My African Dream

Last night I attended the finale of My African Dream - Botswana's version of 'You've got Talent'. It was a swish affair at the GICC (Gaborone International Convention Centre) with a three-course buffet meal, drinks and, of course talent. Everyone tried incredibly hard and there were a few knock-out performances, including some incredible Beyonce-style dancing by a seven-year-old.

But the winner was this 14 year old boy from Seretse, who sang Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. It was a lovely night and a great opportunity for some young Motswanas to shine on stage.

Botswana's Best: The Music

L

Music is a strong part of Botswana culture. Walking through Main Mall at lunchtime you float from church chorals, to traditional african drum beats and then onto what I'm going to term 'modern African'. Modern African incorporates the rhythmic drums of traditional dancing with electronic beats and rap singing. It gets into your bones and wills you to dance. It's infectious and even on a bad day you can't help but be uplifted.

Moving on

I booked my ticket. I leave 30th October, which coincidentally will be exactly three months to the day from when I moved to Botswana. Next stop - Berlin. Four continents in two years. If the thought sounds exhausting, well, it is. Berlin will mean a new job, new house, new language (yikes!) but also a new chapter of my life. Lots of exciting things in store!

The Elections

Lining up to vote in Kasane.

Just thought I'd let you all know - as predicted Ian Khama won the national elections on Friday. It was a land-slide victory with The BDP (Botswana Democratic Party) winning 45 seats to the BNF (Botswana National Front) 4 and BCP (Botswana Congress Party) 5. So it's Khama for another fives years.

Victoria Falls

Last tourist trip in Botswana before I leave. This weekend is the Botswana national elections (a surprisingly unexciting afair where 1.8 million Batswana go to the polls and vote the same guy back in). But they have public holiday for the casting of votes, which means a long weekend for expats. And so I'm flying up to Chobe National Park and Victoria Falls.

Have a good weekend.

The Tuck Shop

When I was little the tuck shop was a place where you bought food when you had forgotten (or were lucky enough) to be able to buy your lunch from school. Sports clubs also had tuck shops where you could by drinks and pasties, but that was pretty much the only places that I ever saw or heard of them. I was quite surprised when I found that there are tuck shop's everywhere in Botswana. Here they function almost like a Milk Bar or corner store, rather than the school tuck shop that we know in Australia.

I've always been interested in the etymology of words. I think that they add depth and insight in a places culture and history. For instance, the best way to determine if Vitamin A deficiency is endemic to a region is to ask if the community has a specific word for "night blindness". This seemingly adhoc test has been proven to be more sensitive than many scientific approaches as Vitamin A is notoriously difficult to measure in the lab.

But I digress. The similar use of the word 'tuck shop' in Botswana and Australia made me reflect on our common colonial past and ponder where the word originated. Naturally I turned to the most accurate and knowledgeable place that I know - Wikipedia. Wiki says that the term "tuck" (closely related to the work "tucker") is probably slang for "to tuck into a meal". The Tuck Family operated several food businesses in England between 1780-1850 and there are documented paintings with 'Tuck' written over their doors (hence 'Tuck Shop'). Two of the brother's emigrated to Australia and set up food shops there, and the rest, implies Wiki, is history. But this doesn't really explain why the word is so prolific in southern Africa. Even after extensive searches I can't really find any more information on the net.

My best guess is that the word 'tuck' became popular as a word for snack foods and was then sent around the world as the British colonised the empire. These small shops gained popularity in southern Africa as places to sell small items, particularly in townships and villages where land ownership was forbidden during British colonial rule. In Botswana, these shops now sell everything - single cigarettes, cans of beer, cans of soft drink, 'air time' (prepaid phone time), sweets, fruit... almost anything that can be sold in singular form is sold there. And these ones that I snapped in a rural village just outside of Gaborone were all painted lovely colours as well!

Decisions

This post is long and a bit of a rant. You have been warned.

Yesterday I handed in my resignation. I am sad and I am relieved. This job has been a learning experience, although not the one that I imagined when I boarded the plane in July.

I had high expectations for this job. Harvard-Botswana AIDS Institute with a big research engine with links to an even bigger research engine in Boston. My work was to be assisting with paediatric HIV trials associated with IMPAACT. IMPAACT is a massive international research group, supported by PEPFAR and NIH. I hoped to learn how these trials operate in resource-constrained settings. I also hoped to carve out some research of my own. I thought that these were not unreasonable expectations.

What I got was an office.

After six weeks of agitating for work, speaking to the 'big boss' in Boston and emailing various people a colleague managed to set me up with one day of clinical work at a district hospital working in the Paediatric Infectious Disease (HIV/AIDS) Clinic. This work had nothing to do with Harvard-Botswana HIV/AIDS Institute, or research, but it did give me an opportunity to learn about HIV/AIDS treatment in a clinical setting.

What about the research? Well, the IMPAACT trials were struggling to get through ethics review and my independent research was curtailed by a lack of enthusiasm from my superiors. I do not have the knowledge of Botswana's medical system nor the research know-how to set up a research project single-handedly. I am a junior researcher and, almost by definition, need support, guidance and encouragement. What I got were emails from 'busy people' too busy to "take on another mentee", or allow me access to their data for secondary or teritary research questions.

I am stubborn and even despite these set backs I tried to 'make it work'. I let one month become two and then three. I really wanted this to work. And I feel like I pushed every option and opportunity to its limit. It was only going down to Cape Town and the FIGO conference earlier this week that I realised how despondent and demotivated I had become. I finally accepted that I was not only wasting my time in Botswana, but also wasting valuable research dollars on my income.

And so I resigned. My last day is the 30th October.

Now

• From the Merriam-webster Online Dictionary
• 
  
• Now:
• Pronunciation: \ˈnau\
• Function: adverb
• Etymology: Middle English, from Old English nū; akin to Old High German nū now, Latin nunc, Greek nyn
• Date: before 12th century

1 a : at the present time or moment b : in the time immediately before the present "thought of them just now" c : in the time immediately to follow : "come in now"

In Botswana:

Now: \nau\

1. at sometime in the future, perhaps.

Just Now: \jus nau\

1. soon

Now Now: \nau nau\

1. Very soon, it may be urgent

Now-Now Now-Now Now-Now: \nau-nau nau-nau nau-nau\

1. Probably I should have told you five minutes ago and we should have done something about it then

Friday Night

Flickr: Mamabaig

Last night I helped a girl walk away from a car crash that should have "sent her to heaven", as the policeman said. It was a Friday night and she had been drinking. She sped around a corner, over corrected on a turn and sent her car, at unknown speed, rolling into an open drain 1 metre deep.

She was lucky for so many reasons.

She was lucky there was no one else driving in the opposite direction.

Lucky she was the only one in the car.

Lucky that she had friends 5 minutes away who hadn't been drinking

Lucky that the police took an hour to come, by which stage she had left for the hospital.

Lucky that no one breathalysed her.

Lucky that the doctor didn't ask her how much she'd been drinking.

Lucky she was in a new car with dual air bags.

Lucky that the only reminder of last night will be a scar just above her eye. A scar caused by airbags that stopped her from cracking her head on the windscreen.

She is lucky to have her life.

Lots of expats drink drive in Botswana and last night I couldn't help thinking, what is it about living away from 'home' that makes people think it is okay to drink and drive? Most expats come from countries where there is such stigma attached to drink driving that people will take away your keys and threaten to call the police if you even consider getting in a car after drinking. And yet, here, away from home there is an attitude of immortality; being Cowboys above and beyond both the laws of nature and country laws.

I was so cross with this girl. I am glad that she is okay. I am glad that my medical training allowed me to briefly compartmentalise my emotions and get on with what was required - treating her shock, assessing her injuries (none), and getting her to hospital for stitches. But for the first time I really realised that if you drink and drive you are not only endangering those on the road around you, but you jeopardise relationships with friends and family. The girl, K, walked away with her life, but she damaged friendships last night. Many, I think, won't recover.

And friends aren't that easy to come by in Gabs.

Funeral Protector

I'm a little bit quiet this week. Internet has been malfunctioning at work. A thunder storm last week seems to have put everything into chaos.

This is another reality of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in Botswana. With a prevalence rate of around 30% most people have a friend or family member affected by HIV. While anti-retrovirals have done much to stem the mortality rate from the virus, people still die. Most jobs have a funeral allowance written into the contract, income insurance protects "loved ones even when your gone" and there is something called "Funeral Protector", which I can only imagine is 'funeral insruance'.

On a brighter note, with all the time I have at the moment I'm spending lots of time knitting. Will try to snap a few photos tonight to show-off some of the things that I'm making.

Changes

Anyone who reads this blog even a little bit will notice that there's been a few changes going on. After changing my picture to some Peonies, I've gone back to a picture of Botswana. My sister, in a way that sister's can only do, commented that the Peonies looked like a funeral ad. Nice! But honest at least. Personally I love Peonies and this picture reminds me of the Montreal Botanical Gardens (which are amazing) and traveling over the summer and all things lovely. Apparently it doesn't really do that for anyone else. Of course I could have ignored her comment, but she is my big sister, which made any attempt at ignoring her futile. I would have looked at those Peonies everyday and thought "does it really look like a funeral Ad? Really? No. But maybe?" So a Botswana sunset it is. Maybe it will change again. I am open to all suggestions and comments.

Thought I would quickly share photos of lunch yesterday. This is pretty standard Setswana lunch. Pap served with chicken, gravy and vegetables. Yesterday's vegetables were spinach (hot) and beetroot (cold). The menu doesn't change very much - the variation comes in the type of vegetable served - you get two teaspoons of vegetables and so far I have had mashed pumpkin, salad, canned corn, spinach, beetroot, coleslaw and potatoes. Potatoes are a vegetable, not a starch here.

You can also change your carbohydrate, although I generally stick to Pap. Pap is maize, I think. It's a porridge type mixture that is made over the stove with lots of stirring and mixing. It's the stuff that's being made in the all the documentaries you see on TV about African villages. You know, where the women are all pounding something cooking on the open fire? Well that's Pap, or a variation on the theme. It's a gelatinous, porridge. Like oat porridge when you've left it standing too long and it gets cold and jelly-like. It tastes like it looks (bland), but seems better than the brownish-Pap, which is made with black-eyed peas, or the white corn porridge, which has whole pieces of corn in it and for some reason make me sick.

Served with a soft drink the price is 21 pula (AUS$4). Pap fills you up. The nutritional content is probably incredibly small, I'm not sure if you even digest the stuff. But it sits in your stomach and keeps to full throughout the day.

Weekend

This weekend I:

Read - No1 Ladies Detective Agency

Watched - 7 pounds

Ate - BBQ chicken, corn and salad at a 'Braii' (BBQ)

Drank - Gin and Tonic

Visited - The Norware Pottery School Teapot Exhibition

And sneezed and coughed through a packet of tissues!

I nearly got cross today. Nearly. But I didn't. Kind of.

Moko, who is really very nice, came into my office muttering something about holidays in December and people going away and needing to have doctors to cover the clinics. To which I didn't respond. But internally the clogs were beginning to turn. You see, I've been asking for my annual leave forms for over a week now. And each time someone says "Yes Ma, we'll print it out for you straight away". Well straight away doesn't necessarily mean the same thing here and seeing that I had already verbally stated to at least half a dozen people that I would be taking annual leave over Christmas and New Year I didn't think much of it. But then verbal agreement and a stamped, dated and signed form also mean very different things here. And then Moko arrived mumbling something about annual leave and him being owed 24 days and Dr Michael having two weeks already planned.

There were so many things that I could have said about what I thought about his idea and how things operate here and whether my role in the organisation was really supposed to be "substitute physician", which is what it is currently. But I calmly looked at him and said "I took this position on the provision and understanding that I would be returning to Australia over Christmas and New Year. I am happy to help out at any other time, but won't be in the country in the last two weeks of December." It is possible that sparks flew out of my eyes and I morphed into a fire-breathing dragon as I said that. I felt like me, but Moko looked a little shocked, bashful and then quietly left my office mumbling that he would sort thing out with the other doctors.

Birds

I'm traditionally not much of a bird person. But, I have become fascinated by the birds in Botswana. They have the most vivid colours. Against the backdrop of the dusty scrub and Acacia bushes the colours really 'pop' and look so lovely. Today I spotted some turquoise breasted birds (wrens??) scavenging in the dirt and was mystified for a good five minutes. This gold breasted bird held my attention a couple of days ago. I am told that as it cools in the northern hemisphere there will be a veritable riot of bird activity here, especially once the rains begin. Never thought I would say this, but I'm slightly excited.

Her Story, Told by Me

Photo by Mike Blythe (Flickr)

I've thought a lot about whether I should tell this story. In the end I decided that I should. This is Africa and this is an African story. Nothing will change in the telling of this story, although sharing it gives this woman a voice. And a voice is important.

As a prelude it is worth mentioning Zimbabwe. Hyperinflation, economic meltdown and human rights abuses have characterised Zimbabwean governance for over a decade. In March this year the Zimbabwean dollar was removed from currency. The South African Rand and American dollar are now used in an attempt to stabilise hyperinflation. Although the South African government has relaxed the Zimbabwe-South African border it offers no formal assistance to refugees. There are also refugee camps offering some support on the Botswanan border, although in general the Botswanan government and Motswanans are hostile to Zimbabwean refugees. If Zimbabweans make it to Gaborone they are on their own and risk being herded up, put into buses and taken back to the border. Prejudice and racism are widespread. The Zimbabwean refugees are blamed for petty crime, burglaries, taking Motswanan jobs, taking their women and anything else vaguely derogatory.

So with this background I begin a story about her. She is Zimbabwean and she is poor. Possibly she was always poor, but now she is very poor. I was told that she used to sell fresh vegetables and fruit door-to-door, carrying a tray of fruit on her back and walking the wealthier neighbourhoods of Gaborone barefoot. This was her second job, her first was washing clothes for a Motswanan. She worked up until the day she gave birth to her daughter. Then she lost her job. The Motswanans keep their newborns inside for 60 days after birth. If they survive they are brought out to greet the world amongst great celebration. To be seen with a newborn outside of the house is considered unlucky to you, your child and those who see you. She could also no longer sell fruit.

Three months later she presented to a friend of mine from Gaborone and offered her 200 pula for the baby. Two hundred pula is a little less than AUS$40. She had no support in Gaborone, no money and was eating Pap (maize porridge) once a day. I became involved as a doctor to assess the baby and the mother. With no legal rights in Botswana she was too scared to attend a clinic in case they reported her and sent her back to Zimbabwe. I am pleased that I can say the baby was fine. A little hungry and perhaps a little dehydrated, but healthy and clearly bonding with her mum. We gave the mother food, offered her baby clothes and cleaning products and constant access to my medical services. We offered to try to find her a job. Then we sent her on her way and hoped for the best.

This is Africa and this is an African story. There are thousands of stories like this and to single one person out to help somehow seems like removing a grain of sand from the desert and expecting it to become an Oasis. But it is something. It is worth adding that this lady and her baby were living in a single room of a house with four other mothers and their children. Each paid 150 pula/month to use the room (750 pula/month for the room). This does not include water or electricity. The women choose to pay extra (50 pula/month each) for water. I pay 2700 pula/month for a double room in a house with a lounge room, dining room, kitchen, running water, electricity, cable TV, internet, air-conditioning, bathroom, pool, lock-up garage, security and a full-time maid who on top of the usual "house-cleaning work" washes my dishes, cleans and irons my clothes and when my shelves get too messy, refolds and stacks my clothes neatly. Someone is getting a raw deal and it isn't me.

There is not much I can do for this women, but in telling her story I give her a voice.

Oliver Mtukudzi

I went to my first music concert in Gaborone on Friday night. It was, overall, an amazing experience. The music was wonderful, the crowd estatic and all for 150 pula (AUS$30) pretty good value.

Oliver Mtukduzi is a Zimbabwian musician who plays 'modern african' with a decidedly jazz bent. He's incredibly popular in southern Africa. Not only is he a charasmatic and talented musician but his music speaks peacefully for tolerance and the preservation of human rights, something that resonants strongly with crowds in these parts.

The headline act as Steve Dyer and his band. Steve Dyer is the white guy on the right in the picture above. But it was his backup Saxaphonist that I was particularly taken by. Some of the best Sax playing that I've heard, ever.

Unfortunately I forgot to tape Oliver Mtukudzi playing, I was totally spellbound by the music. I was also trying to stay on my feet. People here aren't great about personal space at the best of times, preferring to stand against you, rather than near you in a crowd or queue. Get people excited about music and all thought of personal space is lost. Listening to Mtukudzi required a full body effort, not only to stay on my feet, but also to sway to the beat 'African style' to prevent collisions with elbows, hips and shoulders.

This is Home

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about Home inspired by a blog and art project called "This is Home" being done over here. The graphic submissions are in and I thought I'd post a few here. What really struck me by these submissions (aside from their creativity) is that, like me, for many people Home is not a place or destination, but more of an idea and emotion. A feeling that you get when you are surrounded by the love of friends and family.

(by Juliette Crane)

(by Cindy Krikawa)

(by F. Inton)

(by Fiona Binnett)

(by Mariana Swart)

This last submission really struck me. Botswana and Africa are still feel very foreign to me. I am, in general, finding the transition from Boston to Gaborone difficult, and it was somehow nice to be reminded that somewhere in the world there is someone who feels connected to this place and loves it enough to call it home.

Public Health Announcements

In Australia we have TAC ads telling us to "wipe off 5" and "if you drink then drive you're a bloody idiot". Here they have messages about HIV/AIDS. It's taken me a little while to get used to being bombarded with messages about 'knowing my sexual network', circumcision and being empowered to 'get tested'. What's more, some of the signs are really quite funny. The marketing strategy for designing a successful HIV/AIDS prevention programme in a country where the majority of the locals are observant Christian and at least outwardly sexually conservative, and yet have multiple concurrent partners with only a 20% marriage rate must be a real challenge. The result - bring out the sports stars. They always work, right?

No1. Ladies Opera House

I have a small confession to make. I perhaps wrote Gaborone off too early as having "no eating establishments". It's true that there are not many - but there are a few - hidden behind the desert scrub, over cattle grids and down dusty roads seemingly going nowhere. If you follow one of these roads on a beautiful spring Sunday morning you might happen upon the No1. Ladies Opera House.

Open from 10am-2pm serving a Buffet-style brunch complete with eggs and bacon made to order, waffles, cheese, scones tea, coffee and Mimosa's for those in a celebratory mood.

Turns out we were in the mood for a celebration. Allison, my new house-mate, was having a birthday. No oven in our temporary house so instead a cake was designed from elaborately stacked "Chocolate Crackles". Happy Birthday's were sung, toasts were made and then we got onto the business of passing a sunny Sunday afternoon in Gabs.

There's no MacDonalds in Botswana

There is Nando's and KFC and Chicken Licken' (notice the theme) but no MacDonalds. And there's actually not many of the Chicken-themed fast food restaurants either. Instead at lunch people eat "buffet" style from the street sellers. These pictures are taken at the Main Mall at lunchtime. People cook the food in their homes and then transport it in big silver catering trays and set up along the mall. Line up, grab a polystyrene tray (the environmental message hasn't made it to Botswana either), and fill up with beans, salad and... chicken stew.