Welcome Ceremony - 05/09/2012

Dear X,

Well, where to bloody start?! It's been an absolute whirlwind, I feel like my feet haven't touched the ground for days!

We arrived at our host's house on Monday 3rd and I've never been so terrified in my whole life. Ma'am Mashala is our hostess (matriarch might serve as a better description. She is a mixture of traditional African mother of 5 and up-and -coming, thriving 2nd World business woman living a pseudo American lifestyle. That's the first impression we've had. She met us at the car park dressed in a slate grey skirt suit, and gave us a very stiff, formal hug and guided us like shy little children towards her 4x4. I wasn't expecting to see any 4x4's for a long time! Butterflies were raging like holy fires in my stomach, her eyes were an intense black colour and offered no warmth when she met my timid gaze. We had spent several tortuous hours on a cramped coach, only to be belched out into a drab car park into the arms of a woman who barely spared us a smile. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead, as I begged my body to get itself in control. The numb, shaking legs did not endeavour to help my situation.

Ma'am Mashala drove us straight to the school where we will be working, I presumed it was just to see the layout and to get a feel for it. Make our footprint. How wrong I was! The moment we arrived we were greeted by hoards of screaming school children. Cries erupted in a cacophony of wild chanting as the car rounded the corner. My stomach sank like a stone, my knuckles slowly turned white.

They held a Welcome ceremony at Mamokutupi School, which is where we are teaching. They approached us like royalty. We drove through the children who formed two rows either side of the car, waving ecstatically. Our huge, fancy vehicle gracefully rolled up the proverbial red carpet like a deity, or a prowling animal. The many faces gathered before us were very beautiful, almost organic. They had basic uniforms, some of the boys had trousers that only reached to the tops of their ankles, and they had no fancy jewellery like the spoilt kids at UK schools.

The welcome ceremony was surreal. A small bundle of sweet, chocolate coloured girls sang Christian gospel songs. Each song was an eerie, wailing melody that gave rise to choruses of clapping and echoing voices from the crowd. It was ritualistic. Their voluptuous, passionate voices were disjointed from their bony frames. How such voices roar out of such small lungs, ceases to amaze me. All of the children present at the ceremony were staring at us, as if we had just that moment landed in a silver space ship and walked onto their land covered in scales or feathers. It didn't help that we were asked to sit on a table, perched on a stage that appeared as if we were sat on a pedestal. It made me uneasy. The microphones failed several times, but the singers didn't need them. Swaying from side to side, they tilted their heads back and shouted their prayers to the invisible presence over shadowing them. It is very religious.

All of the people that we meet say things like, "You must feel free among us" and "I want to make friendship with you". It's so contradictory. They tell us to be free, yet they themselves are bound by chains to a religion that was forced upon them by the oppressors. The whole population thik that we're the best thing that has ever set foot in South Africa. We are a blessing from God. The ceremony was incredibly special, if a little overwhelming. The put so much effort in, and all of it just for us. Us! Two unlikely young women, fresh out of Sixth Form with nothing but a few meagre A-Levels to our names! We'd never performed miracles, never saved the hungry. I barely even find the time or courtesy to give 20p to the Big Issue sellers on the corner! And yet, they treat us like Godesses. It's insane.

When we arrived at Ma'am Mashala's house, after the Welcome Ceremony, her family sang a religious prayer song for us and thanked God that we had been sent to them. It was such a estranged feeling, being prayed for. I was drowning in mixed emotions, I couldn't speak, I could only gurgle my thanks and appreciation for their gesture. We were so tired, exhausted in fact and wanted them to leave, but to see their family, congregated in a tight little huddle before us singing a beautiful hymn was intensely personal. Tears were stinging my eyes throughout the whole song. Afterwards we just collapsed onto our beds and let the darkness take it's hold.

So, that was the first day, in short. I suppose I should give you a description of the family, our new family.

Sontag (Ma'am Mashala) is very commanding. For example, she told us which bed we had to sleep in, based on who was younger/older, despite the fact that they were 2 identical single beds, in the same bedroom. I don't agree with most of the things that she says, but both Ruby and I have had to swallow our views and soak up the culture like sponges. No fighting back. And she's quite demanding. Sontag always tells us that we will do things, rather than asking us politely. I suppose manners and etiquette means something very different in South Africa. For example, it's ok in England to say no if someone offers you food, but here that is akin to throwing the plate back in the giver's face and walking away. I want to learn to like her. I just can't stop the resentment from gripping me, and the regret. I miss my mother, Sontag is not my mother, but I just have to accept that now.

Her family are very amiable, so far. Her children are sweet. They are between the ages of 8 and 22, some are at home and some have moved away. The place where she lives is desolate and dusty. There are houses but they're all scattered around like droplets of paint, and the roads are made of fine, brown sand. In fact, the ground is just bare earth, everywhere. It looks like we're in the middle of the desert. The children run around bare foot, there are stray dogs, goats and sheep all over the place and plenty of farm animals wandering around.

Sontag's house is plush, in comparison to her neighbours. It's a bungalow with 5 bedrooms and a kitchen, lounge, simple bathroom. She lives opposite a shack... the contrast is stark. It's something that we'll get used to, I hope. Looking out of the lounge windows while sitting on a soft, leather sofa, with nothing but a windowless shack with barely any walls holding the roof up for a view is demoralising.

A cool cultural difference that I've noticed is that women carry their babies around on their backs, strapped on with a piece of cloth or a towel, and their bags on their heads. It's awesome. Traditional African culture is what I've been waiting for, something new. We have to drink rain water as well because the tap water is very saline. It's so funny! They have a big tub that they bring out when it rains and put in under the drain pipe, so that it collects the water. We've also started to eat this thing called Pap, which is a hard white porridge made from mealie meal. It's just a solid lump of starch, essentially. It replaces spoons at the meal table. You mould it into a shovel type shape inbetween the fingers, and then scoop salsa into it with maybe a bit of meat and then stuff it in your mouth!

So I guess that's a summary of the past couple of days. I have to get up at 5am tomorrow. Did I mention that Ma'am Mashala has given us bath times as well? I'm at 5am and Ruby is at 5.15am. How routine.

I miss you.