Winter Walks

Do you ever wish you could just stay in one place for a very long time without needing anything, just so you could see the world unfold? I feel this way when I walk through Gaborone’s streets. Winter is starting to loosen its grip and now there are so many street scenes that I just want to stop and watch, like the people walking in the dirt field as they emerge from the bright twilight sun and pass you by with more people leaving their footprint’s trace. You know there is a story on every face, you just have to stop, watch and listen, ask them to tell you a story, like how you asked for one as a child. This is what I crave, stories to listen to, stories from another land. I feel lucky to be here and experience a bit of a foreign adventure. When I talk to people from here, I can’t help but ask them about what it was like growing up in Africa. I hear lovely simple stories. Stories about walking 20 kms to school and back and having to bring their own firewood to cook their lunch with. Stories about going to the cattle post to be with their father or brother on the weekends. Stories of growing up in Gaborone when the city was still young, that it was more likely to pass by a donkey or goat than a neighbour. Stories that are stories that pull you away and place a dream in you.

The combination of my experiences and the stories I’ve heard remind me of a descriptive English folk song “Dirty old town”

“I found my love by the gas works croft.
Dreamed a dream by the old canal.
Kissed my girl by the factory wall.
Dirty old town, dirty old town.

I heard a siren from the dock.
Saw a train set the night on fire.
Smell the spring on the sulphured wind.
Dirty old town, dirty old town.”

Though I am still not too sure why this song makes me think of Gaborone. Gaborone is far from the sea, and the only thing that I have seen that is canal like are all the deep ditches that are along the streets to collect the water during rainy season and to keep the streets from flooding. So I guess I too am dreaming by the old canal and smelling spring on the wind.

Night Moves

We went to a braai (BBQ) last Saturday night at a coworker’s of Gayle. We danced for hours to the sound of the car stereo’s system pumping out the liquid beats from the open car doors. This taxed the battery, which died and was revived by idling the engine, and the music kept flowing, not just for us but for the neighborhood too. This is not so uncommon or annoying, it happens all the time here. Music drifting down the street, over the walls and into your yard is almost seen as cultural, announcing the pleasures of life. Actually all Sunday morning next door they have been loudly playing contemporary country music. I sort of feel back home again hearing the very music that I grew up with. However this was not by choice but by association. I was just one of the family members collectively listening to the C&W music that was all around us. This is the first time I have heard country music here in Africa. I know that country music is very popular in Germany too and has made its way around the world, moving away from folk status to pop eminence. But as I sit in our yard reading under a tree, the neighbour’s music reduces the distance to Canada. Yet I am then transported back to Africa by the lovely singing of the Catholic church choir. They are singing acapella in their court yard only a few houses away. The bells rang out, calling the congregation and announcing its presence, then the music and singing started for the regular all day Sunday service. Church is a big part of people’s lives here. Work meetings and gatherings start with a prayer, religious TV stations number in the hundreds (I am not exaggerating), and people generally don’t feel any inhibition to bring up god in normal conversation, not in an evangelical way but more as a statement that ‘this is our life.’


Song and rhythm declare life’s joys, and when your body responds through movement, it becomes a revealing personal story of love and seduction. At least this is how I see it when I observe the African’s dance to contemporary music. The way their hips move are smooth, self-assured and persuasive, which is in stark contrast to my bouncy erratic steps. They always yield new gyrations so the movements during their dancing are never repetitive. Their dance is complex, seeming simple in strategy and show, but when I try the moves myself my hips are not that loose. I don’t want to generalize or stereotype but it seems everyone here can bust a move, men and women alike. I have seen a group of older teenaged boys just casually working on dance moves in the streets, responding to music from a sports event that drifted from a stadium. The same event’s music made this older woman, who was cleaning up some trash on the street, start dancing by herself and making me feel like I was missing out by just walking by. When music is played people just break out and move and they don’t feel confined, a public space is a space for all to show enjoyment. Another lovely thing is how all the people with different body shapes regard themselves with real sensual power. When people dance they work it with what they have and don’t seem to be inhibited by anything that might seem provocative. The more playful the move the more joyful the viewers and dancers become.


I have recently experienced this style of dance not so long ago. Our South American, Mexican and Cuban friends in Guelph all have great, fluid and sexy dance moves. I have tried to keep up with my Salsa steps but as Shakira sings in her song “Hips don't lie” mine give me away. You might even call me a dance charlatan. When I hear Shakira and Wyclef Jean song lyrics they definitely sum up my thoughts about these seductive dancers:

“You know my hips don't lie,
And I'm starting to feel it's right,
All the attraction, the tension
Don't you see baby, this is perfection.”


At the braai with Gayle’s colleagues there were two very young girls around 3 years old. They had some fantastic dance moves. There was no encouragement needed to show us adults how it was done. We all joined in on the dance action beside the car under the cloudless sky, with Liz DJ’ing. As the night wore on, I asked the mother of one of the girls how her little one learned all these great moves, she suggested that her daughter just learned from what she saw around the home. Dancing for them is a family affair.

Gaborone, Botswana: the first impressions

Disclaimer: these are my first impressions of Botswana. They may relate to some truth but really they just illustrate how I see and what I feel. Below is a description of images and thoughts that make me smile or create a moment of pause. These words may give you the notion that life is really different here but I write what interests me, not desiring any division or privilege. The joys are countless and the people are engaging and full of grace. There is a connection between Canadian and Batswana culture and circumstances that are very common to both. I may write about those subjects too, but the following impressions are what keeps this Canadian boy joyful and happy to be here in Botswana.

The book, ‘Welcome to Gaborone, Botswana’ lists an important phone number to call if you have a snake problem. Here is the number if you need it: (267) 72968804.

From the landscape, it does feel like we are living in another land. Our house garden is full of plants, which in Canada would only be indoor or in botanical gardens, like mother tongue, cacti and jade plants. Since Botswana is a dry country, most yards do not have grass, only dirt. The dirt is rust colored and in our yard is swept clean of leaves and twigs every week by our gardener with a traditional grass broom. The neighbors sing with lovely voices in their yard - ‘I hear you but I do not see you’ – we are separated by large brick walls and electric wires. Inside our home are a few ‘African’ motif sculptures that don’t feel out of place here. The yard area has two covered porches, one with a hopscotch game permanently painted but faded and the other porch is ready for a bbq or an escape from the sun and rain. Both look out to our very large yard with big trees that are surrounded with circles of stones. The plants grow everywhere but there is an order to their placement. It seems like an English style garden composed with cacti and large leaf plants, there is even a banana tree (I look forward to its fruit, picked right in our own back yard). We are enveloped in the natural world. An anthill on one side of the wall encrusts a tree and stands over ten feet tall. It might even be too large for the ants since a smaller hill lies around 3 feet tall in its shadows on our side of the walled fence. Gayle says it might be termites. I’ve heard that it is a bad omen to knock over these hills, plus it would most likely bring in termites or ants into the house.

In our backyard stands a very large pepper tree and I do mean tree. It has white pepper seeds with little pink dots. When you crack its seed, the smell surrounds your fingers, it is a potency that is instantly recognizable. At first you do not notice all those little pepper seeds, but there are many little seedpods subtlety hanging out amongst the leaves. Initially, I did not identify it as a pepper tree, not giving credit that exotic plants can grow very well here, albeit surviving the harsh summer sun, but they seem to be well suited here.

I love wandering through this sizeable yard, just gazing at the plants and things gathering around in the yard, feeling like a little boy looking for some hidden adventure or mystery. One sees a lot when one slows down in your own yard. There are a number of birds that are very new to this Canadian. Their shape and sounds continue to be unknown, even when searching for them in guidebooks. Other animal friends appear too, a lizard was sunning him/herself as our roommate Magali was doing the same one Sunday afternoon, grabbing some intense heat in preparation for the cool night. He was around 14 inches in length, and as Magali pointed out, a few tiny lizards were close by on another branch. These little baby lizards were blending into the tree bark except for when they quickly moved to find another spot. Many geckos were also climbing around the barrier walls, boogieing very fast in their 4 to 6 inch long bodies. I am curious what they eat and if their travels are for food or fun since there seems to be real joy in their movement.

We also have some curious salamanders too. I planted a small vegetable garden with some seedlings of beetroot, kale, rape, and tomato plants, as well as some basil, thyme, and spinach from seed, which has already sprouted after a week! The salamanders are also out catching the sun’s heat. They seem to be watching me as I prepare the dry sandy soil, add manure and water to the little plants. It might seem funny, but I think of them as my little outdoor buddies. I always look out for them when working in the garden or when reading a book by their hang out spots. There are three that I keep a look out for, I have no names for them, but can distinguish them by their personalities. The one in the cement rock bed, is the most inquisitive, he does not move away when I approach. He actually comes out when he feels movement in his home area, sort of to say ‘hello’. The most active little guy is by the herb seedlings. He is cautious, but also very curious. He scurries in and out of his entrance from the cracked cement when the coast is clear or when my movement is still. The fat one by the pool moves slowly, following the sun, inch by inch, when shade encroaches.

There is a big, big spider in my closet. I am letting it have the bottom shelf. It has started to feel like it is a friend. Hey! I just saw the big thing cruise around the wall. Not so sure if I can call it a friend at the moment, and besides, it just went beside my pillow and is hanging out casually about a foot and a half from my head. I keep looking at it and it just seems to be waiting for its prey - good. I’ll keep my distance if he keeps his. Remind me to shake out my shoes before I put them on in the morning ok? (Morning update – I survived. I look in the closet and he is back in his little spot, so he has his routines I guess. If he keeps the bug population down, well then he is a welcome friend (back to being a friend this morning). We had to kill a couple cockroaches not too long ago. One was BIGGER than my thumb, and Gayle told me that this one was much smaller than one they just killed before I arrived. Hopefully our spider friend likes the taste of a good crunchy roach.

A big issue here in Gaborone is home security. We have a large and weighty gate that rolls back when we push a button and a lovely brick fence that surrounds the yard with an even lovelier electric wire barrier that should stop all intruders and vine growth (hence a good gardener looks after this – without shocking themselves). I feel a crazy urge to touch the electric wire but of course will not since I value my life. A good friend of ours did touch it by accident and felt disoriented for the rest of the day. We also have locks on all doors, even our bedroom door and the doors between the kitchen and hallways. We lock all exterior and interior doors at night. It feels a little weird to lock your bedroom door but safe is a feeling I like to sleep with. Even the fridge has a lock on it, maybe for midnight snacking but it is for other reasons. Sadly, it is used for keeping the ‘house staff’ out, of course we would never use it. All the window and patio doors have bars and grates that are permanently in place too. When you look outside it is always through bars. There have been recent break-ins with some colleagues so we take precaution.

Our alarm did go off one night around 1 am. The alarm is incredibly loud and scares you awake. We carefully unlocked our bedroom doors and our roommates, Arsalan and Magali, met us just outside of the locked kitchen and living room door. It was a very unsettling feeling when turning the key in the lock to see if anyone was there in the other room. You might be wondering why we even did this and not just wait for the security guys to show up, but when the pounding of the alarm is intense and your adrenaline is running high you don’t make the best decisions. There was no obvious intruder, and when the security guys did do a walk around the yard everything appeared safe.

Our home is lovely though, with large rooms, high ceilings, clean sparse walls, a fireplace (so comforting during this wintertime when the temperature drops in the evening), and white tile floors throughout. It feels ‘grand’ with large closets that have two big doors that open up like revealing a stage. Here in Botswana there is an expectation to have a maid, gardener and in our case a pool guy too. Not just for privilege but also to provide employment. Most of these positions are held by Zimbabweans. Due to the current situation in Zimbabwe with their president Mugabe, Botswana has a large population of Zimbabweans that come for employment and opportunities, many illegally. The Zimbabweans often get a bad rap and I have heard they are blamed for the local crime, but my perception of Zimbabweans is that they are wonderful people and very kind. Our maid, Ellen, comes three times a week. She has a very cute little boy named Pride who is about four months old. Gayle has come home sometimes and seen Pride tucked in the couch with pillows pinning him in place so he does not fall. He loves holding your fingers to try to stand, which brings a very satisfied smile to his face and yours. I always look forward in seeing him when I come home from work and giving him a little squeeze.

I was wondering about garbage day and how it works. Gayle informed me that there is no schedule here. The truck passes along your street and if you hear it then great, you open up your gate and put out the trash before it passes you by. If you are not around during the day or miss the sounds of the truck then you just have to wait until, by chance, for your connection with the garbage man. Someone told me that sometimes it has taken over a month for a truck to come on by in this city. But in other areas of Gaborone they do get regular pick up. The trucks come by and ring your bell. I guess we don’t live in the ‘regular pick up area.’

The other night we heard a noise in our place. Our roommate, Magali, went out to investigate and called out for me to come. She was laughing and pointed to our large patio window that has diamond shaped bars. At first I could not see what she was pointing too and then I looked up at the top of the window and saw an orange kitten (a very dirty one at that) who was trying to get the hell out. I approached it to see if it was stuck, but cautiously since these little wild feral creatures might have some kind of crazy thing going on. I did see if before when one night I heard some cats outside our window by the pool. They like our yard at night since we have a pool that they get water from (it does not have much chlorine) and no dogs in the yard. Most dogs act as security and are not pets. But when I approached the kitten it hissed at me and tried moving along the top area of the bars. It looked so cute all stuck up in there and we laughed some more at it. And as we laughed it sort of fell but more like those Japanese Pachinko games where the ball drops and hits round pegs. He just stayed there at the bottom so we left him there hoping he would exit out our front door, which was open. I figured it had come in that way, but Magali told me that the door was closed before. Then we saw that there was a whole bunch of dirt and wood chips on the floor by the fireplace. I thought that maybe it was trying to go up the chimney, but when I looked at the kitten again I could see that it was all dusty with soot. Then it dawned on us that it must have been on the roof and climbed into the chimney and fell down all the way into our front room. Eventually the kitten found its escape in peace. We named the orange kitten "Santa Claus."

I do love walking to work. I usually go past the old museum, which has period pieces from Africa’s past, organized along its path. I cannot help but always look up at the Rhodesia Railway sign painted on an old passenger rail car, this keeps me grounded in (an intense) history. My trip also takes me past large cacti and trees with vibrant red flowers. Gayle had a jasmine tree outside her first residence here last fall. The WUSC office (World University Services of Canada) where I work has papaya and guava trees in its yard. Across the street stands a fig tree. Mango trees are very plentiful too. A co-worker says that during the fruit season you cannot give the fruit away – everybody has their fill.

I get stared at a lot. I try not to be intrusive and stare back but it seems we both want to check each other out. I have heard that it takes a bit for Botswana people to warm up to you. Saying “Dumela Ma” (to a woman) or “Dumela Ra” (to a man) usually brings a friendly hello back. On my daily walk to work I pass by a lot of little stalls, there is about one every hundred feet or so, usually underneath a tree or by a bus stop or just anywhere that is good place to have a very small table. The vendors (mostly women) usually have individually wrapped candy, airtime (cell phone minutes) and bananas for sale. Some vendors also sell beans, grapes or root vegetables if it is in the market area. One of my favorite tables had only five little baskets of grapes (very specialized and focused selling). It was hard to resist so I bought a basket. I pass one particular table just outside a red dirt soccer field twice a day, going to and from work. I say “Dumela” to the seller. Lots of times she’ll have a friend hang out with her and maybe a little boy will be there too. She now greets me with a nice smile, a very warm ‘good evening’ or a nice wave. There is always laughter and conversation between the sellers. The streets are chalk full of these little stalls and provides a welcome moment of pause and friendship.

One day I bought a bunch of rape leaves from a street vendor for 4 Pula (60 cents CAD). I was walking home with them in a bag with their stocks sticking out. The seller that I pass on the soccer field called out to me. At first I did not think she was talking to me, but just by chance I looked back, and her and her friend were starring at me. They looked at the bag and I said “oh this?” And they asked if I liked eating it. I told them that I was not too sure since it was the first time that I’ll try it, but that I like leafy greens. They smiled. I told them how I was going to cook it but they suggested a different way. So here I was exchanging recipes with these two lovely women in the soccer field. This made my day.

During the morning and early evening walks one sees the comfortable action and normal life of the Botswana people (Motswana is singular and Batswana is plural), from young students brushing off dust from their school uniforms, to them slipping into their street footwear at the end of the school day. People saunter at a very slow pace wrapped up in cell phone conversation or maybe just walking with no immediate destination, just out for a stroll (a Zimbabwean man told me that in his country they are always on the go, no time to wait for others to get ahead of you in line ups or other opportunities). There is a rush in the morning though, people crossing the streets, briefcase or bags in hands and focused. I join them trying not to be late for my work, which starts at 8am.

You can flag down a ride, and often a combi, taxi or a shared taxi will give a short beep on their horn and look at you to see if you need a ride. If you don’t make a gesture for a pick up they will just pass you by. Taxis don’t all have cab signs. It is very common for people to wait at a bus stop for combis, a large 15 person white van. The combis are a private transit system (private in the sense that every driver owns their combi and chooses a route, initially competing for that route). The money they collect goes exclusively to them. Sometimes there will be two or three combis lined up trying to pack in the people for the same route. The more people they pick up, the more money they make. And the faster they do their route, the more people they can drop off and pick up. The faire is inexpensive, just 2.70 pula (40 cents). I’ve only had to ride one once, but Gayle has a few good stories about her combi experiences. But the people waiting at combi stops are not necessarily waiting for a combi. Usually if you have a spot in your car you would pull over and ask if anyone needs a ride to so and so, and people will pour in. The passengers might give you money for a faire but it is very common to give a free ride. This seems to make sense when you think about all the individual people in a car waiting in the congested traffic in Canada. Although, for a population of 300,000 there is still a lot of traffic in Gaborone.

If you need a taxi, you phone your guy. People have a taxi person they normally call. If they can’t pick you up then they usually have someone else they call to pick you up. The odd time you have to find another person. Our cab driver, Victor, gives us a fair price and keeps it consistent, with a bit of an increase in the evenings. The price in the city is around 20 Pula ($3) and at night goes up to 25 Pula (just under $4). Once and awhile you’ll get charged P30 ($4.60) or P20 for each person but only very late at night when you are happy to be getting a ride and not have to walk. The drivers are always really nice and easy to chat with. It is fun to talk about the Canadian winter with them. They get really freaked out by how much snow we get and how cold it gets, since they complain a bit about the winter here. For us the weather is really very nice. Sort of like a hot fall day. The nights get cool but never freezing. You just wear an extra sweater or two. Another interesting thing with the taxis is that you don’t tell them a specific address. You tell them landmarks. It seems no one goes by addresses here, even if you give a local a street name they would not know it. For us we tell a driver that we are by the main mall (downtown), or the big Catholic Church, or even the Museum. They always find our place that way. Our address is a specific plot number, yep plot number, sort of like the cemetery. Every home and business has a plot number.

Traffic is another interesting thing here. They drive on the left side of the road so for a North American this is a bit disorientating, especially when you are in the front passenger’s seat on the left side. At first I was thinking we were constantly driving into oncoming traffic. I am not too used to their light system (they call traffic lights ‘robots’) so I generally don’t feel safe crossing at the corner with streetlights. I usually jaywalk. It is much safer, you can judge the speed better and make your way when it is clear. The other reason I do this is that pedestrians never have the right of way, never ever. The cars will not stop for you. I would not even walk in front of a car stopped at a stop sign, they will not want to wait for you to cross. Even if a car was going slow you would not want to step out in front of them. If they are moving then it is unpredictable. You cross when you know you have a good chance of crossing. Luckily, Batswana drive slower than most. Still you get cars racing through the city at all hours, but usually they are cautious when driving, sometimes to a fault, they want to be doubly sure I guess. One sees mainly newer cars on the road, but sometimes (well a lot more than sometimes) you’ll see thick back smoke pouring out from a car. Not just a simple cloud of black smoke that will disperse in due time but more like a dense toxic blanket that will uncover at least one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. But an important tip is that at night you generally don’t want to stop at stops signs or red lights due to the smash and grab problem here (people who smash the passenger’s side window and grab your wallet/purse). So you try to slow down when you see a red light and hopefully it turns green by the time you reach it, or you just slow down and if no one is coming then just go on through. The police told us this, so they would not pull you over for this infraction.

Well this is the first installment of hopefully many more stories.

Sending you all lots of love from Botswana, Africa.

Kenny xoxo