Trip Within a Trip

This past weekend we were fortunate enough to visit Kasane, a small touristy town in Northern Botswana. While there, we spent time on a game reserve, experiencing the uniqueness and wonder of Africa through its wildlife. We departed on the eleven o'clock bus and traveled six hours. When we arrived at the bus rank, we set out on foot to find a place to eat.

                Sadly enough, the options were pretty limited, and we ended up dining at the nicest KFC I have ever laid eyes on. So it was not too bad at all, especially when I was able to order mashed potatoes.  Oh, how I have missed potatoes... even the instant mashed potatoes of KFC hit the spot.  We then caught a taxi to the lodge where we would be residing, the Toro Safari Lodge. We were informed that it was a two-star accommodation, but it was a very nice resort to our pleasant surprise! The beds were beyond welcoming in their comfort. That night we reflected on our trip as a whole around a fire, drinking our nightly tea before retiring to bed in preparation for our early start.

                Five came very early the next morning.  Not only did it come early, but it came with unbelievable frigidness, which was multiplied greatly while sitting in the back of a seated safari truck driving down the road for about twenty minutes.  The cold we experienced was just short of creating that painful tingling sensation in one's extremities. 

                However, once we began seeing animals, the cold was more than worth enduring.  In the beginning, we were only seeing guinea fowl: interesting but not breath-taking.  Then we saw impala, and soon we were seeing so many impala that they became common.  When we reached the edge of the Chobe River we saw hippos standing in the water.  Later in the tour, giraffes were present and quite plentiful; they are such tall creatures.  Baboons presented themselves soon before our break to stretch our legs.  For some reason, I was not thinking that we would see monkeys, so that was a pleasant surprise for me. 

                Most amazingly, we were able to witness a leopard chilling in the shade.  We sat there for quite some time just staring intently at the cat.  Then we noticed that on the other side of the road was its meal, a headless impala suspended high up in the branches of a tree.  This was amazing to see!  Kudu came next, which look like a combination of several different animals including camels, donkeys, and impala.  They are quite captivating to look at with all their characteristics.  Lastly, there was an elephant soon before we exited the reserve; they look so much larger in person!

                Starting at 3 in the afternoon, we set off by boat to see more creatures of Africa.  Again, we saw hippos, but this time they were basking in the sun of the afternoon.  Elephants proved to be very plentiful near the water at this time.  We were even able to see a herd approach the water, and within that herd was a baby that could not have been more than a few weeks old.  It was so precious!  The care and devotion elephants show to one another is truly amazing. 

                Water buffalo were dispersed throughout the boat ride as well.  At one point we came upon crocodiles sleeping on a patch of land.  We were able to be intimidatingly close in proximity to the reptiles, which were so surprisingly large!  Seeing all of God's creation living together peacefully is overwhelmingly beautiful.  It was a very exciting experience to be able to see the animals going about their business in their natural habitats, not just fenced in at a zoo. 

                However, the most exhilarating part of the trip was returning to Francistown and going to the youth center. All of the youth seemed so genuinely interested in our experience and happy to see us return. I think I can speak for Leah and Vanessa when I say that we really became attached to all the people at the center, and it is definitely difficult to be parting ways so soon; we are so grateful for all the moments we have been able to experience.

Lacey

Village Visit

Last Friday afternoon, Lacey, Vanessa, and I had the pleasure of going to a village with Melanie (our host). Melanie was going to visit some friends and she invited us to come along.  We drove about 30 minutes to reach the village of Mmanduyane (I am not positive on the spelling).

The village consisted of many small square houses and two or three small stores. Along the bumpy dirt road roamed small herds of goats. When we were leaving the village we passed a cart that was pulled by four donkeys.  We also passed by the village kgotla, the traditional tribal meeting place.

The home that we visited consisted of three very small square buildings of mud and concrete that were enclosed by a fence made of wood and wire. One of the buildings had an addition low mud wall around it.  Colorfully feathered chickens ran freely though the yard.

The houses seemed very spread out, each with their own sizable yard. The spacing of the buildings was part of the motif of a slow, easy pace that I felt throughout the village. I loved that the only modes of transportation were walking or perhaps a donkey cart. It made the place seem very authentic and real. Even in our out-of-place car, it took a while to drive down the bumpy dirt road. The forced, yet natural pace of the village really gives a person room to breathe. 

When we were first driving into the village, I didn’t know what I thought of it, or what I should think of it. Should I be struck by and concerned with the enormous contrast between these houses and living conditions of my own back in the US?  I didn’t want to feel pity for these people, that seemed so condescending and it ignores the good things that their lifestyle has to offer. This is the way they live, and how their grandparents and great-grandparents lived before them. Melanie told us that some villages now have access to running water and electricity, but some people choose not to use it. They have been living without these things for centuries, why do they need them now? This forces me to ask “when is enough enough?”.  I feel that much of the westernized world refuses to answer, or simply ignores this question.

Once I actually got out of the car and was able to sit with Melanie’s friends for a little bit, I was able find my first impression of the village: it was homey. I can’t explain it, but the village just felt very homey. The tiny houses, mud walls, free range goats and chickens, and slow pace all felt very inviting and homelike. I liked that everything was so open. Unlike in town, fences are small wood, wire, or mud constructions, not the large view-blocking-walls-with-electrical-wire-on-top that are everywhere in the cities. I understand that big walls are important for security in cities, but they are so inhospitable and uninviting.  I’ve heard from different people how on the weekends people from the cities go to villages to visit family. This is where home is, where they can connect with a community. My very brief glimpse of the village allowed me to begin to understand the pull the slow paced village life has for the faster, more crowded lives of city workers.

I don’t know how well I would deal with the constant lack of running water, no plumbing, and the extreme temperatures of daytime summer and nighttime winter, but I would be very interested in experiencing the community life of a village.

I really liked visiting the village because it was finally a glimpse at a lifestyle that is utterly different from my own. Not to say that life in southern African cities is the same as life in the US. In Goshen, IN, there are not street venders everywhere like in Francistown, but in Francistown you can also visit a Spar or Pick n’ Pay and buy groceries much like you would in the US. Cars, albeit smaller and older cars, are everywhere in Francistown.  But the village was truly new and different for me. It was amazing to see a way of life that has remained unchanged for centuries.  Sadly, our visit was extremely short and we did not get to experience anything of village life outside of what can be simply observed with the eyes in a short period of time. I wish that we had been able to stay there longer. 

Leah

Bopaganang Basha Youth Center

Monday, June 20th, was our first full day at Bopaganang Basha Youth Center; our final destination in this amazing journey through southern Africa. Upon arriving, we had certain expectations on what we would be encountering while there. Much to our pleasant surprise, our expectations were completely unmet. To begin with, the word “youth” led us to believe that we would be working with youth ranging from ages 12 to 18. However, in Botswana, the word youth reflects the youthful spirit within its young adults. The center is comprised of “youth” ranging from about 18 to 30 years of age. We were not working with a group of kids; instead it was a group of young adults with extraordinary talent.

The talent and dedication of this group of young adults cannot be grasped through words alone, for none will do them justice. Their mission at the center is to spread the awareness of HIV/AIDS which is an increasing issue in Botswana. The statistics show that 4 out of­­ 10 is infected with HIV/AIDS. Although the stats change depending upon the day and who you ask, the message is the same…there are too many people with the virus. The spread of this virus has cut the life-expectancy of Botswana in half, averaging it at the young age of thirty-two. This was a sad realization for me as it must be more so for those living with the virus. Education on the virus is essential to reduce the number of cases in Botswana. The way this group of young adults is spreading awareness is through their talents of singing, dancing, acting, and poetry.

We were privileged to see this in action our first day meeting them Friday, June 17th. They performed a play before a large group of security guards that invited them to a meeting they were having. They instantly captivated the crowd, me included. Although, I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, because they spoke in Setswana, the message transcended our language barrier. Yet, what surprised me the most was what they did after the play was completed. They divided the security guards into groups and led discussions with a giant picture flipbook that illustrated the effects of MCP (Multiple Concurrent Partnerships) which explains that if a person is involved with multiple sexual partners (especially at the same time), their chances of getting or spreading the virus is significantly multiplied. In these small discussion groups, they answered questions, combated false myths, and effectively showed their knowledge in the matter. To go a step further, they passed out a movie they put together themselves that shows the causes of having multiple sexual partners.

When we were at the center (that Monday), we instantly learned how they became so talented. Each person at the center must be involved in dancing, singing, and acting. Their length of involvement in the center varies along with their initial talent upon arriving. With practice, dedication, and support, ability in all three aspects is cultivated and groomed for center stage.

As we walked in on our first day, we expected to watch them do their thing and slowly ease into their routine. However, their agenda for us was completely different. We were quickly put in with everyone else and pushed to dance, sing, and act. For me, this was horrifying. I am unable to act or sing, and my dancing skills are mediocre. But they didn’t care; they just wanted us to be involved, to be hands on in what they were doing. This was a welcoming unlike one I have received before. They were open to receive me just the way I was, as well as ready to receive my lack of talent in these areas. When they heard me singing they smiled and encouraged me to sing louder; when they saw me dance they encouraged me to dance more; when they saw me act, they encouraged me to act with confidence. Although, I was unable to give them an amazing performance, I was met with smiles and high fives for trying.

The work that they are doing must not be overlooked. They are spreading a message that is crucial for their community/country to hear. It’s a message they have heard themselves. Because of the knowledge they have gained about HIV/AIDS, they have made behavioral changes because they believe they must act out what they are preaching. Some of them live with the virus themselves, making the educating of the virus and the promoting of monogamy within a relationship and safe sex personal. They are reaching a great amount of people with each performance. The week before we arrived to Francistown, they performed for a different group Monday to Saturday. Through working with these youth, I have been able to get a close look into their culture, their perspectives, their lives and the impact they are having on their community.

By: Vanessa Silverman

Mother Theresa Resource Centre

Saturday began at the Mother Theresa Resource Centre; a place for children to spend time with planned activities, like games, and resources for academic studies on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. On Saturdays, there is a food program that distributes meals for those in attendance. The Centre is located in Monarch, which is an area where poverty is prevalent. It is one of the poorer communities in Francistown. This was made evident when we were told that this was the first and more likely the last meal for these children today, making Saturdays’ meal program a necessity.

As we pulled in, there were kids everywhere, but we found out that there were fewer kids than usual.  We began in the building talking to Mike, who is in the Peace Corps; he is the “man in charge” of the Centre.  At the time, they were repairing the roof and ceiling from where a storm banged it up back in October, and in the other room there were students from John MacKenzie—a school—drawing and preparing to paint a mural on the wall. 

From there, we went out to watch the younger children play games; their spirit is impossible to fail to notice.  They were corralled into two teams, bounded together by a rope they held up; then we (Leah, Vanessa, and I) were divided into the teams.  Vanessa and Leah were on the same team, and I was a loner; the kids, like all kids and pretty much everyone in Botswana, did not have a problem staring.  It never bothers me when children stare though; they are just curious.

 Seeing a real, live white girl in person is probably a rare occurrence for them.  However, they were all very, very sweet; some would stare and smile, others would stand close to me and we would talk, and still there were a few who were brave enough to hug me without any previous glances or interactions.  More specifically, there was one girl who was all about me:  she would hug me, hold my hand, poke and prod, and even hang on me.  She was absolutely adorable and filled with love and friendliness; after she noticed my hair, she was greatly fascinated by it.  At one point, one of the older girls came and stood closer to me; I smiled at her, but I failed to pick up on the fact that she wanted to talk but was too scared to begin the conversation.  She then retreated to her previous placement further away. After her retreat, I picked up on her social cue.  Luckily, she later returned.

  During one of the times the little girl was enjoying my presence, she began looking at my sweatshirt.  She asked what it was a picture of, and I told her it was basketball, which is kind of similar to their netball.  Then she found the strings to tighten my hood and asked what they were for; I showed her how they worked, and she found the contraption to be quite magnificent.  Another time she wanted to see my hands, so she pulled up the sleeve of my sweatshirt and began inspecting it.  This was simultaneous to the return of the older girl, who then shyly reached out to touch my hand, feeling as if to detect a difference in the textures of our skin.  All the wiser at this point, I initiated a conversation with her, and she was so incredibly sweet and soft-spoken.  We then lined up to receive their meal, and I waited in line with her.  It’s funny how sometimes when you meet someone, swapping names does not happen for a while.  Eventually during my time with her, we decided to learn each other’s names; we had just been getting along so well that it did not occur to us that we did not know one another by name prior to that moment.   

 Another one of the older girls approached me carrying what appeared to be a baby swaddled in a blanket.  She reached out to me and said hold the baby, so I reached out to take it.  As soon as it was in my arms, they all busted out laughing, and I knew why:  it was just a wrapped up blanket.  It was a pretty good joke, and it brought hearty laughs to the kids. I struggled to fight back tears a few times.   More than likely, they don’t have much and yet, they possess so much joy. 

   After eating, Immanuel handed off his camera, and Leah took over taking pictures.  All of the kids wanted to have their pictures taken and were even more anxious to see the result.  How much joy they had before seemed to swell even more; it was very cute.  The friend I had made quietly asked to have her picture taken and then wanted to take a picture with me.  It is my favorite picture of the many taken so far. She truly is beautiful, inside and out, and I will always cherish the impact she had on me, even though I only knew her for a few hours. 

  Seeing the children at the Centre with their worn clothing and surely malnourished bellies, feeling no sorrow or sadness definitely opened my eyes to the ways God is moving.  Being around them instilled a lighter, springier step in my walk. They lifted the burden of worries from my shoulders:  just find joy in life.  The light shining from their faces and the joy their smiles and laughs expressed and spread to others were truly inspirational; leaving filled with the joy from the Spirit was the only possible way to leave.  

Gerald Prison

. On Thursday, our first full day in Francistown, Botswana we visited Gerald Prison with other missionaries. Gerald Prison is where "illegal" immigrants and asylum seekers are held as they await the decision on their cases. I went in earlier with a missionary from South Africa who has lived in Francistown for 11 years accompanied by two Tswana university students who are part of the same ministry. They visit the prison at least once a week to hold Bible studies and leadership training seminars.

As we drove up to the prison I was struck by the amount of resources dedicated to this endeavor. The fence that partitioned the prison land from the rest of the world started long before we got into the vicinity of the real prison. We even drove by a sizable technical college campus before getting to the main facility. I could not help but notice the irony of two institutions set next to each other. One existed to provide opportunity and the other to restrict.

High fences with razor sharp barbs glinting in the Southern African sunshine announced our approach to the prison. We parked outside the fence and proceeded on foot to the huge green iron gates, where a guard opened the gate to let us in. The compound was sterile with barely any plants to soften the harshness of the barbed wire or the fence. The vegetation that grew in thrust its thorns and barbs in solidarity with its surrounding. Someone had mentioned that the people held in here needed constant surveillance and plants were up to the task.

We walked into the reception/guard station area, notable for its starkness. The white walls in concert with the large bay windows and the overhead fluorescent bulbs provided a probing light. It was a reminder to everyone that there was no place to hide; not your person or thoughts or color for that matter. The picture of the president and the commissioner of prisons hang on the wall. The pictures along with the day's newspapers were the only items that interrupted the landscape. Three guards in their crisp green uniform sat behind a large white desk that rose chest high on the average person standing on the other side. Two sat or stood looking out of the windows and the other facing the entry way. Their presence and cordiality brought humanity into the room. 

The guard facing the entry pulled out a large book with a black hard cover. It was the image I have had in my mind whenever I hear the scripture about the "book of life" and I waited to hear whether my name would be found. He demanded our identification and that carried with it a sense of relief at least for a moment, for then my name would be written in the book. The guard scrutinized our identification as he wrote down the details in the book, after which we were ushered into another room. In this room, similar to the first had a guard at the station. There the missionary inquired about the use of the library. "This place has a library?" I thought to myself.

The library we were told would only be available if there was a guard that would be willing to accompany and keep an eye on us. The usual guard was off duty on this day, so we were out of luck. In the meantime, the guard at the station found another hard covered book and asked one of the young men with us to fill out our information. Since the library was unavailable, we needed another option and the only available one was at the end of the hallway, maybe. 

We walked around the building to get to the end of the entrance on the other side. Myself and one of the university students walked into the building to look for an electrical outlet, for we needed one for the laptop. As we walked back out of the building, I noticed a second fenced section. This I was told was the real prison, where the immigrants were housed. The fence and gates were not unlike the outer fence in how it was built. Tall, strong iron gates provided the only form of access surrounded by high chain link fence with razor sharp barbs. Next to it was a guard station and judging by its appearance, it shared the same building contractor and interior decorator as the other stations. In the middle was wall that separated the men's sections from the women.


Outside this gate I saw a group of men sitting along a curb and I inquired from my companion who they were. He informed me that they were "fence jumpers" from Zimbabwe who were about to be deported. They would driven back to the border and dropped off on the other side. Many of them I was told would try again, for the situation in Zimbabwe has been dire for a lot of people. I was struck by similarity of this reality to that in the USA, only this time with immigrants for Central America.


Since the library was not available, our only option it turned, out was to sit at the guard station for the leadership training seminar. Only four prisoners participated in this portion from different countries around Africa. There were three men and one lady varying in age from 22-40. The topic today, was Vision and how it is essential in being a leader. One of the University student walked us through the power point presentation about vision that he had prepared with discussion opportunities along the way.


After the presentation, the conversation turned to the topic of grace. One of the four leadership  candidates posed a question about leadership in relation to leading but yet missing entry into heaven. He was worried that as a recently converted christian that he may not make it into heaven because of sin that seemed to beset him every often along the way. It was interesting to listen as everyone offered him counsel on grace and the law and its intersection with walking a daily christian life. In the midst of some level of hell, he was afraid of another hell known to him through the Bible and was convinced that somehow, it had to be worse than this. He wanted to know how to ensure that he would be on the other side of the gate, when the time came.


We moved from the guard station into the inner sanctum of the prison. We walked by different groups of men sitting around talking to each other. I felt hemmed in. On my right side by the wall separating us from the women's side pressing down on us, and to my left, the palpable sense of despair mixed with a heavy dose of hope as well as resignation. 


We walked into a big hall that served as the multipurpose room. Again I noted the handiwork of the same contractor and interior designer. There work seemed easily identifiable and prevalent across the compound. We gathered the few plastic chairs in the room into a circle and waited for a few other men to join. In a few minutes we were about 15 of us, representing different countries; Burundi, Somalia, Democratic Republic of Congo, South Africa, Kenya, Botswana, Malawi. 


In that hall we were gathered by our acceptance to the invitation to live under the governance of the Kingdom of God. We were also gathered because of lines that neither of us nor our ancestors had a hand in drawing but somehow seemed to dictate our fate. Those lines determined our nationalities and as a result access to resources for most of the people in the room. Few of us who were lucky, had different opportunities and lives. As one of the men from the DRC led us in singing "How marvelous is your name oh Lord" I could not help but wonder.....




Immauel

Travel to Francistown

Traditional Dancers at the African craft Market, Johannesburg

The physical realities for most people are at times hidden. This has been very evident as we spend our time in Southern Africa. Western influence is very prevalent in most areas, with malls and shopping centers that are very similar to what is available in the USA. It is actually very possible now, to live in this area of the world and totally avoid really interacting with the reality the masses have to go through. When we were looking for groceries, supermarkets were available to us and a bevy of fast food chains dots the landscape. This includes the opportunities to dine at the local MC Donalds or KFC, in addition to other chains such as Nandos, The Hungry Lion and Wimpy, just to name a few.

The westernization of Africa is a force to reckon with for the promise of convenience as well as luxury has a strong pull in this continent as well as the rest of the world. What is significant is who is left out of the whole process. As with the USA, the effects of the Apartheid Regime in South Africa are potent and continue to be felt for generations to come. It is unrealistic to undo the racism as well as the systems that supported the privilege of the white population at a very steep cost to the black native South Africans in twenty short years. As our taxi driver drove us to the bus station through the city it was not uncommon to see Black South Africans working with a white foreman standing in observation.

As remarked by our taxi driver, equality has not resulted in a better life for the masses. For the oppressive system did not just segregate, it also limited access to resources for the oppressed. As a result, equality meant that the masses were not prepared, either because lack of education, training, or even the financial resources, to fully participate in the new democracy.

What was significant for me as we rode the bus from Johannesburg, South Africa to Gaborone, Botswana was seeing the effect of the Apartheid land policy in South Africa. The land policy secured most of the land for 10% of the population which was white while squeezing the other 90% of the masses into Ghettos and townships. As an African, I grew up driving through rural areas and enjoying the landscape dotted with homesteads. The South African landscape provided us with views of large tracts of land that seemed either farmed or fenced. Then every so often we would see a Shanty town, a township. The question that crossed my mind was why so many people were squeezed into a small amount of space while huge tracts of land surrounded them.

We crossed the border from South Africa into Botswana in the dark, but I was excited to be in Botswana. An added bonus was the opportunity to see my Aunt who has made a home in Botswana as an immigrant for a while. She and her family moved from Kenya a while ago and have lived and worked in Gaborone. When I walked into her house, I immediately felt at home though I was not in my own home country. To be at home in a strange land is an interesting feeling. Can I count Botswana as a strange land? For although I have not been to Botswana before, it does not feel unknown.  Being here is an interesting experience. I look like I belong but also face obstacles in full participation. Language is the major barrier, limiting my participation although I am technically amongst my people.

I was also reminded of the similarities amongst Africans as we rode the bus, from Johannesburg to Gaborone and subsequently to Francistown. Every time we stopped the bus would be filled with hawkers peddling their merchandise; bananas and apples, whole meals of chicken and fries, candy and drinks. To realize that much has not changed in time, as well as location. Twenty years ago, I remember the bus rides and the people that surrounded the buses at different towns, selling similar items. Only that time it was in Kenya. It is amazing to watch the diligence with which they strive to make some sort of living. And somehow, against all odds, they manage to survive and thrive.

Immanuel 

Buying artifacts from Zimbabwean roadside vendor

Stopping to smell the flowers

At Immanuel's Aunt's House

Vanessa, Jemima Mutua (Immanuel's Aunt), Lacey, Leah

Lacey chasing the little Zebras

Apartheid Museum

Sign at the Museum

On Saturday, (our first full day in South Africa) we visited the Apartheid Museum. It’s harsh and brutalistic structure and decoration reflected the seriousness of the content of the museum. There was a ton of information there, and unfortunately I did not get through all of it.  I really enjoyed the detailed exhibit about Nelson Mandela (I read almost everything).  I especially liked this quote of his: “For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” I like it because it demonstrates the importance of respecting and loving those around me, which is very important in my living a Christian life. 

The atrocities and harshness of laws and daily life under apartheid was very moving. As Vanessa first noted, it is interesting that the blacks in South Africa were fighting for their rights at the same time that the civil rights struggle was going on in the USA.

                Like in the USA, de juro segregation may have ended in South Africa, but de facto segregation still exists.  Although blacks and whites are now allowed by law to get the same schooling and jobs, many blacks lack the resources necessary to get a higher education and a better paying job. Neighborhoods that used to be mandated black or white neighborhoods have begun integration, but only very slowly. 

 It is hard to see so much change, yet so much still stays the same. It makes me wonder to what extent racism and segregation still exists in my own country.

 What have I simply never been exposed to, and what have I not noticed or chosen to ignore in my own community?

                                -Leah Amstutz 

Signs during apartheid era

Casspir truck used during apartheid

Museum Garden

Picture of Mine workers at the Museum

Vanessa and Lacey Hanging out in the garden

Hanging out at the Museum Garden