Ditsala, lelapa, botho

“This face, made
from your roots, may it turn into
a mirror for you to see yourself.”

— Georgina Herrera, "Africa"

My father softly, silently cried behind me.

In front of us, a group of traditional dancers moved to a beat of their own making. They hit their hands against the packed sand and sharply shook the beads at their feet.

And they sang, in undulations and calls, in carefully crafted rhythms and harmonies, about their home, their people.

And my father thought of his own father, who had passed years ago, who dreamed of Africa. Of reaching its shores. Of coming home.

I reached out my hand to squeeze my father’s arm, felt the water run down my own cheek as well.

I guess salt water is what truly connects us.

——————

I arrived in Maun on the 2nd of August just as my family landed in Botswana. As I drove ceaselessly around the airport parking lot, my mother ran out into the road, flapping her hands wildly in the air.

I pulled over to the curb and got out, and in a rush of excitement, I was pulled into my family’s arms. After all this time, it felt like letting out a held breath.

Then, once the elation died down, we stared at my family’s collection of suitcases, which seemed much too large to fit in my compact car.

But, as my mother often does, she (with some help from a kind shuttle driver) managed to squeeze a suitcase into every inch of my car. And then, once my sister and my dad crammed themselves into the back seat, we finally rode off to our hotel, Maun Lodge.

——————

The prior week had been a flurry of proctoring exams. They call it invigilating here (so British!). I handed out exams and made sure that no one’s eyes wandered. The previous weekend, I had also been thrown into a football match with some of the other women in the school’s social club. Funnily enough, I scored two goals despite not playing soccer in ten years.

My friends were cheering me on, and as I ran off the field, I felt a new sense of belonging. As I watched over my friend’s kids, playing with them and connecting with them, I thought about in another life if I had stayed here, made a life here.

It was not my reality, but I thought about it all the same.

——————

We met my aunt and cousin at our hotel in Maun. They had just traveled to Cape Town and brought back wine, so we sat in their hotel room drinking from glasses, coffee mugs, and cups from the bar. Red or white. We talked about their travels and my travels and our family. It strangely felt like Christmas, when my family bounded into my aunt’s house with presents and food.

The only person missing was my grandmother, but even her presence was felt with my annual birthday Astrology chart, which was given to me by hand by my aunt since mail was seemingly impossible in Shakawe.

——————

I asked my parents to bring two things for me, besides some clothes and gifts for the teachers and students from America. Those two things? Buffalo sauce and Hidden Valley Ranch.

I cooked Buffalo wings for a friend’s birthday a week later, and I almost teared up when I took a bite. Some things just feel like home.

I guess Nando’s peri peri chicken did soothe the ache a bit, though.

——————

I stood below my friend and colleague, Shando’s, door as her son held a red pen cap out of the window as if he was going to drop it. We were heading to Etsha for a football match the week after my family left, and he was awake early and making lots of noise for seven in the morning. I was his and his sister’s auntie now, though, so it was my honor to entertain him for a few moments.

Shando asked me to grab her bag, so I went up to where her son was. When I came up the stairs, he hid and then began running at me wildly. He clung to my legs, and I picked him up and tossed him onto the couch. I grabbed the bag, and I hoped he wouldn’t cry again when we left.

——————

My mother, my sister, my cousin and I each swung our legs over a saddle. I had wanted to do a horseback safari since I’d arrived, and my family’s visit was the perfect excuse.

So, I hopped on a horse and we began trotting into the reserve. The horses, the guide explained, were so well-trained that they would just follow after the guide’s horse in a line. And, just like ants on a log, the horses followed suit.

As we rode, we began to see springbok and various birds. Our guide stopped suddenly, and I pulled my horse around to see a giraffe nibbling at an acacia tree ten feet away. One reason why the horseback safari is perfect, of course, is because the animals are not scared away like they are with vehicles.

But to see a giraffe at full height, rising up to the top of the tree, it was more than I expected. We moved on, and the giraffe did too, moving in its slow-seeming pace to another tree.

The guide explained that the giraffe has to move on because the acacia tree, which the giraffe eat from, becomes bitter after an animal eats too much from it. Even further, the tree also sends a signal to other trees nearby through the breeze, so giraffes learn to eat upwind to prevent them from eating the bitter leaves.

As we continued walking, our horses stopped for some hay, and we had to pull them back into the line. We asked the guide if the horses had a pecking order, like chickens. He told us yes, they do nip at a horse who tries to take their place near the front. And soon after, my sister’s horse was nipping at my cousin’s, putting the horse in its place.

At the reserve’s watering hole, there were also zebra, ostriches, and monkeys drinking and roaming around. We rode some more, and families of giraffe were nibbling at acacia trees nearby. We watched the baby giraffe with their mothers. They stared at us as if we were intruding on their dinner, which I guess we were.

——————

The next day, after bringing my whole family to the Dusty Donkey for great food and chai, my aunt and cousin left on a flight to Victoria Falls. That afternoon, we took our rental trip on a rough trip through the bush to get to Elephant Havens, a nonprofit elephant orphanage. After paying a small fee, my family and I followed the guide to a fenced in enclosure. I was curious about the wooden fence because it didn’t look like anything was inside it except for one of the workers. I soon realized, though, that we were the ones who would be going inside the enclosure. The gate closed in on us, and we stood inside the enclosure. Soon, though, we heard the soft patter of feet on the sand and 12 baby elephants came storming into the clearing.

And they found their stall, where a worker was waiting for them and leaving food on the floor for them to grab. A couple elephants were being a bit rebellious and pushing into another stall, but after a good reprimand by a worker, they graciously obeyed. Each elephant had a clear personality, a clear determination. It was almost like interacting with a human child.

We learned each baby’s story, how they had either been abandoned or orphaned due to human intervention, drought, or sometimes fires.

We grabbed apples from a bucket and were instructed on how to feed them to the elephants. They took my apples hastily but gingerly, and within minutes, we had fed them the whole bucket even as their trunks reached out for more.

——————

The olympics were always on the hotel televisions we went, but South African sports channels did not care about American athletes in the way that my family did. We would be seconds away from learning who would get gold in an event, and they would cut to something else. It was the rarest form of cruelty.

——————

On our final day in Maun before driving up to Shakawe, my family did a mokoro boat ride. I took a boat with my sister and my parents had their own boat. When we set off, I talked to my guide about living in Shakawe and about my family visiting. My sister took lots of pictures of the hippos, who quickly became one of her favorite animals that she saw. And, once we left the boat, I walked with my family through the African bush as the guides pointed out lots of animal poop and some actual animals as well.

I really wanted my family to see every animal that they could, but I don’t think it was as important for them to see all of the things that Botswana could bring. They just wanted to see me.

——————

The drive up to Shakawe went smoothly, and we arrived well before nightfall. I showed them my house and then I went to drop off my parents at their guesthouse. Once they dropped off their stuff, we drove over to Mohembo so that they could get a good look at the river, and I could tell they were as captivated by the beauty as I was. We had dinner at their guesthouse, and I made them all try the bream from Shakawe River. I ate mine down to the bones.

——————

In true Shakawe Senior fashion, as I brought my family into the English workroom to see the faculty, the first thing that greeted us were intense, ecstatic screams. The three teachers in the office immediately hopped up from their chairs to greet my family, hugging them tightly.

*My family with some Shakawe Senior colleagues*

When they pulled away, I caught them looking between me and them, parsing out the resemblance between us. You look like your sister, they told me.

I took them to meet the school head briefly, and we ran into my coteacher as we headed back out. “We brought books! For the library!” I proclaimed excitedly, and her face lit up.

——————

On August 22nd, I saw a shooting star.

We were celebrating after Shakawe Senior’s 10th Anniversary and Prizegiving Ceremony. The teachers of the school gathered in one of the parking lots, cooking and dancing. And I looked up briefly up into the galaxy, and a star fell to the horizon.

I made a wish.

——————

My students gasped as my family entered the room. One by one, we filed into the room as my students were in tea break. We stood in the front of the room, and I wondered what my family was thinking, whether they were looking at the bare-bones classroom, the kids who didn’t have desks. Or whether they just saw the excitement on their faces.

I introduced my parents and my sister. Then, my family passed out gifts and candy that they brought.

Then, my students asked questions. They asked whether my family was enjoying Botswana. They also asked about whether it was difficult having me here in Botswana so far from home. My family explained how hard it was but that they knew I had people looking out for me and that I had a purpose here.

My mom even made a very teacher-like pronouncement that since I was being brave, since I was following my dreams, that they should never be afraid to do that either. They could go anywhere they wanted.

Then we took a picture, and as the kids crowded around my family, it really did cost a thousand words.

——————

On August 18th, I stood over my combination toaster oven and stove that was currently cooking four dishes at the same time. It was my friend’s birthday, and I was cooking spaghetti bolognese, buffalo chicken, beef burgers, and red velvet cupcakes. Though the cupcakes were storebought since I did not have the tools needed to bake, the cream cheese frosting was handmade.

It was a rather American meal, I suppose. But I wanted to show my friends some things that I enjoyed making back home.

As my guests arrived, I also quickly put together a cucumber salad with teriyaki sauce that surprisingly worked as a dressing. Then, they sat down, and I chaotically prepared everything to be served.

Botswanan tastes in food are different from American ones, though. They had never heard of spaghetti bolognese, so I carefully explained what it was. They seemed hesitant about it as well, so I was desperately hoping that they would enjoy it. When I served the spaghetti, two of my friends put ranch and buffalo sauce on top. To be fair, though, spaghetti in Botswana is usually eaten with ketchup, so I think they take some liberties.

They had brought their own meat to cook, so I put the beef steaks in the oven. Once it was ready, we picked at the meat with our teeth, tearing into the steak. I suppose I will never get over the awe of seeing Batswana chew through beef bones until all that is left is a boney paste. I wish my teeth had that kind of strength.

——————

After showing my family around the school with the help of some of my students who adorably followed us as we left the classroom, I took my family to lunch at my landlord’s restaurant. There, we had traditional Botswanan food like papa and seswaa as well as beet salad.

Then, after a bit of a drive, I returned to Tsodilo once more with my family, and this time, we drove most of the way through the paintings as it was intensely hot and the hike would have been impossible in the heat. Though it was short, I was glad that my parents got to see the beautiful history of the place. And, we even got to hear some fascinating stories from our guide about Will Smith, who had visited last year.

——————

I had never seen my dad freeze the way I did when a herd of nine or ten elephants came stomping across the road. The sun was setting, and my family was heading back after failing to get on a boat cruise in Sepopa. Tired from our Tsodilo hike and the long day, we headed back for dinner. In the indigo of the fading sunlight, though, I could just make out a large object coming across the road. I only saw one at first, and then I realized how many they were. My dad was petrified, with his hands stiffly at ten and two.

In Maun, we had just learned to never come between a baby elephant and its mother. So, when the last elephant passed which was a small baby, I think my father thought it was better to be safe than sorry. “It’s okay,” I finally said, partially to myself as well as my dad. Then, he slowly, slowly began moving forward, keeping his eyes swinging back and forth to watch the treeline.

——————

After going on a quick boat cruise in Sepopa and letting my father drive us back to Maun, my family and I had dinner with my ETA mentor at our hotel on Thursday, and the conversation was going so well that we hadn’t even stopped to look around or to wonder why our food hadn’t arrived yet.

While deep in conversation, we suddenly heard a commotion outside. People were running around outside and cheering. It was as if someone had just won a million dollars. We were all bewildered, trying to figure out what happened. The olympics, my dad simply said. And upon realizing what must have happened, we ran outside to join them, the waiters, the chefs, and patrons all together watching a historic moment for the country. Their first gold medal. It was electric, the energy in the air, and we watched the replay as Letsile Tebogo dominated his competition.

There were high fives, more cheers, and lots of huge smiles. And I was just happy to be there in that moment, to celebrate a country that I had made my home.

The next day, the president declared that all Batswana would have the afternoon off to celebrate the momentous occasion. And celebrate, they did. It was Letsile Tebogo day, after all.

——————

A week after Letsile Tebogo won the gold for the men’s 200m, Shakawe Senior had their annual house race. My house, Kingfisher, won the women’s 100m and 4x100m and did fairly well in the men’s races too. There was so much pride for the kids to see their houses compete, with students getting rowdy and running across the field to get a better view.

Shakawe and the Northwest of Botswana is apparently where Botswana gets most of its Olympic track athletes. Two out of four of the athletes who won silver for Botswana in the 4x100 relay were from the Northwestern part of Botswana. I asked one of the teachers why she thought that this was the case and she had no idea. But, seeing the way the kids faces lit up with pride, how they put their blood, sweat and tears into the race, I could begin to see why.

——————

Despite an awful flight delay and being stranded in O.R. Tambo airport for 4 hours on standby, I made to Cape Town with my family on Friday, August 9th.

We were so stressed during the whole airport ordeal that the perfect excursion for us the next day was a full-day wine tasting, the same one I’d done when I first visited Cape Town. Though the tour was slightly different as we went to a different winery in Paarl, the experience was essentially the same. And, with my family there, it made the experience so special.

The next day, we visited Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden, which was as beautiful as the first time I visited. There were a few different flowers blooming, and everyone was in awe of the beauty and the diversity of life there.

*My dad, sister, and I at Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden*

The other thing that I did in Cape Town when I was there was eat copious amounts of seafood. I hadn’t realized before I got here how much I enjoyed eating things from the ocean (and rivers as well, I guess). I think I’ve realized that being within an hour of a salty body of water is an absolute need of mine. Who would have guessed?

——————

I think having my family here with me really showed me just how much my support system has uplifted me through this process. That includes my family, but it also includes my friends and community here and abroad who have treated me like family. Who have guided me, cared for me, or scolded me when I’ve done something wrong haha. Without them, I would not have made it this far through this process.

In the title, I’ve included the words ditsala (friends) and lelapa (family). The third word, though, is harder to put into words. Botho is a Setswana word that can mean personality, but mostly, it encapsulates the Botswanan saying “A person is a person through other people.” South Africans also have a concept of this, which they call ubuntu.

*A lilac-breasted roller at the Mokoro walk*

Botho reaches every part of life in Botswana. It represents the country’s sense of community and respect for other living beings. The government, in particular, strictly follows this principle. Solidarity, respect, compassion, humanness, conformity, hospitality and interdependence are key aspects of botho, and you can feel it here.

People care, truly.

From when one of their own wins a gold medal to when a student needs a new pair of shoes, Batswana care. They will offer you their home, their food, their time even if they do not know you.

I have never been in another country that has this kind of care. I will dearly miss it when I leave in almost six weeks.

poetic interlude #7: auntie

Mo mafelong a masha