Re ne re aba morogo, bogobe, magwinya, le ditoro
“At times it will seem that nothing changes at all… and then again the sudden dramatic events which make history leap into the future. And then quiet again.”
I reread A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry this past week because I was looking for a play for my drama and spoken word club. And as I read it, I started thinking about time and dreams and the Black diaspora.
In his poem “Harlem” which inspired the name for A Raisin in the Sun, Langston Hughes asks, “What happens to a dream deferred? / Does it dry up / like a raisin in the sun?” And when I thought about that quote, I thought about my students and their dreams. They have dreams of going to university, of traveling beyond Botswana, of meeting famous celebrities. For some, though, their dreams are as simple as being able to provide for their families.
For many of them, I believe that I am a way of getting closer to their dreams. I do not say this in a self-centered way. The students themselves have asked me to help them get to America, have asked whether I personally know any celebrities, have asked me to tutor them. They do not desperately need my help. These students are strong, smart, and capable on their own, but they have very few resources beyond their teachers and their families. So, when I share my knowledge, my connections, and my worldview, that means the world to them. If I can help my students achieve something, even the smallest thing, I tend to take that very seriously.
During the first meeting of my drama and spoken word club, I asked the students who attended to write down what they wished to get out of the club. Many wrote about how they wanted to improve their English or read more, but a few students wrote down that their dream was to become an actor.
During these past four weeks in the club, these students have practiced as actors and performers, exploring how emphasis or emotionality can change their performance. They wrote a spoken word assignment to describe the different places where they are from, which I admiringly stole from my high school English teachers. They even tried an improv game for the first time.
They embraced each challenge with grace and vigor. During my second meeting, I almost cried hearing students describe the places where they are from across the North-West of Botswana, from Tsodillo Hills to Mohembo. They express themselves so beautifully. And while I do feel like a chicken running without its head when I lead the club at times, I love seeing the students learning to break out of their shells and finding their voice.
So, my weeks have been filled with new challenges, plans for the future, and beautiful memories. Here are some moments that stood out to me:
My New Car
I bought a car! My little, yellow Volkswagon baby, who I affectionately call Beyonce, is the first car I’ve ever bought. And while it did not come without trials and tribulations (an unexpected rendezvous with a sand pit and a flat tire from a large pothole), I could not be happier to have her. She’s irreplaceable.
My car!!
Beyonce got stuck :(
Me driving!
Boat Cruise
I went on a boat cruise with some of the other English teachers, and it was actually the first time that I went out on Shakawe River, surprisingly. It was a beautiful afternoon, and as we left the dock, the grasses in the river carved a path for us to take. The wind blew past us, and at each turn of the boat, the teachers let out a great “whoo!” While we did not see any animals, our driver ended up pulling out a gorgeous water lily. The dainty, light pink petals of the flower were not the most impressive thing about it, though, but rather the five-foot-long stem and root. The people in the North-West of Botswana actually makes a food out of the roots called tswii. It is delicious.
Me holding the water lily and the necklace that the driver made from another water lily
My coworker with the water lily necklace
My coworkers, the river, and the sunset
The river
Holding up the water lily
The river
My coworker and I
The water lily
My coworkers!
Exploring Shakawe and Maun with Special Guests
My friend, who is American but works in Gaborone, came to visit me during the first week in June. We drove up to Shakawe and stayed there during the week, and I showed him my school and two of Shakawe’s tourist attractions, Krokovango Crocodile Farm and Mohembo Bridge. Then, we drove back down to Maun for the weekend and met up with a mutual friend of his. From there, we spent the weekend going out with new friends, fixing my car after the previously mentioned flat tire, and drinking delicious chai from my favorite cafe in Maun, the Dusty Donkey. We also drove around a bit on quad bikes, which ended up caking my skin in dirt and sand.
Then, later that week, some representatives from the embassy came up to Shakawe to check on me and the school. My mentor came up with them and got to see Shakawe for the first time. We ate bream and I showed her my house before they came to the school the next day. At the school, they talked to the students about studying in the U.S. and brought books and stationary for the school as well.
Me on a quad bike
The Mokoro beer tour at Okovango Brewery
T and I on quad bikes
Me in the library during the embassy’s presentation
Me and the Fulbright Representative from the embassy at my house
Me and my mentor at Shakawe Senior
A picture of me at the embassy’s presentation
Me in the English office
Culture Day
My meal on culture day
Shakawe Senior had Culture Day a few weeks ago, which meant that the teachers dressed up in their traditional clothing, colorful patterned dresses and shirts, and they also prepared a traditional meal. I arrived and waited in line for the food, and some of the English teachers who prepared the meal gave me a small helping of everything. There was Seswaa, which I had tried (and made) before. There was morogo, which is kind of like collard greens with wild spinach, and tswii. There were multiple types of bogobe, a millet or surghum porridge, including bogobe jwa lerotse, which is a porridge mixed with melon. There was also dikgobe, a mix of samp (pounded corn) and beans. Then, as a drink, there was gemere, a homemade ginger beer. I sat and ate with one of my English colleagues and some of the other teachers. Everything was absolutely delicious.
Teacher’s Day
In Botswana, teachers get a day off for Teacher’s Day, a day that celebrates Botswana’s educators. In Shakawe, there is also a celebration for those teachers. Usually held at the grounds near Mohembo bridge, the celebration includes speeches and performances from each school in the Shakawe sub-region. I unfortunately woke up late and missed half of the celebration, but when I arrived, each school had prepared a traditional dance or a performance of some kind. The teachers sang, danced, and spoke about their work. Then, at the end, all of the teachers came together to dance what was almost the electric slide with a few added steps forward and back. I joined in on the dancing, and they soon broke for lunch. It was a lovely day, and I was happy to spend it with my teacher friends.
A photo in front of the teacher’s day sign
The stage for teacher’s day
Even with these stand-out memories, though, sometimes it is the everyday moments that warm my heart: students greeting me in the courtyard, sharing magwinya (fatcakes) with friends, marking papers, cooking and dancing in my kitchen, listening to teachers complain about the winter cold and telling them, “Don’t go to the U.S., then.” Sometimes, it is the quieter moments that matter.
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Now, back to dreams…I guess you could say I’m living in a dream everyday. This experience has changed my views, my perceptions. It has made me grateful for my life and my community in the U.S. And, it has allowed me to explore breathtaking, foreign lands and cities. But, soon, in three months, this dreamland will collapse. And I will return to the chaos, the materialism, and the fast pace of life in the U.S.
But while I am here, I will not allow my dreams or the dreams of my students to dry up, to fester, to explode. Consider this a manifestation.
“The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold:
That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt.
The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear!”
The goats! They got into my yard!
Cooking vegetable stew while marking papers
A scary bird! Isn’t it freaky?
