Conversation with an Amusement Park Ride Operator

If you've ever spent time in Africa, the following conversation may sound familiar.

Cast:       Pete, a visitor to Gaborone's premier amusement park
               Mr. Ride Operator
               Three or four enthusiastic children
Setting:    An otherwise deserted ride


Pete:           Hello there! May we ride for a long time, seeing as how no one else is waiting in line?
Operator:    Yes.
Pete:           Great. Here we go. . .wheee!
after thirty seconds, the ride comes to a stop
Pete:           Wow, that was fun! Um, may we please go for another ride?
Operator:    Yes.
Pete:           Great, and this time if you wouldn't mind we'd like to go for a long time. Here we go. . . wheee!
after thirty seconds, the ride comes to a stop
Pete:           Ummmm. . .
Operator:    Now you must get off of the ride.
Kids:           But we want to keep riding! There is no one in line!
Operator:    No, you must leave the ride. Come back in ten minutes.

I looked back at our friendly operator as we walked to the pool, and he was just sitting at the controls, waiting for his next customers.  I wouldn't paint with such a broad brush as to say it's universal, but after a bit of time here you do start to notice a certain tendency toward rigidity in the minds of some people here. I chalk much of it up to the education system: rote memorization is the overwhelming standard, with little emphasis upon creativity or innovation.

Holiday Ramblings

Ah, the cognitive and emotional dissonance of celebrating the holidays overseas! What is one to think whilst, nearly antipodal to one's kin, he is assaulted by the juxtaposition of summer hallmarks and winter celebrations? I needed a towel this year to mop off the sweat generated while decorating the Christmas tree. . . if that's what one can call the spray painted branches adorned with ornaments that currently stands sentinel in our family room. A thunderstorm and the neighbor's techno music interrupted our singing of "Silent Night." We cut out paper snowflakes with the air conditioner set to max.

Amidst all the features of another caddywompus overseas Thanksgiving and Christmas, there is a real joy here that is difficult to relate to those who haven't yet experienced this life. Friends become family-like in the common absence of real family. Old traditions bend, but don't break. And once in awhile there is profundity in discovering that people half a world away, while completely different, are really just the same. I'm really looking forward to celebrating Jesus' birth with our Batswana brothers and sisters.

engage!

While I was excited to fly airplanes again here in Africa, I think what really had me spooled up was the prospect of getting involved in ministry - developing friendships, learning the culture, seeking to clearly communicate my own experience of God's grace and mercy to the people around me.  Based on past experience, I thought the best place to start here would be to develop a friendship with someone involved in spiritual leadership.  I've found that man.  His name is Emanuel, and I wish everyone I know could meet him - funny, winsome, articulate, and equipped with a plus-sized heart.  In addition to pastoring a church in an outlying village, he works for Flying Mission, managing a number of outreach programs that we are involved in as an organization.

The past couple of months he and I have been meeting, and I have been accompanying him on a number of the projects with which he's involved, with an eye toward discerning where best I can come alongside.  Please pray for me as I become more engaged on this front.

Shelley writes

It’s certainly not what I expected - filling my days with work, work, work.  And some days I do feel sorry for myself.  This job really is a life-sucker sometimes.  I work 8 or 9 hours a day.  I work on Saturdays, I work in the evenings, I get up early every day.  Every day there is something new to be depressed about – I have to do conferences this week, I have to advise a tournament on Saturday, I have to stay late . .  . again.  But thankfully Pete’s job keeps everything in perspective for me.  It’s easy to feel sorry for myself until I hear about people who are 90% burned, their skin too charred to even give them morphine.  Or about another baby who died of a respiratory problem.   

And I do have so much to be thankful for.  I’m living in the continent where my heart is. I feel at home in Africa.  Of course, I love the sun.  I love that our neighborhood is filled with roosters, goats, packs of dogs, loud hip-hop music, and the beautiful sound of children playing.  I love that Caleb and Malena can go outside our gate and play with the neighborhood kids, buy ice lollies from the tuck shop right around the corner, walk the dogs all by themselves.   

And I’m extremely thankful to be at the same school as my kids.  They are getting a fantastic experience and I get to share that with them.  What a blessing! Caleb and Malena are learning to speak Setswana.  They get to take a real art class and a real music class.  Caleb regularly gets to play the drums at assembly.  Malena gets to take swimming at school, they only have 15 kids in their class and the students are from all around the world.  We recently had an assembly at our school to celebrate Independence day for Botswana and the local chief came and gave a speech.  Caleb’s class did traditional dancing and there was so much Botswana culture emanating from the auditorium - it was truly moving.  I felt truly blessed to be in Botswana and I want to give a big shout out to God for giving us this amazing experience, and even though I will be working late today, I am truly thankful . . . . . . .

A Tough Week

This is what I came here to do.  That doesn't make it any easier.

On Monday, we flew to the town of Kasane in the middle of the night to pick up two victims of a car crash - one with a broken femur, the other with both head and internal injuries.

On Thursday, news came that five men had been terribly burned out in the Kalahari desert, near the town of Hukuntsi, after they'd been trapped between converging bush fires.  During this season, we often see these lines of fire, sometimes extending for miles, while flying at night - eerily beautiful dull orange slashes through the bush.  Never had I imagined the nightmares they could produce.  We launched from Gaborone into the ominous dark sky, timing our departure so that we would touch down on the unlit, unpaved airstrip precisely at sunrise.  Out of the ambulance came a horror of charred flesh, second and third degree burns covering more than three quarters of their bodies.  We did our best to put down the incongruous mixture of revulsion and compassion that we felt upon the sight of these poor men, and to concentrate on our jobs - getting them back to medical care in Gaborone.  The last news I heard was that they were being cared for at the new private hospital here in town.  Two had died; three were still hanging on to life.

On Friday, it was up to Kasane again to pick up the German victim of an elephant attack.

How does that old Peace Corp recruiting line go?  Something like "the toughest job you'll  ever love."  I can't come up with a better description of my work here in Botswana.

Elephant Attack

Olga and her husband were sleeping peacefully in their tent.  They had camped here in Chobe National Park several times before, and their experience gave them great respect for the wildlife around them - particularly elephant, which are found here in the greatest concentration of anywhere in Africa.

Nothing prepared them for what was to happen next.

At about 5:30 in the morning, they started to hear the rustling, breaking branches, and heavy footfalls of an elephant herd approaching.  With no discernible provocation, one elephant became suddenly agitated, trumpeting and stamping very close to the tent.  Suddenly a tusk came through the wall of the tent, pierced Olga's back, and lifted her off of the ground.  In shock, neither husband or wife was able to move before one of the elephant's legs crushed the side of the tent, quickly followed by another tusk which this time completely impaled Olga.

I was sitting in the office on flight standby when the call came.  We knew that with the level of medical facilities available in the town of Kasane, we would have to be as fast as possible in getting advanced care to Olga, and just as fast in transporting her to the hospital in Johannesburg.  We launched with a doctor and a medic on board, and after a two hour flight had Doc and Collin busy stabilizing her and preparing her for the flight south.  When they returned from the hospital, we were fueled and ready to load her and her husband onto the aircraft.

When we have patients on board, we use the radio callsign "Mercy One."  This tells the traffic controllers and other aircraft that we require a clear route ahead, with no delays to our flight because of its critical medical status.  Upon our safe arrival in Johannesburg, Olga's husband shook our hands, saying in his broken English, "You are called Mercy One. That is a good name. Thank you for showing us mercy today."

I am thankful that the Lord has given us here at Flying Mission the ability to translate, in some small way, the deep mercy He has shown us into mercy for others. 

Mozambique and Beyond

We just returned a week or so ago from a long road trip through South Africa, our much-loved Mozambique, and (briefly) Swaziland.  There were many highlights on a very memorable trip indeed, but chief among them was the great joy of introducing Malena to her homeland.  Caleb was about four when we left, and he has a surprising breadth of memories of our time there - his very earliest memories, in fact, are of Moz.  But Malena was only one when we departed, so all she knew of the place were stories she'd been told and pictures she'd seen.

Driving into Maputo brought back to us all we'd forgotten, and revealed how different it is from Gabs: crowds of vibrantly dressed people all over town, riding perched on top of 18 wheelers, hawking steering wheel covers on the side of the road, women carrying their little ones wrapped up in capalanas, commuters packed by the baker's dozen into honking, sidewalk-driving minibuses.  Maputo is a seaside mix of high-rise communist era apartment squalor, decaying excesses from the days of the Portuguese, interminable hovels made of concrete blocks and aluminum roofing, and narrow slices of opulence, which the cynical among us would say are inhabited primarily by UN aid workers and other governmental development people.

We stayed with my old Air Serv boss, Chris Branks, and his family for a few days while we reacquainted ourselves with the city.  It turned out to be quite an adventure.  Riots started in the city over a rise in the government-set price of a basic staple, bread, just 36 hours after we arrived.  We were forced to hunker down for a couple of days, listening to sporadic AK-47 fire and keeping a close ear on the radio news.  We were distraught to hear that ten or so folks died and a good number were injured in the chaos, with people lighting tires on fire and burning buses and cars around the city.  Mozambique remains one of the poorest countries on the planet, with a vast gulf between the rich and poor.  What we consider an inconsequential rise in food prices can have a substantial impact on those living on very little indeed.

Fortunately, things calmed down enough to get around the city a bit.  We visited our old house, which we believe the current tenants have not improved.

Caleb and Malena believe our old back yard may have shrunk in our absence

We also were able to visit the Hospital Central where we first found Malena, and to see the orphanage where she would have grown up had we never met.  At the orphanage, Malena spent a bit of time with a baby that looked much like her at six months.  I found myself simultaneously occupying both 2003 and 2010, looking down at the beautiful daughter that God brought into our lives, and that other little girl that very well could have been Malena seven years ago.  I wondered what Malena's life would look like today, and perhaps more acutely, what our lives would be like today had we never met.  We wouldn't know it, but we would be impoverished beyond reckoning had this clever, lovely, and funny girl never entered our lives.

outside Hospital Central

getting to know some of the kids at Primiero do Mayo orphanage

Primiero do Mayo

We also spent some great time catching up with our dear friends the Reeves, and had some serendipitous chance meetings with a number of old friends and acquaintances around town.  Then it was north to Chris's beach paradise near the town of Xai-Xai, the subject of my next post. . .

Recent Adventures

Here are a few pictures from some out and abouts we've had this past month. If you're looking for more, check out Pete's Facebook page.


Caleb trying out his birthday present. I told him when he was six that he could have a BB gun when he turned ten. . . this was the sweet reward for many years of patience.



Malena helping me navigate the rutted tracks of the Khama Rhino Sanctuary. She did a great job, and so did Caleb - who drove the car all by himself for a good portion of our two day visit.



Malena checking out a few white rhino. Those dudes weigh as much as more more than our CR-V.



Caleb and Malena found this stick bug not far from our house. Impressive.

Outreach

I've become involved with the music team at church - here's a picture of the men rocking out on Men's Day. . . not to be confused with Father's Day. We were, in a word, awesome.



When time allows, our family goes on Friday afternoons down to Old Naledi, the poorest part of Gaborone, and helps out with a feeding and evangelism project for about 100 kids. Here's me being the evil old King Saul, just realizing that David cut off part of my tunic while I was taking care of, um, physiological matters in a nearby cave.

A day in the life of an air ambulance pilot

"Honey, your phone is ringing."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is! That thing six inches from your head on your side of the bed is your phone, and it's ringing."
"That's not my phone."
Smack.
"Jeez! Okay, okay. Hello?"

Thus begins another day, or in this case night, of medevac flying. I of course deny that the above conversation ever happened. The first thing I remember is answering my phone out of a dead sleep at about 10:30 pm and hearing Tim, our chief pilot, tell me that there's been a rollover car accident up north in the town of Kasane that requires a flight. But Shelley claims I repeatedly denied that I ever even owned a phone for a good while prior to that. . .

All is dead silent on the flight line when I arrive. Sir Seretse Khama International closes at 10 pm unless there's an emergency. But Tim has once again applied his phone charms and roused the airport personnel for the airports we'll be flying to tonight. Andrew, the first officer I'll be flying with, is already preflighting the plane, so I head inside to take care of paperwork. A few minutes later our medics, Patrick and Colin, arrive. 44 minutes after the initial call, we are a disappearing northbound speck in the ink-black Botswana night. This country is one of the least densely populated in the world, and it is evident from 27,000 feet. I can't see a single light on the ground in any direction, and on a night like tonight, with clear skies and no moon, the only way to tell the ground from the sky is to note where the stars end.

Kasane sits in the northeast corner of the country, near Chobe Game Reserve. A good portion of Botswana's 130,000 elephants live up here; I saw four or five walking down a paved road while on approach to the airport just a few days ago. Flying into Kasane at night is what we call a "black hole" approach - with absolutely no lights around the airport and no instrument guidance into the runway, pilots can easily become disoriented, thinking that they are higher, lower, or in more of a bank than they really are. We have special procedures and cooperate closely as a crew to make sure that we land safely.

The ambulance is just pulling on to the tarmac as we taxi in, and the medics quickly talk to the nurse. One man's neck is broken, the other has head injuries, broken ribs, and possible further internal injuries. As they stabilize and load the two men, we check the plane over, and make sure everything is ready for our one hour flight down to Francistown. I gulp some lukewarm coffee - it's a little after 2 am now, and the 45 minutes of sleep I got is starting to feel a bit paltry.

With the two men secure, we fire up our engines, check our systems, and blast off again. The air is buttery smooth, there is nothing to see, and one can almost forget that he is flying an airplane - until a groan from the cabin behind us brings back how critical it is that we are flying southbound at almost 300 miles per hour. 55 minutes later we are shutting down the plane, and helping the medics lift the two stretchers out of the plane. I pray silently over these two men for a brief moment, and then watch the rear doors slam shut in the eerie red and white strobe light.

It's 5:15 in the morning. Time to find the house that we rent here in Francistown. . . and the beds therein. Although we don't know it yet, we'll be flying back up to Kasane at 3 this afternoon to pick up a woman who needs an emergency c-section.

Westwood

Pictured here are the newest two students at Westwood International School. The newest teacher refused to be photographed, being a bit embarassed at her husband's insistance upon taking pictures mere minutes after hearing she'd been hired. We are celebrating the answer to our prayers, and are very excited about the path we are embarking upon.

The Jonas Brothers

I flew Joe Jonas and his entourage from Joburg up to the town of Maun a few days ago in order to visit a ministry that he and the brothers support. If I hadn't been told he was a big deal, I never would have known it - he was a very mellow, kind, easygoing guy. A local paper did a story on it, which follows:

Local Pilot Soars to New Heights

The Batswanareadit?, June 10, 2010

by staff writer Andrew Weiseth

One man’s dream came true recently when Joe Jonas, of the world-renowned Jonas Brothers, was invited to Johannesburg, South Africa. The country’s President, Jacob Zuma was putting on a lavish, five day celebration in the brothers’ honor and Joe was invited there to represent his brothers. The festivals climactic point came when President Zuma brought out his giant scissors from his giant desk drawer and had Joe cut the ceremonial ribbon. Synchronized with the cumbersome snip were great cheers of celebration, trumpets and the “pardoning” of countless doves. The moment christened not only the city square’s new Jonas Brothers statue, but its official renaming to Jonasberg.

From here, Joe continued his global “Illumination Tour” with a flight north to Maun. Enter into the story, Pete Weiseth (Pilot). “When he boarded the plane I literally wet my pants, right there in my seat” said Pete. “He was surprising cool about it though. He actually signed the pants! They’re hanging in my garage now.”

“ …they were in my house but my family made me move them” Pete added sheepishly.

Flying and the Jonas Brothers have been Pete’s core passions for years now. “I’ve only loved flying longer than I’ve loved the Jonas Brothers because …well, I’m older than them” Pete said gazing dreamily at the wall. There hangs his photo (printed here) taken with Joe Jonas. Pete calls it “the most amazingly amazing day” of his life. His iron-on t-shirt, watch face, lanyard, his airplane’s dashboard and likely several other places have been branded with this photo as well.

When asked what other goals he had for his life Pete’s demeanor shifted radically. “What?! It’s like …it’s like you’re asking a climber at the [expletive deleted] peak of Mt. Everest!” After a long, uncomfortable pause his eyes fixed to the sky. Then he spoke again, as though to himself, “Has any mortal discovered an earthly zenith beyond this?” Hoping to move on we asked him about any strictly aeronautical dreams he might have. However by this point Pete was curled on the floor drooling, petting his “Precious Joe” photo (as he called it) and mumbling some repetitious, indiscernibly high-pitched phrase. The interview seemed to end at this point.

As for Joe Jonas’ future travels, we can only imagine the countless other pilots yet to fly him, and be flown by him as Pete was.

Shelley's new job

I am thrilled to report that Shelley is the newest teacher at Westwood International School here in Gabs. This is something we've been hoping and praying for over the course of many months, and we are so thankful that this came through. Praise the Lord.

Caleb and Malena will be donning the Westwood maroon and white for the first time on the same day that Shelley brings her lab coat out of its semi-retirement, and we are this week saying a bittersweet goodbye to our one year experiment with home schooling. It was bitter. It was sweet. It is now over, and we embrace that which comes next.

Mochudi

We took a drive up to Mochudi for Mother's Day - here's Caleb surveying the savanna.



A little respite from the sun.



Roscoe makes an impression on the locals.



Shelley loves aloe.

job opportunity

For those of you praying for us, please pray for Shelley tomorrow. She has an "informal" interview over tea at the Westwood International School in the morning. This is just the opportunity we've been waiting for! It would allow Shelley to do what she loves, and would also give the kids entrance into a great school.

May pics

Roscoe takes it easy.



On our way to pick up a snakebite victim in the village of Hukuntsi, about 250 miles northwest of Gaborone. Despite the smile, we are flying the plane flat-out as fast as we can!



The medics attending to the victim, a nine year old girl. The snake turned out to be a burrowing adder, apparently quite a rare snake, and is in this shot sitting dead in a plastic bag under one of the seats so that it can be identified by an expert from a local game reserve when we land. The girl's whole head was swollen, and her breathing was starting to rasp just as we were descending into Gaborone. Reports later said she was ok, but that it was a close call.



Caleb trying to figure out how to start this tractor in the village of Mochudi, about half an hour north of Gabs.

Flying pic and video

Just touched down in Hukuntsi, around 250 miles northwest of Gaborone,
to pick up a little baby girl who was struggling to breathe.

Flying video

Airborne

Last Thursday, a sixty-two year old American woman on safari in the Okavango Delta was thrown into the roof of a safari vehicle after it hit a pothole, an impact sufficient to fracture her C5 and C6 vertebrae. I am very happy indeed to tell you that, by the grace of God and because of the support of a lot of people, I was able to pilot a plane into the Maun airport in order to pick her and her husband up and fly them south to Johannesburg, South Africa for treatment.

Yesterday, a man with a severe intestinal blockage flew out of his tiny village and into Gaborone for treatment.

And today a seven week old little girl with respiratory problems flew out of her village with her mom, with the medics in the back keeping her breathing with a ventilator.

It's good to be flying. Heartfelt thanks to all the people who have been thinking of and praying for us these past couple of months. I'm looking forward to being able to relay a lot more stories about what Flying Mission is doing here in Botswana, both aloft and around town. Stay tuned!

Checkride day

A little video I took before going flying last week.

The Problem of Pain

To read articles in the journals of the day by the likes of historian Niall Ferguson and his myriad fellow prophets of doom, you'd think that America and much of the West have seen their last days of prosperity. But just a bit of time in even a relatively affluent African country like Botswana reveals how vast a gulf still exists in the experience of life between the average third world resident and the average American.

I do not wish to offend, but having spent a good bit of time in both places I think I can say with some authority that many Americans don't really know the meaning of the word "pain," and do the word a great injustice when they use it.

Shelley and I are reeling a bit today from the news that the first friend that Caleb and Malena made here in Botswana, a shy but lovely and clever girl of ten, is living with HIV, contracted in all likelihood from her abusive father who has full-blown AIDS. And she doesn't know it. Her "Aunt," who herself is living under the constant threat of contracting this disease, tells this girl that the mix she must drink each day is a vitamin supplement.

This is a story that plays out, multiplied hundreds of thousands of times, every day all over sub-Saharan Africa. And we in the West, myself included, have grown weary of hearing about it. I largely ignored it until it showed up, in the form of a girl that we have grown to love, digging holes in the dirt and making forts in the back yard with our two kids.

What to do with what C.S. Lewis called "the problem of pain?" I would deny it intellectually, but do I at a functional level believe that my family is destined for lives of comfort, health, and ease, high levels of education and opportunities to not only chase but achieve dreams? Do I by default believe that the haunted woman I pass in the guard shack each morning, or the guy selling oranges day after day on the noisy and polluted side of the road are due less? If you dig just a bit into many peoples' lives here, you discover stuff that just crushes you inside, stuff that would likely render me helpless and hopeless.

For now, no attempts from me at resolution of these questions. Just some time for prayer and reflection. And in the meantime, please pray for this young friend of ours.

Flying at last

After a seemingly interminable wait, I got into the pilot's seat yesterday for the first time. The byzantine nature of licensing here has had me running around getting chest x-rays, taking a hearing test in a noisy doctor's office, submitting myriad forms, and collecting conflicting reports about the state of my paperwork. In the meantime, I've been busy helping out behind the scenes here at Flying Mission, helping to develop procedures for the flying of our aircraft, going through ground school and simulator courses, and lending a helping hand wherever it's needed around the office and around town.

But I really came here to fly airplanes, and - more to the point - to show compassion for and provide help to people who are hurting. God willing, my checkride will be tomorrow. After that, I'll be able to start flying operationally here, conducting air ambulance flights and missions flights for groups that work here in Botswana. I'm very much looking forward to posting the first pics of one of those flights here shortly.

Thanks for your continued prayers for us!

Eating worms

Mopane worms make any burrito. . . special.


Sitting in our car, stealing the internet signal from
friends so that we can skype.


One of the first visitors in the kitchen of our new
house.


Captured!

Over the Easter weekend

Shelley spies what we believe to be a giraffe. . .


My cousin, Robin, visited us over the Easter weekend. It was a monsoon-like several days, turning our back yard into a virtual lake. Malena, Caleb and Robin made the most of it, and did some serious hydroengineering.




Caleb, Shelley, Malena, Robin, and our friend Siri Tiger. Robin and Siri are working with a ministry in Pretoria, South Africa, and took the four hour bus ride up to bless us with their presence for a few days.

In and around Gaborone

Malena and Azra play behind our new steed.


Getting to know some of the locals at the game park.


Soaking some Mopane worms in preparation
for the evening meal.


Caleb likes to safari with gum on his nose.

State of the Union

>We hit the one month mark here on Good Friday, as sober a day as any on the calendar. And now for a sober analysis of the Weiseth state of affairs here in Botswana to date:

After an exhaustive search, we achieved the milestone of finding a place to live a few days ago. It's been a bit of a test, to be honest. Everywhere it's evident that the Demand side of the equation has won the day over its pitiable nemesis, Supply, in this town – whether it's housing, furniture, open road to drive your car around, or a spot in school for the kids. We're thankful that the Lord steered us to a young couple, both of whom fly for Air Botswana and who have a great house that we think will answer quite nicely. Thinking about life in Africa, I had always envisioned a bunch of kids running around on a dirt street in front of our house, playing football (soccer). This house definitely fulfills that desire! I think I counted fourteen kids in front of our house the first time we visited it.

On to the work front. Neither Shelley and I are doing official, productive work yet. But our hands have not been idle! The week after we arrived we went through a one week orientation class that Tina, the 32 year Botswana veteran on our FM team, lead. We learned history, culture, worldview, took some Setswana lessons, learned how to ride combis (minivans that about half the populace uses to get around town), and visited a couple of the ministry programs that FM runs. Since then, I've been taking tests on the airplane I'll be flying, attending ground school, prepping for a few days of simulator training in South Africa, and attending to myriad other details that the Botswana Civil Aviation authority requires. As is typical in Africa, the manifold documentation has to be stamped, folded properly, driven around town interminably, and submitted four weeks before processing. Arg. I hope to be in the air starting in about two weeks, but it's frustrating to have to wait.

In the meantime, Shelley has been spreading resumes in a veritable flurry around town, all to no avail thus far. It's more than mildly ironic. The four or five schools into which we'd like to put our kids all have waiting lists, and yet no one is hiring teachers. Eh? Among our requests for prayer, that would be chief right now: that we would receive both wisdom and guidance in the schooling of our kids and Shelley's mission here in Botswana. Shelley loves to teach, and feels like her most effective ministry has been through her job. But maybe that's not what she's supposed to be doing here. We do, feel, however that the kids need to be in school. We need a miraculous door to open up on that front.

All that being said, it is great to be here. We truly love it. We've been trying to achieve sufficient familial introspection to explain why one would want to launch into a distant unknown only to experience the stonewalling of a striking percentage of our goal portfolio. More on that in our next blog entry.

Shangilolo

Pete and Malena get to know one of Botswana's
humbler creatures.

Fat cakes finale

On our way home now. . . a "tuck shop" just around
the corner from our place. Drinks and snacks are
sold at the little red shed on the left; the proprietors
live in the adjoining house.


As we arrive back home, we are reminded that
no garbage truck has been seen in our neighborhood
for weeks.


The view of the Weiseth manor from outside.

Fat cakes 4

No fat cakes yet. Blast! We consoled ourselves
by watching this roach (near the edge of the glass)
help him or herself to the frosting of this cake.


Malena is less than enthused about our
choice of rolls. . .

Another combi stop. Faithful Batswana on their
way to church.

I have no idea what it is. But it certainly
looks like it was yummy.