Whoever has traversed the valley of the Umzinivubu river below the Tabankulu Mountain, in that vicinity where the Tsitsa, the Tina, and the Umzimhlava streams have carved their several devious courses almost through the vitals of the earth to the main water-way, has seen the roughest part of Pondoland, and seldom feels inclined to repeat the experience. However, ponies accustomed to such regions will clamber up and down precipices which would make a domestic cat that is only habituated to the house-top of civilisation nervous, and accidents on such journeys seldom occur.
It has been my fortune twice to penetrate these rugged regions, an interval of a year elapsing between the expeditions. Hence the following tale.
The season was late autumn. I had made a very early start, and my horses were tired. I decided, therefore, to camp where I was, between the precipice from which I had just escaped and another, equally dangerous, frowning just before me, and which it seemed impossible to avoid. The place was a small, flat ledge upon a rugged tongue of land running from the mountain out to a sheer bluff, under which the river, still slightly swollen from the late summer rains, murmured, hundreds of feet below.
A native kraal consisting of three huts, a stone cattle enclosure, and a small goat-pen made of bushes, stood on the ledge. Two of the huts were occupied by human beings, and the third, ordinarily used as a corn store, was civilly placed at my disposal by the head of the kraal, an old Pondo named Zwilibanzi. His son, one Madolo, and the latter’s wife and two children, were the only other occupants of the kraal.
I was particularly struck by the air of cleanliness and neatness pervading the whole establishment. This was in strong contrast with the condition of the other kraals I had visited. The Pondos are, it may be stated, much dirtier in their habits than are other natives. Their huts are usually ragged and disorderly on the outside, and as to the interiors—why, the less said about them the better.
The night was cold, so after assisting my after-rider to make the horses as comfortable as circumstances would permit, I entered the hut of Madolo, who, with the old man, was sitting on the ground next to a bright, almost smokeless fire. I then, for the first time, noticed the two children, one boy named Dhlaka, aged about ten years, and the other a little girl aged about six, whose name turned out to be Nodada, a Kafir word meaning “wild duck.” The mother was absent, but was momentarily expected to return.
Nodada was a remarkably pretty child. All she wore in the way of clothing was a small apron of strung beads, unless a necklet of charms hung on hairs from the tail of the “ubulunga” cow can be counted as such. She made friends with me at once, although, as her grandfather assured me, she had never previously seen a European. The boy, on the other hand, would not come to terms at all, but crouched on the ground near the door, ready to spring up and flee, as he did whenever I attempted to make advances, After a short interval, the mother, a good-looking woman of about thirty, arrived. Her name was Nomayeshè. After greeting her husband, her father-in-law, and me (as guest) with politeness and ease, she turned to the children; the evidently genuine affection manifested between her and them was truly remarkable. She sat down on the floor of the hut and they flung themselves upon her. They were immediately clasped to her breast, with many an endearing epithet. I could not help wishing at the time that some of those who believe the Aryan race in South Africa to have a monopoly of the gentler feelings and emotions could have been present. It could easily be seen that the warmest feeling on the part of the mother was for the little girl, who, up to the time when I retired for the night, never left her side.
Next morning, shortly after daybreak, I bade farewell to my kind hosts, and resumed climbing the anything-but-delectable mountains. In pausing to take breath just before passing out of sight of the kraal I looked back, and saw Nomayeshè at the hut door looking after me, and the little girl holding on to her mother’s skin skirt.
Within a few days of a year afterwards, I travelled over the same course, but in an opposite direction. I had attempted to reach old Zwilibanzi’s, with the view of spending the night there, but when the sun went down, leaving me still several miles away from that spot, I found it necessary to seek shelter at another kraal, where my entertainment was somewhat indifferent. However, I reached Zwilibanzi’s next day at about noon. Even from a distance it was apparent that things were changed for the worse in comparison with what I had seen a year previously. The huts looked dilapidated, and there was an atmosphere of dreariness over the whole establishment. I found old Zwilibanzi asleep on a mat on the sunny side of his hut, but could see no sign of another human being. I wakened the old man, but it was some time before I could bring myself to his remembrance. He was totally blind and extremely deaf, and had aged considerably in every respect. At length he remembered me, and then he seemed extremely pleased.