“We propose to call the age of development that particular historical period which began on 20 January, 1949, when Harry S. Truman for the first time declared, in his inauguration speech, the Southern hemisphere as ‘underdeveloped areas’. The label stuck and subsequently provided the cognitive base for both arrogant interventionism from the North and pathetic self-pity in the South.”

-Wolfgang Sachs, The Development Dictionary

Yes, it’s been a long time. I won’t bother making excuses. :)

Things at the clinic have been slow. The contract for BONEPWA, the NGO that was contracted to assist with our PMTCT program, expired in mid-September, leaving Amy and Edith out of a job (I still smile that so many people here take on an English name). In panic, Amy quickly started applying for all kinds of jobs – to be cleaner at a school, to do construction, etc. It was really upsetting. Here is someone – one of the few, really – who not only LIKES what she does, but is good at it, and is actually passionate about it. Many health workers and counselors here are either burnt out, apathetic, lazy, or only in it for the money. But Amy likes this work – and someone like that needs to stay in it. I told her I refused to let her clean toilets in the Primary School when she has a passion for something that not everyone is good at. But her response, of course, was: “But Kagiso, what can I do? I have to survive.”

After making some phone calls, I discovered that another NGO, BOCAIP, is going to take over – though the question of ‘when’ is always an issue here. However, the transition seems to be happening fairly quickly (so far). As soon as I heard that BOCAIP would be coming, I made sure to contact them and highly recommend that both Amy and Edith be reinstated. Unfortunately, they were only going to be funding the position that was formerly filled by Amy, while the equivalent of Edith’s position was going to be consolidated and based in Tutume, 50 kilometres away. After a letter and several phone calls (and upon meeting her), they agreed to keep Amy on as the Peer Mother (the one with whom I do home visits and community outreach). Edith – who is more educated and experienced - began applying for jobs elsewhere, and after I wrote her a zealous letter of recommendation for Harvard’s Botswana research team, she managed to get an interview and secure a position with them in Francistown. It is a really big upgrade for her, both professionally and financially (it’s HARVARD!), so I hope she does well but I already miss her here.

Supposedly Amy will go for training in two weeks and begin two weeks after that, but I told her not to hold her breath. For now she is having trouble making ends meet with many young brothers and sisters (some of who are sick), her sick mother (and by “sick” I mean HIV positive), her baby, and her disabled teenaged son... not to mention her own health. As many of you know, it’s hard to watch people you love struggle – especially when they are putting forth the effort and they’re not frivolous with the money they do have. So I’ve been trying my best to keep her and her family afloat until the job begins, but in the process I too am spreading myself a little thin, with another month to go until the end of our financial quarter (we’re “paid” quarterly here, and even that is only a local wage). Luckily, I have a post-Great Depression mentality when it comes to food so I tend to have an excessive amount of things like rice, beans, and lentils stored for such occasions. There’s an expression here that translates roughly to mean: “Invite your neighbors, and dinner will make itself.” In other words, “never fret about feeding your loved ones, the food will manage to be enough.”

When we arrived two Aprils ago we were given a table dissecting each year of our service into quarters, with each quarter detailing the average or “normal” issues we would face and subsequent behaviors/reactions for that time. Currently, in the 17-20 month phase, we are dealing with “hyperactivity or apathy, procrastination, self-recrimination, resignation, disappointment, downgrading of achievements, [and/or] over identification in behavior.”

This seems to be fairly accurate.

But a good break came this past week. I have been hassling our 3 primary schools for months to come and assist them – either with teaching English, after school activities, etc. I’ve mostly received no response, but last week a teacher from our “bush” school asked if I would come and help his Standard 6 students (about 12-13 year-olds) with English for they take their examinations this upcoming Friday. Schools here run on trimesters, beginning in January, so the last trimester is closing in the next few weeks, depending on the grade. I was a little disappointed that he waited until the final two weeks of the term to ask, but I figured something was better than nothing.

So this past week I started making the 90+ minute-each-way journey first thing in the morning into the bush to help with English. This teacher has 60+ Standard 6 kids, divided into two classes of roughly 30. While one class learns, the other class sits silently in another room doing assignments. The kids were of course ecstatic to see a white man at their school – many of them knew my name, either from word-of-mouth, from having been to the clinic, or from seeing me at the mobile clinics we do in the bush. But I was surprised at the percentage that said it was their first time seeing a white man (probably about 10% of them).

When I walked in, the kids were copying from the board (in English) about classical musical instruments – “A violin has four strings”, and “The keys in a piano cause vibrations…” I was shocked that they “knew” this, but the teacher assured me they did. He and I went through some of the objectives for Std 6 students so that I could get an understanding of where they needed to be with English. He insisted they knew a lot, but they just needed help with tenses and writing one-page compositions (what we know as 3-paragraph essays), as they will have to write one on an unknown topic this upcoming Friday. As soon as I began the class I realized that they actually knew very little; what they “knew” was how to copy from the board. And this is the problem with many education systems in Africa – they’re not relevant to the students. They’ll probably never see a violin in their lives, so of what use is it to a kid in the bush to learn that a violin has 4 strings??? Hell, that hasn’t even been of use to me and I am familiar with and enjoy Bach’s “Double Violin Concerto” or Bartok’s “Concerto for Orchestra”. But these things are remnants of the colonial system, and are still taking time to dissolve.

I’m reminded of a line from a favorite book of mine, The Paternalism of Partnership: “It is impossible to plant an alpine flower in the savanna. It will not grow. You have to plant a flower which is adapted and suited to the living conditions here and give it the proper nutrition.”

Anyway, class went fairly well – it’s hard because I am not supposed to speak Kalanga – I wouldn’t say it’s ‘illegal’ but it’s certainly not allowed. Kids are beaten for speaking it, and teachers would be at least scolded if they spoke it. There are even signs on most school grounds saying, “We follow a strict language policy: Please speak Setswana and English only.” This is largely political and, according to some, part of a quiet governmental attempt to squash minority cultures. So these kids are being taught a third language in their second language, which is itself another separate lesson later in the day. When I was noticing a road block, I would try and use Kalanga to explain or compare, and some of the kids would shoot eyes to the teacher to see how he was reacting. He mostly breathed heavily, but towards the end I think he wasn’t very happy. He’s a Kalanga himself, so he is a little more lenient, but I think he is worried about his own butt more than the rule. I talked to him about it after class. I said, “Is the goal for these kids to learn English or not? Because I can be an ok teacher using English only or I can be a great teacher using some Kalanga.” His job performance is largely evaluated on the performances of his pupils in examinations so he had an interest in relinquishing, under the agreement that I am not to write Kalanga on the board and that the kids are not to speak it to ask or answer any questions. I agreed.

We went through the 3 parts of a composition: Introduction, Body, Conclusion (which they knew pretty well). I stressed that the introduction should tell the reader the When, Who, What, and Where of the story (I told them to remember it as “LYIN,” an acronym for the interrogative pronouns’ Kalanga equivalents: Lini, Yani, Ini, and Ngai.)

I wanted us to ‘write’ a composition orally, as a class. I chose the topic “My First Journey to Francistown”. After about 3 minutes I realized we had a problem. I said, “Raise your hand if you have never been to Francistown” … almost 50% of the class raised their hands. Can you imagine? Can you imagine having never left your rural life? Having never been 2 hours away to the nearest urban area? Having never entered a store or seen a sidewalk or a street light? And then having to learn about violins. I felt a little foolish for making the assumption – particularly because I know a lot of these kids don’t even know their own birthday or what they look like in a mirror, but most people here are fairly mobile. Then again, I was at the bush school. I could tell there was also confusion with trying to do something orally that they had only done manually. They were confused.

I switched gears.

In half Kalanga and half broken English, I told them lets pretend I was their mother or their grandmother, whoever they stayed with. They laughed at this of course. They were to pretend that it was the end of the day and they were going home to tell their guardian about the new white teacher at school. I asked them, “What would you tell your grandmother about today”?

One boy said, “Today a white man came to teach at school” (Right there he said the ‘when’ and ‘who’ ‘where’ and ‘what’). They went on “It was my first time to see a white man,” “He was wearing a black shirt,” “He was very good in English and Kalanga,” etc. etc. etc. Their English was not as good as I am transcribing, so we had to work through each thought, but after a few minutes I asked them, “And what would you say about all of that?” (sneakily getting them to say what would be their conclusion about the day). They said “I was happy because the teacher was beautiful” (Haha, someone wanted extra credit!). “It was nice because I learned a lot.” “It was a very good day.”

“Great,” I said. “You just wrote a composition and passed your examination.” Most of them just blinked heavily. The smarter ones understood: they had just done a full composition. I told them, “You ‘write’ compositions all day every day, using your mouth. You tell people stories, starting with When, Who, What, and Where the story takes place, followed by what happened, and you finish with thoughts of the experience. That is a composition. The only difference is on Friday you have to write one.”

I gotta say, it was a breakthrough moment for them. Even the teacher’s eyes were big. Their homework assignment was to write two compositions – one about their first day with the new teacher and one on their first day of school several years ago.

The next day was a great improvement. Each student stood up and read his/her account of the first day with the new teacher. It was sad that nearly 25% of them said something along the lines of, “It was a good day because Mr. Kagiso did not beat us” or “I was happy when I gave a wrong answer and Mr. Kagiso didn’t hit me” and “I know Mr. Kagiso is a good man because he did not beat me when my shoe was not tied.” But they overwhelmingly had holistic introductions and good conclusions, which was the point.

I asked the teacher if I could be the one to mark their books as I wanted to see where they lacked and where they excelled, so that I could in turn teach to their needs the next week. Of course he agreed, as it was 60 less books for him to mark. The books have been really heartbreaking to read. Not for the errors, which are predictable, but for statements on how badly they are treated at school. Some excerpts from their first day at school (about 5 or 6 years ago):

“When we got into the class our teacher asked us our name. When she asked me my name I don’t speak to her because I was don’t hear what she saying. The children laugh to me. The teacher beat me with a stick saying you come to school to eat food only. Then I started crying after crying I told her in Kalanga that I don’t hear what she say. The teacher shouted shut up here is not at your home. Stop speaking Kalanga in class…. I was unhappy because the teacher beat me until I bleed.”

“When we got in class our teacher asked name. When she asked my name I didn’t speak because I didn’t hear what she saying. The children laugh at me. The teacher asked me us kyashen [a question]. Then I don’t not speak because I was not a Setswana I speak Kalanga. She beat me with a stick I cried and cried then she beat me for cry. I like school because are important you can pass you go to jobs.”

I read 60 of these, almost all parallel. From there I extracted common mistakes and on Monday we are going to go over their own sentences together. I’d like to get a few minutes with each student one-on-one, but with 60 kids… you do the math.

Other than that things are fine. I was asked to come down to Gaborone this week. As some of you may have heard, violence in Guinea (West Africa) has continued so Peace Corps decided to evacuate its volunteers there. As a result, we are getting 5 transfer volunteers – “refugees” as I like to call them. :) Peace Corps asked me to come down to help orient them and be a source of support. I’ll head down Tuesday after class – it will make for a long day (and week), as Gabs is 8+ hours away. I’ll stay for two days then head 8+ hours back with hopes that the kids did well on their examinations.

I remember when I was applying two years ago, I told my recruiter and my mother that if they offered me a position teaching English, I would refuse. I didn’t want to spend two years of my life teaching ABCs to kids – I wanted to do something that I thought would make a difference: I wanted to work with HIV/AIDS. Interestingly enough, two years later, I’d say the exact opposite. Even with relation to HIV/AIDS, I think I would be making a much greater impact if I had full-time access to kids in a controlled environment like a school. I haven’t the time to express (nor you the patience to read) the extent to which I think that the school system here is perpetuating poverty and directly inhibiting the fight against AIDS. I see it every day and it is the hardest thing to digest, even more than all of the deaths. And it just goes past you like the wind, something you can feel but cannot touch.

“…so here the archangel paused,

Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored”

~John Milton, Paradise Lost

Once again, it’s been a long while. Though time is racing by, it seems that very few noteworthy events happen, which makes blog-writing seem a bit futile. Winter is here in full force (weather is always the default topic for Americans, isn’t it?), which of course I dread. In June it seemed to get colder and colder every day for about 10 days, though admittedly July has softened a bit. Winter will extend until early September, with August being our windiest month so I am bracing myself for that.

In early July we had our belated one-year training in Molepolole. We receive a new cohort every April, as previously mentioned, so their arrival this past April obviously delayed our one-year training. Though we’ve lost about 20% of our original group for various reasons, it was nice to those who remain. The heating at the lodge was temperamental, and we were frequently without water. That made for a very interesting training. Many of us travel a long distance from our already-rural environments, void of heat (and for some of us, void of water); thus we all look forward to plush lodging, so that was a bit of a disappointment. But for me it wasn’t a very big deal. We talked a bit about preparing for our departure and how we should be beginning to have conversations about it with those to whom we are closest – particularly the children – so that they are not as shocked when the time comes. This, in conjunction with the discussion of applying for jobs, was kind of a kick in the face. I have 10 months left… how did this happen?

I am sure many of you are wondering about my youngest ‘son’, Kabelo. I am too. I haven’t really seen him in well over a month now. He’s gotten himself in a lot of trouble, both in and out of the school, in various incidents and it seems his guardian is keeping him on a tight leash. I know he was due to go and see a traditional doctor to “sort him out”, and I do not know if he has gone or what came of such a visit. While people here are largely “Christian,” witchcraft and traditional influences – particularly with respect to medicine – still play a large role in people’s lives. It is believed that someone may have put some sort of spell on Kabelo, or that he may be possessed by an ancestor who is angry about something. Needless to say, I haven’t seen him.

But life is made full from other people. I guess I’m finally developing “friends”, though my definition of the word isn’t exactly applicable here. For one, it’s so difficult with language. While the Kalanga is going very, very well and it’s a language that I truly enjoy and admire, 16 months is not enough time to develop the skills necessary to have deep, meaningful conversations. That being said, I am always amazed at just how much I am able to communicate with people. The other day I was in line at a supermarket in Francistown getting take-away food, and I noticed the lady was giving everyone spoons (most people eat with their hands or with spoons, not with forks), and then she gave me a fork. So I said with a smile, “Ini u mpa bathu bose ligwana ngono wa ndimpa foroko? A no kumbula makhuwa abato da ligwana?” (Why did you give all those people a spoon but you gave me a fork? Do you think white people don’t like spoons?). After catching up with her shock, she belted a big laugh and said that, yes, white people tend to prefer forks. It was a nice moment.

It will be hard to leave some people here, particularly my ‘best’ friend – who is an HIV-positive adolescent. I know I’ve mentioned him before, the 14 year old (nearly 15 now) who looks 9. His name is Batundu or Kemmonye, but I call him Khuwa – which means white person – because he has a really light complexion. When I first arrived I had trouble remembering so many foreign names, so I gave nicknames to a lot of the kids, which made it easy for me and fun for them. Interestingly enough, 16 months later I know all of their real names but still call many of them by their original nicknames, and they even use them amongst themselves, which I enjoy. Khuwa speaks very little English, though I have been working on him. In fact, I think my presence has encouraged him to give more attention to English class in school. When I came back from my training this month, I was shocked to hear him speaking English left and right (simple sentences), and I said,

“Waka zwidiya Ikhuwa lini?!?” (“When did you learn English?!?”)

To which he responded – in slow English: “I… have to… speak English.”

“Ne kutini?” (Why?”) I asked.

“Because... I… am… Khuwa”

I nearly fell over with laughter. It was so unexpected and well played, and remains one of my favorite moments here. I’ll miss Khuwa the most, and Amy of course.

Amy is doing ok. The hut she uses for her kitchen burnt down, so she is struggling to find the money to build a new one. Amy is truly one of those people you meet once every 10 years or so – if you’re lucky – and if it weren’t for her I probably would have packed up and left by now. Her health is still quite volatile, but this week she discovered that her CD4 count has gone up (as a reminder, in layman’s terms, the CD4 cells are the kind that decrease as HIV progresses, and are linked to the general well-being of the immune system). This week she said to me, “Ahh, Kagiso, when you go I am going to think of you and be sad and my CD4 is going to be low.” It was such a cute, but sad, compliment that I had to laugh to avoid tearing up. She is the lowest paid person at the clinic, and still the hardest working, while everyday having an inspirational attitude. While always a joy to meet such people, it’s also bittersweet; as I know that she will never have the life she deserves and will always struggle with money and her health.

Things at the clinic are ok. I’m at a point where I feel as though I am on a plateau, but I think that’s normal. We just compiled our 2nd quarterly report for the year, which revealed that 22% of the people who tested for HIV were found positive. That percentage is really no higher or lower than any other quarter, and it continues to put us among the highest in the world. The virus excludes no one: this quarter we had an 8-year-old boy and a 78-year-old woman test positive. There’s a world of its own behind all of this, but I wont go in to it here.

The good news is, some good news exists. Every year in Botswana 15,000 HIV-positive women give birth (a number that is increasing). Without the PMTCT program, about 35% (5,000+) babies would be born infected. But with the program, we are finding that less than 4%, or 600, are being born positive. Statistics like that remind me that the work I am involved in is indeed valuable. While of course the big challenge will be staying negative throughout their lives, it’s still comforting to know that a whole generation is more-or-less starting with a clean slate.

Shifting gears, on my walk to work the other day my 22 yr old neighbor was being cut down from the tree from which he apparently hung himself. No one seems to know why, although his younger brother has been under supervision as he confessed that they were supposed to do it together. The suicide rate is alarmingly high here; there have been several in my village in the past year, but no one seems to mention it as an issue. Personally I think this is a chronically depressed country, and the depression manifests itself in so many other facets of their lives.

“Any idiot can face a crisis; it is this day-to-day living that wears you out.” –Chekhov

I extend a major thank you to those who have been keeping in contact with me. Your correspondence is so greatly appreciated. For the record, I am little backed up on books-to-read, so unless you stumble upon something absolutely amazing I am probably ok without books for a while. But please do at least let me know the titles of any books I may find amusing and I’ll add them to my ever-growing list of books to read later. I am doing a lot of reading – in fact, I am arguably more intellectually stimulated here than I have been at any other point in my life. I am currently reading 3 books, forwarded subscriptions of The New Yorker, Men’s Health, and Harper’s Magazine, as well as other publications you all send me (I love Songlines, hint-hint, nudge-nudge). On top of Kalanga, I am studying other languages, exercising, doing yoga, and make a point to write – either something fictional or not – on a weekly basis. This is a very rich time in my life and I value it.

Here I have become so aware of how many hours there really are in a day. At home I know we always wonder where the time goes, and how little we feel we’ve accomplished at the end of the day. But in the absence of most of the major time-consumers – hours spent watching vapid TV programs, browsing every corner of the internet, cleaning our 2,500+ sq. foot abodes, etc. – I am astounded at just how many things I can do in a day. In fairness, that’s mostly because there really isn’t anything to do! On weekends, I often think “I should be doing something” only to remind myself that there isn’t too much to do. I can’t peruse Wal-Mart. I can’t catch a flick at the local theatre or have a cocktail with a friend. So I mostly read, read, read, and visit people in the community. The quiet life is good for me at this stage.

I guess that’s all. I’ll leave you with some updated suggestions for sending things. Thanks again to you all.

Things I have enough of:

Writing pads

Razors / razor blades

Shaving Cream

Sunscreen

Facial Soap & Bar Soap

Hand sanitizer

Post-shaving cream

Anything mosquito-related

Toothbrushes

Things I’m Still Loving

Anything Cheezy

Febreeze

Granola / Power / Snack bars

Healthy snack foods (trail mixes, almonds, etc.)

Facial Toner

Black beans

Olive Oil

Amazon Gift Certificates! 

Good pens

Candy for the kids (ok, I admit, and for me)

Letters and Photos

I would also love a bag of tortilla chips. Ooh I miss their salty goodness.

This is my life; it’s not what it was before

And these are my dreams that I’ve never lived before

Somebody shake me ‘cause I, I must be sleeping

~Aaron Lewis

Ok, so maybe our relationship isn’t quite one of romantic love, but it has definitely come to be my home which became very clear on my return from holiday. South Africa -> Mozambique -> Swaziland was perfect! We spent the first night with my good South African friend who lives in Johannesburg. We originally met in England, when we were both pursuing the same course for our Master’s. I had actually last seen her in DC when she was there for a conference. So now seeing her on her home turf, in South Africa, meant that we had now seen on each other on three different continents! We laughed at how blessed we both are. She’s a gem of a human and I’m always happy to see her.

Whenever I arrive in a new place, I like to give off an err as if I know what I am doing in order to avoid releasing victimizing energy. So when I got off the bus in Johannesburg - which by the way is known for its crime; I think it leads the word in violent crimes per year. I was bombarded by men asking where I was going and if I needed a taxi. Knowing very well that a lot of these men aren’t even taxi drivers, I just said “Don’t worry, I stay just there” as I pointed to the neighborhood in front of me. The men paused, a few laughed and one said, “You don’t stay there.” I insisted, “I DO.” He laughed, “They’ll kill you over there! That’s Hillborough!” Whoops! Hillborough is one of the worst neighborhood in Jo’Burg, making it one of the worst in the world. So I said “Ooops, Ok, I don’t live there… but I also don’t need a taxi!” Haha. Thankfully my friend was waiting for us with her car, in the opposite direction of Hillborough, of course. So we met her and made our way out to Sandton, a very wealthy suburb. On the way I rolled down my window hoping for some fresh air, which freaked the heck out of my friend. “OH MY GOD, ROLL UP YOUR WINDOW!” she screamed, “This is Jo’Burg!” We just don’t have to worry about these things in Botswana.

Anyway, so we spent two days in Jo’Burg which was SUCH a blast. Most of the rich suburbs are quite new and the architecture is very modern – it reminded me so much of southern California – so many mansions that would put those in Hollywood to shame. Seriously. The suburbs of Jo’Burg were a whole other world, as is the case in many cities, particularly those in the developing world. So I was able to enjoy cocktails and sushi (yes, SUSHI! It wasn’t amazing, but it was enough to make me tear up lol), and all just a stone throw’s away from those suffering from chronic poverty. And that’s the other thing South Africa is known for – one of the greatest disparities of wealth. But I liked Jo’Burg - even the poor centre in which I admittedly didn’t spend much time had a nice energy to it. I like cities that offer diversity, and Jo’Burg has some of Africa’s richest and poorest. I’d like to go again and spend more time. Our second night we were to catch an overnight bus into Mozambique, before which we went to a concert where I met a famous South African soap star who I manage to catch on Botswana TV from time to time. That was exciting. Then we hit the bus and made our way to Mozambique.

Talk about heaven! Maputo, the capital, was such a lovely city. Despite Mozambique having a brutal war 15-or-so years back, you would never get that vibe. Maputo felt so safe, and there was a lightness in the air. It’s situated on many hills adjacent to a bay, and the architecture – though old and dilapidating – has that Mediterranean charm as a result of their Portuguese colonization. We didn’t spend much time there before we had to trek 9+ hours to Tofo, a beachside village. The place is largely immune to tourists, but is well known in the surfer community so other than hardcore surfers and a few vacationing South Africans we were alone. In fact many days we were literally the only ones on the beach, as the surfers tend to go out very early morning and late afternoon. It was complete heaven – the air temperature was perfect, the water was perfect, our room (i.e. straw hut) backed up to the ocean so the waves were the last thing I would hear before I fell asleep and the first thing in the morning. Now that’s relaxing!

I spent the week eating nothing but fresh fish and fresh fruit, as these things are in abundance. I had never had calamari straight from the sea before – wow, I didn’t know what I was missing! And things were so cheap:

Fresh cashew nuts: $2 per kg

Coconut: 50c

Prawns (Shrimp): $3 per kg

Calamari: $3 for whole squid

Passion fruit: 50c for 3 or 4

Accommodation: $6 a night

Local rum: $1.50 for a bottle

I managed to make friends with some local old ladies, as I always do, who agreed to cook us local food for $2 a meal (which I know was still more than the local price, but I couldn’t complain. The agreement was mutually beneficial). So some days we brought her our own seafood and other days she provided. The Mozambicans sure know good food! The sauces they made to accompany the fish and rice was stellar. Typically speaking, African food is nothing to write home about. But Mozambican food is, and that’s why I am writing home about it 

So we spent a good week there, doing less than nothing. We then took a 12+ hour journey to Swaziland, where we were meeting 3 other friends who were on their way to Mozambique. We rented a car and were able to enjoy all of Swaziland in two days. It’s very very small lol. But I was really stunned by the beauty of the place. It looks like Switzerland or Scotland – particularly during the first day as it was very misty – dramatic, green mountains, winding roads. People there seem to be doing quite well. I don’t recall seeing any shantytowns or overtly-poor looking people. And they were so friendly, far more so than the Batswana and even the South Africans, who I guess have much more cultural baggage than the Swazis. Anyway, it was a nice 2 day journey after which we drove 12+ hours back into Botswana.

So I’ve just been getting myself back in the groove. The new cohort has arrived in the country, marking my 50% point. It feels like a year – not an exceptionally fast or slow one; just a year. But I am consistently told that the second year transpires significantly faster than the first. We’ll see. The next few months will certainly be busy, so I don’t doubt it.

In three weeks one of the new guys will come and shadow me for 5 days. Following that, I’ll spend a week in mid-May assisting with the training of the new guys in Molepolole. It will be nice to have some fresh energy here. I’ll also pop in and see my host family – I’m not sure if they are hosting a another person this year.

My son is well. I walked by his house upon my return and he saw me and dropped his toys (i.e. stones) and came runnin’ for me. He came to my house and we had lunch, then I sent him on his way which of course made him cry. Bless him.

Things are busy at the clinic. We’ve reached 100 clients (that is 100 positive women who are currently pregnant and enrolled in the program. Of course there are for more pregnant and positive women than this). Additionally, I have been trying to incorporate negative women into our program (what’s that saying? – an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of treatment?), but it’s hard to make time for them and some co-workers are resistant to doing things outside of their mandate. Job descriptions here are taken literally, too literally, so that people feel almost as if they are not allowed to go above and beyond the call of duty. It can be frustrating.

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery

None but ourselves can free our minds

~B.Marley

I’ve been in Botswana for nearly 11 months now, and today – for the for the first time – the dog I have been feeding since day one has allowed me to pet her. When I arrived she looked rough – her saggy udders swinging from side to side, tail eternally tucked between her legs – but after some good ol’ fashioned guilt-induced feeding I’ve managed to help her look like a dog again, albeit still a fairly ugly one (as 99% of the dogs here are). It took about 9 months to get her to even wag her tail at me, so I was actually quite shocked today when she tucked her tail between her legs, slowly got down on all fours and then rolled over on her back with her tucked-tail swaying slowly in the dirt. 11 months. And in dog-time that’s, what?- more than 6 years? LOL. They say dogs are unforgiving but it took this dog ‘6 years’ to ‘forgive’ what previous people had done and to trust again.

Of course this small incident rippled into a whole day of thought – as things tend to do here – and still has me awake at near midnight on a Tuesday, which I think is the latest I have ever been awake in Maitengwe. It took a dog (a creature incapable of reflection, logic, and long-term memory) that long to ‘get over’ its conditionings and here I am working on “behavior change” in a community with a history older than my own and an educational system younger than me. So of course, I had to wonder – how colonized is the mind?

Colonize (v):

• to settle among and establish political control over

• to appropriate (a place or domain) for one's own use.

• to establish itself in an area*

Establish (v):

• to set up on a firm or permanent basis

• to achieve permanent acceptance for (a custom, belief, practice, or institution)

The thought of the day, I guess. But it surely makes working with human behavior change, particularly sexual behavior change, a very daunting task.

Well, it happened. I’ve moved into my new house, and am enjoying its luxuries. I have a lot more privacy in addition to the amenities. Although I have to admit, I am enjoying it a bit less than I thought I would – which makes me even happier, knowing that my accommodation really isn’t that big of a deal; I’d hate to think my happiness depends on hot water and black tile flooring! Haha.

My son has found the new house and we’ve continued breakfast as usual. Gosh, he is growing. There is so much less need in his actions (for instance he no longer cries when I drop him at school) which I admit I selfishly miss a bit, but it’s nice to see him progress. The teacher at the orphanage gave me such a wonderful compliment the other day – one that wasn’t necessarily designed to be a compliment (as the best ones usually are). She told me that when he first came to the school, she was scared for him; that he was just lifeless and fragile, and that now he looks so healthy and lively. “You brought him to life,” she said, in broken English. Just hearing that alone makes these 27 months worth it. Then this yesterday afternoon he walked into the clinic after school and said in English: "Kagiso, I love you," as if rehearsed. But it was so cute I had to die. I guess he had learned it in school that day.

But not much is new in the work department. I want to branch out of the clinic and start getting involved in the schools, so I am going to make that a project in the upcoming months. Apparently our secondary school has an active Drama Club, so I may try to put my hand in and see what we can do together.

At the end of this week I will be going to Mozambique and Swaziland (you may have heard of the former, but I bet you haven’t heard of the latter lol) for holiday. I want to soak up the sun before winter hits. Mozambique is known for excellent beaches, fish, and amazing calamari – not to mention Portuguese-speaking Africans. It will also be my first time seeing the Indian Ocean, which is an interesting little tidbit to look forward to. Swaziland is one of the continent’s smallest countries, and one of the world’s few remaining monarchs. The King has 20-something wives and picks a new one each year. It’s with no surprise, then, that Swaziland has perhaps the highest rate of HIV in the world (it ‘competes’ with Botswana for the highest prevalent rate… it all depends on who you read). Anyway, small as it is, it’s said to be quite an experience so I am looking forward to it.

Until then, be well.

...you would think I was in southern Africa or something!

You would also think that after over a dozen inquiries into why my blog has been silent since December I would have finally updated it, but apparently it took an email from a random unknown individual in Oregon expressing his nostalgia for an update for me to mobilize and write again. So we thank you, Random Unknown Individual in Oregon, for your readership and mobilizing email. It’s amazing how these things get found, passed around, etc.

Anyway, the reasons for the brief hiatus are at least three fold: one, the holiday season kept me away and, like most habits (at least the healthy ones), staying away is easier than going back. Secondly, nothing has really happened since December… or should I say nothing of significance? Or should I say nothing of what seems like significance? Finally, sometimes it’s just a thorn in my side 

But anyway here we are. And for those of you who sincerely missed my blog for the past two months, you’re likely to feel satisfied as I am in the mood to make this a long one.

The holidays were spent very low key, mostly around my village and some small time in Francistown, enjoying the luxuries of “urban” life. I really did nothing exciting. My son is still coming every morning, like clockwork, and we have breakfast together. There isn’t a morning that passes that I am not thankful for him. He is such a great way to start the day. He’s grown so much the past 6 months; in part I am sure to the excessive amount of calories I shove down his throat every morning. For those of you who have kids or who want them, I don’t know how you do it. This kid isn’t even my blood, yet watching him grow up pierces me with this twisted pain/pleasure combination that I can’t describe. It’s like you want them to stay that young and innocent forever but you’re also so happy and thankful to see them growing into something they weren’t when you first knew them. He’s learned so much from me, and me from him, and that is really remarkable to witness. He’s significantly less vacant and much more vibrant. But at the same time… ouch, ouch, ouch. Soon he will be so big I wont even be able to carry him to school anymore. And very soon after that, he will be a grown adult in the middle of a very difficult environment, where the bad choices of a generation create cycles of poverty that reproduce a generation that will make bad choices.

On a lighter note, my mother and little sister came to visit me just a few weeks ago! We rented a car (thank God; I missed driving) and spent the first few days in Moleps, where I trained, meeting the host family and some other colleagues of mine who are serving in surrounding areas. It was really nice for my two moms to meet! My real mom (and my favorite one, don’t worry SK…) brought gifts that were certainly enjoyed. Then we spent a few days in my village, where they saw my day-to-day and met my co-workers. I think a few days here was enough haha. It’s interesting because I have become accustomed to such a slow pace of life, which is not at all me in the US. I am a “gas ass,” in the words of my mother, and am always going here and there. But in Africa you learn how to sit still, and how to do nothing without feeling guilty about it, and those lessons take a lot of time. You see, in the US our value is defined by our productivity – if you aren’t producing, you’re useless (i.e. you’re fired). This is logical and acceptable in terms of our intense capitalism, which is a system inherently dependent on growth for survival. However, the problem is this mentality seeps into our mindset as people and we begin to define ourselves by what we do rather than who are are, and you don’t realize things like this until you’re in environments such as these. It’s taken me the whole 10 months I’ve been here to realize why the heck I constantly feel so down: I am under-producing and judging myself for it. And the real irony is, I am the only one noticing. But the fact is, systems are different here, work is different here, time is different here, standards are different here, etc. – and therefore one’s mindset must be too. It takes a lot adjusting, a heck of a lot of patience, a good bit of understanding, and a whole lot of humility.

Anyway, so having two American-mode Americans come and visit an African-mode American was quite exhausting for me, and I think at times very boring for them. Thankfully, once the restlessness set in, we were off to Kasane (KAH-SAH-NEE), which is in the very northeastern part of the country and known for it’s prevalent wildlife. On the road we saw several elephants and some giraffes. (I think a direct quote from my mother, as I was driving 70 mph, was “Giraffes, HOLY SHIT!!!” following by me safely slamming the breaks for a photo op… pictures coming soon, by the way).

Kasane was just breathtaking. We enjoyed a lovely boat ride on the river our first evening where we saw dozens of hippos, baboons, khudu, impala, some crocs, and at least 70 elephants scattered about – eating, bathing, etc. The weather was fabulous and the setting sun and the sky were both indescribable. It was really one of the moments where you’d have be a complete ass to complain about anything; life was just at it’s best on that boat, and moments like that make me wonder why I ever think of leaving this continent (sorry Mom, I know that was not what you were hoping to get out of the ride).

The next day we trekked to Victoria Falls, one of the 7 natural wonders of the world. It wasn’t the best time of the year to do so, as the volume of water was at its highest being the end of the rainy season, making the mist from the falls so intense that you could hardly see the falls themselves. This, coupled with periodic drizzle from the sky, made it feel like it was raining from both above and below (I was reminded of Forest Gump when he is serving in Vietnam and comments on the rain coming from both directions). Consequently the three of us were thoroughly soaked, despite our raincoats (pictures of that, coming soon too). But we had a great time and I think we managed to snap a few decent photos while still preserving the integrity of our cameras. Thank God for plastic bags. We were certainly able to see enough to digest the magnitude of the falls, and hopefully I will have a chance to go back on a sunnier day to see them again. It’s not the drop of the falls that is so remarkable, but for how long they actually extend. It just goes on, and on, and on. Google Image: ‘Victoria Falls’ and you will see for yourself.

So the visit was a success and I’ll look forward to my father and other sister coming at some point late this year.

Meanwhile, I have some news regarding my housing. Since I live in government housing, I am technically ‘entitled’ to a geyser (American translation: hot water heater) in my house free of charge. So I have spent the last 6 months hassling the district on a weekly basis to come and install one for me. It took three months for someone to come and fit it to the wall (they attach them to the wall here), and an additional 3 months to convince them to send an electrician to connect it. Apparently they prefer to train people to do one small task rather than have a do-it-all task force. Excellent. Anyway, the geyser arrived and I was FINALLY enjoying hot water, which is one of the things I always miss most when away from the US. Alas, I felt as if I was content with my living situation – it’s modest, yes, but certainly comfortable now and still well above average when compared to my neighbors. So the next day I go to the clinic and my supervisor tells me, “Kagiso, you are being evicted.” Thaaaaaanks. Sure enough, our ARV clinic opening in March 2008 (which it never did) caused the district to hire 4 extra nurses. I guess “if you build it, they will come” may be true, so long as “build” doesn’t mean “finish”. Anyway, all of the nurses are to live in government housing on the clinic compound so that they are close to the clinic on nights when they are on-call. This is indeed very good logic, I just wish this had transpired a few weeks before I did the Macarena in my newly hot shower. And apparently someone was going to come to my house by the weekend and so my departure was to be soon. Sometimes you feel like nothing good happens fast here but everything bad happens before you’re ready… and in all honesty that’s something you grow to love.

So my supervisor – whom I adore, might I add – had three houses lined up for us to go and see. Impressed with her planning, but slightly offended at being left out of the process, we hopped in the vehicle and went to look at Potential Future Home #1. The house was made of 4 concrete walls, with a concrete floor, and while I didn’t notice – I’d wager that it had a concrete ceiling too. There was a hole in the floor where a toilet might have been or may go later, a pipe with running water outside, and that’s it. I think there may have been a window or two. While this is actually what I pictured when applying to the Peace Corps, when one was just blessed with gift of a geyser, one does not want to be pooing in a shallow hole next to where one eats. (Isn’t there a proverb like that of some sort?) So, Potential Future Home #2: 3 rooms total, 3 external doors, all rooms connecting on the inside (like a cheap hotel). Nice windows, nice exterior… no… kitchen? Yeah. Just three empty concrete rooms and a small, attached bathroom with a toilet & bath (gasp!)… but no water. They can’t figure out why the water won’t run to the house. So the first house had water (outside) but no toilet, the second house had a toilet but no water. I was beginning to feel like I was in the game Clue and was looking for one more piece to the puzzle of why this could not get any funnier. So, Potential Future Home #3: we didn’t see it because the current inhabitant (the owner) was not around, but it’s said to be nice. He’s willing to move out but he wants to keep his computer in the house and use it at his will, because the house he would move to won’t have electricity. I would really rather not be responsible for someone else’s computer in my house, nor would I like to have my landlord keying in unexpectedly to watch God-knows-what at any hour of the day, so I was ok not seeing that one.

Feeling a bit discouraged, and already mourning the loss of my beloved geyser, I told my supervisor: “Give me two hours and I’ll find a house.” So off I went with the help of some of my boys. I met an old lady whose sister owns the house next to hers. From the back it looked big – too big, 3 bedrooms – but I did notice a geyser so I was interested. We phoned the owner (who stays in Francistown) and she agreed to reduce the rent to a reasonable price if I agreed to only use the living areas and one bedroom and allowed her to use the other two bedrooms as storage rooms that would remain locked. That seemed fair enough so she arranged for me to go and see the interior the next morning. I went home and told my Zambian neighbor about it and he said, “What about the front?”. Oh… right. I got so excited about seeing a geyser that I forgot that houses have more than one wall, or at least that they should. He kindly reminded me that houses are like women: sometimes the back can be great, but it’s not until you see the front that you know what you’re getting. What a life lesson, thanks, I’ll hold on to that one. Anyway, I got anxious and went back to take a peak. WOW. If this house were a lady, I’m glad she turned around LOL. The house is surrounded by a barbed wire gate (Peace Corps will be happy) that is mostly covered by nice hedges and the yard has several beautiful trees (I think one may in fact be an orange tree). There is also a really nice front porch… I love front porches! Sure enough the old lady saw me and came over with the keys, and while I told her I was coming in the morning with my supervisor, she told me just to come and look anyway. Holy Moly. If Peace Corps has a clause on houses being too nice, mine probably is against regulation. BIG living room with black tile floors. Two chandeliers. Large kitchen with two refrigerators, microwave. Hot water. Bathtub. Fully furnished. Modern artwork on the walls. Where the heck am I? I don’t think I’m in Maitengwe anymore, Toto. And all for just barely more than the other places we were looking previously. I guess what they say is true, if you want something done right, do it yourself. I’m sure, knowing my luck, that the house will catch on fire and burn to the ground as I am writing this, but if not I think I am due for a very significant upgrade.

Then, of course, came the Peace Corps guilt:

“Kagiso, do you really need such a nice house when you were doing fine in the one you had?”

“Kagiso, how do you feel having this nice place when you’ll be surrounded by mud huts and people boiling water over outdoor fires?”

“Kagiso, why do you like such nice things?”

“Kagiso, now people are going to think you are even more rich that they already do.”

“Kagiso, Kagiso, Kagiso…”

Oh back off already, self! Denying myself black tile flooring and two chandeliers isn’t going to enable me to cure AIDS, and whether I bathe my dirty body in a hot bath or a cold bucket isn’t going to affect the work I do. So why not take advantage of a good opportunity? If anything, two chandeliers will give me better lighting under which to read client files and a hot bath is going to reduce my personal stress and increase my professional productivity during the day… right?!? The way I see it, the whole community benefits.

In all seriousness, it will be nice to be off the clinic compound. While the convenience of living there is great, I have felt fairly removed from the community. Yes, nearly everyone knows my name. But few know me, and I don’t know much about them either. Because my current neighbors are all clinic employees, they are of a different educational background and therefore enjoy a different status and lifestyle. Moving off of the compound, even if to nicer conditions, puts me in the middle of the community and my day-to-day life will be closer to them. The only downside, and it’s a serious one, is my son. His coming to my house every morning is a direct result of my house being adjacent to the orphanage. Because the new house is a good 5+ minutes away from the school in the opposite direction of his home, he is unlikely to come every morning – if even at all. That part pinches, a lot. But, in real terms, I am not far from the orphanage or his house, and am significantly closer than the other houses we looked at.

I am due to move in by 1 March, but based on how things operate here - I'll believe it when I lock my new front door.

I hope all is well at home (even though I've received enough magazines to know that it's not). But, it's not all doom and gloom. Wé're resilient people and we've bounced back from a lot before. As long as there is gas at the pumps and food on the shelves, we're ok. Don't let the media induce too much fear! They thrive on that... I realize that every time I leave the US - that we are so fear-filled, and fear-motivated. Turn off the TV & don't let it get to you!

We create the pain and the suffering And the beauty in this world Heaven’s here on Earth –

In our faith in humankind And our respect for what is Earthly And our unfaltering belief in peace, and love, and understanding.

Seeing the angels wearing their disguise: Ordinary people living ordinary lives Filled with love, compassion, forgiveness, and sacrifice Heaven’s in our hearts

I’ve seen spirits, I’ve met angels Touched creations beautiful and wondrous I’ve been places where I question all I think I know And I believe, oh I believe, that this could be heaven Heaven’s here on Earth ~Tracy Chapman

Things are heating up in full force and the mosquitoes are determined to give me Malaria Round II. Everyday I sweep the corpses that line the floor around my bed. I’ll take a picture one day; you’ll be shocked. Thank God for netting! The kids are off school so many of them are visiting family elsewhere, ploughing in the fields (as the rainy season of course brings forth the fruits of their labour lol), or being lazy at their own houses instead of mine. I miss some of them, walking germs that they are, though generally speaking a break is quite nice.

I took a fairly large food basket to the family of one of my kids. The other day I was walking with some of his friends and we passed him sitting next to a tree, sunken. I asked what the problem was; he rubbed his stomach and said ndo gwala (I’m sick), so I figured nothing more than diahrrea. But as we walked past his friends told me, “Uno nyepa… u na zhala. (He’s lying… he’s hungry). They told me the story: His mother is a Zimbabwean and is very sick, and his father is a Basarwa (a minority and fairly oppressed ethnic group in Botswana – if you’ve ever seen The Gods Must Be Crazy, then you know the Basarwa), thus he is the product of two unwelcomed groups. The father was arrested for stealing a cow (the punishment for which is worse than for raping a woman) and has left behind the jobless mother and their 3 small children. The boy who frequents my house is 14, though he looks 8 or 9 (I wonder why!). I was shocked to find out he is the oldest one of my regular attendees, as he is the smallest of those above 7. Anyway, I heard through the grapevine that they were having a rough time so I bought them enough food to not have to worry for a while, stuffed it in opaque bags, and set off to find the house (which by the way was quite a trek when carrying several kilos of food). Peace Corps discourages such acts, as would many in development, as the act isn’t sustainable and could set me up for a predicament when every needy family starts knocking on my door. However, my Kalanga is good enough where I was able to clearly state why I was helping the family and to request they not tell anyone that I had done so. And while installments of such generosity are certainly unsustainable, sustainability is no guide for morality. Some things we should just do, not because they make sense or even because they make a huge difference, but because we can and we should. Anyway, they were more than grateful and my relationship with the boy has grown as well; he comes over all the time. And it’s in moments like these that we make an unseen difference – he loses one strong male figure, but gains another. Things like this can make have a great effect in a young heart.

God love the children of this continent. They constantly keep me active, laughing, and humbled. I love having them over because what surprises them and what doesn’t surprise them always surprises me. I think we forget the simple luxuries we have, like knowing your birthday or what you look like in the mirror, or being able to find your country on a world map. Kids remind us that most of our problems are just constructions – products of our own making – and don’t really exist.

Wednesday was not a particularly easy day at the clinic. A lady brought her baby in a state that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in person. The child was clearly suffering from several ailments - severe dehydration being the most obvious - and resembled one of those emaciated, lifeless living things you see on those World Vision commercials. She was nearly white, eyes big but empty, and somehow was making loud crying noises despite her lips remaining tightly closed. Every bone and vein was visible in the body; she didn’t even look human (it’s moments like these that we lose our hope, our comfort, our tongues, and, occasionally, our minds). I am really unsure why the mother delayed in bringing the child to the clinic. She claimed that while it has always been small for some time, it just became severally ill the night before. It took all I had not to rip into her (it’s moments like these that we end up gaining our strength, our patience, our reserve, and our understanding – though the presence of the latter may not materialize until much later, as within the moment and shortly thereafter all we feel is conviction); conditions such as this do not present themselves overnight. We did all we could, but ultimately she passed away by the day’s end. I’m always intrigued by the post-death energy in environments where death isn’t exactly a rarity. I can’t say that people are sensitized, or that they’re used to it – to me, one can never become used to such a thing, but there certainly is an amazing ability to separate – to turn it off like a faucet, something you of course know I pride myself in practicing quite well. It a powerful quality; indeed, a necessity for survival in many places; however, I see it too often in circumstances where it’s so frustrating – i.e. when I am trying to advocate for a child who is actually HEALTHY but at risk – its like the emotions can be turned off before they’re ever even turned on, though behind the eyes you can see the compassion there. You know it’s not that people don’t care, but if you don’t look hard enough, you don’t know that they do either.

On the better side of things – there was a good moment today (I am determined to pull at least one from every day I breath!). I saw another side of the co-worker with whom I butt heads. While she is often so apathetic about everything, and she could use a refresher in confidentiality, work ethic, manners and life in general, I did manage to see another side of her today. She had told me previously that she had one child, a 14 year old son and she had mentioned him several times. I met the kid today and he seemed like a good enough chap. Anyway I was telling one of the other ladies that I met this lady’s son, and she said “You know that’s not really her son, right?” Well, I did not. Apparently it is actually the son of her dead sister, who she has been taking care of for close to 10 years. She has tried having kids of her own and has failed, and so only has her nephew to call her own… but she still calls him her own, and doesn’t think twice about it. Knowing this humbled me a bit and allowed me to understand where she was coming from a little bit better. That being said... :)

More good news? The Kalanga is growing. It’s such a bear of a task though. Bantu languages are not easy, especially when you do not have any books or a tutor! Our new counselor (who I so much admire) is teaching me how to do a full condom demonstration in Kalanga (don’t worry, we have a prop… ha!). She does a great job on her own, but my skin color, nationality, and gender (and the reality of me speaking Kalanga) will certainly be an attention-getter. And I will have much more respect and listener ship when we do our talks at the local bars, which are of course most frequented by stubborn old men who don’t want a young lady telling them what they should do with their most private and proud parts.

Currently my ‘formal’ tasks are such: 1 – Home visits with our positive mothers 2 – Outreach & education at bars, workshops, the border, the police station, and community events. 3 – Designing the schedule and curriculum for the daily health talks in the clinic that we have recently begun (and convincing each staff member that she is more than capable to deliver the information well… a massive task in itself. I think the fear of public speaking may be the only absolutely universal fear) 4 – Assisting Maitengwe Home Based Care with all their fund-raising and awareness needs. Eish.

Currently my ‘informal’ tasks are: 1 – Not dying 2 – Not comparing Botswana to the other places I’ve been 3 – Remembering to check my shoes every day for scorpions 4 – Counting how many times a day I hear donkeys squeal (it makes me laugh EVERY time) 5 – Counting mosquito corpses in the morning 6 – Youth development 7 – A book every two weeks (a major feat for me)

Speaking of donkeys: I was in Francistown the other day and some homely man came up to me and said (in perfect English) “I have a question…” Naturally, my first thought was ‘how much money does he want?’. To my complete surprise, and shame from my assumption, he said “What do you call a baby donkey in English?” I hadn’t a clue! There must be a name. Baby horse = colt. Baby cow = calf. Baby goat = kid. Baby chicken = chick. Baby pig = piglet

Not wanting to leave the man hanging, and always a sucker for a good pun when one arises, I responded, “I guess you call it a half ass”. He didn’t get it, but of course I laughed irrepressibly (as only I do at my jokes). In fact, I am still laughing at that one. I'm now writing this from Francistown on Saturday. Turns out we had another child die yesterday. Like the first one, the mother was a PMTCT client of ours. We visited the latter child two weeks ago and everything seemed fine... we went back Monday of this week and the mother was away with the baby, but the father said the baby was doing ok, only to find out she passed away on Friday. Our poor new counselor is blaming herself, as she hasn't been here long and has already seen two presumably preventable deaths in our client base. I told her that while two in 3 days is a bit excessive, we have babies dying every other week or so and she can't blame herself. Anyway, she is so determined so she asked me to help her go through our whole system and look for any gaps. I must confess I have been waiting for such an invitiation, hoping to improve what we do without stepping on toes. So the next few weeks I am going to dig deep into our processes and figure out what we can do to make things better. It's such a complicated phenomena, HIV. On brighter news, a few of us have started a Teen Club in Francistown. So we are currently recruiting HIV positive teens (13-19) for fun, games, and psychosocial support. We have 38 on roster! Exciting. So we meet once a month, with today being our December day. So we am waiting for them to arrive. I wish I would have the time to write this after our meeting but I'll have to buy some food and head back. But I'll take some photos when I can and post. If you're interested in writing them letters, sending pictures, etc. that can be arranged - they're city kids so for most of them their English is so-so. That's all for now - hope you are well!

“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they are okay, then it's you.”

-Rita Mae Brown

Things are moving along here, quickly. I am still having some minor complications from my surgery as well as a lovely sty on my eye that appeared yesterday morning. Ironically, all of my ailments are or have been on my left side... (Yes, the appendix is on the right side, but the infected scar is on the left). The weather has been alarmingly cool (which to me feels cold). We’ve been getting rain every day for about 8 or 10 days, and the sky is mostly cloudy when it’s not raining. The day temperatures are quite nice, sometimes requiring long sleeves and the nights have actually been requiring blankets. But the greenery has made Maitengwe look like a whole new place – it’s stunning!

We’ve replaced our PMTCT counselor and I am really enjoying my new counterpart. I didn’t realize how excluded I was from a lot of the work until the new girl came in. Our new counselor is 27. Her first child died of unknown causes within the first year, her second child was still-born, her third child was born deaf, and her fourth child was born healthy (so far) – but it was during this final pregnancy that she became HIV positive. Talk about a bad run, eh? So she is currently 87 pounds, and not incredibly short, but has incredible motivation and dedication. I am enjoying working with her.

Assuming the connection is good when I upload this, I’ll put up some random photos from the past few weeks. There are several of the colors the sky makes in the evenings.

I don’t have PhotoShop, not to mention I am not photographer, so pardon the flaws of the photos. There are also some of the kids cooking Nyeza (these small flying cockroach-type bugs) on a fire in my backyard. Yes, I ate some. What did it taste like? A bug covered in salt and oil.

Here's a video of the kids and their homemade foosball table... innovative little boogers aren't they?

Finally, with the help of two old ladies, I build a bench around my lovely tree out of cow dung, dirt, and water. It was quite an experience – we woke up at the crack of dawn and follow cows around the village, as you have to collect the dung when it’s fresh. And with the right proportions of dirt and water, it becomes very hard. I’ll post a photo. Hope you enjoy.

Other than that, not much is new - reading a TON of books and really learning and growing. I could go on forever about the details of our home visits but that may just be a downer lol. I hope you all enjoy Thanksgiving. I’ll be spending it with fellow volunteers; I’m baking cookies and cornbread! Scary, I know…

I am so proud of my country!

....and my STATE!!!

08AMA.

I spoiled the election...

Send to your friends, especially those who are not voting!

Brent Keener Spoils Presidential Election

“When I give money to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no money, they call me a communist.” — Dom Helda Camara

"Tell me what you think about money, and I can tell you what you think about God." -Billy Graham

I’m back! So the infection isn’t anything to worry about, at least not at this point. However, they want to keep me in Gaborone for a few days for “observation” – completely against my will – but I guess the last experience ruined their trust in my body :)

As for America, I am so glad to not be there right now! Haha. Generally speaking, I miss my country (and leaving it is the best way to realize how much you love it), but my oh my elections bring out the worst in us. Why are Americans so hostile about politics? Why are both sides tearing down signs and yelling and resorting to slimy TV ads? C’mon guys, really. Our country so immature in this regard. Both sides consistently resort to emotion-based campaigning rather arguments based on logic, facts, or reason. Barack, with his pretty adjectives and poetic prose and McCain with his never-ending suggestions that if - you - vote - for - the - socialist - black - Muslim - we’re - going - to - be - the - next - Syria - because - the - A - Rabs - will - take - over. It’s ridiculous. And what’s even more ridiculous is how people fall for it, on both sides. How many people can lay out reasons, based on policy, why they support or do not support a candidate? Too few. Too many are voting for Obama because they hate Bush, and even more are voting for McCain because they are scared of Obama (which, let’s be honest – a lot of that stems from his color and his name. A recent NEWSWEEK poll showed that a large number Americans STILL think he is Muslim. C’mon people – he met his Muslim father ONCE in his life, and was mostly raised by his Christian [and white, if that matters to you] grandparents.)

But, wow, the Republicans are really fumbling aren’t they? They’re like a cube of ice on a hot stove – sliding in the wake of their own mess. Unfortunately, in my opinion, their whole school of thought has our country in a very uncomfortable place. Corporations are becoming more powerful than the Government (many of them are so rich they could BUY countries if they wanted to… is that where we want our future? Wal-Mart buying Bangladesh?), poverty in the US is at it’s highest in decades while our global reputation is at its lowest – even among European states, who have historically been our closest allies. Even internally, our divisions are becoming hostile. And, to me, the current administration’s largest shame is how dichotomized they’ve made us – how at one point you couldn’t criticize the war and still call yourself patriotic, how you can’t support talks with Iran without being a terrorist-appealer, how you can’t try to mediate the fact that the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer without being a socialist, how if you say you are embarrassed at some of our country’s behavior that somehow means you are un-American or un-patriotic, and how you can’t possibly believe in God and vote Democratic. It’s a shame really. Manufacturers are losing jobs to China, India, etc. so that the big dogs can make a bigger profit – and that’s all very ironic, since these small-town people tend to vote Republican, when that party overwhelming encourages and makes it easier for outsourcing to occur. Same with small-town farmers – they tend to vote Republican when that party – particularly this administration – has favored ‘factory’ farms over Farmer Joe.

And I know a lot of people are weary about having such a ‘radical’ candidate running for office, but it’s merely a response to 8 years of radicalism from the right. When you have 8 years of total disregard for separation of powers, checks and balances, and even international law, you’re bound to have an opposition candidate with a more multilateral view of the world.

“If this were a dictatorship, it would be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I'm the dictator” -George W. Bush, December 2000

But, I guess our country suffers from the same tension that most places do, and the same tension that we endure as individuals – the painful tension of trying to move forward while at the same time holding on to what we were.

“I look at my environment and wonder where the fire went – what happened to everything we used to be?” -Lauryn Hil

Anyway, a lot has been going on at the clinic. My good friend, and the person with whom I work the most closely, is being forced to step down. She is our PMTCT counselor, is HIV-positive, and she has become pregnant (upon accepting her job, she was required to sign a document saying that she will not become pregnant). Since she is HIV-positive and part of her job is to discourage positive women from becoming pregnant, in the Government’s eyes her pregnancy is hypocritical and therefore unacceptable. I have mixed feelings on the issue. In my opinion, the sole purpose of PMTCT is so that women can live a normal life – i.e. become pregnant and still have HIV-negative babies. Additionally, telling HIV-positive women that they should not have babies essentially means the Government is discouraging more than 50% of Botswana’s women from becoming pregnant. And in many developing countries, economic growth is strongly correlated to (or at least heavily influenced by) population growth. Consequently, the issue is quite complex and I see both sides’ arguments. But of course, on a personal level, I am quite disappointed.

The rains have come! Well, just once, but it’s a start. And when it rains here, it isn’t a drizzle – it’s like gray sheets of water slamming down from the sky… so enjoyable, unless you’re in transit. The negative side of the rain, of course, is that now is when all the creatures come out to play. So mosquitoes and bugs in general have been worse, and snakes and scorpions are rearing their ugly heads. A snake has been slithering its way around the clinic compound at night, which is worrying many people as the tracks are quite large. Our doctor killed one at his house last week, and the theory goes that once you kill one the others start to come. Many of the snakes in this area are quite harmless, but Botswana is home to some of the world’s deadliest, including adders. So it may be a long rainy season.

My ‘son’ is doing ok – he and his younger brother are still consistently underweight when they come in for their monthly weigh-ins, but not much seems to be happening as a result. His father is doing very well and has been exceptionally pleasant lately. I’m trying to build a positive relationship with him so that when my Kalanga is good enough, I can politely request he bring the kids in for testing without him wanting to kill me. Wish me luck on that! Having your kids tested seems like Parenting 101 to us, but a lot of men – self included – tend to avoid medical settings at all cost, and of course culture plays a large role here.

I am in Francistown waiting for the train to Gaborone so that I can go back to the hospital and see the surgeon... again. One of my scars is infected, below the surface, and the tissue underneath is still bone-hard, and is it secreting some puss. The nurses at the clinic did some painful prodding and think the infection is quite deep; if they are right, I'll be having another procedure (though this one should be even more minor than the last) to remove the infection. Fun. Let's hope this time it does not result in several more weeks of hospitalization!

A lot has been happening these past few weeks, and so at some point during my captivity in Gaborone I will type an update and post it here when I pass through Francistown to go back home... whenever that may be.

Hope all is well at home!

It has been a very interesting month, one which I am very happy to have ended. It began with me heading to Kanye for a workshop, with a stop in Francistown to see my friend prior to catching the night train. She and I were walking her new puppy when, out of the blue, a massive black dog came running towards us and began devouring her puppy. My first and not my brightest reaction was to pick up the puppy because in the US - generally speaking - if you remove puppy then the dog is likely to bugger off. Unfortunately the dog decided to go after us. Well done Brent. But the three of us (myself, friend, and dog) all made it out alive; unfortunately my friend's leg was mauled. We were rushed to the Ftown hospital and treated, and consequently I was unable to make the train that night - a small price to pay considering that 3 weeks later my friend still can't walk without assistance. But she will be ok, as is the puppy. I guess the result was a lot better than it could have been, but the sound of large dogs barking will likely not be the same, for either of us, for some time.

A few days later I managed to catch a ride to Kanye for a fashionably-late arrival to our workshop. Within days I began to develop some pains in my lower right abdomen, which at first I thought was a pulled muscle after an intense workout. However the pains continued along with some other symptoms and towards the end of the workshop I was sent to Gaborone for a sonogram, CAT scan, blood work, etc. Apparently my appendix was near bursting so within two hours I was checking out of my hotel and checking in to the hospital for a laproscopic appendectomy. The surgery itself went ok and I was out in a few days. I was driven to a friend's house in Molepolole for further recovery; however, a few hours after arrival I developed a high fever, severe vomiting and diarrhea, inability to walk, and loss of circulation in my hands and feet. I had memories circa 2006 of my malarial experience in eastern Ghana. So, within just a short time the driver turned around and collected me and we met an ambulance half way, who rushed me back to the same hospital - and same ward - in Gaborone. It turns out I had a minor infection and something called pseudo-membrane nescolitis, a condition the Dr. claims he hasn't seen in over 15 years. I am so lucky. So that took 5 days and 6 nights in the hospital to recover from, during which I developed some surface-level internal bleeding (which supposedly isn't too worrisome, though two weeks after the surgery I am still having some bruising and small pain - and not near the incisions). Then they had me stay in a lodge in Gaborone for an additional 5 days for observation. Now I am determined to make it home today! One more day in Gaborone will have me both depressed and bankrupt. (The cost of one meal in Gabs is roughly equivalent to my daily wage... so you can imagine what buying 2-3 meals a day has done to my living allowance. I'll get a small per-diem to help compensate the loss but it certainly wont suffice). So I'll be living very very simply this quarter, something I can certainly afford to do with a little bit of effort.

Despite the range of medical issues that have arisen, I have been impressed with the care here. The hospital I was in was NOTHING like those in Ghana - so there was actually running water and there were no goats going through my bags while I was sleeping. They even served meals! The PC staff has also been great. But I think we are all ready to send me back to Maitengwe, haha. So tonight I will catch the train from Gaborone to Francistown (I have a first class sleeper... which isn't as classy as it sounds but it does provide me with a bed on which to sleep) and I will arrive in Ftown tomorrow morning. After a boring 2+ hour bus ride tomorrow I should be safely and happily at home, where I am told I have quite a large number of mail waiting for me... so a big THANKS to everyone who has sent something in the past month. I am not sure when I'll next come to Francistown. While my house is low on food, my energy is likely to be lower so it will be at least a week before I will feel strong enough to head to Francistown as it makes for an exhausting day of travel.

So that's been my September. Who's had a worse month: me or America? I vote the latter. The hospital and the hotels have done a good job of keeping me up to date with the news. Geeze, I could say a ton about the political and economic situation of our country at the moment, but those of you who agree with me will find it redundant and those of you who don't are unlikely to alter your opinions anyway so I guess my ramblings would be completely futile, eh? :)

Unfortunately they wont upload here but they are (very slowly) uploading on Facebook.  So if you are not a facebook member, convince someone who is to show you my videos.  There is one that is DEFINITELY worth watching!

Hey family, friends, and fools - I am in transit to a workshop in Kanye.  I can't wait to have meals that I don't have to cook and baths that I dont have to boil!

Other than that not much is new - either that, or everything new is just now so familiar that it is feeling old.  My sister found a GREAT calling card - no delay, great sound quality.  So if you're interested it's www.speedypin.com

I am going to try to post some pics and vids but we'll see how the connection is.

Hello friends.  No news here really.  I've been in a bit of a funk the past few weeks, allowing things to marinate longer than I should.  But I am on my way out of it, and the person we are on the other side of our funks is always so refreshing and clean.

Congratulations to my great friend Ginnie for her Peace Corps placement in Kenya.  Jealousy aside, I am extremely happy for you and I know you are going to absolutely LOVE it.  You'll see a lot of differences from Ghana - good and bad.  Maybe I'll just have to travel my way home, via Nairobi... (sorry mom!)

Anyway hope all is well at home - PC provides us with Newsweek Magazine so I am fairly caught up on the news, save the few week lag that it takes to get here.

I'll be on again in two weeks, when I will be in transit to a workshop in the southern part of the country.  Hopefully I'll have something interesting to say then.

“I think that life here [in Africa] is much more in line with our rhythm as human beings really.  Because when I go home I see people who look completely stressed out, and it is as if, in one way, people are never really satisfied.  There are such high demands.  There are demands here as well, but here the human being is allowed to take up space… at home it is production which counts… Life seems so close here compared to [home]… [But] who is right and who is wrong?  Is it that we have taught ourselves to WORK and do it wholeheartedly and with all our energy, while the Tanzanian has learned to LIVE and do that with the same enthusiasm and pleasure and energy?  For whom or for what is it that we rush through life recklessly working?  What is it that makes us REAL human beings?  Is our welfare really worth the price we have to pay:  not having time to care, or to take care of, or to be friendly, generous, smiling and hospitable?”  -Excerpt from an interview in The Paternalism of Partnership  So while my days are fairly busy, by late afternoon I am mostly on my own and, as I am experiencing opposite seasons to you, the sun is usually down by 6:00 leaving me with plenty of alone time inside the house with not much to do.  Those of you who know me know I love my alone time; however, those of you who know me know that my alone time without occupation only leaves me thinking.  And those of you who are human know that it’s probably not the wisest idea to have a semi-cynical young man (who is approaching a quarter-life crisis, no less) sitting in his concrete house in the unbearably-cold and eternally quiet village of Maitengwe, Botswana thinking about Life & Co.  Did I milk it enough?  SO, that being said, I am requesting that you keep me from thinking by filling my time with books and music… no need to rush, but over the next few months if the feeling strikes you, then go ahead.  Don’t know what to send?  Well, those of you who know me also know that I always have a running list of books to read and music to explore! How many of you realized in the last paragraph that you have no idea who I am?  Don’t feel bad, I don’t either… LOL just kidding! Anyway, if you are interested in sending me anything please click here to open the list. Speaking of lists, I have updated the list of things that are good to send (the link to which is posted on the right side of this page) so feel free to peruse that as well.  I think I am getting spoiled!!! Also, I’d like to send some specific thank you’s out to a few people:  To Heather, a former colleague who I haven’t heard from in years – thank you for finding me and sending me some magazines!  The kindness of past but familiar friends means so much when, at times, you feel like you have no one.  To Rick – well, I could write a thousand things to say thank you for, but most recently thank you for the INCREDIBLY thoughtful boxes of goodies for the children.  You have no idea the joy they will bring these children, many of whom have never seen the things you sent.  I’ll do my best to photograph their experiences but I am not at all a photographer.  The fun began Sunday with about 8 or so kids, and the number has grown every day.  Friday I left the clinic to find just over 25 kids waiting outside my house to play lol.  They’re such good kids too.  So we’ve been playing football (ie American soccer) every day since Sunday and we all have you to thank for the fun.  Maybe we’ll form a World Cup team! To my father, thank you for buying the clinic some bicycles.  Walking over an hour one-way to do a home visit was annoying enough now… I cannot imagine what it would have been like in the blazing heat of December!  You are a good, good man I hope to be able to put one foot in the shoes that you’ll leave behind one day… just don’t leave them behind anytime in the next 50 years, ok?What else?  The 3-yr-old-window tapping boy is officially coming home with me to the US lol just kidding.  He comes to the clinic every morning before school to give me a hug (and sometimes charms his way into getting tea or breakfast from me) and then a lot of times he comes afterwards as well. The other day we watched Robots (thanks again, Rick!).  Well, he watched Robots and I watched him watch Robots.  I have to say, seeing a 3 yr old watch his first movie is something I cannot explain, especially when it’s this 3 yr old.  It was probably one of the Top 10 most beautiful moments of my life so far.  In fact, I am not sure that he’d ever seen a screen before.  So for him, Robots (which is one of those computer generated movies like Toy Story) was more than just seeing real people on a computer screen – it was like seeing something from a dream, or from the future. I will say though, he is sad way too often.  It’s not normal.  I’ve never seen a 3 year old so… raw?  You know most kids just stare and drool and don’t know their elbow from their buttocks, but this one is aware of his reality - I think even more than his older siblings.  Three year olds don’t just wander to the clinic and from 50 feet away walk towards you without a slightest hint of a smile, and then just walk straight into your legs and collapse, breathing heavily.  Some days no matter what I do, he won’t smile.  He won’t smile, he won’t speak, he won’t cry, he’ll barely blink.  It’s like he’s just completely numb.  On a more joyous note, the other day during our morning meeting we heard a kid outside the office singing in Kalanga, “I’m the son of Kagiso!  I’m the son of Kasigo!” and sure enough we opened the door to find him shaking his booty at the old ladies waiting to be seen.  He’s a ham, that one.  But also fire and ice. As for some breakthroughs?  Well this week we had a few.  The American Embassy has agreed to come take a look at our orphan center next week.  They are interested in helping us build a nice kitchen so that the two old ladies who cook for the 45+ children EVERYDAY can have a better facility in which to work, instead of just an open fire outside.  (It just hit me how incredibly dedicated these women are.  I admit, I hadn’t really thought about it until actually writing it down.  But cooking for 45+ children everyday?  You try it… and wait ‘til you’re old).  So someone is coming on Wednesday and I have been charged to show him around and charm him a bit.  I will say, the Maitengwe HBC (HBC = Home Based Care, the organization that operates the center) is very committed & responsible.  They don’t want handouts; they just want help.  So as their input for the kitchen, they have agreed to provide the bricks, the sand, and the concrete.  THIS IS DEVELOPMENT:  working together. Some other good news has yielded some bad news, which I am hoping will later result into more good news.  The guardian of the 3-yr-old-window-tapping boy has mostly been bed-ridden for some time. (By the way, I choose not to use names because these are real people with real lives, and the stories being told are theirs and not mine… so the least I can do is respect their privacy.  I apologize that it makes the reading less user-friendly).  I convinced the nurses to do a home visit, something we don’t normally do unless the patient is registered as a Home Based Care Patient or unless they are HIV-positive & pregnant.  Anyway, he agreed to come in for some blood work (that’s the good news).  Then Thursday we discovered that his CD4 count was less than 30 (that’s the bad news).  For those of you who do not know – and to put it very simply – HIV attacks a certain protein (like a cluster of cells) called the CD4, which in turn destabilizes the immune system.  HIV-negative people enjoy the privilege of having 700+ CD4 cells (usually more like 1,000+).  And the main technical difference between HIV and AIDS is that someone is considered to have AIDS when their CD4-count drops below 200.  So, having less than 30 is incredibly low – near death, really.  In fact, it’s among the lowest we’ve seen this month.  What’s even worse than the bad news is that this man does not want to take HAART (highly active antiretroviral therapy/treatment).  He claims that his brother took the drugs and died anyway so what’s the point (again, relating back to my point about resignation in my last entry). So, essentially this means that he has a month or so to live, if he is lucky.  I am trying to convince the nurses to bring him back in and further convince him, but they’re resisting – and I don’t blame them.  This is happening all over this village – heck, all over the world – and we just don’t have the time, capacity, staff, nor energy to follow every person and give them some ‘You Can Beat It!’ speech when at the end of the day, many people don’t – even with HAART.  And ARV’s must be taken with faithful adherence, so someone who isn’t serious about taking them is likely to fail, and die.  Unfortunately we can’t convince people to save their own lives.  ‘And why should we?!?’ the overly conservative side in you might ask?  Well, because if he goes he leaves behind 6 WONDERFUL kids (14, 12, 10, 7, 3, and 1) who, as far as I know, will have no one else here to care for them.  So they will be taken by the state and sent to Francistown where there is – to put it bluntly – an orphan farm, where they will remain until they are 18.  That being said, being taken by the state is a LOT better than what would happen in most African countries – so praise Botswana for at least having a state-run system where they can be fed and educated, though I am sure the conditions are not at all desirable. So THAT is why each person should be followed and convinced – because an individual dying is not the worst thing that can happen, but leaving behind children with no guidance and love is.  All the amazing things that have been done in this country since 1966 are in jeopardy and of course it’s the innocent who will suffer.  Anyway, we’ll see what we can do but I am expecting this worse.  After all, 15% of all children in Botswana are orphans, making up 8% of the total population. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The entry above was written with the intention of being uploaded last weekend.  However, the cost of transport to Francistown went up 30% so I told myself I would wait another week when I was more in need of food so as to kill more birds with one stone (this is the second time transport has gone up since I’ve been in Maitengwe… if it goes up again – which it surely will – it will likely be unjustifiable to go.  Already the round-trip cost is equivalent to nearly two days of my wages, excluding the money I spend once I am here). Anyway, before posting I wanted to share some updates – both good news!  Firstly, some men from the American embassy came to see the Centre.  It was kind of odd seeing Americans here, and I honestly found it difficult to speak as eloquently as I would like.  They probably thought I had some sort of speech impediment but I have just become so used to speaking very simply and slowly.  Anyway, they seemed impressed with the work we are doing at MHBC and would like to help us build the kitchen for the kids.  However they have not yet received their new budget so the details of their commitment are pending.  We are hoping for good news by the month’s end! On more microcosmic yet larger news, the guardian of my window-tapping-boy has decided to give HAART a try!  I had convinced one of the counselors to go back to his house and while he was fairly apathetic at the time – a few days later one of the nurses informed me that he had come in on his own accord and filled out the paperwork.  Whether my persistent visits had anything to do with it, I don’t know.  Either way I am happy to see he is at least going to give it a shot.  It by no means guarantees a happy ending, but it least puts the option of a happy ending back on the table.  Let’s just hope he stays committed because the medication requires responsible adherence to work properly, and intense side effects often discourage people from continuing. So how’s that for good news from Africa?I had hoped to upload some pictures and videos but unfortunately the connection is really bad today.  Maybe next time!

“Your view of other cultures and that they are poor says more about you than the place you’re trying to help.”  -Lemn Sissay   Been missing me?  Sorry it’s been so long since I have written.  I’ve been so busy settling in, adjusting, and absorbing my surroundings.  Things are pretty good here.  While the difficult days are frequent at this stage, I really am happy to be where I am.  The clinic staff are all great, and while of course at the moment I have the discomfort of being the awkward white person who doesn’t know nine-tenths of what people are saying, I am confident about my role, both at the clinic and in the village, and am so thankful and humbled about my surroundings.   Maitengwe is indeed an intense place.  Once a month ‘new’ mothers (new meaning given birth in the last two years) come in and have their babies weighed, to make sure they are gaining weight.  We also keep bio’s on the moms.  I was perusing the list today and noticed the ages of the mothers:  16… 19…. 14…. 21… 48….51…. 57….  Um, what?  “Where are all the mothers aged 25-45?” my inquiring mind naturally asked (though already sort of knowing the answer):  The nurse kind of chuckles as if it should be 100% obvious:  “They’re late.” [i.e. they’re dead].  So what you find now is a bunch of young mothers (often victims of rape, or being married off – i.e. being sold – to old men) and grandmothers who are taking care of their dead daughter’s orphans.  We had a 12 year old give birth the other day, and let me just say it’s highly unlikely that she wanted the pregnancy.  The oldest people (which in Africa is like 50+... hell the life expectancy here is well under 40, so don’t be offended when I speak of ‘old people’… it’s all relative!) have largely avoided HIV, save the occasionally grandpa having an affair and bringing HIV home to granny.  However, the elderly are the ones faced with an increasing burden as their sons and daughters are passing, leaving them to care for many children – not to mention themselves!  Being old is hard enough, especially here.  This is a very cursory explanation; it’s far more complex than I make it sound or understand.   Our lay counselor was ‘arguing’ with me the other day how HIV was not a problem in Maitengwe.  And I said, “You do realize that most people in this village have HIV, right?”  Her response:  “Not most… maybe just 50%.”  When I told her the prevalence rate of the US, and how this region in Bots is among the highest in the world, she refused to believe and has asked me to print statistics to prove it.  This is from the person who does our testing!  She thinks, with support from other staff, that TB and cancer are bigger problems - despite that TB is the number one cause of death for people with HIV (in other words, they’d probably be able to survive it if it weren’t for the HIV.  Thus, they are really dying of HIV and not TB).  I asked how many people in Maitengwe have cancer, and she said maybe three dozen, compared to the 4,000 or so with HIV.  But cancer is a bigger problem, she claims, because at least with HIV you can take drugs and live for 15+ years, but with cancer you’re doomed to die.  She clearly does not believe in utilitarianism haha.  But I see a lot of resignation here with regards to HIV and I guess I can understand it.  There are signs everywhere, and radio messages, and posters, and, and, and… so I guess if my country had been trying, at least publicly, SO HARD for over a decade to combat HIV but we were still struggling at reducing prevalence OR we could just take drugs and live with it, then I guess I’d probably be resigned and just take the drugs and do the best I can do being HIV positive ya know?  So I guess in their minds it isn’t a big problem because they can live with HIV.  The problem is that I don’t think they have fully grasped the magnitude of transmission.  Plus, a lot of men don’t get tested and therefore don’t take the drugs… so…   Meanwhile, I was flipping through our books for the last yr (our clinic does an exceptional job of recording, for the resources that we have) and June was a ‘good month’ because only 4/15 new pregnant mothers were positive.  The good news is most positive pregnant women are signing up for PMTCT services, and in the last year we only had a handful of babies being born HIV-positive.  Now we can only hope they are able to stay HIV-negative until they become coherent enough to make their own sexual choices.  The hope is in the youth; really, they are the only shot left – my heart races when I think of what this place may be like in 20 yrs.   It’s come to my attention that I never really fully explained what I am doing here in Botswana, so let me take this opportunity to explain what I am doing, at least in theory.  I will be assisting with the implementation of Botswana’s PMTCT (prevention of mother-to-child-transmission) program.  Started in 2004, it was the first program of its kind in Africa.  Technically, Botswana had been providing free PMTCT services since 1999 but not on the scale nor with the vigor that the 2004 program offered.  A very cursory explanation of the routine is that women begin taking ART around 6 months into their pregnancy (it is not commonly known that HIV is most commonly passed from mother to child during the actual labor and/or post-labor process, not through gestation, so it is safe to wait until the 6 month point.  It’s amazing how much of the body is separated from blood).  Then during labor they are given some other ARVs and the babies are put on them as well for usually 12 weeks or so.  The mothers are encouraged to exclusively breastfeed (meaning absolutely no bottles) or to exclusively use bottles.  This may sound odd, as breast milk is a method of HIV transmission; however, assuming that there are no open sores, the mouth is not a vector of transmission, hence why oral sex does not transmit HIV.  So a baby swallowing HIV-positive breast milk will not give the baby HIV unless the baby has open sores.  Bottle-feeding a baby typically causes sores in a baby’s mouth, as the nipples are not quite as suitable for the mouth as the mother’s.  God makes things better than we do, eh?  Thus, if the mother is not exclusively breastfeeding she is likely to pass on the virus by way of the open sores caused by the bottles.  ‘Why not just do exclusive bottle feeding with formula,’ you might ask?  Well we do for HIV-positive women in America (mostly).  The problem in Africa is that formula is very expensive, and therefore unattainable for the general population – not to mention that it’s best if refrigerated.  Moreover, our clinic has been out of formula for several months – so the women who initially chose to bottle-feed their children are now forced to breastfeed their kids, due to the absence of formula.  This is hugely problematic.   Therefore, exclusive breastfeeding is the most culturally-appropriate method and is what’s promoted here in Botswana.  My ‘job’ if you want to call it that is to help assist with the uptake and adherence to this program.  More generally, I am here to build capacity in the community.  Maitengwe already has a PMTCT counselor (most clinics here do) and I am not here to take the job of a Batswana – that isn’t sustainable.  The development perspective of the Peace Corps, with which I agree, is to build the capacity of the community – not to come in, do this and that, and then leave; that isn’t helping the community in the long run.  We need to be doing things that can be continued when we exit.  Thus, my role is to examine the situation as-is, tweak it as necessary, and enable/empower the clinic staff as well as other community members to move things to the next step.  Development doesn’t work if there isn’t a sense of ownership for the community.  “You cannot develop people; people must develop themselves” is a paraphrase of the famous quote by former Tanzanian President Julius Nyerere.  I agree with him.   Secondarily, I will be working with the orphan community in Maitengwe.  As previously mentioned, there is a whole generation of people missing in this country and so there are a lot of orphaned children.  Unfortunately the older people in this country are slow to accept change, but the youth are still quite moldable and so my job is to help empower the youth to make good decisions as they grow up (Sometimes I think development is just a new form of colonization… but that’s neither here nor there).  You can’t exactly tell a 7 year old girl that she needs to use a condom, but you can teach a 7 year old girl how to stand up for herself, how to say no to boys, how to respect herself as a person, how to value education over being offered gifts by older men, and hope that those lessons will translate into her sexual life when the time comes (which unfortunately for girls it comes all-too young here).   However a lot of my work with the children is indirect.  I am helping the umbrella organization, Maitengwe Home Based Care, secure funding for their development by drafting proposals, submitting requests for funding, inviting donors to come visit, etc.  THE GLOBAL FUND, one of the world’s top organizations combating HIV/AIDS recently pulled out of Botswana (for political reasons) and since then MHBC has been suffering financially. (And if any you at any time feel compelled to contribute, we can have a discussion about that, as it’s a complex issue.)  I have to say, so far I am pretty impressed with MHBC.  The money seems to be going where it needs to be going, the staff are incredibly dedicated (most are volunteer), and the organization is genuinely willing to do all it can to be self-sufficient, and I am assisting with that process – seeking to help them establish income-generating activities so as not to rely on external donors.  But it’s difficult, as their burden is greater than their capacity.  I am in communication with the American Embassy, trying to get them to build a kitchen so we can more efficiently cook for the orphans.  Those of you who come to visit will no doubt be incredibly moved by the Project Manager and her commitment to the organization and the children it supports.  She is seriously the Mother Teresa of this village LOL.  And she calls me ‘son’ & gives me free oranges :)   Speaking of orphans, I have a confession to make.  *Big breath* For the first time in my adult life, I am having paternal feelings.  Did you fall out of your chair?  I know, sometimes I do too.  I was working out one day when I randomly heard a soft tap on my window.  I looked down to see this small boy, maybe 3 years old, dirty and wearing nothing but shorts.  He was as cute as can be, as they often are, and we had played for some time and he went on about his way.  I didn’t think too much of it, as it happens all the time here.  Then the other week, a girl - about 10 or so - came in to have her baby brother weighed (she is essentially the mother as they are an orphaned family of 5) and brought with her the boy that had tapped on my window.  I see so many kids that, although I recognized him, at first I was wondering from where - but then when he smiled I remembered him as the one underneath my window.  I talked to the girl for some time, weighed the baby, etc.  The eldest girl is too thin, perhaps a victim of what likely killed her parents, but she is obviously strong - too strong for someone her age, and too young to be as ‘old’ as she has to be.    Anyway, while she and the nurses communicated about the baby’s health, I played with the 3 yr-old-window-tapping boy.  This one, among all the other kids I have met, has something about him.  Most of the kids here under 5 are scared of me (for many of them I am the first white person they have ever seen).  Not this one, man, he is a pistol.  But I think what is most captivating about him is that he is sad.  For having such energy, and the best smile in Maitengwe, behind his big eyes you can see that he is suffering – and the worst part is that I think he knows it.  So I walked them to my house, gave them sweets, got their names, and sent them on their way.  I walked back to the clinic and the nurses said, “Kagiso, we have never seen you so in to a child!”  I sighed and said, “That’s my son.”  They laughed at me, as they do a lot, but I reiterated: “I am serious, that one is my son.  I feel it in my bones!”  We all laughed it off, but I wondered why this one got inside of me.  I am supposed to be the Tinman, free of all that mushy emotional stuff! Throughout my times in Africa, I have of course come across hundreds of charming and endearing kids – they’ve made me laugh and cry (privately, of course…) but at the end of the day that’s all it was.   Days went by and I did not see the children, until the other day I had one of the nurses take me to where they stay.  They have a ‘guardian’ and those are big quotation marks.  I wont comment any further at the moment.  His brothers and sisters are all wonderful too, and I feel so much for this family, but there’s something about this one in particular.  I stayed for a short time and met the other siblings and began to leave as he ran after me and said, ndo shaka yenda (I want to go) and he wrapped his arms around my leg, and I found my steps being accompanied by the weight of the 3 yr-old-window-tapping boy.  The nurse said, “Kagiso, I think he knows he is your son too.”  LOL.   Then today (sorry LAST story!) we had a morning meeting as usual and then were awaiting the mass arrival of the patients when a nurse said “Kagiso, turn around” and sure enough there was the 3-yr-old-window-tapping boy – sad as can be – a few feet behind me.  Rather than walking to the orphan center, he walked to the clinic.  He wrapped his arms around my legs and sighed.  Bless him lol.  I asked him if he was sad (In Kalanga, by the way – I am proud) and he said yes… I asked why but I didn’t understand the answer.  I picked him up and took him to my house for hot tea (mornings are still BITTER here) then took him to the school.  I went to the orphan center to have lunch with the kids and played with them afterwards.  I was seated Indian style, kids going crazy all around me of course, and you-know-who pushed his way through the crowd, sat on my lap, took my right arm and wrapped it around him, did the same with the left arm, and began hitting any kid who tried to get my attention, haha.  The teacher said, “He doesn’t want to share his father.”  That’s when the coldness kicked in and I said, “Ok byeeeeee!”  LOL.  I went back to work for the afternoon, but sure enough, at the end of the day – he showed up again.  So I took him back to my house and we snacked and danced (pictures at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2262019&l=ba27b&id=6213504) and off he ran back home (barefoot as always) and with a bag of potatoes for the rest of family.   I guess while I can write proposals, raise funds, and give talks, at the end of the day it’s in the small ways that I may make a difference – right?  Eesh, was that romantic optimism?  What’s happening to me...   Meanwhile, I can die a happy man!  An older woman said she wants to have a baby with me so that it will have my nose.  FINALLY – my nose isn’t the source of laughter and criticism!  Haha.   If you made it this far, thanks for reading.  Hope all is well at home.

Kagiso Pule

Maitengwe Clinic

Box 37

Maitengwe, Botswana

Pretty elaborate, eh? Here's to having no street names in Bots. Make sure to use my Setswana name as no one in the village knows my American name.  I may get my own box later but for now just use the clinic’s.  And be sure to write my Setswana name because no one is my village knows my American name.  Gosh, it’s like I’ve left my identity behind!  LOL jk.

Again, just write 'educational materials' or something like that on the box. There is a post office in my village but expect for things to take a lot longer to make their way up north. Try this site for calling cards, apparently it’s less than 2c / minute: 3utelecom.com and reference the code for Peace Corps 360-945-1384.  I am not really sure what this means, but someone in our group offered this to us so I imagine there is some discounted rate because of the PC. Finally, I have posted a link on the right under "Botswana Links" that gives a list of things that are always helpful to send, as well as a list of things I will never need you to send. Check it out!

(The link is also here: http://filebox.vt.edu/users/bkeener/List.doc)

Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny,

And in this judgement there is no partiality.

So arm in arms, with arms, we'll fight this little struggle,

'Cause that's the only way we can overcome our little trouble

~Bob Marley, "Zimbabwe"Ok, not really; Peace Corps does not go to Zimbabwe. But I have been fortunate enough to be placed in my number one choice of the available sites for this year. My site is about two hours northwest of Francistown (Botswana’s second largest city) and is the very last stop before entering Zimbabwe... I’m kinda far out so I might as well be in Zimbabwe. The place is called Maitengwe (Ma-ee-tang-gway). A link to a large Botswana map is here: http://www.botswanarealestate.biz/general_map.jpg. Depending on your browser, you may have to click on the bottom right of the map to enlarge it to full size before being able to see my village.

As many of you may know and many of you may not, the situation in Zimbabwe is beyond crisis proportions. It is arguably the worst political situation in sub-Saharan Africa, and undoubtedly the worst in southern Africa. President Mugabe has held on to power since Zimbabwe’s independence in 1977, making him the longest ruling leader in Africa. Many years ago he helped Zimbabwe become “the breadbasket” of southern Africa, and Zimbabwe was a jewel of prosperity while neighboring Botswana was rampant with poverty. Batswana will tell you that they used to cross the border to buy goods in Zimbabwe.

Today the tables have turned completely. Mugabe has held on to power, at the cost of his own country - silencing political opponents, kicking out all foreign expats and journalists, and ruining the economy. Inflation is OFFICIALLY at 365,000% - which I am sure has to be the highest in world history. The economy has gotten so bad that most places are not even accepting the currency, as it is less than worthless. Bills are printed with expiration dates 6 months from the printing date... seriously. Their dollar used to be worth more than ours and now notes are being printed in denominations of 250million yet are still worth less than one US dollar.

The public health situation is no better. Life expectancy is the lowest in the world, at around 35 years. Over 3,000 people are dying EVERY DAY from HIV/AIDS. Can you even wrap your head around what 3,000 bodies a day looks like? That’s a 9/11 every day, and just from HIV/AIDS. That doesn’t even factor in other health-related deaths. Thus, there has been a mass exodus from Zimbabwe into neighboring countries – hence why many Batswana have Zimbabwean helpers, as we do here at our house.

The situation is likely to improve, though unlikely until it hits complete rock bottom. An election a few months ago suggested the opposition leader, Morgan Tsvangirai, was the victor. However, the election resulted in a run-off to take place on 27 June, just days after my arrival to the region. Some are predicting the transition to be peaceful while others are a little more weary. Radio news in Botswana stated that a shipment of machetes was intercepted on its way to Zimbabwe (coming from China, shocker…), but I have not been able to confirm this on the internet.

Anyway, part of this has been written prior to my going to visit my site and part of it is being written while here. I am visiting for a few days, securing my accommodation and taking care of other business. Because I am technically working through the government, The Government of Botswana provides our housing, in part as a ‘thank you’ for our service; so in general the quality is high and theoretically the house is to be furnished. However, since things tend to not get done in advance here, I arrived late Tuesday night to a 100% empty house… ‘electricity’ but no light bulbs (upon getting light bulbs, only some of them are wired correctly), a stove with no gas tank (upon getting the gas tank, only one of the cookers works), no bed (upon getting a mattress I had no sheets or pillows). Haha, now THIS is Peace Corps! That being said, once all this mess works out I will be living pretty well. My house is significantly smaller than most of my colleagues’ but with electricity and a gas stove I’d say I am going to be just fine. But no shower or bath, so it’s hot bucket showers for me for two years!... which I have to say, I kind of enjoy. There is something almost therapeutic about having to scrub yourself from a bucket, it’s much more deliberate and therefore meaningful.

Things that excite me about my new site:

- More north = more temperate. Thus, winters are warmer, summers are cooler (though ‘cooler’ summers will still undoubtedly be 100F+ everyday from Dec-Feb)

- More north = more HIV. While the average prevalence in Botswana is in the 30% range, the northeastern parts of the country are suffering more – due in part by the number of intersecting borders and greater poverty, but also due to the presence of a different ethnic group, the Kalanga, who have different practices and cultural norms. According to our last survey, HIV/AIDS prevalence in Maitengwe was just under 45%. I believe it – for the first time in Botswana, it has been visible to me. Many people are noticeably sick. The clinic was slammed at 7:30 this morning and didn’t settle until late. There is a lot of education to be done here. I am so excited, humbled, and privileged to be working in the region with the highest HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in the country with the highest HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in the world. I am literally at Ground Zero for HIV/AIDS on the whole planet. I know that sounds awfully dramatic, but it’s awfully true! I am going to learn so much more than I’ll ever be able to give, but just being part of the exchange is exhilarating for me.

- An absolute GEM of a human, my colleague and dear friend, has been placed in Francistown and I am so happy that she is ‘close’ to me. She is an incredible influence - highly intelligent and inspirational - and I will be so happy to introduce to her any of you who come to visit me. She is so positive and will no doubt help me through the difficulties of the next two years. I look forward to continue learning from her.

- Just a short walk from my house there is a river, which separates Botswana from Zimbabwe. It’s dry at the moment but the rainy season begins around November. It’s going to be purrrty.

- While I will be based in the clinic, there are many other opportunities to get a well-rounded experience. There is a home-based care center across the street from my house and an orphan care center directly behind my house. I hear the kids singing and playing every morning. J

- I am the first lekgoa (white person) to work at Maitengwe Clinic, so there is a lot of interest in my presence – and I don’t have to worry about following in the footsteps of or cleaning up the bad reputation of a former lekgoa.

- My counterpart (kind of like my supervisor), Mma Vivane (Vi-vawn-nay) is such a hoot! She is a sweet old lady who has welcomed me from the start. The rest of the clinic staff are equally kind. A few arrived at my door the morning of my arrival with brooms and mops and together we went to town on this dirty dormant house.

- My village is GORGEOUS. Wow, the north is so different. Most people live in the stereotypical round, traditional ‘mud hut’ housing, making the village seem very “African” (whatever that means). While there are apparently 7,000+ people here, you would never know it as it is very spread out and quiet. I’ll be buying a bike for sure. There is only one paved road that runs through the village, and that is simply because it is a transit route from Francistown to Harare, the Zimbabwean capital. The rest of the paths are dirt and the bush is thick. It’s winter now, but I can tell when the rains come and turn this place green, and the river fills up it is going to be absolutely STUNNING here. I am so pleased.

- The Zimbabwean influence! While my thesis was partially on Botswana, it also dealt with the HIV epidemic in Angola, a country heavily affected by decades of conflict. Angola has been able to keep its epidemic quite low, largely due to good HIV/AIDS programming for Angola’s forced migrants. I became fascinated with HIV/AIDS education with respect to refugee and immigrant populations, and so I am hoping to do some secondary projects with the presumably large Zimbabwean community in my village. Plus Zimbabwe has a fascinating history and so far the people from Zimbabwe whom I have met have been incredible humans. I look forward to being able to learn from them.

I am so fortunate to be living in this region at an exciting time in history. Mugabe is certainly Africa’s most notorious dictator and there may soon be a transition that will surely affect the whole region. If done peacefully, many Zimbabweans are expected to repatriate (millions, yes MILLIONS, are living in South Africa and quite a few in Botswana as well, though I don’t know the exact number). If we are not as lucky, there may be another mass exodus into the neighboring countries (which to some extent is already occurring, as several new “refugee camps” are popping up in Botswana, one of which is in Maitengwe. We can see temporary settlements beginning to form behind our clinic, and every day we are seeing an increasing number of Zimbabweans coming in with various health problems. I have to put “refugee camps” in quotes because Zimbabweans have not yet been granted refugee status under international law, but for all intents-and-purposes they are refugees). The exodus will obviously be hardest felt in border towns such as mine, and this will certainly continue to shape the HIV/AIDS landscape of the region. It is an important time to be here.

Things that I am not as excited about:

- I will have to learn a whole new language, again. Apparently the Kalanga are quite proud of their different heritage, and so I have been told they tend to promote their language, Ikalanga / Kalanga, over Setswana, the national language. While I’m not too far into Setswana, it’s still kind of frustrating to start over again. Not to mention that I was told today the only written text is the Bible because Ikalanga is not a written language. Great.

- I live on the clinic compound with a few other members of staff. This is good in that is much safer, as the compound is surrounded by a fence with barbed wire and there is a guard at night. It also means my walk to work is less than 1 minute. However, it removes me from the community – and the Maitengwe Clinic is a very busy one so night and day there is drama going past my house heading towards the clinic for care.

- I am pretty remote. Groceries, other than small things, are about 45 minutes away; internet is about two hours away. My nearest colleague is also two hours away, which in and of itself is no problem. But most of my colleagues are placed in villages that people pass through on their way to other villages and/or tourist destinations. Me, I am the last stop on the way to a country that we are not allowed to visit because it is currently too unstable. Therefore, no one will randomly just ‘stop by’ in passing. If my colleagues want to see me, they will have to make a deliberate effort to do so… something we don’t have much time to do. That’s why people in my area are jokingly referred to as being part of Peace Corps Zimbabwe... because we’re basically part of another country. You should see the ride to my village - I laughed the whole way. It’s just a road… thick bush on both sides… for 20 minutes… then there I am LOL. So, the next two years will be a big trial in loneliness. While I’ve spent a lot of time overseas, I’ve never been alone in this sense of the word and for this duration. I am welcoming the challenge as an opportunity for growth, though it sure is a daunting one.

By the time you are reading this, I will have returned to Molepolole for my final two weeks of training before I ship off until 2010. I’ll post my address when I have it finalized – after which I would love to receive some letters from those of you who have not already done so. For whatever reason, letters mean much more than email. I want to know what’s going on with you all. I know my ability to respond isn’t always high, but I promise I always read every word and just being updated is a pleasure.

Sleeping happily these days…

"Things turn out best for people who make the best of the way things turn out."

Hey everyone. Please excuse my loooong delay from writing, it's occurred as a result of a number of factors. Firstly, there just hasn't been much going on! My life right now is very calculated - training has its benefits but in general it's just machinery through which I have to work my way. Tomorrow we all have our big ceremony to announce where in Botswana we will be placed for two years. I had my interview this week... my supervisor seems incredibly receptive about our desires and preferences so hopefully I will be pleased. At the end of the day, my placement will matter a lot less than my perception of it, but there are a few spots I am really itching to be a part of. Then on Tuesday we have the pleasure of going to visit our site for a week or so, and then we come back to wrap up about two more weeks of training. I'll be very much ready to go to site - I'd be ready if it was tomorrow - but I am trying to reap what I can out of everyday at the moment, especially since I know I will miss some of my fellow colleagues once we disperse.

This week I haven't gotten much sleep at all, I am sure in part due to tomorrow's big news. I feel a little bit lonely... just a little bit, don't worry! I think the ironic part is that my loneliness is juxtaposed with an extreme eagerness to get to site and be alone. I am indeed an enigma at times.

I hear gas is high in America... you know what that means? It's even higher in the rest of the world. Hate to burst your bubble. The prices of taxis and buses went up a lot here as well. But it's something we'll all have to work through together I guess.

Anyway, no more words for now - I'll try to post Monday before I leave for my site.

Thanks Scott for the periodic phone calls... hope the cycling is going well! Rick, your gift box is being used daily, and each time with many thanks to and thoughts of you. Dana and Ginnie, sorry our calls got cut off - service has been bad. Try again soon? Jess and Becky, I'm in the process of formulating a nice response to you both.

Karin, where are you?

Love you all.

"Life's too short to take all of this"

Not true! And what's more -

Life's too short to mind,

So just keep on

With the Sweet Up & Down

~D.Matthews

I am not having much time to write at the moment, so more will come later - including responses to my many emails! Thanks.

As for mail to Botswana, the USPS has a flat-rate envelope and some flat-rate boxes. There are two flat-rate boxes that hold the same volume (but are different shapes) that are $37 and a larger box that is $49. I am not sure how much the flat-rate envelope is. But you can stuff as much as possible into the boxes for the same price, hence flat rate. They take a few weeks to get here.

*IMPORTANT* on the customs form, LIE. Do not write what's really in the box... it becomes more likely to be opened by sticky fingers along the way and some things I am supposed to pay taxes on. So just write 'educational materials' or 'documents'. This will keep people out.

Again the address (until late June) is:

Brent Keener

US PEACE CORPS

Private Bag 00243

Gaborone, Botswana

This world is like a mirror –

Reflect on what you do

And if you face it smiling

It will smile right back to you

~Culture Such a great lyric! Life is good my way. One of the books I am currently reading is very powerful, A New Earth. I avoided the book for some time as it’s an awfully trendy read right now (part of Oprah’s book club, hence its popularity), but I surrendered after it was recommended by a friend whose opinion I hold in the highest regard. I am glad I took his advice. Yes, you could say it’s a bit of a ‘self-help’ book --- and those of you who were with me in Ghana (Round I) recall my affinity for self-help books while in Africa! Ha! But for a year or so I’ve been kind of feeling like my personal development has plateaued some, and this book is really adjusting my perceptions to my social environment as well as my thoughts. I must admit though it’s making me a bit of a recluse. I’ve noticed a lot of people in the group have formed close-knit pairs or trios and while I think I am still the only one who can name every person and training staff member, I don’t seem to be forming a close attachment. This is kind of unnatural for me and I guess if I think about it too much I may take it personally, but at the same time I am enjoying the solitude and am reminding myself that in less than two months I will be the only lekgoa (white person) in town, and so my deep connections need to be with Batswana anyway. I do love my cohort though - very true and powerful individuals. Anyway, I wish I could explain the book but I fear I would do it no justice. But I would say if you’re feeling a bit stuck - personally/mentally/emotionally/spiritually – if you find yourself incessantly trying and failing to make changes in your attitudes, if you constantly feel like a slave to your own thoughts, find yourself falling into the same traps (often the ones you set for yourself), or if you wish you could eradicate negativity from your mental radar then I suggest you pick it up. The author’s writing style and examples are slightly elementary for my taste, but I think it is because he is not a native English speaker. The material, however, is pure and is really assisting me towards the personal development that I have been seeking – made easier by my new environment which is in itself so influential and inspiring. A part of me wishes I could share with you some of my new thoughts and feelings, but at this point I find it quite personal. Some one-on-one talks with margaritas could potentially pull it out of me, but I don’t see my blog as an equally conducive environment. Maybe another time. Priscillah is gone. She was to stay until May’s end but Mama stumbled upon a new girl this past weekend and so Priscilla left early. She knocked on my door on Sunday to say “I am leaving”. I thought she meant for the day so I was just like “Cool, see ya later buddy” but nope she left for good… talk about a quick goodbye. So we have a new girl, Imelda. She must be about 18 or so and is fresh off the boat; she just arrived in Botswana last Wednesday. She is awfully shy, as I guess I would be too if I was an 18 year old maid for a relatively rich family in a new country. There are hierarchies within hierarchies, aren’t there? Life is so fascinating and our experience of it is just the tip of the iceberg’s tip. Wednesday I leave for a place called Piliqwe to shadow someone who currently serves here. Her name is Ashlee, she works in an HIV/AIDS treatment clinic and has been here for one year. So I will have the pleasure of learning from her from Wednesday – Sunday. It will be so nice to get away from the monotony of training and to see a different part of the country. As you approach summer, think of me as I prepare to bear the cold. By the looks of April, we are expecting a colder winter than normal. Jamin – Good luck in Rwanda! Send me an email with all of your pre-thoughts. I’m so eager to know how you’re reconciling your upcoming departure with your current anxiety. Holly – kick some butt these past few weeks. Congrats on officially being the smartest and the prettiest Keener. Heidi – Don’t worry, you’re the richest… and if you play it right, that lasts a lot longer than brains or beauty! Jessica & Becky – Do you even read this? LOL. I need an update on your lives STAT. Ginnie - Hang in there... application process is so so frustrating but you'll make it through. Consider it part of the training for being patient and accepting ;) Mauricio – If you didn’t send me one yet, I need an update on that last message you sent me! Dana – Africa just isn’t the same without you. I’ll see/smell/hear something and whip around as if to find you behind me so I can share it with you, but alas no you. But you’re here with me in another way and that will continue. Karin & Sara – You’ve got mail. Stephen – Where’s my first CD at Gayngsta? I’m glad you’ve had such a productive semester and I hope summer gives you what you deserve. Scott – When you cyclin’ buddy? Care to cycle your way to Molepolole? K.Hubb – Every day there is some song to which I want to text you the lyrics, but int’l texts are so bloody expensive. But if it’s the thought that counts then your inbox is eternally bombarded with copious texts of cheesy lyrics. Caroline – Pick VT for reasons that are self-explanatory, or I could write you a massive email convincing you. Also need an update on that last message you sent me! Zach – Z... sorry that the minor delay in our voices kind of limits the scope of our conversations, but hearing you as much as I do is bound to have me going through withdrawal should it subside. It’s the best way to start my mornings. Check your email boy. Who else reads this god-long thing? Somebody tell Raven I miss and love him and good God will someone order a nice bourbon in my honor?

Our compound, my section (the window on the left is my room - the door opens to a living area and then there is a bathroom with running water). Then a picture of our kitchen and then of my nieces, Gosego and Retilwe.

The sunsets here are the best in the world so I will be sure to take pictures of that soon, and there are copious amounts of stars at night. If you think Montana has a big sky, wait til you see Botswana!

I will be writing entries on my home computer and uploading several at a time when I have the chance to get to the internet, so be sure to scroll down each time you come to my blog to make sure you have read the previous entry, because the newest ones appear at the top. Some will be backlogged so you may find that two or three from previous days have been uploaded at one time. Things are pretty good here. Batswana are significantly more reserved than Ghanaians, which is both nice but at the same time kind of unwelcoming. They are not unfriendly at all, but they are not really outgoing either. I don’t think I have had one person over the age of 12 actually walk up to me with the excitement you see in the rest of Africa. So it is much different than what I have experienced. This can work to your benefit, though, when you are walking somewhere and don’t want to be stopped by every person you pass (especially since my walk to work is just under one hour, and I have to be there at 7:30am). It definitely gives you some room to breathe. Nights and mornings are more difficult than the days. The family goes to bed around 8, so I spend a lot of time alone in my room at night – which normally would be great, but I think until I am adjusted I find that I am tempted to feel lonely and misplaced. The rest of the people in my cohort live pretty far from me so I am kind of isolated. Upon waking I am greeted with the BRUTAL cold of southern Africa (God, they weren’t lying about how cold it gets here!) and waking up at 5am in the cold and dark, alone, and trying to bathe and make breakfast is certainly an unpleasant task! I will definitely be requesting a site in the north, where winters are significantly more mild. The problem is that there is a lot of competition to be up north, as this is home to all of the famous African wildlife. But anyway, once my day continues I do just fine… especially when it’s time to come home and play with my nieces, who unknowingly remind me to take the time to stop and breathe. Children have a way, don’t they? I am becoming really close with Priscilla, but unfortunately she is leaving soon. Batswana are pretty dismissive of Zimbabweans and I think this has contributed to her departure. She is pregnant, and has told my family that she is going back to Zimbabwe to have the baby, though this is not true: she has actually decided to go to South Africa where she thinks she will be able to make more money. I will miss her. Every late afternoon I bring my iPod and speakers into the kitchen and we play Zimbabwean music – a lot of Thomas Mapfumo and Oliver Mtukudzi – and we dance and laugh and she teaches me to cook. I’m always fascinated at how close you can get to someone in such a short period of time, if the environment is right (Z). Mama doesn’t like how much I help in the kitchen, I think especially since I am helping ‘The Zimbabwean’ but I need to learn and Priscilla’s English is so pleasant and she has great stories of life in Zimbabwe before things fell apart, as they often do. It may be another week or so until I can use the internet, but I don’t think much will change in the next few weeks anyway. For now just training, training, training. What’s new with you and America?

Week One? Really? It feels like significantly longer, but not at all in a bad way. I’ll skip the details of our journey and the first few days in Gaborone (the capital city of Botswana, pronounced Hab-ore-own-ay) because it’s mostly inconsequential. This is going to be a long one and it’s just about today. I’m writing this on Wednesday, April 23 but I am not sure when I will have the opportunity to upload it. Today I met my new family for the next 3 months. I am staying in a city called Molepolole (Mo-lay-po-lo-lay). What an exciting ceremony! The families range in demography, as does their level of English and the accommodations that they are graciously providing us. I think I got the cream of the crop in all regards, yay for me. I was met by my Batswana Mother (people from Botswana are called Batswana, not Botswanans… but a singular person is known as a Motswana). THANK GOD she was an English teacher in her younger years so she was one of the few who spoke decent English. And oh she is the cutest little African lady! When our names were called she gave me the biggest hug, grabbed my hand, walked me to our table and said, “You are my son, Kagiso Pule.” (Kah-hee-so Poo-lay) which translates to “The peace that comes after the rain.” It doesn’t rain often in most of Africa, but when it rains it pours. So after a hard African rain, there is such a loud silence in the air. I’m not gonna lie, I think I have the coolest name of anyone in the group J Is it an apt one for me? After our lunch she drove, yes – drove, me back to my new home in her 1996 Toyota Camry, with leather seats. God bless Africa. The family is quite well off in African terms. The compound (it’s gated) consists of three very small houses, with electricity and running water in the relevant rooms. My room opens directly to the outside and is quite large; I have a double bed, a chest-of-drawers, and an armoire and one outlet for electricity as well as an overhead light… INCREDIBLY luxurious accommodations in African terms. In fact, it is Agnes’ room but she moved all of her things out and into another room so that I could have her room. How sweet is that? I’ll try to post photos soon. Agnes is a grandmother of three children, two girls one boy, all of whom are grown. The two daughters are at university in South Africa so I will meet them at a later time. The son, Karabo, stays here and he is incredibly welcoming. He is missing about one-third of his skull, which has left a bad scar; I am not sure what happened but I imagine it will come up at some point. He is 31 but as a result of the injury his disposition is obviously not up to speed with his years. Agnes has two granddaughters and one grandson who are staying here right now. The girls, Retilwe (6) and Gosego (4) – precious gems of life! But Gosego is only here because school is on vacation. She will go back to live with her father and attend school in a few weeks. I can already tell that I will miss her energy. The grandson is Keletso, probably just slightly younger than I, and is very soft-spoken but I’m working on him! We bonded over the Rap on my iPod… typical (thanks K for the Akon). And of course my African father, who now that I think about it I have no idea what is name is, but he is an incredibly warm man too. We also have two dogs, a Rottweiler mix named Jack (our bodyguard) and an emaciated Jack Russell puppy named Snoop Dog. In general, people are not nice to animals. They are more for protection than for pets. The yard has a guava tree, an orange tree, and a pomegranate tree, as well as a small vegetable garden. The good life! Finally, the family has a maid named Priscilla, a refugee from Zimbabwe. There are TONS of Zimbabweans in Botswana as the situation is obviously pretty bad there. In general, host countries do not like refugees (people are the same everywhere you go, eh?) and there is a lot visible hostility towards Zimbabweans here, but Priscilla seems to be treated pretty well. That being said, she does sleep in a storage closet… She does the wash and prepares dinner. People in Botswana do not really have family dinners, or if they do they just congregate around the TV or radio. I was in my room doing things expecting to meet everyone for dinner soon when Priscilla knocked on my door with a tray of food and water. I playfully scolded her for bringing it to me and told her next time I would pick it up myself. So I had dinner alone in my room. I would have invited her to join me but asking a women into your room is extremely inappropriate (more for her than for me) and likely would have gotten her into trouble since she is viewed as a lower class than the family and especially me. Sad times. But after my meal I carried my tray and dishes back to the main house where Priscilla was washing up, which I probably wasn’t supposed to do. I thanked Priscilla in Shona (her Zimbabwean language), which shocked her – since even the family doesn’t know how to say ‘thank you’ in Shona. A little kindness really can go a long way - she was so touched. She is pregnant by her husband, who oddly lives a few blocks away and not with her. Things like this are common in Africa - Mama & Papa sleep in two separate houses on the compound as well. Culture. Anyway, Priscilla and I talked for a good while, which was so enjoyable for me because her English is excellent and it is clear that she doesn’t get enough social interaction. African women work so so hard: the last to go to bed and the first to wake up. But the family is so incredible it makes me swell with delight. I was instantly referred to as son / brother / uncle, etc. The little girls calling me uncle is the best feeling in the world (hint hint HJK & HMK!). Within 5 minutes of arriving it was, “Uncle, let’s go play toss”. At the ceremony, some of my unfortunate colleagues were going home with people who spoke no English, and some of their families seemed so aloof and uninterested. I think everyone was envious of my match! Now I have the best American family and the best African family! Maybe Jesus doesn’t hate me after all. We all ended the night holding hands in a prayer (minus Priscilla, of course), which they seem to do every evening. Other than that things are pretty good, except that nights/mornings are FREEZING and it’s not even winter yet. I will suffer through winter, I am sure of this. Additionally, the language is SO hard to learn. They have several sounds that we don’t have in our alphabet, including the infamous ‘click’ sound of southern Africa… I know you all are jealous that you can’t speak in clicks! Additionally every ‘R’ is rolled so a lot of the whiteys are having trouble with that. Tomorrow I start the real training – language classes 2-3 times a day as well as technical trainings on what I will be doing starting June when I move to my new sight. Training is Monday – Saturday, 8:00-4:30… exhausting, I know. However I do have high-speed internet in Molepolole so do expect to see me on, especially on weekends! If you sent me an email, I got it, I’ll respond to it at home, and upload the response the next time I am in the café (this saves money as internet cafes are not cheap). Things are great for now, but keep me in your thoughts as the first few months are always the most difficult. Oh, and boo to Hillary Clinton… a random Motswana informed me of the news this morning. He and I were both disappointed. Love you all.

"...so here the Archangel paused,

Betwixt the world destroyed and the world restored."~Milton, "Paradise Lost"

I leave in less than 24 hours to head to Phillie for a few days of training, after which I head to Africa.  I myself am feeling simultaneously destroyed and restored as well.  Six months ago I decided to apply to the Peace Corps while still searching for the 'right job' in DC.  My application process was a slight smack in the face - for a person my age I have quite a lot of experience and knowledge relative to my field.  However, I was unable to find a job that I would love daily (which is my rule for my life) and so I decided that gaining experience from the Peace Corps would allow me to earn such a job upon my return.  My professional motivations haven't changed - this is really good for my career.  However, my personal life has changed in these 6 months, dramatically... more so than I had wanted, to be honest.  I wanted to get to April 15 and say "I have absolutely nothing that is tempting me to stay in America... this is 100% what I want to do.  Let's go."  But is anything ever 100%???  And so while I can easily justify my decision to depart on professional grounds, I find myself having difficulty in feeling so confident with respect to my personal life.  I guess it's hard to feel good about leaving so much behind when you're going to a place where, initially, you have absolutely nothing.  There's a lot of excitement to this thought - after all, the finest pieces of art begin on blank canvases, right?

But I'll miss my friends, and my God I'll miss my family (who really are more my friends... I am so fortunate in that regard.  I love you all so so much).  Additionally, in the past few months my romantic life has taken an unexpected and uninvited twist, though certainly a twist that I have relished, appreciated, and valued.  Why does departing from these things always feel so difficult?  I guess because every now and then you meet someone who has the capability of making you feel a way that no one else does/can, and that's hard to let go of.  It's hard when you've been alone for years - YEARS - even if it's by choice.  But it's also hard to make the choice to walk away from someone who makes you feel a way no one has in years - YEARS.  But what can you do?

I just hope all of these important people in my life understand that me leaving has nothing to do with them not making me happy enough to stay... it's not that at all.  Africa is such a massive part of me; I shine on this continent.  You can't grow unless you're challenged, and Africa challenges me.  Some of my greatest memories and personal epiphanies have occurred on this continent; I love it to my core.  But the worst feeling in the world is wondering if the people you love are thinking "Sorry, you're really wonderful but not good enough for me to stay... see ya in 2."  It breaks my heart to think (or know?) that my departure is causing pain to those I love.  But nothing would satisfy me more than to share this part of my life with those people.  To my friends, to my family, and to that Other that is so so much to me:  come.  Come and let me show you Africa.  Come and let me show you Botswana.  Come and let me show you a whole other world - a place that we know exists but never really digest its reality.  Come and let me show you another side of me.  And, so importantly to me, come and let me see another side of you.  See you on the other side.

Welcome to my blog.  This will be the foundation for the expression of my experiences while in Botswana.  Readers will be able to subscribe to my Blog as well as comment on individual postings, and I really encourage you to do so.  But please be mindful that your comments are visible to other readers and that my family as well as very professional individuals will have access to your comments.  Be yourself, but be the tactful version of yourself.  :)

To the right you will find useful links such as information on Botswana, including an excerpt from my graduate thesis which coincidentally dealt in part with Botswana's extremely unique HIV/AIDS situation.  I will also from time to time post books that I am reading, CDs I may be listening to, or other useful links that I think you should check out so keep an eye out for changes in that column as well.

Currently it's just passing midnight, 27 days before I leave the country for 27 months.  I must admit, people keep asking me "Are you excited?!?" and my dutiful response of "Yes" is slightly forced.  It's not that I have any serious doubts or am ungrateful for the opportunity with which I am about to be blessed.  I think maybe I just feel as though, having been to Africa three times prior, I know what to expect.  At first realization of this feeling, I was disappointed that I felt so arrogantly about that and wish I shared the excitement of my fellow colleagues with whom I have had some contact with.  Don't get me wrong, I'm excited!  And after further thought, I came to a conclusion with which I am more comfortable:  I'm just not overly-romanticizing what is about to happen.  In general, I think this is a positive thing - it can look like another classic case of Brent's cynicism but I think in reality I'm just going in to this with a very level head:  no I'm-going-to-save-the-world mentality, no real thoughts of growing dreadlocks, scarring my face, not showering for a month, and killing livestock with my own hands (again) like the cliche idealist.  I think I know what I'm getting in to, both in good ways and bad, and I think that's why I'm entering it like any 'normal' person would enter a 'normal' job.  This experience is what I want my life to be, not some 2 year break from it, and so for me "excitement" for an upcoming radical change in my current lifestyle is really just RELIEF that I am finally doing what I for so long have wanted to do.

I will be both the happiest and the loneliest that I have ever been in the coming two years.  It will mean so much to me for you all to continue reading my thoughts, as thorough and exhausting as they may be, but in return I genuinely want to know what becomes new in your lives - even if it seems so small to you.  From previous experience in Africa, sometimes hearing the small things from home makes a world of a difference.  Your life IS equally important - to me and to the rest of a world, and to a society that requires a division of labor to function.  So, please, listen to what I have to say but of equal importance - let me listen to you too.

I love you all and I can't wait to share this journey with you.