Flamingo - Art, Craft & Culture - A modern Caprivi where love is colour-blind
Text by Cecil Mahlangu Artwork by Norman Begley
In 1967, Loving and Virginia fought and won a monumental case to become the most prominent interracial couple in the USA. Since then, the trend for this form of exogamy has been unstoppable. It has spread its wings to become one of the most remarkable features in modern Caprivi.
It is tomorrow that my Italian friend Frederico will tie the knot with a Caprivian beauty, Sibeso, in a traditional ceremony that might attract hundreds of curious bystanders.
This is why I’m in Frederico’s room, helping him prepare for his big day.
“Hey Cecil, it’s hard to believe I’ve reached this day in one piece,” says Frederico, smiling coyly.
“You should thank God that Sibeso’s dad didn’t break your neck. He could have…”
“Yeah, I should pray harder. The man threatened to chop off even the shadows of my legs with an axe if he were to find me anywhere near his daughter. Why are some people so hostile towards interracial relationships?” he asks, worry etching delicate creases around his eyes.
“I think they have several reasons. In your case, Sibeso’s family is worried that you’ll entice her away from their religion and faith. But you two have handled the roughness well. Now you’re getting married!” I smile nervously.
“That could be God’s arrangement,” Frederico gives a smile of immense relief. “Do you like my suit?”
As I stand to inspect his apparel, an elderly familiar-looking gentleman enters the house holding a file. We offer him a seat in the lounge.
The old man’s face bears a thin veneer of toughness as he introduces himself as Kangumu. He sounds business-like. “Sorry for the interruption, gentlemen. I have been sent by Sibeso’s relatives to inform you that the wedding cannot proceed until the bridegroom has paid part of the lobola.”
“Lobola?” Frederico’s face registers shock.
“It’s the dowry I told you about that…” My mouth is bone-dry.
“No, Cecil. I think I told you that my wife cannot be bought like a piece of furniture!” fumes the prospective husband. “Isn’t this payment the same as ‘return on investment’?”
It’s always an uphill struggle to convince our friends from the west about the importance of lobola.
“Listen here my son,” says Kangumu, his tone firm but not mean. “Lobola is an amount paid by the bridegroom to the bride’s family and…”
“No, sir, I’m not ready to hear of it. Let me call my in-laws and ask if we can skip this complicated process,” erupts Frederico. “Oh, heavens. It goes to voice mail!”
I gently grab the phone out of his hands. The lady’s automated voice is chipper as she continues with the bad news. “The number you dialled is not available, please try again later.”
“Calm down please. You see, lobola negotiations are not conducted in person and not over the phone.” Kangumu sounds as clear as a cold mountain stream. “It’s not like you’re buying her. No. it’s a gesture on your part to the bride’s family for looking after and bringing up your wife.”
“The old man is right, Frederico,” I say, adding the little I know: “Part of that money will be given to the bride to set up her house.”
Frederico blanches in shock, but then does his best to recover his poise. “Okay, then. Please Cecil, go ahead and deal with the negotiations. We must settle the lobola today. The most important thing is that I am to be wed tomorrow.”
I nod and smile.
“Uh-uh, one more thing.” Kangumu opens another leaf from the file. “You have to be prepared for the initiation ceremony early tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, not more!” Frederico loses his cool. “Cecil, what’s all this about?”
Kangumu looks me in the eye while the strength runs out of my legs like water down a pipe.
Kangumu realises that I’m not willing to break the ‘shocking’ news. He clears his throat. “Hey, there will be elders who take you to the river and spend time examining whether you’re a suitable husband.”
“What?” Frederico demands further explanation as a curtain of anger descends across his eyes.
“You see, my friend, eh…” My voice is hoarse and shaking. If lobola had tasted like a loathsome meal, he’d certainly find the initiation ceremony tasting worse than a ghastly dessert.
How do you tell your western friend that some strange-looking old men will sit with him on the banks of the river to coach him in intimate matters? How do you convince him that they won’t harm him when they wash his body with African herbs in the name of ‘strengthening his manhood’? I swallow hard and wait for words to escape through the heating vents.
Kangumu presses his palms together and brings them neatly against his chest as if in prayer. I watch Frederico’s heart sink as Kangumu unveils the different steps of the initiation ceremony.
In silence as cold as snow I can hear Frederico breathing hard. He then looks at me, composed. “OK, I’ll do it!”
“Sure!” I feel my smile sparkling like the sun. He nods confidently.
It could be true that there are no impediments – not apartheid, not lynching, not burnings – that can diminish the passion that drives people to break down social barriers and get together for better or worse. Love sees no skin colour!
