Botswana is a predominantly Christian nation. There are a multitude of churches (ranging from conservative white-clad ladies to a more extreme sect that drinks gallons of a coffee-oil-sugar mixture to puke out the devil) and my door is frequently being knocked upon by sweet ladies inquiring about the status of my soul. However, beneath the strong religious exterior lay vibrant and unyielding traditional beliefs. Call it Voodoo, call it witchcraft, call it a respect for the ancestors. But whether or not the Batswana partake in its activities, I have yet to meet a single person to discount the role of the spirits in everyday life. Which leads me to a few weekends ago, in which I had my single coolest moment in Shoshong.
I attended a Voodoo exorcism.
My brother here is a traditional doctor, and a guy was sick and came to him. My brother first sent the man to the hospital (I give him points for blending modern and traditional medicine) and he got better, but then fell sick again. Diagnosis of the guy? Americans would say he was suffering from a mental illness, but here it was determined he was possessed by the ancestors. The exorcism went like this: we were about 30 in number, and we lined up and got marked with white chalk/face paint on our faces, took our shoes off, and sat down in the sand. Then we all started clapping out a steady rhythm while people took turns summoning the guy's ancestors by name. After calling them out for a while, my brother's apprentice brought out a slaughtered and dissected goat, and began dropping it in a hole dug in the ground, piece by piece. First was the heart. My brother explained they dropped in the best parts … the eyes for the old men (ancestors), the tongue for the ladies, and also the kidneys for the ladies, because the ladies (ancestors) really like the kidneys. Finally the head was put it, positioned towards the west where the sun sets. The ancestors move with the sun, and since they were summoning the ancestors out of that guy's body, they wanted those spirits to rest where the sun rests. Then the family members took the intestines together, made a circle of it, and together placed it around these stacked body parts while chanting. People then started cheering Batswana style: open your mouth, make a high-pitched scream, and move you tongue from side to side. Kind of sounds like that Indian hand to mouth rhythm you do when you’re a kid and playing pilgrims and Indians. So it's hilarious when old ladies start making this noise. But then, they take the pure white skin of the goat and place it over the hole. Next, the traditional beer that had been fermenting all week in a trashcan next to my house was poured into an adjacent hole. Again, more "cheering." I was told the ancestors really like traditional beer. Then they took the goat meat that was cooked, scooped it out of the cauldron with a chunk of bone and onto some special leaves positioned in the sand. I was ready for a ritualistic bonfire, but then people started chowing down! So the ceremony ended with eating meat and drinking beer, like any good exorcism. (I later asked my brother how he knew if he'd successfully treated his patient. He told me that his wasn't a complicated case.)
It was a great evening on a lot of different levels. Yes, seeing an exorcism is one of those "Peace Corps" experiences that I'll never forget. And also meeting the man we were healing was also insightful. I hadn't known he was at the ceremony until afterwards … and I can only hope my brother cured him. Because he looked like a crazy person. And there was a sense of accomplishment on being let in, on being trusted enough to partake in such a ritual. The ancient rituals are something that are strenuously kept on the down-low from white people, and understandably. We're quick to be judgmental, skeptical and discount such a ceremony's authenticity. I'd spent a lot of time with my brother and his friends showing them that I think there is more to healing than modern medicine. Traditional medicine, herbal medicine, acupuncture, hypnosis and Voodoo … they're all related. They all transcend a rigid scientific approach and push into another realm. Spirits, ancestors, herbs, positive thinking … each creating an atmosphere in which the body can heal itself without chemical tablets.
Now I don't plan on going to med school and do my residency in a cave learning traditional medicine (the story of my brother: his dad passed away, he became severely depressed and went to see a traditional doctor in a cave in the mountains to get healed. He ended up spending four months in the caves and came down from the mountains a traditional doctor himself. His mom was quite upset when this meant he dropped out of law school.) But I do find it interesting that 75% of all Voodoo ceremonies are attempts to drive away illness. And you can't argue with the fact that these people wouldn't place such strong faith in traditional medicine if it didn't work … after all, they've had thousands of years to determine its efficiency. Do I think slaughtered goats and chanting expel demons? It's not my place to say. But I do think that my brother is on to something in blending ancient rituals, mobilizing the community and utilizing modern medicinal resources to drive away illnesses. I wonder what would happen if he made a guest appearance to a psychiatric hospital in the US …
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Dreadlocks and Kidnappings.
So I've wanted dreads for two years.
Working at a law firm? No way.
Peace Corps? Thought it was my shot, until I found myself in a conservative Muslim society in Guinea. No dreads.
Peace Corps round 2 in Botswana? Yes ... there's a thriving rasta subgroup here, I could totally pull them off "this side."
So a few months ago, I made an appointment and show up. Three hours later, the guy who was going to do them didn't show up. He had "babalas" ... AKA a killer hangover. No shame in it though- if you tell people you're hungover, then it's a legit excuse. So, no dreads.
Until today.
I found a great lady, she used to own a salon, and she said she'd do my dreads- for free! All I had to do was show up at her place at 9am today. No problem, right? I show up bright eyed for the big day (I was a little nervous) and I see her. Catherine. Bright and shining with a tye-dye dress and a frog-resembling umbrella to shield her from the sun. I didn't remember her looking so crazy. And then she says "Kiki, I promised my pastor I would meet him quickly, will you come with me and then we'll do your hair?" Sure, no problem. She had told me numerous times I had to get to her town 'early' because my hair would take a while. Then last night she specified 9am. O, how convenient, your church starts at 9am? Geez, who would have thought?
So I got kidnapped and taken to church. And no, you all know I'm not a church hater. But I WILL ADMIT to being a hater of 3-hour church services. And a pastor who screams in the mic and my ears start bleeding. And then he exorcises demons out of churchgoers and they pass out on the floor. Yes, they pass out on the floor. But it's okay, because there's a "clean-up" crew who catches the bodies, lays them on the floor, and covers them with cloth. It's like a mini-funeral, until they rise again, potentially healed, about five minutes later.
Okay, so I got taken to church until noon. Big deal. I'm alive. Until we start walking and I find out we're still not going to her house to do my hair- no, we are going grocery shopping. SERIOUSLY lady? Fine. I'll buy some milk and bread while I'm at it.
But then we get to her house, and somehow, instead of getting some sweet dreads, I'm chopping spinach and sauteeing onions. I am now cooking, while a small chicken is running between my feet. We finally eat.
So now that we've prayed, shopped, chopped and feasted I'm hoping that FINALLY NOW we can begin the long process of dreading my hair. I untie my ponytail, let my hair down, and she starts playing. Thirty seconds later she produces the first dread. 30 seconds? Geez ... I had thought this would have taken a lot longer. I look at her first piece of work- and she had taken to strands of hair and twisted them together.
WHAT?! You thought I wanted my hair twisted? I did not come to Botswana to look like Rainbow Brite. So I tell her no, DREADLOCKS! She argues a bit, tell me how hot the Rainbow Brite Twists will look, and then I say, forget it. Next time. So she wants to play with my hair anyways ... it's fine. Usually I like this lady. And before I know it here I am, not with dreads, but two beautifully childish pigtail braids.
And that is the story of how I always look so hot in the Peace Corps.
Working at a law firm? No way.
Peace Corps? Thought it was my shot, until I found myself in a conservative Muslim society in Guinea. No dreads.
Peace Corps round 2 in Botswana? Yes ... there's a thriving rasta subgroup here, I could totally pull them off "this side."
So a few months ago, I made an appointment and show up. Three hours later, the guy who was going to do them didn't show up. He had "babalas" ... AKA a killer hangover. No shame in it though- if you tell people you're hungover, then it's a legit excuse. So, no dreads.
Until today.
I found a great lady, she used to own a salon, and she said she'd do my dreads- for free! All I had to do was show up at her place at 9am today. No problem, right? I show up bright eyed for the big day (I was a little nervous) and I see her. Catherine. Bright and shining with a tye-dye dress and a frog-resembling umbrella to shield her from the sun. I didn't remember her looking so crazy. And then she says "Kiki, I promised my pastor I would meet him quickly, will you come with me and then we'll do your hair?" Sure, no problem. She had told me numerous times I had to get to her town 'early' because my hair would take a while. Then last night she specified 9am. O, how convenient, your church starts at 9am? Geez, who would have thought?
So I got kidnapped and taken to church. And no, you all know I'm not a church hater. But I WILL ADMIT to being a hater of 3-hour church services. And a pastor who screams in the mic and my ears start bleeding. And then he exorcises demons out of churchgoers and they pass out on the floor. Yes, they pass out on the floor. But it's okay, because there's a "clean-up" crew who catches the bodies, lays them on the floor, and covers them with cloth. It's like a mini-funeral, until they rise again, potentially healed, about five minutes later.
Okay, so I got taken to church until noon. Big deal. I'm alive. Until we start walking and I find out we're still not going to her house to do my hair- no, we are going grocery shopping. SERIOUSLY lady? Fine. I'll buy some milk and bread while I'm at it.
But then we get to her house, and somehow, instead of getting some sweet dreads, I'm chopping spinach and sauteeing onions. I am now cooking, while a small chicken is running between my feet. We finally eat.
So now that we've prayed, shopped, chopped and feasted I'm hoping that FINALLY NOW we can begin the long process of dreading my hair. I untie my ponytail, let my hair down, and she starts playing. Thirty seconds later she produces the first dread. 30 seconds? Geez ... I had thought this would have taken a lot longer. I look at her first piece of work- and she had taken to strands of hair and twisted them together.
WHAT?! You thought I wanted my hair twisted? I did not come to Botswana to look like Rainbow Brite. So I tell her no, DREADLOCKS! She argues a bit, tell me how hot the Rainbow Brite Twists will look, and then I say, forget it. Next time. So she wants to play with my hair anyways ... it's fine. Usually I like this lady. And before I know it here I am, not with dreads, but two beautifully childish pigtail braids.
And that is the story of how I always look so hot in the Peace Corps.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
If you drink traditional beer, you can't get AIDS
I keep getting asked what a typical day is like in Shoshong, so I'm gonna give it a shot. I have good days and bad days.
Bad day:
6:30am- wake up
7:15am- at my health clinic, listen to a meeting in Setswana and no one translates
7:30am- head to the PMTCT (Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission) office and sit there with our testing counselor and other workers ... conversations go like this:
Me: "Smalls, how was your weekend?"
Smalls: "Oh, it was GREAT!! xxixixisdajkl...Setswana speak...asidjcxi"
and then I listen to a roomful of people laughing and having fun, and no one will translate.I will get "Kiki, why don't you understand Setswana yet? We aren't going to speak English. And no, we aren't going to speak Setswana more slowly because you need to understand it like we speak it- fast."
8:00am- At this point I'm so mad, frustrated and angry (it takes all my strength not to remind them how I speak slowly with beginner words for THEM) that I walk home, muttering every curse word under my breath, until I calm down at home. Then I stay at home for the rest of the day or visit friends or meet other people in the community.
Good Day:
6:30am- wake up
7:15am- at my health clinic, and me and my team of people go around the community to visit the police station, the water treatment plant, the chief's office, and even to peoples homes to talk to them about HIV. We ask them questions, teach them about our PMTCT program and show them how to use condoms. (And yes, since I don't yet speak fluent Setswana, I get to demonstrate how to use the condoms.) The PMTCT program is an attempt to start an "HIV Free Generation" and we need pregnant ladies to test for the virus, and if they're positive to go through the program so they can give birth to a negative child. It was noticed that mothers in this program had a lot of questions with no one to answer them, like how to prepare formula, for example. Enter Diana, our Peer Mother. Then it was found that even these mothers weren't complying with the steps of PMTCT, and it was because their partners weren't supporting them. Enter Smalls, our Peer Male. So Diana, Smalls and I go around Shoshong to let people know what the PMTCT program is, whey it's so important, and let them know that there is a team of people to visit them in their homes (where they are most comfortable) to support them in any capacity needed. Diana and I get to go to homes, and Smalls and I go into bars (where the boys are at!) I love talking with these people and hearing their ideas and experiences. My favorite: if you drink traditional beer, you won't get HIV. I told this guy that maybe if you drank traditional beer AND used protection you wouldn't get HIV. His response? "Have you RESEARCHED traditional beer? I don't think so. So until you perform the research on traditional beer you can't know." Touchee.
Other news- I got a puppy yesterday! I've been trying for a while now, and then Vince just fell into my lap quite easily. He's a little bit of a "fixer-upper" ... he's got a few bald spots, was covered in ticks and i can count his ribs. BUT- he's the sweetest and calmest guy alive! When i picked him up from a neighboring village i just put him in a shoulder bag and the guy didn't move or cry at all. I decided that with a guy that calm, i could hitch-hike home. Sure enough, some guys picked me up and Vinny didn't make a sound. Then towards the end of the ride they were asking me what I do after work so I told them "well I just got a puppy today so I'll be playing with him" and they turn around and I take Vince out of the bag- and these guys LOST it! they thought it was hilarious that this white chick smuggled a puppy into their car. They didn't even make me pay for gas :)
Also, a HUGE thanks is in order. Kristi- thank you for Mountains Beyond Mountains!! This is the book that made me ditch finance and work in an AIDS clinic in Botswana if anyone wants to know. Michelle- thank you for the BAAA-TSSS-WAAANNAAA remix that I can't wait to share with my crew over here. We do crank it Lion King. Jackie- thanks for the beautiful "Reassurance Journal" that I picked up from the post office on my worst day in Shoshong. Perfect timing. Kate- a box full of TREATS?! Trader Joe everything?! I died ... you saved me. Mom-body butter when my skin was drying out. Dad- a french coffee press!! (I'm still in need of that coffee..)Jen- BOGGLE?! you know I loved that one, even if my friends won't bring it the way you did. and for a Runners World that got me out of the house for my best run... 14 uniform-clad school kids AND a guy jumped off his donkey cart to join me for part of it! it was incredible ... and hilarious. And for all the phone calls (Dad, Chuk and Ryan), hilarious emails (Carrie), letters (Rachel/Emma for the latest) ... THANK YOU! I love you guys and am so thankful for all of you!!
Bad day:
6:30am- wake up
7:15am- at my health clinic, listen to a meeting in Setswana and no one translates
7:30am- head to the PMTCT (Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission) office and sit there with our testing counselor and other workers ... conversations go like this:
Me: "Smalls, how was your weekend?"
Smalls: "Oh, it was GREAT!! xxixixisdajkl...Setswana speak...asidjcxi"
and then I listen to a roomful of people laughing and having fun, and no one will translate.I will get "Kiki, why don't you understand Setswana yet? We aren't going to speak English. And no, we aren't going to speak Setswana more slowly because you need to understand it like we speak it- fast."
8:00am- At this point I'm so mad, frustrated and angry (it takes all my strength not to remind them how I speak slowly with beginner words for THEM) that I walk home, muttering every curse word under my breath, until I calm down at home. Then I stay at home for the rest of the day or visit friends or meet other people in the community.
Good Day:
6:30am- wake up
7:15am- at my health clinic, and me and my team of people go around the community to visit the police station, the water treatment plant, the chief's office, and even to peoples homes to talk to them about HIV. We ask them questions, teach them about our PMTCT program and show them how to use condoms. (And yes, since I don't yet speak fluent Setswana, I get to demonstrate how to use the condoms.) The PMTCT program is an attempt to start an "HIV Free Generation" and we need pregnant ladies to test for the virus, and if they're positive to go through the program so they can give birth to a negative child. It was noticed that mothers in this program had a lot of questions with no one to answer them, like how to prepare formula, for example. Enter Diana, our Peer Mother. Then it was found that even these mothers weren't complying with the steps of PMTCT, and it was because their partners weren't supporting them. Enter Smalls, our Peer Male. So Diana, Smalls and I go around Shoshong to let people know what the PMTCT program is, whey it's so important, and let them know that there is a team of people to visit them in their homes (where they are most comfortable) to support them in any capacity needed. Diana and I get to go to homes, and Smalls and I go into bars (where the boys are at!) I love talking with these people and hearing their ideas and experiences. My favorite: if you drink traditional beer, you won't get HIV. I told this guy that maybe if you drank traditional beer AND used protection you wouldn't get HIV. His response? "Have you RESEARCHED traditional beer? I don't think so. So until you perform the research on traditional beer you can't know." Touchee.
Other news- I got a puppy yesterday! I've been trying for a while now, and then Vince just fell into my lap quite easily. He's a little bit of a "fixer-upper" ... he's got a few bald spots, was covered in ticks and i can count his ribs. BUT- he's the sweetest and calmest guy alive! When i picked him up from a neighboring village i just put him in a shoulder bag and the guy didn't move or cry at all. I decided that with a guy that calm, i could hitch-hike home. Sure enough, some guys picked me up and Vinny didn't make a sound. Then towards the end of the ride they were asking me what I do after work so I told them "well I just got a puppy today so I'll be playing with him" and they turn around and I take Vince out of the bag- and these guys LOST it! they thought it was hilarious that this white chick smuggled a puppy into their car. They didn't even make me pay for gas :)
Also, a HUGE thanks is in order. Kristi- thank you for Mountains Beyond Mountains!! This is the book that made me ditch finance and work in an AIDS clinic in Botswana if anyone wants to know. Michelle- thank you for the BAAA-TSSS-WAAANNAAA remix that I can't wait to share with my crew over here. We do crank it Lion King. Jackie- thanks for the beautiful "Reassurance Journal" that I picked up from the post office on my worst day in Shoshong. Perfect timing. Kate- a box full of TREATS?! Trader Joe everything?! I died ... you saved me. Mom-body butter when my skin was drying out. Dad- a french coffee press!! (I'm still in need of that coffee..)Jen- BOGGLE?! you know I loved that one, even if my friends won't bring it the way you did. and for a Runners World that got me out of the house for my best run... 14 uniform-clad school kids AND a guy jumped off his donkey cart to join me for part of it! it was incredible ... and hilarious. And for all the phone calls (Dad, Chuk and Ryan), hilarious emails (Carrie), letters (Rachel/Emma for the latest) ... THANK YOU! I love you guys and am so thankful for all of you!!
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Longest Vacation I Ever Loved.
Happy New Year everyone!
Okay so I am currently “on holiday” as we say here … and it has been one hell of a holiday. By the time I arrive back in sweet Shoshong it will have been over three weeks of nonstop partying, hitch-hiking, and camping. Best. Vacation. Ever.
So it all started back in December when some PCVs threw a pool party for us new Guinea volunteers, Jake came back to Shoshong with me for a few days and we climbed my beautiful hills. Jake was barefoot. Still no baboons, still no ancestors. We did, however, set my “kitchen” (a room consisting of both couches and a stove) on fire. We were experimenting with rice, I added water to hot oil and BAM a flame shoots up (next to my giant gas tank) and starts crawling across my celing. Jake and I stood and watched, and laughed hysterically when it calmed down. All I could think was “Peace Corps forgot to give us the fire extinguishers.”
My water in my village ran out (and its not like Guinea- there are NO wells, so when there’s no water, there’s no water) so Jake and I packed up and headed out to his place to get ready for Christmas. Sacha came and we baked and cooked and danced and partied ‘til the 26th, and when we decided we had maxed out on “gluttony” and “sloth” we packed up and moved out to visit our 4th link, Ashely who lives at a UNESCO World Heritage site (aka the BUSH), to indulge on the other 5 deadly sins. We left Jake’s site at 5:00am after Christmas and after a hellacious day of travel, arrived an hour away from Ashley’s site at about 10:00pm. Utterly exhausted, we started looking for her counterpart who was going to drive us to Tsodilo Hills. All of a sudden this scrawny 6 foot black dude with dreads and thick glasses calls out in his cartoon character voice: “dude, you guys ready to party? We’re gonna drink at the bar, go to the military camp, then hit up a barbeque before we head home.” So we piled in his car with our backpacks, tents, sleeping bags, and groceries and wind up at various parties and bars (when all I wanted to do was collapse from exhaustion. But Batsawna party … so when in Rome…). We eventually made it to Ashely’s concrete hole in the wall at about 3am and surprised her by jumping in bed. She thought we’d been a lost cause, and no one could call her because she lives in the BUSH and has no cell phone.
So, then we camped out in Tsodillo Hills for a few nights. I perfected my campfire making abilities, we climbed the highest point in Botswana, saw some of the world’s oldest Rock Paintings and then realized that we were stranded, and had no way of getting out of her site to head to our New Year’s Party. Stranded miles away from a main road, I decided that I was going to charm my way into some fancy tourists’ car if my life depended on it. I ran until I found some tourists from Sweeden, quickly made friends, and begged for a lift. They were about to say there was no room and I say “we’re Peace Corps. We can fit inside any car, no matter how much room or how much luggage. I’m going to get my friends, we’ll leave in 5 minutes.” The Sweedes ended up being a blast and gave us a GREAT lift for free, and dropped us at the border of Botswana and Namibia. The 4 of us now had to find a way to get someone to let us hitch hike across the river on the ferry and into even more bush. A few hours later we found a pickup truck and climbed in back. With 8 other people. So it was PACKED- we were piled high with all of our luggage, plus theirs and settled in for a long, bumpy, dirt-road ride. And did I mention, it was POURING?! So we were in the back of an open pickup truck for hours in the rain. We were cold, bruised and muddy by the time we arrived to a village where another pickup truck was waiting to take us to our New Years Party Hotspot. It is (literally) at the end of the world and after traveling through grass (not even a dirt road- people tie toilet paper to trees so they can find their way back) we arrived at this backpacker’s joint that’s being built. So New Years consisted of partying in the bush with hippos, under a full moon, with about 20 other people in the middle of nowhere. It was fantastic. However, we woke up on the first to realize that ALL THE OTHER volunteers had left. Seriously. We looked around and decided we were shipwrecked. Stranded. Ashely at this point goes “we’ll never make any friends” and honestly, the Guinea PCVs are definitely the outsiders. But to be stranded in the bush? Dissed. Luckily the girl who’s building the backpackers and her cousins were around another day, so they gave us a lift to a “nearby” village the following day and we hitched back up the far side of Okavango Delta, over the ferry, and back down to a tourist destination named Maun. (That sounds simple- it took 2 days.)
So now Maun is where all you fancy white tourists go to spend big bucks, and us Peace Corps Volunteers just look hungry and helpless. But we did indulge and took a CRAZY flight over the Okavango Delta (world’s largest inland delta!) to see elephants, zebras, hippos, giraffes and such. Our pilot asked us if we wanted to have some fun (duh!) so we soon found ourselves zipping really low along the ground and doing some acrobatic stunts. SO FUN! We also took a hollowed out tree trunk (traditional mokoro) trip through the delta and we felt like Pocahontas floating through the reeds. It was incredible. We stayed at a great backpackers place and made friends with management who took us out on 1am boat trips to continue after-hours partying. Maun could probably be described as the “Sin City” of Botswana. Like Vegas. Beautiful, but could be troublesome if you don’t watch yourself. (No worries, I watch myself. Obviously.)
So after a few nights in Maun we headed back to Jake’s again because there’s this Peace Corps meeting in a nearby town coming up. Still with Sacha and Jake. Jake and I are about to celebrate our 3 weeks of being joined at the hip anniversary, but these kids are GREAT to travel with. STILL not sick of each other, still not sick of camping: I’m super impressed.
PS- I just ate my first worm. Delicacy? Sike. I screamed.
So Christmas and New Years has been a blast over here. I miss all of you guys (and the apparent blizzard back home!) Love you and hope you all had great holidays over there!! 2010!!!
Okay so I am currently “on holiday” as we say here … and it has been one hell of a holiday. By the time I arrive back in sweet Shoshong it will have been over three weeks of nonstop partying, hitch-hiking, and camping. Best. Vacation. Ever.
So it all started back in December when some PCVs threw a pool party for us new Guinea volunteers, Jake came back to Shoshong with me for a few days and we climbed my beautiful hills. Jake was barefoot. Still no baboons, still no ancestors. We did, however, set my “kitchen” (a room consisting of both couches and a stove) on fire. We were experimenting with rice, I added water to hot oil and BAM a flame shoots up (next to my giant gas tank) and starts crawling across my celing. Jake and I stood and watched, and laughed hysterically when it calmed down. All I could think was “Peace Corps forgot to give us the fire extinguishers.”
My water in my village ran out (and its not like Guinea- there are NO wells, so when there’s no water, there’s no water) so Jake and I packed up and headed out to his place to get ready for Christmas. Sacha came and we baked and cooked and danced and partied ‘til the 26th, and when we decided we had maxed out on “gluttony” and “sloth” we packed up and moved out to visit our 4th link, Ashely who lives at a UNESCO World Heritage site (aka the BUSH), to indulge on the other 5 deadly sins. We left Jake’s site at 5:00am after Christmas and after a hellacious day of travel, arrived an hour away from Ashley’s site at about 10:00pm. Utterly exhausted, we started looking for her counterpart who was going to drive us to Tsodilo Hills. All of a sudden this scrawny 6 foot black dude with dreads and thick glasses calls out in his cartoon character voice: “dude, you guys ready to party? We’re gonna drink at the bar, go to the military camp, then hit up a barbeque before we head home.” So we piled in his car with our backpacks, tents, sleeping bags, and groceries and wind up at various parties and bars (when all I wanted to do was collapse from exhaustion. But Batsawna party … so when in Rome…). We eventually made it to Ashely’s concrete hole in the wall at about 3am and surprised her by jumping in bed. She thought we’d been a lost cause, and no one could call her because she lives in the BUSH and has no cell phone.
So, then we camped out in Tsodillo Hills for a few nights. I perfected my campfire making abilities, we climbed the highest point in Botswana, saw some of the world’s oldest Rock Paintings and then realized that we were stranded, and had no way of getting out of her site to head to our New Year’s Party. Stranded miles away from a main road, I decided that I was going to charm my way into some fancy tourists’ car if my life depended on it. I ran until I found some tourists from Sweeden, quickly made friends, and begged for a lift. They were about to say there was no room and I say “we’re Peace Corps. We can fit inside any car, no matter how much room or how much luggage. I’m going to get my friends, we’ll leave in 5 minutes.” The Sweedes ended up being a blast and gave us a GREAT lift for free, and dropped us at the border of Botswana and Namibia. The 4 of us now had to find a way to get someone to let us hitch hike across the river on the ferry and into even more bush. A few hours later we found a pickup truck and climbed in back. With 8 other people. So it was PACKED- we were piled high with all of our luggage, plus theirs and settled in for a long, bumpy, dirt-road ride. And did I mention, it was POURING?! So we were in the back of an open pickup truck for hours in the rain. We were cold, bruised and muddy by the time we arrived to a village where another pickup truck was waiting to take us to our New Years Party Hotspot. It is (literally) at the end of the world and after traveling through grass (not even a dirt road- people tie toilet paper to trees so they can find their way back) we arrived at this backpacker’s joint that’s being built. So New Years consisted of partying in the bush with hippos, under a full moon, with about 20 other people in the middle of nowhere. It was fantastic. However, we woke up on the first to realize that ALL THE OTHER volunteers had left. Seriously. We looked around and decided we were shipwrecked. Stranded. Ashely at this point goes “we’ll never make any friends” and honestly, the Guinea PCVs are definitely the outsiders. But to be stranded in the bush? Dissed. Luckily the girl who’s building the backpackers and her cousins were around another day, so they gave us a lift to a “nearby” village the following day and we hitched back up the far side of Okavango Delta, over the ferry, and back down to a tourist destination named Maun. (That sounds simple- it took 2 days.)
So now Maun is where all you fancy white tourists go to spend big bucks, and us Peace Corps Volunteers just look hungry and helpless. But we did indulge and took a CRAZY flight over the Okavango Delta (world’s largest inland delta!) to see elephants, zebras, hippos, giraffes and such. Our pilot asked us if we wanted to have some fun (duh!) so we soon found ourselves zipping really low along the ground and doing some acrobatic stunts. SO FUN! We also took a hollowed out tree trunk (traditional mokoro) trip through the delta and we felt like Pocahontas floating through the reeds. It was incredible. We stayed at a great backpackers place and made friends with management who took us out on 1am boat trips to continue after-hours partying. Maun could probably be described as the “Sin City” of Botswana. Like Vegas. Beautiful, but could be troublesome if you don’t watch yourself. (No worries, I watch myself. Obviously.)
So after a few nights in Maun we headed back to Jake’s again because there’s this Peace Corps meeting in a nearby town coming up. Still with Sacha and Jake. Jake and I are about to celebrate our 3 weeks of being joined at the hip anniversary, but these kids are GREAT to travel with. STILL not sick of each other, still not sick of camping: I’m super impressed.
PS- I just ate my first worm. Delicacy? Sike. I screamed.
So Christmas and New Years has been a blast over here. I miss all of you guys (and the apparent blizzard back home!) Love you and hope you all had great holidays over there!! 2010!!!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sea Vomit? Hakuna Matata.
Alright alright, let's get a post going about Botswana. How the heck is this crazy place?
Well, like I've said, it's a middle income country. So it's like a suburb. A suburb of where? Of nowhere. It's a suburb of the desert, but that's fine. If you like strip malls and KFC.
My village is in the Kalahari Desert, and I get to walk through deep sand in heels to get to work. (Mamou had me mountain climbing in heels ... I will never have a problem in shoes after Africa.) Shoshong (my village) is surrounded by beautiful rocky hills, apparently inhabited by baboons and ancestoral spirits. I've yet to encounter either. My house is nice, with water, electricity and an oven stove AND fridge, although there's no kitchen so I wash my dishes in my bathtub. After making a nice dinner it's quite efficient to hop into the bathtub, wash my dishes, then my clothes, and then myself ... all without taking a single step. Efficiency at its finest!
In my yard there's another house for my "mom" who's the nicest lady I've met in this country. I have a "brother" who's a lawschool-dropout turned witch-doctor. He's really smart, and he's starting to warm up to me. He doesn't usually work with white people, but I'm trying to get on his good side. I think putting "Witch Doctor Experience" on med-school applications would really give me an edge!
So people here are ... nothing like Guineans. They don't really like white people. In fact, their Setswana word for us translates to "Vomit of the Sea." It's cute, I know. It really makes me love walking to work in the mornings. It's not malicious, especially because the kids screaming it don't have any idea what it implies, but it does give some insight as to how white people are viewed. Apartheid feelings have spilled over from South Africa. Batswana are proud and whites being around is insulting. They're terrified of me. Those are all some excuses I've heard, take your pick.
That said, I have defied the odds and made a few friends! People were freaking us out, saying we'd never get a dinner invitation (a hilarious logistical nightmare in Guinea because there were so many invites- I had nights where I'd eat dinner at 3 different homes!) - but I've had dinner at 4 different places so far! Not bad for 3 weeks in the village :) However everyone keeps warning me not to hang out with other people or trust them- but they're all saying "Don't trust anyone except me!" Do they want me to hide inside my house all weekend? Because I've done that, and it got old, real fast.
I'm working at a clinic, dealing with HIV+ mothers having babies. One out of three pregnant women here are HIV+ ... it's crazy. But, they can have babies with almost zero risk of transmitting the virus IF they follow a set procedure. However, that's my job in paper. In real life, my boss doesn't talk to me, so I've started working with some NGO workers, doing home visits and visiting bars to teach people how to use condoms.
Bars, that's another thing. These people DRINK. Like, it puts whatever esteem the Irish had in my eyes to SHAME! I go to work at 7am and people are already stumbling around everywhere. The ground is littered with broken bottles, and people are in drunk driving accidents on a regular basis. And the sad thing is that it's everyone, not just young people. Old, children, men, women ... everyone. My village has no cafes, but bars are EVERYWHERE. It's just sad. And the unwanted attention a white girl gets in an African village is just multiplied by creepy drunk men.
So, sea-vomit, drunks, and AIDS. That has been my experience so far, and although it is a huge adjustment, I'm doing okay. Like I've said, I'm making friends and building relationships that I'm praying will turn into good work opportunities.
I still talk to Guinea almost every day. Those guys over there are some of my best friends, and it's been hard coping with that loss- I don't know if realistically I'll ever see them again. I've been spending a fortune on phone calls, and I've got to cut that out or I won't have ANY money left. Someone shot their president in the head Dec. 3rd and he fled to Morocco for medical treatment. He didn't die, but no one knows if he'll go into exile, come back, if there will be another coup d'etat ... it's a mystery. And a nightmare. I just want those people to have a chance to lead normal lives.
On the bright side- that organization I started? My last night in Guinea I sat around a candle and explained to them how to launch their first project- painting a mural of a World Map. I had a book explaining how to do it, step-by-step ... only the books in English. So I translated some colors English to French, threw them some money, and left Guinea laughing at how ridiculous that how-to session went, and at how impossible it would be for them to paint this map. And then one of my best friends, Ama Sara, called me recently and said they've started the map!!!! They got permission, bought paint, and have started drawing. I couldn't believe it ... I actually still can't. They are awesome, and it's so hard knowing that I'll never have a group like that again.
Anyways, that is the latest here in Botswana. Tomorrow I'm running in a 10k race to raise awareness about AIDS. This weekend some PCVs nearby organized a welcome pool party for Sacha Jake and I, then they'll come back to Shoshong with me to go hiking and picnicing- we want to find baboons!! (or spirits.) Christmas will be spent at Jake's village, and New Years we're headed to the Okavango Delta to go camping with hippos and crocodiles!!!! We'll also be renting a plane and flying over the interlinking waterways to scout out some elephants, zebras, lions ... you know. (The Delta is in the Lion King ... and "Hakuna Matata" is true- and the language I speak!)
Alright well I love you all and hope everyone is doing well back home. The support you guys have lent me through this rocky time has been great and know that it's much appreciated!! Take care and have some happy holidays and a great new years!!!!!!!!!!!
Well, like I've said, it's a middle income country. So it's like a suburb. A suburb of where? Of nowhere. It's a suburb of the desert, but that's fine. If you like strip malls and KFC.
My village is in the Kalahari Desert, and I get to walk through deep sand in heels to get to work. (Mamou had me mountain climbing in heels ... I will never have a problem in shoes after Africa.) Shoshong (my village) is surrounded by beautiful rocky hills, apparently inhabited by baboons and ancestoral spirits. I've yet to encounter either. My house is nice, with water, electricity and an oven stove AND fridge, although there's no kitchen so I wash my dishes in my bathtub. After making a nice dinner it's quite efficient to hop into the bathtub, wash my dishes, then my clothes, and then myself ... all without taking a single step. Efficiency at its finest!
In my yard there's another house for my "mom" who's the nicest lady I've met in this country. I have a "brother" who's a lawschool-dropout turned witch-doctor. He's really smart, and he's starting to warm up to me. He doesn't usually work with white people, but I'm trying to get on his good side. I think putting "Witch Doctor Experience" on med-school applications would really give me an edge!
So people here are ... nothing like Guineans. They don't really like white people. In fact, their Setswana word for us translates to "Vomit of the Sea." It's cute, I know. It really makes me love walking to work in the mornings. It's not malicious, especially because the kids screaming it don't have any idea what it implies, but it does give some insight as to how white people are viewed. Apartheid feelings have spilled over from South Africa. Batswana are proud and whites being around is insulting. They're terrified of me. Those are all some excuses I've heard, take your pick.
That said, I have defied the odds and made a few friends! People were freaking us out, saying we'd never get a dinner invitation (a hilarious logistical nightmare in Guinea because there were so many invites- I had nights where I'd eat dinner at 3 different homes!) - but I've had dinner at 4 different places so far! Not bad for 3 weeks in the village :) However everyone keeps warning me not to hang out with other people or trust them- but they're all saying "Don't trust anyone except me!" Do they want me to hide inside my house all weekend? Because I've done that, and it got old, real fast.
I'm working at a clinic, dealing with HIV+ mothers having babies. One out of three pregnant women here are HIV+ ... it's crazy. But, they can have babies with almost zero risk of transmitting the virus IF they follow a set procedure. However, that's my job in paper. In real life, my boss doesn't talk to me, so I've started working with some NGO workers, doing home visits and visiting bars to teach people how to use condoms.
Bars, that's another thing. These people DRINK. Like, it puts whatever esteem the Irish had in my eyes to SHAME! I go to work at 7am and people are already stumbling around everywhere. The ground is littered with broken bottles, and people are in drunk driving accidents on a regular basis. And the sad thing is that it's everyone, not just young people. Old, children, men, women ... everyone. My village has no cafes, but bars are EVERYWHERE. It's just sad. And the unwanted attention a white girl gets in an African village is just multiplied by creepy drunk men.
So, sea-vomit, drunks, and AIDS. That has been my experience so far, and although it is a huge adjustment, I'm doing okay. Like I've said, I'm making friends and building relationships that I'm praying will turn into good work opportunities.
I still talk to Guinea almost every day. Those guys over there are some of my best friends, and it's been hard coping with that loss- I don't know if realistically I'll ever see them again. I've been spending a fortune on phone calls, and I've got to cut that out or I won't have ANY money left. Someone shot their president in the head Dec. 3rd and he fled to Morocco for medical treatment. He didn't die, but no one knows if he'll go into exile, come back, if there will be another coup d'etat ... it's a mystery. And a nightmare. I just want those people to have a chance to lead normal lives.
On the bright side- that organization I started? My last night in Guinea I sat around a candle and explained to them how to launch their first project- painting a mural of a World Map. I had a book explaining how to do it, step-by-step ... only the books in English. So I translated some colors English to French, threw them some money, and left Guinea laughing at how ridiculous that how-to session went, and at how impossible it would be for them to paint this map. And then one of my best friends, Ama Sara, called me recently and said they've started the map!!!! They got permission, bought paint, and have started drawing. I couldn't believe it ... I actually still can't. They are awesome, and it's so hard knowing that I'll never have a group like that again.
Anyways, that is the latest here in Botswana. Tomorrow I'm running in a 10k race to raise awareness about AIDS. This weekend some PCVs nearby organized a welcome pool party for Sacha Jake and I, then they'll come back to Shoshong with me to go hiking and picnicing- we want to find baboons!! (or spirits.) Christmas will be spent at Jake's village, and New Years we're headed to the Okavango Delta to go camping with hippos and crocodiles!!!! We'll also be renting a plane and flying over the interlinking waterways to scout out some elephants, zebras, lions ... you know. (The Delta is in the Lion King ... and "Hakuna Matata" is true- and the language I speak!)
Alright well I love you all and hope everyone is doing well back home. The support you guys have lent me through this rocky time has been great and know that it's much appreciated!! Take care and have some happy holidays and a great new years!!!!!!!!!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
