I found a great internet cafe in Mochudi, where we're doing our second homestay. I only have a few minutes left, so I thought I'd try to give a quick update on life here, although I've barely started to explore the village.
My family is fun. My host mom is more like my sister, she's just a few years older than me. She has three kids: a 6year old boy, and twin 4year olds, a boy and a girl. i think i have 4 other siblings (all in their late 20s and early 30s) but i'm not quite sure who's related to me and who's not. my grandma and grandpa also live at home. my grandma's adorable. she's really sweet. my first morning, as i was washing dishes (and we go through a ton of dishes with so many people and visitors!), she pulled me over to the fire where she was cooking traditional beer in a HUGE pot. she told me all about how she cooks it to sell.
i've been keeping busy by getting out of the house. my first full day in mochudi was spent at a wedding and hanging out with some friends from the program. yesterday, i walked all around the village. murphy, casey and i walked to the top of a hill and looked out over the whole village. it was beautiful, but also shocking because mochudi is SO MUCH bigger than manyana! the houses spread out farther than we could see. i can't wait to explore more.
today i walked into town by myself (about 40 minutes) and found the internet cafe i'm current at. i bought crackers and cheese at the store and had lunch outside with ian, jesse and cameron. we'll see what the rest of today holds!!
on monday, i start working with BOFWA, an organization that focuses on HIV/AIDS issues, especially those surrounding Mochudi's youth. i'm not sure exactly what work i'll be doing, but hopefully it'll be interesting and worthwhile.
email when you can! i want to hear from everyone and look forward to updates!!!!
love,
karen
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
pictures are officially up!
check 'em out:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/album.php?aid=2065125&id=1036350539
http://www.facebook.com/#!/album.php?aid=2065125&id=1036350539
Thursday, September 23, 2010
My Setswana Name!
super, super quick post: my trip up north was incredible. i'll write and post more in the next few days. our current plan is to spend 6 days in gaborone for orientation for the next section of our trip. then we head out to do another homestay and an internship. more to come soon.
but, i forgot to post about my setswana name: Lorato. in setswana, r's are rolled. (also, g's are pronounced as h's) lorato means love. masa gave it to me when we met, and i adore it. we keep all of our names the whole time we're in botswana. it's fun to say my name's lorato when people ask for it at restaurants/hotels. they're always impressed we each have our own setswana name.
the other names in our group also have meanings. i know a few meanings, but not all.
kagiso: peace.
lesego: lucky.
leungo: fruit.
benolo: tenderness.
dimpo: gifts
neo: gift
mpho: gift
naledi: star
other names that i don't know the meaning of:
katlhego
tabo
kano
kabo
boitumelo
in setswana culture, names are given to children based on current situations, hopes or desires. i met a man named Rrapula, which literally means Mr. Rain. My guess is he was either born during the rainy season or during a drought when his family wished for rain. April, my brother, was born in the month of april.
but, i forgot to post about my setswana name: Lorato. in setswana, r's are rolled. (also, g's are pronounced as h's) lorato means love. masa gave it to me when we met, and i adore it. we keep all of our names the whole time we're in botswana. it's fun to say my name's lorato when people ask for it at restaurants/hotels. they're always impressed we each have our own setswana name.
the other names in our group also have meanings. i know a few meanings, but not all.
kagiso: peace.
lesego: lucky.
leungo: fruit.
benolo: tenderness.
dimpo: gifts
neo: gift
mpho: gift
naledi: star
other names that i don't know the meaning of:
katlhego
tabo
kano
kabo
boitumelo
in setswana culture, names are given to children based on current situations, hopes or desires. i met a man named Rrapula, which literally means Mr. Rain. My guess is he was either born during the rainy season or during a drought when his family wished for rain. April, my brother, was born in the month of april.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Life in Manyana
It is so hard to sum up my first month in Botswana. My last post was from Gaborone, the capital city of Botswana. I wish that hadn’t been my last post, because it certainly wasn’t my happiest. Although living here hasn’t always been easy, it’s been wonderful.
We spent our first few days in the country in Gaborone, learning the basics of Setswana and what we should expect during out homestay in Manyana, a medium sized village where we would be living for the first month. On our final night in Gabs, we drove about an hour out of the city to a game reserve. We went on a drive and saw lots of great animals. After safari-ing in Zambia just a few weeks before, a fenced in reserve just can’t compare, although it was fun to be with thirteen new friends. We had a braai, or BBQ, in the middle of the bush, which was incredible - so much delicious food and a warm fire to sit by.
The next morning we headed out to Manyana. I can’t retell my entire month there, so I’ll try to hit the highest highs, lowest lows, and most typical normals. My family in Manyana was small: my mom, Masa was sweet. She mumbled a lot, so it was pretty difficult for me to understand her whether she spoke Setswana or English. She has three kids, and only the youngest still lives at home. The older two work outside Gabs. April was my 25 year old brother (he was born during the fourth month) who lived at home. He is so incredibly nice and fun to hang out with. His English was great, so we mostly talked that way. He was on Manyana’s best soccer team (a goal keeper… of course!) so we talked soccer a lot. I got to watch one of his games which was really fun, even though they suffered a tough loss. April has a 2 year old son who I was never able to meet. He lives with his mom outside Gaborone. April visited once while I was in Manyana, although the trip was unplanned. He spent two days and one night with his girlfriend and son.
The last member of my family was my 5 year old nephew. His name is Brian. When he was born there was too much fluid in his brain and he’s now mentally handicapped. His head is much larger than normal, but he may be the sweetest child I’ve ever met. He can’t walk yet although he’d be physically able to learn with enough practice. He can’t talk or really communicate in any way. He mostly sits and giggles to himself. Sometimes we’d sit on the couch together. I’d have to keep my notebooks out of reach so he wouldn’t rip the pages, but he loved to play with my water bottle.
The hardest adjustment was seeing the living conditions he deals with. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t know what going on around him, although that didn’t make the reality any easier to deal with. He’s still fed three meals a day by someone else in the house. His mom works somewhere else and only came to visit twice while I was in Manyana. There are no resources to help Masa raise her grandson, and so without any judgment, I’ll describe Brian’s life. He has his own room in the house. There’s a low bed with blankets as well as a few blankets and pillows from an old couch on the floor. There’s a dresser tied shut with a piece of cloth in the corner. There’s a huge window that’s covered with a pretty transparent sheet. When Brian’s inside the room, the door is locked shut with cloth that is attached to the window on the other side of the wall. Essentially, it’s locked from the outside. Brain was pretty much only brought out for meals and little else. After eating, he stayed out for anywhere from three to thirty minutes, depending on Masa’s energy level and mood. He’d be put back in the room and the makeshift lock secured each night. Since he loved to play with and explore anything that moved, Brain loved to tug on the door. I could often hear it opening and closing. The lowest low I ever hit was when I had to put Brain back in his room for the first time. When I tried to leave, he crawled after me and whined even after I shut and locked the door. Then I could hear him pulling the door open and listen to it slam shut. I wish I could have kept him out and listened to his laugh all night. Before that, I’d only taken him out to feed and play with him. During those times, he always smiled.
Our house was great. Manyana wasn’t near as rural as I expected, but the surprise made the experience fun. My house had three bedrooms, a sitting room and a kitchen. We had electricity (lights and plugs in the wall) in every room. There was a water spicket in the backyard that we constantly used. My room had a queen sized bed and a dresser filled with Brain’s mom’s clothes. There was a comfy wicker chair, two bed side tables and two huge windows draped in a lacy covering. There was a fridge/freezer in the kitchen and a gas stove, plus lots of cabinets and storage space.
The bathroom situation wasn’t ideal… an outhouse in the back corner of our beautiful yard. The hole was covered with a seat, and there was newspaper there, although I opted to use the tp I’d brought from Gabs. The shower situation was worse. I had a green plastic tub (three feet wide, two feet across and one foot deep) and a small bucket at my disposal. Each morning, I’d heat water on the stove and mix it with cold water. I’d fill the bucket with that and take it into my room, where I had to wash with only that water. If I wasn’t smart with my rationing and ran out, I’d have to reuse the dirty water. Needless to say, I perfected my bathing ritual quite quickly. Since washing my hair and body at the same time wasn’t really an option, I switched between the two. Jesse, another student from Pitzer, described showering as “petting yourself with water” and she was exactly right. After each shower we’d dump the dirty water down the outhouse hole. Adding bath water to the small room somehow magnified the smell by at least 20 times, no exaggeration.
Our yard, both front and back was incredible. I’ll try to get pictures up ASAP, but it’s unbelievable. We had three magnificent orange trees that ran along our front fence. The gate always opened with a recognizable creak so that we always knew if someone was coming or going. There was a path that led up to the house, lined with bushes. Some of the bushes had beautiful pink flowers while others had striking white thorns. To the right, Masa grew sugar cane, which April was often munching on. To the left was the outside kitchen, where Masa built a fire each morning and did work outside. That kitchen was attached to what April lovingly referred to as his “drunk house.” It’s the room he moved into so that he wouldn’t wake his mom up all the time when he came home after she’d gone to bed and locked the doors.
Food.... mmmmm. I certainly tried lots of new food, some of which I loved and some of which I didn’t. I decided that while I was in Botswana, I’d eat meat. I’ve been a pescitarian for about three years now, and going back to eating beef and other meat wasn’t easy. I decided to eat meat because food in general is such a large part of Setswana culture and I’m not opposed to the way animals are treated here. Although I was expecting to eat fresh meat here, the majority of meat that I ate came from cans and looked just like cat food. During the week, we ate breakfast and dinner at home and had lunch at school. We ate all weekend meals at home. School food wasn’t much different from what we got at home - it was all soaked in oil. Vegetables are never eaten raw and the meat is cooked until it resembles jerky in texture. On one of my last days, I tried chicken gizzards. Ick. The staple dish is phaleche, which is similar to nsima in Malawi. It’s made by adding maize flower to boiling water and stirring incredibly hard and fast. We didn’t eat phaleche very often, but when we did, it was either with morogo (vegetables) dripping oil or heavily seasoned meat. Other dinners included rice or pasta with vegetables or meat. Breakfasts were pretty much always motogo, or sour porridge. Plain, it was pretty gross. Not even a Motswana will eat motogo without ample amounts of sugar and milk. I learned to ignore the gross amounts of sugar I added each morning to make the porridge sweet and yummy. When we were lucky or Masa had just been to the store, we had scrambled eggs for breakfast. All of that said, I also had some delicious food. Our house often had homemade bread as well. There were lots of delicious kinds of bread, dipapathatas are similar to English muffins, magwina aka fat cakes is dough boiled in oil and dumplings are dough boiled in water. I didn’t get to cook as much as I would have liked. One of my assignments for a class was to write a narrative about any cultural experience we’d had. I decided to write about trying to cook, and my paper's the previous post. Just know that while I do enjoy cooking, I have a hard time without a recipe.
On days off, I went on a few hikes with friends. We found a few great spots. The first was a rock overlooking the entire valley. The view was breathtaking. We tried to hike up toward the end of our trip to watch the sunrise but the day we picked was too overcast. We ended up watching the world around us get lighter without actually seeing the sun.
A really common hangout for us was at the river. Since it’s heading into but not quite the rainy season yet, the river was pretty low. There were a few spots we’d hangout in the afternoons to pass time. Sometimes we’d work or study, sometimes we’d all read silently and sometimes we’d just talk. I always managed to take my shoes off and stroll around in the cool water. One place had incredibly gorgeous rocks all around. You could see the layers and imagine the time that had passed. Here, we’d either sit on stepping stones in the river or about twenty feet on a cliff up above, looking down on the water. We lovingly referred to another favorite spot as “the waterfall.” In reality, it was another beautiful rock face where water trickled down. The water source was as huge field that had once been dammed. It was maybe thirty feet tall, with no “waterfalls” bigger than two feet anywhere. There was one tree that provided shade on hot days. When the sunset, the view was breathtaking. (again, see facebook pictures)
One Friday, we went to Mankodi’s Culture Day. Mankodi is another village, about twenty minutes from Manyana. We took public transportation for our first time. There is a completely different concept of personal space here. People were literally sitting on my shoulder. We got there at 8:00, right when it was supposed to start. We anticipated waiting around a little since we’d already become very familiar with “Botswana time.” The event didn’t end up starting until 11. We had also anticipated seeing cultural dances, hearing songs and experiencing other aspects of Setswana culture. In reality, it was an event based more on talking about preserving culture than it was actually preserving it. The day started off with a procession of men, followed by women in traditional dress into the kgotla. When the kgosi (chief) entered, we all stood. We then sang the national anthem, and people were really impressed we all knew the words. We’d been singing it every morning since arriving in Manyana. A series of men made speeches about the importance of preserving culture. Unfortunately, they were all in Setswana so I could only pick out words. We saw one youth group perform a song/drama about HIV/AIDS and how having multiple partners can quicken the spread of the disease. We left at 1 because we had to get back to Manyana for a wedding. None of us had ever met the bride or groom but we were ushered into the tent. In Setswana culture, events don’t require an invitation; you can show up to a wedding, funeral or party if you want to. Invited guests were seated under the tent and everyone else was seated on the ground or on rocks outside. We dressed formally – in black and white. We’d missed the ceremony itself and showed up for the reception, which could have taken place anywhere in the states. It was held until a white tent, with plastic chairs covered in white material and beautiful settings on the table. The bride wore a beautiful wedding dress. Her train was lilac, to match her bridesmaids. There was a ring bearer as well. We were served yummy, yummy food. What we’d been told about, and certainly lived up to expectations, was seswa, or shredded beef. There was a choreographed dance for the wedding party, but really no other dancing.
I had the most incredible experience shadowing a potter. It was another group’s Day in the Life project, but I decided to go along and make a pot. We ended up spending five afternoons with the potter, each making our own unique pot. On day one, we made the top half of the pot. Two days later, we made the bottom. The next week, we smoothed the outside with a rock and then rubbed goat’s fat on it to make it smooth. The next day, we smoothed the inside with part of a soda can. We each had to find a soda can and then rub the top on the cement until the very top became detached. We used that to scrape any bumps off the inside of the pot. On the final day, we fired our pots using cow dung, which we had to collect off the road. Our pots all turned out wonderful.
On our last Sunday in Manyana, a group of us went to visit the mosimo, or the lands. We went with Robert, one of our Setswana teachers who’s from Manyana, to see his family lands. Although we’d planned to head out at 3pm, we left around 4. We walked for at least forty minutes through gorgeous fields. There were occasionally cows and goats. We eventually got to Robert's lands which include huge granite hills. As I understand it, his family is currently negotiating with mining companies to extract the rock. We kept walking and eventually came to a pretty sizeable hill. We climbed/scrambled/jumped up the hill to what is now known as Pride Rock. The land stretched forever in all directions. We could see fields, the outskirts of the village, animals, more hills, and beautiful trees. We stayed at the top until the sun was completely behind the horizon and then headed down. We ended up walking home in the dark, but it was worth it.
Sunrises in the morning were beyond description. I tended to wake up right at 6:30. I’d walk to the bathroom and stop every time to look at the sun. I never saw the beginning of the actual sunrise, but my timing couldn’t have been better. The full sun always hung just over the horizon. The sky would glow brilliant pinks and oranges. I love that moment when the sun is still dull enough to where you can look right at it and soak up the new rays.
We saw all sorts of animals everyday in Manyana. We passed donkeys, chickens, goats and cows on our way to school. Since it was spring, there were lots of babies everywhere. Sometimes the animals were penned and sometimes they weren’t. Lots of the goats and cows had bells on. One day, on the way home from school, Ian and I came across a chicken fight. I’d never seen a chicken fight before but watching was pretty incredible. We stopped to take some pictures and I luckily got some great shots. A few batswana stopped to watch us watching the chickens.
Stars were incredible in Manyana. Since most homes had electricity, outside lights were often left on and contributed to the minimal light pollution. Just on the walk from the house to the bathroom I could pick out the very few constellations I know in the southern hemisphere: Scorpio and the Southern Cross. When I’d walk around at night, I could find patches of sky that were breathtaking. The Milky Way was visible every night.
TV in Manyana was insane. My family watched all the time. When I got up in the morning, it was already on. Most of the time, a show would be on but gospel radio would be on the audio. One morning, I woke up and it was eerily quiet but I couldn’t figure out why. I tried to turn on my light and realized the power was out, and so the TV was off. Most of the students got hooked on a soap called Generations. It’s a really funny show filmed in South Africa. At least three different languages are spoken and subtitles were in English. At the first break of Generations, a commercial for Omo washing powder always came on. It was by far my favorite commercial. There were also a lot of commercials for HIV/AIDS prevention, testing together, and the possibility of having a negative baby even if the couple is positive. My least favorite commercial’s tag line: “Unsure? Insure. Be sure.”
For my last morning in Manyana, I woke up at 530 and climbed a hill in total darkness with Ian to watch the sunrise. It was great to watch the whole village light up before our eyes. There were clouds that they lit up brilliant colors. The sun didn’t rise above them until I was walking home, but the view was still beyond words.
I hope that was enough of a description for now! I'll try to write and post more often, and hopefully I'll have more access to internet in the near future. Now, we're spending one night in Gaborone, where I'm online checking email and writing this. Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn (Botswana time) we leave for the northern part of the country. We're spending 8 days touring Chobe and Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. I can't wait!
pictures from Manyana and Vic Falls: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2065125&id=1036350539&l=c6e0c95b23
We spent our first few days in the country in Gaborone, learning the basics of Setswana and what we should expect during out homestay in Manyana, a medium sized village where we would be living for the first month. On our final night in Gabs, we drove about an hour out of the city to a game reserve. We went on a drive and saw lots of great animals. After safari-ing in Zambia just a few weeks before, a fenced in reserve just can’t compare, although it was fun to be with thirteen new friends. We had a braai, or BBQ, in the middle of the bush, which was incredible - so much delicious food and a warm fire to sit by.
The next morning we headed out to Manyana. I can’t retell my entire month there, so I’ll try to hit the highest highs, lowest lows, and most typical normals. My family in Manyana was small: my mom, Masa was sweet. She mumbled a lot, so it was pretty difficult for me to understand her whether she spoke Setswana or English. She has three kids, and only the youngest still lives at home. The older two work outside Gabs. April was my 25 year old brother (he was born during the fourth month) who lived at home. He is so incredibly nice and fun to hang out with. His English was great, so we mostly talked that way. He was on Manyana’s best soccer team (a goal keeper… of course!) so we talked soccer a lot. I got to watch one of his games which was really fun, even though they suffered a tough loss. April has a 2 year old son who I was never able to meet. He lives with his mom outside Gaborone. April visited once while I was in Manyana, although the trip was unplanned. He spent two days and one night with his girlfriend and son.
The last member of my family was my 5 year old nephew. His name is Brian. When he was born there was too much fluid in his brain and he’s now mentally handicapped. His head is much larger than normal, but he may be the sweetest child I’ve ever met. He can’t walk yet although he’d be physically able to learn with enough practice. He can’t talk or really communicate in any way. He mostly sits and giggles to himself. Sometimes we’d sit on the couch together. I’d have to keep my notebooks out of reach so he wouldn’t rip the pages, but he loved to play with my water bottle.
The hardest adjustment was seeing the living conditions he deals with. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t know what going on around him, although that didn’t make the reality any easier to deal with. He’s still fed three meals a day by someone else in the house. His mom works somewhere else and only came to visit twice while I was in Manyana. There are no resources to help Masa raise her grandson, and so without any judgment, I’ll describe Brian’s life. He has his own room in the house. There’s a low bed with blankets as well as a few blankets and pillows from an old couch on the floor. There’s a dresser tied shut with a piece of cloth in the corner. There’s a huge window that’s covered with a pretty transparent sheet. When Brian’s inside the room, the door is locked shut with cloth that is attached to the window on the other side of the wall. Essentially, it’s locked from the outside. Brain was pretty much only brought out for meals and little else. After eating, he stayed out for anywhere from three to thirty minutes, depending on Masa’s energy level and mood. He’d be put back in the room and the makeshift lock secured each night. Since he loved to play with and explore anything that moved, Brain loved to tug on the door. I could often hear it opening and closing. The lowest low I ever hit was when I had to put Brain back in his room for the first time. When I tried to leave, he crawled after me and whined even after I shut and locked the door. Then I could hear him pulling the door open and listen to it slam shut. I wish I could have kept him out and listened to his laugh all night. Before that, I’d only taken him out to feed and play with him. During those times, he always smiled.
Our house was great. Manyana wasn’t near as rural as I expected, but the surprise made the experience fun. My house had three bedrooms, a sitting room and a kitchen. We had electricity (lights and plugs in the wall) in every room. There was a water spicket in the backyard that we constantly used. My room had a queen sized bed and a dresser filled with Brain’s mom’s clothes. There was a comfy wicker chair, two bed side tables and two huge windows draped in a lacy covering. There was a fridge/freezer in the kitchen and a gas stove, plus lots of cabinets and storage space.
The bathroom situation wasn’t ideal… an outhouse in the back corner of our beautiful yard. The hole was covered with a seat, and there was newspaper there, although I opted to use the tp I’d brought from Gabs. The shower situation was worse. I had a green plastic tub (three feet wide, two feet across and one foot deep) and a small bucket at my disposal. Each morning, I’d heat water on the stove and mix it with cold water. I’d fill the bucket with that and take it into my room, where I had to wash with only that water. If I wasn’t smart with my rationing and ran out, I’d have to reuse the dirty water. Needless to say, I perfected my bathing ritual quite quickly. Since washing my hair and body at the same time wasn’t really an option, I switched between the two. Jesse, another student from Pitzer, described showering as “petting yourself with water” and she was exactly right. After each shower we’d dump the dirty water down the outhouse hole. Adding bath water to the small room somehow magnified the smell by at least 20 times, no exaggeration.
Our yard, both front and back was incredible. I’ll try to get pictures up ASAP, but it’s unbelievable. We had three magnificent orange trees that ran along our front fence. The gate always opened with a recognizable creak so that we always knew if someone was coming or going. There was a path that led up to the house, lined with bushes. Some of the bushes had beautiful pink flowers while others had striking white thorns. To the right, Masa grew sugar cane, which April was often munching on. To the left was the outside kitchen, where Masa built a fire each morning and did work outside. That kitchen was attached to what April lovingly referred to as his “drunk house.” It’s the room he moved into so that he wouldn’t wake his mom up all the time when he came home after she’d gone to bed and locked the doors.
Food.... mmmmm. I certainly tried lots of new food, some of which I loved and some of which I didn’t. I decided that while I was in Botswana, I’d eat meat. I’ve been a pescitarian for about three years now, and going back to eating beef and other meat wasn’t easy. I decided to eat meat because food in general is such a large part of Setswana culture and I’m not opposed to the way animals are treated here. Although I was expecting to eat fresh meat here, the majority of meat that I ate came from cans and looked just like cat food. During the week, we ate breakfast and dinner at home and had lunch at school. We ate all weekend meals at home. School food wasn’t much different from what we got at home - it was all soaked in oil. Vegetables are never eaten raw and the meat is cooked until it resembles jerky in texture. On one of my last days, I tried chicken gizzards. Ick. The staple dish is phaleche, which is similar to nsima in Malawi. It’s made by adding maize flower to boiling water and stirring incredibly hard and fast. We didn’t eat phaleche very often, but when we did, it was either with morogo (vegetables) dripping oil or heavily seasoned meat. Other dinners included rice or pasta with vegetables or meat. Breakfasts were pretty much always motogo, or sour porridge. Plain, it was pretty gross. Not even a Motswana will eat motogo without ample amounts of sugar and milk. I learned to ignore the gross amounts of sugar I added each morning to make the porridge sweet and yummy. When we were lucky or Masa had just been to the store, we had scrambled eggs for breakfast. All of that said, I also had some delicious food. Our house often had homemade bread as well. There were lots of delicious kinds of bread, dipapathatas are similar to English muffins, magwina aka fat cakes is dough boiled in oil and dumplings are dough boiled in water. I didn’t get to cook as much as I would have liked. One of my assignments for a class was to write a narrative about any cultural experience we’d had. I decided to write about trying to cook, and my paper's the previous post. Just know that while I do enjoy cooking, I have a hard time without a recipe.
On days off, I went on a few hikes with friends. We found a few great spots. The first was a rock overlooking the entire valley. The view was breathtaking. We tried to hike up toward the end of our trip to watch the sunrise but the day we picked was too overcast. We ended up watching the world around us get lighter without actually seeing the sun.
A really common hangout for us was at the river. Since it’s heading into but not quite the rainy season yet, the river was pretty low. There were a few spots we’d hangout in the afternoons to pass time. Sometimes we’d work or study, sometimes we’d all read silently and sometimes we’d just talk. I always managed to take my shoes off and stroll around in the cool water. One place had incredibly gorgeous rocks all around. You could see the layers and imagine the time that had passed. Here, we’d either sit on stepping stones in the river or about twenty feet on a cliff up above, looking down on the water. We lovingly referred to another favorite spot as “the waterfall.” In reality, it was another beautiful rock face where water trickled down. The water source was as huge field that had once been dammed. It was maybe thirty feet tall, with no “waterfalls” bigger than two feet anywhere. There was one tree that provided shade on hot days. When the sunset, the view was breathtaking. (again, see facebook pictures)
One Friday, we went to Mankodi’s Culture Day. Mankodi is another village, about twenty minutes from Manyana. We took public transportation for our first time. There is a completely different concept of personal space here. People were literally sitting on my shoulder. We got there at 8:00, right when it was supposed to start. We anticipated waiting around a little since we’d already become very familiar with “Botswana time.” The event didn’t end up starting until 11. We had also anticipated seeing cultural dances, hearing songs and experiencing other aspects of Setswana culture. In reality, it was an event based more on talking about preserving culture than it was actually preserving it. The day started off with a procession of men, followed by women in traditional dress into the kgotla. When the kgosi (chief) entered, we all stood. We then sang the national anthem, and people were really impressed we all knew the words. We’d been singing it every morning since arriving in Manyana. A series of men made speeches about the importance of preserving culture. Unfortunately, they were all in Setswana so I could only pick out words. We saw one youth group perform a song/drama about HIV/AIDS and how having multiple partners can quicken the spread of the disease. We left at 1 because we had to get back to Manyana for a wedding. None of us had ever met the bride or groom but we were ushered into the tent. In Setswana culture, events don’t require an invitation; you can show up to a wedding, funeral or party if you want to. Invited guests were seated under the tent and everyone else was seated on the ground or on rocks outside. We dressed formally – in black and white. We’d missed the ceremony itself and showed up for the reception, which could have taken place anywhere in the states. It was held until a white tent, with plastic chairs covered in white material and beautiful settings on the table. The bride wore a beautiful wedding dress. Her train was lilac, to match her bridesmaids. There was a ring bearer as well. We were served yummy, yummy food. What we’d been told about, and certainly lived up to expectations, was seswa, or shredded beef. There was a choreographed dance for the wedding party, but really no other dancing.
I had the most incredible experience shadowing a potter. It was another group’s Day in the Life project, but I decided to go along and make a pot. We ended up spending five afternoons with the potter, each making our own unique pot. On day one, we made the top half of the pot. Two days later, we made the bottom. The next week, we smoothed the outside with a rock and then rubbed goat’s fat on it to make it smooth. The next day, we smoothed the inside with part of a soda can. We each had to find a soda can and then rub the top on the cement until the very top became detached. We used that to scrape any bumps off the inside of the pot. On the final day, we fired our pots using cow dung, which we had to collect off the road. Our pots all turned out wonderful.
On our last Sunday in Manyana, a group of us went to visit the mosimo, or the lands. We went with Robert, one of our Setswana teachers who’s from Manyana, to see his family lands. Although we’d planned to head out at 3pm, we left around 4. We walked for at least forty minutes through gorgeous fields. There were occasionally cows and goats. We eventually got to Robert's lands which include huge granite hills. As I understand it, his family is currently negotiating with mining companies to extract the rock. We kept walking and eventually came to a pretty sizeable hill. We climbed/scrambled/jumped up the hill to what is now known as Pride Rock. The land stretched forever in all directions. We could see fields, the outskirts of the village, animals, more hills, and beautiful trees. We stayed at the top until the sun was completely behind the horizon and then headed down. We ended up walking home in the dark, but it was worth it.
Sunrises in the morning were beyond description. I tended to wake up right at 6:30. I’d walk to the bathroom and stop every time to look at the sun. I never saw the beginning of the actual sunrise, but my timing couldn’t have been better. The full sun always hung just over the horizon. The sky would glow brilliant pinks and oranges. I love that moment when the sun is still dull enough to where you can look right at it and soak up the new rays.
We saw all sorts of animals everyday in Manyana. We passed donkeys, chickens, goats and cows on our way to school. Since it was spring, there were lots of babies everywhere. Sometimes the animals were penned and sometimes they weren’t. Lots of the goats and cows had bells on. One day, on the way home from school, Ian and I came across a chicken fight. I’d never seen a chicken fight before but watching was pretty incredible. We stopped to take some pictures and I luckily got some great shots. A few batswana stopped to watch us watching the chickens.
Stars were incredible in Manyana. Since most homes had electricity, outside lights were often left on and contributed to the minimal light pollution. Just on the walk from the house to the bathroom I could pick out the very few constellations I know in the southern hemisphere: Scorpio and the Southern Cross. When I’d walk around at night, I could find patches of sky that were breathtaking. The Milky Way was visible every night.
TV in Manyana was insane. My family watched all the time. When I got up in the morning, it was already on. Most of the time, a show would be on but gospel radio would be on the audio. One morning, I woke up and it was eerily quiet but I couldn’t figure out why. I tried to turn on my light and realized the power was out, and so the TV was off. Most of the students got hooked on a soap called Generations. It’s a really funny show filmed in South Africa. At least three different languages are spoken and subtitles were in English. At the first break of Generations, a commercial for Omo washing powder always came on. It was by far my favorite commercial. There were also a lot of commercials for HIV/AIDS prevention, testing together, and the possibility of having a negative baby even if the couple is positive. My least favorite commercial’s tag line: “Unsure? Insure. Be sure.”
For my last morning in Manyana, I woke up at 530 and climbed a hill in total darkness with Ian to watch the sunrise. It was great to watch the whole village light up before our eyes. There were clouds that they lit up brilliant colors. The sun didn’t rise above them until I was walking home, but the view was still beyond words.
I hope that was enough of a description for now! I'll try to write and post more often, and hopefully I'll have more access to internet in the near future. Now, we're spending one night in Gaborone, where I'm online checking email and writing this. Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn (Botswana time) we leave for the northern part of the country. We're spending 8 days touring Chobe and Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. I can't wait!
pictures from Manyana and Vic Falls: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2065125&id=1036350539&l=c6e0c95b23
Cooking in Botswana
Here is my narrative for a class here in Botswana. I tried to sum up my first few experiences in the kitchen: I’ve never been one for cooking at home and was excited to try my luck in a kitchen in Botswana. I couldn’t wait to learn to make phaleche and more contemporary dishes in Setswana culture. Upon arriving in Manyana, I told my host mom and brother, Masa and April respectively, that I didn’t know how to cook but that I’d love to learn. They laughed at the thought and continued to do so every time I offered to help in the kitchen. They always said I could help tomorrow, but tomorrow didn’t come for a long time.
I had one particularly interesting conversation with April regarding his role as the only child still at home. As Masa’s son, he often cooked breakfast and dinner. Without his sister living at home, April assumed the role a female child would normally take in Setswana culture. Had his sister been home, he would have been embarrassed to be in the kitchen at all. He hinted that with me now in the house, he would be cooking much less.
My first experience in our kitchen can’t really be called cooking. On only my third day in Manyana, my mom sat me down in the kitchen after school. In front of me was a cutting board, onion, green pepper, two carrots and a knife. Without any instruction, Mma-Masa simply said, “let’s see if you’re a good girl” and walked away. Slightly shocked that my success as a daughter depended on my talents in the one room I’d always avoided, I picked up the knife. Luckily, I’ve cut vegetables before. My eyes watered when the onion’s smell hit them although I successfully diced the entire thing. The green peppers gave off the delicious crisp sound of fresh vegetables with each slice. Peeling the carrots was a different story. Having only used a peeler in the past, I shakily used the knife to pull back the dirt-covered outer layer. After finishing with my three vegetables, I called Mma-Masa back into the kitchen. She exclaimed that I indeed was a good girl! Excited to help her cook the vegetables, I stood in place. She quickly ushered me out and reassured me again that I’d cook tomorrow.
Two days later I decided to try to prove myself again. Avoiding the gas burning stove I didn’t know how to operate, I decided to make orange juice. We have three beautiful orange trees in our front yard that I couldn’t wait to exploit. I picked a total of twelve oranges, which I sliced and juiced. The kitchen smelled mouth-watering and fresh. I added sugar, and lots of it, to help with the sour tang. After sampling the juice, I added water to dilute the heavy flavor. No matter what I added I couldn’t find the sweet, simple taste of yummy orange juice. To me, the drink tasted like incredibly sour sugar. Eventually, I let Masa and April sample my concoction. To my amazement, they both finished their glasses. Within the next day, Masa had singlehandedly finished what remained in the pitcher.
My second time in the kitchen didn’t go well at all. Masa was in Gaborone for the weekend celebrating the marriage of her niece. Without having cooked yet, April let me know I was in charge of dinner and that he would be back around 7pm. I decided to make something from the States to change up our pretty standard diet. I got specific instructions from friends at school on how to turn on a gas stove and cook French toast and French fries, two very difficult things to mess up. On my way home from class, I bought the ingredients I’d need: sliced bread, potatoes and eggs. I went straight home to start cutting the potatoes. I used a peeler this time to once again peel back the dirty skin. Once the potatoes were sliced into thin fry-like shapes, I decided to cook them. I lit a match and held it next to the burner. I turned on the gas and it lit! I felt accomplished as all of my worrying about not being able to light the stove flew from my mind, until the burner went out about three seconds later. I tried to light the same burner, but this time, nothing. I tried and tried again. Worried that I was letting too much gas into the house, I decided to wait for April to get home from soccer practice. I cracked and whipped the eggs to get them all ready for the toast.
I waited until seven, when April came in looking tired. I apologized for not having dinner ready and let him know I hadn’t been able to turn on the stove. He walked right in and opened the gas valve. I tried to laugh it off as a simple mistake. My family at home would have shrugged it off and enjoyed poking fun at my obvious lack of attentiveness. April, however, was visibly annoyed. He lit two burners for me and went to wait in the other room. I filled one pan with oil and potato wedges and set it on the front burner. I put butter on the bottom of the other pan, dipped a slice of bread in the egg batter and set it down. I realized right away I hadn’t put enough butter because the bread stuck to the pan and sizzled loudly. I dipped another piece and fit it onto the pan as well.
I immediately felt overwhelmed with two pans on the stove at once, despite the fact that the potatoes were cooking really slowly and didn’t need much attention. I flipped the bread and heard April enter the kitchen behind me. He asked if everything was okay. I turned around to answer that I was doing fine until I realized I wasn’t. The entire kitchen was so filled with smoke I could barely see the man standing just a few feet in front of me. By concentrating so intently on the pans, I hadn’t seen or smelled the smoke. Now that I knew it was there, the room stank of burn. I told him I just hadn’t put enough butter on the pan, which he confirmed as he opened the door and windows. I followed him into the other room to see the windows and door already open. He sat back down and I returned to the kitchen.
I covered the pan in butter for my second batch of toast, ignoring my desire to keep the toast as healthy as possible since the fries were soaking up the oil. I gave the potatoes a stir and flipped the bread. Eventually, enough bread and fries were done for the first serving. I made up a plate with four slices of bread and a mountain of fries for April. When I took it out to him, he immediately asked for tomato sauce. Oops. After trying the fries, he asked for salt. Double oops. He ate as I went back to the kitchen to tend to the rest of the uncooked potatoes.
April brought in his unfinished plate, covered it and left it on top of the fridge to eat later, assuring me he liked the meal but that he wasn’t very hungry. His fries were gone but one piece of French toast remained. I really enjoyed my food; and ignoring that I had filled the house with smoke and hadn’t been able to turn the stove on, I thought I had prepared a pretty good meal.
The next night, I was again left to make dinner. I stuck to something I thought I could handle: pasta with vegetables on top. I knew how to make pasta, add it to boiling water and remove it when it tastes like it’s done. Having learned how to properly work our stove, I cooked the pasta no problem. I cut the veggies I planned on using and went to add them to the canned meat I knew April loved. I couldn’t figure out how to open the can because it comes with a special tool and doesn’t work with conventional can openers. I again had to wait until after 7pm to cook.
April helped me to open the can and after telling me how to cook the meat, left me on my own. After that, I was successfully able to make the sauce for the top of the pasta. I served us at the same time that night, and we talked as we ate. April and I called Ian to make plans for the next day. While on the phone, April told him that tonight, I’d cooked a great meal. He liked the pasta and meat a lot, unlike our previous dinner, which he hadn’t liked at all. I appreciated April’s honesty, even if it wasn’t directed at me.
When I arrived in Botswana, I expected to learn how to cook well enough to feed my family. I knew that as a female, I would probably be expected to work in the house to prepare meals. What I hadn’t expected was that it would be assumed I would know how to cook and would be left in the kitchen without a recipe or plan. Although I’d impressed Mma-Masa with my chopping abilities, I hadn’t impressed April with my American dinner. Since eating my food, April has been much more willing to show me how to do things around the house and no longer assumes I know how to do seemingly simple tasks.
I had one particularly interesting conversation with April regarding his role as the only child still at home. As Masa’s son, he often cooked breakfast and dinner. Without his sister living at home, April assumed the role a female child would normally take in Setswana culture. Had his sister been home, he would have been embarrassed to be in the kitchen at all. He hinted that with me now in the house, he would be cooking much less.
My first experience in our kitchen can’t really be called cooking. On only my third day in Manyana, my mom sat me down in the kitchen after school. In front of me was a cutting board, onion, green pepper, two carrots and a knife. Without any instruction, Mma-Masa simply said, “let’s see if you’re a good girl” and walked away. Slightly shocked that my success as a daughter depended on my talents in the one room I’d always avoided, I picked up the knife. Luckily, I’ve cut vegetables before. My eyes watered when the onion’s smell hit them although I successfully diced the entire thing. The green peppers gave off the delicious crisp sound of fresh vegetables with each slice. Peeling the carrots was a different story. Having only used a peeler in the past, I shakily used the knife to pull back the dirt-covered outer layer. After finishing with my three vegetables, I called Mma-Masa back into the kitchen. She exclaimed that I indeed was a good girl! Excited to help her cook the vegetables, I stood in place. She quickly ushered me out and reassured me again that I’d cook tomorrow.
Two days later I decided to try to prove myself again. Avoiding the gas burning stove I didn’t know how to operate, I decided to make orange juice. We have three beautiful orange trees in our front yard that I couldn’t wait to exploit. I picked a total of twelve oranges, which I sliced and juiced. The kitchen smelled mouth-watering and fresh. I added sugar, and lots of it, to help with the sour tang. After sampling the juice, I added water to dilute the heavy flavor. No matter what I added I couldn’t find the sweet, simple taste of yummy orange juice. To me, the drink tasted like incredibly sour sugar. Eventually, I let Masa and April sample my concoction. To my amazement, they both finished their glasses. Within the next day, Masa had singlehandedly finished what remained in the pitcher.
My second time in the kitchen didn’t go well at all. Masa was in Gaborone for the weekend celebrating the marriage of her niece. Without having cooked yet, April let me know I was in charge of dinner and that he would be back around 7pm. I decided to make something from the States to change up our pretty standard diet. I got specific instructions from friends at school on how to turn on a gas stove and cook French toast and French fries, two very difficult things to mess up. On my way home from class, I bought the ingredients I’d need: sliced bread, potatoes and eggs. I went straight home to start cutting the potatoes. I used a peeler this time to once again peel back the dirty skin. Once the potatoes were sliced into thin fry-like shapes, I decided to cook them. I lit a match and held it next to the burner. I turned on the gas and it lit! I felt accomplished as all of my worrying about not being able to light the stove flew from my mind, until the burner went out about three seconds later. I tried to light the same burner, but this time, nothing. I tried and tried again. Worried that I was letting too much gas into the house, I decided to wait for April to get home from soccer practice. I cracked and whipped the eggs to get them all ready for the toast.
I waited until seven, when April came in looking tired. I apologized for not having dinner ready and let him know I hadn’t been able to turn on the stove. He walked right in and opened the gas valve. I tried to laugh it off as a simple mistake. My family at home would have shrugged it off and enjoyed poking fun at my obvious lack of attentiveness. April, however, was visibly annoyed. He lit two burners for me and went to wait in the other room. I filled one pan with oil and potato wedges and set it on the front burner. I put butter on the bottom of the other pan, dipped a slice of bread in the egg batter and set it down. I realized right away I hadn’t put enough butter because the bread stuck to the pan and sizzled loudly. I dipped another piece and fit it onto the pan as well.
I immediately felt overwhelmed with two pans on the stove at once, despite the fact that the potatoes were cooking really slowly and didn’t need much attention. I flipped the bread and heard April enter the kitchen behind me. He asked if everything was okay. I turned around to answer that I was doing fine until I realized I wasn’t. The entire kitchen was so filled with smoke I could barely see the man standing just a few feet in front of me. By concentrating so intently on the pans, I hadn’t seen or smelled the smoke. Now that I knew it was there, the room stank of burn. I told him I just hadn’t put enough butter on the pan, which he confirmed as he opened the door and windows. I followed him into the other room to see the windows and door already open. He sat back down and I returned to the kitchen.
I covered the pan in butter for my second batch of toast, ignoring my desire to keep the toast as healthy as possible since the fries were soaking up the oil. I gave the potatoes a stir and flipped the bread. Eventually, enough bread and fries were done for the first serving. I made up a plate with four slices of bread and a mountain of fries for April. When I took it out to him, he immediately asked for tomato sauce. Oops. After trying the fries, he asked for salt. Double oops. He ate as I went back to the kitchen to tend to the rest of the uncooked potatoes.
April brought in his unfinished plate, covered it and left it on top of the fridge to eat later, assuring me he liked the meal but that he wasn’t very hungry. His fries were gone but one piece of French toast remained. I really enjoyed my food; and ignoring that I had filled the house with smoke and hadn’t been able to turn the stove on, I thought I had prepared a pretty good meal.
The next night, I was again left to make dinner. I stuck to something I thought I could handle: pasta with vegetables on top. I knew how to make pasta, add it to boiling water and remove it when it tastes like it’s done. Having learned how to properly work our stove, I cooked the pasta no problem. I cut the veggies I planned on using and went to add them to the canned meat I knew April loved. I couldn’t figure out how to open the can because it comes with a special tool and doesn’t work with conventional can openers. I again had to wait until after 7pm to cook.
April helped me to open the can and after telling me how to cook the meat, left me on my own. After that, I was successfully able to make the sauce for the top of the pasta. I served us at the same time that night, and we talked as we ate. April and I called Ian to make plans for the next day. While on the phone, April told him that tonight, I’d cooked a great meal. He liked the pasta and meat a lot, unlike our previous dinner, which he hadn’t liked at all. I appreciated April’s honesty, even if it wasn’t directed at me.
When I arrived in Botswana, I expected to learn how to cook well enough to feed my family. I knew that as a female, I would probably be expected to work in the house to prepare meals. What I hadn’t expected was that it would be assumed I would know how to cook and would be left in the kitchen without a recipe or plan. Although I’d impressed Mma-Masa with my chopping abilities, I hadn’t impressed April with my American dinner. Since eating my food, April has been much more willing to show me how to do things around the house and no longer assumes I know how to do seemingly simple tasks.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Worst Day Ever
Probably the worst travel experience I’ve ever had:
•Almost missed my flight out of Lilongwe because I wasn’t paying attention.
•Had the middle seat on the 2 hour flight to Joburg.
•The guy on the aisle was all over the armrest.
•Got into Joburg 10 minutes early!
•Stood in the immigration line for an hour and forty-five minutes until my flight said it was boarding on the screen.
•Asked an employee to help me get through because I still needed to get my boarding pass, go through security, and find the gate.
•She helped me but kept asking me to buy her lunch – but not there, only past security where there was food.
•She got me through immigration and dragged me to the check in line.
•She took me to Botswana Airlines, not South African.
•The lady at South African Airways told me I was too late and couldn’t check in. They could book me for a flight two hours later if I paid or put me on the 6:10am flight the next morning for free.
•I’m not paying.
•The lady who got me through immigration took me to security because I still didn’t have a boarding pass.
•She stayed with me past security, to where the food was and kept talking about lunch. “Or maybe just a drink.”
•I left her in the elevator because she couldn’t go any farther.
•Bought the cheapest watch I could find – about USD 28.
•Bought a book I wasn’t really interested in to keep me busy – about USD 40.
•Contemplated getting an airport massage.
•Staked out the best place to sleep.
•Bought dinner, called my parents, called Austin, called Erin.
•Walked around aimlessly.
•Looked in every shop for an alarm clock because my cell was out of batteries and I had to be up at 4am to check in.
•Typed up emails I couldn’t send without internet.
•Tried to sleep but couldn’t. So I read.
•Had some yummy chocolate!
•Finally went to sleep. Slept for a solid two hours, until about midnight, when I woke up shivering. I wasn’t at all prepared for the freezing airport.
•Woke up every 20 minutes until 3:30am, when I decided to walk around until check in at 4:30.
•Finished my book.
•Walked back out through security, where the doors were open to the outside so it was even colder.
•Was told the check in counter didn’t open until 5.
•Shivered for 30 minutes.
•Had a security guard ask for my number, and then email address when I wouldn’t give it to him.
•Checked in and was interrogated as to why I hadn’t flown out the day before.
•Went through security.
•Couldn’t buy breakfast because nothing was open.
•Found my gate.
•Loaded onto the bus that would drive us to the plane and shivered in the wind.
•Found my seat on the plane – a window seat with no one next to me!
•Slept until the last 20 minutes, when I found a boxed breakfast waiting for me.
•Had to take the meat off the croissant.
•Forgot to take my malaria meds.
•Shivered.
•Landed and had to walk through the wind to the airport.
•Filled out immigration papers and got hassled by the lady who didn’t believe I was here to study. She made me show her documentation to prove it.
•Didn’t see my bag on the conveyer belt.
•Checked with the information desk, who pointed me to the SA office.
•The lady told me to wait twenty minutes for the guy with the keys to come, she’d come let me know.
•No one from Pitzer in sight, even though they were supposed to meet me at the airport.
•Thirty minutes later, I returned to the SA office where the lady was eating with the entire luggage staff. I looked through the window and she held up one finger, telling me to wait, and then pointed to her sandwich. “Until I’m done.”
•A man came out to help me, still munching away.
•No sign of my bag, so I filled out a missing luggage form.
•Still no sign of anyone from Pitzer.
•I went back to the information desk to ask about a pay phone so I could call to see if someone was on their way.
•There was no public phone and the women didn’t have airtime – no way to call.
•20 minutes later, a woman walked up with a Pitzer College sign.
•20 minute drive to the place where orientation was taking place.
•I was given 5 minutes to freshen up before classes started.
•Almost missed my flight out of Lilongwe because I wasn’t paying attention.
•Had the middle seat on the 2 hour flight to Joburg.
•The guy on the aisle was all over the armrest.
•Got into Joburg 10 minutes early!
•Stood in the immigration line for an hour and forty-five minutes until my flight said it was boarding on the screen.
•Asked an employee to help me get through because I still needed to get my boarding pass, go through security, and find the gate.
•She helped me but kept asking me to buy her lunch – but not there, only past security where there was food.
•She got me through immigration and dragged me to the check in line.
•She took me to Botswana Airlines, not South African.
•The lady at South African Airways told me I was too late and couldn’t check in. They could book me for a flight two hours later if I paid or put me on the 6:10am flight the next morning for free.
•I’m not paying.
•The lady who got me through immigration took me to security because I still didn’t have a boarding pass.
•She stayed with me past security, to where the food was and kept talking about lunch. “Or maybe just a drink.”
•I left her in the elevator because she couldn’t go any farther.
•Bought the cheapest watch I could find – about USD 28.
•Bought a book I wasn’t really interested in to keep me busy – about USD 40.
•Contemplated getting an airport massage.
•Staked out the best place to sleep.
•Bought dinner, called my parents, called Austin, called Erin.
•Walked around aimlessly.
•Looked in every shop for an alarm clock because my cell was out of batteries and I had to be up at 4am to check in.
•Typed up emails I couldn’t send without internet.
•Tried to sleep but couldn’t. So I read.
•Had some yummy chocolate!
•Finally went to sleep. Slept for a solid two hours, until about midnight, when I woke up shivering. I wasn’t at all prepared for the freezing airport.
•Woke up every 20 minutes until 3:30am, when I decided to walk around until check in at 4:30.
•Finished my book.
•Walked back out through security, where the doors were open to the outside so it was even colder.
•Was told the check in counter didn’t open until 5.
•Shivered for 30 minutes.
•Had a security guard ask for my number, and then email address when I wouldn’t give it to him.
•Checked in and was interrogated as to why I hadn’t flown out the day before.
•Went through security.
•Couldn’t buy breakfast because nothing was open.
•Found my gate.
•Loaded onto the bus that would drive us to the plane and shivered in the wind.
•Found my seat on the plane – a window seat with no one next to me!
•Slept until the last 20 minutes, when I found a boxed breakfast waiting for me.
•Had to take the meat off the croissant.
•Forgot to take my malaria meds.
•Shivered.
•Landed and had to walk through the wind to the airport.
•Filled out immigration papers and got hassled by the lady who didn’t believe I was here to study. She made me show her documentation to prove it.
•Didn’t see my bag on the conveyer belt.
•Checked with the information desk, who pointed me to the SA office.
•The lady told me to wait twenty minutes for the guy with the keys to come, she’d come let me know.
•No one from Pitzer in sight, even though they were supposed to meet me at the airport.
•Thirty minutes later, I returned to the SA office where the lady was eating with the entire luggage staff. I looked through the window and she held up one finger, telling me to wait, and then pointed to her sandwich. “Until I’m done.”
•A man came out to help me, still munching away.
•No sign of my bag, so I filled out a missing luggage form.
•Still no sign of anyone from Pitzer.
•I went back to the information desk to ask about a pay phone so I could call to see if someone was on their way.
•There was no public phone and the women didn’t have airtime – no way to call.
•20 minutes later, a woman walked up with a Pitzer College sign.
•20 minute drive to the place where orientation was taking place.
•I was given 5 minutes to freshen up before classes started.
Malawi Wrap Up
It’s been a ridiculous amount of time since I last posted. But know that it’s only because I’ve been so busy with incredible tasks. Since my last post, we went to the lake, went on safari, went to three more schools, did a one day camp at Dzaleka Refugee Camp (where we went last session too), sent all the volunteers home, finished up the session, and flew to South Africa! Well, the intent was to fly to Botswana but I missed my connection in Joburg and am now spending the night. But that means some unexpected free time to write up a blog! Since so much has happened, I guess I’ll write a few memorable moments.
I went to a meeting at the Ministry of Education with Jesse, one of the founders of World Camp. We met with a few different people, just checking in on what they expect from WC and what direction we can go in the future. I was disgusted at the piles of old computers in the hallways of the Ministry. They were no longer being used in the building and were being saved to be sent to schools. But they weren’t stacked neatly; they were literally thrown on top of each other. It’s amazing none of the screens had broken, or maybe the broken ones had been thrown out. Tires were piled up to the ceiling in another hallway on a lower floor.
Another surprise at the MOE: there’s a new school calendar being implemented in 2011 with a break that spans the three months we’re in country. On first thought, a nationwide break would make it hard to teach classes. But, a new idea is to just run “summer camp” like classes. That way, we have free reign to teach how we want. It might be a little more difficult to get students to come in though. A plus? The new calendar takes farming and religious holidays into account. The harvest season is a break, and days are off if there is a popular religious holiday (both Christian and Muslim).
Safari was, of course, wonderful. We saw elephants, hippos, monkeys galore, giraffes, cervils, hares, lions, and 2 leopards together, which is incredibly rare since they’re normally solitary animals. I was completely frustrated and literally had to bite my tongue when some of the volunteers asked to leave as we were watching the leopards. They were bored and only wanted to see lions. Our guide said we had to stay until another car came and was able to pick up the cats. Once we found the lions, we watched for a few minutes and the volunteers were ready to go again. Why not sit and enjoy looking at such incredible animals for a few minutes? Sunset was incredible. By far one of the best ones I’ve seen. But, since the guide had been pestered so much that we just wanted to see lions, we had our sundowner drinks on the go as we drove on to find the big cats. Then the volunteers complained they hadn’t been able to enjoy the sunset. ARGGG. I just wanted to scream.
The next morning, the six volunteers were going to go on a drive on their own. The plan was for them to make their own breakfasts from the food we’d brought before their drive left at 6. Turns out there was an elephant in front of the room with our food and they couldn’t eat. I would’ve been excited… how many people can say an elephant stood between them and their food? But no, these guys complained. Then they complained because their drive started at 6:30. But that complains legit and completely my fault.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my volunteers. Sometimes I just forget they’re in high school. I certainly hope I was never bored when my parents took us on safari a few years ago!!
Since I was with Y2Y, I only spent one night at the lake this time. That was probably a good thing, because their attention spans are sometimes a little short. I just wanted to relax for the weekend, but they wanted to do stuff. Since they can’t go anywhere without a coordinator, I walked down the beach in both directions. Of course, it was with two different groups because they can never decide to do anything at the same time so it’s only one trip for the coordinators. I also took a small group into the trading center. That was fun, since it’s certainly different than the villages that aren’t close to Lake Malawi. I also went banana boating with three of the girls. Originally, they were going to go on the banana and I was going to ride in the real boat and take pictures, but when one of them was happy after two rides, I happily stepped up. The first night, we preordered a vegetarian meal for all. It was a full loaf of bread. The middle had been cut out and it was stuffed with a delicious bean and vegetable stew. Only one person finished.
And now it’s on to Botswana! I’m still not very sure what to expect. We were all supposed to arrive Aug. 10, but I’m obviously a day late now. I should get in around 7:30 am though, so I don’t think I’ll ruin plans too much. I think we have a few days of orientation in Gaborone (the capital city, pronounced Hab-or-o-nee) before heading out to the village for our first homestay. I think I’ll have internet the first few days while we’re doing orientation, but then don’t expect to be online for at least 5 or 6 weeks. I’ll be getting credit for four classes total: Setswana language intensive, Contemporary Socio-Cultural Issues in Botswana, Field Work Methodology in Botswana, and a final research project.
There’s a Levine family reunion going on in Tahoe this weekend.... Hi to all my family! I know you’ll all have a wonderful time!! Make sure an extra hand of bridge is played for me!
And Grandpa, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!
Tionana!!!
Karen
I went to a meeting at the Ministry of Education with Jesse, one of the founders of World Camp. We met with a few different people, just checking in on what they expect from WC and what direction we can go in the future. I was disgusted at the piles of old computers in the hallways of the Ministry. They were no longer being used in the building and were being saved to be sent to schools. But they weren’t stacked neatly; they were literally thrown on top of each other. It’s amazing none of the screens had broken, or maybe the broken ones had been thrown out. Tires were piled up to the ceiling in another hallway on a lower floor.
Another surprise at the MOE: there’s a new school calendar being implemented in 2011 with a break that spans the three months we’re in country. On first thought, a nationwide break would make it hard to teach classes. But, a new idea is to just run “summer camp” like classes. That way, we have free reign to teach how we want. It might be a little more difficult to get students to come in though. A plus? The new calendar takes farming and religious holidays into account. The harvest season is a break, and days are off if there is a popular religious holiday (both Christian and Muslim).
Safari was, of course, wonderful. We saw elephants, hippos, monkeys galore, giraffes, cervils, hares, lions, and 2 leopards together, which is incredibly rare since they’re normally solitary animals. I was completely frustrated and literally had to bite my tongue when some of the volunteers asked to leave as we were watching the leopards. They were bored and only wanted to see lions. Our guide said we had to stay until another car came and was able to pick up the cats. Once we found the lions, we watched for a few minutes and the volunteers were ready to go again. Why not sit and enjoy looking at such incredible animals for a few minutes? Sunset was incredible. By far one of the best ones I’ve seen. But, since the guide had been pestered so much that we just wanted to see lions, we had our sundowner drinks on the go as we drove on to find the big cats. Then the volunteers complained they hadn’t been able to enjoy the sunset. ARGGG. I just wanted to scream.
The next morning, the six volunteers were going to go on a drive on their own. The plan was for them to make their own breakfasts from the food we’d brought before their drive left at 6. Turns out there was an elephant in front of the room with our food and they couldn’t eat. I would’ve been excited… how many people can say an elephant stood between them and their food? But no, these guys complained. Then they complained because their drive started at 6:30. But that complains legit and completely my fault.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my volunteers. Sometimes I just forget they’re in high school. I certainly hope I was never bored when my parents took us on safari a few years ago!!
Since I was with Y2Y, I only spent one night at the lake this time. That was probably a good thing, because their attention spans are sometimes a little short. I just wanted to relax for the weekend, but they wanted to do stuff. Since they can’t go anywhere without a coordinator, I walked down the beach in both directions. Of course, it was with two different groups because they can never decide to do anything at the same time so it’s only one trip for the coordinators. I also took a small group into the trading center. That was fun, since it’s certainly different than the villages that aren’t close to Lake Malawi. I also went banana boating with three of the girls. Originally, they were going to go on the banana and I was going to ride in the real boat and take pictures, but when one of them was happy after two rides, I happily stepped up. The first night, we preordered a vegetarian meal for all. It was a full loaf of bread. The middle had been cut out and it was stuffed with a delicious bean and vegetable stew. Only one person finished.
And now it’s on to Botswana! I’m still not very sure what to expect. We were all supposed to arrive Aug. 10, but I’m obviously a day late now. I should get in around 7:30 am though, so I don’t think I’ll ruin plans too much. I think we have a few days of orientation in Gaborone (the capital city, pronounced Hab-or-o-nee) before heading out to the village for our first homestay. I think I’ll have internet the first few days while we’re doing orientation, but then don’t expect to be online for at least 5 or 6 weeks. I’ll be getting credit for four classes total: Setswana language intensive, Contemporary Socio-Cultural Issues in Botswana, Field Work Methodology in Botswana, and a final research project.
There’s a Levine family reunion going on in Tahoe this weekend.... Hi to all my family! I know you’ll all have a wonderful time!! Make sure an extra hand of bridge is played for me!
And Grandpa, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!
Tionana!!!
Karen
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