A host of people came south
According to tradition
at the beginning
of the seventeenth century
the tribes of Zulu, Xhosa,
Swazi and Pondo people
who have a related language
and similar culture
and now live in Southern Africa,
migrated from the north
from a legendary place
they call eMbo
somewhere at the great lakes
in central Africa.
As part of a large group
under command of chief Dlamini
the vanguard under chief Nguni
went ahead and discovered
the rivers and hills of Zululand
splitting away from the host
where they killed the local Bushmen hunters
and a metal working offshoot
of the Karimba tribe
and to them these other people
is nothing more than phantoms
spooking in the cliffs,
the caves and in the reeds
near to the river.
Then the followers of Nguni
divided up into different clans
search for the best valley to settle.
One of these people
was a man named Malandela
and they settled near to a river
that they called the forceful one,
building beehive huts
and on Malandela’s death
his two sons divided
the followers and possessions
between the two of them.
The younger son was named Zulu
which means heaven
and he went with his mother
and followers
to find a place of his own
near a basin in hills
at the Mkhumbane river
and his people planted
a euphorbia tree over his grave
and from then on referred to it
as the place of the great chief
and all the earlier chiefs
except Shaka are buried
in that valley.
Believing that their spirits
and that of Shaka haunts this place
the Zulu army before battle
went to this valley
to pray at ancestral graves
and thundering out the salute:
“Because of us, war.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Shaka The Zulu
Here he comes with his muscular
body, in his hands lay the symbol
of Africa the symbol that have sent
many great warriors six feet beneath.
The sound of his voice bring silence
among the bird of the sky.
Shaka the son of Zulu he believe that he
is a true son of Africa.In the battle field
with the great symbol of Africa in his hands
he believe that nobody can defeat him, his
peer believe that he is a god among the
living creature.
Shaka the Zulu he believe in the black power
with iron hands he rule the people of Zulu with
the help of the witch doctors he conquer the
Africa.The name Shaka bring fear in the camp
of the white.
poem by Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
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The secret mine
Very long ago
when the world was still young
skilled miners and metal smiths
as members of the Lala tribe
lived in the valley
next to the Tugela river
and at night
their smelting ovens glowed red
while they were smelting
and casting metal.
With their arrival in the Tugela valley
the Zulus left these people unhindered
as they had valuable skills
and they supplied the Zulus
with iron hoes, spears and war axes
and as duty
also provided beautiful silver armbands
in different designs
from a secret silver mine.
When Shaka became ruler
of the whole Zululand
he gave these armbands
as a great token of honour
to his best, most brave
and most highly regarded followers
but then some of notables
got a obscure skin disease
whereupon the witchdoctors
were called in.
The sangomas accused the miners
of treason
and said that they were descendants
of the Karinga tribe
who the Zulus defeated at the Zimbabwe ruins
and that they are taking retaliation
and are bewitching them with the armbands
and are poisoning
the leaders of the Zulu nation.
Shaka then gathered in
every armband that he could
and with the next delivery
that the Lala people made,
they were tortured
to tell the whereabouts
of the secret silver mine.
Then a whole regiment was sent
with al the armbands to the mine
and every member of the Lala people
were gathered there
and were murdered to the last child
and thrown on top of the armbands
into the mining pits
to let spirits guard
that prohibited mine,
but there are still
a few of those armbands left
and fortune hunters
in the Tugela valley are seeking
for the ruins of that secret mine.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Maybe I Know My History A Little Bit Better Than You Do (In Answer To Sipho Sepamla)
Maybe I know my history
a little bit better than you do.
My friend, you are talking
about stories being heard
around coal-stoves
concerning animals
and no real facts
are expressed in your poem.
I know when my ancestor Joost Strijdom
arrived in the Cape of Good Hope in May 1678,
that I descend from the lovely brave Maryna Ras,
when your ancestors
were migrating from a place called eMbo
at the big African lakes under
leadership of chief Dlamini
and later under chief Nguni.
I know how my ancestors battled
against wild beasts, fought the zulu-impi
at Blood River
and overcame by the help of
the almighty God
and that I would not have existed
if they died at the hands of the Zulus.
I know how my ancestors build
farms, churches and houses
while yours were living
in thatched grass huts.
I know how my great grandfathers
and one of my grandfathers
was enveloped in a war against the British,
how they survived
and how my great grandmother
died in a British concentration camp.
I have even faced Cubans
under Soviet command
in the largest mechanised battle in Africa,
apart from those in the Second World War
and we had a decisive victory
that is now being denied
while history books are being rewritten
and fiction is creeping in
and maybe the new propaganda, the lies
of the new history suits you far better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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We did not own this country (in answer to Mathews Phosa)
We did not own this country
the Lord gave it to our ancestors
and when they stepped ashore here,
hordes came from eMbo out of the north
and the country also did not belong to them.
Let you see us as intruders,
you yourself are intruders,
a multitude of people out of the tribes
of Zulu, Xhosa, Swazi en Pondo
came from the big lakes under leadership
of chief Dklamini and later chief Nguni.
Our ancestors made a sacred covenant with God
to be able to survive
and still this relationship is held high
as forever God remains the same
and the people that now governs
do not represent me, are proclaiming laws
that are oppressing my Afrikaner people and me,
making me a third rate citizen
and I did not surrender this country
even less have left it
or have neglected any civil duties
and I am waiting on the salvation
coming out of the hand
of the almighty God.
[References: “Bulala Bathakathi” and “ons het ons land verlaat” (we left the country / land) by Mathews Phosa. (The poet Mathews Phosa is the premier of the Orange Free State province) ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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When times are bad
When times are bad
and I am with my hands in my hair
and black foreigners from all over Africa
overnight becomes citizens
and have more rights as a citizen than me
and affirmative action
puts her claws into my life
then I wonder about justice
and when merit and experience
will ever again apply
where my ancestors Joost Strydom
from Liefenshoek in the Netherlands
as a merchant seaman of the VOC
in 1678 came to Cape Town,
married his pretty well know wife
Maryna Ras who with a horse
could alone ride days long to Cape Town
with whom noblemen tried to have relationships,
where the indigenous zulu-xhosa-pondo-swazi people
are originating from a group
that during the same time
immigrated far away out of the north
from eMbo at the big lakes in central Africa
under the leadership of Nguni and later Dlamini
and then I wonder how
this country rather belongs to them
and they have to have work opportunities before me
and if you now say anything
about the new migration out of the whole of Africa
for which the country’s borders are now wide open
(in such a way that South Africans
must now get visas for Great Britain)
you are seen as xenophobic
and then there are citizens from right over Africa
who become South Africans overnight
attaining more rights than you
who forced by law
get secure job opportunities
and do people from Mozambique murder
Eugene Terreblance,
drug dealers from Nigeria
are caught by the local police
while against your will
you were forced into an army, into a war
still faithfully pay your taxes
when and where you have a job
and the current government
tries to stay in power
while Aids devours its voter numbers
and you as a white man
are despised by the current regime,
are treaded into the ground
while the country are falling to pieces
and then you pray
to Him (the God of the universe) who controls everything
to drastically intervene
rather than rousing people
for a civil war.
[Reference: VOC Verenigde Oost Indiëse companje.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Zulu
Zulu
Lives in
South Africa
And
They speak the
Nguni
Language
That is close to
Xhosa
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The South African Rain
The South African Bank
Mushroom which bare as if it has never bare from the soil
They were stupid giggling because you have take over Drankensberg Mountains
They called you a rebel for you silent footstep
You flew Higher above the sky like a hawk flying towards chicken babies
Your truly sound cause us to tremble but with no way to hide
You cause us to tremble when you darkening the South Africa up and down
The thunder rumbling
It shakes all directions
It shakes Durban and causes us to mumble as it is a new thing
Grow up Bank of the Banks
Grow up until you touch the sky
Grow up even if they cast obstacles on you
Turn the obstacles into you catalyst to accelerate your activities.
The Africa that is hungry will be saved by the by African Bank.
You are like a cow that produces an everlasting cream of milk
We trust you in our Africa Unity
All nations will Bow down to African Rain.
All nations will be judge by you
You are the queen of South African Rain
When it is dry the woman top up the mountains and they ask you for rain
You give the rain as it is instructed
They talk about globalization and global warming
But we shall never experience weather draught in South Africa
That is because we have our King NOMKHUBULWANE who will always listen to our rain songs and brings us rain for food
South African King of Rain: we don’t see you but witness your presence
Hear and there they challenge the Zulu Kingdom
But there is no one who will ever challenge the kingdom of the Queen of Rain
I feel the tears of sorrow
These are the tears of sorrow over African Child who has come to accept all forms of western religions
Africa you have forget that you have supernatural power of the spirits that was inherited from your past heroes
The power is always there if you need them.
I believe in Africa
I believe in Shaka and Dindane
I believe in Nomkhubulwane
I believe in Africa Venomas
Africa HA HA HA Earthquakes and Tornadoes no more in South Africa
Demons no more in South Africa
We are the chiefs of security spirits
Even human evaluated hear and spread elsewhere
So we are more than human but fore ancestors
Do you think the spirit of human origin must have disappeared within a period of few million years
NO if so no anyone could have continue to live
For if the cornerstone or foundations of the house fall the whole building fall down.
Thank you Africa thank
I am thanking you that I was born in your Island
For I have already inherited the spirits of human making characters
I was not there when you made the man character
But I believe you had your own supernatural undiscovered characteristics
Say what you need to say there is nothing that can challenge the supernatural spirit of Africa.
Come Africa: Woza shembe
Come Africa: Woza Mangosuthu Buthelezi
Come Africa: Woza Goodwill Zwelithini Zulu
Come Africa, Come Shaka Zulu
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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Through the Green Valley
Through the green valley and past the crooked tree
there lies a place of love and tranquility
where food and water are in abundancy
and children play happy free from tyranny.
Through the green valley and past the golden tree
there is a place of art and wonder and glee
where people sing and dance in jeu d' esprit
and families are happy not refugees.
Through the green valley and past the diamond tree
there a place of beauty a land of the free
where people live in a state of ecstasy
and pain is vanquished there is no misery.
Through the green valley and past the godly tree
There the kingdom of heaven 'grandiosity'
poem by Wade Harlaine
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Valley
Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Some bad people living further down the valley,
Not easy for us to do good trade.
We got snowmelt, snowmelt sweet water.
They got that valley road that they made.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Holding hands on the hillside.
Showing love to your brother --
Your sister and your mother --
But we hate those people down the valley.
Has anybody seen moses?
Get him off that mountain.
Bring back the tablets of stone.
Its a wise, wise prophet who keeps his own council.
Yeah, leave the other mans wife alone.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people living here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only live the valley song.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only know the valley song.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pride To Be An African
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of which everybody imitates
My Africa of which culture exceed the Greek
My Africa of which everyone is jealous of
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of enormous natural endowment
My Africa of Non-Violence
My Africa of Amorous populates
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of patriot men and women
My Africa of shelter and vintage hospitality
My Africa of great ancestral mythology
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa that bore fruits of black diamonds
My Africa which is a gift to the whole world
My Africa of great leadership
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of learned youths
My Africa of a bright generation
My Africa true tradition
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of black pageant women
My Africa of strong men
My Africa from who we all hail from
For every African deserves a Nobel Prize in
Existence.
poem by Fasan paul
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Many voices sing a song (in answer to HA Fagan)
Many voices sing a song
that asks the blessing of God
over the whole territory,
the continent of Africa
and there are millions standing there
everyone settled in one continent
Zulu, Xhosa and every Shangane
as if planted by Your own hand,
but where is the place of the Afrikaner,
where the Afrikaner can also flower?
Of the white woman and man
that comes from this earth?
We are down trodden, everyone expelled,
Boers, that You Yourself cause to sprout here.
[Reference: ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ i-Afrika by HA Fagan.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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1883
1883,
With my mind moving backwards and forwards;
And like Shaka Zulu!
But i now understand why i am still looking for my lover.
'Blood River'!
And of many who died and left us;
But why is the world like that at times?
They came and took the gold away,
They came and took the slaves away,
They came and took the diamonds away,
And of the wars that killed many!
But i will always look for my lover no matter what.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Oh Africa my Africa
Oh Africa my Africa land of diamonds. Oh africa my Africa land of great kings Shaka, Haile Silasi, mandela to name a few. Oh mother Africa my Africa rich in gold.oh Africa my africa full of beautful women. Yes africa my africa land of real nature.
poem by George mwandu
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Lord, I know that even in impossibilities You are able to act
Lord, you rescued my nation
when a onslaught of thousands of Zulu’s
came at Blood River
against less than five hundred
with flintlock rifles
and when Cubans with armour under Soviet control
drew up in divisions
and a war about Africa was loosened,
we trusted You
but now the Afrikaner nation has been brought
under rule by another culture,
that does not regard You
and murder and take whatever they want
and see the lives of others and possessions
as their own.
l’Envoi
Lord God, I know that even in impossibilities
You are able to act
and ask that You remember
the covenant of our ancestors
and take note of this injustice
and that You in Your righteousness
cause this oppression to end
that the sun may shine as well
over my people.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Don’t Cry For Me Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will never let you out of my mind
I hear your voices people of Africa
I hear your cries people of Africa
I see pain in your eyes people of Africa
It is hard to describe what you people of Africa are going through
Poverty strikes you all people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will keep you in my prayers people of Africa
Power to the people of Africa
People of Africa lift your spirit higher
Lord is the light and truth people of Africa
The Lord sends you a message from his heart to you people of Africa
He said because I love you
I will answer your prayers
I hear your prayers
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because you have a friend that is the Lord
People of Africa continue doing the Lords work
Make a wish people of Africa
The people of Africa are looking at the Lord face to face
Lord here is no paradise
We dream a little dream said the people of Africa to the Lord
The People of Africa Pray that the Lord will give each other strength every day
Don’t cry for me Africa
Save the people of Africa
Strengthened the people of Africa each day
Because I’ll be there in your dreams people of Africa
The people of Africa tells The Lord how much they love him
Don’t cry for me Africa
Lord comes when you are ready people of Africa
Feelings you have for your Lord People of Africa
And I know you will never let it die
Nothing but flowers the people of Africa will plant in the sea shore for the Lord
Don’t cry for me Africa
The people of Africa needs hope to heal there land
The Lord rose up on you people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
My heart will go on
Once I close this door of the ship I will sail across the Atlantic Sea
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The German Schwarzwald In The Forests Of Knysna
Africa, I love Africa, my continent, Africa
my beautiful country comprising the beauty
of Provençe in the Cape’s Ceres Valley, the
majestic Swiss Alps in the Drakensberg, the
German Schwarzwald in the forests of Knysna
Africa, I love Africa, I love the Africans,
wearing my blanket like the Matabele, doing
a Zulu dance in moments of glory, dabbling
in Fanagalo as spoken in kampongs, trying to
imitate Khoisan clicks in my songs
Africa, I love Africa, I love the cultural mélange
in South Africa mine, where the Atlantic meets the
Indian Ocean at the southernmost point, where Table
Mountain’s mist lives in my mind in the devil’s contest
to smoke with Van Hunk
Africa, I love Africa, where the Cape of Storms lives
in my heart in the tales of C.J. Langenhoven, written in
Afrikaans, the culture that gave birth to my people and
me, a mixture of French, German, Scottish, Dutch and
Irish forbears…
Africa, I love Africa, in the tale of the Little Hope
with tunic and crown, waiting impatiently at the Cape
of Good Hope for the arrival of southern nomads and
northern sea-farers; tales that inspire my thoughts,
burn in my dreams, filling my mind…
poem by Margaret Alice
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South Africa Is Also My Country
From my birth South Africa is my own country
and my people can flee to an island
but my own culture and language stays holy
although this place is not safe,
I still trust on a much higher hand,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
even if the struggling government gives me resistance,
do oppress me with unfair laws,
even if nothing can stop the disintegration,
even if I am not safe against the onslaught,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country,
even if some act with effrontery against my people
I come from a noble heritage,
I am proud on my Afrikaner lineage,
even if people and buildings are set alight,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
with no other place I have such a deep bond
and even if here I will never have any job,
I believe in God and a Christian church,
God himself still keeps my ways intact,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Africa - The Cultural Base
African cultural base
'home of unique heritage
'check the Pharol’s array
'compass the boundary
'see the bright Yorubas
Welcome home,
'paradise city, Zulu’s archetype
'most bravura place on earth
'diverse people, unique black
'chocolate colour, brown beauty
'green array, canopy sites
'Hausa’s pride, maroon Central
Monkey’s drama, cutter’s parable
'story of tortoise, elephant - ‘big for nothing’
'home made parrot, arrow bird
'intelligent sparrows, pea pride
'speaking river, powerful highlands
'evil forest, paradox of valley
'healing fens and lilies
'distinctive people
Select your dancing pattern
'take a cool drink under shed
'enjoy nature at its peak
poem by Michael Popoola
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a Brave Boer boy
At Italeni the bushes come alive
and abound with a horde of Zulu’s,
of which the spears glitter
and some are at the peak
of a hillock
and others on the plane.
Blood and fat
are spread over their faces
and they are raging
and in a blood thirsty trance
and scream luring
and tipple with a ritteltit war dance
and clubs and shields,
are thrown into the air
while spears flash into the air.
In the cloudless blue sky
an eagle flies past screaming,
while Boer horsemen
are riding past with guns at the ready.
Father and son gallop next to each other
and the hoofs of the horses hang thundering,
as far as they go.
When the first Zulu’s are in striking distance
they fire at them
and the front warriors fall
and the rest turns about
and run into the bushes
and cliffs.
The commando breaks into smaller groups
and the fleeing Zulu impi
are followed
and Dirk rides side to side with his dad,
to help the Malan brothers
where they are trapped in the cliffs.
Suddenly a whole impi of murderously mad Zulu’s
are around them
and Piet Uys’s gun
is jammed
and he stops to fix it
and out of the air a spear falls
that penetrates him.
He tell his men to ride away
but Dirkie wants to stay
and he rides only a hundred steps away,
when he hears the war cry
of a lot of Zulu’s
that storm to his father.
Horse and son becomes one
and horse and son
burst galloping through the Zulu’s
and he shoots three down,
but he is murderously
speared from his horse
and one flintlock gun that breaks
cannot stop a horde of spears.
Father and son lies together
while a Zulu impi
dances with joy up and down
and in the bright blue sky
an Eagle screams while it passes
while death
embraces both men.
At times when a storm
rises over that long hillock
people hear horse hoofs
rushing over the earth
and a rifle that thunders,
while shadows
threaten and creep nearer
and the cry of an Eagle
sounds over the cliffs.
[Reference: The heroic story of Dirkie Uys. Impi=> a Zulu army.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The battle of Isandhlwana
Shaded by a wild fig tree
where the Tugela river enters the ocean
representatives of British queen Victoria
demanded that the Zulus give up
their independence.
The Zulu king Cetshwayo
would never again send his impi
into battle against the Boer farmers,
but the British his impi would spear
and bash to death
and he ordered
his general Nishingwayo KaMahole Khoza
to halt the British invaders.
The Zulu commander remembered the battle
at Blood River well
where four hundred and seventy
Boer farmers fought
from behind their wagons
which they had drawn against each other
to form a almost impenetrable laagered fort
where only three Boer farmers were injured,
using flint lock rifles
three thousand of his warriors were killed,
and thousands more injured
and he knew that the Zulu faced there
an enemy trained through several generations
waging war against fierce men and cruel beasts
in harsh circumstances
making them marksmen and exceptional horsemen
believing in a almighty God
with whom they made a covenant
while asking for His help
and some warriors reported
spirits aiding the Boer fighters there,
but maybe that was as superstitions go.
These British soldiers
wore red and white costumes
as if going to a festival,
didn’t look rugged at all
and even under the fig tree
they were red from sunburn
and although they probably
prayed to the same god
as the Boer farmers
his translators told him
that they didn’t look so devoted
and talked about a empire
and the power of their new guns
having come for a adventure
and he decided to give them one.
Nishingwayo looked
the British through thoroughly
saw Lord Chelmsford moving
his men over the Buffalo river
to Isandhlwana Hill
where the country deceivingly looked
open and stretched out
and at the foot of the hill
the British set up their camp.
Very cleverly the Zulu commander
sneaked his impi armed with assegais
and clubs,
carrying leather shields
into the narrow valley
running up to the hill
and then he send
a small force
to draw the British out
of their camp
to follow it in vain.
The witchdoctors warned
the Zulu commander
against a attack,
but a scouting patrol of the British
by chance encountered
the front Zulu position.
Ignoring his spiritual advisors
Nishingwayo got his impi
into war formation
forming up like a storming Buffalo bull
into a chest and two horns
on the confused British camp.
Lord Chelmsford and his men believed
that the battle formation
of the square
could withstand any attack,
with their Martini-Henri rifles
but at Isandhlwana that square broke,
shattered under attack
from thousands of Zulus
who with shining spears and clubs
rushed in like a huge thunderbolt
screaming their ear splitting battle cries:
Ngathi impi and Abatagati
sounding like thunder
from thousands of voices
and swarm upon swarm
of spears filled the sky
making the sun disappear
and the Zulu war formation
annihilated the British
closing in
like a tremendous crashing wave
sweeping all resistance away.
Stabbing, slicing, bashing
that great impi went right through
the British defenders
sparing none at Isandlwana
and marched away
heavy laden with booty
with some warriors
helping the wounded along
still singing their battle songs
and only two regiments
under Dabulamanzi pursued
the retreating survivors
to Rorke’s drift mission station
which was only
but a side show
of that great battle
which the British lost.
[References: Impi= Zulu army. Assegai = spear. At Isandlwana 1329 British soldiers were killed and eleven soldiers were honoured as heroes at Rorke’s Drift with Victoria Crosses. Ngathi impi=> “Because of us, war” Abatagati=> “Kill the magicians.” The Great Boer War by Arthur Conan Doyle (comments on the excellence as marksmen, horsemen and on the dedication of the Boer farmers as to patriotism and religion.) The word Boer is both Dutch and Afrikaans for farmer.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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