Hill of fools, p.1
Hill of Fools, page 1
About Apollo Africa
The original Heinemann African Writers Series was launched in 1962 with the publication of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, Cyprian Ekwensi’s Burning Grass and Kenneth Kaunda’s Zambia Shall Be Free, with Achebe himself acting as an editorial advisor. Over the next 40 years, the series continued to publish the best writing from across the African continent.
One of the founding aims of the Heinemann series was to make books by African writers available to as wide a readership as possible. Apollo Africa – a collaboration between Black Star Books and Head of Zeus – is proud to continue this work, ensuring novels, essays, poetry and plays from the original series are once again made available to readers all over the world.
HILL OF FOOLS
R.L. Peteni
Black Star Books and Head of Zeus would like to thank the following organisations: The Miles Morland Foundation, The Ford Foundation, and Africa No Filter. This publication was made possible through their support.
First published in the Heinemann African Writers Series in 1976 by Heinemann Educational Publishers
This edition published in 2024 by Black Star Books and Head of Zeus, part of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Copyright © R.L. Peteni, 1976
The moral right of R.L. Peteni to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This reprint is published by arrangement with Pearson Education Limited.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (PB): 9781035900824
ISBN (E): 9781803288468
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chief Characters
Glossary
Place Names
Chapter I: The Village Beauty
Chapter II: The Consequence
Chapter III: At Home
Chapter IV: Ntombi
Chapter V: Ntabeni at Church
Chapter VI: Zuziwe and Bhuqa
Chapter VII: Love Potion
Chapter VIII: Ntabeni Hits Back
Chapter IX: The Blowing Horn
Chapter X: Faction Fight
Chapter XI: Funeral
Chapter XII: Court Sequel
Chapter XIII: The Rivals
Chapter XIV: Family Council
Chapter XV: Unborn Baby
Chapter XVI: Funeral Again
About the Author
An Invitation from the Publisher
Chief Characters
(Clan names are in brackets)
In Kwazidenge, the Hlubi village
Mvangeli Langa (Bhele)
Mrs Mamiya Langa
Duma, one of their sons
Zuziwe, their daughter
Vukubi Langa, Mvangeli’s brother
Katana, his son
Khubalo (Bhele)
Dakada (Ndlovu)
Mrs Mamtolo Dakada
Ntombi, their daughter
Zisani, their son
Ntabeni Mlilo (Thole), the Ndlovus’ nephew
Zanele, his sister
Makhwenkwe, his nephew
Mlenzana Nqaba
Diliza Mququ
Makaziwe Godlwana: girl of the village
Nomi Nqwelo: girl of the village
Nompongo Sophunga: girl of the village
Mulungisi Nkabi
Ngalweni Nkonde: warrior boy of the village
Matshanda: warrior boy of the village
Khanda: warrior boy of the village
In the Thembu village
Bhuqa Ngoma
Notizi, his sister
Zuziwe’s uncle (Nkala) and aunt
Tozi: girl of the village
Nozikade: girl of the village
Gabulamehlo, sanuse
Mathambo, his assistant
Dr Sango, medical doctor
In these communities, first cousins would often be called brother and sister, and paternal uncles and aunts called mother and father.
Glossary
Xhosa Word English Equivalent
Amasi Sour milk
Bafondini Men (vocative case)
Bawo Father
Bawokazi Father’s younger brother
Bhoma Initiates’ grass hut
Bhuti/Bhut’ Elder brother
Ewe Yes
Hayi No
Isinga Cluster of mimosa trees
Khankatha Guardian-instructor
Kwedini Boy (vocative case)
Lobola Dowry (paid by the young man)
MaBhele People of the Bhele clan
Madoda Men
Makwedini Boys (vocative case)
Malume Maternal uncle
Mama Mother
Mbhayizelo Form of dance with grunting noise
Mfazi Woman
Mhlekazi Your worship
Mkhuluwa Elder brother
Molo Greetings (to one person)
Molweni Greetings (to many people)
Mnquma Olive tree
Msenge Cabbage-wood tree
Msimbithi Cape ebony wood
Mthathi Sneezewood tree
Mvangeli Evangelist
Mvubo Mixture of ground boiled corn and amasi
Myeke Let him be
Mzala Cousin
Ndiyeke Unhand me
Nkosikazi Woman or wife
Ntanga An equal in age
Ntombi yam My daughter/my girl
Nyana Son
Sana Baby
Sanuse Witchdoctor/diviner
Satanandini You Satan
Sies (Afrikaans) Expression of disgust
Sinquma Cluster of olive trees
Siphingo Thorn bush with edible black berries
Sisi/Sis’ Elder sister
Sithandwa Loved one
Tata Father
Thula Be quiet
Tolofiya Prickly-pear
Udlalani Playboy
Place Names
Bhukazana Hogsback
Mthwaku St Matthews
Nkonkobe Winterberg
Qoboqobo Keiskamahoek
Qonce King William’s Town
Xesi Keiskama (river)
I
The Village Beauty
Mvangeli Langa’s youngest child, Zuziwe, was a very beautiful girl. She was the undeclared beauty queen of the Hlubi village of Kwazidenge, which lay snugly at the foot of the Hill of Fools, five miles south-west of Qoboqobo town in the Eastern Cape. She was the only daughter in a family of five children; and, being the child of Mr and Mrs Langa’s old age, she was rather spoilt. Her parents had grown into the habit of protecting her from her rough brothers; and they continued to protect her even when she was no longer a child. Zuziwe enjoyed her privileged position. Some of her elder brothers had married when she was still too young to do housework, and had brought their wives to live with them at their parents’ home, for this was the way of all families living at Kwazidenge village. The young wives had fallen into the habit of doing all the housework, leaving nothing for their young sister-in-law to do. Zuziwe on her part was fond of washing and preening herself and admiring her lovely face and shapely curves in the large bedroom mirror.
The only task Zuziwe chose for herself was the afternoon walk to the spring nearby, or to the river a mile away, to fetch water for household use. She liked this task because there was an element of adventure in it, and she loved excitement and adventure with all her heart. Once, when she was still a very young girl, a mere child, her brothers had dared her to go to the spring alone to fetch water in her little tin. They had told her of slimy snakes and wild beasts and ugly dwarfs which she would meet on the way. The little girl had accepted the challenge. She had gone alone to the spring, although with set face and bulging eyes. She had returned with only half a tin of water. The other half had spilt over and soaked her frock because she could not balance the tin properly on her head. She had looked to the left and the right and the back, for fear of snakes and beasts and dwarfs.
Zuziwe had now outgrown her fear of dwarfs and other horrors, but not her love of adventure. She was still queen of the Langa home and was more beautiful than any other girl in Kwazidenge. Her beauty made her unpopular with other girls of her age. The older men of the village were outspoken in praise of her beauty, and the younger men could not hide their interest in her. This made the other girls hate her. They agreed among themselves that she was a loose girl, that she deliberately tried to steal their lovers and that a slight push from a man was enough to make her lie on her back. Zuziwe grew increasingly lonely and friendless as she grew older. She went quite often to the river to fetch water, sometimes in the company of her brothers’ wives, sometimes alone. There were no snakes, no beasts, no dwarfs to fear; but there were often mischievous boys to lend excitement and adventure to the walk. Her parents often warned her against walking alone to the river. They told her that some boys were bad and that they would assault her one day. Zuziwe remembered that her brothers had tried to frighten her when she was younger, and that she had refused to be frightened. She had proved to herself and to them that she was not a coward. So, she did not listen to her parents’ warning. On the contrary, it stirred up the spirit of adventure in her. She was determined to show that she, who feared neither snake nor beast nor dwarf, was not afraid of a mere boy.
Zuziwe left her home later than usual one day to go to the river. As she was walking slowly down the footpath, she was joined by Diliza of tolofiya section of Kwazidenge.
‘Molo, Zuziwe. May I accompany you?’
‘Molo, Diliza. You may if you like. But I’m not afraid. I need no escort.’ The girl spoke in a voice as sweet as a bird’s voice, and with a smile so bright that it brought a rush of blood to the young man’s head.
‘You do need an escort, Zuziwe. The river is not safe. Thembu boys sometimes cross over to our side.’
‘What is it to me if they cross over? There’s nothing they can rob me of. They wouldn’t take my bucket from me. Empty or full, they have no use for it.’
‘You’re talking nonsense, Zuziwe. You know very well that a Thembu boy has no right to set foot on Hlubi soil.’
‘Why?’ asked Zuziwe.
‘What do you mean “why”? He has no right to do so, that’s all. And you ought to know that and teach it to your children as it must have been taught to you, though you seem to have forgotten it.’
‘I’d rather have no children than teach them such nonsense. I have relatives and friends living in the Thembu village. My malume, my own mother’s brother, lives there. My malume’s children are among those you describe as bad boys. Yet I know they are good boys, as good as any you will find in the Hlubi village. They always treat me like a sister when I visit them. Some of the Thembu girls are my friends and they have brothers who are friendly to me. Why should I hate people who have never hurt me? Why should you, Diliza, hate and wish to hurt people who have never hurt you?’
‘I hate them because I must. I was brought up to hate them. I know that a Thembu boy must be attacked and hit very hard and be killed. Don’t ask me why I must kill them. Ask the sun and the moon and the stars. Ask the rain and the wind. Ask the mountains, the valleys and the rivers; the trees, the grass and the flowers. Ask the insects and the beasts and the birds. Don’t ask me. Ask the maker of these things and the maker of me. If you ask me why I must kill the Thembus, you may as well ask the wind why it blows dust into my eyes, or the sun why it dries up the streams, or the bee why it stings me and the snake why it bites me. I can no more suppress my urge to kill than the other creatures which God created. If I didn’t believe that a Thembu boy must be destroyed, I would not be a true Hlubi boy. There would be something wrong with me, as there must be something wrong with a Hlubi girl who does not feel as we boys feel in this matter. Or are you saying all this because you have smiled on one of these Thembu boys?’
Zuziwe did not answer. She was disgusted with Diliza for his mad love of violence. She walked on, hoping that he would go back to the Hill of Fools with his madness and that she could walk to the river alone, there to have her pleasant thoughts and her quietness and peace of mind restored to her by the soothing voice of the river and its cool healing waters. But Diliza did not leave her in peace. He walked up to her. Zuziwe stopped and looked at him with fear in her eyes, for she knew he was a wild bull, a coarse, rough beast, rough even on girls. He took her hand and held it firmly and looked her in the eyes.
‘Are you in love with a Thembu boy, Zuziwe?’ he asked.
‘Thix’ onofefe! Merciful God! Are you my husband or my lover that you ask me such a question? I know you have often asked for my love, but I don’t remember giving it to you. What right have you, then, to ask me about my love affairs, and what business of yours is it anyway?’
‘Don’t speak to me like that, you rubbish, or I’ll hit you on that filthy mouth of yours.’
‘You’ve been praised too much for your bravery. It has spoilt you, I see. Now you want to hit a girl. That’s no bravery. That’s cowardice, let me tell you. Go on then. Hit me so that you may go about boasting about it. But you’ll regret it. I have brothers who are not afraid of you.’
‘Brothers! Nonsense! I can make any of your brothers eat mud. I’m not afraid of them. But I’ll spare you because of Katana, though I’m sorry that my best friend should have such a slut for a sister.’
Diliza released Zuziwe’s hand and pushed her so violently that she nearly fell. He shut his ears to her angry words and went back to the village. Zuziwe sat on a stone on one side of the narrow, winding path and burst into tears of anger. Then she remembered that her tears would not improve her appearance. She forced them back and dried her eyes with the towelling cloth wrapped round her head. Diliza was not the only boy in the village. She was likely to meet others not so rude. Her looks, after all, were very important to her. It was well known that boys were wild in their ways. So why should she be upset by the rudeness of the wildest of these boys?
The Xesi river is not an important river as far as rivers go. But to the villagers of Kwazidenge it is as important as the Nile to Egyptians, the Thames to Englishmen, the Vaal to South Africans. It rises in the Mathole mountains, twists and turns round mountains and hills, cuts through the coastal belt, and joins the Indian Ocean a few miles west of East London. It never runs dry, even in winter when rains are scarce. One of its most important tributaries is the Zingcuka river, which is fed by numerous, silver-white mountain streams. But the main source of the Zingcuka is a lake of crystal-clear water on the summit of the Bhukazana mountain. This lake is fed by water from the interior of the earth and, according to legend, is the home of a mysterious water snake which feeds on dirty objects in the lake and helps to keep the water clean. For this reason the waters of the Zingcuka river are always clear, even in summer when it overflows its banks.
But not the waters of the Xesi river. When the heavy rains come, the Xesi river becomes an agent of death, with its waters the colour of blood, the blood of overpopulated, impoverished, dismal villages. The life-giving soil is washed from the grain lands by rushing torrents which follow in the wake of severe droughts and furious hailstorms, giving the river the dark colour of blood. The river swells into a raging torrent and becomes a monster which destroys people, animals and crops along the river valley. But the normal function of the river is to give life to both the Thembu village and the Hlubi village impartially. The frowning, unscaleable cliffs on its banks are shared by both sides equally, or almost equally. On the Hlubi side there are tall trees under which herds of cattle lie after they have drunk their fill of water in the river. Lower down, on the Thembu side, the river spreads out into a natural swimming pool, with a shallow end for younger children and a deep end with a large flat stone at the water’s edge, from which good swimmers jump into the water. A short distance away from this natural swimming pool there is a stretch of open ground that is always covered with green grass. This spot is the favourite meeting-place of the girls and boys of the Thembu village. Here they hold the Sunday afternoon song and dance meeting known as mbhayizelo. Here they play their favourite sport, the stick-fight, on Christmas day or New Year’s Day or a wedding day. Here they meet to arrange their seasonal entertainment programmes.
The ford which enables the Thembus and the Hlubis to cross the river is at this spot, just above the swimming pool. Long ago, some enterprising, public-spirited villagers brought large stones which they arranged as stepping stones for crossing the river and facilitating communication between the two villages. They set the stones firmly in the bed of the river, and here they remain, year after year, ensuring the safety of all who cross the river. But not even the oldest of the villagers is old enough to know who rendered this service to the two communities.
The young women and the girls come to the ford to fetch water for use in their homes, except during the rainy season when the rainwater from the roofs of the houses fills the water tanks, and the fountains near the village are full of clear, cool, delicious water from the interior of the earth. These young women love to come in groups, in the cooler hours of the late afternoon. They recount their experiences or exchange gossip on the events of the day, on the stupidity of husbands and the tyranny of fathers, on the infidelity of boyfriends and the looseness of rival beauties, on the ungodliness of churchmen and the greed of wealthy villagers, on the naughtiness of neighbours’ children and the cleverness of their own, on the ravages of disease and the evil hearts of sorcerers. They cruise along from topic to topic without introduction and without conclusion. Their conversation is often punctuated by loud, uninhibited laughter or exclamation, a welcome relief after the suppression to which most of the young wives are subjected in their marital homes.
