There was no way our trip could get any better than our days with the school children, right? Wrong. Today we went one better, and spent the afternoon with an entire village.
Botswana gained its independence from Britain on September 30, 1966, and we were lucky enough to be in Gaborone, the country’s capital city, for the 51st anniversary celebration. During the week prior, helicopters flying gigantic flags practiced their flights over our guest house, decorations started to go up, and on the 29th, armored personnel carriers appeared at main intersections as a reminder of a) how much the President likes big-boy toys and b) it’s not cool to do stupid stuff, even if you’re drunk with independence (or beer).
The evening before the big day we walked over to the stadium, where the next day’s celebration would take place, and there was a version of tailgating going on, with grills set up and people selling food.
On the way we passed a young woman who saw the camera and said, “Take my picture, my sister!” Susan just melted at being called “my sister”, and when we showed the young woman her picture she was clearly delighted.
Many of the people who saw the camera asked for a picture, and it was pure joy to see their reactions when they saw what we’d taken.
We didn’t have plans the next day, other than making sure we were off the streets once the sun went down, and we’d been warned that attending the Independence Day Celebration at the stadium, which was literally 10 minutes walk from Maru-a-Pula, probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. So we had a leisurely morning watching the morning events on TV while working our way through that giant box of corn flakes, and discussing our options.
We were told the Independence Day celebrations at the national stadium would start at 10am but, when we switched on the TV to get a taste of the build-up at 8.30 a.m, it was already under way. We watched most of it, albeit the military parades and marching got old after half an hour. The best part was the traditional songs and dancing, and then the big fly-past of the air force.
The whole show wrapped up by about 11.30 a.m. so we drove to the old downtown mall, where we managed to get a couple of nice Botswana Independence shirts before heading to the President Hotel for lunch and some more traditional dancing on TV (Botswana’s answer to MTV!).
A few days prior, we were told about the traditional celebrations that would take place at each village’s Kgotla (sort of a community gathering area where celebrations took place and village issues were discussed), where the Kgosi (village chief) donates a cow for slaughter and the villagers bring other food to pass along. We decided it might be fun to visit Gabane again to see what was going on. We had spent an hour or so with Kgosi Albert Pule a few days prior, and he had shown us around the village (more on that later), so we felt sure he would be welcoming.
At first everyone looked at us like “Why are you here?” when we arrived, but then Kgosi Pule said “Hello” to us and hooked us up with Richard, a volunteer who was assisting in getting the celebration together, so people became curious about us rather than suspicious.
It was a fully-fledged community party and we were invited to take part in the most hospitable way. Had we drawn up our requirements for an African village party we could not have come up with anything more evocative than what we saw that day.
When the camera came out, the fun really started. Men, women, children…all of them were just thrilled at being photographed, and quickly gathered around asking for pictures. These beautiful women had been cooking all morning, and were taking a well-deserved break.
These guys made a point of tapping Susan on the shoulder and asking for a picture, then they ran back to the cooking pots and “posed”. They were so funny!
The children were shy at first, then couldn’t wait to be photographed.
But even the adults came right up and asked to have their pictures taken. Richard said that was unusual, and that they usually didn’t want pictures taken. Today, that most certainly was not the case. They just out-right asked. This woman asked where we were from and when we said, Florida in America she asked us to take her there.
Later, a man introduced himself to Simon and when he asked if we were from America (in Setswana) he told us Americans come to Botswana to shoot animals (at least, that’s what we think he said). We assured him we would only shoot pictures, but we’re not sure if he understood us. Still, the effort had been made on both sides, and that’s what counts.
It was fascinating to see the Gabane version of a pot-luck dinner, and the whole area smelled absolutely wonderful. They made do with what they had, and the food was simple but wholesome, but the enjoyment of time spent with friends was crystal-clear.
By that point the children were gathering in groups, all dressed in their clothes the color of the Botswana flag.
One man we met was 97 years old, and a former heavy artillery gunner in WWII. Simon talked to him for quite a while, and he was very friendly and obviously proud of his service. A lovely man. He had come for a hot meal, and was taking away a bag full of dried beans and rice to help see him through the week. It was a real honor to have met him.
One woman, named Justice, gathered her friends together and asked to take their picture taken as they were dancing. It was absolutely hilarious, and they were obviously having the time of their lives. When they were shown the pictures they literally screamed with delight. And we do mean screamed!
Then all hell broke loose. They went absolutely wild with their dancing, and again, screamed every time they saw the pictures. When they’d had enough one of the women indicated the main reason they wanted their pictures was so that they could see their butts sticking out as they danced. We laughed and laughed together, and it felt just a tiny bit like we belonged, at least for a while.
With the friendly people, the big cooking pots over fires, the happiness, and the utter lack of guile—which seems to be prevalent here—it was an extraordinary final day in an extraordinary country.
We’ll never forget the people we’ve met and the scenes that have totally captured our hearts. From “Take my picture, my sister” to posing for a selfie with a Gabane villager, it’s a place we will miss, terribly.
It was the most heart-warming scene we could imagine, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that we tore ourselves away. It was a day we will never forget.
NEXT: Beyond Gabarone
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