Stands for “Rotary Road trip.” We have a pretty small club here. There are now 14 or 15 official members: 2 or 3 who never come because they have been transferred half way across the country or have gone on leave for education or severe family caregiving issues, but they pay their dues to us; 2 or 3 who I have never seen at a meeting and probably need to officially be taken off the roster; 8 of whom are regular attendees; and the last stragglers just pretty hit and miss, but still seem to want to be members who just can’t get to a meeting. Did I mention they made me the secretary even before they inducted me? A netbook and computer access trumps all. I think they are grooming me for the presidency next year, but I will not serve.
Of those 8, 6 of us went to South Africa this last weekend for a District workshop. Even though it was a Saturday, I had to take a vacation day because of the Peace Corps policy that any time you leave the country you take a leave day. They want to encourage you to stay in your community and be with the people you are working with, not gallivanting across the continent. I get that, but I WENT with a small portion of my community and we had no time to gallivant anywhere. Anyway, that is the way it is and though I gripe, I am not really griping that much. Just stating my opinion.
So, four of us were heading out together at 5 from Lobatse, planning to make then border crossing, drive a couple more hours and spend the night in Rustenburg, then leave at 7 am the next morning to drive the final hour or so. We were meeting up with one of our members and his fiancé, who happens to be my Peace Corps staff liaison, to make the border crossing. Small world this Botswana. (So really, you can see how I was working, but still not griping since I like her and enjoyed her company, comments and the change to talk about work, and I’m not just saying that.) The other member, our fearless President, was traveling early Saturday morning on his own. As we headed to the border, which is 5 km or so from Lobatse, my fellow Rotarians wonder, “Heh, do they let Americans into South Africa without a Visa?” Jeez guys, thanks for just thinking of this now.
At the border I stuck close to my driver and most likely of our members not to do something stupid (myself included) and they managed to let me through. Then it was a long dark drive on a two lane highway with very heavy Friday night travel for the rest of the trip to Rustenburg. At least they have the animal on the road issue handled in South Africa.
We had a Tomtom keeping us on the path, but even he did not know where our hotel was. And guess what? It is universal, or at least in the US and Botswana, that lost men don’t ask for directions. We are circling where the map says we should be going, but Tomtom doesn’t show it on his screen (our driver had the male voice programmed in, rather than the female one, and I have to say, it really is less annoying). We end up driving up through the trees and dirt of a dead end road, over the bumps and deep crevasses to find another road on which to drive again. Its 9:30 and I haven’t eaten or felt my backside or legs in 3 hours, so I am saying, “would you please just call the guy and find out where we are supposed to be????”
When we called the guy and found the place, we signed in then got back in our car to follow our host to another place, back past where we four-wheeled, over the freeway and through the woods to a very nice section of town and our humble home, which was a self-catering unit, as they call it. We would have no time to self-cater, but at least it was bigger than two hotel rooms would have been. A full sized home with two bedrooms, bath, kitchen, dining and living room. Uh, two bedrooms? Three men and me? One room has a double bed and one has twins. It was too late to deal with going to another one of their self-catering units, so our Austrian member and I each got a single and the Batswana (that’s plural for Motswana, which is singular for a person from Botswana) shared the double. They are originally from villages in the north less than 50 miles away from each other, so that makes them almost brothers. No other combination in the double would have been quite appropriate, even though I was officially on vacation.
We then headed out to find a place to eat. My Austrian roommate knew a place and we just had to find it. It turned out to be a Japanese place so I got to enjoy lots of ginger and wasabi, and watch a neophyte in the gripes of his first wasabi moment. I got it on film I think.
We all tucked ourselves into bed around midnight. I had to wait a long time to get into the bathroom with three fastidious men around, both that night and the next morning. But we hit the road at 7 and believe it or not, had breakfast at a McDonalds. Egg McMuffin thank you very much. We got to the workshop at a cheese factory near a beautiful dam and sat on very hard chairs til about 3:30 when we got into the car and headed back to Botswana again.
It was good company the whole way, except perhaps when we let the youngster among us have a turn at the wheel (okay he’s 48) and the three of us directed him to no end until he gave up the slot at the first possible moment. Some people put you at ease at the wheel, and some don’t. And when it’s dark and a two lane road and it starts to rain cows and goats, you just would feel better with the 63 year old Austrian at the wheel. My driving was not a question, even if I were allowed to under Peace Corps policy. Oh wait, I was on vacation. I am allowed to drive when I am on vacation. Dang, missed that opportunity to freak my fellow Rotarians right out the window.
I managed to get to bed that night at around midnight as well, by the time it all was said and done and I was delivered home safe and sound. It was a good event. I met a number of nice people, including a fellow I had been emailing (who I thought was a woman all this time because his name was Francis, but yes I now realize that Frances is the female form), a couple guys from the Gabs club and one fellow who came all the way from the Francistown club which is north in Botswana. The rest of the people were from South Africa. We had the most members attending, from the smallest club and I hope it will inspire our club to make some needed changes in how we run our meetings and do our thing. I think it made us all think and I’m guessing that would be the point.
We also decided we would be taking another road trip next June to the Champagne Valley Resort in the Drakenberg Mountains for the District Convention. Which means that none of us snored or made a total ass out of ourselves. We will definitely improve upon the sleeping arrangements. I saw a documentary while visiting my dad shortly before I came here about this mountain range and its ecosystem. I said, “by golly, I want to go there.” And by golly, I am.
The drive will be a butt numb-er. To understand what I am saying, get out a map of Southern Africa. Find Johannesburg then look to your left and find Gaborone, then slightly down and find Lobatse. Then look way to the right of Johannesburg all the way to the coast and find Durban. Okay, now, once you are in Durban, you have gone way to far, so slowly head back toward Lesotho and you will run into the Drakenberg Mountain range. That’s where I will be. On vacation.
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