NYU Black Renaissance Noire Winter/Spring 2012 | Page 15

“Our father did not delegate when he was
the Royal Sculptor,” said Chata. “He
did the work himself and gloried in it.”
“Our father” was actually Rendani’s
father—the master carver and
blacksmith, Zwanga.

“As you say, I am the Royal Sculptor
and I can delegate.”
Any of the sculptors of Mapungubwe
would feel honoured to be chosen
for such a task. They would see it as a
path towards greater recognition of
their work by the grandees on top of
the hill and of attracting rich patrons.
They would seize the opportunity,
already imagining themselves as the next
Royal Sculptor on the demise of the
incumbent. But Chata had no interest
in positions within the establishment.
He was a free spirit who wanted to
create his own work at his own time
and Rendani knew that. He also
remembered that even when they were
boys Chata used to boast that he
was destined to create greater works of
art than the carvings of palisades;
indeed Chata found the carving of
palisades demeaning. That was exactly
why Rendani wanted him to take
charge of the ritual. This was his way
of imprisoning him, at least for the
period of the palisade ritual, which could
last for days on end, sometimes up to
one full moon. Rendani knew that
what would have been an honour to
others was punishment for Chata.

Rendani watched Chata as he walked on
the stone-paved path until he disappeared
among the neighbouring houses.
Later that afternoon Rendani sauntered
to his father’s house a short distance
away. Zwanga was sitting on a mat on
the veranda, carving a knife-handle
from ivory. Even in old age the arthritic
hands of the master carver could not
stay idle. He no longer went to his
mine though, nor did he undertake any
more work in gold. His revered crucible
rested in a place of honour in the very
room where he slept. It shared his old
age close to him and he had already
made his wishes known to his children:
when he was laid to rest, the crucible
must be right there with him in the
grave. His wives and children and
grandchildren tried and failed to make
him give up his carving. Only the
flare-ups of his arthritis managed to rein
him. But even that could not stop him
from performing his duties as a member
of the Council of Elders. He could
be seen tottering to Baba-Munene’s
compound to attend the meetings even
in the midst of rain and hail and storms.

He gave his son a toothless smile. He
was proud of him. He had manned-up
so quickly. He never thought he had
it in him to handle the highest position
any artist in the land could wish for
with such dignity. Rendani, on the other
hand, had no illusions that he got the
position, previously occupied by his
father, out of his own steam. He knew
that the old codger pulled some strings
with the Council of Elders and even
with Baba-Munene himself, despite the
fact that he initially favoured Chata
for the position. But for his wanderlust
and his disdain for the shackles of
power, there was no doubt in Rendani’s
mind that Chata would have been the
Royal Sculptor.
“I just want to get your opinion, father,
on a matter of national import.”
“I am listening,” said Zwanga as he
resumed carving geometric patterns on
the elephant tusk.
“The rains were good last year. The
people are happy with the King
because their granaries are overflowing.”
“It is a good thing the King is potent.”
“It is because his ancestors are happy
with him. We need to keep them that
way by showing more respect to their
representative on earth—the King.”

BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE

“You are the Royal Sculptor, Rendi.
It is the work of the Royal Sculptor.”

Rendani smiled at this and stood up to
indicate that the meeting was over. Chata
was fuming inside. But he dared not
let Rendani see that he had succeeded to
rile him. He smiled back at him instead,
picked up his shield and knob-kierrie and
walked out of the house.

“What did I do to deserve the visit of
the Royal Sculptor?” asked Zwanga.

13

“I’m not talking about your own personal
carvings, Chata. I want you to be in
charge of the whole ritual, from
organizing the carvers to installing the
new palisade.”

“It was his choice,” said Rendani. “Those
who know the history of our people
will tell you that some Royal Sculptors
of the past did delegate some of the
sacred duties while others did not. It just
depends on the man who is holding
that position at the time. I choose to
delegate because I am not a greedy man.
I want to share the glory of some of my
sacred duties.”