Yo Ho Spirit

Batswana are deeply religious folks, prayers are said before and after every meeting, event, meal, and in the face of poverty and disease, faith should be strong.  I'm not exactly a religious human being though I have faith, it's just more of a Yo Ho Spirit--a strong need for freedom physically, mentally, and spiritually. For the most part I've avoided all contact with Church, other than going to a few Crusades, and with the exception of going once when 3 mom's here came to the door saying “we love you, you are our friend, and we want to share our church with you.” How could I refuse such a passionately plea, so the Jew in the Lotus went merrily to church, sang with them, prayed with them, made them and the community happy.  I know that God shows all of us mere mortals how it's supposed to be done, but it's quite conservative here, and there are few people like my host mom, whom I absolutely love listening to her unique spin on weekly sermons.  She adds a touch of quirky humor that sings to my Yo Ho Spirit, almost like she's been in contact with the Dali Lama himself. She realizes that God is like a seasoned rocker who wants to show all the upstarts of what real rock and roll sounds like.

The past few weeks in our weekly school briefing, the head of school has taken the opportunity to take out the bible and preach to the staff. I totally get that she is doing this for a very good reason due to some recent events, to lead and inspire---but initially, it took me off guard, and I felt like calling Google and having them delete Mmathethe off the map---it just didn't sit well with me for the moment. But I quickly recovered, realizing the importance religion and God have here, and though I'm losing a bit when she flips into Setswana---the gist of what's being said is that when God says something, it not only gets things done, but it also carries a little momentum---and good momentum is what's needed now in the school.  So don't be surprised when God works through you and it continues to grow bigger and more wonderful. The aspect of his character is built into the very fabric of the universe, and he's always taking people by surprise, always telling creative stories to illustrate a point.

In the way she knew best, she's trying to illustrate a point, she wants the staff to be respectful, have good relationships, and be motivated to be good teachers and citizens, but I'm looking around to empty faces, thinking that God fled the room, and realizing that there is no 5 step Program to getting God to show up or listen even with the beating of drums or the playing of flutes.  But at that moment, a very wonderful, soft spoken teacher began to tell a story about losing a cow, and instead of praying for the cow to return, he gave money to several people for various reasons. To make a longer story short, the cow reappeared after he'd given up hope on finding the cow. People woke up when he spoke through his big smile, people laughed at his analogies and spin on what the head of school was saying, and I knew at that moment, God came back into the room, maybe to witness the more Yo Ho Spirit.  

We're all born “free agents,” and whatever belief system you have, the universe wants us to take that free agent for a spin, to laugh, to enjoy, to do good in the world, to be good teachers and people.  I think that's what our head of school is trying to say, and having a cow in the room just made the preaching a touch of out of the box, just like God likes it.

Here a Tuck, There a Tuck, Everywhere a Tuck Shop

Growing up, especially when I was visiting my cousins and grandparents in the Bronx, everything always tasted better at the corner store. I could taste those delicious 10 cent egg creams right now---deeeeelicious! Those corner stores slowly faded, but the occasional one still around, is still absolutely deeeeelicious! Here in Botswana, we also have small corner stores called Tuck Shops. They are small food selling retailers, or quite informal convenience shops, usually run from home, though there are many next to important places like a clinic or the educational center where we trained in Kanye. To my dismay, there are no deeeeelicious egg creams, rather, the tuck shop foods here hardly meet any nutritional standard---and I swear---those Bronx egg creams were undoubtedly nutritional in my book.

The Tuck Shop though is the spirit of our village street culture here, and they are the people who create, innovate, and improve their lives. So, I noticed since the time I moved here, my neighbor and great friend wakes up daily to start making fat cakes, throws one to Keoki, and then lugs a big barrel of them and lollipops all the way across the village to make a small pula for the day. It looked so hard, greasing yourself up, stirring the batter, walking that far in this heat, cold, or crazy rainstorms. So I asked her one day why she couldn't get her own tuck shop, after all, her fat cakes are better than most around here, and we wound up having a long talk about succeeding in these parts. Well, the subject was dropped until about a month ago, she came to my door and told me she bought a tuck shop and was going to pick it up tonight. “What do you mean, pick it up?” Naively, I really assumed Tuck Shops, or any shops are built or bought at sight. Is this like moving a house from one town to the next? I was deeply confused!

Well, indeed, the tin tuck shop was delivered, and ok, naively, I gave her a week to set it up, and then I would come and take photos. I went---I was greeted with all sorts of huge smiles and hugs, inviting me in, watching the fat cake making, watching people make instant coffee, but there are no goodies in the shop, just fat cakes and coffee. I make some suggestions about getting tables outside, painting the shop, learning to make banana bread, and having a coffee shop/tuck shop with pizazz like nobody has seen before. Well, they love the idea and were jumping all over me! Now I have to figure a way to put it together in a short time.

I walked away feeling so proud for my friend, but the quirky side of me also thought that someone should make a reality TV show called the "Tuck Shop Ladies. " It would be so explosive, in one episode, the entire Tuck Shop owners would be made redundant, in another, an irate parent would hurl abuse at the new tuck shop owners for taking fat cakes off the menu in lieu of something healthier. Elimination episodes would take place where parents and TS owners would battle it out in the style of a Jerry Springer show. The stakes would be really high because a good tuck shop can make bucks---there would tears, award ceremonies, and of course cooking. Botswana would never be the same!

Keep dreaming Lynn---but the real message is that someone who had nothing took a chance of improving her life, it took courage, endurance, and strength, and when I went to sleep thinking of the tiny pie warmers in the shop and stuff strewn around, the people milling because of her popularity, I thought how lucky she is to have her tin tuck shop with the best fat cakes in town!  Now if I can only teach her how to make an egg cream!

Love Thy Neighbor, Love Thy Cow

How do we begin to understand who gets loved, cared for and how, and whose life gets to be grieved. This should not only be constituted within the realm of human beings, and in my world, pre-peace corps, animals found themselves here, live according to the rules of human beings, and are loved and cared for.  I've come to realize though that there is much short-sightedness and an inability to articulate how being cruel and harmful to others, especially animals, is not, in my mind how I want Africa to be.

When I came here, I was a softie, and tried to bond with chickens and cows around the yard---I even went so far as to name one chicken “Dumpling,” but to my naïve surprise, Dumpling hung around long enough to fatten up, and one night I found my neighbor and Keoki chasing down Dumpling for dinner. I quickly learned that I better adapt seamlessly to this new culture, keep my humor at all times, to not question the notion of sentience, the capacity to feel, perceive, or be conscious when it comes to animal life around here.  But I'm not here right now exactly to go on a rampage about how inhumanely animals are treated here---I do realize these animals are their bread and butter---but they can at least be nicer to dogs.

This week has just been something else.  I alluded to my week long cow fiasco in my prior blog post, tearing down the fence, wrecking my organic garden, plopping poops all over the place, and lounging around like they want me to give them a beer after their hearty grass meal. Sure, the chaos of the nightly activities were annoying, and the half dead cow by the fence was a show for all. Some thought I did this to the cow, others laughed, and some just shook their heads, but nobody was doing anything to help, or even to put the cow out of his misery which was what pissed me off. The police were here and laughed, they wouldn't get someone to try and save it, and I was left with a shallow breathing cow in my yard for almost a week.

Well, today I came home from my primary classes and I see all this commotion by the cow, and then about 8 police came sauntering towards me asking me for food.  Why police would ask this is beyond me!  I go over to see a group of guys start the slaughtering of this cow, and I'm watching them with their slaughter skills, watching the chaos and blood around me with some vegetarian repulsion, and then I was just startled when one of the guys taps me on the back, I turn around to see him holding a big fat slab of liver and says “Tshep, Tshep, this is our gift to you for the cows breaking down the fence, take a bite."  Gee guys, thanks, this slab of meat should surely pay for the fence---I think I'll show it to my landlord, blood and all!  I look, I smile at the blood dripping down my pants, I thank them realizing that the slab of liver is showing respect, but my lord, what do they think---this is Dances with Wolves, and I'm gonna just take a chunk of bite from this bloody liver!  Then they ask me for a piece of metal from the house, I wasn't about to say no with all the knives around, and lo and behold, a Brai was started. They used my metal, my rocks, my wood, to start a fire and start the cooking after 2 hours of carving.  People were parading down the path with plastic bags for a piece of my cow, then the guys said something to me I will never in my lifetime forget---”Tshepula---Go get us some salt!”  Ya gotta love it I guess!

I may never come or want to understand the relationship between man and animal in other cultures, and after this, even though I know this is common practice around here, I will surely go back to my vegetarian ways when I get home, but I wish they would have at least had a little ceremony for the poor cow, or at least blessed the meat before eating it---anything would have made me feel better about animal life in the village----For now though, the real gift is Love Thy Neighbor for who and how they are, and DEFINATELY, Love Thy Cow!

No June Cleaver Here!

“My mother's on the phone again—I talk, but she won't listen—she said “just one minute honey!"---I think it's been a year.  

Awhile back I received a card in the mail, actually a very late Holiday card from the family.  It was one of those custom made photo cards. The card was delivered at school, where no sense of privacy exists, therefore, I was immediately swarmed by kids anticipating what on earth is gonna come out of the white envelope.  When the card appeared, after oohs and ahhs, pointing and grabbing, I slowly went through each color in the photos, what the writing said, and pointed out who was who. Telling them about each person like it was like sharing hope with them.  But then something happened---I pointed out who my mother was, and instantaneously, kids started smiling, and then screaming---Tshepo's mom is here, come look. Well, come and look they did, about 250 of them smothering me to see my mom.

When I left that day, I asked around to find out why the photo of my mom got such a strong reaction.  I was told two things---one, they learn in the Bible that any time a mom lives after the age of 70 is a gift because most people around these parts don't live long lives. The next is that most of these kids are orphans, their moms either are to poor, or have died of AIDS, so the novelty of even having a mom, let alone one who is about to turn 80, is a real thrill for them.  They know nothing of a June Cleaver, the quintessential mom during the post war era, who exemplified the idealized mom, dishing up moral guidance and comfort alongside her hearty and well balanced 5pm dinner.  (Secretly though, I always wondered what June would be like after a 6 pack!)

Maybe these kids don't get to sit around the dinner table hearing stories about their relatives, maybe they don't have that Cleaver clan that builds true identity, and maybe inside they are longing for a real family. I'm lucky now to have two mom's---my mother at home, and my new mom here in Botswana. I want to say that my mom here in Botswana has treated me no different than she treats her own kids. I have to do chores, she doesn't listen to me when she's on the phone, she tells me stories about her family in the past, she yelps at me when I do something wrong, and this has certainly helped form who I am as a Botswana PCV. There is no need for the actual genetic connection, our connection is just as intricate as if I really were born to this wonderful family.

Yet, it's funny that 50 years have gone by since the day of June Cleaver, but we still get hung up by own stereotype of "good" mother, and have our own pre-conceived notions of "good."  I've come to realize that each wonderfully unique woman in every culture and life circumstance can be a truly great mom in her own right.  Ultimately, aren't we all a combo of many factors---and while we may have certain proclivities, expressions, talents, or shortcomings, it's what makes us unique and complex. So for the kids in these villages who rarely have a family as we know it, I hope that they have some special mom figure in their life to say Happy Mothers Day to---and for me, I'm lucky to get to say to two mom's this year.

The Merciful Law of Karma

So, what is all this mumbo jumbo floating around in my head lately about karma.  Is Karma something that's always lurking in the shadows just waiting for you to make a mistake or do something bad, and when you have---it seems to wait for just that perfect time to get you back for what you did days, weeks, months, years, or lifetimes ago.

While I always ascribe to the Fortune Cookie School of Psychology, I have often wondered, does everything that goes around really come back around. And if so, will it come back to bite you in the ass? Is there such a thing as relationship karma? If karma is the concept of action vs. deed, a cycle of cause and effect, action vs. reaction that governs all life, if we sow good seeds, we will reap good seeds? Is karma the merciful law which is our teacher, our friend, or our foe? So many questions?

I'm thinking about this for a variety of reasons though. With the enormity of choices we make throughout our lives, I made one, that in the twinkling of an eye, I was transported around the world to another continent, a new land with new woods, and with strange people carrying things on their heads. Yet, before I came to this strange land, I thought my karma was in a bad coma, and now with less than 6 months til I depart, has my karma revived?  I never blamed 'karma' for anything, but maybe I needed to (en) lighten up a bit.  So now I wonder if the God's gonna give me good karma because I joined the PC and tried to do good deeds everyday?

The answer may be yes and no.  During my service, I badly sprained an ankle, and a wrist, lost one passport, and ate a forbidden orange. That's not so bad considering I had many thoughts of killing  people sitting on top of me in 105 heat on kombie rides, and I'm probably still being bit by past schtick!  On the other hand, I believe there was a purpose to be played out here, and at the ripe old age of not so young, I found out that friends come in all shapes and sizes, and my karma led me to friendships I soon won't forget, but in particular to a young boy named Lefika. I can go on and on about him, but from the onset, there was a recognition on a soul level, our frequencies matched, we've learned to trust, love, and share.  He's only 7, but a brilliant and wise one he is, and honestly, I don't know what my service would've been like without him. The power of his friendship gave me the gift of being my best self, and in doing so---please----maybe some good karma!

Desert Storm

I'm telling you, African storms are something else. It's mind blowing to the nth degree! The storms are events that I've never heard or seen anything like'em. A furious drum roll of thunder lasting well over 10 seconds, followed by terrifying streaks of lightening, howling desert winds that feel like the roof is gonna blow off, and yes, I scream and shout, or jump out of my skin at every flash and roll.  Even Keoki was startled at this one---he jumped right into bed with me and didn't move!  As if we need reminders that it is the end of rainy season, surprise surprise, the power is gone, and gone is the water too. What a wild few days its been. I run out in the torrential storm with my camera trying to catch a fantastic bolt of lightening, but as I stand around, shaking from the cold and soaked to the bone, the thunder rumbles, the lightening is coming, and instead of holding steadfast to take a photo, I'm scared out of my wits, and I run for cover.

Sitting here in the pitch dark with only the light remaining of my iphone is a strange feeling that I've gotten used to in almost 2 years. It makes me think of the things I don't have here and now, but really, all I need is an insanely good read, and a good blanket to hunker under.

Time has shot by like an arrow—roughly 6 more months to go, and when you are a PCV, I've found that you come across things that repulse you just as much as things entice you----like a scary storm. But in between the frantic weather, the sun shines, and I yelp for Lefika to come run with me into the bush so we can capture the rainbow that has appeared, and which reminds me what a wonderful beauty a thunderstorm can bring!

Walking Into A Dream

Sessreim Canyon

Something was pulling me, something very strong, something deep, something I couldn't escape. It was another trip to Namibia where the vast expanses of nothingness, where everywhere is in the middle of nowhere just captures my imagination and curiosity---I had to go! Starting out for a few days in Swakopmund, a quaint hamlet with the ambience of a tiny colonial German Village---a perfect little gem where I replenished on decent food, had a good haircut, gazed at the sea, and communed with some dolphins and coffee shops. But I really didn't come here for Swakopmund, as cute as it is—We ventured out on Namibia's roads where vanishing point shimmers and blends into the sky like a never ending illusion to wind up in my dream world of Sossusvlei.

Officially, Sossusvlei is the name of a large salt and clay pan located inside the Namib-Naukluft National Park. The towering dunes of Sossusvlei topped it pretty quickly. They are preposterously beautiful, and I was gasping in amazement at the lofty mountainous shapes and luxuriant widening landscapes changing colors in the rising and setting sun. We made the ascent of an arm of the Big Mama Dune, one of the highest dunes in the world---but we did not get to climb Big Daddy---the biggest in the world.  We ate under such clear constellations in the sky. We drove and hiked in the Namib Park where animals, such as Oryx and Ostrich wander the gently rolling landscape, and wild vistas are never out of reach. We communed with Cheetahs, posed for posterity at the universal landmark of the Tropic of Capricorn, and all too soon, we left the desert and my frothy cappuccinos behind as if it were a dream.

In a country overflowing with surreal scenery that pushes the boundaries of what you think the earth can look like, Sossusvlei is perhaps the most peculiar. Sand is piled at its greatest heights and trees that have been dead for centuries (I was told 900 years) still stand in a dried up marsh. They call it Dead Vlei.  Sessreim canyon is also other worldly, as was the sky that was so dark you can't even imagine and where shooting stars were occurring at an alarming rate---I got a lot of wishes in!

Namibia makes me wonder what it might have been like when life began, when exploration and discovery were firsts for all humankind, and with no assurance of a road sign or set destination,with no clue where, or if, the desert would end. I didn't want to leave it, I wanted to just hunker down to take it all in, and keep going and get lost in this surreal country called Namibia. It seems like each and every turn I take, whether it be hiking in Lesotho, a safari in Moremi, the Serengetti, South Luangwa, meandering through Cape Town, or just listening to the voices in my village, I become increasingly fascinated by the magic of Africa!

Big Mama Dune

Desert Camp

Kelly, Me, Maureen