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