Southern African beer metaphor: If Botswana, South Africa, and Nambia are Africa Lite, then Mozambique is the thick dark lager. And they actually do serve dark beer in Moz! Palm trees sway, beaches are pristine, potholes make travel interesting, and you can harvest oysters yourself in the shallows, and eat them raw on the boat back to the mainland. Manhattan oyster bars, eat your heart out! More complete stories to come!
If you haven't heard the news, Cape Town is incredible! If you can save up to buy a plane ticket there, whether or not it's World Cup 2010 or a normal wintry African day, just go. How do you live the dream in CT? Start with Braai, go out for live music on Long Street, add a climb up Lion's Head, mix in a trip to wine country and some museums, and wrap it all up with a trip to Robben Island. Story and more pictures are on their way to illustrate :)
Kayaking at Walvis Bay was fantastic! If you ever find yourself in this part of the world, forget skydiving and climbing big sand dunes…go kayaking instead! The guide, Leon picked me up early in the morning, along with a German family, and we led another 4x4 of Spanish tourists south down the coastal road, passing a shipwreck along the way--these are quite common sights along this stretch known as the Skeleton Coast. After reaching Walvis Bay, we drove past the salt works (which features pink-tinted desalinization pools from the garnet residue in the water), flocks of flamingos and cormorants, and we spotted a few jackals on the drive out a sand spit. When we arrived at the launch point, we enjoyed some tea, then pushed our boats out into the bay to kayak amidst a massive colony of seals. The seals cover the land, and are frolicking everywhere in the sea. They will follow your kayak, and if you keep your boat still in the water, they will come play, biting lightly on your paddle, and even getting close enough to the boat for you to pet them! Sometimes, they will even jump over your boat--just hope they don't land on it! We kayaked with the seals for over an hour, then paddled farther down shore to try and find dolphins. Though we found some, we didn't get too close.
The kayaking was over all too soon, and we headed back to Swakopmund. On the drive, a caravan of black Benzes and police cars with sirens blaring passed us, which Leon explained was probably a government minister. He said that during the war in Namibia, when the Swapo government was new, if you didn't pull over to the side of the road fast enough, you could get shot. For those who don't know Namibia's history, it is a relatively new country, since South Africa kept it as part of their territory (they called it South West Africa) in breach of international law for several decades. Swapo was the coalition of native Namibian tribal groups advocating and fighting for an independent Namibia, and became the legitimate government at independence (and still is). Besides its internal struggle for independence, the territory was caught up between the fighting in Angola (Swapo used Angola as a base for launching attacks) and the anti-apartheid protests in South Africa (since Swapo supported the ANC). Some people in the region wouldn't call it a war, but Leon was from the area, and he certainly considered it one. Racial politics is still a huge reality to contend with here.
Back in Swakop, I went up in the tower above the library for a beautiful view of the city, then decided to attempt to find my friend David, and his new wife Sarah, who were due to be in town. I shot off an email from an internet café, then wandered back toward my hotel to (hopefully) wait for them. Swakopmund is obviously a small town--it took David about 10 minutes to find me. He spotted me from a few blocks away, and managed to catch up with me and surprise me by tapping me on the shoulder from behind. Hurray for reunions! It was absolutely fantastic to see David after five years, though we never imagined we'd meet again in Namibia! It was also wonderful to meet Sarah, who I'd always heard so much about when David and I were both studying in Ankara. The three of us enjoyed a lovely walk around town, a delicious dinner out (springbok medallions!), and a drink at a Cuban-themed bar. We reminisced about Turkey, talked about Southern Africa, and decided we shouldn't wait another five years to hang out again--a visit to Istanbul this year is in order, anyway, but since D and S will be there on David's Fulbright, there's another good excuse to go!
In the morning, I enjoyed even more Namibian culinary delights with D and S. German colonial heritage means German pastry shops! And after a tasty tart for breakfast, David and I succumbed to the carnivores within us (Sarah is a vegetarian) and had to visit the Biltong Hut. This place may have the best cured meat I have ever tasted (or will ever taste again). Garlic or chili or peri-peri--so many flavors to choose from! Sadly, my shortage of Namibian dollars limited my purchasing, but maybe it was for the better--you eat the stuff like candy, so if I'd bought a kilo, I probably would have eaten it all well before the end of the 24-hour bus ride to Cape Town.
I'm in Nambia! The trip was long, but I've reached the sea again. This time I am gazing out at the Atlantic facing west, which I haven't done since I left Morocco over a year ago. It is peaceful here and quiet in Swakopmund, where the Namib Desert meets the sea as tall sand dunes spill down into the ocean. The city itself feels like a rural Bavarian village transplanted thousands of miles south, with Africa adding the palm trees and tropical flowers to set off the timber-framed, pastel-colored buildings.
How I got here is quite the story. My final weekend in Gabs was hectic, but an appropriate exclamation point to punctuate the end of my internship. Friday night I went out bar-hopping with Sokwe and some of his friends, and we met up with Lauren and some other friends at Lizard Lounge later in the evening. Saturday night, after packing my bags, a friend's house party and braai meant I got to enjoy some delicious Botswana traditional food before heading out early Sunday to begin my travels. The direct bus to Windhoek only leaves on Friday and Sunday mornings, and in my desire to not plan too much for this trip and see what happened as a result, I hadn't booked a ticket ahead of time. But the "bus" to Windhoek was really just a large van for about 20 people, and it was full when Sokwe dropped me off at the bus station (after the taxi didn't come, I called for back-up). In retrospect, it's good that the taxi flaked, because Sokwe not only found me the bus to Ghanzi (that would take me part way to Namibia), but someone else that hadn't made the direct van and could accompany me all the way to Windhoek.
Elijah and I chatted some on the long bus ride before getting dropped off at 4 in the afternoon at the junction 40 km south of Ghanzi (in the middle of the Kalahari Desert) to hitch to the border. About 20 people and all their baggage were trying to do the same thing, and we were all rescued (I suppose) by what one girl referred to as a "police combi": a large police van that was headed an hour and a half west to the Botswana border town. We were crammed like zebras in a Botswana football stadium into this van, and by the end my legs had fallen asleep, but since the ride was in a government vehicle, we did not have to pay for the lift (as is typically common practice in Botswana). At the border, two Batswana girls also joined us trying to find a ride to Windhoek, and we immediately flagged down a truck after crossing the Botswana side. The driver agreed to take us all the way to the city after clearing customs.
Trucks are not the fastest lifts, but our options were quite limited, hitching is much less worrisome in groups, and the truck did have room for all of us, and our bags. We all took turns dozing off on the bed in the back of the cab on the 300+ km trip to Windhoek, and there was some good music, a program on how to solve ratios (weird) and some wildlife sightings to make up for the slow speed and late arrival. I felt like I could have re-written the lyrics to "Bobby McGee" with different geography references. The trucker was staying in his home in Windhoek for the night before pushing onto Angola, and went to fetch his SUV to take us into town with our bags while we waited on the side of the road (funny picture-taking ensued as we joked about being abandoned there). The trucker did show up again though, dropped us off downtown, then Elijah's brother met us and they were nice enough to take the girls to where they could meet someone from their internship program, and drop me off at a hostel (I think I could have stayed at their family's house if they had not been hosting other visitors at the time--I am constantly humbled by people's kindness). By now, it was after 11 pm, so reception was closed--no way to get a room for the night. But the night guard told me I could crash on the floor of the game room--good thing I brought my sleeping bag! And a can of beans from my house--otherwise, no dinner. A Polish guy named Peter shared a bottle of Coke with me while I ate, and told me about his trip--he had biked all the way to Namibia from Poland over the past year (across Europe, over to Morocco on the ferry, then south). Talk about an adventure! Suddenly, my 16-hour trip didn't seem so impressive.
Morning comes early when you sleep in the lobby. But after a pancake breakfast and a shower, I was ready to explore Windhoek. Wandering around town for an hour soon revealed, however, that there wasn't much to see. I had walked through the market, seen the church, the Parliament building, and after consulting the Lonely Planet in a garden, I decided after another hour or so of wandering around, I would be ready to move on--I wanted to get to the ocean! I could only handle being landlocked for so long, and it had been over two months! While I was sitting reading, a girl approached and wanted to know where I was from, and how she could get into college in the U.S. This is one of those incredibly complicated questions, especially when you know the questioner wants a five-minute answer, but I tried to be helpful. In return, she offered to walk me around the rest of Windhoek, and tell me about the Namibian education system. We looked at one of the local museums together, and grabbed lunch (chicken of course) at the Hungry Lion. Tinah then helped me gather my bags and search for the combi to Swakopmund. This took two taxis to different transport stops, but was eventually successful. I was going to the beach! Things seemed to be looking up--I had arranged a hostel room on the phone earlier, and I was on vacation! A few more bumps in the road were yet to come though. We arrived in Swakopmund after dark, and it took me some time to get a taxi into town. Then, the hotel had messed up my reservation, and only had a single room (rather than the dorm) available for about $40 a night. I was too exhausted from all my traveling at this time of night to care. At least it came with free breakfast. And actually, a bed in a room all to myself sounded amazing. It was--I went to bed early and slept like a log.
Tuesday morning, and my vacation had finally started. After moving my bags to the dorm, I went exploring. First stop: the water! I walked out to the edge of the jetty, then wandered up the beach, running into the water sporadically as the mood struck me. How refreshing to be back at the sea! After more wandering, I explored the public library, taking the time to read some Hemingway and absorb his simplistic writing that also professes its love for the sea. But if I adore the ocean, I also have a certain fondness for tacky museums, so after taking in the pretty views of the lighthouse and dodging curio sellers, I found the "Kristal Galerie"--home to the largest quartz crystal on display in the world! It was taller than me, so I guess it was relatively impressive. I don't know if I'd go as far as the welcome note outside the museum though and call crystals "magical". I took some goofy timed pictures in the crystal corridor walk of the museum to try and feel magically inspired. Don't know if I quite got there though.
Ready to get back in tune with nature outside a rock museum, I stopped by a travel agency to explore the option of kayaking while I was waiting to meet up Thursday with friends. After getting that as organized as could be expected (weather dependent!), I decided to walk south of town to explore the sand dunes. Expecting to be awed by seeing the ocean from the top of a big series of dunes, I was actually somewhat underwhelmed. Seeing large quantities of sand next to water is not really that unique after all. It's really just an elevated beach. It was also so windy that sand was everywhere--in my hair, sticking to my chapstick, blowing into my bag. Enough of that. I headed back to town to buy groceries and a bottle of wine for dinner at the hostel. And to wrap up an eventful day in Swakopmund (after the necessary shower to get the sand out of my hair), I grabbed a well-deserved Windhoek lager at the hotel bar, enjoying a nice chat with Frank from Germany.
Wednesday was incredibly relaxed, except for issues with the hotel (yet again). If you ever find yourself in Swakopmund, don't stay at the Gruner Kranz hotel. Since the hotel didn't have a large tour group staying at their hostel that night or the next, they wanted me to find another hotel the next day. I did not want to deal with the hassle of moving again (especially since I was leaving Friday), but after I had them make enough phone calls to full hostels and convinced them I wouldn't be a big problem, they agreed to let me stay. I spent most of the day writing by the water, enjoying a hot chocolate at a café during sunset, and ordered a pizza from a restaurant by the hostel for dinner. I was getting up early to kayak, and wanted to be well-rested.
Last week, the UN was kind enough to fly me back to Kasane for the final days of my internship to observe a women's leadership training. This meant I met seventeen impressive Batswana women, all while living it up in the lap of safari luxury.
The flight on Air Botswana was a significant upgrade from the drive to Kasane I'd made a few weeks ago--planes do not have to deal with monster potholes, nor livestock in the road. Instead of dealing with a tortuous drive, I got to relax in my seat and gaze at the vastness of the salt pans and unending lines of veterinary cordon fence crossing the landscape as I ate my complimentary beef biltong. This was the first of the week's many pleasant culinary discoveries, and I am slightly disappointed I did not opt to try biltong sooner in my time in Southern Africa. Similar, but far superior in flavor to jerky, biltong comes in many varieties: beef, or the leaner game (generally kudu) or ostrich. I've got a hunch I will get my protein fix from the stuff during my upcoming travels.
The conference was held at Mowana Lodge, which sits overlooking the banks of the Chobe River. The rooms have billowy mosquito nets encasing four-poster beds, balconies to watch the sunset from, and all the amenities you could want--I took all the complimentary toiletries for my backpacking trip, but opted to leave the slippers (not so practical).
The best part of the lodge, apart from the lounge where one could gaze at hippos playing in the river, was definitely the buffet...for all three meals. I restrained myself from going too crazy and went on a few afternoon jogs during the week to compensate, but took full advantage of the traditional Botswana taste treats. These included:
**panye**--grubs! These little caterpillars live on the leaves of the mopanye tree and are a favorite elephant nutrition source. Cook them up, take out their little pokey spines, don't think about the fact you're eating a bug, and pop it in your mouth. Crunchy and high in protein--Hakuna Matata!
**kudu**--an African ungulate (deer) with curly horns. The meat is gamey, lean and tasty!
**batata**--when I first saw them, I assumed they were Australian toaster biscuits--that's what they looked like. But the bread is doughier, chewier, and the perfect accompaniment to a creamy soup.
**root vegetables**--squash and beets, always delicious!
**Chobe bream**--my final night at the game lodge, the group ate outside by the bonfire, and I tried this regional fishy specialty. A dense fish, but delicious!
Besides gorging myself, I also enjoyed watching the training and helping out when needed. The UN Botswana director was running the training, and the participants included an impressive array of women. In attendance were: one of the Botswana Defense Forces' first female soldiers (she had to walk 120 km in 36 hours at the end of her basic training!), lawyers who have worked to pass legislation combatting gender-based violence in Botswana, a local chief that hears family law cases, a representative from DeBeers (the diamond company that has mining operations in Botswana), a woman running her own design company, women working in government ministries, the UN, human resources, the Botswana Police Force, and Botswana Prisons.
The sessions allowed time for the women to tell their life stories, discuss leadership challenges they face as women in a patriarchal society, and reflect on how to better balance their strenuous work lives with their families and individual time. These women are well-educated, motivated women, so many of their challenges echo those of women in the U.S.--one noted that in Botswana, a woman has to "work three times as hard as a man to earn the same level of respect". One could argue that these women are not the ones that need leadership training, but I think that alot of them appreciated time to think about how to better manage everything that is important to them in their lives. But yes, perhaps the next step would be to train women not in such high-powered positions how to take greater leadership roles in their communities (this is the former Peace Corps Volunteer in me talking).
The week's sessions ended with an afternoon of individual reflection time, during which many (myself included) opted to go on a river cruise. While I'd done one just a few weeks earlier, the experience is so peaceful, I couldn't pass up the opportunity--and I love seeing elephants! This cruise went further downstream than the one I'd done previously--we saw a lodge where Elizabeth Taylor had one of her many weddings. The women also loved the cruise--though I was reminded I was in a dry, landlocked country when one of them told me how much she is afraid of water and snakes (and spent a good portion of the trip holding onto my hand for dear life after we saw a lizard swimming near the boat).
On the last half day of the training, we were competing for space with the SADC Attorneys General conference happening upstairs. This actually turned out to be pretty cool though, because the president of Botswana, General Ian Khama, was there to open the ceremony and we got to see him come downstairs for a photo op--I was only 30 feet away! I know there was security there, but the atmosphere felt pretty relaxed. I guess in a country of less than 2 million people, with no international disputes, there's not much need for a Secret Service. Oh yeah, and the population doesn't elect the president...the party basically just chooses whomever the vice president is as president when one retires. I can offer more opinions on that later. But my internet time is running out...
We also got to observe the entertainment--traditional dancing and singing--on our tea break. The music in Southern Africa is beautifully harmonious and earthy in it's practicality. When I asked about the lyrics, the translation was: "Don't put this oil on your skin, or the insects will come bite you."
I will keep this in mind as I set out on my travels, especially in malaria zones. The little pearls of wisdom I gained from the super Botswana women I will keep for longer.
Pictures and tales of Namibia when I get a longer connection...
Last night, one of my friends here (she is also named Julia), was injured in a car crash while on her way to meet Lauren and I at a club to celebrate our last weekend all together in the city. When she was late showing up, I called her phone, which was answered by our friend, Sokwe. He was at the hospital with her, and when he told us what had happened, we caught the first taxi we could find to Princess Marina Hospital.
When we arrived, we got more details--the car she was riding in had been slammed into on the passenger side by an SUV at an intersection. The doctors were stabilizing her, and her boss and several of her co-workers were there, making sure everything that needed to be done was happening. The driver of the car she had been in was slightly dazed, but unhurt. I took on the undesirable but necessary task of searching her phone to find contact info for someone in the States. While I was trolling through her contacts' list (unsuccessfully), she was stabilized, and we were able to go in and talk to her--she was in a neck brace and in shock, but was (to our relief) conscious and able to talk a little. She gave me her mom's phone number, and I called. Having to tell someone thousands of miles away that someone they love has been hurt is not a task I would wish on anyone, but luckily the news was somewhat promising at that point, and her mom, though obviously incredibly worried, stayed calm and said she would call soon and wait to hear if anything new happened.
The night dragged on as Lauren, Sokwe, Julia's boss, and I waited for the results of the x-rays and ultrasounds. Sometime around 3 am, the doctor met with us to show us the x-rays, which held good news--no broken bones, spinal damage, or internal bleeding. Julia was fast asleep when we went in to see her, and it would be some time before she had the cut on her forehead stitched up and was seen by some specialists. So Sokwe drove Lauren and I home, and Julia's boss kept us updated throughout the night. She was released from the hospital earlier today, and I'm going to visit her in a few hours. I am so relieved that she is going to be alright.
A scary night in the hospital serves as a shocking reminder of how prevalent traffic accidents are, particularly in Africa, and what a major problem they have become in Botswana. Many people do not escape with such minor injuries as Julia's, and many lose their lives. Botswana's traffic fatality rate increased 383% between 1976 and 1998 , and in 2007, Botswana had the highest road fatality rate in the world. These staggering statistics can partially be attributed to a growing number of better roads and vehicles since independence, but also comes down to behavior (and some corruption--see the previous article link). I have to wonder why accidents are so common here. Botswana is small (less than 2 million people), with quality roads within and between major cities. The education system is also good, and getting a driver's license is not easy, so it's not that people don't know the risks that accompany bad driving--they make a personal choice to drive unsafely. Accidents tend to increase in frequency at the end of the month, when people are paid and decide to go spend some money having fun out on the town. Drinking and driving is frighteningly common (despite the punishment that accompanies getting caught), but even sober drivers often run red lights or anticipate green ones, or drive quickly and recklessly. Last night, the unseasonable rain probably also wasn't too helpful.
I'm not sure what exactly should be done, and I'm still tired from the night in the hospital, so I'm not thinking very creatively--maybe the government needs to implement mandatory road safety lessons in schools, rather than just have people take a test for a driver's license. I do hope a more successful policy that results in safer driving can be implemented though--I'm so glad my friend is alright, but know that many others will not come out so lucky.
***UPDATED***
Julia changed her flight to go home a day earlier than planned--the following Monday. I went with her to the hospital on Saturday night to get a CT scan (which the first hospital she went to didn't have). The reading was normal, and the doctor gave her the ok to travel. She is now back in Atlanta, recovering.
Yesterday, I learned the way into the hearts of Batswana everywhere--become one of them! All it takes is 250 pula to buy a beautiful traditional skirt in the Main Mall, and everyone thinks you are a Motswana! All day, people were speaking to me in Setswana (which, of course, I did not understand), and I got countless compliments--in the street, at the grocery store, in the office. It was a fitting way to wrap up my time in the office, since this coming week I will be headed to Kasane again to observe and assist in putting on a women's leadership training.
Our co-worker, Dorcas, organized a lovely little farewell party for Lauren and Ian and I. Gratitude for the internship experience and the work we'd done here was expressed by interns and UNDP employees alike. People in the office had chipped in to buy us presents--we got some awesome traditional leather shoes, which complimented my outfit nicely! Dorcas must be a genius at guessing shoe sizes, because they were a perfect fit.
So I will be sad to leave the office behind--it's been a great internship here in Gabs. But exciting travels are coming soon!
Pictures from the final week in the office...going out to lunch, our farewell party, pictures in the office (the wildlife painting does not seem quite appropriate for the UN), and a week later out on the town (the BDF officers' mess, Lizard Lounge):
Every culture has its meeting points, and hang out locales. The meeting point may, in fact, predate settled civilization, if we picture our hunter-gatherer ancestors defining the water hole, or a certain cluster of sheltering rocks as a definitive and necessary rendezvous location for survival. Today, meeting points may feature a component of quotidian necessity due to the government business or trade conducted at the location. However, they may also serve little purpose other than their aesthetic or symbolic cultural value (think the Eiffel Tower or Statue of Liberty), but can tell us much about the people’s history that they define.
In Botswana, the meeting point and definitive cultural icon has evolved from the San (Bushmen) survival-oriented locations to that most abhorrent American creation: the mall. As someone that tends to shudder at the word “mall” and spends as little time as possible in them in the U.S. (unless it’s the bookstore), I was relieved to find that “mall” can take on several definitions here in Gaborone, and not all malls scare me off. I explored the Main Mall in Gabs on my first day in town, accompanied by two German girls currently living in Namibia.
The Main Mall is really just a long pedestrian walkway in the center of the closest thing Gabs has to a downtown. Tables are set up along the length of the mall, with vendors selling everything from beans and dried grubs (that’s edible bugs for those of you who were unwilling to believe it the first time you read it) to traditional Botswana skirts, baskets, furry sandals, and pairs of earrings that cost 10 pula (about $1.50—buying these may suck up most of my extra summer stipend). Setswana music sounds from speakers at tables selling local tunes. And on either side of this semblance of a traditional marketplace are shops, restaurants (including KFC), and a grocery store. These places of business may at times be necessary and useful when you need to buy a cell phone or get lunch on your break from work, but are completely optional if you’re not in the mood for shopping.
The Mall also speaks to the short history of Botswana as a nation, and Gaborone as a capital city. Botswana was a British Protectorate from 1885 until its independence in 1966. "Gabs," also fondly known as the GC, became the capital, but at independence was only a small village that simply met the criteria of being within the new borders of Botswana (unlike the previous administrative capital, Mafikeng). It was also close to other centers of civilization (the railroad, Johannesburg) and therefore accessible, unlike the vast desert that covers most of the country. Full of relatively recent construction, and bustling with people, the Main Mall is indicative of Botswana’s rapidly urbanizing and (when compared to other African nations) relatively affluent standard of living.
Botswana’s diamond and mineral wealth has been used wisely by the country’s leaders over the past 40 years, and while economic disparities within the population exist, this place is doing pretty well for a developing country—for example, you can drink water straight from the tap almost anywhere in the country. The big exception to development "success" is, of course, AIDS, but I've commented on that elsewhere. While many malls in Gabs are slightly shabbier, less variegated versions of the Main Mall, a few exceptions speak to the prosperity that exists in Botswana: one is Riverwalk, a lovely two-story esplanade with cafes, a cinema, and fancy clothing and grocery stores (organic, anyone?). The other is the even more ostentatious Game City Mall, which resembles an American indoor mega-complex almost to a T—only the decoration, which features San Bushman cave drawings, hints at the true culture that exists outside the mall’s parking lot. This is obviously where white people go to gear up for safaris, eat ice cream, or go to the movies.
I went to see a film at Game City early in my time here, and almost forgot I was in Africa. The decided-upon flick (since most of the group, myself included, had seen Star Trek and Slumdog Millionare) was "17 Again". I left the theater somewhat eagerly after the final credits had rolled—perhaps it was Zac Efron’s mediocre acting, but, honestly, even that was somewhat reconciled by his decent dance moves and deep blue eyes. I think my desire to escape Game City actually sprung from the complete sense of bewilderment I felt being in such an absurdly prosperous location in a region most Americans would typically associate with disease, pain, hunger and suffering. Welcome to Botswana—land of contradiction and paradox.
But perhaps my favorite mall in Gabs is one that doesn't necessarily have a whole lot of history, nor does it try too hard. The Maru-a-Pula Shopping Center is about half-way along the hour and a half walk from my office to home. Lauren and I discovered it while looking for a place to eat before attending the weekly film showings at nearby Maru-a-Pula school (which features a great sign: "You are just passing one of the best schools in Africa...where 'just passing' isn't good enough.").
This mall features the usual gas station, clothing boutiques, and grocery store, but is also quite multi-cultural. We visited an Indian grocery, where I purchased some incense, red lentils, and chana masala mix. We also found the Chinese restaurant in the mall to have an extensive and affordable menu of decent Chinese food, complemented by Chinese CNN on the tube providing welcome ambiance. Maru-a-Pula also features an interesting selection of local dive bars: while unsuccessful in finding food, we watched a dance practice at "The Shebeen" (which is the rough Southern African translation for "dive bar"). Last Saturday night, we decided to go see what the Shebeen looked like when things were really happening. So we caught a cab over, but obviously Saturday is not the Shebeen's night--we hear Thursday is much better; the place was dead. However, two doors down, Discount Bar presented a superb alternative. The music was loud, the bar was crowded, we were the only non-locals in sight, and with a name like "discount," the beers had to be cheap!
Once inside, as the only foreigners in the place, we quickly became the focal point of the bar. The only guy in the group--Ian--oblivious to the fact he was leaving four girls in the lion's den, went outside to talk to his girlfriend on the phone. Soon every guy in the place wanted to talk to us, and since most of them were drunk, the conversation was neither coherent, nor particularly interesting. After about five minutes, we decided to finish our beers outside in the parking lot, where the harassment was somewhat reduced. Our guard was up though, which resulted in a few embarrassing encounters:
Random guy: Can I ask you a question? Us (looking away): Uh...I don't think so. Random guy: Sorry, do you know if this is where things are happening tonight? Is there anywhere better? I'm from South Africa. Us: Oh, sorry. We don't know. We're not from here either. Random guy: Yeah, I know.
Well, if you saw we were white, why did you ask us? We took our picture with our new friend anyway.
Another funny moment: Soft-spoken guy, talking to Jeanette: Excuse me. Jeanette looks weirded out, doesn't speak, and moves away from him. Lauren (jumping in to stand up for Jeanette): Um, she's MARRIED. Jeanette (giving the guy a closer look): Oh, wait, don't I know you? You're so-and-so's (a co-worker's) husband! Sorry!
We could only handle so much dive bar and so many awkward parking lot encounters. After the Castle lagers were done, we moved on to Bull & Bush to enjoy a few more drinks and a hot dance floor, courtesy of several DJs. The awkward encounters weren't over yet though! I started talking to a guy I recognized from my plane ride into Gabs a few months ago--I picked him out to be a Marine at the U.S. Embassy, and we chatted for awhile about the embassy experience, and how we liked Botswana. After we parted ways, Lauren and Ian were adamant there was either a slinky or a giant condom in the guy's back pocket (judging by the white ring showing on his jeans), and wanted me to go ask what it was. Not really caring either way, and putting my money on it being a tin of chew, I went to ask him:
Me: Excuse me, my friends were wondering what was in your back pocket? It's chew, isn't it? Marine: Oh, I have these jeans on. Yeah, it's Copenhagen. Me (I hate chew, but was trying to be polite): Wow, is that easy to find here? Marine: I have it ordered in. Me: Oh, embassy stores, right. Ok, well thanks for clearing that up...I don't know why my friends thought it was a slinky, or maybe a giant condom. Marine: Um, no, I don't carry a condom every night. Me (trying not to sound sarcastic): Right. Ok, have a good night!
That conversation needed to end.
There are pictures to accompany it all! Main Mall, Game City, Shebeen, Discount Bar, Bull&Bush:
