tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74379214448757114482024-03-13T16:50:02.894+02:00From Wanderings AbroadViews of a Peace Corps Volunteer in BotswanaDaniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comBlogger191125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-50641162223818385372012-03-28T11:47:00.001+02:002012-03-28T11:47:10.084+02:00Things I Will Miss About Botswana : The Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>This is a new series I will be running from now until the time I leave Botswana.</i><br />
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There are a lot of little kids in the "neighborhood" around my house. Most of them are too young to go to school so I see them playing in the streets any time I walk by. There are two brothers (far right and far left in the picture above) who I taught how to give me a "high five." They speak no English except now they run and yell, "High Five!" endlessly whenever I walk by. They then taught every other little kid in the area how to say it and so I get bombarded from all sides when I walk down the street.</div>
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I have tried to teach them my name, even my Setswana name, but they have never used it. Instead, they have taken to calling me "<i>Lekgoa la me</i>" which translates into "<i>my white person</i>" or "<i>my foreigner</i>." I find it very funny to be followed down the street by a bunch of kids running, waving their arms wildly, and yelling, "My white person!" over and over again. Its not like I wouldn't stick out otherwise.</div>
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I recently taught them how to give a "high ten" and a "low ten." Now mixed in with the constant cries of "high five" are "Dira Ten!" which is a mixture of Setswana and English for "Do 10!" I can be having the worse day ever, but those kids will immediately bring a smile to my face and they have this amazing ability to make my day better. </div>
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When I was going through the recruitment process, my recruiter told me that volunteers who served in Africa sometimes had problems with being a minor celebrity, especially when they had to adjust back to life in the US. I don't know if I quite feel like a celebrity but I do know that I will miss having these little kids drop everything and come running over just to give me a high five.</div>
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<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-53254576395631183432012-03-19T12:07:00.001+02:002012-03-19T12:07:55.867+02:00Only in Botswana<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is one of my new favorite stories from my time here:</div>
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The other week, I went to the post office to pick up more boxes from <a href="http://fromwanderingsabroad.blogspot.com/2012/01/teddy-bears-in-botswana.html">Mother Bear Project</a>. When the bears are shipped they come in several large boxes, each containing 50 bears. This presents a small problem for me. First, the postal workers don't like to lift the large boxes, so I have to walk around to the side door and carry the boxes out myself. I grabbed them one by one and then placed them on the curb outside. </div>
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The next problem is finding transportation because I obviously cannot carry all four boxes at once. I stood at the curb and tried to flag down a taxi to get me home. That morning, I had gone to the post office early to avoid being stuck in line. I did manage to avoid the lines, but not the morning commute. Every taxi that passed by was full of people. I stood there on the street for a while and tried not to get frustrated.</div>
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Then a red car passed by me and the driver immediately turned around and came to park right in front of me. He jumped out and seemed happy to see me. "Mopati!" he said, "Do you need a ride? Where are you going?"</div>
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I am pretty sure I have never seen the guy before. I smiled and pretended that I knew him because he obviously knew me. I told him I was trying to get a taxi home and he offered to give me a ride. We loaded the packages and I got in. We talked about the weather and other small talk as I tried to figure out where I knew him from. When I tried to give him directions, he laughed and told me he knew the way. </div>
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We pulled up to my house, I unloaded the boxes, and then thanked him. He told me it was great to see me and that he would see me again soon. </div>
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I still have no idea who he was but I did get a free ride home. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-44627802240035641162012-02-14T14:43:00.001+02:002012-02-14T14:43:08.820+02:00The Maputo Fish Market (Mozambique Part 3)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>(Part 3 of a series. Click here for <a href="http://fromwanderingsabroad.blogspot.com/2012/02/paradise-lost-mozambique-part-1.html">Part 1</a> and <a href="http://fromwanderingsabroad.blogspot.com/2012/02/paradise-found-mozambique-part-2.html">Part 2</a>)</i><br />
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There really is nothing too special about the Mozambican capital, Maputo. It is a very large, crowded, and incredibly dirty city. That being said, a major highlight of being there for me was the fish market. Other volunteers had told me about the market and it sounded great. There were people selling fresh seafood in the front and then several restaurants behind that. You would buy your fresh seafood and then take it to a restaurant to have them cook it.<br />
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The market is bordered by a low, corrugated metal wall and there was a small doorway leading in. Before I could even get to the door, there were several guys around me telling me to come to their places. "I have the best! Come to my restaurant!" yelled one. Another leaned in close and whispered, "I give you best price. Best price." I waived all of them off and walked in.<br />
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There were several booths with all sorts of seafood offerings. One booth had a pile of lobsters, another had massive fish, beside it was one with massive king prawns, and then there was one with buckets full of clams. The clams were intermittently shooting small jets of water out. It was overwhelming to walk do the aisle and have everyone yelling in Portuguese and English to come buy from them.<br />
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I walked through the market several times to see what was available and settled on eating shrimp. There were several women selling shrimp and I shopped around, not really wanting to haggle too much. One of the women had king prawns (large shrimp) that were easily 6 inches long. She asked for 800 Metacis ($30) per kilogram so I walked away. Another woman had regular sized shrimp and started off by asking 400 Metacais ($15) per kilogram. After some negotiation and walking away, she lowered the price to 200 Metacais ($7.50) per kilogram, but only if I bought 2 kilograms.<br />
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Now with 2 kilograms of shrimp in a plastic bag, walked over to the restaurant side to find someone to cook them for me. Once again, I was quickly approached by several guys and they all had different prices. I found a guy that offered to grill the shrimp for 90 Metacais ($3.30) per kilogram. He laid out a tablecloth and we sat under an umbrella in an outdoor eating area and had a beer.<br />
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I started to get worried when 30 minutes and I had not seen the guy. After the run of bad luck on the trip, I began to wonder if the guy had simply taken my shrimp and walked away. We looked around the area but couldn't find him. After 15 more minutes he appeared and assured us the food was coming soon.<br />
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He came back carrying a large white platter with the shrimp laid out. They had been grilled and then coated with with butter, lemon, and garlic. It was some of the best shrimp I have ever eaten. They were so good that Tess, who is normally a little squeamish with shrimp, peeled and ate them just as fast as I did.<br />
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All figured up, I paid about $21 for 4.4 pounds of cooked shrimp and it was easily the best meal I have had in the last year. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-28314717785202055982012-02-07T15:08:00.000+02:002012-02-07T15:08:58.931+02:00Paradise Found (Mozambique Part 2)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(<i>This post is a continuation. For Part 1, <a href="http://fromwanderingsabroad.blogspot.com/2012/02/paradise-lost-mozambique-part-1.html">Click Here</a></i>)<br />
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We arrived off Inhaca Island after an uneventful three hour ferry ride and the boat dropped anchor. Because the tide was out, smaller boats met the ferry to take us to shore. The island had a very "tropical" feel and looked beautiful from the boats. I couldn't wait to enjoy the beach and the ocean.</div>
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The plan was to find a place to stay and if nothing was available, go back to the capital on the return ferry later in the afternoon. There were all sorts of people who waded out into the water to meet the small boats. They offered to carry bags and show people around the island, for a fee. After noticing the bags we were carrying, one guy offered to show us to a nice place to stay. I was a little wary but we followed him onto the island. He took us to a little place that was owned by a local guy named Fernando. Lucky for us Fernando spoke some English and had 3 rooms available. The lodge had showers, a self-catering kitchen, and the rooms were very nice. We dropped our bags off and set out to explore the island.</div>
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We asked around for a good place to eat and where the best beaches were. We found a great little bar and restaurant that had fresh fish and good beer. The problem was the beaches. The best beaches were on the opposite side of the island about 12km from where we were staying and too far to walk. We got a few quotes for transport to and from the beach but they were all around 2,000 Metacais (about $75). As we left the restaurant, we noticed a guy sitting in a big Land Rover. We asked him if he gave rides to people and he offered to do it for 1,500 Metacais ($55). </div>
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The guy's name was Virgil, but he went by the nickname "Peri Peri." He had been an economist for the government of Mozambique and had even worked for the United Nations. He is retired and has lived on the island for the last 12 years. He was a fantastic tour guide and told us all about the island. He even let us use his beach umbrella and some masks and fins to go snorkeling. I was still a little hesitant to be paying so much money just to go to the beach for the day but the beach was beautiful. We had the beach to ourselves for the entire day and spent our time relaxing, swimming, and snorkeling. The water was a little murky but the snorkeling was good. The water was incredibly deep and dropped to 40+ feet only feet from the shoreline. I spent a good portion of the day diving down as deep as I could on a single breath and watching fish. It was a difficult place to leave.</div>
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The other great thing about staying on the island is that besides tourism, a major source of income for people on the island is fishing. Every day after lunch the fishing fleets would return and sell some of their catch right off the boats. We bought a large fish that weighed over 1.5 kg and 1 kg of squid for 350 Metacais ($13) and had fried fish and calamari that night. Fernando, the lodge owner, even showed us how to prepare the squid and make it into calamari strips. The next night, we bought some more fish and made fish tacos. It was so nice to eat seafood again. In Botswana it is very expensive and not very fresh so I never eat it. </div>
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Our time on the island came to an end too quickly but I enjoyed getting to swim in the ocean and overindulging in seafood. It was not quite the vacation we had planned but things ended up working out pretty well, all things considered. The last day on the island was quite windy because there was a tropical cyclone passing between Mozambique and Madagascar in the Indian Ocean. The wind was blowing steadily and had whipped up the waves in the bay. There were waves ranging from 3-5 feet. The ferry ride back was pretty rough and there were several people on board that got seasick. There was even a time when I thought the boat was going to capsize because of a big wave. </div>
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We finally made it to the docks back onto dry land to spend the remaining days of our vacation back in the capital.</div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-28328358297507248282012-02-02T13:39:00.001+02:002012-02-02T13:39:54.858+02:00Paradise Lost (Mozambique Part 1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mozambique has been at the top of the list of countries I wanted to travel to ever since I first got to Botswana. Volunteers from the previous group would return from trips and share stories and pictures of time spent relaxing on beautiful, tropic-like beaches and eating fresh seafood. I craved a vacation where I could sit on a nice beach with a cold drink, eat fresh seafood, and just relax. </div>
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The problem with a trip to Mozambique is that it is a bit tricky to sort out the logistics of getting there. Mozambique requires that all Americans get a visa before entering the country. To get this visa, I had to physically appear at the Mozambique Embassy and pay them for the privilege of entering their country. It was no small feat working out how to get down to the capital and it was quite costly. </div>
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Once the visa issues were sorted out, we began to work on the travel plans. Getting to Mozambique on my budget involves several buses and dozens of hours worth of bus travel. From my house to the town we wanted to go to in Mozambique, would mean 4 different buses and cover a distance of 1,900km (1,180mi) one way. I definitely looked forward to the destination, just not the journey. </div>
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The journey actually turned out to be for the most part uneventful. We had an 8 hour layover (if there is such a thing for bus travel) in Johannesburg. The bus depot there is not in a safe area so we jumped a bus to a suburb called Sandton. There is a big mall there and we figured we could find something there to keep entertained. I felt like a fish out of water in the mall. All around me were chic designer stores selling things for more than my monthly stipend and very well dressed people whisked by me with their shopping bags. So here I was, standing in one of the poshest areas of the city wearing a plain t shirt and my ragged, beat up, and stained khaki shorts. I was definitely out of my element. </div>
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After killing time at the mall, we got on our overnight bus to Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. The bus left at 10:00pm and would arrive in Maputo at 8:00 the next morning. I reclined the seat as far back as it would go, got comfortable, and then popped a sleeping pill. I managed to not only sleep the whole way there but the attendant had to wake me up when the bus got to the border. We had arrived just before the border opened and were waiting along with other buses, combis, and private vehicles. When the border opened it was a mad rush to get in line and a little chaotic. </div>
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We passed through the border without any hassles and continued into the city. We found our hostel, dropped our bags, and set out to explore the city. Maputo is a very large city that seems to be crumbling right before your eyes. All around there are architectural reminders of its time as a Portuguese colony but also of the country's brutal 16 year civil war.</div>
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We found a cool little food place in a back ally that served a dish with shrimp, rice, and salad for under $4. It was the first time I have had shrimp in two years and it was amazing. We also quickly discovered how little English the average Mozambican knows (if they knew any at all). The official language of the country is Portuguese and we were limited to very basic communication and hand gestures.</div>
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We went to bed early that night because we had to be up at 5:00 to catch the bus going north to Tofo. We had heard great things about Tofo. It has amazing beaches and is a place where you can find whale sharks. I was especially looking forward to maybe getting the chance to snorkel with a whale shark.</div>
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A shuttle came to pick us up the next morning to take us to the bus rank. We got on the bus going to Tofo, paid our fare, and waited while they packed every available inch of space with sacks of rice, various other goods, bags, and people. It was going to be a hot, crowded, and quite uncomfortable ride. I tried to nod off, but couldn't find a comfortable position. About an hour or so out of the capital, We suddenly came up on a large line of trucks and cars on the side of the road. The line stretched easily over a kilometer and people were milling all around the road. The driver drove down to the end of the line and then stopped to ask what was going on. As it turned out, there had been major floods in South Africa and that water had raged down the river into Mozambique. The flood waters had washed out a large section of the road and water was rushing through the gap. This road is the only way to get from the capital to cities in the north. We were pretty much stuck. The driver parked the bus and wandered off. </div>
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Rumors abounded. One was that the road was going to open by noon, another said 2pm. Yet another one was that the road would be knocked out for a month. We ended up sitting and waiting for the better part of 6 hours before the driver decided that we would head back to the capital. Our beach vacation to Tofo was off. Compounding our misery was that the driver had spent a large portion of our fares putting fuel in the bus and could not pay refunds for tickets. They offered to take us again for free the next day. </div>
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We limped back into the capital and tried to figure out our options. There was no way that they were going to fix a 10 meter stretch of road overnight and so we looked through a guidebook for other options. Maputo is in a large bay and does not really have good beaches (raw sewage is dumped directly in as well). I did not want to sit in the capital for the whole vacation. We learned from the guidebook that there is a small island at the mouth of the bay and is only a 3 hours ferry ride away. The guidebook talked about "pristine" beaches and made it out to be quite nice. We decided to give it a shot. It was too late in the night to make reservations anywhere and so we decided that we would just go out there and hope there was some kind of cheap accommodation.</div>
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We wanted to get to the docks early because the ferry could leave at any time between 7 and 8:30 based on the tides and winds. We all got up early again and looked for a taxi. There were five of us and to save money we asked the taxi driver if we could all just pile in. (This is not an uncommon occurrence in Botswana. If there is space in a vehicle, they cram people in). The driver didn't have a problem with it and we set off for the docks. While waiting at a traffic light, a police truck passed through the intersection in front of us. The officers caught sight of us and the truck lurched to a stop in the middle of the deserted intersection. Five police officers carrying machine guns got off and directed the taxi to pull over. A police officer approached us and asked to see everyone's passport. It is a law that all visitors must carry their passports at all times and this is commonly checked by police looking for fines or bribes.</div>
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The officer then told us that it was against the law to have so many people in a taxi and that he would have to arrest us all. We tried unsuccessfully to argue that the taxi driver should be the one fined or in trouble. Our taxi driver settled low in his seat and just stared down at the pedals. I had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on. The officer again told us to get out of car and that were going to be taken to jail. Someone mentioned that it should just be a fine and the officer then asked how much we were willing to give him as a "fine." One of us offered up some minuscule amount and he quickly raised it to 1,000 Metacais (about $40). He took the cash, got back in the truck with the others, and then they left. It was a total shakedown from start to finish and it was infuriating. (And I would be willing to bet the driver was in on it as well).</div>
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In hindsight we should have called his bluff to go to the station or mentioned that we were going to call the US Embassy but we didn't want to miss the ferry. There was only one ferry per day and some days it didn't run at all. Any delay because of the police could potentially mean getting stuck in the capital for a few more days.</div>
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Everything with the vacation seemed to be falling apart and now we had basically been robbed by the police. We got on the ferry and hoped the island would be worth seeing. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-12589396769046535032012-01-16T10:25:00.002+02:002012-01-16T10:26:31.765+02:00Teddy Bears in Botswana<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few months ago, I got an email out of the blue from an organization called <a href="http://www.motherbearproject.org/">Mother Bear Project</a>. Mother Bear gets people to knit teddy bears which are then sent all over the world to Orphaned and vulnerable children. I agreed to let them send me some bears and after a few months, I was staring at 4 large boxes sitting on the Post Office floor. The boxes were so large that the postal workers refused to bring them to me and I had to walk around to the back and move them myself. Inside the 4 large boxes were 200 teddy bears.</div>
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The only requirements when I handed them out were that I was to take a picture of each child receiving his or her bear. Each bear has a little name tag that has the first name of the person who knitted the bear and the organization wanted to send the pictures to their knitters to show them where the bear ended up and to motivate them to knit more. </div>
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This past Saturday, along with the help of a few friends, I distributed all 200 of the bears. That day at the center was controlled chaos. I had the kids in a big line and brought them into the room to get their bear and get their picture taken 2 at a time. It took about an hour to get them all handed out. The reactions of the kids was interesting. Some were overjoyed and had beaming smiles. Others seemed dumbfounded and walked around like a deer in the headlights. I even made 4 babies cry. They were just fine until I walked up and tried to hand them a teddy. They each took one look at the teddy, then at me, and then started bawling. One even tried to jump out of his mother's arms to get away from me. I guess not all children like free teddy bears after all. A lot of the children have never been given a gift in their entire lives and it was a special experience to get to see all the reactions.</div>
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Here is a link to the pictures I took (<i>and it is a cultural thing to not smile in pictures, so don't think that the children were not happy to get their bears</i>): <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/113130111695645723561/MotherBearMotherTheresaResourceCenterFrancistownBotswana">https://picasaweb.google.com/113130111695645723561/MotherBearMotherTheresaResourceCenterFrancistownBotswana</a><br />
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And here are some links if you are interested in finding out more about the Mother Bear Project:<br />
<a href="http://www.motherbearproject.org/">http://www.motherbearproject.org/</a>
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<a href="http://www.motherbearproject.org/how_help.html">http://www.motherbearproject.org/how_help.html</a>
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<a href="http://www.motherbearproject.org/about.html">http://www.motherbearproject.org/about.html</a>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-68222779132387199252012-01-12T09:25:00.000+02:002012-01-16T10:26:58.719+02:00Backyard Garden - November and December 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The garden is still going despite my best efforts. I got a bunch of cucumber and the tomatoes have been small, but good. The broccoli is still coming it but doesn't seem big enough to eat yet.<br />
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<br /></div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-70100047960532277442011-12-14T12:32:00.000+02:002011-12-14T12:33:53.078+02:00Lesotho, the Mountain Kingdom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recently went to Lesotho in vacation. Lesotho is a country that is totally within the borders of South Africa. The lowest elevation in Lesotho is higher than the lowest elevation of any other country on earth. It is sometimes called the "Nepal of Africa." (And interestingly, it is home to the only ski resort in Africa).</span></div>
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The trip involved going hiking for 5 days up into the mountains, staying in remote villages, and then returning to our lodge. I greatly underestimated the distance we would be traveling and how rough the terrain would be. The trip is typically done on horseback, but to save on cost, we decided to hike it and only have a pack horse. In 4 days of hiking, we traveled over 80km (50 miles). </div>
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The first day started out relatively flat and we crossed a river over a small bridge. After stopping for lunch, we continued on through several small villages. In each village children would run excitedly to the path and some even walked along for a while. After hiking for 6-7 hours, we stopped for water at a spring. We were near a village and someone asked the guide how much farther we had to go. He pointed at a mountain in the distance and told us we were going to climb it and that the village where we would spend the night would be just beyond it. My first thought was "Surely he must be joking." We had been hiking all day and done some pretty rigorous climbing. As it turns out, I was wrong. Our guide wasn't joking. We climbed the mountain, go over the other side and found the first village we would be staying it. It was a brutally long day but the little village we stayed in was great. It was perched on the side of a hill and was made up of maybe 2 dozen huts. It was also isolated. To get food or other goods, the villagers have to hike over the same mountain we did and then back again.</div>
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We got up the next morning around 5:30 to prepare breakfast, pack up, and hike to the next village we would be staying in. As we passed by a house on the edge of the village, several people came out and began talking with our guide. He translated that they had just bought a generator and a television but couldn't get either of them to work. The manual for the generator was in English and none of the people understood it. We had our guide translate the manual and then got the generator going. We plugged in the TV and the DVD player and everyone's eyes lit up and they smiled when we put on a DVD. I guess its possible no one in that hut had ever seen a TV before.</div>
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The days were spent hiking through beautiful, rugged terrain. Some of the paths were quite steep and there was a lot of hiking down one side of a gorge and then right back up the other. My legs were beat. Then we would get to the village where we were going to stay the night and I got to sit down and take my shoes and socks off. Words can barely describe the joy I felt removing shoes and socks after hiking for 8+ hours each day. </div>
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We stayed an extra day in the last village to get a chance to rest and also to go on a short hike to see a waterfall. After all the walking, it was nice to rest my legs and the waterfall turned out to be worth seeing. We hiked for about an hour to get to a point where we could see it. Some of use decided to hike up to get underneath the waterfall and go swimming. The weather was cloudy and cool and the water temperature could not have been above 50 degrees but I still jumped in for a few seconds. Its not everyday I get to see a waterfall.</div>
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The last day was another long hike out and was pretty uneventful until the last 2 hours. A large thunderstorm moved in and it poured cold rain on us the rest of the way back to lodge. Everything I had got soaked and I was shivering. The wind blew so hard the rain seems to be falling sideways. We got back to the lodge and I took a nice hot shower and tried to wash a week's worth of filth.</div>
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The trip was exhausting, but well worth it. Lesotho is a fascinating and beautiful place and the villages we saw remain virtually untouched by tourism. It was also refreshing to see large mountains and grass after living in the desert for 20 months. It is a trip I would do again in a heartbeat.</div>
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<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-28989902262099768472011-11-22T07:32:00.001+02:002011-11-22T11:34:36.893+02:00Preschool Graduation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of attending a graduation for St. Joseph's preschool in a little village near Francistown. I was there with a good friend of mine who raised much of the money to build the school. He was there as the guest of honor and I tagged along and took pictures. </div>
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You can see more pictures here: <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/117227323107231167628/BW_2011_St_Joseph_Preschool_Graduation?authkey=Gv1sRgCLbxmaH7vqnAtgE" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">https://picasaweb.google.com/117227323107231167628/BW_2011_St_Joseph_Preschool_Graduation?authkey=Gv1sRgCLbxmaH7vqnAtgE</a></div>
<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-39170932704503252772011-11-21T12:52:00.001+02:002011-11-21T14:48:02.374+02:00Did That Really Just Happen?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Did that really just happen?</i><br />
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<i>Did I really just see that?</i><br />
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<i>Are you kidding me?</i><br />
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I have had many funny, weird, and otherwise bizarre experiences here. The following are some of the more memorable ones (so far):</div>
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I was in a car, driving on a rural road, when I saw a few trucks parks on the side of the road and a group of a few men standing around. The car slowed, and as we got closer, I saw what they were doing. The men had come across a dead cow and were butchering it right there on the side of the road. The men were walking away with large hunks of the cow and putting them in the backs of their trucks. The severed head sat on one truck's tailgate. I looked over at the driver and we both shrugged. Nothing about what we saw seemed abnormal.</div>
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Every year a certain type of caterpillar appears. The locals call them mopane worms and are highly prized as a <a href="http://fromwanderingsabroad.blogspot.com/2011/02/they-eat-caterpillars-dont-they.html">delicacy</a>. The caterpillars also happen to be quite beautiful. They are about 2-3 inches long and have bright orange, blue, or yellow streaks down the length of their bodies. I was walking home one day after work with a woman from the organization and noticed a particularly large mopane worm in our path. I stopped, crouched down, and pointed to the caterpillar. The woman got a big smile on her face and reached down to grab it. Before I could do anything to stop her, she had twisted off the head and squeezed the insides out on the ground. She then held it out and offered it to me to eat. I politely declined and was mad at myself for pointing it out in the first place.</div>
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I was standing on an already over-crowded bus when it stopped to pick up a few more passengers. One of the men we picked up crammed in and stood next to me. I looked over and he had a chicken in a plastic grocery bag under one arm. He had put the chicken in the bag and then tied the handles so that just the chicken's head was sticking out. The chicken spent the ride slowly opening and closing its mouth and I tried to stay far enough away from it to keep from being bitten. When the man got off the bus in a small village, he set the bag with the chicken in down next to him while he collected his bags. The chicken just sat there, in the bag and didn't try to get out. </div>
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I was in the dreaded middle seat on a bus, sandwiched between two rather large women. The temperature was in the 90's outside and both women fell asleep quickly. After a rather uncomfortable hour, I felt sweat dripping down my right arm. It was from the woman to my right.</div>
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I was taking my normal walk home, where I usually talk to the neighborhood kids and give them high fives. One little boy had just finished a bath, and when he saw the kids crowding around me, came running out - not wanting to miss out on giving me a high five. So here I was surrounded by small children and this little naked boy, about 4 years old, comes running up shouting "high five!" I almost fall over from laughing, but I do give the kid a high five. I stand up and tell the kids I have to go home and they scatter, except for the naked boy and another little boy. As I turn to leave, I see the other little boy point emphatically to the naked boy's penis and start laughing. </div>
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I was with several children and we were all hunched over, drawing pictures in the dirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small boy walk over and stand behind several of the children. When I looked up to greet him, I noticed that his pants were down around his ankles and he was peeing on the other children. It took several seconds for the children to process what was going on. Once they turned around and figured out why they were getting wet, they all started bawling. The small boy pulled up his pants and scurried off before I could catch him. One little boy who had been peed on was so distraught that he ran over and tightly hugged my leg. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-57778233498061026232011-11-16T12:46:00.001+02:002011-11-16T13:09:54.549+02:00Ridiculous Heat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The high temperature was over 100 from Thursday to Monday. I thought I was going to pass out from the heat. On Saturday I drank over 6 liters of water and it didn't seem to make a difference. Another volunteer told me it got up to 101 degrees <i>inside</i> his house, and I have no doubt that it was that hot in mine.</div>
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My fan seems to have little effect and does little beyond pushing hot air around . I do my best to continually drink water and not move too much. I hope the rains come soon and cool things off a bit.</div>
<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-6545266753285978862011-11-09T08:30:00.000+02:002011-11-09T08:30:01.064+02:00Quad Biking in Namibia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Namib desert in Namibia is one of the oldest deserts on the planet and is home to the tallest dunes in the world. One of the major attractions in the dunes is quad biking. Everyone I talked to that has been to Swakopmund insisted that I try quad biking. I have been on a quad bike before, and while it was fun, I wouldn't put it in the "best-times-I-have-ever-had" category. I just didn't understand the hype surrounding the dunes and quad biking. I can now say I was wrong. It was easily one of the coolest experiences I have had in Africa (and maybe all time - seriously - no hyperbole). </div>
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Words really don't do the experience justice. One minute I was looking at breath-taking views of seemingly endless sand dunes and then the next I was flying down a 150 foot tall dune at 50mph. It was incredible and is something I would do again in a heartbeat. </div>
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<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-2102548381787410342011-11-08T13:18:00.000+02:002011-11-08T14:41:48.280+02:00Namibia Vacation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I spent the last few days in Swakopmund, Namibia. Swakopmund is on the Atlantic ocean and has a mild climate because the ocean is so cold. The temperatures were between 50 and 70 F - just what I needed after having a solid week of above 100 degree temperatures in Botswana. It is always interesting to get out and see other countries around Botswana. Despite their proximity, I have found the other countries in southern Africa to be quite different and Namibia was no exception. </div>
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Namibia is the second least densely populated country in the world after Mongolia. It was a protectorate of Germany for many years, then became part of South Africa, and has only been an independent country since 1990. There is still evidence of German influence, especially in Swakopmund.</div>
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The town is quite interesting. The architecture is quite German and there were even restaurant menus and signs in German. There was fog each morning that would burn off in the heat of the day only to return later on in the afternoon. It vaguely reminded me of San Francisco. </div>
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The highlights of the trip were the food and the ocean. </div>
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Each morning, I got up and went to a little German bakery for an apple danish and a big mug of coffee. </div>
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We also ate at a sushi bar. The place was at the end of a long pier and we sat outside looking out into the ocean. When I saw the first sushi roll I could have cried for joy. It was the first sushi I have had since leaving the US and it was quite good. I ate 8 rolls and could have eaten more. </div>
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I also was craving fresh seafood, which is difficult - not to mention expensive - to come by in landlocked Botswana. We searched high and low for a fish market but couldn't find one. Then on the way back from the beach another volunteer and I saw some guys clustered around some faucets cleaning fish. We figured they would know about a fish market and asked them. As it turns out, there really is not a fish market in the town, but they offered to sell us some of their catch. We bought 3 large fish for the equivalent of 18 US dollars. They were even cleaned, gutted, and salted for us. That night we smothered the fish in butter, garlic, and lemon and threw them on the grill. The fish was bony but delicious and we even had enough to make fish tacos the next night. </div>
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Another highlight was eating at the <a href="http://www.swakopmundbrauhaus.com/">Brauhaus</a>. Ever since traveling to <a href="http://fromwanderingsabroad.blogspot.com/2009/06/eich-bin-ein-berliner.html">Germany</a>, I have loved German food and beer. The Brauhaus did not disappoint. I had a liter of dark beer and an order of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eisbein">eisbein</a>, which is a favorite of mine (and one of the better foods I tried in Germany). </div>
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I also really enjoyed getting to see the ocean again. After being in a desert for 18+ months, I relish getting to swim in any body of water. The South Atlantic ocean is quite cold, and despte being a huge wimp about cold water, I got in and swam anyways. We got tossed around a good bit by the waves but it felt good to be swimming in the ocean again. <br />
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As with all vacations, this one was just not long enough. I could have stayed for a week or more exploring the streets and trying out new cafes and restaurants. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-86407179086738235542011-10-29T07:46:00.000+02:002011-10-29T07:46:00.715+02:00Backyard Garden - October 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-24977499933427688222011-10-28T09:00:00.000+02:002011-10-28T09:00:02.178+02:00When Helping Does More Harm Than Good<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago I was sitting in a meeting at the community center where I go to help out. One of the subjects that came up was about a call the center director received that week. There was a volunteer organization (we'll call them organization X) who was having a conference in town and wanted to get out and do some community service. They had heard about the center and wanted to come out and plant trees.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all agreed that this would be a nice project and that the center could certainly use a few more trees. We finalized the date and time for them to come and figured we would just have to show up to help.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It turns out Organization X needed a lot more help than they initially let on. They later called the center coordinator and asked if he could arrange getting trees for them to plant. This is quite a task here because there are only a handful of plant nurseries and they charge more than 100 Pula ($15) per tree. It is asking a lot from them to donate trees, both in time and revenue lost. Between the local nurseries and the ministry of agriculture, the center coordinator was able to scrounge up around 50 trees. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then he gets another call from Organization X and they mention that they are going to be really pressed for time. They ask if he would mind digging a few of the holes for the trees himself to get the project started. He went out the day before the event and dug a row of holes for the trees. As I can attest after digging my garden, digging in the ground here is not easy task. The soil is sun baked and is practically as hard as concrete. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So now the holes are dug, the trees have been donated, and all that remains to be done is for this group to show up and plant the trees.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I show up to the center the morning of the tree planting early because I figure I will need to help out. Members of Organization X begin to arrive in their personal cars. Some of them are even dressed in suits and other formal attire. This should have been the first sign that something was up.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The leadership of Organization X addresses the children and other people who have showed up and since the talk was entirely in Setswana, I am not sure of everything that they said. After going through the various formalities, a prayer, and several short speeches, it was time to plant the trees. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The children were very excited by this and they run over to the pre-dug holes to watch. The members of Organization X bring a few trees out and then place one in the hole. Something didn't look right about and so I walked up closer. The tree sapling was still in the plastic sack it was grown in. The guy hadn't even bothered to take the root ball out and planted the tree in the ground. He just picked the whole thing up and set it in the hole. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was about to say something about it when a bunch of the other members picked up a shovel and gathered around for a picture. Then they gave their shovels to another set of members and that group got their picture taken. They had taken a bunch of pictures where it looked like they had done a lot of work, but they actually didn't do anything. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then they grabbed their organization's banner and invited everyone to gather in front for a picture. I politely declined and tried to figure out what was going on. After the group picture, they thanked the center coordinator, got back in their cars, and drove off. All we had to show for it was some holes in the ground and 50 tree saplings still in plastic.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was beyond mad about this. Not only had they not done any actual community service, but they had dumped all of the work onto the center coordinator who would now have to plant or give away all those trees, not to mention all the work he had done digging the holes. It was almost too ridiculous to believe. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess the road to hell really is paved with good intentions.</span></div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-81869909431045010262011-10-27T09:19:00.000+02:002011-10-27T15:14:42.012+02:00Living Without Air Conditioning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"It's not as hot as hell here but you can see and feel hell."<br />
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The weather this week has been something else. The highs on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were all above 100. Some news reports said it got up to 107 yesterday here. It is miserably hot - so hot in fact - that even the Batswana are complaining about the heat. As I left work yesterday, I opened the front door and stepped outside. I was immediately hit by a blast of hot air, as if I has stepped into an oven or someone was holding a blow dryer in front of my face. A coworker who walked out behind me said, "Ah! Even the air is hot today!"</div>
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At best, extreme heat like this makes my life uncomfortable; at worst, downright miserable. I feel like I am always dripping with sweat and just walking around will leave my shirt soaked through and sticking to my back. </div>
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Much like the winter weather here, when I first heard about the summers, I scoffed. After all, I had lived in a desert before. I even lived in Las Vegas during the summer. How bad could it really be?</div>
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What makes this heat so bad is that its hard to get away from it and cool down. I walk everywhere, so there isn't a chance to get in a car and blast the A/C. (Even if I did take a taxi, they don't run the A/C, they just crack a window). Then, when I get home already hot, tired, and sweaty from walking around, my house is hot. The tin roof and concrete walls that seemed to amplify the cold during the winter, now trap heat like a sauna. </div>
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Once I am home my strategy revolves around sitting in front of a fan on its highest setting, drinking as much cold water as I can (I keep 7.5 liters in my fridge at all times), holding ice packs on my wrists and neck, and wearing minimal clothing. I try to do as little cooking as possible because the stove and oven quickly raise the temperature in the kitchen to unbearable levels. </div>
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When it is time for bed I run a cold bath (and if I am really miserable, I add ice) and sit in it until I start to shiver. Then I jump out and get in bed with the fan turned all the way up, hoping that it will keep me cool enough to fall asleep. Most nights I am lucky to get more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. </div>
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I have always preferred summer to winter and hot weather to cold weather, but I may be rethinking that in the coming months. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-9933158187414456852011-10-10T08:49:00.000+02:002011-10-10T08:50:42.536+02:00The Desert Blooms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I never thought I would ever miss rain, but I really do. Winter is the dry season here in Botswana and it last rained sometime in March or April. It was so long ago I really cant remember. Then last weekend, a storm rolled in. I could see the massive thunder clouds as they blew in, but I figured that they would just blow on by.</div>
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As I went to bed, I could hear the first rumblings of thunder and I opened my windows so I could hear them better. The flashes of lighting lit up the room and the thunder rumbled throughout the house. I was enjoying the thunder and lightening and then it actually started raining. The first rain storm in 6 months. I was tempted to run outside and dance in the rain. I particularly enjoyed smelling the wet earth after the rain.</div>
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After the brief rainstorm, the desert came to life. Gone are the barren tree branches and various shades of brown. Every plant in the whole city seems to be exploding in color. It makes my walk home a lot more scenic.</div>
Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-7019442275622293852011-10-05T10:08:00.000+02:002011-10-05T10:08:08.906+02:00Blogging About Community Service<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HP8Kjk7dcXw/TowPwbqpBII/AAAAAAAADh8/3LX_-CQPWk0/s1600/daniel_holman_service_post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HP8Kjk7dcXw/TowPwbqpBII/AAAAAAAADh8/3LX_-CQPWk0/s320/daniel_holman_service_post.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wrote a post for my Fraternity's blog about community service and it was posted this week. You can read it here: </span><a href="http://phideltblog.com/2011/10/03/coloring-outside-the-lines/">http://phideltblog.com/2011/10/03/coloring-outside-the-lines/</a>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-25345467561950070162011-09-30T08:42:00.000+02:002011-09-30T08:42:00.244+02:00Botswana Independence Day<br />
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Today marks the 45th anniversary of Botswana's independence from Great Britain. </div>
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In 1966, when Botswana became in independent nation, it was one of the five poorest in the world. There was only one paved road in the country. It was a 13km stretch and was made in the 1940's for a visit by the royal family. It stretched from the train station to a district commissioner's office. </div>
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Diamonds were discovered soon after and the country's early leaders wisely decided that revenues from those diamonds should go the public good. Diamond revenues funded infrastructure, social programs, and most of the other development in the country. Between the years 1966 and 2000, the economy averaged 9% growth per year, making it the fasted growing economy in the world during that period. </div>
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While there are still improvements and development to be done, Botswana has come a long way in a short time. Happy Independence Day to the "Jewel of Africa."</div>
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<br />Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-59260965890166806232011-09-29T08:33:00.000+02:002011-10-05T10:08:08.911+02:00Backyard Garden - September 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My little backyard garden is off and running. After a week or so of watering and hoping for growth, the seeds sprouted. I now have corn, cucumber, broccoli, tomato, jalapeno peppers, basil, and cilantro growing. The only seeds that didn't sprout were the red peppers I planted.<br />
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The corn has really shot up and is already over a foot tall. The cucumber plants are also growing really well. I'm beginning to think that I should have dug a larger garden.<br />
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I am also really excited about the tomato plants. There is nothing quite like a perfectly ripened tomato fresh off the vine. All this initial success makes me want to dig another few plots and plant them too.Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-15652185348665330512011-09-28T09:19:00.002+02:002011-09-28T10:18:38.423+02:00Gender Norms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MEaItWIoOvk/ToLBzg3sJcI/AAAAAAAADhg/Me27BWnX2oc/s1600/P1020209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MEaItWIoOvk/ToLBzg3sJcI/AAAAAAAADhg/Me27BWnX2oc/s320/P1020209.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been trying to think of ways to improve the after school art program I help with. On any given day there can be 10-40 kids whose ages range from 3-15. It is quite difficult to think of something that will be appropriate for and engage all the participants. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I discussed this with a teacher who is helping out and she suggested we break them up by gender. She would do a project with the girls and I would do a project with the boys. I decided to print outlines of cars and have the boys get to color them however they wanted to. The teacher was going to make cardboard cut outs of purses and have the girls decorate them.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That Friday rolled around and I took the car outlines I had out to the center. The kids set up the tables and chairs as usual and sat down. I started passing out the cars to the boys but then several girls told me they wanted to color cars. I had enough, so I gave a car to every girl as well. The kids sat and excitedly colored in their cars. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as one of the kids finished he or she would run excitedly over to me and show off their completed cars. It went on like this until the teacher showed up with the supplies to make the purses. The girls immediately ran over to start coloring and decorating their purses.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When some of the boys saw what was going on, they went over and asked to decorate a purse as well. (So much for dividing the group by gender.) Those boys then proceeded to color, decorate, and then proudly show off the purses they had made. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I laughed to myself a bit and think how bizarre that situation was. I guess it was a mistake to assume that only the boys would want to color cars and only the girls would want to decorate purses. The kids are so excited to do crafts that they really don't care what they are making. </span></div>
Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-71948735334234325872011-09-23T09:54:00.000+02:002011-09-28T10:18:52.811+02:00Neighborhood Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every day on my way home from work, I take a shortcut to my house from the main shopping mall. Along the way, I pass by several houses and lots of kids. The kids quickly run over to hold my hand or beg for things like candy. </div>
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There was one precocious little boy who really stood out. He would run up to me, grab my hand, and start talking rapidly in Setswana. My friend translated what he said one day. He asked for candy, which did not surprise me at all. What did surprise me was his reasoning. He said that he could ask for money to buy candy but if we just gave him the candy directly, we could cut out the middle man. </div>
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I had to laugh at that one, and if I had any candy I would have given it to him; even though I have a rule about not giving out anything. </div>
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I now see that little boy almost every day. His name is Mangwato (Mang-wha-too) and he is on the right in the above picture wearing the red shirt. When I first used to see him, he would run out to see me yelling, "Lekgoa!" (White person!). I have taught him how to give a high five and how to say "high five" in English. Now instead of asking me for things, he will run out and ask for endless high fives. He also carefully inspects my bags when I come from the store and asks me in Setswana what I will be cooking. </div>
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Now when I walk by he will come yelling either "Legkoa la me" or "Tsala ya me." The first translates into "My white person" and the second translates to "My friend." I find the "my white person" one particularly amusing. </div>
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Now when I walk home I am bombarded with a chorus line of little voices yelling "high five!" from all directions. I stop and give all the kids high fives before heading home. It is the perfect little pick-me-up after a day in the office.</div>
Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-11493009237166199202011-09-07T09:05:00.001+02:002011-09-27T11:21:59.352+02:00I Hate Roosters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U1VuEXAoEb4/TmcQMXLbD5I/AAAAAAAADhQ/CHJPXyESt2U/s1600/400px-Rooster_portrait2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U1VuEXAoEb4/TmcQMXLbD5I/AAAAAAAADhQ/CHJPXyESt2U/s320/400px-Rooster_portrait2.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you think of a rooster, you might imagine one perched on a fence post, waiting in the predawn hours to crow as the sun rises to welcome a new day. What a fairy tale that is. Roosters don't just crow as the sun rises. They can crow at any hour, even in the middle of the night, and some roosters crow all day. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During training when I lived with a host family, it took me a while to get used to sleeping with all of the animal noises. There were barking dogs and braying donkeys, but the worst by far, were the roosters. Their piercing cries woke me up at night and reaffirmed my love of eating chicken. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I moved to my site, there was a rooster that lived in one of the houses next door. It crowed at all hours and I seriously considered killing it. Very early in the morning, it would perch itself on a wall and belt out its annoying cry. I looked for items to throw at it and even briefly considered getting a slingshot. Mercifully, the rooster disappeared one day (hopefully into someone's cooking pot) and I was able to peacefully sleep again. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my new neighborhood, I constantly see chickens and roosters but I never heard them at night. Then, my neighbor across the street bought a rooster. He struts around the yard and likes to start crowing around 4am. I asked my neighbor if they were planning on eating the rooster at some point, but he just shook his head and said they were hoping to start breeding chickens. that rooster is there to stay. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rooster is something I am just going to get used to but if he ever crosses into my yard, he will be in big trouble. </span></div>
Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-82681624137224457622011-09-01T08:07:00.000+02:002011-09-01T08:07:00.195+02:00Botswana's First Gold Medal<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--n0M_jW49os/Tl3Ruv7wyDI/AAAAAAAADhE/p-32BU2C77Y/s1600/Amantle%252BMontsho%252B13th%252BIAAF%252BWorld%252BAthletics%252BqLTbDoSxS9Sl.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--n0M_jW49os/Tl3Ruv7wyDI/AAAAAAAADhE/p-32BU2C77Y/s320/Amantle%252BMontsho%252B13th%252BIAAF%252BWorld%252BAthletics%252BqLTbDoSxS9Sl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646900108863785010" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;">Botswana may not be a major player on the international sports stage, but the people here are quite passionate about athletics nonetheless. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since the country's independence in 1966, Botswana has never won a gold medal in the Olympics or the World Championships. That changed very quickly (49.56 seconds actually) this past week when Botswana sprinter Amantle Montsho won the Gold Medal in the women's 400-meters at the <a href="http://gazettebw.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=11142:amantle-wins-botswanas-first-gold&catid=18:headlines&Itemid=2">World Championships in South Korea</a>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Besides being a world champion sprinter, she was also the first woman to represent Botswana in the Olympics, when she went to the 2004 games. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before the event, the secretary general of the Botswana Athletic Association <a href="http://sports.yahoo.com/top/news?slug=ap-worlds-womens400">said</a>, "We have diamonds. We have beef. We said we wanted gold." </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now they have all three.</div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7437921444875711448.post-26346900201939014512011-08-31T07:54:00.003+02:002011-08-31T07:54:00.246+02:00Botswana Housing and Population Census<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XcX9xhMy_js/TltiWQyWTsI/AAAAAAAADg0/RlcXKcxWHSE/s1600/P1020093.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XcX9xhMy_js/TltiWQyWTsI/AAAAAAAADg0/RlcXKcxWHSE/s320/P1020093.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646214692441837250" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;">For the better part of the month of August, the Government of Botswana conducted a census survey. The last one they conducted was in 2001 and many people here are interested to see if the country will exceed 2,000,000 total residents.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A census taker came by my house around 7:00pm on a Friday night carrying a rather large pad of paper. We sit down in my living room to fill it out. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was fairly straightforward but there were some interesting questions and categories. A few highlights:</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">-Asking what appliances were in my house. (Not many)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">-Asking how many cows, goats, donkeys and chickens I owned. (None)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">-Asking if I owned a boat, car, bike, or donkey cart. (No, no, no, and no)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I think the census taker was fairly surprised at my responses. A goal of the census, besides recording population, is to take a measure of the relative wealth of residents to accurately gauge poverty. I live a very comfortable life here but according to his metrics, I am poor because of my lack of animals and material possessions. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I also found it interesting that the census form does not have an area to fill in the respondent's race. I didn't ask the census taker about it, but later researched it some. Apparently, the Botswana census has never recorded anyone's race. I am sure there is an explanation for this, but I was unable to find one. My guess is that it was either seen as unimportant information or it was an intentional effort to prevent race or tribe from becoming an issue like it has in so many other nearby countries. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The whole survey took about 15 minutes and mostly involved me saying "no" to questions about possessions. I gave the census guy some food to eat and a cup of water and then he left. I have now been counted in two censuses in as many years. </div>Daniel Holmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08176392459168018775noreply@blogger.com