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!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
The Best Gift Ever and Other Stories
One week left. Still doesn't feel real, but this is it.
Since I last wrote the following has happened:
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
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Last two weeks at site!!!
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!
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!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
September
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:
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)
Friday, September 11, 2009
August Vacation and More
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.
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.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
21 months in.
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 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.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Africanisms
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.
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.
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.
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Guide to Hitchhiking in Namibia
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).
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).
Saturday, May 23, 2009
May Holiday 2009
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).
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).
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Ego in Culture: Some thoughts on identity in Peace Corps
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Year 2 Begins!
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!
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!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Holiday Update
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
End of Year 1
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
SEPTEMBER
September 14, 2008
WINDHOEK CRISIS SOLVED
Well, I solved my Windhoek crisis. Now I just hitchhike in and out the same day. No awkwardness from staying at someone’s house. Nobody spying on what I do in town.
No being in Windhoek after dark at all. No paying money to stay in town. Besides the rush to get everything done in a few hours, the slight risk of hitching, and the waits on both ends, it’s fabulous!
Side effect: intense lethargy and burnout. I literally felt like a ghost for two weeks before I spent a weekend out of the vill. Then, like magic I return to my former self.
QUESTION BOX
I started a Question Box because I’m teaching them sex ed right now. I got like 2 questions about sex so far. Mostly the kids have put in letters to me telling me how they are not getting enough to eat and “Dear Special Teacher, I love you!” Because the word “love” is used loosely around here, I wasn’t sure if I should believe it. Turns out they really do love me. See down further.
SCHOOL TOUR
This past weekend D-town had its first school tour ever to Swakopmund. In my primary school, field trips were happening several times a year and overnight trips on occasion. In Namibia, field trips are costly, so they normally just take the kids for a few days to the coast and to Windhoek. This tour was entirely due to the HOD’s effort and connections. He managed to raise an amazing amount of money from his friends in a short period of time. It was a wonderful example of hope for Namibia just when I was feeling really, really down about the stuff here.
I was surprised that of 65 students, only 2 had been to the coast before. The coast is about 4 hours away. I’ve already gone there twice before. So this really was an amazing trip for them.
The bus was scheduled to arrive at 5 am. But since were in Namibia, it didn’t arrive until 11:00am. In the meantime, there was general chaos in school. A baby of a hostel matron called me “auma” which means Grandma. That’s a first.
It took an hour to load the bus, then we headed out to the airport. Apparently the airport never got our letter, but they were great and arranged to have the school visit anyhow. We went through the whole process of baggage check, security, and even boarded a plane that was being cleaned for later that night. We saw the fire engines they use to put out fires and they even sprayed the water to show us how far it could go.
Only in Namibia.
Then we drove to Windhoek and took some pictures of the kids. But mostly we just waited around. The bus driver dumped the 50 odd kids and teachers at the arts college and asked us to wait for 2 hours which turned into 3 hours while he picked up another group and dropped them off in Katutura. Only in Namibia.
When the bus finally came, it still took awhile to get on the road. We didn’t get to Swakopmund until 2:30 am and I didn’t get to sleep until 3:30 in the morning. Kids piled in, two to a prison mattress, which is standard for hostels. That’s one good thing no one is fat here. Teachers of course get a prison bed to themselves.
The next morning we took a long time to get going, but we went to the shore. I still can’t get over the fact that my kids will do back flips off 10 feet high walls and climb up flagpoles no problem, but they won’t go past knee deep in the ocean water. That’s probably a good thing since none of them know how to swim. Then, we took the bus to Walvis Bay to see a fishing company. Unfortunately, that did not work out, so we came back to Long Beach and braaied (barbequed). That’s a Namibian food tradition I can get used to!
On Sunday, I needed some personal space, so I went for a walk in the morning. Bumped right into an American movie shoot. Jim Caveziel and Ian Mckellen are here shooting some film for TV. Funny that the closest I ever get to “stars” is in Southern Africa. Couldn’t spot anyone though. On an equally exciting note, SPAR stocks nerds candy and Laffy Taffy from America! Woo!
I went back, ate breakfast, and then we headed out to Walvis again. We drove around a bit until we found the shipping company we were to visit. We didn’t get a chance to go on board the boat, but we did walk on the pier and see a seal and jelly fish. After that, we went to the lagoon to take pictures, which is gorgeous, and boarded the bus again for Swakop. After some stops and aimless driving, we headed back to D-town. The drive could have taken 4 hours. Instead it took 12 hours with stops, riding around in Khomasdal, and pee breaks.
MORE IMPORTANTLY:
On this trip, I had a number of important realizations. Now everything makes so much more sense:
I am living with a tribe.
Ok, so it’s kind of a stupid realization at this point, having been here 11 months, but still. I suppose I’ve been brainwashed a bit as to what I thought tribal life would be, so I didn’t recognize it in this form. I thought tribal life meant harmony, group decisions, appreciation for life, traditions like dress and dance and language, watching out and caring for your people. What I thought I encountered was chaos, violence, gossip, drama, German traditions and dances, hedonism, low self-esteem, and selfishness. I couldn’t see that that TOO was tribal life.
It’s both really, just in a different way than expected. Living with a tribe feels like:
--a total lack of personal space—warm bodies next to yours, playing with your hair, bonded at the hip, wanting to know everything you do or think or say, seeing everybody of your sex naked, bathing in the same tub.
--group responsibility for the welfare of the smaller children;
--towing along the whole family on the field trip;
--no concept of someone else’s time because what is important is the tribal time—personal interaction is preferable to rushing about; you’re only as fast as your slowest tribal member; you can take your time because they won’t leave you behind.
---fighting, power squabbles, gossip, violence (also attributed to poverty)
--sharing everything: food, cool drink, jewelry, underwear, hair ties, radios, chargers, shoes, cups, plates, seats, [sexual partners];
--gobbling something down that you really want before someone can ask you for a piece. As a tribe member you’d be obligated to give them some.
--not doing anything alone. You definitely don’t live or travel alone. You don’t stay anywhere you don’t have family. Hotels are out of the question.
--oppression. You are expected to act in specific ways which are sometimes destructive, and like in all small town settings, people can be cruel if you don’t conform. I think this contributes to the HIV epidemic.
--tension between what is personal and what is communal. Perhaps this only existed after the bringing of capitalism and personal property, but I do think it is a source of violence in the community.
2. Despite my very strange ways, somehow I managed to be part of the tribe.
So then here I am. I:
--am independent, even by American standards;
--need personal space of all sorts;
--never was responsible for a small child in my life (not even as a babysitter);
--have a clear concept of inconviencing others;
--am so anti-violent I never even hit kids as a child;
--like to savor my food;
--love to travel to places I’ve never been and have no family;
--do not think about sharing (even by American standards);
--break the mold (even by American standards),
--value personal property.
No wonder it is so hard to make friends. But I’m adapting to this tribal environment:
Already I can see some changes in myself. I routinely hide things I don’t want to share; I like kids and watch out for them; I’m better with being around people all the time; I’m distant when talking about death.
I do every possible thing opposite from what the tribe does. Yet, I’ve managed to become part of it. How I know:
BREAKDOWN OR BREAKTHROUGH?
On Monday after the tour, I was teaching Grade 6. Things were a little hectic as usual, but not out of the norm. Someone knocked on the door, but because our door is broken and the handle is missing, you have to stick your finger in between the door and doorframe to push back the doodad that keeps the door shut. I did that, and the kid outside decides to bang the door as hard as he can. My finger hurts and starts to bleed everywhere. One 6th grader tries to help me with my finger. Another 6th grader approaches us and beats her with his home-made whip (a common occurrence—they’re just following the example of the teachers and parents). He misses, and hits me on the arm instead. I lose it, demand an apology, and then for some strange reason I start to cry.
Then everything goes downhill. I don’t even know why I’m crying. My finger doesn’t even hurt that bad. So, I know the cardinal rule of teaching is never cry in front of your students. I grab my things and leave. But my kids of course notice. No American kid would have known the difference; but my kids notice every detail. About 20 of them follow me to the library and another 20 follow them, trying to see what is going on. I shut them out. Then within about 20 seconds the entire school, all the teachers, and probably the entire village know I’m crying in the library because my finger was slammed in the door. Except that’s not really why I’m crying and I can’t even put the reason into words. The teachers all come one by one to apologize and comfort me and offer to take me to the clinic. They leave and then the kids flood into the library, some just staring because I’m the first white person and probably the first teacher they have ever seen cry. I try to get them to go away, remembering the cardinal rule. But if I shut them out, that tells them I’m not with the tribe. So I let them in. Most of them tear up too and tell me that I and one of the hostel matrons are the only people they love in D-town, and I’m crying too much. I am crying too much. I can’t stop crying for 2 hours. I still don’t know why, but I have a suspicion it’s because I made it in. Somehow, despite everything I’ve done to sabotage my inclusion in the tribe (simply being me); I made it in. And the kids really do love me. And I really do love them. Weird, huh?
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?
Monday, September 1, 2008
August Holiday (a.k.a. The most awesome holiday ever!)
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.
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.
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:
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.
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!
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!
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!
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