Went to a little village called Murure to meet the basket weavers.
It was an interesting community because the whole group of women was significantly older than the other groups I’ve met with so far. Also, they have a different style of weaving Xindzalas.
Instead of using palm, they make the baskets out of a vine. The raw material is locally found, and the women prepare it by holding it with their toes and whittling off the bark, leaving a clean, white cording underneath. When they are done weaving the baskets are extra sturdy and awesome.
This little ancient woman just emerged from the bush, and slooooowwwwly made it over to sit under the tree and weave. She had an amazing face, and I wish I spoke Xitswe, the local dialect, just so I could have asked her some questions. However, she scowled at me so I must have been staring rudely. But it was hard to take my eyes off her.