Zebras

Well, in recent news, Botswana’s national soccer team is not that great. We went to the National Stadium yesterday (just outside the UB gates) to watch the Zebras play. They tied Madagascar 0-0 but all the Batswana around us kept on apologizing for their team. Nonetheless, the event itself was really fun – the Batswana fans are crazy and come decked out in fantastic light blue/white outfits. Long cherub-trumpet-like horns are really popular, and drunken fans toot throughout the game. There was definitely alcohol present, but we couldn’t quite figure out the source. We were also wary about wandering around too much since seats were hard to hold onto and Rajiv got his phone stolen (yes, big bummer.)

Let me also just mention that Batswana give a whole new meaning to the term “aggressively friendly.” A mix of Indians, Chinese, Koreans, and Caucasians, our group stands out pretty boldly in a crowd, so some attention is expected. However, at the game, I had more people shake my hand, grab my arm, attempt to get my address, give me their number, and just randomly say hello than I have EVER experienced in a three hour time period. Here, you are expected to greet almost everyone, and it is also pretty normal to strike up conversation with the nearest stranger. Yells from cars and swerving, smiling drunks are also common acquaintances. I’ve gotten pretty good at responding with vague answers to pointed questions, but I’m so used to being open with people that it’s a little tough to stay on my toes.

The stadium is also a really nice haven when not filled with fans. Abby and I got out of work early Friday, so we walked over to use the gym and run on the track. Deserted, except for Madagascar’s national team (practicing for the game), I pounded the pavement to the silent screaming of thousands of imaginary onlookers. After a few loops, I climbed to the very top of the stadium and surveyed my new home. The city looks a lot greener from up above, and seeing the distant hills scattered across the horizon made the land seem a little less devastatingly flat. In the heat of the afternoon sun, it was pleasant to just sit in silence for a while, watching the small figures of footballers criss-cross the pristine field.

This weekend was also officially month end (when everyone gets their pay checks and celebrates,) so we headed out last evening to one of the more popular clubs. Fashion Lounge is located much farther outside the city than I expected, and I was overcome by a strange sensation of the surreal as I gazed at the stars and grassland through the cracked taxi window, headed to a night of house music and alcohol. This extended into the club, as the first sight upon entering was women on a catwalk, in lingerie. We quickly bought drinks, and as is the rule in such establishments of music and mayhem, it isn’t hard to get happy. It becomes more and more apparent to me everyday just how small the city is – some people we met at Fashion Lounge had spotted us at the soccer game [I told you, we stick out,] and our waiter from the night before danced up next to us, causing quite the stir.

We ended the evening , elated and exhausted, with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at 4 am.

Today was a lazy Sunday with a little shopping at River Walk and some Sex and the City. The theatre was empty except for a few other others, and it was again, surreal, to be watching the absurd antics of Carrie and co. on the big screen in Africa. If taken even slightly seriously, they make all American women look disgustingly rich, pampered, and ridiculous – simultaneously enviable and atrocious. Walking back to campus along the dirt path, children playing in the shadows of corrugated metal Tuck Shop shacks, the relative disparity between images was astounding.

Life is starting to feel a little more regular, a little more familiar, a little less scary. We finally got internet to work (it was like winning the lottery) but skype and ichat are still non-functional. I have tried everything possible to get them going, and was reduced to tears briefly with the frustration of non-communication. I really miss faces and voices and hands and hugs and there are moments when I wish the ocean would evaporate for just one moment and the lands cinch together so Philly could nuzzle up to Gaborone and they could fall asleep with their heads on the same continental pillow.

I’ve been feeling pretty intensely sad at other moments too, but oddly can’t condemn it. For the past few months I’ve been overwhelmed by small and large questions of purpose and pursuit and passion, and it is hard to start answering things or stop trying to answer things and especially to stop thinking that things need answers. In some way, I believe that getting here was a distraction from the questions – the excitement of the adventure was all consuming and necessary. However, now that I’m settled to a certain extent, I guess I’m not surprised that the same questions start popping up. I think I secretly hoped that coming here would immediately reveal a clearer path for me, or that I’d find solutions neatly typed on my dorm room desk. Nevertheless, however much I hate the sensation of returned tight-throated worry, I am also so eager to feel it and study it and assess it and reshape it. FEELING is funny like that. I don’t dislike happiness or sadness or anger – I’m glad they’re all alive inside me – it’s just that they can be uncomfortable.

Moments are moments and they have a lot inside. They usually require some unpacking and examining and musing, and I sometimes worry that I will overlook one that contains something spectacular. Logically, I know that the ones set aside don’t really go away, they just get opened at a later date. However, surrounded by boxes of bubble wrapped minutes, I’m terribly impatient to reveal their contents.