Zen Motorcycle says, "Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive." Interesting, but is arrival ever that? I am now travelling. Would I say I arrived when I landed at Sir Seretse Khama International Airport? No! That was the very beginning of my travels. My calendar for the semester starts on that day, the tenth of September, 2007. Since then, I've travelled to Mokolodi Lodge, back to Gabs, to Otse, back to Gabs, to Francistown, to Kasane, to Maun, and most recently to Shorobe. From here, I will travel, at the very least, back to Maun, to the Okavango Delta, back to Maun, then back to Gabs. My travels don't even end there. Am I finished when I arrive at JFK? I don't think so; there's still the anxious anticipation/dread/excitement of stepping out of the airport into the cold winter of New York, of sleeping in my bed at home for the first time in 100 days, of stuffing my face with all the foods I've missed. Mmmm sushi.
Zen (we're on a first name basis now) also has an existential crisis about the scientific method that perfectly coincided with my unnecessary ISP stress. The more science is studied, the more hypotheses are developed, the shorter-lived these ideas are. The "truth" moves farther away the more we pursue it. The more we learn, the more we realize how much we don't know.
My problem is that I've only recently discovered that the scientific method is asking questions like, "What effect does tourism have on biodiversity in the Okavango Delta?", not questions like, "How can Robin get into a national park to watch animals and call it research?" Maybe two weeks of field research time is not long enough to make brilliant discoveries in the area of animal behavior. Maybe I should ifnd real research to do. All I really wanted was to identify animal poop anyway. (See late Sept./early Oct. entry photo of me holding zebra poop.)
In Shorobe, salad means coleslaw with sliced tomatoes on top.
Friday night must be family time everywhere. This weekend we were visited by the great-grandparets. Fortunately, the older generation was not affectedby the recent 30-year decline of the average life expectancy.
Something that makes the academic aspect of this semester much less stressful is Simba's grading curve, which is pretty much Everyone Gets an A. Not too bad.
Now I know why sliced bread is so exciting: apparently, people were invented before forks. There has to be some way to eat vegetable soup without silverware.
Saturday I helped build a house out of mud and empty beer cans. Now I know what to do with all the garbage after Spring Weekend. But still, who ever thought a tin roof was a good idea?
Then I learned to weave bracelets out of palm leaves. I knew all those hours of figuring out crocheting designs would have at least one other practical application.
One day I'm going to wake up and crave fries for breakfast and not know why. Then I'll remember: Shorobe. Ahhhh.
I think I finally understand the purpose of homestay. While watching elephants is awesome, I can't say I've lived in Botswana until I've woven something and build a house out of mud.
Who's awesome at laundry?
Monthusi, my friend Megan...definitely not me. I never thought I'd miss the King House washing machine.
...and then the neighbor's cows got loose in our yard. We had to chase them out. Only, you have to leave the gate open when you chase them out, but the other ones don't understand that they can't come back in. There was lots of running and yelling with arms waving. I'mactually pretty good at herding cows.
I needed a break after reading about 100 pages of Zen on Sunday, so I picked up The Panda's Thumb by Stephen Jay Gould. The essay I was up to was called "Darwin's Middle Road." It discussed the middle ground between "conductivism", the belief that scientific knowledge is derived from orderly, objective observation, and "eurekaism", the belief that there is only an inexplicable spark that ignites the minds of geniuses to develop science. Wait a second...this is exactly what Zen was talking about. My brain hurts.
I instead choose to regress to a memory of the first time I heard the "Eureka!" story. It was in Omni in 4th grade, a time when I had only first begun to discover that a person's worth (at least through schooling) is determined by standardized tests. It was also when I was allowed to learn through exploration, an opportunity that was taken away a few years later so I could pursue the rigidity known as high school.
You know, in all of high school, I never found the time to write for my own pleasure. It wasn't until I got to college that I was able to tap into the same flow of inspiration that caused me to sneak out of class in elementary school and hide under a table to write. Gosh, I was so mischievous.
I threw down Gould and hurriedly fished through my duffel looking for some good old science fiction that I bought from a used book table at an over-priced bookstore in Gabs. Must...read...junk. Fortunately, I picked up a book who's cover depicts a bear in a military uniform, while in the background a spaceship is passing in front of two moons. Whew.
I was watching Mokogi and Katega and trying to remember four and five. I remember the explosive curiousity and the inexplicable tears. I am only sorry they don't have unlimited access to books. I can't imagine marking my life with anything other than Clifford the Big Red Dog or Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, followed by first chapter books, My Father's Dragon, Babysitter's Club, The Giver, and then somehow ending up with Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Ender's Game. (I think the large gap in the middle was characterized by Stuff I Have to Read for School. Clearly nothing too memorable.)
Next time I live with a family in a village in Africa, I'm bringing children's books as gifts. (That wasn't a hypothetical; to quote an unlikely governor, "I'll be back.")
I've also been reminded of Starlab- the stars here are so plentiful it's like I'm sitting in an inflatable dome with a star projector.
I think the Batswana are aware of how peaceful they are compared to the rest of Africa. I received an interesting question yesterday. I was saying that next year, George Bush's presidency is over (yay!) and there will be a new president. I was asked: Will there be a war to change presidents? How do you know he will leave?
I can't decide whether those questions are a result of typical African politics, or of America's international reputation of aggressiveness.
I have a traditional dress and matching head scarf; now I'm a Motswana. I also bought baskets. I looked into the mirror this morning and was slightly surprised to discover that I'm white. I keep forgetting.
I think I'm done eating meat now.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment