Sneak preview of the making of the ‘African Games Of Thrones.’ #BladeMaker (This is the only one I will ever post, still needs more edits though, but this draft is readable - slowly getting there) Chapter One On that windy mid morning it was my turn to be up on the phakamile with father as my brothers and Uncle Guduza drove the cattle out of their three pens below us, one after the other. At sunrise it had been promising to be a calm spring day, but then this wind had suddenly sprung up. The day we count our cattle is an exciting one, with us standing high up there on the platform at the top of the phakamile and watching the cattle streaming out of the pens as they are released, and knowing that this all belongs to our family. But on that morning I had this weird tension in my body that I could not explain. Built from the sturdy wood of the mvagazi , the phakamile is about the height of a hut, and with the platform on top that can take two people at a time standing shoulder to shoulder. It serves a dual purpose, as the cattle counting tower, and so too as a lookout post. My duty was to receive the finger sized counting sticks which father was taking from an animal skin bag hung across his shoulder for the cattle counted, and putting them into another similar one I was carrying. Finally, I had ninety sticks, and another nine for the calves. ‘Time to go to Khanda now Okwethu,’ father said. The counting was finished, and the cattle, now milling around the phakamile, were all accounted for. ‘We have to work hard on the King’s new order.’ Khanda is the compound where we do our ironwork, and from the phakamile, the smoke from it can be seen over the treetops to the south towards the river. We have a big order from the King which he gave us in winter, fifteen thousand war spears to be delivered by the end of summer. Father picked his knobkerrie which leaned against a strut on the platform, and looked east towards the rising sun. A broad shouldered man with a proud jaw line, this morning he was wearing his tiger skin headband with the eagle wing feather on the forehead that danced to the wind. A string necklace with a copper spear blade pendant hung around his neck, the respected emblem of the royal spear maker. Talking of spear making, I was suddenly reminded of an incident that had happened a few days previously. *** It had been night, and we had been sitting with father around the boy’s fireplace, who had just started telling us a folktale. He is really good at them, and on some nights when he is not busy he always comes to our fire to entertain us with some. That night’s story had been the one about how Giraffe got a long neck. ‘At the creation of the world Giraffe was given a short neck and legs by the spirits,’ father had been saying. ‘But then it so happened that the animals ate up all the grass in the land, and all that was left were the leaves on the trees which they could not reach.’ ‘Kolobeja,’ we urged him on. ‘Giraffe was a very resourceful animal, and so she taught herself to climb the trees just like monkeys and baboons, and feed on those leaves -’ He broke off the story as our dogs suddenly leapt up and, barking, rushed in the direction of the gate. Father raised his hand for silence. We were all staring at the gate. The moon was high and it was clearly visible. The dogs, seven of them, were barking and pawing at the gate. ‘Thula!’ father shouted at them, and they all quietened down. ‘Who is this insolent person who stands at my gate without calling out salutations?’ father called out.
Posted on: Tue, 16 Dec 2014 11:38:07 +0000
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