The last week, my last here in Africa, has been a busy one. I had to keep two promises. One was to the people at the village of Zutshwa and the other to an old lady called Dada, an artist from D'kar.

Last month at Zutshwa I dropped off a large bag of ostrich eggshell, the raw material for the jewellery which the women there elegantly produce. Zutshwa was home to a craft buying NGO that went underat some point as somebody "ate the money".

The people at Zutshwa are charming and eager and I'd given them some dates for my return. I'd sold my car here but not wanting to be made a liar I jumped the bus to Hukuntsi, some 500 or so kms away at nine o'clock on Wednesday.

The bus ride was like a milk run, stopping and waiting at various non descript locales on the way to my destination. The most torturous was the last bit, with Hukuntsi nearly in sight, less than five kms away I had to endure trips to neighboring villages Tshane and Lehututu which took at least a combined hour. Next time I'll drop at the junction and hike the rest of the way.

Upon arrival I wanted to find the driver I'd had last time, good old reliable Pete. I moved around quickly and found him. We'd negotiated last time what I'd understood to be a standard rate for him and his 4x4. Pete wanted to renegotiate seeing I was working on time. He added a cool fifty pula to the tab to which I reluctantly agreed wanting to make speed into the bush.
Unfortunately, Pete inexplicably decided to check with his mom who demanded a further increase. Where I'm from you can't do that once you've shaken on it so I removed my bags from the vehicle and huffed off.

The best strategy was to wait around the shops, and the bar, for the next lift. A friend called Steve pitched up and we moved around to no avail. With darkness setting in it looked like my only option was to take up the invitation of a kindly older woman who'd offeredto fix me up a meal and help me with a place to sleep. Unfortunately, the whole time she was offering she kept winking as though she had a nervous tick. I knew what that wink meant and wasn't that keen.
While waiting around I noticed a fellow I hadn't wanted to see, Nelson Abdul. My last encounter with him in September 2003 had been difficult. He'd driven me but shown up with to much alcohol and marijuana and he'd thoroughly scared me with his driving. I'd released him and he'd promised to get a gun and come back to find me.

It seems he didn't remember me now though and when he heard that I needed a ride he sprinted off and came back with a fellow named Donald driving a Toyota Hilux 2.4 litre 4x4. Just what I'd needed. Apparently Nelson had let the past stay there so I did to and gave him 20 pula on top.

I did ask Donald to leave Nelson hehind though to which he agreed. It seems sometimes that Nelson can be very helpful and other times completely off the wall.

We made the 56 kms to Zutshwa past bedtime, close to eleven o'clock. I looked for my old friend Tantane to alert him I was around. My hope was that in the morning the people could gather and I could buy their wares and be off.

No such luck, in the morning I found Tantane hadn't really budged. Steve, Donald and I moved around doing our best starting at 6 in the morning.

At the end of the day one lady did a great job producing a heap of jewellery and I compensated her accordingly. The rest worked in dribs and drabs but on the whole the quality was very good, no rejects.

I'd hoped to be on the ten o'clock bus to get out of the bush but wanted to give the people a fair shake. Many didn't bother to make it in time which is entirely because there's really normally no reason to rush in Zutshwa. But I was in a rush hoping to keep my second promise.

So we decided to pull out just to eleven which brought a small flurry of transactions and then we hauled. I suppose I wanted to buy more but the constraints of doing business in Africa mean you don't get what you want much of the time. I'm hoping slowly that the Bushmen at Zutshwa can learn some appropriate skills to better enable them to fend for themselves, going faster would help as it seems the other tribes in the village are pushing them around a bit in most areas including commerce.

Ideally the people would source their own materials and deliver things to me on a timely basis. It might happen but in some time.

I'd been expected at Kang at noon by a friend who'd promised to head further north with me.
I phoned on the stroke of 12 and found him home in Gaborone. I had to attend a funeral on Saturday and I didn't see a way to make it to where I needed to be and back in time so I hitch hiked back to Gaborone myself. Sometimes a hike goes smoothly.

My feet would only touch the ground and a lift was there. The first was two girls in a big Hilux on their way to Kang, on the main highway back to Gabs. We stopped to get some chips and cokes and were off. She drove slowly but safely and dropped me on the Gaborone side of the town.

The first car by was a white, notorious for not picking up hitchhikers. He passed but thought better of it and came back.

Ferdie, the driver, was a white South African working in Ghanzi. Much of the Boer culture doesnt' work for me but Ferdie had a cooler box full of Amstel and had set a rule that he could drink one per hour all the way back to Welkom some 1000 or so more kms away. I was invited to dip once per hour into the stash and enjoyed it immensely.

The fact that Ferdie was a good talker and drove at 150 kms / hour made me like him.
I got off at Kanye, close to my destination and had a short uneventful trip to Thamaga. I decided to walk the last five kms since I felt on time.

I'd made it Thursday to attend a funeral Friday and Saturday. It was a somber experience and I was not sad to leave the village and rearranged the trip to see Dada. Dada is a famous painter. She's not shy to the places she's been to exhibit her work, London, Sweden, America, Australia, and elsewhere. She'll list until she starts repeating locations.

Dada is emminently charming because she is one of those old people who is not shy to say what she thinks calling some beggars or pronouncing loudly who is rich.

In one conversation 70 year old Dada mentioned her mother. I was shocked to learn that her mother could be alive but I was informed that she was, and kicking.

Dada's character began to make more sense when I saw her together with the older sister and the 103 year old mother. They argued loudly. The mother though admitting that she appreciated the attention she got from her daughters and was quick to point out that they were better than the sons who no longer came to take care of her. Maybe not surprising since they are in their seventies themselves.

I asked Dada's mom about the old life and what were the good thing that had been brought by the whites who'd arrived on her land. Without to much consideration she said oranges were the best thing and asked if I had any.

I had an apple which I gave her. She thanked me and then pulled her lips down to reveal a very gummy mouth. The elder sister was the one who got to eat the apple.

I thought of these things as Dada's small frame filled the back seat of the Nissan Escudo we'd used to get to Dkar this time. We was Asanka, a Sri Lankan who worked at the place where I'd got my car as was Boy-Boy, a Motswana who joined us as well.

Boy-Boy was very worried that someone had used muti, black magic, against him. The purpose of our trip, at Dada's request, was to visit a Bushmen healer, a trance dancer. Boy-Boy had never been to a Bushmen but knew of their reptutation and asked me if the fellow we were going to consult was strong. I though he should be so I said yes.

Asanka was scouting things out for his brother Anura, the owner of the car lot. Anura was an asthma sufferer willing to try non-traditional therapies.

Dada was in the worst shape with two serious problems, one in her lungs and one in her eyes.
We were lucky to arrive with some time before dark at a large farm owned by a man called Eaton. We travelled twelve kms from the main road to get to the place where the Bushmen were living on the farm.

It seemed like a nice place. The people were friendly and the atmosphere was light. Children rolled and tumbled in the sand.

I knew that when trying to seek the assistance of the traditional doctor, like any doctor, it was better to have an appointment which we didn't. But I also knew that with this type of doctor if it was meant that you should see them that they would be there. I had a feeling in my heart that this old Dada deserved some attention. The old man was indeed there.

As the sun disappeared the women sat around a fire purpose built for the dance and began to clap and sing. It's reason enough to go to the event just to hear the precise rhythms and the harmonies of the Bushmen's music.

It was agreed that Boy-Boy and Asanka would pay themselves. I'd promised Dada that I would help her and communicated this to the old man. In my mind though I was hoping it couldn't be too much.

The man tramped in front of the singing women who were joined by singing children. The rattles on his legs rattled to match the percussion from the hands of the assembly. Even Dada joined in.
The man first touched her on her chest and back, to make his initial diagnosis. He further prodded focussing on the lungs and eyes. The problem was not there though. He pronounced that someone had hurting Dada. A healer in her home village was the culprit. Apparently he had the flower that would would aid her ailments but was holding out for 1000 pula which she didn't have.

No one seemed surprised by this and the healer moved on to me. I already knew from a consultation a few weeks before that I didn't have any problems. The healer asked if I'd been coughing at all lately to which I replied in the negative. With that bit of information in hand he confirmed then that I had no problems which I think is great.

Asanka was next and I was not surprised to hear that Muti was in effect. It wasn't initially clear whether this was something coming from Sri Lanka, perhaps the fiances family or if it was rooted locally. Further tests were needed.

Boy-Boy's fears were confirmed, muti as well.

The main continued around the fire touching each of us, and the others there, several times.
It came out that Asanka's problems were likely coming from a rival car dealer. His elder brother should come for an appointment at some later date to clarify the situation further. As far as asthma was concerned that was not something that could be fixed using these treatments and a trip to the hospital was recommended.

At the end a few different ingredients were given out some for the bath, some to be rubbed on your head or your feet.

The bills were modest, Dada's treatment costing me 50 pula.

We made our way to drop Dada and gave her an apple which she enjoyed. She was very happy and thanked my graciously in English, something she usually hides behing her native Nharo, Setswana and Afrikaans in that order.

All in all the few days were a whirlwind but I got some things accomplished. I fly home on Wednesday and the cold wetness of March at home doesn't seem like a bad thing after that sweaty heat rash that was the last few months, even now I drip.

There's lots on the table on my return and more stories piled up that I might take time to write more periodically if I get the whim.

Thank you for reading.