In Search of the Chief of Bobonong

For this post, Im going to recap this past weekend because it basically played out like a tale of adventure (at least to us it did) where luck and the unexpected combined for a dramatic trip:

For our time in Botswana, we’ve set ourselves the target of seeing or doing something new every weekend. Since this was our first weekend at our homestays and in Francistown, we only wanted to take a daytrip and not wander too far from the Ghetto. Failed plan.

There was a tiny little paragraph in Thomas’ Lonely Planet Guide about the Lepokole Hills in Eastern Botswana and based on the map provided in the book, they only seemed to be 200km away. It was decided that the Lepokole Hills were going to be our destination for Saturday but we had no real way of getting to the actual Lepokole village because we didn’t have a 4X4 at our disposal. The closest we could get using public transport was Bobonong (25 km from Lepokole village) and even that seemed like a grueling journey. Our options were to either hop on the 9AM bus to Selebi-Phikwe and then catch another bus to Bobonong or to catch the 8AM bus to Gabarone, get off at Serule, find a bus to Selebi-Phikwe, and then catch a bus to Bobonong. (See the map of Eastern Botswana). We wanted to leave as early as possible and decided to get on the 8AM bus to Gabarone. No further thought was put into how to get to Lepokole from Bobonong and we parted ways on Friday after work with the idea that it would be a relaxing weekend and easy travelling. Helll no.

When notifying our homestays and co-workers of our plans to go to Lepokole, we were strongly advised to ask the permission of the Chief before heading to Lepokole. Mrs. O, Isabelle’s host, told us of people disappearing and strange things happening in the hills and said it was VERY important that we got the chief’s permission. At the time, we didn’t think much of it but wherever we went, people greeted our idea with surprise and shock. To us, meeting the Chief would just add more adventure. Would it ever…..

On Saturday, I woke up at 6:30 AM, stomach still full (see My Pregnancy), met up with Iz at 7:15 and headed out to the bus rank in the taxi.

Just for a little explanation on buses and taxis here: There are buses that travel from city to city, there are combis which are vans that travel within the city, and then there are taxis. In taxis you can have either a “special” taxi in which the driver takes you and only you to your destination or you can have the normal taxi where 3 other people who are headed in the same direction accompany you in your taxi. A “special” costs about 20Pula or $3 and the normal taxi costs 3.50P or $00.50. From now on, if I refer to a taxi, I mean the normal taxi because there is no way Im paying $3 to get from A to B when I can pay $.50 to do the same with more company in the car. Its not sketchy like you might think. Trust me.

So back to the real story: We took a taxi to the bus rank which is basically a bus station and waited for Thomas who had a rough morning (His homestay has a motion-sensor triggered alarm which he set off which set the 8 month old baby off). We got on the bus headed for Gabarone with the intention of getting off at Serule and we succeeded. This is where things got real….

Up until Saturday, the sky had been deep blue and there had been no strong winds. At Serule, it was windy, cloudy and FRIKKIN FREEZING. Like actually: it was like a late Ontario fall day. It was so cold that there was talk of turning around and heading back but we persevered. We don’t even know if we were really in Serule either. All it was was a vetinary checkpoint with a gas station and a bus stop. We stood by the Selebi Phikwe turning but the traffic was thin and there were absolutely no buses going in that direction. Hitchhiking was the only option and after about 30 minutes of holding our thumbs out, at 10PM, we got a ride from a VIP type lady who worked in the world’s largest diamond mine in Jwaneng. About 5 minutes into the ride, I noticed that the surroundings were starting to get really blurry. I took a peek at the speedometer and cried a little (truth)…Iz said that’s the most scared she has been in her life... Thankfully we were in some nice VIP type car and the single lane highway was empty and about 30 mins later we arrived at the Selebi-Phikwe bus rank. We got on the bus to Bobonong and were on our way for what seemed like eternity.

The bus was so old that the entire thing shook whenever the driver shifted gears. The number of little children and fried chicken on the bus was frightening too; every lady seemed to be accompanied by her own child and a plate of friend chicken (Its very popular here). I somehow fell asleep and the rest is whatevs.

At an attempt at being a leader in place of Tom (who was feeling under the weather), I shepherded us off the bus when it stopped by a sign of Bobonong. I now know that executive decisions should be left to Thomas as we ended up getting off 5km too early in an area of Bobonong that was sparsely inhabited. We proceeded to walk along the road where we saw donkey carts and beaten up trucks. People looked at us confused as to why we were there and we looked confused back at them because we really had no idea where we were.

Eventually, we hitchhiked with an old man in an old truck whose English was surprisingly good. The lady from the Jwaneng diamond mine had advised us to go to the police station and her reasoning was that since it was the weekend, the Chief would be at home and the police could take us to him. We were dropped off at the police station and wished luck on our quest to meet the Chief. At the police station, we were told that the Chief was at the RAC or Rural Administration Center and were given directions as to how to get there. His name was Chief Malema, the Chief of Bobonong. As we walked through the town we ran into the old man who had given us a ride to the police station and he was confused as to why we would be interested in Lepokole. “Are you anthropologists, or historians? Why do you want to see the Lepokole hills?” We were just very curious students who wanted to see some anthropological treasures.

When we reached the RAC, we initially thought that there was a funeral or something because there were a number of men wearing black suits standing the parking lot. As we walked through the gate, a truck with a district council logo that was leaving stopped and the driver got out. He rushed over and greeted us with a hugee smile like he knew exactly who were and told us that “they” were waiting inside. He knew us so well that we even got shoulder checks that are often shared amongst gangsta buddies as a form of greeting. That’s how tight we were. My first thought was that the RAC was expecting some foreigners and that it was just a case of mistaken identity. Another was that the police station had called ahead and notified the people here. Nonetheless, we walked in and when we inquired about Chief Malema we were told to wait while his location was determined.

Eventually a woman guided us through the RAC building into a large yard and this is where our jaws dropped! There were people in suits and traditional formal dresses EVERYWHERE. In the distance, we could see the green berets of a group of boy scouts marching to the sound of drums surrounded by a large crowd. There were a number of classy cars with red number plates pulling into the yard and the lady pointed in their direction. “There is the Chief Malema getting into the car.” My heart sank a little at the thought of not being able to get the permission we were so desperately searching for. The only thing the Chief was giving us at that moment was the site of his back getting into a luxury car. We were assured that he would be back soon and that we could just hang around for the mean time. The next 30 minutes were possibly the most awkward and embarrassing in my life. Here we were three students wearing hiking gear surrounded by dignified men and women in suits wearing tags that said “VIP”.

We met a Peace Corps person there who had just recently moved to Bobonong for her two year stay and she really seemed excited at the sight of my two Caucasian buddies. Then, the lady who had guided us to the site of the Chief’s back introduced us to Ernest and a lady whose name I cannot recall. Ernest was a resident of Lepokole and the official guide to the Lepokole Hills and the lady (lets just call her Susan for simplicity), also a resident of Lepokole, was some sort of assistant to a councilor of Bobonong. While we were busy talking to Ernest about going to Lepokole, Susan decided to call over the councilor and soon enough a very cheerful lady introduced herself as ____ and I will now refer to her as the Councilor. She said that it was not necessary to meet with the Chief and that she could help us out. We told her that we had no way of getting there and so she set out about arranging transport for us before asking us to join her for lunch.

When we inquired about this gathering of very important people, the Councilor told us that we had stumbled upon the launch of the Bobirwa Sub-District Council as well as a ceremony celebrating the handing over of houses to the destitute. It was truly incredible how she treated us as her guests and set about introducing us to other council members and other people of authority. Ironically enough, when we were standing in line to get food, the man right in front of us was the transport minister. Because of the incredibly large meal I had suffered with the night before (see My Pregnancy), I ate very little and when compared to the servings everyone else took, I ate nothing at all. The general behavior here is that one meal in the day is always of epic proportion whereas the other two are kept very light and everyone but us was making this meal that daily meal. 

The dining area at the RAC after most people had left

Us and the Councilor Woman's (next to me) team

People left after having lunch and so we sat around waiting for our transport to arrive. In the end, there was not enough light left in the day to visit the hills and so in the best interest of the team, we ultimately decided to spend the night at a guesthouse in Bobonong. Drained by the events of the day, we were deep asleep by 7:30PM.

Susan had said she would meet us at the bus rank at 7 AM to try and arrange transport to Lepokole and so we were up and running at 6:30AM. We didn’t want to be late and so we took our “breakfast” of fruit and headed to the bus rank. I used my pocketknife to butcher a pineapple and so we all had a sticky breakfast consisting of pineapple, a banana, and a bun. At 8:30AM, Susan greeted us and we started walking in the direction of Lepokole only to walk into the yard of a house. There were 2 elderly ladies doing laundry out in the yard (laundry here is done old school) and we were introduced using our Setswana names (Faisal aka Kabo, Thomas aka Thuso, Isabelle aka Naledi). One of the ladies was the mother of the councilor and the other was the sister in law.

After about 3 hours, at 11:15AM, the councilor showed up like a boss driving a truck. There was another man, Simone, with her and he would be driving us around for the day. We jumped in the back of the pickup truck, were handed fatcakes (fried dough), and headed out. I sat in the front and at the speed Simone was driving at on the bumpy gravel/dirt road, Im glad I did. We were in a 4X4 and the 25 km journey to the village took about 45 minutes.

The village itself had no concrete houses and every structure was made of clay or wood. Our guide, Liquid (Ernest wasn’t there I guess), took my place and I jumped in the back of the truck for our journey to the hills which we could see in the distance. After about 20 minutes on the bumpiest road yet we reached the foot of the hill and started climbing. The Lepokole Hills basically consist of thorny shrub, granite outcrops, boulders, cattle and are unknown to the tourism industry; Ernest said that he used to get around 10 tourists a MONTH coming to the hills. We did some very chilled out hiking to get to a cave and inside we found 2 cattle workers just escaping the sun. And behind them were the rock paintings we had set out to see.

The history behind the area is that the last of the San people had come to the Lepokole Hills to preserve their heritage and maintain their ways of life. Apparently there was a lot of activity back in the Stone Age area too and so there is a wealth of archeological stuff in the area. We didn’t really have trained eye and so didn’t spot any spearheads or anything but in that cave, we saw the rock paintings of the San people. From the entrance, there was only clearly visible painting of a male Kudu but when we were within touching distance, we discovered that there were many many more. There was a rhino outline, people holding bow and arrows, giraffes, and impala and if you look carefully at the picture, you can see them. We were completely mesmerized by the presence of something so historic, and cultural and just couldn’t believe how close we were. Had we not gone in search of the Chief of Bobonong, we would have never seen these paintings in all their immenseness. 

The Kudu is clear, but can you see the rhino and the people?

Iz, Thomas, and I at the Lepokole Hills

Having accomplished our mission of getting to Lepokole Hills, our immediate target became to get back to Francistown before dinner and so we could get a good rest before another week of work. We jumped in the back of our truck at 2:15 PM and left Lepokole Hills with no idea when the last bus from Bobonong to Selebi Phikwe was. Simone told us that the last bus from Phikwe to Francistown was at 5:00PM and so really needed to bust it to get to Phikwe in 3 hours. The thing with buses here is that they usually leave in the mornings and never in the late evenings probably due to the lack of lighting on highways and so it as was imperative that we got to Phikwe or we would have been spending another night not in Francistown. Simone realized the urgency and drove 90 kmph on a rocky dirt road. That is the most scared I have been on this trip thus far. One jutting rock could have sent the hitchhikers, Iz, and I flying out of the truck.

As we pulled into the bus rank at 3:19, my initial thought was that we had missed the 3:00PM bus and that meant we would miss our 5PM bus to Francistown. It was just our luck that the next bus to Phikwe was at 3:30 and so we got on the bus and found the last three seats available in back row wedged between an old lady and 4 children and 2 ladies occupying two seats. We reached Bobonong at 4:45 and, much to our dismay, discovered that there was no bus to Francistown. There was a bus to Gabarone at 5 and so we got on that with the plan to get off at Serule and try and hitchhike to Francistown.

By the time we reached Serule, the sun had already set and tension was rising because we actually had no way of getting home. There was also a large crowd of hitchikers waving people down and so we had to wait for another 30 mins before the crowd thinned. Then, from the South came a bus headed for Francistown originating in Gabarone. It was the last bus of the day and we HADDD to get on the bus. We waved it down and quickly got to the front of the line that was forming. Thank god we did that because the bus was fully packed and only let 4 hitchhikers on. The word overloaded doesn’t even begin to explain what this bus was. It was the standard Marcopolo bus that would hold 44 passengers in Canada. This one had 65 seats and ALSO had 20 people standing the aisle. In total, a bus that would hold 44 was holding 85 and it wasss smelly. We met some interesting people in the form of Ishmael, a medical student studying in Cape Town, and an old man travelling to Zimbabwe. The great thing about Botswana is that elders get the utmost respect. Our very rowdy conductor came to collect receipts to give change and immediately became decent and spoke in a respectful manner to this old man sitting next to me. He was a boss.

We reached Francistown with sore legs and parted ways, excited to tell our hosts of our incredible weekend adventure. And so the story of our weekend comes to an end. We didn’t end up meeting the Chief of Bobonong, but the search for his permission is what essentially got us to Lepokole. We persevered and, like true travelers, we went forth with no definitive path to follow. And that’s what wandering is all about.