sa Bashita-Meetse, Bakwena, ba gaModubu wa mela nokeng dikala tša okama madiba, bana ba kgomo e tšhweu Mathabatha. Ke Phjatla-dihlaka-tsetsepa tša mogatša’ Moganwa wa gaBosega. Lena methepa le yang mashemong le ntlele nyoba ya nkgopo le a mpona ke Letladi ke kgopame.
Ke bana ba Phoshiwa Madumetša rangwane wa Sekgopetšane, Matšhoša, ba ga Mahlo-mahwibidu a gaMathabatha a hwibila a etšwa go Ramphele, Mohlaloga. Phoshiwa ka mekgolodi ya marumo. Ke Matšhoša-dibata, Ramathiba-tsebe wa bo Mafepeng o ntše leweng la nkwe o ntše a shitisa nkwe go bopa. Mokgoši wa gabo Mmaselaelo o hlabja o lebana le Mmatšhwaana. Ke batho wa ga boMafoša ntsikitsiki kua moseo le kua monyako.
Ke bana ba Pitsi ya boMmatlala a bo Noko. Ke phoofolo ya mabalabala, Mamongwangwai wa mabaka, mesela ke metshanyelo, melomo ke metloutlo. Ke Lesetša Rabotse o tšwa badimong. Ke Motšhishi gatoga dinose dilo tša botse ga di gatiwe otla roba mamapo. Ke papago Lehlaba o thopa di ile go fula Moeketsi, ya sakeng a thopela kgosi ke mang? Nna ke thopile gaManyoba-Tsokotlana kgomo yešu e sa retiwa Moletši’a Raphuti. Ke Seya-nokeng-ka-legata Lesetša, a be a pega ka seatla sa monna wa kua gaManangana. Ke motho wa gabo Molepo ke Matshwana’ Boshega, Tlou-setumula megala. Ke ditlogolo tša Kgetsi ya go rwala bana ba Lesetša e subela nabo Mmedike ga gabo Letlatša.
Ke ba gaNhloma-Marumo, ba gaRamphele wa Tswetla, Mohlaloga, batho ba tšwang Bodupe ba gaMmathepe-a-Polokwane. Bodupe wee-ba-gaMmangwako-a-Molobe!!
The rules of equity demanded that she incorporate the praise song of the Mahlaelas, her son’s in-laws, as an acknowledgement of their part in perpetuating the Ramphele lineage through the gift of their fertile daughter:
Ke ditlogolo tša Mahlaela-a-Mmutele’ntotoma. Ba gaRamotse wa kgang ga o dulwe e ka motse wa mashoboro. Ke ba gaSekata-ka-pitsi wa ga boSefagwana sa boMatsiri. Ke bana ba Sethiba-dipata-tša-makgowa, Sethiba a hlabiwa mogolo batho ba dikobo ba tletše gona a be a lamolela Moloto kua Madikoti, thaba ya maaka, thaba e phaswa ka morago. Ke Phatola-motagwana. Ke phatela kua Maribišeng. Maribišeng go hlomilwe folaga ya go iletša ditoro. Ditoro di na le bjala ba bogale ba go taga boMatshere a boDinonyana.
Ke motho wa ga boMakgatša-ka-patla wa ga boRaisibe. Ba re o rile o kgatša ka patla wa ekiša mang le mogwera wa gago o saka wa mo tseba. Ke Lefalaolo la gaPhahla-nkgori, le le rileng kgomo, la re motho. Ke batho ba tšwang Dikgabong. Ke Matebele Makwankwane a hloka kgomo a ja motho. Ke Ditlou, phoofolo tše dikgolo. Ke batho ba tšwang Kgobadi, gaNyedimane-a-Tlokwa.
Ke bana ba Rangoato wa ga boMalesela, sa naga sa lešoka. Ke motho wa ga boMoseto, Setlogolo sa Mmankwana-a-modumo le bo Malekola a sena tšhemo Moroko wa jwala wa boMautšana. Ke ditlogolo tša boMasekela-a-Molobare, Bakwena Baroka-meetse-a-pula. Ke tše dithlaba-tša-gaMabolesa, bare ga dia ripelwa bokwala, direpetšwe go hlaba tše dingwe. Ke bana ba Mamphela wa gabo dikgoši, monnyana wa gaRamothopo, kgaetšedi wa boSefadima sa boMontsho-ke-fifetše. Ke ditlogolo tša Raisibe, Thalala-a-tsoku, wa top a yena o humile le dinala. Ke ditlogolo tša boMaleka a dutse, Moraswi Letebele, batho ba ga boSanaga sa lešoka.
Never one known for false modesty, my grandmother always ended the praise-singing by acknowledging her own central role in the extended family, as a ‘jack’ that lifted all implements, large and small:
Ke batlogolo ba Jack, tshipi ya go rwala tše dingwe. Shate-shatee!! Wo a sareng moshate o llela dilo, ore nkabe ele tša gabo! Bodupe wee--!! BaMmangwako!5
The electric atmosphere thus generated was enhanced by the ululating and dancing which went with every phrase, even the neighbours coming to join in. As Harold Scheub has correctly observed, African oral tradition in this form is able to distil the essence of the human experience and offer it in memorable form to help shape future relations and action.6
My grandmother was a true artist, adept at recasting family narratives into poetic language. The heroes of my family were for the most part predictably identified as the males in both my paternal and maternal family lines. The namesakes of Phoshiwa (my paternal grandfather), Pitsi (my father) and Sethiba (my maternal grandfather) were singled out as brave men who took on challenges in spite of the considerable odds against them. Phoshiwa’s bravery silenced even tigers (o dutše leweng la nkwe ontše a shitiša nkzue go bopa). Pitsi was the warrior who went to capture enemy livestock and carried home with him trophies in the form of a human skull, which he used as a water container, and a human hand as a balancing mechanism within the skull to prevent spillage as he carried the water home (seya nokeng to legata la motho a be a pega ka seatla sa monna wa kua gaManangana). Sethiba, on the other hand, was a handsome only child, a leader and warrior who blocked the white settlers’ way, and was killed in the process, while ugly cowards stood by (Sethiba dipata tša makgowa, Sethiba a hlabiwa mogolo batho ba dikobo ba tletse).
But some significant women received honourable mention as important sisters of the heroes, or as co-actors: Thalala, Mamphela, Kgetsi, Rangoato, and Jack (my paternal grandmother’s nickname). She had great admiration for her own mother, who saved her from an unwanted marriage at puberty to a local chief in their village. Her beauty had attracted the elders of the village. Koko Tsheola, realising that the net was closing in, had to flee and went to live in a different area where her daughter was safe.
My family’s heroes moved to the boundaries of their communities. Both my paternal and maternal grandfathers took the risk to part with traditional lifestyles and elected to become evangelists of the Dutch Reformed Church. My maternal grandfather, Sethiba, had the advantage that his own father had converted to Christianity whereas my paternal grandfather, Phoshiwa, was a pioneer in his family. It came as no surprise that my father would move even farther outwards – taking up a teaching position and physically moving to the Soutpansberg district (Mmedike a boLetlatsa). My paternal grandmother’s creativity is demonstrated by her extension of the family praise song to incorporate new images etched by transitions into new historical realities. She expanded her text by transforming old tales, and infused them with contemporary imagery and themes.
Elaborate formal greetings of each relative, young and old, followed the emotional praise-singing, and cooled the air. These formal greetings were confusing for us children. Some adults insisted on being kissed, while others expected us to clap our hands and hold them in a clasped position for them to be kissed by the adult through the mediation of their own hands in a style intended to show deference towards adults. You were never sure what to expect.
The offloading of the provisions provided the next exciting moment for the welcoming party. The fresh fruit and vegetables which we brought from the better-endowed Soutpansberg district were a treat for the residents of Uitkyk. Young and old would tuck into the fruit as they carried the provisions from the wagon into one of the many huts around the homestead.
My father’s natal homestead was a large one consisting of a corrugated-iron-roofed house together with several rondavels situated round an enclosed courtyard, or lapa. There were other buildings on the periphery: two rondavels, one the private room of my grandparents and the other for Koko Tsheola, and a three-roomed thatched mud house which belonged to one of my father’s brothers. A one-roomed flat on one wing of the central house belonged to my father, and this we used during our visits. The size of the homestead signified my grandfather’s success as a patriarch, blessed as he was with sons and grandchildren, and with the material means to sustain a coherent extended family.
My grandfather was a tall, strikingly handsome man, strongly built with a well-proportioned body. He was generally a stern man with strong views on many matters. His face would, however, light up when he was in a good mood. He was fond of telling us stories of his youth heavily peppered with jokes, which he told at his own or other people’s expense. As he told them he would literally roll around in fits of laughter on a goatskin under a large shady tree. This served as a gathering place for the family’s midday meals and afternoon rest away from the blistering summer heat.
Like most of his contemporaries, my grandfather was an authoritarian patriarch. He ruled his family with a firm hand. To underline his control over his descendants, he issued an edict that all his grandchildren were to refer to him as Papa and his wife as Mma,