A Friday morning school assembly was nothing unusual at Nkgono Manstopa High School, but there was something unusual about this particular morning that made the students restless and rumours rife. For one, the primary school from across the road had been invited to join the assembly, but even more eerie was the presence of their collective parents. What could be so important that practically the entire town had been summoned in this manner?
“Maybe there’s been a leak of the upcoming mid-year exam papers?” whispered a Grade 8 boy.
“That doesn’t explain the special guest Meneer Meiring mentioned at registration class this morning,” countered his friend.
Primary school teachers battled to keep the little ones quiet as they fidgeted and laughed.
Mevrou Cronje moved two rows of Grade 9 boys in an orderly fashion so that some of the parents might be seated.
Just then Principal Thobejane ambled in, pausing a few metres from the stage to glare at an unruly group of high schoolers seated towards the top of the gallery, almost daring them to step out of line.
A “Shshshshshsh!” could be heard coming from somewhere among a group of more disciplined high school students in a collective attempt to help restore some sort of decorum.
However, it was the sudden appearance of Taudiarora at the door that silenced children and parents alike.
***
It is said that the revered Mphosi Qhoboshiyane, a respected traditional healer and foreman on one of the first farms in the town, used to work at a local big cat sanctuary. Lions and other big cats that had been rescued from captivity and cruelty were brought to the spacious farm for rehabilitation. Legend has it that one frosty winter’s morning a messenger arrived at Taung Sanctuary to inform the traditional healer and foreman that his first wife, Mmapetros, had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Ntate Mphosi was so ecstatic that he ran to the main house at once to tell his boss, Meneer Piet Joubert.
As the two men stood on the red polished stoep, the morning sun pouring into the house and igniting the imposing golden sandstone cliffs just beyond, they suddenly heard the males of a pride of lions roaring in unison from somewhere deep within the sanctuary. Frozen stiff, the two men stared at each other in silence. This had never happened before! Without a word being exchanged, Joubert grabbed his keys, a rifle and a pair of binoculars, and the two men jumped into his bakkie and headed out in search of the lions.
When they found the four big males they were relaxing on a large ledge, basking in the rising sun. The sight of these regal beasts, boasting full manes and paws large enough to break a grown man’s spine, was something to behold. The presence of the humans seemed inconsequential to them as they continued to roar, excitedly greeting the new dawn.
With both hands on his stomach, Ntate Mphosi turned to Joubert and asked “Kan Meneer dit voel?”
It was as if the roars were rumbling right inside their very stomachs. Joubert just nodded, one hand on his stomach, eyes fixed on the unusual behaviour of the dominant male and his four sons. The roaring would continue for the rest of the morning, prompting some concerned neighbours to call Joubert.
“Ek weet wat dit beteken!” Ntate Mphosi suddenly whispered excitedly.
“Huh?!” replied a confused Joubert.
“Die leeus probeer om my vertel wat my seun se naam moet wees. Dis n boodskap van my voorouers!” explained a wide-eyed Ntate Mphosi.
Joubert knew better than to be dismissive of his longest-serving foreman. It was Ntate Mphosi, after all, who all the famers in the surrounding areas appealed to when the drought threatened to bring about untold devastation. Mphosi would gather his medicine bag, filled with indigenous herbs and carefully mixed concoctions, and head out to the sacred Metsimaholo pool. There he would spend three days fasting and praying to the ancestors for rain.
“Taudiarora. That is what I will name my newborn son. It is he who will take over one day when I am gone,” announced Ntate Mphosi to no one in particular, swelling with pride.
***
Wrapped in seanamarena – a traditional Basotho blanket – draped over his shoulders to just past his aching knees, Taudiarora cut a striking figure. Donning mopheme (a traditional fur hat made of animal skin) he walked with a pronounced gait towards the school stage without a second glance at the now stunned audience.
Before he could ascend the stairs, one of the elders of the town who still observed traditions and culture stood up and praised Taudiarora and his clan: “Ya kena Tau e tshehla, e phahamisitse mahetla e famotse dinko. (Now the golden lion enters, shoulders raised and nostrils flaring.)
“Diphoofolo tsa tlula bo Mme ba balehisa bana, banna ba i pata mafikeng, mangwele a maqheku a thuthumela.”
Animals jump with fright and mothers run to hide their children, men take cover behind the rocks, old women’s knees quiver.
“Alililililililli!!!,” some women in the audience ululated.
Thobejane smiled as he remembered the old ways of their town.
The woman continued: “Bua wena mora ngaka!
Speak son of a traditional healer!
“Ngaka e ileng ya namolele maburu, ka ho kopa pula ho Kukama Ditjhaba.
The traditional healer that saved the farmers by pleading with the Ruler of nations for rain.
“Bua wena mora Ntate Mphosi!”
Speak son of Mr. Mphosi!
The chorus of nostalgic ululations continued. “Alilililililililili!!!”
At the top of the stairs Taudiarora paused, turned towards the ululating women and now cheering residents, raised lechoba and bellowed: “Kgotsong bana beso!
Peace be with you brothers and sisters!
“Kgotsong bana ba Morena Moshoeshoe!
Peace be with you children of King Moshoeshoe!
“Kea leboha bo Mme!”
Thank you womenfolk!
Tell us: Why do you think that Taudiarora has come to the school?