My combi driver last week--I was alone on the combi--asked to be my friend.
"Sure!" I said.
"What's your phone number?"
"I don't have a phone yet," I lied.
"I want to be more than your friend. I want to be your best friend, your boyfriend."
"Oh. [Sigh.] I'm married."
"You don't want a Botswana boyfriend?"
"No." Pause. Start to feel bad + need to get where I'm going. "But...thanks."
Having determined he was not going to get what he wanted, he made me get off his combi and get on another one.
My combi driver on Monday had a miniature Barbie doll hanging by the neck from his rearview mirror.
On Monday, I came into work and found that the teacher had decided to play hip-hop music and have the 3, 4, and 5 year-olds walk sexily down the "catwalk" one at a time in front of the rest of the class.
My Australian coworker tried to tell my Motswana coworker about the gay college student who killed himself.
"So he was having sex with another man..."
"Wait, that's not the bad part."
At this past Saturday's soccer game, the Mochudi Chiefs played the Township Rollers, aka Palastina. A Palastina fan was carrying a sign that said "We are not Jews. We are not Mochudi tribe." Pretty mild, except it kinda implies that Mochudi sucks cause they're dirty Jews.