History of South Africa podcast

We’re in Bulawayo, just over the border from the Limpopo, and very much part of South Africa’s story — the Ndebele Chief Lobengula ruled what was known generally as Matabeleland, in a territory that the British colonial office called Zambesia, which we now call, Zimbabwe.

Name changing is one of the constants of world history, let alone African or South African. Empires rise and fall, kingdoms change, political leaders come and go, languages are part of empire.

The area around the Ndebele settlement in 1888 was in the rough shape of a circle, the radius extending about 120 kilometers around the capital, known by Ndebele speakers as Gubulawayo. The circumference of the circle extended from what became known as Plumtree through Gwai, Gwelo, Selukwe, Shabani down to the Shashi River, then back to Plumtree. With that circle, Mzilikazi and then Lobengula had established some dominance over the nearby Sotho and Tswana majority.

The magnitude and frequency of Ndebele warfare reinforced their roots in a militarised Zululand - a monocratic form of government. The Ndebele immigrants into Zimbabwe could maintain their existence only if they remained obedient to their commander-in-chief. They incorporated alien captives in their midst gathered through rapid conquest rather than through the assimilation of an immigrant population. Mzilikazi had died in 1868 and his son Lobengula took power after a short sharp civil war.

Among the Ndebele, Mzilikazi represented an epic hero, similar to Moses or Hannibal - the founding father, the umdabuli wa sizwe, symbolising nationhood, loyalty and patriotism. Subjects called themselves abantu be nkosi, people of the king. Lobengula was saluted by the call, Bayete wena Nkosi, hail his majesty, and visitors knelt respectfully before him as the regent. The kings ancestral spirits were the national deities and guardians of the society itself. All property of the state including the land, natural resources, cattle, tributes of whatever sort, and the people themselves were the property of the king.

Contrary to the expanding colonial powers, Ndebele rule was through a non-monetary, pre-industrial bureaucratic administration - and this tension grew by the year in the 19th Century. Lobengula was the director and financier general, personally appointing all administrators, military officers, even regiments — as Mzilikazi had done. Ndebele weapons were manufactured in a small workshops scattered around Matabeleland, but only the king’s artisans could make shields and the all-important stabbing spears. When a warrior died, his shield and stabbing spear would usually be returned to the king - unlike the Vikings for example.

It was into this militaristic and organised kingdom that European concession seekers into Matabeleland travelled, trying to gain the all important slip of paper allowing them to mine gold. The two main rivals, the Exploring Company of Edward Maund and the British South Africa Company - BSAC of Cecil John Rhodes, left Kimberley in August 1888 heading north.

The BSAC team was comprised of Charles Rudd, Francis Robert Matabele Thompson and James Maguire sent who arrived in Bulawayo before Maund in late September. They discovered to the chagrin that Lobengula was a highly skilled negotiator who accepted their gift of one hundred gold sovereigns - worth around 100 000 dollars today then sent them back to their wagons. It had been a tiring journey no doubt, said the Ndebele king and they should rest.

Three days passed before they met once more, and Lobengula spent most of the meeting firing questions, distracting from the main objective. The three repeatedly tried to steer the conversation back to the right to mine gold, Lobengula deflected their queries, pointing out it was his respected induna’s who would negotiate mining rights.

He was clearly stalling for time.

Lobengula eventually deigned to meet Rudd who begged for a mining commission.

If you have access to Google Maps, or preferably, an original wall map of Africa, stand back for a moment to savour the grand vista which is southern Africa. Living on the tip looking upwards creates a culture of outwardness, a mental and psychological state of eternal expansion. Despite this grandiosity, for many, it is a place of entrapment, they express sentiments of being stuck at the end of Africa, peering outwards to the continents of Europe, or America, Australasia with a sense of longing.

It is as though we are fenced in by our own preconceptions, endlessly scrolling through the timelines of the grand and glorious X Y or Z generation gallavanting through the safe woods of Croatia, swimming along the elegant isles of the Med, wondering at the delights of the Barrier Reef. Croatia, of course, is where European-based ethnic cleansing took place in 1995.

Europe is where almost 50 million died 70 years ago in a world war. America has been transfixed by a form of national socialism, Australia faces Chinese hegemony. Still, humans are a strange bunch, history a distant ship smoke on the horizon.

It is a pitiful state where middle-class South Africans appear to have become transfixed by the myth of greengrassism. Where the grass is always greener on the other side.

Our ancestors made their way into south Africa with a very different set of personal codes. From the earliest San, the Khoekhoe, then the Bantu settlers, then the European settlers, all arrived in this territory with plans and dreams. The dream may have been purely survival, or seeking treasure, for some it was purely adventure, for others, a combination of the above. But all of our ancestors had a plan which involved movement, migration, heading out to the next vista with necessities of whatever sort packed away and taken along. They were stoked by imagination, courageous, expansive.

Looking at that southern African map a few important facts leap out. There are three main corridors from the south to the centre. One lies to the East, which can be tricky as it harbours fevers, faster flowing rivers, and inhabitants stretching back millennia.

The centre is cooler in places, it is higher ground, but it also suffers from a lack of water, slow flowing larger rivers, and as you move north, geology plays tricks on you.

To the west, well, there’s a bloody great series of deserts, marching from the Karoo, Namaqualand, to the Kalahari, into the Namib, then into the Angolan plateau. Good luck using that route, even these days. Take a Land Cruiser with spare tanks, tyres and don’t forget the satellite phone.

There are a few important characters in this episode. One is Lobengula kaKhumalo, the descendant of Mzilikazi who had led his followers away from Shaka. You know his story if you’ve followed this series.

Lobengula was crowned king of Ndebele in 1868 after a short, sharp civil war, at the great place called Mhlanhlandlela. He had long been tolerant of the Boer and English hunters who showed up as his home in Matabeleland, and in 1870 had even granted Sir John Swinburne’s London and Limpopo Mining Company the right to search for gold along the Tati River — between the Shashe and Ramaquabane Rivers.

N those days, the whole of Ireland was part of the United Kingdom, but people like MacNeill were working towards Home Rule. In what can only be called a head scratcher, Rhodes fell in with the nationalists. He knew that they had 85 seats in the British parliament and were strategically important, many times when the Liberal Party and the Conservative Party were at loggerheads, it was the Irish Parliamentary Party that turned into King-makers, holding the balance of power in the House of Commons.

Welcome back to the History of South Africa podcast with me your host, Des Latham. This is episode 291, The miracle of South Africa’s railway engineering and a little bit of commentary thrown into the mix. This episode is part history, party histrionic.

Play sound - old steam train

Yes, it’s the instantly recognizable sound of a steam train which I have traveled in around the world. First trip, pre-school from Nkwalini station to Empangeni where one of the main sugar mills of Zululand could be found. My grandmother Mavis Alport was the chaperon as young Desmond and brother Gary clambered aboard the snorting beast, a visceral experience.

Exciting stuff, this steam-train business — except for the small matter of my eyes, which had been staring rapturously out of the window towards the engine, drinking in all that romance of steam trains. What everybody who has actually ridden behind a coal-fired boiler already knows, is that romance travels with shrapnel. Tiny incandescent shards of burnt coal, riding the slipstream like malevolent little embers with a grudge, aimed directly at my cornea.

Granny Mavis warned me, of course. But I was a farm boy possessed of that particular strain of confidence found only in the terminally under-informed, and so I ignored her, leaned further out, and gave the shrapnel a bigger target.

Moving goods around a country is not only about commerce, it is about strategy, and often, military strategy. The key to being able to get your soldiers and machines from A to B quickly is being able to exploit the railways. Even now, Russia and Ukraine rely on railways to move their tanks and arms. During the Second world War, when a track was blown up, often the engineers could repair the broken section within a day or two. Everything about locomotives is about speed, and always has been.

In South Africa commerce relies on aviation and trucking companies to move things around, but that’s only because our railways are somewhat shoddy and have degenerated because keeping them going requires maintenance, and that’s not something that most contemporary politicians have as a skill set.

And so the cycle turns, gloriously, predictably. Why replace a sleeper when you can convene a task team to explore the sleeper question, with international best-practice benchmarking, naturally, at a five-star conference venue?

Maintenance is a thankless art. Nobody erects a plaque to the man who tightened a bolt in 1899 and thereby prevented a derailment in 2024. As you’ll hear later, the gangers and navvies are a distant memory on our dusty veld.

The 19th century's rolling stock revolutionised South Africa, shrinking the country where trips of weeks and months turned into days and even hours.

After the line reached Kimberley in1885, and the celebrations subsided, the Cape Government was under pressure by capitalists like Cecil John Rhodes to extend it beyond the Cape and into the Orange Free State, on to the Transvaal and from Natal inland. Once established a Southern African customs union could follow as a way to maximise free trade. However, some in the Cape were not entirely sold on that idea.

The Afrikaner Bond for example was initially skittish. Bond members were mainly farmers who regarded a vast matrix of tracks across the territory as a possible increased risk as competitors from further afield could access Cape markets.

Nevertheless, the surveyor's maps had been drawn up. One ambitious plan was to extend the Midland Line—which already connected Port Alfred and Port Elizabeth to Grahamstown—even deeper into the interior. That extension was duly completed when it met the Western Line at De Aar.

And this is where there was a problem. It involved that old bugbear of trade - something called tariffs - and that other fetter of growth, nationalism. Each of these colonies and fledgling Republics collected customs duties at points of entry and if there was a free trade area, they’d lose that income.

In 1883 Joseph Moss, regarded as the wealthiest black man in Kimberley, stood before the newly formed Africander League in the diamond mining city. Africander spelled A F R I C A N D E R. It which was not what you’d imagine, the Africander League was made up of black and coloured men before whom Moss pronounced

“We are Africans — we are not like Englishmen, who return to their own land. You are not here for a certain period to make money alone and then return to England to make yourselves great men…”

Moss looked around the room at the faces of black and brown

“…You are born here, your interest is here…”

Because South Africa was not their place of birth, most Englishmen in Kimberley did not view it as their homeland. Within a generation, however, their descendants born on South African soil would be confronted with a historic question of identity: were they British, or were they South African?

As Moss spoke he would have been aware of a similar sentiment amongst Dutch speaking South Africans, a rising Afrikaner nationalism. There were only two main differences between the Africanders and the Afrikaners

One was a matter of spelling - the black League was spelled Africander and the Dutch Bond was spelt Afrikaner.

Secondly, the black Africanders of Kimberley spoke English, while the white spoke Dutch as well the new taal of South Africa, Afrikaans.

It is one of the overriding historical facts of the last 150 years that so much resonated between these people and yet, so much was going to end up segregating them. Both of these Afrikaners regarded Africa as their homeland, yet were feited to spend their days separated because of the perceived differences based on skin colour.

IT was a surface difference and by the late 1880s, that difference was being reinforced by English politicians and millionaires in South Africa like Cecil John Rhodes.

As the diamond and gold mines developed and the ownership crystalised around a handful of men, vast changes were taking place across southern Africa, the future was swiveling about on the fulcrum of politics. Farming interests dominated local settler politics, and in the Cape more scientific farming practices advanced rapidly with the establishment of the Department of Agriculture.

There was another struggle on the go in the colony - between a progressive largely English-speaking modernising elite, and poorer, more conservative sheep farmers. From the mid-1880s onwards, Cape legislation was introduced making it compulsory to dip sheep in order to curb infection.

This gave rise to the most wide-spread popular agitation among Dutch speaking Afrikaners — agitation which threatened to split the party representing their interests, the Afrikaner Bond. It further reinforced the ethnic solidarity between Afrikaners on isolated sheep farms of the northern Cape in particular. And living next door to these farmers were the mine owners of Kimberley, led by Cecil John Rhodes.

Throughout the late 1880s, Cecil John Rhodes had maintained links with his British-based network of mine owners and financiers by sending storms of telegrams and letters, and maintained an excellent engagement with Cape politicians. By the time of gold discoveries, he had built a much closer working relationship with Afrikaners too, much to the surprise of most considering that he was an imperialist who loved Latin and Greek, and Afrikaans was not Greek to him.

In February 1887 Cecil formed Goldfields of South Africa with Charles Rudd who is another to loom large in South African history. At first Goldfields spluttered along, with most of it’s slim profits being invested into De Beers, and his new venture, the British South Africa Company.

Rhodes began to schmooze Transvaal politicians which was quite difficult seeing that he couldn’t speak Afrikaans, or Dutch, or in fact, any South African language.

It could be said that Cecil Rhodes quest for hegemony over the diamond industry of South Africa was quickened by rumours of significant gold discoveries in the Transvaal.

Others say not, because no-one was aware in these heady days of just how valuable the Motherlode of Main Reef was to become. First a quick note.

The easiest way to picture Kimberley in 1886–87 is not as a collection of neatly separated modern mining companies, each with its own mine. It was more like a gigantic underground chessboard, where the four great diamond mines around Kimberley—De Beers, Kimberley, Dutoitspan and Bultfontein—had originally been divided into hundreds of individual claims.

A claim was essentially a small piece of ground, and in the early days an individual digger or small partnership could own one or several of them. As the workings became deeper and more dangerous, those little claims were progressively bundled together into larger holdings and companies. By the mid-1880s, therefore, you had companies that owned groups of claims inside a particular mine, while the word "mine" referred to the entire diamond-bearing pipe or working area.

So, if you were standing in Kimberley in 1886 and somebody said, "I'm working in the Kimberley Mine," that did not necessarily mean he worked for a company called Kimberley Mine. He might have worked for Kimberley Central, or the French Company, or Standard, or one of the smaller interests that still held claims there. The mine was the physical hole in the ground; the companies were the owners of pieces of that hole.

In 1886–87 the whole industry was therefore in the middle of a gigantic transition from hundreds of little claim-holders hacking away independently at the diamond-bearing ground, toward a handful of enormous corporations controlling entire mines.

Underground mining was replacing the enormous open pits because the old workings were becoming dangerously deep; companies were sinking shafts and driving tunnels down into the pipes. At the same time, Cecil John Rhodes and Barney Barnato were consolidating ownership above ground.

By 1886 Rhodes wasn’t powerful enough to overcome other significant owners in Kimberley, although most of the other entrepreneurs believed amalgamation was good for diamonds — no-one wanted to be dominated by Rhodes — or each other. And Rhodes was seeking domination.

While the majority of those in Kimberley scrabbled and scratched, the magnates were high on the hog. They frequented the Kimberley Club, launched by 74 well-heeled citizens who pledged 100 pounds each, a double storey structure that impressed as it rose from the flat Griqualand surrounds. Evenings were full of dinners and dances, black tie and evening dress abounded, awash in the blaze of the new electric lights, the first in South Africa, which twinkled inside the homes of the rich, and splashed along the streets. Men and women mingled, thronged and thrusted, the tuxedo dressed elites sat in their plush chairs in the Kimberly club, pressing the electric bells to call waiters who slid effortlessly across the plush velvet pile and Turkish carpets.

Most evenings sitting side by side in the lounge were Cecil John Rhodes and his friend and co-shareholder Alfred Beit, sipping on their favourite tipple which was black velvet, a mixture of champaign and stout beer. Suitably fortified, they would dance, but let me hasten to add, not together, Rhodes with the plainest girl apparently while Beit, who was a short man, often sought out the tallest women. A weird vaudeville show and watched by a few sober enough to register irony. Alfred Beit was the key to what happened next because he had already drawn the attention of one of the most powerful capitalists in the world — Nathanial Natty Rothschild of Rothschild’s bank in London. Beit wrote a letter of introduction for Rhodes, who sailed off to England where he met Natty Rothschild. The first meeting didn’t start well. Rothschild was frosty.