Week 11: Botho (Respect)

 I used to be worried that I would not be respected in the school I was placed in because of my age. I was worried that people would not take me seriously. Upon arrival I have come to terms with the fact that instead of being perceived as a nieve twenty-something as I am in the states, most people now guess my age to be around 16. At first I thought I was just encountering the vocal outliers, I could not look 16, at 16 I was not nearly as cool as I am now nor would I have moved to Botswana. However, as time passes and I chat with more people I am realizing that although some accurately guess my age range (I am 21)  many people time and time again guess I am in my teens. I was acutely aware of my age in terms of respect, however that was not necessary. I have come to realize that as a white American in Botswana I am afforded immense respect. This may be due in part to being a volunteer and the specific people I encounter, but it has happened too many times for me to think it is only specific people.

In other news my anxieties and pure shock of last week has worn off. I feel myself becoming more and more comfortable in Moshanang. I can now pronounce the name of my land lady, I have friends who check me, and I am similar to the pied piper when I walk down the street with a constant slew of children in-tow. The Ministry of Education is supposed to provide simple furnishings for Peace Corps Volunteers in schools, I have the basics but no table, which I mentioned to my landlady and the next day a friend stopped by and told me to come with her, her mother was giving me a table. This is only one example of the way that Moshanang has wrapped me up it its arms. I am continually shown immense kindness and learning more about Motswana culture. One day I thought I was inviting a fellow teacher to sit with me at tea time which to my confusion eneded with her serving me her own personal coffee with biscuits as she went back to class to teach. I was quite confused by how these events transpired and worried I offended her and appeared demanding. Upon chatting later I realized that she was excited  to share with me and inquired weather or not I liked that style of biscuit. This is Motswana kindness at play.

As my good friend and fellow PCV, Botho said, “Confusion, it is our new norm.” This could not be more true.

Week 10: Making a Home

I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer, Woohoo

Day one of Peace Corps Volunteer began, finished packing and told my mother there was no time to boil eggs for my lunch.

Me: “I am concerned about transport, we are leaving first thing, I don’t want to miss my ride”

Host Mom: “Ah Batswana they are late you will need a snack”

And she was right, It was all rather unclear and every source gave me new and conflicting details but it seemed like there was a chance I was leaving at 7am, just kidding. I ended up leaving Serowe after 5pm, I guess I could have spent 10 minutes boiling eggs in the morning.

Due to the late departure I rolled into my new home just after 11pm at night, briefly met my land lady, put sheets on my bed, laughed, and crawled into bed. As a result when I laid my head on my pillow I had no idea where I could get water and where the toilet was, a new level of vulnerability.  My new rooster neighbor friend was sure to welcome me at all hours of the night (it is a myth that roosters only crow at dawn, I believe they suffer from insomnia and are bitter about this and share their pain with others) and thus as soon as it was light I ventured out of my new home and quickly saw the stand pipe (aka my water source for the next two years) and the pit latrine just behind my house. Now on to my next dilemma, how will I bathe, I didn’t have a chance to pick up a large basin and what will I eat? Of course I had nothing to be concerned about I am among Batswana. At 6:30am, my land lady knocked on my door with a large basin and a small bucket of hot water for my bath, and then again at 7 with Motogo (soft porridge) for breakfast, and again at 7:30 saying we are going to the Kgotla.

This was all a bit overwhelming and comforting. My land lady showed me that I would always be cared for here as well as the fact that my host mother, the woman I had been living with during training called to see if I made it okay. On the other hand, I had gotten only a few hours of sleep, had no idea where I was or how to get anywhere, and kept telling myself that I was home, which was incredibly frightening since everything was so foreign to me. My application for the peace corps took about a year and I had been dreaming of this moment the whole time. One of my favorite games during this year was to picture myself in what ever country I was sent living with a new community. However, now that I was here, I was overwhelmed about how I would connect my gas stove to the gas tank (will I accidently poison myself and not tighten it enough, why was this not a bigger part of training?), will I be able to talk to anyone, will anyone want to be my friend, if this is home why do I feel so alone?

Luckily my time at the Kgotla and my tour of the village came to an end and I was able to put pictures on my walls, hang up my tapestry, call my mother, and I felt a degree of normalcy. The two rooms I moved into only a few hours before is not my home but I am sure before my two years are over it will be. The creation of a home is a process, it is not a snap of the fingers, but comes about through little moments. The hanging up of my favorite tapestry, having a dance party by myself to celebrate the little victories,  and meeting some lovely Batswana women who understand the importance of sisters and tell me they will be mine for the next two years while I am far away from mine. These are the moments that make a home and as the days pass and moments increase, I know I am making a home for myself here and the next two years become a little less daunting.

My House

To give everyone a little picture, my house is two spacious rooms with electricity and no running water. I have a fridge (with a freezer), a gas stove (with a large gas cylinder), a bed, a chest of drawers, and two chairs. This leaves a lot of space for dance parties and yoga. My house is on the compound of my land lady who lives here with two of her grandchildren.

Week 9: Understanding Just Enough Setswana

It’s the final week of Pre-Service Training and I have been reflecting on what I have learned and the little moments, which used to be cultural exchanges and I now accept as the norm. A prime example is the fact that I used to underestimate the places that my mom could take her pick-up truck. I would be a little nervous every time I thought we were off roading, however, I have come to realize that is the road and its fine that’s why she drives a pick-up. Don’t get me wrong driving with my host mom is always an adventure and one never knows where we will end up. Just the other day we left to pick up milk and ended up at a relatives, where I was warmly greeted with a pat on the rump and based on my Setswana understanding something along the lines of, “Ah you are Motswana.” The women of Serowe are known for having large behinds and consequently there is a song about the women of Serowe pulling tractors behind them, I can only surmise that this relative was referring to such. I will take this as a compliment on my cultural integration skills, look I blend in!

I am grateful for my ability to pick up on context clues as I was in my language Proficiency test and told to describe what had been stolen from me in the fictitious scenario I was given. Naturally I promplty respond with hair, because I get hair and dress confused luckily due to my testers face I quickly realized my error and remedied the situation.

Other highlights include cracking a bottle of wine with my host mom on Thursday night and then both of us knocking out around 8:30, she never ceases to surprise me. Other things I have learned are to never underestimate the comforts of cookie backing on a Friday night with friends. Or in this case cookie frying/not cooking in a pan on a gas stove top, I will not be deterred by a lack of oven or the heat, cookie making will prevail!

In three days I will move to a new village and I am incredibly excited and a bit anxious. I have grown comfortable in my home and neighborhood here, however more exciting adventures await. My posts may become less frequent due to limited internet access but I will continue to write.

Week 8: Happy Independence Day Botswana

September 30^th is Botswana’s Independence Day and we celebrated by going to the Kgotla in the morning. As previously discussed the Kgotla is a traditional meeting place in villages that is presided over by a Kgosi who is the leader. Issues or any concerns may be brought before the Kgosi and the whole community at the Kgotla. I am sure that my understanding of Kgotla’s will increase with my time in Botswana. At the Independence celebration there were a variety of speeches given, dances performed, and poems recited. While sitting in the Kgotla I felt extremely privileged to be a part of this moment. I have never pictured myself sitting in a Kgotla on Botswana’s Independence day, I only recently learned what a Kgotla was however it was an aweinspiring moment.

MmeMalebogo is the oldest daughter to my host mother and a phenomenal person. She has been in town for the holiday weekend and has enlightened me on a variety of topics related to Botswana as well as enriched my days with conversations of US politics. MmeMalebogo, means mother of Malebogo, which is her oldest child. It is common for both the mother and the father to be called by their eldest child’s name with either mother or father in front of it. MmeMalebogo is an extremely loving, patient, and kind mother, not only did I learn more of the history of Botswana but also a thing or two about patience. Also family dynamics are always fun to watch, no one can call you out on your ridiculousness the same way a family member can.

 I like to maintain a hobbit life style here since usually after I eat breakfast my host mother likes to bring me second breakfast. As I was on my way out the door one day this week my host mother brings me a legwinya (the singular version of Magwinya or fat cake) that she heated in the microwave. Now this was no 10 second warm up but instead a five minute cooking, thus turning the legwinya into a hard-tack situation. I was trying as delicately as I could to soften the bread in my coffee and discreetly gnaw on it, however I was foiled by MmeMalebogo who saw this happen and called out her mother for misuse of the microwave. Her mother then proceeded to defend herself with the logic that she grew up at the cattle post where there were no microwaves and all they ate/drank was milk (the old “uphill both ways” story). These efforts were unsuccessful with the simple math that the eleven years at the cattle post did not compare with the other 62 years spent elsewhere. The whole scenario ended with her quietly giggling to herself and all of us laughing quite heartily, like I said no one can call you out like a family member can.

One day this week I thought I would mix up my morning run and deviate from the tarred road, according to my host mother there are only three tarred roads in Serowe. As a result I took a series of impulse turns, wound up atop a hill and was greeted by the glorious sight of Serowe tucked in between plateaus and hills with the sun beginning to kiss the sky. Naturally in awe I begin to sing to myself, “Some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this.” I am shameless in my cheesy reactions to things that make me happy and that view made me smile all day.

Pre-Service Training is coming to an end and its bitter sweet. I will not miss sitting in a room with 60 personalities for 9 hours listening to power points but I will really miss some of those people. I will also miss my host mother. I know the feeling is mutual since she said she will throw stones at the person who comes to pick me up and not allow them to take me. Although I cannot picture her beating up someone I can picture her trying to get into the car as well, so we shall see what happens. It will be nice to return to the autonomy I am used to, however, my host mom is an amazing woman and I am extremely grateful for the time we spent together. Her and her family have welcomed me with open arms and make me feel at home in Botswana. No matter where I am I know that I have a home in Serowe.

Week 7: Lesego Goes to a Wedding

Week 7: Lesego Goes to a Wedding

There was singing, dancing, eating, community, and marriage. This weekend there were 36 weddings in Serowe (a village of roughly 58,000). My cousin was one of the lucky grooms and thus I was able to take part in the festivities. This weekend is a holiday weekend, with Independence Day on Monday and thus many people are home for the holidays,  making it a prime wedding weekend. As a close relative my host mom left before 5am the morning of the wedding to attend to last minute details. Due to my Setswana class I arrived around 2 and since I was at cultural capacity, I left around 7:30, however my host mom was still there. Attending the wedding was a highlight of my time here and it was lovely to realize how many Batswana I know here and to feel welcomed by everyone. However, I hit a point where my brain could not soak up any more Setswana or culture and I knew I needed a moment to myself and thus the phrase cultural capacity has entered my vernacular.

The food was cooked in sixteen three-legged cast iron pots (aka caldrons) over hot wood coals. I am very impressed by the women who cooked seswa (pounded meat), samp (maize kernels), rice, leputshi (squash), soft porridge with melon, beets, potato salad, and other meats. Not to mention my favorite addition to the feast the ginger drink! I am unclear what it is made of but I do know that there was a vat of it and if I was left alone with the vat I could have drank all of it. Recipe coming soon, compliments of my host mother’s daughter. The mosadi mahalo (old women) are served first, then the men, and then other people are able to get in line for food. I helped served the food and luckily got out of doing dishes.

Traditional weddings are a whole day affair and I am sure vary from family to family. After only attending one I don’t think I can confidently say anything about Motswana weddings.

Rewind to earlier in the week, I went to a town called Orapa, to see one of the county’s diamond mines. Diamonds account for 70 percent of Botswana’s export earnings and are a huge part of the economy thus allowing for education to be widely available as well as ARVs, among other things.

Ga ke je nama (I do not eat meat) is a frequent sentence of mine and part of many of my conversations here. Meat is a staple food in Botswana so it makes sense that people are confused why I would not eat it. Also fun fact Botswana is one of only two African countries that is allowed to export beef to the EU. I am always down for this cultural exchange, and am met with a variety of reactions Sunday I was standing around and eating a carrot while I made myself dinner. My host mom’s five year old grandson asked what it was and if he could have one. I excitedly obliged and to my delight as well as his parent’s him and his 2 year-old sister ate the carrot. They then proceeded to eat the vegetables and beans I had made for dinner. Inspiring a love of vegetables into the hearts of small children would have to be the highlight of my week. I think my work here is done.