Rodeos make so much more sense

I’ve been feeling quite busy now that we are over halfway through the term and there is more marking (grading) and I was tasked with writing the term 1 exam for grade 7 for the cluster.  The book club has been popular and I’m requiring a small book report with each book read to show they actually are reading, which has added extra work!  Also, this past weekend was the first I stayed in the village all weekend for several weeks.  So I’ve had this blog post about visiting my colleague’s farm the last Saturday in February in my head for weeks and haven’t gotten myself to sit down and write it.

The principal’s granddaughter Rosa. She’s incredibly sweet and always so helpful!

I was picked up by Ms. Gertze, a first grade teacher in her very last year teaching before retirement at age 60, around 10 am along with my principal and all the children that stay with her.  I think they are all grandchildren but I’m not sure.  She is raising them and they are all great kids.  Her youngest girl, Nona, is pre-primary, Rosa is in grade 4 so she’s in my arts class, and Prince is in grade 5B so I’m teaching his class Arts and BIS.  They piled into the back of a covered bakkie and I sat up front between two men that help out/work on the farm so I could see everything along the way.  Most of the drive was on grated gravel road, as all roads are around here, until we got to the turn off for her farm.  We were following a path, but it was strewn with rocks, roots, bushes, and trees to steer around and I thought there was no way cars were supposed to take this path.  It was slow going but impressively the very old bakkie and the driver’s very agile movements of the wheel managed the terrain.  I don’t know how it was possible.

One of the buildings on the farm, and the sky that is always vast and beautiful here.

Her farm is nestled closer to the mountains than Omatjete, which I find so beautiful.  When we first arrived, Ms. Gertze brought out some water and placed water on each of the children’s foreheads.  This was a cleansing ritual before the boys ran off to “help” slaughter the goat we would eat later.  I followed the principal’s lead and rinsed my hands.  Then we placed some chairs in the shade to sit and I took in the view.  The girls soon ran off to swing in a tire swing so I followed.  It wasn’t long before I was called in to the cattle kraal to check out Ms. Gertze’s wealth.  Cows are extremely valuable and highly revered in the Herero culture.  If you look up pictures of Herero you’ll see that the women traditionally wear something on their head made of fabric, sometimes lace and decoration, and shaped like cow horns.  They will also walk swaying in the manner of a cow.   I haven’t met anyone that slaughters their cows for meat because it seems the goal is to keep as many as possible at all times, but cow milk is a staple in the diet.  Also, it seems you start acquiring cows young, many learners already have their own cow.  I was fairly impressed after I counted 60-70 cows.  The principal kept gushing to me about how beautiful they were.  I tried to be sincere in my agreement but cows aren’t an animal I find beautiful.       

A few “beautiful” cows. I had a funny conversation with a learner yesterday who couldn’t believe I didn’t have a cow. I tried to explain that i lived in a city but then he only asked what about on the farm?

Next we headed back to the house and sat in an open air brick enclosure, walled on three sides and fitted with a roof for shade, to enjoy some fresh omaere.  Omaere is the Otjiherero word for milk and it refers to the fresh full cream milk that is a major staple.  It is strained so it is quite thick and tastes like a slightly sour plain yogurt.  I love yogurt so I enjoyed it and we all drank out of the same yogurt container being used as a cup.  That is until the principal shared that she always drinks too much omaere when visiting a farm and inevitably suffers from a running tummy.  She said she was looking for a thick enough tree just in case she needed it later.  After that I took only one more sip, because I’m sure my Western stomach is even less conditioned to omaere.  Rest assured no one at the farm suffered from a running stomach that day.

Prince and Ms. Gertze straining the omaere just before we drank it.

Then Ms. Gertze said something to me about watching the cows be milked, and I was kind of hoping I’d be asked to help since I don’t think I’ve had that experience since I was 5.  However, that was not what transpired.  Instead I got to watch the cows being branded and tagged.  This was very serious work.  One man “lassoed” a cow’s hind leg with a rope while simultaneously another man pulled or pushed the cow to the ground manually (often by another foot).  One or two men would hold the cow down on the ground while another one or two men would hold the rope, and one of the boys would always hold the very end very seriously “helping” as he did with slaughtering the goat.  Then another man would come with the “gun” for tagging the ear and the fire hot brand ready to burn the hind flesh.  Now the lassoing cattle event in the rodeos I attended in my youth in Oklahoma and Texas make a lot of sense.  It was a real life task of cattle ranching put into a competition.  I was relieved when Ms. Gertze finally decided it was time to leave the cattle kraal and finish preparing lunch.  It felt like an hour of constant cringing in the hottest part of the day.  I was impressed and disturbed all at the same time.  It felt very violent but I was also impressed that the men continued this work for at least another hour and it was literally the hottest part of the day.  It was interesting to watch the cows’ body language as they tried to avoid being lassoed, but I hope I never have to be in a cattle kraal during branding and tagging again.

The cattle kraal from a bit of a distance.

Lunch was a chunk of goat meat in a stew with porridge.  It seemed to be a bit of the leg sawed off so there was more bone than meat, which is the piece that takes some work to find and eat the meat.  Not my favourite but I ate up like a good guest.  After eating Ms. Gertze decided I should see a nearby “waterfall” and we piled in to the bakkie and headed in the opposite direction from where we arrived on the same “path.”  I was standing up behind the cab next to Ms. Gertze so I got a really great share of the breeze and sprinkles of rain.  I also had to swiftly duck out of the way to dodge branches.  After a bit we stopped and headed off on foot.  Ms. Gertze, the principal, and the two girls hung back and I found myself with the three farm workers that didn’t speak English and the two boys.  I also had no idea if we were anywhere near our destination or why the women didn’t follow.  We arrived at a completely dry “riverbed” and the men seemed to indicate we had arrived.  Oh this was very similar to the “dam” I was shown my first weekend in Omatjete.  The boys played in the sandbank and the men began chopping wood and one again asked me how was England and London even though I had already told him I was from the United States when he asked me the same questions at the farm.  This time I just told him they were very nice but very cold right now since it is winter there.  Finally the women joined us and we collected the wood the men chopped in the back of the bakkie.  Ms. Gertze and one of the men had to walk back since the bakkie was now partially full of wood for fuel.

When we got back to the village it was dusk and storm clouds surrounded us in the mountains above.  Unfortunately, it didn’t rain on the farm.  I enjoyed another beautiful sunset and as it got dark grew tired and eager to return home.  However, after we packed up the car and just as I thought we were leaving I was told there was a dispute to be settled.  My principal ushered me over to “listen in.”  There were three men and one woman cradling a baby from another farm and Ms. Gertze with her brother and three farm workers.  Of course it was in Otjiherero so I have no idea what they were saying and it went on for quite some time.  At some point I just couldn’t handle sitting there quietly anymore and headed to the bakkie to chat with the children.  They were asleep so I pulled out my book and headlamp.  One of the men came to tell me how good the banana bread I had baked and brought along that day was and I tried asking him about the dispute.  His English wasn’t very good so he just told me something vague about it being nothing.  We eventually left and about halfway back to the village we slowed down and stopped in the middle of the road.  There was a large snake in the road and the men were compelled to get out and kill it by throwing rocks at it over and over again in the light of the headlights.  It was a strange image from my position in the back of the bakkie watching through the windshields.  I guess that was a good thing to do since I think we were near the turn to another village.  However, it also seemed an absolutely insane act.  I was glad to be safely inside the bakkie.

The proud farmer!