Nharo!

2008-12-14T20:22:00.000-08:00

Getting ready for a trip to Africa requires a lot of focus. This year has proved difficult and my thoughts have been dominated by Zimbabwe.

I was there in February twice. The life had dropped off comparing to the first time I was there in 2002. The hustle and bustle had dropped off. Hope was in the air though brought by the promise of upcoming elections.

To know what is happening today is difficult. I wrote a friend in Livingstone, Zambia to ask how things were across the border. Here is her reply:

Hey!how soon?
Well you`ve got a reason to worry about our brothers & sisters in zim.You know that person is loosing all his senses that he does n`t know what to do any more.It will be of help to a few families who will sell stones to you that day.If you you had all the money in the world i would ask you to buy from every one just to help them. The situation is calm only hunger and no money.You can go there freely.Take care.

So, my hope will be that I can go freely.

Zimbabwe over years has been like the stock markets the last few months. It looks like it has bottomed out but in fact there is another drop, and then another. My people have been conditioned to expect that things are always going to get better. This is not the way life works.

But in Zimbabwe I always find hope. My friends, all the brothers and sisters, are looking for the day when their country will shine again.

2008-09-18T12:18:00.001-07:00

This was written in Kitwe, Zambia in February. Because of ensuing, continued hairiness it was not published until now.

Blindsided

Somedays you think that everything can be fine. But it can’t be everyday.

Even though things aren’t going particularly well my spirits are high. A week or two before the impending arrival at Kitwe we began to call. It’s not easy to figure out how to call exactly as all of the cell phone numbers in Zambia have changed. Some now had an extra 5, 6, 7, 8 or 9. Depending if it’s Celtel, MTN or CellZ the numeral added would be different. Occasionally upon dialing an old number a cryptic message would say carry on as normal but start with ‘099’ and carry on with the remaining seven digits. (A local will know exactly what to do if you show them the old number so you have to get to Zambia to try really.)

People rhyme off numbers here frequently and the new digits have yet to fit into the rhythm and cadence as they recite always having a hanging single digit left out in the air while the others are grouped in twos or threes.

So with a couple weeks to go we were trying. Of the two numbers I had, one was going to someone who insisted they weren’t, never were, and never knew the person I was looking for. The other number was working but speaking only Bemba. Mulishani!

So, with the help of my close friend, Field Hamalila we were able to determine that the lady who helped to organize our lives was at the markets or down the road or at the salon as we phoned every day.

With confidence we were told: “Come, come, she’s here!”

Now at arrival, we looked and didn’t find. It was at first said Congo and then it was Zimbabwe and then Tanzania. It was settled that she was actually in Zanzibar but was on the way back. Frantic phone calls were made as it became evident the best laid plans were not laid at all.

Always in every place it’s the same time that I come and there will be a lot of mentions of the fact that I’m going to be there soon and then it is that I appear. It’s not a clockwork rhythm because clocks use minutes and hours and I work fairly reliably on years. Three here now.

So it was that she would be here by Friday latest. All that stood her from being here was some thousands of kilometers, a ferry, a slow train and a few hundred kilometers extra by road burdened all the way by whatever bundles, bags, packages and other assorted weighty goods that would make the journey that much harder. But Friday, everyone agreed, she would be here.

In the meantime, on a Sunday, it’s not the best of news. So our coordinator was not around but we knew everyone and they were all keen to help as they could. As the work was there for us to do we might as well do it.

Now traveling with Field can always be pleasant because as hours go by hours of stories will come from his mouth. In the gaps I try to fill with stories of my own or we can work on creating more.

The themes revolve around great tales of Zambian corruption or the betrayal of lovers or of families who have torn themselves apart. It can keep your ears happily. Even if a song on the radio happens a translation of what the song is about can be forthcoming with a flourish. Especially those songs about faithfulness, unfaithfulness or in between. My favorite about the mechanic who is to be called when something on the car is broken. For example, which ever thing, like a carburetor, he will come over and fix that thing. Or if you can think of anything on the car that will be broken you should call this mechanic. I am your mechanic. I have spanners and other tools that can fix all of the problems in your car. Just call me. Wink.

So we travel. Starting at Livingstone, going north. There are stops along the way and since Lusaka is big place we stop for a couple days. I don’t remember what we did now but it was pretty fun. Cha Cha Cha for those who know.

So further north again you cross a beautiful big river and you would marvel at that river as it’s very big, full of water. You would probably stop and see if there could be a hippo. Or just to stop because it seems the place you should stop.

Before you know you will be at Ndola and that’s a good place to stop also, even for the night, your first night in this area. Kitwe is wild and frenetic. The culture is Zambian but with a mix of Congolese owing to the close proximity to the border.

There is a real Africa here. When you need an anything you go to the markets since they can have it and cheaper, if you know what cheaper is, than at the shops. If you don’t know it might be more expensive. Hose pipe, they have it. Impwa, a sort of eggplant tasting thing that doesn’t look like one is here. Units for your cell phone. Cassette tapes, especially Kenny Rogers and the beloved Don Williams.

If you can keep calm the market is a place to enjoy. You only have to look and you will see things. Sometimes I don’t envy the life of the marketeers you can see a weariness in the women as they sell their vegetables. At some point I thought that they grew them but this was naïve of me to even consider. Someone else grows them. The women come at five and buy from somebody. They put a small, small profit and sell the tomatoes and onions in piles. Little signs tell you how much for each certain size of pile. 1000 Kwacha, 1500, or the big one for two – five. The women are expert at making these piles.

The quality of the assorted foods is good and it makes you feel healthy to know that you can buy and eat these things that are so fresh. Especially the ground nuts. Ground nuts are simply put peanuts except they are much better. Peanuts are dry boring salty snacks that don’t make you excited at all. But ground nuts are still wet from being freshly taken out of the earth.

One pin can get you scoop but you might as well go for two pin and share with whoever’s around.

So with the excitement of the Congolese in the air you will be caught up in it and want to see more. Whether you are ready or not the urge to go will be there.

Field and I talked about how to do it. One of the things we did at Lusaka was to go to the Congolese embassy. The first thing they said was to go back and get long pants on.

So after putting on long pants for the first time in weeks we found a window closed but managed to get it opened to be told to apply at Ndola. No problem. Merci Monsieur, aurevoir.

So at Ndola Monday morning we got papers and went for passport photos and were told there would be no problems.

By 11, the appointed hour we joined the assembled 30 men and one late arriving woman. We sat as a mob descended picking up travel documents from the same man who told us about no problems.

After the crowd thinned he spotted me and declared “oh you!”.

“The Big Man says no, you can’t get a visa”

“Uh, why not, you said no problem”

At any rate, to go to Congo you must know someone. Never having been there I didn’t have the required connections. But Field and I wanted to make it.

I checked and found that with a letter from a Congolese hand you might be invited enough to receive a Visa.

Field is looking at me now. There’s a game he likes on the computer. A game which gave him hell, but not always. It a bit tricky, challenging. Freecell. He used to hammer it.

Through Kitwe we began to look for a Congolese who could take us. Nina was there for us. She had overstayed her days but there was a certain pastor who could go to the border and help her so that she could extend her days so that she wouldn’t be given hell and not allowed back upon leaving.

We made a complicated other arrangement and set off for Ndola again. Nina would join us the next day early to go with us to the Congo embassy and we could not be refused.

So we set off in good spirits. Now at Kitwe, it’s a mining town. There is a lot of copper around. Not just copper but also it’s famous for emeralds.

As you drive around Kitwe you’ll be confused about the traffic signals. It seems like the budget for green lights in the traffic signals (robots) is out since most are missing.

Now if you wanted to make a fake emerald you would need something green. I suspect someone thought of the green traffic light, perhaps while sitting behind a pile of vegetables and watching the rhythm of the day go buy. Red. Yellow. Green. Green! The lamps cut nicely and they can sell nicely also. One Anglo-American employee at Chingola took two nice big ones for $1600 USD.

Also recently another man took $25,000 of polished glass. All the craft sellers know about the big scores. A big score can translate into a nice house in Kitwe.

So, being that Kitwe was rough like that it’s better we push to Congo and worse.

But somedays you can get blindsided. And we were. A Mistubishi Pajero hammered us. There were no robots or stop signs on any side of the intersection that we entered first. The police later explained that vandals had stolen them all.

So when you get struck like that the first thing to do is to ask Field if he’s okay. He seems to be. And yourself? Yes, seemingly. Then Field will tell you not to move. Not to get out of the car. Sit there. Even if the glass is out of your window. It might not even be that your door can open since it is hammered. It also might be that you can taste the glass in your mouth. How does that happen? Is it sand? Is it glass?

Are you bleeding? A bit, on two sore fingers but it’s really nothing. How is your head. What about this crowd. The crowd is there. Stay in the car, the door doesn’t work anyways.

The engine is making the wrong noises. Fluids are out the bottom. Is it oil? Gear oil? Power steering fluid. Ah the gear shift, it’s snapped in two.

The crowd is getting big and bigger. Stay in the car. Safeguard the stuff in the car.

If you look out the window you might not feel good at the angle of the tire. That tire is fucked down. Not a bit but a lot. The gear shift is snapped in two. Stay in the car. The police are coming.

Now the car is blocking. Mining trucks aren’t happy. The useful in the crowd gather around the back of the car and start lifting and pushing. At least now the car is spun parallel.

Cops are here. Okay, at least come out now. They are very indifferent and not interested in what is happening. There is a dark hole beside the car. A cop falls in and curses. The crowd is leaving. Nothing to see, no blood.

The other driver seems in fine spirits. Accidents happen. There’s no blood. Nothing to be upset about.

Field falls in the hole. So does the passenger in the car. A bit of blood is coming from his legs. It’s from the hole, not the accident. He’s gushing but not much. A Madala, the big boss of the other car arrives. He tells the passenger to stop whining. The blood is from the hole, not the accident. You shut up.

I get back in the car and start checking. It seems like the dashboard is bent. All things in the car seem to be right cacced. This car will not be moving soon. A tow truck driver is there. He’s revving the engine and backing into place.

A long while passes and the tow truck driver doesn’t accomplish the lift. Cops are impatient. Lets go, someone might want a night in the cell. Lets go, lets go.

Field, take the keys, watch the stuff, don’t leave the car.

The cops mention cells too much. I don’t need to see a cell and they know why. The cells are not for me. They are for people from here. People who know where and why they should stop where there are no stop signs. These roads are not familiar. Look at my car. I have other problems. Guys, no cells for me.

We’ll see what to do.

Statements. You outside. You can’t listen to his statement stand out there.

There’s a very drunk man also there. That one must see a cell. The lady who’s car was bumped is insisting that they need a breathylyzer for him. Look at him the man is so overdrunk.

The cops aren’t convinced. The damage is not much.

He wanders outside and urinates. I mention that might be an extra charge. It is too, public nuisance. Field later mentions that is a popular charge. The cops also like threatening the peace. They love that charge. They can slap it anytime. Even when there is no charge they can charge it. Ah, threatening peace. Even if someone just spits the cops can charge.

The breathylyzer is .12. The man mentions to the other end of the phone that he’ll be home in a few beers. No. Cells. He’ll be home in a few years.

But the cells are not for me.

The other guys were cruising.

So, no cells. For me. You have to have the attitude that it is never a possibility. And really, it can’t be.

So statements done then to wait for the tow truck. It’s taking long. The impatient cop hops back in his car to go back and find out the reason why.

Some minutes later the same tow truck comes attached to another tow truck. The original no longer having a functioning clutch plate. The strong one seemed to have a more sensible driver.

Now the issues of money come out. What to do here. Tow trucks, possible fines, insurance.

So it goes. But tonight, the next night. I can say that if you asked me at that time if the car could even move in 24 hours would I be satisfied I would just say yes. So since it is then I can say I’m satisfied.

There are problems. The car is now sekorokoro but it moved.

The 4 x 4 can not be disengaged. There is a new wishbone, ball joint and shock on the front right impact side. The car makes funny noises now. It has been up on bricks, pieces of wood, and jacks all day in front of the police station. It was pounded with a sledge hammer. They call it panel beating.

So it moves at least. Tomorrow will be more beating. The window is gone so hope it doesn’t rain. The door doesn’t open so climb across. This is no longer a Japanese car. It’s an African car now.

Two hours, our reliable tow truck driver / mechanic promises. I’ll book the whole day. The car is driving at least and 24 back I wouldn’t have thought so. It’s just sekorokoro car now, an African car.

2008-01-27T08:51:00.001-08:00

Sir Seretse Khama Airport

After one week in Gaborone I was ready to go. My guest this trip was Katherine Topolniski, a photographer from Canada, my graphic designer and a friend.

Katt arrived as scheduled and walked out through customs only to have to run back to fill in missing information of where she’d be staying while in Botswana. Nomad is the description which is apt but instead I advised the Mogoditshane Service Apartments (no-frills, but clean P50 per night and up).

Her gate pass already in hand I thought another ten minutes and we would be on the road to Kgalagadi as scheduled. But, this is Africa. Katt’s bags were suspected to be in Johannesburg. Within a few minutes of leaving we were called to say they would be on the next flight.

We went back at the appropriate time and Katt was shuffled back to look at all the bags. She was not the only one in this predicament. Seemingly there was a problem with the conveyor belt at Johannesburg or that the hot air would not allow the planes to run heavy so bags were regularly left or that the storage on the plane was very small, all or none of which may be true.

After further fiddling on a computer it was determined that the bags were actually in Paris which isn’t bad since they were only off by one continent.

We decided to push the next morning without the bags as they may again end up elsewhere than we wanted them to be. Strangely all you really need for sure here is clean underwear, especially if you are the type who prefers clean underwear. My toiletries consist mainly of a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a bar of soap. I have one suitcase filled with clean underwear and another with beads, earring hooks and other paraphernalia demanded by the sorts of artisans that I consort with.

Kgalagadi

The Kgalagadi district is one of my favorite places. Having lost a day we decided to act as a whirlwind or dust devil might and spin through. My favorite friend in the area Pedris had been following my delays as they developed by the hour and faithfully waited even though it might be possible he was neglecting his job as a generator operator. The generators are required to produce electricity to provide power to boreholes which supply water to the inhabitants on the settlements in Kgalagadi.

I phoned Pedris from in front of the bar and he informed me he was behind the bar. It’s always nice to reunite. From Hukuntsi we discussed the plans. We passed through Zutshwa and flagged people down to let them know that tomorrow we would be back at 11:00 to buy.

As we approached the last house of the village we saw a hectic pandemonium. Three children a man and a woman were running circles around the hut. They were yelling in !Xo. It was quickly translated for us to English: “Snake in the House!”

I noticed sticks in the hands of the children and they were poking and thrashing at a small mamba which soon wound up dead.

We pushed for Ngwatle. It’s a peaceful place miles away from the annoyances that are inherent in places with electricity. Of course, that’s not exactly the view of the people and they commandeered my vehicle to blast some traditional music from the tape deck. Of course they also left the fan running and a drained battery as a result.

But there’s no need to panic. The worst case is that you are stuck in a great place. At Ngwatle that day the forestry department had arrived to deliver trees in an effort to reforest the area. Each resident was entitled to three small trees.

The forestry department was happy enough to give me a boost and off we went.

The quality of the beadwork at Ngwatle is incomparable and I was happy to buy everything available.

The next stop was again Zutshwa and by 12:30 we were arrived at the Kgotla. Of course, we were the only ones. Someone had spread the rumour that we were to be there at 2. Despite that as we arrived people started walking from all corners of the village.

Zutshwa is not a village where people live close together so it took a couple of hours to have the late stragglers arrive. In the meantime I bought all available and made it back by the end of the night to Hukuntsi for a beer and some rest.

I am now in Namibia and desperately behind in my blogging and what not but ahead in other areas so it has been a worthy trade. I will do my level best to catch up.

Karibib

The new places are always more interesting since you can’t know what’s around the corner. Turning left at Otjiwarongo leads to Karibib. I might actually have been here if you can count passing on a train. There was a choice of staying at a campsite or a backpackers. The backpackers was empty and there were two guests at the campsites. One of the guys looked like a goat-killer and upon further looking I concluded he was owing to the goat carcass hanging from a tree behind him.

The backpackers represented the first bed in a while and it was welcomed. Plans to go out for a beer were scuttled on account of already being asleep.

UsakosNamibia is famous for mineral wealth. Past Usakos at the turn off to a gravel road leading north was a row of small stalls filled with women behind tables full of minerals. Mostly Aquamarine, tourmalines, garnets, quartzes and more.

At the time the women were selling there were men off in mountains with tools for digging looking for more stones to bring to the road. If asking where a stone was from, the owner would just point in the direction of one of three mountains in the distance.

Arriving before ten it took a few hours to go through everything. The sun was hammering by the end of the day. My calves, neck and forearms were all casualties.

Erongo

Sometimes you are in places where your mind couldn’t imagine such beauty. Even to think that life can happen in such places is difficult but clearly it’s there. Signs of life appear whether it’s tree, shrub or grass jutting out between rocks. After that there are occasional huts and fences indicating the local Damara people and their livestock. From there we were lucky to get very close to spy kudus, springboks and baboons.

Pushing forward we arrived at a place called Khorixas and ate local gemsbok. Pretty good.

Kunene

Pushing from Khorixas we were bound for Opuwo. Reading a map and driving a road are two different things. We’d been advised there might be some cool stuff along the rocky roads going through Uis, Palmswag and Sesfontein.

Sesfontein especially seemed big on the map and clearly indicated were that there were some handy gas pumps there.

Pushing through the dessert was marvelous. Most of the rocks for kilometers were remnants of a forest long petrified. Marvellous sandstone sculptures were along the road and long weathered mountains contained colours of oranges, reds, blues and yellows. Not much green though.

At Palsmwag were stopped by a sputtering gate attendant who promptly carved our names into a makalani palm seed. I guess you shouldn’t tell them your names to avoid buying another one but even if you don’t they’ll carve out your license plate number to guilt you out of twenty or thirty bucks.

Our attention was distracted by the cool drinks available at this spot and indulged. A quick calculation indicated we had enough gas to comfortably make the remaining jaunt.

As we pushed towards Sesfontein we noticed we could go straight or into the village and decided to pop in. This must have been a miscalculation. As we approached we found a crew working on the building the bridge which was now out. We were directed to take our 4 X 4 around on a track and one of the crew jumped into help direct us. I hadn’t know, never having been there, that Sesfontein is one of the sandiest places on earth.

Immediately after leaving the road we caromed over a rut and the sand splashed up over the car, through the partly opened windows, through the ventilation system, into our lungs and over everything else.

Knowing one thing about this terrain I pushed for about 3 kms. Thankfully, the car is strong, something the crewman repeated a few times as we pressed forward.

Arriving at Sesfontein we went to the shops for cool drinks and looked for directions for diesel. No diesel was repeated a few times. The map had let us down.

Looking at a sign I felt regret as the main attraction of Sesfontein was desert elephants. I have never seen desert elephants but wanted to as soon as I knew they existed and that they were only 24 kms away. Unfortunately 24 X 2 is 48 and deep sand is not the friend of efficient fuel consumption. So it was off from Sesfontein towards Opuwo

Looking at the gas gauge I was slightly apprehensive noticing that it had declined a fair bit from where it felt comfortable.

We spotted three figures at the hiking spot leading to Opuwo. I thought with our empty back seat we could manage them and I pitied people who can wait at such places for days and days.

Well, our three Herrero friends were not traveling lightly and it took a few minutes to pack everything into the car. I noticed right away the car felt heavier. It wasn’t three people only that would weigh it down like that but nearly a full household worth of stuff.

We pushed and with worries on my mind I didn’t stop for the people who were flagging us down to give them water. I was worried myself about our litres as well.

As we climbed up and down mountain roads I noticed the temperature gauge edging upwards as the diesel engine worked hard. On the down hills things went back to normal. I thought of what first we could jettison to lighten the load and a couple of large Herrero carry bags sat at the front of my mind.

As we crested a deadly steep peak another more ominous appeared in front. I tried to gain speed to make it up as far to the next as we could. I tried to maintain RPM’s at less than 3000 and the Hilux struggled with the wait and the angle. The heat gauge started to spike about a third up and I just wanted to eek to the top before we stopped. Just before it touched red we crested again and I shut her down.

The rad boiled over and I popped the hood to let air on it and to look at it as one does in such a situation.
I wanted to calculate a new strategy and decided to look to the elder among us, the Herrero patriarch. He was more parrot than anything as he’d repeat any word I said right back. I should have just muttered the solution to our crisis so he could repeat it back to me.

The question was whether to go ahead to the unknown or back to Palmswag where there might or might not be gas. Even Sesfontein seemed better and there were elephants not so far away from there.

Nothing was going to happen until the car cooled down and it was seeming to when another car, the first we’d seen on this road during our time on it, appeared moving towards us.

The car was bound to stop seeing our car with the universal hood up signal indicating that we are cacced in some way or other. I hoped that the inhabitants of the car were not pirates or robbers. As it pulled up I noticed the sticker on the window indicating that they didn’t have guns as representatives of the Namibian Red Cross. Red Cross people are typically well prepared for emergencies, even situations that hadn’t become emergencies yet, such as ours, can be helped by their organization.

So we negotiated a jerry can full of the sweetest red-cross diesel ever poured in a tank and solved one of our potential problems.

We asked about the road ahead and were reliably informed that it was much better than the road behind. This put some wind in our sails as we enjoyed watching the landscape transform as we entered Kunene. We even passed a few Baobabs trees and indications that the rains had been here in the days before us.

All this was part of the journey to Opuwo which is where I sit now.

2008-01-05T05:50:00.000-08:00

Flying over Johannesburg you notice a beauty in the corrugated aluminum roofs as it catches the bright African sun. Some of these buildings will be painted in vibrant colours or with slogans. It is too high up to see the people. Even the cars are ant-like and much fewer than those below on departure from Toronto.

Now it is 8:05 pm at home but unfortunately 3:05 am in Johannesburg. My internal clock is yet to catch up to my surroundings and I’m six hours away from another flight to Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. In Washington, the middle leg of my journey I’d sat immobile with my nose in the book until my name was finally paged to get onto my flight. I’d been sitting at the gate but had my back facing to the area where everyone queued and pushed onto the plane. Even with a couple reprimands from the ground staff I noticed that I was not the last to arrive for the New Years Eve flight. Better than last years early New Years day flight where I had to watch all the poor woozy saps sticking there head in the toilet (or the sink) at Pearson International Airport.

The pilot came over the loudspeaker and told us that we’d just passed into 2008 and let us know that there was extra champagne on board. My portion was a meager half of a plastic glass. A few people clapped at the announcement. It was the same noise halfheartedly splattered through a few rows as the plane touched down safely in Africa.

We all had our own reason for being on this flight. Mine was that my travel agent had told me that this was the last ticket available any time around the dates I wanted to leave. I doubted it somehow on account of the many empty seats left to us by revelers who chose to remain on the ground.

In the next three months I’ll be able to do as I’ve done the past years. Traveling through Southern Africa and buying arts from artisans throughout the region. I’ve planned out a week off in Gaborone, Botswana. Time enough to catch up with old friends and then on the 9th the plan is to collect a friend at the airport and proceed straight to the bush.

The challenges of this voyage are minimized by the fact I’ve been here before. With that in mind I hope to strike of in a few new directions to bring the adventure up a notch. Being somewhere you’ve been before feels warm but it doesn’t bring the same buzz in the pit of the stomach as even the thought of unknown.

(Written January 2, 2008 at Oliver Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg, South Africa.)

Today, it's January 5th. In a few short days I was able to get a car, replace the tires and generally organize everything that I need for the coming jump to the bush on Tuesday. More to come once something interesting happens.

2007-05-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

This blog has not been managed very well. I got locked out as Blogger migrated to Google. Yawn. Sorry to those who thought I was in trouble.

There was a lot of blog and news that was missed. But the best upcoming news is that Besa Abuse (a-boo-say) a Ju/'hoansi San from Namibia will be in Canada for a month starting June 17th. Check our events page to see what's happening.

This week there were two articles about communities that I know very well in Botswana's Daily News, the Government newspaper.

Zutshwa: The capital that never was
09 May, 2007

HUKUNSTI - About 60km west of Hukuntsi is a settlement which at one point had the potential to become the capital of Kgalagadi.

This was so because of the seemingly lucrative Zutshwa salt project that supplied Livestock Advisory Centres (LAC) in most parts of the country. But that was just an illusion, probably influenced by unrealistic hopes.

Most of Bakgalagadi and Basarwa who populate Zutshwa settlement are unemployed and poverty stricken.

A large proportion of them are dependent on government handouts. However, they are hopeful that the situation will change for the better one day.

In contrast to urban life, life in this settlement is so relaxed and laid back. It is rural in the true sense of the word. The intense summer heat keeps people inside their houses.

Most residents hunt game and gather wild fruits for survival while a few work in the farms around the district.

After several futile attempts to locate elders of the settlement, our team was directed to the Village Development Committee chairman who led us to Mr Taolo Gabohumisiwe, secretary of the Qhaa Qhing Conservation Trust.

Qhaa Qhing has apparently since taken over the salt project following the dissolution of Maiteko Tshwaragano Trust Fund in June 2004.

Without any hesitation, Mr. Gabohumisiwe said the project used to be a money-spinner.

It is now a white elephant due to mismanagement by the committee that took over the running of the trust when the Germans who established it left in 2003.

Inside the warehouse, are big heaps of salt, some members are accused of doing business behind the backs of others by selling salt, something that irks the secretary.

Mr. Gabohumisiwe said residents used to earn a living from the project, and that most people in the village had some jobs unlike today when they do not have any reason to wake up, except to deal with poverty everyday.

The project was started in the early 1990s through the assistance of some Germans of the Lutheran Church as a way of trying to help residents of Zutshwa have a source of income and it was initially a success.

He said the windmills pumped water from underground into a small dam they constructed next to the salt pan. The water was, however, too salty for human consumption.

A desalination project was as a result put up. He said the place was abundant with salt to an extent that they started supplying the Livestock Advisory Centres (LAC) in most parts of the country.

He said around 2003, the Germans, who had solicited funds from external donors, felt that residents of Zutshwa were now competent and could run the project on their own.

Little did they know that trouble was about to begin. Firstly, there was a leadership crisis with residents divided over who should coordinate the project.

The disagreement was basically along tribal lines, but eventually a compromise was reached. Even after a compromise was reached, the working relationship was not good and the project declined until it collapsed and no money came from the salt project. we lost our jobs and poverty came, he said.

He said as the project did not yield any income it was dissolved and incorporated into the Qhaa Qhing Trust, which dealt with a campsite and a craft shop.

But that also did not solve the problem as the newly elected committee, of which he is the secretary also did not have good working relations and experience which led to the Vice chairman resigning from the board.

He said there was lack of transparency in the committee and even when the new one was to be elected nothing will change unless there is an experienced and qualified coordinator who can help redeem the project.

For his part, the former Kgalagadi MP, Mr. Lesedi Mothibamele who saw the project take off and helped by convincing government to buy the salt for LACs, is disappointed that the lucrative project had collapsed.

I believe the project collapsed mainly due to poor coordination and management and poor working relations among the community when the project was handed to them.

He said in the era of the salt project, Zutshwa was no longer just a geographical site, but a village where people worked and developments were made and they were self-reliant.

The Kgalagadi North Technical Advisory Council Coordinator, Ms Masego Gabatshwane said they were aware of the problems that Qhaa Qhing Trust was experiencing.

She said the trust had written to the government to be supported to revive the salt mining project. Hopefully, a positive response will bring life back to the settlement. BOPA

Alcohol abuse rampant at Qangwa, Dobe
10 May, 2007
MAUN - It has been confirmed that residents of Xaxa, Qangwa and Dobe in the Okavango Sub-district are abuse alcohol.

The three villages, inhabited mainly by Basarwa, Baherero and Bambukushu lie about 200 km South west of Gumare towards the Namibian border.

According to a report from the Okavango sub district addressed to the districts sub management, on April 4 and 5, some Bye law and commercial affairs officers visited Qangwa, Xaxa and Dobe on an observation mission.

The report says it was observed with retrospect that indeed consumption of intoxicating liquor was consumed uncontrollably and as a result people no longer wake up in the morning sober and spend long hours of the day and night drinking alcohol.

The three-page report further reads; People no longer take care of the livestock granted by the RADP project, drought relief projects and they come to work drunk...

People come to kgotla meetings drunk, homes and children are abandoned, children are underfed and food issued to orphans and destitute is exchanged for liquor.

The report further states that efforts made by the council and the government to improve livelihood of the residents at these villages are frustrated by the abuse of alcohol.

Bye-law officers in collaboration with local police officers launched a week long raid on illegal traditional brew at the three villages and large amount of intoxicating liquor was seized from defaulters as exhibits.

Efforts to reach the sub districts assistant council secretary proved futile as he was said to be in a meeting. BOPA

2007-02-10T09:42:00.000-08:00

The Bushmen are famous for being short but when you meet them you'll hardly think of it. Even me when I imagine and remember my friends I don't think of them as small at all. Their large personalities make up for their stature so that they take a large place in the vision of my mind.

Only when I look at photos of me with somebody do I notice that the people are diminutive. Or sometimes, they'll remind you.

Hon. Royal Jonah Kxao /Ui/o/oo is one of those short San with a large personality. He's having the title Honorable in conjunction with his position as Member of Parliament. He is proud to say that the is the only San Member of Parliament in the SADC (Southern African Development Community). I suspect he must be the only in the world as well but since there are few San outside of SADC it goes without saying.

I've noted that all the other MPs I've met thus far are much bigger people from bigger tribes. With such a stature Royal has gotten used to fighting for respect. On his car is a VIP decal attached to the front windscreen. I take pleasure in driving with Royal and bypassing the queues at the roadblocks or parking just anywhere thanks to the sticker.

It's been noted in a number of communities that many of the successful San are those who are especially talkative. Royal is a good case in point. He is not shy to speak out and recognizes that is his job in Parliament to stand up and fight for the rights of the San.

Since I was last to Tsumkwe there were no tar roads, now there is a stretch of 500 metres of black in the village. Everyone agrees that it keeps the dust down in that area. The construction was not quick I was told by /ui Charlie that the men would work one day and then take off two for leisure.

The next question is whether it makes sense to tar the whole 300 or so kilometres from the main highway up to Tsumkwe. The cost would be high but life would be simplified. Even in the past month another car overturned on the slippery gravel. The road is not always bad but in the rainy season it is worse.

The advantage would be safer transport and increased access. Cars regularly overturn on the road. The downside would be HIV/Aids. Every decision has a tradeoff.

Even those road workers what were they doing on their days off. Were they condomizing?

HIV is there in Tsumkwe and also in Mangetti Dunes, 90 kms before Tsumkwe. Royal and I had made it to Mangetti to collect his daughter. From telephone reports we feared that she was having malaria. We drove straight on Friday and on saw she was bad but not worse.

That Saturday night I went for a short waling tour of Mangetti including the hospital. Outside there was a queue of four people waiting to see the nurse. Inside there was a slight baby with sunken eyes making horrible noises. I suspected I was seeing a baby who would soon die.

The mother lay slumped in a chair in front without the energy to reach out and comfort the child. It could have been one of those photo moments which tells the whole story but I couldn't have the heart to do that.

Even the small place of Mangetti was having an orphanage. Two women were charged with 17 children. As I entered a smell hit me and as I stepped I jumped to avoid a foul mess one of the children had left after not finding the toilet in time.

The lady was outside getting a mop, her shoulders sunken downwards. A small girl of nine or so, completely naked for some reason, came back with toilet papers and tried to help.

The other children sat watching a video. Some turned to wave and smile at me.

At Mangetti I noticed and at Tsumkwe noticed more that the pay had come recently. The drinking was too much.

Normally I'll have a beer or two or so. But watching what I was watching I stuck to water.

With money in hand it was duly invested in Tafel Lager, Old Brown Sherry, Tambo and other things which when added together would lead to a mix of passing out and fighting.

The main issue for fights seemed to be jealousy. Men for there women and vice versa. Royal was business minded and moved about consulting with Chief Bobo and others about upcoming business of the Parliament and a meeting for San leaders with the Deputy Prime Minister.

Myself, I walked about with Charlie collecting some of the crafts that I love so much.

I found one old lady, Chu!ko. She had a photo of me and her with her in her bag. I was stunned to think she'd carried it for one whole year on her person but there it was.

/i!ae was luckily in town. He and his brothers are carvers who make tortoises and other creatures out of wood. They're brilliant and this time they had a nice lizard. Often you'll see African carvings that are distorted in one way or another but everything from the brothers Komtsa, /i!ae and =Oma is too true to life.

A small crowd followed me as I was owing change to them and made for the bar to get a coke and break a 100 dollar bill.

I paid and Royal came by in the midst of his circuit. I jumped in and we made it to his house to wrap up the last few things. On the way back I drove.

Royal immediately became upset when I parked in front of the bar. I hadn't seen what was happening as he had but I pushed further ahead behind a hedge at his urging.

I got out as normal and didn't notice anything was askew until I looked at one of the ladies who'd followed me to the bar. I was not her customers but she'd been speaking English and talking with me though she was quite drunk she'd not been too annoying.

Under her eye was a gash and blood was splattered down her front.

I understood what Royal was on about now and understood his distress for the car, at any moment a rock could fly.

Royal was blaming a group of outsiders who were there. I'd noticed them but ignored as they asked me why I was giving money to the San artisans. Instead they suggested I just take the things from them. I told them that I would never go to their office if they had one and tell them how to do their business if they had any. They didn't get me and said come again. I told them I would be not to see them and left it.

I don't know why Tsumkwe would be seen as a nice place to visit but outsiders came often to do their own business, whatever it was.

Apartheid is over meaning that anyone can go anywhere in Namibia. So the choice is whether to pave the road for them.

Royal has a list of objectives that he is fighting for to achieve equality for the San. The most important issue is to minimize the existence of local shebeens with the assistance and traditional leaders and the Liquor Act 16 of 1998.

Sunday the day of rest was spent driving the 800 or so kilometres back to Windhoek. The night before, late, a friend from Tsumkwe had arrived at Mangetti with a gash behind his ear from a beer bottle. San on San violence I found out, jealousy.

We visited the hospital. The man, a good friend, had his hair partly shaved and a bandage placed over the wound. He'd passed out after the blow. The other man was in the jail. Oddly, through most of the day the police had apparently watched drunk themselves. Waiting for a most serious injury to make a move I suppose.

Half way home a call came on my cell. The baby of that sad woman at the hospital was now late. HIV is here.

2007-02-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Namibia

Gobabis

The Trans-Kalahari Highway goes through the Omaheke region of Namibia. The capital for the area is Gobabis, a nice enough place. I've hiked from Windhoek through to Botswana before but never really stopped here for very long.

On the urging of a Canadian anthropologist, Renee Sylvain, from University of Guelph I wanted to take a closer look at the area. I knew there was a small craft shop a bit back from the road and checked there the frist night but it was a bit late and it looked a bit dead.

The next morning I returned. I found a bit more action. The coordinator of the Omaheke San Trust is Mary, a Kenyan lady. The number two was a Nama lady named Jacobsen and one San man called Nicky who runs a guest house at the back of office. Nicky expressed concern that he would not be long at OST as his contract was expiring this year.

Renee had given me three names to look for in Gobabis and one to avoid who shall not be mentioned.

Willem Abuse (a-boo-say, not a-buse) was contacted by phone and came to the office. He was wearing a green labourers outfit as labourers for the muicipality do. We sat and introduced ourselves and I gave him the update. Mr. Abuse was very fluent in English and very clever. I enjoy knowing him. His cell phone seemed reliable as he'd already been called on it so I took the number.

The second name on Renee's list was Rashida Tuaire. I found her at the Epako location just outside of town. Rashida is living with her two children in a hut made of corrugated iron with a couple flowers painted on the outside. There was one small tree in the yard for shade and a small garden.

Rashida is a craft expert, having worked for the OST craft centre for some years and being an ostrich eggshell artist herself we chatted about a trip to Canada among other things. I made a short video of Rashida introducing herself and talking about a decorated eggshell that she had a the house. She spoke first in Ju/'hoansi and then in English, both well.

Rashida expressed confidence about her ability to travel abroad and was interested to know if she could wear skins while she was working which seemed fine to me. I asked how confident she was in her ability to talk about culture, very. How much interest she had in going overseas, much. Also, who would look after the kids, sister.

Things seemed in order so I left her to go to the bush.

Corridor

From the guest house at the OST Maco (Ma-koo) was a tagalong for the free trip back home. About 240 kms away from Gobabis was Corridor Post Thirteen. Thirteen was in the middle between 1 and 22, all the posts. The numbers seemed to moved in sequence the way houses on a street normally do, odds on one side and evens on the other.

Thirteen was the one with the filling station, the shops and the disco so it was nice it was in the middle. Different tribes seemed to stay at different posts and San people were at Thirteen, Fifteen, Seventeen and Eighteen at least and probably more.

From Thirteen to Fifteen we picked up Maco's friend, Deacon. The girls were pretty good at jibber-jabber and entertained themselves by talking a lot and dancing if a hint of music appeared or not.

Maco liked to dance a certain way by swinging her arms and gyrating a bit.She only danced that way but since she was good at doing so it was fine.

Deacon preferred clapping her hands and making noises like "zooph". Sometimes she would go down to the ground with her arms out in front for balance.

The girls figured we'd like to make it to stay at the Saa Tago Campsite since it was built for people like us. Danny the hiker was happy to see the toilet and solar heated water for the showers. But with cloudy weather the solar wasn't heating. For me the problem was heat more than cold so I gladly stuck my head under the stream.

At Fifteen we'd found no crafts people but Seventeen and Eighteen there were many. Mainly there were some cool bow and arrow sets that I enjoy shooting, ostrich eggshell beadwork, some springbok horn containers and some really neat decorated steenbok skulls.

Omaheke is different than Tsumkwe the area I've done most of my work in Namibia in that the San here are not hunting an gathering. The land at Omaheke was at some point way back all belonging to the San. At a later point land was ceded to farmers and the San were finding the lands fenced.

Today, the San are labourers and craftspeople. Some are having cattles. Maco's family has 23. In general though the San are very poor. The San are recognized as the most marginalized community in the country owing mainly to the fact that they are landless.

As I went from place to place I noticed that the boys had been hunting small birds and ground squirrels for meat to fill the pot. I didn't get a chance to taste.

I'd been asked to do a bit of running around to do pickups from Thirteen, a drop off at Fifteen and more.

As I set off, the pickups were dropped off from a hike and fifteen.

The rain came a bit heavy that night so I overnighted in a hut at Eighteen and Danni in the Saa Tago campsite office.

The morning was spent listening to the community and talking about the future since it was my first time coming. I really liked the way the people were making the bracelets.

The community had a few complaints about the way that things were going and I vowed to come back to them with more of a plan even if it takes a little while.

The way to be in contact was to phone a certain number associated with a phone at Seventeen. Even though it wasn't working assurances has been given by Namtel that a technician would be coming in the next week to fix the phone. If I phoned that number, whoever picked up would be able to run and find someone who is speaking English. We'll see how that works.

2007-01-29T07:31:00.000-08:00

Things are well in Namibia. More blogging tomorrow but for those who like long distance my Namibian number is +264 81 333 1883.

I'm staying with Hon. Royal J.K. /Ui/o/oo. Right now I'm in his office at Parliament relieved to find a reliable computer. Tomorrow we've booked a meeting with the Deputy Minister of Trade to discuss how Nharo can work more closely with the Namibian Government.

So far everything has been done directly with the communities but the general feeling is that since we have proven success that we should look for support to build on our successes. The rest of the week continues with meetings (boring) which will be instrumental as we move forward.

More to follow about Omaheke. It's very great there and I was able to get a lot of springbok horns.

People here love meat.

Paul

2007-01-24T00:10:00.000-08:00

Kgalagadi District

The reception at Zutshwa was warm. I'd managed to send a message ahead of me through Pedris, a man from Ngwatle the next village who works as a mechanic at Hukuntis where there's cellular network. zutshwa had not had anyone visit them to buy crafts since last year when I was around.

With Pedris acting as secretary we managed to buzz through all our agenda items in a few short hours. In contrast, in prior trips I'd been exhausted by marathon buying sessions and small squabbles that erupted. It tends that the community of Zutshwa is divided along tribal lines. The 'Basarwa' (San, Bushmen) and the 'BaKgalagadi' don't get along. The Village Development Committee, the small shops and shebeens (drinking places) are dominated by BaKgalagadi to the exclusion of the Bushmen. I became aware that some of the shebeen owners had been taking beadwork in exchange for cheap alcohol the type of which bubbles and roils in a large garbage pail under the hot sun of the desert. This is a practice I'll have to investigate. I may demand that all sellers bring their tools with them as proof understanding that some Bakgalagadi do make the beads. Otherwise I might just identify those guilty parties and bring some cheap booze to exchange, of course doing this they'd only sell it to Basarwa.

The perception of Basarwa is that they are all drunkards and certainly some are. At Zutshwa it seems that none of the prolific artists drink. This seems natural to me and even those who do drink have a choice of what to do with their money, as do I.

The last item on our agenda for the day was something I'd proposed last year that was met with a favourable response. Hon. Royal /Ui/o/oo had been to Canada in June 2005 and his visit coincided with Aboriginal Solidarity Day in late June. Anishnabeg outreach in Kitchener and Guelph made a connection with Royal and from that we have been inspired to again organize a visit to Canada for a San person, or perhaps two.

At Zutshwa a candidate was nominated with the following letter:

Zutswha Settlement
PO BOX 450
Hukuntsi

22 January 2007

Dear Sir/Madam

We as San group of Zutshwa we really thanked our creator to give power of support on exchanging our natural craft from you and paid us a good price.

Realy this method of exchanging goods of us, succed us very well as the group of San living in zutshwa. Because that money improve our life time and also improve the lack of jobs that are in Zutshwa. This exchanging of our culture and support so that we cannot forgotten our culture.

We thanked the good co-operation between Canada and our nation. The only San group of Zutshwa we voted our San lady to represent us on craft business together with sepreding our culture. We can help her the stories of our culture as the elders of the San fro Zutshwa.

We want our own lady who is twenty to work together with Mr. Pholo whom is from Canada under the help from the University of Botswana.She have two year experience on facilities of Huminities and Book keeping.

We would be pleased when our letter would be taken into consideration.

Leader of the Community:

A.B Kabatlophane
Kooka Hewa
Tantane Koto
Mmina Nai

Although it doesn't clearly mention it, the letter is meant to nominate AB's daughter, Gosaitse Kabatlophane. Gosaitse travelled out with me from Zutshwa to Hukuntsi with some other papers, a reference letter from a professor at the University of Botswana to whom she'd been a research informant and a certificate from Botswana's Department of Industrial Affairs indicating her inclusion in a course in 'Improve Your Business' for five days in June 2004.

I was a little disappointed that on the day all of our activities Gosaitse missed the 2 o'clock start of our meeting, apparently to have a nap. She did however redeem herself when she told a nice story about a lizard and a frog.

On Sunday we made it to Ngwatle. The Government of Botswana had been delivering a development which pleased the people. A road linking Ngwatle to Ukwi. As I drove on the partially completed road I found myself on one side blocked by large piles of gravel and on the other sand piled high. I looked for a spot where somebody else had made it out and 4x4'ed through it. Immediately I noticed that the steering had become tight when turning to the left. This problem progressed as we moved eventually spreading to the left.

At Ngwatle the community was pleasantly welcoming. The old ladies have taken to yelling my name and asking me questions in !Xoo. They think my name is Apollo since there's another Apollo at Zutshwa so they know that name. For me I can say that I like it.

Ngwatle was not having as much time to make ready nominations to come to Canada but they did present two Candidates and their Qualifications.

1

Name: Bontle Doreen
Surname: Lesetlhe
Age: 24 yrs
Qualifications:

*Form 5 Certificate (BACSE)
*Katatura Arts Attendance Certificate (Windhoek)

2

Name: Kaki Katji
surname: Matlakala
Age: 1971
Qualifications:

Two JC
Assistant Shop keeper / Gantsi Craft
Councillor 3 yrs
Land Board Member 3 yrs

Both candidates speak english well and are excellent crafts people. On leaving Kaki asked me if I could find her a tent for 200 pula or less that I should do so.

I was please with results at both settlements but not with the condition of my steering wheel. Things seemed very fine until I wanted to turn. I guess there was also a problem with overheating on the Zutshwa-Ngwatle road but to be honest it's normal and not a problem these days. Bring plenty of water on that road.

On arriving with in Hukuntsi we went to the MP's office to make copies but found there was no paper. So we went to the next place and found paper and a working copier. To me small things can seem like miracles.

Next stop was to my good friend Paul Cooper, mechanic and Shell filling station owner. Paul is interesting and nice but also lonely. We like each other since we have the same name. On the way in I'd told the fillers of the filling station to let Paul know that I'm around. Always when in this neighborhood something can go wrong with the car of mine.

True to form I figured I had either a problem with powersteering or perhaps alignment. Step 1, check power steering fluid. Empty. We refilled from a fresh bottle and started the engine. Power steering fluid sprayed out through a gaping hole in a calbe directly below the place we'd just replaced the fluid.

Paul went to the back, found some tube, cut the right length, and replace the rotten piece. Total fixing time, eight minutes. Another miracle.

I stayed to chat few minutes with Paul and he indicated he had a special delivery for me to make to a friend in Canada. She can't get Camphor lotion, a staple skin supplement in Botswana and Southern Africa. So I agreed to take a couple bottles with me to be sent to Edmonton upon my return home.

As was bound to happen sometimes people get fascinated by Bushmen. One lady who had an affinity was Danni Stor. In 2005, July I'd met her by getting yelled at. She was incensed that I could be exploiting the Bushmen by selling there crafts. Somedays I have time for this sort of stuff other days I want to tell them to 'f' off.

This day I had a better strategy. I told her not to talk to me. Instead I recommended that she go and address this issue to a Bushmen and to tell that person not to allow me to exploit them. She seemed put off that I would suggest this and asked where she'd be able to find such a Bushman at Queen's Park in Toront. Luckily Hon. Royal was there and I called him over leaving the rest of the matter to him.

At some point Danni contacted me via e-mail to say that she was in the negihborhood of Africa and when was I coming, etc.

We connected by text message once I got my Botswana phone. I encouraged her to go to Ghanzi and she created a sensation by aligning herself with Jumanda Gakelebone, number two at First People of the Kalahari. I may never know exactly what happened in those six days in the Central Kalahari Game Reserve but speculation is that love happened. If only someone could get a romantic photo of them together it might be sold to Botswana's national tabloid the Voice (www.thevoicebw.com or something like that, please google) who had picked Jumanda as one of Botswana's most eligible single people.

As I write this Danni has turned up the radio and is being a dancing queen to Abba's hit. Me, I'm sitting at a lodge in Gobabis, Namibia hoping to do some investigations into craft production in the Omaheke Region. Oh, now she's in the pool.

At Hukuntsi I'd left Danni to eat at Lancers, Hukuntsi's nicest (only?) restaraunt. Unfortunately, being a vegetarian and having a wheat allergy Danni is continually having trouble finding cheese and good yoghurts. I think she missed on both counts.

I was happy when I picked her up after only a couple hours having gotten three copies and fixed the power steering issue. She wasn't as impressed with this accomplishment as me but still it was pretty fantastic. Those things can take two days if luck isn't with you or if you don't know Paul Cooper.

By chance as we left Hukuntsi to Kang Jumanda was in touch on Danni's cell. He'd come out from Central Kalahari Game Reserve because the President of Botswana had called a Kgotla meeting at New Xade reservation. 40 people had returned to the CKGR after a battle. Jumanda indicated that he'd "told off" the President and had been called to his office for a meeting today (Wednesday). I was shy to take a photo as I'm not a paparazzi but perhaps there was a hug and even a cheek peck but I don't think I can substantiate any rumours at this point.

So today it's Omaheke. The OST (Omaheke San Trust) Craft Shop which had opened with a flourish a few years back has collapsed. So no one is buying anything from anyone here. I'll see what's happening today and tomorrow.

2007-01-18T07:46:00.000-08:00

Into the Bush

I've had to deal with some usual and unusual problems to get out of Gaborone but with a little luck I'm set to do so tomorrow. Until the trial is over I won't comment further (luckily I'm not the on charged).

Pedris from Ngwatle has phoned me three times to see if I'm arriving and has asked to accompany me on my trip which is fine with me because I like that guy too much.

Danni, a lady from Toronto, has been having adventures of her own here in Botswana. She ended up hitching a lift into Central Kalahari Game Reserve on the very same day as the residents were finally returning after a drawn out court case. She's meeting me tomorrow at Kang so I'll here the news.

It's a bit sunny but the heat is under control and my tan is nicely coming along. We'll see how far I can get.

I hope to rendezvous with my old friend Royal /Ui/o/oo in Gobabis which would be fun since he's a pretty great guy.

2007-01-05T04:39:00.000-08:00

Staying in Touch

I've managed to get a cell phone here in Botswana. As long as I'm not too far in the bush it will allow me to stay in touch. If you have a thought to call me just dial +267 7269 0802 and I might pick up. Plus means 011 in North America.

The next few days are filled with logistics. Sourcing this and that.

So far I've maintained my sense of humour. Watching as the people in Botswana struggle with forms and this and that. I hope to avoid any troubles in that regard.

2007-01-05T00:45:00.000-08:00

Back in Botswana

Toronto's Pearson airport was not a happy place at 4 am but I started my New Year there. Some of my fellow passengers looked a bit green being no far enough removed from there hours ago party. The sounds in the bathroom indicated that there stomachs were not approving of being lurched about instead of being happily passed out.

There seemed to be a lot of confusion about what hair products could and couldn't be taken on flights to the US as I was travelling via Washington on the recently created connection to Johannesburg.

I was expected to sit in the airport at Jo'burg for some hours (20!) and overnight in the transit hotel for a mere $162 USD. I decided to leave the airport and go out for fresh air. On my return I was told I wouldn't be able to make it back in without my not yet issued boarding pass. I was convinced this wasn't true but asked what would happen if I slept in the concourse. The friendly agent told me a girl tried that last week and woke up with much less than she'd remembered having when she bedded down for the night. I could just envision waking up naked so I pressed.

I tried to walk through a certain door to go back the way I'd come out and a man started hissing at me. I walked over to him and asked him why he was hissing. He informed me that the door was "No Entry" conincidentally this was exactly what was written on it.

I spoke to a cop about the situation. He was very interested, since I was a Canadian, in hearing about Bryan Adams. I told him that Bryan had a nice house, which I'm sure is true and also that we are very proud of him and that he's a nice guy.

After a bit of cajolling I made it through a wooden door, through a scanner and to customs.

They weren't interested in my ticket, only my passport. One of the agents held it up very closely to his face. The other agent asked if what he was to and he replied "Don't bother me I'm working".

He handed me back my passport but I wanted a stamp which he said I didn't need so off I went.

At some point I found a place to have a nice nap on a bench. At some point I heard rustling and noticed a couple of the night cleaners laying down bedding with the same idea as me. They had the same blankets as I did, compliments of South African Airways.

I asked them what they were up to and they said that each night at 12:00 they took a half hour break but sometimes they don't wake up until two.

Me, I woke at 5 and went to get my boarding pass and my flight bumped up if I could. They agreed to send me at 9:20 but my bags must go on the original flight the man told me.

Fine then and I was off.

I enjoyed the view of Gaborone, spotting the main mall, the distinct Ministry of Education building, the dam and other landmarks.

I whisked through immigration and customs told me to come back later in the afternoon.

I did and was refused entry to the place I knew my bags would be sitting. I was asked by a somber lady where my form was. I looked at the four other people diligently waiting for attention all clutching forms in hand.

I had no form. I was told to go to South African Express to get a form but also that they were closed so instead to go to Air Botswana. I told the that Air Botswana wouldn't help me but they said go anyways.

Air Botswana wouldn't help me.

I insisted that I shouldn't worry about South African this and that and coming back tomorrow and instead just be allowed to go through the doors to customs to get my bags. This was a problem.

I walked to the doors which had one way mirrors so you couldn't see through and noticed they were clearly marked 'No Entry'.

Instead of entering I just hollered for a customs lady. One came out asked for my form. Then she asked me to go to South African Airways. Eventually she decided to walk with me to the place I thought my bags might be.

Rather than walking through the No Entry we through a scanner, which beeped, and out of the airport and around to another door. Through that door I looked and saw my bags. I grabbed them ready to depart but the customs lady wanted to search them.

She asked me what I had in them and I told her some clothes. She was interested in my suit and asked if it was new. I said yes and she asked why I had it. I told her it was for meetings. That seemed reasonable enough so I was allowed to go.

It's good to be back in Botswana.

2006-04-02T08:15:00.000-07:00

I've arrived back in Canada feeling a bit tired but I thought I'd better consider my blog which has been underupdated. The main reason being that at most points I wasn't within miles of a computer let alone a reliable internet connection.

Since being home I'm taken two days to sleep. The last week of the trip was nearly spoiled by what the locals call "runny tummy". As of now I have given up goat in Botswana as I'm consistently taught the same lesson.

This is a good time to address an issue that has been gnawing on me. There is a question when dealing with artisans in developing countries about the issue of exploitation. The question of whether artists are being well treated by buyers is an excellent one that should be asked by consumers.

I talked about the issues with the communities that I visited. I can say that the only complaint that I've had from the communities is that I should come more. Of course, it is more work to sell than to buy and as such I spend most of my year in Canada doins so.

On two fronts I've heard complaints about my buying. One is from customers who are interested in fair trade. They assume that since I'm dealing with artists in Africa that there is an exploitative element and will go on the attack. The usual angle is to ask how much did you pay for something and usually they will find a prop such as a bracelet and hold it up. They have a point to prove that probably rises out of some personal or cultural guilt associated with the excesses of North American life. This year I'll tell them that I suffered through such a miserable experience as food poisoning from bad goat to bring that bracelet to them and ask them to put it down and go away.

On the African side the local NGOs don't seem very pleased about my yearly trips to buy from the Bushmen. This is interesting since the mandate of NGOs is to encourage people like myself to support the local communities. There seems like a missed opportunity to not work together but I don't feel like it is to my detriment.

I've taken a philosophy to consult with Bushmen people first and NGO workers second and this has lead to what the locals call jealousy. At any rate, to avoid future criticisms from all quarters I though it would be a good idea to solicit letters from communities to see what they themselves thought. In future, if someone has a gripe I can just give them the letter.

Here are the unedited texts of two letters from Qooshe and Zutshwa.

FEEDBACK FROM QOOSHE COMMUNITY - 09 02 06

We as Qooshe Community members we disagree with those people who says that man is cheating us, why because he is buying our crafts according to our prices.

And those people who say he is cheating are the once who are cheting, because they buy our crafts on their own prices. They don't even come to our community.

THOSE WHO ATTEND THE MEETING

1) Xoma Damo
2) Kgawe Xishee
3) Damo Xixae
4) Xixae Tsae
5) Kuapara Totenderumbe
6) Nxaxau Qaha
7) Gwanxae Xixae
8) Xhwae Komtsae
9) Pearl Tsae
10) Khanxae Xao
11) Kunxae Kgao
12) Tsaae Xoma
13) Chiqo Tsae
14) Chris Kawendjii
15) Komtsae Kgwanae
16) Nxao Xoma
17) Kaunabande Totenderumbe
18) Xukgae Xoma

ZUTSHWA VILLAGE (COMMUNITY)
22-03-06

We are very happy that we are with Mr. Poll here in Zutshwa village buying our craft for us, making our culture improve. There is no cheating in his buying. We are so happy that we have customer that can buy our craft for us in every month.

We thanks you so much by sending your son to come and be with us in life, so to improve our culture.

May God bless you for your help, Please continue helpping us by buy our crafts.

Belond to the communitty signed by:

Tantane Koto
Abathini Kabatlopane

2006-03-03T23:32:00.000-08:00

Road to Qangwa

With the 4X4 a new range of routes and possibilities has opened up. From Maun to Tsumkwe, Namibia, the place I wanted to be would take a long haul with a small car. The closest way along a more or less straight line requires the machine that I've got but it's still a bit nervous. The road is not known to me and things can happen through the bush.

The first issue is gas so jerry cans are required. Through deep sand the diesel goes quickly. The second issue is rains. The road might be a bit deep. The third issue is deep sand.

From Maun, I made it more than 200 kms to Gumare, a place to refuel. I'd passed the turn heading to Namibia at Nokaneng. 37 kms farther and I could fill the tank and the cans.

I stopped at the turn on the first pass and found three men waited. I recognized by their faces that they were Ju/'hoansi and I greeted them in the way that they'd find appropriate. I pantomimed that I would go to fill the tank and then be back at half two to collect them. This brought some smiles as the wait at this spot, to make it 122 kms to the major centre, Qangwa, can be two days at times.

As I made it back at 2:40 I found two the men, Bo and //ao. Since //ao has the same name as I've been given I can say that he is like my brother.

We set off and I was glad to have two San people with me. I know that they know precisely two things that I don't. How to unstick cars and the exact route to wear I wanted to head, the borderpost at Dobe.

Conservative estimates placed the voyage at about 2 hours 10 minutes. Perhaps with less water it could have been but it wasn't.

The first way was fine and //ao from the back seat was advising me how to handle the deep water or 'metsi tata' in Setswana. 'Shoot straight' he kept advising. This was about the extent of his English but I was admirably filling the gaps with limited Setswana and more limited Ju/'hoansi. I ran through what was probably my whole vocabulary by the time the trip was through.

At certain points we'd be confronted by the road and decisions to make, mostly left, right or straight but occasionally also back up.

Bo was the assistant driver and I noticed which way his hand would sway and trusted his judgement more than my own. At a certain point I took a decision on my own and ended up well stuck in mud past the wheel wells.

It was obvious that this was a normal challenge since Bo and //ao were out of the car while I waited idly.

The first task was to pare a tree. Branches were taken off and the guys, now with their shoes off and pants rolled up past the knees, began to hall the mud out from in front and behind the tires and filling the space with the twigs.

Bo was particularly efficient taking one large branch and paring it neatly to fill the spaces. //ao chose the volume approach, shoving whole branches into the same space.

With a bit of back and forth at //ao's urging I was back to wear I started before I'd entered the mud. This time we consulted about the best approach and made it with no problems.

The route was a bit treacherous all the way along but we made it.

The first place we reached of any interest was one that I'd been to before, a place called G!ooshe. My friend Royal had brought me here before for the wedding of his niece. The wedding never happened that weekend or ever but I met some nice friends who I was pleased to see on my return.

I quickly bought some crafts and slowly ended up chatting about the issues at hands with my friends. It had become clear that I wouldn't make it to the border anyways so I took my time.

The next issue was where to stay and an old friend called Joyce let me know that she would allow me set my tent up in her compound.

Bo and //ao are patient fellows but I could read by their brows that they were ready to go as well. So we made it the next bit to Qangwa with Joyce added to the team.

Bo it turned out was Moruti Bo, Moruti being like a pastor. This explained why he disapproved of the content of my Ju/'hoansi vocabulary. The easiest first words to learn can often be naughty ones and for me they included the names of tobacco (shoro), a certain type of alcohol (khade), a certain type of weed (zoan), etc.

A woman started chasing us upon arrival at Qangwa and I wasn't sure what she was on about so I accelerated away. This brought peels of laughter as it was //ao's wife who seemed anxious for something now that he'd returned so he popped out of the car.

Moruti's place was next stop. A river was flowing at Qangwa and the Surf managed to make it through with no problems except one complaint about speed by Joyce. Future attempts at half mast proved more comfortable.

So having made it far enough I though next to look for cold drinks which were available. I took three.

A bath and sleep were next on the agenda.

Tsumkwe, Namibia

From Qangwa to Dobe was only a few kilometres and I made it with the help of somebody who I gave five pula to make sure I made the last little bit. I'd been warned that the last

Tsumkwe is a place that I've been a few times so more friends were on the agenda.

It's a bit tricky to know who's where all the time but luckily Royal, Paula, Benjamin and Charlie were all around.

Charlie is my agemate and we get along well together. In school, his nickname was Teddy due to a resemblance to a particular kind of bear. We enjoy hanging out together and talking mainly about the differences in our respective homes. Comparing and contrasting two opposite sides of the world.

Talk can turn to animals. For me a beaver or moose is a strange thing to describe but I find and eager audience to hear about these things.

Charlie's dad is a hunter. Charlie speaks english well and tends to have jobs here and there acting as a guide for different programs and projects that happen in the area.

At a certain point towards the end of the days, Charlie will bid me farewell and wander off some few kilometres to the place that he's staying. He has a girlfriend there who I haven't met and a baby somewhere too.

Royal knows me from two sides. He's seen me in and around his places, Windhoek and Tsumkwe and also at my places when he came to Canada last year. The trip was good but a bit muddled because two things happened.

All the crafts and curios that I'd purchased from Africa came late last year. For a list of reasons the shipping company did not expedite things and in the midst of Royal's visit one tonne of curios, many from Tsumkwe, arrived.The last problem was that Canada Customs for some random reason decided to take and interest in the shipment. More specifically they called the Canadian Wildife Services to inspect. I ended on the phone to as close to the headman as I could get explaing that Royal, a Member of Parliament from Namibia, was there to promote the crafts that were currently kept from us a few kilometres from my house.

A man called Lonnie was sent from Brampton and arrived dressed in a khaki coloured coverall with badges on the sleeves. Lonnie proceeded to look up and down taking little interest in the Gemsbok horns or the ostrich eggshell beadwork. He sifted and sorted until he was satisfied we didn't have anything rare or endangered and let us go.

That was a Thursday at 1 pm. The problem was that the next day we were due in Chicago. So the next hours were spent carting the contents of the package to our warehouse, unpacking and repacking and setting off at 9:30 that night. We had a packing list and this and that and all the things you need to cross a border.

By we found that crossing a border loaded with African crafts is much easier when you cross past midnight with a visiting dignitary and his dimplomatic passport. We were waved through by a very disinterested border guard. He asked where we were going and thenif we had animal products. The answer was of course yes, lots. I just said yes. He shrugged and waved us through.

At certain points we'd stop for catnaps but eventually made it Chicago in time for rush hour.

The second problem on was a bit on Royal's side. The plane ticket he'd brought with him was good for two things, coming and going. He made it coming but on the going part he noticed that he didn't have the ticket. After some days things get harder to trace and we'd done quite a lot of moving here and there in the meantime. So it was that he was due to fly out Sunday but the ticket was not around. Air Canada was not helping saying that we need to have all the information from his missing ticket.

At this point, Nharo implemented a new policy, all plane tickets are to be photocopied.

Sunday was also the day of Afrofest a very large festival held yearly in Toronto with a focus on African music and culture. In Southern African music there are a few big names. One of the biggest is Oliver Mtukudzi. Oliver was playing Sunday night.

The Afrofest organizers were very keen to have Royal play a roll in the event and have Royal, a big fan, introduce Oliver that night both in English and Ju/'hoansi would have been a great deal all around. Even to put a plug in for our extensive line of Bushmen crafts to the 60,000 assembled before the stage would have been nice. Oh and also to have the name of the company mentioned on the broadcast the thousands more listening later to the broadcast on the radio would also be great.

But as life had it that day, we were at the airport pleading with a very difficult and uncooperative woman who seemed to be a bit short in the mercy department.

At this point Royal had been in control but he indicated that he might soon become uncontrollable which was worrying.

Royal likes to be called a San. So I think I can say something I've noticed about San people. Home and family are most important and at this point Royal was missing both. By midweek he was off and seemed happy that he was able to clear each small hurdle in that last day. Getting a boarding pass was a milestone and crossing through security was the finish line in my mind.

As a bonus the lady who was taking the baggage was able to allow a few extra kgs. At first she started to squawk about it but Royal and I started on the story of the trouble to that point and she relented.

It's amazing how much stuff Royal was able to accumulate in a short time in Canada and the US. His bags were manageable at first but soon became unmanageable. Part of the problem was that it seems that custom for a visiting dignitary is to gift them a book. I think the heavier the better of so it seemed. Royal was left with a hefty bit of reading about Canada and about Kitchener-Waterloo, my home village.

Getting back to Tsumkwe I noticed different bits of nik-nak and paraphenelia related to the trip in Royal's home. The nicest thing being a framed prayer from one of Canada's first people, it talked about land and our connection to it. It felt appropriate seeing it where it now hung.

Paula, Royal's wife, was the first person I'd found when I arrived at Tsumkwe. She's a school teacher and the school is at the crossroads of the place. On the way I found five school aged children hiking from somewhere in the bush into town. I decided that I'd better stop at the principal's office first.

Normally, this might be considered rat-like behaviour but I thought that these kids should have a crack at the books. After some investigation the principal, a short San man himself, determined that it was actually the teacher at the other school who had bagged off and that he would be sent the form to fill out for a day of unpaid leave.

I found Paula inside here class room. I enjoy visiting because there are a lot of cute kids, 60 or so, crammed into a small room. I enjoy asking questions to hear the chorus in Unison. "I'm fine".

If I push they can be made to sing songs about the weather or the days of the week.

Paula was glad to see me and equally glad that I could give her a lift to her home a couple kilometres away for lunch.

Upon arriving Paula bustled around in the house and came back with a small present for me. It was a bracelet made from glass beads, blue and orange which said Paul thrice around the wrist. I put it on to find that it fit. She or somebody had made it some time back and Royal had forgot to put it in his bag when he came to Canada. Royal's matching bracelet was made too short which seemed odd to me since he was around when it was made. I was far away but found a close to perfect fit.

I wore the bracelet and it made introducing myself. Although Paul seems a plain name to us it sometimes difficult for the San to say probably because some have never heard it before.

Mind you it's the same for me. I need to practice to say Hwant/la or N!ae of N/isa or whatever a few times and the same is true in inverse.

With the bracelet I can just point, at least for those who can read and my name is known. I put it on so that the name is right side up for them and upside down for me since I already know my own name.

At the house I met the others who were staying there. The most interesting was 10 month old Mercy. She'd arrived shortly before Royal's trip.

Mercy was well versed in two things, pointing at different people and smiling. I didn't see her cry but she had no need since she got lots of attention all day from everyone around. When she wasn't getting attention she was sleeping.

There was a girl staying at the place, a relative of Paula's. She'd replaced the relative of Paula's, a man who was living there last year. It seemed that these relatives were there to do domestic tasks in exchange for the roof and free food.

When I wanted my car washed I had to look down the road to a hut to find that man to let him know.

Benjamin and his wife were staying at the place as well. In what had once been a screened porch. Benjamin was a relative of Royal's and felt on some level there was favoritism to the other side of the family which I felt might be true being as he was older but still out on the porch.

At some point there was a flare up and a bit of a fight about the matter but being unable to hear the language I wasn't able to get much more than that. I decided to diffuse the situation and surprisingly I managed to send all involved off to bed after a short meeting.

The next few days I moved around here and there buying this and that before making it back to Botswana by the way I'd come.

2006-02-02T10:24:00.000-08:00

Tsodilo Hills

With the Bushmen there is always an element of mysticism.

Traditional Healers will dance late into the night connecting their souls to god from inside their deep trance. They'll consult with the ancestors to discover the right path.

Being with them is to hear stories about people who can turn into snakes or men who will taste blood to diagnose an illness.

Many places are sacred to the Bushmen and none more than Tsodilo Hills.

Tsodilo is a world heritage site. It's a place where people have always lived with artifacts found dating back to the early stone age.

All around the hills are paintings showing animals and the culture of the Bushmen. From the tar road We travelled down a not to bumpy road and the male hill, the biggest, grew larger in the windscreen.

At the site we found a gate, with a sign: "Please close gate." We went through and did and wound around the male hill to see the female beside it. Further on were a child and a grandchild.

Without a clue where to go we eventually found an arrow which we followed and ended up at a beautiful campsite nearby a museum. The sign said "Tsodilo - Mountains of the God".

After dinner and washing up we thought we'd better get a guide for the next day.

As dusk fell we headed back, not quite the way we'd come, heading for the gate and hopefully to find a Bushmen guide.

As we left our campsite we looked to the road signs and spotted a big owl on top. He whisked up onto a branch and sat looking at us, and we at him.

The Bushmen attach significance to animals that you spot. Us whites consider it simple good luck since part of the reason we come to Africa is to see exotic creatures. Our party is even ticking off creatures in a field guide as we spot them (saw a Bushbuck this morning at Shakawe).

Further on the way we saw six more owls. But it might be that two flew away and came back so maybe it's only four but it's still quite good.

We found the "Keep Gate Closed" gate opened and went through. The Bushmen had once lived right at the base of these hills, as they'd always done. I thought that they'd be close at least to the gate but it didn't prove the case.

Quite aways away and through some deep, 4X4 required sand we found a the "Basarwa". The next day we saw some signs indicating the way but at night it was a bit tricky.

When we made it we found a lady and her mom who identified themselves as !Kung. We asked if they were making crafts and how many there were. It seemed a few were making a living these days by selling to tourists who came by there village and at the gates to the park. Overall it seemed there were fewer people than I'd expected.

When I asked why there were so few they indicated that after they were moved from the base of the hill in 1994, most of the elders died quickly. I didn't ask who, when or how many exactly but my impression is that when San, Bushmen or Basarwa are moved a lot of them die.

Some who are moved will even grab your hand and ask you to take them back to their home so at least they can die there, in the place where they were born.

We organized that one of the men from the village would come in the morning, at 06:30 to guide us up the hill.

We woke at 07:00 and found that he'd been waiting for us.

After brushing and washing at a surprisingly nice ablution block (we hadn't expected running water) we went to the museum office to register.

The fellow there was nice and explained that the community was benefitting from the hills by being the only ones who could guide people. We were instructed to pay the guide 30 pula per trail for the group and to browse at crafts that were in the museum and also to see the displays about the place as well.

The interesting thing for me was to see some of the old things that had been taken from the site. In particular old ostrich eggshell beads from some thousands of years ago.

We chose the rhino trail. Very quickly we were faced with red rock paintings of different types of antelopes, rhinos and elephants. There were also scenes of trance dances, the dancers were showing off very large erect penises. There are a lot of sexual analogies to the trance dance. The best dances last the whole night.

We took the easy way around gradually climbing upwards to the peak of the female hill before pretending we were goats scaling rocks down. The climb was a bit sweaty as the day grew hotter.

I noticed that I was not hassled by one fly or mosquito as we worked our way up and down. This to me, having been quite a lot in Botswana, was a miracle.

I attribute it to the fact that the Gods were pleased. Knowing that others who didn't show respect have had trouble the night before we made a small offering of tobacco on our fire. I'm sure any sane Bushmen would have scolded us for not giving them the stuff but I had a feeling that it was the right thing to do. If the flies stay away then all the better.

We managed the walk in two hours and I was pleased about the pleasantness of the scenery and the exercise.

At the bottom we showered again and headed back to Basarwa Village.

Two years ago I'd got a certain something in Ghanzi that was beautiful and unique, a certain type of necklace. Here at Tsodilo I'd found the maker. The people were in the dry season, not having tourists around who to buy up their wares so my timing was good.

Things were very well organized and we spent a couple hours talking and now I can say I know another place I'll want to come on each of my trips. Even better, a place I know I'll be welcomed.

Botswana Baskets

Up the western panhandle of the Okavango River lies a lot of reedy places. As you roll into villages with names like Sepopa, Kajaja and Seronga you will find ladies under trees using baskets made from reeds. The baskets are used for separating the chaff from grains and other utilitarian tasks. The skills inherent in making these baskets have evolved to create an artform.

Reeds that are plain, pale yellows and greens are dyed using barks and natural dyes to become bright oranges or browns. The colours are interspersed to make designs as reeds are wrapped and woven, spiralling outwards.

The result is stunning works of arts worthy of Botswana's national museum.

For a few days we decided to move up and down and find the ladies who are making this work. They are primarily from a tribe called the Humbukushu, a river people.

From what I can gather there was a huge market for baskets in the past as some individuals did a lot of work to market them overseas. Today it seems as though the hands of the basketweavers are fairly idle. The communities we visited were glad to see us and quickly asked us to make orders. The prices they were asking seemed to be already well established and understood being similar from one place to the next. There was no need to haggle, only to decide how many of what style I'd like on my return trip.

So with a handshake, I've made some deals.

The reward will be when I get everything home because these baskets are truly amazing.

2006-01-27T00:47:00.000-08:00

Written January 24, posted now.

Out of Gabs

Finally, Gaborone is behind me. The last night was spent in the village of Thamaga 40 kms away but I noticed the lack of a jack in the car I'd organized and thought I'd better have one. At the lot (http://www.kskmotors.com/) they found none of the Toyota Hilux's, my car, had any jacks left so we borrowed one from a Mitsubishi Pajero.

So, by one we were off, Tommy and I.

We made it with no issues as far as Jwaneng, 200 kms away, and got some fresh fruit. Then we raced the sun to the spot we wanted to be for the night.

Phuduhudu
Part of the fun of being in Botswana is the friendliness of the people. I'd made a habit on past trips of stopping and the small nooks and crannies along the way. Being as I'm not a government official or a local I'm quite often remembered. I'd stopped a few times at Phuduhudu and checked the local tuck shop and the owner.

I had a feeling that we'd be accomodated if we stopped there and I was right. I met an old friend, even though I didn't remember her name, Sandra remembered mine.

Sandra is a typical Motswana. She has a sad life but a positive outlook. Her recently born baby is without a father as the car overturned on the road in the month before she was born.

We asked Sandra about the brothers and sisters and many of them, 6 of 9, were gone to mainly due to cars overturning.

Sandra and a tag-along named Super took us off to see the Basarwa, as Bushmen are called in Botswana, at Phuduhudu. Of particular interest to me of course being the crafts that they might be producing.

It didn't seem like much was happening on that scale as most recommended we go to other places further away to try for some. However, we had fun with the kids especially taking pictures and turning the digital camera around to show them themselves.

Another interest of mine is to meet the old men and women in the villages and the traditional healers in particular. The elders are the ones who know the most about the medicines and the traditions of the old times.

We went to the place where the last traditional hunter in the village was living. He wasn't around but the wife was. She draped her body across the door of the hut which indicated clearly to me that we were not welcomed as we were not known.

These wives of the old men are very protective of their spouses and it's quite endearing. The way the women draped her arm across the door is the same way she'd drape the arm around the husband. It is clear who the gatekeeper is in these relationships.

The stove that we'd thought was available to us was not available and was somehow strangely broken so were without one. I shouldn't count on people but somehow I knew I could count on somebody at Phuduhudu to help us out. Sandra cooked rice for us and we threw in a can of beans and a can of curried vegetables and beef, a very satisfying three dollar meal.

We had a tent but Sandra insisted we stay inside one of the rooms in the large compound where we found her. In fact, she insisted that the room should be renamed 'Paul's Room' so that every time I stopped at Phuduhudu I wouldn't have to fuss about where to go. The room was a bit buggy but nice.

The biggest millipede (eight inches!?!) I've seen crawled around a bit heading towards Tommy's feet before it was swept out of the room.

A small kitten on the scene was bouncing after beetles and other largish insects. I noted it's skill as a hunter. Sandra got very serious and told me I was correct. She rhymed off a list: "Rats, mice, lizards, birds, black mamba, green mamba and gold mamba but not a python."

I wasn't sure if this small thing could do it from looking but Super affirmed that it was true and he curled his hands to show the way the claws of the kitten would grasp the neck of a snake to kill it. I believed it because I know things like that happen.

A friend of mine that came from Namibia mentioned how his dog, a dog that was usually mauled in his neighborhood, would kill the dogs he saw while in Canada. I knew that it was true too because our animals are soft. Some even wear sweaters. The ones here that are a little bit hungry are a lot mean.

With supper finished we wondered about sleeping bags on the concrete. Sandra was ahead of us and she pulled over two foam mattresses. They were encased in a plastic wrapping with writing on it indicating a price in Pulas, the local currency. Sandra had pulled them from a nearby shop to be ours for the night. So we were in relative luxury.

In the morning we didn't need to rush so we visited the old man. After rolling around a little we found the old man. We met the chief, the Kgosi, in between and mentioned we'd like to buy crafts there. He said something about a committee we'd have to talk to so that we could get receipts.

We found the wife at home with the old man. I asked him to see some of his things and he showed me the old hunting kit. It was beautifully decorated with red and yellow beads and trimmed with porcupine quills. I asked if there was poison on but there wasn't. The set was not the one he was using these days but one from before. Some of the pieces were missing and he promised to replace them. The bow was cracked, the firesticks were only one not two and I'm sure there were other things he thought should be there. I asked him his price which turned out to be fine. He asked for a downpayment which I agreed to give. I also gave the wife some Matsuko or snuff.

By the end of the visit the attitude had changed although they moved a bit guardedly as they'd move in and out of their hut fetching things to show us. I was interested to ask a few questions about the crafts and the old ways in which they were made. The old man answered in such a way that matched what I'd learned about from going to museums. I asked the old man to make a particular something for which I should return in a couple or few weeks.

We left Sandra on good terms promising her as well to stop by again soon and we left her with a few notes in payment for her hospitality. It was very pleasant that she didn't ask for anything. Many Batswana are more forward than her and don't mind asking you for money even before asking your name.

It felt nice to know that there's one more place where I'd made some nice connections. After all the way everything I'm doing is growing is this way. Year after year as I return the trust is growing and the people are keen to work together with me.

Zutswha
Leaving Phuduhudu, which means Steenbok in Setswana, we made off for Zutshwa, a word for which I don't know the meaning in any language.

I've been to Zutshwa at least twice before and found it one of the most pleasant places to be in Botswana. It's a small place 60 kilometres past Hukuntsi which is 100 kms from the main road east of Kang which is about 35 kms from Phuduhudu where we started the day.

The first order of business at Hukuntsi was refuelling. We did so and looked at the skies which were ready to open and they did. It rained and rained so that the front of the gas station was suddenly a small lake. Not having tested our car in the bush and not being over-confident we were nervous to try the road that had been just flash flooded.

We went to the start of the road to look at the Hukuntsi salt pan, a sometimes lake, was full of water and plenty muddy.

We bagged off and organized units for the phone so Tommy could check in briefly at home. Being his first time in Africa he had nervous parents at home. At the shop we asked about the road to Zutshwa and they weren't sure if it was okay with the water.

A few minutes later the word made it to somebody that we were thinking about heading that direction. Lifts were a sought after commodity and the passenger, named Andreas, who insisted he spoke Afrikaans not English but really spoke English, encouraged us to go.

At the other side of the pan we found a hiking spot and picked up three more for the back seat. I choose the girl and guy who pushed the hardest to get in and an old man because it's good to be nice to old people.

I set out and we quickly found that the truck we'd bought was up to the job in the bush. In fact, it more than met the task of the Zutshwa road, to the point where the Zutshwa road was rushing by quickly. The particular model we had bought was the Hilux Surf. Different than the regular Hilux pickup this one was the SUV style we're used to in North America. The name Surf was espcially apt as we hydroplaned down the flooded road. Andreas reminded me that I can sometimes be too enthusiastic with the right foot and told me he was worried he could die. So I slowed down.

I noticed that the combination of speed, sand and gravel was adding up to a heavy decrease in diesel.

At Zutshwa the light was getting dark so I named the names of the people I knew at the place to the people we found in our backseat. They knew someone I knew, a girl called Gosaitse but they didn't want to go their as they were afraid of Gosaitse's dogs. We went to the Village Development Committee (VDC) Chairperson first and he suggested we see some other VDCers to find out about accomodation.

Even from Paul's room at Sandra's the place to stay was a step up. The VDC had built a nice house with a bath, a toilet and lights on the ceiling. Unfortunately there was no electricity or running water but still it was nice. Fortuitously they'd built a drop toilet at the back of the house helping us to avoid the unfortunate business associated with not having such a facility.

The next step was rice, the lady with the key to our new house was called Omphatile. We asked her if she could help us cook in return for share and she agreed. We found that her house was a small tuck shop selling alchohol. Smirnoff Spin and Castle Lager. There was what looked like a deep freezer chest in the room powered by propane but it was off. The husband or boyfriend showed up while the rice was cooking. His name was Kagile and he already new us as he was one of the men we'd not picked up at the hiking spot. There were no hard feelings though and Kagile gladly dug into our secret recipe. Rice, beans and vegetable curry with beef. It was still mmm, even the second day in a row.

I looked for a second tuck shop before we made it home which had cold beers but realized after I had them I didn't feel like it anyways. So we went to bed.

By being in the village and being seen we knew in the morning that people would know I was around. Part of the problem here in the past has been that I am always rushing and things here don't really work fast. So, I planned to take the time to do things properly. I drove here and there with my old friend Tantane. Tantane is famous in my mind for telling me how handsome he is. Handsome to the last molecule in fact. I took a picture of Tantane the first time I met him and a picture of him the second time I met him with the picture from the first time. He is fussy and for the third picture this day he was complaining that he was too thin although he looked no thinner than usual. Tantane explained that being as he was so poor, he had no money and there was no meat around to make him fat. Despite his thinness I still took his picture and even got one of him showing the barrenness of his gut. We noted the contrast between him and I.

Tantane is a San, or Basarwa or Bushmen. Me I prefer Bushmen because at home people know what I'm talking about. Here I use all three as I feel like it. No one seems to mind any of the terms so it doesn't really matter. If I say Bushmen I explain that for marketing purposes at home it is preferred and I've yet to see this explanation prove unsatisfactory.

So Tantane and I and a couple others set out to tell the whole village that there was to be a Kgotla or meeting. First thing was first and we checked with the VDC Chairperson to determine if we could use the Kgotla building. It was nicely painted in sky blue, white and black, the national colours of Botswana.

This was fine and good for me as it was central between the two sides of the village separating the San and the Bakgalagadi. Bakgaladi are Bantus, people who raise cattle. The San are traditionally hunter-gatherers. The Bakgalagadi are a lot more commercial and I always see resentment at Zutshwa between the two groups.

As we drove we hit the main spots on the San side of the village. As we wound around to the Bakgalagadi side Tantane noted that most of them already knew what was happening. I doubted this to be true but we had told the Chariperson, a Mokgalagadi, and the time was getting short.
So by noon it was that a group was assembled of 35 people or so and more if you counted the kids. An entreprising Mokgaladi lady wound around the crowd with a bucket of sweets.

So the meeting was called to order with Tantane as official translator and Mr. A B Kabatlophane helping out and taking some notes. The notes I noticed later turned out to be nothing more than a half page of writing followed by doodles but I respected his effort to start.

The main complaints from Zutshwa were constructive. The first issue was that I was not coming enough. I explained that I have to balance to things, buying and selling, selling being the one that facilitates the other. So unless that we could come up with a plan together it might be that I'll continue to sell more months than I buy.

The second issue was that the villagers would like to maintain their culture by making crafts. I was happy to hear this and I mentioned a way I'd thought of to make this happen. This went over well and within minutes we'd undone the training of some somebody with a bad idea and went back 50 years in time.

The next orders of business went in order and I'd realized that I'd sat as chair of a meeting for five hours straight. At least the others had a chance to move and stretch but I hadn't. So we wound things down. A good feeling was in the air and as I looked around I was reminded why I liked Zutshwa so much. First the place, the view of Zutshwa pan is stunning especially as the sun is declining. I took some moments to snap some photos of the people there. The people being the second thing I like about Zutshwa. The people are thoughtful and kind and project a sense of welcoming everytime I'm there. The complaint that I don't stay long enough underscores that fact I am welcomed.

Saturday night Omphatile and Kagile invited us over to their house for a small party. It quickly was clear that there was a not room enough for even a small party at their place so we moved to a bigger place, our guest house. It was a success. Omphatile mentioned the next day it was the best party of the year.

The next morning was Sunday and church. I hadn't thought about going but was curious. I found the church wasn't a church but a concrete hut. Inside there were seven people, a drum, a candle and little else. Five of the seven were children, one of whom was the drummer. The drummer drummed and the people sang wonderfully. One by one, each would jump out and spin around the candle. I thought this was a nice way to celebrate God.

Outside I heard other drums from other small building, each denomination having their own service.

We moved around to each place where we thought we should say bye to somebody and then set out from the bush to Ghanzi.

2006-01-18T04:52:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow we'll go.

Wednesday didn't make it out due to the usual. But I feel like we're stocked.

My former roommate Tommy decided to come along. He's learning here. I gave him a warthog's tooth that I found on the ground. He's going to wear it on a string around his neck.

I had chickens from last trip that were in a village called Thamaga. They are all dead I've been told. Oh well, dinner plans will have to change.

Tomorrow I want badly to be in the bush to see my friends. I'll find out what can happen in the meantime.

2006-01-15T23:56:00.000-08:00

Back in Africa.

Sometimes you can know something but when you are experiencing it it becomes more.

The heat in Botswana is strong. I know this but being here I'm more reminded because I'm dripping. The heat is one thing and the rains have been coming which means the humidity is on as well. But it's okay, it's expected.

The pace here is different and I know it. Still, minutes turn into hours more slowly here. If it's happening now it really means that it is happening later. So things will take time and what is supposed to happen today will happen tomorrow. I want to leave here tomorrow but it might be Wednesday.

Something is happening in the bush, not in the city so that's where I need to be. That's the next stop, the city is more frustrating. In the bush things are more straightforward. There's not cars barreling down the line at 120. There's no hawkers with chinese watches and earrings. There will be a different set of problems but with faith and confidence they will be solved along with the others.

So here we go....

2005-06-14T09:31:00.000-07:00

Royal /ui/o/oo is set to arrive in Canada in less than a week.

Royal is a Ju/'hoansi San and a Member of Parliament in Namibia.

I met him through his wife. While in Tsumkwe, Namibia, late one night at a party I met Paula, a lively woman who smiled easily. I told her about Nharo, a craft buying project that works with the San. To that point we'd been mostly dealing with people from Namibia but on the advise of Richard Lee, a University of Toronto anthropologist we'd made it to this new place.

Royal is usually reachable on his cell. This is in contrast to many of the people we deal with who can be reached only by going to where you think they might be. Often they are not there. Royal is easier, if you can't get him on his cell you can try his landline which is up and down, or send him a fax, or call his secretary or the police station in Tsumkwe. Someone will know where he is and eventually you'll get him on the line.

This time I'd reached him easily and set up a meeting at the House of Assembly. I had to go through a metal detector and leave my pocket knife at the gate. Then I waited at the secretaries office. Down a long corridor I saw a small man coming. He stopped to greet his colleagues amiably. Both sides referring to the other as "honourable", a sign of respect and the proper address for an MP. Royal saw me sitting and stuck out his hand. He quickly rhymed off his name which left me bewildered. Again and more slowly he told me that he was "Honorable Royal Jonah Kxao /ui/o/oo". The '/' being a click that sounds like a tsk. With three of them in a row it can make heads spin and I think Royal enjoyed the effect.

We ended up briefing each other on what we were up to and agreed that it would be worthwhile to work together if possible.

That was in late 2003. Now in June 2005 Royal is preparing to come to North America for the first time. It's not his first trip overseas having been to China as part of his duties as MP.

The purpose of the trip for Nharo is to validate our mission, to show that we have the support of the people that we work with and to confirm our fair trade practices. The best way to do so is to bring one of our principal consultants to tell people his own views.

From Royal's point of view, Nharo has agreed to fund his trip and organize for him the chance to speak about the issues affecting his people. In additon we have connected him with the Assembly of First Nations where we will meet on June 22nd.

Royal is an author having co-wrote a book called "San" for the Cultural Heritatge Series Library. We have arranged 50 copies of the book with the help of the other-co-authour, Megan Biesele, and the Kalahari Peoples Fund of Austin Texas. Royal will be able to sign and sell the book and keep the profits so that he might be able to contribute towards the things that he wants to bring home from Canada. A laptop computer or a digital camera are on the short list.

The trip is designed to be a win-win. Royal, through the experience and opportunity to expand his contacts into North America, Nharo by validating our mission and raising our exposure level and the people who get to interact with us will win by having an introduction to a remarkable man from a unique culture.

In the past "Bushmen" have been put on display. Brough to the public light largely through the film "The Gods Must be Crazy" Nharo has organized a screening of this film. Royal was a teenager when the film was released and witnessed the impact that it had on his community and the star of the film N!xao. Royal will give his point of view on the film, the good and bad that came of it. As well, we have a directors cut of the short documentary 'Journey to Nyae Nyae' provided by Daniel Riesenfeld. This film shows the impact on N!xao ten and twenty years after the film and up to his funeral.

2005-03-01T02:10:00.000-08:00

The last week, my last here in Africa, has been a busy one. I had to keep two promises. One was to the people at the village of Zutshwa and the other to an old lady called Dada, an artist from D'kar.

Last month at Zutshwa I dropped off a large bag of ostrich eggshell, the raw material for the jewellery which the women there elegantly produce. Zutshwa was home to a craft buying NGO that went underat some point as somebody "ate the money".

The people at Zutshwa are charming and eager and I'd given them some dates for my return. I'd sold my car here but not wanting to be made a liar I jumped the bus to Hukuntsi, some 500 or so kms away at nine o'clock on Wednesday.

The bus ride was like a milk run, stopping and waiting at various non descript locales on the way to my destination. The most torturous was the last bit, with Hukuntsi nearly in sight, less than five kms away I had to endure trips to neighboring villages Tshane and Lehututu which took at least a combined hour. Next time I'll drop at the junction and hike the rest of the way.

Upon arrival I wanted to find the driver I'd had last time, good old reliable Pete. I moved around quickly and found him. We'd negotiated last time what I'd understood to be a standard rate for him and his 4x4. Pete wanted to renegotiate seeing I was working on time. He added a cool fifty pula to the tab to which I reluctantly agreed wanting to make speed into the bush.
Unfortunately, Pete inexplicably decided to check with his mom who demanded a further increase. Where I'm from you can't do that once you've shaken on it so I removed my bags from the vehicle and huffed off.

The best strategy was to wait around the shops, and the bar, for the next lift. A friend called Steve pitched up and we moved around to no avail. With darkness setting in it looked like my only option was to take up the invitation of a kindly older woman who'd offeredto fix me up a meal and help me with a place to sleep. Unfortunately, the whole time she was offering she kept winking as though she had a nervous tick. I knew what that wink meant and wasn't that keen.
While waiting around I noticed a fellow I hadn't wanted to see, Nelson Abdul. My last encounter with him in September 2003 had been difficult. He'd driven me but shown up with to much alcohol and marijuana and he'd thoroughly scared me with his driving. I'd released him and he'd promised to get a gun and come back to find me.

It seems he didn't remember me now though and when he heard that I needed a ride he sprinted off and came back with a fellow named Donald driving a Toyota Hilux 2.4 litre 4x4. Just what I'd needed. Apparently Nelson had let the past stay there so I did to and gave him 20 pula on top.

I did ask Donald to leave Nelson hehind though to which he agreed. It seems sometimes that Nelson can be very helpful and other times completely off the wall.

We made the 56 kms to Zutshwa past bedtime, close to eleven o'clock. I looked for my old friend Tantane to alert him I was around. My hope was that in the morning the people could gather and I could buy their wares and be off.

No such luck, in the morning I found Tantane hadn't really budged. Steve, Donald and I moved around doing our best starting at 6 in the morning.

At the end of the day one lady did a great job producing a heap of jewellery and I compensated her accordingly. The rest worked in dribs and drabs but on the whole the quality was very good, no rejects.

I'd hoped to be on the ten o'clock bus to get out of the bush but wanted to give the people a fair shake. Many didn't bother to make it in time which is entirely because there's really normally no reason to rush in Zutshwa. But I was in a rush hoping to keep my second promise.

So we decided to pull out just to eleven which brought a small flurry of transactions and then we hauled. I suppose I wanted to buy more but the constraints of doing business in Africa mean you don't get what you want much of the time. I'm hoping slowly that the Bushmen at Zutshwa can learn some appropriate skills to better enable them to fend for themselves, going faster would help as it seems the other tribes in the village are pushing them around a bit in most areas including commerce.

Ideally the people would source their own materials and deliver things to me on a timely basis. It might happen but in some time.

I'd been expected at Kang at noon by a friend who'd promised to head further north with me.
I phoned on the stroke of 12 and found him home in Gaborone. I had to attend a funeral on Saturday and I didn't see a way to make it to where I needed to be and back in time so I hitch hiked back to Gaborone myself. Sometimes a hike goes smoothly.

My feet would only touch the ground and a lift was there. The first was two girls in a big Hilux on their way to Kang, on the main highway back to Gabs. We stopped to get some chips and cokes and were off. She drove slowly but safely and dropped me on the Gaborone side of the town.

The first car by was a white, notorious for not picking up hitchhikers. He passed but thought better of it and came back.

Ferdie, the driver, was a white South African working in Ghanzi. Much of the Boer culture doesnt' work for me but Ferdie had a cooler box full of Amstel and had set a rule that he could drink one per hour all the way back to Welkom some 1000 or so more kms away. I was invited to dip once per hour into the stash and enjoyed it immensely.

The fact that Ferdie was a good talker and drove at 150 kms / hour made me like him.
I got off at Kanye, close to my destination and had a short uneventful trip to Thamaga. I decided to walk the last five kms since I felt on time.

I'd made it Thursday to attend a funeral Friday and Saturday. It was a somber experience and I was not sad to leave the village and rearranged the trip to see Dada. Dada is a famous painter. She's not shy to the places she's been to exhibit her work, London, Sweden, America, Australia, and elsewhere. She'll list until she starts repeating locations.

Dada is emminently charming because she is one of those old people who is not shy to say what she thinks calling some beggars or pronouncing loudly who is rich.

In one conversation 70 year old Dada mentioned her mother. I was shocked to learn that her mother could be alive but I was informed that she was, and kicking.

Dada's character began to make more sense when I saw her together with the older sister and the 103 year old mother. They argued loudly. The mother though admitting that she appreciated the attention she got from her daughters and was quick to point out that they were better than the sons who no longer came to take care of her. Maybe not surprising since they are in their seventies themselves.

I asked Dada's mom about the old life and what were the good thing that had been brought by the whites who'd arrived on her land. Without to much consideration she said oranges were the best thing and asked if I had any.

I had an apple which I gave her. She thanked me and then pulled her lips down to reveal a very gummy mouth. The elder sister was the one who got to eat the apple.

I thought of these things as Dada's small frame filled the back seat of the Nissan Escudo we'd used to get to Dkar this time. We was Asanka, a Sri Lankan who worked at the place where I'd got my car as was Boy-Boy, a Motswana who joined us as well.

Boy-Boy was very worried that someone had used muti, black magic, against him. The purpose of our trip, at Dada's request, was to visit a Bushmen healer, a trance dancer. Boy-Boy had never been to a Bushmen but knew of their reptutation and asked me if the fellow we were going to consult was strong. I though he should be so I said yes.

Asanka was scouting things out for his brother Anura, the owner of the car lot. Anura was an asthma sufferer willing to try non-traditional therapies.

Dada was in the worst shape with two serious problems, one in her lungs and one in her eyes.
We were lucky to arrive with some time before dark at a large farm owned by a man called Eaton. We travelled twelve kms from the main road to get to the place where the Bushmen were living on the farm.

It seemed like a nice place. The people were friendly and the atmosphere was light. Children rolled and tumbled in the sand.

I knew that when trying to seek the assistance of the traditional doctor, like any doctor, it was better to have an appointment which we didn't. But I also knew that with this type of doctor if it was meant that you should see them that they would be there. I had a feeling in my heart that this old Dada deserved some attention. The old man was indeed there.

As the sun disappeared the women sat around a fire purpose built for the dance and began to clap and sing. It's reason enough to go to the event just to hear the precise rhythms and the harmonies of the Bushmen's music.

It was agreed that Boy-Boy and Asanka would pay themselves. I'd promised Dada that I would help her and communicated this to the old man. In my mind though I was hoping it couldn't be too much.

The man tramped in front of the singing women who were joined by singing children. The rattles on his legs rattled to match the percussion from the hands of the assembly. Even Dada joined in.
The man first touched her on her chest and back, to make his initial diagnosis. He further prodded focussing on the lungs and eyes. The problem was not there though. He pronounced that someone had hurting Dada. A healer in her home village was the culprit. Apparently he had the flower that would would aid her ailments but was holding out for 1000 pula which she didn't have.

No one seemed surprised by this and the healer moved on to me. I already knew from a consultation a few weeks before that I didn't have any problems. The healer asked if I'd been coughing at all lately to which I replied in the negative. With that bit of information in hand he confirmed then that I had no problems which I think is great.

Asanka was next and I was not surprised to hear that Muti was in effect. It wasn't initially clear whether this was something coming from Sri Lanka, perhaps the fiances family or if it was rooted locally. Further tests were needed.

Boy-Boy's fears were confirmed, muti as well.

The main continued around the fire touching each of us, and the others there, several times.
It came out that Asanka's problems were likely coming from a rival car dealer. His elder brother should come for an appointment at some later date to clarify the situation further. As far as asthma was concerned that was not something that could be fixed using these treatments and a trip to the hospital was recommended.

At the end a few different ingredients were given out some for the bath, some to be rubbed on your head or your feet.

The bills were modest, Dada's treatment costing me 50 pula.

We made our way to drop Dada and gave her an apple which she enjoyed. She was very happy and thanked my graciously in English, something she usually hides behing her native Nharo, Setswana and Afrikaans in that order.

All in all the few days were a whirlwind but I got some things accomplished. I fly home on Wednesday and the cold wetness of March at home doesn't seem like a bad thing after that sweaty heat rash that was the last few months, even now I drip.

There's lots on the table on my return and more stories piled up that I might take time to write more periodically if I get the whim.

Thank you for reading.

2005-02-14T03:26:00.000-08:00

Back in Windhoek from Tsumkwe.

Royal has been a big help in navigating his neighborhood. I felt very welcomed.

I've been accepted into the Ju'/hoansi kin system which means that I now have a new name, //'ao. The // is like the noise you use to make a horse go, a lateral click, a the ' a slight pause. As I arrived for the trance dance near to Tsumkwe I was shortly told that it was my new name. I have a namesake there, an older grey-haired man who seemed quite kind. We didn't talk much due to his lack of English and my lack of Ju'/hoansi. I'm getting better though and can at least greet.

The healing went fine. I'm feeling much better about the prospects ahead than I was this time last year. The healer touched me and his arms and legs shook like elastic bands. But at the end of it he pronounced I had no problems.

The ceremony took place after dusk around a fire. The rains looked menacing but quickly stopped, it seemed, the moment the old man appeared. There were three dancers with him, or four if you count Royal who would jump up with a hoot and proceed to tramp around the circle.

I'm still amazed every time I see a Bushman healer pick up live coals. But they all sem to do it with impunity. This night I witnessed the old man pick up live coals and rub them between his hands and at certain points during the healing his body became ice cold.

The old man and the dancers were in full, bare-bummed, traditional attire. One of the dancers had only one arm, the result of an encounter with a snake.

I'd spotted a snake a few days earlier and alerted the nearby bushmen. They immediately reached for large stones to bash the head. The one I'd spotted was harmless though and left to go. Around the corner I saw a green mamba that hadn't been so lucky and had been duly smashed.

I'm making arrangements to ship the crafts we obtained from Tsumkwe back to Canada including three sets of poisoned arrows which I'm very afraid to handle.

2005-02-09T01:32:00.000-08:00

I've had to come out of the bush to Tsumkwe quickly and thought I'd better pop in to update the situation. Tsumkwe is full of delights. The hunters are active with their bows and arrows and I was able to taste freshly killed kudu yesterday.

Tonight Royal has arranged a trance dance and the healer and the village seem as excited as I am.

The craftspeople are phenomenally talented in the area and I've taken a particular interest in the dingos (thumb pianos) and the /xi (knives) that they create. The good thumb pianos ring like bells and are tuned to chords. They have a hole in the middle which can be covered with a spiders web to increase the resonance. The knives are so sharp I feel I could shave with them. In addition, the hunters have fine crafted bow and arrow sets. I have to take special note which have poison on them, there's no cure.

A few more days and then back to Windhoek with Royal. I've been seeing and learning a lot about Tsumkwe, more later.

2005-02-03T03:59:00.000-08:00

Finding transport from Hukuntsi, a village in Botswana located just south of the tropic of Capricorn, has always been semi-difficult. It never seems that there is a shortage of 4X4 vehicles but finding one willing to give a white a lift for a few days at the black price takes a little bit. The first try netted an offer of 500 pula (about $110 US) per day which was too much.

After floating around for much of Thursday transport with two cars for 125 pula per day was found but one had a missing bolt causing a rattle and the other a clog somewhere in the gas line. After more waiting a 1990 Toyota Landcruiser driven by a friendly fellow named Pete came on the scene. He asked when we wanted to go and I said now.

Now, but not now now. After making sure we had an extra spare tire and plenty of water and food we were off to Ngwatle. At Ngwatle I’m familiar with about 25 artists who I buy from each time I’m around. One of my favourites was called Maseben. She stayed with her grandmother and her young daughter in a hut made of twigs coated on the outside.

On my first visits to Ngwatle it was clear Maseben was one of the most talented and prolific artists creating ‘Mareka’, the !Xo word for ostrich eggshell jewellery. On my previous trip, February 2003, she’d had the strength to make only one piece, a bracelet which I’ve held onto. Maseben was infected with HIV and was clearly at that point about to succumb to Aids.
I talked to her about it at that time and she indicated that the infection was passed on to her by a government worker.

Unfortunately for her she did not have access to Anti-Retroviral medications as she said he did.

I was not surprised to learn that Maseben passed away last April. I knew that it was to be but it cast a bit of a pall over the proceedings. As usual I set my tent near to the grandmother’s place. I call her Mosadi Mogolo, old woman in Setswana.

Although we arrived after dark we found her up and active. She’d just come from the community water tank but found it difficult to open so we trekked back with her and carried back 60 litres of water over a kilometer or so.

The next day the artisans assembled and I was able to collect jewellery they’d created from 40 kilograms of ostrich eggshell I’d dropped off last year.

After spending the day at Ngwatle we escaped to N/aang some 36 kilometers away. Here we were also able to assemble the artists and collect some jewellery.

I was delighted that Pete let me drive from N/aang to the next settlement. I’d not really had a lot of practice with driving manual or in deep, deep sand but luckily there’s not a lot of stuff to hit along the desert roads so I just winged it and did fine. Unfortunately, at some point the sealant holding a hole on the radiator closed came off. We overheated.

It’s not really the best place to be, the Kalahari Desert, with a broken car. However, Pete seemed to expect this problem and had some more sealant. We managed to make it back to Ngwatle where we stopped to refill our water.

To restart was a problem. The engine didn’t turn over and to make it worse the hood wouldn’t open. I read a book while a few gathered Bushmen and Pete worked on getting the hood open. After a while I got out to look and recommended they pull the grill forward and reach inside. This worked.

We convinced ourselves that the problem with the engine was the choke but we were wrong. After another while I walked to see some American missionaries stationed at Ngwatle. Missionaries in Africa are usually really good at fixing cars.

Jim and Jill and the boys were surprised to see me but I explained I’d been coming for some time and they seemed happy about that, and to see me. Jill asked how many we were and said she’d put on more chili.

A few problems were diagnosed. First, Jim felt that Japanese cars were shitty and we should be driving a Ford F-250. But I’d grown attached to the Landcruiser and disagreed silently. No need to annoy the guy who was going to prevent me from being stuck in the desert.

The next issues were more serious. I’m not a mechanic but it seemed like a lot of the wires were bare and sort of twisted together. Jim thought it would be better if we wrapped them with gum. His son quickly chewed a Chappies, the local brand, and wrapped it around one of the bare bits of wire. Next the carburetor was adjusted and our battery attached by jumpers to there.
The choke didn’t come into play at all.

Once the engine started we thought we’d better not tempt fate and took off. We had two choices about root: A road straight to Hukuntsi and 80 kms or one through Zutshwa with an extra ten or so. I wanted to stop at Zutshwa anyways but Ronnie wanted to take the car back for fixing. Luckily we took my root and died in the middle of Zutshwa. We got a first boost to get rolling again but not far.

We stopped beside somebodies place so I asked if we could camp in their yard. It turned out that one of the ladies, Kennie, remembered me from being there last year so we ended up chatting for a while catching up on what had happened there and elsewhere.

The next day I sought out Tantane, a Bushmen who’d really helped me last year when I’d come. Zutshwa had at some time in the past had a Trust which set up a craft buying organization. At some point the money was eaten a tremendously skilled group of artisans were left without a place to sell their work. So, my coming was a good thing for them. My first meeting didn’t go as smoothly as I’d like. A great deal of debate took place with former trust members saying I had to go through them if I wanted to buy crafts. Considering they’d collapsed the trust I pretty much ignored them apart from one lady who was much louder than the rest.

This year there was no commotion. No one had been to buy crafts in the eleven months since I’d last come. I had promised I would and everyone seemed pleased about it. There was some disappointment that I had not kept a promise to bring the ladies nail-cuts, a tool employed in the making of ostrich shell jewellery, and an explanation was demanded. I explained that I’d forgotten and this was accepted at face value.

Tantane and I moved around for the day quickly became fast friends. Last year his English was not great but this year he amazed me. He kept referring to molecules and about different things that were “driving him bananas”. When I asked him why he’d been so pitiful at English last year he explained that that day he was feeling lazy.

I went through the task of buying in a relatively straightforward way and found the quality of the workmanship extremely high but the materials lacking. Some of the ladies were using maize meal sack as string for the jewellery. This material after some time would rot and break and they knew it. So pieces that were diagnosed with sack were sent back to be restrung with a strong nylon thread I’d brought. No one complained about this and the day was spent pleasantly chatting with Kennie, Tantane and others.

I was anxious to find out if the traditional doctors were around but they were not.

So from Zutshwa it was back to Hukuntsi after three good days in the bush where I’d budgeted five bad. I made a promise to return again as soon as I can.

2005-01-25T22:57:00.000-08:00

Thursday at 11:45 EST on CBC Radio One a documentary that I put together last year is airing nationally in Canada. If you get a chance to listen live please do.

After the broadcast you can listen to a copy of the program here:

http://www.cbc.ca/outfront/pastshows.html

This story outlines some of the ups and downs that have been part of this journey.

Happy listening.

2005-01-17T21:56:00.004-08:00

Yesterday the High Court of Botswana continued the case of the San people from the Central Kalahari Game Reserve (CKGR) against the Government of Botswana. 231 residents lead by Roy Sesana contend that they were forcibly evicted from their ancestral homeland inside the reserve.

The courthouse itself was spectacular with an impress marble façade at the front. The courtroom was decorated with attractive hardwood paneling and modern Plexiglas panels separated the raised gallery from the attorneys. However, the water at the courthouse was not running so attendees at the trial were forced to make do behind a tree somewhere on the ample lawn or in one of the rose gardens behind the building.

One of the judges noted during the trial that it was too hot in the courtroom as a number of people were sleeping. Tomorrow the case will be moved to a cooler room.

The witness on the stand was Matsipane Masthanyane. I’d met him during my time inside CKGR when I visited Mothomelo. The lawyer for the San, Duma Boko, was asking questions in English which was then translated into Setswana and back.

Matsipane described the relocation exercise and the removal of his house, his two wives, two children and most of his livestock. His daughter was removed to New Xade while his son was sent to Kaudwane, the two resettlement sites designated by the government. At one point he described how government officials left him with only one blanket, some donkeys and dogs.

Matsipane eventually moved to New Xade as well where he was unemployed. He said:

“While at New Xade I did not plough nor work. I was just idle”

He described that he is illiterate. There was a system that the government would give the people pieces of paper with writing. Some people would be allowed to work if their piece of paper, pulled from a container and unwrapped had the right writing.

“If you were one of those lucky ones it would say yes, you have work. If you were unlucky it would say no. I was unemployed for one year.”

Matsipane tired of life at New Xade and proceeded with some remaining livestock back to Mothomelo sometime last year. One of his wives has stayed at New Xade. When asked where life is better he replied: “ Life is better at Mothomelo. When drought strikes I know where to go to sustain my life. At New Xade I don’t know how to do this.”

He described how one of his wives has changed: “Since she went on the truck, I don’t know what happened to her mind. We are together today because of the children. She does not stay at home. She comes at night and goes away in the morning. Most of the time she is at drinking places. The reason I say she has changed, that she no longer cares about me and the children is that her mind has changed. She is selling the cattle she was given to use the money for drink.”

As the defense concluded with the witness the government attorney Sidney Pilane asked for an adjournment to correct an error made in the numbering of pages in one of the documents given to the court. He insisted that he and his assistants would not be able to stay past 4:30 necessitating a prompt adjournment to take care of this pressing issue. He was also insistent in his implication that the error was the fault of an intern from Boko’s firm although after some questioning by the judges it was not clear this was the case.

It was clear that pressing on would have made sense but instead an adjournment was called. This is typical of Botswana culture preferring a protocol of sorts, ensuring all documents must be correct before proceeding for example, over efficiency.

As a general strategy it seems the government attorneys would like to make the matter proceed as slowly as possible knowing that the resources of the San are thin. Roy Sesana, the Chairman of First People of the Kalahari who brought the case forward is sleeping in a tent in Gaborone as I write this now.

Strangely, although it’s clear there was a forced removal from the CKGR there is not seemingly much hope that the outcome of the case will be favourable to the San. Some are already looking forward to an appeal of any decision that comes forth.

Today I’ll continue to watch at least some of the cross-examination. All the time I’ll think about the contrast between the resettlement camps where alcoholism is rampant and the smiles that received me inside CKGR.