Two Bits: A stroll through the land of the Baca

The land that lies between Ixopo and Umzimkulu is soft and green after the late rains that fell a few weeks ago, washing away the red dust that clings to the trees, the grass and the cattle through the hot, endless summer. The land seems happier – the streams gurgle and the rivers mutter as they carry endless volumes of water from the rolling hills to the sea.

Fat, gleaming cattle browse across the land and gaze at us curiously as we march by. The long-tailed widow birds, the sakabula, flutter gracefully from stem to stem in the long grass while the manic pin-tailed whydahs dash about, chasing other males away from their harems of hens, and the jackal buzzards circle lazily overhead.

We are a group of 12 happy hikers on the Trappist Trail, on a journey from near Underberg through Donnybrook and Creighton, to Umzimkulu and back to Ixopo, chasing down the mission stations and churches that lie like pearls from a broken necklace, scattered across the landscape of south-western KZN. As we walk through the land of the Baca tribe, I ask our young guide, Hlengiwe, if she has heard the story of Sompungane, the great chief of the Baca who landed the softest job in Africa? She hasn’t, so I tell her this story I heard nearly 50 years ago from the legendary Zulu storyteller, Credo Mutwa.

Back in the day, the High Chief of the Baca tribe, Sompungane the Infallible, was terribly worried when the colonial government imposed the dreaded poll tax, designed to force Africans to work in the mines and at the harbours. He was afraid for the safety of his men and so, accompanied by a retinue of his wives and trusted servants, walked (or waddled, as he was a large man) from his Great Place at Umzimkulu to Pietermaritzburg to call on the governor and plead for a safe job for his people.

It played nicely into the governor’s hands, as nobody wanted the stinky job of emptying the rubbish bins and collecting ‘nightsoil’. So, he promised Sompungane that jobs on the dust carts and ‘honeysuckers’ would henceforth be reserved for Baca men. Perhaps it’s fallen away now, but until the 70s and 80s the dust carts that clattered through the streets of cities and towns across the country were manned by Bacas and their trucks were widely nicknamed KwaSompungane, or the Kraal of Sompungane.

By the end of the 19th century the monastery at Mariannhill, just outside Pinetown, was the largest Trappist monastery in the world and the ‘mother ship’ for 20 mission stations, churches and schools stretching from the coast to East Griqualand. Rose and I join a band of walkers – an American couple, an Australian lady, one man from Jo’burg, a lady from the Western Cape and the rest from KZN – to visit just seven of these.

We start at Reichenau mission near Underberg and walk 20-something km a day cross-country for nine days. None of us are spring chickens (the average age is about 70) but it is all jolly hockey sticks for all but about the last stretch. There is a point on a goat track through the veld between Lourdes and Umzimkulu when my feet hurt and my back aches when I ask myself, ‘Why are you doing this?’ But as every marathon runner knows, at some point we all ask the same question and the answer is that when it’s over, the feeling of satisfaction is unbeatable.

The journey leaves several huge impressions, the strongest for myself being the warm welcome we are given by all the Baca people and the Roman Catholic priests and missionaries we meet, and the immense awe at the fact that a few hundred people journeyed great distances where there were no roads, no phones, no shops, to build churches, schools, mills and hospitals that accommodate hundreds, all in pursuit of their faith.

I cannot forget the mass conducted by Father Paul, the Polish priest at Centacow mission near Creighton. There were just the 12 of us in this immense church, richly decorated with Biblical scenes and icons. Not only is it the first mass I have attended since schooldays, he invites us to sit right up alongside the altar, a part of the church I have never set foot in before. In halting English he preaches forgiveness for all the sins of the world. All in all, it is a pretty special moment.

A few days later at Emaus mission, literally in the middle of nowhere, we walk and read out loud the devotions of the Stations of the Cross, which are cut into a steep, rocky hillside, and emerge into the late afternoon sunshine at the feet of Christ on the cross. Even the cynics like myself are silenced by the moment. Though I said before setting out that the spiritual aspect was of little interest to me, I will admit that I was wrong and the experience is deeply moving.

This is ‘big sky’ country, where the land and sky go on and on for a visual feast. We relish the opportunity to explore a part of our beautiful country that few townspeople ever venture into and members of the group who have completed the Camino in Spain say this local journey is special. The amaWalkers group conduct several walking tours a year – Google ‘Trappist Trail’ for more info. If you’ve the inclination, it’s an unforgettable journey.

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