Musings from Mpumalanga

There are several things I learnt in Mpumalanga this week. Perhaps I’ll put them in a vague order in terms of the rhythm of life in a typical day...

Dawn is not quiet in Schoemansdal. It is loudly and enthusiastically welcomed by every chicken and rooster on every small piece of land, who in turn wake up the multitudes of birds, dogs and livestock in the region. It’s a chorus that is amazingly harmonious and vibrant from 4am until about 6.30, when the sounds of people take over. Soft greetings, children’s voices on the way to school, a local tractor, bakkies starting up and easing over the dirt roads to reach the R597 which is the primary road to Swaziland.

I sat on my step every morning, somewhat blearily, gazing at the surrounding hills which morphed from blued out haziness to something more in focus. The coffee definitely had something to do with the transition, not just the rising light. Oh, and contact lenses helped with getting more focus too. There is such simple and heart-filling satisfaction in starting your morning listening to the sounds of a village waking up, and welcoming the day with reflection.

I’ll skip breakfast, and move onto transport. Piled into a Mahindra semi 4x4, we bumped down to the main road and turned right. There seems to be no urgent rush, no hooting and no anger. Instead, drivers greet each other and we passed other vehicles unhurriedly making their way wherever they are going. A couple of donkeys on the right, beautiful Nguni cattle on the left, tractors, women setting up roadside stalls. I loved the colourful bra shop aka gazebo draped with all sizes and colours of brassieres and the rows of grass brooms neatly laid out alongside. A one-stop shop.

By now the kids are all in school so the few that wander are either bunking, unenrolled or possibly stateless with no identity documents. If you have no birth certificate you have no access to schooling in this part of South Africa. Pretty tough for the kids who had no say in obtaining the certificates in the first place.

Thembalethu Nkomazi, situated at Zakhele Training Centre, has colourful buildings and a roof that is being scraped down and sprayed green right now. The workers diligently continued under the hot Nkomazi sun. To the right are shaded veggie gardens and a huge shaded area for veggie seedlings, to my left an indigenous tree nursery and tunnel for tree seedings.  A huge heap of used plastic soft drink bottles will be turned into planters for seedlings before they are transplanted to the more often used black plastic bags that I see in nurseries. Near the bottles is a large heap of mulch and compost.

A young man, wearing an old t-shirt and faded pants, greets me. He has muscles that yuppy Capetonians work out for, a bright open face and a welcoming smile. This young man went to college, got his degree and has come back to manage the agricultural side of the project. He’s researched which vegetables grow well in the region and has a team of people to help him plant seeds, water them and get them ready for market. He’s instrumental in planning and strategy and always eager to learn. I was impressed by his quiet knowledge, hands on attitude and welcome. As I moved to join our meetings he had already returned to the thatching grass being laid down to protect the new seedlings planted in his garden. They’ll feed the kids who come to the afterschool programme here. I envied the satisfaction that comes from working with the soil… and the lack of snails!

Later in the afternoon I heard kids laughing in his garden. They were learning to care for the garden and watering the plants. Sprays of water arched in the hot sun and small faces giggled in glee and cooled off alongside the tomatoes and lettuces being refreshed.

In Nkomazi there is time to sit down and have a chat. The local high school teacher, denuded of his students, rests under an awning with two out-of-school teens. I greeted them and sat down for a chat. They were keen to learn about Cape Town, so I pulled out my phone and shared some photos. They’d never seen a starfish before. They ooh’d over the sea. Then they aah’d over photos of Vredenburg on the West Coast where communities that are not that different to Schoemansdal cram into settlements. The illegal electricity lines over the telephone poles hit an immediate response. In Schoemansdal most homes have electricity and you just don’t see the spiderwebs of lines over a village. The conversation moved to things youth struggle with. We talked about social media and actually knowing who the person was who was your “friend”. And brand. How are you portraying yourself. The questions are the same in Cape Town.

As evening settles children head home, tractors putt-putt back and cows low. The heat starts to dissipate and the village quiets. The sun makes a brief statement as golden light glows behind tall jacaranda trees and iron woods. The bush rustles as it settles. A mango falls from the tree next to my bungalow. By dark everyone is indoors, and by 9pm most lights are out and people are already asleep. Dawn comes early here. The sound of birds is replaced by frogs and mosquitos, a good reminder to find your spray and put on long pants.

When you walk to your room it’s essential to have a light to ensure you don’t tread on the resident puffies or cobras, even though I have not seen any so far. The rustle of the blue headed lizard has me jumping. 

As I unlock my door, I look up at the pale skinned dark eyed geckos waiting for unwary insects near the light. I silently wish them “good hunting” and step into my room. Nkomazi is already mostly asleep.