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!
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