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.