“The Windmill and White people” “Why? E le gore Makgowa ga a swe?” (White ppl don’t die). I wondered. I had never heard of any death announcement on radio of a white person. I had to find out if white people died or not. They were such a mystery to me. A discovery. I don’t even remember the first time I saw a white person. Was it Ntate Jubera? ( Mr Joubert – He owned a shop on Mangope highway). Next to the pink big house, with “big windows” that was mysteriously burned by a cursed candle that spoke and followed them to Unit Eight? Yes if you are wondering. The candle story did happen. Was it Miss May? (The old white lady that felt sorry for Mom every Sunday and gave us a lift to church because mom was in her black mourning outfit). Even at my daddy’s funeral, there were no white names on the headstones. My investigation would continue… We would listen to Radio Setswana, Dipegi. They would announce names of dead people. We were not allowed to say a word. “ Shhh, Ke nako ya dipegi” (Silence, announcement time). The announcer would say call the names in rhythm, the music in the background so somber sad. The tone dragging as he called a name, surname, place and time of burial. There were no white names announced…white people did not die. Or did they? “Every Saturday morning at home Mama and Papa would take us to the “windmill” ko lefetlhong. I hated this place. It was about five kilometers away from home and we had to walk to this place. The windmill was a big yard with lots of women “Mathwasana” (initiates for traditional healing) roaming around wearing red, white, blue, yellow and green doeks. This place belonged to MmaSelebogo who was a high priest, traditional healer. She was a short dark woman with big curves and a hour glass shape. She wore long dresses and never smiled. There was a cattle farm next to the toilets. She had lots of cows. I was scared of her. She owned a black cat that meant trouble. “This woman is a witch” I would think. All old women with black cats were suspicious, meant trouble. We had to be weary of them, run for your life even. I never brought that up with my parents. I was not going to get another hiding for speaking out of turn. I was always in trouble. “Why did Mama and Papa take us to this woman maar?” She would walk around checking the buckets if the concoction was mixed well. “E strong” impressed with Lethwasana. No less than ten buckets line up. Mathwasana are up very early. By sunset their concoctions must be ready. Patients are trickling in. There would be lots of cars parked outside the house and people coming in and out. All sorts of people, rich and poor. Parents went there to get their children “speite” (Enema). It was torture going to MmaSelebogo’s place. I loved being carried on my daddy’s neck in the early hours of those mornings walking to the windmill. When the time was up, all the kids would be told to take off their clothes. Lie down, and Vaseline would be put on the tip of the enema. Mathwasa, ready to shoot. Two liter bucket, filled up with concoction. When Lethwasana inserted that tip down my bottom, I would scream and kick but nobody heard my voice, nobody heard my scream. They just ignored me. All if not most kids were well behaved except me. Even my dad the cop did not protect me from these women. One Saturday I let loose and splashed their faces. I succeeded. Yes, I finally got my revenge. They had it on their faces and doeks. Hahahaha! I did not get Oros when all the good kids were rewarded for good behavior. Every time Lethwasana passed they would point at me, the naughty kid. Deep down I was celebrating. Daddy, my hero did not protect me. The policeman. “Letseka” (Private investigator). He was a good storyteller and always took us down memory lane on his heroic stories. Nobody would stand in Daddy’s way. He was strong and always put criminals behind bars. He took pride in his job. He loved his job. I heard a story that when he was younger, he tried playing boxing. He was beaten to a pulp and resorted to biting his opponent. That was the last time my daddy tried his hand in boxing. That is the only time daddy lost a fight. Ao, my hero was beaten during a boxing match. Eish, I was really hurt to hear dad lost a fight. Mom finally bought us a television set when we were living in Montshiwa. A black and white Telefunken television set. That set that we would clap if it lost volume or a signal. We watched TV1, TV2 and TV3. Margaret Thatcher was a Prime Minister in England… but something puzzled me, she was also acting on Falcon Crest. “Margate Thatcher ke president gape wa actor…” I could not differentiate white people. They looked the same to me. I asked my sister and she told me they did not look alike. I was still puzzled. I asked my mom about Margaret Thatcher and if white people died. She told me white people did not look the same and they did die. How was I going to figure that out if I never interacted with them? My sister reassured me I would be able to figure it out one day. I should not worry about it. One day, Bobby from Falcon Crest died. Yes, white people did die.
Posted on: Mon, 09 Jun 2014 04:42:48 +0000
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