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!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, September 16, 2011
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.
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.
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