Isandlwana

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We woke up to find the hills bathed in sunshine, something we’d not seen in 2 ½ days. Shame we were leaving….we drove for miles down the dirt road past the other ranches, the Drakensberg and the intensely green trees and the golden brown grass bathed in that early morning light before heat haze builds up. All the colours stood stark against each other. Things look so different in the sunshine.

Dodging the potholes as best we could and steering around the craters, we took the N3 motorway north, confusion reigning at one point when Google maps stopped working, but we were soon back on our route. Signposting in SA is often nonexistent, and we never found a useful map, so as back up Sara had for each journey printed out detailed instructions as back up. When we left the N3 the roads, whilst of still good quality, took us into what seemed like almost another country. There was rolling veldt with a number of private game reserves, but these did not look very exciting. The areas were much poorer, more rural, sprawling villages and shanties. Scrawny cattle which clearly belonged to the poor local farmers roamed the sides of the road. They are not shanties of corrugated iron such as you see around the cities, but are built of breeze block, rough and ready, and none of these settlements seem to have any commercial activity, or at least none we could see from the road. Rather depressing to see.

After a long drive we approached Isandlwana. The mountain rises up and dominates the surrounding area. There is a lot of local commerce supported by the tourism industry built around the battlefields. People along the road seem genuinely pleased to see you.

The Isandlwana Lodge has an amazing location, built into the side of a hill overlooking the mountain and the attendant battlefield which was the lookout point for the Zulu king. We enjoyed being the only guests on our fist night!

Next morning, our guide for the Isandlwana battlefield was Dalton, who was a direct descendant of one of the Zulu King Cetshwayo's commanders at the battle of Isandlwana on 22 January 1879.

The historical background to the battle is complex. Suffice it to say for these purposes that in 1879 the British ruled Cape Province and Natal, to the south of the Zulu kingdom. The Zulu kingdom was independent but the British were seeking a way to bring it more under British control. The King had been issued with an ultimatum to comply with certain demands which as an independent ruler he was quite unable to comply with.

When he did not comply the British sent a column under the command of General the Lord Chelmsford, which had been assembled at the mission station of Rorke's Drift just across the border in Natal, with orders to head to Ulundu the Zulu capital and enforce compliance with the British demands.

The eastern flank of Isandlwana mountain was the first staging post for the British on the way to Ulundu. They had not established a proper defensive position, having neither entrenched nor even circled their wagons. The massed Zulu army of 40,000 warriors under Cetshwayo knew the British were there, but the British were unaware of their enemy's presence. Lord Chelmsford took part of the British force several miles to some higher ground further ahead to try and find the Zulu forces. All the time he was splitting his forces, the Zulus were silently advancing through the tall grasses, often crawling with their cowhide shields on their backs so that any observer who saw movement might mistake them for cattle.

The Zulu battle formation was “the horns of the buffalo”, essentially two advancing arms (the horns) moving forward and seeking to encircle the enemy position while the “head” or “chest” confronted the enemy. The British at Isandlwana mountain were now appalled to see tens of thousands of Zulu streaming down the mountain to confront them, while all the while the two arms were seeking to encircle them. Forward positions tried to stage fighting retreats continually firing their rifles, but many fell under the Zulu spears. Messages were attempted to be sent to Lord Chelmsford to come back and support them, but from his distant vantage point nothing appeared amiss in the tall grasses. He saw the fire from the two British seven pounders but still thought it was only a minor engagement.

The ever shrinking perimeter fell back to the foot of the mountain. They realised they had been encircled. A very small few managed to escape back towards Rorke's Drift but most were killed and the regimental colours were lost. The last stand of sixty men took place halfway up the mountain. They ran out of ammunition, shook hands, and fixed bayonets. The Zulu knew it was nearly over. The British charged down the hill and died under the Zulu blades.

Early the next day Chelmsford learned with horror what had happened and returned in the dark. He took the column back to the camp. It was pitch black and his men had no idea what was under their feet as they marched through on their way to Rorke's Drift. As the sun rose they realised their feet and legs were covered in blood and entrails, and the Zulu had slit open the bellies of the British. They encountered some Zulus who, instead of attacking them, fled in terror as they thought the British were the soldiers they had killed risen from the dead. In total 1,329 British died and fewer than 50 survived. It was the worse loss of life inflicted on the British by a native army.

On our way back from the battlefield, Dalton pointed out some modest buildings and told us ex president Jimmy Carter had visited a few years ago. The residents had been astonished at the level of security before and during the village!

Scroll down for more photos.

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