Saturday, 18 April 1987, 7:00 PM: Visa Problems & Partying with Students

Saturday, 18 April 1987:  Visa Problems & Partying with Students 

7:00 PM, UB Environmental Science Computer Room

South African Visa Hassles:  Today is the 212^th Anniversary of Paul Revere’s Ride but Massachusetts is a long way from here so I’ll focus on my current situation regarding further travel to South Africa and my application for a two-year teaching contract at the University of Botswana.  The latter is still tied up in the university selection committee.  I should know something in a week or two – maybe. 

With regard to South Africa, my original visa has expired and the agency that issues visas is giving me a royal run around.  It seems that SATOUR (the South African Tourist Board) is not endorsing my visa renewal.  So the Department of Internal Affairs wants all kinds of details about my proposed travels, the papers I’m writing for, the people and organizations I will be contacting, the nature of my job in Botswana, etc.  I applied for the renewal in early February and have now made at least five phone calls to Pretoria.  I keep getting reassured that there is no problem.  The latest word I got on Thursday was that a decision would be reached no later than this coming Monday.  A Mrs. Smith has promised to telex me when she has an answer.  I won’t hold my breath waiting or I might suffocate several times.

I could get really angry about getting jacked around, but in a way I find it rather amusing.  It’s just another part of my stories, after all.  I almost hope they don’t renew the visa.  Then I’ll simply publish what I’ve got which is plenty.  Actually, I’m getting sick of South Africa.  I won’t have to spend any more money in their goddamned country, and getting denied a visa will put me in good company with legit American journalists who can’t get into South Africa.

I told SATOUR that I was holding off publishing anything because I wanted more time to develop a balanced perspective on the country given how quickly the situation is changing.  That’s true and they really have nothing to lose by letting me continue to visit. 

But one must remember the bottom line – the Boers may not be as stupid as they act sometimes but they are definitely paranoid.  SATOUR is undoubtedly pissed off at me because I haven’t published glowing stories in the American press about the beauty of their country and the safety of travelling there.  As an Indian South African in East London warned me last July, SATOUR was using me.  And since I didn’t play the game their way, they’re going to keep me out of their country.  Never mind that I want to develop an historical perspective on change in South African society before I rush to make judgments.  Never mind that I’ve shot some 30 rolls of mostly scenic slides all over their country.  Never mind that I’ve done nothing more subversive than take a couple telephoto shots of army trucks in Alexandra Township and listen to Archbishop Tutu speak out against detention.  Never mind any of that.

No, the South African government is afraid to let an off-beat American writer travel around their country without supervision.  Who knows what he might be doing – carrying messages between ANC operatives (untrue – wish I’d met some), smuggling banned books (untrue – they’re too heavy to carry around without a car), compiling nasty anecdotes about the government (yes, partly true I confess).  And, I’m hard to keep track of considering that I use various forms of transportation, don’t book reservations anywhere, mail my stories back to the States from hither and yon, and generally maintain a low profile.  I must drive them bananas, if they really give a shit.

But, considering their insidious security system (well-detailed in the novel A Dry White Season by Andre Brink), they may have enough information on me already to conclude that my attitude is less than cooperative.  However, they can’t undo what I’ve already learned about South Africa, good and bad.  A couple hundred thousand words of my experiences are already safely back in the USA.  More are on their way.

Perhaps I should have made more of an attempt to make contact with the subversive, anti-apartheid elements in South Africa.  I mean, if you’re going to go to jail for stealing a pig, you might as well walk off with the whole bloody pig farm!

On the other hand, maybe it’s me who is being paranoid.  My visa might arrive next week and I can carry on with my plans to visit Namibia (which still requires a South African visa).

Oh fuck, a bunch of students and other Batswana have just gathered close by and started up with the tribal/Jesus music.  Yes, Christianity is fairly big here and tomorrow is Easter Sunday.  These folks are great singers, but it’s a little much on a Saturday night when I’m trying to write.  I’m already half-crocked anyway after a fun afternoon of emptying beer tins with my fourth-year Geography of North America students over at my flat.  Think I’ll go have some munchies, get my tape recorder with ear buds to drown out the Christians, and write about the party with my students.

This brochure (in English and Setswana) was being widely distributed in Botswana when I was there.  AIDS was rampant in Botswana in the late 1980s.  There was speculation that it was brought to the country by Batswana men who lived most of the year in South Africa without their wives while working in mines and visiting prostitutes and by truck drivers who traveled between South Africa, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Zaire (Congo) and spent their cash on “good-time girls”.

9:10 PM 

The Student Party:  Back at the computer room.  The singing has stopped but now some guy is preaching.  When I walked by their religious assembly, he was saying, “Now the Jewish custom would never allow any woman to have an education.”  Yeah, keep ‘em ignorant and pregnant – isn’t that a precept of fundamentalist Christianity?

OK – about the party.  Some months ago, I’d half-promised my eleven 4^th year students a party at the end of the course.  After the last class, they reminded me of my offer and suggested we do it this Saturday since all of them would be here during the Easter holidays.  They compiled a list of everyone’s drinking preferences and conned me into buying some boerewors (boer sausage) for snacks so the event wound up costing me about 30 pula.  It was well worth it. 

Eight of the eleven showed up:  five women and three guys.  Somehow the conversation got started with AIDS (the hot topic in Botswana these days) which led into getting drunk which led into the population explosion which led into politics which led into the “battle of the sexes” which led into sex which led into the local education system which wound up with the future of Africa.  Along the way, we dabbled in boxing, existentialism, football (soccer), and life in America.  The conversation got rather crazy at times.  You really don’t get a full picture of this society until you’ve had a group of articulate Batswana in your little apartment who are well-oiled with alcohol and yelling at each other alternatively in English and Setswana.  For example, tall, thin Thomas kept pontificating about how ladies are a pain in the ass to which Hokotsang would reply, “Don’t listen to Thomas, Mista Mahunnie.  He’s crazy.”  By the way Hokotsang has an outrageous laugh, a cute figure, and corn-rows which fly all over creation when she gets excited.

One of the more enlightening and somehow reassuring aspect of the afternoon was realizing that this conversation was similar to what you’d get from a group of American university students including concerns that the educational system is designed to turn out robots, females saying males don’t know how to treat them like ladies, males saying females can’t carry on an intelligent conversation, life is a cosmic joke, the refectory (campus dining room) food is crappy, the government isn’t responsive to the needs of the people, women saying there needs to be a birth control pill for men, and men saying women belong in the kitchen.  Someone made a comment about “Mother Africa” and Hokotsang put her hands under her ample breasts saying, “That’s right – Mother Africa!”  All the time I’m injecting strategic questions here and there to keep the conversation lively and enhance my knowledge of campus life and attitudes. 

The group of eight had arrived around 2:30 and three hours later had dwindled to five, with 30 beers and a bottle of wine consumed and no booze left.  David, the quiet, somewhat scholarly Ugandan, threw out a five pula note on the table and two people went over to the student union to get us one more six pack.  Thomas was next to the last to leave and called out to his sparring partner, Hokotsang, to follow.  I wouldn’t have minded her staying on for some extra tutoring [sigh]. 

Enough writing!  I’m tired.