Marula: Tree of Tradition
By Constance Rahlane

When I was a little girl I used to watch my late grandmother while she prepared marula beer during the marula season, which lasts from February through March. She used to wake up early in the morning, go into the bush, pick up fallen marula fruit and carry them home in a full mealie bag. Then she would drop all the marulas under her own marula tree. I enjoyed staying next to her while she squeezed the marula fruit into buckets. She would wear her favourite blue dress and cross her legs on the grass mat and tell me old stories. Usually during the fruit-squeezing, my grandmother would fall asleep with the fork she used to open the marulas still in her hand. She would jerk awake and say, “Where was I?” Sometimes we would spend six hours under the tree, squeezing fruit and talking.

After two or three days the marula beer was ready to drink, and my grandmother would send my cousin and me to call our neighbours and friends to gather. It was very fulfilling for all of us kids to watch the elders dance and ululate after drinking marula beer. One person would get inside the circle and dance while the others sang old songs and clapped their hands.

That was 18 years ago, and now much of the country has changed. Apartheid fell and I lost a grandmother but gained a son. The marula tree and its varied uses is one constant that remains. The marula tree is not just for shade on a hot day. It is not just for firewood to cook with. Its leaves are not just used for animals to eat. The marula tree tightens relationships amongst in-laws and keeps ancient traditions alive. It contributes money to hard working people who brew marula beer, harvest its nuts, or make marula jam. Its value is cultural and economic.

Although marula beer still plays an important role around communities, it is now very rare to find free marula beer. Jamela Ndlovu, 55 years old with six children, sells marula beer in the Acornhoek area. Jamela said people sell marula beer because we are living in a different world than that of the older generation. In the 1950s and 1960s, people did not need money very much because they used their hands to make their own food, Ndlovu explained.

“We used to farm for mealie. We used to eat vegetables and only ate meat on Christmas,” said Ndlovu. “Most people did not use transport to travel. We used to walk long distances, and it was safe then because there were fewer car accidents. Now we are living in days that demand money every day.”

Jamela has a successful marula business, which she started in 2005. Women who were making an income from the tree inspired her. She learned to make marula beer from her mother, who always made it for the people in her community. Most of her customers are men because the majority of people who drink marula beer are men. She charges R7 [seven South African Rand] for two litres of marula beer. When the season of marula ends, she prepares the dried seeds by punching them with a stone and removing the inside nuts.

“I sell the seeds for R10 a mug. Most of my customers are men, but women also buy it to put it in their vegetables,” said Jamela.

Jamela not only sells marula beer to her customers, she also makes xirhwali every year for her son in-law who lives in Manyeleti. Xirhwali is a Shangaan tradition in which the mother of the bride makes marula beer and prepares seeds, called timongo. To show respect, she sends other people to deliver the beer and seeds to the in-laws, who drink, eat and celebrate. Jamela has a good reason to make xirhwali.

“I do it to thank my son in-law for being a good husband to my daughter and their four children,” said Jamela. “He has never chased her out of the home.”

Just as the marula tree strengthens new families, it keeps old families together as well. Lizzy Shibambu makes and sells marula jam. Lizzy sat under a mango tree, wearing a white and red dress, while preparing jam for customers. A big blue basin sat next to her, and her hands were busy slicing each marula down the middle. Lizzy’s two granddaughters brought more raw marula in small buckets to pour into the huge basin. Then they ran to get more marula.

“I used to watch my mother making jam when I was a little girl,” Lizzy recalled with a smile. “Now I love this season because I make money.”

Though Lizzy does not use much money to make jam—she only has to buy sugar, she cannot survive only on the money she makes from selling jam, because marula season is only two months. She has been working in Hoedspruit at Kopras shop for 18 years but she won’t let anything stop her from making jam, not even her six-day work week. Most of the time she prepares jam during the night. For her, the marula tree provides extra income but perhaps more importantly, it strengthens bonds within her family. The fact that she has four children and five grandchildren, all who live at home except two, gives her the strength to work hard and make sure they are all well fed.

“I love my children and grandchildren very much. My grandchildren help me by fetching marula while I’m at work,” she said.

Jam making, beer brewing, and xirhwali are but a few of the many traditions in which marula figures prominently. Perhaps the most popular is xikuha. On 16 February 2009, in Cottondale, under a big marula tree with hanging animal skulls nailed to the tree, a crowd gathered at the home of Induna Daike Mnisi. Induna Mnisi required each family of the village to bring a five-litre bucket of marula beer or pay a R10 fine. Nearly every woman who entered through the gate carried a bucket on her head and poured its contents into the huge blue containers placed under a tree surrounded by old men. All the women knelt down and drank the beer before pouring it. Then one of the old men in the circle would stand and taste it before the woman was allowed to leave.

“We don’t trust each other,” said Aaron Mzimba, 78. “Some people might put bad things in the beer. That is why we taste it while the maker is still here,” he said while pouring himself a cup. Some women sat on the grass after delivering their beer to write their names in the register book that was managed by the induna’s grandson. Others walked out of the gate, unable to or not interested in staying for ceremony.

Behind the huge brick house, women moved around preparing food, and the smell of wildebeest meat filled the air. People waited curiously for the chief to arrive to bless the whole function. Though the induna said some people were against giving beer or money, he said he is not forcing anyone to come or to pay the fine.

“If the person does not pay, we don’t care. But the day they have a problem, we shall see,” said Mr. Mnisi.

The most important thing about xikuha, the induna said, is to preserve the culture that started long ago. “I don’t know when this culture started. I grew up with it and our forefathers also practiced it,” said Mr. Mnisi.

The induna’s celebration happens once a year, but only if there is enough marula fruit during the season. The money contributed for not bringing marula, the induna said, is used when there are cultural functions.

In the middle of the day, Chief Mr. Phillip Mnisi arrived; people cheered. They all stood up and pulled down their caps and blew the mhalamhala horn while women ululated and chanted. When the chief sat, the induna stood and welcomed everyone. To Chief Mnisi in one voice, the crowd said, ladumi zulu, which means “thunder rumbling,” and refers to the chief’s authority.

The entire crowd cheered when the chief stood and poured marula beer on the ground next to the marula tree.

“Everything is blessed now. He has blessed the occasion,” said Nduna Mnisi. The chief didn’t have much to say but smiled at the crowd. After the end of the ceremony, people ate the food that had been cooking all morning. Then they drank marula beer.

Some people love their culture so much that they travel far distances to attend the marula function.

Hwalala Shilubane, 54, who works in Polokwane, said, “It is a big day for me. I came home to attend this ceremony. It is very important, especially for the younger generation, not to forget our culture and where we come from.”

Even though marula beer requires a lot of time and energy, there was enough beer for everyone at the function to drink. Meanwhile, women who prepared it said they loved the marula season for many reasons.

“We drink marula, make xirhwali, and use the seeds to make morogo [a nut-vegetable dish] and make nice jam,” said Maisy Mzimba, sitting with a group of women drinking marula.

As men and women danced and ululated under the marula tree at the induna’s house, for a moment I thought I was seven years old, with my cousins, watching the old people under my grandmother’s marula tree. It comes into my mind that culture will always be important no matter how many years have passed. It is up to us to preserve it for the younger generation.

© 2009 prickofthespindle.com