Gaborone fourteen. Christmas in Bots.

Many things seem the same in that they are (sort of) typically African (in the best and worst ways) but still always surprising (1). Though I am learning in my travels through the rest of Southern Africa, that Botswana is very much a nation in it’s own as far as taking first prize in being most able to provide moments of absurdity. 

It is becoming harder and more muddled to write aptly about time here.

Africa. Time in Botswana

I saw a billboard yesterday that had a giant photo of an abacus sitting on top of a desk with many official looking documents strewn about that read:  “ “African Time” is great most the time, except during TAX TIME. Please turn your federal taxes in ON TIME.” It is delightful that these realities of time and pace of life are so blatantly acknowledged. 

Perhaps it is also problematic that they are doing their federal taxes with an abacus.

I returned from Zambia to find the greatest surprise I could have possibly expected. Snowflakes, tinsel, blinking multi-colored lights and big decorated pine trees everywhere. It is Christmas in Botswana.

After seeing all of the festivities I promptly asked, “Millie, does Santa come to Botswana?”

“Santa!? As in Santa Claus? Nooo, No....Wait. Is Santa Claus real?” 

“Uh....”

I am very much treasuring the little cultural absurdities that Millie and I encounter as roommates daily. I have been very pleased to find out that all of her friends ask her intimate questions about the habits of a lekgowa and she explains to them that ‘her lekgowa is a good one.’

I think I am a ‘good one’ because I attempt to speak Setswana and eat African Bologna (as questionable as it may be) sandwiches when offered.

Wednesday, the standard gaggle of travel mates and I headed as a posse of six up to Livingstone. The thirteen hour overnight express bus was the most surreal thing. Being half awake, sort of dreaming and very much sweating through your clothes, sitting next to an Axel Sonden in a bus that clearly had one too many chairs in every row was hilarious. Plus no one lets you roll down the window for fear of ruining their hair-do’s. It was well worth it though as soon as I could smell the river at the border and was near water again.

 Zambia is incredible. Livingstone has been further established/confirmed as my favorite place.  Things there are just beautiful and festive and messy and feel right.

 This was trip two to Zam (as mentioned) and I had made some friends with these ridiculous/great/over the top river guides before. It did not take long, this time around to feel relatively on the ‘in’ with the whole of Livingstone. (Basically just a few hours, as Tim (American guide friend) showed up at Jolly Boys (the greatest little hostel) to hang out the morning I got there, river guide crew in tow.)

Night one was spent booze cruising down the Zambezi. It was excellent. All the guides came making it rowdier than ever. Perhaps a different booze cruise experience than with Kev. : ) Hippopotamuses galore.

Friday was Devil’s Pool day. Perhaps the single most outrageous thing of my life. 

After a boat ride to Livingstone island (a little tropical island in the middle of the river), you are instructed to hike to the edge of the falls, there you stand on the rocks and some park guides explain  how to swim across the river in a manner that will ensure you do not die.  Basically swim as hard as you can against the current to one very specific spot (but not that spot to the left!) and then let the current push you into a big rock. Said rock should hold you from going into the waterfall. Once your stopped at the big rock, climb it, then jump into the pool on the other side, down towards the falls.

There is a naturally formed wall of stone that holds you in as all the water streams around you. Whoa!

I literally hung my body over the edge of the falls,  looking straight down them into misty rainbows.

You end your pool adventure with eggs benedict in a tent on the island! How great is that? 

This day was overly outrageous as the night ended, with me bribing our way (with American currency) into Zimbabwe to have a midnight paddle down the river and bbq, in the gorge to celebrate the full moon. It was a little nutty. A note: we did not end up paddling, realizing that we would likely not return.

Saturday, Tim took us rafting which was probably more scary than before as I had to maintain some semblance of cool (with the posse) even though I was terrified and a little queazy (9).

I even forced myself off of a 10 meter cliff dive despite the crocodiles below.

One very extreme rapid resulted in Adam being thrown from the boat. It seemed like a loooong time until we found him. (I think it was maybe 8 seconds) Post semi-panic we laughed a lot (but secretly were all glad Adam was alive.) Mostly, I just felt guilty that this quiet polish man who was the only person not from our immediate friend group in the raft also got sucked into the rapid and no one noticed. Whoops.

Alright, true confessions of Jacquiline Blanco*: Sunday came and quite literally minutes before we left (3) the river boys proposed it could be fun to skip our flight.

Done and Done.

Rachel and I dodged out on our flight, got our partial refund and booked an additional night at Jolly Boys.

It was irrefutably the correct choice.

Time was spent puttering around Livingstone, going to the markets, cooking food and doing as many extreme things as we could charm our way into. The whole time accompanied by super interesting people telling these absurd-wonderful stories. For instance, Tony, who is the very hospitable Canadian partner of the owner of Jolly Boys, essentially got asked to come film a kayak competition on the Zambezi, he was told had four days to get to Victoria falls and then would have a job for a year, this was 15 years ago. This is everyone you meet. 

Monday I went and sat at sunset at the top of the Batoka gorge enjoyed some local brew and then on the way home a heat lightening storm came which is really really magical to begin with, when all of the sudden Tony slams on the breaks (jarring from the back of the truck) and a huge elephant is just standing in the road. (!)

It is that sort of happening that I think provoked a mini-crisis in Zambia, a what-am-I-doing-with- myself, when I realized that everyone I was meeting, these people, they have all made the leap, that leap we joke about when we say (more or less) ‘ ‘let’s run away and open a pie-shop/micro brewery/disco in Mexico city and be river guides’.

They have done that. It is insane and fantastic. 

The extra night became another day, and another trip down the river and then two days (7) and the two became three.

I got in a bit of a space, where for a time (albeit very brief) I thought I might not leave.

Wednesday we managed to pull ourselves out of this most captivating situation and frantically hitch hike back 14 hours through all of southern Zambia and Botswana to Gabs to make it back for a term paper due.

Rachel and I eating Chick’n’ Lick’n after more than half a day sitting under African sun and rain in a truck bed was pretty glorious. All of it was glorious though.

I think I find myself now in this place where I can absolutely not imagine leaving Africa and I can absolutely 100 percent not imagine NOT being back in Seattle (6) and it feels a little nutz.

It should be known we returned happy, healthy and in time for term papers and Halloween**.

Despite a lack of national regard for Halloween, the internationals made it happen. (Actually I should not apply the term internationals too liberally, as many of our European and South American friends declined our invitation to participate in such an obviously American event.) We themed the night ‘Parade of Nations’ so your costume needed to represent, however you thought best, your nation of Birth.

I went as Sookie Stackhouse, the heroine of TrueBlood. Sookie is the typical American waitress, in deep South Bon Temps Lousiana who is a telepath and now in a steamy romance with a Vampire. I felt like all my halloween and patriotic bases were covered and I think for an impromtu costume not too shabby.

The Parade of Nations went nicely with the Beer Olympic motif for festivities. Ultimate Americana.

Prior to Hallows Eve, I was talking with Batsi’s son and daughter about if they want to come to the states to which they replied with a very definite “Yes. In October.” (!)

Before I could realize the significance of an autumn visit, Batsi’s daughter exclaimed .”FOR HALLOWEEN...we want to trick or treat.” It was not until this conversation that I really thought about how trick or treating would seem to someone from Southern Africa. You get to dress up, be silly and people give you candy when you knock at their door. Halloween must be the least culturally African thing I can think of.

Halloween, interestingly, has made me more nostalgic for home than I have been in a while.

It was very nice to have such a celebratory weekend, though after the general post-adventure let down of returning to school after being away.

Any let down not cured by Halloween extravaganza was mended by a most exciting visit to a Traditional African Healer. I admittedly, was pleased that this visit took place on Halloween so was sort of “spooky.” The healer was named Dr. Moses, he can cure anything from ringworm to a sad heart.

He can also charm a black mamba, then kill it for medicinal purposes. Rad. 

For 30 pula you can have a consultation, he channels the ancestors and they tell him everything about you and where you have any spiritual blockages.

Dr. Moses said he could even tell me my birthday with out me saying one word!

Naturally, I have scheduled an appointment.

School this past week has been hectic.

“Eish too too hectic” is EXACTLY how every Batswana will describe pre exam time at school; thus I am saying it all the time too now.

If group projects are difficult in America add the language barrier, bureaucracy and lack of internet then imagine my 3,000 word final paper on the economic implications of the diamond boom in Botswana to be written in a group of five. (Thumbs down)

Friday, the fifth of November was Guy Fawkes day.

It was supposed to be maybe THE party night of the year.  Fawkes attempted to blow up parliament in protest to the British Government, so “...Remember, Remember the 5th of November...” you have bon fires and fireworks to celebrate general mayhem and destruction of colonialism. I was expecting the whole of the nation to be dressed up as V (V is for Vendetta in the film V is dressed as a characterized Guy Fawkes), but evidently the big party and fireworks take place at the Gaborone Yacht Club and is attended to almost exclusively by the white and wealthy of Botswana. (WHAT?)

Rachel felt a little under the weather and I was more than fine with bowing out for a mellow time.

We made up for it at our friend Jan’s pool party extravaganza on Saturday night. His house is complete with a tiki hut wet bar. It was lovely. Pools are my favorite luxury here as well as my method of bathing. 

Yesterday I had the best, leisurely, Sunday in Gabane (HA bawn EH).

20 minutes from Las Vegas in a small village there is a very quaint, brightly painted, inviting and cheap bar at the bottom of a little mountain. There are lots of places to lounge under trees. You can play pool or watch soccer in the bar. Outside they have four giant grills, you pay 20 pula and they hand you a cardboard box FULL (really an obscene amount) of marinated steak that you can go grill yourself. I have been attempting to avoid beef (especially post cow heart) (5) but this was dish d-lish! YUM.

After you grill there is a very very elderly woman at a huge cauldron and she gives you a heaping portion of phaleche (staple carb) and you just go to town, gnawing at your steak and eating your papa (4) out of your box. 

They played jazz all afternoon and in the course of our time in Gabane there we observed lightening, hail and thunderstorm as well as scorching heat.

Also I am still full.

Best decision of the this week has been the 80 dollar splurge on an electric fan.

40 degrees is hot. Yikes.

I am in underwear always. (8)



Love love love
I MISS YOU

Jackie




1. Actually Botswana’s official website for tourism greets you with a message stating, “Welcome to the very best part of Africa. Botswana, a country better known for peace and tranquility, diamonds and beef, holds a lot of surprises for you,” HOWEVER the website (this is the website set to link the uninformed world to Botswana) has spelled ‘surprises’ incorrectly.
2. I guess by some miracle of globalization and television snowflakes got into the Christmas mix, even though December 25th marks one of the hottest days annually and fireworks/bbq’s are the norm.
3. The cab was even ready for everyone and I had already alerted Mother for a whopping 12,000 Kwacha a minute that I was alive and headed home. (My phone managed to find its way into the pool in Livingstone-but its well recovered now). 
4. short name for phaleche.
5. And because I seem to always always choke on it. Which is a bit embarrassing/confusing.
6. From an email to a lovely Gloria Mayne. Thank you for AFRIIIIIIKAAA BAMBATAAA. And reading my blog.
7. After all we couldn’t miss Taco Tuesday.
8. There was an article in this weeks UB Horizon (University of Botswana’s Student Newspaper) entitled “Underwear is NOT Outerwear.”
9. We had managed to get invited to a birthday party at a bar that has a pool and a climbing wall. A climbing wall (no ropes unmonitored) in a bar is so silly. Everything in Livingstone is silly though so it fit well.

P.s. Clearly I should have been using numbered footnotes from the get go.

* For those (primarily the immediate family) who were unaware.
** EVEN THE BEST HALLOWEEN PACKAGE FROM THE BEST GRANDPARENTS EVER.
        (Adam and Axel teased me that my Halloween cookies were the most American thing they had ever seen.)