bongeni - an african saga

8/8/2019 Bongeni - An African Saga

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Chapter One

Sikonyeli shook his muscular shoulders. Standing at oversix foot six inches, he was one of the chosen indunas ofthe royal guard. Sikonyeli was proud. He had reason to be,considering his strong proven battle record. A formidablewarrior with considerable respect, which hed earned in

battle. And he carried the scars and memories with him.He adjusted his feathered headdress and turnedaround to look over his men. Theyd follow him anywhere.He trusted their loyalty totally, could feel it. The disciplineshed imposed on them over the years had paid off. Hisleadership was unchallenged. They moved as one bodyand it all came with experience. This was something theyoung Indunas still had to learn.

At his neck hung the most prized Zulu award, the

iziqu necklace. Awarded only by the King to exceptionalwarriors for bravery. Made from small blocks cut fromwillow sticks and then threaded into a necklace. On hisright arm he also wore the coveted ingxotha bronzearmband, also awarded to him by the King for his loyaltyand high standing.

His weapon of choice was the Ikwa long bladestabbing spear. More commonly known as the assegai. Ahideous blade of some eighteen inches in length androughly two and a half inches wide, set into a robustwooden shaft, two feet six inches long. Designed originally


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by the legendary King Shaka for close quarter combat,which culminated in the deadly under arm stab.

Sikonyeli had mastered the art and continuallyinstructed his regiments with ruthless proficiency. Parry

and thrust, parry and thrust. On and on it went until everywarrior under his command was an efficient anddisciplined killing machine.

Only skilled Smiths, selected by the King himself,were entrusted with the manufacture of stabbing spears.Iron ore was carefully collected from surface deposits andsmelted in clay forges with the aid of skin bellows. Theblades were then skilfully hammered into shape,tempered with fat and razor sharpened on special flat

stones before being set into the wooden shafts.Each shaft was then glued with strong vegetableglues and bound with wet cane fibres. A tube of hide,usually cut from a calfs tail was rolled over the join andallowed to shrink.

Sikonyeli had personally supervised the manufactureof his spear with the Kings permission. Normally only theKing reserved the right to distribute spears. Warriors hadto earn them.

Sikonyeli also carried an assortment of iWisaknobkerries tucked into the rawhide thong around hiswaist. He used them as throwing weapons and they werealso excellent for defence. Sikonyeli could down a rabbit atfifty paces or smash in a mans skull. He seldom missed.

The knobkerries were highly polished strong stickswith wicked, heavy bulbous heads. He carried his mainknobkerrie in his left hand with his shield. Used primarilyas a back-up weapon in case he should ever lose hisspear.

The most visible part of his armoury was his cowhideumbumbulozo shield, which was three feet six incheslong and at least two feet wide. The shield wasstrengthened with a single stick secured to the back by adouble row of hide strips, threaded through slits carefullycut in the actual shield and held by a small handle.

Sikonyeli knew from experience that if he soaked theshield in water and then inclined the shield at an angle hecould deflect a rifle bullet at a distance of over two


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hundred metres away. The effectiveness of the shieldagainst traditional throwing spears was equally as good.

Sikonyelis shield was almost white in colour. Themajority of his regiment had a combination of red shields

and red and white shields, as they were all married men.Sikonyeli was proud of his shield. It had taken a long timefor him to earn a white shield, a colour that wastraditionally only reserved for Kings and generals orexceptional, proven warriors on the battlefield.

It was already quite light. Soon the intense Africansun would flood the valley, making it humid anduncomfortable. Was time to move. Sikonyeli was alreadyimpatient. What was keeping the General from leading

them down the hill?There were already stirrings in the village, which was

centred at the base of the valley.The bird life was unusually quiet, almost aware of

what was about to happen. The vibrant mass of nearnaked bodies trembling in the early morning light, filledwith anticipation of the coming battle had to have aneffect on the energy of the surrounding environment.

The King had warned these people once before not to

raid his cattle. Now they would pay the price. They wouldfeel his rage, taste his steel.

Disputes had always been settled this way.Sikonyeli knew of these people. They were the

Tongas from Tongaland. Ruled by Zambili the Tongaqueen. A mixed tribe, mostly outcasts who had at onetime or another been part of the great Karanga tribesfurther up North but had now mixed their blood withseveral other tribes, including the Zulus.

Sikonyeli was aware these smaller tribes survivedthroughout Africa. He knew the majority of them usuallykept to themselves, hunting only in their areas. It was veryseldom that they wandered across the valleys and downinto Zululand to raid the rich Zulu livestock. They wereeither very brave or very stupid.

What had made this insignificant tribe want to raidZulu cattle? Sikonyeli kept asking himself. This was daringfor so small a tribe. It must have been a huge temptation,

an impulsive decision. The raiding party obviously came


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upon the livestock and noted there were only children asshepherds. The prize was too big to let go.

But then a woman led them. What could you expect?A Queen who was reputed to be able to foresee into

the future. People claimed she had magical powers; shecould com-municate with the dead.

Now these same people would shortly be facing themight of the Zulu regiments in battle. The most powerfuland largest black tribe throughout Africa. Sikonyeli wasindeed proud. The Zulus were renowned for their militantleadership. Undefeated in tribal battle.

Sikonyeli thought about the Tonga people andrealised that he actually knew a bit about them, had heard

about their skills in working with copper, iron, wood andbasket weaving for which they were famous. They alsohad the knowledge and skills to make narrow canoes outof hollowed out trees. With these canoes they fished onthe bays and the surrounding estuaries on the upper NorthCoast towards Mozambique.

Sikonyeli laughed. And as for their women, ah yes,the women. He knew of the women. They made cloth fromthe fibrous bark of the wild fig trees. They mixed it with

wild cotton and then dyed the fabric in bright colours.They were well known for their colourful attire and wereadmired by all the tribes for their beauty. Many othertribes had now copied them though and produced fabric oftheir own.

The Tongas also made an extremely toxic wine fromthe lala palm mixed with fermented marula berries. It wasvery popular. Sikonyeli knew well of this drink. He hadbeen wasted by its power on a few occasions. He smiledas he thought back on the times.

The more he pondered on the subject the more itconcerned him. The Tongas traded well and were usually ahappy people. They did not need to cross paths with theZulus. They should have known better. Why would theQueen have sent a raiding party into Zululand? Maybe itwas done without the Queens knowledge? Maybe it was arenegade group? Yes, he sighed. That was probably it.Hed done it before in his younger years but hed neverbeen caught.


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Sikonyeli felt suddenly annoyed at the Tongasarrogance. They were simple people. Unimportant people.No tribe, except maybe the Xhosas or the Matabele woulddare take cattle from the Zulus. And now these Tonga

people would pay. Pay with their lives.His thoughts turned to his own situation. He already

had one wife and a child. If he did well in this battle maybethe King would allow him a second wife. This would be ahuge honour and earn him more respect. Maybe he couldseize a few of the beautiful Tonga maidens. Yes, thatwould be good.

He suddenly realised how badly he needed thisbattle. Needed to prove to the King yet again that the

great Sikonyeli was unstoppable. His legendary conquestswould continue to grow...

And he knew respect was everything. ThroughoutZululand if you had respect as a great warrior you walkedtall. People ran to see you. Young brave men wanted to

join your regiment and the ladies were always available.Sikonyeli cursed. He needed that second wife

desperately. He loved Wendiki, his current wife, more thananything but shed had trouble giving birth to Bongeni, his

only son. Both children born after Bongeni were stillborn.He could still remember the day when the Sangoma

explained to him that Wendiki would not be able to haveany more children. He was so disappointed. It was a bitterpill to swallow. Why had it happened to him? He keptasking himself. He needed children to continue not onlyhis name but also his bloodline.

Sikonyeli peered down the valley at the village

below. He knew the Tonga warriors would have guns. Hewas aware of the white mans tools of war. His father hadfought in wars against theBritish and the Boers.

Sikonyeli was proud of his father. He was a famouswarrior. Had earned his respect in Cetshwayos waragainst the British army led by Lord Chelmsford in thefamous battle of Sandlwana where the Zulus defeated thepride of the British Empire, killing over a thousand Britishsoldiers and capturing over eight hundred rifles and inexcess of four hundred thousand rounds of ammunition.


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It was a great victory. His father had fought alongsideGeneral Dabulamanzi in the final battle. Many Zuluwarriors were lost that day but it was worth it. The spoilsand the pride earned for the regiments made it worthwhile

and the arrogant British had finally been taught ahumiliating lesson.

Sikonyeli knew his father had also proved himself inbattle against the renegade Swazi prince Mbilini in thebattle of the flat hill that overlooked the Ntombi River. Inthis battle hed fought under the renowned GeneralNtshingwayo.

Even though no side really won, with heavycasualties on both sides, Sikonyeli could still remember

how King Cetshwayo had rewarded his father for hisbravery that day. The King gave him a bigger kraal, thechoice of weapons, more cattle. He gained loads of self-esteem and a new prestigious regiment to lead. It had allbeen good.

Sikonyeli clearly recalled the captured rifles that usedto lie around his fathers kraal. As a young warrior he oftenfired the white mans Henry Martini single shot rifle. Hisfather kept an assortment of white mens weapons. They

fascinated him but he didnt trust them as a weapon, eventhough they had definite qualities like their raw power andthe distance with which they were still able to effectivelykill.

He particularly liked the rich smell of gun oil thoughand the intricate carvings and creative work with iron andwood all fashioned into a deadly weapon. And he liked theheavy feel of a rifle. He often worked his hands around thesmooth contours and played with the action, marvelling atthe precision workmanship. The intricate craftsmanshipconstantly amazed him. And gunpowder. That wasoverwhelming. How did the white man discover thispowder? Where did it come from?

He never really became a good marksman. The gunjumped too much when fired which annoyed him and thesingle shot action meant that the weapon was only goodfor one shot. Good for long range but he preferred thebattle when it was up close. You had to see your enemieseyes. Feel his breath, smell his fear, before you killed him.


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He knew the Tongas got their weapons from thePortuguese further up north in Lourenco Marques. Theytraded guns for ivory. With guns theyd almostexterminated the bulk of the elephant population in the

area. This gave them access to more ivory, which theycould then trade for more guns until there were no moreelephants left. Then they started on the rhinos.

Sikonyeli shook his head in annoyance. The gunswere very old bulky muzzle-loading guns. Devastating atclose range. They exploded with a thunderous clap,emitting a massive black cloud of smoke that completelyhid the shooter for a few seconds. Sikonyeli knew theyalso carried a few modern rifles like the Henry Martini, as

well as handguns.It always amazed him that these small tribes usedthe white mans weapons of war and werent interested inthe traditional spear and shield; the favourite Zuluweapons.

He came back to reality with a jolt. It had started. Alow chant at first, almost a hum like thousands of beesmilling around a massive beehive. The noise slowly grewwith intensity into a loud blood curdling, ululating wail

followed by the raucous beating of thousands of assegaisthudding against rawhide shields in unison. And thencame the cacophonous staccato stomping of bare feet onmother earth.

Sikonyeli felt the adrenalin coursing through him.Unstoppable now. He could face the majestic lion or eventhe mighty elephant. Invincible. He looked from left toright at his warriors and soaked up their power andenergy. This was his day.

Life was for the strong. A male Zulu warrior ruledsupreme. The King of the Zulus only recognized strengthand bravery in battle and he knew this was his chance toshine. Victory would be swift with no mercy given. TheKing had demanded justice and he would have it.

The village resting deep in the valley rapidly came tolife like an ant nest suddenly disturbed. Women andchildren screamed and ran across the fields away from themass of chanting warriors. Dogs barked and howled in the

distance.


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Sikonyeli had witnessed it so many times before. Justprior to every attack, panic and fear eclipsed thedefending people.

In one movement the impi surged forward as the

leading General leapt into the air and screamed theattack.

Bayete! Bayete!The command reverberated across the valley, the

war charge echoing down the length of the warriors lines.In unity, every Induna screamed the charge and urgedtheir warriors forward.

With a wave of his shield, Sikonyeli signalled his mento follow him. He didnt need to. It was instinct and

discipline that drove them. The hyped adrenaline droveeveryone. With incred-ible speed the mass of warriorsdescended down the valley trampling the long grass andsparse bush underneath them.

Sikonyeli ran as fast as he could, brandishing hisshield and spear. There was no time for thoughts now. Heknew he had the privilege of being one of the esteemedfront regiments, which represented the thrusting power ofthe pincer movement. His regiment must reach the enemy

before the others. Must take first blood.On either side of the village, the battalions left andright

flanks, which created the famous Zulu pincer movement,would

enclose the village cutting off any escape.Sikonyeli screamed. It was up to him and the forward

regi-ments to strike the first blow. Create maximumdamage. Hit the enemy hard before they could recoverand send them running into the jaws of the pincer. Itworked every time.

As Sikonyeli reached the top of the field enemywarriors rushed out to meet him, some armed with rifles.

Sikonyeli cleared a ditch with a bounding leap, hisregimentfollowing up behind. In front, the enemy formed into aloose formation preparing to meet them head on.

Almost in a blur he noted with disdain the forwardpuffs of smoke from rifles and vividly heard the zing ofshot whistling by as enemy snipers picked out targets.


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Men staggered and fell around him as they closed thedistance between them.

He hit the first man low. Hard in the stomach,thrusting in his broad blade spear, twisting wickedly and

then savagely wrenching it out in one fluid movement,extracting half the mans insides. Hed done it so manytimes before. It was so easy.

With a shove he pushed the doubled-up man awayand turned to meet his next aggressor. Sikonyeli raised hisshield to fend off a glancing blow from an axe which hethrust aside as he dug his spear deep into the mans chestand twisted the shaft.

A quick release and he moved forward as more of

the enemy formed up to meet them. Like marauding antshis warriors swarmed across on either side of him. Theyclosed tightly in battle, no quarter given or taken.

Sikonyeli screamed triumphantly. The taste of bloodescala-ted the adrenalin that raced through him. This iswhat he lived for. Thrived on. The height of battle. Hedidnt hate the enemy, didnt want to kill them. This is justthe way it was. A man was measured in battle.

Sikonyeli saw a gap in the enemy ranks and surged

forward urging his men to follow. With his shield hesmashed aside a spear that had been wildly thrown andran across the opening towards the first hut.

From the side of the hut an enemy warrior emerged,armed with an ugly twin-barrelled muzzle-loading rifle. Helet off one barrel as Sikonyeli got within stabbing distance.

The grapeshot pellets struck Sikonyelis shield at apronounced angle across the front, wrenching the shieldout of his grip.

The loud crack of the shot was so close it wasdeafening and dazed him. Some of the pellets penetratedthrough the shield and caught him in the collarbone andshoulder. He didnt feel the pain but was aware of theblood that flowed and the acrid stench of burnt gunpowderthat stung his nostrils.

His aggressor then fired the second barrel asSikonyeli abruptly turned and swung a massive blow withhis spear to the side of the mans head that sent himtumbling to the ground, splitting his head open.


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The force of the second barrel caught Sikonyeli full inthe stomach. He flew back, lifting off the ground and fell ina twisted heap against his brothers. He felt no pain.

Looking up he could clearly see the face of Wendiki,

gazing down at him. She was smiling, that beautiful smilethat she always reserved only for him. The noise of thebattle faded around him. Then a bright white light glowedand encompassed Wendiki in an Aura.

She was calling to him but he couldnt hear what shewas saying. He tried in vain to touch her outstretchedhand but couldnt reach it. In her hand she held a hugetooth. It had been broken in half. He could clearly see thesplit in the tooth running across the centre.

For an instant the light was blinding and then hecouldnt see her anymore. Slowly the light faded intoabstract darkness

bongeni - an african saga

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