Life in the Desert: Beth's Namibian Adventures

Goodbye Dordabis!

2009-12-08T08:35:00.004+02:00

Final Goodbyes

Final goodbyes were sad, but honestly more stressful than anything else. The girls came over to clean my house. The water was out the whole week so we had to struggle to get enough water to clean the walls, but they are miracle workers. When they left I cried - can't seem to keep it together when goodbyes to the kids are included.

On the day I actually left, I cleaned up the rest of my things, packed up remaining items, and in completely Namibian fashion, brought my chair outside to sit and wait. Within minutes a few girls came to sit and wait with me, and within the hour the teachers also showed up. When the car showed up I hugged everyone goodbye and cried the whole way to Windhoek.

It's sad because there's a good chance I will never see these people again. Even if I come back in a year, someone might have died before then. It feels wierd not to have said goodbye to my favourite people, but it's finished now.

At the same time, it's REALLY nice to be done with a lot of the village bullshit. I feel SO much less stressed now, and more excited for my upcoming trip. Zambia, Tanzania, Kenya, Ethiopia, Egypt, USA, here I come!

The Best Gift Ever and Other Stories

2009-11-30T18:23:00.005+02:00

One week left. Still doesn't feel real, but this is it.

Since I last wrote the following has happened:

Exams were completed. The last time I invigilated ever was today! Grade 7 did AMAZING on their finals! One kid even got a 92 which is simply unheard of on a national exam at our school! I'm so proud.

I've totaled the term marks and exam marks for both years. Here are the results:

GRADE 7 2008 Term marks : 9% improved by one letter mark or more

Exam marks: 6% improved by one letter mark or more

GRADE 6 2009 Term marks: 22% improved by one letter mark or more

Exam Marks:19% improved by one letter mark or more

GRADE 6 2008 Term marks: 41% improved by one letter more Exam marks: 59% improved by one letter mark or more

GRADE 7 2009 Term marks: 55% improved by one letter mark or more

Exam marks: 52% improved by one letter mark or more

When totaled as improvements of 10 pts or more, it reaches up to 75% of the class improved! Also, 4 children in Gr 7 this year have improved over two letter marks, and 11 have improved over two letter marks on exams over the course of the two years. It's really gratifying to FINALLY see some results after it felt like I was hitting my head on the wall trying to get them to learn.

I have given out: certificates for spelling, academic achievement and behaviour, sweets, my address, ALL my old clothes and random things accumulated over 2 years, and some bandanas my grandma sent for the kids. I think I should give away all my things more often! It was fun and liberating.

Grade 7 farewell party: The teachers made for me a traditional Nama dress. I wore it to the party and of course the children freaked out. Ms. Uises asked the children to say a few words of appreciation for me. A few children braved ridicule of their English to say something, and even though it was minimal, the feelings behind it made me and several of the Gr. 7 girls cry. Emotional times. Then we danced and ate meat. It was election day, so I talked with the people at the election area--the police officer and journalist monitoring the election. On the way home a lady burst out laughing when she saw me in the Nama dress, then she said "You look beautiful." In the beginning I thought giving traditional dress to PCVs was funny, awkward, and kinda silly. But now, it's really a powerful statement saying that I belong here.

The best gift ever: On the way back from the Gr 7 party, a lady pulls me aside. I think maybe she is drunk or something because she's not talking, she's dragging me over to the shade. She is obviously calling for someone, so I wait. Melvin, one of my grade 6 learners shows up. It turns out the lady is his grandmother, staying at New Poste. Melvin had told me earlier he was making a gift for me. Since these children have nothing, the most I expected was a letter or a drawing. Instead, his grandmother had made me a Herero doll. She makes these dolls for the tourists who visit New poste for the weavings. Like any Namibian-made things - it's totally handmade and kinda sloppy. She's also not a Herero - she's a Damara, but the Herero dress is more distinctive than the Nama/Damara dress, so it sells better. Anyhow, this gift is amazing to me because:

1. It's from a parent. I rarely have any contact with any parent, and it's little more than "hi." Most parents don't have much to do with their children's lives. She is actually the grandmother, but she is the primary caregiver for Melvin, so she's really the parent. Getting a gift from a parent was something I never expected because they don't know me. Because she gave me something it means she took note of what I was doing in her child's life, and that really makes me happy. I love the aumas of Namibia, they make this country tick.

2. Gift giving is not a part of this culture. Sharing is an essential part of the culture, but buying or making something specifically for one person alone is almost never done. There's no obligation to give gifts (as there was for the school to give me something upon my leaving them). When there's no obligation it's extremely rare that someone would act upon that. they might appreciate what I did, but they would never give me anything. So giving me a gift is so HUGE. It means what I did was AMAZING.

3. People are poor here. This is one reason why gift-giving is not part of the culture. They can't give away things because they have nothing to give. What they have to give, they constantly share: food, water, etc. Especially in Damara tribe, people don't do anything for free. There's no such thing as voluntary work. Leaders will often sabotage projects that will benefit the community, simply because it will not benefit them. Everyone expects to be paid for any little thing. It's one way to survive. For the woman to buy the fabrics and spend hours making the doll and not expect any money in return is an amazing thing to do in this culture. Her family might go hungry an extra day just to give me a gift she had no obligation to give and is kind of against the culture to do so. WOW! I definitely hugged that woman because even without all the other good stuff, she just made my entire service worthwhile!

I asked the Grade 6 and Grade 7 what they wanted to be when they grew up and here are the results: (Well I tried to post the pie charts I made to no success.) As you can see, most want to be teachers. That's all me! Also they want to be police to stop people from stealing and raping. They want to be nurses and doctors to help the people with AIDS. They want to be lawyers to solve people's problems. My kids are amazing. Here are some comments from the kids:

I want to be a doctor when I grow up to save people’s lives to help people with AIDS. I want to help people beside God.

Pendje Tuahepa

If I grow up I want to be a teacher. If the small children stupid, I want to help that children. I want to have money. I will come at that school everyday.

Aletta Claasen

I want to be a teacher. I will not beat the children.

Bettie Khaxas

The History of Namibia according to two 6th grade Namibians:

A Long Ago in the war By Nego Goeieman

The Germans want to take Africa. The First name of Namibia was Southwest Africa. Then the Germans came to Africa. Then they divided Africa. You take this country, you take, like that. Then the Germans take Namibia and come to Namibia and they bring also alcohols, guns, sugar, bread, tea, coffee, and albarsters. They give people alcohol and people don’t know what they are drinking. They don’t ask because they don’t know German. Then the people are drunk. Then they take people’s cattles and eeverything and they give also guns, sugar, bread, tea things. They take people’s cattle and land also. And now we are working in them. We are looking after their cattle.

Story about war By: Geraldine Cloete

My grandfather told us a story about a war under the tree. The grandfather was telling us they were not weaving the clothes that we are wearing today. They were wearing the animal skins. In the war, they were not sleeping. They were fighting the whole year. But the other Namibian people were fighting in other countries. A long time ago this country was not called Namibia. The people called this country South West Africa. When the people said our country will rest. But the South African white men were saying “we will take that country because in that country, people don’t have power.” But Sam Nujoma was fighting for the freedom and then we got our flag. But he was saying he will never forget that story.

Quite accurate, ne?

And finally, just for fun, two real multiple choice questions from the natural science exam:

3. Alcohol abuse can cause:
A. world peace
B. violence
C. hurricanes
D. happiness

17. Should you help the child in the wheelchair?
A. No
B. only on Monday
C. yes
D. only at night

Last two weeks at site!!!

2009-11-18T17:56:00.002+02:00

I can’t quite get my head around the fact that I’m leaving here for good in two weeks. Even though I’ve only been here two years, it feels like a lifetime. It’s kind of like trying to get your head around the idea of “you” dying. Leaving Namibia still feels vague, uncertain, at some time in the distant future, and what comes after is the great Unknown. Even while I’ve given away a lot of things and had my last girl’s club meeting, it still doesn’t feel real. America is what feels like a dream now.

At the same time, Peace Corps has flied by! When I say to myself, “I lived in Africa for 2 years,” it sounds false, like I’m lying. Two years can’t possibly be up! Namibia certainly can’t be the exotic-sounding Africa! So Peace Corps was 10 years of life lessons packed into the fastest two years of my life.

To return to the death motif, I think I’m going through the 5 stages of grief. For most of Term 2 it was denial – “don’t think about leaving, that’s too far away.” Then came depression. For the whole month of September I could barely keep a dry eye. Then came anger this past week, when I bit off the head of my supervisor (that has been coming). I’m still a far ways away from acceptance.

CONCLUSIONS ON PEACE CORPS:

My impact
While there have been many occasions where I doubted it, there’s no doubt now that I have made an impact. Almost half of my kids want to be teachers when they grow up. Even if only one makes it to be a teacher and then emulates me, that’s hundreds of children I will have impacted without even knowing them. About 64% of my learners have improved marks on their examinations. All of them have improved their understanding of English. They will do better in life because of this, even if they never realize it was all me.

The question of development
What’s more questionable is the impact I’ve made on “development.” Because of my typing and editing skills, two huge projects were funded—while it seemed like a hassle at the time, it was probably the biggest tangible thing I can point to. Ultimately I’ve come to the conclusion that changes only come through relationships, and building relationships is really what pc and “integration” is about. It’s untangible and unquantifiable, despite the US govts efforts to make us quantify it. But I think, it will work at the small scale for a few people. And for me that's enough. What I'm certain of is that throwing money at any problem is NOT the way to solve it.

The HIV-AIDS Problem
It’s really poverty that’s the problem. Condoms are free. Anti-Retro-Viral drugs are free. Food is not free. If you’re a girl, you might have transactional sex to get some food. You don’t get a say in the use of a condom. If you get HIV, you can go on ARVs, but you will just throw them up without food. If you miss even one pill, it will set you back in terms of CD 4 cells, eliminating a lot of the good the ARVs did. Then you die around age 30 but you’re kids don’t have food … and the cycle continues. I think that HIV rates will only reduce when poverty reduces. Capitalism is not a system that can achieve that, so HIV is simply another affliction among the world’s poor. While rates may reduce in the future, it’s still here to stay.

The toughest job you’ll ever love!
I didn’t understand at the beginning of the two years when all the volunteers were talking about how the kids were the best part. Then five minutes later they were saying the kids were the worst part. Now, I know that the kids are the best and worse part. Some days I visualize how I will murder them all; other days I want to adopt them all. I was repairing a paper a kid gave me that was ripped by another kid—not because it was anything important, but just because the kid would be upset. And that’s when I realized that I loved these kids. In no way was teaching them ever easy, but it has always been rewarding.

2 years in Peace Corps is like 10 years in “real” (American) life! So, so true.

Be flexible and patient!
Yep. Americans are so funny running around in haste all the time. The world’s not going to fall apart tomorrow if you don’t get your wash done.

Let me be the change I wish to see in the world.
A huge part of PC is just being a role model. Check.

Life is calling. How far will you go?
To Namibia, apparently. This is the lamest of the PC mottoes.

Hardest part: Emotional burden of becoming close to people, hearing their horrendous stories, and being virtually powerless to do anything about it.

Best part: Getting to know the kids, developing as a teacher and a person, living a tribal life.

Ultimately Peace Corps has been a completely unique experience. Just as university or study abroad were unique experiences than cannot be repeated, so is Peace Corps. There’s really nothing quite like it, and I'm SO so glad I decided to do it. Namibia is simply where I was supposed to be!

September

2009-10-11T19:07:00.003+02:00

I’m in the last few months now. I’ve purchased all my souvenirs (for the most part). I’m starting to give away my old things. I’m out of ideas for creative projects. This term I’m having the kids make journals and do them each week, so they can practice writing. Some kids have seriously improved this term, which is bizarre since they have been the same every term for 2 years. It’s weird that it’s just now kicking in.
In Girl’s Club, I’ve run out of topics, so I am teaching the kids Rueda de Casino style salsa dance. They are really good when they are not playing around. I hope to do a performance at the end of the year sometime, if we do not have the cultural week.
My beginning of the term enthusiasm has worn off, and little Nam things are grating on me again, like they normally do this time of the term. So I’m not as sad about leaving in two months! In a way it feels surreal. All last year, I wanted to go home most days, and now that it is almost here, it still feels vague and in the future. However, my flights have already been purchased, so it’s a definite.
I wrote an extensive list of changes in me, based on diary entries, and my own observations of myself. There are 70 changes, some minor, some not so minor. Some will go away once I’m back in my own culture, and I hope that others will stay a part of me.
Some details:

Nam has released my inner bitch. I don’t take anybody’s crap anymore. I will confront when necessary.
Dualistic thinking has clouded my understanding of other people. There is such a thing as the best lower primary teacher being a drunk or the best upper primary teacher being a philanderer.
As a teacher, my classroom management skills were non existent before. Now, they are stellar. You try to teach 35 hungry, malnourished, learning disabled, emotionally disturbed, abused, orphaned/neglected, middle school students! Well, I did.
A lot of my personality traits were more developed, and some became more minor. For instance, I am more introverted, emotional, patient, lazy, and optimistic. I am less perfectionistic, ego-driven, honest, distracted, and controlling.

Skills gained through my Peace Corps experience:

How to cut corners
how to use tables in Word
how to use decorative page borders (on everything)
how to pay attention
how to say no or confront people
how to cook simply and well
how to speak Namlish
how to ask for help
how to see the grey area on everything
how to unclog toilet with only a stick
how to rid my house of cockroaches
how to hand wash laundry and bucket bathe myself
how to cook macaroni and cheese (and everything else) from scratch
how to caramelize onions
how to control a classroom full of middle school kids
how to accept discomfort as a part of life
how to fend off nam-stalkers
how to kill scorpions
how to garden
how to set boundaries
how to enjoy stupid stuff (movies, chitchat, etc)
how to small talk
how to hitchhike
how to lie well
how to accept my destiny

VACATION PLANS
Dec 11- 13 Hike out of Namibia into Zambia
Dec 14-18 Travel to Lusaka, Zambia
Dec 18-20 Train to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
Dec 21-30 Zanzibar, Tanzania
Dec 31 Travel to Moshi (8 hours on a bus) (New Year’s eve!)
Jan 1 -2 Moshi, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
Jan 3-5 Tours Serengeti, Ngorongoro Crater, etc. Tanzania
Jan 6 Bus to Nairobi, Kenya
Jan7 – Jan 9 Tours in Rift Valley, Lake Nakuru, Amboseli, Kenya
Jan 10 Fly to Ethiopia from Nairobi (leave 5:30 am – arrive 7:30 am)
Jan 11-13 Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
Jan 14-16 Bahir Dar, Ethiopia
Jan 17-21 Gonder ( for Religious festival) Ethiopia
Jan 22-25 Aksum, Ethiopia
Jan 26-27 Rock churches of Tigray, Ethiopia
Jan 28-Feb 2 Lalibela, Ethiopia
Feb 3-5 Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
Feb 6 Flight to Cairo, Egypt (leave 4:40am – arrive 7:30 am)
Feb 7-12 Cairo, Egypt
Feb 13 Memphis/Saqqara/Dashur, Egypt
Feb 14-19 Luxor, Egypt
Feb 20-23 Sinai peninsula, climb Mt. Sinai, see St. Katherine’s monastery
Feb 24-26 Cairo, Egypt
Feb 27 Flight to America! (Ash & Beth leave 9:20 am – arrive DC 7:45 pm)
(Megan leaves 4:55 am -- arrive SC 7:47 pm)

August Vacation and More

2009-09-11T15:47:00.003+02:00

AUGUST VACATION

First days: hung out with Ashley and her parents in Windhoek for a day.

Next days: came back to the village. There was a big political event going on, supposedly teaching them how to vote. They played all sorts of Owambo music and Kwaito that generally my tribe does not listen to. There was a relatively famous Damara singer there though and the crowd was big for his performances. I really love being in the village.

After that: I spent two days hitchhiking alone up to Opuwo. I do not prefer to hitchhike alone, but no one was going north at that time.’

DAY 1
Hike # 1 (Dordabis – Windhoek): Older Afrikaner couple who lives 60km south of me. Told me the reason why white people do not pick me up is because they think I must be insane to hike from Dordabis. Good to know. Invited me to the farm. Free.

Hike # 2 (Windhoek – Okahandja): White German-descended Windhoeker. He was on the way to pick up his mother. Believes the next empire will be Germany. Hates Chinese people. Free.

Hike # 3 (Okahandja – Otjiwarongo) Black couple on their way to Rundu. Didn’t talk to me, which is always preferred to awkward conversation. N$ 50.

Hike # 4 (Otjiwarongo – Outjo) Black man. I forgot to pay him, so he tracked me down. N$40.

DAY 2
Hike # 5 (Outjo – Opuwo) By far the best ride, in government car with Penny. Good conversation, safe ride, no harassment, direct route and Free!

After that, I hooked up with Ashley’s parents. We swam in the pool at Opuwo Lodge and bought lots of Himba bracelets. Opuwo surprised me in the fact that it is still very Namibian. I expected it to feel more exotic or uncomfortable.

For those that do not know, Opuwo is the home to the Himba and Themba tribes. Both still wear traditional dress. The Himba women wear a animal skin as a skirt and lots of homemade jewelry. They do not wear shirts or tops. They cover their skin with a mixture of ochre and animal fat. Their hairdo indicates class, whether they have menstruated yet, and whether they have had children yet. The Themba wear printed fabrics as skirts and also go topless or wear brightly colored bras. They do not use ochre. They put beads in their hair. Himba men also can wear traditional dress in skins, but I did not see any. All the Himba men wear western clothing. Themba men wear skins or colored fabric short skirts and jewelry. Then there are Herero people who speak the same language but wear longsleeve ankle-length dresses with 6 petticoats underneath, based on German attire from the colonial era. Then there are Himba/Herero women and men in Western clothing. Basically anything goes, but it all feels so natural and completely normal (to me who is used to Namibia).

After seeing Opuwo, we headed a long way to Palmwag Lodge. It is in Damaraland, the homeland for my tribe. The landscape is very beautiful, but we did not see many animals.

Later, we headed to Swakopmund where it was freezing! I couldn’t wait to get out of there!

Finally, we were in Windhoek for several days for the COS conference. The hotel was great, except for the mouse that got in our trash and woke me up in the night because he was rustling around so much. After PC the problem is not that there is a mouse in the room, but that it actually woke me up!

The COS conference was scary (getting a job sounds hard, as does readjusting to America), emotional (leaving Africa will be sad), and fun (vacation planning, hanging out one last time).

VACATION PLANS:

December:
Hitchhike out of Namibia
Travel across half of Zambia on minibuses
Take the train to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
Take the ferry to Zanzibar Island
Spend Christmas at the beach in Zanzibar or in Stone Town

January:
Travel to Northern Tanzania: see the Serengeti, Mt. Kilimanjaro
Travel to Nairobi, Kenya and tour surrounding areas (Amboseli Park, Lakes of Rift Valley?)
Fly to Ethiopia.
Travel by bus to the historic sites of Addis Ababa Bahir Dar, Gonder, Tigray, and Lalibela. (rock hewn Christian churches, stelae)

February:
Fly to Cairo, Egypt
See tombs/temples/museums in Cairo and Luxor. Climb Mt. Sinai in Sinai Peninsula.

Beginning of March: Fly home! Probably around March 4-7. Will know for sure in a month or so.

SOME THOUGHTS:
Leaving Namibia will be difficult, despite all the frustrations of living here. There are still days where I can barely bear living here. But most days I have really appreciated all the good stuff. Somehow, I’ve become really good friends with my staff and kids. I genuinely love them and will miss them a lot.
I’ve never been this sad over leaving a place (despite the fact that there are places I love more), but I think that is for a number of reasons. I am sad because I will miss:

1. PC life – 3 months of vacation, doing good work, PC culture (being grody is ok, there is no such thing as Too Much Information, you can show up at anyone’s house at any time)

2. NAM life – cultural elements I will miss: attitude towards time, tribal system, pace of life, hitchhiking, etc.

3. Namibians I know – teachers and students. These are the children I will always remember and wonder if they made it.

4. Maybe I will never come back.
I was sad to leave Costa Rica and Mexico, but I knew I could easily always come back, and I probably will continue going there for the rest of my life. Coming back to Namibia would be much more difficult. I had always assumed I would never come back, so I could preserve Namibia as it was while I was here. There is a good chance I may not get back here anytime soon, and even if I do, I may not see my students or the teachers ever again.

CURRENT POST-PC PLANS:
Stay in DC area (northern va?). Apply for government, NGO, company positions, preferably using Spanish. If I don’t get any jobs after a while, go back to school for teaching certificate in Spanish grades 6-12 or English 6-12 OR English as a Second language, get a teaching job. Before I’m 30, I’d like to live abroad again, probably as an ESL teacher or a Spanish teacher at an American school abroad.

LATEST NEWS FROM DORDABIS
My replacement comes on Monday! I will finally get to meet him/her.

One of the teachers who has children of her own who are mostly grown has adopted several orphans from her own family. One of them is Kennedy, my best 7th grade student. Kennedy’s mother is dead, but I am not sure if his father is dead. He calls the teacher mother, so it must have happened a long time ago. Another child the teacher was caring for was a 2nd grader who was the aunt’s child. That child (I’m not sure what her name is) died over the holiday. Nobody is saying what she died of, so it must be AIDS. She used to come over quite a bit and borrow DVDs for the family. I thought I was going to get away with not knowing anyone personally who had died in my village, but I was wrong. She was a sweet kid. It is really a shame. The memorial service is next week.

21 months in.

2009-07-23T17:07:00.003+01:00

Superficial Comments

I can’t believe I only have 4.5 months left of service! Time really has flown. It doesn’t seem that I was here for almost as long as I was in Tucson. They said this year would fly by and it has!

I recently acquired a stove from the ministry—a delightful addition to my life. I have enjoyed baking numerous cookies and cakes (and eating them all!). ANYTHING I make tastes better than the store-bought biscuits available here. I can’t believe I survived without good chocolate chip cookies for a year and a half! Its also nice that I will be able to gorge myself with sweet things here for a while, get fat, then get thin again when I tire of it, and be back to my normal weight when I get home to eat more!

Girl’s club has been a hit. We’ve done self esteem, body parts, menstruation, pregnancy, birth control and condom use, boyfriends, and will be moving onto a long segment on careers. It’s the first secondary project I really enjoy and it’s quite clear the girls do too. I will definitely miss them when I leave!

Teaching is so easy for me now, it’s boring. Lately, I did a poster competition which was a huge success. I also had 7th grade make comic strips about a problem and a solution to that problem. The results were HILARIOUS—probably unintentionally. Otherwise, teaching is rather humdrum.

Winter is here “in full swing” as we like to say. It honestly doesn’t seem that bad this year. It fully has to do with attitude.
Last year, my attitude was winter should not come into my house. I.e. I can accept that I cannot regulate the temperature in the class or outside but I cannot accept that I cannot regulate the temperature INSIDE. That made me very bitter upon discovering that the heater used up a ridiculous amount of electricity so I couldn’t use it and it was super cold inside as well. Ultimately I ended up relinquishing that idea and accepting the cold, but staying in bed as long as I could and living in my winter jacket and hat.
This year it hasn’t been so bad because I’ve adopted Namibian’s policy of “life is suffering, get the hell over it and stop whining!” Again once you accept that there are things you cannot change, that you have NO agency over, then you can become happier. I never thought I could be fully happy in winter, but this winter is different. That doesn’t mean that I don’t try and mitigate the cold however I can—using the heater sparingly, putting on three pairs of socks, reading in bed instead of in the chair—but because I accept the cold, it’s tolerable.

My birthday is coming up this weekend!

I will be getting a replacement volunteer in October! For a while I was kind of jealous. Where was my PC mentor? Where was someone to explain to me the dynamics of the school and community? But now, I'm excited to have some company in the village next term. And to have someone to continue my work and help the children improve.

Just when I had given up integration, what happens? I get invited to a 50th anniversary party AND to a neighbouring community's school. The party was EXRAVAGANT--they must have killed a family of goats and there were 6-8 cakes. Although Namibian food is not my favorite (big hunk o fatty meat and too-much mayo salad), I eat because it is a way of breaking down those racial walls. When Namibian blacks in the south see me, they tiptoe around me because I am white. The burden of apartheid colors the way they see me (i.e. scary white woman who might fly off the handle at any little thing and is way too good for our food). Eating their food, greeting, hitchhiking, riding in the back of the bakkie, telling people I don't speak Afrikaans are all small, small ways I like to think I am helping to overcome that divide. This is also the reason why it is much easier to hang out with kids than with the adults. The kids never experienced the oppression of apartheid, and most have yet to realise the burden of race/class. They saw me as a white lady who speaks funny when I came, but now they just see Ms. Leo.

The other day a security guard I know in Windhoek was talking with one of the teachers. He described me to the teacher as "the small one" not as I had anticipated "the white one." That's gotta be progress.

Deep Stuff.

I used to think PC was all about the WORK: language-learning, integrating, cultural exchange, blablabla. And it is. Certainly if the work wasn’t rewarding I wouldn’t be here. But it is also NOT. For myself, it has really been about seeing myself more clearly.

Problems I’ve been interrogating lately: fatalism vs. free will (preliminary findings indicate only the presence of fate), birth of the artist (self-nomination is key), elements of Post-PC makeover (manicure and pedicure are MUSTS, but what LOOK do I want to cultivate?), ties between economy and religion (Are poor people fatalists just because they HAVE no choices? Are rich people atheists or agnostic because they CAN be? If I change class status do I also change religions? Class and religion seem to always go hand in hand, but to what extent does economy determine religion and vice versa?). Still thinking about those.

And finally, Some Learner Wisdom: Some More Funny Answers

Use the word “harvest” in a sentence.
I harvest many soccer balls.

How do you celebrate Valentine’s Day?
On Valentine’s day we dressing in white and red clothes. I give my best friend a titty bear and something else. And she give me also glasses and playthings and shoes . . . If we finish we shake hands and weapons.
-Rolina

What happened the last time you went to the farm for the holidays?
My grandfather give me a pig when I go to the farm. When I see my pig I just smile and smile. When I sleep, I dream about my pig.

Africanisms

2009-06-07T12:54:00.003+01:00

Africanisms

I do my shopping, stuff the full plastic bags into a big “china” bag, and lug it down the street to the Engen station. I look around for anyone who looks familiar. People start to yell “Gobabis?” at me; they are waiting for more people to fill up their car and earn an extra buck. I say, “Dordabis” loudly so everyone near overhears. I’m lucky this time. A guy comes up to me and introduces himself as the boyfriend of the schoolboard chairperson in Dordabis. At first I think he’s propositioning me, so I avoid eye contact and act distant. Once I know he’s a friend then I can act normal. We stuff my things behind the seats of his bakkie, but I get my book out first. You never know how long it is going to take for the bakkie to fill up with people. It turns out he didn’t want to wait for more people, so we left, just the two of us. On the way we converse in small talk I’ve mastered after many, many other hikes. It’s really good practice for first dates and boring parties I’ll encounter in the US.
There’s a car on the side of the road up ahead. We stop, because in Namibia it’s unforgivable not to. You might be the only car passing that day. It turns out they hit a small warthog, but the car is fine. My hike driver asks if he can keep it. The farm owners in the other vehicle say yes. He smiles broadly, steps outside and hauls the warthog by the back legs into the back of the truck. “That is nice meat!” he says to me. I’m happy it’s going to be a quick ride back. He’s happy for roadkill.
We get back just before dark. I see “Dordabis moutain” up ahead. Almost home. The first thing I do besides unlock my door is check to see if my plants are still alive. I’ve been gone for a month on holiday, and I hired two boys from the neighborhood to water my garden for the break. They did a nice job; my tomato plants are big and the basil grew back. Then, I check my house to make sure no one broke in. Nope. I always feel a great and abiding love for these D-town people when that’s the case.
I put away the groceries, unpack, and crash. Hitchhiking really takes it out of you.

I wake up the next day, stay in bed where it is warm. I hear singing outside. Probably another funeral. Not many people are buried in Dordabis proper, so we only really have funerals on the weekends. I get up and eat some corn flakes, start to soak my laundry. After the laundry is hung to dry, I take a break and cook something for lunch. I’m in the middle of season 4 of scrubs, so I continue with a few episodes. In the afternoon, I tend to my garden and get in the sun to warm up a bit. Sometimes, the kids will come and visit. I will show them pictures of my other life and South Africa—places they may never go. Around dusk, I have to open my front door. The goats come home at that time to the Community Hall right across the street from my house. On the way, they stop by my yard. So I have to leave the door open so I can see if they are getting too close to my garden and chase them off.
After dark, I close and lock my doors and settle in for some TV shows on my hard drive or a book. Since the ministry FINALLY brought my stove, I’ve been baking quite a bit. I’m in bed by 9pm most nights, sometimes earlier in winter.

The Strangeness of Donations

Some American tourists came to our school to give all the children shoes. Most of them were worn shoes from America, but there were quite a few new ones too. It started off very formal and orderly, but as time went along it turned to chaos (as usual). The little ones probably never had shoes before; it was so funny to see them clunk around in them.

American Perspective:
1. Shoes should fit. Take the shoes that fit over the pretty ones. Take the practical, ugly shoes that will last long over the pretty, nice ones. Adults should help the children try the shoes on for a proper fit.
2. We can donate old shoes because old shoes are better than no shoes. The Africans have nothing, so they will be grateful.
3. Every child who doesn’t wear shoes to school doesn’t have shoes.
4. Parents will be grateful for the shoes.
5. The children will appreciate and care for these shoes.
6. Since Americans can wear mostly any shoe to school or work, they donated shoes from snow boots to cowboy boots to flip-flops to high heels.
7. Their contribution will make a lasting difference in the lives of African children. The children will remember us Americans forever. The Americans can feel good about what they did.

Namibian Perspective:
1. Take the nice American shoe before someone else gets it! There is not enough to go around. If it is American, it must be nice and good quality. Don’t even try it on; you will make your foot fit if they are pretty enough. You are used to suffering, so it doesn’t matter if the fit is right or not. You probably will only wear them for special occasions anyways. If you are a child, you will share these shoes with all your friends and young family members, so it is not so important that you find a pair for you in particular.
2. Old shoes are going to break in about two seconds here.
3. Most children won’t wear shoes at all because they like it better without shoes and because they don’t want to wear out their one pair of school shoes. They only really wear shoes in winter.
4. Parents either won’t give a crap about the shoes or they will take the child’s shoes for themselves. They might sell the child’s shoes to someone else and use that money to buy alcohol or food. They will be pissed the Americans didn’t also bring some shoes for them. After all, it’s the white man’s duty to give them handouts.
5. The children didn’t have shoes before, and once these wear out they won’t have shoes again. Shoes wear out really fast here. Plus, because they are shared, soon someone steals the shoes or misplaces them, and in a few weeks there might not be any shoes at all.
6. Kids might be beat if they wear the donated shoes to school. (This doesn’t happen at my school, but some schools are really strict with the school shoe policy). Snow boots!? Seriously guys . . .
7. The children have already forgotten you. The only reason they said “thank you” is because the adults made them. Did you notice how all these random people from the location showed up to take shoes? Did you notice how the teachers who can definitely afford their own shoes took several pairs for themselves? There’s no gratitude for what is your duty. You white people are so rich; it’s easy for you to transport all these shoes over here. The shoes will last one winter, maybe two. Then, we hope you'll be back with more.

Skeletons

What is it about Peace Corps that makes all those skeletons in the closet, all those repressed memories, all those past embarrassments and hurts surface when they’ve been buried for so long? It’s not losing the reminders of your surface identity that, while traumatic, breaks the seam. Culture and friends and habits can be important and painful to leave behind, but there are always other replacement cultures and friends and habits. It’s not the new culture that, while it forces you to test your own moral code, requires you to face your demons.
The loss of the old and the bizarre new provide for mood lighting; they don’t bust up the ground with tectonic ruptures, letting the ghosts of the past escape. At least not by themselves. Joseph Campbell said something like if you leave home and family and friends for long enough you will see God (I can never remember exact quotes, try as I might). He was talking about heroes going on expeditions, sacrificing their senses and ultimately relinquishing their own ego and trusting in fate to demolish the monster (which was themselves). (Every story is the same after a while.) But it’s not the leaving or the staying away that does it.
I think it’s the time. Time to think. Time to sleep and dream. Time to read what you want to read and write what you want to write. Time to reflect and analyze. Time that appears when removed from the distractions of the familiar. The demons pop out, one by one with their past little hauntings. Here there’s time enough for all the personal earthquakes and shatterings of the soul, and for mapping anew the landscapes of the interior.

A Guide to Hitchhiking in Namibia

2009-05-25T08:15:00.002+01:00

How to get a hike in Namibia!

A. HIGHWAY METHOD
Go to highway. Go to side of road in direction of destination. Hide your bags in bushes. Takes turns waving at:
1. Bakkies! (We love them because you can always fit a few more people in).
2. Really nice cars! (Makes for a great hike!)
3. Any other car that is not one of the following:
a. Lorries! (Unless no one else is stopping and you're willing to go really slow).
b. Cars that look like they are about to break down. They probably will.
c. Full cars.
d. Military vehicles.
e. Combis or taxis.

When car stops:
Greet. Ask "Where to?" Negotiate price if necessary. Get in and go.

B. PETROL STATION METHOD
Go to last petrol station in direction of destination. Ask drivers where to and negotiate price. Get in and go. Alternatively, say where you are going really loud to people around you or service station attendants, who will then help you to get a ride.

C. HIKE STRATEGEMS: Tips for getting better hikes more quickly.
1. Be a white girl.
2. Show a little bit of skin.
3. Walk along road so it looks like you are in middle of nowhere.
4. Tell the boys to hide in bushes.
5. Separate yourself from other hitchhikers.
6. Make sure you are at a good place to pull off.
7. Get service station attendants to help you.
8. If alone, tag along with other hitchhikers.
9. Go in small groups.
10. Understand the hand signals for "car is full," "I'm just going around the bend," and "where to?"

TRADEMARKS OF A GOOD HIKE:
1. Car is in good condition.
2. Driver talks to his/her friend, so you can talk to your friend in back. OR Driver has very interesting conversation with you.
3. Comfortable ride (you have a seat, seatbelt, and maybe even air conditioning!)
4. Free or small fee
5. Driver drives fast, but not too fast, with a minimum of stops.
6. Driver does not hit on you.

MY BEST HIKES
1. Wendy & Cam: Four of us got a hike with a couple who was heading back to their Etosha Lodge. They then invited us to stay at the lodge the whole week with food and game rides included. You can't beat that!

2. Jan: Ashley and I got a hike from Keets to Paarl in South Africa with Jan. He bought us lunch and coffee and arranged for us to stay at a nice guesthouse in Paarl for a huge discount. Wonderful!

3. Hikes from D-town with farmers: Two in particular were really interesting to get some of the history of my village and their views on Africa, politics, etc.

MY WORST HIKES
1. South African Separated Rich Guy: The first time I hiked alone I went with a really rich South African to Windhoek. Turns out he had left his wife the previous day with the intent of driving down to Cape Town. He didn't realize til he got to the border that he had not brought the correct passport. When I got in he had been drinking all night and driving for about 13 hours. Scary.

2. Various open-bakkie rides where the driver was going way too fast and I was afraid of falling out.

3. Various closed-bakkie rides where Damara mama's full weight is on my legs.

4. Various lorry rides where the going is slow, the guy hits on you, or in one special case, the guy pulls out a prickly medieval mace and says he's going to kill so-and-so who owes him 2000$. We got outta there pretty quick.

Hitchhiking can be a pain because of the uncertainty--you never know how long you will wait or who you will eventually go with, and safety is always on your mind--but it can also be really liberating, interesting, and adventurous (not to mention quicker, more comfortable, and much less money than public transport).

May Holiday 2009

2009-05-23T10:47:00.004+01:00

Here's a vacation update for the May holiday!

First week: Swakopmund and Windhoek

Megan, Ashley, Danielle and I chilled in Swakopmund and Windhoek. Since it is Namibia, not much happened. We had arranged a tour for Sossusvlei and they cancelled last minute because the car broke down (TIA). So we stayed in Windhoek a few extra days and did some souveniur shopping.

Second week: Sossusvlei

We took a three day tour to Sossusvlei. It is the #1 tourist place in Namibia, although honestly I thought Etosha Park was cooler. Basically it is big red sand dunes in the heart of the Namib desert. Dead vlei is the most picturesque place where very old trees sit in a salt pan at the foot of quite possibly the highest dunes in the world. We climbed only halfway up one dune and I was scared because the sides are very steep. Like Etosha Park, Sossusvlei is something I think that I would really regret not seeing after living 2 years in Namibia, so I'm glad that I went.

Third week: Fish River Canyon

After Sossusvlei we stayed at Megan's one night and then went onto Keets. We did our shopping and packed our bags for the 90km backpacking trip. There are very few places you can hike in Namibia because most of the parks are for wildlife (think lions). Fish River Canyon is the second largest canyon in the world, by some estimates, and one of two or three places in Namibia where you can backpack. It is in the far South on the border with South Africa. Doing the hike wasn't exactly the highest thing on my list, but I knew I wouldn't get there if I didn't do the hike.

The first two days kicked my ass, in spite of my meager workouts in my house for the last two months. The first day is a descent into the canyon. Imagine lowering yourself by chains down fairly large drop offs and over boulders while carrying a full backpack which continually puts you off your balance. Not fun. I promptly projectile vomited at the bottom.

The second day was climbing on, under, around boulders with your huge bag putting you off your balance the whole day and having every muscle in your body sore at the same time. I thought backpacking would only take a toll on my feet and legs, but actually it worked every muscle in my body. Ankle muscles, who knew?

The third day, the trail evened off a bit and my body recovered somewhat. I took really good care of my feet because of the cautionary tales of other volunteers and that helped a lot. The last three days consisted of long walks through sand, hopping over small river boulders, crossing the river, and shortcuts on packed down sand. We thought we wouldn't take the shortcuts at all because so many groups got lost trying to find them. Instead, we ended up taking them all because there was no way to finish on time if you don't, and the terrain is so easy so you do it just to get out of the sand and rocks. We didn't get lost at all although there was a bit of confusion on one river crossing. Finding our way was easy because we followed the path, stuck to higher ground, and found the "easy" way to the shortcuts each time. By the last day, I had found my stride, and felt pretty good.

The last three days make me think that I could definitely enjoy a backpacking trip again if it was:
A. shorter (less food to carry, less strain on my body).
B. less intense of a hike (i.e. no f-ing sand, boulders, river stones please).
I'd say 80% of the day was a chore, the other 20% was very enjoyable.

We saw baboons, kudus, and wild horses in the canyon, but only one group of other hikers. In a way, it felt like some parallel universe that was only us, no longer even in Africa. We also saw a lot of big kitty prints (probably leopards) which affected my sleep at night since we often slept in the open without building a fire. By the way, sleeping in the open under a Namibian sky is not conducive to sleep anyways. The stars and moon were so bright I had to fashion a sleep mask for myself.

After our brief reprieve from Africa, we then return right to it as we walked out of the canyon. Our ride didn't want to come get us, so we arranged a hike with a worker at the lodge after much debate. Overall, I'm proud of myself that I did the hike. It was both harder and not nearly as hard as I thought it would be.

Fourth week: Cape Town!

Ashley hadn't been to South Africa yet, so I said I would go with her to Cape Town if she went out dancing with me. It was an excellent and well-deserved treat after a week of slugging through sand and eating nut mix.
We got back to Keets late on Saturday, and on Sunday morning we headed out to the petrol station to look for a ride to Cape Town. We'd heard horror stories and wonderful stories from other volunteers who hiked to Cape Town, so we wondered how it would go. Turns out both Ashley and I are lucky. The first guy we asked gave us a ride to Paarl about 50km from Cape Town in the wine country.
Turns out it is hunting season, so a ton of South Africans come up to Namibia to stock up on their meat on their farms and take it back to SA. It was a long ride, but definitely one of the best hikes ever. He paid for our lunch and coffee, and gave us a free ride to Paarl. We didn't get in till late so he arranged a room for us for 250R per person, and it turns out the rooms are BEAUTIFUL. It is exactly the kind of recovery I'd wanted from Fish River; I just didn't think I would ever get it because my salary really is not that much.

The next day we walked around Paarl (not much to see in city center) and then took the train to Cape Town. Our activities in Cape Town: Shopping and good food.
Cape Town was really drizzly and ugly when we got there, so we ate at a good restaurant and headed in for the night.
The next day was really nice weather, so we took a (expensive) taxi to Kirstenbosch gardens. I didn't go there the last time I was in Cape Town, and they were really nice. Then we headed back to Long Street and walked down to Victoria Wharf to eat some good seafood.
The next day was also nice, so we were glad we had planned the wine tour for that day. We went to three different wineries than the last wine tour I went on. As usual, I tend to not like white wines or sweet wines. Merlot is my favourite, followed by Cabernet Sauvignon and Shiraz. Pinotage is pretty good also. We also went to Fairview where the cheeses are to die for, and I am not even a real cheese fan. On our tour were a bunch of Europeans and another American working for the embassy in Sudan. Talking to him has confirmed for me that I do not want to join the State Dept.

We came back and slept a while and then went out for some food.

The next day we took the taxi to the BIG mall, a big old slice of America. Turns out walking on hard tile aggravated my knees so we were walking around like old ladies most of the time. Also turns out that we were afraid to walk into most shops as the far exceeded our price range. Funnily enough, when we converted prices into American dollars the clothes are SO cheap and really good quality. It's a shame we can't stop by Cape Town to do our new wardrobes for Post-PC life. We ate McDonalds and subway cookies for lunch.
That night we went out for tapas and cocktails at a nearby restaurant. How lovely it was to have another dirty martini and cosmo.

The next day, we continued our shopping spree. I bought two Africa t-shirts since I don't like any of the t-shirts in Namibia. We also ate more good seafood!
Then that night we went salsa dancing. Of course, this was the capstone to my whole vacation, and it was a less-than-interesting night for Ashley. Thanks to crazy haired Cameroonian guy whose name I don't know and to Eldred, salsa dance teacher, my night was made (and actually the next 6 months!). Also, let me just say that I am RUSTY. I'm pretty sure I hurt in some way each dancing partner that night--elbow to the face usually. Sorry about that boys.

The first time around I really liked Cape Town. The second time around I freaking loved it. Had I gone there on a vacation from America I would be disappointed. The thing is, I still don't really know if I like Cape Town for what it is more than I would like any other city that can offer me the same things (including most cities in America). What I love about it now: anonymity, really good restaurants, cute shops and boutiques, being able to look cute again, being able to go out at night again, big C culture, good-looking, educated, well-dressed men, high speed internet, and salsa dance. Is there anything Capetonian about all that? I don't think so.

I seem to have entered a new phase in Peace Corps service. This phase is called: I'm really missing America again. It took me 6 months to let my American-me go (looking cute, salsa, Spanish, etc) at the beginning of service and then it was ok. Even in December it wasn't a problem being in Africa. But now that I only have 6 months left, I'm starting to miss all that more and more again.

The most difficult times in Peace Corps are the transitions. The first transition from American life to training and then from training to village life is of course the hardest. Then, each transition from vacation back to village life is also difficult. But when I've been in the village a few weeks, I am truly happy. I think it's only when I see this whole other world out there and whole other life I could easily be living, do I realize that I miss American living and village life does actually suck. The thing is, you can pretty much get used to anything after a while. I'm starting to think it might be a good thing for my kids to not leave the village.

I'm in Windhoek now, on my way back to the village today. Here goes another transition. Only 6 months left! (Eek and yay).

Ego in Culture: Some thoughts on identity in Peace Corps

2009-03-14T13:25:00.003+02:00

I remember my friend Yuan once commented that it was surprising I could maintain my identity after living in so many different places. The thing is I didn’t really stay all that long, so my internal descriptions (American culture is like X, Y, and Z. Costa Rican culture includes X, but also A and B. Mexico is only A, B, and C. ) weren’t hard at all to keep clear, including their misty borders. I could recognize and develop admiration for Mexican women’s hospitality, Costa Rican’s ideas of progress, and Latin American’s sense of family unity. That didn’t mean that I necessarily became a more hospitable, progressive, or family-orientated person, although for sure many of my perceptions and some small behaviours were changed by these trips. I was still was American-me after all.
In Namibia, in the beginning it was easy to distinguish between myself and Namibians. American-me would be dancing salsa at night, chatting for hours on the telephone with friends, going out to dinner with my Mom, shopping at Banana Republic, etc. American-me typed my lesson plans the night before and was given the syllabus to teach. Namibians on the other hand didn’t do anything at night, mostly sms-ed their friends and called for only a minute of two, and never went out to dinner (or very, very rarely at most). They wrote out their lesson plans for the week, only sometimes when they felt like it. They believed it was more important to make sure your binders were neatly covered with pretty paper than to have good planning inside.
We volunteers laughed at these differences, including their misguided expectations of us. But with time those distinctions ceased being funny. Having a child named “Moses" or “Monzella” in your class didn’t cause you to crack a grin anymore. It was just normality. Then those identity distinctions became even more subtle. You don’t remember America and all its little subtleties anymore, and you really have to think to remember how you used to think and be pre-Africa. You don’t laugh at those funny things Namibians do, because you do them too, and not just because the culture dictates it, but because you WANT to. You think binders should be covered with pretty paper first. The content will come later.
This is where I am now. I can no longer say Namibians are H, I, and J, while Americans are X, Y, and Z. Everything has become one fuzzy mass of which I’m a part. But I’ve been tested and I know where I stand: I may be H, J, X, Z, but not I or Y. Given enough time here, you figure out where you stand on everything and you develop your African-me. This is why ultimately Peace Corps can be a very annihilating experience. Removed from everyone who knew American-you, and all the “ruts” we fall in when being with people who know us, plus removed from all understandings of cultural behavior and language, you are given greater freedom than you have ever had. But you are not given complete freedom, because at some level Namibians expect that you live according to their rules too.
In this intermediate zone, we struggle to figure out what we really stand for and how we should act. Most of us stop keeping up appearances: we rarely bathe, only sometimes wear matching clothes, wear the same clothes several times before we wash them, etc. This is mostly because of our living conditions but also because our “otherness” puts us outside the borders of expected Namibian and American behaviour. Sometimes we start acting like crazy people and doing things that our American-selves would never do. Things I’ve done here (temporarily): become an atheist, cry in front of the whole school, be way rude, stare at people, cuss at my students, etc. There is a danger of losing oneself here for sure, which is to say of losing one’s “ego.” The things that helped to construct it are no more here. Completely losing everything you’ve ever known from something as simple as how to wash clothes to something as complex as your religious beliefs can be frightening. This is why so many volunteers leave early.
I think the real challenge, however, will be going back. I don’t remember much of my American-me anymore, but I know intimately well my African-me which is a strange conglomeration of personal, American, and African attributes. But African-me can’t live the same way in America. This is why so many volunteers never return to live in America again. Once you’ve successfully let go of your American-me, dismantled it, critiqued every portion, integrated Namibian cultural attributes and ignored others, you become an African-me. Two years of building another ego, only to go back and start over? Far too difficult and oppressive! Who will you be when you go back now? You can’t be American-me anymore because you’ve moved beyond that now, but you can’t be African-me either. Hitchhiking, covering your binders, and informality is simply not the way in America. So you must build your ego up from scratch, like being born again. Like Humpty dumpty, you fell off of your wall by going and staying in Africa, but once you break that identity there is no way to put it all back together again the way it was. And maybe that is not the point: What was Humpty after all? An empty shell that for a time was animated by the divine. So whatever face you choose for yourself in Africa or in America, it is not the face that is important. Ultimately, you are just an empty shell that for a time was animated by the divine, and that is meaning enough.

Year 2 Begins!

2009-02-18T17:05:00.002+02:00

Well, Year 2 has an entirely different feel than Year 1. If Year 1 is “please let me survive this day,” and “only 43 days til vacation,” and “I can’t believe these teachers!” then Year 2 (thus far) is “I can’t believe the kids are under control!” and “ I never want to leave the village!” and “ I enjoy this meaningless chit-chat!”

Suddenly I’ve emerged as a real teacher. I’ve mastered the trademarks: the look of death, the be-quiet-please tone, the delicate art of passing out and collecting all my materials, and the vast array of threats and rewards. I know what I care about (violence, stealing, disrespect), and what I don’t (tucking in your shirt, papers on the floor, crooked lines and scribbles).

It appears that despite my efforts last year to block out the village whenever possible, (the burden of 50 hellohellohowareyouI’mfineandyou? conversations and the occassional “I need an American wife” being too much to endure after 6 hours of battle with 6th and 7th graders) I have met quite a few villagers. I do recognize faces and sometimes names when I walk to the shop. My relationships with people I see often have fallen into an easy comfort, no longer requiring massive amounts of energy for basic interactions.

The final shift I’ll comment on here is this: I like it here. There have always been elements I’ve enjoyed (night skies, meaningful work, PCV friendship), but they have only been enough to make me say “it’s alright” in response to the “How is Namibia?” question. But the honey-slow pace of life, the goat poots and their slow-motion gentlemanly duels, and the kid voices everywhere have finally gotten to me.

Maybe I will be one of those returned volunteers who is all smiles about their PC experience after all!

Holiday Update

2009-01-16T21:43:00.001+02:00

I’m finally back from my very long vacation, and it was just what I needed. What follows is a summary of the trip.

MOM & TOM TRIP
My mother and uncle Tom arrived late to Windhoek. We then traveled to D-town to visit the school and community. I think M&T enjoyed it. Then we drove a long way to Etosha National Park. In Etosha we saw the usual assortment of antelope, giraffe, and zebra but we were especially lucky to see lions and a small leopard. I read somewhere later you are not supposed to make eye contact with leopards, but forgot that at the time. Mom made me put up the window cuz she thought it would eat me! We stayed at the higher end lodges throughout Namibia which was such a treat after a year of cutting corners.
After Etosha we drove on though Caprivi. In Mahangu park we saw different kinds of antelope, the Sable antelope now being my favorite. We also stayed at a house boat on the Chobe River near Impalila Island. From there, we took a transfer to Zambia and saw the Victoria Falls at very low water levels.
We then flew to Cape Town where we went up to the top of Table Mountain, drove down to the Cape of Good Hope, saw the jackass penguins (yes, that’s their real name), and petted a cheetah (yes, you read that right.) One of the wineries hosts “cheetah encounters” where you pay to pet a suspiciously sleepy cheetah. We ended up petting the “cubs” which were bigger than me.
From there, M&T flew back to America. I stayed on to meet my PCV friends in Cape Town. Overall this leg of the trip was all about luxury, long drives, seeing a lot of animals, and spending time with family once more.

SOUTH AFRICA: CAPE TOWN CONTINUED
Julia, Danielle, and Megan joined me in Cape Town on Dec 11. Our major accomplishment: eating. We ate out at a place for Tapas, a Kurdish restaurant, McDonalds!, Chinese food, a smoothie and wrap place—all types of food I have not eaten in the last year. It was a treat. It may explain why I gained weight on the vacation as well.
As for the sights, we saw Robben Island, which did not live up to my expectations. It was worth going to say I went, but was unmemorable really and far, far too rushed. We also saw quite a few museums, which were fun to go to but not as impressive as I would have liked. The National Museum of Art was bizarre; The Slave Lodge was good except for construction; District Six was way too much information.
Also, I was attempted-mugged again. I didn’t even carry a purse! I put my jacket around my waist which had my camera and cell phone in the inner pocket. A street kid tried to pickpocket me but realized he couldn’t get to the expensive stuff through that pocket, so he tried to take the jacket. I was assessing whether he had a weapon or not. It didn’t look like it. Then, a large black man ran across the road, grabbed the kid by the neck and threw him on the ground, cursing him in English the whole time. We like to call him BBS: Big Black Savior. Thanks to him, I still have my camera and cell phone. This was the only safety issue we encountered in South Africa, which is pretty damn good considering it has some of the worst crime records in the world. Then again in Windhoek they just watch me get robbed. Great to see some civic duty in action there.
At night, Danielle and I went salsa dancing twice. I was quite impressed. The crowd was quite similar to its counterpart in America: diverse crowd in occupation and race, middle class, 20s-40s mostly, international community, varying levels of skills, salsa clique of really great dancers, etc. It was also a great way to meet locals, which also makes me totally understand why Namibia felt like a separate entity from South Africa. Namibia is all rural and un-cosmopolitan. In Urban South Africa you can get anything you could ever want. Both Danielle and I had a great time.

SOUTH AFRICA: STELLENBOSCH & GARDEN ROUTE
Really a beautiful city, Stellenbosch is in the middle of the wine lands. So, we went on a wine tour where we each drank about a bottle of wine. Can’t say I could accurately judge which wines I liked better, but I learned that I prefer red wines, and sweet wines suck. We also walked around the University which made us wish we had studied abroad there.
From there, we headed onto Mossel Bay on the fabulous Baz Bus. Mossel Bay was especially overrun by Afrikaaners seeking respite from the heat up North. It’s claim to fame? Bartholomeu Diaz landed there while traveling around the Cape. There’s a museum with a replica of his ship.
The next day we were on the bus the whole day going through the Garden Route, which I think is overrated. It is really developed, and the beaches looked nice, but it wasn’t somewhere I wish we had spent more time.

SOUTH AFRICA: CINTSA & DURBAN
We all did enjoy the beaches in Cinsta on the Wild Coast. A bizarre place, there really was no town at all. We stayed in backpackers close to the beach. There was only one restaurant we found in the whole place. The first day was rainy, so we were miserable sleeping three to a two-person tent. The second day was beautiful, so we spent the whole day at the beach. That night we had sundowners (boxed wine) on a huge dune that overlooks the ocean. A storm was blowing in, so we walked back along the beach. It was bizarre because the wind was blowing so hard it made the sand fly along in patterns. Or I was just tipsy.
From Cintsa we drove through the Transkei which used to be a separate country. I LOVE it—from the bus of course. It’s supposedly one of the poorest places in South Africa, but from the looks of it people were doing pretty good. If I were black, I might have stayed there forever. Since I didn't see a single white person there, although they might be there, I feel it might make me a target for crime. It was really mountainous, green with villages dotting the hillsides. We passed Mandela’s house along the road. According to our driver, he built it as an exact replica of the house where he was kept on house arrest his last days in jail. Funny. Anyhow, the flags were up, which means he was at this home for Christmas.
Our next stop was Durban. It has a totally different feel than Cape Town. CT is very international with the beautiful Table Mountain in the middle of it, and the port below. In Cape Town, on certain streets you might see mostly white people, a few streets over, only black people, and a few streets over, a good mix. Cape Town is diverse in terms of having a lot of white people, black people from many tribes, and having a lot of international tourists, students, and businesspeople. Durban feels more like a city people live in, not just visit. Its city center is huge and filled with sprawling stores. The mix of people was interesting. There were very few white people, and the ones we did see looked like they were homeless. The rest of the population was mostly Zulu, Indian, or Chinese.
In Durban, we went to the Indian market where I bought some jewelry. Had this been at the end of the trip, I would’ve bought some spices that they sell in big baskets, but I didn’t really want to smell like “fruit spice” for the rest of the trip. We also went to the Old Fort and walked around the city center where everything but the shops was closed because it was Christmas Eve.
On Christmas, we made a big brunch of french toast, eggs, bacon, and green beans. It was great. Then, we went to Ushaka Marine World to go to the beach and lay out. Apparently everyone else in Durban and outlying villages had the same idea. I don’t think I could have fit in the water if I tried. We later went for a walk down the beach promenade where there was a police officer literally every 20 feet. Because of this, the girls were not worried. My thought was if there were that many police officers, there must be at least that many criminals too. We didn’t have any problems though.
At our hostel we met South African and Swaziland Peace Corps Volunteers. It appears their programs are far stricter than PC Nam and a large portion of both groups has gone home either because they were sent home for stupid reasons, or they opted to leave. I was really grateful I’m a volunteer in Namibia after hearing about the harassment the SA volunteers encounter and the strictness of the vacation policy for Swazi volunteers!

SWAZILAND
Swaziland is a very small country populated almost entirely by the Swazi tribe. It only takes a few hours by car to cross the country, so villages seem to run into each other along the road. Combis provide the major transport, although we managed to hitch a few times. Basically, we went to a Museum, Parliament, craft shops, and the capital Mbabane. The racial tension of Namibia and South Africa does not exist there. People greeted us all the time in the local language, and apparently whites get along just fine with blacks in this small country. It is also interesting to note that it is still ruled by the traditional king and queen mother.

MOZAMBIQUE
Mozambique was colonized by the Portuguese and unlike the German-colonized Namibia and British-colonized South Africa, it has an Iberian feel. Besides the fact that everyone was speaking Portuguese, it had the requisite trash in the street, shoddy roads and side walks, side shops instead of grocery stores, and big churches—all of which made me miss Latin America.
We traveled to Maputo on a local combi with two Brazilian girls. After only taking one semester of Portuguese, I could understand quite a bit of what people were saying. In Maputo, we traveled to the backpackers and went out for Chinese food. We walked around the mall which seemed just a little bizarre being all fancy and new with top-end stores like Gucci while everywhere else looks run down, like maybe a bomb hit it at some point. Then again, maybe one did. It hasn’t been long since the war in Moz stopped anyway.
On New Years Eve, we walked around a bit, visited the small art museum, used the CHEAP internet, and ate out. That night we walked to Dolce Vita bar, which was strangely unpopulated. We arrived at 11, but apparently that was too early. Or everyone was at Coconut where an expensive party was going on. Anyhow, we nursed our drinks (a vodka martini for me) for a LOOONG time. And just to remind us that we were still in Africa, the countdown for New Years started late! An older Italian man shared his champagne and sangria with us and practically the rest of the bar. What was crazy was the amount of interracial couples! In Namibia I’ve seen maybe 2 interracial couples this entire year. In South Africa, I can’t remember a single case. In Moz, there were 5 or 6 at the same bar!
The next day we slept in and went out to eat at an Indian restaurant with maybe 5 billion choices of dinner on the menu. On January 2nd we went to Costa do Sol, the beach area. The beach was littered with trash, but the water was super-warm and calm like a huge bath for all of Maputo. This means the Indian Ocean is by far my favorite Ocean (the Caribbean Sea is my favorite body of water). In the night we traveled to Pretoria. It was a shame to not see more of Moz, but we were all tired of traveling by that point. We plan to go back after service is over.

SOUTH AFRICA: PRETORIA
In Pretoria we stayed at a hostel that was pretty much empty. The owner was out, so his friend or something was running it in his absence. Our first order of business was to eat because we were starving. We went out to the News café and had a big American style salad. Later, we just slept in at the hostel.
The next day we went to the Transvaal Museum which was a decent Natural History museum, but as I’ve seen several, wasn’t really that interested. We also visited the beautiful Union buildings, and walked around the town a bit. Upon arrival back at the hostel we were challenged by a British-descended South African and a Dutch man who was traveling around the world by car to name the 50 states in 22 minutes or less. I thought this was stupid as it was clear we could do that, so I suggested they make it a bet. I would’ve been happy with 10 rand, but they said two bottles of wine. So, we wrote down the fifty US states in about 5 minutes and won. Sad to say this is all we had to do to shock them—they fully expected we’d take hours to come up with all fifty. Well, 2 bottles of wine turned into 5, which was not a great idea when we were traveling at 5 am the next morning. Talk about a hangover.

SOUTH AFRICA: NORTHWEST PROVINCE
We actually missed the bus that morning because we were looking for a taxi or a combi and arrived at the station a half-hour late. Luckily we could take the bus to Jo-burg and catch our Intercape leaving for Upington. I spent most of the drive dozing. When we arrived to Upington it suddenly felt a lot more like home—dry, hot, veld with white Afrikaners giving us a ride to our hostel. The hostel was probably one of the more bizarre I’ve been to. It was basically a hick Afrikaner’s backyard they decided to turn into backpackers. It was also evident no one had been there lately. Turned out to be very cheap as well.
From Upington we managed to get a hike back to Mariental with a trucker. He was South African and had been in Baghdad for 2 years working as a security officer. Apparently, Iraqi guys also working as security officers hate Americans (big surprise there) and love South Africans (also big surprise there-I didn’t know till now that Iraq was attracting labor from all over the world because of contract work).

MARIENTAL
In Mariental we just read all day and adjusted to the HOT country that Namibia is. Later, we headed up to Windhoek to go to the Mid-service Peace Corps Conference. The same old stuff, nothing new, except more motivation. This will be another year of trial and error, hopefully less errors though.

THE NEW SCHOOL YEAR
School got off in the usual way for D-town primary: more teacher drama, more kids running wild. This year there are only 20 seventh graders and I hope it stays that way because that would be great. However, there are 42 sixth graders! Eek. I still have to train them to adjust to my ways too. Another eek.
This year I’m going to try to get a girl’s club going. It’s worked at other places, maybe it will work here. I do feel more motivated than I did last year. Plus, there are 3 upper primary classes and 5 teachers, so there will be less periods over all considering there were 2 grade 5’s last year. I’m trying to get out of teaching math now. We’ll see how it goes.

A BIG THANK YOU
I’d like to give thanks to everyone who sent packages to me over the last year. Whether they contained school supplies or fun stuff for me, you can be assured they were put to good use. I’ve been known to dance around my room holding a package of M&Ms, and the kids can use all the supplies you’ve sent. Thanks entirely to your kind donations, I now have enough construction paper, glue, scissors, markers, certificates, crayons, colored pencils, pipe cleaners, and stickers to last the year.

If you’d like to send a package with school supplies, I could still use prizes for the kids. I’m dividing the kids into teams, and the team that behaves the best for each week gets a prize. Teams will be 5-7 kids. I have quite a few things I can give away still, but not a lot of the same item for all the kids on the team. For this reason, I still could use prizes like: pencils, pens, sharpeners, toys, bookmarks, candy, old clothes—really they enjoy anything. As for myself, I would enjoy any kind of chocolate sweet, but especially M&Ms and Reeses Cups. Also, reading material can be scarce here. As such, I can guarantee you I will read any book you send to me!
Thanks a lot!

Here I come, Year 2!

End of Year 1

2008-11-11T16:28:00.000+02:00

RANDOM UPDATES

I’m counting the days until vacation. What more can I say? I never thought PC would involve so much counting days and general “survival” but that’s what it is.

Thank God Obama won! I knew Americans weren’t as stupid and proud as we sometimes act. The rest of the world finally agrees with us. I ate the broccoli I grew myself to celebrate. Woo!

Toby, my dog back at home, died. I knew he would die before I got back. I made Mom adopt him a long time ago. It doesn’t feel right that I was there at the beginning but I wasn’t there at the end.

My emotions are all over the place lately. I’m down, then I’m up. I’ve lost all hope that my kids will ever get out, then I regain it. I feel like the oppressor, then I feel that I’m doing good things.
Coping Mechanism 1: Writing my novel.
I’m too bored to do nothing. So I turn that boredom/feelings into a creative work. I hope it turns out to be good in the end, but I have my doubts.
Coping Mechanism 2: Altering my “Plan for Post-PC Life”
This plan has changed dramatically over the last year. It started as extend to PC Latin America, move to Latin America and work, work for the UN, and now its move to DC, get a decently paying job that requires no weekend work or emotional commitment, and write my novel in the down time. I wonder what it will be next month?

The rains came. I’ve hated rain my whole life. But now, suddenly, I love it. Even when the wind knocks out the electricity, and I have to do everything by candlelight. It feels like I’m a “real” volunteer.

LEARNER WISDOM
I thought I’d let my African kid speak for themselves. Here’s what they wrote in a dialogue about Dordabis:
Why Dordabis is a good place:
You can see wild animals.
It has a clinic, school, shop.
There is lots of meat.
Why Dordabis is a bad place:
People are throwing away rubbish in the street.
Big men take small girls.
The childrens are drinking.
The people drink too much alcohol.
Dordabis School is bad.

Here are some of the best Haikus we did in 6th grade about HIV:

If I get AIDS my
mother and father will beat
me. I will go die.

Condom prevents AIDS.
I must go and take condom
If I get boyfriend.

Condom prevents AIDS.
HIV and AIDS can kill.
Safe sex all the time.

I get HIV.
My sister got HIV.
HIV killed her.

Also, some of my more cherished learner bloopers:
1. Werewolves look like normal people during the day, but at night they turn into bohemians. *Correct answer: wolves* (If you’re wondering why my 6th grade kids know the word bohemian, it’s because I was dressed up like a bohemian for halloween—the best I could do with given wardrobe constraints).
2. Americans are used to seeing people of different tacos each day. *Correct answer: races*
3. The kangaroo is a nice animal. It does not beat the white man.
4. HIV attacks your lunch. *Correct answers: white blood cells / immune system*

December is more than going to make up for these doldrums. I’m traveling through Namibia to Cape Town with my mother and uncle. Then, I’m meeting with the girls and traveling across South Africa to Lesotho, Swaziland, Mozambique, and perhaps Botswana on the way back. I’m thinking New Years on a beach in Moz and Christmas somewhere in-between. Should be just the break I need. I've been here for a year and each day the progress is just not there. But then sometimes something will happen, and I'll be like, wait a minute. You learned that? From me? I didn't think anyone was listening that day. Or I'll read a letter the kids wrote, and it will say that they love me more than their mother. Or that they love me as a teacher because I know everything and teach them everything. Oh, kids: I love em and hate em. But when I leave here, I have a feeling all I'm gonna remember is the love.

SEPTEMBER

2008-10-05T21:34:00.000+02:00

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?

August Holiday (a.k.a. The most awesome holiday ever!)

2008-09-01T19:23:00.000+01:00

Part I. Off to Zambia

In classic Peace Corps fashion, we planned our vacation about 6 days in advance. Ashley, Megan, Danielle and Julia joined me in our hitchhiking adventure. Julia, Ashley, Megan and I left from Windhoek on Saturday. We were conned into taking a taxi, since we left late from Windhoek, so we agreed to pay up to Otjiwarongo. From there, we got a free hike to Grootfontein with a German family. Ashley and I met up with Danielle at the gas station in Groot and went out to the highway to hike to Rundu. After an hour or so of waiting, we scored a hike to Rundu with a couple. The man was from the Congo and the woman was from Zambia.

They dropped us off at a strangely unnamed gas station out in the middle of nowhere. We walked to town a couple of kilometers and managed to stay at a hotel owned by a former PCV who married a Namibian. He gave us a great deal for the night and we enjoyed hot showers (one very nice thing about vacations!). In the morning we headed out bright and early to the hike point. Julia, Danielle, and I piled back into the Congo couple’s van and headed off to Katima. The drive was long, but neat because we saw elephants along the road.

Namibia is divided into two sections: the North which is above the “red line” and consists of northern Kunene, Ovamboland, Kavango and Caprivi. Basically, white people claimed the fertile southern grasslands for themselves and put most of the black population above the red line. From what I understand there were virtually no white people above the red line before apartheid was abolished. Therefore, people in the north felt the effects of apartheid less than in the South. The north is far more populated than the south, and it shows. As soon as you cross the red line you see houses along the side of the road, a rarity in the south. Most of the houses are mud huts, as opposed to the tin shacks of the south. People walk along the side of the road all the time, while in the south you can drive for hours without seeing another person.

In Katima we stayed at Kaitlin’s new house. She has two cats which are cute but to which I am allergic to unfortunately. We decided to chill in Katima for the next day because we were tired from so much travel. The next day we went to the craft fair where I got a basket. Then we went to Thea’s town about 20km from Katima. It was really interesting to see her village. She lives in a mud hut with thatch roof and cement floor. She fetches water from a pipe about 20 ft from her house and she has two light bulbs. Really besides the lack of water, the only differences between her hut and mine are the sink and the bugs. Thea also lives with a family and loves it. It’s cute her relationship between her and the village. It makes me think that things would have been better if I lived with a family or in the north. Physically it would be more demanding, but maybe I would feel less distant from the people. There seems to be gulf between me and my villagers composed of language, class, race, background, education, culture, and sometimes gender and age. I still don’t know how to bridge that gap or even if it is possible.

The next day we left some things at Kaitlin’s house and took a taxi to the border with Zambia. The border crossing was the fastest border crossing I’ve ever been through. No lines, just a stamp and we were on our way. The Zambian custom office was a bit difficult to find considering it was off the road, but we got our stamps (having paid our expensive! visas while in Windhoek). We took a taxi to Sesheke and an extremely long combi ride to Livingstone. We learned later that we could’ve taken a higher class bus and cut about 3 hours off our trip.

Once we arrived, we checked in at Jolly Boys and walked to Subway to eat. Just like the US. It was amazing, but no cookies unfortunately. That afternoon we chilled at the hostel and set up the tents we borrowed from other PCVs. Ours were identified as the ones that looked like they would fall over at any moment. Actually Ashley and my tent fell over on us the last night.

The next day we decided to go white water rafting. Considering the other options (abseiling, bungee jumping, skydiving etc) rafting seemed like the less scary option all 5 of us could do together. We were given a nice breakfast, but since I was nervous having never been rafting before, I didn’t eat that much. Of course they have these videos of professional kayakers going over waterfalls as you eat which kind of freaked me out. I visualized myself speeding down the rapids and over waterfalls at frightening speeds. After that, we hiked down into the canyon at the base of Victoria Falls. The rapids did not look bad at all, so I was less concerned. Then we had to jump into a rapid and find our raft, scary but I made it. Some kayak guys joined a caravan of about 8 rafts and they helped people reach their appropriate boat.

Our guide instructed us how to paddle and “get down” which means face the outside of the raft, hunker down, and hold on for your life. We went over the first two rapids with no problems except I lost my paddle. Then we came to the third rapid and our guide told us we had 50/50 chance of having the raft tip over. There was also a three meter drop. I was so glad I had left my glasses onshore at that point. We “got down” and went through the rapid. But you can’t really see what’s going on. It feels like a car wreck in the sense that your being tossed and turned all over the place and you are trying to hold on to the rope, but you can’t assess what is happening around you. Then you reach calm waters, get up and realize half of your rafters are in the river! Ok, well that time, I did get tossed into the river, but I held onto that raft for dear life, and the guide hauled me back in pretty much immediately. At that point I was glad I left my jeans on land.

We continued to go over a series of class 4 and 5 rapids for most of the trip. On one particularly bad rapid, our boat flipped and we were all in the rapid. I was proud of myself because I managed to hold on to the boat. It took about 10 minutes or so to get through the rapid and even though we had on life jackets, it was really difficult to breathe. You were trying to hold onto the raft, which was difficult because you were being sucked down into the water. So the exercise made you breathe harder, but you could never get a big breath because the water sucked you down before you could. None of us were too excited to keep rafting after that. One girl in front of me was thrilled to raft the Zambezi before that rapid because it was supposedly one of the highest rated rivers you could go on as an amateur. After that, she was finished. The water is very deep so you do not hit any rocks or get stuck like in some other rivers. It took quite a while for the boat to get flipped and for all of us to get in it again. One guy from another raft went into shock and refused to paddle any more for the rest of the trip.

We finally reached the last rapid, and I was exhausted. Paddling was hard work as was holding on for your life. I popped out of the boat on that rapid just because I was too tired to hold on. I couldn’t reach the boat because the current swept me away, so a kayak guy came and saved me. He took me to shore, and we climbed out, thankful to be on land again. Then we climbed back out of the canyon which was basically straight up. Ashley, Megan, and I were some of the last to arrive at the top. The guides carried up the deflated rafts on their shoulders, then came back down to give us water before we made it to the top. Shows how not in shape we were. I couldn’t have done the full day trip if I had wanted to. On the way back to the camp we saw elephants on the side of the road. Days like that I remember I'm in Africa!

The guides gave us some lunch and then we saw the pictures which were very good and freaking hilarious. There was one where I’m being popped out of the boat like popcorn and another where our face expressions were funny. The one that cracked me up the most was a picture of foam with Ashley’s head sticking out gasping for air. There’s another picture of our raft, but all that turned out was foam. You couldn’t even see the raft at all. Then we watched the video of our rafting expedition. It looked pretty intense on the video. I was proud of myself that I did that, but never again!

That afternoon, we went to the museum where we saw the history of the falls, and at night we went to an African restaurant with nice décor, ok food, and crappy service. My arms were sore for the next week!

The next day we watched Danielle and Ashley zip slide, bungee jump and do the swing. I took photos from afar and chatted with the border police person and the official videographer. Then, we went to the Victoria Falls Park so we could actually see the falls. There were large baboons everywhere and they would take your bag if you had one. We walked along the falls and took lots of pictures. Really is impressive, even in dry season when there was not much water. Then we walked on top of the falls to see some children playing in the water meters from the falls edge. Oh, Africa.

We turned back and took a combi back to Livingstone. That night Danielle, Megan and I went on a booze cruise. Drinks were strong, and we saw hippo, elephants, crocodiles, and kudu. The elephants even crossed the river in front of us. It was fun and totally worth 35$ US. The next day we hung around the hostel for the morning then headed out to the border on the bus. We crossed on foot and made our way back to Kaitlin’s for the night. It was great to get back to Namdollars because Kwatcha are so hard to deal with. It is 3300 Kwatcha for one american dollar and the Kwatcha bills all look the same, so you end up trying to pay US$ .05 or 50$US for one drink. We had problems the whole time with the currency, but most people seemed honest.

From Katima, we headed to Divundu and stayed two nights with Chris and Paul. It was great to watch movies and chill for a day. They also scored an awesome house complete with washing machine, hot water, and river right by it. No swimming tho, too many crocs!
Megan hiked out to go back to her site from Divundu. Ashley managed to get us the best possible hike ever which leads to:

PART II Etosha
Ashley asked a white couple if they could take us to Grootfontein and they agreed. We all piled into their safari truck and were excited to get all the way to Groot and possibly farther in one day. Our plans had been to get up to Ondangwa and from there to Opuwo. That all changed within the first 5 minutes of our trip. Once the couple found out that we were volunteers they invited us to stay at their lodge in Etosha for free. Of course we eagerly agreed. Turns out the lodge was quoted as one of the most exclusive luxury lodges in the Etosha area.

It was amazing.
We stayed in luxury tents, basically cabins with tent material on the outside. We had solar electricity and fire-heated water. The bed was so comfy. The dinner area overlooked a water hole that was no more than 30 feet from the small fence. You were really in the wild. But, the food was great! It was buffet style and we had food we hadn’t had since America: cold cuts, eggs and bacon, roast potatoes, argula salads. The schedule was, we woke up in the morning at 6, then ate breakfast. At 7 we went on a game drive or nature walk through the concession or in the Etosha park. That lasted till lunch and then we ate a great buffet lunch. After that we had an hour or so to chill, watch the water hole, or shower. Then, we went on another game drive or walk in the afternoon, or just chilled at the lodge. Dinner followed those drives; I think we gained five pounds! We got to hobnob with all sorts of rich Americans, Swiss, Italians, and Brits. It was normally great fun. I got lots of great pictures of the animals. The only animals we did not see were cheetahs, leopards, meercats, and moongeese, but it’s hard to see them anyways. I can’t believe the couple was so nice. We calculated that the 5 nights we stayed there would’ve cost nearly our entire year’s salary in the Peace Corps! It was US 500$ a night all inclusive. There will be no hike that will beat that!

ANIMALS SEEN ON VACATION & NUMBER SEEN:
Crocodile (6)
Hippo (2)
Elephant (20ish)
White Rhino (5)
Black Rhino (1)
Steenbok (1)
Klipspringer (1)
Kudu (tons)
Eland (3)
Oryx / Gemsbok (tons)
Springbok (tons)
Giraffe (tons)
Water buck (tons)
Black-faced Impala (30-40)
Red Hartebeest (20ish)
Hartman’s Mountain Zebra (10ish)
Burchells Plain Zebra (tons)
Wildebeest (tons)
Warthogs (30ish)
Grey jackal (2)
Black-backed jackal (2-3)
Guinea Fowl (tons)
Red-eyed bulbul (tons)
Hornbills of all kinds
Lilac-breasted ? one of the prettiest birds ever
Corrie Buster (sp?) (10)
Ostrich (10)
Vulture (10)
Rabbit (5)
Ground Squirrel (5)
Tree Squirrel (1)
Porcupine (1)
Rock Dassie / Hyrax (1)
Baboon (tons)
Monkeys (5)
Lion (8-10) Heard a lot more!
Spotted Hyena (1)

After 5 days at the lodge, I got a hike with Wendy back to site and got another hike to D-town. I’m going to try to hike in and back the same day for grocery shopping from now on. If I need to get out of town I’ll go to Mariental, since Ruth in Okahandja was sent home. If I need to do errands in Windhoek, I’ll stay with colleagues or with the nice couple in Windhoek (still haven’t contacted them) or in a backpackers. I really hate Windhoek so I’m going to minimize my time there. But sometimes I really need to go out and get a dinner I didn’t cook.
Now, I’m back at site for the first day of school. Hard to believe my first year in Namibia will be over in 2 months, and my mom comes to visit in just 3 months! I can’t wait for this year to be over and go on vacation. Current plans are to hit up Etosha, Caprivi and Botswana with Mom and Uncle Tom, then go to Cape Town and across South Africa to Mozambique with Megan and Danielle. Should be awesome.
My garden is still alive, surprise of surprises!

Also, my keyboard isn’t working. I think the dust got in. So I’m borrowing the school computer’s keyboard until I can buy one in Windhoek. Namibia enjoys destroying electronic devices. So far, I already had to get my camera repaired and it is still not doing well. Now my keyboard went berserk and my cd rom drive only works if I’m persistent. I just hope they last the next year!

A Namibian Birthday

2008-07-25T16:59:00.000+01:00

A Namibian Birthday
So I’ve been having a series of weeks where I’m tired, been traveling too much, and just want to spend time with American friends. I’ve skipped school twice (once unsuccessfully—yes, they came to my house looking for me), and I’ve been disillusioned with my secondary projects. As I suspected, they flourished in the beginning only to disspate within, oh 2 weeks. Sigh. Guess salsa club is a no go. However, they still like the Spanish and English classes.
Just when you think noone really cares you’re here, including yourself, you have a birthday. I’m 25 today and here’s what’s happened so far.
7:00 Went to school late teachers sang happy birthday to me as I came in.
7:40 Kids sang happy brithday to me.
9:00 Ate cake (Mr. K made for me), cookies (yes, chocolate chip—I made them myself), cookies somebody bought for me. It was nice.
9:30 performance by community AIDS group that I am not a part of, nor did I know existed
Also received several homemade cards from the kids.
2:00 Played cards with about 20 kids. Damn they are SO good at memory, they kicked my ass. A few girls combed my hair into the ‘fro it gets when it's combed, while another child kept plucking out some of my arm hairs and putting them on his arm. Oh, Namibia.
4:00 Sent the kids away for some solitude. Am online now.
7:00 Dance—haven’t gone yet tho. It's only 5pm here, but I fully intend to teach them the electric slide. Woo.

Overall, not depressing at all. Except that my 20s are half over! (And this whole year of my life, I'll be in Namibia! That's the only thought that makes me want to leave . . .)

Tomorrow is Sport day, and then on Sunday I have to hike in to Windhoek again for medical check-ups.

Hard Days

2008-07-08T18:15:00.000+01:00

June was not an easy month.
--Only other white people were assaulted and robbed.
--Kindergardener was killed (possibly by own mother) and thrown in sewage tank.
--I was robbed at knifepoint (again) in Windhoek. I’m on cellphone #3.
--My mirror broke. I bought a new one and someone sat on it, so it broke before I could even get it home. Not a good sign.
--My toilet is not functioning properly.
--Still haven’t got any reimbursements for electricity.
--Suitor # 3 is in love with me even though I said, “Don’t waste your time, I don’t like you” to the kid’s face.

I came to Africa for several reasons:
1. Learn another language
2. Challenge myself
3. Experience something new
4. Figure out what Africa is about, like with AIDS etc.
5. Find out if I like all of the 3rd world or just Latin America
6. Eliminate any subconscious racism

Here’s the Verdict:
1. Nope. Not going to happen. I’m done.
2. Yes. In many more ways than I ever thought. Like how to deal with constantly being a victim of crime. Or how to live in a dangerous city. Or how to deal with Namibian crap all the time.
3. Yes. In many more ways than I ever thought.
4. Yes. I get it now.
5. Yes. I love Latin America. Namibia is just too hard to really love. But that’s not to say that there won’t be some things I will truly miss.
6. No. If anything I am becoming more racist. When I see black men I just want to avoid them because chances are they are going to rob me or hit on me.

On another note:
Secondary projects are coming along ok. English class is so far a success. AIDS club, not so much, mainly because I don’t know what I’m doing. Dance club is tomorrow. Woo.

Problems!

2008-06-19T20:49:00.000+01:00

SUITORS
What’s nice about Namibia is I can be totally, brutally honest with people and not have to worry about hurting their feelings. This is because they think I am lying. Like I can say, “Go away, I don’t want to talk to you right now” and they will just go away and come back later like nothing happened. Or I can say, “No, I will not marry you. Ever.” And the guy will go away and just come back later to propose again.
This leads me to:

RETURN OF TOOTHLESS GOAT FARMER
So, Baster Mr. O is back. Here’s a brief snippit of our conversation:
BMO: I want to have a revelation with you.
Me: What is a revelation?
BMO: A relationship.
Me: No.
BMO: Why?
Me: Because I don’t want to.
BMO: But I love you.
Me: I don’t love you.
BMO: You love me!
Me: I do NOT love you.
BMO: Do you want to go for the weekend with me?
Me: No.
BMO: But I love you.
Me: I do not love you. I will not ever love you.
BMO: Why?
Me: Because.
BMO: You don’t like me?
Me: No.
BMO: Ok, this will not affect our friendship. Totsiens.

WHAT was that?
I knew I was mean to men, but geez, this experience is making me downright hostile.

D-Town DRAMA
So, more from the ongoing saga that is D-town.
Last week, the white-guy-who-owns-the-town was broken into. He and his mother were beaten badly and robbed. Uh, scary!
Then, this week a kindergardener dies, and was apparently murdered!
They found the 3 year old in the sewage tank for the school. What a way to go. But rumors say the child did not drown because there was no water in his lungs. They are saying that he died before being thrown in the sewage drain. So, that would be murder . . .
Of course these things happen in the US, but since I've been here I've personally met rapists, child rapists, girls who have been raped, people who have been assaulted, children who have been abused, thieves, filandering husbands, child abusers, and wife abusers. In the US we have these things, but its on a much larger scale, and we are good at hiding things. I've probably met all of the above in the US, but wouldn't know it unless I was their close confidant. In the village you can't hide a damn thing. Everybody knows, including the wierd american volunteer. So I guess it's hard to judge then if the situation is worse here or even better than in the US.

THE ONE BIG PROBLEM
This may sound trivial after the aforementioned events, but the biggest problem facing me is shopping weekends.
When I got my site assignment and found out I was the only one whose shopping town was Windhoek, I knew then it was going to cause problems.
There is a store in my town, but the only thing it has in the way of produce is a few moldy onions. I need vegetables!
Free transport with teachers leaves directly after school on friday and comes back on Sunday. Since Ms. H left, there is not enough space for all the teachers in the cars.
Paid transport is (?) available from Dordabis to Windhoek via hitchhiking (I will investigate this weekend). I’ve only hitched back to Dordabis, and it is not always reliable. Better to come with teachers.
Most importantly, once I get to Windhoek, I have no where to stay.

SOLUTIONS?:
Solution One—travel with teachers always and stay at their houses.
Benefits: certainly the cheapest way to spend a weekend, assured ride home
Disadvantages: awkwardness of staying with people I don’t know well, namibian food, namibian music videos all day (boring!), limited mobility around the city, need to take taxis to go to town, stay in katutura which is none too safe so I have to stay inside all the time, sometimes ppl don’t talk to me.
In the end, the disadvantages have really got me down. I’d rather pay than stay at an awkward house where I feel like a burden.

Solution Two—travel around to Okahandja/Mariental for the weekend
Benefits: good company, it’s fun, there are things to do in town, can steal more movies / music, vent about Namibia
Disadvantages: cost of travel, having to hike alone, having to carry bedding, getting back to Windhoek late makes it a prob to hike back to Dordabis, no time for errands in WHK, can be rather expensive depending on what we do.

Solution Three—Stay in a hostel for the weekend
Benefits: Freedom to enjoy the city, good food, warm showers, everything is within walking distance, able to get errands done and do what I want without interrogation.
Disadvantages: VERY expensive in the end because I have to buy food and board, none too safe to be walking around by myself at night, stay with weird people in the room, sometimes runs out of hot water, people getting up/getting in at all hours, snoring, staying with all men awkwardness.

Solution Four—hiking in on Saturday, staying over at hostel
Benefits: Reduces cost of Solution three while retaining most of the benefits.
Disadvantages: None too safe to be walking around by myself at night, stay with weird people in the room, sometimes runs out of hot water, people getting up/getting in at all hours, snoring, staying with all men awkwardness, have to wake up early, not guaranteed to actually arrive in WHK before shops close, miss out on things only open on Friday like the library/art gallery.

POTENTIAL Solution Five—stay with colleagues family in Khomasdal
Benefits: Free place to stay, a few free meals, possibly some friends???
Disadvantages: have to take taxis, staying with random ppl, could be awkward, less freedom to do what I want.

POTENTIAL Solution Six—a little bit of everything
Benefits: all of them
Disadvantages: all of them, but at least it varies them up a bit. I can tolerate all these disadvantages in small portions, but not all the time every time.

Winter

2008-06-12T17:13:00.000+01:00

WINTER
So, it’s winter. And it’s cold here. I bought a heater and the thing doesn’t work! Great . . .
Another 2 weeks before I go back to return it.

SAME OLD SAME OLD
Kids exhaust me and are the reason for me still being here. I figured out the teaching thing now. So that makes my life 8 million times easier. But it’s still not easy.

SECONDARY PROJECTS
Secondary projects are getting a sloooooooooow start.
Starting Dates:
This week—Window of Hope Begins, Finish Library Organization, Begin Computer Classes with Teachers
Next week—Library Assistant trainings
End of June—Class trainings (how to use library), Life Skills Training
Beginning of July—Interest Session for Community Projects
End of July—Begin Community Projects

CONCERT
In DC on September 6 there will be a concert/fundraiser for HIV AIDS in Namibia. All the famous Namibian artists will attend (Gazza, Sunny Boy, etc). Personally, I'm not too keen on popular Namibian music, but if you're interested here is the website:
http://www.namibiaaidsawareness.org/
Perhaps I should explain some things about Namibian music. There are only a couple of artists recording music in Namibia, so they have developed strong followings which are almost like gangs. You can only be a supporter of Gazza OR of the Dogg, not really of both, although you can like both kinds of music. Popular Namibian music sounds like American rap except usually less grody, more repetitive, and half in Oshiwambo or another African language. The artists are heavily influenced by R&B and hip hop artists from the states. Then there is native music. Nama music is heavily influenced by German polka. Otjiherero music is the best sounding I think, although the keyboard beats might get tiring.

Nothing much to say besides I’m doing ok.

Updated Wish List

2008-05-28T16:37:00.001+01:00

All is well.

Thanks to all those who sent things! I greatly appreciate it, and can use everything you can send! Some people are still wondering what to send, so here is my updated wish list:
1. Colored paper/construction paper--any kind of colored paper will do. I swear it does not exist in this country.
2. School scissors
3. Chalk
4. Stickers
5. Things for my raffle--pencils, erasers, small toys, whatever.

And for me:
1. Music. Anything. Just no heavy metal, rap, or damara music.
2. TV shows on DVD. Anyone with TIVO? I'll watch whatever you give me.
3. Chocolate chip cookies
4. Laffy Taffy
5. M&Ms

Thanks once again.

Feels like home

2008-05-22T18:08:00.000+01:00

Back at site. It feels like home. Finally.

PC is two separate lives:
Life one: Training, weekends, and vacations with PC buddies. Feels just like college, study abroad, and sometimes tourist trips with friends. Like college, its chill, but somehow fun even though you’re not doing anything besides watching movies and eating crackers and peanut butter. This is what I will miss most when I go back. This is the Keep-you-sane part of Peace Corps.
Life two: Me in my village, only white person who lives in Dordabis proper. I’m constant entertainment for others. The daily grind of going to school. There are serious ups, like sunsets, or goat babies, or when my kids come to visit me. Then there are serious downs like homesickness, wanting to murder kids, dealing with everything Namibian (taking forever to do things, wild chaos, focus on appearances). This is the roller coaster, life-changing part of Peace Corps.

Random thoughts:
I remember reading in someone’s blog that the PCVs liked to look back and see what they looked like at Staging because we all looked so different. I didn’t really believe I’d look different. But now my hair is the longest its been since sophomore year of high school, and it’s the blondest its been since I was, what, 4? I’m getting a great farmers tan. I’m also fatter than I was when I left. So . . . they were right. Also, we all looked so young then, and it was only 7 months ago!

Latin America was easy to love—all I had to do was walk off the plane. Everything was wonderful from the first (music, people, food, culture). But Africa is like that troubled child in your class. Most times you are wrestling with it, trying to get it not to sabotage itself, clashing heads, and suddenly there are moments of great love. Or like an unfamiliar taste in your mouth: it just takes some getting used to. Africa is not easy to love, but it’s growing on me.

By the way, I never would have taught middle school or come to Namibia if it wasn’t for Peace Corps. And I’m thankful, because it’s an experience I would’ve been missing. It will teach me how to teach better for any level, and it will help me to recognize problems I would’ve overlooked otherwise.

Changes I didn’t foresee in myself, but they’re there:
Appearance—farmer’s tan and blonde tips, longer hair.
Becoming a kid person. (What the crap?)
Becoming a good hostess: always offering something to drink, making small talk, wanting people to come over to my house all the time.
Becoming totally open to any random person staying with me at any time. Also, open to calling up totally random almost-strangers to stay with them.
I let go of my former life. I can’t even salsa dance in my room anymore because its too painful for my psyche. I let go of Spanish. I know I’ll get back to it. Even if it takes a few years.
Not even caring if a cockroach gets in my bed anymore.
Liking things from the U.S. that I never really liked when I was in the U.S.: peanut butter, incense and candles, action movies, chips, corny sitcoms, commercials, etc.

One of the major lessons I learned in Grad school was how to be happy alone. After living with a college roommate in my room for 4 years, and living at my Mom’s house during breaks, it was a hard lesson to learn. Mainly because I had too much work to spend much time with friends.
Anyhow, by the end of grad school, I knew how to be alone and happy. But it’s causing problems now. I doubt I’ll ever be integrated in the community if I keep being ok being alone. I mean I could live the 2 years perfectly content going to school during the day and watching movies at home during the afternoons and evenings. But it wouldn’t really be Peace Corps. I think in these two years I’m going to learn how to be with people again.

Ten years ago I was in high school and wanted to be a missionary for the Southern Baptist Church (hah!). Now, I’ve lived in Southwest VA, Tucson AZ, Mexico, Costa Rica, and Namibia, and I speak Spanish. Seriously now, where is my life taking me?

THINGS I LIKE ABOUT NAMIBIA:
Sunsets/sunrises
I can see mountains outside my window.
People have absolutely no inhibitions when it comes to dancing or singing. It’s wonderful.
Being in touch with nature.
Being able to walk to work.
People pick up hitchhikers! Awesome!
Tribe mentality—people care for their own.
Plurality, understanding multiple languages
Emphasis on family
The way people on the street will help me without me asking them for help.
Namibians are not afraid to ask for things. (This is also annoying).
Greetings must be said to everyone. (This is also annoying sometimes).
The way people turn up unexpectedly and will help you with whatever you are doing. (This is also annoying sometimes).
Goats. Baby goats are so damn cute. (They are also annoying sometimes).
Wild animals everywhere.
Clotheslines.
Don’t need a tool for anything.
The way PCVs share things and bond.
I look like crap, and people still think I’m beautiful.
Body hair is really no big deal here.
Kids. (They are also annoying sometimes).
Otjiherero music.
Some people still wear traditional dress.
Weather is normally hot. Yes!
Night skies are amazing. You can see stars right down to the horizon. You can see the milky way.

More craziness from Namibia

2008-05-03T18:25:00.000+01:00

PROPOSAL
What a weird Saturday. Anyhow, this baster farmer named Mr. Ochizen comes to the school in D-town to see me, like I’m an exotic animal at a zoo. Then he invites me to his farm. I say ok with the full intention of never going or seeing him again. Then, the next day, he comes to my house to see when I am free. I say Saturday. Then he comes the next day. I say Saturday. Then I talk to the teachers about this 75 year old, toothless, Baster (mixed ancestry) farmer to see if it is safe to go out to the boonies with him. At first, they say ok no problem. Then they say no as he is not well-liked in D-town. Or anywhere. They say Mr. Ochizen (the teacher—no relation) needs to go with me if I go to make sure I am safe.
Then baster Mr. Ochizen (BMO) comes again and I tell him that teacher Mr. Ochizen (TMO) wants to come. BMO is NOT happy. I say I’m not going unless TMO goes.
So, all three of us go to the farm.
We see goats (like I don’t see enough of those every day?). Woo. Then the men eat meat and drink cool drink. I just drink cooldrink and pass up the goat meat. Then BMO proposes to me. And he was serious. I said, “No, I never want to get married,” which is pretty close to the truth. Especially when the proposer is a 75 year old toothless goat farmer living in Namibia who barely speaks any English. My rejection of him “will not affect our friendship.”
Then we go back to the village. Bizarre.

GARDEN
Later on some girls from the location came to visit me and helped me plant a garden. The last time I dug a hole in the ground was when I was about 8 years old and wanted to dig an underground playhouse. I spent all summer on that thing and only got about a foot deep. So, I’ve been putting off the digging aspect of my garden. But with the help of the girls we finished the entire thing, planting and all in one hour! I figure if I don’t learn how to garden here, then I won’t learn ever, since everyone is a farmer here. Plus the soil is SOOOOO rich from all the animal shit. I throw my veggie trimmings over the fence for the goats to eat (which they don’t!) and the seeds from a butternut squash sprouted and now I have a huge squash plant right outside my fence. I’m hoping the onions, carrots, and green beans I just planted will grow with equal vigor. And the goats ate my tomato plant. Mofos.

CRAZINESS KIDS FACEJust had a 13 year old girl drop out of 7th grade because she is pregnant. This sucks. In a worst case scenario, she was raped (perhaps by a family member), got pregnant and HIV at the same time, will no longer go to school, so will not have a legal means of income to support her child, her parents are drunks, so she will end up selling herself and getting reinfected herself with HIV to feed her baby and die before the child’s 10th birthday. The child will be an orphan living in bushes asking people for handouts to survive. God, that is grim. But probably pretty close to the truth.
Also had a 13 year old learner steal alchohol and hide it in the hostel garden. Was planning big party over the weekend. I didn’t touch alcohol til I was 18.
How can all this happen, you ask.Where are the parents? Well, many of them are dead because they contracted HIV and AIDs. Others live far from their children, and children are in boarding schools where they basically run free. There is a hostel mother and father in charge of some 50 kids a piece. Other parents live with the kids but are drunk and passed out all the time they wouldn’t know the difference if they had kids. Other parents are living with the kids and just let them run free. Other parents are actually disciplining their kids (WOW!).
I have one girl who has come to ask me for food every week. I give it to her because I know her parents drink all the money away and don’t have any food. If there is any country where serious AA classes are needed, it is this one. If we could just eliminate poverty we could eliminate so many problems: health issues, orphans, alcoholism, teenage pregnancy—all these things through various manners we could eliminate. Once again I’m overwhelmed and I don’t know where to begin or whom to begin with. It’s only 2 years to try and make some kind of difference—actually a year and eight months now. I think it won’t be much.

END OF TERM
Enough said. Class average in Grade 6=42 D. In Grade 7=50 C.

ANIMALS SEEN ON DRIVE TO/FROM DORDABIS:
Kudus, Baboons, Oryx/Gemsbok, Giraffes, Jackals, Meercats, Hartebeasts, Springboks, Warthogs, Bats, Goats, Sheep, Cattle, Donkeys, Horses, Dogs, Cats.
Jefta said he saw a Wildebeast, but I’ve yet to see that.

DRAMA IN D-TOWN
Next term I begin my secondary projects, of which I have many many ideas. I was talking to Mr. Ochizen, who is the only one in this town who gives me a picture of what’s really going on. My naïve “oh I’m a foreigner” has been sucessful with everyone except him. But at least he tells me the real deal.
So here’s the drama:
My supervisor used to teach at DPS a few years ago until she was moved to a different school to be HOD. She applied for the position of principal once the other principal died. TMO, the school board, and others opposed her and wanted someone else to be principal, but the ministry of education decided it would be her. Thus, there has been drama between TMO and Sup ever since. It doesn’t help that she takes things personally, and TMO has good ideas. So that’s why I’ve tried to stay out of it by being somewhat distant to all the teachers. Its funny, but I can tell they are both trying to recruit me to their side. Speaking of values, I am totally on TMO’s side—he really cares about the kids and the community (that’s a huge surprise for a Namibian male). But in terms of what others can offer me (rides, ability to do school projects), the other teachers have the say. So that’s at the root of the divide between the teachers.
NOW FOR THE COMMUNITY DRAMA:
There are several groups here: The counselor, Commuity leaders (TMO, white dude who owns everything, people in the location who don’t like outsiders, people in location who want best for community.
So, the counselor, a bit of a male chauvinist pig, thought his wife was screwing TMO (I got this story from TMO, no consensus that he was). They had a fight. Then the counselor fought with the white guy about land. Originally the white guy was going to sell the land the squatter’s settlement was on to the government, but he didn’t want a flood of people from other parts. The political party SWAPO wanted to bring in Caprivians and Ovambos from the north to D-town so they could get more votes and overpower the people currently in town. So the deal fell through. Now, the counselor is bitter enemies with the white guy, and is still not liking TMO.
Then there is the old pastor, who recently left, who wanted the school to be under his domain. This is ridiculous.
So how this plays out now:
The school can’t have a garden because the pastor won’t lend the school any land, and the hostel is currently paying for water, and the hostel is church-owned, so they won’t let the school have any water.
Nothing can be done to better the community through the normal ways of doing things, through the counselor and government because he won’t help TMO’s crowd. The teachers don’t do anything or can’t do anything because they don’t like being called outsiders, and the community called them out for mismanaging school funds.
Then I get thrown into this mess. Thus far I’ve managed to avoid taking sides. But since I will be soon getting involved with the community then I will.
Apparently TMO made jokes before I came that he was going to hook up with me. He has no intentions of doing that now, as far as I can tell. But he keeps saying things like that to upset my supervisor deliberately. So now, the teachers are trying to keep him away from me: Example: A couple of weeks ago I was chatting with him getting all this good news about the town, when twice a teacher came to interrupt us and say she needs her marks.
If I have to take sides I will. It will be on the side of the kids.

VACATION!
Finally a much, much needed vacation has come! The first weekend I spent in Windhoek with Megan. Then Ashley came from Opuwo and we spent a few days submitting passport applications to the department of home affairs. (Two of her kids were sponsored to go to summer camp in America).
Then we headed to Okahandja for a few days and hung out with Ruth. Later, went on to Usakos for a day to hang out with Nick.
We went sea kayaking in Walvis Bay and saw seals, dolphins, flamingos, and whatnot (all of which I can add to my wildlife seen in Africa list). Then we went back to Usakos to chill for a week. Then went back to Swakop to go sandboarding.
Hitchhiking east of Windhoek is SOOOOO easy. Sometimes we didn’t even have to wave our arm, people stopped within 10 minutes usually, and it was free! People we rode with: cute afrikaaner in really nice car who didn’t talk at all, not cute afrikaaner in afrikaaner shorts in run down car who did talk, german family in really really nice car, pastor from South Africa who was going see a profetess in Dune 14, colored family on vacation, and afrikaaner young couple who invited us to their braai.
Sandboarding: SOOOO we hiked to Walvis Bay with crazy pastor who asked us when was the exact moment we met God and almost didn’t let us out of the car. Then we searched for sand boards in Walvis Bay and NOWHERE sold any, so then we searched for cardboard, but stores weren’t giving it out. So then we walked to Dune 7 (7km) in sand along a deserted road. It took forever. Then the presidental motorcade passed us, strangely enough, and didn’t even stop to pick us up. We finally reached the dune and were exhausted, but we climbed it anyways. It was fun. Then we got a ride back to Swakop and went out to dinner with Julia and Danielle in Swakop.
I LOOOVE being with Americans again. Who know about all this craziness that goes down in Namibia.

Pics

2008-04-21T16:00:00.000+01:00

I added yet more pictures to this album:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2246983&l=592bc&id=10131893

Check it out!

I'm in Windhoek, then Okahandja, then Swakopmund and Walvis Bay, then Windhoek again for the next 3 weeks! It's holiday time, yay!

Hmmmm

2008-04-10T15:32:00.000+01:00

ANALITY
These kids are so funny sometimes. They are super-anal about some things, like drawing a line in their excercize book with a ruler—no substitute straightedge will be accepted. Or I had them do collages that were supposed to be with ripped paper, and about a third of the class used scissors because they thought it looked better that way.

FRUSTRATION
Some things that frustruate me about this country:
1. Namibian men
are the most annoying on the planet. Often when Namibian women say “no” they mean “yes,” which doesn’t do me any good because when American women say “no” they mean “no.” And on top of that these guys are super persistent, which wouldn’t be so bad if I was the slight bit interested. But no. I’ve had to be crazy mean to get some of them off my back.
2. Stealing & Asking
Is a way of life here. Honestly I have no problem with stealing, if you are starving, have no money, and need something to eat, and you steal the food that is necessary for you to survive. Because the society you live in committed the crime against you first. Very often that is the case here.
But, people also steal other things that wouldn’t fit that bill: the LED light on my keychain, erasers and pencils I gave the learners to borrow, a bag of empty cans and milk jugs I was going to use for art projects, library books, etc. Just a few days ago, some guy tried to pickpocket me in Windhoek. It really rubs me the wrong way. And I haven’t yet figured out why this is so pervasive.
The only thing that makes any sense to me is a lack of agency. For so long because of apartheid, and parents lack of education, and being black, these people have been inculcated with the idea that they are worthless. So they lack agency to do anything themselves to get these things—i.e. make their own money to be able to buy things. Not that there are multitudes of opportunities here, with the unemployment rate at 80%.
But it seems that even the idea that they can change their situation does not exist, so the only way they can get things is by asking or stealing.
The only relationship my students, and even the teachers, have had with white people is one of asking and stealing. So I get asked for things every day. Sometimes it is to borrow, which means they won’t give it back unless I remind them they have it. Sometimes it is to have. The only differences between me and any other white person to them is that I don't speak Afrikaans, I let them touch my hair, and I hang out with them on weekends.
3. Flies
Are hateful here. You remember all those infomercials about starving children in Somolia with flies on their faces? They were starving, yes, but those damn flies land on everybody’s face. And if you shoo them away they just keep coming back to land on your face again and again and again! I’m writing this as one pesters me now.

NOSTALGIA
I’m finding that strange things invoke nostalgia for my old lives in America (Latin and otherwise) like:
--Post-it notes sent through the mail (now I just cut up used paper)
--French fries at a restaurant (I get french fries de vez en cuando, but it’s never like McDonalds)
--The spice aisle at SPAR grocery store
--Candy canes sent to me in the mail
--Riding in the back of a truck
--Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

TRAPPED
I feel so trapped in the village sometimes. I get this urge to get dressed up and go out to a bar or a salsa club, and then I remember, oh yeah, there are no salsa clubs here. There are plenty of bars, otherwise known as shabeens, but they are scary.

SACRIFICE

I think of these years as a gift I am giving to others, a sacrifice of sorts. For so long, I’ve been given so much—basically everything I ever wanted was dropped into my lap (study abroad, college, grad school, internship, peace corps), so to give 2 years to the oppressed is a small price, despite all the bad days it may bring me.

SOURCES OF HAPPINESS
My astrology forecast says I need to find other sources of happiness. I had this whole chart made up with different comparative sources of happiness, but Blogger won't let me copy it here. So here is a more simple list:

US Sources of Happiness

Chatting with friends about nothing in person or on telephone Going out to dinner with Mom or friends Salsa dance Reading a good book all day.
Going out to a bar for a drink with friends.
Playing with the dogs.
Dreaming about other places I could be.
Driving.
Light and Shadow. Green grass.
Shopping in a mall.
Waking up super late.
Watch TV with choice of hundreds channels
Getting Mail!

Latin America Sources of Happiness
Chatting with friends about nothing in Spanish in person
Eating homecooked meals
Salsa dance
Taking a bus to a plaza, eating ice cream, and watching people
Going out to a bar for a drink with friends.
Talking to dogs in English.
Talking to random people on the street.
Taking a bus where I am the only white person.
Beautiful landscapes.
Shopping in a market
Chatting the night away with friends.
?
Getting Mail!

Sources of Happiness in Africa
Text messages from PCVs, free from 7 to 12! Chatting when we are together.
Eating my own cooked meals. Mug & Bean once every looong while.
?
Hiding in my house and doing old lady activities: cook, clean, sew curtains, plant garden.
Going out to a bar every 3 months or so with PCVs when we get out of the bush. Having a glass of wine at night after hiding it from my colleagues.
? (Dogs have rabies.)
Dreaming about other places I could be.
? (Hitchhiking is not a source of personal happiness.)
Beautiful landscapes.
Shopping in a mall.
Sleeping in until 8am. Yes,that’s right, 8am. God, I am an old lady.
?
Getting Mail!

SPANISH
Oh I heard Spanish in the grocery store in Swakopmund, but it was kind of in passing, so no time to chat. I think they were españoles. To explain to you how desperate I am for that language, I am planning on visiting the consulates for Mexico and Cuba! I probably won’t go in, because it would be a little weird to be like, “Hey I just wanna chat,” but they usually have events posted outside. Maybe . . .
Oh and there is a salsa scene in Cape Town. I’m dying to go there.

More pics

2008-04-06T15:16:00.000+01:00

Hi all,

I've added new pics to the album Home Sweet Home found at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2246983&l=592bc&id=10131893

Enjoy!

Swakop

2008-03-27T15:39:00.000+02:00

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

2008-03-18T19:44:00.000+02:00

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

2008-03-14T22:22:00.000+02:00

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

2008-03-08T14:21:00.000+02:00

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

My New Life

2008-03-08T13:39:00.000+02:00

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.

A Day in the Life of Me

2008-02-17T14:00:00.000+02:00

February 14th, 2008

During the Week:
5:30am Wake up, hope clock says a different time, get out of bed to check cellphone just to make sure the time on my clock isn’t wrong. It isn’t.
5:45am Take cold bucket bath.
6:40am Staff Meeting—think awkward silence and funny requests.
7:00am School begins. I love these kids and want to adopt them all.
9:00am Tea Break
9:30-11:00am I am pulling my hair out trying to tone down the kids energy.
12:00-1:00pm I hate these kids and want to murder them all.
1:00pm School is out. I go home and eat leftovers.
2:00pm Naptime!
Afternoons: Afternoon classes, lesson plans, handwash clothes, sweep and mop, regain energy, fall in love with children again when they come visit me.
8:00 Eat dinner, watch the same movie for the 189th time
10:00 Bed time

A Typical Saturday in Windhoek (my shopping town):
9:00am Wake up next to colleague’s random family member who I am sharing a bed with.
10:00am Eat huge meal loaded with butter.
11:00-1:00 Do something. Sometimes read. Sometimes escape to the Peace Corps Office. Sometimes pretend to be interested in the TV programs and African music videos.
1:00pm Eat huge meal loaded with butter, oil, and meat.
1:00-8:00pm See 11:00.
8:00pm Eat huge meal.
9:00pm Climb into bed with lady I just met.

During the Weekend in D-town:
10:00am Wake up. Love life.
10:30-1:00pm Clean (The wind and dust don’t make for clean houses)
1:00pm Cook and eat yummy food. I love making crepes now (in absence of a stove to make chocolate chip cookies.)
2:00-6:00pm Do something. Normally organize something (photos on my computer, books in library, clothes, etc). Sometimes laundry.
6:00pm Cook and eat.
8:00pm Movie Time
10:00pm Bed time

So you see, my life isn’t so eventful. Really I feel like combination old lady/mother of 75 children/entertainment for community/part of the 6am-1pm working world. But for some reason I feel more grown up.

The good thing is everything I’ve ever done in my life can be of use here. If grad school confirmed how much I don’t know, then Peace Corps is confirming how much I do know (in my brain, not in a book).
For instance ….. prepared me for ……
1. A childhood fascination with art: Art class
2. Creativity: Art projects with no resources whatsoever
3. English major: English teacher
4. Salsa dance: something for youth to do instead of contract HIV
5. Learning to cook over the past 2 years: cooking without many options
6. Costa Rican cockroaches: African cockroaches
7. Learning to wash clothes by hand in Mexico: Washing my clothes here
8. Living in rural Mexico: Living in rural Namibia
9. Learning to be alone at Grad school: being alone here
10. Finding out that directors commentaries are actually interesting in Grad school: doing the same in Africa.
11. Tucson desert climate: Namibia desert climate.
12. Teaching spanish 102: teaching younger kids English (many of the activities are the same)
13. Living in another culture in Costa Rica and Mexico: “”
14. Working at a school in Nogales, Mexico: Working at a school in D-town, Namibia
15. Spending a lot of time in libraries: teaching library class
16. Typing papers for 6 years: Helping teach the principal to type

I could go on.

Other Random Thoughts:
One person I just met said it was interesting that I did not feel uncomfortable being here, what with being new and alone in a community. I don’t. Hmm. Guess I’ve travelled too much now. It’s normal to be the weird white lady living in a place few white people come to.
Valentines Day:
Someone is sitting in “my seat” in the staff room. I sit instead by my male colleague (1 of 2 at the school). He says, “Do you know what today means?” There is general laughter. I say, “Yes, it’s the day my mother sends me chocolate.” That ended that.
One of my best learners writes me this note (not corrected):
To Mrs. Leo,
First of all I will great you than I will say that there is a special joy in heaven and even in me.
Happy Valentine day I hope that you will enjoy your day with peace and Happiness.
You are the special teacher I have never had. the smile which is always on your face show me that you like me as well as the others children in the class.
From: Toshline

This is so cute really. I asked her later what teachers she liked besides me. She said noone. This is because teachers here are mean. I mean downright mean to these kids. I can’t imagine the damage it does to their psyches.
I gave valentines with personalized notes to all the kids. They will love me forever.
Kids love books. Every time I am in the library they are practically fighting to get in too. This makes my year.
Bugs: There are some massive bugs here including a 7inch long grasshopper and beetles that are 5 inches long. At least they can’t come in under the door.
I emptied my fridge of cockroaches but they moved into the cabinet. This is war now.
I had a bag of empty cans and yogurt cups outside (so the cucarachas could enjoy them in peace) and someone stole it. What? It was a bag of trash! On a sidenote, in Katutura, apparently thieves steal blankets through open windows off people who are sleeping. I’m changing my locks.
Things kids have eaten in my class: a picture I gave them, paper, piece of eraser, chalk, an entire tube of toothpaste, sweets, stickers, pre-chewed gum, etc. There really is no sense of germs here. I.e. I threw out chicken bones for the goats/dogs. 5 minutes later my neighbors son is eating them. This is a kid who has food. Now I put them in a bag when I throw them out.

I’m finding my place here, but I wish I could get out more in the community. Besides church there’s basically no interaction between me and the town at all. I am so busy all the time with school stuff. And it’s so hard to integrate with this language business. Everybody speaks Khoekhoegowab and Afrikaans, but not necessarily English. And obviously I don’t speak either of the first two. I debate back and forth about which one I will make some effort to learn. Haven’t decided yet.

Photos

2008-02-03T14:44:00.000+02:00

In case you want to see photos of Namibia, check out the photos I uploaded to Facebook. You should have no problem seeing them at this site:
http://arizona.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2228163&l=5d1e6&id=10131893

Hope you enjoy!

I'm a PCV!

2008-02-03T12:36:00.000+02:00

January 13, 2008

Happy New Year!

I’m officially a Peace Corps Volunteer, no longer a Trainee!

Here are some updates:
New Years: New Years was a blast and made up for a boring Christmas. In the afternoon Obie and I practiced dancing salsa for the talent show. I had been feeling a little sick from dehydration all day, but that resolved itself. Then, we headed to the dry riverbed where a bonfire was in progress. It was a really fun party!

New Years Day: Leslie and the gang organized a fabulous breakfast for us consisting of french toast, real scrambled eggs, and pancakes. I love them forever.
Talent Show: That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I performed a salsa dance with Obie. Among the other entries were Jeff B. playing guitar, Justin and Grace performing poetry, Sarah and Chaz lip-syncing, the ladies dubbing Britney Spears to “Not a PCT, not yet a PCV,” Jay and Griffin singing the theme to Gardener’s Daughter, a fashion show of PCTs in traditional Damara/Ovambo dresses, Selma performing traditional African dance, Jeff K. solving a rubics cube, Chris robot dancing, Leah and others singing songs, Kengo doing a funny skit, etc. It was pretty much hilarious.
Awards: My room 22 girls got the award for having the cleanest room. See below to see if you agree. Also the Bing girls got an award for “Most Remarkable CBT experience.” We rock. As a result Leslie invited us to Swakopmund over Easter break. Yay!
After the Talent show: We had a braai (barbeque) with absolutely fabulous grilled veggies, chicken, green beans, apples, and pineapple. It was to celebrate the Redskins making it into the playoffs or something like that. That was the best dinner in Africa so far! And then we dance partied into the night.
Why I keep talking about food: Not normally being a person concerned with food, I’ve suddenly appreciated any American cuisine. Food generally speaking in Namibia is rather blah-se. For instance over the past few weeks my menu has been:
Breakfast: cornflakes and hot milk, bread with tons of butter and a teeny bit of jelly.
Lunch/Dinner: pasta with mayonaise, pasta with butter 2 slivers of onion and a bit of tomato, squash drenched in butter and sugar, carrot slaw with raisins and apples and sugar, goat, sheep, beef, gemsbok, canned peas, etc.
The highlight of CBT was bread with peanut butter. It made my day.
In Mexico, even though there were not a lot of ingredients the food was damn tasty. Here not so much, unless you like your veggies tasting like butter and sugar. You can probably see how I’ve gained 8 pounds since I’ve been here. Yes, I’m at a whopping 106 pounds! Apparently girls go back to the states weighing 20 lbs more, and boys go back weighing 20 lbs less. I’m well on my way there.
LPI—The day before the language exam we were all studying like crazy. It went surprisingly well, and I even got the score I was supposed to “Intermediate Low.” This makes me think that I can really master Khoekhoe in the years I’m here, but it will take a special effort I’m not sure I want to make, as when I return to the U.S. I doubt I will ever use it again besides as a nice party trick. I’d rather concentrate on keeping up my Spanish.
Shopping Spree in Windhoek: We were given money to go shopping in Windhoek and we went to town buying stuff for our house. It’s so nice to have things now.
Best group: The training manager and trainers agree that we are the best group ever. For the record, most groups have 6 or 7 people leave before training is up, and we only had one. Everyone got along, there was surprisingly little drama, we were well behaved and respectful, we actually studied the language and scored relatively high. We rock!
Swearing In: On Wednesday, we were sworn in by the Ambassador at the Community Hall in Okahandja. We were on the news and in the newspaper apparently, but ironically us PCVs have no access to those things. Afterwards people started to leave and the tears began. I wasn’t that sad because I knew I would see all these people again, but it will be a long time (until May).
Last Night in the Handj: Luckily for me, I got to stay one more night. Leah, Ashley, Jessica, Chris, Danielle, and Julia went out for Pizza one last time. Then we got curtains at the fabric store and snacks at Spar. In the evening we watched Obie’s slideshow of his wedding, and chatted with those who were left over.
Everything goes down hill: Ashley left for Opuwo, so I’m the only one left in my room. It takes all freakin day to get to D-town even though it is only 2 hours from Okahandja:
8:30—time I’m supposed to leave
10:30—time counselor of Okahandja picks me up and brings me 2 blocks to his house.
1:30—time regional counselor of Okahandja region picks me up to take me to Windhoek
2:30—arrival in Katutura at my supervisor’s house.
5:30—car trouble prevents earlier leaving, leave for grocery store
6:30—mechanic meets us and we bring him along to Dordabis, normally a one hour ride. Because car’s fuel injection is not working well, car stalls every 10 minutes.
11:00pm—arrival in D-town.
The long arrival time wouldn’t have been so bad, except that once we arrive I found out that there is nothing in my apartment. I lived with my supervisor for several days before Waldo, our APCD, took matters into his own hands and pulled some strings at the ministry. The next day, I moved in with a hotplate and some suitcases. The following day, the ministry brought my fridge and furniture.
It was lovely, except that my fridge was full of cockroaches. Yes, even the freezer. Mofos. And they are not the slow and stupid kind like in Costa Rica. These ones are the evil tiny kind that won’t come out of the cracks until you are not looking or the lights are turned off, and then they take over. Ick. I’m going to be a clean freak by the time I get back to the States that is for sure.

First Days of School Namibian Style: Drink tea, cover your files in pretty paper and plastic, have kids sit there for about 5 hours straight with nothing to do at all (and expect order and silence), leave every 20 minutes or so for random tasks and class becomes total chaos. Such is life here.
Oh, we did decide what classes we would teach. I’m teaching English grades 6 and 7, Basic Information Studies (i.e. library), Life Skills (i.e. Health), Religion and Moral Education (i.e. Sunday School), and Physical Education. Basically they gave me the other courses which “don’t matter” because you don’t have to pass them to move to the next grade. I’m cool with all of them except Religion and Moral Education, but hey, maybe I can make it interesting. Thirty of fifty-two 5th graders failed the grade last year. This is normal. To me, it speaks volumes about the quality and quantity of teaching, the nutrition, and treatment these kids get throughout their young lives. To sum up, it sucks.

I got nothing but love for the 5th and 7th graders. They are so hungry for affection and attention. But the 6th graders might be the end of me. I didn't win them over in the beginning, and from then on it was a disaster. I am keeping them up to an hour after school for detention. There really are no "bad" kids, you know, the spiteful kind. But there are a lot of kids who are illiterate and bored or craving attention and that means they act up in class. We'll see if they settle down with time.
· Things to look forward to:
February—I’m going to visit Megan in Mariental.

March— Bing Family Reunion in Swakopmund!
April/May—Reconnect (in-service training)? First Vacation!!!

Community Based Training

2008-01-02T14:37:00.000+02:00

December 30th

So, CBT (Community Based Training) is over. Here are some reflections/interesting happenings:

My host family: I stayed with a teacher, his wife, and their two kids (Roberto and Larisha). The kids were cute, but sometimes required way too much energy on my part, and so became slightly annoying. I discovered I am a kid person for 3 hours—anything after that and I am counting down the seconds til I can leave the house.
Otjimbingwe: a small town in the middle of nowhere. It was absolutely beautiful with the most amazing sunsets, but the major pastime was consumption of beer to excess amounts and all the problems that result.
Model School: We rocked the model school. I did a project with my 10th grade English kids—they did an awesome job.
The Bing-ers: There were 9 girls (an Otjiherero speaking and a Khoekhoe speaking group) who were all awesome. We spent all day with each other and noone got on each others nerves. On ocassion we hid from the total lack of privacy we receive at host fam.
Wildest host fam: Not mine, thank god, but one host fam did include an obsessive sister, domestic abuse, random family members camping in the yard, a knife fight outside her window, an 11 year old alcoholic, among other things. Insanity.
Bat boy: Every little town has their insane kid. Bat boy was ours. He prefers to live in the bushes even though he has a family and is probably 11 years old and definitely not all there. He came every day to get some free food after model school even though he did not attend model school. He subsistes entirely on handouts and is a lot smarter than people think he is.
How Bat boy got his name: One of the first days he put a petrified dead bat by Julia as a joke. Gross.
Why Bat boy got kicked out once: by putting baby birds in his pocket and then trying to eat them.
Why Bat boy cracks us up: In the middle of the 8th grade presentations, Bat boy sits in the area where the kids were presenting with bat dog, his faithful companion. He pulls the dog onto his lap and pets it while the 8th graders step around him to continue their dramas.
When Bat boy cracked: On the last day of model school he brought a knife to school. That in itself made me nervous. Then Kate told him to put it away and he came after her with knife raised high. Jessica saw and said “not ok” and then he came after Catherine a little later. We sent some 10th grade boys to get him out of the school yard. Later he sicced his dog on Jessica. Nobody got hurt, thank god.
Bat boy’s family: Apparently he has a crazy uncle who was in jail for a while and liked to break into people’s houses and poo in their pots and pans. Also a crazy cousin is currently in jail for killing the pastor’s pig. A sane aunt and sister are also in the picture but the insane half of the family refuses to live with them. As you can see, Bat boy was a major fixture of our entertainment here.
Garderner’s Daughter: And just why arent Luisa Fernanda and Carlos Eduardo together? Come on, Luisa get with it.
My suitor: Some kid came over to “get to know me better.” We watched GD together each night. Awkward. Then he gives me a Christmas present: cookies and shampoo. The next day he writes me a love letter, and I quote:
“I am stucked between two valleys, not knowing what to say or do at this point as I am leaving. . . .[Your host mom] said you were leaving and you know what it hurt like crazy . . . because I am in love with u.” We had one freaking conversation.
“We were both so busy, u with school teaching, me with business customizing, so it’s a real pity we couldn’t make time for ourselves.” I was busy trying to avoid you.
“Only heavens know how I’m gonna cope without seeing you every day. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. This is pure and exquisite and I you feel the same.”
I about died laughing at that one. Lesson learned: don’t be nice to men here. Just say No. Or they will stalk you like there’s no tomorrow, and you’re the last female on earth.

So I’m back in the Handj for a week and a half and SO glad to have some space. But it is sad because training is coming to an end, and I will miss all my friends I made here! I don’t have any group that I can hang with, and most people do have at least one person they can hang with for the next 2 years. But I am near Windhoek—maybe can find some friends there?

Shadowing

2007-11-30T15:50:00.000+02:00

I was in B-town with Irene for a week shadowing her to see what PC vols really do. We:
1. Made brownies several times for dinner
2. Went to Windhoek to go shopping
3. Watched the entire first season of Lost on DVD and several movies
4. Helped the first graders make crafty christmas trees
5. Sat around and found out the scoop through the PC rumor mill. (Everybody knows I got robbed even tho I didn;t tell many ppl at all)
6. Relaxed, but I am officially an old lady now. I wake up automatically at 6am and go to bed at 10pm. I mourn my old years as a night person.
7. Read books. Fun, great fun.

Nothing else of interest to note. Really glad her school is not mine, altho the sunset was amazing and we met the nicest Afrikaner in Namibia there. Ok, that is all for now.

D town

2007-11-27T10:30:00.000+02:00

Hello all,

Life in Namibia is good. The last week of training was long and tedious, but useful. Khoekhoe is so-so, sometimes the most difficult language ever and sometimes so easy it is funny. Or sometimes I think it is a made up language (I.e. mapa xu du ra ha ta ha (where are you from)).
The most exciting part of training thus far was when we found out our permanent site. The trainers drew a huge map and then put us on our spot where we were in the country. My site will hereby be known as D-town and is within an hour from Windhoek, the capital. On Sunday our supervisors came to pick us up in Okahandja and take us to our permanent sites.
D-town is pretty much what I expected, but a little overwhelming to be confronted with all at once. I was there for a week and witnessed the following things:
1. Teachers who were super-nice to me, cooking my meals and letting me stay in their house, but a few minutes later beating students with belts, whips, sticks, or just pinching or punching them.
2. Child abuse--two 1st graders came to school with black eyes and huge scatches on their face. Apparently they had gone to eat sap off the tree because they were hungry and their drunk uncle beat them for that.
3. Weird buearacacy. We had to stay at school til 1 each day for the kids to review for the exams. Instead they proceeded to throw chairs and beat each other. Why did we keep them?
4. Inequality--There are three white people in the town (one family) and they own all the land, the store, most peoples jobs, a ranch for german tourists to come and shoot wild animals, and a car. The black people besides the government employees live in shacks (you know, the ones you’ve visualized when thinking about Africa--cardboard and tin houses) on land that isn’t theirs. And nobody even second-guesses it.
5. Unemployment--there are few jobs and they can’t do anything with the land because its not theirs. So they do what they can to entertain themselves, drink to oblivion, have sex, and watch the funny white lady.
6. High death rates from AIDS and other diseases.
7. Total lack of services (electricity, trash, latrines, water).
8. High failing rates. You have to have under 30% to fail, and most kids fail.

Despite all this, the town is in a beautiful area of Namibia by a major game park. On the drive there we saw tons of warthogs, kudu, springboks etc. which was neat. The people have over all been quite friendly. It will be hard to be lonely because if I just walk in the squatter camp I attract about 20 kids who proceed to follow me. The students are so cute and actually quite obedient when you give them things to do and give them praise.

Anyhow, I really do feel like I can do some good here, if only because I represent a different future and a different point of view than these kids are used to. Basically they have been told their whole lives that they are “naughty” failures deserving of a beating, plus they are black, which must mean that they are stupid, worthless, and doomed to failure (obviously I’m being sarcastic, but whites here definitely have that idea.)
I gotta hand it to the US--we definitely know right from wrong and make sure the kids know it too--here that’s not the case.There are just so many problems to deal with (bad education, child abuse, coporal punishment, corruption, inequality, racism, poverty, hunger, malnutrition, AIDS and all its implications including orphans, young children as head of household, etc., beauracracy, unemployment, lack of services, lack of clothing and shoes for the kids, no government assistance, rape, pedophiles, domestic violence, etc etc.) I don’t even know where to start. I’m starting to realize why we had a session on coping--because our realm of responsibility is large in the US, but here the impact we can make is quite small. As much as I’d like to personally tackle these issues, it is really the responsibility of the government, the police, the health workers, or the Namibians to deal with them.

Anyhow, I will be teaching 6th and 7th grade English as well as some other periods, most likely life skills, or science b/c I refuse to teach math, although it is apparently the easiest. The Teachers are so eager to have less periods, so whatever I do they will be happy. There are 300 learners at my school and about 700 in the town. Most are Damara speaking (so that Khoekhoe will come in handy). Two of the teachers are herero which means that all the teachers converse with each other in Afrikaans or English--this is going to be seriously complicated b/c I would have to learn two languages. Sucky. Although Afrikaans is pretty easy.

My ideas so far: start a health and environmental club and do fun projects, make English fun and improve the quality of education, survive two years here.

Oh yeah, on my first night in Windhoek I was mugged. Some guys came up behind me as I was returning from the store with my supervisors sister, and cut my purse strap. I lost my wallet, cellphone, and a little cash. But they found it, so I got my liscense and ATM card back (In Namibia they are called BOB cards). I bought a new one.

NAMIBIA! Land of the brave!

2007-11-12T18:24:00.000+02:00

Reflections on Namibia

Yes
Toilet Paper
“Click” Languages
Weather like Tucson (big blue skies, no rain, hot)
Do-rags
Bright houses and dresses
White people who are very tan and dutch looking
Western-style grocery stores
Oprah Magazine
Rap music
High HIV-AIDS rate (1 in 5)
Big wildlife—just on the way from the airport our group collectively saw a giraffe, several different types of antelope, wild boars, and babboons.
Multi-lingual people (everyone speaks 2-8 languages)
Spanish!!!!! (Many Namibians went into exile into Cuba and are quite fluent in Spanish)
Sand—it’s everywhere. Actually Namibia feels like one large beach town without the beach

No/few
People—where are they?
(Namibia is one of the least populated countries in the world)
Traffic
Malaria (well, at least in the south)
Mud huts (I’ll be in a concrete house)
Public transportation (hitching is the name of the game)
Big cities, or really even Medium-sized cities
Lions outside my house (yay!)
Mosquitos (in the south)
Salsa dance (if it’s here, I will find it)

Reflections on Peace Corps So Far:

Staging: Mostly the same old information we got before or found out on our own. What was nice was to bond with our Nam27 group. So far everyone is extremely friendly and nice, and I get along with pretty much everyone, which is a shock.

The flight: Not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. Watched a few movies, slept much of the time, talked to Lily.

Jo’Burg: Very nice hotel, free wine and cheese, yay. Loopy from the malarial medication.

Shots so far: Polio, Tetanus & Diptheria, Rabies #1, Typhoid Fever, Yellow Fever, Meningitis.
Getting jabbed, or as Namibians say, getting candies: It’s becoming normal now.

Shots to come: Hepatitis A, Rabies #2, Rabies #3, Flu #1, Flu #2, Gardasil

Namibia:
I thought Namibia would be a lot like the places I’d been. It does have the weather and scrubby, rocky landscape of Tucson (minus cactus), the cement style homes and greeting habits of Latin America, and some convienences and body types you find in the US (western style grocery stores, flushing toilets, etc).
However, from the time we stepped out onto the tarmac in the bright sunshine and could only see flat, scrubby desert without a house or a person or a car for miles, Namibia gave me a very different feeling from anywhere I’d been before. They weren’t kidding when they said this country is the land of wide open spaces. We really knew we were in Africa when we stepped off the bus in Okahandja and were greeted by our trainers singing songs in several different languages they had known since forever. Yes, this is a place I’m supposed to be.

Right now: I’m in a confrerence center and hostel in Okahandja typing on my laptop. There is electricity, flushing toilets, nice rooms, mosquito nets. There are many Namibian trainers who speak great English as well as many other languages. There are 69 other Americans with me at the compound. There is pasta, beef, chicken, porridge, cereal, instant coffee, tea. There is a great grocery store 5 minutes down the road. There are big wild animals around here, but it’s safe to walk around. There is safe drinking water from the tap. There are hot showers and hot water in the sinks.

Am I really in Africa?

Cultural misunderstanding #1:
Several of us put instant coffee in our porridge, thinking it was cinnamon.

Placement:
Because of medical reasons (???), I am not allowed to be placed far from Windhoek, which means I will be placed within several hours of the big city on the central plateau. Not exactly what I wanted, (I’d ideally like to go far from any city, near South Africa, perhaps), but I’ll take it. I’m trying not to have any pre-concieved notions. I was promised that Afrikaans would be the language I would learn.

Language:
We finally got our language placements, and surprise of surprise, after being promised Afrikaans as my major language, I was placed in the Khoekhoegowab group. Actually it did not come as much as a surprise considering (1) PC’s random-as-hell placement strategy (2) my language experience (3) languages found near Windhoek.
For the non-linguists of the group, Khoekhoe (KKGW) is a Khoisan language that is one of the oldest languages in the world and not related to any other language group. It is popularly known as the “click” language, but unlike common sterotypes about Africa, a small, small minority of Africans speak the language. Actually, click languages are only found in Namibia, Botswana, and South Africa among minority tribes.
KKGW is a combination of Nama and Damara. The most-made-fun-of click language is San which has many more clicks than KKGW. Lucky for me, there are only 4 clicks, but you must bear in mind that they are all pronounced differently when paired with vowels and consonants and depend on which of the 4 tones (I’ve only learned three) the vowels are.
For instance /a, /ā, /â, //ā, //a, //â, !a, !â, !ā, ≠a, ≠ā, ≠â are all pronounced differently and with different “clicks.” Most of these are also words ranging from squeeze, hang to dry, and slaughter a goat.
/ is pronounced as a ‘tsk’
// is a sucking sound in the back of the throat
! is the loud pop sound typical of click languages
≠ is a high pitch sharp pop I am incapable of pronouncing as of yet.

My language training site is Oshimbingwe-where the community based training will take place.

I am excited to be one of the few people on earth who will speak this language, but I highly doubt that I will be fluent in KhoeKhoe when I return, which for me is a great dissappointment. Why live somewhere for 2 years and not be fluent!? I base this on former volunteers experiences, but I guess things could be different with me (?).

This is going to be hard, but if I can do the clicks that will be a great accomplishment right there.

Support

2007-10-24T04:52:00.000+02:00

Here's a Yahoo group for interested people who have questions about Namibia and such and want to ask someone with more experience than me. Plus you can get in contact with other relatives of PCs in Namibia.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/PeaceCorpsNamibia/

Staging

2007-10-02T23:23:00.000+02:00

So the plans are final. Looks like Peace Corps is putting us up in a nice hotel in Georgetown (DC) from Oct 29-Oct 31 while we learn things like "our personal definition of success" and "coping with unwanted attention." On halloween we get all our shots and medications, and then fly out that night for Johannesburg, South Africa (15 hours!!!). On November 2nd we fly to Windhoek, Namibia, arriving in the afternoon. As omens go, its not necessarily a good one that we are flying on halloween night, and then again on All Souls Day. I hope all those dead people wandering around the land of the living don't like plane food. Or playing hijinks with tired pilots. That includes you, Grandpa.

Welcome to my Blog!

2007-09-17T23:12:00.000+02:00

Hello All!

Welcome to my blog! For the next two years I will be living somewhere in Namibia and serving as an English teacher with Peace Corps. Rather than fill the inboxes of my esteemed "Adventures in Africa" listserve with oh-so-interesting updates on my life in Namibia, I've opted to open a blog instead. This blog will keep you updated on how successful I am at providing comic relief for the locals as a result of frequent language and cultural misunderstandings, as well as any pertinient adventures. Electricity permitting, I should be able to post at least bi-weekley. I leave October 29 for ? for "Staging" and on November 1st I'm off to my new home.