On my last day in Otse village, I stayed with a Camphill teacher and his lovely family in their beautiful home. Him and his Scottish wife, Louise, made me feel so welcome, it was exactly what I needed. All the males of Camphill played and watched a friendly football match, and all the females played and watched handball. It was a fun event and the perfect way to say goodbye to Camphill; as Man of the Match (A bit unfair, as our team included players with disabilties!) They are a beautiful group of people and I am very thankful for the time I could spend with them. We waved goodbye and returned to Gaborone, where we are staying with Prince's brother, Tirelo. Last time I was in Gabs, I was at a party that involved a fight and a broken car. This night was no different, which isn't really surprising, given the culture of drink driving. So I was with Prince and another guy, let's call him Saint, and off we went to a few roadside raves. One of which was actually really cool. Car boot sound systems and African dance-offs. We go home via another off license for 2 more beers for the boys and suddenly all hell kicks off. One man tries to grab Prince's money through the car window, so Saint jumps out of the car to fight. Prince than has to help Saint and try to get him back in the car, at which point 3 guys come for me through the back passenger door and the boot. Saint's jeans have been ripped from too many hands in his pockets and both his phones are gone. The men pull and grab me trying to get my phone and the money Prince gave me to look after. I shove 2 men out, Prince gets rid of the third and I can lock the doors unharmed. Prince jumps in the driver's seat and tries to start the car, but another guy tries to steal the keys and cuts his finger with a knife. But he manages to drive, Saint gets in the car, and off we go, bleeding, bruised and, in Saint's case, with wounded pride.

At this point you'd think we'd go home, thankful we are mostly ok and only 2 phones and a beer were stollen. But no, Saint wants revenge. We pull up round the corner, he changes his top and despite firm warnings from us, he stubbornly goes back for facial recognition. We're left in the car, not sure if he's back in a fight, whether he's been stabbed, ready to start the engine and unlock the doors if he comes running. He returned after witnessing another 8 muggings by the same guys, but luckily he'd stayed safe. He only spoke calmly about how he would return another night with a gun and kill them. This man goes to church, carries a bible with him at all times and even pulled the car over earlier in the night to say a prayer including "Forgive us God, for everything." How about just not doing the acts needing forgiveness in the first place?! I questioned how he could possibly call himself religious and intend to kill a man, and he responded "I am an angel of war. It is my duty to punish wrong doers. I believe in love and peace. If a man loves me, I will love him, but if he direspects others, rips their jeans and leaves them half naked for no reason, then there will be more love and peace in the world if this man is killed." He wasn't fussed about the wing mirror hanging off the car from the force of a body being slammed against it, he didn't care that his phones had been taken and he wasn't bothered that he was putting his friends, family and himself at risk by getting into these fights, he only cared about the fact that his jeans had been ripped and he'd been "disgraced". He can't comprehend the fact that a change in party style can end his weekly hits of disrespect, and he, like so many others in this religious continent, are using something with good morals and intentions to justify wrong and selfish actions. The young men of Africa feel it's their job to give "justice", killing in a ball of unquestioned anger and hurt pride, claiming it's for a higher cause. Trust me, your mum would prefer you to be safe than fight a man with a knife because he called you a son of a b****. Don't pretend you're doing it for her. Don't pretend you're doing it for anyone other than your own ego. When I pointed this out (all politeness forgotten), he said "You wanted to see real Botswana. This is how it's done here. This is the way. Welcome!" Maybe this is the "real" Botswana, but it makes me sad and angry. It is a culture of deluded young men persuing herodom with hatred in their guts and weapons in their hands. The people who preach the ways of being a good human are the people who are unable to listen to their own words. Psychologists probably have a word for it, I just call it sad. In a continent so full of life, music, smiling welcomes and ancient wisdom, there has to be the dark deaths in the back streets. All I can do is hope that one day these boys will understand the words they speak.