Sarah speed-blogging; as she is a cheapskate

Quick updates as I have to pay for the internet by the minute:
Drove to Johannesburg in a combi (15 seater van with no cushions or seatbelts) for 6 hrs. with 16 people, although the border agents were convinced that there were in fact 17 and tried to make us pay accordingly. The chair I sat on was designed to be stowed so it flipped over every time we made a sharp turn and I would wake up from a dead sleep in my neighbor’s lap.
Saw the apartheid museum; it was excellent but at 5pm when it closes they just turn all of the lights off to make you leave, no warning, signs, or anything.
Took a taxi to tolkem tower (one of highest points in city) realized on the way that the guidebook said it was in an “extremely dangerous” neighbourhood, had an omg moment, and had to frantically tell the taxi to turn around.
tried to find a café for tea and coffee, started walking down the street and was frantically stopped by 8 combi drivers who all insisted that we were walking into our deaths that way and that we should really just stay inside the bus station, we gave up and just followed their advice.
Sat in the station for 4 hours waiting for bus to Mozambique. We sat down on the floor in a corner, had a security guard tell us to move, so we sat down in another empty corner, were told to move again, so we stood at a railing overlooking the bus station, were told we could not stand there, finally found an acceptable corner.
encountered four guys who desperately needed to change dollars for rand. I would have said no but when I asked where they were from they said Kinshasa, and as I just poured my life into a paper about the DRC I was inclined to help them. I traded them 740 rand for what may or may not be a real $100 bill. (I’ll find out when I try to spend it at the border).
In any case, Joburg was pretty while driving in a taxi but terrifying on foot. Mozambique is epic beyond all reason, but I think I will wait to share that until either we return to UB (which we may never do as we are currently living in a tropical paradise) or tomorrow when I feel like walking back to the internet café. For all those who were wondering tho, I am alive and well (someone please tell my mother) and I have some awesome stories to come. Inlcuding but not limited to: “In which sarah is sat on by a large man,” “the gang gets Tofo’ed,” “Aubri and the AK47s,” and “$1 for a 550mL beer, (doz M) proof there is a loving god”

Dancing in the Rain

Well, the impossible happened. For the first time since we have been in Gaborone it has rained. Rain storms here are kinda epic, involving lots of thunder, lightning, the wrath of God etc. Being a crazy Lekgoa, I naturally went outside to enjoy the rain with my friends as we have been a bit parched (Read: oh my god it is so hot and dry here, what did I get myself into?!) while out there, we were chatting with the poor security guards who were taking cover under a veranda and they agreed to teach us a rain dance. (Rain is quite critical in this desert culture, even the money is "Pula" which is Setswana for rain) At about the point that we were just jumping up and down, yelling "Pula" at the tops of our lungs, and waving our arms in circles I began to suspect that he was taking us for a ride (especially as he could not breathe because he was laughing too hard) and decided that perhaps I should not believe everything said by a University security guard.
Speaking of general dampness, some idiotic soul left the water running in a clogged sink on my friends' floor and they woke up when water began creeping into their rooms. They frantically turned off the water and called the RA (as we are not allowed to call maintainance directly). She, and this is a direct quote, said "I am pretty sure this sounds like a problem for the morning" She then asked if they turned off the water (duh) and suggested that they deal with it tomorrow. To put this into perspective, an entire floor, consisting of a 10ftX15 ft common room, 2 bathrooms, and 8 dorm rooms was completely flooded with about an inch of water covering the tile floor and the RA refused to call maintainance. In the end, my friends got buckets, bed sheets, brooms and (in a continuation of the cleaning service war in their block) the blanket on which the cleaning women sleep and they managed to push the water into the bathroom with all of the sodden tools. The cleaning lady actually threatened one girl with a broom in the morning but all's well that ends well I guess. Maki, the most awesome japanese girl ever, also got out her umbrella and kept it open while directing salvaging efforts during the operation.
In other news of biblical proportion, I had an interesting cultural epiphany today whilst on my way to aerobics class. I was walking with a girl who also seemed to be on her way to class and while exchanging questions about school, home, and dorms, she asked me if I was a Christian. I was totally taken aback as this is not normal first-ten-minutes conversation material (unless you are about to get a fire and brimstone lecture) but I told her I was a general Jesus fan and we continued in our conversation. Later I mentioned to her that in the states and the UK (where she was headed in the spring) one would never ask that of a stranger. She was surprised and simply explained that if one asks and the person is a christian then you two have just that much more to talk about. In her explanation, asking about one's religion was similar to discussing the city one grew up in- just a search for conversation and common ground. This view has made me thoughtful and I think that it could be awesome, as it encourages inter-religious dialogue, but as almost every Motswana is some flavor of christian (and if not they are dabbling in traditional african religions) I don't think it has the same ramifications it would have elsewhere.....hmmm..... And then I battled an anaconda with only my trusty pocket knife (I have no good transition here, so just pretend)
I finally (Read: easily) got my visa to Mozambique; I guess they weren't too clever at the embassy if they are letting in characters like me. By the way, the Mozambiquean embassy is a small house with only one unarmed guard who smiles and waves as you walk past on your way to the living room/ visa office; awesome, the US should take notes. I am stoked for our trip but I will unfortunately be out of touch for the duration. I will, however, try to save up lots of stories and pictures for when I return. I might post once more before then but if not, "keep it real yo, see you on the flip-side" (as we say in the US ALL the time. Again, if anyone asks).

An international incident no longer waiting to happen

So in case you were planning a trip to Botswana I am sorry but I am not sure that Americans are still welcome here thanks to a stunt pulled by my "friends." (Like I said after that birthday cake, I am getting new friends, even in Botswana). Four of my friends decided to go to a circus that was in town this afternoon but I, unfortunately, could not attend, for reasons that will be clear in the next paragraph. Apparently the jump-roping poodle stole the show and when it was finished my friends decided that they needed to take back a souvenir along with memories of a circus with (I suspect) unregulated animal rights. They all bought plastic clown masks, donned them, and decided to scare me in my room by all silently waiting at the door with them on. Naturally I was not in my room, but unfortunately my Motswana roommate was and reacted as would any human being greeted by 4 clownmask-clad, silent, foreigners- poorly.

In other news, while I do love my parasitology class I have discovered a definite drawback to taking the subject whilst in Africa. My intestinal tract feels mildly like death right now and, thanks to my many and informative lectures, all I can think about is that tomato (that I probably should not have bought from the street-vendor at the bus station) while visions of giardia dance through my head. In my defence, my friends were all buying ice cream and that tomato looked really good. In any case, there is bad news brewing in sarah's stomach, I just hope it isn't a one-celled trophozoite. (never worry, my prose/complaining far exceeds my relatively minor discomfort. I will probably survive and until the colony in my stomachstarts developing a personality I am not too worried. Plus, I have a delightful concoction of antibiotics in a bottle in my closet with my name on it- literally)

So tomorrow we are going on an embassy tour in order to obtain the necessary visas for our vacation next week. I am curious to see if a) anyone's hostility matches the US embassy (doubtful) or b) the love of bureaucracy in other African nations is as strong as Botswana's (terrifying thought).....details to come, assuming I don't piss off an embassy guard and have to get acquainted with the bureaucracy of the Gaborone prison system- I'll try to avoid that. I'll keep y'all posted; until then, go with the great blowdryer in the sky (the new deity I am starting to believe in after 3 weeks of gaborone summer and winds straight from the Kalahari desert)

hard at work

I know that I already posted today but this was just too precious not to share:

These are the cleaning ladies for my dorm complex; this is where they hang out from about 10am to 4pm. I guess knitting was too strenuous for today.

The bureaucrat that roared

(If anyone can tell me what movie to which that is a reference I will be impressed)

I have recently concluded that the Batswana are really easy going and fluid on timing etc. unless there is an iota of bureauacracy involved, then it is like an evil twin takes over and I have as much chance bending the rules to my advantage as getting a copy of "The wealth of nations" into a gulag.

I have been attempting to finish my congo paper and have been missing the peculiar charm of hopkins house- especially that bit about free printing at any hour. To print at UB one must go to the finance office in the admin building, get a receipt for printing payment, go to the library and present the receipt, go to anothe desk in order to get it verified that you payed and to load the money on a card, and then wait in line for one of 2 printing computers where you enter in 3 passwords in order to print. Needless to say the process is lengthy and if one has a paper due at 8am and the library opens at 7:45am then one must get creative. Although the library doors were open, the guards and librarians were at their posts and the lights were on at 7am, I was still not allowed into the building in order to print something untill exactly 7 45. Long story short, I managed to get in but then I had 3 security guards and 6 librarians surround me and frantically tell me that the library wasn't open and I shouldn't be there. I apologized profusely but as they were not willing to bodily remove me, I managed to finish printing my paper and made it to class. (I should have spoken only spanish and looked confused) Unfortunately, they also saw the orange that I carried in with me and as there is a SERIOUS fruit phobia in that building (they check your bags and if they find an apple they accusingly say "what is this"... "it's a blender, don't worry about it") I may not be able to get back into the library, but I finished that paper . (this is the essay on the congo conflict that is equivalent to an assignment like "explain whose fault WWI is in 100 words or less....")


In similar tales of bureauacracy, I once again attempted to purchase breakfast at the cafeteria. I was informed, once and for all, that they are not selling breakfast and they are only making it for the one student who prepaid (my friend dan from pennsylvania). Not even kidding, an entire cafeteria that could seat 300-400 students is making a single-serving breakfast of eggs and tea every morning for the rest of the semester........ I hope that 80cents is not paying the salary of the cooks and cashier who have to be there just for Dan. Again, one student, the dorm I live in next to the cafeteria has close to 1,000 students and they are cooking for one. Wow.


In brighter news, I have another installment in the failed ad campaigns montage (was that an okay use of the word, krys?) As far as I can tell this is an anti-littering campaign (garbage on the sides of the road is a serious problem).

I know that AIDs is a good eye-catcher as far as public interest but I feel down this path lies new campaigns like "Fight AIDs! buy new code-red gatorade!" I think that this might be a tacky, slippery slope, call me crazy.
Well, I have to go massacre goldfish in my physiology class so sala sentle and I would love to hear news about the home-front from the lot of you reading this; feel free to email or facebook!

In which sarah meets Pako, is healed by the holy spirit, and attempts to make Jambalaya

Pako is pretty much the most awesome five-year-old ever. He is smart enough to how but too young to know better and his parents cannot decide whether to hug him forever or do him in for the good of society.
Exhibit 1: Pako likes climbing, (in this picture he is five feet off the ground) His specialties include neighbors' fences and cabinets with candy. Exhibit 2: Pako refuses to eat in general but every morning I was there he put on his sunglasses and army helemet and one would have to go catch him in order to spoon-feed him "movite" (The only thing he'd eat, which looked and smelled like crushed-up fruitloops)

Exhibit 3: Pako is addicted to candy and is rarely seen in the evenings without a lollypop. He also loved my computer. Pako supposedly only speaks setswana (which he loves to give me orders in) but at the end of the week when I clearly did not understand what he wanted he paused for a moment, then looked at me and said in english clearly, "I want to play with the computer" His mother and I were shocked, I think that kid pretends to not understand me when it suits him

The church of spiritual healing: The picture below is my friend and I after church. Our respective host mothers dressed us. I was wearing cap sleeves and a knee-length skirt (assuming if it was good enough for the mormons I would be okay in africa) but my mother stopped me at the door and said I needed to cover all of my hair and wear a shawl.....in a building with 100 people and no AC. The service lasted for 3 hrs (all in Setswana) because every single person knelt at the altar, was anointed with holy water and was healed by the pastor. This process took 1.5 hours and for the entire time we all stood, sang, and clapped rapidly. I could not feel my hands by the end of the service! The holy water was stored in a 2L coca cola bottle, which alarmed me as I am pretty sure cocacola is about 20 shares away from owning the third world. Instead of vestments (which I suspect were too expensive) the pastor and his helpers wore white lab coats......awesome trend which everyone should adopt. finally, the women, men, unmarried women, the boys, and the girls all had their own seating section with separate doors. It was a trip, at one point all of the lekgoas (white people) had to stand up and the congregation prayed for us (I got the sense it was positive...not "god please smite these invaders") Ultimately a good experience but not one I think I could repeat.....Jambalaya: One night I decided to cook for my host family and in order to share a little bit of southern culture I decided to make Jambalaya-oops. Ingredients used in LA are not necessarily available in Mochudi so I ended up sans garlic, celery and bellpepper (which I am pretty sure includes at least 2 of the trinity of cajun cooking). Furthermore, the sausage I bought did not actually brown, it rather dissolved into a pink paste which the mother insisted was normal and meant it was cooked (what did they DO to it!?) Finally, the rice has a different texture in Botswana and does not absord water quite the same way. In addition, the stove was gas (which I have never used) without a pilot light and it would randomly go out with only the eventual smell of gas to give it away five minutes later. Altho tears were shed, it turned out reasonably edible, altho not very jambalayaish; but everything tastes okay with enough tabasco, I think (which I DID find, thankyou god). I am pretty sure that my host mother put the fear of God into the family; if she is anything like my mother she said something along the lines of "You will eat anything she puts in front of you and you will like it! I don't care if it is a plate of boiled dirt!" After dinner the mother put on a bright smile and said "see! everybody finished, they liked it!" FML. I did also make an apple pie, however, and that went over very well. (so did pancakes a few days later) in any case, this is what the kitchen looked like about 20 minutes into cooking.

The mother walked in to the kitchen at about this point and I think she was concerned......

Ultimately, Mochudi was pretty spiffy and I will probably go back next weekend so I can see the cattle post which every family purportedly has..... until then, Peace out yo!

Mochudi Homestay II, part 1 subsection a)

It is incredibly difficult to know where to start describing my homestay in Mochudi so I decided to approach it using a system I will surely abandon after this post. First, here is an overview of the week for those who were curious:
Every morning I woke up at 5:30 and had breakfast with Mom and Dad. We got to Gaborone by seven and I would go to school while the parents were at work. In the evenings, I typically took the bus back to Mochudi with friends and would walk to the house which was about 5 minutes away from the bus stop. We would have traditional setswana food (which involved at least half a cow per person per week I think) while watching Botswana and South African soap operas on TV meanwhile I tried to convince the family that, in fact, a jilted lover could not force a 7 month pregnant Motswana woman to have an abortion in the US- an American doctor would probably be uneasy with the affair (especially as the baby was fathered by the mother's step-son; this story twist popped up in at least three different shows and American abortion clinics were mentioned every time). During the commercials I would ask the parents about health and education services in the village (better than you are thinking, by the way). Around 10pm everybody would take a bath: dad first, then the mom and Pako, then me and I haven't a clue for the teenager. I would pretend to try to attempt to do homework and instead crash untill 5:30 the next morning. Thus my life proceeded for 9 days and I reveled in the precious normalcy.

This is the front of the Ndebele house in Mochudi where I stayed, it was quite lovely (probably one of the nicer ones in the village) and absurdly clean; the mother sweeps, dusts, mops, and scrubs the bathroom every morning during the weekend and she expects the housekeeper to do the same on workdays.This is the kitchen where the infamous jambalaya incident occurred... details to come in a later post. The kitchen was really nice and there was an infinite sugary tea supply. This is Ms. Ndebele making motogo, my absolute new favorite dish (soft, sugary porridge)

This is the view from my room, the house was against the base of a hill and near all of the surrounding houses (and indeed most of Mochudi) there are huge flowering trees with bright pinks and reds. I have decided I will transplant such a tree to the US and make it grow in spokane...somehow...

This is Mrs. Ndebele wearing traditional setswana dress that one would wear to a wedding or a funeral. She is with her husband who smiles a lot in person but I think has a strict frowning policy in pictures.

This is the entire family, with sarah...that awkward Lekgoa. Pako is the one with the crossed arms looking sullen (he tripped while running to be in the picture). His older brother T- is to the left.... I don't know who the kid in the blue is, I think a cousin who wanted to be in the photo too. (It is hard to determine the relationships of the children because if asked, any child playing at her house is the mother's son or daughter.)

The family was ridiculously nice. They gave me a basket to hold jewelry, a pair of earrings and a traditionally-decorated hairpiece (porcupine quill and all) to say goodbye. I plan to return to Mochudi to stay with them for the occasional weekend, if for nothing else than to see Pako and eat motogo. (Pako details to come in later post).

Okay, never fear, I will soon update you on the good, the bad, and the quirky events in Mochudi in upcoming posts. Just a few teasers: I attended the "Church of Spiritual Healing" where I discovered that the Coca Cola company is branching out, I nearly poisoned my family (exageration), destroyed a kitchen (barely exagerating), and started crying (not exagerating at all) in the process of trying to share southern culture, and I was almost felt up by a teenage boy wearing a single glove, micheal jackson style, while attempting to get a scenic picture with a wedding party, lol. As always....details to come!

Sing to me, oh muse, sing to me of Mochudi

Hello all, I was dropped off at the university at 7am by my host parents on their way to work (mind you we had to leave at 6am in order to get to Gaborone in time for work) and as my first class does not start untill 10am I decided to take this opportunity to update everyone on my homestay in Mochudi.
Naturally the family is very nice, the coolest member by far is the five year old named Pako who does not speak English but does give me very direct orders in Setswana. He also tries to do traditional Setswana dancing whenever he hears music- that kid has a definite entertainment career in his future.
In any case, here is a collection of random thoughts that have occured to me whilst in Mochudi:
Bathing- Everybody in the family bathes at least twice a day, sometimes more. I only have bathed once a day, and I think my "mother" is concerned about my lack of hygeine; She asked me one night if she could draw me a bath in the morning, as my hair was still wet from the bath I had just completed less than twenty minutes previous I declined. I think they must think I’m a very dirty American, Lol. I hope all of those people who are convinced that Africans must not bathe very often are choking right now

Rooster- Apparently roosters are as confused in Botswana as they are in Mississippi. I was not so nostalgically reminded of our rooster neighbor in lakeshore when the one next door started crowing at 12am; shame no hurricane will drag this one away.

Noise: The family watches a lot of American TV including what is potentially the world's worst movie: "Demolition Man" with Sylvester Stallone, Sandra Bullock and a plethora of other famous actors who made a really poor career decision involving futuristic cop movie made in the 80s. I recommend that everybody watches it. Due to the upcoming national elections there are also stupid political slogans being blasted from a loud speaker in setswana somewhere in the village. It is enough that I may go through the trouble of marrying a motswana and living here long enough to get my citizenship just so I can specifically NOT vote for the dumbass who thought this was a good advertising technique.

Really Sweet: My family gave me a setswana name, Naledi (star), because my smile is like a star that lights up the Ndebele house. (If I were able to cry tears of joy in such a dry environment, I would have). I was really touched and surprised that I have been able to spend this long with a family without weirding them out, apparently.

Bus: I take public transport home o Mochudi and it is awesome. There are guys selling popsicles, water, and (of course) cell-phone airtime. I suspect that there are more entrepreneurs per square mile in Botswana than at a business convention in las vegas.

Hover cars and shake shake: One of the guys in the group was asked by his new "brother" whether or not we have hover cars and robots who make our bed in the US; awesome. We think that one of the previous exchange students might have been messing with him..... In other news, my friend mark met the kgosi of another village, and was subsequently asked to buy him alcohol. Since he was the cheif, mark could not actually say no and so bought him "shake shake" the local beer that comes in a carton and must be shaken before consumed... questionable.

Cooking: It officially took me forty-five minutes after meeting the family to break something in the house. Fun fact, pottery dishes shatter into billions of tiny shards when dropped on a tile floor. I also cooked a small apple gallete (like a pie but not) for my family. Turns out they had never used their oven, except for storage, and the little boy Pako was shocked. I have also had a request to teach the mother to make pancakes, I am thrilled to do so and I feel like I am spreading both traditions of the south and Hopkins.

Lab stuff: I have had several science labs within the past few weeks and I thought I would share one particular treasure:
In parasitology when we were supposed to start dissecting there was a Cockroach shortage for the class. We only had 5 roaches for 50 students. I have had to kill at least three cockroaches in my room and I nearly died from the irony- the science department should hire out some entrepreneurs from the bus for lab prep.

Okay, that is all of the spewing of random stories I am able to do for the moment so until I am dropped off at an ungodly hour again (oh right, tomorrow) and I feel like blogging (probably not tomorrow, altho only the muses know) peace out home slice! (PS, pics of the family and mochudi to come)

The not so lonely roll of toilet paper

So the end of August has come and gone and I have eagerly been awaiting the arrivel of my toilet paper quota (which is supposedly 4 rolls on the first of the month). I have been a bit desperate lately and have been restricting my "calls of nature" to when I am near the library building (the only place on campus stocked with toilet paper and soap; this is unfortunately inconvenient in the dead of night) Before you say anything, yes, I could buy my own toilet paper but I have not for two reasons: 1)I am mad that the previous 4 rolls I bought were all absconded with and 2) I am lazy and forgetful and the store is a twenty minute walk away. I was pleasantly surprised today when, returning to my dorm, I found 2 rolls of TP sitting on my desk. They still technically owe me 6 more rolls (2 more for the quota + my 4 they took) but I wasn't going to complain. I will complain, however, that when I looked over at my roommate's desk she had a pile of ten rolls. I figure that the cleaning ladies are either being very passive aggressive or, more likely, our room was the last stop, the woman still had 8 rolls left, and she did not want to carry them down the stairs. I spent a while asking myself "what would Kant do?" and eventually decided to go the hobbsian route and I straight up took an extra roll from the pile for myself. (life is nasty, brutish, and short on toilet paper....)

In a similar vein, the cafeteria seems to be taking a page from the cleaning service. I went there this morning, as I have done everyday, and asked to pay for breakfast. They then informed me that they have decided to stop serving breakfast. (note that this announcement came with no sign, no early warning, and no apparent logic) Upon further inquiry it turned out that they are apparently losing money and have therefore decided to only serve breakfast to those who bought a mealplan in advance. If any of you have spoken to me in the mornings then you know how I feel about breakfast so it is not too surprising that I managed to obtain food from the cafeteria this morning where 4 other international students failed. I have also offered to buy the meal plan for breakfast but the manager of the cafeteria did not seem to think that would work (what the heck?) but I pretty much turned on the "poor little me" act and asked her, "b-but, how am I going to eat? My only kitchen is in another country..." She said to come back this afternoon and she will know what to do. I will be getting breakfast, there is no question. I will eat peanut butter sandwiches and granola in my room for lunch and dinner (supplemented with setswana food from the street vendors) but I REFUSE to go without hot tea every morning and breakfast is the only place on campus to get it. So in any case, details to come (hopefully they will not involve a minor catering-service-coupe)

Of flukes and men: part II

So I recently had a crisis of authorship when I began listing those reading my blog. I realized that my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother, a priest, a J.U.N.T.A. member, a motswana, and dread-locked geology major are all reading my blog (just to mention a few) and I do not know to which audience I ought to cater my writing. I have pondered this dilemma and ultimately decided that since Stephanie has by far left the best commentary responding to the blog, I will cater it towards her.

With that out of the way, I have a minimal update on that boy who I wish had a liver fluke, who forthwith shall be referred to as TBIWHLF. Apparently, he has been approaching my friends about setting me up with him, naturally assuming that since I am white I must therefore be desperate for a motswana boy to "get to know biblically" whilst in Botswana. Unfortunately, TBIWHLF has not approached me directly so I have not yet gotten to a)give him a piece of my mind b)casually mention/ demonstrate my ninja skill set or c)find him an actual liver-fluke muffin (by the way, could such a dish still be technically vegan?) When the moment comes, however, this blog will be the first artificial/ cyberspace reality to know the details.

In other news, today was the first day of the month and therefore the first allowance day of the semester. There were 25+ people long ATM lines around campus; right next to the ATMs were giant posters with a peeing man on them that reminded the populace: "Avoid indiscriminate Urinating; protect the environment!" courtesy of botswana's equivalent to the EPA. I appreciated the passive-aggressive timing of the signs as the first of the month is apparently a huge drinking day on campus but, firstly, I don't think "indiscriminate urinating" is the biggest threat to the environment in Sub-Saharan Africa and, secondly, I don't know that a 3ft-tall poster with a urinating man is necessarily the best way to get one's message across (wonder if he's buddies with the bunny creator?) Naturally we are sending a contingent of international students to steal the poster as soon as the ATM line dies down (some time next week). I will keep you posted as to the success of the operation/ if I need bail money wired to Africa in Pula.

In the category of the very exciting, I was given the name and basic info of the host family with which I will live for ten days starting saturday. I will be living with a mother, father, and their two sons (ages 5 and 13) in Mochudi, about an hour outside of Gaborone. I am really stoked but also nervous- I guess I have to pretend to be normal for a while, shoot. They are supposed to treat me as their daughter, chores and all, and I am going to get a real taste of Setswana rural life. Altho I won't be able to blog during the week (I have a hunch) I will collect stories and pictures in the interim.
As always.....Details to come!