Wandering thru Southern Africa, 1986-87

Denver, Colorado, March 30, 2023 During my year at the University of Botswana, students held at least two protests.   The first occurred during the week after the October 19 death of Mozambique’s President, Samora Machel, in a plane crash.   The incident occurred on the South Africa – Mozambique border when Machel and a large entourage were flying back to the Mozambican capital, Maputo, after a meeting of southern Africa’s Frontline State leaders in Zambia. Machel’s death was front-page news in the Botswana press.  The photo in this article shows Machel during a visit to Gaborone.  Botswana’s President, Quett Masire, is to Machel’s left.   In Botswana, Zimbabwe, and other Frontline States, Machel’s death was immediately blamed on South Africa which was accused of sabotaging the plane.   University of Botswana students marched on President Masire’s offices in protest to push the Botswana government to demand a full investigation of the crash and express their anger at the South African

Gaborone, Botswana My quantitative methods class for first year environmental science majors continues to be a challenge.   Some of my 76 students are catching on okay while others seem to have little mathematical perception and reasoning ability.   They can add, subtract, multiply, and divide although a few even have problems with simple math.   Anything more complicated gets some of them totally confused.   So I put examples on the blackboard, then give them exercises which follow the same steps as the examples with the numbers changed.     For example, yesterday in the practical session, I had them do a statistical problem.  It involved a census of an imaginary African village with 37 households having 1 to 15 people per household.  I gave them a graph on which I had plotted the number of people per house and showing the number of houses that had that number of people living in them.  They had to figure out the total population of the village, the mean number of people living in

Gaborone, Botswana Look, it’s not that life here in Botswana is all that exciting, but there is something indescribable about living abroad.   It’s like my friend, Karen Collins from Lewistown, Montana, said recently when she was driving me back from a Monday night Hash House Harriers run out in the bush:   “People back in the States have no appreciation for the challenges of just getting by here like having to deal with getting stopped three times in one night by army roadblocks.”   Yes, the average American would be totally freaked out or pissed off by the automatic-rifle-toting Botswana Defense Force soldiers who had just stopped us and asked us to open up our packs.   We took it in stride and had a very polite, friendly interchange with the soldiers.   By the way, the reason for all the roadblocks was that we were driving not far from the South African border. The Botswana government is concerned about South African commando raids to go after ANC guerrilla fighters who are alle

Denver, Colorado March 27, 2023     In addition to hanging out with my British drinking buddies, David and Gordon at the President Hotel on the mall in the center of Gaborone, I checked out other bars within easy walking or biking distance of the campus.  One place that I particularly liked was the Midnight Grill (later the Barracuda Restaurant) run by an ex=US Peace Corps volunteer who made very good pizzas.  It had a clean but casual atmosphere and attracted a diverse crowd of locals and ex-pats.  The weekend following the fiasco with my car engine in South Africa, I found myself seated at the bar in the Midnight Grill next to a couple of engaging and animated, 20-something, female Peace Corps volunteers.  Gayle Erdheim was Jewish with a big smile and a ‘do of frizzy brown hair.  Bryce Isham, from Seattle, had her brown hair in a ponytail and wore wire-rim glasses giving her a scholarly air.  Both were quite cute.  They were teachers at a junior secondary school in Tonota, a vill

Gaborone, Botswana.   October 11, 1986   On Sunday morning, I woke up to face reality.  I was staying with a farm family in a remote area of northern South Africa.  I had to travel nearly 400 kilometers to Gaborone (a five-hour trip) in time for classes tomorrow morning.  However, the engine in my VW Passat was toast.  I needed to make some decisions fast and get on my way.  I decided that the best course of action was to swallow my pride, cut my losses, rid myself of future headaches, and head back to Gabs ASAP.   I phoned Johan and told him I’d decided to sell the Passat.  Would he take it for 300?  He wasn’t overly enthusiastic but scraped together 280 South African rand and 20 Botswana pula in cash.  He came over to Billy’s farm and I signed the car over to him and collected the cash.  Then three of the guys drove me 25 km to the Globlersbrug border post.  They figured I could get a ride on the Botswana side.  I thanked them, we said our goodbyes, and I told Johan I hoped he wo

Gaborone, Botswana, 18 May 1987 I was up at dawn for a short hike along a dry river bed in the Ben Lavin Nature Reserve.   It was pleasant but I didn’t spot any wildlife.   Afterword, I broke camp and drove a few kilometers to Louis Trichardt where I bought a sandwich from a Kentucky Fried Chicken shop (hard to believe that the Colonel is in such a remote corner of South Africa).    The route of my early morning walk in the Ben Lavin Nature Reserve.   I took the sandwich back to my car which was parked in a large lot.  While I was eating, a black fellow approached my car and politely asked if I would move.  This was a lot for black buses and I was in his spot.  The lot was practically empty, and there were no signs indicating assigned parking, “Why don’t you just park next to me?” I said incredulously.  “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”  He gave me a dumb smile indicating that he didn’t understand my reasoning.  I got pissed off:  “Look, I’m not from your country.  If you don’t wan

Gaborone, Botswana, 18 May 1987 In the campground that morning, I had a brief conversation with a middle aged white South African who turned out to be an agricultural consultant.   “Nobody likes us South Africans,” he said.   When he found out where I was working, he told me he no longer felt welcome in Botswana as South Africans were now required to have visas to travel there.   I hadn’t heard that and wondered if it was true or a rumor.   In contrast to the mostly boring terrain I’d covered the day before, Friday’s travels proved to be very interesting.   Heading east from Pietersburg on Highway R71, I soon found myself in part of Lebowa, one of South Africa’s black “homelands” which has not chosen to become independent.   It was early morning and bus load upon bus load of blacks were travelling west, probably to jobs in Pietersburg.   View northwest from a hill above Highway R71.  A semi-arid landscape west of the town of Boyne in the Lebowa “homeland” of northern South Africa. 

Gaborone, Botswana, 18 May 1987 The next morning, I left the campground at Rustenburg and drove east, skirting the north edge of Pretoria and turned north on the N1 Freeway.  About 90 km north, I reached the town of Warm Baths.  I took a couple photos of the modern facilities at a mineral water spa.  The town itself hardly rated a yawn, and I continued on toward Pietersburg, the largest town in the northern Transvaal.  Along the way I passed through such “garden spots” (excuse my cynicism) as Nylstroom, where I photographed a donkey cart; Nabroomspruit, where I shot a café which was flying flags of the old Boer republics and sported a large swastika-like AWB ( Afrikaner Resistance Movement ) insignia on a window facing the street; and Potgietersrus, where a banner across the main street in downtown proudly advertised the upcoming Biltong (meat jerky) Festival.   Fountains and flowering trees at Warm Baths in the northern Transvaal.   When I arrived in Pietersburg at 4:30 that aft