Another Week Under the African Sun

Okay, I apologize; I have been lazy about getting a post written to recap the last week, but truth be told it is mainly because nothing that spectacular has occurred leaving me with limited material.  After this week I only have two weeks of classes left before finals but in no way are things winding down at UB.  I still have three tests (equivalent to midterms at OSU yet they are occurring in the last two weeks of the term) and a project to complete but I should have more than enough time as I seem to have countless hours of free time, something I rarely have in the states.  Classes have been UB classes, not too mentally stimulating and with unmotivated students.  Over the last week I’ve communicated back and forth with OSU as to how my grades will transfer as there is one class where I don’t think the letter grade will meet my standards so I am S/Uing it.  I wish I didn’t have to do that but due to a large misunderstanding about what I thought the professor wanted for answers on a test and what he wanted my grade reflected that I did not understand how Batswana professors grade exams.  In the end I do not want to stress out more than I already do, especially if it is a class which is literally a joke when it comes to critical thinking I would have done better if I hadn’t thought at all while filling in the blanks.  At least I learned something from the test and that was a great appreciation of exams in the US, because professors generally do not repeat questions, and if they do they generally do not have two different answers, meaning professors at home know how to test learning and critical thinking rather than subjective memorization.  I will never again have the right to complain about an exam in the states after taking tests here.  I can only imagine my thoughts come finals time, just because they are so ridiculous, not necessarily because they are hard.      

As of now I have officially passed the three month mark of living in Botswana.  It feels like a much larger chunk time than it actually is.  I only have six weeks left and I know they will fly by.  I still have a list of things I want to do but limited time so we will see if they all happen.  In two weekends I will be heading up to Victoria Falls with five of the people in my exchange program to see one of the Seven Wonders of the World and go bungee jumping.  That should be nice icing on the cake before finals.  After finals my entire exchange program is heading up to Maun and the Okavango Delta, so I know I will have at least two more big trips before I take off back to the USA.  It amazes me how far I have come, with learning Setswana, adjusting to the culture, readjusting my norms and what I find acceptable, communicating with others, opening my eyes to different perspectives and sharing experiences with people I hope to see again, despite the large geographic distances between us.        

Last weekend I had a lovely trip to South Africa where we visited the Pilanesberg National Park.  It is a fully stocked game reserve with cheap camping nearby.  I along with another American, two Germans, and Mexican exchange students drove down from Gabs only adding several hours to each direction of the trip because we kept getting lost.  It even took us nearly two hours to get out of Gabs because we went in the opposite direction of the border by mistake.  However the car ride was still fun and half of the adventure.  We decided as a collaborative group that Afrikaans is the most horrendous language ever spoken and it sounds even worse over the radio and that maybe two of the people in the car should have started studying for the GRE a bit earlier than the car ride considering they are taking it in less than 2 weeks. 

We arrived in our campsite after seven hours of driving and passing the South African equivalent of Las Vegas, Sun City.  We borrowed these heavy duty tents from the geology department to cut down the costs and set them up in the dark, with the exception of my one headlight.  For dinner we had a braai complete with sweet corn on the cob, bread, beer, and wine.  Everything was running a bit late and we stayed up later crawling into bed well after midnight only to wake up at 5am for our first game drive.  Over the next two days I was so tired but it was wonderful.  All in all we went on three separate game drives and saw numerous animals, with some standing or walking within a meter of our car. Here is a brief and not all inclusive list of what we saw: Zebra, kudu, impala, giraffe, lion, hippo, warthog, jackal, leopard tortoise, wildebeest, buffalo, elephant, duiker, hartebeest, rhino, rock hyrax, grey go-away bird, and a bush rat.  We had rhinos, giraffes, zebra, and elephants cross right in front of us and were able to see lions stalking wildebeest.  I took about 150 pictures over two days and am excited to show everyone once I am back in the states.  It is just unbelievable how beautiful these animals are in the wild.  I remember seeing some of the above while in Namibia, but it was nice to see them again. It was a well spent weekend especially since it was cheap.   

Other than that I am just riding out the wave until I go to Vic Falls.  I get to go to a traditional healer and the Gaborone game reserve with my exchange program this weekend and that should only accelerate my time in Botswana.  Next week will be a busy one with the election, tests, and the long drive to Zimbabwe.  I can’t wait. J Go siame Bo-rra le Bo-mma! 

Ke Batla Serame.

Dumelang Bo-mma le Bo-rra,

Another week has passed in Gabs, and while nothing has really happened here, things have occurred in my life.  On Wednesday (my Wednesday, Tuesday in the states) my Great Grandfather died.  This made me sad even though I have known it was coming for over a month.  He was a kind and loving man and I have many wonderful memories of him from my youth.  I just wish I had more memories from recent years.  Death is something I have very little experience with and I never know how to react or feel.  I am just happy that he lived a full life, he is no longer in pain and that he can be with Great Grandma because she really was the love of his life.  On a side note a boy I went to high school also died during the past week.  The circumstances surrounding the death were not surprising to me based on my knowledge of him but it always shocks me to see a classmate die.  We are all so young and have so much potential.  With every classmate who dies it reminds me to live my life fuller, as you never know which day will be your last.  Life is short so I know I need to make the most of it.

Bots gets hot, very hot, too hot in fact for humans to function properly.  This week I drank an average of 5L of water a day.  On Tuesday I was told by my Motswana roommate it reached a high of 44 degrees Celsius.  I wouldn’t believe that normally except I have never been so hot in my entire life.  When I wasn’t in class I sat in my stark naked in my sizzling room hoping that if I didn’t move it would be more comfortable.  Later I went swimming and by the time I walked back to my room from the pool my once sopping wet hair was dry except for at my hair line because sweat was pouring down my face.  I stopped running when I went through 2.5L of water in one run.  I am sad but it has gotten too hot to run, and even in the mornings you sweat buckets.  The rest of the week wasn’t as hot but it was still dreadful.  It hovered around 40C and one day only reached a high of 37C.  But I think it’s a problem anywhere when it is still 36C at 9:30pm. 

Swimming at UB is somewhat of a depressing manner.  Out of the entire Olympic sized swimming pool they only give UB students one lane.  I do not exactly understand why this is and how this works as there are no signs explaining the designations of lanes but normally I try to sneak off into the central part of the pool which has no lanes to swim laps.  I just don’t like sharing a lane with thirty people when I think the majority of them could start drowning at any moment.  I just don’t know what to do exactly because I want to exercise; there just isn’t really means to do so.  Aish.  I can’t wait until I have snow and a gym.

 On Wednesday the CIEE family went to see the premiere of the “#1 Ladies Detective Agency” Movie in Botswana.  It was hilarious, but mostly I think because I have been living in Botswana and understood all of the little Motswana jokes and innuendoes.  I will probably purchase the miniseries once I am home to show all of my friends and family because it truly is an honest depiction of Batswana life.  The movie made Gaborone look a little more rural than it is today but the mannerisms were spot on.  So every be ready for Mma Ramotswe and her detective agency.  It really is well made, and I am sure it will be even better when my blood is not boiling under my skin from the heat. 

 School this week was rough in every class that started after 10am.  Air conditioning to Motswana are what we call ceiling fans and not even every classroom has those.  On Monday I took another subjective test which I don’t think I did that well on as I was unaware the name of authors listed as citations in our notes were fair game questions.  Oh well, there is always a next time and then I will have a better idea as to what to study.  On a happier and somewhat more boastful note, I am sure no one remembers me complaining about group work in Botswana and how trying to write a group paper caused me two weeks of hell when my group members proved to be totally inept.  In the end I wrote the entire paper by myself, went to the professor for advice by myself, and reedited it by myself, but because of my hard work I earned my just dessert.  The professor started the lecture with a stern face and sad eyes.  He told the class of how disappointed he was in everyone.  How everyone failed and most people only earned 10% to 15% on their assignments.  How he couldn’t believe anyone would have the audacity to turn in one and a half pages with no citations for what was supposed to be an eight page assignment.  To some poor groups humiliation he even went as far to call their paper the worst and most confused assignment he has ever read.  He showed the class the paper and said he made a photocopy for his records so to never forget their names or the despicable work.  After about 30minutes of this his tone changed slightly, he told the class that despite their utter failure four students were able to earn the highest marks he had ever given on an assignment.  That group was ME! I gave my group members credit just to save the hassle of trying to explain to them that their work was not acceptable (I tried and failed at this twice because they couldn’t understand my English and I am skeptical as to whether or not they were speaking English).  I am just impressed that I compiled a decent paper on a subject I had never even heard of three months ago, when I do not have access to the text book for the class because they sold out in the book store, and when I have only a vague understanding of African religious beliefs, Setswana culture and the history of religion in Botswana.  However my academic victory saddens me as these student, most of who are Batswana, were unable to produce anything passable and at UB passing is only 50%.  There are obvious flaws in the education system and it does not help that there are no academic resources on campus.  No writing center, no tutors, no academic services what so ever.  If UB ever wants to be a leading university in the world it needs to make changes.

Alas internet is a scarce resource in Africa.  One day internet works, the next it doesn’t, and then it is back again.  Right now I am one of the lucky few who still have Skype working and I only pray it remains this way over the next 2 months.  UB has been censoring the sites they let us view and while most of them are like the sites blocked in high school, we are not in high school we are in college.  Also there are other sites you cannot see like the opposition’s political party webpage and web sites about homosexuality (only one political party has ever been in power in all of Botswana’s 40 years of independence and homosexuality is illegal under the constitution).  The university denies any political motivation behind the blocking of certain pages, but the European exchange students, especially the Germans wrote a letter and made their opinion of censorship in universities clear.  I agree with the Europeans and am happy they wrote the letter to the school.  However I think the letter just made UB hate its international student more than they already do.  It will be incredible when I get back to the states and my internet works all of the time and I don’t have to dance around “websense”.

So I said it rained last week.  It also rained this week and was wonderful except it will still in the mid 30s.  We had thunder and lightning and big raindrops.  It lasted several hours except the rain disappears as soon as it lands so you don’t get puddles or mud or any of those lovely side effects of rain in the northwest.    I miss the rain and every time I see it it’s a welcomed sight.  I could just stand under it hours and I am sure that come December I will have more than enough opportunities to do that. 

Saturday was a fun day.  We had a cooking lesson from a Motswana woman on how to prepare traditional Setswana food.  There are a few things I will probably make once I am home but also many things I hope to never see again, like seswa. Seswa is pounded meat.  You boil the meat the hours and then drain the water and grease only to pound it in to little shreds.  I don’t really like the taste and every time I eat my stomach disagrees.  Setswana food is rather bland and lacks nutrition but they love it and now I know how to make it so if anyone ever wants morogo, chakalaka, borogo, palache, seswa, and this strange mix of dried maize and beans, I can cook it for you. J    

Despite being so far away from everyone I love I am happy.  I am happy because I am doing something I wanted to do.  I am happy because I am learning so much about myself, my perceptions or others, and my true passions and desires.  Coming to Botswana was a good decision and even though I struggle at times adapting to this drastically different environment, in the end it has only made me appreciate all that I have.  I have been so lucky growing up with a loving family, endless opportunity, and a safe environment.  Being here makes me want to travel more, see more places, meet more people, and experience more cultures.  However at the end of the day Oregon will always be my home just like how Batswana see Botswana as their home.  There is just something about it that makes it unlike any other place in the world and I love it.      

Back to Gabs: Test, Happy Hour, Pula, Diamonds, Pots, Volunteering, Football, and Vote Oregon!

Aish! It has been a busy week in Gaborone. After arriving back at UB I started to review for an exam I had early in the week. Like most tests at UB I had heard it was to be all wrote memorization, so I memorized what I could of my notes word for word. There wasn’t a whole lot more I could do because I was never able to purchase a textbook for the course and I had no idea what the professor expected from his students as he is impossible to find and doesn’t answer questions in class(when he shows up). In the end my studying was in vain because a lot of what was on the exam were things I can assume are from the textbook so I didn’t do as well as I would have liked and continue to sit frustrated with the education system in Botswana, as it fails their students. There is a reason no white students attend UB. The test is now over and there is nothing I can do to change that. Oh well… I just have to get over it and accept my assessments here are inferior and do not represent my knowledge or ability to learn.

On a happier note, it finally rained!!! The pula fell for about ten minutes one night, but in the morning you never would have guessed that Botswana’s most precious commodity had dropped from the sky. I would have appreciated puddles or a down pour but neither came. It only reminded me I can’t wait until I don’t feel hot all of the time and have an excuse to wear rain boots.

Friday was a wonderful day. We woke up early and got to skip school to go on a field trip to the Jwaneng Diamond Mine. The open pit mine was exactly how I expected it to be except much larger. The pit itself was several kilometers across in each direction and I have no idea how deep. From the top the trucks which are used to remove the rock and take potential diamond filled chunks to crushing look about the size of a dump truck because that is what they are. In reality they are the size of a house. The wheels are more than twice as tall as me and to reach the cab you climb up a stair case. Pickups look like toys in their presence and men dolls next to a life sized truck. We were taken down to the bottom of the pit and the shown the rocks diamonds are found in. I didn’t bother looking for any (they are literally laying on the ground after blasting) because I wanted to avoid any potential temptation if I were to find one (not to sell but merely to keep as a token and add to my rock collection). Also we were not allowed to pick anything up off the ground or even kick the dirt with our boots. If they suspected you of anything you could be subject to a strip search, something I had no desire to experience. After looking at the mine, we got to go in the safe and look at loose uncut diamonds from industrial grade to clear and green diamonds of many carats. We were told green diamonds are unique to that particular mine and if you ever see them anywhere in the world they came from Jwaneng. What bothered me about the open pit mining was how wasteful it appeared to be and how dependent Botswana’s economy is on their diamonds. Jwaneng is the richest mine in the world based on the quality of their diamonds, but other than diamonds they really have nothing. That in itself makes me sad because eventually the diamonds will run out and all that will be left is a few giant holes in the ground, a lot of waste product, and a country with nothing to support itself.

Once we left the mine we stopped in Thamaga village to look at and learn about their pottery. The village is renowned for their craftsmanship and traditional pots. We were given a tour of their work rooms and kilns. The building was smaller than the ceramics studio in my high school, yet many villagers survive on the profits from the earthenware. After the tour I bought a few pieces of pottery even though I am somewhat curious as to how I will get them back to the states. All I hope is that everything returns intact and I have the opportunity to enjoy using and gifting my purchases.

Later that evening we went to a dinner and show called the “Fine Women of Jazz, Botswana”. The dinner and deserts were to die for with traditional food from Botswana, India, South Africa, and Iran. I only wish I could eat that well every day. The show on the other hand was what I like to call a cultural experience. The vocals were good, but I could never tell if the women were singing in Setswana, Kalanga, or English. Also the costumes and dancing were outrageous. It would be one thing if the women were dressed in traditional clothes, but rather they were in some ridiculous African designer’s “couture” outfits. One woman wore satin pants that were tight around her lower legs and ballooned out at her thighs, paired with a jean corset laced with ridiculous red satin ribbon. Another woman practically fell out of her shirt when it came untied during a song. In the end all I can say is that it was an experience I will not forget and shall look back upon it fondly.

Saturday was another busy day. We spent the morning with the children from SOS teaching them how to swim. This turned out to be a fantastic to wake up because really all we did was play with adolescents in a pool and make sure they didn’t drown. Everyone was nice and the water felt wonderful. We played all of the games I had almost forgotten like, “sharks and minnows”, “marco polo”, and various races from one side of the pool to the other. I am excited because for the rest of the semester we get to swim with the children as our volunteer work rather than cut cabbage and fold clothes. I enjoy interacting with them and wish we could do it more often. These children have so little I only hope swimming with them is a positive experience they can keep for the rest of their lives.

After SOS we went to lunch and then a Zebras game. The Zebras are Botswana’s national soccer team and they were playing a world cup qualifying match against Mozambique. We went all decked out in our jerseys and bandanas. The only sad thing was Botswana lost, however they deserved it as they did not play very well and I think some high school teams in the US could rival them. Also this game was meaningless as they had already been disqualified from the world cup. However it was cool to see a FIFA world cup qualifying game in Botswana especially because the next world cup is taking place in South Africa. I had been told that the Zebras over the last 2 years have been rather similar to what the Beavers were like for 30 years so as the Orange slogan goes, “Zebras for Life”. Who knows, maybe they will do something great one day?

And lastly on a side note, I received my absentee ballot which means I am sending my vote in on Monday so hopefully it can make it back to the states in time to count. If only my internet worked properly so I could look at the Oregon’s Voters Pamphlet. But I am in Africa and the expectation is that things will never work as expected, so it’s better to have no expectations.

Spring Break

I am glad I was not raised in a world defined by black and white. I am glad the people of Botswana (Batswana) were not raised in that manner as well. During my stay I have witnessed many racist comments (not necessarily directed at me but to other white people and to Africans) from African Americans but very few from Batswana as I have lived here. Race was never an issue in my childhood and I can never remember looking at someone differently because of the color of their skin, because people were never my people and your people, everyone was simply a person. The discomfort I have felt because of these comments and actions is unlike anything I have experienced before. Even heavily bigoted statements made in jest make me feel like I am watching a cruel show. It is not that I don’t find crude jokes funny, but it is the context of the situation in which these jokes are made. The reasoning because “I am black and they are black” just doesn’t seem sufficient in my mindset as to why individuals can act in certain ways. Color has nothing to do with culture. I am white and I have no real understanding of African American culture, especially from other regions in the United States, as I never experienced them until I arrived in Africa, so it is my ignorance as well as the ignorance of others which plays into a miscommunication of prejudice. In so many ways despite the differences of the Batswana and myself I feel like I understand them better than many of the other Americans. It’s a confusing and jumbled comparison that I don’t think anyone can understand unless they stand in my shoes. However being here, spending time with people who exemplify different aspects of my own society, trying to understand why they do what they do, say what they say, and think what they think, is a wonderful opportunity to learn about American culture, and to better understand why the American people are the way they are. With that said I will tell you about my Spring Break.

We left at 5:30AM to catch our first bus to go from Gabs to Joberg. This was the first of many early mornings but by no means the earliest. We had a goal. We wanted to make it to Praia do Tofo in 2 days, traveling only by bus across 3 countries in southern Africa. The ride to Johannesburg was the easiest. After 7 hours of napping, reading, and eating snacks we arrived at the bus station in the early afternoon with our backpacks and no idea how to get anywhere in what is known as one of the most dangerous cities in the world. The station itself is notorious for being sketchy, well not the station necessarily but the area surrounding it. We were told before leaving by many people both Motswana and South African, white and black, do not stay at the bus station catch a taxi and go somewhere safe like a museum or a mall. We chose a mall, as we needed to fill seven hours with something and didn’t want to get ripped off by a taxi anymore than we had to be. The mall could have been taken straight out of America in the 2001. Lots of white men with tight jeans and hair carefully styled so to look like they just got out of bed. With many I wouldn’t be surprised if they use more product in their hair each day than I have in the last 5 years. So as you could imagine people watching was most enjoyable and as of now ruddy South Africans are my favorite people to observe. We decided despite our sleep deprivation to go and see a movie. “Mama Mia” it was and the musical turned out to be quite the trip. None of us could really follow the film but the songs were catchy and we found plenty of clichés to laugh about. Evening rolled around and suddenly we on our overnight bus to Maputo, crammed in tight with numerous sweaty and smelly Africans, in seats that refused to recline as the traditionally built women behind us used their traditionally built legs to keep it erect at a degree angle for the first 7 hours of what we thought was a 9 hour bus ride. However being in Africa we should has known that buses like everything run on African time, so 9 hours turned out to be 14. Don’t be confused and think all 14 hours were miserable in fact very few of them were. Bus rides no matter where you are in the world are always an experience, and whenever anything gets to be too much you just eat some chocolate, smile, laugh and everything is alright. Come early morning the bus stopped jostling and fell into the long long line of cars, over loaded khombis, and other buses waiting patiently to cross the border. The Mozambique/South African Border was like nothing I had ever seen before. Razor wire, vehicles, people, and queues all jumbled together trying to get from one side of the numerous fences to the other. It took us 4 hours to cross the border the first time, but only an hour on the way back because our bus driver collect all of our passports and sped up the process. Throughout this experience I wondered what the passport people look at, because I have had some scrutinize every detail in it and compare me to my photo repeatedly while others just flip to a blank page stamp it and hand it back to me in less than 10 seconds. But between visas and stamps this trip cost me 3 pages of my passport but at least I went somewhere interesting. Once we were in Mozambique the bus driver really let loose passing cars and trucks going uphill around blind curves and driving down the middle of the road or on the shoulder to avoid pot holes and debris. I wasn’t surprised to I see several trucks upside down in ditches and fields because if everyone drove like our bus driver it was obvious how accidents happen. We arrived in Maputo late, missing our bus to Tofo, so like anyone who just got off a 14 hour bus ride we went to find a hostel.

Before the civil war Maputo was probably one of the most beautiful cities in Southern Africa. Today that is not the case. Concrete skeletons stand naked and empty, abandoned and stripped of anything of value. What used to be gorgeous buildings with spires and decoration are now dilapidated with collapsing rooms and what appeared to be bullet holes. Trash fills the city streets, covers parks and sidewalks, overflows from dumpsters and garbage bins adding ever present filth to what used to be fabulous. Dead rats lay on broken sidewalks and based off the map of Maputo we received from the hostel there are more places where they recommend you do not go than do. There are still some beautiful homes with well manicured lawns, mosaic work, and of course guards, razor wire, broken glass sticking out from the top of concrete walls, and an ominous feeling that wealth is only allocated among a few individuals. The people we met were friendly and helpful despite only speaking Portuguese but the best part of Maputo was as soon as we stepped off the bus our skin was no longer cracked and dry and my feet no longer looked like I had a strange disease as they appeared pink and healthy. It is amazing what moisture in the air can do for your body. During my week in Mozambique I never felt thirsty and everything always felt damp because of the inescapable humidity. The first thing we did after arriving in Maputo, checking into our hostel, and eating a cheap (both in quality and price) meal, was go to the ocean. It was breathtaking seeing a large body of water again. I miss the greens and blues Oregon provides. There were really no beaches in Maputo but I was perfectly content to watch from a hillside the flat surf and palm trees covering the earth as is it fell into the ocean.

We stayed in a backpacker hostel called Fatima’s which was a wonderful place full of color, culture, and life. If anyone ever needs a place to stay in Maputo I recommend it as they have a great kitchen, bathrooms, showers, and vibe. It was also convenient as they had a shuttle to Praia do Tofo allowing us to avoid catching a bus and khombi (chapa in Mozambique) in a country where were couldn’t speak nor understand the language. Every time I tried to speak any Portuguese it came out as a horrible conglomeration of Setswana and Spanish reminding me how lucky I am in Botswana because it is easier to try and understand an African speaking English with a thick accent than an African speaking a language that resembles one I learned in high school with the same thick accent and pronunciations I am not familiar with.
The ride to Tofo was lovely. We were crammed in the back of a small bus but the scenery was incredible. We drove by rivers, fields, villages, and numerous hills (all of the above with the exception of villages really do not exist in Bots). The women in Mozambique all wear beautiful sarongs as skirts. I loved the look and colors of the traditional fabrics but was never able to find any of them for sale. The villages were composed of numerous small grass and palm frond huts. Some had windows painted on them so to resemble a western house, but they had no apparent power nor running water. If there was a concrete building in any village it was either a church or a clinic (or both). These people live everyday of their lives without the amenities the poorest people in America take advantage of. Children pumped water from wells and women carried the full jugs back to their homes atop their heads. I can’t even imagine balancing something so heavy and awkward for such a long period of time. I noticed they all take small steps but even then like carrying water the people of Mozambique live a life I can’t imagine.

Tofo turned out to be a wonderful place. The guidebook said our hostel was supposed to be about a 15 minute walk from town and I think it would have been a 15 minutes for me but when traveling with our group it was doubled. Our hostel was called Bamboozi Backepackers, and for about $7 a night we stayed in a little hut made out of grass and palm fronds. Sand and coconut trees were everywhere and everything was beautiful and green. The first thing we did was drop our bags and run to the ocean. Even though the sky was slightly overcast the water was warm and the surf small. We all got our first group picture only to have a wave crash behind soaking out clothes and because of the humidity they never really dried. The hostel was located on one side of a sand dune with the ocean on the other side however the bar looked over the ocean and it was only a short walk away. The beach was beautiful, clean, open, and empty. We played in the water for hours each day and would sometimes swim out past the surf only to let the current push us back to shore. It was amazing how shallow the ocean was and how easy it was to swim. The only problem with swimming was we had to wait hours to wash the salt water off our bodies because there was only hot water during specific hours as it was heated by fire before being pumped to the tap. I woke up every morning for sunrise as I hadn’t seen the sun rise over an ocean before. Each morning was unique and beautiful. After sunrise I walked along the beach admiring tide pools, shells, and coral. The biota was so different than home and everything I found was fascinating in its color, shape, size. By 7am it was always warm enough to swim so I did. For food I lived on a jelly doughnut and bread for breakfast and lunch, but for dinner I would feast on prawns, calamari, and any other fresh seafood I could get my hands on. It was so nice to finally have seafood again; I missed it so much. Everything was relatively cheap and while it was more expensive than Maputo, Tofo by American standards was still incredibly inexpensive as the local currency; the meticas/metical/meticash was about 24 to 1 USD. In the village a market sold sarongs, carvings, and various other local crafts. I found myself proficient at bartering and I got what I wanted for the price I wanted to pay. It was so much fun, but also overwhelming at times and twice I just left the sellers telling them I would come back later because I found them too annoying and their prices were far too high. Amazingly prices would suddenly drop by half or more but I still made them wait and when I came back the next day I demanded those prices and that is what I paid.

Despite the relaxing nature of Tofo there were two major downsides to it. The first and most inconvenient was a pleasant surprise I woke up with one morning. Due to the incredibly high humidity and heat sleeping inside a sleeping bag was like trying to sleep in a sauna made of cloth that touches your skin. First of all you couldn’t stop sweating and then as your body perspired more and more you couldn’t help but feel your skin slowly stick to and soak the nylon of the sleeping bag. Somehow in the middle of the night I managed to unzip my sleeping bag and ended up sprawled out on the sheet and mattress provided by the hostel. The next morning I awoke with over 300 bed bug bites, primarily allocated on the arm and leg of the side I slept on. The many red lines of small raised bumps itched worse than mosquito bites. Almost immediately I started drinking the liquid bottle of antihistamine from my first aid kit. I finished it over the next 24 hours and while it helped a little, there was nothing I could do other than try and ignore them until they went away. The second inconvenience occurred on the evening before we left our hostel in Tofo. I had gotten my money belt from the hostel safe because we were leaving at 4am the next morning and the reception did not open until 7am. Literally the first time someone was not in my room the security guard and/or the receptionist broke in, rifled through my bag, found my money belt and took about $150 (if you convert a few currencies). There was nothing I could do about it, but I complained to the manager and he immediately knew who it was who did it due to a past incident involving the two men (foot print comparisons from under the window in my hut offered evidence to support this). However due to Mozambique laws you cannot fire someone for a crime unless charges have been filed, and that as it turns out is a multiday process, involving corrupt police, translators, and transportation to the police station over 40km away from where we were. By the time I talked to the manager, it would have been 11pm before I would have even made it to the station and because we were waking up at 2:45am to hike out to the bus stop I had no desire to spend a sleepless night trying to press charges for money I would never see again. I still feel stupid because if I had brought the money belt with me to shower this never would have happened, but it did, and in the end, all I could do was look forward with my trip. The only gratification I got out of it was that the next day the manager was calling in the local witch doctor to interrogate the employees because I guess she normally scares them to confess. I only wish I had been there to witness her at work.

Our trip back was nice and easy. We caught out bus from Tofo to Maputo and spent another night at Fatima’s. During this final evening we went to a grocery store to buy food for the trip and spend the rest of our meticals. While leaving the grocery store a young man approached me. He was emaciated, with lesions on his face, and herpes zoster on his arms and legs. He told me he had AIDS something I had assumed, but rather than asking for money, he said he only wanted food. I gave him an apple and wished I had more to offer but even if I did it could never be enough. I wish I had more to offer many of the people I have met and seen in Africa. So many have so little and many of the people who do have money do not know what to do with it so they spend it on material possessions rather than improving the quality of their life. I have grown up with so much privilege and at times I feel ashamed of it. I was always able to take music and dance lessons, play sports, go to camp and participate in academic activities because my parents and grandparents offered means for me to do so. You can see why people resort to alcohol and sex simply because they have no other activities or opportunities and both of the above contribute to the AIDS epidemic. I never know what to say or do when I see someone who is dying. I only wish I knew. We went from Maputo to Joberg, spent the night in Joberg at a hostel called “Diamond Diggers” and then boarder our last bus from Joberg to Gaborone. The bus ride was ridiculous, was we watched a poor quality, made for TV Christian movie that shared a radically conservative message of god without digression or humility. But despite the ridiculous content of the film it helped fill the time and before we knew it we were back in Botswana, back in Gabs and for the first time in two months, Botswana, Gaborone, UB, felt like home.