So that's what Alanis was talking about.

(This not our car.)

One of the biggest stresses of this year has been purchasing, insuring, checking out, and now, selling, our car.

And the funny thing is, it's a great car! Festus (we named our car after Festus Mogae, president of Botswana from 1998 to 2008) has given us zero trouble, has been checked out and given a clean bill of health from a mechanic, and really all of the issues have come from external sources. First, the car dealers messed us around, then the insurance people took forever and kept raising their price.


On Friday, we were on our way to meet the person we're selling the car to, to initiate a bank transfer, and a Tropicana truck backed into us while the car was parked in front of the hospital. I'll try not to use the word "shitstorm" too many times from here on.

(And then Festus was granted three wishes and used one to become this car! But then he wished for more wishes and was disqualified.)

The damage isn't that bad, luckily. But it's bad enough that the hood needs to be banged back into shape and the lights need to be replaced.

First, we waited for over an hour for the police to arrive so we could file a police report, which took another hour and a visit to the police station. They also said they were going to fine the (pretty nice) guy who hit us, who as it turns out was at the hospital for a rather unfortunate medical reason, which then made us feel bad for getting the police report, which we now think we can't even use because we don't have time to file an insurance claim before we leave the country in two weeks.

Basically, after visiting four different car repair shops, we're resigned to paying $300 out of pocket to fix the car. But now, our buyer has decided to back out--he had taken a loan out for the full amount and the bank had charged him about $400 in fees, so he didn't have the money anymore. Since the car had been damaged, we had to return his deposit, and even though we offered, in our desperation to fix the damage AND sell the car to him for $400 less, he wouldn't budge, and actually went out and bought a different car later in the day.

So where does this leave us?

Now we have to get the car fixed as quickly as possible so we can show to any prospective buyers we might be lucky enough to stumble upon in the next like three days. If we can't sell it to an individual, we'll have to sell it to a used car dealership and potentially lose another $2000 or more.

All because this truck driver didn't use his mirrors and really just tapped us.

Needless to say, dealing with this is not how we want to spend our last two weeks here and have I mentioned we're hosting 12 people for Passover and I'm not sure how we will deal with not having a car this week?

I'm making a sacrifice to the irony gods asap.

How to give directions in Botswana:

1) Start out by mentioning a neutral landmark, like a robot (traffic light). Ex: "Go to the robot." Do not identify which traffic light you mean.

2) First say to make a left, then later on when the directions need clarification, say right. Agree with whatever direction the person seeking directions suggests.

3) Refer to a recent neighborhood event to explain where you mean. Ex: "Where those men are working with the trucks."

4) Mention a landmark that is actually useful, like a major intersection or shopping center.

5) Explain that the person seeking directions should go there and ask someone else for directions.

Solitaire, together (Part 2)

When we last left you, it was New Year's Eve, and we had just pulled over to the side of the road in Middle of Nowhere, Namib-Nauklaft Desert. Our fan belt was broken and we were stuck.

We hopped out of the car and checked for snakes in the high grass. The loud buzz of desert beetles was ominous, but we had plenty of drinking water. I checked the fish--still frozen.

Less than a minute after we pulled over, we flagged down the first car that passed us. In it was a friendly Portuguese family of tourists. They offered us water. We had plenty. They offered us petrol. We had plenty of that, too. The dad offered to tow us to the next town, even though their car was only 2WD. The mom tried to dissuade the dad, in Portuguese.

Luckily, the conversation was moot because a minute later, a huge truck drove by. They pulled over, hitched our car to theirs like they'd done it a thousand times and we were on our way.

(Our view for the next 45 minutes)

We had to keep the car turned off, which meant no a/c. And we couldn't open the windows because clouds of suffocating dust would blow in. A rock shot up and cracked D's front windshield. We were trapped and sweating buckets. Feeling useless, I took it upon myself to make sure we all stayed hydrated, even if the water we had was warm and unappetizing.

The truck driver and his companion towed us to the nearest town, a little rest-stop called Solitaire. It was about 80 km north of Sossusvlei, where we were headed. He dropped us off near the gas station and we climbed out.

We waved at the Portuguese family eating lunch at the little restaurant next to the gas station. They waved back.

(Um...okay, I guess.)

We got the car looked at by a couple of mechanics who had a small repair shop there. They didn't have the right size replacement fanbelt. We called a tow company in Windhoek--it would cost $600 to be towed. Not to mention that it was New Year's Eve and they weren't willing to tow us for a couple of days. We talked to a Land Rover parts store in Windhoek. They'd send us the fanbelt but were we sure it was just the fanbelt and not the wheel that had seized? They were right. The wheel had seized because the bearing was shot (hey, you'd know a lot about Land Rovers, too, at this point). We talked about getting a tour company to drive us to Sossusvlei for the day, but it was expensive and we decided it wasn't worth it. Our car was broken and we weren't going to see the famous dunes of Sossusvlei. We were feeling kinda down.

Then it started to rain.

(Drizzle on Tando's hood--D's car is named "Tando," not sure if I mentioned that.)

Did I mention we were in the desert?

(Someone does a really poor job of filling out this chart, but I gather it does not rain much in Solitaire.)

We were feeling pretty darn sorry for ourselves. But then, the rainclouds lifted. We put up our tents and lit some coals to grill the miraculously still-cold fish. The sun started to set.

(D slept in the small tent and A and I slept in the huge tent. We were carrying jerrycans of petrol in the trunk, and they spilled all over D's sleeping bag and our sleeping pad, so our tents basically stank of petrol. Also, we were highly flammable.)

(Oh wait a minute, it's really beautiful here.)

(I really do wear that shirt a lot! Also, take stupid pictures!)

We got some beers and even a tiny bottle of champagne at the town general store, and started to slow down to the Solitaire pace of life.

(Beautiful sunsets. Grilled fish. Beer. If we'd meant to end up here, it would have been charming.)

That night, we also ran into A's Doris Duke friend and her family, whom we'd seen in Swakopmund. They were on their way to Windhoek the next day and offered to take one of us to the Land Rover store to get the parts we needed. We didn't know how said person would get back so we declined.

The guy who seemed to run most of Solitaire threw a big party that night for New Year's. Lots of people were up late dancing. A and I fell asleep, actually, but we woke up at midnight to light sparklers and drink champagne.

(A ran around waving his sparkler like a kid with a sparkler.)

We woke up the next morning and set out to explore Solitaire. We walked through a flock of peacocks (no idea why there were peacocks) and started our day with breakfast at the surprisingly delicious bakery. Apparently, it is famous for its apple pie. They also had excellent filter coffee (aka REAL coffee). We started to loosen up a bit.

(Thank god for this place.)

(Really good scones, too.)

The bakery was awesome, not only because of the baked goods but because of the eccentric owner and head baker, Moose McGregor (doesn't that sound like a character from a children's book?). Moose was alternately rude and overly friendly, both snapping at me and insisting I check out the burn he'd gotten that morning--on his (rather large) belly.

(Charming Solitaire.)

Probably the saving grace of Solitaire, even more than the bakery, was the pool. Technically, it belonged to the small hotel, where we were not staying, but we figured our situation earned us access. We spent most of our time there.

(I read one and a half books in those lounge chairs.)

On our second full day in Solitaire, we started to get bored. What time was it? Why was it so hot? Was there any cold water? Should I get some ice cream? What's the point of it all?

After two nights in Solitaire, growing increasingly antsy, we were planning to get towed the next day. We were eating breakfast in the bakery, when D started up a conversation with a guy from Swakopmund, also a Land Rover owner, named Charles, who was passing through. Charles told us we were crazy to get towed, and that his son surfed with someone who worked at the Land Rover parts store in Swakopmund and when he got there he would send the part down to us via a tour company. It was a big risk to stay another day and wait for the part, but we decided to put our trust in Charles.

A few minutes after we said goodbye to Charles, the Portuguese family came to the bakery. They were on their way back from Sossusvlei. They could not believe we were still there.

The next day we sat nervously by the gas station, waiting for the tour company to bring the parts. There were so many things that could go wrong--Charles not delivering the order, the store not having the right parts or being closed, the tour company not getting the parts to bring down, the parts not actually fitting onto the car. But amazingly, it all worked out. The bush mechanics fixed us up, free of charge.

That night we tried to celebrate by making homemade pizza over an open fire with bread from the bakery and sauce and cheese from the general store. It did not work.

(The general store where I sat and used the wifi. Of course they had better internet access in Solitaire than we do in our apartment.)

But we didn't even care! We were going home! After five days and four nights in Solitaire, we were finally free!...to drive to Windhoek, over bad roads and frightening cliffs, and then another 12 hours to Gabs.

And from that day on, Solitaire always held a special place in our hearts as somewhere we never, ever wanted to go to again.

THE END.

I don't have a computer anymore.

One of the big themes of this year is that Botswana is not America, even though it looks and tastes like America. Even though the Indian food here is better than anywhere in Manhattan. The electricity goes out a lot, and with it (and sometimes without it), the internet.

Now my computer broke and I can't get it fixed. I took it to a computer-fixing place and they held onto it for a week and then were sheepishly like, yeah we dunno.

When you're trying to experience the world, it's OK if the internet goes out. Hey, it's even okay if I don't have a computer for a week or two. I actually sort of enjoy reading and baking and going to the orphanage, none of which require a computer except for baking and sometimes reading.

But when you're trying to work for people in the U.S., not having a computer or internet or electricity can be a real handicap. You end up being a bit unreliable, a bit of a disappointer. It's hard to just embrace the experience when you are frustrated that your real life self doesn't look good. You can't enjoy, for example, being stranded for five days in the Namibian desert (I still haven't written about that??!)

Again, I wonder if it would be a very different disappointment if we lived somewhere where our expectations were a lot lower. Like a village in Mali.

*

The traffic here is also killing us. It took an hour this morning to drive A to work (we've finally hooked up an iPod to our tape player so we can listen to This American Life). It should take 10 minutes. Once I drop him off, I drive another 20 minutes to the orphanage. That's an hour and a half in traffic before my day even starts. Is it any wonder that I don't have patience left to help 30 five-year-olds learn to cut?

Also, where'd all these people get all these cars?

*

I forgot to take my travel mug home over the weekend and on Monday it stank of rotten milk. Cannot get the effing smell out. Damn it all to hell.

*

The orphanage preschool continues to be, for lack of a better word, a shitshow. There's this overwhelming contrast between the fact that these kids are laughing and having fun and clean and well-fed and the fact that the classrooms are absurdly understaffed, there's no nurse, there's a million safety violations, and sometimes a teacher will beat a kid with a ruler. Undoubtedly it's a sign of my skewed perspective that I totally understand the hitting. 60 kids and ONE teacher? As long as it's not too hard.

However, in calmer moments, kindergarten is a lovely place. We cut and paste. We color. We sing. We read aloud. We learn to write our names. If my comedy career doesn't work out, and my back-up academic career doesn't work out, and my back-up food blogger/cafe owner career doesn't work out, and nobody ever publishes my books, and I can't think of a good enough reason to become a lawyer, then I think I'd love to be a kindergarten teacher.

Actually, I think as long as I'm not doing anything tremendously interesting, I might as well become a dentist because then I'd make a lot of money.

*

We're experiencing a record rainy season. Towns are flooding. A's office's roof fell in. The other day, my roommate S and I walked past a bus shelter full of goats hiding from the rain. Half of them were perched up on the bench. It was cute.

Rain means bugs. The government has issued some new malaria warnings, including for towns not far from here. As a result, Penn has told students here to start taking prophylaxis even in Gabs. I started taking pills yesterday, so hopefully they're giving me some protection against the millions of mosquitoes currently biting me.

Just kidding, the risk is very low, Mom.

That is so the world.

I met today with a Motswana friend, K. We were supposed to have a meeting with a few folks in hopes of starting a monthly open mic night/book club/poetry sharing fun time. Everyone was supposed to meet at my house at 4.

At 3:50, I wondered if K might come early.

At 3:55, K texted she was running late.

At 4, I wondered if anyone would come by 4:15.

At 4:15, I wondered if anyone would come by 4:30.

At 4:35, K showed up. She had texts from the others she'd invited and they'd either bailed or simply never arrived. During the meeting, she got an email from one of them apologizing profusely.

"Maybe he has a good excuse," I said.

"They always have good excuses," she said.

This led to a conversation between the two of us veteran leader-losers about how unreliable people are, how hard it is to get the energy to be a leader, and whether it was worthwhile to even try. It was just like the comedy scene in New York! We complained for an hour, we gossiped for an hour. We talked about the subject at hand for about ten minutes. The very best kind of meeting.

Recovery

You really don't need to see this, but just to offer by way of explanation for my lack of blogging over the past two weeks--in addition to traveling, not having internet, and being generally exhausted from traveling and not having internet, I got one of the worst sunburns of my life while canoeing on the Wild Coast of South Africa. My legs went from bright red to purple, and after a day of driving and a day of flying, my ankles had swollen up from a combination of travel stagnancy/sunburn inflammation/


Yeah, like I said. You really don't need to see this. Sometimes I think I post this stuff just to prevent A from ever having a chance at a political career. ("My opponent's wife posted obscene photographs of her swollen ankles on a public blog--not to mention her views on Israel...")

I really should post photos of our trip to Kaudwane, a remote village of forcefully relocated San people (they are the "Bushmen" who live as hunter-gatherers in the Kalahari Desert), our day in Sani Pass and Lesotho and then our trip to Bulungula on the Wild Coast. I have so many things to complain about and also photographs of mountains! But the internet is too slow at this cafe to post photos and who wants to READ? At least my ankles are back to normal. I willl post photos and descriptions when we get back from Namibia.

Speaking of which, it's time to get packed for our trip to Namibia tomorrow--we're driving to Windhoek at 6am.

Corrections I've wanted to make over the last week but didn't bother.

1) That is not cream cheese beside my bagel. It is cottage cheese.

1a) Also, that is not a bagel.

2) There is no "f" or "l" in my name.

3) Telling someone to go to a landmark and then call the car-inspection place for directions does not qualify as giving directions to the car-inspection place.

4) Even if the internet is working at your office, landlord, it can still be broken at my apartment.

5) Children do not need pamphlets about unemployment on their bookshelves.

6) If the oven takes two hours to bake cupcakes, it is broken. You do not need to come by with an oven thermometer to check it.

7) I am obviously pretending I plan to order more food when I clearly intend to sit here for hours using your internet and electricity and only order coffee. So please stop coming over every 30 seconds to check on me.

The mature adult I married

...once again requested a train cake for his birthday.

*

I know I owe you photos of our wedding party, but since none of those are on my camera, they'll have to wait a bit. In the meantime, here's how we celebrated A's birthday.

On Sunday, we had brunch with our lovely and amazing friends at the No. 1 Ladies Opera House Cafe (a difficult-to-understand spin-off of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency franchise). It has a theater where there are sometimes shows, as well as a restaurant and outdoor cafe.

(Doesn't it look awesome?)

We had a delicious brunch under the trees, which included a sideboard of various cheeses, great scones with raspberry and apricot jam, soft pretzels (?!), carrot and banana cakes, rolls, and unlimited mimosas, followed by eggs to order with toast, plus decent coffee.

It's unabashedly an expat/tourist spot, and the prices reflect that. But for all that, the sun was shining, a breeze was blowing, the food was great.

We were in heaven for a few hours.




Then came chocolate cake with sprinkles, a birthday surprise from a friend. It was delicious even though we were all stuffed by then.


*

In the afternoon, A and I tried to swim in our apartment pool but it was green and murky and we got scared.

*

If you can believe it, that night we went to another friend's birthday dinner, where there were two more cakes!


*


And Monday was train cake, Botswana-style. Since we don't have loaf pans, I made smaller train cars in a jumbo muffin pan using this chocolate cake recipe and then buttercream frosting from scratch (in the food processor--yet another use for this awesome wedding gift!). I bought some gum drops, dinosaur gummies, oreo wafers, rolos and more to decorate. There was a car for coal (oreos), one for milk bottles (gummies shaped like milk bottles), and one for dinosaurs. (You laugh, but how else would you recommend transporting dinosaurs, hmm?)


*

Last night was Thanksgiving and we had a UPenn expat potluck with about 15 people. Our apartment provided mashed potatoes with caramelized onions, stuffing (I was amazed by how good this was considering I completely made up the recipe), Martha Stewart's macaroni and cheese, and pumpkin pie. There was also a Turkey, with regular and vegetarian gravy, homemade rolls, broccoli casserole, two types of spinach, twice-baked potatoes, chakalaka, apple crisp, and ice cream, and probably more. It was quite a feast.

I did start to feel kind of homesick though, since Thanksgiving is such a big holiday in our family. So I missed hanging out in my pajamas all day, various relatives coming in and out, football on the television in the background (though we did manage to stream the Patriots-Lions game on A's computer), running to the grocery store for last minute butter or eggs, and slowly assembling a table full of food, only to get full in about two minutes and then spend the rest of the night moaning about it and playing board games by the fire.

Also when it's hot it's not as fun to be cozy.

So I will say that when I heard our entire family Thanksgiving this year was vegan--even the pumpkin pie!--I was a little gratified. I mean, who cares about missing vegan Thanksgiving?

I'll wait until next year, when everyone is back to eating normally.

Please, sir.

This is porridge.

In a darkly ironic way, it's amusing that the orphans at the preschool where I work have porridge for breakfast. It's not so bad-looking when it's hot and smooth, but by the time the last kid is served, it takes on an unappetizing lumpiness that evokes disapproving clucks even from the teachers who have been watching kids choke it down for years.

Ideally, porridge is served with whole milk splashed on top, but the past few times we ate it, the kitchen was out of milk.

The kitchen runs out of food a lot, even things the kids eat every day like bread and milk. I can't tell whether this is an issue of not having enough money for those items or simply being disorganized. I also get the impression that various people tend to use the preschool kitchen as their personal milk and bread store, including the people (from the village?) who keep trying to break into the pantry.

There also aren't enough spoons for every child. The lack of spoons becomes an issue every other day, when porridge is served and the last ten or so children have to wait for the first ten or so children to finish their porridge so they can use the spoons.

*


I mention the issue with spoons because it leads me into my current research focus--Why America Is Better Than Everywhere Else.

A and I have been violently loyal soccer fans ever since we went to the last game at the University of Botswana between the Miscellaneous and the Gunners. This weekend, two important teams (based on us having heard about them)--the Mochudi Chiefs and the Township Rollers (aka Palastina, the one A has a jersey for)--are playing.

With our privileged American perspective, we assumed that there would be some sort of internet homepage, where information about when the teams are going to be playing would be listed in advance of the game. Extensive research has revealed that not only does such a website not exist, but nobody even knows Where (as in, in what city) the next game will be played. All week long, we were told it was in Lobatse. Yesterday, I happened to run into the guy giving us a ride to the game and he told me actually it was here, at UB again.

*

Both of these problems could clearly be fixed in about ten minutes or less. Lack of spoons? Buy some spoons. Lack of information about soccer games? Make a website. Lack of maps for where the combis go? Sit down and make one. Lack of straightforward information about how to obtain a visa extension? I'm going to go cry in the corner now.

And yet, naturally, nobody ever fixes any of the problems. I'm not saying we do things perfectly in the U.S. Obviously, I'm being facetious when I say America is better than everywhere else. But at least we use the internet for things.

I know, I know, I'm supposed to embrace the slow pace of life and stop trying to be so efficient and just be or something. But I just get so aggravated! I'm gonna go make brownies.