As our generation navigates artificial intelligence and cryptocurrency, we want to look back at the days of the malboet that called people to social duty, the bilal that called people to prayer, the gatiep that addressed the congregation, and the imam who had been all these things.
By SHAKEEL GARDA
‘Gaaba, Gaaba…’, the malboet called out, alerting anyone in earshot that something was to be announced. Children and adults alike waited in anticipation to hear what it is that caused the man in charge of notifying the community of its latest occurrences, to begin his message as he always did, with the Arabic word for news.
The malboet, was also known in some communities as the marabout – possibly from the Arabic word for connecting, as these men did, all the residents of a locality or frequenters of their local place of worship. They facilitated the movement of people from their homes to the next bichara, lambar, nikah or kifayat, by means of personally ensuring that everyone was duly informed.
This does not describe a time that the author grew up in, but one cannot help but wonder how large the world must have seemed to a small community that was just big enough for the messenger to be able to meet, greet and inform every congregant and household of the latest official communique, often from the mimbar.
Eventually these scenes would replicate themselves across the country as people traversed its landscape in pursuit of betterment. These systems that connected communities perpetuated from Macassar to Bo-Kaap, Uitenhage and Malay Camp, to Fietas and beyond.
When we think of what shapes the vibrancy of our very diverse national Muslim community today, we often consider the cuisine, the attire, the languages that shaped modern dialogue, and the ways in which the Arabic language wrestled upon the tongues of our forebears whose mother tongues were not accustomed to the tajweed we are taught to adhere to today.
We reminisce about the days when Ramadaan, with a round ‘r’ and emphasis on the ‘dh’, was Ramaldaan and Ramzaan; when salah was sombain and namaaz; and when fasting was pwasa or roza.
What we don’t consider, when thinking about the early settled Muslim communities of our country’s nearly half-a-century Islamic history, is how intelligently and intentionally social constructs were put in place. This was to facilitate the togetherness of a people who represented their own ancestors from parts of Africa, the Indonesian archipelago, the southernmost parts of the Indian subcontinent, its northern counterparts and even Europe. As they integrated either themselves or their families into the local landscape, forming a community that we often take for granted as being an established ‘jamaa’atul muslimeen’, a community of those who submit to Allah, without seeing the nuance, and often deliberate efforts, to weave peoples together.
Whether urban or rural, these communities developed, often under the guidance of their respective ulama, in proximity to economic opportunities they were either forced to pursue or chose to be here to pursue, settling often in places that they themselves did not choose to live. It is not news to most South Africans that the Islam we practice so freely was moulded in the hands of those whose own were bound in chains and whose hearts were in the constant remembrance of Allah.
As our generation navigates artificial intelligence and cryptocurrency, we want to look back at the days of the malboet that called people to social duty, the bilal that called people to prayer, the gatiep that addressed the congregation and lent a helping hand, and the imam who had been all these things – before being entrusted to lead a community’s hearts towards ultimate success, and their hands towards earning halaal and disposing of excess.
In taking a look at the intricate social structures that bound our people, one might find that as we have progressed, we have lost.
While our parents were forcibly removed, physically from lives that they recall with deep nostalgia, we forcefully remove ourselves from the simple intricacies that formed the bedrock of colonial and post-slavery South Africa right up until the fall of the Apartheid regime.
So as we all answer to the adhan, and satisfy our hunger, hoping to be rewarded for the fast we observed, we each may contemplate the role of the modern malboet and question our own commitment to shaping the future, we invite – ons oenang – each one of you to look back as we look forward, and marvel at the Muslim view, of the rich history that we are the heirs of in the Southernmost tip of Africa. This is only a starter to an inter-generational main course that will be a conversation we intend to have, on and off the pages of this publication, as Allah dit vergun.
If you want to share your conversations that you have with family and friends on the rich history that we are heirs to with a wider audience, feel free to email: malboet@muslimviews.co.za
- This article was first published in the 21 February 2025 print edition of Muslim Views.
