The Broken Mendi: A Journey of Sacrifice and the Unconquerable Spirit

Two soldiers of the South African Native Labour Corps during a 'war dance' and sports day. Brooks, Ernest (Lieutenant) (Photographer)

Afolabi's Journey: A Boy's Journey from Orphan to Storyteller

The harmattan wind whipped across the savanna, carrying the scent of dry earth and unspoken anxieties. A lone figure, barely thirteen summers old, huddled beneath the skeletal branches of a thorn acacia. Afolabi, orphaned by a brutal tribal conflict, clutched a worn cloth doll, a last reminder of his stolen childhood. He was one of many, young men and women snatched from their villages across Africa, their futures rewritten by the harsh reality of war.

News of the "great work" had traveled like wildfire, promising adventure and a chance to fight for King and country. But Afolabi, naivety cloaked by a veil of fear, understood the truth - they were replacements, cheap labor to be thrown into the meat grinder of the Great War. He had seen the disdainful looks from the white recruiters, the way they prodded and inspected them like cattle.

Days turned into weeks as Afolabi was herded with others onto rickety trains, the rhythmic clatter punctuated by the frightened whimpers of young girls like Abeni. Her eyes, the color of deep ebony, held a quiet defiance that resonated with Afolabi. They spoke little, a silent understanding blossoming between them amidst the chaos.

Their journey culminated in the bustling port of Durban, the stench of sweat and coal thick in the air. Here, they boarded the SS Mendi, a once-proud vessel now a floating prison. Segregation was stark - white officers occupied airy cabins on the upper deck, while Africans were crammed below, darkness and despair their only companions.

Among the men, a charismatic figure emerged, Reverend Isaac Wauchope. A man of God with a booming voice and a kind smile, Wauchope preached unity and resilience. John, a burly Xhosa warrior with a scarred face and haunted eyes, found solace in Wauchope's words. He had seen his village razed, and his family lost, and harbored a simmering rage. Yet, in Wauchope's presence, a flicker of hope remained.

A group of non-commissioned officers of the South African Native Labour Corps at a camp, Dannes, March 1917. Brooke, John Warwick (Lieutenant) (Photographer)

The journey was long and arduous. The racial divide festered like an open wound. White sailors hurled insults, rations were meager, and the ever-present threat of illness hung heavy. Afolabi watched Abeni grow weaker, her once vibrant spirit dimming each day. Fear gnawed at him, but Wauchope's nightly sermons fueled a quiet strength within.

One evening, amidst the rhythmic creaking of the ship, Afolabi found himself drawn to the deck. There, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, stood Themba. Tall and wiry, with eyes that held the wisdom of the bush, Themba was a skilled tracker and a natural leader. Abeni, her cough barely audible, leaned against him, a picture of fragility. Afolabi's heart sank, a nameless dread settling in his stomach.

France arrived as a blur of grey skies and chilling winds. The men disembarked, greeted by the rumble of distant artillery fire. They were marched into a hastily erected camp, a sea of tents teeming with activity. The stench of death, a morbid signature of the war, permeated the air. Here, the lines between races blurred slightly. Black and white soldiers alike toiled under the same unforgiving sky, the weight of the war a shared burden.

Afolabi, along with the other young recruits, were assigned as porters. Their days were filled with the backbreaking labor of hauling supplies, dodging shrapnel, and enduring the constant barrage of enemy fire. The camaraderie forged in the face of death became their only solace. John, his initial rage tempered by discipline, became a protector for Afolabi, shielding him from the worst horrors. Themba, ever resourceful, shared his meager rations and offered encouragement.

Abeni, however, grew more withdrawn. The harsh conditions and the ever-present threat of death gnawed at her spirit. One evening, amidst the lull in the shelling, Afolabi found Themba holding her hand, whispering words of comfort. A spark of jealousy flared within him, a childish sentiment quickly extinguished by the gravity of their situation. He yearned for Abeni's friendship but understood the bond that had formed between her and Themba.

The turning point came on a day shrouded in thick smoke and deafening explosions. A German offensive pushed the allied lines back, creating chaos and confusion. John, ever the warrior, charged headfirst into the fray, his battle cry echoing across the battlefield. Afolabi, caught in the crossfire, watched in horror as John was struck down, his lifeless body crumpled on the blood-soaked earth. Grief, raw and searing, threatened to consume Afolabi, but a hand clamped on his shoulder. It was Themba, his face grim but determined.

Troops of the South African Native Labour Corps around a brazier at their camp. Dannes, March 1917. Brooke, John Warwick (Lieutenant) (Photographer)

Themba's grip pulled Afolabi back from the precipice of despair. "We must move," he said, his voice low and urgent. Together, they dragged Abeni, whose coughs had become a constant rasp, to the makeshift field hospital. The air buzzed with the frantic activity of medics, their faces pale and drawn under flickering oil lamps.

Abeni was admitted, leaving Afolabi and Themba with a gnawing sense of helplessness. The battle raged on, the rhythmic tremors of the ground a constant reminder of the horror and carnage around them. Fear, a chilling serpent, coiled around Afolabi's throat. He missed John's booming laughter and the reassuring warmth of his presence. Now, only Themba stood between him and the abyss.

Days became a haze of exhaustion, fear, and desperate hope. Afolabi found solace in the camaraderie shared with other young porters, forging a bond born of shared hardship. They spoke of home, of loved ones lost, and whispered dreams of a future that seemed increasingly uncertain.

One evening, as the exhausted men huddled around a flickering fire, Themba emerged from the hospital tent. His face was grave, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored Afolabi's own. Abeni was gone, succumbed to the relentless grip of illness. Afolabi felt a searing pain in his chest, a mix of grief and a fit of forgotten jealousy now overshadowed by a profound sense of loss.

The news spread through the camp like wildfire, extinguishing any lingering flicker of hope. Despair threatened to consume Afolabi, but a newfound resolve hardened his resolve. He wouldn't succumb. He would survive, for John and Abeni, for everyone he had lost.

The next morning, news arrived that sent a tremor of shock through the camp. The SS Mendi, their vessel back to Africa, had been struck by another ship in a thick fog, sinking within minutes. Hundreds, including Reverend Wauchope, were lost. The tragedy reverberated through the ranks, a stark reminder of their precarious existence.

The news had a profound impact on Themba. His leadership qualities blossomed, his quiet strength offering a beacon of hope in despair. He organized the young porters and instilled in them a sense of purpose. They weren't just laborers, they were vital cogs in the war machine, their unseen efforts keeping the front lines supplied.

Months passed, a brutal tapestry woven with hardship, loss, and fleeting moments of camaraderie. Afolabi, once a frightened child, had become hardened by experience. He carried the memory of John's sacrifice, Abeni's gentle spirit, and Reverend Wauchope's words of unity close to his heart.

Soldiers of the South African Native Labour Corps doing a 'Zulu war dance' during a sports day at Dannes, 24th June 1917. An unidentified British official cameraman, possibly Brooks-Carrington, McDowell, or Raymond, can be seen caught up in a dance. Brooks, Ernest (Lieutenant) (Photographer)

One day, whispers reached their camp - the tide of the war was turning. The Germans were on the retreat. Hope, a fragile bud, began to bloom in Afolabi's chest.

The final push was a brutal affair, a relentless onslaught fueled by desperation. Afolabi found himself caught in a hail of bullets, delivering supplies to the frontlines. Themba wasn't far behind, his eyes blazing with an almost desperate fervor.

Then, silence. The air, thick with smoke and the acrid scent of explosives, held a tentative stillness. The Germans had retreated, leaving behind a battlefield littered with the dead and dying.

Afolabi stumbled through the wreckage, searching for Themba. He found him, slumped against a shattered tree trunk, his breathing shallow. A bullet wound stained his shirt crimson.

Grief threatened to overwhelm Afolabi, but he fought it back. Themba, ever the leader, focused on him. "Remember, Afolabi," he rasped, his voice weak. "This war doesn't define us. We are more than this. We carry the spirit of home, of hope, within us."

With these final words, Themba closed his eyes, a faint smile gracing his lips. Tears streamed down Afolabi's face, a torrent of grief mixed with a newfound understanding of Themba's last words.

The war eventually ended, a hollow victory tinged with the loss of millions. Afolabi, and the surviving porters, returned to Africa, not as heroes, but as forgotten ghosts of a brutal conflict.

The chaplain of the South African Native Labour Corps camp at Dannes, March 1917 Brooke, John Warwick (Lieutenant) (Photographer)

He returned to a village he barely recognized, his family lost to the conflict. Yet, within him burned the embers of hope, ignited by the sacrifices of John, Abeni, Reverend Wauchope, and Themba. He rebuilt his life, carrying the memories of his fallen comrades. He spoke of their courage, resilience, and the unwavering spirit of humanity that thrived even in the darkest times. 

The SS Mendi, a symbol of resilience in the face of injustice, is a testament to the human spirit's ability to find strength in unity. Afolabi, forever marked by his experiences, dedicated his life to honoring their memory. He became a teacher, weaving the stories of the porters into the fabric of his village's oral history. He spoke of the horrors they witnessed, their sacrifices, and the unbreakable bond that transcended race and background.

Years later, an old man, his hair streaked with silver, sat beneath the familiar shade of a thorn acacia. Around him, a group of wide-eyed children listened intently. He spoke of the SS Mendi, his voice raspy but unwavering. He spoke of John, the fierce protector, Abeni, the gentle spirit, Reverend Wauchope, the beacon of hope, and Themba, the leader who taught him the true meaning of strength.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the savanna, Afolabi knew their story would live on. It would be a reminder that even in the most brutal of times, the human spirit endures, fueled by love, courage, and the unwavering hope for a better tomorrow. The wind, no longer carrying the whispers of war, now carried the echoes of their sacrifice, a testament to the enduring legacy of the forgotten heroes of the SS Mendi.✨

~Frankinscience

Afolabi and his companions faced unimaginable hardship and never gave up hope. Think about a time you faced a difficult challenge. What helped you persevere? Share your story to inspire others to find strength in adversity.

Visit your local library or historical society to learn more about underrepresented groups in wartime history. Research online resources dedicated to uncovering forgotten heroes. Share your findings with friends, and family, or on social media using the hashtag #ForgottenHeroes 🪖🎖️🫡🌺💝

Photo credit: Brooks, Ernest (Lieutenant) & Brooke, John Warwick (Lieutenant)