August 17, 2014

It’s no wonder the reason I haven’t gotten sick since being in Botswana, knocking on wood as I entertain the thought. I would have expected to get a minor cold between the endless hours of traveling, adjusting to the time zone, and the chilly mornings. But if one apple a day keeps the doctor away, I should be set at my five apple a day rate. Surprise, surprise, I had an apple for breakfast. I rounded out my meal with two scrambled eggs which would be essential for sustaining myself through the day.

With Mme Chiliwa still in Gaborone and my sisters destined to watch television and hang around the house all day, I decided to acquire some Botswana culture. I joined a fellow Peace Corps trainee and her host family to St. Gabriel’s, a Catholic Church. I arrived at my friend’s house a quarter till 9am, thinking we would be leaving shortly after. What I thought would be a quick excursion turned into a day long event.

We didn’t leave for church until a quarter till 10am. While waiting I drank tea and watched the news. Considering the only television shows my family watch at home are South African sitcoms, it was refreshing to know what was going on in the world. Or at least I thought it would be refreshing. I was amazed at the endless fear, danger, and destruction happening in foreign countries and also in the United States. I was happy to observe that Botswana was never mentioned in the news, meaning there isn’t enough violence and destruction to make the cut. The most violence Batswana experience is through words rather than weapons. Botswana truly is a peaceful country.

Believe it or not, I actually enjoy going to church, even if I don’t understand a word of what is being said other than Modimo, meaning God. By the end of the service I found myself picking up on a few more words, one at a time. You could feel the sense of joy and happiness radiating throughout the large room. Everyone appeared to be in such high spirits, coming together through their love of God. When the choir started to sing, followed by the remainder of the congregation, the church echoed with euphoria. Not knowing if I was listening to the praise of God or a popular Botswana tune, most likely the former, I swayed to the music with a large grin plastered to my face. The power of music and its ability to bring people together never ceases to amaze me.

The service was a little longer than I would have preferred, and after an hour and a half I found myself longing for some English words. Each song was my saving grace and I was rejuvenated and ready to sit through more of the ceremony. From time to time I found myself sending love and happiness to my friends and family back home through prayer. Without a way to telephone or email my loved ones, this seemed the next best form of communication. Growing up, I did not attend church regularly. I accompanied my friends now and again to youth group or a Sunday service, but never belonging to a church of my own. Since arriving in Botswana I’ve found myself sending love and happiness through prayer on a regular basis. With nothing else to hold onto right now, it has been somewhat of an anchor which I am incredibly thankful for.

Three hours later we were back in the car driving home. We stopped briefly at someone’s house to pray for a girl that passed away in 1998. The unveiling of her tombstone was taking place in the next couple of days, so a group of women from the church gathered to pray and sing. Once again, I had no idea what was being said, but I was moved by the music.

I was happy to be home and put on more comfortable clothing. I spent the remainder of the day watching a movie with a friend and studying Setswana. My sisters made a hearty meal for dinner. Honestly, anything would be hearty after the apples and peanut butter, eggs, and cheese slices I’ve been eating the past few days. We had chicken, rice, and coleslaw which will also be my lunch for tomorrow. 

I’m failing with everything in relation to water and now electricity. I struggle to do dishes, stay hydrated, brush my teeth, bathe, and wash my hands without running water. I was finally going to struggle through another bucket bath because I think my sisters are picking up on how seldom I shower. I turned the light on in the bathroom, heard a loud pop, and watched the lightbulb explode. I attempted to turn on the hall, bathroom, and bedroom lights, but nothing was working. I must have blown a fuse for half the house; this house does not agree with me. I checked in with my sisters who immediately went into the kitchen, flipped a switch, and the lights came back on. At 14 or even 17 years old I wish I was that useful. I don’t know how my parents and now Sam put up with my lack of resourcefulness; however, there is hope for me yet as I’m slowly learning. Every light worked except for the bathroom, so we lit a candle in order for me to brush my teeth. Any wishful thinking that I was going to bathe just burnt out with the lightbulb.