'Lobola' - a family affair...

Celebrating nuptial intentions at the home-place.

As in many other places spring is a time of celebrations, and we had one of our own here recently — a Lobola or sort of Tswana engagement party. Preparations began early the week before as Makgokgo (grandmother) got busy with the time-honored (and consuming) task of brewing a batch of sorghum beer, ‘bojalwa ba mabele’. This fermented non-filtered beverage is made from corn as well as sorghum and is central to any traditional event — wedding, funeral, initiation — in the Tswana culture.

Another change in the works was the corrugated metal shack that had sprung up in the backyard. My first glimpse of this makeshift structure brought to mind an installation that I had seen recently in the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg. However, unlike its clone in the museum, it soon became clear that this shed was not intended to house people, but materials and equipment — thus enabling indoor storage space to be converted to a bedroom in order to accommodate a few of the scores of guests who were expected that weekend.

Lobola is not a full-on wedding, only the prelude to one: basically it involves bringing the two extended families together in a day of introductions, negotiations, planning and merriment. The main wedding or ‘Lenyalo’ will be held once terms and logistics have been ironed out and funds secured; when I asked, I was told “sometime next year,” which I sincerely hope to be the case as such scheduling would significantly enhance my chances of being able to attend.

By around 6:30, as I rolled out onto the small veranda for my Saturday morning wake-up stretch, there was already a buzz about the place — with family members and neighbors spread throughout the yard tending fires, picking through vegetables and cuts of meat, moving furniture, rolling out a tent and calling out orders. There were young ones too — running around and occasionally stopping by to visit (fully aware of my propensity to keep some fruit or sweets around). By 9:00 some well-dressed visitors had appeared just outside the front gate; I was told by brother Thabo that it was the custom not to admit these future in-laws right away, but to make them wait. However, I couldn’t help but wonder what this gesture might portend for future relations between the two clans. In short time I was awakened from my musings and encouraged to grab my camera; evidently, for better or worse, I had just been designated the day’s unofficial photographer. Regardless of any misgivings I might have had about my suitability as a cameraman, I was certainly in no position to say no to Semakaleng, the future bride and focal figure for this event.

By mid-morning a circle of seated bodies had taken shape in the shade of a citrus tree that had eluded winter freeze damage. The Bojalwa ba mabele was brought from the temporary brewery in jugs and large cups and it was time to get down to the business of consuming it, which for some would resume the following day until not a drop remained. These drinking circles generally comprise only men; ironically while the woman — usually the oldest and most experienced ones — take full care of its preparation, they are the least likely to consume this home brew. The Bojalwa circle grew steadily through mid-day until a larger white stinkwood tree was chosen to accommodate it. By the end of the day several such assemblages were going throughout the property. The women had their own social circles situated around the place as well; in my experience this past year I have noticed little intermingling between the sexes at such events. The kids of course kept to their own agenda — seemingly oblivious to customs and affairs of their older relatives.

Around noon I was called indoors to where the real business of the day was unfolding. The space was filled with a standing-room-only crowd of the fifteen or so people most central to the occasion. At the center sat a distinguished looking fellow — an uncle from the bride’s father’s (now diseased) side of the family; he clearly was the mediator of the affairs at hand. By the time I arrived any serious business had been concluded and it was down to finishing introductions, exchanging pleasantries and snapping photos. This did not mean that I was able to hide behind the camera: for when I heard my name invoked it was time to conjure up my best Setswana for an introduction and a little light banter — the sorghum beer working its magic here.

Next it was time to eat and food was delivered to the various social constellations around the place, including to the men’s circle where I had settled in. As is customary, the meal featured pap (stiff corn-meal porridge) to soak up the juices of the stewed chicken and mogodu (beef stomach). The serving station in the backyard had additional victuals on offer, including fried cabbage and spinach (chard). Well into the fifth hour of the affair — as the lunch plates were being collected and the bojalwa continued to flow — I sought my opportunity to drift into a more anonymous state in order to recharge for a while; the shady fence-line of the old corral adjacent to the back field provided just the refuge. So, as I commandeered an old yard chair, grabbed a book and claimed that coveted quiet spot, just beyond the masonry wall the party rolled on.

A few hours later, a second wind now seemingly at my back, I rejoined the festivities — saying ‘Dumelang’ to some newcomers, bantering a bit with the children and ultimately reclaiming my spot in the men’s circle, which had swollen to the periphery of the umbra of the stinkwood tree. By now, with dusk advancing, popular music was bellowing from a pair of nearby speakers and a bottle of whiskey had materialized to supplement the traditional offering. After the raising of a toast or two and some spirited verbal volleying — of which I was able to catch bits and pieces — evening set in and I could feel the effects of a long hot day of social engagement weighing heavily on my neck and eyelids. So by 10:00 I was lying comfortably in my bed becoming oblivious to the ongoing din outside. With an even bigger sequel in the works just a few months away, I figured that it was none too soon to start recharging my energy stores.

Cheers!

Stay tuned for ‘Lenyalo’ coming to you sometime in 2025.