Feel the Goodness

Feel The Goodness – Slogan for Chibuku, the alcohol that comes in a milk carton. I have not tried it but I have it on good authority that it has chunks in it and tastes like vomit and people drink it in massive quantities because it is cheap or why? How can any of this be true? Yet it is. Although I know people who would not drink straight vodka, and that doesn’t seem crazy to me. Well, as long as it has olives and olive juice or something.

I deadpanned with my friend Tija that I thought maybe I was allergic to olives the morning after I had had one too many martinis.  She got it. Her boyfriend took longer, but he is still smart. He just doesn’t get all the American-ness of American humor like we do.

I was in Ramotswa the other day to be one of three judges at a high school debate. The topic: Transaction and Intergenerational sex is dangerous.” I arrived early so walked to the store to get something to eat. On the way back I passed an attractive young couple walking together under an umbrella. He started asking me all kinds of questions, “where are you from, what are you doing, where do you live, wanna go party?”all said in the flirtatious way people here talk to strangers.  I laughed along, as did his female co-umbrellatee and finally said to him, “dude, what is wrong with you? You have a gorgeous and age appropriate woman sharing her umbrella with you and you are flirting with me? Are you nuts? Snap out of it!!!” and I walked away. They both laughed good-naturedly and went off in a different direction.   Okay, I am ready for this debate. Bring it on!

The other two judges were young men, in the mid to late 20s I am guessing, but maybe early 30’s. So hard to tell when you are as old as I am. A silly thought entered my mind at that point: maybe the whole campaign against intergenerational and transactional sex is really being masterminded by men in their 20’s without jobs who don’t have a chance with any of their peer females as long as the older guys have jobs and sparkly things to entice the young women. Really, guys in their 20’s in most places have problem competing with someone a bit older with a steady job. So maybe they just want girls their own age to have sex within their age group and not expect gifts? Ending intergenerational and transactional sex would be a great boon to the young unemployed brothers out there.

I don’t really believe that; it is just my cynical American mind that has seen marketing campaigns successfully sell almost anything to the unsuspecting, and well, I was walking around in the heat a little too long, and it was a REALLY hot day. And the darned debate process took soooo long to get organized. 

It is really quite dangerous for young girls, even as young as in their mid and early teens, being approached by older men who can promise them the world and say clever things that their more suitable peers can’t even dream of figuring out. The girls don’t have equal power at all in these situations and the prizes must seem just too great to turn down, yet the down side can be deadly.  

Turns out the best debaters weren’t from the school who brought the entire school body along to cheer and hoot, but a smaller school that argued respectfully against the premise that this type of sex was dangerous.  It wasn’t that we believed them, it was that they were the most articulate and able to manipulate the facts to sound like they had the best argument. Not sure what was taught with this, but everyone was given a bag of snacks, including fruit and drinks, and sent on our way. So it was overall a good thing.  I said to the teacher who came with the kids from Mogobane while I was getting a lift from them back to Otse that I thought it was a bit odd to have each school be given a special team name for the debate, rather than just using their own school names. They were all given names of airtime carriers!  Given that having sex for a phone and airtime is one of the biggest clichés here for younger women, I found that a poor choice.

I got a glimpse into how the Good Old Colonel Sanders might have gotten his start way back when, with a slightly African twist to be sure.  I was in a combi, during Friday afternoon traffic in Gaborone. We were coming to one of the roundabouts which means it was bumper to bumper more than usual as everyone was jockeying for position. Suddenly, our driver stops, turns of the vehicle and hops out, right in the middle of traffic.  He bends over, snatches up by its legs a stray chicken that was trying to follow its bliss by crossing the road, brings it around to the back of the combi, opens the back door, pulls out a bucket, empties it of its filthy water, shoves the chicken in the bucket, slams the door shut and hops back in to continue on our merry way.  The chicken was quiet for the first 5 or 10 minutes, then started thumping about against the seat.  We drove along until we passed the vehicle the chicken had made its escape from.  Out of the frying pan into the fire, I was sure it had started to realise, but as always, too late.   

The driver yelled something to the driver of the other vehicle and our whole combi bust up laughing. My laugh came later once I got a translation. Apparently he had said something like, “that chicken there back on the road that way there is now a chicken being here enjoyed by these people in this combi here.” Not sure if the guy caught all that as we drove by, or if he knew we meant it was his chicken we were thusly enjoying, but it was sure funny. Well, the chicken wasn’t amused but dad was bringing home dinner tonight, and that means alot.