Gogosoa, short and stout with a belly that protruded over the leopard skin around his waist, sat on a tree stump fashioned into a high-back throne-ish shape. On his head was an array of colourful feathers of different birds, weaved into a garland perched on his forehead. Animal teeth, skin, feathers, and tails adorned his earlobes, neck, arms, legs, and ankles. In his right hand was his assegai, firm between his fingers. His oval-shaped face, skirted by a salt and pepper beard, were glued to the speakers that rose to their feet with little haste and much dramatic effect, said their piece and sat down.
Gogosoa earned respect through his hunting prowess in his youth and as such he was the most important man around the orange glow of the fire that danced across his naked shoulders. Broad shoulders on which rested the weight of his responsibilities as a leader. And, seated in the centre of the small hunter-gatherer community around the hearth of his fire, following the input of every speaker, soaking in every emotion. They were his people, his ears, hands, and feet, and he was their future.
One of his most fearless hunters and decorated warriors, Nommoa rose. 'Tsui-// Goab is angry. Our people are restless. Have we ever asked why?'
Gogosoa's gaze shifted, for the first time. His eyes examined the faces of his sons who flanked Nommoa. They were in awe of Nommoa, hanging onto every word. The young hunter had become a huge influence in their lives after he returned from across the big waters. 'And what, might I ask, is Tsui angry about?'
Nommoa paused. The expression on his face was perplexed, uncertain. He did not expect his leader's interrogation but it lifted his spirit for it meant he had captivated the ears of Gogosoa. And he knew that the Wise Ones with their beards of different shades and shapes, eyes half-closed and fixed on nothing and no one in particular were attentive to the leader's questions. Their faces, leathery and lined from old age disclosed no emotion as they sucked on their pipes while the smoke billowed from their nostrils and cast a hazy cloud around their circle lined with only the softest of furs and skins. Knowing they were listening, he knew his success depended on winning their heads and their hearts.
'Tsui had always been faithful to us.' He waited for the nodding to subside. 'And we to him.' He pointed his assegai into the air. 'He fills our bellies and keeps the mountains and the forests full of wild animals. Every winter he opens heaven and sends us rain all the way down from Hoerikwagga which fills our beloved Camissa with water sweeter than the honey of the bee.' His words were met with a choir of clicks and murmurs of agreement. 'And, when we return in spring and we find the trees and forests pregnant with fruit and berries, he moves our feet to dancing and fill our our hearts with thankfulness for the earth that gives birth to the grass that gives life to our the animals.' More approval, louder than before erupted. 'We never neglected to praise him for everything he provides. Everything, from the sun and the rain to the berries, the roots, and the fruit for the wives and young ones.' He knelt in front of Gogosoa. 'But, something is wrong, mighty one. Something is wrong.' He put his free hand on heart. 'Inside here Nommoa, he feels it.'
Gogosoa remained expressionless, gauging the faces of the Wise Ones abd all those gathered around the fire. Nommoa was his best hunter and most treasured warrior but at times he lacked in the department of longterm vision. His restless temperament centred around concepts such as here, now and immediately, always ready to reveal what troubled his heart. This trait made it difficult to keep the peace among the elders whose world rotated at a much slower pace.
'Nommoa my fearless hunter, your shadow is bigger than that of the elephant, but your shade is getting smaller. You are restless. All the time You walk like a lion with a thorn in his paw. Why is this so?'
Nommoa bowed his head and out his hand on his hear. 'Nommoa's heart is, indeed, full of anger.'
'We can see that. Can you share exactly what fans this fire insude your breast?'
'The visitors. They brought Gunab with them,' he replied. 'The ones who live behind the high walls. They who came with the ships all those autumns ago. They made Tsui angry.'
The elders were divided. Some shook their heads. Some stroked their beards, others nodded and some remained expressionless. 'Tsui and Gunab are everywhere. Side-by-side they fight for us, and the visitors,' said the oldest among them.' Slowly, he took out some tobacco and began to stuff his pipe. 'Who gave you the answers to the many questions even we struggle with?' He lit his pipe once more. When the smoke curled above him and evaporated into the darkness above him he lifted his head, signalling that Nommoa could proceed and respond.
'Their bad spirits made is at home among us,' replied Nommoa.
The Old One addressed Gogosoa. 'Our young warrior is wrong,' he declared. 'Tsui is not angry at us or the white people. We had many visitors before them. And before them. And we always treat our visitors as our ancestors taught us. We share our cattle and our water, as we always did with all the other sick and hungry strangers that needed our help. Why would Tsui be angry if we did everything he expects from us?'
Gogosoa stepped in. 'You went across the water with a smile. Now you are like the troubled wind that fights with our huts and pulls up the trees in the forest in winter. What is the cause of the foul wind in your breast?'
Nommoa stood up. 'I am angry because Tsui is angry, my Chief. I must make him smile upon us, once again, but how can he? We are homeless. Like the sparrow that had nowhere to build his nest when he returned, we had nowhere to put our huts when we returned in Spring. If the wild animals do not have the mountains and forests to sleep, how will we hunt? What will we eat? How shall we fight the cold in winter if we do not hunt for skins? Look!' He lifted his spear and pointed in the direction of Table Mountain. 'They even took Tsui's water that runs to us all the way from Hoerikwaggo into our Camissa. Now our water goes them.' He searched the faces of the people gathered around Gogosoa. Heads nodded in agreement, eliciting a cacophony of sounds. He was a mighty eagle, soaring on the strength of their breath. 'We must take back our mountains and our sea. We must take back the land for our cattle to graze on, and we must give the sparrow a tree to build his nest. That is what Tsui expects of us.' Many of the young warriors lifted their spears and pierced the air. Others waved their bows as an expression of agreement. But there was a contingent among the ranks of the elderly that remained unmoved.
Gogosoa waited for silence before he spoke. 'I agree. We have been feeding a hungry crocodile for five winters now. We will never have enough cattle... or land... or sea to keep it satisfied.'
'We must do what Tsui expects of us, my great leader and chief,' said Nommoa.
One of the elders motioned to speak. It was the old healer. 'What you say is true. But the spear cannot kill this crocodile. We can give it all our water, mountains, forests, land, and cattle, but we will never satisfy its hunger.' He paused and shifted his weary body to his left. 'My days are numbered but I would rather be ripped apart by a thousand crocodiles than make this beast my master. You, Nommoa, walk and eat with them. You talk for them.'
'That is why I am angry.' He put his finger to his eye. 'I see them.' He cup his hand over his ear. 'I hear them.' He put his his finger to his temple. 'I understand them.' Maintaining eye contact with Gogosoa only, he continued. 'We have warriors. Brave ones who can fight. Together we are stronger than the lion.'
'Brave, brave one.' It was the old healer answered. 'This beast you cannot kill with the spear or the bow. It is unseen. It dwells in the heart of the beast. It keeps him awake at night, and it sends them to get more slaves, and more land.'
Nommoa grew impatient with the old healer. He made his annoyance known. 'I thank the Wise One, Chief,' he said, and immediately lowered the tone in his voice. 'I respect the voice of the wise, but they speak with twisted tongues and of things beyond my understanding.'
'Do you, young man, not respect our guidance?' Asked the old and half blind Wise One.
'Yes, but... We must act against the Dutch. Or become slaves on our own lands until our beards turn grey, and our legs grow lazy.'
'And if we are defeated?' Continued the Wise One. 'What happens to our women and children? The elderly? I tell you. We too will become slaves upon defeat. Scavengers on our own land...'
Gogosoa intervened. 'What are our choices? Do nothing? That is not an option.'
His son, Schacher gestured for an opportunity to speak. 'Father, time is running away from us each day we do nothing. We must make fires. We must burn down their houses and take the slaves. They will have no one to work their fields and look after their animals. Start with the Commander's house behind the lion mountain where he goes often. If I understand the Wise One, that is the beast he feeds in his heart. We must leave nothing for his children, and their children. Our fires have the power to turn his farm and his house into ashes. That is our duty to our children and their children.'
'Son, you speak truth, but they will come after us. We do not have their assegai that spits fire. You saw how they killed the lion that eats their horse and oxen. What if they kill you or your brothers? What happens to your children and their children?'
'I know how to trap the beast, and then kill it with our assegais. We will pierce it until it is dead,' came the response from Nommoa.
Gogosoa's interest was aroused. 'You do?'
'Yes. I have seen how it was done in Batavia.'
'I am most eager to learn of this great plan.'
'With respect, my Chief, I must keep it in my heart until it is decided to drive away the Dutch.'
'Nommoa does not trust his chief?'
'You I trust. But I am afraid that the beast has its own ears among us. Them I do not trust.'
The stout captain looked from the one son on his left to his other son, Otegno on his right. 'That is what Nommoa says. Raise your a voice on this matter.'
'It is true, my father,' replied Otegno. 'We have no grazing land. And there are hardly any forests to forage for berries and roots. They have even taken over the seals and penguins.' He looked to the elders. 'We are already scavengers on our own land, Wise Ones.' Brandy, and tobacco do not fill the stomachs of our women and children. And beads and copper are a delight to the eye but of no value to our people.'
Gogosoa stood up. 'I am afraid that our good will had been misunderstood. We misjudged their smiles and handshakes. Their eyes were on our land and our livestock. All the time. A leader must climb in the highest tree if he desires to direct the future of his people. I have listened. And my ears have heard. Nommoa has a plan for the warriors.' There was an outbursts of high-pitched ululating that blended into a cacophony of animal sounds. When the battle cry, fizzled out, Gogosoa continued. 'We will gather the Caapmen and let them speak before we act. But first we must gather the elders around the fire and summon the wisdom of the ancestors.'
The answers came as loud as thunder and was carried to many on the clouds above Hoerikwaggo. After much praying and dancing around the fires until the break of day, it was agreed. The ancestors had spoken in the ears of Nommoa. There was no more doubt in the heart of Gogosoa. 'Resistance is the path to survival. The spirits are restless, and we dare not question their instructions from above, or beyond the Earth. It is time to call the Caapmen. Together we will decide on a path for the future.'