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.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
More craziness from Namibia
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.
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.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Pics
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!
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!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Hmmmm
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.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
More pics
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!
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!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Swakop
Swakopmund!
Last friday started a bit shaky. Our Independence day celebration ended at 10am. Peace Corps came out and installed locks on my burglar bars and then gave me a ride into town. In Windhoek I finally got to pick up my packages and check out the office. While waiting for the girls from Okakarara, I discovered we weren’t permitted to go on because of restrictions on night travel.
We went all over Windhoek and every hostel was full, so we came back right after that sun had set, and we are told by the guard that we are not permitted inside. All our crap is in the PC lounge. Helen comes out and lets us in, thank god, and arranges for us to stay in the sick bay, which is pretty damn posh. We did eat out at a restaurant called Grand Canyon Spur Steak Ranch. Like it’s name, it was over the top, more wild west than the real wild west. But it’s food was dead on American. Normally that wouldn't be exciting, but here I about cried when they brought me a real chocolate milkshake.
The next morning we were off early to Rhino Park and arrived at Swakopmund without delay. Leslie has a huge house right in the center of Swakop. We settled in and took a tour of town and the beach. We jointly decided that Swakopmund is actually not in Namibia. Perhaps it really belongs to the US or is a long standing holding of Germany, I’m not sure. But it feels nothing like what we are used to thinking of when we think of Namibia.
The buildings are germanic and well-kept, the city is very clean, there are quite a number of restaurants, internet cafes, nice bars, etc. I actually ate pizza, had a martini, and listened to Afro-cuban music all in the same city. I never thought that would happen in Namibia. The beach was small but nice. There was a lot of seaweed in the water and it was cold so I didn’t go in.
Activities for the day consisted largely of the stereoptypical beach vacation type: shopping, swimming, sunbathing, hanging out, going to bars, going to the movies or just hanging out. The only exclusive PC activities I can remember are sitting on the beach and eating an entire gallon of ice cream with three other PCVs and taking daily trips to the awesome grocery store SPAR just to look around.
It was so nice to see Americans again, and realize that indeed we are all going through the same exact thing. So it was a communal sigh of relief.
Getting back was a bit more of a hassle than it could have been. My cellphone decided to kick me off, although I swore it was the right pin. After 3 tries it locks you out until you enter a 10 digit code. Of course that code was back in Dordabis. So I had to take taxis all over town to my colleagues houses to get the phone numbers of the people I would ride with. Finally after buying tango for some guy and making 8 calls, I managed to get a ride, hustled back to the Peace Corps office, grabbed my things, ran over to Klein Windhoek, and headed off to D-town. Even Namibians were telling me I was lucky to get a ride. I think they were right. Otherwise I would have been hitchhiking today, which wouldn’t have been too terrible considering Tuesdays are the worst teaching day ever.
On another note, 5 months have past since I left, 20 more to go! That is a total of 1/5 of my time in Namibia, or 20% of my service. Holy cow. I don’t know if I should think a lot of time has past or just a little has past. Last time I calculated 10% of service was over.
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.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Break in
Well updates for the week are:
Friday March 21st is the Namibian Independence Day, and I'll be in Swakopmund on the coast at the beach. This is actually one of two spring breaks I've ever been on where I went to the beach in a foreign country (the other time I was in Panama over Easter Break when I was studying in Costa Rica). Ironic, huh.
In other news, my house was broken into. Here's a bizarre mystery for you.
Background to the case: A few weeks ago I purchased two new locks for my doors because it was a little wierd that all the locks in the building used the same keys. I managed to install the lock on the front door, but hadn't gotten around to installing the lock in the back door. I had some difficulty closing the door when I put the metal piece back on the doorframe, so I had left it off. It left a small gap on the inside between the door and the doorframe. This lock was harder to pick than the previous lock. I hid the extra keys to this lock in my bathroom behind some bottles of lotion.
Later, I had some kids come and clean my house to "pay me back" for stealing some of the materials I gave them. They cleaned the bathroom and found the keys, but put them back. Later, I hid the keys in my glasses case I kept in the bathroom. From what I recall all the keys were there when I put them in my glasses case.
On Monday I came home and see that my front door is open about 5 inches and the lock is unlocked. The door handle is entirely broken off, I mean snapped in two. There was no damage to the door frame.
I go inside to see if anything is missing, and nothing was. I mean nothing. Not food, not any clothes or electronics. And of course it happened on one of the few days I forgot to lock up my computer. So I was happy nothing was missing.
We went to the police at my boss's bidding and filed a report. They would give the case to a seargent who was currently in Windhoek.
That night I put that metal piece back on the door frame and left off the top screw so that the door could close.
Today, I went to school as usual. I came home and nothing had changed, so the theif did not come back. Later some people from Peace Corps came and repaired my lock. Then I discovered that in the glasses case there was only one key instead of two. So we changed the lock out to the one I was going to put on the back door. Peace Corps is going to buy me locks for my burglar bars that currently don't lock. Then, the police sargeant comes from Windhoek and wants to fingerprint the lock and handle that already 8 million people have touched just today. I give it to him. Bizarre.
So what happened then?
How exactly did they break in?
1. The theif pushed in the door--perhaps I made it easier because I had not put that one metal piece back on. (But there is no damage at all to the door frame or lock?)
2. The theif had a key, but wanted to make it look like a break in. (Then, there's no excuse to why they didn't steal anything?)
3. Maybe they picked the lock. (But why did they choose that lock to pick when there is an easier lock to pick in the back of the house, and it is more hidden from view?)
Why didn't they steal anything?
1. Maybe they just wanted to look around? (Why go to the effort to break in? or why 'pretend' to break in when I wouldn't have known the difference if they had come in?)
2. Maybe there was something in particular they wanted to steal, and I didn't have it, or they couldn't find it (i.e. meat, mealie meal, cash?)
3. Maybe they were scared off by someone coming.
Really this is a big illogical mystery to me. Any detectives out there?
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?
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