8 days since birth
"I think I am dying."
Memories of the past few days flooded Senzangakhona's mind, vivid and unbidden. His mother had been carrying him, humming a melody he could no longer recall. His thoughts, however, were too scattered to focus on the tune as he let the memories replay.
His first appointment with the sangoma(Kanya), who had been among the first to answer the prince's summons, was surreal. She began by consulting the ancestors, throwing bones onto the ground while muttering incoherently.
Her demeanor had shifted sharply, her voice deepening as though possessed by another presence. Even as an infant, Senzangakhona could feel the unease in the room.
Even Mbali, usually calm and composed despite her age, seemed unsettled. Yet, with a determined resolve, she handed him over to Kanya, who began to inspect him thoroughly.
And if Senzangakhona hadn't already grown accustomed to the maids' meticulous bathing rituals, he might have squirmed under her intense scrutiny.
What came next, however, was far more unsettling than anything he had experienced before.
After examining Senzangakhona, Kanya returned him to Mbali and turned to his father. Her voice carried a heavy weight as she declared, "This child carries an ancestor who is not happy with his birth." She paused for a moment before continuing, " The spirit seeks to take over his body to be reborn."
Senzangakhona's heart sank at her words. She was partially correct, but also entirely wrong. The spirit wasn't merely trying to take over his body; it already had.
And it wasn't one of the royal ancestors. It was someone far removed, a half-Afrikaner from what seemed to be the future. Or had he taken over? Senzangakhona couldn't be certain.
What he could be certain of was that the potential for his secret to be uncovered was definitely high at this point. Causing him to fear the worst.
Which the same could be said about the others in the room, but for a completely different reason.
They suspected why the ancestor might be displeased, and it all stemmed from Senzangakhona's controversial origins.
Unlike most royal births, Senzangakhona's mother had not been courted by his father or one of his advisors. Instead, her union had been orchestrated by two unexpected individuals.
Chief Jama's twin daughters, Mmame and Mkabayi kaJama, infamously known within the tribe as the Twin Curses.
When Chief Ndaba kaMageba, his father, pressured Chief Jama to produce a legitimate heir, he had intended to take another wife from the northern Maputo tribes.
Polygamy, though rare, was not unheard of in Nguni culture, especially among royalty.
However, the Zulu council vehemently opposed the idea, mostly the idea of the Prince searching for the potential mother of their heir in the northern Maputo tribes. Viewing it as a deviation from tradition.
To the point that the Chief had to get involved.
Before the Chief's emissaries could intervene, the twins had already acted. They secured a princess from the Sibiya tribe, circumventing the council and their father's plans. It was a bold political move, one that earned the child the name Senzangakhona—"we have done accordingly". The name also symbolized the Prince Jama's trust in his daughters' judgment over his advisors.
In truth, this was Jama's way of defying his council out of pettiness. While also elevating the power of his only children from from his late wife, had. Who were and are still only seven years of age, a testament to how bold and intelligent they are.
However, sadly that decision seemed to be backfiring, with the heir facing what appeared to be a supernatural possession.
The sangoma's next words drew a collective gasp. "I can only suppress the spirit's power by creating a medicinal concoction to appease it. I will also plead with it not to take the child."
The room fell into an uneasy silence. The thought of a royal ancestor seeking to take over a child's body was chilling.
In Nguni culture, ancestors were protectors, revered for their wisdom and power. This was more so for royal ancestors as they where the reason why it was unthinkable in Nguni culture for a royal to be bewitched.
The very notion that one would try to claim a descendant's body as their own was nearly unthinkable—and yet, here they were.
Finally, Prince Jama broke his silence. His voice was calm but firm. "How long will it take to prepare this concoction, and what will it cost?"
The sangoma paused, murmuring to herself before letting out a war cry coupled with a burp and said. "It will take two days to prepare. As for the cost, I will decide after it is complete. But expect to pay me in cattle."
The prince frowned deeply after hearing the form of payment the sangoma wanted. Cattle were more than wealth; they were life itself. Symbols of power.
So powerful in the Nguni culture, that they could make even the perceived all powerful sangoma bend the knee.
They provided food, clothing, and labor, and their value extended to rituals and status. Giving away even a single cow was akin to parting with generational wealth and influence. After a long moment of consideration, Jama sighed and said, "Fine. Do it."
The sangoma nodded solemnly and turned to Mbali. "To pacify the spirit for now, I will give you medicine to temporarily keep the spirit from harming the prince further.
Ensure the prince drinks it three times a day, after every meal and before he sleeps. Even if he cries or refuses, he must drink it."
She reached for a nearby bowl filled with a dark, viscous liquid and handed it to Mbali.
Lowering her head respectfully, Mbali accepted the medicine and placed it carefully by her side. Jama watched closely and added, "Mbali, do not let the other maids or anyone else know about this. You alone will administer the medicine. Understood?"
"Yes, my prince," Mbali replied.
"Good. Now take the prince and leave."
Mbali obeyed, carrying Senzangakhona out of the hut. The infant's mind raced. Though bound by his youthful body, his thoughts were far older, sharper, but he still struggled to process what had just transpired.
His shock, however, was short-lived. As soon as they were alone, Mbali gave him his first taste of the medicine. A bitter, acrid flavor filled his mouth, and Senzangakhona realized with growing horror exactly what he was drinking.
"Imbiza? Are you trying to kill me?!" Senzangakhona spat out the concoction he was forced to drink, his tiny body trembling from the bitter taste. Mbali gasped, quickly trying to calm him.
"I know it tastes bad, my prince," she said soothingly, "but you must drink it for the chief's sake. You must get well." Determined, she tipped the bowl toward his mouth again, ensuring this time he couldn't spit it out.
She held his mouth closed, forcing the infant Senzangakhona to swallow or choke on the foul liquid. He gagged, every fiber of his being rejecting the concoction, but there was no escape. He had to drink it.
Though the imbiza tasted horrid, like bitter ash and rotting leaves, that wasn't why Senzangakhona resisted so fiercely.
No, his reluctance had nothing to do with the flavor. In another life, as a soldier accustomed to enduring worse, he would have downed it without hesitation. The real problem was his new, fragile body.
Imbiza, a medicinal concoction brewed by sangomas, was potent - made to cleanse the body, heal illnesses, and sometimes boost vitality.
While its healing properties were undisputed, it was dangerous for infants. Senzangakhona knew this and couldn't fathom why the Zulu Council, or even his own father, would allow him to drink something so lethal.
And why did it cost so much? Herbs and roots did not cost a cow. Especially multiple. "What the heck is going on?"
That's when the realization hit him.
"Holy hell... I'm in the 18th century.", he thought. The reality of his situation dawned on him with chilling clarity. This was a time of fragmented tribes and scattered knowledge. The Zulu, still a relatively small tribe, lacked access to the extensive medical understanding of later generations. They relied on traditions and guesswork.
But how could Senzangakhona even think of that as his mind raced? He was a man displaced in time, trapped in an infant's body in a world far less certain than the one he had come from.
"Am I might actually die?, again?"
And as if answering his retorical question, Mbali brought the bowl of imbiza back to Senzangakhona's lips. "Good, my prince, just one more sip," she coaxed. She tipped the bowl forward, intent on making him drink.
Senzangakhona squirmed and fidgeted, his small body twisting with every ounce of resistance he could muster. He made no sound, crying would accomplish nothing. But he strained and tensed, trying to prevent even a single drop of the bitter concoction from entering his mouth.
Mbali, however, was unrelenting, holding firm like a statue. Her focus was absolute, unwavering in her mission to make the prince swallow the imbiza.
Yet in his desperate struggle, Senzangakhona failed to notice that something was wrong with Mbali. Her movements stopped, her face blank, almost as though she wasn't entirely herself.
She was like a statue.
Then, out of nowhere, a searing pain tore through Senzangakhona's head, like his skull was about to split open. The agony was so overwhelming that he finally cried out. The sound jolted Mbali from her trance-like state.
She blinked, startled, looking at the imbiza in her hands as if seeing it for the first time. Her confusion was evident as she glanced between the bowl and the struggling child to remove himself from her arms.
And without hesitation, Mbali placed the imbiza on the floor and gently cradled Senzangakhona. This time, she held him with care, like a proper nanny soothing an upset infant. She adjusted his head, supporting him perfectly, her hands suddenly delicate and intentional.
"Don't worry, my prince," she murmured softly. "It will be okay."
Had Senzangakhona been in a clearer state of mind, he might have lashed out at her for such an ominous reassurance. But the blinding pain left him dazed and unable to process her words.
A single thought flickered in his mind, What is happening to me?, before the world went dark and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Mbali hesitated for only a moment before gathering him in her arms and heading to Senzangakhona's hut. She moved swiftly yet cautiously, ensuring no one saw the imbiza, just as the crown prince had instructed.
....
The room buzzed with tension as the council debated fiercely.
"Cattle?! Cattle?!" One of Prince Jama's advisors exclaimed, his voice sharp with frustration. "She can't be serious! I mean no disrespect to the ancestors, but... cattle?"
Another advisor, Masangu, raised his hands, his tone measured as he tried to restore calm. "Yes, it's a steep price. But think, brothers: the survival of our clan matters more than cattle!"
The uproar only grew louder as a third advisor countered, "Masangu, have you lost your senses? What will we graze? What will feed us? What will we trade with other tribes if she takes them all? And you think that's acceptable?"
Masangu squared his shoulders, unwavering. "Yes! Because without an heir, none of it matters!"
Kaya, seated near the back, let out a loud sigh. "We already have an heir," he interjected, his voice tinged with irritation.
Masangu groaned, his patience wearing thin. "Not this again. Senzangakhona is the only true heir! If we keep entertaining these arguments, we'll—"
"Enough!"
The single word, spoken firmly, silenced the room. All eyes turned to Prince Jama, who had raised his hand for quiet. His expression was graver than anyone had ever seen.
"I understand your concerns," the prince said, his voice deliberate, each word striking like a drumbeat. "Yes, we don't have enough cattle, and this path will strain us. But my son must live. If I allow him to die while I have the means to save him, the ancestors will curse me forever."
Masangu nodded in satisfaction, but Kaya scowled. Before the argument could reignite, the prince continued.
"That said, this decision must be weighed carefully. If the sangoma demands such a high price, we need to ensure the service is worth it—and that we cannot find it elsewhere. So, I propose a compromise."
The council leaned in, listening intently.
"Let us summon other sangomas," the prince said. "We'll hear their terms and choose the one who offers the best chance of healing my son at a fairer price."
The advisors exchanged glances. Slowly, nods of agreement spread across the room.
"Good," the prince declared. "Then it's settled. Send for the other sangomas. In three days, we'll decide."
"Praise be to the Prince!" the advisors chanted as they filed out of the royal hall. The matter remained unresolved but, for now, peaceful.
...
Afrikaner - a Southern African ethnic group descended from predominantly Dutch settlers first arriving at the Cape of Good Hope in 1652.
Maputo - is the capital and largest city of Mozambique. Located near the southern end of the country, it is within 120 kilometres (75 miles) of the borders with Eswatini and South Africa
Imbiza - a Zulu herbal tonic and a general term for a class of purgative medicines in South Africa
...
A/N : I did not post my intended amount of chapters of Friday because it's December and in my country that means alot of 🥳.
No excuse, I know😅. But I needed it as I was burnt out. So to make it up to all of you I will post two more after this.
And then I will post the regular 5 chapters a week.🫡
Last Spear of the Zulu Empire: Bring the 21st century to Africa/ 5 chpts per week🐆