Thandiswa Losi
Once upon a time, about some 2300 years ago, there was a venerable and gifted Chinese poet called Qu Yuan.
In addition to his literary mastery, according to legend, Qu Yuan was also a member of the Chu emperor’s house where he held a prominent position of high office. Qu Yuan voiced his objection to the King's plans to forge an alliance with the opposing Qin emperor. The King was at that ripe age in his supremacy where he distrusted anyone in opposition to him. Later, Qu Yuan was falsely charged with treason and consequently exiled.
As Qu Yuan had predicted, the alliance between the emperors of Chu and Qin eventually fell apart, leading to the downfall of the Chu kingdom. This news was so devastating to Qu Yuan, who deeply loved his country, that he felt he had no choice but to end his life by throwing himself into the Miluo River.
The devoted followers of Qu Yuan looked everywhere for his body in the river, but were unable to locate it. They dropped rice balls into the river for the fish to eat instead of consuming Qu Yuan's body. And thus begins the symbolic story that many believe is the source of the modern-day, exuberant Dragon Boat celebrations and the tradition of making zongzi (sticky rice balls) for the festival.
The story of Qu Yuan, in many ways, reminds me of the tales my grandmother would tell me as a child. My grandmother was raised in a village that was cut across by a river with rapid raging waters. The river was especially dangerous in the summer when it would fill up, according to the villagers, not from the heavy summer rains but because of a half human half fish creature called uMamlambo.
uMamlambo only lived in the river during the summer when the waters were rapid and raging. Villagers were warned against crossing the river or even remotely coming near to it in the summers as uMamlambo would sing with an inviting harmony while calling out your name, drawing you closer to the water and signifying the beginning of the end to your life. You would disappear only to become the main character of another tale told by the villagers.
There are two distinct differences between the story of Qu Yuan and my grandmother’s uMamlambo, the first being that Qu Yuan was actually a real person, a phenomenal poet. The second being that unlike uMamlambo, the story of Qu Yuan’s death is considered true by many and in September 2009, UNESCO officially approved the inclusion of the Dragon Boat Festival in the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, making it the first Chinese holiday to be selected.
The Dragon Boat Festival is celebrated in mainland China and regions like Hong Kong, Macao and Taiwan, as well as in countries with a sizeable Chinese diaspora such as Singapore.
On the 7th of June I flew down to Shenzhen from Shanghai, where I would spend the long weekend. The Xinzhou river – where young men with sun burnt faces practiced for the race – was a stone throw away from my hotel. The river shore had a tangible buzz of excitement and the practice session went on until the dead of the night, where family, friends, tourists and general spectators could take advantage of the cooler temperatures, refreshing evening breeze and the sight of bright LED lights running the length of the boats.
I watched the Dragon Boat Race in Moon Bay, in the scorching summer heat of the 10th of June while enjoying sticky rice dumplings made with layers of marinated pork belly and salted duck eggs wrapped in bamboo leaves and secured with twine. Colorfully dressed children played along the riverbank, flying kites and enjoying the festive atmosphere. Large crowds from the shores drinking traditional wine cheered on the colourfully decorated long boats, all racing to the finish line with the vanishing speed of a mysterious water god.
The young men paddled in unison with the ear-splitting drum beats from the drummers seated at the crown of the boats. An absolutely spectacular cultural experience everyone should witness at least once in their lives.
At the end of the race, as I walked to my hotel room I saw an old lady with two young children sitting at river bed eating rice dumplings. I was flooded with fond memories of my own grandmother and her storytelling. I wondered if the old lady, just like my grandmother, shared tales of Qu Yuan with her grandchildren.
Thandiswa Losi, a freelance columnist