The kettle's just clicked off in my flat in Gaborone, and I'm looking at the pile of things I thought I needed for two years. It's mostly clothes I'll never wear and adapters for sockets that don't exist here. It's my last full day in the capital before I head north, and the morning has that crisp, dry feel that August is famous for. The sun is up, the light is sharp, and I can already see the jacarandas are starting to think about blooming, even though it's still weeks away.
I've been here for a week now. Seven days of permits, bank accounts, SIM cards, and learning that the combi minibuses don't have a schedule so much as a vibe. I'm not leaving Gaborone for good, but I'm leaving the base I've built. Today is about wrapping up loose ends, soaking in the last of the city's winter, and making sure I haven't forgotten anything crucial before the long road north.
So I'm starting the day at the Main Mall, one last time. It's quieter at this hour, before the vendors fully set up. I want a decent coffee before the day gets going, so I'm heading to The Daily Grind, a spot I've come to appreciate for its reliable espresso. I order a cappuccino, which sets me back about 30 pula. That feels steep for a daily habit, but for a treat, it's fine. I sit by the window and watch the city stretch its legs. The bus rank is already a hive of activity, a symphony of honking horns and shouted destinations that I'm going to miss when I'm out in the bush.
After the coffee, I take a slow walk down the pedestrian spine of the Main Mall. The Pula Arch catches the morning light, and it's a good reminder of what this country has navigated. I stop to watch a vendor arranging her crafts, mostly baskets. Botswana's basketry is genuinely world-class, and I'm thinking about picking up a small one for my flat up north. It's the kind of art that's beautiful but also functional, woven from palm and dyed with natural pigments. I ask the price, and it's around 200 pula for a small, intricate piece. I decide to hold off, something to look forward to on a return trip.
I'm also keeping an eye on the ground here because the city is gearing up for a busy cultural stretch. After I leave, there's a book festival coming back after a few years away, and the Maitisong Festival is condensed into a single weekend at the theatre. I'm told the theme is 'In Concert,' ahead of the theatre's fortieth anniversary. I'll miss the live performances, but I'm planning to tune into the conversation from the road. It feels like the city is waking from its winter slumber, and everything is timed for the first rains.
From the Mall, I walk towards the Government Enclave, past the National Assembly, just to feel the weight of the place. It's a strange mix here: modern glass buildings a block away from open-air markets selling dried fish and mopane worms. That contrast is something I've come to love about Gaborone. It's a city that doesn't pretend to be something it isn't. There's a statue of Sir Seretse Khama in the gardens, and I pause there for a moment. It's a reminder of the country's particular path, the careful diplomacy that kept things stable for so long, and the remarkable, peaceful transfer of power back in 2024 that ended a long political era.
Speaking of practicalities, I pop into a bank branch on Khama Crescent because I want to get the logistics of my trip sorted. My rent for this modest one-bedroom flat in the centre is about 4,500 pula a month, which gets you a reasonable space here. The cost of living is one of those things that surprises people. A basic lunch at a local spot will run you between 80 and 150 pula. Today, I'm just checking my balance and transferring some funds. The bankers here are used to expats coming in with a lot of questions, and I've learned that a reference from your employer plus your permit is the golden ticket to getting an account opened without a headache.
For lunch, I decide to keep it local and simple. I find a place near the bus rank that does a plate of seswaa, the national dish of slow-pounded beef, with pap and some morogo greens. It costs me about 90 pula for the full plate. It's hearty, filling, and exactly what you need on a cool winter afternoon. The flavours are simple but deep, smoky from the pounding process. This is the food I came for. I wash it down with a St. Louis beer, a local lager that costs about 28 pula a bottle. It's crisp and cold and goes down far too easily in the afternoon sun.
The afternoon is for a final trip to the craft market in Broadhurst. It's a hive of stalls selling everything from carved wooden animals to the famous baskets I saw this morning. It's a bit of a touristy thing to do, but I don't mind, because the quality is excellent. I find a small basket from Oodi Weavers and decide to splurge. It's 350 pula, which is more than a night in a budget guesthouse, but it's a piece of local craftsmanship I'll carry with me for years. The vendor and I chat for a bit, and she tells me about the different patterns and what they mean. It's a good reminder that the art here is living, not just for show.
Before I head back to pack, I want to take in one last view of the city. I won't have time for a full hike up Kgale Hill today, but I drive to the base of it and look up at the 'Sleeping Giant' one more time. It's the perfect way to frame the city in my mind: a modern capital sitting at the foot of an ancient granite hill. The contrast between the dusty brown veld and the green of the golf estates in Phakalane is stark from here. It's a city that holds both the very old and the very new.
I stop for a quick pick-me-up at Cafe Dijo, another place I've grown fond of. I grab a flat white, about the same price as the cappuccino this morning. I sit outside and watch the afternoon traffic. The TANA metro rail project is apparently still in public consultations, and I'm genuinely curious to see if it transforms transport here. If it works, it'll be a game-changer for how people move around the city, but I'm hedging my bets until I see actual construction.
Back at the flat, it's time to pack for real. The plan is to drive north, heading towards the Makgadikgadi pans first, then swinging west to the Okavango Delta as the flood season peaks. I've been tracking the water levels, and the timing should be perfect for a mokoro trip through the channels. I'm checking the costs in my head. A night in a mid-range guesthouse is about 1,000 pula, which is on the higher end, but I can find budget rooms for around 400 to 700. The combis here, a single fare, are capped at 9 pula, which is cheap, but for the long distances I'll be covering, I'll be hiring a car or joining a safari tour.
I've also been looking at what the delta will cost. A multi-day mokoro trip with camping can run you a few hundred dollars a day, depending on the operator, but it's one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences you can't shortcut. I'm also thinking about the wildlife. I got a taste of it at Mokolodi and the Gaborone Game Reserve, but heading into the delta is a different league. The dry season concentrates the animals around the permanent water, so I'm expecting elephants, hippos, and an incredible array of birds.
I'm a little sad to be leaving the flat. It's the first place I've called home in Botswana, and it's been good to me. But the road is calling. I'm checking my list: passport, permits, bank card, phone with a Mascom SIM, a decent water bottle, and the basket from Broadhurst. I think I'm ready. I'm going to miss the hum of the bus rank and the taste of the air after a cool night, but I know I'll be back through Gaborone in a few weeks, richer from the road.
There's one last thing I want to do. I step out onto my small balcony and look up at the stars. The winter sky is so clear here, unclouded by humidity, and it's a beautiful sight. I'm thinking about the journey ahead, about the pans and the delta and the rivers. I'm thinking about all the stories I've heard about the north, about the people and the wildlife and the sheer scale of the landscape. It's a good feeling, to be at the beginning of something big.
So, that's it for my first week in the capital. Gaborone has been a warm and fascinating introduction to Botswana, but the real adventure starts tomorrow. I'll be checking in from the road, from the Makgadikgadi and the Okavango. Until then, from my little balcony under a cold winter sky, this is Kabelo, signing off. Pula. See you on the road.
I’ve got one final errand, actually. I remember I need to buy some water and snacks for the drive tomorrow, and I know a little place near the hotel that has the best biltong. I'll grab that, and maybe one more pack of St. Louis for the road. Then I'm truly done. The car is packed, the tank is full, and the plan is set. Gaborone, you've been a good host. Time to go find the wilder side of Botswana.