Saying Goodbye

I always underestimate just how hard it is to leave behind a part of my self. Whether it is a friend, a moment, an object, an experience, a vision I am not and never have been good at goodbyes. I was the kid who cried when her mom left her at summer camp even though it was only three days, but then when the time came to leave camp I wanted to stay. When I left for Botswana I did not experience the first phase. I had set myself up perfectly for leaving, and I only looked back once to sneak a teary smile at my mom from security. I was in every way ready for everything Botswana was going to throw at me and boy did it ever throw a mountain (or two or twenty) at me. To every combi driver, CIEE student, random friend on the street, new fiancé, friends I will keep forever – Thank you. It is going to take every ounce of self-control I have to walk on to the plane today. (Luckily for all my friends and family waiting for me in the States, I have a lot of it) Every moment I have spent here in Botswana – the sad, the hard, the frustrating, the pure joy – has touched my heart. When I leave the airport in a few hours I will be leaving behind a piece of my heart. I hope that this is not goodbye, but only an “until next time.” XOXO

Weekend in Victoria Falls

I have not the slightest clue as to where I should start this blog. I have just experienced the most memorable weekend of my life. While my life consists of a mere 21 years and I have much to experience in the future, this weekend will as they say go down in history (the history of Shelby that is). I have decided to start at the end and then go back to the beginning. This may seem confusing, but just you wait. My logic behind this: my travels home were pretty much a disaster. In fear that it will seem as though my weekend was terrible, I am going start with the bad (and I use that word loosely) and end with the WONDERFUL AMAZING BEAUTIFUL MINDBLOWING BREATHTAKING MAGNFICENT weekend.

So, as I said the trip home was a disaster. For some reason or another, my friends thought it would be cool to take the train from Victoria Falls back to Botswana. I guess our thoughts went something along the lines of “It will be just like we are on the Hogwarts Express!” or my thinking “Oh it will be just like the part in White Christmas where Betty and Judy take the sleeper train to Vermont!” Well ladies and gentlemen WE WERE SO WRONG! Imagine if you will a train that Betty and Judy took. Right now take into account that train was in its prime in the 1950’s. Right. This train should be in the museum at this point. Attempting to paint a picture for you: The train was a tan-ish color, but the paint was peeling off. The cabin where six of us slept was half the size of a crappy dorm room. No electricity. Did I mention this was an overnight train? If we needed to use the toilet we had to walk down the hall side-step like, because it was that narrow. Upon reaching the so called toilet you had to avoid falling out of the train because 1. The two doors that flanked the toilet closet were broken. Therefore the doors would swing open as the train was moving. 2. I could also see the grounding moving between the space that led to the other cart. Basically, the odds were FOR me falling out of the train. Arriving in the toilet closet there was a hole. That hole was your toilet. If I so dared to look down the hole no doubt I would see the tracks. But remember night time, no electricity. The only reason I made it to the toilet in the first place thanks to a trusty head lamp that one of the girl’s father made her bring on the trip. Thank you, sir! You saved our lives. Captain Morgan was purchased before the train left and consumed in the first hour. Enough said. We were on the train for 15 hours…and I did not sleep the entire 15 hours. This only took us down to the southern part of Zimbabwe. There was another train that would take us across the border to Botswana, but not even a million dollars could get me on that train. I am not one to cry for my mommy, but I did that night while I froze my butt off in the train that should have been retired years ago. NEVER AGAIN! So current location: Mulawayo, Zimbabwe train station aka in the middle of NO WHERE! The entire train ride took being in the middle of nowhere to an entirely new level. My mind is working in over drive. No plans and no screaming idea what to do. But then, spotted – security. The security guard sent us off in a small mid80’sToyota corolla with a man we clearly did not know. Six girls on an adventure. We spent 2 hours trying to find a bus across the border and saw all there is to see of Mulawayo no doubt. In the end we opted for the combi that would take us to the border. From there we walked across the border. Funny thing is crossing the border was the easiest part of the entire trip, but still a pain in the butt. If I had to walk in another chemical puddle to prevent foot and mouth I might have screamed. Complete inconvenience, not to mention I am not even sure if it works. Seriously. I did a happy dance across the border. I was so excited to be out of Zimbabwe. From the border we caught another random combi that took us to Francistown. From Francistown we literally arrived just as the last bus to Gaborone was leaving. It was such a relief to finally be cut some slack, but sadly no time to use the bathroom or get food. Did I mention the entire trips consisted of bathroom breaks in the bush? That goes for the trip to Vic Falls too. Yeah... We took that bus to Gabs, and then got into an unmarked cab at the Stationing that took us to UB. Total travel time: 27 hours with absolutely no stops. I am experiencing a lot of emotions over this. I am first so stinkin’ proud of myself for enduring that. I am secondly feeling really, really stupid for getting on the train. Lastly, I am so thankful and appreciative of what I have. So I mentioned that I use the word bad loosely. While I am mad at myself for putting myself in danger and embarrassed at how ridiculous everything was, I think that I can honestly endure just about any kind of travel and situation you put me in now. I have always been one to plan ahead and to be in the situation I was in, I feel so incredibly proud of myself for successfully getting me and 5 others home safely (not all by myself, we all did help each other to an extent). While what I went through was terrifying, it made my weekend all that more adventurous. Thinking about it right now I am shaking my head with a side smile painted on my face. Small laugh (which is really just me blowing air out of my nose – gah my snorting) Wow, Shelby – you are insane.

Now, I take you back to the beginning. My adventure to one of the seven Natural Wonders of the World – Victoria Falls. I set up a bus and then a transfer through a company to get us across the border and to our hostel before we left. Everything ran fairly smoothly. I really enjoyed our hostel, Shoestrings Lodge, and would recommend it to any backpacker traveling to Vic Falls. We relaxed most of the afternoon, but then took a Sunset Cruise on the Zambezi River later that evening. Absolutely stunning. (I would link photos, but I have somehow managed to lock myself out of my flickr account). We got to see quite a bit of wildlife too: hippos, crocodiles, and an elephant. We had planned on staying up because our lodge is a bar until midnight, but we were exhausted and passed out. The next day I went to the Craft Market and was completely overwhelmed. I had never seen so many wooden masks, animals, bowls, spoons, etc. It was absurd. It covered an area the size of a football field. Later that afternoon I went on an elephant back safari. I have always been fascinated my elephants. They were my favorite animal at the zoo; ask my mom. She hated going to the zoo, and I would force her to stay and watch the elephants forever. So, naturally I have also wanted to ride one, however inhumane that is. I took comfort in knowing that except for the hour and half time they spend with those on the safari they freely roam the wildlife reserve. One the safari I saw lions, buffalo, and more elephants – all on the back of an elephant. Yay! After the safari, we got to sit with the elephant and feed them some snacks. I ended the day by staying up with all the people at Shoestrings until midnight, and then hitting up a local bar in the town after that. Stories for my girl friends later! So much dancing. So much happiness. My entire last day was spent at Victoria Falls. I wish there was some way to describe the beauty of them, but I am at a loss. It is truly stunning. They go on forever. My pictures were nothing compared to what I witnessed. This might be due to the excessive amounts of mist that never leaves you while you are there. I was so scared I ruined my camera. Luckily it is still working, but my pictures were terrible. I can blame the mist, but really I am just not a photographer. I eventually gave up and just looked and sat in awe. So many rainbows. So much water. I got to go right up to a cliff at one point, and I was so close to the Falls. I was drenched all the way through from head to toe and loved every second of it! I wanted to stay there forever. Nature is truly brilliant.

I am now completely and utterly broke. How I will survive once I get back to the States is seriously questionable. (L and M I hope you are ready for a permanent dinner guest. I will find a way to chip in somehow). However, I am fully submerged in an African attitude. I don’t even care anymore. It will work itself out somehow, right? It is interesting to compare myself now to myself pre-Africa. I went from ridiculously (emphasize ridiculously) high strung to being able to travel on a train in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get from point B to point C until I actually got to point B. Amazing. Don’t get confused though. I am still extremely motivated, compassionate, and no doubt still a stresser (it’s just part of me –thanks Dad J ), but I am much more relaxed, and less up tight (I mean this figuratively. Physically, I am in dire need of a MAJOR back massage). The insanity of everything that I have undergone enriches my life only more. It is only with the hardship I have endured that I have fully come to experience the joy. With each passing day and each exciting adventure the thought of departing leaves me incredibly sad. Days are flying by, and I am still on Africa time.

Ke a go rata, Botswana

As mentioned on several occasions, there is a lot of la rata around here – love that is. It all started out fun, something that was amusing and made me laugh despite how awkward some of my proposals were. Then, it became annoying. Flat out irritating. “Stop telling you love me! Don’t touch me. Can you at least leave an inch of space between us? Sure, I have a boyfriend. Will you leave me alone now? No? You want to marry me. Are you kidding me? You are serious. Iesh! I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU! STOP TOUCHING ME!” A few choice curse words might have been mumbled under my breath as well. It is really funny listening to the girls in my group talk about this. One would think we would all be flattered by all of the attention, but all I hear from the girls in my program is how annoyed they are. It is so hard to please, us women. We do want attention, but on our terms. I am now over the annoyed phase (most of the time). I know just go with it. I don’t even bother lying about having a boyfriend. I could care less; plus it doesn’t even matter if you do. One girl went as far as to say she was married, but he didn’t mind, said she needed an “African husband.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I hope you are laughing as you picture these scenarios in your head. I even laugh at ourselves while we all share stories and complain about how annoyed we are when men won’t leave us alone. The irony of it all. When we get back to the States we are going to go through culture shock all over again, because no one will be paying us a bit of attention. We will probably go through withdraw.

On a similar but more serious note, we had a lecture on courtship and marriage yesterday. I took a couple things from the lecture. First, there are two periods of traditional marriage: before independence and post-independence. Post-independence marriage in Botswana is very similar to that in the USA. Before independence (1966), marriages were still arranged, women were seen as my lecturer put it “baby manufactures” and nothing more, and it was uncommon to know about sexual intercourse. Get this – the married women would stake out by the outside wall of the room where the couple was to be consummating their marriage. The next morning they would evaluate the faces of the couple upon exiting the room. If they were bashful they knew the deed had been done, but if they appeared as nothing had happened it was assumed that they had not consummated the marriage. From there the couple would have one more night to consummate the marriage, or the brother of the groom would come in and literally show them how to do it. Not verbally – physically show the groom how using the bride. I was by far shocked by this practice more than anything. The reaction my class had was classic. Definitely had to be there moment, but I am sure what you are picturing is fairly accurate.

Food for thought – back during arranged marriages days, divorce was basically non-existent. Now, however, divorce is not uncommon. Divorce terrifies me; I will leave it at that. One has to wonder though – why is divorce common now? A few ideas – 1. Pride, People used to be too proud to admit something was wrong. Marriage was something to be proud of and no one would want to admit failure in it. 2. Better communication, (also tied to pride) – since they didn’t want to admit something was wrong they would keep things to themselves and work it out within the family. 3. Laziness, people now are simply put lazy. They don’t want to work for anything. Marriage is hard work, and people do not have the same work ethic as those of previous years. Presently, people would rather divorce their spouse than actually have to work for something.

Then, there is the bridal wealth. (Some fun facts: It is still practiced here. It is typically valued using cattle only in even numbers) I think there is often a negative association to this word/practice. It is seen as purchasing a bride which is degrading towards the woman. A woman is not something that can be purchased. She is a human being. She should be respected. One lecturer turned the whole idea of bridal wealth around on me. Some more food for thought – how about considering it an investment, investing in the marriage? It was common to use the cattle given to the bride’s family to help the couple establish themselves. If you look at bridal wealth from this perspective it doesn’t seem as controversial. Batswana do not like using the word bridal wealth because of the connotations surrounding it. They call it bogadi.

Ultimately, love and marriage are different from la rata and lenyalo. Variations happen across cultures and individuals. Love according to one American is different than love to another American. La rata according to one Motswana is different than la rata defined by another Motswana. Yet, neither one is better nor more accurate than other.

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.

Grey Area

As soon as I posted the “Denial” blog I have been itching to clarify one thing in particular. Seeing as how I have been in Mochudi for a week I could not, but I just want to share some thoughts before I write a novel about my week in Mochudi.

I talked with some of the people in my group about how I felt as though I was experiencing racism, and it seems that there is argument about the definition of racism. Some definitions mention aggressive or hateful behavior, while others only mention a behavior that is different due to one’s race. So it can be argued that what I am experiencing here in Botswana is not racism. I am not hated here. I am actually loved by most – or so that is what Batswana men yell to me in the streets “Ke a go rata.” I think I have also mentioned I am proposed to on a daily basis as well. I even have the girl in an ice cream shop wanting to be my friend after meeting me once. Normal day. Perhaps, then, what I am experiencing with these taxi and combi drivers is discrimination. Yet, that word holds deeper meaning to some people as well. One thing is for sure, I was definitely being harassed by taxi and combi drivers, because I was a white woman. Take it as you will. Define it how you would like. There are grey areas, and I am not one to argue you one way or the other. I would much rather listen to your opinion over a cup of tea (renewed love for this – everyone should have tea time), for that is how I learn.

New Adventure Time

I am off to Mochudi. This is the "rural" village experience portion of my trip. I will be working in Boseja 2 Clinic for the entire week. Things I am expecting: no electricity or hot water, potential outhouse, and less English speaking Batswana. I won't have any way of communicating with anyone except those in the Mochudi with me. I will be back next Sunday, but we leave for our camping trip in the Rhino Sanctuary Monday afternoon. I am not sure when I will next blog, but I am sure I will have many stories to share when I do.

Go Siame (Goodbye) for now.

Denial

Some materialistic things I miss:

A Dryer: for my clothes. I do not miss the washer as much. I can handle hand washing; I just grow impatient that it takes my jeans 36 hours to dry.

Fresh vegetables and fruit: I swear all I eat here are carbs and meat. The only thing fruit wise in season right now is oranges. My goodness, oranges all over the street. “Have some candy and an orange.” I came to Africa during winter, and I am missing prime time for fresh produce back home. Poor planning there.

Perfume: which is odd because I never wear perfume. However, here every time I pass a perfume store I go in and spray myself with something. I want to feel clean and pretty.

Sun dresses: I wore a dress for the first time here, very classy dress at that, and I still felt scandalous. Again, it’s winter time so people are wearing sweaters and furry boots. Which still amuses me. You should see how bundled up the babies are when they come into the clinics. You would think it is 10F and a blizzard outside when it’s really in the upper 50’s.

Coffee: no explanation needed except that coffee here is rare and when you do find it, it is mediocre if you are lucky.

I have been extremely grumpy the past week without a clue as to my serious problem. I was even getting grumpy about being grumpy – the insanity of being a woman. My materialistic longings have nothing to do with my grumpiness, but I finally came to some conclusions as to why I have been in a funk. Some of those include: being completely alone in a very different place and realizing that I am not cut out for clinic work and my heart really is in a public hospital setting so why did I ever doubt myself to begin with (note to self: quit doing that). More on those things later though. One thing I did not think was contributing to my mood swings was culture shock, but I was in denial.

I was told numerous times I would go through culture shock, but I haven’t been experiencing the culture shock that I was expecting. I thought this would just mean feeling out of place, uncomfortable, and homesick. I haven’t felt uncomfortable or all that homesick (my birthday being a day of exception), but of course I have been feeling out of place. I am a white woman in Botswana; I probably make up less than 1% of the population. I scream minority! I did not think that I was bothered by this for the longest time. I do not have a problem with being different, but I do have a problem with being treated different. I walk and act confidently no matter how out of place I am. I have found this works best in all situations, especially in the ones where you are not confident. Here, though, it doesn’t matter how confident I act I am still treated differently. Not only am I white, but I am a woman, and this has proved most difficult. I cannot walk in the streets, sit in a combi or taxi, or simply make a local phone call here without being harassed. And yes, I am using harassed at this point, because it just obnoxious. Taxi and combi drivers honk at me nonstop when I am walking. I tolerated it for awhile, but now I am annoyed. Can’t a girl just walk! Seriously. And NO I do not want your special. If I hear the word special one more time I might flip out. I was so exhausted after a late night and then a full day at the clinic. All I wanted to do was get back to UB, and I was turned down by 5 (yes 5!) taxi drivers before I found one that would actually give me the actual P3.50 taxi from the Stationing to UB. NO, I DO NOT WANT THE SPECIAL! Gah! Please just take me to where I want to go and quit trying to take advantage of me. And another thing that is bothering me, the name calling. English, beautiful, white, la rota (I love you), giggle giggle giggle. Every time I walk out the door. I was becoming so frustrated that I first experienced anger. My facial expression could not have been pleasant, and I slammed so many doors. After the anger, I resorted to crying in typical girl fashion. I always hate when I do this.

All that to say, I thought I understood racism before, but I was so very wrong. I can tell you now with full confidence that I know, understand, and have personally dealt with racism. But – I have experienced a certain kind of racism. I am not hated here in Botswana; it is hard for me understand just how much worse my situation would be if I was. My heart breaks for those who experience this. The Batswana are very friendly. I knew the name calling is harmless and in no way meant to be taken the way it came across to me. It just takes patience to deal with the kind of behavior that is geared toward me, and I have been the opposite of patient. I am curious if I will ever gain the respect I crave from Batswana, because I do crave it. I crave it more than I crave a dryer, fruits and veggies, perfume, sun dresses and coffee combined.

And so, I have experienced culture shock. It was nothing like I expected, and I am still adjusting. Something makes me believe I won’t adjust until my last day. Timing was never a strong point in situations that I care deeply about. But, high five to me for being on the road to adjusting to culture shock and fixing my moodiness.