Things That Make You Go WHAAAAAAAAAT?

As I’ve mentioned before, whenever I travel I particularly enjoy visiting the supermarket because I always see products we don’t have back home.  When I move overseas it always takes me a while to get used to shopping because they don’t organize their stores the same way, or they use different names for certain products, or I can’t find that one thing I’m looking for.  Or I spent a lot of time looking at products I’ve never seen before.

As per usual, today’s trip to the grocery store took over two hours and I only purchased 31 items.  Part of the reason for the prolonged trip is that I had to look at EVERYTHING.  As I was wandering down the potato chip aisle I saw something which made me go:

I don’t eat potato chips often because I don’t really eat sandwiches.  But I think of potato chips as a side dish to either lunch food (like a sandwich) or bar-be-que food.  But the point is, you normally eat potato chips WITH some sort of meat.  Well here, it appears potato chips are intended to emulate meat. Let me give you an example.  Normally you might eat potato chips with a burger.  But, it seems a little redundant to have burger flavoured potato chips AND a burger:

Hungry for a hot dog?  Should you eat a hot dog potato chips AND a hot dog?:

Or maybe you should pair your hot dog with chicken potato chips?:

But, would that be a faux pas because they aren’t complementary proteins? I don’t know the answer!

Then again, you know how whenever you eat a meat no one is familiar with, like crocodile, and someone asks you what it tastes like, the answer always seems to be, “tastes just like chicken?”  By the way, in case you are curious, crocodile kind of does taste like chicken.  But now, that saying applies to potato chips too I suppose.  “Chicken potato chips?  What’s that taste like?”  “As a matter of fact, it tastes just like chicken… and potato chips.”  The truth of the matter is; we will never know what they taste like because I did not buy any of the meaty potato chips.  Maybe next time. 

The Ben & Jerry’s Human Development Index

When I travel I love to visit grocery stores.  I think this is an excellent way of determining the cost of living, the local tastes and it’s an interesting opportunity for people watching and seeing how people interact with one another and the level of customer service.

In Africa, the grocery stores were a bit unusual.  If you found something you liked you bought it immediately because you never knew if you would see it again.  I saw lots of unusual products, like eland, kudu and warthog.  And it was always fun to try and explain a product you desired and have the salesperson give up and offer you a condom.

In Italy I remember seeing baby food made from horsemeat.  In India, we drank Thumbs Up! soda.  And in China I tried durian, which kind of looks like a spiky watermelon and smells like feet.  But in the end, after trying whatever exotic and strange food (zebra testicles anyone?) is available I navigate myself towards the ice cream selection.

Each year the United Nations publishes the Human Development Index.  Using three statistical indices: life expectancy at birth, mean years of schooling, and per capita income, the UN rates each country in terms of “development.”  Some countries, such as North Korea and Somalia are not rated due to the lack of information.  All other countries are rated from low to medium to high to very high development.  Most western countries (Australia, the US, Germany, etc.) are considered very high, while most of Africa is low.  Botswana, South Africa and Namibia are medium.

While the UN Human Development Index is all well and good, I prefer my method of measuring human development: Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.  Obviously, in countries where Ben & Jerry’s is absent, there is low (or maybe medium) development.  Countries which sell Ben & Jerry’s are naturally high or very highly developed.

However, I take my analysis one step further.  I like to examine the price point of Ben & Jerry’s to determine the cost of living.  In the U.S. the price of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s is roughly $4.  Four years ago, when I took my students to Switzerland, a pint was €11.90, which is about US$13.

Here in Australia, we are looking at AUD$12.50, which is equivalent to US$9.15:

In conclusion, according to the Ben & Jerry’s Human Development Index, the U.S., Australia and Switzerland are all very highly developed since they all sell Ben & Jerry’s.  However, it is evident that the cost of living is higher in Australia, and still higher in Switzerland, than the U.S. as demonstrated by Ben & Jerry’s being more than twice as expensive in Australia and more than three times as expensive in Switzerland than in the U.S.

My academic superhero is Hans Rosling, a Swedish academic who conducts research on human development statistics.  I am going to tell him about my Ben & Jerry’s Human Development Index and see what he thinks.  Maybe my 1,000 citations are right around the corner!

Reentering the First World, Part Two

First of all, please let me apologize to my loyal blog readers for being absent for the past week.  I was driving from Maryland back to Texas and stopping to visit friends along the way.  I thought I would keep up with my blog while on the road, but in the end nine hours of driving a day plus mandatory (and necessary) social time with friends I haven’t seen in years equaled an exhausted Kelly unable to open her laptop.  But, rest assured, I am back!

Yesterday I arrived in Lubbock, Texas and was greeted by my posse of graduate students- current and former.  Thank goodness they were here to help me unpack my car, move my things from storage to my new house, rearrange furniture, etc.  They are currently scrubbing the toilets and cutting my lawn as I write this.  Totally kidding!  But they did help me with the move-in process which was a huge relief.  And it was a lot of fun because it was a mini-reunion (mini because we were missing a few Phelantologists who have graduated and moved on to bigger and better things).

I spent the better part of last night and this morning unpacking and cleaning, but you know how moves are.  You unpack 20 boxes only to realize you apparently packed all the plates and utensils, but somehow the glasses and bowls missed the boat.  This is made all the more shocking because somehow there are three used toothbrushes and a half empty roll of toothpaste in a box.  I know, I thought the same thing, Why in the world would I keep those for almost 15 months? Ewwwww….

Around 10 this morning I had a pretty comprehensive list of items I needed to purchase to make my new digs more habitable and so I ventured out to the store.  I know I arrived back in the U.S. about a month ago, but I’ve been so busy with conferences, social visits and family vacations that I haven’t spent any time doing normal day-to-day stuff- like going to the store.  This morning’s visit to Market Street (a grocery store) was a bit overwhelming.  I went in with a list of about a dozen things to buy.  But as I perused the aisles I kept thinking, Oh wow! They have XYZ product?  I should totally get one of those!......  They have ABC!  That’s amazing!  I haven’t seen one of those in…. hmmm…. a year, if not longer.  I definitely need that too…...  I don’t even know what this thing is!  But it looks AWESOME!  I’m totally getting this.  I don’t know what I’m gonna use it for, but I’m pretty sure I will LOVE IT! 

In aisle 8B I realized I had a problem.  Actually it was pointed out to me by Tim, a friendly shelf stocker.  I saw canned artichoke hearts and took EVERY SINGLE can off the shelf.  He stood there and watched me do this and said, “Are you sure you need ALL of those?”  I didn’t count them, but I would guess I had at least 100 cans of artichokes in my cart.  In the end I didn’t buy any of them because I realized I probably wouldn’t eat them this week anyway and I could just wait for them to go on sale.  And when they DO go on sale, they will actually be there.

Last night I was visiting with one of my former grad students and her husband.  Joe asked me, “What was the hardest thing about living in Africa?  What is the biggest adjustment coming home?”  I told him that it’s not the big things that make living abroad hard.  I knew before I went to Africa that there would be lots of power outages, that water rationing might mean you couldn’t take showers for days, that there were food shortages, so there were times you would go to the grocery store and there would be no fresh food on the shelf.  But you expect those things.  The things that drive you nuts are the little things.  Here in the U.S. if you need a battery you go to CVS a block away, run in, pick out the battery you need, pay for it and get out of there.  It should take 5 minutes or less to run that errand.  But that’s not how it works in Africa.  That task could take you all day, or several days.  (Remember when I tried to get my university ID?)

The best example of the little things driving you nuts involved two monkeys, a toothbrush, and what else? A condom.  Because in the end everything (in Africa) involves a condom, right?

One day I was in my house in Botswana, working at my desk on the first floor.  I heard a lot of commotion upstairs and went up to investigate.  Two monkeys had gotten into the house through my open bedroom window and were tearing my bathroom apart.  In the scuffle to get them out of there they knocked my face cream and toothbrush into the toilet.  Now, I wasn’t happy about the face cream because do you have any clue how difficult it is to find face cream for a white person in Africa?  Answer: Very hard.  But I could live without face cream.  I could NOT live without a toothbrush.  I finally got the monkeys out of the house and set out for the store to buy a new toothbrush.  It took me seven hours to (I think) nine or ten different stores in search of a toothbrush.  In the second to the last store I looked around, was unable to find a toothbrush and so I asked for assistance.  The store clerk said they did not have any toothbrushes, but instead offered me a box of condoms.  Though I desperately attempted to keep my cool I failed.  I started flailing my arms and told him, “I CANNOT CLEAN MY TEETH WITH THAT!!!!”  Thinking back on that now I remember the clerk nonchalantly shrugging as if to say, “Hey lady, here’s your option.  If you don’t like it, oh well.”

They say a lot of people who move overseas experience culture shock.  Many individuals also have similar challenges adjusting when they come home.  I suppose the artichokes are my reverse culture shock.  When I was at Market Street today I also stopped to stare at the wall of a thousand toothbrushes.  Sadly, Tim was there for that too.  I thought I was using my inner monologue when I said, “Wow, so many toothbrushes.  They are beautiful.”  But when Tim responded and said, “Yes, we have lots of toothbrushes.  But remember, you can only use one at a time” I thought it best to tell him, “I’m not strange.  I’ve been living in Africa.  I haven’t seen most of this stuff in forever.”  He nodded his head as if he truly understood me and said, “Well, in that case, we are open 24 hours, take your time looking around.” 

Soweto: South Africa’s Largest and Most Famous Township

When Nelson Mandela died back in December, you may have heard about his roots in Soweto.  Soweto is the largest and most famous township in Johannesburg, South Africa.  Soweto is short for South Western Township.  A township is a black, shantytown settlement. During apartheid in South Africa, towns and cities were segregated by race and black citizens were forced to leave their freehold properties and move into townships.  For the most part, these townships were primarily overcrowded, under-resourced, and exceptionally poor.  As Amanda, Ashleigh and I have been driving around in Botswana and South Africa they have seen several of these shantytowns and been curious about them.  Since it is considered unsafe to visit one of these neighborhoods without the assistance of a local who lives there, I decided it best to organize a tour for us.  And since Soweto is the most prolific example of a township I elected to do the tour there.

The interesting thing about Soweto is that it is now like a normal city.  There are two million people who live there now.  Granted, a huge portion of Soweto is comprised of tin one-room houses in which 10+ people live in each without electricity or indoor plumbing, but they have middle and upper class areas as well.  For instance, Mandela’s second wife, Winnie, owns (and still lives in) a giant home in a neighborhood with manicured lawns, BMWs and swimming pools.  This isn’t her house, but this is an example of one of the upper class residential areas:

Soweto also has one of the largest, and nicest, malls I have seen in South Africa.  The best part of this mall is that it is 100% locally owned.  There is even a McDonald’s (far right side of pic):

Of course, the tiny shanties dominate Soweto:

We were able to walk through the township and even visit our tour guide’s home there.  He said there were about 1,000 shanties in this neighborhood and everyone uses ONE tap to obtain water.  The woman in the bright green shirt is using the tap in this photo while the other women are waiting their turn:

And here is the inside of our guide’s home:

As we were leaving the shantytown we saw this guy who was collecting discarded plastic bottles and cans to turn in to the recycling center for a few dollars.  He had amassed all this since the beginning of the day:

One of the last stops on our tour was the Johannesburg cooling towers.  These were part of the old power plant which is no longer in operation.  Instead, they serve as a giant billboard-type advertisement while simultaneously giving thrill seekers the opportunity to bungee jump:

An Ode to the Dictionary

As a child I was very fortunate because my father treated me as his pet project.  To be fair, my mother was very dedicated and loving, and quite frankly the best mom a child could ask for.  But my relationship with my father was different.  Dad approached me the way a coach works with an athlete he intends to transform into a star.

I was never an exceptional athlete and that wasn’t my father’s intention.  He wanted me to be an intelligent human being.  I am not vain enough to say he succeeded, but I do have enough of an ego to admit that he obtained some victories related to that end goal.

Each of the graduate students I have ever worked with have all referred to the “Mighty Red Pen of Phelan” in their dissertation acknowledgements.  I come by that honestly.  Growing up my father would take joy in making my school assignments bleed.  If I asked him to look at a paper he would respond, “Where’s the red pen?”  By the time I reached high school I had become conditioned to hand him my paper and red pen simultaneously.

When I was growing up there was no Internet.  You couldn’t depend on spell check.  And there was no way to Google the meaning of a word.  Instead you had to use a dictionary.  My dad, being a big proponent of the dictionary, would edit my work and circle incorrect words.  It was then my responsibility to open the ever-present red dictionary to find the correct spelling or a replacement word.  This torture allowed me to develop a considerable vocabulary and taught me how to use my words.  This skill has proven invaluable here in Africa.

Last week I went to the mall to purchase new sneakers.  It was quite a chore to find women’s sneakers, but when I finally did, I selected a pair of Nikes and asked for a size 8 ½.

Store Clerk: We don’t sell half sizes.

KVP: It’s an American brand, yes, you do.

Clerk: We have size 7 only.

KVP: Ok, let me see a size 7.

Store clerk brings me a bright orange box which states in large font: size 9 ½.

KVP: See, this is a 9 ½. I need an 8 ½.  Can you find a box that says 8 ½ right here?

Clerk: No, we don’t have half sizes.

KVP:  Ok, can you bring me a size 6?

The clerk returns with a box that says 8 ½.  Here it is:

Can you see the 6?  It took me a good 5 minutes of staring at the box to see in teeny tiny letters UK_6.

This lack of understanding is a constant part of daily life here.  The other day I was having a conversation with someone in which she kept repeating the same question.  I kept answering her, each time using different words and phrases.  She continued using the same exact way of asking the question.  Eventually I had to say to her, “You keep repeating yourself and I keep trying to give you different variations of what I think is the correct answer.  Obviously you aren’t liking anything I’m saying, so we have a failure to communicate.  At this point I need you to please tell me what you want me to say because we aren’t getting anywhere.”  This was one example of my failure in the communication arena, but typically I am much more successful with this type of exchange. Nevertheless, I think my creativity in communicating has definitely been enhanced here.

One By One

Each time I go to the grocery store, I agonize over which queue to join.  Selecting the correct line in which to stand in is a challenge.  Somehow it seems I always stand in the wrong one.

I particularly loathe going to the grocery store here in Botswana.  There are many reasons for this.  First of all, it seems like it is perpetual chaos.  There are people everywhere, moving in every which direction.  Many walk right down the middle of an aisle, but no one walks in a straight line.  It’s as if everyone is drunk because they swerve from side to side.  Thus, walking in the middle of the aisle, while moving inconsistently, makes it nearly impossible for an expedient person (i.e. ME) to move around WWC (walking while confused) patrons.

Unfortunately the off kilter walking is only one part of the problem.  You also have to contend with the fact that apparently, no one intends to do anything aside from shop on this given day.  Most customers walk with no sense of urgency.  This translates into most people walking (on their feet) at the same pace with which I can probably walk on my hands.  I have never walked on my hands before, but if I did I’m sure I would move very slowly, making little if any progress.  There is no such thing as, “I’m just going to run in and buy a gallon of milk.  Wait in the car; I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”  Subjecting someone to “waiting in the car” means they will almost certainly die of heat exhaustion as they will no doubt be waiting all afternoon.

So, let’s say you manage to navigate a path through the drunken, slow walkers.  That’s great.  Except the store doesn’t have what you want.  A fun experiment- if you are feeling particularly patient and willing to accept mediocrity- is to ask a store employee for assistance.  I know I’ve discussed customer service before and the fact it is a foreign concept here.  Then there is the language barrier which is always interesting.  But as a general rule, no one appreciates questions because the customer is bothering them.  This means you will get a convoluted, nonsensical response.  Here’s an example: KVP: “Can you please tell me where I can find the milk?”  Store Clerk: “Blue.”  Exactly, nonsensical.

But truly, the worst part is the line.  Here’s how a line works in Botswana: customer gets to front of line having taken nothing out of his trolley (shopping cart).  One by one he takes an item out of the cart and places it in front of the cashier who scans it.  The customer watches the computer screen which keeps a running total of how much is owed.  When the customer reaches the limit of how much money he has in his pocket he abandons the cart IN ITS PLACE!  He doesn’t move it to the side.  He doesn’t apologize to the person behind him for leaving a half empty cart in his way.  He pays and walks away.

This is the result:

That’s right.  Some poor shop clerk is relegated to rounding up all the half empty carts deserted at check out.  My only issue with this practice is that there is no attention paid to perishable items.  There might be milk or butter or a frozen item sitting in a cart all day before someone from the store gets around to putting it back on a shelf.  I guess I should be happy I haven’t gotten food poisoning yet.  Of course, I am also happy that I don’t have to live so frugally that I can’t afford everything I want to purchase.

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 Dead Muzungu Market

Have you ever wondered when you donate to an organization where that stuff actually goes?  Let me tell you.

Actually, before I get into my story, let’s make sure we are all on the same page.  According to Phelan’s Dictionary:

Muzungu [moo-zune-goo]: (noun) Slang: a white person, a term used primarily in east and central African countries to refer to someone with light skin.

Ok, now that we have that key word defined, back to our regularly scheduled broadcast.

When you donate clothes or food or school supplies to an organization which claims to be helping orphans in Africa or homeless victims of a typhoon or some other depressed group in a land far, far away, what do you think actually happens to your donations?  Do you think those exact people actually get it and use it?  Survey says: NO.

Here’s what really happens:  Salvation Armies and Goodwills and other non-profit organizations all over the world collect donations and then send them to communities of their choosing.  Very often those things get sent to Africa.  And while sometimes they are donations, very often someone, somewhere is making a profit.

In most cases if the clothes actually make it to their destination and are given free of charge to community members, those people turn around and sell them.  All over Africa I see little kids wearing t-shirts that say “Sexy Grandma” or mechanics wearing “Race for the Cure” bandannas.  The University of North Carolina must have a huge student group which collects clothing donations and sends them to Africa, because I think that is the most prevalent collegiate attire I see in every country on the continent.  And when I was in Congo last week I finally saw…… a guy on a motor bike wearing a Texas Tech sweatshirt!  I practically caused a traffic accident trying to talk to the TTU sweatshirt guy, but was unable to take a picture because there were half a dozen police officers standing nearby witnessing our conversation.  When I asked Mr. TTU Sweatshirt where he obtained his prized possession he told me he purchased it at the Dead Muzungu Market.

The Dead Muzungu Market is where your donations begin their second life.  The reason it is called the Dead Muzungu Market is because everyone shopping there believes the clothes previously belonged to dead muzungus.  Why else would someone get rid of perfectly good clothes?  Obviously, someone died which is why their clothes ended up all the way in Africa.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, anything you own in Africa (car, refrigerator, phone, etc.) is used until it literately dies and cannot be used any longer.  So the concept of disposing of clothes which can still be worn does not make logical sense to anyone here.  Hence, if the clothes are still intact and can be worn there must be another reason someone got rid of them.  If the clothes didn’t fall apart and die, then their owner must have, thus creating the belief that all these clothes shipped from abroad belonged to now dead muzungus.

Keep this in mind and smile next time you donate your former sorority rush night t-shirt to your church group.  Chances are sometime in the future a taxi driver in Sierra Leone will be wearing it proudly and announcing to friends that he purchased it at the Dead Muzungu Market.

I’m Going to be on the Suze Orman Show!

Living in Africa you come to forget about the constant sensory stimulation you have at home.  Here all of the stores close at 7pm on the weekdays and 6pm on the weekends.  So you can’t really hang out at the mall in the evenings.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, there is limited television to watch.  If you do have access to television you probably either watch cricket, national programs or Keeping Up with the Kardashians.  I have to admit, I’m a little embarrassed THAT is our primary export to Botswana. 

Even if there are cultural or community events chances are good they will be cancelled, start late, or no one will be aware of them ahead of time because the concept of marketing doesn’t really exist here.

Since there are few things to do outside your home and work, you are left to your own devices when it comes to entertaining yourself.  That’s why a few months back I decided to take driving lessons.  Of course, that whole deal crashed and burned rather quickly.  But it was definitely entertaining while it lasted.

I’ve found other methods of entertaining myself since then.  For instance, I decided to download all the free television episodes on iTunes.  It took me about three weeks to download all 200 shows.  The funny thing is that I was more dedicated to the downloading process than actually watching them.  I’ve probably only watched about half a dozen shows.  Of course, in the event of extreme boredom I can always enjoy RuPaul’s Drag Race, Border Wars, Mario Lopez: Saved by the Baby, and Snooki & J-Woww. (By the way, I had to look up Snooki & J-Woww because I wasn’t actually sure how to spell J-Woww.)

Since the iTunes downloading marathon has lost its interest to me I had to find a new hobby.  So… I’m going to be on the Suze Orman Show.  I submitted a question to the “Can I Afford It?” segment.  Basically, you tell Suze what you want to buy; she looks at your finances and then tells you if you can afford it.  We did the taping today which was a lot of fun.  We talked about Botswana and of course, what I wanted to buy.  I’m not sure when the actual episode will be broadcast but in case you happen to watch the show (I believe it is on CNBC Saturdays at 9pm) I won’t ruin the ending by telling you whether I was APPROVED or DENIED.  The best part is, I get a t-shirt!

My Confession

Bless me Father for I have sinned.  I recently littered, probably for the first time in my adult life, if not for the only time in my entire life.

As many people know, I used to work in Walt Disney World, the Happiest Place, and arguably, the Cleanest Place, on Earth.  At Disney you are trained so thoroughly that the corporate standards become second habit and you adopt them as your own personal beliefs.

For instance, Disney teaches you never to point because it is too abrasive.  If you need to give directions or draw someone’s attention to a particular area, you use either a two finger point or the entire hand.  This gesture is considered more welcoming, less aggressive and friendlier than a one digit motion.

Disney also instills in you a strong displeasure for trash.  That is particularly funny here in Africa, where trash is so abundant people live in trash in some areas.  I would LOVE to see Disney do a field trip to Africa with their cast members (You aren’t an employee because that is too impersonal; you are a cast member because you are playing a part on stage and the guests [i.e. the customers] are the stars of the show. See what I mean about the Disney culture?).  That would be an interesting experiment because Disney teaches its Cast Members that trash should never be ignored.  If you see a piece of trash on the ground you MUST pick it up.  If you are a cast member and get caught ignoring a piece of trash you WILL be chewed out by any and all cast members who witness the event.

The Disney anti-trash movement is so ingrained that there is even a named protocol: the Walk ‘N Scoop Method.  The Walk ‘N Scoop involves someone seeing a piece of trash, walking toward the trash, bending down while still walking, picking up the trash while still walking, and walking away, never slowing down or breaking stride.  It is expected that the Walk ‘N Scoop should be so effortless that an uninitiated observer will not even take note of what he has just seen.

A big proponent of the Walk ‘N Scoop myself, even 15 years after leaving Disney, I have largely abandoned that philosophy here.  Sadly, littering is part of everyday life in Africa.  People don’t think twice about throwing trash on the ground.  Part of that is probably due to the lack of trash cans.  More than once I’ve carried a bottle or package around with me all afternoon, keeping an eye open for a garbage receptacle and never finding one.  But I never thought I would contribute to the littering problem, until recently.

Two weeks ago I was at the mall, where I bought a miniature sized chocolate bar which I planned to take home and eat after dinner.  We are in the midst of summer here and it seldom drops below 100 degrees while the sun is up.  I was leaving the mall, chocolate in hand, to walk about a mile to the combi (minibus) stop to catch a ride back to my neighborhood.  As I walked along I could feel the chocolate slowly disintegrating in my hand.  It started to seep out of the package and into my palm.  Looking around frantically I could not locate a trash can anywhere and I didn’t want to carry the melting candy all the way home which was about a 20 minute ride stuffed into a clown-car type vehicle with no air conditioning.  Plus, even when I got to my stop I would have to walk about another mile to get to my house.  After a lot of mental anguish I finally decided to do it; I threw the candy on the ground.

Coming from a strict Irish Catholic family I couldn’t bare the guilt and told my neighbors.  The look of shame from them made me feel even worse.  “I don’t think you should be telling people that Kelly.  Of course, at the rate they pick up trash around here, if you go back there you may just see it in the same place you left it,” Phil suggested.

Always one for a good experiment, I figured I would test Phil’s theory.  I went back to the mall, right to the spot where I dropped my litter two weeks ago and shockingly, it was there!

I’m not sure if reclaiming the candy and properly disposing of it absolves me of my sin, but after identifying the candy as mine I did utilize the Walk ‘N Scoop, for posterity’s sake.

“Are you shopping for real estate? Or a girlfriend?”

I know I’ve mentioned a few times before that I belong to a gym, but I didn’t realize until recently that it is atypical of women to work out here.  Back in the U.S. I’ve been in Zumba classes with 50 or even 100 other women.  But here I seldom see women at the gym.  I didn’t actually take notice of this fact until I needed to buy a pair of shorts.  Last week I went to countless stores in three different malls trying to find women’s gym shorts.  Each time I asked someone about them they looked at me as if I was crazy.  I finally asked why it was impossible to find them and was told, “Women here just don’t work out.  There is no need for us to carry gym shorts for women.”

After receiving this explanation, being a researcher by trade, I decided to launch my own investigation.  Over the past week I’ve spent about 12 hours in the gym.  During that time I have seen a total of 14 women and approximately 600 men.  Thus, the retailers are correct, it’s more to their benefit to sell men’s gym clothes as opposed to women’s apparel.

Over the last three months I do not recall ever once being in the weight room and seeing another female there, which probably explains why I tend to get an unusually high amount of attention when I enter that space.  Thankfully after my first venture into the weight room back in August I silenced all whisperings about my presence.  I guess deadlifting 120% of your body weight will do that.  Now when I arrive everyone just says “Hi” and then seems to forget I’m there.  This means I am often privy to overhearing some unique male Batswana conversations. I am receiving quite an education.

A recent conversation centered around someone’s “big house” and “little house.” I was impressed this bodybuilder (yes, bodybuilder; he is competing in this month’s Mr. Botswana competition) had two houses.  But the more I “inadvertently overheard” this conversation the more confused I became. Apparently “little house” had become too demanding, which was causing “big house” to become suspicious.  Hmmmmm……

I was beginning to think I was going to have to approach the professor with whom I co-teach to clear up the “little house/ big house” confusion.  Thankfully, another solution revealed itself.  One day the bodybuilder approached me, informed me he was looking for a new “little house,” and was I interested in the position?  Or, if I wasn’t interested in being the “little house” would I like to “kick it” sometime? (“Kick it” was actually completely new terminology, so that was even more exciting!) Ah-ha!  This was my opportunity.  “I’m sorry, I’m confused.  What’s the question? Are you shopping for real estate? Or a girlfriend?”

Fortunately my charming personality overshadowed my naivety and he enlightened me as to Botswana’s dating/cheating/“let me sex you up” vocabulary:

“Big house” is your main, public relationship.  This is the husband, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend that everyone knows you have.

The “little house” is your “someone on the side.” This person is a secret from “big house” and everyone else.  The “little house” is aware there is a “big house” and that “big house” better NEVER find out about the existence of the “little house.”

For those individuals who prefer to forego the commitment level of being a “big house” or a “little house” there is always the option of “kicking it” which is different from “hanging.” “Hanging” is platonic, while “kicking it” is no strings attached sex.

At the conclusion of his “sexual healing” lecture in the middle of the weight room, my aspiring Mr. Botswana friend asked what I thought, “So, would you like to be my little house?” I have no doubt I had a huge smile on my face as I was desperately trying not to laugh.  “YES! I would LOVE to be your little house! How could a girl turn down an offer like that? I’ve dreamed of this opportunity my WHOLE LIFE!”  (Just kidding, I did NOT say that.)  “No thank you, I don’t think I can be your little house.  I am currently in a negotiation with a potential big house and don’t want to risk messing it up this early. But! Can I have your phone number? I have a friend who would love to meet you.” “Really? Sure!” “Oh no! Please don’t get excited, she’s not going to be your little house either.  She is a researcher of sexual behavior in communities with high incidence of HIV/AIDs infection.  She would LOVE to hear about this.”

Without answering me he turned and walked away. I think I may have crushed his hopes.  Too bad, because he and I used to “hang.”  I may have to find myself a new spotter now.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like ChristmaWHAT?!?!

When I teach back in the States I prefer the fall semester to the spring. My reasoning is that fall is all about holidays, so the students (and I to a certain extent) always have something to look forward to, lots of little milestones and goals to reach. Labor Day doesn’t really count because that is only the second week of school. But then, the beginning of October marks the start of fall and everyone looks forward to Halloween. Even if they aren’t dressing up the students can enjoy the candy and the parties.

Once Halloween is over everyone can see the end in sight. Less than a month until Thanksgiving when they go home for a long weekend, watch football and eat turkey. In reality, if I haven’t covered the material I want the students to know before Thanksgiving break I might as well forget about it because once they return all they are thinking about is final exams and getting off campus as quickly as possible.

Here in Botswana we don’t have the “pre-game” holidays as I like to call them. There is no Halloween or Thanksgiving. Instead we jump from the start of the semester August 1st and then straight through to Christmas. As such, we have to prepare for Christmas early in order to have something to anticipate with excitement. Believe it or not, now is the appropriate time to start prepping for Christmas. Keep in mind; it is 65 days until Christmas. But, everyone is really getting into the holiday spirit. You see trees, lights, music. Even some of the neighborhoods are decorated. This is my street in fact:

Do you believe me? I hope not. If you haven't seen it before that is 34th Street in the Hampden neighborhood of Baltimore, Maryland. I did my undergrad at Johns Hopkins which is about two blocks from 34th Street, so it was always a favorite sight of mine and all my classmates around final exam time. If you are EVER in the Baltimore area between Thanksgiving and New Year's you absolutely MUST make a trip to 34th Street.

Truthfully though, Botswana is preparing for Christmas. I was shocked when I went to the mall today and saw this:

And this:

I appreciate the effort, though these decorations pale in comparison to what most of us have seen in other countries. But here is what I find funny: Not long ago I wrote a blog post about the strange things my students ask me. In one class I was discussing North Pole, Alaska and the year-round Christmas theme. The students were familiar with Christmas; however, many did not know about Santa Claus and were shocked when I told them there were presents involved. Thus, why the decorations? And more importantly, why install the decorations more than two months early? NOTHING runs on time here, and certainly not early, so why would the decorations be up so early? Yet another question no one can answer for me…TIA.

Extreme Couponing: Botswana

Have you ever watched the television show Extreme Couponing? If you haven’t, the premise of the show is that families clip coupons and then go shopping. By using the coupons at checkout they end up saving upwards for 90% of their total bill. In other words, a shopping trip which would typically cost $1,000 only costs $100 or less. In many cases they get items for free or even cash back with double coupon deals.

Here in Botswana we do not have anything even close to Extreme Couponing. In fact, the Sunday paper here doesn’t have coupons at all. But we do have a special publication which comes out each week called The Botswana Advertiser. The Advertiser is available virtually everywhere nationwide; I pick mine up each week at the gym. I’m never really looking for anything, but it is interesting to see what is available for sale. However, I did purchase a microwave from an ad in The Advertiser and I LOVE MY MICROWAVE!

The Advertiser:

Last week’s issue of The Advertiser included the following items for sale/rent: houses, cheap strong bricks, best clowns, brazillian hair, jumping castles (there were 9 ads for those, I guess they must be in high demand), donkey meat and VIP toilets. But here is what really blew my mind:

Who just has a bus lying around that they need to sell?!?!

Remember when I went to the UNWTO conference back in August? If not you can read about it here, here, here and here. But, one of my observations was the fact that the host nations, Zambia and Zimbabwe, had both bought a fleet of new police cars, staff vehicles and busses in which to transport attendees. I couldn’t fathom what they would do with a couple hundred brand new busses at the conclusion of the conference. But when I saw the ad in The Advertiser I thought they may have found a solution. Perhaps I should call and inquire for myself.