I can’t wait to speak and understand Setswana. Not only will it be helpful when communicating and understanding the Botswana culture, but also so we don’t have to sit through hours and hours of translation. After a short debrief of the first night in Serowe, our host parents came to class and reviewed guidelines and expectations for the next two months. One sentence, “The trainee is expected to eat what the family eats,” turned into at least seven hefty sentences when translated to Setswana. Batswana sure like to talk, explain, and give examples. Either that or they were secretly making fun of us the entire time. No way to tell, yet another reason why knowledge of Setswana will be helpful.
Whenever I’m with my host mom I have a sinking feeling that she is making fun of me. Or showing me off which are surprisingly similar facial expressions. She is always wanting to introduce me to her friends, commenting on my diet. Maybe she is annoyed that I can’t eat bread or enjoying my love of peanut butter and willingness to put it on just about anything. Every person that passes by, “Look at this! Banana and peanut butter!” To play it safe I will infer that she is captivated by my diet and wants me to enjoy myself, which I certainly am.
I wish I brought my computer to our Volunteer Diversity training in the afternoon because it was four years of social work reflection crammed into a few short hours. The endless self reflection papers stored in my computer that I wrote during college would have come in handy; on the contrary, most of my classmates were just starting to consider and recognize the implication of their identity when making sense of their place in varying cultures. In the United States I recognized my family relationships and social work education as strong, well-founded aspects of myself and my identify. My family dynamic has shaped my upbringing, and my social work education has helped create a framework to view the world around me as well as how to view myself. It will be interesting to see how I continue to use these parts of my identity as well as how they will alter, change, and adapt as I continue my time in Botswana, redefining what is important by these new cultural standards.
My restful transition period is over and I am ready to help out cleaning dishes, making dinner, and common chores. On the walk home I learned that the water has been turned off. Yesterday I surprised to find not only running water, but hot running water. This new change in water status did not phase me; however, the likelihood of me showering tonight just dropped from possibly to absolutely no way! Luckily Mrs. Chiliwa didn’t push the issue and I got away with simply washing my face.
I learned how to go around the outside of the house to fill a water bucket and bring it back inside to the bathroom. We took off the back of the toilet and filled the container in order to continue the use of indoor plumbing. A separate bucket of clean water is always kept beside the sink to use when washing dishes. I cleaned dishes and helped Mrs. Chiliwa cook dinner, my first Botswana meal. I can’t say I was a huge help, but I now have one recipe in my toolbox. We made chakalaka and I stirred the cabbage, chili, and carrots before chopping onion, green pepper, and chicken chunks to add once the cabbage was cooked and cooled. In addition, we added beans and spices to make it more spicy, like the huge chili pepper wasn’t enough. As a word of caution, the chicken wasn’t what you would expect to come from a chicken. It was ground chicken in a cylindrical package that resembled a giant vienna sausage. Vegetarians, be warned. This was just one of the many dishes served this evening. We had juicy, chewy, delicious steak, chakalaka, a common Botswana stew, and more of the cornmeal paste. Everything was salty and delicious. Two days in a row I got to eat with my hands and many more days to come, this is a dream come true.
After helping make dinner I went to my room to take off my sweatshirt. Mme Chiliwa stopped me on the way saying she got something for me. She presented me with slippers to wear around the house instead of my socks and a pair of pajamas to wear at night. Last night Mme was surprised that I went to bed in my yoga pants, so she bought me something else to wear. In Botswana, people wear yoga pants outside on a regular basis, so Mme must have believed I was wearing my daily clothes to bed, not realizing that in the United States yoga pants are often worn around the house and to bed. It was a generous, thoughtful, unexpected surprise and I received the gifts with great appreciation.
Mrs. Chiliwa’s friends came over for dinner and I was once again paraded around, practicing my basic Setswana phrases. Everyone was very nice and willing to practice Setswana with me. While Mme visited I sat in the living room with the children watching tv as I continued my Setswana practice and occasionally taking a break to read for pleasure. For some reason I always get emotionally moved at the end of a book. Regardless of whether the book is a romance novel, mystery thriller, or sci-fi, I always become emotional invested in the lives of those fictional characters. I was reminded of closing the chapter to my life in Vermont and starting the chapter and even a new book of my life in Botswana. My heart ached for home and I couldn’t help but think of those I left behind.
I pathetically sat in bed creating a shrine of Sam including pictures and relics (jewelry and tshirt), and to complete the atmosphere I sprayed some of his body spray. I was now prepared to curl in the fetal position and fall asleep. I was overwhelmed by the 26 months I had staring me in the face. I reminded myself words of advice we received earlier during training, remember why you joined the Peace Corps. As I was wasting away I attempted to focus on the positive and when my sadness was too much I set achievable milestones. Nine days until Sam and my anniversary and thirteen days until I will have internet, I can do this.
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