Brief Encounters:
Oct. 8/02 - "Today was hot..."
Oct. 9/02 - "PART THREE - Hospitality ..."
Oct. 16/02 - "I have a bit of ..."
Oct. 22/02 - "PART FOUR - Hospitality & then some..."
Oct. 31/02 - "Month's End..."
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Today was hot. It started off with a loud bang on a door from Ruth, the go-to gal of the TOCaDI offices. Actually, I thought it was her, but it was my neighbour to the east opening and closing his door. Ruth was politely hiding behind my door as I opened it. She definitely has a knowing face, like she's been around the Shakawe block a few times. I witnessed the respect she gets when she brought me "out on the town" to the BDF Mess Hall. That's the Botswana Defence Force & if you didn't know, it's the cheapest place for drinks b/c the gov't subsidizes its employees alcoholic binges AND it's every girls dream? (ratio 1 girl to 20 guys) or rather my nightmare. But that's a whole another blog.
So, every morning Ruth comes by at exactly 7:30am to pick up the office keys that I use the evening before. It's a pretty efficient plan. It's the only plan I have of waking up at a decent hour to be, of course, on time for work. Except today, I dilly dallied. And was late. hm. Doesn't seem to out of character of me, now does it? Well, I've been very good the last 4 weeks or so. But that could very well be that I was sleeping well, and eager to work. And now, I'm less so. I'm tired, cranky, and have this perpetual pulsating headache. haha. It's like I'm my old self again. haha. okay. not. okay yes.
Well today was hot. So hot that I literally shrunk 2 inches from the weight of the air. It was so thick, heavy from the rains the night before. ugh. So thick, I had to step back into my office and turn on the A/C full blast. So thick, like the steam in a sauna burning my lungs as I inhale. ugh. And so I'm hot and cranky.
BUT, I saw a whole herd of elephants this past weekend. ah. how sweet it is. So check out some of my pictures if you're able, since the links might be broken...cuz uploading "DOES SO NOT ROCK THE CASBAH" here... ;) basically it sucks. And also, I've moved my blogs to an archive section for your reading pleasure and if you want to recall how my first 2 days were in Botswana. haha.
Mommy, I want Green Milk Tea Bubble Tea & sashimi! waaaaaah.
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PART Three - Hospitality
What would have ordinarily been a 6-hour bus trip turned out to be a 10hr nauseating bumpy train ride. ugh. At the seventh hour, my restless sleep was interrupted with a sudden halt. The squealing from the brakes on the rails scratched my ears like nails on chalkboard. The train quivered frantically as it held on for dear life to its tracks. Disarray. Pandemonium. What the … ?! Our bags fell off the seat crashing to the floor and onto me … knocking out what little wind was left in me. double ugh. “Great,” I thought rolling my eyes. And soon we were all trying madly to exit. Our cabin mates, Mrs. Ajayi and Anita hurried us off the train, hauling major ass and our load. There were no train officials or conductors on duty, neither alerting nor announcing our abrupt change in plans. In the dead of 4am, we blindly felt our ways down the ladders with our toes reaching, hoping to eventually hit solid ground.
Surprisingly it was cool, almost cold, outside, which this weary sweaty body welcomed happily. ah. cool air. ah. air period. I could finally breathe. But … we weren’t going anywhere. We stood waiting under the only lamp post out in the middle of Nowhereville. The dim light would flicker with the buzz of the burning insects. haha. (No pity from this girl. I hate bugs.) From where we waited, I barely made out the horizon and the faint shadows of a few trees. Not much going on here in terms of scenery. More of the same dust and flatness. and more of the same waiting.
For close to an hour, we waited under the lamp, squatting on our suitcases, with no explanation from the train staff. Mrs. Ajayi suspected that the train’s engine had overheated and “they” (being the engineers & conductors) decided to stop in case it would explode. um … ok. Glad to be only 10ft away from a possible explosion. But still confused as to why no one made an announcement to alert the passengers. hm. This kind of non-service seems oddly familiar.
Tired and muddled, we eventually clambered back onto the train, again with no indication from the train staff. I think everyone was waiting for someone else to follow their lead as to what we were supposed to be doing. And that’s how it was done. In our cabins, we waited another 20 min or so tweed ling our thumbs and brushing the beads of sweat off our brows til finally our train was in motion. Francistown, here we come! (I hope)
The remaining 3 hours of our journey, I couldn’t sleep. surprise surprise. I tossed and turned and whined silently to myself about the heat and the stagnant air. As morning broke, the immense warmth of colour (oranges, reds, blues) filling the sky distracted me. ah. This beautiful sight compensated my sleepless night, as well as made me too aware of how much of a baby I had been about earlier inconveniences. And soon we were well into the morning and approaching Francistown. Now I had to mentally prepare for the dash we would have to make. ugh. Why did I think I needed 2 bottles of shampoo? and 4 tubes of toothpaste? and 4 jugs of maple syrup? I was so weighed down, I was truly afraid about the impending race to catch our connecting 7:30am 6 hour bus ride to Maun. Would our sorry asses be able to carry the load to a final destination? any destination? please. (I was getting pretty tired of being in transit at this point).
Alls well, that ends well?. Kinda. Not quite. We did make our Maun bus. But at what price? (a bad beating to our luggage and our backs, that’s what) Mrs. Ajayi and Anita felt so sorry for Bonnie and I, that they so graciously helped us drag our weaken spirits and ever growing load to the bus station. Every 10 steps or so, Mrs. Ajayi would encouragingly remind us that it was not far still. Actually, it was far. And my backpack strap dug into my bones. The road was not the smoothest path ever paved, and there were many drains to contend with and potholes. Even in the obscene early hour, there were people standing on the side, laughing at us silly foreigners.
If it wasn’t for the kindness of these lovely strangers, Mrs. Ajayi and her daughter Anita, I think we would have missed our Maun bus and had a much different outcome. One, we probably would get into Maun late which is never good. Two, we would have not had a seat on the bus because of the midday traffic and travel, which would result in an uncomfortable ride and an even more cranky Ally. Three, we would have not felt totally grateful for having had someone guide us while our heads were cut off. Everything could have been thrown off by a whole day. Events that have occured might have played out badly. So they didn’t … but they could have. Mostly, it was as it should have been. They were supposed to be with us all along, at exactly that time we needed help. So thank you to fate, God, Mrs. Ajayi & Anita.
And so we left with hugs & goodbyes, and of course, a photo to commemorate the moment. (how touristy).
On the bus. I had boarded the bus before Bonnie. Recklessly, I stomped up the steps and was stopped dead in my tracks. Shock hit me straight in the face. Ouch. (Alright, people might think my next little thought a bit non-PC, but it was what I felt at the time.) Okay. Ready? This was my first thought: “Oh!” My second thought was: “There are so many black people on this bus!” Haha. Coming from Vancouver, Canada, homogeneity is not used to describe our cultural melange. I would say homogeneity fits right in here in Botswana. Of course, as I would later learn, Botswana has it’s own subtle cultural mixes. But this thought came from what I first saw.
Then Bonnie bumped me from behind, un-Pausing me from my arrested movement. She looked. And said, “Oh!” too. We discussed this later, and I’m pretty sure she too felt the awkwardness of when we stood momentarily still at the front of the bus, overlooking the seats full of black faces looking back at us. And then I laughed out loud. Whether it was to dispel some of that nervous energy compounded with my fatigue or that I realized the hilarity of the situation considering we were/are in Africa, I did not know why I chose to giggle obnoxiously as we manoeuvred our way to empty seats at the back. It’s obvious that there would be black people in Africa, but now I was IN Africa and I stood out like a sore thumb. No one looked like me. I didn’t look like anyone else. I think the initial “Oh!” was mutual between the crowd staring and us. And THAT was my first real taste of culture shock in Botswana.
The bus ride was hot, long, crowded, bumpy, noisy, and most of all HOT. Soon those early notions evaporated like the sweat off our foreheads. At one point, we were 5 squished in a 2 seater. We made one break at a Caltex petrol station for the lavatory and refuelling. The loos were not as sparkly as the ones at the Gabs Airport. They were kinda stinky. peeeee - ewww. And had no toilet paper. ugh. how rude. And the variety of cuisine was limited, being that we were at a gas station. To our surprise, we had our choice of 2 pieces of fried chicken and chips OR 3 pieces of fried chicken and chips. hm … what about 4 pieces or just one. Is it possible? Well, the lady, hairnet & all, at the counter refused to serve us any of the local delicacies, which were clearly marked on the menu hanging above her. What’s papa? “NO!” What’s that? “No, fried chicken & chips only!” She was like the Soup Nazi, but only that she only would only dish us out KFC. ugh. Woman…all we’ve been eating in Botswana thus far has been fried chicken…. I need variety in my diet… can you sympathize?! And so we reluctantly ceded and had the fried chicken and rushed back to secure our seats on the filling bus.
Stop after stop, village after village, post after post, person after person, we reached our intended destination of Maun. Every & anyone that had been sitting, walking, happen onto the path of the bus between Francistown & Maun had been picked up or dropped off at some point during our journey. On the map, it didn’t look so far away, and now I’m the wiser why it took us 6 ½ hrs!!!
Some enjoy travelling on bus, saying that you have a best chance of viewing the landscape of a country. In our heavy dark blue curtained bus, with little to no air, we caught a peek of the Botswana landscape. It hadn’t changed much from our first impressions in Gaborone. It’s flat, dusty, with short bush trees scattered sparsely. The sky is blue (which I can’t get enough of looking at), the sand is, well, sand coloured, and there are variations in between dirt and darker dirt. The only lively green colour in our view was of a leafy veg that apparently is poisonous and has killed many cattle, Botswana’s most prized possession.
In Maun, guess what we see as we exited the bus. NANDO’s CHICKEN!!! haha. Peri-peri….I’m smarter this time round. I’ve learned my lesson. No more extra hot. The second thing we see was a Mascom phoneshop. And that’s what we did. PHONE…. anyone, everyone, someone please come pick us up…and bring us somewhere, anywhere … I so wanted to feel like we were getting close to a someplace, anyplace that we could say we’ve arrived!
And we did. Thuso Lutheran Rehabilitation Centre.
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I have a bit of cabin fever. Does that analogy work here? Hm...let's say it does. I've been at the office compoundand Shakawe for close to 3 weeks straight. No little excursions or even large ones to speak of to break the habit of sitting. Just plain ol' sitting...on my ass. And so my ass becomes numb, affecting my spine and giving me an awfully stiff neck. How do I remedy this? Well, I actually attempt to stand up and step away from my chair, moving my feet out the door and continue along the path to the floodplane. At the floodplane (a less than 3 min walk), I meet a swarm of flies, mosquitoes, etcetra etcetra etcetra. The buzzing does not get fainter as I try to distance myself from my blood sucking predators. ugh. It gets louder. whaddup...leave me alone...there is no reasoning with bugs, and people for that matter. The night before, I found my water bottle left empty in the fridge. I know who was the culprit. When I addressed him this morning, he denied it and lied about not being at the kitchen the night of the crime. Does he think I'm an idiot? I saw him and greeted him at the door that very night. But he continued to tell his tall tale, digging himself into a deeper hole...soon I became tired of listening to him... and forgot why I was standing there in the first place, and so I walked away. argh. I hate being lied to. Like I was saying, I have cabin fever. I would really like to run away for a couple of days to try a safari, ride a hot air balloon over sand dunes, taste the salty breeze from the Atlantic Ocean...most of all to get some headspace/ breathing room between me and the buggers (both of the human & insect variety) at the office.
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Part Four - Hospitality & then some
Our bus arrived in Maun just after 1pm. Midday is the hottest time of day in any country…and no different in Botswana. It has been said that Maun has recorded the hottest temperatures in the world for a whole week, the highest being 52 degrees Celcius. That day, there was no disputing it. After we wasted 5 Pula trying the figure out who and what we were dialling, we decided to take turns freshening up in the Nando’s lavatory. First, Bonnie refuelled with a can of Coca Cola. Then I entered the restaurant, darting straight for the sink. Ah. Cold water on the face is so excellent. Hm… I must have spent close to an hour in there, scrubbing my face, my teeth, wetting down my untamed mane, and whatever else a girl does in the loo. Actually, I was just savouring the Air Conditioned Nando’s as long as I could before I had to brave the heat again. I’m surprised we didn’t get more condemning looks from the clerks behind the counter as we shuffled back and forth between our waiting post outside and their washrooms.
Finally a white ‘combi’ (minibus) with ‘Thuso Lutheran Rehabilitation Centre’ proudly printed on the sides arrived at our towering suitcases & backpacks. Pew pew pew!…ugh…The dust from the approaching combi flew straight into our mouths. Not a nice first taste of Thuso, literally. Once the cloud of dirt settled, we met the young Motswana man doing the dust stirring & parking the vehicle, who I have not seen since that first day in Maun. He politely loaded our bags into the combi with little effort or crinkling to his pressed white dress shirt, while Bonnie and I threw a million and one questions and thank you’s with little success at a response. Well, let’s see and hope for the best. Having travelled almost 4 days consecutively, I was eager to see a familiar face and reach a destination. It would be only a 15min combi ride further til we did.
‘Bumpy’. That’s how I’d describe the sand tracks leading up to the Thuso Centre compound. ‘Long’ would be another. From the main road, it seemed to be in a whole different village altogether. Grass thatched mud huts, plastic bags, soda cans, goats & donkeys were strewn over our passing view of the landscape. The occasional passer by would wave and shout out “Lekoa! Lekoa!” (Foreigner, Foreigner!) We were not bright eyed or bushy tailed as we once were when we first arrived in Gaborone. We had quickly realized or rather became accustomed to the monotonous geography of Botswana.
Thuso’s gates are waist high, creaky, & rusty. The tracks leading up to the entrance suddenly stop at the gate where behind it a pipe covered ditch awaits. This is to ward off any possible hoofed intruders. Not just donkeys, but people too. I almost missed my step and would have gotten my ankle stuck in one of the openings. Ugh. That would not be pleasant for either biped or four legged creature.
The compound luckily is shaded with trees. Whether or not the trees actually keep the place cooler than in the centre of town, is debatable considering there is not much to speak of in terms of leaves on the trees. But it’s better than nothing. Another Thuso trait is the high volume of mutts. The dogs are friendly bordering on psycho. They constantly bark and snarl at any sign of movement. I have learned that there are very few locals that actually keep pets in the conventional Western way. Rather the children start young amusing themselves by battering young pups that eventually grow up into these angry psychotic canines. It’s sad how many dogs are on the lot and how sickly they look. I am not a dog lover by any means, but I definitely feel for these abandoned abused animals.
The Reception office building is concrete and painted yellow (surprise surprise). A mosquito screen door is held to the side of the building by a cracked brick, defeating its purpose. In the front, reddish sharp rocks are scattered in the sand, forcing one to look down to avoid a likely sprained ankle. “Reception” is painted in black & white above the door with borders to imitate a real signboard. There are no formal flowerbeds, but some fuschia coloured blooms adorn the edges in the front. From inside, we hear a familiar voice. Elisha! who comes out excitedly to greet us at the combi parked steps away from the bed of sharp rocks.
Yeah! Someone who is happy to see us. And someone who has beds prepared for us to SLEEP!!! Ah … and how I love sleep. Elisha definitely has some pull at Thuso. We were stunned but not shocked to learn he was to be Bonnie’s supervisor. Well, he IS the DIRECTOR of Thuso. haha. This is the same Elisha that we had met 3 months earlier in Vancouver, BC. Having travelled to and from Canada to Botswana himself, he was aware of the how exhausting our journey had been. And so, he had a room ready at the Thuso hostel with willing beds.
Mr. Elisha Sebele is the Director of Thuso. He lives in the last house at the end of the track with a big fat Dstv satellite dish sticking out the side of the rondeville. He loves watching football matches and does so frequently since it is on 24 hours a day. His favourite teams are Manchester United and Botswana’s Zebras (he’s very patriotic; apparently, Botswana’s national team has only won against Swaziland & has the 2nd worst record in the league). I have only heard 2 people refer to him as Mr. Sebele and they were expats who had not met him yet. Most Thuso employees find it amusing that I’m called “Alicia” pronounced the same way. When trying to differentiate our names, I suggested calling me “Ally” but most call him “Elly”, so that would have been too confusing. He too is a fellow Crossroader. When I met him in Vancouver, he was friendly but reserved. Here, he is definitely in his element and soon I see why he is the Director. Even though outwardly he seems lackadaisical, he somehow carries authority and respect both in Thuso and out in the community. By profession, Elisha is a physiotherapist. But he hasn’t seen any patients since returning from Canada. We asked him about his experience in Vancouver. Overall it was positive. His only complaint was being bored and underworked at his placement. He said he’d make sure that that would not happen for Bonnie at Thuso. Of course he was kidding. (Bonnie felt underemployed her first couple of weeks, so that didn’t happen).
I know I am glad to see Elisha. He knows that we are glad to see him too and takes on the role of big brother easily. He assures me that on Monday we’ll contact my host organization in Shakawe and hopefully settle our visa situation. No worries. Soon we’ll settle in, he advises us. In his mind, he has decided that we have the tougher situation of coming from Canada here than he did going from Botswana there. I’m not convinced, but am too tired to argue otherwise. Much like we had our first day in Gabs, we spent our first day (afternoon) in Maun sleeping soundly.
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Month’s End
My favourite month of the year is October and it has passed much too quickly for my liking. August was busy but the days were long enough to pack 3 days worth of memories into one. September was steady and began to pick up the pace a bit towards the end. October has just flown by without any meditation, contemplation, or reflection. And the approaching November will most likely have little impression. Then it will already be December and the end of the year. How sad. The year 2002 has grown on me and I’d like it to stick around for a little while longer.
Surprisingly none of the self-pity, bordering close to the mid (early?) life crisis of last year has invaded my thoughts this year. Could it be that I’m just too busy to meditate, ruminate about being closer to 30 (oh bloody hell, Alicia’s colleague here, Alison, and I’m afraid, having left 30 behind, I have just told Alicia to *%$# off!) and farther away from settling into the role of career woman with husband, 2.5 kids, a mortgage, and a car (tell me about it!!!). Nope. I am busy. But neither option scares or worries me. Why? Because, I do not choose to accept that those are my only options. And they aren’t. There are so many things worth doing more than settling - whether down or for whatever situation you’re in. I never want to settle. I’ve said it in print and out loud to the universe. And so it shall be, I never will settle for anything or anyone less than what I want. How’s that for self reflection for ya’?! (you go girl!)
So how was October in Botswana? In a single word – HOT!!! In two words – FRIGGIN’ HOT!!! My body is perpetually sweating from morn thru the night to the next morn. Most days I have to take two showers. And on others, I’m too exhausted or have been too glued to my seat in perspire to get up and take shower number 2. Last week, the tarmac at Maun’s airport recorded 53 C. Whaddaf**k!! Who in their right mind lives in this heat? Who can work? Who can have a right mind in this heat?! Not me … I’ve had a string of headaches and fatigue, not even a cool 450ml can of Coca Cola could revive me. I sit in a stupor in front of the computer waiting for noon to turn on the AC in the office (cuz that’s when it is appropriate to do so without seeming wasteful). Ah…if it weren’t for AC I think I’d sit in my room with the fan blowing in my face 24/7.
With the heat, the weather patterns have changed. Incredible violet lightning and shuddering thunderstorms make impromptu performances in the afternoons. Full bodied cumulus clouds float perfectly shaped, as one pictures in one’s minds eye back home – puffy, flat on the bottom, thick & dense, on a perfectly blue lit sky backdrop. There is no doubt how big the sky is here, it stretches in all directions for dusty mile upon mile. Throughout the day and even more so at night, one cannot but be awed and inspired by this shifting kaleidoscope provided by nature. There is just so much sky surrounding you. I suppose living in a city, when you look up your vision is marred by some concrete artifice and/or light glaring polluting the view.
This perfect sky was in abundance this past weekend. On Friday, I took a 6hr bus ride at 6:30am from Shakawe to Maun in order to meet up with Bonnie and her co-worker Stefanie for our weekend getaway to the Moremi Game Reserve in the western part of the Okavango Delta. The sky did not disappoint that morning. The fiery red sun rose lighting a path of colours across the horizon. I fought my droopy eyelids in order to witness this sight. Ah. I can’t believe I’m up at this ungodly hour to see the sunrise.
To catch my bus, I had to wake up at 5am to make it out to the main road from the office at least a half hour before the scheduled bus time. It is a bit of a hit & miss when the buses leave Shakawe, although I have been told they leave on the half hour. But that ain’t always the case, being that we are on ‘African time’. So I thought I’d try my luck for the 5:30am bus that might have left late or the 6:30am bus that might have left early. Whichever. I needed to justify having woken so early and catch a friggin’ bus. And that I did, racing through the sand tracks with my backpack full of recording equipment … ugh … one camcorder, one SLR, one wide angle lens, one 500mm mirror lens, 2 batteries, film, miniDV tapes, MD player, 5 MDs, and sleeping bag taking up the whole bottom compartment. Running on sand is like running with lead weights on. I was no gazelle with my backpack, ungracefully trudging my way to the main tar road where I would hopefully intersect my bus. Whether it was the 5:30 or 6:30 bus is debatable. I’d say I caught the 6:13am bus.
Bump after bump, village after village – Samochima, Nxamasere, Ikoga, Sepopa, Etsha 13, Etsha 6, and Gumare, we stopped to load and unload passengers, bags of maize meal, grandmas with babies wrapped around them, etc. I couldn’t sleep soundly, keeping one eye and ear open on what and who was happening around me. I had a shitload of electronics on me, plus my last remaining PULAs and no one else’s fingers were going to touch them except for mine. Fortunately most gave me my space and did not hassle me. This was probably cuz I did really fall asleep (oops, so much for my vigilance) or I had my eyes closed faking my slumber. But there was one incidence where the fare collector, a young Motswana punk with an inflated sense of authority in my opinion, lectured me with a condescending finger about how my bag was taking up a seat. He reached to grab my bag and I pulled away. Whatever. I looked behind me to see what triggered this scolding. The seats behind me were occupied. But not full. There were several rows that were empty even. What did I do to deserve this nit picking for? One of the ladies to the right of me, agreed with the fare collector, waving her finger. Hm. Not good. I insisted that I keep my bag, and that I’d move it on my lap if someone needed a seat. This standoff lasted way too long. I was not feeling all too happy about the service and treatment and soon felt the ruminating thoughts boiling to the surface. Eventually, I lost myself in thought or rather Weazer’s ‘Island in the Sun’ and woke again when we arrived in Maun. The bus was never full and no one requested a seat. So there.
The rudeness continued on my exit. The lady on who had earlier joined the berate the ‘lekoa’ (foreigner) session elbowed my backpack pushing me down into my seat. I made her aware of her actions and acknowledged that she would kindly let me pass with my backpack. I admit I was speaking condescendingly, but felt the situation warranted my tone. She just rolled her eyes in response and pursed her lips in disapproval, her feet firmly planted in the line. I guess we were both tired from the less than restful bus ride. And so I whipped my backpack around to assure a space in the exit line and shuffled out. I thanked her kindly for allowing me room and smiled waving. So I sunk to her childish game playing. The first couple of times I had been slighted in Botswana, I felt guilty about being a guest in their country and so complied thinking that it was just a cultural misunderstanding/ miscommunication. I soon realized I do not have to accept rude behaviour in any form. It is not cultural specific. It is plain ol’ rudeness by individuals. And I’ve decided to resolve this by acknowledging the behaviour as it happens.
My morning was not over yet. I had the bank line up to contend with. And being month’s end, the lines were blocks long. Hm. I hoped that my Friday morning travelling to and running errands in Maun was NOT an indication of how the birthday weekend would be. And thankfully it wasn’t.
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