Going back to Takatokwane village

GASEBALWE SERETSE
Staff Writer | Friday July 23, 2010 00:00

As the Mmegi team comprising Moreri Sejakgomo and I leave the city of Gaborone, I cannot help but wonder whether I am going to be met with a lot of changes in the area.

I try to push all the bad memories that I have about Takatokwane to the back of my mind as I deliberately anticipate positive developments that must have surely happened in my long absence.

The journey to Molepolole, the capital of Bakwena is smooth sailing. When we get to Molepolole I scratch my head trying to remember the turn off to Letlhakeng and fortunately I get it right.

The trip continues smoothly until we pass the Mapharangwane turn off. Alas, the Molepolole-Letlhakeng road is one of the worst tarred roads I have ever seen.

The road is one of the leanest roads in Botswana, such that average-sized cars going in two different directions cannot pass each other without one of the vehicles being forced off the road.

As if that is not enough, the potholes are so deep and so wide it borders belief.

To add to my dismay, I realise my colleague, who is behind the wheel is fond of driving at high speed. I am forced, time and again, to plead with him to reduce his speed as the road is really bad but sadly my pleas fall on deaf ears.

Maybe I am just a coward, I think to myself as my chatty colleague talks about this and that, while my eyes remain glued on this terrible road.

One of the things that we intend to look out for is Bonewamang Sechele's monument. This is the place where the father of the present Kgosikgolo of the Bakwena, Kgosi Kgari Sechele, had an accident that eventually took his life. We fail to spot the monument but I am happy when we eventually arrive at the village of Letlhakeng, which also happens to be the seat of sub-district council offices.

We decide to refresh awhile near the post office and ask for directions to our destination, Takatokwane. Two male youths point out the road and one of them says, 'You see that nice tarred road, it takes you all the way to Takatokwane!'

I am thinking that the young man is pulling my leg because back in 1993/94, the road was not tarred and as a result, many accidents occurred on it.

Fortunately, the young men turns out to be right awhen we realize that the road is most certainly one of the best in this country. For once I am comfortable with Sejakgomo's high speed which to my relief is now on a good road that has very little traffic.

Soon we are in Takatokwane and the tarred road leads to one of the oldest shops in the village.I look across the road and see the Kweneng Bophirima Development association (KBDA), the place where I was stationed during my national service.

Sejakgomo and I decide that our first stop should be the main Kgotla where we intend to interview the elderly Kgosi Motsiele Tsiane about the history of the village.

When we arrive at the Kgotla, we find it deserted although it is not yet lunchtime. We realise that since it's a Friday, some village folks might have decided to 'knock off' before the normal time.

We decide to follow Kgosi Tsiane to his home and upon arriving there, an elderly woman tells us that the kgosi has gone to his catttlepost. Knowing that we would not meet anybody at the Kgotla during lunchtime, I suggest that we visit my former host.

Fortunately for us, I still remember the way to his place but while I am aware that we are close to his home I am soon unsure of which narrow road to follow.

We take the road to our right but after driving a few metres, the car nearly gets stuck in the sand and we decide to beat a hasty retreat.

As I am convinced that we are not far from the home, I ask Sejakgomo to stop the car so that I can look for the place on foot. I follow a small path in the general direction of my host's place and ask for directions from the people in one of the yards.'Just follow the path, the yard is right ahead,' someone tells me.

When I arrive at my former host's house that I remember only as Kebajetseng, of the people gathered around the fire at the makeshift outdoor kitchen, the only person I can recall is Kebajetseng's son.

I look at the little hut that I used to stay in back then during my national service. My days at the yard were some of the most miserable as the creaky door to the hut allowed too much sand into the house on windy days and the thatch leaked when it rained.

It was at this place that I developed ulcers as a result of the bouts of stress I experienced during my stay. Initially there were two of usbut my colleague later decided to relocate elsewhere because of the bad state of the house.

I made the decision to stay on out of respect for my host as I knew the little hut was the best they could offer.I ask the son about the whereabouts of his father and am told he passed away a few years back.

Most members of the family that I knew before are not around as they are said to have gone to the lands. One of the people gathered around the fire in the kitchen swears that he remembers me and asks me to give him some money so that he settles a debt. I reluctantly part with a P10 note and bid the family farewell.

At the Kgotla, we are fortunate to meet Makwakwa Dithapo, who is one of the village elders and he is happy to grant us an interview. After the interview we are in a hurry to get back to Gaborone in an attempt to beat the Friday evening traffic.

On our way back we finally spot Bonewamang Sechele's neglected monument. Sadly the monument is covered by overgrown vegetation. I always fail to understand how people can erect a monument and then neglect it.

The following day the team takes another bumpy road to the village of Letlhakeng where we trace the footsteps of the legendary folk music artist and poet, Speech Madimabe. We find Peoyame Motlhalefi who relates her time with Speech.

After the refreshing interview, her son, Mphoyamodimo Motlhalefi takes us to the grave of the legend where we take a few snapshots. As we head back to Gaborone, I somehow feel that my Kweneng West tour has been worthwhile since it helped me reconcile with the bad memories that I had about the place.