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.
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.
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.
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