This ritual profoundly illustrated the fusion of traditional African spirituality with Christianity, a merging embodied by my uncle himself. He was intlabi of the family, the one who slaughtered beasts at traditional ceremonies, and a priest in the Ethiopian Episcopal Church. Through this dual identity, he seamlessly bridged two worlds, demonstrating the coexistence of ancestral beliefs and Christian teachings in our cultural fabric.
We made our way home and the excitement of my family was palpable. I could hear the singing and the jubilation even before we reached home. It was a goosebump-inducing moment, unlike anything I had experienced before. Upon our arrival, the ceremony began with long speeches, mostly delivered by elderly men sharing wisdom about navigating the complexities of manhood.
Much of what they said was formulaic, probably regurgitated from past occasions or drawn from predigested scripts. Though I struggled to remember their words, when women were finally given a chance to speak, the voice of my Mrs Dyani, friend’s mother stood out. She said to me, “Siphiwo mntanam, ube yindoda ungekoluki.” (Siphiwo, my child, you became a man before you were circumcised.)
Her statement struck a deep chord, perhaps because she spoke not from a template but from genuine familiarity with my life and personal struggles. She had seen me grow up and spoke with heartfelt authenticity, making her words resonate far more than the previous formal speeches.
While such aspects might seem too personal and peripheral to the practice of ulwaluko, I believe they are integral to shaping the essence of manhood and masculinity. To make Xhosa customary initiation truly meaningful, we must approach it with flexibility and reverence, treating it as the rite of passage it is intended to be — not as an end in itself.
The old Xhosa saying, “Indoda yindoda ngezenzo” (a man is a man through his deeds), holds far more weight than we often acknowledge. It reminds us that manhood is defined by actions and the values we embody in our daily lives.
• Mahala is an award-winning writer and senior lecturer in the English department at the University of Johannesburg.
Finding the true heart of manhood
The traditional Xhosa initiation process can be the most meaningful and uplifting moment in a man’s life if it is approached in the right way
Image: LULAMILE FENI
I underwent ulwaluko, initiation according to the Xhosa custom, 30 years ago, and since then a lot has changed.
In my time, it was taboo for an initiate to consult a medical practitioner before circumcision, let alone to seek medical care during the initiation process. Today, however, pre-screening and confirming one’s health status have become mandatory.This is a vital adjustment to address the tragic loss of life among initiates, which continues to hog the headlines every year. These modifications are necessary to restore the dignity and significance of Xhosa customary initiation, to make it a more meaningful rite of passage rather than a recurring nightmare of preventable deaths.
Of course, one death of an initiate is one too many, and we must do everything in our power to prevent such calamities. As at this week, 17 initiates were reported to have lost their lives. The most heartbreaking of all is that, according to the Eastern Cape House of Traditional and Khoi-San Leaders, these are preventable deaths.
According to a news report, “six of the initiates died as a result of dehydration. Their illegal circumcisions had also caused septic wounds.” The illegality that is cited in the article means the procedures were not conducted in accordance with the Customary Initiation Act, which regulates customary initiation practices.
Zolile Williams, MEC of co-operative governance & traditional affairs in the Eastern Cape, said: “These deaths should not be happening if parents and communities around these areas were serious about the safety of their children when they are in traditional initiation schools.” Williams’ invocation of parental and community involvement could be a crucial factor in addressing the unfolding tragedy.
I can attest that my father’s direct involvement in my initiation played a pivotal role in its success. At the beginning of 1994, my father asked if I still wanted to go for circumcision later that year. His question was rather shocking, as I could not fathom why he would think this solemn arrangement could change. Being his only son, my initiation is one thing he had been looking forward to from when I was born.
He explained that in light of “all the things that are happening”, a euphemism for the reported deaths in some districts, he wanted to be certain that this was what I wanted. To me, the question itself was foreign. As a boy raised within the Xhosa traditional system, I had always taken it for granted that initiation was an inevitable and non-negotiable rite of passage.
In retrospect, my father’s approach could hold the key to addressing the carnage that is associated with Xhosa customary initiation. First, it begins with confirming the candidate’s genuine willingness to undergo the rite, ensuring it is a personal and informed decision. Second, it emphasises the active involvement of parents throughout the process, guaranteeing that the initiate’s wellbeing is prioritised. Other considerations might follow, but these are the two fundamental principles I will apply to my eight-year-old son when the time comes.
Even though my father was not physically there most of the time, we kept in touch through intermediaries. The Xhosa customary initiation is regarded as a rite of passage into manhood. For me, it symbolised laying the foundation for the future I was about to build. It was going to be my first experience living away from my father’s household, albeit for only a month. Having just completed matric, I was already contemplating life beyond high school. It was a unique opportunity to begin shaping my life according to the vision I had for myself.
I built my own hut and knitted my own clothing. For my hat, I designed a graduation mortarboard out of cardboard, a creation that went beyond aesthetics to serve as a symbol of my personal ambition. Despite the improbability of my father, a single parent reliant on a pension grant, being able to send me to university, I harboured the ambition of pursuing higher education. That cardboard mortarboard represented my aspiration to become an educated person, from whom an educated generation would come.
Q&A with Mpumalanga Gwadiso, chair of Eastern Cape House of Traditional Leaders, on circumcision deaths
On the day of my coming-out ceremony, I woke up early, went to the nearby stream, and scrubbed myself clean of all the white ochre that had covered me throughout my time on the mountain. It was a symbolic cleansing, marking the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
One of the decisions made after I committed to undergoing the ritual was about to be carried out. The question was who would perform the anointing with butter, a vital yet seldom-discussed stage of the rite. My father believed that my uncle, the Rev Jackson Mahala, a respected man of the cloth, was the ideal person for the task.
However, his confidant held a different view, arguing that my father himself was more suitable to perform the ritual. His reasoning was rooted in the values they sought to uphold — while my uncle was revered in the community and seen as successful, he had fathered children out of wedlock, a transgression considered incompatible with the principles they sought to instil. My father had seemingly made up his mind and, in the end, my uncle anointed me at the end of the initiation.
As I stood in my nakedness, he explained the significance of anointing me with butter, as opposed to processed margarine. Butter, he said, comes from a living cow, symbolising productivity and vitality. It represented our family’s wish for me to grow, establish my own household, and acquire cattle. In our culture, cattle embody far more than just wealth — they are sacred links between generations and our ancestors. They nourish us with their milk and are sacrificed in rituals to honour ancestors.
He instructed me to spread my arms wide, “like the Son of Man did on the cross”, as he began the anointing. He started atop my head, smearing butter as he called upon God and our ancestors to grant me wisdom as I prepared to grow my own family. Moving down my chest, he prayed that I would possess a clean heart, lead with sensitivity, and cultivate empathy for others. Finally, he smeared butter across my arms, invoking strength to face the inevitable challenges of manhood.
This ritual profoundly illustrated the fusion of traditional African spirituality with Christianity, a merging embodied by my uncle himself. He was intlabi of the family, the one who slaughtered beasts at traditional ceremonies, and a priest in the Ethiopian Episcopal Church. Through this dual identity, he seamlessly bridged two worlds, demonstrating the coexistence of ancestral beliefs and Christian teachings in our cultural fabric.
We made our way home and the excitement of my family was palpable. I could hear the singing and the jubilation even before we reached home. It was a goosebump-inducing moment, unlike anything I had experienced before. Upon our arrival, the ceremony began with long speeches, mostly delivered by elderly men sharing wisdom about navigating the complexities of manhood.
Much of what they said was formulaic, probably regurgitated from past occasions or drawn from predigested scripts. Though I struggled to remember their words, when women were finally given a chance to speak, the voice of my Mrs Dyani, friend’s mother stood out. She said to me, “Siphiwo mntanam, ube yindoda ungekoluki.” (Siphiwo, my child, you became a man before you were circumcised.)
Her statement struck a deep chord, perhaps because she spoke not from a template but from genuine familiarity with my life and personal struggles. She had seen me grow up and spoke with heartfelt authenticity, making her words resonate far more than the previous formal speeches.
While such aspects might seem too personal and peripheral to the practice of ulwaluko, I believe they are integral to shaping the essence of manhood and masculinity. To make Xhosa customary initiation truly meaningful, we must approach it with flexibility and reverence, treating it as the rite of passage it is intended to be — not as an end in itself.
The old Xhosa saying, “Indoda yindoda ngezenzo” (a man is a man through his deeds), holds far more weight than we often acknowledge. It reminds us that manhood is defined by actions and the values we embody in our daily lives.
• Mahala is an award-winning writer and senior lecturer in the English department at the University of Johannesburg.
READ MORE:
Unease over ‘mysterious’ initiate deaths in Eastern Cape
Leaders alarmed over deaths of 17 initiates
Two initiates die at Gauteng initiation schools, 176 boys rescued
EDITORIAL | The deaths of initiates should be curbed
Summer initiation season claims five lives in Eastern Cape
Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.
Most read
Latest Videos