African Skies

"Last night I lay in bed looking up at the stars in the sky, and I thought to myself, where the heck in the ceiling!" 

The incurable romantic in me can't stop being in awe of the African skies, so I decided that they deserve an entire blog post, even though it's hard to capture this in words. There have been many times in my life where I've looked up to a brilliant sky filled with stars---in the Rocky Mountains, North Carolina, and in Peru where I first saw the Southern Cross. The sun setting off the coast of California and west Florida, or behind the amazing Himalayas is equally as amazing as the stars, yet nothing seems to compare with the skies of Africa.  Being on safari in Zambia over a year ago, I asked someone if it was my imagination, or if the skies here seem vastly different than anywhere else. The man instantly agreed with my perception, trying to explain it away with how the unspoiled endless plains are giving it that feel. No matter, it really doesn't need an explanation, it's simply magnificant, magical, mystical!  

Each night as I clean up in the kitchen, through the window,  I watch the sun go down amidst the trees, with one lone tall tree that somehow makes it's own statement of pure beauty. Night after night, I am amazed of the colors that light up the sky—night after night, it never looks the same, even though that one tree remains the same---night after night, it never ceases to stop me dead in my tracks. The sky then darkens, giving way to the Southern Cross and a million of it's brothers and sister stars. Some nights I look out to see a part of the sky looking as white as a glass of milk, hence the milky way I guess, and other nights, each star in this huge galaxy is clearly visible and radiates in a glow that seems to brighten the entire village, leaving distant reminders of the tech world that seems so irrelevant when you contemplate the universe.  The stars seem close enough to touch them at times, and when the moon takes it's many shapes throughout the month, it seems to have it's own relationship with the stars. When the moon is full, the stars disappear, and it's the one night that it's the moons turn to shine and stand alone.

During the day, especially on safari, the unspoiled plains show the rays of sun all day long. It's incredible! Ok, is everyone reading this ready to come check it out, or at least put it on your bucket list?  This evening, as Keoki and I were walking about the village, to my left, the sun was setting through some clouds showing bright shades of fire red and yellows, to my right the full moon was showing it's face, and in the not to far distance, there were huge, dramatic bolts of lightning.  My eyes didn't know which way to look first, and it made me feel so far away from the life I once led.  It just seems that no matter what's happening on the nature side, it's bigger, brighter, and more dramatic here than anywhere else on earth. One night during training, my mom asked me why I go outside. I told her that in my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd see anything like what's her backyard on a nightly basis—something so unique—so African.  So like a good mom, she comes to check out what it was I was seeing. She agreed it was beautiful, how you can feel the presence in the skies, yet sadly, she said it was too bad that it's just taken for granted here, that most people can't even point out the Southern Cross, or even know what it is for that matter. What a shame that we all take for granted what's in our own backyards!  With all this beauty around me, I feel incredibly fortunate to be experiencing this continent, and incurable romantic or not, for the next two years, I for one, will never stop looking towards the African skies.  

Let's Pray

Let's Pray!

Ok here—it's hard to stop laughing, or at least to be bemused by what happens on a daily basis in my new school and town. On my first day of school, we have, supposedly, a one hour orientation for the new form 1 students. This meeting started around 9, or whenever someone shows, but one hour lasted til 3pm, no lunch, no english! Why is it so long you ask? I think they're praying, that's something that happens a lot around these parts.

Day 2—with not much to do but wander around, I ask my friend Nani in the kitchen why there isn't lunch for the kids today—no water in the village, no lunch. Poor babies---I see some goats over yonder, let's get a couple and fry 'em up! Chuckle! But still, no food! Let's Pray!

Day 3—I go up to the day guard, who is a sweet old man, and I ask him if he could intercept the donkey cart to come and collect my overflowing garbage that hasn't been picked up in three weeks. No donkey carts come to the house, but I come home to many donkeys in my yard, eating my weeds. Hey donkeys—either get out or take my garbage. They do neither! My new friend, Keoki the dog, sees that his master is distressed, so he turns into a farm boy, and lo and behold, he barks them away—but I still have my garbage. So next morning, I tell the guard that on Friday, I'll wait at the house for them. Ok, it's Friday, one cart comes to pick up the garbage: “Tsepho, can you make us breakfast since we got your garbage?” “Uh, not a chance today, besides, I paid for this service, and breakfast isn't in the contract” “Well, we'll get breakfast next time.” Yeah right---whenever next time may be! Five minutes later, another donkey cart pulls up. Boy, it's really my day for garbage pick up! I try to explain to them that one other cart just came to pick the garbage up, and they are totally baffled. Fun! At least they didn't ask for breakfast! When I get to school, I'm asked why I don't have my own donkey cart, and then asked by another why I have garbage. Well, because I really don't like donkeys, and secondly, I like to eat! Tsep—you should eat different then. Sure, I'll eat porridge and cabbage everyday of my life here like you do, and once in awhile I'll slaughter a cow for protein---this will make everyone happy! Seriously, it will!

Back to day 3—walking around campus with nothing to do, I see that only some classes have teachers in them. “What's up?” “Well, we really don't know what we're doing yet”--”Oh, why's that?” “I don't know.” “Why don't you pick up where you left off last term?” “Uh, I don't know, maybe next week we'll know more.” Great, at least the kids aren't destroying the classrooms—oops--there's nothing to destroy! So then my gun ho counterpart, who is always busy with kid problems, shows me our schedule so I can shadow her doing our Life Skills classes. This is getting me really excited—so I wait for our first class---uh, no counterpart. I find her later, and she politely states someone needs to be adopted, and she has to deal with it. Hmm, in our country, the guidance counselor doesn't do adoptions. Next class, no counterpart—sorry Tsep, a student didn't have a uniform and we had to deal with this crisis. OK! Finally on Day 4 I get to observe a 20 minute Life Skills class, where the kids won't speak. Excellent! They probably didn't talk because they were in shock of actually seeing a teacher. Day 4 continues with some kids fighting. Why doesn't someone stop this? Why doesn't anyone teach so they don't fight? “We're tired!” TIRED, you just had 7 weeks off--”we're tired from last year still.” The police come for a visit to the school, but the fight has long ended, and they're just there to check on something else. I see my police friends--”Hey Tsepho, howzit.” “Great, how come you guys don't come to my house when I call you scared half to death?” “We're tired!” “Tsepho, I haven't had a day off in forever.” My oh my, if everyone's so tired, why don't they get some sleep, or go for a donkey cart ride to liven things up! OY! Let's Pray!

Day 5—Forget this school stuff, I wander to the Post Office to play on the internet, on the way daydreaming of having a cappuccino and reading the NY times in my old beloved Wildberries. Later on, I put daydreams aside, and go to a late afternoon teacher meeting. Boy, I can't wait to see how this goes! The meeting is held in a computer room with none that work, and we're all sitting behind these big archaic machines, so you can barely even see who's across from you. At least the speaker stands---this is smart! Meeting starts with praying—then we're asked to review and correct last meetings minutes. Teacher speaks wanting to correct typos in minutes on page one—VP speaks—maybe we'll be here all day if we correct typos—let's pray. Going on with the meeting agenda, someone starts to expand on a topic—VP says, we'll be here all day if we keep talking—let's pray! VP asks for help on a different topic—no response! Let's Pray! Ah, we have a new subject this term, French, yay, maybe I'll sit in on this class—whaaat---no French teacher, and the students haven't been briefed about this, but maybe they'll find us one soon---yeah right, just like they'll find me a refrig soon! “How many students should we put into the class?”—no response! Let's Pray!

As the meeting adjourns ,with a prayer of course, my counterpart tells me to have a great weekend and says we'll do lot's of work next week—yeah sure! Don't get me wrong here, the teachers are great, one is teaching me Setswana for free, one comes over my house to learn chi gong and meditation, and a few want me to try the traditional brew made around these parts. I'm not a big drinker, but sure, I'll try anything, the other day I tried a mobane worm! Disgusting! What I found out this first real week of school is that there are rules--but who knows what they are, classes are taught or not, meetings happen but nobody tells you til the last minute, or you're just magically supposed to know, and Africans know no time. Things just happen when they happen, and you just have to deal with it! No wonder the Peace Corps stresses that patience is virtue. But yay, it's Friday, and in the comfort of my new bug ridden home, with my new crazy dog, my friend Leah stopping by to tell me how happy she is that our friendship has time to get broad, and with the loudest crackling thunder in the background, I sit in gratitude for the humor around me--but I wonder if anyone knows a French teacher to import to us! Let's Pray!

P.S. I'll be in a Peace Corps training from Jan 22-31, (then I turn 55 years young on Feb. 1), so if you don't see any new posts during that time, it's because I may not have internet! Thanks to everyone who has sent me stuff from the states---but hey—it's causing a big garbage problem! Let's Pray!   

Sisterly love!

Family takes on different meanings at different times in ones life.  We have our natural family,  friend families, work families, and animal families.  So here in Botswana, I am not surprised to have another family, actually two families, my host family, and my Peace Corps family...it's just par for the course.  I grew up having just one brother who is tall, handsome, successful, quiet, and let's see what other good stuff I can say about him.  Me, I was opposite...short, active, curious, and always in trouble...but successful too!  Brothers do funny things to show their love and affection like hiding in your closet and pretending he's a ghost, or telling me that my bed is from Africa with snakes in it, or tickling me under the chin til I was tortured.  Nice guy, ya gotta watch out for those nice quiet ones.  He even taught my 3 nieces how to torture me under the chin.  Even though those were childhood experiences, it's no wonder I check my bed here every night for snakes, well, it's not really a bed, but I am sleeping in Africa.  Wouldn't it have been nice to have sisters, especially older ones who would show you the way.  Not that I want to get rid of my brother, but hey!  It was so much fun hanging out with my older girl cousins growing up in the old days, as well as watching my grandmother and her 3 sisters go at it all the time.  There just didn't seem anything that could break that bond.  Now in Africa, I seemed to have gotten my wish with 3 sisters I can call my own.  Kesego is 6 and we have an established relationship...she rules the roost, and I turn into a 6 year old, pouting when I don't win a game.  Peo, 23, is sometimes in her own internet world, but we've had some really good, long chats about life.  She has even snapped at me a few times---makes me feel right at home.  Joy, 36, the outgoing one, is living in the UK getting her Ph.D.  She comes homes every so often, but most recently she was in China for several months doing an internship.  Joy hated China, hated it's food, hated it's people, hated it's street life, hated everything.  I'm here drooling over her descriptions of the food, the people who shove you all around, and it's vibrant street life.  Gee Joy, ya couldn't have even brought me an egg roll for the new year!  Joy is great though, and the minute she landed in Botswana, she called me to say hi!  Now that's a nice sister--eggroll or not!

Recently, it was about 4 in the afternoon, when Joy and Mom came knocking on my door in Mmathethe, with a food basket, and telling me to get dressed we're going out a night on the town.  Uh, what town?  There's nothing around for at least 30 miles or so.  What the hey---I ate my late lunch, packed an overnight bag just in case, fed crazy Keoki, and hopped in the car.  "Where we going mom."  "I don't know, we're just going like the birds do."  Great, I love being a free spirit, going to nowhere in 500 degree heat.  She was right, we wound up in the middle of nowhere to watch traditional dancers and singers bringing in the New Year.  It was so beautiful out in the middle of nowheresville.  Mom immediately noticed that so many were greeting me, so she said, "Tshepo, since you are the Mayor around here, can you get us some food."  They only cook for the dancers, but I was served immediately!  It feels good to have Mayor status in these parts!  As soon as I got my plate, Joy shoved her hands in and ate everything.  "Tshep, you better get something for mom."  I get another plate, and Joy shoves her hands in and eats everything.  I slap her vulture hands, embarrassed, I ask humbly for another plate.  "Tshepo, you sure are hungry tonight."  "Yes, I haven't eaten in days, I'm as starved as a vulture." "Well then, you can have anything you want sweetie."  Joy is behind me laughing, and mom is just proud to have a daughter with clout around the food table!  Joy is satiated now, sitting back on the chair, as I sit on the dirt, leaning up against her legs.  She leans over and tells me that as much as misses African food, she misses the smell of the dirt more.  I tilt my head back to watch her proudly sniffing and watching her native land.  I guess no matter where you are, home never leaves you, and I sat wondering how many plates I'll stick my hands into whenever I get home.

That night, the 4 of us sisters sat huddled together, laughing about Joy being a pig, and talking about mom, family, our differences, and wondering why nobody in this town has a pool we can cool off in.  Since it's so hot, we all fall asleep in the only semi-cool room in the house.  I awoke before all with Joy's feet in my face, Kesego's head on my stomach, Peo dreaming of Facebook, and mom at the doorway just looking at this sight.  She motioned for me to get up, and when I did, she gave me a heartfelt look, one of those right through your soul looks, and said to me, "Tshepo, you were meant to come here."  Anxiously waiting for her to tell my why on earth I'm not in Asia where my heart is, she says, "We have been your family for many moons, now go wash your mouth and make us breakfast."  Frankly, I didn't think she had it in her to talk like a far out Californian, but something in her knows that we were meant to find each other.

sister Joy enjoying birthday brownies from the USA

I don't know how my time here will play out, or what's in store, but maybe she's right---maybe this family and I are cosmically tied to one another in some way.  What I do know is that I feel very loved by each and every one of them, especially my sisters, and I feel a sense of peace brewing in me---something I haven't felt in a very long time.  It's funny though, last night when we got home, out of the blue, mom said, "wouldn't it nice if we were in Thailand."  I popped up and started packing my bags!  But no matter, whether in Thailand or Africa, I have 3 sisters and great family ties here in Africa that I have come to love----now only if I had that egg roll--life would be perfect!

The Hitch Hiker!

Hitch hiking is a part of being in Botswana. Everyone does it, it's easy, it's fast, it's safe! Back in the 60's in the good old USA, hitching used to be cool with long haired hippies sticking their thumbs out, but nowadays it's sadly a dying form of transport.  Late today, the hippie spirit in me, hitched a ride to Kanye, and was picked up by a really nice lady coming home from a days work. Of course everyone you meet wants to know what a white woman is doing here, how we like Botswana, and how many kids do you have.  Women are respected for having children, and because of the low population in Botswana, even the President encourages women to have lots of babies, whether they are in or out of wedlock. Knowing this, (and being a little sick of women putting me down with their eyes when I tell them I have no children), I tell her I have a respectable 3 kids, Nikko, Simon, and Alex, who are currently living with their Aunt Marilyn. I had 4 children, one of them, Sasha, died a year ago from a bum kidney at the tender age of 14. The woman driving is pleased that I have children, sympathetic about my Sashi, yet doesn't think twice about them living with an aunt. Most children at a certain age here live with a relative due to schooling or other purposes. I am ever so pleased, if not amused, with my fabricated story to save face on this given day. It's actually an innocuous fabrication, she doesn't need to know that my children all have 4 legs and fir!

Inevitably, when talking with an African for any length of time, the American is always questioned about Obama. Some ask questions with confidence---”Do you know Obama?” “Yeah, he lives down the street from me, and Michelle is in my bookclub.” “Oh, isn't she just wonderful?” “Sure is, and don't you just love her hair!” Quizzically, others ask, as this woman did, “How do you think he's doing as President?” “Well, our economy is down the drain, our country is falling apart, and Obama has practiced for 3 years saying to foreign dignitaries “Hi, I'm not George Bush!” Yet others with more puzzled looks in their eyes, almost afraid of an answer, ask, “Do you like him?” “Sure I do, astrologically he's a Leo, and an Ox in Chinese Astrology, I should be a perfect match for him—but did you know he hates mayonaise.” “Huh!” “What sign are you?” “Huh!”

Africans have always had divergent views on Americans, and since Obama has Kenyan heritage, he has changed some of their views on America.  Obama holds a special place in their hearts.  In fact, this woman says that Obama has a King's status here in Africa, well, even more, he is revered like a God. Whew, that's big! When Obama came to Africa he said, “You can conquer disease, end conflicts, and make changes from the bottom up.” These are words they hold onto—this is also, in part, of why Peace Corps is here. When Michelle came to Botswana last April, this woman said she never saw someone so beautiful in her whole life—she is also our role model, our hero as women! Notably, the PCV's got to meet her—I wish I had been there then--what a thrill it was for them!  Anyway, we went onto talk about people in Africa idolizing America even more because of the Obama's---she called the USA the land of opportunity with unimaginable wealth—a place where Africans, like herself, can only hope one day to see with their own eyes.

How does one really respond to something like this? Yeah, America is great in many ways, but lady, I left because our abundance is making me crazy, and ruining our children to an extent. Obama did break racial barriers in our country, which is a good thing, but I always thought there would be a woman President before a black President, and he's certainly not held in King or Godly status. You, as Africans, should be happy with your simplicity, embrace it, you are living where humankind began—nothing can strip that away! The Dali Lama would be proud of the simplicity here in Africa---Ok Tshepo, get a grip! As this woman went into a dream-like state and started swirving off the road, I call her back, “hey lady, he isn't that good looking.” Coming back onto the road, she replied, “Oh yes he is—in our eyes, not only is he good looking, he's everything!” I realized then, that Obama, is somehow their string of hope!

As we were approaching the gentle rolling hills of Kanye, she asks my name, asks me if I miss my kids, and thanks me for the conversation. Smiling, she said, “Tshepo, since you know Obama, I won't charge you for the ride.” Wow, this was a great hitch, ke a laboga! Thanks lady! I'll tell Michelle you said hi!

When I got home to my ever level headed mom in Kanye, I told her all about my hitch hiking experience with the nice lady swirving off the road. Agreeing that Obama was/is so popular, she too, couldn't help but jump on the Obama bandwagon, but she's to even keeled to revere him like a God. And so, for the next 2 hours, mom and I cooked my ever so favorite African foods, had a wonderful and heartfelt chat about politics, children, life---and as the bright stars came out over the African sky, mom said the family nightly prayer, asking God to forgive me for my sin today, but with humor, blessed my children anyway!

A Gardeners Soul

“To dig one's spade into one's own earth—has life anything better to offer than this.” B. Nichols

“I wake up every morning, go outside to touch my garden—to feel it's leaves—to smell it's flower's-- to water and nurture—this is what makes me happy.” These are the words of my good friend Leah!

The day I walked past her house and garden, my mouth dropped in awe. Have I seen more beautiful, lush gardens before, absolutely, but there was something uniquely special in this land—something spiritual from someone's soul that grabbed me into stillness. Moments later, the most beautiful woman came to open the gate saying, “you are welcome.” She somehow got that I saw “her being” through her garden. Taking a good look into her eyes, and without words, we began walking her land. Green beer bottles were used for borders, old tires were painted which graced the entrance way, and used for decoration around plants and trees, sticks and limbs of trees were carefully placed for seating or for dramatic backdrops for other greenery, and stones, both large and small, were situated in a fen-shui manner—some were painted, others not—but there in her garden was a poetic and mysterious feeling of serenity and joy. The entire ambiance, and the nature of this woman was pleasing to the eye, and pleasing to the soul—It was, indeed, a piece of heaven! Thanking her, I left as quietly and as in awe as I came in.

Her name is Leah—biblical and beautiful! In the weeks to come, we slowly became friends. My admiration for what she has created made her laugh at times, but as our friendship grew, she invited me into her humble home, where again, I was stopped by the magic in her creation of bringing nature into one single room. Baskets and weavings from Zimbabwe, sticks that she made into works of art, skeleton parts from animals—all fit into an assembly that a museum would be proud to display. It was on this day that Leah put her hands to her heart and said, “I have very little, but I have my art, and my garden—nobody can take that away, so I guess I have a lot!” Not yet knowing her story, I knew that all her hurts were healed through her creation here.

Leah grew up in a family of 5 children with loving parents. She did not attend a University, nor was she encouraged to do something with her life. She did, however, receive love from her family which has given her the inner fortitude to combat whatever came her way. As a child, Leah would create things with rocks or painting—saying that she knew then that she had God given talent. At 26 years of age, Leah married, having 4 children of her own, though it was a brutal marriage, and a rough divorce. She came back to Mmathethe with nothing, and told me that her garden used to be more beautiful, but having left for several years due to the divorce, things fell apart. Now she is rebuilding her garden and her soul. Looking at her, she seems to know who she is, what her relation to the world is, and what to expect of it. Most others would have damaged psyche's from the stress, but not Leah—she had her talent, and her garden, to pull her through the rough times!

Willingly, Leah tells me that Africa is in her soul, and that she's proud to be an African. I ask her why that was, and looking up, she points and says, “there's art in our skies,” “people come from all over the world to see our nature, and our animals—yes indeed, I am very proud to be an African.” I then asked her if she were to pick anywhere in the world to visit, where would that be—Paris. Of course an artists' mind would pick Paris, even though she had never even heard of the Louvre, but with that, Leah put her arm through mine, and we pretend to be walking the narrow cobblestone streets of the left bank, sitting at a cafe having an espresso and croissant, beeming at the sight of the Mona Lisa, watching people as we sit on the steps of Notre Dame, and walking along the Sienne—admiring the lined statues, and in the distance, admiring the strength of the Eifle Tower. I was her eyes for our stroll through Paris, and her own eyes were filled with wonder for a moment in time. “But Tshepo, I will always come back to Africa!” “And you should Leah---to your own museum!”

After our trip to Paris, I took many photos of Leah's 3 daughters and 3 grandchildren who have been visiting for the holidays. Showing the photos to them on the computer was a thrill in itself. Somehow Africans go crazy for seeing photos! Later that afternoon, Leah called me, “Tshepo, look outside at the clouds—can you take a picture of them?” “Sure Leah, I'd be glad to photograph any art you see.” I looked outside to see huge cumulous clouds with bursts of sunshine in the vast skies, and through my lens, I sought to capture what Leah saw.

                    “Kiss of the sun for pardon,

                           Song of the birds for mirth.

                                 You're closer to God's heart in a garden

                                         Than anyplace else on earth.” D.F. Gurney

I Slept With WHO!

Relationships are a funny thing—some take the time to get to know the person—some don't care if they know 'em or not—some don't even do relationships. The Peace Corps warns us about relationships because of the HIV, as well as many other diseases and problems. Yet people fall in love, marry, or just have an experience that they'll probably regret later on. Me, well, I am in the “pause” of menopause, yet I think I just had an “experience” in a relationship. You know, when it's New Years Eve, and it's stormy outside, your in a foreign country, a rural village with more cows than people, things just get stirred. I've only known him for a week---Ok---don't jump out of your skin---don't put me on the gossip circuit---don't start calling me names---just let me explain!  My porch is covered by an awning, and last week it was windy and pouring, and the porch was flooded. At the time I didn't have my wild beast Keoki so I didn't care. So on this stormy night, I kept opening my door to see if Keoki was getting wet. Why I should even care is beyond me—people in Africa don't bring in Lion and Cows when it's raining, or their dogs for that matter. It's around 9pm and I've been up and down 3 times checking on him. He looked so cold---so lonely--actually, he was sound asleep for the first time all day on the nice cardboard boxes I made for him. But I woke him up and asked if he wanted to come in to share a glass of some nice South African wine with me, to keep us warm, and to celebrate the New Year coming in.  His ears perked! Hey sure, I've already told all my friends about the meat and chicken your giving me, their sure to be envious of South African wine. In he comes, tale a waggin---let's make a toast Keoki since it's almost the New Year---here's to a nice 2 year relationship and then we'll call it quits. Sounds good to me! He's so happy, and I bring him into my room not knowing what to expect. A little leary about this, I set down some card board for him and close the door because he'll rip up everything I have, which is virtually nothing—but still—it's all the nothing I have. He's ever so curious and through my mosquito net, he starts biting my toes. How romantic boy! Somehow he weasles his long nose under the net and climbs up on my bed, biting my arms, legs, blanket, whatever he can get a hold of. Hey, Keoki, your a little aggressive here—after all it's our first night together, can't you be a little gentle? He finally settles and plops right at the foot of my bed acting like he's king tut! An African dog sleeping with a Lekgoa! Wow! 10,9,8,...2,1—the ball has dropped, confetti is flying, people are kissing---and I'm sleeping with a dog in Africa! This is the weirdest New Years of my whole life!

At first it was comforting having a dog on my bed, then I looked at him and thought—what if he has to pee—what if he wakes up in a strange bed, with a strange women and decides to attack—what if he has a disease---what if he has a girlfriend---he's not even my type—he's so ugly! Yikes, what a BIG mistake I've made! Every move I make, he pops up---clearly, this is gonna be one of those long, regretful nights. I'm cracking though because I don't know what to do—his royal hyness looks so happy. The God's though are on my side, the rain stops, and I tell the dog I'm putting him back outside, but I'm now scared to open the door because there are always people lurking around and it's late. Getting him out of bed was not easy—I tell him that it's been great, but my parents are coming home soon and he's got to get out fast, so 1,2,3, I open the door, and guess who won't budge. Finally I shove him out, he turns back to look at me through the barred door...wondering if all white women are so fickle. See ya Keoki, I'll call ya sometime!

It's funny the things a Peace Corps Volunteer will do under such lonely and strange circumstances! My New Years resolution: I resolve not to sleep with strangers!

Happy 2012 to everyone!

P.S. The South African wine was delicious!

Whole Foods

When you're first starting out as a Peace Corps Volunteer, there's not much to do but integrate, read, and think--especially when your primary job is in the schools which have been out for 6 weeks on summer vacation.  Oh sure, we have this community assessment to do, but guess what--anybody whose anybody in this small village is also away having good holiday cheer with their cows at the cattlepost, or at their lands plowing and praying for rain.  So, which brings me to thinking about Whole Foods, affectionately known in the good old days as Mrs. Gooches.  I wish they would have kept that name, it's so catchy!  Anyway, going to Whole Foods was one of my favorite things to do, other than going to Asia of course, which tells ya how exciting my mid life was going!  I went nearly everyday, knew everyone there, sometimes I would just go to look at the beautiful and delicious array of fruits and veggies, or chat with friends who frequent there.  Fortunately, or unfortunately right now, in this current incarnation, I'm an organic health freak now living in a country that has the world's worst diet.  They put margarine, colorings, preservatives in everything and anything, even freshly made bread.  It makes me so sick that I can't even have a piece of bread, which is why I'm sitting here daydreaming about Whole Foods.

Going to the supermarket here--we'll call it Choppies--couldn't be more opposite from my Whole Foods experience---it's my least favorite thing to do.  There is no market in my village, so I have to take the dreaded kombie ride to either one of two towns.  No joke, the other day people were clammering and shoving me away to get on the kombie--you'd think they were running into Shea Stadium to see the Beatles.  It was awful, so in an act of desperation, I put the hook of my umbrella around someone's neck so I can get in.  Funny, the person could have cared less that I was trying to kill her for a dreaded kombie ride to the dreaded supermarket.  Finally, I'm here, in my least favorite place in the world, and Whoa, people are shoving me around, sticking their hands and bodies over me, around me, through me, just to get freakin' can of preserverative ladened whatever.  Come on people, how can you be so nice when talking in the villages, and you get in a kombie, or in a store in this case, and you turn into animals?  I just don't get it!  Onward to make my way to the veggie section, I close my eyes and pray that when I open them I'll be back in Whole Foods, where people are sane--they even say excuse me if bumped, they ask what you're making for dinner, they say hello, they are sooooo normal!  My eyes open and reality hits--I'm still in this god foresaken Choppies---maybe if I click my heals 3 times, Santa Clause (if there was one here) will zap me to Whole Foods.  Please Santa, it doesn't have to be as far as California, London will do just fine!

Groceries in hand, it is now time to check out, but this can be worse than actually getting your groceries.  I compare this to the kombie rides because today, I'm in line and someone puts their groceries in my basket--just like handing over a kid to ya on the bus.  Hey lady, whatta ya doing?  She looks at me snarling at her, and says, "hold this, I'll be back later."  Sure lady, whatever you say!  I see that people just take things out they really don't want and put them on the check out stand to sit there probably til closing, so I think I'll put her stuff there too.  It's finally my turn to check out, and I'm trying to get my stuff out as the checker is just staring at me--no hello, or how are you like they do at Whole Foods...just, let's get this over with!  I forget to weigh an onion, so it's 10 minutes til someone comes back to tell us how much the onion is--you would think she's start ringing up the other items while we wait, but no, the common sense factor is turned off today---next item, the checker yells out "does anyone know how much this costs?"  Of course nobody answers, and it's another 10 minutes finding the price of this. I look back at the people in the now longer line, and they all have the same expression on their faces as the checker---BLANK!  Ok, this is really fun...I wish someone would start yelling or something---how can they be so crazy in the isles, and on the check out line, so, well, so nothing!  Now the lady who put her groceries in my basket returns and shoves her way behind me, smiles at how neatly I threw her stuff on the counter.  "Where'd ya go lady, Tokyo?"  "Huh!" "Never mind."

It's finally over, but going outside of Choppies is also a fiasco with the so called Black Market selling potatoes and cabbage.  Yum!  I stop to take this all in and ask myself why on earth the PC didn't send me to Thailand with it's coconuts, vibrant markets, and gentle people I'll never know, but here I am resorting to fantasizing about Whole Foods coming to Botswana!

I wonder what my fellow PCV's have been thinking about this holiday season!