University of Botswana (UB) Part 5

From Lions and Leopards to Hyenas and Hippos.... and all the African Beauties in Between 

In all honesty, before Anna informed me about her choice to study abroad at UB, if I were to have heard the word, “Botswana” my first thought would have been, “What the hell is that?” Not even, “Where the hell is that?” I was completely unaware that Bots was even a country because I lacked any geographical knowledge relevant to Africa before I started researching UB. After discovering that Bots was a landlocked country in sub-Saharan Africa, I expected that there’d be some dope ass wildlife to check out whilst there. Northern Botswana blew those expectations to smithereens in the best way imaginable.

In the middle of the first semester, UB students are granted a weeklong break; most local UB students visit their hometowns. I, and about 20 other international students, had the fervent desire to experience the stunning scenery and wonderful wildlife of Northern Botswana. Weeks prior to this break, the international students planned to take the trip up north with the help of two local students that were willing to organize guides, cooks, and transportation. Our group comprised students from all over the world including Finland, Norway, Germany, Botswana, Canada, Sweden, and of course, the U.S.

I began this journey with several other international students early Saturday morning. Together, we boarded an old, non-air-conditioned bus headed from Gaborone 550 miles north to the town of Maun. Although the bus ride was long, hot, sweaty, and involved standing so that the elders could sit in our seats, we saw vast lands of nothingness that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions throughout the Kalahari desert. Plus, for a good portion of the bus ride, a local UB student headed home for the break shared the boxed wine she smuggled onto the bus, making the experience a bit more tolerable.

After traveling for the better half of the day, we finally arrived in Maun. Maun is the gateway to the Okavango Delta, which is where the water of the Okavango River flows. What is unique about this delta is that the water in the Okavango does not flow into any sea or ocean; it either feeds the plants or evaporates. The wildlife in the Okavango is delightfully diverse with some of the highlights in this area including elephants, rhinos, hippos, zebras, cheetahs, hyenas, lions, crocodiles, and my personal favorite, the wild dogs. However, prior to getting down in the delta, we saw it fit to celebrate our arrival in northern Bots by getting faded in the only club that Maun has to offer.

After establishing what tents each of us would be sleeping in, and with whom we’d share those tents, we ate an excellent dinner cooked up by our guides, saw a hippopotamus, and then headed into town by way of open-sided safari truck. We rolled deep in our two car convoy to the club and shocked the local crowd by audaciously engaging in inebriated acts that would never cut it as actual dancing anywhere outside of our circle. The Maun locals welcomed us in and enjoyed our company but towards the end of the night, I felt the need to tactfully ward off lascivious old men that were a bit overly interested in the female half of our crowd.

Zebras in the Okavango

Although slightly hung-over and sleep deprived, I woke up the next morning eager to experience the infamous Okavango Delta. I felt blessed as a local Motswana navigated us through the delta in his mokoro. Mokoros are the traditional boats used by Batswana that sort of resemble canoes except that mokoros are less concave and are navigated by an individual that stands while paddling rather than sits.  A Canadian classmate and I basked in the beauty of the Okavango as we laid back in the mokoro and spotted wild zebras and elephants. I was so excited to be amidst the amazing African wildlife. Little did I know I would be encountering far more wild animals than I could have ever imagined.

A Local Guide in his Mokoro

After two nights in Maun, our group of 20 international students crammed ourselves into the safari trucks so that we could make our way into the Moremi game reserve. It took us about four hours to get to the Moremi campsite from Maun. It was a well-planned pilgrimage as every time we got to a new area, which was literally every day, our campsite was already waiting for us. Four men accompanied our two guides, and their responsibility was to set up our campsites and cook food. I felt so spoiled. As we drank beers around a campfire late at night, we would hear hippos splashing in the rivers nearby and lions roar as they prowled the savannah just before dawn. This romantic setting is what incited the relationship between Amy and me. During my first night in Moremi, as Amy and I sat next to one another listening to the contentious conversations had between the students who were in Bots to save Africa, I nervously asked if she’d become my tent mate for the remainder of the safari. I was stoked when she giggled and nodded her head. The arrangement was set and from that day forward up until the end of the first semester, Amy was my girlfriend.

Before even seeing our campsite in Moremi, or eating dinner that first night, our guides got word that some lions in the park had recently took down a wildebeest. Naturally, as our guides wanted us to witness all aspects of African nature, they raced through the reserve as the sun was falling. Luckily, we made it in time to get an up close view as the lions feasted on their freshly killed prey. It was intense. The male lion’s growl reverberated throughout the savannah as he fended off the females so that he could get the, “Lion’s share” of the wildebeest.

                                                                               

Close by up a nearby tree, a pregnant lion hid away from the chaos as she moaned due to labor pains.  

              Obviously, the wildlife alone surpassed any expectations I had regarding the 9-day $180 safari, but what truly enhanced the unforgettable experience were the two guides taking care of us. Unable to pronounce their Setswana names, we referred to them by their nicknames, "Extra" and "Fortune." Believe it or not, their personalities were even cooler than their names. Extra was a Rastafarian guy with long dreads and his knowledge of the area reflected his passion for his career. Fortune was slightly more serious but still cracked jokes when he saw fitting. Fortune was a bit older than Extra and had more experience but both were exceptional guides. I felt lucky to ride in Extra's truck as he and I seemed to develop a bond from the get-go. Extra was the type of guide that I could have a beer with at lunch and smoke a spliff with as we wound down around the campfire.
              By the time we made our journey from the Moremi Game Reserve to Chobe National Park, I was under the impression that there would be no way to better the adventure in terms of wildlife or landscape. But I had yet to experience the Chobe river! After another long journey through narrow dirt roads intertwined in the African bush filled with sightings of hyenas, wild dogs, giraffes, and a shit ton of elephants, we arrived in Chobe. The main differences between the two areas, Moremi and Chobe, is that there were more lions in Moremi but Chobe had more water and a plethora of elephants. Seriously, after my first night in Chobe, I became blasé as I impatiently waited for the elephants to cross the path in front of us so that we could continue driving.

*Below are pics of the wild dogs and our living quarters throughout the 9-day adventure.

               For me, the most memorable part of the adventure before arriving in Zambia, was the Chobe River. Across the water, one could see Namibia, and within the water, one could see crocodiles less than 10 meters from a mama elephant accompanying her newborn. I was truly blessed as we navigated throughout the river having our boat rammed by hippos and close encounters with animals that would delude one into believing that they'd stepped into Jurassic Park. It's crazy to think that only a day later, I saw a baboon steal a woman's purse, went bungee jumping on the Zambian side of Victoria falls, and watched a dude experience some serious police brutality after robbing me of $7... Living life :) 

              

University of Botswana (UB) Part 4

My Roommate Ed

Prior to embarking upon my African adventure, I had shared a dorm room three times with three different roommates, all of whom were Japanese study abroad students. Although I did endure passively aggressive tension at times, each of these experiences fostered personal growth. Being from the area and more accustomed to university life in the U.S., I undertook the responsibility of ensuring that each of my roommates felt safe, secure, and could turn to me if they ever needed assistance adjusting to their new environment. Initially, my drive to be a superlative roommate stemmed from my desire to become employed by the study abroad program that allowed these students to learn English at Central Washington University (CWU). My motivation soon changed as I began to revel in the role of being a cultural ambassador. Okay, I’ll admit, I may have been a bit ostentatious in over amplifying my importance in these students’ lives abroad, but compared to a typical roommate who seems to be one of two extremes, either estranged or an overly eager anime freak referred to as a, “Japanophile," I was preeminent. For taking pride in being a good roommate and resource for these students during their time away from home, I believe that the laws of karma repaid me during my time at UB.

Unbeknownst to me, UB runs on what some refer to as, “African time.” African time allows individuals to schedule things loosely and complete or begin tasks at one’s own leisure. For example, if Armani told me to meet him at the Police Bar at 7:00 pm, African time would allot him a two-hour buffer, so I wouldn’t plan to show up until 8:00 pm, at the earliest. And although UB classes were expected to begin on July 31^st, and according to my transcripts they did start on that day, both the professors and students wouldn’t bother attending class until at least a week later. I actually had a class that was cancelled for 11 out of the 15 weeks during my first semester because the instructor was absent due to personal issues. I still passed the class and received full credit despite not acquiring any knowledge relevant to, “Multivariate Techniques For Psychology.” As an academically ambitious American, I was accustomed to adhering to a tight schedule and was flabbergasted and downright annoyed at the lack of punctuality. It took me a few months to adjust.

I anticipated meeting my roommate when I first arrived at UB but because I had arrived a week before classes were scheduled to start, I hardly met any UB students for quite some time. In fact, because no one had shown up to assume their role as my roomy for more than two weeks, I was optimistically assuming that I would have the place to myself as I was hearing other international students complain incessantly about the issues they were having with their fellow dorm dwellers. Lo and behold, my hope for social isolation on the top floor of UB’s infamous Las Vegas block residence hall was not enough to manifest my optimism. Accustomed to the lack of punctuality endemic to Botswana, Ed moved into the room 15 days after my arrival. For those of you that know me, you won’t be surprised that the first thing that stuck out to me about Ed was his name, whom he shares with my brother who I lost to suicide just six years prior.  

However, despite sharing the same name, unlike my brother Eddie, who was a very gregarious and effervescent individual, Ed’s behavior reflected his love for just three things: his family, Hope, and God. The reason I capitalized Hope is because Hope was Ed’s girlfriend, who probably spent more time in the room than I did. Like my brother Eddie, Ed’s stature was prominent, as he stood about 6’3” and was very muscular. Although his size was intimidating, his personality was not. Ed was a kindhearted young man from a rural area in northern Botswana. Part of his ancestry stemmed from Zimbabwe, so Ed spoke Kalanga in addition to Setswana and English. Besides enjoying old cartoons with Hope on the outdated computer monitor given to him by his brother, Ed studied ardently in hopes of becoming an Engineer. Hope on the other hand, who acted as our third roommate, was studying to become a Special Education teacher.

Before Ed arrived, I routinely locked all my valuables in my closet using a sturdy padlock and chain that I would intertwine through the handles on my closet doors. We were told to engage in this cautionary practice by the staff at the international office to prevent theft from burglars, people posing as your friend, and roommates. When leaving my room, I would also ensure that the door to the dorm was locked with the bulky padlock I bought at a Gaborone hardware store. Upon meeting Ed for the first time and entrusting him with the extra key to the bulky padlock protecting us from the thieves at UB, he curiously asked why I felt the need to lock up my valuables every time I left the room. Not wanting to elicit an indignant response, I tactfully explained that during the international student orientation, we had all been advised to take part in this practice as a precautionary measure to prevent theft. And to be honest, not yet aware of the strong sense of integrity Ed possessed, I was skeptical of why he asked. I ignorantly assumed that he didn’t want me to lock my things away so that he, or perhaps his friends, would be granted easier access to my belongings. He would soon retort my assumptions by simply being himself.            

Unlike me, who enjoyed imbibing and risk taking, Ed displayed his diligent demeanor to me through his devotion to Hope and his academics. Although our personalities may seem incongruous, Ed and I bonded as he would help me with my Setswana and I would help him with his writing. And if I was partying in the room with other international students on weekend evenings, I never felt as if I was making Ed uncomfortable as he would eagerly engage in conversations and curiously inquire with questions like, “Why do you guys like drinking?” or, “Where did you buy that stuff and what does it make you feel like when you smoke it?” I, nor any of my friends, ever attempted to pressure him into engaging in such actions because we knew that he was cool enough to tell us if he’d wanted to, but he seemed content just studying and spending time with Hope. Not long after the first day we met, I stopped caring about locking my belongings away in the closet, as I knew that Ed nor Hope would ever consider stealing anything from anyone.

Ed and Hope were the most morally sound couple that I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending time with. I was blessed to share a room with them. I did not only admire Ed, I aspired to be like him. He had a positive impact on my life and demonstrated how much joy can be derived from monogamy and moral practice. His ethics did not stem solely from Christianity, as he seemed to have an embedded sense of altruism. On more than one occasion, I lent money to some of my Batswana friends and quickly learned that if I was to lend money, I shouldn’t expect to have it repaid. So, despite becoming accustomed to Ed’s moral integrity, when he asked to borrow 50 Pula ($5.50) to treat Hope to pizza, I lent the money not expecting to be paid back. It was a small amount of money and by that point I was beginning to realize how lucky I was to be born in a country with such a high standard of living; I didn’t care if he’d pay me back or not. Less than a week later, Ed strengthened my belief in his ethicality by being the first Motswana to actually pay me back.

After leaving UB, I didn’t hear from Ed for almost a year, and I would’ve been reluctant to believe that he and I would talk again. However, in morally sound Ed-fashion, when he saw my Facebook post about becoming an English teacher in Japan, he Skyped me to say congrats and tell me that Hope was pregnant with their first child.

Me and Ed on the Day I Left Botswana

University of Botswana (UB) Part 3

Despite only having a population roughly equivalent to that of Tacoma WA, Gaborone (Gabs) is the capital and most populated city in all of Botswana. The city extends about 10 miles east to west and is divided into sections referred to by the Batswana, (people of Bots) as Phases, Extensions, Blocks, “G-West” (Gaborone West), and Gaborone North. For me, in terms of locating one’s whereabouts and understanding city organization, the names of these sections meant nothing. For example, Gaborone West Phase 4 is adjacent to Extension 21 and Extension 15. The only significance that these divisions and numbers held for me was that the nomenclature would elicit internal dialogues like, “Okay, I’m in extension 15 so Game City must be nearby.” Or, “Oh shit, I’m in Old Naledi and it’s dark out. I best be watching my pockets and get the hell out of here.” By the way, Game City is a big mall, and relative to UB, it’s on the opposite side of the city. “Old Naledi” is an area near Gaborone West Phase 4 that seemed to be affected by crime more so than other areas in Gabs.

As a student, one could get his or her way around the city most easily by illegitimate taxis. These unlicensed taxis could be found at almost any location where people were present and they would solicit business by not so subtly yelling, “Taxi!” as one was within a reasonable radius, which ranged anywhere between 1 and 20 meters. These taxi guys usually charged between 25 and 40 pula ($4 to $6) to get anywhere within Gabs. Or, for a mere 3 Pula (50 cents), one could be more frugal and do what most of Gabs' residents do and take Combis. Combis are like mini buses and have a designated route. I rarely rode in combis so I didn’t acquire the knowledge necessary to understand the route system. Combis can safely seat about 12 people but I don’t recall riding in a Combi with less than 15.           

Combi Stop Near UB 2011

The unsystematic layout of Gabs comprises a few shopping malls, grocery stores, outdoor “African-style” malls, an infrequently used sports stadium, numerous restaurants, suburbs, hotels, petrol stations, HIV and AIDS clinics, hospitals, Christian churches, a game reserve, and plenty of university students’ most valued vendors… bars and clubs.
In terms of affordability, the optimal sight for imbibing was the Police Bar. Due to the Police Bar’s proximity to campus, 7 Pula ($1) Black Label beers, and outdoor seating to enjoy the African heat and occasional monkeys, the Police Bar became the go-to place to pre-funk. There was another bar closer to Las Vegas known as, “The 411.” The 411 was actually located in the middle of campus and was therefore less of a walk to get to than the Police Bar. Ostensibly, the 411 would have seemed like a better spot to pre-funk but I did not frequent the 411 often for several reasons. Firstly, the price of beer was slightly more than that of the Police Bar. Secondly, the ratio of males to females never seemed to be lower than 10 to 1. Furthermore, the ratio of non-student drinkers to student drinkers was probably close to 2 to 1 despite being on campus and considered the, “Student bar.” Finally, and most importantly, despite being in the middle of campus, the 411 was sketchy as fuck. The ladies selling booze and single cigarettes did so behind a barred window. I couldn’t be in the vicinity of 411 for more than 5 minutes without some dude asking for money. The 411 was surrounded by 6 foot cement walls, the floor was the ground, a cement ceiling extending from the shop where the ladies slung booze provided shelter, and when it became crowded, people just brought their drinks to the nearby ditch. I recall multiple fights there and all of them would end with dudes throwing bottles at one another. And yes, all these quarrels occurred in the center of campus without authoritative interference.

The 411 on a Weekday Afternoon

Besides the 411 and Police bar, other places to get drinks included a variety of restaurant-bar combos such as, “Linga Longa” or, “The Yacht Club.” Both of which were safe and reputable but had prices to reflect that quality of service. The amount of clubs in Gabs was limited and boiled down to, “The Lizard Lounge”, “Bull and Bush”, “Boulevard”, “Zoom”, and “G-Wa-Wa.” Bull and Bush, a restaurant by day, would transform into a decent club on Friday and Saturday nights. Although the parking lot could get a bit dodgy from time to time, relative to places like Zoom and G-Wa-Wa, Bull and Bush was safe but the cost of service reflected that. During my first semester at UB, the Lizard Lounge was a superlative spot to be intoxicated and rub bodies with strangers. The Lizard Lounge was within walking distance of the Police Bar, and although the cost for drinks was a bit steep, one could bring his or her own booze and drink outside without being reprimanded. Compared with Bull and Bush, the Lizard Lounge was a step down in safety. The decrease in safety usually meant an increase in prostitution, theft, violence, narcotics, and opportunities to affiliate with shady individuals. In terms of classy clubs in Gabs, the Lizard Lounge was mid-level. It ranked below “Bull and Bush” and “Boulevard”, but above “Zoom” and “G-Wa-Wa.”

Gaborone West’s G-Wa-Wa was a club located in a crime-ridden area and I was blissfully ignorant of how ghetto that place was the first time I had been there. My first time getting jiggy at G-Wa-Wa was pleasant, as a couple from Gabs had accompanied me there. I was unaware of the plethora of prostitutes flanked along the parking lot and nearby streets. I didn’t know that all the old ladies selling sausages and potato chips outside were also undercutting the club’s business by bootlegging the stashes of booze beneath their carts. I was unaware that I could have robbed at any moment. After my initial experience at G-Wa-Wa, I raved to other international students about the clandestine club that Anna and I had discovered with the help of our local friends. (Anna was 20 and the only other student from my home university to attend UB. She and I were close friends before our African adventure and in a way, because she had discovered the affordable study-abroad option before I did, I had followed her down there). I was eager to introduce others to the jubilant G-Wa-Wa. On my second trip there, I was unaccompanied by our local friends and in lieu of them, I brought three other international students. We got there by way of illegitimate taxi on a frenetic Friday evening. Being the only white people amongst the hundred or so Batswana chillin outside G-Wa-Wa, we were targeted prior to disembarking the cab. Literally, within 30 seconds of stepping outside, Anna was robbed.

A syndicate of thieves swiftly swept Anna off her feet in a not-so-romantic manner. I was walking in front of her so I didn’t notice the onslaught until it was too late. Alerted by Anna’s screams and struggling, I spun around quickly to see her being held off the ground by the man grabbing her from behind while his cohorts rummaged through her pockets. Reflexively, I charged towards the grimy bastards flexing but my efforts deemed ineffective, as the thieves had acquired the goods they sought after. They left with Anna’s phone and the pula in her pocket, which in total, amounted to no more than 50 or 60 dollars. Shaken and alarmed, I called our savior and the unlicensed cab driver got us back to UB unscathed. Despite witnessing Anna’s setback, I did get jiggy at G-Wa-Wa on a few other occasions. Sadly though, months after returning to the U.S., G-Wa-Wa burned down to ashes leaving the prostitutes and thieves of G-West in perilous predicaments.

G-Wa-Wa as it Burned Down in November 2011

Unlike my experience at G-Wa-Wa, my first time at Zoom transpired into events that would cause me to never want to return. On a thirsty Thursday evening, I, along with a large group of international students, sat outside the Police Bar unwilling to call it a night as we were forced to find a new location to imbibe. The bar didn’t want to serve us our booze after 9 pm. In addition to Anna, Audrey, and Alice, we were amongst three others. Arianna was a well traveled 21 year old from California. Arianna’s boyfriend, Armani, was a suave Setswana speaking local just 24 years young. Amy, my girlfriend during my first semester at UB, just 21, was a shy yet beautiful black American girl from North Carolina who promoted peace and exhibited an air of togetherness. (I should have treated her better). When the Police Bar staff finally made us leave, we decided to continue our shenanigans at Zoom. We bought some bootlegged booze from the ladies ostensibly selling potato chips and hot dogs outside the club so that we could intensify our inebriation. Inside of Zoom, we shamelessly rubbed our bodies on one another amongst a throng of Africans haphazardly to the blaring electronic music. Drenched in sweat and drunk, Amy and I relished our last dance together as the club announced it would soon be closing. While Amy was grinding her ass on my crotch, I stood still and watched Alice nearby. Alice was arguing with a man who seemed to be a bit sexually aggressive with her. She lightly slapped him on the face; it was an action that would ignite my first brawl in Bots.

The man who Alice slapped did not hesitate to hide his anger and embarrassment as he instantly took a short step backwards on the dance floor, squared up, and delivered a clean jab straight into Alice’s eye. The punch was strong enough to drop Alice as she lay in the middle of the dance floor holding her face in agony. The DJ saw what had happened and turned the lights on as the man who had punched her grabbed his friend and ran outside. I followed them. The other girls took care of Alice while I went to find the dude that socked my friend. I ran outside to find the short Zambian man holding a beer bottle. As I approached aggressively yelling expletives, he held his bottle in the air ready to use it as a weapon as he incessantly asked, “Who are you!?” I was too angry to answer his question and continued to approach him tactfully. Momentarily, he kept me at bay by holding his bottle above his head, ready to strike me. I worked my way within a reasonable distance that would leave him unable to throw the bottle and either be forced to flee or attempt to hit me with the bottle. This man was short, overweight and possessed a cowardly demeanor. He should have tried to hit me with the bottle because that would have at least given him a chance. When I was within punching distance, he dropped the bottle and attempted to run. Before completing his first step, my punch connected with his face. Honestly though, I don’t think that this punch was very effective and the only reason he dropped to the ground was in hopes of me taking pity. I didn’t though. As he rose to his knees, and I stood above him, I swung with all my force and connected with the area of his baldhead just behind the ear. This punch was far more effective than the first but unfortunately for my lack of aim and fighting skills, I punched him in an extremely hard area that sprained my wrist.

As adrenalin pumped through my veins, I stood back with Armani as he handed me an empty beer bottle in case the brawl developed into something bigger. The girls had made there way out of the club by that point and saw the Zambian man being carried by his cohorts. His cohorts were yelling at me and demanding that I take the Zambian man to the hospital and pay for him to get checked out. Unbeknownst to me, my punch had caused the back of his head to bleed. I refused and was holding the bottle in anticipation when something whizzed past my ear. It was a bottle thrown by one of the Zambian dude’s cohorts. I panicked but didn’t move quickly enough as another one followed and connected with my right hand, causing it to bleed immediately.  The Zambian dude and his accomplices outnumbered Armani and I, so in order to prevent being hit with more beer bottles, I grabbed Amy by the hand and ran. We hopped in a dude’s car and gave him $5 to get us back to UB.

The police arrived shortly thereafter and no one was arrested. Nor was anyone punished for the fracas. Alice had a black eye, I had an injured hand and wrist, and the Zambian dude ended up going to the hospital to stop the bleeding from the back of his head. I suppose that all three of us were punished for our thrill seeking and sinister behavior.

University of Botswana (UB) Part 2

The days to follow my arrival at UB were actually quite uneventful. Overly ambitious to become a world traveler, I arrived at UB a week prior to classes starting. Other than the students volunteering for freshman orientation, UB was devoid of life and somewhat desolate. Luckily, my eagerness to explore the city and the influx of other international students was more than enough to satiate my appetite for adventure. Within that first week, I befriended a fellow Washingtonian, Patrick, with whom I imbibed numerous Black Label beers. Patrick was a recovering heroin addict who had recently finished his probation and was finally allowed to leave the country. On my third night there, he and I journeyed to a nearby bar coined, “The Police Bar” due to its proximity to the military base. The Police Bar was within walking distance of our residence halls, Las Vegas. Because it was a weekday and classes had yet to begin, the bar was empty. The emptiness of the bar did not deter us from downing numerous Black Labels as we engaged in an alcohol fueled contentious conversation. After overindulging in our shared fondness of altered states, we staggered back to UB’s infamous Las Vegas. Upon reentering the Vegas block, we were delightfully greeted by two fellow international students, Audrey and Alice. Audrey was just 19 years old and had made her way to UB from North Carolina. Alice was 20 and had come from Sweden. This pair had audaciously invited us up to Alice’s dorm to continue imbibing. After Audrey and Alice had beckoned us up to Alice’s dorm, the four of us shared self-introductions and diverged personal information openly as we passed around a half-full box of South African red wine. Within due time, the boxed wine took its toll on Patrick and Audrey so they drunkenly retreated to their respective dorm rooms. Alice and I however, possessed a sense of party-stamina that is only acquired through countless nights of drunken decadence and debauchery. She introduced me to Swedish rock as we polished off the remnants of the red wine. That night, Alice and I shared an evening that would later inspire me to engage in a Botswana bar brawl ending in a bottle being smashed over my hand, Alice getting punched in the face, and a Zambian fellow being sent to the hospital.

Sexy Pose in Front of the First Floor of a Vegas Block Residence Hall

My Vegas Block Residence Hall Accompanied by the Beautiful Botswana Sky

University of Botswana (UB) Part 1

As a result of being a peer advisor for Japanese students at my university, I realized how valuable an international experience could be. With that newfound eagerness to travel, I made my way to the study abroad center. After having two Japanese roommates and working as their peer advisor for 10 months, one would think that Japan would have been the ideal location for me to study. However, because I was studying Psychology, I based my choice upon two factors: price and courses offered. After ardently examining the smorgasbord of international opportunities, I decided to make my way to the motherland; I was going to Africa. Not only was I attracted to the exotic allure of Botswana, but also the cost was low and the amount of courses offered was sufficient. For a full academic year, tuition, housing, and a food allowance cost less than $10,000 and would be covered completely by grants and scholarships. Ostensibly, studying at the University of Botswana (UB) seemed impeccable.

21 years old, fit, equipped with insouciant confidence, I embarked upon my first international endeavor in July of 2011. After 30 hours of travel, with layovers in both NYC and Johannesburg, I disembarked the airplane onto the tarmac by foot and walked into the tiny airport of Gaborone, Botswana. I arrogantly assumed that there would be someone at the airport to take to me to UB; there wasn’t. I paced back and forth throughout the tiny airport for what seemed like an eternity asking people if they knew who I was and whether or not there would be someone to take me to the university. Fortunately, an advisor for the expensive study abroad program sensed my desperation and took pity on me. He was a Motswana with long dreads, and an aura of Rastafarianism. We hopped in his truck and he dropped me off across from the business building near to a university cafeteria. Luckily, the Rastafarian informed three trustworthy male students from UB to look after me and ensure that I get food and accommodation for the night. The UB students whom the Rastafarian entrusted were adamant about me obtaining a padlock immediately in order to prevent theft. I, on the other hand, was sleep-deprived and hungry. The four of us went to the cafeteria where each of them had earned a free meal by volunteering that day. Despite having Pula in my pocket, and an appetite voracious enough to consume whatever the cafeteria was serving, I didn’t volunteer that day and therefore would not be granted a meal. I sat at a table with the boys gaping at my surroundings with sheer bewilderment. And to intensify my sense of awe and perplexity, everyone seemed to be staring right back at me. There were hundreds of students eating their free meals and each and every one of them was aware of my presence. I was not the black sheep; I was the white sheep amongst a massive crowd of black. I would never consider myself to be racist, but at this particular point in time, the contrast of skin color became starkly apparent. I was slightly fazed but the kindness exhibited by the three students looking after me mitigated any sense of fear associated with being in this unknown environment. In dire need of some food and sleep, I tagged along with the three UB boys to Choppies. Since Choppies closes early, I had to rush to get my shopping done quickly. I purchased a padlock, a knife, an unsliced loaf of bread, bananas, and some peanut butter. We then made our way back to UB to find my dorm located in the nicest residence hall on campus, “Las Vegas.” Although far different from Sin City, the amenities of UB’s Las Vegas were adequate. I chose to stay on the fourth floor because I was informed that students living on the highest floors experience theft less frequently. After borrowing a bed set from one of the boys who had helped me, I slept soundly that evening and had no idea what I would encounter for the following nine months.

My luxurious "Las Vegas" living space :) 

Meal #1

About Me

Although I have yet to reach as many corners of the world as other globetrotters, I have spent a considerable amount of time far away from home. I have resided here in Japan for 18 months, and plan to be here for at least another 6 months. I studied and lived in Gaborone, Botswana for 9 months. I've spent time in other countries such as South Africa, Zambia, Mozambique, Thailand, Vietnam, China, and most recently, South Korea. 

Despite exhibiting my pride as a Washingtonian whenever afforded the opportunity, I have lived in various parts of the U.S. I attribute my nomadic nature to my upbringing. In terms of homes, the only consistency was inconsistency. Having experienced a variety of living situations, including homelessness, well prepared me for the life I have created today. I am blessed and proud to have embraced international experiences as enriching as Africa and as humbling as Japan. Through this blog, I hope to not only share these experiences, but to use them as a demonstration of how accessible this world really is :)

Devil's Peak, Cape Town, December, 2011