Volume 50 Issue 2 - February 2012 : Art & Culture

 

The first thing that gripped my mind when we set out for the Central District was the enduring  power that Batswapong ancestors are said to wield over their people. A friend of mine, who did his national service in the area, had told me scary tales about how ancestors or gods in this part of the country heavily influenced peoples` way of living.

“In some areas for you to visit certain places you have to seek permission from the village kgosi who will then ask the ancestors to allow you in. Otherwise you are bound to get lost or hurt on the way,” he said.As the story played out in my mind I could not help the enduring curiosity stirred up by numerous dreadful stories about how the ancestors harmed those who disobeyed them.

Notwithstanding, it got me excited in that the trip to Palapye presented me with an opportunity I had been eagerly awaiting to come face to face with Batswapong gods. We set out for Ratholo at faint of dawn as we curiously begun our search for the gods.

Together with my fellow scribes - Puso Kedidimetse and Aobakwe Molefhi - I was told that somewhere on the hills of Ratholo resides the spirit of some of the most powerful ancestors.

We arrived at midday as temperatures soared enough to literally melt our shoe soles. The place looked humorless and desolate, save for a few groups of young men perched under trees girdled by dogs and chickens. For a casual onlooker, the place seemed to conceal yet to be discovered treasurers.

However, poring further as my eyes swept across the expanse mountainous landscape and serene environment, it seemed more likely that indeed the place could be home to the spirit of the ancestors.

After some few stopovers on trail of one elderly person who could tell the story of the ancestors, we were referred to a certain Ompoetse Mokgatshane. We were told he was the contact person for those who wanted to visit the home of the ancestors. Then the stories poured out.

Mokgatshane told us how the late Bangwato regent, Kgosi Tshekedi Kgama`s vehicle got trapped on top of the hill when he tried to use the route without first seeking permission. Then another tale about one of his (Mokgatshane) friends whose vehicle broke down after he drove in the area at night without the ancestors` permission added to the pile.

“I remember one day moving up the hill, a big branch broke down from a tree. Ancestors behind me were arguing about who I was, and they broke the log so that they could see who I was when I turned to look back,” said Mokgatshane

The stories were many and all scary. Somehow, Mokgatshane sounded like a man with a vision and intuitive understanding of his cultural heritage. For the first time, the stories made sense and touched a raw nerve in my body.

 

As we trudged along the tiny path that meandered to the hilltop, I began to imagine that somehow Mokgatshane was a genius who understood well the language of ancestors.

 

My imagination told me that it is contemporary society that is failing to understand his efforts to interpret the language.

 

We reached the slippery clay-like sludge and trudged through an open valley. There was a sudden wave of a cold breeze that wafted across my face akin to an out of body experience.

 

A bird occasionally twittered somewhere on the side of the path. I felt as if someone was staring at me from somewhere in the hill.

 

As I peered through tree branches to discover the village that sprawled below, its tranquil atmosphere gave me a reason why its inhabitants believe it is under the protection of ancestral spirits.

 

It was not long beforewe came across small amounts of water oozing from the ground, forcing us to step on stones to avoid soaking our shoes.

 

And then in front of us was what is believed to be an ancestral gouge, water discharging slowly from the ground.

 

There were several tiny holes letting water out which slowly made its way down to a big hole below from which animals and birds quenched their thirst. I looked around for any signs of anything unusual or supernatural.

 

There was nothing. Instead a group of baboons pranced about from treetop to treetop ostensibly to scare us away.

 

Then we learnt that ancestors once destroyed the fence after residents tried to secure the gouge. However, the gouge did not resemble anything extraordinary that suggested that it belonged to the ancestors.

 

It appeared natural and looked like many other gouges that I have seen in other parts of Botswana. Our failed encounter with Batswapong ancestors ignited an argument as we debated whether it was true that ancestors existed in this area and have harmed people in the past.

 

I soon found myself having to defend my misgivings against both my colleagues who were certainly convinced that ancestors exist and watched over their people.

 After a long spell that seemed like eternity, I remembered Mokgatshane arguing that ancestral spirits only come to our world when they choose to.

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