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.
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