Tata and Me

I not only look like him, I am his finished product. He raised me, nurtured me, moulded me and instilled in me values that I will treasure to the end of my days, values that made me socially conscious. I sensed Tata's wish and hope for me and I tried my best not to fall short of those expectations. We had always been close, even before Mama died – as in fact were all his children – and we drew closer after Mama's death. The only thing that is not Tata in me is that I am an extrovert – a Balfour trait – for Tata was somewhat reserved. This man was not only my parent, he was my teacher and best friend. The best moments of my life were with him. We would sit together chatting and discussing any and every topic that was within my understanding, with me asking him this and that question. He engaged in these conversations with all of us, his girls. With Tata, even shy, quiet Ethel would blossom. Even when Mama still lived, we missed Tata when he was not there. After we got married, we came home because we missed him.

At home I was with him everywhere – in the cattle-fold, at the stables, in the ploughing fields, on the veranda, talking, talking and asking questions. I knew they had hoped for a boy when I was born and the people around would say in my presence: 'Why didn't God make this one a boy? She is not as beautiful as the other girls.' So I made up my mind to be as much of a son as I could, doing those things that sons are supposed to do. And how Ntangashe and I prayed for that son! In our doll play, when we had church service, we never forgot to ask God 'to give this family a son'. Even though this prayer was for one of our doll families, it was in fact our parents we were praying for. That son was to come some eight years later, with the arrival of Mzukisi (Nqokothwana), my stepmother's first-

born. That is why this child has such a special place in our hearts. We had prayed for him.

I was going to be the son Tata had hoped for! So when he came back from work, I was there holding the bridle of his horse as he alighted, helping him unsaddle the horse, and if the horse had to be watered, I would give it water. If he was mending a fence, a bench, or a gate, fixing a window, sealing a leaking trough, I was there to hold and hand him his tools. As a result, today there are very few do-it-yourself chores I cannot do around the house. As we had no boys and Tata depended on hired help, he worked with us in the fields, planting and cultivating, leading the team of oxen or the horse he used. It was joy working with him for he had a way with children, showering praises on those working with him. At the end of a work-day, he would stand in the kitchen door to remind those there that he would need a warm bath and would say: 'Please don't forget Phyllie.' How considerate! how wonderful! how beautiful!

The herd-boys could not always be relied upon. Sometimes they absconded, leaving the stock unattended in the pasture. On such occasions we had to fill in until a new herd-boy was hired. Or the herd-boys would leave at critical times – stock-dipping days – and we, the girls, had to take our cattle to the dipping tank. It was at these times that I witnessed bull fights. Our bull, Roland, was a champion fighter. The inspectors at the dipping tanks were always very kind to us. They would ask the other herders to stand down for us, so that our stock would go in first, and we would not wait long in the queue.

My first lessons in the history of the Wars of Dispossession were from Tata. Having been born at the end of these wars, he had learnt from those around him a lot about them and had grown to be a local historian of sorts. I would sometimes pick up something, or bits of a story in his conversation with another man, sitting on the veranda or under the trees. Then when we were alone I would ask him: 'Tell me what happened to Makana after he surprised the British at Grahamstown'.

Tata would then relate the whole incident and how the British never forgave Makana for their near-defeat at Grahamstown. And that was why they did not treat him with honour when he came to negotiate. They captured him and sent him to Robben Island, where he and others escaped one Christmas morning. He was drowned just a few miles off the shore of Cape Town, Tata told me. But the

Xhosa still believed that Makana would come back and lead them to victory, hence the Xhosa saying 'Ukuza kuka Nxele'.

One day, Tata had been chatting with his good friend Oom Joel Nombewu of Chizele. I caught this bit from Oom Nombewu:

Kou! into ka Matiwane!
Umsila gojela phantsi kwe Ntab'e Nqadu
Usidl' imizila yamadoda;
Udada ngesabhokbwe kuma Khumsha.

Some days later, when we were alone, I asked Tata who this 'Dada ngesabhokhwe kuma Khumsha' was. 'That is Mhlontlo, son of Matiwane, king of the Mpondomise. He was the centre of the so-called Mpondomise Rebellion.' After eluding the British forces for months, Mhlontlo fled to Lesotho, where he remained for some years until his capture, having been betrayed by Jonathan, son of Moshoeshoe, and the Roman Catholic priests. Tata told me that Mhlontlo was brought home a prisoner. Standing on the Nqadu mountain, he looked around and saw his land all fenced in. He cried like a child, saying: 'Where were the people? Where were the people that such a thing could happen?' It was years later, from my husband, that I was to hear the details of the killing of Hamilton Hope, magistrate of Qumbu, and the flight of Mhlontlo, how he hid for months among the Mpondo of Mqikela, who sheltered him until a place had been found for him in Lesotho.

We were sitting by the hedge at home one day when Tata told me the story of the flight of Sarhili and his people after the War of Ngcayechibi. And because the places mentioned in the story were places in Idutywa - Bende, Falakahla, Gwadana, Chizele, Ncihana, Mbashe - the story assumed a life of its own. He used to like describing how, after a night on the banks of Mbashe River, Sarhili himself, under cover of a thick fog, led his people across the river and not a beast was lost. Tata would say, 'The Gcaleka will tell you that the dusky son of Nomsa, after he had ordered all to wake up, pointed south, pointed north, pointed east and pointed west, and a thick fog enveloped them and he led his people across. If you were to say that it could not have been so, the Gcaleka would kill you.' And then he would laugh.

When he was a student at Zonnebloem in Cape Town, he had seen in the Cape Town Castle the cell where Cetywayo, king of the Zulu, had been kept, and also the cell where Langalibalele, king of the Hlubi, had been. I was to see these too when I came to live in

Cape Town.

In those days our Xhosa readers comprised a series from Standards 1 to 4, written by Candlish Koti, Mama's cousin, and published by Longmans Green and Company. In the Standard 3 book were the praise poems of some of the African monarchs of the period of resistance. I went through several of those poems with Tata; he explained to me the meanings and events surrounding the incidents mentioned. For example, Tata explained to me why the bard refers to Sigcawu Mqikela, king of the Mpondo, as

I-Nunw' emsil'ulurbolokoqo
uxab' ezindlini zabe Lungu
kwezo Meje noMadonela.

[The huge snake whose long tail bars the entrance to the dwellings of the white men, even those of Major [Elliot] and McDonald].

According to Tata, when the British captured Sigcawu and locked him up in the jail in Kokstad, the Mpondo followed him to prison, refusing to have their king sleep there alone. There was no room for all the crowds who came, asking to be locked up with their king, and the British were forced to let Sigcawu out.

The praises of Sigcawu Mthikrakra contain these lines:

Ngumahob' azizantanta ngenxa yokhozi,
Ma-Rhudulu! loziliela neliswel' amaphiko!

[He, in whose domain the doves are aflutter for fear of the falcon.
I swear by the Rhudulu, woe unto that one that has no wings].

Sigcawu Mthikrakra, I was told, was a cruel king whose people deserted him and sought refuge with other kings.

Veldman Bikitsha's praises have the line:

Siyawubanga lomti ka Bhokolo.

[We claim this tree of Bowker].

This was explained to me as referring to a trader, Bowker, who had a store in the area when the British carved up Sarhili's country. They fixed this store as the boundary between the Xhosa and the belt of Mfengu whom the British had settled here as buffer. Veldman Bikitsha, a Mfengu, collaborated with the British throughout this period. As a reward he was given a farm in Nkondwane in the district of Centane.

Sarhili, the Xhosa king, is associated with the line:

Nguzwe lafa ngembiza zika Mbune.

[He whose land died on account of Mbune's beer-pots].

Here the bard castigates the king for allowing the country to go to war over a quarrel that started at a beer-party, when the people involved were already drunk. The bard could correct the king if he felt he was wrong, Tata told me, and that was why there were those lines in Sarhili's praise-song.

I do not remember getting any 'don'ts' from Tata in our growing up. We knew in a way what he wanted of us and what he expected us to be and not to be. Throughout our life we were guided by: What will Tata think? Will this hurt him? Will this please him? And throughout, we tried to do those things that would please him, things he could be proud of.