HEART OF DARKNESS enjoys an achievement shared by very few other works in having provoked fellow novelists and artists to engage creatively with it. Francis Ford Coppola’s film Apocalypse Now and Mda’s novel, with its deliberately echoic title, top the list of Conrad challengers, with Graham Greene’s THE HEART OF THE MATTER not far behind.
Mda’s novel ponders South Africa’s modern (i.e. colonial and post-colonial) history. Are there continuities, or just a for-ever-broken chain of misfortunes and a wholly disrupted future? The novel has two narrative centres and attempts, painfully, to forge a link between them. One centre is an 1850s Xhosa uprising against the hated British rulers. The other is the period immediately after South Africa’s first democratic elections in 1994. Mda’s hero, Camugu, was brought up in Johannesburg and has been thirty years (a short lifetime) in the US, where he has made a career in the communications industry. In these years abroad he has lost his inner self: his ‘redness’. He comes ‘home’ to free South Africa in the 1990s only to be wholly disillusioned by the ‘new Africa’. Nepotism bars him from obtaining any work he is qualified for. The ‘Aristocrats of the Revolution’ have no use for someone who is clever, highly trained and idealistic – but not one of them. Those who chose exile have no right to the spoils of victory bought by red blood, it seems.
Disillusioned, Camugu resolves to return to the US. But the night before his departure he hears a young woman singing on the roof of the building in the slum where he is staying. She is NomaRussia, who has named herself in tribute to the Russian soldiers who killed a former governor of the Cape Colony in the Crimean War. An infatuated Camagu follows NomaRussia to her birthplace, the small coastal village of Qolorha. This is the ‘heart of redness’ because it was also the birthplace of Nongqawuse, a teenage prophetess, who inspired the Xhosa nation to rise up in the mid-1850s. First she instructed her people to kill their cattle and burn their crops as a propitiatory sacrifice to the gods. The Xhosa dead would then rise from their graves and, in their hundreds of thousands, drive out the British robbers from their sacred land. And, she promised,
the new people who will arise from the dead will come with new cattle, horses, goats, sheep, dogs, fowl and other animals that the people may want. But the new animals of the new people cannot mix with your polluted ones. Destroy everything. Destroy the corn in your fields and in your granaries.
The village was divided between those who followed the ‘cattle killing’ instruction and those who did not. The ‘Believers’ won. The subsequent uprising proved disastrous for the Xhosa. Those who were not killed by the colonial forces, starved – 20,000 of them, it is estimated.
In the 1990s, Nongqawuse’s village is still divided between Believers and Unbelievers. Those who want to wipe the slate clean – and then smash the slate – and others who want to build a casino and tourist resort and embrace the Westernised future. Camugu finds a middle way. He instructs the men in the village how to harvest and market the abalone (sea snails) from their shores, and teaches the women how to set up co-operatives for their indigenous textiles and Xhosa clothes. Their customers extend from local hotels to the great city itself. Traditional dress is much in fashion – and restaurants are voracious for sea-food. The casino would have prostituted Qolorha. Camugu has liberated it. He is, the novel implies, the true heir to Nongqawuse – and more sensible. The novel, which opened with a devastatingly downbeat verdict on the decadence of Johannesburg, ends in a surge of upbeat optimism.