community reflections

Recollecting the events from 2000 onwards, I can say that Doctor Carol Hofmeyr came to Hamburg at the right time. Hamburg is a poverty-stricken area on the outskirts of Peddie. It is situated between two rivers: uMthana River in the west and Keiskamma River on the east side. Close by, the Indian Ocean whispers quietly, laced up by the green forest. There are also hills that have been standing beautifully for ages, and small streams between the valley, and fountains that give the trees and the grass a green, green colour, as they are scattered all over the place.

It was trying times when Carol came to Hamburg. People were dying from the sickness of HIV/AIDS that was ravaging the nation. Yet the authorities saw it the other way. This dynamic, humble and soft-hearted lady came in times like that. She did not come to Hamburg to work but to listen to her heartstrings in the world of art. She was an artist reaching a T-junction. She had to choose to go left or right. I was not there when she took the decision but all I can say is, our instincts serve us right. She started Keiskamma Art Project in our village and later she began to practise again as a doctor, which was her training.

During that period our brothers and sisters were coming back home from cities all over the country, very sick. It was a time of gloom, a time of destruction. People were dying out there with sicknesses pertaining to HIV/AIDS. Meanwhile the ignorant group of people with bad mouths were spreading gossip. Stigmatising people was the order of the day.

Some said, ‘Umbonile?’ (meaning, ‘Have you seen her?)

‘Ukhona.’ (She is back.)

‘Ubhityile.’ (She is thin.)

‘Uyaxoka utshayvi.’ (She is lying. We all can see she is HIV-positive.)

Those with sick ones in their homesteads thought they were cursed. Sheep, goats and oxen were slaughtered for rituals, asking abaphantsi (ancestors) to spare the lives of their loved ones.

But Carol was already ahead, way up front with her interventions, moving fast. She opened a treatment centre, a place called Umtha Welanga (Ray of Sunshine). It was a double-storey building that was a hospice accommodating very sick patients from different villages. Caregivers worked shifts day and night, taking good care of them. Those were the bad days when many people were dying out there. They came in there and when you looked at them you would lose hope. You found tears running out of your eyes.

Doctor Hofmeyr used to wake up in the middle of the night to attend cases if required. She travelled the dusty roads of Hamburg and the surrounding areas examining the sick.

While negative words were roaming around, Aunt Eunice, a light in complexion lady with a sharp nose, of heavy weight with a slenderly walk, was already on the boat, working hard assisting Carol in the clinics. When she was not with Carol she did the outreach, visiting those who were very sick at their homes and organising workshops to bring awareness about HIV and AIDS. She also formed support groups and even opened the doors of her own house for those who were very, very sick. Even then people were watching her behind closed curtains and closed doors, using their cell phones to pass on the gossip.

‘Molo mamthile. Nanku umka X eggitha apha.’ (Hello, using the clan name. There comes the wife of X passing by.)

The one on the other side of the phone says, ‘Azi ukuba uyaphi?’ (I wonder where is she going?)

Then again, the one says, ‘Uze umjonge uqabelele kwelocala lakho.’ (Please look at her. She has come in your direction.)

It was tough. Life was changing. That spirit of ubuntu was fading away.

Down at the studio, the art centre facing the Keiskamma River, it was work as usual for all the women working there. What drew my attention was their logo. It was a black and white ox, that you may call a bull or a cow if you like. The ox in the logo brings back wonderful memories about Xhosa people. Cattle have been close to their heart for a long time, from herding them as part of their livestock. Even the palaces of the kings of amaXhosa were named after one of their oxen. Maybe the one they love most, I think. During ceremonies you will hear the Xhosa man saying: ‘One who has no cattle must not join in the cultural dance with us.’ Because when dancing they lift up their arms, directing them to different angles, imitating the way the horns of their cattle look like. They also say the beauty of a man is in his cattle, meaning, don’t judge a man by his looks. If he has cattle, he’s handsome and has a chance of having a wife, since he has cattle to pay lobola. Ungenza ntoni ngomXhosa ngenkomo.

Women at the art studio are no different. They are like their forefathers too. I was listening to them the other day singing a choral song called ‘Isitibili.’ It goes like this: ‘Inkoma kabawo sihlabelela uKwaaiman weeeh! maaah!’ The song is about this lovable ox, Sithi Kwaaiman. Looking at their facial expression when they sing, you will see how important cattle are to Xhosa people. They sway gently with the rhythm of the song, their arms up imitating Kwaaiman’s horns. That is the song that Doctor Hofmeyr loves too.

The years 2009 and 2010 have a remarkable significance. There were signs that we were fighting a winning battle. You could see people getting well after taking ARVs and there was a jolly mood in Hamburg as a whole. Women at the art studio and the treatment centre who had bottled their fear, grief and mourning were starting to voice their pain and suffering. Indeed, it was a time of narrating visually the infliction we were passing through. Carol as a professional artist and the women at the art project united and worked together to realise that dream. Their voices were heard and given a place, in a way suitable for each one.

In July 2010 women down at Keiskamma Art Project were very busy preparing for the National Arts Festival. Day by day, needles threaded with different colours were flying through the air while they sewed. I didn’t know what they were sewing. I just heard them saying: ‘We are busy doing the Altarpiece.’ I said to myself: What? Oh my gosh, what a big word. And I asked, ‘What is that?’ They laughed and no one cared to explain as they were working harder and harder to meet the deadline.

Slowly, but steadily and surely, the day of the Festival came. It was one of those sunny winter days. I was amongst women gathering in front of the treatment centre, waiting for the bus. We were there waiting and it was taking time to arrive. No one was panicking because we know well about African time that gives a freedom to be early or late.

While standing with my cousin Noxie enjoying the sun, someone shouted out saying, ‘Look there comes the bus. Come let us go, it is late already.’ I said to myself, that's it, I'm gonna be there the first time. Everybody was so excited as we caught the bus. It pulled off, halting at different stops picking up the Keiskamma crew. The journey was marvellous.

There was excitement and laughter, singing and dancing, especially in the back seats of the bus. Some of the ladies had brought along savoury and sweet provisions for the journey. It was time to celebrate after hard working. Reaching Makhanda, the vibe gave us a clear picture of what was really happening. Cars were hooting, moving in different directions. People were popping in and out of the stalls along the road. Tourists with cameras were taking pictures. There was a wonderful smell of art everywhere—of food, painting, pottery. Our bus found a place to back into.

Quickly sazixuba nabo (we joined in with them). While moving up and down all over the place, deep down in my mind I was hungry for the core purpose to be there. That reminds me of an African ceremony when people are eqamba ingoma (composing a song) that says, ‘Bekutheni ze sibelapha? Sifuns unobangela’ (Why were all of us there? We need the reason.) Indeed this is what I was looking forward to.

At last presentation time came. It was late in the afternoon and the hall was packed with the audience. Around the corner there comes Doctor Hofmeyr. The scene was perfect. I just thought for myself it would be more perfect if a praise singer was accompanying her with those bombastic words that describe those events of yesterday. Our Keiskamma Guernica Tapestry was hanging on the wall in front of us all. That time it had no meaning for me as I was not a history fan, even at school.

I listened attentively to Carol’s melodious voice bringing alive the story of ages about the bombing of Gernika, a Basque country town, on 26 April 1937. It was a very horrible incident done by ruthless forces of that time to innocent civilians.

As she went forward with her presentation on parts of our Guernica, it was as if I was watching those horror movies I hate. My heart was pounding fast, my armpits started sweating and I felt the skin of my head shrinking. Pinching myself I said, am I Picasso? No I’m not and never will be. Suddenly I understood what drove Picasso to voice out and visualise that shocking incident. He did it so that the whole world would know about it. It’s the same with our Guernica. It is speaking to the world on behalf of us, the people of Hamburg, who endure the pain of sadness. I carry it to this day.  I saw members of my family, friends, brothers and sisters dying from the terrible ogre.

Hamba minyaka (So go the years). Woza 2015, woza! (Then comes 2015!). Everybody was enjoying the beams of the sun as we started to move on with life the normal way. One day I was standing next to the window watching the learners of grade R and grade 1 playing outside the school when I saw Doctor Hofmeyr's car coming. It was normal to see her driving on the dusty roads of Hamburg. During that time I was working for the Keiskamma Trust co-ordinating the education programme after school. The aftercare programme was based at Hamburg Primary School, situated on the other side of the village near grazing land. This job found me while I was going up and down trying to get a job. Vic told me about it and the next thing the job was mine.

We were given a classroom and later a hall was given too. The classroom acted as a library room and the hall was our wonke-wonke room, meaning we do it all there. When you entered the door of the hall there were small tables and chairs where the children would sit and read or play puzzles while waiting for the aftercare to start. In a corner was our kitchen with a built-in closet that was our pantry and next to it a refrigerator. There was also a book cabinet where we kept educational material.

As Carol entered the gate of the school, learners who were playing outside were shouting, saying, ‘Nank’uHosmeyr’ (There’s Hosmeyr). They were fighting one another, correcting what the others were saying. One of them says: ‘Ayingo Hosmeyr, lo ngu H-O-Fmeyr’ (It is not Hosmeyr, it is Hofmeyr). Children can make you laugh. Entering the room she greets us all, then says: ‘Vee, I’ve come to invite you to a workshop that will be conducted by Zukiswa Pakama.’ I welcomed the invitation with open hands. I know Zuki very well, a bona fide writer.

The workshop went well. We were introduced to nature, whereby we learned about different types of birds, their habitat and the relation we have with them. The intsikizi (southern ground hornbill) was top of our discussion.  I was chatting to Cebo before writing my story, trying to recap about some of the behaviour of intsikizi. Cebo had done a lot of research about intsikizi. He told me all he knew and I found out that not all the stories I know about this bird are true. The only thing that is still true about intsikizi is the warning it gives when rain and thunderstorms are coming. Back in the olden days people were trying to protect these species of birds and now we need to do the same.

This workshop was preparation for the exhibition INDAWO. The theme of INDAWO was to revive us after the storm we had passed through. As we were all dead deep down our heart, it was now time to come back and learn from nature— nature that has the power of survival, even in times of drought. The exhibition of INDAWO went well too.

We have passed by those very hard times. It is work as usual, even at the Keiskamma Art Project. Women working there are flying high, making a name not only for themselves but for Hamburg and the country as a whole.

The sun is about to set and the work for the day is over. I hear tunes from different music instruments, and the beat of the drums reminding us that we are in Africa. I hear chirping of birds from nearby trees. A chain of smoke is coming up from every homestead. A smell of food is feeding my soul. Women from Keiskamma Art Project are walking swiftly along the dusty roads heading home, jovially greeting passers-by, until they reach sweet, sweet home.

Women of Keiskamma Art Project—

Nina nizimbokodo 

You are the rock.