The Second Phase of Culture Shock (Better known as the Botswana ATM fiasco of 2009)

They say that the first phase of culture shock is the "honeymoon." Upon arrival in a new place, the traveller is enamored with the sights and sounds of his or her new environment. However, after a while, the second phase, "negotiation," sets in.

Negotiation is basically a nice way of saying that anything and potentially everything about said new place is suddenly acutely annoying.

I try to be both prepared and flexible when I travel. I think it's important to plan things ahead of time and know what to expect, while at the same time remaining relaxed about the unexpected.

But even the most flexible of travellers can be frustrated by something going terribly wrong by no fault of their own.

That being said, as many of you may or may not know, my Chase debit card was recently devoured by a voraciously hungry ATM.

This happened on June 28th, but I'm just now taking time to process my experience. I'll say in advance that I've slowly but surely sorted out my finances here, and everything's going to be just fine.

There was nothing wrong with the card or account, the ATM just had a "technical error" that kept the card trapped inside the machine. It could have happened to anybody, but of course it happened to me: an American with 3 more weeks in Botswana and no other way to access cash.

My initial reaction, after the error message appeared on the machine, was to freak out. Luckily, that feeling passed in a few seconds, and I was able to begin thinking strategically about how I would deal with the situation. I headed home and called the bank that was associated with the ATM, First National Bank Botswana.

This was my phone conversation with the man on the other end:

FNB Man: Hello?
Me: Hello?
FNB Man: Hello?
Me: Is this First National Bank?
FNB Man: Yes?
Me: With whom am I speaking?
FNB Man: (indiscernible Setswana name)
Me: Well, I just had a problem with one of your ATMs. I used my card at the ATM at Main Mall, the one that is detached from the bank, and it told me there was a technical error and my card couldn't be returned.
FNB Man: (silence)
Me: I was wondering if you could offer me any guidance on how I might be able to get the card back. I'm a visitor here and I don't have another way to access money.
FNB Man: (silence)
Me: Is there anything you can do to help?
FNB Man: ...the machine took your card?
Me: Yes, the machine took my card, is there a way I can get it back?
FNB Man: (silence)
Me: Hello?
FNB Man: Hello?
Me: Can you help?!
FNB Man: Well, you should go to the bank tomorrow morning at 9am, when the bank opens and you can get your card back then.
Me: Okay, so I just go to the bank and they can return my card?
FNB Man: Yes. No problem.
Me: So I go to the branch at Main Mall?
FNB Man: Yes, Main Mall branch. You should go there early.
Me: Thank you very much, have a good day.
FNB Man: (hangs up)
Me: Arrghghg!!!!

The next step was to notify my parents of my misfortune. I sent frantic emails to both parents and my sister telling them that somebody needed to call Chase ASAP. Luckily, my mother, ever at the ready, was able to get in touch with Chase and put the card on hold until I was able to get it back. Stateside, all was taken care of.

Back in Africa, however, I still had to actually get the card back. So the program coordinators for our trip, Dr. Bates and Dr. Pillay, along with Karabo, our student guide, went with me to the Main Mall branch of FNB where we began queueing in front of the bank. Of course, about 2 minutes before the bank actually opened, the queue dissovled into a mass of people pushing towards the doors--it was every man for himself.

Once we were inside the bank, we had to figure out where to go to get the card. Luckily, a female staff member spotted us (a skinny white girl with long blonde hair is hard to miss here) and tried to help. I told her about how and where I'd lost the card and about my phone conversation the day before. She told me what I feared: it was actually not bank policy to return cards found in ATMs. However, because I was a foreigner (read: "white"), she would try to get the card for me. She took my passport and went to look for the card.

She came back out to the lobby with a confused look on her face. "You lost your card in this ATM?" she asked, pointing to the ATM directly outside the bank. "No," I reminded her, "I was using the ATM down the strip." Her face crinkled up and I knew something was wrong. "That ATM belongs to the other branch of FNB."

After a long discussion with Karabo about directions, we hopped back into the car and headed over to the other FNB branch where we were greeted by a helpful gentleman who took us to the correct counter and helped me explain what had happened to the employee there. They futzed around for a while, acting as if they might be looking for the card. I leaned over my shoulder to Karabo and my professors and said, "I'll bet you 60 Pula they say they've never heard of that ATM before."

Luckily, after much explaining, they did seem to acknowledge the existence of the hungry ATM and more futzing ensued.

Finally, a woman came to the counter and handed me a blank piece of paper. "You'll have to write out an official, written complaint," she said, "and then come back in the afternoon."

Smoke almost came out of my ears. "No, I'm sorry...just forget about it," I said, "that's too long to wait. Just forget about it." The employees were so lackadaisical about the situation, I didn't feel comfortable leaving my the card with them all day

Suddenly, Dr. Odirile's warnings about Botswana customer service, or lack thereof, became very real to me. How could a phone operator for a major national bank answer the phone with "Hello?" How could a bank official give me incorrect information about bank policy? How could the ATM at Main Mall not be affiliated with the FNB branch at Main Mall? How could bank employees be so relaxed about something as sensitive as a bank card? By my American standards, the experience highlighted a major lack of professionalism when dealing with customers.

After my surrender to the ATM gods, I went back to work at the shelter, where I found that the internet was down and I had no way to get in touch with my family to tell them to cancel the card.

At this point, I was pretty burnt out with Botswana. The major cultural differences had finally gotten to me. So I tried to focus on the good.

I'm still frustrated with the bad customer service, lack of toilet paper, and stares, but I'm continuing to try to adapt myself to Botswana, rather than wasting time by complaining about how Botswana isn't adapted to me. I'm learning to assert myself in queues, bring my own TP, and say Dumela mma/rra to people who stare at me. This is the third and final stage of culture shock: acceptance.

Botswana is a beautiful country with wonderful people. So far I've had amazing experiences here and I'm looking forward to making even more memories in my last two weeks here.

In fact, I think everyone should experience Botswana if you get the chance. Just consider bringing two ATM cards.