History of South Africa podcast

There are many correlations and connections in this episode, so hang on tight as we toboggan down the slippery slopes of history bumping into all manner of bizarre and simultaneously heinous characters. Keeping in mind that we’re dealing with men and women of their age, nevertheless, the tale is one of intrigue, ego, treasure hunting, not to mention, madness.

Belgium by 1882 was barely half a century old, becoming independent in 1830, ruled by King Leopold the Second, who sported a spade shaped beard and a giant colonial chip on his shoulder. Because he led a respectable European country, he was a king, but how he’d become a king was a sleight of hand.

His father was a German prince, related to the British Royal family, Leopold the First. This trembling nation had been pasted together — an uneasy amalgam as Adam Hothschild writes — of French and Flemish, a version of Dutch spoken in northern Belgium. King Leopold the Second was fluent in French, German, like his father and later, English.

He never bothered to learn Flemish, spoken by more than half his people. A snob, some said, bitterly, as bitter as the division created by language and class. French was the language of the bourgeois, the educated, Flemish was working class. Even the professionals of northern Belgium spoke French instead of Flemish, the perceived language of the farm labourer and factory worker.

As a teen, Leopold the Second was a gangly youth, his head too big for his body, his clothes hanging off his spindly shoulders — a callow boy who’s mother tended to write him threatening letters about his lack of interest in studies rather than speak to him directly. He was useless in most subjects except for Geography. Leopold the Second was a Geography freak, and from the age of ten, his education was based in military lore. By fifteen he was a lieutenant of the Belgian army, 16 he was a captain, 18, a major, 19, a colonel, and a year later, at 20, a major general.

This pencil thin spindle of a boy had to apply for an audience with his father - who spoke to his son through messengers. As this alienated boy aged, he surrounded himself with men who explained how government worked, and plied him with maps.When the elder Leopold died, Leopold exclaimed :

“Petit pays, pettis gens”. — small country, ordinary people. Belgium, just for the record, is about the same geographic size as Lesotho and squeezed between France and Germany, the grand nations of Europe in the late 19th Century. Leopold was peeved by his puniness, something had to be done to rouge up the petit pays.

Recognizing growing domestic pressure and the strategic need to split British and French alliances, Bismarck plunged Germany into the colonial race. In 1884, he hosted the Berlin Conference, with a hazy goal at formalizing something about the European partition of the African continent.

The main aim of Berlin Conference was to deal with the growing pressure of European claims over West Africa, but it was much more than that. It began formally on Saturday 15th November 1884, as winter snow which had arrived early cloaked Berlin.

The plenipotentiaries had their brief - but what was Bismarck planning? Was this a free trade conference to safeguard German business in the Congo and Niger? Or was Bismarck about to wield a hefty cake slicer, to carve up the whole African continent?

Cetshwayo had sought refuge in Nkandla as his arch enemy, Zibhebhu, turned his attention to the royalists living along the Zululand Coastal plain. Soon Somkhele of the Mphukunyoni and the emaNgweni people were hiding in the swamps and reed-beds of the sub-tropical bush along the Indian Ocean.

Melmoth Osborne was the resident commissioner of Zululand and a committed foe of Cetshwayo’s royal line, a supporter of Zibhebhu. As Cetshwayo waited for the civil war to die down, he came to the conclusion that it was imperative to convince Melmoth of his right to rule. It was time to come out of hiding and to seek shelter from the commissioner — which he did under Henry Francis Fynn’s junior’s escort in October 1883. Cetshwayo was placed in a small house alongside his father’s old kwaGqikazi homestead where he could contemplate how far he’d fallen.

There he remained until 8th February 1884. Had he lived longer, he would have heard that his old Nduna and councillor, Mnyamana, had escaped with his life after being poisoned.

The Zulu king was another going to be so fortunate. Shortly after he ate, at 2.30 pm on 8th February, he was overtaken by convulsions, then he collapsed and died a short while later. His family members refused permission for a post-morten, surgeon Scott declared the death had been caused by heart disease.

However, historians know the truth - Cetshwayo had most likely been poisoned - placed either in his beer, or his snuff. While it’s not known what poison was used, my research into the symptoms and passage of death points to Erythrophleum lasianthum, commonly known as the Swazi ordeal tree, is a medium to large leguminous tree native to southern Africa. It is notable for its exceptionally toxic bark and seeds, traditional cultural significance, and ecological value as a component of woodlands and forests across parts of South Africa, Eswatini and Mozambique.

All parts of the tree—especially the bark, seeds, and roots—contain powerful alkaloids and cardiac toxins. Historically, extracts from the bark were used in ordeal poison practices in parts of southern Africa, giving rise to the common name "ordeal tree." The tree has also been used in traditional medicine, but these practices carry substantial risk because the difference between a toxic and potentially therapeutic dose is extremely small.

Symptoms of poisoning can include vomiting, tremors, irregular heartbeat, seizures, respiratory failure, and death. The second option is Boophone disticha — a bulb known across southern Africa for centuries and Zulu herbalists were fully aware of its toxicity.

Every part of the plant—especially the bulb—contains powerful Amaryllidaceae alkaloids and is highly poisonous to people, livestock, and pets. Traditional healers have employed carefully prepared doses for medicinal and ceremonial purposes but like the Swazi Ordeal Tree, there is a tight margin between a traditional dose and a dangerous one. Exposure to flowers in confined spaces alone causes eye irritation or headaches, giving rise to the common name sore-eye flower.

Still, this bulb is highly sought after by modern collectors because of the bulb’s beauty. Just wash your hands after fiddling with it, folks.

A third possibility is the Acokanthera which causes death through cerebral hypoxia, and a fourth, poison beans, the species of Abrus precatorius in particular — but those can take days to kill you and Cetshwayo perished in an hour or two.

Zibhebhu was immediately blamed and he would pay eventually for his actions. But first, the king had to be buried. First he was placed in a sitting position and tied to his hut’s central post. The building was sealed with clay and mud so that no smell could emerge and Cetshwayo’s body was left there for a few weeks to putrefy. The royal attendants asked Melmoth Osborne for permission to take the body to the emaKhosini valley so he could be buried with his ancestors, but the commissioner refused.

On the afternoon of 10th January 1883, King Cetshwayo kaMpande climbed off a skiff and onto the beach at Port Dunford, surviving the heavy and powerful surf. The British had been using this stretch of desolate sand as their transport hub into Zululand, which is south of the modern harbour of Richard’s Bay.

King Cetshwayo then stepped out of the wet boat onto the sand of Port Durnford, where he was formally met by British official Sir Theophilus Shepstone to begin his return to Zululand. Cetshwayo looked around — there was no welcoming committee of his people. Shepstone has purposely kept the date of the King’s return a secret, this after 3 years in exile. It was just the sort of thing at which Theophilus excelled — a thoughtful deviousness.

The British brought him back to lead a detachment of 6th Dragoons to greet the old Zulu king, and to escort Cetshwayo back to Mthonjaneni above the the emaKhosini valley. Which he did. Shortly after they arrived in early January, Mandlakazi leader Zibhebu came to Mthonjaneni, but not to pay respects to Cetshwayo, he made a grand point of greeting Shepstone, his patron, and ignoring the king.

Zululand had been fractured, and Cetshwayo now led a broken people where the different regions were alienated from royal control. Cetshwayo had been restored, but their country was divided. The uSuthu regiment in particular were aghast they were forced to remain under Zibhebhu’s rule — he was a tyrant and hated.

For the previous 12 months, a game of smoke and mirrors had confounded the king. When he returned from visiting Queen Victoria in England in September 1882, he had been told he was to return home almost immediately. The actual boundaries of his kingdom were undefined. Natal officials were terrified of Cetshwayo, sure that he would invoke the spirits of Dingana and Shaka, and the Zulu would rise up once more. They wanted to confine Cetshwayo to the central portion of his former kingdom, where he would be managed by a Resident supervisor Henry Francis Fynn Junior.

In the north, Zibhebhu, Cetshwayo’s implacable enemy, would rule independently — the only independent chief out of the 13 selected by the British to rule over different territories in Zululand. Zibhebhu took control over the land north of the Black Mfolozi, land which was dominated by pro-Cetshwayo locals and Zibhebhu was distinctly anti-Cetshwayo.

It was into this newly divvied up landscape that Cetshwayo returned in early 1883. Shepstone officiated over the handover of power, and once again, was forced to face a plethora of complaints delivered by the king’s men, including Mnyamana’s induna Hemulaana. The kings restoration, they said, was a disgrace.

Ever the thin-skinned settler, Shepstone was outraged, he was merely a clerk, sent by the British to dot a few I’s and cross a few T’s, he had no power to alter any of the conditions. After the tongue lashing, he and the dragoons hurried back to the safety of Natal muttering about the insults they’d been forced to endure.

With stuffy old Shepstone gone, the Zulu let their hair down == Let the party begin — but the reality of his situation was clear to Cetshwayo. While his homestead at oNdini had been reinstated east of the original town burned down by the British, it was smaller. Still, almost 1000 huts were built in the traditional stye of an ikhanda with the isigodlo at the top, all protocols observed.

Well almost all.

A large number of senior indunas and chiefs were absent.

After Shepstone left, Zibhebhu left too.

Hamu stayed aaway. Mfanawendlela did arrive, somewhat shamefaced, it was he who had committed a sacrilege of planting crops on King Mpande’s Grave on Mahlabathini plain. But things had changed, when he walked into the isigodlo, he did not prostrate himself before the Zulu king, but idled up to one of the chairs and sat down as if he was Cetshwayo’s equal.

We’re up to the early 1880s where world events are intersecting in various ways with southern African events.

The mere ratification of the Pretoria Convention in 1881 failed to bring peace and prosperity to South Africa. The frenzied speculation in diamond shares reached it’s height in 1881, and war expenditure had swelled the tide of fictitious prosperity which had flowed from Table Bay to Lydenburg.

Now the troops and the glory departed, Natal after the pomp and ceremony of the Wolseley period, drifted into a political backwater — and yet clamoured for responsible government and an augmented imperial garrison.

In the Cape, the overcapitalised diamond companies began to topple, and banks shortened credit and in 1882, the crash came. John Scanlen the Cape Prime Minister succumbed to what some called retrenchment mania and laid off judges amongst other members of the bureaucracy.

Times were bad, and growing worse, with Phylloxera visiting the Western Cape vineyards, drought had smote the land and red-water fever the cattle. It was old testament level pestilence and suffering, at least if you read the journals of the time.

Did I mention the outbreak of smallpox as well? How remiss.

It scoured Cape Town first, this pestilence, from whence it followed the railway and wagon route to the diamond fields of Kimberley, and from there into the Orange Free State and Basotholand.

Plagues of locusts chewed through what was left. For anyone who would return to an earlier epoch in South African history, believing these were golden years, perhaps the reality I’ve just outlined would make you recalibrate your Time Machine.

SJ Du Toit launched his pro-Afrikaans campaign by the early 1880s, railing against die Engelse and the elites in the Cape who were determined to keep speaking high Dutch instead of this new form which was disparagingly called Kitchen Dutch. Emerging at this messy moment to influence South Africa forever was a lawyer who eventually became known as Lord De Villiers.

It’s difficult to understand this these days — in the 1880s South Africa was still a mishmash of rebels, settlers, African chiefdoms, Khoesan raiders, dirt tracker miners and trekboers, wild Baltic and Nordic merchants, American and Australian frontiersmen. Every geographical locale was represented by a different language so folks like De Villiers who obsessed over federal ideas were outliers.

Self-government meant they leaned towards the Union Jack, the English, for defence, but not the Union Jack as a cloak for interference in the internal affairs of the Cape.

The quarrels divided the Anglican community particularly in Natal into adherents of the Church of England, and the Church of the Province of South Africa.

The two main questions were these: Must Anglican Bishops in South Africa be appointed by Letters consecrated by the Archbishop of Centebury, and secondly, was the Church in South Africa bound by acts of an Imperial Parliament in England far far away or mainly independent?

De Villiers was going to decide both questions — and in doing so — would set the scene for a future South African Republic while also setting in stone, some of our concepts in South Africa of the right to practice the religion we prefer.

In 1882, the German mathematician Ferdinand von Lindemann proved that π was transcendental: it cannot be reduced to a tidy equation, never captured inside the comfortable boundaries expected by mathematicians. For centuries mathematicians tried to “square the circle” — creating a perfect square with the same area as a circle using only classical tools. In 1882, they finally got their answer: impossible. π’s transcendence meant the problem itself can never be solved.

π sits at the centre of order — wheels, planets, architecture, engineering — but does not obey the rules mathematicians thought would contain it. The more closely pi is examined, the more it slips beyond simple description. But pi also has beauty in it’s patterns.

π — roughly 3.14 etc etc — is the hidden constant inside every circle: divide the distance around any circle by the distance across it, and written out as a decimal, it goes on forever without ever stopping and without ever falling into a repeating pattern.

Southern Africa in the early 1880s had the appearance of something similar. The neat assumptions of empire borders that could be drawn, peoples classified, and territories administered into obedience — were beginning to collide with a far messier reality. The aftermath of the First Anglo-Boer War had humbled imperial confidence, African polities remained powerful actors, and the mineral revolution was creating forces no colonial administrator fully controlled. Like π, South Africa was proving resistant to simple formulas.

Emerging at this time was the Afrikaner Bond, led by Jan Hendrick Hofmeyr, his Boeren Beschermings Vereeniging, Farmers Protection Society, had merged with the Bond. Hofmeyr’s main aim was to merge the diverse Afrikaner cultural movements from behind the scenes, thus his nickname, The Mole.

Cape Prime Minister John Gordon Sprigg was sparring with political humanists, particularly Saul Solomon who owned the Cape Argus. As a liberal member of parliament, he was an articulate defender of African rights, called a friend of the natives and worse by some settlers. He was enticed to sell his paper to the editor at the time, what he didn’t know, was that Cecil John Rhodes was secretly backing the sale - no Rhodes owned the Argus.

It was in that moment that the Cape lost its important outsider voice, and Rhodes gained a news outlet. The main story the paper was covering after the first Anglo-Boer war was the instability in Basotholand. The Argus and other liberals had taken up the Basotho cause against the land-hungry settlers of the Orange Free State.

Shoring up his personal wealth and power, Rhodes was simultaneously using his growing influence in the Cape to protect its northern territories. This was a natural progression, north of Kimberley lay the Vaal River, and the Molopo River. Between the two lay not only the Boers of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal, but the Tswana people. South of the Molopo there were the Thlaping, the Rolong, north of the Molopo the Ngwato chiefdom, ruled by Khama as well as the Kwena under chief Sechele, the Ngwaketse ruled by Gaseitsiwe and soon, his son, Bathoen.

The Tswana were tussling with colonial expansion, and navigating the difficult politics of the frontier, keeping the Boer settlers at arm’s length. Along the edge of these chief’s territory there lay the Great North Road, on the eastern side of the Tswana lands. Transvaal President Paul Kruger was behind efforts to cut off the Road to the North, something the British authorities suspected but couldn’t prove.

For Cecil Rhodes and British ambitions, these two micro-republics were a geopolitical nightmare. If the Transvaal annexed Stellaland and Goshen which was Paul Kruger's ultimate goal, the Boers would completely block Cape Colony access to the interior of Africa.

Rhodes had taken to calling the Great north Road the Suez Canal of South Africa.