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Times LIVE Mapungubwe may be our most famous archaeological site, but it raises more questions than it answers, writes Roger Webster 
One of the many aspects of history and archaeology that fascinates me is that, in many respects, archaeology becomes the verifier, or the destroyer, of history. For hundreds of years, the people of the Limpopo have told tales of the Babahole people, "The Men of the Rhinoceros", who were massacred by a marauding tribe. They told of the existence of a hill with a treasure of gold buried on the summit. Mapungubwe, they called it: "The Hill of the Jackal". And there, for almost 900 years, the treasures remained: a golden rhinoceros, a bowl and a spiraled sceptre, buried on the top of the hill, shrouded in the mists of time and mythology and safely hidden from the eyes of the non-believers. There was a hermit by the name of Lottering, or "Lotrie", who lived in a shack at the base of the hill. It is said that he discovered some gold artifacts and buried them, not wanting the nearby settlers to find them. It strikes me as strange that this is said to have happened in 1933, when I know, from the records, that there was a family of Lotterings living in the now-deserted town of Schoemansdal as early as 1859. Schoemansdal is not too far from Mapungubwe and I wonder if he was a descendant of that family. In 1932, a local farmer, one ESJ van Graan, managed to persuade a local tribesman, Mowena, to take him to the site so revered and feared by the local people. Mowena led the party walking backwards all the way, for it was taboo to approach such a holy place with your eyes gazing directly upon it. You had to constantly look over your shoulder out of respect. Mowena directed them to the gully, with its famous ficus tree guarding the entrance. Climbing up the gully and emerging on the plateau, the white people found Mapungubwe, or should I say, re-discovered the site. Thus, the mists of time, and the shrouds of mythology, were removed and the site moved into the books of history. I sometimes pity archaeologists, for theirs is a strict discipline pertaining to discovered facts. Archaeologists can only see the blades of grass; they cannot see the complete lawn. They cannot speculate on the vastness of the other side; they can only report on the little that they see and find. The discovery of those gold artifacts raises more questions than it answers. Why would they mine gold unless they were trading on its value? How did they learn, on the southern tip of Africa, to mine gold at least 800 years ago? All the surrounding gold mines in that entire area, stretching right up into Zimbabwe, are known to have been worked on by an ancient people. And why is it that the tales speak clearly of the Arabs, who came there from the Lowveld? They called them "Mapalakata". These were people with big noses, piercing eyes and heavy hands, for they bore in those hands the chains not only of trade but also of slavery. Their trade beads have been found in their thousands. The pottery, wood, ivory, bone, snail shells and freshwater mussels were traded with cultures like China, India, Persia and Egypt, yet most history books are mum on the subject of Africa's trading that far back. Why is the beautiful golden sceptre fashioned in the shape of a spiral, not unlike the two entwined snakes, the Caduceus, the traditional Greek emblem for medicine? It is also similar to the spiral of the human DNA structure. Is this a coincidence? What about the Chinese pottery shards found in the middens? They are also present in the related site of Thulamela, in the northern extremity of the Kruger National Park. It makes me think about an explorer of the interior, James Chapman, who came across the Mooi river near what is now Potchefstroom and found beautiful weeping willows, Salix babylonica, along the banks. The species is not native to South Africa but was introduced from Asia - yet there they were in the 1830s! Contrary to popular belief, I do not believe we have even started to unravel the pictures of this country's ancient past. I believe that in time to come, as technology improves, we will uncover stupendous tales about our past, but the thing that fascinates me the most is the ancient poem below. Like the poems and legends of ancient Greece, one ponders over its meaning. 'THE HILL OF THE JACKAL' For the offering of rain Clay pots are filled with sorgum "And if it does not rain?" Then the last offering is a ten-year-old child. When the Jackal begins to call MA. PUN. GUBWE, MA. PUN. GUBWE, Meaning "many children are dead" It is the season of drought. Many people gather and call upon the rainmaker, Then the clay pots are filled with sorgum And young women carry these pots to the summit of the Sacred Hill Via the secret ladder They place the pots down on the ground And then the snake comes to bite them Some survive, some do not Singing and dancing takes place And a goat is slaughtered, cremated, and placed in a clay pot Then, the young girls place more pots on the ground, And the vultures come to peck their eyes out, Then there are festivities, dancing, eating and drinking, and the Witchdoctor comes to sniff out the young ten-year-old boy He is burnt, and placed in a pot, Once again, the young maidens carry the pots up the Hill THEN, IT RAINS."
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