Gorgeous Green Fashion Show (Part 1)

Today (a Tuesday) I have re-organized all the (very incomplete) first aid kits, replanted reeds in the new watering hole and varnished the observation deck. Though I am tired, it gives me energy to start writing about the weekend. It was a whirlwind of energy and unexpected turns, which explains why I’m still tired.

This began last Thursday, when we went to pick up our friend Erin from work. She had been helping to organize a fashion show with Somarelang Tikologo (ST). There were about 12 female and 2 male models practicing runway routines to loud vibrant music. I moved around, talking to people I knew and generally trying to keep my jaw up.

I talked to Mark, a flamboyant friend who was organizing the show. He would break our conversation intermittently to shout motivation to the models. I was a surprise to me when he asked me if I wanted to model in the upcoming show. My first reaction is I didn’t want to throw a kink in the works. The models seemed impressive and well practiced to me. I also thought it would be a riot so I agreed.

Immediately when I joined the fray the two guys grabbed me aside. ‘How do I do it?” they asked, in reference to the 4 white girls I had shown up with. Just think how ridiculous this is. These guys were surrounded by 12 stunning women, and were acting like I was in a position to give tips. Craziness, and I told them as much.

They were very funny guys though. Neither had modeled before, though all the girls clearly had. We started planning our runway attack. We were dedicated, asking for tips and taking criticism. Making different routines was paramount. None of our plans ended up in the final show. Everyone stayed until after dark. The next day, Friday, we went for fittings. This took place at Main mall, a strip mall with many vendors and modern style stores.

Meeting at Main mall the weekend’s first experience with Botswana time. I know that any “Location” or “Association” time allows for an easy joke about delay or lateness. I won’t list events or times to make my point about time here. Adjusting to Botswana time truly requires a change in perception. To be content, you must accept tomorrow will come; whether things are accomplished now or then makes little difference. Combine this adjustment with the patience to wait for 12 women.

There were no clothes for men at any locations we went to. Temu, Frank and I patiently waited and watched as the girls raided stores and did impromptu walks for Mark. The entertainment of this was matched by the general male reaction to our (well, the girls) presence. African men are a little less discreet. It’s a wonder no bystanders were hurt with so many craning necks.

We gave up at about 3 o’clock, it was too hot and we decided to get a beer. So 8 of us piled into a truck and we went to a day time bar. The reaction to me around the bar was lukewarm. A man was rude and called me Lekgowa. The Setswana word is a non-offensive term for a white person (Literally, spit from the sea). I often find men will stand and give me dirty looks. I always greet them in Setswana and they usually reply. Some break into big smiles.

I had a great time at the bar though, good conversation and lots of jokes. Many guys coming over to talk to the girls I was with. I did well as a Motswana (Singular for Botswanan).. It was a combination of basic setswana, food and some cultural cues. It was lucky enough that the bits and pieces I know all came up. Little are you ever told, that off-hand names for drinks and telling people they’re crazy is the real, real life language training.