‘It’s crucial in our culture’: The reeds that refuse to bend to criticism

The humid air in Nongoma, northern KwaZulu-Natal, hums with the jingle of ankle rattles. It’s the 40th anniversary of the reed dance ceremony and thousands of Zulu maidens have arrived dressed in beaded garments. 

Ululating and whistling accompany their traditional hymns as they sing, dance and march in unison towards the eNyokeni Palace. Their feet brushing the dry, red earth kick up swirls of sand that catch the light. Holding tall reeds, each group is a kaleidoscope of colour — red, purple, blue, green, white and yellow beads shimmer against their bare skin — as they trek almost 3km to present their reeds to the King Misuzulu KaZwelithini.

The reed represents a young woman’s commitment to “purity”. In the Zulu tradition, if she is not a virgin, her reed will break, causing public shame. When I attend the ceremony, it’s a particularly windy day and some reeds are bent but not broken. It’s a little after 2pm and Ethabile and Phephile, both 16, have just presented their perfect reeds to the king.

Still beaming from the experience, the girls take a moment and agree to talk to me. It’s Ethabile’s third time participating and she explains how she still vividly remembers her first experience: “The first time I was so nervous, I had no friends and it was a shocking journey to experience all the cultural differences. We went to the river, it was my first time bathing in the river. It was a very long walk, it was tiring but I really enjoyed the experience.”

For both teens, the journey to Nongoma took about five hours — Ethabile left from Woodlands in the southern suburbs of Durban, and Phephile lives in Umlazi. Despite the long journey the duo could barely contain their excitement. “I woke up at 3am but it was worth it. Today I’m very excited because I saw the king and he waved at me, twice,” Phephile says.

Holding hands, smiling and jumping in excitement, the girls both yell: “We saw the king, I can’t believe we saw the king.” They head to the arena where the king will address the crowd. Thousands of reeds sway in the distance as more girls and young women make their way up to the palace.

Empty blue plastic water sachets litter the route as the women dance-walk, singing amahubo (traditional hymns). While there are standard amahubo, some groups have come up with their own renditions of the hymns and chants, basing them on such issues  as teenage pregnancy and the criticism they get for rejecting sex before marriage.

The  ceremony unfolds in two stages, with the main festivities held at eNyokeni Palace. The second part takes place at eMachobeni in Ngwavuma. This,  a smaller version of the main event, is typically held a week after the ceremony at eNyokeni.

The reed dance events are spread over three days, with preparations starting three weeks prior. These preparations are believed to include the virginity assessment, conducted by women elders. The elders direct the maidens to lie down face-up and remove their pants for inspection of their hymens. Those who pass receive certificates and white clay markings on their foreheads, while those who do not are marked with red clay and questioned about their virginity.

The maidens start arriving at eNyokeni Palace on Friday afternoon in buses, taxis, trucks or private cars, with more arriving on Saturday. Those arriving on Friday sleep in temporary accommodation set up in marquees.

On the second day, the maidens wake up, bathe at the Ntsonyane River and collect their reeds from oSuthu Palace before heading to eNyokeni Palace to present them to the king. The first to pick reeds are princesses of the royal family, who lead the procession of maidens to the palace.

One participant, Akhona, 16, dressed in neckpiece and skirt made with colour co-ordinated baby-blue, navy and black beads, said her group chose blue to represent the ocean and the sky.

She says it took her some time to pluck up the courage to attend. “Before I was scared, now I feel like I’m not scared because I’ve grown, and that’s why I decided to do it now,” she said. “I was scared because things were said about this place. I heard that children die and that you also get lost. I told myself I want to go when I’m older and more mature.”

All remaining doubts were dispelled when the Inanda-born teen spotted Afropop singing duo, Virginia and Viggy Qwabe, who competed in Idols season 15, among the crowd. “I’m very happy and excited because it’s my first time being here, I’ve dreamed about this for years. When I got up there, I saw people I’ve only ever seen on TV, and it made me happy when they saw me and greeted me. I saw the twins, yoh, I am so happy,” Akhona says.

Adorned in an all-white bead ensemble as a sign of her chastity is Busisiwe, 28, from Durban. She first took part in the reed dance at 18. With manicured nails, perfect faux lashes and a weave, she says her day was “perfect”.

There are many maidens with beautiful weaves, intricate braids and cornrows, and others who left their hair in its natural state. Some are wearing makeup and others not, but every one of them is bare-breasted. What they have in common is a beaming smile and the white dot on their forehead that marks success in the virginity test.

One of the women who carries out the tests, Nomagugu Ngobese, describes her role as providing workshops and teachings around Zulu history and culture.

She says the hymen checks are a small part of the reed dance ceremony, but the participants “pride themselves on being virgins”.

“It’s crucial in our culture. Abstaining from sex is more crucial today and the ceremony is important for the maidens to have that self-esteem. A lot of young girls are having kids because they have forsaken their norms and values. Others say ‘what about the boys?’, but who falls pregnant — it’s girls. If you teach a girl, you teach a nation. It’s very important that they showcase they are still maidens and not chasing after boyfriends,” Ngobese says.

The Commission on Gender Equality (CGE) has criticised virginity testing as discriminatory, citing its lack of privacy and its violation of the rights and dignity of young girls. This practice is also prohibited under section 12 of the Children’s Act, which bans virginity testing for children under 16 and states that the results cannot be disclosed without the child’s consent. Nevertheless, the reed dance ceremony attracts more and more young girls and women every year.

Gugu Mazibuko, a senior lecturer at the University of KwaZulu-Natal (UKZN), says what started as a ceremony with some 400 maidens in 1984 has now grown to more than  40,;000 participants from across South Africa and neighbouring countries.

“There is this drive now for people to be proud of who they are, their identity,” she says. “You can even see that people wear their traditional attire and they practise traditional ceremonies in their homes. This thing started with very few maidens but now the ones who are virgins influence others. People are very proud of who they are at the moment. In the past they were very much ashamed, they didn’t want to be seen practising their traditions but things have changed.”

For both Mazibuko and Ngobese the heart of the reed dance ceremony is the celebration of purity, identity and culture.

Sihawukele Ngubane, professor of African languages and head of the school of performing arts at UKZN, says the fact that this is the 40th iteration of the ceremony in the contemporary era demonstrates its relevance. He says it was first staged by King Shaka and  revived by the late King Goodwill Zwelithini. It was seen as addressing, among other things, the  HIV/Aids problem by promoting celibacy.

Ngubane says that apart from its appeal as a unique spectacle — which makes it a magnet for tourists — the ceremony’s fundamental role of promoting chastity is winning it adherents.   It serves as a platform for moral renewal, where maidens receive guidance on important issues related to womanhood, he says. The king uses the occasion to address key topics such as gender-based violence and teenage pregnancies, highlighting the work and attributes of women and their importance in social cohesion.

Virginity testing might be controversial, Ngubane says, but participation is voluntary, and those who undergo it do not feel exploited.  Those who view it as part of their transition to womanhood should be allowed to celebrate it freely, without coming in for criticism. The ceremony empowers women, highlights their societal contributions, and promotes equality, cultural heritage and moral values, he says.

“I am fully aware of the criticism labelled against the ceremony, but I feel that modernisation and Western influence have affected the practice. This is a clash between outsiders and owners of the cultural practice who consider the event significant. It is true that Westernisation erodes the traditional values and customs of colonised communities.

“I personally feel that this is disrespect for the Zulu culture, which is protected by the constitution. Balancing cultural preservation with modernisation or urbanisation is important when it comes to the sensitive issues of the ceremony,” says Ngubane.   

While some maidens were still heading to the palace at 3.30pm on Saturday, the king, flanked by an entourage of more than 50 men in traditional regalia and carrying spears and shields, made his way to the arena. As spectators chanted “hambisa, asambe” (the king is here), the crowd scattered and the songs of the women were replaced by the shuffling and deep bass voices of the men.

Among the tourists were Ofer and Sabrina Azran from Israel and their three children. Enchanted, they ignored the light drizzle that had begun falling.

“We came to Africa because we’re in love with it,” says Sabrina. “This is our third time here, we have friends from the Zulu tribe that we made when we were here the last time and they told us about the ceremony. We’ve been desperate to see something with more culture and this has been an amazing opportunity for us. It’s been absolutely stunning.”

Ofer adds that they arrived at 11am and have enjoyed every moment. “No words can describe this thing — it’s so colourful, everyone is so welcoming, it’s so happy with everyone dancing. Just to be here and watch, we’ve been in awe.”

Outside the arena, a different expression of culture is unfolding. Throngs of people have gathered to braai, many of them using the reed dance venue as a backdrop for selfies. Vendors sell such tribal regalia as beads, T-shirts, sandals and assegais; alcohol, ice-cream and soft drinks are also available.

As the sun sets over the royal palace, the contrast between the ceremony of chastity inside the arena and the boisterous drinking outside seems stark.

For Zulus, the reed dance is a celebration of heritage, a deeply rooted expression of identity and womanhood. Yet, it often collides with Western ideas that view the bare-breasted maidens through a lens of sexuality, misunderstanding the cultural significance. 

“It’s not nudity according to our culture, we don’t believe in breasts and genitals,” says Ngobese. “What we are scared of is exposing the vagina. They say bare-breasted girls go against norms and standards; I ask, whose norms? When our bare-breasted maidens are called nude, it’s very much wrong. It’s an insult to our culture.”

In this delicate balance, the reed dance remains a powerful reminder of how tradition can endure, even as it faces the gaze of a modern world that doesn’t always understand it.