Back to Zululand

Having explored the rest of Africa, Sihle Khumalo decided to road-trip around his own country. in this extract, he returns to Zululand, where he grew up, and at King Cetshwayo’s grave encounters a real-life royal

The men who were cutting the grass seemed to know the approaching lady because they stopped what they were doing and took off their hats and caps as a sign of respect. It turned out that she was King Solomon’s daughter, thus making her an aunt of the reigning king. Her mother, as she later explained, was MaNdwandwe, one of King Solomon’s five wives.

Before she could say anything to anyone, she spent a few minutes calling out and praising Cetshwayo and other Zulu kings.

I was duly introduced to her. She was more interested in why I had taken the time to drive all the way from Johannesburg to see the grave.

‘Well, I love history.’

We soon clicked because, as she said, ‘I love young people who – although educated – do not forget where they come from.’

After 10 minutes or so, as I was about to leave, the conversation moved to where I was headed. ‘I am on my way to Ulundi via Nkandla,’ I said.

‘Actually, I wanted to go to Eshowe to sort out a few things, but now that you are going to Nkandla, I will come with you and then will take taxis on my way back.’

It was settled. Throughout the journey, I referred to her as ‘Ndabezitha’, a general term used for any member of the royal family. She later told me, as we were still driving on the gravel road, that at one stage in her life she had worked as a bus driver for Empangeni Transport. Wow! A female member of the Zulu royal family driving a bus. What a story.

As we were approaching the T-junction and about to join the tarred road to Kranskop, out of the corner of my right eye I saw the country’s most famous compound – Zuma’s homestead, which cost the taxpayers almost a quarter of a billion rand. I could not miss the opportunity to see it at close quarters, so when we got to the tarred road, instead of turning left, we turned right.

‘I wonder if they will allow me to take pictures,’ I remarked.

My heart was pumping fast as we got closer and closer to the main gate, and a policeman approached us. Before I could even greet the policeman, Ndabezitha leant over to my side and stated our case in an authoritative voice: ‘Lomfana uthi ufuna ukuthatha izithombe. Mina ngifuna into yokuphuza kumaKhumalo.’ (This boy says he wants to take pictures. I, on the other hand, want MaKhumalo to organise something for me to drink.)

MaKhumalo is Zuma’s senior wife; she runs a tuck shop from the premises of the compound.

The policeman burst out laughing. I am sure he had never heard such a direct request, almost an instruction. I could see from his badge that his surname was Magwaza. He politely told us that no one is allowed to take pictures and that we could not enter, as no prior arrangements had been made.

Ndabezitha got out of the vehicle to chat to the policeman while I went to buy cold drinks for us. The tuck shop looked like any other tuck shop, and was selling basic stuff like sugar, cold drinks, tea, etc. The only difference was its serious security features. There was a solid wall with a solid steel lockable plate. That is where you put the money. The young man on the other side has to wait until you close the steel plate before he can open the other side, like it happens at a bank.

As I walked back towards the car, it dawned on me: I’d never heard MaKhumalo – first lady number one – speak. That notwithstanding, I was convinced that she, like most rural Zulu people, interchange ‘r’ with ‘l’. As an example, rural Zulu people would called Serena Williams, ‘Selena Wirriams’. It defies logic, but that is how we Zulus roll.

Now imagine MaKhumalo attempting to say, ‘Serena Williams has won 11 grand slams’, or even better (or worse), her attempt to read newspaper headlines: ‘Songbird Lira has malaria!’, ‘Fred fled’. That explains why (some) Zulus, just before we go to the polls, constantly talk about upcoming ‘erections’.

Excerpt from Rainbow Nation My Zulu Arse, published by Umuzi (R230).

WIN We have three copies to give away. enter online at getaway.co.za.