Gaborone and Home

After spending the morning at SOS on April 1, we finally did make it to Sanitas Restaurant. The food was OK and the ambience was very pleasant—outdoor dining amidst trees and plants. I, nevertheless, was overjoyed. That night was our last night at the Lolwapa. Madeline decided to spend our last night in Africa with us. On the morning of this day, we got up, packed up, bade Madeline farewell and taxied to the airport. Madeline was getting ready for her own trip to Victoria Falls—she would travel by bus over roads that at times became dirt tracks. It actually took her longer to reach Vic Falls than it did for us to fly all the way home. Our journey took us to Jo’berg, then on to Amsterdam and finally back to Minnesota.

My only regret was our inability to see any of the big cats on this trip. On my trip to Kenya in the 70’s I saw a leopard, a cheetah, and a multitude of lions and did not realize how lucky I was. I also would have liked to have come across mopane worms, just for the experience.

I’ll have to experience all of those things on the next trip to Africa.

Click here for a slideshow of African Animals.

Gaborone

We spent another morning with Madeline at SOS on this morning. Here are a few pictures from the day.

Mokolodi and Bahurutshe

On this day, Kathy and I hired a car and driver to take us to a couple points of interest near Gaborone, the Mokolodi Game Preserve and Bahurutshe Cultural Village. The Mokolodi Game Preserve is a 30 square km nature preserve south of Gaborone. It was formed in 1991 as a preserve and a center for environmental education. There were already a variety of animals living in the area, including warthogs, steenbok, and kudu, when the preserve was set up. Zebra, giraffe, eland, ostrich, hippos and rhinos have all been reintroduced. We were driven around part of the preserve in the back of a pickup truck outfitted with seats and saw ostriches, kudu, warthogs, wildebeests, and zebra. We also saw a large group of giraffe. (Groups of giraffe are called jennies—how cool is that?) We saw a cheetah in an enclosure—they have two at Mokolodi that were injured and are there for rehabilitation. There were also elephants that were under the care of elephant handlers. No lions, though.They are doing good work at Mokolodi, but it was all a little too tame after having been to northern Botswana.

We left Mokolodi and drove to the Bahurutshe Village to find out about traditional Batswana village life. Madeline had visited the cultural village with her ACM group in January and had recommended that we go there as well. The purpose of the cultural village is to preserve Batswana tradition, and while it is great for tourists, it also is aimed at local school groups, to help them understand their past and their traditions in this rapidly changing, rapidly urbanizing society.

When we drove up to the collection of rondavels that comprise the village, there was a small group of elderly women ululating a welcome. I had expected other tourists to be there, but Kathy and I were the only people there. There were five or six elderly women and one old man there to facilitate the program. After it was explained that if we were following tradition, I would sit in a chair and Kathy would sit on the ground, we were both seated in chairs in the shade of an acacia tree. Then they performed a traditional wedding with song and dance, showed how the bride would go to live with the groom’s family, and help with the daily chores. The chores included pounding sorghum into flour, and spreading fresh cow manure on the doorstep every morning (with her hands—yes they really demonstrated that). They also demonstrated traditional games that the people of southern Africa play at social occasions and by the fire in the evening.

One game is morabaraba and is played mostly by men. Morabaraba is played on three concentric squares scratched into the dirt that are all connected at the corners with diagonal lines. Rocks, bottle caps, or similar objects are used as game pieces and are called “cows.” Each player in turn places a cow at the intersection of two lines. When a player has placed three pieces in a row (called a “mill”), he may “shoot a cow” by removing one of their opponents pieces from the board. Cows in a mill may not be shot. Once all the players have placed all of their cows, each player in turn may move cows from one intersection to an adjacent one to form mills. A player wins when their opponent has only two cows left or can’t move.
According to Wikipedia, Morabaraba is derived from the English Morris and is based on a European game called “Nine Man Morris”, or alternatively Mills or Merrills in English, which was introduced by European settlers. This game ultimately came from a Roman game. Merellus, in Latin, means gaming counter.

A game favored by women is diketo, and requires timing and dexterity. Diketo, in principle, is like jacks. To play diketo, you draw a circle on the ground and place a bunch of pebbles within that circle. Each person takes turns tossing a large pebble, called a mguni or goon, into the air while taking pebbles out of the hole and placing them in a prearranged pattern (first one, then two, then three, and so on) on the ground before catching the large pebble. If you manage to get all the pebbles out, you continue by putting them back in the circle. If you manage to get them all back in, you’re done and you shout "Ndavala!" ("I'm finished!").

Finally, there was singing and dancing. Kathy was invited to participate. I, thankfully, was not. Then it was time for dinner. We were served seswaa (pounded beef), chicken, bean leaves (which were just that—the Batswana grow a large variety of beans, some for their leaves), bogobe (sorghum porridge), bread (which is not traditional), and some fresh greens (they called it lettuce, but if it was, it was not a lettuce I’m familiar with). The food was enjoyable, but bland. There doesn’t seem to be much variety in the traditional diet. It is centered on beef and either bogobe, or in recent times pap, plus a few vegetables. Disappointingly, they don’t seem to use much in the way of spices—quite different from other warm climate cuisines.

Visiting Bahurutshe was a good way for us to understand and appreciate the cultural background that formed the base for the modern Botswana that we were experiencing. I had hoped for mopane worms to be part of that experience, but they were not offered.

Gaborone and Oodi

On this day, Kathy and I, along with Madeline and her friend Avery, traveled to Oodi, a little village near Gaborone to visit the Oodi weavers. To get to Oodi, you must turn off the main road and drive a couple of miles of rocky open range dotted with grazing goats and cattle. The village is a collection of thatched rondavels, small tin roofed houses of concrete block, dirt streets, scratching chickens and playing children. It seems an unlikely spot for a world-famous weaving enterprise.

The Oodi weaving cooperative uses European spinning, dying and weaving on spinning wheels and looms imported from Sweden. The artisans have incorporated their own stylistic sensibility into the process, however, and their products, from the runners to the tapestries, are without a doubt, African. In 1973, two Swedish artists set up the coop here with the help of a small grant from CUSO. The coop, consisting of about fifty local people, mostly women, has thrived. The coop members hand spin the imported wool, hand dye the yarn in large iron pots, and weave the fabrics on a variety of handlooms. An individual co-op artisan designs each tapestry. They typically display scenes from Botswanan village life, or Botswanan wildlife. The runners and tablecloths that we saw in the show room were made from fine Merino wool, while the tapestries were made from coarser wool.

The coop’s main building was a large one-story wooden frame building divided into workrooms. One large room was for the looms, a smaller room contained the spinning wheels, and even smaller room had stoves and pots for the dying process. It was relatively quiet during our visit. There were maybe a half-dozen people at work at the looms and spinning wheels, and no other visitors. One of the workers showed us around the work areas and then led to a smaller adjacent building that contained the business office and a small show room. Kathy, Madeline, Avery, and even I had fun sorting through the piles of fabric and examining the tapestries on display on the walls.

The Oodi visit was enjoyable for me for the chance to see the process of making the weavings, and visiting the Botswanan countryside. More importantly, it was inspiring to see firsthand how this enterprise had provided income and empowerment for these village women. The project has become a source of local and national pride as the weavings have gone on display around the world. It has brought money into the local economy and it has provided a means of keeping people in this village, as other similar villages lose their population to Gaborone.

After our visit to Oodi, our driver dropped us at the university. It was lunchtime and Madeline decided that we must go to Sanitos, which she described as a pleasant outdoor restaurant in a plant nursery on the edge of Gaborone. So she called the taxi company.

“This is Mary. I need a taxi to go from the University to Sanitos….No, Sanitos. Sanitos, do you know it? Sanitos…. I can direct the driver. How long? Twenty minutes? OK. No. Mary….Mary”

A half-hour later, she called again. “This is Mary. I called a taxi a half hour ago and it isn’t here yet. Sorry?... Sorry?....No, Mary. Sorry? To Sanitos. Sanitos. Sorry? No, I can direct the driver. Ten minutes? OK.” With great optimism, we left her dorm room to wait on the street.

Ten minutes later, she called again. “I called for a taxi and am wondering when it will arrive. Sorry? This is Mary. Yes. Two minutes? OK.”

Five minutes later, she called another taxi company. “I need a taxi to go from the University to Sanitos. Mary….Sanitos…No, Sanitos. I can direct the driver. How long? Twenty minutes? OK.” A minute after that call, a taxi drove up. It was the taxi from the first company. The driver’s name was Francis. He had been waiting around the corner for “a while”—not the usual spot for taxis to wait, but it was his first day on the job. Madeline called the second taxi company back. “This is Mary. I called for a taxi a short time ago, please don’t send it. I have changed my mind. Sorry? No, we don’t need a taxi. I have changed my mind. Yes. Thank you.”

We got in and Francis drove us across town as Madeline provided directions. Sanitos was definitely off the beaten track, but we got there. There was a wall on the front side of the nursery with a gate for cars. I could see a pleasant shady brick-paved area through the gate. Francis asked if he should drive through the gate or drop us at the gate. Madeline decided he could drop us at the gate, and we got out and paid, then Francis drove away. We walked through the car gate, across the shaded parking area, and up to the front door. It was closed. “Closed on Tuesdays,” the sign said. I ran to the gate to see if I could flag down Francis, but he was long gone. Madeline cursed and dug in her purse for cell phone. “We were just dropped off at Sanitos and they are closed. Could you tell the driver that dropped us off to turn around and pick us up? No, Sanitos. No, we were dropped off and we need to be picked up because it is closed. Yes. Mary. Yes. No, we’re at Sanitos Restaurant and it is closed so we need to be picked up. One of your drivers just dropped us off. Can he pick us up? His name was Francis. Yes. So can he pick us up? Twenty minutes? He was just here. Twenty minutes. OK.” She hung up. I suggested that perhaps the taxi dispatcher hadn’t understood her. She made a growling sound and called the other taxi company.

“Hello, we are at Sanitos Restaurant and we need to be picked up. Mary. Yes, Mary. Yes, I did tell you I didn’t need a taxi. But now I need one because the restaurant we went to is closed. Yes, we need a taxi. But, I didn’t need one then. Sorry? Sorry?” She hung up and swore.

Twenty minutes later a taxi appeared. It was from the first company. It was not Francis. When we asked about Francis, the driver didn’t know anyone by that name. Granted Francis was new, but it also strengthened my theory that the name some Batswana use with foreigners is not their real name. Madeline had the driver take us to the Game City Mall, one of the larger malls in Gaborone where we cast around for a half hour for a particular restaurant that Madeline wanted to eat at, but didn’t remember the exactly where it was located. It required some tense muttering and walking around but we eventually did find it and ate a very late lunch. After lunch, we went to a store called Botswanacraft to shop for artisan-made good from Botswana. Unfortunately, I was exhausted from too many activities, taxi hassles, tense muttering and walking around and found a spot to sit on the stairs while Kathy and Madeline looked around the store.

Kathy and I had just enough time to go back to the Lolwapa and change clothes before it was time to go out for dinner. Avery, Madeline, and her friend Tswello joined us. Tswello was quiet and, I think, a little intimidated by us. He seemed like a great guy with an interesting background and some broad interests. Tswello is a rapper and has a CD out in Botswana. His father is a farmer and raises ostriches, not the usual livestock in Botswana, where cattle are ubiquitous and where wealth was measured traditionally by how many cattle one owned. But talking about any of those things at length with a couple of old Americans was a little too much for Tswello. He did start to loosen up a little by the end of the meal. I would like to think that that we managed to draw him out with our charm and winning personalities. Or maybe it was the beer.

Chobe River & Back to Gaborone

The Elusive Snake of the Chobe Safari Lodge

Check out the African bird slideshow here

On this day, we met Chapman by the Lodge’s dock and then boarded a small pontoon boat for a private wildlife excursion down the Chobe River. We spent the entire morning on the river and Chapman patiently and expertly guided the boat into the shallows near the shore to give us the opportunity to see birds and wildlife at close range and at the best possible viewing angle. I got some spectacular bird photographs on this excursion and much of the credit goes to Chapman for placing me in the right spot in relation to the bird and the sun. You can view these photographs, as well as other bird pictures in a slide show here.

After the boat excursion, it was time to check out of the Chobe Safari Lodge. This was the end of the safari portion of our trip. Ironically and significantly, the second of my two camera batteries went dead right after the boat excursion. So while we would have to rely on Kathy’s little camera for the rest of the trip, at least the batteries had held out for the length of the safari.

We had about an hour to kill before it was time to leave for the airport, so we settled into some chairs near the activities office and read our books. At some point, I noticed that there was a little green snake under the end table next to the chair where I was sitting. I was not surprised that there would be a snake since the “building” I was sitting in had a thatched roof and no exterior walls. I suggested to Kathy that the snake would be an interesting subject for a photograph. She gamely crouched down under the table with her camera and the snake, not liking this intrusion, took off cross-country to the next table. Kathy followed along and did get a couple nice pictures. Then Chapman came walking along, and we pointed out the snake to him. He seemed to feel that both the snake and the other guests would be happier if the snake were relocated. He left and came back with a stick and a shopping bag. The trick, he explained to us, was to put the bag next to the snake and then prod him with the stick. In order to hide from the prodding stick, he would slither into the bag, at which point he just needed to carry the bag somewhere far away and let the snake out. What is good in theory does not always work in practice, and this instance was one of those cases. When prodded with the stick, the snake would crawl under the bag. Remove bag, reposition, repeat process. Eventually the snake managed to slither into a tiny crevice where a pole supporting the roof met the floor. At that point, Chapman decided to stop bothering the snake and the snake stayed in his crevice and didn’t bother anybody. Then we got in the hotel van and rode to the airport.

We flew uneventfully to Gaborone, taxied to the Lolwapa Lodge and checked in again. The staff was as friendly and helpful as before, and the roaches were overjoyed to have us back. After unpacking, we walked to Madeline’s dorm at the University and caught a cab from there to a pizza place where we were joined by Avery and Jordan, two other students in the ACM program with Madeline, and Todd, a professor in the ACM program, along with his wife Deb, and their kids.

After dinner, Madeline taxied back to the Lolwapa, and we called Mike to sing happy birthday. Considering the cost of trans-Atlantic phone calls, we didn’t talk much beyond the song, but I think we caught Mike by surprise, anyway.

Zimbabwe & Victoria Falls

From the very early planning stages of this excursion, one of our dilemmas was if we should visit Victoria Falls. Victoria Falls is one of the wonders of the natural world, and we would be within a few miles of them. However, in order to visit the falls we had to make one of two choices, each with its own set of problems. We could go to Zambia, which was not the prime viewing location and presented some logistics difficulties, or we could travel into troubled Zimbabwe to see the falls from the best location.

The troubles in Zimbabwe stem from a series of bad decisions made by its dictatorial government led by President Robert Mugabe. A few words about the history of Zimbabwe for perspective: The British colony of Rhodesia, which became Zimbabwe was controlled by a minority white elite for the entirety of its existence. Blacks had no political power and were forced to live on the least productive land, while the whites, who made up less than 1% of the population owned over 70% of the most productive land.

This disparity resulted in confrontations between the black and white populations which escalated into a racial civil war in the 1970’s known as the Bush War (no connection with either former U.S. President). The war ended with a British-brokered peace. The country of Rhodesia ceased to exist, and the country of Zimbabwe came into being. Fair elections were held, and the Presidency was won by Robert Mugabe. He has controlled the country since his election.
Governance, which started out as a fair, democratic process, descended slowly into a morass of inefficacy, corruption, and one-party rule.

Land reform efforts started with a relatively fair "willing seller, willing buyer” effort, but in 1992, with the Land Acquisition Act, the government became empowered to buy land from white farmers compulsorily. Due to corruption, most of the land the government acquired ended up in the hands of government officials and their friends. Around 70,000 Zimbabwean blacks have, in fact, been relocated to farms, but lack the infrastructure and knowledge necessary to farm. Only 300 of the original 4500 white commercial farmers remain. Because of the disappearance of viable farms in Zimbabwe, the country has gone from being a net exporter of food, to a country facing starvation. It is estimated that that about two-thirds of the county’s 11.6 million people face severe food shortages. Mugabe has thrown the international media out of the country which has prevented any sort of external examination of the extent of the current famine.

The loss of the agricultural economy, the eroding economy, and the disappearance of tourism due to the country’s instability has resulted in virtual economic collapse of the country. There has been triple digit inflation and numerous currency revaluations in the last ten years. The government has printed trillion dollar bills, and the official exchange rate is 15 million Zimbabwean dollars to the US dollar. For all intents and purposes, the currency is worthless, and U.S. dollars, South African rand, and Botswanan pula are the preferred currencies with merchants and even government offices.

This is the unstable situation we encountered as we entered Zimbabwe. To get to Victoria Falls from Kasane, you drive a half-hour to the Zimbabwe border, go through some border formalities and then drive about another half-hour to reach the town of Victoria Falls. Almost the entire drive, on both sides of the border, is within national parks. I counted more elephants than humans on the drive. Our excursion was in a van and with a driver provided by the Chobe Safari Lodge. There were three other lodge guests in our group, a young guy from California (but originally from Iowa), a woman from Ireland, and her French boyfriend. The American and Irish woman both worked for a software company that was doing work for the government of Botswana in Gaborone. They were taking a break and doing some sightseeing.

Though it was early, the day was already hot by the time we reached the border crossing. All five of us climbed out of the air-conditioned coolness of the van to buy a visa and fill out the necessary forms. The doors and windows to the small station were open for air circulation. The public area was bare of any kind of furniture except for a bench built into the wall. Some yellowing documents posted on a bulletin board announced the visa requirements for various countries. A radio on a windowsill cranked out American pop music. Behind the counter, three young uniformed guards handled the forms and paperwork. Since the Zimbabwean government has given up on its own currency, we purchased our visas with U.S. dollars. As we stood at the counter waiting for our forms to be processed, Beyonce’s song “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)” came on the radio. Never one to be shy when there’s good music, Kathy started singing along. By the time the song was into its first chorus, she was moving to the beat. Not necessarily exactly the way Beyonce does it in the video, but Kathy was definitely being rhythmic. I was a little concerned at her irreverence during these solemn border crossing formalities and put a controlling hand on her shoulder. The guards were all grinning. They probably all laughed over beer after work about the crazy American woman and her discomfited husband.

When we arrived at the town of Victoria Falls, we parked in a fenced parking area directly across the street from the entrance to Victoria Falls National Park. All we had to do was pay the park fee at the gate and walk a short distance, and there was the falls. There were a few other tourists at the falls, but not the numbers one would expect at this wonder of the natural world. Tourism in Zimbabwe has dried up due to the unstable conditions. Almost everyone is now seeing the falls from less desirable vantage point but potentially safer Zambia.

The falls themselves are beyond description, but I shall make a lame attempt. We were there while the river was in flood stage so the amount of water going over the falls was phenomenal. A permanent cloud hangs over the falls during the wet season, and as one gets close to the falls one becomes enveloped in a mist which turns into rain, the rain falls from the sky, but also comes from all other possible directions, including up out of the chasm. The vegetation changes as you near the falls and you find yourself in the midst of a lush tropical rain forest. You become very wet. We were covered with rain coats that we bought at the hotel, or we would have been soaked. I had my camera in a plastic bag with the lens protruding through a hole. The sound of the falls is noticeable from a distance and increases in volume to a roar by the time you reach the mist. From our vantage point the mile-wide river was flowing directly towards us and then plummeting into a 300 ft. deep narrow chasm that runs perpendicular to the river. At the bottom of the chasm the churning water follows the deep cut in the earth around a corner beyond the falls and then through a series of boiling swirling gorges. The gorges are where you wash up eventually if you go over the falls. And people do. So do hippos.

Kathy and I walked along the edge of the gorge for the full mile—the width of the falls. At the end of the falls, where the river bends, there is, unbelievably, a bridge. The Victoria Falls Bridge was conceived of by Cecil Rhodes who wanted “the spray of the falls over the train carriages.” It was completed in 1905, and with completion of the bridge and the rail line, Victoria Falls became a tourist destination. The bridge spans 650 feet from end to end and is over 400 ft. above the base of the chasm. Today, due to the age and condition of the bridge there are strict restrictions on both weight and speed of vehicles traversing it. In addition to linking Zambia with Zimbabwe, it also serves as the platform for a bungee jump—a jump that takes the foolhardy 360 feet into the chasm.

After leaving the park we decided that it might be worthwhile, just for fun, to cross over the bridge and get a temporary permit to enter Zambia, just to say we did it. As we left the park and started walking toward the bridge, a throng of roving merchants attached themselves to us. The merchants probably outnumbered the tourists by a significant ratio. As I said, there were hardly any tourists here. Kathy, I, and our throng reached the guard post by the bridge. I was feeling a little too hassled by the merchants, and when I realized that there would be a significant fee to enter Zambia for even a short time, I lost all of my enthusiasm for that venture. So we turned around walked back to the parking lot where our van was parked. As we walked, one particularly persistent seller of carved animals stuck up a conversation with Kathy and tried in every way he knew to convince her she needed to buy a carved giraffe. She finally told him, “Look, I don’t want a carved giraffe. If you had a carved hippo, I might consider it.”

“You want a carved hippo? I can get you a carved hippo.”

“OK, you do that. I’ll be there." She indicated the fenced parking lot where our van was parked.

“They won’t let me in there,” he explained. “You watch for me and when I come, I will sell it to you through the fence.”

He did show up, about twenty minutes later with a hippo. There was some bargaining through the fence, and Kathy became the owner of a very nice carved hippo. By the time the transaction was over, there was a crowd of people outside the fence, all with something to sell.

We had much the same experience when we went to a nearby outdoor market where local artisans were displaying their goods. The five people in our van were the only customers. The shopkeepers, I think, did not want to seem too desperate and drive us away, so they didn’t pursue us down the street as the people by the falls had done, but they practically pounced when we showed any interest in their products. Perhaps we would be the only customers that day. We spent all the money we had. I bought a set of carved soapstone giraffe bookends. Kathy bought a lot of fabric. I also bought a cheap little kalimba. When we had spent all of our money, people asked if we could trade our jackets for their goods. There so little goods or money coming into the country that people are that desperate. After we were back in the van, Kathy and I pooled our last bits of change and Kathy went back to the bookend seller to bargain for a hippo soap dish we had both liked. She explained that this was all the money we had left. She got the soap dish. We both admired our purchases all the way back to Kasane. Then, as we were unloading our purchases in our room, the hippo soap dish fell from the bag and broke into pieces on the floor. (Fortunately, when Madeline made a trip to Victoria Falls later, we told her where to find the seller of hippo soap dishes and she purchased one for us!)

On the way out of Zimbabwe, we stopped at a park containing a baobab tree under which Livingston used to sleep. It was in a wooded area, with nothing nearby but the road. Crazily, as soon as the van stopped a group of people materialized out of the woods wanting to sell or exchange goods. Our only other stop was at the border, where we once again had to fill out the requisite forms, and, interestingly enough, to walk single file through a trough of disinfectant, while the van drove through a larger trough of disinfectant, as a control for hoof and mouth disease. Then it was back to the Chobe Lodge for another night.

Namibia and Chobe

One phenomenon that I continued to encounter in my research prior to our trip to Botswana was the mopane worm. The mopane worm is the caterpillar of the emperor moth, which lays its eggs on the the mopane tree and other trees in southern Africa. The eggs hatch, and the caterpillar goes through a series of molts and becomes a very large, meaty caterpillar before spinning its cocoon. It is a significant source of protein for many people living in southern Africa. I was sure that by this point in my trip I would have had the opportunity to try them, but I had not, in fact, encountered them. Maybe this was not the season? Maybe it's like oysters and you can only eat them in "R" months. I did get the opportunity to try a variety of wild game at the Chobe Lodge—crocodile, kudu, impalla, & a variety of weird plants, but not mopane worms.

On this day, we took a morning drive in Chobe National Park. Chobe Park is very large, but since there is a concentration of lodges near our little corner of the park, I expected that we would see a lot of other people out driving around—and we did. On the other hand, the reason for the concentration of lodges was the super abundance of animals, including the largest herd of elephants in Africa. So the morning could have gone either way, good or bad. In the end, it was mostly bad, and the problems mostly revolved around our driver, not the number of tourists. It could have been that he was a bad guide, but I would like to think he was just having a bad day. We spent the first couple of hours tracking a lion, which meant driving at high speed over rutted trails and right past other animals that we all wanted to see. We saw flocks of guinea fowl for the first time and were unable to get good pictures because we kept moving. Finally, when all six of us in the vehicle insisted that he stop, he did—about ten feet beyond where the birds were congregated. And he sat there until we asked him to back up. Then he sullenly slammed it into reverse and backed up—past the birds.

We didn’t ever find the lion, and after it became clear that we wouldn’t he became even more sullen. He was doing a lot of sotto voce mumbling, which I finally figured out was his way of describing animals that we were seeing, but not in a voice loud enough for us to hear. He was just going through the motions.

I imagine that it is hard to deal with tourists day after day, and maybe he had a fight with his wife that morning or something, but he was not a stellar guide, at least not on this day. In spite of the guide we did manage to see and photograph large stands of tree-sized aloe plants, flocks of guinea fowl, a large troop of baboons, Egyptian geese, colorful carmine bee eaters, and large herds of zebra and giraffes.

In the afternoon, we decided to slip across the border to visit Namibia. We weren't quite sure what we would find there but we figured that at the least it would be a chance to add another stamp to our passports. In spite of the flooding, we found a trek that was safely doable. There's a 12 x 15 km Namibian island near the confluence of the Chobe and Zambezi and we arranged for a guy to take us there in a boat. His name was Niven--not related to David, as far as I know.

Impalila Island contains around 60 villages and about 1200 people, all of the Subia tribe, which is also Niven's tribe. The boat landing was deserted when we arrived, except for a couple of guys butchering a cow. We had our passports stamped and filled out a Namibian entry form in a small building near the landing--the only structure. When I handed in my form, the official there pointed out that I hadn't filled in anything in the blank that asked for my occupation. I told him I was a scientist. Then he asked a question that I didn't understand. "Which village?... Which D plan?...Which deplane?" I finally understood that he was asking, "Which discipline." I told him that I was a microbiologist. He was satisfied with that answer. As a matter of fact, he was more than satisfied. He was strangely amused. As we left the building, he was quietly muttering to himself, "Mic-ro-bi-ol-o-gist...mic-ro-bi-ol-o-gist."

We followed a dirt road that lead away from the landing for about a half-mile through the savanna and then along the edge of a few small fields of sorghum and corn which were surrounded by rows of acacia brush to keep out marauding elephants and hippos. Finally, we arrived at one of the larger villages on the island, which had a population of around 50. Niven said that his village had a population of eight. I asked Niven several times what the name of this village was, but I didn't ever really understand what he told me.

The village consisted of 20 or so small houses, which were constructed of mud plastered onto a stick frame with corrugated sheet metal roofs. Niven explained that thatch was the traditional roofing material. Sheet metal's disadvantages were that it was very noisy when it rained, it was hotter than thatch in the summer, and it had to be purchased while the reeds used for thatch was free for the gathering. But thatch needs to be replaced every few years while sheet metal is virtually maintenance free.

Each house had a "courtyard" enclosed by a reed fence (called a jarata). The courtyard was actually the living area of the house and included the kitchen and bathroom. The one-room house was just for sleeping. The house that I visited had the one room divided into three sections by hanging sheets. The main room contained two threadbare easy chairs and the other two rooms each contained a bed--that was the sum total for furniture. The jarata had an area covered by a thatch roof with an open fire and a cooking grate and a stack of pots and pans. Another small enclosure contained a Turkish style toilet. There were four fruit trees in the jarata--guava, mango, papaya, and mulberry.

House with Jarata

The village had no power but there were several hydrants for water. The water intake is in the river and gets processed through a filter before being pumped to the village. The water system was intalled by a nearby game lodge a year ago after six village children were killed by crocidiles over the course of the previous year while fetching water from the river.

Chickens and goats wandered freely between the houses. The village also had cows, but the cows were not allowed to enter the village. They were, instead, kept in herds in the savana between villages and were tended by herders. The herders kept the herd together and safe from predators, but their main job was to keep the cows from breaking through the acacia brush fences and trampling through the corn fields. That was considered so serious an offense that if that eventuality were to occur, the cow owner would have to pay the field owner any price the field owner would request--up to and including the forfiture of the cow.

Towering at one end of the village was the largest boabab tree I have ever seen--I would say that it was at least 60 feet around. Niven claimed the tree was famous in the area and was over 2000 years old. At the other end of the village was another boabab tree, laying flat on the ground, but living. There is a parasitic species of tree called the strangler fig that sprouts from seeds that land in the crotch of another tree. As the fig tree grows, it sends roots down the side of the trunk of the host tree. As the the roots descend they constrict and eventually girdle the host tree and kill it. Because the boabab tree is shallow rooted the weight of the parasitic tree had caused it to topple over. With the boabab in a horizontal position, the fig tree was unable to encircle the trunk and kill it. Thus, there was a large fig tree with a huge (around 15 ft. circumference) boabab trunk coming out of its base and stretching across the ground. Large foot-thick "shoots" came out of the boabab trunk like mini-boababs. The village children used it as a play structure and it is very likely they had the best play structure in the world.

Gigantic Boabab Tree in Village

The village was devoid of men. They were all out fishing on the river. Fishing is not good right now due to the flooding, but it is their livelihood. When the women and children saw us coming, they all ran into their houses and brought out baskets and arranged them on the ground for us to examine, and hopefully, purchase. The baskets were beautifully woven palm frond baskets with designs woven in using palm fronds dyed with a brown dye made from the root of the magic guari tree. We knew these baskets were authentic because we saw the women making them. Niven, however, cautioned us against buying them because they were overpriced. He told us we could get baskets of a similar quality in Kasane or Gabarone for a better price. So we decided to forgo the baskets--a decision I hope we don't come to regret. While we may find less expensive baskets in a shop, we won't have met the people who wove them.

Above:  Kathy Looks at Items for Sale
Below:  Child with Mom

Kathy admired the colorful fabric in the dresses the women were wearing and asked where she could find something similar. Niven asked the women her question and told Kathy that they said the material was purchased far away. I suspect something was lost in translation in that exchange. Kathy did buy quite a bit of fabric later in Zimbabwe. More on that story later. In addition to telling us not to buy their goods, Niven cautioned us not to give money to anyone--something I had considered doing after having been invited into one of the houses. Niven claimed that the villagers were so desperately poor that they would all fight over the money when we left.

Poor, I think, is a relative term. The people of this Namibian village were living a very basic subsistence life and that had probably not changed for generations. But they seemed well nourished, healthy, and happy. On the other hand, the people we met the next day in Zimbabwe truly were desperate.

Pom Pom Camp and Chobe Safari Lodge

On this day, we took our final game drive with Partner. Game sighted on this morning drive included elephants, giraffe, tsessebes, and impala. We also saw a large troop of perhaps twenty baboons ambling along the tracks that a Land Rover had made in the grass. It was early and by following the tire tracks, they could stay out of the dew-saturated grass. We also saw lion tracks in the sand, but no lions.

The game drive and our stay at Pom Pom camp ended when we stopped at the edge of the same gravel landing strip we had landed on three days earlier. Five zebras galloped off the runway as we drove up and then stopped to graze about twenty yards off. Ibises and cranes waded through the marsh at the end of the runway, looking for fish.

Partner parked at the end of the runway and offered us a Coke from a cooler in the back of the Land Rover. “Since the plane isn’t here yet, I can tell you about how I spent some time in the U.S.,” he told us.

We were surprised. “You’ve been in the U.S.? What were you doing there?”

“I was there about two years ago. I worked there for about a year.”

“Where did you work?”

“I worked at Disney World.”

“What did you do?”

“I was Mickey Mouse.”

We believed him for a fraction of a second, only because Partner was normally serious. In fact, he had worked at Disney World for a year. Disney wanted to recruit people from Botswana to work in the African Safari part of Animal Kingdom at Disney World who were knowledgeable of the local fauna and flora who would also be able to act as Botswanan cultural representatives.

When Partner first heard of the opportunity for the job, he was reluctant to apply since he hadn’t finished high school. Finally though, two friends convinced him that they should all travel to Gaborone and apply for the job. When they got there, they discovered there were hundreds of applicants for the jobs. Again Partner was reluctant to go through with it and had to be convinced. There was a test. He aced that. The questions all dealt with the animals and plants that he was around every day. Not surprisingly, he did better on the test than those with more education who had spent all their lives in the city. The selection process went well into the night, but in the end, Partner was among the chosen few.

So he went to America and gained first-hand knowledge of culture shock and language barriers. When he first arrived, he wanted to get to a different floor in the airport and there were no signs directing him to the lifts. Later he found out that they are called elevators in the U.S. He asked for directions to the toilet, but when he followed those directions, he arrived at a door labeled “restroom” and was sure that the person he had asked hadn’t understood his question. The food in the U.S. was OK, but he longed for pap. While he could find things that were similar to pap, real pap was impossible to find.

But he made some good friends and when his year was up, they paid his travel expenses to Washington State and New York City. He wasn’t that interested in the natural areas of the U.S.—he could find that in great abundance in Botswana. But our cities amazed him.

Partner had to end his story of his travels when our plane arrived. He knew we were headed for the Chobe River Lodge, and as we left, he told us we should say hello to an instructor he’d had when he was studying to be a guide. His name was “Chop Man” he told us. Once again, as was the usual case with Botswanan names, we weren’t sure we’d heard it right.

The plane we boarded was a small prop driven job with seven passenger seats. The flight took a couple of hours, including a stop at another gravel landing strip in Okavango to pick up five more people at another game lodge—a quintet of Seventh Day Adventists who were relaxing at a game lodge after having helped build some clinics and schools in Mozambique.

The second half of the flight was rough and the airsick bags got a good workout in the back of the plane. We were all relieved while we finally landed at Kasane. As we approached Kasane, I was surprised to see a huge lake on the edge of town. I found out later that it was the Chobe River, which was in flood stage and well out of its banks, mostly on the north side of the river in Namibia.

The Flooded Chobe River from the Air

At the Kasane airport, a van from the Chobe Safari Lodge picked up the five Seventh Day Adventists, Kathy, and me. The safari lodge was right on the river and on the edge of Kasane. Its close proximity to town didn’t seem to detract from the wildlife experience. Warthogs were grazing on the lawn when we arrived (and later the very same ones or their cousins could be seen ambling down the streets of Kasane). We also observed a group of mongooses (mongeese? monguay? What’s the plural?) foraging in the undergrowth by the lodge. A sign in our room warned us that the crocodiles, hippos, and elephants would, on occasion, wander through the lodge grounds and were wild animals, not pets, and furthermore were very large and had huge nasty sharp teeth.

The Chobe Safari Lodge was huge and hotel-like, a shock after our Pom Pom experience. It has 46 hotel rooms, a cluster of “rondavels”, round traditional style freestanding huts (“huts” with indoor plumbing and air conditioning), and camping facilities. It also had a large restaurant, a bar, and a swimming pool. Our room could have accommodated an army. In addition to our bedroom with a king bed, there was a separate room with two bunk beds. We had a commodious bathroom and a deck facing the river.

Our Huge Room at the Chobe Safari Lodge

Our first activity at Chobe was to take a river cruise on a large riverboat owned by the lodge. There were probably fifty people on the boat—all lined up on folding chairs crowded onto the lower deck. There were families with crying children, and people clustered around the bar at one end of the boat who were obviously more interested in the bar than the river. There was also a guide who made a valiant effort to be heard above the cacophony of the throng. Chobe is home to the largest herds of elephants in Africa and they were numerous along the banks, wallowing in the mud and splashing each other and themselves with water. There were also large congregations of hippos. The guide would call attention to the animals and then give some detail about their ecology or behavior. He was, for the most part, ignored. There was no chance, in this large craft filled with people to observe the smaller mammals or birds. This was not a mokoro experience. I was annoyed that often I couldn’t hear what the guide was saying and felt sorry for him and wondered about his job satisfaction. Kathy and I asked him a number of questions, which turned into a conversation about the Chobe River and its wildlife. During this conversation, we noticed the name on his name badge was“Chapman”. This was “Chop Man” that Partner had asked us to say hello to. When we returned to the safari lodge, we went to the activities office at the lodge and arranged for a trip down the river for just the two of us in a small boat later in the week with Chapman as our guide.

Animals Viewed from the River Boat:  Above - Elephants, Below - Hippos

 

Okovango and Pom Pom Camp

We encountered a gradient of awareness of Americans and American culture in Botswana. At one extreme was the guy I sat next to on a combi in Gaborone who asked me if I was from the U.K. I told him I was from the U.S. and he responded, “U.K., U.S., all the same.” At the other extreme was the woman we met at the Bahurutshe cultural village. When she asked us where we were from, we gave our stock answer of the middle part of the U.S. When she asked which state and we told her that we were from Minnesota, she said, “Minnesota is on the Great Lakes, isn’t it? I so want to visit the Great Lakes. When I am seventy in two years, I am going to retire and travel. Then I’ll visit the Great Lakes.” She now has our phone number.

Not surprisingly, the U.S. cultural influence here is definitely less than the British. It is obvious in a number of ways that the Brits have put their stamp on Botswana, from driving on the left to the manner in which the Batswana speak English. On this morning, Partner held up a water bottle and asked us what it was. “Water,” Kathy and I both responded. “Waterrrr,” he repeated, emphasizing our American “R” sounds. Everyone laughed. In Botswana, of course, people pronounce it “woe-tah.”

This day we spent the morning on the woe-tah. The traditional way to get around in the Okavango is via a shallow draft dugout canoe called a mokoro. These days the government is encouraging people to use a manufactured fiberglass version to save the trees, but regardless of the material, they are still mokoros. Our morning activity was to explore the delta in this traditional way. “Poled silently, the mokoro glides gently through the waterways, parting dense reed beds with perfect stealth so that animals and birds are caught totally unaware,” is how the promotional literature describes it. Kathy and I rode while Dalton stood at the back and propelled us forward with a long pole. At times, the water was so shallow that a pole made a lot of sense—it would have been too shallow for a paddle. At other times, there was a strong current and the pole could barely reach the bottom. Standing up to pole obviously requires a good sense of balance and lots of practice. Dalton learned as a child from his father. He said at first he would lose control and fall in the water and then his father would beat him.

Mokoros - The manufactured kind

 Although we did see an elephant from a distance and the back half of a hippo as it disappeared into the woods, the focus this day was not on large animals, but rather on small animals, insects, and plants at extremely close range. Dalton pointed out tiny reed frogs clinging to the sides of reeds that were so well camouflaged that they look like part of the reed. He also showed us areas where bream had cleared an area of reeds and laid their eggs in the sand at the bottom of the water.

Poled silently, the mokoro glides gently

Water Lily 

Above and Below:  Reed Frogs 

After a couple hours, we landed on an island so we could stretch our legs. Elephants obviously congregated on this island because there were many piles of elephant dung. The volume in one pile of elephant dung is truly amazing. Think of what your dogs produces each morning on his morning walk and then imagine he was the size of an elephant and you will begin to see the picture. While elephants are herbivores, they are not ruminants like cows. Since they lack a four-chambered stomach, they can’t digest vegetation as thoroughly as cows. Thus, they need to eat that much more to get the nutrition they need and much of what they eat comes through undigested. The amount of vegetable fiber in elephant dung has been put to good use—it is used to make beautiful paper. I noticed that the elephant dung on this island was filled with round lumps about the size of a golf ball & asked Dalton about that. They were the fruit of the marula tree. These small fruit are similar to lychee nuts in that they have a very small layer of fruit over a large central pit, but the fruit is very tasty, a fact to which the elephants will attest. This fruit apparently sometimes gets over-ripe and ferments while still hanging on the tree. When this occurs, we were told, you have to deal with the problem of drunken elephants. As much as this story appeals to me, it may be an old wive's tale. The fruit is used to make candy and a liqueur called Amarula. Kathy and I sampled Amarula later that day when we were back at the lodge. It is a cream liqueur and is every bit as smooth as Bailey’s Irish Crème, but with a unique fruit flavor. I understand now why elephants like the fruit.

Our post-siesta activity on this day was another game drive. We spent most of the drive tracking a leopard, but never did catch up with it. So the day ended with no lion or leopard sightings, but it was nonetheless, another fine day.

Maun & Pom Pom Camp

Tswana is a melodic language, and I noticed that Tswana speakers speak English with a melodic flair. R’s, for instance, get a hard roll-almost like a series of rapid D’s. It may be that Tswana speakers have trouble distinguishing between D’s and R’s. If that is the case, it would explain why so many people have trouble with Madeline’s name. Since so many people have issues with the pronunciation, Madeline, in certain situations, refers to herself as “Maddy.” Then, with the D sound becoming an R, “Maddy” becomes “Mary.” Thus, Madeline, in concession to the linguistic difficulty, refers to herself as Mary in those situations.

One of those situations is when she deals with taxis. She maintains a list of numbers for taxi companies on her cell phone. When she needs a taxi, she calls one of those numbers and says, “This is Mary. I need a taxi to go from the University to River Walk.” A half-hour later, if the taxi hasn’t shown up she calls the number again and says, “This is Mary. I called a taxi a half hour ago and it isn’t here yet. Sorry?... Sorry?....No, Mary. Sorry? To River Walk. Sorry? No I’m GOING to River Walk. Right now I’m at the University. Sorry? No, Mary. Ten minutes? OK.” Then in a half hour if the taxi still has not arrived, she will call a different taxi company and start over. Taxis, we soon discovered, have reliability issues.

Thus, I was more than a little concerned about our ability to get to the Gaborone Airport. Our scheduled flight to Maun on this day departed at 7:15, which meant a taxi pickup around 5:45. We had arranged a taxi the previous day, but if it didn’t show up, we would have no way of calling the taxi company, since we didn’t have cell phones and the Lolwapa’s phone could only receive calls, not call out. So I fretted about that periodically, but needn’t have. The taxi was outside the hotel a few minutes before we were ready and we got to the airport in plenty of time, and then we were airborne on a small Air Botswana prop-driven plane for the hour-and-a-half flight to Maun.

The flight took us north across the edge of the Kalahari Desert and then into the unique riparian phenomenon known as the Okavango Delta. Maun is located right on the edge of the Okavango. The Okavango River flows south out of Angola, across the Caprivi Strip of Namibia, and finally into Botswana. Shortly after entering Botswana, the river spreads out into a maze of channels and marshes until it is finally totally consumed by the sands of the Kalahari. It is referred to as “the river that never finds the sea.” In the wet season, much of the delta is marsh. As the dry season progresses, the marsh gradually shrinks to individual waterholes, some of which dry up completely. The Okavango is a haven for wildlife, and as the dry season advances, the wildlife becomes very concentrated around the remaining sources of water. The Moremi Game Reserve takes up much of the Okavango, but there are also numerous private concessions surrounding Moremi. We were headed for one of them.

At the Maun airport, we were met by the pilot of a small four-seater plane. We transferred to his plane for the twenty-minute flight to Pom Pom Camp. There are no roads in the Okavango, so flying is the only way to get there. From the air, we could see the marshes, channels, and islands of the Okavango. We also saw numerous towering termite mounds and (gasp!) elephants and giraffe.

We were met at the gravel landing strip by Peter and Paul, two guides from Pom Pom. This apostolic duo hoisted our bags into a Land Rover and we followed a dirt track for a ten-minute drive that ended by crossing a narrow wooden bridge onto the island where Pom Pom camp is located.

Pom Pom has an open-sided thatched main building that contains a small lounge area, a large table for communal meals, a bar and a small gift shop. Guests stay in nine luxurious platform tents. Our tent opened onto a small deck that faced the lagoon. There was a king bed in the tent, a wardrobe for our clothes behind that, and in the back of the tent, a toilet and sink. A door at the back of the tent opened into a shower area that was enclosed on all sides, but open to the sky. There were small electric lights in the tent, which would work when the generator was running at night.

Since we arrived around 9 AM, we had time to ourselves for unpacking and getting situated before the 10 AM brunch. Brunch was yogurt, fruit juices, salads, coffee and tea, home baked bread, and made-to-order eggs, bacon, and sausages cooked over an outdoor griddle. The food at Pom Pom was phenomenal and plentiful. Game viewing activities occurred when the animals were most active, at sunup and sundown, and the rest of the time was filled with five meals. The schedule ran something like this: 5 AM, get up & eat breakfast; 6 AM morning activity; 10 AM brunch; 11 AM siesta; 4 PM tea; 4:30 PM afternoon activity; 6 PM, break in afternoon activity for sundowner drinks and snacks; 8 PM supper.

After brunch, we sat on our deck, read our books, and photographed the friendly arrowhead babblers (birds) and vervots (monkeys) that lived in the tree above our tent. The babblers would fly down to our deck and babble at us, while the monkey would sometimes jump onto the roof of the tent and scamper across and other times sit on a limb and watch us.

There was a self-service bar in the main building, so I ambled down there at one point for a beer. There are a number of beers made in southern Africa. St. Louis beer is brewed in Gaborone. Windhoek, an interestingly yellow pils is made by Germans in Namibia. South Africa makes any number of beers. I was not enamored with any beer I quaffed on this trip. Perhaps because of the climate, all the beers I tried were light-bodied lagers. Most of them had the flavor of your average Bud. Disappointing any way you look at it.

On my foray to the bar, I met the managers of the camp. They told me that they were a little confused because they had received two sets of reservations with the same last name & first initials. And they were not duplicates—another couple sharing our last name and first initials was staying in another tent at the same camp as we were, at the same time! Doppelgangers!

At four, we had tea and then went on our first game drive. Our guides for our stay at Pom Pom were Partner and Dalton. When Peter and Paul had picked us up at the airstrip, they had informed us that our guide would be Partner, but because of their accent and the unlikelihood that his name was really Partner, we weren’t sure what his name really was. Were they saying, “Padma?” Was he Indian? No, he was African, and his name really was “Partner.” I suspect that the names we called our guides were not their real names, but perhaps English names and words that somewhat approximated their real names, because we would mangle the pronunciation of their real names—the reverse of the Madeline/Mary phenomenon.

The game drive was in an open-sided Land rover. The other couple with whom we shared the vehicle were a young couple from Australia, Ryan and Kirsten. Our Doppelgangers! The other guests at Pom Pom were French and German. We didn’t run into many Americans. Africa is just so far away from the U.S.!

On this drive, we saw photographed many birds including a hammerkop, large, colorful saddlebacked storks, cattle egrets, blacksmith lapwings, and a host of others. We also saw red lechways, kudus, and tsessebes, all large ungulates, as well as zebras and giraffes. No lions. At six, we stopped for sundowner drinks, and then continued for a couple hours in the dark looking for leopards. At one point Kathy yelled at Partner to stop & back up, sure that she had seen a leopard. When Dalton swung the spotlight, there, looming out of the darkness was a stump. Kathy is convinced to this day that there was a leopard there and if we had backed up further we all would have seen it.

Gaborone

While there are a substantial numbers of cars in Gaborone, not everyone owns a car, so there is a fair amount of pedestrian traffic everywhere. It seems like a good thing to me, for several reasons. For one thing, it reduces crime. Crimes are less likely to happen on a busy street than when the potential victim is alone. Also, the more humans, the more humanized the environment becomes. Everywhere you go, small entrepreneurs have set up kiosks, stands, and even tables along the street selling all sorts of goods. People out walking around are potential customers while people zooming by in cars are not.

Can you imagine this in the U.S.? People would get out of their cars, get some healthy exercise, meet their neighbors, and find interesting things at stands along the route to their destination. They wouldn’t get there as fast, which is also OK. Living life at a slower pace would only be a good thing for all of us.

If you don’t own a car and have to travel a long distance in Gabs, there are taxis. There are also combis, which are very reliable, very cheap, and a great place to strike up a conversation. Combis are small white vans that can hold a dozen passengers when they are (very!) full. They run specific routes and you can ride for P2.70 (about 35 cents).

On this day, we met Madeline at a combi stop near the University and then took a combi to Tlokweng, a town outside of Gaborone where she volunteers at the SOS Children’s Village. An Austrian named Hermann Gmeiner founded the SOS Children’s Villages organization in 1949, while he was still in medical school. His original mission was to help alleviate the suffering of the many orphaned and abandoned children in Europe after WWII. From those beginnings, SOS-Kinderdorf International has grown to become an organization that is recognized around the world, and in fact was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize in 2002.

SOS Children’s Village began working in Botswana in 1986. The village in Tlokweng has 15 family houses, and each family has between ten and twelve children whose range in age from babies to 16 year-olds. In addition to orphans, the village also takes social welfare children brought to them by the government social welfare program. Children from the surrounding community also attend the kindergarten at SOS. Kids living at the village go to the nursery school and kindergarten on site until they reach school age when they attend the local schools. At age 16, they children move into a youth house where they stay until they are old enough to be self-sufficient. Also, a vocational training center teaches skills and vocations such as tailoring, welding and carpentry.

In Botswana, of course, many of the children who live at SOS have been orphaned by AIDS. One can hardly begin to imagine the suffering these little kids have gone through to lose both parents, and perhaps siblings to this disease. Some, no doubt, are HIV positive themselves.

Madeline spends her time helping in a class of nine two and three year-olds, as well as supervising general activity on the playground during recess. And when Kathy and I were there, we helped as well.

I thoroughly enjoyed working (playing) with these kids. I don’t know what they made of me—a “teacher” that was helpful, but obviously of limited intelligence & unable to understand anything they said. I was in demand on the playground, however, for lifting, twirling, and pushing swings. I was constantly surrounded by an eager group of kids yelling “Teacha! Teacha!” Trying to get my attention, approval, or assistance.

After recess we washed hands, prayed, and had lunch: On this day, lunch was chicken gravy over rice, “pumpkin” (actually some type of winter squash), and beets (Tswana word for beets: “Debeetirooti”—I love it!) Then we rode the combi back to Gabs & did a quick tour of the University of Botswana campus and Madeline’s dorm.

The University is contained on a large, well-maintained campus filled with modern buildings. The large number of covered walkways and covered courtyards reflect the fact that the summers are hot, and that there is a rainy season. Madeline’s dorm room was a typical dorm room. There were maybe eight double occupancy rooms clustered around a common room on her floor with all of those rooms sharing a bathroom. Her room contained a desk and a bed, and she and her side of the room was separated from her roommate’s by closets.

After the tour, we went for dinner at an Indian restaurant. It didn’t take many days for Kathy and I to discover that local cuisine was essentially not available in the local restaurants. Restaurants serve “international cuisine” but restaurants celebrating Botswanan fare were at best rare and probably nonexistent. Local food, however, can be found in the little stands along the road, and I’m sure in most people’s homes—perhaps even the homes of the people who worked in restaurants serving pad thai, shahi korma, or hamburgers.