Village life

My “mom,” Josephine, and I go visiting and help out with community events together (more on that later). She helps me make social connections around the village.

Nolo and I also have a weekly exercise group that spontaneously formed. My first Sunday there, we ran down to the school soccer “field” (really just a flat area with dirt) and did an exercise routine. Now we have a group of small boys that join us every week at 7:00am and children ask me about it all the time – “when are you exercising? Can I come?”

The other day Josephine asked me if black people in America spoke Sepedi. She was amazed when I told her that, “No, they speak English.” She then went through the list of all the neighboring South African languages, asking me if black people in America spoke those, as I kept telling her that everyone speaks mostly English.

The gender differences here in rural South Africa are amazing. I really don’t ever hang out with any men except I sometimes talk to the male teachers at school. The men and women lead totally separate lives. For one, most of men with jobs work in the bigger towns and villages, only coming home at the end of the month. Josephine’s brothers drilled holes in my wall so I could hang my curtains.

Elias is retired. Josephine does everything: cooking, washing dishes, fetching water, washing clothes, building a fire, taking care of children, sweeping, mopping, polishing the floor, spreading cow dung on the patio (?!?! I think its supposed to “clean it”). And remember this is all done without running water, which makes everything take longer.

The women also are involved in community events almost every weekend. It seems that every weekend there is a party or a wedding or a funeral. For all of these events neighbors are expected to contribute. They lend chairs, bowls, plates, kettles, big cast iron cauldrons, and spoons. They contribute 2 liters of soda, bags of flour and corn meal, canned food, firewood they’ve gathered from the bush etc for feeding everyone. The women are at the host’s home for days before the event cooking and brewing local alcohol. They cook food in huge iron three-legged pots over the fire. Everyone helps cut up vegetables and cook the food. It appears to be an organizational nightmare because no one person is in charge , 30+ women and girls are working together and it all gets done. Of course we take plenty of tea and scone breaks because they always have that on hand for the helpers.

During the weddings, the men are in charge of slaughtering the cow. I still haven’t seen the actual killing, but I have watched them cut up the cow. They use every part. Did you know that there is a lot of cow dung  and grass in the stomach that they have to clean out before chopping up the intestines to cook? They use the skin as kind of a table cloth on the ground to do the chopping up of the parts.

One thing that I have found interesting is that a lot of the older women use snuff. At least that’s what I think it is – they put coarse powdered tobacco in their noses. I don’t think the men do it, but I’m not sure because I never hang out with them.

These women carry everything on their heads. Josephine and I were headed to help with a party last weekend. She had a stack of 6 heavy duty plastic chairs and a large bowl. She said to me “help me put these chairs on my head.” I did and she carried them to the neighbors. The other day I was carrying a blanket and some other small items on my head and I thought I was really cool. Then I ran into a woman carrying a HUGE cast iron pot on her head! Literally, she had what we would consider a witches cauldron on her head. I felt not as cool with my simple blanket.

Our town went without running water from the spigot for 4 days a while back. After my family finished off the drums of water they keep stored for occasions like that, Josephine and I had to fetch water from the river. We walked about ¾ of a mile through the bush, down to a river that I didn’t even know was there. Then we carried our buckets of water back on our heads. I felt like a real African woman after that. Now I’m trying to carry more things on my head. It really makes sense – the weight is dispersed more evenly throughout your whole body and your hands are free to carry other things. I saw a lady in town the other day carrying a cake on her head through a bustling shopping area with her hands full of shopping bags.
Currently we are without electricity because the transformer in our village blew up. Who knows when it will get fixed. And I’m also learning that cell phone reception and cellular Internet connections fluctuate on a daily basis. But at least I usually have electricity and often have Internet access.

My mailbox is in a town 45 minutes and a $6 “shared taxi” ride away, so I usually only check is once a week or so.

I’ll try to post some pictures of the parties soon. But here’s a story to leave you with: I went to a wedding a couple of weeks ago. In the morning I helped cook as all the neighbors do. I was invited to go to the church for the ceremony with the bridal party (an honor because not everyone gets to go since it requires transport which not everyone has). Well we left for the ceremony 3 hours after they said we would leave, me not realizing that it took 45 min to get to the church. When we arrived back at the wedding most of the food had been eaten, including all the meat and moved to a back room. I served myself out some healthy portions of veggies and rice and was pleased to note that there was still a bowl of custard/pudding left for dessert. When I headed back for dessert I filled my cup with custard and licked a big spoonful. Unfortunately it was not the YUM I expected it to be. Turns out it wasn’t custard at all – but  BUTTER! I has just eaten a spoonful of butter! It was so warm that it was the soft consistency of pudding… YUCK! I almost threw up!

I feel like I’m getting to know my village and the culture more and more everyday. I have friends I visit on a regular basis and I can greet people by name. Next post I’ll tell you more about what I’m doing in the schools.