Leah Hart spent a year in Botswana serving with the Peace Corps.
Here is her story — written during her service.
Hello, friends and family.
I’m in Africa!!! It doesn’t feel entirely real just yet, because we have been coddled by the Peace Corps so far with nice hotels and little exposure to daily life in a town or village. These are a few notable things so far:
1. It’s hot. Not too hot, just wonderfully sunny and warm. At night it’s cool.
2. There are goats everywhere, crossing the street and bleating outside the hotel lobby door.
3. We drove on the left side of the road during our 6 hour bus trip here from Johannesburg yesterday.
4. The border crossing was so easy! Everyone looked delighted to have U.S. visitors and said “welcome to Botswana” about a hundred times.
5. There is a church at the hotel. Or at least, a place where people gathered to worship (mostly through incredibly beautiful singing) this past Friday night. Apparently we will most likely be invited to go to church with our host families and I can’t wait.
There are 43 people in our training group. We will split into three groups on Monday and move to towns outside of the capital, Gaborone, where we are currently staying in a hotel. The age range is 22 to 75. It is a diverse group in other ways, too. Training will last 8 weeks and then we will receive a site assignment. We move in with host families on Monday. Training consists of 8am to 4pm days of sitting in sessions with our host country trainers (wonderful people who are making a difference in their country) and current volunteers (also wonderful people and so helpful) as they try to prepare us for what’s to come. It’s hard for them to address everything. So much depends on someone’s site placement and we won’t know that for weeks. I will probably have electricity and water at my site. But maybe not. I will probably make Botswana friends easily. But maybe not. I will probably experience discrimination as woman and feel as if I’m treated as an object . . . but it depends. That’s sort of how the discussion goes.
I am so happy to be here. It is still overwhelming to think about being gone for so long and missing all of you, of course, but something I’ve already started to learn is to relax and be in the moment. I am exhausted. Wisconsin is 8 hours behind Botswana time.
This is a repeat for some of you, but since it would be so lovely to receive mail, I’ll tell you again. ;) My mailing address during training is:
Peace Corps
Leah Hart
Private Bag 00243
Gaborone, Botswana
I hope you’re all doing well and enjoying spring!
love, leah
Dear friends and family,
I am currently shadowing a volunteer in Nata village in northern Botswana. While at the hotel in Philadelphia , a fellow trainee showed me an online video of the clinic at Nata, so I had a picture of the place in my head. Adding the smell and feel and taste is almost indescribable, but I will try.
Melody Jenkins (Mel) is our host. She is a fifty year old, single, no kids (by choice, she will have you know) second-time volunteer. She had an opportunity fall into her lap here when a documentary producer came through on a tourist trip and took up her cause at the clinic. She helped create a website, with Peace Corps’ permission (which was not easy to get), and now there is a trust that funds projects at the clinic and social work office in town.
Nata is a village of about 5,000 and it is poor. There are 400 orphans here. People are under-nourished. It is an isolated village, even though it is directly off a main road, there isn’t much around. However, it is a stopping place for tourists on the way to Victoria Falls in Zambia. Partly because of that and partly because of an open-minded, accepting kgosi (chief), it is extremely progressive in its HIV/AIDS response. This little clinic treats hundreds of people from the surrounding area. It recently became a registered ARV clinic (to their dismay, because now their patient load is overwhelming . . . there are 70 just in the village currently on the ARV medication). A patient becomes eligible for ARV’s when their CD4 count (a type of white blood cell) is below 200. In the U.S., it is under 300.
Mel has dabbled in several different projects. She helped register 800 orphans in the surrounding area. She trained staff at the clinic to use the three computers they had and couldn’t use. She registered a community support group and an HIV/AIDS education youth group who do dances and skits at all sorts of events as community-based organizations so they could get funding from the government. When she first came, she walked around the community and passed out condoms and asked people if they were tested. She’s pretty amazing . . .
Nata is beautiful. It doesn’t get as cold during the winter nights here . . . not lower than 40’s. There is a river (the Nata River) that goes through the town. Just north on the river is a bird sanctuary (I’m going to see those birds tomorrow, Grandpa). Chobe National Park is only 30K away, with elephants and lions and everything. There’s a lodge nearby with a pool that Mel can use. The stars and moon which was full the night before last are amazing.
There are lots of opportunities to generate income for the town from tourists. Mel is arranging a walk through town along the river, watching a woman make local fried bread, see basket-making, and watch the construction of a traditional home. She took us on the walk this morning. I think it will be very popular. I asked about seeing traditional dances. She says they’re working on it.
This is a breath of fresh air from pre-service training. Even though I have a great host family (whom I will describe in a moment), the training is exhausting. There are few hours of daylight to be active, study the language, or run errands. Most of our time is spent sitting in a classroom, learning about what may or may not happen at our site after we may or may not get sworn in as volunteers. There have been some great speakers from different government AIDS offices, but apparently (according to Mel) those offices tend to be corrupt and funding gets diverted to the employees of the offices rather than the orphans or sick for whom the money was intended. (Which is why Mel’s trust is so brilliant . . . no middle men besides a Peace Corps volunteer who literally can’t take any of the money or she’d get sent back home).
My host family’s last name is Moklogelwa. I don’t know the names of my grandmother and grandfather. They are mme (grandmother) and grrandfatha. I have a 20 year old host sister named Boi (pronounced Bouey) and a 3 year old brother named Gnose (“Nos”). He is precious. He calls me Auntie and loves it when I play the guitar. It is very typical to hit children (even so young) and so the children are extremely receptive to affection, unlike children in the U.S. (I think). If he is crying (maybe because grandma just whacked him for being “naughty”), and I pick him up and hug him, he is instantly happy. It has an immediate, visible affect that is rather heart-breaking.
The family is 7-day Adventist. They are not as strict as some Adventists (who are vegans) but they are certainly serious about their faith. We sing a hymn and pray every night before bed. They go to church on Saturday and strongly believe in keeping the Sabbath (Saturday). Church was three hours. #1 hymn-singing and a speaker/presentation about disabled people in Moshupa (the village I am in) #2 more or less adult Sunday school, discussing “How we know the bible is reliable” #3 a “normal” church service with hymns, the doxology, prayers, and a sermon
I have a room to myself in a fairly nice house and I feel completely safe and comfortable. I can cook my own food if I choose, but there is usually something being prepared when I get home from training and they always offer me some. I have tried goat intestine for the first and last time. I’ve eaten more kinds of porridge than I can remember, but I do know that the sorghum was my favorite and the sour porridge (they put cream of tartar in cornmeal and let it sit around the house and sour) is awful. I haven’t been given the traditional sour milk, but other volunteers say it’s not so bad. Few vegetables grow in Botswana — butternut squash (there is tons of it), potatoes, carrots, and onions. Everything else is imported. I crave fresh fruits and vegetables! I am so jealous of those who will soon be enjoying summer produce from the Farmer’s Market (or the Hart family garden). We have had salad for two meals at Mel’s house and I am in heaven.
In Botswana, one of the most noticeable cultural norms is the importance of greeting people. Everyone says “dumela, mma (to a woman) and dumela, rra (to a man)” before starting any kind of conversation. If you ask for directions (or anything) without greeting first, you will be ignored. So, the Setswana that I know mostly has to do with saying “hello, how are you, I’m fine, how are you” and I know it very well. There is a slow pace to life. People walk incredibly slowly through the village, partly to allow for all the greeting that has to happen. So far, I haven’t felt impatient about it (because I have absolutely no agenda before or after training) but I’m sure at some point I will want to light a fire under everyone’s feet.
Some other “cultural observations”: Saying thank you is rarely done (their greeting is like our saying thank you . . . I had no idea it was so important to us to say please and thank you until I found it lacking). People cut in lines if they feel they are in more of a hurry than the others. Gender roles are strictly defined, although younger generations are starting to “modernize” (men will help with housework and women will help generate income), especially in the cities.
People are friendly and gentle and they love Americans, although sometimes that comes from the perception that white people (especially Americans) are rich and therefore a source of handouts.
Okay, that’s enough generalizing. I have only been here for 12 days or so. Please take what I write with a grain of salt until you see Botswana for yourselves. ;)
I think of you fondly and often.
Love, Leah (Setswana name, Thapelo, meaning prayer)
Dumela, totlhe (greetings, all):
I am currently sitting in the Peace Corps office in Gaborone due to a change of plans that involved a loss of connection with a driver that was supposed to pick my friend Monica and me up to go off to our respective sites, Charles Hill and Kole. This sort of thing is a common occurrence, and I am quite enjoying this particular schedule faux pa because it means a night in a hotel (a shower is a rare gift . . . bucket baths just aren’t the same) and we can have a more leisurely travel day tomorrow, starting early. By 8pm or so, I should be in my new village, in a new house, and having, in general, a fresh start.
Kole is small. Less than 1,000 people (population isn’t really measured, I’ve decided . . . no one in Kole seems to know how many people live there. From what I saw, about 200, but it could very well be more). 2 main roads, a primary school (grades 1-7), a health post (smaller than a clinic), 2 police officers, and one phone, at the police “station.” There is no cell phone coverage (I will miss the weekly calls from my parents!), but there is internet 18 km away in a village called Ncojane. There is a volunteer, Susie, in Ncojane who has been here a year. I met her at site visit a few weeks ago and it will be easy to be her friend. She’s excited for me to come.
There is just too much to say, I’m going to have to be selective. Business first. My new postal address is:
Leah Hart
Post Box 42
Charles Hill, Botswana
Afrika
The old one (Private Bag 00243/Gaborone, Botswana) still works, it will just be held at the P.C. office or forwarded from here so it will take longer.
My housing situation in Kole is a bit . . . well, up in the air. I lived at a house that people say is “my house” while I was at site visit, but the government health workers at the clinic in Charles Hill who dropped me off said, “you shouldn’t have to suffer so!” and the health post RN Malebogo (who is great) was writing letters on my behalf to the gov’t office in charge of my housing to ask if I could move into the social worker’s house when she moves out on July 10th. I felt very well taken care of, even though the house is not much more than an empty cement block, it is certainly the sort of house I expected to live in when I signed up for the Peace Corps. The first night, someone dropped off a bed. The next day, an “ambulance” (meaning the covered pick up trucks that are provided for gov’t transport that sometimes take patients in the back) brought me a stove from the clinic to borrow for a few days. The clinic in Ncojane sent dishes and blankets. My neighbors helped replace a leaky gas regulator on my stove. Someone came to repair a broken window the day after I came on very short notice. So, even though Peace Corps Botswana is not typically the “typical Peace Corps experience” and I am the ONLY volunteer in our group with no bathroom in the house, no running water in the house, no electricity, no cell phone coverage, no post office, etc., I feel quite confident that I will be well-looked-after. Most likely I will be moved to gov’t housing (which would have electricity and running water – what luxury) sometime in the next two weeks. I am sort of doubtful that any of the borrowed items I used during site visit (like the bed and stove) will still be in “my” house when I get to Kole tomorrow. And I’m even more doubtful that it will be furnished by the matron (the woman in charge of the sub-district where I work- the over-seer for the gov’t health workers) as she is the one who provided (or didn’t provide in this case) transport to our sites. I am doing my best to give her the benefit of the doubt and not dread having to ask for reimbursements for electrical and water bills from her even though Susie tells me, “I’m not sure what that matron does . . . makes sure nothing changes, I guess.”
Even though I have done a bit of worrying about my housing situation, it’s amazing how insignificant it seems compared to the immensity of what we will be doing as volunteers for the next two years. I am so excited about the possibilities. We had our “swearing in” service yesterday, when we officially graduated from trainees to volunteers. Our country director, Peggy McClure (who is fabulous), gave an inspirational speech about looking forward to the time when HIV/AIDS takes its place with small pox and the plague in human history; the day when our children will be asking “what was that AIDS thing all about?” . . . and also, that future generations can say, “how fortunate you were to be in a position to do something so meaningful and such a critical time.” This stuff really sinks in when you start recognizing the impact of HIV/AIDS first-hand. My host family has had two family members (a neice and a cousin, I think) die in the past two months. I’m sure it was of AIDS-related illnesses, because the cause of death was supposedly “unknown.” They were “sick”. Monica’s host family had a friend who died of “a headache.” At the health post in Kole, there is a form that the RN has to fill out and send to the sub-district head (Charles Hill) at the end of every week. It is supposed to be a record of the diseases in the area and gives numbers of illnesses due to malaria, TB, etc. HIV/AIDS is not listed. TB is a fairly good tracker, though. 70% of people with TB are HIV positive. One of the other volunteers was watching her host dad die of TB (probably AIDS-related). Even that, as awful and heart-wrenching as it sounds, just becomes a part of “normal” life, even for us. I don’t think we’re hardened, it’s just “the way it is.”
So, on a lighter note, I had an amazing experience at the swearing in service yesterday. I was volunteered to do a short speech in Setswana because I have a good Setswana accent (according to my fellow trainees, but what do they know?) Well, apparently they were right, because the audience, including our host parents, government officials, training staff, and ourselves were overwhelming with their response: they oo-ed and ah-ed and sighed happily and gave me a standing ovation at the end and I got hugs from everyone at the head table when I was done. The host mom’s were crying and my teacher (who helped me translate and practice the speech) was so happy. It was a wonderful feeling to be able to express to them our gratitude in their own language. It was obviously well-received. My host mom kept saying, “I’m so happy . . . clever girl.” Today at the peace corps office, Peggy (director) said, “people are still talking about you. (The Associate PC director) Pinny says you were the best of any trainees that have spoken in Setswana at any event.” Wow.
Okay, enough bragging about myself. Monica is getting listless she is so hungry and we’ve had a stressful morning, so I have to close here. I think I will be in more regular email contact once I get to Kole since the post office in Ncojane has internet that Susie assures me is available to us.
I love and miss you all very much. You are in my thoughts and prayers.
love, leah
Dear friends and family,
Dumelang, tsotlhe!!! Life in Kole is much more slowly paced, and so I have lots of time to think about you all. I haven’t considered getting on a plane to go home yet, but I do miss you and appreciate any correspondence so much. Denise, thank you for the candle! And, Mom and Dad, of course, send an impressive amount of mail . . . thank you.
So, the journey to Kole involves a 6 hour ride on a paved road between Gaborone, heading slightly north and mostly west towards Namibia. Before you reach Ganzi (sometimes spelled Ghanzi, or Gantsi or any combination thereof, just like Kole is Kule on the map), turn left at the “junction” towards Charles Hill. Charles Hill is a settlement of about five different ethnic groups: Herrero, Bakgalagadi, Basarwa (San), Motswana, and Namibian to name those I have heard of, although there are those I haven’t. My friend Monica is there. She has the challenge of trying to mobilize a community that has absolutely no history of being a community with tribalism and ethnic and cultural divides . . . three previous volunteers have been unsuccessful in starting support groups or anything of the sort related to HIV/AIDS. So, create a sense of community and then mobilize them. Eish, I don’t envy her. She may be moving to a new community, which is a whole different story involving Peace Corps politics which I won’t get into, but it’s related to the fact that our two closest volunteers, Andrew (also in Charles Hill) and Susie (18 km south of Kole) are leaving for the States next week. They have both decided for very good reasons not to finish their two years. It seems to be a trend for Botswana volunteers and I’m beginning to wonder if Peace Corps Botswana should only be 1 year to start with and that way communities don’t have to be disappointed if volunteers leave before their term is up. Susie and Andrew broke the news to Monica and me on the same day (by coincidence) last weekend. It was sort of a shock and we felt a little bit like the rug was pulled out from under us at first, but once I was used to the idea of truly being the only lekgoa anywhere around Kole, I realized it won’t change my situation or experience that much. They are still lovely people who still have every intention of making me comfortable and happy in Kole and I am capable of being a happy and effective volunteer there.
I moved to a gov’t house with running water (luxury!) and have part of my furniture. So, my housing fiasco is still getting worked out, but I feel comfortable and people seem to be concerned about getting me the stove and gas-run refrigerator as soon as possible. They have even said that electricity will be installed. Complete luxury! :)
The staff at the health post have been extremely receptive and understanding about my role as a health care volunteer. Other volunteers have run into expectations of being at the clinic/health post 40 hrs/week. It’s difficult to do any sort of community mobilization from that position, but my co-workers seem to understand that I will be more effective if I am mobile. I have already been invited to teach a class in English (I will do a short HIV/AIDS education) in the standard 7 class at the primary school. I can, in turn, sit in on their Setswana classes. Since they speak Segkalagadi in their homes, the kids really are learning Setswana at a level that will be helpful for me. I also have a tutor. He is the standard 1 teacher. Most of the teachers are young men, and I didn’t feel comfortable asking them to tutor me, but he is an older gentlemen and therefore automatically more . . . respectful. (Two of the other teachers have proposed marriage . . . they must have had enough contact with Peace Corps in the past to have realized that Americans don’t require leboa, the fee for marriage which can be up to 20 head of cattle (40,000 pula)). I also have a “walking partner”. She is one of the FWE’s (family welfare educators) at the health post. We haven’t actually followed through on our walking date for 5pm after work every day yet because she’s in the process of moving, but I have been walking and it is completely safe to do it alone if I want or need to.
I think I have determined that the population of Kole is about 800 or 900. There is a big gap in the middle of the village where an air strip used to be (to fly in health care workers before the health post arrived). So, it was hard to tell, before I started walking around.
I am excited about the possibilities of doing HIV/AIDS education with the staff at the health post and then having them help me make an AIDS day for the community of Kole. We will serve lunch and tea so that people come and then present the history, modes of transmission, how ARV therapy works, time frame of the disease, behavior change methods, and most importantly, ANSWER QUESTIONS. Some of my fellow volunteers did a workshop for the Red Cross while we were still in Moshupa and the questions we got were surprising. (I feel like I’ve written this before, I hope I’m not repeating myself) . . . anyway, one woman asked how it was possible that a baby of an HIV + woman be born HIV – . . . it’s strange that PMTCT is so successful and almost every pregnant woman in Botswana is enrolled who needs to be enrolled (we are only missing about 4%) and yet that question is floating around. Eish.
I also think I have mental health skills to offer my co-workers and Kole. I hope to talk about “active listening” and “counseling skills” which are things that I only had three months of training for before working at Mendota for a year and a half . . . but still, they seem to be topics that are only talked about and not really practiced, even in the health care setting. Ultimately, my goal will be to increase cross-gender communication. As important as the extended family is in the history and culture of Botswana, the nuclear family unit seems to have no bearing and it is extremely uncommon to find a husband and wife actually living together and raising children together. They are working in different places and grandma has the kids. So, sexual relations happen between all kinds of people, and things like, “sexual history”, are virtually unheard of, especially if discussed between a man and woman. To change the HIV/AIDS situation in Botswana, something needs to happen regarding cross-gender communication, especially in the bedroom.
I’m out of time for the internet. I will write in the next two weeks.
Take care, I love and miss you very much!
love, leah
Hello, hello, hello,
I apologize in advance if this gets scattered or abstract or if I sound flustered . . . this past week has been a whirlwind of activity (who would have thought, in a small African village).
I spent the weekend in Charles Hill after a grocery shopping trip in Ganzi (which is a big deal . . . iceberg lettuce never looked so beautiful and fresh and green). There was a farewell gathering for Andrew, the DAC (District AIDS Coordinator) volunteer in Charles Hill. He is going home a year early to be with the love of his life and sail his boat down the coast of Maine. He is 60 years old and has done 8 years of Peace Corps service, as a volunteer and staff member. I could hardly wish anything different than for him to go home early. His office hosted a lovely party, and had really nice things to say to him and going away presents that they bought for him and his significant other who they met when she visited. It was an emotional day. The previous group of volunteers is half-way through their service, so they were on the way to their Mid-Service Re-connect in Gaborone. Susie, the volunteer in Ncojane arrived during the party and was in tears because she had just called to put in her notice, as well . . . so, we were saying goodbye to Andrew, and trying to support Susie in her decision (which she is still wavering about . . . we will hear a final, final answer about whether or not she is leaving or staying later this week).
There is a PMTCT drama competition in Ganzi on Aug. 4th. Every village is supposed to have a drama team. The theme is “Safe Preparation of Infant Formula” . . . Kole is in the process of forming their team (yikes! We are way behind schedule). I am on the catering committee for the event, besides making signs to advertise the event in Kole, and try to get potential drama team members to come to a meeting at the clinic (our 2pm meeting time yesterday was ineffective). I am also on the catering committee for a Crime Prevention workshop next week in Kole . . . Crime Prevention is a gov’t dept. that deals with cattle and goat theft. I was at a meeting at the kgotla, which was all in Setswana, and at the end they asked me what committee I wanted to be on . . . I thought I should probably be involved in whatever it was so I said, “ke batla go apaya (I want to cook).” And there, you have it, I’m on the catering committee for the Crime Prevention workshop. Stock theft is the primary concern of my kgosi and village headmen.
Since Andrew left, I am left in charge of forming our Village Multi-Sectorial AIDS Committee. This is an extension of the national program response to HIV/AIDS. There are District Multi-Sector AIDS Committees, but it seems they don’t reach the village level, where HIV work is most needed. So, the District AIDS Coordinators are supposed to form VMSACS . . . Andrew came to Kole a couple of weeks ago and we set a date for a training session where the whole village is invited and the DAC will explain what VMSAC is and who should be on the committee. (I apologize for all the acronyms, Botswana is FULL of them and it quickly becomes part of one’s vocabulary). So, I heard on Monday morning that the date we set wouldn’t work because the DAC (Theresa, Andrew’s counterpart) couldn’t attend. She was supposed to lead the training so we had to pick a different date. After the meeting about the crime prevention workshop, we had a two-hour meeting (in Setswana) picking a new date for the VMSAC training. Every once in awhile they would ask for my input, but I’m afraid they understand as much of my english as I do of their setswana at this point because I had to explain the same thing each time. They wanted to know: “What is VMSAC?” I said, “That’s what the training is for: to explain what VMSAC is and who should be on the committee.” They said, “Okay” and then a little while later would say: “Who is supposed to be on the committee?” Eish, it took forever and I felt confused and frustrated at the end of it all, realizing I was in a position of go-between . . . I have arbitrarily become the connection between the village heads of Kole and the DAC office in Charles Hill and those two things are worlds apart. The kgosi was upset that the nurse wasn’t at the meeting because this was an AIDS-related thing. One of the reasons for starting a “MULTI-SECTORIAL” committee is to help villages realize that AIDS is much more than a health issue. It affects all facets of life (and therefore all sectors of the village).
After picking the date, I called Theresa in Charles Hill, head spinning, asking for some advice about how to present VMSAC in a way that would make it more than a health care staff driven committee. She informed me that the old date we had would work after all and the new one wouldn’t, she would be at a conference in Gaborone. Deep breaths . . . I told the kgosi we would reschedule the training yet again sometime in August (or maybe September . . . it’s up to Theresa now).
The idea behind VMSAC is brilliant: churches, pastors, health care workers, members of local gov’t, school teachers, community members, traditional healers, NGO’s, etc would choose representatives to form an AIDS committee that would: 1. identify needs of the committee, 2. form a plan to respond to HIV/AIDS, 3. Mobilize resources, 4. report results to the district level in order to further address the needs of the community. This is the sort of thing that looks great in writing and I saw first-hand this week why it is hard to implement using a top-down approach. And I also am feeling rather desperate about needing to learn Setswana . . .
Besides that, there is a funeral of a prominent community member of Kole. This is a week-long event. Every evening at 5pm, we gather at the family’s home and there is singing, praying, and preaching by various kgosana’s (headmen). The man who died was the headmaster at the school in Karakubis, a neighboring village, for the past 8 years and he died unexpectedly of complications of appendicitis. So, we have lots of people from out of town staying in the village. After the half-hour service, food is served to anyone who needs it. Apparently, not every family would be expected to feed the attenders of the funeral events, but since this is a prominent family, everyone knows food will be there. I am seeing the Basarwa or San people (you know them as Bushmen, but that is considered a deragatory term) for the first time. They are tiny and light-skinned and they understand Setswana, but tend not to speak it so have the appearance of being mute. On Saturday, goats and cows will be slaughtered and on Sunday morning (around 5am) we will have the burial.
Tatlego, the female teacher at the school, has been telling me what to go to and how to dress and what my duties are “as a woman in the village of Kole,” she says, “You must help cook and serve food at the funeral one night. We will go tomorrow,” she informed me yesterday. I am so grateful for her direction. The nurse at the clinic also is there, helping me. I had them over for tea on Monday evening after the first funeral event. And I am invited to watch a movie with them on Friday . . . there is a strange mix of ancient customs and modern influences every day . . .
I am almost out of internet time. To be continued . . .
I love hearing from you! I will try to come to Ncojane almost weekly, so feel free to email updates about your lives.
Take care! XOXO
love, leah
Dumela, gape (hello, again).
I came to Ncojane again to meet with the Headmaster at the junior secondary school and have a conversation about the GLOW (Girls/Guys Leading Our World) club I am hoping to help start there . . . he is receptive to the idea of letting his teachers and students be involved. It’s sort of a tricky situation because there is an 8 day long event in December that is supposed to the the spring-board event to starting a leadership club. Speakers and workshops and lots of interacting with like-minded youth while discussing difficult topics that are taboo at home (HIV/AIDS, sex, healthy relationships, communication skills, decision-making skills, etc) are supposed to the the inspiration for a club to do their own activities in their school and community . . . only one teacher and three students can attend. So, with grace and diplomacy (and still lacking language skills), I, as a new pc volunteer, am supposed to at once introduce myself, select the “best” teacher, and tell them to select three of their “best” students, all without offending anyone. Eish! But I am very excited about this. It is partly possible because of the unfortunate news that Susie has finally made a decision to leave her service and return to grad school in the U.S. (in Boston). She has been so sweet the last week, giving me endless gifts of apples and tomatoes (produce is so amazing these days) in attempts to alleviate her guilt. I think she is making the right decision and I have tried not to add to the agony of her decision by telling her how much I will miss her. I will adopt Ncojane if we are doing regional events or, like GLOW, if older youth are involved.
To continue the comical/frustrating fiasco of attending and understanding meetings . . . last week Monica went to a PMTCT meeting in Ganzi. I wasn’t there because no one told anyone in Kole it was happening. It was to continue planning for the drama competition event in August. The meeting started at 9am. Charles Hill is at least a two hour drive from Ganzi, so the staff from C.H. arrived late. They spent about half an hour being reprimanded for being late and not taking the meeting seriously. They proceeded discussing the sub-committtees for the event and who was on them. Monica was wondering, as part of the publicity sub-committee, what her responsibilities would entail. They explained that publicity was letting people know about the event. Monica was grateful for the definition, but still feels at a loss for her actual role in the process. Perhaps the Ganzi District should form a publicity sub-committee to let the villages know when meetings in Ganzi are happening. Anyway, they then discussed when the next meeting to plan the event would be (and, I, for one, am hoping that some actual planning starts happening at this one or I will be partly responsible for there being no food at the event as I am on the catering sub-committee). The next meeting is next Monday. Monica was so bold as to suggest that the meeting start at 10am, since Charles Hill is two hours away from Ganzi (not to mention Kole which is three hours) and it’s unrealistic to believe everyone could arrive by 9am. Clinic staff aren’t on duty until 7:30am. If Pearl and I are serious about being there on Monday, we will go to C.H. on Sunday night and leave with them the next morning. The Kole drama team has come together surprisingly well. The last two practices fell through, but there is one today that I am pretty sure people will attend. They were hoping to practice over this four-day weekend and I was rightfully skeptical about that actually happening. Six people met at the clinic last week to write a script for a play and pick out songs for the performance. These people can sing and dance!
This morning, I went with Pearl on a “home visit.” I was excited, thinking we were doing PMTCT work and following up with mothers who hadn’t come on time for formula or something . . . but we were reminding people that tomorrow is Thursday. Every Thursday morning at 5:30am, those patients who are on ARV treatment are supposed to come to the clinic and get blood drawn for a CD4 count check. It is taken to the lab at Ganzi with the ambulance (remember ambulance is an old, white covered pick-up full of people who may or may not be sick and may or may not just need a ride to Ganzi for groceries). If an ARV patient hasn’t shown up for awhile, they are put on a list and Pearl takes the list and chooses a few, usually who live close to each other to go remind that tomorrow is Thursday and they should go get blood drawn. If it seems unreasonable to expect patients (who are presumably sick, since they need to be on ARV’s) to come to the clinic at 5:30am, there’s a good reason for it. The blood can’t sit overnight.
I was informed at 9am that there was a meeting at 9am at the kgotla about the crime prevention workshop (it’s this weekend, and, if you will recall, I am on the catering committee . . . I just volunteer for the same thing to make it easy for myself to remember what I’m supposed to do at each event). ;) I went to the kgotla to inform them that I wouldn’t be able to attend the meeting because I was going to Ncojane with the doctor, but please let me know when to show up to cook on Saturday. They said fine, the meeting probably wouldn’t start until 10am, come back then if the doctor hadn’t come. The doctor came, but didn’t stop in Kole. In a place where transport is so rare and coveted, it is so disheartening to see the vehicle that you actually knew was coming go flying by without you. So I asked for a ride with the clinic driver who was taking patients that needed to see the doctor in Ncojane. He said, “of course, but the car won’t start.” We fussed around under the hood for awhile and finally got it to start with some pushing. Then I piled in with half of the people who needed to see the doctor in Ncojane. The driver had to go back for the other half. Don’t ask me why they didn’t just wait in Kole for the doctor to come back through. And don’t think about it too much yourself, either, my brain is starting to feel rattled from shaking my head.
Hm, I accidentally brought you up to the moment and left out stories from earlier in the week. Yesterday, I got a cat. I heard from Andrew before he left that the owner of the gas station in Charles Hill had some older kittens that they were giving away for free. Monica had inquired for me, and sure enough, there were two, a boy and a girl, about 6 months, all shots taken care of. I took the girl home. Her name is Lefifi, Lefi for short (it means dark in Setswana). She is pure black and has semi-long hair. She is sooo pretty, and that is not just a biased pet-mom’s opinion. Batswana are supposed to be afraid of black cats, but the four Motswana who have seen her have been impressed. :) The owners gave me some cat food until I have a chance to go to Ganzi and get more, but she will eat people food, too, especially the canned fish that are so readily available (again, I don’t understand why, these fish are canned whole in tomato sauce. They smell horrendous and don’t seem edible for humans but people don’t feed their pets anything but pelutshe — paylaytche — cornmeal mush).
Ah! I have all kinds of “these people”-type statements coming out in this email. I apologize, I do know better than to generalize, but I guess it’s inevitable in the process of learning and (hopefully) coming to understand “these people.”
Anyway, Lefi seems to be adjusting surprisingly well to a new home. She is eating and using her litter box and sleeping with me and purring almost constantly just like she’s been there forever.
Tomorrow morning I am supposed to have a meeting with the Kgosi. I confirmed it this morning, so I think it will happen. I want to hear about the history of Kole and the political structure and demographics and his perspective on HIV/AIDS and how it affects his community. This is all part of the small anthropological study that Peace Corps assigns along with the advice to “relax and not try to start any projects and adjust to the language and culture in the first three months.” I hope it will be helpful in gaining perspective . . .
The funeral ceremonies that I mentioned in my last email continued all last week and culminated with the arrival of the body on Saturday night and the burial Sunday morning. For a country that has experienced a lot of death recently, they sure haven’t given up on the cultural practices for funerals, at least for important public figures as this teacher apparently was. Friday morning, I was at the school, “supervising” the fifth graders cleaning their classroom. Three girls did most of the work and all of the explaining to me about the process, which involved slopping buckets of soapy water on the floor and rolling up our pants and sloshing around in the cold water (brr!) to mop the extremely dusty, dirty floor. I finally understood after the fact that we were doing such a thorough cleaning because the school was hosting out-of-town guests for the funeral. We took all the chairs across the road to the family’s home where the services were held and secured all the books in locked closets because, Tatlego informed me, they would “walk off” with the guest teachers if we didn’t. It was the first time I had thought of the possibility of something being stolen in Kole, and I have my doubts that it would have happened. Tatlego attended the church of the man who passed away, so she gave me special insight to the funeral proceedings and took me by the hand (literally) to the proceedings. She was leading hymns and prayers and by the end of the week, I was not only recognizing melodies, but understanding phrases (Modimo wa rona, re kopa go botsa . . . Our God, we want to ask) . . . It was a wonderful opportunity for me to be “visible in the community.” While I was in Charles Hill, Monica’s counterpart told me that her aunt had seen me (the lekgoa) at the funeral and she thought it was nice that I was there. So, I am grateful, but found the whole process extremely exhausting and can’t imagine if I had actually known the man. The prayer service on Saturday was from 8pm to midnight and then the viewing of the body on Sun. morning started at 4:30am. The burial service started at 6:30am and ended around 10am. Then people were serving food at the family’s home until late in the afternoon. I have no idea where their energy came from, I couldn’t think of eating, let alone cooking.
Besides Tatlego, a new lady teacher, Lizzy, arrived last week. I like her so much. She has two daughters, one in first grade and one 9 month old and a nephew who she is registering as an orphan today while we are in Ncojane. Her younger sister, Lesedi (the sister to the father of Lizzy’s kids, actually, but Lizzy introduces her as her sister) is also staying there for child care and to “keep her busy” because Lesedi just failed out of University. Lizzy just arrived last Friday, so we have the common bond of being “new to Kole” (as she says). That family unit is fairly typical, by the way. They are all staying in the gov’t house provided for Lizzy . . . I assume it is against protocol to have extended family stay in the gov’t worker houses, but I know it is common.
That’s all for now.
THANK YOU . . .
Beth, for the package. I was delighted with the tea and lip gloss. :) The chocolate probably would not have survived, and I don’t mind the typed letter. Thank you, thank you.
Aunt Linda, for the lovely article and letter.
Mom and Dad, for your steady slew of letters . . . I don’t mind if you repeat yourself, Mom. ;)
And to all of you who sent emails.
Ka Lorato (with love),
Leah
Even though at times I still wonder why I didn’t request (or why Peace Corps didn’t figure it out for themselves) to be placed in a Spanish-speaking country. But mostly, I am so grateful to have a completely foreign experience. And to be forced to learn (still learning! can’t wait ‘til I say speaking) Setswana. Some of you may be dismayed at the news that, as a result, I have changed from a hippy, liberal Madisonite (bordering on socialist) to a raging capitalist. Maybe not quite raging, but still, I am gaining a new appreciation for the American Way. I’m not sure if I told the story of my friend Monica’s host mother in Moshupa expressing dismay that Oprah wasn’t going to build a school for Botswana, too (“We are suffering!” she said). This attitude, of wanting anyone but “myself” to relieve this so-called “suffering” is rampant. Besides, if by “suffering” you mean lacking cell phone network and living in an area with limited transport, well I seem to be surviving just fine. My colleagues are appalled that I am living without electricity and without a refrigerator (which is supposedly coming next week). I thought I would be forced to live more simply while serving as a PC volunteer. Instead, I find myself having to make the same sort of effort to reduce my consumption as I would in the States. Anyway, about capitalism, the lack of business sense continues to surprise me. The volunteers before us warned us that we would have to beg to spend money. I didn’t quite understand what they meant, until the first time I wanted to buy something that wasn’t readily visible at the store in Moshupa. I asked where to find the pens (in Setswana). The woman who I asked simply said, “I don’t know.” I tried again, “I want to buy pens. Do you have any?” It was like I was bothering her. “Do we have pens?” she asks her co-worker. They think about it for awhile and half-heartedly search in their immediate viscinity (at the cash registers) . . . needless to say, I gave up. “Customer Service” is literally a foreign concept. Interesting. With an astronomical unemployment rate, you would think it would be the ideal environment for entrepreneurs. Not so. At least not for the Batswana. ALL of the business owners are foreigners. In fact, shops are called “China shops” precisely because of this phenomenon. Several Indian and Chinese merchants have figured out that Botswana is an ideal place to have a business . . . there are customers because there is actually money in Botswana and there are no other shops because it hasn’t occurred to a Motswana to open one. Eish! Pick yourselves up by your bootstraps, people! But then, roughly 40% of your working class are infected with HIV. Okay, fine, I will cease begrudging you lack of business sense.
Last Saturday I did indeed cook for the crime prevention (as in prevention of cattle theft) workshop. The older brother to the kgosi gave welcoming remarks. For some reason he felt it necessary to mention his idea for the latest cure for HIV- drinking the sap of a local tree, I’m afraid I don’t remember the name of it. Good think it’s completely useless advice anyway. I am not particularly distressed that this old man is adhering to an old ideas (that sap does have medicinal properties) and refusing to recognize the impact of HIV/AIDS in his village or his country . . . I do wish he would keep his ideas to himself. My friend Thatlego (a teacher) presented an intelligent rebuttal to his remarks.
Susie is leaving tomorrow. It is almost a relief, she was wavering for so long (recently she had changed her mind to stay again and then finally made the final decision to go).
Last weekend, the teachers and women who I was cooking with made me feel particularly welcomed and at home in Kole. I almost shirked my duties as part of the cateringt committee because I woke up with a slight head ache and not really sure what to expect and feeling like I wanted a break. I considered staying home in bed or maybe going to Ncojane to help Susie pack. I managed to at least get out the door and then three of the teachers who were on their way to the workshop insisted I go . . . I’m so glad I did. I heard them say over and over, “Ah, Thapelo is doing well here, she is already adjusting. She is just like one of us.” etc., etc. I honestly don’t know exactly what it is that I am doing to “do well” but I am so grateful for their feedback. It balances out the inevitable moments of frustration. There are so many things I don’t know about how to be a “good African woman.” I am supposed to always leave a light on in my house after dark, for example. Explaining that I don’t want to waste paraffin doesn’t seem to be a very good explanation. At the funeral two weeks ago, while I was helping serve tea on Wednesday evening, my task was to pour cold water into the pots of heating water over the fire. An old man pointed to one of the pots and said something to me in Sekgalagadi. I assmed (never assume!) that he was telling me to pour the water in, which I already knew to do. As I started to pour, he stopped me and berated me (I don’t know what he said, but I felt berated) and everyone laughed and laughed. Someone translated for me so I would know what he said, “he says you don’t listen and you wouldn’t make a good wife.” I refrained from dumping the bucket of water on him but I did set the bucket down and make as graceful an exit as possible, knowing I was creating yet another offense by walking away from my duties. (That is the reason I “needed a break” from the funeral and didn’t go to the service on Thursday evening). This is exactly the sort of thing we were warned about in training when the current volunteers told us, “they will laugh at you, you have to have a sense of humor and be willing to laugh at yourself with them . . .” I thought I was Ms. Sense of Humor, but when little emotions are amplified by the feeling of being a foreigner in a foreign land, it gets harder to laugh.
Last Friday I received a package from the PC office . . . it was forwarded mail from Gaborone. It was so much wonderful support and good wishes from home all at once that it had the unintended effect of making me somewhat miserable . . . I dealt with the homesickness by writing a song. I will share the lyrics with you:
“I wonder why I choose to travel far
crossing oceans where they’ve gone before
doesn’t seem to matter
what I’ve left behind
or how good it is on the other side.
I hope that those who I have left behind
can feel the thoughts and prayers and dreams of mine
I send them often
back overseas, wishing desperately for those close to me.
And yet I’m grateful as I soon recall
that it is they who have sent me far
they form an anchor
in my soul that will keep me here to follow this call.”
So, that is dedicated to all of you.
I will try to briefly tell one more story (I have 7 minutes left of internet time) . . . On Monday I was told that I would have transport to a PMTCT drama competition meeting in Gantsi. I arrived at the clinic at ten minutes to 7am. At 7am, no ride, so I stopped at one of my co-worker’s houses and said, “I’m going to try to hike to the meeting.” After waiting for an hour and a half I got a ride with our own clinic vehicle going to Charles Hill. About 5 km outside of Kole, we got a flat tire. A police vehicle from Ncojane came by. They were going to Gantsi. I went alone (for a very bumpy ride in the back of the truck with no padding – ouch) and got to Gantsi about noon. I arrived a few minutes before the ride that was supposed to pick me up (they forgot me) from Charles Hill because it had made so many stops along the way . . . Monica was fuming but we were soon laughing and shaking our heads together about the ridiculousness of the transport situation.
Okay, that’s it for now. Love and miss you,
Leah
Greetings friends and family,
One of my fellow PCV’s and good friend Cassie who stays in Gantsi has a somewhat famous quote from our first week at site. “I feel awkward 100% of the time.” Monica modified it to her situation, “I feel confused 100% of the time.” I didn’t know what to say at the time and I think it’s because what I am is overwhelmed. I would compare the culture shock curve to highpointing . . . there are false peaks in sight all the time and each time you reach the crest of that false peak (of language proficiency or cultural understanding or level of comfortability with life in Kole) another peak lies in the distance. I am better at Setswana than I was when I came to Kole. But I have recently had the revelation that I really need to learn Sekgalagadi. And even the things I do understand about the language are sometimes not enough. This morning, I was at the school for their assembly before they close for a month-long break. One of the women who cooks for the school asked me if I would take her back to Europe with me when I left. I knew what she was saying but I still felt unable to reply. I am not going back to Europe because I’m not from Europe and I can’t take her and why would she want to go but I can’t say any of that without feeling like I might sound annoyed or condescending. So, I say, “ma?” Which means, “what?” and then I was reprimanded by my tutor who knew I understood and told me to respond appropriately in Setswana. “Ga ke kgone.” (I can’t). That was a perfectly satisfactory response, apparently, because she nodded approvingly. I forget that about three quarters of what the elderly people of Kole say to me is more like a quiz than a conversation. I used to think it was normal to greet in three different languages and with a few different phrases all meaning the same thing. Now I realize that was just seeing if I knew what I needed to know. Out of curiosity or genuine concern, I am not sure, but it is good practice whatever the intentions.
There is an inservice training for Peace Corps at the beginning of September. We have a community assessment assignment that is supposed to show the efforts we have made to integrate into the community and also to way out a work plan for the extent of our service. In training, the assignment sounded like work, but I am grateful to have something tangible to produce for Peace Corps. It is incredibly satisfying to see things on paper (for we, the academically inclined and verging on anally retentive Type A personality). I have a Setswana lesson plan, including language learning goals and total hours studied each month. I am still making progress with the GLOW (girls and guys leading our world) club for Ncojane. There is a country-wide activity called “Run for Life” that includes a half-marathon race in October. I have a team leader (although he is currently not well, so I hope he can recover in time for the race). A team takes a pledge for living a zero-transmission, healthy lifestyle and completes community projects to educate the community about what they are doing and why. The race is just for fun and for publicity. I will go pass out water if I don’t stick with the training regimen in order to actually participate. I am only about a week behind, currently.
I created a questionnaire to give to the teachers at the Primary School to get their view of gender roles in Kole. Understanding gender roles is relevant to understanding the spread of HIV/AIDS and so it’s one of the things our community assignment should address. I wrote the questions and passed it out sort of half-heartedly, thinking I already knew the answers. Men work at the cattle post, women cook and clean and care for the kids. It makes an agrarian society more efficient to have those roles designated and gender has historically been a way to divide societies. But of course it’s more complicated than that and I did learn new things from their answers. For one thing, I expected there to be generational differences (that young men and women would no longer adhere to the strict gender roles). Not so. The urban, rural divide is much more pronounced than the generational divide. Young people in Kole will imitate their parents unless they visit an urban area for an extended period of time, in which case they could choose to act differently at the expense of much harrassment from their elders. For example, the teachers at the school are mostly young men. They cook and clean and one of them has two orphans living with him from his extended family. I handed the survey out as another young man was hanging his laundry on the line. So, they are willing to step outside of their traditional role . . . but when they go home, the sisters and mothers will take over such “womanly” duties.
Gender roles aren’t inherently bad. I would say our society with currently more or less mumbo-jumbo gender roles isn’t exactly making the nuclear family unit function smoothly. However, when considering the spread of HIV/AIDS (not to mention womens’ rights), it is difficult for me to refrain from judgement. I am at risk of being culturally insensitive about this topic. There was a BONASU (blast these acronyms, I don’t remember what that stands for; Botswana National something having to do with AIDS) conference in Charles Hill on Wednesday. Monica got to attend, I was in Gantsi at an evaluation meeting for the PMTCT drama competition and to plan the regional competitions. She told me that the kgosi’s of the sub-district attended the conference and that the facilitator was excellent and the information was really good. So, I’m glad it happened and I’m glad she was there. One of the activities that involved group participation was: facilitator states X, if you think it’s true, raise your hands up high, if it’s false, keep them in your lap, if you’re not sure, put your hand under your chin and look thoughtful . . .
statement: “It is okay to hit your wife or girlfriend.”
Kgosis’ response: hands raised high
statement: “You can tell if a person has HIV/AIDS by looking at them.”
Kgosis’ response: hands raised high
statement: “You can get HIV/AIDS by sharing a fork with an infected person.”
again, hands up
You would hope these responses would be based on a language barrier as opposed to ignorance, but alas, the workshop was conducted in Setswana and the kgosi’s are quite well educated.
Mr. Moncho, my tutor and one of the teachers at the school, brought up that “cultural preservation” is more of a concern in rural areas in general (when he was completing the questions about gender roles). Language, traditional practices, etc. are adhered to for longer in rural areas. This is a good thing! But again, it becomes difficult to refrain from judgement or trying to “change things” when it comes to the spread of HIV/AIDS. When I interviewed the kgosi, Rra Ramoswaana, I asked him what issues were addressed at the kgotla meetings in Kole. He said kgotla meetings were where the community discussed any problems or met important political figures who visited the village. I knew that and wanted a more specific answer so I said,
“When was the last kgotla meeting and what was it about?”
“May 23rd and it was about cultural preservation.”
(Wonderful! I though, he had already expressed concern that the young people of Kole were going off to the cities, chasing after a Westernized lifestyle and shirking their duties at the cattle post and I shared his concern partly because it puts them at higher risk of infection to be such a mobile population exposed to higher-risk lifestyles).
“What was the main concern at that meeting?”
“We were saying that people should marry within their clans.”
I suppose that would be one way of ensuring cultural preservation. But still, the response surprised me.
Last weekend was the PMTCT drama competition in Gantsi. There was a meeting to finalize the details of the event on Thursday. I wanted to be sure to go so I could here straight from the horse’s mouth, as they say, that transport was being sent to pick up the team in Kole (I was skeptical after my personal experiences with promises of transport). I had a lovely time in Gantsi with Cassie that day. It was the first time I had been there without rushing around doing errands in order not to miss transport back to Charles Hill. Gantsi is an interesting place, only 10,000 people actually live there but it is close to the border of Namibia and there is a convergence of cultures. Herrero, Bakgalagadi, Basarwa, Batswana, and Afrikaners (quite a few of them). So, I enjoyed having a day not being busy taking advantage of the SPAR grocery store and plethora of other shops that seem to overwhelm such a small town. I stayed with Cassie who has four puppies and the Peace Corps bare minimum housing requirement of one room that fits a bed, a wardrobe, a table and a half-fridge. She does have electricity and she is neighbors with another peace corps volunteer who works for an organization called “True Love Waits”.
Anyway, the drama competition hoopla started Friday morning at 10am. I was supposed to meet with the catering committee at the RAC (Rural Area Committee). Everyone arrived around 11am and we were given a ride to the venue where we were to cook. We had tea and waited for the pots and pans to arrive. I visited with the other ladies and read a newsweek that Peace Corps sent me (which was really nice . . . that’s another idea for my wonderful, supportive family who send me packages!!!) :) To make a long story a little bit shorter, I ended up going around with the head of the catering committee to finally collect the pots and pans from various places in town: the schools, the wildlife department, and a restaurant. It was a process, they had written letters in advance to request the use of their serving bowls and spoons, etc. We had to sign a register and write down exactly the size and number of what we took. At the wildlife dept., they actually spray painted everything with a green mark. The lack of structure or formalities that one might expect in a third world country with sky-high HIV rates is . . . well, they aren’t lacking. Structure, formalities, committees, acronyms, meetings, conferences, workshops – there are plenty. I didn’t help with dinner on Friday because I wanted to be at the Primary School where the drama teams were going to sleep when Kole arrived. I should have helped with dinner. They finally got there at 11pm. I was no longer there at that point and got a call from my tutor saying, “can you come? We have a problem with accomodation.” I was given directions to tell them to go to Brigade, the place where we were cooking, for dinner (even after I had suggested we simply leave food at the school after it became obvious that Kole wasn’t arriving until very late). So, I had a ride from Cassie’s friend and got to Brigade first to find the doors locked, no food, no people. I called the woman who I was working with earlier. She told me that they had taken food to the school after all and gave me the number of the woman who was supposed to be there to meet Kole. I called her and she said, “I’m at the school, where are they?” I still don’t quite understand how they missed each other, but anyway, we all ended up at the school and I got the kids started eating while Pearl (my counterpart) made rather a spectacle of herself expressing her frustration and hunger and lack of sleep towards Kereng, the poor woman who was responsible enough to make sure Kole had food and accomodation. Again, to shorten the story, it all worked out in the end. I was at Brigade early the next morning, chopping onions and cabbage and mixing cabbage salad in huge tubs (with my hands and arms, there is no utensil for stirring that amount of coleslaw). I left Brigade about 11am so that I wouldn’t miss seeing Kole perform. They were wonderful, especially considering the circumstances (new team members and props they had never used). We got fourth place out of seven.
They have expressed interest in continuing to practice and perform at events like World AIDS day in September. I really hope I can keep getting them together, even if we aren’t traveling and performing, to give them something to do together that they enjoy. I might even teach them salsa or swing. And, of course, a little bit about HIV/AIDS.
Saturday night, I realized that one of the group members was ill during dinner. We ended up taking him to the hospital, and I had the honor (and I mean that, I was so touched) of being in the examination room with him. They gave him pain medication which he reacted to so he vomited, then the nurse tried giving him a shot of hydrocortisone to counteract his reaction and couldn’t find his vein. Then the doctor walked in (thank goodness!) and eventually we were on our way with more pain meds, antibiotics, and vitamins. I was also on a private mission to re-hydrate him because I am fairly certain that was the main reason for his fever. He did have an abscess on the side of his nose that was infected so it could also have been the cause (which is what the nurse said).
I have continued checking on him this week. He was supposed to go to Gantsi to visit the hospital for review from that doctor on Thursday and he didn’t go. I didn’t get a good explanation of why, but I can’t help feeling slightly responsible because I wasn’t there Wed. night to remind him or tell him what time to be at the health post to catch the ambulance. It is distressingly difficult for patients to actually get a ride on that ambulance. Once five people are in the back, no one is really interested in taking someone else along. Anyway, he is doing fine, obviously getting better on his own. I might offer to go with him next week if he isn’t totally healed.
On the ride home from the drama competition, I got up the courage to tell Pearl that I couldn’t ride in the back of an open pick up truck (according to Peace Corps rules) and asked her to take my place in the back of the huge flat bed truck that was transporting the group (about 12 of them) home. There were six of us in the cab which was quite crowded, especially after we stopped in Charles Hill to pick up the two babies of the PMTCT counsellor from Ncojane who was riding back with us. She tried to pass one child over to my kgosi’s older brother. He stoutly refused and she shot a pleading look over her shoulder at me. I didn’t hesitate, of course, and so I had a precious sleeping baby on my lap all the way back to Kole.
I was about to burst with gratitude after that weekend.
I hope this finds you all well. Please email or write when you can. Aunt Wilma, thank you so much for the package, I love ginger cookies and chai tea. Good choices! :) Mom and Dad, I got the travel mug, granola, face lotion, and orbit gum. Yeah!!! Thank you.
thoughts and prayers and dreams from me to you . . .
love, leah
Dear friends and family,
Dumela, gape.
It had been incredibly windy (meaning sand, everywhere!), but that part of spring is over and now it is beautiful. The nights are not as cold, I actually throw the blankets off sometimes, and in the morning I forget to put on my slippers which would have been miserable and unthinkable even a couple of weeks ago. There is a bush that is common ground cover with little yellow buds that I finally connected with a sweet new scent in the air. I noticed it when I was jogging the other night and actually thought I had gotten a whif of someone’s strong perfume as I went by. But it persisted. I am told that when it rains, the flowers open completely and I imagine it will be striking.
I am delighted to have our nurse back . . . she is rejuvinated after three weeks away at workshops and at home. She had me over for dinner and a movie on Sunday evening. Her daughter, Larona, is just over a year old and has more personality than any baby I have every met (sorry, Helena, I only met you briefly!) We were sleepy, wrapped up in blankets, watching a bad South African movie on TV and she was full of energy, using a wash cloth to dust everything in the living room (including us) and also wearing it as a hat occasionally.
Besides her adorable child, I am glad Twenty is back because I needed to talk to her about my relationship with Pearl, my counterpart. I got the unfortunate news last week that Pearl fits perfectly into the picture of immature, catty, jealous counterpart about whom we heard horror stories from our fellow Bots 5 volunteers. I knew we had communication issues, as I liked to say, but I honestly thought it was mostly due to language barriers and the fact that she is spacy. I’m afraid she isn’t as spacy or unintelligent as I thought. She has deliberately not informed me of important meetings or opportunities for transport to events in Charles Hill or Gantsi. I am finally understanding why. She is angry with me because I, “took her house” (I don’t know how thoroughly I explained that predicament but Pearl and I had a very civil conversation about it and she assured me that I should move into the house she had applied for because 1, I had applied for it first and 2, the gov’t is required to provide me housing and is not required to provide her housing because she is in her home village). Acting civil towards each other in public is very important. Genuine disagreement or argument is not appreciated. Culturally, it was more appropriate for her to express her frustration with the housing situation to someone other than me and to assure me that everything was fine. There could be other reasons, too. I’m white, which everyone is so unafraid to point out, and that means I have a lot of money, which I have almost given up trying to counter. (Relatively speaking in terms of the whole world, yes, I am rich, but in Botswana, I am not. This is not a poor country and Pearl’s salary is certainly more than my Peace Corps stipend . . . still, she manages to neglect supporting her two sons, from different fathers, neither of which live with her). Anyway, enough of that to avoid further catty-ness, but I feel like I have regained my place at the health post since Twenty came back and she has been reassuring and helpful about Pearl. Pearl and I will be fine. We haven’t been rude to each others’ faces, which, as I say, is important.
The Regional Drama Competition was last weekend. There were ten PCV’s in Gantsi for the event. I met some new people who have been here a year. It was fun, and I worked hard on the catering committee, endlessly chopping green peppers on Saturday morning. I had a great sense of accomplishment at the end of the weekend when I came into the kitchen before leaving and received warm greetings from my fellow cooks, (“T-Girl!” was my nickname). They pulled me into the storage room to make sure I got my share of the drinks that had been provided for the catering committee (Grape or Orange Fanta and Stoney Ginger Beer). They knew I liked Stoney best, I’m not sure how.
I was feeling guilty about being gone from Kole so often, partly because of my poor cat and partly because the phrase, “you’re never around,” from a villager actually gives me a physical pain in the chest. I don’t want to be a PCV who is using her time here as a vacation in Africa. But again, the nurse and Katlego reassured me that I am doing fine. I need to make the sorts of connections I have made by being involved with the event in Gantsi in order to be an effective HIV/AIDS worker. In a country as developed as Botswana, with so many organizations already responding to HIV, the biggest challenge I have is getting the “officials” in Gantsi and Charles Hill to include Kole, not to forget us, to send transport, to invite us to the workshops, etc, etc which doesn’t happen if there isn’t someone saying, “helloo, remember the settlement villages, please!” Even so, I’m afraid Kole is low on the pecking order. The transport for this last event arrived after midnight and everyone on the mini-bus from the Charles Hill sub-district had somewhere to sleep. Except for those from Kole who slept on the bus. In the morning, I saw one of the drama group members who had come to observe the competitions and said, “How are you?” “Not sharp!” Which was a funny, Africanz/Englishized response meaning, “not okay” and he explained what had happened with “boroko” (accomodation). I helped them find the person in charge of accomodation who showed them a room at the Senior School where they stayed for the rest of the weekend. (A common greeting in Gantsi area where there are lots of Africanz is: “Howzit?” and the response is “Sharp,” pronounced “Shop.”)
I asked Obusitswe, the garbage collector at the clinic, to look after Lefifi while I was gone. He did a wonderful job, and wouldn’t accept any money. The broom was moved, so I know he swept my house, too, which any good Motswana does once a day. And he changed the litter box even though I didn’t ask. I am hoping he will be available again when I go to Kanye (near Gaborone) in September for our two-week Peace Corps In-Service Training. Several of the Motswana, including Katlego who I consider a good friend, are afraid of Lefi. Cats, especially black cats, are associated with witch craft. So asking someone to cat-sit takes on a whole new meaning.
I think Kole’s Run for Life team is becoming a reality! There are at least four interested young men. Run for Life is an organization started by PCV’s in Botswana. The team signs a pledge to live a zero-transmission lifestyle. They train together for a half-marathon that was supposed to be in October. Luckily for us, the funding for the event has been delayed so the race won’t be until January or February. In the meantime, we can hold our own local race in conjuction with World AIDS Day in December. It is so good to have these concretely scheduled things in mind . . . it makes me feel useful.
Besides that, I am realizing that the Kole Youth are actually fairly organized. Those who were in the drama are the same youth who have formed soccer teams, volleyball teams, and other drama groups in the past. They have recently elected a new committee of youth leaders and are forming a schedule for the year. I am involved and it feels awesome and fragile at once. Those who are closest to me and most helpful are also cynical about the youths’ commitment. They say they are not “serious” and that I will get frustrated waiting for them to show up for practices. For now, I remain impressed and grateful at their level of involvement and commitment. They have continued to get together to practice songs and dances at the community hall about five days a week since the drama competition. I have told them about a drama workshop that the Botswana National Youth Council is planning for the Gantsi district in September and another one that Monica is going to plan for the Charles Hill Sub-District in December. I’m hoping those things keep them motivated.
September 30th is Botswana’s celebration of Independence. The youth are fundraising to be able to put on a talent show for the event and are planning a new drama.
This weekend, Katlego and Twenty have convinced me to go to D’Kar with them to see a Basarwa traditional dance festival. I was reluctant, not wanting to leave Kole again, but they assured me as someone who likes to dance that this event should not be missed. Besides, without them in town, my weekend nights would be lonely.
I miss you and think of you often. A few of you have asked for ideas for packages. I’m not hinting, it’s just a convenient way to let you all know at once. ;)
Multi-vitamins, candles, hand sanitizer, Paul Simon’s Graceland cd, more pens, more tea
Much love from across the Atlantic,
Leah
Friends and Family,
The task of conveying the last several weeks when I haven’t written only gets more daunting so I am finally going to try to catch up.
I spent two weeks at a Peace Corps training in Kanye, 80 km outside of Gaborone. It was a strange thing to stay at a motel with every meal served in steaming silver food warmers, an air conditioned training room, pens provided (pens are a rare commodity), and running hot water . . . ah, hot baths. There was a “football pitch” (soccer field) right behind our motel and we played after training every day. It was good to interact with the Peace Corps staff in a neutral, fun setting. Our group was unfortunately less than polite and gracious to our Motswana trainers and Peace Corps staff. Emboldened by weeks of experience as actual volunteers, I’m afraid they forget that they are dispensable. Two girls were actually written up for being disruptive during training. One of them during her presentation about her site asserted that “integration is a joke.” She is not as disastrous as her commentary makes her out to be when she is in her village, doing good work. It is a matter of semantics. Africanized British English doesn’t always come through clearly for our American English-oriented brains and “integration” was taken as “morphing into a Motswana.” Besides that slightly sour aspect of the two-week workshop, it was mostly like a delightful vacation. I roomed with Andrea and Stacy. Andrea is from San Diego. She is doing well at site which doesn’t surprise me at all. She is so sweet and sincere. Stacy is from Seattle, Washington. She is also fantastic. We have talked about hiking the Appalachian Trail together (with Cassie) after we get back.
I had a hard time soaking in all the suggestions we got during training. “You could do X and Y and Z and in your spare time, run a half marathon with your Run for Life team and re-evaluate and fix PMTCT in Kole.” (My Associate Peace Corps Director told me I don’t know anything about HIV/AIDS in Kole, which is sort of true). So, my being overwhelmed 100% of the time was only reinforced, even though it was also inspiring to hear about others’ villages and experiences.
I was nervous about coming back to Kole. For some reason it seemed like I would virtually be starting over after being gone for some time. I got back on Saturday evening and on Sunday, I went for a jog through the village. People waved and shouted and I did more stopping to greet than actual running, but the natural high that I got was just as intense as if it were purely exercise endorphins. They were happy to see me. I was relieved.
Right away on Monday, it was crunch time. The infamous VMSAC (Village Multi Sectoral AIDS Committee) training workshop was scheduled to start at 9am. I had set up chairs and swept out the community hall the day before, but besides that I felt clueless as to what preparations should be made. As usual, things fell into place and took care of themselves. The young women who I work with in the drama group prepared tea and lunch for a village crowd of about 40. Theresa, the District AIDS Coordinator, and Monica came from Charles Hill to conduct the training. The purpose of the committee is to coordinate and plan HIV/AIDS activities in the village and then report such activities to Theresa (who in turn reports to the District level at Gantsi). Then someone compiles all those activities and sends them off to PEPFAR in a report so that Botswana Gov’t can keep getting the HIV/AIDS funding it needs. Kole is one of the last villages in the country to form a committee. One of the activities during the workshop was to split into four groups and answer the following questions:
1. Is HIV/AIDS a problem in Kole? Are many people affected?
2. What are the problems with ________
a. prevention
b. care of PLWHA’s (people living with HIV/AIDS)
c. care and support of orphans and vulnerable children
d. stigma
3. What gaps are there in the services to address these issues and what new services or improvements can you suggest?
I was delighted. What a wonderful opportunity to hear what the villagers had to say about HIV/AIDS in their village. The answers were overwhelmingly, “Yes, HIV is a problem and it affects many”, “There is a lack of education in the village about prevention”, “the Home Based Care committee could be doing more to provide care to those who are infected/affected by HIV/AIDS”, “Stigma is a problem” . . . I didn’t understand everything that was said/written, but there was also consensus that the orphans were well taken care of because the S&CD (social and community development) Office dutifully distributes food baskets and school uniforms. Whether or not they are distributed to the children who need them most or used by the relatives is hard to determine.
The older brother to the Kgosi (he’s the one who suggested drinking tree sap to cure oneself of HIV) was in my group. He was sleeping through part of it and got up and left for part of it and I soon realized that he was being almost purposefully disruptive, clearing his throat loudly when people were talking, etc. At one point, he tapped my shoulder and said, “You answer these questions. And do it in English. We know nothing of these things.” Some other group members protested slightly and I pointed out that we had already answered most of them and in Setswana, but he got up and left again. Luckily that attitude (that HIV/AIDS and anything related, including talk of prevention, treatment, and care is a new-fangled thing brought in by white people who speak English) is not prevalent.
To diverge from describing the workshop and balance out my experience with Rre Ramoswaana, I was so proud to see that the youth are still meeting daily at the community hall even in my absence. They also put on a talent show to raise funds to buy their group uniforms and possibly sound equipment. They are still selling sweets, chips, choppies (gum), and oranges at the phone shop. On the way home from the workshop, Mma Maoto (one of the FWE’s Family Welfare Educators) at the clinic stopped me and said, “they want someone to speak at school tomorrow at 7am for ten minutes about HIV/AIDS, will you go?” I did, and the kids were receptive and the teachers praised my simple “Facts and Myths about HIV/AIDS” activity to high heaven. So, things are far from all bad and the young people seem to be incredibly receptive to me.
Have I told you about Run for Life? This was something else that happened in my absence . . . I’m not sure if that should be offensive or if I am doing a good job of making the community take ownership of these activities. Anyway, Run for Life is led by PCV’s all over Botswana. They form teams that run together and also do community mobilizing activities (health talks at the school, HIV awareness days, environmental health (pick up litter) day, etc) . . . there is a half-marathon race at the end of October in Gaborone. Teams can also host local races to raise awareness of Run for Life and promote healthy living in general. Team members sign a contract to live a zero-transmission lifestyle. I have a team coordinator packet with all kinds of information about training for a race, proper nutrition for runners, ideas for other team activities, and scheduled events. I had talked about the possibliity of having a team with Mokwaledi, one of the drama group members, who I knew liked to exercise (we had run together a couple of times). I left him a couple of articles from the Peace Corps newsletter about Run for Life as inspiration along with the Team Coordinator packet before I left for Kanye. He was at the workshop on Monday and said, “I found three others. We start tonight.” So, Thomas, the health auxilliary at the health post and he will most definitely be in the race in October. I and two girls, well, a small miracle would have to happen in the next five weeks, but we will maintain the team spirit anyway. Sagokatsang (20) and Olebogile (22) are my new running mates. They showed up Monday at 6pm sharp, matching t-shirts and stretch pants. I had heard from other PCV’s who have teams that running shoes are not generally favored by team members. At the end of the race last year, people were holding their shoes and running barefoot. Sure enough, one of the girls was in pink plastic flip flops and the other in slip-on flats. And no bras! Eish, I can’t imagine. I will have to get up the courage to ask them if they don’t have bras or if they prefer running without them for some masickistic (sp?) reason.
Twenty, our nurse, had to rush off to a workshop in Gaborone on Sunday morning, so I only saw her briefly before I left. I was sad to see her go so soon after I got back, but it has been sort of fun to have the responsibility of “checking” (go tlola) on her maid and baby girl, Martha and Larona (meaning ‘ours’). I go over in the morning and afternoon and have a lovely half hour or so of baby time to give Martha a break and to rejuvenate my spirits.
Where was I with the workshop? After the training, we elected a committee and the first meeting is tomorrow at 2pm. Before she left, Theresa told me, “Thapelo, try to organize an event by the end of the month. I want Kole to have an active VMSAC.” During the elections of the committee, someone said my name and Theresa informed them that I was on it whether I wanted to be or not.
They are constructing toilets at the health post. There is a pit latrine there now, but we are upgrading. There are about 12 workers who are there as soon as it’s light (shortly after 6am) and they mix cement by hand and carry it by the shovel full 30 feet or so to the spot where the building is. It is no longer remotely cool as I have been complaining about so frequently before. In fact, it is downright hot during the day. So it looks like rather miserable work. On Sunday morning when I went to visit Twenty who lives right behind the health post, one of the women workers saw me carrying groceries into the house. (When I got back I discovered the gas for my fridge was out so the groceries that I brought went to Twenty’s). She said, “mpe” (give me). I passed around a bag of apples. It was striking to me how much of a relief it was to give something tangible which we are so discouraged from doing and which I normally try to avoid at all costs. I think it was the first time I did anything remotely resembling a “hand out” since I’ve been in Kole. Later that day, I opened a letter from my mother that had a line from Cathy’s sermon (?) a book she is reading (?) . . . not sure, but anyway, it said something like: intense aversion for creating dependency or enabling laziness is all well and good. But what about compassion?
I am overwhelmed. I am happy. I think of you often and hope you keep up the amazing stream of correspondences. The last batch that I received all at once after being in Kanye made me sit on my couch and cry for about an hour, but it is absolutely necessary to know how much love and support you send my way. Thank you!!!
Love,
Leah
Dumela (Azoga – sekgalagadi),
This was Independence weekend. Last Thursday, President Mogae declared that Tuesday would be a holiday. Monday already was because Independence, September 30th, fell on a Sunday. So, we had a four-day weekend at the last minute, as per his majesty’s whim (Tautona Mogae – Big Lion Mogae). He is revered. Maybe because he gives his people extra holidays.
Anyway, the celebration was on Sunday, it started at 8am with a prayer service at the kgotla. There was a program that included performances from the very drama group I took to Ghanzi. They have been practicing, albeit sporadically and came up with two new dramas for the occassion, one of which was HIV/AIDS related. I’m so proud of them. They were busy practicing last night for another performance at an awards ceremony at the Ncojane Junior Secondary School next week. That brings me to beautiful moment number one:
Last night I joined them at the community hall for the first time in awhile, since Run for Life practices conflicted with theirs for the last couple of weeks. I’ve finally convinced the runners to run in the morning. It is cooler and then we have the rest of the day for things like drama practice. So, I’m with the group and they are singing and dancing and including me in their circle which is humbling and wonderful. I have to leave the practice early to check on Katlego and finish filling out our GLOW application form that was due today (that’s why I’m in Ncojane, I had to travel to a fax machine). ;) So, I walk out of the community hall, the singing following me, and turn around to enjoy the moment. The sun was a huge blazing orange ball setting behind the ridge that makes up the edge of the saltpan to the west of the village. There were camel thorn trees and traditional round chalets silhouetted against the most amazing sky I have ever seen.
Rainy season is here, which means more wind (yesterday we had a full-blown dust storm, pun intended) and a few drops now and then, but most excitingly at this point, it means clouds. Which means beautiful skies. The real rains will come next month, we hope.
That “moment” made me think of all my loved ones and of the bigger picture and of a Holy Presence and of how incredible it is that I have the opportunity to be here.
Much love from Botswana,
Leah
(How is it going at Kole) . . .
Dear friends and family,
I don’t know where to begin. Ga ke itse gore ke simolola kae. I will have to be categorical again, in order to organize the growing number of experiences that I am failing to tell you regularly enough.
Run for Life:
We have an additional team member. His name is Rider Pelo. He is the cousin of the Standard 5 teacher, Rra Pelo. Pelo means heart. So, we share a last name, sort of. Anyway, Rider is 24 yrs, involved with the drama group, and was running regularly before Run for Life started in Kole. He is in excellent shape, completely capable of running 21 km. His English is quite good because he is from Kanye or somewhere nearer to Gaborone. Since he has joined, the team communication has gotten better, as in, we understand each other about practice times and training schedules (I’m afraid those things are not in my Setswana vocabulary).
Mokwaledi continues to be the star of the team. He is only 19. I believe he has amazing potential as an athlete . . . perhaps to be an olympic runner. How can I help him with that? Hopefully Run for Life is a start. And doing things like feeding him dinner after we ran too late and his family went to bed after dinner without saving him food. That happened a couple of weeks ago. I was bathing and he knocked on the door. I finished quickly and went out expecting to find my neighbor who had invited me over for dinner (which is record book worthy in Botswana. Dinner invitations do not happen, you are just supposed to show up). Anyway, it wasn’t my neighbor, it was Mokwaledi who asked me in his broken English if I could prepare food for him. I was overwhelmed, grateful that he would ask me, and guilty that I was responsible for him being hungry at that moment. Mostly, though, I was beside myself because I couldn’t feed him. I didn’t have any gas to cook with and very little food because I hadn’t been to Ghanzi recently. I was grateful that my neighbor had offered to feed me. So, I took him next door and said, “Will you feed him instead?” Shadrack fed us both. That man in saintly. Earlier in the evening he had driven me down the road, stopping every kilometer so I could get out and spray paint a rock or tree with the number of kilometers we had gone from Kole towards Ncojane so the team could keep track of how far they were running. Mokwaledi and I were searching for the elusive 2 km mark and ended up getting to 3km before turning around, so that’s why he was late for dinner.
Keolebogile is the daughter of our local crazy person. I just found that out last week when she accompanied her mother to the hospital in Ghanzi on the ambulance. I was surprised. Her mother couldn’t have raised her. Sometimes the communal society that creates dependence and discourages taking responsibility for one’s actions is a wonderful thing. The extended family raised Keolebogile well. Anyway, she is the one who ran in pink plastic flip flops. She is 22 yrs old, tall and skinny. I could blow her 21 km. But she is prone to ankle injuries and last week she stopped after a kilometer and informed me that her heart wasn’t working well (Pelo yame ga e bereke sentle). Oh, dear. What have I done by taking responsibility for these kids being “healthy.” No wonder the villagers are skeptical of me and my work.
A side note about her mother. My fellow staff members at Mendota and I used to commiserate about having signs on our backs or foreheads or somewhere that said, “If you’re crazy, talk to me.” Even away from work, we found ourselves listening to people whose reality is slightly different from our own. On the bus, at the Memorial Union, walking down State St. I assume it comes from lacking the usual fear or standoffishness that people can’t help having towards someone who is actively crazy. Well, the sign followed me to Botswana. This woman is the daughter of a sweet old man who is also crazy but less active and therefore less noticeable. Bati on the other hand is quite mobile and with the change of season, her illness, whatever it is, is aggravated. During our morning prayer meeting at the health post, she comes in loudly greeting everyone (especially me). A quirk of hers is to collect various litter and items from the ground and keep them in various pockets in her numerous articles of clothing. While we were praying, she came up to me and started emptying the contents of her pockets into my hands, refusing my suggestion she should sit down by me and pray. She needed to unload first. I received a strange variety of things, including a condom wrapper, much to the amusement of my neighboring prayer-goers. I finally asked where she lived so I could take her home, but she had no interest in staying there once we arrived. The next morning, she was back at the health post and the FWE’s shared a tender moment with her, helping to rearrange her three skirts and pants in a more manageable fashion (as in, around her waist as opposed to around her ankles). She danced when they were done and went out smiling.
Segofatsang is related to Keolebogile somehow. But physical they are dissimilar. Segofatsang is shorter and very solid. She is 22 and has a beautiful laugh. She talks and laughs constantly while she runs which impresses me. She is very fast. She beats the boys sprinting, even Mokwaledi. I love it.
Thomas is our most sporadic runner. He is the health auxiliary at the health post. He is a blessing and a challenge for me. He speaks English perfectly and is also an outsider in the village. So, we vent to each other and I can ask him sensitive questions about how to follow village protocol. (It was he who was denied the use of the community hall for a karate/exercise group and for whom I wrote a letter to the VDC “clarifying the use of the community hall.”) He feels ostracized by Kole villagers, especially by the village leaders. He says, “They say I’m a drunk.” Well, you kind of are, Thomas. A couple weeks in a row, he was drunk on a Tuesday along with the health post driver. I know because I sat in-between them on the way to Ncojane in the ambulance, transporting patients to see the nurse there when ours was not around. They were passing a bottle of brandy. They thought my purse-lipped refusal of the bottle and reprimanding was cute, part of why I am so wonderful and attractive as their alcohol loosened tongues were repeating along with increased frequency of marriage proposals. So, I can’t rely on him completely, but he is such a valuable resource. He is smart, funny, and “born to teach”, as he says. He could do so much HIV/AIDS work with me and it would be helpful for him as well if I were including him in my work (entertaining him with something other than alcohol). As far as Run for Life, he is the oldest (25 yrs) and the other team members look to him as a leader. He is also very athletic, small and quick but his stamina isn’t good because he doesn’t hold himself back in the beginning.
I got disappointing news this weekend. I found out that the GLOW commitment I have on the same weekend is being held in Maun instead of Gaborone, so I can’t do both things after all. So, two other PCV’s who are taking teams to the race are going to have to take care of my kids, too. I am disappointed and feeling frazzled.
GLOW (Girls and Guys Leading Our World)
I have eluded to the history of it before, but I happen to have the specific information in my head at the moment, so I will tell you. It was started by PCV’s in 1995 in Romania. I don’t know what the specific situation was in Romania that inspired the volunteers to address gender-based issues, but I imagine it was similar to the plight of women in the rest of world: poverty, lack of autonomy, dependence (and therefore vulnerable to exploitation) on men. It is so wonderful to write those lines and know that all (I hope) of the readers will understand what I mean and not be offended. Explaining what GLOW is to the villagers has taken some tiptoeing around, trying not to criticize a culture that has hierarchical, deeply defined gender roles that put men above women in every sense. (Hence the dikgosi’s reaction to the question, “it is okay to hit your wife or girlfriend” . . . Absolutely). I had a disheartening conversation with Thomas last Thursday. “What about BLOW?” He asked, concerned that the boy-child was being left out of the gender empowerment equation. I said, the G stands for both guys and girls and I explained that this year there would be GLOW camp for both genders specifically because the gender empowerment is not supposed to focus on women. Men also suffer from gender roles that encourage them to have many sexual conquests in order to prove their manliness. He said, “Women can’t try to be men, they don’t know how to lead the world. They are going to get themselves in that position and then they will see how hard it is to be a man.” I was so upset it was hard to be coherent and articulate in my response. He is the new generation, the modernized Motswana man who dreams of having a wife someday (not the mother of his two children, but someone who he is really in love with, he says).
Our delegation got picked to go to the GLOW camp in December!!! I am delighted. We are going to hold our first GLOW club meeting next Wednesday. I have no idea what I will do for it . . . discussing the qualities of a leader and maybe an introduction to talking about gender roles and their implications for being able to accomplish our life goals.
There is a training of trainers meeting for all the PCV’s and local leaders (for me, it’s Katlego) on Oct. 27th and 28th in Maun. We will discuss all the activities for the camp and finalize a schedule and who will be leading each session. I will be teaching salsa classes at some point, using the metaphor of a partner dance to encourage gender equality, a partnership involving communication, respect, and fun.
Maun
I spent this past weekend in Maun with Monica and Cassie. Monica and I went to the National PMTCT Drama Competition, the culmination of all the other drama events with which I had been involved. I will not bother to pull you into the frustration that was trying to find out how to go, who to take, what transport to use, etc. The Ghanzi District and Charleshill Sub-District are fighting so the Charleshill Sub-District wasn’t considered “officially invited” (even though there was a project that got first place at Regionals and was going to Nationals from the Sub-District). So, no government transport could be provided for drama group representatives who we were hoping to take, to make a long story short. Monica and I got to go because we applied for imprest, money from the Dept of Health to reimburse us for lodging, food, and transport. I’ve never had a job where I could do that. It feels cushy, and yet another sign that this country is fine with or without us. I am so glad they let us stay.
Maun is the gateway to the Delta from the West. We got in around 12:30pm on Friday and the smell of rain was overwhelming. There were puddles. I think I was actually bouncing and clapping my hands in delight. Water! And green! There were palm trees, flowers, tall, tall trees . . . so much green. The backpackers hostel where we stayed was right on the river. There were outdoor, HOT showers and tents with mattresses on the ground which were quite comfortable sleeping quarters.
On Saturday when we got back from the competition, the owner of the hostel was on his way out to pick up some tourists who had gone on a dugout canoe trip down the Okavango River. He told us to come along and we jumped at the opportunity. I was in heaven, on the water, wind-whipped hair, sun setting, and birds everywhere. We got out to swim at a point that he assured us was safe from crocodiles and hippos. That was also heavenly. The most interesting site was a pair of Ground Hornbills. Hornbills are a common family (the bird in Lion King is a hornbill). But Ground Hornbills are endangered. They are huge, they look like small people hunched over in black cloaks with red around their thick beak and throat. The tourists who we were picking up were from Spain. They were on a bird-watching trip through Botswana. The next morning, drinking coffee at the open bar/restaurant, I had a lovely conversation with them. I surprised them with my Spanish and the older man was delighted to be able to speak to someone besides his traveling partner. He doesn’t know English. He said, “Diga a tu madre que te ha ensenado muy bien.” (Tell your mother she has taught you well). There you go, Mom. Be proud. J I was struggling to speak naturally because Setswana kept sneaking into my mental formation of sentences. “Hablas Espanol?” “Yes, ke hablo espanol . . . I mean, Eish!”
On Sunday, we went to the bus rank. There was the bus, rickety looking as it was on the trip to Maun. It was sitting in the gas station parking lot across from the bus rank and we went to talk to the driver about when it was going to leave. He said, “Can you fix this engine?” That is yet another assumption Batswana have about someone with white skin —- you are a handy person. My friend Hunter was put in charge of fixing two staplers at his clinic. I have been asked to repair an ancient sewing machine at the school. I wouldn’t know how to use the thing even if I could repair it. It’s from the 1930’s. Anyway, we regretfully informed the bus driver that we didn’t know how to fix the bus, so he said, “Then the next bus will leave tomorrow at 8:30am.” Oh. Okay, we will just go back to our Little Piece of Paradise. I was happy to stay an extra night, although it made Monday an exhausting day of travel. I got back to Kole at 10:30pm. My poor cat had ripped into the dry cat food bag because I hadn’t left enough days worth of food and couldn’t get ahold of Twenty (who has my key) to tell her to feed him. I’m glad he is resourceful. The gas cylinder for my refrigerator ran out while I was gone. So, my late night project was to cook something quickly that I could eat the next day, then switch the gas cylinder over from the stove to the refrigerator so I could keep the produce that I had brought from Ghanzi and also salvage a few things that hadn’t quite gone bad yet, some onions and a box of unopened grape juice. The rest, butternut squash, milk, some green pepper and cucumber, were stinky and had to be disposed of.
Scorpions
Monica told me her dog had found a scorpion in her yard the day before we left for Maun. Her dog tried to bark it to death, she said. I saw my first scorpion last night, scurrying around my yard when I went out to empty Lefifi’s litter box. It was rather alarming. I’m glad I had to use my flashlight. It was pitch black because it was cloudy. It looked like there might be rain and there was lightning. Still no rain for us, though.
Games and Puzzles
Denise sent me a wonderful package that included candles that make my house smell strongly of vanilla and lemon and other delicious things. She also sent a puzzle. It has been the perfect activity for the four or five Standard 5 boys that visit me on the weekends. They have been playing Uno and trying out the guitar. The puzzle is foreign to them, though, so they tired after an hour and one of them asked me, “Can we ask you about HIV?” My jaw dropped. I almost cried I was so happy. I got out my flip chart paper and bostick and markers (you can’t learn anything in Botswana without those three things) and we went through the 20 question HIV/AIDS knowledge quiz I got during training. I have a copy in Setswana. I think we had an hour long lesson. I’m a little worried that the parents of those boys will hear that I’m talking about sex when they come to my house. One of their mothers asked, “What do those children do at your house?” I said, “They play games,” keeping it brief partly to feel out why she was asking and partly because I only know how to say so much in Setswana and she is one who is barely impressed with my Setswana, wanting me to learn Sekgalagadi. She said, “Tell them to go home and work.” It started an interesting conversation about how children in the U.S. don’t work, but they take responsibility for their own lives for the most part when they move out and they do move out, physically away from their parents (which is strange to them). The biggest implication of this difference is that young parents in the U.S. take care of their children, of course with help from Mom and Dad. But here, it is very rare for a young mother to take care of her child. I had a baby, Mom, here you go. The men, at the mean time, are at the cattle post.
This is far too long. For those of you who don’t like to skim through these, I have taken up too much of your day. ;)
I love and miss you all dearly.
Love, Leah
October 31, 2007
Dear Friends and Family,
Weather:
It’s hot. Not at night, so sleeping is quite pleasant, but as soon as the sun’s rays hit the sand, the coolness of the night is forgotten. There are prayer meetings, asking for rain. Rainy season is a good time to hold these, the prayers are answered. However, rainy season does not mean days of cloudy, rainy days as one might think. It means wind (this wind must rival Iceland, Aunt Wilma), and if it hasn’t rained very recently that means dust storms. In the afternoon, the wind picks up, dust swirls in small funnel clouds, and dark clouds move dramatically across blue, sunny skies. It has the effect of the world wearing a a dark cap over blue, sunny hair that shows on the sides. It rains for 15 minutes at the most and then the clouds blow away. It is more calm at night, but the smell of rain is strong and the lightening is fantastic. Sometimes it sprinkles at night.
Mosquitoes:
They are there, in force, especially in Maun, near the river. It was a relief to get back to my own bed and mosquito netting after the GLOW weekend.
Girls and Guys Leading Our World (GLOW):
There was a training of trainers meeting in Maun this weekend. Katlego, as the leader of the delegation of girls who will be attending the GLOW Camp in December, was supposed to come with me to plan the event with the other Peace Corps Volunteers and Community Leaders who are taking delegations. (There are 10 delegations of boys and 10 of girls). I had a long meeting last week, called by the Guidance and Counseling committee at the school. They were concerned that Katlego would be representing the school while on “off’s” (vacation). It’s against policy, apparently. So, I suggested that we consider Katlego a “community leader” instead of a teacher and that she would only be representing herself and a few girls from the community, not necessarily in connection with the school. Surprisingly, that was convincing. Then we had the inevitable discussion about how I did not follow protocol in choosing the leader of the delegation. There should have been a meeting with all the teachers and they should have decided together who would lead the girls. I described the situation of being rushed to turn in the application. Katlego happened to be with me in Ncojane (she was hitch hiking to the clinic because we didn’t have a nurse here in Kole at the time) so she heard before anyone that Marakanelo Junior Secondary School in Ncojane wasn’t organized enough to send a delegation. So, really, her being picked was a series of accidents, was my plea. I apologized and assured them I would do things differently next time, but it was still hard to move on to the subject of, “What do we do from here?”
There is great concern about the liability of the school for these girls while they are at the camp. If something happened while they were on the road there, for example (road accidents are very common because of all the cattle, ostriches, donkeys, and goats that seem to spend the majority of their time on pavement), the school would have to explain where those girls were going and why. So, the headmaster wants to be sure the Education Officer in Gantsi is informed that schools from his district are involved. This means more official letters, ideally from GLOW itself rather than from the school or from me.
I am getting trained as a diplomat, which is an advantage I had not foreseen would present itself during my Peace Corps service.
The training of trainers meeting in Maun went well. There were 40 of us, going over the schedule for the camp, signing up for leading sessions, sharing ideas about what to teach the kids, and going over rules and regulations for the campers and what the expectations were for us as leaders. For example, questions about how luxurious the accomodation would be, or how nice the food would be (by the Batswana counterparts) had to be addressed. After the first rather embarrassing reminder that we were going to be at this camp for the kids and not for our own comfort or enjoyment, I thought those sorts of queries would cease, but not so, one woman in particular was very concerned about her comfort during the camp. (“Will we be reimbursed for food that we buy on the way there? What about for those of us who have to travel far? Do we get paid for our time? Can I stay somewhere else that’s nicer in Gaborone and just come to the camp when I want to be involved in a session?”) This woman is an unfortunate representative of a sense of entitlement that I’m afraid is rather rampant, especially among the educated population of Botswana.
My sweet Katlego was also not her usual stellar self. I’m not sure if it was to show off for her fellow conterparts or what, but she asked challenging questions that displayed a level of immaturity that surprised me. “Is “Lights Out” for everyone or just for campers?” And we had a long discussion started by her about whether or not the girls and guys should be kept at separate camps. This was a good discussion to have, although it displayed the lack of understanding on the part of the Batswana how much planning and organizing has already gone into the event. Changing the venue at this point would be impossible even if they managed to convince the leaders that the goals of the camp would be better met with both genders learning together.
There was quite a bit of drinking, by the counterparts, mostly. Although PCV’s do their fair share of “partying”, especially away from their sites, I am confident my colleagues would not show up to an official event/meeting drunk, and a few of the counterparts did. I hope the kids who complete the GLOW program will be more responsible when it is their turn to display leadership. Eish.
Run for Life: They did it! The boys ran the half marathon and girls did the 5 km race. I dropped them off at Monica’s place on Thursday night, gave them money for the weekend, and we exchanged phone numbers so I could be in touch with them over the weekend. On Friday, government transport took them to Gaborone. My friends Liz and Stacy who also took teams took care of their accomodation at a backpacker’s hostel outside Gaborone, near the Mokolodi Game Reserve (which sounds like a neat place for those of you who are considering a visit . . . there are permaculture gardens, composting toilets, and other conservation-focused projects that vary with the work of volunteer group). The race was on Sunday morning. I got a text message from Liz when it was over, “The race went well, I think everyone had a good time.” I called one of my girls and she said, “The race is not good!” (Hm, that’s a contradiction). It turns out she was only disappointed because they didn’t all win. Apparently the race wasn’t well monitored and there was a lot of cutting corners. The boys ran the half marathon in an hour and 5 minutes. They very well may have won if everyone had stuck to the course. I’m proud of them.
The way home was a bit harry for them. They got off at “the junction” (there is a turn off to Charleshill, 44 km before you reach Gantsi from Gaborone and 200 km away from Charleshill) in order to hitchhike. They didn’t make it to Kole and had to spend the night at Mokwaledi’s father’s house in Charleshill. I felt badly because they waited for quite awhile in the sun at the hiking spot without getting a ride. I was in Gantsi (on the phone with them, but unable to really do anything to help them; transport is a problem!), coming back from Maun, trying to arrange to bring gas back to my house. It has been over a month now since I ordered these gas cylinders. I am tired of not being able to cook. Supposedly it will come today. Re tlaa bona (we’ll see).
Drama Practice:
The out of school youth are still practicing at the community hall. I went last week and it was good to be back with them. After practice they all sat along the edge of the stage and one of them told me they were waiting for me to say something. I’m not sure how they knew that I wanted to ask them about the possibility of having an HIV/AIDS Peer Educator Mini Course early next year or about starting sports practices at the school (volleyball and soccer). I told someone and they told someone who told one of the youth who told the rest of the youth but it all happens so quietly that I miss it and instead it seems like telepathy is a normal and frequent form of communication throughout the country, really. Anyway, they said they would be interested in HIV/AIDS education. The next day, Pearl informed me that she wanted to teach the kids at the community hall about PMTCT. (Several of those girls already have kids and one is currently pregnant). The plan is to have a “preview” to the course in November, giving Pearl the opportunity to do her group education with a fancy flip chart that is provided to all lay counselors. Then on Tuesdays and Thursdays in January, I will teach the “course.” They will get certificates for being peer educators at the end of the course. They LOVE certificates. One of the teachers at the GLOW meeting this weekend wanted to get a certificate. (This is a training of trainers, isn’t it? She wanted to know).
Dance:
I miss dancing!!! I think I will have salsa classes after the HIV/AIDS education as a possible incentive for them to keep coming and also as a purely selfish form of entertainment.
Beautiful Moments:
I have spent quite a bit of time with Larona, my nurse’s 13-month old baby girl. Last week I gave her a bath for the first time, and it was so much fun. I adore her. If Twenty gets transferred, which is always a possibility, I will miss her baby as much as her.
I had a meeting with the kgosi to talk about VMSAC last Tuesday. He invited me to his house. His wife gave me lunch, in the formal Setswana way, which includes washing my hands in a bowl of water before eating. On the way out, she brought me a bag of fruit – oranges, pears and apples. (They know I don’t have gas and can’t cook . . . the village is jokingly referring to me as a destitute).
There was a rainbow on Wednesday morning last week. It was huge and entirely visible because the sky here is so vast.
Go Fetsa: (to finish)
I miss you. It is strange to think of the trees having lost their leaves and chilly days starting (although I’ve heard it has been unusually warm lately). Write me often so I don’t lose touch with that and everything else about home.
Much love from Botswana,
Leah
Dear Friends and Family,
HAPPY THANKSGIVING . . . I hope you are enjoying the good company of those
close to you. This weekend I will head to Gantsi to celebrate with 17 other
Peace Corps Volunteers. Some of them are travelling ridiculously far in
order to be with us, and I am already grateful for being able to have a good
group of people to be with when I am far away from you. Turkey is rare and
expensive here, so we are having chicken (which I actually prefer) and we
aren’t stuffing the bird(s) because it is much too hot to use an oven.
Grilled chicken for Thanksgiving in Botswana will have to do. I will miss
Dad’s cranberry chutney and Grandma’s pies. You can all eat twice as much
in my honor. ;)
Peace Corps Volunteers are expected to experience up’s and down’s throughout
their service. We were given a handout during training that describes the
emotional rollercoaster we are likely to have, month by month. I am right
on target. I have been in Botswana for almost exactly seven months. I am
feeling on top of the world, or at least on top of the rollercoaster, as it
were. This stage has lasted for a pleasantly long time . . .
I get up before the sun finds its way through my bedroom curtains, making my
cozy refuge under the mosquito net too warm for sleeping in. Last week it
was so warm that I didn’t bother heating water for a bucket bath. The water
that comes from tap runs warm at first since the shallow piping is heated
easily by the sun. I have a bowl of cereal (there is a nice granola at
Score, the most reasonably priced grocery store in Gantsi) that I mix with
Wheatabix, the English/South African/Botswana version of shredded wheat. As
of late, I stumble sleepily outside to water the “plot” (garden) and flower
beds that I have created. My neighbor graciously brought me a load of
well-composted goat manure and I turned it into the sand and watered it for
several days before planting seeds. The flowers have disappointed me, but I
have little green basil sprouts that make me unbelievably excited . . . the
prospect of creating green in the middle of the desert, and in the not so
distant future – pesto, is very satisfying. And I think the smell of Earth,
whether it is infused with Kalahari sand or Wisconsin Sandstone, is the
same. It was a nostalgic process, turning over the soil by the shovelful
and tossing away the stones.
One of my Standard 5 buddies is watering my garden while I’m away. I am
planning on being gone from Kole for much of December, first for GLOW camp
in Gaborone, then visiting my family in Moshupa, then on a Christmas trip
with Monica, Cassie, and Liz.