Strange Occurrences

Winter is coming! People often laugh in disbelief when we talk about how cold it gets in Botswana. Most assume that since it is in Africa (and all of Africa is hot of course) that it would never ever get cold here. Wrong. Big wrong. Botswana is one of the southern most countries in Africa and one of those Tropics cuts the country in half--since I never which I refer to it as “Cancercorn.” Houses, unlike houses in ‘Merica, are not insulated so when its 35 (degrees C or F) outside, it is most likely 35 (degrees C or F) inside. I should of started this when it was 35 C (but now that the weather is approaching 35 F) I shall start documenting things perhaps only PCVs find amusing (and talk about, a lot).

In honor of winter:

This week I bathed (fully submerged by body) two occasions and I used baby wipes on 5.

This week I consumed 9 cups of a hot beverage. 

This week I slept in my long-johns.

This week I only sweated walking to school once! 

This week I was in by bed by 7pm every day of the week because A-it was dark and B-it was cold. 

Now on the the blog...

One of the joys/ironies/difficulties/frustrations/realities of Peace Corps is that there are often situations that just leave you scratching your head. Things happen that you really cannot think about--for they are too strange or will just piss you off. A few of these things has happened in the past week....

Strange Occurrences Number 1: I have heard that villages will go through your trash. I remember laughing (more out of disbelief) when other PCVs talked about hoarding their alcohol bottles or anything personal inside their house since people go through your trash. First off, I hardly ever take out my trash. I have been dutifully given a collection of “black plastics” (black trash bags) by my landlord and instructed to just leave it by the “road.” Since “I stay alone” and my hoarding tendencies are getting slightly out of control, I don’t have a lot of trash. Lets just say that my black plastic has been collecting a few months worth of trash. I also, would like to admit right here and now, that yes, I do wash out my empty containers before putting them in the trash (I am that crazy these days). On Sunday I drag a very full black plastic out to the road, when I leave the house on Monday morning the trash was strewn about. Since I was in a hurry, I made a mental note to pick it up when I got home. When I came home, there were people going through my trash...They had to know that it was my trash--I mean who else would have a box of Velveeta Shells and Cheese?!?! 

It was one of those experiences that leave you feeling awashed with emotions. I was embarrassed, ashamed, upset, creeped out and felt a little violated. This was my trash! I didn’t know what to do--do you confront the women? Do you pretend like you didn’t see it? Do you pretend that its not your trash? I just pretended that I didn’t see them/it wasn’t mine. As I slunk into my house I watched from my window until they were gone and contemplated what to do. Then another women comes up. I was thinking, good god! I will have to sneak out of my house in the cover of the night to pick up the trash! Fortunately she was with the trash collection and snatched my trash right up! 

Strange Occurrence Number 2: I have tried to garden and I have never made it past seedlings. Is it too much to ask for lettuce?! A fresh salad? I think at times it is...My house gets a lot of natural light, so I have been attempting to start seedlings in my window stills. Fail, more failure and more failure. The other day after feeling especially inspired by Sarah’s garden (so jealous) I made up three seedling cups in a tin can and two old milk cartons and left them outside on my back stoop. The day after the trash incident I went out to water them and my tin can was missing! Just plumb disappeared off my stoop. I went to do some investigating around my compound and found the tin can (still full of dirt) sitting  upright on an outdoor cooking platform I have. Very strange. So I put the tin back with the others. Later that night....I went to the bathroom and my seedlings were re-arranged. Strange. 

The next day I head to school and when I come back, the SAME tin was moved. This time it was under the tree. So, I bring it back to the stoop. Then I take a nap...When I awake, the tin has been moved. Are you getting a pattern here??? This has happened every day this week. What are the odds? Things are getting weird. Also, nothing is sprouting (fail). 

I have several dogs on my compound, I have spent a great deal of time (far to much actually) talking to them, inquiring if they have some how grown thumbs and the ability to move my tin. Just my tin, not the milk cartons. 

Just another day in the life I suppose....

Nako e botlhokwa

Time is relevant. It feels like just yesterday I flew to Philly for staging. It seems like just yesterday I left for Missoula. It seems like just yesterday my PaPa made me hot cocoa out of my favorite mug. 

But it wasn’t. 

Just yesterday I spent the day in a results analysis meeting; hearing about the sorry state that our schools are in. Just yesterday, I got two care packages from my family that made my day. Just yesterday I didn’t bathe because the water was off in the morning. Just yesterday I awoke to the news that a bomb went off at the Boston Marathon and peoples lives were forever changed. 

My Peace Corps journey has flown by, but at the same time days feel like they drag on. In August, we are welcoming Bots-14 to this crazy journey and Bots-10 is wrapping up and departing over the next several weeks. Which means...by departure is coming around the bend (time is relevant). 

I have been struggling lately with the feeling that I am not doing much. Every so often I catch up on my blog reading or someone posts on Facebook about a neat project they are doing. I think to myself, what have I done? At times its hard to remember that 2 of the 3 of the goals of Peace Corps are cultural exchange. At times its hard to remember that its the small things in life and the lessons learned. 

So heres to the small things in life....

Watching the starts peek out as the sun leaves the horizon. The stars here are like nothing I have ever seen before...

or 

Sitting on my stoop in the morning watching the absolutely picturesque sun rise--everything looks new and hopefully, the clouds are a silvery pink. Then having Merrill (Griff and I named the puppy on my compound) rush over to me, like I have been gone for ages, for a morning snuggle.

or

Running into my favorite, now retired, cleaning lady from school. Who always to time and patience to help me with Sekgalagadi.

or

Learning how to kill a chicken....

or

Learning how to hitch hike 

or 

Learning how to laugh at myself (again and again and again) 

or 

Learning the art of humility. 

Okavango Half Marathon/5K and Health Fair

A view from the course

Ashley, myself and Maggie 

 

Easter Eggs were a necessity!

 

Of course Smokey came along....

Pushy Grannies and public transport.

When you picture your Granny--you picture a cute, old lady, who sends you spice cookies and since she is old she can say what every she wants and get away with it....99% of the time Grannies are as harmless as flies....right? Maybe in the USofA, but most defiantly not in Botswana (and perhaps the rest of Africa).

I would gather that Grannies in Botswana send their grandchildren mophane worms instead of spice cookies (but the thought is just the same), Grannies here are cute and old...but certainly not harmless as flies when it comes to public transportation. 

In America, we are taught to give up our seats on the bus for older people, pregnant women, disabled etc etc. We hold open doors and let elderly get on the bus/plane/train/etc before you. Thats just the right thing to do. Right???

In Botswana, oh the contrary.

Riding public transportation is like a fight to the death. Age and a gender play no role in this battle to the death. Hitching, buses and khombis (15 seater vans) are the primary form of transportation, and you cram as many people into the vehicle as possible. 

Just last week, I got elbowed by a Granny in her vain attempt to push me out of the way to get on the bus. ELBOWED. It took me so by surprise that she won the battle and took my seat. Fortunately, the khombi driver took pity on my and I uncomfortably perched on the edge of the seat for our ride out of Lehututu. 

There have been many occasions when I have to STAND for several hours on my bus ride back to Lehututu...Buses don’t follow capacity laws, they should--but they don’t. Picture a Grey Hound size bus...then picture that entirely full with 30 people standing in the isle as you speed across Botswana. Riding the bus is a pretty harrowing experience itself. Bus drivers go well over the speed limit--which isn’t that bad...until there is an obstruction in the road. Cows, goats, donkeys, sheep and other vehicles (at times people and donkey carts) frequent the road. Instead of breaking, bus drivers lay on the horn and at the very last minute break and swerve to miss the poor animal. Donkeys are the worst--its a giant game of chicken when a bus and a donkey face off. I prefer to sit in the back so I can’t see what lies ahead of us. 

Personal space is a Western concept--there is no concept of personal space, or at times being polite on the bus. The fuller the bus is...the worse it is. During my enjoyable standing experience last weekend on the bus a lady took my water out of my hands a drank it and shared it with her friends. At Christmas time, as I was taking a mint out of my bag and man helped himself to a mint as well. If you are a lucky one to get a seat, mothers will place their children in your lap as if you are a car seat. I flat out refuse to hold a child--one of my friend got peed on. By the end of all of my bus trips, I can’t take anything seriously...I am completely spent.

And hitch hiking...oh my. Thats another story. Hiking as its commonly called in Botswana is a fairly safe and common means of transport. (The Peace Corps does not recommend hitch hiking as a form of transport, but recognizes that it may be necessary at times) Just as with busses or khombis, drivers will cram as many people into the vehicle as possible. When a car pulls over...you and every other person rush to the driver in the attempts of securing a seat. When I say rush, its like Black Friday when the doors of Wal-Mart open...

I hitched into Medie for Christmas, it was about a 30K ride on a bumpy dirt road...I was lucky (I think) to be in the back seat (versus the truck bed). There were 3 other adults plus myself and 3 kids wedged into a spot that would comfortably accommodate 3 adults. Plus my camping back pack and other peoples groceries. I have to say, it was the worst ride so far in Botswana. But you know what...I got to Katy’s house...safe and sound! 

What have I learned in all of this? All is fair in love and war. There is no sense holding on to your American ideals when it comes to public transit. You have to develop a stance when queuing for your ride and pretend you are a line backer when getting on and off a bus. Oh, and wear close toed shoes...people well step on your toes.  But seriously, if you want to ride public transit in Botswana this is the one time when you really want to integrate (aka be like host country nationals) don’t make eye contact with people as you push them out of the way. 

Go Siame Bats....

As a few of you know, I have had a bat infestation the entire time I have been in Lehututu. Not only are bats bad for your health (lung disease, rabies, ebola to name a few) they are very loud! They lived in my bedroom in the rafters by my tin roof. Every once in a while, I would climb dangerously on to a chair that I put on my bed and doom them--in the vain attempts to kill them. While dooming I would usually scream profanities at them--not that it help, but I sure felt better. Every once in a while, a poor bat would venture down and I would pounce! Half the time I never caught the bat and ended up running around my house with a broom and a can of doom...every once in a while I was lucky! And that poor bat, well, I beat the crap out of it and then pretend I am the Incredible Hulk... Which is shocking, since I am not a violent person at all. Needless to say, my neighbors must think I am very strange with occasional outburst of profanity and Incredible Hulk like grrrring/waving of the arms.  

On Saturday morning a man shows up at my house with a ladder and a bucket of plaster to fill the holes between my tin roof and walls (how the bats enter). Which A-I am very please about but B-the bats are still there and I am damned to let a man seal the bats inside my house. After thinking for a bit, the man decides that my roof needs to come off and he will manually remove said bats. The man tells me that he will be back. About a half hour later he shows up with two men in tow, some beers and a box of chibuka (traditional beer). He proceeds to climb up a very rickety ladder onto my roof and removes a part of the tin. I was asked to climb up and bear witness to the bats nesting peacefully away in my rafters....

The two other men are on bat killing duty inside by bedroom. Which was quite an eventful experience--every once in a while, a bat would escape and the men would run around my tiny room chasing it with sticks....The idea of this is funny, but in reality, it was more funny--partly because these men were already intoxicated and pretending that they too were the Incredible Hulk. 

And I am bat free. (We hope) And my roof is back on! 

I tend to think that bats are smarter than we give them credit for--that night I could hear other bats flying straight into my new patched holes trying to enter the bat cave! Alas, I have foiled their plans of a blissful slumber....muah hahahah (take that!)

9 bats later (yes, there are only 7 in the picture but two are outside)

Peace Corps Week!

Its Peace Corps week! Don’t forget to send some love to your PCVs across the world! (Ahem, it is Girl Scout cookie time....)

Being a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) differs across the world, even vastly within each country. 

Here is a little look into my daily life! 

5:00-6:00 the wild life orchestra wakes me up--its actually an amazing thing to hear (just not when you are trying to sleep). The sounds of chickens, donkeys, cows and dogs echo around my village. I am trying to figure out what they are saying--they make beautiful crescendos and fade away. 

6:00-I check to see if I have water--the oh so precious water of life. If I have none, I usually grumble and go back to bed. If I have a good flow I decided I can go for a run. I have now mastered the art of guessing how soon my water will be out based on the flow. If the flow is mediocre I fill my bath tube while I put on my running clothes. 

7:00-Run is done, bathing has happened if there is water-if not...its baby wipes and baby powder to the rescue. I make coffee and eat oatmeal all while walking around in my delicates in the vain attempt not to sweat. It usually fails. Somewhere in this I look at my leftovers--no mold is a success so I don’t have make lunch. Depending on the mold status I will either keep it for dinner or throw it out. 

8:00-I walk 3K to school, which is about a 30-45 minute walk depending on how many people I run into on the way. I have no electricity, so I tote my computer/other electronics with me to charge. 

830-2:00-I hang out at school. I work the the guidance and counseling department, so if there are classes I help teach or plan lessons. I also get a lot of reading in... On Mondays I go to the clinic and help weigh babies. Its the cutest thing ever! Tiny babies don’t realize that I am not their mother...but kids about 3-5 years old are scared of me. Frankly I would be too! This strange white person trying to weigh them/measure them! 

Tuesdays and Thursdays I have a PACT club at school, so I go to school later and stay later. 

Somewhere in the afternoon, I walk the 3K back home again. Sweating all the way. Once I am home, I open up every door or window possible to air out my oven of a home and put on as little clothes as possible while still remaining decent. 

Dinner is usually a pasta based dish. My thought is that if there is mold, just heat the crap out of it to kill it...so far its worked. The produce man comes once a week to Lehututu. In his visits we get: tomatoes, potatoes, onions, occasionally bell peppers and carrots, apples, occasionally mangos and bananas. As you can tell, I have a very diverse diet! But I have to say, the mangos are TO DIE FOR. 

At about 8:00pm it is dark so that means its time for me to lay in my bed and read or watch movies on my computer. 

Night time in Lehututu can get exciting! The dogs on my compound bark at anything....and bats fly around my room. If they land on my mosquito net I spray them with doom and curse them...but I think they have learned to stay away until I am asleep. 

Now, you might wonder what I am actually working on!

As a Life Skills Volunteer, I am attempting to teach the kids at school this vague topic called “life skills” but, in reality, I try to focus on Peace Corps goals 2 and 3 (refer to previous blog post for PC goals) of cultural exchange. I think that if I could accomplish one thing in my service, it would be critical thinking. And if anyone has tips on teaching critical thinking, I would love to know. 

So,what is life really like? My day sounds pretty romantic--yes? In reality. Peace Corps is hard. Its really hard. At times I feel like I have a mood disorder. Kids and adults in your village make fun of you, ask you for money and things constantly. Your favorite student will come and talk to you, but in reality just want 10 Pula...you go from an instant high to a low in a matter of seconds. Its hot....you stress because you haven’t had water for a few days. Your heart breaks for the villagers who are starving, but you can’t give them money because thats not sustainable. Or for the drunk man passed out under the tree. 

There is a different concept/notion of caring in Botswana, I feel like most of my co-workers care about me, but it is expressed in different ways than in America. Thats been a hard adjustment. At times you feel like screaming--just listen to me and care! But you can’t...so you carry on in silence. Or other times, just want a hug or an affectionate touch--but thats not done here. 

I try to find a joy in every day, something small like the sunrise or sunset. My neighbors dogs running to greet me. A small kid being nice to me. The tuck shop woman's always warm greeting to me. My dinner or lunch not being molded. 

But you know what. I wouldn't change it for the world. It truly is the "toughest job you will ever love" 

Ms. Frizzle

There are times every once in a while that you are suddenly struck with a realization--as if a lightning bolt came out of the sky...or in the cartoons a light bulb goes off in your head. Today was one of those days. 

Growing up, I had never particularly valued my education. I valued my education, but I didn’t VALUE it. All my life I floated along, going from grade to grade, then college, then I worked, then I went back for a Masters on my own dime. My Masters was when I started to “get more bang for my buck” perhaps it was because I was older, doing something I loved or signing the student loan papers...But today was when the lighting bolt hit me. 

The storm has been brewing for a few weeks now...and the lighting struck today. 

I am placed at the Junior Secondary School--its like 8th, 9th and 10th grade rough equivalents in US schools--but its oh so different. The education system is taught in English. My students are coming from Setswana, Sekgalagadi and a few more languages spoken in their homes. Students start “learning” English in form 2. I do not mean to insult the teachers, but the students only have a loose grasp on English--there is no real comprehension. Teachers teach in “chalk and talk” where they write on the board and read it. The students do a so-so job of memorizing statements and then putting the pieces together on exams. 

Three weeks ago I walked into my first classroom. I have never taught students this age before. Frankly, I was anxious...but I walked in and I did it. And you know what--I freaken loved it. For those who don’t know, I teach Guidance and Counseling classes aka self awareness, safe sex, goal setting...all that good “life skills” stuff. Today, I was back in the classroom. What did we do, you might ask? We made paper airplanes. Yes, thats right, paper airplanes. We were talking about self awareness and the kids were having a hard time identifying their likes and dislikes. I have them put down their pens, we made paper airplanes---everyone had a blast and then we related that fun activity to our likes. Granted, I am sure the other teachers won’t appreciate the 40 new paper airplanes that are floating around school....Or the time three weeks ago when I taught the kids how to play “Kingdom, Wisdom, Condom” and the students ran around point at their crotch yelling condom....

(Ahem, Lighting bolt) So, This I Believe. Education--not just going to school. Education is participatory, inclusive and fun. Lessons are tied to an activity that encourages the students to act--more around--be engaged--push their minds. Classes are all infused together--so when a student learns about the government structure in Social Students he will think about that when writing his business plan in Business Studies--Or channel Langston Hughes from English class when doing an Art piece. 

This is my mission. When I teach, I want the students to feel my excitement. Most importantly, make the connection between our activity and the lesson. As a side note, I also try to channel Mrs. Frizzle (yes, from the Magic School Bus) when planning my lessons. 

So damn. I have been lucky. So lucky indeed to have an education, that has given me the power to think critically, grow, fail--get up again, freedom, dreams, and most of all understand the POWER that an education can have on a person. 

So a thank you, to all my inspirational teachers throughout the years:

Mrs. Taylor-1st grade and Mrs. Bullard, in the 3rd grade at Broadmoore Elementary (she was like our own Mrs Frizzle) and Mr. Hull--8th grade Louisiana History at L.J. Alleman Middle School. Now, Mr. Hull scared the crap out of me (and every other student) however, he taught us, and he taught us well. Still to this day, I could recite Louisiana history backwards and forwards and the plight of the Acadians coming down from Nova Scotia area (shocked and awed right??)

And of course-I have had some pretty awesome professors over the years. But that’s a later post...