Seldom do we find people who do not revel in their
country’s history and its glorious past. Countries which have been split apart
in the twentieth century also speak of a nation from the past. The Greek
Orthodox Christians in the Middle East remember fondly the Byzantine Empire in
all its glory, the Latin Americans remember the grandeur of Chichen Itza,
Indians can’t stop talking about the glorious heritage, the heritage varying
depending on who you ask.
But there are Nations and People whose history has been
lost in the sands of time. The fiercely independent American Indians remember
their past only since the pale faces came in; the aboriginals of Australia seem
to have lost the memories of their forefathers. Only legends live on in folk
tales and traditions and art. Africa, the birthplace of humanity, too lost her
history and also her pride along with it. The Zulus were once a martial race that defeated the British Army with just spears in the memorable Opening Battle of The Anglo Zulu Wars in Isandlwana.
I realized after some thought that strangely history is
saved by our monuments. If a certain kingdom reigning in the Western parts of
India had not decided to pay their respects to their Gods, an Island off the
coast of Mumbai would not have the Trinity looking over the city from their
hidden caves.
It might have been faith as was the case with many
temples in India, it might have been a boost for the ego for most of the rulers
once faith had deserted them, it might have been the aliens at the Stonehenge,
it might have been technology in case of the Incas or the residents of
Mohen-Jo-Daro or even at attempt at afterlife by the rulers of Egypt.
But wherever history has stayed it’s because of the
monuments of the Generation. The only other way to safeguard your history is
through the stories passed on from father to son, from teacher to pupil, from
bard to bard, till someone decided to note them down as in the case of King
Arthur or the Epics of the Greeks or the Indian epics.
Most of Africa’s history lives on through her proverbs
and little else. It’s tragic to imagine that few would know how the Bubu
originated in Nigeria or why the Zulus were able to establish a great kingdom
even before King Shaka. This is one continent where I still feel the primal
call of the wild in my blood even though I may be sitting in one of the most
modern hotels with perhaps one of the best views in Umhlanga in Durban. The
drum beats which I never heard seems to echo from the sea, beats that resemble
who we are deep inside.
At night, the winds howl and whisper in my ears, the
story of a Nation that lost her pride – of a Queen of the Zulus who will come
one again to ensure that Pride Rock gets back her former glory.
Perhaps it’s this connection with nature that made
Africans from the central and southern parts stay away from the grandeur loving
nature of the Egyptian Rulers. Africa strangely has little architecture that
has survived the onslaught of time (except perhaps Great Zimbabwe). Somehow it
also leads me to hypothesize that the land was so bountiful that beyond saving
their tribes from the blood thirsty nature of the early African rulers, there
was little that one needed to do in order to survive. They lived as one with
nature, not against her and thus while the Masai tribes went for hunting; they
never killed to decorate their houses with lion heads.
I love the South African greeting – they are always
“Proudly South African”. The bringing back of their pride is what the continent
is waiting for; to unlock the chains of corruption that is binding them. The
ills here are numerous – AIDS, teenage pregnancy, dependency on grants, huge
credit pressures and the list goes on. Hope flickers, dim and rare to find.
But that’s the beauty of hope. Maybe my story is true. One day, perhaps, once
again, The Queen of The Zulus will rise to take her rightful throne and lead
the Nation to glory. Till then the drum rumbles as the world slowly begins to
realize the potential of Africa beyond just her diamonds.
