7 & 14 March 1987: Some Tidbits about Life in Gaborone

 UB Environmental Science computer lab

“Ruthless People”, starring Bette Midler, finally made it to the Capital Cinema here in Gaborone so I’m heading down there tonight for some laughs.  You can get a good seat there for only two pula (about US$1.00).  I sneak in beer and popcorn (which they don’t sell) in my backpack.  Coming attractions include “About Last Night” with Rob Lowe and Demi Moore.  Movies seem to get here about a year late but who cares?  Ah, the simple pleasures of life in Africa.

My friend Barend Toerien, the Afrikaner poet whom I met in Cape Town, recently sent me an insightful and humorous short story that appeared in The New Yorker last year. Titled “Official Americans” by Norman Rush, the story details the torments of Carl, a USAID official working in Gaborone, who is unable to sleep at night.  Why?  He is kept awake by eleven dogs that bark all night on the property of his next door neighbor, an official in the Botswana government.  Neither ear plugs nor talking to the neighbor solve the problem.  Finally, he gets help from a sangoma, a traditional southern African healer. 

The story includes several observations about Botswana that jive with my experiences here:

- It is realistic to imagine that an American used to quiet residential neighborhoods back home would have a tough time sleeping with all the barking dogs and other noisy animals here be they meowing cats, braying donkeys, bleating sheep, or mooing cows.  For me, the cats are the worst.  We have a large population of them on campus which live off the garbage from the student refectory (dining hall) and they keep me awake with noise associated with fighting and mating. 

- The planned city of Gaborone is crisscrossed by “people’s paths” which are used by pedestrians and bicyclists nearly all of whom are local people.  I often use the paths to get around on my bike or on foot but I’ve never seen any other ex-pats using them.  Almost all ex-pats get around by car.  Thus, the Batswana find me a curiosity when they see me pedaling by, perhaps with my knapsack full of groceries from the Spar Supermarket.  They generally don’t stare at me but if they do, I smile and say “Dumela” (hello).  However, nights on the people’s paths are a bit different.  I don’t have a headlight on my bike so I use a backpacker’s headlamp worn on a strap around my forehead.  The Batswana think it’s hilarious to see a white man riding a bike and wearing what looks to them to be a miner’s lamp.  Oftentimes, they crack up with laughter at the sight of me.  At first, I was offended; now I just pedal on and smile. 

 

The Batswana found it hilarious to see me wearing a headlamp while biking or walking along Gaborone’s unlighted people’s paths at night.  Photo by Hugh Gordon.

 

- Street vendors here don’t bargain and of course, they seem to have one price for locals and a higher price for ex-pats.  When I’ve complained that 25 thebe (a quarter of a pula) is too high for a banana, they smile or ignore me.  So I generally avoid their stands and buy my bananas at the Spar market for 15 thebe.  Most of the produce comes from South Africa, and I agree with the author that the South Africans seem to send us their worst fruits and vegetables or maybe it gets that way in transit. 

- Whether attending private or government (public) schools, children wear uniforms.  The girls at the Gaborone Secondary School wear orange dresses with blue stripes which make them look a bit like waitresses at a truck stop! 

- “Official” Americans, whether AID officials or Peace Corps volunteers, get gamma globulin shots every six months to prevent hepatitis.  The shots are advisable but not necessary here.  The U.S. embassy nurse gave me one for free recently.  I had been in a French class with her. 

- Mosquitoes are the most detestable form of animal life in Africa.  They aren’t too bad here, and we do not have a malaria problem in Gaborone.  Before I got my big electric fan, it always seemed that one of the little bastards would make its way through the window screen and drive me bananas while I was trying to sleep.  I’d get up, switch on the light, and try to find the offending bugger.  However, mozzies seem to have this instinctual thing about sitting camouflaged on a curtain or other dark background when the light is on.  Sometimes I’d lay in bed wearing my sleep mask with the light on and bearing my chest hoping the little menace would come after me.  I occasionally slept half the night like that with a can of Doom Insect Spray in my right hand.  The fan has largely eliminated the mozzie problem as they don’t seem to be able to navigate through a wind created by a fan at high speed.  

- It is strange experiencing news from America long after it happens.  Suppose I should get a good shortwave radio so I can pick up BBC and VOA.  I go down to the American Library at the U.S. Embassy on Wednesdays to watch the highlights of two-week old ABC news.  The network sends them VCR tapes every week. 

- Mealie(s), mealie meal, or mealie pap is a staple of the southern African diet.  It’s made with ground corn and is roughly equivalent to American grits or porridge.  I’ve learned to make excellent mealies with no lumps.  I serve it with curried vegetables or buy it from a shop down on the Gaborone mall smothered with beef and gravy.         

- One paragraph in the story really resonated with me.  Carl asks another American in Gaborone if she likes life in Botswana.  She answers that she does.  Carl goes on to say, “…you can’t quite figure out why you like it, am I right? …Because, I mean, hell, it’s inconvenient [here].  …[but] one night I figured it out.  It’s because it isn’t our country and we can’t help what happens.  We can offer people advice and we get paid for it.  We get good vacations, we eat off the top of the food chain, we get free housing.  Hey – but we’re not responsible for what happens if Africa goes to hell, because we’ve done our best.  Also, at the same time, we’re not responsible for what happens in America, either, really, because – hey! – we weren’t home when it happened.”

A March 1987 sunset in Gaborone