Tuesday:
I have had most of my classes so far. They ranged from interesting, to stupefying, to drudgery, to exciting...so they are basically the same as in the US. One professor was lecturing now and then on how Westerners are “people too, with problems just like us. They are not all millionaires”. Yes, you can say that again. I'm sorry, but I am one white person who does not live in a mansion and make personal phone calls to Taylor Swift. Not that every person here thinks like that, but there are enough to make situations uncomfortable from time to time. It's just like how people in the US often think everybody here is starving and sickly.
I also had my first post office experience yesterday, and I thought Dad would like to hear about it. The post office is very red, first of all. It is the official color of Botswana Post I think. A costumer walks up to the window and puts his/her envelopes, money or stamps, or what have you into a drawer which is then withdrawn behind the window. This is how my stamps are bought. I put P8 worth of stamps on both letters I sent to the US. The stamps, by the way, are the kind you lick. Dad you can expect to see these big colorful stamps when you eventually receive cards/and or postcards in the mail. After you have finished stamping your letters you take them outside of the building (the post office is in the student center, nicknamed Times Square or The Clock Tower) and put them in the bright red mailbox. It took a little bit of force to fit one of the cards into the mail slot...so maybe Botswana Post is finicky about letter size?
Archeology Class:
First of all “archeology” appears to be spelled as “archaeology” here in Botswana. Confusing. Anyway, I signed up take a class called Archaeology of Botswana because I thought it would be interesting. I guess I must have completely overlooked the fact that this is a 401 class, and therefore meant for seniors majoring in archeology. Alright-very-well-so, I am in this class and the lectures are fairly fascinating. The professor, who I have mentioned above, it really cool and I wish I could be her sometimes. (These are things I think about during the times when the lecture gets a little less interesting). However today's lecture spent an uncomfortable hour and a half focusing on how white people had come in and destroyed Botswana's hsitory. This is true, I have no doubt, and I won't go into details here. I listened and tried not to notice anybody looking at me as the professor laid out the series of humiliating and poorly executed exploratory trips to Bechuanaland, only to return home with a guidebook full of useless observations. Again, I recognize that all this is true. What was more uncomfortable were references to Detroit and how badly the Americans screwed up by dropping the atom bombs on Japan. I don't remember why that reference was necessary, or how it related. There was also discussion on how the Nazi's classified white people. UNCOMFORTABLE DAY.
The Weekend: Chapter 3
This was quite the weekend. During orientation week the internationals had the option of signing up for a “cultural excursion” for P350. The details on this were vague, and quite frankly we were all a little skeptical of how it would turn out. Saturday morning we all stumbled out in front of Vegas (I don't know if I mentioned this before, but everyone at UB calls our dorms Las Vegas) with pack and varying degrees of awakeness. It was very cold. The bus was about 30 minutes late- also known as on time in Botswana. Anyway, we then had a cozy hour long drive to village of the chiefs. This was a compound where the chiefs of the local tribe gathered to discuss matters of business, conduct trials for everything except murder, and perform weddings. Men wore nice pants and removed hats, while women wore dresses and skirts which were at least knee length and sat in the back. The chief, whose name I unfortunately don't remember, told us about their justice system, some history on his culture, and showed us the buildings built for his grandfather and father, which were each grander than the one before. We also viewed the pen for lost-and-found cattle and the gorgeous statue of his grandfather which had been erected only the day before. See photos in my album “Jurassic Park” for photos.
Next we got back on the bus and drove through more beautiful African countryside. At one point we passed a signed which pointed the way towards Windhoek, the capital of Namibia. How often do you encounter road signs pointing towards Namibia? Anyway, we stopped for a hearty lunch a little place with a few touristy-traditional buildings, a pretty courtyard, and plenty of cows, goats, and monkeys ambling around. I sat down to eat my lunch with some friends and ended up being vastly entertained by and episode of CSI Miama which was on. Did you ever notice how deep the main character's voice is? Just imagine him talking about picking out a cute kitten or asking for some chicken noodle soup. At this lunch place there was a resident cat that, for once, wasn't feral and I was able to pet him and cuddle him for a good ten minutes or so. He was a tiny tabby that I named Dune, after the sand dunes he so closely resembeled.
After lunch we drove to see some cave paintings and famous landmarks. At the moment I can't quite remember what the place was called, but I will look it up later. The paintings were made by people 2,000 years ago who came there and used it as a spiritual site. Much later, in the 19th century, and important battle against the Boers took place. One of the chiefs from the village which we had visited earlier hid his pregnant wife in a tiny cave at the base of the rocky cliffs so that she would not be captured. The cave is named after her to this day.
Next we drove to the Livingstone Tree. This is a magnificent and very old wild fig tree which was made famous as one of the places David Livingstone came to try and preach and treat the local people with his medical knowledge. For a quick bio on Livingstone here is an except from Wikipedia: David Livingstone (19 March 1813 – 1 May 1873) was a Scottish Congregationalist pioneer medical missionary with the London Missionary Society andexplorer in Africa. His meeting with H. M. Stanley gave rise to the popular quotation, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?".
Perhaps one of the most popular national heroes of the late 19th century in Victorian Britain, Livingstone had a mythic status, which operated on a number of interconnected levels: that of Protestant missionary martyr, that of working-class "rags to riches" inspirational story, that of scientific investigator and explorer, that of imperial reformer, anti-slavery crusader, and advocate of commercial empire.
His fame as an explorer helped drive forward the obsession with discovering the sources of the River Nile that formed the culmination of the classic period of European geographical discovery and colonial penetration of the African continent. At the same time his missionary travels, "disappearance" and death in Africa, and subsequent glorification as posthumous national hero in 1874 led to the founding of several major central African Christian missionary initiatives carried forward in the era of the European "Scramble for Africa".
A pretty cool guy, if you ask me.
After that stop we went on to the cultural village where we would spend the night. It is called Bahurushe Cultural Lodge, and is run by the grandmother of the Baboon Totem Clan. Lucky me, a village full of baboon statues. The grandmother had two of three other venerable ladies helping her and a host of grandchildren and grandchildren running around, as well as some general staff members. We guests were housed in lodges and tents. I volunteered for a tent right away, along with three other CIEE-ers. It seemed like a good idea at the time... Dinner was a tasty affair and then we were called via drums to attend a very interesting lesson about the Baboon Totem people and then learn some dances and some cultural food preparation. I have to hand it to these women for being able to smash huge wooden staffs (roughly five inches in diameter and a good 5-10 lbs) up and down with enough force to grind grain into powder. We white people tried and failed.
After all that hulabaloo things more or less settled down and two campfires were lit. Some people sat by one, and CIEE basically gathered around the other. We decided on the age old tried and true tradition of ghost stories and never have I ever had a better evening of stories round a fire. They were top notch; almost everyone chipped in and one guy in particular was not only gifted in his rendition of the stories, but he had a huge repertoire of incredible stories! Eventually we were given two guitars and so he and one of the girls both spent the rest of the evening playing softly on them. Eventually we all drifted away to bed. Nights in Botswana at this time of the year and very cold, and this was no exception. It was frigid in that tent, even under our thick blankets and with four people. I did better than the rest and got a good six or so hours in, but had a slight scuffle in the middle of the night over some pillow confusion. I woke up with the sun at seven in the morning and decided to get up and wander around in my pajamas and take photos. I managed to get into the first wave of breakfasters, which was a good decisions. I am constantly hungry, after all.
We packed up and left camp at ten and then headed to what I personally consider the main point of being in Africa: a game reserve. The Mokolodi Game Reserve, to be exact, a place which I am in the process of trying to secure a volunteer position at. It is about a thirty minute bus ride outside of Gabs. Once at Mokolodi we stood around for a while (as per usual here in Africa) were given orange juice (but we were promised champagne!) and then there was a mad dash to get a “good” safari vehicle. By good, I mean a smaller one which is full of less people to try and see animals around. I succeeded, and sat in the very pack row of the three row open sided 4x4 truck with three other people on the bench with me. Our knowledgeable explained that at Mokolodi there are about seven white rhinos (including one calf!), a herd of giraffes, various herds of kudu and gazelle, warthogs, all manner of birds, hippos, two hyenas, and two prized and tamed fifteen year old cheetahs. The majority of the animals are wild and run freely through the reserve but the cheetahs were hand raised after being orphaned as very young cubs. They do not know how to hunt for themselves and can interact happily with the staff. All very good news for someone aspiring to spend some quality time with nature's most perfectly engineered mammal.
The drive was very beautiful and the day was pleasantly cool with a breeze. We did indeed see plenty of the gazelles and kudu. Kudu, by the way, are much larger in person than you would expect, around the height of a moose with big twisting horns. We also saw wildebeest, a family of warthogs, a Zazu (the bird from Lion King, if you remember), and THE CHEETAHS. We were the only vehicle of three to see them, and we spotted them twice. The first time we saw one of the incredibly magnificent animals taking his leisure by the fence. I caught a photo of him in mid yawn. What luck! The second time was after our lakeside lunch on our way out of the reserve. Both boys were feasting on their own lunch of chicken and donkey meat. I don't think I can express how happy I am to see these big cats. They are simply too beautiful to describe, so just check out my photos.
During our lunch, by the way, we saw some hippos. Two, and they were very far away, but with the help of someone's binoculars my friend Grant and I spent some good time spying on them. After the reserve it was back to UB where I now sit blogging my adventures with you and recovering from such an action packed weekend.
Cuddling dogs and cats, stories around a campfire, good food, friends, long drives though the countryside, sarafis, and cheetahs. What perfect days in Africa.
