Hiking in Botswana

I miss hiking. By hiking, I don’t mean going along trails and the like.  

I miss hiking to Gaborone, from Kanye. I miss stopping a stranger’s car. Quite often, a Toyota Corolla. I miss driving through the village of Moshupa, passing Kumakwane, another village, stopping by the ‘robots’ just before we dropped off a fellow hiker in Mogoditshane, perhaps a town.

 I think there was a gentle rain, the driver, probably the owner of the bouncing Michelin-man scented sedan, kept on wiping the windscreen, with a blue towel. The wipers were working, barely. It was dark, his bald head glued on the road. Talkative, he was. He fondly narrated to the disinterested hikers of his masimo, or lands. Where he planted crops such as the sweet nche, mabele, mmidi, le magapu (sweet reed, sorghum maize le watermelons), the predominant crops grown in Botswana. Demonstrating with his potato-like head how he enjoyed ploughing with his new tractor: ’’Jon-Tere! Jon-Tere’’ (John Deere), he was in love, with John.

 I miss hiking. By hiking, I don’t mean walking through the countryside and the like. 
#hitchhikinginbotswana

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