She don't know jack

Aug. 4, 2008
Maun, Botswana

I started my day with Jungle Judy, the woman who once single-handedly pulled a python out of a trough. She did it herself after the gung-ho bush guys accompanying her on the mission collapsed into motley uh-oh bush guys and scattered like roaches at the flip of a light switch. When that thick python turned out to be longer than Judy was tall and started wrapping itself around her, only then did the chagrined men come back to pull the snake off and tuck it into a sack, away from the chickens it had been menacing, not to mention Judy.

Yes, Judy Phillips of South Africa and now of Maun, age 30-something, is a pint-sized, ballsy sparkplug, and it is thanks to her serving as my broker and intermediary that I now have wheels. She’s the food and beverage manager for Desert and Delta’s lodges. And she took time out this morning to attend to one final detail of my rented Toyota Surf. She insisted I needed a hydraulic jack, because Kobus Lubbe, the owner of the Surf and one of Judy’s best friends, forgot his in the Central Kalahari.

Judy bought a replacement hydraulic jack this morning, and she made Nick the DDS mechanic check whether it was big enough for the truck. With an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, Nick got down on the sand and began coaching me, cigarette still in mouth, on how I would use the jack if I had a breakdown or a punctured tire, or, as they write in Botswana, tyre. I was standing beside him in my skirt and bending down occasionally to appear interested.

If you saw the monstrous size of “tyre” that I would need to wrestle to succeed in changing a tire, you would agree it is hopeless. I told Judy I would revert to my tried-and-true girlie method that consists of standing on the side of the road and looking tearful; usually men stop in a flash, but I guess this is Botswana where it is always possible that the only life form that might pass a stranded motorist is a plodding donkey or a herd of goats.

“Murphy’s law,” Judy said to me. In other words, if I had a jack I would probably never need it, but without one I was as good as a Maun dirt walker again.

The jack she bought me was too small, so off we motored in her Surf to the Motovac, the auto-parts store, possibly the most impressive of all Maun businesses in size and sleekness. You see everyone you know at the Motovac, which gives me the distinct impression that I might be needing that new jack at some stage of the journey.

Turns out that everyone’s vehicle is always breaking down. But this village is lousy with bush mechanics, so even if the vehicles date back to the Stone Age, the mechanics get them rolling again. And lucky for me I live at a safari headquarters where mechanics arrive every morning promptly at 8 a.m. This I count as yet another blessing.

I was waiting in the Motovac parking area when, to my delight, two tiny folk came running for me. Jabu and Fiki! They were waving and wanting to give me a hug. The two little ones go to Bana Ba Letsatsi, the day center for street kids and at-risk children where I have been volunteering lately. Bana Ba Letsatsi means Sunshine Children, and the faces of Jabu and Fiki tell you what the mission is about. (Their mother was nearby; don’t worry that they were hanging out at the auto-store by their lonesome.)

Bana Ba Letsatsi is the little nonprofit that could. It has 226 children on its register. Nowhere near that many show up every day, but children drop in and out – for a hot breakfast or a hot lunch, showers, a place to wash their clothes and a safe environment to read, play sports, do crafts and, yes, watch cartoon videos. You will see photos with this entry that give a glimpse: Jabo/Fiki; Terence, who has a scholarship to the private school where my landlords’ son Kyeren goes and where I attended the barn dance (Terence won a reading award last week!); and Terence again in the office with Matthew Harris, a volunteer from London; Fiona Miller, a Brit who is the center’s executive coordinator; and Oupha, who serves as receptionist and go-to staff member.

I don’t have photos yet of the Botswana classroom coordinators and counselors who work here or of the kitchen staff that makes sure the children receive big helpings of warm food. But they are on hand to do whatever they can for these needy children, many of whom have been skipping school or were sent out into the streets to beg by their parents or, worse, live in homes where abuse is rampant. As far as I can tell, there’s not much happening throughout society to address the abuse, but Bana Ba Letsatsi does what it can to provide the children with a safe place and a daytime refuge. Matthew picks up some children in a combi (a big minivan) at daylight to make sure they go to school and drops them off back home in the late afternoon. An accomplishment can mean providing a tent for a homeless child or moving children away from the bad influences in town to what amounts to a foster grandmother’s house on the outskirts of Maun.

The center receives donations from the European Union and kind-hearted people around the world, most notably a Brooklyn woman who sits on Bana’s board and sends money from her foundation. Tourists mail checks. Others drop by occasionally and dump contents of their extra suitcases. Last week, books, eyeglasses, clothes, children’s Tylenol, pads of paper, colored pencils, Band-Aids and, oddly, Pine Sol in plastic bags lay in a heap on the floor waiting to be sorted. Someone had stopped in between flights and left a much-appreciated bounty. The center has a 60-year-old Peace Corps volunteer from Alaska attending to finances. Local businesses, a few of them anyway, including Desert and Delta, have lent support, and a big hope at Bana is that more local businesses will embrace the center in the coming years.

I have always loved children, and during this sabbatical year I am meant to be in their company. I’m not out to change the world here. I do simple things, but the interactions with the children go a long way toward feeding a tired soul accustomed to running on newspaper deadlines instead of playgrounds and sitting at computers instead of see-saws. Each one of the little ones deserves my thanks. I push Fiki on the swing. I help Rose practice her reading. I listen to Terence read his books for his homework.
During the school holidays a few weeks ago, I played ball with the children at the sports complex and on another day I went with them on a hike at the nature reserve. Like any good safari-goers, we hoped to see the zebra or giraffe at the reserve (no predators at this park), but, like many good safari-goers, we had to settle for a couple of impala. On another day, my task was to separate all of the medicines in an office cabinet and organize them so that little kids wouldn’t run the risk of being given a dose of over-the-counter drugs meant for teenagers and adults. And on yet another day I helped Fiona write a letter asking for support to make a dream come true: The woman in Brooklyn has invited Bana children to New York in April 2009 to see the educational and cultural sights and to be on hand for a fundraiser for Bana. Fiona hopes that 10 children might be able to go, with 2 staff members accompanying them.

But New York is across the globe; despite free accommodations the expense would be staggering. And yet, even in faraway Maun, dreams for those with tangibly little cause for hope are big and stoked by the smallest of gestures. Just look at the smiles. You’ll see resilience enough to humble any world-weary visitor.

And, as for the bush mechanics: When I mentioned to my landlords last week that Bana’s Land Rover Defender had broken down yet again and Fiona was heartsick and confused about whether to spend 15,000 Pula to have it fixed or whether instead to chuck it, my landlord Stuart said, no way, his mechanics would have a go at fixing it, probably for free or at least for a lot less than a local garage was charging.

Today he had the Defender towed to this property. The Karibu Safari mechanics arriving outside my door at 8 a.m. tomorrow might not know it yet, but they have a noble job waiting for them, one that will help ‘the little center that could’ keep rolling. And that is fine news indeed for Jabu, Fiki and the rest of the Sunshine Children.

P.S. Want to see how high I can swing?