Dr Livingstone, I presume?

Wednesday 16th September

Mokolodi, Botswana

You can barely move around here without encountering Scotland - Scottish place names, Scottish churches, the "Scottish Hospital" and even Scottish names: who could have guessed that Botswana would be awash with Agneses and Peggys?  All of this is down to one man - David Livingstone - and today we set off in his tracks.

 

First up was Kolobeng, the site of Livingstone's home of five years, as well as the first church, first school and first health centre in what is now Botswana.

 

Remains of Kolobeng Mission Church

When we first arrived, it seemed closed, but as we were driving off, we were chased and encouraged back by a former policeman who has given up everything in order to dedicate his life to the study of this missionary from Blantyre.  Singlehandedly he has excavated the site of Livingstone's house and clinic, along with the Kolobeng Mission Church (or what remains of it).

 

At length - and I mean length - he showed us around the site, recounting every known detail of the lives of David, Mary and their five children - one of whom (Elisabeth) is buried there.

 

His knowledge was excellent, if a little intense, and his delivery akin to Dot Cotton, filling every comma and breath with a barely relevant quotation from scripture.  He affectionately refers to Livingstone as his father, as he sees his entire faith and love for God owing its roots to him.

 

Several kilometres up the road in Molepolole, we passed the London Mission Church, and the cave responsible for the Batswana's conversion to Christianity.  As the story has it, all who entered this cave were killed by the spirits until Livingstone took the chief there, entered the cave and came out again alive to dispel this superstition.  The chief instantly believed that Livingstone's god must have protected him and ordered that the Batswana should convert to Christianity.

 

Whatever Livingstone did or didn't do, his legacy endures in this overtly Christian society where every phone box, school bus and hair salon is emblazoned by some exclamation of praise.

 

Driving around these places led us through many towns and villages where life in its many forms was talking place - children waving as they cheerfully walked to school, pastoralist farmers leading their herds, women carrying unthinkable loads on their heads... and queues forming outside each of the many KFCs that pop up out of nowhere.

 

There are many differences between here and the other side of the South African border.  Crime is clearly at a much lower level - people openly display valuables in a way that would not happen in South Africa and houses here are not surrounded by walls, gates and security wire.  The approach to money is different too - no one watches your car to receive payment, no one expects a return for offering to help with directions.  People are warm and friendly and genuinely want to help you along - even the usual greeting of 'how are you?' or 'howzit?' is meant, with the asker taking an interest in your response.

 

Driving standards, however, are considerably poorer, and driving the length of a street is rather like playing Asteroids on an Atari.  The city centre of Gaborone, in particular, requires a foot down, eyes closed and hope-for-the-best mentality.

 

All-in-all, though, it has been a fascinating day assimilating to the local way of life and learning of the links between here and the far off land we call home.

 

Even the name of Livingstone's first mission holds a personal connection - 'Kolobeng' means "place of the wild pigs" - almost a Tswana translation of my home town of Bathgate, which means "wild boar wood".