The Zion Christian Church uses no instruments in worship, and mokhukhu supplies the rhythm without them. Men in khaki uniform and heavy boots stamp in unison on hard ground, and the sound of several hundred pairs of boots landing together is the percussion. The singing over it is unaccompanied and antiphonal, a leader calling and the group answering, and the tempo builds over a long period rather than starting at height.
The dress is not incidental. Khaki, a peaked cap, a badge with a star, and boots: this is the uniform of the migrant labourer and the mine worker, the clothing of exactly the men the church drew in from the compounds and the townships of twentieth century South Africa. Jean Comaroff's reading of Zionist practice takes that seriously, arguing that taking the working uniform into worship and using it to make sacred noise turns an emblem of subordination into an emblem of belonging. Whether or not one follows the whole argument, the visual point is unmistakable to anyone who sees it.
Mokhukhu is also a body of people. To be mokhukhu is to belong to the men's grouping within the congregation that performs the dance, and joining it is a step with obligations attached: attendance, discipline, conduct. So the word answers two questions at once. Asked what mokhukhu is, a member may describe a dance or may point at the men doing it, and both answers are correct.