Litooma African performance research
Zambia
Tanzania
Kenya
Ethiopia
South Africa
The Imigubo
That night we left for Lusaka offering the Imigubo and his wife a ride home. The small, child-like man regaled us the entire long and bumpy drive with countless stories about the Ngoni and the N’cwala. He was an open and generous man, quick with a simile and “hey hey” or “ho ho” of approval in response to my translated questions.
He had a seemingly inexhaustible knowledge of his people’s history. He told how the Ngoni first came to Zambia. “Chaka would send out 2000 men to fight, and if all 2000 returned Chaka would be angry, thinking they did not fight well and would kill some. However, if 100 warriors were sent out and 50 returned he gave them gifts of gratitude. This practice angered the fighters of the Ngoni sub-clan. So they, along with the Lozi and other Zulu clans set out for other areas.
The Ngoni defeated the Chewa, chasing them into the low lands. The Ngoni took position at the small mountains with the mountains at their backs so they could keep an eye on the enemy.” The Imigubo was unpaid position, but he was nonetheless required to come when called by the paramount chief.
He was illiterate yet had memorized the entire history of his people, which would, if recited in its detailed entirety, take several days to complete. His job was a life calling and he was a seventh generation Imigubo, a skill taught to him by his father. His grandfather, who claimed to be 150 years old when he died in 1987, was said to be among the original Ngoni that left the Zulu to come north.
“To become an Imigubo takes several years. It is not easy. Since I was a boy I have not been allowed to drink liquor, smoke marijuana or cigarettes. I am not allowed to fight because it is our obligation to continue our heritage. I am training my grandson and nephew at night to carry on the Imigubo tradition. I have been training them for five years.”
Often the Imigubo, which means storyteller, must travel far on rural, isolated roads to tell the story of the Ngoni people.
“With my stories I also bring my knowledge of herbs and divining. That is how I make my living.”
With that statement he pulled out a bag tree bark he had recently collected in Chipata, explaining that one was for high blood pressure, another for sleeping well.
“You boil it for tea.” He smiled as he pulled out a large bag of white powder. “This is my best seller, an aphrodisiac!”
A teaspoon was going for 500 Kwacha, about a dollar. “I sold much during the N’cwala!” When we got near his village he instructed us to drive down a long narrow pathway overgrown with vegetation.
We parked and walked towards a dim fire in the distance. Approaching, he called out to announce himself to his family, “Here comes a real Ngoni Man! Here comes a real Ngoni man!” His little mud brick house was at the center of the family compound of houses and shacks cobbled together with wood, tin, cinder blocks, thatching, and cow bricks.
Thorn bush fences, to protect his gardens and family from animals, surrounded his compound. His land was originally granted by the Paramount Chief to his ancestors; there was no electricity in the area and water had to be hauled from a nearby stream. The Imigubo’s house was dimly lighted by candles, which revealed an open-air kitchen and a bedroom.
He had started building his house in 1960 but for the lack of money the roof remained half completed. The bedroom was the only room fully covered by a tin roof—bamboo mats on the floor with small blankets were beds. Children and grandchildren awakened, coming out into the courtyard with sleepy eyes to welcome their grandparents home.
Micke’s Land Cruiser headlights filtered through the brush illuminating the scene. The lights delighted the children and soon, through the darkness came more than twenty shy children lining up in a long row under the clear, moonlighted sky. The Imigubo’s relationship with his grandchildren was easy and full of laughter, his small features made him like them.
Affectionately he greeted each child by name, teasing and laughing his way down a line, patting each on the head and offering many hugs. From some he requested a traditional song or dance to welcome and repay us for the ride home.
“These are songs I have taught them, they are songs of the Ngoni, a great people.”
He clapped the beat and sang along with encouraging and smiling proudly. At the end of the line of children he stopped and spoke confidentially with two skinny boys of thirteen and fifteen, shirtless and shoeless, and taller than the Imigubo. Their eyes were sleepy and dazed by the sudden commotion.
The Imigubo brought the boys over to us to introduce them, “This is my grandson and nephew. They will be the next Imigubos of the great Ngoni people.
Hail to the king of kings!” “Bayate Amakose,” the boys responded. Hail to the king.
from Village in the Sky
