After my recent trip to Maun in the bumpy luxury of a Cesna plane, it was time to go back to Seronga via the way most people travel, the public bus. Now I’ve heard nightmare stories about people standing for the entire journey (which from Maun to Shakawe ends up being anywhere from 6 to 8 hours, then an additional 1.5 to 3 hitch hiking back down the other side, unless you’ve prearranged transport, which we were lucky enough to have done in this case) chickens on the bus and what. I’ve heard horror stories of window wars, and people mobbing and trampling each other to get a seat. This is a situation where you truly don’t even get up to give an elderly or pregnant woman your seat (she’ll end up relinquishing it to the first man that comes near-chivalry is dead in Bots) so I was there early and ready for anything.
I met up with MaSibindi at the rank and inquired as to which bus we should get on. We found the correct one and I put my big green backpacker back pack next to two similar ones being placed under the storage area by two white people. Being in the minority (although not necessarily in Maun, the tourist capital of Botswana at the foot of the delta) white people usually greet each other because a) nearly everyone greets everyone here, I spend most of me life greeting people and inquiring as to how they are and b) we generally are surprised to see someone else that looks like us (and we commonly have at least the common language of English). My experience in Maun is that this isn’t necessarily the case so I just smiled at them and climbed on the bus. After the five minutes it took us to get down the narrow aisle, past people, their luggage, and vendors who got on the bus to sell chicken, (cooked in this case although when, where remains to be known) sodas, water, sweets, and cell phone airtime. We found two seats next to each other and waited for the bus to depart, or in my case, for the life lessons to begin.
Botswana bus lesson 1) Know the bus schedule. These things fill fast and will leave early if they’re “full” (see lesson 5 for definition of full. I’d hate to see what one of these bad boys look like when they’re full enough to leave the rank early.) Lesson 2) Make sure you’re on the correct bus. The lone other white person I saw on the bus got off before we even departed. I smiled the “we’re both white people” smile at her as we got on, but then I heard a voice speak perfect English saying “oh, you’re on the wrong bus.” I turned around thinking they were talking to me and realized I wasn’t with any other white people, and thus these weren’t talking to me. She departed. Lesson 3) Get there early: check! I had done this, I had my seat and thought I was ready, but about ten minutes into the trip learned bus lesson 4) make sure your window is working. This was my first mistake. The window nearest to us didn’t open. Now it’s winter here, and generally tolerable, but still hot, especially mid day. And to put it delicately, when people have limited water (and since it’s so much work to heat up the water without electricity) one of the first things to go is apparently bathing, followed in close second by laundering ones clothing. There is also apparently a fear that opening windows lets in the flu. So it was a bit stuffy in there to put it mildly. I was claustrophobic as hell, and I can generally hang with the best of them. I once rode across Spain with my chair in the fully upright position as the world’s tallest Spaniard was apparently behind me, and I had another in my lap for 16 hours in the middle of the night on a Spanish (read smaller than American) bus where people chain smoked in anticipation of the rest stops that were filled with smoke, congealing tapas, and no toilet paper. As with my occasional newfound carsickness on the bumpy roads of Africa, it seems this bus trip was bringing new meaning to the term “hellish”. It began to make Spain seem like a disney world ride.
As we continued on, more people boarded the bus. As they entered, so did lesson 5) there is no maximum capacity on Botswana buses. You would be amazed how many people can pile on to one of these things. I was quite sure even the less liberal parameters of what constitutes personal space in Batswana culture were being violated by the old woman who was, for all practical purposes, sitting on my lap.
The next lesson in bus culture was learned as I paid. The fares had just gone up (more than 75 pula one way, how I’m going to afford the increase in gas and groceries that the rest of the world on a not increasing PC salary I have no idea…) and so I was not expecting a lot of change, but I was expecting some. Lesson 6) Bring correct and exact change. When I paid the “conductor” (a young girl, very rude, no ID or uniform- I thought at first I was being robbed before she produced her receipt book) who was coming around collecting fares, she insisted she didn’t have change and noted on my receipt that I was owed 30 pula. Three hours later I still didn’t have my change despite asking every time the conductor walked by and watching a man sitting in front of me pay in the exact amount I needed. Apparently this is a common scam, the conductors wait as long as possible to give you your change, and if you lose your receipt during the course of one the many hoof and mouth stops (everyone off the bus, walk through the undoubtedly toxic liquid that turns the soles of your shoes white, in addition to your bag being checked for beef and all shoes must be dipped regardless of where they are in your luggage. It’s Botswana’s illogical attempt to curb the spread of hoof and mouth disease, it seems they just keep making more stops as the cases are discovered. No, I don’t know what effects the eating of the beef of such infected creatures has on humans, and at this point I’d prefer not to) –there are at least three between Maun and Shakawe, you’re screwed. No receipt, no change, and guess who pockets the rest. Nice.
Lesson 7) Leave your modesty in Maun. The only bathroom stops? Out in the open, hurriedly during the hoof and mouth stops. I mean you try to have some privacy behind a tree, but really, despite being down to the fighting weight listed on my license, I'm still not skinny enough for an African tree to provide much coverage! I’m stared at walking down the street. You can imagine the draw of a chance to see not only a white person but their white ass. Enough said. Good luck with the number 2’s.
Lesson 8) Bring a snack. Unless you feel like living on some sketchy chicken (cooked when? Where?) or small candies you will starve. Luckily I had a few bananas. For 6 hours. You might want to hold off on the liquids (see lesson 7).
Lesson 9) When you get on the bus, the conductor should theoretically help you load your bag and you should receive a tag that marks that you loaded it. I saw no such service from my rude little friend as we boarded in Maun and so just put my bags next to the friendly enough looking white people with similar packs.
When we got off the bus in Shakawe I made every attempt to remain calm as I realized that although I had survived and made it through the trip my bag had not. After the ensuing chaos of my attempted calm with the now nice as can be conductor ended in me nearly having a complete and total meltdown I was willing to entertain the thought that perhaps it was an honest mistake. I wanted to believe in the good in people. The conductor and the driver made every attempt to call the other buses that had left the Maun rank and see if perhaps my other white buddies had taken the bag by mistake. As the sun began sinking in the sky and P walked the two hour round trip from his house to the Maun bus rank and reported back, that despite looking high and low there was no sign of the bag I began to lose my faith in the goodness of people.
Thank God I had MaSibindi, who is from Zim but can speak much more passable Setswana than me, to attempt to communicate the problem with all the relevant people. Lesson 10) Make every attempt to travel with someone who speaks the language better than you in case your bag is stolen. To prevent your bag from being stolen don’t trust anyone, and carry your bag on your lap, or refer to lesson 9) if you’re feeling brave and foolishly trusting. Lesson 11) in order to reduce your risk of losses on Botswana bus travel (the one thing I did right) keep your most valuable possessions near you, in my case in the OTHER bag I brought on my lap (next to the old woman for a time…) Luckily traveling light has never been my strong point. I was very fortunate that I had put my passport, computer, money and most of the other valuables with me, against the PC policy of diversifying your stuff amongst your bags. Although the custom teeth retainer, chako sandals and over 200 pula worth of groceries were a real bummer to lose, the bag itself was probably the most inconvenient loss. It sucks.
I’m trying to remind myself that in the end it’s only stuff. Travel will definitely take more creativity in the future not only because my bag is gone, but because I’ll be avoiding buses in Botswana at all opportunities.
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