Life in the Ndebele Village

Ndebele Mapoch Village

The village is set back far from the dirt road and is centered around a multicenter that was built by the tourism office. There are two dirt lanes – one for the Msiza family and the other for the Buda family. Each lane has about 10 homes on each side and a large tree in the center for social gathering. At the end of the Msiza lane is the chief’s house and at the end of the Buda lane is the lodge where we stayed that is made up of 8 rooms and also built by the tourism office. The village is literally made up of these two families…everyone is related. There is no concept of cousin – everyone in a generation are brothers and sisters. Nieces and nephews are treated as one’s own children. The familial culture of the village creates a safe environment in which the children can run wild once they hit age 3. All the village adults are watching out for them. They travel in packs around the village and you can hear them before you see them. They jump rope with a scrap of rope found on the road. They play cards with 10 ratty cards left from an old deck. They draw something like hopscotch in the dirt. They join hands, sing and dance, something like ring around the rosies. They are smiling and happy and the most polite, helpful children I’ve ever known. I was blown away by these kids.

Bungi and Gnani

Neo and Girls Jumping Rope

Ndkozo, me and Fence

The village felt completely safe and like a second home within a day. The ladies were helpful and inclusive, the men were curious and talkative, and the kids were as affectionate and loving as they come. The villagers were protective of us, making sure we felt comfortable and enjoyed our stay. There was always someone there watching over us.


The lodge room was very comfortable with two twin beds pushed together, a stand up shower, toilet, sink, and even a small tv. The village did not have running water when we were there. We were meant to have a bit of running water at night, but it only came every few nights in the form of a trickle. Most of the water came from a water truck that came by the village every few days. When the truck came rumbling down the road all the women and children scrambled to get their buckets ready. Once the truck filled the buckets they were carried back to the houses mostly by women and children. I tried to help and I couldn't even carry the bucket a few steps. The gogos were carrying a bucket in each hand. They are tough cookies. We had electricity most of the time, but it went out several times because of the thunderstorms or other unexplained reasons.

Water Truck

The ladies would put a bucket of water in our room each day and we had an urn to heat it. We heated the water each night, transferred the warm water to a bucket the size of a laundry basket. Now the process for washing could take multiple paths. I prefer standing in the bucket, soaping up with a washcloth, then rinsing with a small pitcher. We were advised that you could stand outside it and lean over, but my back isn’t as strong as the local women. I only washed my hair once during the week because it was a whipping. I did this by placing the tub on the toilet and leaning over it. I was exhausted at the end of the process and decided I would survive a la naturale. Plus, the water didn’t come in the taps for several nights and the water truck didn’t come either. I couldn’t justify wasting whole bucket of water on my hair when others wouldn’t have any water to drink. It amazed me how significantly my priorities shifted in such a short time.

Our Bathtub

 

The ladies took turns cooking us breakfast lunch and dinner. Breakfast was cereal, toast, yogurt and sometimes a fruit. Lunch was bologna sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, cheese and margarine. Yes margarine. That’s what is eaten on sandwiches. The kids got peanut butter and marg or apricot jam and marg. We would buy fresh bread from the village shop each day for the kids. The shop is a 6x6 tin 3 sided shack filled with a few necessities. When we passed out the sandwiches the kids went absolutely nuts grabbing and shouting. Most of them get decent meals at home, but some do not. We learned to sit the kids at the tables and hand one to each of them. We had 10 cups to distribute the bucket o’ juice that we made each day to the 30-50 kids. Dinner was the most delicious. The ladies are very good cooks. We had chicken each night – fried, grilled, baked in amazing spices and juices. We had rice or mealie (kinda like mashed potatoes, but made with corn and stickier), yummy spinach creations, sweet pumpkin, and a saucy tomato based vegetable dish that went over the rice. It was all new flavors, combinations and textures and was soooooooooooo good.

Delicious Ndebele Meal

Each day both adults and kids would disappear at some point in the afternoon and come back washed up and in clean clothes. It seemed to be a common time to bathe. On Sundays the families do big meals, much like the meals we ate each night.


The society is patricarchal, but they could have fooled me because it seems that the gogo’s (grandmothers) are running the show. They sit in their yards making the most gorgeous beaded bobbles like Christmas ornaments, coasters, trivets, dollies, vases, jars, etc. These are sold to the Legkoas (pronounced /kuas/ meaning whities) when they come to the village. The daughters run the tourism program doing the tours, cooking, and minding the lodge. The women bring in good income when there are tourists. The men seem to sit under the tree or a fenced off yard that makes the men’s club drinking beers. Many of them have jobs that take them outside the village, but many of them start drinking beers at 10am. I know this because the bar is in the multicenter and I was always surprised when they popped in for a large bottle. The bar’s close vicinity was convenient for us at 5pm when the last of the little ones had run off. Each day after managing these kids we earned a cold brew.

Gogo Sulume and Daughter Minah

The village has its own economic and legal system albeit very informal compared to “outside” as they refer to the world outside the village. Each week the men meet under the big tree in the center of the lane and sort out finances. They join funds and pay bills as a group. They also pay for or loan money for large expenses like funerals and home repairs. If there is a dispute, the men will handle it within the village and will only contact the police if it cannot be resolved within the village first.

The village and surrounding areas are suffering the loss of many family members far before their time. There are various causes of death, but the main cause is HIV. It is a cultural taboo to discuss medical conditions or to take AVRs that help keep many HIV positive people alive. Many of the village people take what the public officials say as truth and unfortunately they information they give is incorrect. The most recent minister of health said that HIV can be treated with olive oil and beetroot. Coincidentally, she recently died. The villagers tend to go to the village doctor who practices tribal medicine, not western medicine. The village doctor may tell an individual infected with HIV that they have been cursed by another villager instead of sending them to a medical doctor. It is common for the men, married or not, to have many girlfriends and the men do not like to use condoms. If the women suggest using condoms they may be accused of being unfaithful or overridden. Because of this, men are bringing HIV into their homes, men and women are dying before their time, children are left orphaned, and wives left to fend for themselves. In this small village area there were 11 funerals in the month of December. The health authority does not provide condoms to the villages and condoms are not carried at the local village stores. Most of the villagers do not have access to money or transport to get condoms.

On that sad note I will sign off and will post more about the characters in the village tomorrow.