Another Year Of Eunuch Life In Transkei

I find it hard to believe that we have been living here in Qolora for a year already. What have I learnt during that time you might ask? Well something interesting is that many roosters get castrated. It’s a special skill, practised by a couple of trained grandmothers or old men who know which part of the internal bits to remove. They turn the bird over, deftly slice under the ribs, pop out the goonies and slice off the unwanted bits. Where I come from, people take their poor cats and dogs to the vet where they leave their testicles and their dignity behind and return home docile and less likely to roam the neighbourhood. Loosing your manliness would take the wind out of your bag I guess. Anyway here in Qolora, all the dogs are brown, scrawny, hungry and from the same stock. Having more than one cock on your property is more of an issue though as they will fight each other to the death to put claim to their roost of hens. Turns out our hen, the one who doesn't lay eggs, but occasionally squawks a pathetic sort of crow and doesn't partake in any recreational fowl play around the yard other than an occasional dash, isn't who we thought she was. After she grew tail feathers, I asked a Xhosa woman who probably thought I was as thick as a plank for not knowing the basic facts of life, to identify our unique fowl. Turns out our eunuch chicken has been under the knife which explains his behaviour and why he’s getting so fat. He is meant for the pot but Theo doesn't seem to be making a move to slaughter it as he’s too busy figuring out what to do with only one egg per day. Meanwhile the eunuch rooster doesn't know where it fits in, the functional rooster is getting cockier every day and the hen is getting laid more often than she is laying eggs.

Besides learning about the schematics of our chickens, I've also learnt that facebook is addictive. I was probably one of the last people to succumb to its web of exploit. Now, every time someone has an epiphany or comes across a quote proclaiming peace and happiness it seems I'm also informed along with the rest of the world. I've joined an Anti Animal Cruelty group and I'm horrified at my response of being reminded daily that I belong to the same human race as those repulsive people who abuse animals, yet I do nothing about it. I've become bored with the window into other peoples lives but I still find myself scrolling down daily looking for something but goodness knows what it could be.

Naturally, the two most important things I've learnt while here in Transkei is the Xhosa culture (which is an ongoing quest) and the Transkei education system, the first being intriguing and the second being shocking. Here, the Xhosa style of cooking is not very imaginative and copious amounts of oil and Aromat are the only flavourants used. All cuts of meat are chopped into hunks and boiled in their own juice or braaied. Xhosa people share their food readily and when feeding visitors, the correct etiquette is to fill your guest’s cup and plate to the brim. People always carry left overs home. Xhosa women enjoy their tea or coffee very hot and use a tablespoon to sip from their cup. Umfino is a bitter leafy wild vegetable boiled with pap and oil. Vegetables can be chopped into minuscule pieces without using a chopping board or a mixer. Much less preservatives or additives are eaten in the Xhosa diet so people don’t suffer as much from cancer and other modern diseases.

I've learnt that getting my tongue to click at different angles in my mouth at the same time as pronouncing a bunch of syllables is difficult. I've learnt that Xhosa people are in no hurry to get anywhere and they love singing while doing chores, walking, visiting, partying or any occasion. Gospel tunes are favoured. Night time singing while walking home through the hills makes one feel braver in the dark. Ululating and repeatedly flicking out your hand towards someone is a show of appreciation and handshakes are a three part ritual which has nothing to do with rappers. The colour of the beautiful, beaded, traditional outfits of wraps, skirts, aprons and headgear worn by older women often vary from area to area. A new bride’s patience is tested as she is expected to serve her inlaws hand and foot for the first few weeks of her marriage. A man with a foreskin is still a boy. A medicine person treats patients without asking them to describe their ailments as opposed to a regular doctor who does, thereby exposing their incompetence for having to extract the ailment from the patient. A medicine person also treats cases of bad luck and psychological ailments.

Xhosa superstitions are different to western superstitions. Black cats, ladders, Friday the 13^th, 7 years of bad luck from broken mirrors, salt over your shoulder, lucky charms which keep one safe or help you rugby team win and number 3, 7, 13 or 666 are not considered. Sitting on your front step blocking your front door is considered unlucky because you are preventing a family member from returning from whatever place they have travelled to for a length of time. Dangling a needle over your pregnant friend’s stomach to find out if she’s carrying a boy or a girl isn’t practised but if you have twins it used to be recommended to plant a Euphorbia (Naboom) which is a hardy plant and as long as the plant grows strongly, so will the children be healthy.

I’ve learnt that funerals are a very big part of Xhosa life and that if a young man disrespects his tradition by not attending, (which also leaves less men to dig the hole) he can be fined as much as R500 by the elders. I’ve learnt that important family decisions are made based on people’s dreams and that even ancestors can get very jealous of each other. I’ve learnt that killing a cow sorts out a lot of issues.

The most important aspect of Xhosa culture is the traditional belief in ancestors. This is changing and unfortunately as younger people are drawn to a more modern lifestyle in cities, so their customs are being forgotten.

And then there’s the education system. Where to start. Well, the whole system sucks. Teachers, themselves struggling with the English language, ineffectively teaching in schools without sufficient desks, chairs, books, working toilets, jammed into overcrowded classrooms, regular absenteeism and led by principals without any management training is the norm. I’m learning to go with the flow but seeing the system fail the learners on a daily basis is frustrating.

I think the most important thing I’m learning is that the way I view my world determines my place in it. I’m here in Transkei to observe not to judge.

COMPARING APPLES WITH APPLES AND FORESKINS WITH LION SKINS

So I find this whole coming of age thing quite interesting.  Turns out the passage of rites is more involved than a Xhosa boy loosing his foreskin somewhere in the bush or a 13 year old Jewish boy suddenly capable of understanding the Torah after his bar mitzvah.

The difference between Xhosa youth in Transkei and white boys in Limpopo is quite evident.  Here in rural Transkei, becoming a man is the most important event in a boy’s life.  There is a lot of psyching up before the initiation and after a hearty 3 week chat from the old men in the village who visit the boys who are tucked away in a secret hut, their foreskin is chopped off.  Depending on the boy’s father’s financial position, he slaughters a goat or a chicken but preparing a meal of samp and beans often clinches the deal.  From that day on, he is expected to act responsibly as well as attend family funerals which takes up most of their Saturdays. Young men display their newfound manhood by wearing a checked jacket and/or a floppy flannel beret.  This outfit from the 50’s probably confuses onlookers into thinking the wearer’s limped shuffle, prompted by a recent slice and dice, is a carefree swagger.

Boys in Limpopo on the other hand, are treated to a weekend away with their dad, dad’s buddies, and as much brandy and coke that can fit next to the rifles and ammo packs in the back of the bakkie as they head off to the nearest game farm to find an animal to kill and turn into biltong.  Once the boy has made his kill, he smears the dead animal’s blood all over his face and eats a piece of its intestines.  He straddles his kill for a photo shot and sometimes the initiate takes the head home to mount against the lounge wall to remind everyone of his manhood.  His swagger is brought on by brandy and coke as he celebrates his newfound manhood.       

Even Japanese people, both male and female have a coming of age day.  It’s celebrated on the 2^nd Monday of January and everyone who turns 20 that year is allowed to vote, drink and smoke.  Perhaps men walk around asking everyone for a light to show their newfound manliness even though they are the size of an average 9 year old Benoni boy.  20 Year old girls probably peer at you from smouldering almond eyes as they pluck out a cute, miniature cigarette, wrapped in origami paper decorated in Hello Kitty designs which they keep in a cute little box stuffed up their kimono sleeve.         

American Indian boys go off to pray in a sauna and afterwards, a special spirit, who appears in their dreams, protects them for the rest of their life and they are rewarded with a new adult name like eagle eye, big bear or hopping rabbit.

Young men of the Buddhist faith go to a monastery for between 3 days to 3 years, depending on how dedicated they are in trying to levitate. After abstaining from sex and food but thriving on praying, you are primed for adult married life and cooled down enough to attract a woman.

In Australia, Aboriginal tribes get together for a Bora ceremony where singing, dancing and storytelling is performed.  After sacrificing something to the spirits, boys loose their foreskins, a finger or a tooth to signify their manhood.

In the Amazon, the Satere Mawe tribe push pain levels to the extreme as boys have to wear a glove of ants whose bite is excruciatingly painful but they have to repeat the exercise 20 times before becoming a man with a swollen hand.

On the Pentacost island, a little place in the south pacific, boys do bungee jumping on land with a length of jungle vines and hope to survive the fall.  If they do, their yam crop will be good but the trick is all about the length of the vine and I imagine how much impact your head can take.

In New Guinea, timid Matausa tribesmen injure themselves in order to let their mother’s woosie blood bleed out of their bodies.  They stick sharp reeds up their noses, down their throats and repeatedly cut their tongues with arrows.  Once they’ve spat out all the bad blood, they are certified brave men and probably from then on speak with a forked tongue.

Maybe you think these rites of passage are unusual and outdated.  I think that although some are a bit extreme, the concept of a passage of rites is important for many primitive communities.  To be acknowledged as a man within these communities and honouring their tradition keeps hierarchy levels in order, respect for the elders is kept alive and separates the boys from the men. 

On the other hand, every year modern, first world Danish teenagers trap hundreds of dolphins in a bay and butcher them to death.  I find this demonstration of manhood much more shocking and barbaric.

Each tribe has a system that works for them, some just differ from others but some just are not acceptable no matter how you look at it.