Tuesday, 23 September 1986: My First Month Teaching at the University of Botswana

Gaborone, Botswana

One of the best pieces of news I received after starting work at the University of Botswana last month came in the form of a machine – an Apple IIe computer to be exact.  There was an American Fulbright Scholar here in the Environmental Science Department last year and he brought the Apple with him.  He left the computer and an Imagewriter printer when he left.   I also discovered that we have a copy of Applewriter word processing software.  I was elated to find this stuff here as it is the same hardware and software I used for more than two years at my last job.  I’ve been using it to write all my tests and exercises, and it should prove invaluable once I start writing in earnest about my travels again.     

At the end of August, I moved into a warden’s flat (counselor’s apartment) in the students’ residential area of the campus.  Fortunately, I don’t have any warden’s duties as the students get quite rowdy on weekends, especially after consuming large quantities of beer.  It gets so noisy that even my earplugs often aren’t sufficient to allow me a good night’s sleep.  So I stick in the earpieces of my Aiwa tape recorder, turn it on with no tape playing, turn up the volume, and listen to the sound of static which sort of sounds like running water and does an acceptable job of drowning out campus frivolity.

The flat itself is fairly new but somewhat trashed out from past abuse.  What’s most important, however, is that the stove, refrigerator and hot water work.  Well, actually there is barely enough hot water to fill the bath tub (no shower), but I manage.  The flat is so close to my office that it takes me about two minutes to get there if I walk slowly (and there is generally no reason to walk fast in Botswana).  I’ve done some very basic decorating – mainly wildlife and movie posters on the walls. 

Lately, I seem to be winning the battle with the ants and other small insects thanks to reasonably good housekeeping habits, fast hands, and strong bug killer goop.  The ant population of Gaborone must be at last 100,000,000 – they seem to like the sandy soil.  The little bastards get into my flat easily through the cracks at the bottom of the doors.  The spiders which inhabit the various nooks and crannies of my flat have been informed that they may stay on the premises if they help keep the bugs under control and maintain a respectful distance from the human occupant.

At least some of the credit for the cleanliness of my flat must go to Elizabeth who comes in twice a week to do my clothes and some basic cleaning.  Since there are no laundromats in Gaborone, my other option would be to wash my own clothes in the bathtub and hang them out to dry.  That would still leave the problem of ironing which seems to be beyond the limits of my rudimentary domestic skills.  When I first got here, I scorched one shirt using an old fashioned iron that did not have holes in the bottom that you squirt water through.  Seems that I tried to iron the shirt when it was too dry and the iron too hot.  I also buggered up all the stitching on a pair of Levi cords which I tried to iron when they were too wet.  Suppose I could wear wrinkled clothes, but a university lecturer has to maintain some standards.  Besides, Elizabeth is cheerful and inexpensive help, when she shows up, that is. 

I wasn’t sure what to pay Elizabeth at first.  Cleaning isn’t her normal occupation (she works in the university kitchen), and she didn’t seem to have any idea what the job was worth.  After talking with several other expatriates who employ domestics, I came up with the 30.00 pula per month (US$15 at the current rate of exchange) for about three hours per day, twice a week.  She wasn’t very responsive pro or con to this offer and seemed uncharacteristically quiet the next time she came by to clean.  After she left that day I found the following note: 

 

Mr. Mahoney,                                                                                                09.09.86

Mr. Mahoney I am not happy about our agreement, because it means you’ll be paying me 10t [100 thebe = 1 pula] a day if you pay me P3.00 a month.  I think there’s nobody who can wash, iron and clean for 10t.  That’s not fair because I have to come to your place by taxi when I’m not on duty, and I have to pay 60t each trip which is P1.20.  So if you feel you cannot think of something better than P3.00 a month, feel free to look for somebody else.  Mr. Mahoney you must bear in mind that this was an agreement between you and me, so what you want to do can be regarded as bridge of contract. 

Elizabeth

 

Oh dear, the perils of communicating with Africans for whom English is a second language.  The next day I found Elizabeth in the university kitchen.  “Elizabeth,” I said while smiling and speaking slowly.  “I did not say t-h-r-e-e pula.  I said t-h-i-r-t-y!”  We had a good laugh over the misunderstanding, and things seem to be OK now.  Except that last week, she showed up only once. 

When she finally arrived again this morning (Tuesday) practically every stitch of clothing to my name was dirty.  (I still don’t have many clothes here despite a recent shopping spree in Johannesburg.)  Turns out she had forgotten that she had only come once last week.  As a result, she seemed a bit embarrassed so maybe I’ll get more work out of her today.  By the way, I haven’t bothered to ask her what a “bridge of contract” is.

American pseudo-liberal purists would probably cluck-cluck over my having a black African maid.  To me it’s just a simple question of adapting to local circumstances.  In the States, I’d feed quarters into automatic washing machines and driers. Here I feed pula into the pocket of a local woman who can use some extra income.  P30 a month may sound like slave wages, but it works out to P1.00-1.25 per hour, a respectable amount for domestic help here.  I’ve heard of laborers out in the bush who don’t even earn P1.00 for a full day’s work.

My teaching load is fairly easy:  one three hour class of introductory quantitative methods for first-year students (they don’t use the terms “freshman”, “sophomore”, etc. here) and a three-hour North American regional geography course for fourth-year students.  I also supervise a section of an advanced remote sensing course (aerial photography and satellite imagery) which is taught by another lecturer.  The worst part of the job is correcting exams and exercises for the quantitative methods class which has 76 uncontrollable young livewires registered.  Oftentimes, I wind up shouting (as opposed to lecturing) in order to make myself heard over their endless chatter.  Some of them are doing well in the class while others seem to have poor mathematical backgrounds and comprehension.  Nevertheless, they almost all show up, work hard and turn in their exercises.  I had perfect attendance for the first exam last Friday.

The fourth year North America students are quieter but also more lethargic.  They showed little enthusiasm when I was talking about the physical environment of North America.  However, once I got into the various population groups, they begin challenging me.  Despite some of their naïve perceptions of the U.S. and Canada, it’s encouraging to get some backtalk.  One guy is convinced that American Indian reservations are concentration camps surrounded by high fences.  Several thought that pre-Civil War plantation owners starved their black slaves and gave them no medical care.  “No, no,” I argued carefully.  “Slaves were considered valuable property like prize cattle.  They may have been badly treated, even beaten.  But a master certainly wouldn’t have wanted any of them to die.”  They may not like my answers, but I find it quite challenging to try to explain my country objectively to a group of foreign students.  They are basically good kids, and I think the future of Botswana certainly looks brighter than it does in many other parts of the developing world – particularly in Africa. 

I do think that education is really important in a place like this.  Fortunately, the Botswana government and people seem to agree.  Unfortunately, they have a shortage of qualified local teachers for the primary and secondary schools which is why some of my first year students are mathematical dunces.  There are a number of foreign teachers here, including some 200 U.S. Peace Corps volunteers.  Qualified foreign teachers are even hired directly by the government, given good bonuses if they stay for at least two years, and have housing and education for their kids provided free.  It’s a shame that there are teachers in the U.S. who can’t find jobs, and yet there is a teacher shortage here.  In fact there are numerous opportunities for teachers, medical personnel, engineers, business management types, accountants, technicians, etc.  Some of these positions even pay quite well.  Other positions like mine (since I was hired locally and get no bonuses or U.S. government subsidies) pay no more than a basic living wage, but they do provide an opportunity to have an adventure and make a difference.  That’s more than I can say for most jobs in the States.  You can draw your own conclusions as to why more Americans don’t work overseas (as opposed to Europeans, for example).  In my opinion, it points to a lack of interest in the rest of the world, a lack of an adventuresome spirit, fear of the unknown, and the primacy of money as the motivating factor in job selection.   

At the same time, I wouldn’t recommend the U.S. Peace Corps to anyone other than recent college graduates who have nothing better to do.  The Peace Corps impresses me as a typically small-minded American government bureaucracy full of silly rules and a paternalistic attitude toward its volunteers.  My situation is totally different.  My boss, the department chairman, is a smiling and aging British mountaineer and cave explorer with snow white hair and shaggy mustache.  I stop by his office every day or two to commiserate with him and get advice.  He is always helpful but couldn’t care less when or how I do my work. 

Left:  Professor John Cooke, Chairman of the UB Environmental Science Department, was one of the finest people I ever had the privilege of working for.  Right:  In front of my one-bedroom flat on the University of Botswana campus.  I got around the city on this one-speed Raleigh bike. A local tailor made my shirt from dress fabric with the colors of the Botswana flag and symbols from the national coat of arms.

 

I’ve decided not to buy a car for the time being.  People seem to want too much for their used cars.  The ones I could afford without dipping into my savings or tying too much of my salary in time payments might not be all that reliable for log trips to South Africa, Zimbabwe, or the wildlife areas of northwestern Botswana.  I don’t really HAVE to have a car to get around Gaborone.  It’s quite flat with numerous dirt pedestrian walkways, and most any place I’d want to get to is within five kilometers of the campus.  So, I bought a shiny new red Raleigh one-speed bike with old-fashioned fat tires.  I can carry about P30 worth of groceries in my day pack and I have a thick chain and padlock to protect the bike from theft.  The major problem is flat tires from thorns, but I’ve found an African guy not far away who fixes flats for P1.75.  Another problem is crazy drivers.  I stay off the roads as much as possible.  It’s a bit hairy riding on dirt at night, but I go slowly and my backpacker’s headlamp does a good job lighting my way.

Speaking of groceries, I eat breakfast and lunch in my flat and go out to dinner nearly every night.  Why sit at home and be lonely?  There are some great restaurants in town where I can get tasty and reasonably-priced Indian, Chinese, Italian, French, or American food.

I do stay busy most nights.  Monday is Hash night.  The Kalahari Hash House Harriers are a group of mostly expats (too few of them single females, I’m afraid) who go running along paths in the bush for about 45 minutes after work on Mondays.  They yell “On, on” while running and generally making white asses of themselves, but after the run, the beer truck is open for business.  There is considerably more serious drinking than serious running with this group. 

I’ve gone to a couple of Gaborone Running Club workouts on Wednesday evenings, but they are too serious for me (and again, no single women).  Starting this Wednesday, I’m going to take a French class through Alliance Française.  Perhaps the m/f ratio will be better there.  The local photo club meets one Wednesday per month.  There is a TGIF put on by the U.S. Embassy once a month and a stamp club, the Botswana Philatelic Society, meets once a month as well.  I even went on a bird walk with the ornithological society a couple Sundays ago.  Unfortunately, most of the “birds” were married, old, or otherwise unappealing.  Saw some terrific vultures though.

White-backed vulture at Moselesele Safari Park south of Gaborone.

 

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I am in an exercise class – the only male in a group of about 30 women.  Sounds great for a red-blooded 40-year-old guy who is always on the hunt for stimulating female companionship.  However, most are Africans which generally don’t turn me on.  About halfway through the class, the instructor has me lead the group in 5 to 10 minutes of aerobics.  While the chubby African ladies are getting wasted from my regimen of running, jumping jacks, skipping, etc., I offer enthusiastic encouragement, telling them how getting fit will enable them to dance much better next weekend.  The instructor is a beautiful British blonde who fills out her leotard in all the right places.  She’s very friendly but alas, she’s married.

Frankly, the worst part of this Botswana experience is the lack of a woman or women in my life and the scarcity of local prospects.  Not sure what I’ll do about that but I’m determined to stick with this job until next June.  And I’ve decided I’m not going back to the States for the Christmas holiday break unless I totally succumb to homesickness.  Why should I spend a minimum of six days of my vacation on airplanes, in airports, and recovering from jet lag?  The US$1200+ I would spend on such a trip would be much better used chasing women in and around Cape Town, hiking in the Drakensberg Mountains of Lesotho and Natal, or exploring the big dunes along the coast of Namibia.  I’ll definitely want to get out of Gaborone during the month-long Christmas break to recover from cabin fever and the summer heat.  I’ll probably miss skiing in Colorado and seeing my friends, but I won’t miss Ronald Reagan’s America.  Jezus, I hear Ronbo is thinking of nominating Utah Senator Orin Hatch for the next Supreme Court vacancy.  Will Hatch look for guidance for his decisions in the Book of Mormon?  Or maybe he’ll consult with his buddies on the LDS Council of the Twelve.  Don’t get me started on the separation of church and state!