Monday, July 25, 2011

while this is a few days olds, a good day seems worth noting

Today has been a surprisingly good day. You know sometimes when you wake up and you think that your day doesn’t exactly feel in sync with the rest of the world and probably won’t go exactly as you’d like it to? Well my day started off as such. I took a “community day” and was really just planning on getting my bike fixed and working on my community report. I just needed a break from the office setting and a reminder of the life and potential for new discoveries in the world around me.


A couple of days ago I had planned to meet the mechanic guy to repair my bike and he wasn’t there when I went at our arranged time (time/appointments are arbitrary). So, I decided to venture around and explore a new region of Moshupa. Actually, I was looking for another primary school that’d I’d seen before but ended up across the village at this major roadway junction…I decided to take a break on the side of the road and eat my pear I had handy in my bag. I alternated between biking and walking because I could feel my pedals getting looser and I had planned on having it fixed by then. Anyway, I stopped by the Technical School on the outskirts of Moshupa where they have classes on Computers, Building, and Textiles. I asked to take a tour of the textiles building imagining old school machines weaving rugs and the like, but alas it was just a room of sewing machines and drafting tables and lame fabric. I was still excited at the sight though. I introduced myself to the administration and told them I would like to help out with something/anything they had going on…what I had in mind, I don’t really know, but access to a sewing machine struck my fancy. I don’t know what kind of contribution I can make to a facility such as the Technical College with already established curriculum and systems of doing things. I am thinking of maybe arranging some type of database or medium to exchange services, where the school can be a resource providing the trained men and women needed for various jobs. Maybe this kind of project is already in existence, maybe it’s already been done and crashed and burned for one reason or another. Who knows at this point?! I could speculate and plan and project for hours, but the execution of any of these early initiatives seems far away.

Since I was just on the go, I decided to visit Rick before he leaves to go back to the States this week. He actually found a mechanic at his school that rides a bike and has all the appropriate tools for bike repairs. He took my bike to his house at lunch break and tightened the bottom bracket. I had hoped to be able to witness the repair in case something else were to happen, but at this point I was grateful for any assistance and someone knowing what they’re doing.
I also had the opportunity to meet one of the art teachers at the school. He showed me around the department and they have a kiln and pottery wheels and oil pastels!!! I told him I studied Art History and he was so excited that I would be able to teach the children about Picasso and be able to tell them where the techniques they were employing in their own work originated. I don’t know how much of that I would feel comfortable doing, but his excitement was beautiful. Apparently every afternoon they have a study period, during which those interested can go to the art room and work on their projects. He suggested that I come join them sometime. Ohhhh this could be good!


Not only am I learning how to get places, but also I’m learning the SHORTCUTS to get to these places. On my back roads way home, I stopped at another primary school I recently discovered. It is a tiny little school with the cutest and most curious kids. I don’t have a really professional or strategic plan for approaching these various schools. I arrive sweaty and winded in casual dress, but I typically just ask to meet anyone in the administration and begin my spiel on being a Peace Corps Volunteer and living in Moshupa for two years and wanting to maybe do some hypothetical after-school program, assuming they would be fully accepting me with open arms. I didn’t realize until today that I probably sound like someone on their high horse galloping into these offices to introduce myself. The deputy head master I met today seemed a bit busy and suggested that I come back tomorrow morning so that I can meet with some other teachers to familiarize myself with the people and the school. Of course, she wouldn’t just shake my hand and say, “why yes, I’ve been waiting to meet a Peace Corps Volunteer to come in a provide an art program for these needy children.” I’m a stranger and it makes sense that I have to get acquainted with a place before I integrate myself there (particularly in a school with children), especially when she has no prior information on me and my purpose here. I forget that I am new here, but I’m grateful that my anxiousness and enthusiasm still abounds even when it puts me in strange situations like this one.
When I finally did meet with some department heads, she mentioned that they have a litter picking program where they ask for donations in the community while they pick up trash in the area. I offered to help with this and then she also was enthusiastic about me helping build their library. Apparently it’s small and has very few books…but again, building up libraries and art programs just warms my heart. So this is more food for thought for future projects!

My favorite spot in all of Moshupa.

Arriving at home I found myself sitting on my porch eating some popcorn, finishing Things Fall Apart, and journaling until the sun set. My neighbors were playing Michael Jackson so loudly and on repeat. That mixed with the intermittent cowbells and dogs barking makes for an interesting array of sounds. While outside I saw my other neighbor, Camera. He shouted to me over the wall from his yard. I hadn’t seen him a week or so and I was genuinely excited to be interrupted from my afternoon routine to feel that fleeting moment of familiarity and neighborly greetings. I went over to say hello and he said something along the lines of “I was hoping you were free so you could walk the cow back over with me.” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but apparently one of his cows had escaped from their land and come to “this side.” (This side and that side are equivalent to over here and over there respectively). Two other cows were apparently struck by lightning. I asked if they ate them and he said yes. Is that even safe? Anyway, after my full day of biking and visiting and introducing myself, I wasn’t up for herding cattle, while it did sound like a nice addition to my day’s happenings.

I have baked banana bread for both of my neighbors. One I hadn't even met yet and there are something like 12 people living in that house, but the other one is Camera and crew (haha get it). He has also been collecting saving their ashes from their fires for me to use in my garden.

It also seems relevant to note that I have seen an array of animals today (in addition to the commonplace donkeys, cows, chickens, and goats at every turn). I saw little mice in the ditch along my bike ride. I saw bats flying around my compound at sunset (at which time I went inside). I saw about 10 baby chicks just bobbing around its mother on the side of the road. I was tempted to take one back to my house with me, but all of these animals are owned and accounted for. How they keep track of them, I have no idea. Well, with donkeys they tie the front two legs together so they don’t go far off. It’s a sad sight, but I’m slowly adjusting to the relative notions of appropriate treatment of animals. Oh, and I’m getting a dog at the end of August!!! The government pays for them to be vaccinated, so that will be taken care of and the little grocery store here actually has a small selection of dog food…I will probably have to get puppy food in Gabs though.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

faces and places

My little pink house with the tin roof. I'm thinking of asking if I can paint my door GREEN!

Me and Phista- she doesn't have any children so I asked her if she would be Mme Peo (my mom). She's a jokester and brings a smile to my face in the office.
This was a great day where I had the opportunity to cook with a bunch of Batswana women in preparation for President Khama's visit to a village near me. (I saw him from afar!)At this point we were just resting and warming up in the sun.

The main road just at sunrise that starts my mornings.

It’s amazing what a little familial contact can do for your spirits.
I had the opportunity to skype with my mom and sister while they were dining at McCalister’s deli one Saturday afternoon. I inquired about the potato soup and sweet tea (with lemon) and tasted it all vicariously through their renditions. What a cool age of technology where I can connect through some intangible medium and be in touch with them instantaneously, while being separated by an ocean and the equator.
I also had a real chat with Lillian. While I don’t mean to make this sound like some radio shout-out, I cannot fully explain how much this contact has lifted my spirits for the evening. Time passed effortlessly and the laughs came as naturally as before… as it should be.

I don’t want to rely too heavily on my contact with home because I know that would eventually take away from my experience here with my acceptance and integration into this community. What I mean is that I want to be able to find the same kind of solace and camaraderie with the people that are present in my life here. Being that I am slow to form relationships here because of my inherent initial distrust in people, my alternatives to the familiarity of friends and family from home are few. Truth is, it’s been a rough few days. I’ve experienced a bout of homesickness, which has been looming in the distance, out of sight out of mind, until now. I’ve been caught up in the newness of life here and going through the motions of getting myself settled that I haven’t really had much room or time for evaluating my mental and emotional status with things.
I make lists of things to do in particular times of the day or for varying moods that I may need to accommodate. Then I make more lists and edit those lists. I stare at my calendar and imagine events to anticipate or plan hypothetical trips and gatherings with other volunteers. I read a lot.
When I think about traveling and exploring new cultures and the like I always have these vivid images where I’m integrated and fully comfortable wherever I may be. I never take into account the transition in getting there. I whole heartedly embrace the IDEA of the adventure and then forget about the whole journey and process of getting there...and then remind myself that the journey is all a part of the adventure. I’m really self-evaluating on so many fronts.

I finally set up my garden, but there are a few essential things that remain undone. I need to find manure and charcoal/ash to complete my compost pile. Also, I need to figure where to plant the particular veggies. I am also on the hunt for the mesh material used to provide a sun filtering canopy over the garden space so my plants don’t wither away in the upcoming summer heat.


The funeral was an experience…an all morning affair. Prayer and singing hymns are a part of every ceremonial occasion here. I really enjoy the singing. It seems like everyone here has an idea of how to sing or how to contribute to the harmony of the group. After the morning prayers and a bit of singing, we all loaded in the cars and trucks wherever we fit to go to the gravesite. A couple things I found interesting and beautiful about their burial practices: there are no family plots of land staked out and allocated to a particular person or group of people. Instead, there is a large land space graveyard that is a kind of clearing in the proverbial bush, which the community shares. In addition, once at the gravesite everyone stays at the site for the actual lowering of the coffin into the ground. All the while everyone is singing, the men line up and take turns shoveling dirt into the grave and the women sprinkle flower petals on the grave. The sites are then covered with a welded metal-framed canopy with a mesh kind of tarp on top with the standard information of the deceased welded at one end of the frame. Then we return to the house where we started the funeral and the women go into the yard to sit and wait to be served a full plate of food. The men all stay outside the yard and eat in a grouping. I’m not sure why or how this works as such, but Camera abandoned me at this particular portion of the funeral and I was left to mingle with the women. I was a fish out of water, but the awkwardness was rewarding in a self-awareness kind of way. This congregating felt like a deviation from the preceding intensity of the eulogy and mourning. Where we celebrated death in the praying and burial, this was maybe the celebration of life. I’m making assumptions on their customs, but one wonders where such practices came from and why.

My host sister, Galaletsang, on swearing in day...I'd been a real volunteer for maybe hour when this photo was taken. What a good day.

friends in traditional dress (Britt, Diana, Obvi, Karen)

On another note: I’ve discovered a new pathway from my house to the office. It is a much more calm and refreshing route. I finally got a new bike that actually fits me (although there is some tweaking that needs to be done and I have yet to find the appropriate tools to fix it). This triumph comes in the slump of a few low days, so of course the small accomplishment felt magnificent in the context of my general disposition. Where I was taking the main road with much traffic between chaotic cars and pesky pedestrians (a little alliteration to spice up your reading), I now get the pleasure of passing through a more quaint domestic setting with much fewer people and a picturesque landscape too.

I’m also starting to recognize people around Moshupa. There is a woman that I pass at the same time and place on most mornings. She is outfitted in her Choppies embroidered sweater, I presume on her way to work at the grocery store. Most times we exchange a “Dumela mma. Le kae?” “Eeeeh, mma. Ke teng.”…but in our most recent interaction she crossed the road to ask where I was from. When I tell her I’m from America she just says with a kind of urgency, “I want an American man.” This is not the first time this has happened. I didn’t really know what to tell her other than that I would check with my “eligble bachelor friends” back home and see if they’re interested. The look of genuine desire and almost eager desperation was uncomfortable because I wanted to laugh, but that would have felt like mockery. There is this marvelous notion of America that people have here. I haven’t fully come to understand what they think of exactly when they imagine America, but it’s idyllic for sure. Even in the office, some beg me to take them back with me to America. I try to explain I am going to be here for two years and they say, “Great! I’ll go with you then.” My sister in my host family that I stayed with during training even (jokingly) tried to pawn her daughter off on my to take her to the states, for what I am not sure.
On other occasions people try to connect with me by mentioning their visits to the USA. For instance, today at tea-time during a meeting, one of the older women approached me and said she’d been to Orlando…just like that. “I’ve been to Orlando, yeah.” Not really a conversation starter, just acknowledging that she’d been there. I’ve never been to Orlando so I couldn’t do anything more than affirm her statement and ask her if she enjoyed her time there. Mind you, this is also the woman that knows some woman in Wyoming. She asked if I knew her too. Let’s see, France studied in Utah. (That’s a funny sentence). He shared that with me in our first little rendezvous, but honestly what the hell am I supposed to say about Utah. That’s a place I would drive through on my way to California, (if that) and maybe buy some gas and a soda…or if I’m employed with recreational funds, a kitschy tshirt for giggles. I oftentimes follow these kinds of interactions with a “well, I’m from Louisiana. It’s really far south. Have you heard of Mardi Gras.” They have NO CLUE what I’m talking about when I say Louisiana, but Utah, Michigan, Florida…that’s when they light up. I will never understand, but I can at least try to convey the versatility between each state. I mean we are really 50 micro nations and our loyalties in regards to our states is worth noting too. I mean I would never claim to be from Mississippi and would anxiously correct any error or assumption of that nature. Other times, I like to pretend I’m from the west coast. Anyway, I relate when I can and maybe they learn about a new place in the process.

I’ve realized that I don’t see many women my age around here (other than the women in the counsel offices) because women my age already have children and if they don’t then they have a real job that keeps them occupied or works as a live-in babysitter with some family to tend to someone else’s children. Maybe some of them are still getting their undergraduate degree, which can only really be accomplished in Gabs so I doubt I would have much exposure to that population.
Also, today I went to the Red Cross here in Moshupa for an OVC program where they supervise the children playing on the play set and then feed them a sandwich and juice. This was my first day at the program and I was meeting all kinds of new faces. I was particularly drawn to the fact that many of the Red Cross volunteers were high school students, which I haven’t really seen much of the youth directly helping youth. They asked me if I was a youth and I am hesitant to disclose my age b/c 1. If they are older, they really think that they have more power than you whether that be in the order that they receive their food or what have you. 2. They never guess my age correctly. They either think that I’m 19 or 28 generally speaking. When I tell them 23, they say, “shEEESH, you’re a child.” Apparently up to the age of about 30 constitutes youth. Also, I don’t have children so my “youth” is further confirmed. I should note that it’s not really derogatory in anyway, but I tell them I am an American adult and a Motswana youth.
One cross-cultural thing I would love to share with them is what it means to be 23 in America. The nature of a woman’s life here is really domestic and there is a kind of social affirmation and esteem in fulfilling that super maternal/domestic/womanly notion of what it means to be a female. I’m at a point where I feel like I’m an adult in the statistical realm by my age and education (if that even qualifies or classifies…), but I’m fully realizing the nature of my youth. I don’t feel like my womanhood is validated in having a child, while I understand there is probably some innate biological affirmation in doing so…but in a social context, I feel all the more age appropriate doing what I’m doing…gallivanting across the world and meeting people and sharing my experiences, learning some news things along the way.

Sorry I write so much and sometimes it comes out of my brain too wordy, but hopefully you get a better idea of my life here. There are some things that I would mention and complain about, but when I go to write about them, the moment has passed and they don’t seem worth noting. It’s probably best not to write too hastily on these things.



More news and details on the horizon. Until then enjoy a few photos...
...and just now the electricity went out and my comp battery is dying...looks like im going to bed early tonight.

Friday, July 1, 2011

ups and downs, highs and lows

I finally rode the bike to work. It was disastrous, not physically but emotionally. The snickers and pointing and laughing and yelling I got either from sheer amazement or just amusement…it was all just too much. Generally speaking it’s the children that laugh and yell so loudly, whereas the women standing at the bus stop just blatantly stare with a jaw dropped daze and no audible commentary. I swear, sometimes I feel like a one-man show, performing daily as comic relief for the entire village. The bike is also a fixed gear bike so it’s absolute hell on any kind of uphill. It just so happens that my trek to the office is mostly a constant, but not increeeedibly subtle incline with a few curves and turns. I ended up walking the bike for half of the trip.

Even the next day, one of my colleagues from work was laughing when she told me that her taxi driver mentioned seeing the lacua (white person) on the bicycle yesterday. She claimed it was just the kind of bike that I was riding that was so humorous because it’s typical for an old man to ride the “Royal Rally” bikes. I guess, comparably speaking, it would be like a teenager driving a Lincoln town car. Anyway, the attention is exhausting. It’s not like I didn’t know this kind of attention would happen, but it will have been 3 months here in Botswana on Monday and I just wonder if there will be any reprieve from this kind of interaction and attention. Will I always be a novelty? Will I ever walk around the village with any kind of anonymity? I imagine that being in a village as big as Moshupa, the answer to that question is frankly, no. It’s just that a white girl walking down the street and buying a bag or oranges is not all that different from an African doing so. It would feel less overwhelming I think if the attention I received was in warm regards or from someone I was familiar with and engaged with me on a regular basis...instead it’s just strangers’ laughs from afar. It’s not that it feels malicious or mocking, it’s just that I’m a site to be seen and it’s a dynamic that feels like I’m “the other.” Putting on a smile and taking it all in stride is harder some days than others. This transition is slow and I’m realizing that more and more each day.

My group of Bots 10 volunteers started with about 40 people and for various reasons we are down to 33. One of my closest friends in the group went home last week and I must say it’s hit a little closer to home than I anticipated. You start this experience and become emotionally invested in the people you spend so much time with, and then for one reason or another you lose a few along the way. While we are all at our respective sites and generally separated for a large portion of our service, there is still a small void at just the thought of them being gone. If nothing else, what an opportunity to recognize and really appreciate the importance of friendship in my time here.

Let’s highlight some good things to remind me of my reasons for being here:
I’ve been going into the DAC office more often lately. We have been going to outlying remote villages each day to talk with the clinics there and see their plans in regards to HIV/AIDS mitigation in the coming months. Also, we check to see if there is anything we can assist them with in the upcoming events and then my favorite part…we share teatime together before we return to the office in Moshupa. I enjoy the people in my office and I’m grateful for opportunities like these to get a more organized and structured exposure to the rural and spots of Botswana, which I wouldn’t otherwise have access to. Also, I genuinely enjoy the opportunity to ride in a car for a few minutes without the chaos of the large buses I use to get around the country on any other day.

Because the geyser takes so long to heat up and uses a lot of electricity, I’ve just been heating up a bucket of water on the stove to use for bathwater. Well the bucket I was using apparently is not intended to be put on a stove…There is some unspoken criteria for buckets being specifically for bathing or cooking etc. France saw that I was heating water on the stove in this particular pail and the next day he brings me a huge pot to use instead. He said that his wife would disapprove of me putting that bucket on the stove and that it’s intended to keep water in the kitchen for drinking purposes and also in case that the water goes out (which apparently happens quite often…I’ve been collecting 2 litre soda bottles for such purposes). Well this is all well and good except that the pot he gave me to use in place of the bucket still had chicken feathers stuck to it. I can’t imagine that the “bathing pots” are also the same ones allocated to de-feathering chickens. You learn new things everyday.

In addition to France’s generosity with his bike and sharing his Setswana chicken with me, he gave me some sweet potatoes (which he apparently also typically cooks specifically in the large pot that I now use for bathing). I didn’t even know he had them planted in our compound but he dug some up this afternoon and gave me about 5. I cooked a couple for dinner tonight and they were delicious. He mentioned that he’ll begin planting at the end of July when the cold is over. I’m taking his cues and will be following suite with my garden. I’ve already started my compost pile and this weekend I’m plotting out the garden beds to have them ready! He did say that come summer I won’t have to buy tomatoes or onions because we will have so many. What a thought?! I don’t know if he is willing to just give them to me or if I will have to purchase from him. Either way, I’m sure they will be better and more convenient than getting from the grocery store in the village. I will be planting spinach and lettuce and probably cucumbers. I’m thinking of maybe doing some fruit too, but I haven’t decided on which yet. You’d think I was in a child’s playground with my enthusiasm for this garden!

My neighbor, Camera, invited me to go to a funeral with him on Saturday. While I don’t want to sound insensitive, I am looking forward to the experience. The nature of funerals here is that they are an open invitation event. Anyone and everyone is welcome to attend and the family of the deceased rents a large tent and spends the prior days cooking with close friends for the plethora of people they anticipate coming. It starts with a lot of congregating and praying for the majority of the morning and then they all load up in truck beds and cars and go to the grave site to witness the burial to then return to the tent for food and more congregating. I imagine I will be standing in a sea of Batswana with sounds of Setswana going on all around me, having no clue what’s really going on. I am grateful for Camera’s offer to foster the experience seeing as though this is my first exposure to a funeral in Botswana.

I’ve been meaning to mention the infatuation with “plastique” Tupperware containers. Some of the cleaning staff at my office even sell Tupperware on the side. They have catalogues with a whole inventory of plastic containers varying in size and color. Just last weekend on the bus to Gabs, a woman got on the bus with what looked like a new age picnic basket. It was like a Kaboodle for food storage with all different kinds of interior pieces that fit perfectly together. I knew this because I saw it in the catalogue just last week and it was one of the most expensive packages in the whole thing! I can’t fathom investing money in such things, but I did get made fun of for bringing some sugar in a Ziploc bag to the office for teatime. She said it looked like drugs. I guess these are appropriate occasions for Tupperware plastiques! Also, at events like weddings and funerals people have no shame in bringing such containers to stock up on food for eating later. You can imagine the quantities of food that they have to cook, particularly when people are expecting leftovers to take home. I fear the day that any Batswana comes to my home, expecting food. Not only do I not eat what they eat, but the sheer amount of food they consume at meal time. They do not snack here. When it’s meal time, it’s serrrious meal time.

cheers