Botswana

Map

May 8–11, 2011

There’s absolutely nothing here at all—no past, no history, nothing of any interest whatsoever. Even in the old days, Botswana was so devoid of meaning or purpose that Britain made it a protectorate and not a colony like all the other normal countries. And even the fact that it became a protectorate was due to sheer chance. Some English dude wanted to claim the land for his company, but the people of Botswana didn’t find the prospect terribly thrilling, so they wrote a letter to the Queen asking her to intervene.

The sign promises a winding road ahead.

The road winds.

The sign promises a narrowing road—the road narrows.

The sign promises a checkpoint—and there it is.

In fact, the only thing the country has is the signs along the roads. Nothing else.

Maybe just a trash can here and there.

Or a kilometer marker post.

A site of national historical and cultural importance (yet another ancient city represented by a handful of stones) looks something like this:

A cow.

A train (almost like in Georgia).

A speed bump followed by a pit full of water.

Indeed—the bump is followed by a trench filled with water. Car wheels are disinfected in this manner all over the country to prevent the spread of X. You also have to dunk your shoes in wet rags saturated with some kind of sanitizing solution.

A handicapped person.

Francistown

Map

Before we know it, we find ourselves in Francistown. There’s a curious fire hydrant here which looks like it’s been doing some serious dieting.

A Francistown trash can.

The only place you’ll find a post box in Botswana is at a post office, which in turn is easily recognized by the long rows of red PO boxes. The mailman is spared from running all over town, all he has to do is walk 20 meters—at most—to the correct box. Mongolia and Paraguay, for instance, have the same system.

All the traffic signs used to have a blue background.

And now they have a white one.

The red-and-white striped curbs are perhaps the only thing of interest in the village of Serowe, which gave the country its first president.

The first president was black and married a white Englishwoman, who gave birth to the current fair-skinned present. Now the portrait of the current fair-skinned president hangs in every store.

The “yield to pedestrians” sign arrangement has a remarkably microscopic pedestrian.

Attention: children.

All the roadside billboard ads are supported by two legs. One just can’t handle the job.

A forest fire hazard indicator (like in Australia).

Vehicle inspection stickers on a windshield.

The traffic light control box looks like a roadside memorial for a car accident victim.

A panoramic view of a large village. This is, in fact, the most exciting view to be found in all of Botswana.

The Tropic of Capricorn. Whoopie doo.

Metal bars stretch across the road (just like in Iceland)—they’re a piece of cake for cars to drive over, but cattle are afraid to walk over them.

A bus stop.

Another honest-to-a-fault road sign, this time for a rest stop.

A sign pointing the way to a school.

Gaborone

Map

And so here we are at last in the capital city of Gaborone. The reader no doubt thinks that Botswana has been saving the best for last, in its largest city.

Well, tough luck, reader—the capital looks like this:

So far, they’ve barely managed to build a handful of ten-story buildings here, and that’s it.

Naïve tourists planning to hang out in the capital for a few days often find themselves quite disappointed after reaching the end of its entire 500-meter span.