Blissful Adventures

It all began in the ceramics studio that I stroll into at my own will to play with clay and sculpt a better understanding of Xhosa culture through the help of my friends, Bantu, Scooby, Cici (her name has got some serious clicks) and Bianca. I get my hands dirty as they tell me stories of passage rights, cow intestines and bride price. We sit in the same shorts and shirts, going to the same school and living to create more positive future for all through the various forms of expression and yet their experience is far different than mine. So I asked to be shown the way of the Xhosa and Bantu, being the absolutely wonderful man he is, did just that.
After a brief but wonderful tour of the townships with my Xhosa professor the previous day, Bantu met Alexis (my partner in crime) and I at the boardwalk to escort us the far distance to the location. We piled into the steamy, white combis (or van for you yanks) and bobbed our heads to the thick percussion of South African drums that blasted through the stereo. Bantu’s voice imitated the music with his rhythmic pronunciation of Xhosa as he negotiated the destination with the driver. We got on and off several combis and stumbled through the “bus stations”, or what I would rather call the most hectic parking lots ever. It was as soon as we left Summerstrand, the suburb I live in, that we began to get noticed as two white girls but it wasn’t until we reached New Brighton, the township Bantu lives in, that I really felt like man, I’m in Africa.
Not many white people visit the townships and informal settlements where the houses are built from bits of wood, tin and plaster, so the sight of Alexis and I with our crazy curly hair, sun burnt skin and big, cheeky smiles was quite a head turner. The kids laughed and pointed, the elder women held us close to their big bosoms and the men would not let us leave with out a dance…or the promise that we would return soon. I was quickly adopted by the sweetest lady who must have been close to ninety years old; we embraced and the deal was settled, I was to come back to share the joys of laughter and food as her child. Mind you, this all occurred in two minutes flat if that. I felt extremely honored.
I was promptly introduced to Bantu’s granny, a beautiful woman curvaceously fit into matching green flowered dress and head wrap. She was absolutely incredible. Not only did she welcome us into her home, cook us a traditional South African meal of cow intestines, mealy and samp and beans, but she also loaned two of her gorgeous beaded necklaces to us girls for the day. I attempted to show my gratitude through hugs and pictures but it hardly did her justice. I proceeded to meet all of Batnu’s family: bhutis (brothers), sisis (sisters), nieces, nephews and aunties. They all grinned, utterly pleased with the fact that we wanted to visit and learn more about their culture.
Bantu was a wonderful tour guide leading us through these informal bars to taste the “illegal beer” of the townships, introducing us to his friends who whole-heartedly wanted to share their experience of being Xhosa with us. Again, the people were giggling at the odd sight of us girls with our ridiculously big smirks but they all wanted to greet the female foreigners with a passionate kindness as we passed through this small and boisterous town.
As the day grilled on with the intense humidity and gray-skied heat, we stumbled upon a traditional ceremony of a young woman who was passing her first level of her quest to become a healer, or “witch doctor”. They ushered us into a tiny room, packed with people wearing red skirts and tons of beads, and a wide-eyed goat that instinctively knew its time was nearly up. The ceremony was moved outside for the burning of a few liquids and herbs, all of which I cannot pronounce, dancing and the sacrificing of the animal. It was beautiful and gruesome. The blood poured out and we danced, stomping our feet into the dust of the township ground as the drums beat and I sweat heavily. To finish it all off, we drank more of the thick, creamy beer out of bowls and topped it all with a shot of brandy. My stomach didn’t know what to make of this…but it toughed it out and keep me keen for the most beautiful part of the whole day.
Bantu then lead us into a small living room, a 2 meter by 4 meter space where a few of his friends sat calmly. Music played through the television and as soon as we were sat, they began to sing. They ran through the Xhosa song once with the TV on then it was shut off and the acapella session began. Their voices ran through my system forcefully stunning as I attempted to breath but was caught by tears and the undeniable soul that they portrayed through song. I cried, holding Alexis’s hand in that small room, swaying to the spirit of Xhosa. I had never heard anyone sing so gorgeously in my life, let alone a whole group of them. When they finished and opened their eyes, they just nodded and graciously accepted our applaud. Although I can hardly convey the experience through words to you all, I assure you it was a day I will remember for the rest of this lifetime…
To make the Saturday even more eventful, I stepped out of my dusty flip-flops and into my shiny heels for the NMMU Hip Hop Society’s extravaganza at Gondwanas. The music rocked and we rolled to sound of local MC’s and some familiar beats from home. The dancing was epic and I became thoroughly integrated into the scene on account of my photographer status. I was VIP and loving it. The event landed me the job of official photographer for the Society and creative mastermind to future events. Just in case you didn’t know it yet, I’m in heaven.