A Lonely Lady

One woman living outside Mokolodi has a very isolated existence. She had come with her husband from England for a project. They have since split up but they still live together for economic reasons. The former husband I find to be puerile and petty. There are plans that the man’s girlfriend move in, again to save rent. I was invited over several times for dinner by the woman. I did not want to and ducked the invitation. I eventually relented during a week when the house was otherwise empty. We ate rice and a boil-in-bag curry chicken and had a bitter lime-green cooler. For the better part of three hours, the conversation was pleasant on the thin surface. Her living and relationship status were brought up more than once. When I was ready to leave, the women propositioned me very directly. I declined and made up a story to justify my disinterest. This didn’t work immediately and I slowly left while talking. The women insisted we have dinner at a restaurant later on.

She comes by some days to sit and watch me work. She talks mainly about how she is tired and her living situation is bust. I am responding less and less. She talks about how she can’t stand to be at home. One evening she came by my cabin, far away from her own house. I was luckily out and told her clearly that this was not alright.

One worker and friend here is adamant that I ‘hook myself up’. What she means is that I should date one of the ladies in the park who is more established; who has a car and more money. This type of relationship is a cultural norm and the age difference is much less important. I give little reaction to this suggestion. One of the older women she suggests is the one watches me work.

Day-to-Day Life

It’s very easy to fall behind on writing. When I catch up it’s tempting to recall each event and record them one by one. This glazes over the daily events with define most of my time. If I want this blog to describe my life to others and to serve as a record to myself, it needs to describe the everyday realities which are easy to take for granted.

I remember earlier, the most difficult times were when I took a break from reality and then was abruptly forced back in. Particularly in the first week, I would watch a show or read and completely forget my surroundings. Being jolted back could be quite cruel; it made me want to crawl inside a shelter. I find that sensation is gone now. I have adapted to my surroundings and no longer feel the shock. In fact, while watching ‘Blood Diamond’, I stepped outside and felt comforted that I was indeed in Africa.

I spend most days doing manual labor and some time with school groups that come through. For a more thorough description, I’ll take an excerpt from my mid-way report:

In the past 4 weeks at Mokolodi, the following activities have been undertaken:
- Development and implementation of team-building activities for middle school aged children
- Aiding in the day-to-day running of programs for student visitors to the Education Center (EC)
- Traveling to local schools for Outreach about Waste Management
- Examination of grey-water system functioning and possible revitalization.
- Construction of a watering hole to allow for game viewing. This includes digging out, tree and rock removal, addition of sand and complete cementing of the hole
- Sanding and re-finishing of observation deck overlooking the watering hole
- Construction of a concrete ramp to ensure the EC is physically accessible to a greater range of visitors
- Chemical treatment of living quarters to prevent the movement of termites
- Creation of material for the quarterly newsletter, including information about typical grey-water systems and documentation of improvements made to the EC

I travel into the city every weekend to see my friends. This is not a great habit as I think it limits my integration at the park. As one Peace Corps volunteer put it, I am here for a short enough time that it is alright. But over time I would realize you can’t survive weekend to weekend, your life is where you work and the culture of the people around you.

Part of me wishes I hadn’t brought a laptop. I don’t read very much and it is easy to pass the time watching movies. All this description probably makes me seem introverted. I’m very friendly around the park and know many people, I just hide in the evenings.

I had read that people have different reactions to new cultures. People cope with loneliness and isolation in different ways. I had read people consume more alcohol as compensation. I fall victim to this. Almost every night I have 2 drinks. Not a lot but I have them quickly. It is to settle a bit, become complacent with the evening and happier to lie in bed.

I doubt there will be much night life left. This is besides that fact I’d rather travel, paddle or hike. (You can paddle here, have I not written about it yet?). It is that just over a week ago my friend was sexually assaulted at a night club. She has gone home for that and other reasons. I could write at length about what has occurred, but I prefer to respect her privacy.

Soccer in the Village

I started playing organized soccer in the local village about two weeks ago. One Monday, three different staff separately insisted that I come. So what did I do? I blew off work (who needs supervision on a wildlife walk) and went to play.

To get to the village, I waited outside the workshop with a gathering crowd of Mokolodi workers. Soon enough we were all piling on a large, open air bus. I was standing near the front. Between the driver and the passenger seat, there were at least 6 men, some hanging out the side. The packed bus took off into the park along rain washed and nearly destroyed roads. But the bus bumped along without any problem and was filled with noise.

Half an hour later we arrived at the outer gates and everyone jumped off. We all started walking along a road with the sun still beating down on us. As I may have mentioned before, the capital city Gaborone is fairly developed with malls and paved roads. The villages are much more simple and rural. They seem to be quite spread out and are dusty even in the rainy season.

I should mention that while I know many people at the park. I rarely have long conversations with them. The language barrier is the largest, but not only, obstacle. Even with those who do speak English well, I know people prefer Setswana. For the entire evening I went to play soccer, English was only spoken if it was directed at me and that was very little. I am always content to listen to Setswana though. I often find myself listening to conversations and broadcasts even when I can barely decipher a word.

The soccer field was brown and the ground was very hard. As soon as we got there I knew I would have trouble with the heat. After an hour, the other team showed up late and my team started warm-up. We all wear blue shirts and our team name is the ‘White Rhinos’. People from the village started to show up. Men and women sat and talked in separate groups. Many men smoked cigarettes or pot, some of them on my team before the game.

Just before the game began I was told “You’re #10. Go play!”. Whatever soccer knowledge I had immediately failed me. I’m #10? I looked at the back of my blue shirt which I knew had no number. Turns out #10 is right side forward. I ran around randomly until I was pointed there.

I ran my ass off to make up for my lack of ball control. I even had a break away but kicked the ball it bit far ahead and it was picked up by the keeper. After 25 min I was finished, out of the 90 min game. There were only 1 sub besides me the entire game. So I sat and watched and cheered. Sitting by myself or with others I would greet but not really talk to. The kids constantly tried to get my attention, they would generally stare, then laugh or run away when I looked back. They also liked to sit beside me and mirror however I was sitting.

The sunset was beautiful over the mountains and the field. It was a harvest moon. I will take my camera to the next game as I feel a bit more established now. I caught a ride back to the park which was lucky. Others had to walk for over a hour in the dark through the park.

Girls Come and Visit Mokolodi

I was surprised how much enthusiasm for camping there was within my friends. I did no convincing and didn’t have to worry about any of the tents, food or drinks. I just needed to set up the accommodation and book the campsite. After talking to the boss’ boss we were able to camp for free.

In the two weeks before the girls came, it rained everyday. I wasn’t able to do much work which only gave me more time to think about wet firewood and grumpy visitors. To rest my imagination, I switched our booking over to the largest chalet at Mokolodi. Some decisions are easy to make. After some negotiation, we paid 665 pula ($100 CDN) for the entire weekend.

So all was set, I started mentioning the visiting group to some male friends here. Needless to say, the idea that 7 girls were coming to visit was a big hit around here. I was called ‘big boss’ for a few days before and after. This is something I’ve heard before. All rides thereafter were from these friends who really didn’t seem to mind.

There are mountains in Botswana with magic so that if you go up, you’ll never come down. On Saturday, Feb 7th, we hiked up Magic Mountain, the biggest in the park. To get to the base of the mountain, we walked the road which is used for game drives. For some reason, the girls would always want to stop and look at length at insects. (These same girls would later walk within 20 meters of elephants but wouldn’t notice. They were deep in conversation.) There was no path up or down the mountain; we followed the electric boundary fence for most of the hike. The view was beautiful but the highlight came during the descent. We noticed two giraffe far away and hiked until we came close to them. Seeing and following giraffe on foot is a liberating experience. You notice their looming height and the dangerous look of their legs.

The hallmark in my mind was on Saturday was driving to our chalet in the evening. We came across around 15 zebra, the most I’ve seen so far. We stopped and watched them slowly cross the road. They watched us wait. A multicolored, expansive sunset was in the background. All around was the savannah, lush and green from the rain. Even my friend Kenosi, a worker of 8 years at the park, remarked it was beautiful.

Battles with the Natural Elements of Botswana

I just frantically grabbed my laundry off the line. It has been raining inconsistently for 8 days. The clothes have been on the line there for 2; occasionally drying only to be soaked before I can save them. This time I managed to save my sheets, quick dry shorts and socks. The rest will have to withstand another pounding of precipitation.

I ran back into my wooden hut to find a line of dirt leading up to the books behind my bed. The whole pile of books appeared to have a shovel load of dirt tossed on it. Termites! Who could have guessed it? Not me, it never would have entered my mind. I live in a wooden cabin for craps sake and they come and eat the books. Why are they against literature? (ok, Harry Potter and Survivor Man Les Stroud)

Also it doesn’t seem fair in my battle to keep the cabin clean, that termites come and turn my possessions into dirt. I only recently won my war against ants (Strategy #5: Dirty dishes are safe in the fridge). This is too much. As if now I have to worry about anything fibrous now? Are my cotton underwear in danger?

Right now the rain ricocheting off my metal roof lets me know that the fights is not finished.
(In follow-up, it was necessary to treat the entire cabin with a diluted poison for insects. It took the whole morning and was not pleasant work as I felt like I was poisoning my own house…and that it made the termites smarter than me. Hope I win this war.)

Son of the Soil - Cultural Event

This past Saturday we were invited to a cultural event 40 km outside of Gabs by our friend Olefile. In the past, this event was a gathering of friends who felt like they were losing touch with their roots. The event has grown to over 300 people. It includes traditional dancing, locally brewed shake-shake and animal consumption.

I say animal consumption because it was more than cooking and eating. I held down a goat while another man cut its throat. It was not quick, efficient or simple. The goat emptied it’s bowels before it died. I thought it might do this and I was ready, but the image of it has stuck with me. There were several goats killed, eaten and consumed as well as an entire cow. It was laid out on a table before it was cooked. Needless to say, the entire area had a stench. It was indistinct but overpowering.

Before noon I had tried chicken feet and chicken neck. Both are awful and I only mention it because it helps explain what would happen later.

I tried shake-shake which is a local brew. It is made from the same seeds as traditional porridge and it fermented for a few days in the barrel. It tastes bad and is bad for you. I tried to like it, but couldn’t.

At one point, a tray was brought around to the men with half card-deck sized pieces of meat. It appeared to be cooked beef and every man grabbed a piece as it came by. I quickly took a piece with my dirty hands and popped it in my mouth. I came very, very close to vomiting but my politeness kept the meat in my mouth. It was all I could do to wash it down with some shake-shake. I found out later it was liver, probably from a cow due to the size of the servings.

I became sick not long after this (though still before noon) and all the shake-shake and meat came up. I needed to settle my stomach so I drank water, which had been trucked in and ate deep-fried bread. Five minutes later, a women came around with fried worms on a tray. Not to be rude, I popped one in my mouth; my friend shook her head in disbelief.

It should be mentioned the separation between men and women. Men drank shake-shake from hollowed cups and women drank spiced lemonade from plastic cups. Food preparation and baking was separate. If it was not hacking or pounding meat, it was done by women. Women played active games and danced. Men played cards. As a guy who likes active games, I felt restricted and compelled to watch the many women. It was not hard and I enjoyed the good excuse.

I found I later I made it into the national newspaper with a picture. It was of me watching the women play games. I’ll try and get a hold of the photo. I only found out when some people at work mentioned it to me.

We could barely eat the dinner. The traditional food: pounded beef, spinach, maize-meal and others was too much after a day of watching the food get prepared in the sun. We were watched by many people as we ate, I think this was the only time we were rude.

I even tried the shake-shake again that evening. I was very happy when I was able to wash away the taste with a regular beer.

P.S. I hope to update this entry with a great picture, provided to me by someone else

3 Quick Experiences with Racial Diversity

There are daily experiences which bring to light the impressions that black and white people have of each other. Having had three experiences within the past two hours, I am putting off cooking dinner (no small sacrifice) in order to give my impressions of them.

The most recent occurred outside my hut only 3 minutes ago. I approached three men who I speak and have a laugh with daily. One showed me a picture and said ‘Do you know me when you see me?’ It was a picture of his good friend who was standing there with us; he was wearing a great 70s style dress shirt. I recognized quickly who the picture was of and complimented the shirt, which was awesome. The first man quickly re-checked that I knew who the photo is of.

It is a small event but I believe it represents a belief I have read about and experienced that white people have great difficulty and may even be unable to tell black people apart. I am lucky I took the time to look at the face in the photo or I may have fallen prey to this small joke. There was no malice, this man was simply playing out this conception.

2 minutes before that, speaking to another friend. (Notice that I know few names well, they are harder to pronounce and learn. I know many people casually). I told him how I like to compare the Botswana/South Africa dynamic to Canada/US. I think there are many parallels with population, cultural influence, international recognition and the friendly, friendly people. His addition was that Batswana are nicer to white people. It was candid and this sort of dialogue occurs often and is open. I am getting used to it such that I feel little remorse writing openly about it. How this may be received in Canada I am not stopping a good rant to censor.

His point about Botswana/South Africa relates to an experience just 2 hours before.
The conversation was with a white South African who I had a beer with. He spoke of ‘coloured’ people, the laziness of his staff and other troubles with the country. I can’t say he was racist, though his demeanor on some subjects was a bit off putting. I don’t know the dialogue, tone or language South Africans normally use and can’t tell if he was out of the ordinary. It is another perspective in a very different situation than I am use to.

I have very little to conclude, only a great deal to observe and experience. Probably the best way to travel.

Interesting fact: The Botswana flag, blue, black and white. Is meant to represent the sky above, racial harmony in the country and the importance of water below.