I Used to Take Radio Botswana for Granted!

I used to take Radio Botswana for granted,

Particularly on one very hot afternoon, the day of May 7 2009, when my heartbroken mother emphasised over and over that we go to the nearby town of Lobatse – to the Radio Botswana Information offices – to announce my father’s death. Hesitantly, I went.

I used to take Radio Botswana for granted. This was until my father’s cousin, the one who used to look after my father’s goats, together with his goats (remember the fresh fried liver?) elaborated to my mother that: as soon as he heard on the Radio Botswana Ditatolo Programme, of the passing and date of his cousins’ burial, announced to the station by Kgosietsile – the deceased’s son he knew very well. In shock, he immediately prepared for his journey from the village of Ntlhantlhe to the village of Kanye. In dedication, he slaughtered a goat for his late cousin. I enjoyed the fresh fried liver, again.

I used to take Radio Botswana for granted; this was until my mother tongue, Setswana, was taken off me: at my work, English; in my home, English; my friends, English. The streets, English. Everywhere English!

Damn! I can’t believe I used to take Radio Botswana for granted!