21 June 2008

The Quintessential Ruining of Civilization


Yesterday, with nothing else to do on a Friday afternoon, I decided to brave the public transportation combi (van) system and go to the Botswana National Museum. Luckily, a girl in the boarding house was going somewhere on the same route, so she walked me to the combi stop, which is very close to school, and told me where to get off. Each ride is P3 - about US50 cents. This seems very cheap to me, and is certainly a lot less than cabs - which are about P20. But for a working Motswana who makes about P1000 a month, and may have to take two combis each way to work, that would be P12 each day, times 20 working days or so, and that's almost P250 just in transportation - one fourth of this person's salary. I'm lucky to be from the states.
Admission to the Museum is free, and the exhibits were nice. The permanent exhibit details the social history of Botswana and also has a natural history section, with real stuffed animals and information on the Kalahari and Okavango delta. The lighting could've been improved, but other than the slight darkness, the journey through the winding halls of the museum was educational and enjoyable for a geek like me. In a nutshell, the first known people in Botswana were Bantu-speaking hunter-gatherer nomads. Gradually, other groups, such as the San (also known as Bushmen) and the Khoi (both click-language speakers) came into Botswana as well. The San were also hunter-gatherer nomads. The Khoi also herded animals. The people were arranged in villages, which moved every couple of years, focused around a chief and with separate areas for each family group. Eventually, the Khoi and the San began to encroach onto each others' areas. The Khoi, with more of a sense of ownership of property than the San, used their superior war skills to oppress the San and use them as servants. In some areas, the San and the Khoi cohabited in peace, forming the Khoisan. Around 1800, the Boers, farmers originally from the Netherlands who were the first settlers in South Africa and oppressed by the British, began to push their way into Botswana. Their European weapons pushed back the Khoi. Missionaries also began arriving; more than just spreading God's word, the missionaries also served as intermediaries between traders and the natives, and also helped the Khoi, San, and other aboriginal groups by explaining European customs. As more fertile places around Botswana were claimed by Britain, Germany, and Portugual, Botswana eventually became a British protectorate. By this time, tribal civilization was well-established as well, and one family, the Khamas, were very powerful. However, the British had little regard for this culture, and inter-tribal oppression also played a role in the demise of certain traditions. The San are currently rare and squeezed onto reservations or employed at cattle posts; although their language has persevered, their traditional way of life has gone by the wayside. The same applies to most original Tswana groups. But some traditional morals persist, including the respect for the revered Khama family. When, in 1966, independence finally arrived, it was a man descended from the first Khama to deal with Europeans who was elected as president of Botswana. Sir Seretse Khama, who was exiled to England for a while because of his white wife, was well loved by Batswana, and established a lasting foundation for democracy in this country. His son, Lieutenant General Seretse Khama Ian Khama, is currently the fifth president. President Khama's younger brothers' son is in my physics class - but I didn't even know this until looking at a friend's yearbook. "His last name is Khama...as in president Khama?" I asked incredulously.
Botswana's history is much more complex and intriguing, but perhaps that will whet your appetite.
A special exhibit about Africa's rock art was also on display. The images that I loved the most were those of giraffes. One group in Namibia, I believe, rendered life-size versions of these magnificent creatures. Although the rock art, obviously, could not be brought into the museum, the photographs were astonishing, and I hope that next time I visit Africa I will be able to go see some of this beautiful and ancient artwork in person, perhaps Botswana's own incredible rock art: over 4,500 images can be found at Tsodilo Hills, a UNESCO World Heritage site in northern Botswana.
And yes, there will be a next time!

20 June 2008

Moj of the Antarctic

Above: Mojisola Adebayo, writer of the one-woman play "Moj of the Antarctic" on her research trip to Antarctica.

"Could you hold this, please?" said Moj as she handed one end of a piece of fabric to an audience member and turned in circles, tightly binding her chest. While the rest of the audience laughed, the poor viewer smiled awkwardly, sitting down in relief as Moj said "Thank you, that's perfect!" and walked back towards the center of the stage. How one woman could make a story about a slave escaping from the "Deep South" in the United States to Great Britain to an eventual suicide in Antarctica so hilarious speaks to the talent of Mojisola Adebayo, writer and actress in Moj of the Antarctic, a play which was performed at Maitisong last night.
The play, published in "Hidden Gems" by Deirdre Osbourne, was incredible. With a simple set, Moj expertly uses movement, song, poetry, and words - and many different accents - to successfully portray the story of the slave Moj, and not only deliver an incredible narrative but also express dismay at the world pollution which is causing the icecaps to melt, and highlight the undertones of white male supremacy that permeate society. Weaving humor with tragedy, Moj escapes from her "massa" after he murders the woman who taught her to read - who is also the woman she loves. Dressed as a white man, Moj meets a self-righteous abolitionist in Boston, who treats her like a circus animal. Disillusioned, Moj then travels to England, where she meets another black-woman-turned-man who is a sailor, and suggests the life of a whaling ship. Although Moj isn't interested in the same advantages of whaling as this woman (The sailor-woman: "And the perks are incredible!" Moj: "You mean the women?" Sailor: "No, the men!"), she decides to sign onto a ship, as a man, so that she can see the world. But her identity is discovered and rather than be the Christmas entertainment, Moj calmly walks away from the sailors' shack in Antarctica into a frozen world of white - underneath all of which lays beautiful black mountains. "I feel like I'm home!" Moj exclaims before her imminent death.
An incredible play - if I wasn't sleeping over at a friend's house, I would go see it again tonight!

17 June 2008

Nothing is Black and White

Yesterday, June 16, was the African Day of the Child - or, as they simply put it in South Africa, Youth Day. The day commemorates the anniversary of the 1976 Soweto uprising. Soweto was a township - a place reserved for blacks only during apartheid. In 1953, a discriminatory law had been passed - the Bantu Education Act. The law stated, "Natives [blacks] must be taught from an early age that equality with Europeans [whites] is not for them." Hence, black children were taught that they were inferior to whites; their classes were over twice as big as those in white schools, and the black schools' budgets were about one tenth those of whites'. In 1975-6, the South African government passed a new law which stipulated that all classes be taught in Afrikaans. Besides the fact that most teachers in black schools hadn't graduated from high school and couldn't speak Afrikaans themselves, students refused to learn in the language of the oppressors. The rage was at a boiling point; students secretly organized a mass protest, starting from various points in Soweto and convening at Orlando West Secondary School. On June 16, between 15,000 and 20,000 students surprised parents, teachers, and police by beginning a protest march through Soweto.
Not surprisingly, the police were not pleased. Police forces formed a line in front of marching students, ordering them to disperse. The students didn't stop. The police fired tear gas and released police dogs into the crowd. At about the same time students responed by throwing stones and bottles, a police officer pulled out his revolver and fired into the crowd. These were not shots attempting to disperse the crowd; no, these bullets were aimed to kill. The vast majority of students later admitted to hospitals had been shot above the waist, clear evidence of the policemen's intents.
As more and more policemen fired into the mass of young people, the students started to set fire to symbols of apartheid: government buildings and municipal beerhalls went up in flames. Government helicopters responded with tear gas. The rioting continued into the night.
In the morning, the violence continued. It also spread across all of South Africa, from Pretoria to Cape Town. Police were unable to quell the rioters; instead, they simply fired into the crowds. In Soweto, the official death toll was 23. But witnesses place the count at 200, or higher. These brave young students fought - and died - for what they believed in.
Meanwhile, across the border in Botswana, a group of people were protesting in their own way. Maru-a-Pula, a school that did not discriminate on the basis of race, gender, or religion, opened in Gaborone, proof that black and white students could study and live in harmony. After the uprising, MaP took on another role. Many students were forced to flee from South Africa after the Soweto riots, and many found safe havens in the homes of MaP teachers. One teacher ran guns from Zimbabwe to the resistance movement in South Africa. Some of South Africa's wanted men and women found refuge at MaP.
Black people were not the only ones to suffer in South Africa. Other non-whites faced extreme discrimination as well. Indians, too, had to live in certain communities; they could not mix with whites or blacks. One Indian woman told me today, "The first time I really questioned what was going on - I'd never questioned the fact that all my neighbors were Indian - was when my family went on holiday to Swaziland. As we were driving, I really had to go to the bathroom. I asked my mother to stop, but she said we couldn't. Yet I could see out the window that we were passing stores with bathrooms. Still my mother said that I couldn't use those bathrooms. The reason: they were for white people only. I then realized that other places - restaurants, stores, not just bathrooms - were segregated. When I moved to Botswana, there was such freedom."
Apartheid wasn't black and white. Nothing ever is.

15 June 2008

A Day in Good Hope


It's usually a good thing, being positive. "Keep a positive attitude!" or "Stay positive!" are reassuring, uplifting bits of advice. Books have been published on the wonderful affects of being positive.
But sometimes, being positive is not a good thing.
Just look at the children who go to a child-care type school at the home of Mrs. Leshomo in a small town with a long name near Good Hope, which is near Lobatse, Botswana. They are all HIV positive.
You wouldn't know by looking at them, mostly exuberant with youthfulness and energy. One of the older ones does appear very skinny, one might think, but she can't have HIV - she's smiling. Unfortunately, despite the grins on the children's faces and the eagerness with which they tackle the oranges that we brought from Lobatse, they all have HIV.
Thinking of the brochure saved on my computer, which I'd brought to show the women who comprised part of the board committee of Cynthia's Child Care and Counselling Centre, I snapped dozens of photographs, wishing that the zoom on my camera wasn't broken; getting a close-up of a child's face is difficult when you literally have to stand ten inches away to get it! Luckily, though, the children were not camera-shy, and I was able to capture a few good images for my humble project.
The town is a little more than an hour south of Gaborone. The part of the village in which the centre is located has no electricity. But the family and children were upbeat. The woman leading the activities - lunch, an art project - is getting training as an early childhood educator. She just needs to finish up her preliminary education in Ghanzi, to where she goes during school vacations, and find a sponsor to pay school fees to go to a higher education in South Africa before coming back certified to work with kids.
After meeting the board and spending an hour or so on a driving tour around town with various stops at a new, very nice, public, boarding senior secondary school, we returned to the house for lunch and to take some photographs. The time flew by, and we left around 4:30.
After arriving at school, I rushed to prepare for a birthday party I'd been invited to, at Spurs, a popular restaurant. After a pleasant evening, I arrived back at MaP, exhausted, at 10:15. What a contrast to my Friday night, which I'd spent in bed, reading for five hours!
This morning I am at the library, with the librarian and her non-profit running friend. While the two of them are sorting out a visa for this year's AIDS conference in Mexico City, I have been editing photos and preparing the brochure.
As for how I'm doing, I'm staying positive - in the good kind of way.