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.