Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

When Mrs. Kennekae Dreamt of Snakes

2022; Emerson College; Volume: 48; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/plo.2022.0095

2162-0903

Gothataone Moeng,

South African History and Culture

When Mrs. Kennekae Dreamt of Snakes Gothataone Moeng (bio) Every winter, Mrs. Botho Kennekae’s husband took time off from his driving job in the city and spent three weeks at the cattlepost, where he did whatever men did there—presumably offer the softness they withheld from everyone to their cattle, for the cattle were the great loves of their lives: so beloved the men called them wet-nosed gods; so beloved the men agreed, without cattle, a man pined and lost his sleep; still, having cattle, a man fretted and lost his sleep. To be loved like that, Mrs. Kennekae thought, to be longed for and fretted over—it would make her heart ache with happiness. It could certainly abate this loneliness eating her already, even now, even here, a part of the gathering of early afternoon shoppers at the feed store in the Gaborone West industrial area. A cavernous warehouse, underlit and dank smelling, crisscrossing planks up above her in place of a ceiling. Around her, more men than she could count, laughing and loud talking, even the Afrikaner men in shorts, though it was July and the winter had moved past its clemency into biting cold. Men in dustcoats wheeled past in their carts. She looked around, hoping to be noticed, but she might as well have been an apparition wandering before the unconscious. Pushing her trolley, she prowled the aisles, looking from the message on her phone to the bags upon bags stuffed onto the shelves and stacked on the floor. Coming upon a young man in a dustcoat inscribed with the name of the store, she asked, “What kind of people get help here?” The man turned to her. He was a tall, skeletal sort. Skin tight over his face, giving him a put-upon look. “Mma?” he asked. “I am just saying,” she said and giggled a little in a show of lightness, friendliness. “I have been walking around the store and I can’t find anyone to help me.” “What are you looking for, mma?” She consulted her phone. “Wheat bran.” “Follow me,” the man said. Mrs. Kennekae glanced at the product labels plastered on the shelves as they walked past: LABLAB (for protein [End Page 119] and fiber), LUCERNE (valuable source of vitamins A&E), MOLASSES POWDER (energy source—survival feeding), SUNFLOWER SEED MEAL (protein), SORGHUM BRAN, MAIZE BRAN, and ehe, WHEAT BRAN. “How many bags?” the man asked. Mrs. Kennekae squinted at the price. “Maybe two bags.” “Just two bags? Are you sure, mma? This is a new kind of feed, government-recommended.” “Who can afford more than two? And still have money to buy food for the herdboys?” Mrs. Kennekae leaned in. “You know how they are, those kinds of people—they complain and complain, they are like children— so we have to spend our last thebe on them. What can we do? They have your whole life in their hands! All of your cattle. If you don’t bring them their Lucky Star and their cigarettes and their Chibuku, who knows what would happen? They are our kings.” The man’s face tightened further in a grimace, but he did not say anything. “No, no, they are like my own children,” Mrs. Kennekae said, waving away the man’s discomfort. “Kennekae, my husband, he loves them too. He will be there for three weeks, living with them, eating with them. Three weeks. I always say at least I will have the house to myself.” “Do you need anything else, mma?” “Go, go,” Mrs. Kennekae said. “Don’t let me squander your day.” Mrs. Kennekae watched his peculiar side-to-side swaying gait as he walked away from her. She pushed her trolley past all the men and their products: DAIRY BOOSTER ONE-NINE (milk production booster), CATTLE BOOSTER PELLETS (weaning shock preventative), cattle dewormers and dips to spray over cattle hide. Mrs. Kennekae was astonished at the myriad trappings they had come up with to care for cows, mere animals. To be cared for in that way, she thought again, then felt an echo of guilt that she had let one of her desires slip into the world like...