The next morning we got a tour of the Apartheid Museum. We had heard rave reviews and they were justified. From the opening gate where we entered through separate doors according to race (each person’s “race” was randomly assigned and printed on the tickets), to the room where actual nooses hung from the ceiling, the museum gave a moving and detailed account of the apartheid era in South Africa.
They had a temporary special exhibit on Nelson Mandela, and it was riveting. I spent an hour in the room reading, listening, and watching everything I could about the man and I didn’t even get to everything. I won’t go into a history lesson, but there was everything from interviews with him from when he was a young leader of the ANC, to pictures from his trial, and video of his release. There was a lot I didn’t know about Mandela, and I was glad to soak in as much knowledge as I could.
If there was one problem with the museum, it was that it had too much information, which is a good problem for a museum to have. Throughout the tour, we were hit with multimedia recounts from every angle of the events and history of apartheid. From movies and news clips to propaganda artwork and an entire armored truck, the information came in many shapes. Perhaps the deluge was intentional and the barrage of harrowing images and videos are meant to impart on the patrons a sense of the suffering black people endured during the time of oppression and segregation.
After the museum we set a course for Gaborone, and it was a bittersweet goodbye to Johannesburg. The consensus among the group was that Joburg was a great time and the energy and history of the South African metropolis complimented our time spent in Gaborone well. I slept almost the entire way home and the five hours went by in a flash.
We got back at 8pm and hadn’t stopped for dinner, so Derek, Robin and I grabbed a dinner from the caf (misleadingly named the Curry Pot). It was a nice way to wrap up the weekend, as we recounted our favorite parts of the trip and began to think about the week ahead.
Meat balls with macaroni and beef broth with a side of cabbage, washed down with cranberry juice for dinner…
People from Botswana are called Batswana. Here they pronounce Botswana more like Boh-TSWA-nah and Batswana more like we pronounce Botswana (Bah-TSWA-nah). I still slip up once in a while and refer to them as Botswanans, but, like my other American habits, that is slowly fading. The language and culture are referred to as Setswana (or just Tswana for short), as in ‘Setswana culture is prevalent among the Batswana.’
27-person bus
So I just got back in town from a weekend trip to Johannesburg (Jo-burg), which was a blast. We headed out right after class on Friday and piled 26 people into a 27-person bus, which in the states would have been for 20 people, maximum. The seats were wide enough for about three-quarters of a person, and the back row of five people had to alternate people leaning forward and back, because five pairs of shoulders literally wouldn’t fit in the width of the bus.
The bus put everyone to sleep
When we crossed the border, it was clear that immigration wasn’t a priority for Botswana or South Africa. I got my passport stamped, but it was more or less for sentimental value, because as I walked across the actual border, none of the three or four guards asked to see any paperwork. I could have been a walking case of yellow fever with an expired visa and no one would have known.
The ride was a little bit longer than expected, and we missed our tour of the Origins Museum in Jo-burg, but I don’t think it was too sorely missed because everyone was hungry and looking to relax after the five-hour ride. We stayed at a backpackers in Soweto, which is a township of Jo-burg (but still has its own population of 4.5 million!). The backpackers turned out to be a fantastic find. All of the staff members were eager to help and make you feel at home and the place had a great atmosphere. In the back they had set up a tropical oasis with palm trees, hammocks, bamboo huts and lofts, a sand floor, reggae music and even a Rainbow Lorikeet (a small, rainbow-colored parrot). They served a hearty dinner and we got to enjoy the tropical setting all night.
Backpackers oasis
Rainbow Lorikeet
They had darts, pool, foosball and a fire pit. One of the local guys and I played darts for most of the night, and all around kids were laughing and smiling as we enjoyed a beautiful night in Jo-burg.
Ambience of backpackers
Foosball, darts, bamboo hut
Tour guide introducing the sour milk
The next morning we took a bicycle tour of Soweto. We went all around the city and the guide gave historical and cultural lessons along the way. Our first stop was a hostel where black men used to stay during apartheid. There we got to try more of the traditional sorghum beer that we had on the cultural excursion, and they passed around a carton of sour milk, as well. Sour milk is a traditional drink common in southern Africa, and it tastes more or less like it sounds, though they usually mix it with some kind of meat, which apparently makes it go down more smoothly.
Derek trying the traditional sorghum beer
Robin, Derek and I with the half-finished housing
complex in the background
We passed through a slum-type village on the way to our next stop. As we biked along, everyone came out of their houses (especially young kids) and greeted us, looking for high fives. The next stop was a local butcher who specialized in cow heads, and so we each got a bite of meat from the face of a cow with, of course, nothing to wash it down. As we ate, the guide pointed out a housing complex that was being built and explained that the construction had started during the campaign of the current president as part of his promise to provide suitable housing across the country. As soon as he won the election, however, the construction stopped and the local people, realizing the emptiness of the promise, became frustrated and would throw rocks and such at the half-completed structures.
One of the tour guides explaining the history of the student
revolt in 1976. Behind him is the iconic photo of
Hector Peterson being carried after he was shot.
Our next stop was the sight of the student uprising against the apartheid regime in 1976. The government instituted a curriculum in black schools that was designed to keep blacks behind whites in their education, and students rebelled against it and against apartheid in general in Soweto. One boy named Hector Peterson, who wasn’t even actively protesting, was shot and there is an iconic photo of the uprising where a boy is carrying Hector with Hector’s sister running hysterically along side. Hector was pronounced dead at the medical clinic, and his sacrifice has become the lasting symbol of that fateful day.
Giving our full attention. From left to right, Senani, Molly,
myself and Derek
"Bunny chow"
We then went for lunch across the street and everyone had the “bunny chow.” It was an open-faced sandwich consisting of a bed of French fries topped with a fried egg, summer sausage and cheese. There was some curry powder mixed in somewhere as well, and I thought it was delicious. I helped finish my neighbor’s and washed it down with Fanta (have I talked about how perfect Fanta is when you’re abroad? In places where you can’t drink the tap water you have to order a drink and Fanta outside the U.S. is made with cane sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup and every country I’ve been too always has Fanta. It’s ideal).
Tour stop at one of Mandela's houses. Who's that
stud in the #4 jersey?
We finished the tour with a stop at one of Nelson Mandela’s houses. It is a museum now, so he no longer spends any time there, but it’s where he stayed with his second wife when he was released from prison in 1990.
We got back to the backpackers shortly after and the sun and the biking had taken its toll. It was four in the afternoon and the place was a ghost town because everyone had fallen asleep. I was on the couches with a group of people and we had sat down to watch a soccer match, but two minutes into it we were all dead asleep. Derek was curled up next to the bus driver, Robin was curled up next to one of the local students, and another boy and I had tipped straight back.
As people peeled themselves from beds and hammocks and couches, dinner was ready and we spent another night with good food in the pseudo-tropical jungle. A group of us stayed up late playing cards (a couple of people had heard of 500 but we stuck to simpler games) and telling stories around the fire. I could get used to these kinds of weekends.
Steak and corn-on-the-cob on the grill with pop (a white, sticky maize meal) and a pepper-bean salad all lathered with hot sauce and washed down with peach juice for dinner…
p.s. On the way down to Jo-burg I asked if anyone had heard the song “Johannesburg” by Gil Scott-Heron. People looked at me like I was crazy, so I thought I’d share the song with you below. Gil Scott-Heron is a singer and spoken word artist from the 70’s and 80’s whose songs and poems were laced with political and social commentary. He is considered one of, if not the, father of modern hop-hop and he’s one of my heroes because my all-time favorite artists (like Talib Kweli, Common, Kanye) all cite him as a major influence and sample his tracks all throughout their work.
"Johannesburg" refers to the struggle of the black people in South Africa during apartheid. If you listen close to the lyrics, Scott-Heron touches on a lot of the key social aspects of apartheid. The chorus ("Have you heard from Johannesburg?") highlights the tight hold the South African apartheid government had on the media and the small amounts of news that actually reached the U.S. regarding the oppression of blacks.
Yesterday morning Derek and I went back to the clinic to meet Dr. Steve and Bob (pseudonyms, to be sure), the physiotherapist. After not getting used well the week before, we thought that we might explore other options if Monday didn’t go well. But it did. It was almost like the previous week was a test of commitment, or maybe over the weekend the doctors ruminated on how to get the most out of our services.
Anyway, they split us up so that we each got one-on-one attention. I stayed with Dr. Steve, while Derek shadowed Bob. Dr. Steve actually had the flow of patients come through me, where I took blood pressures, pulses, temperatures and so on. This streamlining was much needed because the waiting room at the clinic is standing room only all day long, and a single doctor can only see patients so quickly. There are no appointments being made, and so patients show up and just wait, sometimes for hours.
There was kind of a cool scene on Monday, as well. A man came in with his pant leg torn and full of blood and a huge gash in his knee. The doctor labeled it an emergency, and brought the man back in front of all the waiting patients. I got to assist while the doctor cleaned and stitched the wound. I handed to doctor the local anesthetic, poured out more antiseptic scrub, gave the man pain pills and so on. It turns out the man is a professor at UB and he was actually running in the rain to get to class that morning (a rare breed in Botswana – I haven’t had a professor come on time yet) when he fell and cut his leg. He didn’t give up on his class, either. He went and gave the hour-long lecture, saving the trip to the doctor until after he enlightened the students.
After the clinic, Derek and I grabbed lunch at the ‘African Mall’ (Interesting name – but I suppose we have a mall called ‘Mall of America’…) I picked up groceries for my turn at family dinner. I teamed up with Jürgen again, and the Minnesotans in the house will be honored with the dish we selected. I brought this dish up to Jürgen (the culinary school graduate from Germany) last week and told him it was my hometown’s culinary gift to the world. Others laughed, but Jürgen said, “we must make this and share it with everyone.” Anyone guessed it yet? We made Jucy Lucy’s.
I was just planning on putting cheddar and onions in them to keep them simple like the Matt’s Bar original. But of course the chef couldn’t help himself. The filling ended up consisting of cheddar and feta cheeses, with onions, garlic, olives and a dash of chili powder. We added egg, onion and seasoning to the ground beef as well. They came out as true masterpieces. Some busted open from too much filling, but it was a good problem to have. They were as Jucy as a Lucy could be and the combo of cheeses and spices had the whole crowd raving.
Jürgen had people over to his room afterwards, and we relaxed to some German hip-hop and YouTube videos of lions and crocodiles and African wildlife. Here’s one of the favorites: (I also recommend a YouTube search of “Battle at Kruger”)
Jucy Lucy’s with ketchup, lettuce and more cheese on top, served with German-style ‘oven potatoes’ and a fresh garden salad for dinner…
Last night I got invited to another braai. It was for the birthday of the cousin of a friend of my friend, which may seem obscure but I’ve found those kinds of connections to be common here. And as I said before, when people throw feasts here more or less everyone is invited. The house was on the outskirts of town and so the girls were free to play music and do everything as loud as they wanted. I helped the guys grill up the meat while the girls danced in the front yard, the birthday girl the center of attention.
I went to the braai with Hanna and Robin (pictured a couple posts back) and Derek came later. It was my first time going out without a huge group of international students and it was refreshing. It is so much easier to mingle with local kids when you’re not just a face in a sea of white people. I ended up talking with the birthday girl for a while and she couldn’t have been nicer. She invited a couple other international students and I to her home village and we started planning a trip to a water park just outside of Gabs.
After the braai, Hanna and I went with some local students to another house party and that was a blast as well. It was the nicest house I had seen in Bots so far. There was a pool out back, a patio with picnic tables and an even an area with outdoor couches and coffee tables. There was a DJ in the middle of it all and the place was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with people. I learned once again that people here really know how to celebrate.
I met a guy who had studied in New York and we talked about basketball for a while. He was a Heat fan, and I told him it was only because of Lebron, but he claimed he had family from Miami. I met another guy who was an American football fan and we had a lighthearted debate about our Super Bowl picks (Jets are taking it home, by the way). Who knew my American sports fanaticism would get me in with locals in Botswana.
I met more local people at that party than I had throughout my entire trip. I’m finally putting into action the advice from orientation of getting outside the international student shell, and it’s paid off. I met people who study in Jo-burg, and our program is taking a trip there next weekend, so they said they’d take me out. I met a guy who studied in Malaysia and now works in graphic design in Gabs. Another guy heard I play American football and wants me to come out for his club rugby team. Two ladies helped me practice my Setswana, but judging by their giggles I have a long way to go.
As the night went on it hit me that even though I was half a world from home and had been warned at length about culture shock, when you get down to it, people are the same everywhere. I had been at least somewhat guilty of thinking that since I was in such a new place, that people’s personalities and interests would be different, but I’m meeting people and finding things in common with people just as I would back home.
Some of the guys I met called me up to hang out again today and so I must have made a half-decent first impression. My dependence on the American crowd is dwindling and it feels good. Now I need to make that kind of progress on my homework for the weekend…
Grilled beef, chicken and sausage with salad and a spicy bean-pepper dish, washed down with a coke at the braai…
p.s. If anyone wants to start a save-the-Wrangler fund, it would be appreciated because a friend of mine borrowed my car back home and apparently she wasn’t quite ready to handle the mighty Jeep.
In Setswana, the word ‘pula’ means rain and rain is a symbol of health and happiness for the country, as life here is traditionally dependent on receiving adequate rainfall. Fittingly, the currency in Botswana is the ‘pula’. Also, when a people visit Botswana, locals will ask them to ‘bring us the rain’, which figuratively means ‘bring us good tidings’. As chance would have it, it was raining on the day we arrived in Botswana, and that physical manifestation of such an important symbol made our arrival that much more poignant.
So throughout this trip my ceiling has had a small leak. I had a bucket underneath it and it didn’t seem to be a problem. On Monday night, however, there were torrential rains here in Gaborone (Gabs, for short) and the leak grew exponentially and instead of harmlessly falling in the bucket it was now hitting my bed and most of the floor. In retrospect I should have considered myself fortunate because I was getting ‘pula’ brought right to my room, but at the time all I could think about was finding a place to sleep. Luckily there was an empty room in my flat so I brought my pillow over there and slept for the night. I went back in the morning and my room was flooded. The bucket I had put down was filled to the brim (which meant that about 12” of rain had hit it) and anything I had left on the ground was soaked (luckily nothing valuable).
I explained the situation to my resident assistant and she helped me do the paperwork to permanently switch to the new room. It appears to be a minor problem but it really highlights some of the bureaucratic shortcomings at the University. My flatmate is a student representative for the Office of Student Welfare and he says that he has known about the leaks for sometime and the person who had my flat before me had moved out because of them. He says that the problem should have been fixed long ago, but the Student Welfare Office doesn’t consult its student representatives. He lamented the lack of communication and I felt his pain because the international students have dealt with multiple setbacks already on account of dismal interdepartmental communication.
The day got much better from there, however. Derek and I had made contact with a local medical center and they asked us back this morning to begin volunteering. The clinic is a small private practice with one general practitioner and one physical therapist. They don’t have any nurses and so Derek and I will be helping to streamline the flow of patients by taking vital signs and patient histories. We spent most of the time today practicing taking each other’s blood pressure and meeting the secretaries. It was more or less the ideal volunteer setting Derek and I had pictured. We will get to interact with local patients and learn about the intricacies of medicine in Botswana and how it may differ from the U.S., while getting hands-on experience. The two doctors said they could use us as much as possible, but that our hours don’t need to be set in stone, which made the position that much more attractive.
From the clinic Derek and I went to our Human Physiology course, which yet again lacked any actual course material as the professor had to spend half of the hour reading off our ID numbers so that we could yell out which lab section we were in. You would think it would have been easy for the registrar office to provide that list and prevent the wasting of a class period, but then again the bureaucracy here is truly mysterious.
After our Setswana course, it was Robin’s and my turn to cook for the gang again. Robin came up with the great idea of doing breakfast food for dinner, because American style breakfasts are nowhere to be found on campus. I was on the eggs and Robin was on the potatoes as we fried up some country-style goodness.
Cheesy eggs mixed with onions, green peppers and smoked ham, served with fried breakfast potatoes and bread (we don’t have a toaster) for dinner…
p.s. I wanted to acknowledge Emily Prazak who was one of the girls I lived with last summer. She introduced me to peanut butter on apples and it has been a mainstay of my diet here in Bots.
After lunch we got to go to a rock-painting monument where the best-preserved rock paintings in all of Botswana are found. Our guide was very enthusiastic about paintings that to me weren’t that impressive. However, when you picture that 2000 years ago someone painted that rock with a mixture of colored dirt and animal urine and now you’re standing in front of the same rock, looking at that painting, it gives you some pause.
From there we went to the cultural village where we were going to spend the night. As soon as we were off of the bus a group of women greeted us with songs and warm welcomes. After being led to our accommodations, our entire group gathered around the fire as the villagers explained various details about their culture. They lamented the fact that the young generation has left the village to live in the city, but they were happy for the advent of education and health care.
The chief of the village and his sister demonstrated a traditional dance that the village performs to welcome newcomers. When they were finished, the chief had all of the guys from our group stand up and do the dance with him. We struggled to say the least and one of the local women quickly shooed us out of the circle so that the girls could have a chance. Though we didn’t become masters of their traditional dance steps, it was a great way to get us in the mind set of traditional living and to break the ice with the villagers.
After the dancing the chief performed the all-important rite of throwing bones. Their beliefs say that the villagers’ ancestors must give their blessing in order for newcomers to be welcomed to the village and the will of the ancestors is reflected in the pattern of bones as they are thrown from a bag. Our group got lucky that the bones fell in a fortunate pattern. Not that they would have kicked us out (since we had paid to stay there), but traditionally if the bones were misaligned then the chief would tell the visitors that they were not welcome and that they should try the next village over.
We then were treated to a traditional meal, which wasn’t as exotic as I had expected. There were the usual starches of maize meal (called pop) and white rice. There was chicken stew and pounded beef, which resembled pulled pork. I washed it down with a Fanta, of course, and took advantage of the bottomless basket of bread. After a second helping, all of the boys were served the traditional beer of the village, which is made with sorghum and water. It was sweeter than other beers I’ve had (I would have put it in the wine family) and there were grains and chunks in it that didn’t add to the appeal. It reminded me of a rice-based wine that I tried in Costa Rica called chicha (I think) that the boys would drink it vast amounts. I’m sure these things are just acquired tastes and I would love them over time.
That night there was a big bonfire and everyone had a great time telling ghost stories and relaxing under the stars. Derek and I stayed up late around the fire with the security guard who was posted at our campsite. He spoke zero English and so we tried our best to communicate with hand signals, but were probably just making fools of ourselves as the guard kept giggling but not responding.
In the morning, the weekend of great food continued as we had all-you-can-eat scrambled eggs with spicy ground beef (almost like Chorizo). There was a porridge that went great with brown sugar and a type of fry bread (might be called fat cake?) that I poured a bunch of sugar on as well.
From there we went to a game reserve where they greeted us in the ‘Education Center’ with mimosas (or just straight sparkling wine upon request). The game reserve ride itself was more or less a repeat of the previous one we experienced, though this time our seats were open-air. We saw all the same animals but none as close as that zebra from before. I’m starting to realize that that might have been a rare photo-op.
We ate lunch in the middle of the game reserve, which was pretty cool. We kept our streak of delicious meals alive as they served several kinds of salad, rice, pop, chicken, beef stew and bratwurst with onion bread. I had a second helping again and then enjoyed a dessert of strawberry yoghurt with a crumb crust.
This excursion was the best I had eaten over a two-day stretch in a long time (maybe since Europe?). The food itself made the trip worthwhile and everything else on top made it unforgettable.
From lunch we headed home and I let myself unwind in my room as I started thinking about the week ahead. It’s only been twelve days or so, but it feels like so much longer; I’m having a blast.
Homemade pasta with tomatoes, green peppers and onion for dinner…
p.s. So Tristan Joseph Loiselle came in with the correct answer of Alicia Keys and so here is the special mention, as promised. Tristan, or T. Joe, is about 5'9" with blonde hair and an athletic build. He enjoys working out and his guilty pleasure is romantic comedies. In a girl he's looking for someone who just wants to have fun, and she CAN'T be taller than him. He's from Wisconsin, so he made need a little refining, but I'd call him a catch.
This weekend the international office took us on a “cultural excursion” to introduce us to some tradition beliefs, rituals and, most importantly, food.
We left on Saturday morning and went to a local village where we met the chief and some of his councilmen. They were so excited to teach us about their culture and to truly immerse us they held a mock wedding and a mock trial in the traditional style.
They needed volunteers for the mock wedding and so I offered. I was assigned the role of the bride’s uncle, which in real life would have meant negotiating the bride price and organizing the feast, but in the mock-up it just meant standing in the back with the rest of the “family”. The couple stood facing the chief and he asked the groom questions such as “how did you meet this woman?” and “what did you say to make her like you?” It was great to hear how the “groom” answered these questions on the spot.
You could tell the deputy chief wanted to spice things up and so next came a mock trial where my fellow Macalester student, Derek, played a townsman who was accused of beating his wife because she refused him sex. The chief, trying to get Derek to explicitly say that he had beat his wife for sex kept asking very leading questions but Derek, very diplomatically, kept saying things like “it was uncharacteristic of me”, “I was drunk”, “it won’t happen again” and he managed to avoid a direct answer. Though he didn’t avoid teases from the students for the rest of weekend about being a wife beater.
Throughout all of this I couldn’t help but notice the contrast that was present between the modern and the traditional. As we sat through an enthusiastic rendition of a very traditional ceremony under a traditional thatched-roof hut, councilmen were almost continuously stepping out to answer their cell phones. I wonder what the elders of generations passed would have had to say about that. Also, although we were in a hut with hand carved chairs and a fire pit in the center, there were fluorescent bulbs lining the ceiling and a telephone jack on one of the posts.
I suppose this contrast may reflect some of the overriding forces that have shaped Botswana’s history. While Botswana (then called Bechuanaland) was a British protectorate, the British took little interest in the area as no natural resources had been discovered and the land was not near the ocean or even a river running to the ocean. Due to the lack of settlement, Bechuanaland was made up of isolated villages and there was no main town, let alone capital, well into the 20th century. However, as Botswana gained independence in 1966 and then discovered a rich source of diamonds the following year, the country was rushed into modernity.
The government that was established was blessed with seeming unlimited riches from the diamond mines and the capital city began growing quickly. Traditional villages would have seen rapid changes as the young generations went into town to study and people would have supplemented traditional healers with hospitals and pharmaceuticals. The villages would have had no choice but to adopt modern innovations and the changes would have happened so fast that the contrasts that now exist would have been hard to avoid.
Our next stop was the local dam. In my studies, it has seemed that whenever I have read about a dam in a developing country it has been in a negative sense. Whether it is displacing homes, removing farmland, or negative ecological impacts, dams usually show up in the column of what went wrong. But the people of this village are proud of their dam, even show respect for it as no one swims in the water due to a mythical snake that inhabits the deepest part of lake.
The lake created by the dam was, unfortunately, rimmed with broken beer bottles and litter floated in the shallows. The scene created another contrast (unfortunately a theme in Botswana) between the expansive, tranquil lake set among foothills lined with the greenest trees and the thoughtless, distracting trash along the shore. I tried to think of how the problem could be solved, but the real issue is the mentality of the people, and short of changing that I don’t know if there is much to do (maybe put out more trash bins?).
It looks like the weekend excursion will be split over a few posts, as I’ve only made it up to lunchtime of the first day. Look for more soon.
Rice with chicken, beef stew, carrots and hot sauce, washed down with a Fanta, followed by a scoop of ice cream for lunch…
p.s. The title of the last post is a lyric from a song called “Lesson Learned” by one of my favorite artists. Can you name the artist? First person to leave a comment or an email with the write answer gets special mention in the next post. (No Googling or you-tubing it; though guesses are welcome)
So I wasn’t sure how to talk about this in my blog, or if I was even going to talk about it at all, but some time has passed now and I thought it may be constructive to reflect on it.
Last weekend a group of international students went over to our professor’s place for a housewarming party and afterwards some of went to a nightclub that was down the road. As we left the club, the girls filled up all the cabs and so a friend of mine and I started walking home. As we approached a gate on the edge of campus we were mugged by four local men, who stole a digital camera, cell phone and cash from each of us.
They had used violence to subdue us, and as we stood up after they let us go, I noticed that my friend was bleeding from the neck. He wasn’t sure if he had seen a knife, but they had certainly used some sort of weapon to keep his resistance to a minimum. The cut was small, and the bleeding had stopped, so when we got back to campus we parted ways.
Upon inspection, I had avoided any noticeable injury, so I went to bed. I was awakened the next morning by administrators from the international office and they took me to file a police report. I learned that my friend had been taken to the hospital the night before to receive HIV prophylaxis. When the skin is broken in such an attack in a place where the HIV rate is high, it is standard to give drugs to prevent the contraction of the disease.
I had never been mugged previously, and I spent the following few days ruminating on the experience. My gut instinct was wishing I could have fought back more. Even the police officer who toke my report asked me why I didn’t just beat them up because he thought I looked fit. They had attacked me from behind, however, and I never got a chance to do more than struggle from the ground. Now I realize, though, that it was wise not to fight back because they had weapons they were willing to use and I could have lost more than just my camera and phone had a weapon been drawn.
When I found myself stressed about losing the camera and phone, a wise person provided comfort and counsel: “I hope what they took from you makes their lives better and I’m grateful they didn’t hurt you.” It was the frame of mind I had needed all along. If you really think about it, those material things don’t matter so much. In the long run, what does a cell phone or some cash really contribute to life? Certainly their worth is temporary, even superficial. That which truly adds meaning to life comes from much deeper sources, and this experience has renewed my appreciation for this other kind of richness.
The boy I was with that night is still on an antiretroviral regimen, and the side effects have rendered him sick and tired. I ask that your thoughts be with him as he recovers and I will provide an update on his status when I can.
I can only hope that this account can prompt safety and awareness in others if they find themselves in a similar situation, and if someone is or becomes a victim of such an attack, may my reflections lend an ounce of comfort as he or she recovers.
Things started gaining some traction at he University. I was able to get my student ID today which I had started to give up hope on and although my physiology class was cancelled, a man came in and dropped off the syllabus for the class, which was a step in the right direction. Then I had my first official class at the University of Botswana. It was my Setswana course and we covered some basic vocab and phrases. In addition to ‘hello’, I can now say ‘how are you’ and ‘my name is Mike’ and ‘I like to eat meat’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ and I’ve actually had a conversation or two now where I only spoke is Setswana.
After class the other Macalester student, Derek, and I went to the Center for the Study of HIV/AIDS (CSHA) to inquire about possible volunteer positions or at least to make a connection for our research projects. We ended up doing both and then some. We got to meet with the director of the CSHA, Billy, and we sat and talked for almost an hour. He outlined some sweet activities the CSHA had planned for the semester and told us that we were more than welcome to help our or even come up with projects of our own.
As Derek and I brainstormed on the way home, he came up with the idea of holding a soccer tournament for students that could act as a fundraiser as well as raise awareness for HIV/AIDS prevention. There’s a similar event in place at Macalester where teams of four or five pay a small entry fee to compete in the tournament and get free t-shirts, paid for by sponsors. The event at Macalester is called Lose the Shoes, as the games are played barefoot, but all the fields we’ve seen here are dirt and gravel, so maybe we’ll switch it to “Keep Your Shoes On”. The major obstacles for implementing such a thing in Bots would be obtaining local sponsorship and spreading the word to students, but we’re going back to see Billy again tomorrow and so maybe he’ll have suggestions.
On a different note, the family style dinner that the gang tried the other night has really caught on. We have a nightly showing of about 12 kids and apparently kids from outside the graduate housing are getting jealous and trying to work their way in. Each night two of us are responsible for dinner and we rotate around to a different common room every time. My pair cooked the first night (when we recruited the German chef) and we’ve had three delicious dinners since. It’s been great to not only have set dinner plans, but to bond with the gang (plus some) and have a little taste of home here and there.
Played pickup soccer again today. Steak fajitas with the gang for dinner…
Last week we were having a group discussion among all the international students about culture shock, such as the symptoms that may occur and how best to deal with them. As part of the discussion, our professor brought up an interesting point about the U-shaped curve of emotions in a foreign country. There is an initial high as you first arrive and are enamored with the new, fresh place, but then the curve dips down, as you get homesick or frustrated or have a bad experience. Finally, though, you realize what a wonderful place it truly is and, usually right before you leave, the curve comes back up and you find it hard to pull yourself away. The curve may stretch out over the whole semester, or you may go through the whole cycle in a day or two.
Right now I am definitely at a maximum on that curve. As I was walking across campus today, eating a chicken pie and taking in the sunshine, I couldn’t have been happier. The people are friendly, I have a ton of new friends, the weather is too good to be true and the overall attitude is laid back. I could definitely see it being hard to leave. I suppose you should take this praise with a grain of salt, though, because I’m sure one day I’ll bottom out on that curve and my reviews may not be as glowing.
Classes were supposed to start yesterday, but the rumors about professors not showing up for the first week held true. I’m registered for two biology classes and a course in Setswana, so hopefully soon I’ll know how to say more than just ‘hello’.
As part of our study abroad program, we also are conducting independent research projects for credit. We had our first meeting for that tonight, and it was nice to get a little structure back in our lives, as everyone had been more or less adrift for the past week or so. After taking care of some housekeeping, our professor, Phoebe, talked for a bit about the ins and outs of doing research. We can obtain a permit from the University to do research on campus, but the permit for conducting research in the greater metropolitan area is such a lengthy process that it wouldn’t be worth our wait.
We also got the tip that journal keeping can be valuable while doing research, because you can go back and analyze the observations that you made. It was suggested that these journals be electronic, and so a couple blogs may end up sounding overly academic and in depth, but I’ll keep most of them saved offline.
I am interested in issues surrounding HIV/AIDS (like a majority of the international students here, I suppose) and I have a general idea for my research topic, but I’ll wait to explain it to you once I narrow it down. One valuable resource for narrowing down our topics will be volunteer experiences in the city. Phoebe has made it an official assignment for us to find service work and so by next week I should be placed in a clinic or organization dealing with HIV prevention or treatment.
These ramblings about schoolwork are putting me to sleep and are probably doing the same to you, so I’ll try to conclude with something a little more upbeat. On our way home from class tonight we passed the student bar and it was an absolute zoo. Not only was the bar packed, but the parking lot was also at capacity with cars full of kids blaring music and sidewalks were lined with students as well. It seemed out of place for a Wednesday night, but the students received their allowances yesterday (about 250 USD) and after buying some notebooks and toilet paper, they are free to spend the rest at the bar.
As we passed by across the street we ran into some local students who we eager to make international friends. We introduced ourselves – when I said I was from Minnesota a local girl asked if I was from Minneapolis, which was pretty cool because most people here have just given a blank stare when I mention Minnesota. The group of us ended up talking for a while, as we discussed student life and the like. The more we talked, the more I realized how big of an influence the West and the U.S. in particular have on the rest of world. The local students here know more about U.S. popular culture than I do and they’re flattered when we just know a handful of facts about Botswana, which I suppose highlights the double standard of Americans in many places of the world.
Anyways, we got their numbers and promised to call if we ever needed anything. One of the local students told me where to show up on Monday if I wanted to try out for the basketball team and then we said our goodbyes. More friends by the day.
The braai last night reminded me of a story about celebrations in Botswana. The subject of weddings came up during orientation and one of our leaders explained that when word of a wedding spreads, it spreads far and all are welcome to come, invitation or not. Literally thousands of people show up and a massive celebration ensues and is accompanied, of course, by a massive feast. Our leader told us that when a wedding is announced, “all the chickens in Botswana fear for their lives” because so much food is to be made.
Speaking of feasts, today the gang decided we would take advantage of the kitchens in our dorms, and so we picked up some groceries from the local mall. We also recruited one of the German students, Jürgen, who had attended culinary school, to lend some guidance in the kitchen. Things couldn’t have gone smoother and we had one of (hopefully) many family style dinners together.
We played some pickup soccer again tonight. There are no fields with lights on, so we play on an asphalt court, which works just fine, and tonight we had actual goals to shoot on, which was an upgrade. It really is a good time, too. Everyone gets opportunities to touch the ball, yet there is a decent pace for the more competitive players.
Pan fried chicken with a whiskey-based demi-glaze on a bed of medium grain rice and a side of seasonal, steamed vegetables all paired nicely with a bottle of tap water for dinner…
“Dumela” is the word for ‘hello’ in Setswana, which is the unofficial language of Botswana. In America we joke about ‘please’ being the magic word, but in Botswana ‘dumela’ actually works magic. When you meet someone, or need to ask a question, if you don’t greet him or her with ‘dumela’ you likely won’t get a friendly response. Being an international student, there is always a little bit of awkwardness when first meeting local people, but with a simple ‘dumela’ you see their faces light up and the ice is mostly broken.
Today was our first day free of obligations, and the gang and I used the opportunity to relax. We met at 11 (which means 11:30, if you haven’t caught onto Botswana time yet) to head to lunch. We went to the cafeteria and we all tried the chicken pie. The Aussies in the audience know them well, but for others a chicken pie is like a potpie that you can hold in your hand. There is a flaky, pastry-like outer layer and inside is the chicken and creamy filling. The Botswana version is a bit spicier, as they like to incorporate chili powder whenever possible. They were a hit with the gang and we washed them down with a soda that was all-too reminiscent of cough syrup.
After an afternoon siesta (I don’t know the Setswana term for it yet) we got ready for a big barbecue hosted by one of the international students who has been here since last semester. The Setswana word for a barbecue or cookout is ‘braai’ (pronounced brye) and they get quite the turnout. There were two huge grills with crowds around them, one group of students playing soccer, another playing Frisbee, while the majority mingled in the middle. Some of the local students added to the atmosphere by playing music out of their cars and a group of boys were dancing along. As the sun set on the braai, it was hard not to appreciate the beauty of people, local and international, coming together over food in a celebration that would have required a much bigger occasion to have been pulled off back home.
In true Botswana style there was heaps and heaps of beef, but in a refreshing twist some of the international students made pasta salads and I got some of my first vegetables on the trip. I don’t know if it was the cooking or simply the atmosphere of the place, but everything was delicious and everyone went back for seconds and thirds. People slowly started making their way back home as the food ran low, and the braai came to a close, but it was a night that won’t be soon forgotten.
Beef, pasta, vegetables, but most importantly good company for dinner…
The second day of Orientation moved pretty slowly. Again, the program started about a half hour late, but we are used to it by now. One of the directors even acknowledged this phenomenon of ‘Africa time’, as she said “you know what, next year I’m just not going to put any times on the schedule; things will happen as they.”
My dorm building; its called A-block
After Orientation, the gang and I were moved into our permanent housing for the semester, which is still in the graduate village, but we’re now spread out across different buildings. The Ethernet jack in my new room was broken, but somehow with a pencil and some elbow grease I got everything connected.
We had a nice evening planned, as we were supposed to get a tour of the city and then have a nice outdoor traditional dinner with local music and dance. The tour ended up just being a trip to the mall and then the dinner was cancelled due to the weather, so people scrambled to make new plans. The other Mac student, Derek, and I ended up grabbing fast food at the mall and a lot of others followed suit.
View from the courtyard of the graduate village.
Robin and Derek on the bench.
A sign on the outside wall of a dorm building; part of
health and wellness campaign on campus
Back at school, one of the girls had a great idea of playing some pickup soccer at the university’s sports complex. We heard that there we lights, so we headed over around 8pm to beat the heat. When we got to the complex, there was a group of guys playing basketball, and I thought it could be a unique opportunity to meet local people while easing culture shock by playing a sport that I know and love. I was hesitant to ditch the soccer game, but I couldn’t resist. So another American student, Dexter, and I got in on a game of 4-on-4 while the rest of the group set up soccer. Basketball was a blast; it was exactly what I needed. It felt so good to break a sweat and the guys we were playing with were quite skilled and so we played some great games. One of the guys played for the university and he told Dexter and I about a casual league we could join at the school, or that we could even try out for the varsity team if we wanted. The lights went out on the basketball courts eventually, but not before I met some cool people and had a great time. I jumped into the soccer game late and tried my best, but I have a major deficiency in foot-eye coordination and so I struggled to say the least.
After we got back and showered, Derek and a German student and I decided to check out the campus bar. It was around the corner from the graduate block and seemed to be a popular spot, so we gave it a try. It turned out to be a great time. Everyone was incredibly friendly and you couldn’t take two steps without a local student introducing himself and asking all about America and what we think about Africa. (And beers were only $1.50)
There were some big shots at the bar as well. I got introduced to a guy named Percy who apparently is the best basketball player in the entire country (I can already see T. Joe leaving a comment asking if it was Percy Harvin). He played in the states for 10 years and now he dominates at the college level in Botswana. He invited me to play some pickup ball with him the next day and I might take him up on it. The director of sports (equivalent of an athletic director?) was at the bar as well and the three of us were introduced to him. He said he could get us into club soccer or basketball or things like that, and so he may prove to be a valuable contact.
Safe sex is such a pervasive message that this piece of
art was on display at the local museum.
(A condom is being passed)
The next morning (which is this morning for me) a smaller group of us got a true tour of the city, as we went to the local museum, bus station and got real Botswana food for lunch. Then, for about $1.50 each our van got to drive all around the local game reserve. I could try to explain it here, but I think the pictures will do it better justice. Animals were everywhere and they were all species that I had never seen in person before.
We then came back to campus and got time to rest before we go out for the night. Our program director, Phoebe, is throwing a party at her apartment, which should be a blast, and then a group of us are heading to the campus nightclub to hopefully break the ice with a few more local students.
Heading the cafeteria for dinner (which means chicken and rice)...
When the first day of Orientation was over, the seven of us who are in the graduate housing (who I will refer to as “the gang” from here on) headed towards one of the local malls to do some shopping and grab dinner. We had no idea how to get there, but we figured we would just ask a local for directions. Asking for directions in Botswana is easier said than done, however. How it works is you ask one person where the mall is and they point in a general direction and tell you to just ask another person after a while. So we followed this pattern though it took us on a somewhat jagged path, as sometimes you would walk for a ways before you ran into another person, and you had already missed your turn.
The mall, called Riverwalk, was fairly westernized, with a movie theater, grocery store and tons of clothing stores. The item on the top of most of our shopping lists was an Ethernet cord and so we headed to the electronics store, but the cheapest cords were 250 Pula (which is like $40!), so we went to the shop around the corner and settled for ones that were around $16. It ended up being a lesson in Botswana consumerism, however, because a girl from a different group found the exact same cord for $2 at a different mall. It pays big to shop around here.
We were going to have a nice sit-down dinner, but the sun was going down and we didn’t want to have to find our way back in the dark, so we grabbed sandwich ingredients and hit the road. I suppose we should have gotten more traditional Botswana fare to initiate our cultural immersion, but a little taste of home doesn’t hurt here and there.
We were all hungrier than we thought and finished the sandwiches in the blink of an eye. We stayed and hung out around the dinner table for hours afterwards, though, and everyone shared various stories and adventures and I ended up learning a lot about the gang. The first full day was a great success. (I left my camera in my room today, though, which is the reason for the lack of pictures, but I promise the next post will be overflowing with photos)
So I’m officially on my third day in Botswana now. When I got in on Wednesday I was on a plane with about six other kids from my program, and our flight got in about an hour and a half late. So when we got to the University of Botswana, all the staff had gone home and we weren’t able to move into our dorms. They decided to put us in the graduate school “village” for the night, but ‘for the night’ has now turned into indefinitely (maybe two weeks?) although students will be needing these rooms for the start of classes on Monday, so there will certainly be some chaos.
On a more interesting note, another reason that the dorms weren’t quite ready was that last Monday was declared a national holiday a week ago, and so the school lost a day of preparation as the staff was home for the holiday. And the kicker is that the reason for the holiday was the government felt that since New Year’s fell on a weekend, people needed an extra day off. I guess the New Year’s parties here must be a little crazier than back home.
Yesterday we had our first day of orientation and I got my first lesson in “Africa time”. The night before orientation we asked the local woman who has been our liaison if we could get breakfast in the morning. She said that we could and that we should meet her in the courtyard an hour before orientation. So we show up and there was no sign of her for at least 15 minutes, so we went to track down the cafeteria on our own. The cafeteria was supposed to open at 8, but even as we rolled in at 8:20 there was no sign of life in the whole place. Eventually our liaison caught up to us and led us to the staff lounge around back, where we actually had a nice breakfast of eggs, bread and chicken liver. A lot of kids were saying that they had never had chicken liver for breakfast before, but I had never had chicken liver, period. It actually tasted fine, but the texture held me back from cleaning my plate.
So then we went back to the student center for orientation and a woman told us that the program was delayed and that we had time to go eat breakfast if we wanted. That’s the last time I wake up early to do something here, because chances will have it that wherever you need to be won’t be starting on time.
The first part of the orientation was great. The assistant director of the international office gave a fantastic, if overly-rehearsed, speech welcoming us to campus and another woman told us about the bevy of interesting events that are happening on campus this semester. The inter-varsity games are being held in Botswana this year, which is, I understood it, a tri-national tournament in a variety of sports, the headliner of which is soccer. They also have an event called cultural days, where they have the international students prepare traditional food and music from their home country and put it on display. (What is traditional American food and music?)
The orientation started going downhill from there, though. A woman in charge of student affairs gave a talk about rules and regulations and it was almost laughable with some of the things she brought up. We should avoid throwing drinks all over the walls of our dorms, we’re not allowed to put our textbooks on the floor of our rooms and “could you please just make your beds, because it’s gross when the beds are unmade.” She then moved onto a lighter subject and talked to us about the importance of mingling with local students and making new friends. This turned out to be a major paradox, however, which has thus become a theme of the advice given by many people. Everyone stresses the importance of mingling with the local people, but then an even greater stress is put on not trusting anyone, because he or she is probably a thief. The woman from student affairs, after advising that a key to coping here is to make friends, said that kids here will be your best friend until they are two weeks left in the semester and then they will rob you and disappear forever. So hopefully I end up meeting the trustworthy locals.
I don’t know how long blogs are supposed to be, but I’m going to stop this one here and tell about the rest of the day in the next post. So if you were really excited to hear what I had for dinner, I’m keeping you in suspense until I post again…(I'll try to have pictures in the next one, too)
It turns out that getting to Botswana is a trip in itself. I left Minneapolis at 11 am on Monday and touched down in Botswana at 5:30 pm on Wednesday. It was certainly a lesson in patience, but the 12-hour layover in London provided some perks.
They brought out banners when they heard I was
coming
I got into London at 6:30 am on Tuesday morning and didn’t have to be back for my next flight until 4 pm, so I took the Tube (London’s subway) into central London. The man selling tickets told me it was rush hour on the Tube and asked if I was sure I still wanted a ride, and I said “sure, how bad could it be?” Well rush hour was no joke; it felt like the entire city was packed onto that train. It was the densest packing of people I’ve ever seen, and it wasn’t without side effects. One man accidently elbowed a woman in the face and she confronted him about it.He wouldn’t apologize and she went ballistic. I thought for a second that I was going to be breaking up a fight at 7 in the morning in the middle of London, but the situation defused.
Then there was a delay on the Tube as a person had flung themselves onto the tracks at one of the stops along the way, so I didn’t get to Central London until 8.As I emerged from the underground platform, I felt hopelessly like a tourist as I was wheeling along my suitcase and had my nose buried in a map among the bustle of Londoners on their way to work. I managed to slip into a Starbucks and grab a light breakfast as I consulted the map for sightseeing destinations. I was hoping for free wireless internet as well, but apparently that doesn’t exist in London, as I asked the cashier if they had it and she said only if bought a Starbucks rewards card and used it for a purchase of 5 pounds or more. Then I asked if there was free internet anywhere, and she said no, and that my best bet was to pay for it at an internet café, so I kept that in mind.
The red phone booth and double decker bus seemed
like quintessential London
As I looked over the map, it looked as though the London Bridge was fairly close, and that was certainly on the top of my sightseeing wish list. So I headed off in that direction, but it turns out that I should’ve looked at the scale on the map a little more closely, as I walked for 45 minutes and wasn’t even halfway there. So I settled for a smaller walking bridge and I got a few good pictures of the Thames, Merlin Entertainments London Eye (the Ferris Wheel), and the clock tower on the house of Parliament.
Merlin Entertainments London Eye
Clock tower on the House of Parliament with
Westminster Abbey in the background
It turned out that Buckingham palace was much closer and so I walked down ‘The Mall’ where I encountered the Horse Guards (see pictures) and then at the end of the Mall was the palace. I was hoping to see one of the guards with the big poofy hats that aren’t allowed to move, but I must have gone at the wrong time. The path I took back from the palace brought me within sight of Westminster Abbey and the House of Parliament, but I think I needed a history lesson or two to fully appreciate the importance of those buildings.
The Horse Guards
Buckingham Palace
On the way back to the airport I stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall café that seemed to be one of the hot spots. It was noon by then and I was hoping for lunch, but they were certainly on a different schedule because I received a breakfast menu and received a blank stare when I asked for anything different. So I ordered the proper “full English breakfast”, which felt much like an American breakfast, with the addition of baked beans, and I was pleasantly filled (I had an elegant sufficiency).
Right outside my Tube terminal was an internet café so I stumbled in and got to check my email and the like for a very affordable rate.
The trip back to the airport was much smoother and my flight went off without a hitch. I thought London was going to be less like the other European cities I had seen, but in the end it felt very similar. I’m certainly glad I made the stop.
I have a habit of putting down what I had for dinner in my journal, and so I think I may carry it over to my blog (for lack of a better conclusion).
