SEPTEMBER

September 14, 2008

WINDHOEK CRISIS SOLVED
Well, I solved my Windhoek crisis. Now I just hitchhike in and out the same day. No awkwardness from staying at someone’s house. Nobody spying on what I do in town.
No being in Windhoek after dark at all. No paying money to stay in town. Besides the rush to get everything done in a few hours, the slight risk of hitching, and the waits on both ends, it’s fabulous!
Side effect: intense lethargy and burnout. I literally felt like a ghost for two weeks before I spent a weekend out of the vill. Then, like magic I return to my former self.

QUESTION BOX
I started a Question Box because I’m teaching them sex ed right now. I got like 2 questions about sex so far. Mostly the kids have put in letters to me telling me how they are not getting enough to eat and “Dear Special Teacher, I love you!” Because the word “love” is used loosely around here, I wasn’t sure if I should believe it. Turns out they really do love me. See down further.

SCHOOL TOUR
This past weekend D-town had its first school tour ever to Swakopmund. In my primary school, field trips were happening several times a year and overnight trips on occasion. In Namibia, field trips are costly, so they normally just take the kids for a few days to the coast and to Windhoek. This tour was entirely due to the HOD’s effort and connections. He managed to raise an amazing amount of money from his friends in a short period of time. It was a wonderful example of hope for Namibia just when I was feeling really, really down about the stuff here.
I was surprised that of 65 students, only 2 had been to the coast before. The coast is about 4 hours away. I’ve already gone there twice before. So this really was an amazing trip for them.
The bus was scheduled to arrive at 5 am. But since were in Namibia, it didn’t arrive until 11:00am. In the meantime, there was general chaos in school. A baby of a hostel matron called me “auma” which means Grandma. That’s a first.
It took an hour to load the bus, then we headed out to the airport. Apparently the airport never got our letter, but they were great and arranged to have the school visit anyhow. We went through the whole process of baggage check, security, and even boarded a plane that was being cleaned for later that night. We saw the fire engines they use to put out fires and they even sprayed the water to show us how far it could go.
Only in Namibia.
Then we drove to Windhoek and took some pictures of the kids. But mostly we just waited around. The bus driver dumped the 50 odd kids and teachers at the arts college and asked us to wait for 2 hours which turned into 3 hours while he picked up another group and dropped them off in Katutura. Only in Namibia.
When the bus finally came, it still took awhile to get on the road. We didn’t get to Swakopmund until 2:30 am and I didn’t get to sleep until 3:30 in the morning. Kids piled in, two to a prison mattress, which is standard for hostels. That’s one good thing no one is fat here. Teachers of course get a prison bed to themselves.
The next morning we took a long time to get going, but we went to the shore. I still can’t get over the fact that my kids will do back flips off 10 feet high walls and climb up flagpoles no problem, but they won’t go past knee deep in the ocean water. That’s probably a good thing since none of them know how to swim. Then, we took the bus to Walvis Bay to see a fishing company. Unfortunately, that did not work out, so we came back to Long Beach and braaied (barbequed). That’s a Namibian food tradition I can get used to!
On Sunday, I needed some personal space, so I went for a walk in the morning. Bumped right into an American movie shoot. Jim Caveziel and Ian Mckellen are here shooting some film for TV. Funny that the closest I ever get to “stars” is in Southern Africa. Couldn’t spot anyone though. On an equally exciting note, SPAR stocks nerds candy and Laffy Taffy from America! Woo!
I went back, ate breakfast, and then we headed out to Walvis again. We drove around a bit until we found the shipping company we were to visit. We didn’t get a chance to go on board the boat, but we did walk on the pier and see a seal and jelly fish. After that, we went to the lagoon to take pictures, which is gorgeous, and boarded the bus again for Swakop. After some stops and aimless driving, we headed back to D-town. The drive could have taken 4 hours. Instead it took 12 hours with stops, riding around in Khomasdal, and pee breaks.

MORE IMPORTANTLY:
On this trip, I had a number of important realizations. Now everything makes so much more sense:
I am living with a tribe.
Ok, so it’s kind of a stupid realization at this point, having been here 11 months, but still. I suppose I’ve been brainwashed a bit as to what I thought tribal life would be, so I didn’t recognize it in this form. I thought tribal life meant harmony, group decisions, appreciation for life, traditions like dress and dance and language, watching out and caring for your people. What I thought I encountered was chaos, violence, gossip, drama, German traditions and dances, hedonism, low self-esteem, and selfishness. I couldn’t see that that TOO was tribal life.
It’s both really, just in a different way than expected. Living with a tribe feels like:
--a total lack of personal space—warm bodies next to yours, playing with your hair, bonded at the hip, wanting to know everything you do or think or say, seeing everybody of your sex naked, bathing in the same tub.
--group responsibility for the welfare of the smaller children;
--towing along the whole family on the field trip;
--no concept of someone else’s time because what is important is the tribal time—personal interaction is preferable to rushing about; you’re only as fast as your slowest tribal member; you can take your time because they won’t leave you behind.
---fighting, power squabbles, gossip, violence (also attributed to poverty)
--sharing everything: food, cool drink, jewelry, underwear, hair ties, radios, chargers, shoes, cups, plates, seats, [sexual partners];
--gobbling something down that you really want before someone can ask you for a piece. As a tribe member you’d be obligated to give them some.
--not doing anything alone. You definitely don’t live or travel alone. You don’t stay anywhere you don’t have family. Hotels are out of the question.
--oppression. You are expected to act in specific ways which are sometimes destructive, and like in all small town settings, people can be cruel if you don’t conform. I think this contributes to the HIV epidemic.
--tension between what is personal and what is communal. Perhaps this only existed after the bringing of capitalism and personal property, but I do think it is a source of violence in the community.

2. Despite my very strange ways, somehow I managed to be part of the tribe.
So then here I am. I:
--am independent, even by American standards;
--need personal space of all sorts;
--never was responsible for a small child in my life (not even as a babysitter);
--have a clear concept of inconviencing others;
--am so anti-violent I never even hit kids as a child;
--like to savor my food;
--love to travel to places I’ve never been and have no family;
--do not think about sharing (even by American standards);
--break the mold (even by American standards),
--value personal property.
No wonder it is so hard to make friends. But I’m adapting to this tribal environment:
Already I can see some changes in myself. I routinely hide things I don’t want to share; I like kids and watch out for them; I’m better with being around people all the time; I’m distant when talking about death.

I do every possible thing opposite from what the tribe does. Yet, I’ve managed to become part of it. How I know:

BREAKDOWN OR BREAKTHROUGH?
On Monday after the tour, I was teaching Grade 6. Things were a little hectic as usual, but not out of the norm. Someone knocked on the door, but because our door is broken and the handle is missing, you have to stick your finger in between the door and doorframe to push back the doodad that keeps the door shut. I did that, and the kid outside decides to bang the door as hard as he can. My finger hurts and starts to bleed everywhere. One 6th grader tries to help me with my finger. Another 6th grader approaches us and beats her with his home-made whip (a common occurrence—they’re just following the example of the teachers and parents). He misses, and hits me on the arm instead. I lose it, demand an apology, and then for some strange reason I start to cry.
Then everything goes downhill. I don’t even know why I’m crying. My finger doesn’t even hurt that bad. So, I know the cardinal rule of teaching is never cry in front of your students. I grab my things and leave. But my kids of course notice. No American kid would have known the difference; but my kids notice every detail. About 20 of them follow me to the library and another 20 follow them, trying to see what is going on. I shut them out. Then within about 20 seconds the entire school, all the teachers, and probably the entire village know I’m crying in the library because my finger was slammed in the door. Except that’s not really why I’m crying and I can’t even put the reason into words. The teachers all come one by one to apologize and comfort me and offer to take me to the clinic. They leave and then the kids flood into the library, some just staring because I’m the first white person and probably the first teacher they have ever seen cry. I try to get them to go away, remembering the cardinal rule. But if I shut them out, that tells them I’m not with the tribe. So I let them in. Most of them tear up too and tell me that I and one of the hostel matrons are the only people they love in D-town, and I’m crying too much. I am crying too much. I can’t stop crying for 2 hours. I still don’t know why, but I have a suspicion it’s because I made it in. Somehow, despite everything I’ve done to sabotage my inclusion in the tribe (simply being me); I made it in. And the kids really do love me. And I really do love them. Weird, huh?