A Peace Corps Volunteer cries two times during service: when he gets to site at the beginning, and when he leaves site at the end.

This is not true.

What is true is that you cry several times when you get to site. At the beginning you cry because you miss your family and friends. You cry because no one but the drunks and crazy people will talk to you instead of about you. You cry because you’re so stressed out in such a unique way that you can’t even identify what you are feeling and so you cry.

What else is true is that you cry in the middle. You cry in the middle when your colleague and friend died in a car crash. You cry when an orphan brings you a piece of birthday cake. You cry when you find out that one of your friends is positive and they’ve been hiding it from you. You cry when your learners cry. And you cry in the middle because you’re so stressed out in such a unique way that you can’t even identify what you are feeling and so you cry.

It is true that you cry at the end also. You cry because everything is beautiful and simple and sunny and you are about to leave. You cry because some of the problems are so big and the only way to help is to be present, but you are about to leave. You cry because you are going to miss your new family - ti ouma, ti oa, ti ausi – and you cannot think of a time that you will ever see them again. And, of course, you cry because you are so stressed out in such a unique way that you can’t even identify what you are feeling and so you cry.

As you can tell, I’m about to leave and I’m getting overly sentimental. I thought a long time about what I wanted to write for my last blog and I couldn’t think of anything that would convey the significance of what leaving here will mean to me. I had a lot of trouble when I first got here – one minute I was so overjoyed I would be crying from laughter, then the next minute I would be fuming and too angry to even talk. I thought I was developing bi-polar tendencies… or some other serious problem. It took me awhile to realize that it’s actually Khorixas that is bi-polar. It’s hard but let me give a fictional example that could only be true in Khorixas:

It’s the middle of dry season and it’s so dry that your eyeballs might as well be raisins. You’re walking the 20 minutes from the town to your flat and the wind is blowing so hard that you may blow away at any minute (because everything green that protects you from the wind has died many months before). The sole ATM in Khorixas has been out of money for the past two weeks and lentils are the only thing in your cabinet to eat. Children have been screaming “WHITE LADY” at you the whole walk and a dog tried to bite you. You can’t take it anymore so you duck into the “tuck shop” to get a relief from the sandblasting wind and children… just then, the kindly shop keeper gives you free homemade cake and ice cream, gives you a hug and tells you that you are the most beautiful daughter she never had.

See? Bi-polar. It’s a magic that this place has. And as you get used to it, it affects you less and less. In fact, the annoying things become trite because you know that even as the slobbering drunk is following you and yelling obscenities, some Ouma (grandma) is waiting around the corner to rescue you and invite you in for dinner.

I tell you this because, in preparing to leave, I’ve recaptured the bi-polar spirit. I love this place and its people with all my heart. My heart will break and I will cry when I leave. But at the same time, it has worn me out mentally and physically, so thoroughly, that I could not spend another month here.

So, for my last blog, I’ve decided to be random and bi-polar. I want to tell you some of the things that never fit into the other blogs but still make up my life here. I want to tell you some sad things and also some happy things. Take them each with the grain of salt and please try to understand that it is all a part of the magic of Khorixas, the place I love and need to leave.

…

Every morning I wake up in Khorixas, I have a sore throat. The place is so dry and the fan is blowing all night. It feels like the worst cold for the first ten minutes of everyday. It’s gotten so bad that I don’t even need coffee every morning. I’ve simply reduced my standards to: Warm Beverage. It doesn’t matter what, just that it’s warm and liquid.

Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday we have a school assembly out front of our school. There’s no auditorium, there’s no roof, there’s no chairs. There’s just us, the sunshine and the flagpole. The learners line up according to grades: Grades 1 – 5 in the middle, Grades 6 and 7 as bookends at either side to be examples. The learners sing their magnificent harmonies. Then we pray. Then we raise the flag. There’s one 7th grade boy who raises the flag in the front of the learners everyday. Last year, it was Wynand. When he was finished he would turn from the flag, salute the teachers and then walk back to the 7th grade line. This year, his name is Sylvester. When Sylvester finishes raising the flag, he takes three steps, spins, stomps each foot once, salutes and then marches back to the 7th grade line. The 1st graders have become so enamored with this routine that they copy it every morning (with less coordination). Sylvester steps one, two, three. Sylvester’s army of first graders steps one, two, three. Sylvester spins and almost misses the one-eighty mark. Sylvester’s army of first graders spins and runs into each other. In unison, they all stomp, one, two. And lastly, the precise salute of Sylvester followed by the uncoordinated salute of a drunken sailor from Sylvester’s army of first graders. Watching this morning ritual used to be one of my favorite parts of Monday, Wednesday and Friday. But now, the teachers have started to crack down and the first grade army is kept still from many watchful eyes during the raising of the flag.

When I first moved into my flat at the school, there was a cockroach infestation. It was terrible. I kept the house so clean and still would find gigantic cockroach parties on my counter every morning. The apartments next to mine had the same problem. And the hostel. And most houses in Khorixas. I just couldn’t handle it. My solution, though, I’m so ashamed of… I asked for poison from America. Combat Platinum. I used the whole tube. No insect survived in the entire flat. Even a year later. Since then, we’ve only seen about 5 more cockroaches in the flat that promptly died after being there for more than 12 hours (or more quickly by Jill’s hand… or shoe, I should say). We’re probably getting cancer from living there. And the Namibian cockroach is evolving as we speak.

I really like spelling “organization” with and “s” instead of a “z”: Organisation. Also, when I speak, the words in my sentence don’t always come out in what most Americans would consider the correct order… or any order at all really. It’s like thought vomiting.

The Namibian Presidential elections were on November 27 and 28. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’m not allowed to express an opinion. My opinion, though, is that this is a very interesting time to be here.

When I first arrived at Eddie Bowe, there was no principal. My supervisor at the school was the Upper Primary Head of Department, Mrs. Xoagus. She is fantastic. Anytime I looked confused, she was by my side to explain. Anytime, I came to school looking homesick, she would give me a comforting hug. At school sporting events, when I looked thirsty, she would bring me a bottle of water. And when I suggested something, she listened. When I asked my girls’ club who they thought was a good role model for them, they said Mrs. Xoagus because she is in charge of the school, we respect her and she loves us. The Ministry of Education tried to appoint her as principal (a woman!) but she refused because she did not want to move from her job. Then the principal came at the beginning of this year. He is fantastic too, in different ways though. Throughout my second year, I needed Mrs. Xoagus less and less but she was still there whenever I did need her. In September, she was nominated to be in the parliament of Namibia if a certain political party wins a certain number of votes in the election. She accepted and had to retire her post at the school to campaign for the political party. It was sad to see her go but she was still around Khorixas, always wearing her party’s colors and smiling. Yesterday, I received news that she had an aneurism. She is currently in the ICU in Windhoek, slipping in and out of a comma. I had been saving a beautiful Oregon ornament to give to her as a Thank You gift. I sent it to the Windhoek hospital yesterday with her family. You shouldn’t save Thank You’s. If you pray, please pray. If you send out positive thoughts, please send out positive thoughts.

Mrs. Xoagus was named a Member of Parliament on December 2nd and on the night of December 3rd she passed away. She is deeply mourned by her friends and coworkers at Eddie Bowe and by me. I will miss her funeral but I can be sure that most of Khorixas will be there. She was a hardworking and dedicated teacher. She was a loving and caring mother to her sons. She was a fantastic boss and friend. She was a truly unique Damara woman.

When my mother and father were visiting, they rented a car. It’s tough to own a car in Namibia because you spend so much time wondering if it will be safe where you park it. For this reason, there are guards in most parking lots. You give them the thumbs up and they’ll watch your car for the small tip you give them when you leave. At one place we were parked there was no parking lot or parking lot guard. There was a man guarding the building though. I tried to ask the man if he would watch our car for us but he didn’t speak English (and we were in another region of Namibia where I couldn’t even fake knowing the local language). I attempted to mime “watch the car” and he said “yes” and we were golden. A perfectly normal exchange, or so I thought. Later, my mother was telling the story to a friend of mine and she said I was right up in the man’s face trying to communicate with him. I wasn’t invading his personal space. If he was American, I would’ve been though. This could be a problem. I apologize in advance.

My neighbor is also a teacher at my school. He smiles and laughs more than any other teacher at the school. He owns a dog that always threatens to bite strangers. It was uncomfortable when I was a stranger. My neighbor told me that until the dog became used to me, I just had to say the dog’s name over and over again to prevent it from biting. The dog’s name? Sorry. The dog is used to me now. But I can always tell when a stranger is in the area because I hear one of two things: 1) “Woof Woof woofwooofwooofwoof” and “AAAAaaaaauuuuggh” or 2) “Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorrysorrysorrysorry” and “phew”. I think this is my neighbor’s practical joke on the residents of Khorixas because I can hear him his house laughing.

My neighbor also has a tiny daughter named “Amai”, which is the Damara word for “Truth”. This leads to all sorts of strange sentences that make me sound profound: “Truth is being bad today”, “Truth looks beautiful” or “Truth is peeing on the sidewalk again”. One day my neighbor brought his daughter to the after-school study. He is also my neighbor at school because his classroom is directly next to the library. As I was working in the library, I heard Amai’s tiny voice mumbling in what I assumed to be Damara. Then her father would say, “what?” Then Amai’s tiny voice again. I took a peek to see that my neighbor was holding Amai in his arms and that as she mumbled she was pointing off in the distance, looking profoundly worried. Soon, my neighbor started to walk in the direction that Amai was pointing. Amai would then mumble something else and point in another direction. My neighbor would say “what?” and then wander in the other direction that Amai had pointed. Amai was only looking more and more worried and my neighbor was only wandering in circles. Soon, he saw me watching and confided in me: “I have NO idea what she is saying”. Oh, what a father will do for a daughter that he loves… After study, I found them on the other side of the school, Amai still fretfully mumbling and pointing, my neighbor still wandering in circles trying to appease her.

Last week, I shared some Swedish Fish that my brother brought from America with a colleague. She reacted as though I had given her gold.

My friend Erin visited in November. It was absolutely fantastic. During her visit, we went to the coast the see the giant sand dunes and some marine wildlife. We set sail early in the morning to see the sites with a few other tourists on an organised boat tour. The boat ride seemed magical right away. Just as we were leaving the dock, a seal jumped on our boat. And as we were cruising along the coast, giant pelicans were swooping alongside us. Our first mission of the morning was to find a pod of dolphins that had last been seen traveling north. We sped along for maybe half and hour enjoying the breeze and the birds and each other’s company. The skipper poured us some sherry (it was 9 in the morning. I love this country). Soon, we found the dolphins. They were almost on the beach, playing in the waves. Our boat got as close to them as possible. We could see them jumping clear out of the water. Then, we received the warning “Hold on!” We all peeled our eyes from the dolphins at the shore and looked out to the ocean. A giant wave (which only got more gigantic every time Erin and I told the story) was coming directly towards us. My first reaction was to put down my Sherry and assume the fetal position. Erin’s response was to hold onto the railing, kneel and grip her sherry tighter. Both of these responses were the correct response, as the boat soon dipped down under the wave and the water covered our heads. When we emerged from the water, I thought, “Shoot, I’m wet.” and “Wow, Erin didn’t spill her sherry.” Then, I found evidence of someone who’s response to a giant wave was not correct and it was this – continue holding your sherry with one hand, railing with the other and stand directly in the front of the boat. This was un-correct response because the man who assumed this position looked like he was in pain. Serious pain. And his shoe fell off… no wait, his shoe was still on and definitely pointing the wrong direction. Yes, that was a broken ankle. The man started wailing “Ouw, my fut!”(Translation, “Ow, my foot!”) while dramatically crawling up the bow of the boat (which only got more dramatic every time Erin and I told the story). Then Erin and I got to learn how fast a catamaran can actually get back to shore, how to set an ankle and that getting an ankle set in Africa is something I probably don’t ever want to experience. After all those life lessens and after the man was taken away to the Swakop hospital, we were taken back out to sea to spend some quality time with a Southern Right whale, while eating oysters and champagne (I still love this country)(but I am so safety conscious now).

At the end of every school term, the children leave about a week earlier than the teachers. Then, for the last week, the teachers finish marking their exams, putting together score reports and cleaning their classrooms. This week is usually my favorite and least favorite time of each term. It is my least favorite because I finish my work early (and this year, I even had less paper work than I did last year) and I get so bored. It is my favorite because without children around, the teachers turn into children. They yell and joke and fight and bring in hot plates to make food in the office. It’s like an End-of-Term we’re-All-Bored party. It’s fantastic. This year, in term three, because of elections (the schools were a polling stations for Khorixas) the school had to send the children home two weeks before the teachers would close the school. It’s almost the end of the two weeks now and the school has gone through many transformations of the boredom. Monday we were having a cookout and teaching Miss Jessica how to slaughter a donkey (gross). Wednesday the math teachers conspired to see how much work they could trick the two volunteer (me and my replacement) to do – they split the work in 4th and each took one-half and asked at separate times for me or my replacement to do a 4th of it. Of course, we fell for it and all the work was finished before tea break. Today, Mr. Aupindi, the grade 5 Science teacher, decided to raise the flag out front of the school. Since the children are gone, it lacked the flare that it normally has because of Sylvester’s marching and saluting and all of the children singing the national anthem. So, Mr. Aupindi, intent on recapturing the days of yore, took the flag from the principal’s office, saluted us all and marched outside to the flagpole. It only took a few seconds before we heard the tune “Namibia, land of the brave, freedom fight, we have won…” wafting in from the front yard. We looked out the window to see Mr. Aupindi alone, singing and raising the flag. Such pride. Such devotion. Such patriotism… Such silliness. I’m going to miss my friends.

2 November 2009

Two years ago today, I landed in Namibia. Woo hoo! Namiversary! Now though, most of Nam27 is looking forward instead of backwards. We’re all wondering where we’ll go next, if we’ll have a job, if we’ll get into graduate school, or if we’ll ever see our nam-homes again.

For the last part of October, I spent more time away from Khorixas than in it. I got called to Windhoek for the Peace Corps required Close of Service Medical. They basically just make sure we haven’t contracted some horrible disease in the past two years – which I haven’t… or at least they haven’t told me if I have. Same difference. Either way, it was nice to spend a week in Windhoek to finish a lot of things I needed to do on the internet. Unfortunately, I also spent the time going on Namibian-craft shopping sprees. My Peace Corps bank account is significantly smaller but I do have some beautiful new earrings and a shirt that says “Howzit?” so it was worth it.

After my COS medical, my brother came to visit Namibia. He rented a car and we drove to Swakopmund first. When I took my trip to Sossusvlei in August, I realized that I hate climbing sand dunes. I really love the view at the top of sand dunes but climbing them is one of my least favorite activities. So when my brother and I went to Swakop, I had a one sand dune limit. We climbed dune 7, took some picture and then went out to pizza. It was the perfect amount of sand climbing, if you ask me. The next day, we went out kayaking in the Atlantic to visit the seals and dolphins. It was really fun – we saw a lot of dolphin fins and played with a few seals. Afterwards, our guide drove up the broad side of a sand dune so that we could see the salt evaporation pools nearby to where we were kayaking (I bet if you google-earthed Walvis Bay you could see a pretty decent view of the same salt evaporation pools. The pools are pink because the salt-loving bacteria that live in them is also pink. Flamingos live nearby and eat the bacteria to get their pink color too. Interesting, huh?). After we took in the view at the top of the dune, our guide decided scare the bejeezes out of us and take the car down the not-so-broad side of the sand dune. Totally awesome! … after it was over :)

Later that same day, my brother and I took a self-guided tour of the desert. Outside of Swakop is an area called The Moonscape. It’s a really bizarre looking area that is completely beautiful (in a scarred-earth and complete-emptiness sort of way that Namibia really specializes in). Along the drive, I also got to see my first Welwitchia mirabilis!! A Welwitchia is a plant that some people call a living fossil because it grows for a thousand years or more. Khorixas actually used to be named “Welwitchia” because so many of the plants grow so close to the city – that’s why it’s strange that it took me two years to see one. They are specially adapted to live in the desert and are cone bearing plants. The plants grow only a few meters apart in patches in the desert. When you come across one of the patches, it looks like aliens with green tentacle are trying to break they’re way out of the sand. One of the last Welwitchias we saw on our drive is thought to be 1500 years old. In order to protect it, the Ministry of Tourism put up a fence around the plant and then built a viewing platform because it was so big!

After Swakop, we drove to Khorixas for some good ol’ Damara fun. The school choir gave us a nice long concert so that we could record their singing. After I go home, I’m going to miss hearing the learners sing so it is nice that I got most of their songs recorded. We also visited the squatters’ camp, almost got run over by a donkey cart (twice), and climbed the hill that that the cell phone tower is on top of. Visiting the orphanage with Jill was one of the most fun things we did. It’s hard not to have a good time when you’re hanging out with a group of kids that share and take care of each other and appreciate any small thing you do for them. We also had a lot of fun when the lady who does our wash came over with her kids (Tu-o and Emma and Katrina – all pictured numerous times in previous months). I wrote in a previous post about how Emma likes to make gang signs when she sees us on wash days. Emma is 7 and she is a tough cookie (who likes to wear ruffles) so my brother taught Emma to say “gangsta”. It’s probably the one of worst acts of cultural imperialism I’ve done in my time here but, at the same time, no one has ever said “gangsta” as cute as Emma does.

English: “Say ‘Gangsta’.”

Khoekhoegowab: “‘Gangsta’ mi re.”

Emma: “Gangsta!”

On Friday morning of my brother’s visit, we drove to Etosha Game Park. Before we even got to the first waterhole, there was an elephant directly on the side of the road just munching on a tree. Then, just a few more kilometers in, we saw a male lion taking a mid-morning nap by the side of the road. He got up long enough to move with the shade of the tree before he plopped down again to resume his laziness. However, in those few steps I think “OH MY GOSH” and “HOLY CRAP” were the only things said in the car. All in all, the trip to Etosha was very successful. We saw ostriches, oryx, kudu, giraffes, zebras, jackal, and thousands of springboks. Saturday morning we drove to the Cheetah Conservation Fund to see the work that they’re doing there. I’ve only been out to the CCF once before and all the cheetahs were lazy and hard to see. This time, I’m sure we saw every cheetah in the place. At one point in time, we joined up with another family and took a walking tour around some of the Cheetah enclosures. Cheetahs, like most cats, could generally care less if you are there or not. However, when we were taking this walking tour, the family that we were with had their small daughter with them. From across the enclosure, all the cheetahs focused in on this small girl and came running up to the fence at full speed. It was a bit creepy to have such a focused predator run at full speed directly towards us. Luckily there was a fence between predator and prey. One of the workers at the CCF explained that the cheetahs were so focused on the little girl because she was the same size as the prey they normally stalk in the wild. As we continued walking along the fence, the cheetahs kept pace with us, all the while staring at this little girl. The mother of the family finally put the little girl on top of her shoulders and the cheetahs lessened their intense stares. The little girl didn’t seem to be bothered too much by it but as a parent I don’t think I’d ever want to hear the phrase “the cheetahs are stalking your daughter”.

My brother flew out of Windhoek on Sunday morning and I hiked back to Khorixas. It was sad to see him go but I was glad that he got a good tour of Namibia in such a short amount of time. It was a payday weekend so everyone was crazy with money. There were hundreds of cars on the road but no one could seem to spare the time to stop and pick me up. I finally made it to Otjiwarongo late in the day but there wasn’t a taxi in the whole town going to Khorixas. I decided standing on the side of the road and looking helpless might score me a ride home. It didn’t. But luckily, as I was ease dropping on a conversation two people in parked cars were having, I heard “Khorixas” muttered. I was begging for a ride before I remember my dignity. Thankfully, they were really generous and allowed me to sit in the back of their bakkie the 200km to Khorixas for free. As it turns out, the driver is a good friend of the principal at my school so we’re all just one big happy family now. This stuff happens in America too, right?

We had a school holiday in August that I’m just recovering from now. It was a lot of fun. I spent a few days in Okakarara with Peace Corps friends, I finally traveled to Sossusvlei and then I went Peace Corps group 27’s COS conference. COS? Close Of Service. Scary, Huh?

Let’s start with Sossusvlei: It’s a giant sand dune a few hours south of Windhoek. It’s actually a whole park full of sand dunes. Two Peace Corps friends and I decided we needed to see the famous dunes before we left Namibia in December. The only problem was that getting into and out of Sossusvlei is challenging. It’s hard to hitchhike there because only tourists go that way. Peace Corps volunteers who have tried to hitchhike have gotten stuck on the side of the road in the desert for a few days. And, the other option, renting a car can be a bit risky because regular four door sedans don’t fair well on the rough roads (renting four wheel drive vehicles is a little out of a PCVs budget… and by little, I mean a lot). So, the three of us went with the only other option: an organized tour.

To reassure us that we made the right decision, about two hours after our tour left Windhoek the combi hit a large rock in the road, punctured the fuel tank and broke the gearshift box. Why was this the right decision? Let me tell you. Because, in all of this vehicle chaos I didn’t have to worry about a single thing except what kind of sandwich to make while enjoying the view. Ahhh, the life of tourists. After this initial hiccup in transport, we had two more incidents of vehicle trouble: first, the tour group had to band together to push the combi out of sand drifts… a couple times… but it was fun so I barely noticed it was supposed to be work. And, second, we blew a tire. I do believe there was a roadside dance party during that event, however, so it doesn’t really count as traumatic either.

camp site we stayed at on our trip

Other than combi trouble, the rest of the tour went off without a hitch. We had an awesome tour group, the camp we stayed at was beautiful and our tour guide was nice. At sunrise, we all climbed Dune 45. Dune 45 is 150m high and, according to a tour book, is called “Dune 45” because it’s 45km from Sesriem canyon and 45 dunes from Sossusvlei dune (300m high). Then, we toured Dead Vlei – a very interesting dry pan with very old trees. It’s such a strangely beautiful and quiet place. So strange, in fact, one of my PC friends and I decided it was the time to catch our new Facebook profile pictures… Unfortunately, we failed to realize how sweating our faces off is really an unfavorable aspect of pictures in the desert. Oh, well. Next, we spent some time hiking around in Sesriem Canyon (literally translated from Afrikaans to mean “six” um, “riems”. Well, just know it’s the length of rope they used to need to get water from the bottom to the top of the canyon). It became exciting in the bottom of the canyon when we decided to rock climb around a small puddle… I’m not a rock climber. Hell, I’m not even a pebble climber. I’m more likely to stub my toe than successfully walk around. But, I survived and I’m a more adventurous person for it.

Attempt #22 of new profile pic

Our tour was three days and two nights. We arrived back in Windhoek just in time for our COS conference. Peace Corps did us a favor and put Nam27 in a really nice hotel in Windhoek for our two-day conference. There was a pool, a nice double bed, a refrigerator in my room and an electrical outlet adapter built right into the wall. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice those because I was too busy noticing the free buffet. I’m so ashamed. Anyway, our conference was short and sweet and sad. We chose our final days in Namibia, were given medical and administrative instructions for leaving the country and said goodbye to a few volunteers in our group that we may not see before they leave for America. We took our final group photos and then left for our last three months at site.

NAM27's Group Photo: sorry it's fuzzy

Side note: On the way back to site, I had a plush Peace Corps ride up to Otjiwarongo. Then, in Otjiwarongo, Jill and I got a taxi that was literally tied together so that it wouldn’t fly apart. In this taxi, a little girl peed us on. Yes, peed on. Not a little - a whole bladder’s worth. Then, we got charged 10 extra dollars each. Never join the Peace Corps.

When I got back to Khorixas, school had been in session for a week already. Four of my science fair learners had been in Windhoek for THE NATIONAL SCIENCE FAIR. I’m so proud. This year we only came home with participation certificates but it was one of the times in my life where I can honestly say I was just proud to be there. All I have to say is: never underestimate a kid because he lives in a tin shack! My learners are awesome. I had approximately one day of quiet and then my replacement volunteer arrived. My school is so excited to have her here. It was just her site visit so she was only here for a week and then she’ll be back after her group’s Swearing In ceremony. The week got me thinking about my site visit in 2007. I looked up my blog posts from that week. It’s completely strange to read my posts from back then. Sometimes, when I think back on my thought processes from that time, I feel naïve. I’ve learned so much.

Things I used to think were a big deal don’t really faze me anymore. For example, our water went out Tuesday in the nighttime and was out until Friday at 12pm. I didn’t feel like bathing on Tuesday night and figured I’d do it on Wednesday instead. So, when the water went out, I hadn’t bathed since Monday night. Jill had about 3 liters of drinking water and I had about 3 liters of drinking water and that was it. All this was only a minor problem until we remember that Wednesday was the national payday for all workers (except teachers, who get paid on the 20th of every month). Payday means that bills are due. This means that most people skip out on work sometime mid-morning to go get their money from the bank and pay their bills around town. As a result of it being payday, the Ministry of Works employees (who would have come to the school where I live to fix the water) were out on the town (hopefully) paying their bills and (probably not, because I have faith in them) getting drunk. Unfortunately, when we woke up on Wednesday morning, there was also no cell phone reception. This later affected the bank (though I’m unclear of how) and people were unable to get their money. So, Wednesday was a loss. Thursday, however, the bank and cell phones were back in working order. Woo! Unfortunately, this meant that the Ministry of Works employees were back out on the town (hopefully) paying their bills and (probably not, because I have faith in them) getting drunk.

So, there I was, on Thursday night, not having bathed since Monday, and I came to the very real possibility that I would not see water come out of my faucet until next Tuesday and this is why: Friday is basically a half day anyway and people would take off early from the Ministry of Works. Saturday and Sunday nobody works for the government. And Monday is a school holiday, so no one from the school would be around to call and bug the Ministry of Works guys to come out and fix the problem. Hence, Tuesday. This is where the differences between my 2007-self and my 2009-self came into play. I distinctly remember 2007-self having serious problems with water being out for 6 hours. And 2008-self complained bitterly every time the water went out. But 2009-self made it two days without really caring and only being mildly dehydrated. And then, 2009-self decided that 4 days without bathing was gross in this type of heat. So, as a perfectly normal solution, she paid some grade 6 boys in bouncy balls to go and fetch water for her. See, problem solved.

I could have made it till Tuesday. I really could have. There are more bouncy balls – I would’ve been fine. But as luck would have it, my neighbor went down the Ministry of Works and basically kidnapped a worker until he fixed the problem. So, Friday afternoon my clean 2009-self celebrated my faucet being turned back on. But, 2009-self doesn’t trust amenities anymore and she filled all her water bottles promptly.

All that is to say, nation-wide paydays are a bad decision. Oh, and two years is just enough time to make you a more patient and understanding person – even when it comes to the necessities of life, like water. Just chill out. It’s all going to happen sooner or later. Maybe ;)

For my last post, I had pictures. Unfortunately, the internet I was on was too slow to load them in the 30 minutes I bought. But today, I have all the time in the world (a.k.a. an hour). So here you go:

This is a picture of a side of the street in Khorixas. The sign says "No dumping of refuse", obviously, and behind all the refuse is my school's soccer field. My friend Heather took this picture.

This is the picture of the "Rubbish field" behind my house where the kids burn their trash. It may be my imagination... but I think the rubbish field is cleaner than the side of the street picture. Iiiiinteresting....This is a picture of one of the many rubbish bins around Khorixas. This one is unique in that is is only half full and has a bottom.

August 26, 2009

Trashcans are an illusion in Khorixas. When I first moved here, I lived in town at the Ministry of Education volunteer house. For those of you loyal blog readers, you’ll remember what happened that ill-fated night in January 2008 when the volunteer house trashcan lost it’s life at the hands of a naïve young American with a tiny touch of pyromania. To this day, the deformed and twisted plastic remains can be found in Khorixas and, essentially, serve as a warning to new volunteers that they know nothing and probably shouldn’t assume they do.

But this story isn’t about that trashcan. It only begins there. I know I’ve described the difference between “Town” and “Location” in Namibia. But to summarize, town is, for the most part, nicer. For example, they have regular trash pick-up and the location does not. Last year, when I moved to the location, I did not know that the trash pick-up I had so quickly shunned in town and that trashcan I so quickly killed would be the only real trash-solutions I would see in Khorixas for the rest of my days here.

When I first moved to the school, I remember standing with a few of my teachers at the door of my new flat. We were talking about what would be the most beautiful way to decorate my windows, when it suddenly occurred to me: what will I do with my trash? So, I posed the questions. The hostel matron pretended she didn’t know English and just stared at me blankly (to this day, she still pretends she doesn’t know English. The ruse is up matron! I know you’re faking!). The first grade teacher giggled under her breath and said she’d let me borrow her curtains for my living room windows. And my supervisor said, “Weeellll, dear… I don’t know.”

She didn’t know. A Namibian didn’t know what I was supposed to do with my rubbish and here I was, trashcan shy after my last attempt at anonymous trash disposal, by means of fire, left to my own devises. My first attempt at disposing of my trash in the location was to take it out to the trashcan in the hostel yard. You see, all over Khorixas, there are brightly painted public trashcans. These trashcans stand on two legs that are planted into the dirt. Then the legs rise to the top of the trashcan, where there is a hinge that allows the can to swing back and forth. There is about foot or two of space under the swinging trashcan and one lone crossbar in that space that children can use as a way of climbing up to look inside. And as luck would have it, the hostel yard had one of these trashcans. It was a glimmer of hope. It was a solution to a smelly problem. It was something that just made sense, right? Wrong.

The first day I carried my little bag of trash out to that can, learners jumped eagerly by my side: What are you doing, Miss? What is that, Miss? Can we help, Miss? In the midst of chaos, I arrived at the trashcan to find it full of grass. Yes, dead yellow grass – like someone had mowed the field from heaven in “Gladiator” and stuck in our one trashcan. I don’t know why. There was grass everywhere; why should we cram our trashcan full of grass? Isn’t that something we can just leave on the ground? Or feed to the donkeys? Apparently not. So, what was I to do? I threw my trash on top of the pile. The trashcan swung lightly on its hinges, squeaking ever so slightly. It was one lone tied plastic bag sitting atop a mound of grass. It looked so forlorn, so lonely. It looked so… just then, the kids stole it and ran away!!! They stole my trash!

From afar, I cringed at the fun the kids were having with my rubbish. The running commentary in my head was more than I could bear: Eeew, don’t eat that!! Oh my gosh, is that my dental floss? Oh please, oh please, take that off your head!

It was too much; I went inside and decided something must be done immediately. For months after that I carried my trash to town when I did my shopping. In town, they had regular trash pickup. I would walk to town with a bag full of trash, dump it, and then, walk home with a bag full of groceries. Thankfully, Jill was understanding – what sort of weirdo carries their trash around? Her site-mate, that’s who. The worst was when I would forget to empty my bag before I went into the shop. Then, I would open my bag to put all the groceries in but it would already be full of rubbish. It all got to be too embarrassing. I needed a new solution.

It had been months and the hostel’s lone trashcan was still filled with grass. It was then that it occurred to me: the trashcan was just an illusion – no one was ever going to empty it. I considered this and decided I was ok with people going through my trash. The key was that they shouldn’t know it was mine. So began the short period of trash displacement. The plan was like this: I would walk trash to public rubbish bins that were less full than the hostel’s but still in a somewhat close vicinity. I would do this at odd hours of the day and night so that no one would follow me. Children could then pilfer through the small bags later taking the good things. And, finally, no one would be the wiser that the things had once belonged to me.

It worked well at first. The sun would just be glistening at the horizon, with me sneaking back to my flat in my pajamas empty handed. Sunday mornings were the best because everyone was at church. The closest, yet just distant enough, trashcan happened to be adjacent to a makeshift soccer field and was therefore dangerous at too many times each day. The next closest, yet distant enough for privacy, was missing it’s bottom. This was a problem because it felt like littering. I put the bag in the top. It fell out the bottom. What was the point? Then the next closest was just too far. I got lazy. It would be weeks between taking out the trash. Gross smells and cockroaches were the only things that could persuade me to take action. I needed a new plan.

The new plan was brought about by desperation. For, desperation was the only thing that could drive me back to the match. I was going to burn my trash again. I was shy at first. I used an old baking pan to burn the small plastic bags full of evidence that I had lived. I would burn them within the walls of my porch behind my house so that no one could see me. There were many months of this sort of secrecy. Then, one Saturday morning, I smelled fire from my house I looked out the window and there stood about 50 boys burning trash just beyond my back door. It was chore day for the boys and it was their responsibility to burn up their rubbish. Brilliant! Other burners! I was not alone.

Where the boys were burning there was, yet another, large mound of cut grass and just beyond that was a rocky field full of all sorts of rubbish that had been abandoned there. This was the perfect place to take my burning public. The rubbish field and I were happy for quite some time. I would take my trash there, to a small patch of dirt and burn it. It was gone and I didn’t have to go more than ten steps from my door. No learner would ever again wear my dental floss as a headdress or use hair from my brush as a ball. Mission accomplished.

Slowly at first, and then gaining in frequency and severity, the rubbish field and I started to have disputes. People would come by when I was trying to burn my trash and ask, “Jessica, what do you think you’re doing?” And I would say, “why, burning my rubbish, thank you.” To which they would say, “tsk.”

A seed of doubt grew in my mind. Was it unacceptable to burn here? Was I breaking some sort of unspoken rule about women burning trash in fields? I tried to forget it, but more and more people, while facing the self-explanatory flames, would ask, “Jessica, what do you think you are doing?” Couldn’t they see? Or was it a deeper problem?

Out of shame and self-doubt, my burnings became less frequent. I would only burn important things like letters, prescription information or address labels from boxes. The other trash, I would put in the rubbish field with the scattered rubbish left by other teachers who had not been burning. Milk boxes, chicken bones and carrot tops were ok to be left on the ground, I thought. It’s not littering, I reasoned, the goats will come and eat it, or children will come and take it to play with. My first year as a Peace Corps volunteer turned into my second as told myself still, it’s ok because other people are doing it.

But it wasn’t ok. I had let it continue too long. The burnings had dwindled to once a month or every other month. More and more rubbish was being left on the ground in the rubbish field. I left the rubbish atop the mound the boys used to burn their trash on chore day, but it just didn’t seem to atone for the sin like I hoped it would. I despaired. I couldn’t see the difference between a rubbish field and a regular street in Khorixas anymore. I fell deeper and deeper into a hole of loose garbage morals of my own making. Children would come to my door and offer to take my trash out… and I would let them! I could see them in the rubbish field taking the good parts and leaving the rest behind on the ground and I felt nothing buy apathy (and joy that my trash had been taken out). I couldn’t see the light from the bottom of the deep dark hole. Until, someone saved me.

This past weekend, I took my trash bag the ten steps to the rubbish field and started a back swing to launch it into the wasteland. Just before I let it fly into the air, a guard walked by. He was hired by the Ministry of Education to make sure the school is not broken into during the school holiday. He stopped and said, “Good morning.”

I let the trash hang by my side. “Good Morning,” I said.

“How are you?” the guard queried.

“Fine, thanks. And you?” I replied.

“Fine.”

Which wasn’t at all weird because every person you pass in Namibia, ever, must says some semblance of these things to you and every other person they pass. But then there was a pause. Then the guard raised his eyebrows and pointed. His accusatory finger was not pointing at me but it would have been much less painful if it had been. It was instead pointing at the one and only hostel yard rubbish bin, the one that had been full of grass for so long. He said simply, “There.”

“Oh,” I said quietly and hung my head in disgrace.

I was too ashamed to walk to the rubbish bin then, so I simply went inside. The next day, I had gathered enough courage to try a second time to take my trash out to the hostel’s lone trashcan. When I was approaching, I could see that the top no longer sported a huge mound of grass. I had been too blind, too apathetic, to see that the trashcan had been emptied! Trashcans were not an illusion! People were starting to care about what to do with their garbage! It was the beginning of a new era in Khorixas, where the streets would be clean. The Ministry of Works would pick up trash all throughout Khorixas – there would be no distinction between Town and Location, between rich or poor! All trash would be equal! This was momentous.

I reached the trashcan full of joy and hope and gracefully tossed my tied plastic bag in. I felt satisfaction. I felt accomplishment… I felt something on my foot. I looked down and it was my little bag of trash. How…? What…? I tipped the trashcan on its hinges and peered in. At the bottom of the can, I saw my toes peeking back at me. There was no bottom. That was it. Just a can. No bottom. A tube to accelerate littering on the ground. A laugh in the face to someone trying to clean up the chaos. A step backwards in the grand scheme of garbage.

You see, I tell you this cautionary tale so that you can see the plight of those who want privacy in a developing country. I tell you this so that you can look down into your own trashcans and consider what would actually make a good toy for a child who needs less to be entertained than an American child. I tell you this so that you can feel a small sense of joy when the garbage truck drives to your house and takes your trash away so that you never have to see it again.

No, but seriously, with three months left I still don’t have anything to do with my garbage.

August 18, 2009

Here’s a secret about my job: Sometimes I go to work and I do absolutely nothing.

Now, don’t go out and join the Peace Corps right now. There are a lot of days that I’m so busy that I don’t sit down all day and my throat goes numb from yelling. But today was one of those days where I do absolutely nothing. The only thing I was supposed to do was get the kids ready for the National Science Fair at the beginning of term 3 in September. The Kunene region is short a couple projects and our grade 7 learners were runners up at the regional science fair. They may need to be prepared to go, but I’m not sure. Then, for the National Science Fair, there are special boards and special papers and this and that and what what what… but the man who is organizing the fair was out of the office today. Don’t know when he’ll be back. Just gone. So, I did nothing.

The kids are taking their end-of-term exams now. The whole school is on lockdown. We’re supposed to be concentrating and studying and wrapping up the term. Unfortunately, my term is wrapped up. I’m finished. So, I did nothing.

Today was nice though. Yesterday was really hot. The heat made some clouds overnight and today was really cold and cloudy. I can feel rainy season coming earlier this year. I bet that means it’s going to get hotter faster too. But this morning was nice while the cold lasted. I don’t know what it is about cold, but things get quieter. The roosters don’t crow. The kids go inside before they yell. Dogs don’t bark. It’s strange and calming. This morning was nice.

This afternoon, I read a little and then I took a walk to town. My first errand was to fax a letter to Windhoek. I had to go to the Telecom shop – which is just a phone company building. To fax my letter, they called me back to an empty room with one table that had a fax machine sitting on top of it. Nothing else. One window. The woman who worked there was dialing in the Windhoek fax number and a man was standing next to her. He was reading my letter. I waved my hand in front of his face and said, “Sorry, sir, it’s private.” His expression was like I had just slapped him. He took a step back. The woman who worked in the shop looked worried. She said, “Sorry, miss, I was just reading the fax number!” When the fax machine printed out the paper saying Windhoek had received the fax, she turned her head and felt around the machine until she could grab the paper and hand it to me without looking at it. Ha! It’s no wonder those of us with western attitudes get such a bad rap – all professional-like… what’s the big deal? Chances are neither of them cared what my letter said or what to make of the information.

The next errand was to buy a stamp to mail a letter to one of my best American pen pals (thanks to those who write)(really. You = mail box bliss). When I walked into the post office, it was completely empty. I’ve never seen it completely empty. Normally, I walk in and have to wait 20 minutes to 2 hours before I get to the window. Then, I try to keep my sentences short and fast to ward off any old people trying to push their way to the window to collect their pension from the government. Then, I walk off dejected because old people are really a lot stronger and pushier than you would think. Anyway, today it was empty and while I was still standing in the doorway (marveling at the emptiness), the post worker said, “Hello, Jess”. I felt so loved, so accepted, so welcomed. I love the post. Not only can they tell Jill and me apart but also I have a nickname. Mmm, good day. It was like post office heaven.

The next errand was to buy more Namibian pumpkin and some apples from the grocery store. Whenever you buy produce at the grocery store you have to get it weighed in the produce section before you take it to register. Granted, the produce section in Khorixas is about the size as a bathroom. I was about to pick up some apples to make applesauce when the produce-weigher grabbed my elbow and led me to a box around the corner that was filled with apples. Cheaper apples. Yay, secret weigher info! The pumpkin is pre-weighed. Don’t know why.

I decided an impulse buy was in order for the day. So I settled on buying some sweets. I wanted something chewy, like gummy bears. So I went to the sweets section. I grabbed the candy that looked closet to gummy bears and threw it in my basket. Then, I had to pull it back out to take a closer look: On the front it said “the unreal world of MANHATTAN”. Just below that it had a picture of a kangaroo with eye shadow and long eyelashes. Her name was Kylie Kangaroo, the bag told me. She had her pouch open and inside it was a picture of the candy I was about to consume: little “gum babies”. The rest of the package was decorated with these “gum babies” of all different colors (red and yellow, black and white… and green) floating around. The babies were posed like chubby mummies; legs stick straight and arms folded over the body. But, alas, each baby had a broad smile and chubby cheeks, obviously to encourage you to eat it. Finally, the back had a picture of a cow head and it said, “Cow-moo-nicate with us…” with an address and phone number, in case you are not satisfied with your babies, you can send them back. Tell me American packaging is this weird and I just haven’t noticed before… right? Oh, baby.

I took my babies, pumpkin and apples up to the register to pay, but I didn’t make it before a pack of Grade 5 girls, each one buying one item: oil, sweets, cookies, soda… it was a good day in the land of Grade 5 girls (except the girl with oil still confuses me). The first girl stood proudly at the register. Her total came to N$6.95. Unfortunately, she only had a 5-dollar coin. She scooped her sweets off the counter and back into the store to reevaluate her choice. The second girl nudged her oil across the counter. The checker looked up the price and told the girl. The small girl pulled a huge bag out of her dress pocket and dumped it on the counter. Hundreds of 5-cent pieces scattered everywhere. The checker gave the small girl a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look and then gave me a kind look and told me to go to my own cash register, opened specifically for my needs. Yup, it was a good day in the grocery store.

I wandered home at a pace of a Namibian person 50 years my senior, chewing my gum babies. The yellow gum babies are the best tasting. Plus, the yellow color makes it hard to see their creepy smile. Chewing my gum babies and surrounded by Khorixas–location chaos, I marveled that so much could be accomplished in Khorixas town. It was like an up and coming metropolis. I was rounding the corner to the school hostel when one of my grade 6 learners stopped me by standing in my path. She stood staring at me and smiling. I had the last red gum baby stuck in my tooth and the wind was blowing pretty badly (a symptom of dry season) which makes my nose run uncontrollably, so my learner had a lot to be staring and smiling at. She finally said, as I was picking baby out of my teeth, “Oh, miss, you are so Beeaaauuutiful today.” I paused for a second to remember that sarcasm doesn’t exist in Grade 6 Namibian English. So I said, “Oh, thank you!” and made a mental note to give her a few extra stickers for being oblivious.

I made it home no worse for wear and with all my errands accomplished. So you see, Khorixas was nice to me today. Tomorrow I may not be so lucky. Which goes to show, you can have your baby and eat it too!

Actually, no baby eating. That’s weird.

The computers came this weekend!!!!! It’s been so many months waiting for our two computers to make their way across the Atlantic and to our humble little school.

If you don’t remember, when I was home for Christmas I raised money for my school to get computers. People gave money or bought crafts made by women in my community. It was super encouraging to be surrounded by such generosity! Then, at the beginning of this year, I ordered some computers from a donation company in Seattle. The money was used to refurbish the computers and ship them to Namibia (I got a great deal on shipping, by the way. Great deal!). And now, 8 months later, the computers are sitting in the office of Eddie Bowe Primary School. They could not have gone to a school that would appreciate them more. My colleagues are so excited to better their school and now they have the tools to do it.

Thank you for those of you who helped!

4 August 2009

I write about facebook a lot in my blog. We’re really lucky to have such good phone service in Namibia. Even though it can be maddening at time when things go all “Africa” on us, a majority of the time I’m connected. And it feels great.

In Peace Corps Namibia we have a publication called “Izit?”. The story behind Izit?’s name came from a popular saying in Namibia. It’s common to be telling a story and have all the listeners respond, “Is it?!?” In fact, “Is it?!?” ranks just below “Oooh-Kaaaay” and just above “Don’t say that!!!” in Namibian responses. I’ve adopted all of them in my normal speech.

Anyway, all that’s to tell you about our PCV publication Izit?. Nam27 (my group of PCVs) is the first group to really embrace mobile Internet on our cell phones. So, this year, when we took over Izit? a new section was added: “Facebook Statuses, Straight from Your Phone”. For those of you unfamiliar with facebook, statuses are a part of your profile page that you can update as often as you like. Most people tell what they’re doing at the moment or how they’re feeling. It is mandatory that the status starts with your name. So, if I updated my facebook status right now, I might say, “Jessica Royer is having a blast writing her blog after a two month hiatus.” The new Izit? facebook article included these gems from current PCVs in Namibia (names have been omitted just because having names would be weird):

[A PCV]’s youth center is planning to have a meeting to plan a planning meeting. Now now.

[A PCV] thinks a grilled cheese for breakfast as WELL as dinner makes for all the essential vitamins and nutrients.

[A PCV]: that’s right, it took us 5 hours to go 10k.

[A PCV] keeps getting faint whiffs of doody and can’t rule out that it might be his own clothes… Thank you peace corps for lowering my standards even further.

[A PCV] just printed 2 copies of a Valentine for a learner addressed to different girls. They both say “You are my one and only”

[A PCV] is amazed how things work out in Namibia. Yesterday I didn’t eat and had no money. Today I’m watching a plasma HD game of rugby and drinking wine in A/C. Wow.

It’s always to fun to read my PCV friends’ status updates. They can be so entertaining. They’re nice because they comment on the little nuances about Namibia that you wouldn’t notice unless you were working inside the system. Sometimes they’re negative and sometimes they’re positive but most of the time they represent two cultures coming together (and how rocky that experience actually is).

As the time before I leave Namibia gets shorter and shorter, I spend a lot of time thinking about how I can finish strongly. Coming closer to the end means a lot of reflections. What was this time here all about? Have I made a difference? How have I changed? For the rest of 2009, I want to tie up loose ends. I want to make sure that everything is finished and ready to be left on it’s own. Or maybe not so much on it’s own but in the hands of another…

Recently, I found out that I am being replaced with a new Peace Corps volunteer. This is great news! I am excited that another person will be investing in Eddie Bowe Primary School for another two years. I will meet the new volunteer in September. Everyone is so excited for the PCV to come. The new volunteer will be staying with a family in Khorixas. People are so excited about the new volunteer that there was a moment of great disappointment when they were told that not all of them could be chosen to host the volunteer in their homes. When we finally decided on a host family, the host mother told her little daughter that “Jessica’s sister will be coming” (the family requested a female volunteer, hence “sister”). The little girl was so excited that she’s been telling all her friends that the new white girl is going to come live at her house.

With great excitement also come great expectations. Only now, watching a school prepare for a volunteer can I see how devastating it would have been for me to leave early. Volunteers who leave Namibia before even spending a week at their site make a huge hole in their host organization. A place was prepared and then there is no one to fill it. Peace Corps volunteers are never held to the full two years. I could have left at any moment. But every day held just enough hope that I stuck around and I’m glad I did. I hope this new volunteers sees how much they’re needed and appreciated.

Since I started my two years, the program has changed a little bit. We arrived in country on November 2nd and we moved to our sites on January 9th. Everyone from the previous group had gone home by then. This year, Nam30 will arrive in August and will be at site by October. I get to spend my last two months with the new volunteer. Sometimes I get really excited about this. Other times I get really worried – what if they’re way cooler than me? I bet they’ll be able to speak Damara in a couple of days? What if they really like to bake and make a cake for the staff every week? Seriously, these are things to consider! I need to get my act together before October!

I keep reading online about record-breaking temperatures in the states. Here, it still feels a bit like winter today. Lucky for me, I have my sleeping bag to keep me warm. You know, I think that sleeping bags have a magical power. If you are feeling sick, or insecure, or tired and you slide into your sleeping bag you instantly feel better. It may only be my sleeping bag (which is falling apart at the seams now) but I have a theory that it works with any sleeping bag.

Life at school has just settled down for me. Last week was the Kunene regional science fair. We had big expectations for this year, given last year’s huge success and put a lot of work into our projects the weeks before the fair. The fair was held in Opuwo this year, so getting there and back was quite an adventure.

This past Friday morning, the 24th, I walked out into the hostel yard in the dark morning hours. Everything was quiet and my 6 science fair kids were nowhere to be seen. This aggravated me because I had told them over and over again not to be late. And to make matters worse, the hostel matron had promised us food for our journey and she was MIA. Two minutes after 6 AM a huge bus rolled into the hostel yard and started honking it’s horn. True to Namibian form, hundreds of kids appeared for a chance at excitement, my 6 among them. Suddenly, at my side was the matron with a box crammed with sandwiches and sausages. The wave of children ushered us onto the bus and we were gone to the regional science fair.

From Khorixas, it’s about a 4-hour drive to Opuwo. This Friday, it took us 9 hours. The bus was full – 4 learners to a three person seat. Snacks and soda being tossed around. A couple of secondary school boys were thrown off the bus for drinking alcohol. Pit stops were always in the bush, girls on the left, boys on the right. Who needs toilets?

By the time me and the other chaperones disembarked from the bus in Opuwo we were frazzled and ready for a break. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the cards for us. A lot of the jobs I acquire in my life are because no one else wants them. I feel a bit of shame in this. But it’s become a repeating pattern in my life, so who am I to reject it now? Needless to say, the frazzled chaperones were gifted the jobs of science fair judge. Such power. Such influence. And no one else wanted the job.

There were about 9 altogether that got roped into the job of judge. We started our work almost immediately after stepping off the bus. A lot of the kids remembered me from judging last year. As it turned out, this year was much more fun than last year. I think it was because it was one of those few times I actually feel like I know what I’m doing here.

We stopped judging about 5 hours later and decided to finish the next morning. I spent the night at my fellow PCVs’ house (with a new and improved burglar bar door in place since the incident in March). And returned the next morning to finish judging. That morning, the last project I judged was on astronauts. The kids were really confident in all of their answers. Unfortunately, they were not correct in all their answers. For example, to the question, “Why do astronauts need space suits when they are in space?” they answered, “There are chemicals in space that will burn the person’s skin if they don’t have a suit.” To which I replied, “Are you sure? Is there another reason?” Answer, “Well, the chemicals and the strong winds will blow the astronaut away…” I could tell that my standards are lower because I was so impressed that they at least tried to answer the question. You see, the normal Nam-child response to a hard question is to stare and then cover your face with your hands until the questioning adult leaves. It’s so frustrating to have children shut down when you ask them a question. But the learners with the astronaut project were BSing! They were saying something! I gave them some points for confidence and finished up my tallies for the award ceremony that followed the fair.

This year, Eddie Bowe entered two grade 5 learners, Morris and Marimocha, who did a project about water purification. We entered two grade 6 learners, Losia and Kennedy, who won bronze in the National Science Fair last year in Windhoek. Their project was on plants. And we entered two grade seven learners, Sylvester and Mildredt, who did a fantastic project about gravity. I think grade 7’s project was my favorite – it was about air resistance and gravity. Losia and Kennedy, the two veterans, are great answering interviewing judges. They have confidence and they knew the answers to questions because they practiced, studied and prepared for the science fair. Grade 5 and grade 7, the four newbies, were very afraid to answer questions and were very timid and unsure while preparing in the weeks before the fair.

All the learners did great. However, confidence and experience prevailed and only two (Losia and Kennedy) out of six won an award. Losia and Kennedy got third place of all the primary school projects. They are going to National Science fair in Windhoek again this year! And I am proud of them.

After the award ceremony, I felt bad for the four Eddie Bowe learners who had expected so much and were walking away with nothing. They had tried. They spent a lot of time helping to make their board look beautiful but they were lacking in their ability to answer questions. More than once, I glanced over and saw my learners with their hands over their face and a judge impatiently waiting for a reply. Maybe next year they will have the skills to get further. It’s always a chance to get learn and grow.

The science fair and award ceremony were finished at 12:30 on Saturday afternoon. The kids were given a quick lunch and told to get on the bus. So, we got on the bus… Then, we did not make it back to Khorixas until 7pm on Sunday night. The only comfort in the complete tediousness of the bus was knowing that I will not have any problem reintegrating into American culture when I go home and this is why: I was so frustrated! Any American would be, right? But all of the other teachers on the bus didn’t seem to care that it took a day and a half to get home… there’s something to be said for a person who can integrate into another culture and make it their own… Unfortunately, I will never be that person. If only because I will never think it is ok for a 4-hour trip to take a day and a half… That’s all I’m saying :)

Friday June 12, 2009

I was watching Long Way Down recently with Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. It’s a really great documentary where the two actors drive from Scotland to Cape Town on motorcycles. It’s really fun to see places I’ve been, mostly because documentaries make everything look so African and I’ve been there! Anyway, somewhere in central Africa, Ewan was watching a donkey cart drive by and got really excited. He said:

“I’m going to have the first donkey cart in North London. I’m going totally green. Never mind your Toyota Prius, I’m going donkey power!”

I appreciated his reaction to the cart because I watch donkey carts drive by all the time and I think the same thing. Except I’m not famous, so it doesn’t sound as cool. And, obviously, I’m not from North London.

Anyway, at the end of school today, I was frantically running around trying to finish up some scholarship applications for three of our very bright learners. I’m hoping they’ll get money to go into a good secondary school. It’s been very rewarding to work with these three learners and their families on these applications.

It’s very obvious that the people who live around me are poor. In fact, they’ll even tell you they’re poor. Or they’ll tell you that their hair is falling out and that they desperately need your food to help them. Only one slice of your bread… your apple… your money… your tea… will save this person, this learner, this child who’s come to your door without another place to turn, a victim of a cruel world – at least that’s how it’s presented to you as your being solicited. And these people aren’t wrong. They’re poor.

In contrast though, we have these three learners I’ve been working with this week. These learners have been a joy to work with because they have nothing. I mean nothing. But I never noticed until this week when I was scrambling to accumulate their financial records for this scholarship. I was scrambling to get this information because it does not exist. None of these learners’ parents have an income. And yet, everyday, without fail, all three of these learners can be found in class with a fresh face and a good attitude. None of them have asked me for food (more than once) and all of them are deeply respectful to everyone around them. They have no reason to be hopeful and yet they are. They have no inspiration around them to work hard, but they do. These three learners see something in the future that’s better than they’re current tin-shack life. What’s better is that their parents see it too. These kids’ parents are all so proud of their learners. They’re willing to help in whatever way possible and they’re excited that an opportunity exists.

I’m also glad that a scholarship exists in Namibia. Even if my learners don’t receive it, it’s nice to know that there is a hope for bright learners in dull situations. We all worked hard on these applications and now it’s time to cross our fingers and hope for the best.

Luckily, today is the beginning of a four-day weekend. Tuesday the 16th is the Day of the African Child. Which means No School Monday and Tuesday! WooHoo! So now it’s time to wind down for a long weekend of crosswords, reading and a small jaunt to Windhoek for a visit with Peace Corps and some other business.

Speaking of Peace Corps, one of the things that I like about PC is also one of the things I detest about Peace Corps and it is this: They give you entirely too much information. They give you information about how to dress, how to talk, how to sleep, how to eat, how to greet people, how to take medicine, how to sit, how to teach, how to travel, how to cope with emotions, how to put on a band-aid… on and on and on. So, it should not surprise you that I’ve also been briefed on how to write a blog post. The motto is this: Write blog posts on good days. Write journal entries on bad days.

I’ve held pretty true to form and usually only write blog posts on good days. Sometimes I write blog posts on bad days and see if I can make them sound good. Other times bad days are just funny – getting peed on by a goat? Funny. But mostly, I write about good days. Amazingly, I think that’s there’s been a pretty good representation of my experience here (obviously, it’s hard to relate everything. And I’m sure my blog would quickly become dull if I tried). I feel that you get the full experience – sunburns, terrible car rides and lame come-ons from creepy guys. But, at the same time, you don’t despair because you also get to experience adorable children, fun food and successful cross-cultural experiences too!

The reason I tell you all that is because I wrote a blog post on a bad day and I’m going to post it anyway. I’m going to post it in the spirit of getting the full experience. And because it’s a big deal in my life and this blog is to keep you up to date with big things that happen over here. I’m really enjoying my experience as a Peace Corps volunteer but I have to tell you it’s not all laughs and giggles and adorable children and funny cross cultural experiences. It’s real life. Just in Africa.

The section below, from June 9th, is still very pertinent in my life now. And it will probably be for some time to come. I’ve never been good at writing serious things – I always feel so melodramatic. But here you go.

Tuesday June 9, 2009

When I woke up on Monday morning, the power was out. I lit all the candles in the house (all easily accessible because the power outages aren’t that strange) and I was going about my morning routine. The only problem was that it was so quiet everywhere. Quiet inside for the lack of fans and computers. Quiet outside for the lack of children. And it was so dark and so cold too. It’s winter here now. It’s come in its full glory – shorter days, longer nights, cold toes, and foggy breath. I was standing over the sink, in the glow of candlelight brushing my teeth with icy water and I had the most surreal feeling. I didn’t know what time it was. Was it nighttime? Morning time? And more importantly, I didn’t know where I was. Or who I was. Or what I was doing here. And as all these doubts and questions came simultaneously into my silent bathroom, I had to hold my breath. I was afraid that if I started breathing again my reality, as I know it, would shatter. It was like all the images floating in front of my eyes weren’t real and if I thought about them too much they would vanish and I would be left with nothing.

Do you ever have that feeling? It’s always a risk to share something like that because sometimes people know exactly what you’re talking about. But other times, you get funny, sympathetic head tilts that confirm your worst fear: you’re crazy.

I know it seems like that’s out of left field, but it’s not. My friend died.

His name was Barry Kautuara. He was a teacher at my school. And he was my neighbor. I don’t usually write names of teachers in my blog. But you can trust me, if you’ve been reading my blog before, you’ve read about Barry. He was at every school event. He was always kind to me. Even before it was cool to be kind to the American. He was always out in the hostel yard ready to talk. He was always helpful and he would always take the time to explain things to me. But then, he would always take the time to listen to me too.

Our first day back to school this term (term 2 of the 3 in a year) was Tuesday March 26. We had our regular staff meeting that morning and we also had our regular staff prayer. It’s not uncommon for the prayer to be Damara. I just respectfully bow my head and consider it to be an extra minute or two that I can shut my eyes before the chaos of the day. When the prayer was finished on this morning, there was complete silence in the staff room. One woman was crying. Another got up and left the room. Silence. Days and nights of silence.

Finally, the principal cleared his throat and attempted to speak. He began, his voice cracked and then he began again, “Dear colleagues, I am also hearing this news at the same time you are hearing this new. One of our colleagues… one of our friends has passed away…” By this time my heart is in my throat. My head was frantically scanning the possibilities. And I am ashamed to say that in this small fraction of a second I comfortably assumed the unfortunate colleague was our dear, old, old social studies teacher who retired last year – it just made sense.

The principal began speaking again, “Mr. Kautuara was in a car accident traveling back after the break. It is a terrible loss…” I can’t be certain what was said next because by that time my brain was completely and utterly confused. I was absolutely sure that my principal had misspoken… Maybe Barry was in a car accident and now he’s in the hospital and he’ll be back to school later… maybe he meant to say one of the hundreds of other K surnames in Namibia: Kaiseb, Kariseb, Khais, Kameseb… I must have heard the principal wrong.

I came back to the conversations when the principal said, “Someone strong must tell the learners. I am not a strong person.” At this point, I was thankful – the news was about to be repeated to the learners. Everything would be said again in English during the school-wide assembly. For sure, this terrible mess would be made clear.

I am sorry to say that the news was repeated at assembly and it was the same. There was no change. There was no mistake. It was the same. And that this would be the beginning of my in-depth observations about the ways that Namibians handle death and the way an American handles the death of their Namibian friend.

I spent a lot of the past two weeks either offended by learners’ lack of respect for their late teacher, becoming closer to my colleagues through our shared mourning, completely confused or just plain heartbroken. That’s not to say that all learners were completely disrespectful. It’s just that 12, 13 and 14 year old minds aren’t always the most equipped to deal with death of a role model and mentor (which I am sure Barry was to many of these learners). At first, I was inclined to believe that the learners were being flippant about Barry because death is commonplace and, therefore, considered less important in Africa. I could not have been more wrong. In fact, I’m even shocked that I would let my mind wander there. Sure, there’s an AIDS epidemic. Sure, rural medical care is substandard and transport to hospitals is almost nonexistent. Sure, life is harder and shorter here. But when does the death of a father, mother, son, daughter, friend, or grandparent cease to take a toll on those who remain? I say, never.

But. Life has to continue. And it does. It hurts to move forward and it’s tragic to hold school the next day. It’s the worst thing in the world to dig through Barry’s desk looking for paperwork. And it’s awkward to tell learners to go to Mr. Kautuara’s class. I have to avoid looking into his classroom everyday – full of learners and no teacher (he was proud of his classroom and liked to keep it very neat. The learners have torn it apart since then).

My parents were still visiting when I first learned about Barry’s death. But when they left, it was doubly miserable and I felt very alone. Worst of the effects is that I am more afraid of transport in Namibia. I didn’t think it would be possible to become even more safety conscious than I already am. But it is. The only problem is that you can’t predict car accidents. They’re the worst kind of surprise.

Barry was Herero. I spend a lot of time with Damara people so I can’t be sure of the Herero tradition. But as I understand it, Hereros don’t like to keep bodies for too long. They must hold the funeral as soon as possible. For this reason, Barry’s funeral was on the weekend of the 29th. It was held by his family in a village outside of Okakarara. Our teachers asked for transportation from the Ministry of Education but our request was denied. Because of the long distance, our school sent a couple teachers as representatives for the school. They also took cards and letters to the family. Many people were distraught and completely outraged about being unable to attend the service. A few teachers were in tears as the Ministry explained that it wasn’t able to provide transport. And we all sat around for many hours trying to concoct an idea that would allow us to all go and pay our respects. But in the end, we could only afford to send those few teachers and that would have to be enough.

Since then, life has been a little off kilter. I find myself thinking about life and death quite a bit – the meaning of each and the reality that they both hold. My mind spends a lot of time dedicated to thoughts about religion and heaven and hell. I also think about what constitutes a true friendship considering the difference in cultures between Americans and Namibians. Often, I get stuck debating in my head when a death is about the mourners and when a death is about the departed. It’s harder to be the one left behind - my mom used to tell me, as a military brat watching my friends’ families pack up and move away. Maybe it’s true of death too. One things for sure though – I miss Barry.

My mom and dad just visited from the states. They arrived on May 9th in Cape Town, South Africa. And they left today, about 30 minutes ago, from Windhoek, Namibia. So much has happened in the past few weeks that my head is still spinning. But while my mom was here, I asked her to write about her visit so that I could post it on my blog. Isn't it nice to have a fresh point of view? So, what follows is her blog post for me. And, no, in case you're wondering, I did not pay her to write all those nice things.

Mom's Blog Post

May 27, 2009

Namibia is wonderful. Yes, the country is beautiful – majestic mountains, savannahs rich in color, deserts that go on forever, the ocean and coast line – truly, Namibia lives up to its name the Land of Contrasts.

But one of my core beliefs is that the people make the place and I can say without hesitation that the Namibian people are amazingly friendly, gracious, intelligent and accepting. They are such lovely people.

We rented a car in Windhoek, a VW Polo. Its nice, but the steering wheel is on the right and we are driving on the left side of the road which is a story for another blog post. Stopping at petrol stations is a treat. There are 4 to 6 attendants and when they see us turn into the stations, one will claim our car and start waving us to them. So much energy and great customer service – Oregon gas station attendants (well, attendant since there is usually only 1) can take notice. But, here’s a difference between cultures, Kent would say “fill up with regular” and the attendant would smile and say “good morning. How are you?” So Kent would have to stop and say “good morning. I am fine. How are you?” After the greeting, THEN we could get gasoline, along with all of the windows washed, the air in the tires checked, as well as fluid levels under the hood – now THAT is customer service. To be fair to Kent, this only happened once. He is a fast learner and now is a great greeter. And Kent has adapted quickly to driving on the left side of the road as well as negotiating check points and chatting with guards.

We have driven a long way in our short time here. We traveled the southern border to the northern border, then to the eastern border and into Zambia to see Victoria Falls, then all the way to the west coast. We’ve seen so much – animals, cultures, architecture, art, vistas. . . that it would do a disservice to try to explain it all in a single blog post. But there is one thing here in Namibia I will tell you about, the one major goal of my trip, and that was to be with Jessica. SHE is truly amazing. Her blog posts, as wonderful as they are (isn’t she a great writer?), don’t tell half of the story. Her strength and ingenuity, the way she communicates with the people here, the respect she has for herself, the culture, the school and the learners have left me in total awe. People ask me all of the time if I worry about her being in Africa. And, you know, I really don’t. I worried more about her driving up and down I-5 between home and school than I do here. And now that I’ve seen her here for myself, I’m even more sure and comfortable that she is in her element. She understands life and how to make wise choices and how to roll with the punches. AND, most importantly, she knows how to laugh.

Jessica and Jill decided to have a braai (BBQ) for us on Wednesday night – our last night in town. Jill’s parents just arrived in town. So Jessica and Jill bought a goat. Actually they arranged with Ginno to buy a goat for them. Well, Ginno bought the goat the day we arrived in Khorixas which is 4 days before the braai. What does one do with a goat for 4 days? We have no pin. It can’t stay IN the flat with us. We can’t have it bleating for 4 days. SO Gino and his brother decided to slaughter the goat for us. Okay, good plan. Oh wait, what does one do with a slaughtered goat for 4 days? Jessica is the most resourceful person I’ve ever met. There was a moment of “OMG! I own a goat!” Then she started laughing at the situation while unpacking the small freezer she owns hoping a slaughtered goat will fit into the small compartment (it did). The actually slaughtering of the goat was not my favorite part of this trip, but the skill that Ginno’s brother showed was amazing. He is about 14 or 15 and very strong and knows his way around a goat. The payment for slaughtering a goat for someone is the innards and the head. I guess those are the best parts. I was asked if I ever ate goat intestines before. Apparently they are delicious. You know, I can honestly say that I have never been asked that question before, and I can honestly say that now and for every time in the future that I’m asked that question, the answer will be no.

So lets jump forward to Tuesday when it is time for us to take the frozen goat to have it sectioned at the local butchery shop. We could not get the goat or the container it was in out of the freezer. . . both were stuck. Kent took a knife and chopped the ice away from the edges to break the goat and container free. We were laughing at our situation. Then we drove into town to have the butcher cut the goat for us. But the goat was frozen to the container and wouldn’t budge. I’m pretty sure everyone in the butcher shop was laughing at us, but, oh well. We brought the goat home and left it on the kitchen floor to thaw. Then the electricity went out and we ended up sitting in candlelight and cell phone light with a frozen goat.

Cute side note: when the lights came back on we could hear the children in the dorms cheering. It was so adorable! I really love the children here.

The braai went off without a hitch. The food, meat and porridge, was delicious, children dancing, a soccer game on the TV, lots of people – a fun, fun party!

Kent, Jessica and I spent part of our time in Khorixas working on the library, Jessica’s library at the school. It is a nice place and you can see Jessica’s handiwork throughout the room with the way she has organized the books, instructions she has posted, the card catalog with cards in her handwriting for each learner. However, the walls were peeling and the room just needed some brightening. So I picked out some bright paint colors – grass green, ocean blue and a sunny yellow, and we cleaned and painted the walls. It turned out very nice. We stenciled designs on the walls and hung curtains. The curtains we bought are shetangays – cut pieces of cloth that have multiple purposes from clothing, to wall coverings, to curtains, to whatever you need it to be. The shetangays we bought are red with green, yellow and blue star bursts. All of the colors we choose are colors from the Namibia flag and each color represents a part of Namibia. So even though we tried to make it bright and fun, we kept it educational and meaningful to the learners. It was awesome watching the learners and teachers come into the library seeing it for the first time. I sat with some kids looking at Ranger Rick magazines, showed some of the girls how I painted the flowers in the room, and spent time with a world map showing some of the boys where I live in relation to Khorixas. It was so fun.

It will be hard to go back to Oregon. I love the way I feel here. My shoulders are loose here, my brain actually turns off at night, I can drink coffee without getting a sour stomach, I can sit and watch people, chickens, donkeys, goats, and/or scenery without having to do something else. . . this is all really good for me, a person who is constantly on the move multi-tasking. I hope to take this part of Namibia home with me. Well, that and about another thousand hugs from Jessica.

April 20, 2009

I invigilated an end-of-the-term exam today. I teach every single one of the upper primary (grade 5 through 7) learners at my school now. At the beginning of class, Namibian tradition dictates that I should ask that class, “How are you, learners?” To which they will invariably answer, “We are fine, Miss. And how are you-oooOO?!” (Progressively getting higher and higher in pitch with the “you” that they just sound silly).

I think this tradition is stupid. If we do it so that they can practice English greetings, they need to move on, advance. If we do it so that I can gauge the emotional state of my class, they are all lying anyway and in the end, I know nothing (except that Morris has a strange ability to hit very high notes still).

Instead, I have developed a very technical system. I walk into a class and don’t have to say anything, and I know how every learner is feeling. It’s called The Thumbs Up System.

In The Thumbs Up System, I started by asking the learners, “How are you feeling today?” If they are feeling well (not “goodly”), they get to give a thumbs-up. If they are feeling badly, they get to give a thumbs-down. If they are feeling “somehow” (Namlish for average, blah, apathetic, etc.), they get to give a straight thumb. In my more advanced classed we also have 45degree thumb angles to signify somehow-good and somehow-bad.

The Thumbs Up System is so successful that I do not even have to ask them how they are feeling anymore. If I walk into a classroom on accident or while looking for someone, the whole class will throw me some kind of thumb sign. Some kids like to give me a thumbs-down and a big frown, then when I ask them what is wrong they laugh and turn their thumb up. Tricky tricky.

I lied though. It’s not called The Thumbs Up System. It’s not called anything. At least you know the truth. And I know the truth from the learners now too. The learners do not have to lie anymore. If they are not fine, they do not have to say that they are just for the sake of unity. And if they do not care how I am, they do not have to ask. It’s freedom. Just how we like it.

So, I invigilated this exam today. When I walk into the room, everyone gives me the thumbs up. It is really encouraging. Everyone is happy. All these thumbs up make me feel like I am approved of. Like maybe I am the cool teacher. I divide the exams among the learners, ask for quiet, please, and take a seat at the teacher’s desk. I was thankful to have such a cooperative group of learners to look after. They are concentrating, moving their mouths while reading questions, scratching their foreheads, trying to remember. I am flying through GRE flashcards (only a few weeks from my own exam now). We are the most productive room in the whole school. In all of Khorixas, in that moment.

Then, there is a squeal of joy. What?! I looked up from my cards. Every eye in the classroom was angled upwards. Hands and pencils still poised in test-taking mode. Everyone is frozen, not sure what to do next. Above our heads is a small bird flying, flying in circles. We’re all getting dizzy watching it. We are happy just to watch it for a while. Then the thought slowly comes to my head, we need to do something. We need to fix this. But how?

I look at the learners and, “Ahem”. I point my eyes downward towards their tests and they all reluctantly start to work on their tests again. We can hear the bird flapping above our heads. It is going faster now. Soon I realize that I am still staring at the bird. It is futile to try to not stare at the bird. At first the bird appears magical and free. It flaps it wings for half of the classroom and then soars the rest of the circle. It does not dip close to any of our heads. It is just here to say hello, maybe to wish us luck. It is not threatening.

Some learners are trying so very hard to keep their eyes on their exams. They look down and put their pencil to the paper. Then slowly, their eyes, almost involuntarily, turn back upward. When their thoughts return to their absentminded heads, they quickly look down at their exam again. They are losing time. They may not finish if this keeps up. I realize this and start to make plans in my head: We could all stand up and urge to bird out of the open door. We could try to throw a sweatshirt over the bird and carry it outside unharmed. We could… just then, one of the learners shows the bird a big thumbs-up… or we could tell the bird how we’re feeling.

None of us are getting anything done. The bird, at first wonderful and exciting, is getting more and more difficult to watch. We cannot take our eyes from it. But, where at first it was gliding and smooth, now it is floundering. It’s circles, at first perfectly geometric, are now irregular and incomplete. The bird is so so tired. It is looking for a way out. The windows are wide open and it does not see them. The door is free and clear and it just passes it by. Each time the bird pauses at a window, the classroom tenses it’s muscles. Then the bird continues on its wearied path and our hopes are dashed. It seems like there is no end in sight. Maybe this bird will just fall from the air, dead with exhaustion. Maybe it will free itself before anything drastic happens. Maybe… The bird lands on the chalkboard and readjusts itself so that it can stare at us all. It’s breathing hard and its eyes are pitch black. For a beat the classroom is silent. Then, like the opening of the stock market, the kids all remember their exams and start feverishly writing. Outside, they can see other children, from other classrooms, who have already finished their exams. The bell will ring soon.

I am thankful that the bird just sits there. It is still. It stares at me. I wonder if this will end up messy. Droppings on my head. Splatters on the window. We stare each other down. A dual. I wonder if the principal will let me go home and wash my hair… if the need somehow arises.

The learners are finishing their exams. Some of them have put their heads down. Some of them blow kisses to the bird on the chalkboard. I am thankful that it is still. A short while later, the bell rings. To my surprise, no one moves. Everyone just sits are stares at the bird. They are missing out the food and fun of break time. But they just sit there. Almost every eye in the classroom is on this small, pitiful bird. And as though it could sense the collective stare of 40 Namibian children, the bird reluctantly lifts itself into the air and resumes its circular path. Being free from their exams, the kids giggle and wave as the bird flies overhead. It tires faster this time and it becomes almost painful to watch it pause before windows and doors. It’s back hunches. It’s eyes become darker. We sit there for ten, maybe twenty, minutes. Circles and circles and more circles. At one point I remember that children like to catch birds here when they’re feeling extra hungry. Then they cook the tiny bodies over a fire made from donkey dung. I survey the classroom looking for learners who are drooling. There are none. Circles and circles and circles. And then, a charge. The bird backtracks and flies straight at my face. I panic and duck. The bird misses by and inch. It turns and swoops again, just over my head. Then, hovering by the door, it pauses. None of us believe it will leave. It is here to stay. A permanent fixture in the classroom. But, to our surprise, the bird pauses in front of the door, bows it’s head, as if to say goodbye, and ducks out the door. It’s gone.

“Yipppeeeee!” I hear from the back of the classroom. “Yipeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” All the kids join in. They are imitating Grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It’s adorable. I am happy that they are happy. I am happy to have avoided disaster. The learners collect their exams and turn them into me. Then, they file out of the classroom and disperse. But we are all bonded together. Stuck with this common experience.

Then, later, I went home. And, not having studied all that much while at school, I toss my GRE flashcards on the table and lay down – momentum is to blame. What to do? What to do? I’m bored. But I don’t want to study, too much brain energy. I know! I’ll write! I’ll write about that damn bird.

And here we are.

I can’t believe you read all that. :)

April 23, 2009

That last post, that was mean. I promise to never do that to you again. At least not intentionally. I’m sure I will write about pointless things again but will then think that they’re completely serious and interesting. I urge you not to tell me when they’re not interesting.

One of the more interesting things in my life, however, I will tell you about now. His name is Tu-o. Sometimes his name is Johannes. And occasionally it’s Kloefas. But if you ask him, he will say Tu-o. He is three years old and visits every Saturday morning when his mother comes to do the wash. Right now, he is my all-time favorite thing about Namibia.

Tu-o is my favorite because he is crazy. Not literally, but in practice. He is my favorite because he laughs like woody woodpecker. And he’s definitely my favorite because he’s never afraid. Sometimes during the week, my mind wanders and will end up at a memory of Tu-o from the previous weekend. Sometimes, in my memory, he’s trying to sneak up on me without being seen. If I turn my eyes even slightly in his direction he will bolt out the door where he is hidden again. Other times, in my memory, he’s lining up all his toys (that we let him borrow when he’s here) and then terrorizing them Godzilla-style. And sometimes, in my memory, he is wearing a silly Halloween costume sent from America, running around in circles and terrorizing his sisters, Emma and Katrina (one of my science fair stars from last year).

This last memory still makes me giggle out loud. At the time, it made me laugh so hard I was crying for half an hour straight. He is adorable. I hope you think so too:

I hoped you enjoyed that montage. I picture it to the tune of “Get Rhythm” by Johnny Cash – couldn’t tell you why though. It’s your lucky day though, because I’ll show you another picture montage. This one is of my outing for the Easter holiday. Before you look at them, though, you should know that they do not represent a normal volunteer life. The luxuries found below do not occur everyday. If they did, everyone would be rushing to be a Peace Corps volunteer. And then, it wouldn’t be called volunteering; it’d be called taking over another country… or something.

Also, the pictures are taken in a coastal town called Luderitz in the South of Namibia. It’s about 1200Km from Khorixas and took me about two days of crazy Nam-travel to get there (totally worth it). Lastly, you should know that I didn’t take any of the pictures (my camera was stolen in the previous blog post and, if I weren’t so lazy to write about it, I would tell you about how the police found it in this blog post. It was really amazing. They didn’t even use the footprints in the yard to find the 15 year old boys who were not even clever enough to leave Opuwo with 2 computers, American passports and wallets and a couple of digital cameras. So, the police easily found these youngsters and recovered our goods, minus my camera charger – a part of a camera you never really feel too attached too until it’s gone missing… No, I will not tell you that now). Please, do enjoy:

First, the two crazy days of travel to Luderitz involved a combi ride with, ahem, just the right number, er, the safe number of PCVs crammed in. This shows row 3, 4 and 5 in the combi. Let's not even talk about row 2.

That's my beautiful green eye that you can barely see in the back there.

We stopped in the desert so that we could stretch our legs and honor the event by catching a photo with Flat Stanley for an elementary school in America

We visited the ghost town called Kolmanskop. Houses full of sand. Fantastic stories.

We went out on a sail boat. It was beeeaaauutiful. And cold. Very cold.

We had a fantastic braii with lovely toasties (the process pictured below) (a toastie is a grilled cheese sandwich with any variety of other fillings). And then everyone rejoiced!Happy Easter!

Next time, on The Elephant in the Middle of the Room, we'll see the brave parents conquering Namibia! Stay tuned.

“The Twenty Third of March oh-nine”

is what I would say if I were still normal

“Twenty THREE March two thousand and nine”

is what I say after a year and a half in Nam

I’m a little richer today. It’s nice being a little richer because yesterday I was a bit poorer.

I’m rich today because I got a package from mom. I’m ashamed to admit that I ate 3.5 servings of beef jerky for dinner tonight… but then again, America should be ashamed it sells things with 3.5 servings instead of 3 or 4.

And why was I a little poorer yesterday… well that’s a story we’ll have to start a week and a half ago. If you’ll permit a flashback, please:

“Eleven March”

The water went out about noon. I did everything I could not to think about it. Things have a tendency to work themselves out when you don’t think about them. I preoccupied myself with watching the entire second season of Heroes on my laptop instead. Then, afterwards, I spent some time trying to justify spending an entire afternoon watching a TV show. Then, I spent even more time being thankful that I have a job that lets me spend half a day watching TV trying not to think of something else. And even then, after all the thinking, justifying and TV watching, the water was still off.

To make things worse, we had a brownout at the same time. Luckily, my computer still charges in a brownout. But the downside was that poor little Ando, Hiro and Claire were stuck trying to distract me from two problems.

… I don’t think Peace Corps is what it used to be.

I went to bed trying not to think about water but also hoping that it would be on the next day.

“Twelve March”

The water came back on very late in the day. None of my Namibian coworkers were worried about the water at all though. I spent part of the afternoon study going from colleague to colleague at school to ask what had happened to the water. They all told me, “The water went out.” …I suppose I should’ve been more specific in my question asking.

I was impressed with myself though. In March last year, when the water was out for 6 hours I thought I was going to die. This year, it took about 25 hours before I started to get irritated. That’s a form of growth, right? I think my colleagues are up to about two days before they start to worry… Then again, maybe loosing the sense of water as “life-giving” and “necessary” is a bad thing.

Today I also sent my laundry to be cleaned by another woman. She ironed everything! I think even my underwear was ironed (ironing is a very big deal in Namibia). When she brought the laundry back, she asked for twice the normal price. It’s so frustrating to get treated like a white person after being here for so long. But, on the other hand, she did iron my underwear… and I didn’t have any water to do a better job… so, I ended up giving her one and a half the normal price. Plus, ironed clothes make me feel fancy.

“Fourteen March”

Yesterday morning, both my principal and supervisor announced in our morning staff meeting that they were leaving Khorixas to go out of town for various reasons. After the meeting I went to the library and started to work on some grading. As I was working, some water kept falling on my hands… I realized I was crying… why was I crying? It was because I wanted to leave too. I hadn’t left Khorixas for two months. I had to get out.

So I dried my eyes and went to my supervisor to see if she was still there. She was. She said she would wait for me to pack a bag and would take me with her. She and her husband bought me a cooldrink at the petrol station and drove me to Otjiwarongo. It was the happiest morning I’ve had in a while. From Otjiwarongo, I decided to visit the volunteers in Okakarara. I bought the things to make a pizza at Superspar and was lucky enough to find a taxi going to Okakarara with three passengers already (you always need 4 – any less and your driver won’t leave. Any more and you should probably protest and get out of the car. I’ve tried 8 in a car before. Unsafe? Yes. Uncomfortable? Hell yes.). We left right away.

I didn’t do much in Okakarara. We all just sat around, talking and eating. I came back to Khorixas today and felt a million times better just for having left. Strange how that works, huh?

“Seventeen March”

The water has been on and off since I got back from Okakarara on Saturday. Mostly off. Tonight it’s been out for 24 hours straight. Just a few drops before that. I went out in the hostel yard to ask around to see if anyone had water. No one did. Or, those who did didn’t want to share. The young Herero teachers who rent rooms next door were wandering around with buckets testing taps. They invited me to join. We found a small tap that was dripping water. They let me try to fill my bottle first. They didn’t get much after that. It went dry.

While I was out searching for water, Jill SMSed her friends in the location and in town. They’re all out of water too… it sounds like the hospital is the only place in all of Khorixas that has water. They have their own storage tower though. What is going on here?!

“Eighteen March”

The staff meeting at school this morning was comical. Women were wearing scarves over their dirty hair. One of the young men was begging around for some coffee or tea – “I can’t make it to even third period without coffee!” He’s my kind of addict.

Jill and I had a small bit of water left in our bucket. But most of our bottles for drinking were out of water. Dishes were everywhere and the toilet smelled and I’m out of clothes from the laundry woman last week. Gross.

My supervisor said that a friend drove from Outjo last night and explained that the main pipe to Khorixas was broken and all the water was flooding outside of town. It’s all hearsay. Jill heard different stories as she was walking around running errands in the morning. Maybe they were cleaning the holding tanks. Maybe the borehole went dry. The radio’s not broadcasting either, so no one knows the real reason for the drought.

Midday, Jill SMSed me and suggested we travel to Outjo and to visit Amanda. I was already home packing my bag when I got the SMS. Earlier in the month I had made plans to visit Opuwo on March 19-22 (the 20th is a school holiday to celebrate the 19th year of Namibian Independence). I decided that leaving a day earlier was acceptable - If only for the shower.

Jill and I asked all of our friend in Khorixas to SMS us with updates about the water. Then we headed to the petrol station where we used good old-fashioned positive thinking to find a ride. First person. Nice car. Air conditioning. Zero Dollars. Things were beginning to look up.

In Outjo, we did indeed get a shower and some food at the bakery. Just after lunchtime, we got an SMS from Khorixas saying the water at the hospital went dry. I’m beginning to worry about my little town. What will happen to all those people? It’s too hot to be without water.

Oprah-type list of things I’m thankful for today:

- Water!

- A shower.

- Water.

- Saltines at the Outjo grocery store.

- Water.

- A free ride out of Khorixas.

- H2O.

- That I don’t have to go back to Khorixas tomorrow.

“Nineteen March”

This morning I proceeded with my plans to go up to Opuwo for the long weekend. I spent about two hours sitting by the side of the road outside of Outjo. The only cars that stopped were going the wrong way or were the police. For some reason, the police took a keen interest in me this morning. Every ten minutes or so, they would stop and make sure everything was all right. Then, assured that I was OK, they would drive away, around the block and, ten minute later, back to me again. I told them my mother appreciated their concern. They laughed. But I was serious.

Someone finally picked me up at about 8:30am. He bought me breakfast and took me to Kamanjab. I knew we would be good friends when one of his first questions was:

“Do you want breakfast?”

I always want breakfast.

Then the second question:

“Do you use The Secret or positive thinking to get a lift?”

Um, those are the only ways to get a lift.

Anyway, along the way to Kamanjab he told me about his job. He works with rhino conservationists in Etosha. They are working on a project now to relocate some black rhinos to the south of Namibia. It was really great to hear about the camp where he works and I had tons of questions. Most of the time in hikes you have to feign interest. Example: “Oh, you sell cattle feed? Interesting. What’s the going price these days? Really. Who knew? Yeah, I love cattle feed too. Nothing better.” But in this hike I was totally interested in his work.

When he dropped me off at the Kamanjab petrol station he gave me his number and told me to call if I was in any trouble. He said the camp was only 60km away and he could come back and get me if there was a problem. For a second, I hmmed and I hawed and I kicked the dust and I did the math in my head. Finally I decided that finding a ride 60km outside of Kamanjab going to Opuwo wouldn’t be too hard at that hour in the day. So I asked the man if he would be willing to show me the camp. He said yes and we were on our way.

The rhinos were on the west side of Etosha. Only private tour operators and researchers are allowed on the west side of Etosha. The general public is only allowed to visit the east side. I felt very privileged as we passed the gates into the park. On the dirt road into the camp there were zebra, kudu, dikdik, orcs and giraffes. It was like a free safari!

When we reached the camp, the rhino experts gave me some tea and introduced me to 8 black rhinos that they had captured. My favorite rhino was princess Fiona. She was beautiful. Well, as beautiful as rhinos can be. I also appreciated that the rhinos spent part of their day listening to The Killers blaring from an ipod nearby. It’s strange where familiar things will pop up.

When I was finished meeting all the rhinos I was in total shock and in love with life. My hike drove me out to the main road going to Opuwo, filled my water bottle and dropped me on the side of the road. Only then did my head start to come back down to earth. I was thinking, “Oh, wow, that was totally awesome! Who gets to be that close to a wild rhino! Wow. Now I just have to find a ride from… from… where am I? Shoot. I’m in the middle of nowhere. Oh, gosh, nowhere, Africa. Shoot.” I felt safe though because I knew my rhino researches were nearby if I needed help. But, then, half an hour later my thoughts turned into, “Damn flies! Get off me. What?! The cell phone reception just went out again. Ugh” Then two hours later the skin on the top of my feet was radish-red and my thoughts were solely focused on getting a ride: “I hear a semi. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. For heaven sakes stop and pick me up. What? There’s a white person in the cab? What’s one more white person?! Pick me up! Aw, come on!” The semi had sped past me. But as I was cursing it and watching it go, it slowed to a stop and used a dirt driveway to pull a u-turn. When they rolled back to where I was standing, another Nam27 PCV was sitting the passenger’s seat. What were the chances? I guess we were just reinforcing the stereotype that all white people know all other white people.

The semi was only going another 60km toward Opuwo. It dropped the two of us at a tiny school in the middle of nowhere again. The work crew on the semi kept checking on us to make sure we were OK and I found myself feeling safe while standing in the middle of nowhere again. I love this country.

Almost immediately after getting out of the semi, a bakkie with a small family and four goats in the back stopped to pick us up. After agreeing to “hug the goats”, we hopped in. At first the situation was just comical. There was a cute, cuddly goat and a goofy goat and a dopey goat and a not-so-cute-cuddly goat. Then the cute, cuddly one peed on my foot. Then the not-so-cute-cuddly one started to eat my trousers. 120km later, I smelled like goat pee, was burnt to a crisp and not completely sure I could stand up.

When we pulled into Opuwo one of our Nam 27 friends met us at the petrol station to show us the way to his house. There are two PCVs in Opuwo. Four volunteers were visiting this weekend, including me. The volunteer house in Opuwo is a typical volunteer house – tin roof, burglar bars on the door and windows, buckets everywhere, a tiny Christmas tree, and 900 books. But it also has water and a beautiful view, so there is nowhere else I’d rather be tonight.

“Twenty March”

I can’t say we did anything too terribly exciting today. The two volunteers who stay in Opuwo still had to go to work. But the four of us who are visiting spent some time exploring Opuwo and shopping in the town. Opuwo is the regional head of Kunene. It’s an interesting town that’s full of Himba people and contradictions.

In the afternoon, we all gathered our swimming gear and trekked up to the Opuwo Country Lodge… or The Opuwo Country Hotel… or something to that effect. It sits on a hill just behind the volunteer house. When you reach the top of the hill, the lodge faces the opposite direction of Opuwo. It has a nice large patio for eating that overlooks an infinity pool and a beautiful valley below. We spent the afternoon there swimming and relaxing. We watched the sun go down and took a million pictures on all our cameras. It was a good day.

“Twenty Two March”

It was Namibia’s birthday yesterday. The country turned 19. To celebrate the holiday, the six of us decided to have a braii (BBQ). We went to the grocery store in town and bought all sorts of great things to cook – Chicken, sausage, onions, peppers, and potatoes. We got some firewood from the Himba outside and headed home.

We braiied for a few hours that afternoon. And when I say “we” I really mean that I watched and heartily participated in eating the product of all that hard work. It was a great afternoon. The weather was nice and some kids were playing soccer nearby. When we finished polishing off the food (except for one stubborn piece of uncooked chicken) everyone went inside to take a nap. I decided to stay on the porch and study for the GRE with some note cards I carried with me. I found myself people watching more than studying though. There were a lot of people walking by. Everyone was friendly. It was a nice afternoon.

That night, we decided that we would go out to a new-ish club in the area because one of the volunteers said it was a good place for dancing. We walked down to town and spent an hour or so just hanging out and meeting people. That was when one of the volunteers decided to go back to the house because he was tired. The rest of us went to another club nearby. This one had a disco ball. In my opinion, disco balls always mean trouble.

We were only at the second place for about ten minutes before one of us got an SMS that the volunteer house had been broken into. From the club, some local friends drove us to the house. When we pulled up, we could see that the burglar bar door on the front of the house was bent at the bottom just enough to allow for a small person, a child maybe. There was stuff on the porch – peanut butter, some clothes, rusks, an empty purse. When we walked into the front room, all of our bags had been overturned and completely rummaged through. We immediately went to our respective piles and started hoping that our things were still there. My passport! It was there. Under the socks. My money was gone! Only two hundred nam dollars, I could live with that. My debit cards were there! They were hidden by a small black pouch. Thank goodness. Ipod? Phone? They were still hidden in my sleeping bag. Sweet. I was almost off scot-free. But as much as I dug, I couldn’t find my camera.

It wasn’t until then that I started hearing what was going on around me. Cameras, wallets, two laptops (minus the power cords), debit cards, credit cards, keys, cash, a hard drive, that one stubborn piece of uncooked chicken from the braii and a tin can full of coins were all missing from the house. There was a large pile of things by the door. We could only assume that the small child who could fit through the bent burglar bar door was in charge of bringing an object to the door. If the adult at the door approved the item, it was taken. If the adult at the door refused the item, it was left in the pile. Maybe the bored adult was snacking on some peanut butter and rusks while they were waiting.

In my mind:

Child: How about this camera?

Adult: Yes, it has a lot of pictures of white people swimming at Opuwo lodge. Good.

Child: I found this computer

Adult: Of course! Those are worth money!

Child: How about this cord attached to it?

Adult: worthless

Child: But I think it’s for the electricity…

Adult: I said worthless! Now go get me some of that chicken from the stove.

Child: It’s not cooked

Adult: Even better.

Your mind goes strange places when you’re in stressful situations.

Who knows what really happened.

The next few hours we were on the phone with PC and talking to the Opuwo police. Just to entertain myself I went out to the front yard with the police when they were looking for a footprint. The police started ignoring my helpful suggestions after I had asked too many questions like, “What if the footprint is under the SUV you parked in the yard?” and “Doesn’t everyone buy their shoes at the same PEP store?” and “Don’t you need some kind of light to find a footprint?” One of them grunted at me to go back to the house. And I listened to them, went in the house and giggled the whole way. But Heaven knows that footprint would’ve saved us all.

After that, we stayed up for a few more hours making theories about how the whole thing went down. Was it someone we knew? They had to be waiting for us to leave the house because the whole thing was done in less than an hour. How did they know we were leaving? Was it one of the people passing by earlier in the day? Had we spent too much time altogether in town? That’s a lot of white people… It was a lot of thinking and speculating but in the end, we’ll never know.

To go to bed that night, we had to push the dining room table up against the door. It still locked, but it was bent and one set of keys was missing from the house. We all slept in the back of the house that night. No one wanted to be close to the door. Just after we turned off the lights, I heard a lot of movement… metal rattling maybe… lots of bumping… I kept telling myself, “It’s nothing, it’s nothing. If it’s something, someone else will hear it. It’s nothing.” But even though I told myself to be calm, my eyesight narrowed (a stupid side effect of fight or flight I decided in that moment) and my heart started pumping blood really hard. I was just about to say something to wake the others up when one of the volunteers busted out from his room to tell us that all the rest of his things were right where they were supposed to be. He had been moving things in his room. That was what I had heard. I really had to calm down before I got any sleep.

Early Sunday morning, I got an SMS that Jill had sent the day before. She said that the water was on in our flat (she had spent the weekend in Okakarara and had returned to Khorixas on Saturday). Even though I was only running on about three hours of sleep, I decided it was time to say goodbye to Opuwo and to my camera. I fuelled myself up with some of the rusks from the front porch and made my way down to the hike point for Khorixas. I got a ride almost immediately in a small bakkie crammed with people. There was a family of three in the bakkie that was also trying to find their way to Khorixas. They adopted me for the day. It was so nice to be adopted on that day. I needed someone to look out for me.

When the small bakkie made it to Kamanjab it let everyone out. When I went to pay the driver, he would not give me back all of my change. I was so angry but at the same time I thought, why not? Why not just take some extra?

I calmed down really quickly, though, when my adopted family for the day also got angry. Altogether, we couldn’t get the money back. So, instead they bought me a cooldrink and some lunch. One of the family members is a teacher at the primary school in Khorixas on the town side. We talked about teaching BIS while we flagged down cars outside of Kamanjab. The car we finally got drove with all the windows down on the dirt road so that when we reached Khorixas an hour later I was completely white. My orange backpack was completely white. My eyelashes had little drops of mud between them from the dust and tears that had mixed.

It was nice to be home. Jill gave a piece of chocolate cake. I took a bath. I saw my notice from the Post office for a package. I went to bed.

“Twenty Three March two thousand and nine”

I’m a little richer today. It’s nice being a little richer because yesterday I was a bit poorer.

I’m rich today because I got a package from mom. I’m ashamed to admit that I ate 3.5 servings of beef jerky for dinner tonight… but then again, America should be ashamed it sells things with 3.5 servings instead of 3 or 4.

25 February

When we started Peace Corps, I heard a few times, “Non-readers will become readers. Readers will become writers”. This was in reference to how bored and lonely you get while sitting alone in your new empty home and the means by which you entertain yourself. At first, I thought, “whoa, I was a reader and now I’m becoming a writer.” But I was wrong. I wasn’t a reader. And I definitely wasn’t becoming a writer. In fact, I don’t know if I have any new scholastic habit. I do read more. But I think that’s because I have the time. Still, 50 pages is my limit for a day before my brain starts to itch and I have to put the book down for something more “productive”, like sweeping an already clean floor or washing a shirt that’s only been worn once.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this idea of reading. In schools here, you hear the term “reading culture” thrown around. And example sentence is: “we want to make the library a nice place to encourage a reading culture.” Maybe this is a common phrase, or maybe my school coined it… but I doubt it. So, I’ve been wondering, what is a reading culture? And why is it our big goal?

I think that we do have a reading culture in America. All of our history is written down. The number of times I remember my grandmother talking about her mother and father I can count on two hands (I imagine it’s probably one hand worth of fingers for most people my age. I just get to use two hands because that side of my family enjoys genealogies… but that’s beside the point). Most grandparents don’t sit down and recite history to their bouncing America baby. No, you send them off to school, where they learn all those good things from books.

Sometimes when I hear the phrase “reading culture”, I automatically imagine a person with trendy glasses, sitting in a coffee shop window, wearing skinny jeans and a pointless scarf, reading “Catch 22” or “The Kite Runner” or “Middlesex” or some other book that really makes them think about the meaning of life…. But more importantly, makes them able to relate, on some level, to the thousands of other people who’ve read that book.

I know that Americans don’t read entirely to look trendy. But you can’t deny that books sure don’t hurt your indie hipster image. I also know that American parents don’t send their kids off to school so they can be free from the obligations of teaching their children about the world and all the cool things in it. If that were true, I would have spent a lot fewer nights in a tent in the middle of the wood as a child.

I always think back to America first because it’s what I know but also because it’s the model for other countries. Good or bad, it’s true. I’ve been told English was perfected in America. I wanted to say, Aw, brutha, ya kno that ain’t tru. But it may very well be.

I think our school is just looking for a standard. At least I hope that’s what they’re looking for. There’s a common knowledge that exists here in Khorixas. I always feel like I’ve cracked a secret code when I learn a little tidbit of it. For example, we had some friends over at the end of last year. They told us about all of the tribes in our area. Just Damara, Right? Wrong. There are different tribes of Damara! Granted, I can’t pronounce a single one of them. But the omas and opas (grandmas and grandpas) know which tribe they’re from. Our visitors told us that the omas and opas can tell the difference between people from each of the Damara tribes (I can’t even tell the difference between the general Namibian tribes, unless I hear them speaking). But then, just a few weeks ago, I was reading through the social studies books. I didn’t see one mention of Damara tribes. Everyone knows about them, but you can’t read about them. If I asked 5 different people: “How many tribes are there? Where did they live? What are their names?” I would get a huge variety of answers.

A second example: I’ve heard 4 different stories now about how Khorixas came to be Damaraland. They’ve all been on hitchhikes when the driver feels inclined for a history lesson. But does anyone really know? Did anyone write it down? The answer is yes, but no one here reads it.

Which brings me to the reading culture. Do we really need it? I mean books can be just as jaded as an oma sitting by the fire spinning a yarn about the glory days. But then, in print, they influence more people. Is that good? Or is that bad?

I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for you. I’m just thinking. And I’m just doing my job, which is reading. And by golly, do we read. I’ve got about 320 learners in all of my classes and about 200 hundred of them have books in their hands tonight. Some of them may be looking at the pictures, some of them may be reading and dreaming of another place or time, and some of them may be tearing out the title page to fuel their fire and hoping that I don’t notice it’s missing when they return it tomorrow.

March 7

I wanted to tell you the good news! I’ve got two computers on the way from America as we speak. If you gave money to make that happen, THANK YOU! Really, really, thank you. I will let you know the second they arrive. And photos! I will take lots and lots of photos!

Also, it’s sunny today!!! I missed the sun. It’s strange because it’s been raining everyday since school started. Sometimes the day will start out sunny, and then it will spend the morning becoming increasingly unbearable. Then, just when you think you can’t handle it anymore, the clouds finish forming and start to dump on you. Other times, like this past week, it’s cloudy in the morning, at lunch, in the afternoon and into the night. And we spend the day being a bit cold and damp. The weathers so strange because I thought I knew exactly what to expect this year. But instead the grass is starting to grow into all of my walking paths and I have to wade through newly formed rivers when I’m out walking.

Last week, I went out walking while it was drizzling. When I got about 20 minutes away from home, the sky started dumping buckets. I ducked under the side of a church building but unfortunately it already occupied by one very persistent drunk man. After a few minutes of being insulted, I decided being drenched wasn’t as bad as I thought. Walking in the rain was all ok, even a bit fun, until I got to a street that had been turned into a river by flooding. I just needed to cross it but the water was going fast and I didn’t know how deep it was and (think of all the parasites!) I had a cut on my toe. Luckily an old lady was sitting on her stoop nearby and came over (in the buckets of rain) to help me. She explained that there was a few stones I could hop on a little ways up the street… or at least I think that what she said. She said it all in Afrikaans with big hand gestures. I don’t know any Afrikaans, except thank you. So, to keep her from standing in the rain and explaining the whole thing over again in English, I said, “Danke” and moved down to the stones. I started hoping over the stones. The last one was a bit far and I missed it and ended up even wetter than if I had just walked across. I looked back to the woman and she was giggling at me. I would’ve giggled at me too – who is this white girl, wandering around in a downpour, pretending she’s an Afrikaner? About the same time I was standing in the middle of the street-river up to my shins in water, a bakkie drives by and slows down. The man had his window rolled down and leaned out to say, “you’re getting wet.” He leaned back in the window and accelerated away. There was no chuckle in his voice. There was no underlying, “hop in and I’ll drive you home.” No, just, “you’re getting wet.” Like I hadn’t noticed. I waded out of the river and continued up the street towards home. I was just being to feel optimistic about getting home without causing too much more attention. Just then, a tiny tiny sedan rounded the corner in front of me. There were five men inside. The man sitting behind the driver had his window low enough to yell out, “Hey baby, you’re looking hot.” This caused me to look up to see who would be that rude. As I looked up the driver hit the puddle I was walking next to. The mud arced beautifully into the air and landed artfully onto my face. I got a “hey, baby?” from the man in the back, like maybe I was too distracted to hear his compliment the first time. There was a mix of emotions in my head: First, “Holy crap, people, I’m just trying to get home.” Then, “I think there’s mud in my mouth.” And, “Eeew, that man doesn’t have any teeth.” But mostly, “Aha ha ha ha ha!” How could you not laugh in that situation? So that’s what I did. And, luckily, there was enough rain that all the mud was off my face in a second. I made it home about the same time the rain was slowing down. The kids were just coming out from their dry hiding places and made sure to tell me that I shouldn’t walk around in the rain – I’ll get sick. Which I’m sure I won’t do again… as long as I know it’s coming.

But today is sunny. And I’d bet you a namdollar, as soon as I post this, the rain goes away for a while. That’s how things seem to work here: The minute you go out to buy candles the power comes back on, just when you lock the library to go home the kids come in a gaggle to take out books, and that lesson that you thought wouldn’t work ends up being a hit. I spent a lot of time last year thinking that I was bipolar. But I’m not. That’s all I know.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in Khorixas this year. In fact, all of my time. This is the most consecutive days I’ve been in the city. It’s small here and normally, by this time, I should be getting cabin fever. But I’ve been doing ok. It helps that I’ve been reading a lot of awesome books lately. I’m also studying for the GRE. I have to go down to Cape Town to take exam. It’s a bit daunting because I really haven’t done anything academically challenging since April 2007 (Time it flying!). I’ve found that studying for the GRE is really relaxing - it’s nice to be doing something that will only benefit me. Now, if I had only had that point of view while I was in University maybe I would’ve had better grades.

Today is regional athletics for all of Kunene region. It’s held in Outjo. Our district athletics were on Valentine’s Day. It was fun. We had two learners who made it past districts. I only know one of them well. She’s fantastic. Her name is Magreth. She’s one of those people who make running look easy. I watch her and I think, “I could totally do that”. Then she laps someone and I think, “oh, what a wimp” because it looks like Magreth is just gliding past them effortlessly. She was in my math class last year. She always wanted extra problems – what teacher doesn’t love that? She got chicken pox last year and spent a full day in church praying for them to go away. Sometime there are learners I just want to pull aside and say, “Please leave. Please leave Khorixas.” But I don’t. Khorixas needs good people too.

Well, that’s about it lately. I’m going to go back to studying geometry for the GRE. Isn’t geometry nice? It’s like a little puzzle. It looks like a bunch of craziness but then subtract from 180, multiply by pi, apply a fancy theorem and, shoot, everything’s explained. Nice and tidy… Do I really need the metaphor or did you get it on your own?

I made it back! To Namibia, obviously. But really, I meant my blog. It’s been a long time since Thanksgiving, and I was starting to worry that my blog had died. But it didn’t. It’s still here! Yippee!

My time at home was wonderful. Honestly, it was a bit surreal though. I cried getting off the plane at the beginning. And I cried getting back on the plane at the end. I don’t know if I can explain either emotion but they were both a mixture of fear, missing certain people and an overwhelming sense of not belonging anywhere… or maybe belonging too many places.

Before I left for home last year, I would spend a certain amount of time everyday visualizing things that I felt were shocking about America. For example, I visualized an entire row of the grocery store being dedicated completely to ice cream. I visualized getting into a clean car with seatbelts that would travel directly to where I needed to go! I visualized a clerk in a store who said, “oh yes, of course I can help you.” Instead of the regular, “I don’t want to speak English today” or “Buy me these sweets when you buy your things.” Yes, I visualized many fantastic things about America. But when I finally got there for my vacation, some things still shocked me.

I had a ten-ish hour layover in JFK airport when I first arrived in America. It was hellish (“Hellish” defined as: completely jet lagged, tired, dirty, wearing summer-weather clothes, without American money, hungry, forbidden to check in until a mere 6 hours before my flight and doomed to carry ALL my bags around outside in the cold rain waiting until Delta would accept my worn and ragged soul… and that is no exaggeration, that is, until I found a McDonalds…). Just before my connecting flight left for the west coast, I finally found some coffee. It was, of course, at Starbucks. I didn’t mind because it was coffee, the only beverage confirmed to improve my outlook on life. When I tried to get an Americano, though, I ran into some trouble. I had in my wallet a fresh $20 from an ATM I had stumbled across – a whole different challenge – and a few coins left over from 2007. I figured that I would make life easier on this Starbucks worker by counting out exact change for my coffee. But instead, she angrily stared at me as I counted the coins. And when I finally put them down she said, “This ain’t right!” I counted them again, twice. They were right, I thought. The employee just got more and more angry before she finally took the coins and counted them for me... in a loud and clear voice… like a math teacher… in first grade: “25! 35! 36! 37! 38! … You’re 25 cents short!” I looked at the coins in horror as I realized, a quarter is worth 25 cents. Not 50 cents. I just quietly put down a second quarter and grabbed my drink that had long since been prepared by the second employee and shamefully slid away to a dark corner of the terminal. Where I then examined the rest of the coins in my possession to ensure I knew all of their values before attempting to purchase something else.

The quarters were only the beginning. The little things seemed to shock me all over the place. The rolls of toilet paper in America are huge! Internet is the fastest thing I’ve ever seen. Why does everyone drive so fast on the freeway? Was TV News always so entertaining? Remote controls have so many buttons. Pop tarts cost more than I make in a day. Why is everyone so strict about the order of words in sentences – you got the idea, didn’t you?! And, you definitely don’t get to choose if you want to wear a seatbelt or not.

There were a few things that were not as great as I remembered though. For instance, customer service really confused me. It was just too much social stimulation. By the end of my visit, I would just make nods in the direction of things I needed instead of using full coherent sentences. And snow! Oh the snow! It was so… cold. And wet. And yucky.

There were some things that were just as good as I remembered though: Family, friends, curlers, pets, the cd player in my car, boots, the microwave, clean socks, the washing machine, lots and lots of blankets and fantastic tea with fantastic honey!

Overall, my trip home was really great. And I did get my hair cut.

I returned to Namibia on Thursday, the 8th of January. My first act upon arriving was to leave my cellphone in the taxi that drove me from the airport. It was a devastating loss. But the kindly Europeans who were bunked in my hostel room became concerned about my seemingly unhealthy attachment to a piece of technology and, with many phone calls and a little yelling, managed to get the taxi driver back to the hostel, resulting in my phone’s safe return… And who says Europeans don’t like Americans?

The next day, I made a quick visit to Khorixas for the weekend to make sure my flat hadn’t been broken into or otherwise damaged. I felt very lucky to see that my flat looked just as I had left it. Luck had very little to do with it though. It probably had more to do with my neighbor/friend/colleague who promised to watch it during the holiday. The inside of my flat smelled like something rotting though and it was a little more than I had bargained for. And, to make the smell worse, there wasn’t a whole drop of water in the entire hostel for the entire weekend. I survived by buying 3 liters of water and eating the leftovers from the lunch my mom had packed my for the plane ride. She’s a good lunch packer.

That Monday was the Nam27 Midservice conference in Windhoek. It was kind of like the Reconnect conference last year… the only difference was that we already had Reconnect…

About half of our group had visited home for Christmas. The others did some sightseeing in east Africa or South Africa. Only a few stayed at their sites in Namibia. It was good to see everyone though. They’re a pretty great NamFam. Slightly dysfunctional… but then, who isn’t?

Midservice was during the first official week of school - Thank goodness. The first week of every term is chaos. But the first week of the First Term is a special breed of chaos that also happens to provide a lot of time to bang your head against the wall and question your purpose in Namibia, and life in general. Luckily, my school proceeded through this period without me. When I arrived the next Monday, they already had a timetable (class schedule) and about half the registered learners for most classes.

At the staff meeting in the morning, it was good to see a lot of familiar faces. There were a lot of new teachers too. And a new principal! (We didn’t have a principal last year. The last principal passed away in 2007) When I saw my supervisor at the meeting she said, “you’re going to be a very shocked person when you look at the timetable” and then ducked behind another teacher before jumping into the prayer for the morning.

After the meeting, she cleared everything up for me. I was going to be a shocked person because I was no longer a science teacher or a math teacher. Which is really a pity, because I happen to have a huge binder full of a years’ worth of lesson plans for both subjects. Instead, I was going to be a B.I.S. teacher and a Life Skills teacher.

B.I.S. stands for Basic Information Science. Volunteers commonly call this particular course “BS class”. It’s supposed to help learners become familiar with information resources available to them, such as computers, books, videos, references, etc. The “BS” description comes in when the volunteer then discovers how many “resources” actually are available to the learner. Life Skills is a mix between health, study skills and social studies. The curriculum is basically common sense (which unfortunately is not always so common in these parts).

At first, I was in shock. I love science and math. And last year, I loved trying to force little kids to love them too. But after a while of thinking and looking over the syllabi, I decided that this could be a lucky break for me. You see, BIS and Life Skills are non-promotional subjects. That means that kids don’t have to take any government tests to pass the class. And after further investigations, I found that, basically, I can teach whatever I want!

It’s exciting that I get to choose the most important and fun things to teach. But it’s also a lot of pressure. I spent the majority of my first week getting a general idea of what I wanted teach for the first and second terms. And then taking those ideas and tailoring them to vastly different skills of learners in grade 5, 6 and 7. It’s a lot of work, but it’s going a lot more smoothly that making lessons for science and math. That’s mainly because there are so many more resources for Life Skills. There aren’t very many for BIS. But for BIS I chose to read “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” with the grade 6 and grade 7. We have a class set, left by the previous VSO. The small book should take up all of term 1, so lesson planning is taken care of up until June. Grade 5 is doing Phonics – which I’m quickly growing to detest.

For Life Skills, I chose Term 1 to teach about health – a healthy digestive system, a healthy diet, and a healthy mouth. If we have time we’ll finish with the nervous system and drug education. I chose health for first term because I thought it was the least important topic of the three things I wanted to teach. Granted, I only chose three topics I thought were important (one for each term). The other two are environmental education and conflict resolution (yes, and entire term can be spent on conflict resolution… probably a whole year if we’re honest). I think these two are more important because, in all likelihood, they will not be getting very much information about them in the rest of their education. They do get a lot of health education though. And by teaching it in term one, I can omit the things they probably know more about when, say, classes get cancelled for the whole week because we’re changing the timetable… which happens a lot in term one.

The other challenges starting this school year are the organizing the library and the dinosaur in the office. First of all, the library is full of books. At least that’s the way it looks when you walk in. The problem is that you, an American, can quickly see that more than half the books are written in Afrikaans. The learners can’t tell the difference between Afrikaans and English, though. And then will happily spend an afternoon applying English phonics to Afrikaans and making up who-knows-what-story in their head to go along with the pictures. So, at the end of last year, I decided to pack up all the Afrikaans books and send them along to a different school. The problem I’m encountering now is this: the library doesn’t look as beautiful without all those books. … … Yes, that is a problem. Almost a big enough problem that our school would rather keep all those useless books. So, the challenge becomes 1) making the library look beautiful and fun and useful with a tiny number of books and 2) getting teachers and kids to USE the book we do HAVE! And, by that, I mean actually reading the words and understanding the content… But to help that along, I also have a pot of beautiful red fake flowers that make reading look more enticing… Maybe.

And the second problem is that darn dinosaur in the office. And by that I mean, our computer. This computer, particularly today, is driving me INSANE! Insane. It’s so old they turn it on and hour before the secretary gets to school, so that it might actually be on by the time she gets there. Today, the mouse just broke. That means the only thing left to use is the keyboard. I wrote a previous post about the keyboard. I would bet money that the keyboard is actually older than the computer. Whenever you press Enter or Shift or the Spacebar, you then have to pry up the key with your fingernail before proceeding. But without the mouse, that keyboard is the only link to our dinosaur. I googled keystrokes in my phone and taught the secretary a few so that she could keep working. But the whole situation had almost become comedic.

As an extracurricular task this year, our new principal assigned me to computers. “You can be I.T.,” he said. I was really excited about that. My plan is to get a new computer for the school. Maybe two. Last year, I wanted to get a new computer for the school but the cost of one almost seemed unreal. While I was home for Christmas though, family and friends donated money for the school to get a new computer. It was so cool to see and it was almost overwhelming at times. Now that I’m back here, I really just want to tell my coworkers about all the cool people in America that care about them and their school.

Right now, I’m looking at a computer donation company based in Seattle for the computers. It seems like a good place. I start to worry when I think about shipping costs and customs though. There’s just so much that goes into being the computer person. Plus, the title of “I.T.” goes so completely beyond my skill level, it’s bit laughable.

Well, that’s about it for the start of the year. I hope I didn’t bore you with too many details about school. It’s about all I’ve been doing though. My down time pretty much consists of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Weeds and the Year Of Fitness… which is definitely a story for a different blog. It’s all been pretty hectic but it’s also been good. I did leave out one huge detail. Huge detail. It’s a tradition of Namibian schools everywhere. A magical moment designed to welcome learners back from summer holiday with warmth and love and… CHAOS! It’s Athletics. For those of you regular readers, you may remember the running fiasco from last year. For the rest of you, tune in next time and I’ll tell you about the craziness.

OCTOBER 30 2008!!!!

(I get really excited about dates lately… they seem to come as a surprise to me most of the time)

Well, the good news is that October 30th is right in the middle of Nam 27’s Week O’One Year Anniversaries. The celebration mostly just includes Facebook updates and SMSes about what we were doing one year ago – who we met first, who we thought was crazy, how many times we broke down crying/freaking out/calling home, how great per diem was when it was in American dollars instead of Nam dollars, etc. The week started on October 28th, when all the west coasters were flown to DC for PC staging on the 29th. The group flew out of DC on October 31st and finally made to Namibia on November 2nd. And the rest is history. Well at least until January 9th. That’s when we became real volunteers. And that anniversary means I’ll only have 11 months left.

The bad news is that October 30th means that it’s Namibian springtime, which really means its summertime. Make sense? No? Let me try explaining another way: I’m in an oven. At first this weather wasn’t so bad. It was just searing sun. When I went inside, it was easy to cool down. Now, the heat follows me everywhere. It’s because of the humidity. Recently the clouds came back and added humidity to my life. I thought maybe I was being a wimp because it’s probably only about 1.1% more humidity than normal. And being springtime, there are still a lot of pleasant days. But on bad days, by adding that extra stuffy humidity to the regular 125-degree weather, I think I’m going to pass out in class if I talk too loud.

Today was actually a bad day weather-wise. I was sweating in the morning meeting at 7am. When it’s this hot the learners actually do pass out, sleeping. At first, I thought that this was unacceptable. I would wake them up and insist that they participate in class. Now, I just let them sleep. Honestly? It’s the best thing for everyone. Over the past two days, I’ve seen more acts of violence in the school than all of term 2. Kids are just irritable.

Actually, violence is typical at school. It’s all pretty tame violence though, if there is such a thing. Everyday, at least 5 to 35 times, I hear, “Miss, this one is beating me!” or “I’m going to beat that one!!!”- Which is usually accompanied by a unique to Namibia pointing-glaring combination to ensure that I understand which child they are about to beat. In January, I was lucky enough to come across Appropriate Touch in the Health portion of the Natural Science Curriculum. One of the solutions grade 7 thought of to deal with inappropriate touch was to move away. Even though I had only been teaching for a week or so at that time, I could already tell peer beating was a problem that I wasn’t going to be able to put a scratch in by myself. So I took the opportunity to make them put down their pens, fold their hands (how I make them show they’re listening to me) and listen to my mini lecture. Ahem:

“If someone is making you feel uncomfortable, or bad…”

(I usually say the big word first, then the easy synonym second).

“You should MOVE AWAY! Don’t keep staying by that person. If someone is beating you or not respecting you, MOVE AWAY! Even in this class, move away! Lift up your hand and tell me that you need to move. Don’t sit there. Move! …”

I’m all about taking control of your own destiny. Since that lecture, its not uncommon for me to be writing on the board and turn around to see a learner holding his desk – “Miss, I need to move away.” And he’ll shuffle his desk over to the other side of the classroom. It’s hard not to laugh because they’re so cute. But I try to stifle the laughing because they’re also usually really angry at whomever they’re moving away from. I just get so proud when they choose to take the high road. It’s rare and it takes a self-restraint that they don’t have much practice with.

Anyway, all that’s to say, there hasn’t been much moving away the past couple of days. Yesterday was the big blowout. We have a break from 10:00 to 10:30. It’s “required” for all the teachers to come to the staff room during break in case there is an accidental meeting during that half hour. I kid you not – “Some information may slip out during that time and all teachers must be present if there is something important said”. I like to gamble and skip. Some teachers don’t gamble at all, they just don’t care if something important is said and they don’t come. Others have teamed up with their friends and one of them has to go every other day and then relay the important information, if any, to the absent friend (Now seeing how there are 20 teachers all together, I don’t see how this relaying information thing would be so hard to establish school-wide… especially since small boys are sent with all note carrying/message delivering matters anyway. The teachers wouldn’t even have to stand up).

So, we’re all sitting in the staff room during break and there are movie-quality shrieks out of the window. I look through the lace curtains and only see a lot of dust and a sea of blue uniforms. I turned and looked back at the teachers. One of the teachers takes a bite of his mayonnaise and margarine sandwich. He says over the bite, “Oh, they’re fighting” and then continues chewing. No one else even blinks. Trying to make more sense of the situation, I walked out of the office block to the courtyard of the school. Sure enough, there was a fight of over a hundred kids in progress. One of the prefects (handily wearing a white uniform shirt for easy identification) was standing there to inform me calmly, “Miss they are fighting”. I said, “No, really?” before I realized that my sarcasm doesn’t fly here. She said, “It’s true, miss”. And I said, “hmm”. I think what surprised me the most was that I wasn’t that surprised.

Maybe a minute later, the teacher with the mayonnaise-margarine sandwich came out, casually wiping his hands with a dishcloth. He said something to the prefects standing around and pointed to the bustling crowd. The prefects ran off into the fight. A few seconds later the intense crowd broke into smaller fights and soon kids were just standing around looking angry – the prefects were still hanging onto the shirt tails of a few of the most guilty contenders. About that time, a few more teachers came out of the office block waving sticks and yelling in their Damara angry voices.

Damara angry voices are truly a trait worthy of awe. 60% of the women and girls I know here are capable of this tone. Never have I experienced a tone of voice that I would believe is literally poisonous. You can almost see the green cloud of toxins coming from the person using this tone of voice. Really, an inspiring tool in the area of crowd control. But definitely not one I envy. The teachers were yelling in their angry voices and waving sticks around the courtyard. Less than 30 seconds later, the kids were in perfect lines, boys and girls, outside their classrooms waiting for class to start again. Even the dust took longer to settle than the kids. Unbelievable.

Actually, a school-wide fight is pretty believable here if it weren’t for the two things that happened later.

Later in the day, I passed a crowd of teachers and a grade five learner on the sidewalk. They were using their Damara angry voices so I just kept walking, as usual. A few minutes later, one of the same teachers came into the office behind me. She was talking to me about Peace Corps and how they had called earlier that day. As she was talking, she pulled out a phone recharge card and started to scratch off the silver layer over the number. She tried her fingernail first but it wasn’t working so she pulled out a big flip knife (I don’t know anything about knives, but it was big) and started scratching with that. I said, “uuuuuuuuuuumm. Ahem.” And pointed to the knife. The teacher said, “Oh, that boy brought it to school today” and then waved the knife around in a displeased manner and went back to the phone charger. That was it. Angry poison voices, taking the knife away and sending the kid back to class! Unbelievable.

Luckily, the knife thing was towards the end of school. And also luckily, it was Wednesday so I didn’t have to go back for study. I just sat in front of my fan all afternoon. I loooooooove my fan. Love it.

This morning was pretty calm. In my third class of the day, I was doing a serious lecture about finding the area of a rectangle. I had to keep talking louder and louder because the kids next door were making so much noise. A few months ago, one of the teachers told me I needed to take more initiative in discipline and general order around the school. I do have a tendency to ignore things that don’t have anything to do with me. That’s a very American thing to do. Plus, I’m really quiet compared to most of the learners and teachers here. So, keeping the more initiative suggestion in mind, I left a practice problem for my class on the board and headed next door.

A girl was standing in the door. It was a grade 5 class. Apparently, I look like I need the obvious explained to me because the girl said, “Miss, they’re fighting”. Then? She laughed! I looked around the room and everyone was enjoying themselves! And in the very center were a boy and a girl fighting. I thought, more initiative! So I walked over and grabbed their arms and pulled them apart. It didn’t do much though because they just twisted free and kept fighting. This fight was something else. I wanted to look around the room to make sure there were no cameras – it almost seemed scripted. The boy was obviously winning. And he was obviously not going to stop. I didn’t really know what to do so I grabbed his ear and his shoulder and pulled him back. It didn’t do a single darn thing. Then, do you know what he did? He pulled free and bit into the neck of the girl he was fighting and started twisting his head back and forth trying to tear the skin.

Alright. Initiative schmitiative. I called the prefects.

Sure enough the prefects pulled them apart and carried the boy outside. I was checking the girl for blood when the class teacher came back (mayonnaise margarine man). He glazed over the class and walked to his desk and started shuffling papers… Um, excuse me? This boy just tried to exercise his canines on this girl. Both of which were hanging out in your abandoned class! Was this homework or something?

But I didn’t say that. I just walked out and went back to rectangles. I was totally traumatized. Every time I turned around to write on the board for the rest of the period I would almost start crying. I don’t understand how anyone can go to school and try to learn about rectangles when they don’t even feel safe. Obviously these kids are way tougher than I was at their age. But some degree of safety and security is needed just to be a normal person, let alone move on the other things like geometry.

I never felt in danger. I wasn’t even upset because all these things were happening in proximity to me. No one is angry at me. I give them stickers – they love me. They’re angry at each other. And the fact that no one is watching their backs is upsetting. That’s not a normal childhood – in any culture.

But, yeah, it’s been a crazy few days. In the last class of the day, half the kids fell asleep. So, I took up the papers we were working on and said, “shh, nap time. We’ll review tomorrow”. It was too long and miserable of a day for anyone to have to think about science.

November 6th 2008

Yesterday was an incredible day! With the time difference, McCain made his concession speech at about 6:00 in the morning yesterday. I got an SMS from a teacher at my school at about 6:01 that said, “Obama wins election!!!!!!” Then, not even a minute later I got an SMS from one of the Nigerian volunteers that said, “Congratulations fo d excellent manner ya country conducted her elections and d subsequent victory of B. Obama. That is why I love Americans”.

Let me tell you, I have not received that much America-love in the entire time I’ve been here. Well… that’s not entirely true. A lot of men love America. That is until I tell them I won’t marry them and buy them a plane ticket to my homeland… then they’re full of words one should never use whilst in an attempt to woo a future spouse.

Anyway, the rest of the day at school, it was easy to pick out the kids who have TVs at home. They would run up to me and say, “Miss, your country is having a new president! He’s a black man!!!!” To which, my two favorite responses were, “Oh my! I have a new president?! That’s so exciting!” and “So, what country is that exactly?” The answer to the latter was split three ways: South Africa, Germany and North America (They don’t let volunteers teach social studies… but I’m not exactly sure why because I feel that I could at least explain that just because people look alike it doesn’t mean they’re from the same country).

Kids and adults alike are equally inspired by the “son of Africa” that will be the head of the free world. I’m sure that Barak wasn’t running to please the African continent. And I’m also sure that he wasn’t elected because people in Namibia have been holding their breath since May for a black man to become the next American president. But I am sure that the soon-to-be 44th president has already restored a huge amount of faith in America from overseas.

I know that image isn’t everything. I also believe that we shouldn’t choose our leaders just because of what they look like. And I am interested with the issues and plans for the next four years. But I do want to say that, while living in an African country, I have never been so thankful that the American image has significantly improved in the course of the last three days. Earlier this year, some volunteers were on a tour of Botswana and actually got boo-ed for being American… Let’s be honest, an image boost couldn’t hurt, right?

All that’s to say, it was a good day for America across the globe… no matter who you voted for.

November 7th 2008

The new group, Nam 28 gets here today. I can’t believe it – we’re not the Peace Corps freshmen anymore. Weird.

Well, today, I had a couple of really cute conversations. The first one was with a learner named Silvanus. He is one of my favorite learners because he tries so hard.

Silvanus’s sir name ends in a B. On the other hand, his mother and sisters’ sir names end in an S. That’s the way Damara sir names work. If the family name is Gaingob, all of the sons will keep Gaingob and all of the daughters will get Gaingos. Gaeb/Gaes, Nunueb/Nunues, and Aebeb/Aebes are all family name pairs. And while Silvanus’s actual sir name ends in a B, all of the learners make fun of him by changing it to an S and calling him Miss. But Silvanus is one of my favorites because it doesn’t faze him. He usually deals with it by saying “Ai! Leave Me!” and making a waving motion – no beating or yelling as with other learners. He does have his fair share of actual friend… all of them girls though.

So, a few of the teachers were missing from work today. That usually means my library is full of learners who are bored. Silvanus was hanging out in there during an early morning period. He was looking through our new collection of Ranger Rick Magazines – donated by generous American kids. I was busy making “turn in your library books or else!” posters for every class and he was just chatting away. I don’t know if he stopped to breathe for the whole 40 minutes he was in there. My favorite part of the conversation was about his plans for secondary school (high school): He doesn’t want to take Khoekhoe in secondary school because the teacher is mean. Instead he wants to take the Afrikaans option. But he’s upset because his mother won’t let him take Afrikaans. He said, “My mother tells me that I will pick up Afrikaans in the street. But I go out in the street and no one is out there teaching it. Even yesterday, she tells me that I can learn Afrikaans in the street and I go outside and there is no one, Miss. I don’t know how I am going to learn Afrikaans in the street if no one is out on my street teaching it.” All I could picture was him going outside everyday looking for an impromptu classroom set in the middle of the dirt road. I thought about explaining the phrase “on the street” but decided against it. He’s so good at English already he’ll figure it out soon enough.

A little later, Elma came in. Elma is another favorite because she never gives up. She’s in my math class. In math class, I try to get them to work faster by giving a sticker to the first four or five who finish their problems. Elma gets so excited she’ll raise her hand to show me each step of the problem she writes, just in case she accidentally wrote the answer and she’s inadvertently won a sticker. She has a lot of problems with columns (you know, not adding in a diagonal) and multiplication (for some reason 6 times 0 equals 6 no matter how many times we practice it) so she only has four or five stickers in her book. But that doesn’t get her down. No sir-ee, she just works harder. That sticker is hers; Miss Jessica just doesn’t know it yet.

Elma is also in our girls’ club. The very first girls’ club, we had the girls decorate their journals with some markers that Jill got in a package from home. Most of the girls copied drawings from each other or had the one good artist draw for them (they’re so afraid that they might mess up, they’d rather not risk it). But not Elma. No, Elma took the full time allotted. Elma used every color in the box. And I’m not exactly sure what Elma drew but it’s really colorful and really enthusiastic and it’s a hell of a lot more exciting than the other girls’ journals.

Anyway, Elma came in and she wanted to know about the last girls’ club meeting next week. Yesterday, I made the announcement that the last girls’ club would be on Thursday next week and that we would do something fun. The words “something fun” were then run through the middle school gossip gamut and reached Elma’s ears as “a great big party with lots and lots of food”. I tried to explain to Elma that we weren’t having a party but it just wasn’t getting through. So, then I switched to explaining that the meeting would be a “tiny party”. She kept asking why we couldn’t have a big party. She even suggested we take up a donation. It took her a few moments to calculate how much money we would have for our big party if everyone brought in a dollar… she used her fingers and looked up and the ceiling… We would have… 2… 5… 9! We would have 9 dollars for our big party! …We have 13 girls in our club. I’m not sure where 9 came from. Finally, I explained that we just couldn’t do a big party. It was going to have to be a tiny tiny party – like the size of my fingernail. She looked at my fingernail really closely and then said, “oh” and looked a little sad. I said, “Its ok. It’ll be like Wooo!” and put my hands in the air like a roller coaster. Hesitantly, she mimicked me, “Woo?” and kept her hands in the air as she looked at me for approval. “Exactly,” I said. Hands straight up in the air in a Charlie-Brown-good-grief fashion, she walked out of the library she practiced her, “Woo” – it was still a little half-hearted. Then, from down the corridor I heard “Woo!!” and knew she had gotten it… I am SO looking forward to our fingernail-sized party next week. You have no idea.

Well, TGIF. Plus? One more week of teaching! Then, two weeks of exams. Then, Merry Christmas to me – I don’t have to go to school for a month and a half! Woot.

November 18th

End of the year exams started today. All of my classes take their exams today or tomorrow. It’s really nice that way because I’ll finish all my work this week. Then next week I can visit some other volunteers for Thanksgiving and focus on making my house into a fortress for the Christmas month. We don’t have a lot to steal, but we also don’t have a lot of money to replace things that are stolen. An ounce of prevention…

… I don’t really know the end of that saying.

I wasn’t allowed to invigilate today because the learners were writing my exam. So instead I cleaned my corner of the library so I would have a place to mark the exams when they were finished. In the library, I have a learner’s desk and a learner’s chair tucked behind the checkout counter for my workspace. The desktop doesn’t really attach to the metal frame below. I never really thought it was weird until today when the whole desk collapsed with my papers on it. Guess it serves me right for laughing at the learners that had similar troubles all year.

But while I was cleaning up all of my papers, I found some old papers I hadn’t returned to the learners yet. Two of them had answers that I had to share with you.

Question: What are the colours in the rainbow?

Answer: Pollo and beber and rett and vaett and baroont and blue

That’s to say, yellow and purple and red and violet and blue. I’m not sure what baroont is. When I’m grading I usually have to take on a Namibian accent and read the answers aloud. Sometimes, still, I have no idea what I’m reading.

And the second,

Question: Why does your body make a shadow in the sun? (Please use the word “opaque”)

Answer: The body mas ket the energy and the word opaque.

Ha, he used the word opaque (“Mas ket” means “must get”) but I still didn’t give him credit. I was trying to get him to use one of the properties of light – light beams travels in straight lines. And at the same time, make him remember the vocabulary – opaque and translucent. But, while wrong, I do admire the creativity that went into his answer. And the word opaque.

In some ways I’m going to miss my grade 7 classes a lot. They’re growing up and moving on to secondary school. They were with me through all of my learning experiences (like when I discovered that you can’t lean on a learner’s desk when you come over to help them – you end up falling along with the desk. Or the time I learned that a crazy man lives in the boys bathroom – he’s perfectly friendly but gets a little too curious about new teachers). They’ve been gracious in a lot of ways and, overall, they’ve been good sports about the whole cross-cultural science experiment. But in other ways, I’m excited for a new year and some new experiences.

Well, I’m ending it here. I’ve got less than a month before I get to visit America for Christmas. I’m really excited for friends and family and a hair cut (October 2007 was my last) and fresh fruit and cold cold cold weather (it’s around 130F today, so “cold” isn’t hard to achieve). Never fear, though, I’ll be back to write in January again.

And for those of you who continue to read my ramblings and opinions and random stories, I really appreciate it. You’ve been reading for over a year and you don’t think I’m crazy yet. Or you do and you’re just being polite. But either way, thanks for listening.

26-09-08

It’s been a long long time since I’ve written. I’d like to take that as a sign that I’ve become more comfortable and busy here. I remember in January and February, I would have to pace my day so that I wouldn’t run out things to do. If I was walking home from school and I got an SMS, I would wait until I got home to read it. If I was cooking something on the stovetop, I would stir it while I waited instead of cleaning the preparations dishes. I couldn’t do two things at one time or I may run out of things to do that day. It’s a burden of being a fast worker, American, and completely without family and friends to distract you.

But, I got over it. And here I am begging for time to sit and stare at the walls or to read a whole book in one day. I still have a lot of free time on the weekends, which I love. But weekdays are filled with school and meetings about school and clubs and grading papers and organizing my file (an absurd collection of papers required by the Ministry of Education. I have yet to meet one single person who sings The File’s praises).

At school, we’re in the third trimester. This trimester started on September 1st with a Khorixas cluster meeting. As always, these meetings are informative and motivational and a completely blatant reminder that I am a terrible terrible mingler – you see, we have to stand outside and wait anywhere from one hour to three hours for these meetings to start. The men and the women usually separate into two groups to talk about the holiday and gossip, etc. This is usually the first thing that confuses the mingler in me. I work with the men because they are all the upper primary teachers, grades 5 -7. They are usually the most welcoming of foreigners, also. They told me it was because the women are threatened by English… But they also told me that women aren’t good at science and math. So, what do they know? And the group of women is all the lower primary teachers. They’re nice enough when I try to talk to them. But when I walk up, the conversation stops so that everyone can look at me while their eyes inquire, “what do you want?” Hanging out with the women at my school requires being in a certain mood because they treat me like a child. They call me “ti oa”, meaning my child. They’ll tell me how I’m getting fat. They’ll tell me that I got a pimple because I ate too much chocolate. Or how my hairs are looking like a horses tail. Or they’ll tell me how to iron my clothes that I can be more presentable next time… I can’t even imagine growing up here. They’re earnestly trying to help. I think. But it does require a certain kind of mood.

The first week of the trimester was a little slow. On the first teaching day of a trimester (usually a Tuesday), I’m lucky to get half of each class back. And I’m even luckier if we actually hold school with the learners who are there. This particular Tuesday we chose to clean the school instead. The learners who don’t show up to school are missing for any number of reasons: They could’ve dropped out of school. They’re still at the farm working and their family does not currently have enough money to pay for a taxi to take their child back to school. Or, my personal favorite, “they are just now remembering to find the donkeys from the field to pull the cart”.

It was ok that the first week was so slow because I used the spare time to get ready for the National Science Fair. The Kunene Region Ministry of Education (Kunene is one of the 13 regions in Namibia and it contains Khorixas) had this brilliant idea to have all the Kunene kids just bring the papers from their board and not the actual board that the papers are displayed on. At first, I thought this was a good idea because the boards I had made were fair quality for the materials I had available - there was a lot of duct tape. But they weren’t exactly my idea of award winning material. When we actually got to the fair and Kunene passed out the new boards for the kids, I wished whole-heartedly that we had my duct-taped boards. I think the “new” boards had been used for three or four science fairs before ours. And maybe a few roller derbies and monster truck rallies too… I distinctly remember footprints… and burn marks…

Anyway, I spent the first week of school with a stick of glue, a paper cutter and 6 young Namibian scientists – Olivia, Wynand, Cynthia, Katrina, Kennedy and Losia. Then, on Monday morning of the second week of school, a minibus owned by the Ministry of Education motored into our Monday morning school assembly held out in front of the school. The little lower primary school kids scattered so they wouldn’t get run over by Torro – our amazing Ministry driver (He actually is amazing but pedestrians, even tiny tot pedestrians at their morning school assembly, NEVER have the right of way in Namibia). And the upper primary kids took the opportunity to have a spontaneous dance party to the music blaring from the minibus speakers. The minibus already had all the Secondary school kids going from Khorixas. They loaded up our 6 kids. The Kunene Ministry had chosen two teachers from our region to accompany the learners to the science fair. Our learners were the youngest of the group – all the others were around grade 10. But the region didn’t choose anyone from our school to watch over the six youngins. So my principal offered to have to school pay for my trip there.

The science fair was held at Polytechnic of Namibia in Windhoek. It was the 6th Annual fair, I believe. When we arrived that Monday afternoon, it was a flurry of registration and set up. I helped my 6 kids set up their 3 projects. We did the best we could with foot printed, burned boards. Actually, there was a really dark hour in the whole afternoon when Olivia and Wynand did not find their name on any registration sheet. Then, once I cleaned up that error, we returned to find that their boards had been stolen. Luckily, the actual report was still there. So in the end, I would say we all got to prove our resourcefulness by producing a project board out of nothing... And I had even left my duct tape at home. It all turned out OK. But, really thought? Who steals a science poster board with footprints on it from a couple of thirteen-year-old kids?

The kids and I were staying at different youth hostels, so I met them on Tuesday morning back at the fair. Katrina and Cynthia were so excited to tell me about driving to their youth hostel the night before. They said that Windhoek look like “the stars had fallen”. It’s true; the lights in the city are beautiful, especially when you haven’t seen that sort of thing in awhile. Tuesday was actually a really boring day. Three different judges judged each project. The kids had to sit in front of their project from 9am until 4pm waiting to be judged. The day felt stressful though because the two teachers assigned to accompany the kids were scarce to be found. I spent most of the day putting out fires for the Kunene kids. I started the day by telling the learners, “Go find your teacher and tell them”. But that answer eventually turned into, “Alright, I’ll take care of it” when I realized sending them away would only mean I would have to listen to the problem twice.

Wednesday morning we all got a chance to go into to town and explore. The 6 Eddie Bowe kids decided to stick together. And they also decided to let me choose where to go. That was too much pressure for me, so I made them vote at every turn. Torro dropped us at a place called Werne Hill, said “vern hill”. It’s a small mall that is attached to an outdoor mall called Post Street Mall. Post Street Mall is a long, wide sidewalk with stores and restaurants. At the far end of Post Street is the famous Zoo Park. Zoo Park is settled on a hill. It has Palm trees, Ancient elephant remains, an amphitheater and a swing set. But Zoo Park in missing one obvious thing: A zoo! People often realize this after they’ve spent an hour or so searching the park for animals and only coming across a couple of lizards. I have yet to research the actual meaning behind the park’s name. Instead I revel in the absurdity of it all. At the top of the hill that Zoo Park sits on is a historic church. I’ve been told the story behind the church a few times but it went in one ear and out the other. There’s probably a photo of it on 45% of the webpages about Namibia though. So, feel free to research. Then, a little farther beyond that is the Namibian Parliament Building, which, along with housing the Namibian Parliament, also boasts one of my favorite views of Windhoek.

So, We get out of Torro’s Minibus – 6 grade school kids from Khorixas wearing bright yellow shirts and blue Eddie Bowe jackets and me.

Vote 1: Upstairs Werne Hill or Down stairs?

Majority says: Upstairs. So, I steer the crowd towards the escalator and hop on. I glance behind me and realize that my kids have never been on an escalator before. Katrina’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them before. Wynand is running up and down and up and down and annoying the man in a business suit riding behind him. Kennedy can’t quite figure out where to put his feet and Olivia has to catch him before he falls and gets escalator burn. Magically, we all make it to the top safely and with most of our pride still intact.

Vote 2: Ice Cream store or Music store?

Majority says: Ice cream! Soft serve is 5 Namibian dollars.

Vote 3: Stay in Werne Hill or go outside to Post Street?

Majority says: Post Street. We wander down Post Street mall. I’m amazed at how few people bug me. When I walk down Post Street by myself, all the street vendors constantly call for me to look at their crafts. When I walk down Post Street with my kids, the vendors barely lift a lazy eye to make sure my kids aren’t trying to abscond with their crafts. I guess we just don’t ring “tourists” as much as I do by myself.

Vote 4: Stay in Post Street or hit Zoo Park? Footnote: No, kids, there is no zoo.

Majority says: let’s go find the animals! I grab Kennedy’s backpack to keep his over enthusiastic little legs from running ahead and we all cross the street into Zoo Park. In Zoo park, we find the swings and see saw. We also find the amphitheater where Gaza performs on NBC (Namibian Broadcasting Company). Gaza is one of the Namibian singers I actually know. I see “GMP 4 life” written on kids’ assignments all the time. It means Gaza Music Production. Gaza is a popular guy and seeing the stage where he performs is a big deal.

Vote 5: Go back to shop at Werne Hill or go to the top of the hill for the view?

Majority says: As high as we can go! The kids and I start up the steep hill towards the old church and Parliament. The hill deters a few so we have to take vote 5 over again to make sure the kids want to keep going. After we pass the church, we have to enter into the gardens surrounding the Parliament building. We all pause for a moment to observe the sign leading into the garden. The kids are busy deciphering the pictures on the sign: no dogs, no sleeping, so bikes, no skates, no soccer, no hunting, no running, no jumping, no skipping, no breathing, no laughing, no fun… ok maybe not, but the sign sure kills the mood. We walk quietly through the large garden like we do not belong and someone will remember that we don’t belong at any moment. We walk until we reach the steps up to the Parliament building. My question to the kids: Who do you think can run to the top first? Everyone is off like a shot. I was surprised that I wasn’t the last one to reach the top. We all turn and face the view. It is beautiful. At least to me. But I don’t think it’s enough for the kids. Wynand turns and looks at Parliament then he looks at me. “Miss, can we go in?” I peak inside the building. It’s marble and official looking. I tell Wynand that he is a citizen of Namibia and as a citizen he had a right to see the building. Wynand takes the next vote.

Vote 6: Go inside or continue to cower outside?

Majority says: We’re young political activist! I’m looking at my watch and realizing that we only have 40 minutes to make it all the way back to Torro before he leaves us on the townside and goes in search of some meat to eat for lunch. But we all file into Parliament anyway. All we see is a tiny room, a tiny woman and a big metal detector and bag scanner. The woman looks at us blankly. It takes a beat before I can try to explain. “Um, we’re at the National Science Fair this week. We’re on a break right now while the judges are working and, well, we came here. And we just wanted to see inside. And, um, this is inside. Um…” The woman looks at me, blinks, silent for a little while longer and finally says she’s just going to call someone. Great, someone could be anyone. Who is someone? After she gets off the phone, Wynand’s curiosity continues and he insists the woman x-ray his backpack, his jacket, Kennedy’s backpack and jersey, Katrina’s bag, Losia’s bag and Cynthia’s jersey. All the things look the same in the X-ray but the awe is equally great for all the objects. I hear him say, “Oh, that could be a gun. It’s the right shape.” He says this about Losia’s bag. I’m rubbing my temples, imagining what’s coming next: newspaper headlines, “6 Future Namibian Scientists Aid Peace Corps Worker in Storming Parliament With Gun-Shaped Pencils and Straws”.

Finally our Someone arrives. He says he is going to take us on a tour of Parliament. I make all my kids file through the medal detector and into the next room. I was last through the medal detector and set it off with my cell phone. This requires me to walk through again without my cell phone and tell my kids numerous times that, no, I can’t walk through just to make the noise again. Olivia says, “What person thinks of such things? You cannot even see the phone on the person but the thing can.” Our tour guide leads us around the building and explains all the rooms. The room where parliament meets is the biggest attraction. The kids have seen the room on TV and they have seen it on a poster that is displayed in almost every school. But they have never imagined that they would be standing in the very center of the room. 6 VIP guests to Parliament. They all sort of wander around the room in a glazed-over awe. Kennedy lightly grabs the gavel on the front desks. Wynand quickly walks over and takes it from his hand makes slight adjustments to it until it looks precisely as it did when we arrived. Our Tour Guide concludes the tour by looking at me and telling me I may take a picture now. I start to explain that I didn’t know I was coming to Parliament that day but instead decided to just say that I don’t have a camera – I mean, who accidentally winds up in the Namibian Parliament building on a random Wednesday?

We all file out into the hallway as we wait for our guide to lock up the meeting room. The kids gather in front of the elevator. They are speaking in Damara but I gather that they’re asking what it is. Our tour guide walked up and presses the up arrow. The elevator opens almost immediately. It’s one of those elevators with a mirrored wall on the back. The 8 of us just stare at ourselves on the back wall. Our tour guide finally tells the kids to go in. The kids all take an internal vote and decide that they are not budging. The door closes. The guide presses the up arrow again and the door opens again. Go in, he says. Wynand says, “I don’t take risks, sir.” (We all know that’s not true). So the guide nudges Kennedy, Olivia, Losia and Katrina in. He reaches around and presses the button that says 1. The door closes. I hear some faint whimpering. We hear the “ding” and move around a corner so we can see the balcony above us. Four kids come spilling out of the elevator. Our tour guide has to walk up the stairs and steer their shaky legs down to the ground floor. Olivia tells me, “Miss, I could not figure out where you were hiding when the door opened again”. Losia tells me, “Katrina was crying for Miss Jessica the whole time: ‘Miss! Miss! Miss!’” Katrina tells me, “No, Miss! It’s not true”. Kennedy tells me, “Miss, I wanted to cry”.

I thanked our guide. We all maneuvered back through the medal detector. I looked at my watch. We had 5 minutes to make it through the fun-sucking Parliament garden, the old church, Zoo Park, Post Street Mall, Werne Hill, The Escalator of Death and back to the Minibus. We book it. I hold Kennedy’s backpack the whole time. I refuse to loose one to traffic – the pedestrian always looses in Namibia. It took us ten minutes to make it through the whole path. The escalator took a long time to get down – Did you know that you have to go up one escalator and down a completely different escalator? Hmm, who knew? Not my kids. We made it all the way out to Torro. And he had not left us. In fact, welcome to Namibia, we had to sit there for another 15 minutes before we actually left.

Wednesday night was the award ceremony. There were a limited number of chairs. So my kids, resourceful as they are, scavenge for a folding table that they place against the back wall for us to sit on. Medals were given to projects that earned a certain percentage. The Kunene region won 6 bronze medals and 2 silver medals. Kennedy and Losia were the only two from our school to earn a medal – Bronze. The ceremony continues for hours and hours and hours. I can see my kids becoming more and more restless.

Thursday morning, Torro comes to pick me up at my youth hostel. All the youth Hostel workers come into the common area asking, “who’s going to Khorixas?” It’s amazing how much more interest workers take in you when they find out you’re staying in the country. The guard takes the opportunity to ask who I know in Khorixas. In the end, he decides it doesn’t matter and I should just tell everyone in Khorixas that Randy says hi. “Oh, it’s your place?” is the correct way to ask if he’s from there. “Yes, It’s my place.” Randy says and finally lets me go to deliver his message to his place.

Back at school, the teachers were excited to have something to show for their kids’ efforts. Kennedy and Losia got to wear their medals around school for the morning. I think it was a good experience for the kids (And I think that we’ll be more prepared for next year. Wynand told me that he’s traveling back from secondary school (grade 8) next year so I can help him with his project on weekends). But overall, the experience was a little hard for me to watch. When all 13 regions come together it is so obvious to which ones are more privileged than others. For example, the two regions that won the most medals were the regions that include Windhoek and Swakop. Their projects were easy to pick out from the group because they boasted laptops, microscopes, elaborate models and wooden backboards. My kids barely noticed the difference between their boards and the fancy ones. And they learned a lot by investigating the microscopes and playing on the laptops. It’s all a learning experience – for everyone.

Since the science fair, I’ve just been biding time at site. We finished the fourth week of school today, and I’m already behind on the syllabus. I’m really enjoying the subject matter, though. We’re working on forces and energy in science. And before that we had a week of insects. I send all of grade seven out to catch an insect to draw into their notebooks. I thought each group might catch one or two – instead they all filled the jars I gave them. My kids have some of the strangest talents. And it’s always a joy to discover them.

Last weekend we hosted a sports tournament for primary schools in the area. Since our school was hosting, each teacher had a job. I was in charge of concessions. I sold NikNaks, small candies, coke, beer, and oranges from 8am until 6:30pm. The concessions worker also gets to be in charge of the stereo system. Anything with a guitar is “white people music”. Gaza and The Dogg are always acceptable. Rhianna (-ella, -ella, -ella), Shakira (I beg to differ – the hips can lie), Justin (two years later, Sexy sure is a slow traveler…), Sean Kingston (my favorite: Me Love), P Diddy, Alicia Keys (I can’t stand her) and R Kelly are all good. I could have played the song “It’s too late to Apologize” the entire day and the kids would have been happy (and I would have been entertained – imagine adolescent boys trying to hit those notes while thinking that the stereo is loud enough to cover their singing… it wasn’t… I could still hear them).

Before I go, I have two more things to tell you: 1) Khorixas got a paved road! Well, we already had one paved road that ran into town from Outjo and out of town towards Twelfontein and the Skeleton Coast. But this new one forms a horseshoe from town into the location, around the Ministry of Education and back to town. When I came back to Khorixas just before school started, they had cleared those stretches of dirt road. I got a little suspicious. Then, that week, they completed most of the road. My supervisor was late to work everyday because they started on both sides of the horseshoe at the same time. People who lived in town had to drive/walk/cart almost out of town before they could find a drivable road into the location. I love this place.

And 2) I went to South Africa in August! It was fun. It was rainy. It was artsy and western. I wore converse. I bought a scarf (Namibian cold isn’t real cold). I saw the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point. I visited the penguins. I “climbed” table mountain… Well, I climbed the stairs to the tram that took me to the top. I stayed in a fancy hotel with a fancy bathroom and filter coffee every morning. I watched a movie being made outside my hotel – it was about Christmas. There was a lot of fake snow, props, huge wreaths, food service and a big statue of Santa that people cautiously ventured from our hotel to get their photo with. I tasted wine with a bunch of old tourist and had a blast. The over 60 crowd knows how to party in the wine cellar. I went to 3 movies. Count them, 3. I sat in 60% of the bookstores in Cape Town. “Where’s Fiction?” I ate Subway and McDonalds! Fantastic! I saw GAP jeans for sale. Two words: Haagen Dazs. Three scoops, please. We made a Nelson Mandela history pit stop. Throw two 18-hour bus rides on top, a side of food poisoning (short lived. I survived) and a couple of Mojitos and you’ve got yourself a genuine SA experience.

Yeah, Cape Town was epic.

October 4, 2008

Lately, I’ve been reading a lot. It’s a side effect of all Peace Corps service, I hear. But, I seem to be on memoir streak. First I read about Augusten Borough’s childhood and subsequent struggle with alcoholism in “Running with Scissors” and “Dry”. And, most recently, I started another book about a childhood gone awry called, “The Liar’s Club”. But before that I read a memoir about a PCV in Zaire called, “The Ponds of Kalambayi”.

The Ponds of Kalambayi was written about a Peace Corps service between 1985 and 1987. The Volunteers name was Mike and he was sent to Zaire to teach locals how to raise tilapia in man-made fish ponds (meaning, dug with a shovel by one person). I found myself jealous of Mike as I read. His Peace Corps service included a lot of things I hadn’t even considered for mine. First, he was teaching people how to make and stock fishponds. That job inherently has immediate results. A pond could be made in two weeks with intense manual labor. The fruit of all that work was obvious – a big gleaming water-filled pond. In stark contrast, I look at my job and feel like nothing is happening. I daily fill out endless Lesson Plan forms. I spend break times and afternoons talking and hanging out with 12, 13, 14 and 15 year old Namibians. I spend class times saying, “listen” and forcing 12, 13, 14 and 15-year-old Namibians to write endless notes about natural science and math. This is all work that could be done by anyone. And I am not anymore equipped to deal with the job than any other trained Namibian. In fact, maybe the opposite. The kids frequently teach me something – “no, miss, THIS is the test book. THAT is the exercise book.” or, on a lesson about Energy and Fossil Fuels, “Miss, we DO have a coal mine. In Tsumeb.”

Second, Mike got a ten-week training in the local language (after a ten-week training in Fish farming). And, then, The SHOW-OFF, became fluent in the tribal language and ONLY conversed in it. Ugh. I’m an utter failure.

These are the Damara phrases I know:

Matisa = How are you?

!Gai i ge a = I’m good.

!Gai Tses = Good Afternoon/day

Tita ge Donkey //gani !gaibahe tama = I don’t like donkey meat

Marie aute re = give me money

Marie uha tama ta ha = I don’t have money

/u = white person

/usa = you are white (thanks for the reminder)

Toilet sa mapa ha? = …

And, most important for encountering drunk men in the street:

/Nam sida ge a = I love you

Tita ge Khoeba uha = I already have a boyfriend (lies!)

I like to fool myself into thinking that I can follow the drift of a conversation in Damara. But to be honest I only follow conversations where people are discussing where they left there keys, whether the white person is getting fatter or where they are recounting ages, phone numbers, house numbers, amounts of money or how many fingers they have on their left hand (Goro. Usually).

Third, he was a volunteer in the 80’s in the inner part of the continent. In the 80’s, Peace Corps volunteers were allowed to drive! Unthinkable these days. And Zaire, I feel is probably worse off than Namibia. Namibia borders South Africa. They have a university in Windhoek. They have a steady government and economy. And, chances are, if Peace Corps withdrew entirely from the country, they would be all right – just in my personal opinion.

All this is to say that the book really got me thinking about my current situation. Far too often, I let my mind wander to the ever-present thought, “What am I doing here?” And far too often, I can’t think of an answer. Lately, my inability to conjure an acceptable answer has been compounded by the fear that I am actually becoming a worse person in my time here – I have never said “no” so many times in my life: No, I will not buy you bread. No, I will not let you come in and eat from my cupboard. No, I will not do your work/lesson plans/laundry for you. No, I will not leave you my cell phone when I go back. No, I do not want to “know” you. No, I will not push your broken car to town. And, no, you cannot have a dollar. Why? Because if I gave you a dollar I would have to give one to the 82 children standing behind you with their palms outstretched and, worse, would only enforce the “fact” that white people will give you money so you should ask EVERY opportunity you get.

See, complicated, right? All this has led me to believe two things. 1) That Jill’s friend back home was completely right when he said, you have to think of Peace Corps as a nice cultural exchange and that it. Thanks for sharing. And 2) I need to stop reading memoirs. Especially by RPCVs.

But, as I was reading the Ponds of Kalambayi, I came across some sections that I could totally relate to. And, even though Mike was serving 20 years before me and in a poorer region of the continent, maybe African culture has a lot of things in common all over this huge expanse of land. So, here I leave you, post-rant, with some quotes from my latest memoir:

“Like most people who go overseas to do development work, I did so expecting to find out what it’s like to be poor. But awakening to my surroundings after a few months, I discovered that’s not what happened. Instead you learn what it’s like to be rich, to be fabulously, incomprehensibly, bloated with wealth.”

“That I could go an entire week and not wear the same shirt twice was, in this African setting, the gleaming pinnacle of affluence… In a strange way, this consequence of poverty proved useful to me when I arrived in Kalambayi. It helped me remember people. If I forgot faces, I could often place names simply by using clothes as memory cues.”

“Eager to get to work and confident (naively) of Peace Corps’ judgment, I decided not to worry”

“Many times while I was in Africa the hardships I saw forced me to rework my understanding of what hell must be like”

“In Africa, children are the central, insuperable, all-important fact. They roam everywhere, five to every parent… so many children were there in every village that at the slightest spectacle – a soccer game, a heated argument, a fallen tree blocking the road – they appeared in droves this way, attaching themselves like barnacles to whatever was happening.”

“Play sessions never lasted more than thirty minutes, however, because an enormous wave of other children would quickly arrive… the children seemed to emanate from nowhere, popping out from behind cornstalks, dropping from trees, emerging from thin air. They came and came, dozens of them, until there were more than I could count. ‘Swing me! Swing me!’ they would roar simultaneously, standing together in my yard as if part of a clamorous crowd scene in some epic meeting. With tiny hands pulling me in every direction, I would start backing up towards my door”

“The local system worked. Everyone was taken care of. Everyone did stay afloat.”

“Above the horizon, the sun hung orange-pink, soft and perfect, coloring the valley with that lustrous final light that made ‘even ugly people look beautiful.’ Soon the orb sank behind a low ridge, passing with such a speed that, watching, you could almost feel the earth turning and hear the creak of it unfathomable weight. Africa was sliding beyond the gaze of the sun."

The proud learners with their awards!

July 12th 2008

Saturday morning on my tiny piece of land in Africa means sleeping in until 7. This is the time that the one healthy rooster meanders towards my window and starts to crow at irregularly maddening intervals. 7 is also about the time my neighbor wanders out of his flat to start working on his car. I’m not sure what he’s doing to the car because for the 5 months I’ve been in this flat he’s been working on it like a religion and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I do like it though because he lets the boys in the hostel help him and that gives them something to do. Saturday also means that I get to hide in my flat until maybe 10 or 11. This is the approximate time the walls start to drive me crazy and I have to leave.

All that is to say, it’s Saturday! Outside the rooster is alternating its crows with some sort of mechanical banging and it’s all to the tune of adolescent boys getting in an argument about something. Oddly, the argument is in English. When people speak English, I assume its because its something I need to hear. But when they don’t know that I’m listening, it really confuses me. Maybe, this morning I woke up with a magical power to automatically understand all languages. Yes, I love Saturdays. Not as much as I love Sundays, though, but that’s a whole different story.

Yesterday was a very special days for me. But to understand why, I have to start on Thursday… Or maybe even Tuesday… but I only need to start on Tuesday because I’m a logical person and if I go out of order then I’ll forget what actually happened and spend a whole blog post talking about the price of avocados or something.

So, Tuesday, I finally made it home from Windhoek. They shipped me home on Monday but at sunset I still wasn’t home. So, I stayed the night in Outjo. Then Tuesday morning I traveled in true Namibian style – in a crammed bakkie, with all the luggage tied to the roof going approximately 70km/hour. Five hours after we left, we made it the 120km to Khorixas. School was finished by then, so it was like another vacation day.

Wednesday is usually a really easy day for me. I only have three classes that bookend the day – one in the morning and two at the end. But Wednesday morning the administration decided that the last two periods of the day would be canceled so the whole school could listen to the learners who were in the science fair present their projects. When the two grade 7 learners heard this they got really nervous and asked to be let out of class so they could practice. So, then my really easy Wednesday turned into listening to “Light from Above” presented 7 or 8 times. They were getting really good at it and could actually explain any part of the project.

When they actually presented to the school that afternoon, they did well. The English teacher offered to meet with the all three groups (grade 5, grade 6 and grade 7) after school to polish the projects. I really like him. He’s always volunteering for odd jobs – kind of a rarity. He also only responds in English at staff meeting no matter what language the question was asked in. Understandably, I would like him. Also a lower primary teacher offered to help. She was the teacher that coached all the beauty pageant contestants last week. She’s one of the young, hip teachers... I’m actually jealous of her cool clothes… and how clean they are… how does she do it? And, obviously invested, I volunteered to show up also.

Grade 5 had a nice project. It was on dental health and how to care for your teeth. It was well put together and had all the requirements. The two learners had the cute-factor too. The boy is adorable but, at 12 years old, would hate being described as such. 60% of the time he’ll run where he’s going but only on his tiptoes. His run looks like something Willie Coyote would do off a cliff and into mid-air. The girl is a little soft spoken but smiles a lot. They really just needed to work on speaking loudly.

Working with grade 6 was all about damage control. The kids had a poster and topic way beyond their skill level – Diabetes Mellitus type I and type II and all the medical gibberish that slow Namibian dial-up Internet could produce. This was coupled in disaster with the fact that the poster was poorly put together, the learners didn’t have any involvement whatsoever, there were spelling and grammar errors everywhere and there was absolutely zero linear logic in anything. One of the kids was actually put on the project that afternoon because she had a louder voice than the previous candidate. When we were working with them, I forced the two girls to abandon their poster and just explain the topic in 6th grade language. Meanwhile, my grade 7s undertook the poster to attempting to fix it. I also forced them to listen to me explain Diabetes in three or four different ways until they understood what they were saying. Gosh, they hated it – they thought Wednesday was going to be easy too.

And grade 7 was sparkling by the afternoon. They could tell about their project and results without even looking at their poster. I know this because I took their poster away and made them explain without it. Did I ever explain what their project was? We put out 5 different boxes covered in colored paper – black, white, blue, green, and red. Then we put thermometers in the boxes and left them in the sun. After an hour we checked the thermometers to see which box had the highest temperature. The black box was 45C. Blue and green were 42C. Red was 40C. And white was 35C. By Wednesday afternoon grade 7 even had theories about why blue and green were 2 degrees hotter than red. They could explain IR light and UV light. They could explain absorption and reflection. And they had a few examples of applications for such information. They were good and they knew it.

Thursday morning, we put the six kids in matching jerseys and packed them and their projects up into the other science teacher’s bakkie to take down to the youth hall near town. When we got down there, some Ministry of Education officers met us to explain that the fair was being postponed until the afternoon. They just forgot to tell our school. So we toted the learners and projects back to school. That afternoon, at 2:00, we toted everything back down there to set up the projects. Then they told us the judging wouldn’t start until 6. So, we set up the projects and toted all the learners back to school. Then at 5:45, we pulled the learners out of the dining hall; most of them still holding porridge in their hands, and toted them back down to the youth hall. By this time, I was getting really tired. It gets dark at about 5:30 and lately it’s been bitter cold in the shade and inside, especially at night. The kids were nervous and it was making me nervous too. But, my nervous energy was soon transformed into my patience-practicing energy when they informed me I would be a judge.

As a Kunene Regional Science Fair judge, the first obstacle you have to overcome is the judging form. This form is the worst form I have ever experienced. And I’m not even exaggerating. I cannot even explain the terribleness because explanations require reason and logic and this form had zero of either. But, after 45 minutes of debate, the 7 other judges and I finally came to an agreement on how to fairly use the numbers on the form. I was set loose to judge “Innovations and technology” and “Agriculture”. I suspected a little foul play when I noticed some judges giving marks to their learners but, sneaking peaks at my kids, I felt like they were doing ok on their own. Plus, I learned a lot from Innovations and Technology. I learned how to make a water heater from a soda can (small amounts of water – not enough for my bathtub. Bummer). I learned how to make a hair relaxer from burned aloe, how to make detergent from the sap of a tree, how to make glue from gasoline and Styrofoam and how to make a fun math game with circuits. It was really odd to strike so much fear in the kids when they saw me coming. All of them had really wide eyes when I would say; “tell me about your project”. It would take them a few seconds to say, “weeeeelll…” and start explaining. It turns out I was a really mean judge too. I didn’t know I was until I added all the numbers for Innovations and Technology. The highest score was 53 out of 100. Luckily, the kids all got two judges and, therefore, two scores. Judging Agriculture was also ok but there were only two projects. One was about chicken feed. I told the girl her board was cute and pointed to the spray paint on the background – it was yellow dots with little runs. I thought it was supposed to look like someone had thrown eggs at it. But the learner got embarrassed and apologized profusely. Oops, guess it wasn’t supposed to be and egged board. The second project was from Braunfels, the all-boys high school 30Km or so outside of Khorixas. It was about fertilizing soil with ants. It was really interesting and the kids had even collected an ant colony in an aquarium. The two grade 12 boys definitely had good marks in confidence. After I asked them to tell about their project, they talked for a good 7 or 8 minutes straight and only paused to make sure I was not confused by the difficult science they were explaining. Future tip: Don’t insult your judge’s intelligence… you know, I’m just sayin…

At the end of the night, the kids from my school all felt like they had done well. The grade 7s were asked how far the sun is from the earth and how fast light travels – two questions I feel are slightly irrelevant. The kids were kind of disappointed that they didn’t know the answer. I was happy though, because they remembered that they should know the answer from our section about the solar system in class. They were listening! Not remembering… but listening… half the battle, right? Anyway, we all finally made it home around 11:00. It was cold and the kids were locked out of the hostel. But in the end, we woke up enough people to get them in. The next morning, they told us to be at the hall at 9 am. It’s really hard to give up American habits because I made all the kids and the other science teacher leave the school at 8:45. We got to the hall and had to sit there for 2 hours before anything happened. I should have known. But it was a great opportunity to teach my six learners how to play Hangman. Though, I never realized how gruesome the whole premise really was until one of the grade 6 girls asked, why is it bad to hang a man?

The award ceremony started with the judges’ awards. I got a dictionary! And a picture with the mayor of Khorixas! Woo! The dictionary is maybe 150 pages long and is from USAID. It has a paragraph about George Bush on the back. I thought that was silly – American charity making its way all the way over here and into my hands. No fear, I’ll leave the USAID in the library when I leave. There were a lot of speeches and songs after that. This is when I realized that I was magical. I taught my learners how to trick their friends into believing their thumbs were detachable. I taught them how to make a squirming worm halfway underground with their two middle fingers. I taught them how to spin a pen around their thumb. And when I say, “taught”, I really mean, “showed them at least a hundred times and they still think it’s all magic”. It was entertaining because we got in trouble. We were fine until the boys started trying to spin a pen over their thumbs and the pens started flying into peoples’ heads. Luckily, the actual award giving saved us.

Everyone who entered the science fair got an award – certificates. Projects that score below 30 out of 100 got third place. Projects that scored between 30 and 50 got second. And projects that scored above 50 got first place and gets to go to the national science fair (remembering that 50% is a good grade here. 70% is stellar. And maybe one in a class of 38 will get an 80%). They called all the third place winners first. None of my learners were called. Then they called the second place winners. None of my learners were called. I thought, “Great. Just great. They forgot to print the certificates for my kids. So, now they think they’re going to national and then, they’re going to get nothing. This sucks…” Then they called the first place winners. All the names they were calling were from secondary and high schools. My heart was sinking for my kids. Then, they called our grade 5 learners. Our principal was on stage, she almost fell over I think. The kids just stared. Then, they called our grade 7 learners. The principal was giggling now. The kids were still just staring. Then, they called our grade 6 learners. The principal was shaking everyone’s hand. I was laughing. The kids were all still staring. They took a picture of all the first place winners. My grade 7s were standing next to the two tall grade 12 ant-boys from the all-boys school. My learners were still just staring. Someone had to tell them to move when it was time to come down from the stage. When our grade 7 boy came down from the stage he said with wide eyes, “Miss, I am in shock. I almost fell over. I need you to hold my certificate… I’m coming now…” (“I’m coming now” means “I’ll be right back”) and he walked straight out the back door. I have no idea where he went. He came back maybe ten minutes later and was still staring. I couldn’t help but laugh at him. Our grade 7 girl was beaming. She said, “Miss, all my dreams have come true! I’m going to take my certificate to my mother this afternoon” (her mother lives 4 or 5 km out of Khorixas). Then they gave an award to the highest scorer in every category. All of the awards for the tops scorers were books about math and science. Our grade 6 learners were called first. They were the only project in their category, “Medical Science”. But they hardly noticed that tiny detail – they were first! Then our grade 7 learners were called for “Physics”. It was a little difficult for them because they were still in shock from their first award. The other projects in the Physics category were all from secondary schools. The top scorer was called for “human sciences” but it was not our grade 5 learners. They were a few marks too short of the top scorer… who was in grade 10… just FYI…

At the end of the ceremony, one of my grade 6 learners came up to me and gave me a big hug. She said, “Thank you so much, miss! Thank you so much for helping us!” I thought maybe we were in some cheesy sports team movie where they win the big game at the end. It sure felt like that. They all didn’t want to ruin their awards so they gave them to me to hold. I had an armload of books and certificates walking out of the youth hall. Someone stopped us and explained that it appeared that Eddie Bowe had gotten just what it had come for. I said, we hadn’t. I said, we’re going to Windhoek to get that.

The kids were the school heroes when they got back to school. The other learners were giving them hugs and running up to hear the news. The hostel matrons gave them bread, jam and butter to eat. It was definitely a moment that they will never forget.

I am super excited about the national science fair. It is the first week of September. It should be interesting to travel with learners. But I did just spend two days straight with those six kids. They’re a great group and it should be fun to travel with them. I’m already trying to think of where I should take them in Windhoek. Maybe out for ice cream or to the sweets shop. I haven’t decided.

The rest of the afternoon, random kids were knocking on my kitchen door. When I would answer the door, they would beg me to detach my thumb, make a squirming worm from my middle fingers or spin a pen over my thumb. Luckily, I didn’t have to play a round of hangman with them. If you teach one, you have to teach them all.

I swear, this has to be one of those cheesy movies. Where are the cameras? Really.

July 16th

So, on the other end of the spectrum, two kids got in a fist fight in science class today. I asked the kids to bring in plants. I was going through the class taking down the names kids who brought in a plant. I turned around to the sound of a desk flying somewhere and saw a tall girl with a boy in a headlock hitting him. I just stood there. I didn’t just stand there because I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there because I had this feeling that any second the kids would magically realize how absurd they were and stop. But, as per usual in these parts, I was wrong. That poor boy just started losing more oxygen to his head. But, on the plus side, I had stood there long enough doing nothing that other kids in the class had already taken action and started pulling the two apart. I took them both outside and was about to practice some well needed mediation when something else was said or sworn and they were at it again… with me in the middle… and a rock… ugh. I feared for my head, as it is not so fond of baseball sized rocks in the hands of enraged 14 year old girls. When I stopped that bout, I took them to the principal’s office. On the way to the office, I tried to think what normal people do with kids who get in fist fights. And I tried to remember what people in America would do with kids who got in a fist fights. Luckily, the principle was there to answer some questions… Parents! We find parents! But, parents are a luxury that we didn’t seem to have. Well, I left them both there, bawling, and didn’t see them again until after school when they both sobbed an apology to me. Sheesh.

I just thought I would give you both sides though – science fair… fist fight… I can’t figure out what I feel about teaching here. So, I’m just going to focus on this being a pleasant cultural experience with new and interesting friends. Then, I’ll just gauge the worth and value later. And if that fails, I’ll still have my pumpkin bread, right?

July and August were the months that PC sent out invitations to come to Namibia last year. So, if we’re on the same timeline, the lucky winners will soon be getting a letter in the mail informing them that they have won a two-year vacation in Namibia. Namibia? Is that a disease? No, I think it’s near Morocco. Rick, is that you? Well, wherever it is, I’m living in a hut and slaughtering chickens for dinner every night – the real Africa!!

Fine print: Once accepted, this two year vacation comes complete with gray hairs, decreased sanity, increased water consumption and constantly dust-coated nostrils. Half of all participants’ feet increase in size due to calluses. Patience was shown to be tested in all winners. Increased awareness of skin color, language usage, monetary habits and fuel efficiency was noticed in most candidates. 97% chance of sunburn. 110% chance of homesickness. All candidates were showing an increasing in the using of the ending “-ing” in day-to-day speech patterns. 3 out of 70 had to discontinue use of this vacation before completion.

If they’re normal people, they’re probably searching the web for any answers they can scrounge. You have to look online because the Peace Corps doesn’t tell you anything. At first, you think that they don’t tell you anything because they’re maliciously forcing you to be a braver person. But later, you realize that they aren’t telling you things because they can’t. They can’t even insure that you get a ride to site. They can’t guarantee that you’re even going to have a place to stay when you get to site (though, disclaimer, we know they try). And then, even later, you start to realize that all those complications and gaps in information don’t really have anything to do with the Peace Corps and have more to do with the fact that you’re moving to Africa and if you want details (Can I bring my hair dryer? Will there be seatbelts? So, does “business casual” mean khaki pants or my ruffle skirt?) You’re on the wrong continent. And, in the very end, you finally realize that the details don’t matter at all – I’m always wrong anyway and nothing I brought from America is really that life-changing... except my Ipod… and computer…

So, really, all this is to say, if you’re an invitee and you stumbled here: Booga dee Booga dee booga dee boooo! Namibia is scary!!

Ok, not really. It’s pretty great. The worst part is getting on the plane when mom and dad are sad-waving from the other side of security and you’ve got crocodile tears coming down your face and the man you’re sitting next to on the plane seems to think you’re in some sort of condition to carry on a conversation about baseball. I don’t care about baseball! My life: upside-down! What part of sobbing do you not understand?

But just focus on the Africa being cool part. And think of all that character you’re going to build. Nothing says, “I’m awesome” like character. So, like a band-aid… just do it. See you here in about 4 months.

28 July 2008

I think it’s been implied that I’m addicted to Facebook Mobile. Facebook Mobile is great for a whole lot of reasons. It’s much cheaper than text messaging here, it’s reliable and it’s possibly the most brilliant way to stay sane while questioning and metaphorically head butting the whole perception of one’s own as well as a plethora of foreign cultures… Um, what I mean to say is, when I’m stuck in a meeting that is just so “Namibian” or in the midst of a purely Damara argument that makes me really feel as though I stick out like Tupperware in a china hutch, Facebook is where I turn. It’s a distraction. It’s a connection. It’s a calm moment of familiarity. It’s a coping mechanism.

What can I say? I’m addicted. But I justify this addiction because I know, out there, in this tiny country, in the midst of the other 2 million residing here, are other volunteers who have morphed Facebook so completely into their life, the phone has become permanently attached to their thumb. For those who I am Friends with… not friends, but Friends… you know that I change my status every other day, on slow days. My Friends know it usually takes less than 24 hours to get a response to a wall post (quite the record time for communication from me, I would say). But, I justify this because I know that I will make it through Facebook Mobile rehab with flying colors when this is all over.

There are ramifications to this addiction though. For instance, Tango. Tango is what the phone minutes are called here for my phone company, MTC – Make the Connection. It’s kind of fun to be able to say “Tango?” to a street vendor who doesn’t speak English. Who will, in turn reply, “MTC?”. Which is your cue to say “Mmm” while nodding your head yes and holding up 1, 2 or 3 fingers to show how many ten minute units you would like to buy. It’s a universal language… but only in Namibia…

But, the most serious ramification of this addiction comes in my evaluation of day-to-day events. This is how you know your addiction is serious: When something happens in my life, I have a tendency to make it a Facebook status in my head. And all these status updates seem fine and dandy. But then I realize that I’m thinking in status updates. Which, somehow, makes all of my thoughts in third person… Which, somehow, is really weird. But, Lucky for us,

Jessica is becoming a whiz at justification.

So, I justify that: generally, the possibility of sharing the situation I’m in makes me feel better. Sometimes it makes me feel better because I can make light of an absurd circumstance:

Jessica is staring down the cow head in the kitchen sink

Jessica is standing in Lake Khorixas... A.k.a. her kitchen floor. Plumber?

Jessica is trapped in her house by a herd of goats with crazy eyes. Um, Heeelp!

Jessica is Ice Skating on the library floor wax. The school inspector’s coming - Clean everything!!!!

Jessica, after further analysis and observation by tiny tot experts, is actually more of a pink color than white. Hmmm.

And sometimes it makes me feel better because I can voice my concerns and emotions knowing that someone will listen and understand:

Jessica just wants to go home-home.

Jessica keeps forgetting to breathe.

Jessica needs a hug.

And sometimes it makes me feel better because I can just share the mundane facts about my life that make me feel connected to others:

Jessica is watching MASH MASH MASH – anyone got some potatoes.

Jessica is a baking whiz. Somebody stop me… I mean her…

Jessica is a camel.

Jessica CAN feel it… so turn off the The Dogg already, neighbors!!!

Yeah, Facebook has become a staple in my life. I’m a little ashamed and little apathetic to the addiction. But, overall, I’m grateful for it. I’ve heard it said by many in the Nam27 group: I wonder, how did volunteer before us survive in the developing world without Facebook? … Hmm… maybe things weren’t as culturally complicated back then. Yeah, that must be it.

July 31, 2008

Look what I did! I made it to August! I’ve got this Peace Corps thing down! I’m amazing - Just ask me, I’ll tell you so.

At the end of August Nam26 is having their COS (close of service) conference. After that they start trickling home as they finish their assignments. I guess that means now is the time to tell you that Namibia volunteers usually have a shorter service period than other countries. It’s just the way it works with schools. It would be kind of odd to stick around through the first month of your third year of school before you went home. Final exams are a good time to make the clean break. If I stay for two school years it’s about 23 months of service plus 2 months of training making 25 months in total. Peace Corps service is defined as 27 month though. So really, it just means in the world of volunteers, we’re a little wimpier than others. But, generally, I feel ok with that.

Today was the first day of exams for term two. I feel a little more upbeat about exams this time around because I have a better idea of what’s going on. For instance, I know that I’m responsible for binding (stapling) and sorting all my own exams (Natural Science and Math) – we have a copier but it is ancient. That is to say, copiers that can collate, staple, sort, print in color, magnify, reduce, touch screen… not break every third day… are approximately 11 generations newer than our copier. But that’s not to say we don’t love it. After binding all my tests, I felt a wave of generosity come over me and I bound three more random tests. At the end of yesterday, my binding hand was beginning to look like someone trying to play A-flat on an air guitar. But, in the end it’s ok because I use the other hand for marking – which is what I’ll spend the rest of exams doing. With the exceptions of the times I’m invigilating. During these exams I’m also more prepared because I know I will be called upon to invigilate in the stead of other teachers. And, I’m more prepared because I know invigilate isn’t a dirty word. And because I know invigilating is boring.

Anyway, today was the first exam for grades 5 through 7. My grade 6 kids took their first math exam. Their second math exam is a week from Tuesday. I’m thankful that there is so much time between the two tests because we need all the time we can get. I just finished marking the exams from today… highest score 18/30 (belonging to one of my brightest girls, Uazundaije. I knew I had become a better person when I could say her name without thinking for a few seconds first. She’s adorably short with freckles that belong painted on the face of someone headed for a hoedown). Not bad score, all things considered. Next highest score? 13/30. Average score? 6/30. Ugh. I’m not taking it too personally because the kids I don’t teach performed equally as… somehow. And, I was happy to see that most of them were actually trying instead of just writing any words and numbers they could read on the classroom walls (a very very common occurance – it’s the main reason to erase the board before a test. Otherwise, you’ll get random words for answers. It’s not uncommon to get “welcome to classroom 5B!” for an answer on a question about circuits… Some kids just can’t read – one of the many reasons two years is just not enough time. I could tell they were trying because there was some kind of logic in their answers. Unfortunately, where they possessed logic, they severely lacked in skill. But, I was also pleased to see that nearly all of my learners have improved in their long division skills. We do at least two long division problems together everyday in class. I like long division because it makes you practice subtraction and multiplication at the same time. And I like it because you have to follow the same pattern every time. Patterns tend to be foreign to my learners, so anything I can do to force step 1… step 2… step 3… step 4… makes me feel better about the general state of my learners.

Natural science for my grade 7 classes is next week Wednesday. I feel like there’s no hope for them. I love working with my learners, I do… Well, most of them… The others I love the challenge they present. But the lack of hope has nothing to do with them. The exam is, yet again, awful. Awful. Yesterday, when we were all sitting around in the staff room strategizing about exams, one of the other teachers clued me in to why the Khorixas cluster science exams are so terrible. He said, “I’m sorry, dear, to be the one to tell you but some of these teachers are lazy. They’ll just take questions from old exams without checking them first.” It sounds like an ok idea but the questions weren’t good the first time around. And they’re even worse this time around… for a lot of reasons… but mostly because the syllabus changed 2 years ago!

Luckily, I’ve mellowed a little since first term. This term, I spent my review time just going over things we learned during term two. Last term I spent a huge amount of time teaching new things that had randomly appeared on the test. I felt like it would help them get better scores on their exams. Since then, I’ve realized it’s probably better to just review and let the chips fall. The kids will be ok because, even though all of Khorixas has to write the same exam, I’m allowed to curve the scores before I put them into the report cards.

Which brings me back to the main reason a curve will be needed on this exam. There are questions on the exam that I’m not supposed to teach until term 3. There are questions on the exam that I’m not even supposed to teach. And then there are questions on the exam that are just… well, they’re just… well, just let me show you:

Khorixas School Cluster Exam

Term 2 – 2008

Natural Science

Grade 7

1. We can purify water from germs if we _____________.

a. Litter it b. Boil it c. Decanting it d. Drop it

2. Identify the following animal

a. Crab b. Kelp c. fish d. Salamandar

3. Mention the habitat of the animal mentioned above.

a. Trough b. Water c. Kraal d. Camp

4. Study the following diagram and answer question 1.6

5. Which organism is a producer

a. Grass b. Zebra c. lion d. Atoms consist of protons, neutrons and ____________

a. Mars b. Oxygen c. Nitrogen d. Elections

24. Explain how you can separate sand and water mixture. Name the only process you can use

__________________________

25. Construct a food chain of a Jackal.

26. Similarities of Earth and Mass is

Total: 60 Marks

There were a lot more questions but you get the idea. I did proof read above and there’s nothing wrong with the way I typed it. Yes, an atom does consist of Protons, Neutrons and Elections. 13, 14 and 15 year olds do have to identify a picture of a fish and know that it lives in water. No, question number 4 doesn’t have a question. Yes, the planet Earth and the Planet Mass is very similar. I can think of two ways to separate sand and water. Who knows the food chain of a jackal right off the top of their head? Because I don’t. And I didn’t teach it. And, Yes, we did jump from number 5 to number 24.

So, as becoming tradition, we do the best that we can do. We accept what we have and make it work. The kids are excellent at this. I am new to it. Some call it being passive. I call it a new talent.

14-8-08

I’m in Windhoek again. And I just saw The Dark Knight. And I ate Kiwi today. Hmm. It’s good.

A lot of our group is in Windhoek this month because it’s time for Mid-service medical exams. Honestly, the exams are a bit of a pain but it’s really nice to see a bunch of familiar faces.

To come to medical I had to dodge out of the last week of school. My learners finished taking their exams on Tuesday though. I hurried and got all of my paper work in before I traveled to the big city. As it turns out, Natural Science was ok. The kids pointed out some of the weird things about the test though.

Next week, I’m leaving Windhoek and traveling down to Capetown in South Africa. I am so excited about it. A new country! A new city! Should be great.

une 17, 2008

Usually, when I go to write something I think is amazingly clever about my experiences in Namibia, I reread the last paragraph of my last post. This may seems stupid because usually the two posts don’t relate at all. But I like to be reminded of the last thing from this lifestyle I tried to communicate to the States. However, this time, it was stupid for another reason. Mostly it was stupid because my “tail” of the donkey didn’t include anything of the donkey’s “tales” – which are important for the simple fact that I must have been mesmerized by their “tales” to have written “tail” so much instead of “tale”. Are you confused yet? Because I am.

Wow. My English skills are… showing signs of diminution… are reducing …are less… are becoming stupider… are dumb… are, uh, doh.

Speaking of dumb, I ran into a pole this weekend. I’ve wondered before what my reaction would be to running into a pole. It turns out, I stop moving. Stay in contact with the pole while assessing the situation. Then I simply state, “I ran into a pole”. It’s not nearly the reaction I would have hoped for but, well, it was a reaction.

Anyway.

I went to Windhoek this weekend. This is in the theme of the Dumbness I discussed earlier. It takes about 4 to 6 hours, sometimes 9 to get to Windhoek. And this weekend? I traveled all that way to see a movie. Dumb, right? But Indiana Jones is so worth it. Even when he’s getting old. Then, the whole weekend kind of downgraded into an eating tour of Windhoek. Which, despite how it sounds, was a lot of fun and probably included more vitamins than my body has had since I made it here. But let’s be honest, it also included a lot of sugar. Yum.

The weekend was also fun because I got to see a lot of the girls from the Bing. I like those girls. And it was also not so good because this person I randomly know… and maybe have no relation to at all… and I may not even know her… got mugged. Like I said, I may not even know her… and I wasn’t even there… But her purse got taken from her shoulder at 9 AM on a busy street corner. Sheesh, Windhoek. After a long talk with some security guards at a nearby shopping mall and a few trips to a large drainage pipe most of her belongings were recovered. On the plus side though, we’re now friends with the entire security team at one of two malls in Windhoek. That’s got to count for something, right? Not that I was even there… or know the person who was mugged…

That said, I think I’m getting to know the city well. I know to never carry a bag. I can get around most of the areas of Windhoek (Though, I don’t really know Katatura that well. It’s kind of like a location of Windhoek. I’ve only officially been there once but I’ve driven through a few times now). I would say my biggest accomplishment in Windhoek familiarization is the habit of looking right then left when crossing a street. It really is a handy skill. Without it, you find yourself standing immobilized on a street corner confused by all of the fast moving vehicles that all magically lack donkeys dragging them along. This skill, though, I’m sure will retard my ability to do anything traffic related in America. But saving the world is worth it, right?

Oh yeah, before I go, the pole. The thing about Windhoek is everyone is out to get you. So when I turned even one second to look at something, this darn malicious pole jumped out in front of me. And then, it ran into me and stubbed my toe. Sheesh, Windhoek.

Joo joo joo joo-oooo-oo-ne 25, 2008

A few quotes that I appreciate:

“Oh Miss, I am having neat. You must give me mom.”

- Katrina, grade 6. I give the kids stickers when they do a math problem on the board. She already has the sticker that says “neat” and wanted the one that says “wow”. The kids seem to think that “wow” goes upside down though. Which is weird because “wow” is a really common expression here.

“You are looking nice today. Like a lady. It is quite the change.”

- A teacher the morning I showed up in a pink skirt.

“Ah, you look smart. It seems you are an American.”

- Another teacher about clothes again. “Smart” is a type of dress. “Clever” is smart. I was wearing a black shirt and jeans – you know, in case you want to look American.

“Say ‘eat’.” – me

“#u re.” – Cleaners at the school determined for me to learn Damara

“Ok, say ‘sit’.” – me

“#u re.” – Cleaners with raised eyebrows

“Eat?” – me

“#u re.” – Cleaners

“Sit?” - me

“#u re.” – Cleaners, raised eyebrows

*Moment of silence where we realize that maybe it is hopeless.

“Miss, are you having donkeys in America?” – Grade six learners

“Yes”

“What noise is making them run?”

“Umm…”

- If you know what noise we make in America to make donkeys run, let me know. Because I don’t.

Last Thursday was mail day. It was a lot of fun because I got a few packages. I also got a card from my mom. It was one of those cards that has a recording that plays when you open it. On the front it says, “This is a test of the emergency smile broadcast system” and on the inside is says, “you can now return to your regularly scheduled day”. Then, while the card is open the recording of the two cartoon characters making the emergency broadcasting noise – “EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” *large breath in and “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! This is a test. This is only a test. If this had been a real emergency it would have been followed with…” *Giggles and woots and general cartoon chaos . I thought it would be really fun to put the card in the library to see how long it would last. Kids tend to grab anything within grabbing distance and ask a barrage of questions about it. So I decided the card could be the current object to grab. But I didn’t have a clue how amazing their reactions would be. Most kids survey the front then open the card. When the noise starts, most of them make a face like evil has just entered the room and throw the card down. Then, gaining bravery, they take up the card again and hold it to their ear. The ones that make it through the whole recording ask me, “what language are they making, Miss?” They don’t believe that it’s English even when I tell them. And the best part, when they have had their fill of the emergency smile broadcast system, they run out of the library and down the hall screaming “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” I wonder how long I can keep this up before the other teachers search me out to destroy the card…

Last week was HIV/AIDS awareness week. So on Friday, we got the day off of school to march all of the learners down to a big rally at the stadium. All 6 of the schools in Khorixas were going to meet there. Each teacher was supposed to walk with their respective grade to make sure they didn’t run away or get run over by a car. Since, in theory, I don’t really have any responsibilities… I don’t get paid!... my supervisor told me I should ride in the car following the kids. It was great, except that a lot of the staff at our school aren’t really fond of walking, so, I got a few bitter stares. We got to the stadium a little late so we got the spot in the sun. It wasn’t so bad (my Rudolf-look the next day would beg to differ though). There were speeches and songs. Each school had prepared a presentation. Our school had two presentations - one for the little ones and one for the big kids. The big kids did great. I loved their presentation and how proud they were of it. The small kids did a song called, “I’m the boss of my body”. It is my new, official favorite song. I can’t really remember all the words, but it’s my favorite. The small kids got called up again to sing an encore. It was cute.

Saturday and Sunday were perfect peace corps days. There wasn’t any water. There wasn’t really anything to do but laundry, by hand, which was ruled out because of the water situation. And I cooked – taco flavored chicken and taco flavored popcorn. Sounds like a perfectly peace corps weekend.

This week has been slow. Slow weeks are good for savoring life. But a lot of life in Africa is about the like-a-band aid approach - just got to do it and get it over with… cold baths, community meetings, crowded markets, speaking in clicks. Just do it. And that’s hard to do when time moves slowly.

The week hasn’t been too bad though. The science fair is next week on Tuesday. There are two kids in grade seven that I’m working with. It’s been interesting. I feel like a mom trying to force my kids to learn and do their homework. They like it when we’re actually working on the experiment. In the mean time though, it just doesn’t seem appealing when they could be playing soccer or writing notes about boys. I thoroughly understand. But it’s science! Doesn’t everyone love science?

Don’t answer that…

Our project is called, “Light from above”. It’s about sunlight and our ability to capture heat with certain colors. We collected all our data yesterday. We set boxes covered in different colored paper out in the sun. Each had a thermometer in it. Then we checked the temperature every few hours. Now we need to work on understanding what it all means. It would be a lot easier to explain colors and light and heat if I could find a prism to show them all the colors in the rainbow. Yesterday, I at least got across to them that sunlight is an important topic here because, well, we live in a desert! I’ll be really excited if they get rainbows and light absorption tomorrow. I’m also nervous about getting this board together in time. I know the kids want it to be beautiful. We’re running out of time though. Cross your fingers… or, Namibians, hold your big thumbs… and wish us luck.

The 27th day of June 2008 – It’s the only one I’ll ever get.

I was burning my trash tonight. It made me think of the first time I tried to burn trash in Khorixas and almost lit the town on fire. I’d like to think I’ve come a long way since then. Everything seems just like its supposed to be. This is great and disappointing at the same time. It’s great because I live in Namibia and I managed to find a balance that feels normal. It’s also not so great because I’m exhausted.

While you all are out enjoying your summer sun, just remember that you’re taking it from us. The sun rises somewhere around 7:00 and sets at about 5:15. This is a shame because I start work at 6:50 and leave between 4 and 5. And, while living in the sunniest place of my lifetime, that kind of schedule doesn’t leave a lot of time for sun-soaking. And it definitely doesn’t leave time for a 20 minute walk to town to get groceries or check the mail.

Also, I’m making friends. But, let’s be honest, the social cues are still alluding me. When someone walks away mid-sentence, did I do something? Do I smell bad? And the language/accent barrier is larger than ever. Though, I have learned that I greatly appreciate the people who say, “what?” until they understand me. Today someone asked me a question in English. I wasn’t sure what he said so I said, “What did you say?”. He said, “Oh, I see. Ooookay.”. I hate Ooookays. They’re the I-have-no-idea-what-you-said-but-I’m-going-to-fake-it-Ooookays. Though I think we all have to admit that we’ve used them from time to time.

I’m getting really good at doing my own laundry. And I’m getting really good at ignoring cockroaches instead of obsessively cleaning. But the school has a water pipe problem. The solution, you ask… turn off the water except for two hours a day. So now, I don’t even have to worry about scheduling a cleaning time. It’s scheduled for me… Only one problem… The two chosen hours are a surprise! Fun, huh?

Another new development – I love shebeen music. The informal bars that are set up in the squatter’s camp and throughout the location play music that is loud enough to share with the whole section of the neighborhood. And, for the stability of the children in the area (because they don’t get a lot of stability), the shebeens play only one chosen song. It’s like a mating call that belongs only to that shebeen. You can hear a song across the location and know which shebeen just got a customer. There are two Namibian singers I know – Gaza and The Dogg. I can’t tell the difference between them yet. I think The Dogg has more sirens and whistles… like gym class… but it’s not a hard and fast rule.

Yes, things are feeling normal now. It’s exciting mostly. I just wish my new normal could be a little easier. Maybe, like, you know, a washing machine, water heater, dishwasher, car and family and friends easier…

I greatly appreciate normal. But what keeps me going most days are the surprises that I can find joy in (the key phrase – “that I can find joy in”. The “someone stole my trash” surprise or the “no water or power for a day or so” surprises just don’t seem to cut it).

For example, today all the grade 7 girls got called out of their last class. This, to them, meant that after their meeting they could run away. So, I had all the 7A boys. They silently copied the notes on electricity from the board. The silence startled me and was a little unnerving – what was wrong with my class? They said, “Miss, you see, when it is just the boys we are sitting nicely.” Maybe they were trying to frame the girls but either way, it was impressive. When I realized the girls were just going to skip the rest of class, I got out the circuit experiment for the boys to work on. I thought it would be mildly entertaining but I was wrong. They loved it! They’ve got all of these ideas about making circuits with switches and using solar power. They even set up a time to work on it more on Monday. It was so fun to watch them try different wires and bulbs to see what would make light. These boys are clever... the American kind of clever that also implies that they like to play tricks. So, sometimes they’re a handful in class. And they all managed to be assigned to the same class. But the day was worth it just to see them all working together and being passionate about something.

Today was also different because I got to be secretary. Well, not really, but she did lend me the computer for a few hours to type up the science fair project. It was nice to sit there because parents and grandparent would come in and try their best English to try to explain what they needed. But my best English couldn’t explain to them that I had no idea how to help them because I wasn’t the secretary. The “Alright. Let’s give this a try” expression on their face before their question mirrored something I feel a lot. It was good to see it on another person for once.

I realized two things while I sat at the secretary’s desk. First, I realized that the quickest way for the school to convince me to help find donations for new computers would have been to make me type something earlier. They asked when I first arrived. Shocked, dazed and utterly useless at first, I couldn’t help them in their search for new computers. Since then, I’ve sent out a few letters and spell checked a few others. Sitting there today though, I’ve got a second wind for this whole computer donations thing. I can’t remember the last time I saw a computer that old. At the very least though, we need a new a key board. The letters are mostly ok. But if you want to press “Shift” you have to press it then use your nails to pull it back up. This makes “Caps Lock” a better option but only because it sticks half the time. “Enter” was like a wild card. Press a little to far to the left on the button and it wouldn’t register at all. In the middle, one line down. Too far to the right and you’re eight pages down before you blink. This keyboard is the sole reason it took me three hours to type up a science fair project. I have a new appreciation for our secretary. This positive appreciation goes well with my new loathing of the Ministry of Education Bureaucracy that requires her to type to so many pointless papers though.

The second thing I realized as I sat there was that I shouldn’t be sitting there. This is not my science fair project. It is the learners. This got me in quite the conundrum. I remember that my mom helped me a great deal on science fair projects, papers, homework, school work, plays… life… But I also recall showing more interest than these kids do. And they’re both 13 years old. So, I pulled them into the office and made them offer me opinions. Which they hated. They have to be responsible for something. Sure, responsibility builds character and will make them better people in the long run. But mostly, they needed to contribute more just in case the project doesn’t get good ratings. I don’t want to be completely at fault. It’s my first Namibian science fair. I could be getting it all wrong. They’re doing well, though. They now understand light absorption and the spectrum of colors. I’m pretty sure they’ve got a good grasp on why they got the results they did. I hope they get to do science fair again in secondary school with all their new science fair skills (One of them did the science fair last year. But, as it was explained to me by the other science teachers, the teacher comes up with the project and writes out the poster. The kids help with minor details, like covering the poster and standing in front of it while the judges ask them questions. So, with them actually having to experiment with something they have new skills. And it would be a shame if they didn’t get to stretch their new wings in another science fair).

Oh! Water’s on! Got to go.

July 5th 2008

Have I mentioned that pumpkin bread is my new favorite recipe? I now have the ability to start with a pumpkin, a bag of flour, some margarine and a little sugar and finish with a beautiful loaf of pumpkin bread. The only thing I wonder now is why I didn’t list “baking” as one of my goals during Peace Corps staging. I know they’re going to bring those goals back out when we finish here and I’d hate for my actual new skills and accomplished goals to count for nothing.

I made a loaf of pumpkin bread yesterday to celebrate my nation’s independence. I also made my classes guess why the day was important to 300 million people and me. One of my grade 6 girls guessed, “because it’s your birthday?” Why, yes. 300 million people celebrate me. Another guess was, “because it’s Friday?” No, more than 300 million people celebrate that. I thought, “because it’s cold” was a silly answer too. Shivering in a cement classroom, in a desert, in winter did not feel like a reason to celebrate but I’m outside of the culture, so who knows… In the end, the all guessed the right holiday though. Then, true to Namibian child fashion, they asked to “borrow me your country’s flag”. Anything new and exciting becomes a “borrow me…” object.

Yes, my learners are cute. They’re cute in a hard-core, I-kill-goats, bring-on-the-discipline sort of way. Which is a cute all in it’s own right.

I got this letter from one of my grade 7 girls last week. It made me feel loved:

“I have say a nice story for you. Once upon the time there was the wite miss called Jessica. She was a best American the beutiful one and she was having Good behave and the was she is takeing in American English so nice and I don’t want her to go back. She mast stay till she die. If she die we well take her back to America. That’s all. From the lovely…”

Another one of my learners wrote a letter to my friend who visited last in May. This one made me feel less loved… but at least it made me laugh.

“Dear: Miss

… we miss you come back to our school… could you please bring us some cake. We are not having a beautiful lady like you at this school only Miss Jessica. Comeback… if your country where nea. I would be there to America. Teacher please give me pens and colours.”

I edited some of the extra out. I think the art of implying something is lost on Grade 6 Namibians. “we are not having a beautiful lady like you… only Miss Jessica.” I guess she doesn’t like my clothes? Just kidding. She’s a cutie.

Last night, I was the photographer at a variety/disco night for my school. At any point during the performance you could buy someone in the crowd to dance on stage. I didn’t know that was going to happen until I was already there taking pictures. I spent most of the night dreading the moment I was going to have to dance onstage. But, as the evening came to a close (4 hours after it started) I wondered why it would have been so bad to see the American dance. It took me a few minutes to realize that I should spend the time being thankful instead. Which I did.

Then tonight, I’m the photographer at a beauty contest. I hear the beauty contests in this country are an experience. I’ll be sure to let you know all about it later.

July 7th 2008

Well, I’m in Windhoek again. It seems I can’t get away. The PC called me a few days ago and told me I had to come down for a vaccination. I got here last night and they’re shipping me home today. And, to tell you the truth, I’m bitter about it. That’s a lot of taxi face time.

But, at least they put me up in a really nice holiday apartment. It had TV, hot water, a toaster and a sound system. One of the other volunteers passing through the city had a few DVDs with them. So we spent the evening watching Event Horizon - Which seemed like a good idea until the other volunteers thought hiding in my closet and trying to scare me was also a good idea. Don’t worry, adrenaline is good for the head.

More later! got to get that shot now.

The Donkey cart of Death... Actually, it wasn't that bad.

I tried to find the most tame goat-becoming-dinner picture from the last update. If you want the real story just let me know :)

June 6th 2008 – Can you believe it? Can you really?

I’m working on my 7th month in Namibia. That’s two tubes of toothpaste. Three bottles of shampoo. Countless phone minutes. Three red pens. One full tube of chapstick – which I never lost. And more than 30 loads of laundry. It’s a strange strange feeling. In some ways, I feel like I just blinked and wound up in a classroom on the wrong side of the planet. In other ways, I feel like the past seven months have been so wonderful and so terrible that I may never be the same again. And I think I’ve finally realized that I would like to be a different person after this. I’m just not sure what kind of person that will be.

This past weekend I was in Windhoek to see Heather off to America. Since a trip to Windhoek costs a minimum of Namibian $160, I decided it was time to check in on some PC business I had been putting off. It was good that I went to the office because they decided to keep me an extra day to finish everything up. It wasn’t so bad because, being there with approval, I got a free place to stay and three free days off work.

Windhoek is a magical place. It has restaurants and hot running water. If you ever happen to be stuck in Windhoek and need a croissant sandwich, I can tell you where the best one on the contintent is… but you have to promise to take me too… and buy me carrot cake. But, while being so wonderful, and magical, and housing croissants, Windhoek is also a bear trap for my poor little volunteer wallet. Lucky for me, there was another 27 volunteer staying an extra few nights in Windhoek. And instead of painting the town red our extra night, we found an old VHS and a dusty PC TV and watched Shallow Hal. It’s a classy movie… Ok, its not. But I thoroughly enjoyed it. According to the movie, Peace Corps volunteers all look like Gweneth Paltrow – on the inside. The bottom line? If you’re having inner beauty trouble, just volunteer.

Wednesday, I got a ride with a Peace Corps driver part of the way back to site. I know I’ve mentioned PC vehicles before but I just need to say again that they are beautiful. They have more inner beauty than any volunteer… including Gweneth Paltrow. They’re so great because they have seatbelts and air conditioning. They’re so great because they have diplomatic plates and they’re not allowed to pick people up by the side of the road. And they’re so great because the drivers know we think we’re poor and they know they’re being used. You know those times when you invited someone to go to a concert, or movie, or out to dinner just because you didn’t have a car and they did? And you know how you felt like they could see right through you? That is my life. But when someone just wants to give me something for free and I don’t have to ask for it or convince them I need it, it really is a great feeling. It’s like being taken care of. It’s like having my mom around. It’s a relief.

To get the rest of the way home though, I had to find a taxi. There are two taxi drivers that go from Otjiwarongo to Khorixas that I like. Everyone else I’ve experienced who drives that route is, well, crazy… or racist… or sexist. I’m not sure which. I SMSed the two I like but was plum out of luck. They weren’t driving. I sat in two taxis in various parking lots for a combination of three hours without going ANYWHERE before I finally got in a car that had enough ambition to actually leave. And while it was nice to be headed towards home, the ride made me think of Tyra Banks… And I’m sure you are all wondering: Why? Well, I thought of Tyra because of one particular episode of her talk show I had watched before I left the states. It wasn’t a regular occurrence that I used to watch her show. But if it was daytime, and I was bored, it was better than soaps. Anyway, on one particular show she decided she would wear a fat suit and see how the general public treated her differently. I don’t remember the exact outcome of the show. But whatever she experienced would have been hard to describe. I know this because I want to describe the feeling of being an American woman by yourself and crawling into a taxi in the middle of Otjiwarongo. But a concrete description would be almost impossible. Not to mention that half of the experience could be written off as paranoia – prolonged stares, looks out of the corner of their eyes, whispering, pointing, squishing to the opposite side of the car, overuse of the words “!uri”, “skol jefro” and “Amerika”. Then halfway home, they interrupt the conversation to tell me, “These two [passengers] are your good friends”. What does that mean? And what have they been talking about? And if two in the car are my friends, does that mean that the other two have chosen to be against me? And why do we need to choose one way or another? Can’t I just have a ride to Khorixas without being a car debate? But if I am going to be a debate, can’t I at least have the courtesy of being talked about behind my back instead of in front of my face in the wrong language? Inner beauty? Try inner self-doubt.

I saw one of the women from that taxi ride recently. She was so excited to see me. So I’m not really sure what was discussed. Being in the dark really is a tough place to live. And it’s not really something I’ve ever had to deal with before. I’ve always had some sort of cultural cue. Something to cling onto and claim I knew an inkling of what was going on. But here, sometimes I can’t even pretend. Is clueless an aura? I think I glow clueless.

June 11

Sometimes I wonder if I’m becoming a bitter person while I’m here. I would like to change and grow while I’m here but I don’t think that bitter is the direction I would like to go. Some of you may argue that I was already bitter before I came and I say to you, psshaw… Some of you more kindly put that I am a realist, in which case I say, I am. And realism and bitterness do not go hand in hand. Unless you’re a pessimist, which I’m not.

So, using my realistic eyes I have made a few observations that I would like to share.

Most recently, my observation was of the 7th grade math book. On the back cover, it has a picture of the Namibian flag and says, “Buy Namibian products”. On the inside it has a word problem that asks learners to make a pie graph of the different color eyes in their classroom. Sally’s got hazel. Michael has blue. Jeffery has brown. Etcetera etcetera… I consider the problem, look around the classroom and consider the problem again. First, no one is named Sally, or Michael, or Jeffery. But names are the least of our problems. And I don’t want to be the downer but I imagine this problem isn’t going to help anyone’s math skills. I could draw plain circles before grade seven. And that would be the answer – One plain circle with the word “Brown” written on the inside. And when we had finished our eye survey I’m sure no one would be any cleverer about pie graphs than they were before the pointless exercise. So, moral of the story? Buy Namibian products if you live in Windhoek or Swakop. But if you live anywhere else, ask the Peace Corps for a volunteer who will come and help you write more plausible math questions for your learners.

Observation number two? We form a committee for everything. Everything. If there isn’t a solution in the first two minutes of a topic, it’s going to a committee. There’s nothing you can do about it. Once the word committee hits the fan, you’re out of the game. Unless of course, you get nominated for the committee. In which case, you can’t do anything. You’re there. You’re the committee. If you didn’t want to be on the committee? You have to form another committee to discuss the replacement options for you on the first committee. And don’t forget the committee that we’ll need to form to assess the emotional needs of everyone involved. Which is only second in importance to the committee we’re going to need to get all of this paperwork done. I’ll volunteer for that committee but only if I can be the chair of laminating flowers to all the paperwork.

Another thing I’ve observed in my time here is the state of Namibian classrooms. I can’t speak for all of Namibia because I’ve only taught in two schools here. But one of my favorite things about the classrooms here are the desks. The desks at my school are trick desks. I think this is brilliant. If you have a learner you don’t like, just make sure they sit at the trick desk. This may not make them a better learner. But it will sure make you laugh when the desk plays a trick on them. You see, trick desks are the 4 out of 5 desks whose tops are not attached. This means if you try to move the desk or anything on top of it the board that sits on top of the metal frame will come crashing down to the ground. Sometimes only one side will slip. This is also entertaining because all of the learners’ possessions will slide and roll to the ground. I’ve been attempting to think of a solution for trick desks for a while and really can’t think of anything. Except duct tape. Trick desks are second in entertainment to trick chairs. Trick chairs have ceased to be funny to me though because I too have been attacked by them. Sometimes, the fake-stable board doesn’t even exist in trick chairs. In this case the learner will balance themselves on the bars that make up the frame of the chair. Then they will proceed to make all sorts of funny faces until I stop class and tell them to go find a board somewhere to spread across the bars. I found a board for one of my learners today. But to my surprise, she rejected it. It was too dusty. She would rather balance her behind on bars than to get her skirt dirty. Oh, this place.

This observation is actually more of second hand information. But I’ve definitely experienced evidence that it is true. I’ve heard that dating in Namibia goes a little something like this: The guy asks a girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl again says no. Repeat for a prolonged period of time. Really the girl likes the guy this whole time but they aren’t supposed to say yes right away. I’m not really sure why. But, I do know that this practice is really obnoxious for visitors and volunteers. Because when I’m saying “no” I really mean no. A lot of times I say “no” and I really mean, “I’d be really happy to never talk to you again and you’re scaring me a little”. But “no” is nicer, don’t you think? Anyway, as far as they can tell, my no may mean “maybe later”. And this is sticky because then they ask again and again. And every time they ask the “no” that is coming out of my mouth starts resembling the “get away from me!” more and more. And that’s just being a rude volunteer.

That’s about all I can observe for today. I’m sure there’ll be something else to boggle my mind tomorrow. I do kind of resent the people that describe what happens to your point of view here as, “becoming more bitter”. I don’t think you become more bitter. I think you just start to accept that you may never understand the way things work. I think that you start to understand that cultures really do affect who you are and the way you do things. And I definitely think that, while the bureaucracy and red tape of a foreign country make me want to pull the hair straight from my head, I am still enjoying the company of the people around me. Because, in the root of who we are, I’d like to believe we are beyond culture. And that has got to be one of the least pessimistic things I’ve observed here.

June 12

Today, I had my math class working on multiplying and dividing decimals. I asked them to raise their hands if they needed help on any problem. Recently, my math class has gotten really good at doing work on their own. In term one, I would ask them to do work and they would just stare at the wall or pull out and OYO (a youth publication that educates about life skills. It’s really a neat idea but a bit of a nuisance in math class). I don’t know what got into them but most of them will actually work on their assignment now. The only problem is that there aren’t five of me to walk around and answer questions. The kids know how to do the problems but they don’t know they know how to do the problem. If I’m there saying, “Now what do you do? Now what do you do?” they’re magically able to do the problem.

Today though one of the kids raised his hand and when I came over he told me, “Miss, this one’s ear is paining”. I asked the girl he pointed to if it was true that her ear hurt. She said, “Yes, miss, it is a Kakerlaka”. Ewww – remember the kakerlakas from previous blogs? I hope so because…ewww. That’s got to be so terrible. Terrible. She went to the clinic but has to go back a few more times. She cried for a good part of math class. But she’s such a good girl because she also finished her assignment. A few weeks ago she told me she wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. I hear that a lot around here so, while not neglecting or discouraging, I accept those claims from learners with the grain of salt. But today I decided that with her determination, she might be able to make it.

She’s also one of the members of our new girls’ club. Our first meeting was last Thursday. It went really well. I think that was mostly due to Jill’s amazing marker collection. We let the girls decorate some regular exercise books to be their journals. Most of the girls seemed really excited about decorating their books. Then they wrote about what makes a good leader and a little about themselves. This week, we talked about teamwork and played a few games to encourage teamwork. It was also a large success, I would say.

I’m really excited to be working with a few learners more closely. There’s just a lot that I want to teach them about. One thing in particular has been bugging me lately is the fear of mistakes that leads to lack of creativity and lazy work ethics. When kids write most of them are literally copying drawings of letters from the board. They look and see “e” then they look in their book and draw an e. They look and see “a” then they look in their books and draw a. They look up and see “r” then they look in their books and draw r... it takes so long to copy just one word from the board because they are literally just drawing it into their books. This is a problem when I’m asking for something creative too. I’ve learned that I have to show an example or two then erase it. Then the next day I have to say, “Remember the example? Do something like that”. A lot of times it will still vaguely resemble my work. When I don’t do an example at all, they copy from each other. This would be fine it they were sneaky or smart about it. But mostly, they just blatantly copy. Sometimes they don’t even copy the answer to the write questions. And, worse is when they copy from someone who is not as smart as they are. If someone got a 1/20 on their assignment, don’t copy from them! They don’t know what they’re doing! And I’m not even going to accept it because it’ll be late work! Not that they understand late work.

I don’t blame the learners completely though. The system has a lot to do with… well, everything. Yesterday, I did a simple experiment in class. We mixed salt and sesame seeds together to show what a mixture looked like (they were the only two things I had lying around my kitchen that were cheap enough to use). Then we put the mixture in water to dissolve the salt. Then we filtered the seeds out. The glass of water is currently sitting in the window to evaporate the water. It’s supposed to leave the salt but since then a few bugs fell in and a lot of dirt. By the time the water evaporates, the salt will be in another mixture of gross things that float around in classrooms. Anyway, the experiment was fun because it was so different from what they normally do at school. It was nice to break away from the Namibian norm and have a little fun in class. It was also fun because the last time I brought in food for an experiment, learners were begging me for food to eat. Begging like starving people. So I prefaced this experiment by saying, “you can eat whatever you want but you have to wait until after school today”. They thought it was hilarious. And sure enough, kids showed up to guzzle old pop bottles of salt water with sesame seeds floating in it. It was almost like the Khorixas version of Fear Factor. I was proud… actually I was laughing my face off.

Well, before I go, I definitely need to tell you about the epic adventure I had this week. I took my first donkey cart ride!! Our SCORE volunteer, Tonje, is leaving tomorrow. It is the end of her service here. One of her friends offered her a ride in his donkey cart as a going away gift. After school on Tuesday, I was standing around to watch her ride off into the sunset on a donkey cart when they told me to get in too. What was I to say? “No, sorry, I don’t believe in donkeys”. No! I said, why not! As the donkeys were being beat to start them running, the driver made sure we knew that these donkeys were the slow ones. I was A-ok with slow donkeys but later I decided he was lying or had somehow mixed up his donkeys. And with the generic sad eyes and malnourished bodies, I could see donkey mix up being a common problem and a plausible explanation for a lot of donkey cart death. But this is a theory I will have to test later in my time here. The ride wasn’t so bad for the first little bit. We were on a generally flat road. It wasn’t until we made it to the part of the road going downhill that I really did start to worry. And to make it worse, the young man who was driving the roller coaster cart decided downhill was the time to tell us about a recent donkey cart mishap he and his close friend luckily survived. His nerve-racking tail was only interrupted every so often so he could whip the donkeys to make them run faster. This whole time, I had been holding onto the side of the cart like there was no tomorrow. I decided that a death grip would be the best means of survival in the event of a crash. But, I learned from the tail of the donkey cart crash, the course of action previously taken by cart driving experts is jumping. I’m sure you’re not surprised that this didn’t sooth my nerves at all. Jumping is not in my reflexes. Flinching, death grips and the fetal positions are all in my reflexes. But jumping? Jumping is not in my reflexes... I was pondering this when I was suddenly brought back to my current situation by a flying pebble that made its way into my mouth. First, ow. Second, eww – donkey foot pebble. You’ll be happy to know we made it to the bottom of the hill intact. I would like to think this was due to my death grip skills and Jill’s simultaneous death grip on my knee (You should know that my knee and her large variety of “Oh My God!!!!!” noises were the only thing keeping her in the cart. I don’t think jumping is in her reflexes either). But we could also blame this success on the driver, the slow donkeys or Tonje’s calm demeanor throughout the entire experience. We got a few more minutes of touring around before our shaky legs were dropped off by the side of the road to walk to rest of the way home. And it was definitely on this walk home that I decided I will never be bitter at another donkey cart that passes me by when I’m walking to town on a hot afternoon. I decided this because I never want to get in a donkey cart again without preparation. This preparation will include one or more of the following: a helmet, elbow pads, a will, a recent prayer to God, or personal acquaintance with all two to four of the donkeys so that I can ensure they are in fact “the slow ones”.

Meh Aye Twin Tees Evan, Tooth Out Sand Ate

(May 27, 2008)

Hello! It’s me. I’m in Namibia. Still.

And since its been over two months since I’ve written sooo much has happened. And yet, I’m still sitting in the same spot in my apartment. On the floor. Because I still don’t have that much furniture. And because the kids can’t see me as well down here. And because heat rises.

So, let’s start at the beginning… or rather, the end, of my last real blog post. When you left your heroine she was on holiday from school…

I was really nervous to leave my flat for three weeks away. I was pretty sure someone would break into it. And if not broken into, something inside would break and burn it down or fill it full of water. But I was lucky to come home and find my flat in complete working order and relatively intact (though my favorite unwelcome houseguest left it’s droppings everywhere for me to clean up. Boo).

When I left Khorixas I was lucky enough to catch a free peace corps ride part of the way to my friends’ house in Okakarara. It was a fun day but only because it was so Namibian. I was so happy to be getting out of Khorixas. Okakarara is about the same size as Khorixas but with a primarily Herero population. There are 6 volunteers there and around in small villages. They are all women and all amazing. I love spending time with that group. They affectionately call Okakarara “the Kak” – which I just learned today may be a swear word in Afrikaans… I don’t think they know that because they also refer to themselves as the “Kak girls”… Or maybe they did know… It’s hard to tell with them.

Anyway, when I got to kak we had a birthday party for me and a few other girls who had gained a year sometime in the previous two months. We had a chocolate cake with candles and got gifts. I got a top that lights up when you spin it. Everything I could ever ask for? Yup.

Well, I proceeded to spend the next week and four days there. And what did I do? Well, the approved answer for that question has become “what didn’t I do?” because it sounds a whole lot better than “nothing”. But nothing isn’t entirely true. Let me try to sum up those brilliant days here:

I learned how to play watermelon soccer, I became injured while learning how to play watermelon soccer, I bought new blue socks, I baked my face off, I watched two seasons of Weeds, I made a friendship bracelet for my mother, I got locked in the Okakarara paddy wagon while getting a free hike into town, I sat in a paddy wagon in the Police station parking lot when the officer forget to let his free hike passengers out of the locked paddy wagon, I witnessed the loss of a precious piece of cheesecake in the “Mr. Price” clothing store, we foiled the Mr. Price employee trying to steal the precious piece of cheesecake, I took 18 million hot showers, “It’s sunny outside, guys. Again”, I attempted to climb a water tower, I got eaten by killer ants while trying to climb a water tower, I sat on the floor a lot, I listened to a lot of good music, I danced to a lot of good music, and I witnessed a dining room table being made out of a kitchen door…

So you see, what didn’t I do?

It was a lot of fun. And I’m sure it was really healthy to spend that much time just being without being judged or stressed… just being. Plus, I had really great company for the whole thing. I think that we all went a little crazy… or were a little crazy to begin with. But either way, I know I’ve got some good friend when they can stand to be with me 24-7 for three weeks, without doing anything constructive, and not want to kill me.

I meant to only stay a week. Then I wanted to go to Windhoek to soak up the big city. There were no hostels available so I ended up joining the rest of the girls who were going to Skawopmund a little later in the week. And I would tell you about the great things I did in Swakop… but instead I’ll just say, what didn’t I do? Actually, I just did a lot of eating and window shopping. I also learned a lot about the medical care available at the coast. But I’m afraid you’ll have to blog search to see if you can get that story from the actual victim. Don’t worry – she’s still alive… and her pinkie toe is still (mostly) attached J

I was only in Swakop for three nights before it was time to meet in Windhoek for our Reconnect conference with Peace Corps. It seems like so long ago that we were sad to say goodbye in January. But we made it all the way to reconnect… and, honestly, no one wanted to go. You may be wondering why no one would want to reunite with their long lost Nam27 friends. It wasn’t the friends that were making us sad to go. It was the conference part. While being here, I’ve realized that I never want a job that requires me to go to conferences. If I never see another room full of white linen table clothes littered with free pens and pad of paper and pitchers of water it will be too soon. Oh, gosh and the projectors… no more projectors either…

Anyway, we managed to find a free ride out of Swakop that was great. I can’t tell you why it was so great. But it was. And I made a new friend. Who is 5. And totally cute. Our ride got us to the office in Windhoek just before three. There were soooo many people. Too many maybe. It was so good to see everyone. But I think it would have been more fun to see everyone one at a time. “Isolated” is a way they like to describe Peace Corps volunteers. I like to say “improving antisocial tendencies”. But tomato, to-mah-to, eh?

My favorite Nam27er Facebook status update (since we all carry Facebook in out pockets and its way cheaper than SMSing) from that hour was, “since Nam27 is all together again, I’m wondering who will be the first to read this”. Do you want to know who was the first to read it? Me. I believe I was also given the title “Facebook Queen” – which honestly, I doubt. But I couldn’t back up that doubt with any truth whatsoever.

Once 27 had arrived we were bused out of Windhoek to a beautiful retreat center just to the north. The center is on a hill with a beautiful view of the city and country around. I managed to get a room that only had two beds so I was able to exercise some reclusive ness during the week – not too much though. Buuuuut our wonderful room happened to also be adjacent to, what I like to refer to as, the party porch… so, you do the math. I will say, though, that 1) ipods are still a gift from above in my life and 2) when ipod batteries run out, party porch conversation is quite entertaining, even while trying to sleep.

When not making use of the fabulous porch and views, 27 spent most of the day indoors problem solving. With as much as I was dreading the conference it was actually really really helpful. I got so many ideas for classroom management and making sure no learners get left behind in huge classroom crowds. I spent most of the conference frantically writing all of the brilliant ideas down. In the end, I really felt like I could go back to site and do something useful.

I also got to spend an evening in Windhoek. I got bused to the city to get my flu shot. Then, I missed the ride back to the center. This gave me a good chance to run to a department store to replace some clothes. Little did I know that shock and awe and feelings of homesickness make shopping trips less fun. In addition, it was misty rain and dark outside. It made it so I couldn’t imagine anywhere in the world I would rather be than the Pacific Northwest of America… But, instead, I settled for the next Peace Corps ride heading my way and, as per personal tradition, sucked it up and got on with life.

During the conference I also got elected to represent all the the volunteers in my region… and when I say elected I mean I was the only one qualified… and when I say qualified I mean I was the only one who wanted to… And when I say wanted to I mean maybe I was a little ashamed that I wanted to… and when I say ashamed I mean… aw, heck, everyone loves me and I definitely won by popular vote. Landslide. Shut down the competition. The people love me, what can I say?

I left the conference on Friday morning. There were still a few sessions left but they were all optional. Three weeks is a long time to be gone from site so I had a goal to be sleeping in my own bed on Friday night. When it came time to leave, though, I had a little trouble tearing myself away again. I finally managed to force myself over to the hike point from hell and snag a taxi. I was lucky enough to stumble on a taxi that already had three and was ready to leave as soon as they got their fourth, me. I was reminded of my learners on the ride when I realized the little girl passenger that sat next to me didn’t belong to any of the adults in the car. She was probably 11 and had had to find her own ride home. I have to say that being a kid in the country is tough. But I think I’ve already ranted about that in this blog.

When I got to Otjiwarongo, I had a little trouble finding a ride. I swear the car I finally got a ride in was just some man trying to make a few extra bucks on his drive to Khorixas. There were 7 people in a regular four door car and not a single one of them was a really big fan of the English language… and, yet, I found myself relieved to be listening to Damara again. Affection? For a certain people? Maybe… only time will tell.

I spent the weekend readjusting and sleeping. I also spent some time cleaning and re-arranging my flat. Jill got kicked out of her place just before we left for break and moved her stuff into my flat. So I moved some things out of my extra room and cleaned a little. For the full flat exchange program you’ll have to check out Jill’s blog. It’s really her story… and my birthday present… and really overall Namibian.

Monday was the first day of the term. This means it was time for the tri-annual teachers’ meeting. All of the upper primary teachers in the Khorixas cluster met at the primary school in town to re-group and re-focus. The VSO in Khorixas gave speech about equal opportunities for children in education. I really appreciated that she had the guts to get up and say some of the things she did. I realized that some of the teachers really appreciated her candor also. But in the end some community dirt started to surface about discrimination and segregation. I find it really amazing how much you can miss when you aren’t a part of the culture. If I look at the things I’m still learning after 5 months at site, I can definitely see the advantage of two years in one place. Maybe by then, I will have scratched the surface of this community… but there’s also a chance that maybe I won’t have. And I will never know either way, I think.

Tuesday was the first day back to class for the learners. This means I taught! I think the kids were a little shocked because I was their first class. I made them sit down to review their exams from last term. You could still see the holiday and farm life in their eyes but I bet my math class had the least amount of trouble readjusting the rest of the day. That’s not to say they all readjusted… we reviewed exams and iffy information from last term for the rest of the week. I feel the luxury of time more at the beginning of the term so I might as week make sure they understand something - especially in math where skills are building on one another.

To be honest, I was a little bitter that first week about being back in the same situations. We just spent a week getting energized and encouraged. Then we were sent back to site to be reminded of the discrepancy between what we wish for and what actually is. If there were three of me… and if I was rich… and if I had four ounces more of patience… and I didn’t really require sleep… I might be able to do everything I want to with these kids... so if you’ve got any of those to spare ;)

Now to the fun part though! My friend from home flew in on Saturday morning. I made it to Outjo Friday night and then found my way to Windhoek Saturday morning to meet her. We basically just putted around town, caught up and found some fruit, ice cream and m&m’s calling our names. We also ran into the Khorixas score volunteer. I love how small this country is.

The next day we managed to travel all the way back to site. It wasn’t really a challenge… more of a trial… in patience. The taxi from Otjiwarongo to Khorixas was just another man trying to make a buck. But this time he had a combi and wanted it filled while towing something. As you can imagine, that sort of transport takes a long time to organize.

We did make it back to Khorixas by sunset, though. The learners had drawn a welcome sign for my friend in sidewalk chalk on my porch. It was really cute – a heart with a Namibian flag and “Welcome Heather”.

Monday was Heather’s first day at school. We have an assembly on Monday mornings. They pulled Heather up in front of the school and told the kids she was also a teacher and that they must show her respect. They told the kids they were so lucky to have two English speaking teachers for two weeks. I would like to agree. But they were also lucky because Heather is just cool.

Other than school, we didn’t really do anything memorable for the first few days of Heather’s visit. I think we went grocery shopping and for a few walks around town. The water was out for a little over a 24 hours in the middle of the week. I think that was a fun Namibian experience - but only when it’s preceded by the power being out for half a day… which it was. They really know how to welcome visitors.

Wednesday was a big day. We were busy coping and finding water and were also invited to a goat slaughtering for a braii (BBQ) the next day. The Score volunteer and some other Namibian volunteers are leaving soon so they decided to have a going away party together. In my time in Namibia, I’ve only seen a goat killed once. But I have to admit, this goat killing was a little more traumatizing than the last. I think the knife was dull. Maybe? There are some great pictures though. I’ll have to see if I can upload some for you all.

Wednesday was also a big day because one of the girls in my class had a birthday. She is constantly visiting me in the library and walking with me around Khorixas whenever she sees me. We had a sidewalk chalk drawing party for her and gave her homemade cards. This was all very political, of course, because what you do for one learner, you have to do for them all… and I didn’t… oops.

Before the braii on Thursday, we stopped into the girls’ hostel just for Heather to have a look around. It was good to get back in the hostel and re-experience it. The last time I visited I didn’t really know the kids that well. This time it was good to know the kids and see what girls were roommates. Where they sit in class makes a lot more sense now.

Then after the hostel visit, we went to the party. I have to say it was a lot of fun. That may even be an understatement. The goat was cooked on the ground. There was macaroni and cooldrink and, most importantly, dancing! I have a new favorite song… you can’t make fun of me for it, though… Just imagine a group of Namibians on the front porch of someone’s house, dancing and playing R. Kelly “The storm is over”, over and over again until everyone there can’t help but love the song forever.

“The storm is over. Over now… la la… do do…” Alright, I don’t really know the words, but I love the sentiment. In the middle of the party, we had to stop so everyone could make speeches. Saying goodbye is really sad. But I’m sure you all already knew that. I guess it just makes our world smaller in the end, right?

Friday I skipped school. They call it “dodging” here. But either way it makes me a terrible teacher for a day. I skipped school on Friday so we would have time to travel to Swakopmund. The ride there was great. It was with hamsters… I would try to explain but something tells me you have to be in Namibia to understand.

Once I found myself in Swakop again, I realized that maybe I had been there too many times. In fact, shortly after I got there, I ran into my host sister from CBT who actually noticed the same thing – “you must like it here”… which I do… but I think its turning into an obsession. Anyway, we were staying at the volunteer house in Swak. I love the volunteer house there – mostly, because I love the volunteers there and because it feels like home.

Saturday was another big day though. We went sand boarding! That’s right. You heard me. Board, in sand, big hill. The company that took us showed up at 9 something in the morning and took us out to the sand dunes just outside of Swakop. They give you a piece of board, a helmet and elbow pads. They claim this is so you won’t injure yourself but I know it’s really just to make sure I look as nerdy as possible – which I did. Or, so I thought. Actually, I looked nerdier after I ate sand. Literally.

When you get out to the dunes you have to climb up the dunes. This is a mild annoyance for some (me), a non-event for others (the professional sand boarders) and hell for others (not naming names, ahem, Leslie). But whatever mood you reach the top in, they start you on a tiny dune. I say tiny now, but then it felt huge. We chose to lie down on our boards but you can also borrow an actual snow board and stand up. Lying down is pretty simple. You just lie down on the board and hold up the front. If you want to go slower you put your feet in the sand. Faster, pick them up. If you want to eat sand, you put down the front of your board. And, if you’re really lucky they’ll also take a picture and laugh at you when you put the front of your board down and, subsequently, have to spit out a pile of sand. Then, of course, there are all the necessary jokes about sand-wich this, sand-wich that. And, being punny, I appreciated them greatly but, out of respect for puns, pretended not to.

By the end of our sand boarding we went down to hills that I would call big. But it didn’t matter how tall they looked at the top, they always looked taller at the bottom. This is because the chair lift doesn’t exist. I would have gone down a few more times but I am out of sand-climbing shape. And, I have asthma… or so I started to claim when I didn’t want to climb any more hills. Overall, it was a lot of fun. I would do it again. And in the end, they took us to the beach and gave us – you guessed it – sandwiches! Oooh, punny. The rest of the day we spent resting and doing my other favorite Swakop activity – eating. I managed to find the tallest hamburger on the planet. There were two patties, a pineapple, a whole head of lettuce, half a tomato, cheese and 6 different kinds of sauces. Heart-attack? Probably.

Sunday morning we got picked up in the freezing cold hour of 6am to go sea kayaking. The man who runs the kayak tours agreed to take Heather, me and another couple of people out that day. The spot to go kayaking is just outside of Walvis Bay – about 30K south of Swakopmund. I knew the whole trip was worth it in the morning when the drive to Walvis was as educational as a field trip. This man was able to point out different types of birds and plants and sand dunes all specific to Namibia or special in some way. It was really cool. Then outside of Walvis, we started driving out onto a sand peninsula. Close to the end, we parked to set up the kayaks and a “bush”… yup, it’s exactly what it sounds like.

After getting equipped with some awesome duds (an amazing yellow hat, bright blue jacket and red life vest) we got some impromptu kayak lessons and we were ready for the open ocean. Close to where we launched was a seal colony on the shore. We were able to kayak in the water just next to their beach. The warning was, “If they jump on your boat, they miscalculated. Don’t touch them, they’ll get off on their own”. Hmm, I’m thinking “no”. So, I was a little nervous about so many slippery, fuzzy faces popping up everywhere in the water. But eventually, they actually did start to become cute instead of a threat on my fingers. It was so great. They were everywhere in the water. If you teased them enough by shaking it back and forth, they would grab your paddle and try to run. They succeeded once with Heather’s paddle. It was a little traumatizing having a kayak paddle stolen by a wild sea animal but Heather won the battle and got it back. We also got to spend some time in more open waters. We didn’t see much out there – just one dolphin and a bunch of tourist boats. The tourist boats weren’t seeing much either because we were the subject of a lot of their photos. I think it’s because we were so cute… and because we were wearing the brightest hats known to man. After we were finished with our kayaking adventure and enough games of seal keep-away, we had an amazing meal of sandwiches (and I say amazing, because they were the most amazing sandwiches I’ve had in this country. I will write the advertisement for them – just as soon as I learn how to write).

Sunday afternoon and evening, we spent some more time relaxing and window shopping. We also go invited to a dinner with a lot of volunteers from different organizations and some other foreigners. It was interesting to have so many different cultures and opinions sitting in one room. The rest of Sunday was also freezing. I wouldn’t have been surprised it there had been ice on the ground. But that’s an opinion from someone whose internal thermometer has ceased to exist.

Monday night we made it back to Khorixas again. As always, transport was an adventure. This time, though, I wasn’t dodging school – while you were all celebrating Memorial Day, we were celebrating Africa Day! Woo! I love Mondays off. Though, I’m not entirely sure what Africa day is.

Today was Heather’s first day teaching. I was so appreciative. My mind was still on Africa day (AKA vacation). She taught grade 6 math about decimals. Also, she read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to the grade 7 science class. The VSO in Khorixas let Eddie Bowe borrow a class set of books. With all the kids sitting with their own books and Heather reading in the front, it actually felt like a real classroom! It was exciting.

Well, that about catches you up on Namibia as a whole. Or, you know, my life in Namibia. I hope all of you are starting your summers well. We’re getting “winter” now. That simply means hot in the day time and cold at night. I’m ok with that arrangement but only after I buy another blanket. I’ll be sure to write about my winter adventures soon. Sorry it took so long to write these adventures. I’ll be seeing you again soon, Blog, I promise.

As always, more later.

Today:

We made it to Windhoek and the Peace Corps office - my home away from my home away from home... Unless we include the hostle I'm staying at then its, my home away from my home away from my home away from home. That's right. Heather and I will soon be saying "see you later" again. Welcome her back to the states if you see her there.

I just wanted to let you know that on May 1st I had officially been in Namibia for 6 months. Woot.

I celebrated the 6 months. Then I celebrated Reconnect. Then back to school . And now I'm celebrating visitors.

I just wanted to let you know I was still alive in Namibia. I will post something real soon... Namibian soon.

The Tourists

Rock art - the lion man

Robot Beetle

Almost the size of a hockey puck...

Windows of Hope after school program

Jill visiting the library during study. Normally the kids are in uniform.

March 27, 2008

It occurs to me that today may not the best day to write a blog post. I’m not sure if I can explain why the whole day went awry but I can say that the only one who can sympathize with me is Shania Twain - “There’s no way but up from here…”

You can judge but let me just say, Shania has her place. And it’s with the country folk. And some days you just need to hear about someone else’s dog that died, the guy that got away or the truck that just wouldn’t start. And now that your reading is tainted with the fact that I still listen to Shania Twain, let’s move on. Shall we?

I’m sure you’re all dying to know what happened on my Easter vacation. I only know you are because I’m dying to tell you. I left Khorixas on Thursday morning. I took my bag down to the hike point (where you catch a cab or otherwise obtain a ride) and had to wait about 10 minutes before someone told me a white man around the corner was taking a truck to Swakopmund. I was a little skeptical and it turns out the informant’s cover story of good will towards men was a ruse and he was looking for a free cooldrink. So after he showed me the man with the truck and said man with truck offered me a free ride to the coast, I paid for his cooldrink: N$7.00 worth of cooldrink! Fancy! The only catch was that the truck was a cattle truck filled with feed and the road from Khorixas to the coast is dirt. But that catch was quickly glazed over by the fact that I was getting a N$110 ride for free. I would deal with the fact that it was going to be a 9 hour-long free ride later. After a short scare that I would have to ride in the back with the feed (and about ten learners who were trying to get to their farms for the long weekend), I was offered a spot in the cab.

It was a great ride on a road I’ve never been on before. It was just the sort of thing I needed after so long in one place. The man who offered me the ride has lived in Khorixas since, I believe, 1980. He came to the city as an Agriculture officer in the government. While he’s lived here he built the Multisave, the petrol station, butchery and the rest camp in town (the one I’ve never been to). Along the ride he pointed out specific farms and dams that belong to important people or that had interesting stories. About an hour into the ride we stopped at a farm to pick up a man and his wife who were trying to sell firewood on the coast. Of course the stop took three times longer than expected. It was nice to be able to see the famous “farm” though. I can see why my learners love to get back to their farms. Most of the farms we passed had some fashion of standing water to swim in. There were a lot of windmills and cows and large green fields. It all looked ideal. I’m sure a lot of it seemed so pretty because we’re currently at the peak of greenery. But home is home and I’m sure they love it in the brown of the year too. While we were stopped, I was offered a cup of coffee and a little history lesson. I was told that Khorixas is called the heart of Damaraland because South Africa bought the city and the surrounding farms and gave them to the Damara. They did the same with Okakarara for the Hereros, Keetmanshoop for the Nama and different cities for all the other tribes. South Africa wanted to give each tribe a homeland. I didn’t quite catch the motivation behind giving land to certain tribes but, overall, the tone wasn’t cheery. I do recall that the South African presence in Namibia was likened to the United States’ current presence in the Middle East – a comparison made more than once with a similar un-cheery tone. Luckily, I could tell they didn’t hold US politics against me (and my unwillingness to discuss them) because I was given a second cup of coffee and a second lesson on Agriculture - Khorixas is named after the Khori bush… in case you were wondering.

It turns out that my free ride was only to Heinties Bay, which is about 50K north of Swakopmund. It’s a nice place from what I could tell but stopping there meant I had to find a taxi. I thanked my free ride and asked a petrol station attendant where the hike point was. He said to have a seat at the take-away and he would stay on the lookout for a taxi. After not eating since 6:30 and spending large amounts of time in a semi, the mushroom and chicken meat pie at the take-away was calling my name. I was one bite into it when a driver came over and said it was time to go now now. I realized that it was the first time I was in a taxi without another American. The language and culture barrier was almost too much to handle. But, we’ve decided that when you feel the most awkward is probably when you’re experiencing the culture the most and you’re one step closer to integrating. So I embraced four adults in the back seat while being the only one of them that spoke English. It cost N$40 for the taxi but, considering the circumstances, I think I got ripped off.

I made it to Swakopmund at 2 in the afternoon. We had started driving that morning at 9 (after all the expected errands around Khorixas that we’ve all come to know and love). Five hours seems like record time with all the stops and less than ideal means of transportation. When I arrived in Swakop I was in shock, awe and amazement. After touring the location to drop off the four other passengers in the taxi, I was taken to the town. When we rolled into town it was as though I was driving back to America. The streets were paved and busy. There were traffic lights, cafés, a lighthouse, and lots and lots of people.

The first day in Swakop was really chill. Seven out of the nine in Otjimbingwe for CBT decided to come to our little reunion. When most of them had arrived, we went out for a late lunch – we all got salad! Some of the salads even had olives! I missed vegetables. Leslie, the PCV in Swakop, forgot to warn the town that PCVs who had been trapped in small villages for two months were coming and that they would marvel at small things like salad dressing, waiters and two story buildings. After lunch was an obligatory stop at the beach and then Super spar, “just to breathe the air”. I believe I even heard “Super spar is my idol” and “My Mecca is Super spar”… Me thinks the PCVs like Super spar. I’m not one to object especially because I found tiny bags of peanut M&M’s tucked into the far corner of the candy isle. Yippee. Then we headed to Leslie’s to catch up, complain about site, do impressions of learners and, generally, remember that we’re not alone in the world. The day ended with a movie on Leslie’s computer (Dream Girls), a shower (with hot water) and blow-drying my hair (am I in heaven?).

Friday morning I woke up at 6 am. Waking up at 6 am is great if I have to go to work, if I’m in my own house or if I’m even in a house where everyone isn’t sleeping on every available floor space until 9 in the morning. But after some finagling I managed to get on some warm clothes (Swakop is cold… well, cold for someone who currently lives on the face of the sun) and walking shoes and go for a walk. It was nice to walk around and be ignored. After my walk and the dead bodies on Leslie’s floor woke up and got ready we all went shopping. Since it was Independence Day, though, all the stores were closed. So, we went to Wimpies for burgers instead. I really wanted to have a hamburger because I don’t eat a lot of meat (mostly lentils and sometimes tuna or chicken, when the price is good). But it turns out that Wimpies’ hamburgers aren’t that good. The meal was saved, though, because their milkshakes are awesome… And I never thought I would write anything like those two sentences in my blog about Africa…

The afternoon was spent lounging on the beach and meeting other NAM27ers who decided to come to Swakop for the long weekend. There were two other groups. One stayed at a backpackers’ hostel just down the street from Leslie’s and the other stayed at a rest camp on the edge of town. The group in the backpackers’ hostel had an extreme weekend planned – they went skydiving on Saturday and sea kayaking on Sunday. As far as I can tell, the group in the rest camp just did a lot of drinking… guess they’re integrating. But, Friday on the beach was a great day with too many Americans to count. Some of us got soft serve ice cream and other took a swim in the ocean. I spent most of Friday in shock and awe also. The beach we were on most closely resembled the Santa Monica Pier and Waikiki. Wow, life’s tough on PC vacation. Thanks Uncle Sam.

Friday night we made a salad at the volunteer house and tried out a pub Leslie had been waiting for friends to check out. Saturday morning was another early morning for me. I spent about an hour wandering around the city on my own and came back to a completely silent house. Luckily, Leslie was awake too so we went out for omelets and hit up some clothes stores on the way back. I got some new shirts with long sleeves - I’ve got high hopes for winter weather. That afternoon, we all went to the beach again and then to a movie theater. The movie theater reminded me of one you could find on an Air Force base, except smaller. The movie showing was 27 Dresses. I’m not sure when it really came out but I don’t remember hearing anything about it before I left the states so I’m going to pretend it’s really recent. It was cute and definitely worth my time while in Namibia, but that’s a skewed opinion. That night we went out for seafood. I had fish and chips and was almost completely convinced we were no longer in Namibia. Luckily, our food took about an hour and a half, so I could continue to believe I was on the continent of Africa.

Sunday was more of the same but with pizza. We got a tub of ice cream at Super spar and celebrated the sunset on the beach with a game of “never have I ever [insert someone’s pastime here]”. If you have ever [insert someone’s pastime here] you eat a bite of ice cream. It was fun but I definitely learned that Peace Corps volunteers are crazy.

Monday I caught a ride with part of the group from the backpackers’ hostel (some of the group included Jill, Amanda and the VSO from Outjo, and one health volunteer from the north). The VSO of the group had a car and was willing to drive us all the Outjo if we just split the petrol. It was so nice to be in car that went directly where we needed exactly when we needed it to. She didn’t even run any errands around the location before we left. I was just glad they didn’t shun me for having a seemingly mundane weekend while they conquered their fear of jumping out of airplanes… though I have yet to see any proof that Jill actually jumped. I think she’s hiding her video from me. It seems you look like you’re about to die right before you jump out of an airplane and who want to publicize that face.

I got home that evening just before dark. We had a long stop in Outjo that involved accidentally falling asleep on Amanda’s floor and then scrambling for a taxi back to Khorixas. The bakkie Jill and I ended up in only went 80K/hour the whole way. And, while thankful for the safety that speed includes, it’s hard to sit in a bakkie for that long.

The whole weekend was really exciting and really relaxing. And, yet, after I write it all out for you, it seems really lame. I guess you’ll just have to believe me that it was great… but that’s a skewed opinion.

April 3, 2008

When you are teaching Namibian children, at times, you are choosing to talk differently than you would in America. You are choosing the words you use carefully. Many times it is taking very much energy to use words and tenses they will know. The clever learners become tired of slow like-singing speaking. But for the good of the whole class, we are speaking badly in English sometimes. The learners are just now studying and writing exams for the end of term. Today they were having English. Tomorrow they will be writing English again. The Natural Science exam will be written on Tuesday. It was very much fun to spend study time with the learners today. They have chosen to spend their study time in the library learning science. They have stood in front of the room and said as much information from memory as they could. Some of them have said the small intestine is coming just after the mouth in the Digestive system. This has made me laugh. We have learned differently since then – we have learned that the Pharynx and esophagus are coming just after the mouth. These learners are special. They are special because some days they are making me angry. Other days they are making me smile and laugh. Sometimes they are making me laugh and making me angry at the same time. It is nice to teach them science and it is nice to talk with them.

Wow, that took a lot more energy to write than to actually speak. When I read back over the paragraph, it sounds ridiculous. If another American is around to witness this sort of English, I usually get laughed at. I can see why now. The other teachers told me that my English is getting easier to understand – they are “coping” with me, was the exact wording, I believe. The learners are quicker to understand me because they’re forced to listen to me daily. Captive audience. I knew there was a reason I liked teaching.

The translation of the poorly written paragraph above:

The learners are now writing (taking) their exams for the end of the first term (there are three in a school year). They have two weeks of exams with only one exam per day. Some subjects have two exams. That is why English takes up two days. Natural science is next Tuesday for grade seven. The exam is ridiculous for many reasons. None of which I believe I could communicate effectively on a blog without offending someone. But I can say, when I first read over the exam, I was infuriated. I think I may have even turned red. The exam is…bogus. But, once I knew the challenge, I made a plan of attack and have been reviewing the “pertinent” information with the kids. This afternoon, I had an optional science review during study. I presented the information and review questions on each topic. The learners would “secretly” look things up in their notes, hidden under their chair or on their friend’s back, to answer the questions first. I don’t think they caught that I actually wanted them to look in their notes and remember. It was cute either way. Then I would have them close their eyes and try to recite things and they would secretly peak when they couldn’t (like when they told me the digestive system progressed: mouth, small intestine, stomach, anus. Eww). Honestly, it was all a lot of fun. When we were training, someone from Nam26 advised us to try to make the learners laugh everyday. He said it would make your whole experience better. Usually, it’s the other way around though. These kids crack me up. Sometimes its because they’re oblivious – but that’s beside the point.

Speaking of cracking up. I heard my first pun from a Namibian today. It went like this:

“Miss, this one is eating all the time in the hostel. She is eating so much. And she is not bathing. Everyday, she is waking up first and she is not bathing…” – Grade 7 girl, joking about her friend

“Miss, this one is lying! She is lying!” – accused friend

“Miss, you can see. I am not lying. I am standing. I am standing here. Not lying” – First girl

Oh, kids.

April 6, 2008

I just succeeded in setting my own watch. This proves two things. First, it proves that I am, in fact, a rocket scientist. I know this because my watch has 18 functions and three buttons. Programming some of these functions require holding down all three buttons at the same time, then repeatedly pushing one until the correct time and date appear. And, even when I have finagled my fingers to perform such a task, I still have to use my rocket science powers to actually figure out what time and day it really is. You see, leap day confused the date on my watch and my poor learners have been living one day in the future in all of my classes. But we were coping. Then, today, it was too much to handle when, at 2:00 this afternoon, the whole country decided to fall back without telling me. So, I took matters into my own hand, subsequently proving that, secondly, I am the most low maintenance person on the planet. Tiny instructions? In Russian? For a different watch model? Did I complain? No. Did I give up? No. Self-sufficient? Me? Yes.

…Unless, of course, I’m the worst kind – I think I’m low maintenance, but really am high maintenance… Oh, Harry.

Erin. That’s for you.

April 11, 2008

I have decided that one of my favorite things in this world are children who have no idea they’re being watched. I caught a little girl having a lengthy conversation with her good friend Thin Air today. It took a good 45 seconds before she realized I was standing there. It was cute. Also, I just ran into this little boy who was convinced he was spider man. I’m pretty sure he was in the middle of working on his theme-song movie intro. There were some great Kung fu kicks in there. I would say 5 if I had to guess his time on earth thus far.

I have also decided that one of my least favorite things in this world are children who want to see: what happens when I push this button eighteen times? Oh, miss Jessica turns red. And that, my friends, is a quality in children that transcends time and culture. And I am also sure my parents and their friends are thinking, k k k karma!

Well, yesterday, I experienced Namibian culture. Done and done. I found it all on my own. It was very conveniently located at my local Parent-Teacher meeting. Oh gosh.

Last night was the first term parents meeting. It “started” at 5pm. I realized that having a supervisor that focuses on punctuality has spoiled me. Occasionally, our 6:50 morning meetings will start at 6:55 or 7:00. But just as often, they start at 6:48 and I walk in on the tail-end of the prayer (unless of course it’s my morning to pray. In which case, it doesn’t start as long as I can keep praying. And I pray in American English, so I could talk for a while and say a lot. Though, sometimes they miss the “Amen” and I have to say it a few times to get everyone to open their eyes). Overall though, our punctual morning meetings have made me forget that 5:00 usually means 5:30 or 6:00 and “now” means later. So, the meeting actually started around 5:45. It was held in the hostel-dining hall. Our school (I hear) is rather large. So the dining hall is a fair size also. All 20 of the teachers and I were placed at a row of tables on a stage in the front of the dining hall. I’m not exactly sure why this set up was chosen but I did find the stare-down aspect of it rather humorous.

At the beginning of the meeting I was introduced to the parents. It was nice to be associated with a group. The teachers were cute as they gave me social cues. Whispering, “stand up now”, “sit down” and pre-warning the crowd that I say my “r”s like my mouth is full of marbles. There was a lot of Damara and then “Jessica Royer” said like a mix between Humphrey Bogart and Scooby Doo. That’s when you know you’re up – the Humphrey-Scooby accent. The other new teacher was introduced also. He’s rather popular in Khorixas though so his introduction was short.

After the introductions, the group spent a few minutes deciding which of Namibia’s plethora of languages the meeting should be translated to. This part was interesting to me because I was unaware of some of the cultural backgrounds at our school. Not everyone in Damaraland is Damara. But most of them do learn the language… unlike their lazy volunteer. I suppose, “but its so hard” just wouldn’t impress you and it would certainly negate the whole watch setting victory from last weekend. How about, “I’ll try harder”. In the end, it seemed that all who could not understand Damara were good in Afrikaans. It was decided the meeting would be conducted in Damara, translated into Afrikaans, with token poppy seeds of English thrown in here and there. I most definitely understand this set up but, honestly, it made me bow my head and laugh throughout the meeting. When someone would get done ranting about covering books or tardiness of learners another would inevitably shout, “Afrikaans!” and the ten-minute spiel would have to be repeated in a second language. Luckily, one of our teachers works at a church (I believe he’s a pastor) and is very good at translating. So when a parent or teacher would speak who was not fluent in one of the other languages, this teacher would jump up and fly through the other required languages. Every so often, he’s a goofball about it. Someone would be speaking in English, get passionate about something and slip back into mother tongue. This teacher just jumps from translating into mother tongue and start translating into English. I really think that translating is a gift. Languages are beyond me. I would like to be able to do what this man does but the gift just eludes me.

Throughout the meeting we covered a variety of topics… or at least it seems we did – mine was the poppy seed language. Two hours into the meeting, it was my turn to inform the parents about a girls’ club I’m trying to get off the ground for second and third term (as per usual, Jill and I are in cahoots about it). I asked one of the female teachers who works closely with the girls in the hostel to help me with my presentation. I was worried that the parents would not understand. It may have been better to ask an upper primary teacher (who teaches in English) to translate but they’re all male. I wanted someone who knows the girls and works with the girls to help me. We just stuck to the script during our two minute presentation and this teacher did great. I really like her. She is always willing to help me. I feel like clueless would get annoying but she never seems to get fed up with me. I thought the parents would appreciate that I was short and sweet and to the point. However, it seems a girls’ club is actually a topic for hot debate. Why not boys? I had quite a few answers welling up, some of them were not so polite: “Well, if you think a boys club is so important, why don’t you just…” Luckily, before I got a single word in, my hero teacher jumped up and answered for me. She said, “When you educate a girl you educate a community…” Beautifully put. Thank you. But, seriously, if this dad wants a boys club why doesn’t he just… I mean, why would the female American teacher spearhead a club to… I mean, come on.

The meeting lasted two and half-hours in total. I was so impressed with a few small kids in the crowd. They entertained themselves by pulling their shirt over their head to see how dark they could get it or by sliding down in their chair and then shooting up as tall as they could sit. I remember those days and its got to be worse when you only understand a third of what’s going on. They didn’t make a peep though. The teachers at the head table started pulling out newspapers and cell phones (myself included). At one point, they even started passing around a bottle of new perfume someone bought. The sitting was intense, but we all managed to pull through. After the meeting, I thought about sticking around and meeting some parents but it seems they were even more interested in dinner. Understandable. Instead, I just walked out the door, took a few steps, walked into my flat, turned on some Beatles and hid - You say you want a revolution? Well, you know, we all want to change the world.

Today was our third to last day of exams. My grade six math class will write two math exams next week. The first one will be easy for about half of them (the ones who listen in class). The second test is going to kick all of their butts. I taught the material. They weren’t getting it though. In the end, we just ran out of time in the term. Recently, I’ve realized that it’s not always the kids’ fault when they don’t get something. I can think back on a few times in my life where it was really obviously the teacher’s fault and I blamed it on myself. When more than three quarters of the class is drawing a blank, something has gone awry. It doesn’t help that the second test will be their last test. By then, all they’re thinking about is jumping into the dam at the farm. Who wants to be changing a mixed number to an improper fraction at that time in the term? Seriously.

Tuesday was grade seven’s day. Since then, I’ve sat in that library staring at far too many Natural science exams written by far too many learners who have never taken a spelling test (you have to remember it’s a verbal culture – speaking 4 languages is no big deal. Writing in them all? Almost unheard of). If you’ll allow me a few examples:

Q: What are four things boys can expect during puberty?

A: He get hers on faes. He get hers unda hams.

Q: What system is the brain, spinal cord and nerves a part of?

A: the System system

Q: What is a sphincter?

A: Killing a person

Q: Describe two adaptations of fish to their environment.

A: the fish is aw food and fish is good for pebpls.

Q: Mention three things that are important for a good relationship.

A: You must no peat each other.

Or

A: Kiss the Laydy. Be vei full.

Q: Mention some ways to maintain sexual health.

A: Sai a wei frum boys.

Love it.

But, I did go cross-eyed trying to finagle points for these kids. Now that I’m done grading their papers I have to hand them in to be moderated. It just means the subject head at our school has to check and make sure my grading is ok. I’m a little worried about this because a lot of my good learners got around 50%. I’m worried that the subject head is going to make me grade them all again because too many my learners scored too high (that’s right, 50 is high). Does this happen other places? Is it weird for a whole class to pass (in my case its really only about 25 kids but that’s beside the point)? I don’t remember it being weird but I’m forgetting.

Luckily, in grade six, I don’t have to worry about re-grading. The kids will take care of that for me… oh, gosh. These kids. I can’t even imagine. They’re set up to fail - literally expected to. Hey mom, dad, thanks for telling me I could be a ballerina or oceanographer or artist. Good childhood. You did good.

Speaking of good parents, I got three packages when I went to the post office today. “Nampost” only gets packages on Thursday from Otjiwarongo. Then is takes them a week or four to let us know they have one for us. Honestly, I only go to the post office with really low expectations these days. I went today with the same expectations but felt a little of my 1st grade self come out when the PO box was empty. I didn’t think it was important but it turns out spending my birthday without even a card was actually going to get to me. Lucky for me, Jill is more proactive about such things and generally asks inside the post office. Usually, this doesn’t actually do anything though - They don’t know our boxes are back there. But today, they magically produced three boxes for me. Yippee! There’s definitely happy birthday paper in one of them. I’m admiring the wrapping job just now. Thanks family.

In the other two boxes? Girl scout cookies. I’m feeling sick.

15 April 2008

Today was the last day of school for the learners. At our 10:00 break we all met in the middle of the school to officially close the term. In the morning, I spent most of my time in the library trying to mark and organize papers. I say trying because the grade sevens have taken to sitting on the desk staring at me for the past week. I tell them to leave and go study for their next exam but, like “good” kids, they leave for a few minutes and come right back. It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t sooo much more interesting than their exams - By the end of most days I find that I’ve talked more about hair and boys and America and mothers than grading science and math exams. Anyway, I was actually getting some work done today when my learners came in and said, “Miiiiiiissssss! (said like “mass” with a Georgia accent at the top of your lungs) it’s finished! It’s time to go!” I said, “I’m coming just now.” (which means I’ll be right there). I walked out to the official closing and found all the learners and one teacher. The learners are really good about using these lull times to practice their singing. Whenever my learners practice their impromptu singing is when I most feel like I’m in Africa. I’m not sure why this is, but if you visit and listen, I’m sure you’ll feel that way too. We have assemblies a lot, so I occupied my normal spot along, what I like to call, the firing squad wall (the teachers all stand in front to stare down the learners). Every so often, one of my learners would run up and tell me to have a wonderful holiday and that they were going to miss me. Now, they could have just been trying to score cute points but I think it was genuine… but even if it wasn’t, it was cute.

After the assembly, all the learners left to go home. The rest of today has been really quiet and a little eerie. Every hour or so someone will knock on my door to tell me they are leaving. I tell them to be safe and have fun and then they’re gone in whatever bakkie or cart that has come to collect them. By the time all of them make it back from the farm it will be a month before I see them again. I’m ready for the break but we have just spent a lot of quality time (three and a half months) with each other. I think I’m going to miss them too.

In our work time for the rest of the week, my supervisor is requesting that all upper primary teachers prepare lesson plans for the beginning of second term. Personally, I think this is really wise plan because I’m not expecting to go anywhere near my preparation binder in my three weeks off. Currently, I am working on my natural science lesson plans. This term, we started with health educations, moved on to systems of the body and finished with ecosystems. Next term we are starting with the scientific method and then moving quickly to matter. I’m not sure what comes after matter because I haven’t gotten that far. We have two government issued papers that dictate what to teach and when to teach it: the Scheme of Work and the Syllabus. The Scheme of work tells us when to teach each topic. The syllabus tells you what the kids actually need to know and be able to do for the exams. Then, you have to fill out your plan to execute these requirements and file them in your preparation binder. Personally, I like this system because I’m the kind of person who goes to the office supply section of a store “just to look”. Dividers make my day… Anyway, in all my planning, I found some interesting requirements that I thought I would share with you.

In the Scheme of Work for the beginning of term two:

Themes: Scientific Process

Topics:

1) Estimating and Measuring

2) Observing

3) Classifying

Allotted time: 1 week

Ok. Fair enough. Now, let’s breeze over to the syllabus to investigate what each of these topics actually require the learners to know.

Topic 1: Estimating and Measuring

Learning objective: Learners will know how to estimate and measure length, mass, time, temperature and the area of regularly shaped (right-angled) objects.

Basic competencies: Learners should be able to 1) Estimate and measure: length, mass, time and temperature; temperature of melting ice; the height of a fellow learner and the mass of school bags using appropriate methods. 2) Calculate the area of regularly shaped (right angled) objects. 3) Convert minutes and hours to seconds. 4) Convert units of length, mass, time and area. 5) Follow sequence of instructions. Use appropriate techniques. Handle apparatus/material competently and have due regard for safety. 6) make and record estimates and measurements accurately. 7) Handle and process experimental observations and data.

Topic 2: Observing

Learning objective: Learners will know how to observe properties such as colour, size, feel, sound, shape and smell of a variety of substances.

Basic Competencies: Learners should be able to 1) Make and record observations. 2) Observe properties such as colour, size, feel, sound, shape and smell of a variety of substances. 3) Observe properties of a variety of common substances such as sugar, salt, tea, coffee, sand, pepper and flour. 4) Process experimental observations and data.

Topic 3: Classifying

Learning Objective: Learners will know how to group common objects in a number of different ways.

Basic Competencies: Learners should be able to 1) Compare and distinguish properties of common objects. 2) Group (classify) objects in a variety of ways

Allotted time: 1 week

…

…

I allowed two “…” just so I would be sure to breathe in and out a few times before commenting on any of this. In fact,

…

Ok. First. 1 week? 1 week = five 40 minute periods = 200 minutes = 3 hours and 20 minutes. Maybe 1 week per topic. Even that would be in a good, smooth-running world. But here? We’re working on English and getting to class on time here. I’m sure some of you still think the above is plausible… And I say, buy a ticket to Namibia and I will show you what a real class period is: first five minute, stand in door and wait for learners. Next ten minutes, let learners move desks/go look for boards to make desks out of. Next ten minutes, convince learners to get out their exercise book and allow them to run around borrowing pens and pencils. Last fifteen minutes, write and explain a few notes on the board. In the last fifteen minutes the learners also attempt to copy said notes but, living in a verbal culture, only actually achieve writing the date and underlining it (with a ruler they waited ten minutes for and got in a fist fight over). These ideas and skills are not beyond the scope and intelligence of my kids but they’re certainly not grasp-able in 1 week.

Second, allow me the indulgence of nit-picking, please? Ready?

I’m the only one with a watch. No one has a thermometer. And even with a thermometer, where am I expecting to find enough ice for 70+ 7th graders? There are two bathroom scales for sale in Khorixas – I am not planning on buying either one for this lesson plan. How does a sequence of instructions and due regard for safety have anything to do with measurements? And how exactly would they like the learners to handle experimental observations? And with what experiment are we having enough time to even collect data? Color, size, feel and sound are all easy – when you know the words for them! Sugar, salt, tea, coffee? I can’t even keep enough food in my house for me; where is all this experimentation food coming from? And I swear on my life, these learners would eat it before observing it. Above that, none of this is even mentioned in the textbook. And, to top it all off, one week?

…

Ok. I’m done. Thanks.

To be fair, maybe I’m being too judgmental. Maybe I’m not allowing enough grace for a school system that is in the middle of a rocky start. Maybe I’m not working hard enough to make these lessons work. Maybe. But for now, thanks for letting me explain things with my culture sunglasses on… Have I explained the culture sunglasses, yet? Eh, just imagine them – I’m sure you’ll come close.

Well, the crickets are sounding in the hostel yard now. That’s how quiet it is. And before I go I have one more discovery for your precious ears. I found a poster today in the library that had the names of important insect life in Namibia. One of them quite nicely fit the description of the giant robot beetles I tried to explain earlier. The official name is “Armoured Ground Cricket” and in Latin “Acanthoplus discoidalis”. I’m not sure if those are the appropriate names for the most heinously ugly bug I have ever encountered, but google it. If it looks like a robot tank approximately the same size as the palm of your hand, then you’ve got the right bug… and it’s not leaving. Day and night, “chirping” on my door, on my windows, on the grass, everywhere. Ugh. (I will testify that hitting them like a hockey puck with an old broom is quite stress relieving though)(But, heathen American, my learners think its cruel)(even though those same learners hid around a corner until a girl walks by and then throw it in her hair. Terrible, but one of the lesser forms of trouble they could be getting into)(and the bugs have destroyed hundreds of crops this year)(Either way, I can’t tell you. You decide)

As always, more later. I’ve got more breathing to do

…

16 April 2008

I know I just wrote yesterday, but I forgot to tell you something. Once I tell you what it is you’re going to wonder how you survived this long without knowing. Are you ready?

You see, this past Sunday morning I decided it was a chore day. Lately, I have discovered that I need a housewife. I just can’t seem to do all my dishes, cooking, laundry and shopping. It’s a recent development that I would like to blame on the continent I live on. However, I have few continents to compare it with so I will restrain myself. All that is to say, if you want the job, I’m now accepting applicants – there is no pay, but you get your own hostel cot, my love and a great tan.

Anyway, chore day started out with taking my empty backpack to Multisave to fill with delicious food. It was nice morning so I took the long way around and ended at the petrol station right next to Multisave. As I walked around the corner I hear someone yell, “hey, I know that person!” I stood there and stared and tried to figure out why this person was yelling at me. It finally registered that it was another PCV from Waterburg near Okakarara. I know her well but honestly seeing another American in Khorixas is the same as if they had actually flown over that day to see me. I think I would have given my own mother that look. It turns out her, her dad (who had flown in the week before) and two other PCVs were driving through Khorixas to visit Twyfelfontein (twelf –on –tayn sometimes –teen). They said hop in, let’s go. Adventure? Random? I miss it. Chore day was out the window. I was in.

It took about and hour and forty five minutes to get to Twyfelfontein. I enjoyed every minute of it. Sabrina had fruit roll ups. Emily had biltong (beef jerky-ish). The rental car had air conditioning. Melissa had new tunes. Even with back-middle, the trip could have just been sitting in the car all day and I would have been a happy camper.

For those of you who don’t know Twyfelfontein is the site of “one of the most extensive galleries of rock art in Africa,” containing “6000-year-old petroglyphs” – as read from the Namibia section of the Southern Africa guide book. Just before this entry it talks about Khorixas. The lovely description says, “Although it’s the administrative capital of Damaraland, Khorixas serves mainly as a refueling spot and a supply stop.” Sound like a place to spend two years? I think they just say that because they haven’t heard my learners sing yet. When you arrive at Twyfelfontein, the office is made out of old oil drum lids welded together. It is really quite creative but, recently, I have had a bit of trouble distinguishing between art and poverty-driven necessity (tin can wall? creative or required?). To see the rocks it cost N$30 for foreigners and N$20 for residents, including Peace Corps volunteers (yes!), with ID (which I always forget, so blaming the randomness just wouldn’t do. They let me in on resident price anyway).

Our guide showed us The Lion Man path. It seems all of the drawings were once inside a cave. At some time though the cave collapsed. Now the cave walls are only piles of huge rocks. It is interesting to see how different rocks fell. Some of the walls fell perfectly for us to see the drawings on them. I can only imagine what drawings are hidden under and between rocks. The path we took was called The Lion Man path because it has the famous drawing of Twyfelfontien – a lion with a really long tail depicting a myth about a man periodically transforming into a lion. There are also picture of giraffes, rhinos, maps of the land and penguins and seals (from South African visitors). It was all very interesting and a bit whimsical. Speculating about the past, in my head, is a cross between Far Side cave men grunting and a couple of kids burying a time capsule with their favorite toys. I mean, what if they were just playing Tic-Tac-Toe? If you save anything long enough, it becomes valuable.

By the time I made it back to Khorixas it was far too late in the day to do any chores. Plus, I had a headache from wandering around in the almost desert with little water in the heat of the day to look at rocks (I guess random isn’t always the smartest way to go). However, all things considered, eating rice for an extra day and having my co-workers judge my wrinkled dirty clothes was a small price to pay for an overall great day. At the very least it was nice to be one of the smiling tourists stopping at the petrol station outside of Multisave (they all read the guide book. They know: refuel and get supplies. That’s all). Usually, I’m the volunteer sitting on the stoop of Multisave staring at the smiling tourist and wishing I were that happy to be “in Africa”. But, at the end of the day, I get to hear my learners sing and they just get petrol and a coke ;)

April 23

It's vacation! Woo hoo! I'll spare you the details of PC vacation on a budget though. Let's just say, if you need me to read something or do something for you, these two weeks are the time to ask... Time - I've got plenty of it. Overall, I'm enjoying my vacation though. Then at the end of two weeks we have reconnect in Windhoek with all of group 27. I'm really excited about it.

Here's a shout out to all the graduates out there. Congratulations! And, trust me, you will be fine! Life goes on. Even if you don't know what you're doing with your life, you will be fine. It will all turn out exactly like its supposed to ;)

Our squatter's camp. There are hundreds more like these. Me. Awkwardly standing in front of Khorixas. It's my K town...

The view from our cellphone tower hill. Purdy!

March 8, 2008

I don’t know I why I never gave much thought to hard-boiled eggs before in my life. They are the perfect food. They are full of protein that didn’t come from a goat or a 40-dollar bag of chicken. They cook in their shell – which is clean, even if a cockroach was crawling in the pan. And they travel… just like me. The only problem is I can’t eat them in front of people or I feel like Anne from Arrested Development (“I’m sure egg is a very lovely girl”).

So much has happened in the last week, I’m not sure if I can sum it all up. Last Friday was Leap day! Yay! In order to celebrate leap day and our continuing sanity, a group of 10-15 PCVs were going to come to Khorixas for Mexican food (not surprisingly, a rare commodity in Namibia). It was going to be Taco Fest ’08. I was so excited to hang out with a lot of Americans, eat tacos and generally relax without having to travel long distances. Sadly though, a few days before Taco Fest ’08 the PC Namibia decided to crack down on travel. This meant that only three were close enough to get permission to make the trip. Apparently, Nam27 is just too young in their Namibian lives to successfully travel around the country. Which is odd, because we weren’t too young during training (“just hike (hitch hike) back from shadowing. It’s in your budget to take a taxi too”) and at the beginning of service in January (my supervisor had to explain how to get a taxi in Khorixas. She’s helpful… really helpful. I hear this makes me a lucky PCV duck). But, overall, I can understand the PC not wanting the responsibility to inform families back home about a car accident or similarly devastating incident. (And don’t tell them I said, but rumor has it, we’re standing on the shoulders of a few previous Nam volunteers with less than excellent travel judgment… but you didn’t hear it from me).

I was disappointed at first but it turned out that the partial cancellation of Taco Fest ’08 would work in my favor. For the past couple of weeks, my co-workers have been telling me to pack my bags. And no, they didn’t want to get rid of me. My flat near the hostel was almost ready and they were excited that I was about to move closer to school. I was excited too (the daily tour of K town was getting old) and so I spent the 25th packing the things I didn’t use on a daily basis. Luckily, that was also the day my house-mate was cleaning the volunteer house so I was given some Tupperware without lids, ancient pans, plastic wine glasses, a couple of sink stoppers, an old collection of glass peanut butter jars and a mediocre toasted sandwich maker (it takes about 20 minutes to toast bread). I was told in my replacement letter (where a previous PCV at your site will write you a letter giving you the ins and outs. I think I mentioned this letter when I wrote about getting my site assignment), things in the volunteer house left by previous volunteers became a part of the house and, therefore, needed to remain there. So, I felt a little guilty taking them. But in the end, I overcame my guilt by looking at the kitchenware as loaners. I’ll return anything worthy of return after two years (read: the glass jars are not being toted back across town).

I spent the whole week waiting for someone to say “Surprise! It’s time to move.” Then, on Leap Day, I was teaching my last science class when one of the teachers at my school came in to tell me my furniture was being delivered. The PC Namibia requires that we get a means to cook (stove), a bed, a table and chairs. I also got two extra mattresses and a refrigerator (I think the fridge might be required also, but I’m not sure). I asked for five extra minutes to finish up my lesson (I was having all my learners hold bread in their mouths for 20 minutes to experience the effects of saliva. True, I could just tell them what saliva does, but would it really be science if I just told them?) and then I headed over the hostel yard to see my furniture and new flat. When I got to my flat it was a bustle of activity. The hostel matron was putting the finishing touches on cleaning. The math teacher was moving my table in. The two HODs (Head of Department) were removing the wrapping and Styrofoam from my new refrigerator. All the work was being done for me. I was a little in the way – which a feeling I’ve never appreciated. Luckily, the work was done so quickly (odd for this country but, land of contrast, can be expected from time to time) they finished within 20 minutes and gathered me, another teacher and four Ministry of Works men to drive to town and collect my things. With all those men, you would have thought moving my stuff would have been a breeze. And I’m sure I made it look effortless as they watched me carry five loads out to the truck from the comfort of the shade and the consolation of a cold beer. The work went quick enough though. I was out of the house before my housemate even started making her lunch. I made a promise to come back later in the day and clean my room, hopped in the truck and, as per tradition, ran a few other people’s errands on the way back to my flat (cars are the valuable commodity. Everybody wants a ride).

That afternoon I had left class at about 1:00 and was in my new flat with furniture and all my things by 1:45. It was a big change for 45 minutes. But, just as quickly as everyone had shown up to help, they all disappeared with the reassurance that they would be back with light bulbs and gas for the stove before 5:00. “Just wait here,” I was told. Great… But, wait… Friday afternoon was beginning to look miserable with no food and a leash to my new apartment. I decided to bolt to a take-away (a hole-in-the-wall type grocery store) in the location for shortbread cookies and Simba chips (made by Lays, I think). Of course I chose the wrong time because as I came running back around the corner some blue jumpsuits (Ministry of Works) were waiting on my stoop to make my new toilet flush (a problem I wasn’t even aware I had). While those two were hard at work on the plumbing, two more blue guys showed up to work on the light bulbs. But, they forgot a ladder, so one ran back to the ministry to snag one. He came back with a ladder and another blue guy (who was out to prove that it’s always 5:00 somewhere). About that time, two Eddie Bowe teachers meandered in “just to take a look.” While I was showing the teachers around and carefully avoiding the plastered blue guy, we heard this terrible thudding noise and ran outside to take a look. The truck carrying my gas had arrived and (driven by blue guy) was stuck in a ditch. The truck went forward, then backward, then forward, backward, forward, backward… My gas tank rolling to the front of the truck bed, then to the back, then to the front, back, front, back… Now, I’m no expert, but I don’t want anything ruining the structural integrity of a 5-foot tank of anything explosive that’s going to park itself in my house. Luckily, the beer drunken earlier or our raised eyebrows convinced this blue guy to stop and let the gas go.

My house was humming. It was full of men in blue jump suits and people debating the best way to set up an American house. As the work dwindled down, I watched five men in blue jumpsuits and two Eddie Bowe teachers debating how to screw in a light bulb and my imagination wandered: “How many Namibians does it take to screw in a light bulb? I would have put my money on two or three… but five to seven, hmmm…” and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I’m sure there’s a lame joke in there somewhere. If you find it, let me know. And, Mom, Dad, let the little blue guy jokes run rampant.

Everyone was gone by 4:45. I shut the door and locked it. It was time to breathe. I was so lucky to get such specialized attention on a Friday. Even though it was stressful, I’m going to try to treasure the memory because it’ll probably be a year before another blue suit walks into my flat – Welcome to the do-it-yourself chapter of my life. I didn’t rest too long because I still had to walk back to town to clean my old room.

On my way back to my new flat from town, I stopped by Jill’s to see what had become of Taco Fest ’08. With the action of the day, I was a little out of the loop. I found Jill just chilling in her apartment alone. I was equally exhausted. So I found a cozy spot on her tiled floors to call mine while she broke the news about Taco Fest ’08. It turned out that two from Katmanjab were coming much later that night and one from Outjo didn’t know when she was coming. While she was telling me the unfoldings of the travelers and the Fest the sun went down and I found myself laying on a tile floor in the dark, exhausted and disgusting, reveling in the hilarity of the fest we had planned for that night. Earlier, we had even considered making a piñata for the occasion. The irony of this place is too much to handle at times. All I can say is, go ahead and make plans – just don’t plan on using them.

That night, I spent the first night in my flat. If any of you are considering the Peace Corps, or moving to another country in general, you should know that things you think make a home are not always what you would expect. In America, I would have said company, comfort and convenience make a house a home. But here I’ve discovered all I need is my fan, my mosquito net and some fashion of privacy. I like the poetry in my previous line of thinking but it’s much easier to get a fan and mosquito net here. So, after setting up my fan, hanging my mosquito net (more to keep out the cockroaches, beetles and other various forms of evil than actual mosquitoes) and pinning some sheets in the window, it was time for bed in the comfort of my new home.

The next morning, I stopped by Taco Fest ’08 to find three PCVs and one unexpected VSO had made it to Khorixas. Things were looking up for the Fest. We all walked to town to hit up Multisave, PEP and the hardware store. Then we spent the day relaxing in the company of other Americans (and one Canadian). At the end of the day, I took everyone on a nature hike (and by “I took everyone” I mean I got schooled by one who practically ran up the cell phone tower hill, two had been before and two stayed behind to actually make the tacos… but who’s counting). We watched the sun set from the hill. When we got back to Jill’s, it was time for tacos. Taco Fest ’08 rating: Tacos? Great. Fest? I’ve had better. ’08? There had better be a ’08.5 or that was a bit of a bust. Truthfully, though, it was good to hang out and eat Mexican food. I felt… what’s that word… oh, yeah, normal.

Sunday and the rest of the week, I spent trying to set up my flat. Monday after school, the teachers all met at my flat to throw me a surprise party. It was so sweet. They decorated the outside of my flat with paper roses and signs that said, “Welcome home J. Roger”… I know… just look the other way and smile… They also brought sodas and a tray full of goat meat. We were all sitting on the floor (because I only have two chairs) eating our goat. I American-finished my meat (which means I didn’t pick the bone clean) and was trying to hide the leftovers (because if there’s still meat on the bone, someone will eat it), when they gave me a huge bag full of dishes. They were all orange and white stripes – totally cute. Then on Wednesday morning, the hostel matrons gave me another gift bag full of dishes. They were totally cute too. And I feel like these people get me because in all those dishes there were six coffee mugs. That’s my kind of gift!

Otherwise, setting up my apartment has been a battle to get curtains up that will deter the little eyes that are so curious about my life. I would love to share it with them but I don’t feel so comfortable with them knowing I have a computer, Ipod, camera and an overall fancy-smancy lifestyle. The only thing they seem overly interested in, though, is the food. I have my own theories on this but some of them involve me being bitter about consistently being asked for a piece of bread, so we’ll reserve those for another day. The other battle is the cockroaches. You can say, “gross” but I say, “This means war”. Those little devils just twitch their antennae at me and say, “What are you gonna do about it, huh? Huh?” They’re going down.

As always, more later - I’ve got war to wage

March 13, 2008

Time here is an enigma. Time everywhere is an enigma. Some days just fly by and others are pulling my teeth out one at a time with no drugs. This week was one where I lost a lot of teeth.

This past weekend, Jill and I walked out to the Rest Camp just outside Khorixas. They have a pool, restaurant, palm trees and a gift shop. Nothing says western like a gift shop. It was nice to have someone give me a sprite with ice in the glass and to be able to put my feet in a blue pool (even if it doesn’t have chlorine: a chemical I feel is even more necessary in Africa). Walking out there, I was hoping that an out-of-the-ordinary afternoon would make everything feel right again. But my hopes were not answered. While it was nice, I was still in Khorixas.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not Khorixas… it’s just that I haven’t left since February 1st. It takes me 25 minutes to walk from one side of the city to the other. And what’s on the other side, you ask? Another view of the middle of nowhere! Its truly fascinating living in one of the least populated countries on the planet but I have cabin fever!

I hope to remedy this problem next weekend with my plans to visit Swakopmund for the Easter holiday. Judging by how iffy travel in this country is though, I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much. But, honestly, if this trip falls through, I may actually go crazy – real crazy, the kind where you don’t know you’re crazy. I’ll be sure to keep you posted… that is if I remember how to use a keyboard in my demented state…

Well, as you can see, I’ve started occupying my time by making personal sanity threats online. But I have healthier outlets too. On Monday, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons the kids have “study” from 3 to 4. This means, from what I can tell, the kids all come back to school to sit in a classroom and play the quiet game. I’m sure they’re doing something but it’s definitely not homework for my class (Average marks on my last math homework assignment? 0/25. My optimism is waning. Sorry). This next Monday, I chose six Grade 7 learners to train to work in the library during study. I asked for volunteers who would be willing to help me re-shelf books, sweep and mop the library every week. I got about 50 out of the 75 Grade 7 learner sign up to help (this only furthers my theory that they’re not doing anything in study). So, I made a quiz for them to show off their alphabetizing and organizing ability then chose the 6 top scorers to help. I’m really excited for the extra help and for kids practicing having extra responsibility. Also on Mondays, Jill has taken over a club called “Window’s of Hope”. It is a national program that is taught at a lot of schools. It teaches kids more about HIV, AIDS, puberty and relationships. If the kids come to every meeting, they get a certificate (which has a lot more draw than you would initially think). There’s a Windows group for Grade 4-7. We work with Grade 7. I’ve been helping with the club also – which really just means, Jill does all the planning and I show up to hang out and remind the kids to stop talking when someone else it talking. I also got to give the lecture on what each reproductive organ does, from a biological standpoint (I remember my high school Anatomy and Physiology teacher said, “it makes me blush,” when we got to that topic so he brought in a nurse to teach the reproductive chapter. And in his memory, I’m going to admit that it makes me blush too).

On Tuesdays, I have Reading during study. The Grade 6 and Grade 7 teachers picked 5 learners from each class that had “reading difficulties”. This means that they can’t read at all. According to their Khoekhoe teacher, they read better in English that they do in Khoekhoe. I think there’s a fundamental problem with me trying to teach them how to read in English without them first being able to read in Mother Tongue… but who am I to be a pessimist… and I don’t know how to teach reading in Khoekhoe (actually, I think one of the teachers is considering starting a reading group for Khoekhoe too). I have to admit, though, I’m kind of at a loss for how to teach a target language while only being able to communicate in that target language - especially when I’m not that great at drawing.

Wednesday and Thursday afternoons I spend doing a variety of things. Mostly, this means watching TV on DVD (Desperate Housewives Season 2 and, currently, Lost Season 1 – which I already watched during training but its worthy of another go), obsessively cleaning my flat to defeat the cockroaches, making some form of unhealthy food to devour (Sandies are my new favorite cookies. Who knew donuts were so easy? And why does anybody buy brownie mix?) and, on good days, testing my bravery by picking the busiest time of day to walk on a new street in the location (it takes a lot of greeting energy but usually ends up being worth it). On Fridays, I usually check my PO box and spend a bit of time listening to the Shebeen music in the Donkerhoek (the squatter’s and I are neighbors now. They really know how to live it up).

Last Friday, my learners had a choir concert. They told me it started at 6. We showed up at 6 to an empty hall with the kids singing on stage. They would sing a part of a song and then stop. Then they would start another song and the choir director would get a cell phone call and stop the whole thing. It was really odd. When our choir came down off the stage and another school took the stage we figured it was a good time to go home. I was stopped at the door and asked why I was only going to stay for the rehearsal. The real show didn’t start until 8. We decided to leave anyway but got stopped by one of my learners who was so sad we were leaving early. It broke my heart a little. She’s a tomboy with a sensitive soul – my kind of girl. In the end, though, she was just happy that we showed up for rehearsal.

That about wraps up the recent happenings in my humble life but before I go, let me just tell you about a wise NAM27 friend of mine. He thinks some things he does sound normal: I did my dishes… I ate a tuna fish sandwich… I went for a bike ride… He also thinks a few things he does sounds impressive… I went rafting… I went bungee jumping… I defeated a snake… But, the reason my friend is so wise is because he’s realized that with the simple phrase “IN AFRICA!!!” the mundane sounds exhilarating: I did my dishes IN AFRICA… I went for a bike ride IN AFRICA… And the impressive sounds almost unbelievable: I went rafting IN AFRICA… I went bungee jumping IN AFRICA… So, because it seems a lot of what I’m doing these days is mundane and a little down to earth for this whole post I’m going to add:

…IN AFRICA!!!

And hope that you feel a little more impressed with my life : )

March 18, 2008

When I first arrived in Namibia, I didn’t notice a lot of weird or unusual bugs. Throughout training I saw the occasional scorpion, many mosquitoes and one or two freakish yellow-segmented “hair-eating spiders” (I think they made up the hair eating part, and frankly, the spider part too – they look more like miniature lobsters). Since I’ve been at site, I’ve changed my tune. I have become far more acquainted with Namibia’s insect life than I ever could have hoped for.

In Khorixas it seems you can measure the seasons by the bugs. The type/species/color/sound of bugs change every week or every two weeks. When I first arrived in January I saw large black beetles with three bright stripes. Then there were the flat wall spiders (they’re really really flat. Its bizarre). Wing-shedding termites came next, followed by the bird-sized moth. The moths were trailed by the black “ho-ho” – a smelly beetle that only travels in hundreds. And most recently, we enjoy the company of bright red and green robot beetles. I call them robots because nothing organic should ever move the way they do. Lucky for us, the flys and mosquitoes are constants and with all this changes I need a few rocks in my life.

And the cockroaches… oh, the roaches. They’re new… and un-welcomed in my life.

March 19, 2008

Today is the last day of school for the week. I am so thankful for this long weekend. I’ve been in a funk lately. The funk is partially due to me spending too much time “alone” (read: I am always around people but I’m rarely with people. Does that make sense?) and it’s partially due to me being overly aware of cultural differences. Lately, I only seem to be able to focus on how differently I think and act. I find myself starting thoughts with “At home…” and “When I was in school…” On one hand, it’s definitely not healthy to compare and judge so much. On the other hand, a kid threw a rock at me yesterday while screaming “white person!” in Damara… So, I have a distinct feeling I’m being judged too.

Maybe judging isn’t the right word though. Maybe, more often, it’s observing. My learners like to observe. They like to observe freckles, eyes, “painings” (sunburns, scratches, pimples…), length or “bigness” of “hairs”, eyes, eyebrows, accents, walking, backpack carrying, drawing, writing… the list goes on but it only gets more pathetic. The kids love to tell me how I do everything differently and why I look different. It’s a little too much for me to handle sometimes. When volunteers return to America, they say they miss the attention. They say they wonder why no one cares that they’re walking through town and why no one marvels at their mundane accomplishments. So, when I get home, I’m going to need you all to tell me you can see my veins, that I walk like a man and that I have big hairs. Just every so often until I re-adjust to being normal. And I’ll be sure to say, “Well, in Namibia, I…” just so you can feel a little judged too. Deal?

Ah, I kid, but it’s only because everyone’s thinking it and I’m just trying to say it.

Aside from the mind games, things at site are going pretty great. Last Friday night, an acquaintance invited some of us to a concert. The choir was from Outjo and has been traveling around singing about discrimination. It was an event for the youth so it was held at the secondary school. It was a lot of fun for a few reasons. First, it was fun to be out after dark. I believe admitting that only solidifies my less than sparkling social life reputation. Normally, though, walking around any African city is a bit intimidating in the dark. Since I’ve moved to the location though it’s been a lot easier to find someone to walk with. It takes about ten extra minutes but everyone gets dropped off. Daytime. Nighttime. It’s all fair game now. I’m liberated! Hey, don’t judge. I know I’m a grandma. Second, it was fun because many of the faces I’ve met are becoming repeats. I really like a lot of the locals I see around town on a regular basis. It’s good to talk to people who realize that you’re another person – not just a wallet, white skin or a potential girlfriend (they’re big on quick “commitment” here, so let’s be honest… another wife. And I did mean to say another. Two? Three? Eh, who doesn’t have five wives these days?). It’s nice that I’m finding some familiar friends to talk to. It makes me feel safe. If something goes awry I know there are a few who would be quick to my rescue. And, third, it was fun because choral education here is silly. Don’t tell any of the performers, but when they sing a whole song about saying no to sugardaddies I giggle. I even giggle when I’m sitting in the front row. You know, it’s just been awhile since I’ve heard the word “sugardaddy” in three-part harmony. Overall, the kids are doing a good thing. It’s great that they want to help their community in any form. It’s going to make them more well rounded in the long run. And well rounding is a skill that hard to come by in these parts.

Today, I spent a lot of time just talking to learners. Since it was the last day, the kids were eager to get back to their farms for the long weekend. This made them less than keen on the whole learning science idea. I called some kids in for discipline from a problem yesterday but I just didn’t have the heart. Instead I told them they had a job to do – I made them tear paper into tiny pieces so that we could make new paper. They loved it. I know it’s probably a bad idea to have learners love discipline. I’ll reap the benefits of that later. The other kids in class heard about the tough discipline and came running. Pretty soon we just had a huge paper tearing party. It felt a little like a sleepover. It could have been all the observations or just that I was hanging out with a lot of 7th graders. It was fun either way. And, bonus, they’re learning how to recycle and brushing up on their English skills by telling me all about the city’s gossips – there’s far too much to keep track of (not surprisingly, most of it involves alcohol and hangovers).

Well, I’ve got to finish packing for my big weekend away tomorrow. Travel here is beast. It really grates on the planning part of my personality. If I lived anywhere else, I would actually know how I’m getting to my destination tomorrow. But here, I’m just waking up in the morning, taking my backpack and walking in search of some combi (van) that’s headed to Swakopmund also. I’ve got a good feeling about 7am tomorrow. I figure if I’m up early, someone’s bound to be leaving throughout the day. Apparently I missed four combis that already left today, though. I’m thankful for cars and the fact that one day I will drive one again. An, if I want to, I will be the only person in that car - wasting gas, radio blaring and feeling great about it all.

See you in Swakop!

Today:

I made it to Swakopmund. I'm sure I'll have a lot to say about it later. But I can tell you now that I'm back in America... I've mentally blocked the idea that this city could be in Namibia. The idea that soon I will be going back to roosters, donkeys, rocks, dust, and cold water bucket baths is a little too much to think about when you're drink has an umbrella in it and you went to a movie theater last night. Am I still in the Peace Corps?

February 11, 2008

In staging (the Washington DC part of training), Peace Corps tries to prepare you for arriving in country. I think it’s a noble cause but, let’s be honest, nothing prepares you for being in country. Regardless, before we left, I did get one piece of valuable advice that I still use today. The woman leading our hotel-conference room sessions told us, “Just open the door. Everyday, open the door.”

Now, I know this sounds simple when outside is your Starbuck’s cup of coffee, your car and, most importantly, hundreds of strangers who could care less that you left your house today. But, while living here, I’ve grown to miss these strangers. I miss not being cared about. I miss anonymity.

My walk to work everyday is pretty great. First, I leave my house and lock three doors on my way out. Getting out of “town” requires dodging various domestic animals, including guard dogs, whole flocks of chickens and the occasional goat. Then, I hop over the guardrail to the main road. The paved road! I love the paved road! And since it’s still dark and you can see for miles anyway, I walk a bit down the middle of the paved road just to reminisce. Then, I take a turn into the location. The first sign that I’m on time is the tractor warehouse guard unlocking the gate. The next sign is a middle-aged woman that I don’t know. Every morning she’ll say something like, “you are later today” or “Oh, you have woken early”. Thanks for the recognition, lady. Next is the boy who calls me teacher though he goes to a different school. “Good morning teacher.” Then, the check out girl from Multisave (our only grocery store in town) walks the other direction to work about this time. She knows I like oatmeal and don’t speak Damara (once I took a 4-year-old neighbor to Multisave with me. While I was paying the checkout girl seemed confused. Finally she stopped everything to ask if I was Damara and if the child was mine. I felt that “no” was the obvious answer but I didn’t want to say it so quickly that I insulted her intelligence, so I said “noooo” – which may have been too enthusiastic of a no). Next on the walk are the second grade girls who wave and stare – sometimes from the perch of trees. Then 25 minutes from when I locked my front door (17 when I book-it), I arrive in the safety of the school.

I got a ride to school this week in a hearse. A story for a different day, I think. But the next morning all of these people commented on my absence from the street the day before. Nice but, if it happened in America, creepy, no? Walking home is worse because, by then the town as resorted to its party-like atmosphere. Music blaring from houses. Women sitting under trees selling fat cakes. Kids on the stoop of the general store. Generally, I only get asked for a dollar once or twice. The “chief” tells me I changed the weather again. I say “Hello. I am fine. Thanks. And you?” about ten times. On special days, the street pastor will give me an impromptu lesson on spreading the good news and ask for my “viewings on the character of Jesus.” Also on these special days, the man who lives across from the hospital will yell, “Stop, stop walking! Stop! Stop walking! Stop! Talk! Stop walking!” until I am out of his sight. And, if I’m lucky, the fourth grader from the school in town will stop and ask me, with impressive neck-snapping attitude, my mother’s name, my father’s name and where I come from (her most rehearsed English phrases). Which is actually cute. Unlike the man across from the hospital.

On good days, this culture and life of Khorixas all make me smile on both walks. The fact that people are willing to talk to me and welcome me to their town makes me feel like maybe I will belong someday. On bad days, I feel like I am under a microscope (oil immersion 1000x). That’s when all the recognition makes me want to hide.

Luckily, hiding is easy because currently, I love my room. This is pretty pathetic seeing how my room is about the same size a drive thru Dutch Brothers. But it is mine and it is American. On it’s walls I have tacked every 2007 Christmas card, every going away card I brought with me, every letter written to me, my evaluation from modal school (my TRC PCV friend said some nice things. I need nice things in my life), a calendar from Grandma, a map of Namibia where I wrote all PCV sites, a world map (that convinces me the world is actually tiny and I can just hop back to you all), a Seattle space needle ornament left by the previous volunteer and glow in the dark stars (they’re so happy). So, as you can see, this is a nice hole to hide in. But sometimes I have to remind myself I am in Africa… I need to go outside and explore. I need to open the door.

Which bring me to the national anthem. Exploring Namibia makes you think of the national anthem and it would be a shame if I told you about explorations without sharing the background knowledge that goes with them. The anthem goes:

Namibia, Land of the brave

Freedom fight, we have won

Glory to their bravery

Whose blood waters our freedom

We give our love and loyalty

Together in unity

Contrasting, beautiful Namibia

Namibia our country

Beloved land

Of savannahs

Hold high the banner of liberty

Namibia, our country

Namibia, motherland, we love thee.

I’ve learned a couple of things from that anthem. First, the correct way to pronounce “our” is with a breath between its two syllables… that’s right two. Just like the word “films”. Second, apparently many nations are brave. And oddly it seems true for all of them. Striking out on your own and making a new country requires a bit of bravery, I would think. Third, the savannahs are the most loved. And, fourth, the line that will always get stuck in my head is the part about “contrasting, beautiful Namibia”.

There’s nothing particularly musically interesting about that line. I think it just gets stuck in my head because it’s so true. My favorite example of contrast was on my walk this evening (the one where I forced myself to leave my Dutch brother’s room). Over the past few days, Khorixas has gotten more green than I thought possible. Nearly everywhere there was sand when I first arrived is covered in grass and little yellow flowers. The trees have doubled in size and grown leaves. As I was walking and enjoying the greenery, I couldn’t help but notice the sky. To the north was a rainbow in some white clouds and blue sky. To the west the sun was setting. Setting suns here always mean yellow, orange, pink, purple and perfect. To the south, over the donkerhoek was a downpour. It looked evil. To the East were dark purple clouds and lightening.

The whole thing made me think that maybe even the sky gets bored in Africa. And, land of contrast, it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. The rain was flooding the Donkerhoek. A little boy drowned in the rains there this weekend. It’s been an upset around town. He was very little and got carried away by a new-formed river (my learners were plastered to the windows facing the camp today during class because they wanted to see all the crowds and cameras who had come talk about the boy). And, in the same moments as the flood, a rainbow decorated the opposite sky. Thunder, lightening, sunset, flood and rainbow all at once seems like a crowd but, in Khorixas there was room in the sky for all of it.

Sometimes I think people make things up for national anthems. Ok, maybe not everyone is America is brave… or, maybe they weren’t really admiring the flag while enduring canon fire… (I know I wouldn’t have been). But, this is the long way of saying: For Namibia, it’s true. Beautiful and contrasting. They’re both true.

12-02-08

I had an odd sensation today. It was fleeting but all around odd anyway. It was a feeling that I was supposed to be here. I felt like, for a brief moment, that there wasn’t anywhere else in the world I was supposed to be.

At school we have eight periods in a day and one half hour tea break. A period is forty minutes long. At the end of each forty minutes one 7th grade boy is responsible for leaving all of his eight classes to ring the bell. I believe he was chosen for this task because of his upstanding nature… and, he owns a watch. Then, when the bell sounds, kids file out of class and move as a group (5A, 5B, 5C, 6A, 6B, 7A, or 7B) to their next classroom. The fun part of moving to another classroom is that transition time is not written into the schedule. First period ends at 8:00. Second period begins at 8:00. If 6A has to move from classroom 18 (the lowest numbered classroom – I don’t get it either) to classroom 42, they have to do it “quickly, quietly and efficiently” – nearly impossible for 40 6th graders. And, when they arrive at classroom 42 at 8:05, who is to blame? The class? The previous teacher? I don’t mind when my entire class arrives late. However, at times (at least once a day), a learner will arrive about 10 minutes after the rest of their class. I have yet to make this an offence that requires disciplinary action but, instead, stop them and ask “why are you late?” Here are some of the responses:

- “I was making food for Mr. [so and so].”

- “I was in the toilet.”

- “Mr. [so and so] was asking a stick.”

- “Miss [so and so] was asking tea.”

- “I was drinking the water.”

- “Mr. [so and so] sent me to the store for NikNaks (Namibian Cheetos)”.

- “I was lost.”

- “I have dropped my pen in the sand. Borrow me another.”

First, being in the toilet sounds messy… and wet. Second, English vocabulary is sometimes inserted into Afrikaans or KK grammar – it makes for interesting sentence structure. And, third, what the crap (am I allowed to say crap online)? I thought we were in school? I understand a learner being late for child-ish reasons like digging for their pen in the sand or getting lost at a school they’ve been attending since they were six years old. But being late to buy Cheetos? Being late to run to a teacher’s house and make a sandwich? I don’t know if I’ll ever get that.

Even outside of school, the whole concept is still foreign to me. Children run the errands and do the chores. They make and deliver tea and lunch. They clean the kitchen and do the dishes. They carry bags and water to the house. Is it just my imagination, or in America, is it the opposite? If I recall, in elementary school my mother made me lunch. I didn’t have to run home and make my entire family’s, my teacher’s and my lunch before running back to school.

They have a phrase here, though Americans use it more than Namibians (and I have to admit I’ve never heard it said by an American that wasn’t mocking). They say, “send a small boy.” Need a chair? Send a small boy. Need lunch? Send a small boy. Chalk? Small boy. Need another teacher? A small boy can tell them to come. We even learned “Axabrob” in KK class. It means “small boy”. This is what we call a cultural difference. I’m sure one of you can tell me the irreparable mental and physical damage we are doing to these small boys when they go to fetch this or that. I’m sure it’s against some child labor law. But, I have yet to decide which is a better system of raising a child. Granted, I love the way I was raised and, if I do say so myself, I turned out ok. But, that’s not the case for all American children. We’re spoiled. I was spoiled. Is that better or worse? I’m not sure. I am sure, though, science class is more important than NikNaks.

Oh, and “small boy” really just means child. Which really means learner. Which in our case could mean a 6 year old or 16 year old.

Tuesdays and Thursdays I teach for six of the eight periods. I have two double period math classes in the morning and two single period science classes in the afternoon. In order for me to teach these classes, I have to commandeer classrooms from other teachers who are off that period. I usually feel like an invasion force when I arrive at class. None of the teachers really know the schedule yet (myself included). So on their off periods they tend to be sitting quietly working at their desks a look up to see me standing their with an armload of teaching materials (that I could have let a small boy carry) and holding the schedule that says I get to take over their classroom. I’d like to think that my word is enough but it doesn’t hurt that I have the whole class I’m teaching behind me yelling things like “Miss [person in charge] said we are here!” Meanwhile, the ones who aren’t yelling are hitting each other over the head with something. Or eating something. Or stealing something. Or breaking something. (Kids… I do love them. I do.) I imagine most of these teachers are kind enough to give up their classrooms just to stop the chaos. And, I’m sure it has nothing to do with me looking like a homeless, beggar teacher.

If I were a real teacher, my double period math class would simply sit in the same classroom for two periods on Tuesday and Thursday. But, alas, I am a fake teacher. This means that on Tuesday and Thursday, I dedicate the last two minutes of the first period to prep my learners to switch classes. I tell them: “we are having the rest of class. You must go to room 42. Go in. Sit down. Get your exercise books out and keep working on your assignments.” So, after erasing any proof that I existed in the first classroom, I go to room 42 to find my learners standing outside hitting each other with something. Or eating something. Or stealing something. Or breaking something. I sigh. Then, I finagle my way into borrowing the classroom. Then, I call my learners in. They come in and stand there staring at me. This is common. It means we must greet each other. But, after I convince them that we did just spend forty minutes together, they finally sit down without a second greeting for the morning and, after a minimum of ten minutes and five reminders, get their books back out and open them. Kids… I do love them. I do.

Today, I was in the middle of finagling my class into their second classroom when one of my learners ran up to me with a worried look. She said, “kakerlaka.” I have learned the meaning of this word many times since I’ve been in Namibia – none of these lessons were pleasant. “Kakerlaka” means cockroach. She and her worried expression then bent down and flicked a cockroach away from my foot. Then she ran back to join the rest of her class. She saved me! She saved me from the kakerlaka! Granted, it was a cockroach and I’m pretty sure I could’ve handled myself if it had decided to take a path over my foot. But one of my learners was looking out for me. It made me feel accepted and I pondered for a brief moment adding cockroaches to international signs of peace but ultimately decided against it.

2-17-08

When I got home from work this Friday, I spent the afternoon cleaning to prepare for a couple of volunteers that were coming to town to spend the weekend. In mid-plunge, I wondered if ever before I had needed to plunge the toilet, bathtub, shower and kitchen sink to prepare for people staying the night – we have plumbing problems.

Yesterday was the Katmanjab-Khorixas cluster athletic competitions. Khorixas is the bigger town so the events were held at our stadium. There are two other education PCVs near Katmanjab who traveled with their learners this weekend. In theory, the games began at 7am on Saturday. We, who are learning precious integration skills, decided this merited us showing up at 8:45 – within two hours is appropriate. It was a good day overall. Though, I didn’t do anything I can claim will attribute to the betterment of the Namibia, the Peace Corps, Khorixas, my school, my learners or even these particular athletic games. However, I did get a lot of, what we like to call, “face time” – imperative in reminding your community that you still exist and, someday, when you’re not so clueless and they are actually in need of help (instead of the reverse), you will be there for them.

Spending the weekend with two other volunteers was nice because it gave me a little perspective on the whole PCV experience. I realized that, generally, we are all confused, all the time. It seems that, because you live in a certain town or remembered someone’s name, you may be a better PCV than another but, in actuality, it just means you are a better faker. More than once during the games, one of us would be talking to a local teacher or coordinator with the others standing silently by. At the end of an outwardly logical conversation, the two silent ones would ask, “What was that about?” Inevitably this was followed by, “I have absolutely no idea.”

I have this theory that if you just keep smiling and showing up maybe it’ll all work out. If nothing else, at least the American people seem pleasant because we smile all the time. Someone will say something like, “when the volunteers travel to Outjo they will train the team and ride with the learners.” This is followed by us smiling and saying, “okay…” while thinking “Me-volunteer or another volunteer? What team? What do I train them? Why are the learners going to Outjo? When? Are we going in the back of a cattle truck or a vehicle with seatbelts? What are we doing when we get to Outjo? Why did I need to know that?” And, in the time you are deciding which of these questions is the most pertinent to ask out loud (because there will only be time for one to be answered before another seemingly unrelated tangent will take place that only causes ten more questions), you smile.

2-18-08

I got a fever yesterday. It came on really fast in the afternoon. Just walking from the kitchen to my room felt like I had just run a lap around the track. Luckily, one of the times I collapsed from exhaustion after a walk through the house, it was next to my Peace Corps medical handbook. I decided this was probably the good time to make sure I didn’t have an exotic fever-causing virus only available in southwestern Africa.

It didn’t appear that I have anything more than a cold. But, still catching my breath (and still living in Namibia), I found some interesting things to read about in my handbook. My favorite section is the one completely dedicated to Culture Shock. Symptoms of culture shock were listed as: Homesickness, boredom, Family tension, Withdraw from friends, excessive amounts of sleep, compulsive eating or not eating, Irritability, stereotyping host country locals, loss of ability to work, inexplicable fits of weeping, exaggerated cleanliness, and alcohol abuse.

Jessica’s reading thoughts: “Fits of weeping? Check. Sleep? I sleep, yeah. Homesick? Check. Boredom? I’m still reading the PC medical handbook. Eat? Yeah… and I bake… is baking bad… Cleanliness? I take showers. Hmm.”

Keep reading: The stages of these symptoms follow the following pattern: 1) Initial euphoria 2) Irritability and hostility 3) Gradual adjustment 4) Adaptation and bi-culturalism

Jessica reading thoughts: “Cool. I get to be bi-cultural! Is that as cool as being bi-lingual? Wait, did I miss the euphoria? Was that somewhere between the jet-lag and break downs on the phone when I first called home?”

Suddenly, my low-grade fever was far from my thoughts and I was concerned with my mental state of being – as I often am in Namibia. Then, I got an SMS from a friend and got distracted – as I often do in Namibia. And forgot about the whole thing until later. At which point I decided: I may or may not have these symptoms. And I may or may not die of culture shock. But, either way, the fact remains that US government educational material continues to entertain me :)

Disclaimer: the above entry is a result of what I like to call a fever-medicine shadow. This means my brain was raised (granted, a few slight) degrees above normal and American medicine is strong and, well, both tend to make me ramble. Thanks for listening.

2-19-08

After spending some time in examination of the work done by the laborious dung beetle, I have a new appreciation for my lot in life and, if you spend your days involved in tasks other than rolling large pieces of…, you should too.

2-22-03

I think I’ve reached the point in the game where travel meets job. The novelty is officially starting to wear off.

I’ve reached a point where the beautiful African-child faces I teach everyday are the same learners I taught yesterday and will teach tomorrow. They need to do their homework and they need to tuck in their uniform shirt. Yes, you can go to the toilet. No, you may not throw a pen across the room.

I’ve reached a point where the crazy man on the corner who sells decorative nuts has about three with my name on them. Literally. And he’s impoverished… but I’m still not buying one. And I stopped feeling bad about saying no.

I’ve reached a point where stopping to talk to the woman who sits under the tree selling fat cakes is just stopping to talk to someone I know. Even though she gives me iffy medical advice like: “hold garlic on your tongue until it burns and then it will burn out the fever.” Hmm, I think I’ll stick to the fat cakes.

I’ve reached a point where I accept a ride from anyone with Khorixas plates. Don’t worry mom.

I’ve reached a point where Bird-sized moths are not fascinating. They are gross… ok and still pretty cool when they die and cover the road.

I’ve reached a point where I’ve quit caring that I don’t match. And I don’t notice that deodorant never comes out of my shirts. And I think I wore the same outfit on Wednesday and Friday this week… but I can’t be sure because I wear it so often.

I’ve reached a breaking point where I started wearing sunscreen. Hey, skin cancer never looked good on anyone.

I’ve reached a point where I nearly consistently remember that people at home are still at home and, thanks to technology, still very accessible. But I still get homesick. I think there’s no controlling that.

I’ve reached a point where I count down to seemingly mundane events. Wednesday: groceries! Woo! Saturday: Cinnamon rolls and Internet! Sweet! March 1st: new clothes that I haven’t worn in Namibia yet. I hid them from myself. I am going to be so clean! …Everybody needs a strategy for counting down the full two years.

I’ve reached a point where I can watch nearly a whole season of Grey’s Anatomy in 48 hours, while still going to work and sleeping. Ok, ok, I bet I could have done that before too.

I’ve reached a point where, when I see kids playing soccer in the street with a lightening storm in the background, I think of my childhood and not “oh, my goodness, I’m in Africa!” even when they yell “Donkey cart” instead of “car” to clear the game out of the street. (Actually, I have no idea what they yell because they aren’t speaking English, but something effectively gets them all out of traffic when it matters)

I think I’ve almost reached the point where this becomes normal.

Actually, I’m probably speaking too soon. But, there are enough normal moments in everyday to make me think that maybe, just maybe, the world is small. And maybe, we are all alike.

Don’t feel bad for me and my normality. Be proud. I may actually fit in soon. I may actually make a friend! …Lets not get carried though. I still only walk on two streets in the location and have been too scared to branch out. I’ll make it with time, though.

Wish me luck. I’m integrating.

That is a quote from an anonymous PCV. I'd like to think its true. Only because its hard to be nice all the time... In any country.

Oh, and PS (pre-script): Jill is no longer in the Valentine's Day play. Bummer. I'm going to need something to do on Valentine's Day now... And I hope that will be reading all of the loving emails you all send me :)

January 30, 2008

Before I left the States, I read a few blogs from current volunteers in Namibia. They were helpful, but I don’t think I fully understood them until now. Only natural, I suppose. One thing I remember reading was about a PCV who started walking with an umbrella to and from school. She felt a little silly but didn’t want to get burned. Now that I’m here, I see many women carrying umbrellas and only one has been American. I think they want their skin to be lighter… but that could be a myth. I also remember reading about learners mocking American accents. I thought, “That could be cute”. No! It’s maddening! When will the novelty wear off? I don’t remember reading much about the language. This is odd because – It is Huge! I do remember reading about the unnatural pace a PCV goes through books. Jill proves this one true at a rate of about a day to day and a half per book. And, most recently, I’ve remember reading about the January and February sporting chaos. When I first read it sounded like just another hoop the PCVs had to jump through. But today, I experienced the magic of it all.

My primary school took the Kudus and the Orics to a stadium on the way out of town. Yet another corner of Khorixas I “footed” it to (their word, not mine). The kids were asked to come after lunch break to begin at 2:00 and they were asked not to wear dresses. The learners showed up between 1:45 and 3:00… some of them in skirts, some in boxers and some in tank tops I would have made them go and change out of if they lived in my house (meaning: it didn’t have enough fabric for a 14 year old). But, there were no dresses.

First, the kids met in the stadium. This stadium has a soccer field – with real grass!!! It also has a dirt track, covered stadium, bathrooms with running water and a few shade trees. When I got there early (what was I thinking) I sat and pondered the grass and shade trees and felt a little like I was back home. Then the learners started showing up. These kids, who live in houses made from 30 different pieces of corrugated metal and cook outside on a fire in the one pot their family owns, were now spending the afternoon running around a western-style stadium. It was cute and I wished I had cotton candy and peanuts to give all of them. While waiting they played and rolled in the grass. There were butterflies too… how could you not see magic in that? I mean seriously.

When most of the teachers and learners had arrived, the teams were split. Then, they started with team cheers. I’m pretty convinced they made up most of them on the spot. But the great thing about having fifty kids with rhythm is that they can get behind any clapping/singing game pretty quickly. The bad thing about having fifty kids with rhythm is that they have a lot of enthusiasm about it and forget to stop sometimes. “Oh, numbah, Numbah one. Kudus ah Numbah one” was chanted for approximately half an hour on repeat. Cute, but in a if-you-were-someone-else’s-kid way (and, at Eddie Bowe, “we’re teachers and parents” and that “makes us tougher” – I’ve been told). Annoying or otherwise, I was really happy to see them take ownership over their teams. I have this theory about building character by owning something you put work into.

When the track meet began it had a lot of whatever-meter runs… I can’t remember because I don’t belong at track meets. The kids who weren’t running cheered on their teammates from the stands. At one point in time, a child collapsed on the track right before the finish line. One teacher cleared the other kids away and tried to wake up the fallen learner. He was unsuccessful and called over another teacher to help carry the learner off the track. The second teacher picked up the collapsed learner and started to carry him away. The whole stadium had stopped to watch… about that time the kid cracked a smile and jumped out of the teacher’s arms and ran away. It reminded me a little of the Sandlot. I laughed, but then took a quick second to reflect on how much trouble that learner has given me in Science and stopped. It’s the creative ones that get you.

In the whole afternoon, I literally did nothing. I sat with the Grade Ones and enjoyed the scene. Sometimes, I show up and have to run the show and sometimes and show up and sit with the Grade Ones… it’s all about being prepared for anything… or not caring that you’re not prepared and going with the flow. I was ok with it though because the Grade Ones are excellent companions despite the fact that they only speak 9 words of English: How, are, you, am, fine, I, love, you and bye-bye. Technically, “Haullo” is KK too.

1-31-07

Did you know Khorixas and Chia Pets are made out of the same substance? I just went for a walk on a familiar path and got lost because so much greenery has sprouted in the past week. I’m trying not to appreciate it too much because I’m sure it will all fade very quickly. But I did take pictures so I can prove that greenery does exist in semi-desert areas (thank you Ecology for that practical knowledge).

I borrowed a book today called “Dear Exile”. It is a book full of letters written between two friends. One is in New York and the other is a PCV in Kenya. I spent the whole afternoon reading the adventures of the two and laughing out loud to myself like a crazy person. The PCV describes the first days of school… and I laughed. They waited three days for their staff meeting to start. She describes the staff room at her school… and I laughed. There was a flood and roaches in it while she wrote that letter (writing letters at school? I’ve done it. And I only wish our school had enough water for a flood). And, when the PCV attempted to burn dental floss and instead burned his hand… I laughed. Some of the scenarios seem a little too close to home.

Today, I have been in Khorixas for exactly three weeks. Two years has never felt longer. But on the plus side, approximately half the city knows my name. On the downside, they only know my name because of gossip.

Real teaching has only been in my existence for this past week. And in these precious few days I have concluded one thing: I will never be a middle school teacher. My grade six “Maths” (why is everything plural here: hellos, good mornings, maths, sciences…) classes have been ok. They listen well and are willing to answer questions. We are currently working on whole numbers and expanded notation. I’m a little surprised that they don’t know that the 5 in 56 means 50. I find myself struggling to remember 6th grade and what I knew about math. Anyway, grade 7 has been a bit of a handful. Teaching those two classes everyday is just asking to be made fun of. It is literally like I am back in middle school again. It’s really hard to balance the novelty of being from America and being a new strict teacher (strict – that’s me! Actually, I just chant that to myself before I walk in the classroom. Don’t smile before Christmas, they say. I think here it’s Easter, though). They want to mock my accent and ask me questions about American money and Eminem but I am insistent that we learn science. In real life, I’d rather just talk to them about whatever interests them. That could be one of the reasons they describe the first three months of PC teaching as “a disaster. Ha, a train wreck!” in training.

Another first: Today I checked out the first two books from the library for the year. One kid wanted a book on sports and the other wanted information about animals. I helped them find some books and fill out their library cards. They are my guinnee pigs for the whole process. I’ve been told to not let learners take books home because they get wet in floods or parents in the squatter’s camp use the pages to build a fire. But I stressed the importance of keeping the books safe and I am hoping for a safe return. I am also hoping that instilling small trusts in them will make them more responsible and worthy of trust. Responsibility! Ownership! Leadership! Be an Example! Am I sounding too Western yet?

Tomorrow is a sanity trip day. The volunteers will exodus from Khorixas and travel to Outjo. There we will hide from our semi-desert troubles, make a lot of no-bake cookies and commiserate. Also on the to do list: search for and recover a new trashcan. It seems un-assaulted rubbish bins are in short supply in K town.

2-5-08

I feel like my blog is a safe place. I feel this for a lot of reasons but, mainly, I feel this because I can still write the date month-day-year. Sometimes I have mini panic attacks when I turn to write the date on the board every morning – year-day-month, wait… month-day-year, no… um, day-month-year. Yeah, that’s it. Really, it’s quite a pitiful sight.

For lunch break today I had a liter/litre of fruit juice. I think that’s weird. Is that weird?

I didn’t find a rubbish bin in Outjo. I feel kind of bad about this. But I did succeed in eating a lot of cookies and commiserating.

Jill is going to be in a play that some youth in Khorixas are putting on for Valentine’s Day. She is going to be a nurse. The play is about the first time an original tribe heard the real facts of HIV/AIDS, I think… the explanation is weirder every time I hear it. I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve looked forward to Valentine’s Day. Don’t worry about Jill’s moral though; I’ll sit in the back so she can’t hear me laughing.

Today, I took a page from an old high school teacher of mine. The first day of calculus class, he kindly passed out note cards for us to write our name, age, favo(u)rite color, food, subject and what we wanted to be when we got out of school. We spent the whole time filling out the cards having warm fuzzy feelings that this man genuinely wanted to know about our lives. Then, he collected them and dismissed us. When we came back the next day, we had a lecture where he asked us the answer to numerous trigonometry and calculus questions. But, in the beauty of his plan, we did not need to raise our hands to answer these questions. He called on us! By flipping through our note cards! Then, at the end of everyday, he’d shuffle them! This painful set-up meant I had to pay attention for all of class and be ready with an intelligent answer because I never knew when my name was next in the pile. Well, as you can imagine, this plan is more difficult when the names have clicks and you are a clicking dunce, such as myself. But, willing to make a fool of pronunciations, I enacted the Note Card Plan today. It went over really well in 6th grade. I giggled to myself a little at the collective “gasp” from 6A when I turned their note cards against them. Grade 7 will have to experience that joy tomorrow. Oh, the satisfaction of classroom management.

Behavior management has been a bit of a nightmare since I’ve started teaching. I’m not exactly sure why this is. I’ve never had a behavior problems with a group of kids that I had NO idea how to solve. After all, working with and leading groups of kids has been my job, as a volunteer or otherwise, since I was a kid myself. I feel like that amount of training should have given me enough tricks to start off this year. But these kids are a different breed. I won’t go into the details of the problem because, well honestly, they’re all too middle school-ish. But I will say, I started the note cards today and have an elaborate reward system worked up for next week. I think the trick in all of this is to just keep showing up. Their weakness is an underestimation of American persistence… or, at least, Miss Jessica’s persistence.

Well, in the mean time, between now and then, just for kicks, a few things I’ve been wondering:

- Does speaking three languages affect the mental development of a child? How? What if they don’t learn how to read and write in any of them?

- Can a human run faster than a donkey?

- Can tans become permanent? Am I going to have perma-shirt sleeves?

- Is Mefloquine severely detrimental to my health?

- How to I get scones crumbly?

- What are some recipes I can use mealie (corn) meal for? (Moto, I think it was a typo/misunderstanding in the recipe I gave you. Fat cakes call for flour – not corn/mealie meal)

- Excessive cravings for cheese is like a brain-tumor thing, right?

- What’s going on in your lives?

2-9-08

I was using the Note Card Plan yesterday in science class. It works really well. But sometimes the kids just freeze when I call on them. This is understandable for a couple of reasons. First, kids here don’t get singled out for anything except when they do something wrong. So obviously they would look like deer in the headlights when I call on them. And second, English is not their first language and, I know from experience, speaking a foreign language in front of large groups is scary… really scary.

Anyway, it’s understandable that they freeze. So, I’ve taken to walking over to their notebooks and looking at the answer they have written. Usually, it’s correct. At which point I say, “perfect”. Yesterday, I noticed the bold ones started to freeze also. This is the opposite of what should happen. I discovered the cause in the last period of the day. One of the louder boys in class gave me the deer in the headlights look when I called his name. Then, he held out his book for me to look at. I looked and said “perfect. Say that out loud.” But instead, he turned to his friend, straightened his shirt, brushed it off in an I’m-awesome manner and repeated “perfect”.

Sheesh. Someone praise these kids please.

Over the past few days, I reread my blog posts. How is it that so much perspective could be gained a three and a half months? During site visit I remember Jill and I were totally disgusted with out respective housing situations. But, I can’t lie; they’re both quite posh (minus Jill’s overwhelming need to mop). I remember thinking also that a lot of the people I met were kind of rude. I’ve re-met those people since being back at site and, to be honest, they’re really pleasant welcoming people. I also remember while writing some of the posts I was really worried that they would come off as cynical or too serious. While re-reading I found that none of them were really that bitter.

I say all of that because I was debating whether or not I should write about corporal punishment. Do they really need to know? Will they understand? I think you will.

Corporal punishment is illegal in the United States (that’s a bit of an understatement, huh? In truth, you can’t really even touch a child). Well, it’s illegal in Namibia too. But, the catch, it’s only illegal if you get caught. Beating children is still accepted among colleagues as a good form of discipline. I knew this before I got to school. And I understand that it is still a new law and it may take a few years to see the full effect. But, it’s still a shocking sight.

Don’t go overboard with imagination. The people I work with are good people. And kids aren’t beaten to a pulp. Beating means the learner has to hold their hand out while the teacher hits it repeatedly with a stick. The stick is usually about the same diameter as my pointer finger. After each hit, the little ones jump around with their hand tucked under their armpit or between their legs. Then they hold out their hand again for another hit.

I’ve only seen a few kids being beat but learners are more than willing to share their beating stories with me. “Oh, miss, I failed a test and I was beat by Mr. So-and-so…” I know from experience that kids like to tell stories. But I also know those stories are usually rooted in truth. I’m not starting an all out witch-hunt. I’m just sayin… there are stories.

I’m not trying to underplay the fact that kids are being beat here either. The problem comes from the fact that I don’t belong. I am an outsider. I can’t just come into these schools, pull out my soapbox, stand there and preach “In America… Beating children causes fear… Discipline should be balanced with reward…” This country is still trying to figure out who it is. That can be a rocky process.

Since we’re being so honest about being in the Peace Corps in Namibia, I think I’ll let you in on another [superficial] cultural difference. Oddly enough, this cultural misunderstanding puts PCVs in as much of a foul mood as the beatings… really, just the female PCVs, though. Let me explain:

Here, it is good to be fat. Being fat can mean a few things. It can mean that you are rich enough to afford food, you are all around healthy and, most importantly, you don’t have AIDS. It is a common compliment to say, “You are fat!”

Well, let me tell you, this does not go over well. It doesn’t matter if the person is actually fat or not. One volunteer I met from NAM26 is approximately the same size as Mary Kate Olson. She lives with a family and teaches in the north. Her host family was so pleased one morning when she came in for breakfast wearing a large shirt. “Oh, you are fat today!” They were so excited for her. She was less than pleased though.

Our trainers tried to warn us. They explained that sometimes it could mean that you look happy, healthy and well adjusted. This, as you can imagine, doesn’t help. Yesterday, I put on a sweatshirt between our morning staff meeting and tea break. One of my favorite colleagues came up to me as I was waiting for the tea water to boil, patted my hip and said, “Oh, yes. You are getting fatter.” Gosh, this freaked me out. I went home and tried on some pants I haven’t worn since the Sates to make sure they still fit. They do. Don’t worry. I prefer to think she was referring to the sweatshirt and the fact that I was actually smiling during tea break and not dreading the awkwardness.

Which brings me to the sweatshirt. It’s cold here! Just yesterday and today. The rain came on Thursday night. This time it’s not the patchy downpours that alternate with intense sunshine to ensure misery. It was almost similar to Oregon spitting rain. We have been sitting a cloud for the past two days and it is glorious. Bleak. Gray. Wet. Cold(ish). I love it. I’m not crazy, just homesick.

And since we’re flowing so nicely between topics, you all need to know: I am a wimp. I am a wimp because I am homesick. I hear from reliable sources that it is common to be homesick when you move to Africa… or, generally, the other side of the planet. But, I have a period of everyday dedicate to being homesick. I don’t choose these periods of the day or how long they last. They usually choose me. Sometimes, my tears well up at very inconvenient times – like staff meeting or while explaining STIs (STDs) to 7th graders. It’s actually a little pathetic.

I have faith, though, that this is what we like to call an “adjustment period”. And, hopefully, it will pass. I am finding each day to be better than the day before it. Each week, I am becoming more comfortable. It would all be so much easier though if I could just get a cup of coffee at Chapters, curl up on a friend’s couch, watch TV and drive to my parents’ house on the weekends…

All those things will be there when I get back, though? Right? Friends, reserve those couches for me now. Got it? Mom, Dad. Car? House? Elmer’s? Ok?

Well, this is “Goodbye”. Wait. I already did that in October. So that means this is a “See you later”. But I won’t see you for a while. So this is really a “More later”. Which I am sure to be true. Because, here, there is always more to tell. Always.

More Later. Love, J

January 22, 2008

I’ve given up trying to get the water any color but grey when I rinse my laundry. And, I found out I like running… but only down hills…

I haven’t been writing the past week for two reasons. 1) I’m pretty sure someone stole a couple of hours from each of my days and 2) I’m a little embarrassed that I haven’t started teaching yet.

Last week was the first week of school. Monday was a cluster (district) meeting. I think I wrote about that one already. We got a pep talk. This past year the Kunene schools jumped from 13th, last, to 5th. The Khorixas cluster scores, however, remained the same. This means that we did not contribute to the 8-place jump. Our pep talk was shape up or… shape up. I was told to arrive for this meeting at 8 in the morning. When I arrived at 8, the secretary was there to point me in the right direction and a social studies teacher was there to offer me a chair outside of the meeting room. The social studies teacher and I then proceeded to sit there until 10:30, when everyone else showed up (including the colleague who told me eight). Wrong time, you may guess? The agenda they handed out when we all finally sat down – “Khorixas Cluster Meeting. 14 January 2008. 8:00 am”. Welcome to Namibia.

Tuesday was registration. I’m sure I wrote about that. Still a conundrum. Wednesday was the first day learners were in classes. In class, they corrected the spelling and information on roll call, dusted their desks and harassed the new American teacher. Really, it was just one who seems like he’s going to be trouble. I was given grade 7A to entertain for the day. We read a lot of stories, hoping it would get them used to the accent so I wouldn’t have to talk as slow when teaching actually started. Then we had silent reading time. It was a long day but a good one overall. Thursday, they changed the lock on the library and gave me a key! Woot! A few cleaning supplies later, I’ve got all of the book donations unpacked and dusted. These are the books for the kids in the hostel. I want to use them for an after school reading program… but that feels a little too ambitious right now (Maybe, after I actually start teaching). Also in the library is a closet full of old papers and posters. I know you all have the wrong idea of Namibia because I have running water, electricity, a gas stove and a phone that can get me on facebook, but you have to realize, this is still Africa and that much paper in one room is like a gold mine. I spent part of Thursday going through the boxes of old AIDS posters (seemingly, an ineffective way to educate against the epidemic – just judging by how new the posters are, the lame slogans and the 3 inches of dust on the box) to look for ones with clean white backs I can write on. I had enough that I decided to make a poster for the library. I wanted to write a poem because I have a feeling knowledge about poetry isn’t that widespread in Khorixas. I would’ve written one of my own but I’m a shy poet. So, I pulled the only poetry book off the shelf and found this gem:

Feelings About Word

By. Mary O’Neill

Some words clink

As ice in a drink.

Some move with grace

A dance, a lace.

Some sound thin

Wall, scream and pin.

Some words are squat:

A mug, a pot.

And some are plump:

Fat, round and dump.

Some words are light:

Drift, lift and bright.

A few are small:

A, is and all.

And some are thick

Glue, paste and brick.

Some are sad:

“I never had…”

Some are gay:

Joy, spin and play.

And some words cry,

“Goodbye… Goodbye.”

I’m not really sure why I shared that with you, but I am sure it’ll make you a better person in the long run.

Friday, I spent about an hour at school before I left for the weekend. I let my counterpart and supervisor know that I had plans to go to Okakarara on Friday for a friend’s birthday. I was planning on leaving after school but they came into the library on Friday morning to tell me they had called a taxi and it would be there in an hour. Sweet! Permission to skip work and a ride! More about the weekend a little later, though.

Monday, the kids finally got last year’s timetable (schedule of classes). Currently, they’re making the new timetable to include me and Natural Science (or so they say). Since they are using an old timetable, I am the only teacher without a class. So, I trudged, dejectedly, to the library again. The only thing I have left to do in the library is re-shelf all of the books because they’re all out of order. But, I don’t want to do an overhaul like that yet. Instead, I remade a few labels, hung some posters, (and I can’t lie) worked on my personal budget and surfed facebook (Hey, I’m there from 7:00 – 1:30 by myself.).

Today has been more of the same. I remade the Feelings About Words poster for Jill, the Health PCV in Khorixas, to hang in her apartment. She’s a writer and I know she would appreciate such fine workmanship. Plus, I chose a particularly special Anti-AIDS poster to draw on the back of (I feel like there’s got to be a better way to educate the general public about AIDS. I can’t think of what it is. At least they’re trying something, I guess). Also, this afternoon, I’m coaching track. Don’t be so shocked… well, ok, you can be shocked. I didn’t volunteer to run with the kids; I was just standing in the wrong place when all the other teachers decided they didn’t want to… Personally, I don’t think it’s fair to play “not it” in Damara if not everyone speaks Damara.

The upper primary kids were divided into two teams – the Kudus and the Orics. I get to train the Kudus. Poor kids. This afternoon is the first official (if there is such a thing in Namibia) practice. Then, at the beginning of February the Orics and Kudus will compete to see who gets to go to the Khorixas cluster competition, then to the Kunene regional competition. I’m still not sure what’s involved in these competitions but I’m assuming a lot of running because there’s no equipment for anything else. Either way, I think the kids who run without shoes should get seconds taken off of their time.

That about sums up life at school. Just add super awkward tea breaks where I don’t understand a word for half an hour, a bell that sounds like a fire alarm, the sweetest cleaning crew on the planet and hiding in a dusty library closet so no one knows you don’t so anything for six and a half hours and you’ve got the starting-work-in-Africa experience in a bottle.

Outside of school has been a roller coaster. I prefer to think that it’s my circumstances and surroundings that change so often because otherwise, I’m a bi-polar train wreck. I’m pretty sure I mentioned the cooking and baking that’s taken over my life. I don’t think I’ve gotten any better, my standard have just getting lower. Monday-Wednesday I was settling in, cooking and taking walking tours of Khorixas. Thursday night I started packing for my weekend in Okakarara. Since I am still unsure about who has keys to my room and what little kid is going to be walking through, this also involved cleaning my room and locking up anything valuable.

I had to take out my trash too. Now, let me just preface this story with a few things. First, don’t try this at home. Second, I burned my trash through all of CBT and shadowing successfully. And, Third, I are a college grad-ge-ate… So, you’re probably wondering by now. I took my bag of trash out to the can but you can’t leave trash outside in the can because people will go through it and scatter it. Residents solve this problem by burning their trash. Or, in semi-urban settings, like Khorixas, they just don’t put their trash out until the morning it’s going to be picked up (Monday). But, when you’re on a cleaning spree, why wait? So, I put my trash out and, as I have done before (I promise) I lit it on fire. There was just one problem with this foolproof plan and that was: our trashcan is plastic… I know all you scholars out there are wondering how I didn’t foresee the huge flames that engulfed the entire trashcan and melted it to the pavement and, honestly, I have no idea why I didn’t. Just know I was lulled into a false sense of security by the metal lid and handles. Never assume anything in Africa - Of course the sides were plastic. Why not? So, after my tiny bag of trash had started a neighborhood bonfire, I ran inside to get water to put out the flames. But, welcome to the roller coaster, our kitchen had a flood earlier in the day and we had turned the water off. Luckily, the teakettle and a pot on the stove were full. I ran those outside and used a combination of water and sand to put out the fire. About the time I got the flame down to a manageable smolder my housemate’s car alarm starts going off. Within seconds, I’ve got an audience consisting of a just-woken-up British VSO, a street kid and a dog I think is rabid. Also about that time, a freak rainstorm finished putting out the fire (I couldn’t make stuff like this up if I tried). Personally, I think the scene was pretty self-explanatory: me, drenched, holding a teakettle, standing next to a melted trashcan. Nonetheless, I explained myself the best I could to my housemate as she was turning off her car alarm and then went inside to finish packing. The next morning I woke up early (4:45. Normally I wake up at 5) to scrape the plastic off the pavement… along with my pride.

When I got to school my colleagues had called the taxi so I gathered my bags and took a turn by the hospital to pick up Jill. After a half hour tour in the location as the taxi driver ran errands, we left for Outjo. In Outjo, we picked up another NAM 27er and headed for Otjiwarongo. Super Spar stop! We bought coffee and garlic bread and continued to Okakarara (detailed trip schedule for dad – Google Earth it!).

It was rainy and dreary when we got to Okakarara. And I loved it! There are two PCVs in Okakarara and four who live outside. When all of us had arrived we went to the local restaurant to relax and recover from our respective taxi rides. That evening we made pizza, enjoyed free SMS Friday and played Outburst. It was a great evening, except (roller coaster) the oven exploded in the birthday girl’s face. Luckily, her eyebrows, her primary concern, were still intact (mostly). Her right arm and face only looked sunburned but her right hand was covered in blisters. Her solution? Drink a lot of Vodka. Peace Corps? Hard Core.

The next morning we hired two taxis. They were both VW Rabbits and we practiced our clown car skills out to Waterburg Plateau. Waterburg is a nature reserve between Otjiwarongo and Okakarara and it’s beautiful. When we first arrived, the tour guides told us about game drives. It sounded tempting but we were shut down at the N$350/person price tag. We opted for a walking tour instead. About ten minutes later, two were covered in mud, four were annoyed at the mosquitoes, one was distracted by the German tourists and Sabrina and I were the only ones actually interested in the first stop, a German cemetery. My pondering the cemetery (and what, in 1904, made 22-year old Fritz decide to come to Namibia. And did he know he would die there… hmmm) was interrupted by The Plan. The Plan was to flirt with the rangers until we got a better price on the game drive. Clearly, this was not my area of expertise, so I waited outside. I did see through the window that the blister, burned hand was hidden away during haggling – hmm, maybe a technique I’ll have to keep in mind. The Plan was successful and we got a 50% discount.

When our safari vehicle arrived it was equipped with two quirky tour guides who claimed they had only been working at the park for two days… a joke, I think, but after a whole afternoon with them, I’m still not entirely convinced they didn’t just highjack the vehicle and decide to give tours that day.

The vehicle was an open-air truck. With the rain, the first couple minutes of the trip were spent convincing ourselves that the cold was a welcome change. Then, seemingly from nowhere, our self-claimed novice guides pull out these fleece-lined heaven-sent ponchos. My day was suddenly the best on the planet (roller coaster). I found a bag of peanuts in my bag and sat back for a beautiful ride with friends.

Along the way, we stopped at two hides surrounding a watering hole. We didn’t have any luck. The only animals we saw were butterflies, a chameleon, springbok, a stomach left over from a lion kill, beetles eating the stomach left over from the lion kill and a domestic buffalo (A cow. I told you they were quirky). The whole trip put us in high spirits anyway. At the end it also turned out one of the guides was the cook. So, when we got back to the main part of the park he opened the restaurant for us. The birthday girl’s mom sent money to pay for our dinner… and… it… was… fabulous!!

After dinner (with an amazing view of the plateau and deciding Brad and Angelina probably rented out the whole place) our taxis came to pick us up. We made it back to the house safely and our resident chef (chemist = chef) made a birthday cake. The evening was quiet and relaxing. In the morning the three of us from the West (Outjo and Khorixas) caught a taxi to Super Spar. After we had acquired 50 extra pounds of canned tuna, five different blocks of cheese and some spices, we continued on our way home. By the time I got to back to Khorixas I was slightly miffed (roller coaster). On the way home, our taxi almost ran out of gas. The gaslight was on with 65Km to go. Apparently, the approved solution for this is to drive at 80km/hour, which, in the middle of nowhere, feels like I could run faster (but only downhill :) ). I stopped looking at the clock but I’m pretty sure it took us about two to two and half hours to from Outjo. The entire time, Jill and I SMSed about the coming predicament – running out of gas in the textbook description of “nowhere”. Anytime something bad is about to happen in PC Namibia, you have the consolation that you may become a scenario to train the next group. So, we imagined our little transportation nightmare typed on a 1/2 sheet of paper with 15 NAM 28ers sitting around discussing it. And, I’m sure, their conclusion would be a brilliant revelations like, “just don’t get in the car in the first place.” Which all sounded great when I was staring at my slip of paper… but in real life, in the middle of nowhere, it doesn’t always fly. But, it was not our time for fame and we made it back to Khorixas safely. Thank goodness! …and gas.

January 23, 2008

Today was a good day. I think. I’m at least due for a good day anyway. Monday and Tuesday I was super homesick. I know home is safely waiting for me. But I think homesickness is encouraged by frustration at the problems (real and imagined) I deal with here and wishing I could just leave them. I know at home I wouldn’t have to deal it. But we call that quitting and I’m not fond of it. Peace Corps Namibia is what we like to call a “challenge by choice” (thanks Tilikum, for the terminology) and sometimes I’m not entirely sure why I keep choosing it. The good news is: I survived Monday and Tuesday and today has been better.

I am still not teaching. But, today I met with my supervisor. She explained a little more about the school and some the learner’s reaction to me. It was really helpful, if, for no other reason, to at least remind me that they know I’m here. Also, the timetable is in the works (I saw it with my own eyes so I know it exists). Right now, the plan is for me to start teaching 6A and 6B Math (I think they feel uneasy about this because I tried to find 70 percent of 39 today and got it wrong… it was the 7 times 9 that got me… 63, I know, I know, but I had just got done running around in the sun with the kids) and 7A and 7B Natural Science on Friday. With the way things are going, it’ll probably be Thursday instead. Living here is all about patience and being on your toes – seems like opposites, neh?

Track practice has been fun these past two days. The kids like to make fun of my accent. It was a little annoying at first so I made a game out of it. They have to repeat after me in their best American accents (which are actually terrible but make them giggle). Words they think sound particularly silly are “lower”, “raise”, “ok” and “good job”. I believe in Namibia they say “low-ah”, rolled “r” for raise, “ow-kay” and… I’m not sure why “good job” is funny… maybe it’s just not said enough around here.

Jill joined me today for practice. I was really grateful. I have enough knowledge to fake a track practice but Jill was actually in track so she’s got some real exercises. We had them doing high knees, butt kicks, lunges and walking on toes out to a tire and then they had to sprint back. They were over-enthusiastic and sprinted in both directions no matter how many times I told them otherwise. So, on the lunge round I went with all five teams out to the tire and sprinted back. Then, oddly, I decided to run their final laps with them… at three in the afternoon, in a desert. I’m such a white girl – I have to wear shoes and I think the desert is hot. The cleaning ladies were a little concerned about my health and red face afterwards (as I was multiplying 39 by 0.7) but I assured them it was normal.

When I got home, as per a young single person’s prerogative, I decided cookies were for dinner. Yum – especially with the cocoa powder I got at Spar. While the cookies were cooling I went on a hike in my backyard. So great and so Africa. I live on the edge of town (the opposite edge of Khorixas from the school where I work. Just FYI), so out back is a hill with a cell phone tower. The hill is probably half the size as McDonald forest loop 36 minus pine trees, mud and pups. The top is a great view and a cool wind. I like to call it the Khorixas escape route (I’ve been up there three times since I’ve been at site. I’m going to have to start exploring other hills around. Heaven knows there are enough to climb around here).

When I got back, I had my cookies for dinner, a lukewarm shower and a few styling from the Cranberries. An alright day all around, I suppose.

January 26, 2008

Yesterday was the last free SMS Friday *sad face*. I think I’ll survive though. I got a Christmas tree in the mail (thanks Heather). Facebook hasn’t been down all week. Sweet! And, I’m going to a mopping party at Jill’s house in a few minutes. She doesn’t know how to mop and, with the vast amounts of empty floor space available in PC housing (due to lack of furniture), it is extremely important. Some kids from Khorixas offered to help (they are sympathetic to American weirdness because they had the two previous PCVs as teachers in their Secondary school).

Yesterday was the semi-first day of teaching. I taught my math classes but the science ones were interrupted by a meeting… in the middle of school? Math went over really well, though. The kids got a kick out of the slow-down-you’re-talking-too-fast-and-I-don’t-understand-you thumbs down I taught them. I told them a story about flying from America to Namibia. Progressively, I would talk faster and faster until they would all throw the thumbs down when they couldn’t understand anymore. I don’t think they get to tell teachers what to do often… probably not a good way to start off the year but whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?

I tried scones again this morning. They keep coming out squishy. If anyone knows how to get them flaky let me know. Random request, I know. Well, I’ve got a mop and bucket calling my name. I love hearing what you all are up to – Facebook messages work best but email works a lot also.

January 27, 2008

Well, I thought I was posting yesterday but I didn’t get a chance to yet. It’s ok though because if I had posted I would have to wait a really long time to tell you about my amazing day today. Actually, most of it was pretty terrible.

I woke up this morning to a mean case of homesick and a power outage. It had rained last night and had caused the power to go out. Since the morning was cloudy and there was nothing to do at home I decided it would be a good morning for a hike. Little did I realize that cloudy, raining weather in Khorixas is like dumping a bucket of water on Hell. I was dying halfway up the hill I had decided to explore. I may be exaggerating, but I think it was worse than a Louisiana summer. By the time I got home I was looking forward to the cold shower that I usually dread but the water was out. I think it wanted to steal Electricity’s thunder. I was going to SMS Jill to see if the location was having similar problems but I was out of Tango (phone minutes) and, about that time, my phone battery died anyway. Sheesh. How am I supposed to cope in Africa, without any coping mechanisms? Luckily, my ipod still had some juice, though one side of my headphones had gotten squished in my lock box. So, I put the good side of the headphones in and some still functioning pieces of the other side. It looked a little silly but it got the job done.

In the afternoon, the power and water came on at about the same time (I think it’s a conspiracy to make me think I’m bi-polar). It was just in time to get a SMS from Jill inviting me to hang out in the donkerhoek (squatter’s camp). The SCORE volunteer in town takes soccer balls over there every weekend. The basic plan is just to wander in and look for kids… and sure enough, the kids come. Everyone gets to play. The teenagers started a serious soccer game, with shoes outlining the goals. Some younger ones started a game of catch and “tegu te” (I’m not sure how it’s spelled, or said really, but it’s similar to duck duck goose). Then, they decided to switch to net ball. Net ball is like basketball but you don’t bounce the ball. Jill and I found a purpose during all this as the nets. We held out our arms anytime a team came near to make a basket. The faces that you make when you’re a net, I think, have got to be priceless. I was thinking my nose was not going to make it out of the net ball game intact. But it’s fine… This could be because my team lost miserably and, consequently, made fewer threats on my face. Down time during my net experience was spent convincing some little boys that my thumb was detachable. I have never seen so much awe and wonder and the thumb removal trick. I think kids in the States have lost their awe… or I’m just less able to trick them.

When we left the donkerhoek it was about to rain again but I felt pretty good about life in general. If nothing else, at least I discovered a new coping mechanism. Who knew it would be hanging out and playing with kids who never have electricity and water. Which is good to think about tonight as I work on my lesson plans to the tune of thunderstorm and the glow of candlelight. That’s right, the power’s back off. But, don’t be grossed out, the water came back on long enough for me to get a shower.

January 13, 2008

Wow. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. This past week was really busy… and, yet, still very African.

Sunday and Monday were our LPIs. LPI stands for Language Proficiency Interview. We had a mid-LPI in the middle of CBT – on which I scored a NL. NL stands for Novice Low, and it is as bad as it sounds. Novice Low is the lowest you can score. It’s just above not knowing any of the language. The next scores are Novice Mid, Novice High, Intermediate Low, Intermediate Mid, Intermediate High and Advanced. For Peace Corps service you need to score an Intermediate Low. However, in Namibia, language is not critical to your assignment (though it is still a touchy topic among natives. There is a lot of pride in a tribe’s language. Also, most Namibians (sans Afrikaners) know at least three languages – Mother Tongue (Khoekhoe, Otjiherero, Oshiwambo, Thimbukishu, etc.), Afrikaans and English (for school). So knowing only one of the three, four, six, ten… that others know, you feel a little out of the loop. Not to mention a little stupid). In Namibia, if a trainee doesn’t score an IL they can retake the LPI at reconnect (a meeting three to four months down the road)(Actually, they just changed the policy and you have to retake the LPI at reconnect, mid–service meeting and at close of service no matter what you score the first time. I think they are trying to see if the language training is paying off in the long run). This is generally good news for people learning Khoekhoe. Most of us scored a NH. There were a few IL and one IH... but we just pretend she’s a genius. In our whole group only one person received an advanced score. She is learning Afrikaans. I’m a little bitter about this seeing how you can generally just talk funny and sound like you’re speaking Afrikaans. Example: “Wat es jou naam?” “ My naam is Jessica.” “Ek kom van Amerika af.” Should I translate, or have you figured it out? I don’t mean to discredit the people learning Afrikaans. It’s still a challenge. It’s just tough that we’re compared. Also, in Namibia, scores are not private. Grade 10 and grade 12 national exam scores are printed in the newspapers. Everyone knows if you’ve failed or passed. So, they stuck with this tradition and printed all of our LPI scored on one paper and passed it out to everyone. Cultural integration at its best!

I had my LPI on Sunday. In memory of GFU, I got up early sat down at the dinning room tables in my PJs and studied until my test. About mid-morning I found a sympathetic local who was willing to practice with me. Also, I was expecting the same break-neck paced mumbling I got during my mid-LPI so I memorized a few key phrases, such as: “speak slower” “Wait, I know” “I know but I forgot” “I don’t understand” “wait, I do understand” and “speak louder”. My interview was after lunch. I was so shocked when I got in there that it was actually fun to muddle through a conversation! Some things I had to literally translate into KK, which was no fun and terrible grammar, but other times I felt like I had a good grasp on the conversation. At one point in time I even used past, present and future in the same thought. I believe I said, “I like science. I wanted to be a doctor but I am going to teach science.” There were other times though, that I lied because I didn’t have enough grammar to tell the truth. I told her that my dad was a doctor, my mother was a banker and my brother was currently studying computers. Not far from the truth… it was the best I could do in KK.

It was nice to get the LPI out of the way so I could regroup on Monday. Since we got to Namibia, we’ve literally been ferried, taxied, bused and sent ten different places. It gets little tiring and disorganized. I have been living out of a suitcase since I packed it in October. Granted, it looks like my suitcases and their contents were put in a huge dryer, tumbled and dumped back into my retreat center room. Luckily, my seven roommates seem to be having the same trouble. I believe we won the messiest room award… if it actually existed. Anyway, Monday was spent packing and running around Okahandja looking for replacement clothes and toiletries.

I also got a chance to visit the craft market at the end of town. The craft market is a mini settlement of tents and tables filled with all things African looking. It was a lot of fun to visit because I wasn’t looking for anything. However, some of my friends who were haggling for real got a little frustrated. I was just haggling to see if I could get a good deal. In the end, I guess I got dooped though because I bought a bracelet I got a good price on. One particular conversation was pretty memorable. One of the merchants came up to my friend and said, “come to my tent, I have something to show you.” Well, I don’t know if I need to tell you, but we get a little protective of each other, and my ears pricked up when I heard him talking to her. A third friend came over also and said, “So you think you know what American women want?” The man said, “why yes, I think I do.” So we decided to see what was up. First, we were offered candlesticks. Um, no. Then, we were offered beaded dolls. Not quite. Then, getting desperate, we were offered a traditional mug (used to scoop the beverage out of it’s fermenting spot in the ground). Eww, no. And, one last final pitch – “How about a traditional bow and arrow?” Oh, and a line-up full of losers. But I was laughing so hard by the time I left the tent it was worth the spiel.

On our walk back from the craft market, a PC vehicle drove by. We literally jumped on it and asked for a ride. This was just a sign to me that we’ve changed in the past two months. At the beginning, it was good to walk. Good exercise. Also, why would I ride in an iffy combi with a grumpy driver when I could just walk for a few extra minutes? Well, since then, I’ve realized that PC has got some of the best rides in the country… not to mention seatbelts. That, coupled with the fact that days average 110F, makes you jump on PC vehicles (literally) when you see them in action.

Tuesday, we were bused to Windhoek to spend our settling-in allowance (money that should be used to buy household items to use during service)… but (welcome to the Peace Corps) that money wasn’t put in our accounts. The day was spent doing one of two things. One, people spent savings from their American accounts to buy toasters, tea kettles, blankets, sheets, pots, pans, pillows and fans. Or, option number two, spend N$350 dollars (somewhere around $60 American) from of our walk-around allowance and then wait for the buses to pick us up at the mall. I opted for the second and spent my $60 on a fan, speakers, a pillow, the tiniest plate I’ve ever seen and a spoon. These were all chosen in the midst of mid-isle breakdowns induced by 1) being overwhelmed by the sheer size of a superstore in the middle of Africa and 2) being completely exhausted. This ended up working out in my favor, though, when I got to site.

Wednesday was our swearing in ceremony. We got all gussied up for the event. It was nice to wear clothes that hadn’t been exposed to dust, sun and sweat and still smelled vaguely of my parent’s washing machine. The program was supposed to start at 10am (African time). The audience was made up of some of our supervisors, some host families, the local news and our trainers. First, there were some speakers. Then, we said our pledge of service where we promised to serve the people of Namibia to the best of our ability for the next two years. Then we said the same pledge of service in Afrikaans, KKG, Oshiwambo, Otjiherero, Rukwangali, Silozi and Thimbukushu – whichever we had been learning over the past couple of months. True to my form, I was laughing by the time we reached the end of the pledge. It wasn’t how we sounded that got me laughing; it was the response to our pledge that I was giggling at. The end of each sentence was followed by the audience gasping, ooos, awes and clapping. You would’ve thought we were juggling fire while standing on a bed of nails. It was cute. I think they were proud. Yay! We made it to PCV! There were 69 PCVs sworn in. We started with 70 PCTs. That’s got to be one for the record books, I think. I’ve got a lot of NAM 27 pride.

After our pledge a volunteer from each language group gave a thank you speech in the language they had been working on. These were equally as impressive to the audience. For KK, my good friend Nick gave the speech (with permission to use his name online!). He did a good job… as far as I could tell… Hey, I don’t speak the language. It’s hard to tell if you speak KK well because locals tend to laugh. Sometimes they laugh because you just said a lot of gibberish and sometimes they laugh because they’re overwhelmed with joy that an American would care to learn their language. I’m sure it was the second but our pledge and speech were reciprocated with snickers.

I was forewarned about what would happen next, but that didn’t make it any easier. People were literally whisked away by their supervisors and transports to site. Some of them didn’t even change out of their dress clothes before they were driven away. I didn’t think it would be hard. After all, I came here to work with Namibians not to make friends with Americans… or so I thought. In the past months, I’ve made some good friends. There were only two who knew each other when we arrived in DC, and they’re married. In DC, they gave us all pink yarn for our bags, told us to look out for each other and put us on a plane for Africa. Ten weeks later, that’s what we’ve done. I don’t think I’ve had a single problem that at least three people didn’t try to help me solve. Obviously, there are politics and, obviously, we’re not all best buds for life… but they’re my Namibian support system. Luckily, they’re all still in country and saving the world at their respective sites. And, as a bonus, we all get back together at reconnect with awesome/absurd stories to share!

Again, true to my form, I was one of the last to leave. I got to stay another night at the retreat center and then left for site on Thursday morning. All of the volunteer teachers in the Kunene regions rode together. Everything went really smoothly until we had driven an hour or so north. We stopped in Otjiwarongo, one of the last big towns, for shopping at Super Spar (I love that place!). When we were about to leave our driver noticed that something had gone wrong with the tire. This was no big deal, since we weren’t actually moving when he discovered that something was wrong. But it did lend itself to us sitting in a broken down car with all of our groceries waiting a couple of hours for the Ministry of Education vehicle secretary to get back from lunch and give us the keys to another (older) combi. By the time we got a new car and drove the next hour and a half (two hours or more by slow old combi) to Khorixas, it was 5pm. It had taken seven and a half hours to drive what would normally take four hours. This is when I realized I actually love and hate life in Namibia, at the same time. On one side, I got to hang out with all the Kunene volunteers for a few extra hours and the roadblock guard said he wouldn’t let anyone into Khorixas who looked like they would give me trouble (How many of you have your own personal Namibian road block, huh?). But, on the other hand, it took all day to get a simple trip done. The five other PCVs who were supposed to make it to site couldn’t keep traveling because it is not safe to drive at night – elephants, warthogs, kudu, dikdiks… you name it, it’ll prance in front of your car. So, they all stayed over in K town. The sleepover was fun.

Before I got to Khorixas, my supervisor called to let me know my flat wasn’t ready. My flat is attached to school hostel in the location. However, the ministry of education has a house in town that education volunteers live in. When I got to town, they gave me a set of keys to this house. The house has a living room with three extra mattresses, two unoccupied bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, toilet room, bathroom and washroom. I’ll be staying in this house for… well that seems to be the question of the day. Some say I’ll be here until Monday, others say a week, others two and some even say a month. The volunteer house is a bit of a luxury because it is fully stocked with furniture, dishes, bedding, hangers, fans… all of the things I should have been buying with my settling in allowance. The downside, according to Namibians, is that I have to walk half an hour to school. Despite all the perks, I look forward to living in my flat because it will be easier to work with the hostel kids (I’m interested in starting a reading club, girls club and, if its not too nerdy, some sort of science club). Also, I can unpack into my own space and be my own American self – loud emo music, funny food and isolative ways. I think it also helps me relate more to the kids I’m teaching if I live in the location with them. The kids, the roosters, the drunkards and me…

Khorixas is very different than I remember it. It feels HUGE! I think this is because I’ve just spent so long in Otjimbingwe. The first place we stopped when we got to the city was the ministry building. It is in the center on a big hill. From there, you can see the entire location in one direction and the town in the other. I was shocked by how huge it looked. The site description says “semi-urban” but I was beginning to doubt that in my time away. When I first arrived in Khorixas, during site visit, I had only been to Okahandja. Okahandja, at least the part we’re allowed to stay in, is western and paved. Khorixas was dusty and small in comparison. After visiting Khorixas the first time, during shadowing, I was put at a farm school and then, Otjimbingwe; both tiny places. Now, anything bigger than 500 people feels like New York. Last I heard there are between 5,000 and 10,000 people here (It’s hard to get a good measure because some don’t really work or have homes… they just drink). All I can say is that 40,000 people in my “small” hometown is going to be quite a shocker two years from now.

I start work tomorrow. I’m a little nervous for the chaos that will consume my life after that. I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, though, I’m just kickin it in my new digs in K town. I live with a British VSO who works in the Ministry of Education office. The past couple of days have been great! I sleep! Ten hours last night! Until 8 in the morning – what?! I cook! Sometimes pancakes, sometimes tortillas, sometimes no-bake cookies… hey, I’m scared to light the gas oven on my own. Friday was free SMS Friday – always a pleasure. I know I’ve SMSed too much when I am typing on a computer, get to the bottom of the page, press down and expect it to take me to the top again. Ai. Saturday, the other PCV in Khorixas cooked dinner for the SCORE volunteer and me. And, today… Today, I don’t think I’ve done a single thing. Thank Goodness!

January 15, 2008

I’m gliding. Really, that’s just the only way to get through the chaos of Namibian meetings… Just glide over it all with a little caffeine, a lot of patience and a good phone equipped with internet and wikipedia. Yesterday was the cluster wide meeting. We went over a lot of technical things like exams, pass/no pass requirement (to pass you need 3Ds and 2Cs. I kid you not), sports and transportation. Today we registered learners. This means I got a table and chair and sat outside from 8 am to 1pm and waited for anyone who wanted to register for grade 7. Not that this means I got to register them – oh, no. I said, “Wait here” and then went to go get someone else to register them. Make sense? If so, please explain it to me, because I don’t get it.

Life outside of school has been good also. I spend some time cooking. Last night was potato night. Today, we’re trying fat cakes. You use the sun to help the rise. Sounds fun. Also, the reception around town has been interesting. It’s been mostly good, which, I suspect, is a result of the large number of volunteers who have preceded me. I think I have the best of both worlds because there have been many volunteers in the city but there has only been one at my school. This minimizes the comparison boat and I greatly appreciate that.

Well, more later – as always. I’ve got to scoot because sunlight is fading and I still need it for my fat cakes.

It's official. I am now a PCV and not just a wimpy PCT. I am going to my permanent site tomorrow (maybe... this is African transportation we're talking about here). I am so excited to unpack my suitcase from... what is it now... eleven weeks ago. This past week has been a blur and I am sure it will not slow down anytime soon. I start school on Monday. Ahhhh! I'm slightly scared, slightly excited and slightly exhausted. Anywho, I just wanted to pop in and let you know that I am still here but things are a little hectic. I'll let you know all the juicy details about our Swearing-In Ceremony today and also about my new site (if/when I get there...). Also, I have a new mailing address for those of you who telepathically know packages and letters make my day/week/month.

Jessica Royer

PO Box 261

Khorixas

Kunene, Namibia

Africa

I'm just walking my beat... Namibia's my beat and I'm walking it :)

My host mom and dad at the appreciation dinner.

Modal school. I'm on the left in the green (to the right of the PCT with the black shirt and head scarf). Bat boy is just in front of me and one to the left (in front of the PCT with the pink shirt)(he looks a lot more scary in this picture than he really is).

Me teaching some learners how to take self portraits.

The nine PCTs in The Bing! Christmas Eve in the grade 7 classroom.

Well. These are some thoughts from the past month... These are some un-proof-read thoughts from the past month. I hope you won't judge me... I can usually spell. Um, usually.

December 7, 2007

Every Friday in December and January is free SMS Friday. SMSes are text messages with MTC (my phone company here). You can message anyone in Namibia for free all day Friday. Well, you can imagine the frenzy this causes. And it is only multiplied by 10 between technology starved Americans. We send SMSes across the classroom, from the front seat of a taxi to the back seat or even play SMS tag…. We send them anywhere! Today, the name of the game was lame pick-up lines Namibian style (Actual Namibian pick up lines usually go something like “Marry me” and “Take me to America” and similar such romantic ideas) (Ours were much more unrealistic… but hilarious) (to us…).

I got an SMS pick-up line from a fellow trainee friend this morning that I thought was funny. I shared it with my friends who all thought it was equally funny. I said something about saving it for my blog… but luckly, my fellow trainees stopped to reason with me. They said I couldn’t send it to the states. They said there was no way it would make any sense in the states even with half an hour of explanation and so on.

But, alas, I will attempt the explanation. You must realize, however, that this will suck all hilarity out of the situation… but here it goes:

- People eat goat here. A lot.

- People eat all parts of the goat.

- Goat heads are the most valuable part.

- Goat heads are put in a pot of boiling water to cook them.

- As goat heads boil, the skin shrinks back and reveals the teeth.

- Since the goat’s teeth show after cooking they call cooked goat heads “smileys” because they look like they’re smiling.

You’ve got to be wondering how this relates to a pick-up line by now… and with the proper background, you are ready for the lame pick-up line SMS:

“If you were a goat I would put your head in a pot and boil you just to see your smile.”

See, funny, right?

Contrary to popular belief and logic, all of this is not to educate you on the shrinking skin dynamics of goats but is really an odd attempt to appreciate you for reading about my adventures in Namibia. I realized that the longer I spend in seemingly absurd situations, the more confusing I sound. Hopefully, by explaining some things… like goat heads… I’ll sound a little less crazy in the long run.

It’s working, right? Sanity is the first thing that came to mind when you read this post, yes?

December 9, 2007

A fuzzy puppy just pounced on my foot. And I’m starting to like (read: tolerate) instant coffee. It’s been a good day.

Last Tuesday, we met our host families. We will be staying with these families for one short month (during modal school). I am staying with a Lutheran Pastor in the small village, Otjimbingwe (we call it The Bing). The house is very very nice and big, by African standards. My room is decorated with dolphins and blue. All blue. Everywhere. It makes me laugh. In the house there is also my host mother, her two daughters, two nieces, two sons, one guard dog (Shakira) and four puppies. Tomorrow, though, all but the oldest son and father will travel to the farm for Christmas. The remaining three of us have been charges with protecting the house from theft over the holiday. A noble cause, I suppose, but it makes for a quiet Christmas.

Most of the kids (teenage girls mostly) were nice to me. They were very cautious of me at first and spent a lot of tome whispering. Today, though, they would wander into my room to ask me for my phone number, my sister’s name (the only one brother thing is a shocker to everyone) or how my school prep was going. I’m not sure if those are friendship questions but I felt better about the whole situation. Then it was time for Christmas. Most of the gifts I brought for the host family were pink. This was problematic seeing how all potential pink-lovers are leaving. I gave the girls some hair-ties (good for school uniforms according to mom), a purse, heart socks, a coin pouch, barrettes, and, of course, Tilikum carabineers. I let them duke it our as to who got what. Today, I also received free access to the kitchen. Sweet! “Be creative,” they said, “you must cook for yourself.” To an over-independent kid like me this was great news. So, off to the kitchen I trot to be creative. Apparently, this meant be creative tomorrow, though… fish is on the stove right now and I wasn’t the one to start it.

This will be the 5th night at homestay and things are going pretty well but they didn’t start out that way. On Tuesday night, I ate the wrong part of the goat, got laughed at and put my self in my room for the night to cry and text my mom (thank God for technology). Wednesday was much better because I could focus on modal school. I got to spend the morning with the 8th grade class. They basically threw me in a classroom and said get their names and ages and dismiss them in two hours… Distracting kids? I’m trained in that. I started out with the line up log… without the log. They had to get themselves in alphabetical order without speaking. I though it would be too easy for them. But it wasn’t. And nobody knew what to do with names that started with clicks. So, we downgraded to a spelling and math bee. The kids were so competitive (the good kind)(it was cute). I was also joined by one of our TRC (teaching Resource Center) Trainees. She drives in every day from Omaruru to work with us. She thinks we’re the best modal school. Mostly because we are… She’s a retired teacher from the Southern US. It’s been a lot of fun to work with her.

After we dismissed the kids, we started planning more for modal school. Basically, “planning” means constructing from scratch. Luckily, I’m working with 8 PCT girls from the states with no experience, lots of opinions and good old-fashioned American work ethics. It turns out I will be teaching grade 7 Natural Science, grade 8 Maths, and grade 10 Physics for the next three weeks. I am very excited about all of my classes (even though vectors are still a little fuzzy in my memory).

After our first day at work our language lesson for the afternoon was cancelled. All of us were still skeptical of the homestay situation so we got cooldrinks (it is one word and encompasses all drinks except alcohol) from the only store in the village – they sold out after the nine of us left. Then we escaped down to the riverbed to hide with the goats.

All that to say, I made it through the week and I am feeling more and more comfortable in my host family’s house (minus occasional cow heads in the kitchen sink). I think shopping with my host mom yesterday for some groceries and making tea and watching the news every night with the family has helped a bit. I also learned that “you must learn Nama [KK]” means “we wish you could hang out and be more relaxed” not “you suck because you can’t figure out our secret code”. I’m sure that sounds obvious to you rational-thinkers at home but it took me a few days to figure out… and. I think the paranoid side-effects of the Mefloquine is kicking in… or maybe that’s just me being paranoid…

I have so many more things to write about – like, my lesson plans, being addicted to cell phone facebook, and stories about quirky trainers with gold teeth who try to help you hang up you moss-quite-o’s (mosquito) net and get lost in your house while carrying a huge garbage can (actually… that’s the whole story…) But, all of these things will have to wait for another day. It’s 9:45 and that means way past my bedtime. Hey. Give me a break. I wake up at 4:30.

!gaise om re! (sleep well)

Nam (love), Jessica

December 13, 2007

Yesterday was mail day! The PC drove our mail out to the village; I got a Christmas box from my parents and a card from Bethany… Seriously. It felt like Christmas morning.

November to March is “rainy season” in Namibia. My PCT friend from Seattle and I brought rain jackets because of this. Um. No comment on how stupid we feel about that now. It really just means that the 10 days with 30 minutes of rain will fall somewhere in these five months. I do “miss the rains down in Africa” though because when it actually rains it’s beautiful. However, I also do not like the rain because before it rains it has to get ungodly hot. Yesterday was ungodly hot and in the evening clouds appeared. I was hopeful but there was no rain. This morning I woke up and it was a little cool and some of the clouds had stuck around.

I took advantage of the familiar weather and the fact that I had a tiny stocking hanging in my room. I woke up about an hour before my alarm (I can’t help it). I put my ipod on a Christmas mix and downloaded the Oregonian headlines on my phone. It was great! But then I had to come back down to earth, realize I was still in Africa, and get out of bed to go to school.

I was given creative license in the kitchen a few days ago but this morning was the first morning I actually got to cook for myself… not that this means I cooked for myself. I had cornflakes (I’m my father’s daughter).

Modal school starts at 7:40 in the morning with an assembly. The Americans usually get there about 7:05 but the keys don’t usually wander in until about 7:44. Most school classrooms here open to the outside. The hallways are the sand pits in between the buildings. We sit around in the sand pits comparing notes about learners, lesson plans and host families. At 7:40, the learners stand in lines under the big tree in the yard. They sing and then say the Lord’s Prayer. When they are dismissed they have to go to their classroom and stand in lines outside the door. The 9 American (women) teachers then let the girls in the and then the boys to find their seats. Every class must begin with “Good morning, class” “Good morning, Miss Jessica” “How are you, class?” “We are fine, Miss Jessica. How are you?” “I am fine. Thank you. You may have a seat.” It’s really still creepy to me but I’m not here to change the Namibian greeting policy. Then I take attendance. I know that you all were worried that I wouldn’t be able to take attendance, but, alas, do not worry. We got half an hour and diagrams on how to take attendance. All schools in Namibia take attendance one way. No other way is acceptable. On tally means that the leaner is there. This tally must be in the same color that the name is written in. Learners who are absent must have a lower case “a” written in red. The red is not as important as it being lower case but both are preferable… oh, gosh.

Anyway, 1st period is grade 7 (not 7th grade) Natural Science. We are learning about matter and it’s three phases. Today, we tried to talk about melting/freezing temperatures but it totally bombed. They got that melting and freezing happen at the same temperature. But when I tried to do an example with a thermometer they had never seen one. Then, once I explained a thermometer they didn’t have any experience with negative numbers and temperatures. The whole lesson downgraded to a lecture on number lines and negative numbers but they weren’t getting the connection. I’ll have to figure out what to do with them tomorrow.

Period 2 is grade 8 Maths. I really like this class. They are the worst behaved but I think that makes them more interesting. They talk all the time but it is mostly about math so I don’t really see a problem with it. We are going over the order of operations (BODMAS here, not PEMDAS). I did have a few normal examples then I did a really long equation that took up the whole board. Then I asked them to come up with an equation they thought would stump the class. All of theirs were way harder than mine. We’ll finish those tomorrow. I had to work on one of their long division problems for them because it involved decimals. Other than that, they are pretty up to par (which means they can add, subtract, multiply and divide – yippee!).

Period 3 is grade ten Physical Science. I decided to do Physics with them. I decided this when I found out that they were only adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing in grade 8. Little did I know that “grade 10” meant “anyone in the village who happens to be bored during summer break”. We’ve had grade 12, we’ve had university students and, I swear, some guys wandered over from the shebeen (she-bean) (bar) across the street. I would love to teach them physics but I don’t know if I’m the most qualified. They ask really great questions but some of them are making me stretch all the way back to my General Physics class at college.

Period 4 I’m off. And period 5, I become a lunch lady. We feed the kids everyday. It’s a perk of coming to school in summer. Today some small kids wandered into the schoolyard during fourth period. I was speaking KK with them and they weren’t making any sense. The PC driver who brought our TRC friend from Omaruru let me know that the kids were street kids who weren’t always there mentally… I guess I should have known… one of them had a petrified bat. Anyway, after all the learners finished getting their food, these kids were lined up so they could pretend to be school kids. They filed through and got food. It was cute… petrified bat or no…

The point of modal school, according to the PC, is to evaluate our teaching. This means that we will have evaluations everyday – surprise! They’re here to rate your class! Sort of visits. I don’t minds and have done well on most of my evaluations so far (today, I accidentally said the sun and moon rotate around the earth… er… oops). They only problems that arise are the differences between the American school system and the Namibian. In the Namibian school system, the ministry of education makes the syllabus. The ministry also makes the tests at the end of the year. I understand why they do this. They are trying to get all of the regions up to par. This wouldn’t be a problem id the syllabus (and subsequently, the tests) were good… but they are not. They syllabus requires, let’s say, grade 5 to go over topics 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Then grade 6 should cover 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Then grade 7 gets 2, 2.5, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10.5… and since tests are national, they have to get through the entire syllabus. There’s no time to get through the syllabus! Teachers have just enough time to do an introduction to every topic and them move on. My grade 8 class can do long division but if I threw a side-ball at them like decimal division they couldn’t do it. They have gone over division for five years but have never gotten more then an introduction. If the syllabus went more like: grade 5 is 1, 2, and 3. Grade 6 is 4, 5, 6 and grade 7 is 7, 8, 9, 10… it might make more sense, right? These kids don’t need to know about circuits and mirrors in grade 7. I didn’t learn about them until college… where I actually got to learn them and not just the vocabulary.

A lot of Namibian teachers push to get through the syllabus to stay on schedule without checking to make sure the kids get it. Today, we were told “a good teacher makes it through the syllabus” and “you all must work on time management”. I understand not wasting time but making sure the class gets the idea – important, right? And, by the way, I marked (graded) some national exams a couple of weeks ago in natural science. 20/100 is average, 30/100 is good, and 50/100 is downright impressive. You’re not allowed to mark an exam 0/100 so the lowest one I marked was 2/100.

I felt a little like crying after that conversation. You may think, well, the kids in my class will do better on the exam when I get done with them. But volunteers who have been here see little or no improvement in their learners scores compared to other teachers. The bogus syllabus coupled with students speaking a second (or third) language in school have done most of the damage before we get here…

After a whole afternoon of being immersed in Namibian logic I wanted to scream. And come up with a reason for being here.

I can’t end on a bitter note. And I’m not bitter, just American. So I will tell you about my favorite puppy. There are four – Vital, Shasha, Dangerman and the un-named one. The un-named one is my favorite. He came in the house today to watch me eat. At first he sat there wagging his tail. Then he stopped and one eye started to droop. Then he started to lean. Then he fell down asleep… which woke him up and his tail started wagging again. This whole thing happened about 4 times before I finished eating. It was so cute and I was laughing so hard my host family probably though I was crazy. Ai (my new favorite Namibian expression of exasperation).

A Few quotes from The Bing – you don’t have to understand them but they make me giggle.

“Alright. The kid's riding a donkey to the bar. We’re in Africa.” – general observation

“Well, TIN, I guess” –Me (This Is Namibia… watch Blood Diamond…)

“No, TIML.” –PCT friend (This Is My Life)

“I’m going to chillin’” – our trainer

“No… it’s ‘I’m going to chill’ or ‘I am chillin’’” – PCT

“Oh, I am chill…” – Trainer

“’Just for kicks’ means ‘just for fun’” – me

“Oh, just for kicks.” – Namibian, proceeds to make kicking motion while mumbling phrase to himself

“In America, are you having goats?” – Namibian

“Yes, for milk and cheese.” – PCT

“Do you think they would ship the meat when they are finished?” – Namibian

“I think that he can’t read. Maybe he should be in grade 8 instead.” – PCT with a problem

“Will he then be able to read in grade 8? No. He will stay in grade 9.” – Namibian solution

“I think my grade ten learner winked at me today” – PCT

“I just got a shot in a gas station parking lot. All my dreams have been fulfilled.” –PCT

“Hey-O.” – Me

“Oh, what does that mean?” – Namibian

“It means ‘hey’ or ‘hi’” – me

“Oh. In what language?” – Namibian

“English. It’s a song.” – me

“Hey-o… this is what I say-o” – another PCT helping me out

“Oh, I see, Hey-o” – Namibian, clearly not getting it

“We are closer to the city center now.” – Trainer

“There are 500 people here. There is no city.” – me

“Miss, where will you live while you are here?” – Grade 10 learner

“Khorixas in Kunene” – me

“Oh. You know what they have there?” – Grade 10 gets up and writes “KFD” on the board

“I do not know KFD.” – me

“Miss, it’s Kentucky Fried Donkey.” – learner

“Where are you from?” – man on street

“America” – me

“I want to marry someone with white skin like you.” – man

“You’d probably be better with a Norwegian. They’re whiter.” – Me

“No. They must be American.” – man

“Oh. Well. Good luck with that.” – me

*PCT friend walks up

“How about you instead.” – man

“Um, what…?” – PCT friend

*In a car

“Hey, Steve…?” – me to my language trainer

“Oh. Hallo my sister.” – Steve

*10 minutes pass in car

“Hey, Steve…?” – me asking another question

“Oh. Hallo my sister.” – Steve

*5 minutes pass in car

“Hey, Steve…?” – yet another question about language

“Oh. Hallo my sister.”

* laughing * - me

“Have I shocked you with my overly friendly nature?” – Steve

“That. And you’ve answered every question with Hallo” – me

“Is your brother bigger than me?” – grade 8 four and half foot tall learner

“Yes. He’s 24.” –me, laughing

“Oh. Miss, I am 25.”

“And your [PCT] friend, how old is she?” –Host dad

“24” –me

“Oh! Older than you? But she is shorter than you.” –host dad

“Um… yup…” –me

*Arib means dog in KK

“I have two aribs. How do you say two dogs, Steve?” –me

“Ariba means ‘up! Get up!’” –Steve

“In Khoekhoe, Steve, not Spanish.” –me

“Oh. Aribkha is two dogs.” –Steve

“I think it’s best to think of Christmas in Namibia like bottled ice tea. It tastes fine if you pretend it’s something else.” –PCT

“Hi Jessica. I am running out of vocabs. Kindly download some onto my human CD.” – Language trainer asking for impressive English phrases

“My host brother is a whiz with the saw. William-Sonoma should jump on the gourmet saw bandwagon, no?” –PCT

December 23, 2007

Right now is the most normal I’ve felt in weeks. It was the first Sunday of CBT that the Peace Corps didn’t plan anything for our group in the morning. I’m staying with a Lutheran Pastor and I was sure this meant I was headed for church. Normally, I love church. But… It is the middle of the summer, they put about three more people in each pew than actually fit, their services are three to four hours long and its all in Khoekhoe… And as tempting as all that sounded I really didn’t want to go. But I got up this morning, put on one of my two skirts I have with me and my bright green flip flops that don’t match anything and sat on the couch waiting for the other shoe to fall. The Pastors wife and his three daughters returned home yesterday unexpectedly (they did not say they were coming back until the 28th) but they were all going to church. It was about 20 minutes after the service was scheduled to start when the wife came in to tell me they were going to church and that I probably shouldn’t go. I don’t know what that meant but I didn’t argue. But I did make chocolate chip cookies. And Macaroni and Cheese… from scratch. I’ve figured out the white sauce… I’m awesome. Alfredo? Cheesy sauce? Garlic Sauce? I’ve got it down. I made cookies for the whole family but I didn’t make enough mac and cheese. I felt bad so I saved some for them to taste but I think it didn’t have enough meat for them… or any meat… so its still sitting in the fridge. When the family came home from church, they brought some members of the congregation with them. There are a lot of people in this village who just don’t have anything… nothing… There’s this one kid – I think I wrote about him earlier. He was the one with the petrified bat after school. Since then, this earned him the name “bat boy”. I even sing him his theme song any time he shows up for food in the afternoon. It’s the batman theme song, except at the end I say bat boy. I don’t think he’s caught on that it’s his song mostly because he doesn’t speak any English and the locals keep telling me he’s crazy. I think they’re wrong though. This kid’s got it together. I see him around town and he’s always got food in his hands. He knows how to work the system. Anyway, he walked in with my host family after church. So, what was I to do? I sang him his song and gave him a cookie. There were some other kids that came too. My host family gives them a tiny chore to do – like mop the front porch or coil up the hose – and then they get food. Since I’ve been in this village I’ve seen the decency of people more than I ever have: 28 year old drunkards with no future split their candy bars with street kids, the peace corps driver passes his newspaper on to the old man who always sits on the street corner, all of the grade tens (They weeded out all those who were older than grade 12. So now it’s just the nice mannered ones left. It’s turned into my favorite class.) walk me home because its sunset and similar such things. It makes me think that people are mostly good (I had never really decided before). Anyway, these kids all got a piece of the goat that was killed in the yard last night. The spinal column was on the menu today. I think this is a great system. It lets them get food but they’re not getting it for free. They come knowing they’re going to have to work for their food. It’s good because it gives them some dignity.

It’s really hot today (real hot. Not the average hot that it is every other day). But I braved the heat and came to school to work on my lessons for this week. But I brought my computer too. When I got here. I turned on some tunes. It’s been so long since I’ve heard American music out loud (not headphones). I missed it. Bad Mamma Jamma? Yes please. A little American Idiot? Alright. Some A Boy Named Sue? I could handle that. The combo of cookies, mac and cheese, some time to myself and my music at my volume (everything is always three times louder than necessary) made me feel human.

I’ve got exactly one week of CBT left. I think I can make it. I’ve finally decided on the reason I go through some of the hard things I do… when the lows are low, the highs are even better. For example, there’s a reason 3AM is the best time during finals week in college. It’s because you and your friends have gone crazy. That’s when the memories are made. During CBT, memories are made when all 9 Americans are fed up with their host families. They cram into their trainer’s tiny tiny living room, cut up one apple and candy bar with a Swiss Army knife and sit on the floor so no one can see white faces through the window. I laughed so hard I was crying. When the lows are low, the highs are high.

CBT isn’t that bad though. It’s just hard. Everything is permanently awkward. You’re always wrong… wrong way to wash clothes, cook, brush your teeth, go to bed, wake up, etc. Your host family knows exactly what you are doing at all times of the day. And American humor doesn’t fly most of the time in Namibia. The lows are low. The highs though, are bat boy, puppies, when your host dad finally chuckles at one of your jokes, trying to figure out your host family’s printer with your host brother and making him laugh at a spooler (if you know what a printer spooler is, let me know, because I hate them :] … ), having them name Chocolate chip cookies “Jessica’s specialty”, and getting invited to your learners’ soccer game. When the lows are low, the highs are high. That’s all I’m saying.

December 27, 2007

Here I am. Three more nights in this house. They just gave me ice cream and fruit. I should love them forever, no? Secretly, I am super duper looking forward to getting on with this process. On Sunday we go back to Okahandja to meet up with the rest of Nam 27. Then, on the 9th we have the swearing in ceremony and move to our permanent sites. It will be so nice to get to Khorixas because I won’t be living out of a suitcase anymore. I can cook for myself and clean for myself and shower when I want. But it will be kind of sad too because I’ll be away from some new friends (American and Namibian) and traveling to them is hard in this country.

CBT (Community Based Training) had a lot of ups and downs – I’ve covered those already. But things have been so nice since the whole family got back. They talk a lot about me, in front of me, in KK. But other than that things have been kind of relaxing… and surprisingly not awkward. We looked up horoscopes the other day. I translated phrases like “put your money where you mouth is” and “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. We watched “Once Upon a Time in Mexico” on Christmas and spent a few hours going through my ipod. I still can’t fix the darn printer though. More people in the house means less attention on me – which I greatly appreciate. I’m just sad it couldn’t be this comfortable the whole time.

Christmas was really nice. I unwrapped some presents from home that came in the mail. Then, I made some cookies (bat boy showed up again. I swear he’s got a radar for food). I visited some friends and learners around the village then hung out at the house. It was actually a cold night too. So nice.

Wednesday and Thursday I gave finals for summer school. And tomorrow we’re handing out certificates. Tonight is the first night in awhile that I haven’t had anything to plan… I’m kind of lost and confused. I don’t remember free time. The Peace Corps has owned all of my time lately.

January 1, 2007

Ai. I don’t know if I can explain this past weekend without sounding completely crazy. Though, you have made it this far in my CBT ramblings. And I like you. I will try.

Friday morning was our last day of modal school. Some of the learners’ parents came to watch the certificates. Each of the grades (5-10) performed a song. Then we gave them their certificates. It was cute… and chaos… We took a whole school picture. I am sure I will post that at some point in time…. Someday when I have a lot of patience for Internet.

After the ceremony the other teachers and I were cleaning up the school. We had locked up all the classrooms and were about to go relieve the local store of all their cooldrinks. As some of the teachers were gathering things, I was standing waiting with another PCT in the schoolyard. Bat Boy was there. This was not a surprise. He came to almost every day of school and would sit in the yard waiting for food. I also found out from my host family that he is about 11, though he looks 7. This day he was cutting up a roll of tape. My PCT friend told him to stop because it was a perfectly good roll. This didn’t really fly because, well, he’s crazy and because he doesn’t speak English. I said that he had a knife (read: some sort of sharp object) and to not mess with him. My PCT friend thought this was sound advice and started walking away. In slow motion, I saw Bat Boy wind up to make a huge stabbing lunge at my PCT friend. Ai. I started screaming No. He stopped before he hit her. He thought the whole thing was hilarious. I was so angry. All the other teachers heard the screaming and came to see what was the matter. This only provided an audience for Bat Boy and he tried it again. This time he chose a poor target, though. One of our PCTs is from Chicago and she swore she would “beat him down” if he “weren’t a 6 year old”. We left the schoolyard quickly and a few of the grade ten boys were standing there. We asked them to ask Bat Boy to leave (this is where learning the local language would have come in handy). They went into the schoolyard, picked up Bat Boy, took his knife, carried him out of the schoolyard and told him to go. The whole situation is so absurd. It’s still a little surreal… and it kind of makes me laugh. We’re all fine. Don’t worry. I know to be more cautious of the one’s they tell me are not right in the head.

Friday night was birthday party for one of the PCTs. We made brownies and then walked up to the hill in town with the water tower. The view was gorgeous. Those pictures, I’m sure will make it to the Internet someday too. On the way home, the janitor at the school stopped me and asked me where I was coming from. He asked in KK… so I asked for a translation of the question. Then, I promised that I would have an answer in KK for him the next day (this usually works on ridiculous requests for anything. By tomorrow, they have usually moved onto another problem to solve). Anyway, I walked rest of the way home. When I walked in my host mother asked me in KK where I was coming from. I said the water tower and smiled at them all. Usually, they have to repeat a sentence in KK about 10 times and gesture a motion that indicates the word in order for me to understand. They were all so impressed that I didn’t want to give away my secret. Yet another absurd situation that made me laugh. I hope it made them more cautious about what they say in front of me… they never know what I’ll catch from their conversation… like my name. I always catch my name. Go figure.

Saturday morning we met at the secondary school’s home economics kitchen at 8:30 to cook for our host family appreciation dinner that night. We spent the day making American cookies (my job), baked beans (warmed in the can in the sun. Namibian sun is good for that), rice, chicken, sausage, American salad (the “American” just implies that mayonnaise was not involved) and punch. I think we did a really good job.

We started our party about 4:30pm. Each of the language groups got up and gave a speech in the language they are trying to learn. In the Bing, there were only two language groups. Mine was the KK group. There are three other girls that meet in my language class. The other 5 trainees in the Bing were learning Oshiherero. In our speech, we each said a line or two in KK. We had to apologize at the beginning for any mispronunciations. It is far too easy to swear in KK. If you forget to make a nasal sound instead of an alto sound… or if your tick sounds a little too much like a pop… you could suddenly offend someone’s mother. Then, when we finished our speech, we had our language trainer translate from KK to KK. The host families all laughed at this. Which was really good because it was a joke and they actually got my humor. Yippee.

After all our thank you speeches and we had passed out the obligatory certificates to the families, we served our dinner. Wow. That food got tackled. They like food here in Namibia. They like it a lot. And they like meat more. All that to say, our dinner went over well. It was actually a really fun party. And I think our host family felt appreciated.

Sunday morning a 40 passenger bus came to pick up the 9 of us. I don’t get it. But I did like the air conditioning, the free ride and four seats to myself. Saying goodbye to the host family was just like I was leaving for school in the morning. I will see my host mother and father at swearing in though. This is good because I left some pictures at their house and they will bring them to me at swearing in.

When we got back to Okahandja on Sunday we got to just hang out at our training center. This was so nice. I bought some cheese from Spar (my favorite Namibian grocery store. Only second to Super Spar). My PCT friend from Seattle got a package in the mail and didn’t want her Triscuits. I ate cheese and Triscuits and absolutely no meat for lunch. It was great.

Monday (New Year’s eve) we had a regular day of getting lectures from the Peace Corps on various topics. After it got closer to midnight, we had a little New Year’s Eve party in a dried riverbed nearby. An uneventful New Year’s Eve but it was good. At midnight, we had a hug circle and everyone got a hug from everyone else. Yet another absurd situation… I’m getting used to them, I think.

This morning, some of our group got up early and made an American breakfast for us and for our trainers (for a thank you to the trainers). They made pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, baked apple toppings and real coffee. It was so good. The trainers who were with us in the Bing kept joking that the eggs needed more mayo but I think they really liked the meal. I said next time we can make it an integrated American meal and put mayo and chopped up meat in the eggs then top it all with a little sprinkle of MSG (it comes in its pure form in a “spice” bottle here. Yum). The rest of today has been really chill. It’s been nice to recover from CBT. There was a poker tournament. I didn’t take part but I did laugh at the usage of “Deuce” “River” “Flop” and “Rainbow” (All worthy of a laugh, no? If you don’t think so maybe the movie “Lucky You” is for you). Then, we had a gift exchange. We drew names before CBT for secret pals. Today, we revealed who had and gave gifts. I got a bag of cookies and a candy bar from my secret pal. A trainer had me. I got my person lotion and some pens. It was fun. Also, we set up the Peace Corps’ projector to watch movies. Love Actually is playing right now. I can hear “All I want for Christmas is You” coming from the lawn. I just couldn’t sit in a big group anymore.

Well, I hope I don’t sound too crazy. It’s just one ridiculous situation after another. One minute you’re cutting up 400 Namibian Dollars worth of sausage for you host family and then you’re trying to explain to the trainers that not all Americans form hug circles on New Year’s eve and then you’re fending off a crazy child with a petrified bat and a knife… oh, gosh. Just know that I’m safe, clean, happy (when hysteria hasn’t taken over), well fed, too well fed, and did I mention well fed… More later, I’m sure. Love, J

Hey all. I will be on my way out of our training town tomorrow for modal school (more about it below). I am going to a tiny village... I am really excited to teach math and science for a month but it is really remote. I will still have cell phone reception (in theory) which means I can still check my email and facebbook (in theory) if you need to get a hold of me (boy, I'm really roughin it). Otherwise, I'll see you and my blog about the same time as we all see 2008. Merry Merry Merry Christmas from the middle of the desert. I miss you all very much and I love getting news from home more than most things. Sorry if I haven't emailed back yet... its probably because I've read your letter at least 20 times by now and I am still enjoying reading it.

Love, Jes

December 1, 2007. World AIDS day.

On the 29th, it had been one month since I had left Oregon. In some ways it felt so much longer and in other ways I was still totally ignorant about this country. Since then, I have compiled a list of things that I have learned so far in my Peace Corps experience.

-Clothes can go a lot longer without being washed than previously thought.

-Points and stares are not discouraged by glaring back.

-Namibians can’t tell the difference between green and blue eyes.

-All white people look the same.

-Prices are sometimes marked N$4.99 or N$3.47… but a one cent piece does not exist,

so they have to round to the nearest five when they check you out.

-The point system, the one where you get points for hitting pedestrians, was

developed here. White people are worth the most.

-Fruit juice = sanity

-Ipods, or anything with headphones, are a gift from above… or dad. Either way, they’re invaluable.

-If you stand in one spot too long your flip-flops will melt to the pavement.

-Americans are very solitary people… we need alone time… Namibians do not.

-Roosters are from the devil.

-Nalgenes make good weapons.

-Mace is against Peace Corps policy.

-Your skin being seared off by the sun isn’t so bad as long as there’s a breeze.

-The speed limit is a suggestion including everything within +/- 100 KPH.

-Donkeys are edible.

-Mayonaise is a food group.

-70 Americans never agree on anything.

-Quakers are a mystery those who haven’t lived in Newberg. “…like the oatmeal?” is an acceptable response to a description of GFU.

-We’re all addicted to sugar and it’s not something to be ashamed of.

-Hysterical laughter is my coping mechanism… only after all the others have failed.

-Scabies only lasts 72 hours when not on a human.

-“our” is two syllables. So is “Clothes” (Ow-er and Clothe-es).

-HIV/AIDS is background music.

-“Now” means later and “now now” means now.

-The ABCs of AIDS: A is for Abstinance. B is for Being faithful. C is for Condoms. D is for Or Die… Have really run out of all other education tools…?

-Public trashcans are a great place to find new toys.

-Burn your trash.

-“Invigilate” is not a bad word… but it does mean you’re going to be bored for three hours.

-Peanut butter and jelly can be eaten for two weeks straight without too many side effects.

-Sunglasses are silly.

-Sweat patterns and farmers tans can be fashionable if you know how to wear them.

-Children make the best language coaches and translators.

Yesterday, we all traveled back to our training site from the sites where we were job shadowing. On Wednesday, we made decorations for the school Christmas assembly. All of the lower primary grades (1-4) came for a reading of the Christmas story. Then we painted their hands green so that they could press them on newspaper cut in the shape of Christmas trees. Then they all colored ornaments to hang on the trees. It was so cute but I am sure some of them had no idea what was going. Wednesday was also girls’ club. The Nam25er we shadowed made brownies for the girls. Then, Beth, the other 27 trainee at the site, taught the girls how to salsa dance. Salsa was the dance I was the worst at in Ballroom… but it all came back. I was sure the girls were going to be infinitely better than us but I was surprised at how confused they were. I do not think they had ever been exposed to any formal dance before. Thursday was the upper primary dance. Imagine middle school dances… The line separating the boys and girls exists in Namibia too - they we perfectly happy dancing on their respective sides of the cafeteria. The only thing that brought them together was the three Americans dancing in the middle. We taught them the electric slide, the running man, the dosie-doe, the shopping cart, swing dancing, the wave and the robot. It’s a little embarrassing getting schooled at your own dance moves by a 5th grader but I got over it pretty quickly. I attempted the waltz also but that was too much for them.

Friday, we got a ride with a German volunteer into Windhoek. Then we took a taxi to the taxi point… then we took another taxi to Okahanja… I don’t even know if I can describe taxis here. They are unique… smelly… crowded… but they are typically really nice cars. Anyway, getting back to our training center has been so nice. It is good to see familiar faces… ones that knew me in the US, if only for two days before we left. Today, we had a session in the morning about “modal” school (summer school in the month of December that will be our first official teaching experience in country). Modal school starts next week but our session this morning downgraded to mass expression of worry about spending Christmas with host families in the community. Sometimes we have trouble focusing. The Health workers spent the morning working with a World AIDS Day presentation at the grocery store. The rest of the day has been ours to recover and be alone together. I bought grapes and started another book. I put down “eclipse” after mercilessly being made fun of for reading about vampires… It wasn’t worth the fight. Plus, the book I’ve been waiting in line for was just finished… “Dark Star Safari” is the book we aren’t supposed to read while serving here. It is about the author’s travels to Africa but, according to rumor, turns into a call to remove all aid from Africa… personally, I think it will be a good motivator to start sustainable projects here instead of project that will crumble without volunteer support. I will let you know how the book turns out, though – I’m only on Chapter two.

November 22, 2007

Thanksgiving started out a little rocky. The night before, some stray dogs got in a west-side story brawl outside my flat. And then the roosters… oh, the roosters… The roosters and I are at war. Every home owns at least one. They start at 4:30am and continue until 7:00 or longer. This is to say, I have not gotten a complete night of sleep for a few days. When I arrived at school, my colleague who met me in Okahanja was joking about the culture shock the Peace Corps informed us of before we headed to our site. When she asked me how I was, I told her it was a major holiday in America and that I was a little sad. The word spread and I got happy thanksgiving wishes all day. Then, at the end of the day the teachers sang to me and gave me a thanksgiving/going away/see you next year card with $50 Namibian dollars. It was too much already… then, I got a hug from nearly every one of them.

I had a wonderful thanksgiving dinner at the tourist rest stop about 3km west of here. I had chicken, French fries, carrots, REAL coffee and guava juice. Real coffee was the kicker. They have a variety of instant coffee (all of which I am convinced do not have caffeine) and, maybe, if the grocery store is nice and wind is blowing the right direction they have one pack of ground coffee on the bottom self. I am still ok though because I’ve been rationing the pound of Stumptown I brought. I did not bring any for my two weeks of traveling around though. All that to say, I really enjoyed the coffee. The other Nam 27 trainee, our Norwegian SCORE friend and I celebrated Thanksgiving with about 8 black cats begging. Also, our VSO UK friend showed up later and offered us a ride home… Yes! My achin’ feet

Which smoothly brings me to my next point. I think I have redefined a “walk-able distance”. I have been staying on the far side of the location. It is about a 10-minute (maybe less) walk to town. My colleagues at the school are convinced I am crazy to walk this at any time of day, let alone in the heat… and to walk it everyday… for fun… unheard of. Today, I walked to town to refill my phone minutes, walked back to my flat, walked to the hospital, walked to town for internet, back to the hospital then 2-3k out of town for dinner. Oh, the comments I got. What can I say? “Miss Jessica must like the walking.”

I am a little wary to tell you of the flat that I am in as it is not mine. My coworker has been very generous to let me stay here and to put up with my American-ness. I will tell you about the other PCT’s flat though. She is staying in a dorm on the hospital grounds. Her flat used to be nurses’ housing. The ‘waiting room’ area is very nice-ish. The toilet room has a working toilet (amazing!) but the sink is filled with potpourri (it has not worked for awhile). The shower and bathtub work. The ‘kitchen’ does not have a sink… so they wash dishes, hands and teeth in the bathtub… but all this is perfectly fine with the mouse that lives in the corner.

There are many things that are going to take some patience. For instance, the water has gone out for the night… as well as the electricity. They go at unplanned intervals. Usually, it is not too much of a nuisance… unless, as in my case, the nalgene has gone dry, my teeth are dirty and I have to pack up to leave before sunrise tomorrow… All I have to say is, Thank God for headlamps and the fact that the PC will pay for all of my cavities for the next two years.

November 25, 2007

Drumroll, Please…And my permanent site: Khorixas (pronounced Core-e-haws). It is seriously the American old west. I expect there to be a cowboy walking by with spurs at any moment. Don’t be fooled though, the people are very African. It is the heart of Damara-land. There are many different tribes in Namibia… different races, some say. Tribal issues are raging in some cities. Windhoek has a different location for each tribe. They will not mix. Khorixas, though is mainly Damara. Which means two thing 1) There are not as many tribal conflicts and 2) they speak KhoeKhoe and LOTS of it. I am sure they would love for me to be fluent it their language. I only know because they told me… many times.

Town is two roads wide. They have a “Multi-Save” grocery store, a “PEP” everything store, a couple of bottle stores (alcohol), a post office (I have a box, I’ll get you that number soon), two tourist camps with pools, a private clinic, a bakery and approximately four Afrikaaner families (I only know from gossip). The location is huge… in my opinion. Three of the four primary schools are in the location. The hospital, small stores, soft serve ice cream, many bars, and a couple of take-away restaurants are in the location also. As I said before, I live on the far edge of the location, just before the squatter’s camp. The Donkerhoek is about 50 years old. A German volunteer came after independence and built a beautiful building to serve as a kindergarten. Land of contrast I am living in, it is placed right in the middle of the Donkerhoek. Are you kidding me? I suppose it goes with the beautiful youth center that no one really uses…

On Friday, Jill (the other NAM27 PCT in Khorixas. Her blog is called “sand in my shoes” But I don’t know the address) and I got a free ride from the hospital where she volunteers. They were picking up a nurse in Okahanja. The funny thing about rides here is that they are uncommon. So, when someone is driving a far distance they must have a full car… Jill and I were the second to be picked up. There was already a patient, I think, in the car. They we picked up three kids from the location and their electric piano. We ran a few errands in Khorixas before we headed out of town. We picked up another trainee in Outjo (the gateway to Etosha National Park) and dropped off one passenger. Then we traveled to Okahanja. We got a room at our retreat center. Oh, how amazing that retreat center was! Hot water! Flushing toilets! Pizza within a short walk!

Saturday morning we slept in… until 7. Sometime between 5 and 6 is the norm. We went to the bakery across from the taxi park for breakfast and another cup of real coffee. We all sat and stared with awe and fear at the taxi park. We couldn’t really figure out what was happening. Some taxis would pull up and honk and then the other drivers would swarm. We went back to the retreat center, got our bags, swallowed the lumps in our throats and walked out to the taxi stop. I was sure that three white girls with huge backpacks would cause some sort of swarm thinking they would be able to rip us off. When we walked around the corner, an older man said “Windhoek?” We said, “yup.” He said “hop in.” We said, “how much?” He said, “35.” The correct price is between N$35 and 45. It was so easy! We’ll see how often that happens again.

In Windhoek, I was getting dropped off at the Peace Corps office. I was there to meet a teacher from the NAM25 group. There is a lounge for the volunteers. It has fast free internet and a self full of books for us to borrow. Right now the selection is really good because group 25 is getting ready to go back to the states. There is also a self of stuff that wouldn’t fit in their suitcases. I got a lock for free. I also got a copy of the book Eclipse… Erin. The teacher I was meeting and I went to the mall to pass some time before the other trainee we were meeting arrived from her site. I got some Haviennas (sp?) flip flops and nail clippers. Sweet! There were a few other NAM25/27 groups getting together for a week of shadowing. We all went out to lunch together. It was a lot of fun.

I am currently at a school southwest of Windhoek. It is only a school. There’s literally nothing else here. The kids all stay in the hostel. There is a “college” across the street with 47 students. There they learn business skills mostly. It is beautiful here. The sunset and moon-rise last night were national geographic worthy. I can tell I would get a lot of reading done if this were my actual site. This is her last week here and all the kids are in national exams so I’m not really sure why I’m here to job shadow. It is a really nice time to chill and read though.

November 26, 2007

My “job shadow” has been going really well. Mostly we have been cooking (pizza, pancakes, apple pie) and watching season one of Lost. I had never watched consecutive episodes before but everyone is right, it is really addicting. We wanted to IMBD some questions we had about Hobbits and Polar Bears on tropical islands but, alas, it is luxury that is long gone.

The learners here are really great. We got to help some third graders with a Christmas craft project today. It was a lot of fun. During the reading of the Nativity story, it felt like I had just recently been sitting in a schoolhouse doing the same thing… Then it hit me! Christmas in July! Camp! Oh, gosh…

Yesterday, we walked about 7K to a “ghost” house. It was built by a rich German man before the World Wars. He lost his fortune in Germany and could never return. The furniture was looted and all the windows are gone but it is huge… and creepy. It reminded me of the Adam’s family.

That’s all for now. I am sure I will write later when I have actually done something note-worthy… unlike this post

:)

November 16, 2007

I woke up really homesick this morning. Luckily it is a beautiful morning with a nice breeze and strawberry jam with breakfast. During training we are staying at a retreat center associated with a church. I laughed when we first got here because I traveled so far and ended up at another retreat center… Tilikum, anyone? It is very nice here. They have a hibiscus garden and all of the rooms open into the central courtyard. We eat every meal outside in the courtyard. It’s also kind of like our living room (at night it reminds me of the Penn lobby). At first, we were convinced they were making and feeding us American food with a few variations to get us used to the country’s food. Since then we found out that we are getting average fare for the Namibian: Eggs, bread and peanut butter for every breakfast. The peanut butter they use it a brand called “Yum Yum” and quickly became one of our favorite phrases. Lunch and dinner are any combinations of meat (not white or lean), pasta, mayonnaise and, if we’re lucky, vegetables. It was hard to switch between a simple sugar diet (sweets, fruits, coffee drinks) to a complex carbs and fat diet. I’ve gotten over the worst of the sugar cravings… maybe…

Today, we have language training and classroom management sessions in the mornings. Then, after lunch, we find out sites for the next two years and have a session on transportation. Site announcements are the nervous energy this morning.

November 17, 2007

Well, I found out my site yesterday. After a long (bitter)(unorganized) day of lecture and language training we got to the good stuff. They took us out into the parking lot where they had made a huge map of Namibia. Each township or village had a brick in its spot on the map. They called our names one by one as we walked to our bricks. By the time they got to my name most of the map was full and people were wandering all over Namibia to see where their friends had ended up… No one told me not to tell where my site is… and I haven’t heard it was against any PC policy… but I’ll hold off on it for now.

When I got to my brick I was handed a letter. It was from the previous volunteer in the city. As I was reading my letter another current PCV offered a few tips about the area and the people there. It was so great to finally get some real information! I am in the same area as another volunteer who is working in health. She is very nice and I am looking forward to getting to know her a little better. Some of my “really good friends” (if that possible after two and a half weeks) are about three hours away or less. Three hours is relatively close in this country. The country is so vast and only has 2 million people. I have heard you can drive for hours and not see a soul.

I will be teaching grade 5-7 natural science at a primary school (1-7). The school has 600+ learners and 20 teachers. It is a hostel school but I still find it difficult to believe they put grade 1-3 in the hostel. It’s just so young! I was brushing my teeth this morning in the bathroom and was wearing a teal skirt with a ruffle at the bottom. The ruffle made me giggle seeing how I am not a ruffle person… then it came to me… I am an elementary school teacher! I can wear ruffles, and sweaters with apples on it, and sensible shoes and it’s all perfectly acceptable! This is the life! Graduate and, job.

Today supervisors traveled from all over the country to attend a workshop. We all met in the main hall at the training center. They called out areas and the supervisor and trainee would spot each other from across the room. My supervisor is very nice. It was really good to talk to her about the area and the school. Tomorrow, she is picking me up at the training center and we will travel to the city. Then, I get to spend a week at my site. More later.

November 19, 2007

I arrived at my site yesterday. It was about a four hour drive but we did stop at the Super Spar for groceries. There are groceries at my site but they are more expensive and have fewer options. When I got dropped off at my site all of the girls from the hostel were standing out side to sing “Welcome Jessica Welcome.” It was very cute but also very awkward so I started greeting every one of them. Greeting is very very very very important here. Hey you, at GFU, if you’re coming to visit, you need to get over not wanting to ask, “how are you?” without meaning it. “How are you?” “I am fine. Thank you. And how are you?” “I am fine, thank you.” Is unarguably required for every conversation. It has taken a lot of getting used to and I am sure that I have offended some already. Anyway, my colleagues asked if I would greet every child at the school. I said “Maybe…”

I am currently staying in a flat with one of my colleagues who teacher grade one. She is very nice and very relaxed so I feel at home. She leaves her door open all the time and there is a constant stream of little girls meandering through…. Sometimes stopping to stare at me.

Today, I met with the staff at the school. They also sang for me. Every morning there is an assembly out front of the school with all of the learners (Namlish (Namibian English) for student). They sang the Namibian national anthem (Check. I knew it.) and then introduced me. I had to say a few words so that they could hear my voice. It is so hard to speak to anyone here because I have to talk sooo slowly. My accent is very funny so I have to pronounce each word with a pause in front and behind it. It is very tiring sometimes even just to speak. I told the students hello and that I was very excited to be at their school.

I met the acting principal after that. The school’s principal passed away this September and my supervisor has been acting as principal since. She is very nice and it is a relief to talk with her. Her husband runs a tourist camp and her daughter lived in America for a while so she understands me a little faster. It sounds like they also have my best interest in mind – another huge relief at this point. They are really excited for me to be here also. It is nice but also a little intimidating. They are asking for a lot of help and I am not sure if I can do all of it in two years.

There is a donkerhoek (squatters camp) a stones throw away from the school. A lot of the learners come from the camp. This makes it very difficult because they do not have light or good roofs to do homework at night or in the rain. The school has a program that feeds the students at tea break though (funded by a foreign organization). The dynamic will prove interesting I am sure.

More later on my site. I am missing home very much right now. That said, I am loving what I am doing here. There have been many questions about home. They do not understand the everything is green concept. I have a phone. If you want the number you can ask my parents for it. I have an internet café in my town. So email is relatively accessible - though it is slow and more expensive than normal.

Alright, the other trainee in my town is waiting for me to finish this so we can go to the café. Lots and lots of love, J

They opened the cafe late for us tonight! More thoughts from me below (I didn't spell check them). And in response to the comments: chump change is a common phrase meaning no big deal. The lab is a pretty exciting place also - I had a conversation about fractional distillation with a science teacher here yesterday (they are missing labs here). And I miss sugar so much I eat it any time I can - I think I will not give up a chance if one presents itself in december... sorry.

November 8, 2007

Yesterday I found out that I was going to be learning Khoe Khoe Gowab (sounds like koi koi go baa). It is a clicking language. There are four different clicks. Then, on top of the clicks, each vowel has a low, high and nasal pronunciation. Today was my first language lesson. It was so fun to click, cluck and tsk. I can only make three out of four of the clicks right now but I find myself practicing them everywhere. Not all of the words in the language have clicks, however, those that do are meaningless without a click. Our trainer says that the conjugation is similar to Spanish. I do not know if I will make it as far as conjugating something, though.

November 9, 2007

Second lessons of KhoeKhoe today! It didn’t go as well as the first. Apparently, clicking is a skill you can loose overnight. It is just such a different noise you have to completely retrain your mouth. Honestly, I got a little frustrated today. Our lesson was on the various different combinations of goats that were possible. You may ask, “How many different combinations could there be?” Well, since you asked… I will just let you know that there are separate words for the following combination of goats: one male goat, one female goat, two male goats, two female goats, three or more male goats, three or more female goats, one baby goat, two baby goats and three or more baby goats. Obviously, this raises the question “what if we don’t know the sex of a goat when it hops over our fence? What do you call it then?” As it turns out, you can just remember the word for one male goat and get by in everyday life. This is where I discovered my silly American need to accomplish something in a class. All was solved a little later when I got to practice my KK conversation. Everyone around town, especially the little kids, love to listen us try. Mostly, the kids get a kick out of it but its fun to see them laugh.

Not everyone in my training group is learning KhoeKhoe. On Wednesday, we found out which language we would be learning. Each language is spoken in certain regions of Namibia. This gives us all clues to our final site assignment. However, we do not know our assignments until next week Friday. KK is spoken in many regions that are south of the Red Line (the area north of the line is the area Namibians fled while SA was in control). Other languages provide more clues than mine. For instance, those learning Silozi will be in the Caprivi Strip. Silozi has some similarities to Swahili so I like to eavesdrop in their group. Other trainees are learning one of the following languages: Oshiwambo, Otjiherero, Rukwangali, Thibukushu and Afrikaans. We all got basic Afrikaans lessons as well because it is the “second official language after English.”

Last night, I had the opportunity to hear a church choir practice. They sang in KK. It was beautiful! They insisted that we dance and sing with them. After we danced, they all sat down and it was our turn to perform. There were only about 10 of us there but finding a song to sing between us was difficult. I suggested “You ain’t nothin but a hound dog” but it was shot down in lieu of “Tula Pele” (a Namibian song we’ve been learning – those are the only two words in it). Thinking we were safe, they surprised us with a request for our national anthem. Oh gosh, ten people was not enough for those high notes but we made it through. Then, they insisted that we sing their national anthem as well. So, we sang the Namibian anthem also. Seeing how we have spent a week in this country, have learned two songs, their anthem and have spent time working on two of their languages, I thought that we had done a fair job. However, the choir had to stifle some laughs at us. I think that is something I will have to get used to. I know that I laugh at cultural misunderstandings but I think they are funnier when I actually know what was funny… 

The church choir was in the location. The location can be found on the outside edges of the township. It is where the black people live. The middle of a township is know as “town” and it is where the whites live/lived. This is the way it was way back when but those expectations still exist. Some townships are only locations and some have many locations with a town in the center. It is an interesting idea and really different from our inner-city/suburb dynamic in America.

There is not much else to report these days. We have one more week this school type setting before we can experience more of the country through site visits, job shadows and host families.

I loved receiving some emails the last time I was at the Internet café. The line was so long I only had time to post a blog and download the emails onto a USB drive. Next week I will post this and send out my replies.

I hope that November rain is beautiful and cold. I hope that some of you are wearing fake Target Uhgs and I hope that you had a great cup of coffee today.

Very much love, Jessica

November 12, 2007

Yesterday, I got a chance to go to a church in the location. The service had started at least an hour before we got there. The church had huge windows in the back and as we pulled up it was almost a face off between the 15 volunteers and this huge congregation. The entire service was stopped for the MC to come out and greet us. Then he had us follow him to the front of the church. They cleared out the front two rows of pews for us to sit in. The old women who were sitting there were banished to the steps of the stage. This was done to keyboard music with a canned beat. The whole process was vaguely reminiscent of a Monty Python sketch. The service was held in four languages. English was the least used. Lucky one of our trainers was present and translated the message. The rest of the service we were on our own. The MC paused the service half way through to address us in English. He told us that even though we didn’t understand everything we belonged. He said that we were brothers and sisters simply because we shared a roof. Then, as becoming our custom, we all introduced ourselves and sang the Star Spangled Banner (just the PC group… on stage… for everyone). Why does our anthem have to be so hard to sing?

Saturday was also an interesting day. Lunch was all traditionally cooked. We killed chickens, ate goat face and liver, roasted peanuts, and made fat cakes. It would have been fun but I could only handle being outside for little bits at a time. The increasing summer heat has been getting to me these past few days. I can do what I normally do but lingering in the sun causes a lot of nausea. You may think it was the goat face but it wasn’t… it was the heat. Despite the heat, I did get to discover that fat cakes are where it’s at. The name may make you shy away but I am sure they have less fat in them than donuts.

Khoe Khoe lessons today were really fun. First, we accidentally learned a bad word. We were practicing a two-syllable word and kept pausing on the second syllable. Our teacher was obviously agitated about it. He finally educated us to the meaning of the second syllable on its own. Now I say that word as quickly as I can. Then, we learned how to say “Where are you from?” This phrase it fun for two reasons: One, because it doesn’t have any clicks and, two, because it sounds like an evil laugh. “Maba xu du ra ta ha?” Also, we got to learn yes and no. Yes is “i” (put it in the nose and say e) (I can’t find the nasal symbol on the computer). No is “hi-i” (put it in the nose and say e-e). The squeaking was making me laugh so much that I started crying.

This afternoon I need to work on getting a cell phone. Cell phones are very common in Namibia. Hopefully my cell phone will also act as a modem for my computer. I do not expect to have service and internet access totally set up for awhile. I will make sure to let you all know as soon as I have a number though.

I think that this will be my last post for about three weeks. I am leaving our training town to visit my permanent site next week. Then, straight from there, I am going to shadow another volunteer. I am unsure of internet access for those two weeks. If I get a chance to write I will. Otherwise, I will not be back in this town until the end of my shadow.

I love hearing stories from home! Please send them! I know it requires patience to get a reply but they make the world smaller. I heard a story about my cat yesterday from my dad and it was great.

Ok. I’ve got to go break the Namibian banking secret code to buy this phone. Wish me luck!

I found the internet cafe! I found Namibia! It is hard to get time on the computers but here are some of my thoughts for the past few days:

October 29, 2007

Today was the first official day of “Staging” in Washington DC. This is a time for the Peace Corps to collect our final paper work and prepare us physically and mentally to go to Namibia. For such a monumental task they allot two days. The information is mostly common sense but it is really nice to be able to talk through a lot of things. We compared anxieties, aspirations and the most common goodbye line. It is a great mix of people though. We come from all over the country (70 total with 4 from Oregon and 3 from Washington!) and various backgrounds. For instance, we had to order Aloha pizza tonight instead of Hawaiian. I find it intriguing though that all this will be ‘chump change’ in a few days and we will find more in common in Namibia than we would in the States.

I did take the opportunity to check out the memorials and Smithsonian this morning during my free time. It was great to get to see some of the sights. Though, Dad, they do look just like the pictures. But now I have my own… J

I am missing everyone back home very much. Every so often I have to swallow a huge lump in my throat. The only solution is to think about getting to Africa. I am so excited for this opportunity! All of the pictures, videos and stories from Namibia they’re using for preparation are only making me more excited!

Another update to come!

11-3-07

Last night we made it to Namibia. We left our hotel in Washington D.C. at 5:30 on Wednesday morning. After a few inoculations (none for me, thanks to junior’s abroad), we headed to the airport. The flight to “Jo’burg” was 15 hours and 30 minutes. It was intense! But, thankfully, there were a lot of people to get to know and visit with. We spent Thursday night in Joburg. The hotel was very nice and very welcome sight for some smelly, jet-lagged Americans. Also, in South Africa we met our Associated PC Country Director. He was very nice and, as I was soon to find out, the most informative person in the PC thus far.

The flight to Windhoek (Vind-hook, for the natives, and Wind-hook for us) was only 2 hours long. Sitting in the window seat was a great opportunity to take in some incredible views. It was mostly bush (imagine Arizona-ish) but there were some great “mountains” (Oregonians would call them hills). When we landed in the airport, about 20 of us discovered that the airline just simply didn’t send our bags with us. There were only two who didn’t receive either of their two bags. I was lucky to get one of my bags. It was the bag with coffee, sharpies, sweatpants, one shirt, a sleeping bag, host gifts, and shoes. The other bag has all of my other clothes. The airline assured us that the bags would arrive that night or Saturday. I was a little skeptical. Those doubts of mine were reaffirmed today, when we got a second assurance that they would arrive today or Sunday. Despite the downer, I found myself and most of the other trainees in up-beat moods about the whole situation.

After filling out papers in the airport for our luggage, I walked around the corner to the bus to find a huge Namibian flag and about 20 white people shouting at me. They were representatives of all the volunteers currently serving in Namibia. Just talking to them briefly, I was a little jealous. They had already gone through all the hard things that I still have to figure out.

We boarded the buses and drove 45 minutes into Windhoek and 45 minutes out of town to our training site. When we arrived our trainers were standing out front singing loudly in all the different languages of Namibia. They continued to sing as we all got off the buses and walked behind us, singing us into the training center. It was an awesome reception. They ended their singing by singing the Namibian national anthem. Then they requested our group to sing our national anthem. There are 70 of us but I was sure that would not be enough to hide my voice. Luckily, our trainers hummed along with us. It could have been the hours of flying, being on the wrong side of the world or the Mefloquine but I got a little teary. We had a quick dinner, a few impromptu “goodnight” language lessons, washed some clothes (my only clothes) and hopped in bed for a long night of staring at the ceiling.

Today has felt like we have been in country for at least a week. The day was a little hard. The trainers gave us a lot of logistic information for our post. We also got a chance to learn about the school system. It was very very interesting considering we had little to no information through the whole process thus far. Nam 27 is the largest group. This is because we are implementing a new plan by the ministry of education. Also, the Caprivi Strip is now a safe place to send volunteers and about eight of our group will be heading to that tiny piece of land. Also, we learned that our group will be teaching mostly upper primary, grades 5-7. We met with a 2nd year PCV science teacher who alleviated some of our fears and may have created a few more. Overall, it seems like every situation will have it’s own challenges and reward. As we were reminded several times today, “this is the toughest job you’ll ever love”!

Tomorrow, the science teacher trainees are meeting to discuss site situations. I have to make a lot of decisions about what I would prefer in the way of town size, grade level and location of my future site. I know I can’t post this until a little later, but I could use some prayer. I have a lot of choices in the next 24 hours.

Much love, Jessica

November 6, 2007

Well, I flew out of Portland a week and two days ago but it might as well have been a month or so. I just want to give you a few quotes from our past few days of training that made me giggle:

“Don’t buy that fish … you might be buying yourself a coffin” –during a lecture on cooking and proper food preparation

“If you don’t lay down the rules from the beginning two years will be long time” –briefing on future classroom conduct. It’s really only funny with an African accent, I guess…

“We like to call shots candy. Please, report to room two for your rabies candy.” –trainer (I’m not immune to rabies yet. I need two more shots… ahem, candies. But being one-third immune makes you way more aware of stray dogs.)

“You say Quesha quesha quesha quesha and you send out a compliment” – trainer

“Wasn’t it wok-a wok-a wok-a wok-a…?” – us, later in town.

The Peace Corps is very good at allowing us time to adjust to the country. We have many Namibian trainers who were hired to teach us language, provide medical care and take care of logistics in general. They have spent a lot of time introducing us to the culture, politics, money, health information, songs, jokes, games and the many languages of Namibia. It has been so much fun to talk with them and learn about their country.

For instance, I spent a long time talking with Entertaining Ed (we all had to attach adjectives to our names to make them easier to remember. I was “Just”). I heard all about growing up in Namibia during the fight for independence. For those of you who don’t know (IFY), Namibia was occupied by South Africa. Namibia formed the South West Africa Peoples Organization (SWAPO). SWAPO and most of the population fled to the North and a little into Angola. SWAPO fought down from the North and eventually won their independence in 1990. I also got to learn about business in Namibia, Fishing, mining (Namdeb – for Namibia DeBere’s. I am unsure of spelling), and cattle are all big. We talked a bit about the fishing towns Swakopmund (Swa - coop – moon – d) and Oranjamund (Or – aun – g – moon – d). Oranjamund is in Namibia but you can only access it from South Africa. The government is working on building a road right now. “Mund” means “mouth of…” so Swakopmund means “the mouth of the Swakop River.”

They also have different words for river. One means a year ‘round river and the other refers to one that only runs for part of the year. Anyway, all that to say it has been really fun to learn about a new country. So far, the things I have heard make me very excited to see more of the country.

In fact, we were getting antsy about seeing more so a group of us climbed up a rocky hill nearby. It was really great to get some exercise after a long time in the training center. It was so beautiful at the top… and huge! It went on forever. The sky was awesome.

Overall, training has been very educational, a little too much at times (see: AIDS video), but mostly fun. Nam 27 has its quirks… but overall, they are a great group. They are so supportive of each other. When we had lost our bags (mine came late Saturday night) everyone was willing to share. It’s amazing what being on the other side of the world will do to strangers.

So, basically, all this means it that you all are going to have to visit me!

1) Because I miss you all very much and think of you often:

Mom: I saw tear art in the hills

Dad: The whole river conversation

Dan: I met and African Razor back that gave me some medicinal doggy slobber

Tilikum staff: I got Nam 27 trying to snap their fingers the “correct way”

… who am I kidding, too many to list here

and 2) because Namibia sounding pretty amazing!

Much love, Jessica

Everything is packed! Well, at least there are two suitcases sitting there waiting to go to Africa. They are 1lb above the 80lb limit and 1 inch over the 107-inch limit. My plan you may ask? Tighten the compression straps on my backpack and hope my dazzling smile distracts the airline attendant. As far as what is in the suitcase, we will see. I don’t think at this point I can really predict what I will actually need or want. I think it will be fun to see what the other volunteers couldn’t live without. I am sure my travel-sized Rubik’s cube and lack of a pillow may confuse some of them.

I received an email from the Peace Corps. They modified the training address I posted last time. It is basically the same but with an added street name and number. I’m fairly sure they’ll both work but you should probably use this one. My philosophy on the African postal system is the more information the better!

Jessica Royer, PCT

Peace Corps Office

PO Box 6862

20 Nachtigal St.

Ausspannplatz

Windhoek

Namibia

Whew, that’s a mouthful!

I want to thank you all for the messages, phone calls, gifts and encouragement these past few days. It really has been overwhelming! Really overwhelming! I didn’t know it was possible to feel this loved! Thank you!

Much love, Jes

Dear Friends and Family,

On October 28th, I am going abroad with the Peace Corps to work as a science teacher in Namibia, Africa. The job is 27 months long with about two months of in country training. After training, I will find out which school, town and grade level I will be teaching.

I know that emails, letters and reading/commenting on my blog will be really encouraging as I start this new job (All information below). So please write!

Patience is a virtue I will be learning these next two years. For example, the Namibian postal system mostly trustworthy, however, It will take about two weeks for something to reach me and about two months for me to mail a letter back to the states. Internet access is slow dial-up and rare, by US standards. I am planning on being able to check email and post blog entries about once a week, at first, and once a month as a move to a more remote location. But don't let this discourage you from writing!

Some of you have been dealing with the packing and panic attacks and others didn't know when I was leaving, or that I was even traveling abroad. Either way, your thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated.

email: Jeroyer@gmail.com

Web page: http://jessicalynnroyer.blogspot.com/

Address for first two months:

Jessica Royer, PCT

Peace Corps

PO Box 6862

Ausspannplatz,

Windhoek, Namibia

Thanks! Much love,

Jessica