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

The Best Things I Learned Living in Africa

This afternoon I was speaking to a woman who was a new arrival to Africa.  She asked me what kind of advice I had as she began her new life here.  I took the opportunity to reflect on what I’ve learned over the past few months.  After giving it some thought, I can say with some amount of certainty that I have learned quite a few things.  Here is a list of my top epiphanies (so far) about Africa:

1. If there is hot water and water pressure take a shower and wash your hair regardless of whether you are dirty.  There is no guarantee you will have water pressure, hot water, or any water at all come tomorrow, so you need to take advantage of every bathing opportunity you can get.  The same premise goes for doing your laundry. 
2. If you act like a tourist, people will treat you like one.  For anyone who’s been following my blog for a while you have heard a lot of funny accounts of bizarre things which have happened to me.  If nothing else, the police seem drawn to me, whether my driving instructor is being pulled over for texting or whether I am causing accidents due to my crazy desire to walk to the store.  But I often have people ask why I don’t take pictures of some of these unusual instances.  For one, I don’t like to draw any extra attention to myself, such as when I was standing in court arguing my way out of a “walking with intent to cause a car accident” fine. In other cases I don’t take pictures because I don’t want to be perceived as a tourist.  I’ve watched this happen to other people: A foreigner and a local “become friends.”  The foreigner reverts back to his role as a tourist by asking to take a picture of the local.  The local responds by saying, “Sure, give me five dollars.” I don’t want those kinds of memories. 
3. It’s perfectly acceptable to play the “adorable white girl card.”  Speaking of being a foreigner, sometimes this helps.  The great thing about being a redheaded white girl is that I’m the only one.  I don’t blend in very well.  I try to, but thus far have been horribly unsuccessful.  But in some cases the inability to be mistaken for a local works to my benefit.  Every once in a while when I am desperate for help, such as when I need to get a beef permit so I can receive my package from home, being a “helpless, confused and scared white girl in need of rescue” can work to my advantage.  Somehow, that formula is irresistible to African men. 
4. On the flip side, if you are confident enough in your abilities to convince people you are a local who does belong then you earn yourself bragging rights and respect.  I particularly enjoy demanding an African rate.  Most African countries operate on a three tier pricing system: citizens, African residents and foreigners.  In Botswana, and when I travel to other African countries, I love saying things like, “This price isn’t fair.  Who do you think I am?  One of those rich muzungus (white people)?  No! I am an African! You give me an African rate!”  I certainly don’t get the absolute lowest price that the locals enjoy, but I don’t pay anything near what the foreigners do, plus, I end up making friends. 
5. If you are going to play a game of chicken, or start a fight, you had BETTER win; otherwise you may be taking your life in your hands.  Case in point: my recent visit to the Johannesburg airport.

In all reality I can think of at least another 10 best things to know about living in Africa, but I didn’t want to overwhelm the rookie.  She seemed a little deer in the headlights anyway, so I thought I would just let her ease into it for the time being.

Obtaining a Beef Permit

Remember when I said I finally got a mailing address and could receive mail?  I take it back.  Please do NOT send me mail.  If you decide to risk it and send me anything, I would recommend you send something small, that if I never receive it I won’t be upset, and neither will you.  If you are brave enough to send me something I hope it’s nothing with an expiration date.  My boyfriend sent me a postcard from Namibia, you know, the country right next door?  He sent it on October 23^rd.  I got it today.  Nothing like 50 days to receive a postcard.  If it had been a Christmas card I probably wouldn’t have received it until Easter.

If you really love me (Don’t worry, it will NOT hurt my feelings at all if no one loves me.  In fact if the roles were reversed I wouldn’t love me either.) and decide to send me a box you MUST have it tracked.  The biggest reason for tracking packages is because there is a high likelihood that customs will seize the package.  I’ve had two packages sent to me and customs seized both.  But at least if the package is tracked than the shipping company (normally Fed Ex) will contact me and tell me what hoops I need to jump through in order to get the package.

Recently my amazing graduate students sent me a package.  Once it actually arrived in Botswana it only took 13 days, three trips to two different offices, seven phone calls, and a slight decrease in my sanity to receive it.  When you send packages to Botswana you are required to list the full contents of the box on the customs declaration paperwork.  In my package there were a couple of t-shirts, a mouse pad, a few personal necessities I can’t buy here, and some beef jerky.  In a country where one of our primary exports is beef, customs threw a fit when they saw beef jerky listed.

Since I was “importing beef” I was required to go to the Ministry of Agriculture to obtain permission.  Despite the fact this was for personal consumption with no intent to sell, I still had to get approval.  I showed up to the Ministry to find about a dozen men all dressed in safari khaki waiting to talk to the one office clerk who was processing applications.  Being adorable, and obviously out of place, I took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with one of them.  It turns out they were all cattle ranchers and being that we live in a pretty small country, they all knew one another, which was why they welcomed making a new friend.  Since I had no idea what half the questions on the application meant, one of the ranchers helped me fill it out.  Then I had to go through a line of questioning.  Here was the conversation:

Clerk: We don’t import beef into Botswana.  What is this you want to bring in? What is beef jerky?
Kelly: It is the same as biltong (the name for beef jerky here in Botswana, but here it’s pretty gross).
Clerk: Why don’t you just eat the biltong we have here?
Kelly: Ummm… Here’s the problem, customs has my box and they need approval for the beef jerky, otherwise they won’t give me anything in the box.  Can you please approve the permit?  I’m not going to sell it; I’m only going to eat it myself.
Clerk: Well, how much beef jerky do you want approval for?
Kelly: One kilo.
Clerk: One thousand kilos….
Kelly: No, no, just one kilo. (clerk looks at me quizzically)
Clerk: One kilo? (looks at everyone else in the room and they ALL collectively laugh)
Kelly: Yes, as in, the same amount of food I will probably cook for dinner tonight.
Clerk: Well, this is a lot of work for one kilo of beef jerky. 

When he said that all I could think to myself was, EVERYTHING in Botswana is a LOT OF WORK!!  Need a faculty ID on campus?  That takes two weeks and countless visits to the same office.  Need to have a meeting?  Plan to spend your entire day there because no one will show up on time and then they will break for tea, so they can’t be rushed.  Need your residence permit? You will get it the last possible day you are legally in the country about an hour before they decide to deport you.

Clerk: Ok, I will process the paperwork.  You can come back in the morning to pick it up.

The following morning I excitedly woke up and returned to the Ministry to collect the permit.  Guess what happened when I got there.  That’s right, no permit.  I had to see a second person who questioned me and then informed me they don’t grant permits for fewer than 10 kilos of beef.

Kelly: Ok, then can I please have a beef permit for 10 kilos?
Ministry Director: No.

After another thirty minute inquisition the Ministry Director wrote me a note stating that I had permission to import the beef jerky.

 

I love Africa. There is no such thing as a dull moment here.  And in the end, my beef jerky sure was good.