I started another new yoga class. I currently have 1 that has taken hold, 1 that failed, and 2 in limbo. The new one is for my HIV+ support group members, which I’d been trying to start up since last September. I’d been talking to the HBC Coordinator, and I don’t think she ever brought up the idea with the support group, like she said she would. I’ve spent the past several months thinking they weren’t interested; but we’ve been discussing exercise and nutrition for the past several weeks, and they were ecstatic when I brought up having a weekly or bi-weekly class.

It is different from the other classes I’ve taught here. I go much slower with these ladies, hold poses for much shorter lengths of time, and repeat them more. This mostly has to do with the language barrier, though some is due to their even lower levels of exercise/mobility than my usual classes. All my other students have been teachers who speak English; these ladies have varying degrees of English proficiency, and I have no idea how to say “downward-facing dog” or “locust” or “mariachi” in Setswana.

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I’m still working on fundraising for another member of my support group. I saw her this week for the first time in over a month; she went to Gabs for “a scan,” but I don’t know what for. I’m a little worried, but no one else seems to be. Considering we started fundraising because she wasn’t well, one would think there would be a little more concern. I finally saw her house, and it was heartbreaking. I expected the walls to be crumbly (they are) and holes in the walls and windows (yup), but was not expecting a dirt floor or that she and her 10 children sleep on boards covered in fabric, or that there wasn’t much more than a fire’s ashes in her yard to represent her “kitchen.” She doesn’t even have a pit latrine, so I don’t know what they do when they need to use a toilet. Since people here would rather spend all their $$ getting drunk than helping someone have a decent home, I don’t know what else to do to help her.

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Dear Batswana: please stop begging me for sweets. If you’re not going to buy any for me, then I’m not going to buy any for you.

Dear Batswana men: stop cutting in front of me in line just because I’m female. I WILL inform you of how rude you are being to a guest in your country.

Dear Batswana: if we passed each other on the street 4 blocks ago, don’t wait so long to start greeting / addressing me. (That includes screaming after me.)

Dear Batswana men: I am not your baby or your sweetie. I only allow you to call me “Mama” because the women do it, too.

Dear Batswana children: I am not Chinese, and the last time I checked, I did not look Asian. Therefore, please stop calling me “China” and “Chong-Chong.” Also, stop calling me “whitey” and “white vomit.” How would you like it if I called you racist names? … You wouldn’t; so stop doing it to me!

Dear Batswana: please stop staring at me. If you want to talk to me, then talk. Staring makes me uncomfortable.

Dear Batswana: No, I am not going to do your work for you. I will HELP you if you like, but I am not your errand-girl.

Dear Batswana: stop interrupting me. Listen, for a change. Let other people (like me) have a chance to speak once in a while. And LISTEN to what is said, don’t keep arguing with incorrect information (especially when it’s obvious you have NO idea what you’re talking about!).

Dear Batswana: Why do you ask for my help if you’re just going to ignore it and do your own thing anyway? You are wasting my time and my patience! Grrrr!

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I’ve been down again lately. (Not that I’ve really been “up” since last July or so.) That meeting at the DHT a few weeks ago coupled with reflection of my last 10 months at site has really made me crabby. I could use a little love from home right now! Does anyone even miss me? Does anyone read this?

Happy 1-Year Anniversary. I arrived in Botswana on 12 April 2010.