A report on law, administration and the position of traditional leadership

1. Introduction; a few first thoughts

2. Methodology

3. Hoepakranz: living with the monkeys

4. Traditional leadership in Hoepakranz: fighting over bogosi

5. Local government in Hoepakranz: overdemocratised and underdeveloped

6. Customary law in Hoepakranz: CPF, chief and Schoonoord

7."The land belongs to the kgosi": land tenure in Hoepakranz

8. Conclusion

1. Introduction; a few first thoughts

As I’m approaching the end of the research on my first case-study, Hoepakranz, I have decided to write up some of the preliminary results in this report.

In August 1998 I wrote, in heavy-handed language, that "the research is concerned with understanding the implications of this state recognition of traditional leadership at the local level. How has the position of traditional leadership at the local level changed under the new dispensation? A focus on the position, functions and functioning of traditional leadership and of possibly competing institutions in specific fields as dispute resolution, local government and land allocation should provide insight in the way in which the state takes shape at the local level". What have the past three months in Hoepakranz taught me about these issues? How did I find the relation between traditional leadership and competing institutions in law, local government and land in one rural, traditional village?

There are a few reasons for locking myself up in my cottage in Jane Furse this week to try to shape my findings into a coherent report. At first I want to extensively write up my notes so I can use them at a later stage for writing my PhD. At present, I have files and files of notes in Nud*ist and even more unprocessed data in SPSS. I believe that if I try to give a preliminary answer to my research questions on the basis of these notes I’ll be able to spot inconsistencies and unanswered questions to still be addressed when I visit Hoepakranz for the last time – officially, that is – at the end of this month. Also, the pictures of the green mountains, the intense debates about the future of the school, the lengthy sessions at the kgoro and all the other typical events are all still vivid in my mind now and might be snowed up with new pictures and memories once I start working in other areas. In addition I would like to send this report to a few people that have showed such an active interest in the research that I don’t mind serving them an unfinished product, one that still needs a lot of cooking before it could be dished out to a wider public. And, hopefully, load their feedback in the car with me between questionnaires and maize-meal for my Hoepakranz hosts when I make that last journey.

On the basis of this extensive report, in which I will try to capture some relevant history, the main features and functions on the chief, the general findings on customary law, land and local government I will then compile a shorter fact-sheet to send to a wider circle of helping hands and minds (long live the email!).

This set-up calls for a few caveats. The mission: to write up as much as possible about Hoepakranz whilst not gobbling up too much of what feels as precious ‘fieldwork’-time has forced me to set aside perfectionism and the tendency to ponder over each sentence. "I’m writing you a long letter, as I don’t have time to write you a short one", as Hugo de Groot wrote. I hope my mini-circle of readers won’t mind. Also, there is little theory and a lot of fact in this report. One obvious reason is the lack of books in Jane Furse (although I do find myself reading and rereading a lot of classics on those evenings here that there are no visitors and the dogs outside are out). But a more important one is that I feel a strong need to work inductively, to first just write down what I find in Hoepakranz, Mamone and Ga-Masha. To let it sink in for a while. And only then, once I’m back in Holland, to start theorising and comparing. My research questions, of course, were shaped by the theory and I realise now that they are quite flawed here and there. But to point out those flaws and link that to the original theories is – it seems today – typically something to do behind my desk on the Rapenburg.

I’ll start this report with a few notes on methodology, how I selected Hoepakranz and how we conducted the research there. In Ch 3 I’ll give a brief introduction to Hoepakranz: it’s history, geography and important socio-economic features. Ch. 4 is dedicated to traditional leadership in Hoepakranz: in a subject that is so strongly linked to wider structures and processes of law and administration it is easy to slip away and to start studying all institutions at village level. This is a way to force myself to focus on what is after all my research topic. The following chapters are also structured according to the initial research lay-out: Ch 5 is about local government in the village, in Ch 6 I try to summarise what I learnt about customary law and in Ch 7 I look at land issues. In Ch 8, titled I draw some preliminary conclusions.

2. Methodology

The first time I heard about Hoepakranz, the small village high in the Leolo mountains, was whilst hanging around at the magistrates court in Schoonoord. At that point Patson Phala and myself had already been crisscrossing through Sekhukhune for three weeks, interviewing chiefs, councillors and citizens in our search for three ‘representative’ traditional authority area’s. The more people we spoke to, the more daunting that mission seemed. We heard about well-respected chiefs, corrupt chiefs, many chieftaincy disputes, leaders that seemed to be known only by the government treasurers but not by the people they were supposed to lead, clusters of chiefs ruling one town, chiefs with a heavy hand in politics, business or religion and many female leaders. They seemed to lead large area’s, or very small ones, with sometimes a great deal of development and in other cases astonishingly little change over the past few years. There were very organised, bureaucratised customary courts and ad hoc tribunals, some organised by chiefs but others by the youth or organisations as Mapogo a Mathamaga. In some areas the youth or the civics seemed to have taken over completely from the chiefs whilst in others the traditional leaders still commanded a lot of respect.

I was, in short, dazzled by the complex interlinkage of national policies, local politics and the variety of fractions at play in both and I yearned for a case that – if not representative – would at least be overseeable. So when Philip Vilakazi, the charismatic and very vocal leader of the ANC in Hoepakranz told us that he came from a small village that was "still too traditional. A place where everybody still believes in the magosi and people clay pots, make calebashes and they still all keep domestic animals like cows, goats and chickens" it seemed like a good place to go and visit.

By now I have rationalised the choice for Hoepakranz as one for a very rural, traditional village. A place where people are to a certain extent still part of a subsistence economy and where they still strongly believe in chieftaincy. A place where the chief does not get paid by the government but nevertheless plays an important role. The kind of closely knit community that features so strongly in the policy debate but that seems only part of the Sekhukhune reality, pushed aside by fast-growing villages, some veritable rural slums, with strong intergenerational conflicts, little social cohesion and even less chance of people living of the ground.

These rationalisations remain valid, but fact of the matter is that I very much wanted to do research in Hoepakranz from the first time we arrived at the village. Its near inaccessibility – the Toyota performs miracles by slipsliding over enormous rocks and through tricky rivers – combined with the sheer beauty of the green hills, scattered with yellow lilies on the first day we arrived is one of the reasons. Another is that it so much resembled a Fieldwork Site we have been taught about in the CNWS-classes. The Malinowski-like romantic experience where we’d sleep in a hut, would have to speak Sotho only and where I was the first white visitor. Research in Sekhukhune until then had been a messy affair, speaking to people in local government and tribal offices and trying to figure out why an area with so many cars, taxi-ranks and shops is called rural. Hoepakranz evoked pictures of the rolling hills of KwaZulu/Natal and the scattered homesteads in the Transkei and seemed a chance to pull that world into my research as well.

During our first visit we soothed the chief with a live chicken and Dutch teaspoons and – rather painstakingly - interviewed a gathering of community members. As it turned out later we addressed the wrong chief, the contender for bogosi (chiefdom), and most of the answers to our questions seemed based on a willingness to please rather than to adequately depict reality.

For a second visit we requested to interview the women only. I have a photo of a group of women sitting on the ground, legs straightforward, contemplatively nibbling biscuits whilst the same self-proclaimed chief sits next to them in a chair with a knobkerrie in his hand, making sure that ‘his women’ don’t say anything out of limits. In terms of research little came out of that visit, but it was then that we obtained permission to stay in Hoepakranz for a longer time. At the time I stated that I would like to learn more about the lives of rural women, and their relation to the chief. This was partly true, as I was then working on an article on women and land rights, but also a way to explicitly ensuring access to women for the later research without insulting that men that were generally so keen to answer our questions.

The woman that offered to put us up was Maggy Nkosi. I have, afterwards, often revelled at the good fortune of this offer. Maggy and Ruben's homestead is located centrally, between the school and mosate, the chiefs kraal. It’s a lovely place to stay, consisting of a number of clay huts tucked away between corn fields and peach trees. It’s practically an all-woman household (except for Ruben who works in town and Piet, a puerile nephew who lives in to herd the cattle) where many people drop by to chat and gossip. Our first encounter with Ruben was only end of January, after we had already become regulars in the village. It was only then that we could officially ask his permission to stay in his house to do the research. He said "there is no problem, if you have spoken to the chief and the community accepts you, then so do we. Also, the bible says that you must accept guests". During many evenings around the cooking fire, peeling beans and listening to the chit-chat about rural life, I have learned a lot about that life and have become good friends with our hosts.

During our whole stay I have been very aware that the fact that having a local celebrity – Patson, who works for the radio – and a foreign visitor over (and, at some point my two nieces and later my boyfriend from Holland) would put the Nkosi’s in an exceptional position in a village in which jealousy is still a very powerful force. I have tried to act on that by not taking too much food with me to the village and by also taking some gifts for other people. Also, on those days that the schoolgirls doing traditional dances came to perform, I would entertaining all the spectators. It is sometimes difficult to convey to people who expect so much benefits from your visit that you’ve actually only come to write about their lives, in the hope that this will spur others to improve them. (Of course, I have tried to help people by writing letters, discussing projects and I am in the process of seeking funding for the secondary school. I would very much like to discuss the issue of fieldwork, finances and ‘doing things back’ with those anthropologists that herald non-intrusiveness and ‘going native’ one day. Herman frequently teased me by saying I was buying informants with Coca Cola and bread but to me it does seem fair to somehow slightly compensate the people who gave us so much of their time. But that’s another story).

From January until March we have been going to Hoepakranz, mostly on a five days on- two days off basis. During the first weeks we extensively interviewed what seemed like the most important people in the village: The chief Abel Nkosi and his twin brother Jesajah, who was head of the school for a long time. Their son Victor Nkosi, the present headmaster, and his vocal, analytic wife Tilly. Joseph Nkosi, the contender for chieftaincy. The most important advisors of both chiefs: Mr Vilakazi (also the head of the ZCC in Hoepakranz) for Joseph, George Nkosi for Abel. We spent a lot of time talking to the young turks, as Philip Vilakazi, the leader of the ANC and his inseparable secondant Jacob Lukhele. Also, we attended a variety of meetings at mosate, at the school and for instance of the woman’s funeral society.

Halfway February we switched to interviewing individual community members following a set questionnaire. I spent a lot of time doubting whether it would be a good idea to interview people ‘inside their houses’ instead of speaking with focus groups in more public arena’s. Joseph (the self-proclaimed chief) and others tried to convince us that it was much better to interview people in groups. But I was afraid that that would stiffle individual opinions. So we announced our intentions to visit people "house-to-house" during a meeting at mosate convened for another purpose. After a lengthy debate permission was granted, although some of the speakers called on others not to "speak too much about personal problems. We should rather talk about development, as everything will be written down in a book.."

As it turned out, we hardly ever spoke to people alone but normally interviewed them in clusters of two to four people (with as many children and livestock running around). This has its disadvantages, for instance where a woman would patiently await the answers of her husband and repeat them, stating vehemently that this was exactly how she saw things…But in other cases interesting debates erupted, and people helped to jolt each others memory. In any case, I don’t think that we could have done it differently in a society as Hoepakranz, where everybody is so acutely aware of what other people are doing.

When we started interviewing, there were a lot of stories about our intentions singing around. Some people thought we were with the police, and had come to uncover the dagga (marihuana) plantations carefully hidden in the mountains. Others gossiped that we belonged to the Department of Land Affairs, and had come to find out about land ownership to remove people afterwards (this story was probably informed by events in the neighbouring Magolego, where the people were awarded a land claim and were moved to a much more fertile area "on the ground", only to find out that they couldn’t keep livestock there. Many of them refused to go). But as time went by being interviewed by the combination Patson - Barbara turned into something of a status symbol and people came up to ask us when we would visit them.

Our questionnaire consists of more than 50 questions and is written in Sepedi. It contains closed and open questions about people’s general background, their ideas about land, local government, chieftaincy, development, customary law and Mapogo. In most of the cases we went through the questionnaires with the – often illiterate - respondents, writing down their answers in English or Sepedi. As the first language of most people in Hoepakranz is Swazi I fear that a lot of nuance got lost in translation. Generally, people were extremely helpful and eager to talk. As the debate on traditional leadership is so often based on the views of the traditional leaders only, I am very happy to speak so extensively to ‘community members’ this year. One interview could last up to about three hours, but the slow pace of the work is, in my opinion, justified by the richness of the interviews and the fact that we have been able to record the opinions of those people who generally don’t get a chance to voice them.

In total we spoke to 126 community members, of whom about 70 % were women and 30 % men. This does seem to reflect the number of men and women generally present in the village, but does pose a methodological problem because many men do come home at the end of the month and then actively participate in decision-taking. The customary court, for instance, is often held during this weekend. I will go back to Hoepakranz at the end of this month, and then try to speak to another 24 men, in order to obtain a better balance. But it does seems that the opinions of men and women generally do not differ significantly; it is only when asking "does traditional leadership discriminate women" that 72 % of the women says no as opposed to 83 % of the men. There is also a difference in the opinions about Mapogo a Mathamaga, the vigilante organisation that’s very active in Sekhukhune: 60 % of the women like Mapogo, as opposed to only 46 % of the men. There seems fair division in age groups and levels of education and employment in our sample. Of those people who are married, 82 % is married according to customary law which can serve as an indication of the ‘traditionality’ of the village. Another 83 % states that they have their own field, normally with maize or sorghum on it. The figures that I quote in this report come from these interviews. Tsepo Pasha, another research assistant, has posed 200 people in the rest of Sekhukhune the same questions but I still have to process those results.

Generally I feel that the stay in Hoepakranz was short from the anthropologist’s point of view but very in-depth when compared to customary law research in general. We did manage to learn a lot about the village, its people, their opinions and ways of making decisions and handling disputes.

3. Hoepakranz: living with the monkeys

You won’t find Hoepakranz on any ordinary map, although I still have to check the maps of the Department of Land Affairs and hope to find more information there. But the village is located high up (about 2000 m) in the Leolo mountains, right in the Southern part of the Northern Province. If, on a clear evening, you climb out of the valley in which the village lies onto the mountain ridges that surround it you can see the lights of mining towns like Steelpoort and Burgersfort in the Mpumalanga province. The only road leading to Hoepakranz comes from Schoonoord, but many villagers take the three-hour walk up the mountain from Maila-Mapitsane. "The road used to be much worse, we would have to walk up with donkey’s with mealiemeal and if someone died walk down with the corpse on our back." Officially, Hoepakranz falls under the Sekhukhune district with Schoonoord as its administrative capital, and under the Greater Ngwariti-Makhudu Thamaga local government. And although the village, as the crow flies, is not that far away from civilisation, it is in the eyes of the rest of the Pedi: "are you living there on the mountain, with the monkeys?"

Kgosi Nkosi is one of the three Swazi chiefs in the Leolo mountains, whilst there are also three Pedi chiefs. I have loaned the one book that does mention the Mabhedla Swazi – an old Afrikaans ethnological work – to the chief, but if I recall correctly the Swazi’s came to the Leolo mountains around 1850. A succession dispute had chased chief Mabhedla from Swaziland, and he sought refuge with the king of Sekhukhune who allocated him a space on the mountains. Nowadays the village is still predominantly Swazi – 68 % of the people list it as their first language – but the first language in the school is Sepedi, there are many Pedi people married into the village and in the perception of the villagers is that "we are hlakahlaka, we are all mixed up and the Pedi’s are overcoming the Swazi." Nevertheless, some Swazi characteristics – as the straw beehive huts – are immediately apparent and some Pedi habits – like go to the initiation school – conspicuously absent.

Due to its remote location the main events in South Africa’s recent history seem to have only caused ripples in the day-to-day flow of village life. But some are engraved in the communal memory and are narrated over and over by the old men. About the time when twenty villagers were recruited to go to the Second World War, for instance, "and they were all put on a ship and taken to a place called Faro of which we until today don’t know where it is." Or about the introduction of the Trust Lands, just after the National Party victory in 1948. People still have crumpled papers full of official stamps of bureaucratic Afrikaans stating that they have paid " 1 rand for the land, 25 cts per cow and 5 cts per chicken."

The old men remember the fighting between the maranjere and the makhuduthamaga, which preceded the imposition of the bantustan system, well. " We were skinning a cow when we heard that the fighting had started in Maila-Mapitsane. We quickly went home, took our wives and cattle and dimmed all the fires. Many people lost their lives, although not in Hoepakranz. We were on the side of the makhuduthamaga, together with the Mohlaletse people. That’s why our chiefs didn’t get paid. Only those on the side of the rangers got paid." The only physical reminder of the introduction of the bantustan system is a letter by the chief to the head Bantu Commissioner in 1969, stating in Afrikaans that "I have heard of the law by the government (…) I have also heard of the papers the Commissioner mentions and I would very much like to have them. Please let me know how to obtain these documents."

When Lebowa was amalgamated back into the ‘white South Africa’ in 1994 the villagers had long stopped paying the money for the Trust Land. Apart from that, little changed administratively: the magistrate in Schoonoord is still the closest and only contact with bureaucracy and the chief, still, does not get paid.

The village lies tucked away in a lush valley on top of the mountains. The traditional Swazi homesteads – clay houses with beehive huts next to them - are sprawled out over the valley, surrounded by cornfields and peach trees. Commerce and schooling provide the central points in the village: a stone primary school and, since last year, three corrugated iron shacks for the secondary school on the one side and a newly built stone building in which Mr Choma will start his spaza-shop cum restaurant soon on the other side.

There are three main churches in the village, all with an attendance between 10 and 30 members during a regular service. The Zionist Christian Church with its typical open-air church, surrounded only by a wall, has the largest following: 39 % of the community is a member. There is also Dutch-reformed church, an offspring of a church founded by missionaries in Maandagshoek long ago. The chief’s twin brother is its preacher and it has a following of 33 %. Other churches are the Apostolians (15 %) and the born-again Christians (3 %), who – professing healing powers - are recruiting actively in the village. Only 6 % of the people state that they don’t attend a church. The fact that people in Hoepakranz generally are deeply religious is demonstrated by the fact that every meeting, be it of the development structures or of the School Governing Body, is opened and closed with a prayer.

It’s a tightly-knit community of about 500 people. (This is an estimation. Figures vary from 400-600. The Department of Health even estimates that there are 1500 people in the village but then they also state that they can only reach the place by helicopter, for which they don’t have the money). Most people are interrelated, with the Nkosi’s, the Lukele’s, the Manogo’s, the Sikhonde’s and the Shabangu’s being the main families. Most of the people we interviewed (88 %) were born in the village, whilst the rest consists largely of women who married there "and when I met him in Burgersfort he never told me he was staying on the mountain."

As can be expected, it is quite a stratified society in which, to quote ZCC-bishop Barnabas Lekganyane "people are seen in their categories". The women carry out household tasks and work in the field, the young boys herd the cows and when they have to go to school the old men take over and the men are supposed to work in town. Still, those categories are more fluid than some literature would have it, and we have interviewed many a man whilst he was sorting beans or cleaning spinach. There are clearly some ‘big men and women’ in the village like the advisors to the chief and the political leaders. One respondent complained that people are discriminated on the basis of their surname as well: "sometimes you’ll come to mosate with a good idea for a project and they’ll just laugh at you but when you’ve left they’ll start carrying out your plan. They judge you according to your surname." A distinct class of the people is the teachers with their cellphones and city-clothes, people who often come from other areas and stay in run-down quarters next to the school.

As stated before, day-to-day life is largely a female-dominated affair. Those men who are lucky enough to have work in town generally come back once a month. They work in Benoni digging graves for the municipality – a job that seems to be passed on between community members-, in the mines or ‘doing piece jobs’. When asked for his profession, one very old and equally talkative man on a rock answered that it was "guarding the village against the monkeys". Some men don’t come back at all, leaving social pressure by the extended family, wives and children behind to go and "eat ice-cream with pretty girls in the townships". Many of the women clay pots, cut grass or weave mats for selling although they don’t seem to have a big market for them. Only 9 % of the people interviewed state that they have an ‘income from own occupation", whilst 70 % is supported by someone else. An important cash injection into the village are the r 500 monthly state pensions. 52 % of the people say that their household income is less than 500 rand a month, whilst another 40 % receives between 500 and a 1000 rand, with an average household size of 6 people.

The income from these jobs is supplemented by the maize, sorghum, spinach and beans grown on fields around the houses. Last month was the month of lehlabula, fruits from the field and our interviews were spent chewing grapes, cactusfruit, wild figs, corn, freshly cooked pumpkins and juicy peaches. Of the people interviewed, 83 % said that they had one or more fields. Rain in Hoepakranz is plentiful, a stark contrast with the rest of Sekhukhune, and the soil seems generally fertile. There is enough land and it’s mainly a shortage of man-power, knowledge, donkeys or money to pay for a tractor to plough that keep people from maintaining more fields.

Generally, there is a steady move away from the village: by the youth, who are looking for jobs or tempted by the lifestyle in more ‘location-like’ settlements as Schoonoord and Tsehlwaneng phase IV. Another reason stated by community members is that people flee witchcraft accusations, although we have only heard about one concrete case in which this happened. Whilst there is not much poverty in the village, job chances are nigh, and the place is perceived as ‘too traditional’ by the villagers.

The gods of development (the same ones that today are grating the dirt roads in Jane Furse because there is a political function here tomorrow) have brought little to the remote Hoepakranz over the past years: all development that is there is initiated and, largely, financed by the villagers. Nevertheless, 59 % of the people rate their lives since 1994 as ‘slightly better’. Reasons named include the fact that the old-age pensions now get paid out in the village, instead of the old and sickly having to hobble down to Schoonoord to get their money. Also, people are happy with the improvements to the road and the building of the secondary school, an improvement that I will discuss later. And they feel more freedom: "nowadays you can go anywhere you want and work anywhere you want without being asked for a permit".

But there are also a lot of complaints: "we are still living in darkness. We are drinking dirty water"; "We hear that development is there but there is no delivery here", "We don't have schools, roads, clinics, electricity, water and many other things". Also, 87 % of the people states that their financial situation is still the same or worse: " Things have become very expensive. Even schooling was much cheaper before. We were paying 10cts, now they pay r 100" and "we have no jobs".

4. Traditional leadership in Hoepakranz: fighting over bogosi

4.1 2 ½ chiefs…

‘The real chief of Hoepakranz’, according to the genealogies, is Abel Nkosi. A friendly, modest and wise man in his sixties who has spent his whole life leading the community. His house, close to the dirtroad that cuts through Hoepakranz, is also mosate, the palace of the chief with an empty field outside to hold meetings fenced of by mafata, traditional standing branches. During our first visits we were surprised to find that Abel seemed omnipresent, until it turned out that he was one of identical twins. His twin brother Jesajah, the former school principal and head of the NG-kerk in the village, is more outspoken but looks exactly the same. Both, according to the royal family, are the chief: "Abel and Jesejah are one and the same person", or as Jesajah says "we can just exchange seats. I am an influential adviser. If the one isn't there the other can take his place."

The chiefs (which soon became K1¹ and K1² in my notes) were installed in 1978. They succeeded Johannes, himself a grandson of founding father Mabhedla. Before he died Johannes called a community meeting. The chiefs: " We are not talking about bogosi bja sekgowa – bogosi according to the whites - now. Our father said he wanted to bless his children so that one should be the leader. He pointed at Jesajah, who was then the principal of the school. But Jesajah said ‘ I can't leave my occupation, that's how I feed my family’ and Abel said he would take it from there. They are children of one woman, and Abel was crowned as leader of the community."

Who will succeed the chiefs is not yet clear. K1¹ was once married but his wife died before even bearing him children. There is still talk of getting a candle-wife, who then should bear the new successor, from Swaziland but the chances of this actually happening seem slim. K1² , Jesajah, does have a number of sons, but the question whether his oldest son Victor, the present school principle, will be chief is not discussed. K1¹ : " We can’t say who is the successor because people might kill him. Even our father, before he became king, was sent to a school far away so the people could not know."

Anyway, before there can be any talk of succession there is another issue to be sorted out: the longstanding dispute over chieftaincy between the K1’s and their nephew Joseph Nkosi. The roots of this dispute go back to that same ferrying away of villagers to the Second World War. Johannes stayed behind. When all the villagers came back from their wanderings Johannes’ younger brother Petrus claimed bogosi, stating he was the real chief and that his brother had only taken over from him in his absence. This dispute festered on for decades and came to an outburst in the early 70’s, when the queenmother of Sekhukhuneland, Mankopodi Sekhukhune, wrote a letter installing Petrus as the kgosi in Hoepakranz and – as one might expect - permitting him to collect tribal levies for her. Petrus was organised a coronation and started to plough one of Johannes’ fields. This spurred a flurry of furious letters in Afrikaans from Johannes to the magistrate, fuming that "a decision on this matter was taken whilst Joubert was still a commissioner, and today we are starting afresh" and "because Mohlaletse is not supporting us anymore we request you to take this issue to the black commissioner." This happened, and Petrus was declared an imposter and unceremoniously chased away from the village.

But, one generation and a change of regime later, history seems to repeat itself. As the villagers tell the story: " Petrus remained interested in bogosi. As he didn’t have any children he called his sisters son, Joseph, to him when he was dying in 1994. Joseph was already a member of the schoolcommittee and was trying to get more power in the village. He told him: I am giving this bogosi to you. It is me who is registered as the kgosi at Maroteng (the seat of the Sekhukhune’s). And three weeks after Petrus died Joseph went to his grave, together with some heavily armed men, and dug up the body. They reburied it in Hoepakranz. He even invited many other magosi but they never came. Some people did come but they ran away because there was such a bad smell. Once he had buried the body he shot in the air three times."

The dispute between Joseph (K2) and the K1’s is, once again, strongly tied into the politics of the larger Sekhukhune. After Mankopodi’s demise in the late 70’s a bitter fight over chieftaincy erupted between KK Sekhukhune, who is recognised as a chief by the government, and his halfbrother Rhyne, who genealogically is the rightful heir but for a long time was not interested in this position. This issue has generated numerous courtcases, bosberaads with Mandela and other political leaders and considerable tension in the Sekhukhune region over the past decade but still does not seem solved. Rhyne, looking for allies, has promised K2 official recognition and a salary once he himself gets recognised by the government. As K2 says:

The politics of burying!

I am relating the origins of the conflict over bogosi so extensively because it sheds some light on the dynamics of these conflicts, which seem rife all over Sekhukhune. Chieftaincy disputes have often been described as a result of the ‘anthropological engineering’ by the Apartheid regime that managed to multiply the number of chiefs in Sekhukhune from 9 to 50 in the 1970’s. The Hoepakranz-case seems to partly confirm this view: a dispute might arise out of local politics and personalities, but is definitely exacerbated by the ‘official recognition’ of chiefs by the powers that be. What becomes clear here is that those ‘powers that be’ are not only the government and neither something of the past. Recognition and engineering by the two Sekhukhune paramounts or political parties promising support once they are in power (as the Hoepakranz ANC-leader does to K2) still today aggravate or even create conflicts.

I have often thought that the present political mood in Hoepakranz can best be described as ‘waiting for the Commission’. The Ralushai Commission of Enquiry was established by the provincial premier in order to look into the many chieftaincies disputes in the province. The report was finished early 1998, but is so politically sensitive – and badly researched, some whisper – that it will definitely not be released before the elections and probably will remain in the cupboard even after that. But that is not known to the villagers, who appeared before the Commission in September 1997 and are patiently awaiting its outcome. It is the Commission that told them to in the meantime "not to illtreat eachother or get in eachothers way". This, again, seems to reflect the mood in the whole of Sekhukhune: the traditional affairs officer whom I spoke to yesterday said he only has land claims now, and that there is a standstill of all bogosi disputes whilst the area holds its breath for the outcome of the Commission.

One way to analyse chieftaincy disputes seems to be in terms of resources: not only financial resources but also less tangible resources like personality, recognition of authenticity in external relations, force and – of course – community support.

To start with financial resources: the chiefs in Hoepakranz don’t receive any payment from the government (another issue they hope the Commission will solve for them). K2, a vigorous, amicable man in his fourties with a long beard, clearly has got much more money than the K1’s. His mosate lies stretched out over one of the mountains surrounding Hoepakranz and best resembles a medieval fortress with dozens of interlinked huts, three wives, many relatives, a whole batch of children and even more live-stock running around. K2 has a tractor, and some rumour that he "buys support by offering people to plough their fields for them." His opponents gossip that most of K2’s money comes from secret patches of lebaki, marihuana, in the mountains. Whatever the source, the contender for chieftaincy is a very hospitable man and we always leave that mosate packed with potatoes, beans, peaches and cactusfruit.

The reason might be his youthfulness, but K2 is clearly a much more forceful personality than the two K1’s. Whilst the K1’s preside their meetings in the ‘traditional’ way, sitting aside and waiting patiently until everyone has voiced his or her opinion, K2 prefers to speak out before his advisers and followers. One of the ways in which K2 criticizes K1 is by saying " he’s a christian. He’s too soft, too weak." K2 frequently provokes the chief, for instance by ploughing on K1’s field or shooting guns outside his meetings. The K1’s generally endure these provocations patiently, saying that "we are afraid because we are dealing with an angry and rigid man, so we’ll just wait for the outcome of the commission."

As I have stated above, outside recognition of the authenticity of a chief is another important resource in the quest for bogosi. K2 has the recognition from Rhyne Sekhukhune, whilst the K1’s have good relations in Swaziland, with Contralesa and they are recognised by the magistrate. Both chiefs have a stamp – the stamp seems to be as important to chieftaincy in South Africa as the stool is to it in Ghana – to add bureaucratic-looking weight to all kinds of hand-written statements about citizenship, ownership of cattle, the way in which disputes were settled etc. But the magistrate only seems to recognise K1’s stamp, and to send the people with the other stamp back.

This complex interplay between subjects and the state in determining the position of traditional leadership is revealed in people’s answer to the open question "why do/don’t you like the customary court"?: 15 % of the people spontaneously said something like "because they will always send you back to your mosate if you take it to the magistrate" or "because if you shoot straight to the magistrate he will ask you why you didn’t settle things traditionally and send you back." The chief in Hoepakranz might not be paid by the government, his position is reinforced permanently in the day-to-day contact with the government officials who actively promote him as a mediator on behalf of his ‘community’ and discourage others to take on that role. This goes for the magistrate, but also for the police, development workers and other government officials who make the chief into their one-stop-shop for community consultation.

Force is another resource in fighting over bogosi. Here the scale tips over towards K2, who allegedly has furnished all his close male relatives with guns. The day that a small victory for Rhyne was announced on the radio, K2 went out and fired some shots on the mountain. It’s a reason for many people to fear the outcome of the Ralushai Commission "if K1 wins and has to send away K2 it will start a war around here."

One of the main resources the magosi have is of course the degree of support they have within their community. K2 brags about the women that come to hoe for him, and K1 sneeringly says that: "K2 likes to hold feasts and to show of his loose family, pretending they are advisors. Normal people don’t need to show off like that." I’ll dedicate another section to the views people hold about traditional leadership but just I’ll mention here that of the people interviewed 36 % said they supported Abel Nkosi (K1), 19 % supported Joseph Nkosi (K2) and 26 % supported Kgosi Kgolane, the chief of the neighbouring Mohlake. The latter is in line with preliminary findings from other areas in Sekhukhune: whilst in the official view chieftaincy is territorially defined my idea is that it is often also very much personally determined. People from certain kgoro’s, like the Manogo’s and the Lukhele’s in Hoepakranz, by force of their surname follow certain chiefs who are seen, by everyone as ‘chiefs in a different area’.

The Hoepakranz dispute over bogosi is not just a marginal matter in the realm of tradition but is seen as the single issue that cleaves the village in half, "making brothers fight eachother" and hampering development. Many other disputes and structures for settling them are shaped in line with the two fractions. As popular opinion has it: ""There is no progress in this village because of the issue of the two groups. If one group has an idea the other group comes and destroys it because they are jealous. And sometimes the government officials come and go to the wrong chief without even realising it". Or "we have lost many people to Schoonoord because of this fighting." The irony, as we will see later, is that in spite of this rift caused by bogosi the vast majority heralds the chief as the one who ‘maintains unity in the community’.

4.2 the structure of traditional authority

In contrast to the bureaucratised chieftaincies found in those Sekhukhune areas where the government does pay for chiefs, tribal offices, tribal secretaries and even tribal cleaners, traditional authority in Hoepakranz is marked by a high degree of informalism.

Both chiefs, K1 and K2, have 5 or 6 bakgoma and bakgomana, influential advisors, which they also call councillors or induna’s. K2: "I inherited these induna’s from ‘my father’. Normally induna’s are people of royal blood but if there is a courtcase and someone has certain skills than that person can also participate". The bakgoma are all men, who worked in town before and have status within the community. Both chiefs have a mokgoma wo mokgolo, a first councillor, who seems much more influential than others and chairs meetings. In the case of the K1’s it is George Nkosi, a distant cousin of the chiefs. K2’s first advisor is Mr Vilakazi, the priest of the ZCC in Hoepakranz and father of the ANC leader. Many people see Mr Vilakazi as the driving force between the fighting over bogosi: "he used to be a councillor of the K1’s but then one day he refused to pay schoolfees for his children, saying that as a mokgoma he didn’t have to. But K1 said it didn’t work like that. Mr Vilakazi turned around and said: ok, then from today on you will be my worst enemy. And he went to K2 and started fuelling the fire." Two of the advisors to K1 are direct brothers to two of the advisors to K2: "that’s what makes it so difficult, that we are all family."

The bakgoma comprise the first forum the chief turns to to discuss court cases or community issues. When there is a meeting directly preceding a discussion of a case in the kgoro it is attended by the bakgoma only. But when there are more ad hoc meetings about general issues in the living room of one of the K1’s some of the women in the family also sit in and voice their opinions. Especially Elisabeth, the outspoken oldest sister of the K1’s, and Tilly, the wife of their oldest son, have a great interest in and an great influence on these discussions.

The bakgoma also function as batseta, the intermediators people turn to when they want to approach the chief. Because the village is so small, and the chiefs frequently can be found taking a stroll along the fields, many people approach them directly. But when it comes to more ‘formal’ issues as starting a court case or applying for land they will approach a motseta first.

Both chiefs have appointed a tribal secretary. Victor, K1²’s oldest son, performs this function for his father as K1² , before, used to do for his father. And K2 states that ANC-leader Philip Vilakazi is his tribal secretary, although Philip himself says that he is neutral in the issue of bogosi. An important task of the tribal secretaries is to write the letters summoning people to come to mosate. An example is a handwritten letter written in 1997:

These letters are delivered by the bakgoma. The tribal secretaries also write all the administrative notes that the chiefs are supposed to produce and they keep records of the meetings of the kgoro.

Official tribal meetings are held at mosate. They don’t take place every week, but only when there is an issue to discuss. Very often, the kgoro is only held on the last Sunday of the month, when the migrants are back from town. The mosate of K1 is large open field, surrounded by trees. There is a big rock on the right on which the men normally sit. The women sit on the other side, on the ground. Women can speak in the kgoro, but they are not allowed to stand up whilst doing so. All men wear jackets and the women wear skirts and cover their heads. Depending on the issue, about 30 – 60 people attend meetings at mosate 1. Of the women present, practically all are married. There are a number of young boys present, but the largest attendance comes from older men. Every tribal meeting, like every other official meeting in the village, is opened with a prayer. George, the first councillor, presides over the meetings, flanked by one or two other councillors and the tribal secretary. The K1’s sit on the side, only to speak out at the end of the meeting. I have yet to attend a large case at K2’s mosate, but the procedure there apparently strongly resembles the one described above.

Another difference between Hoepakranz and many other traditional authority areas is that people are not expected to pay fixed levies or to work on the chiefs fields. When asked whether they had paid tribute to the chief in the past years in a number of different ways, the response was as follows:

The followers of the two Hoepakranz chiefs said that there were no fixed tribal levies, but a fair amount of people did give the chief 10 or 20 rand over the past year. The subjects of neighbouring Pedi kgosi Kgolane did say that they were expected to pay r 10 in levies yearly, although some people said that they didn’t actually pay them. Working at mosate, for instance through hoeing the fields of the chief, is another traditional way to pay tribute to the chief. This hardly happens on K1’s field. K2 organised a hoeing party a few weeks ago " where a lot of women came, and I slaughtered a goat and a pig afterwards, and we drank traditional beer". But again, the obligation to work for the chief is much more formalised in the neighbouring area where, as some pensioners told us, people who can’t come to hoe are expected to pay r 2 instead. Sebego and lehlakori , beer and the first three ribs of a slaughtered beast, are traditionally given to the chief when there is a wedding. Here there is not much difference between the chiefs.

K1’s subjects often quote the fact that they don’t have to pay levies as one of the reasons why they like their chief. " We don’t have to do personal duties for him like with other chiefs", "he doesn’t bother us with anything" or even "he doesn’t give us any problems". In the following section I will focus on this aspect of traditional leadership: the opinions of the people about bogosi.

4.3 the views of the people: "we just found it that way"

94 % of the people interviewed in Hoepakranz say that they follow a particular kgosi. In drawing up the questions about bogosi, I have followed J. Comaroff’s theory that people can highly value bogosi in general, whilst at the same time criticising their particular chief. So we first asked people how they saw bogosi in general, and subsequently how they saw their particular kgosi. The results can be seen in table II: the vast majority of the people rate bogosi and well as their particular kgosi to be either ‘good’ or ‘very good’. Also, there is little divergence between people’s views about bogosi in general and about their particular kgosi.

The interesting question is of course why people value the institution as well as the people so highly. In the questionnaire, there are two open questions which can shed light on this issue: why do you think your kgosi is (not) a good kgosi?. And:Why do you think bogosi should (not) play a role in the new South Africa?

The answers are enlightening. The people who say they respect the chief do so because of his ‘wisdom’, ‘patience’, ‘gentleness’, ‘non-discrimination’, ‘openness’ and ‘being a good listener’. "He has a good heart and he listens to us without judging first". People mainly see the chief as a person to turn to with problems. The majority of the answers somehow emphasise this role as an adjudicator of disputes: "he sorts out our problems at the kgoro very well. Also, he does not judge a man but he judges the case". "Because if my husband beats me up I can go there and he will help me". "He's very clever, he can differentiate between someone who is guilty and who's not guilty. We can take all our problems there and he works together with us". " If you are angry and aggressive he knows how to direct your way forward with patience". "He's not in a hurry to judge anyone whose done something wrong and he takes his time to question a person". One negative comment, albeit from someone from a different area, on this role of the chief was that: "Because when you take a case to mosate instead of being attended to you are told of the debts that were caused by your family and that they therefore cannot help you". This is an important reason why 86 % of the people are in favour of a role for bogosi in the new South Africa: "where would we turn to with our problems otherwise, we are staying far away from the government". Or "I won’t be happy if they abolish bogosi because who would I then turn to if I have a problem?".

Another large set of comments deals with the way in which the chief rules in general, and the fact that, as many people stated: "a community without a chief is like a family without a father or a herd without a shepherd". Other people would say things like "he is supporting and leading the community" or "without him we would just be fighting one another". Or "It's still important to have bogosi: if someone did something wrong the community can go and kill him if there's no kgosi. If there's no kgosi there's no order". Many people commented on the leadership skills of the chief, for instance through saying that "he is leading us well" or "he rules with patience".

But there are other reasons. Apart from the one-off ones ("he’s my husband’) some people support bogosi because it is African tradition: "we just found it that way, how can we change it" or "we are just following, like our parents". Other people emphasise the link between the traditional leaders and the government: "he gives us reference letters and papers to take to Schoonoord" or "bogosi is a mainroad to all governments. The chiefs are useful to politics. When the government comes to the village they use the magosi". I have already quoted the lack of financial pressure as a reason to respect the kgosi before "at least he doesn’t pester us." Those people who state that bogosi is bad all name the fact that it leads to fighting as the reason.

There are people, however, who appreciate bogosi as an institution but see little role for it in the new South Africa, stating that the role of the chiefs has been outdated by elected local government and the civics: "we are now just doing things our own way and sometimes we even forget about the chiefs" or "in the new government a person named kgosi has no responsibility because the politics have taken over everything". Another man said: "I don't see bogosi being very important. The civics seem to have taken over the duties of the kgosi. Like at the funeral now the civics speak instead of the chief. We now even forget to invite ba-mosate."

Be that as it may, 87 % of the people in Hoepakranz thinks that the government should pay the chiefs. "Because they are also working". Some stated reasons like "because they are the hands and the ears of the government" whilst others emphasised that "they shouldn’t get paid because they don’t belong to the government". Many people restated the thoughts summed up above, like "they are looking after the community". Others thought more practically: "if the government doesn’t pay them, we’ll have to".

I had somehow expected the discrimination of women to negatively impact on the popularity of bogosi. This was not the case. Of the people who answered the question "do you think bogosi discriminates women" 76% said that it didn’t. 24 % of all respondents answered affirmatively, compared to 28 % of the women. Again, the reasons stated are more interesting than the figures. Those people who did say there was discrimination practically all named the the fact that women cannot stand up and speak in the kgoro as the reason. They can speak out, but have to remain seated. Respondents who said that there was no discrimination also frequently mentioned this point, but said it was just a cultural thing and could not be labelled discrimination. One man said that the fact that women are the ones who hoe the chiefs fields is a proof of the fact that they are not discriminated. Also, there were some women who did say that bogosi discriminated them, but vehemently went on to state that "this is a good thing. A woman is like a snake. She makes all the mess" or by quoting the Pedi-saying "when a woman leads, the nation goes astray"!

A hypothesis that did proove correct, in Hoepakranz at least, is that those people closer to the chief would be more supportive of the institution. "they get to eat all that dibego and lehlakori" as one villager said cynically. We asked community members to indicate whether they were bakgoma, bakgomana, bakgoro or badudi, commoners. Of the bakgoma and the bakgomana 100 % supported the kgosi, as opposed to 90 % of the commoners. (I know this is not particularly shocking, but still).

Another set of questions was about what people see as the main functions of the chief. We listed about 10 issues, ranging from ‘allocating land’ to ‘looking after the initiation school’, ‘building roads’ and ‘organising pensions’ and asked people to list a number 1, 2 and 3. Number one was without doubt ‘presiding over disputes’, named by 69 % of the people. ‘Giving out land’ came second (51 %) and ‘registering marriages’ third (32 %). ‘Organising schooling’, ‘building roads’ and ‘looking after initiation schools’ were runners-up. The main reason that this latter function wasn’t named more often is that the Swazi do not have initiation schools. They only cut their ears. The Pedi people in the village did list that function very high.

It is clear that people generally appreciate the chief and consider him to be a symbol of village stability and and integral part of their culture. The main reason seems to be the way in which the Hoepakranz chiefs perform their functions, more than a blind adherence to tradition.

But the general appreciation for the chief does not mean that the villagers consider him to be the only possible dispenser of law and administration. In contrast, there is a myriad of structures and people involved in these issues, as shall become clear in the following chapters. Following the three focus areas identified in my research proposal, I will first turn to local government in Hoepakranz and subsequently look at customary law and land issues.

Officially, Hoepakranz falls under the Greater Ngwariti Makhudu Thamaga Transitional Local Council, based in Jane Furse. In reality, there are little dealings between the village and the TLC. "We as the people from the mountains elected a ward councillor called Mosia. He promised us the world, but we heard never came to TLC-meetings and he was thrown out of the council. He also moved away from the mountain area, and now stays on Magolego’s new land on the ground. We have never seen him again." 70 % of the people in the village have never heard of the TLC. Of those who have 25 % rates its performance as bad, 30 % as neutral and 45 % as good. A few old people grumble that "this democratic government is something for the youth."

At village level, local government (sloppily and temporarily defined here as the day-to-day running of affairs in the village, the provision of services and the promotion of social and economic development) is the responsibility of a myriad of structures. One thing that struck me – in the light of all the reports about people just sitting back waiting for the government to deliver – is the degree in which rural people are organised, conscientised and prepared to work hard to change their lives. They do not expect the government to take care of everything, as becomes clear in table III and from the answers to the open question "how do you think development can be achieved in the rural areas?". Here, a large amount of people said something like "if we the people, and all structures work together with the government".

The first five questions might seem a bit theoretical, but are based on the objectives of local government as stated in S 152 of the South African Constitution. The issues from preschools onwards are based on the functions of local government, according to that same document.

I only want to highlight some of the answers given. Some responses were based on village experience: the reason that 45 % of the people holds the civics accountable for building preschools can well be because the Hoepakranz community has actually started its own preschool. The same goes for the responsibility for attracting tourists: one man from the village has just secured funds to start an environmental project for tourists on the top of the mountain.

Striking is that the majority of the people holds the chief responsible for general issues like democratic government, community involvement in decision making and, especially, a safe and healthy environment. Quite a few people said that the chief was responsible for environmental issues as looking out that people don’t cut trees, looking after stray cattle and guarding the land in general.

Hoepakranz does not have any electricity, tap water, health care or good roads but people, as said before, generally feel that it’s either up to the government or up to the civics to provide these services. A lot of people stressed the importance of cooperation between structures "if the community can work together with the government, we will achieve development".

As we shall see later, the vast majority of the people in Hoepakranz see the chief as the owner of the land, and for that reason state that he is the one to make trading- (60 %) and building (68 %) regulations.

5.1 of committees and their members

If Hoepakranz is underdeveloped, it is not for a lack of possible development structures.

To name but a few: all the people of the mountain have come together in the Baditaba Development Forum that is agitating for a better road and a working clinic. In Hoepakranz there is a general structure called the civics, and around 1994 a number of specialised committees as a Road Committee, a Health Committee, a Water Committee and other development structures were elected. There are organisations specifically geared towards keeping law and order, as the Community Policing Forum and the Badisi re Timeletswe (shepherds who have lost, against stocktheft), which I will discuss in the next section on customary law. There is the Hoepakranz branch of the ANC. Whilst we were there, the youth started the Hoepakranz Youth Development Forum. There are various funeral societies, in which (mostly) women pay in r 5 monthly for the funeral parlour, or have arranged to help eachother to cook, or or to organise cutlery and furniture in case of funeral, and other forms of stockvels, savings clubs. And, very importantly, there are five structures surrounding the schools in the village: the three School Governing Bodies, the School Building Committee and the Outcome Based Education Forum. Many of these structures, like the development committees, lie dormant as their inception was spurred by a onetime visit by government officials, and their members do not really know what they are supposed to do.

But, more important than the many structures in the village, are the people that make up these structures. There is a small amount of ‘important people’ in the village, that sit in many committees at the same time. Philip Vilakazi, for instance, who is head of the ANC, als has a place in the BDF, the Health Committee, the CPF, the HYDF and the OBEF. The same goes for other important men and women in the community. Because of this unity of actors an issue can be discussed and decided upon by many different fora at the same time. It is these actors that play a key role in the development of the village, not only because of their positions, but mostly because of the reason that brought them there: their know-how. It is the leader of the ANC, the head of the school, the chief, the teachers and a handful of other people that know the ways of the town and of the government that can act as gate-keepers or knowledgeable agents to the community. They voice community requests to the outside world, filter information that comes in, write letters and through their know-how and contacts have an enormous influence.

Two important forces seem to shape the committees: generations and gender. To start with the first, Hoepakranz is not left untouched by the sweeping changes Sekhukhune underwent in the eighties, when the youthful comrades stood up and fought any force deemed as conservative – from parents to traditional leaders and to a large extent took over power in the rural areas. The youth in Hoepakranz is generally much more educated than its parents. A typical example is Philip Vilakazi, leader of the ANC:

As a result of this attitude, some of the committee’s are perceived as belonging to the ‘youth’, whilst others are the domain of the parents. This gap also shapes the issues discussed within committtees: at a first meeting of the Hoepakranz Youth Development Forum it was decided that the structure would strive for – not drama, sports or other youth activities – but organising a clinic and a community garden for the village.

In terms of gender, most committees count as many men as women amongst their members. In contrast to mosate, which in its core is male-dominated, women actively participate in all the other structures. Behind the screens, they often seem the driving forces although meetings are normally presided over by men. Generally, for instance in a School Governing Body meeting, the men will generally speak first, and the women afterwards. They are also always seated on separate sides. Again, there is a select group of women who sit in different structures. It is clearly expected of democratic structures that they involve participation of women.

The school, much more than mosate, is central in decision-making at community level and community participation in debating the future. It is one place that stands for community unity, and in which the hub of community activity takes place. There seem to be two main reasons for this.

The first is the rift within the community caused by the fighting over bogosi. If there are issues to be discussed that affect the whole community the only option is to go to the school, the sole place that is owned by the community and where everyone is welcome. The group interview, on the first day we came to Hoepakranz, for instance, was held outside the school. Whilst K2 was our host, K1 (whose identity we didn’t know yet) also attended. In the politics of space the school seems public territory.

But a more important reason is the fact that the primary as well as the secondary school were built by the community, who brought together r 45.000 to build a stone structure for the primary school, and another r 12.000 to build three corrugated iron shacks for the secondary school. Also, the community pays for five teachers, scraping together a meagre salary of r 500 monthly for them. "It takes a village to raise a child" takes on particular meaning in Hoepakranz and there is a strong sense of ownership and involvement in the schooling of the children amongst the parents.

Most of the community activity we experienced in Hoepakranz somehow centred around the school. There were the meetings about the feeding scheme, the programme to feed malnutritioned schoolchildren initiated by president Mandela, which started in Hoepakranz but was terminated for unclear reasons. There was a week of very heated meetings about the r5 that the children paid to some teachers last year to buy schoolgear which they never received. After days full of strikes, toyi-toyi-ing by the youth, the fleeing and coming back of the teachers concerned, a meeting with all the structures organised by mosate and other frantic meetings by the parents the money was returned to the schoolchildren. And there was a day-long meeting about the question whether female teachers should be allowed to wear trousers. As the community paid for the teachers, they argued, they should be able to set rules on clothing. After a fierce argument in which quite a few people argued that "any woman wearing trousers is asking to be raped", "the school is where children should learn respect and "if we allow teachers to wear trousers we might as well go back to the garden of Eden" it was decided that such outrages might be tolerated in other parts of the country, but not in Hoepakranz. In the words of one old man: "And if people say we are still following Apartheid policies we would rather do that than be free and bring funny ideas to the school."

There are, thus, a large number of structures involved in development in Hoepakranz. Nevertheless, there is very little progress to be seen in the village. In order to demonstrate the workings of local government at this particular local level and the interplay between mosate and other structures, I will now look at three development projects in greater depth. In each case I will ask the questions: who initiated the project, which structures were involved and what was the relation with mosate?

1. The building of Lobamba Secondary School

On one side of the generally pretty Hoepakranz valley three unsightly silverish bumps stick out. But whilst the corrugated iron shacks of newly erected secondary school might not win any architecture prize, they are the pride of the community. As a member of the School Building Committee told us: "Our children would have to walk about 10-15 kilometers to go to the Secondary school in Maandagshoek or Schoonoord. They would arrive there hungry, and find it difficult to concentrate. So we as the community got together and elected a School Governing Body and a School Building Committee. We collected r 200 building fees per child and we began building in 1995. We asked the circuit inspector for permission to start a secondary school and he agreed, but said the government couldn’t pay for the building. Also, the government only started paying for two teachers in 1996. We started with standard six, and those pupils will be the first to do matric in Hoepakranz this year. But last year, when we spoke to the circuit inspector, he said he couldn’t let us go through with it because we only had two teachers for 200 pupils and he was scared that we would have a 0 % pass rate. So the community came back together again and decided to pop out extra money to pay for 5 more teachers, whom we pay r 500 a month. Hopefully, the government will start paying teachers the next year."

There seems little chance of the government paying for decent school buildings and the community cannot raise the money to erect a stone structure. The headmaster of the school has written to various ngo’s (stating that "several attempts were made to the government but to no avail. Due to lack of school, the standard of education is very low. To add insult to injury, transport as a great means of communication is a problem") but these were unsuccesful. The female members of the SBC have also asked Patson and me for help.

Whilst the chiefs are not formally involved in the discussions about the future of the school, the SBC does report to K1, and notes of the meetings are kept in the tribal administration. Also, the issue of bogosi is considered to be one of the reasons why progress in the building has been so slow. Followers of K2 consider the SBC to be dominated by K1’s constituency and "K2 refuses the pay the building fees for all his children. He has 11 children from his 4 wives so he should pay at least r 1100." Some people say that Philip Vilakazi, the ANC leader "is working together with K2 in obstructing the building. He will come to a meeting and say that we mustn’t pop out for the school because the ANC will provide everything, fuelling people not to pay."

 

2. The paying out of the pensions

One major recent improvement in village life, as all people agree, is the fact that old-age pensions are now paid out in the village itself. "Before, we’d have to carry the old people who couldn’t walk to Schoonoord on our back to get their money".

Whilst K2 claims that ‘mosate had often applied for this in the past’ it was ANC-leader Philip Vilakazi who managed to secure the government commitment to drive up the mountain once a month. He went on a door-to-door campaign to ask for funds to go speak to the government, and now that the welfare officers are there gets given r 5 of the r 530 each pensioner receives for his assistance.

The paying out of the pensions, which is a democratic right, is in Hoepakranz used as a way to create local patronage. Once the pension paypoint was secured, Philip sought to bank on that fact by organising a big feast, having a goat slaughtered and beer brewed "to celebrate and to tell the ancestors what is happening". He wanted to have the party on the schoolgrounds, but the SGB wrote to him, stating that he was refused permission.

 

3. The building of the clinic

There are, thus, a lot of structures involved in local government in Hoepakranz trying to start development projects. One reason why very little has been achieved until now is the road: many government officials fear driving up the mountain in anything but a 4 x 4. Another reason is the lack of government support for community initiative (the school, the clinic) and the lack of know-how within the community about how to contact government officials. The fighting over bogosi can cause ‘internal wrangles’, as one respondent said and thus also hamper development.

On the outset, the chief and the local government structures at village level seem to work together reasonably well, although there are sometimes tensions within structures fuelled by the bogosi issue. We asked the community members how they see the cooperation between the chiefs and the local government and 40 % said that they were working together well, 31 % said that they weren’t and 29 % didn’t know "how can I say, I never go to their meetings". Some people complain about the fact that "the dignity of the magosi is undermined" and that "they are scared to talk". Others stress that "their cooperation is suffering from the fact that there are two parties". But most people say something like: "they work together well. When they call a meeting we all attend. The new school was built because of cooperation between all parties".

About the role of the chief in local government the following can now be concluded: the functions of the chief in this field seem to be limited. The initiative often lies with other structures, and the chief is only invited to meetings or informed about their outcome. On the other hand, as K1 says, "we have never been given a job description, so we really do not know what we are supposed to do and just go on like before". That going on like before also entails quite a few administrative functions, like writing letters to ask for identification documents ("I kgosi AM Nkosi of abovementioned local government do hereby declare that X is a bonafied [sic] member under my jurisdiction and resident at my jurisdiction and a South African citizen"), for a change in marriage status, for assistance from a welfare officer or to for instance state that "Alfred Shabangu sold his black bull to Jack Magabane so that he could marry. We'll be happy if no-one disturbs him while making use of that bull". This function of the chief, making ‘official’ statements, is reinforced by the fact that the magistrate often requests such papers, and sends people who don’t have them back.

The same, by the way, goes for many other institutions, be it public or private. Many companies still recruit their labour through the chiefs. As one man complained: "the other day they were recruiting at the Steelpoort mine but because we are far away our kgosi did not know about it and could not give us the letters to go there".

Let’s now turn to customary law in Hoepakranz. For the sake of this report, I define customary law very broadly, as all regular and accepted forms of dispute settlement at the local level. In South Africa, in literature as well as in legal practice, the customary law that is spoken at the chiefs court is often lifted out and reified as if it were the only way in which problems are solved at local level. Other ways of settling disputes are then just considered to be just ‘social practice’. Whilst if you look at how customary law is defined, it often is exactly that: "regular and accepted social practice".

Before going into the question: where and how are problems solved in Hoepakranz or – more theoretically - where are norms generated and how and by whom is breach of these norms sanctioned I will look at a few recent cases in Hoepakranz.

1. The divorce of the Shabangu’s

When the mr and mrs Shabangu went to mosate to ask for a divorce in 1997, no-one could have guessed that the case would drag on for over two years. The kgoro debated the intended divorce and advised the two against it, but they decided that they wanted to go through with it anyway. Shabangu’s wife, Johanna Sikhonde, was then allocated the children. But a year later Mr Shabangu went to mosate again, stating that he wanted his children back. So the tribal secretary wrote a letter to Johanna’s father, asking him and the other Sikhonde’s to come to the kgoro to redebate the issue.

On the designated day Johanna’s father did not arrive. Mr Shabangu was furious, and stated that he would go to the magistrate in Schoonoord, to demand justice there. So the chief wrote him a letter to take to the magistrate. In Schoonoord, however, the magistrate only glanced briefly at the letter and sent Shabangu back, stating that "the case has already been solved in the customary court, why should I look at it again?"

In the beginning of 1999, the couple decided to get back together again. Mosate wrote a relieved letter, as:

Proof that David Shabangu has welcomed his children back home. Mr DS has agreed with his wife Johanna to come together again and even the woman's parents have agreed. We are here as a proof that DS has reported to mosate that his children are back. We agree with this good decision made by the Sikhonde's to allow their daughter to go back to her house at Shabangu " le bitla la mosadi ke bogadi" (a woman's grave is where she is married). We'll be happy if separation would not come back again between the two families.

But the bliss was short-lived. The couple started fighting again after a few weeks, and asked to come to mosate once more. Their case was due to be heard on the 31^st of January, in the presence of Johanna’s chief Kgolane and K1. Due to Kgolane being ill, the case was postponed, and is still pending today. As K2 scornfully said " the people of that mosate don’t know how to solve cases traditionally. They just let them rot on and rot on."

 

2. The swearing of Mosia

This case erupted in 1997, when mr Mosia’s wife swore at some members of the Community Police Forum who accused the Mosia’s of stealing crates. Mr Mosia was subsequently asked to come to mosate, and asked to account for his wifes behaviour. He was fined r 150.

Two weeks later he came back, stating that mosate had no right to fine him for something his wife had done, that his wife nor his family had been there in the discussion of the case and that "he wanted his money back and that anything that goes to mosate is just eaten. They eat dirty things at mosate. I can take my case anywhere I want to".

This quote comes from a letter the chief subsequently wrote to the magistrate, and in which he also complained: "These ugly words hurt us because they were said in front of the community. We are requesting you, as Mr Mosia is disrespecting kgosi, as the people of the law to take further steps about this swearing. I will be happy if you can assist us to control the community. Thobela. AM Nkosi".

 

3. The witchcraft case

As in the rest of Sekhukhune, stories about witchcraft are rife in Hoepakranz. Nevertheless, there has only been one recent witchcraft accusation in the village. In 1994 a girl was killed by lightning, which is seen as one of the instruments of witches. At her funeral there was only one man, mr Thokwane, who opposed the idea of going to a witchdoctor to seek out the culprit stating that "we’d better give the collection money to the girl’s mother."

But the community collected r 10 per person and elected a committee to go to Bushbuckridge to consult a well-known Sjangaan witchdoctor. "He showed the people an empty book, closed it and when he opened it again the name of Thokwane was in there". The nyanga was invited to come over to Hoepakranz and in a massively attended meeting at the school pointed out the same man.

Philip, who was the secretary of the committee, recalls: "The youth of the village were very hot, they wanted to see someone being burnt and dying. Mr Thokwane had already once done the same thing [killed someone by lightning] in another village where he was chased. And now he was in Hoepakranz, ploughing others fields with his tractor. But the magosi said we should consult with the government first. We ended up giving him a weeks notice, to leave. But he hadn’t left after a week and then his tractor and his house were burnt down and he was chased away".

Thokwane’s brother reported the case with the police, and 10 youths were arrested. Many people recall that no-one gave the police any names, saying that "the whole community was involved". After a few months in prison (Philip: "that was very bad, I found myself thin like a dying horse") the case was heard in Witbank. The villagers snigger that the performance of the witnesses of the defendant was so poor that the 10 were acquitted. Mr Thokwane subsequently moved to Pietersburg.

 

4. The stocktheft

Clearly, there are many ways in which disputes can be solved in Hoepakranz. If people are not happy with the outcome of a case at mosate they easily step to the magistrate, who in turn might send them back to the chief. In the case of the money for the schoolgear that disappeared, the youth toyi-toyi-ed for justice and mosate organised meetings at the school. In cases of stocktheft the Badisi re timeletswe, with a system of MacJustice similar to that of the popular Mapogo a Mathamaga, can be called in. A rape suspect, who fled to Hoepakranz from a neighbouring village last year, was beaten up by the community without any form of discussion. And small cases are also solved by the Community Policing Forum.

This CPF is one of those structures whose foundation was activily encouraged by the government. "One day the Sekhukhune police station called all the mountain magosi to explain them about the CPF’s and how they were going to help the magosi to keep order in their area’s". The members of the CPF state that they work hand in hand with the chiefs: "if we find a case that is big and we cannot solve it ourselves we take it to the magosi. For instance, once a woman came to us complaining that her son was beating her and we decided that assault is a very serious case that should be taken to the kgosi. If a case is big it needs the minds and ears of the kgosi. And it needs to be checked by those who know the law, like the parents." K1, however, is less enthousiastic about the cooperation: "They don't know their responsibility. They’d see a mistake and instead of taking it to mosate they’d just go and take their own decision elsewhere. And they are young, many of them. They would fine people money and would just take it straight and use it for themselves. When I learned about this I stopped it and we haven’t had one of their cases here since that time."

6.1 the kgoro at mosate

Because Hoepakranz is generally a peaceful community, in which not much happens, it is difficult to make any generalisations or establish patterns of which cases are taken where. But, as has become clear in discussing the functions of the chief, mosate is still seen as the first place to take most disputes. 17 % of the community members has at some point taken a case to mosate, whilst 48 % said they had at some point gone to the kgoro to discuss a case (as opposed to 12 % of the people who had ever taken a case to the magistrate, and 27 % to ever attend a case there).

The vast majority of these cases discussed at mosate are divorces (14 %), or general cases in which people were fighting (57 %). A selection from the cases people took to mosate also includes: "a son who had beaten his father because he beat the mother", "a guy who impregnated my daughter and refused to do anything", " about having to hoe at kgosi Kgolane’s field", "I was fighting with someone else and was fined r 200", "our neighbour was making too much noise" and "when my son was small he was abused in my absence".

In order to find out what people see as the jurisdiction of the kgosi, we asked them which cases they would take to the chief, and which to the magistrate. The answers are listed in table IV.

It is clear that mosate is considered the place to take the smaller cases, whilst issues like ‘big theft" are seen as the domain of the magistrate. Especially marriage and family matters are better at home at mosate, although many people emphasised that these issues should be debated within the family first. Maintenance and large theft are seen as falling squarely within the jurisdiction of the magistrate. The magistrates office is the real thing, as is illustrated by one of the songs that the schoolgirls sing when they are doing their traditional dances: "I don’t want to go to Schoonoord. I am scared of Schoonoord. Because I am still small. I must not go to Schoonoord."

How do people see the chiefs court? 87 % of the people interviewed likes the tseko ya kgosi. The reason mentioned most frequently is that it is close (17 % of the gave such an answer to the open question). Others, again, emphasised something like: "if you shoot straight to the magistrate he will send you back (15 %). Many people stated that "at mosate, decisions are taking amicably" ,"because the kgosi knows you he will not treat you harshly" , "the kgosi takes decisions fairly", "kgosi will always try to maintain peace in the community" or "because there are many people involved in the discussion in mosate they will come to a fair decision". Some emphasised that "it’s our tradition". One answer captured the forum-shopping attitude described above: "because the kgosi takes a quick decision and afterwards you can always still go to the magistrate". Of those people who didn’t like the chiefs court the vast majority stated as a reason that "it is partial".

6.2 rules and procedures

I am acutely aware of the fact that there are many textbooks full of rules of customary law. But the people in Hoepakranz do not share this knowledge. Dispute resolution in the village seems haphazard and localised, more about maintaining or restoring peace in the community than about drawing from a body of coherent legal norms. As someone recently wrote about the local courts in Zambia: "customary law is increasingly becoming a myth. The true picture that emerges is that the Local Courts have become institutions for resolving community disputes. The guiding principle in these cases is simple logic and common sense".

The chiefs court does form an accepted forum with a fixed procedure for settling disputes. That procedure includes the starting of a case through reporting it to a motseta. And the writing of the summon to parties to appear in the customary court. The cases are normally held on those days when as many members of the community as possible can attend, for instance a Sunday at the end of the month, when the migrants are home. The parties are generally not individuals, but their families: f.i. the case of the Shabangu’s and the Sikhonde’s. It seems like a man is called to speak for his wife, although the value of this rule is debated.

The discussion of a case follows a fixed pattern. Normally the community will have heard about the case, but sometimes the chief rings the brass bell by the school to warn the them. In the kgoro, fenced of by the traditional mafata, the men are seated on one side and the women on the other. As described before, it is the mokgomana wo mokgolo, the main advisor, that opens the meeting by prayer and introduces the case. Afterwards, parties are allowed to state their position and the all people present can voice their opinions. Community members are encouraged to ‘go deep into this issue’ and debate every aspect of it. The chief, or in this case the K1’s, sit on the side and listen. It is only at the end of the discussion that they summarise the case and give their verdict. Sanctions can be paying a fine ("we have never fined anyone over r 200", says K1) or a live animal. The animal is slaughtered for those who came to the kgoro, as the money is used to buy food for them.

Of course it is possible to extrude some material, as opposed to procedural, norms which can be considered customary from the recent cases in Hoepakranz and the answers to the questionnaires. Many of them have already surfaced in this report; that community members should respect the kgosi; that a woman, once married, should stay with her husband or that people should not abuse the land by for instance cutting trees.

But generally one can state that customary rules in Hoepakranz are very much the result of debate in a given case and the outcome of what is possible within the local power relations.This outcome can then afterwards be legitimised by reference to custom or, increasingly and just as easily, to the constitution.

This is demonstrated by the ideas and practices concerning magadi, bridewealth. Officially, a customary marriage should be negotiated in the following way:

But in practice many couples who have been have only gotten to the stage of go-kokota, and are still planning a white wedding ‘some day’. Also, the amount of magadi can differ vastly, from a mere r 300 to 10 cows or more.

I still have to go to the Department of Land Affairs to determine the official status of the land in Hoepakranz. Judging from old letters in the tribal administration, which speak of ‘Hoepakranz Trust Farm’ and a remark by KK Sekhukhune that ‘we bought the people up there their farm’ it would seem like it is former trust land. As I wrote before, the people in Hoepakranz paid the Apartheid and the Lebowa government yearly levies from 1949 until (probably) 1982. "We paid r 1 every time we went to town to work, r 2 per year for each farm and also for cows, goats and even chickens."

However, according to the people in Hoepakranz, the chief is the mong-wa-naga, the owner of the land. Before we turn to the opinions of the community on land allocation, a few remarks on land ownership in Hoepakranz: most people who live in the village have done so for more generations: 40 % of the respondents says to have lived in Hoepakranz "for a long time", 25 % "for two generations", 17 % "for one generation" and only 9 % (mostly women who got married in the village) said that they "moved here". Men inherit the plot on which their parents lived, or go to the chief to ask for a new plot of land. There are no cases in which the woman went to ask for land, although there are many women living alone on a yard that belongs to their parents or to a husband that has disappeared to town. However, the chief says that "a woman is allowed to ask for land. The only thing is if she has sons and they grow up they might cause a problem". With the ample space on the mountain, and the steady trickle away from the village there is no pressure on the land and there have been little disputes over land in the past decade. (with as an exception the case where K2 started ploughing K1’s field: it was taken to the magistrate who told K2 to stop but he did afterwards start again). As no outsiders come to ask for land in the village, no one has also been refused access over the past years although K2 states that "we don't just accept everyone here. We enquire first where they are from and why they want to live here. To assist the kgosi someone moving from another village should bring a testimonial to mosate."

88 % of the people state that their land was allocated to them by the chief. Most of them paid nothing for it (80 %) but for instance 6 % paid a once-off amount of r 10. K1 "if someone from outside would want to move here now he would have to come to me to ask for the land and pay r 40, but we don’t get any new people moving in here. It is only mr Choma who recently started a spaza-shop and paid us r 100". When asked "who do you think has the right to sell the land you live on, or the power to decide what to do with it" 76 % responded that it was the chief, 12 % named the male head of the family and only 4 % the government. To a similar question "who has the power to allocate stands?" 83 % answered that it was the chief, and only 10 % named the government.

Notably, though, many people remarked that "we don’t sell land in this areas, when we leave we just go and leave the land behind". The land is left and can be allocated to new candidates. If people leave the kgosi writes a trekpas, a remnant from the Apartheid days that still seems very much alive in the traditional authority areas. The letter can be something like:

Many people complain that they cannot get access to a traditional authority area without such a trekpas.

The fact that people undeniably consider the chief to be the one to allocate land, does not mean that they don’t have a strong sense of ownership concerning the plot that they live on. As one man remarked "if I want to give some of my land to mr Lukhele to start a field I just do that. It is my land, I don’t have to go to the kgosi. Only when it concerns new land, or when there are some problems, we will go to the chief".

One of the questions we asked the people was whether they had ever heard about the issue of title deeds (64 % said no) and if they would like to have some certificate as proof that the land belonged to them. To that, 72 % of the people said yes, "because I need some proof when people of the government come" or "because then I can show that the kgosi agrees that I stay here". One woman said "at the Makwana family we are three wives and if one wants the land we can proove that it was given to us by our parents and the kgosi". Those people who said that they wouldn’t want such a document mainly stated the Apartheid experience as a reason "then we’ll have to pay and we don’t have money for that".

It’s time to return to my original question: how has the position of traditional leadership at the local level changed under the new dispensation?

The answers seem more about continuity than about change. From the perspective of the state, the chief is still waiting for government recognition. A Commission of government experts will, as was so often the case in the ‘old South Africa’, soon speak out on the authenticity of either K1 or K2. In the meantime, the position of the chief as ‘one-stop-shop’ to community consultation and the gatekeeper of the community is reinforced in many day-to-day contacts with the magistrate, other government officials and possible employers. Even without the official government recognition, the bureaucratisation of tradition can be felt.

From the perspective of the community little has changed either. The elected local government has done little for Hoepakranz over the past five years, and most of the development that is there has been initiated and financed locally. But it is not only for lack of alternatives that people seem to feel strongly about the importance of chieftaincy. From the answers to the questionnaires it appears time and time again that people see the chief as the ‘symbol of unity’, the first person to take disputes to, the person to allocate land and to provide an inroad to the government. Even the fighting over bogosi in the village does not seem to tarnish the popularity of, respectively, K1 and K2.

There are, of course, many questions still to be answered. Why do the people in Hoepakranz like the chief so much? Is it because he doesn’t ask for money, because of his amicable personality or because of the way he solves disputes? Is it because of a general appreciation for the institution of bogosi, regardless of the office-holder? Or because of the absence of the elected local government? And would do people feel about the mong-wa-naga, the owner of the land, once this land is more scarce? Naturally, these questions can only be answered once I’ve looked at areas where these variables differ. Where the chief is corrupt and the local government close, for instance.

What the Hoepakranz does teach us, be it provisionally, is that the chief might be a particularly well-rooted structure in the law and administration of the village, it is not the only one that stands out in the rural landscape. Instead, there’s a myriad of institutions involved in the day-to-day structuring of village life. Between those institutions, the same ‘important people’ are involved in decision-taking and voicing these decisions to the outside world.

All these structures ensure that people – men and women - generally feel that they can participate democratically at the village level, and that their voice is heard. One of the many questionnaire results I haven’t quoted yet is the answer to the question "do you feel that you can take part in decision-taking in the village". A staggering 87 % answered this question with "yes". Many people said something like "it’s my right" or "we are free to speak now" and one woman said "before, there were only men involved in decision-taking, now we women are also involved and you see things happening like with the School Building Committee".

All this being said, I feel as if I have presented the reader a very unripe product, one that still needs a great deal of reflection. The main emphasis has been on fact, rather than on the old anthropology favourite of meaning. Many facts, cases and observations would not have fitted into the space of this report. It is hoped that by researching my next case-studies, Mamone and Ga-Masha, and contrasting them with the Hoepakranz I will be able to see patterns, differences and continuities which will allow me to revisit the Hoepakranz material and to do a better job at interpreting it. In the meantime, any comments that will help me do that job whilst I’m here in South Africa are particularly welcome!