A Thousand Lifetimes

Well! Where do I begin? The past 5 days have been so eventful I regret not updating my diary throughout. But the past few hours carried in them a kind of magic I cannot even put down in words. I cannot stop giggling silly as I write this here at the Gaborone bus rank, where I am waiting for my bus to Molepolole to hit the road. Even though I should be mad that T.J. Motlogelwa Express made me go through one more security screening, I am not. I have enough joy in my heart to rise above the inconvenience. I am sure they are making him go through more security checks than I. He will be leaving on a bus to Maun, where he will connect onward to Gumare. He is crazy, to come all the way from Gumare to Ramotswa for a 5 day conference. I have never understood why buses to the northern cities were afforded a higher security requirement. I wonder if my cigarettes got mixed up with some of his stuff. It is a good thing I did not go see my dealer with him last night. That might have caused him some trouble. Instead, we only went out briefly to buy some cigarettes from the tuckshop across the street. It was a fun excursion, especially with a soft drizzle descending from the skies. Almost like the universe blessing our hangout. Such a good omen!

I arrived in Boatle in the morning, long before him. He told me his bus dropped him off a bit after noon. It had arrived earlier than scheduled, and so he was able to catch the 1230hrs shuttle to our hotel in Ramotswa. We were staying at the fancy Lentswe-La-Baratani hotel, named after the hill that was to the east of the hotel. He was delighted to not have to wait for 2 hours since he was exhausted. I must admit as much as I like him, I find him rather entitled. "Permit, health, and customs checks were all a breeze. I guess a Kanye pass is not entirely bad. I did not need to get a Gamalete Visitor Permit and since I was coming from the Okavango where the Tsetse Disease has not made its way, I cruised through," he would tell me later, a satisfied smile frozen on his - as much as I hate to admit - cute face. I do not understand why we need Visitor Permits to visit different towns in the same country! I mean do not get me started on my struggles to get the Gamalete Visitor Permit from Molepolole. It was amusing to watch the smile on his face fade a bit when he reflected on a possible exposure to the novel Tsetse Disease (TSD-19), "The only concern I had was that a sizeable group of passengers self-identified as being from Francistown. I was appalled at the thought that I had shared a bus with people from the epicenter for the spread of the TSD-19." It did not help that he was feeling a bit under the weather when he arrived at the hotel. 

I do not remember much from my own drive from the bus station in Boatle to Ramotswa. After all, Gamalete is no different from Kweneng. But he found the trip amazing. How can anyone be impressed by Motšhotlho and Mmupudu? Well he was. You should have seen the joy in his eyes when he described how it felt to see herdboys seated under the shade of a Mohudiri tree while their livestock grazed peacefully along the stream. Living in Okavango, one of the so-called first world regions, poor thing rarely sees livestock. These highly industrialized regions with their mass production of everything are quite sad. I know because I was raised in one of them: Chobe. But I decided to leave Kasane to come to Molepolole because I felt I could make more of a difference there. After all, that is where my ancestry is rooted. I spent that first afternoon working on my assignments because it is not easy being a woman in medical school when it is still a men's world in 2020. So although I had traveled to Ramotswa for the Tswana Medium Schools of Botswana (TMSB) South Regional Meeting, my med school assignments did not wait for me. I missed all the optional events that afternoon. Turns out so did he, he was knocked out cold. We both attended the welcome dinner that evening, although I have no recollection of meeting him or seeing him. 

The morning sessions felt like information overload. Perhaps because I had studied for most of the night. Or maybe I just needed a cigarette. That was when I first saw him. He looked worse than I felt; almost as though he would fall asleep at any minute and fall off his chair. There was something off about him. He wore a silverish blue suit with a white shirt, and black shoes. The outfit looked good on his frame, and perhaps in another set of circumstances I could describe him as almost handsome. But there was something about his rigid posture that did not sit well with me. He barely moved his neck, and his smile felt detached from his face. He made no comment: not in the session, and barely at lunch. We sat at the same table with people from other regions. In fact, he barely touched his food even though he had piled his plate with meat. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but his personality seemed cold.  He disappeared after lunch and I did not seem him until the following day. He wore a golden brown suit, with a purplish shirt, and brown shoes. Yes, I guess I could say he is not bad looking. Yes, handsome! Was there something different about him or was I imagining things? 

As the day progressed, it felt as though he was becoming more and more alive. Or was I paying him more attention than I should? Or maybe I was seeing him with fresh eyes, having found a place across the road from the hotel where I was able to buy some cigarettes. He would tell me later that he looked more alive because he was recovering from the illness that had overpowered him since his arrival. I was relieved that at least I was not hallucinating because, perhaps, I had a crush on him. What if he had TSD-19? I wanted to sit with him over lunch but he came in late and sat with people from his TMSB school. He went to the one in Ghanzi, the wildest of the TMSB schools. I could not help but wonder if he was involved in any of the wild stories I have heard of TMSB Ghanzi. Did he smuggle insane amounts of alcohol onto the campus? Or had relations with people from every region to complete the TMSB challenge? Actually, he is handsome. As I sat at my table with the others, my attention was focused on him across the room. I definitely preferred him with the smile on his face. It gave me butterflies in the tummy was cute.

Was he going to skip the sessions after lunch on the second day as well? My eyes scanned the room for him. I wanted to go sit close to him so we can be on the same bus to the dinner in the evening. He was nowhere to be found. He tried to sneak in an hour later, but we were in the middle of a session. I concealed a smile, watching him do the walk of shame. He had an air of confidence about him. You should have seen him place one foot in front of another so firmly as though that was his father's land. He sat at my table. Did he notice me? Notice my beauty and long-preserved virginity? Yep! He was so much better with his smile. He made intelligent contributions to the discussion at our table, and laughed every so often. The more he spoke, the more it made sense why he would make the lengthy trip from Gumare in the Okavango region to represent the Ngwaketse region. He was passionate about making a TMSB education accessible to disadvantaged communities. That was his motivation for joining the Ngwaketse Regional Committee. Were those butterflies again? I was more impressed by him now. We shared a similar passion, it was what drove me to single handedly work on the Kweneng Regional Committee. All the other members of my Regional Committee are based in the Northern Regions. I hoped to talk to him at the dinner. I was intrigued. 

Our bus reached the restaurant a little later than the first bus. He was not on my bus and I hoped he was on that other bus because it would be nice to get to know him. He was talking with Katlego, the woman on the Kgatleng Regional Committee, when I walked into the garden where we were to have our dinner. They were laughing. I walked over to join them. Then we were joined by Thabo, the guy from the Borolong Regional Committee. The four of us found a table in a secluded part of the garden. We took our food and drinks to our table. Katlego was vegan and did not drink alcohol. Thabo had a Tsodilo Beer, I went for white wine, and he had a glass of red wine. He sat to my right, Thabo to my left, and Katlego directly across. It was a fun table. We exchanged stories from our lives. I shared with them a story of a recent run in with the police in Molepolole. I told them a modified version of it. One about how they had wrongfully suspected I had the now illicit Ntsu Snuff Tobacco just because I had a stained orange handkerchief. I do not remember what stories he told, perhaps because the way his lips moved when he spoke and the sound of his voice captivated me. It was a fun dinner. 

There was an optional session after dinner that Katlego and Thabo opted to attend. He and I decided to go work on our assignments. He is also a student like me. Well, the original plan was not to work together. He went to his room and I went to mine. I tried to get some work done but I could not get him off my mind. I texted him that I was in my room and had told Katlego to let me know when their session was over so the 4 of us could hang out. He texted back, and there was a flirtatious energy to our exchange. The butterflies in my tummy were now flying in formation. Before I knew it, I was waiting for him to come down to my room. He said he would be there in 10 minutes. I started to tidy my room to prepare for his visit. I wondered what his expectation were about this hangout. I started packing my stuff into my suitcase since we were heading back the following day. There was a knock at my door. He had his laptop, laptop charger, and some writing tools. I guess he really was going to work! He settled in on one of the chairs, and I offered him some water. I continued packing up since I had already started. We talked all this while. There was something comforting about talking to him. So much I told him the true version of my run-in with the police in Molepolole: I actually had some Ntsu Snuff Tobacco but they just could not find it. I craved a cigarette, and he was down to come with me to get it. I put on my perfume and he asked to go to his room to put away his stuff. I guess he would not have an excuse for the both of us to return to my room afterwards. I realized when he returned that he had gone to put on his cologne. That scent...

A drizzle fell down as we walked towards the hotel gate. How romantic! I always loved walking with good looking men under the rain. As soon as we exited the hotel, the taxi men raced one another to find out if we were going somewhere far. They startled me. I wondered if he could tell. Perhaps sensing my hesitation, he held my hand as we crossed the road. Crossing the road in new towns makes me nervous. I do not know if the drivers in Gamalete drive the same way as the drivers in Kweneng. What a perfect moment: crossing the road holding hands, with some drops of rain falling down on us! I bought my cigarettes. I had thought of going to see the old woman who sells Ntsu but I changed my mind. In part because he does not seem like he consumes the magical black powder. We went back to the hotel, where the optional session had just ended. There was a group forming by the bar, we joined them. He seemed a bit tired. I got lost into a conversation and when I eventually looked up, the circle of friends had grown except he was nowhere to be found. It felt just a tiny bit emptier without him. Perhaps he had gone to bed. I elected to continue hanging out with the rest of the guys than to go looking for him. Besides, I know I am a fine woman. So it would not look right if I abandoned a chill hangout just for a man I did not even know if he saw me at all. 

I was delighted to learn that he and I would be on the same bus. We continued our flirtatious texts throughout the closing sessions in the morning, and spent the rest of the time at the hotel together. There was an energy to us but I could not quite put a finger on it, except to know that there was no other place in the universe I would rather be than right there. But of course, I do not care for places, but the people that occupy the space in those places. Kagiso, of the Otse Regional Committee, joined us. He was also traveling with us to the bus station. On his way to Boatle he had to catch a bus past Boatle to Gaborone, wait there for a whole day, and then take a bus to Boatle. Yet Otse and Boatle are neighboring towns. It is not just the Visitor Permits issue that makes me mad, but also this inefficient transportation network. Like how? Was I mad about the transportation network? Or was I annoyed that Kagiso was interrupting my conversation with him. I was asking him for advice on an issue with one of my friends back home. He does not smoke and I appreciated him accompanying me on my last cigarette break before we left for the bus station. One of the things I look forward to in finding my person is little moments like that, of him accompanying me to do something he does not get but still have fun because it is time spent with me. It needs not be cigarettes, it can also be make-up shopping or attending music concerts. 

He snapped a few photos of me the same way I had been immortalizing the memories of him since we started getting close. You should have seen me smiling, it felt good to be seen. There is a beauty to being seen. I took some last shots of Lentswe-La-Baratani - which had been partially covered by clouds until then - before we left. It was beautiful. But I was sad to have come to Gamalete and leave without seeing the tallest peak in the country, Tsodilo Hill. It is the real attraction of the region. The drive to the bus station in Boatle from Ramotswa was almost ordinary except for the sighting of Tsodilo Hill. Our hotel in Ramotswa overlooked Lentswe-La-Baratani and it was spectacular. But seeing Tsodilo Hill was similar to seeing Victoria Falls or Matsieng's Footprints. I did not just believe, I knew there was a God somewhere that made this planet. Our driver was generous enough to stop for us to take pictures. Tsodilo awakaned my spirit to the presence of a God but seeing him with that infectious smile of his stirred my soul. Was he going to make a move on me before this trip was over? He had a ring on his finger, but had not mentioned the presence of a wife. I could not tell if he was single or not. But a girl can still hope, right?

The bus station was not as busy as I had imagined it would be. We went through security and into the check-in hall. I wanted to smoke one more cigarette before we cleared security, but he had promised we would be able to leave after we checked-in for our ride for me to go smoke. He asked to be seated next to me on the bus to Gaborone. Kagiso was going to Otse via Mogobane, but his bus to Mogobane was delayed by 4 hours. Since our bus would not start boarding for an hour or so, we decided to go out for a bit. Kagiso and I wanted to smoke. The security guard would not let us leave, and then Kagiso said "our" bus was delayed by 4 hours. We left then. I did not look back as the metal detector beeped when we left the secure area of the bus terminal. Is this what it feels like to be Botswana's elite? We chilled outside in some area that we later found out was also a restricted area. We chatted and smoked - well he just stood there anxious for us to return inside. He was worried we would miss our bus. A security agent approached us and spoke to him in Selete. People in Gamalete kept confusing him for a Molete but he is a Mongwaketse. The security agent did not speak any Setswana and he only spoke Sengwaketse and Setswana. Moments later, a Setswana speaking agent came over and told us to leave from where we were standing. I gave Kagiso my pack of cigarettes - after taking a few for the wait in Gaborone - and we went inside. It was almost time for us to board our bus anyway. 

We cleared security in a hurry. Well we almost got in trouble because him being so entitled, he showed the security agent that we had already been inside the secure area. Fortunately, nobody knew what the rules were and they let us through. Our zone had already boarded but there was a long queue of the other zones. In as much as I find his confidence cute, his entitlement makes me cringe. He took me to the front of the queue and presented our tickets to the bus conductor. I felt guilty because the man at the front of the line gave us a judgmental look. He could not be bothered. Did the Okavango instill in him a deep sense of entitlement? Or is it because he grew up in a poor family, so he is making up for lost time. I hope he finds a partner like me who can help him reflect on his sense of entitlement. We settled into our seats and took our shoes off. I had the window seat and he the aisle seat. The bus looked older and I thought he had said T.J. Motlogelwa Express would use a new bus for this trip. Did he say a Marcopolo? Or was it a Scania? I do not know much about models of buses. This bus was falling apart, but he was with me - what else could I need? 

We continued to exchange stories from our lives. I even told him about my friend, may his soul rest in peace. I could not believe I felt that comfortable with him. I shared with him some of my personal writings and he showed me some of his artwork. Vulnerability that does not try hard to look like vulnerability is so attractive. In the brief time we had spent, it felt like we had lived lifetimes together. It was because of the snapshots of his soul that he exposed to me. How could we talk so openly to one another about such deeply personal things when we barely knew each other? He told me of his mother and of his wild family dynamics. He was handsome is beautiful. When they brought the snacks, I decided today was the first day I was going to drink on a bus ride. I asked for a glass of the finest khadi from Gammathipadibogale in Mochudi. I heard it was the finest. He also had the same. Great minds think alike. After the bus conductor had cleared away the trash from the snacks, the lights in the bus were turned off. As the khadi made its way into my blood, I could not help but wonder if he would make a move. I guess since it is 2020, if a girl wants something she has to get it herself!

He said yes! I had been shy when I asked, and fearing rejection had emphasized that he should not overthink it because at the end of the trip we would go our separate ways: him to Gumare and me to Molepolole. Two cities that were literally worlds apart. It did not have to mean much. We had neither world enough nor time, except the two seats on the bus and the time until Gaborone. Fortunately for us, the bus was less than half full and so we had some relative privacy. So while we still had the youthful hue on our skins like morning dew, we made our sun run. When our lips touched, it was magical imperfectly perfect. I mean he did kiss like a boy from Kanye: as though he was being chased by a crocodile. I guided him to slow down a bit, and he was unreasonably apologetic. I wondered if he could taste the khadi I had drank or the cigarettes I had smoked earlier. He readjusted his seat belt and the kisses got progressively better. We would try to talk in between, but we would end up kissing over and over again. Our willing souls were transpiring. Although, time's winged chariot hurried near and we reached Gaborone. 

With him time froze. Those hours with him carried in them a kind of magic I cannot put down in words. It felt as though we had lived a thousand lifetimes in one. Who is this man? At the Gaborone Bus Rank, we did our homework alongside one another. I was sad when I had to leave, but even more glad that our paths crossed and we lived our million lifetimes in one. I have been blessed with a good life. Perhaps we could be so open with one another when we barely knew each other because we knew we were going to go our separate ways. Or maybe, we were just destined to meet and for our souls to connect. After all my special watch stopped working months ago at a 12.35, and his bus to Maun was set to depart at 0035hrs. Was that a sign from the universe? Or was the real meaning that time stops with him? Isn't that what life is? A collection of moments that feel like lifetimes. Moments we often miss waiting on some idea of a lifetime that has been impressed upon us by our culture. When the truth of the matter is lifetimes look like journeys with strangers whose souls can speak to yours. When I was done writing him a note in his notebook, I picked up my belongings. 

I put on my glasses, especially since he thought I was still beautiful in them. I was tired of wearing contact lenses. A woman seated close to us sneezed with a refrain. We exchanged looks and cracked laughter at this moment. Lifetimes are moments with inside jokes. How did we even have so many inside jokes in such a short period of time? With all of my belongings accounted for, I went in to hug him. As all of my 1.7m and 58kg sunk into his 1.8m and 70kg frame, I knew I did not want to part ways with him. Have you ever hugged someone and they hugged you back in a way that communicated to your whole being that they are present? A hug that is firm but not tight. Now that I think of it, that was our first hug ever, and yet it had felt like a homecoming. A return to something familiar, something known. Perhaps we have lived multiple lifetimes together. I asked him to keep me posted at every point of his journey. I walked towards my bus to Molepolole, with a confidence in my step. How could I not feel like a million bucks after living a thousand lifetimes these past two days? I did not look back, at least not until after I had disappeared behind a corner.