What’s in the African name? “Shaka Zulu:” a European invention to destroy African identity

ABSTRACT

Some scholars and media outlets, because they are preoccupied with tarnishing Shaka Senzangakhona’s African identity have, in their quest for profit and popularity, replaced Shaka’s surname, Senzangakhona, with a false substitute- Zulu. The works of E.A Ritter, Joshua Sinclair, Carolyn Hamilton and Richard Spilsbury, although they provide insightful comments about Shaka Senzangakhona’s military and political achievements, have paraded a misguided title, Shaka Zulu, which is a blatant attack on Shaka Senzangakhona’s identity. Thanks to Thomas Mofolo and Mazisi Kunene, we now know about the military genius of Shaka and that t Shaka Senzangakhona and not Shaka Zulu founded the Zulu. Despite these cues, scholars and media outlets casually inter-change the names Shaka Zulu and Shaka Senzangakhona as if both names are the same. Our thesis is that Shaka Zulu is a European invention driven by popular culture and profit to perpetuate the misguided notion of Shaka Senzangakhona as a cruel person and to destroy his African identity.

KEYWORDS:

• African identity
• African naming ceremony
• popular culture
• Shaka Zulu
• Shaka kaSenzangakhona

Scholarship on the meaning and significance of African names and their relation to identity is current, yet now of late some historians have downplayed the cultural importance of African names, reducing them to mere name tags for convenience, profit and popularity and substituting them with their own false names. A case in point: the works of E. A. Ritter (1978), Joshua Sinclair (1985), Carolyn Hamilton (1998), Richard Spilsbury (2014) and others, although they provide useful discussions about Shaka Senzangakhona’s military and political innovations, have replaced Shaka’s surname, Senzangakhona, with their own substitute – Zulu. Given the cultural significance of names in African culture and their relation to one’s ancestry, tradition, spirituality and identity, there is no doubt that such a substitute (Zulu) by historians is an insult and an attack on Shaka’s personhood and humanity, which have no place in African culture. The works of Thomas Mofolo, Mazisi Raymond Kunene and others -oral and secondary- could be viewed as corrective scholarship because they draw our attention to the fact that the Zulu kingdom was created through military prowess of Shaka Senzangakhona and not Shaka Zulu, as current wisdom would like us to believe (Mofolo, 1981, Kunene, 1979; Guy, 1996, p. 1; Webb & Wright, 1982, James Stuart Archive [hereafter JSA] vol. 3, p. 201). It is important to recognise, however, that discussions on Shaka extend beyond the familiar writings of Mofolo and Kunene. Other black writers from South Africa, such as C. T. Msimang, Mzilikazi Khumalo, Bhambatha Wallet Vilakazi, Herbert Dhlomo and Sibusiso Nyembezi, have also contributed significantly to our understanding of Shaka. Their works not only explore oral traditions like izibongo zamakhosi (praises for kings) but also provide valuable insights into Zulu royal family genealogy, particularly regarding the naming conventions that honour fathers by naming children after them (Mbatha, 2017; Ndlovu, 2017, p. 8; Zondi, 1960). Moreover, it should be noted that black African writing on Shaka is not confined to South Africa. Black writers from various parts of the continent have made significant contributions to our understanding of Shaka’s historical significance. Works such as Leopold Senghor’s ‘Chaka’ (1956), St Badian’s ‘La Mort de Chaka’ (1961), Condetto Nenekhaly’s ‘Camara’s Amazoulou’ (1970) and Djibril Niane’s ‘Chaka’ (1971) have portrayed Shaka as a skilled military and political strategist, thus shaping our narrative beyond the borders of South Africa (Ndlovu, 2017, p. 8).

Contrary to current wisdom in scholarly accounts and media narratives that Shaka kaSenzangakhona was also commonly referred to as Shaka Zulu, the James Stuart recorded oral testimonies and other reliable historical sources indicate that Shaka was the eldest son of Senzangakhona kaJama kaBayeni kaPunga and, together with his half-sisters and half- brothers (siblings), carried the name of their father, Senzangakhona (Webb & Wright, 1976 JSA, vol 1. p. 16: Baleka kaMpitikazi). There exists no evidence in these oral accounts and other reliable historical sources indicating that Shaka’s siblings ever carried or used the name ‘Zulu.’ Attaching the label ‘Zulu’ to their names isolates them from Shaka himself. This point is illustrated by Shaka’s half-brothers’ names such as Ndunge kaSenzangakhona, Mhlangana kaSenzangakhona, Dingane or Dingaan kaSenzangakhona, Nzibe kaSenzangakhona, Gqugqu kaSenzangakhona, Sigujana (Mfokazi) kaSenzangakhona and others, as extensively documented (Gillings, 2012; F. Khumalo, 2022; Laband, 2018, pp. 10–11; Litnet, 2020; Ndlovu, 2017, p. 59; SABC News, October 25, 2022; Shamase, 2014, pp. 10–11; South African History Online, 2019).

Furthermore, the tradition of using fathers’ names in naming conventions extended to subsequent descendants of Shaka’s half-brothers and half-sisters (siblings). For example, Mpande kaSenzangakhona’s son, Cetswayo, named his son Dinizulu kaCetswayo. Dinizulu then named his son Solomon, leading to Solomon kaDinizulu. Solomon, in turn, had a son named Cyprian Bhekuzulu Nyangayezizwe, establishing the lineage of Cyprian Bhekuzulu Nyangayezizwe kaSolomon. This naming tradition continued with Cyprian Bhekuzulu naming his son Zwelithini Goodwill, known as Zwelithini Goodwill kaBhekuzulu (City Press, 2022; Laband, 2018; Mbatha, 2017; South African History Online, 2019; Umlazi Municipality, retrieved from Summary of the 8 Zulu Kings (umlalazi.gov.za); Binns, 1963). As the evidence indicates, Shaka’s half-brothers, half-sisters, or siblings did not use the name ‘Zulu.’ Therefore, referring to Shaka kaSenzangakhona as Shaka Zulu implies that his half-brothers and half-sisters should bear names like ‘Dingane Zulu,’ ‘Mhlangana Zulu,’ and ‘Mpande Zulu,’ which contradicts historical evidence. A close examination of the evidence in our paper leads to the conclusion that names such as ‘Dingane Zulu,’ ‘Mhlangana Zulu,’ and ‘Mpande Zulu’ are not found in historical scholarship.

Although Senzangakhona had numerous daughters, they are not recorded in historical sources. However, one of Senzangakhona’s favourite daughters, Nomcoba kaSenzangakhona, also known as Mafugwase, is extensively documented in sources (Eldredge, 2014, p. 179; Webb & Wright, 1976 JSA vol. 1, pp. 191, 204; JSA, vol. 1, p. 2). Nomcoba kaSenzangakhona was Shaka kaSenzangakhona’s sister. She was the second child of Nandi iNdlovukazi kaBhebhe, daughter of Bhebhe, chief of the Elangeni (Mhlongo) people, and was regarded as one of Senzangakhona’s primary wives. Apart from Nomcoba, Senzangakhona had multiple daughters. Through the research of historian Elizabeth Eldredge, we have become aware of Shaka’s half-sisters, including Nozilwane kaSenzangakhona, Mantongela kaSenzangakhona, Nozilwane kaSenzangakhona, Sikaba kaSenzangakhona, Zayi kaSenzangakhona, Mtembazi kaSenzangakhona, Ziwelile kaSenzangakhona, Nosiqungu kaSenzangakhona, Mndibili kaSenzangakhona, Nomqoto kaSenzangakhona, Ntikili kaSenzangakhona, Matejwase kaSenzangakhona, Nomzinhla kaSenzangakhona, Maqukazi kaSenzangakhona and other (Eldredge, 2014, p. 179). But most significantly, we became aware that all Shaka’s half-brothers and half-sisters (siblings) carried the name of their father, Senzangakhona.

It is also important to treat with caution any unsubstantiated claims asserting that James Stuart’s oral testimony justifies using ‘Shaka Zulu’ as a designation/appendage and suggesting that Shaka Zulu, not Shaka kaSenzangakhona, was Senzangakhona’s eldest son (Jean-Louis, 2024). Such assertions, without concrete evidence, are worrying and misleading. They also find profound expression in scholarly works in which authors now of late attach ‘Zulu’ to Shaka’s identity, Senzangakhona, as in ‘Shaka kaSenzangakhona Zulu’ to make their case that Shaka kaSenzangakhona was also known as Shaka Zulu (Laband, 2011). Our findings indicate otherwise.

The evidence we presented in the paper leads us to conclude that Shaka’s half-sisters, half-brothers or siblings and their descendants, including Shaka himself, carried the name of their fathers. This naming convention is denoted using the isiZulu possessive word ‘ka’ (equivalent to ‘waga’ in Sesotho and Tswana languages) before the father’s name. The possessive words, ka and waga indicate ‘of’ (e.g. Shaka kaSensangakhona becomes Shaka of Senzangakhona, Mpande kaSenzangakhona is Mpande of Senzangakhona, Nomcoba kaSenzangakhona/Nomcoba of Senzangakhona/Nozilwane kaSenzangakhona/Nozilwane of Senzangakhona). But more importantly, our analysis above reveals that none of Shaka’s siblings identified with or bore the name ‘Zulu’ (Eldredge, 2014, p. 179).

Despite the foregoing corrective scholarship, we still have historians and media narratives who use the names Shaka Zulu and Shaka Senzangakhona interchangeably, as if the names are synonymous. While the latter speaks to Shaka’s real surname name, the former speaks to European creation. These two names – Shaka Zulu and Shaka Senzangakhona – do not have the same meaning, yet current wisdom encourages us to act as if they are the same. Our thesis is that the name Shaka Zulu, driven by popularity and profit making, is a European invention to perpetuate the misguided historical depiction of Shaka as a cruel person and to destroy his African identity. This is not to deny that Shaka Senzangakhona was a cruel leader who employed excessive violence to build his Zulu state. Yet his violent leadership has been overstated. ‘The image of the historical Chaka,’ Thomas Mofolo tells us, ‘the empire builder the mere mention of whose name struck terror into the hearts of lesser kings- the hero of millions, this image could be, and probably was, hurt by some distortions when taken literally as historical fact’ (Mofolo, 1981, p. xix). Other scholars noted such distortions of Shaka’s violent leadership, notably, Dan Wylie, who argues that ‘the unity of this state, the level of violence employed to achieve it, and Shaka’s responsibility for knock-on-violence further inland have been hugely exaggerated’ (The Conversation, 2023). To be sure, any fair assessment of Shaka’s leadership should take into cognizance Shaka’s humane character that is imbued in his paternalistic leadership. A case in point: Shaka was kind to Nathaniel Isaacs and Henry Francis Fynn, providing them with tracts of lands and bestowing on them kingship titles (The Conversation, 2023). Despite this kindness, Isaacs and Fynn portrayed Shaka as a monster, ‘a demonic mass-murderer to cover their own dodgy activities, stealing ivory, taking local “harems”, smuggling guns and possibly even slaves.’ Worse still, Isaacs’ account, without strong evidence, compares Shaka to ‘the barbarian ruler, Attila the Hun’ (The Conversation, 2023). Such a negative portrayal of Shaka dovetails neatly ‘with pre-existing stereotypes of African savagery,’ justifying the long-held stereotype of colonial conquerors that ‘blame the Zulu for depopulating large areas by wiping out other “tribes” for inland, freeing up territory for colonial settlement’ (The Conversation, 2023).

Although negative images about Shaka still persist, they have been replaced by positive elements, notably, Shaka’s ‘heroic genius’ (The Conversation, 2023). In this regard, the myth of Shaka Zulu also provides valuable insights into Shaka’s military prowess and strength to challenge colonial rule. In their texts Unodumehlezi kaMenzi (Emperor Shaka the Great: A Zulu Epic) and Chaka, Kunene Mazisi and Thomas Mofolo describe Shaka as a ‘military genius’ who learnt the art of warfare from ‘stick fighting,’ and a ‘legendary thinker, who had great skill as a strategic and military genius’ (Kunene, 1979; Mofolo, p. 26). The theme of Shaka’s military prowess also finds profound expression in media accounts. Shaka was, according to Kunene’s epic poem cited in the Conversation, ‘a symbol of resistance to colonialism for all of Africa and all times’ (The Conversation, 2023). In his 2014 text, Calvin Allen argued in the Mail and Guardian that the myth ‘Shaka Zulu provides a blueprint for mastering the complexity of military affairs through tactics and effective strategy that is reminiscent of what is today considered operational art’ (Mail and Guardian, 2023). Sipho Sithole concurs with the assessment of the military prowess of Shaka Zulu myth, reminding us that ‘the firepoint by the 1 357 British and colonial troops, dispatched from Martin-Henry rifle, cannon and rockets, had been predicted by Lord Chelmsford, on 23 November 1878, when he stated that he was inclined to think that the first experience of the Martini-Henrys will be such a surprise to the Zulus that they will not be formidable after the first effort. However, their defeat by a barely armed regiment of the descendants of Shaka’s warriors, carrying knobkerries and assegai thrusting spears would forever inscribe the word ‘Zulu’ in the world history of human existence’ (Mail and Guardian, 2023).

Besides its profound expression of Shaka Senzangakhona’s military genius, the Shaka Zulu myth offers lessons about Africans’ contributions to civilisation and world history. Keyan Tomaselli penned in a 2003 edition of the Journal of Southern African Humanities that ‘the Shaka myth had been appropriated as the premier symbol of African achievement and aspiration, a sense of African pride and of Africa’s major challenge to colonialism’ (Mail and Guardian, 2023). Noting a sense of cultural pride, aspiration, and nationalism which the myth itself evokes, historian Dan Wylie argues that the image of Shaka ‘is a unifying cultural and political force that defined the cohesive Zulu nation.’ ‘Shaka Zulu,’ Wylie’s further asserts, ‘is a mythical ancestral universe that affirms the deep cultural lineage of the African word view’ (The Conversation, 2023). In summation, the myth of Shaka Zulu served as a tool of entertainment for popular culture to destroy Shaka Senzangakhonas’ African identity and personhood, while also extending pertinent discussions on issues of freedom and the creation of nation building – a view observed by filmmaker Palesa Shongwe who argued forcefully that ‘cinema’s involvement in the work of nation-building throughout the 20^th century is to be understood not only as historicizing and as myth-making but as part of larger discourses that defined citizenship and inscribed national identities through visual language, iconographic representation and narrative’ (Mail and Guardian, 2023).

Brief notes on African naming sources

Literature abounds on African identity and the naming of children in African cultures. In fact, most of the works agree that the naming of children in African cultures was an important and organised event. Romanus Aboh argues that the ceremony that accompanies the naming of a child in an African society is not an ordinary or haphazard process. It is a systematic process that involves the presence of some members of the community and only those who have the ‘right to name’ a child (Aboh, 2018, p. 501). A close examination of the Zulu culture reveals that the ‘extended family’ and not biological parents together with some community members bestow the names on their children at birth (Mkhize & Muthuki, 2019, pp. 87–88). Part of the reason for this, according to Aboh, is that ‘an African name represents the bearer’s identity and his or her voyage through life. It follows naturally that if the wrong person names a child, the voyage through life is going to be turbulent’ (Aboh, 2018, p. 49). In a word, authentic identity is extremely important for people because it tells them where they come from or their cultural origin; it shapes their destiny in life because it is inextricably intertwined to many years of history that help to define who people are.

Jacob Mapara shares Aboh’s sentiments on the significance of the naming of African children and naming ceremony in African culture. Writing of the Manyika of eastern Zimbabwe, Mapara asserts that African personal names play a communicative role in people’s day-to-day affairs, conveying their ‘feeling, thoughts as well as belief systems’, in addition to providing a glimpse to outsiders into the lives of people and showcasing their cultural past to the world (Mapara, 2013, p. 1). Emma Umana Clasberry shares Mapara’s views, adding that personal names create a link between the individual and his cultural background, in addition to providing ‘some information about cultural affinity and more, such as express one’s spirituality, philosophy of life, political or socio-economic status as defined by a given cleavage’ (Clasberry, 2012, p. 1). Lewis Asimeng-Boahene and Michael Baffoe, like Mapara, Clasberry and others, outline the importance of African personal names, arguing that ‘personal names have meanings, can affect personality, hinder, or enhance life initiatives’ (Asimeng-Boahen & Baffoe, 2013, p. 99). John Mbiti also leaps into the fray on the significance of naming and naming ceremonies, arguing that African names have meanings that are inextricably linked to naming ceremonies in African societies (Ankumah, 2014, p. 101).

While some scholars explore the significance of African names and naming ceremonies, others believe that African names are inextricably connected to one’s destiny in life. For instance, Mike Gary, expressing this in Special Broadcasting Service [hereafter SBS] argues that ‘Throughout time and across all cultures, the notion of name as it pertains to identity has long carried heavy weight, a weight for some which propels them forward and gives them momentum toward greatness in their given milieu. For others, the name is a malaise and the weight it imposes [impedes] growth and stifles the spirit’ (Gatwiri, SBS, 2020). Gary, more than any other observer, saw the connection between one’s name and history, spirituality, environment, and tradition. ‘Names act as mnemonic devices,’ Gary reminds us, ‘embodying histories, spiritual and environmental knowledge, and traditional teachings’ (Gatwiri, 2020).

A close study of South African ethnic groups, notably, the Tswana, Zulu and North Sotho reveals that there is a conception of identity from the combination of the name and its bearer. Among the Tswana people, T.V Kgope asserts that there is a saying that ‘leina lebe seromo,’ which means you are ‘what your name attracts’ (Ngulube, 2022, p. 204). In other words, your name is your destiny, it is who you become, and it is you. The word ‘seromo,’ according to Kgope, means ‘a calling’ (Ngulube, 2022, p. 204). That is to say, ‘the name calls one to go and do that which is inherent within the meaning of the name’ (Ngulube, 2022, p. 204). The Tswana people, like most African people, understand that your name defines your fate; it shapes your life. For example, the name ‘Mothusi’ means a helper. This name is often given to the first male child who is helpful to the family, often taking responsibility protecting and providing for the family in parents’ absence. The child often follows the meaning of this name. That is, ‘the description of the name attracts what the name means’ (Ngulube, 2022, p. 204). When this happens, the Tswana people would say, ‘leina le ile borellong,’ which means ‘the meaning of the name’ has followed the bearer or ‘the calling’ has come to pass (Ngulube, 2022, p. 204). The Tswana saying ‘leina lebe seromo’ also applies to the Zulu people and other African communities. ‘Naming-giving,’ EB Zungu tells us ‘is also rooted in the Zulu people’s belief in traditional religion.’ ‘To the Zulu,’ Zungu continues, ‘the name becomes an intimate part of the name-bearer. The name bearer becomes that which he is known’ (Zungu, 2018, p. 2). Mkhize and Muthuki shares Zungu’s sentiments, arguing that ‘the name signifies its position in the family, individuals with a specific character’ (Mkhize & Muthuki, 2019, p. 88). This inextricable relationship of the name to its bearer is not unique among the Zulu and Tswana communities. To be sure, the same cultural naming practice is also observed among certain African communities in Togo, Nigeria, Congo, Tanzania, Kenya, Botswana, Sudan, and Ethiopia (Mkhize & Muthuki, 2019, pp. 88–89).

Circumstances surrounding the child’s birth also play a significant role in the naming of children in African societies. For example, it is maintained that when Shaka was born, his mother, Nandi, suffered from a disease called itshaka (a disease which caused pregnant women’s stomachs to swell out). Those around Nandi thought she suffered from itshaka. Hence her child was named Shaka (Webb and Wright (1976). JSA, vol 1. p . 16: Baleka kaMpitikazi; Fynn, 1986, p. 12). The naming of African children was a response to the dictates of the conditions of their birth or social environment, a view supported by Aboh, asserting that ‘the final name to be given to a child is, however, determined by both the sex of the child and the prevailing circumstance at the time of birth’ (Aboh, 2018, p. 50). Writing of name-giving in Northern Malawi, T Moyo contends circumstances surrounding the childbirth is of paramount significance in name-giving. For instance, Moyo argues, the name ‘Mtwalo’ or ‘morwalo’ [burden] may be bestowed on a child ‘because of the difficulties the mother encountered at child-birth’ (Moyo, 2012, p. 13). A similar situation prevails in South Africa. A few case studies from ten South African ethnic groups may illustrate the point about the relationship between name-giving and circumstances surrounding the child’s birth. In all ten South African ethnic groups (Xhosa, Venda, Tswana, North Sotho, Tsonga, Swati, Ndebele, Zulu, Sesotho, and Ndebele), name-giving is determined by circumstances surrounding the child’s birth. Writing of name-giving among the Xhosa people of South Africa, S.J. Neethling asserts that the child’s meaning ‘records circumstances (physical and social) about the pregnancy or birth’ (Neetling, 1998, p. 21). Hugh A Stayt expressed similar views regarding the Venda people, arguing that ‘any peculiarity about the child, its birth, or its parents is generally reflected in the name chosen’ (Stayt, 1931/2018, p. 24). ‘Any important event in the life of the tribe,’ Stayt continues, ‘coinciding with the birth, may influence the name given’ (Stayt, 1931/2018, p. 24). Both Connie Rapoo and M Ledibane agree that the Tswana culture takes seriously events prevailing during the child’s name-giving (Ledibane, 2015, p. 460; Rapoo, 2002, p. 1). For instance, when a male child is born at the time when close relative has died, the name ‘Mogomotsi’ (one who brings comfort) is bestowed on him (Rapoo, 2002, p. 1). The same cultural naming practice is also observed among different communities such as the Kikuyu and Luo of Kenya, the Chindali of Tanzania, the Tswana people of Botswana, Tanzanians and some Sudanese and Ethiopians (Mkhize & Muthuki, 2019, p. 88). In a word, African names are not simply name tags; they are culturally significant and an essential part of being, African heritage, self-concept, and self-esteem. Thus, to destroy one’s name is tantamount to removing one’s descendants and heritage from existence.

What the foregoing literature suggests is that Shaka did not fall from a tree. He was born of a union of Senzangakhona and Nandi. As in other African societies and elsewhere, Shaka, whether legitimate or illegitimate, carried the name of his father, Senzangakhona – the name that was probably bestowed on him during the naming ceremony (Webb and Wright (1976). JSA, vol 1. p. 16: Baleka kaMpitikazi; Webb and Wright (1976). JSA, vol 1. Baleka kaMpitikazi, p. 15; Webb and Wright (1979). JSA, vol 2: Baleka kaMpitikazi Baleni kaSilwana, p. 16; Webb and Wright (1979). JSA, vol 2: Baleka kaMpitikazi, p.5; Guy (1996), p. 2; South African History Online (2019); F. Khumalo 2022). The missionary and pioneer anthropologist, Rev AT Bryant’s Shaka Senzangakhona’s genealogy which is outlined below also confirms in uncertain terms that Shaka’s surname was Senzangakhona and that the name, Zulu, was a myth, a European invention popularised by scholars and the media.

It should be noted that, in fact, all the Nguni kings and their people generally used their fathers’ names as their surnames. The following genealogy of Zulu kings is illustrative:

Zulu Kings

Malandela kaLuzumana, son of Luzumana

Ntombela kaMalandela, son of Malandela.Zulu kaNtombela, son of Ntombela, founder and chief of the Zulu clan from ca. 1709.

Gumede kaZulu, son of Zulu, chief of the Zulu clan.

Phunga kaGumede (d. 1727), son of Gumede, chief of the Zulu clan up to 1727.

Mageba kaGumede (ca. 1667–1745), son of Gumede and brother of Phunga, chief ofthe Zulu clan from 1727 to 1745.

Ndaba kaMageba (ca. 1697–1763), son of Mageba, chief of the Zulu clan from 1745 to 1763.

Jama kaNdaba (ca. 1757–1781), son of Ndaba, chief of the Zulu clan from 1763 to 1781.

Mkabayi kaJama, daughter of Jama

Senzangakhona kaJama (ca. 1757–1816), son of Jama, chief of the Zulu clan from 1781 to 1816.

Shaka kaSenzangakhona (ca. 1787–1828), son of Senzangakhona, king from 1816 to 1828.

Dingane kaSenzangakhona (ca. 1795–1840), son of Senzangakhona and half-brother of Shaka, king from 1828 to 1840.

(Source: South African History Online, 27 August 2019)

The myth of Shaka Zulu in popular culture

How do popular culture and historians, in the face of such overwhelming evidence, account for the etymology of the name Shaka Zulu? How do they explain the origin of the name?

It should be asserted at the outset that the myth of Shaka Zulu as a cruel and bloodthirsty leader has its origins in popular culture, which uses catchy names or phrases to attract the audience. Shaka and Zulu are catchy names because Shaka was a popular king in South Africa and parts of Africa, and so was the Zulu kingdom, which he created through diplomacy and wars. As Khumalo expressed it in Deutsche Welle [hereafter DW], the fictious names Shaka and Zulu became associated with a ‘battle’ (T. Khumalo, 2020, DW). From Stephan Wilkinson’s, ‘Shaka Zulu: Africa’s Napoleon’ and Jackson Hlongwane’s ‘Sculpture of ‘Shaka Zulu’ to websites carrying titles ‘Shaka Zulu’s brutality is exaggerated’ and ‘Is Shaka Zulu comparable to Napoleon,’ the central message is the same: historic depiction and portrayal of Shaka as a cruel and bloodthirsty ruler to tarnish his identity. Moreover, while these websites carry the title Shaka Zulu, they shy away from mentioning Shaka Zulu in the narratives of their stories. They use the names ‘Shaka,’ ‘King Shaka,’ etc. Thus, the use of Shaka Zulu as the title in these writings is only meant to attract audience across the globe- and this meant vast readership or viewership and fame, beneficiaries of popular culture. In pursuit of wide readership, the media has taken Shaka Zulu’s cruelty to the extreme, comparing him to Napoleon Bonaparte (Stephan, 2017, HistoryNet; Rennie, 2019, allthatisinteresting). In this regard, Shaka, like the 1802 Haitian slave revolt leader Toussaint Louverture, earned himself the title ‘Black Napoleon’ (Vandervort, 2015, p. 21). The question, which one should grapple with, and that requires some intense historical inquiry, is: Why does popular culture compare Shaka to Napoleon Bonaparte, and not Napoleon French? In as much as Zulu was Shaka’s nation, so was French Napoleon’s nation. Shaka Senzangakhona, and not Shaka Zulu, therefore should be compared to Napoleon Bonaparte, while Shaka Zulu, African Napoleon or Black Napoleon, if these names can pass muster of historical inquiry, should be compared to Napoleon French. But here historian Wylie reminds us that Shaka was not comparable to Napoleon Bonaparte, at least regarding the refinement and invention of military weapons (Carroll, 2006, The Guardian).

It cannot be denied that Shaka used violence and cruelty to build his Zulu nation as Nguni oral traditions suggest. Some interview informants in the James Stuart Archive, such as Melapi ka Magaye, Meseni ka Musi, Mkehlengana ka Zulu and others assert that Shaka unleashed violence against neighbouring communities, killing people, and seizing their heads of cattle (Webb and Wright (1982). JSA, vol 3, pp. 78–80; Webb and Wright (1982). JSA, vol 3: Baleka kaMpitikazi, p. 16, 83; Webb and Wright (1982). JSA, vol 3: Melapi ka Magaye, p. 100; Webb and Wright (1982). JSA, vol 3: Meseni ka Musi, pp. 214–217: Mkehlengana ka Zulu). It should be noted, however, that Nguni oral traditions/real memories by African reports on Shaka’s cruelty are contradictory at their best. While some informants viewed Shaka as violent, others expressed sentiments that he was nonviolent and kind. For instance, some of the James Stuart Archive interview informants viewed Shaka as a leader who displayed kindness and the spirit of Ubuntu to some communities and chiefs. The James Stuart interview informant, Mbulo ka Mlahla, for example, expressed the view that Shaka was against violence in that he even ordered his impi to arrest ‘a rascal’ that was killing his communities (Webb and Wright (1982). JSA, vol 3: Mbulo ka Mlahla, p. 51). The informant, Mkotana ka Zulu, expressed a similar sentiment of Shaka’s nonviolence, asserting that Shaka often visited some communities not with the intention to attack them but to receive ‘praises’ and to offer gifts in a form of livestock to remunerate their ’obedience’ and ‘tribute’ to him (Webb and Wright (1982). JSA, vol 3: Mkotana ka Zulu, pp. 224–225). While Nguni oral traditions (real memories by African reports) and histories on whose authority many African scholars and the western media claim to draw their evidence, provide valuable insights into Shaka’s brutal leadership, they should be viewed with great caution because of their lack of consensus and contradictory nature. Despite this limitation, all the James Stuart oral accounts have one thing in common: they all use the name Shaka or Shaka Senzangakhona. None of the oral accounts in the James Stuart Archive [6 vols] use the name Shaka Zulu.

There are, of course, other reasons other than Shaka’s brutality as to why popular culture used a catchy title such as Shaka Zulu. Chief among these reasons was profit making whose foundation was laid by the questionable and biased writings of Nathaniel Isaacs and Francis Henry Fynn that were later challenged by historian Jeff Guy who not only rightfully refers to Shaka as Shaka kaSenzangakhona (Guy, 1996, p. 27) but also cautions readers against relying on the writings of Henry Francis Fynn and Nathaniel Isaacs, which he describes as dangerous and distorted (Guy, 1996, pp. 10–11). Guy is not alone to call into question Isaacs and Fynn’s authoritative writings in Zulu history. Chief Mangosuthu Gatsha Buthelezi describes Fynn and Isaacs as depraved liars whose writings about Shaka and the Zulu kingdom were an attempt to fornicate with truth, adding that ‘Eurocentric historians vilified Shaka so that the European settlers could appear as saviours to the Zulu and the neighbouring people from his cruelty’ (C. A. Hamilton, 1990, p. 142). Guy and Buthelezi’s comments about Isaacs and Fynn’s dishonesty were understandable because the writings of Nathaniel Isaacs and Henry Fyn are replete with accounts of Shaka’s brutality, inventing the myth of ‘Shaka’ as a despotic, bloodthirsty military leader ‘to boast the sales of his and of Fynn’s books’ (Carroll, 2006, The Guardian). That Isaacs and Fynn ’s disparaging and dishonest comments about Shaka were driven by profit making cannot be doubted. For instance, Nathaniel Isaacs wrote to Henry Francis Fynn, advising him to smear Shaka’s name and that of his successor Dingane: ‘Make them out to be bloodthirsty as you can and endeavour to give an estimation of the number of people they have murdered during their reigns.’ Isaacs made such disparaging comments about Shaka and Dingane because he believed ‘they would help sell Fynn’s book and encourage British annexation of Zululand, which would mean a “fortune” for both authors’ (Eldredge, 2014, p. 41). Nathaniel Isaacs’ negative portrayal of Shaka as a cruel and ruthless man is quite surprising because Shaka was a generous and hospitable person (Webb and Wright (1976). JSA, vol 1: Bikwayo ka Noziwawa, p. 68). It was Shaka himself who, in the spirit of Ubuntu, provided Isaacs with ‘a large tract of land’ and made him one of his Indunas (advisors) (Newton, 2014, p. 523). Despite Shaka’s spirit of Ubuntu, Isaacs never aspired to be one with him. For Isaacs, prioritization of profit was above Ubuntu and certainly shaped his interaction with Shaka and Dingane, as well as the Zulu people. Isaacs’ thirst for profit was everything, and Shaka and Dingane were simply commodities in his quest for wealth. It is on this basis that Guy observed: ‘The need to assert continually the legitimacy of the white claim to the land, by denigrating African political, legal and moral authority, permeates the written sources on Natal and Zululand, creating a narrative of distortion of which the reader has always to be conscious’ (Department of History, University of Natal, 1996, p. 14). Such negative comments by Isaacs and Fynn also paved way for the distortions in the 1980s television series, Shaka Zulu, which featured Henry Cele as the lead actor (Dekker et al., 2000, p. 153).

But why did the South African government allow the movie, Shaka Zulu, to be shown on its national screens? The answer may not be far-fetched. The movie, Shaka Zulu, with its negative portrayal of Shaka Senzangakhona as a cruel and bloodthirsty leader, seemed to tap into the existing old historical stereotype – a widely held view in South Africa that blacks were uncivilized and prone to violence and wars. By showing the movie on national South African screens, racist South Africa was sending a message to the world: that is, it is due to this violence of Shaka and his Zulu as well as other black people that we apartheid ideologues decided to be paternalistic toward blacks. The Los Angeles Times, which was critical of the movie, expressed this paternalistic view eloquently, ‘where would South Africa be today if not for a white minority government to control these bloodthirsty black savages’ (Rosenberg, 1986, Los Angeles Times). Thus, the movie was a racist propaganda to reinforce ‘a wild tribal image’ of Shaka, Zulus as well as other black people in contrast to ‘civilized’ whites (Rosenberg, 1986, Los Angeles Times).

The role of historians in perpetuating the myth of Shaka Zulu

The imposition of a false substitute, Zulu, on Shaka as his surname was not confined to popular culture or television series or movies. Such fictious depiction was carried over into numerous historical works which further distorted Shaka’s true image and, in the process, tarnished his image. The imposition, moreover, caused immeasurable harm to Shaka’s identity, and that of his Zulu nation, in general. To appreciate the extent of this harm, one needs to take into cognizance the fact that Shaka’s surname, Senzangakhona, was an integral part of his identity and a window on his Zulu culture and himself. As Ambe Njoh puts it, ‘for the Africans, particularly because of the care with which they name their children, names not only link the bearers to their ancestors but also comprised part of their spirituality’ (Njoh, 2016, p. 13). It was this identity – Senzangakhona – that shaped Shaka’s ancestral and spiritual destiny in life and was inextricably intertwined to hundreds of years of history that help to define who he was – the richness of the history whose foundation was obviously laid down by his father and ancestors. Despite this, other historians are of the view that Shaka used clan identity, Zulu, to identify himself (T. Khumalo, 2020, DW), hence he was probably called Shaka Zulu. Yet, a close study of evidence suggests strongly that the use of clan names as surnames was a colonial phenomenon. For instance, in an interview with DW, Maxwell Zakhele Shamase, an authority in Zulu history, confirmed that in the precolonial era, ‘the father’s name became your surname’ (T. Khumalo, 2020, DW). As tables 1 and 2 above show, Shaka was given the first name of his father, Senzangakhona, as his surname in the same way as Senzangakhona used the first name of his father, Jama the son of Ndaba, as his surname. Shamase also correctly explains circumstances surrounding Shaka’s birth and why he was named Shaka. Equally accurate is Shamase’s view that Shaka was Senzangakhona’s son because ‘in those days your father’s name became your surname.’ There are, however, a few Shamase’s assertions in this interview that should be called into question. First, Shamase’s view that ‘Shaka’s grandfather’s name was Zulu,’ prompting him to use Zulu as his clan’s identity, is problematic. Senzangakhona’s father was Jama, who was Shaka’s grandfather. King Zulu was not Senzangakhona’s father, as Shamase would like us to believe. King Zulu was Shaka’s great-great-great-great grandfather. As the genealogy explicitly shows, King Zulu was the 6^th in Shaka’s genealogy. Equally questionable was Shamase’s assertion that Shaka was the first person to refer to his people as ‘Zulu people.’ Shamese tells us: ‘when he became king, Shaka said, let us have identity and call ourselves Zulu people. He was the first to call his people “Zulu people.” A close analysis of Shaka’s genealogy, which we outlined above, dispels Shamase’s assertion here. This assertion is inaccurate because, as sources tell us, Shaka inherited an already existing minute Zulu clan which he expanded into one of the strongest polities in Africa. Shaka’s people were already called Zulu, the name they inherited from their ancestor named Zulu who established the Zulu clan in probably around 1670. If this was accurate, it meant the name Zulu was already in use 117 years before Shaka was born in 1787 and probably 146 years before he ascended the throne in 1816 (Gillings, 2012, South African Military History; South African History Online, 2020). This makes one wonder: Why did Shamase, an authority in Zulu history and with a full grasp of knowledge of the damage that the mutilation of names has on individuals, and who was, at the time of the interview, writing a book on Shaka from an ‘African perspective,’ remain silent about the interviewer’s [DW] use of the name ‘Shaka Zulu’ in all the interview questions? Historians Carolyn Hamilton and Dan Wylie used the name ‘Shaka Zulu’ in Terrific Majesty and ‘Who is afraid of Shaka Zulu,’ respectively. But none of these works mention the name Shaka Zulu in their narratives. Rather, they either write Shaka, Shaka King of the Zulu, or Shaka Senzangakhona. This makes one wonder: why? There might be one explanation for this. These historians know that by using the catchy title, Shaka Zulu, they would be able to attract huge readership, fame, and sales of their writings. While this is not a problem, it does damage the personhood and dignity of the person they intend to demythologize.

Slave trade and colonialism and the mutilation of African names

Historians and popular cultures’ attempt to replace Shaka’s surname with their own substitute or clan name – Zulu – is not unique. Similar efforts to erase Africans’ cultural past, specifically the erosion or mutilation of Africans’ first and surnames, were more pronounced during slavery at the Cape colony, the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, slavery, colonialism and spread of Christianity than any historical epoch, when the slave traders, slave masters and colonisers, who cared less about African names and identity, forced the enslaved and colonised Africans to give up their African names and adopt the surnames of their owners or names of their countries of origin.

The imposition of European names on Cape slaves coincided with the establishment of the Cape settlement by Jan van Riebeeck in 1652 and the introduction of slavery by the Dutch East Indies Company (VOC) in line with its imperialist designs – profit making was chief among them. There were, between 1657 and 1808, at least 63,000 slaves imported from Asia and Africa to the Cape (Ricci, 2016, p. 166). Most of these slaves came from parts of West Africa, India, Ceylon, the Indonesian archipelago, Madagascar, Mauritius, and Mozambique (Ricci, 2016, p. 166). On their arrival at the Cape colony, slaves – except some of those who worked in the Company Lodge – were given names of their countries of origin such as Louis van Mauritius, Reijnier van Madagascar, Biron van Mallabaar, Antonie van Angola, Susanna van Bombasa, Marquart van Ceylon and Evert van Guinea. Other slaves carried both countries of origin names and Muslim ones. Among these slaves were Achmat van Bengel, Abdul Malik van Batavia and others (Shell, 2019, South African History Online). According to historian Robert Shell, while some slaves were named after days of the week, with Friday being the most common name, other slaves had Protestant, Catholic, Old Testament, Indigenous, Facetious, Toponyms and Classical names (Datta, 2013, p. 32). Whether Protestant, Muslim or Catholic names, these names stripped slaves of their individual identity. ‘Naming slaves,’ Shell tells us, ‘was a domestic ruse to diminish the dignity of the slaves in daily life and to establish differences among slaves’ (Shell, 2019, South African History Online).

Missionary effort to spread Christianity in the interior of South Africa during the 18^th century gave impetus to increased conscious mutilation of South African indigenous people’s names and identity. New Christian converts either embraced or were forced to accept new English or biblical names. According to Nelson Mandela, it was a common practice for African children to be given English names on their first day at school. Mandela himself was named Nelson after English hero Horatio Lord Nelson (Green, 2013, The History Reader). Commenting on the damage such name changes had on individuals, Kathomi Gatwiri (a slave descendant who changed her name from Christian names, Glory Jot to Kathomi Gatwiri), remarked that this unceremonious change of someone’s name demonstrated ‘the extent of the violence [that was perpetrated] against our ancestors – that we find it normal [and more acceptable] to have the names of our colonisers rather than our own’ (Gatwiri, 2020, SBS). ‘One thing that is true for me, though,’ Gatwiri further laments, ‘is that with the erasure of my name, a significant part of my history was obliterated too. The story of my grandmother’s relationship with animals and nature as translated. through my name was gone, and the dreams of my mother that one day I’d read my way out of the circumstances into which I was born was never told’ (Gatwiri, 2020, SBS). In a word, historians, and popular culture’s extemporaneous and haphazard imposition of the name ‘Zulu’ as Shaka’s surname has therefore no justification in African culture. To be sure, such concoction of Shaka’s surname flies in the face of evidence on Africans’ systematic naming ceremonies and individual identity, mostly the fact that individuals are not given last names haphazardly in African culture.

The mutilation of African names by Europeans was not confined to the Cape. The Trans-Atlantic slave trade – ‘a forced removal of millions of Africans from their homelands between the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries to serve as slaves in the Americas’ – also played a crucial, yet indispensable role, in the eradication of authentic African names and naming practices (Ntloedibe, 2020, p. 1). ‘Africans in the Diaspora,’ Clasberry argues, ‘had European names imposed upon them by their slave masters,’ which, explains why ‘today many Africans on the continent and the Diaspora continue to carry names which are foreign whose meanings they do not know, names the bearers cannot even pronounce correctly in some ethnic contexts’ (Clasberry, 2012, p. 2). To achieve this, slave masters employed Christianity. As part of the baptism process, enslaved Africans who converted to Christianity changed their names to European ones (Njoh, 2006, p. 44). Here, one is reminded of the highly acclaimed television miniseries, Alex Haley’s Roots: The Saga of an American Family (Hailey, 1976). In one scene, a newly enslaved African named Kunta Kinta was forced to embrace or accept the European name, Toby, by his slave owner. When Kinte resisted the European name, the slave owner told one of his slaves on the plantation to whip him and to continue flogging him until Kunta Kinte embraced the new name. When the flogging failed to yield a desired result,” the slave master ordered the amputation of one of Kinte’s feet” (Njoh, 2006, p. 45). Because of this brutal act, Kinte finally gave in and accepted the name Toby. This inhumane flogging of Kinte demonstrates the extent to which Europeans, and slave masters, were determined to impose European names on Africans. One pertinent question is, why did Europeans coerced enslaved Africans to accept Western names? There is no doubt that names were essential to people’s culture and tradition. Therefore, replacing African names with European ones or false substitutes was part of a broader scheme designed to destroy African culture and tradition. The situation in South Carolina in the late 18^th century was illustrative: Jack Pritchard, an enslaved African Methodist and conjurer from Angola was, like Kunta Kinte, forced to accept the name ‘Gullah Jack’ after an African American ethnic group in South Carolina (Stuckey, 1987, p. 50, 1994, p. 86).

Colonialism, like the Trans-Atlantic slave trade and slavery, contributed in no small way to the eradication of African names and naming practices. African names before colonialism served as powerful tools for ‘cultural affinity’ (Asimeng-Boahen & Baffoe, 2013, p. 100). However, with the advent of colonialism, such cultural affinity was destroyed, and Africans were forced to abandon their real names and embrace European ones. Such colonial eradication of African names had enduring cultural implications for Africans because African names were tied closely to all aspects of life; namely, their traditional, cultural, and political background, which, in turn, found profound expression in African spirituality, philosophy of life, political and socio-economic status that were also destroyed by colonialism. By stripping Shaka of his surname, an important aspect of one’s cultural identity, African and European historians have perpetuated the work of the colonialism, the Trans-Atlantic slave trade and slavery, whose intent was to destroy African names and cultural identity, pride, legacy, and heritage.

It is within these historical developments of the 17^th and 18^th centuries – the introduction of slavery and mutilation of slaves’ names at the Cape Colony, the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade and a steady but forceful Christian missionary migration into the interior of South Africa – that the change of Shaka Senzangakhona’s name to Shaka Zulu should be esteemed and understood.

Conclusion

Attempts to replace African last names with European or false ones was more pronounced during the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, slavery, and colonialism than any historical period.

Early white chroniclers, like slave traders and colonial authorities, were hell bent on replacing African names and African cultures with European ones or fake names. Any historian who embarks on a study of African names should learn, understand, and be steeped in their complexities and significance and have a firm grasp on African culture, at least in broad outline. Vigorous scholarship on African names and naming practices demonstrate that African names are not just name tags; they are carriers of African identity. During the precolonial period, African children derived their identity from their fathers’ names. Put, somewhat, differently: the fathers’ name became a child’s surname/last name. This naming practice changed during the colonial period when attempts were made by colonists to force Africans to use their clan names because they cared less about the complexities and meanings of African names as it was the case on the African continent and the Diaspora. The essay argued that Shaka was Senzangakhona’s son, and that he derived his identity/surname from his father’s name. By referring to Shaka Senzangakhona as Shaka Zulu, historians and popular culture have in pursuit of profit and fame continued the colonial project and made concerted effort to construct a false substitute to deprive Shaka of his true cultural identity, which is grossly embedded in his surname. Moreover, during the colonial period, the change of Africans’ names was used by colonists to assign, supplant, and assert new identity as a badge of submission. In this regard, popular culture, in its pursuit of profit and viewers, promoted the work of the colonial project in that it destroyed Shaka Senzangakhona’s cultural identity and consequently his self-esteem and replaced it with its own – Zulu. Our goal in this essay was to restore this cultural identity, which is embedded in his surname, Senzakangakhona – an identity that has been distorted and discarded by European, African and American scholars and popular culture. The essay has also suggested that Shaka, like other children in the world, was a carrier of and extension of his father’s name/identity and heritage, which was part of the larger Zulu community, and that any reference to him as Shaka Zulu should be viewed with caution and as a sustained attempt driven by popularity and profit by African and European historians as well as popular culture to tarnish his true identity and cultural past.

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Additional information

Notes on contributors

France Nkokomane Ntloedibe

France Nkokomane Ntloedibe has a Ph.D. in nineteenth Century US History from the University of California Riverside. His research interests include the slave trade, decoloniality and African history. His publications include the “Question of Origins: The Social and Cultural Roots of African-American Culture” published by Journal of African-American History; “Where are our heroes and ancestors? The Specter of Steve Biko in Rhodes Must Fall Student Movement and Revisiting Modes of Enslavement: The Role of Raiding, Kidnapping and Wars in the European Slave Trade, both published by Journal of African Identity and ‘Silencing Evidence:’ Reflections on the Scholarship of the European Slave Trade, which was published by African Historical Review. He has completed three articles to be submitted to various journals: “African Monarch: King Agaja of Dahomey and the abolition of the slave trade and ‘Strange bedfellows:’ Christian values, African religious practices and the challenge of Christian Conversion in the American South, 1865-1877 and Diaspora and the Globalization of African Culture: Here and Abroad.

Butholezwe Mtombeni

Butholezwe Mtombeni has recently completed his PhD in African History. He is a history lecturer at UNISA whose research interests are in precolonial and post-colonial African history, Zulu history, Gender history, religion and slavery, Social history and Agrarian history. Mr. Mtombeni has researched widely on women in Southern Africa and Africa in general. Some of his publications include: Mtombeni, B. (2020). Women and Colonialism: Southern Africa. In: Yacob-Haliso O., Falola, T. (eds) The Palgrave Handbook of African Women’s Studies. Palgrave Macmillan, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-77030-7_129-1; Moagi, A.L and Mtombeni, B. (2020). Women in Pre-colonial Africa: Southern Africa. In: Yacob-Haliso, O., Falola, T. (eds) The Palgrave Handbook of African Women’s Studies. Palgrave Macmillan, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-77030-7_125-1 and Mtombeni, B. (2022). Remove Your Knee from My Neck: A Radical Call to Collapse the Politics of Race Through Black Lives Matter Movement in the USA and Beyond. In Baikady, R., Sajid, S., Nadesan, V., Przeperski, J., Islam, M.R., Gao, J. (Eds) The Palgrave Handbook of Global Social Change.