Suddenly I'm home

"The aeroplane is a wonderful thing. You as still in one place when you arrive in the other. The aeroplane is faster than the heart" --V.S. Naipaul from A Bend in the River.

I went to Mozambique for a week, and had a beautiful and relaxing time at the beach at Ponto Malongane, drank plenty of Dois M, but regrettably didn't see much else of the country.

Spent about 36 hours in transit, with layovers in Nairobi and London. And now I'm staying at my folks for the time being. Big personal news is that I got accepted into Virginia Tech's PhD program for Science and Technology Studies, with funding! I am very excited that this possibility opened up for me. I thought about it a lot while I was in Botswana, and now I am sure that this is what I want to do with myself.

I hope to get in touch with friends now that I'm back, and go for visits. But right now I am happy to be stationary--for the time being at least!

It is so hard to say good-bye

Tomorrow I leave Botswana, and I am feeling the emotional rawness and confusion that comes with saying good-bye. Changes are always hard for me...it was hard to leave my home to travel in the first place, sometimes it has been difficult to stifle the homesickness I have often felt. But now hardest of all is to say good-bye to the place that somewhere, over the course of 3 months, has become my home. Everything becomes something special when you think you will never see it again. There are the little things I want to hold on to: the terrific thunderstorms, cheap street-side food vendors, the fact that the 5 pula coin has a picture of a worm on it, walking everywhere, never needing a sweater, donkeys and horses and chickens and goats everywhere on the side of the road, eating pap, making people laugh when I try and speak Setswana, the way Batswana dance.

The little things I won't miss: the often incessant heat, mosquitoes, the same top-30 R&B songs on repeat everywhere, sunburn, the uncleanliness of bathrooms and fact that 90% of them are missing toilet paper, water outages, not being able to join in lots of conversations, the fact that men hit on me solely because I'm white (and therefore a ticket to America/wealth), traditional gender roles in general, meat served with every meal, rampant Christianity.

More than anything, I will sorely miss the relationships that I have cultivated. It is heartbreaking to have to say good bye to certain people, especially the fact it is likely I won't return. Of course I want to, and it is easy and tempting to say, "yes, I will try my hardest to come back here, once my situation allows". But I am not sure if that is the case, and I don't want to raise any false hopes, particularly with my best friend here, Masilo:

But that said, I really hope one day to return to Botswana. Despite all my misgivings about travel and white interference in Africa, I can picture myself living here one day. It is probably wrong of me to think this. Especially because I don't think about living here forever, just for a few years. And the fact that I could invest just a small portion of my life, and always have the option to return to a generally more comfortable country, seems wrong. But I feel introspective and so in-between things in my life, especially that I am about to be on the move again, that this possibility of living in Botswana is opening up (especially if my graduate-school plans don't

materialize). But I seem to change my mind continuously about what I want to do with myself that you probably shouldn't trust this insight.

These pictures were taken at "The Big Tree" at the banks of the Thamalakane River in Maun. If you look closely in the bottom right corner, you will see two children playing on the lower branches, to give a scale to how big it is.

On a completely different note, if you are needing something to read, please consider Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. It is both a page-turner and politically insightful, and nourishing and deep and everything my favorite fiction tends to be. It is about the failed Biafran war for Independence, but also about Igbo culture and love and happy normal Nigerians living in Nigeria (as in, though it deals with the war, it is not all about sensational violence and famine and the like). I haven't read any of her other works, but I plan to as soon as I can get my hands on them.

Train to Bulawayo

So I made it into Zimbabwe! I only had to pay $30 for a visa, compared to $75 I had heard from some Canadian tourists. I walked about 2 km through the Zambian boarder and over the bridge that crosses the Zambezi, to arrive in the town of Victoria Falls. The walk was hot and I had my heavy pack on. But it wasn't so bad, until I was introduced to my first Zimbabwean hawker. People tried to sell me things in Zambia too, but not with the determination of the Zimbabweans. It is sad because the folks in Zim are really desperate to earn some money, and I feel bad for the awful situation they are in, thanks to Robert Mugabe. Lots of people were even trying to sell some of the old Zimbabwean dollars, in one hundred trillion, or fifty billion denominations, for souvenirs. Which are unfortunately totally worthless now, as they have switched to using the USD or South African Rand for everything. But I am just not interested in any souveneirs and in the end it is quite annoying to be constantly hasseled to buy something. I spent the day in Victoria Falls dealing with this, and found that the best solution was to use a mixture of humor and firmness. At this point I was traveling on my own, and so was probably a bit more of a target than those traveling in groups or pairs. But I did strike up a conversation with several folks, including a guy who introduced himself as "Kokostereo", a.k.a. chicken stereo, an aspiring DJ. Folks would all ask me the same questions: "where are you from?" "how old are you?". After a while I started telling people I was from Kenya. I am not sure why I did this, but it seemed to work, and people would only ask me to buy something once or twice before backing off, compared to about 30 times when I told them I was American. Maybe they assumed I knew what I was doing, more than if I told them I was American. Maybe they were just confused about how a white person could be from Kenya. But despite all this, everyone was really friendly, helping me find the train station, the supermarket, and just interested in talking even after they realized I wasn't going to buy anything. In the end I spent the most of the whole day just walking around and talking to folks, as I had to wait until the evening to catch my train.

The contrast between the Zambian and Zimbabwean side to Victoria Falls is startling. Livingstone was lively, full of people and shops and people selling fruit, and of course populated with a good amount of tourists. Even in the poorer areas and markets, there was just an atmosphere of vitality. The Zim side was different. It seemed like a ghost town. Lots of shops were closed, and there were just fewer people on the street. The tourists that I saw for some reason were all older and more conservative looking. I took a little break at the historic Victoria Falls Hotel, which was ghastly. It was totally snobby, upscale, and hearkened back to those "good ol' colonial days", with even the bell hops dressed in uniforms that looked like 19th century safari outfits. I checked my pack in just so I wouldn't have to carry it around all day, and managed to sit unharassed in the back veranda with a good view of the falls, without buying anything. Compared to the beggars on every street corner of the town, the opulence of the hotel I found quite disgusting. But then again, the whole purpose of the town is to cater to tourists, and I suppose a marginal amount of money spent in the hotel goes back to the population.

The train, on the other hand, I found totally charming. Though obviously a relic of the colonial days--it must have dated back to the 1940s of so--it was awesome. The fixtures were all wood and brass, with lots of little details: radios in the corners of the room, a small sink and shaving mirror in the compartment, a place to put your soap and hang your coat. Of course it was run-down, the lights in the cabin didn't work nor was there any water. There were a few cockaroaches in the cabin and the whole thing smelled just vaguley of urine. But I still had a great time. It was a 16 hour journey, but I payed for 1st class and so had a sleeper car, and passed the time in reative comfort. I shared the cabin with 3 other ladies, including one pastor who was exceptionally friendly, probably because she wanted me to join her church. Waking up to the sunrise over the Zimbabwean wilderness as the train chugged along was priceless. I maintain my belief that trains are the best way to travel (after walking), and I wish some of the Amtrack trains back home still had the old fashioned charm of this one.

I'm not sure why I went to Buaweyo. Partly I just wanted to take a train somewhere. I wanted to see more of Zimbabwe; and by now I'm more interested in cities than national parks. It is kind of on the way back to Maun. Anyway, it was an interesting, if not totally pleasant experience. Like Victoria Falls and the train, the whole city exuded run-down 1940s or 50s atmostphere. The streetlamps were this wonderful art-deco style, as were the storefronts and the way signs were just painted on the walls, and everything was crumbling with no maintenance. There were wildflowers everywhere. I walked around a little, visiting the art gallery and just walking around the city. But overall I was not too comfortable alone and so could not enjoy it too much. I was the only person staying at the hostel, and didn't meet any fellow travelers, and for the first time on my journey, was just too intimidated to really wander out on my own. Occasionally a beggar would follow me and I would get uncomfortable and have to duck into a shop to avoid them. But I maintain that traveling in Zimbabwe was no more dangerous than traveling in Botswana or Zambia. I had heard that there were more thieves, so I was a little more on guard, and of course, didn't walk anywhere at night.

My return journey the next day was exhausting. I went to the bus station at 6 in the morning, waited for 2 hours for a combi to fill up, and then sat in a totally packed (21 people in a vehicle that said '15 people maximum' on the inside) combi, trying not to be claustrophobic. This was probably the most uncomfortable leg of my journey so far. The drive to the boarder was about 2 hours, plus an hour through immigration, into another minibus, which was slightly larger, but this time I had to sit on what was not really a seat, just a gap, next to the driver. Which was fine, as long as he didn't have to change gears, in which case I would have to kind of lift up my legs so that he wouldn't jab me in the thigh with his stick shift. I arrived in Francistown at around 12 pm, waited on a bus for almost 2 hours before it left for Maun, and then finally arrived in Maun at around 7 pm. Phew, long day! But once again, I love being able to see how far I've gone on the map. It is almost empowering, to realize that I did all this on my own.

Crossing the Zambezi

On Saturday morning I caught the 6:30 am bus out of Maun to Nata; waited for a connecting bus to Kasane for an hour before asking some French tourists in a 4x4 for a ride. They dropped me off in the town of Kazungula, which is the single border point of Botswana and Zambia, and also Namibia and Zimbabwe. I walked about 1 km to the Zambezi river lorry, and crossed into Zambia via a short ferry ride. I crammed into a taxi with four other people, and rode the last 60 km to Livingstone and arrived around 5 pm. It is just a really cool feeling to see how far I've gone on the map, and by so many different modes of transportation. Livingstone is the Zambian gateway to Victoria Falls. The town is rather touristy, and the backpacker's hostel I am staying at is packed with European travelers. The falls themselves are beautiful and terrifying and wonderful. You can see the mist they spray from a few kilometers away. It looks like clouds being created in the ground, and you can't get anywhere close to the falls without getting drenched. It is also pretty hard to take a good photo in such wet and misty conditions!

For some reason, the falls are not enough for most tourists, so there are lots of oppurtunities for 'extreme' sports, like bungi jumping and sky diving...which are pretty expensive and not really my thing. It is actually kind of hard and an adjustment to be hanging out with all these hip young travelers. They are nice, and it is interesting to exchange traveling advice and stories of where they come from and all. Some friends I have made are about to depart for Dar es Salaam by train, which makes me a bit jealous. But overall it is a little disappointing to see how many other tourists there are here, and it makes it a little less special. It also gets a little tiring trying to impress each other with the 'i'm a more hard-core traveler than you' type thing.

The hostel organizes trips to a local orphanage, called the Lubasi Home. I was really, really ambivalent about going, but ended up tagging along with some of my new friends at the hostel. Each day that I have been here, we all walked about an hour to the orphange and played games with the children. It was actually quite fun, and I like playing with the kids, especially soccer with the boys, and paddy-cake type clapping games with the girls. My friends and I all chipped in some money to buy a new fridge for the orphange. Though I have deep doubts about aid in Africa, even charitable aid; I think it is different when you are actually there and can see exactly what you are doing and who you are benefiting. And orphanages pretty much by definition exist through charity and donations from other people. Nevertheless, I broke my resolution to not participate in any sort of 'aid', or fool myself into thinking I was doing something good for Africa. And when I think about how many wealthy tourists pop by the orphanage, people flitting in and out of those children's lives, I get a might uncomfortable.

So in the end, I haven't seen much of Zambia at all, just Livingstone, which obviously caters mostly for the tourist. I would love to see more of the 'real' country, but I am not sure that is going to happen at this point. It is interesting to observe some contrasts to Botswana. It is so much lusher here, with different vegetation and tons of vendors selling fresh bananas, guavas and mangos on the street. There is less livestock grazing on the sides of the roads; and a lot more bicycles. I once asked one of my friends in Botswana why he doesn't have a bicycle, because he walks long distances to his work. He replied: "bicycles are for children." Apparently they don't believe that in Zambia, as there are bikes everywhere. Also, there is no main language in Zambia (besides English). Botswana has about a dozen spoken languages, but everyone speaks Setswana, and it is easy to learn how to greet peope and be respectful in one common language. But there are about 70 spoken languages in Zambia, around 6 main ones, and so even if I was able to learn some greetings, I wouldn't know which one to use. There are loads of other differences as well, but I feel like I am cheating, by just visiting this one town and for only a few days. Tomorrow I will cross the Zambezi once again, on foot this time as I cross the bridge that goes to Zimbabwe...wish me luck!

Gabs!

Traffic lights, sky scrapers, and hills--all things I haven't seen for months--Gaborone! I took a short visit to the capital city of Botswana, which involved an 11 hour bus ride each way. The journey was long and tiring, but overall not so bad. On the way there, I did not once leave the

vehicle, and obviously by the time I arrived was in dire need of a bathroom. On the way back, I was a little more comfortable with the system and made better use of the occasional rest stop. The busses were clean and comfortable, and the driving was quite safe. It was easy to buy

snacks and water out the window at the multiple stops along the way. I met some friendly characters on the bus, including a man in the Botswana Defense Force who was traveling to Gaborone to play in a chess tournament; and a lady police officer from Serowe. They were nice to talk to, and the police woman even taught me the correct way to eat the roasted corn I see everywhere in Botswana. Though we mostly by-passed the Kalahari desert, the bus ride still afforded the oppurtunity to watch the landscape change from the dry, sandy Mophane forest vegetation, through the flat salt pans area, to the slightly hilly and clayey landscape of southern Botswana. But most importantly, this journey was a good way for me to experience solo public bus travel, as I plan to do more of it around Southern Africa. I think it is simply a matter of getting used to being in a bus for so long, managing my belongs better, and taking shorter bus rides when possible.

Gaborone was slightly dissapointing. Which is kind of what I expected, because whenever I told anyone in Maun I was going to Gabs for no real reason other than to see the city, they all bluntly asked: "why?!". And now I see: the city is so spread out, in drab malls, and not very picturesque. Gaborone was designated as the capital in 1964, and designed to hold around 20,000 people. Now it is one of the fastest growing cities in the region and holds around 250,000 people. As a result is kind of sprawling, with no real city center. I found it hard to get a feel for how to navigate in the city. In the end, I just asked lots of questions and took combis around--white mini busses that are much cheaper than taxis, but drive erratically and are ususally packed. This was a little intimidating to do at first, but at this point I have gotten used to being out of my comfort zone. And I certainly have no qualms with asking folks questions, and most people are very helpful, especially when I (attempt to) talk to them in Setswana.

There were two highlights to my trip. The first thing I did, after finding a place to stay and recovering from the bus ride, was to look for a book store. This is secretly the real reason I came to Gabs. Yes, it might sound slightly pathetic, to travel all this way for something so mundane. But Maun does not have a real bookstore, and I felt in desperate need for some new reading material. It got to the point I was honestly fantasizing about the chain bookshop back home: crisp paperbacks, the new book smell, cover designs, their weight in my hands, or as I fall asleep with them on my chest. Living in the bush for so long has apparently made me a little bit crazy. Eventually I found my bookstore--just like the kind at an airport, not too big or special--but to me it was paradise.

I also went to the Botswana National Museum & Art Gallery. The museum was nothing remarkable. But I liked the art gallery a lot. Though there was some oddly intersperced art by high school students, there was also a lot of really rich wood-cuts, silkscreens, sculptures, photographs and paintings. The theme of most of them was Break the Silence, where artists found creative ways to comment about the Aids crisis. I really liked the displays because it addressed the pandemic from all different angles: safe sex, having one partner, condoms, testing and counselling centers, the staggering loss of population. The art was all tremendously powerful and weighty. Even the more amatuer pieces affected me more than 90% of what I've seen at other art galleries, anywhere else in the world.

Anyway, I have now left Mankwe. We had a big party before I left, which was very nice, and true to my fashion, I baked a cake. It is sad to leave, though I am ready to move on. In less than a week I will be traveling to the town of Kasane, and from there Victoria Falls, and onwards to either Namibia or Zambia.

This morning I saw ...

lion tracks next to my tent, and honey badger tracks around the kitchen. Yesterday I saw a hyena taunting an elephant. The day before it was a large leopard tortoise slowly meandering across camp. This is what I love about where I live. It is just simply wild. Even the insect life is intense: termite mounds the size of cars, deadly scorpions, humungous millipedes, sun spiders that are about the size of a tangerine (excluding the legs) that race around at night. I can't leave a book or a shoe or a hat outside for more than a day without a wasp building a nest in it.

We have been feasting for days on a kudu--a kind of large antelope that lives near water. The folks found it on their way to get water from the local village; it had been recently killed by hyenas, and after they chased them away, they loaded up the carcass. I spent the night watching my friends skin and butcher the carcass with skill and efficeincy I hadn't realized they possessed. We cooked it over an open fire and ate it with maize meal. Everyone is so happy to have this abundance of free food. It is like a festival, and we have spent the past two days just eating, napping, singing and dancing. Today we made 'seswa', which is a traditional dish where the meat is beaten until it is very tender and tasty. Folks have also been cutting the meat into small strips, salting it and hanging it from the clothes lines in their houses to make jerky.

I have been learning to take it slow. Besides the fact that there is not a whole lot to do here (other than occupy myself with the books and chess set I brought, and avoid the sun), it is part of the way of life here. Just sitting and avoiding the sun. I have learned to walk slowly. I used to pride myself in my ability to speed walk, around campus or around town. But now I have learned that it is so much better to walk slow, as slowly as possible. When I go into town and I go to the grocery store, I slip back into my American pace and start speeding around, and then I realize every one is walking at about half my pace and I have to slow down in order to not stick out like a sore thumb. I have learned to spend a whole day doing what I could have done in about an hour in America. When I wake up in the morning, I spend about half an hour listening to the birds. I can spend a leisurely hour clipping my toenails. A lot of my time is spend just sitting and thinking, and listening to people speak Setswana, which despite all my effort, I still can't understand. Most of the time this is really nice, this slow pace. But sometimes I get antsy and bored and I really miss life back home: being in touch with the news, listening to music, having things I have to do, even using the computer and sometimes I even miss air-conditioning. I certainly miss my friends and being able to have more than just a simple conversation in English. But I know that this is really special, to be able to spend so much time in a place like this, and that I will return to all the modern day comforts and conveniences that I am used to and take forgranted, and then I will miss Botswana.

Anyway, I have decided that at the end of February I am going to leave Mankwe and do some traveling around southern Africa. I hope to go to Victoria Falls, Kasane and Gaborone, and even venture into Namibia. I will be traveling alone to msot of these places and probably by the local bus systems. Then I will return to my cousins in South Africa and see what happens from there. If all goes well and I find navigating by bus manageable, I might proceed the same way up the eastern side of the continent and end up in Nairobi.

Interesting things

Exploring the Okavango by Mokoro, a kind of dug out canoe/gondola

This is a painted frog hanging out on some reeds in the delta

Some of my friends at Mankwe, playing cards

Random baobab picture

My friend and our guide, Shabba