The story of how I came to be married, engaged, just off the fricken market to you, thanks, Buddy:

SHIT! disclaimer: I am not really engaged, married or otherwise. I guess in my rush to express my exasperation I may not have noted that.

Since the first day in the car with Pulane, in which I exclaimed (pinch hit) that I was engaged (sometimes I say married, although when I refer to Jack, it’s as my boyfriend, which puts a whole new spin on the confusion for everyone) I have since produced a simple silver ring to wear on my ring finger, which is inscribed with the words “Fear Not” and is a bit funny to me as it was given to me by a TG man at the clinic I used to work at, after I admired his. I wear it with the words facing in, so that when I am about to put my face into my hands to cry about this or that, I realize that even if I’m crying I shouldn’t be fricken SCARED!!!!! It suffices as a wedding band. Many PCV’s do this. I get several offers to “know me,” marry me, sleep with me, come check on me ect, throughout the day, every day. On good days it is simply verbal, but it can also entail some grabbing, which gets really old. It happens to most PCV’s here, men and women and is thus more annoying than flattering. Wearing a ring doesn’t stop it, but at least suggests a bit more seriousness in my constant rejection of these offers. It’s very claustrophobic to be in a situation in which you cannot just be who you are, and indeed to be truthful can occasionally be dangerous, and this has manifested in ways that are sort of unexpected to me, but I am trying to roll with the punches. Lying doesn’t sit well, and the whole concept of wearing a ring as a symbol for something so sacred and lying about it is very hard. The plan from here on out is to become friends with the young men that work at my clinic, and to make them understand that it is their duty to keep me safe and that I am to be respected. It makes me so much more appreciative of all the liberties we take for granted every day in the US, and makes me want to strive that much more to teach about gender equality in the place that I’m at.

Random thoughts:

I now eat many things I wouldn’t otherwise. This includes onions. Now someone please call my grandmother and make sure she’s ok, as this information is likely to cause heart palpitations, or shortness of breath from laughing and screaming I told you so at the top of what is left of her lung power. There are only so many things that I can avoid, and onions have proven to not be on that list. Right now cabbage and beetroot rank higher.

Also in the land of surprisingly bland food, where you’d think I would be in heaven, my taste buds have revolted. I overheard someone saying that your taste buds change every 7 years, so mine must be in the midst of a serious overhaul. I now crave and often eat Mexican chile flavored potato chips. Apparently the introduction of all of the MSG laden options that come with dinner every night has caused new cravings in my world. Strange to say the least.

I wouldn’t count on these changes sticking, but I’ve learned to be surprised by nothing in this country.

Books: Yes please. I, as is my habit, will read anything put in front of me. Jack may be taking advantage of this by sending me a bible. Lucky me. Otherwise I have recently read (and generally enjoyed) the following titles, and am completely willing to read anything else sent to me.

Memory Keeper’s Daughter- brilliant, haunting.

The Notebook- Why I put myself through this I will never know, but I read it in the span of a trip back from Gumare, I read it from cover to cover as did the girl next to me. E- you were right to recommend this one back in college.

Me Talk Pretty One Day- David Sedairis is HILARIOUS. Nothing better than the second half of this wonder to keep me inspired to continue language class every bloody day

Into the Wild was perfect for my trip to Seronga, as completely appropriate to keep perspective as a lizard falls out of my stove and scurries into my fridge, witnessed by the light of my headlamp, and to lull me back to sleep every time I woke up certain there were scorpions, snakes and lizards in bed with me that night.

Soon to be followed by Under the Banner of Heaven by the same author. A girl in my group has it, and I’m next on the list.

Freakonomics I’ve started it, and like it very much.

Also on the docket, the Glass Castle, The Number One Ladies Detective Agency #1, and for the Jack and Jen bookclub and whomever else would like to read it, The Kite Runner.

These are quite rightly interspersed with any gossip magazine I can get my grubby hands on- a luxury soon to be eclipsed by the fact that I will be hours away from all of my buddies.

So if you’ve recently read and loved a book, pop it in the mail to me. What the hell else are you going to do with it?

Jennifer Katchmark

Peace Corps Volunteer

Seronga Clinic

Box 111

Seronga, Botswana

Seronga: Reality

It seems my fears were warranted about some things, and uncharacteristically overwrought on others. Right.

The Journey:

Seronga is a beautiful place. It’s rustic. It takes a shitlong time to get there from Gabs (anywhere in the neighborhood of two days, depending on the driver and how many friends and acquaintances he wants to “check” on the way, and how many cows, donkeys and other animals you must slow down to avoid hitting along the highway with your car.). After the 13 hour drive from Gabs on Tuesday, which by the end of we thought we were seeing unicorns and kangaroos in the dark- that much time in a car will make you positively loopy- we spent the night at my friend Katie’s (potential) NGO in Gumare- it seems they are having a tough time with the housing. So we slept in her temporary housing which was her office with a bed thrown in, and people listening to some sort of gospel DVD over the wall. All night. Again I am thankful for earplugs. The next morning I got my first hot shower in a month and a half in a shower filled with spiders, bugs, lizards and a door that doesn’t quite close. All the better to escape from should I find any bigger creature in there. Nonetheless it was a hot shower and I was happy. It’s amazing how your standards change.

I was picked up by someone else’s counterpart at half 7, so promptly I was shocked, and taken to the RAC, where I was able to upload last weeks blogs and return some emails. I was now on my own, and I was introduced (read: handed off) to several people as this will be my district office, and then met the driver and man who would tell me (6 hours later) that he was my counterpart. All the other PCV’s had spent Monday in a training with their counterpart, but as I am so very far up the delta, my counterpart did not come. It was very much the experience of being the dork at the dance without a date (incidentally- not familiar to me). All my arrangements were made by someone else’s counterpart, who couldn’t answer a ton of questions. So by Wednesday, after being passed around and uncertain of who was “in charge” of me, if anyone, for three days I was rabid to meet my counterpart. Sidenote: A counterpart is a Motswana person who is kind of responsible for you, helps you integrate into the community, learn the ropes, and whom you work in tandem with on projects, so that the work you do in your community can continue after you leave. Sort of like a supervisor, the counterpart is very important person and has been known to make or break a peacecorps experience. Pulane was initially introduced as my counterpart, but then quickly denied this fact. I spent the rest of the day asking about my counterpart, only to find, upon arrival at the clinic and brief interrogation of its entire staff 6 hours later that Pulane was indeed my counterpart. Through a combination of communication/translation problems and a sheepish “April Fools?” when further pressed, I realized that this would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I will of course have to disregard the fact that over the course of an approximately 6 hour drive that should have taken 3, Pulane and I were pressed together into the front passenger seat of a truck cab, during which I proclaimed my engagement (surprise! Jack) as a result of Pulane asking if I had a boyfriend, and giving me his cell number, and otherwise asking many personal questions that the Batswana do not consider intrusive, and that I was hesitant not to answer as I had no idea who this guy was, but I was pretty sure that either way, I didn’t want to offend him. I also didn’t want him to think we were dating, or better yet, going to get married. This should not be a problem.

So the drive continued from Gumare to Seronga, all the way up to Shakawe, and to the edge of the delta to the ferry that took us over to “that side”. Apparently the translation to English to Setswana doesn’t include “here”, or “there,” but more so “this side” and “that side.” The definitions of which are always changing, leading me to constantly ask “WHERE??” Lots of pointing and gesturing ensues, as it can mean the other side of the delta, or the other side of the room. I love it.

Somewhere on “this side” of the delta, on the 150 kilometers of white, bumpy dirt roads, I was inexplicably filled with excitement and anticipation to see my village, and a sense that this was where I am supposed to be. These instances are few in the sea of doubts I harbor about this whole experience, and I’m sure to take note and bask in them when they grace me with their presence. As is common, this glory did not last, but to have had it was enough for this trip… I hope.

The house: I will be spending the next two years in a cement roundeval (bathroom attached) It’s similar to a studio apartment that is round, which presents interesting problems for square things fitting against the walls.(which is, I guess why the round papasuan chair along the wall – there is no corner- makes so much sense.) There is a solar panel on the roof, which provides electricity for one florescent overhead light, and is connected to what looks like a car battery, which has a converter attached into which I can plug my cell phone, and hopefully my laptop, or in addition to the sketchy internet possibilities in the village, will prevent much blogging. The bathroom needs some cleaning and attention and has a tub that can be filled with (cold) water for bathing. Water for this task can also be heated on the gas stove. 2 years of bucket bathing- game on. There is a cute patio out front with chairs straight out of the 70’s. It has a traditional reed fence enclosure with netting above for shade. As it has been empty for a few weeks a few critters have moved in, including a lizard that was not lucky enough to make it through the septic tank and is now being progressively flushed through my toilet. If you think this is disgusting to read, imagine flushing the toilet (in the dark- the bathroom has no light) and seeing something filling the bowl along with the water, and upon closer inspection realizing it is the bones and partial corpse of yet another creepy crawly “friend” the first being the lizard that fell out of my stove and crawled into the non-working fridge. Upon my expressing my dismay to my coworkers about the wildlife in the place, they didn’t understand why I was upset about a lizard as they are “friendly” and eat the bugs and spiders. “Friendly” although they may be, I’m not looking forward to my new roommates. Hopefully a good cleaning when I get back will discourage them from staying.

The village:

People are very nice. I feel pretty safe, and feel that my clinic will take good care of me. I’m excited about the prospects of living and working in this village, although I am still nervous about the distance from other PCV’s.

The Baby:

I mentioned wanting to see some babies be born, and was blessed with this opportunity on my second day at the clinic. I was present (and nearly passed out during) the birth of a brand new HIV neg baby. She was born at 2:05 (by MY watch, which was the official time) on Thursday. I’ve seen a birth before, but man, I was CLOSE, and a combination of hormones and heat nearly had me passed out on the floor! The nurse midwife said the same thing happened to her during the first delivery she observed, and she felt it was quite common, apparently when a woman watched another women giving birth she wants to push as well, which in my case entails holding my breath. It was amazing. I've got a lot to do!!!

Jenny in the mine, with diamonds

Or maybe not so much. I didn’t see a one!

A few weeks back was a Peace Corps field trip to Jwaneng mine, the richest diamond mine in the world by value.

Three years ago, when I had a heavily vested interest in and was intensely researching diamonds, I read a book called something like “Diamond: the Anatomy of an Obsession”, which was a really interesting read and one I will be perusing again just as soon as I can get my hands on it. Back then, in a different life, this would have been the trip of a lifetime for me, to see the place and be near so many of my favorite sparklers. I was surprised by my actual reaction.

The day began altogether too early at 7 am, as we waited out by the road in front of our language teacher’s house. Half an hour later than we were supposed to, we were picked up (again a half an hour to wait is exceptionally little in Botswana) and taken on a two hour bus ride to Jwaneng. The ride was pretty, through the hillier area near Tamaha (although the last bit was a bit rough, over ruts so bad I questioned the integrity of the shocks on the bus- we were being tossed around violently like large sacks of potatoes bouncing like popcorn.) We arrived at the mine, and they herded all 56 of us and our various handlers off the bus and onto another Debswana bus to go through the first layer of the security. Debswana is a corporate/government partnership between the government of Botswana and the diamond cartel DeBeers. We rode this bus about 10 feet and got off to be ushered into a building where we were given a short presentation, in which we are informed that 94% of the workers are Batswana and 21% are women- a figure busted out “To demonstrate” the presenter said, “that we are taking care of them” . (Thank Goodness!) There is also emphasis on the Debswana Company’s social efforts- a cheetah and rhino preserve on the property, a medical clinic and various schools, prior to which people apparently learned under trees. We are outfitted with hard hats and fluorescent vests, and given close toed shoes (so happy I wore my sketchers!!), and told to leave our cell phones behind (we were allowed to bring cameras, but instructed not to take “moving pictures”). Back onto the bus for another 100 feet, (how many meters is that? I should really start thinking this way, as I live in this country that uses it. The metric system is real and it is not going away!!!) And through another layer of security. They tell us not to bother looking on the ground for diamonds as they have determined the most diamond rich areas, and they are not taking us over any of them. I look anyway, there aren’t supposed to be diamonds on the ground in mall parking lots either, but I have managed to find them there. Unfortunately there are no free samples (found by me or given by the company) on this trip.

So we get on and off the bus a few more times (I should add that these are not American buses, they are African buses, and like the people in on this continent, they are much smaller than you’d anticipate. We brush up against every person we pass, every time we walk through the aisle. This makes for not only increased static cling, but irritation in the heat as well!) and finally enter the mine. Jwaneng is an “open pit” mine, which means that layers and layers of Earth are blasted away and removed with the valuable Kimberlite material trucked to a “crusher” which separates the diamonds from the “waste.” An overwhelming majority of this material is “waste rock”, even though there may be copper and other valuable minerals within the refuse, it is still discarded. As the tour guide pointed out, “they are mining diamonds”.

Notwithstanding the large amount of dust in the air, I was struck by the beauty of the different layers and colors of Earth contrasted against the sky. I was visually reminded of the coffee plants growing throughout the valleys and mountains in Costa Rica. The ledges here in the mine are called “benches” and they are carved into the Earth to prevent landslides, whereas in Costa Rica (and I’m also reminded of D.G’s photo presentation of his trip to Machu Pichu) they are created to facilitate irrigation and provide a more accessible growing scheme. I’m saddened by the study in contrasts, to think of the lush green growth and life in those mountains in comparison with the scared earth of the mine.

Despite this, the mine was visually stunning in its own ways, as was the technology quietly humming around us. The tour guide said that as they get deeper into the Earth, they need bigger equipment to get the diamonds out. Huge trucks, with tires taller than me lumber around, the only elephants I’ve seen thus far are slowly violating the Earth. The company has of course GPSed the entire outfit, timing how long every action should take in this mine. Seismographs and explosives are carefully placed, and satellites monitor this carefully and systematic constant evacuation of rock.

We rode the bus further in, disembarking again to take pictures and not much else (no sudden movements). We get back on the bus and go through the tedious process of leaving the mines, everyone going through a door one at a time (I was not one of the lucky ones who got to go through the “frisking” security).

I had mixed feelings about visiting the mines, and diamonds in general. This resource discovery put Botswana on the world’s map, and besides the country’s vast natural beauty and alternating first and second place in the world’s prevalence for HIV and AIDS rates, is what it is known for. The revenue from diamonds has been well managed, and has contributed to the peace and general political stability that Botswana enjoys, so unlike our neighbors Zimbabwe, South Africa, and Angola. The economy is based in it, and the company gives back to the community. Many of the absolutely necessary ARV’s that the government provides free of charge to all it’s citizens are funded at least in part by the revenue from this industry. These are not blood diamonds, not by a long shot.

At the same time, the diamonds are a finite resource. Contrary to DeBeers marketing slogan, the diamonds won’t last forever, yet the gaping holes left in the ground of Jwaneng will. The dangers of underground mining are glossed over in the official presentation, but will be real for the 94% Batswana work force who will be risking their lives to recover these gems when the mines go underground for recovery within the next 20 years. When the four pipes of kimberlite in Jwaneng are exhausted, what then?

I can’t help but see the experience as yet another example of how the time I spend in Africa will bring me personally full circle. Throughout the day, the facts and facets of diamonds and the figures and images of diamond mining swim through the haze of the dust in front of me. From the depths of my memory are mined thoughts of a girl, myself in a former life. A girl obsessed with diamonds, and preoccupied by the promise of one in particular, kept in wax paper, in a drawer by the bed. A girl wrapped up in the fairy tale of what a diamond represents and implies, the shiny symbol of perfectly planned life. The girl who would have traded anything to be standing where I am now, on the edge of a diamond mine, so near the rich Kimberlite veins that are home to the beautiful objects she coveted. To make the choice to chase the diamond would have ensured that she never came to be where I am right now. But the girl did trade that life, she became me, and is surprised to find that instead of the cheap thrills she expected, she’s overwhelmed by a sense of melancholy in the presence of her former idols. I guess the fairy tale is more complicated that it seemed.

No wonder Cinderella stuck with glass.

The one in which the universe puts our heroine where it wants her, in Seronga

We entered the putridly lilac painted room and sat in the horseshoe shaped arrangement of chairs (“blue chairs for trainees, white chairs for everyone else,” the main man intoned repeatedly, as if we couldn’t hear him from out the door and down the hallway.) In the front of the room was lined with a small map, a long table, and a easel covered with a sheet, the likes of which we have grown to know and fear throughout training (It seems everything in Botswana must, absolutely must, be done on flip chart paper. They hand it out daily to facilitate the creation of endless numbers of unintelligible and illegible artistic group project renditions of whatever point the trainers are trying to encourage us to illustrate. We collectively hate the large white paper.)
We herded into the room, with a group of this size, everything you do has the effect of both herding and group mentality. We settled in and waited together anxiously, all 56 of us, and when I say anxiously, I mean you could feel the electricity in the room. We could have lit up some big ass building in NYC with our nervous energy. The powers that be began their speeches, all cultural formalities with the exception of prayer observed, and none of which I was paying attention to, choosing instead to sink into the numbness and mind wandering that I often retreat into while they talk at us in training. In my pocket today was a piece of smooth blue sea glass, collected in the early morning on Pismo beach on my last trip to Cali, with my dear friend E. I sometimes carry it with me here, to bring me comfort, as a small thing to rub as a worry stone when I'm anxious. When I don't have that I often take a small piece of pewter in the shape of a shell with a copy of the labrynth that was a souviner from the cathedral in san Fran, a shell being the sign of pilgrims and wanderers, reminding me that it is solved by traveling.
Suddenly, there was movement in the front of the room as they pulled back the sheet which had been covering not a flip chart, but a map filled with little tiny variously colored numbers. They informed us, as though we were the studio audience of some cheesy game show, us that we had numbers tucked into the bottoms of our chairs. I reached under my chair and I pulled my out my orange card. Number 16. Ok. The girl two seats away from me had the deadly number 56 (the last one).
The process began and I dutifully wrote down everyone’s name and location. My number was called and I went up to the table and searched for my name. I found it packed with a ginger cookie. I thought my name would also have my village name on it, so I immediately thought, foul! My number now became five. I looked at the map, searching through the areas I was expecting, the ones in the south, in the east, the ones surrounded by other people. The space grew. “It’s up and to the left” someone helpfully called. There was number 5. Seronga. All by itself. In the delta. Near the water. The only water. In the country. The place I specifically didn’t want to be, after reflecting on my lack of appreciation for wildlife and disinterest in the wilderness and camping. The place many others wanted to be. I flashed “the crowd” a look of shock and found my way back to my chair, that of the number 16 card. The rest of the announcements went by in a blur. I was able to note when some of my friends got the places they had wanted, the places they had lobbied for, and others walked away from that map with the same look on their face that I did.
It seems that the big water is calling her wayward daughter home. The girl from the land of 10,000 lakes returns to the water, in the country I least expected it. I can only take this as a sign of good things to come, despite my initial hestitancy. Where there is water there is always life, and for me there has always been inspiration. I will be getting my wish to live a life of simplicity, and solitude, and get to know where my edges and center are. There will be big bugs, snakes and the like but I will survive. I can't help but see the irony in be placed in the main place in the country with water and lots of wildlife, some things I have never fully appreciated in the life I left in Minnesota that were also available a plenty. I guess the time to reconcile it all has come.

So know that although I won't have internet as often, I will do my best to keep in touch. I have a post office in Seronga, (I will get the new address up next week, until then hold off on sending things, the peace corps will hold them for me, but I will be two days out of the office in Gaborone). so I will love to receive letters, and hope to have many pen pals. I've been told I won't have electricity (I'm so looking into solar power!!!!) but there is a generator at the clinic where I work, so perhaps I can write at night and recharge in the day? I've found that writing has become a major stress reliever for me, and am finding this may be increasingly a larger portion of my calling.

I'm scared of and nervous about this new reality, but after much thought, I realized that if fear is all I'm up against, than I have no options but to go forward, as I've done things I've feared before, and come out the other side. It is with this attitude that I continue on my two day journey to Seronga. I have met many people at my stop in Gumare, and they all seem kind (and speak English!!!!). The delta is supposed to be beautiful, and a coveted area for eco-tourism and wildlife excursions (if this encourages anyone to come visit, you are, of course all welcome, my traditional roundaval is your roundaval.) I will report back once I get there. I love you all, and despite the new additional distance, I feel you with me as I go.

I've often depended on the kindness of strangers...

Like blanche dubois in "a streetcar named desire," there have often been times in my life that just when I think things are going to take a turn for the worse, the kindess of a stranger steps in and helps in some way. When I undertook this Peace Corps journey, I had many fears and hesitancies, but decided to go through with it, knowing that if I followed my calling, good things would happen. Saturday was site placement (see next blog) and I am way up there, no electricity, internet, volunteers around me. This was a bit of a surprise, and quite honestly, I'm nervous.
After announcements were completed, they handed out our mail, and my m-bag arrived with all the books I had sent myself (mostly self help, I guess I'm going to get really enlightened while I'm here, a little part of the plan I had in mind when I singed up for this, that I had forgotten about during the luxuries of electricity, internet and grocery stores in Molepolole.) and another package, from Washington, DC. It said training materials, had the return address of someone I don't know, and I was confused. I opened it to find a care package with music, candy, lotions, bug stuff and things I had mentioned on my blog. A perfect stranger had read my blog and supports what I'm doing and wanted to send me some cheer. The letter indicated that Rick is a friend of Brent's who has been very generous to both brent and now me.
So I, being who I am, immedaitely burst into tears and walked laughing and crying (which really, equals sobbing) over to brent, who didn't know whether to slap me or hug me. I was overwhelmed with the emotion and gratitude of the day.
Before I left, Lightning, Lenox and I had a little ceremony to commemorate our upcoming and continuing journey's in life, and we meditated and wrote down our hope for ourselves and our fears. We burned the fears in a fire, and carried the hopes with us wrapped with a stone from Lake Superior, where it sort of all began. I brought the rock and note with me, and I found it the other day when I was going through my happy bag of things that make me smile, and it is as follows.

"The Universe is with you, sending you good things, spirits and people to help you because you choose to follow your journey. Receive them with grace."

Thank you, Rick, a perfect stranger, for your kindness in sending me a package, and your support of my journey. I will pay if forward, I promise you.

When people type good things about you, you should post them on your blog!!!!

To remember that things are good, even when they're not!!! I was working on my site blog the other day and my friend Adryan took the computer and wanted to "write on my blog". she said hella nice things, so I'm posting it! A-I'll miss you in the delta, buddy, but you're welcome any time!!!!


**There is something you should know about “Jenny in Botswana.” So far, the only accounts of life in Botswana and the Peace Corps experience has been dictated and determined by Jenny herself. But there is a totally unique perspective held by her volunteer counterparts. Our friend Jen has thus far been an exceptional trainee, both for her dedication during typical PC bullshit as well as her unrelenting optimism as those of us struggle along the way. Jen is one of my best friends, after only a month and a half, and already she has exposed her true self for the benefit of others, letting brutal honesty replace required politeness, allowing herself her flounder when we are expected to flourish, and paving the way for effective volunteerism. To hear about her lover (Jack) and her life (MN) fills the pages of my own yet blank life, and as I write this I nearly tear thinking that a woman who I was so instantly attached to will so suddenly be ripped from my convenience. Some of you have been close to Jen for years, and that I envy. But you should know that your girl has taken the responsibility to protect and represent us all, and just before we are spread thinly throughout the country, we will be saying our prayers to her as she prays for herself., She is brave, candid, and above all the essence of unconditional love that makes all volunteers keep on working despite intangible results. Thank you Jen, for already being a lifelong friend.

Adryan Caron

PS Dear Jack-You and I will meet soon enough. I am originally from the Bay and am dying to meet you. Jen says the best shit about you-you are a lucky man, almost as much as she is a lucky woman. See you soon!