Makotse

Let me talk for a bit about Makotse, the village in South Africa where my daughter, a Peace Corps volunteer, lived and worked.

Ronda had talked often about the village, but even if I’d seen pictures, I would have had to be there to comprehend it, even a little. I had even totally misunderstood her geographical position, the first of many misunderstandings. It also took me a while to understand “village” and “neighborhood.”

It was difficult to understand the relationships of all the people, probably because we there only three days. We stayed with Ma and Pa Mello, Ronda’s closest neighbors. They are a wonderful couple about our age (we both have adult children) who were thrilled to have us as their guests. We made Makotse our first stop. The people who knew Ronda excitedly anticipated meeting her mother. As a footnote, Brian is not Ronda’s biological father. The Makotse people didn’t discount him at all, but they really, really wanted to meet me because they really, really liked Ronda. Across the street from the Mellos and Ronda lived a lady named Pilate (like “pilates” but no “s”). There were other people there -- a lovely shy girl of about 10, an adult woman with a baby boy named Blessing. He let me hold him. I’m not sure how those people are related or if they all live there. Extended families are large.

We could have stayed with Ronda, who has a small but comfortable house. The main reason we didn’t (besides the “small” part) was that she does not have indoor plumbing. She takes “bucket baths,” carries in water from an outside tap, washes her clothes by hand, and, yes, she has a pit toilet (an outhouse). She has gotten used to this life, but it would have been difficult for me. She also said that the toilet creaks when she sits down, and she wasn’t sure how it would hold up with more action. It was agreeable to everyone (especially me) for us stay in a nice room at Ma and Pa Mello’s house. They have a Western bathroom and had recently purchased a clothes washer. The indoor toilet eased a lot of the travel anxiety. We got permission to take advantage of the washer too. We hung our clothes outside, but that was fine, as the weather was good, and that’s what I do at home.

Brian and I got lost in the village, even though Ronda’s house is about a 10-minute walk from the MWC (Makotse Women’s Club). Repetition would have rectified that, but it was embarrassing to get lost driving and then walking. Getting stuck in the sand was not so embarrassing. A man (the gardener at the MWC) sauntered out with a shovel over his shoulder, and he and Brian easily got me out. Apparently this is a common occurrence, but a lot of people turned out to watch. This exciting news got back to Ronda before we were moving again.

The children were at recess the two times we walked by (lost both times). I don’t know which part of the scenario they enjoyed, but they ran to the chain link fence and watched. We knew we were close, but that was all. We were trying to hurry, but the sand made walking difficult. We needed help. I walked up to three young boys and said, “Hi. Where is the bakery?” They stared at me. Then I remembered that “r” is pronounced as a soft “d.” I asked, slowly, “Where is the bak-uh-dee?” They understood, and one young student pointed vaguely. That was all we needed. We said thank you and waved good-bye. Ronda said later that I could have asked, “Where does the other white lady work?”

A couple of the bakery employees stood outside of the MWC building. Suddenly a big group of employees appeared, all women, crowding around to meet me. I swear, I never saw them coming. They smiled, shook my hand, and kept smiling. So curious, so delightful.

I took hard candy, at Ronda’s suggestion. I also took a bag of Obama buttons and nice but inexpensive T-shirts. The children loved the candy, the women (and Pa Mello) loved the T-shirts, and everybody loved the buttons.

I’m glad we went there first. I’m glad everyone liked Ronda. When we had to say goodbye to her 3 weeks later, it was okay to let her go back to her community.