Mysteries From Antiquity - On African Sacred Artefacts (Lydenburg Heads)

Collections are vital assets for museums, offering insight into the artistic and historical trends of a given era. They act not merely as historical artifacts but as living agents of yearning that bridge continuity and transformation. 

Making their collections seen and accessible is a crucial role of museums, one that is fundamentally bound up with their very function. The Cabinet of Curiosities in 16th-century Europe, regarded as the origin of the museum, displayed rare and exotic collections, providing audiences with novel experiences and opportunities for intellectual exploration. 

With the rise of the modern nation-state, the definition of “public” expanded, and works of art that had once been privately owned became accessible to wider audiences, ultimately evolving into the modern museum.

In Africa however, the rampant pillaging of cultural art and the theft of art meant a far more sinister project was unfolding; one that was characterised by erasure and displacement of an entire people from the annals of cultural history.

During colonial rule, African people lost thousands of cultural artefacts through the brutish plunder by colonists. These works addressed an entire psychological ecosystem of an oppressed people, in response to the censure experienced under guise of missions to “civilise the natives”.

Now that museums are calling for restitution and repatriation of stolen African artefacts, the overlooked question is that of a contemporary people who are grappling with the instability of meanings drawn from their vague past, when they have been denuded of any knowledge about these sacred objects and their worth.

When one observes what is often termed as macabre artefacts from arcane history, we come to question whether these artefacts are haunted objects as they’ve been known to cause all sorts of mayhem and social chaos.

These sacred objects found throughout the African continent for instance, are fundamentally associated with knowledge and are secretly preserved. Owning them or knowing about them commands attention and silence from those who cannot have access to them.

But I have often wondered what secrets lie behind the rarest and most treasured African artworks? The kind of pieces imbued with the weight of history, culture, and spirit all at once.

These creations weren't made just to be admired, they served purposes—spiritual, social, political—and each one has a unique tale to tell.

Sadly many of these rare artworks are hidden away in vaults, galleries, or private collections, far from their original homes. Some have been lost and found again, while others remain mysterious, sparking debates about ownership, legacy, and cultural pride.

A vigorous dialogue between heritage and contemporaneity is essential if the past is to preserved by contemporary generations for posterity. 

Only by revisiting sites of memory, can these reclamation expeditions infuse new modes of recollection and (post)memory, viewed through the lens of the contemporary social and cultural landscape.

And in light of this urgency, the post-1994 democratic government has made it a priority to restore dignity to those who were dehumanised by colonial and apartheid-era practices; a laudable effort in the face of rampant corruption within the art world in regards to illicit antiquities trade.

Recently, through the the Exile Repatriation Project and the Reburial of Khoi and San Ancestral Human Remains Initiatives, the government has spearheaded a revolutionary approach to reclaiming lost heritage by returning the remains of 58 ancestors.

There remains a vast array of misrepresentations and artefacts that remain to be repatriated, for instance the The Lydenburg Heads; a set of seven terracotta heads accidentally discovered by a ten-year-old boy in the South African town of Lydenburg. 

Should contemporary historians and artists reposition The Lydenburg Heads in their authentic African cultural  context, and repatriate from Iziko Museum in Cape Town to their communities whilst renaming them appropriately without disputes? 

Would this approach open old wounds or foster an inter-generational dialogue between those who shaped our cultural landscape and those addressing today’s urgency to redress falsifications and erasure thereof?