“Now if I dip the broom handle in the salmon”

           I often like to have control in my life. When I plan a trip with friends, I’m the one planning on an Excel spreadsheet, the food we’re going to buy and what recipes to use. When it came to my interview for the Peace Corps, I had 3 pages of notes and every question they were going to ask prepared a week in advance. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. At other times, I find myself spontaneously hanging upside down in a tree with a cat in one hand, another hand wrapped around the tree, desperately trying to not get scratched, while simultaneously trying to drop said cat without harming him. His name is Sebastian, and only a week earlier did I find myself suddenly owning said cat.

           A few weeks earlier, I was walking into the teacher’s lounge at the local primary school. Upon entering I made eye contact with a Korean man sitting reading a book on his Kindle. This wouldn’t be a surprise in most countries, but in Botswana it’s rare to find someone of Asian descent working here, especially in a school. As I started to talk with him, I learned his name was Lee and that he was a volunteer planning to become a teacher in Korea. He was spending a year here as part of a program. I also learned that he would be leaving at the end of November.

           A couple weeks later, we ran into each other again at a graduation ceremony for the school. He shared that he was leaving the following day and hadn’t made plans to sell many of the things in his home, none of which he would be taking with him. This included a cat. He graciously offered me everything in his home, which I then gleefully ransacked the place of anything not tied down.

Okay, it wasn’t quite ransacking the place. I would see something I couldn’t afford, ask him if he needed it, he would say “no, please take it,” and then put it in my bag. Since he was only taking a suitcase with him everything was fair game and I was over the moon. It felt like Best Buy on Black Friday.  I couldn’t count the number of times I said “thank you” because what he had was a game changer for a volunteer with a budget of about $300 USD a month (3400 pula a month if you’re curious). As my ransacking came to a close, I spotted a small Siamese cat eyeing me suspiciously from the corner of the room. My new friend shared the cat was about 5 months old and a stray they found wandering around the neighborhood. He’d been vaccinated and was a great companion.

Kneeling to pet him I was taken in by his blue eyes and soft fur that was unlike most of the animals I’d found here. Inside I was conflicted.

I’m not a cat person.

I’m allergic to cats.

How will I take care of him while I’m gone?

F*** it I’m getting a cat.

           A week later and I found myself holding a broom handle covered in wet cat food trying to coax Sebastian out of a tree. Up until then I’d kept him locked in the house allowing him to adjust to his new home. When it was finally time to release him to the world of my yard he began exploring and was a bit too curious with the birds that like to nest up in my tree. I had climbed up part of the tree to get closer to him and he would come down a few steps, meow, and then back up the tree again. It was as though he was taunting me like a child running next to a pool. They know they could slip and get hurt, but they’re going to do it anyway.

           Finally, after several minutes of this I’m getting fed up. There’s wet cat food on my hands, bark on my clothes and scratches on my arm from the tree and the sun is beginning to set creating a darkness where you can hardly see the tip of your nose. Exasperated I throw up my hands and say to him. “You win. I’m going to climb a F****** tree for you.” What begins is a flurry of preparation much like a super-hero putting on a costume. Cargo pants, long sleeve shirt, sturdy shoes and a headlamp adorn my body all in preparation. For those of you who might not know, I was a competitive gymnast for 11 years, and have rock climbed for a number of years as well. I am no stranger to climbing random objects and this tree is merely an obstacle to rescue my new cat.

           Once suited up I begin to stretch as to not pull any muscles during what is going to transpire in the next several minutes. In this moment I pause to think about where I’m at in life. A 23 year old man, in the Peace Corps, serving in Botswana (not Africa, Botswana), with a bright red rowing athletic shirt, who is about to climb a tree in the pitch black, to recapture his cat, who at this point probably doesn’t like him very much. If they ever asked me where I’d see myself in 10 years as a 13-year-old this probably wouldn’t be very high on the list.

           As I climbed the tree, I managed to wrap my leg around one of the branches and grab Sebastian. Now I was stuck with a dilemma. With a cat in my arms the task of climbing down a tree becomes significantly more difficult. Imagine trying to make a cup of coffee but your right arm is behind your back and both your eyes are blindfolded because it’s again, pitch black outside. Furthermore, I’m torn between how to get the cat down in the first place. I could easily drop him (cats land on their feet from what I’ve been told), but in a glaring character flaw of my own I want him to still like me after this. If your new friend suddenly dropped you out of a tree, a week after meeting them, you’d wouldn’t be very keen on liking them. So now I’m forced to hold tight to my leg wrapped around the tree branch and invert myself to lower him closer to the ground. As one can imagine he quickly realized what was going on and said “OH HELL NO” while clinging to my arm with claws pronounced as I tried to shake him free. He finally slipped because my skin doesn’t have a lot of friction and plummeted a total of 5ft before finally landing on the ground safely.

           I climbed down from the tree to greet him and was met with an animal entirely different from the one in my hand a few moments ago. Giving him a pat on the head I ushered him inside and gave him the rest of the wet cat food. Since then, he still climbs that tree, but is now able to get down on his own. I think the only downside that remains from this story is that until now I realize, I forgot to clean the wet cat food off the broom handle. Yeah, that was 3 weeks ago. Yuck.

“How long have you been here for?”

12/3/19

In this post I share about my faith, missionary work, and my limits for work with missionaries as a governmental employee. If it’s not your cup of tea I totally respect that, feel free to check back for next blog in a few weeks.

           Wednesdays at my clinic are slow. If you can imagine a liquor store on January 2, then you’re only halfway there, and you still must remember that my position in the clinic isn’t as a health care provider. Regardless of the amount of people in the hallway waiting for the nurses I’m not able to apply even a band aid.

           As you can imagine this leads to a certain level of boredom as I message my counterpart (my liaison I work with in the clinic) for something to do, and start to flip through my Setswana note cards (I use these to study the language). Sadly even the Alcohol Committee volunteer who normally helps me isn’t to be found. At this point I’m left with few choices of how I can spend my afternoon. Leaving work so early wouldn’t be a good idea, even as a volunteer. I might not always have work but my presence in the clinic on a daily basis is important for my long-term integration into the community.

           A quick glance up at the sky showed an overcast of clouds and a light breeze floating through the village. Where I live this equates to only a moderate amount of sweat pouring from my body on my short walk home, and living near the river has a number of benefits, but minimum temperatures of 80-95 combined with the humid air from the river, makes me wish Climate Change could dry up the river just a little bit faster.

           Even still I needed an excuse to leave, so I decided to tell my supervisor I would be going on a community walk to engage with the people in the village. In all seriousness these walks are some of the most effective ways to get to know people on an individual level. Truthfully, it’s more awkward than trying to kiss a girl on a date and ending up with a handshake, but there’s still a chance to learn something. After swinging by my house, I set out for my walk and started going compound to compound talking with anyone I saw standing in the yard. In my khakis, dress shirt and “Indiana Jones” hat, I looked more like a lost tourist than anything else, yet I continued.

           After several encounters with several of the locals, and one proposal for marriage, I reached my quota of sun exposure for the day and was headed home. Rounding the corner, I saw one more Motswana to talk to and went up to introduce myself. She greeted me and upon hearing I was American she motioned me inside to talk to the two Americans who lived where she was cleaning.

           Within the Botswana culture, this is an incredibly common thing. You walk by a friend’s house and you simply walk up to the door and ask to hang out, unannounced. It’s a perfectly acceptable cultural practice and leads to several unexpected interactions much like the one that followed.

           Walking up to the house I was met with a white woman in her mid-50’s to early 60’s. She greeted me and ushered me inside to a home that was nothing like most Botswana homes. The moment I stepped inside I felt as though I was back in America. The walls hung with framed photos of family members, artwork and memorabilia and the couches were so plush I wanted to lie down and take a nap on them. This home felt so different from my own living situation, it was an oasis, which I appreciate far more now than when I arrived 5 months ago. After greeting the husband Keith, I quickly learned both he and his wife Robin were missionaries. Full stop.

           I live in a balance here of faith and service. As a governmental employee the word of God cannot leave my mouth while I am representing the Peace Corps. Think of it as wearing a hat. The moment I leave my house to walk down to the clinic I put on my Peace Corps hat. I am an employee of the government who has no opinions on politics, faith or activism. For if I were to express my opinions to try and sway others I would be in violation of my contract and be removed from my position. However, serving internationally is tiring, stressful and often requires a constant level of vigilance, all of which drains you both emotionally and physically. To help with that, Peace Corps recommends that we participate in our faith whenever possible as an anchor in our lives. In a place where consistency and schedules are “loose” to put it mildly, a weekly church service every Sunday aids in releasing some of that stress and frustration. However, the metaphorical line is drawn when it comes to the support of the church’s projects and missionary work. So, I must strike a balance between my faith, my image in the community, and my desire to serve if I ever want to be effective in this community.

           What transpired next was something of a mutual analysis of each other’s roles and goals. It became clear to me that Keith was very familiar with Peace Corps and not always in a good way. Over the past 10 years he had met several volunteers with each interaction varying greatly. Some Keith said were lovely and had done some amazing work within the village during their two years, maintaining a strong friendship with both he and his wife. Others, however, had grown increasingly resentful of the village, turning to alcohol and other distractions without showing any level of pleasantries toward he and his wife. Keith was assessing what kind of volunteer I would be, and likewise I was assessing what type of missionary he was.

           By no means do I ever seek to generalize missionary work. Much like every Peace Corps position is different, every long-term missionary I’ve met is different. There are those who seek to convert. They knock on doors, holding books filled with their own theology, and count the number of converts they have at the end of their service. There are others I’ve met who seize every conversation as an opportunity to share the word of God and have no problem telling a school child they’re going to hell if they don’t repent. There are also those who do incredible work without every speaking a word about their faith. They are the unsung heroes who work with the people to support the projects only the people want. They fund women’s shelters, engage with sexually trafficked women and build sustainable long-term businesses. For every negative story you hear of missionaries proselytizing there are several who do amazing work without every speaking a word about their faith. My goal was to figure out what kind of missionary Keith and his wife Robin were. And I did.

           I surmised that both Keith and Robin fully understood their work in the Kazungula community. Not only did they both speak fluent Setswana they spoke at length about the challenges the community faced. The development of the bridge, the truckers and the rising rates of HIV and STIs all found their way into our conversation with both speaking equally on the issue. I sensed no level of proselytizing in their words and only dedicated involvement in the community. To them this place was their home and they were in it for the long haul. The longer we spoke the deeper each of us got into our beliefs and the initial barriers of analysis were slowly removed. Keith and his wife were a wealth of knowledge about the community and for me to not engage with them would be like digging a mine and avoiding all the diamonds (Botswana’s economy runs on diamonds for reference). Our conversation left me feeling hopeful of my opportunities in the community and with a new set of resources. Not only have that, but I now had a church community in which to practice my faith.

           A chance conversation with a stranger led to a much larger gift than I expected. I might have gone 2 years without ever knowing I had a couple of missionaries living so close to me. What’s more is that I have an opportunity to see how people do long term meaningful work. One of the challenges with international service is that so many have the desire to do work, but no education or training on how to do it. Peace Corps does a good job at the basics, but to make real impact, the best way to learn is to watch others. Learn from their work and incorporate it into your own. Maybe that’s something we can all learn to do more of.