“I wonder why Nongqawuse is so keen that you return to Qolorha, when it is her Believers who drove you away in the first place,” said Ned.
No one seemed to have an answer. Could it be that the prophetesses feared the wrath of the ancestors should the aged Nxito die in exile, far away from the graves of his fathers?
“Perhaps they are afraid that when Nxito’s ancestors arise from the dead they will not be happy to see that their son has been exiled,” said Mjuza sarcastically.
“What does the elder think?” asked Ned. “Perhaps things will depend on what Chief Nxito himself wants to do. We’ll take your message to the magistrate. I am sure he will want to know what your own view is.”
“I am sure the old man is longing for his home,” added Mjuza.
“I think that if the old man returns on the orders of these young girls then he’ll be giving them more power,” said Twin-Twin. “People will believe in them even more.”
While Twin-Twin was grappling with the grave issues of happiness and the demands of girl-prophets, Twin and Qukezwa were sitting on top of a hill watching for the approach of Russian ships. They no longer sat on the banks of the river or on the beach, but now preferred the hill since it gave them a good vantage position. From here they would wait until the new people came riding on the waves, or until the long-promised Russian fleet sailed to the shores of Qolorha to destroy The Man Who Named Ten Rivers and his white settlers.
Heitsi was digging out roots a short distance away. The days of glorious feasting were over. The euphoria that soaked the land after the defeat of HMS Geyser had long since bubbled itself out, and people were faced with the stark reality of starvation. Twin and Qukezwa were now dependent on wild roots. Even these were hard to find, since starving hordes of Believers had long invaded the veld and the hills to dig them out. Old people, children, the weak, and the infirm were fainting from hunger. At least one person, the son of a believing diviner, was known to have died from the famine.
Yet Twin and Qukezwa’s belief was not weakening. They refused to cultivate their fields. Like everyone else, they were hungry. To ease the pain of hunger they tightened leather belts around their stomachs. On days when they could not find any roots, they survived on the bark of mimosa trees. They even had to eat shellfish, which was not regarded as food at all by the amaXhosa. Yet the hope that the prophecies would ultimately be fulfilled burned even brighter in their hearts.
They replenished their belief by going down to Mhlakaza’s hut at the Gxarha River. Often they found Believers there whose belief was gradually fading, pestering the prophets and demanding that they be saved from a looming death.
“Go and adorn yourselves!” Nongqawuse told them. “There is no time for weeping! There is time only to celebrate the coming of the new people!”
Once more the people were invigorated. They dressed up in their red ochre costumes and beaded ornaments. Tottering old women were resplendent in new isikhakha skirts and in brass jewelry, hoping that with the rising of the dead they would have their youth restored to them. Twin and Qukezwa were torn between the austere teachings of Nonkosi, which demanded that Believers should eschew all forms of beautification, and Nongqawuse’s instructions. On some days they followed Nonkosi and on others Nongqawuse.
But hunger was no respecter of beauty. It attacked even the best dressed of people. The Believers appealed to the believing chiefs to be rescued from its pangs. The chiefs in turn appealed to King Sarhili. After all, he had taken the responsibility of the cattle-killing upon himself. Even Chief Maqoma, the general who had brilliantly led the amaXhosa forces against the British in the War of Mlanjeni, was sending persistent messages to Sarhili. Maqoma was a leading Believer, and had now taken over from his brother as the chief of the amaNgqika clan. He had led his clan into a frenzy of cattle-killing, and into famine. King Sarhili in turn appealed to Mhlakaza and his teenage prophetesses. He tried to force them to come up with a new date for the fulfillment of the prophecies.
“There is nothing I can do,” said Mhlakaza. “Nongqawuse and Nombanda have spoken. They say that the dead will not arise as long as Chief Nxito remains in exile. The chief must first return to his chiefdom near the Gxarha. Only then will the new day be known.”
Twin-Twin was adamant that old Nxito should not go back to his native place on the instructions of the girls. He was angry because, in spite of the protection that had been guaranteed by the British magistrate and his crony, Dalton, Believers had entered his homestead and had stolen grain from his silos and milk from his two cows. There was also talk that they were looking for his cattle, which were hidden in cattle-posts in the Amathole Mountains under the care of his many sons. Twin-Twin suspected the hand of his twin brother in all this. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Twin was interested only in the rising of the dead. He had no wish to steal anyone’s food. He was fulfilled in his hunger. All he wanted to do was to sit in a dazed state with his Qukezwa and Heitsi, and await the Russian ships and the coming of the forebears riding on the waves.
Twin-Twin was now rekindling his old lust for the prophetesses, particularly for Nongqawuse. He was spreading the news throughout Qolorha that copulation was the only medicine that would drive out the wild prophecies from her head. But of course this remained only talk. He would never dare get near Mhlakaza’s homestead to seduce or rape the prophetess, even with his phalanx of bodyguards.
Pressure was mounting on Chief Nxito, and finally in November 1856 he yielded and rode back to Qolorha in the company of Twin-Twin and a number of his unbelieving followers. His son, Pama, handed back the chieftainship to him without any argument. After all, it was the wish of the prophetesses that the old man should rule.
The first thing he did, on the very first day of his arrival, was to go to Mhlakaza’s homestead. He wanted to talk with Nongqawuse personally. But she seemed disorientated and confused, in the manner of all great prophets. It was left to Mhlakaza and Nombanda to speak for her.
“Nongqawuse says that the new people—” began Mhlakaza.
“The new people?” asked Nxito.
“The ancestors who will rise from the dead,” explained Nombanda.
“Nongqawuse says that the new people no longer wish to speak through a commoner like myself,” Mhlakaza continued. “They want to speak through you, Chief Nxito. That is why the prophetesses insisted that you come back to your chiefdom. The new people have chosen you, a senior chief of kwaXhosa, to be their spokesman.”
“How is that possible?” asked Nxito.
“Nongqawuse says the new people—”
“Nongqawuse says? But she did not say anything,” shouted Twin-Twin. “We didn’t hear her say anything. She just sits there staring at nothing and you keep on lying that Nongqawuse says, Nongqawuse says. .”
Nxito’s entourage mumbled its agreement, while the Believers expressed their indignation at such blasphemy. Some said it was a pity that Twin was no longer interested in the affairs of the state. He no longer attended imbhizos but sat all day long on the hill. If he were here he would have taught his stubborn brother a thing or two about respecting those who had been chosen by the ancestors to be their messengers.
“Nongqawuse says soon the new people will present themselves to Chief Nxito,” continued Mhlakaza, ignoring Twin-Twin’s comment. “And when that happens he must call an imbhizo of all commoners and chiefs of kwaXhosa. The multitudes must gather to await the return of the ancestors.”
Chief Nxito and his entourage laughed all the way back to his Great Place. What did Mhlakaza take them for? Did he think they were fools?