Cows

I’ve never been into cows.  They’re stupid and often wander onto the road at night.  And also in the day.

 

I can remember when I was a kid, we were returning from our annual holiday at Umkomaas, a sleepy coastal town, on the Indian Ocean.  The traffic was heavy, and we were probably going at barely more than a walking pace.  A herd of cows was ambling alongside the main road from Durban to Johannesburg, when one turned in front of our car.  There was no chance of stopping.  We hit it.  The cow shook its head, spat out a few teeth and some blood, and wandered off.  Our car had the equivalent of thousands of dollars of damage.

Recently I’ve been paying more attention to cows, not only because of my lobola blog here two weeks ago, but also because of a type of cow found in southern Africa, called an Nguni cow.  Not only are they beautiful, but there is a fascinating story about them.

There are two species of cattle in the world: Bos taurus, which include the brown-and-black breeds such as Jersey and Holstein; and Bos indicus, found mainly in India and Africa, which include more unusual creatures such as Zebu, Sanga and Nguni cattle, which typically have enormous horns and magnificent hides.

The Nguni is a hardy breed, well adapted to the vagaries of nature in the areas of Africa where it is found.  It is a good breeder, heat and disease resistant, and an excellent forager, all of which explain its popularity.

However it is the relationship between these cows and the Zulu people that fascinates me.  Nguni cows are an intrinsic part of Zulu culture, playing an important social, spiritual, and even political role.  The oral tradition of the Zulus is rich in references to the Nguni cattle, which pop up in stories, proverbs, and mythology.

What has intrigued me most of all is how this oral tradition has led to the most amazing names that the Zulus have given to the various skins.  isiZulu is a beautiful language, richly onomatopoeic, and very descriptive. Here are some examples of names given to different types of Nguni cows:

imatshoNgoye – the stones of the Ngoye forest

inasenezimbukane – the flies in the buttermilk

inkampu – of cutting in two

inkorno – the beast which is houses

engabantubegulile – like old people

imaqandakahuye – the eggs of the lark

inala – abundance

Other names for which I was not able to find photos are:

The gaps between the branches of the trees silhouetted against the sky – a deeply dappled animal

The hornbill takes to flight – a dark beast that shows a flash of white beneath its flank when it walks

What stabs the rain – the upright points of a young steer’s horns

Needless to say, Nguni skins are now sought after as floor coverings or even wall hangings.  I have to say I prefer seeing an Nguni hide on the floor rather than that of a lion or polar bear - there’s much less ego involved.

So next time you see a cow – any cow – think of a phrase that describes the patterns on its hide – the more descriptive the better!

Stan – Thursday

PS. For a full appreciation of the relationship between the Zulus and the Nguni cattle, you should read The Abundant Herds: A Celebration of the Nguni Cattle of the Zulu People, by Marquerite Poland and David Hammond-Tooke, illustrated by Leigh Voigt.  Fernwood Press

PPS. Saying isiZulu words are difficult to pronounce for Westerners.  The language is pretty phonetic, but there are two important differences:  an 'e' at the end of a word is pronounced.  It sounds like 'eh'.  The 'q' has no equivalent in English.  It is one of several clicks.  You can make the sound by putting the tip of your tongue on the curve of your hard palate and pulling it away quickly.  It should sound somewhat like a champagne cork popping or a cork being pulled out of a wine bottle.  There'll be a test at Bouchercon.

With this cow I do thee wed

It is traditional custom in southern Africa for a prospective husband to honor his future wife’s family with a gift of cows.  The practice is called lobola.  The cows themselves and the process leading to the exchange are designed to bring the bridal couple’s families closer together, so that as a unit they will be supportive of the newlyweds, and later of their offspring.

Indigenous African nduni cow

The process itself is akin to what happens in a corporate merger or acquisition.  The bridegroom-to-be’s family appoints negotiating representatives, often the father and uncles, who approach the family of the bride-to-be to negotiate a fair price.  From what I understand, these negotiations can often take several sessions and involve a haggling over the value of the cattle themselves, as well as the attributes of the young lady.

As Owethu Kheli wrote recently in the Mail&Guardian Online (http://mg.co.za/article/2012-02-17-tricky-art-of-negotiating-lobola) (I’ve omitted a few paragraphs):

Indigenous African nduni cow

“I was not allowed into the house where my fiancée's family and my "lawyers" discussed this "out-of-court settlement". Being present is like contempt of court.

I drove my team to her parents' house. It took three meetings for the two families to finally sign the deal. The first meeting, according to the briefing my "lawyers" gave me afterwards, was a good one. "It's a smooth process," said my dad's cousin. Okay, tell me more, I said.

Her family had accepted our merger of equals proposition. But? They had not done due diligence and could not put cattle or a monetary value on the daughter.

Cow!

I wanted an easy deal: a reasonable lobola, then my family and I would pay for the wedding. Well, my lawyers claimed that they suggested that to her family. Either my darling's family was not too keen, or did not realise how sweet that deal would be for them.

But they played hard to get over those three meetings, according to my team. At some stage I thought that I would go to the house next door to find a wife. Or I would marry a white woman, whose dad would have the pain of funding a lavish wedding, all without lobola.

Finally, after three meetings, my deal was sealed in the most welcome and fulfilling of ways.

I sneaked into the final meeting. My lawyers are rebels -- they break tradition, generally. They said I should walk in with them this time round to experience the process for myself. The other parties probed skillfully as though they did not know.

One of them asked of my legal team: "Gentlemen, how come there are four of you, when in the past meetings there were only three?" My dad's cousin, knowing we would all be fined for this transgression, introduced me as their driver.

Everybody laughed.”

In this case, the negotiations went well.

However, as you would expect, traditions like this are under pressure.

First, there are logistical pressures.  It is hard to imagine an urban couple driving a small herd of cattle through the streets of Johannesburg or Cape Town from one family to another, let alone keeping the cattle on an apartment’s veranda or a house’s small garden.  This inconvenience has been addressed by exchanging the cash value of the cattle - hence the need for the negotiators to reach agreement on the cows’ values.  This can cost the bridegroom a lot of money – which means that the couple can start life together with a large hole in their bank balance.

Second, the switch from cows to cash has caused some families to focus more on the money and less on the tradition underlying lobola.  Some women whose lobola has been paid in cash wonder what agreements were reached.  Some feel that their negotiators negotiated their lives away, giving the man the right to tell the woman what to do and where to live – that, in fact, lobola now symbolizes a purchase, not the joining of families.

Third, many proponents of lobola argue that the divorce rates amongst groups that seal a union with lobola are lower than typical western rates.  However, more and more young men now say that the price to pay, in cattle or money, is too great.  More than half of young men today believe that lobola discourages marriage.  And guess what?  Single mothers and absentee fathers are becoming the norm.  And the likely ones to suffer are the children.

Michael and I are fortunate that our Detective Kubu’s father, Wilmon, was an astute negotiator.  The lobola Kubu paid for Joy was fair, and the two are a couple of equals.  Sort of.

Stan - Thursday