Gabs week eight. Strike fun.

After much anticipation the teachers strike at the University of Botswana began on Tuesday September 14th, 2010 at 9 am. It felt pretty surreal to have it finally come to fruition after weeks of speculation. It has been like waiting for snow days, every morning waking up, desperately searching for any and all information telling me I don’t have to attend class. 

The government of Botswana gave the university 30 million pula to distribute amongst faculty and staff. Essentially it was just a much needed pay increase for everyone at UB. By some happenstance or another 28 million was distributed amongst the highest level 15 administrators and the remaining 2 was divided amongst 780 university faculty and lower level staff. Somehow it was thought that all would go unnoticed. (whoops.)

It is the first legal strike in the history of the nation, meaning the unions utilized all necessary channels before formally striking. We were advised to stay near “just incase” it was resolved within 48 hours- which was the designated minimum strike time. A two day resolution of the first legitimate strike Botswana has experienced seemed unlikely (mostly because it takes me 3 hours to wash a load of laundry); but as a collective we opted to stay around Gabs for the first few days and finish our work before any shenanigans were to take place.

Africa. Time in Botswana

Missing class is proving equally thrilling abroad. I think this has confirmed that I will forever love skipping school and luring others to join.

Mornings were spent diligently working over breakfast, afternoon time = pool time. When it cooled down, nights have been spent playing soccer and watching True Blood on Adam’s computer, I have also become the resident barber in Las Vegas (quite successfully I will add.) It was a good amount of just being goofy and mellow. But come Wednesday I was ready for more extended excitement- or at least leisure in a new location.

Though we were all readily whisked away in thoughts of shark diving--wine tasting-road trip filled adventures in South Africa, a regard for budget travel, impending school work and just the general practicalities of trying to do anything super quickly here prevented us from being too crazy during strike week, but we were venturesome none the less. 

After some frantic planning/packing, 4 a.m. wake up call for the usual suspects(4) and a sweltering 8 hour bus ride, we arrived in Ghanzi (HAN zee) to be picked up by the owner of Thakadu Farm, Chris.

Thakadu farm is a 10,000 hecacre oasis in the midst of the Khalahari desert, they have gardens, livestock and a lot of game (interesting animals i.e. not cows). This is where we arranged to stay.


Chris and his wife started the camp as a side project from the farm. They use all the food and game from the land to run a little restaurant and bar called the Rampant Aardvark. I ate warthog curry with rice. YUM. Our camp set up was very much like camping in the great U.S. of A. only next to my tent an ostrich would be sleeping or a herd of giant Eland would start drinking out of the little swimming pool.

Also there were some insane bugs(5).

It was a pretty kooky place. A little off the beaten path. The bar had many silly signs like “If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving isn’t for you...” You know,kooky things.  It was bizarre in a charming way and seemed to suit all of us very well.

Friday morning, we woke up at sunrise to go on a walk, with some of the San (Botswana’s bushmen(3)) who agreed to teach us survival skills for the African desert. They are tiny people. (I placed my foot next to one of their foot prints- no exaggeration-barely more than half the size of my foot.)

Ghanzi is in northwestern Botswana in the middle of the desert just near the edge of the Central Khalahari Reserve and as it turns out is one of the few places where the San have been relocated. The San originally lived in the game reserve but in order to ensure the park's integrity as a nature reserve, the government relocated them to various villages and developed programs to assimilate them into the country's social and economic life.

It was odd going on the walk with them. We learned a lot of neat things, like how to find water in this potato like thing, how to track Kudu, what plants do what (everything, from a plant to use as deodorant, make you infertile, or ward off bad spirits) and how to build a fire with basically nothing (super rad). It felt very ‘African.’ But it was strange to be a group of white youth snapping photos at these indigenous people.

The intention of the government relocation was to “bring their standard of living.” Sadly though, they face a lot of racial discrimination and as a result high levels of alcoholism, poverty and are being depleted by HIV/AIDS (something that didn’t affect them in the bush). I hitch hiked back from town with provisions for our Friday night feast and we picked up one of the women who took us on the walk. She was wearing modern clothes and carrying her baby and six cartons of shake shake. Everyday I am astounded with how to think. It is a very humbling experience.

Afternoon time (well really all day time) was once again designated pool time.

We tried to catch an Eland.

Many instances consisted of testing how close we could get to various wildlife. I have not successfully caught anything yet. Fingers crossed.

Saturday morning, Chris said we could take the horses riding, but only if we had some “significant experience under our belts” because the horses were not really trained and it could be dangerous if they were startled by a snake or heina or something of the sorts.

I may or may not have exaggerated my equestrian abilities.(2)

My horse was named Lum. He looked more like a donkey and was very nice.

There was only one moment when some wildebeest ran across our path where I had to momentarily seriously consider what my plan of action would be if Lum got too frightened. I was glad Lum was so well behaved, especially upon return when we were told that sometimes the horses like to chase the wildebeest.

But all is well that ends well. Rachel, Monica and I, lived and got to spend a few hours horseback riding in the African bush, trotting along in the red red desert sand, it was very quiet and beautiful. Through all of the craziness here, moments of tranquility have been really important. They have enabled me to be and to really just relax in the groundlessness of this place.

It was a blast cooking on the fire. Adam and Axel always tease us (The Americans) for talking about food all the time. So 50 points to USA for surprising the Swedes with how delicious a s’more is.

S’mores, truth or dare (vetoed quickly), just spending hours around a campfire in the middle of a crazy desert, drinking African beer and listening to one another, provided the sort of moment that overcomes you to a point when you have to shout  “we are in Africa! how nutz is this?” The type of moment that that you feel equally silly, awesome and grateful to acknowledge.

Conversing so extensively as a group made me realize how interesting and embarrassing it is to be faced with a profusion of your own words and thoughts as you try to explain yourself to new friends. It is also so great to see the bits of everyone from home who comes out when being amongst a new circle. Who's philosophies have impacted you in a way that they now become how you show who you are.

Politically, emotionally, spiritually everything; I have been equally challenged by time with my fellow internationals and am very grateful for these friendships.

The desert was full of these strange trees that seem to make everything a bit more thoughtful and lovely.

Falling asleep at night you hear so many sounds (SO MANY), which is alarming/fun. Heinas, jackals, galloping antelope, barking ghekos, hundreds of birds- our resident ornithologist Axel continually corrected us that “NO that isn’t an owl, [clearly] it is a Night Jar.”

We were very enthused when Chris invited us (for a small fee) to take a night drive to see all of the nocturnal animals. (Everything we had been hearing but not seeing.)  As it turns out, it is hard to find the animals in the dark. Aside from it being exciting to just drive around the bush for a couple of hours in the intense darkness, the drive was fairly uneventful until a ominous smell and sputter.

Not shocked by the usual status of things, we all just continued to sit giggling in the truck. Laughing at the absurdity. Until Chris said, “I think we are leaking petrol! Get out and push!”
( a little severely I might add.) It took us a moment to understand what was happening. I think we were confused that we were being asked to push, but there was a general “Oh..ok...Yeah...let’s push.”
We all get out and start pushing the safari truck, in probably 4 inches of loose sand, thorns a plenty, nocturnal creatures scurrying around; after about 30 seconds Chris shouts, “Guys! This isn’t working you are going to have to push faster.”  Ha! What!?

I think we could have managed it faster if we weren't all laughing so hard at his demand to move more quickly.

I returned to Vegas torn up from navigating through the bush, literally everything has thorns on it, (6) and absolutely filthy. The eight hour ride home was relatively pleasant. I laid sprawled across three seats, all the windows open, listening to the now familiar and comfortable Botswana hits.

 “Reaching our limits [here] is like finding a doorway to sanity.”(7)Africa wakes you up in every way. It was so good to have a weekend of calm to be able to really think about this.

All of the snacking, reading, being silly was much needed too.

I have not had class for 11 days.(1) And the strike still goes on. 

But I have learned from Botswana (and the Buddha) that ‘chaos should be regarded as extremely good news.’

Miss you with everything.

Love love love

Jackie





P.S. Sorry for a lackluster blog entry. It is difficult to write about so much leisure.
P.P.S. Kevin comes on Thursday for Spring Break Africa! \



(1) This counts a Friday where there was no class already, and two weekends, but still, crazy right?
(2) At one point Monica turned around and said “I tried to post! But this saddle!”  (I had no idea how to respond or what posting is!?) - I am excited for Monica to read this now.
(3)Perhaps this seems like a politically incorrect term, but that is what is used, evidently the real name is a click-based sound we can’t make.
(4) Nick was very missed.
(5)Our tent didn’t zip.
(6)Collecting firewood was a hoot and a half to say the least. Especially after a few Black Label (local brew.)
(7) Pema Chodron/Buddha

Gabs seven. Life as Masego.

It only took about 36 hours for me to be completely able to respond to Masego, Mas (MahSS), or Mase (Mah SSay)** and about 48 to be okay with the idea that my Granny would be sleeping on the floor for the duration of my village stay (11 days!). Since it was her house, Granny insisted “There is no other way(!)” she must be on the floor and I will take her bed. I cringed in fear every time I hopped over her sleeping body. One morning, she grabbed my ankle -scaring me pretty seriously -and in a whisper-yell exclaimed, “Masego! Good morning!”

Africa. Time in Botswana

My first test as new family member was helping organize and throw a baby shower. The party organizers cook all day then make a luxurious little nest for the mother to be, Kagiso (Ka HEE so) in the yard, then while she rests bring her all the food, drinks and gifts. Everyone is expected to offer some sort of advice or blessing (dependent if your a mother or not). Evidently, if you give really good advice (or if they can’t hear you (?)) you have to dance. Some how I ended up dancing for everyone.*

I was pleased when I got asked to sit with Kagiso, next to her ‘nest’ and be in charge of organizing the gifts she received and folding any diapers (nappies) she was given. I didn’t understand that this was a rather arduous task because all of the gifts are packaged in cloth diapers that had been safety pinned in a million places to make ‘wrapping paper,’ so I had to frantically unpin them, save the pins, fold them, then display them in an aesthetically pleasing manner (that last step seemed irrelevant till someone told me to make them “look nicer” and a rather surly older woman emphatically asked if I “even knew how to fold.”)

During the gift mayhem, a snake slithered up to the patio where the baby shower was taking place, everyone screamed and a woman violently and repeatedly hit the snake with what seemed to be a wheel from a wagon (as in a radio flyer type wagon) till it died. All this happened before I could respond or even set down some the nappies I was covered in. 

I learned after the fact that this woman was so insistent on guaranteeing the decapitation because most of the snakes in Mochudi are indeed black mambas. “Apart from being considered one of the world's deadliest snakes, the black mamba is also one of the most feared snakes in Africa due to its potent venom, large size, and the ferocity of its attack” (thanks wikipedia).  This also made my bathroom-snake run in significantly more frightening.

Geoff reminded me nightly to not leave the windows open because the snakes would come in.

The baby shower ended in too much red wine and fanta for both Tshepo and I.

Early Sunday morning, I woke up to the standard blaring top 40 hits (city and village a like). My “uncle” Buju had the same ring tone on his phone as Millie- so I didn’t even have to miss my daily dose of Jason DeRulo.

After our 5 hour church service all in Setswana (Whoa.) I explored Mochudi which consists of many tiny shops, two grocery stores, informal vendors, a million hair salons (none of which were willing to give me sweet corn-rows******)  and the world’s quaintest library.

At night Geoff and I made his favorite dinner (Bologna Sandwiches and Hot Chocolate) and watched High School Musical 3; Senior Year while Peter watched the news.  I was surprised when this all happened simultaneously in the same room. At the same time. 6 feet apart.

There are two televisions in the same room; logically this is because only one of them plays DVDs and one does not. The craziness of the developing nation never fails me.  “Isn’t television beautiful?”***** (quote Geoff.) 

The news and our movie watching did not curb Uncle Buju’s  (Boo joo) blaring hip-hop jams either.

I should explain also, every room in the house has walls that are maybe 12 feet high and vaulted ceilings, but the walls don’t go to the ceiling. If this doesn’t make sense, just imagine, if you could climb up the twelve feet, you could climb over the wall and into the next room. Everything, everything is audible always. ( I actually would be jarred awake all week when the electricity would cut because the silence became so deafening.)

Generations, the Botswana soap and by some outrageous miracle (happenstance might be more appropriate) The OC season 4 (!) was being featured on SABC TV and became our family’s nightly selection. We ate dinner in front of the television every night, including the night that I cooked American cusine.

As a thank you for so generously and warmly hosting me, I wanted to cook one meal, they expressed interest in Italian-American food. So I settled on Fettuccine Alfredo, Caprese Salad and garlic bread. I went to the market, bought all the yummiest freshest things. I worked so long and I even only had one mishap in the kitchen (when I went to bake the garlic bread, I preheated the oven; not realizing until a horrific smell that it was used for storage. Baking is not such a common thing. Whoops.)

Geoff came in first to try the sauce (made from scratch- and it [I promise] was so good). One lick of the spoon, “OH yuck, this is not nice to me.” Evidently Geoff does not like Cheese- he got a bologna sandwhich. The rest of the family had similar (but far less extreme reactions). Granny just mixed in beet root and a bunch of Chakalaka (Choc Oh LAW ka - my favorite spicy salad.) Tshepo said, “mmm Hmmm it’s fine- I know this food because I made a lot of blue box**** in the U.K.” Seeing my face she added, “No no it is nice, it is just not what we eat- you don’t like our food either.” Fair enough.

After my comfort meal I slept the best I have in weeks.

Mid week I (alas!) found a really big bucket (REALLY Large) so I was able to bathe with my whole body in the bucket sitting down-much like a bath tub, rather than the stand and scoop method (which is proving to be both time/labor intensive and ridiculously messy- I have been getting water everywhere and frantically using anything available to clean it up before my family finds my puddles). Early in the week, circa 4:30 am, I was stewing in my tub when the electricity went out. This has been my single most flustered moment. Naked in the pitch black, need I remind you about le snakes?

Peter is a lecturer at Botswana Business College meaning I had the privilege of getting a ride into Gabs every morning at 5:30 commuting by car rather than spending the two hours it takes on public transport. Our morning rides became one of the highlights of my village stay. I have been advised to ‘live the questions now and perhaps [I] will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” I have accepted this but felt a lot of pain with the patience it requires to just let answers find you- patience is everything, everything here.

I think as a fellow foreigner, being from Kenya (or maybe because of the two years he and Tshepo spent in the UK) Peter was able to very objectively view the Setswana culture and offer a great amount of honest insight, and finally I lived my way into (at least a few) answers.

Friday morning I was woken a bit earlier than normal (i.e. before 4 am) to what sounded like rocks on our tin roof. (No one else woke up (!)) Outside I was greeted by insane thunder and lightening. Then the wet.

It was the first rain.

After I felt it on me, I sat on the porch of my village home watching, next to a fire, waiting for the water to boil, in the middle of the desert.

I listened to my ipod too. It was a good moment. So stay, don't go, 'cause I'm fading away. 

The first rain in seven months.

I didn’t have class this particular Friday so Tshepo and Peter took me to the plot where they are building their house to do some work. When I inquired as to what sort of work we would be doing, Peter replied, “Ah Masego! The physical kind.” I had anticipated a fair amount of manual labor, but the addition of the African heat, made wheelbarrowing up hill nutz. (Mochudi is very hilly, especially when compared to Gabs.) My reward for being a good African worker was Chibuku, also known as shake shake. This is the native drink of choice, it is made of maize meal, water, sugar and yeast. Basically it is as if you started making break and then decided to put the dough in the bottom of a milk carton and fill it with water. Then let it sit till it becomes 4.0 % alc by vol. Mmmm. You have to shake it to mix the chunks up. I texted my friend Tino (who is from Zimbabwe) to tell him I was indeed drinking Chibuka and he replied “Ah yes drink and meal in one.” This is a true statement.

The weekend came a wedding and a funeral.

Friday night were preparations for the wedding. Tshepo told me to not work too hard because these were the “bad cousins;” evidently they have bad manners (I gathered this means they don’t follow the proper customs). Also, evidently not working to hard was very relative. I was invited to ‘help’ slaughter the cow, an invitation not afforded to any women, so defs not the thing to turn down. I am not sure if it was my inclination towards vegetarianism or the half liter of Shake Shake I had consumed but it was a rough time for my tummy during the ceremonial killing. All tears were held back, and like a champ (I think self congratulations are fairly warranted) I gracefully (sort of) ate part of the heart.

I feel newly kindred to the tshwana (Twan Ah = cow).

As the Mariri family continued to deconstruct the cow (yuck), Tshepo and I had to prepare Loputsi (Low   poot SEE) which is a butternut squash salad- it tastes almost exactly like sweet potato pie (minus (unfortunately) the marshmallow.) The starch from the squash starts to make your hands burn and eventually crack (this is especially true when you are making enough for a 200 person wedding), so you have to keep dipping your hands in vegetable oil, a fine solution- except peeling a squash with a dull steak knife when your covered in oil is an exciting endeavour.  My hands were bloodied and on fire within 20 minutes. But as stated, these were the bad cousins so it was only an hour and a half peeling session.

Women must wrap their heads and cover their shoulders for the funeral. My family was proud I looked so African. (So was I.)

The funeral started before sunrise at the house of Nthutsi’s mother, Mpho (Mm Po). It is similar in that there is a service, with various people speaking,   Nthutsi is Mpho’s seventh child to bury, he was 25. She has two son’s still alive.  When called to speak she said “I have nothing to say, we are burying every year- sometimes twice.”

An elderly Motswana woman was helping explain everything, kindly answering all of my questions. Finally I worked up the courage and asked how Nthutsi died and she said that she didn’t know, “maybe he was sick.” This was the same exact thing Tshepo had said to me earlier. It means he died from AIDs.

She proceeded to add that it’s good I ask so many questions, but to remember “some men don’t like that.”

They lowered the coffin while everyone sang traditional songs, men on one side, women on the other and the sun rose. By some miraculous happenstance, everyone can sing in these ultra complicated wonderful harmonies with no coordination. It was a very cloudy day (my third in 7 weeks.) Peter told me if it rains when you are buried it means you were a good person.

No one cried. It seems Africa is out of tears. Here they say Saturdays are for funerals. Saturdays are all the same.

When they began to fill the grave I couldn’t help but look to Mpho, no tears just silence.

At one point I noticed, the youngest brother wiping his face in his jacket collar. Afterwards he asked if I saw him wiping his eyes; he wanted to let me know that it was just the dust. I told him it was just the dust in my eyes too.

After what felt like an ordeal, I was emotionally and physically spent. Being greeted in the middle of a dirt road by our Africa adventure team, my soul was soothed. It feels quite nice to have that sort of camaraderie and to have, really a little family amongst African craziness. It was assumed that Rachel and Monica would be attending the wedding since they were now part of families that have close ties to my family (The host family) and we had arranged, much to the delight of Tshepo and Granny, to bring Adam, Axel and Nick.

As Masego Mariri, it was expected (since after all I share a surname with the Bride) that I would serve food, as well my female friends. It was pretty delightful and silly resulting in many minor miscommunications on appropriate portion size and only a slight incident of me dripping scalding beef on Rachel’s new dress.

There was a lot of eating, a lot of dancing and even more drinking of home made Chibuku. Adam and Axel participated the gift giving dance, where you dance in a line with your gift and make a big pile in front of where the bride will come out. Batsi had told us to get a knife, or a potato peeler (?) (we got the latter) as a present, which felt sort of...minimal... but it turned out to be the perfect gift. The Swedes proudly danced our present to the pile. I don’t think we understood how much we stand out until time in the village, it was all quite the spectacle at the wedding.

Our farwell night was concluded with Tshepo and Peter taking us Mokgowa out to the local hot spot Bee6.

Tshepo and Peter have already invited us back for fun in Mochudi.

I think we have discovered here that “...the only courage that is demanded of us: [is] to have courage for the most strange, the most singular and the most inexplicable that we may encounter.”******I am irrefutably experiencing the most strange, singular and most inexplicable moments and with each one am attempting to be my most brave.  

I tried to explain on a very welcomed and appreciated phone call back to the states that sometimes I get this mental image of a little me walking around on a globe (or map) through a little Botswana.  That is when I realize how far away I am. This visual was solidified when I watched the Botswana weather report on the news- which is exactly the same as at home, with the green screen and the little temperatures and tiny rain clouds, only rather than Washington state it is (yes, obviously) southern Africa.

10,064.9 miles away. I notice each one of them.

The village was amazing but viva las vegas. I am glad to be back.

Miss miss miss you.
Love


Jackie/Masego


I am pretty sure that they just wanted to see the Lekgowa dance (but Geoff said I looked like Shakira- perhaps because they were surprised I can hold my own when dancing or perhaps because I was dancing to the Waka Waka Africa song- either way I am satisfied)
* I am very curious to know if they will remember, or really know that my name is Jackie.
*** Blue box as in Kraft Mac n’ Cheese.
**** It is crazy that he asked this, because there is an extended portion on the romanticizing of the television in one of the novels I just completed for my African Lit class and a little girl from Ghana in 1965 claims television is the most beautiful thing in the world.
***** Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke. Thank you Bone, I have been thoroughly moved.
****** Perhaps for the best.

Gabs week six. Freshers Ball and the birth of Krishna.

I have officially recovered and as promised my victory over African bacteria was celebrated in fine form with my Choc-o-Holic** Spinner and a viewing of Top Gun.

It seems I healed at the right time because the heat has arrived in full force and I think that would have been an especially unpleasant addition to my bathroom time.

It is 33 degrees Celsius at this exact moment, (convert that)!*

The heat has also brought the bugs and the bugs have brought the bats. SO many bats. Playing soccer at night, you literally have to dodge bats every where. Some people think it is gross, I think it feels cool. exotic. 

The teachers have not gone on strike yet but our fingers are crossed, skipping school feels equally good abroad.  Otherwise academics have been relatively run of the mill, minus a build up of work prior to mid semester break (Spring Break). (Spring break culture is the same Tofo, Mozambique = Cancun.) I'll be in Zambia then South Africa! 

In addition to UB classes, our program requires a series of lectures and seminars as part of our cultural immersion, this week we had a lecture on the Evolution of Setswana culture, really we just got to ask questions and talk about the culture we have observed for a couple hours with Dr. Pearl Seloma. Dr. Seloma is a population studies specialist with an emphasis in the impacts of folklore on society. Super interesting. She lived in Los Angeles for 12 years while she got her Ph.D. at UCLA.

I liked that she defined culture shock as "realizing you are different from other people, not that they are different from you." It seems very true to me. 

Dr. Seloma formally confirmed that time in Botswana is utilitarian and not based on our very abstract concept of time. Centered on completion of tasks,  it is odd when you think about how seriously we regard time that is just a number on a clock in a day; after all time is nothing.  It was really nice to have this openly explained and I am not only appreciating but embracing the difference now.

What was less nice was our discussion on gender roles.

I, as well as my fellow international student female friends (and I am fairly sure most women in Botswana [but who am I to say that]), am pretty wiped out from being verbally harassed when ever I am outside of my room. Today a car kept honking at Monica and I; we were trying to ignore it, but I could hear it pulling up, I got really tense and was ready to send whoever on their way- then I realized it was Batsi (!) he just wanted to give us a ride. :/  It really wears on you, especially when the expectation here is that you do not say anything back. You smile and stay silent.

I (probably too flippantly) asked about the gender dynamic and feminism in Botswana.

Dr. Seloma responded, “I do not call myself a feminist, it is a very unattractive word.” (Yikes.) 

I read in a delightful blog (Pura Vida, by a delightful Annelie Day) that an instructor in Costa Rica was expressing the dangers of city, and the importance of not walking alone, saying “Ladies, now is not the time to exert your feminism...” Dr. Seloma used more or less the same phrasing to say this is not the country to be in if you would like to exert your feminism. Don’t live here if you have a problem with patriarchy. I am trying to navigate this in a culturally suitable way, in the confines of a developing nation but I know that it will be the greatest challenge.

Despite not holding feminism in very high light and mentioning something along the lines of men should have equal rights too (basically that feminism in oppressive), Dr. Seloma somehow concluded her presentation by saying she, personally, wished she had not gotten married because she “could have gone much farther in life.”    

This reality here has made me more than a bit grumpy this past week.

My mind has felt like a scramble of trying to understand what is happening here, why and what “should” be happening (but then I feel like reprimanding myself for even the slightest imposition of my “should be happening’s” for the nation.)

Clearly, there are and will continue to be huge conflicts over the most appropriate way to develop, but there are such extremes here. It feels like this large majority of society is making every effort to project idea’s of the “American dream”. They actually even link it to Obama being Kenyan, “A Kenyan is now President of America-that has taught us we can do anything.”  Lots of people want to suggest you have complete agency, there is always a way, it is all how hard you work and failure is your fault; any errors in development are because people are not trying. 

But progress is struggling, so am I suppose to think people here don’t try?

After six weeks of a course in Economic Development and one in Sustainable Development, a professor on Thursday for the first time acknowledged that this view and the adoption of modern/western values may be the wrong choice for Botswana, or at least may need to be approached differently.

I have the sense there is a lot of systemic oppression that is working against Botswana, but it has been hard to find and I don’t know if that idea is present.

 The Open Society and its Enemies by Karl Popper (which we discussed in my mad-rad African philosophy course) theorized (?) suggested (?) implied (?) that African’s have no vision of alternative.  Historically, the African world  depends not on natural law but on human whim (there is no objectivity.)  I guess here, there is a lot of causality in explaining what is happening in the world -like Kharma (i.e. it won’t rain because the youth of today are immoral.) This dependence on magical belief as the way of explaining reality makes Africa a ‘closed society’ resistant to change (no alternatives).  Popper asserts that countries in the west embrace a fluidity of ideas so are ‘open societies.’ This theory was used to delegitimize Africans as competent people.

I entirely disagree with Popper but this idea is the best way I can encapsulate how development is being handled currently. The nation is divided and no one can embrace the other’s alternative. When I ask people why this is happening  they say, “what do you expect?...T.I.A.” ***

I think now, it is just trying to understanding why because it is a very sad mentality, My professor said, “Botswana must stop focusing on the tree and start looking at the forest,” I like this idea but like I said, my minds a bit scrambled after the week.

All grumpiness was cured by the discovery of Linga Longa Breakfast. They have a glorious outside patio and its full of relatively high speed wireless internet, breakfast all day, a very yummy (especially by African standards) eggs benedict, their own bathroom and bottomless coffee (!) (That’s the real shocker- things like ‘free refills’ are not present in Bots- I made my self sick off the coffee I was so elated.) Our waitress is even named Perfect. How great is that!?*****

There is a huge population of both Indian and Chinese people. They are taking advantage of (maybe even exploiting) "economic opportunities". It is a big problem for the Batswana, but it is also something I haven’t quite wrapped my mind around yet. Needless to say we have made some Indian friends here.  They are all Hare Krishna-a type of Hindu and they have some really neat philosophy, ideas like each one of us is not our physical body but an eternal spirit soul, part of God -Krishna- so we are all interrelated. They are also know for lots of delicious food. 

Rachel and I got invited by a new friend Aki (Aw Kee) to a party at the temple last Thursday. Though Aki seemed a but awkward :) initially and we were avoiding giving him our numbers (I actually did avoid it) he turned out to be great! Picked us up at 8:30 and took us to the temple. The temple is super grandiose; all white carved marble with tiny detailing, it looks like a baby Taj Mahal (or something that you would imagine as very typically Indian) but in the middle of Gaborone. It was crazy to see.

There were three hours of dancing and some dramas performed to celebrate. It was put on by the temple youth group and similar to say, an American school play -very charming and a bit silly.

At midnight Krishna is born,  (surprisingly in essentially the exact same scenario as Jesus- they actually refer to Janmashtami as Indian Christmas.) They remove the curtain from the alter in the temple, to show the shrine which is this amazing ornate statue covered in fruit and flowers and peacocks (not sure about the peacock but it looked sweet). 

There were 413 (according to Aki) dishes, the idea is this; on your birthday you should eat your favorite foods, but Krishna is a fickle god so they just make everything.  There are huge buckets of naan, rice, dahl and paneer then literally hundreds of bowls of food and you take a little of what ever you like. All vegetarian. mmmm Yumsters. (I think it has been my greatest meal in 7 weeks.) Weirdly they also had the best birthday cake I have had in a long time (I just didn’t really think of Indian celebrations incorporating cake-but no expectations right?!)

The weekend stayed cheerful since Friday night was Freshers Ball, it is an all night concert from 6pm to 6am, it is a university sponsored concert and party (To SUers this is African Quadstock.) It was really(really really) nuts, LOTs of drinking, dancing and hot dogs. The music was so fun, traditional beats meet hip-hop explosion. Monica and I also learned how the dangers of our campus, i.e. holes, water canals and thorns should be very carefully minded post an evening that was as...festive...as freshers ball. The early morning wake up to move to the village, however, could have gone better.

I am spending the next ten days living in Mochudi, a village about 45 minutes north east of Gabs. 2 hours by public transport.

My family is so great and greeted me with boxed red wine mixed with grape fanta. (another Yikes).

I have a mother named Tshepo (Say Po- though you need to make a little tst sound at the begining), a father from Kenya named Peter, a little brother named Geoff- he is 8 and super excited and a Grandma Mariri (Ma reeree).

They named me Masego (Ma Say HO), it means the lucky one.

It is a rural homestay and they take me in as their daughter for the week. I do all the things a 20 something daughter would do. Cleaning, serving tea, wearing village appropriate clothes i.e. ankle length skirts, really just nothing to scandalous. I cooked dinner last night. I asked Tshepo what to do, as she handed me, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, chilli peppers and about ten pounds of beef.  She said “Just do what you think you should do.” Everyone liked it and congratulated me.  I didn’t properly de-vein the chillis so it was super (super super) hot, Peter and Tshepo thought that was funny but I had to make Geoff a bologna sandwich. 

I woke up at 4:30 am this morning, to take my first bucket bath, cook breakfast, and commute into Gabs for school. I am excited to see my status at the end of the week.

Found a snake in the bathroom. Both scary and cool.****


Miss miss miss you
love from far away

Jackie




* if you feel annoyed converting that it is 92 degrees Fahrenheit (and this is Spring. whoa)
** I cringe every time I have to say that when I order, and if you try to call it the # 10 (which it is) they insist you clarify, SO you must say “I’d like the Choc-o-Holic Spinner.”
*** This is Africa, in case you forgot.
****More scary.
*****Also they have played Sweet Caress by Breathe every time I am here, I am both very curious as to who is making the Linga Longa playlist as well as why I have not listened to this song more in my life before time here.