THE KING AND I

 

My daily exercise regimen consists of a couple of hours of brisk walk in the evenings. Most days I walk alone along the rural by-lanes of semi-urban Adichira, near Kottayam. This is also the time for reflection and reminiscence. Often I ruminate on my time and life in Africa.

I left for Zambia with my family in 1979. As the Zambian economy went from bad to worse, my wife and I managed to get jobs in South Africa and moved there in 1984. We were both posted to Dimani Secondary School in Thohoyandou, the capital of the ‘Republic of Venda’.

A brief outline of South African history might be useful to a better understanding of what follows. Before the arrival of white man, Africans lived in tribal groups under different kings. In Southern Africa there lived tribes such as Zulu, Venda, Khosa, Shangaan, Kwa Ndebele etc. Each major tribe was ruled by a king with the help of chiefs who lorded over the clans under them. Fights and wars were common between tribes. The conquering tribe would kill all the men and take away the women and children and make them wives and slaves.

Zulu king Goodwill Zwelithini kaBhekuzulu

In 1652, Jan Van Riebeeck, an employ of Dutch East India Company, came to Cape Town and established a settlement there. On realising that the country was good for farming, more people migrated from Europe. In the course of the next 200 years the whites managed to grab the more fertile lands of the region using their monopoly of guns and exploiting the jealousy and rivalry among tribal kings.

With the country under their control, the white rulers brought in the idea of ‘separate development’ known as apartheid. The local blacks were forcefully herded, according to tribal affiliation, into large tribal enclaves called homelands that were arid and fit only for cattle farming. Later, some of these homelands were declared ‘independent countries’ and others ‘self-governing territories’. Thus, there came into existence four ‘independent’ countries, Venda, Ciskei, Transkei and Bophuthatswana, all recognised as ‘Republics’ by South Africa and Rhodesia (current Zimbabwe), but none else in the rest of the world. All these ‘countries’ had their own Presidents, ministers, parliaments, passports, postal stamps etc.

Venda snake dance

The President of the ‘Republic of Venda’ was Patrick Ramaano Mphephu, formerly the king and Paramount Chief (Chief of chiefs) of the Venda tribe. His official residence, the parliament, and the various ministries were all a stone throw away from where we lived in Thohoyandou. However, he normally stayed in a large housing complex about 30km away in Makhado which was the capital of his original ‘kingdom’.

President Patrick Ramaano Mphephu of Venda

A few houses further down the road, there lived an eccentric old man, Mr Maniatshe, with whom I became quite friendly. A very intelligent man, he was a friend of the President. His small yard was full of banana plants. From morning till night he would be transplanting banana saplings into any space available. So much so, his yard looked like a banana forest! Six months after I started living there, Maniatshe came to my house early one morning. He told me that the tradition of the tribe dictated that all new comers to the area should visit the President (in effect their king) with some suitable gifts. This had two purposes: one, to pay your respects and acknowledge him as your king and two, to request his protection.

Maniatshe managed to get an appointment for us with the king. So, early one morning, I packed my family into our brand new Toyota Corolla and took Maniatshe along to show us the way. In the boot I loaded a crate of 24 ‘Long Toms’, Mphephu’s favourite brand of beer. Maniatshe brought along a dozen or so banana saplings from his garden. The road in those days was full of boulders, the size of my head, and my heart sank as I drove over the 30 km stretch of gravel road to the President’s residential complex. It consisted of a large number of rondavals (round huts) where servants, dependents, relatives and wives of the president (there were 29 at that time) lived. According to Maniatshe, every night the President would go round the complex with a big cane. If he heard couples quarrelling he would just enter and physically beat the husband and wife with his big cane until they promised to behave.

Rondavals

The President received us in his simply furnished drawing room. He sat behind a plain wooden table on an equally plain wooden chair. After the preliminary greetings, the two old men started talking in the local language. Then the President turned to us and asked about our well-being, whether we were happy here etc. He was delighted with our gifts. After an hour of talk, I expressed my desire to leave since I had noticed a large crowd waiting outside to see the President. He asked us to spend more time with him, since ‘these people are all here to trouble me with their silly problems’. He told his senior wife Doris to bring some tea for us. After spending another hour with him, we took leave. Before we left, the President gave me his personal telephone number and told me to call him directly if anybody ever troubled us. Maniatshe later told me as we drove back that the news about our visit would be all over the small country within the next 48 hours and no one would dare touch us – if one even tried, he would be found dead at the bottom of the nearby ravine! No questions asked!

As we came out of his room, I saw the ministers of Education and Internal Affairs outside patiently waiting their turn. Tradition dictated that people entered his room on their knees and when coming out they walked backwards, since no one was to show his or her backside to him.

My daughter had during the past 6 months become conversant in the local language, Tshivenda. She later summarised for me what the President told Maniatshe. He had told him that he was so happy that this ‘Indian family’ had been the first to come and see him to pay their respects and to ask for his protection.

Mphephu’s death was tragic. He was poisoned by one of his close confidants. Though rushed to Pretoria for treatment, Patrick Ramaano Mphephu, the President-for-life of Venda, died on April 17, 1988 at the relatively young age of 63.

There was a public funeral service attended by all the dignitaries and most of the people of the tiny country. The actual burial was done secretly, attended by a handful of his closest. It is customary for the Venda people to bury their dead with blankets, rice and other necessities so as not to suffer cold and hunger in the next life. Rumour that went around at that time spoke of an additional custom in the case of the king: a man had to be buried alive with him to be his servant in the next life; hence the secrecy.

May the two rest in peace!!

[Published in the July 2011 issue of Snehasandesham]