17 July 2007
This past Saturday I was invited to a traditional Xhosa ritual in the Grahamstown township. It started at eight in the morning, at the big brick house of Vivie in extension nine. A thousand things went through my mind while driving up: ‘Am I wearing the correct clothes?’ ‘What if everyone looks at me funny?’ ‘Do I need to bring a present?’…

The story begins weeks earlier, when Maloemps went to the bush. The bush in Grahamstown is on top of a small mountain that is forbidden terrain for women. Here he went through a secret manhood ritual that marks the transition from boy to man.

Sitting by himself for almost four weeks, during winter, in a small hut with not much to eat and do. Well, the tradition is so secretive that this is all the information I got on the spot. Wikipedia writes that ‘they smear white clay on their bodies and observe numerous taboos’, but I can’t confirm any of it.

Circumcised
One thing is for sure: Maloemps got circumcised. And when the wounds heals he is ready to come out of the bush, which happened on Saturday.

I arrived early and found myself wandering around, trying to help prepare food and tea for the waiting women. Surprisingly enough I was called into a bedroom, only to find oil drums filled with a homebrew beer and an older women squashing what looked like maizemeal into water.

It was unfortunate that we were unable to communicate, but I watched her as she added water and other unidentifiable liquids into the maizemeal, squashed it together with the liquid pooring out of it going straight into an oil drum. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming, just a hint of what was coming up during the day.

Drumming and ululating
A little girl called Precious grabbed my hand and dragged me outside, to the front of the house. More women arrived and gathered around scattered sheets of steel, with sticks they started to hit the steel and sing songs about life. After ten minutes I found myself with a stick in my hand, joining in the festivities. Trying to teach me how to ululate, an exciting kind of yell, the singing got louder: Maloemps just walked into the street.

Covered in a large white blanket, holding a long stick, I was unable to see his face. There were just these dirty, dusty feet. He was surrounded by men, both young and old. The men were having a kind of mock-stick fights. When they all entered the garden the men immediately sat down in a circle on the left side, with Maloemps and a friend of him on a mat on the ground.

The men started speaking to him, in isiXhosa, and at the same time drank brandy and the homebrew. The women were told to be quiet and to let the men speak. We all sat on the right side of the garden, on the ground, and drank homebrew and brandy. After an hour or so people started to leave, it was only half past ten. Maloemps went into his room.

I was told we all go back home now, dress up, and come back at one.

Traditional Xhosa dress
Luckily I bought myself a modern version of a traditional Xhosa dress two years ago for a wedding. I also covered my neck and arms in beads, wrapped a doek around my head and a towel around my upper body.

When I returned at one, holding a bottle of brandy, the party just started. Women started arriving in their traditional clothes, with white clay on their faces and covered in beads. Holding money, a blanket, a bottle of brandy, all were welcomed with singing and dancing. For the reminder of the day we sat together eating, drinking, singing, dancing and chatting; occasionally being asked to quieten down by the men.

Maloemps took of to Cape Town University on Monday. He now has to wear smart clothes like a suit with a hat for about three months to complete his journey through the male rite of passage.

The party was over at 4pm, what a day it was. A little bit drunk I went back home, with a warm feeling inside, thinking: this is exactly why I love Africa so much!

Have a look at some of the pictures I made here.