Transit and Returning
NOTE: Lest this uncharacteristically swift blog-updating throw you off track, there's actually a post on religion that I made yesterday. Not sure if you care, but if you do, don't miss it!
After a meeting and then a sociable weekend in Maun, I'm headed away from D'Kar again today – this time to Dqae Qare, to take part in a week-long workshop on traditional plants. It's only 10km to the turn-off and then a further 15km or so down the sand road to the lodge, but even short trips around Ghanzi District can be an adventure... There were two car accidents this week involving KFO vehicles, which makes me very nervous, though no-one was seriously injured. Heavy rainfall + sand and/or gravel roads = major mathata (problem).
The tar road is usually okay, though it can be less than perfect if you're riding in the back of a pickup truck, as I was yesterday when I hitched back from Maun. After waiting for the bus, which (typically) didn't come, I packed into the bus to Sehitwa and then waited for a lift with the rest of the people going to Ghanzi. We were lucky enough to get picked up right away, by a friendly Motswana driving an empty pick-up – unfortunately, the back wasn't covered, and we hit two torrential rainstorms on our way.
I saw the first storm looming in front of us, but as we entered the shadow of the thunderheads, I felt it; the temperature dropped dramatically, the road began to steam behind the truck and the air thickened with rain. Gabbling an explanation about why my bag NEEDED to be in the front, I shoved the bag containing my laptop, camera, and ipod (i.e. all of my worldly possessions...) into the cab and then curled into a little ball with my hood pulled firmly over my face. The guy to my left did the same, but the guy to my right sat stoically with his head up, facing rear, occasionally sluicing the water off of his face with the back of his hand. The three women sitting against the cab flattened themselves against it to avoid the brunt of the downpour, and the 70-ish chain-smoking Swedish tourist abandoned his cigarette, abandoned any hope of curling up over his rather prominent belly, and, grinning, faced the rain. The driver, two women, and two babies in the cab were probably laughing at us – but we were all laughing when we exited the first rainstorm, dripping and feeling the thunder shake the car.
When I got out at D'Kar (10 points to Jenn, for being the white girl that got out at the village instead of the town!), my electronics were serving as what must have been a rather uncomfortable pillow for a sleeping baby. I negotiated a fare with the driver, and started down the road towards what is surprisingly starting to feel like home. It's not the same when you drive into D'Kar – there's the extra two kilometres of insulation from the village, 5 more minutes to listen to the radio and chat before you're unloaded right at the gate of the office compound. When you get off at the bus stop and shoulder your pack, facing a road that seems to head straight into the bush, it's different. The village is its own self-contained universe; as soon as I step off the Maun-Ghanzi road and into the boundaries of D'Kar, I'm part of it again. It's like an organism, or a very large open-layout house. Everything in its place. Everything familiar. I know the donkeys, the children, the yellow flowers. The crumbling mud huts and weed-infested, haphazard patches of maize.
I wonder how small a place must be before you get that feeling about it. Perhaps it's the isolation that tips it over the edge – the unity and the boundaries are obvious. There are no suburbs in D'Kar, there are no distinctive neighbourhoods. Unlike most villages in India, it doesn't bleed into nearby settlements – once you're there, you're there. Nowhere else to go, except across fences and into cattle farms. I like returning to D'Kar, and I like the sense of absolute control over my surroundings, the relatively few elements that I have to think about. Garden. Office. Books. Friends. I'm starting to find it peaceful and comforting, rather than terribly frustrating. Either the cabin fever has faded, or I've gone completely mad. (Dare I mention that I'm considering staying a second year?)
After a meeting and then a sociable weekend in Maun, I'm headed away from D'Kar again today – this time to Dqae Qare, to take part in a week-long workshop on traditional plants. It's only 10km to the turn-off and then a further 15km or so down the sand road to the lodge, but even short trips around Ghanzi District can be an adventure... There were two car accidents this week involving KFO vehicles, which makes me very nervous, though no-one was seriously injured. Heavy rainfall + sand and/or gravel roads = major mathata (problem).
The tar road is usually okay, though it can be less than perfect if you're riding in the back of a pickup truck, as I was yesterday when I hitched back from Maun. After waiting for the bus, which (typically) didn't come, I packed into the bus to Sehitwa and then waited for a lift with the rest of the people going to Ghanzi. We were lucky enough to get picked up right away, by a friendly Motswana driving an empty pick-up – unfortunately, the back wasn't covered, and we hit two torrential rainstorms on our way.
I saw the first storm looming in front of us, but as we entered the shadow of the thunderheads, I felt it; the temperature dropped dramatically, the road began to steam behind the truck and the air thickened with rain. Gabbling an explanation about why my bag NEEDED to be in the front, I shoved the bag containing my laptop, camera, and ipod (i.e. all of my worldly possessions...) into the cab and then curled into a little ball with my hood pulled firmly over my face. The guy to my left did the same, but the guy to my right sat stoically with his head up, facing rear, occasionally sluicing the water off of his face with the back of his hand. The three women sitting against the cab flattened themselves against it to avoid the brunt of the downpour, and the 70-ish chain-smoking Swedish tourist abandoned his cigarette, abandoned any hope of curling up over his rather prominent belly, and, grinning, faced the rain. The driver, two women, and two babies in the cab were probably laughing at us – but we were all laughing when we exited the first rainstorm, dripping and feeling the thunder shake the car.
When I got out at D'Kar (10 points to Jenn, for being the white girl that got out at the village instead of the town!), my electronics were serving as what must have been a rather uncomfortable pillow for a sleeping baby. I negotiated a fare with the driver, and started down the road towards what is surprisingly starting to feel like home. It's not the same when you drive into D'Kar – there's the extra two kilometres of insulation from the village, 5 more minutes to listen to the radio and chat before you're unloaded right at the gate of the office compound. When you get off at the bus stop and shoulder your pack, facing a road that seems to head straight into the bush, it's different. The village is its own self-contained universe; as soon as I step off the Maun-Ghanzi road and into the boundaries of D'Kar, I'm part of it again. It's like an organism, or a very large open-layout house. Everything in its place. Everything familiar. I know the donkeys, the children, the yellow flowers. The crumbling mud huts and weed-infested, haphazard patches of maize.
I wonder how small a place must be before you get that feeling about it. Perhaps it's the isolation that tips it over the edge – the unity and the boundaries are obvious. There are no suburbs in D'Kar, there are no distinctive neighbourhoods. Unlike most villages in India, it doesn't bleed into nearby settlements – once you're there, you're there. Nowhere else to go, except across fences and into cattle farms. I like returning to D'Kar, and I like the sense of absolute control over my surroundings, the relatively few elements that I have to think about. Garden. Office. Books. Friends. I'm starting to find it peaceful and comforting, rather than terribly frustrating. Either the cabin fever has faded, or I've gone completely mad. (Dare I mention that I'm considering staying a second year?)
posted by Jenn at
8:24 AM
1 Comments:
MONKEY GIRL - just found my way to your blog. excited. will read as much as possible. -kevin
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