Kruger Area Part II - Culture
And here’s Kruger, Part II--My cultural/human interactions…
Township Tour
On Tuesday I went on a guided tour of a local township called Lulekani. In South Africa, “townships” are the black communities that were established under Apartheid. Most people have heard of Soweto, the most famous township (just outside Johannesburg), but there are actually townships all across the country. I knew before coming to Africa that I needed to see the townships in order to really see South Africa.
The tour was fantastic, and the guide (Ben) provided balanced and fascinating insights into the area’s history and culture. The only thing I didn’t like was that we drove around in a safari-type vehicle, which made the experience feel quite voyeuristic--like a human safari. The guide reassured me (and only me…I was the only one on the tour that morning) that locals are happy that foreigners come to visit their township (“so they know they are not forgotten”). And sure enough…
On every street I was greeted with kids running after the car waving and yelling “mulungu, mulungu”—a term for white person (translates literally as “good people”). Adults were always a little more reserved, but as soon as I smiled and waved, a big smile would cross their face and they would eagerly wave back. At times I felt like the Soybean Queen in a small town parade, but for the most part it was a really nice experience to be so warmly welcomed. Considering the history of racial segregation here in South Africa…this was not what I expected.
We stopped at several locations throughout the four hours. One stop was at a local resident’s house—in order to see inside, get a glimpse of their everyday lives.
Another stop was at the local “sangoma”--a shaman/ witch doctor/ traditional healer. Usually the tour just meets the sangoma and peaks inside her dark, potion-packed hut, but since I was the only one on the tour and since I have yet to utilize the services of a witch doctor, I seized the opportunity.
Afterward, the guide asked “Would you like me to translate what she said”—a rather odd question considering we both knew I don’t speak Xitsonga [the local language]. According to the guide’s translation, this is what the Sangoma read about me through the bones:
-I am healthy. There are no health problems for her to help me with. [True]
-I need to go to the friend’s grave with flowers, and if I do that, my friend will stay with me and help me. I should bring my kids with me to the gravesite.
-I am not married now, but I will be in the future.
Interesting. Pretty general, but still interesting. (She didn’t know about Warren, but the guide [who provided the translation] did.)
Afterward, the guide shared his condolences, then shared some interesting local beliefs. If someone dies young, it’s believed to be due to black magic carried out against the person by someone who was jealous of him or her. The family of the recently deceased will, shortly after the death, visit the sangoma to see who did the black magic. Also, as is common in many parts of the world, I am now obliged to marry a man in Warren’s family in order to keep the family name going. Since Warren has no brothers, I must marry an uncle or cousin, someone older than me. Tom and Kaaren, can you get working on that for me. I’ll be back in March.
Mozambican Refugee Settlement
Close to the township is a refugee settlement for Mozambicans who fled the civil wars that ravaged their country in the 1980s. Many at the settlement experienced such horrors that, twenty years later, they do not want to return. And so these refugees remain in this small settlement, two decades after the war has ended, without electricity or safe water and without the ability to work. (As they are not South Africans, they can only work in the informal sector.) After the township, we visited this refugee settlement.
And again, I was the novelty of the day. We walked around the community and visited one of the local schools. Most of the kids were in school, but the kids that are too poor to go to preschool ($5/mo) became my new best buddies, clamoring to hold my hand and touch my skin. It was pretty cute and funny for the most part (other than when they tried to get a souvenir of my arm hair, and other than the periodic gropes in my, um, “bathing suit parts”, which, despite the language gap, I was able to communicate a big NO to).
We spent a few hours touring the settlement, answering questions about myself for locals (through the guide), and taking pictures of kids and adults and then letting them look at themselves on the digital camera’s screen.
Considering my work with the IRC, this was a very interesting visit for me.
Township Tour
On Tuesday I went on a guided tour of a local township called Lulekani. In South Africa, “townships” are the black communities that were established under Apartheid. Most people have heard of Soweto, the most famous township (just outside Johannesburg), but there are actually townships all across the country. I knew before coming to Africa that I needed to see the townships in order to really see South Africa.
The tour was fantastic, and the guide (Ben) provided balanced and fascinating insights into the area’s history and culture. The only thing I didn’t like was that we drove around in a safari-type vehicle, which made the experience feel quite voyeuristic--like a human safari. The guide reassured me (and only me…I was the only one on the tour that morning) that locals are happy that foreigners come to visit their township (“so they know they are not forgotten”). And sure enough…
On every street I was greeted with kids running after the car waving and yelling “mulungu, mulungu”—a term for white person (translates literally as “good people”). Adults were always a little more reserved, but as soon as I smiled and waved, a big smile would cross their face and they would eagerly wave back. At times I felt like the Soybean Queen in a small town parade, but for the most part it was a really nice experience to be so warmly welcomed. Considering the history of racial segregation here in South Africa…this was not what I expected.
We stopped at several locations throughout the four hours. One stop was at a local resident’s house—in order to see inside, get a glimpse of their everyday lives.
Another stop was at the local “sangoma”--a shaman/ witch doctor/ traditional healer. Usually the tour just meets the sangoma and peaks inside her dark, potion-packed hut, but since I was the only one on the tour and since I have yet to utilize the services of a witch doctor, I seized the opportunity.
Caught up in the moment, I entertained ridiculously high hopes (“I see the spirit of a man standing next to you, a husband maybe?”) and I plopped down my 100 Rand ($12). The sangoma then threw down the bones (and other bits of wood and scraps of material and such) and read my future, my past, my present health. She spoke in a rhythmic, chanting fashion and continued on for about five minutes, not stopping for the guide to translate.
Afterward, the guide asked “Would you like me to translate what she said”—a rather odd question considering we both knew I don’t speak Xitsonga [the local language]. According to the guide’s translation, this is what the Sangoma read about me through the bones:-I am healthy. There are no health problems for her to help me with. [True]
-I think too much, always trying to figure things, thinking about things that happened in the past. I should try to not think so much. It would be better for my health and happiness if I didn’t think so much. [True, but as Mom says…I gotta be me.]
-I lost a close friend who didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Now the friend is worried about me. The friend had plans for his/her life that he/she didn’t get to do. -I need to go to the friend’s grave with flowers, and if I do that, my friend will stay with me and help me. I should bring my kids with me to the gravesite.
-I am not married now, but I will be in the future.
Interesting. Pretty general, but still interesting. (She didn’t know about Warren, but the guide [who provided the translation] did.)
Afterward, the guide shared his condolences, then shared some interesting local beliefs. If someone dies young, it’s believed to be due to black magic carried out against the person by someone who was jealous of him or her. The family of the recently deceased will, shortly after the death, visit the sangoma to see who did the black magic. Also, as is common in many parts of the world, I am now obliged to marry a man in Warren’s family in order to keep the family name going. Since Warren has no brothers, I must marry an uncle or cousin, someone older than me. Tom and Kaaren, can you get working on that for me. I’ll be back in March.
Mozambican Refugee Settlement
Close to the township is a refugee settlement for Mozambicans who fled the civil wars that ravaged their country in the 1980s. Many at the settlement experienced such horrors that, twenty years later, they do not want to return. And so these refugees remain in this small settlement, two decades after the war has ended, without electricity or safe water and without the ability to work. (As they are not South Africans, they can only work in the informal sector.) After the township, we visited this refugee settlement.
And again, I was the novelty of the day. We walked around the community and visited one of the local schools. Most of the kids were in school, but the kids that are too poor to go to preschool ($5/mo) became my new best buddies, clamoring to hold my hand and touch my skin. It was pretty cute and funny for the most part (other than when they tried to get a souvenir of my arm hair, and other than the periodic gropes in my, um, “bathing suit parts”, which, despite the language gap, I was able to communicate a big NO to).
We spent a few hours touring the settlement, answering questions about myself for locals (through the guide), and taking pictures of kids and adults and then letting them look at themselves on the digital camera’s screen.
Considering my work with the IRC, this was a very interesting visit for me.