I had just arrived in Gaborone, from Kanye. I was crossing the bridge from the Bus Rank to the Taxi Rank. I was filled with emotions. I was on my way to Bontleng, my auntie’s home.
Perhaps, all of a sudden I felt like a tourist in my own country. I ashamedly wondered? “Am I turning white?” But then again, I continue to interrogate myself, “but what is white? Does it actually exist?” After I quickly reassured myself, “not at all!” I took out my camera and started clicking randomly.
Everything seemed to “move” me. I couldn’t get enough of the blue skies, the aromas and sounds at the Station. Scents and sounds that I knew extremely well, sounds that are embedded in my memory. Perhaps stored by the 14 years me when I was marching with my mother in the early hours to buy stock of clothes from Ga Smith: the exhaust fumes, the sizzling mangwinya, the “ke bokae?” (How much?), “Cool time! Cool time!”
This is when I was home.
Blessing Kgosi e tsile Kgasa 