The Chibuku Truck

One of the struggles of any Peace Corps volunteer in any country is not only learning the language and the culture, but the systems of the country. How do things work or not work, how do things get done. Because even in countries with slightly or more than slightly broken systems, things do still get done. Maybe not completed the best way possible, maybe involving bribes, maybe much later than expected, but unless you are currently living in Syria or Somalia, some things do get done.

Botswana has decent systems, even if they are painstakingly slow sometimes. They are the least corrupt country in Africa (and I realize that given some of its neighbors, that’s like saying it’s the tallest of the seven dwarves, but it is recognized worldwide for its low corruption rate); there are schools and clinics and social workers that provide some social safety nets.

But working in an extremely rural area, I see the faults of the system more than the strengths. The kids that miss meals because our school isn’t given enough money to buy food/books/beds/doors to replace the broken ones on classrooms. The preschool that closed in my village because people would rather drink the local brew than pay school fees. The road to my village that the government keeps repairing with construction equipment but never paves, so it has to be flattened almost daily in the rainy season. The school system teaching everything in English to make the students globally competitive, which in reality makes it so kids from my area fail because they don’t understand the lessons taught in and the exams given in English.

Sometimes it seems like everything is a bureaucratic mess, and then I see a Chibuku Truck.

Chibuku, also called Shake Shake, is the local brew made from Sorghum. Lots of people do actually brew it at home, but there is also the commercially available stuff, at only 6 pula for a liter (75 cents), and the largest bar in my village sells only Chibuku. It’s cheap, filling, and the drink of choice if you want to be drunk all day (which isn’t uncommon, especially in a rural village like mine).

Chibuku is delivered to my village on a regular basis in a large 18 wheeler truck. I’ve gotten a hitch in and out of my village in the cab before, because they have a space behind the driver seat that can fit up to 3 people. It’s an awesome hitch. The drivers are professional, and they seem to keep a good schedule, because on the way into my village there will be people waiting on the side of the road to turn in empty Chibuku crates from their cattle posts, and to buy new crates to take back. The truck is always clean, in good condition, and doing good business.

Often, I wonder why lots of other things in Botswana can’t work as well as the Chibuku truck and industry. It gives me hope for capitalism, in a country that is too reliant on the government for many things, but it’s also frustrating that the thing most in demand in this country is apparently bad tasting alcohol.* I wish other commodities could be delivered in a reliable fashion like Chibuku. I wish other businesses could learn to keep a schedule and customer service from the Chibuku industry. I’m not an economic volunteer, and I have no background in economics or business. I encouraged small businesses when I could during my time here, but that was sort of the limit of my abilities.

One idea in development is called appreciative inquiry. Instead of pointing out all of the ways things are broken and not working well (like the beginning of this post, ha), you find examples of people/ideas /businesses that are working better than most, and use them as a positive example to influence others around them. I feel like the Chibuku truck is a good example of this. Of course, the problem of alcohol abuse in this country is another issue, so I have mixed feelings touting the success of the Chibuku industry, but as far as their economics, I hope other companies and government agencies in Botswana, like delivering medicine, take note of a great business model.

*Chibuku is just nasty tasting. There’s no way around it for this lekgoa.