School has been legitimately busy, lots of papers and discussions. It feels good to be compelled with my work.
The theme of my African Lit class is defining what constitutes African literature (work about Africa, literature by Africans-White Africans Black Africans ?). In a class discussion it was agreed that African literature written with the objective of telling “truths” about Africa should be composed by Africans (makes sense)- to which my professor responded: “but can Africans tell the truth about themselves?”
It has really resonated with me and understanding my time and place here. There are so many assumptions I have worked hard to avoid, African’s are poor...schools are lacking...things are inefficient...why...Colonialism...maybe things are unfair...perhaps because there is a culture that is so dependent on aid that one of the national development goals is ‘rid Botswana of the “give me” attitude by 2016.’ There are assumptions I have worked so hard to avoid, that I am finding to be true; and truths that are entirely unexpected. How to navigate them proves to be the continual effort and another point that is testing and growing my patience.
All the school work, has resulted in many hours in cafes so Gods of Rock week on VH1 was a happy surprise and break from the top 40 insanity of the usual cafe/restaurant/dorm life background. Jason DeRulo’s Whatcha Say is playing literally always- its actually playing as I type this- but most delightfully at 5:15 every morning when Millie’s alarm goes off.
This is the morning process for most Batswana women. You have a giant bucket and a hot pot (the sort you make tea with). You take your hot pot to the common room sink, fill it up take it back to the room, let it boil then dump it in the bucket. This is repeated until the bucket, probs five gallons, is filled with hot water. Then you cary your bucket (heavy) and all of your shower stuff to the shower and sort of sponge yourself from the bucket. It is a ridiculously involved process that I have yet to experience. Though I do get to experience the array of sounds it creates in my room every morn just before sunrise.
Almost as rigorous, as the process of the bucket-bath was my first endeavor doing a full load of laundry by hand. The university has a laundry room with about twenty washers and twenty dryers, it is really cheap and (usually) works well. But it is super chaotic and people tend to hold a washer or dryer for someone who is ‘on their way’ so even if you are waiting you aren’t really waiting for something that is immediately usable. My last efforts resulted in me waiting just over an hour, removing someone else’s clothes from a washer (which weirdly, was like 20 pairs of baseball pants(?)) that was seemingly abandoned, and proceeding to use a dryer with a broken latch by rigging a wedge made of a broom and a chair to keep the door shut so the cycle would run. Rachel and I decided we’d give hand washing a go.
It felt really nice (or at least very authentic) to be out behind the laundry room at the sinks, under the hot sun using freezing hose water, everyone shouting in Setswana and laughing at us (friendly laughter) in our struggle. We were brutally unprepared both for the amount of manual labor- my greatest feat will be removing the indian food stain from my white linen pants- and the wind. Evidently, line drying your clothes on a windy day is quite ideal (and looks very picturesque), but it is essential that you use clothes pins (rather than just a drape kind-of-thing) as your method of hanging. So as we watched our clothes dry (you have to watch them so they are safe !) every 7 minutes someone’s t-shirt or sock would fall off the line into the dirt. I think most of my clothes were significantly dirtier after, or a the very least were not entirely rinsed out- so still a little laden with detergent. I have been wearing a lot of crispy underwear as a result.
Unfortunately, crunchy undies seemed an easy inconvenience after my sick week began. Tuesday night was pretty standard, I had been feeling a little funky but opted to go play soccer for a few hours (between the locals and the european exchange students they are ready to play a LONG time) too exhausted for much else, it was the executive decision to order Debonaire’s pizza (the delivery people all wear bowties) and have our first collective viewing of Planet Earth. Still feeling a little wonky, Nick gave me a vita-immune-boost-juice-thing and I was sent to bed.
2 a.m. I am no stranger to tummy troubles, getting ill does not totally phase me but this was rough, and urgent. I spent the majority of my night with my head over the latrine. Debonaire’s and vita-boost round two were more than unpleasant.
The ultimate moment occurred around 4:30 am roughly my fifth trip to the bathroom, (this is gross) I vomited and the toilet water splashed on my shoulder (yuck) as I recoiled from the toilet, bare foot and with no glasses, I stepped and crushed one of the larger cockroaches I have seen yet. This was a low.
Its very hard to be far from home and sick.
For three days.
Rachel ran many flights of stairs to insure I had water.
Adam and Axel nursed me with excellent bedside manner.
Nick and Monica brought me a lovely balloon with Winnie the Pooh shooting hoops (?).
Millie bought me banana flavored porridge that you can drink from a carton.
Feeling recovered by Friday I decided to be adventurous, head out into the heart of Gabs, see some things I have been meaning to see. I had been notified that there was a package for me, so I began my inaugural expedition by heading to the post office. About halfway across campus (which is maybes a 10 minute walk) I realized I would not be making it very far so shifted my plan to studying/reading at a cafe in Riverwalk.
A quick commentary on the package. It was a really lovely and very much needed package coming from my beautiful mother in just the right moment of exhaustion, sickness, all of that. Upon getting it I noticed the customs form she had filled out listing the contents, the list she had written was scribbled out, but I open it to find a sweet family photo, somethings to expand my mind and heart, a note on a Mt. Rainier postcard so I can see Rainier from here etc etc. I emailed her as soon as I could, and she responded saying “hope you can eat the reese’s when your tummy is better.” (!?!?) There were no reese’s in this package!? I went over the custom’s list for a second time, sure enough the item that was so cleverly scribbled over was ‘CANDY.’ “Your things are safe...though sometimes they will be tempted to try your food because it is exotic,” this was Batsi referring to the cleaning staff at UB during orientation - apparently also postal employees. ***
10 more minutes into the heat ridden excursion to Riverwalk I am near fainting into the dirt on the side of the road - mind you this is my first journey outside of the room in a while and all I have consumed in 4 days is a rusk* and a banana- I opt to hail a cab, even though I am five minutes from Riverwalk and am priced gouged for 25 pula by my taxi driver. Ironically enough, this man’s legal name (he showed me his license) is Decency.
As it turns out, after sitting and working for about an hour consuming a frozen lemonade (seemed gentle enough) I was not recovered. I** had to buy more toilet paper because I used all of Riverwalk’s.
I had to buy the mall more toilet paper.
My diagnoses have ranged from G.I. infection to Ebola (Adam’s Swedish Aunt) and Cholera (Axel). I attempted to go out Friday night (the same night of the Riverwalk incident), it ended in Axel and Rachel getting a cab and Monica tucking me in by 9:30.
Rachel ended up on South African Mtv in my absence and it was a weekend with no (very minimal) dancing which is always a bit disappointing.
There is rumor of a teachers strike for the week, which would prove very exciting. Evidently the professors union has been negotiating a pay increase that they have yet to see for the past five years. If there is a strike class is canceled and we go shark diving.
I apologize for the somewhat graphic and lack luster blog entry of week five. It has been a more low energy time. My full recovery will be celebrated with a ‘choc-o-holic spinner!’
Also evidently Wednesday marks the first day of summer here so it is now officially ok to show your legs !?
I miss you so.
love love love,
Jackie
*A delicious (Di Monante (DEE moe NAAN teh) means delicious in Setswana) granola type bar, I would equate it to an Oats and Honey Bar.
**Monica actually had to go buy the toilet paper for me because I couldn’t make it to the pick n’ pay.
*** Never the less, please please mail me things, be strategic in your label.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Gabs week four. The chair problem. Makgadikgadi.
I found myself in the ‘chair’ predicament all week. To get a chair you have to arrive to class 15 minutes early but your professor will come 15 minutes late. I haven’t decided my best game plan.
When professors do come, and power point is in working condition, all of my classes have been really interesting and I feel engaged in what I am doing and learning. My professor for Economics of Botswana and Southern Africa lectured on a of linking Africa’s economic problems to the disregard for time. This was fascinating, and maybe true, but perhaps sad for the Batswana pace of life. I think a lot about my need to slow down versus their need, here, to speed up.
I read in The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born (a book for my African lit class) the line “you have not done what everybody is doing...and in this world, here, that is one of the crimes...” I am seeing that being different is either idolized and craved or viewed as entirely awful.
Batsi has got us in contact with Ditshwanelo: The Centre for Human Rights in Botswana and the LEGABIBO which "advocates rights for Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual" people in Botswana. Since it's illegal this is an "underground" organization. I am really looking forward to this.
Emang Basadi is still a process but I am not (entirely) discouraged yet.
The amount of hot water (or any water) available and the level of bureaucratic stress and just general difficulty have not changed, but I was told if I stop using my “yardstick” I will feel better. Mostly meaning stop comparing Gabs, school, everything here to what I know. I think that is helpful, but also something I have to constantly remind myself of.
Week two of attending UB poetry society proved even more exciting and thought provoking than before. Fun fact of the day: I was asked, then proceeded to recite a poem, not one I wrote myself but one I very much like about ‘the resting place of the soul.’**** I don’t think I have been so nervous in quite sometime. But in Africa we do hard things (a pact with myself (and rachel.)) And, admittedly, I felt pretty cool. Rachel wrote a rap about “White-girl in Bots”. It started out silly but turned out (maybe by accident) to be a pretty rad commentary on gender inequality here, it was well received. We spent some time with people from poetry at a bar called The Room. It feels good to be making friends.
All woes not mended by new friends and poetry were curbed by the weekend trip to the north.
Our journey began at 4 am on Friday morning.
It was a relatively easy 5 hour trip, with the exception of the bus driver blaring a Setswana reggae-esc album for the entirety and Rachel vomiting out the window*****. The best part of African mix cd’s is that often they have the same song two or three times in a row. My theory is this, rather than press repeat for the songs you love, why not save yourself the effort and conveniently burn it multiple times in a row. So despite the fact that it was a full 80 minute album, it consisted of maybe 8 tracks.
It was very exciting to arrive in Francistown, a whole new city before us. Looking for a local, really authentic sort of endeavor (of course) it felt natural to start inquiring to anyone around what we should do. Very quickly and post asking, what felt like all employee’s of the Francistown Galo Mall (which is just Riverwalk 6 hours away) what is interesting to see or do, our options were to drink or go on a tour of the Botswana Meat Commission (the butchery (vetoed)).
A little craziness: when I asked what was the best restaurant to eat at in Francistown, a woman at the pharmacy exclaimed “Well there is a KFC next door!”- this is what I mean by seeing which elements of western culture are adopted, it is constantly shocking.
Someone finally recommended (to Adam) a cool spot called Waterfalls where we could eat, drink and play pool. A night of hanging out with the Francistownies sounded great- at the very least we would feel cool shooting pool (which is called snicker here-but maybe snicker is a different game? I am unclear).
Arriving where we thought we were supposed to be our eager hearts were disappointed by a lack of pool tables. After clarification we realized, we were not in fact in the Waterfalls, but in a pub called O’Hanagan’s, a very nice and quiet waitress told us it was just around the corner.
It was not around the corner, or any corner, subsequent to many stops for directions it was decided that this place was not real. (which was not necessarily surprising.)
But then it was spotted waterHOLES! Waterholes was an uber dive bar (not in a really charming way) and everyone was using the pool table as a dinning table. Fortunately, you can walk the whole of Francistown in about 40 minutes. We chalked it up to a Swedish-Setswana miscomm and went back to O’Hanagans-The great Africa-Irish Pub.
It looked fine enough, known for 25 international beers and 9 on tap, they had a multi paged menu with everything from bangers and mash to spinach lasagna (maybe a risky order in Southern Africa). We ordered drinks and meals alike, then our nice and quiet waitress explained there are only 3 beers, none international and none on tap. So good ol’ St.Louis (brewed in Gabs) for all.
Adam ordered first, he wanted a tramazzini - which I also wanted, it is sort of a Gyro. Our waitress, nodded said “ok but that’s the last one.” No bigs, I would pick something new. Going around the table, everything any of us wanted to order was “out” with the exception of the 1 trazzamini, chicken strips and Jalepeno Burger. “Oh but no Jalepenos.”
1 trazzamini, 1 chicken strip basket and 4 jalepeno burgers, no jalepenos.
Our burgers were good and only Adam got sick.
Though Francistown was not such a happening place, we had a delightful stay at the Town Lodge and experienced the site of Southern Africa’s first gold rush which was neat (maybe). Finding out the gold rush fact, Axel exclaimed “Ah I knew there was something special about Francistown!”
Also they had a Milky Lane the ice cream-coffee-‘donut’ shop we all like.
(sort of a DairyQueen minus the hot eats and anticipate a 12 minute wait for a spinner-the African McFlurry),
We woke up at 4:30 and trudged through the dark of Francistown to make it to our bus to Gweta. The bus ride was three hours, fairly standard, no music. I slept only to wake up to eat a snack and then again to be dropped off quite literally in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the heat.
But alas there was a sign on a GIANT (probs 15 foot tall) aardvark (A.A.R.D.V.A.R.K.) leading us to Planet Baobab, where we would meet our guide for the Makgadikgadi.
Planet Baobab is just outside of Gweta, a very small but very happy village. Here we met our guide, had lunch, spent the morning leisurely exploring the Baobabs. A wedding party was there, so we got to watch them dance and sing the traditional songs, it all felt very festive. It is quite the lodge.
The Makgadikgadi (MA cod (like the fish) E cod E) is the largest salt pan in the world. Its surface is 12,000 square kilometers of completely barren flat land- roughly the size of Portugal. (If that is not an easy reference point for you, as it was not for me, it converts to 7500 sq miles.(!)) We camped in the Ntwetwe (IN tway tway) pan.
We learned that there are still remote parts of the pans that are yet to be discovered because it is so disorienting to travel through them. I thought that was super cool (I also thought in that moment that it was super cool that we hired a guide- as a prior to leaving a conversation most definitely occurred in which Rachel and I assured one another that “if we had a compass and a map we could FOR SURE be fine to drive ourselves.”) Our guides were Kgotla and Bayani.
In the wet time it is covered with about five inches of water and looks like a big lake, people go then to see the mass migration of animals who use it as a giant water hole.
Now it is dry time. There is no water, no vegetation, no life. I felt like I was on Tatooine.**
It is so beautiful. It is a new favorite place.
It took an hour and a half of off road driving through trees and rocks- no path-cows and goats and elephants popping out at any moment (we didn’t see any elephants, only droppings) to get to the edge of the pans. Here we got ATV’s to drive to camp through the pans. After about an hour going crazy fast in crazy dust we stopped, and hiked to meet the meerkats!
There is a huge meerkat colony south of the salt pans. At first you will only see one, he is the watcher, standing guard, then little puffs of dirt start jumping out every where and the meerkats surround you. They are very social and will carrying on digging for bugs or come inquisitively examine you. At one point I was sitting by the entrance to there hole and they were all called in by the watcher, so about thirty meerkats just started running at me. It was equally frightening and cute.* They are really funny creatures and seemingly very smart.
We drove through the pans, while the sun set to arrive at a campfire in the middle of the abyss. Endless white.
Kgotla and Bayani made us dinner, on the fire. Without a doubt the best meal in Botswana so far. Baked sweet potatoes, tomato and feta salad, beer bread and monstrous steaks. We drank beer and exchanged African and American horror stories, it of course should not have been surprising but African campfire stories are very different; a little less silly a little more horrifying (and true).
Stepping into the pans for the first time is somewhat mind blowing, I feel my descriptions are very insufficient. The salt is like and icy desert that crunches under your feet. I walked, ran, rolled through the pans never seeing any end, only having the fire as a way back to anything.
We slept in the pans out under the stars, we were there to watch sunset, the rising and setting of venus and jupiter and the sunrise. The moon was almost full, it was so bright reflecting off the white pans it was like day; so for most of the night you could only see the brightest stars.
A really neat thing is how none of the constellations are the same, I have loved that no matter how little interest you have or lack of familiarity with the cosmos, stars, space etcetera you can’t not notice that they are entirely different simply because you have grown up looking at a northern sky. It is pretty amazing, like being able to find your way home without thinking about it.
The moon set at around 4:30 am, but the sun didn’t rise until 6:00 am, so for that window of time you could see every star. I have never seen so many stars (and satellites and falling stars). It was so crazy to fall asleep and wake up periodically and be lying there in this insane vastness.
Kgotla and Bayani made sure we were awake for sunrise and already had prepared hot chocolate, coffee and muffins. We sat at the fire drinking our cozy beverages waiting for the sun.
It was a quiet and cold ride back to the lodge. It felt really nice, almost like fall, all of the leaves in the forest are very different but brown and gold, and little bits of green are coming in.
A lovely woman, named Boethele (I can’t make the sounds for this one yet) welcomed us back and took us to hot showers (!) to clean all the salt off before breakfast. The morning and early afternoon was spent eating delicious EGGS(!) (among other breakfast treats) and hamocking under the Baobabs while we waited for our 1:30 bus back to Francistown.
By the time it came to leave Planet Baobab it was in-arguably the hottest day yet, making the 1 kilometer hike to the road with all of our stuff feel jarring after the breezing afternoon beneath the Baobabs.
Determined to catch the bus (even though everything in this nation is late) we arrive 15 minutes early, waiting, again in the middle of nowhere kept company only by our giant aardvark friend. Finally, forever down the road the bus appears, it is imperative to catch this bus because it is a 3 (roughly) hour ride to F-Town and the last bus to Gabs leaves at 6. The 6 of us stand bewildered in the road (still flailing every extremity-because here you flag down the bus and you tell it when to stop) as the bus proceeds to fly by, everyone inside motioning like an umpire signaling safe to tell us it is too full.
After a very very warm hour and a half, several rides paid for in cans of coke, and only a few instances of panic and frustration, a kind gentleman from Maun offered a ride in the back of his (small) pick up all the way to Francistown.
It seemed to me the 190 kilometers (120 miles ish), squatting on our backpacks, wind blown and ridiculously sweaty, in the back of a truck, could be the only way to end the little adventure.
We made the 6 o’clock bus*** within minutes somehow managing to acquire a bag of bananas and 10 fat cakes (Batswana fry bread).
I am growing to appreciate, to embrace, the absurdities.
My heart misses home and all of you.
Love love love
Jackie
more photos.
*MeerCUTE.
*Tatooine is a desert planet in a binary star system. It once had large oceans and a world-spanning jungle, but this biosphere was destroyed when the myopic Rakata razed the planet, drying up its riverbeds and boiling away its oceans. It is a fictional planet and setting for many key scenes in the Star Wars saga, appearing in every Star Wars film except The Empire Strikes Back, although it is mentioned at the end of the movie. Comparing it to standing on the moon might be an easier comparison for some (?). It looks exactly like Tatooine though.
*** The bus was infested with cockroaches HA!
****Proper credit to the author was acknowledged.
***** Maybe because of motion sickness, maybe to time spent at The Room the night prior.
I will get better about being a kook with the footnotes.
When professors do come, and power point is in working condition, all of my classes have been really interesting and I feel engaged in what I am doing and learning. My professor for Economics of Botswana and Southern Africa lectured on a of linking Africa’s economic problems to the disregard for time. This was fascinating, and maybe true, but perhaps sad for the Batswana pace of life. I think a lot about my need to slow down versus their need, here, to speed up.
I read in The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born (a book for my African lit class) the line “you have not done what everybody is doing...and in this world, here, that is one of the crimes...” I am seeing that being different is either idolized and craved or viewed as entirely awful.
Batsi has got us in contact with Ditshwanelo: The Centre for Human Rights in Botswana and the LEGABIBO which "advocates rights for Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual" people in Botswana. Since it's illegal this is an "underground" organization. I am really looking forward to this.
Emang Basadi is still a process but I am not (entirely) discouraged yet.
The amount of hot water (or any water) available and the level of bureaucratic stress and just general difficulty have not changed, but I was told if I stop using my “yardstick” I will feel better. Mostly meaning stop comparing Gabs, school, everything here to what I know. I think that is helpful, but also something I have to constantly remind myself of.
Week two of attending UB poetry society proved even more exciting and thought provoking than before. Fun fact of the day: I was asked, then proceeded to recite a poem, not one I wrote myself but one I very much like about ‘the resting place of the soul.’**** I don’t think I have been so nervous in quite sometime. But in Africa we do hard things (a pact with myself (and rachel.)) And, admittedly, I felt pretty cool. Rachel wrote a rap about “White-girl in Bots”. It started out silly but turned out (maybe by accident) to be a pretty rad commentary on gender inequality here, it was well received. We spent some time with people from poetry at a bar called The Room. It feels good to be making friends.
All woes not mended by new friends and poetry were curbed by the weekend trip to the north.
Our journey began at 4 am on Friday morning.
It was a relatively easy 5 hour trip, with the exception of the bus driver blaring a Setswana reggae-esc album for the entirety and Rachel vomiting out the window*****. The best part of African mix cd’s is that often they have the same song two or three times in a row. My theory is this, rather than press repeat for the songs you love, why not save yourself the effort and conveniently burn it multiple times in a row. So despite the fact that it was a full 80 minute album, it consisted of maybe 8 tracks.
It was very exciting to arrive in Francistown, a whole new city before us. Looking for a local, really authentic sort of endeavor (of course) it felt natural to start inquiring to anyone around what we should do. Very quickly and post asking, what felt like all employee’s of the Francistown Galo Mall (which is just Riverwalk 6 hours away) what is interesting to see or do, our options were to drink or go on a tour of the Botswana Meat Commission (the butchery (vetoed)).
A little craziness: when I asked what was the best restaurant to eat at in Francistown, a woman at the pharmacy exclaimed “Well there is a KFC next door!”- this is what I mean by seeing which elements of western culture are adopted, it is constantly shocking.
Someone finally recommended (to Adam) a cool spot called Waterfalls where we could eat, drink and play pool. A night of hanging out with the Francistownies sounded great- at the very least we would feel cool shooting pool (which is called snicker here-but maybe snicker is a different game? I am unclear).
Arriving where we thought we were supposed to be our eager hearts were disappointed by a lack of pool tables. After clarification we realized, we were not in fact in the Waterfalls, but in a pub called O’Hanagan’s, a very nice and quiet waitress told us it was just around the corner.
It was not around the corner, or any corner, subsequent to many stops for directions it was decided that this place was not real. (which was not necessarily surprising.)
But then it was spotted waterHOLES! Waterholes was an uber dive bar (not in a really charming way) and everyone was using the pool table as a dinning table. Fortunately, you can walk the whole of Francistown in about 40 minutes. We chalked it up to a Swedish-Setswana miscomm and went back to O’Hanagans-The great Africa-Irish Pub.
It looked fine enough, known for 25 international beers and 9 on tap, they had a multi paged menu with everything from bangers and mash to spinach lasagna (maybe a risky order in Southern Africa). We ordered drinks and meals alike, then our nice and quiet waitress explained there are only 3 beers, none international and none on tap. So good ol’ St.Louis (brewed in Gabs) for all.
Adam ordered first, he wanted a tramazzini - which I also wanted, it is sort of a Gyro. Our waitress, nodded said “ok but that’s the last one.” No bigs, I would pick something new. Going around the table, everything any of us wanted to order was “out” with the exception of the 1 trazzamini, chicken strips and Jalepeno Burger. “Oh but no Jalepenos.”
1 trazzamini, 1 chicken strip basket and 4 jalepeno burgers, no jalepenos.
Our burgers were good and only Adam got sick.
Though Francistown was not such a happening place, we had a delightful stay at the Town Lodge and experienced the site of Southern Africa’s first gold rush which was neat (maybe). Finding out the gold rush fact, Axel exclaimed “Ah I knew there was something special about Francistown!”
Also they had a Milky Lane the ice cream-coffee-‘donut’ shop we all like.
(sort of a DairyQueen minus the hot eats and anticipate a 12 minute wait for a spinner-the African McFlurry),
We woke up at 4:30 and trudged through the dark of Francistown to make it to our bus to Gweta. The bus ride was three hours, fairly standard, no music. I slept only to wake up to eat a snack and then again to be dropped off quite literally in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the heat.
But alas there was a sign on a GIANT (probs 15 foot tall) aardvark (A.A.R.D.V.A.R.K.) leading us to Planet Baobab, where we would meet our guide for the Makgadikgadi.
Planet Baobab is just outside of Gweta, a very small but very happy village. Here we met our guide, had lunch, spent the morning leisurely exploring the Baobabs. A wedding party was there, so we got to watch them dance and sing the traditional songs, it all felt very festive. It is quite the lodge.
The Makgadikgadi (MA cod (like the fish) E cod E) is the largest salt pan in the world. Its surface is 12,000 square kilometers of completely barren flat land- roughly the size of Portugal. (If that is not an easy reference point for you, as it was not for me, it converts to 7500 sq miles.(!)) We camped in the Ntwetwe (IN tway tway) pan.
We learned that there are still remote parts of the pans that are yet to be discovered because it is so disorienting to travel through them. I thought that was super cool (I also thought in that moment that it was super cool that we hired a guide- as a prior to leaving a conversation most definitely occurred in which Rachel and I assured one another that “if we had a compass and a map we could FOR SURE be fine to drive ourselves.”) Our guides were Kgotla and Bayani.
In the wet time it is covered with about five inches of water and looks like a big lake, people go then to see the mass migration of animals who use it as a giant water hole.
Now it is dry time. There is no water, no vegetation, no life. I felt like I was on Tatooine.**
It is so beautiful. It is a new favorite place.
It took an hour and a half of off road driving through trees and rocks- no path-cows and goats and elephants popping out at any moment (we didn’t see any elephants, only droppings) to get to the edge of the pans. Here we got ATV’s to drive to camp through the pans. After about an hour going crazy fast in crazy dust we stopped, and hiked to meet the meerkats!
There is a huge meerkat colony south of the salt pans. At first you will only see one, he is the watcher, standing guard, then little puffs of dirt start jumping out every where and the meerkats surround you. They are very social and will carrying on digging for bugs or come inquisitively examine you. At one point I was sitting by the entrance to there hole and they were all called in by the watcher, so about thirty meerkats just started running at me. It was equally frightening and cute.* They are really funny creatures and seemingly very smart.
We drove through the pans, while the sun set to arrive at a campfire in the middle of the abyss. Endless white.
Kgotla and Bayani made us dinner, on the fire. Without a doubt the best meal in Botswana so far. Baked sweet potatoes, tomato and feta salad, beer bread and monstrous steaks. We drank beer and exchanged African and American horror stories, it of course should not have been surprising but African campfire stories are very different; a little less silly a little more horrifying (and true).
Stepping into the pans for the first time is somewhat mind blowing, I feel my descriptions are very insufficient. The salt is like and icy desert that crunches under your feet. I walked, ran, rolled through the pans never seeing any end, only having the fire as a way back to anything.
We slept in the pans out under the stars, we were there to watch sunset, the rising and setting of venus and jupiter and the sunrise. The moon was almost full, it was so bright reflecting off the white pans it was like day; so for most of the night you could only see the brightest stars.
A really neat thing is how none of the constellations are the same, I have loved that no matter how little interest you have or lack of familiarity with the cosmos, stars, space etcetera you can’t not notice that they are entirely different simply because you have grown up looking at a northern sky. It is pretty amazing, like being able to find your way home without thinking about it.
The moon set at around 4:30 am, but the sun didn’t rise until 6:00 am, so for that window of time you could see every star. I have never seen so many stars (and satellites and falling stars). It was so crazy to fall asleep and wake up periodically and be lying there in this insane vastness.
Kgotla and Bayani made sure we were awake for sunrise and already had prepared hot chocolate, coffee and muffins. We sat at the fire drinking our cozy beverages waiting for the sun.
It was a quiet and cold ride back to the lodge. It felt really nice, almost like fall, all of the leaves in the forest are very different but brown and gold, and little bits of green are coming in.
A lovely woman, named Boethele (I can’t make the sounds for this one yet) welcomed us back and took us to hot showers (!) to clean all the salt off before breakfast. The morning and early afternoon was spent eating delicious EGGS(!) (among other breakfast treats) and hamocking under the Baobabs while we waited for our 1:30 bus back to Francistown.
By the time it came to leave Planet Baobab it was in-arguably the hottest day yet, making the 1 kilometer hike to the road with all of our stuff feel jarring after the breezing afternoon beneath the Baobabs.
Determined to catch the bus (even though everything in this nation is late) we arrive 15 minutes early, waiting, again in the middle of nowhere kept company only by our giant aardvark friend. Finally, forever down the road the bus appears, it is imperative to catch this bus because it is a 3 (roughly) hour ride to F-Town and the last bus to Gabs leaves at 6. The 6 of us stand bewildered in the road (still flailing every extremity-because here you flag down the bus and you tell it when to stop) as the bus proceeds to fly by, everyone inside motioning like an umpire signaling safe to tell us it is too full.
After a very very warm hour and a half, several rides paid for in cans of coke, and only a few instances of panic and frustration, a kind gentleman from Maun offered a ride in the back of his (small) pick up all the way to Francistown.
It seemed to me the 190 kilometers (120 miles ish), squatting on our backpacks, wind blown and ridiculously sweaty, in the back of a truck, could be the only way to end the little adventure.
We made the 6 o’clock bus*** within minutes somehow managing to acquire a bag of bananas and 10 fat cakes (Batswana fry bread).
I am growing to appreciate, to embrace, the absurdities.
My heart misses home and all of you.
Love love love
Jackie
 |
| Africa. Time in Botswana |
more photos.
*MeerCUTE.
*Tatooine is a desert planet in a binary star system. It once had large oceans and a world-spanning jungle, but this biosphere was destroyed when the myopic Rakata razed the planet, drying up its riverbeds and boiling away its oceans. It is a fictional planet and setting for many key scenes in the Star Wars saga, appearing in every Star Wars film except The Empire Strikes Back, although it is mentioned at the end of the movie. Comparing it to standing on the moon might be an easier comparison for some (?). It looks exactly like Tatooine though.
*** The bus was infested with cockroaches HA!
****Proper credit to the author was acknowledged.
***** Maybe because of motion sickness, maybe to time spent at The Room the night prior.
I will get better about being a kook with the footnotes.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Gabs week three. The rotten apple.
Culture shock, since I have arrived, has been explained to me as this: imagine you have never eaten an apple, or perhaps you have never eaten a really good apple. So the first time you have it, it is so delicious and exciting and crisp and new- but you keep eating the apple and eventually you find a mushy spot and then a worm and then you don’t want apples anymore.
If last week seemed insane this week was insanity squared.
My first social-cultural conflict has come from literally having the issue of sexuality come up every day and experiencing the majority of Batswana ready and eager to claim “there are no gay people in Botswana,” or rather acknowledge the presence of gay people but claim something to the likes of “its a phase” or “...well...lesbians are okay...” It has been the single cultural difference that I can not (or rather have chosen not) to be respectful of(?), delicate with(?), I am not quite sure how to phrase it, my point is that I am equally ready to state there are in fact many gay people in Bots and I am excited to befriend any and all of them. When I recently explained to a classmate that the neighborhood I come from is not only tolerant but often celebratory of queer communities she gasped and looked shocked then added, “well...I did like Brokeback Mountain.”
As part of our program here with CIEE we are required to do an extensive research project on any cultural aspect of Botswana and I have chosen to do mine (with my pals Rachel and Monica) on the visible intolerance and underlying cultural values that (are trying to) insist on a solely heterosexual society. It is clearly the human rights issue. 7 years in prison is the minimum punishment if you are caught with a partner of the same gender but there is a huge underground scene. They asked us not to get political but I think it might be great to get (at least a little) political.
Political action is one of the main reasons I am trying so desperately to work for Emang Basadi, which translates to ‘stand up women!’ I had a preliminary interview them on Tuesday. However, when I showed up, after a TWO hour walk to find it, the director decided to cancel. This was fine as it was a nice walk and because it only took me about 12 minutes to find it (walking)Wednesday.
A little aside about the two hours, no one here uses street names or cardinal directions so my map is a moot point. All directions are given via land marks, I called to ask what street the NGO was on because I was at such and such intersection and I had a map to which she said “ok ok take a left when you find the big church then at the third robot go right and keep going,” "ok but what street are you on?" "Just keep going." Robot = stop light e.g. 'Stop there's a red robot!'
My interview went very well. They are very involved with the legislative process in Botswana, some really interesting community out reach working with domestic violence prevention and they have a subdivision called WAR, Women Against Rape. I was super excited until they said they could not have me volunteer because they didn’t have an office for me. Despite explaining I did not need an office they seemed pretty set on their decision to not let me volunteer. I found out a few nights later that volunteer work does not necessarily mean unpaid-I am going tomorrow to explain I don't require monetary compensation.
As previously mentioned the immigration errand of Friday was most defs not a quick endeavor. All international students were to meet in the main quad at 9:30 am. I returned to my room at 2 pm. The most important detail of the whole day is that I did not speak to anyone, show anyone any sort of identification, sign any papers; all I did was hand in a preprinted form that asked for an extension and then wait. AND I didn’t even hand the form in, someone else just passed it forward! After passing my form, I sat and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with my international posse for four hours. Still I was, I guess, appreciative of my picnic lunch.
I am learning here that my daily schedule can not be the same. There is no way to have back to back meetings or long to do lists because everything takes much much much more time. What it means to be productive is very different and that is both incredibly difficult and frustrating and very healing. How I understand and appreciate time is changing drastically.
The administrative pride of the university is a recent installment of a great clock tower on the new student center in the main quad. The time on the clock is 17 minutes off.
People use the saying here, T.I.A. which is basically a hybrid of c’est la vie and S.O.L. It means “this is Africa,” and is reserved for moments where things go far from planned-which has been most moments. There are certainly lots of T.I.A. worthy instances, just in this very moment my friend Adam, from Sweden asked if I wanted to share headphones to listen to some Swedish music, I asked if he minded that it would be all the way in my ear (since they are those sort of headphones) to which he replied, “What does it matter, there is no hygiene here anyway.”Which is true.
While it is easy to throw around, the T.I.A. especially sans hot water and after times like what occurred at immigration, I can’t decide if I think it has the same charming take-life-as-it-comes sort of feel as c’est la vie or if the continental specificity of it makes it defeatist and very sad.
Apart from the obvious lack of toilet paper, internet, hygienic processes etc, I feel the only way I can adequately describe the vibe of a developing nation is as an individual who aspires to be a cool kid. I am not at all attempting to say that the developed world is cool and the lesser developed community is the uncool. It is just that there are certain elements of the developed world that Botswana so badly wishes to emulate and it does not seem to matter at what cost.
And like the person you know who readily name drops every Wes Anderson movie they have seen, Botswana is ready to let you know it is just as western, just as cool, but ultimately said friend has only seen "most of Rushmore"** and ultimately Botswana possess very limited infrastructure to physically, economically or socially support development. The most shocking/interesting/crazy thing is seeing which ‘cool’ attributes Botswana is opting to absorb. It is very difficult to find places in which tradition is maintained and progress supported.
But alas I have found one of those pockets within the University of Botswana poetry society. Every Wednesday UB hosts an event (?) club (?) featuring poetry, spoken word, free style raps, slam poetry an open mic (minus the mic) type thing and it is really fantastic. People openly expressing really interesting, introspective progressive things and consistently paying homage to the Batswana culture all of this accompanied by some rad hip-hop. It is going to be a good place.
Batsi told us from the beginning that culture is like an ant hill (this is the African equivalent to the iceberg metaphor) though you can see a lot about the surface that is only 1/7 of the ant colony. So while some ways of life seem so frustrating, we must get to know the 6/7 of culture that lies below and explains those ways of life. Perhaps it is a bit trite, or obvious, and perhaps I am using too many analogies (alas it is the culture here) but it is definitely something that is preserving my patience.
I have not seen one cloud or felt one drop of rain.
To a Motswana, pula means more than just the water but it means luck, love and life- really just everything. I have learned how important rain is for me and my little heart too. I am excited that me and my Batswana friends are equally anticipating the rainy times.
Working on food still. Not a lot of "fresh" things, I have a new love for iceberg lettuce. Add KingCone to the list of ice cream treats enjoyed. Also mexican pizza (you crumble your own nachos on top) is quite delicious.
Camping came with lots of excitement and lots of good food. Everything from traditional tribal court, Kgotla-to the Manayana rock art. The rock paintings are located in an area at the base of the Tsodilo and Kolobeng Hills some 35km to the west of Gabs, they are two thousand years old and pretty rad. The giraffe paintings were my favorite.
BUT more exciting than the rock art giraffes was the giraffe duo sitting in the grass this weekend!
At night it is so dark and there are so many stars, standing on a hill in the desert in Kanye it literally looks as if there are stars at knee level, no looking up, just out. That has maybe been my most favorite moment so far.
I really like how here you can tell how round the earth is and the moon wanes and waxes from bottom to top instead of left to right, so it always looks like a cheshire smile.
I guess I am just saying there were some mushy spots this week, but I am still in awe with everything and I am ready to have all the misadventures this country can offer me.
This weekend, camping in the Makgadikgadi salt pans.
Also Fleetwood Mac’s video* for “Everywhere” is playing in the cafe I am in currently so I will take that as a good omen.
Perhaps this entry is disjointed and I am sorry. I think it is reflecting some of the craziness so at least you know it’s honest.
Miss miss miss you.
Love love love
waka waka its time for Afrika.***
Jackie
*This video is nuts, youtube it.
**My apologies for this rather extended and rather silly comparison
*** I have heard this song 4 times in the last hour.
If last week seemed insane this week was insanity squared.
My first social-cultural conflict has come from literally having the issue of sexuality come up every day and experiencing the majority of Batswana ready and eager to claim “there are no gay people in Botswana,” or rather acknowledge the presence of gay people but claim something to the likes of “its a phase” or “...well...lesbians are okay...” It has been the single cultural difference that I can not (or rather have chosen not) to be respectful of(?), delicate with(?), I am not quite sure how to phrase it, my point is that I am equally ready to state there are in fact many gay people in Bots and I am excited to befriend any and all of them. When I recently explained to a classmate that the neighborhood I come from is not only tolerant but often celebratory of queer communities she gasped and looked shocked then added, “well...I did like Brokeback Mountain.”
As part of our program here with CIEE we are required to do an extensive research project on any cultural aspect of Botswana and I have chosen to do mine (with my pals Rachel and Monica) on the visible intolerance and underlying cultural values that (are trying to) insist on a solely heterosexual society. It is clearly the human rights issue. 7 years in prison is the minimum punishment if you are caught with a partner of the same gender but there is a huge underground scene. They asked us not to get political but I think it might be great to get (at least a little) political.
Political action is one of the main reasons I am trying so desperately to work for Emang Basadi, which translates to ‘stand up women!’ I had a preliminary interview them on Tuesday. However, when I showed up, after a TWO hour walk to find it, the director decided to cancel. This was fine as it was a nice walk and because it only took me about 12 minutes to find it (walking)Wednesday.
A little aside about the two hours, no one here uses street names or cardinal directions so my map is a moot point. All directions are given via land marks, I called to ask what street the NGO was on because I was at such and such intersection and I had a map to which she said “ok ok take a left when you find the big church then at the third robot go right and keep going,” "ok but what street are you on?" "Just keep going." Robot = stop light e.g. 'Stop there's a red robot!'
My interview went very well. They are very involved with the legislative process in Botswana, some really interesting community out reach working with domestic violence prevention and they have a subdivision called WAR, Women Against Rape. I was super excited until they said they could not have me volunteer because they didn’t have an office for me. Despite explaining I did not need an office they seemed pretty set on their decision to not let me volunteer. I found out a few nights later that volunteer work does not necessarily mean unpaid-I am going tomorrow to explain I don't require monetary compensation.
As previously mentioned the immigration errand of Friday was most defs not a quick endeavor. All international students were to meet in the main quad at 9:30 am. I returned to my room at 2 pm. The most important detail of the whole day is that I did not speak to anyone, show anyone any sort of identification, sign any papers; all I did was hand in a preprinted form that asked for an extension and then wait. AND I didn’t even hand the form in, someone else just passed it forward! After passing my form, I sat and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with my international posse for four hours. Still I was, I guess, appreciative of my picnic lunch.
I am learning here that my daily schedule can not be the same. There is no way to have back to back meetings or long to do lists because everything takes much much much more time. What it means to be productive is very different and that is both incredibly difficult and frustrating and very healing. How I understand and appreciate time is changing drastically.
The administrative pride of the university is a recent installment of a great clock tower on the new student center in the main quad. The time on the clock is 17 minutes off.
People use the saying here, T.I.A. which is basically a hybrid of c’est la vie and S.O.L. It means “this is Africa,” and is reserved for moments where things go far from planned-which has been most moments. There are certainly lots of T.I.A. worthy instances, just in this very moment my friend Adam, from Sweden asked if I wanted to share headphones to listen to some Swedish music, I asked if he minded that it would be all the way in my ear (since they are those sort of headphones) to which he replied, “What does it matter, there is no hygiene here anyway.”Which is true.
While it is easy to throw around, the T.I.A. especially sans hot water and after times like what occurred at immigration, I can’t decide if I think it has the same charming take-life-as-it-comes sort of feel as c’est la vie or if the continental specificity of it makes it defeatist and very sad.
Apart from the obvious lack of toilet paper, internet, hygienic processes etc, I feel the only way I can adequately describe the vibe of a developing nation is as an individual who aspires to be a cool kid. I am not at all attempting to say that the developed world is cool and the lesser developed community is the uncool. It is just that there are certain elements of the developed world that Botswana so badly wishes to emulate and it does not seem to matter at what cost.
And like the person you know who readily name drops every Wes Anderson movie they have seen, Botswana is ready to let you know it is just as western, just as cool, but ultimately said friend has only seen "most of Rushmore"** and ultimately Botswana possess very limited infrastructure to physically, economically or socially support development. The most shocking/interesting/crazy thing is seeing which ‘cool’ attributes Botswana is opting to absorb. It is very difficult to find places in which tradition is maintained and progress supported.
But alas I have found one of those pockets within the University of Botswana poetry society. Every Wednesday UB hosts an event (?) club (?) featuring poetry, spoken word, free style raps, slam poetry an open mic (minus the mic) type thing and it is really fantastic. People openly expressing really interesting, introspective progressive things and consistently paying homage to the Batswana culture all of this accompanied by some rad hip-hop. It is going to be a good place.
Batsi told us from the beginning that culture is like an ant hill (this is the African equivalent to the iceberg metaphor) though you can see a lot about the surface that is only 1/7 of the ant colony. So while some ways of life seem so frustrating, we must get to know the 6/7 of culture that lies below and explains those ways of life. Perhaps it is a bit trite, or obvious, and perhaps I am using too many analogies (alas it is the culture here) but it is definitely something that is preserving my patience.
I have not seen one cloud or felt one drop of rain.
To a Motswana, pula means more than just the water but it means luck, love and life- really just everything. I have learned how important rain is for me and my little heart too. I am excited that me and my Batswana friends are equally anticipating the rainy times.
Working on food still. Not a lot of "fresh" things, I have a new love for iceberg lettuce. Add KingCone to the list of ice cream treats enjoyed. Also mexican pizza (you crumble your own nachos on top) is quite delicious.
Camping came with lots of excitement and lots of good food. Everything from traditional tribal court, Kgotla-to the Manayana rock art. The rock paintings are located in an area at the base of the Tsodilo and Kolobeng Hills some 35km to the west of Gabs, they are two thousand years old and pretty rad. The giraffe paintings were my favorite.
BUT more exciting than the rock art giraffes was the giraffe duo sitting in the grass this weekend!
At night it is so dark and there are so many stars, standing on a hill in the desert in Kanye it literally looks as if there are stars at knee level, no looking up, just out. That has maybe been my most favorite moment so far.
I really like how here you can tell how round the earth is and the moon wanes and waxes from bottom to top instead of left to right, so it always looks like a cheshire smile.
I guess I am just saying there were some mushy spots this week, but I am still in awe with everything and I am ready to have all the misadventures this country can offer me.
This weekend, camping in the Makgadikgadi salt pans.
Also Fleetwood Mac’s video* for “Everywhere” is playing in the cafe I am in currently so I will take that as a good omen.
Perhaps this entry is disjointed and I am sorry. I think it is reflecting some of the craziness so at least you know it’s honest.
Miss miss miss you.
Love love love
waka waka its time for Afrika.***
Jackie
*This video is nuts, youtube it.
**My apologies for this rather extended and rather silly comparison
*** I have heard this song 4 times in the last hour.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Gabs week two. "Howzit Lekgowa?"
The first week of school has been insanity. Beginning with the (evidently) standard practice of professors not showing up for the first one (or maybe two (or maybe three!)) classes and culminating in the comment “...but seriously, I didn’t know I was a Black man until 1997” provided by my Economics of Botswana and Southern Africa professor after pointing me out-in a rather insensitive manner- as the only white student in the room. I think the aim of his comment was to reconcile putting me on the spot or at least soften his jabs at me as a colonizer...which was nice (sort of); “...but seriously...” it held a lot of weight for me - even if all of the other students in the class apologized to me and this particular professor always has his dress shirt tucked into his briefs ABOVE his belt line.
His point was to tell the story of going to Sweden for a conference in 1997 and being aware of his race for the first time, I think that is maybe where I find myself now. As much as the place and people I come from are interested in investing in conversations about race (gender, sexuality, class etc) I was in no way prepared for what it would be like to be a lekgowa ((LA koh UH) one spit from the sea) in a country where I am very much a standout minority. It feels both very disarming and very healthy (?) to walk around and hear every tenth person say lekgowa- if nothing else it has encouraged me to practice my Setswana extra.
On the whole my courses are interesting and similar to something we would find ourselves in in ‘the states.’ I am taking Development Economics, Economics of Botswana and Southern Africa, African Literature; The Novel and Oral Traditions, African Philosophy and Culture, and Rural Development.
The bureaucracy of the University of Botswana is unlike anything you are likely to experience. I am becoming more accustomed to the waiting and to my thoughtful time but it is super exhausting. If you recall (from my previous post) the UB student ID card is sort of a golden ticket on campus. And so it makes sense that it took three offices, and five hours of walking around and waiting in line to get. All of that time my irritations were pacified knowing that I would just do this once and be good to go. What surprised me was that to punch a hole in the card so I could place it conveniently on my university provided lanyard (sp!?) would demagnetize it. I have yet to get another.
I have to finish paperwork that extends my visa at the immigration office on Friday, I am sensing it won’t be a quick endeavor.
The realm of non-academic adventures (per usual) is far more exciting. I have climbed Kgale Hill, which is precisely that a hill, but it is about an hour ascent and really beautiful. (See link to Picasa for photos) I have seen Zebras, Ostrich (which are really freaky in real life...velociraptor?), Warthogs, meerkats (meerCUTE)*, and most frightening so far the Komodo Lizard- cousin to the dragon- it is a bit smaller but equally fast and poisonous, it ran in front of our van, they are about the size of a welsh corgi dog (I realize that is an odd reference point but it was how it was explained to me.) The Batswana and international students alike appreciate a good drink so that has proved for some silly times with the cross cultural exchange of songs and games. Clubs and events here often advertise ‘guaranteed fun til 6am’ and in all seriousness friday and saturday nights go til 6 am. (Well maybe closer to 4 but still late.) Friday night was spent at the Bull and Bush, the local expat hang out known for ribs AND dancing; a duo I never anticipated. I have been no where where dancing is as fun and full hearted as Bots. (Ladies of 15th and Columbia you are very much missed in the club, especially the rib eating club.)
We have found some more familiar and more yummy (less familiar) foods, everyday across from campus you can get a hotdog to the likes of something found at costco for 10 pula or an all-you-can-pack-on-your-plate-in-one-trip-through buffet of more traditional foods for 15 pula. The buffet is quite yummy but I learned the hard way only to eat there for lunch when it is first made, coleslaw at 7pm after a day under the African sun was not my best evening here.
While everyone is working hard to find good food, ultimately everything has the underlying very unique flavor of Botswana.
MilkyChoc is a new favorite treat, basically a fudge cycle. I already sense those will be consumed frequently and they come from the school refractory (cafeteria) which is defs the hot spot for meeting local friends. I am avoiding Makgowa (a mob or large group of white people) so as to make myself more approachable, but people have funny expectations for me as an American and making local friends has proved harder than expected.
Everyone affiliated with the international student center has basically told us that Batswana perceive all white people as American and all American’s as wealthy- so people to rob- and all American women as leading a “fast and easy lifestyle.” (This makes a bit more sense to me now since every cafe, restaurant where ever you go has a television playing VH1 top 40- watch that Kati Perry video, california girls (?) a few times and then see how you would expect an American girl to be- not that I am making excuses for gender degradation.) Basically, I feel that we were sort of scared so as to not be haphazard with our things, our information, our time, but when push comes to shove all of us are a little paranoid now and it is difficult to feel like you have to continuously be distrustful. I have faith in finding the balance though. The good conversations I have had with Batswana have been really good. It is pretty remarkable how people requiring you to define yourself and your culture forces you to do that for yourself.
Any clumsiness that normally accompanies me has been greatly accentuated by the rough terrain here. Most problematic are the steps, there is no requirement or standard for the height of steps, so even on campus or in shopping centers one step will be 8 inches high and the next will be 3 and then 6 and 7 then 11. There are also holes, just holes, holes that range from 3 to 10 feet deep everywhere and thorny bushes.
Tomorrow I have a meeting with Emang Basadi and organization founded “To develop action-orientated strategies and mobilize women to take steps that will help to change the social, political, economic and legal position of women in Botswana.” I am very much looking forward to the opportunity.
Upcoming adventures also include a student club fair, I have my eye on bridge club and the University of Botswana Wildlife Conservation Club. This weekend camping in the Mokolodi. I am also attempting to live on 20 pula a day for this next week and see how that goes.
Add reese’s to the list of things not found here.
Still no hot water in Las Vegas.
I miss miss miss home but am doing sharp**.
Jackie
*I hope everyone notes that is the advertisement campaign for the meerkat exhibit at Woodland Park Zoo, not my own neologism.
**Afrikaans for very well.
His point was to tell the story of going to Sweden for a conference in 1997 and being aware of his race for the first time, I think that is maybe where I find myself now. As much as the place and people I come from are interested in investing in conversations about race (gender, sexuality, class etc) I was in no way prepared for what it would be like to be a lekgowa ((LA koh UH) one spit from the sea) in a country where I am very much a standout minority. It feels both very disarming and very healthy (?) to walk around and hear every tenth person say lekgowa- if nothing else it has encouraged me to practice my Setswana extra.
On the whole my courses are interesting and similar to something we would find ourselves in in ‘the states.’ I am taking Development Economics, Economics of Botswana and Southern Africa, African Literature; The Novel and Oral Traditions, African Philosophy and Culture, and Rural Development.
The bureaucracy of the University of Botswana is unlike anything you are likely to experience. I am becoming more accustomed to the waiting and to my thoughtful time but it is super exhausting. If you recall (from my previous post) the UB student ID card is sort of a golden ticket on campus. And so it makes sense that it took three offices, and five hours of walking around and waiting in line to get. All of that time my irritations were pacified knowing that I would just do this once and be good to go. What surprised me was that to punch a hole in the card so I could place it conveniently on my university provided lanyard (sp!?) would demagnetize it. I have yet to get another.
I have to finish paperwork that extends my visa at the immigration office on Friday, I am sensing it won’t be a quick endeavor.
The realm of non-academic adventures (per usual) is far more exciting. I have climbed Kgale Hill, which is precisely that a hill, but it is about an hour ascent and really beautiful. (See link to Picasa for photos) I have seen Zebras, Ostrich (which are really freaky in real life...velociraptor?), Warthogs, meerkats (meerCUTE)*, and most frightening so far the Komodo Lizard- cousin to the dragon- it is a bit smaller but equally fast and poisonous, it ran in front of our van, they are about the size of a welsh corgi dog (I realize that is an odd reference point but it was how it was explained to me.) The Batswana and international students alike appreciate a good drink so that has proved for some silly times with the cross cultural exchange of songs and games. Clubs and events here often advertise ‘guaranteed fun til 6am’ and in all seriousness friday and saturday nights go til 6 am. (Well maybe closer to 4 but still late.) Friday night was spent at the Bull and Bush, the local expat hang out known for ribs AND dancing; a duo I never anticipated. I have been no where where dancing is as fun and full hearted as Bots. (Ladies of 15th and Columbia you are very much missed in the club, especially the rib eating club.)
We have found some more familiar and more yummy (less familiar) foods, everyday across from campus you can get a hotdog to the likes of something found at costco for 10 pula or an all-you-can-pack-on-your-plate-in-one-trip-through buffet of more traditional foods for 15 pula. The buffet is quite yummy but I learned the hard way only to eat there for lunch when it is first made, coleslaw at 7pm after a day under the African sun was not my best evening here.
While everyone is working hard to find good food, ultimately everything has the underlying very unique flavor of Botswana.
MilkyChoc is a new favorite treat, basically a fudge cycle. I already sense those will be consumed frequently and they come from the school refractory (cafeteria) which is defs the hot spot for meeting local friends. I am avoiding Makgowa (a mob or large group of white people) so as to make myself more approachable, but people have funny expectations for me as an American and making local friends has proved harder than expected.
Everyone affiliated with the international student center has basically told us that Batswana perceive all white people as American and all American’s as wealthy- so people to rob- and all American women as leading a “fast and easy lifestyle.” (This makes a bit more sense to me now since every cafe, restaurant where ever you go has a television playing VH1 top 40- watch that Kati Perry video, california girls (?) a few times and then see how you would expect an American girl to be- not that I am making excuses for gender degradation.) Basically, I feel that we were sort of scared so as to not be haphazard with our things, our information, our time, but when push comes to shove all of us are a little paranoid now and it is difficult to feel like you have to continuously be distrustful. I have faith in finding the balance though. The good conversations I have had with Batswana have been really good. It is pretty remarkable how people requiring you to define yourself and your culture forces you to do that for yourself.
Any clumsiness that normally accompanies me has been greatly accentuated by the rough terrain here. Most problematic are the steps, there is no requirement or standard for the height of steps, so even on campus or in shopping centers one step will be 8 inches high and the next will be 3 and then 6 and 7 then 11. There are also holes, just holes, holes that range from 3 to 10 feet deep everywhere and thorny bushes.
Tomorrow I have a meeting with Emang Basadi and organization founded “To develop action-orientated strategies and mobilize women to take steps that will help to change the social, political, economic and legal position of women in Botswana.” I am very much looking forward to the opportunity.
Upcoming adventures also include a student club fair, I have my eye on bridge club and the University of Botswana Wildlife Conservation Club. This weekend camping in the Mokolodi. I am also attempting to live on 20 pula a day for this next week and see how that goes.
Add reese’s to the list of things not found here.
Still no hot water in Las Vegas.
I miss miss miss home but am doing sharp**.
Jackie
*I hope everyone notes that is the advertisement campaign for the meerkat exhibit at Woodland Park Zoo, not my own neologism.
**Afrikaans for very well.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Gabs week one.
Hello. And welcome to my first endeavor with writing a blog. I am just getting into the swing of it so forgive me if it is not so interesting yet. I have been in Botswana officially one full week now and am already overwhelmed with how to properly update. But I promise I will get better.
First and foremost I am so grateful for my wonderful send off by friends and family alike. I am thinking and missing everyone so much. All notes and prizes were so comforting through the very scary/frustrating/crazy 37 plus hours of travel to arrive in Gaborone. (Pronounced Ha-BAR-own-eh or Ha-BAR-own-eee dependent on who you are talking to) Any one who’s cool though refers to it as Gabs (pronounced exactly like it reads G-A-B-S).
Travel time was insanity. I took a 10 hour flight from Seattle to Amsterdam. Three hour layover in Amersterdam, which was very silly the airport has all of these neat things for instance a cheese stand that is in a giant cheese block or a tea and coffee shop where you sit in a giant mug- I felt very miniature and had a nice time walking around feeling small and looking at swatches. Then an 11 hour flight to Johannesburg or Jo Burg as I learned to call it. I slept for the majority of both flights waking only to watch Date Night (which was okay) and eat my odd meals. I had an overnight layover in Jo Burg which as sort of expected was a bit lonely, I was kept company though by a good book, familiar sweater and a plethora of American top 40 jamz that played throughout the airport ALL 9 hours I was there.
I got to Gabs on Tuesday July 27th after flying the tiniest plane ever to be greeted by Batsi and Khumo! Being near to tears it was very comforting to see a little name placard and two very smiley people. Batsi (Bought-See) is the resident director of our program with CIEE and our hero. Khumo (Koo-MO) is our ‘soulmate’ (along with Sharon who I have just recently met but is great too.) Batsi takes care of all of our planning, all of our schooling, all of our safety, he is on call 24/7 with not one but two cell phones, just in case one is not working! We meet with Batsi weekly and he is the professor for our cultural practicum as well. Khumo is a fourth year student, who serves a similar purpose, if we are lonely or lost we call her. She takes us out, tells us nice places to go etc etc. All of the girls and myself are very pleased with both. I say “the girls” because our CIEE program consists of 11 girls (counting myself) no boys. All of the girls are really fun and lovely and we are getting along very well. There are about 60 international students total though outside of our program who we live and spend time with. 71 total out of 15,000 Batswana students- it’s crazy how much you notice us.
Orientation with the university was relatively run of the mill minus the excessive amount of waiting time and scary stories used to insure we are not getting into trouble. Basically no being out after dark (which comes at 6 ish since it is winter) unless you are in a car or with a huge group of people. It has felt a bit constricting but I think will get easier as time progresses and we are more acquainted with the city, and the sun starts going down later. ALSO freshers kick off (freshmen orientation) ended with a performance by Vee Mampeezy who is THE celebrity performing sort of hip-hop House Kwasa music. He came out mayhem ensued.
Food is difficult. I have not experienced classic ‘travelers tummy,’ but beef is the number two contributer to GDP here and as much as a practiced eating meat these last few months, it is not going so hot. I ate a sandwhich yesterday called “something meaty.”
I also ate some panni (caterpillars).
The dorm room is nice and quaint- sort of- I live in Block 480 which is the newest fanciest dorm on campus and referred to exclusively (even by the faculty and staff and cab drivers) as Las Vegas*.
My roommate is so great and silly. She is very artsy, writes poetry and we have listened to Maci Gray’s I Try at least 3 times in row today. She also loves John Legend which is making me miss home, but feels good to hear. Her name is Millie she is Motswana. She also LOVES astrology.
There is this funny line here in which everything is very familiar but not quite there. I think it is a culture of appearances - things often look nice but don’t function properly. The dorm is a prime example, it looks similar, is used very similarly, but power goes out, and there is no hot water, and some times on the top floor (my floor) no water BUT I have housecleaning service once a week and my linens are washed for me. It is a very odd merging of developed and developing. Or even the university, they have full fledge services, even things like learning centers and disability services that you might not expect and in theory everything is very readily available for students but trying to access the services is nearly impossible. I received a student ID which is essentially a gold card into everything. It is a difficult thing to navigate.
Going out with some friends, Khumo and Eddie, I explained I was surprised/excited to see Jordan’s everywhere- really interesting fun Nike Air Jordan’s - and Eddie was almost offended that I wouldn’t have expected such staple foot wear in this country saying “If you have it, we have it.” I am finding validity in that, but then I haven’t had internet or hot water in a week and my cell phone drops a call if I get a text because it can’t do two functions at once.
Gabs is a city of malls, very american-esque malls. Malls are where you go to do anything, so going out has consisted of going to the malls or going to the clubs. There (so far) has been no middle ground. The restaurants in the malls range from KFC to fine[r] dinning. It is reminiscent of junior high in that I keep making plans and getting ready to go to the mall. Our local mall is called Riverwalk, and Riverwalk is where things happen.
Only one night in the club so far. About thirty of the international students hauled ourselves to the lizard lounge. Beers are 15 pula, shots are 13 pula i.e. very cheap. Batswana are super into house music which I am very bad at describing, needless to say house isn’t my first choice genre for time in da club but has turned out to be a lot of fun.
Also Vee(Botswana’s ‘Hip-Hop’ (it isn’t exactly hip hop) sensation) was there as well so that was exciting. As it turns out celebrities here are pretty accessible, I already got to meet the national soccer team- the Zebras buying hot dogs across the street from campus.
Mostly I have spent my time waiting, waiting for everything for things to start, taxis to come, food to be served. Wimpy’s one of the local ‘fast food’ establishments (along with Chikn Lickn) is a 45 minute ordeal at least.
Batsi has explained that Motswana (people from Botswana) place a higher intrinsic value on doing what is important in the moment, rather than being on time. i.e. if my good friend runs into me on a way to an appointment, culturally it is far more valuable to spend time time with that friend than be on time to said appointment. I am equally appreciative and frustrated with the ‘botswana time.’ The amount of time I have spent waiting in lines is absolutely nuts. Everything seems to take a million times longer than expected (or necessary) but I am learning to be much more meditative and patient, I suppose also I feel like I have read, or perhaps just heard via the narration of Carrie Bradshaw that “...its the things that happen while your waiting that are so special.” In any case, I am sure to have a lot of special thoughtful moments in the future.
I feel very far away, but am happy and excited for things to come.
ketchup and toilet paper are not the happs here. miss miss you all.
promise to get better at this.
jackie
*surprisingly ‘what happens in vegas stays in vegas’ has only been used maybe one time, and is most definitely an expression the locals do not seem to be familiar with.
7 pula (which means rain) = 1 Dollar.
ALSO, pictures will be posted soon.
First and foremost I am so grateful for my wonderful send off by friends and family alike. I am thinking and missing everyone so much. All notes and prizes were so comforting through the very scary/frustrating/crazy 37 plus hours of travel to arrive in Gaborone. (Pronounced Ha-BAR-own-eh or Ha-BAR-own-eee dependent on who you are talking to) Any one who’s cool though refers to it as Gabs (pronounced exactly like it reads G-A-B-S).
Travel time was insanity. I took a 10 hour flight from Seattle to Amsterdam. Three hour layover in Amersterdam, which was very silly the airport has all of these neat things for instance a cheese stand that is in a giant cheese block or a tea and coffee shop where you sit in a giant mug- I felt very miniature and had a nice time walking around feeling small and looking at swatches. Then an 11 hour flight to Johannesburg or Jo Burg as I learned to call it. I slept for the majority of both flights waking only to watch Date Night (which was okay) and eat my odd meals. I had an overnight layover in Jo Burg which as sort of expected was a bit lonely, I was kept company though by a good book, familiar sweater and a plethora of American top 40 jamz that played throughout the airport ALL 9 hours I was there.
I got to Gabs on Tuesday July 27th after flying the tiniest plane ever to be greeted by Batsi and Khumo! Being near to tears it was very comforting to see a little name placard and two very smiley people. Batsi (Bought-See) is the resident director of our program with CIEE and our hero. Khumo (Koo-MO) is our ‘soulmate’ (along with Sharon who I have just recently met but is great too.) Batsi takes care of all of our planning, all of our schooling, all of our safety, he is on call 24/7 with not one but two cell phones, just in case one is not working! We meet with Batsi weekly and he is the professor for our cultural practicum as well. Khumo is a fourth year student, who serves a similar purpose, if we are lonely or lost we call her. She takes us out, tells us nice places to go etc etc. All of the girls and myself are very pleased with both. I say “the girls” because our CIEE program consists of 11 girls (counting myself) no boys. All of the girls are really fun and lovely and we are getting along very well. There are about 60 international students total though outside of our program who we live and spend time with. 71 total out of 15,000 Batswana students- it’s crazy how much you notice us.
Orientation with the university was relatively run of the mill minus the excessive amount of waiting time and scary stories used to insure we are not getting into trouble. Basically no being out after dark (which comes at 6 ish since it is winter) unless you are in a car or with a huge group of people. It has felt a bit constricting but I think will get easier as time progresses and we are more acquainted with the city, and the sun starts going down later. ALSO freshers kick off (freshmen orientation) ended with a performance by Vee Mampeezy who is THE celebrity performing sort of hip-hop House Kwasa music. He came out mayhem ensued.
Food is difficult. I have not experienced classic ‘travelers tummy,’ but beef is the number two contributer to GDP here and as much as a practiced eating meat these last few months, it is not going so hot. I ate a sandwhich yesterday called “something meaty.”
I also ate some panni (caterpillars).
The dorm room is nice and quaint- sort of- I live in Block 480 which is the newest fanciest dorm on campus and referred to exclusively (even by the faculty and staff and cab drivers) as Las Vegas*.
My roommate is so great and silly. She is very artsy, writes poetry and we have listened to Maci Gray’s I Try at least 3 times in row today. She also loves John Legend which is making me miss home, but feels good to hear. Her name is Millie she is Motswana. She also LOVES astrology.
There is this funny line here in which everything is very familiar but not quite there. I think it is a culture of appearances - things often look nice but don’t function properly. The dorm is a prime example, it looks similar, is used very similarly, but power goes out, and there is no hot water, and some times on the top floor (my floor) no water BUT I have housecleaning service once a week and my linens are washed for me. It is a very odd merging of developed and developing. Or even the university, they have full fledge services, even things like learning centers and disability services that you might not expect and in theory everything is very readily available for students but trying to access the services is nearly impossible. I received a student ID which is essentially a gold card into everything. It is a difficult thing to navigate.
Going out with some friends, Khumo and Eddie, I explained I was surprised/excited to see Jordan’s everywhere- really interesting fun Nike Air Jordan’s - and Eddie was almost offended that I wouldn’t have expected such staple foot wear in this country saying “If you have it, we have it.” I am finding validity in that, but then I haven’t had internet or hot water in a week and my cell phone drops a call if I get a text because it can’t do two functions at once.
Gabs is a city of malls, very american-esque malls. Malls are where you go to do anything, so going out has consisted of going to the malls or going to the clubs. There (so far) has been no middle ground. The restaurants in the malls range from KFC to fine[r] dinning. It is reminiscent of junior high in that I keep making plans and getting ready to go to the mall. Our local mall is called Riverwalk, and Riverwalk is where things happen.
Only one night in the club so far. About thirty of the international students hauled ourselves to the lizard lounge. Beers are 15 pula, shots are 13 pula i.e. very cheap. Batswana are super into house music which I am very bad at describing, needless to say house isn’t my first choice genre for time in da club but has turned out to be a lot of fun.
Also Vee(Botswana’s ‘Hip-Hop’ (it isn’t exactly hip hop) sensation) was there as well so that was exciting. As it turns out celebrities here are pretty accessible, I already got to meet the national soccer team- the Zebras buying hot dogs across the street from campus.
Mostly I have spent my time waiting, waiting for everything for things to start, taxis to come, food to be served. Wimpy’s one of the local ‘fast food’ establishments (along with Chikn Lickn) is a 45 minute ordeal at least.
Batsi has explained that Motswana (people from Botswana) place a higher intrinsic value on doing what is important in the moment, rather than being on time. i.e. if my good friend runs into me on a way to an appointment, culturally it is far more valuable to spend time time with that friend than be on time to said appointment. I am equally appreciative and frustrated with the ‘botswana time.’ The amount of time I have spent waiting in lines is absolutely nuts. Everything seems to take a million times longer than expected (or necessary) but I am learning to be much more meditative and patient, I suppose also I feel like I have read, or perhaps just heard via the narration of Carrie Bradshaw that “...its the things that happen while your waiting that are so special.” In any case, I am sure to have a lot of special thoughtful moments in the future.
I feel very far away, but am happy and excited for things to come.
ketchup and toilet paper are not the happs here. miss miss you all.
promise to get better at this.
jackie
*surprisingly ‘what happens in vegas stays in vegas’ has only been used maybe one time, and is most definitely an expression the locals do not seem to be familiar with.
7 pula (which means rain) = 1 Dollar.
ALSO, pictures will be posted soon.
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