Whilst boredom is often associated with other traits becoming of feckless teenagers such as lethargy, anxiety and a perception that one’s life is really rather dull; others cite the hallmarks of boredom as being cynical, pessimistic and prone to drinking heavily at supper and then going on a tear, frightening the dinner guests with a revved up go at Boris Johnson and his limp-wristed lackeys. It is interesting though, that in many of the Nguni languages – the click and coo of dialects found across southern Africa such as Xhosa and Zulu – boredom and loneliness are one and the same word. Netflix have yet to penetrate much of the region, so that might change in time, but it certainly stirs the pot when thinking about how to set up the family home. Fill it up. Grandparents too, providing they don’t hog your WiFi.
The Nguni languages are spoken, as you might guess, by the Nguni people and are closely related. It is thought the term could be a little generic though, as it sort of assumes those speaking Xhosa, Zulu, Swati, Lala, Nhlangwini and others were all part of a big group of people, but clearly is in danger of missing some of the more subtle differences found across tribes and clans and not fully iron out the creases of history. That said, the term is widely used.
The Zulu were the major players in what is today the top bit of KwaZulu-Natal, a region known – courtesy of the local marketing board – as the ‘garden province’; with a generous shoreline of Indian Ocean and a couple of UNESCO World Heritage sites to tempt the hard currency of the back-packing tourist. It is also the birthplace of the Albert Luthuli who was President of the ANC in the 1950s and the first high achiever from outside Europe and North America to be handed the Nobel Peace prize, for his non-violent efforts in agitating against the morally sour, apartheid regime. Indeed the region is heaving with luminaries of the ANC, from the founder Pixley ka Isaka Seme – South Africa’s first black lawyer and old boy of both Columbia and Oxford University; to John Langalibalele Dube, the party’s first President, and a man whose splendid mustache would hold it’s own in comparison with any of history’s big men. Dube, also, did much to establish Zulu literature and was known for his rich and verdent letters. Whilst not the first published Zulu author, that being – as you well know – one Magema Fuze, whose history of the Zulus, hit the shelves of Foyle’s in 1922, he did write a lot. He was even awarded an honory doctorate of philosophy for his thought provoking essay Umuntu Isita Sake Lwake, or A man is his own worst enemy. Something Nic Cotton, who contributed so much to the dramatic storylines of EastEnders for many years, knows only too well. Dube went on to launch the first English/Zulu newspaper with his wife, a publication that still rolls of the printing presses to this day.
The Zulu really came together in the early 1800s though, when the tribes were corralled together under the leadership of King Shaka, a formidable warrior who – despite being spurned as an illegitimate son by the sexually up-for-it Chief Senzangakhona – found his wicket under the leadership of Dingiswayo, a wise old chief who knew the value of both the spear and the coffee pot. Diplomacy came naturally. Via far reaching reforms, Shaka was able to whip the Zulu together to form a formidable force of spears, colourful garb and wide eyes. More than enough to give any would be attackers second thoughts. Shaka, like his mentor, also knew the value of the quiet word in building alliances with neighbours and would often look to build on what was already there, rather than opt for the more popular ruse of the power hungry, of simply starting anew. That said, he wasn’t shy of lobbing the odd spear.
Despite his occasional turn of diplomacy, Shaka’s rule coincided with a particularly bloody period of local history known as the Mfecane/Difaqane; a period of viscious fighting, looting, forced dispersal and all out chaos. Unsurprisingly, it saw many flee the region holding only a bag of fresh undies. As ever when change is afoot and some outsider comes in and tells you that your field is no longer your field – nor for that matter, your cow – there was widespread resistance. Blood was spilt. Historians mutter that between 1815 and 1840 anything up to two million people ended up slumped on a spear.
The same historians also suggest that this period of turmoil was a result of the Portuguese shipping in cart loads of maize from the Americas. Maize was more productive than the local grasses and so the population grew and with it the number of Shaka’s foot solders. Hence he was able to do a bit of consolidating. Having conolidated a lot of the productive land and water resources, what may have kicked things off was the recurring spark of revolution, not enough food. Courtesy of a ten-year drought at the start of the 19th Century, there was a little more competition for both arable land and water. The Portuguese also didn’t help matters by doing a thick trade in ivory to ship back to the sitting rooms of Lisbon, which exacerbated the inequality of the region. The ‘have-nots’, hungry and with nothing much to lose, were increasingly up for it.
So instrumental was Sharka in the shaping of the Zulu people, his legacy is still the topic of hot discussion around the chaise longues and bean bags of history-leaning academics. His legacy is either one of a pathological, power-hungry, monster; or an inspirational figure who led his people with unflinching resolve and expansive vision. That he was responsible for a lot of death, is not disputed, but then many icon of history had blood on their hands. It comes down to what lens individuals choose to look at history, for facts can be sliced and diced in many different ways.
Shaka would sadly later suffer the fate of many a man of power, in that he was taken out. Assassinated. And assassinated in the very French way, by his own brothers
Hepburnsays 