When people talk about Africa, they almost always mention the sunsets. There’s a reason for that – the sunsets are breathtaking, with colors more vibrant than if it had been painted. My favorite time of day, however, is the early morning.

I love that in my time here I have gotten on the earth’s schedule. When the sun goes down, I get sleepy, and when it rises I am ready to greet the day as well.

I love the breeze that comes in my door as I get ready for work. The heat of Botswana can be stifling, even throughout the night, but when I wake up and open my front door, it’s a breath of fresh air in every sense.

I love that the sounds of morning, which were once so foreign and jarring, are now the backdrop to my life. Chickens and their babies clucking, chirping, and scratching at the ground for breakfast. The dogs taking a friendly morning romp on the grass outside my window. The birds that live in my roof haphazardly flying into my wind-chime. Katlo, my host cousin, running back and forth across the family compound as he gets ready for school. And let me not forget the roosters incessantly crowing from all sides. These sounds have, mercifully, replaced the noise of cars, trucks, and television in my morning routine.

I love the walk to school. The sun has just come over the top of the acacia trees and it bathes everything in rose and golden hues. Lizards, ants, and mice scamper in the grasses on either side of the path and the breeze that came through my door now ruffles the tree tops. As I walk past the primary school the students wave to me and giggle when I respond in kind.

So yes, African sunsets are beautiful and mesmerizing. But there is nothing like a Botswana morning to clear the mind and prepare for the day ahead.

Or, My Close-of-Service Conference

Peace Corps service is marked by various trainings and conferences: two months of Pre-Service Training, then two weeks of In-Service Training, then Mid-Service Training halfway through, and finally a Close-of-Service Conference when there are only three months left.

March 12 – 14 was my training group’s Close-of-Service Conference, and I have to say it was my favorite conference by far.

We stayed at Phakalane Golf Resort – a.k.a. the nicest hotel in all of Botswana. The food was delicious and the rooms were nicely and uniquely decorated. There was an infinity pool that looked out over a pond and the golf course.

Most of the sessions in the conference were about the future. We reviewed the process of ending our service at site, using our Non-Competitive Eligibility for government jobs, and how to share our experiences when we get home (among other things). For our first night, they arranged a game drive at nearby Mokolodi Game Reserve followed by a braai, or barbecue.

The next day was a formal luncheon. All volunteers were allowed to invite two guests from their villages, but there were also many VIPs present – the Minister of Health, representatives from the Ministry of Local Government, as well as officers from the Ministry of Education and others.

I had been chosen as one of four volunteers to give a speech in Setswana at the luncheon, in front of all the honored guests. This made me very, very nervous. As if that wasn’t enough, I found out the morning of the luncheon that the Tautona wa pele, Former President Rre Festus G. Mogae was going to be in attendance! Can you imagine? That is like, Bill Clinton status!

Needless to say, my palms were sweaty and I felt a bit nauseous leading up to my speech. I couldn’t even focus on what other people were saying. Lucky for me, all those years of acting really pulled through and I spoke better at the luncheon than any time that I had practiced. (Daniel took a video of my speech. If the quality is good enough, I’ll post it here in a few weeks.)

This was already an honor. But then a woman from The Daily News, the government newspaper, came over and asked to take my picture with President Mogae! She asked me because I was wearing a traditional dress. Two days later, my picture was in the paper, in color, shaking hands with President Mogae. I even had my left hand on my right forearm, following proper traditional Setswana culture.

It was one of the most special moments of my time here in Botswana and my life in general. It might even beat meeting Michelle Obama. What a way to end my service!

President Mogae and myself

Shaking hands

The following day we took one last group picture and said our goodbyes. For some reason, it didn’t hit me that this would be the last time I’d see many people – not only the last time in Botswana, but likely for the rest of our lives. I know that the people who have become my family here will certainly always be in my life, but it’s unrealistic to think I will keep in contact with everyone. It felt a bit like high school graduation.

So here I am, with 78 days left of a life-changing experience. While meeting two famous, influential people are some of my favorite memories, they barely scratch the surface of what the past two years have been like.

Daniel and me, of courseWhy Former President Rre Festus G. Mogae is special to Peace Corps:Peace Corps has been in Botswana since the 1960s. But, as I mentioned before, the country made such amazing progress, Peace Corps pulled out, no longer needed. Then, when the AIDS epidemic struck, it threatened to undo all of the progress Botswana had made. President Mogae asked for Peace Corps to return strictly to address this health issue, and thus he is the reason we are here.

I especially admire President Mogae because he stood up for what was right even when his peers were not. When the AIDS epidemic struck, the leaders of countries surrounding Botswana (such as South Africa and Zimbabwe) refused to acknowledge HIV. They would not accept help nor direct social/health initiatives to educate and inform their people. President Mogae, however, saw HIV for what it was – a fatal disease – and took prompt action to ensure a healthier future for his country. I can’t imagine the pressure he must have been under, and the strength it took for him to be the lone leader.

Today I met with my favorite group of girls. We were working on a play for the English club to perform when the Minister of Education comes to Motswakhumo in two weeks. I brought some magazines and school supplies for them, and we ended up hanging out much longer than we worked.

What I love about spending time with small groups of students (especially chatty teen girls) is that it allows for us to share experiences, ideas and opinions. We talked about discrimination, current events (...Beyonce and Jay-Z's new baby), stereotypes, overbearing parents, drug and alcohol abuse, peer pressure, and of course, boys.

The girls started talking about polygamy. They didn't agree with the practice, claiming that they wouldn't want to "share" their husband. I said that my problem with polygamy is that often men are allowed to take multiple wives, but women cannot take multiple husbands. Tshireletso (the quietest girl, but who really says something when she speaks) agreed with me, saying that it is discrimination against women.

The mention of polygamy brought up the issue of multiple concurrent partnerships that happens extremely often in Botswana. Judy, one of my new favorites, burst out in a very passionate monologue (please roll your "r"s when reading it in your head):

"If I find out that my husband is cheating on me, oh, I will tell you what I will do. I will buy 2 litres of oil, and I will boil it, and I will frrrrrrrrry his face off! Then when he goes to see that other women she will say, 'Ah-ah! I cannot be with you looking like that.' And he will come home to me and I will tell him, 'No one will ever love you like I do. So don't cheat on me ever again.'"

Judy sat back with a smirk on her face as we all were laughing, then continued, "Yes, that is what I would do. I would frrrry his face."

Obviously I can't condone violence to my protégées, but it was the funniest thing I've heard in quite awhile.

[The girls told me that apparently, throwing boiling water on a cheating husband is relatively common in Botswana. If the husband then seeks justice at the kgotla (traditional court), they will basically tell him that he got what he deserved. I've never heard of that before today though!]

My brother’s name is Herrence Modo. He is a handsome boy with big ears, light in complexion and short in height. Herrence is eleven years old, he is doing standard five at Tlhabologo Primary School at Gaborone West.

He is clever. He usually performs with grade A and B at school. His favourite subject is Mathematics and his favourite food are noodles, cake, hot wings, and instant porridge. Herrence like to play with toys, tv game, play cricket and playing racing cars on a computer. His role model is my uncle. A pet that he like most is a dog. He is so clever like a dictionary that he could help me with some difficult words. Herrence is a person who is active in everything that he does, and he is not as lazy as I am. He likes to help my mother to do some things like sweeping, cooking and washing clothes. And he is a person who likes to do good things that will benefit him in life.

I like my brother because he is a responsible person, he is as handsome as a fresh banana and he always obey his parents and his sister, who is me.

By Ofinah K. Modo, Form 2 Student

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

They all sat on the seatThat my grandmother ownedBut they all vacated the seatTo find a proper place to sitBecause the seat was not suitable for them to ownFor the real queen was bornMy only sweet loving grandmother

Short as an infant’s shoeQuick as a gun shotStrong as a Mahindra truckFunny as a qualified comedianAlways smiling like a bride on her wedding dayProudly showing her missing teethWith that twinkle in her eyeWhich shines like a diamond

Some people confuse her to be AmericanBut she is a real African queenA queen who most hateBut loves allHer light colour reminds manyOf the Asian princessesEven her greatest enemiesHave turned up to be her best friendsBecause they just can’t resist her beautyHer god given beautyThe only queen in AfricaMy Grandmother!

By Tsaone Garegae, Form 3 Student

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

Life is sweetLife is adorableLife is expectableIn life there are noSecond chancesOnce you die you willNo longer live againYou will die foreverSo once GodGives you a chance to liveTake care of it

By Agnes Leteane, Form 2 Student

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

Every year, worldwide, the month of March is dedicated to women – more specifically, to the pursuit of gender equality and women’s empowerment. March 8th is the particular day for celebrating these efforts.

This year, the theme for International Women’s Day is: Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures. Quite fitting, considering some of the projects I’ve been involved in over the past year. I’ve had my girls’ club, and they have all become fast friends. In fact, every single one of them was just elected to the Student Representative Council (I was so proud). Also, with the help of CDC, we piloted a new life skills program at my school, which was all about identifying with your future self, in order to make better choices today.

To commemorate the day, my counterpart (the senior teacher of guidance and counseling) and I are disseminating information to every student through our “weekly theme.” On Thursday, March 8, at our house assemblies, students will present on the information we’ve given them.

The more fun commemoration will come on Saturday. I’ve been working with a women’s group called Mma Sechaba (Mother of the Community). We’re going to organize a march starting at the kgotla, marching through the village, and ending up at the junior school (my school). We will then have an afternoon of refreshments, music, and sports and games. We’re going to do relay races (I’m pulling for three-legged and wheelbarrow races), football games, and netball (similar to basketball) games. While men and women, girls and boys will be participating in the march, the games are only open to women and girls, to let everyone know that the ladies can kick some ass, too.

I want to take this post a step further.I want to encourage you, my dear readers, to do something about International Women’s Day.

To the right of my page, I have a graph of Women’s Day planned activities around the world. Please go to the website, look at what’s good, and get involved! If you’re in an urban center, there’s probably something being planned. If you’re not – take the initiative! Post something on your facebook/twitter/other ridiculous social media, put flyers and posters out at your workplace, call your family, send a mass email, or if you’re a girl – have a sleepover and talk about all the amazing things you will do with your lives (while braiding each others’ hair)!

Really into the idea? Hold a fundraiser of some kind and donate the money you raise to your favorite women’s empowerment non-profit organization or UN Women USA.

The ABCs of Fundraising*:

• Afternoon tea/morning tea: have your family, friends or fellow students bring a plate of food and charge an entry fee to all participants.• Artwork sale or auction: hold an exhibit for your family, friend or work colleagues to showcase and sell the artwork created by their own family and school community.• BBQ: hold a BBQ at your school or for friends and family and charge an entry fee or charge for each item consumed.• Benefit performance: organize a concert in your school hall where students perform and charge an entry fee.• Caption competition: get a photo of your school principal or your boss doing something unusual and charge for participants to submit a caption.• Casual day: hold a casual day at your school or workplace and charge each of those who join in.• Contacts: Write to your family, friends and contacts asking them to support International Women’s Day by making a donation

Most importantly, celebrate being a woman or having women in your life, and all the women around the world who work so hard but never get recognized for it.

Resources:Visit http://www.internationalwomensday.com/resources.asp*Read http://www.unifem.org.au/LiteratureRetrieve.aspx?ID=109789

My name is Refilwe Simane. I am a girl who is short and clever. I live in Mahetlwe but I board in Motswakhumo Junior Secondary School.

I am cool like a cool cat. I like to pass my exam very much. When I was doing standard seven I was take number 1*. When I tell my mother that she smile with white teeth that look like a snow.

I have improved to speak English when I meet my friend. She told me that practice makes perfect. I also like English. Nowadays when I speak English I speak it like Africans.

I want to be English teacher when I grow up.

By Refilwe Simane, Form 1 Student

*Taking "number 1" means that she got the best grades in her class.

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

There are many people who I love but my mother is the only one I love more than everything. I met her when I was born at the hospital. She learned me how to talk and read. I remember the day she wakes me up to go to bath doing that with her all love and smile. Oh! my mother is genius.

My mother raised me by her own but she gives me all I need. She is a caring and loving person. When I have school work and I don’t understand she helps me peacefully. When it is my birthday party she buys me some cake then I can invite my friends. But when she don’t have money to buy some cake she gives me something or she sings me birthday song. At Christmas day we had lot of fun because we were sitting together having a delicious food and drinks.

I love my mother because she gave me sense of belonging, she is my heart and my soul, she gave my freedom to participate in class, I understand things at school because of her and she is source of pride and self-image.

By Gaamangwe Montshiwa, Form 2 Student

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

There are so many English members in the libraryThey are wearing their school uniform

They are with their beautiful teachersI like to be an English member so that I can be able to say anything in English

I would like to encourage English members to go on with their club.

I am so happy about what I have seen in the library. Many students in the library are smiling.

There are many books in the library.

By Kagiso Jelankoo, Form 1 Student

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

Note: This post has been a long time in the making. Peace Corps volunteers are instructed encouraged to only write about positive things, or to write about negative things in a positive way. However, this is an issue that makes it increasingly harder for me to be engaged and motivated at work. In fact, it’s an issue that makes me not even want to go to work. I trust that my readers know all the wonderful things about Botswana and will not let this aspect of the culture taint their opinion of the country and its people.

Today during morning assembly, in a classroom behind us, I heard a repetitive “thwack, thwack, thwack.” I instinctively knew what it was, but in a rare optimistic moment I chose to believe otherwise. After five minutes, I couldn’t stand it anymore and peeked around the lockers to find: a teacher beating his students. Without knowing (or caring) the students’ supposed infractions, I turned to the group of teachers next to me and declared, “I am not going to stand here while he beats students. It’s disgusting.”

They laughed at me.

“And you know what? It’s not funny either. It’s horrible,” I replied. Then, in typical Tess fashion, I tossed my hair and stormed off, doing my best haughty runway walk.

I might have been abler to take this episode in stride, had I not experienced something similar yesterday.

Yesterday was one of those sporadic occasions where I was early to work. Homeroom and attendance starts at 7:30, but this day I walked onto the school compound around 7:10. Students were dashing toward the front gate, which confused me – school didn’t start for 20 minutes. One of the HODs (Head Of Department) had students in a line, and he was taking a long, thin stick and beating each one on his back for being “late.” Yes, you read that right. Being 20 minutes early for school is a punishable offense. Not to mention, many of these children are orphans, impoverished, and taking care of multiple younger siblings. I often wonder if the teachers ever consider how difficult it must be to take care of three young children, then walk a full 45 minutes to school and still be on time.

I covered my ears (the sound of stick against skin makes me sick) and yelled at him, “But it’s only 7:10!” and briskly walked to the staff room. Want to know how many teachers were at work? One. I doubt anyone was beating them for being late.

The fact is that you can’t escape corporal punishment in Botswana. There is a quote from the Bible that people here use as a defense: Spare the rod and spoil the child. (Thanks a lot, Jesus.) It is used at home and at school, and more often than not parents feel that their children probably deserve whatever punishment they are given at school.

The worst case of corporal punishment I’ve experienced happened last year. A random locker check revealed that some students had alcohol, knives, condoms, and dagga (weed) in their lockers. Stupid? Yes. Illegal? Yes. So the school got the Kgosi (the chief) involved in their discipline. The way these adults decided to handle it was to hold a special assembly for the entire student body. The Kgosi brought a stick almost the width and length of a cane and beat the students, one by one, until they bled. He then used that same stick, without cleaning it, on the next student. Because, obviously, in a country with a 30% HIV rate, it’s really smart to be mixing people’s blood.

I didn’t see the beatings – I learned of them from the other teachers. As soon as I understood what was going to happen, I tried to talk to the school head, to tell her that this wasn’t the best way to handle the situation, but she blatantly ignored me, and so I left. I live a fifteen-minute walk away from the school, and I could hear the students yelling and jeering at their unfortunate peers’ all the way up to my front door – like some kind of perverted carnival, or a 16th-century hanging in the town square. It made me literally nauseous, and I boycotted work the rest of the week.

But why, if the teachers, parents, and local authorities feel it’s okay, am I so adamantly against corporal punishment?

The students of Motswakhumo do not perform well academically. Our pass rate for the entire school is around 50%, even though getting a 50% on an exam is considered passing. Kids don’t want to come to school. I’m not blaming corporal punishment for the students’ low grades (there are a hundred other factors) but I do think that in order for youth to thrive they need to feel safe in their environment. It’s hard to feel safe when teachers walk around carrying sticks, and can beat students at their own discretion, whether it’s an incident of bullying or a student being punished because someone stole his notebook (true story).

More relevantly, I find it completely against my moral principles. There is no scientific proof that corporal punishment works. It’s just a way for teachers to use students as a sounding-board for their frustration and as a show of power. It honestly kills me inside to work at a school where teachers demand respect from students that they then refuse to return.

I’ve had some minor successes on the issue. Some teachers have come up to me and started a discussion on how things are different in America. (Note: in these discussions, I always start off by saying that in some states, corporal punishment is still legal.) One of my favorite teachers, Mr. Kgogobi, has stopped using the method, and when I see him with a stick he assures me, “I am only carrying it to scare them – I don’t beat.” When I see a teacher going to beat a child, I ask him or her if she has filled out all the proper paperwork and submitted it to the head teacher, which usually stops them in their tracks (or if not, at least shows the students that there is protocol that the teachers should be following). After the horrible incident last year, one of the HODs apologized to me at the staff briefing. Although it was a fake apology – “we’re sorry that you were offended” – at least I brought some awareness.

Despite these few, small steps, I’m pretty hopeless that there will be true change. Teachers ask me how I was disciplined as a child, and I explain to them about after-school detention, suspension, and community service. But teachers won’t agree to supervise detention or community service without extra pay, of which there’s no chance of getting. And suspension? Students would only be too happy not to have to go to school – and their families would be relieved to have extra help around the house.

I suppose this gives a bleak outlook on the situation, but I don’t really see a way that I can sugarcoat it. People beat children because they were beaten as children, and until a whole generation decides to change its ways, the stick will always be the first method of discipline.

A middle-aged woman who has a tiny bright eyes. Light in complexion with bright, long shiny hair. This is my beloved teacher.

While it is her day, she came shining with smile. She teach us happily without any fear. She know herself as she know her subject, also what she have to teach.

This teacher’s name is called Ms. Mookinyana. She love us as she love her children.

I would like to pass her subject with Merit that she will be surprised. I would like her to live a long savely life.

By Lorato Sebopiwa, Form 1 student

*Side note - Ms. Mookinyana is my best friend here in Botswana!

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

English! English you are the real lightA light to lifeWe use you in every subject except Setswana

You are the real lightWe are taught English in every school,No matter it is a Tswana medium,A Portuguese medium or Afrikaans

You are the real lightEven students to go to senior schoolsTeachers look to their performance on EnglishYou are the chief of chiefsA real chief

English a success to life

By Ofinah K. Modo, form 2 student

[In English club I like to have writing workshops every now and then. Some of the students' work is cute, funny, and/or impressive, so I'm sharing it with you. Keep in mind that English is these students' second, third, or even fourth language. I am posting these exactly as written, including misspellings and other grammar/language mistakes.]

There is an adage in Setswana: Leina lebe seromo. It is the idea that a person's name will mould and shape his or her life.

Due to this cultural belief, parents name their children extremely literally. There are the nice ones you would expect, like Lesego, Masego (both meaning lucky), Lorato (love), and Neo, Mpho, Dineo, Dimpho ( all meaning gift/gifts). Another common name is variations of __me: Wame, Bame, Sesame, all basically meaning "mine." Sesame (pronounced say-SAH-may) literally means "something that is mine."

Here are some other Setswana names and meanings:

Mothusi - helper

Mothati - a strong person

Tebo - vision

Bokamoso - future

Thuto - education

Bontle - beautiful

Dikitso - information

Khumo - riches

Thuso - help

One of my favorite students is named Atlanang, meaning "hugs," which I've always found sweet.

A particularly funny name I heard came from a colleague. She has a daughter and a baby boy. Her daughter's name is Ao (pronounced ah-oh, but in one syllable, almost like "ow"), which isn't actually a word but rather a noise made when someone is shocked, surprised, or offended - "Ao! Rra, what kind of girl do you think I am?!" etc. I can imagine my friend finding out she is pregnant and exclaiming, "Ao!" and then deciding to just name her kid that. To top it off, her son's name is Bao, as if she was too tired by a second pregnancy to come up with a new name, so she just added a "B."

Names can even be taken to more literal extremes than the Ao/Bao incident. Many children are named Mosimanegape or Mosetsanagape - long names which mean "boy again" and "girl again" respectively. I've heard of someone being named Botlhoko (pain) and I assume his mother had a long, arduous birthing process.

My dear friend Lily's middle name is Kebatho, literally meaning "it's a person." When Lily was born, her father was upset to have a girl instead of a boy. Lily's mother, however, cherished her, and gave her the middle name Kebatho to remind her father and everyone that women are people, too.

In all my time in Botswana, my favorite name that I've heard is Serati, pronounced "say-RAH-tee." It means "something that I love," which seems like a very precious and thoughtful meaning, and it is a unique name here in Botswana. When I first heard it, I thought I had found my future daughter's own name, but I can only imagine how Americans would manage to mispronounce it.

All in all, names are generally given thoughtfully and with love here. It's a lovely sentiment to name your child after what you hope his or her future will bring.

...Unfortunately, I don't think it would ever work in the States - can you imagine meeting someone named "Education"?!

It is so hot in Botswana…

…I walk around under an umbrella.

…the water coming out of my “cold” tap is boiling hot.

…makeup literally melts down my face.

…despite being a self-proclaimed sun worshiper, I haven’t laid out in over a year.

…I cuddle up next to ice packs after work.

…wet clothes on the line take less than an hour to dry.

…my friend and I were commenting one day that it didn’t seem very hot. We then found out the temperature was 98 degrees.

…the only time it’s cool enough to exercise is 4:30am.

…when strangers come onto my family compound, the dogs don't even care enough to move.

…drinking 5 liters of water per day still isn’t enough to keep me hydrated.

…cooking dinner on the stove is enough to make sweat drip down my face.

…I sleep naked!

I just recently returned from a hiking trip in Lesotho. It's a beautiful country. I didn't bring my camera, so please click here to see pictures from my trip.

Going quad biking in the desert is possibly the most fun activity in Swakopmund, Namibia. What made it such a singular experience wasn't just the rush of the quad bike over towering sand dunes, but the view of the ocean at every turn. In Namibia, the desert meets the ocean, making for one of the most beautiful landscapes I've seen in southern Africa.

Here is my experience in pictures:

You can't wear a helmet and not take a silly picture

Ready to go!

The ocean on the horizon

Oh hey I'm on a bike

Your grammar lesson for today starts with a sentence:

Ka Saturday, ke lomilwe ke ntsha.

Let's break it down.

Ntsha - dog (nn-cha)Go loma - to bite (ho loh-mah)Ntsha e loma - the dog bites (nn-cha ay loh-mah)Ntsha e ntoma - the dog bites me (nn-cha ay nn-toe-mah)Ntsha e lomile - the dog bit (nn-cha ay loh-me-lay)Ntsha e ntomile - the dog bit me (nn-cha ay nn-toe-me-lay)Ke lomilwe - I was bitten (kay loh-meal-way)Ke lomilwe ke ntsha - I was bitten by a dog (kay loh-meal-way kay nn-cha)

Thus,

Ka Saturday, ke lomilwe ke ntsha

means,

On Saturday, I was bitten by a dog.

Excellent work, class.

(...Don't worry, the dog had its rabies shot and I am healing very nicely!)

Did you think Daniel and I didn't take any pictures together in Namibia?! Here they are:

I recently returned from a vacation with nine of my closest friends to Swakopmund, Namibia, a quaint tourist town on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. Namibia was colonized by Germany, and the German influence is still present in the architecture, cuisine, and general way of life.

Wide boulevards

Not a great picture, but in the background

you can see the desert meeting the oceanMural wall

My favorite muralIt was a long trip consisting of buses and rental cars, but it proved to be worth it. We rented two houses at Swakopmund Municipal Rest Camp, which came with an outdoor braai (barbecue) and an ocean view.

Rental cars

House we rented

Ocean view from our porch

The main thing we did was eat delicious food. Every morning I started my day with a large coffee and delicious German pastries at Raith’s Café and Gellateria.

Gellateria and Cafe

We found a little pizzeria that made thin-crust pizza and ended up eating there twice.

For our first nice dinner, we made reservations at a restaurant called Brauhaus, which serves authentic German cuisine. It was my first time trying German food and I loved it! It was a meal fit for kings and I was so full I could barely walk out of the restaurant.

Ladies dressed up for dinner

The girls took one afternoon and went off shopping. There were a lot of cute boutiques to look through. I found one jewelry and craft store in particular that I loved, and I picked out several necklaces and rings I wanted to buy for friends back home. My plan was to return to the shop on Saturday and use whatever Namibian dollars I had left to buy souvenirs. Imagine my surprise when I get to the store at 2:30 PM and everything is closed! Apparently all stores in Swakopmund close at 1:00 PM on the weekends – except for grocery stores and bars/restaurants. I wish I had known that before it was too late.

Of course, we went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. The water was very cold, but since I grew up on Lake Ontario it didn’t seem that bad to me. What can I say about the ocean? It's amazing. I would be a mermaid and live in the ocean if that was an option.

We also got to watch the sun set over the Atlantic, which was very beautiful. We went to Tiger Reef Bar, right on the beach, for sundowners.

Balcony view of the sunset

My friends Lindsey, Jen, and NicoleHeidi and meHeidi and me playing in the ocean one last time

Out on the jetty (or pier) there is a sushi restaurant called Jetty 1901. There are glass panels in the floor so it looks as if you’re standing on the ocean. We all went to sushi “happy hour,” where one roll cost only 20 Namibian dollars (less than 3 USD). Before this, I had only eaten vegetable sushi, but at happy hour I tried different tuna and salmon rolls. Turns out, my favorite was a salmon roll that also had fish eggs on it. Sounds gross, but it was actually delicious!

Restaurant on the end of the jettyWalkway to the restaurant

I'm the one with hot pink toenails, duh.Another great meal we had was braai-ing (or barbecuing) fresh fish from the local fish market. The boys bought the fish already gutted and salted, then wrapped it in tin foil with butter, garlic, and lemon. We put it on the grill for awhile and voila! the most delicious fish I have ever eaten. It was so good (and we had so much) that for dinner the next night we made fish tacos.

Fish on the braaiAlways date a man who can cook

Waiting for dinner

YUM

To appease the daredevil in all of us, the whole group went quad biking in the desert, but that will be a blog post of its own.

All in all it was a wonderful trip. When I got back to work, everyone complimented me on how happy and refreshed I looked, and it’s true. An ocean-side getaway is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Being silly

A wave took us by surprise!

Taking a shopping break to meet up for drinks

The closest we got to a "nice" picture of all the guys

See how happy the ocean makes me

My big project for this last term has been doing condom demonstrations in all of the classrooms. I luckily got in touch with a woman who works with the District Health Team in Molepolole (my district’s main village) and she hooked me up with a model penis, model vagina, and male and female condoms to use in the demonstrations.

Once I had the supplies, I got right to work. There are seventeen classes at my school (meaning close to 700 students) and I needed at least two periods with each class. Due to other projects I was working on, it wasn’t as simple as just going to all the guidance classes. I had to figure out when I would be at school and when I would make up any classes I missed, as well as working around different examinations given by the school. Also, the schedule has up to three guidance classes during the same period, despite the fact that we have only one guidance teacher. Go figure.

For the male condom, my counterpart and I made signs with each of the steps to using a condom on them. One side had English, and one had Setswana. I was adamant about teaching this in Setswana, because incorrect condom use is a common occurrence. We would have eight students come up and give them the signs randomly, and they had to work together to put the signs in the correct order. I definitely have not reached fluency, but I think now knowing how to explain condom use ka Setswana is a good start.

After initially learning the steps, I would go over them again while demonstrating using a condom and the model penis. (I taught over a constant stream of giggles – mostly from the boys, ironically enough.) I would then have one boy and one girl demonstrate, although if no one volunteered, I didn’t push it. It was really important to me to create a safe, comfortable environment so kids will stop being so scared to talk about sex and ask those really important questions.

And boy, do the kids have questions. It was wonderful to see them opening up to me, and to know that I was helping to dispel some common myths. Some things the students believe I expected to hear – condoms aren’t reliable, real men don’t use condoms, if you use a condom you won’t feel anything. But other myths are truly astounding – condoms have worms in them that make you sick, the U.S. sends over condoms with HIV in it to try to wipe out African races, if you have sex with a girl on her period her vagina will bite you.

The following class I demonstrated how to use the female condom, which also got plenty of laughs. Although I don’t believe many women use the female condom, there is a lot of interest in it, which is great. I didn’t have enough female condoms for any students to also try, so after demonstrating and having a Q&A session we discussed different forms of birth control.

Most students had heard of the condoms, the pill, IUD, and injections (and, of course, abstinence). Interestingly, almost every class also offered sterilization as a method of birth control. While that’s true, I thought it was strange that students so young would have sterilization on the forefront of their minds.

We then reviewed bad forms of birth control, many of which the students believe to be effective:“Pulling out,” or withdrawing before ejaculationHaving sex during the woman’s menstruation cycle“Safe period,” which means having sex during the five days after a woman menstruates. They believe that since the woman is not ovulating, there is a zero percent chance of her getting pregnant, and this is taught in science classes. I emphasized that while it is not likely, it is still a possibility, and condoms/birth control should still be used.Sex positions – i.e. if a woman is on top, gravity will keep the sperm from reaching the eggDifferent methods from traditional doctors

It was encouraging to see how engaged some of the students were. It made me feel as if I actually was making a difference in their lives, and that being informed will help at least a few students make better choices. After a year and a half of ambiguous reporting to Peace Corps, it’s a great feeling to know I have solid numbers (I’ve reached 680 youth this quarter!) to send to Washington, D.C.

More than just helping the students, it was a small epiphany for myself. I loved doing these classes, and I’m already in the process of putting together sex education curriculum for next year. After feeling somewhat irrelevant for a lot of my service, I’m getting excited again, and perhaps my interest and passion can guide my career choices when I get home in June.

Or, A real city and my first steps in the Indian Ocean

A few months ago Daniel and I went on vacation to South Africa. We took a bus to Johannesburgand stayed in a cool neighborhood called Melville. The guesthouse we chose was called Sleepy Gecko and it was amazing: plush beds, wide-plankhardwood floors, original artwork, and a roly-poly guard dog who wasn’t foolinganybody. Within a half hour of gettingour room I had taken a hot bubble bath and donned the complimentary terryclothrobe. The owners even invited Daniel andme to share dinner and a bottle of wine (or two or three or seven) whilewatching a rugby game.

It was amazing to be back in a city again. Boutiques (including Black Coffee), restaurants, coffee shops, antique stores, even afarmer’s market… I was in heaven. Ifunemployment wasn’t so rampant in South Africa,I would consider trying to find a job there. While I’m sure Melville is the exception rather than the norm in Jozzie(there are a lot of rough areas in the city), I absolutely loved it and got agreat first impression of Afrika Borwa (South Africa).

The most interesting thing Daniel and I did while we werethere (wait, you mean besides sushi and half-off cocktails?!) was go tothe Apartheid Museum. It’s one of the best museums I’ve ever beento. It walked you through all theaspects of apartheid – the social, political, and economic factors leading upto it, the oppression during it, and the growth and eventual victory of theopposition – through a variety of media. We were luckily at the museum while there was an exhibit on NelsonMandela. Until then, I hadn’t realizedhow much I took for granted that he is just one of those inspirational peoplelike Gandhi, and never took the time to research what his life was like. I highly recommend visiting the museum(although, oddly and a bit off-putting, there’s a theme park not even a stone’sthrow away).

I can’t post any pictures from Jo’burg because Daniel and Iwere too busy having fun to worry about our cameras. True story.

Driving on the left side of the road!We then rented a car and drove to Durban,where I accomplished a lifelong goal of seeing and swimming in the Indian Ocean, which is warm year-round. Our time there passed in a haze of craft markets, beaches, gluttonousand embarrassing amounts of seafood (omg delish), blue skies, sunrises, copiousamounts of wine and yes, long romantic walks along the beach (“romantic” isdebatable – Daniel was more interested in shells and their inhabitants than me).

I am not kidding you when I use adjectives like “gluttonous”and “copious.” We went to f-ing townon seafood. Consequently, I went 200 USDover budget. Ouch. Moving on…

Daniel and I stayed at a place called Anstey’s Beach Backpackers right on the coast. We got upgraded (holla) to a cottage with a full ocean view. It was a beautiful little flat with anice-sized porch facing the ocean. Itwas even decorated in blues and whites – perfect for a beach house.

We woke up at sunrise every. single. day. The entire trip. Sometimes it was to get an early start on theroad, but mostly I just couldn’t bear to miss a single ray of light coming overthe ocean’s horizon. Accordingly, Idon’t think we ever stayed awake past 9pm. Anyway, here are pictures of the sunrise overthe Indian Ocean and some other beach pictures.

Early, early morning; view from our porch. Have you ever seen such a gorgeous shade of blue?

Cloudy sunrise

Boyfriend!

My first steps in the INDIAN OCEAN!

Daniel's first steps in the INDIAN OCEAN!

Unfortunately I don’t have any photos of the differentmarkets we went to or any of the cute outfits I wore (I spent a lot of time researchingSouth African fashion before we went). Just take my word for it.

It was a great trip, and a lovely getaway. Here are a few last pictures:

A little restaurant we stopped at with a gorgeous view of a lake

Same restaurant

I came home to a SCORPION in my house. Sweet.Shout out to SHU!:

This past week I have had the absolute pleasure of workingwith BOTUSA (a partnership between Botswanaand the CDC) on a new project – Project AIM. AIM stands for “Adult Identity Mentoring” and the six-week-long programis designed to help students connect with their future selves, thereby makingthem less likely to engage in risky behavior that will jeopardize that future.

Due to the wonderful success Project AIM has had in thestates (participating schools had overall better grades, less truancy, and lessunsafe sex), BOTUSA is now bringing it to Botswana. This is where my help was enlisted – myjunior secondary school was chosen as one of three to do a preliminary pilot ofthe program, as well as various focus groups. This is to ensure that the program is appropriately adapted for youth inBotswana. It was my job to organize groups of peoplefor the facilitators to work with.

It was wonderful to work with Sarah (from CDC) and Catherine(from BOTUSA) as they implemented their activities. They taught two lessons during which theyengaged students in discussion about the idea of a legacy – that what we do inour lives now affects those that come after us. They met with my YES Club every day after school to do a whole careerseries – including a personality quiz to find what career might be best, makingbusiness cards, and designing a dream house. They conducted focus groups with form 1 students and parents, as well asinterviews with teachers and community leaders.

Sound like a lot of work for four days? It absolutely was. (…I say that on their behalf. I mostly just watched.) But more importantly, it was interesting tosee all the effort it takes to start such a program as this, and inspiring tomeet people who are so dedicated to making children’s futures brighter.

You can learn more about Project AIM by clicking here. I heard a bit about some really interestingversions of the program being conducted in the states – focusing on uniquepopulations such as teenage mothers and transgender youth. From what I saw this past week, it’s truly aprogram worth believing in.

The Botswana Ministry of Education has created a curriculum of basic life skills (which is where my title of Life Skills Volunteer comes from), and has additionally linked each topic to the HIV epidemic. A “life skill” could be anything from self-awareness, to decision making, to risk taking, to healthy living. It’s basically, um, a skill you use in your… life. Life skills. Yeah.

The curriculum is used by guidance teachers in all the schools. The Ministry of Education also aims for every teacher to use the curriculum in their own classes. Taking an objective from the Life Skills curriculum and using it in conjunction with an objective from a teacher’s own curriculum is called “infusion.”

Unfortunately, the Ministry of Education never actually trained teachers on infusion. Instead, they just gave out the Life Skills textbooks and said, “Have fun.” Since infusion is not second nature and gets increasingly more difficult as students get older, this resulted in no teachers infusing. Ever.

Two volunteers who were a year ahead of me (meaning their service finished in June) invited my best friend Paco and I to participate in an Infusion Workshop they were holding in a village called Malwelwe (yeah, just try to pronounce that name, I dare you). The idea was that Paco and I would learn how to run the workshop and bring it back to our region, thereby training even more teachers on how to infuse.

The workshop in Malwelwe was fantastic. First of all, we stayed with a teacher whose nickname was Chucks – I mean, you just know a woman called Chucks is going to be awesome. The hospitality, generosity, and fun nature of the teachers at Malwelwe Primary just blew me away.

Additionally, these teachers were really into learning about infusion – how to do it, when it’s appropriate, and tips and tricks for infusing more difficult topics like science and agriculture. With all of our presentations the teachers were engaged and attentive, and they seemed truly appreciative that we were trying to help their school.

I gave a session introducing how to plan an infused lesson

After a morning of introducing Life Skills and infusion, we had an afternoon of lesson planning. The four of us Peace Corps volunteers went around the room, working with each teacher individually as he or she planned an infused lesson. The teachers couldn’t just pick any topic, however – we had them plan a lesson that they were going to do with their class the very next day. Having the hands-on session of lesson planning helped tie in all the presentations from the morning, and the teachers really seemed to pick up the goals behind infusion.

KG, Lucas, and John, who set up the workshop

Assisted lesson planning

The drive behind the entire Life Skills program is the HIV epidemic and, more generally, sexual health. Sexuality is not exactly an easy thing to talk about in the classroom, especially for the first time. We played a game with the teachers to lighten the mood as well as to get them comfortable with talking about different aspects of sex. The game is called Abstinence or Not. The teachers had to decide whether partaking in certain intimate activities (kissing, holding hands, etc.) was abstaining or not. The game really gets people thinking about what abstinence actually means. I think the funniest part was when we called out “mutual masturbation.” One teacher turned to me and said, “Wait, what does that mean? Who is touching who?!” It was a fun way to make sure the health/HIV objectives of Peace Corps Botswana were addressed during the workshop.

Explaining the rules of the game

Fun with abstinence

The next day, the four of us volunteers split up and observed the teachers during their infused lesson, and then gave the teachers feedback. There were some teachers that were still struggling with the concept, but overall we mostly had positive things to say. Here are some great examples of infused lessons: agriculture and goal setting; Setswana and communication; mathematics and decision making. What made this 2-day workshop a success was truly the open-mindedness and willingness of the teachers to learn. Paco and I are looking forward not only to bringing this workshop to other schools, but to a follow-up visit to Malwelwe!

One of the benefits of living abroad is trying new things. Botswana happens to have a traditional beer called chibuku.

I love that it comes in a milk carton. "Bojalwa jwa rona" means "our beer."

While I don’t know the particulars, it is made from maize and sorghum that has been allowed to ferment. This results in a uniquely flavored, surprisingly filling alcoholic beverage that I liken to grainy, slightly chunky drinkable yoghurt. See the grainy goodness

I wouldn’t say I’m a huge chibuku fan, but one time Daniel, a fellow volunteer, showed me the ropes of drinking it. It’s actually quite a process. The beer’s nickname is “shake shake” because you must shake the box before drinking it. So, you press your thumb over a valve that is cut into the top of the box (you can see it in the above picture) and press down on the top to prevent leaking, turn the box upside down, and shake for at least 30 seconds. The box starts to expand as the beer gets nice and foamy. At this point you turn the box right-side-up and let go of the valve. You open the box and voila! – chibuku.

Daniel secretly took a video of me while shaking the box (sorry, you have to watch it sideways):

Trying to shake without getting it on my clothes

Post-shaking foam

The first fateful sip It's chunky! Daniel is a fan

At 5 Pula a box, many poor people will forgo buying food for themselves and instead fill up by drinking chibuku all day. Chibuku is sold at family-owned outdoor bars called shebins. A shebin (she-bean) is typically someone’s house, and people will buy chibuku and then sit on benches in the yard while drinking and socializing. It’s fair to say that the large majority of patrons at shebins are male.

While chibuku, like other alcoholic drinks around the world, can be a fun aspect to the culture, it also adds to the growing alcoholism problem in the country and, consequently, the HIV epidemic. On the bright side, shebins offer a perfect place to do outreach. And who knows, now that I know how to drink it, maybe I will get to know the men at my local shebin and find my future husband.

Sorry for not updating lately. The past month has been crazily busy, from meeting Michelle Obama to the Kumakwane Desert Races to my parents visiting. And that is exactly why I haven't updated - my parents are visiting and I am trying to enjoy as much time with them as I can.

Soon, however, there will be a lot of updates to come.

Sala sentle. Stay well.

I have an obsession with Smith’s Minted Rose Lip Balm. In addition to my once reading that Mary-Kate Olsen uses it, it’s a perfect lip balm in every way. (Oh, Rachael Ray uses it too!) It instantly makes your lips smooth, moisturized, shiny with a slight natural red tint, and subtly scented, and a touch of peppermint leaves lips tingling, begging to be kissed.

See what I mean?! Unhealthy obsession. Imagine my despair when the one I brought with me ran out.

Moving on. I’m really bad about the packages I get. There’s no recycling in my village (or really anywhere in Botswana for that matter) and I can’t bring myself to just throw away cardboard boxes. So after a year of care packages, I had a pretty tall mountain in the corner and strewn across the floor. I am a messy person, okay?? I have come to terms with it.

Anyway, I’m having some friends over to spend the night so I had to do something with all the boxes. As I was cleaning everything up, I saw some red tissue paper on the ground and – lo! something was in it! I unwrapped it and it was…

SMITH’S MINTED ROSE LIP BALM!

It must have fallen out of a package that I was unpacking and I didn’t notice. For weeks, possibly months, I didn't notice. I just spent five minutes dancing around my room in celebration. But this leaves me with a mystery –

Who sent the lip balm??

If it was you, please step forward and accept your prize of eternal love from me!

This incident just goes to show that it is worth having a messy room sometimes. I didn’t expect to have any good things come out of cleaning, but now I found something that practically changes my life! I swear, finding that lip balm released more dopamine in my brain than crack cocaine would have.

Signing off with tingly lips,Tess

P.S. This is the first day I’ve been able to access my internet in about a week. There’s been a lull of internet service throughout the country. I have a bunch of things to post, but waiting until it gets better so I can upload pictures too!

Part Three: Bedside Lamp

Yes, I have electricity and thus could have a bedside lamp, but I’m trying to live with less: less electricity usage, less outlets, less worrying about fires randomly starting while I’m sleeping, etc.

One thing I’m trying to live with more of, however, is reading. Before bedtime reading isn’t quite the same with my practically fluorescent ceiling light blazing into my eyes, so I resort to using my headlamp. It actually works great.

However, it is in no way, shape, or form fashionable. Neither pouty lips nor a peace sign can make this headlamp attractive.

The gems are from meeting with my favorite girls at school.

We also used the gems to pretend our noses were pierced. Pretty cool.

It will be nice when I get home to enjoy the iridescent glow of a low-wattage bedside lamp. Until then, I'll just have to deal with headlamp-hair.

Sorry for the hiatus. Things suddenly got extremely busy, and then I went on holiday to South Africa. I’ll be sure to post pictures from my trip in the near future.

Being in my village, alone, all weekend can be pretty lonely. Especially when I know my fellow volunteers that live in large villages or cities have whole networks of people to hang out with, make dinner with, go get drinks with, etc. My closest friends in my village are either teachers and thus leave every weekend to visit their families, or live kilometers outside of the village at their lands. After one too many Friday nights alone crying, drinking hot tea, and watching “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” on my laptop forcing myself to laugh, I realized that I did have people to hang out with – the boarders at my school.

Okay, okay, I know that a bunch of 14-year-olds who aren’t allowed to leave campus aren’t going to be my new BFFs. But visiting the students on the weekends has considerably brightened my life.

When I go, after walking around and saying hello to the various kids playing football (soccer), watching cheesy kung-fu movies sans subtitles, and ironing their uniform in preparation for Monday, I like to hang out with four of my favorite girl students.

From left: Irish, Ofinah, me, Atlanang, Tshireletso

Of course you’re not supposed to play favorites, but I can’t help it. These girls are extremely bright, friendly, fluent in English, and just dying for any kind of attention. After years of begging my parents to have another kid, adopt, be foster parents, host a study abroad student, I now finally have “little sisters” that I can laugh with and mentor.

The first weekend we met, we made friendship bracelets and painted our nails. I swear, you would’ve thought I brought them to Six Flags with how huge the smiles on their faces were. Immediately they started chatting (as teenage girls are wont to do) and I just sat back and listened. In a culture that too often doesn’t allow for a childhood, it was nice to see the girls relaxing, forgetting their worries, and just being kids.

As I tied the bracelet on, I had them make a wish and told them

when the bracelet fell off, the wish would come true. They loved it.

As I said, these girls are boarders, which means at the age of 12 or 13 they moved away from their families and everything they knew to go live on their own and basically be their own parent. They’ve talked to me about problems they have at school, at home, with family, and with friends. It breaks my heart that I can’t do more than be an attentive ear and comforting hug to these girls.

In the next few weekends before the second school term is over, I have a few fun things planned for the girls. Among them are: writing letters to their “future selves” which I will keep and then mail to them when they graduate, using old magazines to make vision boards, and coloring and painting pictures to decorate their dorm rooms (which, btw, they share with 11 other girls).

It goes to show that I can’t judge my Peace Corps service (nor can anyone judge their livelihood) by the number of projects completed or number of individuals reached. Oftentimes, for funding or promotions or accolades, we tend to measure success by numbers. But it is truly in the connection between human beings that happiness and, ultimately, success is found.

This goes out to basetsana ba me, my girls.

Throughout my life I’ve held on to this belief that spring is the best season of all – the temperature warms, there are spring showers, my birthday happens, school simultaneously rushes toward final exams and slows to a snail’s pace with vacation looming, and there’s this feeling of life’s renewal.

But as picturesque as it sounds, there is just something about fall that makes it truly the best season of all. Now that autumn is upon the southern hemisphere, I’m reminded of the things I love best.

June is considered the windy month in Botswana, and the past few days have certainly held this true. The wind rushing through trees’ leaves is so loud I thought it was the patter of raindrops. Despite the warm sun bravely trying to dispel the chill, stepping outside of my house makes goosebumps prickle up and down my arms. Dry crunchy leaves scatter and swirl around my feet as I hang my laundry. The nights are frigid but the weight and comfort of three blankets allows me to sleep better than I have for months.

And my favorite part of autumn: the scent of the air. I step outside my house and it just smells like fall. I love it.

Cold seasons get a bad rep. People are quick to tout summer as the best out there, but really, are short shorts and tube tops the best we got? Please. Give me a pashmina scarf and black blazer any day.

So I’ll admit it: I love autumn! Bring it on, Mother Nature.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. –George Eliot

Part Two: Kitchen Sink (and Dishwasher)

I could’ve guessed before I left for Botswana that I would miss a dishwasher. Doing dishes by hand is one of my least favorite tasks in the world (wait… did I say that about laundry too?) But seriously, there’s a reason I never took a job as a waitress. Dirty dishes gross me out.

However, upon arriving at my house, I was a bit surprised: “Okay, electricity? Check. Indoor bathroom? Check. Kitchen? Che---wait! Where’s the sink?” For all the other amenities I am lucky to have, a kitchen sink is not one of them.

So if I thought washing dishes before wasn’t fun, they certainly haven’t gotten any more pleasant. First, I heat up boiling water in my electric kettle, and pour it into a plastic tub. I used to set this tub on my kitchen counter, but it meant washing all my dishes, setting them aside, then re-filling the tub with fresh water and rinsing all of them. This made for a soapy mess on my counter and a longer-than-necessary project.

So now, though it took a few trial-and-error sessions, I have found the most efficient method for me. The only running water is in my bathroom, but the bathroom sink is far too small to use. Thus I put the dishes tub in my bathtub, use the tub faucet to rinse, and then bring my dishes into the kitchen to dry. It’s a lot of walking back and forth but luckily my house is small. The only nuisance with this method is that not only do I have to wash my dishes, but then I have to wash my bathtub. But, I guess at least it stays clean.

I realize now that I’ve typed this out how weird and unsanitary this must seem to anyone back home in the States. But a girl’s gotta do what girl’s gotta do. And hey, I am in the Peace Corps, right?

One important lesson that women can learn from living in Africa is that beauty truly comes in all sizes.

My friends and the women in my village all have different body types: from those that are stick thin to those that take up half of my seat on the bus when they sit next to me. Since I grew up in a non-diverse town, it took me by surprise when I first arrived to see women with huge behinds or huge chests – sometimes both. I’ve also seen women with such a perfect hourglass shape that even I can’t help but staring (where are their ribs?!).

In America, a person’s weight is constantly being judged. While I feel this is especially true for women, it affects men too. Those that are considered “overweight” or (heaven forbid) “obese” are often followed by the connotations of “lazy,” “slob,” or “unattractive.” Is this horribly wrong? Absolutely, but is it the truth? Unfortunately yes.

In Botswana (and I would wager many other African countries), larger women are considered beautiful. Men here love nothing more than “junk in the trunk.” One of my good friends here got teased mercilessly as a child for being too skinny. When I first arrived, my host mother would urge me 4, 5, 6 times per meal to eat more. She threatened to call my real mother in America and tell her that I was losing weight. (Little did she know, I had already called my real mother to celebrate the same fact.)

This doesn’t mean that everything in Botswana is great, of course. High blood pressure and hypertension are practically epidemics in my village, and many Batswana never eat a nutritionally-balanced meal. Exercise is slowly becoming more common, although it generally means simply taking a lovely stroll after work.

While I wish I could say that the past year has made me less self-deprecating concerning my appearance, I still obsess over what I eat and how often I workout. It will take time to undo what American culture has done to its females, but it is absolutely worth noting that here in Botswana, emaciation is not equivalent to beauty.

In some ways – on issues such as homosexuality, gender equality, the education system, etc. – Botswana is behind the U.S. (note: they only achieved independence in 1961). On issues such as self-worth, materialism, and inner beauty, however, Botswana is ages ahead.

Gold star to Johannesburg Fashion Week 2011’s designer David Tlale, who showcased plus-size models! Click here to see. (Once on the site, click on "next" to see more.)

Part One: Washing Machine

A year into my service, I’m accustomed to washing my clothes by hand and generally it’s not a chore I mind. However, you better believe that once I get home I’ll build a shrine around my washing machine.

Here’s how washing clothes goes in Botswana:

1. My landlord likes me to wash my clothes outside rather than in the bathtub. That’s fine by me, since it gives me an excuse to be out in the sun, working on my tan. I get my water from one of the taps behind my house.

2. I have a big tub that I fill up with nice, soapy, bubbly water.

3. I put my clothes in and let them soak for 30 minutes. This makes it much easier to get the dirt out so I don’t have to scrub with my hands so much.

During training, the only day I could do my laundry was Sunday – we had training sessions 6 days per week. At this point in time, my hands were still very soft and certainly not used to such abuse. My knuckles bled for quite a few weeks until I built up calluses.

4. After scrubbing, I rinse my clothes in fresh, clean water in a smaller bucket.

5. Then I hang them up on the line!

Generally I have so many clothes I have to use my landlord’s clothesline as well.

6. I wash as many clothes as I can before noon. Now that it's winter and a bit colder, I make sure to hang my clothes for a few hours in the sun to dry. In the summertime, even my jeans will dry in 1-2 hours in the heat of the day.

If you know me (or, God forbid, were my roommate at any point in time), you also know that I tend to put off doing laundry for say, oh, months at a time. I thought this would change because I would have fewer clothes with me in Botswana. Nope. I still wait until I have absolutely no clean clothes before I actually get down to doing the laundry. Some things will never change.

Disclaimer: This entry is intended to be an unbiased account of the current workers’ strike in Botswana. I am in no way attempting to spread my own political opinion on the matter.

For the past month, all government employees in Botswana have been on a strike. That includes schools, clinics, social work offices, district AIDS offices, and government offices in the capital, Gaborone. This is the first strike to happen in Botswana, but it is looking as though it might not be successful.

Government workers have gone years without a pay raise and yet inflation in running rampant in Botswana. So the strike, which began on April 18, is to demand a 16% salary increase for everyone. Originally, they had set dates for the strike – exactly two weeks. However, they then decided that they shouldn’t count non-working days as part of the strike, so it extended into a third week. When President Sir Seretse Khama Ian Khama still didn’t budge, the workers continued for a fourth week.

There is a strike stipulation that “essential services” must still run, meaning that a few teachers remain at the school to keep order, one or two nurses are keeping the clinic going, and so on. I am under the impression that those who continue to strike are not receiving pay, but I’m not entirely sure about that. Regardless, the students have been told to continue attending school and to work on their lessons by themselves or in small groups. They are still being held accountable (via corporal punishment) for tardiness, misbehavior, etc.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, I try not to do any work on my own – I always try to involve other teachers. You can imagine how my work came to a halt when all of the teachers suddenly weren’t at school anymore. Luckily, I have a strong, committed group of students in my YES Club and so I decided to meet with them during their long hours of not having class.

We have done a variety of things – game days, silent reading time (I busted out D.E.A.R. from second grade: Drop Everything And Read!), spelling bees, study time, tutoring time, learn-about-America time, learn-how-to-use-an-Encyclopedia time, hang out time… well, by the end of week 3 I was really running out of things to do.

While perusing the library shelves during D.E.A.R. time, I came across Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl. It seemed like a book the kids would really enjoy, so the next day I got a small-ish group together and read the book aloud, complete with different silly voices for all the characters. Needless to say, they loved it. I’m not sure children here ever get read to, and if they do, I doubt it’s a “dramatic reenactment” the likes of which I put on.

It was such a success that I got a set of James and the Giant Peach and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, both also by Roald Dahl, from a fellow volunteer. Now the kids can share books and follow along. I tried to get everyone to take turns reading a page, but they really love hearing my voices and seeing my expressions. What can I say? You can take a prima donna away from the stage, but you can’t take the stage away from a prima donna. It’s been such a success that I hope to continue with this small group as an impromptu book club.

There are rumors that everyone will return to work on Monday, regardless of a pay raise or not. It would certainly be a relief for the students who are bored to tears and extremely worried about exams. I’m looking forward to getting back to my normal schedule… just hopefully with a little more Roald Dahl this time.

Disclaimer: This entry is intended to be an unbiased account of the current workers’ strike in Botswana. I am in no way attempting to spread my own political opinion on the matter.

For the past month, all government employees in Botswana have been on a strike. That includes schools, clinics, social work offices, district AIDS offices, and government offices in the capital, Gaborone. This is the first strike to happen in Botswana, but it is looking as though it might not be successful.

Government workers have gone years without a pay raise and yet inflation in running rampant in Botswana. So the strike, which began on April 18, is to demand a 16% salary increase for everyone. Originally, they had set dates for the strike – exactly two weeks. However, they then decided that they shouldn’t count non-working days as part of the strike, so it extended into a third week. When President Sir Seretse Khama Ian Khama still didn’t budge, the workers continued for a fourth week.

There is a strike stipulation that “essential services” must still run, meaning that a few teachers remain at the school to keep order, one or two nurses are keeping the clinic going, and so on. I am under the impression that those who continue to strike are not receiving pay, but I’m not entirely sure about that. Regardless, the students have been told to continue attending school and to work on their lessons by themselves or in small groups. They are still being held accountable (via corporal punishment) for tardiness, misbehavior, etc.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, I try not to do any work on my own – I always try to involve other teachers. You can imagine how my work came to a halt when all of the teachers suddenly weren’t at school anymore. Luckily, I have a strong, committed group of students in my YES Club and so I decided to meet with them during their long hours of not having class.

We have done a variety of things – game days, silent reading time (I busted out D.E.A.R. from second grade: Drop Everything And Read!), spelling bees, study time, tutoring time, learn-about-America time, learn-how-to-use-an-Encyclopedia time, hang out time… well, by the end of week 3 I was really running out of things to do.

While perusing the library shelves during D.E.A.R. time, I came across Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl. It seemed like a book the kids would really enjoy, so the next day I got a small-ish group together and read the book aloud, complete with different silly voices for all the characters. Needless to say, they loved it. I’m not sure children here ever get read to, and if they do, I doubt it’s a “dramatic reenactment” the likes of which I put on.

It was such a success that I got a set of James and the Giant Peach and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, both also by Roald Dahl, from a fellow volunteer. Now the kids can share books and follow along. I tried to get everyone to take turns reading a page, but they really love hearing my voices and seeing my expressions. What can I say? You can take a prima donna away from the stage, but you can’t take the stage away from a prima donna. It’s been such a success that I hope to continue with this small group as an impromptu book club.

There are rumors that everyone will return to work on Monday, regardless of a pay raise or not. It would certainly be a relief for the students who are bored to tears and extremely worried about exams. I’m looking forward to getting back to my normal schedule… just hopefully with a little more Roald Dahl this time.

Today for my English club I decided to make a version of the Memory game using pairs of words translated from English to Setswana. So, the students would put all the cards face down and take turns turning over pairs, trying to make a match of an English word and its Setswana counterpart.

To prepare, I made a list of English words and my fellow YES Club teacher, Charity, translated them into Setswana. I tried to fill the list with somewhat challenging, but still relatively common words. Examples: bored, love, to explain, to believe, to laugh, important, possible, dangerous.

Charity brought the list back to me and we started to write words on the cards. She stopped me, rhetorically asking, “How do you say I’m sad? Hmm. You just have to say that you are not happy.” Rolling my eyes at a language that doesn’t have a word for “sad,” I continued to work.

She stopped me again. “Sad and depressed, are they the same thing?” I saw that in her translation she had written down the same Setswana word for both.

Two minutes later: “Focused and determined, they are the same.”

Two minutes later: “Annoyed and embarrassed and upset, are they all the same?”

My answer every time: “In English they aren’t.” Her response every time: “Ah, but in Setswana…”

Examples of other words that are exactly the same:To like and to loveTo stand and to waitTo stay and to sitTo demonstrate and to pointTo rescue and to helpWork and responsibilityTo remember and memoryCustom and cultureTo like, to want, to prefer, and to need

Lesson learned? The Setswana language is exactly the opposite of a thesaurus.

A deliriously blue Botswana sky through the limbs of a baobab tree

Today marks my first year of living in Botswana. It’s hard to believe how much has changed since my first jet-lagged steps at Gaborone Airport. I’ve learned a new culture, a new language, a new way of life, and most importantly, a whole new side of myself.

I’ve learned how much I have to be thankful for. I’ve learned that there is more than one way to give thanks, to love, and to mourn. I’ve learned that happiness can be found in a compliment, a golden sunset, or the laugh of a child. I’ve learned I can survive more homesick nights than I could have ever imagined. I’ve learned that eating nothing but grapes for dinner is not only totally acceptable but also delicious. I’ve learned that spending time alone, rather than bringing loneliness, brings peace within and clarifies my thoughts. I’ve learned that it is possible to eat for three days off of one cabbage and two onions. I’ve relearned that reading is my favorite pastime. I’ve learned that for all my complaints about globalization, the internet is really f-ing awesome. I’ve learned that without my parents being a phone call away to consult, I can still handle problems in my life with (relative) grace and tact.

I’ve learned what it feels like to be an outsider – but I have also learned what it feels like to be welcomed wholeheartedly into a family that is not your own.

Today at work, the vice-principal asked how long I would be with them. I replied, “Until June of next year. You are stuck with me until then!”

He thoughtfully answered, “If you say you are ‘stuck’ that means you are not happy. That is not true. We always like when you are around. When you are not here, we do not feel good.”

An hour later, walking home with the cleaning lady Tswelelo, she gave me two ears of corn, or midi. I protested that I didn’t want to take her food, but she insisted, saying, “Take. I want you to know traditional foods.”

I’ve learned that nothing brings me greater pleasure than when someone from my village calls me tsala ya me, my friend.

Happy one year to all my fellow volunteers.

I realize more each day how lucky I am to be an American, and to have grown up so comfortable, surrounded by family and friends who love and care about me.

I miss that life that I loved.

[Thank you to Rusty, Sarah, and the Dristles for the recent care packages. Each one brightened my day, and your generosity is more appreciated than I could ever say in words.]

Summer when I was a little kid meant a few things: trips to the beach, lemonade stands, my Barbie bike, picnics and flying kites, yard work with intermittent ice cream breaks, camping, play dates, and more ice cream.

But mostly what I remember is baseball: being out with the whole family on our side lawn or at the local fields, a cap on my head, feeling the weight and shape of my plastic yellow bat in my hands as I stepped up to the plate; the satisfying thwack of whiffle ball against bat; and when I was in the outfield, there was no distance too far to throw that ball in to home base.

All that changed when I graduated from whiffle ball to Little League and joined the boys’ team. As the sole female on the roster I was the obvious target for popcorn throwing contests, which I used to lament, but now realize how much stronger it made me to grow up defined as a person, rather than by my gender.

More pressing than gender roles, however, was the game itself. No longer was this a harmless scrimmage among friends – this was the big time. There were innings and outs and no “do-overs.” A turn at the bat also meant a turn in front of hundreds of peering, judgmental eyes, waiting for me to make one wrong move. A row of popcorn-monsters sat in the dugout, betting on if “the girl” would strike out or hit a foul ball and then strike out.

And so I unfailingly let the ball machine whiz one-two-three times past me, most times unable to even take a swing. However, days later on the weekends, my dad would pitch to me in the side yard and bam-bam-bam I’d hit them hard with reckless abandon.

Finally, after another no-hitter, my dad asked me, “Why don’t you ever swing when it’s your turn to bat at the games?”

“Because Daddy,” I replied. “I don’t want to miss big.”

The fear of missing big has plagued me throughout my life. It’s why I’ve never been good at sports, auditions, or contests. My brain sends “mayday” signals, my muscles seize up, and I walk away or give only a half-assed effort. If I am not at least 95% positive that I’ll succeed at something, I would rather not try it at all.

Except that I’m finding Peace Corps to be one long series of opportunities to miss big. I may live alone, but there are still hundreds of beady eyes watching my every move – from my village, to the Peace Corps staff, to friends and family back home.

I find myself in many positions of leadership daily, but two are on the forefront of my mind: the work I am doing to get funding for Pula Matlho HIV Support Group and my role as a representative on the Peace Corps Volunteer Advisory Council. Both of them have plenty of potential, both could result in great achievements, both have people relying on me to make their wishes a reality, and both could result in disaster, in failure.

With both of them, I could really miss big.

And so the time has come for me to face my fear. The thing with fear is that it convinces you that it’s protecting you from making a mistake, but in reality, fear is the one thing guaranteed to trip you up.

With that, I’m taking a deep breath and diving wholeheartedly into these projects. Maybe I’ll stick my neck out and no one will be there behind me – or maybe I’ll finally find the support I’ve been searching for the past year.

Only one to find out, really. I’ve gotta pick up that bat, keep my eye on the ball, and swing…

*Dedicated to my dad. Happy birthday!

Every family in Botswana owns land out in the bush where they plant their crops. This land is called masimo. I recently went on a quick trip with my landlord to her lands, as she had hired some community members to help hoe and was giving them a ride to masimo, 11km away.

My landlord's lands.

My landlord is an extremely generous woman (imagine if someone in the states who made a million dollars a year decided not to take their $100,000 tax break but instead gave that money to people in need... that would be my landlord) and lets people plant their crops on any land that she is not using.

The daughters of people who are borrowing my landlord's lands for their crops.

The government actually gives away plots of land for free, but the application process is fairly long and drawn-out.

Trying to avoid the blazing heat of the sun.People go out to their lands (which are sans running water and electricity, by the way) and plan to stay for days or weeks at a time, in order to get everything done. Keep in mind that this is no backyard garden - these are large-scale plots of lands that need to be hoed, weeded, and watered. Luckily, my landlord can afford to hire people to do the work for her. This saves her effort (she is getting on in years) and provides income for a needy family.

We didn't have time to walk through the fields, but are planning a return trip soon to do so. It's beautiful and peaceful at masimo, and I can't wait to take more pictures.

My landlord is the woman in the red dress, third from the left. In addition to masimo, all families also have cattleposts where they keep their cattle (duh) and other animals. My landlord's cattlepost is about 2 hours away near a village called Mahalapye, but we are also planning a trip there soon.

I don't think it comes as a surprise to anyone that in the past months I've been struggling a little bit with integration and harassment in my village. It was such a pleasure to go out with my landlord and learn about the culture as part of a family rather than as an outsider.

"Listen,It does not matter what you say. As a woman, as a woman of color, as a woman of size, as a woman with large breasts or no breasts and a lifetime of experience with bucket loads of passion. It does not fucking matter.*Because unless there is a white guy backing you up, you are an angry bitch. Uppity, spirited, “that girl”, the femanazi, the super-libber, the PC chick, the conspiracy theorist…"

Read the post here.

If you don’t know me, please:

Don’t call me beautiful.Don’t call me lekgowa.Don’t call me English.Don’t call me your wife.Don’t ask me for money.Don’t ask me to fly you to America.Don’t ask me to marry you.Don’t ask me to find a white girl that you can marry.Don’t ask me if I know some random white person you met in Mahalapye five years ago.Don’t tell me you hate me.Don’t tell me you love me.Don’t whistle at me.Don’t slow down the car so you can watch me walk by.Don’t hit me – with your hands or your donkey whip.Don’t touch my hair.Don’t laugh at me.Don’t make fun of my mannerisms to try and impress your friends.Don’t scream or yell at me.Don’t stare and point at me.Don’t try to steal my bag.

If you don’t know me, for the love of God – say hello, be polite, and just be my friend. Then you can do all of those things.

Well… most. Please don’t ever steal my bag.

In my first months of service here, I went with a social worker to deliver mopako, or food baskets, to a nearby rural village. Instead of having a pen for people to sign their names, they had an ink pad for fingerprints. Not for extra security, but rather because the overwhelming majority of community members were illiterate.

Imagine being 50 years old and not knowing how to read. Not knowing how to hold a pen. Not knowing how to even spell your own name.

Now imagine that you could do something to prevent that, and here is your opportunity. An inspirational woman named Pam moved to Botswana in 1997 for one reason: to address illiteracy and health issues through donating books to schools and libraries throughout Botswana.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I will be on the list to access thousands of books on the very first day. That means come June, my junior secondary school and preschool will have hundreds of new books.

This whole project hinges on one condition: the generosity of Americans. Most urgently, donations are needed (no matter how small) in order to pay for the shipment of 25,000 books from Atlanta to Botswana. Last year, small private donations of around $10 resulted in $6,000 - or half of what is needed to ship. Currently, the Project is in need of $5,000.

Attention All Teachers: A book drive could be a great project to do school-wide. If interested, please email me and we can brainstorm ideas - teaching the students the importance of reading and education, about a new culture, generosity, the Peace Corps, etc. Upon my return to the states, I would gladly come thank your school personally.

For more information and guidelines, check out my "Get Involved" tab or the main website of the project.

Scene: A Peace Corps Volunteer, TESS, sits in the shade with a local woman, LESEDI. They are drinking juice and talking about life.

TESS: Someday I am going to save up my money so I can have a beautiful house that's all decorated.

LESEDI: Yes, the would be very nice. But buying nice things for your house, it's expensive.

TESS: (Sighs) I know. I guess I'll just have to marry a rich man!

LESEDI: You don't need a rich man. You just need a smart mind. If you have a smart mind, you can make yourself rich.

TESS: (To self) I just got pwned.

End Scene.

Ever wonder what it is like to live as a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) in a developing country? Do you think you have what it takes?

The “Live Like a Peace Corps Volunteer Challenge” is a project started by volunteers in Mongolia to help raise awareness about the Peace Corps within the United States. Those taking this challenge will get a small taste of what life is like for volunteers here in Botswana. The challenge will take place on the first week of each month from January 2011 until December 2011, and also during Lent.

This March, the Peace Corps will celebrate its 50th anniversary and we wanted to find a unique way to celebrate it and to carry out one of the main goals of the Peace Corps. This project’s goals are to increase the understanding of life in Botswana among people in the US.

Look under my "Get Involved" tab or check out the website to get more information on how you can accept the challenge!

The PCV in Botswana who put all this together (and who I stole this blog entry from)

In the calm of the early morning, something moving on the floor catches my eye. I freeze, assuming the worst (cockroach), but see that it’s a harmless lizard. Being a superstitious person though, I realize that a lizard is actually much worse than a cockroach.

In Botswana, lizards mean you are pregnant with a baby boy and frogs mean a baby girl. My good friend Lily said that while she was pregnant lizards would follow her into her bedroom. There’s also a practice (though I’m not sure how many people actually partake in it) of putting a pregnant woman in a room with lizards and frogs, seeing which species runs away, and thus finding out which sex the baby is.

Owls are bad omens in Botswana. People don’t see them very often, so they make people somewhat panicky. The man who redid my roof in October discovered an owl, and was so completely shaken he could not work the rest of the day and had to be calmed by my landlord. ...Though in truth, he probably wouldn’t have worked the rest of the day anyway.

All Batswana tribes have a Totem, which is an animal. The Totem is supposed to guide and look after its people, and in return the people are supposed to respect the Totem. The Totem is painted on the walls of the kgotla, which is where the chief of the tribe meets with his people to discuss problems in the community. In my region, the overwhelming majority of people are from the Bakwena Tribe, and their Totem is the crocodile (kwena is the Setswana word for crocodile, hence Bakwena, people of the crocodile). Other Totems throughout the country include elephants, cows, lions, etc. Levels of reverence for Totems varies by tribe – for example, having a cow Totem wouldn’t stop someone from eating beef, but those with an elephant Totem would never eat elephant. Regardless, people’s Totems are an important part of their identity in Botswana.

There are some other fun animal stories, but they aren’t quite superstitions, so I’ll save those for another time.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my first Sunday Series. Next up: Lentsweletau. It’s about time I share my village, school, and home. Get ready for lots of pictures!

One last note: Happy 10 months of being in Botswana to my training group!

Oh, and clarification: I share my office with other people, so the lizard I saw was not meant for me!!

I don't care what anyone says about cultural differences. It is just as obnoxious and demeaning to be whistled at and catcalled by construction workers in Botswana as it is in the States.

Edit: I realize that that's an unfair stereotype. The majority of construction workers are, I'm sure, very respectful citizens.

Usually I try to have an overall theme to every entry, but sometimes that’s not possible. Here are a few random updates from this week.

- Every Thursday, the students are divided into three groups, called “Houses,” for an assembly. The House I belong to is Sechele (say-chel-ay).

At assembly each week, one class must give a presentation on the “Weekly Theme.” My counterpart (the senior teacher of guidance) and I work together to create the themes and provide material to all the classes – topics such as time management, alcohol abuse, and study techniques. It used to be that the presenting class would have one student stand in front and read off a paper about the theme. It was very boring.

A teacher came up to me at the beginning of this term and asked, “How can my class present this topic in a new way?” So I suggested they do a drama. On that Thursday morning, all the kids swarmed to the front, completely engaged in the drama and laughing the whole time. It was amazing to see these students transform from glazed-over eyes to active participants, and nothing beats the sound of laughter at a normally sober school.

Since then, every class has done a drama for assembly, and all the students are much more interested. Even better, today the main characters were all played by Form 3 boys. These were 16-year-old boys, the oldest and coolest in the school, putting on a play to warn their classmates about the dangers of smoking. For me, it was a great moment.

- My village is growing! There is a new complex in town that has a general store, a hair salon, a book store, and a restaurant. The restaurant is owned by a fellow teacher and friend of mine. I ate there on Tuesday and it was really nice. Absolutely crazy to think that Lentsweletau has a restaurant now though!

- Currently my village is without water, so yesterday after lunch they canceled study time and let the students go home. As I was walking, a group of boys was walking behind me. Generally I love my students, but as with all kids, some are just jerks. Plus these boys are all taller than me and that makes me nervous. So I let them pass me. However, one of the biggest boys went over to a little girl (maybe 7 or 8 years old), towered over her, and stole a handful of her snacks out of the bag she was carrying.

I got really upset when I saw that, and started to chastise the boy. What makes it difficult to be a disciplinarian here though, is that the kids laugh at me. Because of my white skin, because of my accent, out of embarrassment, out of disrespect… I don’t know. It’s very, very frustrating however. I realize now I should have made him give the snacks back and then taken his name, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I want to be these kids’ friend, but sometimes the bullying and lack of respect is just appalling. Obviously, this is something that happens everywhere, not just in Botswana.

- My last update of the week is the work I am doing with an HIV support group called Pula Matlho (pooh-luh mah-tloh), which means “open your eyes”. They have a nice building with a kitchen, bathrooms, and even a sewing room, all donated by Al-Muslimah, the women’s Muslim group in Botswana. Unfortunately, they are not using the building. I’m working with the group to get funding in order to open up a preschool. The idea is to have it open to all children, but to provide free tuition to orphans and vulnerable children. They also plan to start a garden in order to provide income. I’ve never written grant proposals before, so wish us luck!

- Shameless Plea for Attention: I have a phone, and two numbers you can reach me on: +267-72-627-867 and +267-73-649-223.

In other news, please leave me comments if there’s anything you’d like to know about the culture or my life here! After this Sunday, I’ll need a new topic for my “Sunday Series” (I am really cool) and I want to make sure it’s interesting.