Combis and Cow Heads

Greetings from Linga Longa, a local watering hole that has WIRELESS INTERNET!

Botswana is truly the wettest land-locked desert. It’s been raining for almost a week. Now, being a Vancouverite, I thought a few summer rainspells would be child’s play... but that has not been the case. When it rains in Gaborone the city transforms into one large, rushing river. The infrastructure was not developed for the rain. Anyways, it makes for an interesting trek to work. Oddly enough, "pula," a cheer and also the currency, means "rain" and "thebe," their cent, means "raindrop." This is because rain, like money, was such a delicacy. My friends here tell me that I should be thankful that I’ve gotten a week break from the normal summer sun and that I’ll regret my whining about the rain once temperatures soar back up... I think they are right! I’m hoping that the rain is gone for good now though as we got a whole day of sun today.

This morning Ellan and I went to a women’s group breakfast with Wairimu, a lady who’s staying in our compound. She’s Kenyan and is working in the Kalahari with the San people. Most of the ladies at the breakfast were Kenyan and there was a lot of discussion and debate about the recent post-election strife in Nairobi. It was super interesting to hear the points of view of women with a personal stake in the political future of the country... rather than regurgitated and exaggerated information from CNN and the likes.

Then we headed to the Son of the Soil cultural festival in Toelkweng. It was definitely the highlight of my time here so far. There was traditional dancing, singing, food and dress. The best part of it all was that it wasn’t at all geared towards tourists, just a genuine community event to celebrate a culture and history that is disappearing and being forgotten amidst the fast cosmopolitan development in Gaborone. To be honest, I felt a little bit like an intruder... I will post some pics from the event, so check them out!
The dancing at Son and Soil was AMAZING. I don’t quite know how to describe it because I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so animated and just incredible. Every dance told a story. Intense expression seeped from the dancers’ eyes, fingers and toes! It was also just nice to visit with people and ask them a multitude of questions about what they were wearing, eating or singing. The Bastwana are very open to all of our questions and are always happy to share their lives with us.

We’re getting ready for another week at our placements. It’s taken a while to get settled in and figure out what I’m supposed to be doing and how I’m supposed to act. But at least I’m busy as I’ve been assigned a bunch of projects. Getting to and from work is definitely adventurous though. I leave home around 6:00am and take two combis to work, stopping along the way to pick up a few pieces of fruit from some lady vendors on the side of the street.

Imagine cattle being corralled into an old rickety sauna-on-wheels then piled one on top of the other. This is what taking a combi is like. They are old vans and Gaborone’s public transport, although there are no schedules, rules of safety measures involved. Walking through the bus depot, a massive concrete slab packed with taxis and combis, is also quite an experience. Let’s just say that being a woman – a white woman – makes it all that more exciting ... and nerve-wracking. Not to mention the theft and danger of being surrounded by unpredictable and crazy combi drivers. I’ve already caught several people, from children to old ladies dressed like a nun, taking a peek into the outside pockets of my backpack. Unfortunately for them, there’s never anything in there. I am tempted to leave them a note though. Most of the time I just turn around and politely tell them that I’m sorry but there’s nothing in there and to try again next time.

Don’t let me paint a picture of a criminal culture though. The bus depot is just a hot-bed for those who reach a level of desperation that I certainly cannot understand. It is crazy, crowded and overwhelming though. But I love it. It’s exciting and feels like some sort of intense cultural immersion... just combi-ing to and from work every day. And I’m getting used to it and know how to clutch my backpack like a child on my front and say “next stop, please” in Setswana.... even though my wimpy announcement, an absolute massacre of the language, is usually followed by chuckles from my fellow passengers. At least I’m entertaining!
That’s it for now, friends! Keep in touch.

Sarah