Somewhere between Morokwane and Vryburg my friend the Sangoma turns to me and says..."I will need your help when we arrive. I need to transfer some money." I tell her it’s no problem and i can help her. Little do i realize that what she actually means is that she needs to get money from the ATM and doesn’t remember how. Such is life when you live on the edge of the Kalahari. Withdrawing money is something most Americans can do in their sleep, but in a town where there is no bank and no ATM and not even a functioning post office (though, to their credit the building DOES exist and is properly signed...it just has more of a decorative function) It is easy to go months or even your whole life without ever seeing an ATM. My friends request brought home that reality with eye opening clarity. Needless to say, after arriving in town (and promptly dumping my collection of cans into the bin) i followed through on my promise to help the withdraw money. The was immediately followed up with the most delightful lunch of burgers and fries...which has become a rare treat indulged in no more than once a month, when we can afford to come to town. Our conversation was lively and as two intellectual, spiritually aware and deep-thinking individuals you can imagine we covered all the major topics...Christianity, consulting the ancestors, the fate of families in South Africa, poverty and the meaning of life...just to name a few. Of course the meal was followed up with the obligatory ice cream sundae. Ice cream is the rarest of rare treats! When you live in the desert and the supermarket is a 2 hour drive away in a stuffy minivan, keeping a stash at home isn't really an option.
After lunch it was time to get down to business. That means doing our rounds of shopping as quickly as possible in order to make it back to the taxi in time. There’s only one taxi to Bona-Bona each day that leaves around 2:30pm...if you miss that you may still catch one to Morokwane, but will be left hitchhiking back down the gravel road to the village with all your groceries...NOT a good prospect when your frozen chicken is thawing by the second and the wait may be indefinite. So you learn to do everything with haste. I think my record shopping time was half an hour...and I’m proud to say i have never missed the taxi! (insert applause here) so i did my rounds, first to the drug store, than grocery store, than produce store...no small feat when you have to carry all of your shopping with you around town in the blazing heat. By the end of the trip i have 3 or 4 bags full of groceries. I try to keep it to three bags, because that is what i can carry comfortably. At the same time, however, i need to buy everything for the month all at once...needless to say difficult choices must be made. Gone are the days of dumping things into the trunk of the car and simply unloading at home. Shopping has become a game of strategy and strength...not just what and how much i buy matters, but also how i distribute things between the three bags... and the more i can manage to carry, the better the chances my supply will last till the end of the month! I never thought I’d have to think this hard about food shopping in my life! Ultimately the deed is done by 2:00 sharp. To come any later might mean finding the taxis already full. I struggle my way through the market place to the taxi rank with my heavy bags. It is a scene almost straight out of a movie. The place is buzzing with the chatter of vendors trying to sell their wares from tables lines up on both sides the path. There is a sea of black faces passing by in every direction...most of them glistening in the intense heat. Women are haggling over prices. Every few meters another vendor tried to offer me something, speaking hurried and jumbled Setswana i don’t stand a chance of understanding. At the taxi rank i must squeeze through the crowd of old ladies selling snacks and drinks from boxes balanced on their heads. Usually people leave their goods sitting on the curb next to the taxi and the drivers load everything on after everyone has boarded...a process which is very much like a game of Tetris with bags and boxes being shuffled and shoved and stuffed so that they fit somewhere between all of the bodies in the vehicle. It’s a process that invariably results in bruised apples and squashed bananas that turn black and slimy by the next day. So i have taken to loading my things myself before i get on. (My bananas still wind up black from the bumpy rides home, but at least half of them are still edible 3-4 days later, which is an improvement. I’m tempted to give up on buying bananas all together because they never all survive and one can only eat so many banana muffins before it becomes dangerous for the waistline.) After packing everything in i collapse into my seat on the taxi exhausted and just take in the sight. All the people walking about in the rank...mothers with children tied on their backs with towels, carrying multiple bags of groceries; The banter of the taxi drivers conversing loudly with one another across the lot as they wait on their passengers; the Kokos (grannies) with their baskets of goods popping their heads into the taxi every now and then shouting "Metsi tsididi e teng, grapes e teng, ice juice! Ice juice!" (I’ve got cold water, I’ve got grapes!) After sitting in a taxi full of passengers for about half an hour the drivers load in the goods (filling the aisles to the point that no one can move) collect the money and its off home. Of course we stop at the filling station on the main road leading out of town to tank up, which is always a peculiar ritual. Apparently rocking the vehicle side to side helps the gas "settle" in the tank so you can fit more in the tank. It’s hard to stifle a laugh as the attendants push with all their might and all the passengers bob back and forth to the rhythm...seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness of it all. I grin and try to make myself comfortable in my seat for the long drive back. I have the fortune of sitting right next to the window on the driver’s side this time, which means i won’t burn in the light of the setting sun as we make our north westerly journey back AND i can keep the window open to allow for circulation. South Africans seem to dislike the force of the wind and are in the horrid habit of keeping all the windows closed on such taxi rides, thereby transforming the bus into a mobile greenhouse...I’m am glad when i have the privilege of preventing such cruelty towards my fellow man!
After sufficient shaking and filling we are under way. I lean on the window pane and promptly fall asleep...by the time i wake up we'll be well past Ganyesa with most of the trip behind us. In no time well be bumping down the gravel road again and at the sun starts looking red orange in the sky we'll arrive home...on just another evening in Africa.
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