A novel sized update...

I know I haven’t written since arriving and it seems now that Jon has stolen all the good topics. I guess that is the problem with co-blogging. I’ll do my best not to bore or be repetitive, no promises though.

First Impressions the Second Time Around

I know Jon has posted pictures of our flat so I will leave that topic alone, but I can’t post without commenting on security. When we came back after our visit in February I know I mentioned to many people how concerned I was about having to live behind bars and walls. I continue to be amazed at the amount of security people live in here. We have had dinner at the houses of at least 10 families and all of them had a wall, electrified fencing on top of the wall, an electric gate (so you don’t have to get out of your car to open it), bars on the windows, panic buttons scattered throughout the house, and a security system on the house that will dispatch a guard within 10 minutes when tripped. Additionally, some also have dogs, laser beams that are tripped if someone approaches the house, and a second exterior wall topped with layers of barbed wire. I feel like I’m visiting a military installation every time I go to visit a friend. People do get broken into with surprising regularity though.

One of the unusual characteristics of Gaborone that I haven’t seen anywhere else in the world is that communities are not split up based on economics. This walled paradise that I live in has a pool, beautiful gardens, a house, a guest flat, and a garage. Right across the street is a compound with three one room concrete block houses, each with a different family, none of which have electricity or running water. There is one area outside the city that has mostly wealthy people, but nearly everywhere in the city is all mixed together. There are no slum areas, the poor are simply spread throughout. I wonder if that contributes to the theft problem or at least to the insecurity and fear that most people with money seem to feel.

I don’t feel comfortable naively deciding that everyone else is paranoid and that we can get by on much less security, but I still don’t think I can live in a fortress. For this reason (and many others) Jon and I have decided to look for housing in one of the nearby villages where it is small enough that we would most likely only have trouble during the first month before people got to know us (or at least that is what we have been told).

Day Three: In Kumakwane – At the Tumelong Center with Track Suits

Jon also mentioned that last Tuesday we visited a daycare/preschool to hand out track suits. He didn’t say very much about the center itself but I thought it was amazing. This program (called Tumelong Day Center) was started by a church in the community to care for some of the AIDS orphans and other children that were not being cared for properly. During the day they have sixty nine 2-6 year olds who come six hours a day, five days a week. Can you imagine that many kids in one smallish room?!? After school lets out the younger kids go home and the grade school kids come for an hour or two. This program makes sure the kids get two good meals each day and are developmentally progressing. They sing songs, play games, make crafts, and learn about animals and letters. The staff is about half volunteer and half receive a very minimal stipend – they are amazing people. When we were there they had two workers (both volunteers) driving around to the homes of the kids who had been gone more than a few days just to make sure the kids were eating, getting any medical attention they need, and not in a hostile environment. This program is privately funded mostly by the church, but also by other donors who hear about it and are so inclined.

We went to the center because Flying Mission hosted a bake sale/plant sale to raise money for them to buy track suits. Winter is fast approaching and many of the kids were still wearing their hole ridden, worn out track suits from last year. FM also had a little money left over to buy shoes for the kids who don’t have any. While there we brought eight kids at a time into a separate room and helped them get dressed in their new outfits. Some of the kids were a little shy but they all beamed with pride when their colorful new suit was on. None of them spoke English so there wasn’t much talking, but we shared many smiles and I prayed prayers of blessing for each child as they dressed. All of the staff was in the room helping kids get dressed, this left the rest of the kids in a separate room all by themselves. I peeped in on them a couple times and each time all the kids were in their seats singing and clapping together. If there were that many 2-6 year olds alone in a room in the US there would be chaos, I was amazed. After helping them get dressed we ate lunch with the other staff while the kids played in the yard. It was so much fun to watch this cloud of tiny kids running around chasing a soccer ball. Even the tiny ones who were never fast enough to actually touch the ball just kept running and laughing. One very beat up soccer ball, 30 kids chasing it, and no fighting!

After we were finished eating we went to visit a pair of twins that one of the staff members had heard about the week before. The twins were only 18 months old but could not walk or crawl because of malnutrition and lack of stimulation. Technically the pair were too young for the Tumelong program but the mother was told to bring them every day at lunchtime so they could eat. The mother was only 19 herself and lived in a one room house with her three sisters and their 5 children – she had abandoned the children twice already and been forced to return by the police. Arriving back at Tumelong, the mother fed both of the twins and herself lunch. Those kids were so hungry – they ate more than I had for lunch: at least a cup of rice; a cup of fried cabbage, carrots, and greens; and ½ cup of beef. Every time their plate was removed they cried until more food was put in front of them again. After they ate some of the Tumelong staff members picked them up for a cuddle and a discrete examination. As the blanket one had been wrapped in was removed, we could see that one of their legs was burned from the foot all the way up to mid thigh (most likely from boiling water). It had not been washed, treated or cared for in any way. A staff member brought some cream and bandages from the back and tended to the wound. My heart broke for the troubled mother, with too much hurt of her own to be able to see the miracles she had sitting in front of her. She looked so young.

Day Six: A Day on My Own

Last week on Friday was my first day on my own - Jon was at the airport and I had no plans. As you know I am interested in growing food here but am connectionless and ignorant. The only place in town that I know of growing food is a plant nursery on the edge of town. I drove out there (yes, my first time driving a right drive car and no accidents! ! !) and introduced myself to the first employee I met, Leonard. Leonard graduated from the Botswana Agriculture College two years ago and has grown things in Gaborone and two other places in Botswana. He answered my questions about composting, mulch, and pests as well as introduced me to some new plants. Although he was pretty familiar with composting he had never even heard of vermicomposting (I was hoping to find worms somewhere) and had no leads for me on local community gardens. He suggested I drive over to the Ministry of Agriculture to ask my questions. We talked for over an hour about plants, compost, and dirt and as I left he gave me his work schedule so I could come back with more questions any time.

As Leonard suggested, I drove to the Ministry of Agriculture research post to ask my questions about worms and community gardens. Driving into the fenced off dirt parking lot I was hesitant; there were three portable trailers, all with doors closed, and no signs. Not sure where to go, I just milled around for a few minutes until someone happened to come out. I told the woman what I was interested in and she, not speaking any English, pointed me toward the closed door on trailer number 2. Not knowing the proper way to enter (in some cultures knocking is rude), I plucked up my courage and knocked anyway. No answer. Feeling very unsure, I thought about leaving and coming back with someone who knew what they were doing but knew this was the wrong way to start. If I backed down here what else would I be too timid to try – besides, what’s the worst that can happen. I squared my shoulders and opened the door. Inside a woman sat behind a desk, I climbed up the stairs and asked her whom I should speak with about worms and community gardens. She pointed me into an office where I sat down on the sofa next to a woman eating lunch. We smiled and greeted each other. The woman asked if I would like to share some of her food. Politely I said no the first time but she asked again. Still feeling brave I decided, why not. She handed me her fork and I ate a few bites of her lunch. It wasn’t bad; I told her it was delicious, asked what it was and how to make it. We chatted for a few minutes and then it came out that no one on site could answer my questions and that I should visit the main Ministry of Agriculture building downtown.

Driving downtown I found my way to the MoA building and walked toward the front. Feeling a little shabby in my jeans and sandals, I decided to go in anyway. At reception I was directed to the horticulture department and after climbing three flights of stairs, anticlimactically, no one was in. By that time Jon was ready to be picked up so I headed home.

On the car ride home I recounted my morning’s exploits to Jon. When I told him about the woman who offered me food, he commented that it was a cultural imperative to offer food if you are eating - so of course she did. Apparently I missed that part of the cultural lesson. For some time I was terribly embarrassed that I took this woman’s food and ate off her fork just because she was being polite (I naively thought she liked me) but I asked a resident about it later and they said not to worry, that I did the right thing. I still feel kind of weird.

Housing

As you may have gathered from Jon’s post and my hinting at it, housing is getting to be the most pressing thing we are dealing with right now. We have been hoping to find a place to live that fits us in this urban environment. Most houses within the city need lots of security (walls, gates, electric fences, dogs, bars on windows, alarm systems, etc) because they are broken into frequently. We are resistant to that sort of lifestyle and would much rather have our property be more open and engaging of the local community. In order to do this we would need to live in more of a village setting - most of which are too far away for Jon to make his 45 minute emergency call out to the airport. We did find one village called Mmopane that fits both sets of criteria and seems perfect. It is relatively small (maybe 4,000 people), not nearly as flooded with expats as Gaborone, is located very close to the bush, is off all main roads, close enough to town and the airport, and seems VERY friendly from the time we’ve spent there. The problem is that none of the real estate agents deal with property out there (at least none that we can find) and there haven't been any listings in the local paper (the only two ways that we've been told to find a place – there are no For Rent signs in front of homes).

This week there was one listing for Mmopane in the paper but we called the number and whoever answered said it was the wrong number. Jon and I drove out there on Tuesday just to look around. We know someone who lived there a few years ago and they advised us to drive around looking for places we would like to live and, if they look empty, ask the neighbors about occupancy and ownership. We did that without much success. I can't imagine that there are more than 30-40 houses out there that are suitable for us (with running water and electricity, more than two rooms (not bedrooms, two rooms), and some semblance of a fence). For a while we had our hopes up because we found the perfect house and it looked empty. There was a fence around the perimeter which would make unwanted entry a small challenge but it looked welcoming, it was just on the edge of town so we could be part of things but it would be quiet and out of the way, it was the perfect size, had a nice sized yard for growing things, and both of us loved it. After driving by it four times we finally saw a neighbor. We asked about occupancy and, unfortunately, they said someone lived there.

We did find an Australian guy who has lived in Mmopane for 30 years and runs a nursery - he seemed to know the place well and took our phone number so he could call if he or his wife found anything. We are moving to a new house tomorrow to house-sit for a school administrator. If we stay there for June that gives us four more weeks to find a place out in Mmopane (and I think the teacher will be gone until August which could give us eight weeks if necessary). At least we are focused in one aspect of our search, hopefully something will turn up.

The view from the outskirts of Mmopane.

A Summary of the Rest

For myself (I won’t speak for Jon) this adjustment has been very easy and a little strange. So far there has been no culture shock. People keep saying that I will get frustrated because every mundane chore takes so long (they say that is the worst) but, after farming for less than a year and spending countless mundane hours shoveling compost, I have turned into a pretty patient person and can’t imagine that part bothering me. I think the easy and strange part comes from having no schedule and no expectations. Apparently Tina, the woman who organizes orientation, was on vacation for a few weeks and didn’t know we were coming. As a result, there has been nothing planned for us. We haven’t heard from her except the one day we went out to Tumelong with the track suits and it isn’t looking like anything will be organized for us any time soon. We feel the expectation of finding a house and cars, but we have been left to do all of that on our own (we were shown on a map where a car dealer is and told to pick up the local advertiser). Jon and I are both pretty independent and are fine figuring it all out ourselves but it just feels strange. (We have started writing a guide so that the next people who arrive will get a detailed checklist).

I think the hard part is that we have also been left on our own to make connections as well. Without some sort of bridge, how do you make friends and build community in a new place? It is hard even in our own culture where I know the rules. Jon has started going out to the airport every day so he has a natural connecting point. As for me, I am still struggling to find my connecting point. I have promised myself that I will do at least one brave thing every day - not a very awe inspiring goal but it is something. My most recent brave thing has been picking up hitchhikers (don’t freak out, this is very common and safe). Yesterday I met three high school girls on their way home from school, they told me about the school system and what they do in their free time. Not a connection that will longer than the car ride but it is something.

Right now we are staying in a walled off guest flat. It would take so much less effort for me to do what I know: take Jon to work, go to the grocery store, come home and email friends from home, do some laundry, go to a meeting at church, pick Jon up from the airport, make dinner together, read in the evening, and then go to bed. Added to that we could meet other expat friends for dinner, a movie, and maybe some camping or trekking on occasion. Many of the people here live lives that look something like that. Not that it is bad life; I just didn’t come so far to live a life that feels familiar, to stay inside my comfort zone, and only engage the culture at church. Even though that life isn’t what I want, I can see how easy it would be to get frustrated over how hard it is to find those connecting points and revert to the life that comes with so much less effort. (This is another reason, in addition to security that I would love to live in the village – it is SOO much easier to make connections when people actually sit around outside, smile and wave when you walk by, and the community is small enough that you see people more than once.)

I don’t want to sound frustrated (I’m really not at all) but just to share what I’m thinking. I still get excited and proud of myself for doing my one brave thing each day, I’ve been reading books on Botswana culture so that I’ll feel more confident, and I’ve been going for walks down the dirt roads and enjoying the newness of it all.

The rest of our time has been spent getting to know other staff members, looking at cars and houses, registering with the embassy, Jon studying for tests, getting lost, trying to figure out where to buy hair clippers and a water pitcher, acquiring and cooking food, trying to figure out which neighborhood we want to live in, etc. We will be SOOOO happy when this intro part is over and we are finally settled, this takes so much time and feels fruitless. Jon took his airlaw exam this morning and is planning to start his flight training next week. Tonight we will go out to celebrate his exam pass (we are pretty sure he did, it will be officially scored next week) and my birthday (yes, today is my birthday).

If you’ve stuck with me this long: Congratulations! You are almost through, didn’t mean to write a novel. Your prize: this picture of these proud kids with their baby goats. The children beamed at us while we stroked their goat's ears and scratched their heads - we couldn't stop smiling either.