Battle of Isandlwana

The re-enactment of the Battle of Isandlwana begins.

This past weekend was a big one for the village next to mine: it was the 135^th anniversary of the Battle of Isandlwana. The area where I live in South Africa is called the Battlefields because it is where several historic battles took place between the Zulu people and the British. One of the biggest was the January 22^nd Battle of Isandlwana where, in 1879, the British army suffered their biggest defeat against about 28,000 Zulu warriors. Every few years, the province of KwaZulu-Natal sponsors a very extravagant re-enactment event to honor the Zulu victory and commemorate the occasion. The year before I arrived, the President of South Africa was apparently in attendance! Last year there was nothing, which was probably for the best, because it pretty much rained every day in January. But this year the event was back on and bigger than ever.

The battle took place on January 22, 1879 and marked
one of the biggest defeats by the British Army.

Even though I have walked to Isandlwana before, I just wasn’t feeling up for the two-hour trek that Saturday morning. But there were plenty of minibus taxis and large busses headed that way, so finding a ride was easy. At this point, it is not uncommon for me to run into someone who knows me without my knowing him or her, which was exactly the case when I hopped onto the taxi yesterday morning. A very pleasant younger woman said hello to me and started chatting as if we were old friends. When we arrived at the re-enactment site she asked me if I “had a plan.” I said my only plan was to find a place to watch the re-enactment. She told me to follow her. Since there were several thousand people milling about I figured I was safe enough. Turns out she was using me to get into the VIP section of the event, which was fine by me. We walked up to the gate and she started pointing at me while doing a little fast-talking in Zulu to the guard; I smiled and nodded my head. The next thing I knew we were at a table signing-in and getting special wristbands that allowed us to sit in a covered area very close to the stage and re-enactment field. About two minutes after I sat down, she said “see you later” and walked off. I was no longer needed. I looked around and quickly realized that nearly every single person in this VIP area was white and most likely British or black and some sort of government official. The very crowded area I could see in the distance was filled with all the people who live in the area. Interesting.

I was supposed to meet another PCV from the area, and watch the re-enactment with her, so I gave her a call and told her I was in the VIP section. I suggested we meet me at the gate and see if we could talk her way in. It didn’t take much. She brought her really fancy camera so we said we were taking pictures of the event for the local schools (not a complete lie), and that she needed to go to the sign-in table to pick up her wristband. The guard listened for a minute and then shrugged and let her in. Clearly a high security system was in place.

The Zulus defeated the British Army and kept
control of the area for many years to come.

Most of the ceremony was long and boring – and of course entirely in Zulu – not to mention running about an hour and a half behind schedule. The actual re-enactment was quite short, and a bit oddly done, but I really shouldn’t have been surprised. There were about twenty men and women dressed in British redcoats and about 200 Zulus dressed in traditional warrior attire who sped through a quick scene of gun fire, fake deaths, and then a big Zulu victory finale. Clearly the best actors were assigned to stay near the VIP seating area because when one or two of the Zulus got “shot” by the British they staged quite a personal show of dying. I tried not to laugh but found it impossible. A fairly grand Zulu lunch was served after the re-enactment was over and since we had our wristbands, we were entitled to partake in the sit down meal. Within minutes of finishing our food, we were ready to go home, as it was nearly three o’clock. Unfortunately, this appeared to be easier said than done. Even though I was only one village away there were so many taxis and busses all over the place I had no idea which one I could take. After about 10 minutes I gave up and just started to walk, figuring I would flag down a minibus taxi that passed by at some point. As luck would have it, not more than 10 minutes after I started walking, a car drove by with the chairperson of my school’s School Governing Body, and he told me to hop in for a ride home. Perfect timing. I made it back well before dark to show my family the pictures I took of the event. Eventually I will get around to sharing them with my school as well ;-)