Writing the Ancestral River. Jacklyn Cock
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1920s.
I later learned that this was a pool where certain water divinities reside. We had been privileged to witness one of the rituals (intlwayalelo) associated with the induction of a traditional diviner-healer. According to Xhosa cosmology, the sighting of otters makes for an especially auspicious occasion because otters are messengers (izithunywa) from the ancestors. Seeing otters swimming, fish jumping, birds calling, ducks quacking or leguaans splashing in the water or near a riverbank is regarded as a positive sign in the intlwayalelo ritual. I learned this, and much else, years later from the research by the social anthropologist Penny Bernard, who had visited this particular place for her study of water divinities.
In Xhosa cosmology the Kowie, along with all rivers, is regarded as spiritually significant. It has several sacred pool sites, the deep pools favoured by water divinities or river spirits. These are the ‘People of the River’ (Abantu Bomlambo in isiXhosa). They are sometimes described as mermaids (half fish, half human beings) and are associated with pools situated deep in forests. All the Kowie River pools I have explored are very deep, remote and difficult to access, surrounded by dense vegetation and often by precipitous cliffs, as in the case of the Lushington pool, the site of my ‘shining adventure’. Pools where the water divinities are thought to reside are classified as sacred because they are regarded as ‘sites that have an intensified presence of the ancestors and the divine forces’.2
The People of the River play a pivotal role in the calling, initiation and final induction of Xhosa diviner-healers (amagqirha). Called to their work by the ancestors, they possess supernatural powers which enable them to determine the causes of misfortune or illness and the required form of propitiation. Following a calling from the ancestors to the river, a trainee undergoes a lengthy period of apprenticeship to an established diviner.
This training involves three traditional rituals. Firstly, there is the intlwayalelo, a term derived from the verb meaning ‘to sow seeds’. These rites involve various offerings: white clay, medicinal roots, white beads, pumpkin seeds, grains of sorghum and maize, tobacco and the body dirt (intsila) of the candidate (umkwetha) undergoing induction. To connect the novice diviner-healer and his living kin to their ancestors, the offerings are best made at dawn at a river pool. Bernard reports seeing small baskets or tin lids containing a mixture of seeds floating near reedbeds at a number of recognised sacred pool sites in the area. I have seen them frequently but have only learned recently of these rituals’ multifaceted significance; for example, the drumming my friend and I heard is meant to keep the ancestors awake.
The poet Chris Mann compares the diviners to the oracles of ancient Greece and Rome, and writes, ‘prayers, songs and imprecations follow, all the more affecting since they are made by the people of a culture which, despite the advent of democracy in South Africa, is still struggling with the effects of conquest, dispossession, poverty and migrant labour’.3 Mann goes on to note that ‘it is a deeply humanizing experience in this context to reread Odysseus’ account of his visit to the underworld in the Iliad’. I was reminded of Elizabeth Bishop’s poem ‘The Riverman’ (1965), an intense account of an Amazonian villager being called below the water by a powerful river spirit:
I got up in the night
for the Dolphin spoke to me …
Godfathers and cousins,
your canoes are over my head;
I hear your voices talking.
You can peer down and down
or dredge the river bottom
but never, never catch me …
The Dolphin singled me out …4
In southern Africa as a whole there are many references to diviner-healers who claim to have been taken underwater to receive skills, wisdom and medicine in order to return and heal the living. Physical submersion signifies a higher level of skill for the diviner, but ‘most diviners and their initiates merely dreamed about being submerged in the river’.5
In the early 1940s a man with the name of Tyota was called to the Kowie River by his ancestors. In his case the message was brought by two Nile Monitors (Varanus niloticus, or uxam in isiXhosa), also known as leguaans, who followed him like pet dogs when he was walking in the veld, a sign of his impending calling to the river. ‘The Nile Monitor is reputedly the herdsman of the river people, driving their cattle out of the river under the cover of mist at dawn to graze in the grasslands and herding them back under the river at sunset.’6 Tyota spoke of a bright light emanating from the Kowie River that put him into a trance and of meeting an old woman ‘half human and half fish’.
Being called by a leguaan is not uncommon. Leguaans are one of the river creatures, along with crabs and otters, who are messengers from the ancestors. Near the Lushington pool I have often seen them, the largest of the African lizards, growing up to 200 cm in length. They have an intimidating prehistoric appearance, with a stout body, strong claws and a long tail.
The anthropological literature seems confusing on the relationship between the water divinities and the ancestors. According to Tony Dold (based on research in the Eastern Cape), these water divinities are regarded as ancestors, whereas according to Penny Bernard they are intermediaries and both they and the ancestors live in the sacred pools and work in close association. The ancestors and the river people cooperate; they work together, especially in the calling of diviner-healers.
According to one Xhosa source from the Kowie area, the People of the River are highly temperamental and easily angered. ‘Abantu Bomlambo are our ancestors, we do not know their names but we know them. They live in the river and in the sea. They visit us in the ubuhlanti [animal pen] at night and take care of us. If we disturb them in the river they become angry with us. We need to be on good terms. Sometimes children playing near the river throw stones in the river and the people of the river are disturbed and become angry.’7
There are many reports that these traditional diviners and healers have survived the advent of modernity and can be found not only in every rural settlement but in every urban township. The pool sites they frequent have an ecological as well as a spiritual significance for many indigenous people. The spirit world is regarded as the ultimate source of life-sustaining resources. But ‘sacred pool sites of key significance for healers are being systematically threatened by development projects, mining and modern agricultural practices. The privatisation of land has led to many of the sacred pools being inaccessible to healers.’8 Furthermore, channelling water from rivers can upset the water shades. Traditional taboos exist regarding natural resources, such as not collecting firewood near rivers, to avoid disturbing the water divinities. The Lushington pool has been fenced by the local farmer and the water is piped to irrigate his fields. The throb of the irrigation pump is an affront to the deep silence of the place. In these ways the meanings embedded in indigenous culture are disregarded.
The river rituals of the Xhosa are still widely practised. In fact, one of the strongest lines of continuity in this river story is the respect the river still inspires among many in the Xhosa population. Obviously it would be wrong to essentialise or generalise about such a large category of people, but for many of the Xhosa still living near the Kowie the area is more than an important source of food, fuel, medicine and building material. Behind such utilitarian use lies a deep traditional appreciation of nature. As Dold and Cocks write in their book, Voices from the Forest, which celebrates the link between people and nature or, as they frame it, between cultural and biological diversity (sometimes called ‘biocultural diversity’), both rural and urban South Africans still find great cultural and spiritual value in nature. ‘The isiXhosa language portrays nature (indalo) in idioms, proverbs, traditional riddles, songs and the names and descriptions of times of the day, months of the year and seasons of the year. The poetry of these is self-evident.’9 This is wonderfully clear in Xhosa birdlore, where the names and idioms reflect closely observed and deep ornithological knowledge and appreciation. An example is the Hamerkop (uqhimngqofe), which symbolises vanity from its habit of remaining for hours at the water’s edge, where it is supposed to be admiring