival, on 19 December 1823, the first sheets of
printed Xhosa emerged from the press.

1. Kirby (1953: 95, 116).

2. Sparrman (1977: 267–8), reprinted in Opland and Mtuze (1994: 60–1).
3. Vanderkemp (1804c); see Bleek (1858: 175–6) for remarks on early Xhosa
vocabularies.
4. Vanderkemp (1804b: 427).
5. Shepherd (1945: 3).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   203

Printing was initially used largely for linguistic, educational and

religious purposes. Didactic literature was translated from English
originals: the first part of Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, translated
by Tiyo Soga, was published by the Lovedale Missionary Institution
in 1867,6 and M.A. Stanford’s translation of Mary Sherwood’s popular
Sunday School novel Susan Grey was published under the title
UGcinashe in Grahamstown in 1870. But no work of original Xhosa
literature appeared as a book in the course of the nineteenth century
– with four significant exceptions, all issued under the auspices of
Anglican missionaries. In 1861 a 79-page volume was issued entitled
Kafir Essays, and Other Pieces with an English Translation. It was
printed in Grahamstown at the Anglo-American Offices, but contains
little bibliographical data beyond that. A brief Preface issued from
Bishopsbourne in March 1861 set out the rationale of the publication:

The following Essays, in prose and verse, were written as

exercises by some of the more advanced boys in the mission
school at St. Matthew’s, Keiskama Hoek. They are published
as specimens of the Kafir language, and of native ways of
thinking and speaking on common subjects—and with the
English translation, they may not only be useful to the student
of the language, but interesting also to English readers. The
short pieces which follow were contributed by the Rev.
H. Woodrooffe, Mrs. Langé, and the Rev. H.T. Waters, and are
published for similar reasons. The translations, most of which
are by the Rev. W. Greenstock, adhere as closely as possible to
the idiom of the original.7

The student authors are identified by initials alone. Their essays

treat physical and celestial features, animals, birds, fish and insects,
months and seasons, and conclude with an account of a visit to East
London, and a historical narrative on the clash between the Thembu
chiefs Hlanga and his brother Dlomo. The volume also includes four
poems on the stars. The four essays contributed by members of staff

6. See Hofmeyr (2004: chapter 5).

7. Greenstock (1861: iii–iv).
204   NEWSPAPERS

treat creatures of folklore such as ichanti and Tikoloshe under the

heading “Imbalwana zama-Xosa, kodwa zingeyiyo innyaniso (Kafir
stories, but which are not the truth)”. Kafir Essays is the first book to be
published containing secular Xhosa literature, albeit written largely by
schoolchildren, probably as classroom exercises. The “specimens” were
intended for (white) students of the Xhosa language, the translations
for curious English-speakers. Twenty-five years later, the Anglican
Mission Press at St Peter’s, Gwatyu, issued three little booklets in
Xhosa, clearly intended for Xhosa-speaking readers in South Africa:
Incwadi yentsomi (1875), versions of Aesop’s fables, some English
tales and a Xhosa folktale; Imbali zamam-Pondomisi akwa-Mditshwa
(1876), three Mpondomise historical narratives; and Incwadi yentsomi
(isiqendu sesibini) (1877), a second collection of folktales, largely
Xhosa. Significant as these products of the Anglican missionaries are,
they attracted no attention and achieved little discernible distribution.
That brief survey would comprise the total history of nineteenth-
century Xhosa literature in books, were it not for an intriguing footnote.
One of the followers of Ntsikana was Noyi, the son of Gciniswa.
Noyi was one of the first five converts to be baptised at the Tyhume
mission in June 1823, when he assumed the name Robert Balfour, and
he accompanied the wagon that brought John Ross and the printing
press from Cape Town to Tyhume later that year. In 1838, at Botwe, the
publisher G.J. Pike set in print one gathering of eight pages of Noyi’s
Iziqwenge zembali yamaXosa (Scraps of Xhosa history), containing the
first chapter and part of the second; the last page ends in the middle of
a sentence.8 Nothing more was ever printed, and the book as a whole
was never published. The first chapter presents Tshiwo, a descendant
of Xhosa, as culture hero (he wages war and establishes peace, and
confirms the nation by establishing laws), and the incomplete second
chapter starts to tell the story of his son Phalo. John Bennie was
involved in the transcription and translation of Noyi’s oral narrative (by
1831 Noyi had not yet learned to read or write);9 in the MS in the Grey
Collection, Bennie’s signature appears below his proof corrections, in
a hand different from both the Xhosa text and the initial translation,

8. See Bleek (1858: 80) and Opland (2017: 283–4).

9. Williams (1967: 69).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   205

on which Bennie based a more fluent English version for the Glasgow
Missionary Record.10 In the paratactic, episodic oral style of a Xhosa
historical narrative commencing with the words “Embalini kutiwa”
(It is said in an imbali), Noyi tells us that Tshiwo the son of Ngconde
crossed the Kei to hunt, and settled there (the manuscript assigns 1670
as the date). Tshiwo established laws regulating witchcraft and incest
and provided for his people during a drought. Noyi continues:

Emveni koko kwavëlana u-Gando no Tshiwo, gokwënza

kwake u-Gando. Ube gumnci akabahlonëla abantu benkulu
inkosi u-Tshiwo. Sapumake isicaka esikulu, satsho ku Tshiwo
ukuti, ‘Siyemka siya ku-Gando; wawuzëka ongawuzëkayo
u-Gando wentshaba.’ Satabata innyama, sayifaka emanzini,
sayinika u-Tshiwo; sati, ‘Yithla, Gwalandini.’ Walilake
u-Tshiwo.
Emveni koko u-Tshiwo waya ebotwe; wazikupa izihlangu
nendwe ukuzuma u-Gando. Wawuhlaba umkosi; wasabake
u-Gando, nabantu bake: wakuwël’ i-Qonce, ne-Xesi, nom-
Gwalana; ehamba besilwa, igxotwa eka-Tshiwo. Ayibuyanga
noko kwada kwaya en-Nxuba kulandëlana. Kwasihlangana
kwakusasa ezibukweni lika-Cihoshe; yakohlwa ukuwëla eka-
Tshiwo, imëlwe gezibuko gu-Gando. Yalihrola iqinga eka-
Tshiwo. Akëtwa amanxële angacalanye, namanëne angacalanye;
yawëlake kwa-Cihoshe; yapalaza gokubinza eka-Gando:
yanhyatywa eka-Tshiwo kwelozibuko lika-Cihoshe. Ayigobanga
noko, zada zapëla izikali zika-Gando; yagxotwake eja-Gando,
yanhyatywa gakumbi yona. Wazitimba u-Tshiwo, wabuya nazo.
(1683.)11

After this Tshiwo and Gando became opposed to one

another, on account of Gando’s actions. He was a petty chief
and did not fear the people of the great chief Tshiwo. The great
servant stood forth, and said to Tshiwo ‘We are leaving we are
going to Gando; Gando collected whatever enemies he could.

10. Reproduced in Bokwe (1914: 36–9).

11 . Opland and Mtuze (1994: 64), from Grey Collection G10c13.
206   NEWSPAPERS

He took meat, and dipped it in water, and gave it to Tshiwo; and

said. ‘Eat, Coward.’* Tshiwo wept.
After this Tshiwo went to the house of his great wife;
he brought out shields and plumes of crane feathers to take
Gando by surprise. He raised the war cry; Gando fled, and his
people: until he crossed the Buffalo river, and the Keiskamma
and the Mgwalana; keeping up a running fight, Tshiwo’s army
being worsted. But still it would not turn until they came to
the Great Fish river following each other. They met early the
next morning at the ford of Cihoshe;+ Tshiwo’s army could not
cross, being opposed at the ford by Gando. Tshiwo’s army made
use of artifice. The left handed men were chosen and formed on
one side, the right-handed men were also placed on one side;
and then they crossed at Cihoshe. Gando’s army threw many
assagais: many of Tshiwo’s men were killed at that ford of
Cihoshe. But still they would not retreat until at length Gando
had thrown all his assagais; Gando’s was worsted, and many
more of his men were killed. Tshiwo captured the cattle and
returned with them [1683].
*
Only cowards should eat cold meat. This was the only mode
punishing Tshiwo for his cowardice.
+
The ford of Cihoshe divides the salt from the fresh water at
the mouth of the Great Fish River.12

Had Iziqwenge zembali yamaXosa been published, to Noyi would have

fallen the credit as the author of the first secular book in Xhosa. Noyi
died at Elujilo on 30 July 1872;13 one of his direct descendants is Phyllis
Ntantala, widow of A.C. Jordan.14

Oral literature
Folklore genres underpin the brief history of nineteenth-century
literature in Xhosa books: Noyi’s historical narrative proclaims itself
as based on an ibali and the Gwatyu booklets contain Mpondomise

12. Grey Collection G10c13.

13. Kaffir Express (1 September 1872: 2).
14. Ntantala (1992: 10).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   207

amabali as well as Xhosa folktales.15 Oral literature was transformed

into print in these booklets, and in the next century in some of the
earliest Xhosa books;16 English literature was also transformed into
print in Xhosa, as in the translations from Bunyan and Mrs Sherwood,
and translations of religious tracts. In 1879, the texts of five Xhosa
folktales, with translations, were included in issues of the short-lived
Folk-Lore Journal, published by the South African Folk-lore Society,
three contributed by G.M. Theal, one by Albert Kropf, and one by Henry
Callaway.17 Credit customarily accrues to the Scottish missionaries at
Tyhume and their successors at Lovedale for initiating and establishing
the printing of Xhosa literature. While it is certainly true that a great
debt is owed to pioneer missionaries like John Bennie and John Ross,
it must at the same time be recognised that before the arrival of the
white colonists, before the introduction of European schools and
writing and printing, Xhosa literature flourished in oral forms, forms
that the missionaries sometimes drew on for their early publications.
There is no reason to doubt that traditions of Xhosa folklore existed in
precolonial times; they persisted throughout the nineteenth century, at
times incorporating references to objects and behaviour introduced by
white settlers, and survive and flourish to this day.
The tradition of court poetry can serve as an example. There were
iimbongi at the Great Places of kings before the arrival of European
settlers. As we saw in chapter 5, the earliest account of the performance
of an imbongi is provided by the Wesleyan missionary James Whitworth,
who visited Hintsa, king of the Gcaleka, with William Shaw on 6 April
1825 and recorded in his journal: “At sunset a man proclaimed aloud
the transactions of the day, which seems to be the usual custom, ending

15. On amabali see chapter 2 above.

16. For example Rubusana (1911) and Ndawo (1920, 1928).
17. Two volumes of the journal, comprising six issues annually, appeared in 1879
and 1880. Theal’s Kaffir Folk-Lore, published in 1886, contained Xhosa
folktales, but only in English translation. Theal had earlier sent a gathering
entitled Stories of the amaXosa, or A Selection from the Traditional Tales Current
Among the People Living on the Eastern Border of the Cape Colony, with English
Translations and Notes, printed in Alice by The Lovedale Missionary Institution
and dated 1877, containing the first tale with translation, to Campbell of Islay, a
prominent British folklorist: this suggests that Kaffir Folk-Lore was originally
intended to contain the Xhosa texts.
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with ‘Our Captain is a great Captain. When the white men came to
see him, he received them kindly, and gave them an ox to eat.’”18 His
colleague Stephen Kay visited Mdushane in May 1825, and observed:
“Early the following morning I was awakened by the vociferous shouts
of one of the heralds, who was proclaiming, with stentorian voice, the
praises of his Chief, ascribing to him all the great deeds of the age,
together with the majesty of the mightiest.”19 These two performances
clearly participate in a well-established tradition of poetry produced at
liminal times (dawn and sunset) in honour of the chief and concerned
with public events, customary poetic commemorations that could
readily be extended to incorporate reference to the newsworthy arrival
of a party of white missionaries.
References to iimbongi and accounts of their hyperbolic praises of
dignitaries, highly metaphoric poetic responses (often improvised) to
events of significance, can be found for most of the Xhosa-speaking
peoples throughout the nineteenth century, testifying to the universality
and continuity of the tradition. Thomas Baines, for example, records a
spontaneous Mfengu performance in praise of Henry Somerset. While
on patrol with General Somerset in Mlanjeni’s War, Baines narrowly
missed capturing Oba son of Tyhali, who abandoned, amongst other
things, “several head-dresses, each formed from the last joint of the
wings of the Kafir crane, usually bestowed by the chief, as rewards
of valour, upon the bravest warriors, and as such, most appropriately
donned by the captors”. Baines continues in his journal entry for 2 July
1851:

The zeal and bravery of one of the Fingoes, a fine fellow

rejoicing in the name of Zinanqua, and bearing, beside his
musket, a weapon somewhat resembling an exaggerated reaping
hook, elicited a passing remark from the General, which the
elated warrior, exulting in the honour conferrred upon him,
repaid with an extravagant recital of the praises of the Great
White Chief, whom he extolled above the skies for everything
which, in his own estimation, was worthy of a soldier, and

18. Whitworth (1825: 567).

19. Kay (1833: 75).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   209

whose magnitude, he declared, exceeded that of the sun, moon

and stars, and the visible heaven and earth together, summing
up the almost endless catalogue by declaring that the white-
headed Chief was “the great teat” from which we all derived our
nourishment. When we reached the camp the General directed
him to be called, and in due form decorated him with a pair of
the towering plumes that had been captured in the morning. 20

Apart from Ntsikana, Zinanqua is the earliest Xhosa poet known to us

by name.
In 1863, Walter Stanford, a fluent Xhosa speaker, attended the
installation of the Thembu regent Ngangelizwe and noted the presence
and royal performances of iimbongi among the Thembu. “After an
interval of silence,” he writes, “[when] even the various Imbongis who
had been loud in their chorus of praise of the chief and [in] historic
references were still, Joyi rose.”21 Ten years later, in January 1873,
The Standard and Mail carried a lavishly detailed description of a
meeting between the Gcaleka king Kreli (Sarhili, son of Hintsa) and
the Secretary of Native Affairs, Charles Brownlee, at Fynn’s residency,
which graphically locates the imbongi in the impressive royal entourage:

At noon we learnt that Kreli the troublesome was saddling up,

and shortly afterwards the movement of the groups on the hill
tops showed that he was advancing. The pageant which Kreli
had prepared for us then commenced. Simultaneously a great
body of foot made its appearance below the ridge of the eastern
hill, and a large number of horsemen, with Kreli at their head,
charged down one of the northern valleys into the basin. Then
the thousands poured in – from the distance apparently in good
discipline, and with the regularity of well-trained troops, but as
they neared we saw it was but the density of the masses which
gave them that appearance. As Kreli passed along at the bottom
of the hill the footmen of Mopassa swept down its green slopes
like a great red cloud. Behind Mr. Fynn’s house Kreli drew in

20. Baines (1964: 204).

21. Macquarrie (1958: 21).
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rein, and the whole body of horsemen paused for a few minutes
during which time the imbongi – the wild minstrels of the rude
chief – chanted his praises. These improvisatori with their huge
shields of ox-hide and bundles of assegais were the very beau
ideal of savage warriors, and would certainly, to my mind,
be more dangerous in war than their brethren in arms whose
weapons are ancient muskets that are more dangerous, I should
imagine, to friends than foes. In a few minutes Kreli moved on
again, and the footmen of Mopassa fell into the rear, making a
body altogether of between 3,000 and 4,000 men. As this force
moved onwards there came – out from the valley by which
Kreli made his approach, bodies of warriors on foot advancing
as if in companies. The whole of the forces having passed the
marquee as if in review order crossed the rivulet that runs down
the centre of the basin – on our extreme right. As they came
up the slope of the hill to the marquee, the forces spread out,
and the scene was a very picturesque one. In front Kreli and his
councillors on horseback; on the right wing the unbongi [sic,
clearly a misreading of imbongi], their shields on their arms,
and their assegais in their hands; to the left men with guns and
assegais, and behind a whole perfect forest of assegais. 22

The Gcaleka iimbongi, like their Thembu counterparts, are associated

with royal personages; their warlike bearing and military accoutrements
make a deep impression on the English correspondent, as no doubt they
were intended to.
Charles Brownlee features in another account from the same
year: he receives a visit from the Mpondomise chief Mhlontlo while
at Shawbury in 1873. The Mpondomise perform an intimidating “war-
dance”, “all to the humdrum tones of the chief’s ‘bongo’, who chanted
his praise in the Kafir tongue.”23 Yet another reference from the same
year tells of an imbongi accompanying the Mfengu leader Veldtman
Bikitsha to the Agricultural Show in Queenstown: “One Kafir institution
we were glad to see was indulged in – that was the Imbongi or Praiser

22. “The Kreli-Gangelizwe muddle”, The Standard and Mail (18 January 1873).
23. P. (1874–5), reprinted in Lewin Robinson (1978: 197).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   211

of the Chief. An elderly native, mounted on his little pony delivered a

stirring harangue to his compatriots. Whether prose or poetry we are not
able to say; but judging from the attention it received it was a decided
success.”24 Not quite as imposing, perhaps, as the Gcaleka iimbongi
accompanying Kreli, the Mfengu poet on his pony yet manages to rouse
his audience’s enthusiasm for his praises of the chief.
In 1876 Walter Stanford was formally introduced to Dalasile as the
new magistrate: in the afternoon, at All Saints’ mission in Thembuland,

approaching bodies of horsemen and footmen betokened

the coming of the chief himself and his attendant sub-chiefs,
councillors and people. The mounted men approached towards
the mission church by circuitous movements which were not
ungraceful. The men sang their war song and the “imbongi” or
bard rhythmically chanted his praises of his chief with allusions
to the past history of the tribe.25

Nine years later, in a tense meeting with Msingapantsi in 1885, the

Bhaca chief reached for his rifle: “Then Nontsizwagane, in fantastic
get-up, the imbongi of Msingapantsi must needs begin his exciting
poesy. Him I had chased from the meeting and the absurd manner in
which he trotted off with policeman Sigadi after him with a stick made
the assemblage burst into laughter. It was a critical moment but the
laughter saved the situation.”26 Invested with European administrative
authority, Stanford’s intervention reduces the imbongi’s status to the
level of a buffoon,27 but other poets retained their dignity in impressive
royal displays of power. In 1930 John Henderson Soga (Tiyo Soga’s
son) referred to an event at the end of the century:

. . . the Pondos state that, on a certain day in 1895, the chief

Sigcawu went to confer with the magistrate at Flagstaff and,
in accordance with Pondo custom, was accompanied by a

24. Argus (10 June 1873: 3–4).

25. Macquarrie (1958: 54).
26. Macquarrie (1962: 22).
27. See also William Charles Scully’s account of a Bhaca imbongi cited in Opland
(1983: 17).
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large armed retinue. On reaching their destination, in order to

cel’amehlo (“to ask eyes”) that is, to make an impression, they
circled round Flagstaff several times, the while the court-praiser
(imbongi) was shouting the praises of his chief.28

Praise poems survive for many of the nineteenth-century leaders,

all the more interesting because they apportion praise as well as blame.
The imbongi’s depiction of Ngqika son of Mlawu, head of the Rharhabe,
collaborator with whites and shameful abductor of his uncle Ndlambe’s
wife Thuthula, is caustic:

Nguso-Tshul’ ubembe, uhlek’ abaneligqo,

Up῾ambani nenc῾uka zigoduka,
Untsimangwana yakwa-Nkwebu,
Unyok’ emnyam’ ecand’ isiziba.
Ngu x῾alang’ elimapi҅ kw’ amdaka,
Untloyiy’ onendlwane wase majojweni,
Ux῾amakaz’ olup῾ondo lunye—
Luka Ngcengulana—elifel’ efusini.
Ngumafuman’ alumb῾ole nase-Mpembeni,
Uk῾ala akanameva pofu bat’ uyahlaba.
Liramncwa elidla umzi liwuk῾anyela,
Lisiti udliwa ngu-Nyelenzi no-Mak῾῾abalekile;
Umvalo obuvalel’ inkomo zika-P῾alo,
Owowuvula ngowozek’ ityala.
Nguso-Qaco, untshikintshikikazi;
Ulima bemsusa ing’ asindawo yake.
Oka-Matshitshilili, uvumb’ eligxot’ izizwe.
Pum’ entangeni wabe inkomo,
Ubumlala-nj’unyok’ ubusiti woyiva pin’ imb῾atu kwedini?29

He’s Wagging Tongue, slagging men off behind their backs.

He’s chummy with scavengers,
an imp intimate with strangers,

28. J.H. Soga (1930: 328).

29. Rubusana (1911: 245–6).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   213

a black snake cleaving a pool.

He’s a foul-winged vulture,
a kite at rest in swampland,
a one-horned leguaan
spurned by his kin and abandoned.
He loves snuffling in trivia,
a thornless aloe that still pricks,
a wild beast denying he devours his own home,
blaming Myelenzi and Makhabalekile.
He’s the bar barring Phalo’s cattle:
woe betide the one who raised it.
He’s an irascible grumbler;
he’s chased off his land while ploughing.
Stubborn, his stench expels nations.
Leave the boys’ hut and distribute cattle!
Did you expect our thanks, kid, when you laid your own
mother?30

Poetry associated with chiefs and kings flourished in well-

established traditions before the arrival of whites in Xhosa-speaking
territory. The tradition was sufficiently flexible to incorporate references
to the intrusive foreigners and their innovations, persisted throughout
the nineteenth century, survived the Act of Union, two world wars, the
apartheid years and continues in performance today. Much the same
can probably be argued for all precolonial Xhosa genres of folklore,
although Peires has noted the decline of ibali.31
One of the most popular and widespread of songs is the Great Hymn
of Ntsikana.32 Ntsikana was probably influenced by the preaching of
Dr van der Kemp, and lived with his followers near Joseph Williams’s
mission.33 He maintained a distinctive community of worship, integral
to which was the singing of four hymns; the most popular has become
his Great Hymn, always sung, but clearly in form an izibongo to

30. Opland (1992: 217–18).

31. Peires (1981: 184).
32. Dargie (1982).
33. Holt (1954: 106).
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God the creator and Christ.34 After Ntsikana’s death in May 1821,
his followers made their way to Tyhume. The text of the hymn they
sang was first transcribed there by John Brownlee, and included in
Brownlee’s appendix to Thompson’s Travels and Adventures published
in 1827:

Sicana’s Hymn

Ulin guba inkulu siambata tina,

Ulodali bom’ uadali pezula,
Umdala uadala idala izula,
Yebinza inquinquis zixeliela:
UTIKA umkula gozizulinè,
Yebinza inquinquis nozilimele.
Umze uakonana subizièle,
Umkokeli ua sikokeli tina,
Uenze infama zenza ga bomi;
Imali inkula subizièle,
Wena wena q’aba inyaniza,
Wena wena kaka linyaniza,
Wena wena klati linyaniza;
Ulodali bom’ uadali pezula,
Umdala uadala idala izula.

Free Translation

He who is our mantle of comfort,

The giver of life, ancient on high,
He is the Creator of the Heavens,
And the ever-burning stars:
GOD is mighty in the heavens,
And whirls the stars around the sky
We call on him in his dwelling-place,
That he may be our mighty leader,
For he maketh the blind to see;

34. Hodgson (1980).

 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   215

We adore him as the only good,

For he alone is a sure defence,
He alone is a trusty shield,
He alone is our bush of refuge:
Even HE,—the giver of life on high,
Who is the Creator of the heavens.35

Not only is Ntsikana’s Great Hymn important as the earliest extant

Xhosa poem, composed before the establishment of the Tyhume mission,
but Ntsikana’s followers and their descendants played significant roles
in the history of Xhosa literature. Noyi and Matshaya, who were
among the first five converts baptised by Brownlee in 1823, both
dictated narratives, Noyi to John Bennie, as we have seen, Matshaya
an autobiographical statement to James Laing.36 John Muir Vimbe
was in the first class admitted to Lovedale when it opened in 1841;
he contributed some twenty articles to the Xhosa newspapers Indaba
and Isigidimi sama-Xosa. Soga’s son Tiyo translated Bunyan and wrote
articles for Indaba. The grandson of Peyi was William Wellington
Gqoba, editor of Isigidimi. Dukwana, Ntsikana’s son, assisted with the
production of Ikwezi; Ntsikana’s grandson William Kobe contributed to
Indaba and Isigidimi. And the list could be extended.37

Literature in newspapers
Books were not much used in the nineteenth century as a vehicle of
Xhosa literature, and forms of Xhosa folklore are essentially ephemeral;
the true development and flowering of a permanent Xhosa literature in
print took place not in books but in newspapers, and was itself a by-
product of a growing literacy that emanated from mission schools, a
literacy whose moment of inception is captured by Van der Kemp: on
2 December 1799 he notes in his journal that “[w]hen I was in the wood
writing, Pao, the wife of a Caffree captain, came to me, and desired
me to teach her to write her name; the letters she then formed were,

35. Thompson (1968: 214).

36. Bokwe (1914: 32–5).
37. See Jordan (1973: 43–51).
216   NEWSPAPERS

as I think, the first written in Caffreland by a native”.38 The first three

Xhosa journals, Umshumayeli wendaba (1837–41, Wesleyan), Isibuto
samavo (1843–44, Wesleyan) and Ikwezi (1844–45, Lovedale) were
primarily designed to provide reading material for the products of
mission schools: extracts were incorporated into a school reader issued
by the Wesleyan Mission Press in 1850. William Shaw reported on the
foundation of Umshumayeli: “It is not a vehicle of any kind of politics,
although it bears this title,—but contains accounts of occurrences which
happen either in Kaffraria or elsewhere, likely to be interesting to the
natives, and which at the same time affords opportunities of conveying
important truths to their minds in a manner at once intelligible and
interesting to them.”39 The early Xhosa journals were collections of
articles rather than newspapers as we know them today, but they did
establish a reading public and involve them in a community of readers
outside the classroom. And they encouraged native speakers of Xhosa
to take their first hesitant steps in putting word to paper for an audience
they could not see before them. Isitunywa, for example, regularly issued
an appeal: “Communications are requested on all subjects connected
with the literary and religious advancement of the Kafir race.” 40
The first pieces of writing published by native speakers were four
letters composed by students at the Morley mission, which appeared
in the fourth issue of Umshumayeli in March 1838: the pupils are
named as Betsy Shaw, David Qokoyi, Job Yoyosi and Xelo, and their
letters were solicited and submitted to the newspaper by the misionary
Samuel Palmer. A few months later, Xelo and another Morley pupil,
Joje, created in class a lively dialogue about the benefits of the written
and printed word; Palmer transcribed the dialogue and submitted it to
Umshumayeli, where it was published in the seventh issue in January
1839.41 Later, in April 1839, someone who signs himself as Jivashe
contributes to Umshumayeli a narrative of an encounter with a refugee
from the Mfecane.42 In January 1844, Isibuto carried another dialogue,
written by an unnamed Mfengu writer; the seventh and final issue (July

38. Vanderkemp (1804a: 407).

39. Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society Report (1838: 65).
40. For a history of Xhosa literature in newspapers, see Opland (2017: chapter 11).
41. Reprinted in Opland and Mtuze (1994: 68–71).
42. Opland and Mtuze (1994: 71–4).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   217

1844) included a personal narrative by M. Malisa about the smallpox

epidemic. Before 1850, then, Xhosa speakers were drawn into the world
of print through missionary periodicals.
The next two newspapers, Isitunywa sennyanga (1850, Wesleyan)
and Indaba (1862–65, Lovedale), encouraged and extended this
process, though the missionary editors still maintained strict control
of the content. J.W. Appleyard, the editor of Isitunywa, noted that
“[t]he circulation of this paper averaged nearly 800 copies, of which
about 500 were supplied to Kafirs and other natives using the Kafir
language”.43 Isitunywa had the appearance of a modern newspaper, with
advertisements and livelier news than its predecessors; its last issue
(December 1850) carried eleven Xhosa letters from readers, one of
them by Elias Xelo of Morley, one of the first Xhosa writers on record,
who had earlier contributed to Umshumayeli. Indaba establishes for the
first time the literary reputations of regular contributors like Tiyo Soga
writing as Unonjiba waseluhlangeni (The dove of the nation), John
Muir Vimbe and William Kobe Ntsikana: the Xhosa man of letters was
starting to emerge.
Soga contributed eight essays to Indaba between 1862 and 1864.44
His stories and anecdotes break readily into enlivening dialogue, in the
manner of the ibali. He deploys the same oral imagery for reading as
Xelo and Joje do. For example, in his first contribution, Soga compares
Indaba to a traveller entering their rural homes with news; in his
second contribution he refers to his readers as “You who are speaking
to this book”.45 Later, however, he comes to speak in his own voice,
addressing his readers directly through questions, in arguments and
by exhortation. He is occasionally witty, at times he testifies to harsh
encounters between black and white, but above all in a time of culture
clash and change he urges in his Xhosa readers dignity and pride in
their traditions:

43. Bleek (1858: 88).

44. J.J.R. Jolobe selected eight items for translation and inclusion in Williams (1983:
150–77), but only five are signed by Unonjiba waseluhlangeni (and one by
N.W.). However, Soga himself claimed to have contributed two further articles
on theft: Chalmers (1878: 290).
45. Williams (1978: 154).
218   NEWSPAPERS

Bangako mhlaumbi sakuteta ngokuti inkosi zibuliseni,

ngokubuliswa kwazo, bati siteta ngochuku. Batsho pantsi!
Ayiluchuku lonto kuzo kunje! Ziyilindele. Inkosi azikutandi
ukubizwa ngamagama azo. Kuzituka oko. Magqoboka, eza-
Maxhosa inkosi, neza-Belungu ezipete a-Maxhosa, zibuliswa
ngokutiwa—“Ah Bani—ah nkosi!” “Molo nkosi! Royindara
nkosi.” Kodwa ukuba kube kugwetywa siti, sibe siyakuti—
U-“Molo, no-Royindara—Rolindara, Royinani—Rolinani,”
intshembenxa zamazwi olunye uhlanga, maziguzulwe kuti
apa. Sibe siyakuti masizekele isibuliso esikulu, sasekaya kwa-
Zulu, apo savela ngakona, siti ukuba koyinkosi asitshongo
ukuti—“Ah nkosi!”—Siti—“Sakubona nkosi”—Siti kuluntu,
“Sakubona!”—“Sakubona wetu,”—“Sakubona sihlobo.”
Siyabuzake siti, niyazibulisana inkosi zenu, makolwa,
nani bantu bezikolo, ngezo zibuliso, zazekayo kuzo nakuni,
ukuba zinika imbeko? Xa kungenjalo, kungokuba kwakutenina
kanene? . . .
Tulani iminqwazi kwinkosi, kubanumzana, nakumanene
ase-Mlungwini, niwise kakuhle ngenthloko, noko ningatetanga.
Nenjenjalo kumtu omhlope ofanelekileyo, ihla kamnandi
londawo; —Siyala kodwa ukuba nenjenjalo kumaxhigxa,
nakumagxagxa, anga nidhlule ngabantu. Lo “Molo Sweli” wa-
Maxhosa kwakuti-tu Mlungu lowo, yingcapukisa mxhelo. 46

There may be some of you who will think that we are entering
the sphere of trifles when we say greet your chiefs with their
traditional salutations. Those who think so are wrong. To the
chiefs these are not trifles. They expect this sign of respect.
Chiefs do not like to be addressed by name. This is an insult
to them. Believers, Xhosa chiefs and as for that matter even
European chiefs who administer Bantu affairs have their
traditional salutations like Aa! Daluxolo or Honourable Sir!
or Mhlekazi! or Your Worship! Again if we had a say in this
matter we would suggest that words like molo (good morning),
rhoyindarha (gooi dag), rhoyinani (gooi nag) clumsy words

46. Indaba (6 June 1864: 354).

 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   219

of Xhosarising foreign words should be eliminated from

our language. I would suggest the more familiar greetings of
Kwazulu (Zululand) from where we originally came. There
they greet with Aa! Nkosi (Hail Chief) or Sakubona, Nkosi
(We behold you Chief) and to ordinary people they simply say,
‘Saubona!’ (We see you or Good-day). We want to know if you
greet your chiefs with their traditional salutations you who are
converts to Christianity, you the dwellers in Mission stations.
If you no longer do this what caused you to abandon this fine
practice? . . .
Raise your hats to chiefs and respectable people. To White
gentlemen bow your heads gently even though you do not
utter a word. Do that to White people who deserve this. This is
pleasing. But we do not advise this even to poor Whites of no
repute who are no better than yourselves. This ‘Morning Sir’
of the Xhosa people whenever they see a White face is very
annoying.47

In the pages of Indaba’s successor, Lovedale’s Isigidimi sama-

Xosa (1870–88), the struggle for control of content was engaged.
James Stewart, principal of Lovedale, initially inhibited free literary
expression and political commentary but, especially after the 23-year-
old John Tengo Jabavu was appointed editor in 1881, pressure on the
floodgates intensified. Stewart wanted Isigidimi to be free of political
content, but this policy was increasingly at variance with the wishes
of its readers, who had become sensitive to the potential power of
the press. None expressed this potential more eloquently than Isaac
Williams Wauchope. In 1878 the last frontier war had ended yet again
with defeat for the Xhosa, the death of some of their chiefs and the
imprisonment of others. Wauchope called for a transformation of the
military struggle in an article published in Isigidimi in June 1882 to
Jabavu’s editorial acclaim: “Sitinina ke? Ziti izi pata mandla kuti:
Yekani umkonto, pumani kwa H῾oh῾o nakwa Manyube. YILWANI NGO
SIBA. Yizani ke silwe ngo siba” (What must we do now? The authorities
are saying to us: Lay down the spear, come out of the Hoho and

47. Translated by J.J.R. Jolobe in Williams (1983: 174–5).

220   NEWSPAPERS

Mnyube forests. FIGHT WITH A PEN. So come on, let’s fight with
a pen). In conclusion, he offered the following poem, commencing
with an allusion to a traditional rallying call to arms in response to a
cattle raid, “Zemk’ iinkomo, magwalandini!” (There go your cattle, you
cowards!):

Zimkile! Mfo wohlanga,

Putuma, putuma;
Yishiy’ imfakadolo,
Putuma ngosiba;
Tabat’ ipepa ne inki,
Lik῾aka lako elo.

Ayemk’ amalungelo,
Qubula usiba;
Nx῾asha, nx῾asha, nge inki,
Hlala esitulweni,
Ungangeni kwa Hoho;
Dubula ngo siba.

Tambeka umhlati ke,

Bambelel’ ebunzi;
Zigqale inyaniso,
Umise ngo mx῾olo;
Bek’ izito ungalwi,
Umsindo liyilo.

They’ve gone, countryman!

Chase them! Chase them!
Lay down the musket,
chase them with a pen;
seize paper and ink:
that’s your shield.

There go your rights!

Grab a pen,
load and reload it with ink;
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   221

sit in your chair,

don’t head for Hoho:
shoot with your pen.

Impress the page,

engage your mind;
focus on facts,
and speak loud and clear;
don’t rush into battle:
anger speaks with a stutter.48

Wauchope was born in 1852 and had been educated at Lovedale.

On both sides of his family, Wauchope had strong connections with
the pioneering Christian missionaries to the Xhosa people. His great-
grandmother and grandmother were early disciples of Van der Kemp,
following him to Bethelsdorp in 1802; Wauchope’s grandfather Citashe
lived near Joseph Williams’s mission. He was one of four Lovedale
students who accompanied the missionary party led by Stewart to
Malawi, but he returned early. In August 1882, while he was a teacher
at Uitenhage, Wauchope responded to an invitation to chair a meeting
designed to establish a black organisation in response to the foundation
in 1879 of the Afrikaner Bond. In September, Imbumba Yamanyama
was formed in Port Elizabeth, after the Native Education Association
(formed in 1879) the earliest formal political association for blacks
in South Africa; Wauchope served as the first Secretary. Imbumba
yamanyama is one of Ntsikana’s images, a symbol of social unity. It
refers to the scrapings from the inside of a pelt that when compacted
form an indissoluble ball: it came to represent a political ideal in which
diverse black groupings might be welded together into one nation. In
March 1884 Isigidimi printed a poem by Wauchope (writing under the
pseudonym Silwangangubo-nye) in praise of the fledgling political
organisation in which the revered Ntsikana summons the nation to
unite like a ball from scrapings, in the unity that Imbumba Yamanyama
offers:

48. Isigidimi (1 June 1882: 5), reprinted in Wauchope (2008: 165–9).

222   NEWSPAPERS

Imbumba yamanyama

Walil’ umzi akwatyiwa

Mhla sashiywa ngu Ntsikana;
Wancw῾atywa ke waselelwa
Washiyw’ apo kwagodukwa.

Amhlope pantsi komhlaba

Amatamb’ ento ka Gaba,
Yahlum’ inc῾a kwelo dlaka
Lomlwel’ omkulu wohlanga.

Kant’ useko usateta,

Izwi lake linamava,
Linencasa linomkita
Ele “Mbumba Yamanyama.”

Kanivuke nipakame
’Sapo ndini lwakwa “Mbombo,”
Nilandele eli lizwi
Lomtyangampo wo Manyano.

Kanivuke nipakame
’Sapo ndini lo Tukela,
Kuba nani nasulelwa
Lishwa lomzi wakwa P῾alo.

Mazipole izilonda
He, nenqala zentiyano;
Siyazalana sibanye,
Sikuluma ’lwimi lunye.

Safelwa ngu Krestu Emnye,

Sine lifa linye Ngaye:
Umanyano lungamandla—
Olwe “Mbumba Yamanyama.” . . .
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   223

Shukumani ningalali
Bafundisi abantsundu,
Kunje sakulila ngani
Xa lupaleley’ uhlanga.

Lumanyano ngokwe Mfundo!

Nants’ Imbumba itelela
Yixobise, yinkwe’ yako,
Yifundise eli Dabi.

A ball from scrapings

All the village wailed and fasted

on the day Ntsikana left us;
he was buried, covered over,
left there as we journeyed homeward.

White they lie beneath the earth,

the bones of Gabha’s offspring,
grass arose upon his grave,
great champion of the nation.

Yet he lives and keeps on speaking

in a voice rich with experience,
talking, sonorous and lovely,
of “Imbumba yamanyama.”

Rouse yourselves and stand erect,

all who dwell on Ngqika soil,
take your lead from what this voice says,
“Unity” its constant call.

Rouse yourselves and stand erect,

all who dwell on Zulu soil,
you have also been affected
by the house of Phalo’s loss.
224   NEWSPAPERS

The time has come to tend our wounds,

animosities and grudges;
we’re all related, common stock,
we all speak a common tongue.

All alone Christ died for us,

leaving one legacy to us:
there’s power in the unity
of “Imbumba yamanyama.” . . .

Keep on stirring, you black teachers,

never pausing in your efforts;
of course we’ll lay the blame on you
when the nation lies in ruins.

Learning fosters our unity,

now Imbumba strengthens the cause,
arm it as you would your offspring,
teach it how to fight this battle.49

Wauchope was one of the leading figures in the emergent Xhosa

political and literary elite in the last two decades of the nineteenth
century. His earliest contribution to a newspaper was an article on
the abuse of liquor in Isigidimi in July 1874. Wauchope contributed
to Imvo zabantsundu in 1891 and 1892 an extended discussion of
Xhosa proverbs, a number of hymns in 1896, and numerous historical
articles, and in 1895 won a competition for the best narrative poem. 50
Wauchope’s subversive monograph The Natives and Their Missionaries,
discussed in the following chapter, was published by Lovedale in 1908.
He drowned on the Mendi in the English Channel on 21 February 1917,
and is in fact the legendary hero who marshalled the doomed volunteers
for a death drill on the decks of the sinking troopship. 51

49. Isigidimi (1 March 1884: 2); Wauchope (2008: 331–4).

50. Imvo (11 April 1895: 2); Wauchope (2008: 350–4).
51. Biographical details can be found in T.J. Thompson (2000: 163–94) and
Wauchope (2008: xvii–xxxiii).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   225

In the same literary competition that recognised Wauchope in

1895, the prize for the best religious poem was won by Jonas Ntsiko, a
prolific poet and contributor to Isigidimi and Imvo from 1875 onwards,
who often wrote under the pseudonym Hadi waseluhlangeni (The harp
of the nation). Jordan testifies to Ntsiko’s popularity amongst readers:

It seems that no controversy could be brought to a close in

Isigidimi until “Hadi” had made his contribution. If he did
not write, either the other participants or interested readers
suggested that it was about time he did so. As a rule his
contribution to any discussion was in the form of a prose essay,
but he often concluded with a poem inspired by a subject under
discussion.52

Under the restricted editorship of John Tengo Jabavu, Isigidimi came

under increasing attack from its readers for its refusal to be drawn
into controversial political issues. A lively debate ensued in the
correspondence columns, involving Wauchope, Meshach Pelem and
others, to which Ntsiko contributed in 1883:

Andilapho ke noko, indawo endingayo yile yokungathi phakathi

kwesiGidimi nabafundileyo abaPhesheya kweNciba, akukho
kubukana kukhulu. Isizathu ngathi sesi—uluhle olufundileyo
luthi, ubuhlanga besiGidimi alubuqondi. IsiGidimi sibuthuntu
malungana neendaba zolawulo. Imvo yaso ingakwabaMhlophe,
ngohlobo lokuba athi ovakalisa ngaso umoya ongecala
elintsundu, simqondise ukuba akanguye owasekhaya. Umfo
owakha wabuzela uLangalibalele wathi esavele ngempumlo
ihagile samntywilisa buphuthuphuthu phantsi kwamanzi okuthi
cwaka; wathi owathi leyo nkosi yibhokhwe ilwa nendlovu
wabekwa, nentetho yakhe yahlokoma kwimilomo ngemilomo
encomayo. Ngathi luthi uluhle lwakowenu ngezi mini uhlanga
luphethweyo ezandleni, ngezi mini zeemfazwe eziphela kade,
noxolo olufutshane luphe ngexesha elifanelekileyo, ubude
nobubanzi nobuphakamo beendaba zasebandla. Kanjalo

52. Jordan (1973: 91–2).

226   NEWSPAPERS

tshayela ibala lamadoda anezimvo ngezimvo azixoxele kulo

iindaba azayamene kangaka nentlalo-ntle yawo kwanaye wonke
umntu ontsundu ukuze size kuyazi into esiyenzayo. Kuloo
nkundla kovela amaciko, neembongi zohlanga eziya kubonga
ngecala lethu, nangelinye icala. Kunani na kwakukhe kuvele
neyakwaMkatshane ithi:

Vukani bantwana
Bentab’ eBosiko,
Seyikhal’ ingcuka
Ingcuk’ emhlophe,
Ibawel’ amathambo
’Mathambo kaMshweshwe,
Mshweshw’ onubuthongo
Phezul’ entabeni.
Siyarhol’ isisu
Ngamathamb’ enkosi,
Ubomv’ umlomo
Kuxhap’ uSandile. . . .53

I am discussing the hostility that exists between Isigidimi and its

readers across the Kei. The reason would seem to be this, that
the younger intellectuals say they can never make out the true
nationality of Isigidimi. Isigidimi never takes up a clear stand on
political matters. It sides with the whites, for whenever a writer
voices the feelings of the blacks, Isigidimi immediately makes
him understand that he belongs to the side of the enemy. For
instance, a writer who tried to put in a word for Langalibalele (a
Hlubi chief) was quickly immersed under the waters of silence:
while another writer, who expressed the idea that Langalibalele
was a mere goat trying to fight against an elephant, was given
praise and his words were echoed far and wide.
In these days, when the nation is sickening to death, in these
days of long-lasting wars and short-lived peace, it is demanded
of you by the youth of your fatherland that you give them the

53. Isigidimi (2 April 1883: 4); Opland and Mtuze (1994: 89).
 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   227

length and breadth and depth of national news. Moreover, it

is demanded of you that you make a clearing in your paper,
a clearing that you have to keep clean for men of conflicting
views, so that in this clearing they may discuss all the matters
that so affect their welfare and the welfare of all the blacks.
Only then shall we know what we are doing. As a result of this
practice, there will emerge in this clearing national orators and
bards, some praising our side, and others praising the other
side. Why cannot a bard emerge for once from the people of
Mokhachane (Basuto) and sing as follows:

Arise, ye sons of the Mountain-at-Night!

The hyena howls, the white hyena,
All ravenous for the bones of Moshoeshoe,
Of Moshoeshoe who sleeps high up on the mountain.

Its belly hangs heavy and drags on the ground,

All gorged with the bones of warrior-kings;
Its mouth is red with the blood of Sandile. . . .54

After studying for three years in Canterbury, Ntsiko returned to South

Africa as an ordained priest in 1871, but seems to have been disciplined
and demoted to deacon. By 1900 he was blind. He worked as an
interpreter for the magistrate in Tsolo and died in 1918.
John Tengo Jabavu was appointed as editor of Isigidimi at the age
of 23 in 1881. His own political stance and the policy imposed upon
him by Stewart made him a controversial editor, although he welcomed
literary contributions in his pages and set standards for them. In October
1884, Isigidimi carried a poem by Thomas Mqanda, which criticised
Jabavu for his involvement in white politics:

Manditi kuwe:—
Sayama ngentab’ omlungukazi,
Le kutiwa yi Kapa;
Hamba nyoka emnyama,

54. Jordan (1973: 93–4).

228   NEWSPAPERS

Ecanda isiziba,
Uye kulomzi apo sibulawa kona.
Jong’indlela zamagwangqa,
Jongwa yimfakadolo;
Lukozi lumapiko angqangqasholo

Let me say to you,

always lounging in Cape Town
on the white woman’s mountain:
go, black snake
cleaving pools,
back to the homes we’re slaughtered in.
Study the white man’s ways
and a musket will study you,
you strong-winged hawk.55

Wauchope and Ntsiko invariably chose European metrical forms for

their poetry: this is the first published Xhosa poem modeled on the style
of izibongo, criticising its subject and deploying in the third and eighth
lines traditional animal metaphors (the black snake can be found in
Ngqika’s izibongo, for example). In the next month, November 1884,
Jabavu commenced publishing his own newspaper, Imvo zabantsundu,
in King William’s Town, while W.W. Gqoba assumed the editorship
of Isigidimi at Lovedale. Keen rivalry between Imvo and Isigidimi
ensued for the next four years, until Isigidimi ceased publication shortly
after Gqoba’s sudden death in April 1888, but Isigidimi’s antagonism
to Imvo was resumed by Izwi labantu, a newspaper controlled by
W.B. Rubusana, Nathaniel Cyril Mhala and A.K. Soga, which was
published in East London from 1897 to 1909. Mission newspapers,
which had nurtured and brought Xhosa writing to maturity, died with
Isigidimi in December 1888.
William Wellington Gqoba was a lively editor of Isigidimi, free
of the confrontational controversy attendant on Jabavu; he presided
over an unprecedented efflorescence of literary and ethnographic
contributions, many of which he provoked by his editorial comments

55. Opland (2017: 302–3).

 N I N E T E E N T H-C E N T U RY X H O S A L I T E R AT U R E   229

and his own writings.56 Gqoba’s literary career effectively commenced

after he assumed the editorship of Isigidimi; he contributed religious
poetry (especially poems of consolation on the death of parishioners),
humorous stories, historical articles on the Xhosa and Mfengu peoples
and on the cattle-killing episode of 1856–57, explanations of Xhosa
proverbs and two extended poems serialised in 1885 and 1888,
discussed in the following chapter, that for a long time stood as the
most sustained poetic achievements in Xhosa.
By the turn of the century, then, before the publication of Xhosa
books commenced in earnest, Xhosa literature had grown to maturity in
the pages of newspapers. Major Xhosa authors had emerged, who were
free to write what they chose in the styles they favoured. They included
writers of prose and poetry like Nkohla Falati, Gqoba, Arthur Gabriel
Nyovane, William Kobe Ntsikana, Jonas Ntsiko, M.K. Mtakati, John
Knox Bokwe, Brownlee John Ross, I.W. Wauchope and one who was to
become the greatest and most versatile of them all, S.E.K. Mqhayi, who,
writing initially as Imbongi yakwaGompo, made his first appearance in
print in the pages of Izwi. One of the earliest Xhosa books containing
original creative literature, Rubusana’s Zemk’inkomo magwalandini,
first published in 1906, celebrates this generation of authors, for much
of it comprises poetry and prose that originally appeared in the pages
of Indaba, Isigidimi and especially Izwi. This brief survey does scant
justice to the power, richness and variety of Xhosa literature, in oral and
printed media, by the end of the nineteenth century – a century that had
also witnessed in its initial quarter the first transcription and printing
of the Xhosa language – before the publication of Xhosa literary books
began in earnest in the first decade of the twentieth century.

56. See Gqoba (2015) for Gqoba’s collected writings.

11

Fighting with the pen

Late in 1817, while he was residing on the mission station established

in Xhosa territory by Joseph Williams just outside present-day Fort
Beaufort, the Rharhabe ruler Ngqika received news that Lord Charles
Somerset was leading a commando against him. He immediately
abandoned the mission station, sending back to Williams the following
proud assertion of independence:

You have your manner to wash and decorate yourselves on the

Lord’s day and I have mine, the same in which I was born and
that I shall follow. I have given over for a little to listen to your
“word”. But now I have done, for if I adopt your law I must
entirely overturn all my own. And that I shall not do. I shall
begin now to dance and praise my beasts as much as I please,
and shall let all see who is the head of this land.1

Ngqika chose to pursue his own customs and traditions, which

included dancing and celebrating cattle in poetry, rather than follow the
missionary’s way of life, which included the Christian word. Ngqika
perceived the two cultural modes as antithetical: acceptance of the
white man’s word necessarily entailed overturning Xhosa customary
life. Although he had listened to that word for a time, he was now
rejecting it.
In the succeeding decades white settlers increasingly encroached on
Xhosa territory, and a devastating series of frontier wars dispossessed
Ngqika’s successors and their subjects. Mission stations of various

1. Mostert (1992: 458).

230
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   231

denominations were established throughout Xhosa-speaking territory,

and with them came schools and centres of education, the principal
of which was the Lovedale Missionary Institution, founded in 1841.2
Mission education developed slowly throughout these turbulent years
of frontier hostilities, which culminated in the War of Ngcayechibi of
1878–79. When the military option of resisting white encroachment
ultimately failed for the Xhosa, it was suggested that an alternative
strategy of resistance might replace it, one that would appropriate as a
weapon the printed word introduced to the Xhosa by the missionaries.
As we saw in the previous chapter, in a poem written by Isaac Williams
Wauchope and published in 1882, the struggle would continue, with
the weapons of war supplanted by the white man’s written and printed
word. The shield would give way to paper, the rifle would be loaded
with ink, the headlong bloodrush into battle had proved insufficiently
eloquent. If anger stuttered, the cool rationality of the printed word
might persuade. The Xhosa writer of Wauchope’s generation was not
muzzled, his voice silenced in passive acquiescence to white control
of the printed word: he had recourse to the European medium of print
to promote his struggle for freedom. Only the mode of battle would
be altered, not the will to resist: the fight would be continued with the
pen as principal weapon. André Odendaal characterised the evolving
strategies of this emergent generation as follows:

The members of the new educated class of Africans which

emerged in consequence of these developments soon became
aware of the overall discrepancy between Christian doctrine and
western political ideals on the one hand and the realities of white
conquest on the other. . . . Prompted by unfulfilled expectations,
the new class began to pose new challenges to the system of
white control. Instead of trying to assert African independence
as the chiefs had done, they accepted the new order and tried
to change it. They mobilised themselves into societies and to
voice their demands they made use of newspaper columns,
electioneering, pamphleteering, petitioning, lobbying and
pressure groups. Unlike the traditionalists they did not want to

2. See Hodgson (1997); Shepherd (1941, 1971).

232   NEWSPAPERS

opt out of the system and did not reject European culture. They
wanted to share political power with whites, they demanded to
be allowed greater opportunities to assimilate European culture,
they desired to advance economically, and most of all, perhaps,
they wished to be recognised as a new class which had broken
away from traditionalism.3

This chapter seeks to explore some of the ways in which two prominent
nineteenth-century Xhosa authors, William Wellington Gqoba and
Isaac Williams Wauchope, expressed in print their resistance to white
domination, even in publications issued by the mission press.
The contest for control of the word met with varying results:
oral modes of Xhosa discourse were never effectively controlled
by the whites; journalism was initially subject to white control, but
successfully appropriated by the Xhosa in the last two decades of
the nineteenth century; when Xhosa literature appeared in books
early in the twentieth century it was fairly effectively controlled
by missionaries, but not entirely so.4 The two decades following the
cessation of open warfare on the frontier in 1879 were characterised
by black independence initiatives both politically and ecclesiatically.
The Native Education Association had been established in 1879, and in
September 1882 Imbumba Yamanyama was formed in Port Elizabeth,
a black response to the foundation of the Afrikaner Bond three years
earlier. Isaac Williams Wauchope was in the chair at the inaugural
meeting, and became Imbumba’s first secretary.5 In 1883 Nehemiah Tile
led an African breakaway from the Methodist Church in Thembuland,
and this secession was followed by the formation of Ethiopian Church
movements in 1898 by Pambani Mzimba and in 1900 by James
Dwane.6 The prevailing mood among black intellectuals, themselves
the products of mission education, was reflected in their writings in
both Xhosa and English. Free expression and promotion of these ideas
initially necessitated the black appropriation of the white press.

3. Odendaal (1984: 4).

4. See Opland (2017), especially chapters 13 and 14.
5. See Kirk (2000), Odendaal (1984, 2012) and Wauchope (2008).
6. See Campbell (1998).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   233

In the first issue of Indaba (News), a Xhosa-language newspaper

issued by Lovedale between 1862 and 1865, Tiyo Soga appealed for the
preservation of Xhosa folklore in its pages: “Indaba,” Soga wrote, could
be “isitya esihle sokulondoloza imbali, nendaba namavo, asekaya”
(a beautiful bowl for preserving the history, news and stories of our
home).7 In the event, Indaba simply failed to respond to Soga’s appeal,
and the struggle for control commenced in the pages of its successor,
Isigidimi sama-Xosa (The Xhosa messenger), issued by Lovedale
between 1870 and 1888. At first, the editorial policy of James Stewart,
principal of Lovedale, threw cold water on the hopes Soga had earlier
expressed for Indaba: in 1871 Stewart rejected an appeal for the use of
Isigidimi’s pages to preserve traditional Xhosa material, claiming that

[t]here is very little in old Kaffirdom worth preserving. . . .

There is a portion of every nation’s history which must be
forgotten: and to this, that of the Kaffir people is no exception.
“Nature brings not back the mastodon,” nor need we try to
bring back the sentiments and the rude inspiration of barbarous
times and a savage state.8

These editorial restrictions did not sit well with John Tengo Jabavu, who
served as editor of Isigidimi from 1881 to 1884.9 In search of greater
political freedom, Jabavu raised funds from white politicians and
founded his own newspaper in 1884, Imvo zabantsundu (Black opinion).
Jabavu was succeeded as editor of Isigidimi by W.W. Gqoba, who
initiated a policy entirely consonant with Soga’s aspirations for Indaba,
but who was otherwise constrained to exclude political comment.
Soon after Gqoba’s death in April 1888, Isigidimi ceased publication
in December 1888, the last of the major Xhosa newspapers published
by missionaries. James Stewart himself ascribed its closure to a dearth
of funds but also to the popularity of its politically committed rival,
Jabavu’s Imvo: “Within the last few years,” Stewart wrote, “another
Native newspaper has been issued more frequently, and more free also

7. Indaba (August 1862: 10).

8. Kaffir Express (4 February 1871: 3).
9. On Jabavu, see Ndletyana (2008b); Ngcongco (1979).
234   NEWSPAPERS

from its position, and the kind of support it receives, to discuss political
questions and parties – both of which subjects are but rarely suitable for
the columns of the Isigidimi.”10 Thus towards the end of the nineteenth
century secular journalism had emerged under Xhosa editorial control.
Imvo ruled the roost until 1897, when a second Xhosa newspaper was
established, funded by rival white politicians, Izwi labantu (The voice of
the people). Imvo and Izwi remained keen competitors until 1909, when
Izwi ceased publication; Imvo finally ceased publication in 1997.11 The
eastern Cape Xhosa-language newspapers, especially Indaba, Isigidimi,
Imvo and Izwi, nurtured a new generation of writers, many of whom
chose to fight with the pen rather than with the shield or assegai. W.W.
Gqoba and I.W. Wauchope were among the most prominent figures of
this emergent generation.12
It is to newspapers that we must look for the free expression of
black opinion in print: the publication of secular books that commenced
in earnest in the first decade of the twentieth century was to a much
greater extent subject to white control. The first major book containing
secular Xhosa literature, W.B. Rubusana’s Zemk’inkomo magwalandini
(They’re making off with your cattle, you cowards!), published in 1906,
neatly sidestepped white control of access to book production: the editor
paid for its printing in England and had it distributed in South Africa
through an agent. A firm oral tradition held that the early Christian
preacher Ntsikana had received his inspiration independent of the
agency of Christian missionaries, implying that the Xhosa had willed
their own acceptance of Christianity without missionary intervention,
that they had found their own path to the Christian truth, a line of
argument echoed in a number of early publications: S.E.K. Mqhayi’s
novel Ityala lamawele (The case of the twins, 1914), for example,
was explicitly designed to demonstrate the integrity of precolonial
Xhosa systems of justice; his later novelette, Idini (The sacrifice,
1928), concludes with notes drawing parallels between Xhosa and Old
Testament practices. Both works tacitly assert the sanctity and antiquity
of Xhosa custom in the face of opposition from Christian missionaries.

10. Christian Express (1 January 1889: 13).

11 . See Salawu (2013).
12. See Opland (2017), especially chapter 11.
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   235

Fighting with the pen most frequently involved arguing in print for the
integrity of Xhosa custom, on the same field of contest that Ngqika had
defined in abandoning Joseph Williams’s mission station in 1817.
In the last quarter of the nineteenth century, much debate in mission
circles centred on Xhosa custom.13 Divergent attitudes to native custom
occasioned tension between the Xhosa missionaries, who between
1876 and 1888 travelled from Lovedale to assist in the establishment
of mission stations in Malawi, and their white colleagues.14 In 1877,
shortly after the mission party set off for Malawi, with Isaac Wauchope
among them, Rev. W.C. Holden proposed to a Missionary Conference
the formation of an Anti-Kaffir-Custom Association:

The above title, or such other as the Conference may agree

upon, is intended to indicate an Association, the object of which
shall be to seek by the use of the best means, to remove or bring
to nought all such Kaffir Customs as are either in themselves
directly evil, or are in their influence and surroundings
calculated to hinder the progress of Christian Missions, and
retard the social and moral improvement of the Native races. 15

Pambani Jeremiah Mzimba was invited to address the same conference

“on the evils of certain marriage customs among Native Christians”. In
his opening remarks, Mzimba, who was “Pastor of the Native Church
at Lovedale” at the time, and who twenty years later would lead one of
the African Independent Church breakaways, praised the tolerance of
the early missionaries (obliquely implying criticism of the intolerance
of the missionaries of his own time): the subject of his talk, he claimed,
was important,

as it either directly or indirectly touches those questions which

force themseves to the notice of the different Missionary bodies,
such as what is to be done with national and social customs
of the converted natives? Are they to be allowed? and to what

13. See Mills (1995).

14. Thompson (2000).
15. Christian Express (1 September 1877: 13).
236   NEWSPAPERS

extent; or, are they to be abolished, and those who practice them
excluded from Church membership? One cannot help, I think,
being struck with the wisdom of the Missionaries who had the
honour to be pioneers of Christianity in South Africa. The rules
they have laid down show that they did not aim at abolishing
and extirpating all Kaffir customs as such, but only to abolish
those that were antagonistic to the Word of God.16

Mzimba had previously addressed conferences on this subject to

little effect. On this occasion he excluded discussion of the exchange
of cattle as lobola, “having been before the meetings of this Conference
more than once, and unanimously disapproved of” on this topic: clearly
there had been fundamental disagreement between Mzimba and his
white missionary colleagues. Instead, on this occasion, he examined
critically the considerable courtship and wedding expenses demanded
of the bridegroom. At one point in his address, Mzimba digressed to
launch an attack on the missionaries’ futile opposition to lobola, and at
this point, notably and significantly, he deployed metaphor and simile,
switching registers. The somewhat florid passage stands out quite
distinctly in style from his otherwise dry and technical presentation:

In fact, the idea about Ulobolo is as deeply rooted as the grass

on which the Ulobolo cattle graze. The sun’s heat withers the
grass, and it remains for several months without moisture, as
dry as straw, but the first showers of rain will cause it to spring
up again. Burn it if you will, still in a few weeks the grass
will grow vigorously. So it is with the idea of Ukulobolisa in
the Kaffir mind. Let the Missionary burn it as it were in his
congregation, by saying it must be abolished, and insist firmly
and persistently on its extirpation, by excluding from Church
membership those who practice it, like grass, it shows its fresh
leaves when opportunity offers. Further, let the Missionary
prune the idea, and constantly cut it down wherever he sees
it, like sheep eating bare their pasturage, but it only waits a

16. Christian Express (1 September 1877: 14).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   237

chance when it shall show itself. Such has been the history of
Ukulobolisa amongst Christian Natives. The Missionaries may
have thought years ago that they had succeeded in putting it
down and having it abolished. Undoubtedly, in a few cases, they
have – but the Native Church as a church is Lobolisa-ing still.
Like a chamelion changing its colours, the Native Christians
have only changed the name.17

Lobola is presented as a natural force, like grass, which missionaries

attempt to eradicate in vain. Mzimba has recourse here to heightened
imagery to express his criticism; elsewhere in his address he maintains
the formal mode of mission discourse, concluding his address with a
quotation from St Paul in appropriate conference style. This will not be
the last time that we encounter stylistic switching to convey criticism
within a dominant Christian discourse.
Pambani Mzimba was an associate of W.W. Gqoba at Lovedale,
and officiated at Gqoba’s funeral in 1888. During his brief editorship
of Isigidimi, Gqoba had established himself as the first major Xhosa
creative writer. I want to consider here two examples of Gqoba’s work.
The Christian Express published the English text of a talk Gqoba
delivered to the Lovedale Literary Society in April 1885 entitled
“The native tribes: their laws, customs and beliefs”. In this talk,
Gqoba presents an analysis of Xhosa custom in the interests of mutual
reconciliation and understanding between black and white: “The deeper
investigation goes into Native questions the more interesting they will
become,” he wrote, “and the two races will gradually understand each
other, and all suspicions and grievances as well as all ill-feeling towards
one another will be removed for ever.”18 He commences with an account
of precolonial history and culture, peppering his exposition with Xhosa
terms for artefacts and practices, and setting out the lineages of the
chiefs, drawing explicitly on oral tradition:

The native tribes of South Africa, as some of us are aware, are

supposed to have come from the North. We are not expressly

17. Christian Express (1 September 1877: 13).

18. Christian Express (1 June 1885: 93); Gqoba (2015: 210).
238   NEWSPAPERS

told how they came in contact with some of the Jewish customs
and ceremonies which prevail among almost all the Abantu of
South Africa.
From what we are able to gather from our ancestors, orally
handed down to us from one generation to another, we learn,
that, according to their history, Untu, was the first chief of the
Abantu, and his subjects were called after him Abantu.19

Gqoba then passes on to consider custom and belief, explicitly

establishing precolonial integrity:

Among the native tribes, there is a system of law which has

been, for generations past, uniformly recognised as well as
administered. Although it is an ‘unwritten law,’ its principles
and practice were widely understood, being mainly founded
upon precedents, embodying the decisions of chiefs and
councils of bygone days, handed down by oral tradition, and
treasured in the memories of the people.20

Next he offers an account of colonial legislation affecting the Xhosa

legal system, drawing on a Report of the Commission on Native
Laws and Customs, offering two examples of the deposing of chiefs
in precolonial times, as if to argue that, even in this respect, Xhosa
practice predated the arrival of whites and their interference in Xhosa
affairs.
Gqoba considers lobola next, arguing that the term “never
meant either to buy or to sell”, one of the principal grounds for
missionary opposition to the practice. Gqoba ends this section by
quoting at considerable length the Commission’s report countering
misunderstandings of the Xhosa law of marriage. In his account of
Xhosa beliefs, which follows, Gqoba makes a point of referring to the
burial “in very olden times” of a person who dies without uttering a
verbal bequest:

19. Christian Express (1 June 1885: 93); Gqoba (2015: 213).

20. Christian Express (1 June 1885: 94); Gqoba (2015: 214).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   239

The death of such a one was immediately announced at the

great place, and a number of men dispatched to the deceased’s
kraal, to seize and confiscate all his cattle. They believed he had
gone to a place of punishment, but the Amaxosa had no name
for it. I do not know whether the other tribes have a name for
this place, but they have one for a place of happiness although
they cannot very well describe it.21

“Superstition pervades the whole of the Bantu family,” Gqoba says.

“They all believe in the spirit-world and in a resurrection from the
dead, even of the lower animals. They believe that a new state of
things is going to be, only in a different way from what our expectation
is.”22 After treating burials and doctors, Gqoba returns explicitly to the
implication of these comments on superstition, that precolonial Xhosa
religion shared many beliefs with Christianity, that it did not need
Christianity to preach these beliefs to the native peoples since they
already held them:

That the natives have a distinct religious belief, there can be

no doubt. This does not refer to what they may have heard
since their contact with the missionaries; but one which dates
long centuries back, before the missionary was heard of. They
acknowledged the existence of a Supreme Being, who created
all things, and who dwells in the Heavens, whose power is
infinite. . . . All natives believe in a future world. They also
believe that they have immortal souls. They also believe in the
existence of good spirits as well as bad ones.23

In concluding, Gqoba dramatically switches into Christian

sermonising, adopting stock mission imagery to end on a pious note,
exactly as Mzimba had done before him. The Xhosa might entertain
many absurd notions, “yet in some respects they are much nearer the

21. Christian Express (1 July 1885: 110); Gqoba (2015: 221–2).

22. Christian Express (1 July 1885: 110); Gqoba (2015: 222).
23. Christian Express (1 September 1885: 141); Gqoba (2015: 227–8).
240   NEWSPAPERS

light, though they dwell in darkness, than many would suppose”. In

fulsome terms and high biblical style, he praises the missionaries:

These white men, have out of love and obedience to their Lord
and Master and His cause, faced death, being content to count
all those things as nothing, provided only they may win the
souls of us black men and women for Christ, and guide them out
of darkness into the marvellous light of true religion. “Cast thy
bread upon the waters,” is the word of command; and although
on this Continent, many Pauls have planted and many Apolloses
have watered, in sadness of spirit, and amidst fearful trials, yet
God giveth the increase, and He is doing so. . . . Whilst unto
Christ has been given as His possession the uttermost parts of
the earth, we must remember that we heathen were especially
bequeathed to Him, as His inheritance; we heathen are His,
therefore, provided we do not neglect so great salvation. Unto
us, therefore, who have had all the advantages of Christian
teaching from our earliest days, is the gospel preached; to us the
gospel trumpet is being sounded on these South African plains.
. . . May the day soon come when we natives of this country
shall have altogether been freed from the power of heathenism
in all its forms, and when we in turn shall willingly and out of
the same love that prompted the Britons to sacrifice everything
for Christ’s sake, do the same for our benighted countrymen! 24

This conclusion, preached within the mode and terms of missionary

discourse, accepting the dependence of benighted blacks on enlightened
whites for their salvation, is plainly at variance with the academic
style of the preceding exposition of Xhosa custom, drawing as it
does on Xhosa oral tradition and terminology, and citing the report
of a parliamentary commission in support of its implicit and at times
explicit thread of argument that precolonial Xhosa custom and belief
constituted a coherent system that anticipated many of the beliefs and
practices of the Christian missionaries. Perhaps such pious passages
at the conclusion of Gqoba’s and Mzimba’s articles facilitated the

24. Christian Express (1 September 1885: 142); Gqoba (2015: 228–9).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   241

publication of the whole piece, containing as they both did sympathetic

treatments of Xhosa custom.
Gqoba’s poem “Ingxoxo enkulu ngemfundo” (Great debate on
education) was the most ambitious and sustained work of original
Xhosa literature in its time, and remained so until the appearance of
the first Xhosa novels a full generation later. It originally appeared in
instalments in Isigidimi shortly after Gqoba assumed editorship of the
paper, commencing in January 1885 and concluding in the August issue
of that year. In total, the poem ran to 1 150 lines. In its form, “Ingxoxo
enkulu ngemfundo” gave the appearance of conformity with English
literary tradition: it is written throughout in trochaic octosyllables, a
strict form quite foreign to Xhosa tradition. It superficially reflects a
debt too to Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, which had been translated
into Xhosa by Tiyo Soga, in that the participants are given allegorical
names like Swel’-Igukwe (All Above Board), Fan’-Atete (Chatterbox),
’So-Ligoso (Cockeye) and Fel’-Inene (Die for Truth). The debate
is controlled by a chairman who introduces the topic and sums up in
conclusion, with speakers politely taking turns, so that the whole poem
appears to be a Christian work within disciplined Western cultural
tradition. Furthermore, the chairman, an old, well-educated, thrifty and
successful farmer named Bedidlaba (Ungrateful), is ultimately swayed
by the debate: initially, as his name implies, he is sceptical of the
benefits of the white education he has enjoyed. The prose preamble to
the poem concludes with this paragraph:

Ivulwe ke njengesiko lentlanganiso. Usukile umpati sihlalo,

umnumzana ongu BEDIDLABA waquba into ekuhlanganelwe
yona. Ute ngobuciko nenteto ehlabayo wabonisa indawo
zokulunga kwe mfundo, nohlobo ebekufundiswa ngalo
ezikuleni kwimini zasemva, kunolu lwakaloku. Uc῾aze nohlobo
olulona lulungileyo kokwake ukubona, ebekuya kulunga kuti
ukuba bekuqu҅tywa ngalo, kuyekwe ezindlela kuq῾utywa zona
zomona, namakw῾ele, nolunya. Uvakele ek῾alima ngobushushu
obukulu esiti,—‘Nokuba kukwizindlu ezifundisa amashishini,
nokuba kuse zikuleni zomtinjana, tu nto yona siyenzelwayo
ngoku ngaba bantu. Mna okwam nindibona nje sendincamile,
ingaba nini kambe madodana, nani mtinjana wakowetu
242   NEWSPAPERS

eningaba nisakolwa; koko ningekabaqondi aba bantu kuba

nisengabantwana. Asikuk῾o nokuba ndiyayibulela lendawo
nindibeke kuyo kwesi sihlalo, kukona namhla ndiyakuke ndizive
izimvo zenu, ngohlobo abasifundisa ngalo aba bantu. Lempato
basipete ngayo, nelik῾ete lik῾oyo kuzo zonke izinto; sahlala tina
sibuyiselwa emva kuzo. Ndok῾῾e ndipele apo okwangoku; ndoti
ukuze ndipume egusheni, ndide ndive okwenu manene akowetu,
ndisazi nokwazi ukuba kwala manqakwana ndiwenzileyo,
ayanele okwanamhla nje lengx῾oxo ukuba mayivutwe.’ Utsho ke
wahlala pantsi.

The meeting was started in due form. The chairman,

Ungrateful, stated the purpose of the meeting. With great
eloquence he outlined the importance of education, how
people were educated in the past and how they were educated
at present. He commented on how people should be taught in
order to counter jealousy, envy and spite. With deep emotion
he said: “Whether in trade schools or schools for youngsters,
these people are doing nothing for us. I’ve lost all hope. I don’t
know: you might still be satisfied because you’re young and
don’t know these people. I’m delighted you’ve asked me to
chair this meeting, so that I can learn your views on how these
people teach us. They abuse us, they discriminate and are not
particularly interested in our welfare. For the time being, let me
end there. I’ll expand on my comments when you’ve aired your
views on the matter. The topic is now open for discussion.”
With these words he sat down.25

By the time all fifteen speakers have had their say, however, Ungrateful
appears to have changed his mind and comes down firmly in favour of
the white educational enterprise. The poem ends with these lines:

Ndoyisiwe kup῾elile,
Zinyaniso ndifeziwe,
Yon’ imfundo iyalala,

25. Isigidimi (1 January 1885: 4); Gqoba (2015: 86–9).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   243

Ndiqondile ngeligala
Masifund’ ukubulela
Ndigalele ndafincela,
Mna ke ndiyaqukumb῾ela,
Zenixele emak῾aya
Masitande amagwangqa,
Amabandla ap῾esheya.

I’ve been wholly crushed and beaten,

truths have vanquished my objections,
this education’s bounteous,
on this issue I concede
that we need to acquire gratitude,
I’ve poured it out to the very last drop,
and now I’m just wrapping up:
tell everyone at home,
let’s learn to love white people,
who came to us from overseas.26

In form and structure, therefore, Gqoba’s poem gives every

appearance of being a piece of pious propaganda. In depicting a debate
on the issue, however, Gqoba is free to express a wide range of opinion.
As A.C. Jordan remarked,

[t]here is an interesting variety of participants and therefore a

variety of opinions, left, centre, and right, shading into each
other. In this long discussion, no one says that the blacks are
getting a square deal from the whites. The best defense that
the extreme right can put up is that things are not so bad, and
that if the ingrates will only exercise patience, the best is yet to
be.27

Against this lukewarm defence of education is ranged an eloquent and

outspoken set of arguments that moves easily on from the sphere of

26. Isigidimi (1 August 1885: 61); Gqoba (2015: 208–9).

27. Jordan (1973: 67).
244   NEWSPAPERS

education to white attitudes and policies in general. The first spokesman

for the left, for example, Soligoso (Cockeye), the second participant in
the debate, scathingly argues in part against the differential system of
education James Stewart introduced at Lovedale after 1870.

Ababantu bayak῾eta,
Kuyinene inanamhla.
Es’kuleni ndinonyana,
Sel’egqibe nomunyaka.

Isi-Grike akasazi,
Si-Latini, akasazi,
Si-Hebere, akasazi,
Ukukumsha akakwazi.

Wonke umntu onengq῾ondo,

Engotanda kwa nemfundo,
Woziqonda ezindawo
Azimisiley’ ubawo.

Kule ngx῾oxo ndixabene

Nezwi lika Sweligukwe.
Makavuswe amak῾wele,
Ozintuli baq῾atshuzwe.

Ababantu ba Pesheya,
Ngabaze kusibulala,
Basihlute nomuhlaba,
Asinawo namakaya.

All aren’t equal to these people,

that’s the truth now plain and simple.
I’ve a son who is a schoolboy
with his first year just completed.

He hasn’t been taught any Greek,

nor has he learnt any Latin,
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   245

nor has he learnt any Hebrew,

nor any foreign language.

Everyone with understanding,

with a love of education,
knows about this situation
constructed for us by Father.

In this debate I’ve stood opposed

to the speech of All Above Board.
Bring jealousy into the open:
let the dust rise as we argue.

These people from beyond the sea

are bent on our destruction,
forcefully seizing our very country:
we no longer own our homesteads.28

Others speak fondly of precolonial times, criticise taxes and low black
wages, alcoholism and dispossession. At the height of the debate,
Rauk’-Emsini (Singed By Smoke) rises in anger to attack the suggestion
that blacks should be grateful to whites.

Ndincamile ndonakele
Mz’ wakowetu okunene
Ngamadoda atetile
Abebonga amagwangqa.
Kanti noko lon’ ik῾ete
Noko sebe likanyele
Lik῾o lona okunene
Kwinto zonke ngokumhlope.
Fan’selana sekupina
Umnt’ omnyama esebenza,
Ek῾olisa, sele qwela,
Won’umvuzo uyintshenu,
Okunene kut’we k῾uni.

28. Isigidimi (1 January 1885: 5); Gqoba (2015: 90–3).

246   NEWSPAPERS

Oligwangqa uyinkosi
Nakuw’ pina umsebenzi,
Fan’selana esidenge
Abantsundu bemqwelile,
Nange ngqondo bemdlulile,
Kupelile wozuziswa
Umuvuzo owangala
Kwanegunya lokup῾ata
Abantsundu, abamnyama.
Kwanelizwe xa lifile
Bomiselwa izidenge,
’Zingazange ziyibone
Lento kut’wa iyimfazwe,
Bap῾atisw’ okwabantwana,
Ngezab῾okwe betyatyushwa;
Bat’we ci҅ ntsi ngeqoshana
Bengo Vula ozindlela,
Amagwangqa etyetyiswa.
Kwi ofisi kukwanjalo
Abantsundu, tú, nto, nto, nto
Kwanalapo bay’ zuzayo.
Niti ikodwa makowetu
Alibala elintsundu,
Masifihle, masincw҅abe
Ezondawo zimuhlope?
Siteta nje kukw’ i Bondo
Ebuqili buyindoqo;
Ifungele, ibi҅ nqele
Ukuti e Palamente,
Ezimali zifundisa
Oluhlanga lumunyama,
Mazihlutwe, mazipe҅ le.
Ngamanina law’ anjalo?
Eyona nto soba nayo,
Imihlaba sel’ inabo,
Ozigusha, nozinkomo,
Zonk’ izintw’ ebesinazo,
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   247

Bajojisa ngale mfundo?

Pendulani Sweligukwe,
Bazamehlo, Felinene,
Sibulele ndawonina?
Nale voti ikwanjalo,
Kukw’ ike҅ te kwa nakuyo,
Asivunywa kany’ impela
Tina bantu abamnyama.
Pikisani ezindawo
Sihlangene kule ngxoxo:
Nditsho ngoko ke manene
Ukuti sendincamile.
Okuko҅na kukudala
Ungenile kweli gwangqa
Kokukona ungumfiki,
Kokuko҅na ungumzini.
Ndiyapinda ndiyabuza
Kuni bandla elimnyama,
Nihlangene ngeli gala,
Sibulele ndawonina,
Ubuka҅ya bubupi҅ na?
Ezindawo zamaqe҅ tsu
Aziko҅ na ke mawetu?
Nawo onke lamasheyi,
Siwenzelwa em Lungwini?
Xa kulapo kuyinene
Sonke, sonke simanyene
Kuba sonke sika҅te҅ le,
Masiwal’ amagqebeqe҅
Nakwezo zi Palamente,
Ngokuteta ngezw’ elinye
Ukuca҅sa zonk’ indawo
Zembulawo ezinjalo,
Asiboni mubulelo.

I’m in despair, quite unravelled.

Really, my fellow countrymen,
248   NEWSPAPERS

one by one the men have spoken,

singing praises of the whites.
They maintain discrimination
is a figment of our fancy,
but it really does affect us
palpably in every aspect.
Everywhere that people get to
you can find a black man working.
Often, by the end of day,
his pay amounts to nothing,
it’s been completely docked.
As for the white man, he’s the boss
wherever people are employed.
He could be the biggest dummy,
even though blacks are his senior,
even though their brains surpass his,
he alone will be rewarded,
earning piles and piles of pay
and authority and power
over those with dark skins, black folk.
When the country’s on armed footing
blacks are posted under dummies
with absolutely no experience
of a wartime situation,
blacks are treated just like children,
spurred along with sjamboks,
with mere crumbs by way of profit
though they might have blazed the paths:
only white men fill their pockets.
It’s no different in an office:
even when they’re on a salary
blacks earn nothing, nothing, nothing.
My people, you say the difference
is that their skins are black;
must we suppress and conceal
these facts about the whites?
As we talk a Bond’s been set up,
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   249

its panacea’s cunning;

with oaths sworn it’s set its sights
on getting Parliament to plunder
all the funds it’s set aside
for the black public’s education,
eradicating them completely.
What kind of people live like this?
What is left to us of value?
All the land is theirs already,
all the sheep and all the cattle,
they have their eyes on all we own,
leaving us a whiff of learning.
All Above Board, give me an answer,
you too, Hawkeye, and Die For Truth:
where exactly can we give thanks?
It’s no different with the vote,
rooted in discrimination,
all of us who are black
are totally excluded.
Though we may differ on these points,
let’s agree in this discussion;
so then, gentlemen, I’m saying
that despair’s already claimed me.
Just as long as you continue
to have dealings with these white men,
just so long you’ll be a stranger,
just so long a rank outsider.
Once again I put it to you,
members of black nations,
gathered here on this occasion,
where’s the place for us to give thanks?
Where do we share a common space?
All these issues with their pitfalls,
aren’t they really there, my people?
What about this flagrant fraud
framed for us among the whites?
So then, I claim to speak the truth,
250   NEWSPAPERS

all of us, let’s act in concert,

since we’re all of us depleted;
let’s oppose these machinations,
in those Parliaments if need be,
with one voice let’s do our talking
damning every single item
of destructive legislation.
We’ve no reason to be grateful.29

This defiant nationalistic appeal for black unity, for the political
mobilisation of blacks in opposition to white discrimination, appears in
a fictional debate poem in a mission newspaper with a strict policy of
excluding political comment. Despite the chairman’s capitulation and
concession of defeat at the conclusion of the debate, despite the benign
facade of form and structure, Gqoba aired incisive social and political
criticism in his poem.
Like Gqoba, Isaac Williams Wauchope played a significant role
in the history of Xhosa literature through his prolific contributions to
newspapers. Apart from this body of journalism, Wauchope published
one book, The Natives and Their Missionaries, in 1908. Gqoba’s
grandfather Peyi was one of Ntsikana’s followers, and Gqoba himself
bore great reverence for the Xhosa prophet.30 During his final illness,
Gqoba had a vision of Ntsikana and his congregation in bright clothing:
“Bendingamazi nje la Ntsikana wembali,” he remarked, “namhla
ndiyamazi” (While I never knew the famous Ntsikana, today I know
him).31 Wauchope, too, venerated Ntsikana. The name of the political
organisation that Wauchope was involved in establishing in 1882,
Imbumba Yamanyama, is one of Ntsikana’s images, a symbol of
national unity. Wauchope celebrated Xhosa custom and tradition, and
collected folklore, as Gqoba had done. On 9 November 1889 he read
a paper to the Training Society at Lovedale on “Kafir Proverbs and
Figures of Speech”, which led in 1891 to the publication of a series of

29. Isigidimi (1 May 1885: 35); Gqoba (2015: 162–7).

30. On Gqoba, see Gérard (1971: 36–41); Gqoba (2015); Jordan (1973), especially
chapter 7.
31. Isigidimi (1 May 1888: 34); Gqoba (2015: 522–3).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   251

Xhosa idioms and expressions with accompanying discussion under the

title Izintsonkoto zamaqalo (Implications of proverbs), the earliest body
of systematic philosophical writing in Xhosa.32 After the appearance of
the eighth instalment, Wauchope wrote to Imvo setting out his reasons
for declining the request of numerous readers that he publish the series
as a book. In so doing, he outlined the aims of his endeavours:

I am, however, still carrying on my collection, not necessarily

for publication in your columns, but for the sake of preserving
what will soon be buried in the dead past. I have hitherto taken
none but those of which the historical connection can be still
traced, and among them, those which specially bring out the
ethical aspect of Native life. . . . There is a tendency in the
Native mind to regard civilized moral standards as foreign
and strange. My object is to show that corresponding moral
standards exist in chrystalized forms in their own National
Mottoes, and that by living up to these they would not fall far
below the civilized standards of morality. 33

Wauchope’s collection of proverbs was thus designed to instil pride in

his readers, to convince them that they need not view their own moral
codes, enshrined in their folklore, as inferior to “civilised” European
standards.
Wauchope was an active and senior member of the temperance
movement. On 30 September 1887 a paper he had written on
“Strong drink and the natives” was read on his behalf at a meeting
of the Lovedale Literary Society. In it, Wauchope inveighs against
drunkenness for two reasons: it undermines black access to the labour
market and thus the means for social improvement, and it destroys
customary life. In arguing the latter case, Wauchope defends, valorises
and romanticises the threatened customs:

So powerful a hold had the drink on [the Ngqika] tribe, that

old and dear customs and ceremonies were gradually replaced

32. Wauchope (2008: 245–311).

33. Imvo (12 November 1891: 3); Wauchope (2008: 291).
252   NEWSPAPERS

by the bottle. The guest, who used to be received by killing a

beast, and combining in innocent festivity, was now received
with the bottle and its accompanying riot. The man that had
been imprisoned had, formerly, first to be purified by a doctor
before mixing with his fellows, and a sheep or goat had to be
slaughtered as a token of welcome. Now the bottle is sufficient
for both the cleansing and the welcoming. When the doctor was
called in to see a patient, or to smell out witch-craft, he was
received with a present of a lamb or a kid; now brandy is the
sine qua non. The young lover must now soften the hearts of
the parents of the maiden he wants for a wife, by keeping them
supplied with drink.34

When Gqoba and Wauchope wrote in Xhosa for Xhosa readers in

Isigidimi and Imvo, they expressed criticism and political exhortation,
notably in poetry; when they addressed mixed audiences in English,
they spoke the language of their white missionary colleagues but
introduced coded signals to their black colleagues, stylistic shifts that
suggest black independence or equality, appeals to black pride and
unity. This is a tactic employed by Pambani Mzimba in his conference
address on lobola in 1877, by Gqoba in his account of Xhosa custom in
1885 and by Wauchope in his criticism of drink in 1887. Their addresses
were clearly acceptable to white members of their audience, and were
subsequently published in The Christian Express, yet at the same time
they held different connotations for attentive black ears. These coded
stylistic switches might draw attention to themselves through poetic
language; as we have seen, they stand out in a sober context by virtue
of their colourful prose marked by elaborate simile and metaphor. They
often say one thing, but are perhaps meant to be understood as implying
the opposite, reminiscent of the advice of the grandfather of the
unnamed protagonist of Ralph Ellison’s novel of the African American
experience, Invisible Man, who on his deathbed advised his grandson
on how to deal with whites: “Live with your head in the lion’s mouth. I
want you to overcome ’em with yeses, undermine ’em with grins, agree

34. Christian Express (1 November 1887: 173–4).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   253

’em to death and destruction, let ’em swoller you till they vomit or bust
wide open” (Ellison 1952: chapter 1).
Let us consider one more newspaper article. In May 1885 The
Christian Express published the text of a lecture Wauchope had
delivered “at a social meeting of the Native Church” in Port Elizabeth.
It was presented to The Christian Express’s readers, somewhat
patronisingly, “very nearly as sent to us by the writer. It contains a
great deal of vigorous common sense – and its chief interest is that it
is a purely Native production.” Under the title “The Christianization
of the natives”, in the presence of the Patersons, a white missionary
couple whom he celebrates as his personal patrons, Wauchope outlines
in elegant and scholarly terms the growth of missionary activity among
the Xhosa. He concludes with encouragement for the missionaries in
this task, underscoring the dependence of the Xhosa:

But I am encroaching on your time. I thank you all for listening

to me. My object is to draw your sympathies to this great
work of the Christianization of the Natives. Remember that we
need your sympathy and support, for, as yet, we cannot get on
without you.35

Pious stuff, well received by a proud Mr and Mrs Paterson, no doubt,

and proudly displayed as a trophy by the editor of The Christian
Express. Yet in the midst of the vigorous common sense in his talk,
Wauchope slips in a florid paragraph redolent with the imagery of
Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress:

We know that in making a railroad there is first the surveying

and defining of its locality, then the clearing of bushes along
its course, the making of embankments across deep ravines,
and cuttings along the mountain slopes. Tunnels must be bored
through mountains, and rocks removed, and bridges built across
rivers. The time taken and the expense incurred in making such
a road are in proportion to the nature of the localities through

35. Christian Express (1 May 1885: 68); Wauchope (2008: 22).

254   NEWSPAPERS

which it passes. Now Christianity had to make its way among

a people deeply sunk in barbarism and superstition. There was
first of all that formidable mountain of Witchcraft to be removed.
Then there was that Slough of Despond called Polygamy, where
many a promising Kaffir Christian has turned back or sunk in
the attempt to pass through. Then the deep and dark valley of
Superstition, with its dismal shadows, had to be filled up. How
many fat oxen and hundreds of tons of corn were sacrificed to
this idol in 1856! How many lives were lost because this idol
could neither hear nor answer prayer! And Mount Immorality
with its thousand summits of national indecencies stood right
in the way and had to be overcome. Besides all this, there were
many customs and practices which the Kaffirs had to give up
before any real progress could be made. All their barbarous rites
and ceremonies which were repugnant to the teaching of the
Bible, had to be sacrificed. Their sons were no longer to enter
manhood by undergoing the national rite of their forefather.
They were no longer to part with their daughters, when given
in marriage, for a consideration in the shape of cattle. Their
midnight festivals and revelry had to be discontinued. The
polygamist had to discard the surplusage of his wives and
keep only one. All the Amakubalo or secret charms which
fell under the department of the smelling-out doctor, had now
to be disbelieved and abhorred. All these customs which they
regarded as binding them together into a complete whole, were
to be sacrificed. Christianity demanded a change, a radical
change, and a complete decomposition of the whole ancient
structure. There was to be a general reform, morally, socially,
and domestically, in fact in all the relations of life. 36

Does Wauchope regret this necessary transformation of Xhosa society,

this destruction of customary life that constitutes a stumbling block
to Christian progress? The customs are clearly depicted as barbarous,
idolatrous and benighted, their valiant opponents clearly tread Pilgrim’s
heroic path to salvation. The white members of his audience must have

36. Christian Express (1 May 1885: 67); Wauchope (2008: 17–18).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   255

been pleased to hear this from an articulate “native”. Yet black members
of the audience might have received the climactic sentence somewhat
differently: “All these customs which they regarded as binding them
together into a complete whole, were to be sacrificed.” Accepting
Christianity entailed, for blacks, a sacrifice of their customs, those very
customs that bound them together into a complete whole. That last
phrase is particularly pregnant: it is a close translation of Ntsikana’s
Imbumba yamanyama, and I very much doubt that Wauchope would
be willing to sacrifice Ntsikana’s ideal, an ideal of indissoluble social
unity and community of purpose that Wauchope himself had adopted as
the name of his fledgling movement founded only three years earlier. A
seemingly innocuous English phrase serves to subvert the general tenor
of the passage, a subversion to which black members of the audience
might have been alerted by the sudden and radical stylistic shift.
I want finally to examine Wauchope’s extension of this paper. The
Natives and Their Missionaries is a 47-page book published by the
Lovedale Mission Press in 1908. The title page identifies the author
only as “A Native Minister”, but the text concludes with the initials
“I.W.” This is the only book we will consider, written in English: in
this tightly controlled medium, does Wauchope plough the missionary
furrow? The monograph is composed in three distinct styles. The frame,
with which Wauchope starts and to which he returns in conclusion, is in
formal, high-toned academic style. The volume opens in this manner:

The advent of Missionaries forms a distinct epoch in the history

of the Natives of South Africa. For a century and a half before
this period the rule of the Dutch East India Company had
spread terror among the Native tribes. The Hottentot Chiefs in
the West had been gradually dispossessed not only of their large
herds but of their lands as well.37

Wauchope places the missionaries in a position of prominence at the

head of his first sentence, and passes on in his initial pages to sing their
praises in unequivocal terms, but here, as consistently throughout the
work, Wauchope subverts impressions. The missionaries are located in a

37. Wauchope (1908: 3); Wauchope (2008: 39).

256   NEWSPAPERS

latter period in the history of the indigenous inhabitants of South Africa,

forming a part of the “Native” history that envelops and absorbs them.
This figure of encapsulation echoes the very title of the work, “The
natives and their missionaries”, which signals the concept that it was up
to the natives to accept and embrace the missionaries who entered their
history at a particular time, in effect assuming responsibility for them
as a conscious act. The third sentence then immediately introduces a
note of dispossession, signalling an ultimately political aim and intent
in what seems to be a pious tract by “a Native Minister”, a display
piece published by the missionaries but written by someone not
important enough to identify by name anywhere in the publication. The
missionaries might seem to have something of utilitarian interest in this
“purely Native production” they are publishing, but they have more of a
tiger by the tail than a tame dancing bear.
Wauchope casts the Dutch as the enemies, the missionaries as the
friends of the Xhosa, which sets the Dutch in opposition to the spirit of
the gospel text that Wauchope asserts was espoused by the missionaries,
“God made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of
the earth,”38 a slogan of social and political inclusion. Wauchope states
clearly that he does not aim to describe the experiences of individual
missionaries or of the various missions, but “[w]hat I wish to present
before you is the Native as the Missionary found him”:

They found that instead of a shifty, nomadic race the Natives

had settled homes and settled institutions. There were the Chiefs
and their Councillors, who represented Law and Order, and
administered laws based upon equitable principles. They found
existing in the heathen society a complete system of ethics . . .
There was much that harmonised with Christian ethics; there
were also many things which were repugnant to the Christian
sense. Could the whole structure be pulled down and a new one
set up, or was there room for wise discrimination? That was the
problem the Missionary had to solve.39

38. Wauchope (1908: 4); Wauchope (2008: 39).

39. Wauchope (1908: 7); Wauchope (2008: 42).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   257

Wauchope himself argues for accommodation, that “discarding the

structure and replacing it by a new has proved a failure, as witnessed to
by the state of the present Native Christian generation, which has lost
the good things their fathers had, but has not taken easily to the new.”
He proceeds to describe in positive terms the coherence and morality
of the all-pervasive precolonial Xhosa custom. Opposition to Xhosa
custom leads to the disintegration of Xhosa social and political life,
to which “the Government” is committed while the missionary seeks
to establish a new social order: and so, craftily, Wauchope conscripts
the missionary in the struggle for black political rights. The subtlety
of the argument is quite delicious, and worth citing as an example of
how Wauchope turns an initially placatory position into an argument for
political mobilisation:

One by one the old institutions went over the fence dividing the
Christian from the heathen community. With the fouler customs
and practices went also those which guarded the political and
social life of the people, and while the Missionaries were
absorbed in founding such institutions as were calculated
to form a new basis for the social and religious life of their
converts, the Government was propounding schemes for the
complete annihilation of the political existence of the Native,
and the latter, kneeling over a stone to whet his assegai was
swearing by his ancestors that he would die physically before
he died politically.
A new community sprang up. It is existing to-day. Call it
“semi-civilised” or “in the transition stage,” if you like. But it is
there. Standing still or moving on? If moving on, where to? To
a social equality with the white man? I do not think so, because
it has no basis. For want of a basis the Native convert has been
unable to find his feet.40

And so the Xhosa convert calls for a return to his old traditions, “to
the annoyance and discouragement of the Missionary”. The suggestion
is that if the missionary provides the basis for a gospel of social and

40. Wauchope (1908: 14); Wauchope (2008: 46–7).

258   NEWSPAPERS

political inclusion (textual support for which Wauchope has cited in

his opening pages), the work of conversion will proceed unhindered.
Explicitly, “in spite of the limitations of our race, despite the restricting
and impeding circumstances, some men believe that there is a future
for the native races of South Africa, and those men are the Missionaries
and their friends,” friends in Parliament like “our Searles, our
Schreiners and our Wilmots, and all we need now is the concentration
of all our energies, in harmonious co-operation with our Missionaries,
sinking all minor differences and petty jealousies and rivalries, upon
the one object of the amelioration and up-lifting of the Native races.”
When all are compacted into one ball, in other words, blacks together
with missionaries and well-disposed white politicians, injustice and
discrimination will be eradicated and Ntsikana’s vision will merge with
that of the missionaries: “when we have all come into line, with our
hands to the rope, God will give the signal, and there will be a strong
pull, a long pull, and a pull all together, and Africa will be won for
Christ.”41 Wauchope dangles a tantalising carrot before his missionary
readers: Africa will be won for Christ with the eradication not of Xhosa
custom but of social and political exclusion and inequality. Then the tug
of war will be over.
At this climactic point, Wauchope interrupts his discursive mode to
provide an extended narrative account of the endeavours of the pioneer
missionaries to the Xhosa, J.T. van der Kemp and Joseph Williams,
despite having previously asserted that “[i]t is not my object to give
in detail the experiences of individual Missionaries nor accounts of
various missions”. The narrative of the two missionaries is sustained
by documentary references and quotations in the proper style of a
Western historian, but is less formal and high-toned, more anecdotal in
that Wauchope is frequently at pains to locate his historical narrative
in the present-day landscape: he introduces first-person accounts of
his searches for traces of habitation or irrigation, always taking care to
provide the sources of his information. Thus, for example, he recreates
the possible route Van der Kemp took to Ngqika’s kraal:

41. Wauchope (1908: 17); Wauchope (2008: 49).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   259

An old road passing through Mr Richard Joninga’s erf at Banzi

would take him across the Nyolonyolo valley, thence, keeping
along the west bank of the Debe and rounding a small kopje
covered with euphorbia trees, he would suddenly come within
a few yards of Gaika’s kraal. I have frequently visited this spot,
as it is only two miles from my station at Knapps Hope and
only half a mile from my Debe church, which is named after
Van der Kemp. There are still traces of the site, the cattle kraal
and corn pits.
. . . Soon the presence of this solitary white man among the
Kafirs made a deep impression, and the Chief visited Van der
Kemp frequently and watched him while he was building his
hut of raw bricks, of which some traces were pointed out to me
by the late Joninga.42

The effect of this strategy, apart from being sound historiographical

practice, is to reinforce the tenor of the title The Natives and Their
Missionaries by situating missionary activity in a precolonial Xhosa
landscape, even to relate the present-day landscape to the physical
features of precolonial times: ultimately that landscape absorbs and
obliterates traces of white activity. It has the same effect as arguing,
as he does earlier in the monograph, that the Xhosa had a perfectly
coherent and ethical system before the arrival of the whites, to centre
present confusion in an untainted and secure precolonial past.
Just as this Western historical mode interrupts his Christian
discursive argument, so too is the narrative of Van der Kemp and
Williams disrupted by yet a third mode, this one in the style of ibali,
a historical narrative. The amabali that Wauchope interjects into his
anecdotal historical account bear very strong stylistic resemblances
to the peerless Zulu historical narrative dictated by Msebenzi to
N.J. van Warmelo about Matiwane and the amaNgwane.43 Strikingly,
both Msebenzi and Wauchope cite praise poetry for authentication.
Wauchope marks his switch to a Xhosa mode of speech by identifying

42. Wauchope (1908: 19–20); Wauchope (2008: 50–1).

43. Msebenzi (1938).
260   NEWSPAPERS

a speaker and by occasionally quoting the Xhosa version of an English

phrase, thereby underlining its dependence on a Xhosa oral genre. The
first such major interruption occurs in his account of Van der Kemp, one of
whose disciples was Ngo, renamed Mina, nine years old at the time of
Van der Kemp’s arrival in Ngqika’s territory in 1799, and Wauchope’s
future grandmother. Wauchope sets in inverted commas “her account
of Van der Kemp and the impression made upon her young mind”, 44
signifying typographically that he is repeating her very words, albeit in
English. At the conclusion of Mina’s narrative, Wauchope comments:

I used to sit for hours together listening to my grandmother. At

the end of her long story she would also sing to me the songs
they sang under the tree, the music of which was borrowed
from the chorus of the Kafir National song Umdudo, with this
difference, that the strain is disguised by the dropping of the
many slurrings common to the vocalised Kafir song, in order
to adapt it to the words, so that ideas may be expressed. Both
the primary and the secondary strains in the refrain are thus
abbreviated. After singing this song she would break into
tears.45

Wauchope is locating his narrative within the context of the actual

sounds of Mina’s voice and the sound of her singing: Xhosa folklore
genres and the Xhosa voice comprise the ultimate matrix of his
narrative, just as much as the precolonial landscape forms the context
in which the historical narrative is set.
The story of Williams, which follows that of Van der Kemp, is
interrupted by another switch to the style of a Xhosa ibali for a contrast
between Ntsikana and Makhanda centred on the internecine battle of
Amalinde in 1818. As in Msebenzi’s Zulu saga of Matiwane, Wauchope
occasionally shifts into direct speech, citing snatches of authenticating
praise poems and employing distinctive Xhosa turns of phrase,
proverbial expressions and names; he offers Xhosa versions of some of

44. Wauchope (1908: 20); Wauchope (2008: 51).

45. Wauchope (1908: 22); Wauchope (2008: 52–3).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   261

his phrases to show the origin of his English narrative in Xhosa speech.
Thus, for example, we read:

From the Ntaba ka Ndoda heights the Ndlambes and their allies
swept down, crossed the Keiskama and carried off all the cattle
between that river and the Tyumie. Then Gaika spoke. “Children
of Umlawu, the cattle have gone. You must follow, and die.”
Then he addressed his son Maqoma—

“You of little horns,

Facing the dawn of day,
You have been a boy all along.
You must become a man to day,
This is your day.”

To his one-eyed son, Tyali, then a “boy” of 20—“You

must learn today to tie and milk a kicking cow.” To the brave
Monxoyi: “I see you are already thirsting for human blood.”
To Mcoyana, the crooked-necked son of Fuleli, whose
assegai never missed its mark—

“Son of Fuleli whose neck is twisted,

Pointing towards the Great Place,
Breaker of hard things with the teeth,
Go, let me not see you again.”46

When restrained by a reminder of Ntsikana’s prophetic warning, another

warrior in the heat of battle asks “‘who has ordered that the destinies of
our land should be guided by dreamers?—Huk! let us die if we die, one
kind of death is like any other kind’ (ukufa kuyafana)”.47
A second ibali comparing Ntsikana and Makhanda later interrupts
the Williams narrative once again, this one focusing on Makhanda’s
failed millenarian prophecy and the Xhosa attack on Grahamstown in

46. Wauchope (1908: 27–8); Wauchope (2008: 57–8).

47. Wauchope (1908: 28); Wauchope (2008: 59).
262   NEWSPAPERS

1819.48 We are left to guess the sources of these two vivid, colloquial
narratives, but Wauchope pointedly informs us that his uncle Ndyambo
was present at the battle of Grahamstown, and showed him scars to
prove it; Wauchope’s grandfather Citashe did not fight at Grahamstown,
having himself been wounded at Amalinde, but he was present at Cove
Rock near East London to witness the failure of one of Makhanda’s
prophecies, a scene included in Wauchope’s ibali.
At this point Wauchope drops his narrative of the two pioneering
missionaries with its disruptive amabali, and returns to the formal
style of his suspended disquisition on the missionaries: “From 1820 to
1908 the Missionaries have been hard at work. The question is—What
have they achieved?” One of their achievements is that “They have
transformed our race”:

If our fathers who fell at Amalinde were to rise and see their
children, they would not know us. Even the reds of to-day are
different from the reds of those days, and while many of us
deplore the subversion of many native institutions that were
of service in keeping us together socially and politically, no
man of sense can say we would have done better without the
missionaries.49

Whatever a man of sense might say, the idea that an ancestor would
not recognise his descendant could not have provided much cheer for
a Xhosa, especially one of the many (including Wauchope, by virtue of
the first person plural pronoun in the phrase “many of us”) who deplore
the subversion of custom. If this is to be counted a success to the
credit of the missionaries, Wauchope continues, then it is true that the
missionaries in turn have come in for criticism from segments of both
the black and white population. Yet they were sustained at times by the
Xhosa chiefs. In defence of this thesis, Wauchope offers two sources of
evidence: the memoirs of the missionary James Laing, which Wauchope
cites, and a Xhosa ibali narrating the assistance offered to Frederick
Kayser by Namba son of Maqoma, who saw Kayser safely into Fort

48. Wauchope (1908: 33–7); Wauchope (2008: 63–7).

49. Wauchope (1908: 38); Wauchope (2008: 67).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   263

Hare before leaping into the saddle of his horse Pokkies and rejoining
his warriors in the frontier war in 1850. The ibali thus disrupts not
just the narrative of Van der Kemp and Williams, but at the end bursts
its bounds to interrupt the frame of argument about the missionaries
in general. The implication is that Xhosa folklore forms an underlying
matrix within which the story of the missionaries must be located, as
well as any discussions about the success of the missionaries: ultimately,
the intrusion of the amabali suggests, the natives have appropriated
their missionaries, incorporating them into their history.
Within four pages Wauchope closes, having praised the missionaries
for the introduction of printing. On his last page, he recapitulates the
political argument in his opening pages. The Dutch, who were initially
the enemy of the Xhosa, now number in their ranks some friends,
because the Dutch have entered the mission field. Thus the missionaries
have initiated their work of transformation among the Dutch as well as
the Xhosa:

Then the Dutch Church became a missionary Church, sending

out missionaries to the heathen. Some of the greatest friends
of the natives to-day are found among the Dutch. Look at
that distinguished Dutch Negrophilist, Mr. Sauer, who at a
time when the Native question was the rock upon which the
reputations of statesmen were wrecked, stuck through thick and
thin to the principle that the Kafir was a human being and must
be treated as such.50

Wauchope concludes with the wish that the missionaries might flourish,
and ends with a pious quotation, slipping in at the same time a reference
to social unity as an ideal:

May their number ever grow, and may their God be our God.
Then we shall see the dawn of the real unification, a union of
regenerate souls, “Children of God; and if children, then heirs;
heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ.”

50. Wauchope (1908: 46–7); Wauchope (2008: 74).

264   NEWSPAPERS

In its use of Xhosa folklore genres to subvert the seemingly

favourable assessment of the missionary enterprise, the strategy of Isaac
Wauchope’s The Natives and Their Missionaries bears comparison to
that adopted by Sol Plaatje in his pioneering historical novel Mhudi.
Phaswane Mpe has argued that

[o]ral forms [songs and proverbs] in Mhudi are mediators in

important discussions in which both the authority of established
wisdom – though subject to questioning and revision – and good
interpersonal and social relationships, are required. They serve,
also, to criticise and subvert certain ideological tendencies and
the political as well as cultural practices resulting from those
tendencies.51

I have suggested that Wauchope’s choice of the ibali to subvert his

argument has political implications. But there are also implications
in the specific amabali he chooses to interpolate. The stories of
Namba and of Ntsikana and Makhanda are set in the context of heroic
militaristic conflict. The role reversal is significant in the story of
Namba: the civilised Xhosa chief takes time off from war to minister
to a missionary. Namba’s story establishes a triangular set of forces that
mirrors the present time: the generous gesture of the chief in support
of the missionary while he himself is engaged in war with the Cape
Government must give way to an unarmed conflict in which members
of the Cape Government must align themselves with the missionaries
and the Xhosa for the elimination of social discrimination and the
achievement of inclusion. A potent example of that discrimination
and social differentiation is provided by the narrator of the first ibali,
Mina, Wauchope’s grandmother. After her story about Van der Kemp,
Wauchope supplies her personal history. As a child, with her mother
Tse, she followed Van der Kemp to Bethelsdorp, where the two women
lived for some years.

Her mother afterwards got employment near Hankey and so

they got separated for a time from their missionary. Her mother,

51. Mpe (1998: 89–90).

 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   265

having lost some sheep which she was herding, was beaten to
death by her mistress, a very big and powerful Boer woman.
My grandmother left the farm by night and fled to Bethelsdorp
where Dr. van der Kemp took her statement. This was about
the year 1807. In the following year her friends took her away
back to Kafirland, but she was no sooner there than a summons
reached her calling upon her to attend the court of the Landdrost
at Uitenhage to give evidence in connection with the killing of
Tse her mother. At this enquiry she is described in the records
as, “Mina, a Kafir girl aged 17 years.”52

No wonder she burst into tears when telling her grandson the stories of
those years. This shocking personal history, introduced by Wauchope
into his narrative of Van der Kemp, contains images of exclusion and
incorporation: Tse is beaten to death for losing sheep in her care (Van der
Kemp having previously lost them from his flock), Mina is mentioned in
the court records and Wauchope himself enters his historical narrative.
Also underlying it is a pregnant story of migration and travel, from
the safety of Ngqika’s kraal in Xhosa territory to the mission station
ministering to the marginalised “Hottentots and Coloureds”, to violent
death on a Boer farm, and back to Xhosa territory. But we lack space to
entertain those discussions here.

In their lectures and published writings, Gqoba and Wauchope promote

black pride in their support for the integrity and morality of Xhosa
custom and lore; they constantly subvert their high Christian tone with
stylistic switches and coded slogans, none more potent than Ntsikana’s
symbol of nationalism, Imbumba yamanyama, and the call to arms as
cattle are being raided, “Zemk’ iinkomo, magwalandini!”; and they
deploy Xhosa oral genres as a subversive tool. As such, they reveal
similar cultural attitudes and strategies to those discerned by Daniel
Kunene in early Zulu, Xhosa and Sotho novelists:

In order to discharge his moral duty, the writer has a variety

of methods at his disposal, some of which are inherent in the

52. Wauchope (1908: 22); Wauchope (2008: 53).

266   NEWSPAPERS

Western novel as a genre. But some, too, derive from oral art as
the author adapts them to the new medium. In communicating
his message and revealing his feelings, the modern writer
either digresses in order to give himself a chance to deliver
his lesson direct to the reader, or he adopts a poetic stance
in which approval or disapproval is carried within the tide of
the narrative, making it more pleasing while at the same time
conveying the writer’s feeling ruled by his moralistic intent. 53

They used code switching for much the same purpose as it is used
elsewhere in Africa: Myers-Scotton concluded from Kenyan data that
“[c]ode choices, and specifically [codeswitching], become means of
conveying intentional meanings of a social nature”.54 And they anticipate
by over 60 years the strategies adopted by Xhosa poets under apartheid:
G.V. Mona has argued for the infiltration of Mkhonto we Sizwe slogans
into published poetry, concluding that

the suppressive state apparatus of the Apartheid regime failed

in its endeavour to absolutely dissipate the alternative ideology
from Xhosa written poetry texts. The foregoing post-Sharpeville
Xhosa written poems are evidence of resistance through
culture by the oppressed. The attempts at the political level by
the Nationalist Party government to make people consent to
apartheid governance and White supremacy was reciprocated
by resistance at the cultural level which strove for elimination
of inferiority complex amongst Blacks, and dissent to apartheid
governance.55

Eight years after the appearance of Wauchope’s book, in an article

published in 1913 and entitled “ ‘Zemk’ inkomo, magwalandini!’ (‘The
cattle have left us, ye cowards’)”, the missionary Godfrey Callaway
wrote about the loss of Xhosa custom, and about that same shift in the
rules of engagement that Wauchope appealed for in his poem “Fight
with the pen”:

53. Kunene (1986: 1043).

54. Myers-Scotton (1992: 179).
55. Mona (1999: 224–5).
 FIGHTING WITH THE PEN   267

But the cry which, together with shields and assegais, has
almost disappeared from the normal life of the people, has been
revived lately in quite a new way. Apart from the fact that as
a title it has been stamped upon the covers of a good-sized
volume, it is also the substance of many an article in Xosa
newspapers.
The neutral zone is now the wide ocean, and the raiders
are the knights of European civilization. The spoilers are
the Europeans, not excluding the missionaries. Again the
cry, “Zemk’ inkomo, magwalandini!” is coming from the
spoiled. . . .
The destructive forces of civilization came just as the East
Coast fever came. Nothing will stop them. The kraal in which
the national assets were secured is custom (isiko), but the walls
of the kraal have been broken down.56

Now, Callaway claims, it is more likely that “white friends of the

natives” would be seeking to preserve the Xhosa heritage, well-disposed
whites who might be surprised to find themselves confronted by black
ingratitude for their efforts. Callaway evisages those sympathetic whites
responding in turn to blacks concerned to deploy the printed media to
preserve their oral heritage:

Do you not see all that we have been doing during the long
years that you have been asleep? Do you not see that we have
tried to save your language, your folk-lore, your good customs,
your best characteristics? Do you not see that the very pen
with which your attack upon us was written, the ink into which
that pen was dipped, the paper upon which the characters were
made, the alphabet by which the words were spelt, the grammar
by which the sentences were constructed . . . all these things
and many more are the gifts of these very people against whom
you are raising the cry?57

56. Sedding (1945: 69–70).

57. Sedding (1945: 72).
268   NEWSPAPERS

Callaway’s sensitivity to the irony, his own recourse to the battle

imagery of the nineteenth century, is at one and the same time
testimony to the success of the Xhosa appropriation of European print
technology. Wauchope’s poetic appeal in 1882 for the new Xhosa elite
to lay down assegai and shield and fight with the pen had evidently not
fallen on deaf ears. As the nineteenth century was drawing to a close,
the Xhosa voice was far from silent: through newspapers, the print
media introduced by the whites had been appropriated by black South
Africans in their struggle for political and social equality.
12

The newspaper as empowering medium:

the case of Nontsizi Mgqwetho

Throughout the twentieth century, mission and commercial presses

effectively controlled the publication of Xhosa literature in books, and
came to perceive their almost exclusive market as schools and, to a
lesser extent, universities; it may be generally assumed, therefore, that
until the end of the twentieth century Xhosa literature contained in
books was deemed by European religious or educational authorities to
be fit for reading by children and young adults. Some genres of Xhosa
folklore – folktales, for example, or lullabies – were normally produced
by adults for audiences of children, but the vast majority of oral
literature was produced by adults for adult audiences – praise poems,
historical narratives, speeches, and so on. Xhosa literature published in
books was accordingly skewed, generally created by authors courting
school prescription and judged suitable for publication by publishers
concerned to produce poetry, fiction and drama to satisfy educational
syllabuses drafted by government officials with a Western conception
of what constitutes literature. Creative literature written in Xhosa by
adults for adults, in genres and on subjects of their own choosing, did
develop, but it must be sought in the newspapers that first emerged
from mission presses in 1837, passed into secular (and often black)
control as from 1884, and persisted strongly and independently until
about the mid-fifties of the twentieth century. To popular organs such as
Imvo zabantsundu, Izwi labantu, Abantu-Batho, Umteteli wa Bantu and
The Bantu World adult authors contributed essays, poetry, travelogues,
history, gossip, social news and biographies and heatedly debated the
issues of the day in lively correspondence columns. More effectively

269
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than in published books, the Xhosa voice is articulated in these

contributions to newspapers, many of which choose images of orality
in their titles (The messenger of the black people, The voice of blacks,
Black opinion, and so on).
Xhosa authors could express themselves more freely in newspapers
than in books, but, distanced from their audiences by the medium of
newsprint, they could also cross social boundaries and transgress
prohibitions, claim for themselves not only a new voice but also a
new identity in fluid social circumstances. A Xhosa woman living in
Johannesburg in the 1920s must have found herself in very fluid social
circumstances indeed. The post-war period was characterised by political
unrest, with strikes on the mines and public protests against escalating
restrictions on black mobility. Migration to the cities heightened such
restrictions, and opposition was increasingly expressed and channeled
through black separatist churches and political organisations. It is rare
to recover a woman’s voice amid this chorus of anguished cries, still
less a woman’s voice in Xhosa poetry: however, writing from Crown
Mines, which later became Sophiatown, Nontsizi Elizabeth Mgqwetho
contributed her first poem to the Johannesburg newspaper Umteteli wa
Bantu (The people’s spokesman) on 23 October 1920, and by the end of
the decade she had produced an extraordinary corpus of over 100 poems,
angry, defiant, caustic, critical, pious, patriotic and political, a literary
output that will surely rank her among the greatest of Xhosa poets.1 Her
contribution was completely overlooked, however, until 1995, when
her poetry was first described. 2 Since then, scholarly interest in her has
been growing. What concerns us here is that Nontsizi Mgqwetho, living
in Johannesburg in the 1920s, assumed in the poetry she contributed to
Umteteli wa Bantu a voice that would have been denied to her in rural
oral tradition, permitting her to address new audiences in a new creative
identity fostered by the medium of newsprint, an identity unavailable to
her through the medium of books.
In 1920, the Chamber of Mines founded a newspaper in
Johannesburg to counter the influence of Abantu-Batho, the

1. Mgqwetho produced at least two poems for Abantu-Batho before she switched her
allegiance to Umteteli wa Bantu: see the following chapter.
2. Opland (1995), reprinted in Opland (2017: chapter 10). On Mgqwetho, see further
Brown (2004, 2008); Nxasana (2009); Opland (2007).
 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   271

Johannesburg organ of the ANC, in the wake of miners’ strikes. Sol

Plaatje and John Dube were courted unsuccessfully as the first editors
of Umteteli wa Bantu, but it was Marshall Maxeke who assumed the
office initially. It is in Umteteli that all but two of Nontsizi Mgqwetho’s
poems are to be found. We know very little indeed about Nontsizi
Mgqwetho apart from what we can glean from her poetry and from
occasional reports in newspapers. A member of the Chizama clan, she
seems to have come from the Peddie district; her mother, Emma Jane
Mgqwetho, lived near Whittlesea, where she died towards the end of
1922. Nontsizi was involved in pass protests on the Rand. In defending
the editor of Umteteli, Marshall Maxeke, against criticism that he had
undermined black solidarity by agreeing to edit the Chamber of Mines
newspaper, she opposed the editorial stance of Abantu-Batho, which
had first published her poetry, and criticised the ANC for divisive
leadership. She was clearly a member of a Mothers’ Union, a manyano,
probably attached to the American Board Mission group that promoted
the prayer movement known as Isililo (Wailing). She was especially
critical of the degradation of Xhosa girls in the city, but also attacked
lax Christians and urged a return to traditional values. Her most
constant appeals were to God, and to Mother Africa; she argued that
before Africa could return home, Africans themselves must do so by
setting their houses in order. She held dear the teachings of both the
bible and the prophet Ntsikana. Let us see how she claims through her
poetry new identities and steps out of her social circle to address wider
audiences in the pages of Umteteli.
In traditional rural society Nontsizi would have been denied a
serious voice as a poet. While women transmitted the memorised clan
praises, and composed and performed their own praise poems about
themselves, their relatives and friends, and while these poems would
on occasion be uttered as an exhortation to men, no woman could be an
imbongi, a court poet. Undoubtedly this was because the imbongi was
party to political debates and discussions in the inkundla, the courtyard
associated with the cattle kraal from which women were barred, and
because the imbongi’s poetry had ritual significance as communication
between the living and the dead (women could not address the
ancestors) and trafficked in names that women were debarred from
uttering. In Johannesburg, however, free from the ambit of traditional
272   NEWSPAPERS

leaders, and in print, Nontsizi was free to assume the voice and the
role of the imbongi. She asserted her poetic empowerment in her first
poem for Umteteli, ascribing her ability to do so to the relaxation of
customary constraints in the city. In exhorting the editor, Marshall
Maxeke, to stick to his task despite criticism that he had split black
ranks, she writes:

Hamba Sokulandela,
Kuba akuzange kupume ntamnani
Kowenu.

Hamba Sokulandela,
Kuba tina simadoda nje asizange
Siyibone kowetu imbongikazi,
Yenkazana kuba imbongi inyuka
Nenkundla ituke inkosi.

Hamba Sokulandela,
Nezi mbongikazi Tina sizibona
Apa kweli lo laita ne bhekile.

Go and we’ll follow you:

no traitor came
from your house.

Go and we’ll follow you:

no female poet
came from our house:
the poet who rouses the court
and censures the king’s always male.

Go and we’ll follow you!

We first encountered these female poets
here in this land of thugs and booze.3

3. Umteteli (23 October 1920: 8); Opland (2007: 2–3).

 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   273

This assumed identity frees her to speak on occasion as a male, to

deploy masculine battle imagery, in commenting on the political
context, as the imbongi does in his poetry. In a poem entitled “Ukutula!
Ikwakukuvuma!!” (Silence implies consent), she attacks black political
inertia:

Taru! Mhleli ngesituba sezi Mbongi

Ndisahleli ndingumfana andi mbongi
Ndingumpati tunga lezinxibamx’aka
Into elwa ngezulu induku zihleli.

Taru! Mhleli ngesituba sezi Mbongi!

Ndiko noko ndisahleli andi Mbongi
Kodwa noko amazwi makagqalwe
Ukutula! Ikwakukuvuma!!

Taru! Mhleli ngesituba sezi Mbongi!

Asinakutula umhlab’ ubolile
Xa ndikubonisa ubume bomhlaba
Angabhekabheka onk’ amagqoboka.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column.

I’m still here, a young man and no poet;
I bear the milkpail to arm-ringed celebrities;
clubs are at hand but I fight with lightning.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column,

I’m here, still alive and no poet,
but pay heed to my words:
silence implies consent.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column,

we can’t sit silent, the country’s rotten:
if I exposed the state of the country
the Christians’ jaws would drop.4

4. Umteteli (28 June 1924: 6); Opland (2007: 158–9).

274   NEWSPAPERS

Her poetry is outspokenly political, like the imbongi’s inspiring her

audience to heroic action, but with this difference: she conceived of
her audience not as members of a rural chiefdom, but as all of South
Africa’s suffering black people, indeed, all of Africa’s people.

Unazo nempawu zibuz’imvelapi

Seyinguwe na? Ngoku ongumfiki apa?
Andikupinda nditshilo nje nditshilo
Baza amehlo kade ndandibona.

Unjengondwendwe namhlanje e Afrika

Sowuhamba ubuta amabibi
Hluba ik’hak’ha lilo izwe loyihlo
Lusi sivivinya sayo imishologu.

Gquba kube mdaka, Mdaka we Afrika

Njengo Moses epuma e Jipete
Kawuyek’ ukubuza nantso i Afrika
Isi sivivinya sayo imishologu

Xa ndilapo intliziyo ibuhlungu

Siyi leli yokukwela Izizwe
Namhlanje sesetuka kukudala
Saginywayo! Vumani! Siyavuma!

Ubiquitous signs inquire your origins:

are you the Johnny-come-lately here?
I won’t rehash what I’ve often maintained.
Open your eyes: I’ve long seen it coming.

Today you’re a stranger in Africa,

you go about clutching at straws:
groom your shield, this land of your fathers
is now the playground of strangers.

Raise dust till you’re dirty, dusky African,

like Moses quitting Egypt.
 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   275

Stop asking questions. Now it’s clear

Africa’s the playground of strangers.

It pains my heart to say these things,

we’re a ladder others ascend.
Only now are we starting to stir
long after we’ve been consumed. Agree! Agreed!5

Nontsizi might speak as a male, at times, assuming the identity of

a traditional imbongi; most of the time, however, her poetry is that of
a woman, with a woman’s concerns. In particular, as a member of a
manyano, she was concerned about urban licentiousness and the lax
morals of young girls. In joining manyanos, Deborah Gaitskell writes,
African Christian women “assumed a vital role in safeguarding female
chastity, marital fidelity, and maternal and domestic responsibilities”.6
In this campaign against Sodom and Gomorrah, the manyano constitutes
her weapon:

Umanyano lululuhlu lwenu

Kwingcambu zomhlaba zising’ Ezulwini
Kuqala nakupetela ngo Manyano
Zenizipepe nentolo zabelungu

Manyano for you’s a mighty stem,

roots in the earth, touching the sky;
right from the start, Manyano’s the shield
to ward off the white man’s arrows.7

Although, like her contemporary poets, the renowned imbongi

S.E.K. Mqhayi and the Anglican priest John Solilo,8 she tended to
address a national black audience about common political ills afflicting
all blacks in South Africa, she could round sharply on any male who

5. Umteteli (14 June 1924: 11); Opland (2007: 152–3).

6. Gaitskell (1997: 255).
7. Umteteli (6 July 1924: 5), Opland (2007: 162–3).
8. See Solilo (2016).
276   NEWSPAPERS

presumed to criticise women for encroaching on male territory, stoutly

defending the manyanos. In a prose contribution she writes:

Ndibone kwipepa “Umteteli wa Bantu,” lomhla weshumi

elinesitandatu kwemiyo; yalo nyaka siwubambe ngemikala:
Omnye umzalwana u Mnumzana Tyelinzima Gatyeni—ebuza,
equkumbela kwayedwa esiti;—Yintonina encipisa ubugqoboka?
Umzalwana lo kwayena uti; uneminyaka engamashumi
amatandatu ezelwe: Kwaye ekufumaneni kwake ingqondo;
Ilizwi lika Tixo belishunyayelwa ngabe Fundisi, naba Vangeli
babo kupela Ezinkonzweni: Kwalungake kwafaneleka apo:
Andiyinqweneli ke mna Nontsizi nalominyaka ingako: Xa
ingenanto iyipeteyo eyiyo, neqiqayo: Pulapula! Umzalwana lo
kwayena uti, namhlanje ungafika Izindlu zize;—upi unyoko,
mntanam? Umntana ukupendula ati uye entlanganisweni
yomtandazo wabafazi, akalalanga apa kwapezolo: Paula ke
mlesi! Umntana akatsho ukuti unina uye Ecaweni, kwindawo
ekumelwe ukushumayela abafundisi nabavangeli babo kuphela:
Umntana uti umama uye emtandazweni wabafazi, indawo
ke leyo emfaneleyo; namelwe ukushumayela kuyo, azintlite
nangentloko, ezintsikeni zalo ndlu, nasezitulweni zayo etandaza:
Ngamafutshane ke, nangapaya koko, umntu makayekane
nabafazi bomthandazo; izidalwa ezibutataka: Ezitwele idyokwe
enzima kangaka yo Eva no Esther, no Ruti, Debora, Miriam
nabanye; Yokuwa kwe Hlabati lonke lipela eladalwa ngu Tixo:
Kwanokuxolelwa noku vulwa kwalo ngu “Yesu”—Obeko
naye kwange Nkazana engu ‘Maria’ umfazi womtandazo ke
nalowo. Kunye no Elisabete, Marta, Salomi, kwanabanye,
ababezizilingane ezikulu zika “Yesu”: Nabona bantu bokuqala
abaya Engcwabeni, lingekapumi ne Langa; bakubona ukuvuka
kuka “Yesu” Ekufeni Uteta ntoni ke umntu; ebuza ntoni?
Tuluzufe! Izwe lawa nge Nkazana: Lavuswa kwa ngayo:
Bekona o Moses abo osixelela ngabo: Inene—ndiswele indawo
nje “Epepeni”—bendizakukushumayeza wanele: Ke ndiyi tate
indawo yaba Fundisi naba Vangeli babo nam ngokwelo xesha:
Pulapula! Kwinto oti wena, abafazi bayeke eyona Talente
Ingcwele yokukangela Intombi zabo: Utsho pantsi mzalwana:
 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   277

Pulapula! Intombi zezwe lakowenu; ziza kuhlolwa ngo Gqira

abamhlope bezinye Izizwe, isimanga sento ke eso, esingazange
sibonwe ngapantsi kwe Langa: Memeza! Umanyano!—Kupela
wena, qwaba ke: Ulwe nalo mteto: Nantso ke kuno kuba
sigxekane sinyelisana, simonelana, sihlebana, singcatshana,
situta nendaba, sixabanisa, sixoka, awu! Yeboke! Ezona zinto
ke ezo, ezincipisa ubugqoboka ububuzayo; Ingengabo abafazi
Bokuthandaza: Napakade!!

I read in the paper Umteteli wa Bantu of the 16th of the month,

this year, that a brother, Mr Tyelinzima Gatyeni, posed this
question and ended up answering it himself: “What has stunted
the growth of Christianity?” And the brother goes on to say that
he is sixty years old, and that from childhood he had been led
to believe that the Word of God was preached during church
services by the ministers and their evangelists alone. And that
was just the way things should be. I, Nontsizi, would not wish
to live that long, if after all those years I could come up with
nothing logical or sensible.
Listen! The brother goes on to say that today the homes
stand empty. “Where’s your mother?” The child answers:
“She’s gone to the women’s prayer meeting. She’s been away
since last night.” Note reader, the child does not say that the
mother has gone to church, a place where only ministers and
their evangelists preach. The child says, “Mother has gone to
the women’s prayer meeting,” a place fit for her, where she can
preach her fill, slamming her head on the pillars and pews of
the church, praying to her heart’s content.
To be brief: in other words, one should leave women of
the Mothers’ Unions alone, feeble creatures, to bear the heavy
burden of the world’s Eves, Esthers, Ruths, Deborahs, Miriams
and others; the burden of the entire collapse of the world which
God created; the burden of a world forgiven and redeemed
through Jesus, he too, born of a woman, Mary, another woman
who put her trust in prayer. With her were Elizabeth, Martha,
Salome and others, all good friends of Jesus, the first to go to
278   NEWSPAPERS

the grave long before daybreak, the first to know that Jesus had
risen from the dead.
What is the person saying? What is he asking? Shut your
trap till your dying day! Because of a woman the world was
lost and through a woman it was redeemed. Moses and others
you tell us about were there. I’m sorry I don’t have sufficient
space in this paper, otherwise I’d preach to you until you’d had
enough: then I’d find space for the role of the ministers and
evangelists of those days. Listen! In response to your view that
women have neglected their sacred talent, namely to examine
their daughters: you’re a little late, brother. Listen, the young
women of your land are now being examined by white doctors
from other countries, an extraordinary thing, never before
encountered under the sun.
Call out “Manyano,” that’s all you have to do, and applaud.
Oppose this attitude. That’s it, rather than criticising each
other, running each other down, envying, gossiping about
and betraying each other, passing on information, setting one
against the other, lying. Dear oh dear! Those are the things that
have stunted an enquiring Christianity and not the women of
the Mothers’ Unions. Never!!9

In articulating the concerns of the manyanos, Nontsizi assumed a

range of identities. She can speak as an urban Christian:

Panda pantsi uxele amahlungulu

Intsikelelo zasishiy’ elubala
Ndingatini betu kungeko nanye nje
Kwinto zakowetu engabisasele.

Amasiko etu anxitywa ilokwe

Yinkohliso yodwa nobumenemene
Kwakutatwa izitembu tina siyashwesha
Ukuze singaqondwa ngawo amaqaba.

9. Umteteli (6 September 1924: 6); Opland (2007: 192–4).

 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   279

Ax’entsa intlombe zix’entswa nasiti

Sigqobok’ emini kuhlwe sizinc’uka
Sixakiwe konke kuba sinxazonke
Nabalandelayo bobeta besotuka.

Scratch the earth like crows:

our blessings led to the scrapheap.
I tell you, nothing that once was ours
survives to sustain us today.

Our customs are dressed in tatters,

deceit and delusion are all we maintain:
Reds keep a number of wives,
but we keep our secret lovers.

They dance in courtship, and so do we,

Christians by day, hyenas by night,
we’re caught between two worlds:
the next generation will gaze slack-jawed.10

On the other hand, in attacking the same urban evils, she can assume
the voice of a rural red-blanketed Xhosa woman who has maintained
her traditional beliefs:

Niko ngaku Tixo nasebuqabeni

Nigqobok’ emini kuhlwe nizincuka
Udlul’ u Mfundisi angakubulisi
Kodwa ngumalusi wemvu zika Tixo.

Sotinina tina xa bese njenjalo

Sibambe lipina kulo mpambampamba
Neratshi likuni nina magqoboka
Nambatis’ u Tixo ngengubo yengwenya.

10. Umteteli (1 March 1924: 10); Opland (2007: 112–13).

280   NEWSPAPERS

Nina magqoboka ningodludla nazo

Nayek’ izik’ak’a nanxib’ ezomlungu.
Nite nzwi nendlebe butywala bomlungu
Kodwa yen’ umlungu akabudl’ obenu.

Ngemini zecawa nihamba ezindle

Nik’aba ibhola kunye ne tenise
Nigqishel’ ububi ngezwi lika Tixo
Nixak’ u Satana usinkwabalala.

Aninalutando aninayo nani

Kodwa nizibiza ngo Tixo wotando
Lonkolwana yenu yokusikohlisa
Mina ingangam ndiguqe ngedolo

Nakufika kuti tina bomaqaba

Tina sakunoja siti niyinyama.
Anditsho ukuti Izwi lika Tixo
Ukuteta kwalo akunanyaniso.

You wear red blankets in God’s very house,

you’re Christians by day, hyenas by night;
the pastor, the shepherd of God’s own flock,
scurries past you without a nod.

What do we make of this curious conduct?

Which voice do we choose from among this babble?
Pride is one of your Christian companions,
God wears a cloak of crocodile hide.

You Christians are suckers for every fad,

you cast off skin garments and dressed up like whites,
your ears are tinkling for white man’s booze,
but whites won’t touch a drop of yours.

Every Sunday you romp on the veld,

kicking a football, whacking a racquet,
 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   281

clothing your shame in the name of God:

Satan’s struck dumb in amazement.

You’re bereft of love, bereft of all,

yet you proclaim a God of love:
that faith of yours stands just as tall
as I do down on my knees.

If you ever try to come near us again,

we Reds will roast you like meat.
But I’m not saying the word of God
is entirely barren of truth.11

Or she can assail the same immoral behaviour as a political activist, as

a vatic prophet or a praise poet seeking to reinforce traditional social
norms:

Simi ngama Monti sikony’ izililo simi ngama Dike sikony’

izililo,
Sezizw’ ezintsundu ngapantsi kwelanga u Satan adane kutshone
nenkaba.
Aninalutando! Animanyananga ningab’ onxazonke
abangenacala,
Nikwango ntamnaniopembabeshiya niyek’ amawenu nincedis’
umlungu.

Nikony’ izililo? Niti maibuye nopala nisopa makabuye nina

Akuko nasiko lakumisa umzi akuko bukosi akuko ntwisento.
Seninje ngenkumbi zisele kwezinye nashiywa bubuzwe
nashiywa bubuntu
Nashiywa yimfuyo zonke ezo zinto senizixolisa ngo
Cimizingqala.

11 . Umteteli (24 November 1923: 4); Opland (2007: 50–3).

282   NEWSPAPERS

Uti maibuye? Makubuye wena wonwaya intloko ulila ngabani,

Nanko no Ntsikana kade akutyela zuyeke imali siqu
sempundulu.
Mfondini wotutu lwakud’ e Afrika wazonela ngani? Pambi
koYehova

From the Buffalo’s banks we raise our cry,

from the Tyhume’s banks we raise our cry
for all the black nations under the sun,
so Satan’s ashamed until his guts bust.
You display no love, display no togetherness,
you sit on the fence, won’t take a stand.
Nothing but sell-outs, you set fires and run,
betray your own people to bolster the whites.

Are you raising a cry, saying “Come back”?

You’ll cry yourselves hoarse: you must come back!
Gone are our customs for setting up homesteads,
monarchy, values, nothing is left!
You live like locusts left by the swarm,
you’ve lost all pride, your sense of a nation,
lock, stock and barrel, everything’s lost:
you seek balm in the bottle that blots out all pain.

You say “Come back”? You must come back!

You scratch your head in search of a scapegoat.
Ntsikana warned you a long time ago,
“Money’s the lightning-bird: leave it alone.”
Child of the soil of far-flung Africa,
what have you done to so offend God?12

Nontsizi most frequently adopts a Christian voice in her poetry,

offering her readers biblical references to sustain her arguments. But as
a Christian she is emphatically black, not white, for the white bible, she
maintains, served as an agent of black dispossession:

12. Umteteli (8 December 1923: 4); Opland (2007: 60–1).

 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   283

Upi yena lo Tixo simtandazayo

Nalo simtandazayo asingowetu
Sakwenzela intlants’ eziq’uq’umbayo
Ziq’uq’umbela Intaba yase Yuropu.

Nabo ke ubulumko bo Tixo wabo—

Ntu bhinqela Indyebo yase Zulwini
Tina zesibhinqele eye Afrika
Zezakwa Faro ke ezo Izilumko.

Ezaziti—tshisa izitena ngenc’a

Litshone Ilanga ungabonanganto
Nangoku kunjalo nakuti Bantsundu
Kusa siqondele! Kuhlwe singaboni.

Where is this God that we worship?

The one we worship’s foreign:
we kindled a fire and sparks swirled up,
swirled up a European mountain.

This is the wisdom of their God:

“Black man, prepare for the treasures of heaven
while we prepare for the treasures of Africa!”
Just as the wise men of Pharaoh’s land

commanded the Jews: “Use grass to bake bricks,”

leaving them empty-handed at sunset,
so it is for us black people now:
eager at dawn, at dusk empty-handed.13

She does not reject the scriptures out of hand, but rather encourages a
black reading of them:

Ngokuba konke okube kubhaliwe pambili, beku bhalelwe

okwetu ukufundiswa, ukuze siti ngawo umonde nolwonwabiso

13. Umteteli (22 March 1924: 10); Opland (2007: 128–9).

284   NEWSPAPERS

lwezi Bhalo sibe netemba. Yiva ke! Akazange ukuxelelena u

Ntsikana ukuba uze uqwalasele i Bhaibhile? Wazuka wena
wayiyeka, wayiqwalaselelwa ngabelungu; andigxeki mlungu
ke ngakuba nditsho: kodwa ke xa kutiwa: “Funa wawuya
kufumana,” akutshiwo ke ukutiwa mawufunelwe ngomnye
umntu.

For whatever was written in former days was written for our
instruction, that by patience and by the encouragement of the
scriptures we might have hope. Now listen! Didn’t Ntsikana tell
you to study the scriptures? And you left the whites to study
them for you. I’m not mocking the white when I say that. But
when it’s written “Seek and ye shall find,” it doesn’t mean that
someone else must do the finding for you.14

Increasingly, as the sequence of poems progresses, Nontsizi assumes

for herself the voice of a preacher, at times using Ntsikana’s hymn and
his sayings as her sustaining text, as she would the scriptures:

Lomzi Wakona na Sawubizana? Le Mali Inkulu

na Sayibizana?

Pulapula! Lomazwi ngawo Mprofeti u Ntsikana aye bhalelwe

okwetu ukufundiswa: U Ntsikana waye buza ku Tixo ukuba
lomzi wezizizwe zapesheya ezilapa e Afrika, sawubizana?
Nale mali yabo inkulu na sayibizana? Mna ke Nontsizi,
ndiza kumvumisela u Ntsikana kokwam ukwazi, andazi ke
kokwabanye; nenenene! Lomzi wako na Pesheya uyibulele i
Afrika wayigqiba. Nenenene le mali yabo ibutengile ubuzibulo
betu, njenge nkobe zelentile; ingcatsha nabantu bezwe i Afrika,
itenga nentombi zezwe layo, itenga nababulalisi besizwe
sakowetu; ingumtombo kanye wako konke ukungcola. Nantso
ke into eyayibuzwa ngu Ntsikana ku Tixo; nje ngomntu
owayeteta no Tixo ngo moya. Camagu! Pulapula kwakona! U
Tixo wayesilingile ngabelungu, kuba kakade ngu “Longqina

14. Umteteli (7 August 1926: 4); Opland (2007: 420–1).

 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   285

Izingel’ Imipefumlo.” Ngokwenjenjalo ke efuna ukuqonda

elona “Temba” ayame ngalo umntu, ngapaya koko u Tixo
wenze ngabom ukuba zonke ezizizwe zalapa e Afrika zibe lapa;
kuba kakade ungumdibanisi wemihlambi eyalanayo ayifunela
ke ukuba yonke lomihlambi igobele pantsi kweyake inyaniso.—
Inyaniso ke ka Tixo ise Afrika kupela apo ikona yiyo ke le
idibanisele kona zonke ezizizwe, kuba no Yesu wati ukuze
asinde ku Herode wabalekiselwa e Afrika: Yiva ke! Ufune ke
lo nyaniso:—

Taru Mhleli ngesituba sezi Mbongi

Ndiko noko ndisahleli andi mbongi
Nditand’ ukuhlala nje pezulu Mhleli
Oyi! Ndilwa ngombane induku zihleli.

Lento Isisizwe ngomteto we Bhaibhile

Abangcatshi baso mabhubhe bapele
Bagqiba Isizwe bakupa ubuzwe
Bupel’ ubukosi singenwe zizizwe.

Lomzi wakona na sawubizana

Lemali inkulu na sayibizana
Naku site sakungena emlungwini
Sasela nendywala zotixo basemzini.

Did we invite this nation of theirs? Did we invite

their mighty money?

Listen, these are the words of the prophet Ntsikana. They were
written down for our instruction. Ntsikana was asking God if
we invited this nation of people from overseas to come here
to Africa. And if we invited this mighty money of theirs. I
Nontsizi am going to interpret Ntsikana as I understand him. I
don’t know the interpretation of others. In very truth, this nation
of theirs from overseas has completely killed Africa. In very
truth, this money of theirs has bought the rights of our firstborn
like a boiled mash of maize and lentils. It betrays the people
286   NEWSPAPERS

of the nation of Africa, it buys the daughters of her nations, it

even buys those who contrive the death of our nation. It is the
fountain of everything foul. Ntsikana was appealing to God
as someone speaking through the spirit. Peace! Listen again!
God was testing us through the whites, because for ages past
he is the hunting party hunting souls. He does this to find out
what hope resides in any one person. Furthermore, it is by
God’s design that every single nation in Africa should be here,
because for ages past he forms one flock from diverse sheep,
wanting all these flocks to bend to his truth. So God’s truth
is present in Africa alone. That is what has formed one flock
of all these nations here, for Jesus himself was placed beyond
Herod’s power when he was smuggled into Africa. So listen if
you seek this truth.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column.

I’m still here, a young man and no poet.
I just like to be on top, Editor.
Oi! Clubs are at hand but I fight with lightning.

This nation rests on the law of the bible,

traitors must forfeit their lives.
Turncoats wound it, rip out its lifeblood:
our power wanes, and we’re ripe for invasion.

Did we invite this nation of theirs?

Did we invite their mighty money?
When we entered the white man’s cities
we drank the brews of foreign gods.15

Through the medium of the newspaper Nontsizi Mgqwetho was able

to address audiences far more extensive than those she might otherwise
have had access to as a black woman; she could castigate the ineffective
leadership of the ANC or publicly confront male chauvinists. “African
Christian women early in this century,” writes Deborah Gaitskell,

15. Umteteli (28 August 1926: 9); Opland (2007: 432–3).

 T H E N E W S PA P E R A S E M P O W E R I N G M E D I U M   287

were eager to preach. . . . Despite this hunger for preaching,

only rarely did African women’s zeal for oral expression
of their faith lead to leadership positions in mixed public
gatherings. Perhaps they were resigned to the limitations
missionaries placed on their leadership and preaching role, and
the opposition they might face from jealous black male clergy.
Manyanos provided a segregated, “safer” sphere of female
religious oratory.16

In the pages of Umteteli wa Bantu Nontsizi Mgqwetho empowered

herself to shrug off such restrictions. In her poetry she broke free of
social constraints on her voice to wail for the return of Mother Africa.

16. Gaitskell (1997: 263).

13

Abantu-Batho and the Xhosa poets

Bitter rivalries and factionalism run through the history of African

language newspapers in South Africa.1 In the case of journalism in the
Xhosa language, there was considerable tension between the mission
paper Isigidimi sama-Xosa of Lovedale and the independent secular
paper Imvo zabantsundu in King William’s Town after John Tengo
Jabavu left Isigidimi to found Imvo in 1884, a rivalry that ultimately saw
to the demise of Isigidimi by the end of 1888. The air fairly crackled
between Jabavu’s Imvo and Izwi labantu, published in East London
between 1897 and 1909, which supported the South African Native
Congress (SANC). No rivalry, however, was quite as vituperative as
that between the two multilingual Johannesburg newspapers Abantu-
Batho and Umteteli wa Bantu. Despite their mutual antipathy, however,
both of these newspapers made significant contributions to the literary
careers of two of the greatest Xhosa poets of the 1920s, although the
poets themselves displayed differing responses to the rivalry.
In the wake of the radicalisation of the Transvaal Native Congress
(TNC) after the end of the First World War, and the disagreement over
Congress strategy,2 a party of moderates approached the Chamber of

1. I am deeply indebted to Peter Limb for drawing my attention to Mgqwetho’s 1919

poem and Mqhayi’s 1914 poem in Abantu-Batho, and for many other suggestions,
and to Pamela Maseko for her assistance with translations from isiXhosa.
This account is complicated by two factors: the incomplete holdings of Abantu-
Batho (see Limb 2012) and the identification of pseudonyms. Mqhayi wrote under
a number of pseudonyms, as well as under his own name; if and when further
pseudonyms of his are identified, the number and nature of his already voluminous
contributions to newspapers will become clearer.
2. See Bonner (1982).

288
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   289

Mines with a request for support to start a newspaper in opposition to

Abantu-Batho, the South African Native National Congress (SANNC)
newspaper that had commenced publication in 1912. The Chamber
proceeded to establish such a newspaper with policies and practices
designed to counter and undermine Abantu-Batho. According to Mary
Benson’s notes of an interview with T.D. Mweli Skota,

Dube, Masane [Msane], Mbela [Mbelle], Maxelele [Maxeke].

They went to man in charge Chamber of Mines and told him
these young people very extreme and they wanted to start a
paper in opposition to A.B., and he said all right come again,
so when next they went Chamber had decided to start paper for
them. Wouldn’t give them money but started paper for them and
this was not what they wanted. Maxelele employed and Dube
as editors and about £60 per month one salary. Plaatje had gone
to Canada after Versailles deputation and wrote to Skota that he
knew nothing about this and was not a party to it. This new set-
up could pay and took all the A.B. compositors so had to train
new ones. New paper given out to people in mines and not sold
for about six months. A.B. went from bad to worse and had to
struggle to keep up. And never able to recover. 3

The first issue of Umteteli wa Bantu appeared on 1 May 1920. One

of its nine stated objects was “to advocate measures of prudence
and common-sense;4 the Xhosa version listed as one of its non-
confrontational principles “Kuziswe umoya wokuvana pakati komlungu
noNtsundu” (To encourage a spirit of mutual understanding between
white and black).5 These aims were spelt out in an editorial in the
second issue:

We have faith in our own efforts but it is useless to blind

ourselves to the utter necessity of enlisting the co-operation of

3. Benson Papers, School of Oriental and African Studies MS 348942/2. I am

indebted to Peter Limb for this reference.
4. Umteteli (1 May 1920: 2).
5. Umteteli (1 May 1920: 3).
290   NEWSPAPERS

our European friends. We cannot succeed without the help of

those who are able to help, and we must therefore set ourselves
to the task of drawing to us the moderate thinkers of the white
section of the community, who are already half prepared to
meet us, and endeavour by our own moderation to imbue them
with confidence in the integrity of our purpose.6

The moderate philosophy of Umteteli, and the attendant split in

Congress ranks, was bitterly denounced by Abantu-Batho. At the end of
its first month of publication, Umteteli noted that

[o]ur contemporary The Basutoland Star in its issue of May

21st, has the following item about us:—
“We have just seen a new newspaper from Johannesburg
called ‘Umteteli,’ whose editorial staff, we understand, are
Messrs. John Dube, Sol. T. Plaatje and A.R. Mapanya. We
wish this paper every success and heartily welcome it into the
Native Newspaper field in S.A. We observe however that the
Native paper ‘Abantu-Batho’ is hostile against the new paper.
Perhaps it (Abantu-Batho) has good reason, we do not know.
We will not deal with that phase of the matter as we welcome
all reinforcements in advocating our people’s cause. . . .” 7

The first eighteen issues of Umteteli, until 28 August 1920, listed

Dube and Plaatje as editors, but they never served in that capacity. 8
From the start, perhaps, or shortly thereafter, the editorship was
assumed by Marshall Maxeke. Certainly it was Maxeke who fleshed
out in Umteteli the paper’s moderate philosophy, and who proceeded to
organise a movement to promote it. Umteteli carried an extended series
of articles by Maxeke between August and October 1920 entitled “The

6. “The middle course”, Umteteli (8 May 1920: 2).

7. “About ourselves”, Umteteli (29 May 1920: 2).
8. For Plaatje’s non-involvement, see Willan (1984: 316). Heather Hughes, author of
the first scholarly biography of Dube (2011), found no evidence of his involvement
(personal communication, 1 June 2011).
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   291

middle course”.9 Umteteli invited its readers to a meeting in Nancefield

on 25 September to discuss Maxeke’s proposal (Mpoposho ka Maxeke)
to form a moderate organisation. An organising committee of ten was
elected under Maxeke. In his words, a bad start had been made under
the TNC/Abantu-Batho radicals: “Kwaxoxwa ubusuku bonke pezu
komcimbi wokuba kufunzwe kakubi kufuneka elinye izibuko lokuwezwa
kwe Zizwe” (Discussion of this matter took up the whole night because
we had been incited down the wrong road and an alternative ford was
needed to assist people to cross).10 Supporters of the movement were
called amaKoloni, Colonists. Maxeke, through the pages of Umteteli,
immediately proceeded to organise the new movement on a national
scale:

Following the expressed wishes of my Constituted Executive

Council an organisation for developing native moderation,
through considered and declared opinion of the Black people,—I
hereby make this appeal to their communities as a clear call
to the formation of a national organic structure, of social and
economic drift along paths that are exempt from violence, but
seeking for peaceful development and co-operation of black
and white races of the Union of South Africa.11

In its first year of publication, Umteteli frequently carried news of

progress to this end. Maxeke’s images of the ford and the need to
colonise a new country because of the bad start that had been made
under Congress leadership became slogans of the new movement.
For example, in calling a meeting of the Colonists (Intlanganiso
ya Makoloni) to be addressed by W.B. Rubusana on 1 December,
T. Nkombisa and I.A. Mtshazo noted that “Amalungiselelo apantsi
kwempi ye Zibuko. Hoha! Sifunze kakubi!” (Preparations are in hand

9. “The middle course” (21 August: 3); “The middle course—socially” (28 August:
5); “The middle course—industrially” (4, 11, 18 September: 5); “The middle
course—the call” (2 October: 5).
10. Umteteli (2 October 1920: 2).
11. M. Maxeke, “A world of native moderates: an appeal”, Umteteli (20 November
1920: 6).
292   NEWSPAPERS

for the army of the Ford. Hold it! We made a bad start!), and the notice
ended “Madoda, pumani ezindlini nize ezimbizweni. Sifunze kakubi!
Yininale!” (Men, leave your homes and make for the meeting. We made
a bad start! What’s happening!).12
Abantu-Batho opposed Umteteli, Maxeke and the moderate
movement just as Umteteli continued to report on the movement and to
castigate Abantu-Batho in return. In November 1920, Maxeke wrote

Wheresoever they have a footing the ill advised groups of

our bigoted countrymen seem to strain their last nerve in black-
guarding us. They do so because we have recently chosen to
have an opinion organised for, expressive of a feeling of ours
that is unconfided and eminently antagonistic to all familiar
practices hitherto adopted, relative to the methods of presenting
our complicated case to those concerned. . . .
When indeed we sever ourselves from doubtful
complications we are making a conscientious bolt. And
whatever consequence may attend our subsequent course they
will overtake us dashing for liberty—Pan-Bantu Middle Course,
one unassociated with evil short-comings, political jealousies,
and bullyings hitherto inadvertently practised by these bigoted
countrymen who cry aloud, assuming superhuman regard for
Africa. We all love Africa. But we shed no crocodile tears about
it as they do in order to win over to their ranks the uncouth. 13

In an editorial in April 1921 Umteteli remarked on the tension and

rivalry between African organisations, listing Maxeke’s African
Moderate Movement among them:

The greatest danger to the Native peoples, and their most

serious hindrance, is the plurality of their leaders. Every Native
who can boast of an education and who successfully impresses
his immediate associates asserts himself as the modern Moses,

12. “Isaziso”, Umteteli (27 November 1920: 7).

13. M.M. Maxeke, “Our bigoted”, Umteteli (27 November 1920: 4).
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   293

and contests with his kind the right to deliver his people from
bondage. . . .
We have as many leaders as we have churches. . . . And
we have the Transvaal Congress, Bantu Union, Non-European
Conference, African People’s Organisation, African Moderate
movement, Cape native Congress, Natal Congress and other
associations of Natives whose aims are identical but who are
intolerant of each other because of the desire of each to be
dominant.14

In August 1921 an editorial criticised Abantu-Batho for publishing

“a tissue of blasphemous utterance” in a Sesotho letter from
T.W. Thibedi.15 In December an Umteteli editorial lashed back at
Abantu-Batho’s complaint that support for Umteteli wa Bantu (The
mouthpiece of black people) was undermining its stability:

The following is a translated extract from the last issue of

Abantu-Batho:—
“They (the people) advise Messrs. Thema, Ngojo and
Msimang to desist from contributing to the paper ‘The
Mouthpiece of the Whitemen’. Our ‘Abantu-Batho’ is close to
them, and their action threatens the extinction of our paper and
more support for that of the whites.”
The reference is doubtless to ourselves, and furnishes
another instance of our contemporary’s bad taste. 16

Marshall Maxeke’s wife Charlotte, leader of the Women’s League of

Congress, contributed to Umteteli, as she had done to Abantu-Batho. In
June 1920, for example, she reported on the Queenstown branch of the
Women’s League. In passing, she noted the absence in Johannesburg of
Mbongikazi, The Woman Poet, who used to inspire meetings with her
performances of izibongo, Xhosa poetry. She wondered if Mbongikazi
was still a Congress supporter:

14. “Unity”, Umteteli (30 April 1921: 2).

15. “Press depravity”, Umteteli (20 August 1921: 5).
16. “What say the people?”, Umteteli (31 December 1921: 4).
294   NEWSPAPERS

. . . Kwakona apa e Johannesburg kwi xesha elidluleyo besike

sanokubona yi Mbongikazi, ebiviwa kude izibongo zayo, kwade
kwabonakala ukuba usindiso lwetu selukufupi. Asazi ukuba
lowo waya pina, asisaziva izibongo, nokuba naye seleshunqulwe
intloko egoqweni na njengalo sibe site zizitunzela ze Congress
ezihamba zingenantloko.17

Again, here in Johannesburg in the past we used to see The

Woman Poet, whose poetry could be heard at a distance, so that
we perceived our deliverance at hand. We do not know where
she went, we no longer hear her poetry, we do not know if her
head has been snapped off into a pile of kindling, like those we
said were the Congress spectres, walking about headless.

The Woman Poet was Nontsizi Elizabeth Mgqwetho, who had earned
considerable renown for her poetic performances on the Rand, often
in the context of concerts, some of them organised by Congress. In
March 1920, for example, she enhanced her reputation at a Congress
Concert in honour of Rev. Mvuyana: “Bayala nje ababekona eKonsatini
yeCongress ka Rev. Mvuyana bati imbongikazi uMiss Nonsizi Mgqweto
wazenzela ugazi.”18 The following month Ilanga announced that
Mgqwetho had been invited to sing praises at a concert in City Deep
Hall to celebrate the bravery shown by the heroes in their battle with
police: “Koba kona iKonseti eCity Deep Hall, kogujelwa ubuqawe
obenziwa izinsizwa muhla kuliwa namapoyisa. Kumenywe nembongikazi
uNonsizi, ka Mgqweto, uMachizana, ukuba ayobongela kona.”19 If
by June 1920 Mgqwetho had withdrawn from public performance, as
Charlotte Maxeke observed, certainly by 1922 The Woman Poet was
once again active. Early in June she attended a concert in Queenstown
to bid farewell to Rev. B.S. Mazwi, and concluded the proceedings with
rousing poetic performances on Africa and on Rev. and Mrs Mazwi;
she exhibited her extraordinary talent and absolutely thrilled the
gathering: “Kuzokulebela u ma-Cizama, imbongikazi yesizwe, etsho ane

17. Charlotte Maxeke, “Kubiwa kwe League yi Congress e Komani”, Umteteli

(12 June 1920: 4).
18. “Ezase Goli”, Ilanga lase Natal (26 March 1920: 2).
19. “Ezase Goli”, Ilanga (2 April 1920: 2).
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   295

hlombe amadoda akubonga i ‘Afrika’ no ‘Rev. and Mrs. B.S. Mazwi.’

Ubonakalise isipiwo esingummangaliso u Miss E.N. Mgqweto, wayitsho
yasita kunene imbuto leyo.”20 Later that month, X.Y.Z. reported on the
Ntsikana Day celebration in Johannesburg, in which Charlotte Maxeke
participated. Among those present were Marshall Maxeke and the three
unmarried Mgqwetho sisters, “Misses Mgqweto bobatatu”.21 Nontsizi
Mgqwetho produced another rousing poetic performance at the meeting:

Ke kaloku Mhleli uxolo inteto ka Mrs. Maxeke nakuba inkulu

ibalulekile asiyi fakanga yonke ngoko yikela isituba. Ibi nkulu
yona ipulapuleka. Emva kwe ngoma ezivunyiweyo ngo Mrs.
Tsotesi Miss Tshona, Mrs. Mangele, Mr. Mhutu nabanye.
Kute gqi u Miss Nontsizi Mgqweto, Imbongikazi watiwa
introduce ngenteto emfutshane ngu Mr. Govo, u Miss Mgqweto
umemelele ebonga lomhla ka Ntsikana ongcwele. Ute umbhali
wala macapaza eba uzama ukubhala ngesandla esikaulezayo,
kwabonakala ukuba zonke ezonto ziyampazamisa ekulapuleni
i tengu-macetyana, akabanga saloba wapulapula njengabanye,
elubeke pantsi usiba. Yamemelelake lontombazana ama Xoza
abonakala ebambelele ezidleleni entywizisa. Emva kwemizuzu
engamashumi amabini ugqibile u Miss Mgqweto waya kuhlala.
Asibonanga ngani! Umfo wase Mngcagatelweni into ka Zozi
yayi ndulumbhana ukuya ngapambili yaya yekebevu pambi
kwe Mbongikazi eyifumbatisa into, kwati kanti lomfo nvava
ngengogo (2/6) mawu xolele umzi ngokuwuvimba izibongo
zalemini ka Ntsikana.22

But then, Mr Editor, my apologies, Mrs Maxeke’s speech

though long was important, and we have not submitted all of
it for fear of space. It was long and absorbing. After that songs

20. “Ezibeleni Kwa Komani”, Umteteli (24 June 1922: 7).

21. X.Y.Z., “Isikumbuzo sika Ntsikana E Johannesburg, Isiqendu III”, Umteteli
(10 June 1922: 9). The three Mgqwetho sisters were Elizabeth (Nontsizi), Mary
and Gladys. A fourth sister, Paulina A. Kana, had died in June 1916 at the age of
35: “Imipanga”, Imvo (18 July 1916: 2).
22. X.Y.Z., “Isikumbuzo sika Ntsikana E Johannesburg: Isiqendu III”, Umteteli
(17 June 1922: 6).
296   NEWSPAPERS

were sung by Mrs Tsotetsi, Miss Tshona, Mrs Mangele, Mr

Mhutu and others.
Suddenly, up stepped Miss Nontsizi Mgqwetho, The Woman
Poet, who was introduced in a short speech by Mr Govo. Miss
Mgqwetho exultantly praised this day of Saint Ntsikana. The
writer of these notes tried to scribble in a hasty hand, but it was
obvious that all those things were distracting him from hearing
the fork-tailed drongo, so he ceased the attempt and listened
like the others, with an idle pen. This young lady sang out
triumphantly, and the Xhosa were seen with their hands to their
cheeks, crying out loud. After twenty minutes Miss Mgqwetho
finished, and sat down. Who’s that? A Ngqika fellow, the son
of Zozi, rushed forward and knelt in front of The Woman Poet
and put something in her hand, apparently a gift of 2/6. The
assembly must be well pleased with the cornucopia of poetry on
this Ntsikana Day.

Mgqwetho performed her poetry in public as imbongikazi, the

feminine form of the noun imbongi, a Xhosa oral poet. On 13 December
1924 she remarked “Ndine minyaka emitandatu, namhlanje ene nyanga
ezimbini ndibonga, ndenze isitonga sisinye; ndibongela le Afrika” (It’s
now six years and two months since I exploded on the scene as a poet
singing praises to Africa):23 if we take this literally, she might have first
performed her poetry, assuming a role traditionally reserved for the
male imbongi, in October 1918. This was probably in Johannesburg,
since she writes, in a poem published in 1920,

Hamba Sokulandela,
Kuba tina simadoda nje asizange
Siyibone kowetu imbongikazi,
Yenkazana kuba imbongi inyuka
Nenkundla ituke inkosi.

Hamba Sokulandela,
Nezi mbongikazi Tina sizibona
Apa kweli lo laita ne bhekile.

23. Opland (2007: 252–3).

 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   297

Go and we’ll follow you:

no female poet
came from our house:
the poet who rouses the court
and censures the king’s always male.

Go and we’ll follow you!

We first encountered these female poets
here in this land of thugs and booze.24

Not only did Nontsizi Mgqwetho perform in public as an imbongi, she

also wrote poetry and, as far as can be determined, Abantu-Batho first
published her work. Two of her poems appeared in the issue of 24 April
1919, her earliest extant poetry. In the first she praised individually
the leaders of the pass protests in Johannesburg and Benoni, innocent,
sacrificial lambs who drew from a distance a brutal overreaction by
mounted police: “Nandzo ke Inkokeli zesizwe! Ezinxakame e Rautini,
baq’uq’a Onongqai Entabeni!” (Here are the leaders of the nation who
bleated in Johannesburg and the cops trotted down the mountain!).
She lists 23 names, one of whom, J. Mookoane, made the “supreme
sacrifice”, and she then proceeds in ten stanzas to praise in traditional
imagery the leaders individually and in groups, omitting Mookoane, an
Abantu-Batho compositor, who is the subject of Mgqwetho’s second
poem, which immediately follows the first. Unlike the heroic first poem,
the second seeks Christian consolation, although it ends with an appeal
to God for support for the black political struggle:

Yeha! Watshona! Afrika! ELundini!

Nandzo ke Inkokeli zesizwe! Ezinxakame e Rautini, baq’uq’a

Onongqai Entabeni!
Mr. C.S. Mabaso (Mayor)
" H.L. Bud-Mbelle
" J.W. Dúnjwa
Chief E Matlaba

24. Opland (2007: 2–3).

298   NEWSPAPERS

Rev. J Motlapi
" D. Mkatshwa (Discharged)
" T.M. Mwelase
Mr. H.V. Msane
" H. Kraai
" F Cétyiwe
" G. Jamela
" C. Tsitsi
" T.W. Thibedi (Teacher)
" P.J. Motsoakae
" J. Lekhoathi
" J. Ntintili
" Moletsane
" T. Sitebe
" Peter Mohlale
Late J. Mookane (Supreme Sacrifice)
BENONI.
Mr. M.J. Malla
" J. Mossena
" J. Nobadula
Nango ke Amag’ora avune imbewu eyahlwayelwa e Pass office
yengxowa zamapasi! Iminweba eyambatwa zi Nkosi, namhla
mayambatwe ngabo.
Taru midaka engena nina! Ngqangi ezingalo zilubhelu! Esuke yaba
ngu nani nani, naxa seyijanyelwe nge nduku ezimdaka, Taru Ndlovu ezi
mpondo nkulu, kanti ningamatole Ezi miboko ivune ubutyebi bamapasi
izamela i Afrika itye Inkululeko!

1. Taru Nto ka Mabaso (Mayor)

H. Mbelle no Dunjwa
Edimbaze ihasa lepasi
Latsitsa ibhunga
Camagu!

2. Kulondawo Chief Matlaba

Ingwe idla ngamabala
Udlile ke ngamabala
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   299

Pezu kwabantu bako.

Taru!

3. Taru Rev. J. Motlapi

Nawe Rev. D. Mkatshwa
Nilwe ngaye u Somandla
Babhada e Nkantolo
Camagu!

4. Pambili H.V. Msane

H. Kraai no Cetyiwe
Kusa, kuhlwa ningaboni
Taru! Nzwana! Enozinzo

5. Taru T.M. Mwelase

G. Jamela & C. Tsitsi
Zivezeni Intyantyambo
Pezu kwe Afrika
Camagu!

6. Pambili T. Thibedi (Teacher)

Nawe P.J. Motsoakae
Dabulani ke amanzi
Kwiziziba zobumnyama
Taru!

7. Taru J. Lekhoathi
Nawe J. Ntintili
Libangeni izwe lenu
Kuse kulo ipakade
Camagu!

8. Taru mfo ka Moletsane

T. Sitsebe P. Mohlale
Ndlovu eziye ngempondo
Zasinga entabeni
Camagu!
300   NEWSPAPERS

9. Pambili J. Mosena
Nawe J. Mahlela
Pakulani Amatsili
Ad’ agobe ulwamvila
Taru!

10. Pambili D.K. Gabashane

Nawe J. Nobadula
Taru Bajeci bentambo
Ezibope i Benoni.
Camagu!

Late J. Mookoane.
Compositor (“Abantu-Batho.”)

Lomntana ulishiyile elilizwe ngaso esisaqunge se Pasi. Uyokungena

eku pumleni okungunapakade, qondani ke ningqine ukuba lento ililizwe
iyafelwa njengokuba nisazi nifunda nasezimbhalini. U Tixo akalifuni
konke igwala uyalicekisa kuba nalo ke Igora umfana ka Mookane
ote ebona ukuba kumnyama, wayiqhuba Ityeya yocebano wayimisa
ematafeni. Amen.

1. Yesu olutando Lwako

Lungumangaliso
Kuye yena ongumoni
Apa emhlabeni. Amen.

2. Xa wancama ubukulu
Bako Ezulwini
Watabata ubuhlwempu
Ngaye yena moni. Amen!

3. Zankwanqiswa Izitunywa
Buburoti Bako
Zati owak’ Iserafime
Bubugora bako. Amen!
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   301

4. Leyamini Wehla ngayo

Mayipindwe ngaye
Uze lowomlilo wayo
Uze apa kuti. Amen! Amen!

5. Kwanezifo! Kwa nokufa

Kululeka tina
Kuti ningenzi lukuni
Intliziyo zenu. Amen! Taru!

6. Ngxatsho ke Yehova
Tixo woyihlo betu
Yinina ukuba ugqubutele
Ubuso Bako kuyo i Afrika. Taru!

7. Nabo bebanjwe bonke

Nabantwana bayo
Kumbula Omawenze kona
Ngalo izwe letu. Camagu!

8. Sinyateliswa ngamahashi
Sipahlwe nazingozi
Awu! Nkosi Tixo pantsi
Ezantsi e Afrika. Awu! Camagu!

Alas! Africa, you fade into the horizon!

Here are the leaders of the nation who bleated in Johannesburg and
the cops trotted down the mountain!

Mr C.S. Mabaso (Mayor)

" H.L. Bud-Mbelle
" J.W. Dunjwa
Chief E. Matlaba
Rev J. Motlapi
" D. Mkatshwa (Discharged)
" T.M. Mwelase
302   NEWSPAPERS

Mr. H.V. Msane

" H. Kraai
" F Cetyiwe
" G. Jamela
" C. Tsitsi
" T.W. Thibedi (Teacher)
" P.J. Motsoakae
" J. Lekhoathi
" J. Ntintili
" Moletsane
" T. Sitebe
" Peter Mohlale
Late J. Mookoane (Supreme Sacrifice)
BENONI.
Mr. M.J. Malla
" J. Mossena
" J. Nobadula

Here then are the heroes who reaped the seed from the sacks of
passes planted at the Pass Office! Today let them wear the skin robes
worn by chiefs.
Mercy, motherless blacks! Yellow-armed buzzards! Whose great
value rose in the face of black truncheons. Mercy, elephants with
massive tusks, though you are calves, whose trunks plucked wealth
from passes, striving so Africa would taste freedom!

1. Mercy, son of Mabaso (Mayor),

H. Mbelle and Dunjwa,
who scooped the old corn of the pass from the pit
and the council broke out in a sweat.
Peace!

2. In that place, Chief Matlaba,

the leopard is prized for its spots,
you were prized for your spots
over and above your people.
Mercy!
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   303

3. Mercy, Rev J. Motlapi,

and you, Rev D. Mkatshwa,
you brought the Almighty into play
when they plundered the Office.
Peace!

4. Onward H.V. Msane,

H. Kraai and Cetyiwe,
heedless of sunrise and sunset!
Mercy, you sturdy hunk!

5. Mercy, T.M. Mwelase,

G. Jamela and C. Tsitsi,
shower flowers
over Africa!
Peace!

6. Onward T. Thibedi (Teacher)

and you, P.J. Motsoakae,
part the waters
in pools of darkness.
Mercy!

7. Mercy, J. Lekhoathi,
and you, J. Ntintili,
claim your country
now and forever.
Peace!

8. Mercy, Moletsane’s son,

T. Sitsebe, P. Mohlale,
elephants who employed their tusks
on their way to the mountains.
Peace!

9. Onward, J. Mosena,
and you, J. Mahlela,
304   NEWSPAPERS

extract the thorns

to dull their sting.
Mercy!

10. Onward, D.K. Gabashane

and you, J. Nobadula.
Mercy, slashers of ropes
that bind Benoni!
Peace!

The late J. Mookoane.

Compositor (Abantu-Batho.)

This child departed this life in the course of the Pass protest. He
will enter his eternal rest. Understand well and testify that you die for
your country, as you know if you study history. God wants no cowards,
he recognises the hero in Mookoane’s youngster, who, though he saw
it was dark, drove the ark of the covenant onward and set it on the
plateau. Amen.

1. Jesus, this love of yours

amazes
the sinner
here on earth. Amen.

2. When you abandoned

your greatness in heaven
and accepted poverty
in the cause of the sinner. Amen!

3. Your courage astonished

the angels,
they said your bravery
shaped the seraphim. Amen!

4. May he [Mookoane] imitate

the day you descended,
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   305

and may its flames

reach us here. Amen! Amen!

5. Even disease, even death

must serve as our guide,
don’t let it harden
your hearts. Amen! Mercy!

6. Well done, Jehovah,

God of our fathers,
why screen your face
from Africa? Mercy!

7. There they all are in prison,

even her children.
Remember what you must do
about our country. Peace!

8. They spur their horses to trample us,

we’re ringed by dangers.
Oh! Lord God below,
down in Africa. Oh! Peace!

On the Rand, Mgqwetho was involved in political activism in

association with Charlotte Maxeke. Both participated in the anti-
pass protest on 3 April 1920 that was broken up by the police;
Mgqwetho might have been arrested on that occasion. Perhaps it was
this experience, and her disenchantment with the SANNC leaders
(“Zasishiya ke betu kololudaka zaziluxovile”, They just left us there in
the mess they’d invited us to)25 that occasioned the withdrawal from
public performance remarked on by Charlotte Maxeke in June 1920,
and perhaps it was that disenchantment and her loyalty to the Maxekes
that explains her apparent shift of support from Abantu-Batho to its
new rival Umteteli. Mgqwetho went on to become one of the dominant
Xhosa poets of the 1920s, one of the greatest poets in the history of

25. Opland (2007: 252–3).

306   NEWSPAPERS

Xhosa literature. She contributed over 100 items to Umteteli between

October 1920 and January 1929 and, as far as we know, never again
to Abantu-Batho.26 On 23 October 1920 she burst into the pages of
Umteteli in a poem sent from Crown Mines that praised and encouraged
the Maxekes; she associated herself with Marshall Maxeke’s moderate
movement, and denounced Abantu-Batho’s criticism of him:

Hamba Sokulandela,
Tshotsho uzalwe Nkosibantu,
Sanga eso sonka asingepeli kuba
Site sakuvela kwapuma into
Eyimyoli good on you Nkosi
Bantu.

Hamba Sokulandela,
Nawe mazi esifuba sikulu eyati
Gqi nomnweba ku Buxton,
Kwavuleka intolongo.

Hamba Sokulandela,
Mazi eyapuma izinto nge pass
Kwapuma izinto kwa tamb’u,
Mlungu exwayi kati ngabula
Nojekwa.

Go and we’ll follow you!

We danced at your birth, lord of men!
Umteteli’s bread for our table:
long may it last.
Good for you,
lord of men!

Go and we’ll follow you.

You too, broad-breasted woman:

26. Mgqwetho’s contributions to Umteteli are assembled in Opland (2007).

 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   307

your robe rattled Buxton

and prison walls tumbled.

Go and we’ll follow you,

woman who protested passes;
confronted by protests
the white man quailed,
and kept his pistol holstered.27

In her early poems Mgqwetho frequently uses Maxeke’s ford as a

symbol of the passage to a new dispensation, and peppers her poetry
with the moderate movement’s slogans. Her second Umteteli poem, for
example, published on 13 November 1920, starts:

Hom! Mazijike! Tina Makoloni

Sifunze kakubi:—

1 Halahoyi! Makoloni,
Nalo ke ivumba
Linukisa
Okwenyoka yomlambo.

2 Sifunze Kakubi!
Larazuka “ibhayi”
Itsho into ka Maxeke,
Ezingela nabayame ngentaba.

3 Halahoyi! Amakoloni
Afuna Izibuko
Kuba u Rulumente
Wabambana no Palo
“Satweta” ukuhamba
Saxela inkonjane.28

27. Opland (2007: 4–5).

28. Opland (2007: 9).
308   NEWSPAPERS

Hom! Wait a minute! We Colonists

stumbled in starting:—

1 Halahoyi, Colonists!
Something stinks
like the river snake
fouling the air.

2 “We stumbled in starting!

Things fell apart,” says Maxeke,
hunting those who scattered
and took to the hills.

3 Halahoyi! The Colonists

seek a ford,
for Government troops
met Phalo’s,
and we slipped off
like swallows.

In her third poem, published on 27 November 1920, she rounds on

S.M. Makgatho29 and the Congress leaders for accusing Maxeke of
initiating a split in Congress, and for stampeding Congress followers
over the edge of a cliff:

Pulapulani! Nizakuva!
Uqekeko lwe South African
Native National Congress,
Ingelulo oluka Rev. Maxeke B.A. . . .

3 Uqekeko luka Maxeke?

Walulibala ke nawe
Mfondini wakowetu
Olwe National Congress. . . .

29. Second President of the SANNC from 1917–24 and editor of Abantu-Batho.
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   309

14 Kuba o Funz’eweni
Bashumayela
Abangakwamkeli ku Congress
Bakwenze indaba ze sizwe.

15 Imkile i Natal Congress

Ngenxa yabo
Imkile kwane Free State
Nantsiya ne Koloni izintlantlu ngentlantlu.

16 Uti ke yena oka Maxeke (B.A.,)

Ungasemoyeni
Imikwa yabo kudala
Ayikangela wancama.

17 Uti oka Maxeke (B.A.,)

O Funz’eweni abasazi
Nalapo mabapate
Bayeke kona.

18 Bati oka Maxeke

Utengisa nge sizwe
Kanti kudala bona
Basitengisa kuqala.

19 Yatshona i Afrika ngabo

Kuba nenkanunu ze Congress
Nandzo zigquma
Ziqekeza amabandla. . . .

22 Sifunze! Kakubi!
Sifuna! Izibuko!
Asikusela ezadungeni
Ngokoyik’ukuteta.

23 Isizwe asiwafuni amaramnca

Avele ngomx’ak’emngxunyeni
310   NEWSPAPERS

Angenantlonipo ngumntu
Nangatembekiyo.

Listen! You’ll hear

of the split within Congress,
graver than any
Rev. Maxeke B.A. might have caused.

3 Maxeke’s split?
Neighbour, you’re blind
to internal dissension
in National Congress. . . .

14 Without leave from Congress

they urge us over the edge,
they preach their sermons
and grab the headlines.

15 And as a result
Natal Congress walked out,
and the Free State walked out,
and the Cape’s splinters splinter.

16 Maxeke, B.A., speaks out.

Long he stood downwind
watching their antics,
and in the end he turned his back.

17 We’re urged over the edge,

says Maxeke, B.A.,
by those who run blind,
with no home to turn to.

18 Maxeke, they claim,

is selling the nation;
but they sold it off
a long time ago.
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   311

19 They scuttle Africa:

down there the big guns
of Congress are roaring,
pounding away at their very own ranks. . . .

22 We stumbled in starting!
We seek a ford!
We won’t bury our heads,
afraid to speak out.

23 The nation’s ill served by those heroes

who lurk in their lairs like wild beasts,
heedless of others,
betraying our trust.30

Mgqwetho’s defection to Umteteli occasioned a snide comment

in Abantu-Batho, alluding to her earlier support of the SANNC and
Abantu-Batho and suggesting that her current Umteteli poetry was
damaging her reputation:

Uqekeko luka Maxeke

Sicela abalesi ukuba bangapazami ukuva ukuti i Mbonkikazi
uNontsizi iyile, namhla seyikaba icita oko ibika de ikuyakamisa.
Sobuye sinazise si ngase moyeni akuhlanga lungehli. 31

Maxeke’s split
We ask readers not to be perplexed on learning that The Woman
Poet Nontsizi once joined us; today she’s kicking, scattering
what she’d long been building. We’ll keep you informed, we’re
downwind. Take it easy.

The verb iyile could mean that Mgqwetho “visited” Abantu-Batho, or it

could mean that she had “joined” them. In her fourth poem in Umteteli,
entitled “Imbongikazi No ‘Abantu-Batho’” (The Woman Poet and

30. Opland (2007: 16–21).

31. Abantu-Batho (9 December 1920: 4).
312   NEWSPAPERS

Abantu-Batho), published on 18 December 1920, Mgqwetho responded

to this comment, venting her spleen on Mvabaza and Abantu-Batho
for suggesting she had joined Abantu-Batho, that they had originally
brought her to Johannesburg from rural Peddie to work for the paper.

3 Kudala! Mvabaza ndakubonayo

Uyimazi elubisi luncinanana
Olungasafikiyo
Nase zimvabeni.

4 Hawulele! Hule!
Wena “Abantu-Batho”
Wawuba uyakusala
Negama lobugosa.

5 Umteteli wa Bantu
Kudala akubonayo
Uyimvaba engenawo namanzi
Eyode izale onojubalalana. . . .

7 Imbongikazi iyile?
Ndandizakukusukela pi?
Kuba kwelopepa lako
Ndoginywa yimilomo yengonyama. . . .

13 Yekana no Mfu. Maxeke

Ngu Tixo oseke elapepa
Ebona ukupela kwabantu
Kukufunzwa eweni.

14 Ngubani owakubeka
Ukuba ube yinkokeli?
Zikona nje Inkosi
Ezadalwa ngu Tixo.

15 Akuyazi wena Mvabaza

Nendalo ka Tixo
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   313

Naku nam soundenza

Imbong’kazi ka “Abantu Batho”

16 Uyavuya wena weza

Nembongikazi e Ngqushwa
Ukuba mayizokukwenzela
Isonka e Rautini
Sakubona

17 Sifunze! Kakubi
Sifuna! izibuko
Abantu bayapela
Kukufunzwa eweni.

18 Hawulele! Hule!
Funz’eweni base Jeppe
Abamemeza ingqina
Kodwa bengayipumi.

19 Zinani ezinkokeli
Lento zingafiyo?
Zimana zibulalisa
Abantu baka Tixo namakosi
Yimpi ka Beyele

20 Yatshona! I-Afrika
Ngofunz’eweni
Utsho obonga engqungqa
Engcwabeni lika yise
Hawuhule

3 Mvabaza, I’ve long had my eye on you,

cow yielding dribbles of milk
lacking the strength
to reach the milksack.
314   NEWSPAPERS

4 Hawulele! Hule!
Abantu-Batho,
you thought you’d retain
the title of guardian.

5 Umteteli wa Bantu
saw right through you:
you’re a sack without water
left to breed tadpoles. . . .

7 The Woman Poet joined you?

Where did we talk?
In that paper of yours
I’d be torn in the jaws of a lion. . . .

13 Leave Reverend Maxeke alone:

It was God who founded that paper
seeing our people wasted,
urged over the edge.

14 When did you win

election to rule?
We still have our chiefs
established by God.

15 Mvabaza, you’re blind

to God’s creation,
wanting me woman poet
of your Abantu-Batho.

16 You brag that you brought

The Woman Poet from Peddie
to earn your bread
in Johannesburg!
That’ll be the day!

17 We stumbled in starting.
We seek a ford.
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   315

Our people are wasted,

urged over the edge.

18 Hawuleleh! Huleh! From Jeppe

they urge us over the edge,
they egg on the troops
but stay home themselves.

19 How come these leaders

never get killed?
They send to their deaths
God’s people and chiefs.
They’re Bailey’s agents.

20 In urging us over the edge

they’re sinking Africa.
I chant this dancing
near my father’s grave.
Hawuhule!32

Stanzas 15 and 16 might seem to deny that Nontsizi ever worked for
Abantu-Batho, but she might have come to Johannesburg of her own
accord, performed in public as an imbongi on the Rand for the first time
in October 1918, contributed two poems to Abantu-Batho in April 1919
and either shortly before or after that she might have been invited to
join the staff of the paper, resigning not long after that, perhaps because
of the involvement of the Maxekes in Umteteli. If this chronology
is correct, then Mgqwetho is right to deny in stanza 16 that she was
brought from Peddie by Abantu-Batho, although she might well have
joined them for a time: a photograph of the staff of Abantu-Batho might
date from 1919; and the sole female sitting in the front row with what
appears to be an animal-pelt apron (animal skins being accoutrements
of the imbongi) might well be Nontsizi Mgqwetho.

32. Opland (2007: 24–9).

316   NEWSPAPERS

Rear: R.V. Selope Thema, J.W. Dunjwa, Levi Mvabaza, Benjamin Phooko.
Seated: D.S. Letanka, Nontsizi Mgqwetho?, R.W. Msimang? (William Cullen
Library, Wits University, A1618 Gb: Skota album; names from Limb 2012:
illustration 3).

In her poetry, Mgqwetho continued to praise the Maxekes and

Umteteli, and to express her disappointment in Congress. In concluding
her first poem she encourages Maxeke and the alternative he offers to
Congress:

Hamba Sokulandela,
Kuba lempi ifuna ukubona
Yodwa unyaka ozayo Ho! Ho!
Ho! Sakubona Fish.

Hom Mazijike, izibuko libi,

Ndoka ndime Mhleli taru ndobuye
Ndivele.

Nkosi Sikeleli Africa.

 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   317

Go and we’ll follow you:

this lot would prefer to face
next year without competition.
Ho! Ho! Ho! Fat chance!

Hom! Wait a minute! The ford holds threats!

That’s it, Editor. Mercy!
You’ll hear from me again.

God bless Africa.33

In 1924 she expresses her disappointment in Congress:

Andizikukwekwa ndirola umxelo

Yiyipi okwangoku ebhadlileyo
Into eseyimile kwezabantsundu

Nantso ke ne African National Congress

Esasiyibonga kwapuke nembambo.
Sebehamba ke beyibuza kwakuti
Besiti kanene kodwa yatshonapi

Akunakupikwa ndilusizi ukutsho

Ziko inyaniso kulo mbuzo wabo
Mna ke ngokwam andikunqweneli
’Kutyafisa imigudu eseyenziwe

Kodwa eyona tyefu endiyibonayo

Ityafiswa kukutanda amawonga
Azinasidima into zomntu ontsundu
Zipetwe ngabantu abanamakwele

I won’t mince words, I’ll bare my heart:

up to this point in time,
just what have blacks achieved?

33. Opland (2007: 6–7).

318   NEWSPAPERS

Take the African National Congress:

we once burst our ribs in its praise.
Now we go round in search of it:
“Has anyone seen where it’s gone?”

None can deny, I’m sorry to say,

these questions have some point.
But as for me, I’m not at pains
to mock their efforts to date.

Vying for status is lethal poison

internally sapping Congress.
Undermined by the envious,
black people strive in vain.34

She continues to use Maxeke’s image of a ford to a new dispensation: a

poem in August 1921 is entitled “Imbongi ye Zibuko” (The poet of the
ford),35 another in June 1924 entitled “Izibuko!!” (A ford!) starts:

Lapuma Ilanga! Sifun’ Izibuko

Ingelilo elama Koloni odwa
Lezizwe Ezintsundu pantsi kwelanga
Kuba madoda sipantsi kwenyawo.36

The sun is rising! We seek a ford,

not for Colonists alone,
but for every black nation on earth:
men, we’re ground underfoot.

But after her initial caustic criticism of the Congress leadership and
Abantu-Batho, Mgqwetho turns her attention to more general targets,
the loss of black independence, black economic exploitation, immoral
behaviour among urban youth and male dominance. Her last poem in

34. Opland (2007: 94–5).

35. Opland (2007: 38–41).
36. Opland (2007: 154–5).
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   319

Umteteli, on 5 January 1929, on the new year, is her 104th contribution

to the paper.37 Whether or not Abantu-Batho brought her from Peddie to
Johannesburg to work for the paper, Abantu-Batho first published the
poetry of Nontsizi Mgqwetho in 1919. She seems then to have turned
her back on Congress and its newspaper and lent her exclusive support
to its bitter rival. The editors of Umteteli must have been well pleased
with the cornucopia of poetry The Woman Poet produced for it between
1920 and 1929.
Nontsizi Mgqwetho enjoyed a high reputation in the 1920s as a poet,
both in print and in performance.38 Yet she and her poetry subsequently
lapsed into obscurity, an obscurity that stands in stark contrast to the
peerless reputation enjoyed during his lifetime and up to the present by
her contemporary, S.E.K. Mqhayi, as the greatest of all Xhosa poets. In
1920 and 1921, as Mgqwetho commenced her series of contributions
to Umteteli, Mqhayi was editing Imvo in King William’s Town in John
Tengo Jabavu’s terminal infirmity. Mqhayi was, like Mgqwetho, an
oral poet, imbongi, but as a male he enjoyed greater legitimacy in that
role than Imbongikazi, The Woman Poet. Nor did he share her apparent
factionalism: he contributed freely and at the same time to the rivals
Izwi and Imvo, and later to both Umteteli and Abantu-Batho. He first
contributed poetry to Izwi in 1897, and from that time until his death in
1945 he submitted a vast output of contributions in Xhosa to a variety
of newspapers: Imvo, Izwi, Abantu-Batho, Umteteli, The Bantu World,
Umlindi we Nyanga and Umthunywa, a literary output unprecedented in

37. Apart from the 103 Xhosa contributions included in Opland (2007), Umteteli on
15 December 1923 published one article in English by “Elizabeth Mgqwetto.
The well-known and talented Woman Poet”: “The history of Dingaan’s Day,”
subtitled “Dingaan, one of the bravest Kings who ever sat on the Native throne”.
38. Her movements and performances are reported in the press: she attends a funeral
for those shot by police (Ilanga, 12 March 1920); she visits Mahlongwa township
and performs at a Congress concert (Ilanga, 26 March 1920); she performs at the
Village Deep Hall in Johannesburg (Ilanga, 14 May 1920); the three Mgqwetho
sisters leave for Queenstown to attend their mother’s death bed (Ilanga, 19 May
1922; Imvo, 20 May 1922); they arrive in Queenstown (“Kwa Hala e Komani”,
Umteteli, 3 June 1922); and she arranges a poetry meeting in East London (Imvo,
3 October 1922). I am indebted to Peter Limb for these references. As yet,
no extant reference has been found to a public appearance by Mgqwetho in a
Congress context after her first poem appeared in Umteteli in October 1920.
320   NEWSPAPERS

the history of Xhosa literature. Mqhayi’s first contribution to Umteteli

was published on 14 May 1921, a report on the death of Rubusana’s
wife Deena. On 20 August 1921 Umteteli rejected Mqhayi’s submission
on the late Rev. E.J. Mqoboli for lack of space, but in January 1922
Umteteli published Mqhayi’s poem on the new year, followed in
December 1922 by a second poem on the new year.39 In 1924 and 1926
two more items by Mqhayi appeared in Umteteli, but in May 1927 he
began contributing to Umteteli in earnest, often under the pseudonym
Nzulu Lwazi, a steady stream of prose and poetry that did not cease
until 1937.40 The editors of Umteteli must have been well pleased
with this cornucopia too. But before he began contributing regularly
to Umteteli, he submitted items to Abantu-Batho and, although the
evidence is suggestive rather than conclusive, he continued to support
Congress and apparently its newspaper.
Mqhayi deployed a number of pseudonyms for his contributions to
newspapers. In his early career, he wrote as Imbongi yakwa Gompo
(The East London poet) and as Lord Sheshegu. When on one occasion
he submitted poems to Abantu-Batho on the end of a year, a poetic
stocktaking he favoured, the editor noted that he was not limited as
a poet to the region of East London alone, but was Imbongi yesizwe
jikelele (The poet of the entire nation), a soubriquet Mqhayi regularly
used thereafter and by which he is still popularly known. In his
autobiography, he explains the origin of this name:

Kuthe kuphi, ndazuza elinye igama lenkonzo yobuzwe. Eli

ke igama ndalinikwa yindoda endingazanga ndiyibone, umfo
wasezintlangeni kwaZulu. Le ndoda yayinguMhleli wephepha
elithile eRautini; igama lalo be kuthiwa “Abantu.” Ndilibalele
elo phepha izibongo zokuphela komnyaka; phezulu ndibhale
“IMbongi yakwaGompo.” ’Suke iphepha liphume lisithi,
“YiMbongi yakwaGompo neyesiZwe jikelele.” Itsho yabhala
indoda leyo isithi, “Akunakho ukuba saba yiMbongi yendawo

39. Umteteli (7 January 1922: 7); Umteteli (30 December 1922: 6); Mqhayi (2017:
items 23 and 25 respectively).
40. A number of these contributions have recently been assembled in Mqhayi (2009).
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   321

enye; sibone thina ukuba zonke izizwe uzifikelele.” Yabhubha

indoda leyo ndingazanga ndide ndiyibone.41

In the course of time I acquired another name for my service to

nationhood. This name was given to me by a man I had never
seen, a fellow from the people of KwaZulu. This man was
the Editor of a certain Johannesburg newspaper by the name
of Abantu. I wrote some poems for that paper on the end of
the year; at the top I wrote “The East London poet”. When the
paper appeared it said “The Poet of East London and the entire
nation”. That man wrote, “You cannot be a poet limited to one
place; we have noted that you reach out to all peoples.” That
man died before I ever saw him.

The editor who first called Mqhayi Imbongi yesizwe jikelele was
probably Cleopas Kunene, who edited the Xhosa pages of Abantu-
Batho initially, and who died on 15 April 1917.42 The acquisition of his
new name must have taken place before 1914, because in September of
that year Abantu-Batho published a poem entitled “Aba-tunywa (nxusa)
betu” (Our envoys (advocates)) by Imbongi yesizwe jikelele on the
SANNC delegation to England in 1914 to protest the 1913 Land Act:

Aba-Tunywa (Nxusa) Betu

“Tengisani ngemfuyo yenu ningene nibe Zicaka.”—Dower.

U-Satana angade abe unawo amandla okurwiqiliza abantu

be-Nkosi emke nabo, abapambukise emendweni wo Kumkani;
kodwa ndiyamdela umshumayeli oma emqongeni ashumayele
amandla ka Satana, endaweni yokushumayela amandla
ka Krestu. Ngokunjalo Mhleli, angade abe u-Mr. Jabavu
unawo amandlana okucuntsula izihityana ezifana naye, aye
kutengisa umzi ngazo; kodwa nina zinkokeli, niyakudeleka
ngokushumayelana naye, ningabi nishumayela ubukulu

41. Mqhayi ([1939] 1964: 66).

42. I am indebted to Peter Limb for this suggestion.
322   NEWSPAPERS

bomsebenzi waba-Tunywa betu kunye nabalandeli babo.

Bek’incha ke kulondawo.
Kaloku tina zi-Mbongi kutiwa umzi siwubuyisela
kwasemva; tina ke siti hayi, (a) umzi siyawubalisela ukuze
uhambe ubona; (b) okanye tina:

Silila nabalilayo;
Sihleke nabahlekayo;
Simnik’ imbek’ umntu wayo,
Simvise mhlop’ onxaxhayo.
Bek’ incha ke nakuleyo.

He! malunga naba-Tunywa betu ke Mhleli ndibe ndifun’

ukuti:

Nqashu:—

Kwanga kumayana kanti ziyanqoza!

Ngobanin’ aba bebedel’ i-Afrika,
Bebedel’ i-Afrika besit’ idlolile,
Sisiti tina izele yapul’ uluti?
Batinina namhla ngalamadodana?
Baziseni sibancine kufupi;
Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila!

Buyani ba-Tunywa nifezile!

Beningase tyala, benis’ injombe,
Benis’ umsila we ngwe kupela,
Bekuyimfanel’ ukuwugxumeka nibuye,
Besinitume lonto yodwa tina,
Noka Dube ubengasaputume luto;
Ityala lona kudala litetiwe,
Oka Sawa kudala waya kuqanana.

Buyani ma-Nxusa nifezile!

Izizwe zinent’ emaziyifundiswe;
Umsila we ngwe zase Afrik’ unengozi,
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   323

Awufani! nowe zingwe zase Indiya,

Awufani! nowe zingwe zase Nyu Zilanda,
Awufani! nowezingwe zase Kanada,
Awufani! nowezingwe zasezi Qitini
Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila!

Buyani ba-Tunywa nifezile!

Sike sanisusa nge Kalabâri,
Sanipatisa lomsila we ngwe zase Afrika,
Niyayazi n’int’ enabuya nayo lomini?
Anibuyanga nayo n’ i-Nkwenkwez’ enomsila?
Mhla zankwanty’ izizwe zase Ntshonalanga;
Mhla zajabul’ ezase Mpumalanga,
Zati “Yabinz’ inkwenkwez’ isixelela.”

Buyani nto zakowetu nigqibile!

Bat’ abadal’ “ukuzala kukuzolula.”
Namhl’ u-Senzangakona nimolule,
Namhl’ u-Palo no Tshiwo nimdumisile,
Namhl’ u-Bûngane nimvakalisile,
Namhlanj’ i-Afrika niyibuzele;
Babesit’ abanye ziyanqoza mhla nabuya,
Naleyo tina besingayinqene ngaluto
Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila!

Buyani ma Kwenkw’ o-Hlanga nigqibile!

Ndicing’ elase Shushane bafondini;
Mhla bandulel’ o-Haman’ abanini-Mteto,
Mhl’ o-Memkani bazinkamamunge;
Bapel’ ubugcisa bengcungela,
Watshitsh’ umtet’ ongazanga watshitsha,
Waguqulwa namhl’ u-Mteto wama medi.
Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila!

Buyani bafondini siti buyani!

Ndiyakûmbula mhla zanqoz’ e-Rautini;
Ndiyakûmbula mhla zanqoz’ e Kimbili;
324   NEWSPAPERS

Ndiyakûmbula mhla zanqoz’ e Monti kwa Gompo,

Mhla sandulul’ ama Gqir’ omabini e-Koloni,
Kuba sasisit’ umkuhlane sewungacalanye,
Sat’ u-Mhala inkosi yetu nayo mayinyuke,
Kub’ u-Mafukuzela yena selepambili.

Buyani ba-Tunywa nigqibile!

Ndiyakûmbula mhla zanqoz’ e-Kap’ ezibukweni,
Min’ amadod’ axhum’ epetuka,
Yat’ into ka Bôta “Ndit’ aliwelwa!”
Wat’ u Gladstini “Ndiyalival’ izibuko!”
At’ ama Afrika siti “Liyawelwa!”
Atsh’ ayinqik’ imivalo yapatyalaka,
Unanamhl’ akukabi ndaba zaluto.

Buyani ba-Tunywa nifezile!

Tin’ apa zike zanqoz’ e-Blomfanteni;
Kub’ into ka Seme yasala yabasela,
Yat’ into ka Msimanga yaman’-ukukwezela,
Yat’ into ka Cele yaman’ ukucof’ imvaba,
Amabandl’ e-Mbumbul’ ecim’ umlilo;
Zavel’ inkosi zonke zatsho pakati,
Zalandel’ induna zatsho ngosidili.
Suke ndacinga nge Nkwenkwez’-enomsila!

Buyani mafa nankosi nifezile!

Nganen’ apa nina kunyembelekile,
Oka Bôta namhla limkohlile,
Ngeleb’ uyatet’ uti, “Vuleka mhlaba.”
Nenkew’ enkulu ngase Qonce paya yeka:
Kutiwa yangenwa sisatsheka ludaka,
Kutiwa ngezimini seyihamba ngezishuba.
Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila!

Buyani mankonyan’ o-Hlang’ olu Mnyama!

Matol’ emaz’ ezinomsa nomkita,
Matol’ emaz’ ezimabele made;
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   325

Yishiyeni lo Ndiyilikityawe yeyabo,

Yeyonyana bo Gogi no Magogi ke yona,
Ngu-Mbuso wentsimbi nomdongwe ke lowo,
No Mankulumane akakawaz’ uhlobo lwawo,
Watsho pezu kwedlaka lenkosi yake.

Buyani midak’ emnyam’ elal’ esingeni!

Namhla nite nakuwela kwehl’ eny’ ntlekele,
Maze nigqite niye kuwa ku Meneleki,
Ngonyam’ ezimehl’ amanjombora,
Ngonyam’ ezimeny’ azingxavula,
Akukud’ e-Abisiniya simelwe kufika,
Ziny’ ezimatyobozo zase Tiyopiya,
Eziti zakuqumba zibulal’ ilizwe ’pela.

Buyani ’nto zakowetu nigoduke!

Namhl’ i-Afrik’ iyazingca ngani,
Ukwenjenj’ oku nati siyatshayelela;
Ndlela-’ntle kwizwe lokuzalwa kwenu,
Ndlela-’ntle kwintsap’ enayishiy’-tshisana,
Ndlela-’ntle nasemisebenzini yenu,
’Mvula mayine! ’Mvula mayine Nkosi yam!
Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila!
Ncincilili!!!

Our envoys (advocates)

“Sell your stock and go into service”—Dower43

It may be that Satan has the power to drag the Lord’s people
away from the King’s path, but I despise a preacher who stands

43. “At a meeting held at Thabanchu on September 12th, 1913, attended by some
thousand natives, among whom were several evicted tenants seeking places
of refuge, Mr. [Edward] Dower, Secretary for Native Affairs, representing the
Government’s view [of the Land Act], said inter alia, ‘My best advice to you is
sell your stock and go into service’”: “Pillar to post”, The International
(15 June 1923). I am indebted to Peter Limb for this reference.
326   NEWSPAPERS

in a pulpit to preach the power of Satan rather than preaching

the power of Christ. In the same way, Mr Editor, it may be that
Mr Jabavu has the petty power to take a pinch of insignificant
idiots like himself, and with them go and sell the nation; but
you leaders, you will be despised for persisting in preaching
about him, and not preaching the significance of the work of
our Envoys and their followers. Leave that aside.
Now then, it is said that we poets take the nation backwards;
but we say no, (a) we tell the nation news so that it can walk
with eyes open; (b) or:

We cry with those who cry;

we laugh with those who laugh;
we honour the deserving,
we offer firm guidance to those who stray.
Leave that aside too.

Heh! with regard to our Envoys, Mr Editor, I want to say:

Well then,

Faint at first, the thunder came incessantly!

Who are these who slight Africa,
slight Africa by calling her barren,
while we say she’s given fruitful birth?
What do they say now about these young men?
Bring them in for closer inspection;
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!

Come back, Envoys, you’ve done your work!

You weren’t there to press charges, just to issue a summons,
just to deliver a leopard’s tail,44
you were just to stake it and return,

44. The delivery of a stake to which a lion or leopard tail was attached served as a
summons to the Great Place of the chief to answer an accusation.
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   327

we sent you to do only that,

even Dube’s son didn’t go to fetch something;
the case has long been debated,
so Sauer’s son has long boasted.

Come back, Advocates, you’ve done your work!

Nations have to be taught;
the tail of African leopards holds danger,
it’s not like that of Indian leopards,
it’s not like that of New Zealand leopards,
it’s not like that of Canadian leopards,
it’s not like that of the Island leopards.
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!

Come back, Envoys, you’ve done your work!

We just dispatched you because of the Colour Bar,
gave you this tail of African leopards.
Do you know what you brought back that day?
Did you not bring back a shooting star?
The day the western nations trembled,
the day the eastern nations rejoiced,
saying, “A star flashed as a sign to us.”45

Come back, countrymen, you’ve finished!

The old say “You can rest after childbirth.”
Today you’ve rested Senzangakhona,
today you’ve brought fame to Phalo and Tshiwo,
today you’ve given Bhungane voice,
today you enquired representing Africa;
some said your return would bring frequent thunder,
of a kind that would not leave us listless.
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!

45. A line from Ntsikana’s Great Hymn.

328   NEWSPAPERS

Come back, boys of the Nation, you’ve finished!

I think of events in Susa,46 fellows,
when Haman’s group ruled the council,
when Memucan’s group were orphaned;
they ended the skill of the expert,
the unfailing law itself failed,
the law of the Medes was altered that day.
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!

Come back, fellows, come back, we say!

I recall frequent thunder in Joburg;
I recall frequent thunder in Kimberley;
I recall frequent thunder at East London’s Cove Rock,
when we sent two Doctors to the Cape,
believing the illness was on the mend,
and we sent our chief Mhala to Joburg,
with Mafukuzela47 already there.

Come back, Envoys, you’ve finished!

I recall frequent thunder at the Cape Town ford,
when men leapt up and altered course,
and Botha’s son said, “I say you won’t cross!”
and Gladstone said, “I’m shutting the ford!”
and Africans said, “We say we’re crossing!”
Then they raised the bars which shattered,
and to this day no one mentions it.

Come back, Envoys, you’ve done your work!

We’ve had frequent thunder here in Bloemfontein,
for Seme’s son stayed on to start a fire,

46. The capital city of Ahasuerus, king of the Medes and Persians. This stanza
alludes to events in the Book of Esther, the central event of which is Queen
Esther’s successful petition on behalf of the Jews: Memucan and Haman were
advisers whose power passed to Mordecai, Esther’s uncle. The connections that
bring the biblical story to Mqhayi’s mind are political petition and the reversal of
political power.
47. John Dube (1871–1946), first president of the South African Native National
Congress (SANNC).
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   329

and Msimang’s son tended the embers,

and Cele’s son worked the bellows,
while the armed forces blew out the fire;
and all the chiefs came and joined in,
councillors followed to add to the pile.
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!

Come back, royal stalwarts,48 you’ve done your work!

Here on this side we’ve lost hope,
today Botha’s son has problems,
if he could he’d say, “Swallow me, earth.”
Forget that great scoundrel down there in King William’s Town:
it’s said he began with the shits,
it’s said these days he keeps a soiled cloth with him.
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!

Come back, calves of black peoples!

calves of mothering, comely cows,
calves of long-uddered cows;
leave that wholesale slaughter: it’s theirs,
the sons of Gog and Magog,
that’s the government of iron and potclay,
even to Mankulumane that type’s strange,
as he said at the grave of his chief.

Come back, black scruffs, who sleep in the bush!

Today when you crossed, a bad thing occurred,
you must pass on to Menelek,
lions with imperious eyes,
lions with snapping teeth,
Abyssinia’s not far, we should be able to reach it,
crushing teeth from Ethiopia,
which, angered, destroy the whole nation.49

48. Amafanankosi are those elite warriors prepared to die with their chief in battle.
49. The Christian ruler of Ethiopia, Menelek II, died in December 1913, and was
succeeded by Lij Yasu, a Muslim.
330   NEWSPAPERS

Come back, fellow countrymen, return to your homes!

Today Africa’s proud of you,
through your actions we’re clearing the way;
travel safely to the land of your birth,
travel safely to kin you left burning each other,
travel safely back to your jobs.
Let it rain! Let it rain, my King!
I recalled the tail of that shooting star!
I end there!!!

The delegation was singularly unsuccessful, but Mqhayi typically

draws consolation and national pride from tragedy and failure, offering
encouragement to the members of the delegation. He claims that the
purpose of the mission was merely to alert the British government to
the situation, to establish an identity for Congress and to serve notice on
the government of the political ambitions of black South Africa. They
have succeeded in that goal, he suggests, so now they must return home,
since their mission has been accomplished. “Aba-tunywa (nxusa) betu”
deploys images of tails. In the first stanza Mqhayi asserts that those
who subvert African efforts (in the case of the delegation, explicitly,
John Tengo Jabavu and his supporters) must be summonsed to answer
this charge by the delivery of a wild animal’s tail from the king, a tail
that has a specific significance in Africa different from other countries.
These tails and the efforts of South African blacks in confronting
their government, and their emergence as players on the international
stage, reminds Mqhayi of the revered prophet Ntsikana’s transcendent
image of the fulfilment of future aspirations, “Yabinz’ inkwenkwez’
isixelela” (A star flashed as a sign to us), a line from Ntsikana’s ever-
popular Great Hymn: the poem is accordingly unified by an irregular
refrain, “Ndakûmbul’ ese Nkwenkwez’ enomsila” (I recalled that tail of
that shooting star). The poem is unified too by the image of frequent
thunder, faint at first, now the accompaniment of the mounting strength
of Congress. Thus the poem praises the members of the delegation
for offering black South Africans occasion for pride in the positive
achievements of their mission. “Aba-tunywa (nxusa) betu” wrests
success from failure, just as Mqhayi’s better-known poem “Ukutshona
kukaMendi”, on the loss of 600 African lives on the troopship SS Mendi
in 1917, wrests triumph from tragedy.
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   331

Unlike Mgqwetho, who switched her loyalty from Congress to

Marshall Maxeke’s moderate movement, Mqhayi seems to have been a
long-standing and consistent ANC supporter. His autobiography attests
to his early involvement with the Vigilance associations promoted by
the SANC. In 1929 he responded to an article by Selope Thema on
the history of the ANC with his own personal recollections, largely of
events prior to 1912.50 The Abantu-Batho issue of 25 September 1930
proudly noted his visit to the newspaper’s offices in Johannesburg: “Sibe
novuyo olukulu ukubona u Mn SER Mqayi Imbongi ye Sizwe jikelele
kule ofisi ye pepa ekangeleka esempilweni um Afrika omkulu” (We were
very pleased to see Mr S.E.R. Mqayi, the poet of the whole nation, in
the paper’s office, seemingly still in good health, a great African).51 The
same issue carried a notice by Mqhayi entitled “Kubambene ngazo!!!”
(Coming to grips with each other); with slight alterations, the same
notice appeared in Abantu-Batho on 2 October. In it Mqhayi invites
readers to meetings in Johannesburg designed to raise funds for another
ANC delegation to cross the sea to England, similar to meetings held or
still to be held in Natal and the Orange Free State. He invites attendance
at the meeting with martial imagery: “Kuni manene nama nenekazi
ase Johannesburg ndihlaba umkosi” (To you, ladies and gentlemen
of Johannesburg I am sounding the warcry). He extends the martial
imagery to the contributions he solicits, suggesting that the delegation
is part of a battle the general public are also involved in:

njengoko senivile ukuba ndilapa kweli lizwe ukuza kucela

izikali zokubinza kwityala eliliwayo ema kayeni enu e-Koloni
Izikali ndizicela kumadoda nabafazi nabantwana, kuba
namhlanje.

Siyawela siya Pesheya.

apo onke lamalungelo sasiwafumane, ukuze, sive kona ukuba

kanti ko mfanyekiswa mhla kwakutiwa kasankiwe lamalungelo.
Kuzozonke intlanganiso,

50. Mqhayi (2009: 328–35).

51. Abantu-Batho (25 September 1930: 3).
332   NEWSPAPERS

Isicelo sam nasi,—

Yizani nixobe tu! Ningabi sezela ukuza kuva ukuba nditinina.

Ubuciko abuseko kumzuzu sixwitana notshaba ezinkundleni!
Yitini ukuza ezintla nganisweni zam nize senizimisela
ukubinza,—indlu iyatsha ngasemva aliseko ituba lokubalisa,
kufuneka imali Pesheya.

as you have heard, I am here in this part of the world to ask for
weapons to wield in the case that is being fought in your homes
in the Cape. I am asking for weapons from men, women and
children, because today

we’re making the crossing overseas,

where we received all these rights, to learn there whether we

were blinded on the day we were told we’d been granted these
rights. In all the meetings

my request to you is—

come armed to the teeth! Don’t come to hear what I’m going
to say. Eloquence has no place: for quite a while we’ve been
plucking feathers from each other and our opponents in the
courts! When you come to my meetings, come prepared to
stab—the house is on fire at our backs, there’s no time to spin
stories, money is needed overseas.

The invitation concludes with a short poem exhorting action in militant

terms:

Zemk’ inkomo Magwalandini!

Mapik’ egwala zinyawo zalo;
Kuba liyazibeleka xa libon’ utshaba
Watsh’ umz’ emva nto zam
Azi sasiteta ntonina mhla sati,—
 A B A N T U-B AT H O A N D T H E X H O S A P O E T S   333

Kuzelw’ indoda, namhla lomz’ uvukile?

Yatsh’ indlu nosapo pakati
Lwangen’ utshab’ amadod’ ehlel’
Aliwelwa! Liyawelwa!
Makatsh’ ama Afrika,—
Siyawelwa! Liyawelwa!
Ncincilili!!!

They’re making away with our cattle, you cowards!

A coward’s wings are his feet:
he takes to his heels on sight of the enemy.
The homestead burns at our backs, my fellows,
what could we have meant when we said—
a man’s been born, today this homestead’s risen?
The home burnt with the family inside,
the enemy entered with men just sitting.
It hasn’t been crossed! It’s been crossed!
Let Africans say—
We’re carried across! It’s been crossed!
I end there!!!

Mqhayi continued to contribute to Abantu-Batho. A December 1930

issue carried a column of social news, Umhlati wa Bantu, by Trafic
Manager,52 one of Mqhayi’s pseudonyms: columns under the same title
with similar content and structure were contributed to Izwi and Imvo by
Lord Sheshegu, another of Mqhayi’s pseudonyms, and to Umteteli by
Nzulu Lwazi, also Mqhayi.
Together with John Solilo, whose Izala (1925) was the first volume
of poetry by a single author published in Xhosa, the decade of the 1920s
is dominated in the history of Xhosa poetry by Nontsizi Mgqwetho and
S.E.K. Mqhayi. Mqhayi willingly accepted the soubriquet Imbongi
yesizwe jikelele, the poet of the whole nation, accorded him by Cleopas
Kunene, Xhosa editor of Abantu-Batho; Umteteli wa Bantu came to
refer to Mgqwetho as Imbongikazi yesizwe, the woman poet of the

52. Abantu-Batho (4 December 1930: 2).

334   NEWSPAPERS

nation, elevating her to the level of Mqhayi in poetic achievement. 53

If the holdings of Abantu-Batho were more complete, we could be
more certain of the literary history of this decade. Nonetheless, whether
we find Mgqwetho’s strident invective or Mqhayi’s compassionate
humanity more appealing, it is clear that Abantu-Batho first set Nontsizi
Mgqwetho on the path of publication, and carried contributions by
S.E.K. Mqhayi, and these literary achievements must redound to the
credit of the embattled newspaper.

53. Umteteli refers to Mgqwetho as imbongikazi yesizwe on 3 June 1922. She is

referred to as imbongikazi yodumo, the famous woman poet, in Imvo (20 May
1922). I am grateful to Peter Limb for these references.
Epilogue
14

A creative response to izibongo: The Dassie

and the Hunter (2005)

I first met the Thembu imbongi David Yali-Manisi in December 1970

in the course of my research into Xhosa izibongo. It was immediately
evident that in David Manisi I had found the most powerful exponent
of his traditional craft. In the course of time I called on him whenever
I could, took overseas visitors to meet him and would travel long
distances on the offchance that I might record his poetry. I raised funds
to bring him to Rhodes University in Grahamstown, where we devised a
format for lecture-demonstrations to academic audiences. When he lost
his job in 1982, I was able to employ him as a research assistant and,
after I emigrated to the United States in 1986, I arranged for him to visit
Vassar College as a Fulbright Fellow in 1988. I last saw him in South
Africa in 1999, a little over a month before his death on 18 September. I
had started to write an account of his campus performances in 1988, but
it was only in October of 2001 that I finished my book-length account
of Manisi’s career and my association with him, subsequently published
as The Dassie and the Hunter: A South African Meeting (2005).1
The book, which was completed while I was on sabbatical leave,
contains a description of a satirical statue group that stood not far from
the apartment I occupied in Leipzig:

Pedestrian shoppers welled about the immobile, frozen

Unzeitgemässen Zeitgenossen, a statue group of five outdated
colleagues in the Grimmaischestrasse outside the main

1. For an insightful critique of the book, see Kaschula (2017: 20–2).

337
338 EPILOGUE

university building, five dull green experts exposed in their

stark nakedness, holding the bronzed implements of their trade:
a theoretician cupping his ear backwards to hear his own ear,
closed book clasped behind his back; an urban architect facing
the other way, pressing a detonation plunger, his laurel wreath
slipping down to blind him; a female pedagogic, cradling a
mallet; a diagnostician with an ear trumpet listening for his
heart on the right hand side of his chest; an operations analyst
in lugubrious puzzlement, blunt saw in hand.2

The statue would have appealed to David: despite the fact that his last
performances were all before academic audiences, he always bore a
healthy distrust of scholarly airs and graces and obfuscations. Partly
in harmony with this attitude of his, and partly because the book had
become more biographical after his death – and more autobiographical
too – I decided to strip the text of a scholarly apparatus, and fall back
on a style informed by literary techniques, and in particular the tropes
and structures of izibongo. In The Powers of Genre Peter Seitel argued
that the scholarly interpretation of an oral text “necessarily results
from a dialogue between performers, indigenous critics, and outsider
perspectives”.3 Yet Seitel’s style is densely academic: however much
his interpretations might derive from his dialogues with performers
and indigenous critics, his book engages in dialogue with the academic
community, presenting his outsider perspective on Haya oral literature
to other outsiders. I wondered if somehow I could talk back to Manisi’s
texts, to the community that engendered them and to the poet himself,
now dead, in a more meaningful, more appropriate manner. Was there
any way I could respond creatively to the creativity of the African oral
artist? Antjie Krog’s poetic account of the Truth and Reconciliation
Commission, Country of My Skull, in which she inserts herself into a
narrative shaped by the techniques of fiction, pointed the way. 4
The reorientation Krog’s book inspired in me harmonised with
my own inclinations. I commenced my fieldwork in 1969 guided by

2. Opland (2005: 335–6).

3. Seitel (1999: 10–11).
4. Krog (1998). See Brown and Krog (2011).
 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   339

an academic theory I had espoused, the theory of oral composition

framed by Milman Parry and Albert Lord. I saw my goal initially as
applying and extending the theory to Xhosa izibongo, and I wrote
enthusiastically about “African phenomena relevant to a study of
the European Middle Ages”.5 Two realisations gradually insinuated
themselves and brought about a shift in impetus. First, I came to realise
that, although izibongo was clearly a form of oral poetry, the theory
simply didn’t fit. Izibongo were not narrative, almost all the Xhosa
poets I worked with were literate, their poetry was not formulaic; all
these features and more were at odds with the theoretical formulations,
designed to define universally the character of oral poetry. Second, I
came to realise that I was conducting my research in order to produce
publications for academic consumption. I was talking about the
academic theory to academics, ignoring the poets who had freely
provided me with the material of my research. And I was developing
relationships with those poets, David Manisi, Melikaya Mbutuma,
Nelson Mabunu, Chief Ncamashe, and others. Academic theory was
ephemeral, evanescent, here today and gone tomorrow; the poets who
shared their poetry with me were real, angry, suspicious and suffering,
generous, patient, supportive. Academic theory is centrifugal, seeking
the general, the universal; I increasingly favoured a centripetal impulse,
away from the general towards the particular, the specific poets who
produced the poetry I recorded, the individual. In this I drew support
from the Russian folklorist Mark Azadowskii who, in his Eine sibirische
Märchenerzählerin (The Siberian tale teller), argued for the relevance
of the folk artist’s biography to the reception of her tales.6 I was drawn
to the satirical statue group in the Grimmaischestrasse.
The title of my book is drawn from a letter David once wrote to me.
My Introduction offers this explanation:

In 1979 Manisi mailed a poem to me with an accompanying

letter. He was entrusting the poem to me, he wrote, knowing
that I would make the appropriate decision about it. I would
see to its publication if it had merit, or contact him if it gave

5. Opland (1973).
6. Azadowskii (1974).
340 EPILOGUE

offence: he expressed this relationship of trust in a Xhosa

image, umwewe weembila waziwa ngumzingeli (the hunter
knows the dassie’s crannies). The hunter of the little rock rabbit
knows its lair as well as the dassie does itself. There is a simple
acknowledgement of congruent interest here: in order to catch
his quarry the hunter must know the dassie intimately, and so
both the hunter and the dassie come to share knowledge of the
dassie’s habits and domestic terrain. There is also an imbalance
of power implied in the fact that the hunter perforce achieves
this knowledge in order to catch his prey, but through his image
Manisi subverts and inverts this power differential. I had hunted
Manisi for his poetry, collecting and preserving it; now he was
using that established channel to send me his poetry, so that I
would see to its publication if I could. He was reversing the
direction of flow, stepping out of his role as an object of study
and turning me into his conduit, claiming me for his purposes,
drawing on my sense of obligation and exploiting my greater
familiarity and involvement with the medium of print. 7

Accordingly, The Dassie and the Hunter deploys figures of chiasmus and
inversion. In its essence, the narrative chronicles my growing personal
involvement with David, and the way we influenced each other’s lives.
It is the story of a black and a white South African reaching out to each
other, and finding accommodations between each other’s worlds. Our
trajectories merge, and switch about as he develops from the object of
my research to become my teacher, as I relinquish my aloof academic
stance to become involved in his poetry, a committed transmitter of
his traditional craft and values. My book comes to reflect in style and
structure the processes of his Xhosa poetry. At the suggestion of my
sensitive editor, Duncan Brown, I included an explicit statement of my
intent as the first sentence of my Preface: “This is an account of my
association with a Xhosa praise poet: it is my poem in praise of the
poet.”8
I embed in the text images of these processes. For example, the
eighth chapter opens with this paragraph:

7. Opland (2005: 2–3).

8. Opland (2005: xi).
 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   341

I’m writing this in Leipzig, in what used to be East Germany,

the former DDR. Now it’s just Germany again. Outside my
apartment window I see the multi-planed, acute-angled roof
of the Nikolaikirche slicing down to the square below. From
the square rises a white neoclassical column from whose top
improbable green fronds and tendrils of foliage sprout, right at
the level of my sixth-floor window. At the foot of the column a
simple brass plaque is set into the cobbles of the square; on it
is the date 9 October 1989 and the imprint of footsteps of men,
women and children. The pillar standing outside in the square
assumes significance only when you enter the church: inside,
identical columns march in order down the aisle to the altar.
One of them, it seems, has broken ranks and slipped outside. In
the church, the pastor, Christian Führer, began leading weekly
services devoted to peace some twenty years ago. They grew
in popularity, spilling out into the square, where they took root
and grew to form a popular movement in East Germany that
hacked and heaved at the wall separating east from west until it
collapsed. The two divided Germanys were reunited; ordinary
people flowed through the gap, over the concrete sherds, from
east to west, from west to east; the impregnable barrier was
down, the cold war at an end.9

Later, the final chapter includes this diary entry:

3 October 2001
After a spell of chilly weather, the sun is shining today in
Leipzig as I work on the final chapter. It feels almost like Spring,
not Autumn, as if time had reversed itself and was heading back
through the year. It’s a public holiday throughout Germany
today, the Tag der Deutschen Einheit, the day of German unity,
celebrating the day the Berlin wall was torn down and east
and west shook hands again. In the cobbled square a bouquet
was laid at the foot of the commemorative column that reaches
upwards and bursts into flower outside my apartment window.

9. Opland (2005: 299–300).

342 EPILOGUE

Or is this column upside down, and are the green fronds and
tendrils that top it really roots drawing sustenance from the air
and feeding it down to the stone cobbles?10

The inversion, the reversal of direction merging opposite polarities,

is superbly captured in “Casting and gathering”, a poem by Seamus
Heaney that depicts two fishermen on opposite banks of a river, one
casting, the other reeling in. Western poetry, by Heaney, Chris Mann
and Tony Harrison, engages in dialogue with the African oral poems
of Manisi that I set in context and quote at length throughout the
book, just as Manisi’s izibongo engage in dialogue with those of other
contemporary iimbongi, some of whom I quote, and with the izibongo
of his ancestors, the heroes of his people and his clan. His identity is
affirmed by such rousing poetry; I introduce myself and my immigrant
background through the delicate poetry of Elias Pater. The book charts
my trajectory from a context of Western poetry to a context of Xhosa
oral poetry.
Initially, Manisi and I are poles apart. This is the opening paragraph
of the book:

Writing usually comes easily to me. The most lasting lesson

I learnt as a student concerned not the content of any course
I took, but my ability to write with precision. I pursued my
studies for a master’s degree in medieval English part time,
while I was a lecturer in English at the University of Cape
Town. Leslie Casson, professor and head of my department,
who taught by full frontal assault, covered my first essay
in caustic comments. “You can’t write English,” he said.
“Go away and teach yourself to write.” I was outraged. How
could he say that to me, a university lecturer in English? My
second essay elicited an identical response. Chastened, I
slunk off and worked my way through an American textbook
on rhetoric. Casson was right, I realised; I had much to learn
of the discipline of writing. Now, I write more easily than I

10. Opland (2005: 356–7).

 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   343

talk, uncomfortable as I am in social situations, assailed by an

abundantly justifiable modesty. But writing about myself in this
book has been a slow and tortuous process. And a lengthy one:
I have often stopped and put it aside, feeling too close to the
events or, latterly, judging myself unworthy of the subject. But I
have felt obliged to fumble towards articulacy, for I knew David
Manisi for nearly 30 years, and now he is silent, a Xhosa poet
who fluently composed his poetry in the very act of uttering
it, who never hesitated or stumbled in performance, and who
only once in over fifty spontaneous poetic performances that I
recorded fashioned an ill-framed sentence. Manisi claimed that
he chanted his unpremeditated poetry with greater ease and
facility than he could talk. And he wrote with difficulty: “When
I write,” he once remarked, “I write with head aching and pains
before I put a word down.”11

The paragraph starts with me but ends with David; it starts with my
literate world and ends with his spoken words, expressing the difficulty
he experiences in writing poetry. It moves from my Western academic
training to the vibrant creativity of his rural world of fluent oral poetry.
Initially, in this opening paragraph, David and I are at opposite ends of
many spectra, black-white, rural-urban, literate-oral. In the course of
our association, we find common ground, we meet.12 I start off a dry,
ignorant academic, but David involves me in his world, instructs and
inducts me.
The account of my first meeting with David in 1970 in the
second chapter, which opens with images of hostilities and territorial
dispossession during the frontier wars, establishes my initial
insensitivity as a white collector of his oral poetry, and records Manisi’s
consistent subversion of my arrogant and ignorant expectations. 13 For
example:

11 . Opland (2005: 1).

12. It was at Duncan Brown’s suggestion that I altered my original subtitle, A South
African Memoir, to A South African Meeting.
13. The second chapter of the book was published separately: see Opland (2004).
344 EPILOGUE

I bumped off the road, pulled up outside his hut, and stepped
into the swirling dust. I anticipated the acoustic advantages
provided by encircling mud walls, and looked forward to
interviewing him indoors. Manisi, dressed in dark trousers and
an open-necked white shirt with sleeves casually rolled up, met
me on the threshold, a slight man with a wisp of a beard. He
preferred to conduct the interview in my car. I retreated without
entering his home.14

Unexpectedly, without my coaxing him into it, he offers an izibongo for

me.

After he had come to his rousing conclusion, Manisi lit a

cigarette and puffed reflectively, uncoiling, leaving me to
respond. I hoped he would be won over by my knowledge of
his tradition, and my respect for it, as other poets had been. But
I couldn’t quite make him out. He was inscrutable, a formless
black space in the back of my battered car. I had to twist round
awkwardly to see him properly. Outside, the wind raised the
dust, coating the white finish of my car with an earthy brown
film. Curious faces came and went, peering in through the
windows. I felt disembodied, as if I were the object of research.
The car seemed utterly filled with the sound of his voice,
frustrating my efforts to inject a word, but I barged brashly
ahead.15

After a conversation in which he is more assured than I, he produces a

second poem, at the dramatic conclusion of which

[h]e flung open the door, gathered about him a cloak of red
dust, and strode away. I looked to my machine. Eight seconds
after his urgent conclusion, the tape flicked clear of the feeding
reel. Throughout the nine-minute performance I’d checked
my counters and calculated furiously, sitting through it all

14. Opland (2005: 86).

15. Opland (2005: 90).
 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   345

uncomfortably, worried I wouldn’t net the complete poem. Now

I sat drained, stunned in the aftermath of something beyond
my comprehension. The cramped interior of my car swirled
with spirits I could not recognise, the howling wind merging
indistinguishably with their shrieks of protest. I felt bemused,
dislocated, very much out of place. I felt uprooted, whisked
along like a desiccated tumbleweed in the gale of his words. 16

Further conversation falters, so I leave soon after.

I promised to call again, we shook hands, and parted. I drove

numbly down the rutted road. Dust devils bored into the earth
as if ancestral spirits released by Manisi’s poetry were seeking
readmission. The wind shook its fist at me, hounding me
from the land. I crossed the Khundulu valley, negotiated the
hazardous climb up Nonesi’s Nek and dropped back down into
South Africa for the easy run past neatly ordered fields back to
the whitewashed Hexagon Hotel in Queenstown.17

At the time, however, I am insensitive to my vanquishing at David’s

hands. I return complacently to the security of my whites-only hotel:

I bathed, scrubbing at the red dust that clung to my skin. I made

notes in my research diary:
. . . Drove out to Yali Manisi, sat in car. He started praising
Daliwongo, slowly, stately, working himself into quite a
spirit. Then, after discussion, I asked him to sing story of
Nonqause, out of the blue. He was not found wanting &
gave a magnificent, entranced performance, eyes glazed,
staring vaguely at the horizon. He gave me a copy of
his latest book & I gave him my copy of his Izibongo
Zeenkosi. Wonderful morning’s recording. . . .
But I was glad to be interrupted by the genteel chimes of the
dinner gong. I descended a staircase of imperial breadth and

16. Opland (2005: 102).

17. Opland (2005: 102).
346 EPILOGUE

elegance. Flanking the door to the dining hall stood two black
waiters in immaculate uniforms, white gloves, white jackets,
red diagonal sashes across their chests and red fezzes on their
heads. With a deferential bow and “Good evening, sir”, one of
them led the way to my table, and pulled out a chair for me.
I fingered the crisp white tablecloth appreciatively, freed the
scalloped napkin from the tines of a shining silver fork and
scanned the menu in anticipation.18

In the course of our 29-year association, which I chronicle in The

Dassie and the Hunter, David claims me for Africa, makes me his
mouthpiece; ultimately, though dead, he speaks through me. And he
does this through inducting me in the processes of his poetry, involving
me in his words, teaching me how to read him. At our last meeting in
1999,

we worked on, finding each other again through David’s

poetry. I white, English-speaking and prosaic, he black, Xhosa-
speaking and a poet. His Xhosa poetry, my limping English. He
and I, and his izibongo.19

We are poles apart, initially, living separated lives under apartheid,

but we find each other through a common interest and a common
humanity. We grow together. Our first wives both treat us poorly; we
both resort to alcohol. I become his employer in South Africa, but we
are both alienated in the United States, where we share equal status and
salary, where we suffer reverse discrimination and racial stereotyping.
When he leaves the States suddenly, he remarks that “at Vassar his white
colleagues had treated him like his black colleagues did back home,
but his black colleagues had treated him like his white colleagues at
home”.20
My progress in understanding his poetry is reflected in the stylistic
development of my book. At first I am ordered and disciplined in a

18. Opland (2005: 103).

19. Opland (2005: 380).
20. Opland (2005: 343).
 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   347

Western academic mode: extracts from the Introduction and chapter 1

appeared as an article in the journal Research in African Literatures.21
Xhosa praise poetry is multivocal, disconcertingly shifting its point
of view: my second chapter on my first meeting with the poet, from
which I have just quoted, slips unannounced into the literary mode of
a short story. Increasingly, like Xhosa izibongo, my style chops and
changes, consisting of coherent blocks juxtaposed without explanatory
connections, recorded conversations, diary entries, newspaper reports,
notes gleaned from books, David’s voice as well as mine. The Dassie
and the Hunter is peppered with the repetitions that so often serve
as guides to interpretation in Xhosa izibongo. Ultimately, the Xhosa
language itself intrudes into my prose, and I conclude with my Xhosa
izibongo in honour of David, exploiting David’s words and phrases
and turning them to my fresh design.22 At the end of my narrative, my
involvement with David and his poetry has turned me into a Xhosa
poet, praising him, though dead, uniting us. In the course of his career,
David entered my academic world, becoming, like me, a visiting
professor; by the end of my book, I have entered his world of dreams
and social interconnectedness and vital poetry, poetry that serves to
bridge and collapse oppositions between ruler and ruled, between living
and dead, between past, present and future, between black and white –
and between him and me. Xhosa izibongo is directed at the restoration
and preservation of balance. As I put it in commenting on the poems he
produced in the United States in 1988,

[s]ome ideas recur in this set of poems, but their formulation

constantly shifts. As David said during our first interview in
1970, when I asked him about variations in his poetry about the
same people, “The theme is the same, but I wouldn’t use the
same words.” Words and phrases do of course recur, but they
are combined and recombined in innovative ways. Originality
should not be sought in an identifiably individual style so
much as in the mixture of old and new, the kaleidoscopic
rearrangement of elements that recall earlier performances

21. Opland (2002).

22. Opland (2005: 389).
348 EPILOGUE

by David, by contemporary iimbongi as well as by countless

unnamed poets of former generations. Appreciation of Xhosa
izibongo depends on the pleasurable recognition of the familiar
in constantly changing contexts. The connections between the
elements are not always obvious, but it is in making those
connections that you reach in and place your hand on the pulse
of the poem, feel the throbbings of its heartbeat through your
palm.23

In one of those poems, at Harvard University, David established

polarities between two pairs: white South Africans, black South
Africans, and the Americans he addressed in his spontaneous poetry.
He appeared before American audiences as a representative of black
South Africans: Americans were settled, educated and free; black South
Africans were unsettled, impoverished in education and engaged in a
struggle for their rights. This polarity between black South Africans and
Americans was matched by the contrast between secure white South
Africans with entrenched rights and exploited black South Africans
fighting a battle with inferior weapons. The unexpressed implication
in 1988 was that Americans in effect supported the apartheid regime;
they had intervened on the side of justice and civilisation in the First
and Second World Wars, but they refused to intervene in the liberation
struggle of black South Africans. Manisi appealed to his audience to
involve themselves in this heroic struggle not with armed support,
but by sharing their education with black South Africans. In that way,
he implied, the unjust polarities would be transcended and balance
restored. I deploy similar strategies in my book. For example, I narrate
my experiences at the racially segregated University of Durban-
Westville, depending on the sympathy of my readers in my scathing
indictment of this apartheid institution reserved exclusively for Indians.
Education, I suggest, cannot succeed in a context of discrimination.

When the Rector of the university, a prominent member of the

Broederbond, the secret Afrikaner organisation that dictated
and monitored Afrikaner ideology and saw to its members’

23. Opland (2005: 316).

 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   349

advancement to high office, had me on the carpet for the

high failure rate after my first year in office, he told me that
I could not import into his university the standards of the
University of Cape Town. “There are standards, and there are
standards,” intoned the former Professor of Education. “There
are standards for overseas universities, and there are standards
for South African universities. There are standards for English
universities in this country, and there are standards for Afrikaans
universities. And there are standards for black, coloured and
Indian universities.” . . . “You have done more harm to this
university than anyone else in its history,” I was told. I wore
the Rector’s pronouncement as a red badge of courage. Toronto
beckoned as a sanctuary of sanity to which I fled late in 1974.
If you lower standards, or create special standards, you produce
a stunted generation of dunces and dumb-bells, dummies and
dodos. David understood that well enough. 24

My reference to a generation of dunces and dumb-bells, dummies and

dodos picks up phrases in one of David’s poems that I have yet to quote.
I want my readers to recognise them when they come to that izibongo,
produced before black schoolchildren in Grahamstown in 1979:

Gxebe, sisisigqeb’ esisezantsi,

Ezantsi thin’ empumalanga;
Kanti hayi le Afrik’ inabile,
Yint’ emathaf’ ayimityityilili,
Afun’ ukulandwa nini ke.
Yondelani ke, niqinisek’ emfundweni,
Kub’ alikhw’ ilizw’ elifunyanwa zizidenge.
Hay’ izipayi-payi nezipam-pam,
Iint’ ezingayiboniy’ indlel’ eziyihambayo;
Hay’ izityhifilili neziyathinga,
Iint’ ezingaziyo kuqiqa.
Nini k’ ababekw’ entendeni,
Ukuze nibe ziinkokeli zengomso,

24. Opland (2005: 120).

350 EPILOGUE

Nihlanganisane nisuke nii khunkqu,

Nithi le Afrik’ ibiyeyoobawo kakade,
Nathi namhlanje siyayiphuthuma.

Actually, we’re only a southern cluster,

and in the south we’re confined to the east,
yet oh, this Africa’s vast,
its plains far-flung:
you’ll have to track them down.
So set your sights and take root in learning,
for no country’s ever been won by fools.
Oh the dunces and dumb-bells,
blind to the road they follow;
oh the dummies and dodos,
strangers to perception.
Now you’ve been set in motion,
to be tomorrow’s leaders,
come together as one,
saying, “Back then our fathers held this Africa;
today we’re simply reclaiming it.”25

I also want my readers to make an implicit connection between the

University of Durban-Westville and Vassar College, which I signal
by echoing the same terms. Apartheid is universally reviled, but the
discrimination practised at Vassar has many liberal supporters, since it
is designed to redress social imbalances in favour of black and female
students. The motive might be laudable, but the strategy is reminiscent
of that practised at Westville, with similar results, I suggest. At Vassar,

I could have been back in apartheid South Africa, where people

were judged according to the colour of their skin, where blacks
and whites were treated differently. There may not have been
compulsory segregation in America, but there certainly was
discrimination.

25. Opland (2005: 190–1).

 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   351

In my final year at Vassar, black females were apparently

admitted with a lower SAT score in order to boost their
numbers in the student population. At the end of the year, for
the first time in my five years at the university, I failed five
students. Their cases seemed quite clear to me: all had failed
to attend a basic minimum of classes, or complete the required
work at an acceptable standard. All were black females. The
Dean sent me a string of letters asking me to alter their grades.
Increasingly importunate, this correspondence continued even
after graduation, even into my final week, as I was packing up
to leave the country. I was asked to pass the students on the
understanding that they would attend similar courses in the year
after my departure, or that they would make up the incomplete
course work. It seems there were standards for male students
and for female students, for black students and for white
students, and there were special standards for black female
students. More dunces and dumb-bells, dummies and dodos. 26

I want my book to be read like the Xhosa praise poems I assemble in it:
it concludes with a Xhosa praise poem lamenting the death of the poet
I celebrate in my book.
In his izibongo, David “establishes oppositions, white/black,
educated/un-, ruler/ruled, free/imprisoned, controlled, but is impelled
by his dreams to effect balance, to achieve reconciliation, to transcend
boundaries”. In sum,

David puzzles and insults his audience, uses lewd or outrageous

language, exploits the resources of the Xhosa language to coin
new words and creates nonsense words, all to get you involved,
and once he has your attention he draws you into his poem,
works his work on you and burps you out again. As you leap
from one pole to the other, you start to comprehend the space
between: not a world of polar oppositions but of compromise,
the middle way, the most constructive for society. David urges
war in order to ensure peace, he courts animosity in order to

26. Opland (2005: 348–9).

352 EPILOGUE

level differences. He presents as an ideal a world of man in

harmony with nature and his environment (rivers, mountains,
animals and sky), and of man in harmony with man.27

The Dassie and the Hunter presents the izibongo produced by David
Manisi in the course of his career as an imbongi from 1947 to 1988,
a career coterminous with the apartheid regime and with the cold war.
It is at the same time the story of a black and a white South African
struggling to meet in apartheid South Africa, to reach understanding
and find common ground. Responding to his creativity, I suggest in my
book that we merge, that my rootless immigrant heritage finds spiritual
security in his rootedness to the African soil, and that we achieve
unity in and through the language, the processes and the effect of his
Xhosa oral poetry. In presuming to study Xhosa izibongo, I suggest, I
need to discard academic theory, alter the inclination to talk down to
the objects of my research from the airy realms of theory, and engage
with them, seek to understand them as specific individuals in their
particular context. Like a diviner plunging into a pool, the academic
researcher needs to accept African art and artistry on its own terms
and, if sufficiently fortunate, merge and submerge. Increasingly in
our relationship, David Manisi involved me in his poetry; in his first
performance as Traditional Artist in Residence at the Institute of Social
and Economic Research at Rhodes University, on 10 May 1970, he
addressed me, as only he could:

Yiyole ke le nkwenkwe kaOplendi,

Umthandi wamaXhos’ engamazi,
Uhlanganis’ azibel’ imihlamb’ isalana.
Yincwad’ engqingqwa yaseMlungwini,
Ephum’ imbunguzulu ngokwelitye lomlambo,
Elishiy’ iziziba kukutsha ymilambo;
Izihlasele zonke iintlambo,
Zith’ ukudindana kwazo kwabiw’ ilifa.
Wathetha ngembongi yomXhos’ ungengomXhosa,
Watheth’ isiXhos’ ungenguy’ umXhosa,

27. Opland (2005: 387).

 A C R E AT I V E R E S P O N S E TO I Z I B O N G O   353

Wawashwankathel’ amaXhos’ uwaxhom’ uwaxoza,

Wod’ ube ngumXhosa na?
Wabek’ izibakala wadalanc’ isiko,
Watshwanguza wada wathetha ngesithethe,
Wod’ ube ngumXhosa na?

So there’s this son of Opland,

a lover of Xhosa who don’t know him,
who gathers and brings squabbling flocks together.
He’s a sturdy book of the whites,
a treasure emerging like a river rock,
exposed in pools when rivers run dry;
he ransacks every stream,
piling painstakingly cairns for those to come.
You speak of the Xhosa imbongi though not a Xhosa yourself,
you speak Xhosa though not a Xhosa yourself,
you shape the Xhosa, lift and peel them:
would you ever be a Xhosa yourself?
You advance cogent arguments, animate tradition,
you excel at speaking of custom:
would you ever be a Xhosa yourself?

I had laboured for some time to confine his unbounded art in academic
definition, but here David Manisi, Thembu imbongi, turned the tables in
providing a deft and trenchant assessment, both critical and prophetic.
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Index

Abyssinia 329 apartheid 10, 104, 105, 108, 110, 111,

Adam, Ali 14 117, 123, 129, 131, 132, 190,
Africa 70, 95, 98, 101, 107, 116, 118, 193, 196, 197, 213, 266, 346,
132, 186, 189–90, 192–3, 258, 348, 350, 352
266, 271, 274–5, 282, 283, Appleyard, J.W. 217
285–7, 292, 294, 296, 301, Arafat, Yasser 108, 124, 127
302–5, 311, 315, 317, 326–30, Auld, J.M. (Holide) 53, 57
346, 350 Ayliff, John 138
African Moderate Movement 292–3 Azadowskii, Mark 339
African National Congress (ANC)
104, 108, 111, 119, 123, 129, Baker, A.W. 145
190–1, 193, 270, 271, 286, 290,
Baines, Thomas 208
291, 293, 294, 308, 310, 311,
Balfour, Bryce 159
316–20, 330–1
Bantu Authorities Act 56, 63
African Teachers’ Association 171,
Bantu Education Act 168, 183
175
Banzi 259
Afrikaans language 4, 124, 129, 201,
Barber, Karin 195
349
Bennie, John 4, 16, 202, 204–5, 207,
Afrikaner Bond 141, 221, 232
Afrikaner people 123, 141, 348 215
Alexandria 36 Bennie, William Govan 15, 16, 17,
Alice 49, 59, 89, 111, 168, 176 137, 142, 171, 175, 182
All Saints’ mission 211 Imibengo 15
Amalinde, Battle of 36, 40, 41, 42, 43, Lovedale Xhosa Readers 15
56, 260, 262 Benoni 297, 302, 304
Ananse 101 Benson, Mary 289
ancestors 73–84, 85, 91–5, 99–100, Berning, Michael 169
104, 108, 115, 172, 191–5, 238, Bethelsdorp 221, 264, 265
257, 271, 342 Bhaca people 4, 22, 138, 211
Anglican Mission Press 23, 203–4 Bhengu, Sibusiso 128
Anglo-Boer War 72, 166 Bhungane son of Ntsele 327

367
368 XHOSA LITERATURE

bible 7, 8, 88, 96, 113, 114, 136, Cape Nguni people 3, 4, 17, 79, 85,
146, 151, 164, 254, 271, 282, 99, 113, 135, 138, 191, 195, 201,
286 208, 213, 231
Bigalke, Eric 81, 94 Cape Town 53, 58, 147, 158, 159, 160,
Bikitsha, Veldtman 210 180, 204, 228, 328
binary structures 96, 98, 342, 348, 351 Casson, Leslie 342
Bloemfontein 328 Castro, Fidel, 108, 124, 127
Bokwe, John Knox 21, 22, 23, 144, Cele 329
149, 159, 229 Centane 26, 54, 57–8, 62–3, 68, 147,
Indoda yamadoda 21, 144, 149, 158
159 Chamber of Mines 170, 270–1, 288–9
Ntsikana: The Story of an African Chizama clan 164, 271
Hymn 21, 144 Chopi people 66, 69
“Vuka Deborah” 144 Cihoshe ford 206
Bomvana people 4, 65, 67, 68 Cingo, W.D. 12, 22
Bonisani son of Sandile 53, 57 circumcision 12, 15, 44, 57, 68
Botha, Louis 328, 329 Cirha clan 81
Botwe 204 Ciskei 52, 54, 57, 59, 62, 68
Boutros-Ghali, Boutros 108, 124, 127 Citashe son of Silwangangubo 221,
British people 25, 59, 62, 67, 105, 108, 262
138, 139, 330 Commission on Native Laws and
Broederbond 348 Customs 238
Brown, Duncan 105, 340 Cory Library for Historical Research
Brownlee, Charles (Tshalisi) 66, 68–9, 169, 170, 172, 179
92, 209, 210 court fool, medieval 102–3
Brownlee, John 68, 202, 214, 215 Cove Rock 262, 328
Bud-M’belle, Isaiah 21, 289 Crawford 180
Kafir Scholar’s Companion 21 Crown Mines 270, 306
Buffalo River 208, 282 custom 11, 22, 60, 68, 86, 92, 151, 155,
Bungu, Vuyani 108 177, 185, 211, 230, 234–41,
Bunyan, John 140, 165, 203, 207, 215, 250–8, 262, 265–7, 279, 282, 353,
241, 253 see also circumcision; lobola
Buqa, M. Sam 159 Cwarhu 56, 59
Burnshill 40
Burns-Ncamashe, Sipho Mangindi Dalasile son of Fubu 211
(Zilimbola) 49–50, 54–63, 68–9, Dalindyebo, Buyelekhaya 119
85, 95, 339 Dalindyebo, David (Jongintaba) 107,
119–20
Callaway, Godfrey 266–8 Dalindyebo, Sabatha (Jonguhlanga)
Callaway, Henry 78, 207 90, 117, 119
Canopus 66 Dange people 38
Canterbury 227 Debe 36, 259
 INDEX   369

Defiance Campaign 191 Fort Beaufort 158, 230

De Klerk, W.A. 122 French people 70
Delilah 149–53, 165, 166 frontier wars 22, 113, 123, 131, 138,
Dingana son of Senzangakhona 77, 93 139, 219, 230, 231, 343
Dingindlovu son of Dom Toyise 54, 60 Hintsa’s War 138
diviner 53, 56, 92, 99, 100, 112, 352 Mlanjeni’s War 138, 208, 263
Dlomo son of Ngcobo 76–7, 83, 188, Ngcayechibi 54, 68, 138, 219, 231
192, 203 War of the Axe 138
Dower, Edward 325 Führer, Christian 341
Draaibosch 66, 69 Futshane, Zora 10
Dube, John (Mafukuzela) 106, 108, Fynn, West 66, 68–9, 92, 209
271, 289, 290, 327
Dukwana son of Ntsikana 215 Gadaffi, Muammar 129
Durban 91 Gaitskell, Deborah 275, 286
Dushane people 54, 59, 62 Gando son of Togu 205–6
Dutch language 202 Gardiner, A.F. 93
Dutch people 138, 256, 263 Gasela people 35, 54
Dwane, James 141, 232 Gawushigqili son of Sandile 53, 57
Dyani, Kleinboy 160 Gaza 150
Gcaleka people 3, 36, 41–3, 46, 54,
East London 9, 137, 141, 142, 146–8, 58, 62, 68, 81, 86, 119, 138–9,
154, 156, 158, 203, 228, 262, 207, 209, 210, 211
288, 320, 328 Gcaleka son of Phalo 34, 68
elision 49 General Missionary Conference 145,
Ellison, Ralph 252 147
Elujilo 206 Gérard, Albert S. 23, 136, 165
Engcobo 113 German language 137
English language 207, 232, 237, 241, German people 67, 70
252, 255, 260, 261, 342, 346 Germany 341
English people 210, 349 Ghana 95, 192
Ethiopia 329 Gladstone, William Ewart 328
Ethiopia, Order of 141, 232 Glasgow Missionary Record 205
Goniwe, Matthew 122
Faku son of Ngqungqushe 52–3, 58 Gonya (Edmund Sandile) 52, 55, 63
Falati, Nkohla 229 Gould, Stephen Jay 194
Faulkner, William 194 Govan, William 140
First World War 72, 288 Govo, Mr 296
Flagstaff 211, 212 Gqoba, William Wellington 15, 17, 23,
Folk-Lore Journal 207 46, 142, 143, 146, 215, 228–9,
folktale (intsomi) see Xhosa literary 232, 233–4, 237–41, 250, 252,
genres 265
Fon people 101 “Ingxoxo enkulu ngemfundo” 241–3
370 XHOSA LITERATURE

Gqolonci River 66, 68 Imbumba Yamanyama 221–4, 232,

Gqorha 36 250, 255, 265
Gqunukhwebe people 75 Institute of Social and Economic
Grahamstown 7, 8, 14, 53, 58, 108, Research, Rhodes University
109, 158, 168, 169, 203, 261, 168, 184–5, 352
262, 337, 349 International Library of African Music
Gray, Stephen 169 48
Great Fish River 206 isikhahlelo (salutation name) 50, 191,
Greenstock, William 203 218
Grey Collection 204 isinqulo (invocation) 73–84
Grosvenor 201
Gushiphela son of Menziwa 53, 54, Jabavu, Davidson Don Tengo 22
59–60, 71 Jabavu, John Tengo 9, 22, 140–2, 158,
Gwali 96 161, 219, 225, 227–8, 233, 288,
Gwali people 49, 95
319, 326, 330
Gwatyu 113, 204, 206
Jacottet, Rev. Edouard 145
Gxarha 54, 62
Jadezweni, Mhlobo 105
Jingqi people 38, 39
Hala son of Dlomo 76, 188, 192
Jivashe (Joseph C. Warner) 23, 216
Haman 328
Jobe son of Kayi 83
Hamed, Naseem 108–9
Johannesburg 10, 11, 18, 119, 120, 145,
Hani, Chris 108
Hansen, Deidre 45 146, 170, 190, 191, 270–1, 288,
Harrison, Tony 342 290, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297,
Harvard University 96–7, 348 301, 312, 314, 315, 319, 321, 331
Healdtown 70, 170 Joje 216, 217
Heaney, Seamus 108, 342 Jolobe, J.J.R. 176
Hintsa son of Khawuta 6, 7, 46, 86, Joninga, Richard 259
87, 92, 207, 209 Jordan, Archibal Campbell 46, 71,
Hirst, Manton 99 136, 143, 169–83
Hlanga son of Nxeko 76–7, 192, 203 Ingqumbo yeminyanya 169–83
Hlubi people 83, 226 Kwezo mpindo zeTsitsa 178, 179,
Hofmeyr, Isabel 44 182
Holden, William C. 235 “Towards an African literature” 179
Hubberly, William 201 Jordan, Priscilla Ntantala 177, 179,
Hurston, Zora Neale 165 183, 206

imbongi (poet) 5, 10, 12–13, 18, 26, Kafir Essays 203–4

38–9, 41–2, 48–50, 63, 71–2, 76, Kaka son of Mlawu 54, 59–60
82–4, 85–94, 99–102, 104–5, Kakaza, Laetitia 10, 165–6
108–10, 117, 123, 131, 196, Kaschula, Russell 117, 123
207–12, 271–5, 296–7, 315, 342, Kaunda, Kenneth 107
348 Kawa, Richard Tainton 12, 22
 INDEX   371

Kay, Stephen 86, 87, 93, 208 Lovedale Institution 9, 11, 12, 13, 16,
Kayser, Frederick 262 26, 59, 137, 139, 140, 141, 144,
Kei River 3, 54, 66, 68, 205, 226 147, 148, 165, 168–70, 172, 174,
Keiskamma River 40, 69, 206, 261 176, 178, 183, 184, 203, 207,
Kerényi, Karl 100 215, 219, 221, 231, 233, 235,
Khawuta son of Gcaleka 35, 36, 43 237, 244, 250, 288
Khinzela daughter of Rharhabe 33 Lovedale Literary Society 237, 251
Khundulu valley 191, 197, 345 Lovedale Press 15, 16, 136, 144, 146,
Kimberley 158, 328 155, 158, 160, 161, 167, 168,
King William’s Town (Qonce) 7, 9, 34, 169, 171, 176, 179–83, 184, 216,
55, 87, 108, 140, 141, 149, 156, 217, 224, 228, 255
177, 228, 288, 319, 329 Lukhanji Mountain 113
Klaas, Jongi 109 Lusikisiki 73
Klopper, Sandra 105 Luthuli, Albert 107, 108
Knapps Hope 259
Kobonqaba 68 Mabunu, Nelson 339
Kokstad 73 Mabutho 53, 59, 71
Komga 66 Madala, A. 170
Kotana, Moses 106, 108 Madiba 76, 77
Krog, Antjie 338 Madison 178, 179
Kroonstad 169–71, 175, 178 Magdalene College 109
Kropf, Albert 58, 59, 207 Mahlangu, Solomon Kalushi 122
Krune son of Mqhayi 38, 57 Mahlasela, B.E.N. 23
Kubusi River 68 Makgatho, Sefako Mapogo 308
Kunene, Cleopas 321, 333 Makinana son of Mhala (Ndluzodaka,
Kunene, Daniel 178 Ntakamhlophe) 65–9, 72
Kuse, Wandile 136, 149, 166 Makiwane, Elijah 12
Malangana son of Xhosa 118
Laing, James 215, 262 Malawi 221, 235
Land Act (1913) 321 Malisa, M. 23, 217
Langalibalele son of Bhungane 226 Mandela, Nelson (Dalibhunga,
Langé, Mrs 203 Madiba, Rholihlahla) 5, 15, 70,
Lavisa, Adonis 22 77, 104, 107–10, 117, 119–20,
Legba 101 123–4, 127–9, 184–97
Leipzig 337, 341 Long Walk to Freedom 191
Lestrade, G.P. 177 Mangele, Mrs 295, 296
liminality 85–6, 89, 98–101, 208 Manisi see Yali-Manisi, David
literacy 4, 5, 135, 215 Livingstone Phakamile
lobola 236–8, 252 Mann, Chris 109, 342
London 108, 146, 181 Manoa 150, 151
London Missionary Society 4 manyano (Mothers’ Union) 271,
Lord, Albert 339 275–8, 287
372 XHOSA LITERATURE

Mapanya, A.R. 290 Mgolombane see Sandile son of

Maqoma son of Ngqika 39, 59, 261, Ngqika
262 Mgqwetho, Emma Jane 271
Mashiya son of Dlomo 83 Mgqwetho, Nontsizi Elizabeth
Masumpa son of Malusi 46 (Imbongikazi) 7, 11, 18, 269–87,
Matiwane son of Masumpa 46, 259, 294–7, 305–19, 331, 333–4
260 Mgwalana River 206
Matyumza, M.C. 117 Mhala, Nathaniel Cyril 22, 45, 137,
Mathanzima, Kaiser Daliwonga 13, 141, 228, 328
111–12, 117, 123 Mhala son of Ndlambe 67, 68
Matshaya (Charles Henry) 215 Mhlontlo son of Matiwane 210
Maxeke, Charlotte 293–5, 305–6, Mhlungulwana 74
315–16 Mhutu, Mr 296
Maxeke, Marshall 271, 272, 289, Middledrift (Xesi) 44, 55
290–3, 295, 305–8, 310–11, Milky Way 70
314–16, 318, 331 Mkhaliphi, Wilson 73
Mazingi, A.Z. 22 Mkhonto we Sizwe 266
Mazwi, B.S. 294 Mkiva, Zolani 5, 104, 105, 108–10,
Mbalu clan 53, 56 123–31
Mbashe River 66, 90 Mlangeni, Sthembile 104–8, 123–4
Mbebe, E.R. 170 Mlanjeni son of Kala 138
Mbede people 54, 61–2, 72 Mlawu son of Rharhabe 33–5, 40, 41,
Mbokothwana 170, 171, 176 53, 56, 60, 212, 261
Mbombo people 40, 54, 61–2, 72 Mngqanga Mountain 112–13
Mbuli, Mzwakhe 131 Mngqesha 55
Mbutuma, Melikaya 89, 92, 339 Mofolo, Thomas 145
McAllister, Patrick 81, 85 Mona, G.V. 266
McCall, Janet 177 Monxoyi 261
McNab, A.D. 174 Mookoane, J. 297, 304–5
Mcoyana son of Fuleli 261 Mopassa 209–10
Mdushane son of Ndlambe 86, 208 Morley mission 216, 217
Mdiza River (Green River) 52, 55 Moshoeshoe (Mshweshwe) son of
Mdladlana, Shepherd 128 Mokachane 227
Mendi 160, 224, 330 Mpangazitha son of Bhungane 83
Menelek 329 Mpe, Phaswane 264
Mfecane 23, 216 Mpengula son of Mbanda 78
Mfengu people (abaMbo) 22, 73, Mpethu 66
137–9, 141, 149, 156, 161, 208, Mpondo people (Pondo) 4, 22, 67, 73,
210, 211, 216, 229 119
Mgazana River 66, 68 Mpondomise people 4, 22, 23, 24,
Mgcawezulu son of Nonqane 54, 59, 204, 206, 210
60 Mqanda, Thomas 227
 INDEX   373

Mqhayi, Samuel Edward Krune Mtshiki son of Hintsa 87

(Imbongi yakwa Gompo, Mvabaza, Levi Thomas 314, 316
Imbongi yesizwe jikelele, Lord Mvuyana, Rev. 294
Sheshegu, Nzulu Lwazi, Trafic Myers-Scotton, Carol 266
Manager) 15, 16, 18, 22, 25–6, Mzilikazi son of Mashobana 160
40–2, 45, 46, 48–9, 70–2, 74–5, Mzimba, Livingstone Ntibane 22
87, 108, 110, 131, 135–67, 229, Mzimba, Pambani Jeremiah 17, 22,
275, 319–21, 331–4 232, 235–7, 239, 240, 252
“Aba-tunywa (nxusa) betu” 321–30
“Ah Velile” 48, 50–63, 71–2, 85 Naidoo, Jay 108, 124, 128
“A! Silimela!” 48, 63–9, 72, 85 Namba son of Maqoma 262, 264
biography of Rubusana 15, 161 names 40, 45, 50, 61–2, 74–5, 77–84,
Idini 22, 234 85, 91, 93–5, 107, 119, 142,
Imihobe nemibongo 161 191–3, 195, 204, 215, 241, 271,
297, 320–1
Inzuzo 16, 69, 161
Namibia 122
Ityala lamawele 15–16, 46, 136,
National Party 62, 104, 266
161, 166, 234
Native Education Association 17, 221,
U-bomi bom-fundisi u John Knox
232
Bokwe 22, 161
Native Labour Contingent 160
U-Don Jadu 161
Ncotshe clan 74
“Ukutshona kukaMendi” 330
Ndaba son of Zondwa 76–7, 107, 116,
Umhlekazi uHintsa 161
132, 188, 192
U-Mqhayi wase-Ntab’ozuko 74, Ndabeni 160
136, 161 Ndamase, Victor Poto 12, 22
U-Samson 15, 135–67 Ndawo, Henry Masila 12, 136
U So-Gqumahashe 22, 45 Uhambo lukaGqoboka 135, 165
Mqhayi son of Sheshegu 45 Ndebele people 44, 45, 189
Mqhayi, Winnie 63 Ndlambe people 35, 36, 37, 42, 44, 53,
Mqhekezweni 120 59, 61–3, 65–8, 72, 81, 86, 94,
Mqoboli, E.J. 320 138, 261
Msane, H.V. 298, 302, 303 Ndlambe son of Rharhabe 7, 33–6,
Msane, Saul 289 40–5, 56, 61, 67, 71, 212
Msebenzi son of Macingwane 46, 259, Ndlebezendja 81
260 Ndluzodaka see Makinana son of
Msimang, R.W. 293, 316, 329 Mhala
Msingapantsi son of Mdutyana 211 Ndyambo 262
Mtakati, M.K. 229 Nehemiah 21, 144
Mthatha (Umtata) 53, 56, 62, 119, 170, newspapers 9–13, 15–18, 23, 135–6,
176 139–46, 160, 165, 168, 201,
Mthikrakra, Manzezulu 82, 116 215–17, 224, 228–9, 231, 234,
Mthumane 66 250, 267–8, 269–71, 286,
Mtshazo, I.A. 291 288–90, 320
374 XHOSA LITERATURE

Abantu-Batho 269–71, 288–93, Ngqika people 52, 57–8, 61–2, 68, 69,
297, 304–6, 311–14, 318–21, 71, 138, 223, 251, 296
331, 333–4 Ngqika son of Mlawu 26, 33–46,
Bantu World 269, 319 56–61, 63, 69, 71, 88, 163, 202,
Christian Express 140, 144, 237, 212, 228, 230, 235, 258, 260,
252, 253 265
Ikwezi 23, 215, 216 Ngubengcuka son of Ndaba 107, 113
Imvo zabantsundu 9, 12, 17, 23, Ngwane people 46, 259
139, 140–3, 144, 146, 148–9, Nikani, Bisset 53, 58
156, 158, 177, 224, 225, 228, Nkanti regiment 66, 69
233–4, 251, 252, 269, 288, 319, Nkombisa, T. 291
333 Nkosiyamntu son of Malangana 118
Indaba 11–12, 15, 23, 139–40, 215, Nobantu daughter of Make 52
217, 219, 229, 233–4 Nojoli daughter of Ndungwana 33, 164
Isibuto samavo 23, 216 Nolwandle 55
Isigidimi sama-Xosa 9, 12, 15, 23, Nonesi’s Nek 345
Nongqawuse daughter of Mhlanhla
140–3, 146, 215, 219, 221, 224,
138, 345
225–9, 233–4, 237, 241, 252,
Nonibe 39
288
Nontsizwagane 211
Isitunywa sennyanga 216–17
Nopasi daughter of Moni (Luhadi) 65,
Izwi labantu 9, 15, 137, 139, 141–2,
67, 72
146–9, 156, 158, 166, 228–9,
Noposi daughter of Gqunta 54, 57, 63
234, 269, 288, 319, 333
Nosekeni 107, 108
Kaffir Express 12, 140
Nothonto 39
Umlindi we Nyanga 319
Nowawe son of Ndlambe 7
Umshumayeli wendaba 23, 216–17
Noyi son of Gciniswa (Robert Balfour)
Umteteli wa Bantu 11, 170, 171, 23, 204, 205, 206, 215
175–6, 177, 269–72, 277, 287, Iziqwenge zembali yamaXosa 23,
288–93, 305–7, 311, 314–16, 204, 206
319–20, 333 Ntaba kaNdoda 261
Umthunywa 176, 177, 178, 319 Ntimbo son of Mlawu 34–5
Ngcangathelo people 39 Ntinde people 54, 58, 59, 62
Ngcayechibi see frontier wars Ntshona, James 148
Ngconde son of Togu 33, 118, 164, Ntshunqe 65
205 Ntsikana son of Gabha 21, 22, 23,
Ngcwabe, L.M.S. 15 36–7, 40, 41, 110, 117, 204,
Ngcwangu son of Tshawe 33 209, 213, 214, 215, 221, 223,
Ngo daughter of Tsobo (Mina) 260, 234, 250, 255, 258, 260, 261,
264 264, 265, 271, 282, 284, 285–6,
Ngojo 293 295–6, 330
Ngqakayi 39 Great Hymn 213–15, 284
 INDEX   375

Ntsikana, William Kobe 17, 23, 140, Peterson, S. 181

146, 215, 217, 229 Peyi 215, 250
Ntsiko, Jonas (Hadi waseluhlangeni) Phalo son of Tshiwo 33, 65, 67, 68,
12, 142, 225–7, 228, 229 115, 118, 119, 164, 204, 213,
Ntsusa daughter of Rharhabe 33, 34 223, 308, 327
Ntuli, D.B. 23 Philistine people 150, 152, 155, 156,
Nukwa son of Rharhabe 33, 35 165
Nxele son of Balala (Makhanda) 37, Phitshi son of Ndaba 77
138, 260, 261–2, 264 Pike, G.J. 204
Nyathi, Albert 131 Pirie 36
Nyolonyolo 259 Plaatje, Sol 169, 264, 271, 289–90
Nyovane, Arthur Gabriel 229 Pleiades 65, 67, 70, 72
Nzanzana son of Mqhayi 38 Port Elizabeth 53, 58, 147, 158, 178,
221, 232, 253
Oba son of Tyhali 208 Port St Johns 68
Olckers, Martha 104 Pretoria 5, 104, 105, 123
Oldjohn, I. 174 Prince of Wales 57, 69, 71, 87, 108
Ong, Walter J. 9 printing 4, 5, 9, 23, 135, 144, 202–3,
Opland, Jeff 168–9, 337–53 207, 229
The Dassie and the Hunter 100, proverbs 4, 17, 21, 77, 144, 224, 229,
337–53 250–1, 260, 264
oral literature (folklore) 47, 86, 100,
144, 204, 206–15, 233, 250, Qamata 112
251, 260, 263–4, 269, see also Qangqalala 66
proverbs; riddles; Xhosa literary Qangule, Zithobile Sunshine 170
genres, ibali, izibongo Qokoyi, David 216
Orlando 191 Qombolo 58
Orion’s Belt 66 Qoyi Mountain 113
orthography 16–17, 171, 184, 186 Queenstown (Komani) 158, 184, 190,
191, 210, 293, 294, 345
Pahl, Herbert W. 13–14, 16, 49 Qunu River 107, 108
Palmer, Samuel 216 Qwathi people 34, 138
Pao 215
Parry, Milman 339 Raven, Rob 169, 179, 182–3
Pater, Elias 342 Rebe, Elijah 75
Paterson, Thomas Jones 253 reflexivity 86, 89, 99
Peddie 36, 73, 271, 312, 314, 315, Research in African Literatures 347
319 Rhamncwana son of Jali 54, 60
Peires, Jeff 23, 41, 213 Rharhabe people 3, 49, 50, 54, 56–7,
Pelem, Meshach 225 61–3, 138, 212, 230
Pelton, Robert D. 101 Rharhabe son of Phalo 8, 33–5, 50, 68,
Peteni, Randall Langa 179 114, 115, 164
376 XHOSA LITERATURE

Rhodes, Cecil John 131, 141 Shepherd, Robert Henry Wishart 136,
Rhodes University 108, 131, 168, 169, 139, 140, 161, 168–71, 174–83,
184, 337, 352 184
riddles 4, 6, 21 Sherwood, Mary Martha 203, 207
Robben Island 117, 120, 149, 193 Shona people 160, 189
Ross, Brownlee John 22, 229 Sigadi 211
Ross, John 202, 204, 207 Sigcawu son of Mqikela 211
Rubusana, Deena 320 Sikhomo son of Ngcwangu 33
Rubusana, Walter Benson 15, 141–3, Silimela, Solani son of Makinana 48,
146, 153–5, 156, 159, 161, 165, 53–4, 59–61, 63–7, 72, 85
228, 291 Sisulu, Walter 120
Zemk’inkomo magwalandini 12, Sisusenkomo 53
15, 22, 58–9, 75, 146, 154, 229, Sithole, Bongani 110, 117–23, 131
234 Sityana, Alfred Mama Skefu 49
Skota, T.D. Mweli 289
Samson 136, 147, 149, 150–6, 161, Slovo, Joe 108, 124, 128
165, 166 Soga, Allan Kirkland 228
Sandile son of Ngqika (Mgolombane) Soga, John Henderson 22, 211
39–40, 53, 59, 63, 66, 68, 69, Soga, Tiyo 11, 12, 140, 203, 211, 215,
94, 227 217, 233, 241
Sandile, Archie (Velile) 50, 52, 55, 57, Uhambo lomhambi 140, 203, 241
59–63 Soga, Tiyo Burnside 22
Sarhili son of Hintsa (Kreli) 7, 58, 68, Solilo, John 18, 275, 333
92, 209 Somerset East 33
Satyo, Sizwe Churchill 23, 24 Somerset, Henry 208
Sauer, Jacobus Wilhelmus 263, 327 Somerset, Lord Charles 41, 56, 113,
Scheub, Harold 23, 44–5, 135 230
Schreiner, William Philip 258 Sotho people 44, 45, 66, 189
Scott-Heron, Gil 109 South African Communist Party 119
scurra 102 South African Native Congress 104,
Searle, Charles 258 147, 288–91, 293–4, 308,
Segal, Ronald 179 310–11, 316–19, 320, 330, 331
Seitel, Peter 338 Southworth, John 102
self-publication 15, 146, 184, 196–7, Sparrman, Anders 202
234 St Matthew’s College 203
Seme, Pixley kaIsaka 328 Stanford, M.A. 203
Senzangakhona son of Jama 189, 327 Stanford, Walter 209, 211
Shaka son of Senzangakhona 22, 138 Stewart, James 12, 140–1, 219, 221,
Shangaan people 66 227, 233, 244
Shaw, Betsy 216 Stormont, D.D. 145
Shaw, William 207, 216 Stutterheim 68
Shawbury 210 Sundays River 202
 INDEX   377

Suthu 40, 54, 63, 72 Wauchope, Naniwe 160, 161

Suzman, Janet 109 Wesleyan Mission Press 216
Swanepoel, C.F. 23 Westermann, Diedrich 137
Swartbooi, Victoria 10 White, R.J. 183
Swazi people 66, 189 Whittlesea 271
Whitworth, James 86, 93, 207
Tambo, Oliver 107 Williams, Joseph 202, 213, 221, 230,
Tato son of Madiba 76, 112 235, 258–63
Theal, George McCall 207 Wilmot, John Alexander 258
Thema, R.V. Selope 293, 316, 331 Wits University Press 16
Thembu people 3, 8, 22, 38, 63, 74, Woodrooffe, Rev. H. 203
76–7, 89, 90, 110, 117, 119, 123, Wright, William 66, 68
129, 138, 190–2, 203, 209–10,
337, 353 Xelo, Elias 216, 217
theory 339, 352 Xesibe people 4, 22
Thibedi, T.W. 293, 298, 302, 303 Xhiba house 39, 116
Thompson, George 214 Xhosa language 3–5, 9, 10, 11, 13–18,
Thomson, William Ritchie 202 21–3, 36, 48–9, 61, 79, 81, 94–5
Thuba daughter of Ndlambe 34, 35 100, 124, 131, 135, 140, 142–3,
Thuthula daughter of Mthunzana 35, 146, 170, 177, 185, 191, 196,
36, 40, 41, 88, 212 201–2, 204, 216–17, 218–19,
229, 232–4, 237, 251–2, 259–61,
Van Warmelo, N.J. 46, 259 288, 289, 347, 353
Vassar, Matthew 131 Xhosa literary genres
Vassar College 90, 131, 337, 346, 350 ibali (historical narrative) 4, 21–47,
Velile see Sandile, Archie 85, 204–7, 213, 217, 259–64
Vena, D.D. 159 intsomi (folktale) 5, 10, 21, 24, 40,
Venus 67, 70 44–6, 204, 207, 269
Via Afrika 185 izibongo (poetry) 5–8, 73, 87–102,
Victoria, Queen 50 104–32, 184–97, 208–15, 241,
Viljoen, J. 180 266, 269–87, 293–334, 338–53
Vimbe, John Muir 23, 140, 215, 217 novel 135–67, 168–83, 241
riddles 6
Waters, Henry Tempest 203 songs 45, 213
Waterston, Jane 12 Xhosa people 3–4, 11, 13, 15, 23–6,
Wauchope, Isaac Williams 17, 23, 33–45, 48, 50, 54, 66–72, 73,
142, 144, 149–61, 219, 221–5, 87, 94–6, 100–12, 119, 137–9,
228–35, 250–66, 268 141, 149, 155–6, 158, 163–4,
“Izintsonkoto zamaqalo” 17, 144, 166, 168, 202, 219, 221, 230–2,
251 234–5, 237–41, 250, 253–4,
The Natives and Their Missionaries 257–9, 264–5, 353
22, 160, 224 255–64 Xhukwane 55
378 XHOSA LITERATURE

Xinirha 67 Yankah, Kwesi 95

Xuka River 34, 35, 90 Yese daughter of Xigxa 33–7, 43–5, 56
X.Y.Z. 295 Yorùbá 46, 195
YouTube 5, 109, 131
Yako, St John Page 73 Yoyosi, Job 216
Yali-Manisi, David Livingstone
Phakamile 8, 14, 15, 16, 18, 74, Zaze son of Mqhayi 53, 57
76, 79, 80, 82, 89, 90, 96, Zikode 83
100, 102, 110–18, 123, 131, Zima clan 38, 75
184–5, 190–3, 196–7, 337–53 Zimasile 53, 58
Imfazwe kaMlanjeni 185 Zinanqua 208, 209
Inguqu 15, 184–5 Zondwa 76, 77, 190, 192
Izibongo zeenkosi zama-Xhosa 16, Zozi 296
184 Zulu people 46, 66, 77, 78, 93, 138,
“UNkosi Rolihlahla Nelson 160, 189, 223, 259–60, 265, 321
Mandela” 185–97 Zwelitsha 49
Yali-Manisi, Johnson Mpungutyana 74