Awarenning.

I don't know if I was just stupid before, or if I was simply unobservant. Although it really doesn't matter which, I suppose. But it is odd when one begins to take note of a thing which may've been always there or may be new and either way whatever it was begins to change your ideas and/or perceptions of just how it is that things work.

Having stated my thesis; I have been on self imposed isolation (which means I grounded myself from Facebook, email, twitter, and whatnot) for about a week and a half now (with a very few exceptions) and as usual; I began to notice things.

The image of our former house in Kang hasn't yet had time to dull, nor have my years yielded knowledge enough to answer all of the riddles in live, but this said; my memories of Kang were recently vivified my memories and caused me to realize two things.

Yesterday, my dad and I went running. The path was fairly straight forward (or as much so as a square can be), and my dad asked if I could make the distance, which was two miles. I thought I could and I told him so and with that, we were off. 

We ran. Passed the bergade, the high school and the several blocks of houses. But I didn't really look around though I was trying to keep up with dad. I went the entire first stretch and felt fine, it wasn't until about half way on the second leg that I began to feel tired. But at that point I was in the middle of nowhere.

I walked along for a while before I really bothered to note anything at all. Then I felt creative and soon had spoofed Jonathan Coultan's "still alive". 

By the time I had finished that, the village has begun to creep up with a similar fashion  to that of the new tendrils on a creeping ivy, but it was not the same kind of village I am used to. The houses weren't much more than four gum posts, dipped in tar, wrapped in shade net on all but one side- which was plywood; all topped with corrugated tin roofing. As for the fences that surrounded them; they weren't much more than thorn bushes strategically placed to keep the cows away. The yards were swept clean and the cook shelters were smoking and the scent of corn mush was on the air. I stopped and observed the family that lived there. The children were shod, poorly so but shod none the less; the clothes they wore were worn, and worn through in some places; the children had dirt in there hair I could not have told when the last time they bathed was, nor when the next would be. And even as I studied the deplorable conditions in which these children lived I was neither moved to pity nor to charity nor yet to indignation. 

They were happy.

The children were happy.

They were running and playing, laughing and smiling while speaking to each other in Naro.

Turning away, I walked a little farther until I saw a more traditional Rondaval. No one was here, the yard was over grown and the stench of death wafted from the premises. 

Turning away a second time, I continued to walk until I saw a brick building, that looked as though it had never even heard of a right angle. The yard was well kept but again there was no one home.

As I got closer to the part of the village that I live in, I saw a block of houses that was a hodgepodge of the three yard types afore mentioned, and I stopped to observe the woman who lived in the rondaval arguing with the man from the stone house in a most heated way. I began to wonder to my self just how trivial what ever they were talking about as I realized that my dad had pulled up beside me in the baakey, I got in and we drove home.

I don't know wether or not it's worth noting that the run physically exhausted me, but just in case it is: the run physically exhausted me. Now, I had gone to close the gate, but I took a step back. 

What I saw disturbed me. I saw a house that was built by the hands of a professional, whose beams were 2x4s instead of tar dipped gum poles, the walls of said house were made neither brick nor yet the earth itself, but of gypsum boards! Honest to Goodness gypsum boards! And even then from  where I stood, I could hear my brothers and littler sister arguing over who was first player on the Wii.

I can find no logic in my observations. Did you realize the same things that I did?

Frip

I've been examining my work on this blog. I haven't really done what I set out to do. I'm not doing well at telling about life here in Botswana, so I thought I should give some explanation.

Basically, nothing happens here and the things that do happen aren't worth writing about. Stuff like, me generating awkward moments, arguments, and of course that stupid dog of mine (wow; this must be my most honest post ever.)!

None the less, I do intend to continue writing, but more theoretical things than auto biographic, because my life is just that dull. I wont deny that I do have adventures, but other than those rare times, I have nothing but my thoughts (and there are many) to write about.

I might write again soon, if I can come up with something to write about.

Serching,

I have decided that I need to be more organized. Yeah right! I don't know how yet, but I'm gonna try to get some stories up for the Rabbit-hole stories. I have some ideas I've been batting around, for instance a tale about a people that time left behind, and a story about an invention of my own the BoKhutswane; their sort of like African Hobbits, only smaller and.... um... different (?) I guess (???).

But tonight the topic is:TOPICS!!!

Yeah, that was anti climactic.

If I am going to rave and rant and spit my opinion onto the internet (which I know a LOT of people wont be happy about), I am going to need a repertoire of topics to talk about. I'd kinda like to bear away from grabbing topics out of a hat, but if that's what it takes than fine.
     I'll probably have to talk with some people about what would make good posting material, especially since I'm fairly new at this whole nonfiction thing. I'd like to share with people, but there comes a point where the stuff someone types gets dull... and no one ever reads it. I believe that I have successfully made it to that point.

That's all I've got for now so, ta!

Narrow Wind. A short story.

Snow flakes fell on the breath of a late November wind, the sky over head was grey, and the ground folded in a cold white blanket. But that was not what gave the wind its chill. Nor was it the forest of stones that he stood amid, each slab standing in its' row. The wind brushed against the folds of his trench coat, which he pulled no tighter about him and from beneath the shadow of his fedora, the man's blue eyes stared fixedly. Though there were many erect stones in the yard, there was only one that bore any significance more than any other rock. And as the man stared, a tear ran from his eye which he did not even think to remove. He'd stood there for hours, and would stand there yet for hours, because he craved just one minute more.

Sun set.

It's sun set right now, and the dust is starting to settle after another long day in Ghanzi. The sky is fading into the pastel colors that happen right as the sun passes over the horizon. The street lights are turning on and I'm sitting on the front porch. Buster, is laying down in his burrow hoping I'll take him on a walk.

For the past week or so, I've not done anything much but try to learn some calligraphy, and read some of the stuff on Facebook. I don't know what's up, but I feel grey in my mind; Simply uncreative, and I don't know why. 

It's most likely that my parents told me that they could tell when I wasn't taking my meds. I don't want to go into specifics, but honestly; I never that I would have a daily medication before I was even 25. 

The sky is becoming more golden now, darkening into a deep orange at the horizon, and the trees cast they're shadowy silhouettes. 

My dad expressed a similar emotion about his thyroid medication. This will pass I guess, but I thought for sure that I might simply be... Well— normal. Clearly not. Not only am I not normal, but I am a unique case. So there goes my chandelier of fitting in at collage (that is; assuming I actually get there). 

If I sound discouraged, that's because I feel it. As graduation ebbs nearer and nearer, I just wonder how I'm going to do it. That is with out a nervous break down. My vacation has been a blast, but if it weren't for my brothers being home, I would have worked through it. I am just ready to be done.

I'm gonna go for a walk now. I'll try to write some more later. 

*CRASH* ... Sorry, I tripped.

Yesterday my family took a trip to Maun (said Mow-oon), which is the next city north of Ghanzi. The Okavango Delta touches... no more like entangles the city. Maun has one of the country's two international national airports and is my favorite vacation spot.

We went there because of a money transfer that was just easier to take care of in person. The sun had not yet risen when we left and consequently, was in my eyes for the first hour-and-a-half. I spent most of that time listening to music; Matt, Josh and Becca watched Phineas and Ferb; and I'm honestly not sure what Kathy was doing. When the sun had gone up far enough that I could see we were somewhere near Sahithwa.

The climate, that part that is visually apparent, was as different as Ghanzi is from Windhoek. The ground was absolutely bare, with the exception of the trees that grew, not quite thick enough to be called a forest, but not thin enough to be called The Bush. The sand was (if it was sand) was greyer than that which we have in Ghanzi, about the shade of grey the elephants find fashionable, and seemed to also be dustier than ours. The trees of the same sort in Ghanzi which are rather diminutive, there were quite formidable. Those trees in question being those of the acacia and similar varieties. despite the lack of grazing material, there were a lot of really really fat cattle, and that was as amazing to me as the grammatical structure of Black Speech.

As we approached Toteng, I prayed vehemently that the bridge hadn't washed out. "But Chris, it's dry season." Right, like the fact is gonna stop the river. As we came upon the bridge, I could see that the water was lower than it had been the last time we'd gone there, but even so, it lapped up against the tops of the hydro-channels. We got across with minimal difficulty, and proceeded on to Maun.

Upon our arrival, much to my surprise, we drove past the bank that we needed to go to. I was just about to ask why when Matt did. That's just one of those funny things about living in a large family, if you take too long in wondering about something, chances are someone else will notice too and ask first, if you're not quite quick enough. By the time he had finished his long winded, and serial interrupted interrogative tangent, we had already driven and nearly parked in front of the answer. We were in front of Eshinee's house.

We went in and and visited for a while. The house they (her and her husband) live in would've been comfortable for two, cozy for four; but for all seven of us... let's just say we were a (little) bit cramped. My mom and dad talked with her, a diversion that would allow for us to use the toilet (Bathroom to you Americans). She inquired as to  what were doing in Maun and when my dad had told her, she asked if she could come along.

So with that, we waited for josh to get out of the bathroom, and then we were off. The our destination was less then ten minutes from her house, it was the mall near the Maun air port. As per the plan that we formulated on the way there, Kat went with Eshinee, mom, Josh, Becca and I went to the gift shop.

I don't know the name of the shop, and in all likeliness I probably never will. But it is one of the coolest places in all of Botswana-- that is if you are in to trinkets and random souvenirs that have no practical use for every day life. Between their supply of copper jewelry and incense related items, from time to time, they do actually manage to have some thing interesting. I was particularly drawn to a certain walking stick which was extremely intricately carved (for the craft of a Tswana) when Josh dirrected me to a brightly colored glass object that he could not identify. I chuckled. I knew from the hose that was attached what it was, but I really didn't want to tell him. Then mom came she looked like she was ready to leave, but when Josh asked her, she asked me. So I told them that it was called a hookah, and explained it to them. Josh looked thoroughly intrigued, a fact that causes me to worry.

After we left, we decided to have lunch."... and what better place to have lunch," Eshinee said a little too enthusiastically, "than Hilary's!" We did end up going there, and it was probably the best food I've ever tasted (sorry mom).

After we'd finished eating, our conversation drifted from banks to mental disorders, from earthen wear to noses; until we settled on the ever-so pleasant topic of major dental surgery. Upon which I was thoroughly amused, and it was after much slap-happiness that we had to go most unfortunately. A quick end to a good day it was.

Revived.

I think I may have just needed a few days. I have decided that I will continue the game, though it will be my last. This is to be my last variation on the Mystic Theme so brilliantly composed by my old friend Stephen. And as I prepare to go out, I have every intention to go out with a bang! At some point I will type up a plot synopsis, but right now, I don't have time. But in the mean time, I fully intend to cease the days ahead, and make this my best game ever!