Hostess with the Mostess?

In which my time as Seronga’s social chair and bed and breakfast continues…

Over the course of my time in Seronga I’ve come to host more than a few strangers in my yard or house. They come to me in very strange ways, through a friend of an acquaintance, a friend of a stranger, through the blog, whatever. On one occasion some Americans were hitching down in the BDF (Botswana Defense Force) tank and it stopped as they saw me out on my run and figured that as “a white” I would probably know what to do with some “other whites”. So the fact that these two Aussies and one American had been given my name and phone number by not one but two people in the course of their travels didn’t surprise me in the least.

I learned they were coming when my friend Drew from Bana Ba Metsi called out of the blue one Wednesday evening. I was in the middle of my girls book club, but as is policy in Botswana, left the girls reading as I went to take the call. After we had spent a precious few (expensive) phone call minutes going through not only the requisite Batswana pleasantries but also Drew’s mandatory British greeting exchange, we got to the point of his call. He mentioned that he was giving some backpackers a lift on the other side of the river and they were headed my way, and rather than allow him to waste more of his cell phone minutes beating around his British bush I interjected, “Sure they can stay here.” It certainly wasn’t the first time I had invited complete strangers to camp out at my house. I have come to see it as part of my karmic duty to help my fellow seekers in any way that I can. It always breaks up the monotony for me, and I usually get at the very least interesting company and conversation out of the deal. In the past I’ve also had a guest that sewed my mosquito netting onto my burglar door so that I can sleep with the door opened (and locked!).

I went about completing my book group meeting and went for my run not having any idea if (or when) they might end up showing up at my place in the evening. I was splashing around in my (mostly cold) bucket bath when one of the villagers called asking where they should drop the makgowa (white people-plural) that wanted to see me. I threw on some clothes and met them at the main road, as although I now have the new landmark of electricity poles (the rumor is that Seronga will be electrified by generators at least as of July, and we might be on the actual grid before Christmas. I’ll believe it when I see the light-yup that’s a lame joke. I need these visitors to keep me sane probably much more than they need a place to crash.) and can say that I live exactly 15 poles from the second, smaller, brown “welcome to Seronga village” sign across the road down the right, this new information does nobody any good in the dark.

So two Australians and an American walk into my yard (yeah this would make the start of a great joke had there been a bar in Seronga-it’s closed- that they could’ve walked into, the story might have been funnier, but it’s pretty good as it is.). They pitched their tents in the dark and I introduced them to the various amenities available to them at the casa de Lorato, including a stove on which to cook (yeah I usually burn out on cooking for more people than just myself-and really when it’s just me I eat a shocking variety of things cold out of the fridge- what would you do without a microwave- after about one meal. Hey I know I’m not a great cook and so if someone else likes doing it more power to em!) and my luxurious mostly cold water splash bathing situation. The three of them were very cool, and by the end of the night I was inviting them to stay as long as they wanted and Liam was giving me some music and movies. I warned them that the next morning I had to head to Gumare super early and left them with one of my famous hand-drawn maps of Seronga. They were going to check out the Poler’s Trust to maybe try to take a Mokoro trip (the dugout canoe looking boats which are poled like gondolas in Venice through the reeded canals of the delta by a local guy). They hadn’t decided if they were going to stay at my place the next night.

There were still two tents in my yard when I got home from a hellish and brief trip to Gumare late the next evening. My new houseguests (yard guests?) hadn’t gone on a Mokoro trip when they discovered the price to be nearly double what it said in the lonely planet and had been enjoying staying in an actual village. Looked like they were here for a while. Game on.

Throughout the next few days the boys built me a solar shower that works great when used in the middle of the day (but also helps store a decent amount of water in a pipe to use when the water goes out). Les and I enjoyed being able to hang out with another American chick who loves travel, and we did pedicures and discussed the elements of making a place feel like home. She also taught me the finer points of packing light (She is incredible and incredibly ruthless when it comes to packing. She rips pages out of books to make them lighter and managed to find a United States Military Government issue Vietnam era can opener. It’s a tiny wonder. The girl carries about 14 kgs and has done amazing things with her passport, and will easily meet her goal of traveling to 50 countries before she reaches 30. She’s a new personal hero.) Liam taught me about photography, introduced me to new music and “Flight of the Conchords” and gave me a copy of the movie (how fitting) Australia! Gavin… Well Gavin, along with being really instrumental in the creation of the solar shower, taught me the value of emergency vodka, and relaxing as an essential way of life and the benefits of early retirement (although 25 might be a touch young for that…)

They were in Seronga for a few days, and I did manage to at least get them a boat ride on the delta for free (I consider it my personal duty to serve as the American Ambassador to Seronga. Sure I’m self appointed and there’s no other American to oppose me but whatever-some privileges come with isolation…. What is that quote about absolute power….?;-) it corrupts absolutely… right. Well. So even though I failed to get them a flight over the delta- which in some ways wasn’t my fault as the plane that was in that day had had many of it’s seats taken out as it had brought a coffin in for a funeral. Bloody legality of needing a seat and seatbelt to fly in a plane!) as well as an evening and several hours in Simon’s sparkling company.

By their last night in Seronga I had also found some Israelis in the village who were making a fatal error of trying to hitch out of Seronga at around 4PM. Knowing they wouldn’t make it to the ferry even if they did manage to find a lift, I offered them to camp in my yard. They politely declined but sure enough an hour later one of the villagers lead them up to my gate. I figured the more the merrier. 6 people ended up being a bit of a squeeze on the limitations on one room in terms of cooking and bathing, but luckily these people were backpackers and we could all handle it. I learned to say the essential phrase (“improve my hut”) that I think has become a condition of people visiting me in Seronga in Hebrew which is good.

By this time the Aussies and American had begun to feel like family, and I squeezed them all into the hut for the night so they wouldn’t have to re-pitch their tents in the sand and could get an early start in the morning. I’m happy to report Gavin adhered to the bed conditions which were “you can sleep in my bed if you keep your hands to yourself.” We were close, but not THAT close. Liam and Les reported being very comfortable on my paupasan mat on the floor.

I was sad to see them go the next morning. I waited out by the roadside with them for Simon and they said if I wanted to skip out on the whole Peace Corps bit I was welcome to join them traveling, they had discussed it and decided I’d make a good fourth, which was an honor. I realized that although I enjoy traveling, I’m probably not that hardcore, and do better with a homebase in an area from which to travel for short periods like weekends, rather than say years (as they were doing. As I’ve said, hard core). As they say, there’s no place like home, which somewhere between here and there I’ve realized Seronga has begun to be.

We said our goodbyes and Simon picked them up to take them up to Shakawe. He also got them a lift for free to the Namibian border, and even stopped to let them grab their beloved rubix cube, which they had accidentally left with Drew from Bana Ba Metsi (cue the Aussies are thieves jokes that really didn’t work as Drew is the British one… but whatever.) who had then buried it in the sand in a plastic baggie for them (and that, my friends, is what you call making a plan!). My hut felt empty with only me there, but I knew that these weren’t the first, and certainly wouldn’t be the last houseguests. I’ll just have to figure out what the next home improvement I can challenge the next ones with will be. ;-0

And Liam, thanks for posting those amazing photos on facebook! I've gotten lots of compliments!!! I hope you guys are still having fun and that your travels are going well, and safely!