That Mary Coyle. She knows a thing or two.
We were in an Ottawa hotel with a blizzard rattling the windows when the conversation landed on the subject of religion. I was raised in a Christian home, but I was not myself devout. Having attended bible classes since old enough to read, I had what I thought of as informed opinions on religion. Being a twenty-something male and having been drinking a wee bit (along with everybody else, except possibly Mary Coyle who was there as a returned CUSO co-operant able to offer some wisdom to we newbies), I lacked the wit to keep my opinions to myself. At one point, Mary cocked an eye-brow and said, “You’re going to have an interesting time in Botswana.” Two days later we boarded a flight in Montreal. After stops in Zurich and Harare, we cleared passport control in Francistown then continued to Selebi-Phikwe. We blew the nose wheel tires on landing there and after a bracing slalom run down the runway we headed off to a hotel to eat and drink for a few hours on Air Botswana’s tab. Which is how I met Hugh Masekela. But I digress. Eventually we got to Gaborone and eventually I got oriented, loaded up a yellow Toyota Hilux and hit the road for Chobe to take up my post with the Yambezi Multi-purpose Co-operative in Satau. A few days later I was under Satau’s kgotla tree meeting my new community. Introductions were led by Gerry Cooney, the Rural Industrial Officer and a CUSO co-operant, and Henry Lingela, Chair of the Co-operative. Gerry’s remarks were to the point. Henry’s speech began with some history and a bit about expectations and wound up with the words, “The baby Jesus gave the white people knowledge. Now the baby Jesus has sent this white man to our village to give us knowledge.” At least, that’s how it was translated. I stood there, my mouth opening and closing without making a sound. In the silence I was no longer looking at the crowd. All I could see was a vision of Mary Coyle and her eyebrow. Eventually I stopped gaping and started speaking. I was just getting my wind back when the crowd erupted in laughter. I hadn’t said anything funny. I looked at the translator who looked back at me expectantly. I finished my schpiel and later found out that my knowledge of fish farming had been translated as experience ploughing fish. Eventually I confirmed that Henry didn’t think I was sent by God but was speaking in a manner common to folks of his generation, for whom religious allusions were comfortable. Eventually at least a few of the community members figured out that I wasn’t a complete idiot. I think. I fell in love with Satau. My time there changed my life. I’ve been back twice, including with my mother and my brothers. I hope to get back at least once more before shuffling off this mortal coil.
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April 2021
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