This is Enough

Dumelang Batsadi!

When you know what to expect being content becomes easier to achieve. At this point in Peace Corps there are few surprises in everyday life. The last 15 odd months have proven to be the most trying, ridiculous and fulfilling months I’ve had yet. They’ve been more trying than fulfilling though and more ridiculous than trying. However, at the end of the day I like to think I’m pretty awesome for having, gracefully (not really) survived another day in the Peace Corps volunteer life.
Every RPCV says that they feel they got more than they gave during their service. Before Peace Corps I imagined myself rewarded with life altering stories to tell, hugs from adored village kids and just an acknowledgement by my community of the sacrifice Peace Corps represents in my life. This is usually not the case for the Botswana PCV. To my surprise, the rewards came in much smaller and practical ways.  I want to share a story, a sort of a day in the life of the always mobile Bots PCV. 

Not too long ago I found myself leaving a friend’s village. Because I live approximately 7 hours away from the capital and the only usual mode of public transport back into my village leaves between noon and 1, I often find myself making it a two day trip to get back to my village from the capital (where the Peace Corps office is). Along the way I stay with other volunteers who are always very welcoming and hospitable because they know the struggle can be real when it comes to transport issues. This particular village has been known for having a lot theft and crime recently. My friend came along with me to the bus rank and then kept me company for a couple hours while I waited for the right bus. It was a holiday weekend and everyone was going back to Gaborone (the capital) for work. There were ridiculously long lines for these buses and they filled as soon as they pulled up. Luckily, I was going in the opposite direction so I did not have to worry about fighting people to the death for a seat, or so I thought. I found myself oddly content and patient at having to wait for two hours for this bus in 80+ degree weather. My friend waited with me for the majority of the time until I made him leave so he didn’t waste more of his afternoon. These friends of mine… always going above and beyond, especially in terms of my safety. I sat there swinging my legs on my bench, sipping my lukewarm coke thinking to myself, this is enough. 

After awhile I wander over to what I found out was the line for my bus. It’s short and I smile to myself thinking there will be no scuffle once the bus arrives because there will be plenty of space for these 8-10 people waiting, or so I thought. I patiently wait another hour for this bus to arrive. In the meantime a few of the ladies waiting ask me where I am going. I tell them I am going to Bobonong as well and they nod acceptance to the idea and tell me the bus will be coming soon. Everyone sort of mills around in the shade, leaving their belongings within eyesight while they hold their place in line. I save a woman’s spot while she goes to the bathroom and help another pick up her bags after they tumble down from their tall stack. We wait. The afternoon sun turns into evening and finally it starts to cool down a bit. After awhile everyone scrambles to their places in line. A woman explains to me that the bus is coming. I wonder how they all know this but yet still trust they’re right. Five minutes later I see something kicking up dust, coming our way. It’s not a bus. In Botswana there are three types of long distance transportation: bus, speeder and combi. A combi can seat usually 16-20 people (depending how ambitious you get) and a sprinter (larger than the van sized combi) can hold about 25-30 people (depending on how ambitious you get). A sprinter rolls up already half full. Suddenly people who haven’t even been in line show up scrambling to get in. I’m peeved but not too worried about getting a seat. I know the women who have been standing in line with me will vouch that I was there for far longer than half these people trying to push their way in. If I have to stand the whole way I will as long as I get a spot on the sprinter. I manage to get inside with several people already standing. One of the ladies standing in line with me had pushed me in front of other people and used her elder status to stare down any guy that tried to say otherwise. Another woman I’d originally stood in line with pointed to her bag on one of the seats and directed for me to sit down. I hand her back her bag and thank her. I sit down in triumph, silently daring anyone to complain. I crack my window, put my headphones in and silently thank grumpy, old Batswana women. I thought to myself, it won’t be long before one of them asks me to close the window because the wind is bothering them or because they'll get "flu" but for now this is enough. 

As I sit in my very much appreciated chair I realize there are approximately 5 people touching me at that precise moment. I’ve come to realize that in America we are very adverse to touch by strangers. When you are on a bus or waiting in a line you shrink to your tiniest size of you to avoid accidentally touching the stranger next to you. This is not the case in Botswana, especially on public transport. These people on this 4+ hour bus ride become a part of you. There’s no shrinking away or tight, balled up hands in your lap. My seat was a single seat next to the aisle. In front of me were the door and an upturned bucket that was normally used as a garbage can. A young boy sits in front of me on the upturned bucket with his back to me. He starts to doze off and leans into my knees. The man behind me drapes his arm around the head of my seat. The woman next to me leans heavily into the side of my seat. I learn to ignore the lady’s butt diagonal from me. They all lean away from the door that is actually broken so it doesn’t close all the away and is kept closed by sheer hope and a rope. There is no personal space on a packed bus, sprinter or combi. Often times on hot days you’ll find yourself pressed against someone so tightly that you find your sweat begins to mingle with theirs. No apologies are needed. You gotta get in where you fit in. At least I got a seat. I feel safe and cocooned in the mass of people that would certainly crush me to death if there was a motor vehicle accident but for now, with no impending accidents, this is enough. 

I thought to myself, it’ll be dark when I get to Bobonong where my friend is waiting for me and more than likely my phone will be dead by then. I should text her to warn her so she doesn’t worry. She replies with tales of a fantastic dinner she is preparing and should be ready just about when I get in. Awesome, I am already starting to forget about the meat pie I had for lunch (sidenote: I love meat pies). She also tells me that she’s already called our trusty taxi driver to keep an eye out for my bus so he can take me to her house once I get in. After a couple hours on the sprinter my phone dies, therefore my music does too. I pull out my book (a good Botswana PCV always carries a book) and read by the little sunlight left. Once it gets dark I put my book away and sit in the still, stifling heat. My mind wanders, daydreaming about the actual bath (not bucket bath) I will get to take once I get to my friend’s house. Since she knows I don’t have running water she always encourages me to use her tub and her hot water when the season calls for it. My friends, always taking care of me… I start to doze off. After awhile someone opens their window and lets in a merciful breeze that hits me square in the face. It is possibly the best feeling I’ve had all day. This is enough. I fall back asleep.  

My short tale on public transport is probably one that almost all PCV’s in Botswana, if not all of Peace Corps have experienced. Peace Corps volunteers do a lot of traveling, not just because travel is a lot of fun but because we travel to see each other! At the beginning of our service we meet each other, spend every day together for a couple months of emotionally exhausting training then we get split apart and thrown to the winds to all corners of our host country. So ya, I’ll spend hours on a bus just to see one of my fellow PCVs for a day. Transport is arguably, one of the biggest obstacles that Peace Corps volunteers deal with during their service. However, once a PCV gets the swing of things it becomes more natural, manageable and achievable. Learning to make small talk with strangers on hitches, figuring out the more convenient spot to sit in the back of a pickup truck and managing to eat a whole meal in your lap aboard a bumpy bus all becomes fluid normality in a PCVs life. And though you can’t exactly put those skills on a resume they are still skills I wouldn’t change for anything. Transport in Botswana has made me do a lot of reflection... possibly because sitting under shady tress waiting for it or riding on long bus rides gives me a lot of time to do nothing but that. A Peace Corps volunteer is a resourceful person, they’ll figure it out and when they can’t, their Peace Corps family is there to help them out. And that my friends, is more than enough.

Ke a leboga.

En español, un poco diferente y mas corto, con menos detalles de lo que escribe en ingles pero la misma idea. 

Ya tengo más de 14 meses aquí en Botswana como una voluntaria de Peace Corps. Los días llevan menos sorpresas y cada día siento que sobrevivo otro día en este mundo que es Peace Corps, aunque sea a veces muy apenas!  Parte de esta gran aventura a sido ser agradecida por lo poco que tengo. La mayoría del tiempo me la paso deseando casos que no son posibles a ese momento. Por ejemplo, las personas que extraño, tubería interior en mi casa, y aire acondicionado. Pero debes en cuando ay ratos donde lo que tengo se siente suficiente y todavía mas. 

Peace Corps seria nada sin la gente que me ayuda todos los días. Los otros voluntarios son como mi familia aquí. Solo ellos entienden realmente las frustraciones de cada día aquí. Ellos también an pasado los mismos obstáculos que yo. Por esa razón nos apoyamos mucho. Cuando uno no tiene algo el otro le presta lo suyo. Cuando uno no sabe de algo el otro le da la información que necesita. Tengo una voluntaria cerca de mí que vive en el pueblo donde las oficinas oficiales de my pueblo están. Seguido necesito ir a ese pueblo y esa amiga siempre me da posada aunque solo esta una hora de mi porque ella sabe que mi casa y situación no son igual de buena como la de ella.  También por estas razones todos sufrimos mucho cuando una persona de nuestro grupo se regresa a los estados unidos. Perdimos uno de nuestra familia. 

Algo que nunca pensé que iba a tener aquí es la ayuda y apoyo de extraños. Cada vez que voy a otro pueblo siempre sale que necesito la ayuda de alguien. La gente en los camiones siempre me ayudan cuando no se donde estoy o cuando no se a donde voy. Las viejitas me cuidan y se aseguran que me suba al camión que necesito. La gente aquí siempre me ayuda cuando me veoperdida o cuando se nota que necesito un poco de asistencia. Eso es algo que no se puede decir de otros países.

Como dije antes, ay muchos días y momentos que paso deseando mas de lo que tengo. Pero también ay muchos días donde lo que tengo es suficiente. Eso son los días que aprecio mas porque son los días que estoy más feliz. Esos días son los que siento que no me falta nada y todo es perfecto en el mundo. Esos días lo poco es más que suficiente.