On Location

The Mlombile  Kraal

This Mrs Nomtambani Mlombile , 'Mama Alice'. She is eighty-one years old, and STILL insists on bringing us water at the break of day. Others help her with her stock and the housekeeping these days. But she still holds the keys! She has built a double garage ('for my guests'), installed another cistern to catch the summer rains, and even contrived running water! The toilet is a little erratic, so the bucket and pit latrine still have a place in the scheme of things. 

Qumbu

There are two stories. The traditional life - one of abject poverty and subsistence living: women in blankets setting up a shabby stall to sell a few oranges, and chickens sold from crates; in the same block, a brand new Shopping Mall. This might not be Cribb's Causeway, but it's a Great Leap Forward. (How's THAT for irony?)

:)

A Delegation Of Anglicans

There's an amazing fluidity to rural living here in Africa, that can be a little disconcerting if you're not used to it. "Leave you watch behind and bring a book" would be my advice.

Mama is up and about by 4am and has knocked us up at 4:09. "It's OK, Mama, there's plenty of time! I mutter sleepily. We are to leave for Kokstad at 6am. Ablutions in the Kraal are fairly rudimentary ,as one doesn't linger in the pit latrine, and all else is accomplished with an enamel bowl and a bar of soap, so I wasn't going to shift until 5:30 at the earliest. 

It is now 0705. We duly left at 0600 for the five minute drive down the N2 to the town of Qumbu from whence the delegation of Anglicans, of which Mama Alice is one, are leaving for a very important conference on the future of the diocese. It's pointless asking at what time we're going to set off. Our part is to convey Mamas Alice and Iva, following the delegates in the minibus.

Alarmingly, if you're accustomed to knowing where you're  headed, know one seems to know where this conference IS precisely. Apparently we are to be notified by 'phone - at some point. There is nothing unusual about this, the delay is almost certainly due to the late arrival of a delegate from a distant location who has had to hitch a lift, and the uncertaintity as to the venue equally explainable - perhaps he's the guy that knows.

So we wait. 

Yesterday was HOT. 35C. Even the gale blowing off the ocean did little to quell the effect. Because Pt St. John's is the equivalent to Carson City during the reign of Billy The Kid. (A SLIGHT exaggeration), we decided to leave the car and all our belongings , at the hotel, and walk into town. We had a date, having promised to meet Zawlibhanzi in town at the furniture store where he works. He had often regailed  his workmates with his stories about his trip to the UK IN 2005, and now he wanted to present us to them, as evidence that his travellers tales were actually true...

Trouble was, both of us had left it to the other to ascertain exactly where the furniture store was. Port St John's is a small town, seven streets at the most, so I doubt either of us anticipated a problem. As it turns out, every street had at least two shops selling furnishings of one sort or another, so it became immediately apparent that finding Zwalibhanzi was not going to be quite as straightforward as we had hoped.  

I remembered a casual remark about a perpetual 'Sale Now On' banner, and Ray recalled mention of a red roof, so we weren't completely clueless. That neither coincided,wasn't helpful. Being a dutiful wife, I felt it necessary to point out HIS shortcomings on the directions issue, whilst, unsuccessfully, attempting to relieve myself of all responsibility. 

Trouble is, we were not exactly inconspicuous.... Curious eyes followed this odd, elderly, white couple attempting in mangled Xhosa to ask for 'Mr Cingo'. Some shook their heads warily, one directed us to the back of the store ( wrong one) where  I shouted, gaily, 'Come out wherever you are!' and was politely escorted from the premises. That was embarrassing. 

I'm glad we persevered. Five shops into the search, a smiling Zwalibhanzi appeared. We were duly introduced to his bemused colleagues, had a good laugh about the hunt, hugs all round and departed. 

A short stop at Second Beach for a swim. Or not. I read the ' High Risk' warning and decided that death-by-shark is not my preferred exit strategy.

 I love Second Beach. I first came here in 2002 with the Eastern Cape contingent of Global Teachers. We were accommodated in 'Lily  Lodge' which is right on the shore. We arrived after dark, and immediately threw ourselves on our backs on the sand to gaze at the most incredible light show above us. 

THAT's the Milky Way! I overheard a colleague explain to another who'd never noticed it before... . 

I am having a private bet. Will we leave before 8am? It's 0748 and my money's against.

Fortunately, I have another book to start, and it has 627 pages. 

Second Beach

POST SCRIPT

We left the Church at 0759, so I was conceding the bet. Now, at 0816, parked a minute away, outside a store in town, I've revised my decision. I do not consider myself departed. Kokstad is still two hours away. 

The plan appears to be, wait two hours before leaving, then drive like a bat out of hell in a vain attempt to arrive on time.

The unforeseen must always be expected. We have arrived in Kokstad, minus the rest of the delegation, who,contrived to leave us behind shortly after Qumbu. We were stuck behind a lorry on an incline, and that was that. We might have expected that the bus driver would wait for us, but he was in a bad mood. And the cause, in part, for the delay, having refused to budge before everyone stumped an extra R10.

We found the Conference, through the intervention of St Bede. The Mamas went off to praise God and put the world to rights, and I shopped. Ray rode shotgun.

An Unexpected Party

Living in the village is always an adventure.  Two years ago, we decided not to attend Alice's 80th birthday celebration, because we thought we would be a distraction. Instead we intended to celebrate yesterday, which was also Ray's 65th. We had a plan. We would celebrate both at the Steers Restuarant at the Ultra City Petrol Station, Mthatha, which was the location of Alice's jamboree, and her idea of fine dining.

Naturally, nothing went to plan.

First thing, on the big day, Alice wanted a lift to Qumbu, where it seems we spent the vast majority of our time, during our visit, waiting about for one reason or another. Alice purchased cake, coke, and two live chickens. I had inadvertently photographed them earlier in the expedition, and here they are, crumpled into a small cardboard box and bundled into the boot. They were for the pot. 

I did not record their swift dispatch with Nomvulu's knife, nor was I present at the evisceration and plucking events. I know there is a school of thought that iterates that if you cannot dispatch your meat, you shouldn't eat it - but I say, "Bollocks!",  to that, what was the Twentieth Century for, for heavens sake? 

Alice expressed a wish to present us with one of the fowl to take away with us. Ray grandly made a present of it back to  the community, as, he explained, after eight hours in the car at 32C, it would be a health hazard when we arrived back in Port Alfred. His offer was accepted with grateful thanks. 

Nomvulu, who is a niece, I believe, though my grasp of relationships are always a bit hit and miss, stewed Chicken A, and served it up with rice, butternut squash, carrots and potatoes, just three hours after our Steers experience. I had to be firm. Having lifted the lid and seen every part of the bird,, including its comb and feet, I knew there was no way I could it eat it, then, or ever. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry, but I just couldn't.

Time passed, and Ray and I began to wonder when we were having the party. I began to make noises. "Tomorrow!" Mama insisted. Apparently, she'd some relatives afoot, who couldn't make today. 

"No', I insisted. "Today is Ray's birthday, and today we will celebrate - with everyone here..". (There were ten assorted friends and relations living here and there on the Kraal). I went out, cut one of the THREE large cakes Mama had acquired from the SuperSpar  in Qumbu opened the bottle of sparkly and started the merriment. 

It went well. Cake and coke being a special treat hereabouts.

Five-fifteen in the morning, and Mama is up. She had slept in the room next to ours in the same 'flat' and had to walk through our room to get about. Heaven's knows what she gets up to, but it's useless to try to inveigle her into a lie-in. When she's up, we are too. 

By eight o'clock she was going from kraal to kraal in the village inviting people to hers. By eight-thirty, she had summoned in excess of twenty children and about four adults to a party, which, all of a sudden, I was expected to organise! 

"I know how much you love children!" Alice smiles, innocently. "Not THIS bloody much." I mutter out of heariing. 

The complication is that the children have no grasp of English at all. I can say, "Hello" and "How are you?" In Xhosa, but twenty-odd rather bewildered and vaguely mutinous under-thirteens aren't overly impressed with that.

We got them seated, and I stuffed them into affability with cake, sweets and coca-cola, we all,sang, "Happy Birthday", and before I had to resort to "Head and Shoulders Knees and Toes (Knees and Toes)", Mama shoeed them off the premises with little ceremony, and  the party was over. 

None of us will ever forget it. 

Umzimvubu ((Port St John's)

This is the view from my bed. 

We drove for seven and a half hours from Port Alfred to Port St John's ( Umzimvubu) and here I am enjoying spectacular views.

When here eight years ago with my daughter Jen, who knows about these things, she arranged a star gazing meet just before dawn, to spot Orion rising over the Indian Ocean. He looks like our Orion only he's upside down. Then the sun came up and it was magical. You don't forget mornings like that.

My father had died the week before, so we went to Third Beach and I made a wreath from the flowers that grew in the forest that came right down to the water's edge and I threw it into the sea. I scratched his name alongside my mother's in the rocks, and tomorrow I shall go back to check that they're still there. Not visible to anyone who didn't know where to look.

And yes Dad, if I see the goat I gave you for Christmas that year, I shall be sure to say hello.

Third Beach ....

Is now the Silake Nature Reserve:

Nomvouzo Cingo, my African sister, joined us. She represents the ANC in the Eastern Cape Parliament. We are very proud of her.

She took this, and I guess I ought to put it up. It was windy...

Tomorrow we head for Lower Kroza, my home in Africa. There is no running water, let  alone wifi, so I will post again when I am able.