Motswana Tota

Yesterday I underwent a very Botswanan experience: I got my hair plaited. The word in Setswana is "loga" (LOH-ha), and last night unto this morning ke logile. Chimo, my roommate, did the plaiting: I did the sitting. We started around 9pm last night, worked until 1:30am, took a nap until 4am, got up and worked again until 6:30am. At this point, Chimo got ready for class, and I took a nap before skyping with Marlee. When Chimo got back we started again, around 9am, and the whole process was finally complete at about 11am. Overall it was about 9.5 hours, and I made it through today really well considering that I had a mere 2.5 hours of sleep under my belt.

I decided that I was not going to look like all the other international students who got their hair plaited in one solid color that didn't quite match their own and gave no depth - and in fact looked a bit strange. I bought a pack of blond, and a pack of black with maroon. So my hair is mostly blond extensions, with a fair amount of maroon, and a few black braids because we ran out before we finished! Every local I told thought the colors would be a bit iffy, but when I showed up at choir tonight with my hair all done up I was admired by everyone, and told that my roommate not only did a great job, but that the colors were amazing and the braiding followed the shape of my head really well (which is an odd way to make the odd compliment people give here that you have a nicely-shaped head).

My Setswana continues to improve, although still very light in conversation, I understand more and more every day. I text here, which is something I never participate in back home, and I have started using Setswana in my texts. A fully non-English text to a motswana friend of mine got me this response: Wena o motswana tota. Translation: you are a true motswana. One of the my favorite comments on my hair tonight was, "You look like an African." I suppose I'm fitting in pretty well here.

And now the part you've all been waiting for this whole time...

Pictures!

National Botanical Gardens

Sometimes you just know something is going to happen...

This morning Kelsey ushered Sarahi and myself to the National Botanical Gardens. What better way to make such a trip interesting than to take goofy pictures? These are just a couple of the shots we got - just the ones from my camera, she's got a few others on hers - that really "capture the moment" as it were.

When you read this sign, which plant do you think is the one I unknowingly walked up to and started touching before reading the sign on the other side of it?

Ants decided to attack Sarahi's feet when we were out walking later on today, on our way back from African Mall and Main Mall.

I bought some traditional springbok sandals from a vendor at Main Mall to wear with my choir uniform in the competition next Sunday. They are available in two forms: super-furry, or slightly-furry. I tried to find something in between, but no luck. Still, these are nice and simple. And casual enough that I can wear them around and not just when I am dressing up for something. In the words of my rumza, they're "NICE!" on me, so I guess that's good. :) So now I'm up to breaking them in for the next few days or so so that I'll be able to stand in them for who knows how long at the choir concert on the 27th!

Until next time!

~Botshelo

A different kind of discrimination.

I'm walking back to Vegas, on an emotional high after a brief time of hanging out with local friends, and almost back to my dorm when a car pulls up and stops at the gate. They're asking me something, but I don't know what, "Rra?" is my clueless response. A man gets out of the car and comes forward. Was he trying to drive through? "The gate is locked," I offer. He comes up to me, hand extended. "Oh, no," he tells me, "I just wanted to say 'hi'." The smile falls. The high is gone. I take the hand as disinterestedly as possible and keep walking. He tells me his name and asks me for mine. "Botshelo," I say. I'm already past him, I keep on walking, and leave him to his startled confusion.

It's after dark on a Friday night and I'm trying to get from Game City back to UB with my friend. We approach one of the taxi hawkers and ask for a lift. "Forty pula," he says. I'm indignant. "Forty pula? No, fifteen." The bartering continues and he refuses to budge. Another woman - a local - comes up to approach the hawker and he tells her the same: "Forty pula." She becomes just as indignant as me. "Don't worry," I tell her, "I'll walk away and he'll offer you a more reasonable rate, he just can't let on right now that he's trying to charge me more than he should because I'm white." When all was said and done we got the cab for P30. Still too much. And the whole way we listened to the driver tell us things about the U.S. we had no idea were true: that we all have millions of dollars, that we are sponsored by the government to go to school 100% like here in Bots, that we are all guaranteed a job and no one is unemployed, that everyone has fancy new cars and everything that they could ever want. It was hard for him to hear the truth - and I still don't think he believed us.

It's a different kind of discrimination that you find here as a white person living in an African country. When people see you, they almost automatically assume that you have loads of money. Listening to some of the ideas people have about life in the U.S. is disturbing, to say the least. And if you're a woman, you automatically receive much more male attention than you would ever want or need. Perhaps it's just a more verbalized culture here, but I have gotten hit on more in this month and a half than I have in my entire life prior to my arrival in Bots. Frankly, it's rather annoying. Examples like the first one (which happened just a little while ago today) are fewer and farer between for me than they are for some of the other international students - for what reason I cannot be sure - but they can turn a good day into a sour moment real quick. It's insulting to be assumed to be x, y, and z because I'm a blond, white girl walking down the street.

It's a different kind of discrimination which makes you pay more for the same quality products, makes you the potential sexual object and societal leg-up for any male that eyes you, and renders you unable to trust people completely because they may just be hoping to get close to you and steal your stuff.

But it's something you learn to live with, and to try to move beyond. I wouldn't say I'm bitter about it, and so I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. There are guys out there (although they are fewer and farther between here) who will actually get to know you before they ask you for your number so that you can meet again, or who don't ask you what you like in a guy and proposition you within the first five minutes of a conversation. And I really don't get it as bad as some of the other international students do. Perhaps because I keep a lower profile, perhaps because I dress more modestly, but who knows?

For now I'm off to choir where, aside from a comedic engagement at camp, I have not been uncomfortably approached by any of the guys. I suppose I've found the good ones.

Not too far from home

This morning after doing some handwashing I went to the mall with my friend Kourtney in search of Cadbury Maple & Pecan Mousse chocolate for my roommate to use as an example for her presentation on how maple syrup is made (which I helped her write. ;). We no sooner walked into the store than were greeted by a stand of Valentine's Day gifts, from the chincy to the cheesy. Okay, I thought they were all cheesy. But what can I say: I've never been a fan of Valentine's Day.

The holiday is pretty well-celebrated here. Several people were wearing red shirts today - especially the BDP people, whose shirt is red, and which they were even selling at a booth outside. I would say at least 40% of the campus that I saw, if not more. I received an anonymous text wishing me a happy Valentine's Day, and multiple friends that I ran into wished me a happy Valentine's Day as well. Not to mention that the number of guys and girls actually holding hands in public today was much higher than it usually is.

Today is just a short post. Just a little bit to say that I find it funny how a commercial holiday in the U.S. is practically the same here, with the red, the gifts, the couples, the advertisements for V-Day dances, the cheesy romantic music playing on the UB radio station, and whatnot. You name it, it's probably here. Today, I could have been in the U.S. and seeing the same things. Interesting how things carry over like that.

One time at Choir Camp...

I have decided that the UB Choir is one of the best things that has happened to me since I came to Botswana - right up there with the discovery of phaphata.

This weekend the choir went "camping" (more like a retreat) at Oodima Junior School about a half hour or so from Gaborone. We spent our time there in a mixture of activities ranging from intense rehearsals (we got a new song that is in Italian - or will be when we add the words - and is very, VERY difficult) to eating, to goofing around. The "official" camp lasted until about 8 or 9 o'clock on Saturday night, leaving the rest of the evening and the following morning for games and fun. And there was plenty of both. We had a braai (bbq - pronounced like "rye" with a "b" in front), but we didn't eat until after midnight, so the intermittent time was spent chatting, goofing off, singing fun songs, and playing games. Not only did I get engaged, but I also learned more games than I can shake a stick at - it was an absolute blast!

I was the only international student who went out of the three of us who have been attending more-or-less regularly. At first I was a bit nervous - the language barrier can make things pretty awkward, especially when you don't know people. But by the end of the weekend, I was glad that I had been the only international because it forced me to come out of my comfort zone and really start to make friends with the locals - and gave them a chance to make friends with me, the less outgoing of the international students in choir. When Sunday rolled around I was someone people could have fun with, and no longer just the girl who comes in and tells people how to sing rhythms because they don't know how to read music, I was Botshelo (boht-SAY-loh), the international student who somewhat fits in as a very light-skinned Motswana. I also became much more comfortable with the situation of having people speak Setswana around me. And, while my Setswana still isn't good enough to be conversant, I would say that I am starting to speak it myself - little by very little - and that I can actually somewhat follow conversations (the more English helper-words thrown in the better!) and stories even though I don't have much of an idea what they're actually saying aside from a couple words and phrases here and there.

My next goal is to find someone who will be willing to help bring me up to conversational level, because the Setswana course we take is not terribly immersive or intense, and if that's all I have to go on I won't be speaking much better than I am now by the end of the semester. My professor told me that I didn't belong in the class because I was putting things together too fast and asking too many questions about manipulating the information I already knew to make out information I haven't been taught yet, which tells me that it will be entirely up to me to take my Setswana to the next level before I go.

Well, I hate to sound like a broken record, but I have to finish my light supper before I head off to choir rehearsal. Hopefully we can make a bit more headway on this terribly difficult new song of ours!

Until next time!

~Botshelo

The Black Market on Lab Coats

It was Tuesday, the day of my first real lab in Principles of Ecology. I sat awkwardly at the back of the room, positioning myself behind the other students to hide my color in a sea of white. At the University of Botswana, it is mandatory for all students to wear a lab coat, buttoned up, while in the lab - even if all you're going to do is count colored corn kernels and it's 86° outside with no fans and no AC to cool you down.

The lab began with the usual announcements, and a stern warning about wearing the proper lab attire for future labs - a sort of "we'll let it slide: this time." I partnered with a random guy at the back who introduced himself as Owen. Our experiment, a simulation of natural selection which required the counting and moving of colored corn kernels, was a breeze. We flew through it, and were out of our three-hour lab session about half-way through. The first ones - and no one else looked even close to finishing.

On the way out, he asked me, "Do you need a lab coat?" "Yes," I replied. "How much can you pay?" he asked. "Fifty pula," I stated. "Ok, I'll call you when I get it." We exchanged numbers, parted ways, and I headed off to an early supper before choir rehearsal. Let me explain something about what just happened: lab coats are not cheap. The school bookstore has the monopoly on them, and the chances of me finding such a random article in another store are slim to none. The cost for a lab coat from the UB bookstore? app. P180. That's about $30. And P50? You're looking at about $7.40. It's a pretty significant difference.

The next day I was eating lunch at Moghul when Owen came up. Turns out he'd been calling me all day but had one digit wrong in my number. No matter: he pulled out the lab coat, I tried it on, folded it into my bag, and handed him a P50 bill. Transaction complete.

It was Tuesday, the day of my second real lab in Principles of Ecology. I sat right up front, just another white lab coat in a sea of white lab coats. And of course, at the University of Botswana it is mandatory for students to have their lab coats buttoned in the lab, even if all you're going to do that day is watch a video, so I was sweltering in 86° heat with no fan and no AC to cool me down. But standing at my workbench, lab coat shining in the sun, I have to say that I felt pretty darn cool.

:)