We traveled from Francistown to Kasane today on a combie. It was super hot and squishy. Twenty-seven people in a van that back in Canada would hold twelve…probably less. My bags were pilled under my feet and I was pushed against Fasial, who was smushed against the window, strangers coming and going for the six and a half hour trip. Because we were traveling within the same country, the number of security checkpoints surprised me. We would pull off the road and hop out into the sand and hot sun, to walk across a mat with disinfectant on it (to prevent the spread of foot and mouth disease) and then join the huddled shoves to get back on the combie as the conductor scolded us for not pushing our way on faster. At another stop we were required to show our passports because there are a lot of illegal immigrants that enter Botswana from Zimbabwe (or Zim Zim as it is referred to here.) I listened to my iPod consumed by thoughts, weighted by the heat and drifting in and out of sleep for most of the trip. Staring out at the landscape of a golden sea, scattered African trees, with various spottings of Elephant, Giraffe, Ostrich and Warthogs leaving our group hungry with excitement, faces pressed against the windows and fingers pointing in amazement. The sky is huge and bluer then I have ever seen, not a single cloud in this so-called winter. I was sticky with sweat in my short sleeve top and capris while the local people sat in jackets with wool toques and blankets on their laps.
When we finally arrived in Kasane (which is to be my new home) we got off the bus and waited at the rank.
While waiting all we knew was that our contact to be picking us up was named Mama. As we clearly stood out, various people would pull over and say Dumella (Hello). Unsure we would ask if they were Mama to which after many exchanges and awkward responses we came across the correct Mama. Based on the phone calls we were expecting a very authoritarian older lady and were surprised when the girl who stepped out of the cab was not much older then us. She is slightly intimidating but I appreciate how she tells you orders of what is going to happen and what is expected of you. We waited even longer for her friend with a truck to come pick us and our massive bags up. One lesson to learn when here is that NOTHING happens when or as it is expected to.
While waiting I was stung in the butt by an African bee. Hesitant to pull my pants down in front of the buses coming and going I stood in pain for a few minutes before agreeing to going around the corner and having Lyndsay look for the stinger and precede to pull it out with tweezers (great partner bonding experience). After it felt much better… and we also saw a gecko.
We hopped a ride in a truck while walking along the highway to Mama’s house. Getting there all that was going through my head was that I couldn’t believe that we are actually going to be sleeping here. The house was two small rooms in a tin box. The heat was steaming through the metal and the only air vents were stuffed with clothing. The kitchen was in the same room as a small bed and kitchen table with an Amaretto bottle filled with wax sitting on it, as there was no electricity or running water.
I had to go to the washroom and after Mama told me that it “wasn’t so good” she pointed me across the yard littered with garbage, broken glass and tires to a building on the other side of a barbwire fence. In confusion about how to get around the fence, she informed me that I could just climb over the area that the elephant had knocked down (obviously). Once I found the toilet I relized that yet again I did not have toilet paper and was forced to use the last of my receipts which we are suppose to save to document our expenses for QPID (sorry Kira).
As the sun was setting around 6:00 pm we climbed a heap of dirt outside the house to try and catch a glimpse of the sunset over the tree and roof tops and then enjoyed a typical meal which was cooked in the dark, of palagee (a grain similar to rise with the consistency of dense mash potatoes) chicken and the salty overpowering taste of ‘Munrrow’ a traditional dish of a leaf that is baked in a clay oven with water and salt and served in a plastic bag looking like pieces of dung, tasting of seaweed, and getting stuck in the back of your teeth as you chew what Thomas described as gum.
We Checked to make sure all of the spiders were cleared from the mattress. And then Lyndsay, Isabelle and I pilled into the double bed, Thomas tucking us in with the mosquito net. For a hot and squishy night.
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