I spent almost 4 hours at the post office on Tuesday! It’s the end of the month; which means people are getting paid. A lot of people get their pensions (age 65+) at the post office. I got a post office slip Monday, which means a package arrived that was too large for them to deliver to the office. (It turns out that it really wasn’t; they’ve delivered that size before. But I got to have this awesome experience because of it.) I went to the PO, waited an hour in the loooooooooooooooong queue, and gave up. Tuesday I arrived at the PO at 715am, and was 8^th in line. The PO opens at 845am, though the sign says 815. I left at 9am with my awesome friend Brit’s xmas care package! As I was entering the parking lot at work, one of my friends in the records office found me and said … I had another post office slip! I went back to the PO at 1pm, joined an even longer queue, and left at 3pm with my lovely Aunt’s xmas care package! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

What does one do while waiting in such a long queue, you might ask? Well, first you have to figure out who’s last in line, so you can follow after them. People don’t sit or stand in an actual line, they sprawl all over. Some go buy snacks/drinks (“drinki”), some stand in air-conditioned stores, some sit under trees nearby. People also sit in front of the post office, maybe on the steps, maybe on the bench, maybe on the ground, or wherever there’s room. People nap, people chat, people stare into space. Batswana generally don’t read for pleasure; so I was the only one doing that.

My hair has been bleached pretty blonde by now, though not as badly as after having been in the Caribbean for extended lengths of time. My freckles have also pretty much taken over my arms and face. Batswana who meet (or already know) me seem increasingly worried about my freckles. Not only do they not get them, but I guess most of the pasty-white people they see don’t get them. A lot of people have told me I need to start using sunblock (I do!), a lot of people have told me to start wearing long-sleeves (not in this heat!). They all seem to think I’m not aware of my freckles, and that I’m not doing anything about them. They also seem to think something is drastically wrong with my skin. I’ve explained numerous times that some people are genetically disposed to having freckles, and that the sun intensifies them. It’s actually pretty funny, and I have to laugh whenever the topic comes up (which is more and more often these days).

Schools have a 6-week holiday at this time of year; summer break and xmas all rolled into one. A lot of kids who go to senior secondary school (high school; they use the British system here) stay in boarding schools away from their villages. At holiday time, they and teachers and most other government workers go back to their home villages for as long as possible. With the influx of people in my village, I’ve gotten a lot more harassment than usual. If one more man calls me “baby,” I will probably kick him in the throat! I can no longer count how many bratty children have called me “lekgoa” (“luh-kho-uh”, meaning white vomit) and begged for $$. I have taken to ignoring them as long as I can, but eventually some frustrate me so much that I can’t help but narrow my eyes at them and say “You are a very rude child!” Telling someone they are rude, ie have no manners, is a very big insult in this culture. I feel it and think it far more often than I express it. So far, stating it loudly enough for nearby adults to hear has kept the worst offenders from harassing me further. I don’t want Batswana to think PC is full of mean bullies, but I also don’t want them to think it’s ok to harass foreigners, considering they don’t harass each other like this.

Last week in a shop, a man stood at the end of the aisle saying “baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby ….” to me. I ignored him as best I could. If he had simply said “Hello” or “Dumela,” I would have greeted him. I couldn’t believe the staff let him harass me (I was up by the front, where they all just stood and watched).

Earlier this week, a group of 3 young men followed me past a parking lot, one calling out “Hello, hey baby.”

Usually I ignore anyone who calls me baby or otherwise makes me feel harassed. As I stated, there isn’t usually a lot of harassment in Bobonong. I don’t know why I engaged in conversation with this man; I guess I felt the need to try to educate him. I responded “I am not your baby. It is rude to call a woman that.”

His friends laughed at him, and he responded: “Oh, babygirl. Sorry babygirl.”

I said “I am not your babygirl. You do not call a woman that. It is very rude.”

His friends laughed at him again. He replied “Oh, sorry woman.” Even though I thought that was funny, I kept walking, not wishing the conversation to continue.

PC does not officially endorse hitchhiking, aka “hitching” or “hiking;” though they are fully aware that some villages do not have bus service and that that is the only way in or out. Even a larger village like mine has limited bus service, depending on time of day, destination, and whether or not buses have broken down. (There are no replacements!) When hiking, a person still pays what the bus fare would have been; but you almost always need to have exact change (“chenchi”). Sometimes, the driver doesn’t charge, especially if you’re female.

Most people get paid at the end of the month. That generally means it’s not safe to go out at night for that week or so, because so many people are drinking and drunk-driving. Drunk-driving is a HUGE problem here. Technically, it’s illegal; but almost no one gets pulled over, let alone arrested. When hiking, you look first to see if the driver is or has been drinking. Some people (not me) decide whether to take a ride depending on what the person is drinking. One friend told me she won’t ride with someone who’s drinking hard liquor; a good rule. I’m glad I’m not so remote (and therefore desperate for rides) that I’d have to consider that.

I have had some incredibly interesting conversations while catching rides with people. In one, 3 passengers told me how much they loved Bush because he saved them from Saddam Hussein. I didn’t think Hussein was planning on invading Botswana anytime soon, but could not convince them of that. In another, I talked with a man about living near his home village vs across the country. He thought it was terrible that at age 18, we in the US are “kicked out” of our parents’ homes! He seemed to understand when I explained that going away to university then getting a job and moving away are a rite of passage that most of us actually look forward to.