Twin-Twin shook his head and went off to look after his animals.
At Mhlakaza’s homestead, Twin and Qukezwa joined the multitudes that felt the earth shake and heard bulls bellowing beneath the ground. They were the pedigree bulls waiting to replace those that were to be killed.
All important visitors were introduced to the young prophetesses — Nongqawuse and Nombanda. They were treated to the sight of the girls talking to the spirits. The visitors themselves never heard the spirits, for the spirits could be heard only by the chosen ones. Twin believed that at times he heard them, although he could not say exactly what they were saying.
Nongqawuse’s confused look that marked her as a prophet became more pronounced. And in the manner of all great messengers of the spirit world she was unkempt and didn’t take any particular care of her looks. She did not even care for the red ochre that girls her age applied on their bodies to beautify themselves. She cared only about the spirits, and every day she led the multitudes to the Gxarha River to show them the wonders from the Otherworld.
A special delegation of chiefs from various parts of kwaXhosa arrived, and Twin, who was gaining more prominence in the homestead of Mhlakaza, was asked to accompany them to the mouth of the Gxarha River where Nongqawuse and Nombanda were already communing with the new people.
As the chiefs approached the river they were overwhelmed by a wonderful fear. There was an explosion and great rocks fell from the cliffs overlooking the river. Soon the whole valley was covered with mist. The air was filled with the bellowing of cattle, the neighing of horses, and the bleating of sheep and goats.
“Cast your eyes in the direction of the sea,” Nongqawuse commanded.
And in the sea the chiefs saw hundreds of cattle. Over the horizon a great crowd of people appeared and disappeared again. It did that a number of times. The chiefs pleaded with Nongqawuse to tell the new people to come closer to the shore, so that they might communicate with them.
“The new people will come only when you have killed all your cattle,” she told the chiefs. “You cannot talk with them now. Only I can talk with them.”
When Twin went back to Ngcizele he spread the news of the wonders he had seen. He even went to KwaFeni to try to persuade his brother to believe in the prophecies.
“That is nonsense,” said Twin-Twin. “You people saw what you wanted to see. Of course the sea has its creatures. The sea has whales and dolphins and water buffaloes and sea lions and sea horses. There are even sea people called water-maids. That is what you saw.”
“Let me take you there, child of my mother. Then you will see with your own eyes the wonders that I am talking about.”
“I have no time to waste, Twin. I have to look after my cattle and till the soil. You have seen how big my homestead has grown, with new children and new wives. Those spirits of yours will not feed my family.”
Twin felt sorry for his brother. He went home to slaughter two of his best oxen.
A few days later, Twin decided to go back to KwaFeni to try once more to reason with the stubborn Twin-Twin. He was surprised to see four horses, some still saddled, tethered outside his brother’s compound. Was it possible that the very child of his mother’s womb could organize a feast without informing him? A feast attended by men of substance too, judging by their fine horses.
Under an umsintsi tree, five men were engaged in serious deliberations. Twin-Twin’s eyes betrayed his surprise at seeing his brother.
“You are welcome, child of my mother, even though I did not know you would be coming,” he said.
“Since when do I need permission to visit my brother’s house?” asked Twin.
The men were eyeing him with suspicion. He stared back at them defiantly. He could identify only one of them — Sigidi. He knew him as the senior chief of those amaGcaleka clansmen who lived under the rule of the British in the conquered territory. He was resplendent as usual in his elaborate isiXhosa costume. Twin wondered who the distinguished old man was, with hair as white as the snow on the Amathole Mountains. Then there were two younger men in European clothes. The old man himself wore a mixture of European and isiXhosa attire: pants and long-boots, and an animal-skin cape over his shoulders. Twin-Twin also looked splendid in his isiXhosa tanned-hide skirt, a zebra-skin cape, and beads of different types. Twin felt small and shabby in his casual donkey blanket — known by that name because of its gray color.
“Twin, this grandfather you are staring at as if he is your age-mate is Nxito, King Sarhili’s uncle,” said Twin-Twin.
Then he pointed at the men in European clothes. “And this here is Ned, the son of General Maqoma — yes, the man who led us in the War of Mlanjeni. This well-fed one is Mjuza, the son of our great prophet Nxele. Forgive my brother, my father and brothers, he has not been himself since he started believing in false prophets.”
Twin was filled with shame for having rudely stared at the aged one. At the same time he was wondering how his brother had come to know such important people.
“I did not mean to be rude, my father and brothers,” he said timidly.
“As I was saying,” said Nxito, ignoring Twin and his apology, “our god, the great Qamata, knows how to punish those who think they can bully his people.”
They were talking about Sir George Cathcart, the victor of the War of Mlanjeni.
Ned was the next to speak. He worked at the Native Hospital as a laborer who was sometimes used as a porter and an orderly, depending on the need. He recounted to the great amusement of all how the white doctor and the superintendent at the hospital were still mourning for the governor even though it was all of two years since he had died at the hands of the Russian soldiers in the Crimean War.
Everyone remembered how the news of Cathcart’s death had spread like wildfire, sparking jubilation and impromptu celebrations throughout kwaXhosa. People got to know of the Russians for the first time. Although the British insisted that they were white people like themselves, the amaXhosa knew that it was all a lie. The Russians were a black nation. They were the spirits of amaXhosa soldiers who had died in the various wars against the British colonists. In fact, those particular Russians who killed Cathcart were the amaXhosa soldiers who had been killed by the British during the War of Mlanjeni.
“It is most likely that those Russians were commanded by my own father,” mused Twin, who had gathered enough fortitude to join the discussion even though the others seemed determined to pretend that he did not exist.
“How can Xikixa command Russian soldiers when he has no head?” asked Nxito.
Everyone agreed that perhaps that was why the British cut his head off, so that he would not be an effective ancestor.
“It was two years ago when we believed in the Russians, after they had killed Cathcart,” said Twin-Twin. “For many months we posted men on the hills to look out for the arrival of the Russian ships. But they never came.”
Chief Sigidi laughed and added, “I remember this very Mjuza, son of Nxele, telling everyone that the great prophet had not drowned escaping from Robben Island, but was leading a black army across the seas that would come and crush the British!”
“I was not the only one,” said Mjuza defensively. “Many of us believed Mlanjeni had risen from the dead and was the war doctor of the Russian forces. I believed that my father was the leader of the Russians who had returned from the dead until I went to the Gxarha myself and saw that this Nongqawuse is nothing but a fake.”
“The Russians may yet arrive,” said Twin. “Maybe not as the same Russians who killed Cathcart. Maybe as our ancestors who will rise from the dead after we have killed our cattle. They will emerge from the sea. Nongqawuse says so.”