Fear in Numbers

In our cohort, an amazing volunteer facilitated a creative performance with the assistance of other volunteers, to inspire members to act, sing, or perform however their heart desires on the theme of Fear itself. This would be called Bua, which means speak in Setswana. I decided to write a piece on my fears and the anticipated/observed fears of our cohort during our PST and perform my slam poetry [channel Lauryn Hill vibes]

Fear in Numbers

Fear, F-E-A-R, a 4 letter word that transforms itself into our worst nightmares

Giving us terrors.

Entrapping us, enclosing us, enveloping us,

To make us believe we have no leave.

It can take on many faces. What is it you see?

Do you see the phrases of Setswana swimming in your mind when you close your eyes

Only to open them to the disapproval stares of Batswana glaring back.

The moment you hear the words,

I’m sorry you didn’t make it through, Sincerely, Peace Corps.

Brring Brring, Hello. Why yes this is me. No, no, no it can’t be I just saw her a month ago.

No it’s fine. Yeah I understand. But I pretend, and smile, and keep saying “Dumela”.

As I karate chop and roundhouse kick through all the naivety and ignorance,

Closeted by Bruce Lee films and Made in China everythings

that continue to drive the “Asian” stereotype.

Hear me *I am a Korean person (in Korean)*

Three words that terrify me.

I love you. Hm do you? I remember when I heard these lies before,

when he tried before, and then we said goodbye before.

And our love remembered by the photographs and places of the past

That seemed so vast, and the memories to last.

To escape, let us be free. How? How can we be free,

When my brothas shoot my brothas, based on the skin we are in.

And my people fight to love and be loved with no love.

For those lost loves, let us bow our heads in silence and respect.

So here am I 1. What can I do? What can I say?

What does it matter anyway?

Thought jumbled, words all fumbled.

Stop. Just stop. Breathe.

Fear is in here, and it’s not always clear.

But hear me, courage is near.

Remember the words of Mary Anne Radmacher.

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day

Saying “I will try again tomorrow.”

Bibi-1, Fear-0.

Ask and Thou Shall Receive, Best is West

The day arrived when we received site announcements. This day that will reveal the burning question that everyone has been itching to know of where we’ll be assigned and the place we can call ours for the next 2 years.

So what was rumored in the past was that site announcements involved an interesting puzzle, consumption of a cookie, and a map revealing our site. To our shock, it was strikingly the exact same.

The staff had us all line up and take a piece of paper with a number. This number was the order of which we went up the stage, to find a balloon with the color of our sector (mine was red for CHT) then pop the balloon to find another piece of paper with a clue/riddle of our town name, which led to a cookie with our order number, then matching the number on our riddle slips with the number on the map marked by our sector-colored string.

*Drum roll*

I got assigned to Hukuntsi. A lovely town, southwest of Molepolole, and North of the Khalagadi North Game Reserve. It has an estimated population of 1,400 villagers. Also, I will be replacing the Bots 15 volunteer Corinne* and had a lovely and extensive information sheet on what to expect and her role as a volunteer at the DHMT (District Health Management Team) that she was placed with. She was also a volunteer that I was fortunate enough to see and encounter while at PST in Gabarone at Ave Maria Pastoral Center.

How do we get assigned to our sites? Well it’s a process beyond me, but from what we’ve been told on numerous occasion is that our background experience, resume, qualifications, interviews with our program managers, and outlined preferences get us to this point of our next phase in PST. Interesting enough, I had told OT (my program manager) that I wanted to be placed West and preferably not North. I don’t know what it was, but in my heart I wanted to be placed far away from the well-known and popular cities, and really serve in a rural part of Botswana. I imagined the West as somewhere in the wild and untouched part of development and civilization, which is totally naïve and I would later discover during site visit that there seems to be wifi and a shopping centre in my town. 

Regardless, I'm hopeful to explore my Wild West. Prayers and thoughts always welcomed and appreciated ya'll. Be kind to one another.

Dithubaruba. Festival Time ya’ll

With weekdays that were jam packed with sessions back to back, this weekend was a treat and welcomed sweet relief from PST. My fellow Trainees and I were taken to a culture festival known as Dithubaruba in Molepolole. The day was promised to be filled with Botswana cultural dances, performances, and motivational speeches delivered by the religious, traditional, and political leaders of the communities of Molepolole.

Knowing me ya’ll know I love a good festival. Hell I took advantage of them all while I was in Nawlins. That city, my beloved city. Anyhow, we had this opportunity beforehand to “top-up” or upgrade our tickets to V.VIP, which would get us a spot in a shaded tent (totally necessary for the now 95 degree heat), a chance to network or greet dignitaries, receive snacks (super important), and a mystery souvenir. One of the coolest moments was sitting right behind the US ambassador in Botswana and his possible wife/partner. We were prohibited from drinking any of the traditional Botswana brewed beer, but I went wild with the Ginger brew that was provided in our tents.

As I shot video after video of each performance, I couldn’t help but just be mystified by their every move, their incredible footwork, and amazing rhythm and SOUL. I can’t describe just how powerful their movement got me to feel so blessed to be able to witness it all. (The videos are soon to be posted, my internet connectivity has been stalled due to my reluctance to plug myself back into the different sources of media- don’t hate me guys I just can’t force myself to be that connected it might make me sad).

After some of the beautiful and moving performances, lunch was served. Even though the V.VIP were supposed to get first dibs, it seemed that the schedule was behind. Go figure. So lunch was delayed for another hour or so. When we finally got through the line, I got to try a bit of the paleche, motogo, dinawa (beans), rape, lentils, seswaa, and beef gravy. It all seemed so delicious at the time after waiting for hours from breakfast, but I was soon going to regret the very meal that got me in deep shit. Story following…

Following the lovely long day of cultural festivities, I proceeded to go to my friend’s house to wind down and watch Bridesmaids. So… remember the scene in the movie, where Kirsten Wig’s character takes everyone to this cozy Brazilian restaurant from which everyone experiences food poisoning and uncontrollably and violently shits everywhere at the bridesmaids fitting appointment. Yup. It happened folks. I shit my pants. Literally. I woke up in the middle of the night only to find that my stomach and butthole had a mind of its own. The feeling was uncontrollable and insane. My butthole was actually quivering in fear. Then finally while I was digging around for my flashlight to go to unlock my door (which is barred), shit got real. I continued to walk to the latrine as the process was continuing, finished my business at my latrine, tossed the evidence, and called it a night. 

I can finally check off pooping myself from the Peace Corps to-do list. The funniest part is I remember telling my friends that night that whoever shits themselves has to tell their story. Life has shitty jokes I suppose. And that’s the scoop on my poop. Ok end of poop puns I promise.