You Say Good-Bye...

Some of the friendly faces I will remember from my good-bye pool party.

Nothing quite like outdoor living !  Sigh !

Philip demonstrates adaptability.  I had no bbq tongs, so he used wooden spoons.

Scenes from my last days in Gaborone

36 friends and their families came to my house for a

Sala Sentle / Tsamaya Sentle Farewell Party.   

I hosted it at my house, as I couldn't pass up another opportunity to make use of the

awesome entertaining space (and pool and braai / bbq).  

When will I have this kind of space again ?

I was very touched by the kind words and turn-out.

Also, my house-mate prepared a farewell dinner for me,

and my colleagues at BOCAIP hosted a good-bye office party.

I am so fortunate to have worked, stayed, and played with so many wonderful people. 

We will stay in touch, and hopefully meet again !

My house-mate Anaisa prepares a yummy Portuguese cod and potato dish.

I will miss your sweet smile !

Some of the team at BOCAIP.

The ever gracious Mma Kwape.

Julia prepares drinks for the party.

Thank you for the kind words and gifts.

Attack of the Flying Termites

We had our first big rainfall over the weekend.  Not the kind that pours for an hour or two at night, only to evaporate the next day, but the kind that is sustained for hours on end.  I sat outside under the patio roof Saturday morning, enjoying the refreshing relief from the heat.

On Sunday morning, I went on a hike with the Kalahari Hash House Harriers, dodging puddles and side-stepping masses of white termites teeming on the dirt paths.  We also came across the thickest and longest black millipedes, like licorice sticks with legs, and the reddest ants I had ever seen.  It seems the rain brought many interesting creatures to surface.

Later that evening, I met a friend for dinner at an outdoor cafe.  As the sun set and the patio lights came on, we found ourselves in the midst of a flying termite storm.  They were everywhere.  In our hair.  In our salad.  Everywhere.  It was like a scene from a science fiction movie. We tried to move indoors, but they had also invaded the inside through the open patio door.  At first, I thought they were moths, but their wings were too long and thin. 

I did some research, and found out that sexually mature termites are prone to grow wings and swarm as part of a mating ritual after the first heavy rain of the season.  Once they have mated, they lose their wings and start new colonies at their new location.  We had found ourselves in the midst of a flying termite orgy !

This morning, the ground was littered with thousands upon thousands of translucent termite wings.

Purple

Purple Snow

It is spring in Gaborone, and the jacaranda trees are in full bloom, carpeting the steets in purple snow.

A friend and her partner plan to retire to his family farm, outside Francistown.  They are thinking of planting some jacaranda trees now, so they will be fullly grown when they are ready to make the big move.  My friend likes the idea of waking up to purple snow each spring.

Purple Rain

I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you
Laughing in the purple rain
Prince, 1984

  

Marchers weren't laughing when purple dye from a police water cannon rained down on them at an anti-apartheid protest held in Cape Town on September 2, 1989.  The police were using a new water cannon with purple dye whose purpose was to stain protestors for later identification and arrest.

After the protest, the phrase, "The purple shall govern", appeared as graffiti throughout the city. The statement is a play on words of the Freedom Charter's declaration that "The people shall govern".

I learned about Cape Town's Purple Rain while chatting with a woman named Kate at St. George's Cathedral, Archbishop Desmond Tutu's church.  She sells beaded jewellery there to supplement her income.  She had been "relocated" 7 times during the height of apartheid, and found refuge in the cathedral, a place she still calls home.
 

Blue Shoes and Happiness



I nearly bought a pair of blue shoes the other day.  I think they appealed to me because they reminded me of the title of one of books in the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, Blue Shoes and Happiness.

I've devoured every book in series, including the most recent one that was published this year.   I delighted in relating to the locales and quirks described in the book, which are now quite familiar to me.

I even conducted a No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency tour with a couple of friends some time ago.  We visited the delapitated film set of the HBO series near Kgale Hill, we had tea at the President Hotel, overlooking the goings-on below in Main Mall, and we lunched at the No. 1 Ladies Opera House, a former garage converted by Alexander McCall Smith and friends into a theatre and bistro.

Everyday, I pass by Zebra Drive.  Unfortunately, I can't share a picture of the street sign because it is missing.  A case for Mma Rmaotswe, perhaps ?

I didn't end up buying the blue shoes. I opted instead for a more sensible and affordable pair of brown shoes.  But, who knows ?  Maybe I will go back for them some day.

Carfree, or Carless ?

Since I arrived in Gaborone, folks have been advising me to get a used car.  Many expats do, as they are fairly easy to sell at close to purchase price, making it an affordable way to get around.  Due to the dry desert climate, cars don't easily corrode, and consequently don't depreciate in value very quickly. 

Gaborone is fairly spread out, so it can take some planning to get from point A to B without a car.  There is a transit system of sorts, but it's not really reliable and takes a bit of figuring out.

However, when I lived on the other side of the tracks and witnessed the rush hour bottlenecks on the bridges crossing the tracks, I balked at the idea of owning a car.  Who needs that headache ?

I came to learn and embrace my daily transit routine.  It got me out and moving and put me in touch with local people I would not normally meet in the cocoon of a car. This has led to some interesting encounters (see Taxi Talk posts).  It has also made me a bit vulnerable (I was pick-pocketed once). 

When I recently had a chance to go in on a car purchase with my house-mate, I decided I would continue with my carfree existence. 

I have come to value my morning walk to work.  It is really the only exercise I get.  If I had a car, it would be far too tempting to drive to work every day.

For the odd time I have an arm load of groceries, I don't mind paying for a taxi ride home.

I have to admit, though, not having a car does make it a challenge to explore on weekends, and there have been times I have regretted my decision.  I don't explore very much during evenings, either. But, truth be told, I enjoy my quiet evenings at home to cook dinner, check e-mails, read, etc.  It's nice to not feel like I should be rushing around, just because I can.

So for now, I will continue to be carfree and carefree -- or carless and careless ?

Those who have advised me to get a car also argue it's a good move for security reasons.  Just yesterday, a new friend of mine was mugged on her morning walk to work.  Is it just the luck of the draw that that hasn't happened to me yet ? 

Cross your fingers that I continue to be safe in my carfree life here.

Canadian Dinner, 2012

My colleague, Bonolo, invited me to cook a 'Canadian' meal for her friends and family. I mulled over this prospect for a couple of weeks, as the date was shifted to accommodate more guests, and consulted with friends and family over Facebook to determine what would constitute a 'Canadian' meal.

If I were at home, I would serve visitors from overseas something like bison meat, or smoked salmon -- items that are not found here.  If  I were serving dinner to my fellow Canadian friends, it would likely be take-out sushi or a pre-cooked lasagne from M&Ms (just being honest, guys) -- again, not options here (and not what one would typically consider to be 'Canadian').

So, what constitutes a 'Canadian' meal in a foreign land ?

Ready to be served...(it's dark because the power is out)

The Menu

Green Salad                             (because Canadians like multiple courses?)

Shepherd's Pie                         (to represent the English/Irish tradition, Alberta beef, 

                                                  and PEI potatoes)

Chicken curry and rice            (to represent more of Canada's multi-cultural heritage)

Macaroni and Cheese             (in tribute to Canadian cheddar cheese... and because 

                                                 I honestly didn't know how many people I was cooking for, 

                                                 if I had enough food, 

                                                 and if there would be kids present who would like mac'n cheese 

                                                 as much as I did as a kid -- and still do);

and for dessert, 

Apple cobbler, served with ice cream and maple syrup 

                                              (apples, to represent a Canadian fall harvest 

                                               -- if it was fall in Canada like it is here --

                                              and the ice cream as a vehicle to serve the maple syrup.)

Self-serve, buffet style.  That's Bonolo's home made ginger beer in the jugs.

 The Dinner

Bonolo picked me up at 4:00 pm so I could get things ready before her guests arrived.  They were expected to arrive by 5:00 pm.  Dinner got off to a bit of a late start as some guests were late arriving and a power failure slowed the heating time.  Once the evening got underway with formal welcomes and introductions, we were a table of 8 -- three married couples (all expecting a second or third child), another single colleague, Tebogo, and myself.  Three little kids (one dressed as spider man) and their aunties / nannies milled about on the periphery, but didn't join us at the table.  

Waiting for the others to arrive, by candle light (black out).  Do you like the centre piece ?

The Verdict

Mixed reviews.  Diners commented that the Shepherd's Pie constituted a full, balanced meal, on its own; no comments on the curry and rice, but it was all eaten; there was a lot of leftover macaroni (kids had already been fed, and it had dried out while being reheated); I was asked for my apple cobbler recipe; and people seemed to really enjoy the maple syrup.

What's next on the 'Eat Like a Canuck' menu ?  Canadian brunch - with Dad's pancake recipe and more fresh maple syrup, recently delivered by a fellow volunteer.    
Where ?  My beautiful new house, with indoor and outdoor dining areas.  
When ?  Once my new house-mate has had a chance to settle in.   
For Whom ?  For everyone who has been helpful to me here -- the list is growing !
Why ? Because entertaining is fun -- even in the dark !

Tree Talk

 Life Happens Under Trees.

“Under her acacia tree was a dusty place to sit… 

 It was a place that encouraged thought. It was here that Mma Ramotswe would 

contemplate some of the issues which, in everyday life, may be so easily pushed aside.” 

 There are more trees in Gaborone than I expected to see in a city that hugs the Kalahari.   

I’ve come to learn that not only thought happens under the shade provided by Gaborone’s 

and Botswana’s trees...Significant moments happen under trees.     There is a 100+ year old 

morula tree that spans over Nelson Mandela Drive.    It is protected as the founding site of the  Botswana Democratic Party in 1962.  In Kasane, there is  baobob tree in whose hollow prisoners were held until the town’s first prison was built ...Enterprise happens under trees. Trees provide shade for make-shift snack stands, for car washes, for tire shops.    When I direct friends to my house, I say, "Turn right after the car wash tree."  They know what I mean. 

My taxi stop is an unmarked tree behind the Methodist Church....

  Rest and respite        happen         under trees.   

           Half way       through     my walk home, 

I pass under a small grove 

of large trees.    

Their roots 

poke through

the pavement, 

as a reminder 
to the city that, 

“ We were here 
before you rose

 and we will be here

long after you fall.”   

For the 30 seconds or so 

that it takes for me to pass under the trees, 

    the din of traffic     is replaced     by the banter of birds   who breed in the branches.  
For 30 seconds,         I am transported     to another world.       Life Happens Under Trees.

 

Taxi Talk

Special Taxi - Conversation with male driver:

I want to go back to Canada with you.

No - You wouldn't like it there.  It is too cold for you.

I want to be your friend.

I don't need a friend.  I just need a taxi driver.

I want to be your boyfriend. 

I don't need a boyfriend.  I just need a taxi driver.

I want to be your husband.

I don't need a husband.  I just need a taxi driver.

(sigh!)

Shared Taxi - Conversation with fellow female passsenger:

I want to be your friend.

(ummm...??)

Where is your brother ?

He is at home, with his wife and kids.

When is your brother coming here ?

If he comes for a visit, he will come with his wife and kids.

I want to meet your brother.

(sigh!)

Sharing Space: Part II

"That's (human) nature. Sometimes it reaches out to you".

I am trying to adapt Ian's advice on living with little critters to my recent experience, being pick-pocketed for the first time ever, anywhere.

Someone reached out and helped themselves to my little change purse I used to store my taxi/combi pulas and thebes. I kept it in a place that was accessible to me, and to others, too, apparently. This happened yesterday, I suspect, while walking on the overpass from the station to Rail Park Mall. I felt someone bump into me, in what was a quick and fleeting moment. It's a small loss in terms of monetary value, but serves as a not so subtle reminder that I need to keep my guard up, and that no matter how long I am here, I will always be visible as a visitor, a beacon of privilege. I am sharing space here, with many wonderful people, but also with those (likely, those facing desperate situations) who may see me as a target.

And, I will miss my little change purse, a souvenir from Buenos Aires, with separate pockets for my going to work and coming home pulas. I am back to resorting to my travel stand-by change purse -- a ziploc baggie -- that I will keep in a less so convenient, and accessible, place.

My journey home: Part I

I've been here one month now, and am starting to establish a bit of a routine. Eace day, I share a taxi with Pallavi and Eva to the Princess Marina Hospital, then I walk about 15 minutes down South Ring Road until I reach a residential area where my office is located. I get to work around 7:30am, then at 4:30pm, head home.

Roxanne asked to follow along on the journey home. So, come on, let's go !

I leave BOCAIP (Botswana Christian AIDS Intervention Program). The BOCAIP office is in a rented house in a little cul-du-sac, with additional office space in trailers, out back. Notice the red sand.

I walk down the road, then turn left, at the house with the zebra wall.

I then wait for a shared taxi at the bus stop (i.e., tree) behind the Methodist Church. Each taxi takes 4 passengers, so often I have to wait a while until there is one with space I can squeeze into. The taxi goes to the main bus/taxi/combi stop at the rail yard.

This is where city life really unfolds.

My journey home: Part II

From the bus/taxi/combi rank, I take an overpass across the tracks to Rail Park Mall.

I still haven't decided which side of the tracks I live on.

I'll often stop in the mall for a bit of groceries. I can go to Choppies, a local supermarket chain, or Food Lover's Market.

Food Lover's has a good selection of fresh produce, so I usually go there. They also have a decent cheese selection.

Then, from Rail Park Mall, I walk another 10 minutes or so through a semi-industrial area to New Lobatse Road. At rush hour, there is usually a yellow-gloved traffic officer who guides the flow of traffic.

I cross the street, and then turn left at the KFC and gas station/garage. When people ask where I live, I say, "Near the KFC at New Lobatse Road". My street address means nothing to them.

By the way, there are no Golden Arches in Botswana. McDonald's was not successful in getting a trading license. So, it's KFC that rules the fast food industry here.

My journey home: Part III

From the KFC and gas station/garage, I continue on for another 5 minutes or so.

If you don't like the services offered by the modern gas station/garage, you can get your new tires here, at the more traditional tire shop.

Car in need of a wash ?

After the "car wash" tree, I turn at Omaweneno Road - the street where I live. Say that 5 times fast !

It's another 2 minute walk to my house from here.

Thanks for accompanying me home ! Same time, tomorrow ?

An evening out

To celebrate Annouk's last day in Botswana, and my first month here, we went to a fundraising dinner and cd launch at The No. 1 Ladies' Opera House, a converted garage on the outskirts of town. The Opera House was established by Alexander McCall Smith, to promote new artists.

Ntirelang Berman sings folk songs about life in Botswana -- about love; tenacious buffalo; the girl who harvested pula from workmen, while her sisters harvested crops from the field; and about HIV stigmitization, i.e.; the goat who can't see his own horns (don't chastise those who have tested positive, if you haven't yet gone to be tested, yourself).

"Don't disregard a hunch": generally sound advice !

Shopping in Gaborone

Main Mall - Gaborone.

Mophane Worm Lady.

Fur sandels, anyone ?

Baskets.

This one is for Cynthia: I thought you would get a 'kick' out of this (see Stepping Off The Edge blog post, Shopping in Adelaide)