My Gang and Gas, but not in That Order

A candle lit dinner tonight. This hasn’t happened if quite some time. At least I have gas. Well, to clarify, I have a gas tank to replace the one I have when the one I have runs out.  But I dread that moment because the one they delivered is about 4 ½ feet tall and weighs a ton.  The delivery guys wouldn’t put it outside next to my smaller, almost empty one, nor would they take the almost empty one because that would require unhooking it and, I guess, result in having gas fly around in the air.  What do I know about these things? Anyway, so they put it in my kitchen, because they said it would get stolen outside if not hooked up.  I take them at their word on that one.  I heard on the radio that gas is in short supply here and a real problem because 70% of people cook with gas. Great, now I will really worry once it is outside.

Meanwhile when I do have to move this one outside I have no idea who will do this task or how much I will have to pay them.  I can ask my neighbor, and the bee whisperer cousin of my landlord, and my landlord’s son. But gathering them all together at the same time, and within a reasonable time of when I am out of gas, will take some doing.  So I guess I will stock up on non-cook food and hope for good timing.  Oh, the lights are back. Nice.

Today I figured out why I haven’t had packs of kids follow me around town.  Isn’t that what we all imagine, volunteer surrounded by cute local kids?  Well, the thing is, in the morning I walk in the opposite direction of all the kids going to school. (Lights off again.) They don’t have time to swarm me because they are in their school uniforms and there must be some code.  Then, by the time I head home at 5:30 or so, they are all long since home and disbursed so can’t really rally a pack or gang to shake me down. Sure, a few here and there, but never a whole gang.  Until tonight. 

I saw the first few on the train tracks as I walked. I was marveling at the fact they can walk everywhere barefoot and that this must explain why as adults, at least the girls/women are capable of walking long distances in incredibly stylish but god-awful uncomfortable looking shoes.  These shoes, compared to being barefoot are a cake walk, walk in the park, whatever.  (Sorry, sometimes puns come just too easily.)

We crossed the tracks together as the older one (maybe 10 or 11) was yelling to a cluster of kids a few hundred yards ahead of us. When our paths met, I suddenly had 12 kids, age 7 or so to 11, asking me all kinds of questions, mostly in English.  I told them my name “Katlego” and asked all their names.  Sorry, wish I could recite them here, but alas. One was Mpho (means “gift” and is as common as John or Jane is at home, because it’s a non-gender specific name). One of the younger kids called me “lekgoa” and I explained to them all that I don’t say, “hi black child” so they shouldn’t say “white person” as a greeting to me.  The ringleader agreed that saying lekgoa didn’t show respect and was wrong for them to say. The young ones immediately got the message and politely asked me my name again.

They wondered where I was from and about whether I wanted to give them money, which was the mellowest request that ever has come my way. But even if I wanted to give someone a Pula, I didn’t want to give out 12 Pula  so I said, in Setswana, “ga ke na madi a mantsi” which means “I don’t have enough money” rather than lying and saying I didn’t have any money. Then they asked, how much is enough. It wasn’t an existential question, but more wanting to figure out how to angle in somehow.  I told them I needed what I had for the bus tomorrow and that seemed to satisfy them.  I asked what they would spend money on if I had any to give them and it was, of course, candy.

I said I was trying to learn Setswana so they began to give me a few quick lessons.  They asked me where I lived and I could answer that too, but had to tell them, as I do everyone, that I don’t live in the ridiculously huge house on the hill that is owned by the dutch cheese maker (who I finally caught a glimpse of earlier this week).  They ask if I lived alone. This is something done by few people but the very unlucky, very wealthy or people without any family left.  People here don’t choose to live alone and they don’t understand why someone would.  Frankly, PCVs don’t “choose” to live alone, we are expected to by PC and ultimately it makes life much simpler for us to do so, it not sometimes lonely. Though I think it also makes people think we are weirder than we actually are, because the concept really is foreign, if not downright alien.

I started to worry they would be walking me all the way home, which  would mean they’d have to walk all the way back too, and by then in the dark. And then it became clear why I was seeing them, in a pack, at this moment. They were all on the way to the store to buy candy, or beg money in front of the shop so they could buy candy. I had to admit that I like sweets too, so I had them tell me about their favorite.  A sucker with chewing gum in the inside, of course. I preferred tootsie pops in my day, but that may be because the suckers with chewing gum inside hadn’t been invented yet.

All too soon, we came to the grocer and they peeled off from me, like a swarm of bees on their way to the hive.  I looked at an older woman walking nearby with three teenagers and said to them, “that is my gang” And they laughed. 

As I continued up the hill, I thought I heard them again, swarming ever closer behind me, but it was another bunch of kids somewhere.  My gang was probably contently eating their candy and walking back home.  I will be seeing them regularly for they pointed out that they see me every morning on their way to school. They will be teaching me bits and pieces each time, I know now, and perhaps try to finagle a Pula or two.  My head will be full, but well entertained, by the time I get to work. This is a good thing.  Now I really need to find my candles.