The sun was brushing the horizon, when Sibazi was called to fight. His opponent, the son of the previous king’s advisor. Broad shoulders, ripped abs, light-skinned. Their fight was obviously one sided, with Sibazi painting the boy red. The match wasn’t much of an exercise but what it did, it kept him on the tongues of men and women around the fire. Days went on, Nkabi, the young king that removed all his tittles and Sibazi kept on winning their fights and getting closer to the final. After they won, the anticipation and speculations were growing, as Sibazi posed to be a genuine treat to the throne.

The fight generated a huge anticipation, people were betting their livestock, lands and little they had. Prestige counted for nothing during that period, every man and woman voiced their opinions. What was even more important was that men who’ve won, would’ve displayed wisdom and strength. Above all, was that Sibazi, was the son of a man who was supposed to be a king, but was murdered in the last war, and his deputy took the throne, while others believed his son had a better claim. Though Sibazi displayed skill and strength, many thought it was too raw and Nkabi would be too strong for him.

Children, men and women from all walks of life stood around the kraal. Like the first day, ten cows were slaughtered. The bowl-like slope around the kettle kraal staged the perfect arena for the occasion. The game was to be watched by even more people. When Sibazi’s father was betrayed by his soldiers and his second in command took the throne to be the king, many left the capital to live more peacefully but were not strong enough to rebel.

When the news of Sibazi made rounds, people started believing in a better tomorrow and a rightful King.

The stage was set. Both young men were in opposite corners, sweat dripping to the toe from the humidity by the crowd. The atmosphere in the arena was legendary. Before the match begun, there was entertainment for the crowd. Some came and did the “hunting dance” which imitates hunting and the bravery it requires. Others did the umBhekuzo, which represents the ebb and tides, with the men alternately advancing and retreating on the audience. Those at the ends lifted their aprons, exposing their buttocks to show the flow of the tides, with the men alternately advancing and retreating on the audience.

A man was leaning to the ear, trying to talk over the noise, “Well, here are your sticks. I hope they are something to close to yours. But you should remember that, it is not the sticks that fight, but you.”

On the eve of the fight, Sibazi realized that his sticks were missing and through all the efforts they made, they didn’t find them. They searched everywhere, besides the huts allocated for the King, as no one was allowed in. It had been about a half an hour since the fight had started. They had taken a number of breaks, as significant blows were received on both ends. The two young men kept circling each other, sticks spinning effortlessly in their hands. It was already becoming clear that Nkabi was a little too strong for the renowned Sibazi.

Nkabi, the bull, swung and clipped Sibazi’s cheek bone. He got pumped up and grabbed Nkabi by the scruff of his neck. He has never fought an opponent that good.

The referee got between them and shouted to Sibazi, “Don’t forget the rules! Next time, I’m disqualifying you!”

The fight resumed and in an instant, Sibazi landed a significant blow across Nkunzi’s bald head. Blood dripped on the side of his face. Women screamed, and others hid their faces with their hands.

Once Nkabi was back on his feet, it was quite obvious that he wasn’t at his best anymore, seeming to lose his balance occasionally. Down to his knees, the hope of the Gubhela’s swung through thin air. Nkabi-the bull- rose like a bull and rained blows to the ribs, arms and the main one to the hands, that made Sibazi to drop the stick and scream in agony. At that point, his guard was down, one last blow on the neck and the young man was down.

Barely conscious he uttered, “I yield.”

The inyanga on the spot, one of the many that ascended to the kraal for the epic fight grabbed Sibazi, who was barely conscious, by the shoulders,

“Somebody help me get the man to the nearest hut.”

The nearest hut happened to be the one assigned to the King. Two men came quickly and helped Sibazi up, with remorse all over their faces. Most people who were on the young man’s side, felt as if they perhaps pushed the boy too far. On the other hand, the crowd was cheering, whistling and women ululating the birth of the new King.

The two men came out of the hut like something was chasing them and they ran straight to the high counsel and they were pointing to the hut. The masses anticipated what could be happening, people were now turning heads, as all the members of the counsel swarmed to the king’s hut.

Nkabi tried holding them back, with a few men by his side shouting, “It is forbidden to enter a King’s hut without his approval!” but the men seemed to careless for what they said. They were all swallowed by the wide hut.

One by one, the members came out of the hut and Bhekumuzi, the wisest, started shouting, “Everyone settle down!”

He moved through the crowds, uttering the same words. The other members came out the hut, slowly discussing something serious amongst themselves. The last two of the council members, came out helping Sibazi walk, who had a swollen face and was limping. The one that came out first went for Nkabi and they grabbed him and dragged him to the centre of the kraal. Commotion and confusion was growing amongst the people.

“People of the South, this man here is being accused of foul play. When Nyanda yebutho – the traditional healer – took Sibazi for some remedies and herbs, they entered the King’s hut, and he found this.” he pointed on a bowl, brought by the men that carried Sibazi to the hut, “These are Sibazi’s sticks. That alone is bad, but what makes it worse is that they are dipped in bowl of umuthi! This is witchcraft. As we all know that when sticks are dipped into this umuthi, it is an act of witchcraft, one that is forbidden, even in times of war! Now I ask you people of the south, is this the king you want to lead you?”

There was noise everywhere. The people were clearly angry. Before even people could seriously make an effort to take the law into their own hands, Nkabi pleaded, “Please don’t hurt me, I will confess.”

***

Tell us: What kind of a King do you think makes a good one?