Guest Post: Living Car-Free in Gaborone, Botswana

My colleagues, a Seattle family, recently had an opportunity to move to Botswana for three months with three sons, and committed to living their time there car-free. David, the father, was kind enough to share a little of their experience cycling Gaborone, the capitol of Botswana.

I was hoping to find bicycles and ride with the kids in Botswana even before we left Seattle back in September. Cycling is a great way to see and discover a new place, allowing you to move quickly and efficiently, but slowly enough to perceive the details and textures that are blurred in a car and to easily interact with people that you meet on the street. Also, given the short length of our stay, buying a car did not make financial sense.

I should clarify that I intended to cycle around the city of Gaborone, where we would be living, not around the country of Botswana. Though I might have tried touring when I was younger and dumber, the Lonely Planet guide to Botswana warns:

“Botswana is largely flat – and that’s about the only concession it makes to cyclists. Unless you’re an experienced cyclist and equipped for the extreme conditions, abandon any ideas you have about a Botswana bicycle adventure. Distances are great and horizons are vast; the climate and landscapes are hot and dry; and, even along major routes, water is scarce and villages are widely spaced. What’s more, the sun is intense and prolonged exposure to the burning ultraviolet rays is hazardous. Also bear in mind that bicycles are not permitted in Botswana’s national parks and reserves; and cyclists may encounter potentially dangerous wildlife while traveling along any highway or road.”

Not exactly an endorsement of touring by bicycle in Botswana. And they don’t even mention the sand. We did see a couple of bikers loaded up with panniers resting under a tree on one of our road trips, but I did not envy them, as the temperature was approaching 90 degrees.  Even from a distance, they clearly looked baked and spent.

Before arriving in Gaborone, I assumed that biking around the city would be fairly risky. I expected high traffic speeds and volumes and unpredictable drivers who were ignorant and unconcerned about bicycles. I also assumed that formal bicycle facilities (e.g. bike lanes, paths, or signed routes) would be non-existent, which is generally true. However, after getting to know the circulation network and aligning my cognitive and spatial expectations with those of drivers, I find that it feels rather safe to bicycle in Gaborone. Whether it actually is as safe as a city like Seattle or Portland would be difficult to determine, as the crash data are probably non-existent or recorded in a way that makes comparison impossible. Most bicycle crashes in the US do not involve a vehicle and go unrecorded anyway, which is probably the case here as well. Regardless of the continent, I have always believed that the greatest danger of cycling together in a group with kids is each other, and indeed our only minor mishaps have been self-induced; somebody stops too quickly and gets plowed into from behind!

The circulation network comprises a variety of facilities in Gaborone. While there are only a few streets with painted and signed bike lanes, most of the major through streets have wide rights of way with plenty of space beyond the shoulder to ride safely.

An arterial street in Gabarone with a dirt fringe beside it.

This typically dirt fringe is particularly good for children when traffic is moving fast, although includes hazards such as drainage channels, termite mounds, broken glass and thorns, extremely sharp plants, driveways, transit shelters and makeshift street vendor stalls. Mountain bikes with big knobby tires are a must.

My son navigates a dirt sidewalk with storm drains.

A newer street with a bike/pedestrian path.

Having been planned and started around the time of Botswana’s independence only 43 years ago, Gaborone is a very young city with a suburban development pattern and street network that reflects the naive planning principles of that era. The major arterials are widely spaced and must accommodate all of the city’s through traffic because most of the local neighborhood streets end in cul de sacs. This virtually eliminates vehicular traffic on streets in the residential neighborhoods, but makes the busy arterials uncomfortable places to walk and bike. Crossing the arterials is difficult and their big intersections pose a significant risk. In particular, many of the intersections have generous roundabouts, which keep traffic moving but are more difficult to navigate on bicycle or foot than signalized intersections. The upside for walking and biking is that most of the dead-end neighborhood streets and cul de sacs have paths that connect to other streets, unlike most middle-aged suburbs in the US. At least the planners got that detail right!

Path between dead-end neighborhoods streets.

The best element of the circulation system is a network of greenways that is interwoven throughout most of the neighborhoods. The greenways are terrific for cycling, though tend not to be continuous or lead to important destinations.  The greenways are also impractical at night, since they are dark and have poor surveillance (most adjacent residences have high walls topped by electric fences). Finding your way through the labyrinth of street-end paths and the greenways takes time, but is fun.

When our youngest son Willie is not with his nanny, Monica, he is often surveying the city from his child seat on the back of my bike. He typically rides with me to drop Elliot and Mitchell off at school. We then head home to meet Monica, often trying new and longer routes.

Contrary to my initial safety concerns, I have found that most drivers in Gabs are actually quite competent, maintaining their lane position and often courteously yielding to us at smaller intersections. Having two other kids on bikes in formation and a small child on the back probably helps, but I am also generally treated well when I am on my own. There are certainly the handful of crackpots that blast through stop signs and demonstrate general disregard for any human life beyond their own, but these outliers exist in Seattle as well. Ironically, one of the greatest dangers is that many drivers are so amused and agape at Willie perched behind me in his little seat that they don’t watch where they are going!  Most have never seen such a set up. People in passing vehicles will often point and wave while laughing with joy at the sight of us, as if we are a circus act that inadvertently rode out of the bigtop. Willie also shouts out “Dumela Rra/Mma!” (Hello sir/maam) as we pedal past pedestrians, which always elicits grins.

Having a young child with you is a great ice-breaker when you are trying to be a culturally sensitive and unobtrusive outsider yet are eager to interact with people. Having that child blabbering away behind you in a little seat mounted on your bike – a real novelty here – opens huge doors.

Willie and I had been talking about getting a marimba during a long ride to a shopping mall and just as we were approaching our apartment, we passed a Zimbabwean man selling them on the street. Biking around Gabarone facilitates such seemingly random encounters. Pasteur once said, “Chance favors the prepared mind.” I think chance also favors the cyclist.

Marimba seller.

Biking around Gaborone with Elliot, Mitchell and Willie has given them more direct exposure to the culture, climate, and landscape. I also believe that the cultural exchange goes both ways, at first startling and amusing people that see us, but then, hopefully, making people pause and think, “Why are they riding bicycles through the city and not driving in a car like most ex-patriots we see?” I think the older boys have some sense that they are influencing the perceptions of others here and perhaps nudging the transportation status quo, if only infinitesimally. Hopefully, the feeling of riding along the quiet greenways or adjacent to the busy streets on sandy tracks will be an enduring memory of their time in Botswana.

Cycling past a termite mound.