Tuesdays with Immigration Officers

Tuesday, some awful time.

Woke up late. I thank my roommates for waking me and I tell them not to wait up. Before leaving, they warn me a spider in the shower room that they both saw on each of their trips. It's hiding in the hole in the tiling at the base of the wall. It's suppose to be 8 cm across (3 inches) and have the type of body between a daddy long legs and a tarantula. Not cool. I shower very apprehensively. And quickly. I head out to the dining hall alone. The sun is so bright again, making my Ray-Bans worth their money. It's 8:15. After crossing the last road en route to the dining hall, I notice a fair number of people gathering around vehicles in the nearby parking lot, clad in some swank athletic pants and jackets and toting duffel bags. I get closer and see the name on the back of their jackets: "Kenya." Farther along the street I see another group, their colors different, but I'm sure they represent another African nation, with bright bold colors. I try not to gawk, but they were members of the Kenyan National Team attending the 2011 African Youth Championships in Track & Field. Kenyans, man!! Nobody told me that the UB stadium was hosting this last night!?!?!? Ugh. I go inside and break my fast. We set out and they're still out there packing up and were still waiting to leave. I manage to snipe a photo of them trying not to be impolite and obvious. I walk another dozen steps when one of the girls in the back of our column exclaim that the Kenyans were photographing us! I turned nonchalantly and so it was true. Only time I've ever dream that a Kenyan photographing would be for some thing running related. Oh, life is a little bundle of ironies.

So remember how I only had 3 days on my visa? I'm on my last day here, and under threat of deportation I take my leave after today's lesson with Dr. Clever, but before DJ's lecture. I go up to the international studies office and wait patiently. A housing keeping woman, easily identified by the university issued uniform that is a the same color as Crayola's Robin's Egg Blue, comes in and asks the secretary something about an outlet all in the language I've come to admire, Setswana. I just sat their as plain as can be while they rattled off syllables at blazing speeds. The woman left and the secretary made a comment to me that I didn't catch a first, but then I realized she said that "it was probably all Greek to me."

After rounding up myself, Kevin and Burwazi, the woman in charge of us (I'm probably spelling her name wrong) up, we pile into a van and drive throughout the city. Some 15 minutes later, we arrive at the government office. Immigration was fairly busy, and as with all government related offices dealing with constituents, it was slow going. So many people were standing in line. The immigration office has to be one of the more diverse places in town besides the airport. There were several Muslim who looked North African, an younger Asian woman acting on behalf of her older, most likely monolingual companion. There were two white women who arrived in the hour I spent there. One was an Australian according to her passport and other decided that the lines were too long of a wait for her and her in the stroller, and I never found out her nationality. And there were plenty of others people from Western, Eastern and Southern African countries. I followed Ms. Burwazi like a puppy, I must've looked funny. After an hour had passed, a few forms signed, and a letter written to the officer asking politely to give me more days in the country, and my legs aching from the standing, I finally got my visa extended to 3 more weeks. More than adequate. So we left there bound for the airport to pick up the class's TA, and I walked much lighter knowing that I wasn't going to be deported.

We got to the airport and waiting forever. Evidently her flight was delayed but no serious harm was done, and we made our way back to campus to find out that the rest of the class has gone down to another shopping mall. Not wanting to be left behind, Katie and I were dropped off at this different mall. It came out of no where from around a corner. One minute I see men selling watermelons off a dirt road, the next I see this rather large two story shopping complex much more akin to our malls back in the States. It was equipped with stores selling clothing, groceries, and books. The other suites featured food court dining, a post office and a movie theatre. After grabbing some groceries, some stamps and some grub from a food joint called Wimpy's, we made a final stop inside the Puma apparel store looking for a football (as in soccer ball). We found an Adiddas replica World Cup ball for P50, which is seven and a half American. We were kinda suspicious at first seeing as the other balls in the ball cage were upwards of P200-400, but whatever, we had a ball and I was determined to play football on this continent.

Our trek back to the campus probably took about a half hour. We came to the highway which had these really large slopes made of red dirt which really gave the effect of a developing country, I guess I'll have to upload a picture to better convey the imagery. Crossing the highway was one of the more less safe things we did. After being hollered at by pedestrians waiting for taxis sating "Let see your nice ball, I teach you" (I was holding my ball under my arm) and some less than enthusiastic drivers shouting at us, we made it across the thoroughfare. Some time later, while walking along some back residential road, we came across this barefooted 6-7 year old daintily dribbling his own worn football. "Nice ball," he said to me, and I replied with a smile and said "Thanks. You too," I really wanted to bring that kid along to play. As we walked, it was getting progressively and progressively darker. We've come to see this massive grey cloud looming ever closer towards us. Just this huge single cloud. By the time we reached the gates of the UB campus, it was upon us. For a split second we had the warning of couple small drops. Then the heavens opened up and massive rain drops came tumbling at us like an artillery bombardment. We ran for cover and continued to navigate as best we could on covered walkways back to our dorms. It was a beautiful rain though. You know that smell of an impending shower and the scent of the shower while its raining? It was so distinct and crisp this time. I'm not sure if its that I haven't experienced a really good rain in a long time or if it was because that it was an African shower, but it was indeed a symphony to my nose. What made it even more beautiful was that is was a sun shower. Since it was just this single cloud dumping rain on probably 30 blocks, the sun was still able to shine all around it, and it was low enough because it was late afternoon that it caught the drops in the perfect light. Then it was gone in the time it took to come.

After dinner, we resolved to head down to the courts with lights to play football. We get there probably around 6:30 only to find that the football court was taken over by these massive men playing rugby. As we walked past them, one of the men said "Hey, come play rugby. Don't play football, 'tis a lady's sport. Play rugby, a gentleman's sport." When me and comrades said that we did not know how to play, he replied with an "I teach you." Looks like some Africans have the same viewpoint as some Americans do with American football and soccer. We later took him up on that offer later, once we had played some "half court" soccer with ourselves. 2v2. The only really relevant story of us playing soccer here was that I had this really great shot on goal which I took, but unfortunately hit the newly inflated and very rigid ball with my big right toe. The shot went wide left, shy of the post (our post since we were playing on a netball court (imagine basketball with no backboard) consisted of the left post being an athletic bag and the right netball hoop post.) It hurt pretty bad, I just thought I jammed it, and the residual pain was purely superficial. I went on to watch and learn from the huge men play rugby. They didn't let us play then, the most massive of them seemed to not want to listen to his friend that was teaching us since I guess the game they were playing was really good; didn't want three skinny American boys to mess it up. No matter we were invited to play another time. From there we decided to play basketball with these other Africans fellas. They all had height on us, so we split up the teams. Luckily I was on the team with a this tall lanky specimen of a Kenyan, as he told us. He was suppose to play ball in the states for some private school in Massachusetts, but they didn't have the money to bring him out. Turned out that Toby, my one friend with us, knew that school and the league since he went to another private school in the Boston area. Despite not coming to the States to play, his game was definitely not affected. He was so good. Drove and dunked. I ended up being a body to set picks and screens up. Fine with me. We ended up winning one and losing one, and the third game was about to start when security came up and got into an argument with the Kenyan kid and his friends. Something about how the league they were all in, the BBL (Botswana Basketball League), permitted them to use the courts after 9 or something. We didn't stay long enough to find out what the outcome was. We hightailed it outta there, but were told to come back and play some more in the time we'll be staying here. We get back, and I found out that I ended up taking off my shoe to see blood at the end of my sock. I take it off, and find out that I had this visible hairline fracture running the width of my big toe. Dried blood was coating my toe in places. But the nail was still in tack. In fact after cleaning it, the only clue as to anything that happened to it was the slight pain that resided with it. Dressed it, and then turned in for the night.