The Candy Ladies

In my class recently we were discussing the history of the tourism industry.  As I was covering some of the major highlights I asked them to finish the phrase, “All Roads Lead to …”  The answer I was given was Palapaye.  I couldn’t possibly fathom their reasoning, but after examining a map to make sure I knew what they were referring to, I realized their hypothesis was logical.  Here in Botswana, if you want to go north from Gaborone you go through Palapaye.  If you want to go from South Africa to Zimbabwe, you go to Palapaye.  Nevertheless, I told them the phrase as it is known to the rest of the world is “All Roads Lead to Rome” because the Roman Empire developed the first extensive road system to connect all their cities and provinces.  With the rise of the road system, travel throughout the Roman Empire became quite commonplace.  In fact, tourists would go sight-seeing, use guidebooks and tour guides to enhance their understanding of various areas, and collect souvenirs to take home with them.

Over the years I’ve collected my share of souvenirs and passed many on to friends.  Until my early-20s I collected postcards.  Friends would send them to me from wherever they visited.  And I would send them to myself as well.  Having a pristine, unsent postcard with no message just seemed a waste, hence why I would send myself postcards.  I have countless cards that read, “Dear Kelly, Having a great time.  Wish you were here.  Oh wait!  You are! Even better.  Be home soon, Kelly.”  I no longer collect postcards, but I still have over 500 packed away.  Once I began making money and could afford more costly souvenirs for myself I began collecting clothing.  I bought a silk jacket in China recently, a sari in India, and I still have my kuspuk from my time in Alaska.

My graduate student, Matt, likes to collect gum.  Each time I travel overseas I bring him gum.  As a result of this request I think of Matt every day when I pass a Candy Lady.  All over town you see little tables which are set up on highly travelled pedestrian paths where women make their living selling little candies and gum.  Imagine Halloween and the packages of mini candy bars you buy to hand out to Trick-or-Treaters.  Essentially these women will buy those packages, break them apart and sell the candies one piece at a time.

To us, it might seem like a difficult way to make a living.  And apparently, it is.  I see the same two Candy Ladies each morning on my way to campus.  I occasionally buy something simply to make conversation and help them out a bit.  A candy is typically about 1 pula which is equivalent to a little less than 12 cents.  I asked one of the Candy Ladies recently how much she would need to make in order for her to consider it a successful day.  She told me 100 pula is good.  That is about $11.75 A DAY!

From the customer perspective the Candy Ladies may be the only way they can afford these treats.  To buy these packages of candies in the stores may be more than most can spare, but most have an extra pula or two in their pocket and can enjoy their favorite sweet one little piece at a time.

Every High School Principal’s Worst Nightmare

My paternal grandfather was a high school principal in inner-city Baltimore for four decades.  He was retired by the time I came along, and as one of the oldest grandkids I was one of the few who was fortunate enough to spend any real time with him and remember it.  But I’ve heard a lot about him as a teacher and a principal from my father.  From what I understand he was a serious hard-ass; very tough, but fair.  Sounds like the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.

I was reminded of my grandfather recently after a conversation with my departmental secretary.  I needed some tape:

Kelly: Dumela Mma. O tsogile jang? (Good morning ma’am.  How are you?)

Tebo (my secretary): Re tang. (I’m fine).
Kelly: I need some tape to hang something.  Can I borrow yours?
Tebo: Sure.  (She reaches in her desk.) Here you go.
Kelly: (I look down at what she’s handed me and it doesn’t register at first what I’m holding.) What is this?
Tebo: Gum.
Kelly: Gum? No, I don’t need gum.  I need tape.
Tebo: I don’t have any tape, use the gum.
Kelly: What? (Honestly, I was still completely confused as to how the gum would solve my tape problem.)
Tebo: Put the gum in your mouth, chew it, take it out, put it on the wall, and then hang your poster.
Kelly: Oh, ok, thank you. (I was in such shock I just left.)

I returned to my office and silently had a minor breakdown, “What is the world coming to? What kind of insanity is this? Encouraging people in an educational environment to willingly chew gum? And stick it to the wall?!?!”  All I could think was that my grandfather and school principals around the world were rolling over in their graves in horror at the thought.

Rather than jump to any rash conclusions I spent the following days slyly surveying other faculty in my college.  I would walk into someone’s office and nonchalantly ask, “That’s such a nice calendar. How did you hang it? Gum? Really? What a great idea. I should try that.”  After a short while it seemed there was a general consensus that gum was an acceptable and approved adhesive.  No matter how much I tried to wrap my brain around it, there was simply no way I could bring myself to do it.  I still have that piece of gum sitting in my desk, in case of emergency I suppose, but I will not be using it as an adhesive or a breath freshener anytime within the next year.  I should really just throw it away, but for now I will just leave it there as a reminder of the fact “there’s no place like home.”