'They took Motsilisi,' said a female student as I was on my way off campus to buy some milk at the shop. There was even an undertone of laughter when she said it. So when I got to the school gate and saw what was happening I didn't know how to react.
Down in the fields, sure enough, two guys in blankets carrying thick sticks were dragging off a screaming, wriggling girl: Motsilisi. 'Ba mo shobelisa,' said another girl watching. They are kidnapping Motsilisi so one of the guys can 'marry' her.
Let me briefly give you what I know about how it works. Boy likes girl. Boy wants to marry girl. Girl says no. Boy refuses to accept no. Boy waits for an evening and maybe has a friend give him a hand in abducting the girl, running off with her into the fields. They probably wait there until it's dark and then take the girl to the boy's parents' home. The boy says, Here's the girl I want to marry. The parents send a message to the girl's parents explaining the situation. If the girl's parents like the boy and agree to the bride price offered for their daughter then a sheep is slaughtered and the marriage is a done deal. If the girl's father doesn't like the situation then he goes to fetch his daughter. Sometimes it's not so simple. Probably always it's not so simple. It certainly wasn't in this case.
So, I see Motsilisi down in the fields being dragged off. I hear her screams. But I don't run down to help her. Not just yet. I'm wondering what I can do against two men with thick sticks. I'm wondering if it's even right for me to intervene -- isn't this a somewhat accepted practice in Basotho culture? Then I hear a boy who lives at school call to all the other boys who live at school (about a dozen), 'Let's go! They're kidnapping Motsilisi!' Simultaneously, the two other male teachers at my school arrive at the gate, see what's happening, and we all start the chase like a scattered pack of dogs down through the fields. I guess we're going to intervene.
Motsilisi is putting up enough of a fight, even though the guys are striking her with their sticks and yanking on her arms, so that we catch up to them shortly, near a creek. Lemphane, a teacher, picks up a large rock and heaves it at them as we continue toward them. They release Motsilisi. She passes me, fleeing back towards school, moaning, re-wrapping herself in her blanket. A shepherd appears out of a maize field and yells at the abductors, 'Ka molamu!' Fight me with your stick! They begin to crack sticks. Then all of the school boys arrive and begin throwing rocks, big rocks. One of the abductors has escaped into the fields, but the other one gets surrounded by all of us. Then Tumelo, a 12th grade boy, puts a two-fist sized rock nearly through the back of the abductor's head. The guy falls limp onto his face. All the others continue the stoning. The shepherd beats him in the back with a stick. I think I might actually see a man beaten to death at this point. Just then they pause and pull him to his feet. 'Let's go to the chief!' they shout at him.
Our captive walks in front, his head bleeding, getting whacked by his own stick now carried by us, getting yelled at. 'Hurry up!' After a few minutes one of the boys tells him to put his hands down on an anthill. 'We won't have to go to the chief,' he explains. 'We'll beat you some more here and then let you run home.' To some of us this sounds like a grand idea, to others it doesn't. After some argument it is decided that we will continue to the chief's place.
It's dark when we arrive, and Thabo, our chief, is not home. His son runs off to find him at a neighbor's house. Men and boys from the village trickle into the chief's yard until, when the chief arrives, there is a crowd of near fifty.
'Tell me what happened,' says the chief to our captive.
The guy stumbles out a story that is frequently interrupted by objections and demands for blood from the crowd. I keep thinking that this is one of the most primitive experiences I've had here. We are a mob, about to pounce and devour at any moment. It's sick but cool and thrilling.
Lemphane, the teacher, and a student then tell the chief the other side of the story. The problem at this point is that both our captive and Motsilisi, the girl he tried to kidnap, are not from our village, so punishing the guy isn't our chief's duty. The chief then retrieves a rope. Another man spends at least twenty minutes tying the captive's hands together behind his back. Is this how he'll receive his beating? They take him inside and tie him down in the chief's house. Men start scattering.
No blood, then? Or I should say, no more blood? What's going to happen to the guy now, I ask. I'm not terribly clear on the situation because my Sesotho, well, doesn't yet allow for that. Maybe they'll try to contact the police in the morning, I'm told, and then we will be called up to the chief's place to give a report.
The next morning the chief's son comes to school and tells us that sometime during the night the guy escaped through the window and hasn't been seen since.