So the festive season came to Botswana. It was marked by decorations being put up in malls (I happened to have been in Gabs, where they actually have malls, prior to Halloween, at which point they had already begun decorating for Christmas), more extreme heat, and horrible reception on the cell phones for the entire month... ( I apologize to those who spent so much time and effort trying to call or text only to get cut off....or for it not to have gone through at all- welcome to the frustrations that can encompass life in the bush).
Being so far away from home and the consumerism, wrapping paper and snow that marks the annual onslaught of the holiday season for me as a Minnesotan, Christmas was a bit different for me this year. On my last trip from Gabs I purchased some art supplies with the intent of making Christmas cards, and genuinely tried to make a few (I completed about three). Between trying to calculate the postal time it would take any cards I made to get to their destination (a feat which has become increasingly difficult as the boat that brings the post from Sepopa (after it makes a nearly 80 km journey over the land in a truck from Shaks) has broken down... allegedly to be repaired in the New Year. It recently took over three weeks to get a piece of mail from Seronga to Gaborone. I give up.) and feeling inspired and artistic and meaningful it was a struggle. It was sort of all I could do to just focus on vacation every day until I left. I apologize.
Whenever I thought of home and family and all the chaos that surrounds the holiday season, the parties, the traditions, I usually became completely uninterested in continuing the project. I found it was rather easy and maybe even pleasant to ignore the holidays, which had more to do with missing those I've spent every Christmas of my life with thus far than the fact that it really didn't feel like Christmas for me here. I would say the largest part of my bad Christmas behavior had to do more with avoiding the deep depression that was lurking around my life during that particular time than being a Grinch.
That being said I did do some things that indicate at least a half hearted effort to commemorate the birth of Christ. If nothing else it was really crazy to think to myself that it was two years ago Christmas Eve that I decided to undertake this crazy adventure of joining the Peace Corps. As evidenced by my continual attempt at stalking those from my former life on Facebook I realized I have been here long enough that people who weren't pregnant when I left have now given birth to new little ones. I've now been in Africa the better part of a year, with an entire next calendar year left on the docket, in addition to a little more. The juxtaposition of the time gone and time left has really been screwing with my head lately, with the panicky trio of "what have I accomplished, what can I expect to get done and how will it appear on my resume to convey the significance of my existence for this time period, and what on Earth am I going to do next?" running through my head where the visions of sugarplums should be. Go figure.
My attempt at a pseudo celebration of the Christmas holidays included the mistake of trying to watch "Fred Claus," (last year or the year before's Vince Vaughn Christmas flop, a movie my mom sent me in July that I had been saving to watch in an attempt to induce a more festive attitude around what I knew would be the hottest Christmas I've lived through to date). I attempted to view it with a few disgruntled Kiwis, who countered my constant questioning of "But do you have THAT in New Zealand," or "do you understand that as a Kiwi or is that just American?" (let me assure you they have an interesting relationship with American gross out physical or just straight stupid comedy) with a near constant stream of criticisms (deserved in my opinion) of the consumerism and ignorance of other cultures constantly present in American media. "Where are the children in Africa in this film???Don't they get a visit from Father Christmas??" G growled several times. I think in the end we called a draw, or at least agreed that the movie was complete shiiit (long I sound in deference to my Kiwi friend).
I spent the actual Christmas days with friends, preparing for our upcoming Mozambican adventure. We had a nice meal and listened to the neighbors music, which was as loud as it might be on any other Saturday. The festive day for us included unpacking (nearly completely) everything we had carefully packed into our undoubtedly oversize backpacks and having a fashion show, my propensity to strip down and try on anything put in front of me no matter how skimpy or horrendous earned me the nickname "Tanorexic" (which luckily was quickly forgotten by the time vacation started..).
One night we went to what would be termed a "field party" in the States, with some Motswana DJ's that are apparently hugely famous in South Africa and the UK. We were the only three white people there. We walked in and it began with people sort of ignoring us in an attempt not to stare, but while effectively running into us and occasionally spilling their drinks on us. It was a bit early in the night, but I was in the mood to dance, and they were spinning some exceptionally decent American tunes, so being as it's my tendency to be the first one out on the floor, (stone sober if need be, which was the case here) I grabbed some friends and started dancing. Soon enough our glowing white skin attracted some people to the front near the stage, and soon enough it was like fricken Brangelina was up in the club.
It's strange how just when I think I've adjusted completely to being in the minority I encounter another situation that throws me for a loop. The photography began. Now where I stay in Seronga, the only cameras in the village belong to me and any other tourists who might wander through. When people see me with my camera, they demand that I take a picture of them. This was a bit of a larger village, and despite the fact that many white people live in and around it, apparently three of us together is impressive. I kept seeing flashbulbs, and thinking that perhaps the DJ had a strobe set up. People were taking our picture. I kept looking behind me, certain that they were really taking pictures of their friends somewhere around us, but it wasn't the case. When I looked at the people from whom the flashes were coming, they were doing the whole nonchalant not-holding-the-camera-up-to-the-face-and-looking-sort-of-the-other-way thing I've done the precious few times in my life I've encountered celebrities. I elbowed my friends and we laughed, and occasionally started posing. I can only hope that shit somehow ends up on facebook.
The holiday also included many attempts by each of us at calls home, an exercise fraught with futility as my family had to call back somewhere in the neighborhood of about ten times. I spoke with Mom and Karly, the latter of which began by her asking me the brilliant question associated with the inherently offensive band aid fund raising hit from 1984 (incidentally a year BEFORE my sister was even born), titled "Do They Know It's Christmas Time at All?"
Apparently I was asleep for too much of 1984 (or have been mistakenly ignoring what must have been the highlight of the 1984 episode of I Love the 80's (-Ah VH1... I miss you). My sister asked me this question dead pan, and I obliviously answered her attempt at a joke, "Well, I suppose the music is maybe a bit louder than it would normally be on any other Saturday, and I guess that many of the people here are outside, and more families are together, but I don't suppose that's much different from what we do in the States. Although it is disarmingly hot." I've since looked it up on the Internet, and have posted the lyrics here so you can all groan at the inappropriate and condescending nature of this particular top 40 hit.
1: It's Christmas time
There's no need to be afraid
At Christmas time
We let in light and we banish shade
And in our world of plenty
We can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world
At Christmas time
2: But say a prayer
Pray for the other ones
At Christmas time it's hard
But when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear
Where the only water flowing
Is the bitter sting of tears
And the Christmas bells that ring
There are the clanging chimes of doom
Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time
Feed the world
Do they know it's Christmas time at all?
3: And there won't be snow in Africa
This Christmas time
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life
Where nothing ever grows
No rain nor rivers flow
Do they know it's Christmas time at all?
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again
BRIDGE:(Here's to you) raise a glass for everyone
(Here's to them) underneath that burning sun
Do they know it's Christmas time at all?
END: Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time
END: (repeat & fade)
Must I elaborate?
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