Mochudi

I am so happy to be back in Gabs! It was a whirlwind of a week. I thought I was emotional before – Iesh! (Batswana use this to basically say “Jeez,” I picked this word up quickly). I have mentally grown (and physically thank you absurd amount of carbs) so much in the past week that it still sinking in just how much has changed. In a nutshell things were put into perspective, and I have a greater appreciation for life. I had no idea how to prepare myself I only told myself to be as open as possible to anything that might come my way. I successfully did this to the best of my abilities. Still, there are just some things you cannot fully prepare yourself for, and this entire trip has been one of those experiences time and time again.

Background information: Mochudi is a village about 35km outside of Gaborone with a population of 40,000 (much bigger than I originally thought). They are part of the Bakgatla tribe. This tribe is also found in South Africa. Kgosi Kgafela Kgafela II is the chief of Mochudi. The city center is called the Kgotla where women cannot enter unless they are wearing a skirt. However, after living there I think the center of the village is the “mall” which consists of a Spar, Choppies (grocery chains here) and a small strip of shops. A mom (61), her first born’s daughter (16), her last born daughter (25), and the daughter’s son (2) made up my homestay family. From what I gather my homestay mom, Nurse, was never married but had two kids with one man and three with another. My homestay sister, Colinda, has been dating her boyfriend for 8 years, and they have a son, Campo. Then, my homestay niece, Phel, lives with them while her mom works at a hospital in a village far away. This made up my homestay family that actually lived in the house. I also had plenty of homestay aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews etc. scattered around that visited throughout the week.

It took several hours to drop everyone off at their homestays. I was third to last, so I got to see most everyone’s homestays. The homes were more rural as we dropped people off. I was so nervous by the time we got to mine; my stomach was doing pirouettes. It was finally my turn, and I walked up to the house kicking sand behind me. Awkward introductions were made, and then I was left. It took giving me a tour of the house before panic hit me like an elephant. I was stranded. The last CIEE person we dropped off was far from me. I was alone. I was told to sit on the couch and watch TV until Colinda was ready to go. Go where? Colinda finally came out and said we were going to meet my friend. I had no idea what this meant but just followed like a little duckling. Come to find out one of my CIEE friend’s lived in a house 2 minutes away. THANK GOODNESS. We would come to cling to each other, helping each other get through the week. Colinda took us to a hair saloon (yes, saloon not salon), and so thus went my first day in Mochudi – sitting for 2 hours while Colinda got her hair washed.

It is hard for me to describe how upset I was my first night in Mochudi. I was so very uncomfortable invading someone’s home. I was upset, because I felt so alone. The first day my homestay family barely talked to me. They would just talk to each other in Setswana, and I would have no idea what was going on. I was scared. It did not help that Colinda came into my room before I went to bed to tell me that I should keep my door locked because thieves and drunks come around often (She did not lie. There was a bar right outside my window, and drunks would walk into our house all of the time). Awesome. On top of all of this, I felt out of control. For those of you who do not know already, I have control issues. I have been independent for a long time (something that just came from being the oldest and growing up in my household), and I do not like depending on people for basic needs. I was completely out of sorts because I had to depend on this family I did not know to provide for me. I cried myself to sleep that night shivering in the cold of my room while music blared from the bar and chickens jumped and scratched the tin roof right above my room.

My time in Mochudi got better. My family warmed up to me. When you really think about it they must feel just as weird as I did, but they called me daughter, sister, etc and welcomed me. They decorated my room with a pot full of straw and wooden spoons and a picture (this picture creeped me out by the way but it is the thought that counts). They even put two mangled stuff animals on my bed. Every morning started with “Dumela mma. O tsogile jang?” “Hello/Good morning. How did you sleep?” I would then eat sour porridge. They leave it in a plastic tub (they must have been using for years, eh) soaking in milk – hence sour. I cringed at the amount of sugar I had to put in it in order to force it down for breakfast. I did not grow to like it even after a week of eating it every morning. I would then go to the Boseja II clinic where my tasks consisted of taking vitals and stocking the pharmacy. I thought of you B. every time I was sorting pills and taking stock of the pharmacy. Days were long because we would run out of things to do. I would sit in a room and take vitals (BP, pulse, and temp) all morning – nothing like taking a thermometer out of smelly armpits all day. I did get to dress a few wounds. A four or five year old that had fallen on a piece of metal and sliced his forehead open came into have his stiches cleaned and bandaged. There were also finger wounds and one man with an abscess. This was my favorite part of the whole week. I love the blood and guts! Sadly what I saw wasn’t even that exciting. A doctor was there on Tuesday, but every other day the nurse in charge would consult with all of the patients. After clinic I would take two combis back to my homestay where M. and I would play with the neighborhood kids for an hourish before dark (It gets dark here at 6 and it is stinks). I felt like a zoo animal, because we would be playing with our host nephews inside the chain link fence while all of the neighboring kids would gather and watch us. Look at the white girls playing inside the fence. Silly. We would invite them in, and we would end up with 10 kids playing ball with us. I take back the wounds being the best part; it’s second best. Playing with the kids was the best part. Even though I was feeling out of sorts and the adults wouldn’t talk to me, I could count on the kids always wanting to play. We would laugh and run around – It was bliss. There is no judgment with kids. Just laughter and welcome arms and that is why I want to work with them. Have I mentioned how much kids love cameras and having their picture taken? Well they do, A LOT. I would eventually have to stop playing and return to the house. I managed to get by with only 2 baths even though they wanted me to take a bath twice a day. I don’t know why. Baths consisted of heating water on the fire outside and bringing it in to the tub. I would bath in about an inch of water. This doesn’t exactly make for good hygiene, but I made it work. I made dinner one night. I attempted macaroni and cheese. The cheese that I used was biltong flavored (African beef jerky) cheese slices and was not nearly enough for all of the noodles I had to cook to feed everyone. I didn’t have milk but used some butter that tastes like fake butter. Then of course there cannot be a meal without meat. So, I used some ground up sausage with onion and tomato to provide meat. Without a doubt, the most interesting macaroni I have ever made. Other nights consisted of an entire plateful of rice or pap. Pap has many names. It is maize meal and reminds me of really thick no flavor whatsoever grits. With that we would have meat, always cheap beef. One night we had canned beef, and it was disgusting. I was popping Tums like it was my job after that meal. We also had collard greens one night, but that was a rare occasion. Usually just a crap ton of starch and a little meat on the side. Oh, and I cannot forget to mention how they put mayo and tomato sauce on EVERYTHING! Just drench their food in it – yuck. They also over salt and sugar their food. No wonder I am seeing so many patients with hypertension. Also, after dinner snacks consisted of Makunya or Fat Cakes (fried bread) and Menoto (chicken feet). Yes, that is right; I ate chicken feet. I am told it is a favorite with the drunks. I couldn’t really figure out how to eat it, but it was interesting. I quit after I was trying to eat some “meat” off of a toe and the toe fell off in my mouth, toenail and all…yeah. Anybody know the proper way to eat a chicken foot? Eh. Anyways y’all, I learned how to make Makunya and Phaphatha (like a dinner roll), and I am going to make them when I get home – over a fire and everything. If there is maize meal in the US I can make that too, but I promise you are not missing out on anything. Gah, I miss cheesy grits with garlic salt. My favorite time is tea time though. While I don’t know any Setswana I spent many a tea time just eating Makunya or Phaphatha and drinking Five Roses Tea listening to the women gossip. Wonderful. I love tea time. I am thinking I will start this at home. Anyone in? After dinner I would watch Generations (a soap opera based out of South Africa I believe. It combines English, Zulu and maybe even some Afrikaans?) with Colinda. This reminded me of my Gramma and how I would always watch Young and the Restless with her when I was younger while we ironed and ate lunch. Fun fact: I still like watching this soap and will catch up watching episodes online. After Generations, I would go to bed early and freeze my buns off. It got so cold at night there. I never slept straight through the night. When I woke up in the morning my nose would be so cold. Yes people, it gets cold in Africa. Maybe I am becoming a woosie, but I am with the locals on this one. Cold. All conversations start with Dumela. Le kae? Quickly followed by a comment about how cold it is at night and in the morning! I was supposed to come back to Gabs this afternoon, but I came back a day early. I put myself under so much stress last week that I was sick and wanted to rest and clean before I had to turn around and go camping. My time in Mochudi ended on a good note though – we baked makunya and phaphatha over tea time all day. Perfect.

Did I mention I am so happy to be in Gabs? Some of us took a bus back into Gabs, and I experienced my first bus breakdown in Africa. So amusing. The axle just completely broke when we were only 20 outside of Gabs. All I wanted was to be back and then this happened. I decided to cure the predicament with laughter. Best choice. We were lucky though. Twenty minutes later another bus pulled behind us, and we loaded on to that one. Taking a shower in my dirty, spray-water-everywhere-and-flood-the-floor-sometimes-hot-sometimes-cold shower never felt so great! Having my own space and being back in control of my life also felt good too. I was able to hand wash my clothes too before I have to leave for Serowe. My experience in Mochudi was much needed. It has really helped put things into perspective and make me realize I am happy where I am. All I need is the air I breathe and a place to rest my head. I am happy in Botswana. I find happiness in small things: tea with the real women of Botswana, playing ball with kids, being stranded in a place that cannot be pinpointed on a map, putting faith in a taxi driver driving through dirt roads that seem to lead to nowhere, chickens above you head scaring the crap out of you all day and night, getting excited when there is toilet paper in the bathrooms and doing a happy dance when there is soap, kicking up dirty sand everywhere you walk, learning many languages, dancing with friends and strangers, laughter. This is Africa.