Traditional School

Today there was a celebration in the village. I had been hearing about it for weeks. In many of the black South African cultures, there is a traditional school. Kids go to this school to become a man or woman. In my village here, it is the Tswana culture. The participants go off for 4 weeks and stay in a tent way far out in one of the fields. I’m not really sure what is done at this traditional school, but I know it is a big thing, a big rite of passage. Outsiders are not told what happens on the inside, so it makes for an exclusive bunch. This year in Brooksby, there were 56 students. I’m not really sure what the requirements are. I asked a friend how old they have to be to go and she said anyone can go, usually 12 and up. Boys and girls go, but they go separately. Throughout my 2 years in South Africa, I have heard rumors of what happens, but I am not certain of much.

Yesterday afternoon, the group came back. They had been gone for 4 weeks. I stood In my yard behind my house and watched. My host sister came out and watched with me. We could see the mob coming from afar. There were men on horses zig zaging back and forth as they approached the edge of the village. I was told this was for entertainment and excitement for the spectators. They moved swiftly. My host sister told me she would be going to the celebration in the morning instead of today. That is the exciting part. That is when they do the singing. She said each member has their own song.

So today, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I did my laundry and had some lunch. Then I decided to check out the celebration. I had not wanted to go alone, but it didn’t seem that my host sister was really going after all. I know celebrations usually go all day and all night, but I didn’t want to miss this. I walked over to the neighbor’s yard where the party was happening. As I walked in, there sat my host mom. When did she get there? Didn’t I just see her at home? She offered me food. (Why did I just eat lunch?) They had killed two bulls for the feast. As I looked around, it looked like the people who were eating had pap with their meat but that is all I really saw. There were people everywhere. The biggest crowd was formed around a spot in the yard. People were standing on whatever they could (boxes, tree branches, chairs, plastic crates) so they could see. In the center, there was a group sitting on the ground. It was very difficult to get close enough to see what was going on. This is what I saw.

All of the men who had returned from the traditional school were sitting on the ground like the little old women sit (legs straight out in front of them). Each had a big blanked wrapped around him. Attached to the blankrt was handkerchiefs. Some had South African flags attached or other clothes. Many had beads like Mardi Gras beads around their necks. Each had a hat on. Attached to the hat was handkerchiefs, rings, mirrors, and money. Each man had a stick as well. There were men in regular street clothes holding sticks and hovering around them, obviously in charge. They were also keeping the crowd back far enough so there was a little space in front of the men for some photographers. The men were all singing. 1 would stand up and perform as the rest would do backup chanting. It was the most beautiful singing I’ve heard so far in Africa. The man would sing his piece and then 1 or 2 family members or friends would join him as a photographer would take their picture. Then he would sit down and rejoin the chorus as another would stand and sing. The audience would respond with calls and whistles.

When I asked about what I was seeing, no one would really explain too much to me. The men who were hovering around were men who have already attended the traditional school in the past. The handkerchiefs and other things attached to them are to make them look pretty. They were singing about whatever they choose. I was told, “some about their mom, dad, sister, whatever they choose.” That’s about all I found out.

I only stayed for a short while, but it was quite the experience. I’m glad I went and saw. And I’m glad that the South Africans are so pushy that I got pushed out of the way after taking a couple of pictures. A short time was long enough for me.