small progresses and relative complacency...

I’ve completed my first full week of my Peace Corps service. What an accomplishment! I’m finding a home in the space I call my house…this isn’t exactly founded in the visual aesthetics, but I’m doing my best to make it a “va space” no less. Generally speaking, my look tends towards excessive accessories like throw pillows and wall hangings, but those are totally non-existent in my house. Every piece of furniture is provided by my landlord (I’m just appreciative to have a couch and a bed, seeing as other volunteers have yet to receive their furniture). I’ve switched out some of the curtains to some crazy printed textiles that look similar to stereotypical African prints you imagine (and often see in places like Anthropologie). The Botswana print is not as “cool”…their prints are typically red, blue, or brown and are of Dutch design with less and more subtle patterning. Before I put these curtains up, let me tellllll you- France had these awful red satin curtains in the living room that went to the floor that filtered the natural light in a terrible way. Those things partnered with the black tiled floor and red velvety couches…it felt like a brothel scene for some low budget movie. All that to say, my living space is much better lit and adorned and soon to be decorated with some crafty projects in the coming weeks.
France (my landlord) brought me his bike! It is a little large for me so I stand on my tip- toes when I’m sitting on it at a stand still, but I’m willing to make it work. It looks like an old Schwinn with the metal fenders and all (and only one pedal)…there is even a fender plank where I can strap on my groceries for a quick ride across the village. Mr. Busang, the District Aids Coordinator with whom I work, laughed when I told him about the bike saying that is what the old men ride. I’m already a scene just walking in my village, you can imagine me on this bike with a helmet scooting around Moshupa. This village is just too big for being on foot for two years. Also, my curiosity has compelled me to explore the village, but my feet only allow for a few hours and a few miles of exploration at a time. The possibilities are greatly increased with this new fancy mode of transit!
In my first week of work, I’ve discovered that it takes me approximately 55 minutes to walk from my house to work (in my American pace of walking, which is apparently like superhuman in Botswana standards). I have to wake up at 5:30, make some coffee on the stove and dress myself as quickly as possible in front of the little electric heater. I imagine this is probably hard reading from the sweltering heat of summer, but you’ll manage. I leave my house when it’s still dark at 6:30 with just a little sliver of the sun visible across the way. I’ve also resorted to wearing my business attire with my running shoes, b/c walking three miles in the cold in ballet flats is no way to start your day. I change shoes when I get there. (When I start riding my bike, I’ll be packing an entire change of clothes). So I really enjoy this walk because I get to watch the sun rise along the way. To get to the office I head Northeast and I can just look to my right and see the sun coming up from behind the mountainous rocks. When I arrive, the sun is this huge orange circle just above the horizon line. It’s really a refreshing way to start my day.
Another small, but relevant moment was meeting today with the lady that runs the Red Cross office here. She is the only employee there, but she operates with the help of a handful of volunteers. She was talking about several projects they work on, such as weekend programs for Orphaned and Vulnerable Children (OVC) and teaching life skills and sexual health in the local schools. It was really refreshing meeting with her to sense her and enthusiasm and dedication to the work that she does. Because this is the only NGO in Moshupa, I plan on spending some time here to see what I can participate in and contribute to. They really need help with fundraising, and that’s not my forte, but it fulfills a need. This feels like another opportunity for me to pursue and the beautiful thing is that I have the ability to navigate and evaluate all these opportunities within Moshupa. Because we are supposed to spend the first months doing a community needs assessment and compiling a report of our findings, this will be logged away for now and food for thought for future plans.
DID I MENTION that First Lady Michelle Obama is coming to Botswana. Well she was in South Africa, but is coming to Botswana next. A few Peace Corps Volunteers have the opportunity to attend this luncheon where she will speak for a moment. Hopefully we will get to take a photo with her and say hi! In any case, it should be a nice excursion. I’ll share the photos if I get the chance! I don’t get giddy over celebrities in the states but the giddiness abounds when it’s one of your own in a far away land! She’s a cute modern day Jackie-O in a J.Crew suit with two cute kids to boot.

Cheers from Botswana
Tsamaya sentle

Because I don’t feel like I have much interesting information to share, I thought I would write a little about some playful and frivolous thoughts I’ve pursued in my free time here, and along my extensive walks from one place to another.
I’d love to share photos, but I don’t yet have the internet capacity for that. It might be a while, but hopefully my vibrant words will sustain you for now.

I was writing a letter to send via snail mail to a friend from home the other day and began to think about the nature of handwritten letters and postal mail in general. I remember when I was younger I wrote letters to my aunt, corresponding as pen pals, telling the oh so interesting news of currents events in my life and elaborating on my particular interests at the time or inquiring about her pets and the like. I was eager to share news about my life and hear about hers, but there was little supplementary conversation in between. All news was new news in this way.

Now, as I’m trying to write a letter, I’m trying to write something timeless because I write emails in between that are more current and readily accessible. So when the letter arrives, it’s clearly a mental note displaced in time and out of date. In place of providing relevant and timely information on the details of my life, I try to supplement my letters with humor and aesthetically pleasing decoration. On occasion I drop a chicken feather or flower in there for good measure, with an added souvenir kind of quality.

In some ways, the essence of a letter isn’t so much about the information disclosed anymore, as it is just a gesture documenting a thought or a state of mind (for me, anyway). My sister, Christine, would also encourage the use of the postal service as a personal endeavor of hers. She could singlehandedly keep USPS up and running. She has instilled in me this appreciation for tangible mail sent from the hands of one to another. She is an avid postcard writer, which I too have come to appreciate. It documents a small moment in time where I know that I was thought of in a particular place (noted by the postcard and the postmark… pending the delay in sending it).
I’ve received a couple of packages and letters since I’ve arrived in Botswana. What a treat! Because funds are limited, sending letters back gets a little expensive, but sometimes it’s fun just to send something real across an ocean and hope that it arrives in a timely fashion, if at all. It’s really a game. I mean I celebrated my birthday for about two weeks with each incoming letter! These letters will serve as decoration in my house…little reminders of love need to be evident everywhere in this currently bland house.

I also love the diversity in penmanship between family and friends. It really is another art form. Most of my closest “penpals” I can identify without them putting a return address…not such an impressive skill, I know, but I enjoy noting the particular way Christine writes her lowercase y’s & g’s with a long stem and my dad’s lowercase “a” switches between the grade school “a” and the textbook “a” throughout the years of his letter correspondence. Other friends can’t spell very well and it’s fun to see the permanency of their mistakes in ink. To be fair puddin’, I struggle with comma placement and run-ons…My mom would argue that I can’t spell either, but that’s only in my emails.
I’ve written this whole silly tangent and now I’m wondering why, but that tends to be the nature of my thoughts here. You pursue things until they seem irrelevant or uninteresting and move on.

Moving on…My house is becoming cozier. The smell is becoming more familiar and I am learning to relax in a space that is slowly becoming my own. It is somewhat lonely coming from constant interaction and stimulation during training with my host family and the other volunteers. If I take the initiative to go up the road to the grocery store, I’m reminded that the weather’s fine and there are people all around willing and eager to exchange a hello and a smile (and ask for money). My next few months here with just be me starting over and learning the people I can trust and build relationships with. Starting over is so daunting, but it seems mustering the initiative to move is the hardest part and I’ve already arrived and unpacked my things. So with my chin up and a (revived) resilient level of patience and optimism, I am starting over here.

I spent the day with the other Peace Corps Volunteer in the village, Rick. He has lived here for two years now. Just his insight and familiarity with the village was comforting. We were having a conversation about how people in our group refer to Botswana Peace Corps as “posh Peace Corps.” Peace Corps Botswana is very much a business professional experience, in the nature and context of your work here. Typically, we are in schools, offices, and clinics with established infrastructure. They need help with things like funding and general business management and some organization…a far cry from grassroots development and mud hut living. In addition, our living conditions are quite nice, relative to the general Batswana population in regards to amenities and furnishings. Because I imagined my Peace Corps experience to be a little more rustic, I have spent the past couple of months rationalizing the circumstances of my experience here. I am not necessarily disappointed or ungrateful I am just reminding myself that my experience is not any less “Peace Corps” by being this way. The unforeseen challenges of my service and the nature of my work may fulfill the essence of my expected Peace Corps experience. We shall see. Then I recognize that Peace Corps Volunteers serve all around the world and everyone’s experience is so vastly different that you can’t lessen or further validate your experience with your only criteria being living conditions.
“Own your service” is what I keep hearing…make it what you will…and that’s what I’ll do. It sounds like a Dr. Seuss prompt.

more later...
if there are things you're interested in hearing about or curious to know, tell me and maybe I'll write something interesting about it.

I'll post pictures later...that's too much of an endeavor for now

Leagang hanging out at the house.

I’m back in Kanye from my site visit to Moshupa. With only a week of training left I wonder what happened to my first two months in Africa. I’ve made small accomplishments and slowly realized how fostered my experience has been thus far. The epitome of my Peace Corps experience is moving to a remote village on my own and starting to integrate into my community and figure things out. Now that the time is here, I’m a bit nervous, but thrilled all the same. I’ve made friends here at training and found a support group that is still going to be accessible but not necessarily on a daily basis. Anyway, I’m sure I will elaborate on the progresses in my new village in the coming months, but for now I should fill you in on the details of my new living conditions.

Upon arriving in Moshupa I was taken to my house. I thought I was going to be living in government housing, but it turns out that I was provided with a house on a family compound. I am so lucky with this house in regards to amenities because there is a wall unit air conditioning contraption in the living room and I have running water and electricity. The “geyser” for hot water takes about 2 hours to heat, but I’m not complaining. Just having an indoor bathing area would have been sufficient! There is no stove or oven, just a little two burner electrical hot plate. I’m going to be an innovative little chef when it’s all over. I have a refrigerator but I question its reliability. There are three houses within this gated compound and a large yard that is mostly occupied by garden space (yessss!). He said last year he grew so many tomatoes that he ended up selling them to the locals in the village, but I’m sure that with me living there, the surplus of tomatoes will no longer be an issue. I asked if I could have my own garden space in the yard and he seemed fine with that. I plan on growing a lot of spinach, lettuce, and the like because these things aren’t readily available in the grocery store. Ohhhh yeah, the grocery store (singular) services the 18,000 people in the village and is about the size of a gas station convenient store in the states (maybe sliiiightly larger). Products and variety are limited but at least I can get cucumbers and cheese and coffee!

My first visit to the grocery store was an interesting one in that I had the opportunity to meet my landlord. Until now, he had been out of town on business. This particular afternoon I was shopping for my dinner and a man approached me to ask if I was the new Peace Corps volunteer in Moshupa. I was a bit alarmed at the question and then realized that I’m one of about 5 white people in my village and my presence is quickly noted. (I mean no implication on race, just merely acknowledging my skin color as a distinctive identifying feature about me here). When I confirm his question he says, “I think you are living in my house.” What a strange way to be introduced! He said that his name is France…only he pronounced it with a British English/African accent like “Fraaaaahnnce.” I repeated “Fraaaahnce” as though I was trying to figure out if this was a recognizable name or even something I was capable of pronouncing. He says, “yes, like the country” with a kind of matter-of-fact tone. Anyway, I laughed in his leaving but we arranged to meet the next day at the house. He showed me his home on the compound and was quick to elaborate on his farmland and his many houses about the country, explaining his reasoning for leaving town quite often. Having land and cattle here is still a sign of wealth. In addition, I saw him each day for the next 4 days and he was never in the same car. France is not like typical Batswana in this regard. It’s rare for an entire family of 10-15 people to even own one car, so you can imagine…

My first evening in my house the electricity was out. It was supposed to be out only until 2 pm that day for repairs, but as the sun went down I realized that electricity was not in the works for me. So after deciding on cereal for dinner, I moved to the living room to eat by candlelight. Sounds dreamy, right? Well let me elaborate on the ambience. The candle is supported by a beer bottle and I’m sitting on a filthy couch in the sitting room…It’s my first evening alone in about 2 months and I’m freezing cold in a new house without anything more than a candlestick. I had plenty of motivational conversations with myself saying that such conditions really weren’t so terrible and plenty of people live with less than this every single day. It really was a nice perspective if nothing else…I just wasn’t prepared for it on my first day in a new place. Thankfully, the electricity came on just after seven o’clock and I was reassured and comfortable enough to settle in for the evening.

Well, my house is quite nice, but it is 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) from my primary place of work. That’s a 6-mile walking commute each day. I will be purchasing a bike here in a few months. That will take approximately an hour on foot and I really don’t think I’ll mind it once I’m accustomed to the commitment of a minimum hour transit. My only fear is when winter is over and summer is here. Thankfully, most roads here are paved and there are taxis if I decide to use them. My only issue is that taxis can get expensive and a volunteer’s living allowance isn’t lavish, so I will have to budget for this and figure out how to accommodate for travel on days when I’m feeling under the weather. Otherwise, I can burn off some of the rice and pasta and peanut butter I’ve been sustaining myself on in the past two months.

Other small discoveries about Moshupa:
I went with my counterpart (mentor) and another co-worker to visit the Moshupa Boys Prison. I was slightly unnerved at the thought and then realized I was in good company and conditions were such it really wasn’t a big deal. This facility is home (I doubt “home” is the most applicable word in this case, but you get the idea) to 200 boys ages 16-22. There crimes include any and all and my mention of the maximum-security prisons in the States to differentiate the severity of the crimes just made my colleagues laugh. They get some of the “reality” tv series from the US on prisons and I found this is their only exposure and understanding of our prison system.

It was lunchtime when we arrived and after passing through two large guarded gates, we were taken to the cafeteria/eating room. The prisoners were serving the food themselves and portions were monitored by a few supervising guards. The warden who was ushering us about the prison was eager to acknowledge that the prisoners eat the same foods as we do “on the outside.” He then asked if we would like to taste the food. Seeing as though I’m MAXED out on Setswana food with my host family, I was less than eager to taste it by the mere thought. Thanks though. The mutual observing dynamic here was a bit humorous just because I was this little while girl again sticking out like a sore thumb and the scene put a delay on the serving process as the prisoners stared at us in clear curiosity. I too, in return, was staring at the quantity of boys in this small area wondering each of their offenses. Apparently, my office does occasional work with the boys here for various events like AIDS day or large community workshops. My counterpart was even familiar with a couple of them for their participation in past events.

Anyyywayyyy, after leaving the cafeteria we went outside the gates to the office area and I just stared in amazement at the awesome terrain here while they spoke around me in Setswana. Someone has compared Southern Botswana to Arizona and New Mexico and I know nothing about that so it’s all new to me. What I really wanted to include was that these boys have the best view of Moshupa. Generally speaking there is a large area of rocks relatively centralized in the village. These are my directional livelihood because I can typically orient myself in the direction I need to be going by aligning myself in relation to the rocks. Besides these rocks there are a few hills places in Moshupa and being that the prison is on the outskirts of the village, they have a great panoramic view of the hills and landscape from a distance. It’s beautiful…well if you block out the barbed wire and the cyclone fence.

I don’t want to make you nervous by ending my entry on a prison story, so I’ll tell you that I also spent my time here by visiting every school in the area (about 7, I think) and going to the post office, police station, and clinics to introduce myself and get acquainted with a few people and services here. I also met the deputy chief (kgosi) at the kgotla (functions like a town hall). I also saw him again at a small shop in the village having lunch the next day…and then again driving along the road on my way home. Both times he made a point to say hello and use my Setswana name, Peo. I was flattered and the feeling of familiarity is warming (and his authority in the village is comforting). In addition, I got my application for a library card! This is something I’m most excited about. The library is about the size of uhhh another gas station convenient store (size and structures of facilities here are more of a template/multipurpose design if you catch my drift), but I’m hoping to spend some time volunteering here and developing their resources and place in the community. The library is such a versatile facility and I have such warm regard for libraries in my experiences that I want to somehow share that and promote the potential of their library with them (maybe even expand it to the size of an America grocery store, haha).

Well, the strike is still on going and there is a particular soccer field near one of the clinics where people peacefully congregate and “strike,” sitting in lawn chairs and truck beds. I wonder how much longer this will go on, but its progress and productivity are both seemingly stagnant.

one more colorful umbrella on a sunny day after training.

For now, I’m back in Kanye for my last week and I’m trying to prepare myself for the big move that feels like an incredible feat. The sense of permanency in this move is exciting because this is where the actual 24 months of service begins. I’ll be in Moshupa, in that house for two years. The most recent big commitment I’ve made before this was moving to Memphis, Tennessee for college. Well this time, I’m settling into Africa.