#STORYTELLING: THE PASSING OVER - Ngiyabonga Bazali...

THE PASSING OVER

‘Ngiyabonga Bazali, nang’khulisa kanzima, kodwa manje ngiyay’bona ,ngiyay’bona impumelelo…. Ngiyabonga Bazali, nang’khulisa kanzima, kodwa manje ngiyay’bona ,ngiyay’bona impumelelo….”

Those were the opening lines of a song that escaped the lips of a 25-year-old young woman, quivering as they landed upon the ears of a mass of brown-eyed and (mostly )doubtful onlookers. The words ‘Ngabe uyakwazi uk’sina yini?....’ lay stagnant in the air. Onlookers whose faces she could vaguely or vividly trace to snapshots of moments of growing up. And some which were not familiar to her at all.

Although weighed down by the heaviness of the cow skin that created her “isidwaba”, and the coldness of the beads that rested upon her round and full breasts, she realised that this was her moment. To shine. To waddle with pride. To introduce a hidden singing voice.  To see her reflection of a grown woman in the faces  of her glowing parents.

 To pass over.

uMemulo is a ceremony that marks the coming of age of a Zulu young woman, as recognised primarily by her parents, or if she is engaged to be married, by her fiancé.

It is a moment in which her parents look at their daughter with different eyes, acknowledging how she has carried herself with grace and dignity; recognising that she is truly a person who has now fitted into her own skin, and is standing on this round earth as an individual, a woman that they releasing into society to start her own legacy, based on the values, principals, and beads of free-thought which have been laid at the ankles of her bare feet.

And not forgetting a moment in which possible suitors may make a move.

A long process if done in the strictest traditional laws of the land, but due to the constraints of modern life much different to the life and times of King Shaka, Dingane and company, the process is shorted to a week or at most two.

A week before the ceremony, the young maiden makes her way to the uncles residence, to receive a spear from him as a gift. Entering the gates with lungs full of song, she and chosen younger maidens ( izimpelesi) are welcomed by her mother’s brother.   The smell of the braaing of the goat slaughtered earlier following closely behind him.

A beautiful beaded spear is presented.  A symbol of strength.  A reminder to fight the adversities that wait in the corners and crevasses of the one they call Life.

After the visit to the uncle, the maiden enters her Solitude. A period of a few days before the actual ceremony, where she has to sit in a specified room, hidden from the world of men, distractions, the slaughtering of her goat and bull cow outside and other things that could possibly taint her process of self awareness and introspection. Unrecognizable with the red clay smeared upon her face, she delves into answering questions about herself, formulated by a team effort of her heart , mind  and spirit. Who does she want to be in this world? What does love mean?  Ubuntu bukhona na kimina? Will my family name be a cloak I will wear with pride?  All those responsibilities and consequences of my actions, do they really fall under my ownership now?

Her mpelesi’s keep her company, attending to all her requests and requirements and practicing songs to be sung on the actual day of celebration.

 But her primary company remains her heart, mind and spirit.

 One the day of the ceremony, when it’s most darkest before Dawn opens her disorientated eyes, the maiden and her breastful entourage make their way to a designated river or stream and undress.

Naked and trembling they wash themselves in the water, with the maiden having “inyongo” of her slaughtered bull cow, to wash herself with too. The clay. The inyongo. The baby, the toddler, the child, the teenager within her. All of these elements, carried away by the waters. Never to return.

 Time to get ready. To be adored with beads. To be wrapped in the leather of a beast that once lived and the skin of fat that once kept it warm.  Adding fatness to her fertility and warming her non -existant children.

This process is done under the trees , a spot called “eShlahleni” by the river.

At ‘eScgaweni’ , a designated open ground, the masses have gathered, waiting for the faint sounds of the maidens in song to tickle and flirt with the air. And suddenly the faintness turns into vividness and the colourful breastful entourage arrive, lead by the maiden and her uncle’s spear in her hand.  To dance. To lift her fit and round thighs into the air. To feel immense joy. To stomp her feet down and wake up her ancestors .  As to say “bhukani bakhithi, intombi yenu esulekile isifikile.”( watch, loved ones , your renewed daughter is here)

During the dancing the maiden uses her spear to pinpoint any persons in the crowd and pierce the spear in front of them, marking her authority, making them aware of the respect due to her. “Pierced “ persons are then obliged to pin money on her headgear or pass the buck if they cannot meet the obligation given to them. Gifts and blankets and money flow throughout the proceedings. And a feast thereafter.

And as the sun sets over the hills, the sounds die down , the masses trickle out to their own homes, and the Ntombi is left. Looking forward to her future. Future of career, of choice, of finding love, of bearing her daughter.  And to one day return to this moment.

In this day and age, such traditions are disregarded by many young Zulu women , as being beneath them, or not as fun as a conventional party with the phlyest DJ’s and hot tracks.

But they miss out on this beautiful story of inner love, metamorphosis, consciousness, blessing and an afternoon’s escape from inhibitions.

They miss out.... on their story.