Classes:
I'm not only playing music, exploring myself and the place, and self-reflecting here. I am, actually, an enrolled student at the University of Botswana and after a slow first couple of days where I wasn't really a student - officially - and professors preferred sleeping in over going to class things are picking up. The classes I am taking : The African Novel, Critical Issues in Modern African Literature, Politics of South Africa, Mfecane and the Settler Scramble in Southern Africa, and Intro to Setswana. All the classes seem really interesting, and I'm already learning a lot. A workload hasn't really happened yet, but its only been a week and some of the books we need aren't even available in the bookstore yet - so I'm not too worried. It's going to feel great learning things I know close to nothing about. Our first Politics of South Africa class had my knowledge of the country's history and current situation tripled in a matter of two hours. Things are tense in South Africa right now, as they wait for the court's verdict on the Zuma case. I don't know enough about it yet to give my opinion, but hopefully that will come in time. There's some tension in the political situation of Botswana too. The new president has bypassed parliament a couple of times already to introduce new schemes like a 70% tax on alcohol - woe is me. He's also trying to pass a Media Practioners Bill that would place certain restrictions on journalists - mandatory 'courses,' government permission for publication, etc. In a country that has prided itself on being an oasis of democracy in Africa for the past forty years, these measures are causing some raised eyebrows both in the media and in the general population. Anyway, I'm excited about all my classes and hopefully I'll know more about what I'm talking about in a couple of months.
I Like Steak:
Last night I was outside the dorms and ran into Justice, a local celebrity (he was on Big Brother Africa) and UB student, along with a sizable crew of the international students on their way to a 'jazz club' called Red Dot. Of course I was interested. I began following them and then, after realizing I had forgotten someone, went back, retrieved my friend Anna, and we began our catch up walk to the Gaborone Sun Hotel to catch a cab to Red Dot. We were still walking in the campus towards the gate when a familiar car pulled up alongside us and began beeping its horn wildly. The window went down and a smiling Mex and Khwezi (not Kwayze as I had previously spelled his name) greeted us. They were in the neighborhood and decided to stop by to say hi to us and were heading to Red Dot afterwards. After a brief conversation session with Pat, Daniel, and Ilana, Anna and I got back into their car and headed to the 'jazz club.' The ride was long, fun, and filled with blow-your-ears-out hip hop. I had this vision of Red Dot being a smoky jazz club, cool cat in the corner tickling the keys, espresso resting on the piano-top. It was not. Think small bar, giant sandy parking lot, hundreds of people battling for music supremacy with tricked out trunks, and lots and lots of meat. It took us a few minutes to navigate the maze of cars, people, and sand until we found parking. We said hello to the other kids who had come before us and headed for the bar. After peeling our way through the throngs of people we reached the bar and I was too busy soaking in the chaos to catch Mex before he bought us all a round of drinks and, of course, meat. He distractedly handed me the cardboard plate stacked ten inches high with raw beef and followed, beers in hand, outside to the grills. Khwezi took over from there and threw the meat on the grill already crowded with other people's steaks as I watched in amazement. We, in the rest of the world, think its pretty cool when someone moves their finger through a candle. Here, in the crowd of steaks (I don't know how one keeps track of their food), people reached and grabbed, hands in flame a-la-Gaius Mucius Scaevola, flipping and rearranging. Occasionally someone would sacrifice a little bit and pour a splash of beer on their steaks sending the flames leaping high into the sky. Needless to say the steak with the inevitable side order of pap was delicious. As I sipped on my Windhoek and tore the meat apart with my bare hands I was happy. Happiness can be as simple as a steak, a beer, and good company. I apologize to any vegetarians. Veggie burger if you prefer, but I hope the point still stands. Of course it helps that I'm in Botswana and have been fortunate enough to meet people like Mex and Khwezi. Which brings us to the next compartment in the clutter -
Music, Music, Music:
I've played more music here in Botswana over the past two weeks than I have over two years in Philadelphia. There's rhythm and melody in the air. It's so easy, too easy, to just breathe it in and let it flow out. After dinner and drinks at Red Dot, we headed back to the studio again to hear the progress on some of the tracks I recorded earlier. Studio visits are becoming a regular thing and I am loving it. I had been talking about it a lot so some of the other exchange students were interested in joining. Franka (German), Sabina (Dutch) and Rafael a Mexican student from the University of Texas all filed into the mini-back seat of Mex's car and we left for the studio. Rafael had told me he played jazz piano and I knew Mex, sound-engineer and producer-extraordinairre would love it. He did, and within a few minutes Rafael and I were laying down a bossa-nova groove that slowly morphed its way into an intensely subtle hip-hop groove that Khwezi and Shorty decided they were going to rhyme over for one of the CD tracks. I have now recorded on three separate, all drastically different tracks and I'm excited to work with these inspired artists more and see the finished product. Tomorrow we'll be going to Kwest for actual open mic night and hopefully bust out a few tracks and end up at the studio later in the night.
Even when I'm not jamming with Pat and/or People Of Revolutionary Nature (alternatively People of Religious Nature, Peace Out Relax Now, etc - you work out the acronym) music seems to keep tapping me on the shoulder and also saving me. A lot has been on my mind recently, and it's been really difficult dealing with some of the changes that have gone in in the past weeks but music always seems to be there to remind me why I love it so much and how simple peace can be when banging on things. This morning Daniel, Ilana and I ran into an old acquaintance of Ilana's. Ilana had told me about Thabo over an email this summer. He's a Motswana percussionist, tour guide, gumboot dancer, the list goes on, who looks like he wakes up every morning and walks through a rainbow. Colorful bead bracelets blend into silk technicolored tunics and wavy chameleon pants. His dreadlocks stick out of the hat on his head just enough to say hello and tease as to what the sight might be like without said hat. Within minutes we were sitting on the grass, him with his beautiful West African djembe and me on my trusty doumbek improvising and then jamming along to Enigma and the Flaming Lips. We parted with each other's phone numbers and plans for many the jam session including a bonfire and full moon drum circle in a couple of weeks. Music keeps holding out its arms for me and bringing me in for a comforting pat on the back, a reminder that beauty is everywhere. I hope that I've been able to take that message, take that embrace and pass it on even just a little bit through my playing.
Keabetswe:
On Saturday afternoon, Pat, Daniel, Ilana and I got into a cab and left the UB campus for a village about 30 km out of Gabs called Khama Kwane (or something). We had some rough directions, a guitar, a doumbek, a camera, and trusty Maud (Daniel's wonderful, pocket size, multi-direction recording device). We were heading to the home of Keabetswe Sebolao. Keabetswe is probably in his twenties and was born with a spinal cord dysfunction that has left him paralyzed from the neck down and unable to speak. He has spent most, or all, of his life lying on a mat in a small, four-walled clay room, cared for by his mother. Pat, through his social work here, had met him before and was told of his love for music - an antiquated radio in the corner of the room is the only real furnishing besides the mat. Upon that meeting Pat had played a song for Keabetswe and promised he would return. So we were heading to the village to visit him and play a few songs for him. It took about an hour and a half to reach Khama Kwane and another thirty minutes of winding through dusty streets, sparse shrubbery, and cinder block homes interspersed with traditional clay huts, to find the Sebolao house. We finally found someone who hopped into the car and navigated our way there for us. We entered the main courtyard of the house, greeted Keabetswe's mother and entered Keabetswe's room. As soon as he saw us, the familiar face of Pat, and our instruments he began smiling, moving his head just enough to raise it from the mattress and show his appreciation. We launched into a cover of Bright Eyes' "First Day of My Life," and as the songs progressed the village children began filling up the room, first as wallflowers and then as involved, dancers, clappers, singers, and yelpers. Every once in a while I'd catch Keabetswe's eye and his face would turn into a beaming smile.
music for Keabetswe
I had to swallow back tears a couple of times throughout the playing. I couldn't figure out whether they were tears of joy, sadness, compassion - maybe all three. As I reached down to give my thanks and farewell to Keabetswe I hoped that the music had hugged him, had shown him the beauty in life even when it was probably so hard to see. I just hoped that we touched him in some way close to how he touched me.
Botswana continues to seduce, surprise, and share in the best possible way.
1 comment:
Didn't the levy eventually turn out to be 15%?
The Media Bill didn't go through...yay...
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