Mr. Eltnolep teaches integrated science and has been working at Kumakwane Secondary School for 9 years. Nine years makes Mr. Eltnolep the longest serving member of the teaching or administrative staff at our school. A decade at one site is incredibly rare since the Botswana education system requires teachers to transfer schools every 5 years or so. Some slip through the cracks like Mr. Eltnolep but most serve in 8 – 9 different schools during their teaching careers. This transfer system does wonders for making people Wholly Unattached to their school community and you can imagine the effect it has on the Often-Distant-And-Disrupted-Family-Unit. Transfers. Solitude. Loneliness. Promiscuity. HIV/AIDS. These things collide.
I digress.
So Mr. Eltnolep is in my office flashing his bright white smile and convincing me to stop by the table tennis practice this afternoon. I have heard that our team placed top in the district and, yes, I’d love to see them play.
Mr. Eltnolep speaks in a booming voice that seems misplaced on his wispy frame. He is always laughing and I enjoy his easy nature. He doesn’t make me feel like a deer.
We talk about table tennis and the weather and the weekend but when I realize he’s wanting to chat for a while longer I start asking Report Questions. He doesn’t realize I’m researching and so is incredibly honest and forthcoming.
I choose the subject that no one will talk about. The subject that turned my boisterous host family into stone when I mentioned it. The subject that people avoid in churches and hospitals. The subject that knots my stomach a thousand times and yet simultaneously piques my fascination.
I ask him about Witchcraft.
Of course I don’t s a y witchcraft. I start with something simple. I start with the roots.
Mr. Eltnolep scowls a bit at the term: Ancestor Worship.
We call it African Traditional Religion.
Oh. Ok. Sorry.
I start a follow-up question but he predicts the theme and launches into an explanation without my lead…
The thing is, the missionaries brought Christ and modernity. Before that it was only African Traditional Religion. And yes, we believe in the power of our ancestors. They are the link to our gods. They speak for us. In traditional religion you can’t just go talking with the gods yourself. You must have an intermediary.
So, ancestors sound kind of like the Catholic saints.
Right, exactly. But the thing is, the missionaries taught us there was only Jesus Christ and that our traditional religious beliefs were wrong. We craved modernity and wanted to be seen as progressive so we accepted their religion. But we are still Africans. Today we’re all proclaiming Christianity but the African Traditional Religion still definitely exists.
Do you know people who still practice it?
African Traditional Religion is our roots, Bontle -- our culture. Most people practice both religions. I’d say close to 95% of Batswana who call themselves Christian also practice traditional worship. They just don’t talk about it.
I’ve started taking notes.
Even me.
He laughs a little as he says this and I look up from my paper. He looks embarrassed. He laughs again. I smile and tell him he is the first person who has been willing to talk with me about this subject. His shoulders drop a bit.
I’m impatient for more. I ask him about ancestor powers, traditional medicine, witch doctors, religious customs, herbal healing, etc etc. Mr. Eltnolep speaks perfect English and describes the details well. We talk for 30 minutes and somewhere along the way he forgets his nervous laugh completely.
Until I ask about child sacrifice.
The question hangs in the air for a very long time and Mr. Eltnolep looks away from me before answering.
Well yes. He says to his feet. Yes, these things happen.
There is a heavy silence where I swallow too loudly.
It hasn’t always been this way, he continues. It’s happening more now.
You see, the western medicine came in with the missionaries too. Over time, western medicine began replacing traditional medicine altogether. Eventually things like traditional religion and traditional healers became kind of…well… taboo. Primitive. In many villages the traditional doctors began to lose the respect of their communities. And the business.
He pauses so I can catch up with my notes. I’ve stopped being furtive and he’s stopped being embarrassed. It seems that my fascination may even be encouraging him.
And so as their trade began losing popularity traditional healers went to greater lengths to convince people of their power. And to obtain power. And so they started these things which are very bad. And they do happen. Sometimes you’ll hear them in the newspaper. They do happen.
His eyes look heavy. He rubs his mustache.
I am writing furiously and with a deep scowl:
But the kgosi. Doesn’t the kgosi disapprove?
Even the kgosi believes in African Traditional Religion. Bontle, it is our custom. There are probably 9 or 10 traditional healers even in Kumakwane. Not all of them do these things. Actually very few. But it does happen.
And the kgosi says nothing?
Mr. Eltnolep thinks for a minute.
Yes, sometimes they are called by the kgosi. When there is a missing person all the traditional healers will be called to the kgotla.
We read of these things in text books and novels. We learn about them and they sit in us and stay there. We hear about them from a colleague and they become more real. Not quite real but closer to real. That thing inside of us gets heavier.
And, one day, out of no where… that Thing becomes all too real, all too fast.
We’re hiking a mountain in Thamaga and it’s 8 in the morning. The peak is made of giant round boulders stacked on top of one another like children’s toys or abstract art. Some of the boulders have made a cave and we slip into the shadows there where our echoes whisper and the light grows dim.
Lee gasps.
As my eyes adjust I see them. Candles and egg shells and pieces of bone. We touch these things and they silence our echoes. When Lee turns over the bone she finds it covered long, deep etchings. From a knife. she says.
I hold the pieces of bone for a very long time. I pray that I am wrong.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Affection
I leave the door open to the guidance and counseling office when I’m collatingsurvey results or typing my site report (PC requirement during first months of service). Teachers and students pop in throughout the day to talk with the lekgoa or ask me for a pencil or sometimes just smile at me. I smile back and practice my pitiful Setswana and eventually I can’t say anything else and they get tired of looking at me and go away.
Seeing a white person in Botswana is like spotting a deer on the highway. People slow down. They lift their kids up and point at it. They want to look at it. Closely. They even, bashfully, would like to touch it. If, um, it doesn’t mind.
Just yesterday I was leaning my head against the window of a combi and little fingers from the seat behind me began stroking my hair. I considered turning around and telling the child to stop but then she started absentmindedly singing and the hair-playing kind of felt good and so I relaxed and let her pet the deer. I was amused. And kind of soothed.
There is a distinct shortage of relaxed affection for the Peace Corps Volunteer. We take what we can get.
I close my eyes and listen to her song and miss Everything and Everyone and am consoled.
Seeing a white person in Botswana is like spotting a deer on the highway. People slow down. They lift their kids up and point at it. They want to look at it. Closely. They even, bashfully, would like to touch it. If, um, it doesn’t mind.
Just yesterday I was leaning my head against the window of a combi and little fingers from the seat behind me began stroking my hair. I considered turning around and telling the child to stop but then she started absentmindedly singing and the hair-playing kind of felt good and so I relaxed and let her pet the deer. I was amused. And kind of soothed.
There is a distinct shortage of relaxed affection for the Peace Corps Volunteer. We take what we can get.
I close my eyes and listen to her song and miss Everything and Everyone and am consoled.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Pula
I was interviewing one of the clinic nurses yesterday and we came to the question:
What is your biggest concern for the village?
Without a seconds hesitation she answered me:
“Water. These people need water. Without water it’s like you cannot be human. We cannot go without for these days and weeks. They need water to live.”
**************
Despite the fact that Botswana is covered in desert most of the population are farmers who depend on water for their nutritional needs as well as their livelihoods.
**************
When I told my Motswana friends that I’d been stationed in Kumakwane I got the same response every time:
Ah. Kumakwane. Beautiful village. They have a water problem.
Further investigation told me Kumakwne is notorious for going days and even weeks without water. I bought a very large bucket.
**************
When I meet with the Kumakwane kgosi (chief) he tells me that in his 40 years as chief the only time the village has taken collective action is when they come together for Dikgafela, a celebration to thank God for a good harvest (i.e. the absence of drought).
A typical Dikafela celebration takes place when the kgosi calls for a vote regarding the harvest success. If the village votes in favor of Dikafela, the celebration is announced and the village gathers together at the kgotla to share their food surplus and celebrated together with singing, dancing, drinking and eating.
********************
The kgosi also tells me that the only time the government provides employment assistance is during national drought emergencies when citizens can register for work under the Botswana’s Drought Relief Program.
***********************
In Setswana the word for rain is pula. This is also the word for money. When Motswana cheer for one another they clap their hands together and shout “Pula! Pula!”
In Setswana the phrase “Ke Tu Metsi means “I am happy” and directly translates: “I have water.”
***********************
All of this I knew when I arrived at my house with no sink, toilet or tub. All of this I remembered when, after 3 weeks, the plumbers finally arrived at my house. All of this sat nestled in the back of my mind when, after two full days of work, my toilet was finally connected to the pipes. And all of this came tumbling to the front when, upon completing my house’s plumbing project the workmen turned on the faucet and VOILA
The pipes were dry.
Kumakwane was out of water.
For the first time I tasted this thing they had been expressing to me. This need. This urgency. Pula.
What is your biggest concern for the village?
Without a seconds hesitation she answered me:
“Water. These people need water. Without water it’s like you cannot be human. We cannot go without for these days and weeks. They need water to live.”
**************
Despite the fact that Botswana is covered in desert most of the population are farmers who depend on water for their nutritional needs as well as their livelihoods.
**************
When I told my Motswana friends that I’d been stationed in Kumakwane I got the same response every time:
Ah. Kumakwane. Beautiful village. They have a water problem.
Further investigation told me Kumakwne is notorious for going days and even weeks without water. I bought a very large bucket.
**************
When I meet with the Kumakwane kgosi (chief) he tells me that in his 40 years as chief the only time the village has taken collective action is when they come together for Dikgafela, a celebration to thank God for a good harvest (i.e. the absence of drought).
A typical Dikafela celebration takes place when the kgosi calls for a vote regarding the harvest success. If the village votes in favor of Dikafela, the celebration is announced and the village gathers together at the kgotla to share their food surplus and celebrated together with singing, dancing, drinking and eating.
********************
The kgosi also tells me that the only time the government provides employment assistance is during national drought emergencies when citizens can register for work under the Botswana’s Drought Relief Program.
***********************
In Setswana the word for rain is pula. This is also the word for money. When Motswana cheer for one another they clap their hands together and shout “Pula! Pula!”
In Setswana the phrase “Ke Tu Metsi means “I am happy” and directly translates: “I have water.”
***********************
All of this I knew when I arrived at my house with no sink, toilet or tub. All of this I remembered when, after 3 weeks, the plumbers finally arrived at my house. All of this sat nestled in the back of my mind when, after two full days of work, my toilet was finally connected to the pipes. And all of this came tumbling to the front when, upon completing my house’s plumbing project the workmen turned on the faucet and VOILA
The pipes were dry.
Kumakwane was out of water.
For the first time I tasted this thing they had been expressing to me. This need. This urgency. Pula.
From the Mouth of Babes
So the Guidance Counselor (my counterpart) was off at a workshop all last week and I got to take her classes. The first day I flopped and taught bizarre lessons where I couldn’t find the chalk and the students didn’t have writing utensils and everyone spoke to me in a ridiculously high-pitched voice (this is how they think Americans talk—I am greeted at least 20 times a day with “Hiiiiii” said in such an offensive, nasally way that it makes me cringe).
Okay, so Tuesday. Tuesday I get my footing back and I remember I’m planning for 50 African kids, not 10 ESL kids and things go a bit smoother.
By Wednesday I’m on a roll and the kids are asking me to stay for their next period and I’m contemplating how to engage them when – bingo… I remember The Peace Corps Assessment Survey. Perrrfect… I’ll distribute a questionnaire which will lead to discussion which will lead to more integration which will make up for the Monday-flop. Yee-haw.
So the first 21 questions of the survey are meant to get their wheels turning by having them rate (on a 1 – 5 scale) the quality of teaching, parent involvement, staff respect, exam preparation, food nutrition, access to resources, information dissemination, corporal punishment, etc. etc.
Once they’ve fully contemplated several aspects of their school’s quality they are then asked:
“In your own words, please write a few sentences describing
how your school experience could be made more positive.”
I administer this survey to over 300 students and spend the weekend reading through their profound and often heart wrenching responses. They describe their beatings, being insulted by the teachers, going days without food, being denied extra help in their classes, etc. etc. Fortunately these concerning comments are scattered among a number of amusing complaints and your typical high-school-kid concerns like: “I wish I could talk with my friends more.” and “Why can’t we spend all day in the computer lab?”
So in honor of these 300 Burning Little Soles I thought I’d share with you some of my favorite comments from their surveys. Naturally, these are anonymous. You will notice that many of them are still perfecting their English but it appears that sometimes those who must resort to simpler language have expressed their thoughts in an even more profound manner.
I have selected the most amusing and powerful comments from the bunch.
Enjoy….
* Building new toilets which use water.
* Teachers should not beat students for minor things like laughing.
* Being accepted as I am and not as I should be.
* There are teachers that like to shout to us when they get in the class they say we didn’t bathe.
* Our tradition should change and we should have friend who are boys.
* Students should be beaten on the bumps.
* Teacher should punish for a reason.
* Giving us more food and removing beans.
* Teachers should not tell students that they are stupid.
* Bring more experiences and buying one of each a laptop.
* Discipline could be enforced because students are seriously out of control.
* I think we should be treated at daycare centers where students use computers if we want (please).
* The stick is not solving anything so they should reduce beating.
* Teacher should be more friendly to us and always give us help when we need it even if they don’t like us.
* Teachers should beaten us in the hands almost every day.
* I think the school should be rebuilt again.
* Something that can make school better for me is no clean-up the school.
* Teachers should stop chewing gums when they are teaching.
* Watching television or playing which will help our being free from stress.
* Knocking off from school at 15:30.
* Teachers should mind their language when talking to students.
* By employment toilet cleaners.
* Change of school uniform to a more brighter color.
* Entertainment.
* Changing school stationary.
* Have more security so that thieves cannot store anything in our school.
* I think teachers should attend guidance and counseling classes on Tuesday and Wednesdays.
* Teachers should stop calling students with nicknames.
* More classes and toilet doors.
And, my personal favorite…
* If there was food and allowed to have girlfriends, I will rejoice.
Okay, so Tuesday. Tuesday I get my footing back and I remember I’m planning for 50 African kids, not 10 ESL kids and things go a bit smoother.
By Wednesday I’m on a roll and the kids are asking me to stay for their next period and I’m contemplating how to engage them when – bingo… I remember The Peace Corps Assessment Survey. Perrrfect… I’ll distribute a questionnaire which will lead to discussion which will lead to more integration which will make up for the Monday-flop. Yee-haw.
So the first 21 questions of the survey are meant to get their wheels turning by having them rate (on a 1 – 5 scale) the quality of teaching, parent involvement, staff respect, exam preparation, food nutrition, access to resources, information dissemination, corporal punishment, etc. etc.
Once they’ve fully contemplated several aspects of their school’s quality they are then asked:
“In your own words, please write a few sentences describing
how your school experience could be made more positive.”
I administer this survey to over 300 students and spend the weekend reading through their profound and often heart wrenching responses. They describe their beatings, being insulted by the teachers, going days without food, being denied extra help in their classes, etc. etc. Fortunately these concerning comments are scattered among a number of amusing complaints and your typical high-school-kid concerns like: “I wish I could talk with my friends more.” and “Why can’t we spend all day in the computer lab?”
So in honor of these 300 Burning Little Soles I thought I’d share with you some of my favorite comments from their surveys. Naturally, these are anonymous. You will notice that many of them are still perfecting their English but it appears that sometimes those who must resort to simpler language have expressed their thoughts in an even more profound manner.
I have selected the most amusing and powerful comments from the bunch.
Enjoy….
* Building new toilets which use water.
* Teachers should not beat students for minor things like laughing.
* Being accepted as I am and not as I should be.
* There are teachers that like to shout to us when they get in the class they say we didn’t bathe.
* Our tradition should change and we should have friend who are boys.
* Students should be beaten on the bumps.
* Teacher should punish for a reason.
* Giving us more food and removing beans.
* Teachers should not tell students that they are stupid.
* Bring more experiences and buying one of each a laptop.
* Discipline could be enforced because students are seriously out of control.
* I think we should be treated at daycare centers where students use computers if we want (please).
* The stick is not solving anything so they should reduce beating.
* Teacher should be more friendly to us and always give us help when we need it even if they don’t like us.
* Teachers should beaten us in the hands almost every day.
* I think the school should be rebuilt again.
* Something that can make school better for me is no clean-up the school.
* Teachers should stop chewing gums when they are teaching.
* Watching television or playing which will help our being free from stress.
* Knocking off from school at 15:30.
* Teachers should mind their language when talking to students.
* By employment toilet cleaners.
* Change of school uniform to a more brighter color.
* Entertainment.
* Changing school stationary.
* Have more security so that thieves cannot store anything in our school.
* I think teachers should attend guidance and counseling classes on Tuesday and Wednesdays.
* Teachers should stop calling students with nicknames.
* More classes and toilet doors.
And, my personal favorite…
* If there was food and allowed to have girlfriends, I will rejoice.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
The Make-Shift Alarm System
July 2nd, 2008
So, despite my steady progress in acclimating to this village a few challenges remain.
I’m great at peeing in a bucket, I can cook a whole meal by lantern light without cutting myself and my record for counter-top-dishes-washing is 45 minutes with just 3 trips to the water spicket but…
I can’t sleep.
There are noises Everywhere in this village and not the normal rooster-cow noises of my training village… no, in Kumakwane there are dog fights, donkey carts, brawling men and last night I heard a goat being slaughtered. Plus my cement walls and scant furniture let off ungodly echoes which wake me up terrified from the slightest creak.
Kris assures me this is Normal for my First-Month-Alone-In-Africa but I’ve never had trouble sleeping and it frustrates me a bit.
Then this past weekend I round a corner with the insomnia-plague: I sleep two full nights waking up only once (and I think I was roused by malaria nightmares vs. robber-noises). In any event, it was clear that I was adjusting to my sleep conditions and I was reassured of my own adaptability…
And then
And then my land lady comes knocking at my door tonight. Teloc. I greet her with a smile. Nice to see you—how did you pass your day (blah blah formalities) and then she says she’s looking for a level one of the builders left in the house (along their their magazines, jackets and a random brick, I think to myself). Anyway, we start scoring through the rooms and cant find the level and so we get to talking and she feels bad about my water/electricity/furniture shortage and I tell her it’s fine and we find the level and she’s about to go but the door is stuck from the broken hinge and she says OhTheHingeIsBroken in a voice that makes me nervous and the door pops open and she’s gone.
I don’t think too much about this Tone Of Voice Thing until she comes back two hours later with her groundsman. Teloc is in her bathrobe and the groundsman is scrutinizing the door and there are half-washed dishes all over my kitchen so I’m getting impatient but Teloc seems determined and then she starts talking.
Listen, the groundsman is going to fix this door and I want you to know I’m getting burglar bars for your windows—that’s my next project. And I want you to get some heavier curtains…
She starts checking my windows and I ask her if there have been a lot of break-ins in the area and she makes an ambiguous noise and starts talking about how the neighbors don’t have electricity so their house is dark and people might hide alongside my house and theirs and I start to get a little nauseous feeling and then
then Teloc starts hefting my gas tank against the front door.
Now, just so the picture is clear in your mind: My Middle Aged Bathrobed Landlady Is Hefting My 80 Pound Gas Cylinder Against My Front Door.
The cylinder is as tall as me and scary-heavy and she expects me to push this against the door every time I enter the house. (Mind you, I go out for water about 20 times a day)
Teloc and her groundsmen agree to come back tomorrow to work on fixing the door hinge in daylight (‘when it’s safer’) and I say goodnight and close the door and stare at my gas cylinder. The dogs outside start fighting on cue and I brace myself for another sleepless night.
(since writing this entry the burglar bars have been installed and the front door has been fixed… breathe, mum)
So, despite my steady progress in acclimating to this village a few challenges remain.
I’m great at peeing in a bucket, I can cook a whole meal by lantern light without cutting myself and my record for counter-top-dishes-washing is 45 minutes with just 3 trips to the water spicket but…
I can’t sleep.
There are noises Everywhere in this village and not the normal rooster-cow noises of my training village… no, in Kumakwane there are dog fights, donkey carts, brawling men and last night I heard a goat being slaughtered. Plus my cement walls and scant furniture let off ungodly echoes which wake me up terrified from the slightest creak.
Kris assures me this is Normal for my First-Month-Alone-In-Africa but I’ve never had trouble sleeping and it frustrates me a bit.
Then this past weekend I round a corner with the insomnia-plague: I sleep two full nights waking up only once (and I think I was roused by malaria nightmares vs. robber-noises). In any event, it was clear that I was adjusting to my sleep conditions and I was reassured of my own adaptability…
And then
And then my land lady comes knocking at my door tonight. Teloc. I greet her with a smile. Nice to see you—how did you pass your day (blah blah formalities) and then she says she’s looking for a level one of the builders left in the house (along their their magazines, jackets and a random brick, I think to myself). Anyway, we start scoring through the rooms and cant find the level and so we get to talking and she feels bad about my water/electricity/furniture shortage and I tell her it’s fine and we find the level and she’s about to go but the door is stuck from the broken hinge and she says OhTheHingeIsBroken in a voice that makes me nervous and the door pops open and she’s gone.
I don’t think too much about this Tone Of Voice Thing until she comes back two hours later with her groundsman. Teloc is in her bathrobe and the groundsman is scrutinizing the door and there are half-washed dishes all over my kitchen so I’m getting impatient but Teloc seems determined and then she starts talking.
Listen, the groundsman is going to fix this door and I want you to know I’m getting burglar bars for your windows—that’s my next project. And I want you to get some heavier curtains…
She starts checking my windows and I ask her if there have been a lot of break-ins in the area and she makes an ambiguous noise and starts talking about how the neighbors don’t have electricity so their house is dark and people might hide alongside my house and theirs and I start to get a little nauseous feeling and then
then Teloc starts hefting my gas tank against the front door.
Now, just so the picture is clear in your mind: My Middle Aged Bathrobed Landlady Is Hefting My 80 Pound Gas Cylinder Against My Front Door.
The cylinder is as tall as me and scary-heavy and she expects me to push this against the door every time I enter the house. (Mind you, I go out for water about 20 times a day)
Teloc and her groundsmen agree to come back tomorrow to work on fixing the door hinge in daylight (‘when it’s safer’) and I say goodnight and close the door and stare at my gas cylinder. The dogs outside start fighting on cue and I brace myself for another sleepless night.
(since writing this entry the burglar bars have been installed and the front door has been fixed… breathe, mum)
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Snapshot of an Ocean
This is a paper I recently submitted to my advisor-- part of the last few bits of my MPH requirements.
It's long-ish but gives a good picture of PC in Botswana and what I'm actually doing for work these days.
____
Just about two years ago I was sitting behind a desk in a Boston office building. I was five years into a career in International Education, working my way up the corporate ladder and filling up my resume with promotions and experience. I had taught in China for a year and returned to the States where I dove into an administrative position for international English schools. After three years I finally had my dream job in marketing that would allowed me to work creatively and travel all over Europe, meeting students and agents from around the world.
I felt successful, challenged, productive and yet completely unhappy.
I couldn’t stop thinking that something was missing. In China I had taught English to wealthy children all day and then walked home through streets thick with poverty and sickness. Now I was shmoozing with international business leaders in swanky hotels, completely shielded from the countries and culture that surrounded me. I was restless for something.
Two years later I’m sitting in a cement house in a tiny Botswana village. I’m exhausted, dirty, homesick and yet completely happy.
Peace Corps service puts me at a grassroots level where 33% of this population is infected with AIDS and the need is unmistakable. Despite my 43 credits in International Health Courses and my two months of intensive pre-service training, I feel incredibly small against the enormous tasks of HIV prevention and youth behavior change. Even so, I am eager, motivated and urgent.
At Boston University I took a course in HIV/AIDS where the professor told us that this disease would be part of our careers whether we wanted it or not. Epidemiologists, teachers, lawyers, social workers, statisticians—whatever we chose as careers in international health—HIV/AIDS would be there waiting for us. I remember this professor for his candidness and yet his determination.
I also remember sitting at a house party a week before I left for Botswana and someone drunk and laughing at my impending assignment: “It’s like you’re trying to drain the ocean with a teaspoon.”
This is my teaspoon:
Every morning I wake up at 5:30 and shiver through a bucket bath. I walk to school in time for the 6:50 bell when 350 secondary school students file into Assembly. I stand with the teachers and watch the children sing their morning prayers. After this I work.
I hold interviews with teachers and administrators, observe guidance classes, attend school clubs, visit local NGOs, arrange meetings with village nurses and speak with the village chief and his development committee. I walk through dusty streets and use my broken Setswana to chat with locals and shopkeepers about their concerns for the village. After work I buy dinner at one of the tiny tuck shops and make my way to my house across town. “Across town” is just a 30 minute walk through a population of just 3,000 village residents, most of whom work at the fields on the outskirts of town. I had asked for a small village where I could work on developing my language skills and so I’m quite pleased with this assignment. Once I arrive home I spend the evening typing a report and assessment of my community: its strengths and weaknesses, its stakeholders, its change agents—its potential.
The Lifeskills projects have one purpose: to strengthen the capacity of the school and community so they are better able to prevent HIV infection among this generation of vulnerable youth.
Three months from now I will finish my community entry report and begin to initiate intervention projects in line with this mission. I am hoping make these projects as sustainable as possible and, as a result, will work to incorporate the ideas and assistance of the 24 school teachers, 9 staff and 5 administrators at my workplace. One of the many Peace Corps slogans is “If you’re working alone, you’re doing something wrong.” I’ve explained this concept of capacity building and sustainability to every person I’ve interviewed and they seem eager to become involved. It is incredibly motivating to finally step out of the MPH student role and start seeing the reality of this public health philosophy and jargon.
Unfortunately, the reality of public health in the third world can also be incredibly discouraging:
The Guidance Counselor tells me that eight teenagers have become pregnant in Kumakwane in the past six months. The NGO tells me they are currently servicing 212 OVCs, nearly a tenth of the village population. The nurse tells me she sees endless cases of HIV positive women becoming pregnant again and again: increasing the rate of transmission and multiplying the orphan population.
Although I’ve been in this community just a few weeks it is evident that I have my work cut out for me these next two years. Fortunately, I have an amazingly supportive and motivated village community as well as nearly 100 fellow volunteers (nation-wide) to assist and encourage me. In the Lifeskills program we are just 12 people comparing notes and brainstorming our way through education bureaucracy and a bizarre culture. The other Peace Corps Botswana programs include the District Aids Coordinators, Community Care Based Workers and NGO Volunteers. All of us are here to drain this ocean of AIDS. We are terrified and overwhelmed every day—we are crossing our fingers that our work here has an impact on this horrible epidemic and its rising trend line.
Fortunately the government of Botswana is extremely active in promoting the social welfare of their citizens. Peace Corps was invited to Botswana in 1966 (the year of their independence (from Britain) and stayed for nearly 30 years, assisting with development work and general health care. In the 1990s the United State government decided that Botswana’s economic and population health had stabilized and Peace Corps assistance was more urgent in other countries of the world. We withdrew from Botswana then, but not for long.
In 2001 the Botswana president requested that Peace Corps return to his country to assist in developing strong HIV intervention and prevention programs. At that time over a quarter of Botswana’s citizens were HIV positive and infection rates were rising. Peace Corps agreed to return and assist Botswana in managing this vivid health crisis.
In April, 2008, my group (“Bots7”) joined the 50+ volunteers already serving in Botswana. We began as 61 volunteers varying in age, gender, professional background, gender and marital status. About 20% of our group is senior citizens, 10% married and 30% in their early 20s. I’m smack-dab in the middle at 28 which is actually a nice place to be for connecting on some level with everyone.
Unfortunately, in just 2 and a half months our numbers have already dropped to 53. Most people have left us for family emergencies and medical complications. Two of our volunteers ET-ed (early terminated) just after site placement. They told us they did not feel they were well suited for Peace Corps afterall and we were pleased that they made their choice to leave before their communities formed a connection and dependency on them. Still, there’s a certain “family” element to our group and it was hard to see them go.
After school this evening the Deputy Headmaster asks me if I’d like to take a walk with her. We pace through long stretches of farmland and greet the string of villagers as they make their way home from work. For the first time in a week I have a conversation with someone about politics and family instead of health and prevention. I know that “building relationships” and “inspiring trust” are meant to be my goals here but somehow I forget all that and just focus on walking with this woman-- this friend. When I come home I feel more invigorated and alive than I have in months: this social connection filling the spaces where my professional energy wanes.
Peace Corps is working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week but it is also living. It’s a balancing act between pouring into your community and finding the things that fill you up and keep you going.
Sometimes it’s analyzing village health data and sometimes it’s taking a long walk with a boss who feels more like a friend.
Either way, I’m surviving this and enjoying the challenge. Behavior change, language learning, cultural integration and community assessment are all enormous tasks but coupled with meaningful work in a gorgeous community, are also inspiring.
I dip my teaspoon and begin.
It's long-ish but gives a good picture of PC in Botswana and what I'm actually doing for work these days.
____
Just about two years ago I was sitting behind a desk in a Boston office building. I was five years into a career in International Education, working my way up the corporate ladder and filling up my resume with promotions and experience. I had taught in China for a year and returned to the States where I dove into an administrative position for international English schools. After three years I finally had my dream job in marketing that would allowed me to work creatively and travel all over Europe, meeting students and agents from around the world.
I felt successful, challenged, productive and yet completely unhappy.
I couldn’t stop thinking that something was missing. In China I had taught English to wealthy children all day and then walked home through streets thick with poverty and sickness. Now I was shmoozing with international business leaders in swanky hotels, completely shielded from the countries and culture that surrounded me. I was restless for something.
Two years later I’m sitting in a cement house in a tiny Botswana village. I’m exhausted, dirty, homesick and yet completely happy.
Peace Corps service puts me at a grassroots level where 33% of this population is infected with AIDS and the need is unmistakable. Despite my 43 credits in International Health Courses and my two months of intensive pre-service training, I feel incredibly small against the enormous tasks of HIV prevention and youth behavior change. Even so, I am eager, motivated and urgent.
At Boston University I took a course in HIV/AIDS where the professor told us that this disease would be part of our careers whether we wanted it or not. Epidemiologists, teachers, lawyers, social workers, statisticians—whatever we chose as careers in international health—HIV/AIDS would be there waiting for us. I remember this professor for his candidness and yet his determination.
I also remember sitting at a house party a week before I left for Botswana and someone drunk and laughing at my impending assignment: “It’s like you’re trying to drain the ocean with a teaspoon.”
This is my teaspoon:
Every morning I wake up at 5:30 and shiver through a bucket bath. I walk to school in time for the 6:50 bell when 350 secondary school students file into Assembly. I stand with the teachers and watch the children sing their morning prayers. After this I work.
I hold interviews with teachers and administrators, observe guidance classes, attend school clubs, visit local NGOs, arrange meetings with village nurses and speak with the village chief and his development committee. I walk through dusty streets and use my broken Setswana to chat with locals and shopkeepers about their concerns for the village. After work I buy dinner at one of the tiny tuck shops and make my way to my house across town. “Across town” is just a 30 minute walk through a population of just 3,000 village residents, most of whom work at the fields on the outskirts of town. I had asked for a small village where I could work on developing my language skills and so I’m quite pleased with this assignment. Once I arrive home I spend the evening typing a report and assessment of my community: its strengths and weaknesses, its stakeholders, its change agents—its potential.
The Lifeskills projects have one purpose: to strengthen the capacity of the school and community so they are better able to prevent HIV infection among this generation of vulnerable youth.
Three months from now I will finish my community entry report and begin to initiate intervention projects in line with this mission. I am hoping make these projects as sustainable as possible and, as a result, will work to incorporate the ideas and assistance of the 24 school teachers, 9 staff and 5 administrators at my workplace. One of the many Peace Corps slogans is “If you’re working alone, you’re doing something wrong.” I’ve explained this concept of capacity building and sustainability to every person I’ve interviewed and they seem eager to become involved. It is incredibly motivating to finally step out of the MPH student role and start seeing the reality of this public health philosophy and jargon.
Unfortunately, the reality of public health in the third world can also be incredibly discouraging:
The Guidance Counselor tells me that eight teenagers have become pregnant in Kumakwane in the past six months. The NGO tells me they are currently servicing 212 OVCs, nearly a tenth of the village population. The nurse tells me she sees endless cases of HIV positive women becoming pregnant again and again: increasing the rate of transmission and multiplying the orphan population.
Although I’ve been in this community just a few weeks it is evident that I have my work cut out for me these next two years. Fortunately, I have an amazingly supportive and motivated village community as well as nearly 100 fellow volunteers (nation-wide) to assist and encourage me. In the Lifeskills program we are just 12 people comparing notes and brainstorming our way through education bureaucracy and a bizarre culture. The other Peace Corps Botswana programs include the District Aids Coordinators, Community Care Based Workers and NGO Volunteers. All of us are here to drain this ocean of AIDS. We are terrified and overwhelmed every day—we are crossing our fingers that our work here has an impact on this horrible epidemic and its rising trend line.
Fortunately the government of Botswana is extremely active in promoting the social welfare of their citizens. Peace Corps was invited to Botswana in 1966 (the year of their independence (from Britain) and stayed for nearly 30 years, assisting with development work and general health care. In the 1990s the United State government decided that Botswana’s economic and population health had stabilized and Peace Corps assistance was more urgent in other countries of the world. We withdrew from Botswana then, but not for long.
In 2001 the Botswana president requested that Peace Corps return to his country to assist in developing strong HIV intervention and prevention programs. At that time over a quarter of Botswana’s citizens were HIV positive and infection rates were rising. Peace Corps agreed to return and assist Botswana in managing this vivid health crisis.
In April, 2008, my group (“Bots7”) joined the 50+ volunteers already serving in Botswana. We began as 61 volunteers varying in age, gender, professional background, gender and marital status. About 20% of our group is senior citizens, 10% married and 30% in their early 20s. I’m smack-dab in the middle at 28 which is actually a nice place to be for connecting on some level with everyone.
Unfortunately, in just 2 and a half months our numbers have already dropped to 53. Most people have left us for family emergencies and medical complications. Two of our volunteers ET-ed (early terminated) just after site placement. They told us they did not feel they were well suited for Peace Corps afterall and we were pleased that they made their choice to leave before their communities formed a connection and dependency on them. Still, there’s a certain “family” element to our group and it was hard to see them go.
After school this evening the Deputy Headmaster asks me if I’d like to take a walk with her. We pace through long stretches of farmland and greet the string of villagers as they make their way home from work. For the first time in a week I have a conversation with someone about politics and family instead of health and prevention. I know that “building relationships” and “inspiring trust” are meant to be my goals here but somehow I forget all that and just focus on walking with this woman-- this friend. When I come home I feel more invigorated and alive than I have in months: this social connection filling the spaces where my professional energy wanes.
Peace Corps is working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week but it is also living. It’s a balancing act between pouring into your community and finding the things that fill you up and keep you going.
Sometimes it’s analyzing village health data and sometimes it’s taking a long walk with a boss who feels more like a friend.
Either way, I’m surviving this and enjoying the challenge. Behavior change, language learning, cultural integration and community assessment are all enormous tasks but coupled with meaningful work in a gorgeous community, are also inspiring.
I dip my teaspoon and begin.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Learning
June 22, 2008
So it turns out that the information I received about my Peace Corps placement was slightly misleading. If you remember back to May 31st you’ll recall that I was handed a paper describing my village and that on this paper all amenities and local services were checked “yes”.
In order to dispel the myth that Peace Corps Botswana is “Posh Corps” I’ve decided to correct the mistakes. Here’s what my site placement notes should have said:
* Electricity: Intermitted, goes off about 9 times each week for 1 – 4 hours at a time; you’ll have working lights in two of your three rooms.
* Cell Phone Coverage: Yes (whew)
* Water Inside House: Nope. Buy some large buckets. There’s a pump outside the house but sometimes the village loses water for days or weeks at a time. Oh, and water comes out white. Not sure what that’s all about.
* Toilet Inside House: Promised but, alas, not delivered. Pit latrine. Carry TP and bug spray.
* Access to Public Transportation: Combis to Gabs and Thamaga every 15 minutes… or sometimes 30… or sometimes 60 and NO you may not accept rides from the plethora of friendly Motswana who stop in their cars and offer to take you to your destination. Hitchhiking is strictly Against Peace Corps Rules.
* Post Office in Village: Nope
* Oh, and it’s not a category on your sheet but we thought we’d also mention that Internet, grocery stores, banks, pharmacies and paved roads are also not located in this village.
* Er, and the front door of your house is going to fall off its hinges in the first week. Heh. Sorry about that.
Alrighty then.
So the amazing thing about Peace Corps is that you learn relatively quickly that (on the whole) humans can adjust to just about anything over time. We’re creatures of habit—we crave routine. Someone says “no leaving your house after dark” we start a ritual of evening exercises, cooking and reading. Someone says “you have to bathe in a bucket” we purchase a big sponge and get to it. We crave schedules. We form habits. We’re resilient.
Roar.
So in the Spirit Of Human Resilience this morning I decided to make my way up to Thamaga for Internet and groceries. It’s my first time traveling solo in Botswana and, as such, is very liberating. I’ve traveled alone all over Europe and Asia but the first go on a new continent is always slightly nerve-wracking. I sling a backpack over my shoulder and get started.
The thing about Human Resilience and Routine is that it does take Time. And mistakes. And lessons.
Here are the lessons I learned on my first Independent Journey in Africa:
1. Do not travel at noon. The mid-day heat, even in winter, will strike you dead as you wait on the side of the road for a combi.
2. Combi and buses are rarely labeled. Your best bet is to use broken Setswana with others waiting at the bus stop and follow them onto the correct vehicle.
3. Once on the bus practice breathing rituals to stay conscious. Motswana believe that opening windows will “let in flu” so you are bound to be breathing in the scent of bodies and sweating profusely throughout the duration of your trip.
4. Per Lesson #1 and #3 do NOT wear long sleeves with only a tank top underneath. Tank top is inappropriate in public and long sleeves are just plain masochistic.
5. Overcome the urge to Rail Against The Administration when you visit your PC friends in Thamaga to find them basking in a plush home of gardens, shutters, working windows and doors, Pier One furniture, gas, electricity, water, HOT water, radios, etc. Smile and put on your best Happy For Them Look. Resist the urge to steal their toaster.
6. Just because it’s a grocery store do not expect produce variety or freshness. Peppers and bananas, baby—count yourself lucky cuz Kumakwane’s only got onions.
7. Call ahead. Even though the sign claims that they’re open on Sundays shopkeepers can close whenever they feel like it. Internet rejection can be shockingly depressing.
8. Sunday’s rush hour is 4:00. Avoid traveling home at this time or you’ll be standing the whole way in all that bus-heat and b.o., praying for forgiveness for having worn the long sleeved shirt.
9. Do NOT be among the first passengers to enter the bus. Wait patiently at the end of the line so you get a standing spot close to the front door for easy exiting.
10. If, perchance, you are body-chucked into the rear of the bus make a valiant effort to work your way back to the front long before your stop. Waiting until you’ve arrived to push through the masses can take several minutes and result in the impatient murmurs of your fellow passengers and chastising remarks from your bus driver.
Three cheers for Cultural Integration, Awkward Transitions and Shopping Survival.
Dear Lord am I tired.
So it turns out that the information I received about my Peace Corps placement was slightly misleading. If you remember back to May 31st you’ll recall that I was handed a paper describing my village and that on this paper all amenities and local services were checked “yes”.
In order to dispel the myth that Peace Corps Botswana is “Posh Corps” I’ve decided to correct the mistakes. Here’s what my site placement notes should have said:
* Electricity: Intermitted, goes off about 9 times each week for 1 – 4 hours at a time; you’ll have working lights in two of your three rooms.
* Cell Phone Coverage: Yes (whew)
* Water Inside House: Nope. Buy some large buckets. There’s a pump outside the house but sometimes the village loses water for days or weeks at a time. Oh, and water comes out white. Not sure what that’s all about.
* Toilet Inside House: Promised but, alas, not delivered. Pit latrine. Carry TP and bug spray.
* Access to Public Transportation: Combis to Gabs and Thamaga every 15 minutes… or sometimes 30… or sometimes 60 and NO you may not accept rides from the plethora of friendly Motswana who stop in their cars and offer to take you to your destination. Hitchhiking is strictly Against Peace Corps Rules.
* Post Office in Village: Nope
* Oh, and it’s not a category on your sheet but we thought we’d also mention that Internet, grocery stores, banks, pharmacies and paved roads are also not located in this village.
* Er, and the front door of your house is going to fall off its hinges in the first week. Heh. Sorry about that.
Alrighty then.
So the amazing thing about Peace Corps is that you learn relatively quickly that (on the whole) humans can adjust to just about anything over time. We’re creatures of habit—we crave routine. Someone says “no leaving your house after dark” we start a ritual of evening exercises, cooking and reading. Someone says “you have to bathe in a bucket” we purchase a big sponge and get to it. We crave schedules. We form habits. We’re resilient.
Roar.
So in the Spirit Of Human Resilience this morning I decided to make my way up to Thamaga for Internet and groceries. It’s my first time traveling solo in Botswana and, as such, is very liberating. I’ve traveled alone all over Europe and Asia but the first go on a new continent is always slightly nerve-wracking. I sling a backpack over my shoulder and get started.
The thing about Human Resilience and Routine is that it does take Time. And mistakes. And lessons.
Here are the lessons I learned on my first Independent Journey in Africa:
1. Do not travel at noon. The mid-day heat, even in winter, will strike you dead as you wait on the side of the road for a combi.
2. Combi and buses are rarely labeled. Your best bet is to use broken Setswana with others waiting at the bus stop and follow them onto the correct vehicle.
3. Once on the bus practice breathing rituals to stay conscious. Motswana believe that opening windows will “let in flu” so you are bound to be breathing in the scent of bodies and sweating profusely throughout the duration of your trip.
4. Per Lesson #1 and #3 do NOT wear long sleeves with only a tank top underneath. Tank top is inappropriate in public and long sleeves are just plain masochistic.
5. Overcome the urge to Rail Against The Administration when you visit your PC friends in Thamaga to find them basking in a plush home of gardens, shutters, working windows and doors, Pier One furniture, gas, electricity, water, HOT water, radios, etc. Smile and put on your best Happy For Them Look. Resist the urge to steal their toaster.
6. Just because it’s a grocery store do not expect produce variety or freshness. Peppers and bananas, baby—count yourself lucky cuz Kumakwane’s only got onions.
7. Call ahead. Even though the sign claims that they’re open on Sundays shopkeepers can close whenever they feel like it. Internet rejection can be shockingly depressing.
8. Sunday’s rush hour is 4:00. Avoid traveling home at this time or you’ll be standing the whole way in all that bus-heat and b.o., praying for forgiveness for having worn the long sleeved shirt.
9. Do NOT be among the first passengers to enter the bus. Wait patiently at the end of the line so you get a standing spot close to the front door for easy exiting.
10. If, perchance, you are body-chucked into the rear of the bus make a valiant effort to work your way back to the front long before your stop. Waiting until you’ve arrived to push through the masses can take several minutes and result in the impatient murmurs of your fellow passengers and chastising remarks from your bus driver.
Three cheers for Cultural Integration, Awkward Transitions and Shopping Survival.
Dear Lord am I tired.
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