It was a bizarre convoy of strangely-engineered trucks that rolled into UB at 7:30 on Saturday morning. When we were told to pack our bags for our Kalahari camping trip, I had envisioned a few tents under the stars, some pap in a pot, and perhaps a jeep for transportation. However, greeted with a veritable army of camp tour guides and trunks full of equipment, I soon realized that we were in for something of an altogether grander nature.
Abby, Jen, Becca, Julio, Lorato and I (more on these dear individuals later) all piled into a rugged jeep looking thing, and introduced ourselves to Joe, the driver and guide. Slightly hulking, Joe nonetheless had the smoothest smile I’ve ever seen, and we all quickly grew attached to him. Although he was born in South Africa, he refused to identify as Zulu or with any other group, and would only tell Lorato that he was Motswana. Christening ourselves “Team Joe,” we set off on the five hour drive to the Khutse game reserve.
Only about twenty minutes outside of Gaborone, the scenery changed drastically. The same flat, dry, shrub spotted land began to appear in larger and larger uninterrupted stretches, until we were driving for miles (or kilometers) without a soul in sight. The temperature – frigid in the morning – rose with the sun until we were all shedding layers in the heat, catching a thick, dust filled breeze in the open car. Often, along the one-lane highway, we would pass groups of children who would scream greetings, or herds of un-attended cows. There were more than a few occasions when I scrunched my eyes shut, waiting for the thwack of a bovine body against our car.
Although most of the time was spent in chatter or silent road-gazing, Joe occasionally pointed out the communities of traditional Tswana homes that dotted the landscape. With floors covered in cow dung, and roofs of dense thatch, the circular mud homesteads are still being built and maintained by modern Batswana. Usually surrounded by a plot of dust and a stick fence, the houses seem tidy and well organized. The simple structures and open planning stand in sharp contrast to the dirty jumble of cement and brick that is Gaborone, and the difference makes me wonder what has been lost in the development of the city.
After a few gas station breaks and many hours, we finally pulled through the gates of the Khutse game reserve. I’m not sure how the conversation got started, but Joe began to explain that the government of Botswana had been in some hot water recently for relocating the San (Bushmen) outside of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve (CKGR). According to him, the government had painted this move as an effort to help the San benefit from modern amenities and national services such as education. However, soon after the relocation, it was apparently revealed that the government intended to mine for diamonds in the newly vacated territory, and the issue went to court.
Another hour of driving through the game reserve, gleefully spotting groups of ostriches and gazelle along the way, we came upon a clearing known as “camp.” The trucks corralled in a circle and we all pitched tents and unfurled sleeping bags. For being out in the desert, things were incredibly cushy, and we lunched on china plates with tablecloths and tea.
The last drive of the day took us to sunset – an event better seen than written or read about. As we scanned the horizon for lions and the like, the brilliant rays of gold, pink, purple and red lit up the previously bland land. I had been prepared for this in a sense, as I’ve seen pictures of Kalahari evening before. However, what shocked me completely, was just how uninterrupted the skyline was – with land so flat and no structures in sight, the colors exploded in all directions and the earth seemed a perfect, sublime circle. Spinning around in the tall grass, we were all a little shutter happy and giddy with the sight.
With the sun’s rapid descent, the air once again grew cold and unwelcoming, and we all sped back to camp. We dined on steak and potatoes (a little too fancy for me) around the campfire, and sipped an assortment of intoxicating concoctions. Because I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, let me explain the altitude situation here. Whereas Philadelphia sits a squat, 40 ft. above sea level, Gaborone is 3,330 ft. up there, and boy does it affect the drinking. However it began, our lively conversations began to meld into one strange discussion of race issues in the United States and in Botswana. I can’t say that any of it made much sense, or that any conclusions were reached, but I was glad that the topic finally came up. I have yet to use this space to detail my thoughts on the subject, but they’ve been brewing for a while. My experiences here as a white, American, female (amongst other identifiers), have been thought-provoking.
I fell asleep listening to the beat of Thabo’s djembe, and strained vocals, and only awoke once in the night to make a quick dash for the bathroom. Quaking with the cold and for fear of lions (they’ve entered camp before), I peed faster than I ever thought possible and dashed back across the sand, stumbling in the holes of ground squirrels and collapsing into the tent.
The AM was slightly miserable – water had frozen overnight – and I dozed through most of the morning drive, missing a few ostriches. We made small talk as we packed up camp, and got a late start back on the road. The trip home was a bit of a mess – Team Joe’s car broke down on a deserted desert road, and we all had to crunch into the remaining vehicles and leave Joe to wait for help. I huddled in an open air car for the first stretch of the trip, but numb with cold, scrunched into the trunk of a land rover for the second. Looking out the back window, into the pitch black of the electricity barren night, I caught snatches of radio House music and English/Setswana conversation. Every now and then, a car would pass us in the opposite direction, its headlights illuminating the space around us. In these moments I would catch glimpses of thin figures strolling along the roadside, or the large eyes of resting cows. Wild ponies, goats, and dogs also populated the inky blackness. Nine hours later, and sick with the fumes from leaking gasoline, we found ourselves back in the comfort of our cockroach infested dorm. With a shower and a soft pillow behind me, I was happy to shut my eyes.
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