Looking at memory and murals with Buntu Fihla

Last Grave at Dimbaza is a 1974 documentary shot clandestinely by a group consisting South African exiles and British film students, and was to become one of the most influential films about the functions and mechanisms of Apartheid. The film’s producer, Nana Mahomo, says she wanted “to show what it is like for the black people of South Africa to be on the receiving end of the white government’s apartheid policy.”

In one scene, the camera pans across three bright-eyed, brown babies; hair emaciated and breaking, bellies distended with the tell-tale signs of malnutrition. The camera continues its movement over arid, infertile ground. Plants wilt and wither. Hand scratch at the earth for a root, a seed. “Yet less than a 100 years ago, the forefathers of these people were famous for owning hundreds of cattle. Today, the children are in tatters, and the women grow old in their twenties.” A non-diegetic voice intones as the lens captures barrenness, brown and a graveyard containing the remains of 60 Adults and 450 children, most of whom died before the age of two. In the special graveyard just for children, a large number of small ditches gape hungry in the ground, dug in preparation of next month’s bodies. Lifeless tiny hands. Bloodless tiny feet.

It is in this context that Lennox Sebe, the former Chief Minister of the Ciskei Bantustan, commissions the construction of a monument on Ntaba kaNdoda in Dimabaza. This mountain carries its history, a heavy charge. Ntaba kaNdoda is reportedly named for a Khoi Chief and rainmaker who was murdered here during a vicious engagement with Rharhabe, the son of King Phalo. It is here that the Xhosa Chief Maqoma prepared for battle with Ndlambe’s people. It’s also here where Maqoma fled to retreat following his defeat at the battle of Amalinda. And there wood be more sacrifices, more blood, at this setting for many battles between amaXhosa and the British. For this reason and others, Sebe chose this imposing mound to cement his vision for the new Ciskeian Identity, to instill his dominance, and to commemorate his forces who were killed enforcing the policies of the independent state.

Today, the site lies in ruins, more derelict than the Apartheid system it was constructed under. Walking into the Dutch Reformed- inspired monument, cracks vine down the walls, the floors are flooded in filth, and rubbish strewn – an emptied can here, a balled piece of paper there - hint at someone who may have been living here at some recent point in time.

Also in this monument, is a large-scale, heart-wrenching mural of a Blue Crane, its bleeding beak broken at its feet. Indwe, the isiXhosa name for the Blue Crane, is a symbolic bird for the people who identify with it. When a warrior proved his valour during war, he was rewarded with the feathers of the bird, which would be placed in his hair by the king. The bird was also emblematic on the Coat of the Ciskei, forming itself squarely in the identity and representations of the Bantustan.

Born in the Eastern Cape of South Africa, Buntu Fihla is a visual artist with strong leanings towards street art and large-scale public murals. The mural mentioned above, Inyeke kaSebe (Sebe’s lip), is from a series titled Isizathu Esihle Singafihla Ububi, loosely translated, bad deeds can be masked by good reasons. This body of work looks at the elements that constitute the coat of arms of the Ciskei, which were highly patronizing of amaXhosa and isiXhosa Culture.

“The feathers of the Blue Crane are worn by esteemed members of the of the community. This speaks to a person’s respectability, or rather, esteem and dignity. These would be people who can be trusted to represent the community. In Inyeke kaSeba, its beak has fallen off. Making this, how I felt was, ‘you have taken all these things that are symbolic to us, that are important to us, to create a coat of arms for a so-called independent state that is essentially killing us. So the broken beak is the violence, the voicelessness. The ripping out of our tongues. The patronizing manner in which items of significance to us, were used to mock us. Also Lennox Sebe, as the first leader of Ciskei, was incessantly mocked for the size of his lips. Even in some struggle songs, they were lines that read ‘iwile inyeke kaSebe’ (Sebe’s lip has fallen),” the artist explains.

Descansos, from the Spanish descanso (place of rest, as of a funeral procession), are crosses, often on the side of the road that mark where a death has occurred. Descansos signify loss. But more than just gravestones to the fallen, to the the death, the mark the act of dying. The having lived. Descansos then, can be viewed as mini-monuments to Memento Mori. Remember, you must die.

“I use and work in a lot of monuments because they’re such a glaring part of the landscape of the Ciskei. Especially if you grown up there, you can’t help but to see them, and know they’ve basically become these pockets of crime and drug use. I position these elements taken from the coat of arms, in these monuments to where they have failed. Failed as a state and failed us as a people. So Indwe (Blue Crane) with its denotations of honour and esteem is located at Ntaba kaNdoda, which was the national centre of the Ciskei. The ox head [see Zemk’ Inkomo] which symbolizes husbandry and nods to the symbolic value of cattle, those pieces I painted at the failed leather factories in Zwelitsha under what was called Homeland Rule.”

Fihla is broad in his definition of monuments. Included here are national buildings, factories, and all the other attempts of the Ciskei to assert itself as independent to the Republic of South Africa. Attempts that were enforced through bloodshed and with an iron fist. Attempts that benefitted an appreciative Apartheid government. “This is my way to deal with these sites of memory with sensitivity, honour and most importantly, empathy. In isiXhosa we say, masiye lapha inkomo iwele khona (we must go where the cow has fallen/ been slaughtered/ was killed). For me, as a person, as an artist, I must go there to cleanse these sites, to keep the memory alive, but to imbue it with a dignity for black life.”

Buntu’s website: www.buntufihla.com