Christmas Road Trip - Zulu Village

Our visit to a Zulu village included a session with the local sangoma (traditional healer). The one we visited is a diviner, who gets her messages from the ancestors.  She put on quite a show, lighting incense to invoke the ancestors, who then rested on her shoulders as she knelt on the floor.  She never revealed her face to us the whole time we were with her. The hut was adorned with animal skins and  various animal parts and feathers were stuck on the walls.  I am not sure why - perhaps she reads the patterns as they are flung and adhere to the walls ? Through the guide, she told us about some of the more common remedies for various afflictions.  Most were herbal or mineral concoctions, but some used dried and powdered animal parts, bones, and blood.  She read my future (no animal parts required), and told me that my ancestors are looking out for me (always reassuring) -- oh, and that I think too much !

From there, we made a few friends walking through the village to the cultural centre where we were given Zulu warrior fighting and dancing demonstrations.

Confinement

It is customary in Botswana for a mother to go into a period of 'confinement' for about 3 months after her baby has been born.  The labour laws provide for maternity leave for 3 months, upon submission to the employer of a written note that the period of confinement has commenced.  Once they have returned to work, mothers are then permitted a leave of one hour per day to go home to nurse the baby, up to the baby's first birthday.  It is also customary that the new mom's own mother will stay with her to help manage the family and household during this period.  The mother-in-law is called in for subsequent births.  During the period of confinement, mom and babe are discouraged from leaving the house, and visitors are not permitted.  This is to keep the baby free from germs.

It was with these understandings in mind that I sent my colleague and friend a congratulatory text message when I got news that her baby had been born.  Towards the end of her period of confinement, I was surprised to see her at the baby shower for another friend and colleague of ours.  She pulled me aside and asked why I hadn't come to see her.  She had been expecting my visit.  I apologized, and explained that I didn't think I was allowed to visit.  She laughed, and explained that rules of confinement are more flexible these days.

So, when I heard that my two other friends recently welcomed new babies into their lives, I was careful not to make the same mistake.  In my congratulatory text messages, I asked if they were ready for visitors.  They said yes.

Here are some pictures from my visits to 4-day old Ndiye Tjezuva Mandigo, and 2-week old Unabo Martina Morapedi.  Unabo has already had her first hair-cut.  It is customary here to shave the baby's head once the umbilical cord has fallen out. Ndiye gave us a fashion show of some outfits my friends had sent from Canada (thanks, guys!).

Two White Doves

"Be ready at 4am".  I showed this sms message to my dinner companions, Friday night.  "I won't be going out with you after dinner, guys.  Have a good time."

At 3 am, just as my house-mate was getting in from the Big Night Out, I started to get ready for Emmah's arrival.  I was told to wear a dress, and to cover my head.  I borrowed a scarf from Erin as I was leaving the gang the previous night.  It is getting cold now, so I decided to dress in layers.  Under my skirt and suit jacket, I put on a pair of leggings and a long sleeved shirt.  As a last minute thought, I wrapped a wool shawl around my shoulders before putting on my coat.  I then wrapped my head in the scarf, and made a cup of coffee while waiting for Emmah and Rodwell to arrive.

"We are on the way over", the next message read, followed by "Let's go".

We stopped to pick up Rodwell's aunt.  The four of us then drove about 45 minutes to the village of Thamaga.

We parked on the road and walked a couple of minutes to the house.  There were already several cars there.  Rodwell went to join the men by the fire.  Emmah, Rodwell's aunt, and I joined the other ladies sitting in the courtyard.  Some were camped out on plastic chairs, wrapped warmly in blankets and shawls.  I could see steam and smoke rising from the floodlight lit outdoor kitchen, as women pounded corn and beef to make samp and seswaa.  Emmah and I huddled to keep warm.  Someone tried to tape a picture of a woman above the door to the house.  It took a couple of tries, but it finally stuck.  Soon more people joined us, and as the sun started to rise, the funeral began.

Following a viewing of the body in the house, the coffin was taken to the yard and festooned with flowers.  A minister delivered a sermon in Setswana, followed by speeches by select members of the crowd.

I looked at a brochure handed out to me, with pictures of a woman with her hands in prayer; in a uniform, tending to flowers; standing arm in arm with another lady.  A woman of faith.  A care giver.  A friend.  There was a picture of a crocodile -- her totem -- in the corner of the brochure.  I glanced at the section outlining her life and gleaned what I could from the Setswana text.  She was born in South Africa, trained as an Auxilliary Nurse, and later, as a Family Welfare Educator, serving families affected by HIV and AIDS. 

Mme Mangwegape was also a mother and grandmother.  She was the mother of Rodwell's sister-in-law, who herself, is a mother of 3 small children.  Tears streamed down my cheeks as someone read a letter from Rodwell's sister-in-law to her departed mother, written in English.  No matter how old you are, no matter what your circumstances are, it is always hard to lose a  mother.  I felt for her. 

She was taken quickly, in a car accident.  The same fate as her departed husband, not long ago. She was not yet 60 years old.

The funeral procession moved from the yard to the cemetery, where we were joined by hundreds more. Fellow villagers, paying respect to a dear family and a departed friend.  I have never seen such an overwhelming display of support. Following more speeches and hymns, the casket was placed in the ground. The crowd sang and clapped in rhythm as two men worked to cover the casket with soil. Clap, clap, shovel.  Clap, clap, shovel. 

As the casket was placed in the ground, two white doves swooped down, hovered above for a few seconds, then perched on top of the tent that was sheltering the family members.  Once the casket was fully covered, they flew away.

We returned to the house for the feast.  I asked Emmah, "Were the doves part of the service?"  She said, no.  They just happened to be in the area.  I explained that I have seen a lot of birds in Botswana, but never white doves.  In my culture, they symbolize peace.

I discussed this with Rodwell's aunt, and asked if doves symbolize the same thing in Botswana.  She said yes -- to her they do, at least. We agreed that the doves were sent by Mma and Rra Mangwegape, to let everyone know that they are now at peace.

Leaving the cemetary.  I didn't take pictures of the service, out of respect for the family, even though they said they didn't mind.

The women, waiting for the feast to begin.  Samp and Seswaa. The men were under a tent behind the house.

Rodwell's aunt, with the departed's granddaughter.  Her name means "Accept".  She will surely be accepted by many loving surrogate grannies.

The Wedding of Innocent and Karabo

It is 1:00 am. We gingerly side-step a tangle of kids and blankets, steps away from the carcass of a freshly slaughtered cow, then tip-toe down the concrete floor hallway, to the room at the back of the Mandigo family home in Francistown.

Lilian awakes as we enter the room, and indicates that she and her aunts and cousins had saved the bed for her sister Emmah and me. I unfurl my sleeping bag, step over the sleeping beauties, and fall asleep, banishing images of rats scuttling above my bedroom ceiling 400km away in my Gaborone house.

The next morning, wedding preparations are well underway. Orange scarves are dipped into vases that serve as table centre pieces. Carved chunks of cow are ferried to the back of the house for preparation for the feast.

We take a short drive to drop off some breakfast supplies to the bridal party staying at a nearby house. Little girls with intricately braided and beaded hair run through the living room, giving us a glimpse of the glamour to come.

Back at the Mandigo house, I make fast friends with 9 year-old cousins, Naledi and Ashley, once I show them how to apply Canadian maple leaf tattoos. There are none left for 12 year-old, Rachel, but I make up for it by lending her my camera to capture her perspective of the wedding proceedings.

The resounding ululations of the groom's aunties and grannies signal the arrival of the wedding party. The bride's family and groom's family then take part in a friendly sing-off, as the bridal party slowly dances down the aisle to the wedding tent. For the rest of the day, they never walk, but dance, whenever they enter or leave the tent.

This is the third of three wedding celebrations for Emmah's brother Innocent, and his bride Karabo. Karabo means 'Answer'.  Her answer is 'Yes' -- three times 'Yes'.

After speeches, readings, a catered feast, including freshly boiled and pounded seswa (beef from the butchered cow), and a photo session at the manicured grounds of a nearby hotel, the bridal party leaves to change their attire.

I am resting in the living room with the scarved and shawled aunties and grannies, when the bride in her second dress enters the room and sits down on the floor. The aunties and grannies leave their seats and sit on the floor, at the bride's feet. I glance over at Emmah, who is standing the corner, and silently ask if I should leave. She indicates, no.

I then witness what must be a time honoured tradition of dispensing advice to the new bride. Karabo is ceremoniously cloaked in a shawl and head-scarf, signifying her induction into the sorority of wives. She respectfully listens to the words of wisdom from each wife, which are seconded by cheers and ululations.

A bbq and dance follow through the night. I am too tired to take more than one bite of tasty grilled steak, before reclaiming my spot in the back bedroom.