Being Celeste

by Tshetsana Senau

  So we unloaded our luggage at our house. My mother literally packed for a month. She had in the car, five different blankets, loads of food, a television, so many pairs of shoes, a huge bag with her clothes and dad’s and kitchen appliances. If a fridge could fit into her sedan, she would have brought it. We only come home a few times in the year, so our house is kind of unfurnished, which is why my mother sees fit that we move the whole house in the town, to the village every time we come along. But we wouldn’t have her any other way. She helps us out, you know. Even though dad doesn’t like admitting it, mum’s packing makes the trip to the village more durable. I brought my skirt to wear during the phekolo and clothes to wear after, when we go back to town.

  As soon as the relatives realised that we had arrived, they slowly but surely, started to flood our house. The thing is, we are all neighbours, all of us in the family! That’s how it is in rural places, I guess. So my father’s house is surrounded by all his siblings’ and then on the far corner, out of the circle is my grandparents’ place, which is where the phekolo is held. Both my grandparents died when I was really young, and as such, I have a vague recollection of them. I always hear stories about my grandmother, and how much of a great woman she was, and my grandfather, the loving man he was. Apparently, back in the day, they were so popular, their humanity and kindness drew people from all corners of the village to their compound, just to come and visit or greet them. Sometimes I just wish I could spend a day with them, get to know them properly, without the stories. I have a feeling that gran and I would have really hit it off. I have no doubt in my mind that I had probably some of the coolest grandparents around. My grandfather died from a heart attack when I was five, and my grandmother died from a broken heart soon afterwards. They say she just took ill and no one knew what was wrong with her. Despite the circumstances, I think it’s so romantic how she couldn’t live without her partner in life. Kate always tells me that it’s impossible to die from a broken heart, and that there is a perfectly good medical reason why my grandmother was ill. She knows everything I suppose.

  The first person to enter our house, while we were still unpacking our luggage (you’d think people would wait until we were settled in), was our great cousin Elda. She came in, with her more than generous figure, and boisterous voice that demanded our attention.

  “Hellooo, is anybody home?!” she said, cracking herself up for no reason. Like she had to ask that unnecessary question! Of course somebody’s home, it would explain the open doors and car parked outside. She started giving everyone generous hugs. She came up to me all enthusiastic and full of family love. “Seipati! Oh, it’s so great to see you.”

  Another thing, nobody calls me Celeste in Kalamare because they all know me as Seipati, my other name. I was named after my great aunt Seipati. It’s tradition to name a child after an elder in the family. This way the child is like a reincarnate of them. According to what I’ve heard of my great aunt, she was very outspoken and she was much respected. She was also admired for her work in her household and keeping her home intact. I don’t really like using my given name in a way, because I have big shoes to fill. I am nothing like my great aunt, and it worries me, what kind of reincarnate am I? But anyway, I don’t think most of my extended family here knows that I’m also called Celeste. Nobody uses Celeste, even my parents. As soon as we enter the little village, I’m no longer Celeste. Kate thinks it’s pretty cool. I once smacked her for calling me Seipati though. I’m embarrassed by the fact that I’m nothing like my great aunt. I think she’s embarrassed too, wherever she is, that her name was given to a hopeless girl with no direction. Bontle uses hers permanently, Bontle. She’s named after our great grandmother Bontle and our rakgadi, who is also called Bontle. Oh she’s rather proud of her name, which is what I need to be.

  Cousin Elda squeezed me like a squishy toy and left me standing on my toes. I think for a moment there she almost cracked my spine, but she was happy to see me, no harm done!

  “So, you lot better hurry up,” said cousin Elda, referring to my sister and me. “You’re needed over at home to help with the preparations. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

  Home is our grandparents’ compound. Everyone calls it home because, well, it is where we all come from, if you think about it. As soon as she mentioned that we had to make our way over, more cousins entered our house all chummy and happy to see us. For a moment I must admit that it felt good to be home. I was just being difficult, that’s all. I love my family, the craziness keeps me entertained. It’s always fun preparing for a ritual like this one because we get to catch up and stuff.

  “Hey Seipati, have you lost some weight?” said cousin Elda, after her moment of silence, searching for something to say amidst more entering relatives.

  Well, at least someone is noticing my hard work. But it’s weird that she should notice me looking different this soon. This must mean that Trevor has been working me to the bone. I requested that we lay off the scale for a while because checking my weight is depressing. However, check me out if I look a little lighter.

  “She has joined the gym!” screamed mum, all the way from her room.

  I wonder why she would do that, scream for all to hear. This conversation doesn’t even concern her. All of a sudden, all eyes were on me, everyone stealing glances, wanting a piece of me. I didn’t know how to react to all this attention, all these eyes on me. So I looked to the floor, my safe haven, then I turned to my nails and pretended to be checking out my worn out red nail polish.

  “No, no, dear!” exclaimed cousin Elda. “Don’t ruin your perfect body. Why would you want to be skin and bones, dear?”

  What?

  I heard some snickering from my other cousins, just having a go at me, and cousin Elda’s comments. What does she know anyway? She’s fifty and she has kids. What can she possibly know about life for someone my age in this current millennium? I was feeling really embarrassed. Why did mum have to tell them that I had joined the gym though? It’s not news for all. Now it’s going to spread like wild fire and all the older women are going to prosecute me for attempting to lose weight and lead a healthier lifestyle. Wait till my rakgadi Bontle has a go at the issue. She’s the one always telling me not to do anything to my body because it’s the family shape. I don’t want to remind these people that we are here for a phekolo and that I’ve given my weekend plans up, just to make it here. We need to be getting straight to business.

  “Shall we go home and see what needs to be done?” I finally said, feeling tired from all the stares against me. I wonder why it’s so shocking that I’d want to lose weight. Did they think that I’d always be fat, my skinny cousins? Except for Elda, that is.

  We all scrammed out of the house and headed for home, leaving cousin Elda with my parents. I’ll bet my dad is in for a treat, in the same house with two very loud women. I have a feeling he’ll be joining us soon.

  Chapter 10

  I finally got to learn how to make traditional Setswana beer. Normally I just like hanging out with the cousins who serve the elders with lunch and supper, but this is the time for change. I didn’t know this much work went into brewing beer. Of course I had found them way ahead because they started brewing the previous day, but it was pretty awesome, seeing the whole process for the first time. Mum doesn’t like us preparing beer because of her reservations about her children being around alcohol. But I’m twenty-one for Pete’s pyjamas.

  The beer is going to be used to appease the gods during the phekolo. Alright, here’s what’s going to happen later at 4am in the morning. We’ll all gather at home and by then the traditional healer or doctor will be there. He will call upon the gods to let them know about the ritual being done to appease them, and for them to amend any bad luck that has fallen upon the family. In the meantime, we have laid out three items as offerings for the gods. There is the cow meat, which is being cooked right now; it will be laid out on layers of big leaves on the ground, then there’s a box of snuff and
the Setswana beer. They will all be offered to the gods by the traditional healer. Afterwards the beer will be poured on the ground by the healer while he speaks to the gods the way he knows how to, while we, the family, each grab a piece of meat, which is unseasoned, off the ground and we have to eat it (there goes me, being a vegetarian). After that we all leave the healer to complete the ceremony while we go and prepare ourselves for a feast. We eat our hearts out in celebration, in the hopes that whatever curse was bestowed against us by our gods or ancestors, has been lifted. That’s the general short end of a phekolo. Many families or cultures do theirs differently. So a phekolo isn’t performed the same way in every family, because everyone has their own tradition. Also, it can be done for many reasons other than removing bad luck from a family. This is why I suspect that this one is not for the whole family, but instead for one particular family member (Sol). There is scandal in the family and they won’t disclose it. It’s alright for everyone to know that I joined the gym, something trivial, but it’s not right for everyone to know why they are at a cleansing ritual. Sometimes the elders can go a little over board with their secrets. I wonder what they are trying to protect us from. So I’m going to break my vegetarian promise in the morning, and I won’t know why I’m doing it.

  I tried sneaking the conversations in with my cousins who were making beer, but they had no idea. I’ll bet my other cousins who were playing kitchen maids had all the information. We had all split up really, into different working groups. The men were either out collecting or chopping wood, and some were cooking the meat of the slaughtered cow (that’s all). The women were doing the rest of the work. There were women in charge of the meals, lunch and supper; serving the meals; washing the dishes, making sure the compound is clean, brewing the beer and preparing the feast for the next day. It’s just something I thought I’d point out.

  “Seipati, please cover the beer up. By tomorrow morning it will be all ready and alcoholic,” called my cousin Segolame. She was much older than me, but out of most of my cousins, I got on well with her. She was not very nosy and inquisitive like most of my cousins. She was humble and collected. Segolame was named after our grandmother, and I know for a fact that she lived up to her name well. She was very popular among the family because she had the name of my grandmother, and people liked her for her kindness.

  I hadn’t seen any of my immediate family all day. I think Bontle was working in the kitchen or she was at the fire, cooking. I was in a small hut in the middle of the compound, where they decided to make the beer. My grandparents’ compound was huge. It had hedge for boundaries and inside there were many huts, more than seven, and a big modernised house in the middle. They say that my grandmother built the huts back in the day with her bare hands. The women are the ones who make the huts in my culture. But anyway, it’s commendable; they were not tiny structures, the huts. We were in one of the huts and it smelled like beer. It was not too bad because I was having so much fun with my cousin Segolame and the others. I learned a lot from them. Now that I can sort of make beer, I’m going to have it made at my wedding. But that’s a thought for another time, when I’m not at a cleansing ritual. Or maybe we could have the beer at Bontle’s wedding after she reveals the truth to everyone. I don’t know if they’ll be serving it. How will I know? I will be a bridesmaid in the white marquee, waiting for cake.

  The sky was a clear blue and very stable. I overheard one of the elders mentioning that it was the perfect time for a cleansing ritual, over a clear sky. The blue sky during the day indicated that there would be no hassles at night, bringing with, wind or clouds. I wonder how they knew, how they could tell the weather like that. And they were always right, you know. When an elder looked at the sky, even if it were clear, they could foretell if it was going to rain or not. I guess it comes with years of living and wisdom.

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  The way back home was very quiet and awkward. My parents looked very uncomfortable. I had a feeling that my sister had told them her truth. But there’s no reason to be weird about it, is there? They are in love, and I say, let the love prosper and live on. I couldn’t be bothered with them though. All I could think about was all the events that went on in the early hours of the morning. I got to find out that the cleansing ritual was for the whole family, actually. A traditional healer, while reading his bones, had seen unrest in our ancestors that would bring a whole lot of trouble in the future. They were displeased with the fact that the family was separating and no longer at peace with one another. I don’t really get what it means actually, because I feel the family is pretty close...unless those smiles I get when my cousins see me for the first time are fake and spiteful. But if my sister really told my parents her story then they shouldn’t act strange, unless they want to face the wrath of the ancestors. They want peace, you know. I can never get over what the healer was chanting out to the ancestors. He was possessed or something, and speaking in tongues at one point, then back to a language we could all understand. It always gets me. It must take a lot of strength and will power when one accepts their calling to be a healer. They don’t have a choice, you know, none of them. The ancestors pick a healer and the person has to drop everything and go for initiation, then serve their whole lives as traditional doctors. I imagine how I’d react if it happened to me. What if at the time I find something I really want to do in life, and then I discover that I have a calling. I wouldn’t like to live my life in poverty in a hut, hoping someone with spiritual problems would come along and give me work. I’m being a little ignorant, aren’t I? Traditional doctors are much respected around here.

  As it turns out, my sister hasn’t told my parents anything yet, they were just tired. I watched her leaving, her heart heavy, because she was returning back to the city, still in a bubble of secrecy. I reckon, once I fall in love, I’m going to shout it from the rooftops of every building I come across, I don’t give a rats bottom, if my parents don’t approve of the relationship. I’ll tell them, I deserve it; I deserve a lover, after all this time, and no one will stand in my way. I watched the worry in Bontle’s eyes, they were not sparkling anymore. It’s sad seeing someone I love in such dire need of happiness. It must be hard trying to enjoy the happy moments of a relationship when your family is not in on it. I wouldn’t know, but I think so.

  “Come on, give us a hug!” said Bontle, trying to cover up her sorrow. She pulled me over to her and pressed my head against one of her breasts. Oh, she’s so annoying.

  We dropped her off at the bus rank before we drove home. I guess my mother was waiting for us to arrive in Palapye, because as soon as we passed by the welcome sign, she began releasing a slew of topics at the same time. It must be a gift or something. My father, who was napping, woke and sat up, just so he could listen and nod. There was no newspaper around, one that he could pretend he was reading. I’ve always resisted asking dad where he met mum, and why he decided to marry her knowing they are such opposites. Bontle says that they met in the ‘70s in secondary school. I think it’s just the old married couple syndrome then. It’s only been like, 28 years.

  I’m actually looking forward to church tomorrow because I have friends now. Tomorrow is mum’s church luncheon. I wonder how grand it’s going to be because it’s always all she talks about. I believe she, just as me, was a little inconvenienced by the phekolo because she had to leave planning for a day to go and attend to family business. I’m just looking forward to showing off to the new people or youth at church, show them that I have friends. I’ll probably be laughing a lot and looking like I am not a total loser. Then there’s the food during the luncheon. I’m going to be an usher along with my new friends, Anna, Tatenda and Letang. We’ll be showing people to their seats, what ushers do. Normally ushers eat early before the people, we need the strength. Imagine serving people on an empty stomach, or watching them eat when you’re hungry, that’s torture. I wonder if mum has a plan for vegetarians like me. I’ve already violated my new culture by bein
g forced to eat the slaughtered beast that was offered to the gods. I’m not really complaining because I missed the taste of meat altogether. This was probably the toughest week of my life with all the new elements introduced in it.

  Chapter 11

  Life has returned to normal. Kate was rather ecstatic to see me on Monday morning. I think that this was probably the first weekend we’ve spent apart in the long while. I texted her every single moment I had a chance, during the stay in the rural village. This is another reason why we really need boyfriends. I’m pretty sure if she had a man in her life, she wouldn’t be jumping for joy when after not seeing me for just three days. I don’t think she would even notice I was gone. I’ve seen it with my other friends. As soon as they started dating, I became less important, until we totally lost contact. I hope that never happens, between me and Kate. I can’t imagine life without quirky Kate...why, it wouldn’t be life at all. I wonder if she feels the same about me. I found her in the shop, early as usual, packing away some shoe boxes. Judging by the wide smile on her face, I figured I was missed. It must be rather lonely in the boutique when I’m not around.