Mafhikana

Dumelang, I am the Great Mafhikana,

I come from Mafhikana, I was born and nurtured here. Herein lies my very first interpretation of this great great world.

Mafhikana Ward can be found nestled in the north of the magnificent village town of Kanye, Southern Botswana. In here a sense of solidarity pervades: the Clinic is named Mafhikana; Primary School, named Mafhikana; Church, named Mafhikana; Post Office, named Mafhikana; The Bar is also named Mafhikana. E le ruri, there is no Ward and place quite like the Great Mafhikana.

Mafhikana Primary School: Spoilt to the melodious sounds of the goat and sheep bell at various intervals, playfully, I learned to read and write here from 1988 to 1994. Of course, I had a blue BMX bicycle, which I rode up the hilly road to get here sometimes. But I remember mostly marching, rucksack on my back–that matched my khaki shirt and shorts–with not only books in it but a plate too. Indeed, I remember the sour porridge, I remember the warm beans, and I also remember that carrying a piece of wood during the cold winter mornings was part and parcel of Mafhikana Primary. Each and every pupil was required to bring one for the cooking fire. Not only that but I also, vividly, remember the talkative all-women cooks at the school, who were adept at processing grains into flour. Tirelessly, I remember them pounding sorghum grains from a mortar with a pestle. Yes, I fondly remember bo-madam, our very strict teachers, and about one or two male teachers. One of them was always the school’s football team coach. And the other was always given the honours to punish the most troublesome students in front of the whole school, during the Morning Assembly. Dumelang!

Mafhikana Clinic: In the event of sickness, I would be taken here, for diagnosis and would later “take one tablet three times a day”. I not only remember the strong scent at the clinic but also the blue uniform-wearing nurses, the crying babies and I also remember the mothers, in the rain, with babies wrapped to their backs. They appeared to always exchange the word “dumelang” at every given opportunity. Dumelang!

Mafhikana Post Office: Instructed by my loving parents, I easily sprinted here to collect post, to post letters. To pose and to just relax, yes, relax. With my younger brother on the lookout, I also found great joy in prank-calling the Police Station from the Post Office’s admired telephone booth. I remember starting the telephone conversation saying “hello” instead of Dumelang. Dumelang!

Mafhikana SDA Church: Every Saturday, Nooo! Rather, every blessed Sabbath, for almost 20 years, I would join my beloved family and the community to worship here.  It is here where I enjoyed the powerful sermons, the inspiring A Cappella music, as well as the silent prayers. I also witnessed the christenings, the weddings, the holy communion, and brilliantly was taught how to turn, march and salute as a Pathfinder scout. No questions asked. Amen.

Mafhikana Bar: Etched in my memory, are the countless hot summer afternoons I spent here when I was about 13-15 years old, without my parent’s knowledge, of course. It is here where I was part of a passionate male crowd of all ages, glued to the 54cm for the South African Premier League football matches. This was my favourite bar. I was a regular; if loaded I would spoil myself to a can of Schweppes Granadilla – if not, Stoney Ginger Beer. They still say I don’t drink – I guess I eat drinks. Dumelang!

Please, give me the highest honour I would ever get: you may indeed call me Mafhikana, for I am Mafhikana.

Mafhikana (B.Com, GradCert, MSc, MRes)

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