JANUARY 11 AND 12: The days after the wedding were filled with sightseeing and shopping, since we all had many requests for “a little something” from Botswana. Colleen and Kenny took us to two unique local artist/craft stores on the last day, and we gorged on fabulous bracelets and necklaces made by natives from all over Africa, but mainly from Botswana.

Richard bought a runner for his historic home in upstate New York, which is at least twenty feet long and made of a rough hewn linen fabric in the browns and tan colors of the bush. I found sample cards of the gems of Botswana, which will become part of my new art glass collection this Spring. After all my gifting obligations were met, I allowed myself a treat and purchased a fabulous silver bracelet of wild animals strung on silver cord. The elephant and giraffe and cheetah are represented, along with zebra and monkey and hippo. Each time I look at it, I think of the game ride we took at sunset, and the real animals these charms represent. There is also a wonderful leather cord necklace wrapped in copper, and another in brass with native dangling trinkets in the shapes of snakes and birds and monkeys.

This store is a large, modern cooperative group of professionals who market and represents the artists of the area, and other countries nearby. Tour buses stop at this store, but each piece is handmade and individual. They carry the paper mache beads made by mothers of children who have aids, which come on necklaces made of colored wire. There are many types of crafts and clothing available, and the prices are fair.

Our second stop was the opposite of the first, a group of stores in a square, all operated by local residents. Not so many artists were represented, but a good sample of gift ideas and these are places where the locals shop. We sat down in the blast of noonday heat and enjoyed some lunch at the outdoor deli, which is very modern and like any other you might find at home. While they feature some native dishes, there are grilled cheese sandwiches in the Pannini style, and many types of soft drinks and beer and wine. We noticed the local business types coming over to share lunch with friends, sitting outside next to us in the courtyard by the palm trees.

               

I can’t speak for the others, but knowing this was our last day seemed a bit melancholy for some reason. We had squeezed so much into so little time, and the wedding party had gone so well. With the exception of Lynn’s brief bout of illness, we had escaped the quirks and disasters that often accompany a trip like ours, where you are so far away from home, but I can say without a doubt that having our new Botswana family all around was a great contributor to our wellbeing.

Back at the hotel, we arrived to find the Vice President of India departing too, with his entourage of fifty! We walked the red carpet they had installed for the dignitaries, and made our way past the police who lined the drive. Security was everywhere, and on my floor, they were walking around in droves, looking very serious. Not too much fun, that job!

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On the day after the wedding, I had met with the poet Laureate of Botswana, who is also the president of the Writers guild and an instructor at the University of Botswana. This powwow was arranged at the Grand Palm on Sunday afternoon by Thabiso, who personally escorted our guest to the table. We had originally thought it would be a large group with me introducing JASMINE DOGS, but Barolong Seboni had other ideas. He wanted to meet me first and get the lay of the land, so to speak.

He was surprisingly close to his appointed time, which is almost miraculous in Botswana, and sat next to me at the outdoor bar for a drink and some conversation. We talked about our respective writing careers and verbally danced around a little before we settled down, while Thabiso and his friend the DJ and the lovely Lebo simply sat there and said not a word. I guess they figured I knew what I was doing, so I dove in and explained the Monterey Peninsula as best I could, outlining the plan that we had for a cultural exchange of writers.

After Baralong told me that he knew little about any California writers, and less about John Steinbeck, and dumped righteously on US writers in general, he lightened up and asked me to do his radio show before I departed. This was a surprise, since I was wondering at this point if he thought I had any value as an artist at all, but it is not the way of the men of Botswana to praise a woman for her work as much as their women do. It’s still very much a men/men culture in the workplace, and perhaps that is why the woman are so strong. They have to be, to survive.

The radio show did not evolve, but Mr. Seboni is quite a figure in the culture, according to the people who came to say goodbye to us on our last night. He has taught generations of students, including Kenny, and writes a column for the local newspaper as well. He did surprise me by saying that he wants to be one of the first three writers that will visit Monterey, thinking he would help to select more eager and young writers. We agreed that they would provide sponsors for the airfare, and that we would generate an official invitation for the rest of the accommodations.

My family had gone to Sunday night mass while I was doing this business, and we met up later for a festive dinner at a local Italian restaurant. They were all happy and impressed that we had accomplished the first step, which Thabiso assures me must be done in a delicate and proper manner. I trust him completely and will follow his advice about the local customs so that we make all the right moves.

The last night in Botswana was spent with a farewell party at Kenny and Colleen’s home, and many of their family and friends attended. It was a great, casual affair that featured fresh vegetables and cheeses and crackers and cakes and snacks. Colleen has decided she will begin to educate her new family in our ways, now that she is part of the scene.

I was thrilled to have mounds of fresh carrots and peppers and broccoli, and some spicy dip and even potato chips! We had a huge big fat chocolate cake, and a left-over Christmas cake that went up in flames from the liquor that soaked it.

Everyone was in good spirits and there were plans to be made. I broke the boundaries of the gathering of the men on the back porch, and sat with the younger guys discussing the ways they were going to seek their fortunes. They appreciated my entrepreneurial approach to the writing, publishing and art business, and told me some secrets about how they are distinguishing themselves.

Eventually, I ventured inside to ask for the recipe of the fabulous Ginger Beer that was served at the wedding. I have visions of serving this spicy African drink to my guests at a Salon in my home, along with some native dishes like the Chuckalucka. I will collaborate with my friend Wendy Brodie to see if we can pull it off.

Soon I noticed two of the women slip out the side door and asked where they were going. It seems that they decided to fix me up with the right stuff for the exotic liquid concoction, and soon they returned from the supermarket with ground crystallized ginger powder and cream of tartar. The instructions were hand written for me by Maurine, who is a vague as my grandmother about exactly how much to use for measurements, so I will have to figure it out for myself. For this puzzle, I will ask my friend Debbie the kitchen genius to help. She is a little more practical about things and can whip a turkey into the oven in 20 minutes, so this should be a piece of cake!

We said our goodbyes amidst laughter and hugs, and I became engaged to Nicky, the adorable groomsman who is gun shy about marrying his long time girlfriend. He smiled broadly and we laughingly announced that we would be a new couple, so that everyone would stop badgering us about getting hitched.

Go to PART... I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VIII