A veranda

Bongi D D M Radipati | Monday April 7, 2025 12:52

But, it may, for a moment, discard its propensity to be too ordinary if for instance, through a fortuitous discovery, we find within our homes a place of stunning juxtaposition: a place where we struggle most ardently with our thoughts and imagination, a place where our manners may be most restrained and yet still be a place where our happiness is most freed. At that time, even as we accept our ordinary life, we may wonder if, and then hope that, there is a way to make this ordinariness and ourselves inseparable for the rest of our lives.

Every once in a while, wondering can have this effect on us. Imperceptibly, it can make it possible that the past and present commingle, allow yesterday to linger ineffectually into today and permit the promises of the future to appear as if they are happening now. And because we are humans, in a small pocket of our thoughts, there will always lie hope. This hope will be held despite the odds that it may not happen. And then it happens, prompting a density of the realisation of the hope to start hanging in the air we breathe which we exhale in gratitude. This quiet seeping of the past and present into each other, this nursing of the hope that miraculously materialises, is often the reward of sitting somewhere.

When I was a youngster, almost every home in my village had a mud rondavel. This was probably the case elsewhere in Botswana. Almost, each rondavel had a circular sitting area running along the outside perimeter of that rondavel. This sitting area was called “maribela” in Setswana or stoep in Afrikaans. These days, there are hardly any mud rondavels and thus hardly any “maribela”. But its iteration appears to continue in another form familiar to many of us.

A veranda (related to the Spanish word, “baranda,” meaning railing) is a sizable space extending from the outside wall or sometimes wrapped through the length of a house. It therefore increases the living space of a house. It is usually of the same building material as the house; it is on the same ground as the house; and overhead it is covered to protect its occupants from the elements. For these reasons, it is an ideal place for relaxing, dining, entertaining, hosting small events, etc.

By common acknowledgment, we now spend more time on our gadgets and less time on seeking out others and nature. At a time such as this, a veranda serves primary purposes. Whilst it may not have been its original intent, now amongst others, a veranda exists to allow its users reveries on a time no more; permit them to watch the sunrise as much as the sunset; and provide them with preparation time. Those who use it customarily probably lead their lives remembering the past inasmuch as they ready themselves for later life. If they are older such as some of us, a veranda will remind them of the beginning of their “maribela” younger years and prepare them for the end of their older life journey.

A veranda requires a routine. Every time I use mine, which is often in the morning, I must first tidy it up, and then place the stuff I will use or need whilst I am in the place. These would be bottles of water, a couple of books, binoculars, a camera, a transistor radio, and gadgets! It is a deliberative place and consumes one’s time whilst slowing down. Thus it is a rebuke to the endless desire that every chance must be subjected to productivity. Ironically, there is joy and surprise to be experienced once one fully embraces not just the discipline of taking it easy from time to time, but also a veranda’s own quaint extravagance that always allows that.

Although by design and functionality it may be close to them, a veranda is not a porch because unlike the latter it is not an entryway and it has a roof; it is not a patio because unlike the latter it is not adjacent to a house and it always has a roof; and it is not a balcony because unlike the latter it is always on the ground level as the house. If the inside of one’s house represents the city centre where earnings are made, then its veranda embodies a suburb or commuter town where lives are led, families are raised, social bonds (friendships, visitations, conversations, etc) are forged, and relaxation is waged. Notwithstanding all these qualities though, a veranda is easy enough to dismiss and may be nondescript. Yet, I have never seen a veranda that must earn either a superlative or derision.

Whilst it is now acceptable to work from home, a house with a veranda strikes a balance between satisfying the need for both earning and ease. Consequently, it reinforces a desire for a good life. Understood this way, a veranda can then be seen as a shorthand for an ordinary life lived well: exemplifying homes nurtured by their owners, their usefulness acknowledged by their visitors, and their purpose loved by passersby. In fact, a veranda may be the last great vestige of a communal or shared life, a place where whatever our views or circumstances we can gather at.

However, one may feel on a particular day, a veranda often feels accessible each day. Indeed, its openness, its visibility from the street, and its design, can be a lesson in noticing the small print of life’s apparent inaction. If you are curious, you may, at your veranda, look freely at others and their actions without guilt or being admonished for it. Nonetheless, to inhabit it is to recognise the strong social forces implicit in the command, “Don‘t stare”. A veranda therefore gives one angles, restrictions, and freedom of observation that few places in our homes can give. Thus, it may be considered as a place that allows us to observe discreetly things that are both familiar and strange to us, but which we appreciate getting to know. In the end, as one’s day winds down and one reflects on this matter, one will accept that through their veranda, delight and bewilderment flow together and coexist in plain and simple moments of their life. This is hardly surprising. After all, a veranda is just that: ordinariness lived.

*Radipati is a regular Mmegi contributor