I spent the last few days of 2011 hiding out in my room, hiding from the world. After more than 3 weeks of sharing a room and being around Americans all day and night, I was happy to be back to my own space, my own routine. My family got new couches, so they put a “comfy” chair in my room, and I enjoyed curling up with my Kindle and burning through a few books. I listened to 2 solid days of the village men singing in a crawl near my house, they'd all just gotten back from the boys' Traditional Initiation School. It was a nice background while I read. Lebo really really doesn't understand how I can spend all day in my room reading. He pokes his head in the room every so often to check on me. I finally made him walk to the library with me so we could get him some books to read too. Surprise, surprise, the library was closed for the holidays.
On the 30th, my Principal, David, called me and said that someone from the Primary School would pick me up in the morning for a funeral. I didn't even have time to ask whose funeral we'd be attending. At 6am on New Year's Eve. I went all the way to Delarey to attend the funeral of a brother-in-law of a teacher from the Primary School. The service was LONG, it started at 6:30am and we sat in the sun until after 10 when we left for the cemetery. At one point there were 2 men (preachers?) screaming at and over each other, I was told they were reading the Word of God. I've known some really enthusiastic Bible Thumpers in the US, but these guys earned spots near the top of my Religious Nuts Scale.
The woman who came with me from the village, Mrs. M, was embarrassing to be around. She told me she didn't know the deceased, but only came to sing and dance. She doesn't speak much English and resorts to over-the-top hand signals to communicate with me. Mrs. M is shaped like a Maytag washer with 2 basketballs stuck to her front, has a voice like nails scraping a chalkboard and looked like she got dressed in the dark that day. None of this stopped her from starting most of the songs and dancing more than any other person at the funeral. The family all looked at her in surprise, I could tell some of the older ladies were upset, so I tried to put a lot of distance between the two of us.
Another hour standing at the graveside, singing and dancing, praying and preaching. I was speechless when Mrs. M pulled me to the front of the throng of people and tried to get me to sit in the “Family” section, in chairs under a tent. This is reserved for the grieving family and I caused a scene trying to make her understand that I wouldn't sit there. She shrugged and pushed me into the middle of a group of dancers so she could start a song. Thank God that Grace saw me then and rescued me to stand with her in the back or I probably would have started walking to the car. I had a clear view of Mrs. M's singing, dancing and claiming a family member's chair whenever she got tired.
The deceased was involved in politics, and the funeral turned into a political rally. Over the coffin at the house and again at the grave, people started chanting “Viva ANC!! Viva President Zuma!! Viva ANC!! Viva!!” I wonder if these people know that “viva” is Spanish or that they really shouldn't hope for one President to live and have power for a long time. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I'm not supposed to get involved in politics, and I'm going to use this excuse to avoid funerals in the future.
Back at the house, Mrs. M pulled me by the hand like a child with her in the back of the cue for food. Luckily, a Principal I know from Mpho's village talked to me until my Principal, David, pulled me out for a special plate. I do like being taken care of like this, I guess being the only minority can be a good thing. Sometimes. David sat me between his wife and Grace so I'd have company I knew and liked. Lots of people stopped by to say hello to me until finally one guy sat down and tried to convince me that we should date. He did have impressive arguments, like the fact that he's dated a white woman before (like we're a special breed who needs practice handling) and he knew that my mother would approve of him since Grace remembered him from school (as a Principal who keeps a whip in her desk, I fear it's only the bad kids she remembers). I told him I lived in the village and if he wanted to see me it'd have to be at the school. I'm not holding my breath.
Before we left, David gave me a couple of Savanna's Dry Ale. I was pleased until I saw that my driver had also been drinking and was bleary-eyed. I offered to drive, I had plenty of practice last week, but he said he'd take a back road and be fine. He did creep along like an old man, but the dirt track was full of water from the recent rains and we scrapped the undercarriage a few times.
Finally, I made it home safe, at 2pm. An 8 hour ordeal for the funeral of a guy I didn't even know. I realized at home that I'd gotten a pretty bad sunburn on my chest and arms. When I think about 2011 and all that's happened to me since it began, I can’t even find the words to describe all I’ve felt or how much I’ve changed. Wow. Time really does fly.
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