Been to the sunny Limpopo the entire last week. This was for work and to attend a funeral of my grand father.
Now in as much as I love Venda and all It has to offer, I recently realized that I actually dreaded going there these day. My issue? The pain I feel every time I enter the Matangari village.
I went to Matangari as a tenth grader. My dad's bright idea of saving me from the uncultured ways of the township, Mamelodi.
When you are a stranger in a village where all know each other and speak a strange language with a heavier accent than you do, it is actually daunting especially for a tenth grader. You feel all alone as you become either a thing to marvel at like an animal at the zoo, or a laughing stock when you dare speak a word in the local dialect. If you did master a word your accent gives you away.
All the above thou painful; are not compared to the recent pain I suffered there when I am more of a local hero accepted and admired by the locals .
You see to fit in at a remote village as a kid, you need a kid who will accept you as you are and teach you the ways of the locals. You then become one one of them (and all movie goers said "Avatar!")
Well to me my Avatar guy was my uncle, Ndivhuho (meaning appreciation or grateful) of which I am enter eternally grateful to. He was a year or two younger than I , but he immediately read me the riot act "I AM YOUR UNCLE). Well I had no choice but to forgo my age advantage and let him lead the way in this culture blending ritual,which stared with how to properly pronounce words with the right accent weight on the e.g "vho" and "Bo" which otherwise sound similar had different meanings and the later was more important if you had to get along with elders.
I was initiated into the community, thou it took two years and a name change from Reuben to Mamelodi ( for when I was asked where I come from, I said mamelodi which the locals found sounding strange and christened me, Mamelodi Sundowns) yes my uncle was the one who actually promoted them name to let emblems in with the local boys. All boys in Matangari paid soccer and I say all. So I had no choice to accept a name change and a new sport.
Later on it was his turn thou. I had to initiate him in the Pretoria culture and my entrepreneur ways which also included a rigorous regime of des uplink,self study etc.
This bore good fruits,Ndivhuho became an artisan and fixed big trucks at the mines. He then came for financial advice by me ... Knowing we you guessed right.
I gave him the richest man in balloon speech
1. Save money even idiot ten percent
2. Payoff all your debts
3. Take care of your family
4. Etc
And he did. Saved his money. Bought a brand new car and yes my pain.... He died in a car accident in that car barely five months he bought.
The spot where the accident happened is right at the entrance of the village. My heart brakes into many pieces when I see that spot.
Last week we where blurring his father. I looked his mother in the eye and say "Tour husband was my grand dad who prayed for me all the time I came home, but his funeral adds to my pain"
She looked at me and said "What pain son" I said "My mother " as Ndivhuho acceptionatly used to call her, " I really wish I could turn back time and have Ndivhuho back. "
So looked at me with such calm in her voice and said " If he were to appear now, wouldn't we all run ? Would we all dream in fear?" She then said " son, let it go.."
So in writing this Iam laying my pain and choose to remember Ndivhuho for all the good he brought in my life and the good times we had. I never did call him uncle , but my daughters strangely and befittingly called him "Malome" that's uncle for you.
Yes a grate guy.
A tribute to my uncle Ndivhuho "kilibotsotso" Mudau. Rest in peace uncle!
