Sometimes There Is a Void (43 page)
Read Sometimes There Is a Void Online
Authors: Zakes Mda
From these commissions it became clear to me that writing was taking over from painting as my main occupation, or perhaps as the final resort to put food on the table whenever unemployment struck.
After seeing an advertisement for a teaching post at Sehonghong Secondary School, I applied. I got the job and discovered that Sehonghong was a village high up in the Maluti Mountains. There were no roads in the village and people who grew up there had never seen a car except in pictures. Transportation from one village to another was on horseback, donkey cart or sleigh pulled by a span of oxen. Travelling between Sehonghong and the lowland districts was only by a single-engine aircraft from and to an aerodrome in Maseru. Villagers looked forward to the arrival of the plane because it also brought mail, mostly from husbands and fathers who worked in the mines of South Africa.
I rented a one-roomed, grass-thatched house from a young widow who lived next door, where she engaged in nightly sessions of noisy sex with miners who landed at the airstrip. Besides these nocturnal disturbances of a poor celibate man trying to get a good night's sleep, she was a nice landlady who didn't bother me. I would have had a pleasant stay in her house even though I didn't have a bed but slept on a mattress on the floor, if it were not for the little fact that there was no toilet anywhere in the house or outside in the yard. To relieve myself I had to walk to a donga about a hundred yards behind the house. I could only do it under the cover of darkness, although this also meant there was the likelihood of stepping on someone else's fresh pile. This was the worst part about my stay in this village, the lack of sanitation facilities. Even the school did not have toilets for the students. They had to walk down the hill to the dongas in the valley.
But somehow I had to make myself at home here. I had brought some of my books and journal articles on mass communication, especially those that focused on development communication, which I had shipped from Ohio because I knew I would not readily get such
materials in Lesotho. I had already determined that my thesis, as the final doctoral document is called in South Africa, was going to examine the use of theatre as a medium for development communication. Since I had already enrolled at the University of Cape Town, I thought my stay in this godforsaken village would avail me the opportunity to study and even write part of the thesis.
materials in Lesotho. I had already determined that my thesis, as the final doctoral document is called in South Africa, was going to examine the use of theatre as a medium for development communication. Since I had already enrolled at the University of Cape Town, I thought my stay in this godforsaken village would avail me the opportunity to study and even write part of the thesis.
In my thesis I wanted to pay special attention to what development communication scholars of those days called folk media, by which they meant traditional performance modes that could be used as channels for developmental messages. I had always been interested in Sesotho traditional theatre, by which I mean any performance mode that encoded messages (and these may or may not be in the form of narrative) that could be decoded by those who were privy to the code.
I had heard of a ceremony called
pitiki
that was done a few weeks after the birth of a child. A sheep or a goat was slaughtered, beer brewed and a small feast was made to thank the ancestors for the gift that was the child. While relatives and friends gathered to enjoy the meat, the women locked themselves in a house and performed a theatrical ritual which they refer to as the real
pitiki
. The word itself means âto roll'. I very much wanted to see this ritual, but men are not allowed where it is performed. It is the kind of theatre that is performed by women for women â but only those women who have experienced the joys and the pain of birthing.
pitiki
that was done a few weeks after the birth of a child. A sheep or a goat was slaughtered, beer brewed and a small feast was made to thank the ancestors for the gift that was the child. While relatives and friends gathered to enjoy the meat, the women locked themselves in a house and performed a theatrical ritual which they refer to as the real
pitiki
. The word itself means âto roll'. I very much wanted to see this ritual, but men are not allowed where it is performed. It is the kind of theatre that is performed by women for women â but only those women who have experienced the joys and the pain of birthing.
âI hear there is going to be a
pitiki
in the village this weekend,' I told my landlady one day when I found her sitting on her stoep on my return from school. âI want to attend.'
pitiki
in the village this weekend,' I told my landlady one day when I found her sitting on her stoep on my return from school. âI want to attend.'
âI'm sure you may attend,' she said. âYou know that everyone is welcome at a feast.'
âNo, I want to go into the room of women, where they do the real
pitiki
.'
pitiki
.'
She laughed; she thought I was joking. Why would any man want to see an all-female secret ritual? Unless, of course, he was a pervert.
I told her about my doctoral research and how it was essential to see things before I wrote about them.
âYou'll see big things if you go into a
pitiki
,' she said. âYou'll go blind.'
pitiki
,' she said. âYou'll go blind.'
âI'm willing to take that risk.'
She just laughed and went into her house.
The next day I knocked at her door so that she could see that I was serious. When she came out I begged her once more to take me to the
pitiki
. She would be doing this for the good of
thuto
â education â I told her. I desperately wanted to see that performance so that people in Lesotho and in other countries could see how wonderful Sesotho culture was.
pitiki
. She would be doing this for the good of
thuto
â education â I told her. I desperately wanted to see that performance so that people in Lesotho and in other countries could see how wonderful Sesotho culture was.
âIt is not my
pitiki
,' she said. âWhat do you want me to do?'
pitiki
,' she said. âWhat do you want me to do?'
âSmuggle me in. I'll disguise myself as an old woman.'
She broke into laughter. She still did not take me seriously and I was getting desperate because there might not be another
pitiki
again for a long time, maybe not until after I left the village. I even thought of offering her some money but I knew I wouldn't feel too good about myself after that. It would be like I had cheapened her with a bribe.
pitiki
again for a long time, maybe not until after I left the village. I even thought of offering her some money but I knew I wouldn't feel too good about myself after that. It would be like I had cheapened her with a bribe.
The next day she told me she would help me attend the
pitiki
, as long as I didn't ever mention her name in whatever I would be writing, since the women of Lesotho who still valued such secret rituals would regard her as a traitor.
pitiki
, as long as I didn't ever mention her name in whatever I would be writing, since the women of Lesotho who still valued such secret rituals would regard her as a traitor.
On Saturday, the day of the
pitiki
, she gave me an old blue
seshoeshoe
dress to wear, a red
doek
â head scarf â with blue and yellow paisley patterns on it, old tennis shoes worn with pantyhose that had a few runs, and a plaid shawl over my shoulders. All of a sudden she was more enthusiastic than me about this whole adventure. I, on the other hand, was beginning to doubt its wisdom. I knew right from the beginning that there was nothing ethical about it, but I was going to do it all the same, if only to satisfy my curiosity. But then again, doubt was beginning to gnaw at me.
pitiki
, she gave me an old blue
seshoeshoe
dress to wear, a red
doek
â head scarf â with blue and yellow paisley patterns on it, old tennis shoes worn with pantyhose that had a few runs, and a plaid shawl over my shoulders. All of a sudden she was more enthusiastic than me about this whole adventure. I, on the other hand, was beginning to doubt its wisdom. I knew right from the beginning that there was nothing ethical about it, but I was going to do it all the same, if only to satisfy my curiosity. But then again, doubt was beginning to gnaw at me.
âI don't think I want to do this,' I said.
âYou said you wanted to do it,' said my landlady. âYou cannot change now. Not after I have gone to all this trouble.'
She was getting more fun from this charade than I was, and giggled at my ridiculous appearance. I was worried that she wouldn't be able to contain herself at the
pitiki
and that she would burst out laughing. I didn't want to think what would happen to me if the women found me out. Not only would they beat the hell out of me before throwing
me out, but the men enjoying beer and meat outside would certainly hit me with sticks and stones for seeing their wives in a way that they themselves had never seen. On top of that, they would frogmarch me to the chief who would levy a heavy fine for my perversion.
pitiki
and that she would burst out laughing. I didn't want to think what would happen to me if the women found me out. Not only would they beat the hell out of me before throwing
me out, but the men enjoying beer and meat outside would certainly hit me with sticks and stones for seeing their wives in a way that they themselves had never seen. On top of that, they would frogmarch me to the chief who would levy a heavy fine for my perversion.
I used a walking stick as we trudged along the footpath to the
pitiki
on the other side of the village. I was a highly arthritic and osteoporotic old lady. As we met groups of villagers they greeted us as was the custom, but I did not respond lest my voice betrayed me. My landlady explained to them that I was her grandmother who was deaf and dumb from old age. This was the excuse we would give at the ceremony for my silence.
pitiki
on the other side of the village. I was a highly arthritic and osteoporotic old lady. As we met groups of villagers they greeted us as was the custom, but I did not respond lest my voice betrayed me. My landlady explained to them that I was her grandmother who was deaf and dumb from old age. This was the excuse we would give at the ceremony for my silence.
Our destination was less than fifteen minutes away. As we approached the homestead â a cluster of three rondavels and a four-walled grass-thatched house â I saw young girls whose ages ranged from anything between four and twelve shaking their little waists in a vigorous dance. Older women were singing and clapping their hands to provide the rhythm. The young girls were doing the famous
ditolobonya
dance that I had seen performed for the entertainment of guests on state occasions and at political rallies in Maseru. I stopped to watch but my landlady didn't want me to spend any time outside lest I was found out. She led me among men and women who were sitting outside near one of the rondavels eating meat and samp from big basins into one of the bigger rondavels.
ditolobonya
dance that I had seen performed for the entertainment of guests on state occasions and at political rallies in Maseru. I stopped to watch but my landlady didn't want me to spend any time outside lest I was found out. She led me among men and women who were sitting outside near one of the rondavels eating meat and samp from big basins into one of the bigger rondavels.
I took a seat near the door next to two cowhide drums, hoping not to draw too much attention to myself. My landlady introduced me to the woman sitting on the bed with a baby in her arms. She was covered in a fat
Qibi
blanket. She was the owner of the
pitiki
. I merely nodded. Other women began to stream into the house singing and clapping their hands. Soon the door was closed and bolted from inside.
Qibi
blanket. She was the owner of the
pitiki
. I merely nodded. Other women began to stream into the house singing and clapping their hands. Soon the door was closed and bolted from inside.
An old woman with strings of white beads on her arms and legs began to dip a short broom into a small basin of water and to spray us with it. I think she was the
ngaka
or shaman of the group. The water had been mixed with the juice of aloes so it tasted quite bitter when I licked my lips where some drops had fallen. She made certain that most of the spray was directed at the mother and the child. Another woman
began to beat the drums. The rest of the women â including the mother on the bed â undressed and remained wearing only very short pleated skirts. Some were so short that their undergarments showed. They were all topless, for they threw even their bras on to the pile of clothes on the floor. They stamped on the cow-dung floor with their feet and shook their waists in a fast rhythm. This was the
ditolobonya
dance I had seen the little girls doing outside, but these women gave it the weightiness of a ritual. Like the young girls outside, there was still some playfulness in their steps and a naughty gleam in some of their eyes, but there was also purposefulness. Their dangling breasts from which countless babies had suckled added more acoustics as they flapped against their bodies and swooshed in the air only to come back again to hit their stomachs. When they did this the women became gleeful. Some even giggled in the midst of song.
ngaka
or shaman of the group. The water had been mixed with the juice of aloes so it tasted quite bitter when I licked my lips where some drops had fallen. She made certain that most of the spray was directed at the mother and the child. Another woman
began to beat the drums. The rest of the women â including the mother on the bed â undressed and remained wearing only very short pleated skirts. Some were so short that their undergarments showed. They were all topless, for they threw even their bras on to the pile of clothes on the floor. They stamped on the cow-dung floor with their feet and shook their waists in a fast rhythm. This was the
ditolobonya
dance I had seen the little girls doing outside, but these women gave it the weightiness of a ritual. Like the young girls outside, there was still some playfulness in their steps and a naughty gleam in some of their eyes, but there was also purposefulness. Their dangling breasts from which countless babies had suckled added more acoustics as they flapped against their bodies and swooshed in the air only to come back again to hit their stomachs. When they did this the women became gleeful. Some even giggled in the midst of song.
The women mimed in pairs and in the course of the dance performed what I interpreted to be courtship, and then marriage. Then they danced closer to the bed while the mother laughed with a naughty glint in her eyes. At the same time she pretended to be shooing them away, as if she didn't want to have anything to do with them. They began to chant:
Re bonts'e he, u ne u etsang, u ne u bapala joang, ha ho tla ba tje
. Show us, what were you doing, how were you playing when things resulted into this. The cowhide drums added to the din and to their shrieks of joy.
Re bonts'e he, u ne u etsang, u ne u bapala joang, ha ho tla ba tje
. Show us, what were you doing, how were you playing when things resulted into this. The cowhide drums added to the din and to their shrieks of joy.
The mother sprawled on the bed facing upwards and rolled the baby on her stomach. That's where the name of the ritual came from â to roll the baby. She began to mime a sexual act and as the dance of the women became frenzied so did her act and her moans of pleasure. This happened until it peaked with a mimed orgasm. All of a sudden there was silence. The women had stopped their dance and were looking at the mother expectantly. And then the mother mimed pregnancy. In all her actions throughout the performance the baby was the prop. What amazed me was that throughout all this it did not cry. Even in her performance of pregnancy she rolled it on her stomach for it was now a prop for a fetus and it merely prattled in baby talk.
The drums began again as did the
ditolobonya
dance. She mimed the pain of birth and then the ecstasy after the child was born.
ditolobonya
dance. She mimed the pain of birth and then the ecstasy after the child was born.
Everyone laughed and congratulated one another on the performance. I signalled to my landlady that we should leave; I had seen enough.
âSo, did you see what you wanted to see?' asked the landlady as we walked home.
âMore than I thought I would see. I don't know how I can thank you.'
âYou can thank me by just shutting up about it.'
I didn't ask her what the purpose of seeing it would be if I was just going to shut up about it. As soon as I got to my house I jotted down a few notes titled â
Pitiki
: the Theatre of Re-Birth.' I was to write about it later in my doctoral thesis.
Pitiki
: the Theatre of Re-Birth.' I was to write about it later in my doctoral thesis.
This adventure did not bring me any closer to my landlady. She continued her life of noisy sex with travellers and I continued with my teaching of junior certificate English and reading for my thesis. I interacted more with members of the community, especially the abaThembu who were proud that there was one of them â by which they meant me â who was a teacher. There was quite a big community of these isiXhosa-speaking people and none of them had any formal education. I visited their homes and encouraged them to keep their children at school. They could afford to spare their daughters and send them to school. But their sons had to look after cattle, sheep and goats. And when they reached the age of manhood, after the necessary initiation rites, they had to cross the border to work in the gold and coal mines of South Africa. But then it was like that throughout the villages of Lesotho; girls went to school and boys went to work. That is why today there are more women than men who have formal education in Lesotho. Even as a teacher I observed that there were more girls than boys in my classes. There are more female university graduates than there are male ones.
At the end of the month I took the plane to Maseru to unwind with my friends. They were all curious to hear about this strange place I had chosen as my hermitage. You would have thought Sehonghong was somewhere in China.
Two of the friends I met occasionally were Mpho and her twin sister, Mphonyane. Mpho and I were not officially divorced, although we
had been separated for a few years. I often visited them at their house at Ha Thamae Township and we talked about the old times. Mpho confessed to me that when we were still together she and her twin sister had continued with an affair with a Catholic Brother â a Brother is a Jesuit monk who has not been ordained as a priest â that had started long before I met them. I remembered that they used to talk about this Brother, and I had just taken it as an innocent friendship. I had no hard feelings about it; I was just glad that finally we were being honest with each other although it was too late to save our marriage. But I knew that we would remain friends for ever. I still kept many boxes of my documents at her house since I had no place of my own in Maseru.
had been separated for a few years. I often visited them at their house at Ha Thamae Township and we talked about the old times. Mpho confessed to me that when we were still together she and her twin sister had continued with an affair with a Catholic Brother â a Brother is a Jesuit monk who has not been ordained as a priest â that had started long before I met them. I remembered that they used to talk about this Brother, and I had just taken it as an innocent friendship. I had no hard feelings about it; I was just glad that finally we were being honest with each other although it was too late to save our marriage. But I knew that we would remain friends for ever. I still kept many boxes of my documents at her house since I had no place of my own in Maseru.
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