The frustration of last night seemed to carry over into the morning because at 4:30am I woke up with the first words out of my mouth being, “Are you kidding me?” You know it’s bad when you start talking to yourself. My host dad and sister were busy yelling at each other, one from the bathroom and the other in the kitchen. The bathroom is right next to my bedroom. I finally got out of bed around 5:45am, hoping my presence would encourage everyone to speak softly. This had the opposite effect because Mme caught a glimpse of me and asked if I was ready to go to the funeral. I had forgotten that I agreed late last night to accompany Mme to a funeral at 6am this morning.
I quickly jumped in the shower and raced out the door. We parked in what looked like the middle of the dirt road and started walking towards the crowd. People had been gathered, singing and praying since last night. This has carried over into the morning where people began giving speeches. The funeral was for a 20 year old girl who was beaten to death by her boyfriend. Following his crime, the boyfriend then took several pills with alcohol and now remains in a coma. The young girl was a relative of one of Mme Chiliwa’s good friends. Having worked at a shelter for people experiencing domestic violence, the young girl’s story touched my heart, knowing too well what her friends and family must be going through.
There were at least 150 people seated in chairs, on the ground, or standing along the back. Funerals in Botswana are open to the pubic and anyone can make an appearance. I was comparing funerals and cemeteries in Botswana to those in the United States when Mme says, “It’s not like the United States, you just put them out in the bush.” I’m always amazed by how blunt Batswana can be.
Already 20 minutes late for my language class, I strolled up to everyone having a relaxing conversation. This is usually expected of the first half hour of class, but the rest of the day turned out to be just as low key. As I settle in my chair, everyone says they know how I did on the language exam. I was nearly jumped out of my seat with excitement because I thought we would be getting this information tomorrow. Greene handed me a slip of paper with my name and “IH” written. I had no idea what “IH” meant until Sara translated it to “intermediate high.” My jaw dropped as I stared at the paper for several minutes, repeating “really?” over and over again. By the end of our 10 week training we are expected to be at intermediate low, but I’ve already scored two above that. There are 11 people who scored intermediate high, the highest level anyone obtained so far. I was delighted and overjoyed, ready to learn as much as I could over the next four weeks, but at the back of my mind I couldn’t deny the pang of sadness I was feeling knowing this would be the last time Greene’s language class would be together. We certainly are a talkative bunch and get sidetracked on a regular basis, but this has been a safe space for me and I will miss the relationships we have formed over the last five weeks.
Our language class ended early because another volunteer invited all Peace Corps staff and volunteers to a wedding. We met at the school and loaded up a bus to commute to the reception. In Botswana, two people will generally get married in a church and then hold two different receptions a week apart, one at the groom’s family and the other at the bride’s. Weddings are similar to funerals in that no invitation is required, anyone who wants to attend can just show up. It felt strange and uncomfortable walking into a stranger’s house with a large group of white people, but I was interested in learning what weddings were like. We arrived as soon as the bride and groom were headed to a new location to take pictures. During their absence, I wandered around observing the men preparing the meat and women preparing the vegetables, offering and denied the chance to help. As I wandered, I was consistently ushered and urged to go sit in the far corner of the property reserved for those not working. This group included old men and women, children, and now white people. I was happy to sit in the shade and people watch, and after yesterday’s frustration, I was just happy to be out of the house.
Shortly after the bride and groom returned, food was served. The food line was crowded and overwhelming. I would turn my head for a second to find something new plopped onto my plate, some foods recognizable and others not so much. Regardless of my knowledge of what I was digesting, everything was delicious. Batswana sure know how to cook.
I loved all the dancing and singing at the wedding. Anytime the bride and groom came or left, they would turn it into a dance and a song. I din’t know what we were singing, but it was easy enough to join in the swaying back and forth to the music. The bridesmaids and groomsmen performed a pre-rehearsed dance along with other traditional dances. I’m not sure if we left too early to see all the traditional dances, but from what I saw it appeared to be more rocking back and forth accompanied by singing. I forgot how much I have missed dancing and was happy to let some of the stored up energy lose.
By the time I made it home I was exhausted and dirty with all the troubles from the morning forgotten. I welcomed a bath to removed the dirt caked onto my legs and feet. It isn’t often that I willingly take a bath, so this certainly has been a day to remember.
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