February 12. Any of our lingering impressions that Botswana is a dry country were wiped out on the way home from the Kanye Jargon-Swapping Convention... February 18. When the trunk arrived yesterday Dad got out his (in?) famous cookbook and planned the attack for this morning. “Corn pone for breakfast!” was the war cry that interrupted my peaceful morning repose. I’m getting my spear sharpened for a roving Big Mac hunt in the Kgalagadi. February 26. Our second Committee Meeting was three times less intelligible than the first because every word echoed off the ceiling of the Thamaga community centre and struck us three times... February 28. Dad is considering buying 50 litres of molasses at P5.90 to add to his next batch of corn pone... March 7. It appears that Elaine is allergic to school—she’s been having difficulties breathing in class. April 17. Half the world’s population of algae died when we finished draining the pool today. April 20. The pattering of little feet can now be heard in the Shipley household (Zollinger’s 2 cats join the household.) Jill soon discovered that they are very well-clawed little feet... April 23. We went to Molepolole to drop off a fridge and its Wendy... May 7. I woke up this morning and discovered that I had given birth to kittens during the night... May 15. Sand, plains and cattle May 16. Sand, plains and cattle May 17. Sand, plains and cattle May 18. Sand, plains and cattle May 19. Sand, plains and cattle May 20. Sand, plains and cattle May 21. Sand, plains and cattle May 22. Sand, plains and cattle May 31. Steve left for Canada today. His travel clothes and briefcase almost made him look like an executive. Basically, though, he’s just a ruffian in a pickup truck. July 9. We went back to Moshupa and proved our lack of progress in Setswana. July 15. The committee members are progressing quickly through the agenda. They are BOTH quite unsatisfied with the turnout, though. Jean has been spicing up the kitchen by spraying salad dressing all over the floor. July 22. So far the most productive part of this Country Meeting has been Luc’s square dancing lessons. August 12. Disaster day today: the washing machine broke down; David went jogging without his shoes and came home with copious blisters; Mom lost a fight with her bike and is sporting a colorful hip; Elaine knifed her knuckle during a fit of uncontrollable passion. September 17. This thing called the Regional Meeting is the biggest and best acronyminal blab-fest I’ve heard so far. October 4. Jill discussed facial creams with a warthog. October 30. Dad suddenly realized that he was going to miss the North American Hallowe’en, so with the irrational hope that he could make it in time, he grabbed the 14:50 plane for Canada. November 15. An English type with skinny legs obligingly sprayed for cockroaches... December 25. Deck the thatch with thorny branches Pula la la la la la la la “Tis the season for relaxin’ Pula la la la la la la la Turn me on my air condish’ner Pula la la la la la While we send our Xmas wish to yer Pula la la la la la la la. December 31. Only one more year with the pickup truck ruffians. How depressing. * of the diary ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Day I Met the President It was August 20, 1987. I was an enthusiastic 27-year-old civil engineer working for the Botswana Ministry of Agriculture’s Small Dams Unit. I had just learned that my colleague Roach Mmutle and I were to go the following Wednesday to meet the President of Botswana, Dr. Quett Masire. Along with our boss, Richard Gulubane, Roach and I were to take the President on a tour of a proposed dam site near the village of Tobane, not far from Selebi Pikwe. I was based in the Palapye office of the Small Dams Unit, and my colleagues there immediately began offering me wardrobe advice. “You must buy a suit jacket!” Leano said. “If you are going to meet the President you must dress nicely!” Throughout my two years in Botswana I was often chided by my colleagues for dressing too casually. One time in a Small Dams Unit meeting Isaac Phometsi looked at me very disapprovingly across the table and said, “Mr. Shipley! Your shirt looks like it has been chewed by an animal!” I did not own an iron so my shirts were typically quite wrinkly. I was the note taker for that meeting and decided that Isaac’s remark was worthy of being included in the minutes: “Mr. Phometsi commented that Mr. Shipley’s shirt looked like it had been chewed by an animal.” Later, when Leano saw the minutes, she was angry: “Kevin! You are not supposed to put jokes in the minutes!” Leano was always telling me off.
I never got around to buying the suit jacket. It’s a field trip to a dam site, I reasoned. Why should I wear a suit jacket? The day came for the meeting with the President. Roach and I traveled to Tobane and met Richard Gulubane there. We sat through a long ceremony celebrating the Presidential visit, involving numerous speeches, dances and prayers. When it was finally over a large convoy of about 15 vehicles carrying the President’s entourage and Small Dams Unit personnel drove out to the dam site. Upon arrival at the site, the President began to examine the engineering design drawings we had brought along, and Roach and Richard were explaining our plans for constructing the dam. A group of about 25 people were clustered around the President, and several sets of hands were holding the drawings open for viewing. Suddenly, the President looked up from the drawings and saw me. “Dumela mma!” he said. The President had mistaken me for a woman. In the deepest voice I could muster I replied, “Dumela rra!” There was a moment of awkward silence. Then the President burst out laughing, and everyone else took his cue and began laughing too. The President looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s the price you pay for being handsome!” he exclaimed. I guess I should have bought that suit jacket after all.
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