Umhlanga, or the Swazi dance party

We woke early the next morning and consciously decided to not allow our fear to rule over us. We would not be scared to stop the car, step away from our protective aluminum bubble, and take a photo. We would not be scared to talk to people we may meet, to engage. Meg felt ambivalent about this. She wanted to keep distance as a form of protection and defense, and I wanted to let my defense down but was unsure how. We stopped for petrol about an hour after we left Big Bend, and I stepped outside for the first time, remaining behind the door like a shield, taking a photo of the makeshift market on the edge of the petrol station while Meg repeated sharply, "Jess get in the car, get in the car." I was collecting photographs and images like I was collecting lives, the world. I was struck by the colonising process of it all, collecting and documenting and remaining completely external to everything. We tried to rub our sore egos by insisting that we had made it this far, that being in Swaziland was a first step, but I remained eager to slice away these barriers between Us and Them.

Malkerns Valley holds a lot of craft markets and small cities like Manzini and Matsapha (really just small towns, but large compared to the villages we had been passing), so we drove in that direction in the hope of finding something beautiful. A map of the country may be found here to provide a strong visual for where we visited. We stopped at an ATM in Manzini and although we could use South African rands with Swazi currency interchangeably here, we were both nearly out of the former. Out of the ATM popped bills with pictures of the king on one side, pictures of Swazi industry on the other, such as pineapples, lumber, and sugarcane. We would later use this currency and receive small silver coins with wavey edges (all with pictures of the king) in return.

The city of Manzini was filled with people everywhere outside, interacting, buying, walking. As we drove along during the day, children and adults alike would wave at us with both hands outstretched, large smiles, crying out, "Sawubona!," the siSwati (and Zulu) word to greet a single person. It literally translates as "I see you," a recognition of a person's presence in a physical and spiritual sense. We felt achingly visible as we were the only white people anywhere around, but after a curious look Swazis would continue with their business and not gape or hassle us. We felt welcomed. As I drove I'd take both hands off the wheel to wave back and the people along the side of the road and shout out "Sawubona!" right back.

We drove northwest towards Ezulwini, and the hills cradled us on either side and the wind kicked up red dust. The sun was warm and we were wearing capris and tank tops for the first time since we'd arrived in southern Africa. We had not yet found any craft markets, but to our left hand side we saw a huge crowd of people and triangle flags draped over our heads on the road. We pulled in to see what was going on.

Thousands of girls were being brought into the complex in the beds of large white trucks, grasping long reeds and wearing fiery red, black and white fabrics, brown prints, candy coloured beads and crowns. Completely unbeknownst to us, we stepped out of our car onto the grounds of the Ludzidzini palace of King Mswati III, the last king in Africa. And we were just about to witness the Umhlanga, or Reed Dance, a tradition that draws thousands of theoretically virgin girls

(this year, over 70,000 attended) from across Swaziland to this valley outside the capital of Mbabane to sing and dance for the king and queen mother in an ongoing ritual that lasts about two weeks. We showed up as the dancing and singing portion was beginning to kick off.

Meg and I looked at each other with giddy smiles on our face, and asked each other, "Is this seriously our life right now?"

I wrapped my Nikon around my neck and was immediately approached by hoards of girls interested for why we had come and wanting their pictures taken. We were the only white tourists I had seen yet. I eagerly took photos of people who actually wanted their photos taken, and after the silver button pronounced its affirmative "click," I was encircled by girls looking at the digital screen to see their own faces materialise. The girls were all clutching strong reeds they had individually chosen days previous which would later be presented to the queen mother to encircle her palace. Girls had to choose strong reeds that would not snap, because if they were to break, it is believed that those girls had lost their virginity and would face both public censorship and personal shame. Of course, the rule that all girls participating in the dance are virgins is true in theory only, and this ceremony presents a time for suitors to approach girls and their families and ask for permission to marry. To marry one girl, a suitor must present seventeen cows to her family. In the past, such an exchange was seen as a way to bond to families together through the giving of something or someone so significant to the family unit. Today however, cows are given a defined economic value (around R2000, or about $250 each), and the exchange for a wife is now seen as an economic transaction only. If a man cannot give seventeen cows, he may pay for his wife in currency instead, or negotiate with her family for a fair price. She becomes a commodity to be bought, her value fluid and impermanent.

The girls' costumes were a revolving kaleidoscope of pattern and colour. Specific skirts and wraps signified from which region, village, or family groups of girls originate, and while some wore clipped beaded skirts that sat low on their waists and bounced excitedly across their upper thighs and buttocks, others wore stiff wraps that reached their ankles but left a long slit of their leg exposed, cotton in earth tones with gold, maroon and black triangles, stars, and dots. Some wore bright bunches of yarn and others had a wrap with the picture of the king folded and tied across their torso like a banner. Some ankles were adorned with circles of shells that clapped when they walked, and while some wore sandals, others allowed the soles of their feet to meld with the dusty ground. The wind was strong and the red dusted settled in our eyes, our hair, and billowed skirts and reeds across the flatness.

It is important for me to discuss the symbolic significance of the costumes as well, for no greater purpose than to dispel the myth that "Africans go running around half naked all the time dancing for a polygamous king." It is true that the girls are half naked (or half dressed). It is true that the girls were dancing and singing for the king and the queen. And it is true that the king has 13 wives. (Many Swazis debate on the last point, especially considering the example he sets for his subjects when the AIDs rate in Swaziland is the highest percentage in all of Africa, a whopping 39%, nevermind the ethical and monetary implications of satisfying the sexual and material desires of 13 queens.) However, to look at the festival from a bland vantage point would dismiss the complexity that underlies the costumes and the rituals.

The following information is taken from an article (available on JSTOR for you academics) by Hilda Kuper, "Costume and Cosmology: The Animal Symbolism of the Ncwala,"

which details the specific symbolism of costume worn in four main parts of the body: enhloko (on the head), emtimbeni (on the upper body), elukhalweni (on the hips) and etandleni (in the hands).

enhloko:

• unmarried princesses and girls betrothed to the king wear red feathers in their hair
• married daughters of the king wear their hair in a high bun with a string across the forehead
• wives of the king (queens) wear their hair in a bun with the headgear of a a warrior, inyoni, 'the bird'. includes black feathers on either side of the face

elukhalweni:

• younger girls wear strings of big colourful beads and short skirts of dark cloth; the clothing is called indlamu
• unmarried older girls wear two pieces of print, knotted tightly on both sides to form a skirt

etandleni:

• "Every woman carries an umcusho, a long, flexible, light-coloured branch from which the outer bark has been removed. The trees from which the umcusho is cut vary with the rank of the performer; and those for the queens and for the Ndlovukati have special power. Ordinary women mary carry reeds. The umcusho is held in the right or left hand according to the dance" (Kuper 1973, 617-618).

While we took our fill of photographs, Meg and I were

approached by a slight man with a hawk-shaped nose and small, bright eyes. His name was Dumisani and he became our unofficial guide for the entire ceremony. His voice was even and firm, and he told us the significance of the dance, of the costumes, and led us around the complex to show us the queen mother, the meaning of different flags being flown, and the answer to any other question we may have had. He was also a sangoma, a traditional healer and diviner. I was ecstatic with curiousity. He was patient with my stream of questions and informed me of how he was chosen by his ancestors to be a healer, how he was trained, and how he continues to communicate with his ancestors daily. "All diseases can be cured using traditional herbs and medicines," he told me. "All disease except AIDs." This was the one illness for which there was no remedy, no cure.

Dumisani led us both to an area where the girls would parade through for over an hour, dancing, waving paper shields and swords, and singing rich songs with only the instruments of their voices. We watched, transfixed. My mind floated somewhere between their bare feet patting on the ground, the humming of cries of their songs, the crystal sounds of their beads.

Afterwards, we would head to an enormous outdoor stadium with seats only on one side for spectators, and the same girls would dance before the king and the royal family before creating enormous arcs of colour before them in the stadium. "This is the rainbow nation," Meg whispered.

A video from YouTube may help with an audio and a visual. Skip ahead to 3:05 to see the men dancing, to 3:55 to see and hear the women. And another of the women singing. Enjoy the images.