Chapter 6. ‘Mswati III’ (1968- ), formerly ‘Makhosetive’ (King of all Nations). King of Swaziland 1986 to date. He was the first young cadet to join the ‘Umbutfo Swaziland Defence Force’ at the age of five. From 1976 he was educated at ‘Masundvwini Royal School’ and in 1983 attended ‘Sherborne School’ in Dorset, England. He was crowned king of Swaziland in April 1986 at the age of 18, following the death of his father ‘King Sobhuza II’ in 1982. From the start of his reign Mswati faced demands from opposition leaders to make Swaziland a multi-party democratic state, and to confine the role of king to ceremonial functions. The king refused such demands. In 1996 a month-long pro-democracy strike by important industry workers led to talks on the role of the monarchy, but Mswati insisted that he would remain head of state. His only concessions were to allow elections to be held by secret ballot instead of by a show of hands, to release political prisoners, and to set up a commission to review the constitution. Following elections in 1998 in which only candidates sanctioned by the king were able to stand further popular discontent and civil unrest increased pressure for reform of southern Africa’s last remaining absolute monarchy. While enquiring about the University, about whether or not it was still in operation I got to learn that not too far from the facility was a district office that reports directly to the king’s office. According to the locals, the nature of our visit and duration of our stay had been reported prior to our arrival to the district office, in order for them in turn to relay the message to his majesty. Also reported was the fact that there would be a slaughter of a cow to commemorate the event, “a cow slaughter to take place, this was starting to be really exciting, a slaughter of a live cow, I could hardly wait”. But then my mind reverted back to the fact that the district office and possibly the king himself knew of our presence. That is awfully fussy business; there went a relaxed foreign affairs policy like I had initially thought. What would be the procedure if one needed to setup a space exploration facility, or an atomic science laboratory, would his Majesty need to go over the explicably complex processes involved then to give his approval? Although I by no means seek to judge a monarchy state, I however do not vouch safe for it. To have right to reign and rule over a people purely by means of a lineage is simply not fair, uncivilized. It totally demeans and under values other people, and it strips them off their right to equality. It is a totalitarian tyranny regime, one that must be done away with quickly for the benefit of humanity. The land and resources of any state are the sovereign belongings of its own people, not to be owned and rationed to the people by a one-man power that has supreme powers because of a birth privilege. Before my head would explode from all the thoughts galloping through my mind we got summoned to one of the main houses in the last sub-division of the grand yard. Judging from the fact that this was a one room self-built house, I believe this was designated for important meetings but I couldn’t say for sure. Big belly squint came to call upon us to march along the dirt sub-yards and into the supposed boardroom. This time round we all got called in, even the women were called in, and this brought about some level of reassurance as I knew the overly confident woman had been eagerly waiting for this moment since we had arrived. Assessing her last night after the gate spectacle I gave, I knew she also wanted her own souvenir memento, even if it meant having just spoken publicly to the locals. This would be her personal memory to keep, so naturally she wouldn’t miss a chance, no sir! To our distress the room had already filled up with what seem to be the whole of Swaziland, well okay actually there was approximately 30 people in there as I counted, mind you there were only 5 of us, the away team. That is 6 to 1 in favour of the home team; we surely were outnumbered and needed a tactically astute offense strategy to ensure victory over the home advantaged team. We needed to take no prisoners at our offense as they surely were just about ready to annihilate us at a sign of a timid display. The door to this room piled up with kinds and kinds of old shoes. Some mere sandals and some would be takkies in their good years. While others were formal shoes obviously bent and mis-shaped from the scorching sun and had lost their colour to a blend of worn-out black and brown from the dirt on the ground. This to our quick interpretation meant we also needed to do away with our shoes, leave them at the door of cause. We did this one by one beginning with myself as I now believe that at that moment I seemed to be the only one with a bit of courage left in him, as the rest were partially moving towards the entrance of the room. Naturally I needed to greet the people in the room as sign of respect; one cannot simply walk in a room filled with people and just take to his own device without having greeted them. To my distress as I began to greet the first people from the door as I made my way, everyone of them raised their faces and got their hands ready for me to great them one by one. I had just gotten a task and a half, 30 people to great one by one, most cannot even understand an inkling of Zulu, I did it anyways – “Sawubona” I greeted in Zulu “Yebo” to my surprise they responded in Swazi though sounding exactly like Zulu. I repeated this tedious process till I had gone through all of them - man, woman, and boys about the ages of 19 to about 29. These boys were brothers to the girl in question; she was also present in that room sitting at the corner towards the end of the group faced down as sign of respect. Just as I began to take a sit on the ‘icansi’ a home-made mat knitted out of dried tall grass placed on the floor, the rest of the team seemed to fuss at the door with their shoes as they entered the room each beginning the daunting task of greeting everyone. After this long process, imagine 4 people having to great 30 one by one each, surely people from the homelands have too much time on their hands. After this long process we all settled down and were ready to begin. My thoughts began to wander as I settled on the ‘icansi’ (mat), scanning the room, counting the people and giving each an age estimation based on their stature, looks, and some with a tired face possible worn-down by long age. Just as my mind was ready to race about with thoughts and make about sense of everything it encountered, I heard one of the old timers saying the dreaded words. “Sicela niphindze oku nikushilo itolo” - (Can you repeat what you said yesterday) holly molly I am expected to talk again, I sighed discreetly. “sizo lobola gogo” – (We’ve come for lobola negotiations grandmother) saying this as I adjusted my voice to raise volume a tad “uzo lobola ngani?” – (what have you got for this matter), and Lo the process began all over again. “Nge zinkomo” – (with cattle), I responded, “etingaphi” – (how many) they responded, “ezi yishumi” – (ten). “awu tisho” – (say them). They asked. Just as I was about to give a now learnt description of these cattle, the overly confident woman came to my rescue by taking over me. Though I felt silly for having done not much, I must say I was somewhat relieved. She would proceed with the rest of the negotiations and do all translations from Swazi to Venda and vice versa, she was that good this woman, shifting through these vastly different languages without breaking sweat. She enjoyed it too; this was her memento, her own little souvenir to take pride in, no one would dare spoil that. Now to me Venda was ancient Gaelic language and I couldn’t decipher a single vowel, so this was rather a good idea for her to take over. Also in all honesty to this whole ‘indaba’ (agenda) I was merely a transport manager, I had been asked by my mother and the-to-be bridegroom to assist in that department, and so negotiations were a bit out of my territory. Besides I’m a city boy, ask me to conceptualize a computer software system or negotiate my way through an impossible traffic jam teaming with a swarm of minibus taxis, there you would have no problem but this, certainly new game to be learnt. “ezi ntathu zihamba ngezi nyayo, eziyis’khombisa zise poketheni” – (three are walking (live), and seven are in our pockets (currency)), she explained. The old timers seemed to be nodding their heads and whispering some things to one another, after a short while the eldest man amongst them asked. “Leti etiyisikhombisa, iyinye iyimali’ni”– (How much will the cost be of each one in your pockets)? “eyinye izoba yi R1000” – (Each will be a thousand rand, R1000) the woman answered promptly to display her steadfast negotiation. There was mild bickering as the old timers seemed to be displeased with the answer and offer. I could tell that the tension was beginning to mount at that moment. One man from within the group who seemed be educated and was richer than most, I would soon learn, started asking, “Njegoba nithsi iyinye ingu R1000, kuleti et’hamba ngeti nyawo, ni bhadele malini kuyinye nje” – (as you say each will be R1000, then tell us, how much did you pay for each of the live ones)? Damn it, he had gotten us by the balls I thought. “eyinye bese ingu R4000” – (Each live one cost R4000), the woman answered shyly. “ngakhoke ingani uthsi leti tingu R1000, kutsho ucinga ukuthsi atikwazi ukubala na” – (then why say these will only be R1000, do you think we cannot count or put into differentiation the two)? The man said obviously with a mild but growing irritability. For the purpose of making sense, and due to the length of the negotiations the rest will proceed in English. The woman then answered as meek as she could succumb to, “no sir, we understand that there shouldn’t be a difference between the two. However this is merely a monetary representation of a long held tradition that we seek not to disregard. Due to the costs already incurred by the bridegroom and bridegroom’s family, and the fact that we have come a long way we merely ask that you do not literally compare live cattle to real money”. “Why not”? The man questioned “you’ve already paid R4000 for each of the live cattle and I see no reason to break with tradition. Let me tell you the true Swazi ways. The boy in question is to offer us a minimum standard of 17 live cattle; if it is in the form of money then it should be R4000 multiplied by 17, Mswati himself would march you back to your country with this silly offer”. With this tense turn-around of talks I immediately got a sense that, though these men were tough negotiators, however they were merely testing our ability to contend for the right to wed, thus testing our sensitivity, and ultimately not necessarily being too stringent about these terms they presented. So we needed to negotiate more, and show courage. The lead singing woman on our side sensed this too and carried on negotiating. “Yes sir. This is clearly understood now, however we did not know of this and as I said, and from liaising with the boy’s family, we merely ask that the set rules be lifted, this is a big ‘indaba’ we come about. We are attempting to wed two people from vastly different back rounds, let us not hinder their happiness with stringent rules that are bound by money. Let us take into consideration that this is an attempt to unify two families, and money is simply to bring the vastness to a close, let us not look at how much is being offered but look at the thought behind the money” With that she surely scored clean and precise points guaranteed to place us ahead, she had out done herself this woman. I understood then why she was eager to speak, she knew that she packed a punch and a half in her ability to speak and convince. By then the woman were silent but most nodding their heads as if to agree to her protests, after all this was not about any of them, but about the two persons wishing to wed. The negotiating man obviously not willing to accept defeat that early on in the negotiations, unleashed a counter attack. “What you say is true. But consider this for a moment. You mention that you come a long way from here, meaning by the time of the wedding we too are to travel these distances. Where do you suppose the money for that will come from?” Again he had a strong point. But the woman now fired up, and attempting by all means to shy away from telegraphing her moves would retaliate fiercely. “We understand this concern, but you are to consider this as well, the bridegroom’s family is willing to pay for the wedding, pay for the gown, the veil, the venue and this is to be a white wedding”. Now to black people a white wedding is of the highest honour as far as weddings go. In fact a white everything is of the highest honour, an ability to articulate the English language, to go to school and live with whites is consider by some to be a better existence. This surely explains why South African politicians are to my dislike often mocked for their weak vocalisation of the language. There simply isn’t any sense, pure symptomatic display of oppression, the oppressed simply looks up and desires to be the oppressor. With this point, the woman had struck a death guaranteeing blow. They didn’t know what hit them and where it came from. I heard the women beginning to cheer by ‘ukulilizela’ (an African cheering shared among women, usually signifying something beautiful) not able to contain themselves with this announcement. The bridegroom’s family would pay for most of the wedding necessities. We were indeed ahead on points, and without a solid knockout blow, the home team stood no chance at a win. “We cannot agree to a R1000 representation of a cow, Mswati himself would banish us from the land, make us a better offer!” The man relentless to his negotiations propounded, with a weak offense giving the woman a ground from which to negotiate the amount from. “R2000 per cow” the woman suggested. The man shook his head, “a better offer we ask of you” his patience now growing weary. Then the woman consulted with the Venda family for a brief moment, then turned back to the crowd, “R3000 per cow and unfortunately we cannot do better than that”. For a brief moment my heart pounded as I thought we cannot come all the way here only to return without having achieved the aim of the trip. The men in the room also consulted with one another for a chilling brief moment, and then all would allow the now obvious speaker to take centre stage, “We will take R3000 per cow; however this means you will now need to break down what you offer for us to understand exactly”. The woman on our side consulted with the Venda family and then started speaking again, “due to the fact that we did not contemplate a steep hike to the monetary representation of each cow, this means that the number of cattle will decrease”. “We now offer 3 live cattle and 3 in currency form, this actually means R9000 in money currency and 3 live cattle all totalling to a sum of R21 000 (4 cattle each costing R4000 plus R9000) in lobola payment from us”. The man then explained the terms of their agreement, “Right we accept this, however you will now owe us the remainder of what you initially offered, meaning the remaining 7 of the 10 cattle you had offered from the beginning. This you will need to settle before the children are to wed, note there is also a limit to the time frame, this needs to be settled by end of this year” “We agree”! The woman responded with an obvious grin on her face, no doubt from the fact that she was indeed pleased with herself. “Now tell us, who among you is to be the bridegroom”? Now shocked I was to the realization of the fact that most these people thought I was the guy proposing to wed the girl, I seemed confident enough, well mannered and polished to have passed for the bridegroom in these people’s eyes. I and the woman promptly pointed to Tshilidzi who had obviously grown weary of the whole process, and to add to the mantle this room we were in was now about 50 degrees and we were all soaking with sweat, he was indeed finished. The women in the room cheered again to accept the official introduction of the to-be bridegroom in question. Some you could easily count their teeth one hand’s fingers as they cheered. The man who had been speaking took the time to offer words of encouragement to Tshilidzi (to-be bridegroom), “now remember this always boy, a woman you will never stop paying lobola to, not officially of cause but you will always need to spend your hard earned money on her. Polish her and make her shine always, dress her nicely and feed her till she is as big as these cattle you brought us. For this you would have paid a blood debt to her parents, God rest their souls. This girl is an orphan you know, her parents passed on long while she was small and she had been raised by all of us here since she was a small girl, this is a great honour and a great day to us all here and her parents would be pleased too”. The man continued... “Remember she will upset you and will never seize to speak fiercely, but pay no mind to that, they are all like that, no woman on this earth will seize to speak harsh words, no matter where she comes from and no matter how rich you can get she will always use words to fight you. Try not to mind this as this is her way of showing concern and love towards you as a man, for we are all transgressors and full of mishaps as men”. To these words of reassurance Tshilidzi absently nodded his head in agreement. His mind was now fixed on the fact that it was done, or perhaps fixed at the fact that he now had an enormous debt to his name, who knows these things, he must have been excited and troubled at the same time. The overly confident woman now pulled a big bag into the middle of the room and started picking out from inside it items. Starting with Makhosazana’s eldest brother she covered him in manner of an offering, a long black coat. Cheap looking but nicely cut, the man couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face, no doubt pleased with the present. To the reset of the women in the room she presented them each with a small blanket and a bandana which is to complete their women hood in traditional dressing. You could swear these women were given a million bucks each; one could cut through the excitement in the air with a knife. Finally she dressed Makhosazana (the girl to be wedded) with beautiful Venda looking traditional clothing from head to feet, a bandana, a long traditional dress and then Venda sandals. Pictures were taken, and then there was a deafening cheer and a thunderous applause as every one of the people was pleased enough. Some of the woman could not hold back their tears as they hugged Makhosazana. With that obvious close to the main ‘indaba’, we all hastily moved out of the room as I looked for my pair of shoes which would not be hard to sort out from the bunch. Makhosazana came to South African a few years prior to seek work, and while staying with distant relatives of hers she quickly found sanctuary at a local church in our neighbourhood where she would grow increasingly close to my mother. My mother who is a natural born leader, she would take to her bosom and bridegroom these girls from the church. By modest terms Makhosazana had been a sister to me as well, and I was a common denominator to this whole ‘indaba’ having accompanied Tshilidzi’s family and stood on their side of the negotiations, then also having had Makhosazana as a rightful and un-officially adopted daughter to my mother. This was indeed a big moment to me too, and the turn of events couldn’t be more pleasing. The overly confident woman had done it just as it was entrusted upon her to assist with the negotiations. She out manoeuvred the men at the game they had been playing for centuries if not millennia. She was neither Swazi or Venda nor Zulu at that. She was a Xhosa woman negotiating for a Venda boy to a Swazi group. It is often said in African teasing of cultures and legends, “be careful of Xhosa woman, they are as cunning as jackals”. “They can beguile their way into heaven”. I guess that old tale now had reference for it to stand ground, however we were hugely impressed.
Posted on: Mon, 02 Dec 2013 07:33:33 +0000
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