Bee Catching 101

So I am hanging out at my house Sunday, washing sheets and some pretty filthy curtains before I head to Camphill to find my landlord’s son, Lenswe to bring a few items from the previous volunteers to my house, when he shows up with my stuff, along with my landlord’s cousin. The two of them are ready to tackle fixing the canopy on the porch.

Little did they know that a beehive had taken up residence on the canopy itself. No problem. They would simply take it down, put it in a box or something and take it over to the cousin’s house a few hundred meters away.  So far, we have no exact plan about how to do this, but I offer boxes, garbage bags and duct tape to the mix and they start in. Meanwhile, Lenswe is talking to the neighbors about the beehive. A story begins to unfold which may have huge ramifications on the relationship between my landlord and the neighbors.  Of course, I am only getting bits and pieces of the story between bits and pieces of the mechanics of moving the bee hive, so it makes it both very interesting and entertaining.

The story is that a bee hive used to live in a big old barrel at my house, but the barrel wasn’t around anymore. I am to learn later that this bee hive has been at my house for 25 plus years. Okay, probably not the same bees or the same queen, but a colony of bees and their ancestors have taken care of my landlord’s beautiful garden for these past 25 years, and provided honey to boot. 

Well, lookie here, the barrel was at the neighbor’s house because when my house sat empty for about a year, they had appropriated the beehive and the honey that came with it.  They had just harvested the honey and thus the bees had been set free, and looking for a new home they naturally came back to where they wanted to be the whole time. Being unable to carry the big metal barrel, they had begun their new hive on the canopy. 

I remember now my neighbor had told me earlier that week about some bee hive “that side” and how he was having someone come and take care of it.  I had no idea at the time that he was actually going to try to steal back my landlord’s beehive after it “got away” or that “that side” meant just outside my living room window, hanging on my broken down canopy.

Over the course of the next hour Lenswe and his second cousin devised the methodology for getting the bee hive taken care of and back to its rightful home.  Once they figured out where the barrel was, they went and got it.  But this only happened after he had knocked the hive and the bees down and into a garbage bag which they told me to hold closed, just like this. Very carefully. It was important not to kill any bees, he said, and also not to get stung. Apparently a neighbor’s dog had recently died because of too many bee stings. Eish!  So there I stood, very quietly, left holding the bag. 

There was a small opening at the top so bees could come in and out, as anyone knows they need to do to feel safe and happy that their queen is safe.  So in and out they flew, within inches of my face, and crawling on my hand, which I could not, should not, would not move. I used the opportunity to practice some new meditation methods, though none I had read about up to this point had talked about counting bees on my hand, or focusing on the sound of the beehive laying in a garbage bag at my feet.  I am new to both meditating and bee bag holding, so I started focusing on not hyperventilating, which I guess is a reasonable meditation.

Lucikly, I have no real fear of bees.  I don’t search them out but they don’t bother me. I love them in the garden and know how critical they are to the whole ecosystem. In fact, having a bee hive in our yard is why we have such beautiful flowers and orange trees.  This is all true, but when a bee is tickling your palm and you aren’t sure if it will decide to sting you suddenly, forcing you to drop the bag and all hell to break loose, well, you start to wonder a bit. And they are taking a long time to get that barrel.  Couldn’t they have gotten the barrel before they took down the bee hive and put it in a bag?

Once the barrel is back, it needs the lid to be bent back so more time elapses. I have handed over bee bag holding responsibilities to Lenswe so I can film and the cousin can prepare the barrel.  Lenswe’s  hand is totally covered with bees by the time the barrel is ready and they carefully dump the bees into the barrel, place the bag over most, but not all of the opening and duct tape the crap out of it. They are enthralled by my duct tape, which is now almost gone (note to self, request more from home).

The plan is to take the barrel to the cousin’s house, but not now now. Instead we drove to Camphill so they can pick up some stuff to weld the metal for the canopy, and we drive by the cousin’s house, which is devoid of all plant life. I suggest they leave the barrel and the bees at their natural home – my garden – where they are used to doing their work, and he can come and show me how he harvests honey. They thought that was a better plan than carrying a huge barrel full of bees down the hill.

At Camphill, we told my landlord the story.  I don’t know much Setswana, but in the proper context I was able to understand that her neighbors basically stole her bee hive and the barrel once no one was living in the house and she was quite incensed.  She was still talking about it the next day.

Meanwhile, the bees are home, doing what bees do, but far enough away from the house as to not pose a hazard if I finally do decide to let my cats out of the house. The neighbors have been put on notice not to mess with “our” bees and at some point, the landlord’s cousin will be back to show me how he harvests honey.  Life will go back to normal for the bees. Maybe they will tell their offspring about the time they were moved off their land, only to be rescued by a strange group with garbage bags and duct tape and brought home again.

I walked home later and had a bee that just wouldn’t leave me alone for awhile. I am not sure if it had gotten attached to my clothing during the bag holding and had just continued to hang out with me, lost and bereft, if it was from a different hive sniffing me out, or just a random occurrence.  How far do bees travel from their hives? Can they smell other bees from other hives on humans? Whatever.  I just know I got me some bees.

The more things change...

I have to be careful how I say this, because Tsatsi is watching every word closely and Sisi is pretending not to be paying attention, but she is sitting right next to her baby.

Hmm…okay…I may be stuck with two cats.  And when I mean stuck, I mean, uh, quite happy, really, despite having clearly stipulated in all my Peace Corps paperwork and interviews that I would only be willing to join their illustrious organization if I did not have to have cats. I needed a cat break since it was so emotionally hard to leave all my babies behind, I didn’t want to go through that again here after two years. I didn’t want the expense, the worry, cat boxes. It was a deal breaker. They assured me that they would not require me to have a cat, and certainly they would be sanctioned if they required me to have as many as two. I explained that two or more had always been a problem for me, due to lack of lap accommodations

Okay, so as you know, I signed the dotted line and off I came to Botswana. How I ended up with Sisi is chronicled elsewhere on this blog. So where did Tsatsi come from?  Well, she spent a few weeks with a dear friend PCV who realized after these weeks that it was too risky with her asthma. She had had a cat before so it hadn’t been such an absurd notion. But as time went on she realized it wouldn’t work.

So she made the 4 hour trek with her counterpart here to bring Tsatsi home again. My plan was to find someone here who wanted the little darling, because my contract only allows for one, and I found a colleague at work who would be willing. So me and my PCV pal are going to split the cost of having Tsatsi spayed and then off she would go to her new home.

Last night after Tsatsi’s ride left her and things calmed down, she went looking for her mother, who had taken up her default hiding position under my bed whenever there is company. She sat at the foot of the bed and waited. I sat in the living room and angsted over whether or not they would kill each other.  I heard some hissing and nice guttural vocalizations, but wasn’t sure who was doing what. After a while, Sisi came out, a little while later, they were chasing each other around the house. Tentatively, but they were definitely reconnecting and it became clear after awhile that the “words” they had exchanged earlier went something like this

“Mom, is that you under there?”

“Eh, yeah, is that you punk?”

“Mommmm. Don’t call me that please, I am almost 6 months old now”

“Whatever.  Where the heck have you been?”

“Me??? Why did you let them take me away from you?”

“I am a cat. I thought you were just going out for awhile. Then I feel asleep. You know how it goes. Anyway…I am glad you are back.”

So they didn’t sleep with me that night, preferring to cuddle on the couch, although Sisi still thinks she is supposed to wake me at 6:30,  even on weekends. The two of them played happily as I did laundry. (At least these kids won’t give me more laundry to do.)

Tsatsi sits on my lap as I type this, Sisi licking Tsatsi sweetly on her head before going to find a blanket to hide under. Crap. I think I now have two cats.  The more they stay the same.

Crazed Dog Attack

So one of my co-trainees was attacked by her neighbor’s dog during our training in Kanye. She got a nasty bite on the leg but is doing okay by now.  She had been at the neighbor’s house before and even met the dog, but on this particular day, it was with another dog so for some reason decided to attack. That old stupid pack mentality I suppose. Flash forward to my walk home from work Friday.

I am passing by a co-worker’s house. It is a beautiful sunny day, but windy and a bit cold. People are out and about, happy it is Friday afternoon and giving friendly “dumelas” to eachother. I am wearing my down jacket, hat and scarf. Pretty much had been wearing them all day, because our office is so cold (aka, full of windows, cement walls and floors and devoid of heating unless you plug in a space heater, which I don’t have – yet). Anyway, in front of my co-workers house are his three typical Batswanan (hmm, that’s for people - Setswanan?) dogs, literally smiling at me. I have been to the house a couple of times so they know me, and are pretty friendly creatures anyway. So I say, “hi Max” to the adolescent son of the mother dog. He trots over and jumps up on me. No manners. Then mom comes over, along with puppy Mathatha (not his name, but what I will now call him – trouble) and THEY start jumping on me.  Then the two small bischon freeses (or whatever those dirty brown, normally white straggly things are) join in, having easily snuck under the closed gate at the house. And I suddenly have 5 friendly dogs jumping on me. They won’t stop, they are getting me filthy (oh I am SO glad these pants were not freshly washed or I would have been really, really pissed) and I am starting to get a bit concerned that I will never get away from them and that even if I do they will follow me  home.

Then it happens. Mathatha grabs my arm and rips my down jacket in the forearm, making a hole about 1 ½ inches long. He gets another nick in on the other forearm. Or maybe that was his older brother Max. The down starts flying and the lovely moment is over. OVER.  I had been kinda telling them to leave me alone in English the whole time, but now very loud NYAAs starting coming out of my mouth, and the kicking started.  When they figured out I didn’t want to play anymore, they walked away and I stuffed down into my coat and held it in for the rest of the walk. Dumb mutts. Dumb me. Should had just said nyaa and thrown in a few kicks to start with. But that ain’t my way.  And these were friendly dogs.

That night, I cut cute little hearts out of duct tape (well, as best you can make cute little hearts out of duct tape) and placed them lovingly on my jacket. As I did so, I remembered the story my co-worker told me the weekend before of how he awoke in the middle of the night having heard some strange noises. He went outside and saw 4 or 5 guys walking by his house carrying a load of obviously stolen goods from a local grocery; bags and bags of things, mostly food. Well my neighbor and his 5 dogs (did I mention that one of the small dirty brown-white ones has only one eye, so her depth perception must have been zilch) took off running after the guys, dogs barking ferociously, my co-worker yelling and waving a stick or something. The guys saw the dogs and dropped the goods.  By the next morning, the police had figured out who all the culprits were and the dogs and my co-worker had saved the local grocer from a loss of thousands of Pulas.

I also sat down to watch a video called Waltz with Bashir. It was in hebrew, i think, with no subtitles and animated. It started out with a bunch of wild dogs running through the streets of a sitting terrorizing everyone until the stopped outside some guys window and barked up at him.  Nope. Not tonight I am afraid.  Too life like this here animation.

The day after this little mishap, I am walking down the hill and see this scrawny little dog carrying something in its mouth.  As I get closer, it becomes clear that he has the lower leg and hoof (if that’s what it is called) of what appears to be a goat. Well, was a goat. Not sure how the rest of the thing had been divved up, but these dogs are no joke.  I am going over to my co-worker’s later today to loan his wife a book and give her some money for the cat bowl with the  anti-ant moat she bought for me.  I will probably wear my jacket, but forewarned is forearmed. Ehh, I hope.

Kristen and GOD I LOOK LIKE MY MOM

Ameila & Susan - 2 of my favs!

Lucia watching Twilight - again!

Host mom Lenah & me at swearing in

kitchen is my favorite room in house

path to latrine - god help us if need it

from porch towards gate to road!

looking into my yard from the road

coming up to my house

my front door and patio

patio

summer bedroom

my bathroom

my winter bedroom

My kitchen

photos of my home in Otse

Humble Pie

Our lives give us many opportunities to be humble and humbled. Being in the Peace Corps gives me the chance to be hit over the head with these opportunities, in case I wasn’t paying enough attention. And since I arrived here on site, I obviously wasn’t. When I came for the site visit two weeks prior to coming here for good, I was thrilled at my wonderful home – indoor plumbing and a large bathroom, fireplace, garden, great kitchen, extra bedroom for company, etc.   When I arrived last week, I soon discovered that while the house is wired for electricity, the circuit breaker is so sensitive that it shuts everything off if there isn’t enough voltage, which is most day time hours. I asked my landlord about it and got two answers: the first, he had spoken to the electrician and basically some of the meters in older houses have this problem in how they connect to the grid and it may get fixed soon, or never. The second answer, after I told my other landlord (I have two, a married couple) that the next door neighbors told me they had the same problem but went to the utilities office in Lobatse and then something was done or reset and now they are fine, was okay, go to Lobatse and talk to them.

I felt a bit put out, because I was thinking this should be resolved by the landlord and I was pretty sure that when I went to the utilities folks they would look at me blankly and say, “well, its not your house so we can’t help you” but I decided earlier this week that I would go on Friday and have that conversation, then hit the liquor store as an unhealthy coping mechanism after I heard what they had to say.

Well, Friday morning we spent at the groundbreaking celebration for one of the local disability support groups who are moving forward on a community garden. This is a huge deal because it will enable them to grow the food they need to provide their families and people they care for (some with HIV/AIDS) with the nutrition they most desperately need but cannot always afford.  They still need to purchase the water rights and jump through many and varied bureaucratic hoops (I will save that for another post), but the hope and excitement, even in the face of still daunting challenges, was palatable.  When it was finished, we drove two women my age or older, who sat in the back of the pick up truck, to one of their homes. There, we loaded a large bag of sorghum into the truck, then drove the one woman further down many dirt roads to her home. 

Mind you, at various times throughout the week, but also during the drive, I continued to talk to Victor, my counterpart, and the person contracted to help develop these support groups, about my electric situation and what my landlord was suggesting I do.  Initially, he agreed with me that they should perhaps handle it and not send me to Lobatse. When I griped about the 540 Pula I had to front for gas and electricity because none had been in my house and now I was “broke” until we got paid in July, he would say kindly and gently, “you are still rich.”  I would agree because, as much as I don’t have here, relative to what I did have (and also because if I wanted to, I could pull money out of my account at home in real dire circumstances, even though we are discouraged from doing so by Peace Corps), I am still very lucky to have such a wonderful, safe home and food in the house. I do have electricity at times, and can heat the water overnight when the voltage goes up so I always have hot water in the morning.  I was caught up in the whole, “it just doesn’t make sense that this can’t be fixed and someone else should fix it” mindset.

So we arrive at this woman’s house and 5 or 6 kids under the age of 10 run to the car to stare at me and see what we are doing.  Victor, the woman and I carry the bag of sorghum into her compound, setting it next to a teenaged disabled boy who looked like he was about to start washing himself or his clothes in a large metal basin, but wasn’t sure what to do next.  Near him, laying in the sun on a thin blanket on the ground was a seemingly very old and frail man, who tried to sit up to greet us properly, but couldn’t muster the strength. We said hello to him and then left.  As we drove away, I said to Victor, “these people should have my house.”  He looked at me silently and nodded.

When I got back to the office, I had received a fax from my friend Tom who is working in the district AIDS Coordinating office, explaining how I was to write my request for reimbursement and that it needed to include this statement, “I apologize for not knowing the procedure for obtaining gas and electricity. I arrived at my new house unable to have light, hot water, and unable to cook. I failed to ask for instructions and believed I would have to wait several days for assistance. I thought I would be reimbursed since this is the process in America. I did this of my own free will and it will not happen again.  I have been instructed on the proper procedures for obtaining gas and electricity for my house and I will use these procedures in the future.”  Down girl.  The “procedure” includes me sending a request to the main office, which will be signed and then sent to the procurement people. I should allow 5 to 10 work days for a response. So, if I had done that when I arrived on June 8^th, assuming I had known to do that, because we were told we wouldn’t be doing these things, I would now, on June 18 as I write this, be still looking forward to electricity and gas maybe on Monday. Or maybe I would have gotten it yesterday.  And how much do I request and when do I request it, given I don’t have any idea how much gas I am using right now since it is just a big canister without a meter?  Should I request it now, given it might be here in 2+ weeks? 

With these questions and the memory of my visit to the caregiver’s home all mixing around in my mind, I head to Lobatse, but not to the energy department.

That evening, a strange thing happened in my home. It was 6 p.m., and I had 244 showing on the voltage meter. I had power! A light I didn’t even know I had was on outside the house, quite handy to keep the riffraff away. I could run the fridge, heat water in my electric kettle, power all my stuff and even splurge with the bathroom light on as I did my laundry to get an early start on chores in the am.  I used the light in the kitchen to cook, but still turned everything off when I watched a movie on my laptop.  It feels wrong to waste something that most people don’t have. 

I will never mention my power issues with my counterpart again and I no longer expect my landlords or anyone to deal with it.  I will only ask them to switch my fridge for a smaller one they have so I have a better chance of keeping it on longer. I will settle for hot water for morning baths, cooking by gas, recharging my headlamp and laptop overnight. I have more important things to put my energy into, like helping that support group with their garden project.

Banking and Busing 101

Because of my egregious purchase of gas and electric without proper protocol being observed, I am a bit broke, so I decide one Friday afternoon to head to Lobatse to change some of my USD into Pula to tide me over for what will be a prolonged reimbursement process, I am sure. I arrive at the bank 5 minutes before it closes, cause I thought it closed an hour later. I have my 100 USD in 20s. Well, apparently, only one of the 5 were acceptable for resale, according to the teller with the Liverpool Football team emblem on his Standard Charter Bank uniform. The other 4 had markings, or slight tears which rendered them unworthy. Heh, none of them had mustaches drawn on Herr Jackson’s face, or swear words or ANYTHING! It’s still real money dude!

So I got my 128 PULA and headed to the store to buy the cheapest forms of everything I needed, then to Liquorama to do the same with their boxed wine. I was once given a 10 PULA note that the person had to tape back together in 3 places! Okay, that is only about $1.50 but my $20 bills were pristine in comparison.  When I got home I returned the Jackson look-a-likes to their hiding place with their brothers and realized I had much nicer looking ones that I hadn’t taken with me.  Now I am definitely going back some time to see what the teller thinks of those ones. Probably I will take one of the battered ones, draw a moustache on it, and sneak it in the batch to see what kind of reaction I get.

Heading home at around 4:30 on a Friday is a flipping zoo here too, I am afraid.  Heavily laden with my shopping, I stood waiting at the bus stop with everyone else trying to get the heck out of Lobatse, which is close enough to the capital that people commute to and from there to work.  Here, the majority of people do not own cars and those who do are able to make a bit of cash by giving rides to people who don’t mind cramming into a car – three in the back, to take a more direct ride to Gabs instead of dealing with the frequent bus stops. Of course the types of cars and drivers vary greatly in this regard, and obviously it isn’t regulated in any way whatsoever.  Generally the really nice, roomy and newer vehicles have drivers who don’t stop to offer rides. As I waited for the bus, it was fun and a bit frightening, to watch the jostling for position to get into the cars that pulled up amidst the taxis – which also carried up to 4 passengers at a time, all separate fares sharing the taxi.  The Friday night festive mood meant that some people had already broken out their bottles of alcohol, especially those riding in the large trucks and I was anxious to get onto a bus and get off the roads before the evening progressed much further. Even if I wanted to try hitchhiking (which PC discourages), 4:30 any afternoon was a useless time to do so, because the drivers all want full fares to Gabs, and wouldn’t want to drop me in Otse, for which I would only pay 5 pula instead of the 13 or so all the way to Gabs. 

I let the first bus go by; it was so jammed full that I would have had to balance on the bottom step with no handhold. My refreshingly cold bottle of hard cider was too dear to risk that. The next bus was slightly better, and I got in last so I wouldn’t be stuck standing halfway down the row. This guy drove like he was late to dinner and from my vantage point, well I had absolutely no vantage point, so was thus totally unprepared for any sudden passing of vehicles the driver performed.  I practiced various one-legged yoga poses and created a new one that includes a death grip on the overhead baggage rail. Fun times, but I and my purchases arrived home unscathed. The cider wasn’t as cold, but lovely nonetheless.

What I learned: check your Jacksons and don’t go to town on Friday afternoons unless it is strictly for entertainment purposes.

To Bots 11 because I can't get it onto facebook!

Things that I have found useful to have since I arrived in Botswana on April 3, 2011

I have only been here since April 3^rd, so this list is the stuff I am glad I had during PST. Bear in mind that your PST will be happening as the weather starts heating up. And when I started this list, I really didn’t think it would be this long. Sorry. Hope it is helpful.

1.       Headlamp

2.       Solid water bottle with a good sealing lid. You will drop it or the lid, so go for hardy. I decided against my metal one because I didn’t like having to totally unscrew the lid each time I used it.

3.       Pocket knife, corkscrew and bottle opener required

4.       Travel soap container that you can use to pour water on your hair to wash.

5.       Scissors, both for hair and for random things that need cutting

6.       Solar powered flashlight – small is fine

7.       Solar powered mini emergency radio, crank and battery capable

8.       House slippers and another pair you can slip on and off easily to go outside and don’t mind getting wet – flip flops or tevas are perfect.

9.       Pocket tissues

10.   Hand sanitizers and wipes

11.   Hand and body lotion

12.   sunscreen you like vs. the stuff they give us, which sometimes they don’t bring to give to us. Some people got really burnt during the first few days before this got sorted out.

13.   Insect repellant, until PC gets organized to give you some

14.   If you wear eyeglasses, bring a small repair kit with that eensy bitsy screwdriver.

15.   Two spiral paper notebook (the 8 ½ by 11 size if you like big, but smaller (5x8?) is easier to carry), or one that is clearly divided for different topic sessions.  It’s a pain to have your language class info mixed up in with the other material, and I wish I had used two separate ones right off the bat.

16.   Mini-med kit. I read before coming that we wouldn’t get our med kits until we were sworn in (which is true). I brought and shared plenty of: bandaids, pepto-bismol tablets (not liquid), dramamine, cold meds, ibuprofen/Tylenol, Neosporin.

17.   Tennis ball and yoga strap. Since my massage therapist stayed at home, these items help with the stretching and getting that spot on the back you can’t reach yourself. A lot of folks brought yoga mats, but I didn’t have room. And guess what? They have them here. Still looking for a new massage therapist….

18.   Down jacket – light and packable.  Same for sleeping bag

19.   gloves, scarf and hat, thick socks, long underwear and tights. You will be coming in the “spring” and moving into summer, so the stuff I am glad I brought related to cold weather may not apply to you right away, but you will need these things.

20.   Easy to hand wash clothing, preferably things that don’t easily snag or fade, or need a lot of ironing. You will be washing your clothes by hand.

21.   Pictures of friends, family, home, etc. I brought hard copies as well as stuff on computer. I used the hard copies early on to show my family as I gauged the appropriateness and safety of pulling out my laptop (as well as any other electronics you bring. Less show and tell is really more when it comes to your gadgets).

22.   Good can opener. My host family used a big knife to open cans. They all still have their fingers, but that takes years of practice and I wasn’t going to risk it.

23.   PJs you can wear in front of your host family. This may get trickier as the weather gets hotter; if you sleep in the buff, you need to think about this.

24.   Leave your large wallet with lots of stuff in it at home and bring a small one that can fit into your front pocket. I have both a small wallet and a simple zippered money pouch, depending on how much I need to carry. Those silly money pouches you wear around your neck and under your clothing are great in the winter, I suppose, but in the summer they are easily seen and clunky as hell. Duh. Wish I hadn’t wasted money on that one.

25.   Look into Chico Bags and Baggallini brands for extra shoulder or other bags that you can use once here so you look like less of a back pack type person. They pack really small and you can use them (and even recycled boxes) by the time you get through training to carry all the PC stuff you are given. Don’t bring a laptop bag that looks like a laptop bag. I have a netbook that slips into its sleeve and into my small backpack, but could also fit into my chico bag messenger bag.

My most important suggestion would be that you don’t go buy everything we suggest all at once. Sit with it, think about it and realize you can’t bring everything and they have things here (you won’t be able to afford them here, but if you figure in the cost at home and the postage costs for someone to send it, it is a better deal to buy here. Of course if someone is buying it at home and sending it and comes out of their pocket…well then.) I tended to go out and purchase whatever sounded like a good idea at the time, only later to have way too many “good ideas” to pack.  The list posted elsewhere ( I think it is on the Bots 10 page WAY back in February, but was given to us by Bots 8 and 9ers so ask for it again if you can’t find it), was a great help with my abovementioned caveat.

Don’t bring more than 1 or 2 books. You can really trade them and get a lot at the PC office where you will go at least twice during PST. Some people read a lot, but I spent most of my evenings trying to figure out my Setswana or other homework, hanging with my host family, or relaxing, so really only read 1 book during PST, and I am a generally an avid reader.

where is my green food?!!

Where is my green food?  Peace Corps Training Highlights

So when Peace Corps delivered our food baskets to our host families when we first arrived, it was filled with the following fresh fruits/vegetables: 1 bag of apples, 1 bag of carrots, 1 head of cabbage, 5-10 potatoes, 3 or 4 onions and green peppers.  If I forgot something I apologize to my Peace Corps friends.  We also got tea bags, instant coffee, sugar, margarine, bag of rice, cooking oil, creamora, 1 liter of milk, 1 or 2 loaves of bread, 6 or 12 eggs, a jar of peanut butter, a bag of corn to make phaleche, a frozen or semi-frozen chicken, a bag of pasta noodles, a small can of jam, and 2 cans of baked bean-ish beans.  Again, if I forget any other food items I apologize to my Peace Corps friends.

So imagine my delight when I arrived at site and had been paid and could do my own shopping!! But then I first really took in the most important lesson we were taught during our Pre-Service Training and one that most of us didn’t even know was part of the lesson plan. Namely, what they gave us is what we are most likely to get even after training because that is what we can afford! My first shopping trip: apples, carrots, onions, potatoes, green peppers, rice, pasta, among a few other things. I added garlic, some cans of tomato sauces, a bag of beans (which apparently will take me a few days to cook soft enough to eat, I have since learned), some curry, ginger, a few bananas, a custard mix and oatmeal. A few hundred pula later, I staggered away from the store, without any green veggies, notwithstanding the green peppers which I don’t really count as a serious vegetable, though it turns out it helps with seasoning when there aren’t any spices.

Yesterday one of my co-workers gave me some sweet potatoes from his garden and today I went to the store and broke down, buying both broccoli and green beans!  I think I have about $40 left for the rest of the month (I write this on the 14^th), but I have enough rice and beans to last if I have to. Wait, I DO have to. And I still have some of my M&Ms from Stan…I have stopped gifting them except to people who really do me big favors. I keep thinking I deserve to buy a liter of that great boxed wine called “bad goat” (despite the name, it is GOOD) but it costs almost $5 plus a bus ride to and from Lobatse which is another $2 round trip, so I will wait until I am truly desperate.

On the bright side, some of my settling in money was spent on cleaning supplies, which I won’t have to buy again for months (or ever if I decide not to clean again) and this month we only got paid for 23 days, from our swearing in date.  I think my main items to purchase will be candles, given it is still cold in South Africa.  Tonight, I think it will be green beans, some eggs, left over pasta and a good book, since there won’t be any power again, I am sure.

Pluses Still Beat Minuses

This was written on June 10^th. June 13^th is my first official day at the office.  The power was out, so no internet. The power has been out a lot these few days. We get power from South Africa it seems so when they need it, like when it is cold, then Botswana gets less of it. So when this finally gets posted, you will know it is warmer in South Africa.  Anyway…

It’s been an eventful few days. The day we were sworn in (June 8^th), I and three of my now officially PC VOLUNTEER friends went out to have lunch and a glass or two of wine to celebrate. The place we happened to go was right across from where the government workers do their daily picketing, which has been going on since about April 18 – longer than any strike ever in Botswana and frankly no one knows what to do to end it. On that momentous day, they had taken to throwing large rocks into the middle of the road, followed by large branches, looking to block traffic and maybe start a small bbq.  They were dancing and chanting around this pile as Tom and I made our way to the bank to get some cash for lunch.  Returning to the restaurant, a seemingly nice enough fellow kind of pushed me away from the sidewalk near where the pile was accumulating. I don’t think he was doing it maliciously – it felt more like, “heh white lady, we are about to cause trouble and since we never do this kind of thing, we don’t want you to get the wrong idea or be hurt or confused about what we are doing and so please kindly go that side.” Well, I certainly moved along back to the safety of the restaurant.  By the time we finished our meal and left the restaurant, everyone and everything was gone from the center of the road and all we had left to deal with was a torrential downpour which abated long enough for us to walk to a store to do some shopping, get a taxi from Tom’s host family cousin and head home. I was the last to be dropped and walked into the front door at my host families just before another torrential outburst, this time in the form of hail, thunder, lightning, etc. Was quite exciting being viewed from inside a house. My host family uncle arrived about 30 minutes later finding it all and all much less exciting than I did. But then he spent those 30 minutes actually walking in it.

I spent that evening finishing my packing and letting my host family niece Lucia, who will be 13 in September, watch Twilight on my computer for the second time in two days. Apparently I now need to find the sequel(s) as she is hooked. I also discovered that my mp3 player no longer had any music on it, but instead random animated movies of bugs doing various songs, dances, and other fascinating exploits. I was totally not amused. Suddenly, more bereft than ever, without my music, it became an even sadder evening, saying goodbye and being too cold to venture into the bath. Always hoping for a warmer day on which to bathe, I went to bed and had a plan to be picked up by my NGO between 9:30 and 10 a.m. the next morning. They were also going to maybe take my friend Tom to his site which was 30 minutes north of mine, because his site had no drivers due to the strike.

All seemed relatively on schedule that next morning and after various strategizing and coordinating of bags and rides and pick up spots in ways you won’t really understand unless you have been here, Tom, our driver and I set off for the 1 hour drive to Otse. The plan was that we would pick up the keys to my house and the driver would drop me and my stuff there, then take Tom up the road since he had a delivery of sorghum to take there anyway and Tom could be the person to help him offload it (assuming we first loaded it into our vehicle, or changed vehicles or something.) At any rate, when we get to my NGO the driver disappears, there are no keys to my house and we wait around until we decide we might as well eat lunch.

I talk to my landlady and have what is sure to be not the last lesson in speaking English, not American, with someone who speaks English, not American, as their second language. She says in a non-question type statement, “The driver is coming to get you.” To which I respond, “He is coming to get me?” She says, “okay, I am on this side, in the village, and I have the house key. I will come meet you.” So I hang up thinking she is coming to get me or the driver is, or they are both coming together. After lunch, I call her again, since neither she nor the driver has come. Now it is more clear. She is at the house waiting for me. Her statement “the driver is coming to get you” was in fact a question. My answer, “the driver is coming to get me?” was in fact an answer telling her the driver was coming to get me. By now, the driver was certainly not coming to get me and is already in Tom’s town, unloading sorghum, but without Tom or his luggage.

So now my poor counterpart Victor, who is frantically planning a workshop for the next morning, drives me to my house, where we offload my stuff then head with him south (opposite direction of Tom’s town) so he can get quotes for food for the next day. Tom and I, ever hopeful, think maybe after that he can drive Tom north again, and at least I can do some shopping for dinner, although my house was at this point without gas or electricity, so we were talking fruit and power bars.

South in Lobatse, Victor finishes his work, I do my shopping, and Tom texts and calls people at his site trying to figure out if anyone is going to come save him from driving up and down this highway without ever getting closer to his site.  We have by now run through Plans A-J and were creatively coming up with new and random ways for him to get his stuff and his butt to Ramotswa. I guess I was having more fun with this than he was, because as he pointed out, I had my home.  We finally gave up and decided to try again the next day. We spent the evening with our headlamps on our heads, Tom trying to cheat at rummy, as we ate power bars and apples and drank juice.

The next day, Plan A was for Victor would pick us up between 7 or 8 a.m. and take us to the workshop, which was near Ramotswa and where the speaker of honor happened to be the person Tom was going to live with for the next two weeks until the volunteer he is replacing leaves and vacates his home.  We figured we could move his stuff from Victor’s vehicle into her vehicle and viola. Except Victor was picking her and a bunch of other people up so there would be no room for Tom’s luggage. And I had no electrical or gas. The store with the electrical cards (one buys a card here and then enters the card numbers into the meter at the house) in Otse had been hit by a huge piece of metal during the freak hail storm and was closed until they removed it from their roof. Or wait, that was their roof that was now hanging on the ground. Either way, no electricity for sale today.

So Plan B – we decided it would be better to forgo the workshop and get his stuff and him gone from Otse. Victor arranges for our driver to pick us up at around 9 and take us down the hill to the bus stop where we can take the bus north, then a combi (smaller bus) east to Ramotswa.  Tom and I figure we can only manage half his stuff this way and off we go, finally arriving at his new work site which is a small narrow trailer that just got smaller with the addition of a large suitcase, backpack and various random bags full of essential stuff.  We now have a couple of hours to find electricity, get lunch, buy more serious provisions for me, and then get a ride back from Victor when he comes and drops Tom’s temporary housing host back into town. I still have to buy gas, but can’t do it in Ramotswa because gas comes in an actual gas tank, not on a nifty card.  No one has responded to my pleas for a phone number of a gas vendor in Otse, so I am looking at another night of fruit and M&Ms (not a bad way to go, but still).  But if I can get back to Otse before 5 p.m., it might just work.

The car was too full with people to take Tom’s stuff to his hosts home, so Plan C sees his stuff spend the night in the office, while he decided to come back to my house again to get the rest of his stuff for the next morning and also because having electricity and gas sounded like a for sure thing. Back at the house, we can’t get the meter to give us my electricity, so I go next store to my neighbor and ask the 14 year old boy to come help us. He can’t get it to work either, but meanwhile we learn that his family owns a store and bottle shop, so he agrees to walk us down to it while I await the call from the gas man.  Luckily, the kid was able to talk to the gas man for me and it was decided to meet us at the bottle shop and bring us and the gas (and the bottle of wine) back to the house. So we have gas and I made a nice pasta by candlelight and headlamps. We watched Inception right up to the moment where they are approaching the huge safe in the remote mountain fortress because Tom’s computer battery died. Electricity continues to prove difficult but thanks to the bottle of wine I now have two candleholders instead of just one.

Pluses

Great house and garden will large sunny kitchen, fireplace, high ceilings and transom windows to let out the heat during the summer and a nice outdoor porch to eventually hang my hammock on, large bathroom with indoor plumbing, two sinks in kitchen, nice refrigerator/freezer combo (this also goes in the minus column, see below), gas cooking, beautiful village, neighbors are nice and own a bottle shop (that last part also goes in the minus column)

Minuses

Apparently parts of my village (but not entire neighborhoods – don’t ask) have trouble getting enough voltage during hi peak periods (like when everyone is running their space heaters now, or fans in the summer) to run the electric, which includes my geyser (pronounced geezer, as it “old geezer”) – which is my hot water supply, lights and outlets all at the same time.  The outlets use the least, so I am charging things up before everyone gets home from work. I boiled water on the stove for my bath, because seems nothing will let the geyser kick on, regardless of peak time usage. I tried running the fridge, but it is so big and huge and nice that it simply tripped the circuits.  So I guess it will mostly be where I store the food I wish I could cool so my cupboards will always seem bare and I will eat all of what I cook whether I need to or not. The issue may be fixed any day, week, month, or year. 

Now, on June 15^th, when the power and internet are both back on, all in all things are still lining up in the plus column. I mean, cold nights and mornings aside, the sun does shine here almost every day, and these winter days are beautiful.  The power issue has become more problematic for the entire town, as if in solidarity the powers that be decided to shut down the power for everyone for the last two nights, not just me.  I have figured out at least to turn the geyser on when I go to bed, or if I wake up during the night, so at least I am greeted with hot water for a bath in the morning.

George Burns, Jr. Rest In Piece

Well, I certainly didn’t expect to hear that my dear cat George Burns, Jr. died this past week.  Those of you who knew him know how special he was.  And so danged cute! If I ever figure out how to upload a photo to my blog AND have enough internet speed to do it, those of you who didn’t know him will just see that he was the cutest cat on the planet.

George came to me, as most of the cats in my life, purely unexpectedly and by accident, literally. Back in 1999, I was looking for a cat and went to my vet at the time, who had a couple lost causes, brought in by well meaning people who didn’t want to, or couldn’t afford the costs of care for these two unrelated boys who had had a rough start to life.  George had a broken back – possibly due to some rough play with a couple of children. They weren’t sure how much use of his back legs he would recover, but he was making steady progress and they were eager for find suckers, er, a forever home for him.  His side kick at the time was Michael, who was a long haired little guy who had to have his whole body shaved for some kind of parasite issue and looked really stupid, along with having some issues with his lungs. But he is another story entirely.  I think I had finally settled on George, or maybe it was Michael as “the one.”  My friend who worked at the vets office was nice enough to deliver both of them to me, figuring I wouldn’t have the heart to reject either of them, and of course, I didn’t.  In between their convalescing at the vets and when they finally came home, another cat showed up in the picture – Noah – so suddenly there were three new boys in the house, all about the same age.  They bonded and were thick as thieves, harassing the older cats in the house to no end. (No, this isn’t where I tell you how many there were and you start the same old tired “cat lady” jokes.)

Getting to know George was pretty interesting. For one, even though he walked much better than they ever thought he would, he definitely had issues.  Found it out accidentally when I pushed him off the counter and rather than landing on his feet, he did more of a kind of crash landing using his whole body for the landing point(s). The look he gave me was, well, vintage George Burns.  He also couldn’t really stand firmly on all fours and seemed to carry most of his weight in his front legs, thus developing a broader chest than most cats as petite as he ended up being. When he turned he would forget to move his back legs and sometimes, well, end up a bit crossed up. Yet he could run and he could fight. When he was feeling especially feisty, he would run up and down the hall like a Tasmanian devil, harassing his elders to no end. And George could climb trees, man could he climb, pulling himself up with his front legs and using the back ones for balance only. I started to joke that he looked like the guys in the gym who all forgot to work out their chicken legs. Again, I would get that George Burns look.

At a fairly young age, he went through lives two, three and four by getting the urinary tract blockage male cats sometimes get – not once but twice - and finally having a dicey surgery to correct it. Even though that counts as castration in most vets’ books, he still acted the tough guy, yet with the sweetest disposition once he let you get to know him.  He had this thing he would do, we would call it  “the flop” and often we could get him to do it on command.  I would call him over and tell him to flop, while pointing to the floor in front of him.  He would put his head on the hard wood floor, turn his face up towards mine, then let the rest of his body just fall – flop! to the floor. Once there and stretched out ever so comfortably, I would spin him in circles a few times, stop, then spin him a couple more times for good measure. Occasionally he would get up too quickly from this and walk a bit wobbly, but mostly he would just lay there looking adorable, waiting for another spin.

All my cats were trained to come running from outside when I yelled “treats” or banged the tuna can with the can opener.  They would spit and hiss at each other til I got the can opened and divvied out.  George ate in his own sweet time, pushing most of the tuna off the plate rather than in his mouth and making quite the mess. I guess he even ate like an old man, which is what we would call him, because he seemed to be such an old, wise spirit, except when he was being a royal pain in the ass.

George developed various ailments throughout his life, mostly kidney infections, which I could always recognize by the amount and places he would decide to pee around the house. Lives 5 and 6 got taken up with these antics. And he almost lost number 7 when I got really fed up with it, but because he was so darned cute, I let him keep it, figuring he would need it later.

George never entirely healed from his back injury and it impacted his legs. I really think whatever nerve damage he had impacted and contributed to the ailments that came along as he aged. He had more and more trouble balancing himself in the cat box, often trying to stand on all fours on the side of the box, something even a more balanced cat would have trouble successfully managing.  But he wanted to do things his own way.  He also was fond of foot soaks, putting his back feet, one after the other, in the water bowl and shaking them off energetically, often knocking the bowl right over. The other cats and dogs were not amused. Yet the strangest things was, when he slept, his back legs were quite active, doing the whole running, rabbit punching thing as if they were perfectly fine. In his dreams, I know he ran like a regular cat.

George would wake me up in the middle of the night by knocking books or other objects off my nightstand as he used them to rub his face. Scared the heck out of me and I finally stopped keeping a glass of water at my bedside. He would find any sleeping hands that fell outside the blankets and rub them like crazy as well, so anyone who ever spent the night in any part of my home was forewarned to hide the hands or risk an early morning wake up loving. When he couldn’t get a hand out, he would settle for sleeping on my head, or as close as he could get to the back of my head where he would gently (most times) massage my scalp. Purrr.

In the summer of 2009 he has more kidney issues and while I spent 2 weeks on a trip to Germany and France in the fall of 2009, he spent most of the two weeks at the vet in intensive care with total liver failure.  The day I was to call to tell the vet to let him go he made a complete turn around and his blood work looked great. I know I had a better time during my two weeks (other than worrying about him), but I am pretty sure his two weeks cost me about the same. Thus, 2009  took up lives 7 and 8.

In December 2010 as I readied myself to go into the Peace Corps in April and was figuring out who would take care of my “kids,” my dog Peata suddenly died. A week later, George was diagnosed with diabetes. I decided to start him on insulin and by the time I was ready to turn him over to my great tenants, who agreed to keep him and care for him, he was doing quite well. George and Debi, my tenant, shared the diabetes diagnosis, she being diagnosed in March, and they were a happy pair until his passing, when he cashed in that last life here on earth.  He could not have had a better friend during his last few months and I know he was happy being the cat of the house and master of the universe he had previously shared with all the dumb animals he felt I used to humor for no good reason. He has been buried somewhere on my property – I know they picked the perfect spot – so that I will be able to sit and talk to him when I return. George Burns, Jr.  Rest in Peace, run fast, flop often and pee where ever you damn well please! 

they don't kick us out for lack of language ability, thank goodness

before I start: "the contents of this website are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the US Government or the Peace Corps." 

I am supposed to say that and can't figure out where to put it blatantly on my blog, so you will get it each time. It will also keep me honest to remind myself each time. And THIS time, it is a good thing because my opinion is that my Setswana sucks and I hope they don't share that opinion, but they might after today. Lucky for me, I may have other skills worthy of service in the Peace Corps besides my ability/inability to speak Setswana and they have never kicked anyone out for failing to do really well after 2 months. Yet. I swear I really do try and I study harder than others, but it isn't sticking yet. I feel it is on the verge of being there, sticking somewhere, probably right in there with some as yet undiscovered sticky plaques and tangles, and compared to some of  our Twenty-somethings, i feel pretty pathetic.  Yet we have only been  on the ground for less than 60 days so i need to keep it in perpective. So, now to more important things...

Dragged my butt out of my very warm bed yesterday morning at 6:15, as per usual, to be ready to leave the house at 7 for either a 45 minute walk to school or, with luck a 15 minute walk and a 10 minute taxi ride.  Only to remember at 7 a.m. that I only have to get myself “around the corner” to Brittany’s house for our language cluster. So now I can sit with freezing cold fingers and try to type whilst not spilling my finger warming coffee on my lap top. Been there, had that done to me once.  Not fun.

Yes, it does get cold in Africa, especially this far south where if you turned the globe on its head, we would be somewhere like north of Alaska or something or at least that is what it feels like. We arent really as far south as that is north. Of course, if you turned the globe on its head, we would all fall off anyway, so it wouldn’t really matter. As it is, and as I was forewarned, homes have no central heating, no woodburning stoves, and nice cement block walls. Space heaters do exisit if you dare and can afford the electrical costs, but unless you carry them around with you in your house….  I shoulda brought a snuggie, since I don’t think trying to walk around in my mummy sleeping back will end well. Now, my “airy” non-ceiling situation is letting all the cold air in from all corners, which is all focusing in on my blue fingers, so typing is challenging.

The good news is that my house in Otse has a fireplace and the garden that surrounds my house will provide lots of woody things to burn. My landlord cut a bunch of branches off a tree recently, and when her neighbor asked her what she was doing by leaving all the branches just piled up there, she said “composting.”  Well, yeah, given 100 years those branches would compost right up, or spontaneously combust in the summer sun.  Luckily, I have a better plan and it has to do with my fireplace!!! Ah, can’t wait. Wish I had brought my garden gloves and some nice shears….will see what I can find on shopping day which is Friday.

We will go to Gaborone, with settling in money in our new bank accounts to shop like fiends.  They assured us they would ask us later for an inventory of what we bought, so the clothes hounds best go easy on fashion on this trip. How they are going to then transport our stuff to the far reaches of Botswana is a mystery to me, but some things Peace Corps has done a few times before, so they will figure it out.  I live so close to Gabs that I will go easy on this trip, seeing what I can survive with and without during our two months lock down. I can shop for food locally and as long as I have matches and those trees….

Lock down ends August 7 and then we all gather in Gabs for a 2 or 3 week training. After that, I can start having visitors. Sadly, most of you out there probably don’t want to spend the $1,500 to 2,000 or so just to get a flight. But if you do!! I have a second bedroom and will show you around, have you meet my great host family and generally be very happy to see you!

During lockdown, I should be able to go to the Lobatse Rotary club meetings, because it is only 15 km away and if I can hook up to the diamond cutter who lives in Otse and is also a member, I have a ride back and forth.  I am curious to see what they are doing, though I have been told by my vet here that they aren’t as active as they used to be.  We’ll see if I can light a spark under them – I have all those branches you know.  Otherwise it will be the noon club that meets in Gaborone, a bit more complicated to get to and from, but probably worth it.  I have already received an open invitation to visit the club up in Francistown – a 5 hour bus ride from Gabs – but on my way to Kasane, which is on my way to Zambia and Victoria Falls, so eventually when I have a few days vacation, I will be able to take the trek. 

Til then, I have enough to do just getting to know my small village of Otse (now estimated at having 12,000 inhabitants – the last census in 2001 was about 6500 but the chief (kgosi) thinks it is now closer to 12k and they do the census again this year.)  I don’t think I will get to know all of them in 2 years.  Help me with the math, but that is how many people a day?!

Meanwhile, every waking moment (except these, which I am only accidentally awake for) needs to be spent trying to figure out this language.  More than that, I need to figure out how to understand enough sentences correctly that are being SAID at me.  I am waiting for my extemporaneous speaking ability to kick in here, but it hasn’t switched into the Setswana yet.  Boy will they be sorry when it does.

So they asked us yesterday if we missed being home for Memorial Day.  Well, jeez, we said, not if we don’t get the day off, like duh! Lol  No one will show up tomorrow in white shoes and slacks though – too cold and dirty for that kind of nonsense here.  And I have to say, even with the freezing cold nights and mornings, the sun shines all day long and it feels more like a very warm sunny fall day in Eureka than anything else. And the skies are not cloudy all day.