Siki Motshwari Johaness
15 August 2008
opinion
True to character, just like other miners, uncle Hosia returned from the mines without a warning.
I guess this surprise arrival was deliberately calculated to produce a dramatic effect. Home at last! Uncle is back with us! I felt like going up the summit of a hill overlooking our village and chant the slogans about his home coming to any one who cared to listen. Traditional modesty, however, called for celebration with restraint. There was no room to stage a publicity stunt of this sort. For the first few days of his arrival, we had to seal our lips to avoid attracting unnecessary attention.
Miners were crowd pullers and any premature careless talk about their arrival would have the effect of attracting uninvited guests who may want to 'reap where they did not sow'. In a small village, where everybody was known, the return of a man from the mines overwhelmed all. It was more of a village than just a family affair. There was yet another consideration why in the glare of the public eye, the family had to keep emotions in check for a while. This 'ritual' of silence was observed to avoid exposing uncle to risks. Those days, there was so much belief in the power of witchcraft. Enemies imagined or real were many. For instance, a stone's throw away from home there lived a very old and frail woman who was allegedly skilled in the profession of sorcery. She was perceived to be the family's number one enemy. Perhaps she was responsible for the many woes and tragedies that afflicted the family in the past. With the advantage of hindsight, I think paranoia had gripped my family. Having outgrown the fear of witchcraft, I now see the whole issue in a different light. She was just a harmless old woman. Anyway, the belief in witchcraft then was strong. That was exactly the more reason why we had to keep uncle's arrival a secret, albeit temporarily, at least to allow him time to consult with his doctor to renew and beef up his traditional 'insurance' to ward off danger.
But all the same, all members of the family, both young and old were overwhelmed with euphoria. It was a great and electrifying moment and words fail me to capture the mood. This time around, even granny who hardly showed emotions could not help but shed tears of joy. Our happiness did not simply stem from the package that we anticipated uncle to unveil. We appreciated the bountiful love that uncle had for the family by simply choosing to return to his people. We knew that there were a couple of miners from Tswapong who never realised their wish and intention of rejoining their families. Their journey home, it was said, was cut short at Mahalapye and Palapye Railway Stations.
Miners usually travelled by 'Midnight Express' train reaching Mahalapye and Palapye in the wee hours of the morning. Upon arrival, they had to contend with female fortune seekers who had cultivated the habit of way-laying the miners at the station. The gullible ones who fell for the charm of the queens of seduction never reached their homes. Under the spell of 'love', the poor men will be forced to spend all their hard earned savings on these women. The love of convenience ended after the men have been milked clean of their earnings. The men faced the prospect with the embarrassment of going home empty-handed. But who would dare take this route? The only viable option was cancellation of the home-going trip and the seeking of another contract to the mines. As for the women of fortune, it would be business as usual as they readied themselves to pounce on the next batch of returnees. Besides overcoming the formidable snare of women, uncle Hosia had manfully resisted the temptation of being seduced and swallowed by the beautiful cities of South Africa. The family, therefore, appreciated the return of uncle against this background.
What was in store for us? Uncle had come home with a big portmanteau (potomente in our local language). Everyone looked forward to the moment when the treasures contained in the portmanteau would be unveiled. Not everybody could open the portmanteau. Behind closed doors, Modisaotsile Chuene, uncle of my uncle, was privileged to perform the task of unveiling the treasure. I was considered too young to be privy to information on the amount of money and clothes that uncle brought home. This was classified information in the hands of granny. But granny emerged from her hut glowing with smiles, an indication that the package was mouth-watering. One of the items that uncle had bought for grandmother that made her day was a Puma blanket. The blanket was a darling of every woman and grandmother was able to walk tall among her peers. Stories were told then of women who threatened divorce if their men failed to buy them Puma. There was evidence that uncle had made an effort for every member of the family to get a share of his toils. Small boys like me were simply content with the sweets that uncle bought and which grandmother dished out generously.
Albeit temporarily, the problem of money was behind us. Grandmother seized the opportunity to embark on what was perhaps the biggest shopping expedition of her life. A rare chance had presented itself for our home to experience some degree of modernisation. Grandmother was able to procure a few goods that she never dreamt of possessing. One notable acquisition was a bed. It was the first bed to be bought in our home. By today's standard, I guess you could say it was just one bed belonging to one person and why make noise about it. We saw things differently then. We all took pride in the one bed as if it was communally owned. This one item plus the radio cassette tape that uncle Hosia bought for himself undoubtedly raised the family profile. For a month or so, grandmother visited the local shop with regularity to purchase this and that. Though I was not privy to information, it looked like her buying was impulsive rather than planned.
The family was charting a new course of life and for a while, we conveniently forgot our poverty as if we had found an everlasting solution. The reality was that our newly found life of bliss was short lived. Before long, it was evident that grandmother's source of funding had dried up. Consequently, the family had to go through the painful experience of returning to its old way of life. Ultimately, we succumbed to the reality that uncle's earnings could not match the demands of a family as big as ours. The one thing that cannot go without mention is my uncle's awesome appearance. He had evolved into a completely new 'creature'. I am yet to be told about a job that could equal or surpass a mine job in causing a holistic transformation of a person. Uncle Hosia was a world apart from the sorry figure that he cut prior to joining the mine. He had really invested a lot in his looks. Appearance meant every thing to him and all the signs of good living were conspicuous. Uncharacteristic of the uncle Hosia I used to know, he seemed to have all the time to work on his hair and facial appearance. While in the mines, he had 'treated' his face to acquire a new pigmentation. It was clear that he had done a lot of justice to his wardrobe. One time, the spirit of adventure and curiosity got the better of me. While uncle Hosia was out, I sneaked into his hut to discover what made him tick. There was an accumulation of a wide spectrum of top fashion labels of the time. He owned the likes of Boss of the Road (Jean), Bostonia Hat and Moccasin shoes to mention a few. His sparkling quartz wrist watch was one of his biggest sources of pride. In addition, he had a collection of perfumes, hair foods, body and facial lotions. Being experimental, I dared try one of his spray perfumes. Not knowing how to use it, I accidentally misdirected it to my eyes. Heads always turned as he walked about majestically wearing his glamorous clothes. The clothes seemed to inform and define his style of walking, which was calculated. Of course he had to walk carefully in the dusty roads.
Perhaps to prove that he had been to the mines, he made a deliberate effort to acquire a South African accent. Speaking with a foreign accent distinguished him from the crowd and earned him some prestige. Whenever, he was cross with any one of us, we were sure of being subjected to a dose of Fanakaloo tongue-lashing. Fanakaloo - a language formed out of a concoction of languages to reflect the cultural diversity of the people who worked in the mines.
Success of the first contract gave uncle an impetus to undertake many more contracts. Despite his continued employment in the mines, we never really made a breakthrough. Yes, there were changes, but they were cosmetic. Whenever uncle came home, we experienced temporary relief from poverty. Our lives virtually remained the same. We continued to be entangled in a vicious cycle of poverty. It was partly because uncle had many mouths to feed, which really overstretched his meagre earnings. Uncle too was guilty of conspicuous consumption. But who would blame him? None of us was schooled in the world of cash economy. Somehow, those of us who surrounded him encouraged him to spend lavishly on his appearance because we took pride in his glamour and splendour. Uncle alone did not fail. Collectively as a family, we failed to channel the money into viable projects. When he finally retired from the mines, he was ultimately reduced to a shadow of his former self, with nothing to show for all the years he had toiled at the mines!
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