Reflections on two years

My time in Lehututu is coming to a close, I recently contributed an article to our PC-Botswana newsletter. I thought I would share it on my blog. 

When I signed up for the Peace Corps, I was prepared mentally for pooping in a hole and living in a hut. Well, I almost have that. I certainly don’t have “posh corps.” And if this is considered posh corps—I want to know what the authentic Peace Corps experience is! 

During our site placement meetings in PST, we were asked about what we wanted. I was honest and vocal in saying what I wanted out of my service. I wanted rural. I didn’t need to be around other PCVs. I didn’t mind not having electricity. I was ready for the challenge. I wanted to prove to myself and to my family that I could do it. In America I had hundreds of shoes in my closet, months full of outfits, kitchen gadgets coming out my ears and update my candles and table decorations on a seasonal (okay monthly) basis (feel free to judge me, I don’t mind). I vowed to myself that I could live simply for my time here. 

Let me paint a picture of my life. I live in Lehututu, as the guide books call it “its little more than a sandy spot on the road”  in a little cinderblock house with a flat tin roof-no ceiling, just rafters and tin protecting me from the outside world. My house was built in the early 90s and is slowly crumbing around me. I can see the night sky if I sit at different spots in my house. I have bats that keep me company at night—who needs noise machines when you have the sounds of bats flapping and squeaking around you at night? My water supply is off and on, albeit not as near as bad as other PCVs out there. The entrance to my bathroom is outside, so I usually pee in a bucket instead of making the trip outside. At least I have a bathroom and not a pit latrine. 

My shopping village-where the nearest ATM/Bank and grocery store is about 400 kilometers away from me—thats a 4-5 hour bus ride. I plan my week around when the produce truck comes. It comes on Wednesdays, which means Wednesday afternoons or Thursday is the only time to get produce. Let me use the word produce lightly. Weeks its only potatoes, questionable apples, onions. Good weeks will include wrinkled bell peppers, iffy tomatoes, maybe some bananas, butternut, you can hope for carrots and beets. If you don’t buy produce within 24 to 36 hours of the trucks arrival, you wont be able to buy anything aside from the left over veg which no one wants to buy. Get while the getting is good. 

On the up side we have two bulk food stores in Hukuntsi that cater to the surround settlements. Having the bulk food stores allows us to purchase bulk supplies of canned veggies, rice and pasta—items which are often absent from the shelves of our general dealer. I have to admit, the lady who runs our general dealer will order feta and cheddar cheese for us! Which has been my saving grace these past 20something months. Up until a month ago we were the only subdistrict in Botswana not to have a grocery store and a bank! About a month ago a small Shoppers opened about 100km away! We are still waiting on the bank….  

I also don’t have electricity-not even solar panels. Not having electricity has forced me to be alone with my thoughts in the silence of my house. Back home, I would usually be listening to NPR, podcasts or have music playing in the background. Unless I was busy focusing on school work, there was always noise. I also always had roommate for companionship as well. Never in my life have I been so alone. 

Transportation is always a sticky situation. In the past five months we have had consistent petrol shortages at the nearest petrol station. Leaving the next closest station 100ks away. I am fortunately have a kombi that runs semi regularly to Hukuntsi, the next largest village 15km away, where the general deal is.  We have three buses that go to Gabs daily at 6am, 7am and 11am. I am the second bus stop, more times than I can count I have been at the bus stop and the bus has sailed on by because not one more person could physically fit on it. More times than I can count, I have had to stand for the entire 7+ hour bus ride or site with the driver its been so full. At month end, its impossible to leave my village unless you arrange a ride with a private vehicle. 

Neighboring PCVs….well, I can count them on one hand. Very few of them actually complete their two years for varying reasons…Its like the Kgalagadi spits you out after a while. I don’t know what life is like in the rest of Botswana, but I feel like the Kgalagadi is the forgotten district. That mentality is reflected in every aspect of life. Villagers try and cling to traditional values and practices which clash with government values and programs. Education for example, there is no value in obtaining an education, instead children and parents would prefer to be at the cattle post leading semi-nomadic lifestyles with their cattle. You in fact can still barter livestock for material goods! Why should children sit in English or Setswana class? 

Looking back on my service, I am unspeakably thankful that I have faced these challenges. The ability to be alone with your thoughts is something that I feel most Americans lack. It is certainly not a skill I feel that is honed in my generation. There are weeks that I have had nothing to eat but butternut, onions and beans. This isn’t my own choice, just because there is nothing to be found in the general dealer. I have never had to face a situation like that before. I have always budgeted my money, but I have never before budgeted the cash I had in my wallet to last me until the next time I can make the trek to an ATM. 

I have had my share of bad days, today for instance, tears were in my eyes as I took walked the 3 kilometers from my house to school. The thought of leaving my house to charge my phone and computer were unbearable. I have the ability to say that when I finally leave this place-I will come out stronger. I have done it. I have met my battles head on with little complaining and succeeded. 

Meerkats!

Meerkats. I am obsessed with them.

What really can be cuter? 

We were becoming friends, alas he couldn’t leave his family and start a new colony at my house

I wouldn’t mind being a meerkat in my next life, meerkats are altruistic animals! 

A group of meerkats is called a “mob” or “gang” or “clan” (the original gangsters)  

The end is near....sort of

In July Bots13 came together for our COSC (close of service conference).

Most of Bots13 is leaving in October after completing our service as Life Skills Volunteers.

We were all placed at Primary, Junior or Senior Secondary Schools in Botswana.

Liz, me, Jess and Lisa 

You know, sometimes I just can’t look at Katy without making a face...

coming full circle...

Here is to the next 13 months! 

Lisa, Maggie and I 

When you don’t cut your hair for 2 yeas you get mermaid hair! 

I however, have decided that I haven’t gotten enough. 

I am extending for a third year! 

Lets see how long my hair will be then... 

Silence is deafening

  I was watching a TED talk the other day by novelist Abha Aawesar, a New Yorker recounting the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. She talked about her daily journey hauling water up 7 flights of stairs while holding a flashlight between her teeth because of the power outages, the stores being out of bread, water and other necessities, the struggles of getting a shower and charging electronics. To paraphrase, she says the self as we knew it—was no more. She referring to the ever connected age of technology we live in. I instantly started reflecting my little journey I have be on during the past 20 something months. 

When I was in the process of packing up my piles of clothes and shoes, consolidating the things that “I can’t live without” into two 50 pound suitcases for my 27 month Peace Corps service several realizations dawned on me. I was having anxiety induced meltdowns over which pair of my beloved shoes I should bring or which shirts I wanted to bring with me—even though it was a shirt from the back of my closet I hadn't worn in months. These silly material things were making me cry, snap at my mother who was trying to help me pack and make me question can I do this? This being the Peace Corps. The thought of giving away (or packing away) these silly things that had brought me so much fleeting joy was bring me to tears. 

After taking time to stop packing and reflect on what is important, I decided that I needed to make some changes. I needed to simplify my life. Hitting up the shoe closet at Van Maur brought me great joy or buying a fancy cheese and new kitchen gadget at the grocery store and making a fabulous dish for my friends brought me great joy. Thats not to say that I didn’t find immense joy and satisfaction from my job….but that wasn't enough. You can’t physically carry with you a clients success. You physically carry with you your new Italian leather boots. 

I in the effort to simplify my life, I decided that I wanted to be internet free for the duration of my service—good bye email, Facebook and google. This also meant parting with my smartphone…My loved ones were not as thrilled with this idea. I decided to keep internet and my smartphone, but consciously work on limiting my access to it (via self control).  

Dawesar says our life story needs two dimensions of time—direct experience/ immersive experience (the moment) and our life span—the narration. She claims that our self and our lives stories are being changed in our ever technological world. We are living longer, that dimension of time is lengthening, but our immersive experiences are shrinking. 

As I arrived at my site and was unpacking my belongings. A sudden realization dawned on me. It was quiet. My house was quiet and I was alone with my thoughts. It was scary. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. A restless feeling started to spread over me—what am I supposed to do when I am done unpacking? The house that I live in doesn’t have electricity. My phone and computer only has so much battery life…I can’t have the constant noise in the background that I unknowingly had become accustom to. No amount of preparing could help me deal with the flow of emotions that was washing over me. 

Technology perpetuates the idea that those who have it—so must  everyone else. Imagine, going to a friends house and if their is a lull in conversation not being able to check your phone or surf the web to fill the silence. Or being on a bus, not wanting to strike up a conversation with strangers so you turn to your Huffington Post app. Technology perpetrated every aspect of my life, so many of which I was blissfully unaware of until I was sitting in a house that was growing quickly darker and my phones battery was dead. 

I was suddenly faced with my own revelation. Myself, as I knew it was no more. I was suddenly being forced to live in the moment, live with my thoughts, live with deafening silence, live away from a screen. As my time in Lehututu draws to a close, I am faced with many decisions about my future. How do I live in both worlds? Being truly present in the moment whether in Botswana or in America. 

Dawesars’ Grandmother taught her that things happen in the time we take, it can’t be fought. Reflecting on that unspeakably true statement, I have grown more in the ebb and flow of life and time in the Kgalagadi more than I have in my time in America. Or Is should say, I have grown in a different way than in America. Technology threatens the present. But we have the choice. We can regain our “self” the moments that make our life story. Moments that combine the past, present and future. Every cold winters night that I make myself cocoa I am instantly transported back to my Grandparents kitchen with my PaPa as he looks at me with a twinkle in his eye saying “making cocoa is very scientific.” I can’t help but make it the exact same way as he taught me and wishing he was there to eat marshmallows with me while waiting for it to heat up. I am not sure if I would have the same experience making cocoa in my American kitchen because I wouldn’t have embraced the silence and my thoughts. I wouldn’t be able to experience those memories completely. 

Lashings

I have touched on corporal punishment in Botswana before, but never has it hit me so close to home…

I would like to preface this post, Botswana is a safe country. Yes, there is crime and I do believe that crime is escalating in Botswana as a whole. However, I find that I live in a very safe area of Botswana. Yes, I have had to deal with my share of bothersome men, but there have been very few times (I can count them on one hand) that I have felt unsafe. Seriously unsafe, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your heart races unsafe, fight or flights unsafe. 

There is a gentleman in Hukuntsi who has harassed myself and Sarah for months and months. First it was just annoying. Then he became more erratic in his behaviors. He has grabbed my breasts before, touched us, pushed me and forcible block us from leaving or entering a store.  

A few weeks ago we reported him to the police when he forcibly blocked me from entering a room as we were trying to flee from him. Sarah the lucky lady had made it in the room before he could stop her. We took him to the police and they sat him down and talked to him. He denied everything. He wasn’t bothering us, he just wanted money….etc etc etc. That day in particular he followed us around the shopping “mall” in Hukuntsi, grabbing our arms, yelling at us and  followed into a store. Repeatedly we told him to go away (in English and Setswana) he flat out told us “ke a gona” I am refusing. But yet, he just claims he wanted money. 

For the most part, people in Hukuntsi look out of us, they tell him to go away and make sure we are “safe” 

Not the other day…

Its uncanny, its like the man (he is 20 or 21) has radar for us, the minute is step out of the kombi he was on me. Walking far to close for comfort, yelling that he loves me and something about killing someone. I escaped into my first store, the clerk told him to leave. The minute I left he followed me. Then I escaped to PEP. The manager at PEP is a lady with a pair of lungs, she always does a fine job of yelling at him. Unfortunately she wasn’t there. At this point I was already on the edge of crying out of frustration as I am asking for help. The staff at PEP do nothing but laugh at me and tell me I should hit him. That was the breaking point. I cry. 

Nothing is worse than crying out of frustration. 

Not to mention that crying is a big cultural no-no in Botswana. No one cries (at least in public) and no one knows what to do when they see you crying. Especially a grown woman. People get deer in the headlights looks and don’t make eye contact with you they are so uncomfortable. 

After calling the amazing Thuso our safety and security officer (ironically his name means “help”) he stayed with me on the phone while I walked to the police. Af first the police officers just stare at me. Like its a joke that I am asking for help from this guy. “Ahhh he is mentally ill” they tell me actually its more like “he is not right in the head” but I don’t find that an appropriate way to describe an individual with a mental health diagnosis. Finally the police officer says he will go and find this man.  

A short while later they return and after a rapid discussion all in Setswana the police officer tells me to sit in a particular chair. I didn’t question that so I move. The next thing I know the police officer has a switch in his hand and the man is bent over a chair. The police officer proceeds to switch the man, in front of me. Within 3 feet of my face, in front of me. All the time telling him he needs to leave me alone. Now, this wasn’t the type of switching I see in school, these lashes were meant to leave a mark and inflict pain. The lashing must have been some work for the officer because during it—he removes his jacket. Or maybe the jacket was constricting his range of motion…? After he lashes the guy and yells at him someone the man walks out of the room. It was more of a painful limp of a person who just got their ass beat….The police officer looks at me and says “he won’t bother your anymore” 

Not only have I been subjected to this mans constant harassment, I was just subjected to a beating. I was so unnerved that I was shaking. I ask the officer to walk with me to my kombi stop because I was worried this man wouldn’t leave me alone. The officer looks at me like I was crazy—this man was just beat why wouldn’t he leave you alone? Finally the officer agrees and walks me to the kombi stop. And guess who was at the kombi stop….? 

I wanna be like Harry!

I recently started to “read” Harry Potter, actually I was listening to the audio books. I was never really a HP fan back home. I have never, until this year read the books or watched all of the movies. 

But man o man. I am hooked. First off: The man who reads the audiobooks, has the best voice in the world. Secondly: HP is actually pretty freaken’ amazing. Mad props JKR! 

I was only a book in before I was hooked, so hooked that I have had more than one long conversations with people (mainly Katy) about how awesome it would be if we were witches and in the Peace Corps. Or really, just how useful magical skills would be in life in general.

So I have compiled a list (not limited to…)

Owls: Owls would be handy for many reasons, we wouldn’t have to spent hours of our lives waiting in the queue to mail a letter home. We would owl it! Out of air time? No matata! Send an owl! Feel like you just need some entertainment in your life? Get a pig-wiggen size owl. Done and done. 

Apparition/Disapparate: Its month end and you need money and groceries but don’t want to be crammed like sardines in the bus. Disapparate. Really wish you could see your friend for the weekend but don’t want to spend hours on the bus. Disapparate. Man o man, I am tired of getting Botswana lap dances on the kombi. Disapparate. 

Invisibility cloak: Now, I realize that this is a very special cloak and not every magical being has one….But I need one. Not in the mood to talk to people or have people scream legoka at you? Invisibility cloak. You want to go for a jog but don’t want men stopping and picking you up? Invisibility cloak. 

Spells: Oh my goodness, what spell wouldn’t work. I think really, just having the ability to preform a spell would make our lives completely different. Lets say you don’t have electricity (like me) that can be easily fix! Tired of sweeping? Just bewitch your broom to sweep for you! There can be lots of down time in the Peace Corps, what a great time to prefect and create  a wide variety of spells! 

Brooms: I think this would be ace. I don’t know what I would want more sometimes a broom or a wand….Want to go on a game drive? No problem! Just hop on your broom and have a scenic view of the Delta or Transfrontier. Its month end? No problem, just fly on down to your shopping village.  

I feel like I need to stop…I could go on for days about why I need to be a witch, really, this obsession is getting out of control. I cannot count the number of times I have looked seriously at a person and said “man I need an owl” or some Harry Potter related line. 

But if anyone wants to get me an owl as a gift….

Botswana lap dance

My parents said that so many things happen in Botswana that would make a great movie script....Or a line in a stand up comedy. This is just one of those situations.  

I just wanted eggs. Is that too much to ask? 

We haven’t had petrol (gas) recently, so its been hard to get a lift out of the village to Hukuntsi (12-15ks away) to buy food. After waiting for a lift for an hour, just as I was debating the pros and cons of walking 5ks to the main road for a lift the kombi shows up. There were about 24 of us waiting to get into a 18 passenger van. The orderly sense of queuing was lost in an instant. Frankly I just wasn’t in the mood to push my way on the kombi so I stepped aside. Which worked in my favor….for a short moment. Someone saved me a seat! Although, it was perhaps the worst seat ever—right by the door in the front. Just as I am getting cozy with the granny next to me, a man decides that he MUST get on the kombi. There was about a foot of space in front of me—which is more than enough room for a body. 

So he straddles me. 

Yes, thats right. He straddles me. If I were to move my leg, he wouldn’t have had children. 

Thank god I bathed this morning! And was wearing perfume! 

So we rode like that, him straddling precariously on me. One tap of the breaks or sharp turn and he would be on me like white on rice. 

I should have slipped pulas into his belt….

And guess what. There wasn’t an egg to be found in Hukuntsi.