Ee, I'm So Tired!

(I may have written a blog post about this before, but it disappeared, so I wanted to re-write something similar)

How on earth am I gonna get across to those out there how the Batswana really are.  I guess we'll have to pick them apart layer by layer, like the cliche onion.  When I first got to Botswana, there was little time to actually get to know people, other than your host family.  At that point, and I continue to think this, that  my family is very normal, stable, a little too religious for my liking, but other than that, they are perfect, that is for Batswana's.  I put it that way because there is an inherent lack of communication style in them, and throughout this country, that can drive one crazy--but that layer I'll tackle at another time.  

So let's go out in the real world, the rural world, the working and non-working world. My friend Dee Dee and I sat up half the night a few weeks back, doubled over in hysterics because of three words—I'm so tired! We're not sure if people just say this just to say it, or it it's their diet of porridge and more porridge that weighs them down, the heat, or if they are just down right lazy or apathetic. We cannot figure this out! 

Nothing I'm about to say is an exaggeration....so here I go! Someone lifts up a pencil and says “I'm so tired,” We walk a quarter of a block, the person stops to say “I'm so tired,” After a 10 minute briefing with teachers, half of them say “I'm so tired.” During the holiday break, many classrooms were painted, including the library. Books were thrown everywhere, and while some students helped put them away, there was much to do. I offered to help out one morning, so I go in, put about 20 paperbacks in their rightful order, and the library guy asks me to take the new books, label them, and write the number in a ledger. Ok, this is easy! He comes back to check on me 5 minutes later, giving an exasperated sigh, saying, “this is such hard work, you must be so tired.” “Oh yes, I'm so tired I don't think I could do more than another five minutes.” “Oh dear, you better stop now and go rest...see what hard work this is!” “Yeah, I see, I think we both should take a nice long break!” Great idea! My 10 minute, good, excruciating hard working deed is complete, and I'm so proud of my time well spent!  Now off to the next task.  Since my morning work is completed at 7:50am, I go around school to find a class with no teacher in it. This takes about a minute. I go in, tell the kids to stand up to a little morning moving warm-up of an exercise called Coconut—-anything to remind me of Asia! The kids love it, and after it's done, I ask them if they're tired---I just can't resist! They all say, yes mma Tshepo! Oh, you poor little darlings, but guess what, we're gonna have class anyway!  One day, my counterpart asks me to sign in some 20 orphans, write their names down and take any extra belongings they have. Within 2 minutes, “Tsepho, ugh, this is such hard work, I'm so tired, we better take a break.” “What about the orphans standing here?” “We'll come back later.” Great, I wonder if later will ever come! I turn to look at the orphans and say, “see ya later, or never, we're tired.” They look at us like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Seriously, they sound so humorously pathetic, and I can't stop laughing, but I know it's not really funny, but ok, it is funny to my warped cultural adapting mind. Forrest Gump wouldn't get these folks running behind him across the USA!  No way baby!   I could just see my former driven boss Maureen, and my friend Dana here trying to get something done, it would drive them so totally bizzerk that they'd probably start a “let's not be tired” revolution throughout Botswana. The thing is, these people just say it constantly, and I wonder if it's just become a bad habit, because it typically doesn't always stop them from doing things, it just, well, delays things a bit. I feel like starting serious exercise classes, nutrition classes, or pick-me-up power yoga classes, but I know after one downward dog, I would hear “I'M SO TIRED.” 

The balance Act

When I used to think of Africa, my first thoughts were of children running around barefoot in shabby clothing, and women walking with anything and everything balanced on their heads. Both of those things have proven to be quite the fact. Sometimes when I go shopping, someone will undoubtedly assist this helpless American by carrying my stuff on their heads to my house. I just walk beside them in admiration that they can do this, and secretly, am thrilled that I'm not lugging these bags.

The other day, I was particularly overloaded with things to bring home having come from that 2 week misery in Moleps. It was hot, the kombie's were especially annoying and crowded, I couldn't imagine how on earth I was gonna drag everything for my walk home, and on this day nobody was helping out. So guess what smart me decides to do, yep—balance things on my non-African head.  How hard can it be, afterall, I saw it in the movies, and now I see it all around me in real life. So I throw my heavy day pack on my back, one other bag drooped over my shoulder, and one bag on my head. I make it about 3 inches before the bag slips off my lopsided posture. This draws a crowd, with laughter, and god only knows what they're saying in Setswana about the lekgoa trying to do something innately African. But all laughter aside, these people love me, and all start working on my posture, head position, and distribution of goods. Ok, I've got my first lesson in head balancing, and I think I've got it down. It's so funny that if done correctly, you don't even really feel the weight of what's on your head---so here I go to loud cheers and encouragement, telling me I can lean one hand on the side of the bag. But no, the competitive nature in me wants to do it the pure way, besides, I really only have one hand left here, and that's needed to schoo the little rascal kids away from me.  I make it further this time, so proud, and at the point where I get a little cocky, the bag gives way with no warning and down it goes. With laughs, oohs, aahs, and what not, I look down to broken eggs, squished bananas, sweat dripping from every inch of my body, and groceries all over the dirt path. This is definitely not one of my finest moments in cultural integration!

Someone looks at me and says “Tshepo, I think you need more practice---what are you going to do now?” And--”Tshepo, I don't think you should not have put the eggs on your head.” “Thanks buddy for the tip, I think I'm gonna go home, find a new bag, and come back for the goods that are still edible, but yeah, you think your so great because this and dancing are in your DNA and not mine.” “You watch—in two years, eggs and all, will be on my head with no problem, and somehow I'll learn to move my hips like you do!”

When I sat that night laughing and reflecting on my day, I thought that certainty about things brings about dullness and mediocrity---and even though I failed at my first attempt of head balancing, and lost my breakfast for the next several mornings, I'm so glad nothing in my life is certain around here!  

The meaning of Bliss

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      Right
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Time, with all it's exact measures, just keeps marching on.  In Africa, time is an amorphous and unstructured entity, but still the clocks and dates keep on going. This week marks six months of being in Botswana. There have been good times and times of struggles, but no bad times. The times of struggles haven't even been that bad, in fact, I call those moments my times of bliss because they are character building. The word bliss can mean so many things to different people. I have asked myself many times if I've found my bliss, and the initial response 6 months ago was no way. The craziness that takes over our lives, the business that caused me to say I can't handle this, the amount of media around---it all takes away from finding that bliss. But now, my bliss is when I look outside my window every night to watch the sunsets, or see a three quarter moon that looks orange hanging low in the sky with bright stars surrounding it. Bliss is being able to laugh when sitting in a Kombie with people hanging on top of you, dripping wet from the heat, and laughing at the thought of killing them. Bliss is when my 6 year old friend, Lefika, walks into my house at 7:30am to hand me a pomegranate off his tree, and telling me that he doesn't know what he's gonna do when I leave in 2 years. Bliss is walking around this beautiful village in the early evening and watching life happen. Bliss is having the time to meditate, reflect, do my tai chi and yoga without all the American distractions. Bliss is teaching a class about life, and seeing the trust because they know that I won't beat them with a stick. Bliss is feeling the love of my host family. Bliss is fighting off the bugs in the house and cows in the yard, and not having a second thought about it. Bliss is the comraderie of my fellow PCV's. Bliss is receiving packages from home. Bliss is finally having internet in my house!

All of these things, and many more, are making me even more real, honest, and genuine. I cry, I laugh, I question! I want those who are struggling to see that if they just find that glimmer of hope, that life can go on.

I look at people here in Mmathethe and wonder about their own bliss. Somehow, with all the hardships, and the daily struggles, they have a resilience in them, and I'm gonna call that resilience Bliss for right now. The may lack in some passion, but they also may never know another life, so let them find that bliss in the simplicity that is all around.

Six months passes, and I remind myself though, to never stop looking because bliss can disappear at a moments notice. Every new trial, new struggle, or new mountain, brings me back to where my bliss had disappeared to when at home. I will never have all the answers, and I don't want really want them. I just want to live, learn, and grow. I want my bliss to change and not be stagnent. And most of all, I want the kids of Mmathethe to find their own bliss in the midst of the daily struggles they endure.

P.S. Happy 13^th Birthday to my beautiful niece Sofie! I love you sweetie!

Camp Days

For many years in my youth, I went to camp, first in North Carolina, and then in Pennsylvania.  Going back each year was like a family reunion, and as school came to a close, my mind couldn't help but wander to the rich deep greens of the Pennslyvania Poconos. Thoughts unleashed the excitement of possibilities, laughter, swimming, all sorts of sports. Summer camp also meant fun and pranks, I mean, really, who wouldn't want to spend 8 weeks living with friends and doing things that you loved every single day! When we went on field trips, we fought to sit in the back of the bus, and we sang our lungs out with songs like Leaving on a Jet Plane.  Camp taught me new skills—all in a natural environment, removed from modern life---It was idyllic!

So why on earth am I talking about camp that happened so long ago?  Well, partly because when you get to a certain age, memories creep in, and it is so this past week when 24 of us Life Skills Vol's, were once again taken away from our villages to go for a long and boring school ministry workshop. Needless to say, we were a disgruntled lot! So all 24 testy Vol's go and wound up having some heated arguments with school officials on how things were handled, corporpal punishment, and sexuality. It was not a pretty scene for the first few days, though it definitely kept things lively for a bit.

For the first several nights, nine of us were staying in a lodge about 45 minutes away, and 7 of the younger Vol's scramble to the back of the van every time at the end of the day. And just like being in camp, they start laughing and singing away. But wait, their singing was music I never heard of, with rap like gyrations, and with words that only fit to these times. These Vol's were having a great time, releasing the intensity of the days, doing something that totaly made perfect sense to them.

Inside, I could just smile---a deep, nostalgic smile, because I remembered that exact feeling of being in camp, singing, and feeling great. Sometimes I feel the PC is like camp, and even though they didn't put Leaving on a Jet Plane to rap, I loved that they found a special way to cope with the days events. It made me think though, that none of our children here in Botswana have the luxury of experiencing that kind of camp life. They find different ways to cope, but song in the backs of buses or vans are universal, even for the kids in Botswana as I learned last weekend with my teen group.  But for now, I go to sleep wondering how on earth I'm gonna make Leaving on a Jet Plane turn into a rap song so I can fit in with the younger PCV's!

Ah, Veggie Curry!

…......Not! Good thought though! After being totally cooped up most of the week in the most boring, annoying, sub-basic, 2 week school ministry workshop, I come home for the weekend with thoughts of making veggie curry. You see, no matter what function you're at in Botswana, whether it's a wedding, conference, funeral, etc.....you eat the exact same thing for every single meal. This country only seems to have a few things they know how to make, so they mix and match to make you think otherwise.  It's by far the worst, most boring culinary country in the entire world!  So now, because of the intense heat, my high hopes of gettting my taste buds replenished are shot to hell---I get home to no electricity, no water, and no complaining, because many of my fellow PCV's live like this every day, so it's carrots, apples, and delicious almond butter from home. Next morning, still with no electricity, it's a 5am wake up call due to promising my teen club I would go on this “Say no to unwanted sex” 2K march.  Mind you, I don't really have to go since I'm supposed to be at this conference, but the kids begged me, and how do you say no to 30 brown eyes staring you down. We take a 20 minute drive at this god foresaken hour, and in the middle of nowhere, the kids are laughing at me. This is not an unusual thing, but this time it's because they notice that my shorts are on backwards, my shirt is inside out, and I have 2 different sneakers on. Ok, it was 5am afterall and pitch black inside---at least my teeth were brushed! All of us are hungry, but we march on with our signs and other teen clubs, when all of a sudden loud clapping thunder starts, and then it starts pouring like you can't even imagine. I've seen hard rain before, but this is God's rain, on the continent that started it all, and God makes a statement here to remind us all of something---maybe at least he could have reminded me to bring an umbrella or a rain coat---that would've been a nice thing to do! Drenched to the bone, I finally get home several hours later, the electricity is on, and I'm still thinking about that veggie curry, when I see that my entire kitchen, and the room next to it, is flooded from the bottom up, and my bedroom is flooded from the top down. FUN! Still no chance of that curry yet! I'm shoveling water into a bucket with my dust pan because here in Botswana, they don't have the good mops, good food, nothing but water coming up from nowhere, and all I have is a dust pan! Excellent! Thunder, lightning, and rain, are ferociously happening, Keoki is even a little rattled, but he's the only dog in Africa inside for the time being—lucky him! There's no plummer this side of the Atlantic ocean---not that it would matter if there was, they wouldn't come if called, for about another year. This guy, Wiseman, thought he fixed part of my roof, but all he did was tar it over, leaving me to deal with a dead, tarred pigeon in the process. Are you guys getting the picture here? Just think, all I wanted was some veggie curry and I get this!

It's now 3pm, things are as in control as there gonna be for the time being. I'm starved, so I get out all the ingredients, and whatta ya know—no electricity again because of the storm. It could be days before it comes back on, so it's more apples and almond butter for me, and fighting off the ugliest bugs I've ever seen in my life---they must be God's African bugs too! This is hard stuff here, having to deal with the elements, eating apples and whatever, feeling like a coal miner with my headlight on all night, and having a dog who's eating better than me. My only refuge is that my computer had been charged before the storm, so I'm watching Anthony Bourdain eating delicious veggie curries throughout Northern India. He's eating yummy street food, curries in palaces, Indian food that keeps coming for less than a dollar. Oh God, I'm going bonkers! I feel like jumping through the damn computer, right to India so I can have that curry! I want that curry so badly that I watch the episode 3 times! Then I watch his episode in Southern India two times! I must be crazy! Indian crazy! Seriously, if the electricity doesn't come on soon, I'm buying a plane ticket tomorrow to get some delicious spice in my life.

Sometimes you get a thought, a craving, or a song in your head that you just can't shed---but when your a PCV these things can get a little magnified! I love Anthony Bourdain, I would love to travel the world eating great food, walking through unique villages, and making money for it, but I'm in the Peace Corps, doing good deeds at 5am in the rain, dreaming of curry, and eating scraps of whatever is available. My veggie curry will have to wait for the time being, and in the scheme of things, at least 30 dripping wet kids, now know the meaning and spread the word of saying NO to UNWANTED SEX!  

The long night

There is a realization that my two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer is gonna be more about a dog, and a village, rather than about HIV, and Life Skills. Needless to say, Keoki and the village are getting under my skin, but in ways that I can't comprehend, nor am I gonna question yet. What I do know is that more and more, waves of deep peacefulness are streaming through me, and as much as that has been a foreign feeling in the past few years, I'm beginning to find it nourishing. Sitting on my porch, watching Keoki lying happily and proudly after herding cows out of the yard, he is blending into the red African dirt as dusk descends upon us. It's a sight I soon won't forget....and then night time comes. Sometimes I hate the night here, it's filled with bugs, strange noises, people out in the wee hours, and I worry that someone can just take or harm Keoki, or try to scare me. This isn't always the case obviously, but on this particular night, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither---instead I just froze. So much for the wave of peacefulness that was just felt a few hours ago!

The noises started, Keoki is barking his head off, cows are mooing, donkeys honking, bats are screaching and flying into my window, owls are doing their thing, the strange birds that habitat my roof are screaming, bugs are buzzing, and now every dog in the vicinity is barking. If I were to record the sounds, it would not make the top ten of meditation CD's.

I get up for one second, but all I see are stars, lots of them lighting up the sky, and for a moment, this calms me. Quickly though, back to bed because now peoples voices are around and that's what I hate most of all—especially when the footsteps are outside my window. My heart starts to beat hard and fast, I hear Keoki growling and barking right outside my bedroom window, and all of a sudden, I hear this horrible sound from him and then silence. This is when I completely stiffen up...I'm too scared to peak outside, so I just start talking to the gods. Then, I swear, I hear the roar of a lion. I know there is no wildlife like that in these parts, but what if a lion decided to take a vacation to Mmathethe to see what life is like here....you just never know! After all, my fellow PCV's voted me the most likely to adopt a lion! Soon after my mind has deceived me, Keoki is barking again, and I'm relieved he wasn't eaten by the visiting imaginary lion. The symphony of noises are getting louder though, and instead of enjoying the music, I'm getting more and more scared. At least on safari, you expect these noises, but not in a quiet, rural village. All of a sudden, the noises come inside, and I hear this swishing, russling type of noise right next to my bed. I totally freeze now... I just know it's a black mamba...I have to pee...I can't move...I want to call a friend at 2am now, but my phone is on my dresser...I tuck my mosquito net around me, and just start to pray that morning comes fast and I don't pee in my bed, or get killed by an African snake.

Are we having fun yet? Can meditation help in moments like these? Why can't I just enjoy the peace that was given to me earlier? I lay there, stiff as a board, just waiting for the roosters to start crowing. At some point though, the noises stop, exept for the strange noise next to my bed, and I fall asleep for a few hours. Groggy, and glad I made it through the night, I peak out of my mosquito net to find that it wasn't a black mamba afterall, but a two and half inch black ugly something lying on it's back with it's legs fighting to roll over. Ok, so I jumped to the worst possible scenerio, but with all the goings on during the night, it seemed fitting. After getting rid of the bug, I slowly open the back door to find Keoki, happily wagging his tail, and wondering when on earth he's gonna be served breakfast.

Man, what a crazy night! Was I being tested on how to stay calm in the midst of chaos, or was it just one of those things that stirs you into fear and uncertainty and you just have to wait it out? I don't have the answers for this either, but for now, my thoughts are that I would rather have a lion outside in the village vs. a black mamba next to my bed. This is Africa!     

Friends in need, Friends indeed!

Two friends were walking throught the desert. During some point they had an argument, resulting in one friend slapping the other in the face. The one who was slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand “today my best friend slapped me in the face.” They kept walking until they found an oasis where they decide to go bathing. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mine and started drowning, but the friend saved him. After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone “today my best friend saved my life.” The friend who slapped and saved his best friend, asked him “after I hurt you, you wrote in the sand and now you write on a stone—why?” The other friend replied, “when someone hurts us we should write it down in the sand where winds of forgiveness can erase it away, but when someone does sonething good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it.”

The moral of the story is not to value the things you have in life, but value who you have in life!

This leads me to talking about two special friends here in Mmathethe, and what they demonstrate about friendship on a daily basis. These two gals found each other early in primary school and have had a growing friendship since. In many ways they are complete opposites, but as they say---opposites attract, right. One is vulnerable, the other strong, one is shy, the other shyer, one lives without electricity or water, the other has both, one has an intact family, the other doesn't, both are highly intelligent, but one has to work harder in school. When one looks in the mirror and thinks she's ugly, the other tells her she's beautiful. When one got in trouble for not doing well in school, the other told her to try harder and see the good in everything. They both tell each other to respect life, not to fall into the traps of peer pressure, and both want to help find a cure for HIV. I've grown to love these two beautiful teens who fit together like a glove, and have shared their friendship with a stranger.

I know these two not by coincidence, one is my direct neighbor who came knocking on my door my first night in Mmathethe, scaring the heebeejeebees out of me, but in the softest of voices told me not to be frightened. The other came knocking at my door with her older sister after seeing me at our first assembly in school, thinking I could help her sister who works diligently with AIDS victims. I had not known then that these two kids were connected to each other until they both came over together a few weeks later to talk. They asked many questions about the States and about life. Instead of the typical “can you take me there,” they humbly took information in, and with wonder, just asked for more details. Through the coming weeks, I taught them how to play UNO, backgammon, other card games, and they have been here on Saturday nights glued to movies on my computer. When there was a fierce African thunderstorm, it was my porch they took refuge in. I've trusted these kids to take care of Keoki when I go to trainings or overnight to Kanye. When Kesego visits me, they tenderly teach her the games I have taught them. Innately, knowing that my birthday was spent so far away from home, these kids, who barely have anything, thought enough of our friendship to present me with a beautiful African basket---you bet the tears starting rolling down my cheeks. There are many stories of friendship with more depth and dimension, but these two understand the art of giving and receiving in a place where that is not always the case---and it is that which makes these two kids and their friendship special.

I've not always been a good friend....I've not always known the art of sharing....I've not always valued what was most important....but now, at the age of 55, being in the Peace Corps, and seeing these two kids together with their outlook on life and friendship, can show anyone that with a friend in hand you can see the light---with a friend in hand, everything will be alright!