Dada

I have decided that the university of Botswana embodies the spirit of dada art. This morning I wanted tea but I had no sugar or a kettle in my room so I went to buy it at a cafe. I walked to the only cafe I knew of but was told they were closed (at 10am on a tuesday, mind you) and that I should try the cafeteria, which was also closed. So I wandered around, and eventually decided to go to the library and hang out until my class at twelve. When I tried to check my bag at the door (as backpacks are not allowed in the library) I was told that I could not have food in my bag when I checked it (which involves leaving the bag in a cubby) and since I had a granola bar and a water bottle, which I also could not bring into the library, my only option was to throw them away or not enter the library, so instead I sat outside for a few hours while everyone who walked past me stared because I am white and therefore bizarre. I eventually found a cafe that was open and had tea, but they informed me that they were out of cups and therefore could not serve me. While I contemplated carving a cup out of the nearest branch with my trusty pocket knife I was met by my fellow americans who triumphantly showed me their new ID's gained via a three-hour line outside an unmarked office. This place pretty much rocks and should be added to the spiritual exercises of st. ignatius. My battery is almost dead (I still cannot find the right converter) so peace out homeslice (if anyone from Botswana asks, we really talk like that in America)