Pula!

Pula:
- dictionary definition: rain, in Tswana.
- cultural definition: monetary unit of Botswana comparable to dollars; a celebratory cry; an exclamation of something good

Pula!

Yesterday morning, I arose at 7 a.m. and, being up so early on a Saturday, was able to take a shower with hot water. Pula!
I reclined in bed afterwards, reading the third No. 1 Ladie's Detective Agency book, which I finished a few minutes before I had to gather myself and go to breakfast. After some bread generously spread with peanut butter, I boarding the minibus that carted about 6 students, 5 adults, and myself off to Camphill, the site I have described as a school and community for mentally and physically disabled people of all ages. I amiably conversed with a retired teacher who had set up the community service trip from MaP to Camphill, and although I wasn't entirely sure of the plan, any worries I had drifted away as I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up to find our van pulling into Camphill. We meandered past quaint buildings, which the retired teacher who had emerged as a leader familiar with the place identified as classrooms and workshops. Finally, we reached the humble houses of the children. As we walked in, the boys, who clearly recognized our leader, ran up to him with open arms, yelling "Maru-a-Pula! Maru-a-Pula!" The boys, ranging in ages, heights, and abilities, swarmed around him and the more out-going ones rushed towards us students, giving hugs and handshakes. We then walked a little further to where the slightly more reserved girls sat. The shy ones hung back while their peers seeked hugs. The students who deftly handled children began to converse with them, and an energetic adult started a miniature game of tag. I stood awkwardly, like a wallflower at a middle school dance. Our leader called us back together, and announced that we would be embarking on a walk into Otse, the small town - a village - that abutted Camphill. We walked out, a couple of the students pushing wheelchairs, and me desperately wishing that I had a wheelchair to push as well so I wouldn't look so conspicuously alone and awkward.
After we sat down to rest while a teacher read a Tswana storybook, we turned back towards Camphill. I soon discovered a friend, a sweet boy with a huge smile. I tried out a bit of my Tswana on him - O bona dikgomo?: See the cows?, and O bona setlhare? - See the tree?. My pronunciation hopeless, he nevertheless continued to smile his huge, beautiful grin.
We pulled away from Camphill, and I felt a great urge to wash my hands. But with a little-bit-over 30 minute drive ahead of us, I instead settled into my seat and dozed off until we reached MaP.
I hadn't been in the boarding house for two minutes when a girl came to my room, announcing that the girl who was hosting me for the night was waiting with her mother outside the dorm. I quickly shoved a 100 pula note, a change of clothes, and my toothbrush into a drawstring backpack, and hurried outside. After friendly greetings and introductions, I climbed into their car and we drove off to their very nice, very posh house.
Their house is located in Extension Nine, a section of Gaborone - "about as posh as you'll find." Originally, the city had been planned to be very integrated. The plots were meant to be large, with the houses small. Plots meant for the affluent and plots for the lower class were built adjacently. But inevitably, certain areas were populated by the rich, and some by the poor.
The house where I was to stay the night was incredibly beautiful. I felt like I'd walked into a scene from a home living magazine, and when I was shown my room - the guest room - I felt like I was in a 5-star hotel. I even had my own bathroom! Pula!!! The walls were decorated with local artwork, created by the mother of a boy in a few of my classes. The architecture reminded me of the southwestern United States. The floors were either fashionably worn wood or stone, and a zebra rug (which I unfortunated discovered was genuine) splayed itself out beside the warm-colored couches. Everything looked clean and sophisticated.
We gathered downstairs for lunch: fresh hummus, olive tapanade, and vegetable sandwiches - a very welcome change from the cafeteria food. Following the meal, we engaged in a long conversation - interrupted only to start preparation for dinner. I admired the massive collection of books lining the wall of the dining area, and borrowed a few. My peer and her mother and I began to chop vegetables for a fresh salad and a couscous dish, and my friend and I then walked to a small grocery store nearby for some urgently needed tomato paste. Dinner was incredible.
I was taught how to play a wonderfully mind-challenging game, and then we turned on the television to poke fun at a music video program. We retired around 10:30, and I read for a while before falling asleep.
I woke up to a foreign sound - rain! Pula! "This never happens!" exclaimed my hosts.
After the sun dispelled the brief shower, we went out for an anticipated wonderful breakfast - only to find that the power was out at the tea garden we were headed to! Disappointed, we went to another place, and tried to make the best of the situation.
But the unfortunate black-out didn't black out the wonderfulness of the day. I returned to school just before lunchtime, happy to have met such a kind, outgoing family, and hoping to spend more time with my newfound friend. After exchanging phone numbers, we parted, and I retired to my room, sprawling on the bed to continue "Botswana Time", one of the books I'd brought home.
I'll have to find out their address to send them a thank-you note...