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Poem / Expressions

An Imagined Monograph for Nongqawuse

A 19th-century prophetess reportedly bore a serious message from the ancestors to her Xhosa people amid British colonial assault. The written archives judged her—but much still remains unknown and unacknowledged.
A line of cattle travel across a dry desert landscape, kicking up dust.

An 1856 prophecy called on the Xhosa people to destroy their crops, empty their grain stores—and kill their cattle.

Buena Vista Images/Getty Images

according to the news
the 6th of June, 1856,
was a normal day in the cape

the only disturbance was
that the Imperial supply shop
unexpectedly ran out of
sugar so all the tea was

bitter, acrid on the tongue.
the printed letters on folded
pulp said nothing of the thousands

of bovine necks carved into half moons.
nothing of how when the blood
is poisoned you have to
slaughter the whole cow.

the bulletin wrote nothing
of the wailing that pierced the air
like a rancid smell,
the spoiled hide, emptied grain stores

A young woman in a headwrap and black and white shawls sits next to a young girl wearing a gray shawl and white decorated dress.

In a photo taken while she was captive, Nongqawuse sits next to Nonkosi, a young woman who was with her when she received the prophecy at the Gxarha River in the mid-19th century.

Public Domain/Wikimedia Commons

the report said nothing of the prophecy,
the vision of the millions
who were to rise from the sea.

not child but orphan—
yes orphan, also niece of a leader,
not clear if a victim
but definitely a traitor.

Nongqawuse enters the archive
under the weight of shame,
soaked, she shuffles in with
endless rivulets of blood
embedded in her small palms

the written record makes no mention of
her mother, her father, the deaths
she witnessed at the shock
of the breechloader, bullet residue heavy
in the air, like rain clouds.

in the hall of history,
she is made juvenile,
invalid, filed between
shelves of wayward women,
witch, illiterate, inconsiderate.

in autumn, jacarandas are
singed to falling petals,
dried purple in red soil
Nongqawuse’s name still cursed

the ridicule follows her to the grave
open mouths remain agape
invisible chains, no redemption
no resurrection, no grains remain.

Alma Simba is a writer, historian, and experimental sound artist interested in both the potentials and failures of words in capturing the human experience. Her subject matter is ancestral heritage and how Indigenous Black Africans can communicate and explore this history through oral traditions, memory, and imagination. Simba was awarded a B.A. in international history from the London School of Economics and Political Science, and she completed her M.A. in history at the University of Dar es Salaam with a focus on Tanzanian heritage housed in Germany. She was a “Sensitive Provenances” Research Fellow at the University of Göttingen in 2022 and is part of the Ajabu Ajabu audio-visual collection in Dar es Salaam. Follow her on Instagram @aa_noun.

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