Voice of Africa
On a trek across southern Africa to study traditional oral folklore, Harold Scheub discovered someone special: Masithathu Zenani.
By Harold Scheub PhD’69
By Harold Scheub PhD’69
I became interested in African oral traditions during the two years that I taught in Uganda in the early 1960s. In the rural areas of that country, I learned of the richness of these traditions, and was determined to return to Africa to work on them as a part of my PhD studies. I studied with the Xhosa writer A. C. Jordan at the University of Wisconsin; he urged me to conduct my research in South Africa, though I was wary of doing so, considering that the country was then in the depths of apartheid. In the event, it was the most significant decision of my life: I learned enormously from the oral storytellers, poets, and historians with whom I worked.
These are the notes that I wrote in 1967, as I commenced my research:
“It’s August 3, 1967. I am in Umtata. Tomorrow, I shall begin this research project, and I do so with considerable trepidation, not least because of the apartheid system that is fiercely garroting this country. I shall begin work tomorrow among the Mpondomise ... with no car, no interpreters or translators, completely on my own. I have no idea what kind of reception I shall receive from the Africans with whom I hope to work — what they will feel about a white man in their midst, since, I understand from Africans I have already met in South Africa, there is no African family that has not felt the severe weight of the apartheid system. I intend to begin walking tomorrow, throughout as much of the Transkei as I can, and then I shall move up to Zululand, where I hope to do the same. The South African government has, in the past two weeks, sought to limit my research, insisting that I not work among the Africans, but confine my research to libraries and archives. But I have been equally insistent, arguing that I was admitted to South Africa to do work collecting oral traditions among the Xhosa and Zulu.
These are the notes that I wrote in 1967, as I commenced my research:
“It’s August 3, 1967. I am in Umtata. Tomorrow, I shall begin this research project, and I do so with considerable trepidation, not least because of the apartheid system that is fiercely garroting this country. I shall begin work tomorrow among the Mpondomise ... with no car, no interpreters or translators, completely on my own. I have no idea what kind of reception I shall receive from the Africans with whom I hope to work — what they will feel about a white man in their midst, since, I understand from Africans I have already met in South Africa, there is no African family that has not felt the severe weight of the apartheid system. I intend to begin walking tomorrow, throughout as much of the Transkei as I can, and then I shall move up to Zululand, where I hope to do the same. The South African government has, in the past two weeks, sought to limit my research, insisting that I not work among the Africans, but confine my research to libraries and archives. But I have been equally insistent, arguing that I was admitted to South Africa to do work collecting oral traditions among the Xhosa and Zulu.
The government, just yesterday, agreed to allow my research project to proceed. Shortly after my arrival in this country, I went to the universities in South Africa to discuss my project with appropriate scholars ... and to a person, they told me that this was not a feasible enterprise, not least because the Africans would probably not wish to allow me access to their oral traditions, if in fact, they argued, these traditions still existed. In the United States, Professor Jordan, my major professor, was able to give me no specific suggestions about my research, since he has not been here for some years. Nor, for the same reason, was he able to give me names of people with whom I might work.
“So I move into this project with little support, little information, and little official hope that the work will succeed. I have a tape recorder, two cameras (one a still camera, the other a super-8 motion picture camera), a lot of tapes, alkaline batteries for the recorder, and a few changes of clothes; these will fit into the pack that I intend to carry. I’ll also get candles and matches here in Umtata before I begin, because there is no electricity in these areas. An African I met in Cape Town sold me a small pup tent to sleep in at night...
“I’m apprehensive about my language abilities. I studied Xhosa for two years at the University of Wisconsin with Professor Jordan, so I have a solid grammatical and vocabulary base. And I have been working on Zulu, anticipating my work there. We’ll see what happens when I’m on my own, with no interpreters: it’s the best way to master the language, I have no doubt about that.
“The countryside is beautiful; the people I have met in South Africa to this point have been pleasant but dubious about whether or not I can effectively carry out this research in the present political climate.
“So I move into this project with little support, little information, and little official hope that the work will succeed. I have a tape recorder, two cameras (one a still camera, the other a super-8 motion picture camera), a lot of tapes, alkaline batteries for the recorder, and a few changes of clothes; these will fit into the pack that I intend to carry. I’ll also get candles and matches here in Umtata before I begin, because there is no electricity in these areas. An African I met in Cape Town sold me a small pup tent to sleep in at night...
“I’m apprehensive about my language abilities. I studied Xhosa for two years at the University of Wisconsin with Professor Jordan, so I have a solid grammatical and vocabulary base. And I have been working on Zulu, anticipating my work there. We’ll see what happens when I’m on my own, with no interpreters: it’s the best way to master the language, I have no doubt about that.
“The countryside is beautiful; the people I have met in South Africa to this point have been pleasant but dubious about whether or not I can effectively carry out this research in the present political climate.
“We’ll see ...”
I was going to conduct research into the traditions of the Nguni-speaking peoples of that area, the Xhosa and Zulu in South Africa, the Swati in Swaziland, and the Ndebele in Zimbabwe. I began my study among the Xhosa in the Transkei, one of the so-called “homelands” designated by the apartheid government in Pretoria. I walked along the southeastern part of the continent, slowly working my way up to kwaZulu, then to Swaziland, thence to Zimbabwe. I walked fifteen hundred miles during each of three one-year trips, working with hundreds of storytellers, poets, and historians, collecting some nine thousand oral tales, epics, poems, and histories.
But there was one person who was to become an integral part of my life, then, and subsequently.
I met Nongenile Masithathu Zenani, a Gcaleka woman, on September 13, 1967. It was about 5:00 p.m., at a farm, or kraal, in Mboxo (Nkanga) Location, Gatyana District, in the Transkei. She was then about fifty-five years old, and, after hearing a story that she performed, I made a brief note: “She is splendid.” In the years that followed, I worked with this extraordinary woman, this gifted storyteller, this magnetic intellectual, and came to know her well, came to regard her as the closest friend I have ever had. I again worked with her in 1972, and once more in 1975.
I was going to conduct research into the traditions of the Nguni-speaking peoples of that area, the Xhosa and Zulu in South Africa, the Swati in Swaziland, and the Ndebele in Zimbabwe. I began my study among the Xhosa in the Transkei, one of the so-called “homelands” designated by the apartheid government in Pretoria. I walked along the southeastern part of the continent, slowly working my way up to kwaZulu, then to Swaziland, thence to Zimbabwe. I walked fifteen hundred miles during each of three one-year trips, working with hundreds of storytellers, poets, and historians, collecting some nine thousand oral tales, epics, poems, and histories.
But there was one person who was to become an integral part of my life, then, and subsequently.
I met Nongenile Masithathu Zenani, a Gcaleka woman, on September 13, 1967. It was about 5:00 p.m., at a farm, or kraal, in Mboxo (Nkanga) Location, Gatyana District, in the Transkei. She was then about fifty-five years old, and, after hearing a story that she performed, I made a brief note: “She is splendid.” In the years that followed, I worked with this extraordinary woman, this gifted storyteller, this magnetic intellectual, and came to know her well, came to regard her as the closest friend I have ever had. I again worked with her in 1972, and once more in 1975.
When we parted for the first time, later that September, she said, “Izithupha ziy, emasini,” which means, “It is the thumbs going for sour milk.” When the Xhosa pour amasi (buttermilk), both thumbs guide the liquid. In other words, “May our paths cross again, may we renew our friendship.” The traditional Xhosa axiom describes intimate friends: Where one is, the other will be.
During my third research trip to South Africa, I taped a fascinating and complex epic performance by Masithathu Zenani. It was in three parts. The first part was told in seventeen storytelling sessions (from July 1 to 19, 1975); the second, in nineteen sessions (from October 10 to November 1, 1975); and the third, in ten sections (from November 17 to 26, 1975). As she was creating this epic, she also performed a Xhosa history, the story of Gcakela, in fourteen parts (from November 1 to 17, 1975).
“The origin of the tales,” Mrs. Zenani remarked, “is with the ancestors, with the ancient grandmothers. These narratives were a part of an active tradition when we were born.” Masithathu Zenani was a poet, and as with all great poets, her words sparked and sparkled, and in the end gave new form to the way one thinks about and experiences life. Her stories bared her love of life and her penetrating criticism of human foibles. But mainly it was her love of life that remained with me. What she did was take the ancient tradition and reshape it for her contemporary world. And because, like all great artists, her work had a universal impact, she reshaped my ideas as well. In majestic stories, she took me on a perceptive tour of my own heart. She came to know me better, I concluded, than I knew myself, and she worked my emotions and experiences into the very fabric of her stories.
During my third research trip to South Africa, I taped a fascinating and complex epic performance by Masithathu Zenani. It was in three parts. The first part was told in seventeen storytelling sessions (from July 1 to 19, 1975); the second, in nineteen sessions (from October 10 to November 1, 1975); and the third, in ten sections (from November 17 to 26, 1975). As she was creating this epic, she also performed a Xhosa history, the story of Gcakela, in fourteen parts (from November 1 to 17, 1975).
“The origin of the tales,” Mrs. Zenani remarked, “is with the ancestors, with the ancient grandmothers. These narratives were a part of an active tradition when we were born.” Masithathu Zenani was a poet, and as with all great poets, her words sparked and sparkled, and in the end gave new form to the way one thinks about and experiences life. Her stories bared her love of life and her penetrating criticism of human foibles. But mainly it was her love of life that remained with me. What she did was take the ancient tradition and reshape it for her contemporary world. And because, like all great artists, her work had a universal impact, she reshaped my ideas as well. In majestic stories, she took me on a perceptive tour of my own heart. She came to know me better, I concluded, than I knew myself, and she worked my emotions and experiences into the very fabric of her stories.
Out of the poverty and racism of South Africa rose this potent voice to call attention to the humanity, the richness, and the universality of Xhosa experience, of the hearts of the Xhosa, and, like the Homer of the Greeks, this Homer of the Xhosa is for all people and all seasons. She died in 1985.
The oral performers in southern Africa became the core of my studies in oral tradition, throughout Africa and touching on cultures in other parts of the world. And the centerpiece of my studies was this unique woman — artist, intellectual, my closest friend.
The oral performers in southern Africa became the core of my studies in oral tradition, throughout Africa and touching on cultures in other parts of the world. And the centerpiece of my studies was this unique woman — artist, intellectual, my closest friend.
Earlier this year, Parallel Press, an imprint of UW-Madison Libraries, published a three-volume collection of traditional stories called South African Voices. The books, which were developed out of the work that Harold Scheub describes here, consist of transcriptions of Xhosa performances by Nongenile Masithathu Zenani and of Xhosa and Zulu transcriptions of oral histories and poetry.
The essence of these stories is found not just in the words, but in the performers' delivery. And so, at the same time as these works were published, recordings were prepared for the Internet. The audio versions of the performances can be heard at http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/SouAfrVc.
Discover other Scheub books, including African Tales and Story.
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