The Terminal 2: Coming Soon

In 2004 Tom Hanks starred in the movie, The Terminal.  Tom Hanks’ character, Viktor Navorski, arrives in New York’s JFK Airport only to be denied admission to the U.S. because during his flight his fictional home country of Krakozhia broke into a civil war, making his passport invalid.  He is not permitted to enter the U.S., but he can’t return home either because he doesn’t have a legal passport which prohibits him from boarding a plane. The movie details Viktor’s nine month stay in the JFK airport.  The movie is loosely based on a similar predicament of Mehran Karimi Nasseri, an Iranian refugee who lived in Paris’ Charles de Gaulle Airport for 17 years.  (Yes, 17 years, that is not a typo).  I mention this because there is a possibility I may become Viktor Navorski very soon.

Back in October I wrote a blog post rejoicing about the fact I had finally obtained my Botswana Residence Permit, thus avoiding deportation for the time being.  Well, deportation is looking more and more likely every day now.

My residence permit expires one week from today, May 31^st.  I am currently out of the country with a plane ticket to reenter Botswana on May 31^st.  Even though I have 30 days left on my tourist visa I am told I cannot reenter Botswana as a tourist because my status has changed to a resident.  (Apparently once you become a resident you can’t become a tourist again.) However, in order to remain a legal resident I must get a permit extension.  I have been working for weeks now to get all the appropriate paperwork for the extension and still don’t have it.  And if you have been following my blog for any amount of time, you are aware that expediency is an unknown concept here, so reiterating the fact that I need something done now now doesn’t really help.  The challenge is that I don’t have the paperwork I need and even once I get the paperwork it still must be taken to the Immigration Office, which will likely take their time processing and approving it.  Queue a miracle here please!

Last night I was explaining my predicament to a friend back in the U.S. and as I was detailing my situation I realized how ridiculous this whole scenario truly is.  I have all my paperwork in order with the exception of a letter from UB stating that they support the extension of my residence permit.  Here’s a very abridged version showcasing the unwillingness of anyone to take responsibility and make a decision:

• Over a month ago I spoke to Person Number 1 at UB and told him I needed a letter. No1 agreed to write the letter. (I should have known immediately that something would go terribly wrong as nothing ever happens here that easily).

• After weeks of contacting No1 asking about the status of my letter I finally get an email from No1 telling me he is on vacation and forgot to write the letter.  No1 tells me to contact No2.

• I email No2 explaining my predicament, tell No2 than No1 agreed to write the letter but forgot, so now No2 is supposed to write the letter.

• After several days of not hearing from No2 I get CC’ed on an email from No2 to No3.

• No3 says he doesn’t know anything and refuses to write the letter.  No3 recommends No2 talks to No4.

• I get CC’ed on an email from No2 to No4.

• No4 emails me asking about the letter.

• I respond to No4 telling her No1 was supposed to write the letter but forgot and now No2 is supposed to write the letter.  I give No4 the information No2 is supposed to put in the letter.

• No4 emails No2 (and CC’s me) to say she (No4) refuses to write the letter because No1 already agreed to do it.

• No2 emails me back to state she (No2) cannot write the letter and I should speak directly to No4 and ask her to write the letter. (Please refer back to the previous point in which No4 emails No2 and refuses to write the letter).

Here’s the part that kills me: UB wants me to stay for an additional year to provide FREE LABOR as a Fulbright Scholar!!!  I can’t stay (for another week, far less a whole extra year) if you won’t give me a letter in order to remain in the country legally!

A month or so back I wrote about the arrogance of UB and how they are their own worst enemy.  I think this little letter fiasco is just another example of how if Africa wants to progress it needs to learn how to be proactive and take some amount of responsibility in formulating its own success.

In the meantime the jury is still out regarding my fate.  My dad is scheduled to arrive in a few weeks.  I know he can enter Botswana as a tourist visa.  Unfortunately he may also be vacationing alone and packing up my house in Gabs if I am living in limbo at the airport customs office like Viktor Navorski.  I’ll keep you posted.

Visitors!

I don’t know if you have ever seen the Disney movie Cars, but if you have there is one scene where two cars are lost and wander into Radiator Springs, which was previously a major tourist destination but seldom sees any visitors any longer.  As the two lost vehicles approach the town the cars which reside in Radiator Springs get excited and start to frantically prepare for their guests’ arrival.  The character that spots and announces the approaching cars starts exclaiming, “Visitors! We finally have visitors!”  That is how I feel right now.  I FINALLY have VISITORS!

Two of my friends from back in the States, Amanda and Ashleigh, arrived in Gaborone Monday evening.  I am so excited to have them here them and have spent the last week showing them around Botswana.  Tuesday morning we woke up early to head north.  Since it was a long drive and we had to spend most of the day in the car we spent the night at Elephant Sands, which is a guest house about 30 miles north of Nata.  We had intended to do a game drive that night, but the safari vehicle had broken down the previous day.  It ended up working out for the best because we were exhausted, so we moved into our chalet, ate dinner and then sat by the watering hole, desperately hoping we might see some animals stop by for a drink.  Here is a look at our chalet:

 

During our drive to Elephant Sands we saw many elephants and giraffes along the side of the road.  Aside from the evidence we saw of elephants in the area, there were also the typical warnings.  You know how there are deer warning signs?  Or moose warning signs in Alaska?  Maybe you aren’t aware of those signs in Alaska if you haven’t been there before, but they are there.  Well, here in Africa we have elephant warning signs: 

Later in the evening I was reminded of the elephant warning signs because we were standing on the porch and began hearing a lot of trees wrestling.  The next thing we knew about 20 elephants appeared about 15 feet away from our chalet.  This reminded me of the elephant warning signs and made me wonder what type of coverage I had on my rental car for animal incidents.  Fortunately there was no incident with the rental car, the elephants walked right past us to the watering hole where they drank for about 20 minutes and then left as peacefully and quietly as they arrived.  It was amazing, absolutely magical. Sorry, this isn't the best picture because it was nighttime, but you should be able to make out the shadows of the elephants:

Also along our drive to Nata we saw a dried riverbed which was just shocking.  I know there is a lot of debate about global warming and environmental changes, so take a look at this:

Those little islands with the trees on top were at least 20 feet tall and located in dried riverbeds all along the road from Gaborone to Kasane.

Concessions

No, not the concessions you have at a baseball game.  Though a hot dog sounds really good right about now.  Concessions as in, “What is your list of demands that will convince you to accept another Fulbright and remain in Africa for another year?”

In case you missed yesterday’s post, I received another Fulbright award which is a huge honor.  However, if you have been following my blog for any amount of time you know that living in Africa is a bit more challenging than home, or any western country for that matter.  But Fulbright, and the U.S. Embassy here, really want me to stay, so much so that I was told, “Tell us what we can do to make this deal happen.”

Today I gave that proposal a little bit of thought.  I’ve spoken to a few friends and gotten lots of email messages from people trying to convince me why I should return to the U.S., why I should stay another year, or what concessions I should ask for.  Here is the ultimate list, compiled in conjunction with one of the (many) co-Presidents of my Fan Club:

Dear Ambassador:

Thank you for your support for my Fulbright award.  As requested, I have compiled a list of concessions I would require to remain in Botswana for the next 14 months.  Please find the list below: 

1. Embassy-sanctioned housing.  I am aware from my friends who work in your office that all embassy homes have their own power generators, water tanks and fuel which are maintained by U.S. government resources.  In an effort to provide a more comfortable standard of living and professional existence, the avoidance of power cuts, water rationing and Internet inconsistency would be ideal. 
2. Diplomatic mail privileges. During that past year I have had a particular challenge attempting to receive any mail from loved ones.  There was the time my package was impounded because I needed to obtain a beef permit from the Ministry of Agriculture for a box which contained a package of beef jerky.  Another time it took nearly two months for a postcard to arrive from Namibia.  I could have walked to Namibia and back in a shorter amount of time.  I still haven’t received my Christmas cards and I know my Dad sent me one that sings- he always does. 
3. PX shopping pass.  I would like to shop at the PX with all the other embassy workers.  There is no such thing as toilet paper shortages or lack of fresh fruit at the PX.  And you don’t have to buy dead people’s clothes either. You guys get your stuff shipped in from the U.S. every week!  I also know there is a Subway franchise.  I got that information from a very reliable source.  Given the lack of restaurants or real fast food in Botswana, this would be a big plus for staying here another year. 
4. A seat at the table.  I think the U.S. needs a Secretary of Tourism.  I’m your girl! I went to the UNWTO Conference.  No one represented the U.S.  I already made lots of connections and have buddies in all the tourism ministries all over Africa.  I could work on your visa facilitation programs, development initiatives and spearhead homeland security and safety training in the tourism sector. 
5. Naming rights.  I realize Phelantown may be too large a request.  But how about a lake or a river?  Queen Victoria is long gone; she won’t know if we rename her lake.  Actually, on second thought, you really don’t need to make me happy.  My mom’s the important one.  Let’s say we just name a shopping mall after her.  Now, that’s definitely doable

Looking forward to your response,

Kelly

Here, have a condom

Living in Africa I have learned a lot about sex.  Not necessarily from the act itself, but because it is a constant topic of conversation.  Here people make reference to sex the same way you talk about weather or sports scores back in the U.S.

For one, fidelity is rare.  I know Westerners can’t claim to always be faithful, but the prevalence and acceptance of adultery here is just so customary it is unnerving at times.  If you haven’t read about my education surrounding big and little houses here in Botswana I recommend you start there so you have the vocabulary down.  But men and women talk about little houses openly and as a necessity; men need a little house as a means of escaping the demands of a marriage; women want to be a little house because of the monetary and social benefits it bestows upon them.

Part of the problem with infidelity here is the HIV/AIDs issue.  I had a friend tell me both her parents died from HIV/AIDs.  She said her father contracted it from sleeping around.  Apparently he knew he was sick, but never told her mother.  When her father died her mother was told by the doctor about him having had HIV/AIDs and encouraged her to be tested.  By that point her mom had already contracted it and died about a year later as a result.

The infidelity, coupled with the frequency of HIV/AIDs, has resulted in what I like to call a “Condom Culture.”  I have never seen so many condoms in so many places in my life.  And when in doubt, the answer is always, “here, have a condom.”  I mentioned during a shopping trip a couple months back that I was looking for a sink stopper.  When the store clerk couldn’t figure out what I wanted he gave me a box of condoms.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but that is the answer to everything here.  The other day I was in a store and mistakenly asked for pants instead of trousers.  What did the store manager give me? That’s right, condoms.

And the “here, have a condom” slogan isn’t evident just in my apparent inability to communicate when shopping.  In the women’s restroom in my building on campus there is a box of condoms with a sign, “Help yourself.  Practice Safe Sex.”

When I first arrived in Gaborone I stayed at a hotel for a couple of nights before I was given the keys to my house.  It was a nice hotel; the front desk clerk even took me up to my room to show me the amenities.  I’m not sure whether it was part of her rehearsed script or not, but she opened the drawer to the nightstand, pointed to a handful of condoms and said, “If you need more, don’t be afraid to ask.”

But I think my favorite “Condom Culture” experience was when I drove across the Botswana-Zimbabwe border.  A group of journalist friends and I were on a visit to Chobe National Park.  As we were shuffling through the small border check point on the Botswana side I turned around after getting my entry stamp only to notice a condom dispenser.  I was so shocked I looked at it for a minute.  There was a sign on the dispenser which read, “Have a good time. Be safe.  Help yourself.”