Home is Everywhere the Heart Is

If you didn’t know it, I have come home. Specifically, I have left my new home and life in Botswana to return to a new life and home in my old town of Eureka, California.  It wasn’t an easy decision to do this, but there were family concerns that pushed me in this direction. When I was then also offered a great job as the Executive Director of the Area One Agency on Aging, a post that has been vacant since last fall, I felt it was time to head west. My chest hurt so badly and I couldn’t stop crying as the driver from my workplace drove me the hour north to the Peace Corps office in Gaborone.  He must have thought I was nuts.  Gratefully, the staff at the Peace Corps office treated me kindly and with compassion and while they were sad to see me go, they supported me in my decision and that made all I was feeling at the time a bit more tolerable.

My PCV friends and my host family were all incredibly supportive and kind, as were one or two very special friends who I miss terribly. I want to thank everyone who has been reading my blog during my adventure and who has sent me cards, emails, boxes and obviously kind thoughts throughout the duration. I could not have managed without even one of those emails, cards, boxes or thoughts and I thank you all. I will probably continue to post blogs as I sort out my experiences over the last few months which I was unable to post due to lack of a computer.  I need to do this for myself and will be happy to have any readers along for the ride.

 It is now exactly almost to the minute seven days since my plane touched down in San Francisco after a 30 hour trip from Gaborone, Botswana.  In the last seven days I have: bought a smart phone, a smarter car (okay that has a 5 year loan involved), visited my step mother, traveled 150 miles in SF Bay Area Memorial Day stop and go traffic (okay, not for the entire time, but most of it) with my mom to visit my sister in law and see my niece in a play, travelled a further 150 miles to my home town to see my two sisters, and one of their families (husband and my two nieces), moved into my BFF and family’s house temporarily after snagging some stuff stored at my sisters, signed up for my old gym, did the initial hiring paperwork at my new job,  searched for and found an apartment, saw my old boy friend, gotten a post office box, mailed a package to Botswana, visited my tenants and three different neighbors from the hood, bought living room furniture, run into various old friends, tried new restaurants and rediscovered old ones, been fed and loved by friends and family, received a big box from my brother with all my business affairs neatly returned to me…and who knows what else….

In the next day, I will get a massage, go to my Arcata Rotary meeting, see my doggie Nevada, have a lunch business meeting at the Ingomar, then dine there again for dinner (luckily they have nice food and it was not to be avoided, although extravagent compared to my recent lifestyle).  Saturday I will move some stuff into my new apartment, go rowing on the Bay, go back to the gym to learn my new workout, and go to Arts Alive in Eureka. Sunday is a day of rest before I start my job officially on Monday.

Under this very thick layer of busi-ness my psyche is grappling with the changes and how easily one can physically go from a place like that to a place like this.  My heart is still so strongly tied to the work I was doing there and the people I grew to know and even love and I don’t want to lose hold of my dear friends, my colleagues and my host family there who were all so terrific to me.  I refuse to buy a television until after the elections at least. I am so selfish of my own quiet time and will need it more than ever as I process my experiences of the last 14 months.

I don’t want it to all become a blur. I know it won’t, but every day I spend driving a car and not sweating on a bus takes me further away from the reality of that experience. I eagerly await mail of any kind from my home there, and am hoping the teenage girls I left behind will hold up their end of writing to me, so I can hold up my end of being a support to them as they move through their tricky and challenging lives.

I wait for news about the well my Rotary clubs are working on there, and know I will need to tenderly “harass” my Rotary friends that side to keep them moving forward against the bureaucracy that is Botswana governmental offices.

I eagerly read my Bots 10 family’s facebook postings, hoping all is well in their world.  I hold my breath awaiting word that the cats, Sisi, Pudi, and Makibikibi have found their ways to their new homes and haven’t in the mean time totally driven my friend Tija, who is fostering them, to distraction or worse.

I have pictures of people in my mind and heart that I can flip through whenever I need to help me remember the good times I had in Botswana.  These are the same pictures that will help me plan my trip back to that land that was a new home for me and now always will be.

I am still the person I was before I left the US in March 2011. And yet, I am so not that same person.  My PC friends know, or will know sometime soon, what I am saying.  And I guess the rest of you will know that too.  Thanks again for taking this journey with me.  Ke tla go bona. Salang Sentle ditsala tsa me.

I am typing this directly into the blog since I have a few free moments....our first trip with Erto to Jo'burg to see the doctor was a success - he came back with two fully casted legs and appointments for the next 6 weeks. At the doctor's office, we met a woman who was kind enough to offer  housing for Erto and Cathrine over the next two months - they just have to buy their own food and diapers for him, since he can't get the cast wet.  She will make sure they get to their appointments. So now, we are just having to pay for bus fares back and forth from here, but she won't be going every week, taxi fares from bus station to this lovely woman's house, food and diaper money.  There will be a small surgery later on and I am still hoping there is enough money for that. So now, if you have wanted to donate but just didn't do it yet, or you want to donate again, this would be the time. click on the photo of erto and his mom on my blog and it will take you to the web site.

We had a lovely trip to Joburg by the way. much better than one would expect with a 2 year old on a 6 hour bus ride. He got cranky on the way back (so did I, actually because the bus would start beeping every time it slowed down and that with his crying and the bumpy road..) but I realised after a while that he was just bored (just like the rest of us) and I handed him my cheap 10 pula bracelet and it kept him serenely quiet from there on out. wish i had done it 2 hours earlier. told his mom he is bored and needs entertainment, just like the rest of us. only difference is he will scream bloody murder when he is tired and we adults don't get to.  More to follow. but  got to run.  Thanks for listening.

Erto Update

Erto’s second birthday was April 25^th, though he won’t know it, because birthdays in this family probably don’t get celebrated with much fanfare. Just another day to mark the passing of time and a child’s getting bigger and needing more food to survive. 

But this didn’t stop me from offering to have a small party for him – nothing fancy. A store bought black forest cake (with strawberries on top!), whole milk and oranges from the tree in my garden. They should actually be called “greens” because no one waits long enough for them to get orange before they want to eat them, so I figured I would take some to this family before all my neighbourhood kids had taken care of them.

It dawned on me a few months ago that Erto’s reception of me over time had turned from gleeful giggles, smiles and waves to a seemingly random response combining one or two of these or pure disinterest and even crying.  Maybe he knows I represent this medical procedure we are plotting on his behalf, but I doubt it.  More likely, he likes me most when I come with food, but since he doesn’t always know if I have food when I arrive, he acts happy until he knows for sure, then he gets disinterested.  How can a child at 1 ½ years have already figured this out? 

But looking back, he was great when we had cookies when we got the passport photos – he even let me hold him.  Then as I passed their house more often without cookies, his interest waned.  But on his birthday, he must have sensed something was afoot, because he was smiles from ear to ear and back again. He even shook my hand to greet me. Very cute.

His siblings and a few neighbourhood kids were equally expectant and courteous so Cathrine must have talked up the party. She might have been disappointed when I didn’t arrive with gifts for him, but I just didn’t have enough money for that.  Still, she was gracious enough not to ask.  The reason I will do this type of thing for her family, other than because I just love Erto, is because she have never asked me for anything except help for her son and her kids don’t ask me for things either. They have nothing, but they are polite to me and do not beg. When I leave, I will be giving her as many of my household items as she can use, especially the blankets and towels.

So I pulled the cake out of the bag, stuck some candles in it and lit them. The kids were sitting quietly around the room; only Erto, his mom and grandmother had chairs to sit in. He stared at the cake with wide eyes. I tortured the other kids by making them sing “happy birthday to you” a few times before we actually cut the cake.  They never quite got the song right, but we tried. Here, the tradition appears to be that you take icing off the cake and put spots of it all over the birthday kid, so Erto sat there with icing on his face.  Better him than me.

I told Cathrine to make a wish when she blew out the candles for him and I made a wish when I cut the cake. I am thinking both of us wished for the same thing for young Erto.  I then tortured the kids again by asking them, “who wants cake?” before I would give anyone a piece.  Like duh, who doesn’t want cake? 

I left the extra unopened litre of milk for them to use later, along with the hand towel I brought to clean things up, since she didn’t really have one of those either. I gave them a bag of oranges and invited Cathrine to send the kids to see me the next day after work to get more oranges.

I left around 5:30 and I am not at all sure what, if anything, these kids would be getting for dinner. Cake, milk and oranges certainly wasn’t enough, but at least it was something different.

Meanwhile, we have a date and are making plans to go to Johannesburg for the first doctor’s appointment on May 8^th.  They talked about flying Cathrine and Erto there, then wanted me to fly with them, then realized there isn’t enough money to do that. So now, we are looking at a 6 hour bus on Monday the 7^th, an overnight in Jo’burg, an appointment at 1 p.m. the next day, then a 6 hour bus ride back to Gaborone leaving Jo’burg at 4 p.m. and an overnight in Gaborone before a bus ride back to Otse the morning of the 9^th.  With a two year old who only likes me when I feed him sugar. 

This isn’t a vacation. A six hour bus ride with a two year old, an overnight, a taxi to the doctor’s office, waiting around for appointment, appointment, taxi back to bus station, waiting for bus then six bus ride to Gabs, overnight there and then bus to Otse.  I am putting in my bus time, to be sure.

After this appointment, we should have a treatment schedule. There will need to be more fundraising or connections made to pay for his accommodation there in Jo’burg because travelling back and forth via bus every two weeks with two full length casts on his legs just doesn’t make sense.  I will be sending a letter to the Rotary clubs in the area to see if anyone will help us.

The good news is that a local physical therapist is attending a Ponseti Method training this weekend in Cape Town and will then intern with the physician in Jo’burg at his casting clinics to learn how to do this properly.  I am not sure he will be ready to treat Erto in Gaborone, but the next children that come along will benefit from this. My friend Tshepang, who has a child who has been successfully treated, is leading the local charge to bring awareness and find resources to make all this happen.  We are scheduled to speak to the Rotary Club of Gaborone on June 2 and maybe will get some donations from them to help as well.

Given all we have been through, I am cautiously optimistic. I won’t sing and dance until he starts and then completes treatment and he can sing and dance with me. 

Meanwhile, I visited Susan, another volunteer in a village a few hours by bus north of Gaborone and met a 13 year old girl with two club feet, much worse than Ertos and never treated.  She has a wheelchair which is too small and can’t walk at all. She prefers to pull herself around the compound than using the chair, and had open sores on her ankles where the calluses split open.  I will have to ask the Ponseti people what they think, but I have a feeling she is too old for this treatment. Yet maybe there are other options. Apparently she had boots or braces fit for her in Gaborone last June, but no one went to pick them up for her. Who knows if they will still fit.  Susan spoke to clinic nurse and mother about following up on these things.

This young girl is smart, you can tell by talking to her, but hasn’t been to school because of her feet.  She is able to care for herself (she is incontinent because a surgery she had must have nicked a nerve somewhere). She needs to be in school but like so many other disabled children, is kept at home and hidden because people don’t know to push for school or equipment. There are three children with Cerebral Palsy living in one small village near Susan who spend their days on the ground. They need wheelchairs, but because they can’t care for themselves, are unlikely to ever get into a school here. The mothers of these kids don’t know what they should do, so do what they can. Some people in the villages here believe that a child becomes disabled because of something the mother or father did when the mother was pregnant (not just drugs or drinking, but any number of acts unrelated to how a foetuses cells would divide and grow can get blamed on the parents, mostly the mother.) Well that is all for now. Off to get ready for my fun trip.