Re tla ja kuku

Birthdays are a strange time… there is so much hope and love during a birthday. But there are also expectations and ideas of grandeur. People will show you how much they care on your birthday.

Before I left, I was worried about turning 23. I was worried about whether I would have anyone to celebrate with, worried about being so far from my family and friends, worried about being well into my 20’s and still feeling behind in so many ways.

And I miss my friends and family. I do. So much that I cried while reading the birthday cards that my parents and my sister packed in my bag before I left home (thanks a lot guys).

But being here on the day, I mostly feel grateful. I feel grateful for my friends and family who calculated the exact time when my birthday started in Botswana’s time zone, seven hours ahead of when the actual day started. I feel grateful for my new friends who asked me what I wanted to do to celebrate. I also feel grateful to be in Botswana, a place where even the goats seem mystical.

Maybe I should back up a bit, though. I’ll tell you all about some of the big things that happened in February.

Valentine’s Day

During Valentine’s Day, I had lunch with my colleagues in the English department. All day, I ran around with one of the teachers, Mma B, to try to find all of the food and drinks that we needed. After a chaotic few hours waiting for the woman at the restaurant to finish our food, the fourteen members of the Shakawe Senior English department ate our meal together.

During the meal, everyone was given a slip of paper with a name on it. With that piece of paper, everyone said good things about their assigned person. The person with my name was Mma B, the woman I had been following around all day. I had become fast friends with her, but she was transferring to another village soon. Nevertheless, she told me how much she admired my courage, moving halfway across the world to come to Shakawe.

The name on my slip of paper was Mma K, one of the women in the department, and I commented on her calm, collected teaching style and how I could tell how organized and dedicated she was as a teacher from how she kept her desk.

After that, every teacher wanted to hear my first impression of them inside and outside of the classroom. One by one, I went through each of the teachers to give my thoughts. Even though I struggled to come up with enough to say about everyone, they all looked at me with admiration and curiosity. I told them about how I saw their different demeanors and teaching styles, and I used the opportunity to thank the teachers who made me feel welcome.

Football Match in Sepopa

*Me and some English colleagues in Sepopa*

Football, or soccer as the Americans say, is a sport that I love to watch. There is something about the way that the ball moves across the field that is so engrossing. Or perhaps I love it because I was so absolutely horrible when I played the sport that it makes me appreciate those who do play. I love football. But what makes me love it even more is when there is something that ties me to a team, when the community around me is passionate about the sport.

At nine in the morning, two of my fellow English teachers and I piled into one car to go to Sepopa, a small village about thirty minutes away. We were headed to a football tournament to root for Shakawe Senior’s football team. I had no idea when I arrived how many of the public service organizations in the villages and towns have their own football club. These clubs are often made up of the workers from the organizations.

I curiously watched Shakawe Senior’s football team, which was made up of men who worked at the school. They battled fiercely up and down the sandy field, eventually winning the game by a few points. After the game was over, everyone stayed at the field. We mingled and watched the other games until the sun started going down.

Around midday, some of the teachers started making seswaa and papa, two of Botswana’s staples, for lunch. Everyone who was there from the school got a small take-out container of food. So, as the temperature hit one hundred degrees, we sat under a tent, sweating and dipping our hands into porridge and pounded beef.

*Me and some English colleagues in Sepopa again!*

The atmosphere was chaotic yet exciting. People around me cheered loudly at the games, talked with their friends, and drank beer or cider. I knew some of the teachers, but most of them were strangers to me. And my robust knowledge of Setswana did not help me much. I tried to catch some of the Setswana words that I knew in conversation, but they were speaking so fast and passionately that I could barely understand. It is very difficult to enter into a conversation when you don’t know what is being said, but I managed to meet some of the teachers, two physics teachers and a chemistry teacher. Everyone was very welcoming, and I got to see a new side to some of the teachers as they relaxed outside of school.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted from the loud sounds, the music and the constant conversation, but it was one of my favorite experiences that I’ve had so far. I’ll be heading to the next tournament in Goa next weekend.

My Birthday Celebration

When the women in the English department asked what I wanted to do on my twenty-third birthday this year, I told them that I wanted to learn how to make papa and seswaa. While I did genuinely want to learn how to make it, I also knew that it would be an amazing opportunity to spend time with my colleagues, many of whom I have started to call friends.

So, at two in the afternoon after having cake and snacks in the English workroom, three of my colleagues and I headed to my house to start the long process of boiling and pounding beef to make seswaa. And while we waited for the meat to cook, we sat on my living room floor and talked, listened to music, or graded papers. It took four hours for the beef to cook, and afterwards, we pounded it until my arms gave out. Strangely, though, it might be one of my favorite birthdays I’ve ever had. To be so far away from home, it was a bittersweet day, of course. But Batswana go above and beyond for their community members, and my colleagues stayed with me for the whole day to make sure that I properly celebrated my birthday the way that I wanted to.

February, the month of love and new beginnings, always brings the best out of me. And now that I am almost two months into my journey, I think I’ve already started to become a new version of myself. Maybe I’ve even started to make a home here.

Oh, and before I forget, happy Black History Month to everyone in the U.S.! I challenge you to pick up some new Black art or literature before the month is over. I’ve recently discovered Mpho Sebina, a musical artist from Botswana, and her tone is transcendent.

XO,

Hailey

poetic interlude #3- let it rain / pula

poetic interlude #2 - cremation