I'M STAYING Chapter 1

 

CHAPTER 7

 

AFRICA

 

BOTSWANA

 

I lived in several big cities, sharing flats with friends, working in large offices and enjoying everything a city has to offer but I eventually grew tired of this life and longed to return to the freedom of the bush and so I packed my bags and moved to Botswana, where my parents were now living.  Here the capital city, Gaborone was still very much a little village with the same expatriate community, clubs and social life as my parents had experienced during my childhood in Lesotho.

We enjoyed the luxury of camping in the bush surrounded by the calls of wild animals and we rode in 'mokoros' (a type of canoe) in the Okavango swamps sharing the river with resident crocodiles and hippos.  We got close enough to elephants to see every line and wrinkle in their thick grey and dusty skin and we sipped sundowners while watching the animals drink from their watering hole in the evenings.

It was a full and varied social life, meeting people from all over the world at the embassy parties and social clubs.  Shops were few and far between with very limited stock but life was stress-free and easy.  Deep down though, I always knew that this fantasy land wasn't forever and that I would one day have to live in the real world.

Although there was no racial laws in Botswana and all people were free to integrate with equal opportunity for education and voting rights, nevertheless poverty was still a big issue in those days and the local people, while not oppressed were still very much influenced by the old left-over colonial rule.  White people still considered themselves to be superior due to their wealth and education and we lived the high life of expatriates and enjoyed the superiority our money afforded us.

I now held the position of a “madam” with servants and nannies for my children but I’m happy to say that these people became part of our family and the children were brought up to respect and love them.  I wanted my children to have a similar childhood to my own and in some respects they did in the early years, but never with the freedom that I enjoyed.

Gaborone, the capital city of Botswana, and my home for 20 years, is often described as the fastest growing city in Africa.  During the time I lived there I saw it grow from a sprawling village to a vibrant and sophisticated city with an international airport, dual highways, a university and modern well stocked shopping malls.

In the late 70’s when I settled there it was still a sleepy little town with a handful of shops in the centre of town.  In those days we couldn’t even buy chocolate because the shop owners didn’t have air conditioning and the chocolate simply melted in the heat.  The basics were all available and the rest we simply did without. 

There were the usual golf and tennis clubs where the expat wives spent their days playing tennis or swimming, joined by their husbands in the evenings for cocktails which normally evolved into boozy parties ending in the early hours of the following morning.  We had a Holiday Inn Hotel with a Casino which attracted plenty of South African tourists while gambling was still banned in their country.  A night out would normally end with a visit to the hotel for a meal in the early hours of the morning and a few spins on the one-armed bandits.

A good deal of our entertainment took place at our homes where most people had private bars and swimming pools and parties were held on a weekly basis. We had themed parties where dressing up was the order and everyone obliged.  There was much dancing and loud singing and we normally all ended up in the pool to cool off or sober up.  Any new expat arriving in the country was immediately dragged along and swept up in the party lifestyle of our happy little community.

It was a fantasy life.

There were plenty of clubs to join and meet people; the Golf club, Yacht club, Gaborone social club for tennis and swimming, Kalahari Flying club, Cricket club and the Rotary, Lions and Round Table were all very active.

 

The committees in the clubs took their positions very seriously and were extremely ingenious about coming up with new ideas for entertainment. Some of those that I remember were Medieval Dinners, Raft Races, Highland Games, 4x4 Races, Wine Tasting, Seafood Evenings, Flying competitions, Christmas parties for the children with Father Christmas arriving in a helicopter, although how he didn’t faint in the 40 degree heat wearing that thick red suit I have no idea.

The Gaborone Dam supplied all our water needs and was originally built in 1963 with the dam wall being extended in 1985.  The Yacht Club which was a small building set close to the dam was then moved to the opposite side and built on a small rocky hill overlooking the water.  Not long after the dam wall was extended we had some unexpected heavy rainfall which caused the Yacht club to become an island.  A ferry was built for all visitors to gain access to the club and Sundays saw a large group arriving at the edge of the water awaiting their ride to the club.  No motorboats were aloud on the water but sailing regattas were held regularly and we took up the sport of Windsurfing which then filled all our weekends when early mornings were spent studying the wind, or lack of it.  We would gather in our little bay, with all our gear packed into our vehicles.  Apart from our boards and sails we would ensure a good stock of meat and drink and braai grids to cook our lunch.  Children brought buckets and spades and occasionally a nanny would accompany them to ensure no drowning took place while parents were out on the water.   If the expected wind didn’t arrive we would spend the day with our friends, sitting under shade umbrellas, chatting, cooking, listening to music or discussing the latest windsurfing boards and equipment.  Each weekend felt like a holiday.

Gaborone Dam

Windsurfing on the dam (and that's definitely not me as I spent most of my windsurfing time under my board and under the water)

I worked at the British high Commission so I was immediately drawn into their social circle of dinner parties, tennis matches and meetings with different heads of states.  On one particular occasion, Queen Elizabeth of Great Britain paid Botswana a visit and we were all coached on the formalities of mixing with Royalty.  I was taught how to curtsy and my outfit was checked over several times to ensure I had the correct hat and gloves before meeting Her Majesty at the Garden Party. I think the High Commissioner’s wife was terrified I’d let them down by sharing a joke with Prince Andrew maybe? I wasn't really posh enough for them but they were forced to include me.   Much effort was put into my royalty-meeting training and they definitely put the fear of God into me because when the time came for me to be introduced I was completely tongue-tied and only just managed to put out my limp, glove-encased hand to shake hands with Her Majesty. I never realised a garden party could be so exhausting. 

As Gaborone grew so did our business and our bank accounts.  We were soon living in a large house with a swimming pool, driving luxury vehicles and flying a small private aircraft which we used for holidays in South Africa or trips to Bush Camps for a weekend of game drives and dinners under the stars.  Although it was lovely to have money enough to live such comfortable lifestyles, I often look back and realise that the money changed our outlook on life and we never again enjoyed that simple life where we needed nothing more than the basics and some good friends to share it with. 

One of our favourite weekend trips into the bush was to the Tuli Block where we would stay at the Tuli Safari Lodge.  This was a beautiful and small Lodge secluded in the bush and surrounded by wild animals, in particular elephants.  The rooms were all in small thatched chalets and dinner was an outdoor affair with tables arranged around a fire pit and waiters dressed in white jackets to serve us.

landing at Tuli

Dinner under the stars

During the day we would be taken on bush drives and walks with armed game rangers who would pick up the spoor of animals and track them through the bush in the hopes of finding something for their guests to take photos of. 

One evening when we had finished dinner and were sitting in the bar, which was arranged in and around a large and ancient Baobab tree, we heard a loud noise coming from the perimeter fence.

“What on earth is all that noise?” I asked out host.

“Oh, nothing to worry about. Just the elephants trying to knock down the wooden fence to get in!”

His wife then joined in “Last year they managed to break down the perimeter fence and stampeded right across the property, doing a lot of damage and uprooting trees.  I think they now have a taste for the lush tropical plants growing around the hotel and have decided to try again.”

Nobody seemed too perturbed though and continued to sip their beers and gin and tonics.

Ok I thought, I’ll have to at least look calm.  I continued sip my drink, all the while keeping one eye on the darkness beyond the trees and where I could hear the thump thump of the elephants charging again and again against what to me suddenly seemed like a very weak wooden fence.

We didn’t sleep very well that night, listening to the constant noise of these enormous animals charging the fence.  Fortunately, this time they weren’t successful and when we arrived at the outdoor breakfast area, all was peaceful with the beautiful gardens still completely intact.

Tuli Elephants

Baobab tree

Christmas was a very quiet time as most of our friends would travel overseas to spend the holidays with family. Businesses closed down and the roads were silent.  As it was also mid-summer it was an extremely hot time of the year with temperatures reaching the mid 40’s.  Most people found it very uncomfortable and took the opportunity to travel to cooler countries.   As my parents had retired to the coast in South Africa we would make the annual Christmas trek to visit them at this time.  For this we would load up the Cessna aircraft with our children, suitcases and gifts and fly for 6 long hours stopping only once in Bloemfontein to clear immigration.

I don’t think they often had to deal with passport clearance in this small airport as they always seemed a little unsure as to what they should be looking for when we handed over our documents.  On one occasion my father in law, who had been employed as a pilot with Botswana Civil Aviation decided that he would come along for the flight and naturally he did most of the flying.  When we arrived in Bloemfontein and walked into the airport I heard some choice swear words being muttered by him under his breath. 

“Oh &@#$“ he muttered, “I’ve brought the wrong passport. This is the wife’s!” 

Since there was very little we could do being three hours flying time from home now, we proceeded to the passport control desk.  The Afrikaans uniformed gentleman seemed a little concerned that he should have to deal with these foreigners and explained that he would have to call his superior as he didn’t have the authority to deal with immigration.  His superior was obviously having an afternoon siesta at home and was duly phoned to come and assist his junior officer.  After about half an hour he arrived, smoothing down his rumpled shirt and adjusting his hat.  

“Goie Middag mense!” (Good afternoon people) “En what ken I do to help yous?” he asked with his strong South African accent. 

We explained where we had come from and that we needed to clear immigration here.  Very importantly he smiled, once again adjusting his hat while he tried to remember the procedure.  We duly handed over our passports while he got out his stamps and stamp pad and began to thoroughly stamp each passport with a lot of loud thumps.  Not once did he look at the photos in the passports or the names and details.  We took off for the coast very quickly after that.

On the return trip we weren’t so lucky though.  A higher ranking official discovered that the photo in my father-in-law’s passport was that of a small, blonde Scottish lady and definitely not of him.  There was a little bit of panic then as we tried to plan our way out of this one.  But having explained that he had no idea he had picked up the wrong passport and that nobody had pointed it out to him on entering the country, my father-in-law managed to charm the officer who explained in hushed tones”,

“That youngster who stamped your passport is a bladdy ignorant fool and still learning the job”.

With the briefest of warnings he wished us a safe trip and happy landings in Botswana.

Our annual holidays were usually spent in Mauritius and our plane being too small for such long trips we took the scheduled flight from Johannesburg which landed at Plaisance International Airport in hot and humid Mauritius some four hours later. 

This flight was where the holiday started.  The plane would be filled with South Africans all excited about their forthcoming holiday on the beaches of Mauritius and people wondered up and down the aisle with drinks, chatting to new friends and generally making a big party out of the trip.

“Howzit?” (How are you?) was the favourite greeting to fellow South Africans, followed by “Want another dop?” (want another drink?).  By the time we arrived on the island we were all the best of friends with some a little more inebriated than others. 

On one particular flight we made friends with a man from Benoni.  He started his holiday at Johannesburg airport with a celebratory bottle or two and continued the celebration on the plane.  How he found his hotel I will never know but we did meet up with him three days later where he explained that he had finally sobered up for the first time that morning and had only just found his room, having spent the past two nights in a drunken coma sleeping under a palm tree on the beach.

Although it sounds like my life was one long holiday filled with parties and fun, I did work too but it felt more incidental than tedious.  We visited each other at our businesses for coffee and chats and work seldom felt stressful.  In the early days when there was little traffic we went home for lunch with a dip in the pool followed by a quick forty winks before returning to work for the afternoon.

But soon Gaborone had grown from a friendly little village into a bustling and large city with modern shopping malls, restaurants and top international hotels.  Traffic jams became constant with car accidents a daily occurrence.  We were no longer a small close-knit community where everyone knew each other and the main topic of conversation in the clubs now was how much money people were making.  It became a case of “keeping up with the Joneses”.  People built bigger and more luxurious houses, drove expensive cars and went overseas to spend their holidays in exclusive resorts.

Children’s Birthday parties became extremely competitive.

“Did you see the cake Marlene had made for her little Sebastian? I have to find out where she got it.”

“I heard it cost a fortune Jean”

“Well too bad, my Cameron’s getting a bigger one for his Birthday”

“I’ve invited all the children in Charlotte’s class, all 30 of them, and their parents. We’re having it catered by the Gaborone Sun”

“We’ve hired a helicopter to take the children for flips”

“We’re booking the Mokolodi Game Lodge for the weekend for Jasper’s 5^th”

The fantasy life had become very hard work to maintain and I found less and less enjoyment in it.

After twenty years in Botswana I left for the greener and cooler pastures of South Africa and the Sunshine Coast of the Eastern Cape.  After the years of living a wealthy, fairytale lifestyle in Gaborone I felt that I was now living in the ‘real’ world by moving to a small town where people appeared to be less intent on competing with others for financial gain.

During the following years Africa went through many changes and in particular South Africa.  We lived through the transition and adjusted mostly, quite well.  There was plenty of talk amongst the white people of civil war and mumblings about “The night of the long knives” as we were warned by the scaremongers that we would all surely be killed in our beds if we stayed in this country any longer.  Of course, we had to say goodbye to many friends who felt the time had come to move on and who warned us that our days were numbered and that we were living on borrowed time.  They left for what they considered a safer and more secure future to places like New Zealand, Australia and Canada and reported back that they were happy and felt they had made the right decision.  We soon lost touch with these friends as they settled down to make new lives in their newly adopted countries.

Believing that Africa was our home and considering ourselves and our children to be Africans we soldiered on, never considering uprooting ourselves from our familiar, happy, if a little inconvenient world.