Written January 24, posted now.

Out of Gabs

Finally, Gaborone is behind me. The last night was spent in the village of Thamaga 40 kms away but I noticed the lack of a jack in the car I'd organized and thought I'd better have one. At the lot (http://www.kskmotors.com/) they found none of the Toyota Hilux's, my car, had any jacks left so we borrowed one from a Mitsubishi Pajero.

So, by one we were off, Tommy and I.

We made it with no issues as far as Jwaneng, 200 kms away, and got some fresh fruit. Then we raced the sun to the spot we wanted to be for the night.

Phuduhudu
Part of the fun of being in Botswana is the friendliness of the people. I'd made a habit on past trips of stopping and the small nooks and crannies along the way. Being as I'm not a government official or a local I'm quite often remembered. I'd stopped a few times at Phuduhudu and checked the local tuck shop and the owner.

I had a feeling that we'd be accomodated if we stopped there and I was right. I met an old friend, even though I didn't remember her name, Sandra remembered mine.

Sandra is a typical Motswana. She has a sad life but a positive outlook. Her recently born baby is without a father as the car overturned on the road in the month before she was born.

We asked Sandra about the brothers and sisters and many of them, 6 of 9, were gone to mainly due to cars overturning.

Sandra and a tag-along named Super took us off to see the Basarwa, as Bushmen are called in Botswana, at Phuduhudu. Of particular interest to me of course being the crafts that they might be producing.

It didn't seem like much was happening on that scale as most recommended we go to other places further away to try for some. However, we had fun with the kids especially taking pictures and turning the digital camera around to show them themselves.

Another interest of mine is to meet the old men and women in the villages and the traditional healers in particular. The elders are the ones who know the most about the medicines and the traditions of the old times.

We went to the place where the last traditional hunter in the village was living. He wasn't around but the wife was. She draped her body across the door of the hut which indicated clearly to me that we were not welcomed as we were not known.

These wives of the old men are very protective of their spouses and it's quite endearing. The way the women draped her arm across the door is the same way she'd drape the arm around the husband. It is clear who the gatekeeper is in these relationships.

The stove that we'd thought was available to us was not available and was somehow strangely broken so were without one. I shouldn't count on people but somehow I knew I could count on somebody at Phuduhudu to help us out. Sandra cooked rice for us and we threw in a can of beans and a can of curried vegetables and beef, a very satisfying three dollar meal.

We had a tent but Sandra insisted we stay inside one of the rooms in the large compound where we found her. In fact, she insisted that the room should be renamed 'Paul's Room' so that every time I stopped at Phuduhudu I wouldn't have to fuss about where to go. The room was a bit buggy but nice.

The biggest millipede (eight inches!?!) I've seen crawled around a bit heading towards Tommy's feet before it was swept out of the room.

A small kitten on the scene was bouncing after beetles and other largish insects. I noted it's skill as a hunter. Sandra got very serious and told me I was correct. She rhymed off a list: "Rats, mice, lizards, birds, black mamba, green mamba and gold mamba but not a python."

I wasn't sure if this small thing could do it from looking but Super affirmed that it was true and he curled his hands to show the way the claws of the kitten would grasp the neck of a snake to kill it. I believed it because I know things like that happen.

A friend of mine that came from Namibia mentioned how his dog, a dog that was usually mauled in his neighborhood, would kill the dogs he saw while in Canada. I knew that it was true too because our animals are soft. Some even wear sweaters. The ones here that are a little bit hungry are a lot mean.

With supper finished we wondered about sleeping bags on the concrete. Sandra was ahead of us and she pulled over two foam mattresses. They were encased in a plastic wrapping with writing on it indicating a price in Pulas, the local currency. Sandra had pulled them from a nearby shop to be ours for the night. So we were in relative luxury.

In the morning we didn't need to rush so we visited the old man. After rolling around a little we found the old man. We met the chief, the Kgosi, in between and mentioned we'd like to buy crafts there. He said something about a committee we'd have to talk to so that we could get receipts.

We found the wife at home with the old man. I asked him to see some of his things and he showed me the old hunting kit. It was beautifully decorated with red and yellow beads and trimmed with porcupine quills. I asked if there was poison on but there wasn't. The set was not the one he was using these days but one from before. Some of the pieces were missing and he promised to replace them. The bow was cracked, the firesticks were only one not two and I'm sure there were other things he thought should be there. I asked him his price which turned out to be fine. He asked for a downpayment which I agreed to give. I also gave the wife some Matsuko or snuff.

By the end of the visit the attitude had changed although they moved a bit guardedly as they'd move in and out of their hut fetching things to show us. I was interested to ask a few questions about the crafts and the old ways in which they were made. The old man answered in such a way that matched what I'd learned about from going to museums. I asked the old man to make a particular something for which I should return in a couple or few weeks.

We left Sandra on good terms promising her as well to stop by again soon and we left her with a few notes in payment for her hospitality. It was very pleasant that she didn't ask for anything. Many Batswana are more forward than her and don't mind asking you for money even before asking your name.

It felt nice to know that there's one more place where I'd made some nice connections. After all the way everything I'm doing is growing is this way. Year after year as I return the trust is growing and the people are keen to work together with me.

Zutswha
Leaving Phuduhudu, which means Steenbok in Setswana, we made off for Zutshwa, a word for which I don't know the meaning in any language.

I've been to Zutshwa at least twice before and found it one of the most pleasant places to be in Botswana. It's a small place 60 kilometres past Hukuntsi which is 100 kms from the main road east of Kang which is about 35 kms from Phuduhudu where we started the day.

The first order of business at Hukuntsi was refuelling. We did so and looked at the skies which were ready to open and they did. It rained and rained so that the front of the gas station was suddenly a small lake. Not having tested our car in the bush and not being over-confident we were nervous to try the road that had been just flash flooded.

We went to the start of the road to look at the Hukuntsi salt pan, a sometimes lake, was full of water and plenty muddy.

We bagged off and organized units for the phone so Tommy could check in briefly at home. Being his first time in Africa he had nervous parents at home. At the shop we asked about the road to Zutshwa and they weren't sure if it was okay with the water.

A few minutes later the word made it to somebody that we were thinking about heading that direction. Lifts were a sought after commodity and the passenger, named Andreas, who insisted he spoke Afrikaans not English but really spoke English, encouraged us to go.

At the other side of the pan we found a hiking spot and picked up three more for the back seat. I choose the girl and guy who pushed the hardest to get in and an old man because it's good to be nice to old people.

I set out and we quickly found that the truck we'd bought was up to the job in the bush. In fact, it more than met the task of the Zutshwa road, to the point where the Zutshwa road was rushing by quickly. The particular model we had bought was the Hilux Surf. Different than the regular Hilux pickup this one was the SUV style we're used to in North America. The name Surf was espcially apt as we hydroplaned down the flooded road. Andreas reminded me that I can sometimes be too enthusiastic with the right foot and told me he was worried he could die. So I slowed down.

I noticed that the combination of speed, sand and gravel was adding up to a heavy decrease in diesel.

At Zutshwa the light was getting dark so I named the names of the people I knew at the place to the people we found in our backseat. They knew someone I knew, a girl called Gosaitse but they didn't want to go their as they were afraid of Gosaitse's dogs. We went to the Village Development Committee (VDC) Chairperson first and he suggested we see some other VDCers to find out about accomodation.

Even from Paul's room at Sandra's the place to stay was a step up. The VDC had built a nice house with a bath, a toilet and lights on the ceiling. Unfortunately there was no electricity or running water but still it was nice. Fortuitously they'd built a drop toilet at the back of the house helping us to avoid the unfortunate business associated with not having such a facility.

The next step was rice, the lady with the key to our new house was called Omphatile. We asked her if she could help us cook in return for share and she agreed. We found that her house was a small tuck shop selling alchohol. Smirnoff Spin and Castle Lager. There was what looked like a deep freezer chest in the room powered by propane but it was off. The husband or boyfriend showed up while the rice was cooking. His name was Kagile and he already new us as he was one of the men we'd not picked up at the hiking spot. There were no hard feelings though and Kagile gladly dug into our secret recipe. Rice, beans and vegetable curry with beef. It was still mmm, even the second day in a row.

I looked for a second tuck shop before we made it home which had cold beers but realized after I had them I didn't feel like it anyways. So we went to bed.

By being in the village and being seen we knew in the morning that people would know I was around. Part of the problem here in the past has been that I am always rushing and things here don't really work fast. So, I planned to take the time to do things properly. I drove here and there with my old friend Tantane. Tantane is famous in my mind for telling me how handsome he is. Handsome to the last molecule in fact. I took a picture of Tantane the first time I met him and a picture of him the second time I met him with the picture from the first time. He is fussy and for the third picture this day he was complaining that he was too thin although he looked no thinner than usual. Tantane explained that being as he was so poor, he had no money and there was no meat around to make him fat. Despite his thinness I still took his picture and even got one of him showing the barrenness of his gut. We noted the contrast between him and I.

Tantane is a San, or Basarwa or Bushmen. Me I prefer Bushmen because at home people know what I'm talking about. Here I use all three as I feel like it. No one seems to mind any of the terms so it doesn't really matter. If I say Bushmen I explain that for marketing purposes at home it is preferred and I've yet to see this explanation prove unsatisfactory.

So Tantane and I and a couple others set out to tell the whole village that there was to be a Kgotla or meeting. First thing was first and we checked with the VDC Chairperson to determine if we could use the Kgotla building. It was nicely painted in sky blue, white and black, the national colours of Botswana.

This was fine and good for me as it was central between the two sides of the village separating the San and the Bakgalagadi. Bakgaladi are Bantus, people who raise cattle. The San are traditionally hunter-gatherers. The Bakgalagadi are a lot more commercial and I always see resentment at Zutshwa between the two groups.

As we drove we hit the main spots on the San side of the village. As we wound around to the Bakgalagadi side Tantane noted that most of them already knew what was happening. I doubted this to be true but we had told the Chariperson, a Mokgalagadi, and the time was getting short.
So by noon it was that a group was assembled of 35 people or so and more if you counted the kids. An entreprising Mokgaladi lady wound around the crowd with a bucket of sweets.

So the meeting was called to order with Tantane as official translator and Mr. A B Kabatlophane helping out and taking some notes. The notes I noticed later turned out to be nothing more than a half page of writing followed by doodles but I respected his effort to start.

The main complaints from Zutshwa were constructive. The first issue was that I was not coming enough. I explained that I have to balance to things, buying and selling, selling being the one that facilitates the other. So unless that we could come up with a plan together it might be that I'll continue to sell more months than I buy.

The second issue was that the villagers would like to maintain their culture by making crafts. I was happy to hear this and I mentioned a way I'd thought of to make this happen. This went over well and within minutes we'd undone the training of some somebody with a bad idea and went back 50 years in time.

The next orders of business went in order and I'd realized that I'd sat as chair of a meeting for five hours straight. At least the others had a chance to move and stretch but I hadn't. So we wound things down. A good feeling was in the air and as I looked around I was reminded why I liked Zutshwa so much. First the place, the view of Zutshwa pan is stunning especially as the sun is declining. I took some moments to snap some photos of the people there. The people being the second thing I like about Zutshwa. The people are thoughtful and kind and project a sense of welcoming everytime I'm there. The complaint that I don't stay long enough underscores that fact I am welcomed.

Saturday night Omphatile and Kagile invited us over to their house for a small party. It quickly was clear that there was a not room enough for even a small party at their place so we moved to a bigger place, our guest house. It was a success. Omphatile mentioned the next day it was the best party of the year.

The next morning was Sunday and church. I hadn't thought about going but was curious. I found the church wasn't a church but a concrete hut. Inside there were seven people, a drum, a candle and little else. Five of the seven were children, one of whom was the drummer. The drummer drummed and the people sang wonderfully. One by one, each would jump out and spin around the candle. I thought this was a nice way to celebrate God.

Outside I heard other drums from other small building, each denomination having their own service.

We moved around to each place where we thought we should say bye to somebody and then set out from the bush to Ghanzi.