Sunday Afternoon:
So I've walked through the auto sliding doors from the tarmac. Next hurdle: immigration. This becomes a bit of story as you will soon find out. After filling out the little slip stating my purpose for coming to the country, I find myself waiting in line for the "International Passports." Well, to help accommodate people, the woman sitting in the booth for "Domestic Passports" beckons me over, and after I told her I'm not a national, she said she knew and was just helping. Guess there really isn't much difference between the two lines. So she starts asking me questions, while reading the little form I just filled out. What's your purpose? What's the date you'll be leaving? Where are you staying? What is that address? Who is taking care of you? At this point, I realize that my two travelmates have already made it through immigration with a breeze. All of these questions were definitely not asked to Andrew and Jun. I had absolutely no idea what the address was for the University. Not knowing who was going to take care of me, I just replied with the name of one of the professors, Dan Lacks. After helping her spell that, she asked me for his phone number, another piece of information I had to regrettably inform her that I did not have. After another moment or two, she stamped my passport, scribbled on the stamp, signed it and handed it back. I thanked her and proceeded to baggage claim, where I was pleased to find that my luggage had made it through Johannesburg without a snag. Another hurdle: Customs. Again I find my self in the "Items to Declare" lane after the woman sitting there beckoned me over to help alleviate the "No Items to Declare." I show her my passport, and she too asks my reasons of visiting. "I'm a student." "I'm here for 3 weeks." "I'm at the University of Botswana." "What do you have in your bag? I have clothes and, uh, oh yeah my laptop in my bag." Then after a few more questions, she let me pass. I've seen that Jun and Andrew had already beaten me again. I later found out that I have been asked many more questions than anyone else, including all the other people on the trip. Most people's experience of Customs consisted of two questions: Why? -I'm a student. Have anything to declare? -No. They were allowed to pass without so much as a wink. Pretty laid back out here. We then proceed to these sliding doors which slide open so fast, that I had barely registered they were that quick before realizing there were like 50 people waiting just outside the exit, holding signs and waving at the arrivals. Not thinking about this before this moment, I actually wondered how we were suppose to get to the University. Luckily, I recognized Professor Lacks waiting for us, clad in pants, a tech shirt and a backpack. He said hello, and then I noticed his companion who also said hi and offered to take my luggage. His name is Kevin and he's a student at University of Botswana (UB) studying finance. We then walked the maze to bypass the ongoing construction on Sir Seretse Khama Airport and arrived in the parking lot. As I'm about 20 meters from the van, I see two vervet monkeys scurry across the parking lot edge. Talk about being in Africa. We load the van, pass the "Welcome to Botswana" arch (which I will take a picture of before I leave) and head onto the highway. Left sided driving again. 60 kph. Gaborone is and its surrounding is flat. The road rose a bit and I could see for kilometers around. There are these massive, singular hills that dot the horizon, one has got an observatory on it. The city reminds me a lot like of what I remember growing up in Hawaii. People everywhere. Walking on the shoulders of the roads, including the highway we were on. People selling things on the street, in little makeshift stands shaded with tarps. Billboards and some familiar brands and companies are seen: KFC, Apple, BP, in addition to the local businesses and products of the region. We pass a giant dirt field with two rough metal goal posts. Between them, a swarm of teenagers playing futbol. Beautiful. Behind that field is the National Stadium, under construction. We turn onto the road that its on. A lengthy brick fence runs the length of it. We make a turn through the fence and find the University of Botswana. From there, we made our way to our dorms. It's graduate housing and still very modest. There are three of us sharing my particular apartment, each of us having our own personal bedrooms, but sharing a common kitchen and bathroom. In our room is also a UB grad student, who will be here for a week or so more. We call him Mr. Watermelon because we forgot his name and on the first full day, he left a half eaten melon on our table that we saw the night of our arrival, and the flies loved it. I get to my housing assignment, and while fiddling with door key for a moment, another young man comes down from the stairway and says "Nice shirt." in reference to my Cavs tee I was donning, and goes out. I reply with a thanks and a comment about how the Cavs stink, and go inside my common room. After getting situated, I decide to go outside into this covered picnic area-courtyard that is in located in the middle of the three main buildings that we as a class are using. I come out to find the "Nice shirt" guy and two of his companions. They are Americans who have been here the last four months studying (UB's academic year is the same as ours, so they're on long Winter Break right now). They said that they'll be departing on Monday, and continued to give us some advice and tips for living on campus and in Gaborone. We bid them goodnight and then proceeded to the dining hall, a short 10 minute walk away. Our meals are to be taken in this one wing of the dining hall, which turns out to be used for faculty meals. The food services are run by this company called Curry Pot, which I later found out on my later trip to the airport that they also operate the nice cafe in the main terminal. The food is fairly decent, guess I'm not use to it. We're being served the same food over and over: pasta/rice with carrots or peppers, beef, chicken, and other things. We get served this weird mango juice blend every breakfast and dinner which doesn't sit well with my stomach at all (at lunch, we're soft drinks and juices in cans)(everything also has kilojoules instead of calories on the nutritional facts). I'm thinking I have Traveler's Diarrhea, which I discovered on my second trip to the "Gent's Room" on Monday. Another food item that we all joke about is what we thought at first was mashed potatoes. Oh, but it wasn't. When spooned, the white mealy substance acted like a gelatin, and it has a rather plain taste. After watching a commercial for it on the televisions playing in the dining hall, we've determined that it must be the amazing and incredible "Super Maize Meal." It makes an appearance at every meal. It's like 6:30 when we leave the dining hall, and its already really dark outside. By 6:45, I'm passed out in my room. Didn't bother to change. Didn't turn off the light. Just out.
(Actually I'm just gonna post each day separately, it'll take too long for a person to read it all. Best to break it up. For me and the readers.)
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