Nokuzola Mndende on the Mandela tug of war

The family feud over the bones of the deceased children of Nelson Mandela has raised many questions about the status of African culture and indigenous spirituality.

In fact this public spat is not only an embarrassment to the Mandela family and abaThembu in general, it is also a bad reflection on the status of African culture.

Speaking about individual rights to decide where the deceased should be buried is new in African culture and is based on arrogance and male chauvinism.

In fact it is an imported version of western democracy imposed over African culture, as decisions about custom and tradition are made by the family collective.

Family in African culture does not refer to the nuclear family as portrayed by the west; by family it means all those who are unified by blood irrespective of gender.

Each member has a specific role to play so that the clan remains solid.

The language used in the debates is also crucial as no one should speak in the first person singular (“my grandfather”). Madiba is a grandfather to many, no individual owns Madiba – he is the father to Makaziwe, Zenani, Zindzi; and a grandfather to their children including those of his deceased children.

One must understand that no children born within the family should be discriminated against, whether they are born of sons or daughters.

It is during certain cultural and social responsibilities that duties are allocated according to birthright, but all those decisions are controlled by the family. If any person abuses their responsibilities, it is also the responsibility of the family to remove that person and replace them with another on whom they agree.

The drama of the exhuming of bones by an individual from Qunu to Mvezo, and re-exhuming them to move them back to Qunu, poses some spiritual problems regarding the traditions of African culture, as the belief in “bones” is a basic cornerstone of Africans’ lives.

In African culture death does not mean the destruction of life. It marks the physical separation of the individual from this physical life and the joining of their soul with the spiritual world of ancestors.

This transition of the soul from this world to another world is reflected in the metaphors used when somebody has passed on which symbolise that life is not destroyed but is somewhere.

It is said that the person:

- Uhambile: Has left.

- Usishiyile: Has left us.

- Akasekho: Is not around around us but is somewhere else.

- Uswelekile: Is scarce.

Bones of the deceased are treated with respect and are believed to represent an immortal soul. Because of their immortal nature, bones are believed to have an ability to speak (ayathetha), hear (ayeva) when someone is speaking to them and see (ayabona).

When members of the family invoke ancestors they refer to them as the bones who are able to move (ayashukuma).

Ukushukuma (literally meaning shaking, moving or vibrating) of bones means that they are responding to whatever situation needs their intervention or response.

Because of these features, it is believed that ancestors (the bones) can reward, heal, protect and punish the living.

Ancestors, which are central in African beliefs, are symbolised by the bones that are “sleeping” peacefully. Disturbing the “bones” is not allowed as that implies disturbing the soul of the deceased.

So when someone dies far from home, the family of the deceased performs a ritual of spiritually bringing them home.

Using the branches of a special tree called umphafa as a spiritual medium, the family members take their spirit home.

They speak to them over their grave and tell them the reasons for these actions.

But in extreme cases, like when the deceased wants their remains to be taken “home”, or the family want to know where the “bones” of their loved one are “sleeping”, the family exhume the bones – but this is a collective decision.

Though am not a Mandela, I am an African who practises African culture and spirituality. I think the Mandela elderly should further educate the chief, as some of his statements are not correct.

His exclusion of his uDadobawo (father’s sister – not aunt) is a mistake. He said that because she is married she must not be involved with the Mandela issues.

That is a grave mistake.

Makaziwe is an umfazi (married woman) to her husband’s family; but she is an intombi (daughter) to the Mandela family. She has specific roles to play. Makaziwe, as the only surviving child of Madiba’s first marriage, has the right to intervene when she sees something going astray.

Makaziwe, Ndaba and Mandla should complement each other as there are many things they must do as a collective.

What Mandla has said in public about his Dadobawo is disrespectful. His statement is based on arrogance, male chauvinism and denial of the truth about the status of Makaziwe, his father’s sibling.

Makaziwe is Mandla’s father, in the true sense of the word, without looking at her gender.

Mandla also said he had the right to determine where his father should be buried. Again this is far from the truth. Makgatho has a father, siblings, and children who are Mandla’s siblings.

There is no way that an individual can claim the absolute right for somebody who is shared by many.

Moreover, Ndaba needs to take the lead despite being younger than Mandla. An heir to traditional leadership in African culture depends on the status of his mother. As Ndaba’s mother was married to Makgatho, Ndaba should lead the traditions and customs of Rholihlahla’s house.

Though Mandla is older, Ndaba qualifies to be given umkhonto (a sacred spear) to kill the sacred animals during their rituals. It is therefore out of line for Mandla to unilaterally exhume the bones.

Makaziwe in fact is the one who is closely attached to those bones as they all came from the same womb.

Finally the Mandela family must go to Madiba and tell him that the bones have been returned to Qunu, and that he will be buried next to his children, so that he can go peacefully.

They must also perform a ritual to apologise to the bones that have been so disturbed, so as to avoid their wrath.

- Mndende is the founder of the Dutywa-based Icamagu Institute in the Eastern Cape and a former religious studies lecturer at the University of Cape Town

 

For everyone who prays...

Homosexuals are doomed to spend eternity in hell. If they wanted to change, they could be healed of their evil ways. If they would turn away from temptation, they could be normal again if only they would try and try harder if it doesn't work. These are all the things I said to my son Bobby when I found out he was gay. When he told me he was homosexual my world fell apart. I did everything I could to cure him of his sickness. Eight months ago my son jumped off a bridge and killed himself. I deeply regret my lack of knowledge about gay and lesbian people. I see that everything I was taught and told was bigotry and de-humanizing slander. If I had investigated beyond what I was told, if I had just listened to my son when he poured his heart out to me I would not be standing here today with you filled with regret. I believe that God was pleased with Bobby's kind and loving spirit. In God's eyes kindness and love are what it's all about. I didn't know that each time I echoed eternal damnation for gay people each time I referred to Bobby as sick and perverted and a danger to our children. His self esteem and sense of worth were being destroyed. And finally his spirit broke beyond repair. It was not God's will that Bobby climbed over the side of a freeway overpass and jumped directly into the path of an eighteen-wheel truck which killed him instantly. Bobby's death was the direct result of his parent's ignorance and fear of the word gay. He wanted to be a writer. His hopes and dreams should not have been taken from him but they were. There are children, like Bobby, sitting in your congregations. Unknown to you they will be listening as you echo "amen" and that will soon silence their prayers. Their prayers to God for understanding and acceptance and for your love but your hatred and fear and ignorance of the word gay, will silence those prayers. So, before you echo "amen" in your home and place of worship. Think. Think and remember a child is listening.- Quote from the movie Praying for Bobby

The Promised Land: 100-year-old demon

When I was born it was already 70 years since we were condemned to poverty. We were deep in the belly of the evil apartheid era. I am now 30-years-old and that makes today 100 years since the Natives Land Act was passed into law by the all white rulers of our land. We were bulldozed and robbed of our land. Today, for the first time, I read the original text of this piece of legislation. I am bitter that this system was especially meant to set us back. Dumped into a generational crisis that lasted for this long. The dawn of democracy in 1994 was a pacifier for the outspoken. It was a glimmer of hope. Those who screamed "Mayibuye" at the height of apartheid had tears of joy when we cast a vote for the ANC government. 

Twenty years down the line, our mothers, fathers still wake up at 3am to make their way from the townships to the urban areas to report for duty only at 8am at the white man's mansion. That's how our mothers and fathers earn a living two decades after the end of apartheid. Our government is dragging its feet in fixing the injustices of the past. We remain shackled in poverty, crime and all the ills of society. This Natives Land Act helped apartheid to confine us to townships. Far away from the economic activities that would see more and more black people exiled in their own country. Banished! Usizi lo mntu'mnyama! 

The ghosts of apartheid today celebrate because their legacy has lasted till this day. The disempowered black nation remains poor. The custodians of the Constitutions are too afraid to confront this hundred-year-old-demon. Who will lead us to the promised land? The one written in the Freedom Charter. The land that was taken from us. Mayibuye iAfrika. Izwe lethu! Not yet uhuru! 

People's Power: Welcoming Power FM

Today South Africa is welcoming a new player in news and current affairs industry. Power FM is certainly a rare scene in this country. Talented journalists, broadcaster, media personalities and social scientists - working together in the same newsroom? And might I add they are all black and educated. It really gives me hope that Given Mkhari's brain child give black people in particular a new image in media. 

There are few intelligent, educated, progressive black women making regular appearance in the media. Whether it's Television or Radio, the face or voice of a black woman is crying, bereaved, poverty-stricken, raped and degraded. Always a victims of circumstance. Sadly it is our reality. Stories like that easily make it to the front page of the paper, top story on TV and you will hear it on your radio drive time show. 

I just pray that Power FM will highlight the plight of our people and go as far as offering solutions. Patriotism is very scarce in South African journalism. Everyone wants to be first with the story. And when I say patriotism I am not talking hiding the dirty laundry. Journalists must be community builders and not just prey on the misfortune of the disadvantaged South Africans. 

Today however, we celebrate the fruits of our Constitution through the birth of Power FM. South Africa can only benefit from more independent media. To Given Mkhari and the whole Power FM team, may God of your Ancestors give your strength, wisdom and success. Power to the people.

The Stench of death

Maybe we must start buying each other tombstones as Christmas gifts or even on Birthdays just so we all get to understand that we will some day leave this world. Death of our loved ones traumatise us forever. Sometimes even those who left us long go still have a massive impact on the lives we live today. The Holocaust, Sharpeville Massacre, the Iraqi War, the famine that plagued Ethoipia and Somalia. They changed the coure of many lives. We still commemorate the Rwanda genocide. Death has an enormous impact on all of us. It is still difficult to see it as part of life I'm sure not just for me, but for many others too. 

The passing of TV personality Vuyo Mbuli, was a serious wake up call for me. It was more of a text message from the universe. I had forgotten that we are not immortal. I had abandoned my mission to make a difference, to make a mark and embrace good old life. I was absorbed in the petty matters of the heart. Every spare second I had was spent on moping around, making excuses and feeling sorry for myself. I was blind to see the opportunities that Were just a stone-throw away. Days would go by without accomplishing a thing. Not even put a smile on someone else. I wanted great things that I did not work for. If ever I was caught solving problems, they wouldn't be my own. No peace of mind. 

I look at my elderly parents with a different eye now. I acknowledge that they will not be here with us forever. But that doesn't drive me into a depression state. It just helps me appreciate them more. Death has ironically become a life's lesson. 

My Tribute to Vuyo Mbuli (14 May 1967 to 18 May 2013)

Today we woke up of news that renowned broadcaster, Vuyo Mbuli died of a heart attack while watching a rugby match in Bloemfontein. To me, it was like I just lost a family member. His larger than life personality was on my TV screen every morning. It became a daily ritual to hear him deliver news before we go to school. Then I grew up, it became every morning before I go to work. Vuyo Mbuli, delivering news in the most unconventional way. There are those who were lucky enough to have had Vuyo say "O bosso wena" to them. This was an accolade to any extraordinary South African interviewed by Vuyo Mbuli. 

Anybody  who didn't know President Jacob Zuma's middle name Gedleyihlekisa, now knows because Vuyo always made it his mission to name him in full in all his bulletins. He did the same for Thabo Mvuyelwa Mbeki. It can be said that the 46-year-old TV personality was patriotic and took pride being a South African journalist, telling stories in ways that South Africans would find easy to consume. 

I did not know Vuyo personally, but when I worked at the SABC, still fresh from training to become a Sangoma. He saw me in my attire and beads, he made feel even more at home. Greeted me with respect and commended me for heeding a call that not so many in the "corporate world" would be proud to display. I thanked him with tears in my eyes. From that day when I met him on the SABC coridors we would greet and have small talk. He was a people's person. The security personnel at the SABC loved him. He would be late for make-up, held up downstaris chatting about soccer over the weekend. He could converse with anyone and would attempt speaking any South African language.

He loved saying Mintiro ya vulavula, that's Xitsonga for actions speak louder than words. His actions will be a legacy left for all of us to reflect and choose our own course. Some of his actions reported in the media were not pleasing. He made mistakes like all of us. Although the media would not tell us if he made up for his errors. The little I know is that he remained a committed father to his children. A few days ago I retweeted his tweet saying he was watching his child play soccer. A moment he clearly enjoyed. 

Vuyo Mbuli, rest in peace my brother. South Africa is poorer without you. 

Same story different angle

"You are a sangoma, gay, black and outspoken. That's reason enough for you to write a book chomie". That's one quote I heard from six different people in my big circle of good friends. I always LOL or just dismiss the idea. Being black was something out of hands, I had nothing to do with it. Although we all know that in this country, the colour ofmone's skin does help people make connclusions about what you could be all about. I make racial jokes all the time with my colleagues and friends. I think for me it's a way of recovering from the trauma. Letting go of being bitter and becoming a better human being. Like many black countrymen, I bear the scars of being called a kaffir and made to feel undeserving of my achievements by white schoolmates. Fought my battles and won them. Being black and gay meant that I had to work harder than black straight boys. Most of them were submissive to the white boys club and even spoke Afrikaans to please them. I was defiant. I am almost 30 years old now. I have a deent job and well educated. But I still find myself dealing with prejudice veiled with a fake smile. Prejudice on many different levels. When I went tomrenew my gym contract, the sales consultant asked me if my wife wouldn't be keen on joining me to gym. A wedding band on your left finger registers you as a straight man, married with children. The trouble of explaining that I am married to another man irritates more than it pains me. We have too many problems in this country. 

The stench of poverty lingers everywhere you go. And so I remind myself that last thing on people's minds is whether I am gay or not. The very same poverty, comes from the same place as the prejudice we experience almost on a daily basis. Our men are imasculated by poverty and exclusion from the economy that benefits only a few. And because heterosexism is our way of life, men are expected to fend for the women and children. Sucessful women are prejudiced. Almost taboo. I concluded that poverty breeds chauvinism and is also a roadblock for a new way of thinking. So, when heterosexism reigns in our community, do you still find it shocking that a lesbian woman is raped, mutilated and murdered? She does not fit in with what is expected of us all by society norms.

 When I heeded the call to become a Sangoma, I often found myself at crossroads. Many times, I would have to choose between becoming an activist first or a healer first. But I always remember that Samgomas have to play the role of a community builder. Despite being demonised by Christian doctrine, African traditional healing has millions and millions of subscibers. When a family discovers that they cannot bear children. The usual first port of call for divine intervention would be with a Sangoma. It pains me how women would always take the blame for not being able bear children. Perhaps that is how patriarchy programmed us all. The man being "the head ofnthe family" women often plead woth me not to tell their husbands they consulted without them. Women are delegated to the kitchen and to mind children. Even when it is know that women are often emotionally matured. There are credentials far more than maturity that should be reason enough for women to lead. My spirituality has been the referee in all my battles with tradition and custom that bother me. Culture has to evolve. But I bargain with the grandmothers. My ancestors.