Botswana the beautiful

 Botswana is such a beautiful country!  As well, I love the colorful people called Motswana who smile so readily with huge genuine white smiles, especially when we use the few words of Setswana we know. 

This week has seen us learn more and more about the workings of the office and how to keep 90 missionaries up and running.  Eventually we may be equipped to take over for our trainers, and although we creep along climbing up the learning curve, we still have miles and miles to go.

We so enjoy these lovely young missionaries who exude confidence and strength, personality and devotion to God.  We can't help but love them, and they love us in return so easily.  The sister missionaries are quick to hug us, the elders readily accept and trust us.  They are absolutely adorable, and it is my pleasure to support them.

P-Day was a blast!  We spent the morning hiking the highly popular Kgale Hill for its 360-degree view of Gaborone and the bush beyond including the reservoir behind the Gaborone Dam on the Notwane River which supplies this capitol city.

    

                   

                  

                  

                 

                 

As well, we paid our first visit to a spa for 90-minute massages.  While not quite as delightful as the Thai massages we've been spoiled by, still it was a dreamy experience in an exquisite setting and was affordable enough we may make this a regular habit.

Life in Botswana can be very difficult especially for our lower class citizens and immigrants.  Many people from Africa immigrate to Botswana because it is the safest and one of the most developed countries in all of Africa.  But most immigrants end up working low-income jobs such as used-tire salesmen, shoe cleaners, or car washers of which there are a plethora.  We had our car washed for the first time this week and paid not quite $7 for three men to spent 90 minutes detailing the car so minutely as to use toothbrushes on the rims.  I've never had a car detailed so pointedly, so precisely before.  Our tip was quite generous, yet we still felt we'd cheated these hard-working men who came here from Malawi.

               

We encountered only one setback this week...that of Aaron's first experience at the barber shop.  We chose a high-end shop in a high-end mall to get the best, but it ended catastrophically.  The Africans have an entirely different head of hair than us Euro-Americans do; they look awesome with a buzz.  Not so much Kasper.  He said when the barber took his first buzz swipe down the middle of his head, he wanted to cry; he hasn't had this close a buzz since he was 8 years old.  Then he just laughed...what else ya gonna do!  It'll grow, he said.  Our young missionaries tell us there's an Indian barber who knows how we pale heads need our hair trimmed, so we'll visit him in about 6 to 8 months when Kasper's hair regrows.  Bless my mans heart.  Me?  I'm just gonna grow mine out, thank you very much.

I am fascinated by the bush, the cattle and goat herds which meander through the bush unfenced and untethered, and by the magnificent termite mounds which festoon the landscape.

  

 

In the bush, if it doesn't bite you, it stings or sticks you.  This tooth-pick bush lies in wait for me each morning along my walk.

As one of the local members said to me today, the Lord has prepared Africa for His Gospel.  "This is our time," she triumphantly proclaimed to me.  "It is time for Africa."