From Gumare to Maun: A Botswana Cultural Escapade - Day 4 (Wed. March 15, 2017)

Botswana has had unusual rain fall this summer season. Here, summer is December, January and February. Right now, late March is considered to be fall. It is this weather that accounts for the ‘adventures’ of the middle days of the trip.

On Wednesday March 14^th I got an unexpected treat. Our transport specialist had to have a tire repaired and look for a government gas station that had fuel to give. Here in Botswana, white government - owned vehicles are common. Everything is federal – whereas I cannot think of what a United States federal government vehicle even looks like except for presidential motorcades or dark blue or black FBI stake-out vans in the movies. In our country things are done on the state and county level. Here, all public services are operated by the federal government, the Ministry of Education, water, agriculture, - everything. And there is a fleet of gleaming white four wheel drives and government gas stations to facilitate it all. That was our vehicle for this cultural tour.  A big white four by four. Not beautiful, but incredibly functional. When Ms. Edna was delayed, I was able to spend a wonderful morning walking the pristine grounds of Drotsky’s Cabins and in my river side chalet.  I started recording the bird calls, many I had never heard before. I am convinced that this luxurious rustic lodge is one of the lovelier places on earth!

Okavango Delta

Okavango Delta

 Standing by the river a thought came to me -  I belong here. In my travels throughout the Black world over the last two years, that feeling has come over me more than once. It happened at Pin Point, Georgia and Sapelo Island in Gullah Country. It happened throughout Ghana, especially in Ewe land, and it happened on Wednesday in the Okavango Delta. I loved the river, the birds, the trees and the village. As I stood on the river bank at Drotsky’s, I felt the curious sensation that this place was my home. African – Americans often experience what is termed as ‘blood memory.’ All people do I'm sure, but it is especially pronounced with us. I will write about this at another time, but I believe that when the overwhelming sensation of belonging and connection with a specific people and land sweeps over me, then I have one or several ancestors who were from that place. And it has proven true. In the Gullah Islands, I found out my great – great grandfather was indeed Gullah. I have no doubt that I have many ancestors in my line who are from Ewe land and other areas of Ghana. Although I have not yet traveled to Nigeria, at this point I have three good sister friends are from the country. And when I taste the food, like bitter soup, the spice and flavor travels across my taste buds and down into my soul like it was made to be there. Also, I am told that I look Igbo on many occasions. I think this ancestry is from my mother’s side. I think the Yoruba and Ashanti might come from my paternal grandmother’s side. (This is not a stretch. Many Africans in the English speaking New World colonies were brought from areas of Africa that were controlled and later colonized by England.) It is interesting that I definitely do not have this feeling in the semi-desert Southeastern area of Botswana. I find it to be interesting yes, and connect with people on a level as a fellow person of African descent, but I do not feel a connection to, or love, for the land. I do, however, for the upper north west corner of the country– the corner closest to Angola where many, many (maybe most) Africans were captured and taken to the United States. At the time of the slave trade, there were no contemporary countries or political boundaries as we know them. The Delta region is the Delta region, whether it is Botswana, Namibia or Angola. It is very likely for me, and many of us, to have ancestry from this area of modern Botswana. Blood memory is real folks (if you have time, please reference my blog post about Keta and Maya Angelou). More about this later.

Hand Made Baskets from Etsha 6

Stuck in the sand!

When Ms. Edna arrived we departed for Etsha 6 to purchase baskets from the women who weave. We bought several lovely ones and then drove Auntie Ntwe to her second home in Gumare. This was where the first adventure happened. Many rural homes are off-road, like Auntie’s. On the way to her house, our four wheel drive got stuck in the sand. No amount of maneuvering or accelerating would dislodge the heavy truck from the powdery, buff-colored mounds. I thought we would be there for hours, but Auntie Ntwe wasted no time. She got out of the truck straight away. (She had been sitting primly in the front seat, with the most erect and noble posture.) She started gathering tree branches. I had no idea what she was doing. A man who was her neighbor came out of his house and started doing the same. Our tour guide started letting air out of the tires. So now we all know. If you are ever stuck in sand, you are supposed to let some air out of your tires and put tree branches behind the back wheels and in the front. Reverse over them, then drive forward and out you come. After we dropped Auntie Ntwe off, we headed for ‘town’ in Gumare. Town is a grocery store, a dollar store, a bank and gas station. We bought several baskets (well…many baskets!) from the craft shop there. We got some lunch at a grocery store, used the bathroom (a must do when you are driving in the ‘bush’ with no rest stops) and headed off for Maun. 

Lake Ngami

The Dead Trees of Lake Ngami

On the way to Maun we stopped at Lake Ngami. Due to the drought last year, all of its trees are dead. Now, because of the heavy rains, it is completely flooded, creating an eerie effect. A plain full of water populated with ragged brown wood trees with knotted and gnarled branches. We arrived in Maun Lodge at around 8:00 pm in the evening. We went to a buffet dinner and retired to our rooms.