This photo of my dear parents was taken at Goora Kgasa, Mafhikana, a ward in the capital of the Bangwaketse people, Kanye, Botswana, in 1974 – on a hot balmy day.
She was only 20 years old. He was indeed 33 years old. My mother was a Seamstress, having studied Home Craft at the Ramatea Vocational College. My father – together with about 40 000 other men – had escaped the underdeveloped Botswana to mine for the Bride Price in the then apartheid South Africa. Every time Mama reminisces of 1974: her eyes sparkle, and her voice turns melodious.
Behind them, is my father’s parents’ mud-walled home; fenced with wooden posts, the poles were very common for surrounding the united thatched homesteads. All my life, this majestic photo had always hung on the beige wall of my parent’s bedroom. Overseeing the shining Mr. Min polished dressing table, the king-sized bed, the wardrobe, and whoever entered the glass-door room.
This holy, till death parted them union – together with the preceding, countless special unions – went on to wonderfully make the people my siblings and I are today.
I am deeply indebted to them; their loving parents; families; the whole community of Mafhikana; the nation of Botswana; and my beloved, intelligent, and inspirational ancestors – for vigorously paving the way for me to tell my story. Our story.
Finally, thank you very much to you, The Reader. You made this very possible. It’s been a pleasure.
Ke a leboga,
Pelotshweu Kgosietsile Blessing Kgasa
Blessing Kgosi e tsile Kgasa 