Perplexing Botswana Observation #987

There are many things that, even after 1,075 days in Botswana, continue to confound me. For instance, in a country where sunshine prevails approximately 360 days per year, why not turn to solar power to charge the nation?

While this thought has perplexed me for some time, it is at the forefront of my mind these days because the entire country has been without electricity for nearly a week now. Yes, that's right, in darkness.

Why? you might ask. Because Botswana imports its power from South Africa.

South Africa has its own supply issues and has been clamoring to Botswana to address its own needs because they would need to cut back on delivery in favor of addressing its own needs. In other words, get your act together Botswana because we can't provide you power forever.

So, when the darkness came, it wasn't a surprise. We knew power would become more and more scarce and we expected load shedding to become commonplace. But when the power didn't come back for twelve hours and then twenty-four and then longer, we knew something else must have been the problem.

Rumors started circulating but one always sprang to the top: someone at the power plant in South Africa left the coal out in the rain so they can't use it until it dries up.

WHAT?!

Africa is a funny place. It makes me smile that something as simple as "the coal was left out" is reason for an entire nation to be without power. Indefinitely. And few are crying out about it. It is a much simpler place here in Botswana.

I laughed a little and then gathered my things and came to my boyfriend's apartment because he is one of the lucky few (very few) that has a generator. Which is how I am typing this post to you now. Oh life. TIA.

“There is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for.”

Even among employees and organizations that are qualified, passionate, and maintain strong values, apathy and atrophy tend to set in from time-to-time. It is a disheartening truth that impacts the quality and amount of work that is able to be done. Sometimes, when these infect a single (but key) person, the ripple effect can be great. These negative attributes, then, can lead to an under-utilization of motivated human resources or a withdrawal of those resources altogether. This is the reality I have been facing.

I have spent the last few months as a stunted version of myself. I have felt somewhat ineffectual in carrying out significant meaningful work within my primary assignment and have struggled to find a way to make a contribution within the confines outlined to me. Simply, I didn't have the freedom to create the change I wanted - and have become accustomed to - and I saw myself falling into professional doldrums.

That is not to say I have been stagnant. Besides my work for Peace Corps (as a Volunteer Leader), I have, in fact, been working on a couple large scale projects that stand to be extremely influential in the future. These include a Life Skills Toolkit and an IECD Resource Pack, both to be published and adopted by the Government of Botswana to strengthen its current National Strategies. Unfortunately, despite my dedication to these efforts, my work was constantly being put on hold in favor of, what seemed to be, waiting around for others to get motivated and involved enough to sign off on my (finished) work. This has caused me great frustration. I hold myself to a certain standard of giving back and helping others and have dedicated myself to that. Not being able to achieve to my full potential is a difficult pill to swallow, especially when you want it so badly.

Something had to be done. And now.

So I had a few conversations - conversations with colleagues that led to conversations with my superiors at Peace Corps that culminated in some very staunch heart-to-hearts with my counterparts and supervisors at my primary assignment. While the conversations were difficult, I am optimistic that positive change is on the way. Why am I so optimistic? Because I am no longer directly tethered to others within my agency so what happens next is up to me.

I am now taking over and managing a number of fairly high profile national projects and have been granted independence to build capacity of implementing partners across the country. This means I can go out in a technical capacity and work directly with the providers in the field to help them integrate and actualize programming, as well as strengthen systems and organizational capacity in order to improve service delivery. Working directly with the implementing partners is a resource and valuable experience both for me and for the organizations I now have the authority to work with. And the quality and level of my involvement is mine alone to determine, with the support of my counterpart, her supervisor, and the agency as a whole. Hallelujah! I am finally free to start making an impact  in a much more meaningful way again! Good news all around!

Dan Pallotta: The Way We Think About Charity Is Dead Wrong

Those of us working in the non-profit or development sectors will shake their heads in agreement or maybe tear up a few times at this TED Talk. My hope for it is that more people take the time to watch it and internalize what Mr. Pallotta is saying and then start a conversation that will help spread the message. We can be the generation that makes real and lasting change but it has to start with a perpective shift. Give it a shot. It will be a worthwhile nineteen minutes in your day.

Rising To The Occasion: Interview Time

Wednesday night, after watching Eat, Pray, Love for the thousandth time since being in Botswana (which I watched in an effort to be inspired and motivated for my interview with Peace Corps Headquarters), I started getting stomach pains. And not your normal stomach pain either. This was absolutely diabolical. Gut-wrenching, shooting pains that made me keel over. As the pain started making me feel like projectile vomit was inevitable, I started making routine rounds to the bathroom. This continued all through the night and well into the morning...

...into the morning of my big on camera interview for Peace Corps' new recruitment and marketing videos. Of course.

In the hours before the interview, I was so exhausted and in so much pain that I couldn't help but cry. Why now? I have been sick only a handful of times since moving to Botswana and, even then, nothing compared to this - the stomach flu. It may very well be the worst of the icky-sicknesses. My body's timing was wretched. But my will-power was going to have to win out this time. It had to.

I somehow managed to rip myself away from my spot next to the toilet bowl long enough to take a shower and put on some makeup (being sure to apply a little extra blush to offset the whiteness in my face). I talked to my mom and my sister one last time on instant messenger and gave myself a pep-talk that included "DO NOT PUKE ON THE INTERVIEWERS" and "you can do this" before collecting my things and making my way (very slowly) towards the combi stop.

Despite waiting for a combi with an open front seat so I could sit by a window, the ride to where we were meeting seemed to drag on. Deep breaths. I arrived about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule - enough time, I reasoned, to make one last dash to the bathroom (in case I became a pukey face again) then to fix my makeup, change my shoes, and be ready to impress. Deep breath.

I was miserable. But I was there.

And, to my surprise, people were complimenting me on how great I looked! It's amazing how much a little makeup, a good outfit, and a fake smile can do!

I sat and meditated while I waited for the communications team from headquarters to arrive. I mentally went over the interview questions they sent a few days prior and I told myself over and over and over again that I could get through this. Deep breaths were my friend and an active mind was my distraction from the shooting pain in my stomach.

Before long, we were making our way to a conference room, where the interview would be held. I made small talk with the communications team, who were two of the most lovely people I have met in a long time. I instantly took a liking to them. So, of course, I over-shared about my stomach flu and they, in turn, shared their mineral water. This proved to be a gift in the hour ahead. As they finished setting up the camera, they told me about the goals for this filming and the ways in which the footage would be used. And then we were off! Lights, camera, ACTION!

I am not entirely sure of everything I said over the course of the next hour and a half but the communications team assured me that I did a great job and that they got a lot of usable material from my interview. The lead interviewer went so far as to say I gave them the exact responses they had hoped for when they set out for Southern Africa. And, to be honest, they seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to share (to the point of continuing the conversation well after the camera stopped rolling).

I had done it. I beat the stomach flu and successfully made it to my interview! (I toppled over shortly after.)

Someone on the Peace Corps staff took pity on my poor aching self and drove me home after the interview. For the next twenty-four hours, all I did was sleep and drink rehydration salts.

Rise to the occasion. Mind over matter. Make it happen. Lessons that played out for this interview - and in life.

The Problem With "Progress"

When we think about progress, most people envision the digital age. They see computers and databases and systems that make everything run quicker and easier. The problem with this in the developing world is that electricity is sometimes out for days or weeks, making it difficult to keep things updated electronically. Most organizations get along fine by having hand-written hard copies of all records too. While this is cumbersome and means doubling the time to do things, it is the only way. Even still, in the name of progress, people are eager to learn how to use computers and get everything online.

Gabane Community Home-Based Care, the organization I spent the majority of my service with, was no exception to this desire to enter the technological world. And, after getting eight computers donated, I helped them scale up operations using them - teaching courses and building systems specifically designed to move them in that direction. We spent tireless hours on typing and then building capacity to create and update financial systems (QuickBooks) and program databases. It was an effort that was bringing new skills to the staff at the center. They were learning so much and being able to do everything on their own. We were excited about our progress. It felt limitless.

A few days ago I received a phone call from the center coordinator. After the customary greetings and small talk, she informed me that she had bad news - "Kamogelo, I have something very sad to tell you." I braced myself. No one likes hearing these words and, within the context of the work I was engaged, it can be scary to hear them. She went on to tell me that a thief had broken into the computer lab I had put together and that all eight of our computers had been stolen. GASP! She said that they had just finished updating all of the systems and that, after so long, they had finally gotten everything organized into QuickBooks from 2010 to present. Be still my heart! I was at a loss for words. On one hand, I was impressed that they had kept up all the hard work in my absence (YAY sustainability!). On the other hand, I was devastated that nearly two years worth of work had been taken from us, just that easily. And taken from such a good-hearted charitable organization no less. How could this be happening?!

After some time in silence, I assured the coordinator that I had some records backed up on my personal hard drives and she confirmed what I already knew - they didn't have a digital backup of anything but they had been hand-writing a hard copy of some things and would have to continue in that manner since the computers were gone. Phew! In that moment, I was so grateful they had not completely discontinued their tedious hand-written work in favor of the more progressive technology. Had they, everything would have been gone. Losing the computers and all the databases and digital files created over the passed years was bad enough.

Crimes of this nature are increasingly common. It is a tragedy and it breaks my heart. But this is the reality in much of the developing world. Sure, it could happen anywhere, but the prevalence rate is much higher in some places. It is something that we, as development workers, need to be conscious of when imparting our perceived notion of "progress" on others. Yes, it may be true that this is the way forward but, at the same time, we have to keep these external factors in mind. I am relieved that we didn't completely do away with the common way of record-keeping in the village in our pursuit of progress. And, the coordinator assures me, when they eventually get computers again, they will be ready to use their new skills to go at it again... as a second means of documentation.

In The Field: Single Teen Mothers Workshop Series

Last week, PCI was asked to go to a small settlement called Olifants Drift to conduct a workshop for single teen mothers. The workshop was in response to the high rates of teen pregnancies, including a 12-year-old "falling pregnant" and a 14-year-old who had recently murdered her infant baby. In settlement communities like this one, where opportunities are few, this is a fairly common occurrence.

When PCI asked me to attend and help facilitate the workshop, I was overwhelmed and excited for the invitation. It would be my first official activity since starting with them and it would be my first workshop addressing this topic. We planned to discuss challenges of rural living and then train the teen moms on long-term planning (and the value of education), critical thinking, healthy relationships, risk reduction, and women's empowerment.

Seventeen single teenage mothers were in attendance. Their giggles and coy eye glances gave away the fact that they were nervous to be there. Introductions told me that the average age of the girls was eighteen and their highest schooling was the American equivalent of seventh grade. Most were mothers of more than one child.

As they warmed up to us (myself and the two other staff facilitators from PCI), they told us of their struggles - about being tricked into sex, about their perception of gender roles, about poor rainfall leading to few crops and less food, about the men who promised to marry them and feed them and care for them before running to the next girl, about the difficulties getting to villages with schools to continue their education, and about a mine coming into a nearby village (potentially creating even more problems). In between stories, they made jokes to cut the tension of the subject. They were coping the best they knew how.

After some time, the team of facilitators began working through the challenges one by one. Our team, made up of the Education and Gender Advisors, were a dynamic duo and the girls were soaking up the information. They were engaged in role playing and dialogue, utilizing PCI's GROW Model, which is geared at empowering them and helping them see their own value and strength.

One of the activities the facilitators had the girls do was to tell the room the one thing in their life they wished they could have. Saying it aloud was a form of personal commitment but also a way for their small community of teen moms to help each other achieve it. Almost all of the girls wanted to go back and finish school. Together they discussed the realities of that dream and how to make it happen. The girls seemed to be getting the information and were excited about the potential for the futures.

The two hours each way in the car through almost impassable earthen roads and the ten hour workshop seemed extremely valuable. If we could only reach a few of those girls, it would be worth it.

On our way out of the village, we watched as some of the girls rushed home to be with their children while others made their way to the local shebeen for a drink and to see what "their men" were up to. Behavior change takes time.

The one-day workshop will not be enough on its own. But at least someone had started the ball rolling - someone had taken the time to show they care about them and believe in them and want them to live better and more fulfilled lives. That was PCI, that was me, and that was the community who called to bring us there. In time maybe they will see it too. It requires a commitment from those girls and the support of the community. PCI has committed to doing more of these workshops to drive home the information and to empower these girls. I cannot wait to see it happen.

The Not-So-Funny "Comedy of Errors"

I am writing this post after the emotion has subsided and the sheer exhaustion dealt with. You can be thankful for the wait. Without it, this post would have been filled in expletives and long rants and my keyboard covered in exasperated tears. None of those would have been productive. Plus, honestly, I would have had to print a retraction anyway because I love my life and I love Botswana and Africa is the bees knees. A month and a half ago I would have said otherwise.

June 27th started out like any other day. Well, any day when you are embarking on a thirty-something hour journey from the west coast of America to Southern Africa. I got up, poured myself an extra big cup of coffee, and gave my mom hugs in between shoving things in the side pockets of my luggage. I was sad to be leaving my family and friends but so grateful for having five amazing weeks filled with love, hugs, Starbucks, and taco truck tacos. So, it was with a full belly and a warm heart, that I was to return to Botswana.

My flights across the continental USA went smoothly and I arrived in Atlanta for my Delta Airlines connection to Johannesburg with three hours to spare. As I wandered through the airport in search of a "last meal", I was pleasantly surprised to run into a fellow Bots 10 volunteer who was also on her way back for her extension year. We told tales of our home leaves over Blue Moons and laughed about all the things that led us to this point. It was a great couple of hours before the long leg of the journey.

The flight over the ocean was equally pleasant. I sat next to two university rugby players from New Zealand who were between tournaments, I believe. What I liked most about them was that they were on the same schedule as me - we slept at the same times, watched movies at the same times, and took similar bathroom breaks. Being on the aisle was never so easy!

As we landed in Johannesburg, my excitement at being so close to home was almost more than I could handle. In a few short hours, I would be back in Botswana and giving my boyfriend a great big bear hug! That reality, on its own, provided me with enough energy to almost skip towards the transit area to get my new boarding pass. Exhaustion be damned!

Now here's where everything started to go south...

There was a fairly significant line at the transit counter for Air Botswana and both my fellow Bots 10 and I needed to go get new boarding passes there. So we found our spot in the queue, somewhere in the middle of what appeared to be a youth sports team all wearing matching Botswana jumpsuits. Person by person, they started cutting in front of us. This is an unfortunate yet common practice in Botswana (pushing the white person to the back of the line) and something we had both forgotten about in our months at home. We periodically tried to convey our frustration but no one seemed to care. Before long, the last of the sports team was at the counter and we were the last to get our boarding passes (with a mere forty minutes left before take off).

My friend received her boarding pass with little issue and at long last it was my turn. I handed the attendant my passport and my flight confirmation sheet and was ready to grab my boarding pass and make a beeline for the security check, which was already filling up much more than our remaining layover time allowed for. I waited... and I waited... and the ticket guy fumbled around... and I waited... he asked if I had any other information but I didn't because that was the ticket confirmation and booking numbers. I waited more... he called someone up... he hung up and informed me that I wasn't in the system but that he could see the confirmation so there shouldn't be a problem. He then assured me there were three seats still on the plane. The clocked ticked ever closer to departure time. He made another phone call. In apparent lulls in his call I asked if everything was ok and he shook his head yes. I was relieved. I saw the departure board switch to say that our flight was boarding the airplane. My friend had to leave or risk missing the flight. The ticket guy hung up the phone. What follows is as accurate of a conversation as I remember from that night:

Ticket Guy: We don't have you in our system for this flight.
Me: But you see my confirmation number?
TG: Yes.
Me: And there are seats on the plane?
TG: Yes. There are three available seats.
Me: Can I buy one of them now and I can deal with the rest later?
TG: No.
Me: Why?
TG: Because the plane has switched to "boarding" and I can't sell tickets after they start boarding.
Me: But I have been standing here waiting on you to get off the phone. And I should have been helped a half hour ago but you kept calling people up before me, which wasn't right either.
TG: I cannot sell you a ticket.
Me: But when you were on the phone you said everything was fine, otherwise I would have asked to buy one earlier.
TG: (shrugs shoulders) You aren't in the system for this flight.
Me: Ok... When is the next flight out?
TG: Tomorrow at noon. (Note: I later found out that the first flight out was at 10:40AM. Extra irritated.)
Me: Are there seats available on that flight?
TG: I don't know.
Me: Can you check and tell me?
TG: No.
Me: Why?
TG: Because I shut down my system.
Me: Since I have been standing here, trying to figure out my ticket, you shut your system down?
TG: Yes.
Me: Ok... Is there a place that I can get a SIM card or access wifi so I can check for myself?
TG: No. We no longer sell SIM cards in the airport and there is no wifi anywhere. You could go to the post office and get a card but the post office is closed until tomorrow.
Me: So you can't tell me if there are seats available because you shut your system down and I can't find out on my own? So what am I supposed to do?
TG: Not my problem. (Then he turned and walked away.)

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! At this point, emotions took over, compounded by the exhaustion that was temporarily at bay due to elation. I was overwhelmed with frustration. I cried. Then I cried a little more. Then I had an inner monologue (read: RANT) that went something like:

Why am I in this crappy place? Why do I work so hard to make this place better when no one is willing to help me? I hate Africa. All I want is to get home and I can't. ...Home? America! Maybe I should see if there's a flight back there. Everything is easier in America. ...I want to see Tuan. I was so excited to see him... I am going to live in this airport for forever and ever because I can't get out of here... People here suck... America is so beautiful and people are so friendly... I just want to see my boyfriend... I just want to be with my mama. I can't even call my mom. Oh my god, my mom is going to panic if she doesn't hear from me... I don't have a South African SIM card... Let me check my phone and see if I have roaming... OF COURSE MY PHONE IS DEAD... I HATE AFRICA... Today sucks... Well, today was horrible... This ticket guy is a horrible person... I wonder what his name is and if I can get him in trouble for being a giant jerkface... I wonder if anyone has ever really lived in an airport. They did make that one movie called The Terminal so probably... This is my life now - a Peace Corps Volunteer stranded in Johannesburg... Oh my god, I'm trapped in Johannesburg! This place is fully of crime. I'm so getting mugged in this airport tonight. And, of course, now that I have a fancy iPad... I need to call Tuan because he's going to be worried when he goes to pick me up from the airport and I'm not there. How do I call him? Why did I give him my South African SIM card? ...I hate it here... Everything is so much harder in Africa... TIJA LEIGH DANZIG, STOP FEELING SO SORRY FOR YOURSELF AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!

So I got up off the ground, wiped my tears, and started trying to make a plan. I went around asking people where to purchase a SIM card. I even got a little comforting from the ladies at the KLM ticket counter. But, unfortunately, no one could help me.

Finally, feeling defeated and exhausted but determined to find a way out, I went to the man at the baggage security checkpoint. I asked him if there was any way I could go beyond that point, despite not having a boarding pass, to see if there was a place to buy a SIM card or access the internet. He asked me what the problem was and then I burst into tears. Between whimpers, I managed to get the story out - about trying to get back to Botswana but having an issue with my ticket and not getting on the flight and how I needed to tell my boyfriend who was supposed to pick me up that I wasn't on the flight and that I needed to get a new ticket. He looked sympathetic. He then asked me why I was going back to Botswana. I told him that I was a Peace Corps Volunteer and had extended my service for another year and had gone home for a month in between contracts. With that, he completely softened. He told me that he had been taught by PCVs in his township in South Africa and that he cherished the work we are doing. He said that the only way to keep us here is to be kind and helpful. He then handed me his cell phone. He said to use it to call my boyfriend and to hold onto it until everything was figured out. BE STILL MY HEART, SOMEONE WAS BEING HELPFUL! In that moment, this man was my lifesaver. And, not only did he let me use his phone (for free!), but he also brought me some snacks to eat!

Meanwhile, in Botswana... My boyfriend received the phone call from me about Air Botswana's disregard and rudeness and the fact that I was going to live in the airport until further notice. He was mad. Five weeks apart and a ruined reunion was more than that guy could handle. So he got into his car and drove out to the airport in Gaborone and marched straight to the Air Botswana office. He literally told them that no one could leave until they sorted out my ticket for the following day. Having stood in front of the door and acting as a human barricade, they finally succumbed and got me on a flight 18 hours later.

Back in Johannesburg... I spent 18 hours in the OR Tambo International Airport. But I didn't have to spend it all in the transit terminal. The same super kind and helpful security officer let me through to the departures terminal, despite not having a boarding pass, so I could go get a hot meal and be (slightly) more comfortable. Because the ladies at the KLM desk were so friendly earlier, I decided to take a chance and ask if I could sit inside their lounge. They agreed! I was able to access their wifi (take that Ticket Guy, there was wifi in the airport!) and eat a snack without having to pay anything!

Around 1am, just as I was finally falling asleep in the KLM lounge (on two chairs that I had pushed together), a security guard came to tell me that they were closing for the night. Of course! He asked me what I was going to do until my flight at noon the next day. I told him that I would find a spot in the terminal that was lit and sit there. He responded: "No, no. You cannot stay like that. Not safe. No, no." I explained that I had no choice and slowly started to pack my bags and leave. On my way out, he appeared again, this time as an escort to bring me to another lounge that was open all night. Even though that one required me to pay (a lot) to stay, he insisted that I had to because the alternative was not a safe option. I was grateful that he cared enough and, honestly, was too tired at this point to argue. I hadn't slept in nearly 40 hours.

Flash forward to my arrival in Botswana... My luggage didn't make it. None of it. And, when I inquired about it at lost baggage, they said they didn't think it made it to Africa because they had no record but would keep looking for it. Great. I went to walk through customs and reunite with my boyfriend. It had been a long couple of days.

After a kiss and a big hug, he starts leading me over to the waiting area benches. I asked where we were going and he said "I need you to sit down." Uh-uh, no way, I've been sitting for days. He proceeded to tell me that he got a phone call from my Country Director that my house had been broken into the night before and that "everything was gone". Whaaaaat?! Welcome back to Botswana - people are unhelpful, you get stuck in airports, your baggage doesn't make it, aaaaaaand your house was broken into. No big deal. Just another day in Africa, right? Why did I come back here?! So we hopped into the car and made our way to the village to assess the damage...

I am happy to report that, although the house was completely ransacked, my pre-planning paid off and there was very little in my house of value (because I had brought it to my boyfriend's before I left - empty houses are often targets and I didn't want to be a victim...). But, I have to share a funny story right now about what was taken... I store all of my drinking water in empty glass alcohol bottles. So I had about ten empty vodka bottles that were acting as storage receptacles in my refrigerator. All ten of those bottles were stolen. So, ladies and gentlemen, there were likely a bunch of placebo drunk slash super hydrated people wandering around Gabane village! Whoops! The joke is on them! WATER!

Good news: two days later my baggage arrived!

Flash forward one more day... My boyfriend came to pick me up for dinner at a house that I was housesitting (for a friend who was on medical leave in Pretoria). He parked his car outside the compound and came in for about fifteen or twenty minutes. We walk outside, go to get into the car, and see that his car window had been smashed in. Someone, at about 6pm, broke into his car and stole everything! He had his flight bag in the car - with his expensive aviation head set - and a bunch of new clothes I had bought for him while in America. To add insult to injury, the thieves even stole his pilot's uniform! Why in the world would they need that?! So it was back to the police station to file the second report in the same amount of days...

But all is not lost! My boyfriend was able to replace his headset with an upgrade because some kind folks were returning to Botswana from America and, after hearing the news, offered to carry them back for him! (Note to pilots everywhere: they are about one third the price in America so buy them there if you plan to relocate.) I am convinced that I will see one of the new sweatshirts I brought my boyfriend just wandering around Gaborone some day on the backs of one of the thieves. Botswana is small and Gabs is smaller and I WILL FIND THEM! I get a huge chuckle every time I think about the house robbers drinking water instead of vodka because, lets face it, that's hilarious! And I was able to meet some very good souls in the OR Tambo International Airport, proving, once again, that one kind act can change someone's whole day.

So this long and winding tale doesn't end badly. While it was trying and tiring, it ends with a few laughs, some grit and determination, and a smile. Because, after all, TIA. This is Africa. Gotta live and let it go.

"Goodbye, My Friend"

As I approach my last week working at my NGO, I am filled with mixed emotions and inner turmoil that could only be articulated through this clip from the 1987 movie Harry and the Hendersons:

Contrary to what you may think, I am both George and Harry in this scene. I am trying to say goodbye, I am fighting to hold on, I am trying to make sense of everything, and I am forcing myself to go.

How this is playing out in reality is that I am actively trying not to go into my center so the staff get used to not seeing me every day (and likewise for me not seeing them), while remaining at my house only a five minute walk away so they know that I am here in the village still if they need me. I am hoping this acts as a buffer or an intermediary situation before the pending departure. I am trying to do what is best but it's hard to know in times like this. I find myself having an internal monologue that sounds like screaming to go into the center then yelling to stay away followed by moans of agony as I fight back the tears.

Slowly pulling back and now, finally, withdrawing has been incredibly difficult because I want to spend every second of my last days here with the ladies. Removing myself from the center forces the staff to try things that they so often use me as a crutch for. There is no ceremonious way to impart all the knowledge so it must just be employed. I know they have learned it all and they need only to stop holding on to me. They will be okay on their own and they need the opportunity to do just that.

All that being said, I have to wonder if my withdrawing now instead of in a week is more for me or for them? Could it be my way of easing the pain on myself and to be able to witness their success first-hand before I go? It does feel better knowing that I could be there in a minute if they need me. In going back to the moment with George and Harry from the clip, it certainly does feel like bringing them to the beautiful place in the forest where they can stretch and go at it all on their own but yet being able to follow their footsteps for a while to see they made it safely out on their own...

And, In The End, There Were Emotions

I have exactly twenty-two days left in my comfortable little village and only thirteen days left working at my NGO and with the ladies that have become my family in Gabane.

This is an emotional time. 

It just doesn't seem possible that my two years here are up and I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around leaving here. Even though my ticket to America is booked for my home leave and I can see the upcoming date on a calendar, it still doesn't feel real. It is as if my brain has employed a defense mechanism to keep me from feeling the anxiety and heartache of leaving something I love so much. Even if it is just to start something new nearby. I have to consciously remind myself to cherish each moment with the ladies of my NGO, to take the time to do the "secret handshake" with each kid in the pre-school, and to greet each person I meet on the dusty paths around Gabane. In a matter of days it will all be a memory. When I think about how fast two years went, it is overwhelming (even heartbreaking) to think how fast these last few days will likely go.

This is also a time when I am pushing to get projects and things finished but also trying to disconnect from the work in a more meaningful way. This is something I have blogged about a lot - the idea of true sustainable development. Of course, I have things I want to get done and see through here before I go. For example, the house building project is complete but the sanitation component - the pit latrine - is not quite finished yet. Same goes for some aspects of my organizational development project at the NGO. But, at the same time, I need to back away and make sure the ladies can do everything on their own. I need to observe them and support them in their own personal development if the things we have worked so hard on are to be sustainable. And, so far, they are.

I have watched the ladies take ownership of projects and work diligently to get the financial systems in place or to improve the teaching curriculum and our reports. The Board of Governors has finally been elected and they are taking an active role in helping scale up our operation. The members are coming to the office and conducting their own mini trainings and helping the ladies network with local people who can assist them. Local people helping local people to help the local community. This is a huge accomplishment. I have always said that, as a capacity builder and development worker, if I am able to make my job obsolete and unnecessary because the staff and community are able to do it on their own, then I have done my job well. Being able to witness this happening first-hand is bringing me peace and soothing some of the sorrow of leaving as I hesitantly look forward to the end of this chapter.

Saying goodbye is probably one of the hardest things anyone can do. This is a time filled with that - goodbyes to my fellow Bots 10s as they embark on their next adventures (on their own), goodbyes to my village and my work, and goodbyes to a life where I could be anything I wanted on any given day of the week (a farmer, a social worker, a teacher, a consultant, an accountant, a youth leader, an artist, and so on). Goodbyes are made harder when you deeply love all the things you are bidding adieu. And that is where we stand now.

For me, this goodbye is also met with some exciting hellos - to a new life, to a new job, to new challenges, to new faces. There is glory and elation and vitality in moving forward from something achieved and towards the great unknown. It is, after all, how I got to this place in my life that has become so special to me.

I am going to try and take the next twenty-two days to "hug" this world I am in now and shower it with all my love. I want to feel the emotions of it all and embrace them. I want to leave all of who I am right now in the sand of my village and with the people who have helped me grow here so that I can start this next chapter in Botswana anew.

Water Problems Continue

In America, having potable drinking water and a constant water supply is never a problem. Almost magically, it is there whenever you need it. If you have followed my story, however, then you know this is not the case in Botswana. I have gone months on end without water and have, on occasion, put buckets outside to catch precious rain water. Some of my peers have to walk up to 5km to fill up buckets to carry home because they don't have running water or a water pump nearby. Water is an issue.

Volunteers in Botswana are lucky, though, in that our water has been safe to drink. I have been drinking it straight from the tap for nearly two years and have had no problems at all. That was until recently, when a number of random quality tests were conducted and the water failed to meet US Embassy standards. They advised us that water in my region intended for human consumption should be boiled. Before receiving this statement, I had been having some stomach problems (eww) so I started boiling my water and they ceased. Boiling water is laborious, especially during the heat of summer when all you want is something cold to drink. As of last week, after talking with a health specialist who told me the situation had been cleared up, I have stopped boiling my water. Gratefully, my tummy has not been rattled so I believe she was right and the water is fine now. (After all, the best way to find out is to try it out and my body isn't reacting...) Happy day, right? Wrong. As annoying as it is having to boil water, it pales in comparison to the alternative... no water.

Today the Water Utilities Corporation released the following statement: "The Water Utilities Corporation (WUC) would like to inform residents of Gaborone City and surrounding areas (Mochudi, Gabane, Kumakwane, Mogoditshane, Tlokweng, Lobatse and their surrounding areas) that it is currently experiencing water supply challenges. Due to this, they will experience low pressure to no water at all indefinitely. Residents are advised to wisely use the little available water." INDEFINITELY?! We are going to be without water indefinitely?! To my great dismay (but not to my surprise), this public statement came out AFTER the water cuts arrived in my village, meaning that none of us had the time to prepare. We are already without water and now without means of stocking up. While we all live with water challenges every day, this is incredibly difficult to hear. Although Peace Corps Volunteers hoard water like it's our jobs, there is never enough for our "shorter" week-long outages. It is in these moments when I wish I had a pit latrine because at least then I could go to the bathroom in peace without worrying about using 3L of water to flush... The question then becomes: "What happens to us and to the local communities if the water really is out indefinitely?"

I beg all of you back in America, please cherish every time you turn the faucet on and water comes out and that it is clean water to drink. I will never take those things for granted again.

Whoa! We Made It! Bots 10 COS Conference

How do you sum up two years of your life? Even in the best of circumstances, it would be extremely difficult. Throw in the confines of risk, adventure, unknowns, cultures, creepy crawlies, and a life in a far far away place that you ventured to all on your own and a person can be at a loss for words. And, if not lost for words, then definitely overwhelmed by them. Either way, the result is the same. That is where I sit now, at the conclusion of my Close of Service (COS) Conference and in my final months at site. Contemplating everything.

Our COS Conference was a time when my cohort, my Bots 10 family, was able to reconnect. This was invaluable, as I hadn't seen some members since our mid-service training a year ago. I realize it may be hard to understand how these people have remained so integral to my service and how amazing it was to reunite, but they are among the few who actually understand what Peace Corps service in Botswana is like. We can recount our own experiences and have them feel like a joint memory because we "get it" in a way that no one else could. Being afforded the time together to catch up, to share our stories, and to decompress, was probably the most cherished part of our COS Conference. This could very well be our last time in the same room together and will definitely be our last in country together. As you can likely imagine, this reality caused a few tears from more than a few people (myself included).

Tears were also met with laughter as we had dinner on the salt pans in the Nata Bird Sanctuary, recounting humorous tales showcasing each of us and paid homage to those from our group who left us early. Bots 10 has not forgotten anyone - we are all a part of this story, even the one who never made it on the plane in New York. "The Survivors" sitting around the table with the expanse of the pans and the fading sun, regaling everyone with great love and admiration, was one of my favorite moments and one that will stick with me long after this adventure.

While the emotions of our COS Conference are among the highlights, they are not the sole purpose of the week. More seriously, the conference serves as an opportunity to prepare for the goodbyes in our villages and the transition back home. It is a time to construct our "elevator speech", knowing that most people will not want the full account of our two year hiatus, and learning how to quantify our work and cope with the many changes in ourselves and in the world we left behind.

Many of us have some concerns about returning to America, whether it be about reverse culture shock, consumerism, personal growth and change, making sense of our experience and bringing it back with us, rectifying relationships with friends from home, and so on. My fears encompass many of these things. For example, I am nervous that people will expect me and expect things to continue on just as they had before I left but these things won't feel normal to me anymore. There will be a necessary adjustment in the way things once were. I have changed and I am happy with who I am. But I wonder how this will impact my relationships and my life when I return. My experiences in Botswana have been profound and have impacted me in ways that I am sure I can't even imagine yet. How will I react to all of this? Will I be compassionate and patient with those who don't see the world as I do now? Will they show me that same respect when I find things hard to deal with? And who will let me ramble on and on about my service, even after the "acceptable" statute of limitations has passed? These were some of the things we discussed at length throughout the conference. In the end, my group agreed that it will be vital to maintain our friendships with fellows Bots 10s. They will be our lifeline and our connection to this world. We are also grateful for those friends and family who have stuck by us in one way or another because we genuinely believe we will need to lean on them during this period of transition and re-entry.

And, finally, how do you say goodbye? How do you say goodbye to people who have been your main source of support and friendship in an unfamiliar land? How do you thank strangers that took you in as family? How do you leave a village whose paths welcomed you home every day? Most of us won't return to Botswana again. These goodbyes will tear at the heartstrings of even the most jaded of us. And this is our next big challenge and what we will focus on in our final months at site. Just 80 days until departure...

HIV Gets Personal

Botswana is a country plagued by HIV. It is estimated that nearly a third of the country is infected, although those of us working at the village level believe this is likely a very conservative estimate. And that doesn't even begin to take into account the devastation the disease has brought on the rest of the populous, most notably the children who are often orphaned and those loved ones who are left to assume the burden. The country has set lofty goals to eradicate the disease but, unfortunately, seems to be falling short. This is why Peace Corps is here. We are here to work in the health sector - improving organization's capacity to help - and to inspire and motivate children and youth to live healthier lives. As such, we meet and befriend many people who are living with HIV.

The work I am doing in Botswana puts me in direct contact with numerous people who are HIV positive. Whether it be through assisting my NGO and the Clinic with improving home-based care services, collaborating with the Support Group on projects, or playing with children affected and infected, I have gotten to know so many individuals whose lives are forever impacted by the disease. It has opened my eyes and my heart in ways I could never have expected. 

That being said, there has always been some semblance of distance. Although they are people that I work with all the time and who I care about, I have been able to look at them as colleagues or smiling children first and let the disease take a backseat. I don't often have to see the deterioration nor experience first-hand its impact. Their HIV status is only one aspect of who these people are and, honestly, it isn't all that important. As long as they are taking care of themselves - adhering to their ARV regimen, eating nutritiously, and being supported by family/friends/caregivers/my NGO - then we can all carry on with our lives as normal. That is, until two weeks ago...

Two weeks ago a very dear friend of mine sent me a text message that said "Kamogelo, I am having a very serious problem. I am not sure when I will be coming back but I need you so I will find you when I return." I frantically tried calling her but she did not answer. I waited (im)patiently for nearly a week before I heard from her. When I did, she assured me that she was okay but that she wanted to talk in person.

With nervous hugs and hand-holding, she carefully told me that her husband of nearly twenty years, who had been very sick lately, underwent a series of tests at a nearby hospital. After ruling out prostate cancer and a slue of other things, he finally succumbed to an HIV test and learned that he is HIV+. In shock, he refused to get his CD4 count read to find out if he should start ARV treatment, despite urging by the doctor and my friend. My friend said that what happened next was an almost psychotic episode by her husband, who left the hospital before he received HIV counseling and demanded they go directly to their lands in the Kalagadi. He then refused to say anything more on the matter, would not discuss his newfound status, and began making ridiculous requests and talking gibberish. This lasted for four days. 

After returning to the village, my friend's husband holed himself away inside the house. He got even more sickly. He continued to refuse counseling or to get his CD4 count tested. My friend begged him to talk about his status with her or with a counselor from the Clinic or with a trusted friend. She hasn't been able to process her own feelings about his new status because she has been so overwhelmed with helping him grapple with it. She is constantly worried about him.

This is the first time I have witnessed this side of HIV - the emotion, the turmoil, and the tragedy before the recognition and acceptance. To listen to my friend talk about the struggles she is going through and how hard it is for her and her husband to come to terms with things has been heart-wrenching. This is someone who I deeply and profoundly love and she is going through something I cannot even fathom and I don't even have any point of reference. Everyone I know who is HIV+ have already come to terms with their illness to the point where it's practically a nonissue. And every time I ask her how she is doing and how she is coping, she (of course) brings the concern back around to her husband. It is devastating to feel so helpless. I can only imagine how they must feel.

I am humbled that she chose me to talk to and believes in our friendship enough to share this burden with her in some way. Right now, all I can offer her is hugs, which she says is enough. 

Bots 10 Ramblings: Approaching The End

Over the weekend, I had a number of friends from Bots 10 over to my house. These friends came from all corners of the country to start souvenir shopping at my village's artist colony, attend a "cultural event", and catch up with one another. It was a lot of fun and reminded me of how lucky I am to be a part of my "elusive" group. We are "concentrated awesome", as one group member put it.

Of course, the conversation eventually came around to our upcoming COS Conference and a reflection on our services. We discussed Peace Corps and this whole crazy experience - the ups and downs, the things that motivated us and challenged us these two years, what we have gotten out of it, and the internal versus external measures of it all. After some time, one of us stopped and said "Can we please just acknowledge that this was really hard?" That statement paused the conversation for a minute because it was like a weight getting lifted off of us in a way - a relief - like fiiiiiiiinally, someone said it!. No matter how many accomplishments we have or how productive our service, this whole thing is really hard! And I have been thinking about that statement ever since.

As Peace Corps Volunteers, we spend so much time integrating and accepting things as they are and trying, trying, trying to become part of the community and to "forget" about life back home because it's just not our lives anymore. Things here that would have been extremely challenging in "our past lives" are so commonplace now that we hardly even notice anymore. For instance, we were having this conversation by candlelight because the electricity was out (again) and we never thought twice about it. We just got up, lit some candles, and continued on. But we forget how hard some of the things we have been through truly are because it is our lives now and we have accepted it. Things like being without water and/or electricity for weeks on end, riding a bus for ten hours with people sitting on your lap in 100 degree weather just to see a friend, being delayed because of cows crossing the only tarred road, having to go to multiple offices in multiple villages using public transportation to get all the required signatures just to get a P100/$13 reimbursement, always being on display like a movie star, and so on. These things hardly even phase us anymore. And that's only a sample of the "simple" "everyday" things we deal with here that make it "hard". That doesn't include everything we gave up and are missing out on at home - weddings and births and family and engagements - or the long long loooooooong hours wishing someone from home would send us a package or a card or an email just to let us know they're thinking about us. And the even longer hours spent alone, in silence, with nothing to keep us company but our thoughts (making the before-mentioned even more exasperating).

We don't usually allow ourselves to think about how challenging Peace Corps service can be. This is mostly because it can be too consuming and then you may miss out on all the great things about living here and all the positive outcomes, mostly within ourselves, that could never be replaced. You get used to it, you move forward, and you make the most of your time here.

We all agreed that it is a weird feeling to be nearing the end of our service. It is exciting and rewarding and feels like a major accomplishment, especially when we allow ourselves a minute to think about how hard it is. If you haven't been through it - actually lived in a village and had a long-term experience like this - you can't truly understand, which is why it helps to have the camaraderie of your group-mates, your peers, and the Peace Corps community. This is an experience unlike any other. It is rewarding and you grow as an individual in very meaningful ways. But it will also challenge you to your core and on so many levels. It was a relief to have someone finally say it aloud so we could acknowledge it and be proud of ourselves.

Looking Forward: Third Year Extension

Yesterday marked the deadline for third year extension applications to be turned in to Peace Corps. In true Tija fashion, I submitted my application two weeks ago. While most would regard my promptness to be a positive attribute, it is causing me anxiety. Why? Because it is requiring more patience than I would like to muster. I want to know about my future and my extension now. After all, I have already been waiting for two weeks, right?! Sigh. This brings me back to my initial application to Peace Corps... Oh the waiting!

It turns out that TEN people from my Bots 10 group have applied for an extension (and I am unsure of how many from Bots 11 are pursuing extension and would begin shortly thereafter). That is an unprecedented number of people to apply, especially from a group with so few volunteers. That's nearly half of all those who are still here from Bots 10. If all of us were guaranteed placement, this would be exciting beyond compare. These people are my family here and I would love to share the rest of this journey with them. Unfortunately, placement for third year assignments depends on available funding, volunteers' skill sets and experience, and fit with the limited number of potential host organizations. Even still, I will remain optimistic that we all get accepted for extensions within our chosen fields. I believe we each have what it takes to make great contributions here and enhance our own capabilities. That being said, we will have stiff competition this year it seems.

The competitive nature of this third year application cycle makes me all the more anxious to hear back from Peace Corps about the next steps. I know most of us are already questioning the process and are ready to hear more. I, personally, would like the opportunity to begin a dialogue with the staff and look forward towards the upcoming year. And I would like that year to be in Botswana and working with my proposed organizations. Is that too much to ask?

I have been told this process is fluid and comes from a number of meetings with staff and potential host organizations. I have also heard that it is like a mini version of our initial application to Peace Corps, requiring renewed medical clearance and interviews. I am hopeful that it falls somewhere in the middle. And that it happens quickly.

Fingers and toes crossed for expediency with this application and with my future placement. Deep breath, though, just in case it takes a while...

Hard Work, Final Push, and a Break

I am in the home stretch, so to speak, of my work in Gabane. Our Close of Service Conference is just over a month away and then begins our final "lockdown" period. From that point, we are supposed to be observing our agencies utilizing the skills we have taught them and closing down our projects, rather than implementing new things. As capacity builders, this is important for us to ensure that we have successfully imparted skills to our host country counterparts. I have discussed this eventuality with the staff at my NGO at great length, preparing them and encouraging them to keep striving to learn.

Yesterday, the NGO's coordinator and I talked about this looming date once again. I think it was a big eye-opener for her, realizing that the date is fast approaching. We set to work outlining all of the things we still want to accomplish before then. It is a daunting list with more than a few big picture projects left on the agenda. To keep us focused, we decided to make a wall-sized calendar and work plan -constant reminders of the things we have set out to do and a timeframe to do them in.

This morning, I came to the office bright and early with large pieces of paper to make into a floor-to-ceiling wall calendar. I had drafted priority lists for our programs (utilizing our new strategic plan!!) throughout the evening and was set to get down to business. The ladies, as they slowly trickled into the center, were curious (and speculative) about my determination and the project before them. Hadn't this been discussed yesterday and agreed upon? I continued on, explaining as I went what I was doing, why I was doing it, and how we were going to accomplish everything (or at least get started) in the next six weeks. The ladies sat before the new calendar and nervously chuckled and spat words of apprehension.

Before long, we were talking together and solidifying the plans. They kept asking if I could stay with them at the center longer to help them get through these lists. I constantly reassured them that they had many of the skills to do it themselves but that I would be here for some time still to guide them. We then set to work on the first of many tasks...

About three and a half hours later, after tireless work (i.e. no tea break), the ladies stopped and looked at me and said "Kamogelo, we are working too hard. I think you should go home so we can take a break." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my calendar of objectives and deadlines put stress on the ladies to the point that they realized the kind of work they wanted to do so they did not pause for tea (an oversight due to diligence and earnest on all of our behalves) and became so overwhelmed that they felt I had to actually leave the center in order to get a breather! Whoops! But, before I left, they were sure to sit down with me and discuss what needed to be done next. And they want to get started as soon as the doors open tomorrow.

In the end, I consider it a success. It is important to look ahead and make a plan and that is something that has been lacking here. So, in putting up the calendar and showing them exactly what needs to be done, I issued them a challenge and it's one they have accepted. I truly believe that, in seeing the work that lay before them, the ladies will accomplish more and feel more confident and successful. Plus, I got an afternoon off guilt-free! :)

Healthy Lifestyles

During PST, we talk a lot about "healthy lifestyles" or, more specifically, how to maintain them once we get to site. We are told at the beginning that if you were very physically active before coming to your host country that you'll likely gain weight during your service, whereas those who were less active will lose. For me, I was in the "very active" group, choosing to go to the gym and to snowboard, take long bike rides, and generally be outdoors. I expected to gain some but also wanted to keep a lifestyle that kept me feeling good about myself and spry. Most of us vowed similarly but, unfortunately, this was usually not the case.

Many pick up bad habits to kill the time. Some people start smoking or drink too much or fill the empty hours with learning to cook new foods or waiting for a care package with tasty treats to remind us of home... and then binge eating them. Although I have still never ever smoked a cigarette, I did fall prey to overindulgence. I learned how to bake bread and fell in love with the smell as it filled my kitchen and I struggled to say no to kind neighbors when they over-filled my plate with Setswana foods. But eating what I like has rarely been something I denied myself.

Working out is infinitely more difficult when living in a village. For one, there are no gyms to go to. And second (and perhaps more importantly), we are an absolute spectacle if we go for runs outside. My fellow Peace Corps Volunteers and I have often said that we feel like a zoo animal with everyone watching us and studying our mannerisms. While a daily run would feel great on the body (and likely spur a parade of children trying to keep up), the soul takes a beating when you are constantly scrutinized. Most PCVs opt for indoor workouts of the likes of Jillian Michaels, Hip Hop Abs, or Insanity. That is, until the unbearable heat kicks in and getting up to fill your water bottle makes you sweat like you just ran a marathon. Oh yes, it is a hard life... Oh woe is me. But, really, I have tried on many occasions to get back into the swing of things and re-kindle my workout routine but bloody blisters and torrential downpours and nearly four months without water always kept me at bay. (Would you really want to hang out with me after nine workouts without a shower? Cuz that's how many days I had to go sometimes when I was out of water... GROSS!) I mention all of this because many of my compatriots and I have started to feel the wear and we are determined not to let anything else stand in our way. With less than seven months left in our contracts, we are finally taking a stand for our health.

Last week my mom bought me an elliptical as a Christmas present and for over an hour my boyfriend and I worked to build it. I put it smack dab in the middle of my bedroom so that it would stare at me in the face every morning when I wake up and every evening before I go to bed. And, I am pleased to report, I have been using it every day. I am so happy to have it (this was my favorite workout at the gym after all) but, at the same time, it is A LOT harder to do now than it was 19 months ago (I know, surprise surprise...) and I can really see how out of shape I have become. The occasional workout video has definitely not kept me in the type of shape I am used to. I literally struggle to make it through three songs on my Zune before having to take a break and walk around my house then get back on and go again. It is really sad to me. But I have it now and, as a Bots 10 family, we are going to get our healthy lifestyles back! We are motivated (both for our returns stateside and for upcoming trips - who wants to sit on the beach in Mozambique with a beer/bread gut?! not us!). Plus, at least for me, seeing how hard it has become (much harder than doing a Jillian Michaels video that's for sure!) has re-inspired me and is a huge wake-up call. So I'm going to just push onwards, minute by minute if I have to, until I am, as a PCV friend of mine put it, "a fast little gerbil on that thing"!

So I ask of you, my family and friends, every so often ask me how my elliptical is treating me... hint hint Tija!

What's In A Name: "Posh Corps"

My friend and fellow Bots 10 wrote a piece for Peace Corps Botswana's latest newsletter that she entitled "What's In A Name". It resonated with me because of its astuteness and clarity in a way that I thought needed to be shared.

To see her post, click here: What's in a Name

For easier access, however, her post is as follows:

"Before joining Peace Corps many of us believed the brochures, expecting mud huts and dinner by moonlight. Those of us invited to Botswana were told we were lucky to be in the ‘posh corps.’ Even from my homestay experience I recognized that many families opt for a satellite dish for their TV before they install running water in the home. I remember thinking why deny yourself when your neighbor enjoys the modern conveniences of running water and electricity, watching soap operas every single night and blasting the radio on Saturday mornings? The question is: does the availability of these amenities make the experience any less challenging or any less of a “Peace Corps experience?”

Some Volunteers live with the beloved “air-con” in a relatively modern apartment or house, but what about those living the ‘old’ Peace Corps experience in a traditional round house and making the trek to the pit latrine at all hours. There are even some Volunteers living without electricity entirely, often in the context of a village with only a few compounds connected to power. Some opted for these living situations and others simply acquiesced. Are they any more of a Volunteer because of their deviation from modern conveniences and willingness to adapt? Even if they live without them day-to-day, they may occasionally enjoy an episode of 30 Rock on their Mac, powered by the juice borrowed from the local clinic earlier that day, all the while eating their rice and tomato sauce dinner by candlelight. Or they may travel to another Volunteer’s site for the weekend to take a nice bath and charge up all electronic devices. I have both electricity and running water with a flush toilet in my house. I have often wished I had neither simply because the wiring is so terrible and the water supply so unreliable that I’d rather learn to live without than have to live with unannounced outages. When water was out for seven days, believe me, the flush toilet was a curse!

Whether you have these amenities or not, you may have the friend who has the latrine and have spent the holiday in a teeny village bordering the bush without electricity, inevitably learning what it is like to live in these varying conditions, adapting to the circumstances or learning to live without. One Volunteer put it to me like this: “When you go visit your Volunteer friends you immediately learn three things about their place: how to flush the toilet, how to get water, and how to bath yourself.” These few words could not be more true. Who knew that there could be so much versatility to your lifestyle within the course of a month? The key to this revelation is the ability to adapt. There is so much variation in the conveniences and difficulties in each village and at each person’s site so whether first-hand, vicariously or temporarily we all experience these conditions.

The reality is that we adapt whether we have these conveniences or not and that has been the common Peace Corps experience through 50 years of service. While the accessibility to things like running water define our daily life in terms of stocking water and washing dishes, it is surprising how quickly those behaviors become mindlessly routine, even normal. One thing that I’ve learned in my service is that your Peace Corps experience becomes less defined by how well you fulfill some 50-year-old stereotype and more about how you find a contentment both in your home and in your community, with the people you work with and the people you socialize with. When you do, all of those seeming amenities fade into the periphery. The truth it may be easier to live without water than it is to find a capable and willing counterpart for a project. It’s may be easier to live without electricity than to get accustomed to the stares on combi rides and the incessant “lekgoa!” resounding from some indiscriminate location.  

While Botswana is an anomaly in its relative wealth to other Peace Corps countries, the notion of being flexible remains, applicable around the globe and across the board. It is this flexibility and learning to make a home in the unfamiliar territory and a friend in the sea of strangers that brings together a common experience for all Volunteers at all levels of development." --Virginia Fall

Beyond Acceptance To Action

I had a seemingly rough day yesterday. I was processing. And processing is almost always hard. There were a lot of things to mull through about my life, my work (or lack of work) in Botswana, my (idealistic) beliefs and hopes for the next 18 months, and what I'm going to do about it. How does a person make sense of all of that? I mean, it's a lot and, to be honest, it's a lot more than any one person can have jurisdiction over.

When I need to deal with this mass of issues, no amount of talking will suffice. This is a lesson I learned after my dad died. I learned that I deal with the difficult things best when I'm left alone and given time to think. So, yesterday, I did just that. I meditated, I did yoga, I sat, I read old sermons by Rabbi Will Berkovitz (like this one: "Notebooks"), I watched Almost Famous, I read quotes, and then I pieced it all together.

Victor E. Frankl said that "Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom." I believe those words. I need to embody them. I needed to have yesterday. I needed a day to process and to decompress and to get to the point where Frankl's words were not only beautiful but applicable to me. Because they are.

I am not sure that any great change will come from my counterpart but that is okay. I did not come to Botswana with the intention to help him run an organization better, but rather with the passion and the drive to help orphans and vulnerable children live a better life. They are my reason for being here. I want to help those kids thrive in whatever way I can. I can get creative and do just that. True, the situation I'm in outright stinks. There really is no other way to put it. I shouldn't have been put in an organization that was crumbling fast but I was and I can't change that. The only thing I can change is my attitude and my response to the situation. (Plus, do I really want this dream of mine to diminish because a couple of people can't get their act together? No way! This is my dream to live out!) So here I go. I am going to dig down deep, take the love and support of my friends and colleagues, and try to "build something from nothing". I am committed to helping these kids every bit as much today as I was on the day I left. I need to rid myself of the confines holding me back and see what I can do on my own here. The kids deserve that much. And, you know what? So do I.

On My Way to 100!

As a general rule, Peace Corps Volunteers read a lot. I would guess that we read, on average, about a book per week. We share books, we discuss our favorites, we try to get host country nationals to read, we start and participate in book drives and the international book project, we read to kids, and so on.

I recently shared about the book club I started in my village. I am pleased to announce that since our first meeting, the group has grown to include more PCVs and Batswana. Our book for the month is going to be Kathryn Stockett's The Help, which I am sure will elicit captivating conversation and new perspectives as we each share our insights from a variety of different backgrounds. I couldn't be happier that the book club is growing in interest and becoming something that people are excited about.

Peace Corps Volunteers around the world have also issued a challenge to read 100 books during their service. A number of volunteers, myself included, have decided to take this challenge a step further and say that the 100 books must be from Dr. Peter Boxall's 1001 Books To Read Before You Die list. (Thank you to a friend of mine for providing me with media files of all of these books, which I have transferred to my Kindle!) This means that we will read an assortment of the books from the list in addition to the books that we read about Africa and the impact of HIV/AIDS here (which are invaluable to our understanding of the issues and to the success of our service). If you feel so inclined (and I hope that you are), you are invited to join me from your respective corner of the world in this reading challenge!

Happy reading!

Happy 50th Peace Corps! (And a PC Challenge for You All!)

Yesterday all of the Peace Corps Volunteers and Trainees, Peace Corps Staff, Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCV) living in Botswana, and special guests (including the US Ambassador and members of the Botswana government) gathered to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps. It was an all-day event that included a braai, drinks, speeches, commemorative videos, games, and an impromptu dance party. It was a really fun day! And it gave us an opportunity to say hi to our volunteer friends from all corners of the country, meet the new trainees (Bots 11!!) and find out where they will be stationed (they had their site announcement the day before), hear stories from RPCVs that served across the globe, and also schmooze with some big-wigs in the area. I have to say that it was one of the more fun events I have been to in a while. I want to thank my friends and the PC Botswana staff for making the day so much fun! And, especially, I want to send a shout out to the Peace Corps for fifty years of dedicated service abroad!

"Life in the Peace Corps will not be easy... but if it will not be easy it will be rich and satisfying. For every young American who participates in the Peace Corps - who works in a foreign land - will know that he or she is sharing in the great common task of bringing to man that decent way of life which is the foundation of freedom and a condition of peace."

To commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Peace Corps, a challenge has been posed to friends and family of volunteers - live like one of us for a day, a week, or a month. The "Live Like A PCV Challenge" is a project to help raise awareness about Peace Corps within the United States, while also giving those who take the challenge a small taste of volunteer life (after all, you're all a bit curious right?!). Check out these links to find out more:

The Challenge

The Rules for Botswana

If you decide to participate in the challenge and want to live as I do in Kumakwane, consider giving up some of the following things that I go without every day: no driving, water outages (for multiple days - store up!), lack of temperature control, no hot water, power outages, no fast food/restaurants, no washing machine/dryer (hand wash and hang dry clothes), limited internet access (that's slower than dial-up), no television, no use of a microwave, no checks/credit cards/debit cards (only cash), and no dishwasher (must hand wash). (Note: in my home stay, I was firmly in the highest difficulty level. My life at site includes an indoor toilet and running water, which I didn't have during PST. (Luckily for all of you that are going to accept the challenge!) But I must state that, although I have learned that both of these things are absolutely unnecessary, they have made my life quite a bit easier at site.)

Please let me know how it goes if you decide to participate!!

**Side note: I wanted to share with you all that I received one of the most amazing compliments yesterday from a trainee in Bots 11. She told me that she started reading my blog while she was in the United States going through her invitation process and that my blog "is that reason [she's] here". I couldn't be more humbled. I want to formally thank her because it was one of the nicest affirmations I have received - thank you so much.