Swakop

Swakopmund!

Last friday started a bit shaky. Our Independence day celebration ended at 10am. Peace Corps came out and installed locks on my burglar bars and then gave me a ride into town. In Windhoek I finally got to pick up my packages and check out the office. While waiting for the girls from Okakarara, I discovered we weren’t permitted to go on because of restrictions on night travel.

We went all over Windhoek and every hostel was full, so we came back right after that sun had set, and we are told by the guard that we are not permitted inside. All our crap is in the PC lounge. Helen comes out and lets us in, thank god, and arranges for us to stay in the sick bay, which is pretty damn posh. We did eat out at a restaurant called Grand Canyon Spur Steak Ranch. Like it’s name, it was over the top, more wild west than the real wild west. But it’s food was dead on American. Normally that wouldn't be exciting, but here I about cried when they brought me a real chocolate milkshake.

The next morning we were off early to Rhino Park and arrived at Swakopmund without delay. Leslie has a huge house right in the center of Swakop. We settled in and took a tour of town and the beach. We jointly decided that Swakopmund is actually not in Namibia. Perhaps it really belongs to the US or is a long standing holding of Germany, I’m not sure. But it feels nothing like what we are used to thinking of when we think of Namibia.

The buildings are germanic and well-kept, the city is very clean, there are quite a number of restaurants, internet cafes, nice bars, etc. I actually ate pizza, had a martini, and listened to Afro-cuban music all in the same city. I never thought that would happen in Namibia. The beach was small but nice. There was a lot of seaweed in the water and it was cold so I didn’t go in.

Activities for the day consisted largely of the stereoptypical beach vacation type: shopping, swimming, sunbathing, hanging out, going to bars, going to the movies or just hanging out. The only exclusive PC activities I can remember are sitting on the beach and eating an entire gallon of ice cream with three other PCVs and taking daily trips to the awesome grocery store SPAR just to look around.
It was so nice to see Americans again, and realize that indeed we are all going through the same exact thing. So it was a communal sigh of relief.

Getting back was a bit more of a hassle than it could have been. My cellphone decided to kick me off, although I swore it was the right pin. After 3 tries it locks you out until you enter a 10 digit code. Of course that code was back in Dordabis. So I had to take taxis all over town to my colleagues houses to get the phone numbers of the people I would ride with. Finally after buying tango for some guy and making 8 calls, I managed to get a ride, hustled back to the Peace Corps office, grabbed my things, ran over to Klein Windhoek, and headed off to D-town. Even Namibians were telling me I was lucky to get a ride. I think they were right. Otherwise I would have been hitchhiking today, which wouldn’t have been too terrible considering Tuesdays are the worst teaching day ever.

On another note, 5 months have past since I left, 20 more to go! That is a total of 1/5 of my time in Namibia, or 20% of my service. Holy cow. I don’t know if I should think a lot of time has past or just a little has past. Last time I calculated 10% of service was over.

Break in

Well updates for the week are:

Friday March 21st is the Namibian Independence Day, and I'll be in Swakopmund on the coast at the beach. This is actually one of two spring breaks I've ever been on where I went to the beach in a foreign country (the other time I was in Panama over Easter Break when I was studying in Costa Rica). Ironic, huh.

In other news, my house was broken into. Here's a bizarre mystery for you.
Background to the case: A few weeks ago I purchased two new locks for my doors because it was a little wierd that all the locks in the building used the same keys. I managed to install the lock on the front door, but hadn't gotten around to installing the lock in the back door. I had some difficulty closing the door when I put the metal piece back on the doorframe, so I had left it off. It left a small gap on the inside between the door and the doorframe. This lock was harder to pick than the previous lock. I hid the extra keys to this lock in my bathroom behind some bottles of lotion.
Later, I had some kids come and clean my house to "pay me back" for stealing some of the materials I gave them. They cleaned the bathroom and found the keys, but put them back. Later, I hid the keys in my glasses case I kept in the bathroom. From what I recall all the keys were there when I put them in my glasses case.

On Monday I came home and see that my front door is open about 5 inches and the lock is unlocked. The door handle is entirely broken off, I mean snapped in two. There was no damage to the door frame.
I go inside to see if anything is missing, and nothing was. I mean nothing. Not food, not any clothes or electronics. And of course it happened on one of the few days I forgot to lock up my computer. So I was happy nothing was missing.

We went to the police at my boss's bidding and filed a report. They would give the case to a seargent who was currently in Windhoek.
That night I put that metal piece back on the door frame and left off the top screw so that the door could close.

Today, I went to school as usual. I came home and nothing had changed, so the theif did not come back. Later some people from Peace Corps came and repaired my lock. Then I discovered that in the glasses case there was only one key instead of two. So we changed the lock out to the one I was going to put on the back door. Peace Corps is going to buy me locks for my burglar bars that currently don't lock. Then, the police sargeant comes from Windhoek and wants to fingerprint the lock and handle that already 8 million people have touched just today. I give it to him. Bizarre.

So what happened then?
How exactly did they break in?
1. The theif pushed in the door--perhaps I made it easier because I had not put that one metal piece back on. (But there is no damage at all to the door frame or lock?)
2. The theif had a key, but wanted to make it look like a break in. (Then, there's no excuse to why they didn't steal anything?)
3. Maybe they picked the lock. (But why did they choose that lock to pick when there is an easier lock to pick in the back of the house, and it is more hidden from view?)

Why didn't they steal anything?
1. Maybe they just wanted to look around? (Why go to the effort to break in? or why 'pretend' to break in when I wouldn't have known the difference if they had come in?)
2. Maybe there was something in particular they wanted to steal, and I didn't have it, or they couldn't find it (i.e. meat, mealie meal, cash?)
3. Maybe they were scared off by someone coming.

Really this is a big illogical mystery to me. Any detectives out there?

Some Thoughts

Lesson plans: Seems like every lesson I plan bombs, but I’ve got 2 under my belt that rocked the house. Am I getting the hang of this thing?

Thought on Being White:
Being white and/or comparably wealthy in Namibia means one thing: people asking you for things all the time. Frankly, it’s annoying as hell. If they really need the things I have no problem giving them whatsoever, and it’s pretty obvious from the request if they really need something.
Yet it makes me wonder: What is wrong with white people? White people form the upper eschelon of the whole world yet we’re penny-pinchers deathly afraid of being cheated by the “other.” One black Namibian described white Namibians as the following: they take life too seriously; they don’t want to lose even one penny. And it’s true. Yet they have way more money than anyone else. Is this a power thing? Is this a wealth thing? Is this a race thing? Is this a city culture thing? To what extent am I (world traveler who would rather be with the oppressed) actually part of this particular culture? I haven’t figured it out yet.

Some thoughts on AIDS:
Being here for 4 months I’ve been surprised how little I’ve seen or heard about the impacts of the AIDS epidemic in Namibia. But as time goes by it shows its ugly face. About half of my students from what I can tell only have one parent because the other one died. I’m finding out more and more students have had both their parents die of “sickness.”
One colleague had 2 relatives die within one month. Another colleague’s brother died of “sickness” just last week.
I was wondering why I never heard about a funeral in D-town. Well it is because they are not allowed to be buried here. Anyone who dies must be driven to Windhoek to be buried and the funeral services are held there.

How My Heart Broke:
At 9pm at night I hear a knock at the door. Probably someone asking for matches or cards or something (see 2 above). Or some guy intent on romancing me (and failing).
But no, it was a “street kid” although that’s not really an accurate term. The kid must’ve been 11 or 12 years old. It was immediately apparent he was a street kid because he was very dirty, out and about by himself at 9pm, and his eyes were yellow from malnutrition and/or Hepatitis A.
He asked me for food. When the hostel kids ask me for food they ask me for nice foods their parents or the hostel wouldn’t serve them. I don’t give them because that would lead to every hostel kid knocking on my door for nice foods I can’t afford for all of them.
This time it was different. The kid asked me for any food whatsoever. I gave him 3 buns and some butter. The kid then told me he would be willing to work tomorrow to pay me back for the buns. I said that wasn’t necessary. He then gets down on his knees and thanks me profusely. He was being totally serious. Turns out his parents are dead (think AIDS), and he lives in the bush (i.e. the wild).
That means this child has to face survival every single day in a way I’ve never had to face it (finding food, water, shelter).
That means this child is extremely vulnerable to abuse of all kinds, scorpion and snake bites (we have lots of scorpions, plus cobras, puffadders, and mambas so it’s a legitamate concern), malnutrition, dehydration, and a host of other maladies. That means chances are this child will die sooner than later.
There is something seriously wrong with a society that permits this to happen. There is something seriously wrong with a world that permits this to happen.
I told the kid to come back anytime he was hungry.

More pics

More pics at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2246983&id=10131893

My New Life

Things I Said That I Never Thought I Would:
“Hey, get that live frog out of your mouth.”
“You cannot eat worms in my class. Give me that box of dead, cooked worms. If anyone eats another one, you’re getting detention.”

Integrating?
These few months have passed, and I feel very distant from the community, besides of course the teachers and my students. So, I’ve devised a plan to integrate:
Attend Church. Actually I don’t mind it because there is a lot of singing and they translate the sermon into English for me and the Ovambos. Hasn’t really been working. Nobody talks to me except for the kids.
Learn Khoekhoe. 2 kids volunteered to teach me some words. I’m still looking for a KKG grammar book. If I get that, I’ll be set. Really language is posing a barrier to integration, that's for sure.
Visit the parents of my kids. Actually I’ve really enjoyed visiting the farms where some of the employed parents work. Below are some tales from the farms.
Secondary projects I’ll start in May. Dance club, Health and Environmental Club, Hiking Club

Farm Visits
New Post. Two white people own all the businesses, animals, etc, and employ 40 black people in a weavery. They make karakul sheep wool rugs for export to Europe and the US. The website of the company is www.ibenstein-weavers.com.na and the rugs look pretty nice. Most of the people who work there are parents of my students. I also met the white couple—they were super nice to me, but didn’t even acknowledge the kids I was with.
Things I learnt from the kids on the New Post trip:
There are two ghosts on the road at night. I shouldn’t walk there.
There is a mean baboon who only has 3 legs who will attack and kill me if I go farther than New Post by myself.
My 12 and 13 year old kids kill full-sized Kudus (think horse size). With rocks. And sometimes bows and arrows. They also kill wild birds with slingshots.
Farm kids are doing well. Actually most of them are the best students. I think it is because they live with their parents, and their parents are employed (and alive).
Trips like this are a perfect antidote to the endless “sit down” and “be quiets” in class. You would marvel to see how they blossom when they are in their own territory. Just funny, because that’s what I imagined Peace Corps was about: me walking though the kalahari desert hand in hand with a bunch of shoe-less african children (The farm kids have shoes, they just don’t wear them. I mean really, I wear shoes, but my feet are still gross or wet when I take them off, so what’s the point?). I am feeling Jesus-like.
2nd Farm Trip: Ibenstein.
This one was a bit different. First, there were at least 30 kids, whereas before there were only 10. Second, we had to ask permission to the white people to go in their land. It was awkward. Third, all the kids got in trouble for swimming in a water hole. Fourth, apparently they raise ostriches, because they were EVERYWHERE. It was neat, but the kids kept their distance, so I did too. They may walk around barefoot but they know when to keep their distance and to avoid tall grass. It was a weird trip overall, but the kids still enjoyed it.
Trip to the top of the mountain. I went with two learners to the top of a small mountain outside of Dordabis. The views were nice, but the climb was LOOONG. I think they are my new hiking buddies.

My Friend
Found a scorpion in my house. That’s a first. It was big and yellow. Swept it outside and called a neighbor to kill it. Turns out according to my handy dandy guide to scorpions and spiders it is the most poisonous one in southern africa, causing a handful of deaths each year. You know, if scorpions are the alternative, I can fall in love with my cockroaches.

Guilt and Temptation
I feel guilty kind of for not spending much time with the teachers. Some teachers have even said that I should spend more time with them outside of class. Here’s the issue. They say they want to practice English, but I am there every day at school in the morning or at Tea break, and they basically don’t talk to me at all. I would join in the conversation if they would talk in English but they don’t. At other times when I have spent time with them, they still revert back to Afrikaan and KKG, while I sit there in my own thoughts. When they are talking English, they are always pointing out how different I am—its more like talking about me while I’m present. So really its just awkward. I’d rather spend time with the learners.
Temptation—that’s the problem with Peace Corps. We’re up to 3 Early terminations now, that I know about. Could be more. Because its volunteer work, you can leave any time, no penalties, besides not being able to say you completed a 2 year term. With school, you get a degree at the end. With Peace Corps you get the achivement of having lived in Africa for 2 years. It’s really a problem. I knew I was taking a chance coming to Africa. And it hasn’t been for nothing. I’m happy that I’m here, but I love Spanish and Latin America more, and I’m losing the language FAST. And I’m not picking up KKG either, soooo. Its really tempting to transfer to Latin America, but the thought of abandoning these children creates too much guilt for me. Not yet. One thing is for sure—I am not cut out to be an Elementary teacher long term.