Go Siame, Gaborone

Sitting only a few feet from the “Pula Lounge,” in the Sir Seretse Khama Airpor—a place too small to merit more than one waiting area for all flights—I am now passing my last hour in Botswana. Over the past couple of weeks, most of the experiences have been ones that hold great personal significance, but don’t make for much in a blog post. Perhaps that’s the mark of finally beginning to feel as though you are living in certain place: when events stop feeling like unusual incidents and become day-to-day life. I’ve had all my final exams, a process during which I crammed to memorize the exact words of my teachers, the names of authors I would be expected to cite during my in-class essays, and worked on my knowledge regurgitation skills. After that, it was time for the last events and goodbyes. We went back to Primi Piatti, the first restaurant at which CIEE ate in Botswana and Ani and I, in memory of our first time there, shared a pizza. Not traditional Setswana cuisine, it’s true, but we’d all had our fill of pap, intestines, and soup for the semester. We finished up our souvenir shopping and even managed to have a burrito night in honor of Cinqo de Mayo (code for: we all really missed burritos). That party proved to be a merger of lifestyles with us mashing up hamburger patties to create ground beef, and using something called “thick cream” for sour cream. Hand-made guacamole and pizza-dip all around.

We also successfully picked up Sophie’s suits for her brothers and father, and even modeled them.

On Saturday we went to Batsi’s house for one last braai (Botswana barbeque), where his family went above and beyond to include a number of vegetarian items. Sitting outside, with pop music blasting through the neighborhood we all were able reminisce a little about our time in Botswana. Unlike most places in the States, no neighbors would complain about the noise or the people out in the yard—live and let live, here in Bots.

Ani, Batsi and myself

Today we moved out of our dorms and experienced a departure that encompasses so many of the little quirks that make Botswana the place it is. After riding to drop Sophie off at the airport, we went back with our cab driver Dimpho—a man who, quite apart from getting us all over Gabs and therefore knowing everything about our everyday lives, has also proven himself to be a good friend.

Dimpho, pretending (in his words) to be Zimbabwean by carrying my luggage on his head.

We then packed up all of our luggage and were preparing to leave when the security guard for Las Vegas wandered into our room to demand our “computer registration forms.” Upon discovering that no one had ever made us sign such forms, she explained that we would not be permitted to leave Las Vegas without them and called her superior. Just when we were beginning to feel like maybe it was high time we left Gabs, the supervisor called someone to bring us the forms and the two security guards helped themselves to the items Ani and I were leaving behind. By the end, the guard was thanking us profusely and we were playing with the music on my iPod. In the last hour before our departure, we managed to make a friend. Unfortunately, we were then accosted by the cleaning ladies, who demanded to know why we were giving everything to the security guards when the cleaning ladies had been our “mothers” for the semester. It’s one of the many paradoxes of Botswana.

Here at the airport, the computers are broken, so Ani and I (along with everyone in our flight) have been issued hand-written tickets.

All of which leaves us here in the airport, about to leave the country that for the past five months has been our home. It’s moving to winter here now, although you could still wear shorts today. The combis are still zooming around the city, honking to see if you need a ride, waiting for you to flag them down.

There are still cows on the streets, right alongside massive development and construction projects.

People are selling little candies along the road in tuck shops and simple stands and you can buy your rubber stamp today, if you so wish.

It is impossible to summarize our time here, and I’m sure we won’t even realize how much it has affected us until we’re back in the States, missing the savory pies sold in front of the library…maybe even missing pap and mophane worms! But before that, we’re on our way to the UK; in fact, by the time I post this we will be there. Check back here at least one more time to see how the study abroad adventure ends. As for Botswana:

Sala sentle. Go well.