Authors: Tshetsana Senau
The first person to enter our house, while
we were still unpacking our luggage (you’d think people would wait until we
were settled in), was our great cousin Elda. She came in, with her more than
generous figure, and boisterous voice that demanded our attention.
“Hellooo, is anybody home?!” she said,
cracking herself up for no reason. Like she had to ask that unnecessary
question! Of course somebody’s home, it would explain the open doors and car
parked outside. She started giving everyone generous hugs. She came up to me
all enthusiastic and full of family love. “Seipati! Oh, it’s so great to see
you.”
Another thing, nobody calls me Celeste in
Kalamare because they all know me as Seipati, my other name. I was named after
my great aunt Seipati. It’s tradition to name a child after an elder in the
family. This way the child is like a reincarnate of them. According to what
I’ve heard of my great aunt, she was very outspoken and she was much respected.
She was also admired for her work in her household and keeping her home
intact.
I don’t really like using my given name in a way, because I have big shoes to
fill. I am
nothing
like my great aunt, and it worries me, what kind of
reincarnate am I? But anyway, I don’t think most of my extended family here
knows that I’m also called Celeste. Nobody uses Celeste, even my parents. As
soon as we enter the little village, I’m no longer Celeste. Kate thinks it’s
pretty cool. I once smacked her for calling me Seipati though. I’m embarrassed
by the fact that I’m nothing like my great aunt. I think she’s embarrassed too,
wherever she is, that her name was given to a hopeless girl with no direction.
Bontle uses hers permanently, Bontle. She’s named after our great grandmother
Bontle and our
rakgadi
, who is also called Bontle. Oh she’s rather proud
of her name, which is what I need to be.
Cousin Elda squeezed me like a squishy toy
and left me standing on my toes. I think for a moment there she almost cracked
my spine, but she was happy to see me, no harm done!
“So, you lot better hurry up,” said cousin
Elda, referring to my sister and me. “You’re needed over at home to help with
the preparations. We have an early morning ahead of us.”
Home is our grandparents’ compound.
Everyone calls it
home
because, well, it is where we all come from, if
you think about it. As soon as she mentioned that we had to make our way over,
more cousins entered our house all chummy and happy to see us. For a moment I
must admit that it felt good to be home. I was just being difficult, that’s
all. I love my family, the craziness keeps me entertained. It’s always fun
preparing for a ritual like this one because we get to catch up and stuff.
“Hey Seipati, have you lost some weight?”
said cousin Elda, after her moment of silence, searching for something to say
amidst more entering relatives.
Well, at least someone is noticing my hard
work. But it’s weird that she should notice me looking different this soon.
This must mean that Trevor has been working me to the bone. I requested that we
lay off the scale for a while because checking my weight is depressing.
However,
check me out
if I look a little lighter.
“She has joined the gym!” screamed mum, all
the way from her room.
I wonder why she would do that, scream for
all to hear. This conversation doesn’t even concern her. All of a sudden, all
eyes were on me, everyone stealing glances, wanting a piece of me. I didn’t
know how to react to all this attention, all these eyes on me. So I looked to
the floor, my safe haven, then I turned to my nails and pretended to be
checking out my worn out red nail polish.
“No, no, dear!” exclaimed cousin Elda.
“Don’t ruin your perfect body. Why would you want to be skin and bones, dear?”
What?
I heard some snickering from my other
cousins, just having a go at me, and cousin Elda’s comments. What does
she
know anyway? She’s fifty and she has kids. What can she possibly know about
life for someone my age in this current millennium? I was feeling really
embarrassed. Why did mum have to tell them that I had joined the gym though?
It’s not news for all. Now it’s going to spread like wild fire and all the
older women are going to prosecute me for attempting to lose weight and lead a
healthier lifestyle. Wait till my
rakgadi
Bontle has a go at the issue.
She’s the one always telling me not to do anything to my body because it’s the
family shape. I don’t want to remind these people that we are here for a
phekolo
and that I’ve given my weekend plans up, just to make it here. We need to be
getting straight to business.
“Shall we go home and see what needs to be
done?” I finally said, feeling tired from all the stares against me. I wonder
why it’s so shocking that I’d want to lose weight. Did they think that I’d
always be fat, my skinny cousins? Except for Elda, that is.
We all scrammed out of the house and headed
for home, leaving cousin Elda with my parents. I’ll bet my dad is in for a
treat, in the same house with two very loud women. I have a feeling he’ll be
joining us soon.
I finally got to
learn how to make traditional Setswana beer. Normally I just like hanging out
with the cousins who serve the elders with lunch and supper, but this is the
time for change. I didn’t know this much work went into brewing beer. Of course
I had found them way ahead because they started brewing the previous day, but
it was pretty awesome, seeing the whole process for the first time. Mum doesn’t
like us preparing beer because of her reservations about her children being
around alcohol. But I’m twenty-one for Pete’s pyjamas.
The beer is going to be used to appease the
gods during the
phekolo
. Alright, here’s what’s going to happen later at
4am in the morning. We’ll all gather at home and by then the traditional healer
or doctor will be there. He will call upon the gods to let them know about the
ritual being done to appease them, and for them to amend any bad luck that has
fallen upon the family. In the meantime, we have laid out three items as
offerings for the gods. There is the cow meat, which is being cooked right now;
it will be laid out on layers of big leaves on the ground, then there’s a box
of snuff and the Setswana beer. They will all be offered to the gods by the
traditional healer. Afterwards the beer will be poured on the ground by the
healer while he speaks to the gods the way he knows how to, while we, the
family, each grab a piece of meat, which is unseasoned, off the ground and we
have to eat it (there goes me, being a vegetarian). After that we all leave the
healer to complete the ceremony while we go and prepare ourselves for a feast.
We eat our hearts out in celebration, in the hopes that whatever curse was
bestowed against us by our gods or ancestors, has been lifted. That’s the
general short end of a
phekolo
. Many families or cultures do theirs
differently. So a
phekolo
isn’t performed the same way in every family,
because everyone has their own tradition. Also, it can be done for many reasons
other than removing bad luck from a family. This is why I suspect that this one
is not for the whole family, but instead for one particular family member
(Sol). There is scandal in the family and they won’t disclose it. It’s alright
for everyone to know that I joined the gym, something trivial, but it’s not
right for everyone to know why they are at a cleansing ritual. Sometimes the
elders can go a little over board with their secrets. I wonder what they are
trying to protect us from. So I’m going to break my vegetarian promise in the
morning, and I won’t know why I’m doing it.
I tried sneaking the conversations in with
my cousins who were making beer, but they had no idea. I’ll bet my other
cousins who were playing kitchen maids had all the information. We had all
split up really, into different working groups. The men were either out
collecting or chopping wood, and some were cooking the meat of the slaughtered
cow (that’s all). The women were doing the
rest
of the work. There were
women in charge of the meals, lunch and supper; serving the meals; washing the
dishes, making sure the compound is clean, brewing the beer and preparing the
feast for the next day. It’s just something I thought I’d point out.
“Seipati, please cover the beer up. By
tomorrow morning it will be all ready and alcoholic,” called my cousin
Segolame. She was much older than me, but out of most of my cousins, I got on
well with her. She was not very nosy and inquisitive like most of my cousins.
She was humble and collected. Segolame was named after our grandmother, and I
know for a fact that she lived up to her name well. She was very popular among the
family because she had the name of my grandmother, and people liked her for her
kindness.
I hadn’t seen any of my immediate family
all day. I think Bontle was working in the kitchen or she was at the fire,
cooking. I was in a small hut in the middle of the compound, where they decided
to make the beer. My grandparents’ compound was huge. It had hedge for
boundaries and inside there were many huts, more than seven, and a big
modernised house in the middle. They say that my grandmother built the huts back
in the day with her bare hands. The women are the ones who make the huts in my
culture. But anyway, it’s commendable; they were not tiny structures, the huts.
We were in one of the huts and it smelled like beer. It was not too bad because
I was having so much fun with my cousin Segolame and the others. I learned a
lot from them. Now that I can sort of make beer, I’m going to have it made at
my wedding. But that’s a thought for another time, when I’m not at a cleansing
ritual. Or maybe we could have the beer at Bontle’s wedding after she reveals
the truth to everyone. I don’t know if they’ll be serving it. How will I know?
I will be a bridesmaid in the white marquee, waiting for cake.
The sky was a clear blue and very stable. I
overheard one of the elders mentioning that it was the perfect time for a
cleansing ritual, over a clear sky. The blue sky during the day indicated that
there would be no hassles at night, bringing with, wind or clouds. I wonder how
they knew, how they could tell the weather like that. And they were always
right, you know. When an elder looked at the sky, even if it were clear, they
could foretell if it was going to rain or not. I guess it comes with years of
living and wisdom.
************************
The way back home was very quiet and
awkward. My parents looked very uncomfortable. I had a feeling that my sister
had told them her truth. But there’s no reason to be weird about it, is there?
They are in love, and I say, let the love prosper and live on. I couldn’t be
bothered with them though. All I could think about was all the events that went
on in the early hours of the morning. I got to find out that the cleansing
ritual was for the whole family, actually. A traditional healer, while reading
his bones, had seen unrest in our ancestors that would bring a whole lot of
trouble in the future. They were displeased with the fact that the family was
separating and no longer at peace with one another. I don’t really get what it
means actually, because I feel the family is pretty close...unless those smiles
I get when my cousins see me for the first time are fake and spiteful. But if
my sister really told my parents her story then they shouldn’t act strange,
unless they want to face the wrath of the ancestors. They want peace, you know.
I can never get over what the healer was chanting out to the ancestors. He was
possessed or something, and speaking in tongues at one point, then back to a
language we could all understand. It always gets me. It must take a lot of
strength and will power when one accepts their calling to be a healer. They
don’t have a choice, you know, none of them. The ancestors pick a healer and
the person has to drop everything and go for initiation, then serve their whole
lives as traditional doctors. I imagine how I’d react if it happened to me.
What if at the time I find something I really want to do in life, and then I
discover that I have a calling. I wouldn’t like to live my life in poverty in a
hut, hoping someone with spiritual problems would come along and give me work.
I’m being a little ignorant, aren’t I? Traditional doctors are much respected
around here.
As it turns out, my sister hasn’t told my
parents anything yet, they were just tired. I watched her leaving, her heart
heavy, because she was returning back to the city, still in a bubble of
secrecy. I reckon, once I fall in love, I’m going to shout it from the rooftops
of every building I come across, I don’t give a rats bottom, if my parents
don’t approve of the relationship. I’ll tell them, I deserve it; I
deserve
a lover, after all this time, and no one will stand in my way. I watched the
worry in Bontle’s eyes, they were not sparkling anymore. It’s sad seeing
someone I love in such dire need of happiness. It must be hard trying to enjoy
the happy moments of a relationship when your family is not in on it. I
wouldn’t know, but I think so.
“Come on, give us a hug!” said Bontle,
trying to cover up her sorrow. She pulled me over to her and pressed my head
against one of her breasts. Oh, she’s so annoying.
We dropped her off at the bus rank before
we drove home. I guess my mother was waiting for us to arrive in Palapye,
because as soon as we passed by the
welcome
sign, she began releasing a
slew of topics at the same time. It must be a gift or something. My father, who
was napping, woke and sat up, just so he could listen and nod. There was no
newspaper around, one that he could pretend he was reading. I’ve always
resisted asking dad where he met mum, and why he decided to marry her knowing
they are such opposites. Bontle says that they met in the ‘70s in secondary
school. I think it’s just the old married couple syndrome then. It’s only been
like, 28 years.