Long live Mookamedi!

Pic: Molepolole

My late father, Rre Lekgoanyana Kgasa had 3 siblings. His late brother Motaboga Kgasa and they are survived by two sisters, Kesegofetse and Keonyatse.

Motaboga is survived by 2 daughters. Apart from my late father, the only uncles, (in Setswana) to Kesegofetse & Keonyatse’s children are, chronologically, myself and my younger brother, Nkgotla. They always remind me that our sister Molly is also an uncle, but only as a regent. In the Setswana culture, my culture, one’s maternal uncle plays a very important role in marriage negotiations, as well as funeral preparations. In the former, the uncle, together with the paternal aunt, leads a delegation of the groom’s family to ask for the wife to be’s hand from the bride’s family, equally, led by the bride’s maternal uncle and paternal aunt.
Although I was disiterested, when I was in my early twenties, my father always hinted of this uncle responsibilities. My cousins, Thato le Shima, Keonyatse & Kesegofetse’s other boys, would hint too: by calling me “malome”, or uncle. Although the duo are well older than me.
My favourite cousin, Thato’s brother, Mookamedi, clarified it all for me in detail. Although I would not want to clarify the role to anyone in such a manner, Mookamedi insisted.
To me, Mookamedi was a dear cousin, my alltime favourite cousin. Somehow, Mookamedi insisted that I was his uncle, too.
My father’s uncle, Rre Mogogi Mogojwa, or Rraagwe Phillip, as he is affectionately known by his first born child, was very instrumental in guiding and supporting me and my brother in such a demanding role. After a very informative engagemnt with Rre Mogojwa, a day before Mookamedi’s funeral, as his “uncle” I had to go “bala” or mark his grave. I went to the graveyard with Ralekgotla and Puna, Mookamedi’s cousin, son to Mookamedi’s late father’s brother, Mokwena. I also had to brief the seniors at the kgotla of the success in managing to locate the grave. Most importantly, later on, between 10:30pm and 2:30 am, I had to sit right next to Mookamedi’s coffin, “ko tlhogong”, or by the head during the memorial service. I am told that such is the custom in Molepolole, “ka SeKwena”. It should be pointed out that at that point, I was the only male amongst the crowded basadibagolo, or grandmothers, luckily my mother was one of them. The other mouners were just outside, by the verenda, inside a white tent.
“Okae monna yo ke letseng nae?” Following the funeral, she asked where I was.
As soon as they pointed at me she continued: “O monna jaanong!” (You are now a man). Halfsmiling, Mookamedi’s father’s 92 year old aunt, one of the crowded grandmothers, praised me.

Long live Mookamedi!