The answer:
Thanks to the efforts of the Mother Bear knitters and some convenient connections and contacting on Abby’s part, we were able to hand out over 130 hand-knit bears to all of the children at Kamogelo. The pictures say it better than words (really, how can you translate such infinite smiles?) but I’ll add a few of those lettered things just to supplement.
Friday was already semi-special, as it was a fundraising day at Kamogelo. On such marked occasions, the kids bring in one pula each and are thus “allowed” to dress up in their fanciest finery. It was really shocking to see the kids in different clothes, as most wear the same things every day. The girls proudly twirled in their mix-matched and slightly worn skirts and dresses, while the boys stomped their feet to indicate that their kicks were not the same old footwear. Some children didn’t seem to participate (I am not sure if this was because they couldn’t spare the pula or because they didn’t have alternative clothing) but some went all out, like Bigani, whose ringworm has been healing quite nicely. His perpetually sleepy face looked particularly comical and bewildered, situated atop his baby blue tie and a much too big jacket.
Around 11 o’clock, all the kids filed into the cafeteria/big hall, as a car pulled down the dusty driveway. Gill, one of the Penn coordinators, was kind enough to receive and re-deliver the boxes of bears to us, and also took some great pictures of the event. With the children in lines, approaching one by one, Abby and I handed out beautiful, brightly colored bears as quickly as we could. The squeals of delight and BEAMING faces were enough to blind the delicate eye, and the sunshine outside really couldn’t compare. Clutching their plush possessions, the children gleefully rocked, tossed, hugged, and danced their bears across the floor. Aside from the unavoidable squabblings amongst young’uns over bear outfits and colors, the chatter in that room was of the most giggly and glorious I have ever heard for such a sustained period.
Great things followed the bear distribution as well, since Abby and I were fortunate enough to catch a performance of traditional dance and song when we returned to UB. Walking back to our hostel, we heard shuffling and laughter and voices, so we peeked around a corner to investigate. There, in the middle of a courtyard of sorts, was a huge “cultural troupe” of young men and women, dressed in traditional Tswana outfits, chanting and swaying in a rhythmic fury. A crowd of what appeared to be academics, professionals, and UB maintenance staff had gathered to watch, and the energy from the onlookers was manifest in all sorts of spontaneous and uncalled for audience participation. There were five incredible main male dancers, who occasionally raised their straw brush props suggestively, and they drove some of the older women in the crowd into an absolute frenzy. At one point, a middle aged cleaning woman ran up to one of the dancing men and stuck her derriere towards him, gyrating in a surprisingly provocative fashion. The crowd went wild of course, and more people began to join in dancing – many men and women shimmying up to the stage area to drop a few pula on the ground. We only caught the last 15 minutes of the performance, but what a show it was. It was especially nice to see some performance that is culturally specific to this country, since most of what we see here is greatly influenced by South African, European and other foreign cultures.
Last evening was the usual big crowd at dinner, Linga Longa, and Lizard Lounge, which is always enjoyable and wild. We’ve been spending a lot of time with a really awesome group of Batswana friends who we met at Fashion Lounge our first week here. They’ve been incredibly nice and really really fun to go out with, especially since they always end up introducing us to a few new people. There were a few “incidents” of note that gave the evening a certain flair (indulge me while I enumerate):
1) I WAS CARDED. almost. When our crowd of ten or so walked into Linga Longa last night, the man at the door singled me out and asked for my identification. A number of factors may have influenced my dramatic response, such as the two glasses of wine I had at dinner or my pent up frustration for constantly being mistaken for a child. However, regardless of specific causation, I let loose in my loudest, sternest, and most agitated raised voice. "ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME.” I glared. “I AM TWENTY YEARS OLD AND DON'T CARRY ID HERE AND WAS BORN ON NOVEMBER EIGHTH NINETEEN EIGHTY SEVEN AND SEE THIS BOY IN THE YELLOW SHIRT NEXT TO ME WHO JUST WALTZED THOUGH THE DOOR? HE IS A FULL YEAR YOUNGER THAN I AM." My arms were crossed and my body was rigid, and I imagine that i looked ridiculous. Nevertheless, my tactic was effective, because the man laughed, stepped away a few feet, and nodded the go ahead. I then huffed and puffed into the bar, rattled like a snake.
2) The second event, in keeping with the first, had to do with my age and appearance. While standing in the bathroom at Lizard Lounge, two Motswana women looked Abby and I up and down and then laughed. “Eh!! Mma-14’s!” I’m not sure if I’ve explained this here before, but Mma-14 is the name for the girls at the club who are under fourteen and slightly scandalous. Apparently they’re an attractive idea for some men here, because there are a few songs that warn of the dangers of tangling with them. Needless to say, Abby and I exploded with emphatic assertions of our ages, especially since I had been embarrassed once before that evening. Strangely, as our indignation turned into conversation, we forged a pretty solid drunken bond with the two women and ended up dancing the night away with them. One was a particularly encouraging instructor, and she insisted on demonstrating quite a few interesting shakes of the hip. I attempted to emulate and sometimes met with success. At the end of the night they invited us to a party they are throwing this evening, so there is potential for reunion. I really don’t think I will ever get over the freedom of friendship here. There don’t seem to be any rules or boundaries when it comes to forging friendships (no places where it is appropriate to attempt or not) and I’m really hoping that this casual style rubs off on me. I never quite realized how contained a lot of Americans are, and just how wary of strangers too.
3) A final, “interesting” encounter occurred at the bar early on in the eve. A slightly drunk Motswana man struck up conversation with me, and was very excited to tell me about how he thinks he’s going to Atlanta, GA soon. He kept asking me if there were a lot of black people there, and was also very curious to know if I "knew" tupac, snoop or kanye. I found myself giggling because I couldn’t quite tell if he meant "knew personally" or just "knew the music of,” and when I tried to clarify this matter, his response confused me even more. What was so odd about this fellow is that he seemed to have absolutely no conception whatsoever of just how large America is. I have never met anyone older than four who has such a strangely disproportionate sense of space and population size. He was amazed and mistrusting when I told him that Philadelphia's population was bigger than Botswana's, and when I drew an air map of the United States, the geography boggled him. He also was under the impression that everyone in America has attended live performances by all the big names in hip-hop, simply because we live in America. "I can't see them because I live in Africa" he told me, "but you are there so you've all seen them, right?" I then explained the concept of location and distance and how being situated in Philadelphia prevented me from traveling the country to hear various rappers. "OH! Philly!” he exclaimed. “Eve is from philly! do you know her?"
Finally, just before our friend MK graciously tugged me away (the fellow wanted personal info and I was having a hard time politely declining to give it) the man asked me with glittering childlike curiosity in his eyes if the Borat movie was real. As in, if it was an accurate portrayal of Jews, of Americans, and of life over yonder. He said that in Africa, everyone just looked at it like fact. I was struck into sobriety and told him NO, that it was a comedy and exaggerated, and his friend nudged him with an "I told you so." He then asked me if I was Jewish and if I was offended by the portrayal of the Jews in the movie. frankly, at that moment i couldn't remember how exactly they were portrayed, so I just shrugged and said "there have been worse depictions."
Regarding the Jewish thing (since I think enough related incidents have accumulated to be of note) I sometimes feel pretty uncomfortable here even though I don’t consider myself particularly religious. The other night at Bull and Bush’s monthly quizzo event, the South African host asked the question “In what month is the Jewish holiday Chanukah celebrated.” First of all, the Jewish calendar is different from the normal one, so that question doesn’t even make sense. Secondly, the host found it hysterical to call Chunakah “Heineken,” which was just silly at first but then became kind of offensive with an overkill of repetition. Additionally, there have been a few times (like the one mentioned above) where I’ve been asked to identify my religion, and while not exactly negative, the responses have not been warm.
Slightly unrelated, but in the same vein of questionable prejudices, is the common view of Indian and Chinese people here. There is a significant population of the former, and I have often heard Batswana describe them as rich and resented. Rajiv has gotten some really nasty comments from cab drivers, such as this one, when he tried to argue over an obviously inflated fare: “Eh, you Indians, you’re always doing this to us!” Apparently, the Indian community here is relatively insular and they have done pretty well for themselves with well run family businesses. The Chinese also seem resented and frowned upon at times, and I myself have witnessed some really negative behavior towards them. One girl at the hospice where Rebecca works, told her that she was the first Asian she had ever associated with and hates all of the others. I don’t want to generalize too much about a nation that is still new to me (my sample size for these observations is really small) but if what I’ve seen does apply to a larger group, it is pretty upsetting.
Today was a typical Saturday, with lots of lazy lounging, but I was in a really awful mood. Despite constant interaction with people here, I’ve been missing everyone back home really intensely. I’d like to dress up my feelings in more elaborate clothes, but the bottom line is that there are moments when I feel terribly lonely and isolated and a million years and miles away. It’s also just kind of odd, because the number of people here that I can call on to connect with is really really small, and while I adore them all, I sometimes find myself scanning the faces in my mental rolodex and wishing for a coffee date or picnic on the Green. I keep fantasizing about a chance encounter with someone from home in a store or a club, and I long for a night walk down Locust. However, I know I will just have to continue to resort to the brilliant magic of memory and emails the tide me over till the cravings pass. I’m annoying myself with my radical mood vacillations and sometimes brooding behavior, and I imagine others are peeved by it too. I try to remain optimistic that I’ll right myself rapidly, since I’ve never really failed to even out before. In the meantime, I attempt distraction.
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