August 14, 2014

“Clean” is a relative term that I no longer know how to respond to. I just needed to hear someone’s voice, so I sat in bed and called my mom. I left a call back message detailing the best way to contact me, knowing she would be at work. I then called my dad who answered on the first try. Within minutes I blew through the 20 pula I just spent at Circle Street on a calling card for my phone. This was 20 pula well spent. My dad quickly called me back and we were able to talk for a substantial amount of time. He started to ask about my living situation and what my schedule looked like. I relayed some of the memorable details of the past few days before my dad asked if my host family’s house was clean. I was at a loss of words, not knowing how to respond I said, “I guess.” By Botswana standards I am incredibly fortunate for my living situation. I feel like I am living the life of luxury with electricity and not just running water, but hot running water. At all times there is a bucket of food scraps on the ground in the kitchen for the dog and cat. The front door is always open, stray cats running in and out. My host mom killed a chicken in the front yard, blood spilling everywhere. I may be the only person in the family that washes their hands after going to the bathroom. But yes, I would say this is clean. I left these details out when communicating with my father.

Today was a fairly average day with little to report until dinnertime approached. I only checked one bag when we were allowed to bring two. Many people have asked me if I forgot to pack anything. Up until this point my answer was always, “No, I have everything I need.” I now believe I should have packed a second bag full of cookbooks. Mme Chiliwa asked me to cook something, so I decided on just rice, but Mme insisted I have a stew to go with my rice. I decided on chili and rice which is a simple and easy meal. I found a can of beans and started cutting carrots, tomatoes, green pepper, and onions. I was prepared to settle with vegetarian chili, but Mme asked what meat I would like to include. I asked if there was ground beef in the house and Mme scrounged through the cupboard and pulled out a can of “Corned Meat: Contains Poultry & Vegetable Protein.” Before I could object, Onica was opening this can of mystery meat. What I found inside the can was completely unrecognizable. It looked similar to spam, smelled like a butcher’s waste basket, and tasted like a spicy mystery, not so bad.

I attempted to cook the meat first thinking it would more closely resemble ground beef once heated. Instead the brown mush spread out and turned into a greater pile of brown mush. I probably should have given up at this point, but I attempted to hide my failure by adding the rest of my chopped up ingredients. Boy was this a mistake. Instead of hiding my failure I just made it more obvious and in larger quantities. When it was all said and done, the meal was edible, but I certainly don’t want the leftovers which are already packed away in my lunchbox. Shortly after dinner I retreated to my room with an apple and peanut butter to fill my hunger and hide my shame. I think my host family learned their lesson and will never ask me to cook again.