We’re having a meeting to discuss details for our upcoming Furman alumni safaris when one of the people we’re talking to, looking over my left shoulder shouts, “CARROTS!” Others in the restaurant cheer at the lucky find of the kitchen staff. Their enthusiasm derives from the current ban on imported carrots from South Africa. Of course, I didn’t know this when we searched four different grocery stores for this crunchy orange staple food. There must also be a ban on red peppers because they have been equally elusive. Last week there were onions, this week none. I think the goal is “citizen empowerment” (if Botswana doesn’t allow importation of items from South Africa, then the Batswana can sell their own goods), but in reality, it means a diet without carrots (or red peppers or onions) for the foreseeable future. (The worst is a ban on Helman’s Mayonnaise and Heinze Ketchup…subpar condiments bring a tear to my eye).
While
I’m sure most of the readers of this blog are used to stories from the bush
(here I’ll put some pictures of lions and a leopard from our last bush outing
with international journalists to keep you reading), today I want to talk about
what it’s really like to live in a
village on the edge of the Okavango Delta.
Our
morning typically begins when the hornbills start clucking for their breakfast.
While we no longer have the inquisitive pair who we called “Koko” and “Tsena” (which
is equivalent to “knock, knock” and “who’s there?”) that used to fly to the
window sill, violently banging their large bills on the window in order to peer
in one eye at a time (can’t really look straight in a window when you have a
bill that large) to see if we’re up yet, we now have a flock of 20+ red,
yellow, and gray hornbills that descend on our “yard” at the crack of dawn
(when I say “yard” think sand box). Paul is very loyal to his birds, whether in
Botswana or the USA, and his first course of action is throwing them some seed
(often before he even puts pants on!).
Once
the small birds (hornbills, doves, gray lorries, starlings, etc.) and large
birds (ostriches) are fed, it’s time to make coffee. While I had several bags
of decent coffee from our March trip to Costa Rica put aside for my three-month
stay here, they got left behind when a friend from Botswana asked Paul if I
could bring over “a couple of books” which ended up being three very LARGE
books (weighing in at 7 pounds). Since the migration over here includes a
“smaller” international flight from South Africa to Botswana on Airlink with a
20 kg (44 pound) bag limit, something had to go. Fortunately, some friends who
own a safari camp just ground us up an ice cream tub worth of decent coffee
(otherwise I might still be trying to drag myself out of bed).
With
coffee on board, we head off for our morning walk with Spike (the dog that’s
not our dog). No one can really knows how old Spike is but his face is definitely
more white than brown these days (maybe he came to the ostrich farm in 2009??)
but he has no shortage of enthusiasm for our morning walks. Jumping up to nip
you in the butt cheek if you’re not moving early enough, he bounds off down the
dirt driveway to the gate that leads outside the ostrich farm. His eternal
enthusiasm for walks made it especially concerning the other day when, after
walking through the opened gate, he promptly sat down and refused to move.
“Come on Spike! Time for a walk” Nope. He was not going anywhere. Trusting that
he smelled or heard something that we didn’t smell or hear, we headed back into
the farm for a shorter walk (as opposed to the ~2 mile walk around the outside
of the farm’s perimeter).
We
immediately came upon elephant spoor (tracks) throughout the farm. While we
hadn’t seen them in a while, they were back in search of food and/or water.
Perhaps that’s what Spike was worried about (or the hyena that is rumored to be
wandering around the Boro area). While I’m pretty used to having an ostrich
catch the corner of my eye out a window as I’m brushing my teeth (the fences
that used to separate us and them are all destroyed so they are “free range”
these days) and I’m getting more used to the plethora of cows with their
ding-ding-ding bells around their necks searching for water, I’m not sure I’ll
ever get used to “checking for elephants” before you walk outside.
While
the ostriches live on the farm (although currently there are only three and
when I left last July there were 17), the cows and elephants are in search of
food and water. It was a particularly bad rainy season this year and things are
very very dry. Botswana has a dry season (May-October) and a rainy season
(November-April). The rains in the rainy season water the grasses and trees and
create pools of standing water that get everything (animals and people alike)
through the dry season. With poor rains, there’s little grass, dried out leaves
and no standing water. The animals are quite frankly desperate (already). Joe,
the Zimbabwean farm manager, even saw a cow jump over the wire fence he had
secured back in place after an elephant crushed it down the night before. While
nothing short of an electrified fence stops an elephant from coming in (and the
landlords are not about to spring for that), cows are now regular visitors
(which is not typical). This morning one was even on the brick walkway right
next to our house drinking the water out of the dog bowl!
Poor
Joe has a Sisyphean task (you know the story of Sisyphus pushing the rock up
the hill only to have it roll back down) of chasing the cows out and
re-securing the fences back up. Day after day. Week after week. Month after
month. To add to this is our precarious water supply. While Paul was in the USA
for six months, thieves stole the pump out of the borehole (well) that is used
to supply water to our house. Fortunately, there is another borehole and pump
on the property that we’ve hooked up to in order to have running water in the
house for washing (it is not drinkable, for that we have to regularly purchase
large containers of potable water). But on the day of the Spike-sit down-strike
where he wouldn’t leave the gate to go for his walk, our walk on the farm
revealed that the elephants had pulled up the plastic piping the takes the
water from the borehole to our house. Elephants can smell the water even when
buried in pipes underground and poor Joe spent the entire next day digging and
burying the pipes again. Did I mention Sisyphus already?
We’ve
already taken several trips to the store to purchase t-joints, elbows, clamps,
more piping, etc. When you brush your teeth tonight before bed, be thankful
that you have potable running water at you finger tips. This is what it’s like
to live on the edge of the Okavango Delta.
And,
quite frankly, we have it easy. On our 20-minute drive from town (half on paved
roads, half on dirt roads), we pass several mud-dung huts (that’s right, houses
made of mud and poop) with occupants that rely on the river that comes down
during the dry season for their water. I don’t know what they are doing to
survive. I’m sure praying that the flood waters that come down from Angola and
fill the dry river bed near our house will make it to Maun this year. Things
are so dry and it is still unseasonably hot (at times in the 90s), it is possible
the flood waters will dry up before they make it to Maun.
Having
been in country for just two and half weeks so far, much of my time has been
spent cleaning up the house (a herculean task after sitting empty for 6
months), getting over jet lag, spending five days with 3 international travel
writers (more on that later), reading (some for pleasure, some for work),
catching up with friends and doing typical hunting and gathering that it takes
to feed oneself in Maun. Neither Paul nor I are superior cooks and I think what
it would take to thrive here is to be like someone on the “Iron Chef” TV show
where you get 5 ingredients and whip up something fabulous. If you head to the
store with a list of ingredients for a recipe you want to try, you might be
lucky if you can find half of what you need!
I’ve
often said that part of what Paul struggles with in the USA is how “easy” and
“predictable” things are on a daily basis. Need a new trash can for the
bathroom…order it on Amazon, it will be on your front porch tomorrow. Everyday
in Botswana is unpredictable and at times hard. Two days ago, for example, I
was reading out in the sun on our patio and I was bitten by an ant and injected
with formic acid! Paul came running when I screamed out in shock and pain at
the stinging/burning sensation in my toe! He thought it might have been a
poisonous snake bite (which is also a possibility).
Earlier
in the week I was working on answering some emails when a bird flew through the
front door (no screen doors or screens on windows here). Paul scooped him up
and put him outside on the table where he proceeded to poop (after just pooping
on the inside table). I watched him through the window for a long time (so as
not to scare him by going outside, Paul is always worried about how I might scare things, not how they might scare me!). He eventually (thankfully)
flew away once he caught his breath (he was panting like crazy) and got over
the fright.
Last
weekend we had a major clean up to do when a suicidal gecko managed to get
himself eviscerated by crawling into the running air conditioning unit (don’t
think about it too much, it was really gross). Gecko parts, old gecko poop and
lots and lots of dust was everywhere after that clean up job. I can’t get the
sound of the air conditioner grinding to a halt out of my head! Yuck!
So,
while what you normally see on this blog are exciting tales from the bush, I
wanted to give you a glimpse of what it is really
like to live here. Botswana is certainly an amazing country when it comes to
wildlife viewing. It is truly magic to feel that you are the visitor in their
space. But day-to-day life can be a challenge, much more for the local people
than me. I have the advantage of resources that make my experiences here
amusing and perspective shaping. When I think of water or climate change, it is
in light of my experiences in Africa. And the next time I’m in Trader Joe’s and
I see carrots I’ll be sure to enthusiastically shout, “CARROTS!” remembering
how lucky I am to find them.
