I’m beginning to appreciate the flip side of being the local freakshow, the monstrosity that makes children from way out in the rural areas who come into the clinic cry (I definitely give new meaning to the term “stranger danger”… Can you imagine if you’ve never seen a white person before as a three year old? And then you catch a glimpse of me at the clinic? Between the shots and the other scary things happening at that joint it will be a miracle if the kids ever go there as adults).
Yes, it means that I can never walk down the road anonymously, and that I must always be ready and willing to stop and greet people and smile, regardless if I’m having a bad day, trying to go for a run, scalding myself with hot tea as I hurry along, late for work (some things never change….) ect. However, there are perks to being the local celebrity, which come in the form of valuable lessons from the children of Seronga.
It’s funny, there are so many children here that I often hear them before I see them, I have to scan the horizon to find who is yelling at me or running full speed at me from any given direction. I recently have had children scream (in English) from places unseen that I am beautiful (thus giving new meaning to the phrase “kids say the darndest things,” especially in languages other than their native tongue…). I guess this is what happens in the absence of television. One of the few white people in town becomes the main attraction.
The volunteer before me brilliantly taught many of the village children to blow kisses, and many of them say “bye bye” which they greet me with regardless if I’m coming or going. Children generally have the most patience in teaching a person Setswana, they’ll repeat the same thing patiently for hours on end, and generally will speak English as well if they know it (unlike the adults, who will often pretend they don’t speak it, or truly don’t, and speak something else, but will often make their best attempts at communicating in English when they’re drunk…) Many of the ones along my route to work or on the paths I take through the village have been conditioned to call me Lorato (or at least know to after I don’t respond to the first 50 times they yell Lekgowa). I’m generally not a “kid person” but by golly these kids are melting my heart. I may even want some of my own some day…
I was sitting at one of the nurse’s homes over lunch (ha ha! They’ve taken pity on me and begun feeding me as any other helpless American wretch- lay off, I bring the food, she just cooks it like any good African Momma! What can I say, Simon’s been gone and thus my meals have been scarce. I cooked for myself the other day and thought I was going to die. Life is a lot different without a microwave, you try it!) the other day when I noticed some children playing, walking and climbing along one of the twisted fallen trees I’ve come to regard as the sculptures of Seronga. They’re beautiful, like huge chunks of driftwood in some ways, worn smooth by the sands and the wind. These trees are their jungle gyms, playgrounds of nature more pleasing to the eye than the toxic plastic monstrosities we have in the States.
I had a little photo session with the 2 boys that were there (along with the 10 children that joined them once I got out my camera.) I can never take a candid picture of anyone as they are always watching me, staring before I even notice they are there doing something I want to take a picture of, generally. The bonus of this is that I always have plenty of willing models. (I’ll try to add the pictures soon, but haven’t been having much luck lately).These playground trees are all over the village, twisted and reaching for the sky in ways I would like to encourage her residents to do. It’s a bit confusing as why no one has used them for firewood or lumber, but then resourcefulness is not a common trait here. However, the children prove time and time again that creativity is not a quality that is lacking in Seronga.
I was struck by it again the other day when I was walking along and a half dozen children, probably ranging between 4 and 10 years old (it’s hard to tell age on this side as people are even smaller than they tend to be in other villages because there’s not much food on this side of the delta. But that’s another blog) were scampering behind me. They were saying something I couldn’t understand, and bickering back and forth a bit, but I could tell the level of excitement was growing. I stopped and turned around.
I found 6 children, gazing up at me through broken fragments of beer bottle. Why is this charming? Because the beer bottle was brown, and as they looked at me through it, I was now brown like them.
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