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How tired you must be of your good people bending your ear, dear Cyril. I see you were told to “smile and wave” and keep both chins up the whole week. Good advice, so I won’t give you a single pointer. Keep listening to your praise singers…
You’re getting my Family Letter because I need the excellent advice you so freely dole out in yours on a rather weighty matter. No, not a buffalo or 80: lobola.
Not for me – I’m cheap at the price; only insisting on the odd free drink – but I know a young man who next week is off to the heart of Darkest Africa with his uncles in tow for the Umembeso with the bride’s family.
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See how easily your beautiful rich language rolls off this African’s tongue, by the way? Let’s thank Dr Google because, although your lobola custom has been going since 300BC (no, not Before Cyril), colonialism on my side only expects a white dress, some sheets, six mugs and my father to pay for the booze at the wedding party.
“So how much is the lobola,” I asked my young man. “They’re talking R90 000, but we’re hoping to negotiate them down to about R60 000,” he shocked me.
She is a learned lass who has blessed him with kids already – and, admittedly, it will barely cover the petrol for your car and generator, but still … that’s not cheap talk.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but Dr Google tells me typical lobola is 11 cows for an “average” woman: 10 for the bride, one for her mother. A chief’s daughter can demand 15 and the king can ask 30 cows for the fruits of his loins. I’m not good at sums, but 11 cows for R90 000 brings him to about R8 000 a cow.
His R60 000 will probably only buy him mangy cows on the thin side and I don’t want him to be embarrassed.
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So, dear Cyril, I started a lobola fund for his honour: every one at the office will chip in R50, but here’s the nub: it’s a small office with only 11 people. Do the sum. We won’t even get him to the dark side of the moon for his high noon with that kinda cash.
All I’m saying is: I won’t look a gifted buffalo in the mouth…
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