I always shake my head at my son when I observe just how entitled he is to space. He has his "own" bedroom here, and I swear if it were up to him, we would book appointments before even thinking about knocking at that door.
And he is so convinced that his bedroom does not form part of "my house" that whenever I clean it up and put pillows and his desk a certain way, I come back to find that he has altered my arrangements.
Oh, and the attitude when he has to make space for visitors! I once had a chat with him about the implications of his entitlement; ranging from the cost per square metre for privatising that little bedroom of his, to possible contribution to the salary of our cleaning lady and other added costs.
Of course this attitude would not prevail back home. Mother's is the ultimate communal house, like many black households, I guess. Visitors show up unannounced for a sleepover and are put up in any bedroom that is identified as suitable at that given moment.
This often means that the "regular occupant" of that space may have to share or be moved to some other uncomfortable corner. This set-up was often for extended periods, as you discovered that the visiting cousin actually intended to move in.
Mother is as welcoming to guests as her own mother. Only my grandmother had a massive house, with a few other small structures surrounding it. There has always been 10 or so bedrooms at any given time in her yard. This meant there was no need to book hotels during the festive season when the family came together.
Growing up, I realised that this kind of hospitality must have been heavenly back in the days of our ancestors. If you assess how indigenous homesteads were a cluster of various buildings, it makes sense that they would be able to accommodate rolling stones-type visitors and even those who come to put down roots.
This past week, we buried my brother back at home. Mother's house was buzzing with family, friends and helpful neighbours. By midweek, we had a body count of almost 30 people.
That is, the people who were sleeping over in the three-bedroom house daily. One remarked that "typically, we [black people] are accustomed to being packed like sardines, and it's always been our culture".
I disagreed. I could not help feeling that having to find space on the lounge floor and next to kitchen tables is something that was compelled by the introduction of the dreaded four-room houses.
The compact homes designed in townships altered our living arrangements and visitation customs altogether. I imagine anyone who enjoys freedom would not want to share a bedroom, bed or mattress with a random relative, not even in the name of hospitality. And if I am to be honest, my son is very right to not want his room to be turned into a makeshift hotel every time I have someone coming to visit.
Thirty people sleeping in every inch of a single house is not our culture. It is an unfortunate fruit of our history that we, being a warm and welcoming people, have embraced and made into a symbol of homeliness and family.
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