She is Bame, She is Mine....

She is the type of girl who is scuffing her sneakers in the dirt of the path that will take her from smoothly athletic tomboy into a slightly more awkward teen before she slips them off and slides her feet into the kitten heels of a self assured young woman.

She is in that beautifully blatant stage of realizing the world offers bigger things to yearn for, even though she’s not quite sure for what she might long.

She could stretch out her fingers, previously curled up and clamped down by the oppressing force of expectations and reach out into a world of the unknown and previously uncontemplated to grasp the sharp edges of whatever challenge might present itself and heave herself over the barrier. She would do it with style, grace and grit, and I think this is what draws me to her.

She is in a ripe position for a mentor, and it’s something I have been aching to provide, to share the wisdom that has been imparted on me and that I have gained over the years. I could see she was craving a challenge and there was nothing I would love more than to be the one to challenge her, to guide her, to advise her. Call it my bossy streak, call it my histrionic personality, call it what you will but I have such a burning desire to mentor this girl.

And she wants to be mentored. She unabashedly calls and texts me, suggesting “now”, when I ask when she’d like to meet. She is polite, extremely inquisitive, and is always willing to openly explain to me things I don’t understand, to translate the curiosities of her culture to me. She is one of perhaps three Herero in the entire school, she should be an outcast by any standard there is, and yet she’s not, they all know her and accept her. She is of her people, and most importantly she is unwilling to forsake her own culture for a blind transition into mine, which so many here want to see as superior without proper dissection. She knows her culture; she knows the parts she wants and the parts she wants none of. This satisfies me greatly, as it is a thin line I must walk with many people here, to learn about their culture and also share mine without the worry that they think I want to turn them into “African-Americans”. She looks past my whiteness; she forgives my English, and wants what I have to give.

Whichever one of us chose the other matters not, as with other instances of brilliant serendipity we both knew we needed each other. I secretly smile to myself, whether I’m pleased that the gaping insecurities that lie within me like still ponds that I’m constantly stumbling into and soaking myself in are unapparent to her, or if she can sees me for all that I am and chooses me for someone who has something to offer her matters not.

She has seen a spark in me. And I have seen one in her. We’ve chosen each other and I silently thank every woman who has helped me and pushed me to reach this point, the one from which I can continue the circle. I have been searching for a realm in which I can feel accomplishment, and she provides an avenue I am familiar with. It will be a win/win situation.

I noticed her at the first practice. Average height, lanky, with the kind of athleticism that comes with a little extra push out the door of the assembly line of creation and honed by a confidence instilled in her by God only knows who. I think I initially thought she looked like someone I had met in the village, someone’s daughter met in passing. She gave off that certain sense of familiarity that makes you certain you’ve known her before.

She was great at softball, one of the only one of the bunch who could actually throw and hit, and she was constantly yelling at the others to play harder, smarter. She wasn’t intimidated by the boys on the team, and while she didn’t play in a show off type way, the grace of her natural movements drew your eye to her. In time, I came to realize I had been thinking she reminded me of myself at her age, although whether a generous personal enhancement of myself in my memory occurred is a possibility.

I was working on batting with some of the other girls and she ran up and somehow managed to get herself in the line of fire. The bat struck her squarely on the back of the head with a resounding thump. She immediately fell to her knees, cradling her head in her hands. I knelt down next to her, seeing the tears that had sprung spontaneously from her eyes fall to the dirt, as her jaw fixed, gritting her teeth together in an attempt to prevent any more from escaping. The other girls clucked “sod-dy, sod-dy” which always sounds a little strange to me, when even those who don’t speak so much as a whisper of English will comfort a baby or someone who is hurt with the word “sorry” repeated. I guess they don’t have an appropriate Setswana equivalent.

Eventually the 2 male coaches sent the rest of the teams off to run a few laps and I helped her up, asking a few questions in the English I knew she understood in an attempt to sound like I could authoritatively diagnose a concussion or some other type of head injury (which I cannot, but I was doing a damn bit better than the other two adults on the scene when I determined that we would need ice- which they were at a loss as to how to provide. They just stared at me blankly when I asked for it. You’d think this would have taught us our lesson about being prepared with a first aid kit, but we were no more prepared the next day when a kid took a ball in the face and ended up bleeding all over the place. Great).

I led her down the path to the main area of the school where the teachers housing was with the plan of checking all the houses until I found one with ice. It seemed important to keep her talking (who knows how hard of a hit she had taken- right on the back of the noggin-really!) and so I asked her her name, (Bame, which means “mine” in Setswana) where her home village is, ect. We eventually found some ice and Bame had taken my cell number and quickly endeared herself to me.

A few days later after softball practice I had retreated to the computer lab at school to write for my blog while there was electricity. Several other girls found me and wanted to sit around chatting in Setswana and hang out, and I told them they either had to sit quietly or go so that I could focus. They tried several times and couldn’t stay quiet so finally I banished them and they went outside giggling. Bame came in so quietly I didn’t even notice she was there as I wrote the entry about the girls and boys softball teams. She was quietly reading over my shoulder and suddenly she exclaimed “That’s exactly how it is! The pregnant girls and all of them wear skirts!” She smiled. “How do you do that?”

“What?” I asked.

“Write things as they are, who are you writing to, how do you know what to write about” A million questions tumbled out of her mouth. I smiled, at this point completely distracted from what I was doing, but with the most sincere sense that she was really the thing I was meant to be paying attention to anyway. I explained the concept of a blog, and told her I was writing the story of my life here for people back home, and that I hoped to publish it as a book someday. When I had asked her about her goals and dreams on our walk to the teachers quarters the other day she had listed off about five, including writing, being a gospel singer and an actress.

Our chat continues, and I am given the opportunity to launch into one of my unrehearsed pseudo speeches, in which I speak directly from my soul about the ways in which I’ve followed my dreams, and thus of course she can follow hers, no matter what they are and no excuses. No of course it won’t be easy but then how often have you done things worth doing that weren’t hard, at least initially, at first? But I assure her that it is absolutely her personal responsibility to reach for the stars, - she can do it and I absolutely believe in the promise and possibility that I see in front of me.

As I make these declarations I can tell I believe them wholeheartedly by the way my hands get cold, and begin to shake, and I notice that my voice trembles ever so slightly, and spouts out of me altogether too quickly. I can feel my eyes shining as though someone has flicked on the high beams in my brain and they are shining through not only my eyes, but also my face, which begins to hurt with the wattage at which I am smiling.

It’s an experience I’ve only ever had when falling passionately (and often tragically, dramatically) in love with the noun-like trilogy of a person, place or idea. It rings with the flowing logic of truth, and I feel the passion of my life being awakened inside me. I recently asked my mother over transcontinental long distance what her passion in life was, and when she in turn asked me I surprised myself when the unpremeditated answer came flowing out of me-

“My passion is reaching people, and helping them grow, in finding their strengths and helping them foster them, when I can see learning in growth happening in someone’s eyes, when they realize their worth and the potential that I have seen in them all along.”

For me, this can even sometimes be in telling people something they don’t want to hear, and I’ve done it, because there is nothing better than that feeling of understanding and caring and connection. I hesitate to call it truth, because what is that really, and who can possess it enough to dole it out to others? I could perhaps settle for calling it beauty, as it is the same feeling I get when I am moved by a work of art, an expression of music, a fleeting irreplaceable moment.

Sitting in the computer lab, we keep talking. She tells me about her life and her goals, and I look at her in wonder. It seems such a simple thing, a bright young girl who wants to do something, and yet it feels to me like so long since I’ve seen one. As it gets dark it occurs to me that I have to get going. She reaches over to help me pick up my bag when I see a silver ring flashing on her finger. Jewelry is not very common in this village, especially not on a young girl.

I grabbed her wrist and examined her hand. The ring looked so familiar. I faced her palm towards me. The ring is inscribed “FEAR NOT.” It was mine. It must have been amongst the things that had been stolen from my house a few months back, and had somehow come to be in her possession. I had failed to even notice it was missing until now. There had been a long story behind how I came to have the ring, and I had made a point of bringing it with me to Bots, somehow knowing ahead of time that its message would be something I would need to remind myself again and again. When I first came to Seronga I had worn as a wedding ring, finding it easier to just hold up my hand and let people believe I was married rather than explain THAT convoluted chain of events. I had worn it exactly as she was now, with the inscription toward the inside of my hand.

The realization of the fact that this girl, this small woman, this person who made me feel like I had just found a buried treasure was wearing a ring I used to wear to reassure myself that things would be fine here struck me, at that moment, as both poignant and hilarious. I was again reminded that indeed things will be fine, or perhaps even great. There is nothing to fear as the universe will continue to find a way to put things right, and will send you little reminders of this from time to time. The ring, like me, had ended up exactly where it was supposed to be.

We have continued on, she and I. She is the main reason the girl’s group I’ve started works. I’ve had her over to watch movies at my place, and she has written a story I’m trying to help her get published in the sub-district newsletter. (I’ve posted it here on my blog. I find it to be a powerful piece that beautifully illustrates the factors that lead to the high transmission of HIV in this country and gives an accurate account of teenage pregnancy at her school. She’s excited to have an international audience! I’m ridiculously proud of her.) I hope to eventually help her write some articles for the district or maybe even national newspaper.

She brings me back, this one. During times when I just want to say f*ck it, I think of her and it all makes a little more sense. She helps give me purpose and reminds me what I’m striving for- in Seronga, in the Peace Corps, in my life. In my attempts to be her mentor, and to encourage her to work hard and reach for her dreams and live up to her potential and steer the course of this village and probably this country, she has led me to try harder to do the same in myself. She has already given me so much more than I could ever hope to give. Even when things are desperate, or annoying, or depressing, or whatever they can be here (and my how they run the gambit) when I think of her and the other girls that I work with I’m reminded of how much I’ve been given. Every day I am at least once reminded of the presence of my pulse, and a passion through my veins; a condition with which I did not find myself afflicted in my former life. I am grateful.






Bame’s article for the newsletter is as follows. This is the third or fourth version and she worked very hard on it. I want to give a disclaimer that it’s very common to have a bit of a morality lesson in any articles written in this country so that’s what the bit at the end is about. I’ve given this article to several village leaders in the hopes that from the words of one of their own children they will be motivated to begin the conversation that can create change in this village. As with all my hopes and dreams for this place, we shall see, but whatever happens, I consider this to be an achievement and a success. Thanks for reading!


Teenage Pregnancy in Seronga
By Mbenovandu Bame Jaruka

It is becoming a problem in Seronga that some of the young girls schooling at Ngambao JSS are dropping out of school because of teenage pregnancy. This is defined as pregnancy occurring amongst young girls below twenty. The most common cause of this is unprotected sexual intercourse, although pregnancy can also result from improper use of contraception. One of the risks of teenage pregnancy is contracting sexual transmitted diseases like HIV/AIDS. In addition, delivery of the baby is likely to be difficult as the girl’s body has not yet matured. This may lead to serious complications, including death if there needs to be an operation. Other problems include excessive bleeding, or possibly anemia-which is caused by lack of iron in the blood.

I interviewed one of the teenage mothers who dropped out of school and came back to continue with her schooling as she was given a second chance. She was lucky enough to have enough support to be back in school. She told me the story of how she got pregnant and it all began like this:

“In 2006 while I was sixteen doing form two I started to drink too much alcohol with my peers and my boyfriend who was six years older than me. One day while I was at the bar alone I met another guy from Bobonong. The only thing I knew about him was where he came from. I did not know his family, behaviour or his age, which I estimated was almost twenty years old. I just told myself that all of that does not matter; I will know a lot about him as time goes on. He asked me to be his lover and I agreed even though I had a permanent lover. The reason I agreed was because my permanent boyfriend was not around, as he was gone to the camps where he works for six months. All I wanted was not to get bored and to have some money for buying alcohol.
One day after a week in a relationship, we went out to the bar to quench our thirst with some wines. We drank too much until bars were closed and then we went to my place to rest. While we were in the house we started kissing and romancing each other. We went on and on romancing each other until we could not control our feelings, even though there were no condoms. We started having unprotected sex. I did not think about contracting HIV/AIDS or falling pregnant as I was very drunk.

After missing my periods for two months I started feeling abdominal pains. That’s when I was taken from Seronga Clinic to Gumare Hospital to be examined by a doctor. Unfortunately the test results came out positive which means I was pregnant. I went back to Seronga and told the guy from Bobonong that he had impregnated me. I was very surprised when he told me that he had done this knowingly, because he did not want to lose me. All I had thought was that if abortion was legal in Botswana I should have committed it in order to continue with my schooling. At this point there was nothing to be done so I had to continue with the pregnancy.

My mother was the second person to know, but she was not that angry as it was a mistake. She said I should learn from my mistake and never go through the same story again. The guy from Bobonong promised my mother that he would take care of me and my unborn baby. He kept the promise until I gave birth to a baby girl. He is also paying for my school fees. I was able to return to school after my mother begged the teachers to take me back as I needed to continue with my education. I am now a mother and a student doing form three.

Being a teenage mother is so difficult because you have a child to think of. The advice I am giving to my peers is to not engage in any relationships especially sexual relationships. They are too young and they should be focused on their studies. They must avoid negative peers and avoid drugs and alcohol. Alternatives to this lifestyle include: engaging in sports and clubs, reading school books or novels or any activities that keeps themselves busy. I urge my peers to think about the consequences of teenage pregnancy, like finance to support their babies. They should not take a chance to destroy their future. They should abstain from sexual intercourse or use condoms if it is difficult to abstain. I hope teenagers will learn from my mistakes and not go through the situation I have gone through by taking my advice and practicing it.”

Teenagers are very lucky as they are given second chances to go through their education. Teenagers do not have to engage in bad things like alcohol, drugs and unprotected sexual intercourse, as these things can lead to unwanted pregnancy. They should also choose positive peers to avoid bad things and always concentrate on their school work. They can have bright futures as long as they remember that everything has its own time.