Ode to SMC

Ode to SMC

Any takers on what SMC is?

Its certainly not anything in ‘Merica that we think about.....

And only men/boys can do it.....

SMC stands for “Safe Male Circumcision,” SMC is a very simple (relatively) way to minimize mens risk for acquiring HIV. SMC can reduce the risk of a male contracting HIV from unprotected intercourse by 60%. It is currently one of the big pushes right now in Southern African to halt the spread of HIV. 

A very readers digested version of circumcision in Botswana: Many many moons ago, before the white people were vomitted from the sea, teen age boys were taken into the bush (literally the bush) and went through initiation schools. Girls did the same too. At this time, boys were then circumcised by the elders of the tribe and taught about manly things. Then the white people came, mainly in the form of Christian missionaries and told the tribes that circumcision was a big no-no. Slowly the circumcisions stopped. Fast forward to present day. White people are now saying that circumcisions is good again. Shish....what to believe?

The idea of circumcision is well....highly not favored by the men folk here. The clinics and health community are pushing SMC hard core with ad campaigns and health movements. To make it even more appealing, it is even free! As a good PCV, I had the health educator come and speak to 130 of my favorite teenage boys of the benefits of SMC.

The presentation was in Setswana, so I didn’t catch most of it, but one of the glorious things about the language is that it is very expressive. So while I didn’t know what exactly what was said--I had a pretty good idea from the presenter and the culmination of laughter and shrieks the boys gave off. 

One of the most common reasons men-folk claim not to get circumcised is the 6 week post surgical period of abstinence. The boys were told that they need to abstain for 6 weeks, then the presenter went on to put the fear of God in them. What better then to tell them that if they had sex, their penises would open up? Perhaps the tip would come off...All one hundred and thirty of them made a collective shriek and squirmed. 

Ideally, the boys will rush the lines to get circumcised...but realistically, this will not happen. My main goal of the presentation, is that these boys will thing about getting circumcised and perhaps one day, actually get circumcised---or better yet. Share the information they learned with their families back home. 

Making balloons

Winter happenings: 

This week....Bathing-well..lets get real. Fully submerging the body hasn’t happened (and its not even that cold yet!) But bucket bathing and baby wipes have. 

This week my skin is shedding like a snake...

This week I drank 11 hot drinks.

This week I sweated not once

I don’t get many visitors-I am okay with that to be completely honest. Yes, part of me twinges with envy with fellow PCVs talk about their visitors etc. But I am a pretty private person and like my alone time (introvert who me?) When I do get visitors it is either the sister of my neighbor or a Form 1 gal who lives down the road. 

This weekend I had a shadow...We had a smashing time. She followed me around as I dug a hole to burn my trash (sorry Mother Earth) and buried my compost--she said it smelled. She watched me do my dishes and make and drink coffee. We counted all the people in my pictures and she asked “O bidiwa mang?” to whom I replied “ Tsala ya me, Amanda/KG/etc.” Then we drew some pictures and learned how to write our names. The highlight of the day was blowing bubbles--or as she called them balloons. It takes a while to get down the technique of not blowing to softly or to hard to maximize the bubble making. I was a proud mother duck, by the end of the day--she had gotten it! And she proudly ran around the compound showing her brother and mum her balloon making skills! 

She also discovered my head lamp and sun-glasses. In which she proudly wore around my house! Later in the afternoon she came back wearing clothing tags on her head--it was her very own head lamp! 

Then as small people (children) she got into everything--So I had to explain to her, no, my leatherman is not a toy, nor is my sewing kit or needles....Oh vey! Kids are tiresome! 

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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)