First Congregational UCC - Platteville

May 30, 2008

Dear friends and family,

Although I am not feeling particulary productive since the football tournament, it has been a wonderful month.

I had a Peace Corps trainee “shadow” me the second week of May. Her name is Kate, she’s a 50 + volunteer who spent her most recent years in Vermont living in community and helping to run a large dairy operation and a rather famous bakery (I forget the name of it now). The Vermont farm ladies decided to sell their cattle to the State of California after years of careful genetic selection and so Kate was free to do Peace Corps which is “something (she has) always wanted to do.” That’s the line for a lot of the older volunteers, now that their kids are grown and significant others either not around or willing to go along, Peace Corps Washington has taken advantage by recruiting 50 + ‘ers. I just found out recently that Botswana is a pilot project for the older volunteers. The culture here is very conducive to older volunteers’ success. They will receive so much respect automatically that the 20 somethings may never experience. When the girls and I were on Christmas vacation visiting Nadine in Kasane I remember being almost offended by how nicely the kids, especially, greeted Nadine on our walks to and from her home. I thought kids in Kasane were just more polite until I realized their clasping of hands and slight bow and subdued, “Dumela, Mma,” were all because she has gray hair.

Back to Kate and other trainees shadowing me and other volunteers in Ghanzi District . . . I was apprehensive about the role of “mentor” or “experienced volunteer” before them came, but it did come naturally to say, “This is what I’ve learned,” and share story upon story. The trainees all wanted to stay and shadow for the rest of their training weeks, but we sent them back to Molepolole after four days.

Monica and I were spoiled with government transport to and from Ghanzi to pick up the trainees. On the way to Kole, it was just Kate and me in the front of the pick up truck with a government driver. When we arrived, Kate admitted she had been freaked out during the drive. She said she was saying mantras to herself and keeping an eye on the spedometer and wishing there were less cows, “frolicking on the side of the road.” I remember feeling that way when I first rode to Kole, too. Is it necessary to go this fast? I would ask. The drivers’ philosophy is that the faster you go, the less you feel the bumps on the very bumpy road. I have come to agree with them, so 120km/hr no longer phases me. It will be helpful to have new volunteers to help bring their fresh perspective and remind me when I should be fearing for my life. The cows frolicking no longer makes me as nervous either. One morning on an ambulance trip to Ghanzi, I covered my eyes and squealed as my driver, Meroro, swerved around a group of cows on the road, barely slowing from highway speed. He asked if I was scared. I said, “Terrified!” And he laughed, but was serious in reassuring me, “Don’t worry, Thapelo, I can read their minds.” I think he is probably right. There is comfort in riding with an experienced government driver.

Kate and I walked around the village and I introduced her at the health post, the kgotla offices, and the school. Everyone assumed she was my mother, including a very young girl who is particularly fond of me (we spent an entire morning at the hiking spot together once and her mother kept reprimanding her for touching my hair, and I kept reassuring them that I didn’t mind); she pointed from quite far away, saying, “Thapelo le mmagwe! Thapelo le mmagwe!” (Thapelo and her mother).

I made chili and fresh bread and a salad with veggies we got in Ghanzi and fresh basil from the garden. Kate was beside herself. She was so complimentary of my cooking, my language skills, my attitude, etc, etc. Her visit was quite the ego boost. She also insisted I play the guitar and after playing a few songs we got to talking about music. She is a folk music fan and was saying my songs reminded her of Cheryl Wheeler, which is ridiculously flattering. I had her listen to Uncle Phil’s cd which she enjoyed very much. She said she slept better in Kole than she had since she arrived in country. For some reason Kole does seem to have a limited number of chickens and therefore roosters which reduces the noise level considerably in comparison to her home in Molepolole (or mine in Moshupa, for that matter). The hee-hawing donkeys are still around, but the breeding season is ending now and they make less of a ruckus these days.

Donkeys are an omni-present in Botswana. I distinctly remember the first night I heard the hee hawing in Moshupa. I was on malaria meds and went a little bit crazy at night. As I was drifting off the sleep, the “HGHEE, hghaww, HGHEE, hghaww” jolted me awake and I sat bolt upright, sure something awful was happening to someone nearby. The malaria meds not only enhanced donkey noises but made me paranoid; people were at the windows when I was sleeping and there were gigantic mosquitoes in the room. I woke up once with the distinct feeling of blood on my hands after having killed an imaginary mosquito in my sleep.

Monica woke up once imagining an over-sized donkey head at her window (again, malaria med induced hallucinations). This was after the night when there really were donkeys at her window. She heard them rummaging in her trash can and got up to chase three donkeys out of her yard, wearing a little pink nighty at three o’clock in the morning.

The most recent donkey experience was when I was waiting at the hiking spot to go to Ncojane to check on the house for the new Peace Corps volunteer. I was waiting with three other people. A group of young boys riding donkeys went by on the road and the young men with whom I was waiting decided to provide themselves with some entertainment in the meantime. They ordered the boys to line up their donkeys and then said, “Ready, Set, Go!” and they were off, racing to some undetermined point in the distance. I felt bad for them initially, but after awhile succumbed to laughter with the others partly because of the bizarre circumstance and partly because the donkeys, in their stubborn way, were staying in line, perfectly straight across, despite the boys hollering and side kicking.

This past week I went to Molepolole to meet the new volunteers and do a training session with them, “HIV/AIDS education for multiple audiences.” I basically reproduced the training I did for my VMSAC workshop and, although it wasn’t a scientifically in depth presentation, I wanted them to see what level they would be teaching, at least for villagers in remote areas. There are differences for teaching HIV/AIDS education here and in the U.S. Oral sex and needles are not a mode of transmission in Botswana, for example. There is also a lot more dealing with myths and ancient cultural traditions (sharing razors for circumcisions during bojalwe, the initiation ceremony for men, for exmaple, although that practice is dying out). Also, there are conspiracy theories about condoms that need to be dispelled. Worms and HIV are believed (although not commonly believed anymore) to live in condoms as a way for makgoa to do away with black people. When we were in training last year, there were absolutely no training sessions involving technical HIV/AIDS information. I learned a lot from my fellow trainees at a workshop they put on for the Red Cross in Moshupa, especially from Andrea, a ditzy, blond, California beauty who is brilliantly smart and was pre-med in college. She explained better than any expert or doctor I’ve heard in Botswana what HIV does in the body and how ARV’s slow down the replication process of the virus. I replicated what she taught us for the new trainees.

I was asked to do a session for safety and security at the last minute. This meant presenting with Thuso, who is such an amazing person it’s hard to do him justice in words. He is incredibly kind and takes his work very seriously. I met his family in Kanye last month (he was giving me a ride back to Ghanzi from Gabs) and it was touching to see him with his new baby girl and his oldest daughter who has down syndrome. He is a muscular, tough looking safety and security officer and yet gentle as a lamb with her. Anyway, I was helping to give him credibility during his presentation because we bratty, self-centered Americans think we know everything there is to know about Botswana after six weeks of training (that’s where the trainees are now) and sometimes roll their eyes at the Batswana trainers when they try to instill the very important concept of reporting safety and security incidents. I told examples of “incidents” that had happened to volunteers since I came and the response of the safety and security officer and other staff members at the office which has been overwhelmingly supportive for anyone who has had a break in or a violent crime or petty theft or property damage.

Training with the new volunteers was a reinforcing experience much like having the shadow-ers come stay with us. Standing there in front of the group I remembered so clearly sitting in those chairs (I can’t believe it was a year ago) and thinking how I couldn’t wait to gain the experience and knowledge base and level of comfortable-ness that those PCV’s who were our guest speakers obviously had. And now, that’s me. Woo-hoo! It’s a great feeling.

Like I said, I haven’t really been working. I helped Monica edit some proposals for activities that we will do together this coming year, but haven’t started implementing them yet. She wants to start a nation-wide campaign titled, “HIV stops with ME!” (Ke ka emisa HIV!) in order to promote personal responsibility, a much needed and much avoided topic in Botswana in general. We are also planning a drama competition and tour for the winning group in August.

Mostly, I have been preparing for the new volunteer in Ncojane. I helped get a house allocated from the VDC (Village Development Committee). It doesn’t have electricity, but it’s comfortable, much like mine. The trainees get their site announcements tomorrow (Saturday), and they visit their sites next week. So, counterparts for the volunteers are supposed to travel to Gabs on Monday and bring them back on Tuesday. While I was in Molepolole I got a call from the matron at Charleshill asking if I was bringing back the trainee with me on Tuesday. Nope, I will not be in Gabs, I am going to Kole tomorrow, I told her. That’s what I thought, I am just clarifying because the head nurse at Ncojane told me you would be bringing her. (The head nurse apparently thinks I am the counterpart. Eish!) So, it’s back to the grind stone of begging in the offices for transport, for furniture, for wiring for electricity, for gas cylinders, etc., but it will be much more rewarding if it isn’t for me, I think.

I have a change of address! Please send letters and packages to:

Leah Hart, PCV

Kole Health Post

P O Box 7

Kole, Botswana

AFRIKA

I have a request for package contents or for those of you who will be seeing me when I am home (July 2nd to the 15th!) I find great pleasure and comfort in music. I am grateful for the guitar I have here and play it often. However, I would like to have the option of listening to other peoples’ music. I would appreciate cd’s of your favorite songs. If those of you with burners and huge repertoires of music on your computers could create a few burned discs for me, I would be so delighted . . . (Chris G., Alan, Uncle Phil, Jonas???) . . . Thank you! And also, DVD’s! I am in the process of finally getting the software I need to be able to watch DVD’s on my laptop. Once I have it, it would be so lovely if I could have a girls’ night with my friends in Kole and watch a movie. Disney movies, documentaries, my favorites (Princess Bride, Chocolat, Good Will Hunting, Dirty Dancing, Rainman, etc.)

Thanks!!!

Love and miss you much,

Leah