Tiba: friday's test

It’s Friday and I just arrived yesterday afternoon. Today I sit and try to engage in conversation with the women, while the men are off doing… well, ‘man’ things, I guess. I offer my help, and they accept. They ask me to wash the large cast iron pots. They are huge and heavy round pots with three short legs and are placed directly over hot coals for cooking. I happily oblige, in part because I like being helpful and staying busy means potentially avoiding awkward conversations or being directed to do tasks I have no idea how to do. Washing pots, even ones as awkward as these, I think I can do.

I am instructed what to do in English, Xhosa and through a lot of body gestures. I am told that water boiling in a similar pot on the fire is to be used to clean it. I am shown the cloth and soap and then pointed in the direction of where the washing occurs. I pour my pot about half full of the boiling water, look up towards a mama (which is how married women of their stature are always referred to) with raised eyebrows as if asking “is this the correct amount?”. She nods approvingly. I carefully carry to pot about ten yards away, where I was shown the washing occurs, and begin to wash. I happily clean pots until I run out of water.

When that happens, I am told to go to the pump and fetch a bucket. The pump is about three hundred feet away. I grab a bucket. A nice woman who is at least sixty says she’ll accompany me. She is a married woman and therefore wearing the tuc wrapped tightly around her head and a sash around her waist and over a brightly coloured skirt and blouse. We take a five gallon bucket and head to the pump.

Upon my return, one of my male friends wistfully walks around the corner to check in on me. He’s carrying a beer and a large smile. I am carrying a five gallon bucket of water and a head full of perspiration. After a deep glare at my friend I announce rhetorically to the women “it must be nice to be a man!”. As I am speaking, I know that my outburst will not be well received, but I really don’t care. Seriously, from my standpoint the men get to booze all day while the women toil all day cooking and cleaning. I was not pleased, and didn’t even look for the response of the mama’s at my inappropriate outburst.

However, later, I find out the expression that I interpreted as a smile, was actually a look of confusion. Apparently it is outside custom for women to fetch water during these ceremonial meals. The boys are instructed to stay nearby in effort to assist with those types of tasks. What I interpreted as a smile was actually an assessment a scene that was foreign to him. He later told me that he suspects I was asked to do the task just to test me. I just hope I passed that test.