Stop one, crossing the boarder. Exiting Namibia would be relatively painless. My passport now had a Christmas exit stamp in it. However, entering BOTSWANA! err... Botswana, well entrances were never my favourite thing. There were always so many things that could go horribly wrong. I felt that travelling with a group might help smooth things along though.
While I had little problem crossing, aside from realizing that my stamp listed me as entering on December 26th, rather than today, Courtney overheard one of the other guards talking. While she was getting stamped a few windows down, her officer looked down at me, and spoke “man, that guy looks like Osama Bin Laden.” Well, it looks like I chose the right window.
And now it also seems as if I spent a full day in noman's land. I'm sure I could make up all sorts of detention stories to back that up. Christmas in “Nowhere.” The girls will come a running.
By combining part of one root, with parts of another, they were able to produce a form of bush soap used for cleaning. By squeezing the larger of the two roots they could produce water which helped them with the rinsing and bathing.
Finally they ended up showing us how to build a fire with two sticks. I have tried this in the past, never getting further than the smoking stage. As I watched these people, who must do it multiple times a day, I didn't feel so bad. Even they had to trade off, and take their time to get to the smoking stage. Finally when it burst into flames, they asked for cigarettes from those on the walk, lighting them over the fire.
These were traditionally dressed people, male and females, with their lower halves covered in skins. The women also carried babies on their backs, wrapped in springbok blankets. This was another example of human tourism where pictures were snapped, awkwardly. But the little French boy who kept poking one of the babies with a piece of grass, as his parents looked on with approval, called most of that awkwardness onto himself.
The tribe used a traditional medicine on his wasp sting to help it. I secretly hoped it made his hand fall off in three days.
After the walk we were transported to the quarry where half of our group had already set up tents. This was a beautiful site, overlooking a large natural pool which we could swim in. While we were out Chef invited everyone to jump in, with a loud scream of Botswana, still dressed in their clothes. They obliged. When we jumped in later, we were told of the biting bugs and beetles that infested the pool. Though we never came across them, we were told hold many there were. Bridget came out with one still in her shirt, apparently.
There are few things as rewarding as a good swim after a hot hot day.
Back in the tent Hamish opened his presents that his parents had given him to travel with. He also let me rip the wrapping off one, gifting me with the gum that was found inside. Thank you Hamish's family! In the tent I opened the letter Katherine had given me to keep until Christmas day, and read it then. With any luck, she should have received my time lapsed email that I wrote to her.
Then it was Christmas dinner.
A feast of corn, and steak, and potato salad, and all wonder of veggies, and broccoli with cheese, and many a cup of hot chocolate (I have really become quite a fan of this drink since travelling.)
After dinner we went to watch the traditional dancing of the tribe we walked with earlier. I may have slipped in and out of consciousness a few times during this, but during their last song I was wide awake. People were asked to come dance with them, but none moved. I wanted to go but didn't lead the charge. Chef pulled Hamish up – thank goodness, now I could go. And the three of us danced around the fire with peoples of the Xhique tribe. That's how I spent Christmas? What did you do?
Late into the night, talking with Raymond and Chef Mia (sharing the beers our truck had given them for Christmas) a pact was made. One that would not come to fruition until the next morning. Early the next morning.
Hamish and I slept in our bathing suits.
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