God is Our Interior Decorator

This is my favorite line in a book I just finished: Kurt Vonnegut's Sirens of Titan (upon Knowles' recommendation).

Oh my how time has passed. I look up and find myself approaching the end of a year. Some days I have a hard enough time knowing what day of the month it is and now it comes time for me to make the extra conscious effort to note the change in the year as well. Typically, I’m in a school setting and it takes me about 3 or 4 weeks to condition my brain to write 2012, and within that time I’m inevitably scratching out and erasing that lingering and stubborn 1 from 2011.

Me and my friend, Tebogo, on World AIDS Day. She served as an usher for the event. I look silly, but we couldn't seem to coordinate a good photo, but you get the idea.

Since my last posting, World AIDS Day has come and gone, as has Christmas. I have moved into a new house that is on the opposite side of the village, just next to my office building, only to be about an hour’s walk to the post office and shops. My dog, Zeus, got out of my compound last weekend and hasn’t come back since. I ventured to the bush and saw a glimpse of the rural and beautiful greenery that “the lands” entails including ducks and standing water from the mountains. The rainy season has arrived and water comes into my kitchen with any prolonged raining… My trip to Mozambique is no longer some distant dream, but is a fast approaching reality. I’m already making my packing list to prepare myself. In addition to readjusting to a new house, I’m learning how to celebrate the holidays without the familiar routine and family members involved. Other than that, Moshupa is still just Moshupa and feels like a home if only by its familiarity.

Kgosi Oscar speaking to the VIPs including ambassadors and Botswana President

I’ll start with World AIDS Day. I got an early morning ride to the grounds from one of the laborers operating the portable loudspeaker system. They normally use these vehicles with a speaker strapped to the top and driven through all of the wards of the town to spread news of upcoming kgotla meetings (comparable to community meetings) and the like. On this particular day, it was used to announce World AIDS Day, inviting all people around to attend, and also notifying this that His Excellency President Sir Seretse Khama would be present for the occasion. I even got to be the one announcing the occasion as we drove around. I had heads turning from the post office to the grocery store wondering what the girl was doing speaking in broken Setswana and nasally sounding English. Clearly, I got a kick out of it. Later in the day I also got to invite all the ambassadors to lunch at the council offices. I didn’t hang around for much of the ceremonial side of things, but rather helped distribute water and snacks to the ushers. I preferred it that way though. I needed to stay occupied because I wasn’t in the mood to sit around. After the formal side of the commemoration with speeches from kgosi and the President, we had some music and dance entertainment from secular and traditional groups. It seemed like a very template kind of commemorative event, but I think that really just affirmed the success of the event. All things considered, it was a great experience and day. I am, however, glad that it’s over.

The speaker system.

Just before Christmas, we had the OVC party at the Red Cross. I got to help cook over an open fire (in the blazing sun), and help prepare dishes for the children while they played. Typically, we serve sandwiches and juice, but as a special treat we prepared samp (hominy), morogo (tough spinch cut finely and cooked in oil and spice) with carrots and tomatoes, goat, beef, and cabbage. It was supposed to last from 10 am to 1 pm, but it didn't even start until 2 p.m. That's what we mean by "Botswana time". After the ceremony the kgosi offered to drive us around for a little bit and god knows I won't resist a car ride if only for the few minutes of breezy air. I got to see a new area of Moshupa with more beautiful rocks (I've really got to find a way to spruce up my details about these rocks, but they really are effortlessly beautiful).

This same day we had some Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs) pass through Moshupa and we had them meet at my friend, Azmat's restaurant. He prepared us a Pakistani/Indian dish with basmati rice and curried carrots and potatoes! One of the RPCVs served in Botswana and another in Rwanda in the late 80s, early 90s. They came to visit their friend, working for USAID in Pretoria, South Africa and ventured around to see what's happening in Botswana. They shared some photos and it was interesting to see that the school uniforms and buildings had not changed one bit. Besides the weathered and 90's film exposure of the photo, you really couldn't tell that the photo was from 20 years ago! It was a refreshing afternoon of visiting and just a cool opportunity to share in an experience that traverses decades and generations. In this way, I really wonder if this "experience" will ever really end. I hope not.

Kgosi let me wear his fur.

His full attire, shoes included (and Black Label). He wears the fur when it's "just a bit cold outside"

The RPCVs, a couple of current volunteers, and Azmat. This was taken in his restaurant.

Christmas was different, but in such a good way. It was a great opportunity to visit with other volunteers and share our respective families’ traditions, while creating a few of our own. Most Batswana families migrate to the cattle posts for the Christmas celebration. They have choirs that convene and travel through the lands singing and performing as they go. I stayed with a few other volunteers in the “village proper” or just the more residential areas of Botswana. There was no indication that it was Christmas time in this setting. You pass by the houses and there are men siting out under the tree drinking beers and Chibuku. There’s a woman washing clothes or sitting beside the house, chasing the shade as it wraps around the house away from the sun. Nothing about any of these activities distinguishes Christmas from any other Sunday. We did exchange gifts and I ended up receiving a camping spfork, the multipurpose utensil that conveniently includes a knife-edge as well. Hopefully, I won’t look like the Joker after using it. I also got a block of REAL parmesan cheese! My waistline was screaming, “NOOOOOO!” but my eyes and mouth were saying, “HELL YES! IT’S ABOUT TIME!” You can get things of this nature, you know like REAL cheeses in the capital city. I have processed things comparable to Velveeta in my village, but never buy it, and on occasion they have some mozzarella, which I also never seem to be able to justify purchasing. Needless to say, eating the parmesan became a communal effort. I also gave a few haircuts to my friends in need of a trim, whilst listening to some new music sent from my boy ☺ back home. My favorite part about this Christmas was waking up each morning and going into the only room where no one was sleeping: the kitchen. There we would sit with the doors open, sipping on some coffee (compliments of friends from the States) just visiting, catching up on things, and laughing all the while. The kitchen also became an experimental playground with all kinds of goodies and ingredients and snacks and treats INCLUSIVE OF A RED VELVET CAKE WITH CREAM CHEESE ICING. We kept the doors and windows open almost all weekend to enjoy the nice breeze and even a couple summertime rain showers. (Does this sound weird to you winter wonderland folk in the Northern hemisphere?) We also took a small hike in the village up to a sweet lookout spot. It’s so nice visiting with volunteers at this point in our service. We let off some steam sometimes (ok a lot of times), but there are also these really great opportunities for conversations that don’t even pertain to life in Botswana. We are all (going out on a limb to assume we are all on the same page butttttt) at peace enough with our lives and routine here that it’s not such a thought consuming process to live here. In this peace, we get occasions like Christmas to reflect on the family and friends we left in the States and share our personal histories and traditions with these new friends. Yes, this is our life in the day to day, but this Christmas was distinguishable from any other Sunday if only by a good visit and a delicious cake. We even succeeded in creating new traditions like hanging Smartwool socks for stockings and eating Oreos as appetizers.

Another volunteer asked me the other day what I was most glad to have packed before coming here. I immediately said my French press. Not that I couldn’t get a French press here, but I couldn’t find a stainless steel one, the perfect size for one, and there is something about the gratification in being “prepared” for something. Like OH, I knew I would appreciate taking the time to accommodate for my addiction to coffee. The only problem is the coffee supply and access to ground coffee. My friends and family have done a SUPERB job in supplying me with an adequate amount of coffee to accommodate me and treat my occasional visitor. My office thinks I’m crazy for drinking it black. Here, teatime means a minimum of 5 scoops of sugar with 1 part milk, 1 part coffee/tea. I have since discovered those Starbucks instant coffee packets and the flavored ones too. WOW those things are good! Comparable to dessert coffee and equally as tasty over ice. I am slowly but surely introducing COLD coffee and tea drinks to my office. They’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.

Laughs abound

The table and pineapple centerpiece. Britt, in her finest Christmas attire :)

Christmas pizza! Do you see the tree??

Sparklers!!

We also had the opportunity to celebrate Hanukkah with Tija. She did a STELLAR job of preparing foods, decorating with dreidels, and posting the traditional Hebrew prayers, even facilitating the prayer for those celebrating their first Hanukkah (me included). Typically, I'm not one for such ceremony and tradition, but I really did enjoy the occasion and brief insight into Judaism. There is also something so appealing about such longstanding traditions and religious practices and I'm curious as to how and why those particular practices have survived so long. Being raised in a Christian home, it's always interesting to see different annual traditions.

Lighting the Menorah

ambience

Ahhh, yes, my new house in Moshupa. It’s new to me and new to the neighborhood. The bathtub fits me perfectly and the sink isn’t clogged. Still no shower, but having water and electricity really suffice. I don’t have any furniture yet besides a bed and two plastic lawn chairs my friend lent to me. That will change soon, well eventually. BUT I won’t hold my breath is what I’m saying. I was sad to abandon my garden at the old place, and I don’t have the same yard space to have a garden here. So I’m considering just doing some potted herbs for decorative aesthetics and the occasional culinary accents.

My house is the left side of a duplex type structure.

This is the front gate to the compound. There are 4 other houses here and my landlord lives in the house to the left.

Another irresistible sky.

Besides being in a new home, barren and blah, Zeus is gone. It’s been almost a week now. He has gotten out of the compound on several occasions, but always comes back around feeding time. People have warned me of this, saying that others will steal him and take him to the lands, particularly because he is so well behaved. I didn’t take much mind, thinking surely no one would do that. Whether he ran away, was hit by a car, or stolen, I don’t know. He’s gone. I fed the last bit of his food to my neighbor’s puppy (which I’m considering taking under my wing). I just miss my afternoons and early mornings sitting on the porch drinking coffee and him tucked under the coffee table while I read on the couch. I don’t know that I really want the responsibility and worry of another dog. I just liked him so much and I loved that I could walk with him places and he stayed with me or if he left, he always came back. I don’t know if you know my history, but typically the dogs in my life are like one hit wonders and when they turn into the yuppy and needy creatures that don’t do what I want, I lose interest. Zeus had it all, man! And with a name life Zeus, it’s not like I can just find a Hercules to replace him.

Before I arrived in Moshupa I googled it to see what I could find. To begin my search, I found myself on the Wikipedia page. Yes, Moshupa has its own Wikipedia page. I remember reading that they have these “precarious rock groupings,” and the story goes that each time the chief dies one of these rocks falls. I’ve become less of an acquaintance and more of a friend with the kgosi here and took the liberty to ask him if the myth was true. He told me about when his father died some creepy things happened in a particular group of rocks just near my house. Now, it isn’t everyday that one can read something on Wikipedia and have first-hand accounts to verify that information. It felt something like the scene in the Lion King when Simba is in the fields and he is recapping his family’s history, cue African night sky and Circle of Life song. I would update things like the existence of an orphanage here, that doesn’t exist, but is actually just an OVC (Orphaned and Vulnerable Children) program at the Red Cross. However, I doubt that Moshupa gets the high numbers of page hits to even warrant an edit.

I would write on Mozambique, but I’ll elaborate on that adventure after it happens. For now, I will just celebrate the fact that the tickets are purchased, accommodations booked, and I’m set to go! Until then it’s New Years festivities. This time last year I was in Austin, TX with a few of my favorite friends, probably sipping Fireball and listening to good music. I’m not sure how this New Years will play out, but I’m preparing myself for a good bit of house music and employing some innovation for fun out in BFE!

I wish I could write more about work related things, but the truth is that everything goes on hiatus for the entire month of December. Governments offices are open, but all schools are closed for the entirety of the month, limiting my little side projects for the time being. I cannot say that I am complaining. It seems I needed a little break from my routine.

Oh and just found out my good friends Sarah Henkel and Nick Volgas are engaged! WHEW! I’m SO EXCITED TO HEAR THAT! CHEERS and CONGRATULATIONS to them!

p.s. I'll post photos when I find the golden ticket (wireless internet).

So what's a girl to do...

...when it's 9 p.m. and she's craving nothing but chocolate? There's no last resort McDonald's milkshake around the corner or the 24-hour grocery across town. Matter of fact, not a single place is open. Not that it would matter because she doesn't have a car and there are no street lights to foster even an evening stroll.

INNOVATION!

With no eggs or milk and only a tablespoon of margarine to her name, she scavenges the random ingredients to find a bit of cocoa powder, some sugar, and oatmeal. She melts that bit of butter for the adhesive effect between the oats and sugar and cocoa. Her mouth begins to water at the smell of heated margarine, holding true to her roots and affinity for Southern cuisine. (Paula Dean Special, y'all!) WAHhhLAh! No-bake, sweet, warm, chocolate oats to the rescue for the stranded girl. Then comes that old familiar feeling of over indulgence, but tonight she'll embrace it. She'll savor that sweet chocolate innovation for the mere novelty of flavor and then again to celebrate her successful experiment.

She sleeps with a sweet tooth satisfied and wakes with reason enough to make it to the grocery store at daylight.

Sustain Yourself

Documenting the first fruits of my labor: baby marrow! (yes, singular).

What's for dinner?
For starters we have a spinach salad with cucumber and green apple, only made complete with greens grown by yours truly, and tomatoes from my landlord’s garden here on the compound. Sprinkled with fresh cracked black pepper and drizzled with balsamic vinegar, we have the most perfect compliment to a pleasantly overcast summer afternoon.

And for the main event that never fails to disappoint: those white Setswana sweet potatoes (also from the backyard garden) pan fried in a little olive oil and garlic, and seasoned with home grown rosemary.

You like those pseudo shabby chic plates, eh? I think they compliment my woodgrain. I mean, it's no granite and fine china, but it'll do. :)

The sense of accomplishment and novelty of cooking a meal with things created with the aid of your own two hands only proves the very fact that I am American. However, the most beautiful part is that after France shared his tomatoes and sweet potatoes, I offered to prepare them to my liking. He agreed to share our dinner and seemed to enjoy a salad not drenched in mayonnaise for dressing and the freshness of herbs that so perfectly compliments the very simple taste of a potato (rather than those ready-made MSG infested “soup packets”).

These are the small moments where I fully embrace my time here, taking the opportunity to appreciate a slower and simpler kind of life that isn’t totally inaccessible in the States. It’s just that context is everything and to find a moment with a perfect balance of exploration and sharing and just peaceful complacency with my life here is enough to sustain me and revive my spirits for that next roller coast ride of emotions that seem to phase in and out. At least now they change a little less frequently. For today, I’m coasting on the vibes of a good Monday afternoon.

Happy Turkey Day!

On this fine Thanksgiving Day, I find myself evaluating notions of home and what constitutes a space as such. Is it merely a physical entity with style and decor that represents you and your aesthetic? Is it an emotional respite; a place of unconditional love and support? Is it just a space of shelter, to store your things?

This is the second Thanksgiving in my life I have spent apart from the family that taught me how to celebrate this very occasion. The first time, I was in Madrid, Spain. I had one really close American friend and she recognized the importance of the holiday. We decided to have a relatively formalized dinner with our European friends and tried not to make it just one more American cultural imposition, but rather a simple opportunity to sit down and enjoy each other's company. Jasmine and I made each of our friends say what they were thankful for all the while sitting in this crappy restaurant in the middle of Madrid. That very space felt like a home: a place to recognize a comfortable social bond and take the time to verbalize some gratitude for a mutual contribution to that impromptu "home".

This Thanksgiving 2011 was no different in feel, sharing a space with friends and taking a moment to appreciate the present. It wasn't like the celebration was less validated by the absence of cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, but rather more exciting to share with new faces and experiment with new dishes, namely vegan schnitzel and ranch made with yogurt, pasta with soup packets for flavor...and the concoctions go on and on...it was excessive in the quantity of food consumed. That was probably the most American part of it all. Despite the distance from my original home, I have found another space to share with another family on this beautiful summer Thanksgiving Day. It's just nice to know that you can find a home anywhere you go when you take the time to make a family of friends. It's even better when you have a minute to appreciate it all.
That's not to say I don't miss my family back in the US of A. I look forward to a more routine and traditional Thanksgiving in a couple of years inclusive of homemade dressing, sweet tea, pecan pie, all enjoyed around a dinner table. Oh and the post lunch nap on the fluffy couch! For now, pasta and soy will suffice and sitting in front of a fan to cool off!

So, my friends, I leave you with a little piece done by beauchamping that was recently posted on my current internet obsession (miss moss blog).

Oh, I so do not miss Black Friday. I am thankful for the opportunity to miss that horrid day in America. For those of you enduring the chaos, know that I am thinking of you!

what is art?? ha, i'm kidding...i wouldn't dare tackle that one.

there's a dead scorpion on my kitchen floor that I must have unknowingly killed or Zeus just earned his keep...I keep it there for bragging rights. Some hang deer antlers, others keep scorpions. hello, summer!

There’s no rain in sight and it’s so unbelievably hot.

On my way to the office on Friday I had someone stop me and ask for directions. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! That MUST mean that it looks like I either live here or just know where I am going. Maybe I just exude a kind of competency as I roam the village.

My view at the dam along my way home most days. Another one of my favorite spots in Moshupa.

I’ve wanted to mention something about how this whole Peace Corps experience relates to me in a more personal sense relative to some big picture in my life. In terms of my interests or future plans, it helps to know that I studied Art History in college. I still have hopes of pursuing something along those lines post Peace Corps, but have yet to decide what exactly that will be. Being that I am a proponent for the role of art in everyday life, particularly useful as a social catalyst for awareness/change/what have you…I am trying to find a way to make this HIV/AIDS assignment develop and reinforce those very notions.

In designing the calendar for the World AIDS Day event, I quickly resorted to adding Keith Haring pieces for graphic detail on the calendar only to talk myself out of it as a kind of displaced and somewhat irreverent act that would in some ways belittle the significance of his work or entirely change its implications. I doubt that Haring would have been so particular about his work, but even still it comes from a particular time and place that really isn’t applicable to the HIV/AIDS situation here in Botswana. In some ways Keith Haring’s work documented the arrival of HIV in the States, specifically associated with the homosexual population. Maybe not the arrival, but his work helped to recognize HIV as an issue and promote conversations and awareness on a social level around the 1980s. While there’s plenty more information to elaborate on that meager statement, I will leave it at that for the sake of this post.

I’m not so sure that we have discovered a Keith Haring of Botswana or recognized the potential for a figure and a medium as such. I’m also not sure that the proverbial art of Botswana is at a place to serve the people on a social level in the way that Diego Rivera took part in and documented a revolution in Mexico or how Shepard Fairey challenges our notions and criteria for art in the white cube. Yes, these are two very different campaigns, but both acknowledge the instigating power of a little visual stimulation. (Then again, who foresaw what would come from Rivera and Fairey’s work…and I’m sure I am making someone rollover in their grave to even compare the two). I would just love to see a kid painting a bus stop with some witty phrasing about wearing a condom or some cartoon personifying sperm. That at least recognizes that medium as a viable social mechanism for communication. It may very well just be that I’m not literate in Botswana’s art. Or perhaps this conversation is just me trying to fit Botswana’s art into a mold formed in a different time and place. Whatever be the case, I am glad to have this kind of uncomfortable and uncertain take on the role of art in this country and culture. I’m not presented with the supplementary text and the establishments that really cater to the people and beg us to understand and appreciate art as a viable form of communication. There’s really no established forum for that kind of conversation and exploration. So I’m on a hunt for those tangible things that document a mindset, a commentary, an event, a future history; for those things that curators are be able to recognize and acknowledge as worth noting with the ability to explain why. I’m training my eye and learning to read in a totally new way. I’m not sure that I have much to reinforce whatever discoveries I make, but it’s a damn good way to occupy my mind.

On another note, I have found a lot of craft. From what I’ve seen, there’s realism in the 2D and then there’s craft in the 3D. I don’t want to suggest that realism and craft are primitive and less developed forms of art. I just want people here to see the possibilities of art mediums beyond the skill of recreating things on paper as they are seen with the eye. Realism’s been done, right? Sure, spruce it up, add your twist. Does this mean that most art, no matter the place, moves along a pretty established continuum? If that be the case, when and what will be Botswana’s Abstract Expressionism or Impressionism? Or if Abstract Expressionsim is to America as Impressionism is to France. Then what is to Botswana or even Southern Africa in total? And how did Botswana skip all of those other intermediary phases and jump to some variation of pop art. Oh yeah- advertising and commercialism. So for now, it seems the museums of Botswana are filled with the cultural artifacts with heavy histories. It could be that I miss the whole gallery culture in the states. I see abandoned butcheries and want nothing more than to hold an impromptu art opening by day to transition the space into a dance hall as the sun falls.

In another light, I have a revived appreciation for trade labor and I’m enjoying evaluating where to draw the line for trade and craft. I am fascinated by the welder that builds tables and chairs or the tanner that treats the leather. These skills are very much labor intensive and skill based but also still serve such a functional purpose in the products they create and the manner in which these products are distributed. I’m not sure if that nullifies its potential as art, but it doesn’t have the same kind of frivolity and recreational flare that one (the non-committal “one”) may think of when you (the very directive and assailing “you”) consider the stereotypical “artist” that uses metals or leather as a medium. Why do we call them artists, and why don’t we call them welders or tanners? Where do we distinguish those titles?
I just find it interesting that when its business and you’re asked to weld burglar bars to your client’s windows, that’s trade. But what is it when you stylize those burglar bars? It’s one thing to serve the function, but to accentuate and decorate within those minimal parameters of mere function, that’s what I’m interested in. Maybe that’s just good business. And maybe art is good business.

In other evaluations of aesthetics and the like: the Batswana are not afraid of color. Thank goodness! I’ve seen deep-eggplant-purple houses, hot pink bars, florescent salmon (if you can imagine) colored buildings, black trousers with brown socks, & boys with pink backpacks…I’ve seen it all! Colors are neither gendered nor seasonal. I like it here. Color equality at its finest.

On a less exciting note, I’m looking into a Thanksgiving dinner for one. Forgive me for my solemn tone but with the preparations for this World AIDS Day event in my office, I find myself resigned to finalizing budgets and plans for the big day. I am happy to carry some of the weight of the event and feel some kind of responsibility towards it all, but the timing seems to be a bit unfortunate. I had originally been approved to attend a language week in North Botswana with a few other volunteers, spending some time studying Setswana in a setting comparable to the one we had during pre-service training and also helping out with a community project to build a school. Both of which are things I was so excited about, conveniently happening the week of Thanksgiving. I have since been asked to remain in Moshupa to help with the workload that remains before the event. I am not so much disappointed by having to work, because the change of pace and a new sense of responsibility is a nice change of activity from my typical office experience. It’s just the whole idea of missing Thanksgiving in its entirety. Sure, the counterargument goes something like “you know when you signed up for Peace Corps you were asked to consider how you felt about missing the holidays with family and friends.” I had already relinquished those notions of my traditional Thanksgiving celebration with my family and had figured a way to celebrate with my new family of friends here in Botswana. To feel those plans evaporate leaves me feeling a bit sad. Thanksgiving 2011 will probably not be anything particularly special, but that’s not the worst-case scenario. Perhaps I’ll manage to cook a tasty dinner and treat myself to some chocolate and hell, maybe even some ice cream!

More on that when the time comes.

Until next time- I've been checking into some blogs I've neglected for far too long. Well, I've really just recently had a decent connect enough to view these, but check this out: http://katebingamanburt.com/blog I'm really digging all the goodies posted on here.

we don't fall back or spring forward

Here in Botswana we don’t observe daylight savings time. Now I’m one more hour ahead of America. I have asked a few people here if they know about it, but it’s not something that they have ever observed. I tried to explain that it had something to do with keeping in sync with the hours of daylight, but it didn’t resonate. I am enjoying that the run rises earlier in the day. While it’s already a sauna at 7 a.m., I do get to enjoy my walks to the office in broad daylight these days. Those winter time treks to the office were ok and watching the sunrise was a bit of a novelty, but that soon wore off and I didn’t want to be walking in the dark of morning, particularly in the bitter cold. I will say that it’s still strange for me to acknowledge that I am experiencing a blistering heat in November when I used to cozying up by a fireplace and enjoying a hot cup of coffee. Another thing that takes some getting used to is the fact that there is little to no commercial holiday feel in Moshupa. I’m no longer inundated with advertisements reminding from every TV show, radio station, store front window or roadside billboard that Fall has arrived and we should begin preparing for and celebrating Christmas. There’s also no Thanksgiving here to serve as the preamble to Christmas. Maybe it’s just that the season hasn’t started yet. I haven’t decided if I like the change in the visual landscape of my seasons both in the natural and commercial world, but Christmas in July carries a whole new meaning. Here in Africa, it’s much more likely to be realized being as though I will be in a swimsuit on the beach of the Indian Ocean come Christmas time.

I have received a few care packages in the last few months and most of them have been the most pleasant surprises from friends at home. The post office is a bit of a hassle, but the anticipation of seeing what package awaits me behind the teller is enough for me to tolerate that whole scene. At the beginning or end of every month there is a line of elderly folks just sitting outside on benches, along the fence, on the ground, and across the street waiting for their pension money. Being that the older women are most regularly dressed in traditional attire, the crowd is typically this array of mosadi mogolos in Dutch print fabrics (they only come in red, blue, and brown) with their scarfs tied up about their heads, too old to bother with the latest hair piece constructions. The men all wear dress pants with the conventional button down and typically accompanied with a sweater vest of sorts. Many of these men have a walking cane in their gnarled and weathered hands and have a bucket hat on their heads or hanging down they back. The women tend to be heavy set, full figured women and the men manage to be these shrunken, skinny figures and a certain kind of bagginess to their clothes in they way the shirt drapes the shoulders and the pant legs are suspended from the cinched waist of their trousers. Occasionally you see an old man with a bit of a belly, but the button down and sweater combo remain, just with a different kind of response to the body. Most often I enjoy seeing the old men bicycling down the road with a bag of rice strapped to the fender plank. I see women approaching the road from the neighboring bush with random cargo stashed atop their heads. I’m not sure what exactly constitutes old age here, but I know that at a certain age you are not allowed to work any longer. When I mention my parents’ ages and that they are both still working I get such a flabbergasted response. Then I show them a picture and they think I am lying about their age (I’ve got some good genes). Here once you “retire” it’s not cruises and weekend getaways or trading the SUV for a sports car, but it’s going back to tending to the land, looking after your grandchildren and waiting for your pension check. I think my retirement will be some combination of the two. I think I need to get a career first.

In the same way the old move about as though their age has had little effect on their ability to get around, the young too move about as though they developed their motor skills at a much faster pace than most. Also, the children here are the most resilient I’ve ever seen. Nerf and Fisher Price would serve no purpose here being that there is no need to over sensitize the children to the possibility of injury. Instead, they run barefoot on the tarred road where broken glass abounds. Whereas in the States we would have carpools arranged or a bus to safely transport school aged kids to and from school, here they walk without escort or the convenience of a vehicle. Some of the children from able families have a taxi driver arranged to drive the children, but most just walk. No one ever seems to be lost here. To know the ropes of your home village, it means that you began learning the roads and paths since you could walk. It means you knew the shortcuts by age 5 and you could get home in the night without streetlights at age 10. It really is a beautiful thing to see how these children take the entirety of the village and roam it freely as though it’s their very own backyard.

And this concludes my mini sociology segment of my blog, expanding on mental notes I’ve made in the past few weeks as I moved about Moshupa.
Things are close to chaos here with the fast approaching World AIDS Day celebration on December 1. I’m not really sure where I factor into the whole planning equation. I try to offer my services and help where needed, but keep a distance so as not to hover and get in the way.
Outside of the office I’m still trying to coordinate my group of teenagers for a peer support group. It seems each week there is either a stipulation with my schedule or the school’s when it comes time to meet.

I’ll share more when there’s more to tell. For now things are pretty routine in a good way. Some days I find solace in the familiarity of this place and then other days I’m living just to see the weekend and the chance to get away for a little while. I guess that’s probably the case anywhere you go though, right?

Well, hello November. When did you get here?

Some talk about the sacrifice that people make in joining the Peace Corps in terms of leaving friends and family, abandoning the comfortable amenities of home and making only a meager living stipend to cover your essentials. While I think Peace Corps is a beautiful experience for both the young and the old (this is also part of what is so appealing to me), I would obviously advocate that it is a great opportunity to people just out of college. I was working random part time jobs in addition to babysitting, trying to postpone my commitment to the real world and riding out the lingering remains of social liberties from my college lifestyle. So for me Peace Corps has been a pay raise and a steady income that I’ve never known. Granted I’m not making bank and saving any money, but even breaking even and covering all monthly expenses feels so good with a little wiggle room to treat myself to some cheese or chocolate every now and again. I’m only accountable for myself in terms of food, cell phone, household items, and transport and no one is dependent on my besides my dog, so it may not seem like such a large feat. It’s just nice to not feel any financial dependency and that looming urgency to bring in enough money to do the things I want to do. It may have something to do with the fact that my “recreational” expenses are typically allotted to edibles being that there isn’t much else to indulge in, well occasional travel. What I’m saying is that the financial side of Peace Corps is not something that I feel like is such a large sacrifice on my end (please remember I speak only for myself. I’m sure some would disagree). There are those that transitioned from six figure salaries to the Peace Corps and I think that is commendable in many ways. While I imagine that would be difficult to adjust to, I’d like to think it wouldn’t deter me from serving in the Peace Corps either. Also bear in mind that the standard of living is also very different. To just say that one has a lesser income doesn’t mean that you can’t provide for yourself in the way you used to. It’s just a matter of being more mindful of costs and where you allocate your monies.

There is also a component that I didn’t anticipate before coming here and that is a new kind of financial self-consciousness in a public regard. It is not totally applicable to everyone, but being in a village setting away from the city, people take note of you on any and every occasion. In addition to trying to combat the assumption that I have endless amounts of money flowing from every orifice of my body, I try to minimize that image or façade of having money with the way I dress in both style and variety and the material possessions I am seen with like groceries or my phone, etc. Even when I go to the grocery store I find myself conscious of how often I’ve been there in a week and try to limit myself to once a week, even if I have forgotten something. Being that there is only one grocery store in Moshupa, most all of the employees recognize me and I generally have the same cashiers when I go. They always evaluate and comment on what I’m buying, how much I’m buying (asking if I am cooking only for myself) or ask me how I plan to cook with a particular item. Even when I splurge on something like soda or buy thinks like cereal in bulk it doesn’t go unnoticed. I just enjoy living within my means and getting by on what I need, and discovering what exactly I NEED to get by. I’ve found it to be a bit more of a conscious effort than I anticipated balancing my habits in the States with a hyper self-awareness here…if that makes any sense. In any case, it’s been a good exploration and discovery of what it means to provide for myself in the given circumstances.

So in addition to evaluating my life in terms of America to Bostwana, I am also still assessing the transition from college to all that is post-college (be it “the real world” or what have you. While I never got a taste of this in the States, I have my initial exposure to the standardized work hours here in Botswana (half seven to half four). What I don’t so much willingly endorse is this whole 8-5 deal. I understand that operating on a standardized schedule is important for communication and accountability purposes. However, the notion of being present from 8-5 merely for the sake of fulfilling a most minimal level of responsibility is not my cup of tea, particularly when you have little to show for it. I am finding more and more things to occupy my time productively, but sometimes I find myself in the office asking to help do anything when there is simply nothing to do. I don’t know if that happens at home. I imagine so, but here we don’t have the Internet in the office to fill that void. I also don’t know if this is something you transition to or just a dynamic that you resign yourself to until you become accustomed to the routine.
I try to balance my week with a few days that are filled with miscellaneous activities and projects that I’m working on like going to the primary school to help organize the library and then going to the secondary school for a peer support group discussing issues like teenage pregnancies and such. I love that my week changes day to day and I only have about 2 days where I had a “desk job.” On these days, various tasks keep my butt glued to a seat and my day is broken up by teatime and lunch break. Speaking of tea, tea breaks are how I survive those days that drone on and seem to alter the passing of time in a most inactive but exhausting manner. The other days I operate generally on the same hours, but I’m constantly moving around. Being that it takes me about an hour to get anywhere on foot, much of my time is accounted for in the commutes between places.

Ha, it’s when I think about and elaborate on these aspects of my service, I’m reminded that I’m only 23 with not too much “life” under my belt. On any other occasion I would feel weird discussing my financial status on a blog, I figure some might be interested to know how that goes here in my Peace Corps service. How exciting it is to say that I’m learning a lot about myself in terms of financial responsibility and the like on a completely different continent. I wonder how that will translate to life back in the States.

Other things I wanted to comment on…clearly in no orderly manner:
One thing some might be surprised to find is that there is essentially no homeless population here. Even in reading a government publication, they were discussing a new plot of government housing that was recently completed with various large name contributors. The relevant authorities mentioned that the premise of the project was to preserve an individual’s pride and decency as a member of society by providing adequate shelter for them and their families. I think it’s a beautiful idea and I try to explain to people here that we do in fact have a homeless population in America. Oftentimes I only address the subject when people go on and on about how wealthy Americans are and how everyone has nice things i.e. clothes and cars, etc. I’m not sure they fully consider what it means to be literally without a home and to evaluate the kind of lifestyle and dangers that may entail. Granted, some in marginal regions live in temporary, shack-like structures that many Americans would qualify as homelessness. However, here the people are innovative when provided with little and you’d be surprised at the spirit of a home that exists within even a most unsightly house.



I have been away from home for almost a week. I met with a few volunteers at the Rhino Sanctuary near Serowe, Botswana. We went on a 6 a.m. game drive and saw white rhinos, giraffes, wildebeests, warthogs, and ostriches. A few others went on a later game drive and got to see ZEBRAS! Being that this was my first game drive, I found myself squealing at the thrill of chancing upon animals, at which time I was shushed by Tija haha and all the more conscious of my giddy excitement. This element of surprise was probably what makes game drives better than anything a zoo could ever be.
What was particularly interesting about this sanctuary was that it started in 1992 when the white rhino population was extremely low in Botswana. South Africa donated something like 200 rhinos to repopulate and this became a community-based project. It is still operating as a self-sustaining organization and hasn’t been absorbed by the government- a point worth noting.
A few of us were camping and stayed next to the few who rented out a chalet. We had a bird that we just named Zazu (from the Lion King) staying around our campsite and he ate from our hands. One of the nights we opted to have a campfire and a candlelight dinner outdoors. Sometimes I just love having vegetables cooked on an open fire with no butter or salt or anything. It just completes the camp feel. The weather was so cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon with perfectly mild evenings. The long awaited rains finally decided to present themselves on a night that I am in a tent. My tent didn’t have a rain fly so that made for an interesting night of trickling drops on my face and soaking my feet. The sound of rainfall was more than welcome though and we woke to the strangest sounds of birds. We even asked each other if someone had a weird alarm tone only to discover that they were in fact natural noises.

Immediately after the Rhino Sanctuary I returned to the South to meet with my co-workers. I attended my first Evidence Based Planning retreat to the bush with no network coverage for three solid days of deliberating on and “strategizing” plans for the upcoming year. I found it to be an exhausting process that really highlighted so many of things that really frustrate me with the general processes of doing things. There was some good that came from the meeting but I’m still struggling to find that balance of participating in the discussions and capitalizing on those opportunities for suggesting improvements. I am hesitant to voice an alternative opinion in fear of sounding so high and mighty or totally irreverent for their customs and practices.

On another note,
I’m going to try to make my own yogurt in the next few weeks. Apparently you only need one small yogurt to create your own and then you don’t have to buy any more b/c you keep the cultures alive with each batch.

With the weather warming up I’m missing having my car more and more, being able to get places in a timely manner and control things like the A/C and radio. Riding a bus here… wheewweee Batswana do not like open windows and free flowing air for fear of “catching flu” (not to be confused with influenza). My counter argument always pertains to the increased likelihood of catching TB, but the joking nature of the suggestion doesn’t ever translate very well. There is an incessant battle that goes on between me opening the window and being asked to close it. Either we take turns suffering in our respective windstorms or festering sauna of stale, musty heat or we reach a happy medium where the window is open with a 2 cm gap. Some days I’m more tolerant and accommodating than others. I believe 104 degrees is a nonnegotiable need to open the windows.

do not wear polyester in africa

I had a small revelatory moment while sitting at the Red Cross waiting for another meeting to begin that ended up being cancelled. There’s no rhyme or reason to our meetings. They are meant to be weekly, but some weeks they are decidedly cancelled with no explanation other than a “I’ll see you next week,” although I sense that it’s contingent on attendance.
I was sitting with a couple of the other volunteers who are close to me in age. They have frequently asked for things from me like airtime for their cell phone, money for haircuts, meals, and the very bag that I was toting my belongings in. I grew frustrated with the repeated weekly requests and conveyed that I am asked for things at least 5 times a day. I tried to explain that I cannot provide for and say yes to every person that asks for things. I was a little frustrated just in the nature of our interaction and these expectations for some materialistic contribution to validate our relationship. I was having one of those weeks where I felt like I didn’t have a friend in the world because there were some ulterior motives for wanting to interact with me. When I responded with a bit of hasty frustration to her last request for my bag, I just wanted her to understand what it’s like to be in my shoes and feel this uncomfortable disappointment in not being able to satisfy people’s wants and expectations of me. The truth is, everyone asks each other for things here and generally everyone is communal with almost everything they own. This particular volunteer read my frustration and tried to explain herself, giving the example that she had an umbrella and if I asked for it she would give it to me. The thing is that I provide for myself and I find a way to provide the things that I need so that I don't have to ask someone else and that is not the mentality here. I don't want her umbrella. I want my own. AND THAT'S where we differ and I realize that I am so American, for better or for worse. We want our OWN land, personal space, car, umbrella...what have you. I wish I could have a more communal spirit about me with everything I own, and in my IDEAL world I would, but here...it's just not realistic to decipher when and how often it's appropriate to provide things. However, I'm at least glad to recognize that hang-up that's been bugging me for months and put it in words.

I have just returned from the capital city where we had the 50th Anniversary celebration for Peace Corps. It was one of the best weekends I’ve had since I’ve arrived here. I found myself so happy to reconvene with every volunteer in a festive spirit and even meet some of the new ones that arrived in September. I also stayed at our director’s house, where he and his family showered us with the greatest hospitality. We indulged in strawberries, sour cream, English muffins, and cheese…all on separate occasions, of course. A few of us arranged to go to dinner at the Indian restaurant and those flavors just danced on my palette like a summer rain. In terms of foods, I'm totally satisfied for the time being. We also got to use the WASHING MACHINE! I offered my hair cutting services in return, which seem to be improving and provide a nice hope for my future if all else fails. Kidding. Kind of.

In one of our conversation we also came to the consensus that corn is our staple food in America. Genetically modified and altered to extremes, corn is a component of almost everything we use and consume. I've been asked several times what are our staple foods in the States and I found myself at a loss for words thinking how within any given day I can access such an array of cuisines that I didn't even know how to explain having that many options. Mind you, this is also after my recent viewing of Food Inc. That was a strange perspective on meat production, watching it from afar. It also made me a little less reticent to taste meat when they have a braai here. I have tasted freshly slaughtered and cooked chicken and beef since being here and I enjoyed them all the more probably because of the notion of "fresh meat" is still a novelty to me. In addition to apples being a more normal size, the chicken breasts are not competing with human size. As my father would say when we had grilled chicken breasts for dinner, "I'll have the Dolly Parten special."
Another thing I am enjoying here is recognizing a seasonal pattern to the foods that are available in the grocery stores. Even recognizing and learning to be a bit more compatible with the climate is somewhat new, maybe not compatible but more compliant and observant. Whereas in the States we have such climate controlled settings and escape the extremes with the push of a button. I'm not raggin on the A/C and the heaters though. I miss those things being readily available. Within the course of 4 months or so I've gone from sleeping in a down jacket in a down sleeping bag under 3+ blankets to sleeping in a stiff heat where I can't seem to get naked enough to be any cooler.

Anyway, enough of that. I’ve returned to Moshupa with a rejuvenated spirit and comfort in the routine of my life here. Things are beginning to pick up with the DAC (District AIDS Coordinating) Office between all the planning for World AIDS Day and a retreat we are having next week. The retreat is us going to the middle of nowhere Botswana (the site specifically chosen for limited cell phone access-minimizing distraction) to plan and coordinate plans and budgets for the upcoming year. I am a little excited, despite what I’ve heard about the nature of these retreats. I also got to meet with the lady that runs the lodge we are staying at. She has married an American man and she was quick to engage with me on my life here. He husband is from San Diego and works on computers in Gabs. I swear, I’ve met more people from California in coming to Botswana than I have ever known in my time in the States. I will say, the more I meet, the more I’m convinced that I’m destined for that region of the States.

Other than that, not much to report from Moshupa. Britt and I have been planning a few more things for New Years in Mozambique. I am getting so excited for such a change of scenery and celebration, although planning travels is complicated with unreliable internet access. My mouth just waters at thoughts of shrimp and seafood on the coastline of the Indian Ocean. I’ve never seen the Indian Ocean!!!

Earlier on I thought it was annoying that I didn’t have anything to read the temperature and I didn’t need a weather station to tell me that there was no chance of rain for the day. Now, I’m just happy to not know exactly how blasted hot it is. I haven’t purchased a fan yet, but it is quickly rising on my to-do list. Also the A/C is out in the office. Don’t know when that will be fixed, probably not until it’s a health hazard to be trapped indoors in such extreme heat. The bugs are also coming out from every crack and crevice in my house…spiders, gecko/lizards, bats, flies, and mosquitoes. With such a plethora of bugs and such, you learn to pick your battles and the spiders and flies have become more like welcome roommates rather than combatable pests…particularly with the presence of bats. My landlord asked me if the bats had come yet. Before I came, he lived in this house and apparently the bats are seasonal guests to the house, particularly in my bedroom at the front of the house. He didn’t seem phased by it, so I’m trying my best not to concern myself too much with that. For now they only live in the walls and poop through the small openings of the wall ventilation. I have a can of Doom in every room of my house. You can spray it in a room a few hours before entering the room and it works like a bug bomb. In other cases, it’s like a murder weapon to just kill whatever pest on contact. It’s toxic for sure and I have found my bath towel smelling of Doom on more than one occasion.

On another note: I haven’t experienced rain for about 5 months now and walking home the other day I felt a singular raindrop on my cheek. I was so surprised I honestly thought that maybe a bird had just pooped on my face. I felt a couple more drops on my leg as I continued walking and decided it was most definitely rain. There was nothing beyond those few drops, but I remain hopeful for it in the coming days as the rainy season approaches. My only fear is that life doesn’t change with the arrival of the rains. I was TOTALLY hoping for a culture that recognized a kind of rainy day hiatus, letting Mother Nature take over the day’s activities, but it seems here we just continue as usual. I will probably not weather the storm, walking across the village on those days and will resort to taking a taxi. I can’t imagine how that works seeing as how there are not nearly enough taxis to accommodate everyone in the village, but I’ll keep you posted.

Back from Namibia. I saw an ostrich!

Sitting beach front in Swakopmund, enjoying the cool/cold breeze and brilliant sun.

Turns out that it wasn’t Oktoberfest. It was actually the following weekend, but that’s ok. I did enjoy some of the local Camelthorn beers. I tasted a few different wheat beers (a regular weizen and a dark wheat) Both of which were delicious and SO not available in Botswana. We arrived in Windhoek first, but I enjoyed Swakopmund most because it was a small and walkable city on the coast. We didn’t stay in Windhoek long and I hope to go back there sometime to see what it’s all about. Upon arriving in Windhoek we were all marveling at how very different it looked in comparison to Botswana. Architecture, street organization, scenery…everything. It was a beautiful taste of something different. In between Windhoek and Swakopmund there is literally nothing. We drove for km and km in the nothingness to witness the savannah change to distant mountains for a brief while to open up to flat desert as we approached the coast.

The boat ride was canceled due to the difficulty of coordinating plans in a large group and the untimeliness of our planning. That’s ok though because I did enjoy a few beachside sunsets with the sound of the ocean, which I just couldn’t get enough of. We even found CELERY, at which point we decided to treat ourselves to some bloody marys. And yea, Tabasco has made it here! While relaxing on the beach we met another American that works for the US Embassy in Namibia. She invited us to her house for a braai (BBQ) for the evening where she was also hosting a few of her local friends. It was a nice impromptu meeting and her welcome and hospitality were greatly appreciated.
During that time there we even met up with some of the Peace Corps Volunteers placed in Namibia. That was a refreshing group of people to hang out with. It was just nice to connect with some new faces and have somewhat of an insider’s perspective on life there. There were also plenty of stories empathizing on the highs and lows of the whole Peace Corps experience, but also just celebrating and laughing in light of new company.

hanging by the aquarium

In the daytime there we wandered the city to see the restaurants, stores, the coast, and a lighthouse! Doesn’t sound all that exciting, but I promise you it was visually stimulating. In perusing some of the little “stalls” selling all the Namibian crafts and other African souvenirs, I met a group of Namibians just outside of the aquarium at the beach. I ended up buying just a simple wooden bracelet (my love for knick-knack jewelry continues), but I went back the next day to say hello and see how they were doing, being that the stall seemed to be a façade for socializing and served as a meeting place for all their friends. The main guy, Angola, did most of the selling but he and his buddies also spend a good bit of time making music on the beach and DJ-ing at night at a local club. One of his friends, fittingly named Bongo Man, was the most vibrant of the group. “One love” was interjected after every 5 words, but somewhere in there we had a great time visiting, talking about all that is Swakopmund.

tea time

the home

We stayed with the grandparents to our friend, Werner. They live about 15 km outside of Swakopmund. His grandfather is a fisherman and we got to see the whole process after a good day’s fish. He even cooked the Shnook (sp?) fish for us over an open fire. It was quite possibly the most delicious fish I’ve ever had. His grandmother also greeted us with chocolate cake and poppy seed bread and tea. There’s nothing better than the comfort of a real home with a cooked meal. One of the days Dinah and I had the genius idea to try walking to town and progressed maybe 4km in and hour and a half walking on sand and having nothing really to gauge our distance. We were picked up along the way by Werner and crew who got a good laugh at our attempt to stroll to town. I don’t feel like the trip was a most exciting excursion, but as you see I genuinely enjoyed the social side of the trip. I feel like a lot of time was spent in the car, which is not my preferred way to spend my vacations, but at least we had the comfort and convenience of a private car to scoot around Namibia and Botswana. It was also nice to change my scenery and meet a few new people, and it was vacation enough to feel a little disoriented coming back to Botswana.

For now, I’m back in Moshupa and quickly slipping back into my routine. Some of my projects are on the verge of being realized and that feels really nice. I’m still nervous and hesitant with some projects just because they seem like such a big feat to take on. There are some times where I feel like the people I am working with have such high hopes and aspirations for the work that I want to do with them. For some reason I feel overwhelmed by their hopes combined with my own resignation that I don’t really have much to offer. I know just a few fresh ideas and organizational skills can go a long way, but for some reason I still feel like they would be disappointed if they only knew how “unqualified” I am. Even still, it seems that just to give my blessing and encouragement to a few people is enough to up their spirits and qualify their worth. In working with some high school students, you can tell that just a few kind and supporting words really means the world to them, particularly coming from the outsider. In the same way that I can encourage them with little understanding of my own sway, they too can affirm my worth with their eager participation and investment in my projects. All things considered, it’s really a beautiful dynamic of mutual support.

Upcoming events to anticipate:
* a few of my plants have germinated!!! it looks like i might at least have some tomatoes, zucchini, and some carrots. Fingers crossed for the rest.
* 50th Anniversary Celebration of Peace Corps with current and former volunteers in Botswana. SO excited.
* Potential camping trip to the Rhino Sanctuary
* Harvest Celebration (Kgafela) in Moshupa also the same weekend as Halloween
* World AIDS Day Celebration with my office in Moshupa (December 1) Mark your calendars.

I'm really missing the Fall...changing leaves, crispy cool mornings, and driving the stretch of N Parkway in Memphis just in front of Rhodes where the yellow and red leaves canopy the road. It's getting hot here and the mosquitoes are multiplying by the second. Cheers to the next fews months, bathing in sunscreen and mosquito repellant.

Zeus is getting big.

plants are blooming in front of my house and you can see the plethora of growth in the back of the compound. all of these are France's plants

Mine are a bit late bloomers, and slightly more meager.

gone fishin'...kindaaa

backpack: check
tent:check
camera:check

before i am completely inaccessible, i just wanted to leave a little note about my upcoming adventure. i am packing my bags and heading to namibia! being that it is a former german colony, they celebrate oktoberfest, which just so happens to be this weekend. my stories may entail something about boats, ocean views, sand dunes, good beers, and great people. brace yourself folks, this girl's getting rejuvenated!

Today I began my HIV/AIDS course that I am facilitating at the local primary school. There is a book series that caters to elementary school aged children on the subject, but the books are only in Setswana. With the help of the other librarian volunteer, we are translating the material in our discussions and I learn a little HIV/AIDS vocabulary in Setswana along the way. Most of the suggested activities and readings take a longer amount of time that we have allotted with the classes, but I’m catering the material to fit. It was just a nice beginning to start something that I feel addresses a very vulnerable population here. We started by reading the first book, What is HIV/AIDS? I asked them to copy down the 5 or so vocabulary words in the back and write down two things they learned from their reading. In checking a few of their responses I could see that a couple of them had these very scripted answers about how HIV can harm a pregnant woman’s child, but then there was also some alarming comments about spreading HIV by a mere handshake. While I know this is not representative of the entire population of Botswana in misunderstanding the truth about this epidemic, I’m happy to address at least a small pocket community with a very malleable future ahead of them. If nothing else, all I really want to do is open up a forum and comfortable conversation where they can ask questions that they wouldn’t otherwise ask their parents or their siblings so that they can know the truth about HIV in order to better protect themselves and care for others. While ambitious, today, it seems remotely feasible.

Originally, I was disappointed in myself for not being able to teach them this material in their own language, but once these students graduate from primary school, all of their coursework and teachings are in English. At least I can find solace in the fact that this may help prepare them for the future on many fronts.

Being that it’s Friday, I am enjoying an evening cup of coffee that I wouldn’t otherwise indulge in for fear of being kept up all hours of the night, listening to roosters and seemingly unhappy donkeys. The sun rises early, y’all!

While it is a day where I miss coffee shops, city planning, driving, and punctuality (just to name a few)…I find myself sitting amidst the splendor that IS the stock of my care packages…and those things I miss on a daily basis seem to fade for a little while. I’ve found myself ending my day by entering a house that feels more like a home and anticipating the return to interact with the people I’ve come to know here. Granted, not everyday is as such. However, the thoughtful reminders from friends and family at home mixed with a little adventure in settling in a new place and getting acquainted with new people makes for a nice balance between the old and new, the comfortable and the unfamiliar, and the fear and excitement that has become my life here.

3?s

Will you marry me?
Can I check you?/Where do you live?
What’s your name?

The perpetual conversation that progresses in that order. Sometimes we don’t even make it to the last question.

This conversation is one I experience daily. It’s often one sided and I respond with a “sharpo!” or a “ke siame,” which just translates into a “awesome!” or “I’m fine, and don’t really want to stop to talk.” I think it’s read as me not understanding. (I hope so anyway).
I should explain that “checking” someone means literally checking-in on you. This could mean that they call to literally say a “hello, how are you?” (Sometimes only that & sometimes additional inquiries follow). Other times it is offering to come over to your house unexpectedly to say hi. I still haven’t decided how I feel about this one.

My criteria for conversation: if they start with a “Dumella, o bidiwa mang?” or “Hello, What is your name?” I will engage with them. Simple as that. I guess I have discovered that I appreciate a particular protocol to conversation, which I didn’t really realize we have in the States. I don’t know that it serves as a cross-cultural lesson on the nature of my introductions, but I at least have the peace of mind to feel comfortable when interacting with someone not so invasive. I’ve realized it’s totally normal to know where every single person lives in a village, so I can understand why they are curious as to where I live. Hence, the reason they don’t have ADDRESSES here! I generally tell people the ward I live in and if they make the effort to venture to “this side” then it doesn’t take long to figure out where the lekgoa stays just by asking a couple of Motswana around. If they’ve made such an effort to meet me, well hell, they deserve a conversation.

If I decide to stop for a conversation with someone on the road I resort to my own version of the three-question conversation. This one I also employ in taxis (with a little variation) when I need to break the ice with the driver hoping that he won’t charge me a “special” which is often 5 times the normal rate.

Where is your home village?
Where do you work?
Where do you live?

Oftentimes there are three different responses to these questions, which could mean they regularly traverse a region of the country for a daily commute to work. Next, I go into Setswanglish mode and deliver a “Aooo, petrol is so expensive, no?” This usually gives them a platform and gets them talking. Conveniently enough, I only know about three general questions in Setswana so if I need to charm them I just lay on the Setswana with a smile.

One of my favorite memories in Botswana was actually a conversation that went far beyond three questions….as the better conversations commonly do. I was waiting for the bus in Kumakwane with my new puppy, Zeus, in my arms. I flagged down a passing car and asked where they were going. Turns out, they too were going to Moshupa. I hoped in the car and Zeus just fell asleep in my lap. These kinds of trips entail the same preliminary questions like where are you from, how old are you, how long are you here for, and how do you like Botswana. I typically make them guess my age and nationality just out of curiosity. The latter questions are my cue to bua the Setswana.

This particular time I was in the car with a man named Peter and a friend of his named Mayoress. Mayoress just so happens to be the wife to one of the kgosi in Moshupa, making her name all the more fitting. I told her that I was volunteering at a primary school that is the very one her son attends. I also find out she is in a band. They sing traditional Botswana songs and gospel. I only know one song (in addition to the national anthem), which just so happens to be gospel. I started singing it to Peter and Mayoress hoping they would join me, but they just died in laughter. I can’t help but love to make people laugh and most people have the most charming laughs here. When we get to Moshupa, Peter takes us to her house and she insists on me meeting her son and seeing her home. Not only did she offer her son to teach me Setswana, but she also invited me to her band practices on Saturday mornings. Apparently they have recorded their music and they perform often in GC. To be honest I have yet to go to her home again, but they are singing at the harvest celebration that will be at the end of October. If I understood her correctly she wanted me to sing at that as well…this was after she agreed that I was NOT a singer. Haha It made for a fun afternoon and a easy going ride back to Moshupa. Those of my favorite kinds of interactions… when the conversation takes on a kind of natural rhythm with intermittent laughter.

I often comment on the nature of my conversations, but my verbal interactions are the quintessential moments of my time here, and sometimes they make for the most interesting little revelations.

Zimbabwe:Botswana::Mexico:USA

“Distill it down to its most essential element: Peace Corps Volunteers are wordsmiths. We arrive in a country offering words about health, words about education, words about technology. We translate, trade, share, and weave words- enwrapping ourselves in dialogues and stories, histories and fables. If peace is a conversation, where words flow fresh and plentiful, then war is a painful silence, where words stop, and stagnate. In the face of ignorance and devastation, what is there to say?”
Words of Beth Giebus, a PCV in Morocco (1990-93)

Just thought I would share this nice thought on the premise of the Peace Corps. I feel like I’m still in the process of trying to find my own words to describe my time here. While I’m sure some marketing campaign for Peace Corps has addressed this in a more eloquent manner, I find that I am alternating between losing and finding myself. Some days I get lost in the chaos of everything that is new. I’m immersed in a culture with an unspoken protocol and find myself dazed by the complexity of issues pressing on this community. Some challenge my patience and others my morals. I’m surrounded by people steeped in their efforts to find resolve and others are blind or passive to it all. I try to teeter somewhere in between, not taking myself or my work too seriously, but remembering that I am a valuable resource capable of accomplishing many things. Within the chaos and confusion, I find myself discovering my own limitations and pursuing some personal aspirations. I explore what about me is American or is inherent as a result of being raised in America. I try to figure how my experience is shaped by the fact that I am a Caucasian female. Beyond all of these associations, I am finding what it means to be a human. That’s the part that I really like about finding myself, is just knowing that I am compatible with people on a most base level for the mere fact of being human, balancing our drives to satisfy our needs and wants. It’s a simple idea, really. I’m just a mere being in a big world, shaped by my own history but willing to be remolded to fit the context of a new culture and environment.

Taking a break from working on the gardening project in Kumakwane, we climbed the hill! The Hollywood-esque hill.


As I try to write my job description in my mind, I discover that it needs to be revised each day. It’s about as apt to change as an artist’s statement for an art school kid.
It seems I've got a lot going on and I don't have the kind of structured day that would give me so much affirmation in the States. Instead, I’m trying to balance my own desires for projects in the community with projects that are more need-based. All the while, I’m still evaluating what resources are available to me in terms of money and people to even pursue these projects.

I have returned to Moshupa after two weeks of training and gluttonous indulgences in Gaborone City or “G.C.” as everyone says here. Britt pointed out to me that two weeks is probably the longest time that I will be away from my home in Moshupa for my entire time here in Botswana. That in and of itself seems like an accomplishment of sorts. Also, getting through IST is a huge milestone in my service. We sat for two weeks in meetings evaluating our progress thus far learning the language and also organizing our work plans for the coming months. It was particularly difficult with the passing of my grandmother, but I was grateful to be in the company of other volunteers to be distracted and comforted. Since returning, I have gotten a dog and named him Zeus. I’m not convinced that’s a fitting name for this dog, but his name preceded him. Regardless, it makes a world of difference having company in the evenings. Being that he is still a puppy, he’s not one for any level of protection, but he’s entertaining no less.

Zeus is a snoozer.

I find satisfaction in getting out of my house and seeing people. So, on days where I don’t feel so accomplished on the “work” front (that is HIV/AIDS “mitigation strategies”…dear lord the rhetoric alone is exhausting), I address my social well-being by checking in on some familiar faces to see what’s going on in their lives. To even say I have familiar faces in my social repertoire is another point worth celebrating. I’ve met two women in my office building just by sitting outside in the sun at lunch. They walk by, wondering what I am doing sitting alone & on the ground. What’s particularly special about these ladies is that they are both in their twenties, not married and don’t have kids! Finding someone to fit this criteria has been my own personal game of Where’s Waldo in Botswana. It turns out that these two went to school together, but they don’t hang out. I met them on separate occasions and I’m trying to get them together with me to go walking or something, anything! I ask them what’s in store for their weekend, but they seem perfectly content with staying at home on the couch watching soaps. Again if they knew the potential of a Friday night in America, oh the things they would aspire for! I’m thinking of art shows, happy hours, movie nights, concerts, restaurants, and MOREEEEEE…that and just the simple company of friends.

There was going to be a dance club opening in Moshupa, but the council didn’t approve its opening because it was too close to a school. Well, it’s also just next to the Boys’ Prison, but that didn’t seem to be a problem. There are boarder students from the more remote villages that stay on the school grounds. Some of these students manage to sneak out at night and venture the village. Not that there is anything to do, but I imagine the thrill of the escape is sufficient recreation. I can see the concern for these kids being even more tempted to get out and into trouble.

My friend, Tija, and I were discussing the juxtaposition we see in Botswana. It’s not uncommon to be walking down the tarred road and see a family riding in a donkey cart with a Mercedes or a BMW to be passing the opposite direction…such a commentary. One afternoon we were in G.C. walking to the bus rank. We were walking alongside these shanties made of corrugated metal and some from scrap wood with the view of these tall modern office buildings in the distance. I couldn’t decide if these little structures were little stalls for selling fruits and sweets, but I did see a woman bathing herself in one of them. I suppose they are multi-purpose facilities, domestic and commercial. Just across the street they were building this HUGE Holiday Inn. Yes, Holiday Inn has arrived in Botswana. McDonald’s isn’t even here yet, but I imagine it’s only a matter of time. It will probably be located next to the truck trailer that operates as a restaurant.

There is just as stark a contrast between people in the young and the old, rural and urban. Where in the rural villages women are carrying buckets and firewood atop their heads, I will pass women carrying suitcases on top of their head in the city. Yes, suitcases…and I get attention from riding a bicycle.
It’s not uncommon in the least to see a mosadi mogolo (“old lady,” not in a derogatory sense, but there is definitely an very distinct woman that fits this title) dressed in traditional attire with a headscarf tied around her head and blanket wrapped about her shoulders or waist. On the bus I will see a mosadi mogolo sitting next to a teenager in a pair of skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors listening to his mp3 player. I can’t help but think what a great photo that would be to document that visual contrast, knowing the implications it has on their respective lifestyles. Stereotyping as it may be, there is some truth to it.

Speaking of stereotyping, I have met many Zimbabweans here since I’ve moved to Moshupa. They tend to be the more socially “normal” population (in Virginia terms), from what I’ve observed. What I mean by that is just that they are a little easier going and chill…inquisitive but gently interested rather than obtrusive. They don’t speak Setswana and therefore do not bark at me in Setswana demanding that I “bua Setswana” in response. They are also the ones quick to offer me a ride or taxi fare in passing on the road. Before I begin with my next tangent, let me just note that the notion of being “politically correct” as we would think of in the States does not exist here. I’ve experienced conversations where a Motswana will profile a Zimbabwean with a derogatory air. Apparently, you can tell a Zim by appearance and dress alone, before they even begin to speak. I guess their language seals the deal. I don’t have the eye for this or even have any recognition of the criteria that qualifies. We as Peace Corps Volunteers are not allowed to travel to Zimbabwe for various reasons stemming from social and political instability. However, those I have encountered here in Botswana make it hard for me to understand how such a kind people can have such turmoil. I am guilty of thinking of Africa being one large country. In idle thought I often forget that Africa is comprised of so many countries and cultures and complex histories. To acknowledge that is not to say that I am ignorant or totally unknowing, but how often do people think of Africa, lumping together places and people as one collective group, a struggling and developing people and the perpetual pity/or philanthropic experiment of the first world. So mizundertood.
Being here in Botswana, we don’t hear much about the famine in Somalia or even the birth of a new nation in Sudan. Even close to home at our borders, we don’t associate with the Zimbabweans. To be honest, it seems somewhat reminiscent of the US relationship with Mexico. We share a border, but want nothing more than to exploit their people for labor (if that) while maintaining a social, cultural, and political severance. The terms and specifics are obviously different, but the general sentiment remains.

Going back to Kanye for my sister's bridal shower, I stopped by Mr. Kahn's store. Here, his wife and one of their employees are preparing food at the back of their compound, cutting tons of onions. They have the best food with delicious curries and spices.


Just this weekend I was walking past one of my neighborhood friends, Honest. He is from Zimbabwe and works as a welder out of his compound. He has asked me to help develop his business, but I don’t know how to help him other than to suggest making a sign and getting some business cards. Anyway, as I was walking to the bus stop he and his friends asked my why I was walking in the hot sun (as though I had another option). He suggested that I go for a swim in the pool. Shocked, I immediately inquired where this pool was and he just started laughing, saying “aooo, Peo! There is no pool here.” I then suggested that we go for a swim in the dam. The same dam that I sometimes walk by in the morning and has a sign posted: “These waters are infested.” He then joked that crocodiles would eat me if I did that. The threat was a little too plausible for me to really laugh, but I appreciated the humor.

The end.

Sorry again for being incoherent, but I figured it was time to change the tone of my blog and not leave you lingering on my low points, but rather document my revived spirits and little discoveries.

Next week I will have been in Botswana for five months!