In April 1856, 15-year-old Nongqawuse stood before leaders of the Xhosa kingdom and delivered a message from the ancestors: the dead would rise from the earth, the colonisers would be swept into the sea, and the Xhosa would be restored to power. But first, they had to kill all their cattle and stop planting crops.
What followed was one of the greatest catastrophes in Southern African history. Over the next 15 months, more than 400,000 cattle were slaughtered, crops were left to rot and families went hungry while they waited for the promised resurrection. But no miracle came. Tens of thousands of people starved to death, and 30,000 more fled across the border, desperate for food and work.
The prophecy came in the aftermath of the Frontier Wars, a series of nine major conflicts between the amaXhosa and British colonial forces, beginning in 1779. From early skirmishes along the Fish River to the eventual annexation of Xhosa territory, each war chipped away at the independence of the Xhosa nation. The Eighth Frontier War, in particular, left the region in crisis: politically fractured, spiritually shaken and economically weakened by lung sickness among cattle.
Another factor was the earlier trauma of King Hintsa’s death in 1835. Hintsa, a respected leader of the Gcaleka Xhosa and paramount chief of the amaXhosa, was killed by British soldiers while trying to escape custody. “That event sent shock waves through the amaXhosa,’ says author Treive Nicholas. “It was a national trauma. I kept thinking, what if the roles were reversed? What if the amaXhosa had invaded Britain and killed Queen Victoria like that? These wounds shaped the society Nongqawuse was born into.”
More than 160 years later, Nongqawuse remains a deeply contested figure — scapegoated by some, defended by others. In his book In Search of Nongqawuse, Nicholas set out to explore how the prophecy spread, why leaders, including King Sarhili, acted on it, and whether it is fair to place the blame for such a disaster on a teenage girl.
“I lived and taught in Mthatha in 1980, and it gave me a lasting connection to the Eastern Cape,” Nicholas said. “Years later, while researching my first book, A Nun and the Pig, I came across Noel Mostert’s 1,300-page tome, Frontiers: The Epic of South Africa’s Creation and the Tragedy of the Xhosa People. On page 1,166 I found Nongqawuse’s story. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of it. The scale of the tragedy and the way she was held responsible shocked me.”
As he dug deeper into the events of 1856 and 1857, Nicholas came to understand that telling Nongqawuse’s story required letting go of his own cultural assumptions. “To do her justice, I had to understand how spiritual beliefs and ancestral relationships shaped Xhosa life at the time,” he said. “Prophets were not uncommon in Xhosa society. The people had endured heavy losses. Had the prophecy come true, Nongqawuse might have been remembered as a visionary. Instead, she became a symbol of ruin.”
Nongqawuse, Nicholas noted, was not acting alone. Her uncle, Mhlakaza — also known as Wilhelm Goliat — played a key role in spreading the prophecy. A Christian convert who had been baptised as a Wesleyan Methodist and confirmed as an Anglican, Mhlakaza had turned away from traditional Xhosa customs. When he returned to the region in 1853, he reasserted his authority and gave voice to Nongqawuse’s visions.
“He shaped the message that would affect the whole of the nation, giving the prophecy structure and legitimacy,” said Nicholas. “It’s likely that past experience with missionaries had him taught how to make a convincing argument.
I asked whether he had faced any criticism for approaching such a culturally sensitive story as a white British man. “I expected some resistance, and it wouldn’t have been unreasonable,” he said. “But surprisingly, I haven’t. In fact, people have thanked me for resurrecting Nongqawuse’s story and for uncovering new details. Cultural adviser Hombakazi Mercy Nqandeka, who wrote the foreword to the book, felt that I approached the subject with care and objectivity.”
One of the most powerful moments, Nicholas said, came at the Gxarha River, the place where Nongqawuse first claimed to hear the voices of her ancestors. He doesn’t consider himself especially spiritual, but standing there, with the sea murmuring nearby and the wind threading through the hills, he felt the weight of the place, as if the past lingers not just in memory, but in spirit.
During time spent in a rural village north of Mthatha, Nicholas saw how ancestral belief continues to guide people’s lives. “One man I spoke to, a university graduate, told me he still consults his ancestors when making major decisions,” he said. “It made me realise how central these beliefs remain today, and just how much more powerful they must have been in 1856.”
Nicholas also questions why other figures weren’t held accountable. Why did no-one challenge the role of King Sarhili? Or Mhlakaza? Or the colonial authorities, who failed to intervene even when Xhosa non-believers pleaded for protection?
Though he relied mostly on academic sources, Nicholas worked with the Border Historical Society in East London, visited key sites, and spoke to people living in the region today.
What makes the book totally engrossing is the way it combines history with personal narrative to bring to light one of the most significant events in Xhosa history; it reshaped the political, social and economic structure of Xhosa society and accelerated colonial domination in the region. But it’s also an accessible read. A scientist rather than a historian, Nicholas does not get bogged down by extraneous detail, making it easy to engage with the material and finish it in a few sittings.
So, what’s next? “I want to see how this book is received,” he said. “But I do have an idea. The Wild Coast is full of stories about shipwrecks, dagga, smuggling, politics, wildlife. I think there’s another book there, one possibly more personal.”
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