Village life

The weekend excursion was set to begin at 8:00 Saturday morning, so naturally we pulled out of the parking lot around 8:35. The bus driver, however, was no longer on African time once the wheels started rolling- we overtook a host of sporty looking vehicles on the drive out to a local village. The chief greeted us all respectfully in turn and welcomed us officially to the kgotla (a public meeting place and community court) . In his presence, and in order to pay respect to the traditional Botswana ways, women are required to cover their shoulders with modest tops and wear ankle length skirts. Men are expected to present themselves in jackets and trousers. The elders of the village spoke only in Setswana, and with our rather befuddled involvement, carried out a mock wedding, funeral, and two court cases. I was the mother of the bride. A proud moment. We were shown around the village, took in the tranquillity of a local dam, and retired for lunch at the Motse Lodge. Delicious food and wonderful service, but the prevalence of Western culture was overwhelming. The lodge featured a swimming pool, flush toilets, air conditioning, and a dj station. I was happy to board the bus and head off again into the farther reaches of the country. We stopped for a moment at the Livingstone Tree. This massive wild fig once overlooked the famous missionary doctor as he administered both medicine and sermons to the local tribes. Its interlocking boughs create a cool, almost magical haven from the beating sun. We touched another piece of history on a walk up into the hills. Hundreds of years ago, the Toutswe people carved delicate figures into the rock faces. A Baobab tree, a herd of giraffes, a hunting party (three-legged figures=men), a majestic Gemsbok, a medicinal plant, and a family of Impala...yet every image would have gone unnoticed were it not for the knowing eyes of our guide. I reached towards the pictures and traced my finger along the same outline that a Toutswe tribesman had followed many centuries ago. Evening found our group at the Metsimotlhabe village where the Baboon totem is worshipped. Thankfully the reception in no way resembled the behaviour of the sacred animal. Under the tutelage of the tribe grandmothers (who were unbelievably agile and cheeky), we attempted a few African dance numbers. The chief sat back with a toothless grin as over fifty international students shuffled awkwardly around and tried to flail at the right moments. Good fun. The cooking introduced us to a few more traditional dishes, including stewed spinach, yeasty bread, and sorghum beer. I declined a second swig of the interesting brew after swallowing several unidentifiable chunks. An evening of ghost stories around a bonfire completed the delightful day, and I retired into my mud hut. Alas, the night was not spent sharing a bed of grass with ants, but rather on a comfortable mattress. Clearly we were not the first tourists to stop by the village. The following day took us out to the Mokolodi Game Reserve. In small groups we drove out along the trails in pursuit of wildlife. While I disdain the use of motorized vehicles to transport lazy tourists to prime destinations, the trails were closed to the hiking public. Something about leopards, hippos, and cheetahs...? However, I was thrilled to lay my eyes upon Zebras, Warthogs (Pumba for all the Disney enthusiasts), Impala, Ostrich, Waterbuck, and the spotted form of a cheetah hiding in the grass. I suppose money isn't abundant at the reserve, but for more successful animal sightings I would recommend vehicles that don't sound like demolition units. Not terribly stealthy. The reserve does have a campsite though that would certainly be worth the visit. We were served with another traditional feast and left Mokolodi, our cameras and bellies full. The drive back to Gabs (as locals affectionately call the city) was under half and hour, encouraging me to look into weekend volunteer opportunities at the reserve. The regularity of the university campus already had me pining for the African wilderness. And I miss my mud hut. Leaky roof and all.

Setswana lesson:

Dumela rra/mma = Hello sir/madam

O tsogile jang? = How are you? (formal)

Le kae? = How are you? (informal)

Leina lame ke Kelsey = My name is Kelsey

Ke a le boga = Thank you

I could listen to some Setswana words a hundred times over and still delight- the emphasized rolling of the rrr's is pure linguistic bliss! However, for a student of French, German, and Spanish (at various points in my life), the pronunciation has an element of alterity that leaves me struggling to communicate.