‘A meeting at the kgotla [gathering place]. Lo kopiwa go tla ka makatlaname,’ says the radio announcer. ‘Please come in great numbers.’ He rattles off details of an itinerary that has MPs scuttling from kgotla to kgotla on the double. Electioneering has begun in earnest. We vote again in 2014. The kgotla is an ideal venue to garner votes.
If we sweep around the fact that these meetings are usually held during working hours when those who can heed the call to attend ‘in great numbers’ are the retired, unemployed or employed by government; if we do not dwell on the fact that the chief of the village and head of the kgotla is ensconced on the throne because of whose first-born son he is; if we ignore the fact that chances of being seen on our local television channel rise significantly if you attend a meeting: then we will not dismiss the worth of the kgotla in today’s world and we will not dismiss its reason for being.
We will instead watch the village folk congregate at the kgotla that has been swept clean of all dirt: it is immaculate. Men wear suits, women’s shoulders are cloaked. All heads are covered. We will listen to how my mother tongue is made to sing when it is spoken in its purest form. We will not interpret the saying ‘lefoko la kgosi le agelwa losaka’ to mean what the chief says, goes. Rather, we will say that, within these sacrosanct walls, mmualebe o bua la gagwe – all are free to speak freely. If we can do this, then we can hold on to the romantic notion that the kgotla is the heart of Botswana’s culture that keeps our traditions alive.
The word kgotla describes a physical location: an area that is recognizable by an enclosure of sturdy poles (nowadays, the wall is often made of stone) demarcating the place where the village congregates. A person can also use the name of a kgotla to pinpoint the locality where families reside: I am from the kgotla of the Molefhes, for example.
On the day the MP and his entourage arrive, there is much ululation. A traditional poet will sing the chief’s praises (and maybe those of the MP); be warned – praise can sting. The wordsmith apologizes in advance lest his words offend. The MP regales constituents with the government’s achievements; where there are challenges, these are also raised. Land, for example. He appeals to people to stop selling land that they have been allocated. Land is in short supply. It is no longer unusual for a citizen to wait 20 years to be allocated a piece of land. Patience is also in short supply. Some decide to allocate themselves land; they build structures that they turn into homes because the government has reneged on its promise that every citizen will have a place to call home.
In March, Parliament rejected the opposition’s proposal for a land audit to be carried out: it was said that efforts to regularize land occupancy are ongoing; anything more would be a duplication of effort and a waste of taxpayers’ money. Land allocation is on hold. Juxtapose this news against the sight of yellow monsters rumbling across the land to scoop out the homes of those whom we call bomaipaya fela – those who have chosen to allocate themselves land, perhaps because they still believe every Motswana is entitled to a piece... I hope the yellow monsters have also been told ‘STOP’.
As we stride towards 2014 and get ready once again to elect those who represent us, the land issue will become more contentious. Already there have been heated exchanges in the areas where cities border on villages. The recent decision to allocate land, lottery-style, has not proved popular.
I think the kgotla is a suitable environment within which the land debate can and should take place. I believe there is space for the kgotla in the 21st century. Let it become somewhere a meeting of minds takes place. Open its door to our youth; give them a voice without fear of reprisal. After all, we say: mmualebe o bua la gagwe. Let us keep this place sacred – a place where truth can still be spoken.
