Not just another rainy day

In Seronga, the season has begun to change from that of complete body dehydrating, soul crushing, attention stealing, productivity sapping heat to that of unpredictable and inconsistent rains. Recently, on one of those strange weather days in which the only thing to consistently expect is the unpredictability of whether the days will be ruled by the last of the season’s unbearable heat or dominated by anything from a misty drizzle to a torrential rainfall, I was walking across the village. It was one of those vaporous hazes that begin delightfully refreshingly and end in the sort of hammering downpours that leave the road in Seronga a huge puddle full of dangerous alignment destroying ruts.

I was only about a few hundred meters into my cross village adventure when this lovely transition occurred. I sighed, accepted my fate and prepared to get wet. I attempted to minimize the mess I was about to become by taking the rain cover for my backpack out of its ingenious little hiding spot underneath it and covering my backpack in its bright yellow protection. As the rain fell harder I began cursing myself for never replacing my pink Minnie Mouse umbrella that I had handed to some children one day as I realized it was just broken beyond repair. The kids here can be quite innovative with their toy creation, making trucks that they steer along the village streets out of wire and tin cans, so I figured one of them would be able to use it for something.

Suddenly from my left, I hear a woman shouting at me. As the villagers seem to think that we will all melt if we get wet, I figured that she was shouting to have me come and wait out the rain on her porch. Knowing how long the rain might last, and feeling certain that all I wanted in the world at this moment was a glass of red wine and a hot bubble bath, and knowing the best I would do would be a cup of milky tea and a lukewarm bucket bath, I began contemplating the most effective way to decline (I have decided that there are really no good ways to refuse in Batswana culture. People will often protest and plead “Ga ke gane” –“I’m not refusing!” while simultaneously doing just that. To me this can be the only reason why people will usually agree to whatever one asks of them, only to completely neglect to follow through with that request, and then act surprised when I become confused and angry that the request has not been carried out. Anger is also something that seems to generally confound the people I interact with. Bold displays of emotion (-my specialty) are a bit taboo here, which is why people uneasily jump to attention when I have finally become frustrated to the point of tears here.)I just wanted to be home and done with this particular day.

I was startled out of my contemplation of the lost art of refusal when I realized the woman was running towards me. In her bra. With an umbrella. And she was shouting “Tsa! Tsa! (Here, take this!).

I gratefully accepted the umbrella, promising to return it tomorrow, and thanked the woman.

And once again, my village puts me in my place.