It is Sunday morning here, and I can hear the singing from the church just down the road. No organ or other instrument, just human voices, in wonderful harmony. In the evening, the local bar believes in electronic amplification, and it is not as pleasant. There are no audiologists here that I can find, but soon they will be able to make a very good living because of damaged hearing. Either that, or the sale of ear horns.
The longer I am here, the more I realize how much of human existence is the same everywhere. Senses of humor are the same. Children who instinctively reach up for their mother’s hand, or hide behind her skirts at the approach of a stranger, are the same. A group of teenage girls giggling is the same. The variation in the work ethic, with some going for long hours and weekends, and others who frankly appear offended when asked to do their job, is the same.
But there are also moments, when I am in the middle of a room of people and loud conversations in Setswana, when I know that this is a special adventure, and I am fortunate to be having it.