By Getrude Matshe My sisters and my job was to guard the cornfield from the baboons, so every morning we would wake up and we would go to our station. This was a platform my grandfather had built out of poles at the edge of the cornfields. It was designed in such a way that we could see the baboons before they came, and first thing in the morning we would collect as many rocks as we possibly could and pile the rocks up on the platform. When the baboons came we had something to throw at them, to chase them away from eating our corn. The worst time of the day was in the mornings when the baboons would wake up and go out scavenging for food. The adults left early in the morning, before it got too hot, for their work in the fields. We woke up at 7 oclock so from about 8 oclock in the morning my sister and I would be sitting on our little platform waiting for the baboons to come so we could chase them away. When they came, we were ready. We threw and hurled those rocks down at the baboons and chased them out of the cornfield. Baboons are very destructive creatures. They can eat an entire cornfield in minutes if the whole troop comes in a drove, so we knew how important our role was. If we didnt protect the corn we didnt have food. We would leave the house every morning to go to the platform, equipped with a gourd of water and a small amount of salt tied in a little plastic packet. We might also have one or two matches that we could strike on a rock to make a fire. By midday when the sun was hot and scorching, the temperatures would be 35-40 degrees in the shade. We were tired, hungry and thirsty and, because of the scorching heat, the baboons would probably be having a siesta so we were safe. Now it was our time to eat, and we went to look for something for our meal. They wouldnt be back until late afternoon when the temperature was cooler. The universe provided everything we needed for the day, and looking for food could be fun. My particular skill was in catching grasshoppers. I would get a small plastic bag and go into the cornfield looking for big, fat, juicy grasshoppers or locusts to eat for lunch. The locusts were easy to catch and we would place them alive in our little plastic bag. We would also collect monkey oranges - sweet, juicy fruits that grow on trees. A hard outer shell covers them and you need to smash open with a rock in order to get to the fruit, but the effort in opening these fruits is certainly worth it. Monkey oranges are juicy and succulent with a sweet, tangy aroma. Im not sure why they are called monkey oranges; we call them matamba. Perhaps the Europeans saw monkeys eating them and named them accordingly. During the rainy season there was also an assortment of berries to pick. The routine was that for a good 30 minutes my sister and I would go in opposite directions. Her job was to go to the grass fields and catch one or two field mice for our lunch. Some days she could do it without my help, and on days when she needed my help we had devised a clever scheme to catch the little suckers. We invented a device which I guess I would call the rat mobile. It was a large, empty oil barrel. On the days when my sister had trouble catching her prey she would put me in the empty barrel and we would find a nice, sloped grassy field, then she would roll me down in the barrel. As I rolled down I crushed the field mice with my body weight, then we would go back and pick up our catch. We felt like little hunters. Then came the preparation of the meal. We had to make a fire in which to roast our grasshoppers and field mice. We were always careful not to burn ourselves and in particular, during the dry season, not to start a large veld fire. The safest place to light the fire was along a path or any clearing that had a lot of sand around it. Once the meal was roasted we would quickly salt the meat and eat it, washing it down with water from the gourd. We were very careful, however, not to drink too quickly; the days were long and hot and the water well was too far away. If it was watermelon season, my grandmother always made sure to refrigerate a nice, juicy, succulent watermelon. Now you must be wondering how she did this in a rural village in Africa, but my grandmother was an ingenious woman. Her refrigeration method meant waking up early in the morning, and before she went to the field at 4am she would get a watermelon and go to a sandy spot in the field near the house that she had showed us. Then she would dig a big, deep hole down into that part of the earth which at four oclock in the morning was still icy cold. She would bury the watermelon, and go to work and when we got hot, dehydrated and hungry we knew where to look for her stash. It was always in the same spot, and when the sun is scorching hot at midday, there is nothing like the sweet taste of watermelon. To this day my love for watermelons can only be attributed to those small, considerate things my grandmother would do for her grandchildren. Sometimes if there was any leftover food from the night before, such as mutakura, which is a boiled mixture of dried corn kernels and peanuts, we could take some leftovers with us for the day. This meal took a long time to prepare and would have boiled in my grandmothers three-legged pot for hours. The chores and duties were somewhat seasonal. If there was no corn to look after we would have to look for firewood, fetch water, or help the boys with the herding of the cattle and goats. Late afternoon was play time and we used to play all sorts of crazy games. During the rainy season we would go skinny-dipping in the local streams and ponds. We had no toys and had to invent or make everything we played with. One day we decided to ride a calf bareback and pretend it was a horse. The poor creature struggled to escape but when you have 12 to 15 children aged between 6 and 10 holding you down and pulling your tail you soon give up the struggle. When it was my turn to ride I got up on its back, buck-naked, and held on to its neck as if my life depended on it and it did. The minute my cousins let go of the little calf it took off and bolted into the field, and thats where the fun began. Batirira, Getty! my cousins shouted. Hold tight, Getty! Batirira, usaregere! they laughed. Hold tight and dont let go. There would be laughter, whistling and encouragement from all my cousins and friends, and the game involved seeing how long you could hold on before the calf threw you off. It was fun. My cousins and friends were cheering me on and telling me to just hold on, and I remember emerging as the victor and feeling so proud that I could ride a horse better than the boys. Excerpt from my book “Born on the Continent - Ubuntu”, buy a copy on my website http://www.bornonthecontinent.com, 100% profit goes to the Africa Alive Foundation for HIV and AIDS orphans in Zimbabwe Getrude Matshe Married and the mother of three children, Getrude is an African storyteller, a poet, an artist, a self published author, an entrepreneur and the founding director of three successful companies in New Zealand. Her extraordinary ability to manifest her dreams into reality can only be described as the way of the wizard Merlin; for she has the Midas touch and everything she touches turns to gold.Her presentations have drawn hundreds at recent engagements. She will share her amazing journey. Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Getrude_Matshe http://EzineArticles.com/?Memories-of-my-Grandmother—Part-III&id=440842 sleeping pills ambien ambien woith out prescrpition 60 minutes ambien zolpidem what strength
