Chapitre 4: Chapter 3 - It was all a dream
4 days since birth
"It was all a dream."
Vusi—or better yet, Senzangakhona—told himself this as he lay on his mother's sleeping mat, staring at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, trying to convince himself.
He clenched his fists, tightening every muscle from his toes to his hands, before exhaling slowly.
"It's just a dream," he whispered again. But when he opened his eyes, the same ceiling loomed above him, unchanging.
This wasn't the first time. It had become a ritual, repeated countless times since the day he was declared a newborn baby.
Fifty times now, he had woken to this ceiling, desperately hoping it was an illusion. Each time, he closed his eyes, praying this nightmare would end. But reality was stubborn, its grip unrelenting.
The midwives had begun whispering about his behavior. How the prince would lie there, eyes tightly shut, muttering strange noises before snapping them open with sudden vigor.
Yet, their concerns meant nothing to Vusi. To him, they were shadows flitting around a flame. All that mattered was waking up and finding the traitors who had massacred his regiment. Somewhere among them lurked a mole, and he would expose them.
Tales of heroism would have you believe repeated failure strengthens conviction, that perseverance fuels greatness. But the truth was darker. With each failed attempt, his resolve cracked, his sanity frayed. Hope, once his anchor, now felt like a cruel joke.
Still, he clung to his ritual, whispering the words once more, his body rigid with tension.
"It's all a dream."
But when he opened his eyes, the same indifferent ceiling greeted him.
---
The maids and midwives whispered, but the higher echelons of the Zulu tribe couldn't afford idle speculation. The prince had summoned his advisors to a meeting in the royal council hut, where all decisions pertaining to his domain took place.
Standing at the center, Crown prince Jama, son of Ndaba, exuded an aura of wisdom and authority. His voice carried the weight of his years as he addressed the assembly.
The prince sat at the head of the council, listening intently as one of his men reported.
"Without action, this season will bring serious hardship, my prince. If we do not act quickly, we risk a food shortage," the man warned.
Another adviser spoke up, adding, " The kraal wardens (induna) of their respective kraals have provided us with a report on the state of agriculture in your domain. It is dire, with droughts looming. What shall we do?"
The prince scratched his chin thoughtfully before replying. "If that's the case, how are our livestock holdings?"
The man hesitated before responding, "We do not have exact numbers, but it is concerning, my prince. With the drought, we expect to lose some livestock. It has been a grim year."
The prince, after a moment of contemplation, said, "Then we must act strategically. If we have an abundance of livestock but not enough food, we should trade some of the livestock for preserved goods with our neighbors. They can take on the burden of maintaining the animals, while we secure more food for our people. This will reduce the strain on our rations."
Another adviser interjected, "Should we sell locally or trade with other tribes, my prince?"
The prince replied, "If my father's domain is unaffected, we can prioritize local trade. However, if his lands are suffering the same hardships, we must turn to other tribes. That said, we should avoid trading sickly livestock; they won't provide much value to anyone."
The advisers nodded in agreement, and the issue was considered resolved.
The prince's expression softened briefly as he turned to another matter. "Have we received any news about my daughter? Has the messenger returned?"
The question brought a moment of tension to the room as the men recalled the prince's earlier worries. One of the advisers stepped forward. "Yes, my prince. The messenger has returned. He reported that Princess Mkabayi and Princess Mamme have settled well in the Cheif's kraal. Furthermore, the fact that had played significant roles in the birth of their brother was a contributing factor to their treatment."
A smile spread across the prince's face, and he closed his eyes briefly in relief. "That is good news."
However, his demeanor quickly shifted. His expression grew serious, and his eyes sharpened as he refocused. Taking a deep breath, he declared, "Now that this matter is settled, let us move on to the real reason I called this meeting."
With that he stood up from his throne and began to wake into the center of the council hut. As his sandals couple be heard thumping the ground with a slow and steady pace, as everyone did not dare make a sound.
Standing at the center, Crown prince Jama, son of Ndaba, exuded an aura of wisdom and authority. His voice carried the weight of his years as he addressed the assembly.
"Men of my tribe, of my tree," he began solemnly, "we must discuss a troubling matter. The behavior of my son, our heir. His strange tendencies cannot be ignored. I hesitate to say it, but we must consider: is this sickness? Or… bewitchment?"
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. Bewitchment of a royal child was unthinkable. Among the Nguni, royalty and the young were believed immune to such curses. If a sangoma powerful enough to defy this taboo existed, they posed a threat to entire chiefdoms.
Jama's voice deepened. "What is your input on this matter?"
For a moment, the room was silent. Then, one man, emboldened, knelt before the chief. "Jama, son of Ndaba! Shade of the Chiefdom, Dweller in the King's Fortress-"
"Enough!" Jama's sharp tone cut through the man's praises. "I did not summon you to flatter me. This is no time for empty words. Give me answers, for the future of this tribe depends on it."
The man faltered. "Forgive me, my prince."
Jama's tone softened, though his gaze remained firm. "Speak plainly."
The man bowed his head and said, "My prince, our best option is to summon a sangoma. Only they can determine if the prince is cursed or merely ill."
It was a logical suggestion, though costly. Powerful sangomas did not serve out of duty but for steep fees.
Jama turned to his trusted advisor clad in antelope-hide shoulder pads, Masangu kaDlamini. "How many sangomas can we afford to summon?"
Masangu hesitated. "Given this year's poor harvest, no more than twenty. Perhaps twenty-five, if we strain our resources. But it would be costly."
Without hesitation, Jama raised his hand. "Do it. Start with our local sangomas. If they produce no results, summon others. Even the Chief's kraal has powerful sangomas. Spare no effort."
Another advisor, Kaya, interjected boldly, "But, my prince, you have another son."
The room grew tense. The suggestion was a political move disguised as concern.
Masangu snapped, "He is not the rightful heir! He doesn't carry Zulu blood."
Kaya retorted, "True, but His Highness has acknowledged him as his son."
It was well-known that one of Jama's wives had borne a child before their marriage. Jama had famously declared, "Whatever comes from the womb is mine, for I have thickened the mixture."
Jama silenced the brewing argument with a slam of his hand on the table. "Enough! Today is not about Sojiyisa. This is about saving the prince. We will not discuss replacements until every option is exhausted. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, my prince." the men replied in unison.
"Then stop wasting time and act!" Jama commanded, his voice brooking no further dissent.
---
When the advisors had left, Jama sat in silence, his thoughts heavy. Finally, he called out, "Bhekisisa!"
A tall man entered, carrying a shield of cowhide and a club. His sharp eyes darted around the room, searching for danger.
Jama felt a swell of pride at the warrior's vigilance but quickly returned to the matter at hand. "Bhekisisa, there is no assassin. I need you to carry out my will."
The warrior bowed deeply. "As you command, my prince."
"Place a gag order on my son's condition," Jama said firmly. "The people must not panic. We have only just celebrated his birth. Let no word of this spread."
Bhekisisa nodded. "What of your wives and children?"
Jama paused. "Tell my wives, but warn them. If they speak of this, the consequences will be swift. As for my children, they do not need to know. Especially the twins, they will be devastated."
"As you wish, my prince" Bhekisisa replied, bowing before leaving the hut to carry out his orders.
...
6 days since birth
"There's a god out there, but He or She clearly doesn't like me."
These were the fragmented thoughts of ten-year-old Vusi, now Senzangakhona kaJama Zulu, as his was being gently carried by his mother Princess Mthaniya.
One of the only few people he knew, as he would see her whenever he was awake. Which was not much, being an infant caused him to he often times drowsy especially if you factor in his brain capabilities that used up most of his baby mental power.
However that's not what concerned Senzangakhona at the moment, what did was...
"Senzangakhona of all names?" he thought for the 50th or maybe 100th time in his new life. It wasn't as if he consciously obsessed over it. This thought just kept bubbling up in his internal 'debates.'
Though not fully aware of it yet, Senzangakhona was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he had died.
"I could've been named Shamba, Lindo, or even Thato. A no-name child of Chief Jama kaNdaba, forgotten by history because his life was normal." Senzangakhona vented internally as his mother gently caressed his head, making it easier for him to sleep. But sleeping was not something Senzangakhona would wven entertain at this time. "But no, I had to be reborn as the father of those sociopaths."
As he gradually adjusted to this new reality, one of the few things he felt sure of—though it was absurd to be certain of anything as a baby—was that he had indeed died.
Whether it was sabotage, someone changing sides, or just bad luck from their enemies, Vusi and his entire regiment had perished.
Knowing how the South African Special Forces operated, no one would ever know what he had done, or even remember him. He'd made peace with that. He had accepted it. Almost.
Hence his his internal debates.
But looking back now, from this strange new perspective, their sacrifices seemed foolish. Waste of lives that couldn't be reclaimed or even spoken of. All in the name of a country that might have betrayed them in the end.
That was a fact. Yet every day, he wished this past few days had been some weird dream. A bad trip he'd need to talk through with a psychologist when he woke up. But time and time again, he was left disappointed by the harsh reality.
This disappointment soon evolved into anger, expressed in ways only a baby could.
Constant crying, defecating, or even giving Thando's look-alike a golden shower every time she held him. Just in case Thando had been the mole.
Thankfully, as the days passed, he began to accept his circumstances and the fact that he might never find out the truth.
A bitter truth to swallow, but that didn't stop him from venting internally now and then. After all, that wasn't the only thing Vusi was sure of.
The second thing? After he had died, he had come back. Not in some divine, miraculous sense, but literally.
He had died, and now he was alive again.
He had been reborn, not as a ghost or a spirit, but as a Zulu prince. The irony wasn't lost on him.
Thando, his old friend, would have laughed at the absurdity. Unlike Thando, who knew her lineage but chose not to engage with its customs, Vusi had known nothing about his own. All he knew was that he was half Black—of some South African tribe—and half Afrikaner.
He had grown up with his Afrikaner father, so whatever he knew about the Zulu tribe came from history books he was required to read at the South African Advanced Tactical Training Academy (SAATTA) to become an officer.
And those books didn't paint Senzangakhona in a positive light. He was depicted as an arrogant prince who had done nothing but hunt and collect wives. A bit like a certain black stag in that show about wolves and lions fighting for a dragon's throne.
"At least the black stag wasn't the father of three sociopaths. Though, they did try to give him a lion and claim it was his."
Mid-'debate,' Senzangakhona paused, puzzled. "Why do I even remember that?"
It wasn't because he had been a fan, far from it. He barely finished the first season, given how little rest his deployments allowed. But ever since he had been reborn, he could recall his past life vividly, as if he were watching it play out in a first-person movie. From his first words to the shape of the clouds on a particular day, every detail was crystal clear.
"There is a god out there, but He or She clearly doesn't like me."
It sounded poetic on paper, but when you could relive your entire life whenever you wanted, it made it hard to accept that this new one was truly yours.
But before the melancholy could set in, Senzangakhona heard a voice from the corner.
"Okay, Princess, I think that's enough. The Prince wishes to see his son."
The voice belonged to a young girl who resembled Thando, though her real name was Mbali. She bowed her head respectfully toward the Princess, who continued humming softly.
Senzangakhona's mother ignored Mbali's presence for a few moments, finishing her melody. This made Mbali visibly uncomfortable. She knew it was forbidden to disturb royalty, but she needed to retrieve the Prince. Left with no other choice, she stood awkwardly, waiting for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, the Princess smiled and said, "Okay."
She carefully placed Senzangakhona into Mbali's arms. Mbali bowed her head.
"Thank you, Princess," she murmured before leaving the royal hut.
However, instead of going directly to the Prince Jama's hut as instructed, Mbali made her way to his council hut instead.
Inside, Senzangakhona's confusion grew as he took in the scene. Although he trusted Mbali wouldn't harm him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. His unease deepened when he noticed something that made his stomach drop, a sangoma was there.
"Sangomas." he muttered under his breath, his fear unmistakable.
As Mbali carried him inside, they were greeted by several men, including his father and others Senzangakhona didn't recognize. But what truly caught his attention was a woman sitting flat on a mat, surrounded by scattered bones. She muttered incomprehensibly, occasionally burping, while the room filled with thick smoke from medicinal herbs and dagga (weed).
Sangomas, the spiritual healers of Nguni society, provided both physical and spiritual healing to those in need. Because of their perceived connection to the ancestors, they were both feared and deeply respected, a tradition that persisted even in modern-day South Africa.
It was a profitable and prestigious role, granting those who filled it land, wives/husbands, political influence, and respect. However, this meant many people were eager to fake such powers for personal gain.
But not everyone faked it. Some sangomas were real, and it was those individuals that Senzangakhona feared most.
Real sangomas, whether their powers were supernatural or rooted in sharp observation, had an uncanny ability to notice things others couldn't. Whether it was heightened sensitivity to body language or subtle shifts in their surroundings, they often attributed their insights to the ancestors.
Those are the ones that could probably find out that he was not an infant, but a grown man in the body of an infant.
Senzangakhona instantly understood why he was here. It was obvious. His recent behavior, his attempts to wake up, had likely caused him to appear mentally disturbed.
He was no fool. He knew his status as a prince afforded him privileges far beyond the reach of any peasant. For ordinary children, illness would often be ignored unless it became life-threatening. Consulting a sangoma was a desperate and costly measure.
For Senzangakhona, however, things were different. Royalty meant precautionary measures, even for the mildest ailments. Yet, he knew that in the days of Shaka, suspicion of weakness could mean death. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
The absurdity of his situation struck him. Should he laugh or cry? Instead, he muttered under his breath, "Senzangakhona... of all names," as the weight of his circumstances pressed down on him.
---
Induna - iNduna (plural: iziNduna) is a Zulu/Xhosa title meaning advisor, great leader, ambassador, headman or commander of a group of warriors. It can also mean spokesperson or mediator, as the iziNduna often acted as a bridge between the people and the king ( Which is why I used English to explain what they were.)
sangoma - Traditional healers of Southern Africa are practitioners of traditional African medicine in Southern Africa. They fulfil different social and political roles in the community like divination, healing physical, emotional, and spiritual illnesses, directing birth or death rituals, finding lost cattle, protecting warriors, counteracting witchcraft and narrating the history, cosmology, and concepts of their tradition
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A/N : Long chapter right?😅...
Not my intention but it just happened, if you like the book so far check out my p.a.t.r.e.o.n. I will put a link some where.
Oh ya Disclaimer!! One more thing because of how much lack of historical information there is about this time period. There will be some slight historical inaccuracy, besides the whole rebirth thing and others.
But if you have any information you would like share about this time period, please comment.🙏 It will really help the novel as I try to be as realistic and as accurate as possible. 🤓
Underline the words "as possible" as this is still a sci-fi of sorts😅
Last Spear of the Zulu Empire : Bring the 21st century to Africa / 5 chpts per week
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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Power Stone 
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