Yesterday, I went to a funeral for my ‘me’s brother. My little ausi told me that it would start around 9am, so naturally my older sister and I started to head over at about noon. She grabbed my hand and we walked hand in hand across the first small valley to the house. Holding hands here is seen as a sign of friendship, and you will even sometimes see grown men holding hands. At first it was weird, but now I think it’s a nice gesture. I had on my blue seshoeshoe skirt and woven straw hat. Everyone was dressed up nicely for the funeral, but it wasn’t the usual black you see at American funerals. Every color was represented; my ausi had on hot pink shoes, a lime green, sparkling skirt with a purple belt, and a bright blue polo shirt. There were also a lot of cocktail-looking, short dresses worn too. A lot of the men wore blankets and some even had their gumboots on, but most were dressed nicely. I think that pretty much anything goes for clothes here for special occasions, as long as it’s clean and presentable. Also, in general, nothing is considered tacky. People will wear just about anything and it’s not weird or ironic. In the camptowns it’s more usual to see more stylish clothing, but out here in the sticks, it’s whatever.
Despite the nature of the occasion, I was glad for a break from my monotonous life. There was a wooden casket with silvery metal handles sitting on two red and green plastic chairs in the yard, surrounded by a sort of semi-circle of people sitting on blankets on the ground or on chairs under the lip of the house for a tiny sliver of shade. One by one, people would come up and make little speeches, and as one went back and another came up, the onlookers would sing these sad-sounding songs. At the end, everyone stood up around the casket and put a coin or two into this plastic dish, then some bontate put the casket into the back of a pickup and rode in the back with it to the burial spot. Meanwhile, the crowd of guests followed, walking slowly behind it. My ausi and some other girls and I went back to the house to help the family prepare styrofoam boxes of food for all the people. My ‘me said that she and her family had been cooking all night. It was pretty good food, too, and for so many people it must not have been cheap.
When my ausi and I went to leave, this weird dude started talking to me not believing that my name was Senate or that my ausi was my ausi. He was not letting go of my hand during this particularly long handshake, and my ausi grabed my hand away and told me not to talk to him anymore. Then he walked away saying something to the other bontate about the “lekhooa” [white person], to which I kind of yelled in Sesotho that I had a name and that it wasn’t “the lekhooa.” One of the ‘mes there was like ‘yeah, don’t call her “lekhooa.”' People are getting to know me better now and taking me in as part of the village, defending me against skeptical outsiders. Also, props to my ausi for standing up for me and protecting me like that. PC taught us to be very friendly and to talk to everyone, but sometimes I forget that I don’t have to entertain every conversation, or that I don’t have to put up with a creepy handshake. I am finally feeling like I am becoming closer to my family here and that people are really accepting and defending me.
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