Hangin' with the King's Warriors

Mahbande tells me he has been a warrior since he was seven years old. "How can a seven-year-old be useful as a warrior?" I ask. He laughs and explains that it is just symbolic. Of course. Swaziland has a modern army with modern weapons and big black boots. The warriors carry sticks, not weapons. Their purpose is ceremonial.

And one of the annual ceremonies that the warriors play a part in has begun in Swaziland. About a month ago the "water carriers" started walking to the Mozambican coast. There they filled their buckets with seawater which they are carrying back to their king to use in the Incwala ceremony. The other warriors have come to the Royal Kraal in Lobamba from all over the country. Every evening they dance, and they will continue to until the big Incwala ceremony, when the King will come out and eat the "first corn" and dance for his subjects.

I am interviewing Mahbande because he is taking part in a workshop organized by several NGO's to try and reach out to Swaziland's traditionalist community through the warriors. One of the organizations involved is the Swaziland Action Group against Abuse (SWAGAA), the organization I'm working with. Prior to the interview I shoot the workshop itself. Imagine a hundred bare-chested men wearing beads, feathers and leopard-skins seated in movie-theatre seats in an auditoreum. They are engaged in a lively discussion with Bekhi, the SWAGAA staff member who organized the workshop. The discussion bounces from HIV/AIDS to gender equality to the new constitution, with loudly-voiced opinions coming from all sides. One young man says that SWAGAA is just selling off Swaziland to the west by importing western ideas. Another adds that having sex with an underage girl isn't rape if you plan to marry her. An old man jumps up and scolds the younger man, saying in the old days they had many girlfriends but didn't sleep with them until they were married.


After the workshop Mahbande and I sat down under a tree in the beautiful King Sobuzha memorial park. I interviewed him for almost 40 minutes, taking so long because I was having trouble getting him to answer my questions. I wanted to talk about violence against women, he wanted to talk about AIDS. He described how violence happens in rural communities, but then denied that it happens in his own. He also told me that he thought polygamy was a bad idea, and that his generation probably wouldn't participate in it as much as the last. This surprised me because the warriors generally uphold traditions like polygamy. But I realized later that his reasons were religious. When I asked about gender equality, he told me it was impossible. Adam came first, he explained. Eve was made from his rib. So men will always have power over women.

He also explained to me why men in the rural communities resent SWAGAA. It tends to be too heavy-handed when it comes into a community, he said, adding that a lot of men only hear of SWAGAA when their wives or girlfriends press charges against them with the organization's help. Of course, SWAGAA always organizes a meeting with the man and / or his family before turning to the law. But since so many men are working in South Africa some may know nothing of the actions his wife is taking before he gets a summons to court.

He has a point, and that is exactly why SWAGAA launched a "Male Involvement" program to try to encourage men to take leadership on these issues. The warrior's workshop is part of this program, but they also work with volunteers from local communities. One of my video projects focusses on this program in particular, so I've gotten to tag along to several of the events and meetings. I certainly think there's a need for it. Most organizations work on empowering women, both financially and emotionally. But the culture of abuse really needs to change, and that has to come from the abusers themselves - men.

With an interview with a warrior in the can, I wanted to get some shots of the warriors dancing to use in the video for context. So on Saturday I went to the "Little Incwala," one of the nights of dancing leading up to the big ceremony. I went with Eve, an Australian volunteer and her friend Satiso. Satiso pumps gas by day, and is a warrior by night. He was beautifully dressed in a leopard skin over a cloth sarong, with fringes of cow-hair encircling his upper arms. A turquoise feather stuck up from his curls, and he wore the warrior's necklace of pink beads. He looked fabulous, and knew it.

He gave Eve and I strict instructions before he left us at the car to do some preparation with the other warriors. We were not to go to the area where the dancing happened until we heard the second bugle sound. And then we must be careful to stay on the left of the tree, as the right side was reserved for ladies of the royal family. He also explained that I wouldn't be allowed to shoot video because the sacred songs they'd be singing were only allowed to be heard during this time of year. But I was allowed to take my still camera.

I looked pretty goofy, dressed in the traditional wraps that all the Swazi ladies wear and a big beaded necklace. And I was holding a long stick, the kind you might use for prodding your cow. I would need it for the dance.

When the second bugle sounded we lined up behind the rest of the dancers to enter the dance area. First we had to go through a metal detector, manned by a single policewomen. Can't tell you how absurd men dressed in skins and feathers looked going through the gate. The men lined up on one side, the women on the others. The men initiated the dance, and we mirrored them. The songs were slow, repetitive, almost mournful, and so were the dances. They were pretty easy to pick up: step, rock back, jab stick into air, step with other foot, rock back, feet together. Repeat. Until the next dance. One slightly more energetic number had us dancing up to the men, then turning around and coming back. The Swazi women seemed amused at our efforts.

On it went for about an hour, then just suddenly stopped. Everyone headed back to their cars and drove back home, feathers and all, their dancing sticks tucked in the trunk.