Don’t laugh or judge me, but I was a judge at a “Mma Bontle” contest for disabled women today. This is a beauty contest that was put on by one of the disability groups to raise money. Having not seen one yet, I agreed to go to support the effort and they made me a judge. Along with the mother of one of the contestants and her best friend. Guess who won? And no one seemed to care, so I don’t either. It was an interesting event. They strutted their stuff in three different outfits, casual, slightly less casual and then semi-formal.
There were only three of them, all from the local town, because the support groups from the other two towns had transportation problems coupled with it being the day before the Independence Day holiday and the end of the month. At month end people go to the post office to get their Social Security or pay check for when they have been working on various government welfare to work type programs. Very few people have street addresses anyway, so mail gets delivered to your post office box or if you don’t have one, you go to the post office to get your check.
Apparently people in Mogobane have to go to the Otse post office, so this created quite a crowd of people sitting at the Mogobane Community center this morning waiting for transport to come and take them to Otse. When I arrived there around 8:30 for our regularly weekly meeting, I was told by the vice chair that there probably won’t be one. I guess he was nice enough to come all the way there to tell me this. The chair was preparing for a wedding in his family, and everyone else was either on their way to Otse or some other unknown place, given that it was the day before a major holiday. The vice chair kindly rounded up some of the disabled youth waiting for the bus to Otse so we could have a meeting, except none of them were officially on the committee, although they were general members. (I have a workshop planned in a couple of weeks to run through their constitution with them so they understand the contents.) We chatted a bit about a few projects “unofficially” and they told me they would probably not have anyone going to the Mma Bontle in Tuang, due to all the other things going on.
Okay, so did someone tell Tuang, or are they still expecting you? And I will have to let the chair know that he should let ME know when I don’t have to make the trek to Mogobane because time is Pula, right?
I made my way over to the Mogobane Clinic to see the medical system in action (a topic for some other time, okay?) No really, just to track down a member who works there. She snagged us a ride with the ambulance guy – her to the office across town (which when we got to was locked tight with a chain and lock on the gate – have fun with that) and me to the bus stop.
He had a third woman wedged in there tight with us who had a cast on her foot. He said she jumped out of a tree. Then he said she and he used to be married. So I said, “Did you jump or did he push you?” He and I laughed. She remained straight-faced. She actually was a cadet at the nearby Police Academy and may or may not have jumped out of a tree, but he wasn’t her ex-husband and most likely didn’t push her. I asked her if they would make her do pushups and such during her convalescence so she didn’t get all flappy and weak. She tried to remain all serious and cadet-like, but he and I were cracking the jokes back and forth to the point where she finally cracked and gave the smallest of smiles. Hah, get tough, police cadet!
He mentioned that he worked with the mentally ill – it was his specialty – and since we were getting along so well I maybe should have taken that personally, but at the moment it went right over my head. Anyway, he can get me in to visit the big psychiatric hospital in Lobatse, and as long as he can get me back out again, I may very well go for a tour.
So now it is 10 a.m. and I am not due in Tuang til 12:30, although I know I don’t need to be there til maybe 2:30 when the Mma Bontle contest is purported to be starting. I am only 15 minutes by bus to my bus stop in Otse so I decide to go home for a couple hours and head to Tuang to get there by 1:30. I figure, I am on a roll with transport today, let’s go home and get some work done and get out of the heat. Have some chocolate and lunch. Well, about an hour later, I am finally home. Buses and hitches are an art not a science and it is the day before Independence Day with people going hither and yon looking for their pay checks, so I guess an hour to get 15 minutes worth of distance (if that makes any sense) is doing okay.
Later, on the way to Tuang I got a nice hitch from a guy from South Africa, on his way through Botswana to Namibia looking for whatever he can do to make money. He was being a bit vague so I didn’t push it, but the bunch of us had a nice trip talking about this and that. I told them when I go on vacation in Botswana I plan to rent a car and spend the whole time driving up and down the highways offering lifts to Batswana. The white people traveling through here NEVER give lifts to anyone and I am sure there are many theories about the reasons for this.
We decided that if I pulled over at a bus stop where people were hitching, I would probably have to get out of the car, walk over to them and say something to them in Setswana like, “doofus, get in the car, I am giving you a ride, and I probably won’t even charge you because people here have been so nice to me with lifts and I want to blow your preconceptions of white drivers.” Or something shorter and probably omitting the Setswana equivalent for “doofus” because I don’t know that word. (Jeez, or any of the others in the sentence, but whatever.)
At the Tuang combi stop, I get into the appropriate combi to take me to the location of the Mma Montle. The driver was told by the snack stand guy where I was going and he agreed he knew where that was. While waiting I bought myself an orange and also gave the driver one. He was speaking a mixed up jumble of English and Setswana. Not just that I couldn’t understand it. That’s a given. It was more like he was confused, or drunk or both. Oh well, I have the seatbelt on and really he wasn’t that bad. Maybe just a bit forgetful, because I had to remind him where I was going and when we got close to it, he had to ask the other people in the combi if where he was taking me was in fact where I wanted to be. It’s a school for crying out loud, right on your combi route that you drive by a zillion times a day! Have you not noticed kids here from time to time? Now I was very glad I was getting out and that he had gotten me there safely. I think he needs that vitamin C in the orange oh so badly.
When I arrived, I saw the Otse Support Group contingent there, all donning their visibility t-shirts, courtesy of the European Union. I had a Tuang SG t-shirt on, in solidarity with the event planners. The Otse folks apparently had been there since around 12:30! They knew it started at 2:30 and that things never start on time?????!. And, they had no Otse contestants with them – it was just 4 committee members and the DJ. ?????! So, I am paying transport from our grant money to get contestants to this event and we have 5 supporters but not supportees. Apparently it was a problem for the families of the girls to get the clothing they needed to have to compete respectably in such an event. I was to see later how true this was.
So we sat, and sat. Around 2:30 some folks from Tuang come and start readying the room. The Chair still isn’t there and apparently she was seen heading in the opposite direction at around 2. Probably shopping for prizes for the girls. At 3:30 she arrives. Now we are waiting for Mogobane contestants which I assure her are not coming. Finally, at 4 we get the party started with the three contestants we have.
Between wardrobe changes, the basadi bogole (old ladies – like in their 40s plus!) get up and do a bit of reasonable dancing and Florence the Tuang Chair, drags me up to join them. Well, I haven’t done any public dancing since I have been here, which is a sad thing, indeed . I knew it wouldn’t matter what I did – everyone would be watching me as the white mosadi mogole - so I enjoyed myself and added some appropriate hip gyrations at the end. I want to say it was to massive applause and acclaim, but there were only about 20 people in the room; at least half of whom were under 15 years old, so I am sure they were simply horrified, just as the youth is when I dance like that at home.
It was a fun time. Afterwards, the Otse group members sat with the Tuang group members and encouraged them to start meeting more regularly. As far as I can tell, they had a good conversation and were providing each other with mutual support, understanding and affirmation. While the event may not have raised the money they had hoped for, having Otse show up to support the event even without contestants was a real shot in the arm to the Tuang Chair, Florence, and the Secretary Frederick who have been trying to have meetings without the other members following through. We set the next meeting for October 8 and we shall see who shows. The lady whose daughter won the event better have her butt in a chair at that meeting. That’s all I am saying.
Tshepo, the treasurer for the Otse group who is 26 years old, disabled and employed at Camphill, accompanied me back to Otse. He lives near me and we had a good conversation about the event, what Otse can do to make sure their Mma Bontle is better, and what was said at the meeting we just left. He gave the welcoming remarks at the event and is a dynamic speaker. Florence and I thought he would be good to do this speech and encourage the group to rededicate their efforts. Plus, he is a good looking young man and you need that at a Beauty Contest.
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