good days, bad days

In my experience so far, a really bad day here usually seems to be rewarded by an amazing one soon after. Maybe that’s just my Zen belief in some sort of balance of good and bad, crappiness and happiness in the world speaking, or maybe it’s because things here always seem to happen in the extreme (a bad day is really bad, a good day is incredible), but so far the theory has pretty much held up.

Take this past Friday for example. It was a TOTAL DISASTER. It was party preparation day—the thank you party I was throwing for the village of Kachikau was to be on Saturday, and so Friday was the day that all the shopping had to be done, logistics finalized, and everything transported from Kasane out to the village. I should have known it was a bad sign when I woke up to heavy rain, the kind that seemed like it was going to stick, rather than the usual thunderstorm that quickly passes through.
Prince and Kaelo (my assistants) arrived in town and sent me a message saying “we are wet and shivering”—it was only when I saw them that I realized that they hadn’t just gotten wet running from the mini-bus station to the grocery store, but that they had instead gotten a lift in from the village in an open bed of a truck and had spent about the last hour completely exposed to the driving rain! No wonder they looked absolutely miserable—Kaelo had a scarf over her head and was insisting she needed an emergency trip to the hair salon, and even the ever-upbeat Prince had chattering teeth instead. Not a good start to the day. What next? Let’s see: Sefalana (the Kasane equivalent of a whole sale Costco) said their credit card machine was down (thus draining all my cash for the day), Chobe Farms had no produce (what kind of farm only has pickled onions available??), and then…the car broke down. Again. I had had high hopes of getting to the village in time to check on all the party helpers (i.e. cooks, the guy collecting firewood, the guys responsible for slaughtering the cow we had purchased, etc.), but with the car in the shop and an ETA of 2 hours for the repairs to be done, we were totally behind schedule. Ahh! I bought us all lunch, made tea and we warmed up in my little cottage, a much needed respite before venturing back into the terrible, wet, no-good day. This time, the problem was cabbage. No cabbage at Choppies, and by the time I got to Spar, all the cabbage that had been piled up there in the morning was gone. The guy working there says, hold on a sec, I’ll go to the back and get some, and what feels like an hour later emerges with two heads of cabbage. No, I need like EIGHT huge cabbages, I feel myself impatiently (and probably rudely) say. Oh. He goes back and now after what feels like two hours later, I storm back into the warehouse area shouting for the cabbage man. The manager comes out to inquire and I feel like a very silly lady. But a few minutes later, eight cabbage appear and I get them out of the store in a “borrowed” shopping cart (you aren’t supposed to leave the store with the carts but do they have any idea how heavy eight large cabbage heads each the size of a basketball are??) I retrieve the car in working condition (thank god), Kaelo finishes fixing her waterlogged hair at the salon, we pick up Prince at Choppies with the last of the groceries, and we are on the road. Finally! Nevermind that when we get to the village we still have to drive around looking for the person with the key to the storage room containing the large cooking pots. I am just relieved to have actually gotten out of Kasane with the three of us, the groceries and the car still intact. My head is pounding and I shell out gold foil-wrapped chocolates as some sort of consolation prize for the day.

And then Saturday happened. And somehow it totally made up for the hectic and stressful and “I hate Botswana” previous day. Yes, there were little hiccups—the dancers went missing just before they were supposed to perform, there was no electricity for the music, there was a huge truck with diesel parked dangerously close to where the cook had set up an open fire for cooking—but somehow it all got resolved. Well actually Prince resolved most of it, miracle worker that he is—stalling the opening ceremonies ‘till the dancers showed up; running home to get his generator and siphoning petrol out of my car to run the stereo system; literally moving the cooking fires, amongst many other things. I had been so nervous about all the preparations that when I suddenly found myself enjoying the party and having a bit of fun, it almost felt unexpected. Like I had forgotten that it might actually work out alright. And not just for me—according to the general sentiment, that party was a grand success!! Namely because there was a TON of food (we had slaughtered a big cow for this affair), enough so that people could fill up their Tupperware containers (it was BYOB—bring your own bowl), eat plenty and still have some to take home. But also the dancers performed smashingly (captured on video), the DJ was on point (and it was hilarious to watch old grannies dancing to his hip-hop remixes), and the speeches were just the right length. Prince delivered his eloquent introduction of me, I stumbled my way in Setswana through a brief thank-you speech, and the elders gave a couple opening and closing prayers. As the last of the guests started towards home with their rice and meat filled Tupperware, and the cooks began the arduous task of scrubbing out cast-iron pots big enough for a person to crawl inside, a sense of contentment and relief washed over me. The party had gone well, and I felt as though I could now leave the village knowing I had expressed my gratitude and appreciation to the best of my abilities. And even though Prince’s research assistant position would soon be ending, I also realized that I couldn’t think of a better person to recommend as a Batswana party planner! I drove back to Kasane exhausted, but finally enjoying the view out my window—the thick blue band of river, spotted with half-sunk palm trees surprised by the recent floods, the late-afternoon sun making the acacias and green grasses and munching cows look soft and warm, and a few lone cattle posts and roadside homes where elderly folk finished up their daily chores while small children glanced up as I drove, drove, drove on by.