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:

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

Skills gained through my Peace Corps experience:

• How to cut corners
• how to use tables in Word
• how to use decorative page borders (on everything)
• how to pay attention
• how to say no or confront people
• how to cook simply and well
• how to speak Namlish
• how to ask for help
• how to see the grey area on everything
• how to unclog toilet with only a stick
• how to rid my house of cockroaches
• how to hand wash laundry and bucket bathe myself
• how to cook macaroni and cheese (and everything else) from scratch
• how to caramelize onions
• how to control a classroom full of middle school kids
• how to accept discomfort as a part of life
• how to fend off nam-stalkers
• how to kill scorpions
• how to garden
• how to set boundaries
• how to enjoy stupid stuff (movies, chitchat, etc)
• how to small talk
• how to hitchhike
• how to lie well
• how to accept my destiny
  
  VACATION PLANS
  Dec 11- 13 Hike out of Namibia into Zambia
  Dec 14-18 Travel to Lusaka, Zambia
  Dec 18-20 Train to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
  Dec 21-30 Zanzibar, Tanzania
  Dec 31 Travel to Moshi (8 hours on a bus) (New Year’s eve!)
  Jan 1 -2 Moshi, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
  Jan 3-5 Tours Serengeti, Ngorongoro Crater, etc. Tanzania
  Jan 6 Bus to Nairobi, Kenya
  Jan7 – Jan 9 Tours in Rift Valley, Lake Nakuru, Amboseli, Kenya
  Jan 10 Fly to Ethiopia from Nairobi (leave 5:30 am – arrive 7:30 am)
  Jan 11-13 Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
  Jan 14-16 Bahir Dar, Ethiopia
  Jan 17-21 Gonder ( for Religious festival) Ethiopia
  Jan 22-25 Aksum, Ethiopia
  Jan 26-27 Rock churches of Tigray, Ethiopia
  Jan 28-Feb 2 Lalibela, Ethiopia
  Feb 3-5 Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
  Feb 6 Flight to Cairo, Egypt (leave 4:40am – arrive 7:30 am)
  Feb 7-12 Cairo, Egypt
  Feb 13 Memphis/Saqqara/Dashur, Egypt
  Feb 14-19 Luxor, Egypt
  Feb 20-23 Sinai peninsula, climb Mt. Sinai, see St. Katherine’s monastery
  Feb 24-26 Cairo, Egypt
  Feb 27 Flight to America! (Ash & Beth leave 9:20 am – arrive DC 7:45 pm)
  (Megan leaves 4:55 am -- arrive SC 7:47 pm)

August Vacation and More

AUGUST VACATION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VACATION PLANS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

21 months in.

Superficial Comments

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

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

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

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

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

My birthday is coming up this weekend!

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

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

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

Deep Stuff.

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

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

And finally, Some Learner Wisdom: Some More Funny Answers

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

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

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

Africanisms

Africanisms

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

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

The Strangeness of Donations

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

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

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


Skeletons

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

A Guide to Hitchhiking in Namibia

How to get a hike in Namibia!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May Holiday 2009

Here's a vacation update for the May holiday!

First week: Swakopmund and Windhoek

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

Second week: Sossusvlei

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

Third week: Fish River Canyon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fourth week: Cape Town!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ego in Culture: Some thoughts on identity in Peace Corps

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.