People are still asking me, "Lori, what are you doing these days? Why aren't you updating your blog?" Or they're telling me, "You have to update your blog, I haven't heard anything in too long!" Maybe that last one is a little in Namlish, I've been slow to readjust to the American English of... America. Right.

So to put everyone's concerns to rest, I'm still doing stuff that I (sort of) blog about!! Places you can find me:

www.empowerwomeninafrica.com and on Facebook - search for Empower Women in Africa.

For anyone who hasn't heard, I've founded a nonprofit called Empower Women in Africa. Our three areas of focus are:

1. To sponsor girls in Namibia to stay in school;

2. To help women in rural Namibia start small businesses making and selling reusable cloth menstrual pads; and

3. To donate cloth menstrual pads (possibly only until there are women selling them locally) to conferences and schools in Namibia.

We are no accepting donations!! Visit http://empowerwomeninafrica.com/get-involved/ to learn more!!

Thanks for all your support over the last few years and even before that. It made all the difference to get me to where I am today. You're all important in keeping the momentum going!!

I once was naive enough to think that when I left Namibia, I'd be done.

That's about as far from the case as possible.

Last week the school year started and I began hearing from former colleagues at Andara. Just to say hi. We were all suddenly feeling each others' absence.

Over the weekend, I was surprised with an email from the father of my former learner, Thidjukwe Saraphina. She was the friend who invited Nicky to school in Rundu. I was told that Nicky would be schooling there, a step up from Andara, and could I help with the school fees?

ABSOLUTELY! I really hadn't believed that without me there to push people to help Nicky that she'd find herself anywhere but Andara this year.

Today I was further surprised to get a facebook message from another former learner's brother, Sawahenga Ruth's brother who I met once or twice. He was asking that Nicky move to stay with him and Ruth instead of at the other home, but had to ask my permission first, as her sponsor.

I'm shocked once again that things are actually happening the way I want them to. There's even a chance that I'll talk with Nicky on the phone this week, or next. I want to hear from her mouth that things are going fine and she's happy at whichever home she's chosen.

It's suddenly so clear how much I've changed her life - even if only for a year or two of living in town, it will open up new paths that wouldn't have been possible otherwise.

Last week, a reporter from the Fitchburg Sentinel and Enterprise contacted me on Facebook asking for an interview. I was hoping to talk about my donation project with GladRags for Andara Combined School, and without her ever telling me ahead of time, that was her goal too.

Check out the article here:

http://www.sentinelandenterprise.com/ci_16902550

“Maybe it burned Cinderella”

Saturday, 27 November, 2010

Nicky came over after the party. I got hungry, not sure how. So I salted and roasted the rest of the ndongo that I’ll eat here, the rest are for bringing to America. She lay on my bed eating them and I was sitting on my blanket on the floor that acts as a chair. I turned the visualizer on in iTunes and she noticed the “Burn Disk” in the bottom right corner.

“But there’s no disk,” I told her as I opened the disk drive to check.

“Hey, maybe it burned Cinderella!” she had an explanation for why Cinderella doesn’t work anymore.

I laughed and explained, “It’s not the kind of burn like fire. It’s like to put something on the CD.”

She understood my laughter and joined in.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

Monday, 29 November, 2010

I thought everyone finished writing tomorrow. I got to school to find that grades 8 and 9 were finishing today. A whole day of normalcy and kids was stolen from me! We had to wait around outside until the office was opened, and in that time, I was brought more cards from learners wishing me a safe journey, a Merry Christmas and just telling me goodbye and they’ll miss me. I even got a letter from a parent, probably the best letter I’ve been given because it’s coming from such an unexpected place!

The staff briefing went extra long and it was extra awful, even knowing it was my last one. I had found that I was 11 question papers short for grade 6 so was busy stapling the last minute copies that were made for me. Finally we were told to go to assembly and I was hoping for extra singing.

I got no singing at all.

I stood and listened one last time while the principal talked away in Thimbukushu and English about things I couldn’t see the importance in anymore. Finally, I knew he’d started talking about me, surprised once again at just how much Thimbukushu I could hear. That’s the one speech about me from the last few days that I wish I had on video. I had kids remind me what was said later in Thimbukushu, and had them translate into English.

“Tumushimbere mu meho.” We will remember you in our eyes.

“Twakumuvuruma.” We will not forget you.

“Ndangi koyiwana tutendera pa shure.” Thank you for everything you did at our school.

“Ndangi thimumenena yingi two nakuhongera kukoye.” Thank you very much for everything you taught us.

Then I was given the floor to speak.

“Good morning,” I greeted them.

“Good morning, Madam,” they greeted me back.

“Like the principal said, I’m going on Friday,” my voice broke and the tears came. “And I’m going to start crying now because I’m sad to be leaving all of you. There’s a saying in English that goes, ‘Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.’ So with these tears, I have a smile. Because I’m happy for the last two years, I’m happy to know you.” I picked out the faces I needed to see – Kunyima, Nicky hiding behind Thidjukwe, Sawahenga, Kapapero. I continued, “Even though I look at all of you and you’re my learners, you’ve taught me more than I’ve taught you. Thank you for that.”

I couldn’t keep talking, my voice was too broken and the tears were threatening to come in full force. They sang a song instead.

Assembly ended and I had to invigilate another math exam. I walked into 6B composed and found Kapapero crying. I left to 7B and found Kunyima wiping tears away from her eyes, quietly. I walked into 7A and everyone was just quiet.

The exam went off smoothly enough and kids were released. I had to come back to mark, and found grade 8 preparing for their end of year party. Muhora invited me on the spur of the moment, so I spent the afternoon marking, with interruptions from learners to hang out and visit or see their marks, and sharing food with my friends in grade 8.

After eating with them, I went back to my classroom to finish the marking and Muwara, Yondo, Mukuva, Kapapero, Haushiku and Nicky showed up to hang out. I had my iPod, so put it in and started entertaining them with my horrible singing. Videos were made, photos were taken, Sophia learned how to use the camera, and eventually it was dark and time for everyone to go home.

That time of the day has become the hardest – when it’s just late enough to admit the day is over and I’m going back to my too full, empty house; when I can cross off one more day on my calendar; where I’m one day closer to seeing the people I love and miss in the US but one day closer to saying some of the hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had to say. It’s a funny place to be, caught between wanting so badly to go and wanting so badly to stay.

It’ll never change

Tuesday, 30 November, 2010

I always get to school thinking something will be different. But it’s always just the same.

Only grades 5-7 had to come today for their last exam – Agriculture. It’d make sense to write early, get it over with and release all the kids for the holiday. But what makes sense generally doesn’t happen. So after waiting around until about 8:30, an hour and a half after I got there, kids started asking me when we were writing. So I finally asked.

“The question papers aren’t here.”

“What?!” I asked, unbelieving, even though it makes perfect sense in some odd, twisted way.

“Someone went to get them.”

It took at least another hour until they showed up, and they were only 4km away. Kids were eating soft porridge, so the exam was even later than it had to be.

I used that time to continue in my quest to pay as many school fees for kids as I could. There’s always talk about how kids have to pay school fees, even though it’s clear there’s no parental support or income. I hate reminding my class to pay. So long back, I’d sent an email about sponsoring a learner for just US$25. Well, I had finally brought this information to my principal and he wasn’t thrilled about it. “But then next year, they’ll expect it again, I know my people.” WHY ARE YOU SO NEGATIVE ALL THE TIME?! So it was like pulling teeth to do what I wanted with it. He wanted me to pay to buy bricks for a school wall. Or to just give it to them. Or to buy new sports uniforms. The way I saw it was that if I paid for N$8000 worth of school fees, they’d have that money anyway, which they wouldn’t otherwise have, and then they could do whatever they wanted with it.

Finally, it was decided that I could pay for the top academic boy and girl in each class. This was about 3 weeks ago. Names were supposed to be submitted, but nothing ever came of that. So I paid for 7A, 6B and 5B, with approval, even though I’d already paid for one class without telling them that’s what I was going to do. Those were the “higher” tracked classes in each grade, so kids generally perform better. It had been announced that if kids hadn’t paid school fees, they couldn’t collect their reports. So if they wanted to transfer to a different school, they wouldn’t be able to. Now at least the kids who work hard to get a good education can have the option to transfer to another school for a better education.

When I paid for 7A, I walked into their classroom, closed the door behind me and gave them a scheming look. They didn’t know what to make of it. I hadn’t been given approval for this, so I asked them, “Do you know what is a secret?”

“Ghii, we know.”

“Can you all keep a secret?”

“Ghii, we can!” they were getting excited.

“I am going to finish paying your school fees for this year, with money that was given from my family and friends to keep you in school, but you can’t tell anyone. So I’m going to give you money to bring to the office and you have to tell them you’re paying. DO NOT TELL THEM I GAVE YOU THIS MONEY! You can make up any story you want, just don’t say my name.”

They laughed and understood. “Madam, you’re only paying for our class?”

“No, for 7A, Ms Shishanda knows, my class and for 5B, Ms Siyanga knows. I picked classes where the teachers won’t talk. What if I paid for Mr Mukoya’s class?”

“Hey! He can talk too much!”

I started giving the first learner money, when a teacher walked in. Everyone fell silent. After giving away my calculator so he could figure out his marks, learners jumped on a new task, “We need security!!” Nicky and Ngasia stayed at the door, closed, to make sure no one was coming and to warn us of any potential problems.

Then I got approval and paid for 6B, but I still gave each learner money with the instructions of paying at the office, whatever balance I told them, and to bring me the receipt and the change. No problems. Many smiles, many thanks, they’re happy to be given help in something so simple.

Then Ms Siyanga came and told me that 5A was owing, altogether as a class, about N$2600, could I help that? I’d love! But we have to do it without the principal or HODs knowing, how? She took enough money for the kids who did well but hadn’t paid and paid for them saying they were in 5B. No one will check. Then I even paid next year’s school fees for a few kids who need it and will school here next year.

Altogether, I paid about N$5500 in school fees. And the rest is going to sports uniforms.

Kids wrote, and I let them go as they finished. About half way through, Nyangana Michael gave me his exam and started walking toward the door. He turned around, came back like he needed something and said quietly to me, “Madam, goodbye.” I didn’t let myself realize the reality of that and reminded him to come on Friday morning to wish me a safe journey.

I was busy copying all of my learners’ names and birthdates onto the last form of marks that I’ll have to make, though it will probably still take me at least 4 more tries until I make it without many mistakes. I realized that it was Anton Haushiku’s 14th birthday today! So when he came to give me his exam, I whispered, “Happy birthday” to him.

He looked at me confused and said, “Yours?”

“No, it’s YOUR birthday!” I pointed to his birthdate on the form and said, “30 November, that’s today!”

He laughed shyly.

Mayira finished his exam, took his books and pens and handed me the pencil I had given him for the math exam. I hate when learners write in pen for math, so I gave each of my 98 learners a pencil last Thursday. I shook my head, it was his to keep.

Learners came to see me, but not really to say goobye. We visited for a little while, until I had to go do teacher things – try to figure out how to get Nicky to school in town next year without the proper documents; act as the principal’s secretary by typing his letter; finish figuring out my marks for my four classes so I can offload my work onto other teachers who aren’t leaving on Friday.

Finally I came home to eat since my stomach had been complaining for hours but one thing after another kept me at school. I looked in my fridge and realized my only food is mushungwa, so I made porridge.

Nicky and Kunyima showed up hungry, so they made some too.

My next item to cross off my list of things to do before Friday was to give away all my clothes. Christophine works with an HIV/AIDs support group who also helps some OVCs, and I’d promised her my clothes I won’t bring back to the US. She had told me she was at the VCT, so we brought my bucket of clothes there. I started out carrying it on my head, but it was too heavy and hurt, so Nicky and I carried it together.

Christophine and Peter were there and they looked through all the clothes, approved and I said my goodbyes to them, leaving my contact information and promising that I’ll find them when I get back to visit.

It was too hot so a trip to Dipupo was in order. We found only boys there. Even 18 year olds can get excited about a game of tag – koye kayendo! Shadrick was “it” and in Thimbukushu said he was going to give it to me. I didn’t hear it, and didn’t know I was part of their game, but everyone was laughing so I asked Nicky for clarification.

“He said he’s going to come here to give it to you.”

I egged him on, calling, “Wiye! Wiye!” Come! Come!

As he got close to the rock I was standing on, I jumped into the current and made it to the other side before him, easily out of reach. I got to the top of the rock to jump, but my confidence isn’t quite what theirs is, not having grown up on the river. I always have to mentally prepare myself to jump into the water. He caught me on the rock, before I was ready to jump.

On our walk back home, following our footprints the whole way, Nicky told me, “Your first day in America, you won’t miss me. The second day, you won’t miss me. The third day, you won’t miss me. The fourth day, hey!!! Then you will miss me too much!”

“And when will you start missing me,” I asked.

“When we get in the bus in Rundu to come back to Andara and you go to Windhoek.”

Back at my house, we found Matthew, nyimu to cook and eat and music to listen to. A calm afternoon with the three people I’ll miss the most – Nicky, Kunyima and Matthew.

What I set out to do

Tuesday, 30 November, 2010

Everyday marks some “last.” Today is the last day of November. When I wake up tomorrow I have just two days left in Andara.

I walked Nicky and Kunyima home after a very full afternoon with them. Before we got to Seglinde’s house, Nicky told me that she was going to Rundu tomorrow and then to Windhoek to stay with her father for school next year. I crossed in front of Nicky to say a proper goodbye to Seglinde. I gave her a hug and told her good luck in Windhoek and she told me good luck too. In 2009, in grade 6, whenever I called on her, she would cover her mouth and laugh with a look of terror in her eyes. Even if she’d raised her hand! I would get annoyed. I learned when I could and when I couldn’t call on her. She started visiting. We became friends. She got more comfortable in class and it no longer mattered when I called on her.

At the midway point to Nicky’s, I turned around and listened to the little kids greet me be name, and continued our chorus of “Hellohowareyoui’mfineandyou?” until we were out of ear shot. I passed the sports field where boys were finishing up their practice. I passed a passed out drunk woman on the ground, moved from where we’d seen her on the walk away from my house, so I was no longer concerned she was dead.

I got home to Matthew and Popay outside my gate playing and watching the dogs play. They saw me and Matthew was the first to start running toward me. I suddenly had two kids in my arms, one on either hip. I couldn’t face the inside of my house. It’s a disaster. I’ve been putting off packing, instead just giving everything away. I have two days to get rid of everything else I want to get rid of and fit everything into my bags that I want to take back with me.

I sat outside in the front of my house with Matthew and Popay. I knew people would be at the back and I didn’t want anyone to see the tears in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. I only get two more nights of this. Of Matthew stealing Fluffy. Of Popay screaming. Of Fortune, Mulela, Siyanga and Bweanie coming into my house looking for one of their little brothers or demanding something from me, when I have nothing left to give. Of being able to get annoyed with the noise, but somehow still enjoying the sounds.

I know everyone in the US will be happy to see me, and me to see them. But it’s somehow different to leave HOME to go somewhere than to leave somewhere to go to what used to be home.

I remember in the process of applying to the Peace Corps, three years ago, I had to write about why I wanted to come here. I ended up changing some of my answers, but some of my first responses were:

I want to grow up.

I want to prove to myself I can do it on my own.

I want to learn more about the world.

I want to learn more about myself.

I don’t know that I grew up; my best friends are 14 and 2 when I’m 24.

I proved to myself I can do it on my own, but I also learned that doing it on my own isn’t as much fun as sharing such a meaningful experience with someone else.

I learned more about the world; I’ll never see anything the same way I did before living here.

I learned more about myself; I’ve become a person who inspires others with actions I think are normal.

The end.

Thursday, 2 December, 2010

Yesterday morning I went to school hoping to finish my work, and knowing that whatever I didn’t finish, I’d find someone else to do. On my walk there, I heard, “Madam” but didn’t really think they were calling me. Mbamba Johanna had come with her brother, early, to say goodbye and to bring me two maghumi.

With a day left, people were still demanding things from me:

“Lori, give me your calculator.”

“Lori, bring for me a pencil sharpener.”

“Lori, go and work with Mr Muthitu on next year’s timetable.”

I satisfied those first requests, but the subject allocation wasn’t finished, so I couldn’t possibly make a timetable. I went home.

Nicky and Kunyima had told me they’d come over at 12. When they showed up around 2, I told them, “You’re late. I ate without you.” They made their own soft porridge and we all went to dipupo.

“How any people do you think will be there? My guess is 17.”

“32. No, 19.”

“13.”

We were all wrong, we found almost 40 people there. I’ve gotten a lot braver in the river recently and jump from places more confidently than I did last year. I even dove off of one rock that kids do all the time from, but I’m always a little nervous to plunge headfirst into the depths of the Kavango River.

I found Ndara there. And Omo. And Mukoya. And Beshi. And Isolde. And Elina.

All kids I’ll miss a lot. Omo had said goodbye to me quietly after he finished writing his math exam, so it was nice to see him again.

Ndara was schooling somewhere else, so it was also nice to see him again.

On one of my swims from the top of the rapids, I found, the hard way, where one of the submerged rocks is. My knee is a pretty bluish purple because of it. I considered making that my last time, but it ended up being nowhere near the end. I kept going, now knowing where to keep my feet and legs up higher.

Eventually, the kids were all leaving, so Kunyima, Nicky and I left too. I was about to run out of toilet paper, so we went to Nandu to buy some. We found the shop closed so sat and waited for him to come back from his resupply trip to Divundu. I got tired of waiting first, so we decided to go back to my house to finish our soft porridge and come back before 6:30. As I got up to go, Rustu, the security guard, called me, “Madam,” and brought out about a quarter of a roll of toilet paper from his pocket.

“I just have to get to Friday, give me half!”

He handed me the whole thing, laughing in a sneaky way. He pulled out another roll from his other pocket and handed that to me too.

Back at my house, we finished our porridge. Nicky and I were feeling a little sick and I blamed it on the milk. Can soy milk go bad? When it got dark, we walked home with many more things for them to keep – Kunyima with a nice nice nice blanket, Nicky with her spoils from the last couple months that she’s been saving at my house. We found their mom bathing from a bucket in the dark. I greeted, promised I’d come tomorrow and we walked back to my house.

I collapsed onto my bed, feeling even sicker, and eventually fell asleep, only to wake up and vomit everything left in my stomach.

This morning, I went to school briefly, passed off my paperwork to Mr Sihope and went to Nicky’s. I lay on my dikehe still feeling sick while they got the mahangu ready for pounding.

Kunyima and I pounded and sifted while Nicky started cooking. She also brought me another chicken to kill, this one from Mukoya. The knife was extra sharp, I didn’t shake, and made a clean cut. We plucked and cut up the chicken together before I finished pounding with Kunyima. I really thought my hands would be tougher by now, but blisters still came after the second time of pounding.

I fell asleep on the ground while lunch was finishing and we ate together on the ground.

I had the afternoon to pack, but Mr Muthitu didn’t think that was as important as making the timetable. I showed him the disaster that is my house and told him I won’t be able to help him. You are not allowed to leave something to my last day that really takes about 3 days to finish well, when I know it’ll just get changed anyway next year, when it’s much more important for me to say proper goodbyes.

Unexpected ending

Sunday, 6 December, 2010

I came to town on Friday morning after the staff briefing, where I just laughed about how nothing will ever change. The principal will state the obvious and expect people to be shocked. I laughed at how I still had to sit through it even though I was leaving immediately after.

Mr. Ndjunga got a lot of the teachers singing. My cheeks started hurting from smiling too much.

Then it was time to start saying goodbye. I hugged each teacher and everyone sends their greetings to everyone I know.

Some learners had come early in the morning because I’d been told I was leaving with the principal early, but then that changed at the last minute. Nicky and Kunyima had slept over, they had the bed because I couldn’t handle 3 people in a double bed so slept on the hard concrete floor, and were hanging out at my empty house.

The car got packed with my bags and all the people getting a free ride to town and we were off. Siyanga was the last teacher I hugged, with Mattew on her back. Luckily he was sick so wasn’t interested in me, otherwise she would have suffered with him wanting to come with me too.

And we were off. I rolled down my window and waved to the few kids who had come to school but were too shy to come and say bye with all the teachers there. Shimbaranda blew me some kisses.

By the time we reached Kangongo I had a headache and stomach ache.

By the time we reached Nyangana I had goosebumps and wanted my sweatshirt from the back of the bakkie.

By the time we reached town I could barely stand up.

I spent the rest of Friday sleeping off my malaria like symptoms.

Saturday morning I thought I was well enough to go to town from Kim’s house with Nicky and Kunyima, but we only got to Pep before I thought I was going to pass out. We took a taxi back and later Kim brought them to town.

We made Nicky’s favorite foods even though I couldn’t share them with her – chocolate cake and banana pizza.

Finally this morning I felt like I could eat again so had enough energy to go to town. The three of us left with the things they’d take back to Andara with them and walked to town. We went to Jet, Ackerman’s and Mr. Price before heading to the taxi rank to get a combi to Andara. We spent another 3 hours hanging out there waiting for it to leave.

Nicky had brought silver nail polish, which I’d let her use to paint my toenails last week. She was on a mission to find pink to finish them off. The closest we got was red. So she finished painting my silver toenails by putting a red stripe on each of them. Hers and Kunyima’s look the same. She also found yellow and her fingernails got painted red and yellow.

We shared mangos.

They got Oshikandela.

Some foolish men talked to me for too long in what was my last time with my best friends.

And suddenly the combi was full and started and ready to go. Nicky and Kunyima were sitting, crying. I was standing, holding it together because it still didn’t feel real. Nicky came over to me and whispered in my ear, “I want to get in the car.”

“OK. But I have one thing left to give you. Kunyima, tuyende.”

We walked near the combi and I hugged Kunyima first, letting my tears start to fall.

I hugged Nicky and took a bracelet from my bag. It’s white PVC pipe with red paint on it, with the word ‘MINANGE’ and a pattern. Minange meands my sibling in Thimbukushu.

“This is the last gift that I promised you, that I wouldn’t tell you the word that’s on it,” I started before I showed her the bracelet. “When I came here, I had one sister. And now I have many. But you were the first sister I got here so this bracelet is for you. And whenever you’re sad and missing, just pound mahangu and I’ll be there with you.”

We hugged again, both freely crying now, not caring who in the combi was watching, and Kunyima came to join us. There’s only so long you can put off the actual goodbye, so finally they got in the car, I told them, “I love you,” and I walked away.

Back in America

Monday, 20 December, 2010

41 hours. That’s how long it took for me to get from the hostel in Windhoek to my house in Ashby. Flight one was simple – Windhoek to Johannesburg. I was shocked at how crowded the airport in Windhoek was; all the people who had access to travel; the fact that I had the means to travel across the world. Flight two was just long – 17 hours across the Atlantic to Atlanta, GA. I’d been told I wouldn’t be able to borrow a cell phone even though everyone has them in America, people just aren’t friendly enough to lend theirs. I used a pay phone first and called Collect. Then I borrowed an iPhone and spent the next half hour talking to the woman who lent it to me. Third flight was short – Atlanta to DC. But then I hit a roadblock. My final flight was delayed and then cancelled, so I had another 5 hours to wait after I managed to secure a seat on a later flight to Manchester. I again borrowed a cell phone from a stranger, this time a Blackberry which I proptly returned and requested that the owner dial the number because I didn’t see the keys with numbers. Then we hung out for the next 5 hours. On the final flight, I talked to the person next to me, easily sharing stories about Namibia, and he OFFERED to lend me his phone to call my family upon touchdown.

I took the escalator to the baggage claim area and saw my whole family – the the additions since I left two years ago – waiting and waving. I quickly took the warm shoes Mom brought me and gave hugs to everyone I realized I’d been missing. Miles was there, finally meeting his only aunt. I got my bags – a China shop bag that my family told me made me look homeless – and in the context of a small American airport, I could see their logic that I was blind to when I bought, packed and duct taped it for extra security a week earlier.

“I can’t wait to hear what Lori is going to do next!” is a common thing I hear.

For now, I’m enjoying spending time with my family, reconnecting with old friends, eating more food in a day that I might have in a week in Andara, readjusting to the normal things I’ve lived without. It’s been easier than I imagined, so far, and have enjoyed every moment of it.

I’m sure life will take me down an unexpected, but exciting, path soon, and you’ll be sure to hear about it.

Thanks for the interest you’ve shown and the support you’ve offered over the past two years of this anything-but-normal life I’m living.

Merry Christmas!!

The best Namibian Thanksgiving

Saturday, 27 November, 2010

Needless to repeat, I was homesick on Thursday. I felt ridiculous being homesick just two weeks before returning to the US, but I still felt that way know my family was celebrating, even separately instead of the big get togethers I miss.

This morning, Nicky and Thidjukwe showed up at my house around 9am to start preparing for the grade 7 party. They went to bring buckets to put food in after it was cooked, but Sophia and Muwara showed up not long after. Muwara handed me a bag of what I thought were beans and they both helped me finish washing my clothes. I later asked to make sure. They weren’t beans. They’re nyimu. Which might be in the bean family, but they’re not eaten the way I thought.

All of my plates, kitchen utensils, cooking utensils, bowls and buckets were taken for the task of preparing this party. Most kids were under the tree with three fires going by 10:30. It was mostly girls who had paid, so there were plenty of people there to work. Ngasia was put in charge of the key to unlock the tap since he wasn’t cooking. I sat with them for a while, making trips back and forth to my house as things were needed or as I got bored and needed a break.

I hadn’t stepped into the classroom where we were eating so had no idea plates were being made before the food was all cooked. The kids were completely in charge of everything and took care of it all. I just had to be there to share with them. I expected something similar to the grade 9 party last week, where we each sat at a table and ate.

I walked into the classroom and almost cried. They had arranged the tables so it was one long table with chairs on either side and a plate on each table. I was finally getting the family meal I wanted on Thanksgiving. We sat down and ate, some kids with their hands because between everyone there weren’t enough forks and spoons. Some kids shared plates. My chicken was put back on the fire to be braiied because it wasn’t cooked all the way. I helped clean up even though I knew they didn’t want me to.

And then it was time to go swimming. We spent about an hour at the river enjoying again, the same like yesterday.

Back at school, a computer was brought to our classroom and we spent about an hour listening to the same few songs over and over so the girls could dance.

As plates were once again served, this time to bring home instead of eating together, I made sure everyone was still around so I could say some.

“I don’t know if you made this party because it’s the end of the year or because I’m going, but for me, it’s more because I’m going. On Thursday was Thanksgiving, a big holiday in America, where my family gets together, makes a meal and enjoys together. I have been in Namibia for three Thanksgivings now, so have missed those parties. When I walked into the classroom today and saw that we were all eating together, it was the best thing ever!” I remember looking at Sawahenga at this point and she had a big smile on her face. “So thank you for the party, for eating together and especially for the last two years.” My voice started breaking and I knew I couldn’t keep the tears away, so I let them come. “I’ll cry even more on Friday when I go. I’m sad to be leaving you all, but I’m happy to know you.”

A farewell party

Friday, 26 November, 2010

After getting through the disagreements amongst the teachers and listening to the things I don’t want people to remember about me, I realized people noticed the things I did because I knew they were right.

I was recognized for never missing a class.

I was recognized for caring about learners.

I was recognized for creating an atmosphere where learners were comfortable coming to me with their problems, even though it meant speaking English instead of Thimbukushu.

Then I got a chance to say something.

“You know I’m not a big talker, so I’ll be short. Even one minute. Yesterday was the biggest holiday in America, at least in my family. It’s called Thanksgiving. Traditionally it comes at the end of the harvest season. In my family, all of my cousins, aunts and uncles get together and we make a lot of food and enjoy. So I spent some time thinking about my family yesterday and really missing them.” Some nods, people know what it’s like to be away from their family here. If you get a job, you take it, no matter how far away it is and how infrequently you’ll see your loved ones. “But then I thought about my family here.” More nods, people also know what it’s like to create a family from strangers. “And I thought about what I’m thankful for. And I’m thankful for the last two years.”

“LELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELE!!!” The rest of my words were drowned out. I got a little while to collect my thoughts and continued.

“So thank you for everything you’ve taught me and for giving me the chance to teach you something. I hope that you’ve gotten as much out of me being here as I’ve gotten out of being here. I came here a mukuwa but I’m going back an Mbukushu, so thank you for that.”

“LELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELELE!!!” And everyone broke into a farewell song about wishing me a safe journey.

Teachers were given a chance to say something. Ms Ndunda said she’s now a Schippers, not Ndunda anymore; we’re family. Thikukutu, who transferred after my first term in 2009 but came to the party to wish me a farewell, sang a song, translated as “Bye bye Lori, we’ll be missing you a lot.” When Thikukutu left I gave her a hug and thanked her for getting me through the rough patches of my first term. She told me I have to go and then come back to visit, not go forever. Siyanga and Matthew stood up and she told me that when I go, Ziggy and I won’t be seen anymore, but we’ll be in Matthew’s heart. It’s easier to talk through an almost 3 year old and a cat than about herself and me.

I have to keep telling myself that what this is, is just a long “see you later.” Because if it’s forever, I couldn’t deal with that.

“But Madam, I don’t want you to go.”

Friday, 26 November, 2010

Last year, this time, there was a presidential election. I wasn’t allowed to be at school because it was a voting center. There was no school because people were voting here.

This year, there’s a regional council election. I’m not allowed to be at school because it’s a voting center. There was school even though they were voting?

I didn’t leave, no one specifically told me to and I want to enjoy my time here, so I just ignored the fact that I’m not supposed to be involved in politics. I’m not involved, but I was definitely within 500m of the polling center, I was within 5m. Oops. And learners assumed it was a holiday so only about 50 came to school and were gone by 8 when they realized there was no reason to be there. By 9, I was leaving with about 10 kids to walk to Mukwe to the nearest shop about 4km away. We had to get food for our party.

“Tuyende,” I told the kids who were hanging around waiting for me. Nduhe, Kamwanga, Shitunda, Yondo, Haushiku, Kamushambe, Kambango, Kashivi and I went on our way.

“Madam, we can visit Linda? Makushe,” she clarified at my blank look.

“Ghii!” I told her excitedly, with the baby! Makushe left school after term one because she was pregnant. She stays near Mukwe, so on our way we made a turn at her house. We didn’t find her there, but her small sister told us she was at the river, so we went there looking for her. And found her. Her hair is too long! And her son is too small! He’s about a month old now, and looks really healthy. It’s sad to see her suddenly in the role of a mother instead of the carefree learner in 2009 who told me, “Madam, I will give you N$1 everyday until you go so I can go with you to America.” Now I’m going. I reminded Yondo about this, she was also going to pay everyday so she could buy a ticket.

From Makushe’s home, some girls wants to go one way and some wanted to go another way. “This way is wrong,” Yondo told us.

“Open your eyes and just pay attention,” she was told in response.

A little while further, with another fork in the path, I didn’t know which way to go so waited for directions. “This way,” Muwara told me at the same time Kambango insisted on the other way.

“We’re just guessing, we don’t know,” Kambango admitted.

At Mukwe, Sophia dn Kapapero found us there. I took Nduhe and Muwara into the shop while everyone else waited outside. We priced everything out and bought what we could afford with the money everyone had paid. It wasn’t enough for chicken and they didn’t have any there, so I paid for the chicken back in Andara. Money is replaceable, somehow, and it’s more fun to eat good food with kids I love.

We divided up the food and walked back carrying everything. Somehow the date of my departure was brought up and it came as a shock, again, to many of the kids that it was next Friday.

“But, Madam, I don’t want you to go,” Kapapero told me.

“Even me, I don’t want to leave you, but I want to go and see my family. My sister, she had a baby in February and he’s almost walking and I still haven’t met him but he’s my family!” I told them, knowing how important family is to them, so that explanation should be enough to convince them I have to go.

“Tell her to send him in a box.” I guess it wasn’t a good enough reason to leave them all.

“Oh, like I’m doing with Ziggy?” I asked, comparing a baby to a cat is something they shouldn’t accept.

“Ghii,” apparently they’re just the same.

“But Madam, you’ll take Ziggy when you go? I want to buy him, me I like cats too much,” Kamwanga said.

“Ghii, I’ll take him with me!”

“But Madam, you have to come back. You can go and visit, but then you have to come back here,” Kapapero still wasn’t done with the topic of me going, possibly forever, or at least for a long time.

“Ghii, I’ll come back, but I want to go and see my sister and my brother and my parents. Long time to see them!”

“Madam, what’s your first name?” someone was confused about calling me Miss Lori when they call all their other teachers by their surname.

“Lori!” I told them, a little surprised.

“And Schippers?”

“My surname.”

“Oooh, and your other name?”

“Nicole.”

“And Sophia is just Sophia?”

“Uh uh, Sophia Lynn Schippers. No, Sophia Lynn Van Hoff.”

“Lynn?” Sophia asked.

“Ghii.”

“And Adrian?”

“Adrian Foster Schippers.”

“Hey, Schippers, Schippers, Schippers.”

“Ghii. Because we all have the same mother, same father,” something that isn’t so common here.

“Hey, it’s better that way! Me, ne, I don’t like when it’s the same mother but different father, or same father but different mother, it’s not good,” Kapapero told me. “Us, we are 7.”

“All the same mother, same father?”

“No, the first born is different father.” She proceeded to tell me where they each stay, since I asked.

Back at my house, we dropped the food and went on a chicken hunt, a frozen chicken hunt this time. I had suggested kids bring live chickens and we kill them, but since we could find frozen chicken, they wanted that. Fine. I’m all about local food, and this probably comes from South Africa, but it’s their party, and their food that we’d be eating if they brought chickens. At the shop, they didn’t have the right change, so I promised to send N$4 later in the afternoon.

We went to another small shop and got oros – a juice concentrate. I made them figure out how much two would cost, and what my change would be when I paid with N$50. They did it faster than the Nandu, who had the calculator.

On our walk to this final shop, Sophia insisted, “Buy for us fat cakes!”

“Hey, how many are we?” I asked, knowing I would do it anyway.

“One, two…nine, but you can eat for N$2 us for N$1, N$1.”

I gave Kapapero N$10 and she went to get fat cakes. When we were taking them, there were only enough for N$8 and two fell on the ground, which were still eaten, but sandy. I gave up one of mine, so Kamushambe and I only had one each instead of two.

We had done too much walking all morning and we were all sweaty, so a trip to the river was in order. “Tuyende ku dipupo,” Kashivi suggested, not necessarily to me.

“Ghii, tuyende,” I told her.

“Madam! That’s why I like you!”

“Why? Because I like to play with you?”

“Ghii, and because you like learners too much!”

I changed into shorts I could swim in and we went to Dipupo. We found a few boys, some from grade 6, swimming there already and they cheered and danced when they same me coming. We swam swam swam, jumped off rocks, rode the rapids. That place is TOO MUCH fun! I jumped from some new places, watching several kids do it first so I’d know where it was safe to jump. The best ones were from the VERY top of the rapids so I got to ride them all the way down.

“Tuyende,” Sophia said after at least an hour of play.

“One more time from there,” I said pointing to the top of the rapids. We all went back up there and even further than I’d gone before, having to go in the water to get to the rock we wanted to jump from. I almost got swept away before reaching the top, the water was so fast! It was a great last jump, minus the water in my mouth and up my nose.

I wasn’t sure where we were going, or if we were going to part ways now, so I asked, “Where are we going?”

“Ku kwenu,” to your house.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, just hang out because you’re going soon!”

“OK, you can pick my mudhika and go and pound and then we’ll eat it with dimbombo dyo mahangu.”

“Hey, where did you get the mahangu?”

“I bought it and then pounded last weekend!”

“Hey!” I showed them my blisters that are becoming callouses and got more shouts of surprise.

Sophia and Kapapero took the mudhika to their house to pound, I changed out of wet clothes and taught the rest of the girls how to play Uno since that’s the only game I have left.

When they got back, Sophia cooked the mudhika and Kapapero the dimbombo, each happy to be doing it, wanting to cook for me. Muwara took my broom and swept my stoop. Then she and Kamushambe washed my sink outside.

Something something something “murora” was the only word I heard. Soap. I looked over and my soap was quickly disappearing.

“Don’t finish it! I need it to last another 7 days. I’m not buying another soap before I leave in a week.”

“Hey, Madam, don’t say that!” Kapapero does not like being reminded that I’m going soon.

It’s funny how cleanliness is so important to them, yet they live in mud huts. I guess when you CAN keep something clean amidst the sand and dust, you do. I don’t so much.

“What will we do after lunch?” Kapapero asked.

“I’m going to nap. You know what nap is?” I told them.

“No.”

“Kukotha.”

“Ohh, me, I will go home and kukotha too,” Sophia agreed. We’d worked hard and deserved a break.

Now, if only this sunburn hadn’t come up to keep me awake.

Sunday night, Nicky slept at my house. We had to say goodbye to Kaitlin, another volunteer, who Nicky will most likely never see again. We were both sad, particularly Nicky. And another goodbye, even if for just 10 hours, was something we both wanted to avoid.

She looked through her new bag of goodies, the tears now gone, left behind by Kaitlin, trying on hats, shirts, socks; deciding who to give some things to that she couldn’t see the use in; asking what some things were for.

“From everything Kaitlin and I have given you, you’ll have enough clothes for the rest of your life! You’ll probably have enough for your kids!” She just laughed, a little awestruck at the love we have for her and probably the way we show it by showering her in things we can easily replace if we need them again.

She took her time getting used to all her new things, and I took some time working on another GladRags fundraising email, this time to Oprah. Nicky got curious and lay on my bed facing me on the floor for lack of a chair, couch or desk, and we started talking.

“I’m writing a letter so that more people can know about the pads that I’m trying to get sent here, remember when we talked about that?”

“Ghii, I remember,” she told me, becoming more interested in this letter now. “Where will you send it?”

“You know Oprah?” I asked.

She took a moment to consider if we were talking about the same Oprah and then her face lit up with understanding. “You want to be on TV?!” she asked, incredulous that Andara could be that important or I might have connections that well known. I don’t have connections that well known, this is a long shot, but a shot I’m willing to take.

“I don’t want to be on TV, but I want Oprah to know about this project so she can talk about it on TV and then everyone who sees it can donate. I already have over 1000 pads donated.”

“Heeeey!!!” One thousand of anything is almost beyond comprehension here, where I watched kids count how many pieces of spaghetti they each got to eat at lunch earlier that day.

I realized I’ve given Nicky more than either of us could have ever hoped for when we became friends. At age 14, she knows in her heart it’s not the THINGS that matter. I’ve shown her that kids can be treated as equals. I’ve taught her that her voice matters. I’ve let her realize how much she knows and how smart she is and given her a chance to TEACH rather than always learn. I’ve shown her unconditional love and support. I’ve never said no to her because she never asks for anything outrageous.

This final project is one more thing I’ve been able to show her the use in – ask for something, stick to it, and you will be rewarded. She fully supports this project, and not just because she’ll benefit with one more THING being given to her. She supports it because she knows the importance of her education and what it means to struggle to get what she NEEDS, not just what she WANTS.

Give the girls at Andara the gift of education through a donation of reusable cloth pads so they can stay in school when they’re menstruating and don’t have anything else to use. Go to http://www.gladrags.com/c-54-donate-pads.aspx and enter my shipping address (Lori Schippers, 623 Richardson Road, Ashby, MA 01431).

I have just 10 days in Andara left and I’m going to continue giving everything I have to give – my clothes, my school supplies, my kitchen items, but mostly just my love and support by continuing to smile and laugh and share with my friends here.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Lori

"For poor people in poor countries, very little simply falls into place." Greg Mortenson, Stones into Schools

Forever Family

Wednesday, 10 November, 2010

I moved out of my host family in February 2009, just 6 weeks after moving in. A wall of the house fell. I wanted to live alone, I felt like I never got to be alone living with a family. I visited everyday for a while because it was the only home I knew, but as I made friends, learned where other people lived, got busier with my job, I found myself going there less and less. I can’t even remember the last time I shared a meal with Helena – my host sister.

We would always greet in passing, always excited to see each other, but we had never developed much of a relationship because neither of us could confidently speak the others’ language. I always got along better with her two sons – Marando and Lita. Neither of them knew English, but it didn’t seem to matter. There’s a language little kids speak, and it doesn’t matter if you understand it or not.

Yesterday, on my way back from Mushinga’s house, I ran into Helena and I told her I wanted to come for lunch, which day? “Any day!” she yelled back. “Pick a day,” I told her, always more comfortable when someone knows I’m coming. “Even tomorrow!” she told me. “Great, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

So today I went to eat lunch with Helena. I don’t know why I even thought things would go smoothly – nothing ever does. She wasn’t home. Someone was sent to get her and she was psyched I was there, I guess she didn’t really believe I’d come! She quickly cooked lunch and I ate, she had already eaten. There were a few guys there and once they started talking away in Thimbukushu, it was easy. I could hear enough to ask questions, laugh in the right places – enough to be part of the conversation.

After I finished, I was already almost late for study, so I had to eat and run. I had brought sheets Stephania had lent me long long long back and I was finally returning them since I’ll soon be going. Helena gave me a big hug, told me, “I love you,” and escorted me part way back to school.

Nothing from the past mattered, it was only important that I was there today. I promised to go again before I leave, and I will. Even if we don’t have much of a relationship, she’s still, and always will be, part of the first family I had in the village.

The things I’ll miss

Thursday, 11 November, 2010

This afternoon, after one of the best days of teaching that I’ve ever had, I was completely paralyzed with the reality of leaving.

I’ll miss Kavindja asking “Why?” I’ll miss 6A responding to my “See you later alligator.” I’ll miss kids greeting me before I greet them. I’ll miss the big smiles on kids’ faces when I’m the only teacher in my classroom in the morning. I’ll miss kids knowing who Ziggy is. I’ll miss kids coming to my house to borrow any number of things. I’ll miss little kids coming to my door and yelling “HI!” I’ll miss Tinu coming to my classes and it being fine. I’ll miss the stars. I’ll miss the sun. I’ll miss the clouds. I’ll miss the sand. I’ll miss the layer of dirt that’s always on me. I’ll miss only cold showers. I’ll miss living in a one room house. I’ll miss Nicky. I’ll miss Kunyima. I’ll miss so many girls. I’ll miss even some boys. I’ll miss pounding. I’ll miss porridge. I’ll miss always worrying about snakes. I’ll miss the excitement of rain. I’ll miss the dry season. I’ll miss the heat. I’ll miss wall spiders. I’ll miss a lunch time nap. I’ll miss my lunch time nap being interrupted. I’ll miss a lunchtime shower. I’ll miss fresh vegetables from the riverside. I’ll miss the river. I’ll miss the simplicity. I’ll miss the hard work. I’ll miss living in a village. I’ll miss walking down paths. I’ll miss the wide open spaces. I’ll miss the gravel road. I’ll miss the noisy cars. I’ll miss the trees. I’ll miss the awful noise of chairs scraping on concrete floors. I’ll miss Monday and Friday singing in assembly. I’ll miss Sunday morning when everyone except me is at church. I’ll miss missing America. I’ll miss Oshikandela. I’ll miss maghumi. I’ll miss mahangu. I’ll miss maize. I’ll miss horrible haircuts. I’ll miss shitenges counting as appropriate clothing. I’ll miss eating outside. I’ll miss fires. I’ll miss the church bells. I’ll miss storing water ‘just in case.’ I’ll miss handwashing my clothes. I’ll miss one-Namibian-dollar-mangos. I’ll miss fat cakes. I’ll miss fresh baked bread. I’ll miss my cellphone plan. I’ll miss my lack of decent internet access. I’ll miss everything broken, but still working well enough. I’ll miss Ngasia. I’ll miss Sawahenga. I’ll miss Kambango. I’ll miss Mbamba. I’ll miss Rumapa. I’ll miss Ndara. I’ll miss Kashako – both of them. I’ll miss Kapapero. I’ll miss Kathiku. I’ll miss Kamana. I’ll miss Thimende. I’ll miss Shitunda. I’ll miss Tweya. I’ll miss Seglinde. I’ll miss Kamwanga. I’ll miss Sophia. I’ll miss Yondo. I’ll miss Shakadya. I’ll miss Muyevu. I’ll miss Mukerenge. I’ll miss Maria. I’ll miss Raffa. I’ll miss 7A. I’ll miss 7B. I’ll miss even grade 6. I’ll miss Matthew. I’ll miss Popay. I’ll miss Muyenga. I’ll miss Lannah. I’ll miss Lami. I’ll miss Kayoka. I’ll miss coins being worth something. I’ll miss Nicky again. I’ll miss the “ah-ha!” moment. I’ll miss hearing Thimbukushu. I’ll miss teaching new words in English. I’ll miss the laughter. I’ll miss the smiles.

I’ll miss this all too much – a billion much even.

A last

Friday, 12 November, 2010

Everyone tells you how hard it is to leave everyone and everything you know to move across the world to a million unknowns. The loneliness. Not being able to hear the language. No running water or electricity. Not knowing what to do in any situation, ever. That’s all to be expected. The tears come, and no one is very surprised.

But no one tells you how hard it is to move back. No one tells you that “home” doesn’t hold the same meaning anymore. No one tells you that 21 days until the end of the terms sounds like it’ll go by in a blink when 21 days to the end of last term looked like an eternity. No one tells you that all that alone time you needed before is now a burden and you’ll continually seek out friends to hang out with. No one tells you that you’ll cry just as much in the weeks leading up to your departure as those that followed your arrival. And if they try to tell you that leaving is easy, don’t listen – they didn’t do it and have no idea.

I looked around my house this morning at all the things I have. I have people in mind where most of that stuff will go. But some will come to the US with me. It’s hard, though, when the only “things” worth taking with me aren’t allowed to leave the country because they don’t have any form of identification, never mind a passport or enough money to buy a plane ticket.

I finished teaching all of my regularly scheduled classes for the term – no, for the two years I’ve been a teacher here. I woke up a little sad that it was finishing today. For all the frustrations in the classroom, it really has been an incredibly fun job.

I taught 6B for 2 periods, took some photos of them, a video of them singing a song I need to remember forever. I taught 7A for about 20 minutes – only half the time I was scheduled to teach them. I couldn’t even pretend to be excited about answering their review questions. I was focused on the fact that I’ll never be the math teacher on their timetable again.

They don’t write their math exams for another 2 weeks, so I told them I didn’t want to teach anymore and we could do more review when it’s closer to that exam. They liked that.

So I sat down and we started talking. About anything.

“Madam, what’s your nickname?” Ngasia asked me. I know I’ve told some classes this is the past.

“I don’t have one. But when I was little I did. Only my sister and brother used it. They called me Lulu.”

Laughter followed. I know a Lulu here – she’s the daughter to Gussi, who is the sister to Filo and stays at the same home with Nicky.

“Madam, you’re only having two names?” Kutenda asked.

“No, I’m having three. You know my surname.”

“Ghii. Schippers.”

“You know my first name.”

“Ghii. Lori.”

“And my other name is Nicole.” They all laughed and looked toward Nicky. “When my mom was pregnant with me, before I was born, she knew she was having a girl. And she always liked the name Nicky so she wanted to name me Nicole so she could call me Nicky. But she also had some friends who were pregnant and they were going to name their daughters Nicole, so she thought, ‘Uh-uh, there will be too many Nicoles. I’ll name her something else.’ And she picked Lori. But she wanted to call me Nicky.”

It’s no secret that Nicky and I are best friends, really are sisters. Everyone turned to Nicky with huge laughter, even Nicky was laughing. She’s heard that story. She’s somehow my mbusha – my namesake. I was meant to be here long before I ever wanted to join Peace Corps.

“Madam, you know Barack Obama?” Ngasia asked, full of last minute questions today that he had to ask before I’m gone.

“Have I ever met him, like greeted him and shaken his hand? No. I haven’t been in America since he was president, I left the day after we voted.”

“Madam, you have met Beyonce?” someone in the back shouted.

“No, she stays too far away.” This progressed into another terrible drawing of a map of the US on the board – an X to mark Massachusetts, an X to mark NYC and an X to mark Los Angeles. I also drew how big Namibia would be compared to my drawing of the US. I explained how long it takes to get from one to the next in a car and even by airplane.

“Heeey,” was their only reaction to how big the US is, or how small Namibia is.

“Madam, you have met Pohamba?”

“No, but do you know where he is today?”

“No, where?”

“In Katima! And also Mugabe is there too.”

“Hah! That Mugabe!”

“How do you know Mugabe, what kind of person is he?” I wanted to know what they hear.

“That man, he can eat too much!” one learner told me.

“That man, he likes money too much!” another yelled.

“That man, he doesn’t like white people!” a third shouted.

“Madam, why doesn’t he like white people?” someone’s attention was caught.

“Maybe because he thinks they are all too rich,” I thought of the book ‘When a Crocodile Eats the Sun.’

“Ghii. They are,” a learner agreed.

“Some, not all,” I hope I’ve showed them that.

“I have a question I want to ask you,” I said, trying to change the topic. “If you were going to visit somewhere else in the world, what would you bring to show the people there what Namibia is like?”

“Maghumi!” Kambango told me without missing a beat.

“Mutete!”

“Mudhika!”

“Mundere!”

“Mukerete! Madam, how do you call mukerete in English?”

“There’s no name for it, it’s not in America. But I know you call it bechemia in English here. I have another question for you, what will you remember forever that I taught you?”

“Long division!”

“Place holder zero!”

“NEVER ever ever ever ever add your denominators!”

“Find the common denominators!”

“What about something that isn’t math?” I really wanted someone to remember learning how to use a condom, but I guess at ages 13-16 they really shouldn’t be thinking about that in math class.

“English!”

Yesterday someone made a funny comment in English and everyone started laughing. I couldn’t understand what they had said, and as an explanation for me not understanding, someone else said, “Broken English!” I asked them if their English is fixed. “Ghii.” I told them they have the class with the best English in the school, and I really believe that. I can talk to any one of them and I don’t get a blank look on their face back – they understand everything I say. And if I use a word they don’t know, they have the guts to tell me and ask what it means. I can talk to a grade 9 learner and know they have no idea what I’m saying.

When the bell rang, ten minutes early, for break, we were still in the midst of a discussion and no one jumped out of their chairs to go. I would have stayed with them completely through break and kept hanging out, but hunger drives us all. I went home for a snack and it was all I could do to not cry, knowing that I still had to face 4 periods with no teaching to do.

On Monday, exams start and continue for over 2 weeks. The tears alone at night have begun and I know that on that final day of exams, I won’t be crying alone in my house, nor will I be the only one in tears.

It takes a village

Saturday, 13 November, 2010

It takes a village to raise a child.

My house is reminiscient of a dorm room. I have my own door, so can close off the world if I really have too, though kids have been known to ckeck through the curtains to see if I’m there, or even try the door sometimes to see if it’s locked. But I walk outside and I’m immediately in the same area as my neighbors – a family of 6. Next door, within shouting distance, are 5 more women, 3 of whom have their small kids living with them too. There’s a total 17 people within a 20meter distance to the west. We basically all live together.

Matthew and Popay are the two smallest and they’ve decided I’m a good one – they’ve all decided I’m a good one, but those are the two who are too young for me to ever turn away. This morning, Mulela was struggling to bring them both home in tears, carrying one on either hip. She’s only in grade 5, so not quite big enough to manage that. I was outside washing clothes, so I left those to go and help her. She was just putting them both down, forcing them to walk home, when I reached them. Popay reached back up to be held by Mulela and Matthew reached toward me.

I brought Matthew home to Siyanga, but as she turned to walk inside with him, he was reaching for me again and crying. So I went back and brought him to hang out with me for a few hours.

He ended up playing on my bed with Fluffy, who he renamed mbwa because she’s a dog and mbwa is dog in Thimbukushu, while I made feeble attempts at cleaning, organizing when I’ll give away and packing. Ziggy jumped on the bed and interrupted his play, so he was again needing to be held by me. I got a shitenge and tied him to my back. He immediately quieted down and was perfectly content to just be touching me.

I brought some things to Siyanga and Ndunda – books, my solar shower and some glasses – and attempted to offload Matthew at the same time. Nope, he was too happy attached to my back. We went back to my house and continued to play peek-a-boo, play with Fluffy and eventually tie him onto me again, hoping that would be enough to get him to fall asleep. He’ll be three in February, so he’s kind of heavy, especially since I’m not used to carrying a baby on my back all the time. So I was getting tired and lay on my stomach, him still tied to me back and started singing to him.

Nope. I got back up and went to wash my dishes, but noticed he was completely limp. I checked in the mirror and sure enough his eyes were closed. I brought him home again and untied him. Siyanga put him down on the bed with the Ugly Doll I gave him today and he woke up enough to know I was leaving him. I lay down with him until Siyanga was hiding me from him and I left.

Everyone is a parent or sister or brother to everyone else. Not only to my learners who I see 5 days a week and spend the most time with, but even the little kids who won’t remember me beyond six months after I leave.

RPCV Advice

Monday, 15 November, 2010

“Take every little moment in.”

“Let them surprise you.”

“Smile at all the little things.”

“Spend as much time as you can with the friends you’ve grown to love.”

“Just BE with them.”

I spent my lunch break with Nicky asleep on my bed. I made us pancakes and of course she woke up for food. I put syrup on both our plates and we ate on my bed. She didn’t use her fork. And she wished I’d put cheese on hers instead of syrup. We finished and sat around watching the visualizer on iTunes and listening to her favorite songs.

And that’s when it hit me – the most amazing thing about Nicky isn’t that she’s 14 and we can be friends; it’s not that she has learned what a sense of humor is; it’s not that she gets my sarcasm; it’s not that she tells me everything I need to know instead of assuming I can hear Thimbukushu; it’s not that she doesn’t NEED anything from me.

It’s just that our friendship is so NORMAL, in a place that’s so unlike any place I’ve ever been. We were listening to music while lying on my bed and I realized I could be doing it with anyone of the people I’m friends with in my old life, any of my American friends.

Walking through the village after study to go buy 1kg of sugar to make banana bread tonight and maybe some chocolate chip cookies in the near future, along with one last batch of fat cakes if flour can be found or another chocolate cake because it’s one of Nicky’s favorites, I was surprised by how many friends I really have here.

Nicky and I walked to the ka-small shop together. Nandu passed us and greeted us out the window.

Gussi was working there and Rustu, the security guard, told us in Thimbukushu in surprise when I walked up to the window behind Nicky, “When you see Nicky, you see Lori.” I agreed and he was surprised once again that I could hear his comment.

Ritha was leaving work at New Start so I joined her for part of her walk home.

When we parted ways, I saw Kolo and Etty and I exchanged a greeting and a joke about his corruption of the grade 7 girls.

I passed the home where all the small kids greet me but they were busy taking a bath and missed me passing.

I greeted the two girls in grade 9 from Owamboland. We have a little more in common than many other learners in the fact that we are away from where we grew up. We both said, “Afternoon” at the same time, and because I was talking when they greeted, I thought they told me, “Morning” so we had a laugh about that.

I passed Seglinde’s house, where I always wave, but she was running inside and didn’t see me.

I passed Dyakomba Engelberth, who I taught last year in grade 7, and we exchanged smiles and a greeting.

I passed Dimbindo and Shimbaranda from my register class leaving school just as I was getting back. “Is the classroom clean?”

“Yes!” they told me.

“Great! Thanks! See you tomorrow!” I told them with an everly excited voice so they’d feel my appreciation and be more likely to clean again next week. We were all smiling at meeting each other in the path even though we’d spent all morning together.

“See you,” they told me in a little bit of a funny voice.

“Ok,” I agreed, also putting on a silly voice.

“Ewa,” Shimbaranda said, making her voice a little higher than normal.

“Ewa,” I replied, in a slow motion and deep voice. Laughter ensued.

“Everyone wants acceptance!” they yelled as we both turned around to see each others’ reactions to their remembering what EWA stands for on the tshirts of those who attended a leadership camp called EWA.

“But don’t they?” I asked, as my final question to them for the day.

I really have made a life and community here that it will be incredibly hard to pull myself away from, not knowing when the next time I’ll be here is, and knowing that nothing will be the same upon my return.

The parties begin

Friday, 19 November, 2010

On Monday, exams started. Tuesday and Wednesday I was in charge of administering a standardized test to all of the grade 7 learners. There were 3 other teachers helping me, but it was nice to be in charge so I could make sure things got done right. When they finished writing on Wednesday, we still had about 30 minutes until the bell for break, so I hung out with 7A. Kids were asking questions I didn’t really have answers to like, “Why can’t we go now that we’re done writing?”

My only answer was, “When I grow up, I’m going to make my own school and then I’ll get to make all the rules!”

“When you grow up?!” Ngasia asked from the back in utter shock. Shock that I’ll grow up one day? Doubtful. Probably shock that I don’t think I’m a grown up. But either one is possible.

Our conversation continued and Kunyma, in the front near the door said, “Madam, we have to make a party when you go.”

“OK!” I immediately perked up. I had wanted this, but when I tried to get it started, there wasn’t excitement. Now that it’s coming from the learners themselves, they couldn’t care less about their exams. We got all of the grade 7 learners together and discussed some logistics – when will the party be, where will the party be, how much do we each pay, what do we need to buy.

Grade 6 heard about this party and during Thursday’s break, Kapapero came to me and told me, “Madam, we have to make a party for you for when you go.” Perfect!!!

My party line up looks like this: today with grade 9, next Friday with the teachers, next Saturday with grade 7, next Sunday with grade 6, the following weekend just Nicky and Kunyima, the following weekend my family in America, the following weekend a farewell party for Thea, the following weekend is Christmas and the one after that is New Year’s.

Yesterday I needed to find some vegetables – tomatoes seemed like my best bet. So I went to the small open market where you can never expect to find what you want when you want it. And sure enough, there were no tomatoes. But Helena was there and when she heard it was tomatoes I wanted, she brought me to her house and gave me a bag with 7 tomatoes. Of course I wasn’t allowed to pay.

Today I was with 7B while they wrote their natural science exam. There were several learners who would raise their hand and I’d go to their desk to find out that they were missing a page of the question paper! There were 2 extras, so using those pages, everyone ended up with a complete exam, but I wonder what other teacher they would have been brave enough to tell.

When learners finished early, most put their heads down on the table and took a nap. Mununga took out her bible and started reading.

At break, I didn’t eat because grade 9 is making a farewell party for me, which I just learned the nature of today. I thought it was just an end of year party. Nope. There’s a note on the wall informing me that it’s in honor of me. I even have to say my “last words” but I still have two weeks left! I walked into 6B to find Shimbaranda and Elina eating glucose biscuits and drinking water with brown sugar in it. After I checked it out, I turned to walk back to my desk and Elina called me back to take two biscuits. Fortune was sitting nearby too, so I gave one to him. Sharing is something else here.

After break, I have no idea why kids had to come back to school for another hour, but they did. My class of 6B was out of control with anger. They had also written their natural science exam, but they told me they hadn’t been taught anything that was on the question paper so everyone’s going to fail! Their natural science teacher is out on leave, has been all month, so it doesn’t REALLY surprise me. I went to the principal on their behalf. “I’ll look into it.”

But he won’t.

My class is still telling me that if they all fail because of this, it’s not fair. And I agree.

They got to be too much out of control, so I went to visit 6A for a little while. Someone says quietly, “Long time!” and I laugh. We greet. And we start talking about nothing. I also told them that when I grow up I’ll make my own rules and my own school. They all laughed. It’s always nice to walk into a class and realize the kids have been missing you because you’ve been busy with grade 7 responsibilities all week.

When the bell rang for lunch, Kapapero ran to get her dishirishiri and on her way back to the classroom, yelling for me not to lock it, she was singing and dancing. I walked home and on the way Yondo told me, as she sang and danced, “Our party will be too much fun!”

I was worried about all the tears I’ll cry in my leaving Andara. They’ll still come. But they’ll be overshadowed by all the memories I’m still making, the laughter I’ll share, the food we’ll eat together. This is shaping up to be a much better ending than I could have ever expected.

9A’s amazingness

Friday, 19 November, 2010

About a month ago, Lami came to my classroom with a note inviting me to her class of 9A’s end of year function on 19 November. I had to show my acceptance by contributing N$30. I never taught 9A much, so I didn’t know many kids in there, but an invitation is something you don’t say no to. And Lami is a good friend, so I paid up and went to the party today. All along, I’d thought it was just an end of year party. Well, it was mostly an end of year party. But there was a section that was specifically for me, their chance to say goodbye to me. I have a better idea of what next weekend will be like now.

At this party, there was a lot of food. I went before it was finished being cooked and hung out with the girls in the “kitchen.” We sat outside under a big tree and cooked on an open fire in big pots they had brought for the occasion. They cooked rice, macaroni, sauce for them and chicken. It’s something I’ve gotten used to here. And I enjoy it now, though I’d always rather have dimbombo. The food isn’t great, but that’s not what’s important. It’s the act of preparing it. The community or family aspect of eating and preparing food. The sitting together while the food was cooking, listening to their laughter, their jokes, their Thimbukushu that I couldn’t understand the words but got the meanings nonetheless. It’s being with that makes eating food that’s only OK such a wonderful experience.

At this party, Steven and Ngasia were the DJs and there was a big sound system that they felt the need to BLAST as loud as they could in a classroom. They would also yell into a microphone so that my ears are still ringing. These kids can DANCE. Maybe in a way that I found hilarious two years ago. But there’s no self consciousness in them when they’re dancing. They are part of the music. It’s impossible for them to sit when the music starts. So when the power went out for a little while, the party was put on hold.

At this party, Matthew showed up in tears on Maria’s back. Linda took him thinking that might help. I called her over not having any idea if I’d be a comfort to Matthew. I was. He spent the next couple hours happily in my lap observing the celebration, sometimes cuddling, and sometimes playing whatever silly game I came up with to entertain him. The party wasn’t about me yet.

At the party, the kids were just themselves – no one tries to be anyone they’re not. They were completely confident in everything they did from cooking, serving, cleaning, dancing, singing, whatever.

At this party, the end was just for me. Two boys read cards people had written to each other for Christmas, and many for me. I had seven, at least 5 more than the next highest recipient. Then Linda took the microphone and thanked me for coming, thanked me for everything I’ve done for the last two years at Andara. Max had picked out a song with lyrics about missing someone when they go and dedicated it to me. These kids are not the ones I know well. They don’t know ME well. But being part of their lives, letting them be themselves, accepting them, encouraging them, congratulating them, pushing them, enjoying with them, sharing with them, is so important. And it’s such a simple thing to do! While this song played, kids first tried to get me to dance. Not a chance. So Max came over and told me that the song was for me and he shook my hand in thanks to me. Kapapero Annafrieda from grade 6 came over next and gave me a big hug. Then everyone caught on and about 30 kids lined up and gave me hugs. Most of the 9A kids who had created the party and several of the other 100+ kids who were there just because it was something to do. When all those kids lined up, I was overcome with just how much they do care about me. I guess I've always known they do. But they don't show it. And I don't expect them to.

At this party, I was given the floor to say a goodbye. “Thank you thank you thank you for inviting me to your party and giving me a chance to say something. First, I want you to remember you still have exams to write and you need to please be serious. I want everyone from grade 9 in grade 10 next year. And also, I still have 2 weeks until I go, so even though this is a goodbye, it’s not the last one. Then, you’ve been thanking me for the last two years and what I’ve done. But I need to thank you. Even though you’re my learners, you’ve taught me more than any teacher has ever taught me. And one last thing, remember that first time I stood outside this door at assembly and you all looked at me and asked yourselves, ‘Hey, who is that mukuwa?’ No I can stand here and I’m no longer mukuwa. We’re all just the same, I forget I look different. So thank you for letting me be one of you.” Applause, even though I’m sure most of my meaning was lost of many of them.

It's hard, saying goodbye. And it's really started now. I've said a few goodbyes, but they didn't feel real because I still had over a month. And even though I'll see all these kids on Monday, it's real. This is it. This is the end.

If everyday was like today

Saturday, 20 November, 2010

I set my alarm for 9:20 to get to Nicky’s by 10, and crawled back into bed, 6:30 was much too early to be woken up on a Saturday. But I didn’t get the nap I wanted.

Knock knock knock. I had a pretty good idea who it was. I opened the door to find Nicky standing there holding Precious. “Tuyende,” she told me by way of greeting and explanation as to why she was there so early. I got dressed and we went.

“You pounded yesterday?” I asked, wondering if we were only pounding my mahangu, or her maize too.

“No. I didn’t find Kunyima home. And I thought, ‘If we pound, then Miss Lori will be angry.’”

“I would never be angry with you. But I’m happy you didn’t pound your maize without me,” I told her as I walked out the door and put my big bag of mahangu on my head for the walk to her house.

I was dripping sweat by the time we arrived, it was that much mahangu, and it was that hot already. Nicky quickly got the two kakundhu we would use and Mukoya went on a search for more than the one muto. We had a lot of pounding to do and pounding alone is just lonely. Filo, who is now 8 months pregnant, came over to check out what we were pounding. When the mahagu was poured into a basket, she and Nicky both said it was harder than the usual kind of mahangu so it would take longer. And it was a LOT of mahangu. Never let a white person go shopping for mahangu, they have no idea how much to buy!

Nicky and I started pounding, Nicky with a huge muto that was too heavy for either of us, me finally with the perfect size and weight muto. I’m sure I’ve used this one before, but maybe I’ve gotten stronger since the last time I struggled with it. Filo told me, “Madam, not like that. You have to pound stronger, like this,” she told me as she took my muto away and pounded with Nicky, both of them putting all of their strength into it.

“Stop stop stop! Please don’t pound when you’re so pregnant! You’ll have the baby too soon!” I took the muto back and put more muscle into my pounding.

“Yeah!!! Like that!” Now I was finally pounding like an Mbukushu woman.

Kunyima came back and by this time we had three muto for the three of us. Kunyima, being the strongest, used the too-big-muto and pounded in her own kakundhu for a little while, until Nicky took a break and I joined her.

I pounded so hard that I was dripping sweat when Nicky was completely dry. My hands became raw within half an hour and two giant blisters appeared. I put chapstick on them and I could still pound nearly pain free. An hour later, still pounding, one of the blisters popped and I didn’t even feel the change. I’d been searching for some kind of physical outlet for all the emotions of my impending departure – a long bike ride is out, I don’t have a bike; a run is out, I don’t have shoes besides nearly broken Chacos; a solitary walk is out, I can never get away alone. But pounding was exactly what I needed. I could feel the work of my back and shoulders, knowing I’d probably be sore later, but wanting that pain to come. I knew I’d be exhausted when I got into bed, and I needed that after struggling to find sleep all week. I kept pounding long after I usually take a break from exhaustion and blisters.

Pounding in your own kakundhu is lonely. But we were three, with two kakundhu, so do the math and you’d put two people in one and one in the other. Kunyima and I were pounding together and Nicky wanted to join. I’ve seen three people pound together before, two of them pound only every other time in the kakundhu, every other time they have to put their muto outside to make room for the third person. I’ve seen it work a couple times, and I’ve seen many many mistakes. Nicky wanted to pound mahatu – with all three of us in one.

Kunyima, with the extra heavy muto, was the one to pound inside each time. That meant Nicky and I had to figure out when we were pounding inside and when we were pounding outside. It took some mistakes, but we got it down. Then I had to teach Mukoya how to make a video. After many more mistakes involving the camera, we even had success with that endeavor! Then Nicky had to satisfy all the little ones around by taking their photos while Kunyima and I finished pounding.

We only pounded the mahangu one of the required three times, we’ll finish tomorrow after church. Then we moved onto the maize they had to finish pounding just once. It went fast, especially after the extra hard mahangu, and I sifted it after pounding. Nicky kept me company and got hold of my camera. I was sitting in the shade in the sand, concentrating on my job, knowing she was enjoying something with the camera – either looking at videos, taking videos or taking photos. My question was quickly answered.

“When your mother will see all of these videos, she will say ‘oh my daughter you know how to do’” she told me, with the camer facing me. “And then you will be strong if Sophia want to fight with you you will win.”

“Are you making a video?” I quietly asked, not wanting my voice on it if that was the case. She laughed and gave her normal affirmative response of a sharp intake of breath, raised eyebrows and a single quick nod. “Because everything you just said is on there!”

“Mmmm, and then they will hear it?” she asked.

“Ghii,” I confirmed for her.

“Ghii I like it,” she wanted my family to hear all that.

“Sophia and I don’t fight,” I told her, going back to her last claim about my strength.

“Maybe with Adrian, but he’s a boy.” I’m not sure if that meant I could never be stronger than him because he’s a boy, or we can’t fight because he’s a boy.

“Kadiko,” telling her that Adrian and I also wouldn’t fight.

“He will beat you,” she persisted.

“I don’t fight with my family,” I tried to end this line of conversation

“But if if if if Adrian tells you to stop doing something and then you don’t?” she asked, trying to give a concrete example of why we would fight.

“He will not beat me.”

“He will.”

“He will not kupumura me,” I clarified my used of the word beat, not knowing if she thought I meant to win or to fight.

“If…”

“Kadiko!”

“If,” she said more emphatically.

“Kadiko if,” I put all of the stress on if, with her accent even.

“Why not ?” she asked, her now overused question which is placed in conversation when it doesn’t even make sense and is usually accompanied by own response, but from her mouth.

“Yebo!” and we both dissolved into laughter at her loss of her own game of “why not.”

Kayoka was hanging out wit us, not something he always does. Suddenly he jumped up and said something about a shushwa, a chicken, and he took of running with Mukoya and Beshi. A chicken chase had started, a chicken chase for me. He was giving me a chicken.

They came back with the wailing chicken not long after they started and he was leaving it up to me with what to do with it.

“Bring me a knife, we’ll eat it for lunch. Make sure it’s a sharp sharp sharp knife!” I added as Mukoya went to bring one.

Kayoka helf the chicken with the neck exposed, Nicky videoed, and I apologized to the chicken and thanked her for her life and her meat, the closest I’ve ever come to saying a prayer before eating. I killed a second chicken. It wasn’t as traumatizing.

Nicky and Mukoya cut it up and Nicky cooked it for lunch. She told me I’d cook the dimbombo, then quickly told me, “Mbudhi,” it’s not true.

“I’ll cook, but you have to stay with me,” I’m always eating their food, and they’re always cooking for me, it was the least I could do – share my chicken, my mahangu and cook half of a meal!

Kayoka and I sat together while the chicken cooked and he was able to ask me more of the questions he seems to wait for me to ask.

“Madam, how do tourists who have never been to Namibia end up in Andara?”

“Madam, there are also people from Africa who can travel in America, you’ve seen them?”

We talked a lot about traveling, and I learned he was asking these because he wants to be able to travel when he gets a job after school. He’s planning ahead, he doesn’t know the next person who will be here to ask these questions to.

When the chicken finished, I cooked the dimbombo while Nicky put the mushungwa into the pot for me. All I had to do was stir. Over an open fire and not let the boiling porridge splatter onto my skin to create a third degree burn. I did it successfully, I’ve had plenty of practice.

When it was finished, Nicky got three plates and started dividing the dimbombo onto them.

“We’re eating separately?” I asked in surprise, we always share a plate or bowl – Nicky, Kunyima, myself and even their mom when she’s there to eat at the same time as us.

“For me mom,” she told me pointing to the first one, “for us,” meaning Kunyima, Nicky and me, “for Mukoya and Matjikos.” OK, we were eating together.

She then divided up the chicken pieces, putting the three biggest ones on a plate for the three of us. We sat in the sand in the shade and the first thing Nicky said after we were all sitting down and had flattened a “table” in the sand was, “In America, you’ll never eat like this.”

“I know…” I told her with a look of sadness on my face and a longing to eat only like this for the next two weeks.

The dimbombo wasn’t lumpy. The chicken was a delicious greasy mess with plenty of sauce for dipping the dimbombo. It was delicious and the dogs even ate well.

When Nicky’s mom came back from helping clean up after a burial, we said our goodbyes and went to my house where we cooked dessert – chocolate cake – and ate the whole thing while we watched The Lion King for at least the 90th time.

We made a short trip to the river, hoping to swim at dipupo, but dound no one there. Instead, Kunyima and I just washed our incredibly dirty feet. Nicky had showered at my house so she was the only one who was clean after sweating profusely all morning. On the walk to and from the river, they were both finding food on the ground – themba. It’s a seed covered in a white part they eat and an outer brown soft shell that they throw. I tried one, it’s much like a lot of the other foods they find and eat. It has little flavor and leaves your mouth feeling dry.

Back home, we switched from The Lion King to The Gods Must Be Crazy II. It was actually my first time to see it. And when it finished, it was time to go home. With Matthew on my back, we walked them half way home and turned around in the almost darkness.

If everyday could be as full and as fun as this, I’d really never want to leave.

Sometimes you just DON’T say goodbye

Sunday, 21 November, 2010

Church. One last time going to church for as long as I can make it last. I almost dodged church. Nicky usually goes to the 7am mass, and we had to finish pounding my mahangu after I went to church, but then it’d be getting later in the day. So when rain started about 30 minutes before I had to walk to church, I considered taking a nap and then going straight to Nicky’s when the rain let up. Well, the rain let up early enough to still go. Then on my walk there, I was still considering going straight to Nicky’s too. I got there about 10 minutes early, was very underdressed but decided God doesn’t care what I wear. I found Nicky and stood with learners. They’re the only people who don’t make me participate in awkward and forced conversation. We either talk easily or they talk to each other and I’m not required to do anything. Good thing I decided not to dodge.

We sat in the front pew, behind the benches. Every single word was in Thimbukushu so I got lost in my head as usual. I have no idea what the mass was about. But afterwards, all the kids had to stay so some of the adults could talk to them about starting a choir. Great! But really, couldn’t you do that ANY other Sunday? I really have a lot to do today and now you’re just delaying it.

I walked home with Nicky, Kunyima, Kayoka, Mukoya and Beshi – a normal group by now. We found Nicky’s mom making food for lunch and napping next to the fire. The rain and clouds had cooled everything off a bit and even though I was still wearing a tank top, Nicky’s mom was wearing a hat and jersey.

My mahangu was brought out, mostly dried, and put into one kakundhu. A second muto was found and I pounded while another was searched for. But the time Nicky and Kunyima came back, my massive blister from yesterday had opened and it was even too painful to just pick up the muto, never mind pound with it. I was delegated to sifting duty instead.

When the mahangu was pounded and sifted and ready to porridge making, it was separated into two baskets – a smaller one for me and a bigger one to stay at Nicky’s house. For all the food I’ve eaten of theirs, it’s the least I can do, even though Nicky reminded me yesterday that she also eats all of my food so it evens out in the end. Nicky’s mom wanted me to take the bigger basket, but I know more people need it at their house. So I walked back home carrying the basket of mushungwa on my head, walking down sandy paths in my green shitenge skirt. Nicky carried my camera and phone.

I had a lunch date with Christophine in another village. She had agreed that Nicky could also come. She sent her husband to pick us in her car and I got to see another part of Marudhi for the first time. Driving along a small dirt path near her house, Carlos Helena saw me in the car and shouted as loud as she could, “MADAM!!!” as we passed. I smiled and waved.

Lunch was marathon chicken and maize meal porridge. There were two plates – one for Nicky and one for me, Christophine and her husband had already eaten. Christophine was in and out of the house still doing some work and her husband sat on the couch and watched TV while Nicky and I enjoyed our food. I said quietly to her, “It’s funny not sharing a plate with you.” She laughed and responded, “Ghii, because we always use one plate.” We were even given spoons, but neither of us used them. We ate with our hands.

After lunch, Christophine brought us to her garden on the side of the river and picked me many tomatoes and a few pumpkins that aren’t grown in the US. But the main reason she wanted me to visit was to give me peanuts – ndongo. One of my favorite things.

Back from the garden, she brought a straw mat into the shade of a big tree and told Nicky to bring me a chair. Nicky turned to me and asked, “You want a chair?” knowing the answer already.

“Uh uh, I sit the way you sit,” I told her, confirming what she knew. Christophine laughed but accepted much easier than most other adults.

The three of us sat in the shade shelling peanuts that had been grown in the soil of Marudhi sometime in the last year. Conversation was easy, Christophine isn’t like other adults. She sees things the way I see them, or at least closer to the way I see them.

“The people I work with at the hospital, they just want money,” she told me. “But what will they do with the money? Our program is to teach them about nutrition and the best food for us is the local food, not the food in the shops. They just want NikNaks and hot dogs. But this here,” she indicated the peanuts we were shelling, “this is energy. Some of them found out that Mary donated money and they’re asking where it is. But they think they’ll each get N$10, N$10. But it’s for food so we can feed the members of the HIV support group when they have to take their ARVs. And the men, hey! They aren’t coming to the garden to work, they just want money!”

This turned into a conversation about the roles of men and women. Women work, case and point in us shelling peanuts, while men sit around and just eat. Recently, a teacher at school told me that men just eat and sleep. I compared them to babies.

Visiting with Christophine was exactly what I’d needed this afternoon. I was feeling tired. Tired of the anticipation of goodbyes. Tired of goodbyes. Tired of constantly being with people but not wanting to sacrifice any moment of being with someone to be alone, I can be along in America. Tired of my things somehow belonging to everyone. Tired of trying to figure out how to somehow fairly give away all my things. Tired emotionally and even tired physically. But Christophine’s perspective gave me energy to stay energized about everything I love here.

Back home with Nicky, she cooked one pumpkin and salted and roasted half of the peanuts. We were meeting Kaitlin on her way through on the bus to Windhoek. She’ll spend the next few weeks there, but has had to say goodbye to her home for the last 3 years. She needed to be able to say goodbye to Nicky. We brought her food in the ride I’d arranged earlier in the week so they could see each other one more time.

We got to the petrol station an hour earlier than the bus, but waiting around was fine. Nicky wanted a hot dog, which made me think of Christophine’s earlier comment. I got chips, which made me feel really sick. We shared a Sprite.

When the bus got there, Kaitlin was one of the first ones off and we were immediately hugging, giving each other the things we’d brought, and taking photos. We had about 15 minutes to talk and share each others’ love. When the time was becoming less, Kaitlin told Nicky she loves her, that she’s a special one, gave her many hugs and the tears started. Kaitlin’s first, then mine and even Nicky’s cheeks were wet while she tried to hide how hard the goodbye was.

I cried for Kaitlin, for all the goodbyes she’d already said, for this one, for having to leave her home. I cried for myself, for the goodbyes I’m starting to say, for this temporary goodbye to Kaitlin, for the hardest goodbye of all that’s coming – the one with Nicky. And I cried for Nicky. She’s better for having known me, for having known Kaitlin, for having had people who care and have shown her unconditional love and support, for having such positive influences in her life. But once again, she’s realizing that our physical presence in her life is temporary, that we are going.

The bus was full again, the drivers were getting back on and Kaitlin asked if they were going. Yes. It was time for her to go. Full of tears, all three of us, waved as she walked back toward the bus. But she couldn’t do it. She turned around and we were hugging again, crying onto each others’ shoulders. Finally, there was no more time to keep her there and she had to get on the bus. Nicky and I ran to the other side of the bus where Kaitlin was sitting so we could wave as she drove away.

Nicky and I sat and waited for our ride to come back. Neither of us knew what to say. We barely spoke while waiting and even less in the car. Nicky wouldn’t talk to anyone, I had to pretend to be fine when anyone came and talked to us.

We decided she’d sleep over at my house. She was too sad, I was too sad, she had a big bag of new things that she wanted to see and it didn’t feel right showing up at 9pm with them. It’d lead to too many questions. So she went through her new bag of loot, learning what some things were for, deciding who to give others too, trying on clothes.

“I’ll look at the sun everyday and then my eyes won’t work anymore,” she told me after she tried on an old pair of Kaitlin’s glasses. I advised against it. Those will probably go to the hospital.

There were some fun hats and we tried them on together, took a photo and sent it to Kaitlin.

I showered and climbed into my half of the bed, with Nicky already passed out on the other side. This is exhausting for me, but Nicky is also being tested.

The WORST fat cakes EVER!

Tuesday, 23 November, 2010

My hands are so blistered from last weekend’s pounding that I after washing my clothes yesterday in soapy water, the pain was too much to take and I couldn’t do the rinse “cycle.” I had to let them sit in water over night and ask Nicky to come finish for me at lunch. I cooked us banana pancakes since I made her work, though I would have cooked them anyway.

She likes hers with cheddar cheese instead of syrup.

Towards the end of our long lunch break, I told her I wanted to make fat cakes after study. Instead of waiting to see if the rain would hold off for us to cook outside, she started making the dough without me knowing. Any other day that wouldn’t have caused hiccups in our plans.

“Kadiko flour.” There’s no flour.

“I know, just finish the white flour,” I told her, not knowing she had already finished it.

“Ghii, but it’s not enough.”

“Oh, you put in a lot of water because you said you wanted to eat 15. Use another kind of flour.”

She added the self rising flour.

“Still,” she told me, meaning still not enough.

“Use the brown flour.”

She added the brown flour, even though one time we made fat cakes using just that and they were not good.

“Still. It’s all finished, now what?” she asked, having used the last of all my kinds of flours.

“Mushungwa?” Maize meal?

“Bring.”

It still wasn’t enough. And the bell rang so we both went to school.

I asked for permission to go to the hospital to fax Ziggy’s documents to the airline so he can fly to America the day before me. Permission granted. I used that time to go on a mission of finding more flour, any kind, and oil. I also had no oil.

The oil was easy to come by, just more expensive than in town. The flour…well…not so easy.

Nicky had sent message to Gussi asking if she had any flour. None. I went to the shop where Gussi works to buy flour. None. I ran into Filo by New Start (she’s pregnant with TWINS!) and asked if she had flour. None. They both told me to go to Augusta. I wasn’t so comfortable with that since she’s jealous of my friendship with Nicky. But by then Gussi had smsed Gigi to ask if she had flour. Yes.

I went home with Filo and Gigi and Augusta happily gave me flour. I promised to send fat cakes home with Nicky.

I added flour and mixed the dough while Nicky was finishing up study. She got here and added even more flour. Taste test, not enough sugar, “But leave it because I’ll add cheese.”

The rain was raining so we had to cook inside. I put newspapers on the floor to try to not make AS big a mess and we boiled oil. They didn’t stick. Good to go.

When we had enough dough for about 6 more, we added chocolate to make chocolate fat cakes. More sugar and it’s like a doughnut!

Except, not at all.

We’ve made normal white flour fat cakes. We’ve made not good brown flour fat cakes. We’ve overcooked some. We’ve undercooked some. We’ve made “thin” cakes when the water boiled and the yeast was killed. We’ve made Italian seasoned fat cakes. We’ve made perfect fat cakes. We’ve put honey on fat cakes. We’ve put cinnamon on fat cakes. We’ve put jam on fat cakes. We’ve put cheese on fat cakes.

These couldn’t be salvaged by anything.

They. Were. So. Bad. All. Of. Them.

We suffered through a few. Ziggy wouldn’t even touch the undercooked one I offered.

“What should we do with them? Just throw?” I asked. I couldn’t eat them anymore.

“Hey! Tomorrow I’ll eat with Thidjukwe and Sawajenda and Tunashwena.”

“You can’t give these to people! They’re so bad!”

“We’ll eat them.”

“OK.”

She got out her books and used my kitchen floor as her studying space for tomorrow’s social studies exam. I had withheld watercolor paints that she wanted to bring to study. Instead, I made her study for social studies then too. She studied, wrote Adrian a card and cooked chicken for Ziggy that he’d stolen from my neighbors several months ago.

As it started getting dark, I asked if she was ready to go and we got half way to her house, me recounting a bizarre dream I had last night, before she realized she’d left some candles at my house that she wanted to use for studying tonight. We walked extra fast but I was still coming home alone in the dark.

In November 2009, I buried a close friend of mine. Djami was a 16 year old grade 7 boy. I had never been to his house until the Monday after his death. And I went everyday for the rest of that week, throughout the funeral.

Funerals are different here. They last a week, women sit together, coming together to support the mother and sisters. Men sit together, usually with some kind of physical barrier between the two sexes. I was always with the women – my learners, Djami’s sisters and cousins and other relatives.

On Wednesday of that week, I dodged study to go and pound mahangu to feed over 200 people that coming Saturday after the burial. I was with 22 of my female learners who have never seen me as their teacher, but as their sister. Nicky and I went together. There were girls who shared a mother or a father with Djami. There were girls who were his neighbors and had grown up with him. They were all somehow family. We were all somehow family.

His mother was sitting near us. His aunts and grandmothers there too, all on blankets or mats on the sand. All of the younger generation – the learners and me – did the pounding. The older women sifted and separated the shells from the flour part we’d eat as porridge.

I wished plenty of times living in Namibia that I was a man. The power they steal from women, the control the have over us, the silence they force us into is suffocating and depressing. But on that afternoon, standing or sitting or pounding, listening to the hollow thud of 14 muto pounding into 7 kakundhu – giant mortars and pestles – being part of that group of women, who for that afternoon could come together and laugh and enjoy themselves while mourning the loss of a brother, a son, a cousin, a nephew, a grandson, a friend or a learner, was the most powerful I’ve ever felt as a woman. I smiled and laughed with them all, for once knowing why I was laughing. It was genuine happiness and ease I felt, watching those girls, listening to the music of creating food from grain, giving life to all the family of Djami.

Being a woman has its challenges - we have to talk louder to be heard, repeat ourselves a million times before someone might listen, fight harder for what we think is right, do more to get recognized for our abilities. But it’s a beautiful thing when we come together.

The women here are incredibly strong people, and I feel extremely privileged to have had the opportunity to get to know them. Now I want to make sure that the girls I know and love are given the opportunity to grow to become educated, powerful, strong women.

Help them do that.

Go to http://www.gladrags.com/c-54-donate-pads.aspx to donate reusable cloth pads to the girls at Andara Combined School so they can still come to school when they are menstruating. Without them, they are forced to miss classes while their male peers create an ever widening education gap.

Your responses make me ever prouder to be here and helping the people I've grown to love.

Thank you,

Lori

"I haven't been in the trenches of war with these women, but I've been in the trenches of daily life with them, and if you ask me, that forges the stronger friendship." Aheb

Math SUCCESS!

Thursday, 4 November, 2010

Kids are tired. They’re hot. They’re hungry. They’re already looking toward the exams that are coming and forgetting about the review we still have to do so they can pass those exams. Especially period 8 in the middle of the hottest part of the day. So when I was sitting in 7A, too tired myself to force kids to keep doing math, and two grade 9 learners came in looking for math help on their geometry worksheet, I allowed the interruption and helped them. Sawahenga Ruth, Fugre Kwame, Kashako Karware and Thikoka Kunyima crowded around us, wondering what was going on, why I actually allowed someone to interrupt my class. There were diagrams and they had to find angle measures with the information that was given – a lot of stuff we’ve just finished learnering in grade 7. I started leading them through the first problem, asking questions to remind them what they know and Ruth was the first to answer! The two kids from grade 9 were a little taken aback, but they got used to is as the other grade 7 learners started speaking up and we finished the worksheet together – my learners always able to keep up with the kids two grades, and maybe even more years, ahead of them.

That afternoon, study was cancelled, so I got some things done that had been on my list and had extra time to go for a walk. I love that alone time, talking to myself. Kids always warn me about “matjotji,” criminals, but I don’t hear them, and hardly ever see anyone on the road. Not today.

I heard four boys running behind me. I turned to look, but they were still too far back for me to recognize them. When they finally caught up with me, I knew only one of them – Matamu, one of the younger brothers for Kapweke. I guarantee the only reason they were coming was because I’ve spent time at his house recently. They knew not a single word of English, but Matamu didn’t care that we could really only guess on what the other was saying. We talked away about nothing.

As we neared the tarred road, I saw a “bush” in a place I didn’t think used to have one. Turns out my eyes have deteriorated more than I thought, because it wasn’t a bush, it was two people sitting on the side of the road. Luckily I figured it out early enough to not have to reach them. All those warnings of matjotji were singing in my head so I turned around and said goodbye to the boys, thinking they had somewhere to go. Nope, they turned around with me, yelling MATJOTJI and started running. Only a short while, and then we walked home together.

I know what you're all thinking...

"Lori's coming back to America in 6 weeks and I should get her a

welcome home gift since she's been away for 2 years and is leaving

everything she owns in Andara."

Thanks for being so generous and thinking of giving me something to

welcome me back, BUT DON'T!

Instead, go to http://www.gladrags.com/c-54-donate-pads.aspx and

donate reusable cotton pads to my female learners at Andara Combined

School. They need these to be able to go to school when they have

their period more than I need anything at all!

Thank you to those who have donated and those who will :)

Spread the word!

Lori

If you're not receiving emails about this project and would like to, send me an email schippers.lori@gmail.com and I'll add you.

With a little help from my friends

Saturday, 30 October, 2010

Nicky told me she’d come get me at 8 this morning. We were going to make bread with her mom. So I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. But she didn’t come. Instead, Seglinde and Ndara showed up for a short visit. I had things I wanted to give both of them – a notebook and a self addressed, stamped postcard to Ndara and a pair of Teva sandals to Seglinde.

Around 11, I was tired of waiting so went to Nicky’s house looking for her. It’d been almost 2 months since I was last there, so I walked in the front gate instead of the back way directly to her house. I had to greet Augusta first.

While I had been waiting patiently for Nicky to come, Nicky and Mukoya had gone to the river and found a tomato plant. It was full of tomatoes and they moved it to their garden. They found Lengi, an older boy who stays on their homestead, and yelled to him, “Yinye wa kutenda?” What are you doing?

He told them, “Na kukuyogha.” I’m bathing. They had to leave the riverside because Nicky’s a girl and can’t go there when a boy is bathing. Instead, they went to the market just down the path from their house and bought bread for breakfast that had been made at their home the day before.

We I got to their house, I found Nicky, Kunyima and Seglinde pounding mahangu.

“Seglinde, you came here just from my house?” I asked her.

“Ghii.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, ‘Let’s go to Nicky’s?” I would have come and pounded all morning with them.

“They did not make bread today,” Nicky told me by way of explanation for why she didn’t come get me in the morning. I had figured as much. “But tomorrow, they will make.”

Kunyima had already cooked dimbombo and cabbage before I’d arrived. It was brought out for lunch when the pounding was finished. Nicky went on a hunt for nandungu, chili, to make lunch more exciting. She started ripping it up with her fingers, no need for a knife here.

“Touch your eyes when you finish,” I challenged her.

She looked at me with laughter in her eyes.

We ate lunch, a little spicier than usual, their mom surprised I enjoyed it with nandungu. I even got a piece of it in one of my bites, and the other girls looked at me in surprise and worry.

After lunch, the heat was too much to take and we took off for the river. Seglinde wanted to bring her clothes to wash, so we made a turn at her house first. We went to a new place for me, down paths I couldn’t find my back on. There’s a canal that was dug in the ‘80s to channel water to the mission’s hydroelectric plant. The water is much calmer and there’s even nice enough grass in the shade to sit on. There were too many small kids for me to feel comfortable swimming, so I sat with some older learners in the shade who were also not swimming.

On the walk back, Nicky showed me her new tattoo on her shoulder. However, it wasn’t an actual tattoo, just a bite from Seglinde.

We left Seglinde at her house and Kunyima and Nicky came back to mine where I made dough for fat cakes, showing off my talent to Kunyima for the first time. As we walked, stories were told.

“Kunyima, did you tell Nicky about swimming in the sea?”

“No.”

I told about the time we drove around for 4 hours looking for a beach, when we left one at the start of our drive.

“Madam, remember the fat cakes we ate in Rundu?” Kunyima asked.

“Ghii. We had to wait too long to get them!”

“Why?” Nicky asked, not having heard that story from our adventure to Swakopmund either.

“She was still making them! But they were too small and not enough sugar. I told you all, ‘I can make better cakes than these’ when we ate them!”

“Ghii,” Kunyima laughed in agreement, remembering her last trip to Rundu.

We let the dough rise in the sun, Nicky and Kunyima sharing my iPod and singing horribly along with the songs I couldn’t hear. A fire was made with only one match thanks for Kunyima’s genious fire making skills and the oil was put on the get hot. We tried a small fat cake to see if it was ready, but when it stuck to the bottom of the pot, making a mess instead of a fat cake, we had to remain patient until the oil got hot enough.

“There is less today,” Nicky said, looking at the dough that was almost finished after just three sets of cakes going in the pot.

“Ghii, I made less because I don’t want left overs, I want us to eat them all today because they’re better hot. Who wants to eat cakes that a day old and cold?” We were all in agreement there.

“Who would win if we had a competition?” Nicky asked. “Me and you, who would win?”

“I would win!” I told her confidently, remembering the times when I had to force feed her a final half of a fat cake so there would be fewer left overs, a look of pain on her face.

“No no!” she told me, equally confident that it would be her.

“OK, next weekend I’ll be away, but the weekend after, we’ll have a competition. No, tomorrow we will, you, me and Kunyima.”

“And Ndara,” Nicky added. “Kunyima with Ndara and you with me. Two competitions.”

“Yes, Ndara too. But all four of us together. I won’t eat tomorrow before eating the fat cakes. We’ll finish all my flour!”

“Yes yes, don’t eat. The flour will be finished!” Nicky agreed as we finished today’s fat cakes with Vermont Cheddar Cheese shake that is Nicky’s favorite.

“It’s boring again after the fat cakes,” Nicky told me after we had eaten and cleaned up.

“What do you want to do?” I asked, thinking the answer would either be to watch Cinderella or The Lion King.

“LET’S WASH THE FLOOR!” Nicky said a little too enthusiastically. I’d told them that I would wash the floor tonight, since I had cleaned the house last night and I wanted the whole thing to be equally clean.

“Really?” I asked, pretty incredulous.

We got brooms, magic castile soap and a bucket full of water, moved everything that was on the floor onto my bed (all of my belongings fit in cupboards, closets or on my bed, I’m really downsizing) and began throwing water on the floor and sprinkling it with soap.

I was pretty useless, letting them do one of the things they do best – get things really clean.

“Let me see the thing your mom sent me,” Nicky demanded. I’ve been holding out on giving her the gift my mom sent until I’m going. She sent a notebook with a note inside telling Nicky to “write down the things you want to remember.” She read the note and I told her that after every time we hang out, I write a story so I can remember it later.

So as the floor dried, I took my computer and together, Nicky, Kunyima and I remembered our day together and put it here for everyone to read and for me to remember later, while Nicky picked my sunburned, peeling skin off my back. Now THAT is love.

As we put my house back together again with a clean, dry floor, I was hanging up my three jersies – a hoodie, a fleece jacket and a nice athletic hooded top that I found on Mt. Monadnok a few years ago. I felt like 3 was overkill to bring back to the states.

“Kunyima, do you have a jersey?” I asked as Nicky jealously looked on even though I gave her a green jersey in June.

“No.”

“I’ll take that one and I’ll give her mine,” Nicky quietly told me.

“Here, it’s yours,” I told Kunyima as I threw her the jersey from the mountain. She put it on in the stifling heat and we walked home.

I can’t believe I ate 9 fat cakes

Sunday, 31 October, 2010

At 1pm on the dot, exactly on time, not 45 minutes late for African time, Ndara, Nicky and Kunyima showed up at my house to eat as many fat cakes as we each could. I had already made the dough a half hour earlier and it was sitting in the sun rising. Nicky and Ndara went to collect some more firewood, Kunyima made a fire and I brought out all of our supplies – pot with left over oil from yesterday, bowl full of more dough than it’s ever seen at one time, bowl of water, pan to hold the finished products and the holey spoon to let oil drain off the cakes as we take them out of the pot.

We’d agreed to eat in teams – Nicky and me agains Kunyima and Ndara. We’d all barely eaten all morning in preparation. I’d only had some toast and an orange, many hours ago. Nicky’s greeting to me was, “I can see you’re ndhara.” I can see you’re hungry. I was.

The fire made, the oil sizzling, Nicky started putting cakes in and I watched and flipped them around as they browned. Nicky would lick the bits of dough that stuck to her fingers until I finally “yelled” at her to stop because her stomach would be full of dough instead of fat cakes!

The first batch was extra brown – a little burned and we all knew they wouldn’t be tasting. The oil was too hot, so I pulled some of the wood out to get the flame down and the rest of the cakes looked great. When they were finished, we waited, not so patiently especially for me, until they were a reasonable temperature. Then we sat on the stoop and dug in.

There were about 35 cakes and it took us less than 15 minutes to eat them all. Nicky, Kunyima and Ndara had a plan – eat fast and eat the smaller ones first. We all ate about the same speed at first, but then Ndara and I pulled ahead of the two to other girls. I picked up the last cake, it was a big one, and made Nicky take part of it. Ndara was struggling to finish his final one, so I grabbed half. He realized I was on the other team and wouldn’t let Nicky have any, even though his face was too full and it looked like he might throw up. Ndara ended up eating 10, I had 9, Kunyima 8 and Nicky 7. So my team lost, but I got second overall. And if we’d had more cakes, I would have definitely won – I was still going strong when Ndara was suffering. I would not have been happy afterwards, but the glory of winning would have been worth it!

Ndara had to go almost immediately after we finished so he could hike back to school. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to say a proper goodbye in December just before I leave. Kunyima lay on my thermarest, Nicky sat on a drum because of my general lack of chairs and I sat on the floor in front of her while she played with my hair and we watched The Lion King. Nicky knows about 90% of the words before they’re spoken. I’m always impressed with that.

After the movie, I was feeling cooped up in my house so told them we had to go somewhere. We found someone to cut their hair and then walked the long way home. On the walk, we talked about me going to town next weekend and what I have to get – for me and for them.

“You’ll get mahangu to pound?” Nicky asked, yesterday I’d told her I want to pound mahangu on my final night here, at her house, kill a chicken and then leave with the mushungwa to bring home to cook porridge for my family.

“Ghii. But if I buy next week, can I wait to pound in December?” It took a long time to get them to understand that one.

“But you can get more then next time you go.”

“I won’t go again, this will be my last trip to town before I go on my way to Windhoek.”

“Heeey!!”

“Next weekend to town, then here for 3 weekends and then I leave. There are only 5 weeks left. Do you want to know how many days?”

“Ghii.”

I gave it some thought – I leave the village 5 weeks from this past Friday, “33.” I got a look of extreme sadness from Nicky. “I know,” I told her, agreeing that it’s sad. “The other night, when I couldn’t sleep, my mom sent an email and asked how many days left. I wrote back and told her ‘Too many and not enough.’” I explained my reasoning in that there are too many days until I get to see my family but not enough days to spend here anymore.

I've been a Peace Corps Volunteer teacher at Andara Combined School in the Kavango region of Namibia for two years. There are between 600 and 700 learners at the school each year, about half of them girls, from villages so far in the bush that some kids stay at a hostel during the school term because they can't walk the 15km+ to school and home each day. The village is plagued with unemployment, single parents trying to support more kids than are their own and even homes with no parents, just school age kids living alone.

Gender equality is something we take for granted in the States, but in Andara, it's a foreign concept. Women are second class citizens, and it begins in childhood. There is little or no access to menstrual pads or tampons, so when girls reach puberty, they are forced to miss a week of school at a time, causing them to fail their grade, repeat and eventually drop out because they can't cope with so much absenteeism. Without an equal education, or even the opportunity for that, women will remain dependent on their male counterparts. Men control almost all aspects of a woman's life - from the financial side, to sex.

Kapapero Annafrieda is an incredibly bright 15 year old grade 6 learner at Andara Combined School. She transferred here in 2010 from another village after her mother passed away and she was sent to stay with distant relatives. At the end of period 8 one day, she called me over to where she quietly stood against the wall of the classroom while her 24 classmates yelled and screamed in their excitement that school was over for the day and they could go eat lunch.

"Madam, my skirt is not OK."

"What do you mean?" I asked her, trying to translate her concern from Namlish into English.

"My menstruation," was all she told me in explanation. She turned around to show me the stain that had been spreading for hours on her skirt, but there had been nothing she could do. Now she faced a 20 minute walk through the center of busy lunch time Andara on her way home.

"Wait a minute, I'll bring a dikehe," I told her as I left the classroom to quickly go to my house to bring her a traditional piece of cloth women use as a skirt covering. She wrapped herself in it and went home. I didn't see her for another 2 days.

Kutenda Petronella proved a promising grade 6 learner in 2009. I learned that she lives only with her younger sister and their grandmother who doesn't work. In 2010, she's begun missing too much school to allow her to pass the grade. On a Thursday in period 4, she called me over to her table.

"Madam, my menstruation."

Since it wasn't the end of the day, I wasn't sure how to tackle this same problem. I went to a couple teachers to ask for advice in what was culturally appropriate and school accepted protocol. She had to go home.

When the bell rang for break just 20 minutes later, Ms Shishanda and I sent all the other learners out of the classroom, Kutenda washed her chair, turned her skirt around and carried books in front of the stain. She had a 30 minute walk home. I didn't see her until late the following week.

This is the reality for too many young women in Andara. There is no money left after eating to buy basic necessities like pads or tampons.

GladRags in Portland, OR has agreed to help me battle this problem in Andara. GladRags makes reusable cotton pads, providing women and girls with reusable pads as a long term solution, compared to the disposable option. The environmental impact is also incredible, taking that waste out of the fires that are used to get rid of all trash. GladRags has agreed to sell these reusable pads at a discounted price for anyone who buys to donate to Andara Combined School. Visit the donation section of their website at http://www.gladrags.com/c-54-donate-pads.aspx and enter my home address (Lori Schippers, 623 Richardson Road, Ashby, MA 01431) as the shipping address, to order as many reusable cotton pads as you want. Everything you order will be sent to Andara!

Thank you for helping give girls at Andara Combined School an equal education to that of their male peers.

Stay well,

Lori

PS - You know someone I don't know? SPREAD THE WORD! The most important thing you can give a child is an education, and if giving them reusable pads is what it takes to GET them that education, we have a social responsibility to do that.

The way we see things

Tuesday, 26 October, 2010

People have always said you’re either a geometry person or an algebra person but very rarely both. Geometry is sort of instilled early on in boys in the way they play – building blocks, Legos, even watching the wheels on the cars they play with. Girls generally struggle more with it because the games they play when they’re little don’t further those skills – make believe cooking, dress up, dolls. Having taught a small section of geometry, I’ve seen more kids struggle with it than not – boys and girls alike. Sure, there are the couple really strong learners who stand out in everything they do and they’re doing fine. But some kids who I expected to get it, just didn’t. And other surprised me with their recent test scores who usually don’t stand out at all.

6A is the only class left to write a test on shapes, perimeter and area. They’ll write it tomorrow so today I put up review problems on the board and they worked through them on their own. This is the “slower track” of grade 6, so I struggle with getting them to understand. But I had two great moments watching them do the problems.

First, I realized how much all of my learners have grown in using their exercise books. Usually they’re given 1 book per subject and that should last them the whole year. But in my classes, some kids have filled up 2 or 3, we do that much work. And I watch kids USE the work we do. The flip back to the examples I did on the board, the problems they did on their own and then corrected as a class. Usually the problems would just sit there.

Then I listened and watched as Kapinga Thifafure, Disho Mukoya and Thivute Elizabeth discussed the 4 kinds of angles we learned – acute, obtuse, right and straight. I always ask them to show me with their arms the different angles. So the three of them were looking in their books and also showing each other the different angles with their arms to decide how to draw each one.

I walked away with a smile.

After school Nicky came over. I was marking tests, which I’m adamant about kids not seeing each other’s marks because it’s up to them to share them. So she stood around for about 45 minutes waiting and I had no idea if she was angry or not. I really just had to work. When I finished that, I tried to lesson plan for tomorrow, but I’m just tired of doing that! She’s noticed.

“Madam, why aren’t you giving us homework anymore?”

“I’m getting too lazy like your other teachers.”

“Ms Siyanga, she’s becoming like Ms Ndunda. She hasn’t taught since September.”

“Tomorrow I’ll give you homework, look at all the problems I have written for you.”

“Heeey!”

I pointed toward two drunk looking men walking toward my house, “Do you think they’re looking for me? I don’t want to talk to them!” I hid from someone the other day too and she got rid of him just before we made the fat cakes.

“Go, hide!” I did.

They came. Everything they discussed was in Thimbukushu, but she, Mulela, Fortune and Siyanga kept telling them that I was gone, that no mukuwa lived there, that I was in Rundu, that I was at Ms Siyanga’s house, that I had left forever. They didn’t believe them and they didn’t even know my name. They asked Nicky my name. “Ciara,” she told them, the name of her current favorite song. They started calling out to me, “Madam Ciara, Jeffro Ciara!” I stood behind the wall laughing.

When they finally left, the ice was broken and Nicky and I could talk easily again. “You know what I saw yesterday that was funny.”

“Where,” I asked, thinking I could turn it into a guessing game. Nope.

“Every tree has an acute angle!”

Oh. My. God. I cracked up! Last year I took my grade 7 classes outside FOR THAT SPECIFIC REASON! I told them to look for acute, obtuse, straight, right angles, parallel, perpendicular, horizontal, vertical lines. You get the point. I couldn’t believe it!

Nicky’s effort and success in math has SKYROCKETED this term. She’s living, thinking, breathing math. She’s now one of the top girls in the class, when she was in the bottom third before. Usually at the top of the bottom third, but she’s definitely in the top third now.

We walked half way to her house, talking about me leaving. “I just don’t want to teach anymore, so I don’t want to prepare to teach either. I just want to hang out with you guys!”

“With who?”

“With all the learners because in 38 days I won’t be able to anymore.”

I told her how much I want to come back next year at least for the marathon, so I’ll see her in October 2011. If not then, definitely October 2012. “So you better be in grade 9!”

“I will, I promise.”

She told me that my mom and dad and grandmothers and grandfathers and sister and sister’s husband and Amanda’s mom and my friends will all help to get me back here. Well, maybe. We’ll see. I’ll figure it out.

When we got the half way marker, there was another drunk man I didn’t want to talk to, so just before reaching there, she told me, “Ewa” and I turned back. That’s when I had my greatest idea ever… When I leave for my final trip to Rundu, where I’ll spend 3 nights saying goodbye and getting some last minute things done, I have to bring Nicky. I’ll get there on a Friday. It doesn’t even matter what we do, she’ll be happy running errands with me. I’ll be happy having her there. Then send her back on a combi on Sunday and leave myself on Monday morning. It’ll be the hardest goodbye, but the longer I can put it off, the better.

“It’s black people food.”

Wednesday, 27 October, 2010

This morning started on the WRONG foot. Staff briefings have thankfully been cut down to three a week instead of every morning, but they’re still hellish when they happen. And when the principal is here to conduct them, they’re that much worse. He’s been gone to various places for the last week so other management members have been filling that role. This morning I was rudely reminded how great it’ll be to never have to go to another after the next few weeks are up.

“If you’re living at school, you have to be careful because even after school, you’re still at school. Even if you’re living in your own house on the school grounds. You have to control your husband or wife because if there’s a problem with them, we’ll come to you because you’re the reason they’re living here. So if you’re a husband you have to control your wife and if you’re a wife you have to control you husband. It’s not hard to control them. Just control your husband or wife. People from outside are saying they’re tired of what’s going on here. Yeah, so control you husband or wife.

“On Monday there will be a workshop for the standardized tests for grade 7. The math, English and natural science teachers have to attend. It will be conducted by myself and Mr ‘Cheesa’ and [someone else]. So those teachers are Ms Lori, Ms Mughongora and Ms Ndunda.

“I brought the SSE [school self evaluation] forms to the inspector last week. Yeah, she looked at them and sent them back with me. Yeah, when I got you all there completing them two weeks back [the meeting I walked out of], I thought you weren’t supposed to be doing it that way. You ranked us higher than St. Boniface. You said that our teaching and learning is 100%. Every learner can get an A? You said the teaching is 100% but you go to a class and sit and don’t teach. You have to complete them again.

“You have to be careful what you say. Even if you think you’re joking and happy, you don’t know who it will offend who can hear you. Yesterday I was talking to a teacher and he or she said that she could insult anyone of us here. I don’t know, did she mean me too?”

Ms Ndunda spoke up and took responsibility for the comment, “It was me who made that comment. But you can’t say [what what] before I made it.”

“You can’t tell me what I can say and how I can say it. Just cool off.”

Ms Siyanga spoke up in defense of Ms Ndunda.

The principal finally decided that it was time to go to classes even though we’d listened to his nonsense for the last half hour and were already 20 minutes late. Apparently when he’s being ganged up on he uses his authority and sends us out of the office.

Periods 1 and 2 went better than that meeting. But by period 3, in 7B, I was again reminded of things I won’t miss. “What class is this that’s so full?” asked the principal in one of his random going arounds of the school.

“7B, there are 27 learners,” I told him while they all looked on, interrupted in their test. “It’s the three cupboards that take up so much space.”

“Yeah. Mr Thinyemba!” he called outside to get the teacher in charge of stock control to come and look at the clutter. They started talking to each other, asking who the class teacher was. Mr Fugre.

“Can you do this at break? They’re writing a test,” I politely enough asked.

“Oh, no, it’s fine I just called him to look,” the principal told me, surprised that he could possibly be interrupting something more important than his agenda, and they continued to discuss in Thimbukushu.

Break came and went, periods 5 and 6 went off without a managerial hitch, just a lot of confusion in how to figure out volume. I saw the light click in Shitunda’s head at one point, that was exciting. A hands on activity for Friday is in store because they were not quite understanding.

The final two periods of the day, the hottest ones, the ones when we’re exhausted and hungry and tired came around. I was in 6A and they were writing a test. About 20 minutes into it, Mr Muthitu came in. Before he even had a chance to say anything, I told him, “No no no no, they’re writing a test.”

Apparently my say means nothing today because he responded with, “No, it’s ok, I just want to give them an announcement. Study is ON today. Only those who are on the [soccer] team will play in the game, for everyone else, study as usual!”

THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I WAS TRYING TO AVOID, FOOL! Thanks for making all of their trains of thought completely derail in a subject they already struggle in. And at the end of the period the learners told me there was no study, they can’t believe what he says. They have their teachers figured out. There was study, but it was only half an hour.

At the beginning of study, I was waiting in my classroom for my 8 learners who failed yesterday’s test so they could make corrections using their exercise books to earn back half of the marks they’d lost. Dudu (haven’t told him what doo-doo is in America) was leaning back in his chair enjoying some orange thing in his mouth.

“Dudu, what are you eating?”

“[insert funny Thimbukushu word].”

“I don’t know that one.”

“We don’t know the English word.”

”Where did you get it?”

“At the river.”

He told me the name again. Then further explained what it was by telling me, “It’s black people food.”

“Heh! Don’t call it that! I know how to cook dimbombo. I know how to pound mahangu. And you would call those ‘black people foods.’ My mom asked me the other day, ‘What do you want to eat when you come home?’ I told her I didn’t know. She asked, ‘What foods do you miss that you haven’t eaten in two years because they’re not in Namibia?’ I still didn’t know, I forget what foods are only in America! I told her, ‘I’m going to bring porridge and everyone can try that!”

“OK, it’s black and white people food,” he corrected himself. Better.

I turned to the whole class and told them, “When I’m in front of a class, so all my learners are black and I’m teaching them, I forget I’m white and you’re black, I forget we look different.” I went on to ask them, “When I’m teaching you, do you see a white person or just a person?”

“Just a person.”

“When I came two years ago and stood in front of you at assembly for the first time, then maybe you thought to yourself, ‘Who is this white person?’” They laughed and nodded their understanding and agreement. “But now, when I stand at assembly, you just see another person.”

“Ghii,” they agreed with big smiles on their faces.

My job here is done.

“But Madam, how did you know this?”

Thursday, 28 October, 2010

“Good morning 6A.”

“Hamoroke nawo,” they greeted back in Thimbukushu, not even one of the 25 learners in 6A replied in English.

“How are you?” I continued in English, holding back my laughter.

“Thiwana. Awome?” They all had big smiles on their faces and I was now not holding back anyway, we were all laughing, sharing in a joke that an outsider wouldn’t know was a joke.

“Did you plan this? Did you all talk to each other to decide to greet me in Thimbukushu today?”

“Ghii.” Yes. I don’t know who was the ring leader, but it started an 80 minute class after break with the right attitude.

Yesterday they wrote a test, so today was the start of a new topic – volume. “Does anyone know what is volume?”

“Madam, like sound,” Disho Mbambo replied, making a hand motion to turn up the volume on the radio. I hadn’t even considered this response when making the lesson plan or asking the question. I was just hoping they’d learned about it in grade 5.

I’d learned quickly in 6B yesterday when we started volume that kids were going to struggle. The words aren’t quite there in their English vocabulary for me to talk about space inside a box. It’s too conceptual. So I changed my strategy for introducing it to 6A. I brought in 25 small pieces of cardboard, 25 rulers and 25 pencils. The plan was the draw a pattern for a 2cm x 2cm x 2cm cube. Fine, I made a sketch on the board, thinking they’d want to tackle it on their own.

Hell no.

We had to make a cross that was 8cm tall and 6cm on the cross piece. We hit some obstacles at the beginning, but after getting the first of the 8cm and 6cm lines drawn, it was smooth sailing. Kids are generally pretty good at sharing since resources are limited, so when I presented only 6 pairs of scissors, there was no surprise or fighting over them after I had handed them out. Everyone waited patiently for their chance to cut out this cross, that they still didn’t know would make a cube even though I’d told them.

Kapinga Thifafure was the first to finish cutting out his cross, so I showed him to fold his cardboard on all of the lines he’d drawn and in the end he had a cube. I taped it up and he became a second teacher. He had to help me go around to those who had cut out their cross and show them where to fold. As others finished and I gave them tape to hold it together, they all began helping eachother.

I got to Dihako Engelbertha to give her some tape. She looked at me in awe and asked, “But Madam, how did you know this?”

I didn’t have a good answer, so I told her what any teacher would have said in that situation, “I’m a teacher, I know everything,” and we shared another laugh. She accepted it easily, taped her cube together and told me she would make a bigger one in study.

When most kids were finished, Joao collected all 25 cubes, placing them nicely in a box, measuring volume without even knowing it and without having enough time for us to get to that part of the lesson. Dihako collected all 25 rulers, with the help of Mukoya who told her, “Na kutongwera,” I told you, when she only had 24 and I saw the missing one on the table for Joao Everyone fought over helping to collect the pencils.

We had about 10 minutes left and it was getting to be too hot for anyone to think. Dikuwa requested that we sing, it’s been a while and everyone knows how much I love it. I was once, indirectly but I know it was directed at me, told in a staff briefing that teachers are letting their learners sing too loud and it’s disruptive. So we tried something new and made rain. We stood in a circle and I taught them the hand motions to make it sound like it’s raining. We started by rubbing our hands together. Next we snapped, then clapped our hands on our thighs and finally stomped on the floor. I turned around slowly in the circle, pointing at each learner in turn and they would change from one motion to the next as I got to them. After stomping, we went backwards through to motions and sounds, making it sound like a quick rain shower – a version of a rain dance I suppose.

Now just waiting for the real rain storms.

“Lori hawadi”

Friday, 22 October, 2010

Yesterday, walking through the village with Kaitlin, the same small kids who usually greet me, greeted me. But they looked on in confusion as two white people walked by instead of one. Their only explanation was, “Lori hawadi,” or two Loris.

Remember Kapweke? I do. Before Nicky was the number one person in my life here, Kapweke was vying for that spot. Nicky and Kapweke weren’t friends, but because I was a mutual favorite of theirs, they hung out when we were all together. Kapweke and I were close first. She was in 7B last year and stood out academically, at least in math. I learned her story over time, which I’m sure I shared here in the past, and we were really good friends. Then she transferred to a different school in January and I just recently heard from her again.

I remember the last time I saw her in December. I was on my way hiking somewhere and she came to the road with me. When a car came for me, I hugged her and told her I love her and I left. She was hesitant with the hug – it wasn’t a natural thing for us to do. Neither of us knew if we’d see each other again. She didn’t know where she’d be schooling in January and she didn’t really even have a way of telling me.

A couple weeks ago, I started hearing from her via sms pretty regularly. She wanted to come visit but didn’t have money. I agreed to pay the N$20 hike both ways for her to come visit. We decided she should come this weekend.

Today I was exhausted after teaching, so I lay down to take a nap, holding my phone in my hand so if it vibrated with a message from Kapweke telling me to meet her at the road to pay her hike, it’d wake me up. That wasn’t what woke me up before I was ready – it was Nicky opening my door. I was not coherent in my half asleep state, so I told her I was going back to sleep. I have no idea on the reprercussions of that yet. About 10 minutes later I got a message to go to the road to meet Kapweke.

I only sat and waited about 5 minutes before an overflowing bakkie pulled up, stopped a short distance away, and a girl jumped out of the cab, pointing toward me. I came with the hike money, the driver a little surprised I’m sure, and the learners in the back even more shocked when Kapweke and I hugged each other closer than I’ve ever hugged a Namibian. Seeing a small bag with her, cleaner clothes than she ever had here last year, her face unchaged, the same innocent eyes seeking out my approval, and her big smile made me finally realize what it means to miss someone you never know if you’ll see again. Neither of us held back in that greeting hug.

We walked to her house, starting to catch each other up, or really havinig her catch me up on the last 10 months. I thought she was living with her dad who’s a teacher. Turns out her dad’s a teacher in the bush somewhere near where Kapweke is living, but she’s living with only her sister and her brother. They’re both grade 10 learners. So three learners are living together, going to school and struggling to survive.

We went to Kapweke’s house, looking to surprise her mom, but she wasn’t home. Her small neighbors were excited to see her, yelling her name the way they usually yell mine as I walk by. I sent her to go visit with her other friends for the rest of the afternoon and told her to come and find me anytime tomorrow and we’ll spend more time together. I told her I want to pound if there’s mahangu. I want to swim in the river with her. I’ll do anything she wants, it’s so good to have her back here again!

Walking home from her house to mine, a distance much shorter than from Nicky’s and less frequently traveled than this time last year, I got goosebumps and was near tears. I realized that this place will always hold incredibily important people for me. I had no idea how I’d feel seeing Kapweke after so many months – would we be able to understand each other? Would she look different? Would I see her differently? Would we still be friends? Yes, we understand each other. No, she looks the same. No, I see her the same. Yes, we’re still friends. Time is not going to be a factor in how much I love my friends here. The relationships I have with people here will last forever, just with long silences in them when I’m not here. Sunday is going to be an incredibly hard goodbye, the first of many.

And so they begin

Monday, 25 October, 2010

I had a great weekend visiting with Kapweke. She came to my house Saturday morning at 7:20 which wasn’t so welcome, but I would take her visiting early over no visiting at all. I was still in bed, so quickly got dressed, brushed my teeth and grabbed my water. We walked to her house to pound. There were 2 kakundhu and 2 muto, but when Kapweke asked if I could pound alone in my own kakundhu, I gave her a funny look and we pounded together in one. I’d brought my camera so we had fun taking pictures of each other, and even some videos of us pounding. We spent all morning pounding enough food to feed her family for a week.

Conversation was easy, food was bought with the little money she had and she happily and eagerly shared with me. We had some fat cakes bought from the market, where on the walk there everyone had to greet me and ask me for beer money. Later in the morning we ate freshly cooked beans with day old porridge crawling with ants, but most disappeared when it was transferred to another plate, and they were easy to pick around. The first bite tasted more sour than usual, but with the beans, the only indication that it was from yesterday was that it was no longer hot. It was great to be sharing food with Kapweke again.

We spent a little bit of time at my hosue, where I gave her several small gifts to remind her that I still love her even if we’re not in the same place. I finally returned the soccer ball that I gave her for Christmas last year and she was keeping at my house because it was safer than her house when she wasn’t around, several pages of stickers, 5 toothbrushes for her and her brothers, a notebook to write down things she wants to remember and to write me letters and two addressed and stamped envelopes so she can send me letters next year, telling me how she does in school.

We then went to the river so she could wash her clothes. I sat on the bank with the many kids under age 5 who kept laying in the sand in front of me and demanding, “HOW ARE YOU?” even though every time I was fine and nothing could have possibly changed in the 10 seconds since they’d last asked me.

Sunday morning I realized how much I enjoy church. Well, how much I enjoy that everyone ELSE enjoys church. After an early morning because it’s just too hot to sleep, I managed a great hour long nap when I knew no one would knock on my door and no kids were around making noise just outside my window. Silence is a beautiful thing.

Kapweke came looking for me after church and we went to the road to hike. It was 11. She hadn’t eaten all day and I was trying to hold out for Nicky to come over later so we could make fat cakes, but we both crumbled, taking a break from hiking so she could go and buy fat cakes and I came home to eat lunch quickly and bring cold water back so we wouldn’t dehydrate in the scorching sun. She came back with a friend and they played with Kapweke’s soccer ball and I sat in the shade trying to will myself not to sweat. Finally, a car stopped at 3 that would take her the 50ish km to her home and I paid the driver, gave Kapweke one last hug, held her arm as I walked back around the back of the bakkie, promised her I’d greet Pakella for her since they’d never met over the weekend, and came home, never knowing if I’ll see her again.

Nicky showed up and we finally got to hang out after several visits ending upon arrival when I was just too tired to do anything beyond lying on my bed in the blistering heat with my fan just blowing hot air on me. She wanted to watch Cinderella, but the disk was being funny, so we made fat cakes, per my request. We went to get firewood, I made the dough all by myself and we started a fire. I’d bought holey ladel long back for this specific purpose but this was finally the first time we tried it out. And it worked great! Of course, I think that’s its primary purpose in Namibia.

She asked me at one point if I’m going to Rundu this weekend and I said yes, knowing she wouldn’t be happy that I wouldn’t be around. She asked why and when I started to answer, she interrupted with, “Don’t answer that, I’m just joking with you.” Her English, and her understanding of English, has improved more than I ever thought it could.

There were several times that we found ourselves in hysterics and I thought to myself, I have to write that down, it’s too funny, but of course those specifics are gone now. They don’t matter. Nicky is an incredible person and her smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in the village.

When we tasted our first fat cake, to make sure I’d gotten the “measurements” right, I said, “These are really good, they might be our best ones!” She wasn’t so sure, but she agreed they were good enough and we could make the rest of the dough into cakes.

With enough dough left for about 6 cakes, she told me, “Go and bring the thing we put in the bread when the fat cakes wouldn’t get fat.”

“From when we made skinny cakes?”

“Ghii. But when we made that into bread.”

“Oh, the Italian seasoning.”

And we added some to the dough. We finished making the cakes and tasted our new creation. “Now THESE are the best fat cakes we’ve ever made,” I said, with full confidence.

A quick nod of the head, a sharp intake of breath to indicate her agreement, a big smile in her eyes as she happily chewed away on the Italian fat cakes.

Today was the final day for grade 10 to write their national exams. English. Two exams, morning and afternoon. I never taught these kids math. Or English. But so many of them have sought out my help in any one of their 9 subjects. I couldn’t always help them, but it was always great to work with them because they at least had some math background. In term 1 I watched TED talks with them in class, hoping to expose them to bigger ideas than exist in their text books or that adults bring to their attention.

So when their exams were collected at 4:30 and their classes erupted with yells of excitement at making it over one last obstacle in their way to getting out of their current poverty stricken lives, I couldn’t help but start missing them. Even if I didn’t know their name, their faces are etched in my mind, their places at assembly forever at the left, their seriousness in class always higher than that of the learners I have had the priviledge of teaching.

I was walking back from my house to drink some cold water when they fled their two classrooms on their way home one last time before they find out if they passed grade 10. Cado was one of the first leaving school and when she saw me, she yelled, “MADAM” and started running toward me. We hugged and she told me she got 25 points. They won’t know for almost 2 more months.

I watched quietly as they all left, one last time. Still kids because they’re learners, but almost my age. Some are parents already. One is pregnant. One boy came over and wished me luck in the rest of my time here. We shook hands and he told me he got over 30 points. He’s bright. I wished him luck at Max next year for grade 11.

I found Eunice in the office when I went to collect my things. She’s bright, one of the best. I put my arm around her and asked where she’ll school next year. “Maybe Windhoek.” Oh, I hope so. She’s from Angola and has always struggled with Thimbukushu since she just came in 2009 and didn’t speak a word of it.

Watching them leave is a preview of what it’ll be like when the rest of the school finishes writing, just 3 days before I leave. Only that’ll be immensely more difficult because it’ll be more kids I know, and kids I know more.

But it all comes with the job and those goodbyes are still 39 days away so now’s the time to enjoy their presence rather than dwelling on their absence.

The sweet sweet smell of rain

Wednesday, 13 October, 2010

Today is a day to be remembered.

6A was so much funny today. Wednesdays are tough – six hours on my feet in at least 110F heat. It’s cooler to be moving because then at least there’s a slight breeze. So when I walk into 6A period 7 and plan to spend 2 periods with them, I’m always kind of exhausted and they’re extremely exhausted, hungry, tired and hot. Just like me, but I have to fake it, so I do.

So I walk in and Ms Shishanda gets up from her seat in front of a half asleep silent class. I put my books down without greeting or asking how they are yet, but they’re all telling me “we are super duper,” “we are excellent,” we are fantastic!” I tell them I’m magnificent and tell them the put their agriculture away. Thimende Dindo then finishes me sentence with “and take out your math exercise books.” I promt the next request with “And…” and at least 2 boys finish it with “show me your homework!” I’m waking them up slowly. I never even ask if they had questions on the homework, they’re already telling me they don’t have questions and they’re requesting a quiz. I have one prepared so I force a couple questions out of them to remind them what we were talking about yesterday and we write a quick two question quiz. They already know what’s coming.

When we finish the quiz and I have their marks all recorded, they’re antsy for another one. I refuse and ask them what we should do next. “Classwork!” But we haven’t done anything yet, classwork on what? “Something new, then classwork!” They have me figured out, or at least my general lesson plan outline that I never planned for..

After period 7, I still have another 40 minutes scheduled with them and I’m planning to do half of an activity with them to be finished tomorrow or Monday. But the bell rings and I know I’m supposed to go to the staff meeting to complete the school self evaluation form. It’s a 16 page questionnaire that we’re supposed to complete individually to track the school’s progress. Well, instead, the management has decided to have everyone sit down together in period 8 and complete them identically. One person reads the statement, we decide if it’s a yes or a no and we all put the same thing. So each one is the same and the analysis is useless. I go to the meeting 10 minutes late. We’re less than a page in and no one is listening to each other, everyone is arguing and I have a class of 25 learners doing an unsupervised activity which I know they’ll have questions about. I take my form, tell Siyanga this is ridiculous and give it back to Sihope in the front of the classroom. He grabs my arm and tells me I have to stay to complete it. “But they’re all going to be the same, so just fill mine in for me. I have a class to teach.” Apparently Mr Shangara misses this whole interaction because everyone is yelling at each other over some stupid form, so as I walk by him he asks where I’m going, we have to fill out this form together. “I have a class to teach. I’m teaching.”

I finished my class and when the final bell rang, I decided I didn’t really have any other reason not to be there so I went back. Sihope said I have to sign a misconduct form. “Fine.” But in my head I’m thinking to myself, “Whatever dude. You’re letting kids fail by pulling all the teachers from class period 8. You sign the misconduct yourself.”

So we suffer through the form for 3 hours, lying about teachers teaching all their classes in learner centered environments and finally we get to leave. No one mentions my outburst.

After what would have been study, I’m at home with Nicky and I hear the faintest of raindrops on my roof. I go outside and stand in the sprinkles. I start counting the drops as they fall on my outstretched arms. I get to 4 before I lay down on my stoop to maximize my surface area exposed to the rain. I pull up my tshirt so my stomach is even exposed. Nicky comes out with my camera. I get to 30 before the drops stop altogether. But they come back bigger and more and I lay down again.

“How long will you lay there?” Nicky asked in one of her ventures outside to see what her crazy white sister is doing.

“Until it looks like I showered!” Unfortunately there weren’t enough drops. But it’s continued to thunder and lightning since the rain stopped and I’m praying to whatever deities are listening that it POURS tonight.

Sun, sand, salt and sweat

Sunday, 17 October, 2010

Wednesday night at 8pm I was told that there was no transport from the village to town for my marathon team and me. Fantastic, I have about an hour to make sure we can just start on the road, never mind still crossing my fingers everything else has been taken care of since no one would let me do any of the transport work! Freaking out and in tears, within 10 minutes I had two rides arranged. Oops, ended up figuring that one out in the morning. I sent a message to every parent and told them they needed their marathon runner child at school at 6 for transport.

I barely slept – I worried that no transport would come, I worried that both transports would come and be angry I’d double booked, I worried we’d get left in town, I worried there’d be no transport for the 900km trip from town to Swakopmund. I woke up around 4:30 and was ready when kids started showing up just after 6. The first combi came and I still only had 4 kids or the 9 who I needed so he left and I waited for the next one. I was still missing some girls when our final option came. We waited. Finally we piled in to go and find Sara. We drove down the main paths and Omo said to me, “Madam, what if she takes a different way?” I’d told Elina to tell Sara to wait for us, we’d come back for her.

We passed long lines and big groups of kids going to school. I stuck my head out the window and yelled to Sawahenga, “Have you seen Mbamba?” They stay near each other. She hadn’t seen her.

A little ways further, I yelled to Steven, “Have you seen Mbamba?”

“Yes, she’s using this way,” as he made zig zagging motions with his hand. Great. We drove as close as we could get to her house and Kamwanga ran to her house to see if she was there, just in case. Nope. She was already at school and running to the road by the time we got back to her house.

Step one complete – all ten of us in a combi on our way to town. Take a breath and relax a big, Lori. It felt good to be getting away from school for some days, even if I knew it’d be more work than staying.

Once in town, we had at least 4 hours to kill. Everyone wanted to go into town instead of just sitting at the sports stadium all day. I wasn’t comfortable giving them free range of town since no one had a cellphone and no one has a lot of experience in town, so we went as a group to Pep. Kunyima was glued to my side the whole weekend and good thing. I grabbed her arm at one point to keep her from crossing the road when a car was coming. I was the only one looking, in the village you don’t really have to look.

In Pep, everyone went their own way and I stood near the door just waiting and making sure no one left.

Kunyima came to me, I was carrying her money, and told me she wanted to buy “this one” as she made a motion over her chest. A bra. I brought her back to that section and helped her, Kamwanga and Sara all get a somewhat appropriate size. They would have just bought whatever happened to be in the front. No one has told about sizes. Of anything. Isolde wanted to buy underwear, and was holding a pair for 5 year olds. We put it back and found one for 11 year olds. She’s 14 but tiny. We went to the checkout as a group and I counted out Kunyima’s money for her. She was first in line for us and gave the cashier the money and the bra. When she was handed back the bra in a plastic bag, she started to walk away without her change or receipt. I explained what she had to wait for and later in the day, she had it all figured out to buy a tshirt almost all by herself.

From Pep we got ice cream and Muhunguko bought a cell phone. He had asked me to get him a camera phone last weekend with money he gave me. It hadn’t been enough, so this was his mission this weekend. We went together to pick it out and pay. I loaned him N$80 so he could get the cheapest camera phone there was. At the checkout, I made him do the signing, explained he has to keep the receipt and if anything happens so it doesn’t work in the next year, he needs everything for them to fix it for him.

Back at the stadium, we took out the food I’d told them to bring and the porridge I’d made the previous night and the girls ate together and the boys ate together. They were all impressed that I knew how to make mahangu porridge. And that I like to eat it.

Finally, 5 hours later than I’d been told we’d leave, and 9 hours after we got to town, we loaded our bags into a trailer, our bodies into a combi with 4 older boys from another school, where the male coaches tried to put me in the front but I jumped in the back with my girls before they had a chance to protest and we were on our way. As we turned onto the B8 south to Grootfontein, Kunyima, sitting next to me, turned and said with a look of shock on her face, “WOW, we’re leaving!”

As we went slowly over the speed bumps, a donkey cart trotted by faster than we were going and Kunyima surprised me with her English wit, “Transport! If you want to hike, pay N$50!”

We drove for hours, watched the sunset to the west where we were heading, began making friends with the four older boys we’d spend a lot of time with in the next few days and laughed more than I expected. It was funny to get questions from the kids, seeing this new part of Namibia through their eyes. “Madam, they can sell things at night?” After some questioning, I realized Kunyima was asking if shops are also open at night. “Madam, where can you look to see the big star?” After even more questioning, with an answer of “the one that fell from the sky” I realized she was asking about the meteorite. We all started dozing and at 11:30 we stopped for a few hours to sleep in the grass in Otjiwerongo.

I took my sleeping bag, to everyone’s surprise, and spread it on the ground. I lay down, freezing, hoping sleep would take over and I wouldn’t notice the cold anymore. One boy came and told me I couldn’t sleep there, it wasn’t safe. “But look at them, they’re all sleeping outside!”

“But you have to come sleep in the combi.”

“I don’t want to sit, I want to lie down.”

“You can lie down in the seat.”

“But there are too many people, I’ll just sleep here.”

“But the dogs will come here.”

“What dogs?”

“They just went there but they’re coming.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He sat there, waiting for me to change my mind. I realized sleeping outside wasn’t going to be an option, and the desire to sleep had left while trying to fight for my freedom of choice. So I gave in an went in the combi. Once there, I wasn’t tired at all so I took my book and told them I’d read outside since they didn’t want me to sleep. That was still too much. After about a page, the same boy was back and just laying on the grass, seeming like he wanted to hang out. It was well after midnight now and I’d barely slept in over 24 hours. I knew if I could just read for 10 minutes I’d pass out. But he wasn’t having it. I took my book and my headlamp and read in the combi while others talked or napped the little bit they managed. At 3am we were moving again and I was sleeping in a way I knew I’d be sore the next day.

We finally reached Swakopmund at 9am and had the day ahead of us. Kids went to the edge of the water but it was still too cold to swim. After eating some breakfast, we went into town where the girls shopped more, we all learned how to cross the street using the robots (street lights) as our guide to when it’s safe and made our way to the snake park. On the way there, the boys were close behind me and Raffa says something about “crocodile style” and everyone starts gawking and something I can’t pinpoint and they’re all laughing. As a colored mad walks ahead, I ask “what is crocodile style?”

“Madam, there,” Raffa tells me, pointing to the man going ahead of us.

“Ohhh, in America we call that a mohawk.”

Muhunguko asks me several times to repeat it so he can remember.

In the snake park, there are cobras, pythons, boas, mamabas, any number of snakes in glass cages. “Madam, they can bite?”

“They can bite, but they can’t bite us because they’re in cages.”

“Madam, how do they get them?”

“I don’t know, ask him,” I direct them to the man working there and staying kind of close to our group, probably wondering what a young white woman with an accent is doing with a group of Namibian school kids.

“From anywhere.”

I ask if people bring them. Yes.

It turns out he’s from Kavango and knows some Thimbukushu, so he easily wins the trust of my learners and they can ask him more questions that I can’t understand.

Outside, there’s a lower jaw bone from a blue whale. I ask what they think it is when we’re on our way out. No one knows. There’s a sign. Still, no one understands. We talk about whales, where they live, what they breath. Then what is a jawbone. When I show them where in the body the jaw bone is, they all say in unison, “Heeeey” in shock that something could have a jaw bone that big. They all understand that the animal must be huge. “Bigger than an elephant,” I tell them.

When Raffa and Omo are just beginning to enjoy swimming in the sea after our excursion to town, I’m told we’re leaving. It’s not yet noon and registration doesn’t start until 4 but I’m the only woman doing anything, so my say doesn’t count. We pile back in and head to Walvis Bay.

Just as we’re reaching the town, Raffa asks me, “Madam, where does that water come from?” There’s some water in a big puddle or small pond near the road. These are things I don’t even think of because it seems normal enough, but for them it’s new. I don’t have a good answer for him, “Maybe from under the ground.”

After driving around for almost 4 hours with no explanation given to me despite my questioning, I’m finally told we’re looking for a beach. I ask them why we left Swakopmund to come here.

“We’re entitled to come here.”

“Yes, but we were at a beach.”

“But…” something distracted him and I was left hanging why that beach was no good and we had to waste our afternoon in a stupid combi. I thought we were lost all afternoon.

We finally found a boring beach where there were no waves and everyone went swimming. It was fine, but I was still annoyed.

After registering all my learners for the relay or individual 10km race for the Saturday morning, we went to our accommodation – I think I would have been left had I not noticed everyone was going. The male teachers were not giving me the time of day and I was the only one not in the combi when they were ready. Never mattered if I was ready or not, it was always about them.

The room we all expected to be open was locked and there was no water to drink. I finally called the woman in charge to let her know and she quickly sent someone to open the room, which also opened the only access to drinking water. No one seemed to care. I thought it was a problem that the runners didn’t have a way to stay hydrated.

Race day was finally upon us. We got the starting line and my learners were quickly whisked away to their various buses to be brought to their starting points along the road from Walvis Bay to Swakopmund. Kunyima was brought to Swakopmund to run the individual 10km race since we didn’t have the right number of runners for only relay teams. All the volunteers with runners struggled all morning to get to the next check point on time, usually just hiking a car on the side of the road. All my learners ran hard and I was impressed with how much work they’d put into training and how seriously they took it. They were proud of themselves and always happy to finish. The boys from our combi were a team of 4 and until the final leg of the relay, my team of much younger and much smaller kids was beating them! Sara said to one of them as he arrived, after completing her leg before the older boy did, “You’re late!” My smile couldn’t be bigger. At the next checkpoint, I asked how they were all feeling – Omo, Kamwanga and the older boy whose name I didn’t know. Only one was feeling pain, the older boy, in his calf muscle. Kamwanga said to him, “You didn’t train enough!” My smile got bigger.

After the race, my learners were silent, seeming like they were in shock at all the people and new sights. I bought them lunch and that opened them up a bit. Finally the awards ceremony started and I knew our relay teams hadn’t placed already. It had been decided Kunyima would run individually because “she’s too slow, madam,” Muhunguko had told me. So I was blown away when in the first category to be announced, the women’s U19 individual 10km, Thikoka Kunyima placed second!!! She shyly stood up, and I turned around from where I was sitting with other volunteers, and she had no idea what to do. I pushed her to the front and she received her envelope of prize money (N$300!!!!) and stood on the podium! Some people said to me, “She’s a shy one.” No, she has NO idea what she’s supposed to do in this situation!! I glowed and kept telling anyone who would listen how proud of her I was and how great that is! She’d spent her final N$30 the day before on a tshirt. This is more money than she’s ever had, for sure. She’s asked me to hold onto it for her for now. She doesn’t know what to do with it! But it’s for her, not the school, since this was separate from the school relay.

Two other volunteers had their teams come in second and third in the senior (ages 15-19) relay. That was exciting and a surprise for one of them.

After the awards and grabbing a bag lunch, we were pushed back onto the combi and told we were going back to Walvis Bay. What??? Let’s just go if we’re getting on the combi! We were surprised by stopping at Dune 7 and climbing it. I took photos of everyone, they loved it. I loved it.

From there, we did go back to Walvis Bay for unknown reasons and sat around for a while. Finally, the man in charge was called back to see the organizer of the marathon because of money issues. I wasn’t directly involved or even remotely blamed for anything negative, but I was still unbelievably frustrated and had to excuse myself from the meeting to cry in the bathroom instead of letting it out in front of all the male teachers who already didn’t see me as an adult. We finally left and it took another 24 hours for the 10 of us to get home. (There were no objections to me sleeping outside in Otjiwerongo this time, everyone joined me instead.) But home we got and despite all the frustrations, it was a huge success and I want to be here next year to celebrate with them.

The animals among us

Tuesday, 5 October, 2010

Yesterday in our morning staff briefing, the principal “addressed” the fact that the wives of two of the male teachers fought each other, so the men have to “take control” or their wives and “be commanders” of their homes. I almost walked out. He noticed some of the female teachers weren’t so happy with those comments, so he tried to correct himself by saying “some women are also commanders, but they can’t be in this culture.” Great. So glad I’m here.

Today I am glad I’m here. NO SCHOOL!! International Teacher’s Day. Didn’t know it existed until I taught in Namibia, so I’m not sure how international it is, but I’ll take it! I made plans with Muwara Betholda Kashivi from 7A to pound in the morning.

Kashivi came to get me before 8am. I was ready, but I was also hoping to get a few things done at home before she came. It was earlier than I expected. I was briefed on who she stays with – her mother, but she had gone to the hospital in the morning, her younger sisters. That’s it. Somehow there are always more people kids stay with who they don’t mention.

Lala from grade 8 was there. Kunyanda from grade 10 was there. (I didn’t know the name for Kunyanda, so when I asked, she told me, “Applonia, but Kunyanda is the easy one.” And after 2 years, Kunyanda IS the easy one.) It was the 4 of us who pounded. With a few brief visits from passing neighbors. I pounded in the same kakundhu with Lala and I asked her early on, “Is it hard to pound with me because I’m slow?” She told me yes. I tried to be faster.

Later on, after about an hour of work, she told me, “Madam, you’re good. You are knowing!” I guess I just needed to warm up my muscles.

Kunyanda was the most talkative, and the one I knew the least. She’s writing her national exams now in school so I asked about those. We talked about the learners who got pregnant this year, too many.

When we were finished with the pounding, the grandmother and great grandmother for Kashivi came and greeted me. They didn’t believe that I had actually pounded, so I showed them the video Kunyanda had taken of me pounding with Lala. They, separately, each looked as if they would have a heart attack – huge eyes, a sudden intake of breath and their hands to their mouths. They couldn’t believe that a mukuwa had come to their home and pounded, and they’d missed it!

I sat with the three young girls and we watched the drama of the drunks about 50 meters away at another of their homes.

Chickens made their way over to the 2 kakundhu we’d used with the mehangu on the ground that had flown out while we pounded. They were enjoying the mess we’d made. And Kunyanda started explaining to me why all of the animals behave the way they do.

Chickens. Long back, chickens only lived in the forests. And guinea fowl lived at homes. When the chickens came to the home, they learned that the fuinea fowl had lost the needle for sewing, so they started looking for it in the sand. They scratch in the sand always looking for the needle and they’ll keep searching until they find it.

Hippos. Long back, hippo and fire were friends. Hippo told fire that hippo wanted to visit his friend at their home. So hippo left the river to go and visit fire. But fire burned hippo and that’s why his skin looks the way it does. Then fire wanted to go and visit hippo at his home in the river. So fire went to the river, but he couldn’t go in the river to visit. So that’s why hippo comes out of the river at night, to visit his friend, fire.

I knew a different story about hippo. When the animals were being made, then hippo was told he had to live on land. But hippo wanted to live in the water. He wasn’t allowed to live in the water because he would eat all of the fish with his big mouth. So he promised that no, he’d only eat the plants, and to prove that he’s keeping his word, he’ll come out of the water at night to spread his dung for all to see that there are no fish bones.

Dog, donkey, cow and goat. One time, the four animals went to Rundu together. They stood at the road and hiked a car. When they got to Rundu, goat didn’t have any money. But the other three paid too much and they needed change from the driver. The driver went to get their change, but he never came back. Even in the afternoon, to come back home, the animals all had to foot to get there. They waited at the road back at home for the driver to come. So now, every time a car comes, the dog will chase the car looking for his change and donkey and cow will stand in the road waiting for their change trying to stop the car and goat will run away from the car because he never paid.

Dog and cat. Long back, dog and cat got married. Cat took dog to her home. She told dog that he had to wear his best clothes and act his best because she didn’t want to feel shame. So he put on his nicest clothes and they went to the home for cat. But at her home, when their was food, there was a bone for a chicken that fell on the ground and the dog quickly picked up the bone from the one who had dropped it and cat felt shame because of this. So when they left again, cat told dog that he had shamed her and she was leaving him and that he will always go after the single chicken bone that falls on the ground and he will always be alone. That’s why when cat and dog now see each other, they just fight.

Fish. Long back, fish lived on land. But they told too many stories, and not good stories, but rumors. So all of the animals got together and the headman, the elephant, decided that they had to cut out the tongue for the fish and throw the fish in the water because they talked too much. So now fish only live in the water.

Dog and chicken. Long back, dog and chicken went to the headman in their village because they wanted to also eat from a plate like people. The place for the headman was far, so when they got there and told him the problem, they had to sleep there and go back in the morning. The headman promised that they would get plates. So when food was served, they ate from plates that night. Then to sleep, chicken got a house and dog got a house. But in the morning, the headman found chicken in the bed and there were feces on the bed, chicken had defecated on the bed! And dog was not in his house, he was sleeping in the cooking area on the ground! The headman told chicken that he couldn’t eat from plates because he defecates on the bed and he had to sleep in the trees so he doesn’t defecate in the bed anymore and he told dog can’t eat from plates because he sleeps in the cooking area. So that’s why chickens sleep in trees and dogs still sleep in the cooking area.

I just want to know your footprints

Thursday, 7 October, 2010

After school, Nicky came over. At break, she’d come to me and asked for money to cut her hair now now now. Segunda was cutting, so I told her to tell him to come get his money from me for that in the afternoon. We took the money – all 5 and 10 cent coins to make 5 dollars – and sat outside. She sewed the strap back onto her school bag, I asked what size skirt she wears so I can get her a new uniform before I go, we laughed about insignificant things that we somehow both find amusing.

“Let me see your mahutu,” Nicky knows I always have blisters after pounding.

I showed her how much better they are after opening randomly and then pounding again to begin turning them into callouses. She showed me her blister from pounding!

“Let’s go pound,” by far my favorite thing to do.

“Where?”

“At your house.”

“We’ll pound on Sunday. After church.”

“OK, I’ll try to get back in time to come and pound with you. After the 9 o’clock church?”

“Ghii.”

At some point we went inside and started playing Set. I didn’t really mean to and I thought she’d lose interest as fast as usual. But once I slowed down and gave her clues about where to find them, she kept going about twice as long as usual. In the middle of one of the games, I asked her, “Nicky, am I getting fatter?”

During periods 7 and 8 in the staff room, I found myself in a conversation with Mr Shangara and Ms Ndunda about how it’s an insult to tell a white person she’s fat, and Ms Ndunda making the indirect argument that it’s an insult to tell any woman she’s fat.

Nicky laughed and looked down, avoiding my gaze, telling me what I already knew. She took a step back, checked my arms and butt and said, “Ghii. Kudya thikuma!” Yes, you eat too much!

“I know. From now on, I’ll just stop eating,” as I patted my stomach.

“But your stomach is too small. And your food will become rotten.”

“And that’s why I eat too much. I have to stop cooking on the weekends to prepare for the week and only cook when I’m going to eat it.”

She checked out my arms again. “But Nicky, they’re muscles!” as I flexed for her.

She tested their strength and then tried her own. I touched what would be muscles and exclaimed, “How do you pound with those?! There’s nothing there!”

More laughter ensued and her curiosity about how I have more muscles than she does when I’m just a lazy white person.

I invited her to dinner, “Long time to eat together, do you want to eat here tonight?”

“But I have to be home at 7 because I don’t want to miss Timeless.” The soapy that’s just started. It was already 6 so that dinner date will have to wait until at least Sunday.

“Madam, where’s your…your…” My iPod is what she wanted and I told her where it was, or suggested we put music on the computer. I went to the computer to turn it on and remembered that I had new photos of Miles, from her request, that I hadn’t shown her yet. We looked at them and agreed he’s a good baby. She’s more interested in Miles than anyone else in my life, and more interested in him than anyone else is here. It’s very endearing. Her love for my family is just as big as it is for me.

“Madam, let me borrow your colored pencils and I’ll bring them back on Monday.”

“You can keep them.” A look of stunned silence.

“What?”

“You can keep them.”

“Thank you very big,” in a shier than usual voice.

“You’re welcome very big.”

I put an Akon song on my iPod for her and we walked home. I almost walked out of the house without my sandals and she reminded me, but I refused. Shoes, any kind, are just too hot in this weather. So once again, she wore shoes and I walked through the village barefoot.

As we left my house, my neighbor said to me, “But don’t you have an chicken spice?”

“No, sorry, I don’t cook chicken so I don’t have the spice.”

“No, it’s no problem.”

Nicky and I left. That was the second person today who started a conversation with, “But don’t you have…” The other was a teacher at school who wanted money. I don’t know how much it started out at, but eventually after telling her I didn’t have any money, she only wanted N$50. Still, no. Those are the most common conversations I have, most people will only approach me for a conversation if they’re requiring some tangible thing from me.

Nicky and I were leaving through my gate when I said to her, “Nicky, remember when you asked me, ‘But madam, why do you love me so much?’”

“Ghii…”

“I love you so much because you hang out with me without demanding anything. You never say to me, ‘But aren’t you having…’ I’m your friend not because I have things but because you actually know me and like me. Some people only talk to me when they want something, but you, you’ll always talk to me.”

When we reached the deeper sand, she slowed and walked behind me. I thought maybe she was going to walk in my footsteps, so I started taking big steps and hopping on one foot to make it harder.

“No, just go. I just want to know your footsteps.”

Every time I leave my house and I expect her to come visit but I just need to be alone, I wonder if she’ll follow my Chaco prints to wherever I might be. So far, no.

We got to a turn in the path. “When I come to your house, I have to stand here to see if your door is open or closed.”

“And if it’s closed? You go and visit Seglinde?”

“No, I go back home.”

“Why did Kambango move to a different group in your class?”

“What symbol did she get in math?”

“I forget, maybe A or B.”

“No, between B and C. Because every time she was doing the math, she would have to help Seglinde. Seglinde would say, ‘What can I put here? What can I put here?’ and Kambango got sick and tired of it and moved.”

We saw the marathon runners finishing their training. They go in just one week! Nicky’s sister, Kunyima is going, and will see Swakopmund for the first time just a little while after Nicky saw it for the first time.

“I told Kunyima when she goes to Swakopmund, it will be cold cold cold!”

“Even me, I told them, ‘It will be cold in Swakopmund. You can forget everything else, but bring a jersey and a blanket!’”

“When you bathe there, in the sea, then all the sand gets in your pants!”

Hysterics followed, but thinking back, I have no idea why it was so funny. She proceeded to tell me that at the tour, her friends bought her swimming shorts and after swimming in the sea in them, she washed them and put them to dry and the next day they were gone! She had thought that she could swim in them in dipupo, but someone stole them!

Oh Nicky, how you’ll never know how important you are to me.

But madam, you can hear Thimbukushu?

Tuesday, 21 September, 2010

I know I’ve said it before, but there’s nothing like coming back to be reminded how much you love something, someone or somewhere. After a week in Windhoek for Peace Corps end of service stuff, I got back home on Monday morning because I just wasn’t ready on Sunday. I took an extra day in town to decompress after the whirlwind of activity involved with starting to get out of here!

On Monday, in my 2 hour early hike, I still wasn’t ready to start teaching again, but I couldn’t think of anything to keep me away except that I was still tired. I got home, unloaded my potentially last big trip to town for food and got ready to teach the second half of the school day since I’d missed the first half. I walked to school through the crowds of kids playing outside during break and have never been so happy to be noticed.

Kids stopped to stare at me with smiles that I had come back. I think a lot of kids thought I’d gone for good. We greeted with even bigger smiles on our faces. I started teaching and my energy for boring conversions of units had never been higher. I couldn’t stop smiling, standing in front of kids who I didn’t think I missed for the week I was away, but re-realized my love for them as we started making jokes about whatever struck our fancy in class.

Study was even enjoyable, spending most of it with Kupenbona Benigna in grade 10. We did a lot of geometry to prepare her for the upcoming national exam she’ll write. She’s the cleverest kid at school, but judging by what she didn’t know, I can’t imagine more than a few kids will pass math this year. Her mom passed away recently and was buried on Friday, so I asked a little bit about that, making sure she was at least the “little bit ok” that she said was.

Today was another high – still enjoying seeing kids I’d missed, getting back into teaching and even sitting through a meeting I wanted to walk out of but somehow it didn’t seem as bad as others. Maybe everything just looks better when it’s almost over.

Study was cancelled because Ministry of Works came to spray for the ants that are eating the newly renovated classrooms. Kids found me in my house preparing for tomorrow and one boy who knows I know a little bit of Thimbukushu said, “Nipeko meyu” and to the astonishment of the boys he was with, I told him to take some water. “But madam, you can hear Thimbukushu?” They proceeded to test my knowledge and continued being surprised. I was too.

Instead of teaching in the afternoon I took a walk to the river and restocked my fridge with fresh picked, locally grown, uncertified organic vegetables. On the way I walked by the culture group of learners practicing for the competition in October. One boy demanded, “Faneke” and without thinking, I pretended I was holding my camera and taking his photo. Again, I’d astounded someone and he responded, “But madam, you can hear Thimbukushu?” Somewhere I stopped amazing myself with what I can hear. I’ll miss the mix of languages I hear everyday.

There’s nothing quite like watching your vegetables get picked from the banks of the Kavango River.

Misunderstandings

Wednesday, 22 September, 2010

In the last 2 years there has been an uncountable number of misunderstandings. Either people have misunderstood my directions or I’ve misunderstood theirs. Or just a simple story or even a word. This morning’s was maybe the funniest.

I was sitting with Siyanga in the staff briefing. Shangara went on and on about things that I didn’t think were important and time from my first period class was being eaten. All normal things. Finally he asked if there were any other things anyone wanted to bring up. Ndunda raised her hand. “Yesterday I went to a workshop and they talked about a séance.” I turned to Siyanga and asked, “What?” She patiently repeated for me a “séance fair.” I usually go to either Siyanga or Mughongora for translations of things I don’t quite understand so they’re used to my seemingly stupid questions. I repeated it for her, “A séance?” I started getting a worried look in my eyes. “Yes.” I asked for more clarification, “Does that word have a different meaning in your culture than it does in mine?” She told me, “No.” I sat back and thought this over, what would take place at a séance in Namibia? I had missed the word fair, which may have cleared things up earlier, but it finally dawned on me that they were not talking about a séance, but a SCIENCE fair. I told Siyanga what I was hearing and what that meant and we were both nearly in tears laughing and trying to keep it in because the meeting was still going on.

Thimende Dindo

Thursday, 23 September, 2010

In 2009, Thimende Dindo was in my 6B register class. He told me his name was Dindo Thimende. So for at least the first term, maybe even the second, he was in my register book backwards. He was second after Dikuwa Djani when he should have been last as Thimende Dindo. The whole name thing was too confusing. Especially when I also had a Kavindja Thimende, so I thought Thimende was a first name.

In 2009, he stood out as a problem. He was always dodging study. He was hanging out with Mamera Bonny who was repeating grade 6 for who knows what number of times and dropped out in term 3, he was late often and absent just as much. In term 3 he was absent 20 times. Never more than twice in a row. But I remember having to put 20 on his report card in the absent section.

I didn’t think I’d see him in 2010.

I did. And I continue to do so, almost daily. A lot more often than last year anyway. He’s now in 6A – the “slower” track. But he continues to surprise me almost daily. He was the learner who got 40/40 on paper 1 for the August exams. He finishes his work before his classmates, and it is of a much higher quality. He waits patiently for them to finish and sometimes even helps them when I’m busy teaching someone else.

In each class, I have a particular learner I look to for smiles. In 7A it’s Nicky, and several others, that class is full of good ones. In 7B it’s Kavindja Thimende and Kashako Karware and even Thikoka Kunyima. In 6B it’s Muhora Melitha Kathiku who is brilliant and quiet and so well behaved that when everyone elses’ energy is getting to me, I can exchange a knowing look with her and I’m somewhat more balanced. In 6A it’s Kamana Stephanus who wants me to call him Berbatov and Thimende Dindo who write Torres on his tests and quizzes now.

All of my classes write a lot of short quizzes. It’s my way of getting quick marks and keeping track of what they’re really learning. They’re never out of more than 10 points. But they always want them to be out of more marks. So in 6A one time last term, I told them it was out of 4000 instead of out of 4. When they gave me their marks verbally just after I marked them, they would say 1000 or 2000 or 3000 or 4000. Some kids have continued to do so.

Yesterday Thimende Dindo reported that he’d gotten “four million.” Today, after a quiz with conversion of units and having decimals in it, he told me he got “four comma zero zero.” Those little things are enough to get my energy back up when my feet are swollen from the intense heat of the dry summer and my ankles are sore from standing on the hard concrete for 4 hours already.

My job is pointless

Friday, 24 September, 2010

On Tuesday I went to tell 5 of the 14 kids who have been training for the marathon that they probably can’t go. The agreement had been that those who failed term 2 wouldn’t run. Only 9 passed, so those 9 are safe. The principal will probably stick to the failing means not going agreement, but if I had it my way, they’d all go.

While I’m there with them, they start asking about shoes. I told them I’m not buying them this year because last year half the runners didn’t even wear them. They were disappointed so I said if they come to me with N$45, for half a pair of shoes, I’d put in the other half. They buy the right shoe, I’ll buy them the left shoe.

Then they started telling me that about 4 other teacher have been telling them that they’re going to Swakopmund too. Oh? Great! Well, I don’t think 4 will go, but maybe one. Then they’ll know what it’s like for next year when I’m not here. I even told them that maybe 2 others could go and I wouldn’t. I thought more about that one and realized that was a dumb idea.

So yesterday I mention some stuff about the marathon to the principal – he asks about transport, nothing is set yet; he tells me only those 9 will go, I told him if they’re passing at the time of the marathon I want them all to go; I told him that some other teachers want to go, he said absolutely not.

“But what about next year when I’m not here? Someone should know what it’s like so they can bring them.”

“You can bring them.”

“I won’t be here next year.”

“Teachers can’t just let kids train alone and then expect to take days off to bring them to the marathon. You can go. No one else.”

“But then you will bring them next year?”

“No, it’ll be fine. We’ll start from scratch.”

…

On Thursday, Kapira came to my classroom and told me her father was in the admin block and needed to speak with me. Kapira owes me N$210 so I was happy her dad was there to discuss this, but I was still annoyed to be missing class.

After our greeting, Karipa’s dad told me that “Kapira phoned early this morning because I needed to come because she’s having trouble seeing the board. And she reminded me that she’s owing you money.”

“OK.”

“I told her that when she needs something, she must keep coming to you and you must help her the money and then I will pay you back. The money isn’t a problem, it’s in the bank, but it’s just far to go and collect it.”

“If I’m having the money.”

”Yes, if you’re having the money.”

“I also need you, today when you have time, to go to the clinic and talk to them about the medicine for her eyes.”

“Isn’t that something you can do since you’re here?”

“Yes, I can go there.”

“Also, there won’t be a volunteer here next year, I’m leaving in December.”

“Ok, I’ll get the money to you before then. Just keep helping her when she needs something.”

Things that start with M

Wednesday, 29 September, 2010

Menstruation. One of my least favorite times of the day is study. Yesterday I was let into an interesting conversation that made it worth my while.

“When are you ladies expecting to give birth?” I asked Ms Liswaniso and Helga, the cleaner at school.

“Me, I won’t have mine until next year,” Liswaniso told me.

“Maybe in October, maybe in December, or even November,” Helga told me.

“That one, she doesn’t know when she’s due,” Liswaniso helpfully clarified.

“Well, when did you stop menstruating?” I asked, thinking that was the easier question to answer.

“That one, she doesn’t usually attend to menstruation,” Liswaniso answered for her.

“She doesn’t usually attend? That’s how you call it here?” I asked.

“The direct translation is ‘to go over the moon.’ So if someone says they’re ‘over the moon,’ it means they’re attending,” Ndunda jumped in.

I picked up on the fact that the literal translation follows the cycle of the moon, but when asked if that’s where it come one, no one connected the length of full moon to full moon and the length of one cycle of menstruation.

The conversation continued to inform me on the ways that women are limited during their period: they can’t sleep in the same bed with their husband and they can’t cook or serve food for men or boys. Women are also restricted from the bedroom from 4 to 6 months after giving birth, depending on the specific tribal tradition. Sihope came out of a neighboring office to remind me that this is all Biblical in origin.

“But what about in your culture?” Liswaniso wanted to know.

“Nothing. When I’m menstruating, it’s just normal. Nothing changes, I can still cook, could still share a bed, can still do anything.”

Measles. I’m vaccinated against this, right? This morning, a representative from the hospital came by to tell us that there are several kids in this village and neighboring ones who have measles, kakutji, but aren’t going to the hospital. So we have to inform our learners about it so they can get treatment before everyone is infected.

I’ve never learned about measles, so I asked him, “What are the symptoms?”

“A rash over all the body, coughing, red eyes, sneezing.”

Now every time a kid even coughs, I turn to the class and we all laugh and say kakutji. I used to think TB, but now it’s changed to measles.

Maghumi. Last Monday, after a week away, Lami showed up at my house before I even got to school and brought me two maghumi. Ate one the other day, the first of the season for me, and it was too delicious.

Mahangu. There is nothing I like doing more than pounding mahangu with a learner at her homestead. Doesn’t matter which learner, preferably a different one each time! Yesterday at the end of my 2 hours of class with 7B I asked them who was pounding soon and that I love pounding and could I pound with someone? Ghuwanga Justina told me that she was going to pound today for Ms Siyanga. Can I come and pound with you? Yes.

This morning she reminded me and her family was expecting me. I thought it was after study, but it wasn’t, it was during study, so I even dodged study! What a great afternoon!

We walked to her homestead about 20 minutes away in a village I’ve heard lots about but had never been to. The sun was at its strongest and my farmer tan lines were greatly enhanced.

Marudhi, the village she lives in, is so different from what I’m used to. There’s no school, they all come to Andara. There’s no hospital. They all come to Andara. There’s no church. They all come to Andara. There are no solid gravel roads, only sand paths that are sometimes wide enough for a car, sometimes not. Homesteads were much farther apart, offering much more quiet than when I walk through my village.

We got to her home, after she briefed me on who might be there – her mom is a school board member who I knew the face of once she told me the name, her sister who left school after grade 8. That’s all she told me about. There were many small kids too.

Ghuwanga and I pounded while the people we found there under the tree looked on. No one believed that I knew how, but were impressed once I started.

I found myself alone with adults for some periods of time. I still haven’t figured out how to talk to them. So I would quietly wait for learners to come back and try to answer as many questions as I could that were asked of me.

When we finished pounding the first time and her mom was going to separate the shells from the grain that still had to be pounded a second time, Ghuwanga said to me, “Let’s go to the river.” I’m always up for a visit to the river, so I happily left the group of adults.

While some kids swam in the crocodile infested waters (for all the talk about crocodiles, I’ve only seen one in Andara in my nearly 2 years living here) and others washed clothes, I happily sat on a rock watching, listening and taking it all in. In a crowd of kids here, it’s impossible to be lonely. They easily ask me questions I understand, demand photos which make them smile innocently and once they get over the shock of the color of my skin, will continue going about their business without any more notice of me.

When other kids started going home to do chores, Ghuwanga and I left to pound the second time. My blisters (mahutu) got much worse and she told me to stop. My stubbornness and love of the physical work kept me going until it was finished and she walked me back to school, where we found everyone still in study.

Marathon. The deal this year was that any learner who failed term 2 wouldn’t run in the marathon. Of the 14 who started training back in June, 5 failed, 4 of whom went last year and 1 of them who went the last 2 years. I had to go and tell them this afternoon that they wouldn’t be going to Swakopmund in 2 weeks. They took the news very well, quietly accepting their fate, after we discussed the difference between a priviledge and a right – all but one agreeing that going to the marathon is a priviledge. So this year we’ll only be going with 9, and homefully transport there and back will be less of a hassle compared to last year.

The power’s been out for about an hour and it’s time to enjoy that beautiful night sky without any lights on.

One day…

Sunday, 22 August, 2010

I’m going to have a kitchen sink.

And a drying rack next to that kitchen sink.

Hell, maybe I’ll have a dishwasher.

I’m going to have hot water.

And one tap per sink so I can make warm water

I’m going to have a pair of sandals that don’t hurt my feet.

And aren’t held together with super glue.

And sneakers.

I’m going to have plates that aren’t plastic.

And more than one fork, knife, spoon and mug.

I’m going to have chairs.

And a couch

And a table.

I’m going to have double ply toilet paper.

And not think of it as a luxury.

I’m going to have trousers without holes.

And I’ll call them pants.

I’m going to have working outlets.

And I won’t need extension cords everywhere.

And working ceiling lights.

I’m going to have a shower curtain.

And a towel.

I’m going to have shelves.

And books to put on those shelves.

One day I’m going to have those things.

And it’ll be great.

For now, I’ll just keep dreaming.

Walking Nicky home

Sunday, 22 August, 2010

I’ve been asking Nicky for about a week now if anyone is selling tomatoes in the village. I just finished my last one tonight, with a few days to go until I leave and can restock, but I’ve been rationing pretty heavily because I definitely didn’t buy enough on my last visit to town. We haven’t found any tomatoes to buy.

She told me Kalenga told her to go to his garden and take something because she had watered for him. She went. She found a beautiful tomato. She told me, “It was beautiful! So red! So big! So beautiful! I thought to myself, ‘Miss Lori will like this tomato!’ I brought it home and put it in the house. I came back from the river and my mother had cut it! I wanted to cry!” I told her to save her tears for something else. “There are more.”

Tonight when I walked her home, the moon was already out. I asked her what she sees when she looks at the moon. Does she see anything in it? “There’s a man, like a chief, who is wearing the thing on his head for the chief and he is sitting.” I have never seen it that way, but with her description, I saw that too. I told her we call that “The Man in the Moon.” I told her I see a face with two big eyes and a mouth. I stopped in the path, turned, tilted my head and made the expression of the man’s face I see in the moon. She agreed that might be what it is.

Welcome home dinner

Monday, 23 August, 2010

Last week I went for a walk.

On this walk I was talking to all of you.

I was imagining us at my parent’s house in Ashby. It was my welcome home party that my mom said will happen. I need to cook for you. And I need it to be the foods I eat here – porridge, fat cakes, cabbage or other greens prepared the way they’re eaten in Andara. So in this conversation I was imagining, I had just finished cooking (on a stove, not outside which is how these foods are usually prepared) and we were all sitting down in the living room (the way I remember it) to eat together. There were bowls of porridge and plates of cabbage, maybe one bowl and one plate for each 3 or 4 people. No silverware. We eat with our hands. We’re not in the dining room, I don’t know what tables are for. We’re all sitting on the floor.

Now that you have that visual, all I was doing in this conversation was trying to put a different visual in your heads…

Now, before you start eating, close your eyes and picture all of this…

You’re sitting outside in the shade under one of the only trees big enough to offer shade to more than one person. You’re sitting in the sand or on a threadbare blanket or mattress or on your sandals to try to keep your trousers relatively clean because hand washing them is your least favorite thing to do or on a log or on the one chair around which you find uncomfortable because then you’re higher than everyone so you move to the ground anyway or on the crate someone has offered which is more comfortable than the chair somehow.

Even though you’re in the shade, the sweat is dripping down your back between your shoulder blades because it’s still so hot!

The people with you are either 10 years younger and speak enough English to have a decent conversation or they’re older than you and don’t speak any English so you communicate about basic things using charades.

You can see your best friend’s house in front of you – the mud is starting to crumble at the top, the thatch roof probably leaks when it rains.

You can see your best friend’s distant relative’s house to your right. It’s made of bricks (not the red ones, but of concrete) and has a zinc (tin) roof. You’ve slept in that house before and were so thankful there was electricity so there was a fan.

You can see your best friend’s kitchen made of reed walls and zinc roof to the left of the brick house.

You can hear the flies buzzing in your face and landing everywhere.

You can hear kids crying and no one attending to them.

You can hear chickens calling to their chicks and roosters crowing even though it’s the middle of the day and you were always led to believe they only crowed at sunrise but have learned that’s a load of crap.

You can hear the river, which you know will make you sick if you drink and if you’re offered water, it is probably coming straight from the river.

You can hear the drunk adults only 100 yards away sitting in bigger shade all day everyday drinking traditional beer.

You can smell the salty oily deliciousness you’re about to consume.

You can smell sand.

You can feel the flies landing on your lips.

You can maybe even feel a small kid sitting in your lap while you pray to whatever powers that be that she won’t pee on you because you just washed those trousers and you wonder how long you can pretend not to smell the pee if you don’t wash them if she does pee.

You can feel the relative fullness of your stomach compared to those you’re about to share a meal with.

You can feel their honor that you’ve chosen to visit them for lunch.

You feel honored to be sharing a meal with them instead of being fed off to the side, something different because they think you can’t eat porridge and whatever leaves they’ve prepared.

So now, I know this setting isn’t quite the same as all the places I’ve eaten porridge, but I’ve always eaten it with people I care very much about. And one thing I’ve learned to appreciate more is sharing a meal with someone. Eating is life and for so many people food is something they have to fight for. Going to the grocery store whenever you run out of something isn’t an option. Running out of something is a concept they don’t know. You either have something or you don’t. You enjoy it when you have it and when it’s gone, you don’t miss it. And you probably grow about 80% of what you eat, and if you didn’t grow it, you know exactly where it was grown.

All Talk

Monday, 6 September, 2010

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people are all talk. They tell you what they want to do, but then they never do it. So I try to do the opposite – keep my mouth shut about things I’m not sure will happen, but if I know I need to do something, I’ll talk about it.

Like killing a chicken.

One time when I was 17 I became a vegetarian because I wouldn’t eat what I wasn’t willing to kill myself. Fish, well, they aren’t so cuddly to me. I kept eating them for the most part. Chicken was out. Beef, pork, turkey even.

Then I moved to Namibia where fish and chicken are considered vegetables. So instead of making a big deal out of meals, I just adapted and began eating a lot of fried fish and more chicken than I’ve probably eaten in America. Somewhere along the line I started enjoying the chicken. So I started talking about killing one.

Over my final holiday, I spent some time in my village. Mary, an RPCV who worked in my same village before me, was visiting and she invited me to her party that Twayapa Shotuyowe, the group she worked with, threw for her. I went. I had no idea what to expect. Here’s the sequence of events…

Saturday I met up with Mary and showed another visiting PCV around the village. We went to the river, sat and enjoyed the beauty and terrors of those crocodile and hippo infested waters. We went to the mission. We just walked around, showing him the place I call home. Mary invited us both to the part for the following day. She said they had killed a goat already. I asked about chickens and mentioned I wanted to kill one. She told me to ask any of the women on Sunday and they’d probably bring one to my house, help me kill it, pluck it, clean it, cook it and even eat it.

Sunday, we went to the party. There was a brief welcoming for Mary before we ate. As we walked from one building to the next for the different activities, Mary told me she had a chicken for me. What??? Oh, ok, I guess I’m killing a chicken today. One member had brought it for Mary as a gift, but Mary explained that she couldn’t bring it home with her and would it be ok if she gave it to me and they helped me kill it? Yes, that’d be fine.

Lunch was mahangu porridge with cabbage and goat. I ate around the meat, still not willing to make a scene and just give my meat away to kids after eating what wouldn’t make me sick.

After lunch, clothes were given out to orphans who are somehow supported by the group (just figured out where I’ll be giving all my clothes in December). Then the chicken was brought out, one man held the body and head with the neck stretched out, handed me the big yellow handled knife and there was suddenly a crowd of adults and kids watching me.

I started pausing, looking for a way out. How sharp is the knife? Sharp. Very sharp? Yes. Just cut? Yes. I was advised to put the knife under the feathers first. I did. I could feel the skin. I started shaking a little and wasn’t sure I could do it. Mary told me not to if I couldn’t. The other PCV told me to just cut hard and fast. I cut hard and fast. Blood. The head was still hanging on. I cut a little bit again and it was separated. The body thrashed, still in the man’s hand. I only had a few drops of blood on my cutting hand. If he’d put the body down, blood would have gotten everywhere as the nerves shook off their last bits of life.

We found a plastic bag and I had a headless chicken for dinner.

But now what?

Christophine, one of the chairpeople of the group, told me she’d come to my house to help me pluck and clean it. Before she showed up, Nicky was there. We boiled water, soaked the body, plucked out the feathers, cut up the pieces, threw out not as many pieces as I expected, and I had a pot full of chicken pieces. The pieces we kept that surprised me a little, only a little because I know a lot more is kept than what we eat in America, were the gizzard (which is hard and you have to slice open so get out the sand), the neck, the liver, maybe some other organ I couldn’t identify and weirdest of all, the feet. I was brave enough to try all of them except the feet. The gizzard just grosses me out a little.

So now it’s done, I know I can kill a chicken, pluck it and clean it. I can eat chicken more guilt free now. But maybe I’ve just been turned off of it. Don’t know yet. I did enjoy eating it. And since I had killed it, I felt more compelled to eat the parts that seemed grosser than others. I wanted to make its life and its death worth more than just for my own “vegetarian” endeavors.

Last First Day

Tuesday, 7 September, 2010

So it starts. My final term teaching in the place I never thought I’d like, let alone fall in love with. Three months from today the school will close, learners will get their reports and whether or not I’m still in the village or already on my way to Windhoek and America, I’ll be finished as a teacher here.

Every holiday, I forget how miserable school can be – the black hole of no motivation, the chaos of teachers not teaching, the million and eight interruptions to my classes that are completely avoidable. I particularly forget how rough the first day of the term can be – school starting late, classes half empty because learners just didn’t come back for some reason or no reason, no one following the time table, hardly anyone teaching at all. And I definitely forgot how hard it is to stand on those concrete floors all day!

But amidst the stresses of returning to school one last time, there were 2 very bright spots today.

Mary brought me the most vegetables I’ve seen in the last two years!! Or at least the most vegetables that I could buy for N$20 and call my own! There were about 10 carrots, a giant bag of beautiful swiss chard, 2 massive onions and 3 beets the size of both of my fists. I’m leaving in a few days for a week of Peace Corps things, so I’m gorging myself on LOCALLY grown vegetables from the river side! And I have the cell phone number of the person in charge who I can message any time I want more vegetables and arrange a pickup or drop off! Finally, more FRESH vegetables than I know what to do with!!!

During period 8, I was walking back to school from my vegetable drop off and my Chaco broke. Again. I had “fixed” it with super glue and a bent paper clip but nothing stands up against the sands of Africa. Or at least no American solution. So I was once again left with a flapping strap on my sandal. I showed a couple teachers, just for something to talk about, and Mr. Thinyemba told me to go ask Mangundu in his class. Mangundu who? Alphons. Huh, I know that name. But I didn’t place it. He yelled after me, Kayoka! Ohhh!!! Kayoka can fix shoes? Yes. Great! I brought it to him, asked if he could fix it and left with only one shoe on.

After a lunch of locally grown beans followed by a glorious nap, Nicky and Kayoka came over with my fixed sandal! It’s definitely better than anything I could have done myself! I finally have a sandal that will likely last me the next 3 months, and hopefully will last someone longer when I give them away.

So even though it was nice to have a break, and it certainly was not long enough, it was also nice to see a lot of the faces of my learners who I will miss come December and my departure. I reminded all of my classes that I will be leaving in December. I asked them not to talk about it with me, but just to know that I’m really going. Today I’m ready to leave, tomorrow might be another story.

“You can’t promote peace by fighting a war.”

Thursday, 12 August, 2010

I read a couple articles in the NYTimes in the last couple days about the tax debate. There were some big figures thrown around. One that struck me was that if the tax cuts that were started under President Bush are extended for the next 10 years, they will add US$3.8 trillion to the national debt. Can you comprehend 3 800 000 000 000 of anything? Grains of sand? Hairs? Cells? Ants? Cockroaches? Rats? Dollars? Because I can’t. That’s an unfathomable amount of money.

You can go where you want with that tid bit of information. I didn’t go anywhere good with it.

I did find myself so frustrated with those articles that I even braved talking about them with some teachers in the afternoon study period. I mentioned the ridiculous amounts of money, but then the conversation turned toward war. That’s what people hear about here in terms of the US government. War in Iraq. War in Afghanistan. So I talked about the US foreign policy of fighting in these countries compared to Greg Mortenson’s personal policy of building schools there. I said that he has done more to promote peace in the part of the world than the US government and military has done or could ever hope to do. Mr. Shangara blew my mind with his next sentence, “You can’t promote peace by fighting a war. How will this one be happy when this other one is crying?”

Right?? Right?!!? It’s that simple isn’t it? I try to use that theory in my discipline. I’m not going to show my anger and frustration in the hopes that it will make kids get along better. I have to stay calm to get them to calm down and talk nicely to each other. And it takes forever for that message to sink in!

I just didn’t really expect to hear those words or ideas come out of his mouth, so it impressed me and made me smile.

This morning I walked into the staff room hoping to hear feedback about the circuit (district) based marking program. I’d heard there was no food provided, but teachers were kept from 7am until after dark. I’m not looking forward to this. Most other teachers aren’t either, but it took them longer than me to express my disgust at it. But I finally found something to smile about that was brought about from this unpleasantness…

Mr. Kutenda: We South Africans boycott.

Ms Ndunda: We Zambians don’t stand for hunger.

Ms. Mughongora: We Angolians plant bombs.

Ms. Siyanga: We Malawians just do what we’re told.

They’re all Namibians. But no one wants to go to the circuit to mark another schools’ papers, we all just want to mark our own WHEN we want to mark them. And no one will come up with an actual excuse or reason that is legitimate enough to get us all out of it. Just these silly stories.

Plans

Friday, 13 August, 2010

Sometimes things go according to plans. Whose plans? I don’t know. Never mine.

This morning I thought it was Thursday. I wasn’t even convinced it was Friday when Kaitlin told me it was. I walked into the staff room 15 minutes late because I didn’t think we had a staff briefing. Because I thought it was Thursday. I asked what day it was. Everyone there told me Friday, so I finally believed them. But most Thursdays I wake up thinking it’s Friday, so when I woke up thinking it was Friday, I reminded myself that no, Thursday comes first and today is Thursday.

After our normal briefing, we had a normal assembly. The learners started a song, “Oh Lord you are my God, you’re leading me everywhere I go…” The principal interrupted them. “I want to hear the boys singing, start over!” They sang again, finished the song just repeating itself. He jumped in again, “But you have to say the words right: My Lord, you are my God, YOU leading me everywhere I go, not YOU ARE leading me everywhere I go.” I walked out.

The whole school was scheduled to write English exams today – grades 5-7 only 1 exam, grades 8-10, 3 exams. Ms. Mughongora was getting her question papers ready for the lower grades, but there were no papers to be found for grade 7. Mr. Sihope was getting his set for the higher grades, and no papers for grade 9 paper 3. He drove to the circuit office to collect those missing question papers. But they weren’t there either!! So grade 7 didn’t write and the higher grades all ended up being behind by a few hours because everything was delayed and then they just take a long time to write.

Unexpected Goodness

Saturday, 21 August, 2010

You know how things usually don’t go according to your plan? And when you live in Africa, and are an outsider, and particularly a young white female outsider, things almost never, no I take that back, they NEVER go according to your plan. I have no control over anything, so it’s all left up to someone elses’ plan. Always.

Sometimes things work out in a good way and sometimes they work out in a bad way.

A recent example of things working out in a bad way first.

Our inspector (superintendent) required that all grade 7 and grade 10 teachers didn’t mark their own exams. Instead, all of the subject teachers got together at the circuit to mark each others’. I went Thursday to start marking. There are 10 teachers teaching grade 7 math. I waited and waited and waited, I was early of course (also out of my control). Finally 2 teachers showed up who I recognized from a math workshop in term 1. I’ll call them Mr. “Sousa” and Mr. “Cheesa” because their names were something like that and I don’t know their real names. Probably better that way. They’re both old. And stuck in their ways and not about to listen to a young white 20 something female.

We decided to start marking and let other people join as they showed up (they didn’t show up). I marked Mr. Cheesa’s 58 question papers, Mr. Sousa marked my 48 question papers and Mr. Cheesa marked Mr. Sousa’s 23 question papers. That was my arranging. They had both wanted to put a pile from one school on the table and we’d all be marking for that school until it finished. I didn’t like that idea because we’d all mark a little differently, even though there’s a memo telling us HOW to mark each question, we’d still do it differently. But I didn’t shut up this time and actually got my way. It got me more work, but it’s impossible to win everything.

We finished marking paper 1. My learners did the best by far. Mr. Cheesa’s learners were miserable, I would have been embarrassed if I were him, but he didn’t see mine, so he had no idea. Sure I had those who failed miserably, but less than 10 of them. He had less than 10 who didn’t fail miserably. His excuse for each one I’d ask him about who I couldn’t find anything right with was, “Oh, she’s just that way.” No, you’re just that way, sir.

The three of us were in another place of the TRC (teacher resource center) than the other 4 groups marking, so when food was served, we missed out, making us cranky when we found out with still another hour to go for lunch and being refused food when I went to the kitchen. My crankiness turned into me finding out who was in charge – someone I know relatively well, or at least well enough to go and complain.

Sir, there are only 3 of the grade 7 math teachers here. WHAAAAT??? Why didn’t you tell us earlier (I’ve never figured out why that is, without fail, the first question when a complaint is issued)??? Well, I didn’t really know who was in charge or that no one was going to show up, so I’m telling you now. He came to talk to the three of us, took a record that we were there, and after me asking maybe 15 times if we still had to be there to mark each others question papers when everyone else will be marking their own and doing any kind of statistics would be useless since 66% of the data wouldn’t be present, could we just leave? Please? Oh and they didn’t feed us. Fine, just finish marking and then go.

I refused to let those fools touch my paper 2 question paper. I looked through their marking and moderating and found TOO MANY mistakes. “Write all the factors of 10.” The memo told us the answer should be “1, 2, 5, 10.” Yes, true. However, I teach my kids to think about in term of multiplication, so their answers looked like “10x1 and 2x5” if it was right. A lot of them got that question marked wrong even though they had the right answer. We had agreed to throw out 3 questions because there were mistakes on the exam that either made the question unanswerable or just confusing for kids whose first language isn’t English and who already struggle with math. But Mr. Sousa forgot to throw out one of those questions almost everytime! So I had to go back and remark everything, recount the marks and almost every single learner got MORE marks, as many as 8 one time. So I wanted them to stay away from paper 2!

We stayed for lunch, meat that I couldn’t eat anyway, and then left. I walked home and refused to go back on Friday. I sort of had permission not to? Maybe?

I finished marking everything today and I’m really happy with how a lot of kids did. The difference between my exams and Mr. Cheesa’s was incredible. The difference from the exams I marked a year ago and those I’m marking this year is incredible! Last year a lot more exams looked like Mr. Cheesa’s – you couldn’t even pretend there was a salvageable mark. Now, at least half the time for almost everyone, they’re at least thinking in the right direction. If nothing else, this miserable circuit marking debacle made me realize I’m doing a really good job!

But then there’s the other side of the unexpected and lack on control – when things work out, or at least produce laughs and good memories.

Today Nicky sent an sms around 7:30 telling me she’d come at 11 and we’d look for a chicken to buy so I can learn to kill them (sorry Mom, but if I’m going to keep eating chicken, which I want to do, I have to be able to kill it myself, I’ll leave yours alone though).

Well, she didn’t come until 1. I was playing Set, sitting on a jerry can in my kitchen, using my counter as my table. She took her shoes off and without pausing walked straight over to me and started whispering in my ear with her lollipop smelling breath. “There are visitors.” Who? “Two people are here, Lengi and someone you don’t like.” Why? “They followed me here because they want to get music from your computer.” I had to stifle laughter. I walked outside and found Lengi and someone I don’t like. They wanted to put a USB in my computer. I’ve learned through enough trials and errors that even when someone tells me their USB is virus free, it isn’t. “I don’t put USBs in my computer because they always have viruses.” Yes, but ours isn’t. “Yes it is, they all do.” Oh, ok.

Well at least that ended quickly.

Nicky hadn’t eaten lunch and I’d only snacked because I never knew when she was coming and if we’d make fat cakes, make porridge or find that elusive chicken. So we decided to make fat cakes.

Well, we’ve had 2 good fat cake making sessions, and 1 great one! Today’s was beyond disastrous. They stuck to the pot, they didn’t rise, we added more flour, we added more water, we added more yeast, we let the dough sit in the sun. Nothing seemed to make it better. We finally gave up with more than have the dough still left to do something with, ate the fat cake wannabes, left the dough in the sun and went to the river.

We found more kids there than last weekend. Last weekend it was only Nicky, Kayoka, Kunyima and me. It was great. Kids come alive there! It’s their domain! But the crowd was a bit much today for some reason, even though it’s a lot less than what it’ll be when the school opens again in 2 weeks.

Kayoka had a great boat! It was literally half a tree trunk. It looked like it had just fallen that way and no one had done anything to make it better. His paddle was similar. Two people would get on it, it’d flip, and finally Kayoka got caught in the extra fast rapids because there’s still a lot of water and he had to bail before being swept into crocodile territory.

Nicky, Mukoya, Ndara and I were the last ones to leave. Nicky and myself back to my house to try to figure out how to salvage that dough.

Before doing anything though, we had to clean up the previous disaster. Making fat cakes is a messy job – we cook outside because of it. But the fire turns my pot black and the black comes off on my hands is almost impossible to get off even with loads of soap. But then I once tried using Dr. Bronner’s and it made a protective layer over the blackness! It took off some of it, but didn’t leave my pot the orange (?) color it once was. At least I think it started as orange. Maybe red. Who knows? But it dissolved the blackness instead of just making it stick to my hands. It’s pretty magical. So after Nicky washed the other dishes with normal soap, I brought out my Dr. Bronner’s and started washing the pot. She gave me a funny look, not understanding why I would use a different kind of soap, and one she’d never seen before, to wash one thing. I explained. She was impressed. Then I took some Dr. Bronner’s and started washing my bathroom sink, which had a pretty gross layer of nastiness on it. She followed, intrigued. “That won’t come off,” she told time. Watch and be amazed. And amazed, she was! I told her it’s magical! Then I got the container and even showed her how it says Magic Soap on it!! She took some more soap and a cloth and thoroughly washed the rest of the bathroom sink. I told her you can use the soap for anything – wash clothes, wash your body, wash dishes, brush your teeth, but I hear it tastes bad. She requested some to use as toothpaste. I obliged and am eagerly awaiting feedback tomorrow when she comes. She’s very impressed with the soap.

Anyway, back to the dough. “Can we make it into bread?” Tjani. I don’t know. Let’s try. Let’s add more flour. Done. OK, how about some spices? Garlic powder? Smell it. “Ghiii.” Italian seasoning? Smell it. “Ghiii.” We made it a seemingly good bread consistency, added oil to small cans I use to make muffins and Nicky scooped dough into the tins. We baked them, not having any idea what to expect. There’d been no recipe, no measuring or anything, had changed goals midway through and we’ve never made bread together.

We peeked. They smelled good!

We took one out. It tasted good!

We took them all out. And they were delicious! Nicky cooked up some cabbage and we had bread and cabbage for dinner.

From a disastrous fat cake endeavor, we got some delicious rolls that will never be replicated because we have no idea what we used!

One thing I do love is the unexpectedness of everything, especially when things work out nicely.

HAPPY 14TH BIRTHDAY THIKOKA MAMUNA JOHANNA SEGLINDE…NICKY

Wednesday, 11 August, 2010

It’s not everyday that your best friend turns 14. Maybe when you yourself are 14 it’s more common. But when you’re 24, it doesn’t seem to happen very often. So when it DOES, you have to take advantage and go all out for the occasion!

How I went all out…

It started last week. I asked Nicky what she wants for her birthday. She looked confused. I told her that in my culture when it’s your birthday, then all your friends buy you a present. What do you do in your culture? We eat! Who cooks? Everyone! Who buys the food? Anyone! OK, well, what do you want for your birthday? Some thought…Oshikandela! What flavor? Strawberry! Done.

Do you want to get everyone in your class fat cakes on your birthday? Fat cakes? Yes, fat cakes? Some thought…sweets. Oh, sweets instead of fat cakes? Yes. When it was Kambango’s birthday then she brought sweets, enough for 2, 2, 2 and Nik Naks, enough for 1, 1, 1. But not our group. We got 4, 4, 4 sweets and 2, 2, 2 Nik Naks. OK, sweets. Done.

On Monday, after a disagreement with Nicky about a practical joke she played on me on Sunday that made me think she was dead and I was really upset about that, she wouldn’t look at me or talk to me, but I put the sweets in her bag with a note telling her she could share them how she wanted. And I wrote a letter reminding her I love her even if I didn’t like what she did. Later on Monday night she wrote me an sms, “sorry!!3pckt.oh.i.wish.god.cld.gv.u.a.job.lk.a.president.i.lv.u.toooo!!!” All I needed was the sorry to be fine with her again and know that she understood why I was so upset.

On Tuesday, she sent an sms at lunch inviting me to come eat at her house, that’s when I knew we were really fine again. It was too late to make it back in time for study, but she came over after study and there was no question about how fine we were. We were better than fine.

We talked about her birthday, what she wanted to do for it. I told her I could come eat lunch with her since I’d missed it today. She said they wouldn’t eat since they had eaten lunch today. So I invited her for more soft porridge. She asked if she could come with someone. Sure, not really sure what she meant. Can I come with Thidjukwe? Oh, ya, that’d be fine. So I was planning for lunch for 3.

When we left yesterday so I could walk her home, she asked why I had bought 3 bags of sweets. She was expecting just one and she’d give them all away and buy a lollipop for a dollar. I told her that there were only 20 lollipops in a bag so I had to get 2 bags because there are 21 kids in her class. And then there was another bag that I just wanted to get her. And you can’t buy something for yourself on your birthday! In my culture, everyone buys for you! And Kambango had a lot to bring, so you needed to bring a lot too! She was all smiles.

I got back home and found a card she’d left for me. “I thank u 4 giving me many sweets and I realy love u 2 where ever u go my soul will always be with u with lot of [heart] Nicky” and she taped a picture of a ~2 year old white boy and wrote “tell Miles when he will grow he has 2 look like [arrow to write kid].” I wrote her a message, “Nicky, I just found your card and it made me smile big big big!!” Hehehe was her response. I’m glad we’re practicing writing to each other so we can do that easily after I go.

So today finally came it was her 14th birthday. I didn’t see her until lunch when she came over for lunch. Alone. No Thidjukwe. I asked. She didn’t want to come. How does that make you feel? Tjitju mu tjima. Sick in my heart. But we still had fun. Soft porridge that we made together, Strawberry Oshikandela, The Lion King until she finally got sick of it and then Cinderella. I gave her the first of my two gifts to her – the one that she’ll like less. I gave her a map of the US with stickers on key cities so she’ll always know where I am.

After study she came back. I had promised her pizza. I made the sauce, she came to help, leaving Cinderella for when the pizza was cooking. She made the dough, spread it in the pan, put on the sauce, grated the cheese, sliced the bananas (the only topping she likes – don’t judge until you try it) and put them on very evenly. She told me that one day she’ll make pizza for Ritha. She told her she’s learning to make it at my house and she’ll cook it for her in Ritha’s oven. I smiled inside and out.

We snacked on yesterday’s left over tortillas from our attempt at making tortilla chips. We put on some cheese – making anything delicious in Nicky’s mind. We enjoyed half of the pizza, leaving the rest for tomorrow’s lunch. I hope she doesn’t come with anyone tomorrow for lunch!

Just before we left, I almost forgot to give her the REAL birthday present I had for her. I had a sticker collection in the US. It was kind of big. And in this sticker collection, I didn’t put the stickers ON anything. I had them so I could use them one day. I brought it to Namibia. I have used it not more than 2 or 3 times. And I’m definitely not bringing it back with me. She has asked me several times for stickers – that was one of the only things she could think of when I asked her what she wanted me to send her from the states. Well, I gave her my whole sticker collection. Her smile was too big.

Happy birthday, Nicky.

Nicky

Tuesday, 3 August, 2010

I know half of my entries are about Nicky, or she at least plays a prominent part in them, so here’s another!

Every time Nicky and I spend some time alone for some reason, I love her even more when we reconnect. We have barely spoken outside of school for over a week. In the classroom, I’ve been sensing a lot of frustrations, maybe with me, maybe just continuing to come to terms with my departure, maybe a combination of a lot of things. But last Friday was the only time we hung out after school, and she barely talked to me. I could barely get a smile from her with a chocolate cake we made together!

Over the weekend, I ran into her briefly and it was clear she wanted nothing to do with me, so I didn’t push it. And then I had some alone time at a hostel nearby. It was great to be alone, but of course I found myself wondering what Nicky was up to.

Yesterday I really expected her to visit after school since we hadn’t hung out in over a week at that point. She didn’t come. I was worried about her. I know she’s trying to deal with the fact that I’m leaving. I am too! And I think she’s trying to do it alone. Which saddens me. I’m still here and I want to be here for her and help her be ok with the change that’s coming.

So I wrote her a letter. She isn’t good at listening to the hard topics we have to discuss and she’s not good at talking about them either. I’ve pushed a couple times when I felt like she was in a place where she was ok to do that. But I wanted her to know how much she means to me and that I’m just making sure she’s ok. I gave her the letter at break today. Just handed it to her quietly.

I taught her class just after break, and I could feel the difference in her in the whole class. She wasn’t holding back feelings anymore. She was herself again. Which helped me to be myself again. When I was handing her the worksheet she had to finish, I asked, “Did you read it?” Ghii. “Are you ok?” Ghii. And class continued normally. I was content with that simple answer, just knowing, for now now, she’s fine.

And then she came over after school. And she is herself again. She’s more than fine. She’s happy. Smile. Sharing cheesy popcorn. Sharing her ndongo – groundnuts – peanuts. A promise that Thidjukwe will bring me more tomorrow. Easy jokes. A combination of Thimbukushu and English.

Thidjukwe. I have to thank that girl for her new friendship with Nicky. They were in different classes last year. I never saw them together until this term when they’re nearly inseparable. When I walked Nicky home, Thidjukwe’s name again came up and I asked, “She’s a good friend to you isn’t she?” Ghii. “Where’s she going to school next year?” Max. Hmmm…we’ll have to figure that one out. I’ll feel better knowing they’re together somewhere. Anywhere.

My favorite time of day

Wednesday, 4 August, 2010

My favorite time of day is not when I wake up. It always comes earlier than I want it to. Long before my alarm is set to go off. All I think about is how tired I still am and how nice my bed is.

My favorite time of day is not when I first get to school. The weather is nice at that hour, but I prefer my mornings alone, several hours alone at least.

My favorite time of day is especially not when I first get to school on Monday, Wednesday or Friday. Then I know I have at least 30 minutes to sit through where the principal, or another management member followed by the principal because he can’t keep his mouth shut, will talk about all the problems the teachers create. It’s taken a lot of effort to keep my outer armor on and not let it get to me – especially since it can’t possibly be directed at me when I teach every single class I’m supposed to, and extras.

But today was especially frustrating. That 30 minutes turned into another 30 minutes. Where each teacher had to individually give the problems in our classrooms. Late coming of learners. Dodging of learners. Learners making noise. Behavior. I was asked specifically what the solution should be to change the disorganization at our school that is created by the teachers. “Teach your freaking classes.” I was near tears – frustrated tears of having my teaching time being stolen and also what it was stolen for. This was not helping. I spoke up again later – we all have 2 choices: we can do what we want to or what we’re supposed to do, when those things aren’t the same. And then, if we choose to do what we’re supposed to do, we have another 2 choices: we can hate it and be miserable, or we can make the best of it. Maybe it we change our attitudes, things will begin to change. And the other thing I want to say is this: there are a lot of things I will never understand about this place – the village and the Hambukushu people. But I can accept a lot of those things I don’t understand as just being the way they are. But one thing I cannot accept is that it seems to be ok to show up to work and then dodge your classes. That is completely unacceptable and I refuse to be fine with that.

That 60 minutes was followed by another hour with the learners at a surprise assembly. Each class captain had to tell the problems in their classes and what their class teachers were doing about them. Useless.

I got to spend 30 minutes of my scheduled 160 minutes in a classroom before break.

After break was a parents meeting. I skipped it since I can’t hear anything anyone says. I taught. And then ate lunch. And went back for study. For the first time in my time here, I had every single learner come back for study. I’d sacrificed 40 minutes of my time with 6B to discuss as a class what some of the behavior problems were and what the consequences should be. We made lists. They’re going on the wall tomorrow morning. One of the consequences was to bring your parents if you’re absent to school or study to tell me personally why, instead of the learner telling me. No one wants to do that. Everyone was there. And the latest anyone came was a whole 1 minute late. Another problem, identified by the learners, was late coming. Consequence? You come 5 minutes late, you stay 5 minutes late. You come 35 minutes late, you stay 35 minutes late. I hope I don’t have to enforce these very often. I’ll collapse. But their attitudes had changed too. We were a happy group again.

My favorite time of day is not at school.

My favorite time of day is not at study.

My favorite time of day is not at home.

Nicky came over after school. We went for a walk. I told her when I was in grade 7, I would go for walks with my mom. She looked at me funny like, why was your mom going for walks? And why did you go with her? Because I just like to be with her.

My favorite time of day is dusk, when I’m walking Nicky home. Our conversation is always easiest then – I invited her over for mahangu porridge at lunch tomorrow and she talked about bringing cabbage to eat with it. I suggested we cook the piece of chicken in my freezer that Ziggy stole from my neighbors. We both cracked up. I apologized for forgetting to return her watch (from me) today after she forgot it at my house yesterday. And then gave her the bad news that the battery died last night! We both cracked up again.

But it’s not only the company and conversation that makes that my favorite time of day.

We walk east, away from the setting sun. Our shadows are long. She always tries to make hers taller than mine. There aren’t many people out walking, everyone is huddled around their cooking fire – it’s family time. There’s a fire at each home we walk by and kids call out “Madam” or “Miss Lori” or just “Lori” hoping for a wave, a smile or a greeting. Some come and play tag with me as I pass their home, some come and shake my hand. It’s a ritual every evening.

Then I walk back alone, always with a smile on my face. Not because I said goodbye to my best friend and I’m finally alone. But because I know I’ll see her again in 12 hours. I spend the 10 minute walk home telling myself, or someone who isn’t there, how great Nicky is and how great my day was. Maybe it wasn’t all great, but it ended great, so that’s what sticks with me in that moment. I walk toward the sunset. The sun is usually gone by now, a deep blue sky with the first stars and planets overhead, slowly changing to a light orange and deep red making a silhouette of all the trees.

My favorite time of day is not the time between getting home alone and getting into bed.

My favorite time of day is not when I got to bed.

It’s that walk. With my best friend.

See you peghundha

Thursday, 5 August, 2010

There’s nothing like time apart to remind yourself how great something is. Or someone. Like Nicky.

She just gets me.

Kaitlin reminded me early this week, when I was witnessing Nicky struggling with coming to terms with my departure and not knowing if I was still here for her, that Nicky is extraordinary. I think she used the word smart. In the classroom, sure, she does fine. But she doesn’t stand out. Not in math anyway. Her English is ahead of a lot of her peers after spending the last 6 months around me almost daily. But even her English grades aren’t anything to write home about.

But her understanding of people, her ability to have a healthy, fulfilling relationship when she’s never known what that is before, her ability to read people and just get them, is unbelievable. People have told me that I can do that – read people in an instant. Maybe it’s judging, maybe it’s something else. I think it’s something else. It’s just KNOWING. And Nicky can do it too. I have a hard time reading people in this culture – so utterly different from what I’m used to, even after 19 months, so I depend on Nicky to fill in the holes. I ask about a particular person, and she can tell me in one word with a simple gesture. I guess I can read her, but I still struggle with others.

She came over after study and I was angry and frustrated (not with her coming over), a common theme unfortunately. I do my best to hide those feelings and reasons from her, but she knows. Just like I know when she’s feeling them. I asked what she wanted to do, as I shuffled my Set cards mindlessly. We haven’t played much in a while. She silently and quickly pointed at the deck of cards in my hands. We sat outside and found our rhythm of playing, keeping Matthew and Popay far enough from the cards to not get their drool on them, and then their pee. We moved inside to get away from the kids and the pee. And continued our game. It takes no effort anymore.

Our new thing to say to each other when we part at the gravel road leading away from the hospital, marking the halfwayish mark between our homes is, “See you peghundha.” She said it yesterday and I loved it. It means see you tomorrow. Or even see you yesterday – tomorrow and yesterday are the same thing in Thimbukushu, causing much confusion when kids try to tell me what happened tomorrow or what will happen yesterday.

On our walk toward Nicky’s home, we talked about her birthday. It’s next Wednesday. She asked me, on my suggestion that she buy fat cakes for her class (with my money), to buy her sweets to share with her class. She then told me her birthday is tomorrow. Mbudhi. Lies. Ok, it’s tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow… 6 tomorrows still.

Of course, once I turned around to walk back home, I started thinking about how many tomorrows will we get to hang out? How many peghundhas are left for us together? How many more times can I tell her, “See you peghundha” until I’ve used them all up?

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Tuesday, 13 July, 2010

Is it really only Tuesday???

This week we’re (teachers) having a “workshop” about OVCs (Orphans and Vulnerable Children). So far, better than meetings, and kind of even better than supervising studies. Almost anyway.

I was really uncomfortable in the workshop at parts because my past is so glaringly different from everyone else’s. We didn’t have to share these reflections, but questions were asked: What was your childhood like? Happy? Sad? Lonely? What kind of house did you live in? Where did your parents work? What kinds of games did you play? It was the house question that really got me. If only someone had a clue of where I grew up.

After just thinking about those questions and comparing our thoughts to our current living environment and where our learners come from each day, we went outside to do an activity that I did in a college education class. We were all given a slip of paper with a “role” on it. Mine said “street kid, age 16.” We all stood on a line, side by side. Statements were read by the facilitator and if it was true for you, you took a step forward. The statements included things like “I can talk to supportive adults if I have to” or “I buy new clothes when I want to” or “I have gone or plan to go to secondary school.” I didn’t move off the line. The activity was called Power Walk. In college it was something about privilege; white privilege. We talked about leaving those behind who can’t fend for themselves when it’s not really their fault.

The last thing we did was to write briefly about the teacher who inspired us. A few people shared and then I was asked to share mine as the last person. Mr. Daley, my high school geometry teacher. He was the first one who inspired me, or really affected me whole view of education. In college it was Professor Hammond. I talked about Mr. Daley. (Thinking more about it, Mr. Hogan in grade 5 was another influential teacher I had. I was lucky in my teachers, especially compared to what is the norm here.) Siyanga talked about her volunteer teacher from America when she was in school.

We were finally asked to just share what we learned today or offer any reflections. I didn’t really learn anything new, but was reminded about why I’m here for many reasons. This IS new conversation for so many teachers! These kids need so much more than we’re giving them and whatever I do makes some kind of difference. Sihope was sitting next to me and urged me to speak up, I told him I was still processing and would talk on the final day. But I decided to say what was on my mind then and there instead of possibly forgetting by Thursday.

I told everyone that it was a good reminder that we have a lot to offer these kids, that they have so little and everything we do influences them. I told them that the least important thing I’m doing here is teaching math. I told them that the way I see this whole experience for me is to be a caring adult for so many kids who need that. I told them that I realize we have a lot of things going on in our lives and it’s hard to focus on so many people, but if we can just make it a higher priority to be a positive influence and an adult that these kids can go to for help or advice or anything, it would make a huge difference.

I felt like people were really listening.

The workshop ended 15 minutes before study ended, so we all walked out of the room to find about 30 kids kneeling on the stoops of buildings. Siyanga asked who’d sent them – Ngasia in grade 9. Why? Because they were making noise. There were 12 learners from my class kneeling and 2 dodging to play soccer. Those 2 boys were called back and they were each hit in the face by a teacher. Another teacher went to each of the ~30 learners and hit them each in the head with her knuckle.

It made everything so clear – why I’m here, and why nothing will change.

Fat Cakes

Sunday, 18 July, 2010

I will never eat a donut again in my life. They just aren’t good.

But fat cakes? There’s something to them that makes them delicious – a little piece of perfection amidst so many problems. They come in many shapes and sizes and colors. Ok, really only one shape – spere. But the color varies between a light almost orangey brown, to a dark burned brown, almost back. They’re usually so greasy that the newspaper or old exercise book page or marked test paper they come in is transparent by the time you’ve finished them.

I’ve had good experiences eating them, and not as good experiences.

The absolute WORST fat cake I had was the size of a golf ball, and almost that hardness! It was after 4:00pm, so it had been the reject all day. Nicky was supposed to come back with two cakes, one for each of us, but this was the only one left. It was cold. We split it, with difficulty because it was so hard we could hardly pull it apart! It was not satisfying at all.

The best fat cakes I’ve ever had were not only perfect in hotness, ingredient ratio and in taste, but also in the company I got to share them with. Kaitlin was visiting, so that meant Nicky had two friends to hang out with instead of just the usual one. We all walked into the village to get fat cakes, just two each, our normal amount. Nicky came with 6 cakes. She put them on the bench under the awning we were sitting under and let us choose first. I could smell them already. My mouth was watering and my stomach was growling. I picked one up, dropped it in surprise and asked Nicky if they were just from the pot. Ghiii. The woman making them didn’t even put them in the bucket first, just straight into the paper in Nicky’s hands! They were heavenly. Big. Hot. Oily. Sugary on the outside even. We slowly enjoyed our two cakes each, taking the time to cool off our fingers between satisfying bites. After finishing, none of us were ready to have that deliciousness end. Nicky, go get 2 more each. She brought the same paper back (Kaitlin and my insistence) and came back so we each got 2 more. They were just as hot. Just as oily. Just as sugary. Just as perfect. This time we ate even slower, taking time to laugh and talk between each taste.

My principal, even after a year and a half in the village, didn’t know I could eat the food here. At break one day, as I walked over to the group of teachers basking in the sun, he inquired about the fat cakes in my hand. Of course I can eat the food here! Even if it’s made with mahangu instead of flour! I told him about the perfect fat cakes I’d shared with Nicky and Kaitlin.

Now, every time Nicky and I share fat cakes at our usual place in the middle of the village, I remind her about the best and the worst fat cakes I’ve ever had. She agrees on the status of each. Her smile after each story, every time, is another reason I love her so much.

This afternoon, Nicky, Kunyima and I each had 3 fat cakes. They were small. Cool. And average in taste. Not so hard, but sitting around too long to be great. But it was great to be back after a weekend away and sharing something I love with people I care so much about.

The good day I’ve been waiting for!

Wednesday, 21 July, 2010

I woke up not ready for school. Wednesdays are tough. I teach for 8 periods. That’s 5 hours and 20 minutes I stand on concrete in Chacos. My legs were paining at the end of the day. Never mind my growly stomach and tired kids. That’s what I woke up thinking about.

But then the day happened, and it was Namibian perfect.

Yesterday during study I told Mbamba Johanna that I wanted to buy ndongo (peanuts) from her. No, Madam, for free. But I want a lot. No, I’ll just give them to you. She’s done that a couple times in the past, unprompted, and it was always the highlight of my day. But I wanted enough of that salty homegrown boiled goodness to last a while and eat when I wanted. I told her I’d give her the containers I wanted and then she could ask her mom how much I could pay. I gave her 2 yogurt containers. After teaching all 4 periods before break, 7A followed by 7B with Mbamba, she told me it was N$4. I couldn’t believe it. I was planning to pay N$10!! I think they still didn’t want me to pay, but she wanted fat cakes. Fine by me! I found her again at the end of break, after eating enough to make me feel a little sick, and told her I wanted to come eat with her on a weekend at her home. She was happy about that. I told her, just tell me which day. OK. I might have weekend plans without Nicky. Weird.

At lunch I came home to a sleeping Ziggy. He spends his nights out, so it only makes sense that he’d sleep all day. But he’s always excited to see me. He’s African, he ALWAYS greets me! But he barely meowed in greeting today. I was a little worried. Until I looked closer around my relatively messy house and found the source of Ziggy’s sick feeling confining him to bed. He has a habit of going into my neighbor’s house and stealing chicken sitting on someone’s plate waiting to be eaten at lunch. Today, he took the liberty of stealing the biggest piece he could find, while it was thawing. There was a giant piece of raw chicken on my floor, barely eaten. He’s been pretty listless since then. I cleaned it up and apologized to Vusi for Ziggy once again stealing someone’s lunch. He told me there’s a show on the TV where animals do funny things. Ziggy’s antics would qualify. He told me, “If you’re not having enough money, just use your cat to get food from your neighbors!” I told him I’ll have to train Ziggy to start stealing vegetables!

I went back to study to find the office locked so unable to ring the bell. That meant kids continued to play soccer outside while I began preparing for tomorrow. Finally it was official that there was to be a soccer game and no study. Fine, I’m going to prepare instead. Nicky had other plans. First she just yelled through my classroom window that she’d see me after study. Maybe, I told her. Huh? I might go for a walk. Then she came into my classroom and we talked about the fat cake making lesson I’ve been looking forward to. We have enough time? It’s almost 3. How long does it take? Only 30 minutes! Even on a fire? I’m not about to trash my kitchen with oil! Yes. OK. Let’s go make fat cakes.

Nicky made the dough, I observed this time. I commented that she was doing the same motion with her legs and body that she does when she pounds. “Because all my powers are in this flour.” I can’t handle this girl! After putting all her powers into the flour and dough, we went to search for oil. It cost twice as much as in town, but was definitely worth the price. On our walk to the shebeen to buy it, Nicky told me that yesterday they saved a plate of mahangu porridge and chicken for me at lunch! I would love to eat lunch with her! But they saved it for after study, and when she came to find me, I wasn’t there because I’d dodged early to go for a walk, kind of to get peace and quiet alone time! Well, serves me right to miss out on that meal then. I told her to just tell me any day I can come for lunch. We came back and started to make the fire. Now, I love camping and cooking outside and doing everything that way. But I’ve never been good at it, lack of practice really. Together we were making the wood into smaller pieces and putting it between the bricks that would hold our pot. I got the matches and cardboard, ripped up the cardboard to act as our starter and used one match to get the fire going. I told her I was taking credit for the fire. She let me. With the dough ready and the oil heating, kids started coming to see what was going on – hence why I wanted to wait until Saturday. Nicky was in charge of everything, and every time one of the spectators disappeared around the corner, she gave them a mean look and shooed them away further with her hand. In Africa we share, but not when it comes to Miss Lori apparently. The first 4 fat cakes were BIG. We gave 2 away for the 4 kids next door to share. The next 8 fat cakes we smaller. And we kept the rest for ourselves. We didn’t finish. We ate in front of my computer watching The Lion King – Nicky’s favorite parts only. I wanted to eat outside, but it would have involved more sharing, which Nicky was not ok with. We have a few left for break tomorrow. With honey, on Nicky’s request.

I told Nicky today, “I wish we didn’t have school so we could hang out all the time.”

After stuffing our faces as much as we could, Nicky wanted me to test her on her x10 facts. I did them all, she got them all right, so I asked, “Ten times broom” as I walked outside past my broom. “Ten times broom???” Ghiii. “Sweep.”

I wish I knew high ups in governments so they would give her the required documents to get to America whenever I could get her there.

Lesson 1

Saturday, 24 July, 2010

Kids are great. They get it. They get that I can talk to them, that I WANT to talk to them. They get that I don’t really know how to talk to adults, don’t feel as comfortable with them. We can make eye contact and I can see their understanding, and they can see my pleading to save me from whatever one sided conversation I’m trapped in.

So when I got abandoned by Nicky and Kunyima who were cooking and doing something else, I was dingungwa – lonely and bored – even though Nicky’s mom was talking away to me in Thimbukushu. Kunyima came to my rescue; simply sat next to me and we started breaking up sticks and throwing them at each other as Kalenga talked away in Portuguese and Thimbukushu.

In Kaitlin’s house for a while, there was a small poster. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen and I will search for it until I get myself a copy. There are about 8 pictures, all the same, of a table and two chairs. No people. No food. Each one has a few words under it. My favorite is “the solution to the problem.” To me, that means eating together, sharing in something so necessary for survival, is vital. And today I saw that in its purest form.

Nicky and Kunyima’s mom only speaks about 5 words of English, so I understand hardly anything she says. Some of it gets translated, but even without that, I understand her tone. And when she’s talking to her kids, I want to cry. I can barely handle it. But then when the food came, all four of us eating from the same bowls full of rice flour porridge, rwidhi – vegetables – and nyama – meat – for the Namibians, not for me, were laughing together. As soon as the food was finished, the communication went back to the impatient tone from before lunch. But when food is involved, and we’re all eating together, sitting on rocks in the shade with barely clean hands, no silverware, life is good and you can feel the love.

Finally Nicky and I managed to get to my house alone. More fat cakes. This time Nicky was teaching me by letting me do it. They were not very good. There wasn’t enough sugar. There wasn’t enough salt. The first few got burned. Then there was too much salt. I need lots more practice. This will be a delicious experiment!

Playing

Thursday, 29 July, 2010

I try to make my classes fun. If that means we spend 5 minutes of our precious math time playing games, so be it. Those 5 minutes make the kids enjoy my classes that much more.

Recently, I taught them the chicken dance. It actually started as a punishment for kids not having done their homework. I worried that kids would STOP doing their homework because they enjoyed it so much! So it’s no longer a punishment, just a break for 80 minutes of solid math.

This week I gave a test in each of my classes – grade 7 on Wednesday and grade 6 today. But that means we might finished the test before the period is over, but they’re already drained from the test and don’t have energy to push on to the next topic. And neither do I. So we just play games.

The new one is Telephone. I played in 7A on Wednesday. I didn’t even have to give an example sentence, they had ideas from the start. We only had time for 2 or 3 games, but each time, the sentence got significantly changed and it provoked many laughs – even from me.

Today we played in 6A. I gave an example sentence so we knew what we were doing the first round – Milk makes strong bones. Once it got around the circle, Mbamba Gerolda, to my left, said “Kayende ghukanyeko.” We all laughed. I had an idea of what it translated to, but I couldn’t imagine someone would have ACTUALLY thought I’d say that. I asked, what’s that mean, already pretty sure my first thought was correct. It was. Go and … defecate. No one wanted to be the one to tell me. We all laughed. And played for the next 15 minutes. Again, each sentence was changed. We discussed communication. I’m sure that was lost on them. But it was more fun than math!

Sara

Sunday, 1 August, 2010

It seems that half of my female learners are named Sara. I use it in word problems all the time because of that.

Last Tuesday, Mbamba Johanna Sara came to me at school and told me I could come to her house for lunch on Saturday. She’d recently given me many many delicious homegrown, homeboiled, homeroasted, homesalted peanuts and I wanted to share a meal at her home with her and her family. I told her to just tell me when and I’d be there. So Saturday it was.

On Wednesday I let her know I can’t eat meat. OK. On Friday I reminded her and asked when she’d come get me, I don’t know where she lives! I asked what time? And she laughed. I pointed to the east and used the Mbukushu clock – the sun. This time? I asked with my hand low, somewhere around 6am. This time? with my hand a little higher indicating 9ish. This time? with my hand almost at the noon position. She told me “Somewhere here” with her hand around what I took to mean 9ish.

And it was 9ish when she came.

We had a 30ish minute walk to her house – a walk she does every morning to get to school, late most days she told me. I asked her questions so I’d know what to expect once I got to her house. How many people do you stay with? Where are your parents? Sisters? Brothers? She stays with 2 aunties and their kids. Who speaks English? Just my sister. How old is she? 22. Did she complete school? She failed grade 10.

We got to her home and I greeted the 2 people present in Thimbukushu – Prisca and her husband. There were 3 small boys sitting in the sand building cars out of wires and cans for wheels. I took Prisca to be her sister, though I later found out that Sara is actually her aunt and Prisca is 25, compared to Sara’s 16 years.

We sat in plastic chairs and on stools, looking at each other, no one really sure what to say, and me feeling fine about that. Sara and Prisca disappeared into a house to get food and drinks. I hadn’t told Sara that I can’t drink river water, and I quickly noticed there was no tap – they’re close to the river so fetching in buckets is their water source. I also thought how stupid I was to not bring my water bottle with me. But it was fine, no need to panic, we had tea so the water was boiled. Tea and home made fat cakes for breakfast. It was suddenly easy to be there. With food to share, life is good again and conversation comes easily, or the silence is comfortable because we’re busy eating. We talked about fat cake making, me praising hers especially compared to my feeble attempts. I watched them make their Rooibos tea with half of the mug filled with sugar before putting in the water. I don’t usually put any sugar in mine, but I felt too funny having to explain that, so I put in one teaspoon, and I could taste the difference! No sugar next time, I’ll just explain!

We spent some more time sitting around looking at each other before we started pounding. Then the 3 girls – Sara, Prisca and myself – moved the shaded area near the fence, away from everything and everyone. Sara and I pounded and Prisca separated the shells from the grain after we finished.

More people showed up, marveled at my pounding knowledge and ability to greet in Thimbukushu and offered big smiles, seeing me at their home for the first time.

One woman came, missing her 2 front teach, clearly the matriarch of the home, and was so welcoming, even though we couldn’t speak to each other! Sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to try to talk to someone who speaks no English so we suffer through charades and misunderstandings than to have someone try to carry on a conversation is extremely broken English with my even more broken Thimbukushu. At least we know we have to act ridiculous when we have no common language except smiles, laughter and body language!

I got a tour of the home – there are pigs, many many many chickens. The woman missing her front teeth had killed one and was busy plucking the feathers as we walked by. Lunch, I thought to myself.

Prisca was very open and curious about America and me. She told me people say there’s a single pill in America to cure HIV. She asked about malaria prevention programs, like the one she has a temporary job with distributing mosquito nets to kids under 5 and pregnant women. Malaria isn’t a problem in America. Huh? What diseases do you have? She asked about my education – did I go to university or college; a 4 year or 2 year program. Do volunteers go to other countries? How long to fly to America? It’s good to see other countries, to see how other people live. The white people who come here from America are good people, she told me. Some of them. Huh? Only some? OK, most of the people who come here are good. But in America, there are good and bad, just like here. In America, people are rich. Some are very very rich, they have so much money that they don’t know how to spend it all! In America, you can drive a car? Yes, and in America, you can’t hike! You’ll be killed, or no one will stop to give you a ride. Everyone is having a car!

Sara’s home is a completely different feel from my usual Saturday venue of Nicky’s home. At Nicky’s there are always scores of people passing, coming to greet me because it’s very open to the outside, there’s always a crowd drinking, interacting with kids as young as one year old. At Sara’s, I saw no alcohol, no one drunk, there is a reed fence separating her home from the path going to the river, so those who come are coming because they have a reason, not because they saw me and wanted to greet me or ask me for money. It was very relaxing, easy and enjoyable.

We didn’t finish pounding until almost 2, Sara and Prisca wouldn’t let me pound the second time around because blisters were popping up on both hands. That’s part of life and I was ready to keep going, but they wouldn’t hear of it! It was too late to cook porridge, Sara had to get to the marathon training. So I was given a couple more fat cakes with the chicken I’d seen being plucked. Delicious. I was also sent home with some freshly pounded mahangu – breakfast for the next week or two!

I’ve been spending so much time with Nicky that I’d forgotten how exciting and rewarding it is to visit a new learner at her home and meet her family who are so appreciative to have me there. Nicky’s wonderful, and I love visiting her family, but that’s become very routine and it was great to break that routine for a weekend.

One more week of school before exams start!

World Cup Fever

Sunday, 4 July, 2010

This afternoon, Nicky came over. We hadn’t seen each other since last Monday, since I’d had to take some time alone, away. She wasn’t so accepting of my need for space, especially when we talked about limiting the number of days she comes over each week. I need to know that she’ll still be friends with her classmates when I leave in December so I know she’s not completely alone. So instead of alienating herself by spending all of her time with me, I’m going to force her to visit her other friends and spend more time with them in the coming months than she has in the past weeks. This decision is also for the selfish reason of needing to be alone so that I can function at all here, instead of having to run away to town in tears and my principal wondering if I’ll come back because I’m just stretched too thin.

So Nicky and I are quietly sitting outside, when Siyanga and Bweanie find us. They start playing soccer – just shooting on each other in the goal that is my gate. Then Siyanga, in grade 3, takes some cement bricks and creates two goals, each 3 of his feet wide, at either end of my yard, dangerously close to my failing garden and putting Nicky and me right in the middle of the field.

They start playing and Nicky and I continue to watch, not having much to say to each other because she’s still seemingly mad at me for leaving her for a week. Bweanie scores first, the grade 1 learner beating the grade 3 learner. They stay even until Siyanga makes the score 4-3, and Bweanie never recovers. Their victories are never longer than a single loud cheer, and their defeats are never more than a simple, “OK.” They play hard and have to take off their shirts, their bony growing bodies a mass of muscle from surviving in an African village.

I quickly go inside to get a book of word searches, hoping to draw Nicky out of her shell of silence.

She finds the first word, but shuts down as I find the second. We start doing our own puzzles instead of sharing a single one, but still sharing one pen. Siyanga and Bweanie take a short break from their soccer to come over and see what I’ve managed to capture Nicky’s attention with.

Ziggy has made his way back into my yard, happy to have me home, and climbs into my lap after he decides Nicky’s is too small for him.

The boys run away looking for more active entertainment and are soon back with a sling shot in Siyanga’s hands and a screaming Bweanie trying to hide behind one of my mudhika trees.

Nicky has finally found her confidence with them gone and demands to see my phone. She starts looking through all of my notes and some of my messages, a harmless act.

When she gets quiet, she first opens up in Thimbukushu. We go on facebook and I show her my profile picture of us sharing pizza, then I show her some of Sophia’s photos with Miles.

In Thimbukushu she asks about my friend (I don’t know which, she wouldn’t elaborate) and my sister. She asks where they are. Home. Then she uses a word I don’t know – thirothoye. It takes a long time to get the definition out of her – cousins. She asks, “What are names their?” and we both fall into hysterics. I name all of my cousins but she’s lost interest.

Finally we’re lying on our backs outside my house, laughing about nothing. The boys have found something else to do farther away and we enjoy their absence. Her company will be one I miss.

(I’ve done my best to put a positive spin on this story, but these are some of the reasons I missed a week of school to get some alone time in town where there would be at least fewer interruptions for some days. The fact that I can’t go a day without someone knocking on my door – even if it’s someone I love – that I can’t do anything outside because I’ll have up to 6 kids trying to help me when all they do is get in the way, that if I choose to eat outside all those same kids will be asking what it is and eyeing it with envy have been wearing on my daily for the last month, or more, until I got to the point that I couldn’t even teach anymore. I hope that I’ve recovered and can get through the next 7 weeks until my holiday disaster free, and with the last shreds of my sanity in tact.)

Alone time

Tuesday, 6 July, 2010

Oh, how I love being alone! Nicky is mad at me for leaving her for a week and then telling her she has to spend more time with her other friends (at least that’s what I think she’s not happy about) so I’ve been able to come home after study yesterday and today and be alone for a few hours! It’s great!

Yesterday, after almost a week away, it felt like I’d never left. My frustrations and lack of patience were back with a vengeance, which was a frustration in and of itself. But I somehow got through Monday without calling anyone to tell them I quit. I don’t quit things.

I sat in the office with my book during period 8, which was my only free period until Thursday, and read. Other teachers started meandering in once it got close to the end of the day (I’m not really sure why it’s OK to skip out on part of a period, but somehow it is). Three of them were discussing text books covers and I couldn’t help but put my book down to listen and laugh.

Mr Shangara: Ms Liswaniso, now all of these books are stamped, they have to find their way to their owners.

Ms Liswaniso: The learners have to bring a cover before the books can find their way to their owner.

Mr Sihope: You have an advantage, at least you read a newspaper, you can buy for them. [Many kids cover their books with newspaper, it drives me crazy.]

Ms Liswaniso: Where can I buy them?

Mr Sihope: In the shop.

Ms Liswaniso: I will never buy something for someone else’s kid! You want me to buy covers for the whole school?

Mr Sihope: It’s not the whole school.

Ms Liswaniso: Grades 8, 9 and 10, is that not the whole school?

Mr Sihope: No, it’s not the whole school. Just buy for them.

Ms Liswaniso: Good samaratin. I know I’m good.

Mr Sihope: The things you’re saying make you not good! Lori, is she good?

Me: I’m not part of this conversation. [I get up and leave, finding no break from my frustrations away from kids.]

Today I fell back into my groove, at least for parts of the day – particularly with 7B, because one learner was back and makes me smile…

Kavindja Thimende. He’s so short! And just small! He was in my register class, 6B, last year. He never stuck out in math, or in any way really. In 7B this year, there are 3 boys who regularly make me smile – Kavindja Thimende, Muyenga Innocent and Muyevu Pascalius. But it’s Kavindja who made me happy to be here today. Yesterday he was absent, and I noticed immediately. I can usually figure out how many are absent based on the number of empty chairs, but I have a hard time figuring out quickly WHO is absent. But as soon as I started teaching yesterday, I noticed Kavindja wasn’t there, with all his positive energy. I asked him about it today – I was washing my clothes. What??? Didn’t you learn anything from me last year? That’s not an excuse to miss school! You do that on the weekend! But I went far this weekend. Whatever, as I throw my hands up. He didn’t stand out immediately this year as being bright. Muyevu is smart, but he misses a lot of school. And he and Kavindja are good friends. So Muyevu kind of overshadowed Kavindja’s smarts. When Kaitlin was recently visiting, it was cold. I was teaching 7B period 1 and we had to warm up. So we all stood up and I asked what they wanted to do to warm up. Kavindja, from the back, yelled, “BANANA!” There’s a silly banana song and dance we do – Peel banana, peel peel banana, peel banana, peel peel banana, eat banana, eat eat banana, eat banana, eat eat banana, GO BANANAS GO GO BANANAS GO BANANAS GO GO BANANAS! So he led the class with that for a couple minutes to get everyone smiling after the shock of having another white person in the classroom and warming up from the cold walk many of them had in the morning. Today he asked, “When is your friend visiting again?” He now wants to learn “American” English and wants to hang out with Kaitlin and me so we can all talk to each other fast. His physical size isn’t holding him back at all, he’s one of the biggest presences in the classroom, and he makes me happy to be teaching here.

Study is still a nightmare, but I had some energy left to work with kids one on one. I was sitting with a grade 10 learner, helping her with her math (how I wish I could teach kids who just get it at least once in a while!) and having my learners come one at a time to do flashcards with me. I don’t know why I suddenly thought about this, but I did – my whiteness.

In the summer, when I was a lot tanner than I am now, I thought maybe people would stop noticing I’m white. They didn’t. I have a mirror, after many months of not having one, I finally bought one. I don’t really use it. I don’t see my reflection very often. And all the people I see are black. Or brown if you ask them. So I don’t know if I forget I’m white and they’re not, or if I think I’m black. But sometimes I look at the sea of faces in a classroom and see a shared history. One that I know and they know. A common past. So I’m sitting there with these kids, and I wonder how they see me. I see myself as just another person living with them, teaching them, laughing with them, surviving with them. Do they still see me as a white person? Am I just another person to them? I know some see me as a sister or a friend rather than a teacher. But beyond that? I guess they must still see the color of my skin, but I wonder what it means to them, after having me here for a year and a half now, and having white teachers for a fourth year in a row now.

Salesmen

Thursday, 8 July, 2010

After study, I walked outside, just to be outside, looked at my neighbor’s house where 5 teachers stay and saw 2 boys – Kolo and Kaura – with a wheelbarrow. I stood and watched. The teachers came out with plastic bags and bought meat from that wheelbarrow.

Nicky came over after school. She was not happy with me Monday or Wednesday, and kind of indifferent on Tuesday. During study she came to my classroom and we were our old joking selves. I asked if we had to go for a walk. She said she can’t tell me the thing that’s on her mind. So she came over and watched her favorite parts of The Lion King. When I walked her home, we were joking and talking about anything again. When we parted, I told her, “I missed you.” When? “Even yesterday at school because you were so angry. I thought, this is not the Nicky I know.” She was all smiles again.

Preparing to Say Goodbye

Friday, 9 July, 2010

I try to not think about the end of this as much as possible. Sometimes I don’t think about it because I want the end to be here sooner than it’s coming, and sometimes I don’t think about it because I never want it to come. But I try to just experience it as it happens and live in the moment instead of 5 months from now.

Nicky and I are back to our old best friend selves after spending some days not really knowing what to do with the news I dropped on her on Sunday. She came over after study today and I just needed to go for a walk, so I invited her. She accepted, of course. So we walked up the tarred road.

I asked her if we could have a serious conversation. She wasn’t so happy about the idea, but I pushed anyway, maybe more carefully than I did last Sunday when she closed down. I brought up our conversation about me going to America. I explained again that I think it’s best we talk about it now and for the next months so we can come up with ideas for her to still be happy and have people she can visit, when she won’t be visiting me anymore. She was smiling and seemed to understand that I wasn’t trying to push her away, but was looking out for her future. Most of our hour long walk consisted of talking about what would happen when I went to America, for both of us.

Madam, you’ll leave in December and I’ll die in January.

Whaaaat??? You can’t die in January!!! Why will you die?

[No answer]

Remember how I told you I want to write a book? Well, you have to live long enough so I can send you the book.

OK.

And I’ll call you from America, so you can’t die because then I’ll call and someone will have to tell me you died.

OK.

And I have other things I want to send you when I get home, so you’ll have to stay alive so I can send you those things.

OK. But how will you send them to me?

I’ll ask maybe Siyanga if I can send them to her. Or Ritha. And then she can give the box to you.

Not Ritha.

OK, Siyanga? Or another teacher?

Maybe Shishanda.

OK, I’ll talk to her before I leave. So I can send her a package and then all she has to do is give it to you.

Madam, will you teach me how to send an email before you go?

[Long pause to think about the logistics of this.]

But where will you get the internet? Who’s having the internet?

Oh. Yeah.

But I’ll leave you with envelopes with my address and a stamp on them so you can write me letters and then ask someone to bring them to the post office for you. And if you write in January, maybe I’ll get it in March.

Heeeeyy.

Yeah, it takes a long time.

Madam, what do you want to send me from America?

It’s a surprise, I can’t tell you. What do you need from America? You have a lot of clothes now, you don’t need clothes.

Ghiii, I don’t need clothes…stickers. Why do you have stickers, but no one in Namibia has stickers?

Well, in America, there are more people who work. Like at your home, how many people work?

Ummm…4 keho. That’s all.

OK, and how many people live at your home? Maybe 15 or 20?

Ghiii.

OK, but in my family, my mom and my dad both work, and then there’s just my sister and my brother and me who they have to pay for. So they only buy food for 5 people. So maybe they just make a little money, but they don’t have to buy food for a lot of people. So then there’s extra money to buy stickers. So you want stickers, what else? Maybe I’ll send you some nail polish. And some books. And some earrings. But there are some things that you don’t even know you need yet, I’ll send those and tell you what they’re for.

And pictures.

Yes, and pictures.

Of Miles. [That made me smile too much!]

Yes, pictures of Miles. And I’ll have to write about each picture, so you’ll have a lot of reading to do. It’ll be like reading a book. And I’ll send you The Lion King.

The Lion King? What is that?

The movie you always are watching on my computer.

Ohhh…Mufasa!

Hehehe, do it again!

Mufasa!

Hehehehehe.

Mufasa Mufasa Mufasa!!!

Hehehehehehehehehehehehe.

Actually, Nicky, when I finish my book ,then I’ll come back to Namibia so I can give it to you in person. So I don’t have to send it to you. So you have to stay alive so I can give you that book.

[Big smiles.]

Madam, when I go in the holiday on the tour, you’ll give me a notebook and I can write down all the good things and bad things that happen so I can remember and tell you after?

Yes, that’s a good idea.

Nicky, you have to promise me you’ll stay in school. No matter what. Even if there’s no money, you have to stay in school.

I promise.

And Nicky, no matter how hungry you are, or if there’s no money for school, NEVER let someone give you money to have sex with you.

OK.

And Nicky, when you do have sex, before you do, go to New Start and get tested and look at his test! If it’s positive, don’t have sex with him!

OK.

And Nicky, when you have sex, use a condom, you know how now, so use it.

OK.

Madam, you’ll cry when you leave?

Yes.

Why?

Because I know I’ll miss it here. I’ll miss everyone and everything, even the things I don’t like very much. When I left America I cried a little. But I knew that I’d go back there in December 2010. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back here. When I leave, you’ll cry?

Yes.

Why?

[No answer again.]

Nicky’s amazingness

Saturday, 19 June, 2010

We had lunch of maize at her house. Then we came to mine.

We walked here talking about pizza. I told her when we cooked it, we had to follow my rules. What rules? The music we listen to and what we drink. OK.

I put on David Grey - Daddy’s favorite. We started making the sauce, the crust, the toppings. I told her which one was Daddy’s favorite song (at least the last time I cooked dinner in Ashby!!). She didn’t really react. I told her the title was Hospital Food. Laughter followed. She went to my computer to check the title, and laughed again when she confirmed I wasn’t lying to her.

We made sautéed broccoli for the whole pizza, and enough onions just for my side since she doesn’t like them. There are two kinds of cheese - mozzarella and feta. It’s still cooking. We forgot to add the roasted red peppers, so took it out to add them.

When we were making it, she wanted to do everything. I made the crust while she used a garlic press for the first time, chopped the broccoli (this will be the first time she tastes it) and stirred the sauce. She smelled every spice we added to the sauce. She grated the cheese. She put the crust in the pan, made some holes, and I showed her a better way to “squish” it into the pan gently.

I had to stand back and let my obsessive behaviors take a break while she learned to cook. I let her put the toppings on and held my tongue when I wanted to try to put them on more evenly.

I boiled water and made her hot chocolate. I poured myself a glass of wine, to her shock and amazement.

I told her, with the music playing, the pizza nearly finished, a glass of wine in my hand, and with Nicky in a small Namibian village, “Now I’m home.”

We discussed what home means - the feeling of being home, not the action of going or being home, or the physical location of a house. I am home when I’m with her.

We even washed dishes while we waited for the oven to heat up. The kitchen is cleaned up, the pizza is cooking and 3 boys have showed up. I’m sure we’ll wait to enjoy the pizza, Nicky and me. But it’s still home.

A small lie, and a half hour later, Nicky and I were back in my house with no company. We put on her new favorite song, Story of a Girl by Nine Days, and sat down on the floor with our pizza. I got my camera and captured the moment. I felt like a proud mom who had taught her teenage daughter something useful. Nicky was simply glowing with pride and happiness.

Turns out she is a normal teenager and doesn’t like broccoli. Next time we’ll make it with banana and pineapple. But she picked off the broccoli pieces and gave them to me, leaving her plenty of pizza to still enjoy.

We listened to some other music, looked at some photos and videos from yesterday’s culture competition and then left to walk her halfway home. She’d insisted on listening to my iPod so she can learn Beyonce’s If I Were a Boy. She sang out loud some of the parts she knew, mumbling the words she didn’t know. I asked her, “Do you know what she means when she says ‘take for granted?’” No. I explained it as to forget how good something is. She told me she’ll never forget how good I am. The same is true for me. I told her that for the rest of my life, she’ll be right here, in me, as I pointed to my heart. She said the same thing with the same location in her.

Nicky is too much, in a good way.

We got half way to her house and I decided to walk the long way home. My house was no longer a home with her missing from it, and I wasn’t ready to come back. I wanted to enjoy the cool evening air and watch the sunset on my short walk west.

When I was almost home, I found some of the kids who had competed in yesterday’s culture competition. I started singing whatever song was on my iPod at that moment. They laughed and thought I was making it up. Sophia came and put in the other ear phone so she could hear if I was singing the right words. Her look of amazement got the other girls interested in hearing the song instead of just my (probably pretty terrible) singing. I sang some Iron and Wine, Dixie Chicks, Brandi Carlisle and John Mayer - all music they never would listen to on their own. Every song was a new shock for them that I knew the words and the song.

Finally, their mother was calling them and the sun was almost set so I walked the rest of the way home before dark. They promised to visit tomorrow. But it’s those impromptu encounters that make my life here so much fun.

Roller Coaster Ride

Thursday, 24 June, 2010

When does this ride end?! I keep thinking I’ll reach the part where things slow down and the ride comes to an end, but it doesn’t seem like that exists.

Is life always this emotionally charged? Where one day I’ll love everything and the next, nothing seems to go right? Or that change can happen in the span of 30 minutes?

Because that definitely happened today!!! And this whole week has been like that!

Monday, well, that was a while ago, I can’t remember what defined Monday.

Tuesday was defined by the final hour of daylight. School was hard, it’s been hard for a while.

Oh wait, MONDAY just came back to me! After school, instead of going to study, Nicky and I walked to the nearby ministry offices to try to talk them into giving her a birth certificate even though neither of her parents have documents. The ministry of gender refused us and sent us to the ministry of home affairs, who also refused us. Both were men who talked to us and seemed like they wanted to help, but the “system” isn’t designed to help people. The walk was 4km and I refused the car that stopped (twice) for us on the walk home. I was so angry that I had to walk. I let Nicky know how pissed I was. I think she got it. I probably shouldn’t have let her know just how angry I was.

We were almost back to my house when she asked me, “Madam, how come when Mr. Mark was here, then he would do all the work and he would talk, but now you’re here and you do all the work, but you don’t talk?” “Talking” in namlish is kind of like gossiping, or just making your feelings known. I told her that I don’t like people to see me, that I like to do things quietly, that if someone sees my actions and decides to change themselves, great, but even if I talk, that change is only halfhearted because it’s forced, not by choice, so won’t last. And whatever changes Mark did create are pretty much gone - when it comes to behavior (sorry Mark).

That was Monday. And it sparked my current quest to try to compile a list of learners without birth certificates and get them printed somehow. My principal fully supports my efforts and even made eye contact when I brought the idea to him - that’s the first time I felt like her REALLY listened to me!

Tuesday. School was hard. It’s been hard for a while. Study was miserable. There were very few teachers and I gave up trying to teach after 30 minutes. I read my book instead. I wanted to go home, curl up in bed and disappear for a while. Well, Nicky knows what’s best for me and when she came over, she wouldn’t take no for answer. So I walked her home to long way instead of hanging out at my house. I could tell something was up, that she wasn’t happy, so I tried to get it out of her on the walk. Nothing

By the time we got to our normal parting place, I still had no idea what was eating her, so finally we parted. I gave her a hug (which I don’t usually do) and she really melted into my body, absorbing my love for her. When I left, I turned back to say, “See you tomorrow” and I saw a tear fall of her cheek when I turned to look at her. People just don’t cry here. They cry when someone dies. I went back, maybe against her wishes, and sat in the sand, also crying at this point. To see her in so much pain that she’s actually crying, but not having the words to express that pain, was too much for me to take. I was already emotionally off, having had a really bad day in the classroom. And that put me so far over the edge.

We sat in the path in the sand for at least a half hour. I started asking a lot of questions: Are you feeling sad? Frustrated? Upset? Hurt? Did something happen at home? At school? Did your mom say something to you? Augusta? Did you start feeling this way yesterday? This morning? At lunch? Just now when you came to my house? I finally learned that Augusta had said something to her yesterday about the clothes. (On Sunday, I’d given her all of my clothes that I don’t wear - it was 2 giant bags, mostly shirts, a few pants, a few shoes, and told her to share them with everyone she lives with and everyone she knows.) Augusta told her that I should have given her the clothes, that they’ll just be wasted.

I was angry. Nothing is wasted when it comes to Nicky. Nothing I do for her, nothing I give her, nothing I feel for her. Jealousy is huge here. Why should she deserve so much love from me? Why should she be worthy of my friendship? But I think of it the other way - that I’m lucky to have her! No one treats me the way Nicky treats me - completely normally! She has no expectations or demands of me. It’s an equal friendship, sisterhood really.

So finally, Nicky was composed enough to go home and I walked the 15 minutes back to my house, talking out loud the whole time about how great Nicky is and how much I love her. Just before getting home, she sent me an sms from her mom’s phone asking me to tell her something good so she would feel better. I sent her this message: Nicky, I’m just talked to myself the whole walk home about how great you are! You were so young when I met you over a year ago and you’ve grown so much since then! You are the most caring person I know in Andara and I will love you forever, no matter where I am in the world. She wote back: i.love.u.more.then.u.do.love.u..u.are.the.nice.person.i.have.meet.in.my.life.whith.love. She gets it. She gets me.

That was Tuesday.

Wednesday, yesterday, was another really bad day at school. I just wasn’t connecting with the kids and they were getting to me in every way - testing my patience all day. There was no study because the soccer team had a game, so I stayed home to type the 10+ pages someone had asked me to do on Monday. I was trying to decide between a run or a nap after I finished, but Nicky showed up before I was done, so those options were both thrown out the window. When I finished with my computer, she took over and listened to whatever music she wanted and played some games. I turned to my book and went outside. But just having her there was comfort enough, even though when I’d seen her walking to my house, I was trying to figure out a polite way to not hang out with her.

Somehow she ended up outside with me and getting hold of my book! It’s way above her level of reading (that of a second grader in the states probably) but she opened it up randomly and started reading anyway. I was glowing. She’d struggle through a hard word, turn to me for confirmation and then ask what it meant. I have to look for a more age appropriate book than “My Prison, My Home.”

We walked half way to her house earlier than usual, and I brought N$2 just in case we got hungry (it’s about a 10 minute walk). We hadn’t eaten together since Sunday, so I was craving that bond, rather than the actual food. We decided to each eat 1 fat cake instead of our normal 2, and I sent her with N$1. I continued onto our usual spot to sit on the days we get fat cakes for lunch and waited for her to come back.

She came with only 1 fat cake! There was only 1 left! It was the one that had been rejected all day - it was small, cold and hard. It was the worst fat cake I’ve ever eaten! But we pulled it apart into 2 pieces and shared it anyway. We laughed about how bad it was, talked about our days and about the upcoming weekend. I told her, “Nicky, I had a really bad day until you came over, so thank you for coming over.” She didn’t understand until I’d told her 3 times. So she asked why my day was bad! We talked about that.

She asked about Kaitlin, another PCV, and my best friend. We talked about what it’d be like for me here if she wasn’t in Namibia. She asked how I’d feel if she went home! I said I’d be sad, but would be OK. At one point, we were both quiet and she looked like she was busy thinking. I asked what she was thinking, what was going on up here, as I poked her head. She told me, “Kadiko.” Nothing. A minute later, she told me, “Wate.” Not true. She was thinking how one time I’d told her that if Kaitlin went home, I’d just live at Nicky’s house.

I love that girl more than I can explain. Nicky, and Kaitlin both actually. I’m lucky to have such wonderful people so far from home and my family.

Today was better. There was a moment in 7A where I wanted to walk out and cry, but I kept it together, got over it, and had a great class with them. In study, I taught the grade 6 learners how to use a condom. The girls were quiet and terrified looking. The boys, in their separate class, were loud, excited, and willing to ask a lot of questions - what is menstruation? Where do girls get breasts? How does a girl get pregnant?

Nicky of course came over after and it was nice to have her. It’s always sad to walk her half way home and turn around to come back to an empty house before dark. Once the days get longer, she’ll get to stay longer, or I’ll be able to go and eat dinner with her.

One more day and then a break

School Sucks

Monday, 14 June, 2010

Last week ended horribly and this week started just about where I’d left off. So I’ll say only one thing about my school day: it ended with me lying on a bench in the staff room telling the few other teachers there that, “I can’t handle this! I hate 6B! Ms Mughongora, what do you think of them?” “I hate them too.” Well, great. No one really know what to do about them.

But AFTER study, the day can still be saved. There’s about an hour of daylight afterwards, it gets dark around 5, and Lami came to me at the beginning of study and said, “Madam, you have to come get sweet potato after study.” OK, I can handle not being in my house for a little while.

So I went home with Lami and her brother Kaura, from my 6A class. We dug around their sweet potato patch for about a half hour and I brought home the biggest stash of sweet potatoes I’ve ever seen. I guess I’ll be eating sweet potatoes for a while!

It was a good reminder that my life doesn’t have to revolve around my school day, I can focus on that one hour afterwards where I can choose what I do with my time.

Sisters

Friday, 18 June, 2010

I left America with one sister - Sophia. I had friends who felt like they could play that role, but in that culture, they were really close friends.

I will return to America with a whole slew of sisters.

This morning I didn’t even try to teach - I had kids missing because it was a Friday before a home weekend, kids missing because they were on their way to Rundu for netball tryouts, kids missing who were competing in a culture competition. And most of the teachers were as absent as the kids since it’s pay weekend for them and they all want to go spend all of their money as soon as they get it.

So I stood in the sun and hung out with the culture kids waiting for their ride.

When I went to stand with them and hang out with the ones I teach - those in grades 6 and 7 - I inadvertently stood in Sophia’s sun. A few seconds later, she turned to me and said, “Madam, I’m cold!” It was cold this morning. She moved to stand next to me so we could both enjoy the sun. I realized my mistake and put my arm around her to warm her up. She melted into my body and hugged me. I’ve been trying for a while to get her to open up in class, to be friends in class. But she’s a serious learner, and it shows in both her attitude and the marks she gets. So it was nice to be able to have that moment with her outside of class, but still at school, where we were sisters instead of teacher and learner. There were some older boys around who I don’t know well, and I said to them, “This one is my sister.” Sophia knows that my sister in America is Sophia, so I think she understood, but they had no idea.

After school finally ended at 9:45, Nicky came over and we were planning to go to nearby ministry offices to try to get her a birth certificate (my first official step in trying to get her to America one day, not in December - I love her and will miss her, but I’m also not ready to be her person in a place she doesn’t know, to essentially adopt her). Instead, we walked the 7km to the youth center where the culture competition was taking place. Some other kids found us on the walk and we all walked together down the gravel road. Once there, Yondo immediately came over to me for help with her top that had broken. I managed to tie it back together. But suddenly, that whole group of girls - Sophia, Yondo, Bertholda, Shimbaranda, Kapapero - were my sisters. Kapapero told me she’ll cry when I leave - I’ll cry too. This is her first year here. We’ve only known each other for 6 months. I’ve known the first 3 for a year and a half. We’ve made huge marks in each others’ lives, in ways we won’t ever know.

Nicky and I spent time watching some of the performances, but then we both got overwhelmed by the crowd - I did first. I went to sit by the river and listen from afar. I walked back not long after, looking for safe drinking water, and she was looking for me. She told me she was tired and wanted to sleep. I asked about the crowd - turns out it was too many people for her too. We bought some snacks - fire roasted peanuts, fresh bread and NikNaks (for Nicky) - and hid by the river for a while. We went back in time to see our school perform, and then we were ready to go.

Luckily we got a hike back home. From a school board member, who wouldn’t let me pay.

When we were walking to short distance from the gravel road to my house at school, I asked her if people say anything to her because we’re together. I know that I offer more positives to her than negatives with my friendship and support, but I do want to know about frustrations she has that might be byproducts of our friendship. She said when I left to sit by the river, a man asked her, “Who was that white woman who was standing with you?” She pleaded ignorance. Upon the second request to know who I was from someone else, she came looking for me.

We hung out together in my house, playing Go Fish and listening to music. She requested pizza for dinner, which I’d promised her this weekend, but I’m too tired for that today, so we made a plan for tomorrow instead - I’ll go to her house before lunch and eat with her, then we’ll come back and we’ll make pizza together; she wants to know how to do it.

School is lame, but living here is the best thing I could have ever done for myself.

Greeting

Tuesday, 8 June, 2010

About a year ago, maybe more, maybe less, time is just the passing of the sun and the moon, another volunteer told me that he was going to go back to America, walk through a city and greet everyone he saw - those he knew and especially those he didn’t. I told him that I would go back to America, probably not go to a city ever again, and walk around looking at the ground, relishing not greeting anyone.

That conversation has run through my head a lot lately.

It’ll be strange not to greet strangers; to just walk around doing my own thing, not taking the small amount of time to look someone in the eye and say at least hi.

When you go to work, do you greet everyone everyday the first time you see them? Today was the first day without a staff briefing - we decided we’d have only 2 a week from now on. So we all got to school very scattered, didn’t convene in the staff room, and met each other randomly throughout the day. But we always started the conversation with “good morning, how are you?” Does this happen in the US?

And when you go to a meeting - of any kind, but particularly a work meeting - and there are people already seated in the room when you enter, and it’s the first time you’re seeing any of them that day, do you greet them each individually, do you greet the whole room with a single greeting, or do you take your seat and pretend there is no one else there?

Learners

Tuesday, 8 June, 2010

Kashako Karware - He was in my register class, 6B, in 2009. He never stuck out much, except that he was taller than most other kids. He was also about 3 years older than most of the other kids in the class. He’s still both of those. But at some point in 2009, I got through to him. He started doing his homework regularly - not well, but at least doing it. He started coming to study regularly - and making noise, but coming. But this year, he just cracks me up. He’s in 7A - his English is pretty bad, giving him less of a chance of making it out of his current living situation. I told Nicky one day, “That kid always makes me laugh.” She had no idea why. I don’t know if I even know why. He’s gone through puberty when many of his classmates haven’t, so I can always pick out his voice even if my back is turned or I’m busy doing something and it seems like I’m not paying attention to what’s going on. When I say his name to remind him to be quiet, he always responds with, “Madam.” His smile is so goofy. And his laugh is contagious. This term though, he’s already surprised me with his high quiz scores. It’s been great so far and will only get better teaching him.

Gideon Andrias - This is his first year at our school. Last year he was in Ovamboland, so his Thimbukushu isn’t so good - his first language is Oshiwambo, not many people speak that here. In the first term, he was trying to cope with a new school, a new village, a new language and a new style of learning math from a white teacher who probably spoke too fast for him to keep up. It showed. He failed the first term miserably. I hardly ever saw him smile. I couldn’t really figure out who his friends were. I was worried about him. I do multiplication flash cards individually during study, and he was never so into the competition that is set up between the classes and then between the learners in each class with a sticker chart to track their progress publicly. I saw him a few times in passing over the holiday in the few days I was around, and we always greeted each other - he always had a big smile on his face. This evening, after walking Nicky half way home and walking home quickly before it got completely dark, I ran into him, again with that big smile and an easy greeting. His math has improved more than almost anyone else’s - he was much lower than most, but his enthusiasm and willingness to try has also improved as much. Today, he made two mistakes on his flash cards and kept pestering me to do it again. Sorry, only one chance a day, you can do it again tomorrow. His passion is finally at par with everyone else’s in the class, if not higher.

Kambango Clementine - She’s in 7A. She’s smart. I knew that last year in grade 6 too. But she always seemed a little scared last year. Maybe it’s the age difference, or just growing up and I’ve had nothing to do with it, but it’s been really empowering to see her become empowered; to become comfortable with her smarts and be more vocal in class. She’s made a few jokes and every time I’m surprised it’s coming from her. Today in class, after a few easier examples, I put the sentence, “Fine 2/5 of one year in days.” The previous example had dealt with days and hours, so her answer was 288. I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out where wrong answers come from, but this one, I had no idea. I asked how she got it: 24 x 12. OK. That still offered no help. Where did those numbers come from? There had been some other learners who had agreed with her answer, but most people we laughing at this point; Clementine was too. There are 24 hours in a day. OK. And then I figured out where the 12 came from - 12 months in a year. At least she’s thinking.

Murerwa Petrina (Yondo) - I had a hard time learning her name in grade 6. Finally, after spending many periods with them in PE, I realized everyone called her Yondo. And Yondo she became to me. She was not a good math learner in grade 6. She would cheat on quizzes. She would copy other peoples’ homework. She didn’t seem to put in any effort. When the other grade 7 teachers wanted her in the faster class, I was a little disappointed. She would not have gone in there if it was based solely on math ability. But somewhere in term 1, she turned things around. She knows her math this year. She might not be at the top of the class with test or exam results, but she can hold her own in class, can answer any question I pose to the class, or to her individually. She’s a class clown, always attracting attention somehow, but that energy is usually put toward math when I’m in there. Separating the levels, which mostly put friends with friends, has done wonders for 7A. They’re with people they’re comfortable with, people who challenge them to do better and who they can keep up with, and my positive attitude toward math, teaching and the learners in general has made a huge difference in the results I’ve seen so far this year.

But Madam, what about us?

Wednesday, 9 June, 2010

I am tired. Not just today. At least this whole week. I’m tired. Let me say it again. I’m tired.

Teaching every period means that I’m on my feet from 7-12:50, an hour for lunch and then on my feet again from 2-4. I wear Chacos everyday and spend the whole day standing on cement floors. Lately I’ve been wearing sock in the morning even. It’s a fashion statement - socks and sandals. My hips hurt. My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. My neck hurts. My feet hurt. Sometimes I feel like the only time I get to sit down is at the 9:40 break when I quickly go to my house to use the toilet. That’s how I felt today and yesterday. And tomorrow won’t be much different.

I don’t mind teaching all day, I enjoy teaching, or at least hanging out with my learners, which is kind of how I try to make class. I’d rather be teaching than not having anything to do, which is kind of how my free periods go.

Today at study I found myself with only 1 other teacher. All of the management and grade 10 teachers were in a meeting. About grade 10. Some teachers were at the culture practice, another was at netball tryouts. I was one of two teachers. I tried to still do the flashcards I do everyday. Hardly any of my learners were even present - they were either dodging, at netball or at culture. And all the learners who WERE present were out of the classrooms or making noise. And every time I walked into a classroom, all I heard was “But Madam, what about us?” Everyone wanted to do the flashcards. I was trying to keep kids in their classrooms, making minimal noise, and doing individual flashcards.

I almost cried. I gave up and went and sat in the shade.

Then grades 8-10 were released from their meeting with the priest about becoming priests and nuns. And none of their teachers were around, so they all left - the learners I mean. So then grades 5-7 were even more anxious to leave.

I interrupted the meeting and asked for them to be released from study.

They were.

Sometimes it’s just too much. But madam, what about us? I feel like the teachers even have that attitude.

I will not be selling Tango for phones once this batch is sold off. I hate being interrupted in classes, I hate selling on credit because somehow everyone spends all of their money after the first week of getting paid. I will spend all of that money on school fees for needy learners. I don’t want to have extra money around. I will not be lending money anymore. Most people pay me back, but I’ve definitely lost some money because of it - some that I don’t even know about because I’m always frantically trying to maintain my lesson while I’m handing someone recharge for their phone.

I gave away two sweatshirts today to two of my learners. They didn’t have one, and I had extras. Sure, I’d wear them again one day if I had them, but it doesn’t really matter. I have more than enough, still, so will continue giving clothes away to kids I know need it. It’s funny to teach a class with kids who are wearing my old clothes.

I always ask who’s cold when I get warm enough from standing and being excited in my teaching and have to take my jacket off. There’s always a taker for my pre-warmed fleece jacket. The first time, kids laughed when I did that, but now it’s a fight for who will get to wear it.

I’m just tired.

Dodging study now now

Thursday, 10 June, 2010

I know there was something good that happened this morning, I know because I sent Kaitlin an sms before school started that said, “I’m happy.” Happiness isn’t something I’m used to - contentment, satisfaction, sure. But actual happiness? It’s a fleeting emotion.

I started my first 2 classes with something from my culture. It doesn’t happen often that I say, “In my culture…” or “Do you want to know something from my culture?” because I’m so enthralled by THIS culture that I’m not even sure what I grew up with anymore that these kids don’t know. But looking around, and after a quiet greeting, I could tell at least half of the class was cold and not wanting to be in math class.

OK, everyone stand up. We’re going to learn something from my culture so we can warm up. [First I tried to explain why moving around makes you warmed, probably shouldn’t have wasted that time.] First stand with your feet together and your hands at your sides. Everyone did that. Then, we’re going to jump so our feet are apart and our hands are together over our heads; I demonstrated. Then we’re going to go back to how we started; I demonstrated again. Laughter ensued and everyone’s first jumping jack. Then we’re going to do them fast. They’re called Jumping Jacks.

We did that for about 30 seconds, to get everyone laughing, their blood moving a little bit and excited about being in math class. It accomplished all of those things.

Now we’re a little warmer? Just a little? Yes!!! Doubtful, but I’ll take it.

I taught all 6 of my periods - no 6B today. But there was no teacher for 6B when I was free, so I gave them extra review problems and then hid in the computer lab to write tomorrow’s tests on flipchart papers. Kids still managed to find me in there. When I walked back into 6B toward the end of the day, I was greeted by the most chaotic classroom I’ve ever entered - kids running around, more noise than from a birthday party. It was ridiculous. Yesterday at the end of the day, 2 kids asked if I was going home. Yes. Home to America? Oh, no. But they know I’m near the end of my patience. I yelled at them again today. And by yell, well, you know me and know that I can’t actually yell at anyone. But it was my tone of voice that got them to shut up. And maybe the fact that I was near tears in front of them. Again.

I was dreading study. I already knew I wasn’t going to do flashcards, I’m just stretched too thin right now for that. I taught 7B instead. They needed a little extra review for their test, so I spent another 40 minutes with them. Then I needed to hide. I went to the culture practice and tried to help, but just ended up causing more problems, so left there too. I got back to school and was immediately bombarded with at least 5 kids coming to me with some request - madam, check these problems; madam, flashcards (with jumping in front of my face); madam, someone needs recharge; madam, help me a plastic to cover my book; madam, help me scissors; madam, what about x9 flashcards?; madam, a pencil; madam, change for N$20; madam, madam, madam, madam. I answered a few of them. I kept walking. I tried to ignore as much as I could. I was almost crying because I WANT to help these kids. I know I AM helping them, and these are such small things they’re asking for. But it’s too much right now.

I left study 30 minutes early because I just couldn’t do anything anymore, I couldn’t see kids, I couldn’t pretend to want to tell them to be quiet, I couldn’t pretend that I was going to teach, I couldn’t handle anything at all.

If I was tired yesterday, I’m exhausted today. Thank God tomorrow is Friday.

School

Wednesday, 2 June, 2010

If you ever need to feel like you’re bipolar, or losing your mind, or simply insane, accept a teaching position in a Namibian village.

My day can go up and down 26 times in a day, or in an hour. It’s exhausting!

Each day starts the same way - I wake up at least an hour before my alarm and lay in bed hoping to fall back to sleep but knowing I should just get up and be productive. I’m somehow ready for school by the time I’ve checked my email, copy and pasted the new ones so I can read them later offline, drank a cup of tea and ate a breakfast that I wasn’t really hungry for. I walk to the 2 minutes to school and get myself situated in my classroom before any kids are around. Then I show up in the staff room at the required time of 7:30 and wait for at least 10 minutes before the staff briefing starts. Then I listen to the principal talk for at least 20 minutes, watching the clock and thinking, “I could be teaching right now. I SHOULD be teaching right now.” I get to my class completely demoralized after listening to all the negative things that go on at the school and not hearing one thing that is meant to inspire us to do better.

Then my day starts fluctuating. Today I started in 7B for 80 minutes. They wrote a quiz on multiplying fractions and mixed numbers (a month earlier than I taught it last year!!!) and we started dividing fractions. They’re BRILLIANT!!! It’s so incredible to see how much they’ve all grown in their math abilities and confidence since the beginning of last year! So many of them regularly get 100% on the near daily one question quizzes I give. And they would never tire of me teaching them! I give them classwork, and they ask for more! I give them homework and it’s never enough! It’s so great to work with them! So that was a really great 80 minutes.

Then I went to 7A. I still enjoy them. They tire of me, or math, after about 50 minutes. They told me I gave them too many problems for classwork and homework. They’re already a day behind 7A. But a lot of them work hard and keep me wanting to work hard. Today we were multiplying fractions and one example I put on the board was a whole number times a fraction. We had to decide if the whole number (7) was in the numerator or denominator. Well, let’s try 1/7 and 7/1 and see which one is equal to 7. We started with 7/1. What’s 7 divided by 1? 7. OK, that seems like it could be the answer then. What’s 1/7? 0 I was told. Well, sort of. How about 0.1428…? And then I was given the best gift ever: Kunyima asked me, “But madam, how did you get that?” No one EVER asks why!!! So we did some long division with decimals, they’ll learn more about that in about a month. After that, I gave them classwork where they complained about the amount. My response: I’m here to teach you, if I wasn’t teaching you, I’d go home to America! They all laughed. They might think I was kidding, but I’m completely serious. If I didn’t have classes to teach, I’d quit in a heartbeat.

I was interrupted several times today in my teaching - first by a couple teachers telling me I have to adjust the timetable by adding a class to grade 7 so they don’t have a “study” period. I wanted to take it as an extra math class. I ended up being told by the principal it had to be BIS - basic information skills. I took it as my class and I’ll treat it as an extra math class anyway. I love grade 7.

At the end of the 7B period, Mbamba Johanna asked me, “Madam, you can eat ndongo?” (Groundnut, peanuts) Yes, I love them! You have them to sell? “No, only to eat.” Oh, who’s selling? I want to buy. “No, here, for you!” She had a container and she filled it up with ndongo and nyimu (some kind of seed). Everything was boiled together and they were delicious. I enjoyed them during break and again at lunch.

After break, I was given the challenge of teaching 6B for 80 minutes. Wow. They have a lot of energy. It’s HARD to deal with. Yesterday’s lesson with them was absolutely perfect - equivalent fractions introduction with construction paper and ripping them into different sizes. I guess they just didn’t get a whole lot out of it. It’s hard to remember working so hard last year with the current grade 7s to get them to where they are now. They know all these things I’m struggling to teach to grade 6 now! But some kids refuse to work, many insist on talking the whole time. I almost walked out before I started teaching, they have just lost all respect for me and I don’t know why. So it was like pulling teeth the whole 80 minutes.

I was again interrupted during that time. This time the secretary came and said that Dr. Someone was looking for me. What? Who? I don’t know. So I got to a point where I could give them classwork, and I went to the office. The vet was here to vaccinate Ziggy! He’d told me he’d be able to come Friday, but instead came today, which was fine. He was so nice, and so helpful, and so accommodating, and even offered to vaccinate the dog who no one owns but lives at my house because we’re all nice to him! So I first held Ziggy while he was quickly vaccinated, then held the dog, who is so friendly and so nice and I would adopt if he and Ziggy could get along and if he didn’t have fleas (I’m thinking of using my flea powder on him). It was just a nice realization that people do things willingly!

Then we spent the last 2 periods cleaning the school. Again. Don’t ask. It’s stupid and I walked around trying to get my class to pick up trash. I looked like I was insane probably. All of the learners probably think I’m abnormal. I probably am. I told them to ask me, “Where are you going?” They did. I told them “crazy.” They didn’t get it. And that’s why I appear abnormal to them.

A good Namibian meeting

Thursday, 3 June, 2010

I never thought I’d say that I actually enjoyed a meeting here, especially when for the second day in a row I was unable to teach 6A because of interruptions to the school day. But today’s meeting was so good!

The regional director came to our school, with our new inspector, a volunteer from Holland, a subject advisor, the TRC manager from town and the director for adult education in town. The meeting was, once again, about last year’s poor results. Finally, though, I don’t feel any of the blame, not that I was ever to blame - I walked into a bad situation and couldn’t pick out the grade 10 learners from last year out of a line up; I had nothing to do with them. Ever.

Anyway, teachers were invited to disclose some of the challenges we face. I kept quiet. One teacher said he felt overloaded with the pressures to teach extra classes, remedial classes and mark everything. The subject advisor spoke up and said the things I wish I could say, but it’s just not in my character to do so: “I don’t accept that excuse! That’s part of teaching!” It went on and on, and was perfectly put. I was laughing and smiling the whole time!

They asked what we are doing personally to help the situation. I spoke about separating the grades 5-7 classes based on performance. Unfortunately, English was a nightmare last term and 0% of 7B passed and only 18% of 7A. They just looked at the overall statistics, but for my subject of math, which is usually miserable when it comes to performance, more than 60% of each of my classes passed! Math was not the problem! And there’s only so much one person can do, especially one non Namibian. I can’t fix this problem. It has to come from within. And that’s something I’ve come to learn over a long time.

In other news, Kayoka continues to amaze me. I walked home from his house with him and Nicky after I went there after study to fix his phone’s settings. I forgot who I was talking to and inadvertently disclosed my non-religious lifestyle to them. I’ve talked to Nicky about it before, but she never really gave it much thought, just continued to accept me for me - the reason I love her. Kayoka was blown away.

The way it came up is ridiculous… “A mouse!” Oh? “Madam, how do they know when the sun comes out when they’re in their holes?” A discussion ensued about instincts, and just knowing things - like to keep breathing and how babies know when they’re hungry. We just know some things, and animals “just know” a lot more things because they don’t have clocks telling them things, or popular culture influencing them. He joked that maybe they count how many hours they spend in their holes and then they know. He said, “There are just some things we’ll never have answers to.

I then went on to tell them that I recently sent an email to a friend saying that I sometimes think people are religious to explain the unexplainable, that it’s “God’s plan.” I don’t believe that.

Huh???

So a brief discussion passed about what I do and don’t believe - I guess I believe there’s something out there, but I don’t believe there’s a man up in the sky telling us all what to do all the time, who sent me to my village for two years, who is telling me to have this conversation without me knowing it. I looked up at the sky and pointed, where’s the man? They laughed. I told them I just don’t call it God, I’m not a Christian, I don’t go to church.

Fine.

But then I blew Kayoka’s mind by telling him he can think of me as a bad person for not going to church, that’s what he’s always been told to think. (He also told me that when we were born, there were people who were religious and they told him to be, so he had to listen. No, that’s where you’re wrong. You can always think for yourself and make your own choices and you don’t have to believe everything people tell you.) But I told him to look at my actions, the way I treat people and then tell me I’m still a bad person.

He really stopped to think about that - that’s one of the greatest things about him, he really listens and thinks and analyzes what he hears. So people who don’t go to church can be kinder? I’m not telling you I’m kinder, or better or nicer than anyone who goes to church. I’m just saying, that just because I don’t go to church doesn’t me I don’t treat people nicely.

He said that he thought that people who didn’t go to church on Sunday weren’t as good. He said that and asked my opinion. I told him that I don’t think it’s Sunday that matters, it’s the other days. Look at the people who go to church on Sunday, where do they go after? To the shebeen. It’s what they do outside of church that makes them a good or bad person.

His final comment was that he was about to explode. Say it, just say what you’re thinking, get it out! No, I want to think about it first. OK, tell me when you want to talk about this again!

Day 2

Thursday, 27 May, 2010

What a difference a day can make! More kids were at school, though several were still missing. But at least…

The morning started with an equally painful staff briefing. It lasted longer than necessary, had only negative comments and blame directed at teachers and learners. I had become somehow used to this start to my day, but I lost that shell I had before my long holiday. I was angry, upset and not ready anymore to teach.

Toward the end of the meeting, my HOD told us that all upper primary teachers had to submit their preparations now now so he could check them. Hah. I went to his office with nothing and told him I hadn’t written my preparation but was still planning to teach. “How is that even possible?” I’m giving back their exam and we’re going through it problem by problem. “But you still have to write your preparations.” OK.

I refrained from telling him that I set this exam myself, made the answer script myself and marked all 50 exams for it myself. So I was pretty confident that I knew enough to be able to make corrections with the learners.

Even though I had a plan to teach, I still wasn’t mentally prepared, or physically, to spend all day in front of kids. I walked into 7B and was a little shocked, didn’t really know how to start. Greet. Oh right. Greet them. Easy. Return the exam. OK, getting better. Get them to laugh.

And I’m back.

It took 30 seconds and I was ready to spend all day with kids again.

Everything flowed from there. Questions. Comments. Jokes. Laughter. Remembering what we learned last term. No problem

Finish teaching. Sore feet. Aching back. This is going to take some time to get my stamina back up to spend all day on my feet on a concrete floor with about 25 kids at a time. But it’ll be fun again.

The afternoon was spent cleaning - a great coping mechanism for boredom or just taking up time and forgetting about the stresses of living here and working here. I have a clean kitchen, clean clothes and a somewhat cleaner yard. Still plenty to do this weekend!

Is this for real?!

Friday, 28 May, 2010

Good thing this week was only 3 days long. I wouldn’t have lasted any more. I have a long way to go to build up the stamina to put up with everything and be able to teach all day everyday again.

I guess I really did forget just how frustrating everything is. I knew there were guests coming today from Germany with a donation of Thimbukushu textbooks - a really good thing. I guess I’d just forgotten how disorganized everything leading up to that single event is.

The staff room was opened 20 minutes late, the briefing started 40 minutes late. In the briefing, we were told that we were not going to have classes until after break - after the visit - that we had to prepare for the visitors. I was prepared to teach for 80 minutes. At assembly, the learners were told the same thing - there were no morning classes, but it wasn’t a school holiday. Right.

I tried to get my class to clean up the papers outside our classroom, but as soon as I released them to do that, and to supervise them, other kids came to buy pens and by the time I got outside, 2 minutes later, there was no one from my class in sight anymore. So much for trying to be organized even if no one else is.

We waited around for what seemed like unnecessary amounts of time. Who knows.

The guests came, the kids danced and sang, speeches of thanks were made, it was fine.

I had just forgotten how these things go, and how nothing gets done on the day of the event. Welcome back to school. 127 more days.

Afternoons at least are redeeming. After a glorious nap with Ziggy, I spent at least an hour on the phone with Kaitlin rehashing our respective ups and downs of the past few days. It was great to get perspective and advice, and also to offer some.

Toward the end of our conversation, Nicky showed up. I told Kaitlin I was going to hang out with my only friend, and she knew who was there. Nicky played a couple games of pinball, we went to a nearby home to get manure so I can make another (small) garden, we sat outside and talked about today’s event - after I figured out how to define ‘event’ - she told me that it’s not OK for people to come and take pictures the way they did, it’s different from me taking pictures at school or even at Nicky’s house because I go there a lot, but they can’t come just once and take pictures. And then she said, “Tuyende kughura maghumi.” Let’s go buy oranges. We’d had some the other day, and I’d never made it back to buy more. She knew I wanted more. Maybe she knew I’d give her one, or maybe she just wanted to go do something. Our walk was pretty quiet, just enjoying the ease that our friendship is. We passed a few girls from the hostel going the other way, and I pointed to the ground and said, “Wiki.” Sweets. Someone had dropped a lollipop.

Nicky smiled that smile I love.

We got our oranges and we found the girls we’d thought had dropped the lollipop. Nicky gave it back. I walked her part way home and then turned around so I’d get home before dark. I heard kids calling out to me, “Madam” or “Mukuwa” depending on our relationship. I love walking around the village at dusk when everyone is outside preparing dinner and the kids all see me as a person instead of their teacher.

Nicky

Friday, 28 May, 2010

I wish there was some way to make you understand how amazing this girl is, without any qualities that stick out as being spectacular.

When I didn’t have a close friend in the village, life was hard. Unbearable really. I’d come home at the end of the school day and not leave my house, but always think that I should, know that I should seek out someone’s company. Nicky and I weren’t good friends until late November, and not sisters until late December.

She understood that I didn’t know much about surviving in a Namibian village. She came to help me wash my clothes when she knew I was going to do it, or if she was passing and saw that I was doing it. She would laugh at my attempts, but now I know and can do it alone or with Nicky without her laughing.

She helped me with my garden, which was a miserable failure, but she helped nonetheless. She let me work, but would always step in to help, whereas other people won’t let me do anything for myself.

Silences with her aren’t awkward. We can walk around the village and not say anything, or we can walk around the village and talk about the most mundane things for hours. We can lay outside my house on the stoop and laugh about nothing.

But what gets me the most is that she’s 13 and from a different world from me. She can’t picture the house I grew up in. She wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff I have shoved hidden in my closet (though she probably has a better idea than I do having seen how much stuff I have here). She couldn’t imagine me driving a car. And those are just things I do. She has no idea what it’s like to spend so much time inside. To drive only on tarred roads. To go to grocery stores on a weekly basis. To see so many white people. To have a supportive and loving family. To live so separately from everyone else, even neighbors and distant relatives.

We grew up (she’s still growing up) in worlds that couldn’t be more different. But somehow it’s fine. And that’s what makes it so exciting and why I can’t get over it and write about her everyday. There are other learners I’ll miss, learners I was excited to see on Wednesday, learners I’ll visit at their homes in the coming weeks. But no one compares to Nicky for me.

Yesterday I got a package from my mom - photos and a pair of Teva sandals, like the ones she brought me in December. I’d promised to give Nicky mine in December when I go, but I gave her the new (but used) pair yesterday. I interrupted her pinball game to show her the photos of when Miles was just a day old. She looked at them - really looked - not how other “friends” would and asked of one of them, “Sophia?” She knows my family and has never met anyone other than my mom.

When I walked her home yesterday, we were wearing the same kind of shoes, leaving the same footprints. When I turned around to come home again, I didn’t see my usual Chaco footprints next to her bare feet. I saw two sets of Teva footprints.

I told Kaitlin today about my gift of my hair to Nicky. Her reaction was, “That’s love.” I told Nicky that when we were together getting manure. Nicky’s mom had already told her the same thing.

Kayoka

Saturday, 29 May, 2010

Taking another go at making a garden. This one will only have lettuce and basil - those were the only 2 things I REALLY enjoyed from last year’s attempt. I was dripping sweat by 9am after digging my (small) garden plot. So far, it looks much better than last year’s, and nothing’s even seeded yet!

I’d promised Nicky I’d come for lunch to enjoy again the mahangu we pounded together on Tuesday, so at 11:30 I went to her house. On the way, I found some people walking away from her home, and one of the men decided to greet me. Fine, not so unusual to be greeted. I’ve seen him before, no big deal. He started blabbering away in Afrikaans. I started walking slowly away, nodding and smiling and offering the required “Oh”s and “Mmm”s when necessary. On another path nearby, some women were passing and one yelled over to him, “Mdadi gha kuyuva Afrikaans!” She doesn’t hear Afrikaans! A look of surprise accompanied by my laughter, followed by, “Ghuna yuva Thimbukushu vene?” You only hear Thimbukushu? Ghii. Yes. He proceeded to translate everything he’d said into Thimbukushu - something about his older sibling who is at school. Apparently I don’t hear much in Thimbukushu.

Many kids were there, and very few adults. There were some men building a cooking structure - poles and corrugated zinc held down by rocks - and more adults outside the homestead in the usual drinking place. I did the same thing I usually do at Nicky’s - hung out with Nicky, Kunyima and Mukoya while lunch was made, today by Nicky. We all ate together, with Joline too, mahangu porridge with some spinachy relish and shi - red seeds that are soaked in water and the fruit part is removed and turns into a kind of paste. All delicious! Mostly the porridge though. (Remember when I couldn’t stand it? Now I seek it out!)

Nicky and Kunyima went to the river to bathe, and I spent some time talking to Kayoka. I asked him more about camp GLOW. I wanted to HUG him for the things he said! He told me that when he met the first volunteer, he was nervous because he was so big, but later on he made everyone feel free. He told me that if Camp GLOW could be a school, “Oh, that would be good!” He told me that he never thought he could get in front of everyone and sing or do a drama (skit) but he did because everyone made you feel so free. He told me that everything in Kavango region is backwards - particularly education. He told me about his current math teacher and how she doesn’t like it when kids ask questions and that I should be teaching grade 8 instead of her (where I encourage questions to clear up confusion and help them learn, she asks, “Where were you the first time I explained it?). He told me about the blindfold course they did and that when he was giving directions, his partner didn’t touch the rope at all. He told me that he wants to start a club but no one is serious here so it wouldn’t be fun. He told me about his friends Ndjemena and Tunapu who drink too much and they don’t seek advice from me the way he does so they won’t change. He told me that kids can change the school by reporting when teachers misbehave but instead they just play and love it when teachers don’t teach. He told me that it’s like being in a house, and when you’re trying to pull the door open, in the village, someone is pulling from the outside so you can’t get out, but at GLOW, there was someone outside pushing so you can get out. He expressed concern for when I leave and there isn’t another volunteer here (I worry for many kids for that day). I told him that he’s already opened that door with the help of Mark, Mary and myself - that there are many people who want him to make it, to succeed, so now all he has to keep doing is to continue pulling for himself.

Can’t I bring him home with Nicky? They’re friends. They can adjust together! And he already has a birth certificate!

Nicky

Monday, 24 May, 2010

This morning I went to Nicky’s and planned to spend the whole day with her. She wasn’t home. She was out collecting manure with her mom. I sat with Kunyima as she worked on a basket (I dropped hints that I want more, in return for the school shirt I’m going to get her, the school shoes and school bag I’m going to get Nicky; she also offered to give me a chicken, so I guess I have to work on that coop and find some more chickens!). Nicky and her mom got back with big smiles on their faces, as I’m sure mine had as well.

After our greetings all around - Ngepi? Thiwana? Awo? How are you? Fine/Great/Fantastic. You? - I told Nicky, “I brought you something. A gift, but it’s a joke, so you have to laugh when you open it.” Her look of excitement suddenly changed to fear and she wanted nothing to do with it. I held out the plastic rice cake bag tied into a ball and her mom had to encourage her to take it. Shimbe! She reluctantly stretched out her hand and I gave it to her. I asked, “What do you think it is?” Her sister and brother were there too. They all felt it - squishy and a lot lighter than they thought it’d be. They kept looking at me with very skeptical looks of fear. Nicky suddenly burst out laughing and blurted out, “Huki!” Hair! When I got my hair cut last weekend (by a near stranger on the hike in Naukluft) I thought to myself, and probably said out loud, “Nicky will kill me for doing this!” So I saved the majority of my (very dirty by then on the 6th day of the hike) hair in a bag to give her. She opened it and as it dawned on each person individually, they laughed as much as I did.

We spent the next several hours sitting around, in complete comfort, speaking mostly Thimbukushu and me sometimes having an idea of what was going on to laugh with them, sometimes requesting a translation while Kunyima and her mother both worked on baskets. At one point I pulled out my iPod because I’d smartly brought it with me for entertainment purposes, not my own entertainment. The faces of all the kids - all the kids at this homestead know what it is - looked like they were enjoying Christmas morning in America. I was worried about how lunch would work since the last few times it’s been an issue. I again planned to eat with Nicky, Kunyima, Mukoya and their mother, but once again Augusta, the matriarch on the homestead, came over and asked if I eat chicken and fish. Yes, but just give me one, I don’t need both! I told Nicky quietly that I think the only time we’ll be allowed to eat together, the same food, from the same bowl, is at my house. Fine. We came to terms with it. But when I was served, I put it aside and waited until everyone else was ready to eat who I was visiting with. And then I found that I had both chicken and fish, so I gave the fish to Nicky and Kunyima, and Mukoya finished my rice. To me, that’s a better way of going about it than getting stressed out. We still got to eat together.

At one point, Kedi, a 3 year old boy, showed up. They greeted him - Ngepi? Thiwana. Thiwana yira ngepi? Thiwana yira mbato. - followed by hysterical laughter. And it was repeated many time because it was so funny. I had no idea why it was funny. “Nicky, what’s mbato?” When you go to the toilet to poop, and the poop wants to come out, but it can’t. I don’t know how to call that word in English. Ohhh…constipated. No one knows why he tells them he’s constipated, but it is quite funny.

After lunch, Nicky, Kunyima and I went to the river where they bathed and I sat on the “dock” which was well under water the last time I was there a month ago. We easily chatted about anything and nothing. Laying on my back, enjoying the clouds, the river, the solitude, the ease of being with Nicky and Kunyima, I said, “Nicky, I missed you.” When? “When I was in South Africa.” Why? “Because we weren’t together.” Oh, I missed you too. “Why?” Because I couldn’t play minesweeper or pinball. “Oh, so you missed my computer.” And I couldn’t touch your hair or see your face.

SERIOUSLY, FIGURE OUT A WAY FOR ME TO GET HER TO AMERICA!!!

Nicky and I walked through the village, looking for someone with DVDs we could watch, but the few options we had fell through. We had 2 year old Precious with us, switching off who would carry her. I’d brought N$10 worth of coins with me because I didn’t know how many kids I’d be with when I wanted fat cakes (it’s been too long!) but since we’d just eaten lunch, neither of us REALLY wanted them. Instead we walked to the mission where they’re selling oranges for 50 cents each! A much better snack! And then we bought N$1 worth of fresh (?) raisins.

Then the request for minesweeper came. The three of us went back to my house. I was carrying Precious most of the time, and about 3 minutes before we got to my house, she fell asleep in my arms. I put her on my bed for the hour we were there and then I carried her back home for the whole 15 minute walk. Some people we passed asked, “Is she sick?” No, just asleep. It was comforting to know that even after a month away, someone I hardly know was still completely comfortable to fall asleep in my arms.

More than ever, today the whole village felt like home instead of the one room house I live in. Everywhere I went, people greeted me with big smiles, I saw learners I’ve missed for the last few weeks or few months if they transferred to new schools. And I had a better answer to their “long time” and “why do you isolate yourself at school” comments - I was in South Africa! It was easy to be here. It was enjoyable. It was refreshing. It was better than when I left.

I couldn’t have asked for a better first full day back home.

Family

Tuesday, 25 May, 2010

Once again my expectations for my productivity at my house were set exceedingly high. Especially after receiving an sms from Nicky at 7:15am saying “werepoundingmundere.” Translation: We’re pounding mundere (maize). I’ve been telling her for months that I want to pound with her and I want to pound mundere, I’ve only ever pounded mahangu. When I saw the message 30 minutes later, I was still in my pajamas, finished eating only half of what I’d made for breakfast (turns out I eat less after vacation) and wrote back, “I’m coming.” I went.

I found Kunyima pounding, Nicky raking, their mother working on her basket, and I sat down awaiting instructions. Kunyima and I pounded mundere together for a bit, but neither of us like it much. It’s significantly harder than pounding mahangu, so we got some of that instead. Nicky, Kunyima and I pounded for a few hours in the disappearing shade. I have blisters (mahutu) on my hands that would rival those on my feet last week.

I was finally given the privilege of eating with Nicky - we shared mahangu porridge, fish and oily sautéed tomatoes. I sat on a crate, she sat on the kakundhu (what we pound in) turned on its side with the plates in the sand between us. We used out hands to eat, and many people came over to ask if I was ok, thinking I didn’t actually like eating that food, when this was exactly what I’d been wanting every time I went there and stayed for lunch. I don’t know if words were exchanged, but I’m happy to have been able to eat what Nicky had to offer.

While Nicky was off cooking, I was sitting watching Kunyima and their mother works on their baskets. All of a sudden, their mother turned to me and started talking away in Thimbukushu, “Ndangi … tendi… Nicky, toroke!” Thank you…you did…Nicky, translate! More words were said in Thimbukushu and I realized she was profusely thanking me for paying Nicky’s school fees a few months ago and that it’s a good thing what I’m doing for her. She wants to pay me back, bring me porridge, wash my clothes. I want nothing of that. I would accept it, but that’s certainly not why I paid for her.

At the time that I paid Nicky’s school fees, some months back, Nicky and I had just had a disagreement or misunderstanding. I had been planning to pay the school fees for a while, but I felt that’d be the right time to do it. We weren’t hanging out as much, I’d sent her away one day when I was too tired to visit and I wanted her to know I still loved her just as much, I was just tired. After I paid, I brought the receipt to her and said nothing, just put it face down on her table. The next day she asked if I’d paid or if her mom had. I did. She gave me a quiet thank you, but her face said it all. It was similar to the way her mother looked today - a little embarrassed that she couldn’t pay it herself, but also grateful that I did it. That’s why I do things the way I do - quietly.

But it comes down to Nicky’s mother and me having hardly any words we can exchange and understand. Ndangi. Thank you. Ewa. And greetings. That’s about it. Somehow it works. She knows I love her daughter unconditionally, and the relationships I’ve been able to form with Nicky’s sister and one brother have also moved into the ease of family.

After lunch, Nicky, Kunyima and I once again went to the river for them to bathe, even though neither of them really did much of that. We all lay on the “dock” and enjoyed being away for the chaos that is their homestead - the neverending stream of family and friends passing through. Kunyima lay nearest to the end of the dock, Nicky in the middle with her head on my leg as a pillow, and I sat furthest from the water. Again, our conversation moved with whatever came into our heads, a constant stream of consciousness. We found ourselves talking about school, which starts tomorrow, and the other teachers there. The topic of salary came up and Nicky asked how much I get paid. More than your mother, less than the other teachers. Their mother doesn’t work. The other teachers make about 4 times what I do. Nicky sat up in surprise. You get paid the least but you do the most work?! At least someone notices! I told her it’s not about the money, it’s about working as hard as you can all the time no matter what the reward is. I asked them at one point, “Three years from now, when I’ve been gone for a little while, how will you remember me - as your teacher, a friend or a sister?” Without missing a beat or looking up at me, Kunyima was the one who surprised me with the quick answer, “Our sister.”

Nicky has this smile. It doesn’t come out often. She smiles plenty, but she has this OTHER smile. It makes me never want to leave her when I see it. I always try to get it out of her, every time I see her. And I always feel extra happy when I succeed. I always try to capture it on my camera too. But I don’t usually carry it with me, and it’s always a surprise when she puts it on. I had it with me today. And I got that smile. I just hope it does justice to her presence when I’m gone. I know it won’t.

Nicky blurted out “I miss sugar.” It’s probably been about an hour since she’d had any. I got the smile I live for when I said, “Let’s go make that thing we had on New Year’s Eve.” A look of confusion. “The thing we shared with Kangapi and Filo at my house.” She sat up again in surprise, turned to face me, and there was that smile. We had brownies on New Year’s Eve and she loved it more than anyone else. They quickly bathed the limited amount they were going to and we went back to their home on our way to mine.

I made brownies, they watched “The Gods Must Be Crazy II” and we shared the whole pan. I ate a lot less than they did, and I was shocked when they finished it. Sugar. If that was a food group in itself, it’d be the whole pyramid!

Take 5

Wednesday, 26 May, 2010

The first day of my fifth term. If this sounds familiar, it’s because it probably is.

The morning started like any other school day - waking up about an hour and a half earlier than my alarm. I looked at the time at 4:08. I thought it was kidding. Next thing I knew, my alarm was ringing and I was more exhausted than when I’d gone to bed the night before.

Yesterday I’d tried to find out when school was starting, but no one really knows, so I was ready at 6:30 (after refiguring out my morning routine, in which I found my watch to wear again, only to find that it had stopped working either a month ago on 25 April, or just yesterday on 25 May, given by the date that was left), the time we’re supposed to be there. But day one is never like the others. When I got there at 6:40 instead, there were only about 5 teachers around. So I thought to myself, “Screw this,” and went back home for a little while. When I returned, about half of the teachers were present in the staff room and the principal came out of his office a few minutes later. He didn’t know what to do with all the empty spaces on the benches, so the bell was rung and we went to assembly with the learners instead of having a staff briefing first.

At assembly, it was like we’d never missed a day. Why aren’t you singing? You have to wait to be told? You don’t want to pray? Why is your hair still long? You knew school was starting and you did nothing about it. Where is everyone else? Some comments in Thimbukushu that I can only guess on the translations.

This went on for about 45 minutes. I realized once again how adults speak to kids, how kids obediently listen and take the verbal abuse, how easy it is to pick out the negatives, how I’d blocked this part of the school day out of my memory for the last month. It all came back in full force and I could only laugh, otherwise I would have cried. I briefly considered leaving assembly and crying behind a building, but I knew I’d be found and then would have to try to explain.

We were released with the usual “go to your classes and don’t make noise.” Yeah, ok. The teachers all went to the staff room and we had a “briefing” for an hour. The phone rang 3 times before the principal unplugged it. I laughed out loud at that point. There were so many comments made that I wish I could remember for their absurdity, but of course the details will remain forever lost.

Finally in my classroom, I spoke to my learners the only way I know how - quietly and with respect. They respond by making noise and running around the classroom. It’s exhausting. I stayed with 6B the whole day and I hated them by the end of it. Individually, I love them. As a whole class, with no structure, I hate them.

I returned their textbooks. There’s a new requirement (it’ll never be checked) that all textbooks have to be covered in plastic. There is a kind of plastic wrap that can be bought for that purpose, but I’m not about to spend that much money. So I brought all of my plastic bags to school, 2 pairs of scissors and 3 scotch tapes. They cut up the bags and taped them over their books.

My class was only missing 4 of the 25 kids. Some others were missing 16 of 26 or 7 of 22. The smart ones know nothing happens on the first day so they don’t come.

I told my class at the end of the day that tomorrow I’m teaching. No, madam! Next week! No, tomorrow. I’m not coming to school for 3 days this week and telling you to be quiet. I’m following my timetable and teaching math tomorrow. No one else will be teaching, so I don’t actually have to follow a timetable.

I often found myself walking out of my classroom thinking or saying to a colleague, “I can’t handle this!” Only 2 more days of this level of ridiculousness, then a more manageable one until the start of next term.

So it goes.

Coming Home

Sunday, 23 May, 2010

I tried to write about my holiday. I took notes in my journal when I was traveling. But I can’t do it. Sorry. You’ll have to get the clif note version - I went to Cape Town, it was awesome, Hannes and Sheila took care of me and I had more luxuries than I remembered existing - scalding hot shower with a door even (I don’t have a shower curtain, or even a place to put one), towels (giant ones), blankets (finally got myself one of those), family dinners (didn’t quite compare to eating in the sand with Nicky, but it was very nice to always be eating with family), going out to dinner (Thai food was the best meal I ate there), many adventures through tour organizations (cycling at Cape Point, wine tour), a disastrous shopping trip where instead I spent 2 hours in an internet cafe. I hiked (half) of the Naukluft 8 day, it was awesome, wish I’d been able to finish it instead of giving in/quitting/admitting defeat (take your pick, I don’t know what any of them means) after the worst foot pain I’ve ever known - saw zebras, kudu carcass, more zebras - next time I’m doing the whole thing.

On Thursday I finally started my trip back north after a long time away. I paid for a combi instead of hiking, and I don’t regret the decision at all. There were 16 people in the combi and they were all surprised to see a mukuwa going to Kavango. About half of them asked, “You stay in Rundu?” No, I stay 200km from Rundu. [Look of surprise.] White people don’t travel in combis, they all have their own cars.

I’d been looking forward to crossing the red line into Kavango for about a week by the time I finally did. There is nothing more beautiful that the Kavango Region. It’s the most beautiful (I know I just used that word) on earth. I love it all - the mud huts, the thatch roofs, the brightly skirted women carrying buckets of water on their heads, the kids carrying smaller water containers on their heads, trailing behind their mothers, the donkey carts transporting large supplies of firewood, the greenness. It felt like going home, crammed into a combi with 15 black Africans.

I spent a couple days in town, getting stuff done and readjusting to civilization and being around people.

Today I finally came home. I brought Ziggy with me from town. And it feels like home. I got out of the car this morning and several boys were walking past my house - Muremi Martin who I taught in grade 7 last year had a big smile on his face and I returned it with a greeting. It was nice to see someone I knew immediately. Nicky called from her mom’s phone. I told her I had too many things to do today and I’d come over in the morning. She accepted, and I set to work trying to make my house livable again. The fridge had been turned off, and closed - stupid me! - so it was moldy, cockroach infested and smelled terrible. I cleaned it with bleach, filled it up with food and turned it on. Now it’s cleaner than I left it. The clutter I left in my house is still here, but more than ever, after so long in Naukluft, I feel overwhelmed with STUFF, and I’m going to make a bigger effort to give things away. I went for a walk in the afternoon and saw several more learners. We all greeted each other with big, genuine, smiles. Some would call to me from the fields they were working in and I couldn’t make out who it was. But I always greeted back, happy to be appreciated, and happy to be back. There’s no replacing a trail through the wilderness with a walk down the road, but it’s all I’ve got at this point!

Two days and then reality strikes with school starting. For now I’m going to enjoy the most restful night I’ve had in weeks - in my own house, my own bed, with my new blanket, and knowing Ziggy is safe

The Effects of Africa

Monday, 24 May, 2010

Nothing lasts in Africa. If I got reimbursed for everything that’s broken while I’ve lived here, I’d be rich.

My first pair of Chacos (aren’t they supposed to last “forever”?) has been completely demolished - the strap near the heel ripped all the way through and the one near the toe is half way ripped. My second pair of Chacos isn’t far behind - the strap at the toe is half ripped already. My Tevas offer much less protection from the rocks on the gravel roads and paths than I’d expected and they’ll have holes through the toes and heels in about a tenth of the time I’d hoped they’d last. My sneakers nearly have holes in the soles and the sides near my little toes. One corner of my bed has been ripped up by Ziggy who uses it as his scratching post. My pants are all stretched out from handwashing and have stains from living, thus are unwearable in the classroom. The zipper on my school bag broke, while it was closed, so I slit the top of my bag, leaving it always gaping open. My umbrella is of poor quality and when I opened it once, I pushed it too far, turning it almost inside out. One shirt that I used to wear to school has red paint on the back from when the school was being painted and I leaned against the wall. Another shirt I used to wear to work recently got ripped by Ziggy’s claws. My Sigg is a 4 inch crack down its side from freezing too much water in it. One of my extension cords with two outlets has only one working outlet, the other has something jammed in it. The cover plate of my cell phone is cracked and falling off, letting sand and dust get inside, probably causing more problems than I know. This morning, when I turned on my computer, the first attempt gave me the dreaded blue screen. I thought to myself, “Please please please please turn on.” Maybe that’s what praying is, but now I’m afraid to turn it off.

With all those broken things, my house again feels like home after less than 24 hours. This morning I was woken by then sun and heard the neighbor kids already up. I took my time, knowing it’s one of my last real relaxing mornings for a while. When I ventured outside, Mulela, Fortune and Pope (poe-PAY) were outside and it was immediately easy to greet them - no awkwardness after so long apart. Pope seemed to have forgotten who I am - he’s not even 18 months yet - but after about an hour, he was walking around yelling “AYI!” his and Matthew’s version of Lori. He has been walking into and out of my house all morning looking for me or Ziggy, and even found me in the bathroom once. So much for only your own kids walking in on you!

A difficult passing

Sunday, 25 April, 2010

I’m leaving today to go on vacation. I’ve been looking forward to this day for months. A way to take a break and come back ready to tackle whatever challenges I might face next term and for the final 6 months of living in Namibia. I’m going. I can’t wait.

But a large part of me wants to stay. Not because I’ll miss Nicky. Not because traveling is exhausting and stressful. Not because I’m afraid of everything I’ll miss out here while I’m gone for 3 weeks.

Because Stephania, my host mom, the person who took me in as if I was her daughter, who I lived with for the first and hardest 6 weeks of living here, died last night in Windhoek after suffering a terrible car accident last Friday night.

On 16 April, she was in the back of a closed bakkie (a pickup truck with a cap on the back) traveling to town. The way the accident was explained to me, immediately upon my return from a weekend in town, was that the driver saw someone hiking, so pulled over to pick them up, but had to turn around to go back and get them. Without looking, the driver pulled back out to turn around and there was a car coming from behind them and drove straight into the back of the bakkie, where Stephania was sitting. She was sent flying from the bakkie with the cap.

Her family rushed her to Windhoek because they didn’t trust the hospital in Rundu. It was determined that three ribs were broken and those ribs had punctured her lungs. I don’t think anyone knew the full extent of her injuries. Daily I would ask learners and teachers if they’d heard anything, constantly trying to get updates. Everyone always told me that it looked like she was getting better. I’m sure it was too early to tell. I was planning to visit her on my way to South Africa.

This morning, a friend in the village sent me a message asking, “Did you hear the bad news?” I immediately thought of 2 possible deaths - Stephania’s or this woman’s son who I’m now teaching for a second year. I didn’t really think she’d be the one to inform me if something happened to her son, she’d be too busy mourning herself and I’d find out from a different source. I didn’t want to believe that Stephania had died and just yesterday Nicky was telling me that she was still doing OK.

I asked, “No, what happened?” After about a half hour of painfully waiting for her response, she told me, “Stephania died last night.”

I told Kaitlin, “I need to call you.” We talked.

I didn’t know what to do. I’m planning to go on vacation to South Africa for 10 days. To visit distant family who are looking forward to having me, and I’m looking forward to get to know. I asked Kaitlin, “Do I still go on vacation?” Yes. For a few reasons. One. You can’t do anything right now for the family. Two. You need a break. Three. When you come back, you can still show your support and love for the family. You have to go and take care of yourself right now, Lori.

Right. Myself.

What gets me most is that this is life for so many people. For me this is two years. I am going on vacation to take a break. When it’s your own life, you don’t get to take a break. Life keeps going and you have to do everything possible to keep up with it. I get the luxury of being from a first world country, currently living and trying to keep up with the heartache of a third world country. But in the end, I get to go. This isn’t my life. But it’s the life of the people I love and they don’t get a break, a vacation, when they need it even more than I do.

I know what it’s like to bury someone you love and who wasn’t supposed to die yet. I buried Djami last year. And being around for the funeral, memorial and burial were the most important things to me at that time. I know that staying here would be helpful for me; to mourn with everyone who is missing a family member and friend. That’s how I see it, but I know I have to listen to what my friends are telling me as well. I have to take care of myself and by skipping my vacation, I will not be taking care of myself. I need this vacation.

The first thing I did when I came to Andara was bury Stephania’s father. He died the day I moved here. I was brought immediately to his home and was accepted into the funeral arrangements as part of the family. It was hard. The first night I was here, I sat with Stephania and Leleti (her daughter now in grade 7) and watched Catalina and Sebastian (a terrible Mexican soap opera dubbed over in English from Spanish). I was sitting on a bed with Stephania while Leleti was on the floor in front of us. I was going back and forth being trying to hold in the tears of wanting to leave and feeling completely fine with wanting to leave, getting the tears to stop because I told myself that the next day I could go back to Windhoek and the USA. Somehow I made it through that first day, and many days after that. And I’ve been here long enough to bury the next generation.

I saw her two weeks ago in town. Leleti was the one who ran up to me and immediately we fell back into our easy, sister-like relationship. I hadn’t seen them sitting outside of OK Foods, so I went over and greeted Stephania. We had a short conversation and that was the last interaction I’ll ever have with her.

After Djami’s burial, I told Ritha that I don’t want to have to bury anyone else I know well while I live in Andara. She told me I would have to. If only I’d known who it was.

I told Kerri that I didn’t want to bury another person I knew while living in Andara. She gave me several examples of volunteers from her group who had one extremely difficult burial, so if I went with those statistics, I’d be fine.

I told Mark I didn’t want to bury another person I knew while living in Andara. He told me that the longer I lived here and the more lives I became invested in, the more likely it’d be that I’d have another tough funeral to go to.

I liked Kerri’s answer best so that’s the one I was believing, even though I knew even at that time that it was the least accurate.

Nothing ever stays the same. It changes too fast. And the pace of life here can’t possible keep up with that pace of change.

Most of us struggle in life to maintain the illusion of control but in Africa that illusion is almost impossible to maintain. When a Crocodile Eats the Sun

Vacation

Saturday, 24 April, 2010

I don’t know why I even go anywhere on the holiday. The best times I have are in the village with Nicky and whoever else we hang out with. I went to her house this morning after making chocolate chip cookies for the long car ride I have to Cape Town. I found her there, her brother Mukoya, sister Kunyima and many other people who live on the same homestead. We just sat around for a while, playing whatever games entertained us for long enough until something else came along. The 2 small kids - Precious and Lulu - offered the most entertainment. Mukoya brought out the Scooby Doo cards I’d given him a while ago and we played the Namibian versions of crazy 8s and spoons. Kunyima was cooking lunch in the midst of all this and I was planning to eat whatever it was, hoping it was porridge with any kind of non meat relish (sauce). It was.

But when Nicky and Kunyima brought the plate of mudhika and bowl of dimbombo and we all sat in the sand together planning to eat from the same plate and bowl as everyone else, Nicky was told that I had a different meal coming from another house on the homestead. This had happened in the past unexpectedly once, and neither of us had liked it, so I hoped that it had been resolved and we could eat together this time. That’s how we eat when she’s at my house. I also made a point of not going over there for a while during a meal because I’d been uncomfortable and Nicky was offended.

So Nicky, Mukoya, Kunyima and Karabo ate lunch while I waited anxiously for food I didn’t know what it was. When it came, I panicked because it was meat and rice - both of which have made me very sick and I try to avoid. So I caused another problem and was given a plate of only rice. I thought about that mudhika and dimbombo the whole time while I ate with a guy I don’t know (let’s call him Kalambo even though I know that’s not quite right, but might be close) with Nicky, Kunyima and Mukoya sitting nearby under the tree waiting patiently for us to finish.

Kalambo had greeted me earlier when I’d shown up and told me that we have to work together on a project to help all the orphans in the villages. He wanted to know what we could do. First thing, get them all birth certificates! You come to school and make a list and bring it to the governor. I’m spending all my time actually teaching these kids math and having a lot of success with it, but it doesn’t leave much time for anything else. So you do that and then we can figure out what to do next. That had been the basis of our first conversation.

Then we had lunch together. And it took everything in my power not to yell at him. I tried to make it a conversation where both parties got to participate, but quickly realized that’s not what he had in mind. So I had to sit quietly while he told me how kids are suffering 100% here and we have to do something and we have to make a project to help them and it’s not fair the way they have to live and you can see how kids on the same homestead eat different things because one family can’t afford anything but another can and how the parents don’t work and can’t pay school fees. It’s all true, but he was saying it in a condescending way and kept using Nick y and her family as the example, while they were sitting right there listening. He works at the hospital and said he wants to give them even N$50 at the end of the month when he gets paid but he can’t afford it because he has his own kids and wife (Nicky later clarified that to mean that he has 2 kids and a wife here in the village and 2 kids and another wife in another village). And then he’d start over again and tell me the same things 3 or 4 times. In the end, I told him to come up with a written plan and asked exactly how he wanted my help. To get donors of course. I can tell you right now that he’ll eat that money.

I wanted to scream in his face and tell him I AM helping these kids. I paid Nicky’s school fees because I know her mom can’t afford it and I want to make sure she’ll stay in school. I’m not asking you to recognize me for doing that, I did it because it’s the right thing to do. Nicky has helped me in ways she’ll never know and that’s the least I can do to help her. I never have time for myself because if ANY kid has a problem, I spend all of my energy on that problem. I can’t change the attitudes of people, that’s up to them to do for themselves, but I can do what I think is right and I DO what I think is right EVERYDAY. I’ve helped more kids realize that they’re important and matter than you’ve ever even considered doing. It makes me sick the way you and every other adult treats any kid whether it’s your own or someone else’s. You’re living on the same homestead as Nicky and her sister and brothers and they’re the ones suffering, yet you’re not doing anything to change that! You’re a freaking asshole and you don’t need me to help you start some project, you want me to either DO this project or just think that you’re a better person than you are. You have a lot more power than you think you do to change the lives of a few kids, but you choose to spend your money on alcohol instead. So while I’m sitting here telling you that you come up with a written plan while I’m gone on vacation, I know that you won’t do anything except continue living your content life while you watch all of these injustices take place.

But I kept my mouth shut. I kept looking over and Nicky who looked like she was near tears, I was near tears myself. All I wanted to do throughout the whole meal was get up, walk away with Nicky and tell her why I was so frustrated - I knew she was understanding my glances and the looks of frustration we both had. I would have cried in the ranting with her that I wanted to do. Finally he finished and left and I could go back to visiting with Nicky, Kunyima and Mukoya. I asked what Nicky felt after listening to all that. Bad. It’s not true. He didn’t say things that were true, he’s not going to do anything. I know. What about the food, how did that make you feel? Bad. She was offended that they don’t let me eat her food. Then some of the ranting came out, in a VERY toned down way and choosing my words carefully.

That is why I like you so much, and why I like learners more than the teachers or other adults. You don’t see me as a white person, or someone any different from you. I’m just your another person, your teacher, even your sister. You don’t try to give me different things to eat. You treat me the way I want to be treated. I can sit in the sand and eat porridge from the same plate with you and it’s FINE. I love doing that! And you let me. I’m not someone special, I’m just another person and you treat me like just another person.

Other things were discussed about the conversation over lunch but Nicky shut me up as he walked back over. He told me that he’ll pay N$40,000 when I go so I can bring his daughter to Europe. I don’t live in Europe. OK, then to America.

Nicky, Kunyima and I went to the river so they could bathe. I watched Precious and looked for crocodiles while they got clean. Then we went to find Ndara who was busy watching a movie and we left him to go watch the soccer game at the sports field.

My afternoon was saved by teaching these three kids who are somehow my peers the silly games and songs I learned as a kid…

Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts

Mutilated monkey meat

Little birdy turdy feet

Freanch fried eye balls sitting in a pool of blood

And I forgot my spoon

So they gave me a scab sandwich

Mustard on top

Eagle eye balls and camel snot

All these things were cooking in the pot

So they gave me puke with sugar on top!

Nicky Nicky bo bicky

Banana fana fo ficky

Me my mo micky

NICKY!

Spell “I CUP”… I - C - U - P… I see you pee. [I had to tell them what “to pee” means]

After the soccer game where they took some photos with my phone and played games on it while we watched and sang those silly songs, we came back to my house where I gave them each a chocolate chip cookie (Madam, what is this?) that we ate quietly and secretly so the neighbor kids still around wouldn’t come looking for one too, and I gave them the food from my fridge that would go bad in the 3 weeks I’ll be gone - some bread, onions and tomatoes. They were very thankful and it was the least I could do after the debacle at lunch.

Vacation

Saturday, 24 April, 2010

I don’t know why I even go anywhere on the holiday. The best times I have are in the village with Nicky and whoever else we hang out with. I went to her house this morning after making chocolate chip cookies for the long car ride I have to Cape Town. I found her there, her brother Mukoya, sister Kunyima and many other people who live on the same homestead. We just sat around for a while, playing whatever games entertained us for long enough until something else came along. The 2 small kids - Precious and Lulu - offered the most entertainment. Mukoya brought out the Scooby Doo cards I’d given him a while ago and we played the Namibian versions of crazy 8s and spoons. Kunyima was cooking lunch in the midst of all this and I was planning to eat whatever it was, hoping it was porridge with any kind of non meat relish (sauce). It was.

But when Nicky and Kunyima brought the plate of mudhika and bowl of dimbombo and we all sat in the sand together planning to eat from the same plate and bowl as everyone else, Nicky was told that I had a different meal coming from another house on the homestead. This had happened in the past unexpectedly once, and neither of us had liked it, so I hoped that it had been resolved and we could eat together this time. That’s how we eat when she’s at my house. I also made a point of not going over there for a while during a meal because I’d been uncomfortable and Nicky was offended.

So Nicky, Mukoya, Kunyima and Karabo ate lunch while I waited anxiously for food I didn’t know what it was. When it came, I panicked because it was meat and rice - both of which have made me very sick and I try to avoid. So I caused another problem and was given a plate of only rice. I thought about that mudhika and dimbombo the whole time while I ate with a guy I don’t know (let’s call him Kalambo even though I know that’s not quite right, but might be close) with Nicky, Kunyima and Mukoya sitting nearby under the tree waiting patiently for us to finish.

Kalambo had greeted me earlier when I’d shown up and told me that we have to work together on a project to help all the orphans in the villages. He wanted to know what we could do. First thing, get them all birth certificates! You come to school and make a list and bring it to the governor. I’m spending all my time actually teaching these kids math and having a lot of success with it, but it doesn’t leave much time for anything else. So you do that and then we can figure out what to do next. That had been the basis of our first conversation.

Then we had lunch together. And it took everything in my power not to yell at him. I tried to make it a conversation where both parties got to participate, but quickly realized that’s not what he had in mind. So I had to sit quietly while he told me how kids are suffering 100% here and we have to do something and we have to make a project to help them and it’s not fair the way they have to live and you can see how kids on the same homestead eat different things because one family can’t afford anything but another can and how the parents don’t work and can’t pay school fees. It’s all true, but he was saying it in a condescending way and kept using Nick y and her family as the example, while they were sitting right there listening. He works at the hospital and said he wants to give them even N$50 at the end of the month when he gets paid but he can’t afford it because he has his own kids and wife (Nicky later clarified that to mean that he has 2 kids and a wife here in the village and 2 kids and another wife in another village). And then he’d start over again and tell me the same things 3 or 4 times. In the end, I told him to come up with a written plan and asked exactly how he wanted my help. To get donors of course. I can tell you right now that he’ll eat that money.

I wanted to scream in his face and tell him I AM helping these kids. I paid Nicky’s school fees because I know her mom can’t afford it and I want to make sure she’ll stay in school. I’m not asking you to recognize me for doing that, I did it because it’s the right thing to do. Nicky has helped me in ways she’ll never know and that’s the least I can do to help her. I never have time for myself because if ANY kid has a problem, I spend all of my energy on that problem. I can’t change the attitudes of people, that’s up to them to do for themselves, but I can do what I think is right and I DO what I think is right EVERYDAY. I’ve helped more kids realize that they’re important and matter than you’ve ever even considered doing. It makes me sick the way you and every other adult treats any kid whether it’s your own or someone else’s. You’re living on the same homestead as Nicky and her sister and brothers and they’re the ones suffering, yet you’re not doing anything to change that! You’re a freaking asshole and you don’t need me to help you start some project, you want me to either DO this project or just think that you’re a better person than you are. You have a lot more power than you think you do to change the lives of a few kids, but you choose to spend your money on alcohol instead. So while I’m sitting here telling you that you come up with a written plan while I’m gone on vacation, I know that you won’t do anything except continue living your content life while you watch all of these injustices take place.

But I kept my mouth shut. I kept looking over and Nicky who looked like she was near tears, I was near tears myself. All I wanted to do throughout the whole meal was get up, walk away with Nicky and tell her why I was so frustrated - I knew she was understanding my glances and the looks of frustration we both had. I would have cried in the ranting with her that I wanted to do. Finally he finished and left and I could go back to visiting with Nicky, Kunyima and Mukoya. I asked what Nicky felt after listening to all that. Bad. It’s not true. He didn’t say things that were true, he’s not going to do anything. I know. What about the food, how did that make you feel? Bad. She was offended that they don’t let me eat her food. Then some of the ranting came out, in a VERY toned down way and choosing my words carefully.

That is why I like you so much, and why I like learners more than the teachers or other adults. You don’t see me as a white person, or someone any different from you. I’m just your another person, your teacher, even your sister. You don’t try to give me different things to eat. You treat me the way I want to be treated. I can sit in the sand and eat porridge from the same plate with you and it’s FINE. I love doing that! And you let me. I’m not someone special, I’m just another person and you treat me like just another person.

Other things were discussed about the conversation over lunch but Nicky shut me up as he walked back over. He told me that he’ll pay N$40,000 when I go so I can bring his daughter to Europe. I don’t live in Europe. OK, then to America.

Nicky, Kunyima and I went to the river so they could bathe. I watched Precious and looked for crocodiles while they got clean. Then we went to find Ndara who was busy watching a movie and we left him to go watch the soccer game at the sports field.

My afternoon was saved by teaching these three kids who are somehow my peers the silly games and songs I learned as a kid…

Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts

Mutilated monkey meat

Little birdy turdy feet

Freanch fried eye balls sitting in a pool of blood

And I forgot my spoon

So they gave me a scab sandwich

Mustard on top

Eagle eye balls and camel snot

All these things were cooking in the pot

So they gave me puke with sugar on top!

Nicky Nicky bo bicky

Banana fana fo ficky

Me my mo micky

NICKY!

Spell “I CUP”… I - C - U - P… I see you pee. [I had to tell them what “to pee” means]

After the soccer game where they took some photos with my phone and played games on it while we watched and sang those silly songs, we came back to my house where I gave them each a chocolate chip cookie (Madam, what is this?) that we ate quietly and secretly so the neighbor kids still around wouldn’t come looking for one too, and I gave them the food from my fridge that would go bad in the 3 weeks I’ll be gone - some bread, onions and tomatoes. They were very thankful and it was the least I could do after the debacle at lunch.

How are you?

Friday, 23 April, 2010

HAPPY VACATION LORI!!!

Today we gave out reports! It feels so good to not have an responsibilities at school until the end of May. I’m tired! Kids are draining, but teachers are even more so. I got to school around 7, finished the little bit I had, helped another teacher who’d made a mistake on a stupid document that we can’t use white out on. But then I made a mistake too. Finally everything was done and we gave the reports at 11. That only took 3 hours of sitting around and waiting.

So after that long and boring morning, I took a nap. It was great. I got up an hour later to a wonderful phone call from Kerri and a walk to Nicky’s house. Of course she was the first person I went to visit on my vacation. We sat around, saw the very flooded river and then finally went to find Diketo who’d been sending me messages all day wanting to come visit. I just wanted to hang out with Nicky!

We got to Diketo and he was unusually quiet so I knew something was up. I sent Nicky to buy us each 2 fresh rolls and Diketo told me about the problem he’s having with his best friend.

After we walked Diketo home, I was walking Nicky home and she told me, Madam, people ask me why you love me so much. So why do you love me so much?

How to explain that one… You don’t have unrealistic expectations of me when so many people do. You don’t need things from me when so many people demand them. You want to help me and you just do it, when everyone wants to help me but makes a big deal out of it. When I’m with you I don’t have to act a certain way. I can say whatever I want and you know if it’s a joke or if I mean it. It’s easy to hang out with you. You ask me questions that really make me think, sometimes just in how to explain it to a 13 year old whose second language is English, but it really makes me reexamine whatever the topic or issue is. You teach me more about the village and how things work than anyone else does because you’re always paying attention to my facial expressions and reactions so you know when I get something and when I’m totally lost. I trust you.

Apparently this came up last night when she was watching tv and a visitor came and sat next to her. First he asked how I know Nicky. From school. And then he asked why I love her so much. She told him to ask me. But it got her thinking. I’m going to miss her like crazy this holiday, knowing she’s bored and wants to be hanging out with me.

We don’t even have to be doing anything. One of my favorite things to do is to get fat cakes with her and just sit for an hour or two and eat them. It only takes about 5 minutes to eat the two I let myself have, but then we just stay there in the shade of a tree or the shade of the building Mary helped build. That’s when I get good stories from her.

After leaving her with the promise to go to her house tomorrow morning so we can find somewhere to pound together (I haven’t pounded in so long and want to eat freshly pounded mahangu before my vacation!), I ran into Vinny while I was trying to avoid walking fast enough to catch the EXTREMELY drunk man in front of my on the path. Vinny noticed what I was doing and we had a good laugh. We talked for at least 45 minutes about the need for discussion about gender equality, safe sex practices and prevention of teenaged pregnancy at school. He has the right vision for the future of the village. I just hope he doesn’t get tired like I have and follows through even after I’m gone. So we decided to sit down before the end of the holiday and try to decide what we want to discuss with the learners next term.

Then I got home and it was dark. Most of my neighbors have gone already for the holiday, but Sihope and his family are still in the other half of the house we share. I washed my dishes from lunch outside while Rosemary was washing some of theirs. Pope (not pronounced like “the Pope”, but poe-pay), short for Sihope, whose real name is Savior and is only about 14 months old, came outside calling “Ayi!” which everyone knows to mean Lori in baby talk. So I started calling him back. It’s been a recent development that he likes me and calls me and doesn’t run when he sees me. So that’s been exciting. I asked him, “How are you?” expecting to hear the only response he knows, “Huh?” He gave me that one, but about 10 seconds later, with his mom still outside washing dishes, he asked, “How a you?” We both gave a startled sound and I asked if he’s ever said that before. Nope. First time. And he wanted to be like me!

So now I’m making some chocolate chip cookies for the long trip I have ahead of me and not watching

Happy vacation, me. Enjoy it!

African Differences

Tuesday, 13 April, 2010

You know how telemarketers have an uncanny ability to know when you’re eating dinner? I noticed yesterday that I haven’t had a telemarketer call in all the time I’ve been in Namibia. I don’t think that exists here. Kind of a perk. But the annoyance that has replaced it is having random villagers show up at school wanting to buy recharge for their cell phones. That I sell. I wouldn’t sell it if the previous volunteer hadn’t, but on the first day of year one, I was asked if I had any to sell. So I caved pretty fast and started selling it. I hate selling it. People will come to where I work and pull me out of class to buy it. I don’t show up to your work and interrupt what you’re doing! Well, you probably don’t have a job, so I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t anyway!

Today during study someone came from town with suitcases full of clothes. There’s a new shop that he’s working for and trying to get the name known to more people. So for at least half an hour, most of the teachers played dress up in the staff room while learners ran wild and didn’t study for their exams for tomorrow. A traveling salesman for clothes. Who knew that existed…

Things I have in my fridge right now…chocolate chip cookie dough to make a few each day so I don’t eat all the cookies at once and because they’re so much better when they’re warm, homemade humus and homemade guacamole. I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to the store bought stuff of anything. It tastes so much better when it’s homemade!

Chickens

Sunday, 18 April, 2010

One time I was a vegetarian because I wouldn’t kill an animal so I wasn’t going to ask someone else to do it for me, among other reasons, but that’s how it started. Then I moved to Namibia, where I added chicken to my diet because that’s what a vegetarian eats here and it was just easier to tell people I could eat chicken than always have to plan way ahead if I wanted to eat at someone’s house and worry that I wouldn’t be able to eat anything.

On New Year’s Eve at Nicky’s house, I was present for the chase around the homestead for the 3 chickens that would be killed the next day. All the kids ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. So I know what a chicken hunt looks like. And I know enough Thimbukushu to pick out the topic and I know the word “shushwa” is chicken.

Today after getting back early from town, I went to Joseph’s house, the brother for Djami. I hadn’t been to Djami’s house since his burial in November, 2 days after Thanksgiving. I met his family during that time and felt like it would be really hard to visit them without the funeral reason. Then on Friday Joseph told me his mom wants to give me maize. I promised to go on Sunday.

Joseph wasn’t there when I showed up, but I was with 2 other learners, and we sat with Joseph’s sisters and extended family of little kids who are ridiculous and entertaining, while one sister cooked porridge and Lucky Star fish. We all shared a meal together and then the chicken chase ensued. At first I wasn’t sure why, but figured out they wanted to give me a chicken. I joined in, almost caught a chicken as it was chased back into the homestead through a hole in the fence, but no chicken was caught. Apparently tomorrow morning Joseph will come to school with a chicken for me.

To prove to myself that eating chicken is ok, I have to kill one. And I’ve asked some learners if I can do it at their homes, and everyone has said yes. Well, now it looks like I’ll have a chicken at my house to kill. And none of the knowledge or tools to do it! I guess I’ll have some learners over for dinner tomorrow!

Roosters

Monday, 19 April, 2010

It wasn’t a chicken, I got a rooster this morning. Its feet were tied and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I cut the ties and set it free in my yard. But it could fly over the fence if it wanted and I’d never see it again. I didn’t know what to do with it.

So like any sane adult, I asked my learners what I should do, after I asked the adults and didn’t like most of their answers. I first asked Siyanga by starting with, “I have a problem, though I don’t think it’s a problem in your culture.” She laughed and told me it’d probably escape and I’d never see it again. It didn’t escape and I did see it again.

Sihope had seen me receive the gift and asked me what I was going to do with it. He’d received a goat over the weekend as a gift and also doesn’t have a place for it, so it’s staying with someone else’s goats. He told me I could sell it.

I asked Kutenda if he has chickens at his home. Yes, are you looking for one? No, I have a rooster and I don’t know what to do with it, will you buy it? I felt guilty about selling a gift I’d just received, but I’m going on vacation in a week, for 3 weeks, and chickens are not solitary creatures, so for now, until I get more chickens (the plans for a coop are in the works), I really just don’t have a home that’s set up for livestock. He accepted. So I sent boys out to catch the rooster again, which was easier this time around, and sent it to Kutenda’s home. I got N$25.

Then tonight, the meaning of getting a rooster as a gift was explained to me by Ricky. When you are given a rooster, it’s given as a gift of protection and you have to make sure it’s kept safe. I know it’s not about to become dinner, and I’m really glad I didn’t have to eat it! I asked Kutenda if they would eat it - no. I knew already that receiving a chicken as a gift was a big deal. But I didn’t know the meaning behind receiving a rooster. So the family is offering me protection. And it’s Djami’s family. I just can’t quite comprehend that. Djami, my learner who died in a fire last year and I’ve thought about everyday since then. Sometimes life throws you something that you can’t quite comprehend because it can’t be put into words which is our main way of communication. But what I feel for Joseph, Djami and everyone I ate dinner with last night without much English in the conversation so I was sort of just there but shared a lot of laughter at the antics of the small kids around, is more than what I felt for them all when I was attending Djami’s funeral daily. I’m grateful to accept their offer of protection and to be accepted into their family somehow. Even though I sold this rooster, I want to build a small coop and get some chickens when I come back from vacation, even if it’s just for 6 months. It’s worth it.

Food

Tuesday, 20 April, 2010

That’s what the rooster became: food. He was fighting nonstop with the other rooster for Kutenda’s father and they killed mine. He was old and only the kids enjoyed him because he was too tough. I guess I won’t be buying any of his offspring.

Grocery Shopping

Monday, 22 March, 2010

Have I ever told you what goes into a trip to the grocery store?

First. I have to get to town, 184km away. I either leave after school on Friday, in which case I have to first pay N$10 and hike the 16km to the nearest “town” which is really a big village where I will find a ride to town, now 200km away, and another N$60. Or I can walk almost 4km to the tarred road to town, but my principal doesn’t like when I do that, so I haven’t in over a year. He doesn’t think it’s as safe, and I understand his point. But I’d still prefer to hike on the side of the road where people can stop if they want to pick me up or just drive right on by, instead of approaching every single person at the petrol station where I end up hiking from. My other option if I don’t want to hike on Friday afternoon is to wake up before the sun on Saturday morning, walk the 6 minutes to the gravel road and wait for a combi or venture (respectively: a van of passenger size approximately 12 people but always carrying about 15 passengers when full and an SUV of passenger size 8 but carrying up to 10 or 11 when full) which I will pay N$60 to take with more passengers than seatbelts if they existed and loud loud Namibian music or American love songs blaring at 6 in the morning. Regardless of the day or type of transport, I spend most of the ride to town trying to sleep and ignoring any advances from men I may or may not know or kids trying to crawl in my lap or stare at the crazy which woman who pretends to be African.

Once in town, I take out my list of things to do: find somewhere to use the internet, for free if possible; buy any kind of thing I can only find in town before the shops close at 1pm on Saturday, most until Monday so they won’t open again while I’m in town; pens and pencils to sell to learners at a higher but still affordable price; cell phone recharge to sell to teachers at the normal price, but I buy it for cheaper, which anyone can do but most don’t because you have to buy in bulk and no one plans financially for that; probably go to the Peace Corps office to print things and use that internet if it’s working; find something to eat, like Oshikandela which I only treat myself to when I’m in town; buy bread and bananas, my go to foods when I need a quick pick me up at someone’s house and we’re all PCVs so we’re stingy with our food and sharing unless we shared the cost; finally find myself at an American’s house on their somewhat comfortable couch, reading my book and drinking cold water because I can’t afford to drink anything else. Anyone in town will usually eat together, so a trip to the grocery store and possibly liquor store for that occasion is in order. Then cooking, eating and cleaning up with the only American company I’ve had in the past couple weeks to a month. And sleeping wherever I can find a comfortable enough place to fall asleep - maybe a couch, a shared bed or the thinnest mattress in existence.

Then Sunday morning comes and it’s time to start getting ready to go back home. I wake up early because I’m not very comfortable sleeping wherever I am. I have no food but bread and bananas so I eat whatever I have and make sure I have everything I came in with and everything I’ve bought so far. I put on my bag and walk the 30 minutes to town to go grocery shopping to last me up to 4 weeks (usually it’s only 2-3 weeks). I go to the hike point where I find a group of combis, everyone trying to get everyone to ride in theirs. One time I couldn’t handle that stress and said, “I just want to know who’s going first!” They told me. And we did go first. I put my bag in the combi I’ll take and head to ShopRite (owned by Wal Mart I learned so I don’t often shop there) or OK Foods just next door to my ride. I bring my 2 shopping bags from America so I don’t get more plastic bags. I find some of the things I came for and many things are missing because it’s the end of the weekend, either pay weekend so everyone has bought all the good items already or the middle of the pay period so nothing is stocked because no one is shopping. I buy a treat for the ride, usually some chocolate or a cheesy roll. I usually get some treat to make last for the next couple weeks, knowing it’ll disappear as soon as I open it so I get two instead. Then I go back and sit in the combi for up to 2 or 3 hours before we leave (this last weekend, I only waited about 30 minutes to go once I did my shopping, it was amazing!).

And then we’re on our way. First a stop at the Shell station just on the edge of town to get petrol and fill in any spaces that might be left with more passengers. I always love it when the driver puts me in the front seat because I know I won’t get squished in sitting next to more people.

And finally we’re on our way home. On the way out of town, there are land marks that I always look for, that I also look for on the way in. But when I see them I know I’m going home. On the right, there are big orange trailers that serve as a used bike shop, “House of Love.” I once shopped there, bought a bike I wasn’t happy with and sold it a few months later, only losing N$50. Just past that bike shop, there’s a homestead on the left that always has several thatch roofs in various levels of completion. After 45km, there’s a “travel shop” that’s really a reed shack on the right, across from the turnoff to go to the Agricultural Institute, which I once visited on a hike to town and saw a lot of chickens, cows and goats. It’s closing down soon. After 75km, I know that I’ll pass the nearest volunteer to me from my group. The network will go out for a little bit and in the rainy season, like now, the valley that is there will be full of water, and sometimes that water will come over the road, bringing crocodiles with it. The whole ride home will be scattered with network outages as we go between MTC and CellOne towers. I know that the sign saying 100km to Divundu will look like it says 00km. I know that once we got to Tjova we are in Mbukushu territory and we can turn off the tarred road at any time. Now every turn that comes I pray we’ll stay away from the gravel road for at least one more village. By Mayara, if we reach that far on the tarred road, I know I’ll be home soon. I’ll see the sign for Mukwe Police and assume we’re getting off the tarred road to drop people at Max Makushe school in Shadikongoro. If we don’t turn, I know we’ll get off at the next turn, just passed the giant blue P on the left side of the road, going to Andara. Each land mark means I’m that much closer to the slow pace of life I’m mostly used to, but sometimes lose my patience and become frustrated with the lack of change. It means I’m that much further away from any kind of American contact or regular easy communication with anyone at home. It means I’m closer to the kids I love and the family I’ve created in the village and will miss when I leave for the last time in December.

But that’s what it takes to get any significant kind of food. Anything besides bread, old bananas, tomatoes and onions, expensive canned goods, rice, macaroni, flour, sugar, cooking oil and other staples.

Laughter is the best medicine

Wednesday, 24 March, 2010

Laughter is the best medicine for sure. And the best place to get that medicine is not at the hospital, but with kids. And the best place to find kids is at an elementary school. Funny thing! I teach elementary school!

Kids have been making me laugh more and more lately. Maybe because I’m less worried about teaching them everything they need to know given what they’ve remembered from last year. And maybe because we’re more comfortable with each other than we were a year ago. And maybe just because I’m looking for things to laugh about. If kids aren’t laughing my classes, I don’t feel good about my teaching. I don’t think they’re engaged then, they’re spacing out and not paying attention. At least if they’re laughing, I know they’re listening and learning English, if not math.

Example: Grade 6B was writing a test. Long division was on it. They’re all scared of it. I showed them how to check their answers by multiplying and right before the test, I told them, “Check your answers if you’re not sure!” AND JOSEPH DID!!! I stood behind him and watched him check his (wrong) long division. Unfortunately, he knew what he WANTED the multiplication to be, so he sort of just made that be his answer even though it shouldn’t have been. I picked on him the next day when we did the problems together as a class for corrections, and he knew I was referring to him when I said I saw someone do this, blah blah blah. But he laughed.

Example: Today in 6B (they really are a GREAT class for all the headaches they give me), they were finishing a group project of making tally charts, pictograms and bar graphs of a chosen topic. I grouped them by math abilities because last year I learned that grouping them by spreading out the abilities does NOT work. The high kids do all the work and the low kids are bored and sit back and let them do the work. The highest group of 5 learners was struggling with working together, they were arguing and no one was agreeing on ANYTHING. So I went to mediate. Joseph said no one was listening to him when he told them the right answers, as verified by me. Kathiku laughed and said he never said anything that I had just agreed was right. And Shitunda was fed up with it all and said, “Enough is enough!” And took the paper and pencil and graphs they had to copy from their exercise books and got to work. I walked away in hysterics.

Example: I teach all 8 periods on Wednesday and it is HARD! When I get to 6A for a double block period 7 and 8, we’re all exhausted and hungry and hot. Today was no exception. I walked in and could see that some of them were already dozing or chewing on paper to fill the craving for real food. So we did test corrections for the rewrite they did yesterday (the average is ALMOST passing now, that’s the one class I can’t seem to get through to on a large scale, I blame the lack of English). After making those corrections, we started on tally charts, pictograms and bar graphs; what we finished in 6B today. I knew I’d lost about half of them. So before getting too involved in data handling, I put my chalk away and told them to stand up. Now, I’ve babysat a number of kids, worked in several elementary classes in the states, been a camp counselor and been around kids for long enough to be a kid with them myself. But the other teachers don’t get that about adults. So I’ve always been a little self conscious of having another teacher see me being a kid when I’m supposed to be a teacher. I’ve also learned some great 3 minute games/songs/breaks from teaching. One is Simon Says. They love it. So we played a round of them. Got them jumping, touching their toes (after I showed them where their toes were), moving a lot. Then we did a song of “Bananas of the world unite!” No idea if that’s that ACTUAL name, but that’s how I learned it last summer (and by last summer, I mean summer 2008) on my bike. “Peel banana! Peel, peel banana! Peel banana! Peel, peel banana! Eat banana! Eat, eat banana! Eat banana! Eat, eat banana! GO BANANAS! GO, GO BANANAS! GO BANANAS! GO, GO BANANAS!” while making some near obscene gestures for peeling and eating a banana. The end is just going bananas, which doesn’t make sense to kids here, but today I needed a pick me up so I got really into the dancing/going bananas. It got them laughing and gave them the break they needed from school for the 2 minutes of singing, jumping, dancing and playing with their crazy American teacher who will take the time to take that much needed break instead of beating them out of frustration. Their laughter always makes me laugh.

Example: This is maybe the best example I have right now of miscommunications and kids saying the darndest things. Again in 6A today, after our great singing and dancing, I asked them to tell me about the kinds of graphs they know. Bar graph was the first one they remembered. Then a pictogram. I added tally chart. And then Kamana yelled out “PHOTOGRAPH!” I couldn’t keep it together. What’s a photograph? Like what I have in my classroom on the wall? That I take with my camera? No, Mr. Muthitu (grade 4) taught us about it, and by now more kids are agreeing with him. OK, well, we aren’t going to learn about photographs this year. Maybe a photograph is the same as a pictogram? I don’t think so. One boy described it as a “ka-small picture.” (Ka-small meaning that, yes, it’s just very small.) So I think it might just be a photograph. Not sure. But I laughed. Again. And again. And again. All day.

This rollercoaster

Saturday, 27 March, 2010

I keep thinking I’m off the rollercoaster. But I guess I won’t be off of it until I’m back in the states.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday were hard. There were the highlights, but most of them are in the previous post. So there’s probably weren’t many of them. I spent a lot of the week fighting with Dodo, the principal’s son in 6B, about why he didn’t have a star for doing the x7 flashcards yet. Because you took 3 minutes to answer 7x12!!! He did finally say 84, but it took far too long for him to figure it out. The point of doing the flashcards individually is that they don’t have to think, they just know them. For some learners, for MOST learners, they’re making huge improvements. And they’re very competitive about it. It’s exhausting to try to explain to them day after day why they don’t all get to have a turn everyday and that I’ll start where I left off the next day. They’ll never think I’m doing it fairly, but they’re learning and are getting excited about math, so that’s what counts right? My frustration level is irrelevant.

I had to go to a NANTU (Namibian National Teachers Union) meeting because it was advertised as all teachers, not all NANTU members or even all NANTU members and potential NANTU members. I almost cried. My subject advisor came from town and pulled all of the math teachers out of class for an hour. I also wanted to cry then. I wanted to yell at him and tell him this is why learners are failing! You’re not letting us teach! I’ll be gone in less than 9 months! I’ve never seen you before and I’ll never see you again! Let me do my job because I WANT to be teaching right now! I walked into 7A, whose class I was supposed to be teaching when I was pulled away from class, and asked them, How are you? We are not fine Madam. Why are you not fine? I am not fine too. We are not fine because you didn’t teach us. I know, I’m not fine because I didn’t teach you too.

But then Friday came. And on Fridays, I finish teaching after period 3 (I’m so happy I said screw it and made my schedule nice and let all the other teachers’ schedules come out the way the program said). So I taught my 2 periods after assembly, in which I again almost cried because of the things the principal will tell these kids, and had a really good class. I haven’t marked their project yet, making a bar graph and pictogram, but they were good while they were doing it. And then we played BINGO until the bell rang, giving me my expected freedom for the rest of the school day to get my other work done - setting end of term exams for grades 6 and 7 math, making a new report card format after pestering the HODs about what they wanted it to look like, helping whoever would dare interrupt me to show them how to do something on the computer and other various things I may or may not have actually completed yesterday.

But 6B’s next teacher was in town in the hospital after an anxiety attack and I’m never comfortable just walking out of a class if I don’t have somewhere scheduled to go and the next teacher isn’t in yet. So I stayed.

On Thursday, I was told that there were 10 learners in grade 4 who have boyfriends and girlfriends. So I was curious about my class. So I asked them. Who has a boyfriend or girlfriend. They all denied it. No one would tell on anyone else. We talked about it for a while, why they wouldn’t tell me. Because you’ll beat us! WHAAAT!!!??? Who have I EVER beat? No, you won’t beat us, but they will! Who would I tell? OK, I might tell someone, but I wouldn’t use their name. I would respect their privacy and advise them however I could. Maybe I’m just looking for more work for myself. But no one would still tell me about boyfriends and girlfriends, though some hinted who might have one.

So I started asking other questions - what would you do with your boyfriend or girlfriend IF you had one? Go to their house. It didn’t sound like much. So I asked if they would have sex with them. They all started laughing. I asked them, What is sex? They laughed even more. I asked if boys or girls like having sex more. The boys said girls like it more and the girls said the boys like it more. I got them talking. Boys said girls are always looking to have sex, that’s why they dress like they do and follow boys around. Then Joseph surprised me. He’s 14. And very vocal. Djami’s brother. He raised his hand and asked me, “But Madam, where do girls get breasts?” Turns out, everyone thought girls get breasts from having sex and/or getting pregnant. So we talked about puberty.

I asked if they knew the word puberty. No one knew what it meant, but Shitunda had heard the word and then found it in the natural science textbook. Oh, great! You’ve learned about it in natural science from Mr. Kutenda. No, not yet. Oh, ok, do you want to learn about it now from me or wait for Mr. Kutenda to teach you and learn about it from him. No, now, from you! OK, sex education. We started going through the chart of changes boys and girls go through during puberty, girls starting at a younger age and developing breasts, but then the bell rang. I would have loved to keep them for the next hour (their period 4 teacher was the same one as period 3 and still in the hospital) to keep talking, but I let them go. I didn’t try to start the conversation again. I’ve learned that you CANNOT force these things. They’re talking. They’re asking questions. They’re interested. And they’re willing to hear about it from me at least. Now I just have to have the energy another day to talk about it again when it comes up.

This roller coaster is still far from over.

Rediscovering my love for HERE

Sunday, 28 March, 2010

In the beginning, weekends scared me. Unstructured time where I had to entertain myself and avoid people because we don’t know what to talk about and can’t really understand each other?! Then they were what I looked forward to - either a break from everything by hiding in my house, time to connect with people outside the classroom by visiting homes of learners or a chance to visit other volunteers in town and restock my dwindling supply of food. Then they became a burden again. Not because I didn’t know how to talk to people, but more because I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to talk to people or use that time for a break.

Yesterday I used most of the day to plan for this week and get things done that the management had asked for my help on. But I found myself lonely and depressed after a day of no kids in my life. So I promised myself that today I’d finish my work (still haven’t finished) and go find some kids to hang out with. (I realize how creepy that sounds, but I assure you that it’s not.) And then kids came to find me.

I was busy washing my lunch dishes outside because it’s my only working sink when Joseph from 6B appeared. He didn’t want to say anything but was acting like I had to come and see something he had brought. So I went and there was Diketo! (Background, Joseph is the younger brother to Djami, who died in the fire last year, and Diketo was on of Djami’s best friends, the one I went to print photos with for the burial and memorial.) Back in January I’d asked Diketo’s friends and family where he was schooling this year. Some said Windhoek. Some said Martin Ndumba. Some didn’t know. He’s at none of those places! He’s home collecting money for school fees and came yesterday to visit me, but he must have come in the 30 minutes in the afternoon I went for a walk through the village before it rained.

So today I didn’t have to go find learners, Joseph and Diketo came and found me. Joseph is a really great kid - really smart, funny, a great sense of humor, tons of energy. And sometimes teachers, including me but less and less often, get very frustrated with him. I’ve given him extra jobs sometimes, like finding all of the x7 flashcards when I’m off doing the x8 ones so I can quickly change to the next set without a lot of wasted time. He’ll do anything you ask of him. He’s always willing to help and do his work. As long as he’s working, he’s great, it’s the downtime when he can be found making trouble. And I worry about how he’s dealing with his brother’s death. It’s come up a couple times in our conversations - on Friday 6B had an assignment where they had to make a tally chart, bar graph and pictogram of the boys and girls who are in their family. Joseph asked if he should include his brother who passed away. One time I was trying to figure out where Joseph stays so I can visit him sometime (I wanted to go and find him today to hang out with him before he came to me) and I asked if he stays where his brother stayed. Sometimes. But I know he’s bored in school sometimes and I want to make sure he’s not making bad decisions.

I don’t usually have boys visit me, so I wasn’t sure what we should do. Another volunteer had said that she would walk around her village sometimes with a learner and the learner would get to use her camera. And I’d wanted to do this with Joseph, so I used this opportunity to put my camera in the hands of both boys and learn what Diketo has been up to this year. They at first asked me where we should go to take photos, but I told them it was completely up to them. So we walked through the village to the hospital and to the shebeen, taking random pictures, mostly not so good, on the way. We were chatting about school and simple things. The first thing that blew my mind was when I tried to figure out how Diketo is related to Sawahenga, who he stays with. Ruth’s mother and my mother, they are sisters. OK, where are your parents? My mother she is in Katima and my father he is in Gcriku (no idea how to spell that, and can’t even say it because the c is a click). When was the last time you saw them? My mother I saw her in 2005. When did you last talk to her. Just in 2005! I don’t know even if she’s alive. WHAAATT???

Then Diketo asked about Mr. Mark. He’s in South Africa and will go back to America soon. Diketo told me that if he ever goes to America he will never come back. Joseph quickly agreed. I asked why. Without missing a beat, Diketo said, “It’s too much suffering here” and Joseph said, “It’s too much bad here.” OK, what do you suffer with? Clothes, food, house? Clothes. You have enough food? Yes. You have a bed? Yes.

Joseph said if he’s ever in Rundu, to never say, “Pick something you want” because he’ll pick a bicycle. I asked if he’s ever been to Rundu. I went alone to Rundu in December! So he started telling me about his trip to Rundu and Katima with his father. I had earlier told them that Nicky is on video on my camera telling me a joke and if they have a story they want to tell me I can put it on my camera. Joseph remembered that and said he wanted to be videotaped. OK. Back at my house, I recorded his story about his travels, ending with his arrival in Katima and his family asking what happened to his brother. He told them he couldn’t answer their questions because it was too hard to talk about it. That is the end of the story.

I stopped recording and asked if it’s still too hard to talk about it. Yes. But then he proceeded to tell me about the last day of his brother’s life from his eyes. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He wasn’t as animated. He wasn’t as confident. But he was talking. I realized this was exactly what I wanted on my camera, but it was too late to start recording. When he finished I asked if he’d tell me again. So I could record it because I think about his brother everyday. OK.

He wasn’t playing with the ball he brought anymore. He wasn’t looking at the camera. He wasn’t showing any emotion. He was telling just the facts. He saw the body of his brother when the police came to take it. He was woken by his brother screaming “I’M DYING” in Thimbukushu. He ran to the river to fetch water to try to put out the fire but it was too late, nothing could be done to save him. He gave a statement to the police. Twice. He’s 14 years old.

I don’t know if he was seeking me out to talk about this or if it just happened. I don’t know what his coping mechanism is, but he said he doesn’t think about his brother anymore. They don’t talk about him at home or with his friends. I asked how his mother is. She’s fine, but she’s at another burial today. For a learner from a nearby village who was stabbed to death last weekend. (Last weekend a grade 5 learner also was killed by a crocodile.)

If they think clothing is their biggest concern, they’ve become too accustomed to kids dying.

After talking about Djami for longer than they’ve probably thought about him in the past 4 months since the burial, I brought up the subject of boyfriends and girlfriends in grade 6 again, following up the conversation from Friday’s impromptu class in lieu of Life Skills, though I guess it was still Life Skills. This time he gave me some names. And it’s kind of scary which names he gave me. No one in 6B. But some from 6A who are girls having boyfriends in grade 8. I promised I wouldn’t tell those names. But now I know which boys to talk to. And to give condoms to before it’s too late and the girls are pregnant.

When they left, I sent them away with t-shirts that mom had sent for my friends in the village, but these kids are more deserving and desperate for anything. Their eyes lit up when I said they were for them. I’m sure that will bring more kids to my house, but I’ll be away on weekends for a while, so maybe I’ll be ready when I’m finally here for them. The shirts are from Adrian’s various soccer teams and they were excited about the numbers on them. I love that it’s something so simple as a t-shirt to make a kid feel important.

Marking

Monday, 29 March, 2010

Marking usually makes me want to cry tears of frustration and sadness. It makes me lose hope in the kids I’m here to help and who I love more than anything else in Namibia. It makes me fear that my being here is useless. It makes me want to give up and quit because I’m not making any progress in math, which is the only real qualitative data I have to go on.

But today I wanted to cry tears of joy after marking 7A’s test. I didn’t think it was so easy, and maybe it wasn’t. It was the start of fractions, which in grade 6, they didn’t quite master, so I’m not sure why it’s SO much easier the second time around. They were given a pie chart and a bar graph and asked to find things like “what fraction of the boys like math best?” and “what fraction of the kids who like English best are girls?” Things we’ve been doing for at least a week, but things most of them were still struggling with. A lot. Or so it seemed. They had to add fractions, something that in grade 6, everyone struggled with the whole time. But this year, this class is making it look easy. They had to find averages, something I didn’t realize was so easy, but we only spent about 2 days on it in total. And they didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

Usually the class average is right around 50%, a C here. Passing. So I move on. Even though mastering half of the material is nowhere near enough to ensure understanding and future success. Today’s average was 27/40, still a C, but a HIGH C instead of a low C. Two points away from a B. One GIRL got 38/40! Someone who I know gets it and would be in the top 5 if she put in more effort, but doesn’t usually try as hard as I know she can. Hers was the first one I marked and I was shocked. Only 2 learners failed, one by only 4 marks, the other by a lot. I told them before writing that I had high expectations for them, and explained what that meant, and they surpassed any expectations I had. That has NEVER happened before. But I hope it continues to happen again and again. Either I set a much easier test than I thought, I did a good job teaching, or they had a lot of lucky guesses today.

For the last 2 weeks, teachers have been talking about setting the exam question papers for April. I finally finished mine over the weekend, thinking I was one of the last ones to do it. I will never be the last one to do anything here. I was the first one finished. And everyone was surprised when I turned them in.

This week is off to a MUCH better start than the last few weeks. Thankfully it’s just a 4 day week so there’s less time for it to go downhill.

Where do people come up with these things?

Wednesday, 31 March, 2010

Yesterday, my neighbor, another teacher, came to me while I was teaching. Teachers do this all the time to ask a favor. It bothers me, but I’ve gotten somehow used to it too, knowing it won’t go away and will continue to contribute to learners’ failure. He was very apologetic, as most teachers have learned to be if I’m going to even acknowledge them if I’m busy teaching in front of 20+ learners. He told me that if he comes to me during a class, he’s given it a lot of thought and … I cut him off there. OK, fine, you’re here, tell me why. Those weren’t my words, but they were what I meant. I was hoping I could borrow N$100 until the end of the month when I’ll pay you back so I can put fuel in my car. Yeah, fine, I’ll see you later. First, he knows I don’t like interruptions. Second, he won’t be quick about anything he wants to say, ever.

Then today, I know he was joking, but I just can’t figure out a thought process to the joke even! We were at the school soccer game (one of the worst games of soccer I’ll ever witness at a high school level) and we were discussing our plans for the long weekend. Most people are going away to towns. I’m staying home. He’s staying home. Great! We’ll have company, even though we live next to each other and always have company. He said if he was having money he’d like to be drunk one of the good days on the weekend, would you like to sponsor it? Absolutely not, I don’t even sponsor that for myself! I just don’t know where someone comes up with that comment!

Wednesdays have turned into a very different kind of afternoon from all the other days of the week. Every Wednesday there is a soccer game between our school team and another team that comes to compete. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, I spend the 2 hours of study doing multiplication flashcards with up to 100 learners. I don’t see other teachers because they’re hiding somewhere for the most part, something I also participated in last year. On Wednesdays, I get a chance to hang out with the other teachers outside of the classroom, still with learners around, and it’s become a lot of fun. A lot of laughing, a lot of joking, a lot of talking in English, not so much Namlish. Their small kids are usually there and they love me and it makes the interactions a lot easier. One time, Tinu came and sat in my lap as soon as I got to the soccer field, and his older sister Ida followed. I’m just another person to them finally. Today, Tinu and Ida were playing with a netball ball and Tinu fell in the sand a couple times, once with his mouth wide open, getting sand all over his face and tongue. I probably wouldn’t notice these things with people who are easy to hang out with, but it’s an easy thing for us all to laugh about, since Tinu didn’t seem to be upset about it. I walked home with Matthew and his mother, who told me Matthew will go back to town this weekend until next term. So as I began walking to my house, leaving them to go home together, I said bye bye Matthew and he wanted to come home with me. The only people I’m just another person to are the youngest kids who see me everyday. Skin color will always been the first thing anyone else sees, anyone who knows what the social, historical and economic implications of that color mean. But for kids who haven’t been brainwashed by the media and education yet, I’m just another person who they can get away with more things with.

Why I’m Still Here

Thursday, 1 April, 2010

With the reopening of school after a really great holiday of traveling and then time spent in the village with learners, my love for being here and passion for staying had disappeared. I knew I’d come across the reason I still put up with all the crap I do to stay here, but I didn’t know when I’d find that reason, or what that reason would be.

I found it today.

I prepared for all 6 periods I was scheduled to teach today, but was pretty confident we’d knock off early and I wouldn’t see 6A after break. I was correct. 7B wrote a test and then I played a review game (loose use of the term ‘game’) with 7A for 80 minutes. But the bell never rang for break! I hadn’t prepared for more than the 80 minutes, so I was out of math questions and the chalkboard was not useable because the new ceiling pieces were piled in front of it. So I started singing louder the song that had been stuck in my head all morning…

My Lord, what a morning,

My Lord, what a morning,

My Lord, what a morning,

When the sun begins to shine.

Mwenyo noticed and started smiling. Tweya asked, But Madam, where did you learn that song? It’s the song they always sing at burials. Sometimes the school sings it at morning assembly. The whole class started singing with me. When that one finished, I got Yondo to lead the next one, she’s the singer in the class. (Her math skills have always left something to be desired, but she got a high five today when in her group of 7, she was the only one who didn’t start listing multiples when the question said to list all of the factors of 12.) So we spent the next 30 minutes until the bell finally rang singing church songs that I’ve learned over the last year. I love singing with these kids. There’s reason 1 - how much they love doing something when an enthusiastic adult will take the time to care about it (sometimes it’s like pulling teeth in morning assembly when the principal tries to get them to sing, resulting once, in all of the girls being punished by kneeling on the ground for about 30 minutes while some of the boys asked why only the girls had to do it).

The bell rang, I went home and thought about starting the long list of school and home things I want to get done this weekend. But a nap was in order first. I was only interrupted twice, the first time by Nicky and Seglinde, who I told I would find in an hour to hang out. And I kept my word. I found them outside playing butu with several other girls. After about 45 minutes, the three of us left when the game dissolved. Seglinde’s grade 1 cousin, Matumbo, came with us too. We walked into the village, got fat cakes and boiled peanuts with the N$6 of coins I had with me and sat in the shade of a building by a previous volunteer. When Seglinde and Matumbo were off getting the food, Nicky started telling me about school and the other kids in 7A. There’s reason 2 - how easy it is to hang out with kids because they’re craving the positive attention, feedback and advice I so willingly offer.

Then I heard things I didn’t want to hear and don’t know what to do with. Makushe is pregnant. She’s in 7A with Nicky and Seglinde. She’s 15. They don’t want me to tell anyone. I have to. We discussed what I should do, because as a teacher, I have to do something I told them. I respect their concern for their classmate and their concern for not having their names attached to the fallout of what will surely come of this. They asked that I talk to Makushe’s best friend Haimbiri first. OK, I’ll do that, maybe even this weekend. There’s reason 3 - these kids need someone who is willing to approach these difficult subjects and issues in a sensitive and constructive way.

From there, we walked around the village some more, found a grade 9 boy drinking, who got scared of the way I talked to him when I told him I never want to see him drinking again as he denied that the beer was his and his friend even covered for him. We ended up at my house, where we found Ndara and Mukoya waiting for us. There’s reason 4 - I’m the sister to so many of these kids, how can I leave my family here before they expect me to go?

We picked mudhika, went to Isolde’s house to pound, and cooked it back at my house with dimbombo. Kids came and went as they passed, seeing some kids outside playing games always brings a crowd. But as it got later, most of them disappeared and it was just Nicky, Joline, Karabu and myself to eat together. That’s reason 5 - there is nothing better than a “family” dinner, and a family dinner in a Namibian village with kids who cook for you and then you’re considered an equal and can eat from the same plate using only our hands is love.

The more I think about it, the more I feel home wherever I might end up in the world. I’ll be surrounded by people wherever I go. Yes, we’ll look different, and talk differently and think different things are normal. But we all have the same hopes and dreams and desires and needs. We all want to feel loved and wanted and appreciated. We all need to eat and drink. And we all want to be accepted by people who are different from us. I’ve accepted these kids and they’ve accepted me. I look at them in class and sometimes forget that I might never see them again come December 2010. We’re living the same life for now, so I forget that I just recently met them and they will soon disappear from my life. Everyday, a different face will stick out, where I feel like we have a common history, a shared past, when they couldn’t be more different.

But that’s why I’m still here. For moments like those and days like today.

Note to self…

Saturday, 3 April, 2010

Note to self: When you run on Saturday morning, wait until after 8am so the funeral processions don’t drive by you. Especially the one you SHOULD have gone to, but didn’t because it’s 3 villages away, but you’ve never been there so wouldn’t know which home to go to and don’t have transport there because the only person you know who’s going is the son to the woman who died and you aren’t close enough friends with him to ask for a ride or for him to arrange transport for you. If you hadn’t been running yet, you wouldn’t have seen that both the principal and another friend in the village were driving there and you could have gone with them.

Shoot.

Smile!

Wednesday, 7 April, 2010

I couldn’t keep the information about Makushe’s pregnancy to myself. Tuesday morning, at break, I went to the HOD and told him. I also told him how the information was disclosed to me and I would like it to be handled sensitively. So far so good, no other teachers know about it.

Yesterday I asked Makushe’s best friend, Haimbiri, about Makushe. She wasn’t revealing anything. Today my lesson with 7A went only half as long as I’d hoped, so I was stuck with 40 minutes to kill and nothing planned, as well as no chalkboard to work with. So we talked about how to prevent getting pregnant. Blah blah blah. USE A CONDOM they told me. So I asked if anyone knew HOW to use a condom. NO! WHAAAT??? Well, there’s something I can work on then. Everyone has to come to study today and we’re going to learn how to use a condom.

Study came and all the girls were in one class and all the boys in the other. We started with the basics: What is sex? I know some are having sex. I was not there to tell them not to have sex, that’s not going to stop anyone. I was there to teach them how to prevent getting pregnant, getting HIV, and getting STIs. The first mention of sex, vagina and penis brought loads of giggles, so I let them get it all out. Then I took the wooden penis from my bag and there were even more giggles. One girl is a mother already.

We went step by step how to make sure the condom is still useable, how to open the package, how to put it on and how to take it off. Then every single girl in grade 7 who came to study, 26 of them, got a turn to put their condom on the wooden penis.

Their embarrassment started disappearing about halfway through the 26 kids aged 13-17. When they’d all had a turn, we talked a little more, I asked for any other questions, which of course there weren’t, and I started naming other things they might not know about, but which will happen to all of them; getting breast, beginning menstruation, puberty in general. Madam, why do we bleed?

Another short discussion ensued, but I’d lost most of their attentions so I encouraged them to come with questions at any time and we’ll get back together as only girls. I sent those from 7B back to their class and the boys were allowed to come back in. Some had been peeking in the windows the whole time, making the girls get embarrassed and we’d chase them away.

Ngasia was trying to peek into my bag when they boys came back, wondering what I’d done with the girls (my bag is cut open because the zipper broke, closed, so it’s never closed anymore). I asked the girls if I should show them what I’d brought - I pulled out the wooden penis. Four of the five boys immediately fell into laughter, the fifth one couldn’t figure out what it was right away. When he did, the knowledge sparked even more laughter. Mwenyo told me that now the boys have to practice! I hadn’t wanted to inflict that kind of discomfort on boys I thought wouldn’t want to do that with a female teacher. But I’m all for it! Tweya even told me that he can bring a box of condoms so the boys can do it tomorrow.

A particular highlight was when Thikoka Kunyima (Nicky’s older sister) said to Thidjukwe, “Sara, SMILE!” while she held her Smile condom up across the room. I know I’ll be remembered for at least teaching them how to use a condom.

Sex education is more important than math here.

Yet I’m still off to finish my math preparation for tomorrow’s 3 double periods.

Thank you

Thursday, 8 April, 2010

Thank you to everyone who has shaped who I am today. Thank you for your patience in my lifelong education. Thank you for letting me explore the ridiculous places I feel drawn to. Thank you for supporting my world travels, whether financially or emotionally while I fall apart thousands of miles away leaving you feeling helpless to my tears.

But mostly, thank you for imparting a passion for life and others in me. Thank you for teaching me to respond to negative situations in a positive and constructive way.

I always assumed I reacted to things the way anyone would because I react the only way I know how, but it has become glaringly clear lately that, at least in my current location, my reactions are anything but normal.

There have been 2 really tragic events that I’ve witnessed and become very emotionally invested in since moving to my small Namibian village.

The first was the death of Djami, a 16 year old learner and friend, when his house caught fire with him inside and he was burned to death last November. My initial response, as I left my village for a weekend of Thanksgiving celebration, was that I had to stay around the people who knew him - his family and friends, my learners. When I came back 2 days later, I put all of my energy into his funeral and honoring him in any way I could. I reached out to his grieving friends and they became my support as I became one of the only adults showing them any support.

The second event that I’m still responding to is the pregnancy of my grade 7 learner, Makushe, who is only 15 years old. As teachers find out in their own way and time, they react with shock, or without it because of Makushe’s actions prior to this development, but without much show of concern for helping her or changing the situation or trying to prevent future learner pregnancies. Everyone’s response is to keep telling kids not to have sex. But words make only a small impression on someone, they won’t change anyone’s behavior. So instead of just talking to them and telling them not to have sex (which I know some will do anyway), I brought condoms and a wooden penis to school so all of the learners can practice putting on a condom.

It was today that I realized I’m alone in taking action. So thank you to everyone in my life who has given me the courage to do the things I know are right when everyone else sits idly by and watches and complains as the situation get worse.

Surprises

Tuesday, 2 March, 2010

I woke up not ready for today. I’m usually somehow ready, but after the disaster that was a second attempt at long division in 6B yesterday, I was not ready for another 80 minutes of it today. I had lost my excitement about long division when the learners didn’t even want to TRY because they didn’t think they could do it. I did smile and get excited yesterday during study when Maria told me, Madam I tried! That’s all I’m asking for!!!

Before I even got to school, I had to cut a hole in my school bag because the zipper is broken, and shut. And I forgot to change my shoes before leaving the house. And I forgot to bring something important, that I now even forget (that’s how exhausting these days are). So I was already off to a bad start.

Then in the staff briefing, before teaching had even started, we were all told that the math teachers for grades 5-7 had to go to a circuit meeting. At 8am. OK, there are 2 math teachers for those grades - I teach 6 and 7, Ms Shishanda teaches grade 5. I noticed she wasn’t in the briefing. The principal didn’t want me to go. I didn’t want to go. Meetings are nightmares from hell. The subject head, Mr Kudumo, wanted both teachers to go, and somehow his word has more authority than the principal, so I had to go. I found Ms Shishanda already there.

I got there just before 8, early. We started the meeting just before 9, late. I kept thinking about the classes I was supposed to be teaching and how I hadn’t even had enough warning to prepare work for them in my absence. I’d had about 20 minutes notice, and those 20 minutes were spent in the staff briefing.

The meeting started OK, for a Namibian meeting. A prayer. Welcoming remarks. Talking about the agenda instead of just starting. Everything focusing on the negative and somehow complaining. I was tired. And frustrated at being there. But the other teachers were really nice and helpful in explaining a new form we have to use for grades. I also realized part of the problem in teaching is an inability to give clear instructions. When anyone explains anything to me, it’s in a roundabout way and I get even more confused a lot of the times.

The meeting for 3.5 hours long. The first hour was OK. But then I realized that it was completely dominated by 3 male teachers, and everyone else just kind of existed. The final item on the agenda was discussing marking centers - where we can all get together after a circuit or regional exam and mark each others question papers so we don’t favor learners and to make sure the learners’ work is being marked. I told them I didn’t see the need, that I had to be convinced it was necessary. They sucked at convincing me. But I was so annoyed and on the verge of tears with how ridiculous their arguments were that I finally just said fine, whatever, I’m convinced. They accepted that.

On the way home, I asked Ms Shishanda what she thought about this plan. She also doesn’t see the need, but knew that the men in charge wouldn’t listen, so she didn’t say anything. Then I realized I could rant to her about its ridiculousness - We’ll have to wait until days after the learners write until we go to mark together when I’d rather mark and get it done immediately; It’s not our jobs to make sure other teachers are marking learners’ work.

I’m getting more angry writing this again and thinking about it. It’s just so ridiculous. I teach ALL of my periods EVERYDAY that I’m allowed to. Then they call a pointless meeting for an ENTIRE school day without ANY warning to some teachers to prepare work for learners. And then they expect us to hold each other accountable, when I’ve never met most of these teachers before and can’t stand being in the same room with some of them because they’re so arrogant and wouldn’t EVER listen to a woman - as exhibited by my actually speaking up.

So I got back to school expecting to have a staff meeting all afternoon. Luckily it was cancelled because there was another issue, that wasn’t so lucky, that was still being dealt with. So I had two hours in the afternoon to teach my 4 classes.

Long division in 6B which I was still dreading, but we all had energy from lunch, so it was still fun. And about half of them can do it! So that was exciting!

Averages in 7A. I asked them, how are you? We are not fine! Why are you not fine? Because you didn’t teach us today! Well, it’s your lucky day then! I’m here to teach! They are writing their own average word problems for homework. I hope it goes well so they can exchange and solve each others problems tomorrow. I’m skeptical and hope I’m surprised again.

Review and word problems in 7B. They were the quietest and mellowest class and it was hard to get them excited coming from two high energy classes where I had to try to settle them down.

Starting long division in 6A. We’ll be doing that all week. But it was just nice to be able to teach all my classes at least for a little while when I had unexpectedly been taken away from them. In the morning, I couldn’t decide if I’d rather spend 80 minutes teaching long division or go to the meeting. I hated the meeting, but I can’t say I’d have loved teaching long division for that long either. And it ended up working out somehow in the end.

Now to finish my pesto tortellini!! YUM!!!

Uncovering my inner teacher

Wednesday, 10 March, 2010

Happy birthday Jacob and Matthew…24 years and 2 years, in worlds that couldn’t be more different!

Last weekend in town I bought 27 protractors so I would have enough for every learner to use during class, but not to keep. As soon as I told them about it, they all wanted to buy. I’d paid 2.50, so I said I’d sell for 3. They were still all about it. Shoot, what to do? I can’t sell, then I don’t have enough for everyone in 7B! The cool thing about clear things is they can be photocopied! So I made 54 paper protractors yesterday and cut them out after school. I told everyone in grade 7 to bring a box to school or a piece of cardboard, knowing that most people would forget. Well, everyone forgot, so good thing I’ve been hoarding all my boxes of Annie’s Macaroni and Cheese and boxes of other American deliciousness that I would live off of if I could (today I thought about doing just that when I get home, though I know I’ll want nothing to do with boxed meals!). I had just enough for everyone to find a space to glue their protractor so it would be more sturdy. I had only 5 pairs of scissors and 5 glue sticks so the process took about 30 minutes, but they have protractors to keep so I can give them homework now!

On Monday we started using the protractors I’d bought. I didn’t teach grade 7 last year at this time, so I didn’t teach pie charts. Turns out there’s a lot more information in them than you’d think after a pretty solid education and problem solving skills. I was part way through the lesson when I started realizing I’d overlooked A LOT of information in my lesson plan. So all I managed to do in those first 80 minutes of talking about angles, sectors, ratios without actually using that word and pie charts (what the hell is pie anyway Madam!?) was to thoroughly confuse all 22 learners. I was frustrated and disappointed in myself, so I told them I’d come back during study to clear things up. I basically got a second chance at teaching them, sort of just starting over. And only 45 minutes later, they were drawing pie charts with correct angle measures.

These kids are smart! They just aren’t given the chance to think most of the time, but push them a little bit and they take off! All week we’ve been learning about pie charts - starting with the angles and figuring out how many people in each sector, starting with the people and figuring out the angles, drawing angles and circles until our pens are empty. Tomorrow they’re doing a worksheet that I created from scratch (once I found out our photocopier was actually working, I made a worksheet with 5 blank circles and 4 word problems - they’ll all tell me they made a mistake and need another, this way they have an extra), which I’ve never been able to give them because we never have a functioning photocopier and I’m 200km, N$60 and 2+hours from town. Also the circuit photocopier is usually out of ink, just 4km away.

When I put in the effort, I get 10x the rewards in the end. I spent at least 2 hours planning for tomorrow today, and it took me 2 days to make the worksheet. By period 8 today, I was so tired and hungry that I got dizzy standing at the chalkboard (but got that push to keep going when I wrote the word “subtraction” on the board talking about order of operations and Dihako Engelbertha said, “Not like that Madam, substraction!” I have NEVER heard a Namibian correctly pronounce subtraction, and apparently some even think that’s the incorrect spelling.). I can feel that my energy is finally in the right place. I just hope I can sustain it, because I’m giving it everything I’ve got.

I love these kids too much, even when I have to keep them after study because they were outside playing butu during study when I was doing math flashcards with another class. They got it. They were quiet today. They just need something like weekly reminders. They will be the first ones I miss when I go, teachers’ kids second, and teachers third.

Sometimes you just have to escape

Sunday, 14 March, 2010

This weekend was for me. It was like a vacation, just without going anywhere, because the mere act of traveling anywhere by car takes away the relaxation of the trip.

On Friday during my 1 hour and 40 minute lunch break between teaching and the Friday study which is the bane of my existence, I fell asleep twice. I lay down without even eating lunch because I was so tired from trying to entertain 6th and 7th grade learners for 5 days and stay a day ahead of them in my planning which has proven to be much more difficult than expected from the sheer exhaustion of trying to keep up with their energy level in class. But I’d once again managed to survive the week and I just had to rest for a little while before struggling through another 2 hours, which ended up being only an hour and a half. So when I checked my time after waking myself up from drooling on my pillow and it was already 2:25 and I had to be back at school by 2:50, 10 minutes before study actually starts, I told myself just 5 more minutes to close my eyes and then I’d get up, stuff my face, and make it to school with time to spare. School is just in my backyard. Ten minutes later, I again woke myself up from drooling on my pillow, stuffed my face, and made it to school as the bell was ringing for learners to get in their classes. OK, I was still earlier than most other teachers, if they showed up at all.

But I was thankful it was Friday, I was tired.

And Saturday, that exhaustion hadn’t disappeared. I spent the day in my house cooking and baking for the week ahead because getting home at 5 after 10 hours (minus that lunch break which I always shorten if I manage to stay awake so I’m ready to keep teaching in the afternoon) trying to keep 25 grade 6 and 7 learners in their chairs at a time and impart some kind of math knowledge and problem solving skills into their heads which are doing their best at staving off all attempts, I just can’t think of cooking something that is delicious amidst the preparations I have to do for the next day. So I used my planning ahead skills to make enough food to last me a week. Unless it’s a really bad week, then it’ll only last a few days. But it was a really great Sunday with banana bread getting made first, then pizza and still leftovers from Friday’s dinner of Thai peanut sauce for spaghetti. I can’t wait to be in a place where I can easily share these meals!

I was only visited by one learner - Lami - and her 4 year old brother, who promptly fell asleep on my floor. So Lami and I played Yahtzee until I decided to walk them home, giving 4 year old Sharon (a boy) a piggy back for the 20 minute walk. I spent about an hour at her homestead with her father, step mother and several siblings or cousins, most of whom are learners, and some are in my other classes. It was actually quite relaxing. And I look forward to when this is normal, not a treat!

Today, I woke up early, went for my weekend run, got clean and was exhausted by 9am. So I lay back in bed, took a nap with Ziggy, read a lot of my awesome book, When a Crocodile Eats the Sun, highly recommended, and watched some How I Met Your Mother, only interrupted 3 times, but easily turned them away because I needed this day. I got my planning done for tomorrow, went for a walk into the village to buy maize, found there wasn’t any, and came back home to continue my morning activities without the luxury of a fan because the electricity was out most of the day.

This was a great weekend and I look forward to when I have the energy to enjoy my learners’ company again, but that probably won’t happen until the end of my holiday in May. I’m fine with that. Looking forward to the long weekends and shorter weeks coming up.

Love/Hate Relationship

Tuesday, 16 March, 2010

Nine months. That’s about how long I have left here, in this life that is more bipolar than the two poles up the globe.

Yesterday I couldn’t seem to have anything go my way. I started word problems in 6A, but their English is the most somehow of my 4 classes, so I’m not really expecting to make much progress there. In 7A, we reviewed the pie chart worksheet they completed last week, and did corrections on because some got only 4/25, when one boy managed to get 24/25. At least I know I’m teaching those who are ready and willing to learn. But it was frustrating. We started picture graphs (pictograms) and they seem to know everything they needed about them, so we could move on. But their energy just wasn’t positive yesterday, which got me even lower after my start in 6A. In 7B, I gave the same pie chart worksheet, but let them use their exercise books because of the extreme differences in abilities from the top to bottom, and from 7A to 7B. Glancing over them after an hour of them working on it, I was dreading marking it. In 6B we reviewed for a test today, and it went pretty smoothly.

But my hour and 40 minute lunch break, which I covet and basically yell at anyone who interrupts it before I’m ready to end it early, was shortened by an hour so that all the teachers could come back to school at 2 instead of 3 for a meeting with the NANTU (Namibian National Teachers Union) regional chairperson. I had no idea what to expect, so brought my books and plans for study. That was a stupid idea.

We started about 30 minutes late, not so bad, and ended 4 hours later. So we were there from 2-6:30. There were good things said, but it’s all things we’ve heard before and it’s now up to teachers themselves to start implementing things. I hope they do. And it was a lot of repetition even within the one 4.5 hour meeting, so by the end I was becoming very sarcastic under my breath. I also gave another teacher the look of death I used to be known for but haven’t brought out in Africa. So just about peed her pants from laughing to hard and then we couldn’t even look at each other because we were both out of control laughing when we were having a very serious meeting.

I was thankful I had cooked over the weekend and could go home to pesto pizza. But I still made cookies. Peanut butter. From a package. They weren’t very good.

Today I didn’t really know what to expect after that meeting. Teachers thought it was really good while I had wanted to bang my head so hard against the concrete wall that I would be knocked unconscious, or killed. Either one would have been fine, death saving me from any further meetings (don’t worry, I’m not actually thinking about suicide).

I taught all my classes, I had a much more positive energy today, 6B wrote their test and only about 5 of them failed which is really good. And 7A seems to remember a lot more about fractions than I expected, though the quiz tomorrow will be telling of what they ACTUALLY remember, not just what they tell me they remember.

But then I spent my afternoon marking 7B’s pie chart worksheet, that they got to use their exercise books for. I haven’t found the actual average, but by marking them all and seeing the marks, it can’t be more than 6/25. I want to cry. I don’t know what to do with them. I walked into the staff room and found 2 more math teachers there and the life science teacher. We started talking about the frustrations of teaching. The history teacher, also HOD and BEST teacher/person at this school (he’s become my go to person when I’m overwhelmed with anything and he’s ALWAYS willing to listen and help), was also listening and adding his 2 cents. I wasn’t looking for encouragement/positive feedback, but they all told me that I’m doing a good job. I told them I’m ready to learn how to be a better teacher and no one really had any advice, they told me that I’m already a good teacher. Maybe so, but I’m still skeptical.

Then Mr Kutenda and I started talking about 6B. They are challenging. He usually teaches grades 8-10, where kids are much more reserved and willing to sit all day. He’s teaching those classes history, plus grade 6 natural science because of other scheduling challenges with other teachers. He told me he’s enjoying himself more with the younger kids. And he’s struggling to get the older kids to ask questions, when the hellions (my addition) in grade 6 will ask anything. They’re so open! Yes!!! It’s a blessing and a curse at the same time. I had to take away some kids’ chairs during study today because they wouldn’t sit. So I made them stand for about 10 minutes. It worked. For a little while anyway.

Now I’m spending time in my classroom, alone, while some of my most energetic, best, most exhausting and challenging learners from 6B play soccer outside and come in to see what I’m doing. I love them and will miss them dearly, but they also are the ones I dread seeing on the days I can barely get out of bed because I know they’ll take all of my energy.

Still to do: enter all the grades from 6B and 7B assignments, make a bar graph for tomorrow, make some pie charts for tomorrow’s classes and picture graphs for later in the month and overall planning for tomorrow. I have about an hour of daylight left and unreliable electricity, so I better get a move on. More precooked pizza tonight. Why can’t things just be NORMAL???

Insomnia

Thursday, 18 March, 2010

Thank god it’s almost the weekend. I have NOT been sleeping and I’m TIRED!

Earlier this week, a learner, Seglinde, told me, “Thiyoka” as she walked to the front of the classroom and pointed into the exposed rafters, or their equivalent, I have no idea why. But I looked up, terrified, expecting to find the snake she was pointing to about to fall on me. There was no snake. She just said it as a joke, and now the whole class knows about my newfound, African born fear. As a justification though, there WAS a snake in the next classroom last year. It came in through the window from the tree just outside those two classrooms. So it’s a legitimate fear!

Then yesterday I was teaching in 6A, took a seat on the teacher desk because I’d been on my feet for the last 4 hours in Chacos on cement floors and my knees, hips and feet were killing me. I looked outside, and in the top of my field of view there was a moving black spot on the freshly painted white ceiling. I got distracted from whatever I SHOULD have been teaching and watched that black spot. The kids didn’t seem to notice. There was a really big spider on the ceiling, about to start crawling just above learners. I started asking them about spiders. They didn’t think spiders could kill you. I’ve heard black widows live here. It was big. And it was black. I went to find a broom to get it out of the classroom. When I got it outside by sweeping it, it turned around and was on its “hind” legs in an attach position. I wanted to step on it so I wouldn’t worry about it coming back inside, but my feet felt too exposed with just Chacos, so I left it to its own demise at the hands of barefooted kids who are much stronger than I am.

Well, last night I was exhausted from teaching all 8 periods plus the 2 hours of study and taking a shortened lunch break (which I usually do now) so I could get more work done, then even a run after school because I felt like I needed a release from pent up frustrations but all it managed to accomplish was sorer joints from running with sneakers that actually have holes in them. BUT I COULDN’T SLEEP!!! All I saw when I closed my eyes was the imaginary snake in the rafters and the spider in its attack position. I saw way too many hours last night when I should have been passed out, oblivious to the dangers of living in a Namibian village.

I hope for better rest in town this weekend.

Surprises

Tuesday, 2 March, 2010

I woke up not ready for today. I’m usually somehow ready, but after the disaster that was a second attempt at long division in 6B yesterday, I was not ready for another 80 minutes of it today. I had lost my excitement about long division when the learners didn’t even want to TRY because they didn’t think they could do it. I did smile and get excited yesterday during study when Maria told me, Madam I tried! That’s all I’m asking for!!!

Before I even got to school, I had to cut a hole in my school bag because the zipper is broken, and shut. And I forgot to change my shoes before leaving the house. And I forgot to bring something important, that I now even forget (that’s how exhausting these days are). So I was already off to a bad start.

Then in the staff briefing, before teaching had even started, we were all told that the math teachers for grades 5-7 had to go to a circuit meeting. At 8am. OK, there are 2 math teachers for those grades - I teach 6 and 7, Ms Shishanda teaches grade 5. I noticed she wasn’t in the briefing. The principal didn’t want me to go. I didn’t want to go. Meetings are nightmares from hell. The subject head, Mr Kudumo, wanted both teachers to go, and somehow his word has more authority than the principal, so I had to go. I found Ms Shishanda already there.

I got there just before 8, early. We started the meeting just before 9, late. I kept thinking about the classes I was supposed to be teaching and how I hadn’t even had enough warning to prepare work for them in my absence. I’d had about 20 minutes notice, and those 20 minutes were spent in the staff briefing.

The meeting started OK, for a Namibian meeting. A prayer. Welcoming remarks. Talking about the agenda instead of just starting. Everything focusing on the negative and somehow complaining. I was tired. And frustrated at being there. But the other teachers were really nice and helpful in explaining a new form we have to use for grades. I also realized part of the problem in teaching is an inability to give clear instructions. When anyone explains anything to me, it’s in a roundabout way and I get even more confused a lot of the times.

The meeting for 3.5 hours long. The first hour was OK. But then I realized that it was completely dominated by 3 male teachers, and everyone else just kind of existed. The final item on the agenda was discussing marking centers - where we can all get together after a circuit or regional exam and mark each others question papers so we don’t favor learners and to make sure the learners’ work is being marked. I told them I didn’t see the need, that I had to be convinced it was necessary. They sucked at convincing me. But I was so annoyed and on the verge of tears with how ridiculous their arguments were that I finally just said fine, whatever, I’m convinced. They accepted that.

On the way home, I asked Ms Shishanda what she thought about this plan. She also doesn’t see the need, but knew that the men in charge wouldn’t listen, so she didn’t say anything. Then I realized I could rant to her about its ridiculousness - We’ll have to wait until days after the learners write until we go to mark together when I’d rather mark and get it done immediately; It’s not our jobs to make sure other teachers are marking learners’ work.

I’m getting more angry writing this again and thinking about it. It’s just so ridiculous. I teach ALL of my periods EVERYDAY that I’m allowed to. Then they call a pointless meeting for an ENTIRE school day without ANY warning to some teachers to prepare work for learners. And then they expect us to hold each other accountable, when I’ve never met most of these teachers before and can’t stand being in the same room with some of them because they’re so arrogant and wouldn’t EVER listen to a woman - as exhibited by my actually speaking up.

So I got back to school expecting to have a staff meeting all afternoon. Luckily it was cancelled because there was another issue, that wasn’t so lucky, that was still being dealt with. So I had two hours in the afternoon to teach my 4 classes.

Long division in 6B which I was still dreading, but we all had energy from lunch, so it was still fun. And about half of them can do it! So that was exciting!

Averages in 7A. I asked them, how are you? We are not fine! Why are you not fine? Because you didn’t teach us today! Well, it’s your lucky day then! I’m here to teach! They are writing their own average word problems for homework. I hope it goes well so they can exchange and solve each others problems tomorrow. I’m skeptical and hope I’m surprised again.

Review and word problems in 7B. They were the quietest and mellowest class and it was hard to get them excited coming from two high energy classes where I had to try to settle them down.

Starting long division in 6A. We’ll be doing that all week. But it was just nice to be able to teach all my classes at least for a little while when I had unexpectedly been taken away from them. In the morning, I couldn’t decide if I’d rather spend 80 minutes teaching long division or go to the meeting. I hated the meeting, but I can’t say I’d have loved teaching long division for that long either. And it ended up working out somehow in the end.

Now to finish my pesto tortellini!! YUM!!!

The Kite Runner

Monday, 8 February, 2010

Today I was walking my short 2 minutes to school when I saw a discarded kite on the ground and didn’t think anything of it. I haven’t ever seen a kite here. They don’t sell them. This was home made with a plastic bag and some sticks and string. I don’t think there was enough string to get it high enough to fly. Later, after study and a department meeting (first one of those I’ve ever had and it was actually pretty productive, for Namibia at least!), I was on the phone with another volunteer discussing how to get rid of cockroaches (I found out they are living in my oven, or part of my oven anyway and every time I turn it on there is a mass exodus) when I saw a group of small boys running down the path with two more kites. Both home made. Neither getting very high to stay in the air without the boys running. But that’s when I realized how creative those kids were to come up with that. I was really proud of them, even though I had nothing to do with it, and don’t know who they were.

Also while I was on the phone I got an sms from Sophia saying she’s in the hospital having a baby!!! My initial reaction was to run next door to tell my neighbors/teaching colleagues/friends that I’m about to become an aunt, but having babies here is so normal that it wouldn’t be exciting. So I sent smss to the other volunteers who knew Sophia was pregnant and got tears in my eyes when I checked my email to find messages from Sophia and Mom telling me she was in labor and another sms from Mom telling me the same thing. I was really worried I wouldn’t find out for days, but thankfully there is network tonight and electricity so I’m just as much in the loop as anyone in the US right now. I’ll share this exciting news with my Namibian family tomorrow morning, but tonight I want to keep it to myself here because I’m much more excited about it than anyone here can imagine or relate to.

Sophia - I’m thinking of you and Ryan as I finish preparing for work tomorrow and wishing I was going to visit you tomorrow with Mom. I love you both and hope the baby is healthy and happy and ready to meet his crazy aunt in 11 months!

The Undeniable Truth

Wednesday, 10 February, 2010

I. Lori. Schippers. Am. Not. An. Elementary. School. Teacher.

I’ve somehow always known that, or at least since going to college, but these last couple weeks have reinforced that FACT a million times over. Yesterday and today especially.

For the second year in a row, I’m teaching math to grades 6 and 7. Thankfully I’m also teaching BIS to grades 8-10. They keep me somewhat sane. I love walking into a classroom where the learners are sitting down, where they are speaking English to each other, where they aren’t making more noise than I can make. It’s an incredible feeling, sight and sound.

But 6B. My register class. My homeroom. The place that I try to make my own. They are HELLIONS! I’ve gone to my HOD twice now because I don’t know what to do with them. I’m not the only one struggling. All of their teachers don’t really know what to do. There’s way to much energy in one classroom. And they’re smart. They know English. They even understand MY English. They get most of the math I teach them. But they have too much energy.

Yesterday I reviewed with them for the test they have tomorrow. We played a game. Ok, some noise is acceptable. And for a game, more noise than usual is acceptable. But it got out of control with about 20 minutes left of the 80 minute double period. So I sat down at my desk to wait for them to quiet down since I couldn’t even yell loud enough if I wanted to. I gave them a guilt trip. Who was in 5B last year when I left the class crying and never taught you again? I don’t have to teach you. I don’t have to be in Namibia. I can leave whenever I want. And right now, I want to go home. I haven’t seen my family in 14 months (15 actually, but who’s counting). My sister just had her first born this morning and I want to meet them and visit my sister. I miss my family. And if you keep behaving this way, I will leave and not teach you math anymore. They shut up. But they shut up too much. It’s so hard to teach when they’re scared of talking at all!

Then study happened. Somehow they all showed up, I don’t think that’s ever happened before. They had no homework. So were expected to sit quietly for 2 hours. I gave them some math homework. But not 2 hours worth of it! So after an hour, I got tools from another class for them to clean the grass behind our classroom (normal here, don’t worry about it). So we went outside and I thought I was finally doing something right by punishing them without using corporal punishment (I usually just DON’T punish them) and having them do manual labor instead. Well, it took me until last night to realize HOW they treat me differently than they treat the other teachers, and some teachers to be very blunt in how the kids are treating me, but they whine to me. I told another teacher that today and she didn’t know the word “whine.” She’s the English teacher. She knows English. So we spent about 30 minutes outside where I was fighting with 25 grade 6 learners trying to get them to do a punishment they understand and have done with every teacher they’ve ever had, but they fought me the entire time. Finally I sent them back to the classroom and I went to the HOD.

I told him I don’t know what to do. Other teachers were in the staff room listening and they said it’s my class. Sure, my leniency probably adds to the discipline problems, but when I’m teaching and they have work to do, they do the work and they learn. (I realized in the last few weeks how much the learners from grade 6 last year learned, and remember! It’s really refreshing to teach them in grade 7 and not have to REteach as much as I thought I would. There is hope, but my patience might run out before then.) After my HOD decided to go and address my class (without beating, so that’s a plus), I sat in the staff room with the other teachers around and ranted about how much I hate teaching and how I will never teach again after 7 December 2010. They laughed. And I did too. But it’s so much. It takes so much energy to teach and entertain kids for 6 straight hours. Kids who aren’t otherwise entertained because they are learning by rote, not thinking and terrified of speaking because they’ll be beaten. I try to do things differently, treat them differently, the only way I know how to treat them and do things, and they take advantage of it.

This morning my class was addressed by the social studies teacher - told that the next time they make me angry, she will beat them. Then they were address by the English teacher, who brought in the Agriculture teacher who is the mother to one of my learners starting to join the group of problem causers. The agriculture teacher reminded them what happened last year and that I don’t HAVE to be here, that I’ve come a long way to teach them math and English and they are about to lose that opportunity. The HOD came by during study and asked how they were being so quiet. I told him the 3 other teachers address them. He laughed and said that’s the only language they understand. It’s true. It’s sad. And I don’t know how to speak that language, and have no interest in learning.

Yesterday, Siyanga said my learners treat me like their sister. It’s true. And I treat them like my sisters and brothers. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. It would take away Nicky showing up at my house, pounding mudhika and cooking me dinner after school. It would take away my Saturday morning visits to learners to pound mahangu with them. It would take away me walking Nicky home in the dark and both of us being concerned for the other for the parts we’ll have to walk alone without each other. It would take away my feeling free to give Filo a tshirt for her birthday when I didn’t give anyone else anything. It would take away learners sleeping at my house for special occasions. It would take away learners telling me their stories that I’m willing and excited to hear about. It would take away my best friends because I haven’t connected with adults here. It would take away any and all enjoyment I get from this place, a place I never thought I’d find any enjoyment in.

But given all that, I so look forward to returning to America, “the place that once was and never will be again.” To a house free of cockroaches. To quiet Saturday mornings when learners will not be waking me up. To quieter Sunday mornings when no one will be trying to bring me to church. To a place where alone time is taken for granted instead of eagerly sought out and usually not found. To a place where kids are treated as people instead of completely ignored. To a place where I don’t have to constantly wonder if I’ll be able to wash my hair today or if I’ll be fetching water from the river tomorrow. To a place where I can easily get the food I want, when I want it. To a place where I expect to find myself lonelier than I’ve ever been because I won’t constantly be surprised by visitors.

These two worlds I know are so unbelievably different and I can’t choose which one I want to stay in for the next year.

A dinner party

Wednesday, 10 February, 2010

There are several teachers who stay at the school in the other government houses here. They’re just here during the week and on weekends they go to their homesteads in another village. They stay here with their kids, most of whom are not yet in school. I was enjoying my dinner (of tortellini with pesto and fresh vegetable salad since I’ve recently been to town) outside because the temperature difference is incredible. The sun hadn’t yet set and all of a sudden I heard the various kid voices I’ve come to be able to identify as to which kid it is. Lori! Ayi! Roli! Owe Ayi! Vision. Tinu. Ida. Matthew. I love them. And they love me. Too much. A year ago they were scared of me. Now they can’t get enough of me. As soon as I get home from study Matthew is showing up at my house (he’ll be 2 in a month). One at a time is great. When they storm over as an entire army, it’s a bit much. So they were asking what I was eating, Ida demanded a tomato, so I obliged. She didn’t like it, neither did anyone else. So I finished and brought them home. It’s similar to herding cats, or what I’d imagine herding cats would be like. Matthew will happily holds my hand, but Ida will start walking to school saying tuyende ku shure! Let’s go to school! I retaliate with tuyende ku dimbo! Let’s go home! They all walk with me to their house. I find Siyanga watching TV in the living room-turned-shared-bedroom. I drop Matthew in her lap. I start asking Ida kupi nana? Where’s your mom? Ida! Comes the voice I’m looking for from another bedroom. I find both Miss Ghuwanga and Miss Mughongora watching TV there, the two mothers I’m looking for for the remaining 3 kids. But Ziggy has come with us, and as long as Ziggy is around, the kids will not leave us alone. So I find them back outside as I leave to go back home for the night. Ida, kupi wa kuyenda? Where are you going? Ku Divundu! I run back inside to tell her mother, even though I know she’s not really going there. I even ask how she’s going. In a car she tells me. She’s 3, the oldest of this group. When I come back out again, I find them walking down the path away from my house and school. I feel somehow responsible for them, even though all of their mothers are busy watching TV and didn’t previously know they were all with me. So I work on getting them back home when their older somehow brothers show up to help get them home. These older brothers are in grades 1, 3 and 6. I’ll always find the three of them together, none of them actual brothers but somehow brothers in this culture. Fortune brings Vision home. I pick up Ida and Tinu. Siyanga brings Matthew home. They all get inside, I drop the two kids with Miss Mughongora and tell her I’m running home. I tell everyone see you tomorrow and run outside before any of the kids realize where I’ve gone, but knowing they all know where I live and can easily find me if they’re determined enough.

Global Warming

Saturday, 13 February, 2010

I never thought I’d talk about real things with my learners. Besides HIV and sex and why you should use a condom. But that’s such a normal thing to them that it’s almost not a real topic anymore. Today Kayoka surprised me and made me so proud of him for THINKING!

Nicky told me she was pounding today so I went over there about 10am to pound with her. Somehow I’ve never pounded with her at her house, only other learners’ homes, so this was exciting for both of us. But they only had 1 muto and it’s big, so we didn’t pound. Instead I hung out with Nicky, Kunyima, Kayoka, Ndara and various little kids who were around. Kayoka’s first question to me was, “Madam, explain the difference between these two words.” He wrote “accept” and “except” in the sand. I said them both, like he also asked, and I realized what his confusion was. He couldn’t tell them apart! They sound the same! He told me he get them wrong on his spelling test (he’s in grade 8 and his spelling is fine). I asked if Mr. Ndjunga said them each in a sentence. No. So he mixed them up because he couldn’t tell the difference between the two words! He knew the meanings.

Next he wanted me to give him more words like that - homonyms I think. It was hard to think of them on the spot. I came up with their, there and they’re and another one that has now escaped me. He struggled with the three “theres” but finally figured them out. That moved into a discussion about contractions.

After some silence, or small talk with Nicky, he asked me, “Madam, Mr. Sihope told us that maybe 100km above the earth, there’s a layer that protects us from the sun and it’s being destroyed by gases and things, is this true?” It took some more conversation to figure out what he was talking about, I realized he was learning about the hole in the ozone layer in his geography class and he was interested in it! I was thrilled! Yes, it’s true. So we talked about the difference between O2 and O3 relating it to his physical science class where they’re learning about the periodic table of elements for the first time. I told him that it’s being destroyed mostly by the west - America and Europe - because of all the people and the way they live, but everyone is suffering even here because of those actions. We talked about how it will get warmer, it might rain less here (this is the worst rainy season I could imagine, last year it rained everyday, right now it hasn’t rained for a week!), it could rain more here, it might snow in different places, the oceans will get warmer and the water will move in different ways also changing the weather. It was so nice to talk about something REAL with someone who is just desperate for information!

October Heat

Sunday, 14 February, 2010

This rainy season is lame. It hasn’t rained in a solid week now. Most days there isn’t a cloud in the sky until after lunch. But it never looks like it’ll rain. And it doesn’t. So it’s just the hot sun beating down on us. Somehow plants are still growing. But it feels like October again. Before I moved to the village, I was warned that October is the hottest month of the year. That once I get through October it gets better, the weather anyway. Well, maybe most years that’s true. But this year October came early and I’ll most likely have to live through it twice. I guess it’s back to 3 cold, but not cold enough, showers a day, wet dikehes in the fridge at night before going to bed and hoping that the electricity doesn’t go out so I can sit in front of my fan whenever I’m home.

Kids

Thursday, 18 February, 2010

Matthew is hilarious. He’ll be 2 on 10 March. His mother tongue is Silozi. Everyone speaks Thimbukushu here. He speaks some English when he’s with me, mostly just repeating what I insist on saying to him in English. And he speaks to Ziggy by saying “meow.” Everyday without fail, at 5:15 he’s at my house after study ends. Ayi. Ayi. Ayi-we. My response is either: what, huh, or Matthew. But he finds me wherever I might be. Usually in the kitchen.

We didn’t have power for a couple days. Last night I went to my neighbor’s house to talk about math related things, and Siyanga’s first question was, “Are you looking for food?” They were all wondering what I was eating without having a stove to cook on! I had considered going out and collecting firewood, but then it started raining, so I settled on a sandwich. No big deal. Although I am very happy tonight with beets instead of a bread based meal. But on my way back home, Ida yelled out her bedroom window, “Lori!” So I went to say goodnight and see you tomorrow. She wanted to talk to me and tell me about her crayons. And then she wanted to sing for me, but in the end she was too shy and I went home to a dark house without kids to keep me company.

Last year I gave each of my 4 math classes a multiplication quiz every Friday hoping it would help them learn their times tables without needing a multiplication chart. I think it helped, but not as much as I’d hoped. So this year I decided to drill them each daily with flashcards during studies. I remember my third grade teacher doing that and I learned them. But she didn’t have 101 learners. Yesterday I spent 8 periods, each 40 minutes long, teaching grades 6 and 7 math. Then I spent another 1.5 hours in the afternoon doing flashcards with them. I also created 28 BINGO cards on the backs of cereal, granola bar and other various boxes I’ve kept for so long without anything in particular in mind with all the numbers of multiples up to 12x12. And every single class LOVES it! So now I have a great bribe for them to be good during class. As soon as I walk into class, they are all asking for BINGO. I use the final 15-20 minutes for BINGO, saying things like 6x8 when they have to find 48. When I take away their multiplication charts, they’ll be able to play for prizes. I’ve also bribed them with the flashcards, since they all want to do them, that the first class that gets everyone with a star for every number 1-12 (they get a star when they make no mistakes on the multiples of 1, then multiples of 1 and 2, then 1, 2 and 3…), I will buy fat cakes for during break. The rules for being able to even do the flashcards on any given day is that they have to come to study (I’m not going to waste precious class time to do them!), they can’t be late and they can’t be in punishment (some sort of detention) for anything - things such as not cutting your hair, dodging classes, dodging the previous day’s study, coming late to school, failing a test, etc. So far I’ve had very good turnout for studies in those 4 classes, which makes my job much longer and harder, but hopefully in the long run, these kids will know their times tables and be able to worry about harder math problems. Hopefully.

On Monday I teach the whole day without any breaks except the one everyone has (actually I teach all the periods until the last one on Thursday and I’m exhausted everyday because of that). So when period 8 came and I was teaching a double period of math to grade 7B, the “slower” grade 7 class, maybe my favorite upper primary class, I was exhausted and hungry and so were the learners. So it was already a struggle to keep everyone, or most everyone, engaged, including myself. Then a man shows up outside my classroom door and says hi to me. So I say hi, and I know the face as someone I don’t like and am a little nervous of, so I turned back to my class and continued teaching. My learners were looking from me to him wondering what was going on and what would happen. I’d lost their attention completely. He came into my classroom, at which point I realized he was drunk, it was 1pm, and told my learners to stand up. They did. I was speechless and very confused. After about 15 seconds of wondering what was going on and what the correct protocol for this kind of situation would be, I stopped caring what the right thing to do was, I told him to leave and that I was teaching and this was my classroom and he had to go. He wanted no such thing and started blabbering away about coming from America. I don’t know what he was saying. So I left to get the principal because I didn’t think there was any chance he’d listen to me. The principal wasn’t in his office, so I called the only male teacher in the office, Mr. Muthitu. I asked him to get the drunk man out of my classroom. I waited in the office, nearly hysterical because of how wrong and unbelievable this situation was, until Muthitu came back to tell me I could go back to teach. The drunk man was now in the next classroom, which I later learned was being taught by Ms Mughongora and he was banging on the chalkboard and insulting her. I closed the door, was met by absolute silence in the classroom and I wrote the homework on the board. I was so flustered that I couldn’t talk for a few minutes. I was able to continue checking the class work before he opened the door and came back in. This time I was much more serious, and probably underestimating the state of his drunkenness, and again told him to leave that he could not be here and I was teaching and I was working and it was my classroom and he had no right to be there. I took his arm to escort him out and he yelled DON’T TOUCH ME! I apologized, admitted I was wrong to do that and he was then led out of the classroom by the teacher WHO HAD BEEN SITTING IN THE BACK THE WHOLE TIME, SLEEPING!!! I was finished teaching. No chance of regaining my composure.

It is wrong on so many levels to have a drunk man show up at school, never mind barge into classrooms, insult teachers, demand that learners do things, interrupt the learning that’s trying to take place and be an overall nuisance! If I ever wondered if there’s a limit to the ridiculousness that takes place here and the many obstacles hindering a learners’ education, I think I realized on Monday that the answer is that there is no limit.

Interruptions

Saturday, 20 February, 2010

As if a drunk man walking into classrooms and disturbing classes on Monday isn’t enough, on Thursday evening, contractors FINALLY showed up to fix the school (the ones I’d been told at 7am New Year’s Day would be there within an hour and I knew it was a lie and was pissed off that I’d been rudely awaken for that from someone I don’t like or trust). There are classrooms that leak when it rains, ceiling tiles that have fallen and more that are threatening to fall, holes between classes near the roof where bricks have fallen out, the Namibian equivalent of cork boards that have fallen off the walls in large chunks due to termites. It’s a mess in many classrooms. So it’s good that workers finally came.

But that also meant that on Friday morning, both of the grade 5 classes had to bring all of their desks and chairs outside and have classes under trees (luckily this rainy season is pretty lame and it doesn’t rain everyday and didn’t rain on Friday) in the shade so their classrooms could be painted - a task that many teachers find to be not pressing and some even to see it as irrelevant. If this sounds familiar, it should. When the ministry sent workers to fix my house, they first painted everything. Which I admit, made it look nicer, but I was really in need of running water, which was the last thing to get fixed. By the end of the school day on Friday, both of the grade 5 classes and both of the grade 6 classes had to bring all of their desks and chairs into upper primary classrooms for study and the weekend so the 4 classrooms could get painted. It’s ridiculous what the ministry finds the most important. The leaky ceilings apparently are not as important as painting the walls. Thanks ministry, you’re extremely helpful when it comes to…nothing.

Where are you going? Away.

Monday, 22 February, 2010

On Friday, in assembly, with all 661 learners, or all those who were present, which was at least 600, the principal called Nicky in front of everyone. With his hand on her shoulder, he said, “This girl spends a lot of time with Lori. And it’s good! They speak English together, not Thimbukushu. So she’s learning English. More of you should be visiting Lori on the weekends, go with this girl. I don’t mean there should be 20 people visiting her. But you should spend your time at her house.”

I was NOT happy with that comment. I do NOT want more kids coming over. Already, someone usually shows up either with Nicky, or at some other point with or without Nicky there. It’s not easy entertaining kids who are a little bit scared of me. It wasn’t a quick process becoming Nicky’s older (somehow) sister. It did just happen, but it took almost a year. Please don’t tell kids to come visit me. I love them, but I also love MY time. And a quiet weekend once in a while, because everyone knows I don’t get them very often.

And this weekend was anything but quiet. Saturday afternoon I spent at the zonal sports competition, hanging out with learners from my school and they introduced me to their friends from other schools. I was once again the person people stared at. I forgot that leaving the bubble that is my village is an exhausting endeavor, one that has been happening less and less. But I saw many of the learners who transferred to different schools this year and it was really great to see them, to know that I’m not forgotten and to show them they’re also not forgotten. The first ones who saw me came over immediately and gave me hugs, I hadn’t seen some since November 2009. It was a very enjoyable Saturday with learners I don’t usually spend much time with at a new school for me and new event, so I was ready on Sunday to spend it alone.

After some other frustrations on Sunday that I had to deal with, I went for a walk. Until this weekend, the rainy season has been pretty lame. I left my house just after noon, expecting to get rained on. And rained on I was. Twice. Pouring rain before I arrived back at home from my nearly 2 hour walk to the tarred road and back. I was back on the gravel road when I thought I heard the river. I stopped and turned around not knowing really what to expect. I saw the line of rain coming and was soon soaked by a torrential downpour. It was fabulous - washed away a lot of my foul mood. Early on, I met another teacher on a bike, coming back home. He asked, “Where are you going?” I told him, “Away.” “But without any bags?” Hahaha. I like that THAT was his concern, not that I was going “away.” I just needed a break, and I knew I wouldn’t get that at home, that learners would interrupt it. And that walk was a great break.

I arrived back home to be met soon after by one learner looking for math help. I was expecting her, so it wasn’t such a surprise. We finished the math homework together and another learner showed up in the classroom we were using as a refuge from the rain. Since we weren’t really hanging out, I didn’t expect to spend the rest of the afternoon with them now that the math was finished. But they came back home with me and I didn’t know how to politely get them to leave, seeing as I still had to plan for Monday and was still tired of people. So I told them I’d see them in a half hour at the soccer game, not knowing if I’d actually go there since there’d be a lot of people and I wasn’t in a “people” mood.

Then Nicky showed up. “But Madam, where were you at 12 and at 2? I came then and didn’t find out here.” I guess it’s an odd thing to show up at my house and not find me here. If I’m not with Nicky, where else would I be but at home? I was AWAY! (She also got my phone number recently and has started calling me from her mother’s phone if I’m not in the village for her to find.) I finished planning while she listened to music and I was too tired to entertain her or be entertained so we went to the soccer game. Where I was met by about 200 people and I was not having the energy to greet them or make small talk. But I showed my face for the whole game and got caught in the rain again. Finally it was late enough to get a ride home in the rain, where we found Nicky running away from my house because I again wasn’t there when she wanted to find me there. The electricity came back just in time to make dinner and all of my buckets were full from the rain.

Today we were again blessed with rain in this time of no water, only to learn that the pump is a solar pump (but must also need electricity because the power going out was the initial problem and if it was only solar powered, it would have been a problem last year, but it wasn’t) so the more it rains, the longer it will take for running water to come back. But it rained so hard that I was even able to wash my hair in the water dripping from the roof. Only 2 neighbors saw me and one was thinking about showering in the rain as well. They already think I’m a bit odd, so I don’t worry about what my actions might make them think anymore. I have clean hair again. And I didn’t have to fetch water still.

I also finally realized that one of the major stresses in my life is my teaching load. So I asked that a different teacher teach BIS (Basic Information Skills) and it was happily delegated to another teacher. So now I’m back to JUST teaching grades 6 and 7 math, a total of 28 periods (40 minutes each) a week. A lot still, but MUCH more manageable and I can feel a great relief upon having a new time table to give out tomorrow and start using on Wednesday. Now maybe I’ll get the other things accomplished that I’ve been thinking about for a year with all this “free” time. Or something will come up daily and I’ll always be surprised at my lack of time.

Blurring of boundaries

Wednesday, 24 February, 2010

I definitely should have written this yesterday when I wasn’t quite as frustrated with the world, but I didn’t have electricity so didn’t want to use my computer’s only battery, not knowing when I’d have power back. But here’s an attempt at what I was wanting to say yesterday.

You know when you have a memory of something, for however brief a time, and you can’t always remember where that memory was from - high school, college, biking cross country, Namibia for me. And you have to think for an extra second to remember who was part of your life, so which period it belongs to. At least 99% of those brief memories now come from the US. And a year ago, they would stop me in my tracks and nearly knock me over and make me want to cry for the need to go back there. I’d be teaching and suddenly see a flash of the drive to college, or to the grocery store, or hiking Mount Watatik, or the drive to Grandma’s house, they were usually in the car - maybe my need to be independent and have a car again is tapping into my subconscious.

Then they stopped for a while. I started loving it here and I was completely IN this place for all the good and bad it has to offer. Recently, I’ve started having those brief memories while I’m teaching again, but they don’t phase me anymore and sometimes I even have to stop to think about where they come from - America or Namibia? This life has become part of MY life now. A year ago I couldn’t imagine being used to the way things are here. Now I’m used to them, but I don’t necessarily like all of them. But nevertheless, I’m part of this place and this place is part of me.

Culture

Saturday, 27 February, 2010

I once talked about the two most defining things I think exist in “culture” for me: language and food. If I could find comfort in familiarity with those two things, I’d be fine. And for a while, that was very true. I was missing the foods I knew from home and I was missing being able to communicate with American English.

But culture is so much more. It is food. And it is language. But it’s also how you treat the youth. And how you treat your elders. And it’s what you choose to do in your free time. And it’s what you choose to do on Sunday morning. And it’s how long it takes you to become impatient. And it’s how punctual you are. And it’s what your work ethic is. And it’s the jokes you make. And it’s the things you find funny. And it’s your sense of humor. And so much more.

On Thursday, one class, 7A, was writing a math test for me during study. That meant I really needed all of them to come back after lunch and I was waiting for the last two – Ndara and Tweya – to show up before starting. I walked just outside the classroom to see if either boy was coming and when I turned around, Ndara was in his seat, but I’d never seen him come in the class. So I asked him in shock, “When did you get here? I never even saw you!” Mwenyo sits across from him, and though his math is great, I’ve always thought his English left much room for improvement. Ndara laughed at me, maybe not understanding what I was saying, but Mwenyo told me, “He’s magic. He [gesture for “came through the wall].” (Apparently American English is not how I communicate with learners anymore, because I’m not sure a year ago I was as fluent in sign language as I am now to figure out when Mwenyo meant.) We all laughed, and I was just shocked that Mwenyo could make that joke, with what I’ve always thought was a much lower level of English.

But I think my sense of humor might be rubbing off on some of the kids I’ve taught for 2 years. And even the ones I’ve just started teaching but have better English. So my culture will somehow be left in Namibia with the kids.

Another Try

Tuesday, 19 January, 2010

I’m so happy I stuck it out last year when all I wanted was to GET OUT. I’d never know ME in Namibia then.

Yesterday was my first day at school, even though it was the fourth day of the new school year. I missed a week for a workshop in Windhoek. So when I got home on Sunday, I asked Siyanga all about the first week so I wouldn’t be so far behind. There was no timetable. No one knew what they were teaching. Kids were in classes, but register teachers were going to be switched.

Well, I showed up to school on Monday and it was about as disorganized as I’d been warned about. But I could deal with it in a much more proactive and healthy way! Immediately after assembly, the principal came looking for me to make a timetable. He’d promised the inspector we’d have one by Tuesday. Great. It’s the biggest headache that exists in teaching here. So I asked for the subject allocation. It’ll be the same as last year, except Mukoya is teaching grade 10 instead of grade 8. OK, so we need an entirely new timetable because of that ONE change. Oh, and you’ll teach BIS because we can hopefully turn it into a computer class when the lab gets finished. Oh, and since last July, no one was allocated to teach grade 5 natural science or grade 7 agriculture, so it was sometimes happening during study, but more often than not was just not happening. I refused to let that happen for an entire year. So I was basically told to allocate the subjects.

I don’t know teachers’ specialties (many do not teach what they majored in), so I went to the HODs for help. I spent at least 2 hours with them doing the subject allocation and then making sure the teachers would accept. Not everyone did, so we had to go back and change things around. Finally the principal asked me why I wasn’t working on the timetable. I AM, I’M DOING THE WORK YOU DIDN’T DO LAST WEEK! I said that in a much calmer way and not so attacking. But it’s how I was feeling. Finally he just told the teachers what they had to teach and I laughed. What’s that laugh for? If a teacher isn’t going to be happy with the subjects he/she gets, that subject won’t be taught. His response? They are all teachers and have to think of what’s best for the school. Hmmm…if a teacher isn’t going to teach a subject because they don’t want to, I don’t think that’s best for the school. But that fell on deaf ears.

So I had the subject allocation and sat down to make the timetable. I tried two or three different times, each at least an hour of work, to run into a wall where a subject/teacher couldn’t fit into what was already there.

I took a break at some point to bring up another issue I’d talked about last year and never saw a change with: separating the faster learners (those who know English) from the slower ones (those who don’t). The HODs and principal were all about it, but didn’t do anything. So I went to teachers to get their support, and found it. We’ll do it tomorrow I was told. Fine, I have to work on this timetable.

After a shorter than normal lunch, we had to come back for a meeting with the schoolboard. I was excited that it started off in English, but after about 45 minutes, everyone got tired of thinking so much and resorted to Thimbukushu. For the next 3+ hours. I was exhausted and not ready to look at the timetable again, so finally sat down to learn how to use the program that I couldn’t figure out last year instead of manually doing it in Excel. After minimal effort, I had the basic understanding of how to use it, and started working on it.

Of course I’d missed some important points, but today, with the help of the only teacher who knows anything about computers, we created a timetable! Now, for anyone who has never had to create a timetable in Namibia, you don’t know how exciting it is to just click a button and say “Generate Timetable” instead of spending a week trying to do it yourself. No, it’s not the best timetable. And yes, I still want to create a better one. But there IS a timetable. Only 24 hours after I started doing the subject allocation.

AND I worked with two other teachers today to divide the grades 5, 6 and 7 classes based on their grades last year. So hopefully tomorrow we actually separate them. And hopefully tomorrow I actually start teaching. I’ve put so much effort into these first 2 days, I don’t know how I managed to do nothing last year.

Last year I could barely get out of bed without wanting to vomit or cry just thinking about going to school. This year I walk into the principal’s and HODs’ offices like I own them and tell them exactly what I want to do about something. It’s incredible the change. Today the principal told me that I’m finally LORI in Namibia.

The best thing from the last two days was walking into the grade 7 classrooms, full of last year’s grade 6 learners who I know better than anyone else, and them telling me they are “Super,” “Super duper,” or even “Super duper great!” when I asked the normal question, “How are you?” If that’s the only thing they learned from me, fine. It made me feel good knowing that I made some kind of impression on them, and if it makes them feel “Super duper great!” then I will return to the US happy. One day.

Teaching

Thursday, 21 January, 2010

All of grades 5, 6 and 7 are separated into the “high” and “low” classes. Now I hope that teachers take advantage of that. Already today I could see a HUGE difference in confidence levels of kids. There are about 5 kids repeating grade 6. And they are all in the “low” class. We practiced adding and subtracting for the last 20 minutes of class with flashcards - around the world. Some kids who last year would NEVER get one right faster than the person they were challenging beat 3 or 4 kids today! I was so impressed! The game changes when we make the rules more fair!

So that was a high today. I’m excited about 6B - the “high” class. They all know English really well, especially the kids from other schools, surprisingly. They are a very high energy class, but I think I’ll have a lot of fun with them.

The other day I walked to the hospital to meet Ritha during my lunch break. On our walk back, there was a truck full of construction workers staring at me, so I avoided looking at them. They greeted me, so I didn’t have much of a choice being only about 10 feet away from them. “How are you?” I’m fine. How are you? “I’m fine. But no, I’m not fine.” Why are you not fine? “I’m thirsty. Can I have your number?” No. But the logic, or lack there of, made me laugh as we turned the corner back to the safety of school.

Last weekend (I can’t believe it hasn’t even been a full week yet!), another learner passed away. The details are vague, and maybe unknown really. She finished making fat cakes on Saturday at her home and her leg was hurting a lot. So her family took her to the hospital, where the doctor was nowhere to be found. No treatment was given and somehow she died. Vague. I didn’t know her. She was in grade 10. And stays in a village about 30km away, but came here and stayed with family to school here. Yesterday 10 teachers went to her homestead in the farther village to sit with the family. I followed the lead of the 4 other female teachers. We greeted everyone by shaking everyone’s hand. Then sat on the ground with the other women. I had some stares, but when I could easily talk with the teachers I’d come with and we could laugh at the same things, I didn’t seem like such an outsider. There were about 8 women pounding mahangu. I told Siyanga that I wanted to go pound, she told me she doesn’t like to pound. Mughongora was the first to go and pound from us teachers, so after a few minutes I joined her. Then I got some looks! I was told after (my back was to this while it happened) that all of the women came and watched the white woman pound! I was also told that I can pound better than some people! For the first time I could walk into a place I’d never been, with people I’ve known for a year now, and not feel like I don’t belong there. It felt normal. Unfortunately, it was a funeral of a learner. I wish it could have been a happier occasion, but it was lightened by the antics of the white woman trying to be black.

A Namibian Birthday

Saturday, 23 January, 2010

On Thursday, I got all the way until lunch at 1:30 before I realized the next day would be my birthday. I was too busy finishing a timetable for grades 5-10 and teaching my classes to take the time to slow down and feel like things were about me at all. And I hadn’t really told anyone, I don’t like being the center of attention any more than I have to be.

So on Friday morning when I woke up to my alarm, all I could think about was, “Do I really have to get up already?” not realizing it was Friday and I just had this one day to finish before a couple days of relaxing. So I got out of bed only somehow knowing I was 24 today instead of 23.

At school, the few teachers who knew it was my birthday quietly wished me a happy birthday, after a year of getting to know me, knowing that I didn’t want to make a scene. The school day was uneventful, getting many birthday wishes from the other volunteers who, through word of mouth, knew it was my birthday, but not feeling like it was any special day.

We finished school 50 minutes early because many of the teachers were going to a memorial in another village for a grade 10 learner who passed away last weekend from our school. So at 12:30, I went home and got a phone call from Kerri, who I’ve been looking forward to talking to ever since she left Namibia in early December.

At “2 sharp” as instructed by the principal, the teachers were ready to go to the memorial, but the cars were having trouble. So at 2:50, we finally left for the 30 minute drive to the nearby village. I rode in the back of a bakkie with about 10 other people, mostly the other female teachers from my school. A year ago I would have been stuck in the principal’s car because they would have worried about me in the back of an open bakkie, but now it’s not a concern anymore. I’m just another female teacher.

We got to the memorial and it seemed that with our arrival, the program could start.

Once again I found myself in a Thimbukushu dominated event, leaving myself to my own devices for entertainment. I let my mind wander, but the place it kept returning to was Djami’s funeral, memorial and burial back in November. I’ve now been to 4 memorials and/or burials (I opted out of the burial this morning). Even though I could not picture the girl whose memorial I was attending, even when seeing her photo, I found myself tearing up while the choir from my school sang songs of mourning for her.

Funerals, memorials and burials are the most emotionally intense experiences one can attend, even if the person whose funeral, memorial or burial is unknown to said individual. Within minutes of the program starting, the girls sitting behind me had collapsed into sobbing that hindered their breathing. There is just so much love and grief at these events that it’s impossible to not feel. And all it takes sometimes is the choir singing. Even when it’s in Thimbukushu, I somehow understand it better. There’s so much more feeling in the songs - they sing with a purpose.

When I started getting tears in my eyes, it was for the way she died. The story I heard was that last Saturday so was complaining about pain in her leg, so her family brought her to the hospital. She stayed without treatment until her death on Sunday because the doctor wasn’t around. People shouldn’t die because treatment isn’t available.

I also always get to thinking about the absurdity, or maybe normalcy now, of these events. The memorial was held outside in a Namibian village. There were chairs borrowed from the nearby school. Many people sat on the ground or on rocks. There was a small structure with a roof but no walls in case it rained. Everyone would have gotten soaked. Two boys were busy killing and butchering a cow for the next day’s burial and walked through the crowd with, first a wheelbarrow full of the cow’s legs, with the hooves still on, then the innards including the huge stomach and finally the head with other parts from the inside. A mother chicken with her 9 chicks walked to the front looking for food, where one lucky chick found a bug, and for the next 20 minutes they all freaked out when 4 of the chicks got separated on the other side of the straw wall from the hen and the other chicks. When they were finally reunited, the mother hen dug up some dirt and lay down in the hole with all of the chicks underneath her.

Nowhere else in my life, have I been to a place where these things would be considered normal. Where the memorial would be outside with the wildlife, or farm life.

Of all the things I want everyone I know to experience, the three most important to me are hearing a school choir sing for their peer at a memorial and burial and the sounds and smells of mahangu being pounded by the entire extended family of females for the day of the burial. There’s just too much to FEEL.

A conscious effort

Monday, 25 January, 2010

I live at school. I live where I work. When I moved here 7 months ago, it was a relief. It meant I didn’t have to walk by the many people everyday who I’d have to find time to make inane small talk with. It meant there weren’t 3 year olds running behind me yelling the only things they know in English, “I’m fine! And you?” or the only things I understand from them in Thimbukushu, “Nipeko wiki!” “Nipeko rand!” Give me sweets! Give me one dollar!

Since school has started, I’ve found myself making a point of walking through the village at least once a day. Today that meant walking Nicky half way to her house and then making a loop back to school. It meant kids running out from their homesteads onto the gravel road I was walking home on and yelling to me “Lori Lori Lori! Mukuwa mukuwa mukuwa!” Until I turned the corner almost half a kilometer away. It meant greeting people whose faces I recognize, but have no idea of their names or even if they speak English.

I’ll miss that.

I’ll miss the kids who yell my name as I walk home because I used to stop and tell them, “Mbadi mukuwa. Dina diyange Lori.” I’m not white person. My name is Lori. I’ll miss the elders stopping and greeting me and thinking that I know how to speak Thimbukushu. I’ll miss the slow pace of walking through the village with Nicky. They pace never stays once we part ways. I go back to the fast American pace that is too much built into me to ignore. I’ll miss a friend yelling out his car window and blowing me kisses as he drives by with 3 other people in the car, all people I also know.

But it’s those kids. The kids who know I won’t respond when they yell “Mukuwa” instead of Lori. The kids who just want me to greet them. The kids who don’t even wait for me to ask “How are you” before telling me “I’m fine, and you?”

I used to hate those kids.

And so it goes…

Friday, 29 January, 2010

It’s always nice when the weekend gets here. But I have never been so relieved to see Friday come to an end.

I’m. So. Tired.

Yesterday was…frustrating…but that doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt, the level of frustration. I don’t know if I aged about 10 years in the last year or if these kids just have a lot more energy than last year, but I find it much harder this year to keep up with them. Maybe I just try harder, so it feels harder. But whatever it is, I could feel it by the end of period 4 yesterday. And I still have 4 more periods to teach. So after the 30 minute break, I went to 6A to teach 80 minutes there. About half way through the class, one of my 6B learners came and knocked on the door telling me that, “Madam, my chair wants to break.” My quick solution until I wasn’t teaching 25 kids how to round to the nearest 10 was to tell him to switch chairs with my own. Five minutes later, two girls from my 6B class knocked on the door telling each other, “Ghambe!” Talk! Neither wanted to be the one to tell me, “Madam, your chair is broken.” OK. I kept teaching and they went back to their classroom. Without a teacher there. For the whole 80 minutes I was in 6A.

With 10 minutes left in my double period, I went to the office, with an assignment on the board for 6A. I walked into the HOD’s office (somehow assistant principal) and told Mr. Kutenda, “I just have to sit in here for a minute, I might cry, I’m just so tired.” OK. He didn’t really know what was going on. I told him about the chair. I didn’t want the kids to be punished or beaten because they’re 10 years old and are acting like 10 year olds who don’t have the supervision they’re supposed to have at school. He got my point. He went to their classroom, my classroom, to deal with it. I went to 10B to teach BIS - Basic Information Skills. At the end of the 40 minutes with kids who are almost my age, I thanked them for not being grade 6 or 7 learners and being somehow normal. I finished the day in 8B teaching BIS again. A simple activity to keep them busy for the 40 minutes I’m supposed to be with them so they aren’t breaking chairs or wreaking other havoc that only kids here know how to cause.

When the bell final rang for the end of the day, I went back to 6B to get my things and lock the classroom during the lunch break. I found most learners already gone. I got my things, took the lock, closed the door and…the lock didn’t fit. Somehow, from 7am when I opened the classroom to 1:20 when I tried to lock it, the door had gotten bent (it’s pretty thick metal and would take a lot of force to bend it) so that the place where the pieces line of up get locked was too wide for the lock. I took the lock to the office, where about 6 teachers were watching something on the computer. I have a problem. They all look at me and listen while I tell them what happened. They kind of chuckle and turn back to their computer entertainment. I walk into the HOD’s office and find Mr. Shangara there. I have a problem. My lock doesn’t fit on my door anymore, are there any of the other kind so I can lock my classroom? Blah blah blah blah blah. Yes, there are 2 that aren’t being used, but they’re GOING to be used, so you can’t have one. At least that’s the gist of it, not in those words. Great. I’m going home. I’m going home. I’m just going home. Near hysteria and tears almost coming, I manage to get out of the office and walk the short distance home without looking anyone in the eye because the tears of frustration at the general lack of helpfulness amongst the teachers are threatening to spill down my cheeks.

I put N$30 of airtime on my phone, put on my sneakers and leave the house at the fastest walking pace I’ve ever had and call Kaitlin. Blah blah blah blah. This happened today. I finally ran out of airtime about 20 minutes later, and much farther from home than I’d intended. I turned around and walked home, much slower because the frustration was starting to go away. Just starting.

I spent the rest of my short lunch break lying in bed. The afternoon was nothing like the morning, but not enjoyable and it took a lot of self control not to flip out at anyone.

Today I went to school after telling myself, out loud, “You can do this, Lori. It’s just one day.” And I did do it. Not happily all the time. And not easily. But it’s now 7:12 pm, and I’m home and don’t HAVE to leave my house for 60 hours. Though I’ve promised a learner I’ll pound with her at 9am tomorrow, and I WILL leave my house to do at least that pounding. It won’t be with 700 learners, or even the 25 I find myself in class with.

My 6B class again found themselves without teachers today. I had one free period - the last one of the week, which I intentionally scheduled myself off for. I went to 9A because grade 9 is not grade 6. There was no teacher there, so I just sat with them while they were not grade 6. About 5 minutes after I sat down, literally doing nothing, Kathiku from 6B was knocking looking for me. I went out against my wishes and asked her what’s up. “Madam, Romeo is painting us with chalk.” I went back to 6B. I didn’t say anything when I got there. They’d seen me coming and warned each other and were somehow quiet. Romeo (yes, there’s a Romeo - a nickname, but still a Romeo) was in the back corner on the broken chair at the desk in the corner, not in his chair in the front row, where I’d put in on Tuesday because I know he’ll cause trouble and I want him to be close to me (there are several of those boys in my class and they’re all in the front, sitting next to quiet girls). I walked in like I owned the classroom, something I’ve never done before. I don’t feel like it’s mine. I walked to the back where Romeo had his head on the desk. I grabbed his ear and dragged him back to his seat. I have no idea how hard I actually pulled on his ear. I have no idea if he bumped into any desks or chairs or kids on the way. We got to the front and I demanded that he sit in his seat. By the time I’d gotten to Romeo, the rest of the class had shut up. There were 20 minutes left in the school day. I was not about to entertain them for an extra 20 minutes. I was exhausted. My patience were gone. I didn’t want to lecture them, again, on their poor behavior. I didn’t have to. For the next 20 minutes, no one made a sound. I was shocked, absolutely speechless. They were shocked and speechless as well. I guess I’ve been so nice and calm for the last year that simply dragging a kid by the ear was enough to make them realize I mean business instead of beating them. I wonder how long this silence will last. I’ll find out soon probably. I can’t imagine I’m done with discipline problems, but I think I’ve started getting through to at least one of my classes. Maybe not in the best way, but I have no regrets and can’t think of anything I could have done and gotten the same result.

At least it’s the weekend.

An Extension?

Sunday, 31 January, 2010

A year ago I would have told you you’d lost your marbles if you thought I’d stay a third year in Namibia. A month ago I’d have told you you’d lost your marbles if I’d be back in the US in December. And today I’m not sure where I stand on that issue. Sure, I still have about 6 months before anything has to be finalized, longer if I’m not staying for a third year, but I’m also the one responsible for finding my host organization if I’m staying another year.

In early January when I had a Peace Corps workshop in Windhoek, I talked to my supervisor about extending for a third year. I’ve talked to a few volunteers about my idea and thoughts on staying and they all are a little surprised at first (that’s a lie, they’re shocked speechless because they know how much I struggled initially), but they’re completely supportive and understanding of the process we all go through while here. I’ve talked a couple Namibian friends about staying and what I want to do, and along with the other PCVs who know my project idea (and that’s all it is at this point), everyone is very supportive and thinks it’d be a great project and they have a very positive outlook for where it could go.

So three weeks ago, when I was still on holiday in the village hanging out with the people I chose to hang out with, I was ready to call this home for another year after my initial 2 year contract.

Then I went back to school and found the same level of support and enthusiasm for anything that I’d been able to avoid during the month+ long holiday. And it just sucks the energy right out of me, trying to stay positive about my day to day life of teaching 10-20 year olds (there is actually a grade 6 learner who was born in 1990) how to figure out how big the 6 is 643. Or how to read the number 18 409.

But it’s not only the lack of energy amongst the teachers, or the lack of English amongst the learners. It’s the men.

On Wednesday, my friend Esszy was nice enough to bring me 15km away so I could give Kaitlin a hug on her way through to Windhoek for a month in the US. I really appreciated that effort on his part and the fact that 2 other male friends were with us didn’t bother me. In the car were Esszy, myself, Spenye and Pro. Esszy and Spenye have been two of my best friends in the village for the last 6 months and a huge part of my support system. By Thursday night, 24 hours later, I was telling Esszy that I cannot see myself anywhere but back in the US in December because of the unacceptable behaviors of men toward women.

There are times when I can tolerate and laugh at the things men tell me, “I’m looking for a white/American wife/woman/second wife,” “I want you to take me to America,” “You MUST take me to America,” “I’m thirsty, can I have your number?” “You must bring your friends from America so I can have one.” I’ve learned to let those things slide, like I’ve let any number of things slide in the last year.

But I have a choice. I have a choice to stay here or go back to the US, or some other place in the world. I have the choice to continue to be the object of many men’s affection or to go back to just another face in the crowd and become invisible once again. I have a choice to be able to be friends with men without worrying that they’re in love with me or to have only female friends. And I choose to become invisible again. I choose to be just another face in the crowd. I choose to return to a country where men and women are at least MORE equal if not equal. I am lucky to have that choice, and maybe some people will see this choice as being selfish when the women here don’t have that choice. But I was given the choice when I was born into an American family. And I’ve spent long enough in Namibia to know that I do not belong here, if only because I am the center of too many men’s attention and I hate it. I like being invisible. I like not being noticed. I like being able to do things without people asking why or where or how or why not.

So the idea to stay has come. And for now it’s gone. But in a month, when I’ve created another support network because my current one is falling apart, don’t be surprised if I write on here again that I’m thinking of staying for a third year. The actions of men will not change by then, but my attitude or tolerance or actions in response to those behaviors might have changed again.

TED Talks

Monday, 1 February, 2010

After last week, I needed a good start to this week. And I had a GREAT start to it! Over the weekend, I prepared for grades 6 and 7 math classes and a grade 10 BIS (basic information skills) class. Grade 10 scares me. They’re about my age. I don’t feel like their teacher, I feel like their sister. And last week’s lesson was boring for them. They humored me by participating, and participating very happily, but it was geared more for grade 9.

I was also feeling pretty uninspired over the weekend - uninspired to be here, uninspired to teach rounding all day on Monday again, uninspired to do much of anything. I felt pretty useless and like my job didn’t matter. So I took a break to watch some TED lectures - Technology, Entertainment (I think) and Design. They’re really incredible, and very inspiring.

The one I found myself very drawn to on Saturday afternoon was “Educating a New Generation of African Leaders.” [Go to www.TED.com to watch it and other lectures to get your brain going.] I imagined the conversations I could have with people here about it. I imagined what the grade 10 learners would think. So I watched it about 5 times, writing down different terms I thought they might not know and we discussed those before watching the lecture today.

By the time period 7 came around and I finally got to try out this idea with 10A, I was nearly shaking from excitement, exhaustion from already teaching 5 periods and anxiety from the possibility of it bombing. They could feel my excitement. The period was 5 minutes shorter than usual, so I quickly put about 30 terms on the board, we crossed out the ones they knew, discussed the ones they didn’t know, and watched the talk.

They definitely didn’t get out of it what I’d hoped, at least not based on the questions they were asking. The 40 minute period, 35 today, is definitely not long enough to prepare for a talk with necessary background information, watch it and have the discussion afterward. Now I know. Take two weeks for these. The first week should be background information. The second week we should watch the talk immediately and still have at least 15 minutes for conversation afterward.

I’m hesitant to try these in grades 8 and 9. Not only is their English not quite as good, but in grade 8 there are 41 and 42 kids in a class. We were huddled around my laptop today in 10A, where there are only 20 learners, and it was tough for everyone to hear it. I might try it with a different goal - not the discussion afterward, but just to expose them to these lectures and the importance of technology in the learning process.

The kids were really excited just to have a computer in the classroom and didn’t want me to leave when the bell rang and the next teacher was ready to come in. I also had another class to teach, so they told me to just leave the computer. My computer already has enough problems, including cockroaches using it as a home and one hinge not being attached anymore so the screen has trouble staying upright, that I was not about to leave it with 20 learners. Even if I do trust some of them.

Now I just want to teach grade 10. They GET it. Some of them anyway. And some things. It’s really refreshing to walk into a class of people who aren’t running around, breaking things, yelling and who can UNDERSTAND the words coming out of my mouth. It’s always tough to go back to grades 6 and 7 after visiting grade 10.

But Madam, you are getting too fat!

Wednesday, 3 February, 2010

Do people say things like that in the US?

There’s one learner, ok, a few learners, who regularly tell me that I’m getting too fat.

And yet, every time I see Kaitlin, she asks if I’ve lost more weight.

And yet, my clothes still fit, or have gotten significantly looser since I moved to Namibia.

I guess I have the same image complex that every American, person?, has.

And I learned again today that I’m not a sprinter. Not only did I come in almost last among the female teachers, I almost fell flat on my face at the start. I should have just fallen, then I wouldn’t have had to hear about how I came in last. Eh, put me on a bike please!

Athletics

Thursday, 4 February, 2010

My power is out. And my battery for my cell phone is dead. And my computer battery is about to join it. I knew this already, but I learn it again and again: Charge things before they’re completely dead because you never know when you won’t have power! (The same goes for showering, washing dishes, washing clothes and especially washing my hair because the water goes out pretty regularly too.)

This week has been dedicated to athletics in the afternoons. Remember field day in elementary school? At least at my elementary school? And how well organized it was? At least from a kid’s perspective, or at least in my memory! Today was the Namibian village’s equivalent of field day.

We spent the last week (or more) “preparing.” This consisted of splitting the ~400 kids from grades 5-10 into three teams. You do the math for how big each team was. I was on the red team. Everyday, for 2 hours, after struggling through teaching for 6 hours, there were 2 (supposed to be about 7) teachers who had to organize events for the 100+ kids on their team. We would send them to run the 100m and the 200m. Each kid in each age group would get to run each on once a day. All three teams (red, blue and green) were at the same sports field, no bigger than a soccer field, with a sand track around the outside that is extremely overgrown with grass. We spent the first day pulling grass.

The other day when we were standing around watching the kids run, some boys in my group were further into the bush than usual. And were very interested in something. So I went to find out what had grabbed their attention from the thrilling spectacle of watching 10 year olds run the 100m. There was a cobra in a tree. They were trying to kill it by throwing stones at it. Finally a stone knocked it out of the tree and they were able to kill it when it was on the ground.

Such are the distractions from field day.

Today was the “color competition” so the three teams competed against each other. The kids got into it a lot more today than any other day of practice. Even those who hadn’t wanted to run for the last week were eager to compete today. Older learners were the ones catching the winners. Teachers were sitting around writing names of those who came in first, second and third. Other teachers were with their teams, encouraging them to sing.

Singing. That’s what kids do. One will start a song and everyone (girls anyway) just joins. There are so many songs. It’s like a way of communicating almost. And they’re so happy doing it. The girls anyway. Some boys get into it, for short periods of time usually, but mostly it’s the girls who love it.

And it’s the singing I want to bring home.

Typically Namibian

Saturday, 6 February, 2010

Yesterday was a typically Namibian day.

1. Teachers didn’t teach their classes because they thought it’d be better to leave school early to pack their bags to go away for the weekend.

2. A mukuwa came to our school in the afternoon (not so typical) to try to convince the management that they want to put their name on a list of people/institutions who would be interested in getting internet if Telecom put up a tower. I listened in on the conversation, which started out pretty normally. Then turned into a conversation about whether or not this guy is following the right channels of communication in setting up this tower – shouldn’t he go to Fumu or the headmen first? His response was that it’s a service that should be provided to connect us to the outside world and do you have to go ask Fumu about buying a sim card for your phone? Not quite the same, not quite convincing. Then they talked about whether or not Fumu was elected or just put in power. And somehow it turned into a religious conversation and how the end of the world is approaching. Hmmm… I wasn’t sure on the connections between these topics when I was listening and I’m even less sure of them now. I didn’t like the mukuwa. He asked me if I’d be interested in putting my name on the list because he heard me talking to Siyanga about how there’s no internet here. Well, I’ll only be here for 11 more months. He dropped that approach. He also said to me, “There ain’t no internet.” Huh. Haven’t heard that word in a while.

3. I wanted to go out to dinner. I didn’t have any food to cook and didn’t feel like cooking anyway. I really wanted cheap greasy delicious pizza. But that wasn’t gonna happen. Next best thing, convince Esszy that he should drive Nicky and me to a lodge and I’d buy them dinner. It took a little while to convince him, but I did. There are about 6 lodges, maybe more, all within about 30km of me. I was thinking they’d all serve dinner! We went to 3 different ones, the only on Esszy’s car could get to because of the poor state of the dirt/sand roads. First lodge: no chef because there were no guests. Second lodge: no menu, just tell us what you want. We didn’t really know what to do with that. Third lodge: we ate, and were all a bit disappointed. So much for going out to dinner from the village.

A place that once was an never will be again

Saturday, 2 January, 2010

Things I look forward to in the USA:

Not hitch hiking everywhere. Couches. TVs. English. Evesdropping. Family dinners. Grocery stores within a 15 minute drive. Snow. Sleeping with blankets. Reliable indoor plumbing. Warm water. Lawns. Non-poisonous snakes. Not being greeted by people I don’t know. Non-corporal punishment. Landlines. Free calling verizon to verizon all day. Computers with internet. Libraries. Bicycles. Cold weather. Cooking for more than one person. Cooking. Baking. Readily available ingredients. Homes with more than one room. Jeans. Cockroach free homes. Window screens. Not sleeping under a bug net. Efficiency. No one knocking on my door while I’m in bed. Staying up late with people I know. Hanging out with friends only when we want to. Alone time. Alone time being understood and respected. Not being sunburned. Not taking Doxy everyday. Regular electricity. Cereal. Extra sharp Vermont cheddar cheese. Eating out meaning going to a restaurant.

Things I will say I miss when they drive me crazy here:

Hitch hiking everywhere. Sitting on my backless chair from my classroom. Not having a TV. Thimbukushu and Namlish. Not understanding. Eating alone. Traveling 2 hours to the nearest well stocked grocery store. Heat. Sleeping without any blankets. My questionable indoor plumbing. Cold showers. Sand for a yard. Mambas and cobras and pythons. Greeting everyone I know and don’t know. Corporal punishment. Cell phones without free calling, but free smsing. Internet on my phone. Finding a good book after a long search. Walking. Warm/hot weather. Cooking for one person. Not cooking. Not baking. The hard work involved in getting ingredients for anything. My one room house. My 2 pairs of pants that will not last the next year. Cockroaches. Windows without screens. Sleeping under a bug net. The slowness with which everything gets done, or doesn’t get done. People knocking on my door to wake me up. Staying up late alone, or going to bed early. Hanging out with people I hardly know because I’m somehow obligated to. Always having someone around. No one understanding my need to be alone once in a while. Sunburns. Doxy. Regular power outages. Porridge. Crappy cheese. Eating out meaning eating with a family in the village.

Have this ready for when I tell you in a year how much I want to come back to this place!

Namibian Dreams

Saturday, 2 January, 2010

Nicky wants to come to America with me. Not to visit. To live. To stay there. To learn English. We’ve joked about it in the past, but today she brought it up again and had a lot of questions. I showed her my passports. She wants to get one. Where can I get one? How much does it cost? Do I leave it in America then? When you go back, you give yours to the American government? OK, we got past the passport questions. How long will I stay there before I go to school? You’ll go on the first day you get there! What??? But I don’t know English like the other kids, I have to stay for maybe a year before I go to school! No, maybe you’ll just start in grade 5 instead of grade 7. What??? Why? So you can get extra practice with English. My mom told me that she wants you to take me with you. Really? Yes. It’s better if I go to America. Well, the government won’t let me take you. Ask them, and if they say yes, you’ll get to take me for free. I don’t know where she got that idea, maybe because my plane tickets are free because of the work I’m doing, but there is no way hers will be free. I told her when I got home, I’m going to live with my sister for some time and take care of the baby. I’ll live there too and take care of the baby. She told me she doesn’t want to stay with anyone else, just Lori. Not Miss Lori, or Madam anymore, just Lori.

Everyday when we leave each other around 7:30, she asks, what time will you come tomorrow? I always tell her, in the morning. She looks at the watch she won’t give back (I don’t need it) and says sometime like 9. That’s too early I respond. Today she said 8 after I told her 9 was too early. We both laughed and I told her see you tomorrow!

Family Dinner

Monday, 4 January, 2010

One thing I will always miss about home is eating dinner as a family. And not just the eating part; the cooking, the talking, the laughing, the music, the smells. Everything. It doesn’t matter how long I stay here, or anywhere, and create my own home somewhere, I will miss them from home home with my family. My whole family.

Today I spent the morning alone, Nicky told me to get her after lunch. So I got there around 12:30 after stopping at the hospital to find a friend to ask a favor. We stayed there for a little while so I could talk to Kayoka and visit with everyone briefly. Then it was time to go to my house, “Tuyende.” Let’s go.

We really did nothing today for the afternoon, sat around and talked. She asked me if I miss America. No. I miss parts of it. But I don’t miss it anymore. I don’t miss the waste, the excessive purchasing, the many cars. I asked if she wanted to know what I do miss. Yes. Family dinners, my family and friends, my cat, going to the grocery store in only 10 minutes instead of 2 hours…the list is already on here somewhere. She asked if I miss my house. No. Why not? It’s too big! I drew our house. And told her my house here is the size of the “office” downstairs. Huh? Yeah. And there are all these other rooms too! I told her she’d be lonely in that house. That’s why the map came about. She couldn’t imagine being lonely in a house.

Then some of the boys from her home came over looking for entertainment in the form of water balloons. Anyone thinking of sending a package, send water balloons! They’re the best thing to play with kids around! They turned them into squirt guns today by not tying them. It was hilarious. And they were soaking wet, running around my house outside. I closed the doors to keep them and the water out, which is something I hardly ever do.

When the games ended, we collected firewood because Nicky was planning to cook dinner for me and she wanted to cook outside. Because that’s what she knows best. Yesterday we’d picked mudhika, a tree in my yard, and pounded it a neighbor’s house because I am lacking the necessary kakundhu and muto - giant wooden mortar and pestle. We cooked over the fire for a really long time because apparently mudhika takes a long time to cook. Dimbombo and mudhika. Porridge and a green leaf from a tree. She cooked, she cleaned the dishes and I explained that in my culture you’re not supposed to do both. Huh? Why not? So we both work!

After eating dinner outside together, we ended up laying on the ground and talking. I cannot believe Nicky is only 13. She looks 13. She acts 13 a lot of the time. But we can hang out and do anything or nothing, just like I’d do with a friend in the US. I have found 2 Namibians I can do that with - Nicky, a 13 year old girl, and Esszy, a 27 year old guy. They are few and far between and I hold onto them tightly.

When we were talking, we discussed our plans for town. I started asking her questions about it to figure out what she knew about it and where she wanted to go. She asked me questions about it and I realized she knew nothing about town. I started laughing and told her that I’ll be giving her a tour of town even though she’s from the region! We both dissolved in laughter and I told her that when I go back to America, I’ll miss THIS right now. The laying on the ground with her and laughing with her about things we both think are funny. That I’ll miss hanging out with her because she understands. And the next words out of her mouth were I don’t understand. I don’t know any other Namibians who can make that joke. Her English isn’t perfect. Her Namlish is near perfect. That’s good enough for me, I’ll take it.

She’s still stuck on talking about America. Who’s sponsoring her trip home with me? Her mom told her she even wants her to go to America with me. At one point tonight she told me, “Ok, I’ll stop talking about America.” Don’t stop! Keep dreaming! Dreaming means you have something to work towards! Sure, it’s a long shot, but DREAM!

Right now, as I write this, we’re sitting next to each other on my PC issued “security” trunk that I use as a bench, each with one headphone in listening to the only music on my iPod she likes - Akon. Her head has been on my shoulder. We’ll share my bed tonight again so we can hike early to town for the trip I promised her about a month ago. The trip came about because I wanted to show her what pizza is, but that place is closed until next week and she still wanted to go tomorrow instead of waiting for pizza. Fine with me!

I’ve already introduced her to many things that other kids don’t know about here - maple candy and chocolate letter to begin with. When I share those treasures from home with her, it doesn’t feel like I’m losing it, like it would if I shared with almost anyone else. I feel like I’m gaining because I know how much she loves.

Tonight when we were talking about tomorrow she asked what we’ll do in town, since we’re not getting pizza now, which was the initial purpose of the trip. First we will eat breakfast at the coffee shop I love and is as close to American as we’ll get there. It’ll have unusually foods for her, including crepes with ice cream! She asked if we’ll get the same thing I made the other night for the girls who slept over on New Years. I called it chocolate then, but brownies. Oh. Maybe. And the next words hit me hard: I’m just asking, I don’t want you to waste your money just because I ask for it. No one says that!!! I love this girl.

OK, time for our showers and then some more How I Met Your Mother before an early bedtime for our even earlier wake up call in the morning. Here’s to a great day today and what looks to be an awesome adventure tomorrow!

Field Trip!

Tuesday, 5 January, 2010

Five am came too soon this morning. Nicky is not fun to share a bed with. She takes up the whole thing even though she’s small. I slept, or really lay awake most of the night, on the very edge of the bed while she was laying right next to me. We dragged ourselves out of bed and walked to the road as the sun rose to get a ride to town. That took far longer than I expected as we waited for over an hour. At a village near our own, not more than 10km away on the gravel road to the west, there’s a big farm that grows maize, and Nicky’s eyes got huge when she realized what the fields were. She’d never seen that much maize before.

The coffee shop I’d planned to go to was still closed for the holiday, so I tried one in the mall, which is smaller, and I don’t like as much, but it was open. Before going in to get our first food of the day, we tried the escalator. She stood and stared at it for a while before we got on together. We weren’t holding hands before she got on, but when she stepped on two steps that separated as they started going up, she grabbed onto my arm and looked terrified. She learned her lesson and held my arm before stepping on the one that would bring us back down.

For breakfast, she told me that whatever I wanted, she wanted, when I started asking about the different things on the menu. So I got her a chocolate milkshake, which she loved, and myself a coffee one, that is not the best I’ve had in Namibia, and got us both a waffle with syrup. Nicky loves sugar, so I thought I’d get her the sugariest thing on the menu, but then the grilled sandwiches were brought to the only other occupied table, she told me she wished she’d gotten that. Next time! She asked how much everything cost and I told her she wasn’t allowed to know. Why not? Because you’re not paying! So after she finished only half of her waffle, and deciding that she does not like golden syrup (it’s not really very good), we went to our next destination.

Nicky wanted to look in the clothing stores, but before that, I wanted to show her the open market. On the way, we stopped in a wood carving shop, where everything is hand made in the region. She thought they were pretty neat and pointed out a few she especially liked, but didn’t realize someone sat and carved them with a knife until I told her after we left.

At the open market, I told her that I wanted to buy for her mother a dikehe. So we walked around looking at all the different colored ones and I let her pick which one to get for her mother. She already had a blue one and a yellow one, so we got one that was mostly green. We looked at all of the different grains, beans, and dried foods that we could buy by the scoop, which I’ve never done, and hoped we would together. But she didn’t want any. She wanted to get to the clothes!

I pointed out all the different places that would be somehow relevant to her - that’s where I buy food for Ziggy, that’s where I buy the pens I sell at school, that’s where you can buy school uniforms (we looked at them, but they were too expensive). She asked me to send a message to my friend Esszy, “Send for Miss Lori N$100 because I need to buy clothes. Yes or no?” I had no idea what his reaction would be. “Yes, but Miss Lori must wait to get her N$100 until 25.” OK, Nicky had N$100 to spend in town! And finally we got to Jet.

In Jet we looked for underwear for her. She didn’t quite realize the sizing of them - that 2-3Y means for kids aged 2-3 years. I could always pick someone on her homestead when she picked out the wrong size and say, “That one’s for Precious,” or, “That one’s for Jolin.” Finally, armed with her new underwear, and having not found any shoes that she liked and fit and were in her price range, we left for the next shop, Ackermans.

At Ackermans we were looking for a skirt. We were unsuccessful, but we did find a pair of capris (just called trousers in Namibia) that were perfect for her, but they cost N$100, and she had already used some of that money to buy underwear. So she said, “Next time, when you and Stoma [she calls Esszy, Stoma] bring me.” OK. No skirts, but she did find a new tshirt.

Next stop: Style. I even found some things that I liked in there, for me. Next time, I haven’t bought clothes for me in Namibia, only for kids. Here, while I browsed, she looked for shoes. She picked some brown ones out, that were really nice, but N$90, and she knew she didn’t have that much money left. So we went back to Jet, where we’d seen some that we similar, but turned out to be the same price. I asked which she liked better. The ones in Style. So we went back, found the right size, and I bought them for her. As we walked with the salesman to the register, she whispered to me, “I need to use the toilet,” and he replied to me, “I’m just cool, you can talk.” So I asked about the toilet. There wasn’t one in that store, but when the cashier was also asked, someone talking to her, led Nicky by the hand to the store next door. I have never seen a grown Namibian woman take a kid by the hand in a friendly way. Nicky came back and reported that the toilet couldn’t flush. Her standards are going up now that she uses my indoor plumbing regularly!

From Style, all of her clothing money spent, she was hungry, and it was getting time to find a ride back home. So we went looking for chips, and failed in the attempt. We also missed out on Hungry Lion. And pizza, but we knew that going into it. Next time for sure!

On our walk to get a hike back to the village, we walked through the parking lot of a filling station, holding hands because we’d just crossed a busy road and she’d commented, “This is no place to leave each other!” One of the men working, said to Nicky in Rukwangali, which she doesn’t understand all of, “You’re a white person too?” It took her longer to translate than was reasonable for a comeback, but I would have told him, “She’s not sirumbu [white person], I’m a black person.” But the chance was missed and we had to satisfy ourselves with the joke with each other.

In the grocery store, just before leaving, I got her a Pepsi, some cheesy bread, a small chocolate, and guava Oshikandela for the ride home. Everything got eaten except the Oshikandela, which she left in my fridge for tomorrow. It was nice on the ride home to have her to translate what people were saying, especially when I heard the word “mukuwa” and turned to look so they’d know I heard.

I felt like, all day, people looked at me differently and treated me differently than usual when I’m in town. And I felt like they looked at Nicky and treated her differently than if she was there alone. Different good for her definitely, but I didn’t always get a good feel from everyone - like the guy who asked if she’s also a white person. It was interesting. She definitely got more respect than a 13 year old girl generally does.

And I felt like her mom. When Regina got in the combi this morning, a woman we both know in the neighboring village, she asked me where I was going and asked Nicky where she was going with her mother. All in Thimbukushu, but I confirmed it later with Nicky. I know people joke that I’m her mom, her mom even jokes that too, but not usually when I’m around.

Think back to the first time you went to new place that you’d heard so much about - I kept thinking of the first time I went to Boston. I can now understand how parents feel when they bring their kids to a new and exciting place. It was really fun to show Nicky around town, and see her experience it and take it all in. Shopping was more fun than it has ever been for just me, because I know how much she needs these few things and appreciates getting them. There were thank yous every time I bought her something, and concern over the price. But I could see it in her face when she really liked something that happened today - the smile of her mouth and also in her eyes. There’s nothing that she can hide from me anymore.

An even better part of today than going to town with Nicky, was coming home with her, Esszy showing up, and Nicky cooking porridge so we could finish the mudhika from last night and the three of eating together, inside to avoid the puddles and wet ground from the earlier downpours, and fighting off Ziggy who loves mudhika more than anything else I’ve ever fed him (there’s plenty of oil and salt to make it that much more appealing). Nicky and Esszy have a love hate relationship - where they love each other mostly just because they both love me and I love both of them, but they act like they hate each other. At least when I’m there, and I’m skeptical that they see each other when I’m not there. Nicky doesn’t like sharing my time with him, but I’m happy to have them both there at the same time.

The costs of today:

Cost of hike to and from town for 2 people: N$228

Cost of breakfast in town for 2 people: N$80

Cost of new clothes for Nicky: N$270

Cost of snacks for the 3+ hour ride home: N$20

Cost of sharing a trip to town with 13 year old best friend who hasn’t left the village in 3 years (highlights were definitely the escalator and the many times we crossed the street and she grabbed onto me or I grabbed onto her so we’d both make it safely across): PRICELESS

Stories

Wednesday, 6 January, 2010

Nicky came looking for me today when I didn’t show up in time for her. She sat quietly outside while I continued reading. Ndara and Mukoya were close behind her, having spent the last few days here with her for the most part, well, I guess not yesterday since we were in town. The three of them spent time on the computer playing Spider Solitaire, while I read and washed the rest of my clothes, trying to get rid of the possible mites or scabies I have that have been leaving an extremely red itchy rash in various parts on my body.

Eventually we went to her house to get the ruwidhi she’d promised to cook for me today. Turns out it was pumpkin leaves! So we picked those, collected firewood back and my house and started cooking after we peeled the scratchy parts of the leaves off. Ndara and Mukoya were back playing soccer.

While Nicky and I collected firewood, she told me there’s a holy mass tomorrow and she has to go to church at 4. She asked if I was going. I said, “Probably not.” Why not? “Because I don’t believe those things.” What things? “The things they tell you in church.” You don’t believe in God? That question is always tricky for me. I won’t straight out tell people here, No I don’t believe in God. They don’t get it. And I don’t think they really accept that answer. But Nicky would be OK with it on some level even though she wouldn’t get it. “No, I don’t believe in God.” Whaaaat? How? How did you get here? Who made you? “My mom and my dad. Who made you?” God. She knows Sophia is pregnant, so I asked, “How did Sophia get pregnant?” She prayed. Oh my… I tried explaining the way a baby is created, without God in the conversation. She told me, I don’t believe those things. Then came the questions that always follow these conversations, Why don’t you go to church? “Because I didn’t go in America.” You don’t have churches in America? “We have, but I didn’t go.” Even when you were small? “Yes, even when I was small I didn’t go to church.” Why not? “Because my parents didn’t take me and it was too far away to walk to.” More conversation about how one God up in the sky just doesn’t make sense to me, but she’s stuck on “the plan” He has, so eventually the conversation started repeating itself and we went to cook.

I ate dinner with all three of them - Nicky and I shared one plate and Ndara and Mukoya the other. Ndara has always been entertaining for me, but just recently he’s opened up more. Mukoya isn’t quite there yet. He’s only going into grade 5, so he isn’t too confident in his English.

Ndara asked me, “Is pain good or bad for people?” I answered that it’s both - thinking that it’s bad because it hurts, but good because it means you’re alive. I didn’t tell him my reason and asked him what he thought. “Good because it means you are alive! If you don’t feel pain, you are dead!” I did NOT expect that answer from him.

I told Nicky I don’t like teaching today. She looked at me and made the surprised sound whose equivalent would be, “huh?” in English. “No madam, you love teaching!” Still putting up a good act I guess! I tried to explain how I don’t like teaching in the classroom and don’t want school to start yet. She accepted my answer.

During dinner, Nicky randomly said, “A story…”

Nicky’s Story… There are 3 boys. One knows how to say, “Make quick.” Another knows how to say, “Money.” And the third knows how to say, “We three.” Now, there was a white man who spoke Afrikaans. And then the white man asks, “Wat suk jele?” What are you doing? And then they thought that maybe he is saying we have to throw sand on him. And then when they throw sand on him, he takes out the gun. They run in the bush. They found a dead person in the bush. There’s someone collecting firewood and saw them and ran to the police station and told the police. The police came. And then the police ask, “Who killed this person?” One of the boys says, “We three!” And then the police ask again, “Why?” Another answers, “Money!” The police ask again, “Can we take you to the police station?” The third boy says, “Make quick!” That’s the end of the story.

After dinner she wanted to keep telling stories, this was her second one…Once upon a time, long long ago, there lived a girl who could sing so sweetly that everybody wanted to listen to her. Her name was Ndahafa. She lived in a village called Kayela. She fell in love with an ugly man. The man was named Kafika. Kafika had fallen in a fire when he was a child. Now he’s so ugly. Everyone stayed away from him. And he had no friends. Ndahafa explained, “I love the beauty inside him, no matter what he looks like.” Ndahafa could sing while Kafika played the harmonica. The music went through the village making everyone happy except Joshua, the chief’s son. Joshua was going to be the next chief. He was strong, tall, and handsome. When Kafika and Ndahafa got married, in the middle of the night, Joshua took his men to Kafika’s hut. They stole Ndahafa away from Kafika in the middle of the night. Up the mountain, across the hill, to his secret safe. When Kafika woke up, and found Ndahafa gone, he was so angry. Kafika walked around his house. When he looked back, he saw his beautiful wife, but beside stood the ugly man, Joshua. Kafika explained, “I know you are strong, tall and handsome,” cried Kafika. When Joshua took Ndahafa to his house, Ndahafa was so angry. When they went to sleep, Ndahafa woke up in the middle of the night and went back to Kafika’s hut. Kafika took Ndahafa to his mother. They stayed there forever. That’s the end of the story.

A Year Ago

Thursday, 7 January, 2010

A year ago I moved to a small village in Namibia. A year ago I cried myself to sleep because I didn’t want to be here. A year ago I didn’t know how to talk to people in the village. A year ago I was nervous just to greet people in Thimbukushu. A year ago I hated walking around the village because I didn’t know anyone or where anything was. A year ago I didn’t know how to ask for help on anything. A year ago I didn’t know anyone’s name. A year ago I didn’t have any friends. A year ago I was nervous about anything related to food - eating with a family, cooking for someone, eating my own food in front of people. A year ago I didn’t want to buy things for people because I didn’t want them to think I had money. A year ago I wasn’t myself.

Now I’ve grown to call a small Namibian village home. Now I feel the need to cry because I know that I’ll one day soon leave this place for good. Now I don’t know how to talk to Americans. Now I greet people easily and appropriately for the situation. Now I can walk through the village and know what to expect and where things are and who people are. Now I know to ask my learners for help because they are the best teachers I’ve found. Now I still hardly know anyone’s name, but I know their faces. Now I have some of the best friends I’ve ever had and I look forward to seeing them everyday. Now I regularly eat with families and look forward to porridge and oily veggies that are overcooked, and even cook for friends sometimes. Now I give things away daily because I know they need them more than I do. Now I’m a new person from before I came to Africa, but I am Lori again.

This morning I left my house at 7:45 to get Nicky, Ndara and Mukoya. I started running again, we’ll see how long that lasts, and have enjoyed my alone time for that time in the morning. So of course everyone wants in on it! The three of them wanted to come with my today. Ok, we’ll try it. The four of us walked the 3.5km to the tarred road and ran back. Nicky was the first to get tired and not want to run anymore. So she stopped and walked. We weren’t even half way home yet. Ndara wanted to run faster, so I told him to. Mukoya stayed with my the whole time. After we got back to the village, and to my house armed with a CD of Namibian songs from Ndara’s house, I had to go and help a friend with a computer problem. So I left the three kids alone in my house. For about 4 hours.

I was nervous to come home again to see what kind of havoc they might have wreaked. They’d also brought two dvds to watch, so I wasn’t too concerned. And they’ve become pretty computer savvy in the last few days. I came home to find Ndara and Mukoya listening to music on my iPod AND computer and Nicky at the stove. Someone had gone to Ndara’s house to get chicken and she was cooking lunch for everyone. I asked what was going with the chicken, and they didn’t have a plan for that. So I contributed my macaroni that’s been sitting there for about 4 months. Nicky cooked us lunch. Without being asked. Leave kids to their own devices and they make do.

After lunch, we continued to just hang out at my house until about 2:30. I was getting antsy for some time alone, so I told them they were going to miss church, but only Nicky was planning to go. I had to physically carry her outside to show her I actually wanted them to leave. I love them. But I was tired and just wanted to be by myself in my one room house that has no escape. I told them they could come back after 2 hours, at 5, and I’d make them pizza for dinner. About 5 minutes to 5, Ndara and Mukoya walked into my yard. I was busy finishing the pizzas and Nicky was nowhere to be found.

I’d seen Esszy in the morning when I went to the hospital in search of a certain CD a friend needed and told him about pizza making for dinner for kids, and he could come eat too if he wanted. So he also showed up. Ndara and Mukoya didn’t stay for long, so suddenly I was stuck with 2 pizzas and only 2 people!

Finally Nicky came from church, with three other girls from grade 7. They sat outside chatting in Thimbukushu so I didn’t feel bad when I spent so much time inside finishing making dinner.

When the three other girls left, Nicky came in to eat. We sat together and I showed her how people eat pizza. There was one with onions and one with bananas (usually it’s with banana and pineapple, but lacking a pineapple, it was only banana with a lot of garlic - I know, sounds gross, but try it!). She preferred the banana pizza because it was a little bit sweet. But overall, she enjoyed it and looks forward to tomorrow when we’ll eat it again because I had about twice as much left over as I expected, with Ndara and Mukoya not staying around long enough to eat with us.

When I left my house to bring Nicky home, she asked me, “Madam, why don’t you want me to sleep at your house again?” I told her, “Because you take up the whole bed!” “But when I sleep with someone I need to feel them next to me so I need to lay just next to them so I can feel them warm instead of cold.” I LOVE YOU NICKY, BUT I CAN’T SLEEP LIKE THAT, SORRY!

I walked her half way home, like I usually do, and she ran home “so she’d be able to run more tomorrow” and I stood and watched her. It crossed my mind, and not quickly enough to ignore the reality of it, that on day I will say bye to her and it won’t be a “See you tomorrow morning at 8” or “See you tomorrow afternoon” or even “See you in a week.” But it will be “I have no idea if I’ll ever see you again” and “I love you so much that I will never be able to think of Namibia without seeing your face” and “I would give anything to bring you with me” and I’ll watch her walk away again and I will be the hardest thing about being here.

It’ll be harder than the first night in the village, watching Catalina and Sebastian with my host mom and sister and quietly crying because I don’t want to be here. It will be harder than teaching grade 5 learners who don’t know English and can’t possible learn math at their level. It will be harder than trying to hike from Windhoek to the village in a day. It will be the hardest goodbye of my life. Because I want her to do so much, she is such an incredibly important person in my life, and the thought of saying goodbye has blurred my vision as I write about it and think about the reality of it again.

A year ago I never thought I’d be where I am now.

Holiday is over

Friday, 8 January, 2010

Yesterday my neighbors came back. I really like my neighbors. They’re from a village in another region, and they’re really good people. But despite how much I like them, I like my independence and privacy more. Now the endless questions of where are you going and when will you be back and why do you do that (or some version of it) and people always just being around comes back. Vacation is over. And the frustration of living in such close quarters (we don’t actually live in the same house, it’s a duplex I guess, so it’s one building divided into 2 houses and we each have our own doors and everything) is returning in full force. I loved the last two weeks of walking out my door and not having to greet someone or somehow feeling like I have to explain what I’m doing or where I’m going. It’s ok, 3 months until the next vacation. And I’d rather spend it in the village just hanging out than go anywhere.

This morning Nicky and I ran together, just the two of us. I woke up and wasn’t happy, so I wasn’t looking forward to running with kids again. I wanted to be alone, which is quickly disappearing - my coveted alone time. I got Nicky and we went to Ndara’s house to get Ndara and Mukoya. They were nowhere to be seen. So we went to the tarred road and we both expected to see them already walking there, or running. Nothing. Just lots of other people. So we walked to the end, in almost complete silence. I didn’t feel like talking, but having Nicky there, who maybe picks up my needs or maybe was tired and not wanting to talk either, and it was easy having Nicky there in our shared silence.

After running we went looking for Ndara so we could borrow is Cinderella dvd since Nicky wasn’t able to watch it yesterday when she was outnumbered by the boys wanting to watch Zorro. Still not at his house. Not at her house. Not anywhere we looked. So we gave up, found food to cook for lunch, and came back to my house, only to find that he’d been here looking for us.

The two of the three girls from yesterday showed up and Nicky cooked for the 4 of us. There was twice as much mutete as dimbombo, so when Ndara and Mukoya finally crossed paths with us as we finished our food, Nicky was happy to cook more dimbombo for them, even though I wanted to make Ndara cook since he’d be one of the ones eating it. Nicky insisted. She loves cooking. She also made me stop washing the dishes because she wanted to do it.

Around 3, my neighbor came back from the small town where the post office is, with a package slip for me. I decided to go right then because I needed a break from kids, had the time to do it, the package had already been there for 3 weeks, and I didn’t know the next time I’d be able to go, with school starting on Monday. So I sent the kids away, grabbed my water and sunblock (sounds like I’m going to the beach!) and walked to the gravel road to get a hike.

I got a ride for the 15km trip with someone I’ve ridden with before. He always puts me in the front of his falling apart pickup truck, which I’ve always been thankful for. Today I was not. I’d rather have risked my life in the back, thanks. He talked the whole time about how he’s looking for a white wife, wants to be with someone from America so she can take him there and kept pushing for my number and for us to date and get married. I laughed it all off and did my best to avoid actually answering any of the questions. I was stuck in a small space with him for almost 30 minutes, figured I shouldn’t make him too angry. At one point though, I told him this is why I will never stay in Namibia forever - because everyone wants to marry me and everyone sees me and it’s exhausting and frustrating. He had no idea what I meant.

I got my package and was ready to go again 5 minutes later, but he was waiting around for 30 minutes or more to get more passengers, so I went to the tree to hike and he could get me when he left if I was still there. I got a hike after at least 30 minutes and being pooped on twice by a bird (!!!) with some other guy and several people who all knew each other and we speaking a language not Thimbukushu. It seemed like a very pleasant drive, until I got out, paid and said the “ghewa” everyone uses when they part someone they don’t know, and the driver made a big deal about me thanking him, at least that’s what I think he was saying in Thimbukushu, that I must thank him. So I did, turned around to walk home and whispered some words I will not repeat here under my breath. It’s just too much to leave my small village where everyone knows me, I can greet them in a way that’s easy and comfortable and nothing more is expected of me.

I got home depressed that I had neighbors, that school will start next week (even though I’ll miss the first week), that I had just had two very negative and frustrating interactions with men outside of my village and that I had a learner coming to visit who I didn’t especially want to see.

I had about 5 minutes until she would show up, and I was starving, but I didn’t get a chance to eat. So we chatted about our holidays, hers in Botswana and mine here, where she’ll go to school next year, she’s brilliant and should go to St. Boniface, the basket her mom got for me in Botswana and then I decided it was time to walk her home across the village to thank her mom myself. So I did and was exhausted when I got home and finally could eat something.

Nicky showed up again. She doesn’t exhaust me when she’s alone. But now that my neighbors are here, with their kids of course, if Nicky’s inside, the feel that they are also welcome when all I want to do is kick them out. (Today around lunch time, I bought a mango for Nicky and myself and we ate them under a roof out of the rain, and she said, “You really do hate your house when your neighbors are there.” I’ve told her that I’m not happy they’re back and I prefer to live alone. I also told her on our run that I didn’t want to go to my house today. She finally put it all together and realized I’m serious. I told her I’m moving to her house.) Nicky and I opened the package before the neighbors came over. We shared some M&Ms and then were interrupted.

I want to be able to hang out with JUST my friends when I need to. Even if that means I’m hanging out with a 13 year old girl. She’s my best friend and I want to be friends with only her sometimes. But now that holiday is over, that part of it is over too. I think I’ll be at her house a long this year.

Janice - thanks for the package! It was a great pick-me-up with Nicky after the frustrating experience of getting it. Everything is very much appreciated and it will give Nicky a taste of my culture when this is probably the closest she’ll ever get to it.

Another Namibian Christmas

Saturday, 27 December, 2009

Best Christmas present this year? Getting to travel for 2 weeks with Mom and Carien. It was really fun to show them where I live and what I’ve learned to call home over the last 13 months. It was interesting to see them struggle with things I now think of as routine and come to expect. Not that I like it all, but it’s some level of normal now.

I ended my travels 2 days earlier than planned with them so I wouldn’t have to hike the 1000km from Windhoek to my home either on Christmas or the day after Christmas. I was worried there wouldn’t be many cars and those that would be on the road would have a drunk driver. So I left them on Christmas Eve as they went south to Windhoek and I hiked back north. I got a lucky hike and got home that night.

Christmas was probably the weirdest I’ll ever experience. Not weird bad, just weird Namibian. I was invited to a friend’s house for 4, so I still had the whole day to do other things. I spent the first half of it sitting around and reading, enjoying the down time and not always moving somewhere new. Around noon, I started getting smss from friends in the village asking where I was and what I was doing for Christmas. A learner also showed up at about the same time, asking why I was alone on Christmas. They will never understand the beauty of alone time! So I left my phone to hang out with Kapweke as she fetched water and played in the river with friends she found there. I spent about an hour there as about 10 girls played tag in the water before they finished washing their clothes. Not something I’ll probably ever do again on Christmas.

When I got home, I found another invitation to a friend’s house, so I went to visit. There were a lot of people drinking, eating and listening to loud music - it sounded like a shebeen as I got closer. It was nice to be so welcomed into another family’s Christmas.

I knew the other invitation would be much different, so when I left at 4 to go to my other friend’s home, I wasn’t too sad to say bye, or really see you later, because I thought I’d show up again later. I ate Christmas dinner of rice with sauce and chicken with one friend and then we went to the shebeen with her sister to laugh at the antics of all the drunks. Christmas has got to be the second highest sales day of alcohol - I’ve heard New Year’s is even more crazy.

But I can’t say any of it was very unexpected. I knew I should expect the drinking at the first house, and the non drinking at the second house. And the ridiculousness at the shebeen. Even if a lot of it was from learners.

The day after Christmas, I went to the wedding for my host parents from training. I hadn’t expected to make it back from my vacation in time for it, so I was removed from the wedding party, but I think I was supposed to be one of the girls in an orange dress. I’d been asked a couple months ago for my measurements, when I still didn’t think I’d be able to go. So it was a bit of a surprise for everyone. My host mom comes from the village next to me, so I knew a lot of the guests, which was nice.

The church service started just after 7 and lasted about 2 hours. From there, we went to take photos and then to the reception, about an hour away. The food wasn’t yet ready, so there were many speeches, while we all suffered in the heat and hunger. There were at least 200 people there and the only relief we had was in the brief downpour that cooled off the hall. Finally food arrived and we ate and the celebration started. After eating, I left my table of mostly white people (4 volunteers were there) and sat with the wedding party where 2 friends were and a third who I’ve met only twice, but enjoy a lot. And it was a lot of fun to enjoy a special day with them as part of their family.

The reception is more about eating than anything else. There wasn’t a lot of time after eating that we spent at the hall. The party was then moved to the husband’s homestead, where we sang and danced for a while. Then people started leaving, but my car stayed for several more hours. In that time, more food was served, and I was finally given a chance to drink some water after suffering in the heat all day. When the rain started around 9, we were all given rides home since the party seemed to end with the arrival of the rain.

Just before I got home, my stomach started not feeling quite right, a sensation I’ve become quite familiar with in the last year. An hour later, I was throwing up everything I’d eaten all day until there was nothing left to throw up. And all I was wishing for was someone to take the bag outside because walking was not coming easy. This was quickly followed with many trips throughout the night to the toilet, and throughout today. Note to self: Always ALWAYS bring your own water with you, no matter how inappropriate it might seem to carry a Nalgene.

Still yet to eat anything more than a few crackers, but I did manage to get a friend to go and buy my bread, or at least have a friend send a small boy to go and buy my bread. I left my bed only for trips to the toilet today, until some friends showed up who I hadn’t seen in about a month. Then I lay down outside instead of inside.

Mom: you left just in time to miss me getting sick and to bring me back with you like you’d promised if I was still sick when you came!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAPWEKE!!!!

Tuesday, 29 December, 2009

Holiday is no different from the school year in some ways - like I can’t really decide if I want to be alone or if I want to be constantly inundated with visitors, because there’s no such thing as moderation. Yesterday, after spending a day alone and sick, I left mid morning to visit Nicky at home and to bring her to my house to give her the gifts the mom had brought and bought for her - a tshirt of her color choice (she was one of only 2 learners I asked what she wanted from America, and the only one that gave me an answer) and an umbrella because she’d asked me long back to buy for her an umbrella with money she gave me for that purpose, but only if they were N$20, they were N$30. So she got both of those and her face lit up with each realization of what she was getting. Then she managed to talk me into giving her Gobstoppers (which she shared with the many kids she lives with) and elastics. Her somehow sister Filo told me that Nicky will leave me now that she got all of those gifts. It’s not true.

After spending some time at my house, I got bored and we went back to Nicky’s where we spent all afternoon. Her mom doesn’t know English, but the many learners who stay there do. I didn’t even care when they were speaking Thimbukushu and I couldn’t understand. It was comfortable to just be there all day with people who appreciate me for me.

In all of our walking, we passed the same few small kids at least 5 times. For several months, they would yell MAKUWA when I would pass, white person. I would sometimes patiently, sometimes frustratedly, explain that my name is not makuwa, but is Lori. They finally got it. Whenever we would pass yesterday, a chorus of small kids, none of whom I know the names of, would yell LORI!

When we came back to my house again, some other learners showed up, but Nicky hid from them, not wanting them to know she was here. In her time hiding, she cleaned my sink and filled some water balloons that I didn’t find until today. So when she came back this morning, one of the first things we did was to chase each other around my house outside, each armed with one water balloon. We both missed, but it was pretty hilarious, and easy, how we just fell into that game.

I wasn’t yet finished cleaning my house, really exciting life I have here, so I kept doing that and she figured out how to play Spider Solitaire on my computer with minimal guidance from me. We’ve spent so much time together in the past year that I really can do anything with her around, as menial as cleaning my house. She doesn’t need my constant attention and entertainment because she knows I’m still there and still there for her no matter what I’m doing. It was easy to have her here. And I noticed that ease especially with Kapande showed up, for only the second time, yesterday being the first, and I didn’t really know what to do with her. We played some card games, and Kapweke showed up, making it somehow easier, so we had some puzzle races. Today was the first time Kapweke did a puzzle, so it was interesting to see her confusion at first, offer some guidelines, and see her figure it out. So if you’re looking for things to send, send kids puzzles with up to 100 pieces, they’re a huge hit!

I have too many things to get rid of, and too many kids who want everything, but somehow giving to those who hang out with me seems OK suddenly. At least in moderation. Today Kapweke wanted many many things, so I asked her when her birthday is. 29 December. I don’t think she even knew that was today’s date because I told her that was today and she was a little surprised! We blew up some balloons and ate fat cakes and I gave her a notebook and some stickers and a couple flower pictures mom had brought and she was fascinated with when she saw them and some maize meal so she can eat dinner at least. Nothing exciting, but she got to spend it playing, once she finished her work.

After a year of teaching, my closest learners are asking when I’m going, they seem to know it’s after this next year. And it’s much more real now that we’ve finished one year together. Kapweke and Nicky both say they will feel bad when I leave, which I think means they will feel sad. And that they will never forget me. And that they will also go. When I asked where, they didn’t say to America with me like I expected, but they will just go. Suddenly being half done isn’t such a good thing anymore. It took me nearly a year to fall in love with this place, but fall in love I have and I don’t know how I’ll say bye to everyone and everything in less than 12 months when I get to say hi to all of you. One thing that will make it much harder than leaving the US is that I can keep in touch with you all through email and phone calls, as few as they may be. But email has yet to reach most people here and phone calls rarely even happen within the country because of the expensive cost. So the bye I say in a year will be much more final.

And I don’t like that so much. Maybe by then I’ll be more ready, but if it were today that I had to start saying bye, I don’t think I could.

The sweet relief of rain

Wednesday, 30 December, 2009

I love when Nicky shows up. I love it too when she shows up with friends. It makes my job of entertaining her easier. This morning I got back from getting some groceries in the nearby “town” which is really just a bigger village, and she was waiting at my gate with 3 other kids. They all came in and started doing the 4 puzzles I have. Word is getting out about my new things I let kids play with! Before they were all finished, a friend from the village brought 2 more kids to visit too. They finished the puzzles and moved on to a card game that is very similar to spoons. I took out my book and read quietly while I listened to the bits of their conversations that were in English and the distant rumblings of thunder.

When the winds started I walked outside to see if we were really going to get rain. I started getting wet. Yes, we were really going to get rain! I came back inside and told them the rain was coming and there was a mad dash to get their shoes on and run out the door to the safety of their homes for lunch hoping to avoid the rain that was threatening to consume them.

I love that kids are comfortable enough with me to show up at my house and make themselves at home - even those from town and the city who are just in the village for the holiday so don’t know me from school. Nicky was my only learner here, Leleti who was my host sister also came, but the other 3 girls I don’t even know the names of.

I sometimes worry that I let them speak Thimbukushu at my house instead of forcing English, even with those I know who can speak it. But I’d rather that they are comfortable with an adult they hardly know than that they always speak English.

Somehow I’ve made an impact on several learners if they’re willing to show up at my house on a lazy vacation day just to see what I’ll play with them. And then will eventually open up if they need an ear to listen to them. I’ve decided that that’s far more important than the book smarts I can leave with them.

If my belt had holes

Wednesday, 30 December, 2009

Warning: Sophia, you shouldn’t read this if you ever want to visit Africa…

For weeks I’ve been told that I should take out the grass in my yard. It’s not nice grass that you’d mow. It’s weedy. But I’ve thought for the last year that it’s kind of ridiculous to go around pulling out all the grass. Or sending learners with hoes and rakes to pull out all the grass.

Well, I finally understand that need.

After a nice nap with Ziggy while it rained this afternoon so I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed because everyone would be inside, I heard my gate open and knew the rain had stopped. Moro. Kapweke. She’d told me yesterday she’d come with 2 hoes so we could take out the grass. She’d come, but only with the soccer ball I’d given her on Christmas. While I put more air in it, she told me she’d go get 2 hoes. She did, and while she was gone, I happened to see a green mamba in a tree in my yard.

This morning, Segunda, a just-completed-but-not-passed-grade 10 learner, had killed a snake at my neighbor’s house. I sent him an sms, “THERE’S A SNAKE IN MY TREE!” Which tree? “Mudhika near the principal’s house.” I have no idea what it mattered which tree, but I told him. I’m coming. Good! By the time he got there, running, I had lost the snake, but I was not going to sleep tonight if it was still alive. We looked and looked, and Kapweke showed up wondering what we were looking for. THIYOKA!!!! Just yesterday Kapweke had come and taken many of the branches from that tree to eat the leaves for dinner! I started hitting the branches with my broom fully extended trying to make it fall out of the tree. Nothing. I told Segunda I wanted to cut the tree down to avoid this problem in the future.

Do you have a panga? A what? A panga. An axe? No, that’s something else. A saw? No that’s something else. How do you use a panga? [Swinging motion.] Like an axe. I went and got one from another neighbor. Segunda started carefully cutting down the branches and finally Kapweke spotted the snake again. This time in my maize (which is no longer because it was too close together planted on rocks, thanks Nicky!). It was at least 2 feet long, with a green head and a greenish body - the same color as the tree, so it’s a wonder that I even spotted it in passing when I wasn’t looking for it. And it was angry! Finally, after a struggle, Segunda told it, “May your soul rest in peace,” after he managed to kill it.

And then the tree was demolished. It will grow back, with many more branches, but by the time it’s that big, it will be someone else’s problem. I’ll continue pruning it and giving the branches away for peoples’ dinner. And a second tree was also cut down because I don’t want to find a snake in there.

Then Kapweke and I started pulling up the grass. It took about 5 minutes for me to feel it in my back and about 15 minutes for sweat to actually be running down my face, not just dripping. My body must have the worst cooling system of anyone in Africa. Sure, I’m not African, but I thought I was somehow used to this! She started telling me to rake behind her and throw all the grass over the fence and she would continue hoeing.

Then Nicky showed up for a second time today. I gave her the second hoe and we all worked together for at least 2 hours. I never want to see another blade of grass in my sandy yard again. Africa is no place for nicely manicured green lawns. It’s a place for nicely raked sandy areas.

Half way through working with them, I finally gave in a tightened my belt so my pants would stop threatening to fall down. My mom wrote to me that after her 3 week trip to Africa, she lost 5 pounds. I don’t know how much I weighed when I left the US, but at this point, I’ve got to be down more than 5! If my belt had holes I would have used each one in the last year, starting somewhere in the middle, then I gained weight living with families and eating somehow free food, but now I’ve lost that and definitely some of the initial weight too. I don’t know if it’s the work I do with my learners, my somewhat regular stomach problems after eating questionable food and drinking even more questionable water, or if I actually have contracted some kind of parasite. But for the first time since arriving on this continent, two days ago, I was told that I’m getting too thin instead of too fat. Nicky was the one telling me, and we again talked about that as I walked her home tonight. “But madam, why are you getting thin?” I think there is something in me eating my food. “No, you don’t eat enough!” So I should come and eat dinner with you now? “Still!” That means they weren’t yet eating dinner. It was almost 8 o’clock.

Annie’s macaroni and cheese sufficed for dinner at my house instead.

So long 2009

Friday, 1 January, 2010

Well that was interesting, the year and the final night. Thinking back briefly to what my year was like, it’s shocking really that I am in Namibia still. At least the ups have been more regular, but the downs are so low that I never thought I’d last more than the first term here.

Yesterday I spent the day with Nicky, again. We go visit people together, other learners, sit around my house, she figures out how to use my things, tells me about other learners and people in the village, draws on the never ending paper supply she’s found, go get fat cakes instead of eating my food (she told me she likes it when we go get fat cakes for lunch because she doesn’t want to finish my food, so she’ll finish my money instead). It’s a thrilling life I lead with my 13 year old best friend.

Around 4, we went back to her house, throwing and kicking a soccer ball to each other on the way and learning that her mom told her not to bring friends to my house because one will steal something and blame it on Nicky, where I found Ritha and Filo sitting around, so I joined them for a bit. I didn’t really want to spend all of New Year’s Eve alone at my house while Ziggy was out hunting, so I stayed to figure out what was going to happen for New Year’s. Nothing, apparently. The party is on the first day of the new year instead of the last day of the old year. I watched as about 8 kids ran after chickens that will be dinner for the New Year celebration. They were always excited to be the one who caught it.

Before it got dark, the rain finally came. All the adults who’d been sitting outside under trees took cover indoors before the heavy rain started. All the kids who’d been at other houses playing with friends ran back after the heavy rains started and took shelter under the trees we’d just abandoned. Until those too were no longer any kind of refuge from the pouring rain. Within seconds of the rain starting, there was a river running through the homestead, with boats made of old biscuit wrappers and soda cans. Ritha told me she’d make me a bed.

Penny showed up and the three of us watched TV - American music videos that I’ve never seen, much less know the music - while they talked as fast as they could it seemed in Thimbukushu. Finally we ate dinner at 8:30 and the rain had let up a bit, so after sitting through some more conversation I couldn’t understand and music videos I could barely tolerate, I asked for some kids to be called to walk me home around 10.

Kangapi, Filo and Nicky were the lucky victims to walk across the village with me. I had more fun on that walk than I’d had the whole time I was sitting with the adults and feigning interest in conversations I couldn’t understand. When we were nearly home, a car full of people none of us knew stopped to greet us after we’d pulled over to let them pass so they wouldn’t have to stop. Well, like most cars in villages, it was an old one and it wouldn’t start again after it’d stopped. So they had to get out and push, and we took that opportunity to get as far from them as possible. We turned toward my house and hid behind some bushes as they drove by asking each other where we’d run to. In the last 3 minutes of walking to my house, they were all very concerned that I’d be sleeping alone tonight. “Leave your mangos and come back with us!” I tried to convince them I’d be fine, that I have 4 doors and would lock each, as I always do, and that the security guard, who I don’t actually trusts, would be around, and that I always sleep alone so I’d be fine. They weren’t having it.

“Let’s just stay for some minutes.” They didn’t want to go home. I had no idea if they were going to spend the night, but they were not about to leave as they figured out how to use my iPod, my camera and my computer, so I made them brownies, which we ate hot, right out of the pan with spoons, and I put on the only TV show I have - How I Met Your Mother. I didn’t know if the humor would be over their heads, but Filo and Kangapi laughed at the right places before the laugh track would start, so I think they got it. Nicky was pretty uninterested, but happy to still be at my house.

Finally I realized I was having houseguests for the night, so I showered and got in bed with Nicky while Filo kept watching TV and Kangapi did a puzzle on the floor using my headlamp so Nicky could go to sleep. We made it to midnight, but just barely, and Nicky was the first to fall asleep after that, using my leg as a pillow. And while I lay there in my bed, with Nicky’s head on my leg, I realized how normal all of this is to them now. I’m just another person - one who treats them differently than anyone else does, and they notice it. Events move easily into each other without anyone having to explain the transition from either the Namibian or American cultural point of view. Things just happen and they make sense to everyone. Nowhere else will I ever have 3 learners, all somehow family to each other but completely unknown how to me, sleep over on New Year’s Eve after they walk me home and end up staying. But here, in this place that usually makes very little sense to me, that makes sense.

I shared my bed with Nicky and Kangapi, while Filo slept on my camping pad on the floor. I had planned to sleep there, but when we saw a gecko run across the floor, I changed my mind and she happily took that spot. Sharing my bed with my mom last week was enough - 2 people to a bed is about my limit for personal space when I’m sleeping - so last night, going to sleep well after midnight, and then sharing my bed with two learners, saw very little sleep.

I promised Nicky I’d come get her 10 this morning to hang out again. I have 2 hours to nap until then.

Happy New Year, to what was probably the most random sequence of events for any new year’s eve I’ll ever have.

Welcome 2010

Friday, 1 January, 2010

After getting a 2 hour nap, I went over to Nicky’s house. Kayoka was one of the first people I saw and greeted and the smile on his face whenever I show up at his house makes me day. Ritha’s dad was insistent on talking to me for at least an hour, where I know very little Thimbukushu and he knows even less English. He likes to tell me how to say things in Portuguese. Helpful, thanks. I guess at least it’s something to do.

New Year’s Day consists of the actual parties. So everyone was busy cooking potato salad, macaroni, chicken (4 had been killed before I showed up), porridge and relish (sauce). I helped only with cutting the potatoes. Note to self: don’t eat mayonnaise, it makes you nauseous, I guess throwing it up a week ago will do that to you.

Ritha likes to try to get me to drink, I like to avoid it when I’m around my learners. The night before I’d had 2 beers and Nicky told me she was mad at me when she walked me home. I’d told her in the past I guess that I don’t drink beer. Oops. But today the party started when they woke up, and for me when I got there just past 10, so I didn’t even WANT to drink. By the afternoon I was considering it, but couldn’t bring myself to be ok with it with all the kids around who I was hanging out with more than the adults. I just can’t find common ground with them when they just want to drink, and when they’re drunk may or may not beat their kids, who are my best friends, and more than likely do beat them.

So I sat around while kids played some kind of dodgeball, jump rope, soccer and card games. After eating, and some more playing, Nicky and I left to finish pulling the grass from my yard - weeding it really.

On the way to my house, I wanted to cry for how much I felt for Nicky. Her mom had just beat her young brother and his cries were piercing before Ritha interrupted and took him away. I wanted to be sick. Maybe it was partly all the mayonnaise in the potato salad. I asked Nicky, “Can I ask you something that you probably don’t want me to ask?” Yes. “Does your mother beat you for things you do wrong?” Yes, but not only for things I do wrong. “OK.” She was really quiet. I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to push it, so we were both quiet for the 10 minute walk to my house after that.

We were both lost in our own heads when we got there so I got out the unfinished brownies from last night and we ate some to fill the silence, and our sugar cravings. But all I could think about was leaving in 11 months and maybe never seeing Nicky again. And it almost made me cry then and is making me cry now. She has been the most important person in the village for me. I asked her who her best friends were and she shrugged her shoulders and made the noise that I’ve learned means “Nothing.” I asked if it’s one of the girls I’ve met in the last few days that she seems to spend a lot of time with on holiday when they’re around - Makore, Ngonde and Moli. No. Seglinde? Yes. And Sawahenga. But they’re both away for the holiday with other family members farther away. So we’ve literally spent all day everyday together for the past 5 days. And we have another week of holiday left before I have to go to Windhoek for a few days. If I hadn’t forced myself to go to her house last Monday when I was feeling well enough to leave the house, I would have spent these days alone.

She’s 13. And we talk about 13 year old things, with an adult spin probably. She makes me laugh. I see her at her house and at my house and she’s two different people. She’s unsure and walking on eggshells at home. She’s confident and smiling and sure of herself at my house. She’s come to make my home her home. She helps herself to the cold water I keep stocked in the fridge and the cups in the cupboard. She uses the toilet without thinking about it anymore, when the first time she used it, she had told me, “Hurry, I need to urinate,” before I was ready to leave the house with her so she could use the bush toilet. When other kids come over, she’s the one who knows where everything is and what’s for kids to use and what’s mine. She always asks if she can borrow something instead of just taking it and hoping I don’t notice. And today she asked if I want my soccer ball back that I let her borrow yesterday and she told me she’d bring back today. No, you can keep it. There are at least 10 kids on her homestead and many more who come to play, it’ll be well used. My things are slowly turning into her things - she put a watch on the other day and has yet to take it off. She likes the other kids I like - when Kapande and Dihako were over the other day, she hid from them and washed my dishes, but when Kapweke is here, we all hang out together. Yesterday I’d promised Anton I’d visit him today, so we went to his house before we pulled the grass, wondering if he’d even be around because we speculate that he drinks. He was home and we brought him back with us and we all pulled the grass together, then hung out and finished the brownies. Nicky told Anton about her mother beating her brother and that she didn’t want to stay at her home tonight. These kids need each other when I’m gone and maybe this is the start to a healthy coping mechanism. They don’t have advice for each other, but neither do I really. They wouldn’t have talked to each other today if I wasn’t friends with both of them. And that’s the same about Kapweke and Nicky when they’re at my house at the same time. They’re all part of different circles of friends, but put me into the mix and they end up in the same circle for a little while. It gets them talking to each other about things they wouldn’t otherwise talk to peers about. And hopefully they’ll get different advice in the future than they would from the other people they’re talking to.

But I still think about leaving Nicky behind in 11 months and it tears me apart. I spend more time with her than anyone else. How do you leave someone who you know needs you, to go back to a life they can’t fathom and leave them to cope with things that are way over their heads at much too young an age? Yesterday she told me that she’s going to leave the village. I asked what her plan is. She doesn’t have one. Where will you sleep? I know people. Where will you get food? There was no plan. Where will you go to school? I won’t go to school. I strongly advised against that step. We joke that she’s coming home with me, but I know it’s only a dream, and I’m sure she knows that too. I’ve also thought of the reality of bringing her home, and it’s not a reality I could deal with. Sticking around Namibia with her somewhere would make a lot more sense. (Don’t worry, I’m not ACTUALLY thinking of doing that!)

In the past days, I’ve met a lot of kids form towns and the city. And I much prefer the village kids. There’s a sense of entitlement that the town kids have. Nicky get a lot of presents from me, she doesn’t ask for them, but I know she’ll appreciate them and I love her, so why not try to make her happier and her life a little better? Her friends from town have told her that they’re my new family because they want to get presents too. They asked her why she gets so many things from me. She doesn’t know. She also told them I don’t like a lot of kids at my house, so after they came the one time, they haven’t been back. I see them plenty in the village. I don’t know them, so they’re not easy to have at my house, like having Nicky here is. But they way they even talk to me is with some kind of attitude that they think of themselves as being better than the kids in the village. Similar to that of the attitudes of many adults. I prefer Kayoka, from 15km in the bush (he’s promised to take me there, but he doesn’t think I can walk both ways in one day, so we’re spending a night when we go), and Nicky, who hasn’t left the village to go to town in over 3 years. Maybe it’s the innocence they still possess, or the desire to get out without knowing what’s really out there. But they are much more fun to hang out with, even if I have to choose my words more carefully and slow down my English so they can understand. I love the village kids.

Seglinde and Nicky blowing bubbles at my house.

The 12 marathon runners.

Me and Kapweke at the marathon.

Djami.

The other things in my life

Monday, 30 November, 2009

Even though the events of Djami’s funeral, memorial and burial have dominated my life for the past week, I’ve somehow found time for other things to happen that are somehow significant too.

Friday I showed up at Ritha’s house for the weekend. She’s a 33 year old mother of two of my learners, and lives on the same homestead with about 10 of my learners. There are 3 or 4 different (somehow) families there, and all are really great and I enjoy them all. I was welcomed with hugs and smiles and all around happiness.

Ritha and I shared a room Friday and Saturday nights so we naturally spent a lot of time chatting, the way women do when they’re left to their own devices. One time Peace Corps told us was that people would talk about whatever we did. Well, I never hear what people are saying about me. Even though I ask! So I tried to figure out why. Ritha’s English is perfect. She’s been to several African countries, as well as Holland to visit her friends there. So she’s very aware of the differences between the culture here and what I’m used to. I’ve asked her some other big questions because I know she ‘gets it.’

On Monday I’d sent her an sms to find out if she’d be around for me to ask a favor. On Tuesday I’d gone to meet her at work to ask if I could spend the weekend at her house. Friday night, she told me that on Monday when I told her I needed a favor, she knew I’d come right out and ask instead of going about it in a round about way. Well yeah, I don’t know any other way of communicating! But she told me that people won’t gossip with a makuwa because our communication is so straight. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing right now. I don’t need to know other peoples’ gossip, but I really want to know what people say about me so I know if I’m doing anything wrong and offending people. I assume that if I don’t hear about it, it can’t be TOO bad. But I also told her that what people say to me doesn’t go anywhere. It stops there, something that doesn’t happen when two Hambukushu talk to each other. Then it spreads like wild fire. She explained that no one is telling me things about me because I’m not telling anyone my secrets. Well yeah! Because I know it’ll spread!

I spent Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon at Ritha’s home, with trips out for the memorial, burial, and other brief outings just to go somewhere else. On Sunday, I went home and asked Nicky, who stays on the same homestead with Ritha, to walk with me. I hadn’t seen her all weekend even though we were sleeping just feet from each other in our homes. She started chattering away in Thimbukushu, saying that I never left Ritha’s house and she couldn’t come in because Ritha can talk too much. Hmmm… She also told me that I’m different when I’m at Ritha’s. Yes. That is true. It’s hard to try to be friends with people more my age, when I’d rather be hanging out with 13 year old Nicky. She’s also different I told her. She didn’t come to find me, the way she does when I’m at home.

It’s hard because no one else treats kids the way I do. Everyone knows that Nicky and I are good friends, we tell people that we’re sisters, but it’s different when I’m a guest at her homestead visiting Ritha.

Today Nicky again told me she’s coming home with me. What I’d give to get her to the US with me. I will miss that girl. I made her promise me that she’ll complete grade 12. But it’s unlikely she will. Money is one limiting factor, and she’s not the hardest working kid I know.

Today at school kids were happier. Burials are a significant end. They signify a very real goodbye. Djami’s friends were more themselves. I’m sure they’re still hurting, but it’s more real now and starting to be more normal. We talked about the burial in our staff briefing and many people were thanked for the help they gave - me for the photos (I found out I was also thanked at the memorial, but it was in Thimbukushu so I didn’t hear it, but I’m also skeptical that my principal is just SAYING that for my benefit somehow), another teacher for organizing the choir, and many teachers for just going and giving their time. It’s still sad. But people are moving on, and I’m moving with them, trying not to be left behind.

Last night the water in the village went out. Everywhere. So I used my stored water this morning and then had to fetch from the river. I went with Nicky and Haushiku just before lunch. Of the 3 of us, I was the only one who was able to actually carry mine the whole ½ kilometer from the river. We had 2 containers of 25 liters each. Nicky put hers on her head at the start, with my help, but it was too heavy for her neck. I tried it, but only lasted about 10 seconds before I knew I’d just get hurt. So I took my dikehe and tied it around me like a purse and carried the container the whole way. They used my other dikehe and dragged it through the dry beach like sand. When we got to school, the few teachers who were still around were very impressed I could carry it from the river. I was profusely sweating and all I wanted was a shower, but who knows when that will be possible again! They didn’t think it was full, so I opened the cap to show them it was. They were even more impressed then. Nicky put hers back on her head to walk through school. That girl impresses me everyday.

On our walk back when we took a break in the shade, they started asking what I’ll teach next year. We haven’t talked about that at school yet, so I don’t know. They told me I have to teach grade 7 math and English. They’ll be in grade 7 next year. I told them that’s too much. But madam! You like teaching! HAH!!! I guess I put up a good act. I tried explaining I like teaching them things that matter outside the classroom, and spending time with them, but the classroom part of the job isn’t for me. I hope I know what I’m teaching before holiday comes.

Hopefully the rain will start soon. It’s already about 2 weeks later than last year, and a month later than most people told me it’d be here. I could use it now now now now. My fan is broken. Nights are too hot.

Expectations

Wednesday, 2 December, 2009

We get into everything with some set of expectations. There’s usually a very small subset of those expectations that end up being true.

One expectation I had was that I would not stay on this wild roller coaster of emotions going so quickly between loving and hating everything. I woke up this morning to a knock on my door at 6am. No one comes to my house that early. I spent the next 10 seconds debating whether or not I could convince whoever it was that I wasn’t there or that I was in a deep sleep if I just stayed quiet. Then I heard a familiar voice say, “Madam.”

Kapweke was at my house. She wasn’t even supposed to be in the village today. I’d given her hike money to get to the village where her father lives so she can get his birth certificate and ID so she can get her own birth certificate and register for government help.

“Coming.”

I “threw on” a dikehe and went outside. I knew things were not OK given that she hadn’t left the village to meet her dad and she was at my house so early. It took a few questions to find out that her family had told her to wait to hike today so she’d have more time to get a ride and then her mom was beaten last night by some girl with a stone to the head. I couldn’t, and still can’t, make sense of a lot of it. Something about her mom having been drinking (also learned today that if she doesn’t drink before going to bed then she’ll be sick…) and someone asking for money and her calling someone her cousin or niece or some other family member. I’m not sure how everything is linked, but she was beaten with a stone on the back of her head and went to the hospital where they wrapped it up and gave her pills. I told Kapweke not to go today, to stay home to make sure her mom was OK.

I made it to school not really sure what was going to happen because only 2 grades are left writing exams, and not having a lot to do, but plenty on my mind to think about. The staff briefing finally started, but before it, I got to sit around waiting for at least 30 minutes where everything that I’ve learned to let slide away without bothering me for the past 11 months came back in full force and drove me crazy.

I cried tears of frustration after listening to the principal talk for another pointless 30 minutes, and was walked in on by another teacher while I was in my classroom alone. “Are you ok?” Yes. Good thing no one really likes to talk about real things here. I spent the morning finishing my mark sheets and parts of my schedule and reports that I could do. Then worked on the puzzle I started in my empty classroom yesterday with Miss Siyanga. Some learners stopped by because they had nothing to do and made a feeble attempt at working on the puzzle too. They don’t seem to understand that it’ll make a picture and you can’t just throw the pieces together in the fastest way possible.

I got home for lunch and started making naan. I needed to cook.

Kapweke stopped by again on her way to fetch water. We went to the river together with our containers (I haven’t had water since Sunday and have fetched some water from the river with my learners, but will be sending learners most of the time. Carrying 25 liters of water tied around my neck with a dikehe is a very painful ½ km walk through beach like sand.). She had to make another trip, but I was sweating too much to go back, so I finished making my naan.

Kapweke came again. “Nipe mudhika.” Give me mudhika. A tree that is in my yard that I don’t eat, but Namibians do. That’s fine, you can take. We picked mudhika together. “Tuyende ku dimbo.” Let’s go home. Yame? Me? To your home? Ghii. Yes.

So we walked to her house together, carrying mudhika for dinner. “My mother asked why you stopped visiting her.” After I had to reassure her that I visited because I like visiting, I hadn’t been back because things got busy with the burial, going to town and finishing school in a timely not-so-stressful manner. So I spent the afternoon there. And somewhere along the walk, I stopped hating being here and started loving it again.

When I’m at Kapweke’s I can’t talk to anyone except Kapweke. Muhura walked by with Mark and they came to visit too. The three of us, Kapweke, Muhura and myself, had a lot of laughs together. And I wanted nothing else. While this morning all I wanted to do was stay in bed, or better yet, get on a plane and leave, or at least fast forward a week to when my mom gets here.

This roller coaster is still here, but it’s definitely less intense. Almost manageable. I can talk about it with my learners, who don’t really get it, but will listen and ask questions. Talking to people my age about it is still a stretch, but at least I have my learners.

Thank God for learners!

Photos

Thursday, 3 December, 2009

I looked through most of my photos yesterday and realized that most of my most meaningful experiences and moments are not captured on “film.” I guess that’s because I’m so IN the moment that I don’t think about. Or that I feel like a lot of the big events are inappropriate places for cameras. Like visiting Kapweke’s house. Or going to Djami’s funeral, memorial and burial. Or going to the witch doctor this morning. To witness it for 10 minutes, not to add another horror story to the ones I’ve already heard by experiencing it. Or sitting in the back of a bakkie with 4 other teachers through the village. The ones that don’t SEEM big, I don’t bring my camera to. And the ones that ARE big, I feel like it’d be inappropriate to bring my camera to.

Even though I’m pretty sure it’d be absolutely fine to bring it just about anywhere.

My First Born

Saturday, 5 December, 2009

An exchange between my mom, my brother, Nicky in 6B and me…

Mom (in email form): I asked Adrian what he wants me to bring back from Africa. He said, “Bring Lori home!”

Me: [Laughing, reads that to those who showed up to study in 6B]

Nicky: You can’t go home! Do you want to go back?

Me: Not yet. You want to write to my brother?

Nicky (in email form): To Adrian. Lori will not come back yet. You will not miss her again.

I just found this song she wrote after that exchange…

Bring Lori Home

Bring Lori home

Please bring her home

No no no nooooooooo please

She’s my mom I will come with Lori to America

Chorus

Bye bye no no

Bring Lori home

Kaffir Boy: An Autobiography; the true story of black youth’s coming of age in apartheid South Africa

Saturday, 5 December, 2009

“He refused to go to school because his father led him to believe that an education was a tool through which white people were going to take things away from him, like they did black people in the old days. And that a white man’s education was worthless insofar as black people were concerned because it prepared them for jobs they can’t have. But I know it isn’t totally so, child, because times have changed somewhat. Though our lot isn’t any better today, an education will get you a decent job. If you can read or write you’ll be better off than those of us who can’t. Take my situation: I can’t find a job because I don’t have papers, and I can’t get papers because white people mainly want to register people who can read and write. But I want things to be different for you, child. For you and your brother and sisters. I want you to go to school, because I believe that an education is the key you need to open up a new world and a new life for yourself, a world and life different from that of either your father’s or mine. It is the only key that can do that, and only those who seek it earnestly and perseveringly will get anywhere in the white man’s world. Education will open doors where none seem to exist. It’ll make people talk to you, listen to you and help you, people who otherwise wouldn’t bother. It will make you soar, like a bird lifting up into the endless blue sky, and leave poverty, hunger and suffering behind. It’ll teach you to learn to embrace what’s good and shun what’s bad and evil. Above all, it’ll make you a somebody in this world. It’ll make you grow up to be a good and proud person. That’s why I want you to go to school, child, so that education can do all that, and more, for you.”

At the age of 10… “For years afterward, I was to think of that suicide attempt in the following terms: whenever the troubles of the world seem too much, it helps to have someone loving and understanding to share those troubles with; and life takes its true meaning in proportion to one’s daily battles against suffering.”

I read that passage differently than I would have before coming to Namibia. Apartheid is part of Namibia’s history, though less so in the northern part of the country than the south nearer to South Africa. But suffering here is not just from the remnants of apartheid. It comes from the daily struggle to survive. And that struggle is partly due to the apartheid system. When I read it, I thought of my learners and their worries that they shouldn’t have at their age. Kapweke worrying where her next meal will come from. Or showing up at my house at 6am because her mom was beaten the night before. I’m happy to be here so she can share that trouble with someone loving and caring. Nicky worrying about how Djami died. She shared with me that his home was intentionally burned down. It simply can’t be true, but when she told me, it was lessening the burden of having that information inside herself. In term 1, when I felt absolutely useless at school, I started coming to terms with “just being” here. Being here for the learners. Being here to live with them. But mostly just being. And having finished my first year of teaching, I’m more confident in the fact that I’m doing very little for them in terms of a math education, but I am definitely helping in a life education. By just being here. Teaching them that they are somebody. That they can and should dream. That there are people who want to help them. That asking questions is good. That making mistakes is good. And every person in the world deserves that. Some people are lucky to grow up taking that comfort and support for granted within their own family. Others might never know it. And then others find it in unlikely places; like from the white girl living in their small Namibian village who talks funny and eats funny food and has skin that turns even whiter when you touch it.

Yesterday I wanted to leave. Today I can’t imagine leaving or what life will be like afterwards.

“There is a death far worse than physical death, and that is the heath of the mind and soul, when, despite toiling night and day, under sweltering heat, torrential rain, blistering winds, you still cannot make enough to clothe, shelter and feed your loved ones, suffering miles away, forcibly separated from you.”

“‘But what’s wrong about having white friends?’ I asked. ‘They’re people too, aren’t they? Why won’t anyone believe me when I say that the white people I play tennis with are not racists. They’re on our side, Mama. They believe what we believe. They’re fighting for what we’re fighting for - an end to apartheid. So why shouldn’t we judge them different from the racist whites?’”

I’m living in a completely different place from the ghetto environment in this book, but the first question really got me. I look different than everyone here. I talk differently from everyone here. I have different values from everyone here. And my learners are attracted to that. In a way that provokes jealousy from other learners who don’t come to visit me, or are too shy to get to know me. I’ve been told by more than one learner that people like to talk too much. And it’s the same thing. I can’t even explain it, but somehow I just got a better understanding of it.

Houseguests

Sunday, 6 December, 2009

I’ve had plenty of houseguests in my one room home - Jeremy, Mark, Kerri, Kaitlin, Marc, Griffin. They’re always welcome to come back. Even my learners who visit during the day and don’t spend the night can come back. But I have had many unwelcome guests as well…

About a month ago, I was plugging in my extension cord to the one conveniently placed working plug so I could cook dinner. There are a few boxes of school supplies that were sitting just next to the outlet and I moved one to get better access. I saw some scaly movement between the box and the wall. I jumped back. Very cautiously I peered over the box to see if I should be terrified of the potential snake that had taken up residence in my house. It wasn’t a snake, but it was a lot bigger than the average lizard Ziggy catches and de-tails before killing it, or more recently abandoning it alive in my bathroom. I pushed the box a little to get it to move. It ran up the wall. I screamed and ran outside. My neighbors were sitting outside enjoying their dinner and their 19 year old son, Hendricks, came over to find out what had made me so scared. I told him it’s a really big lizard. He came and looked. A gecko. Those are good because they’ll eat the mosquitoes and cockroaches. And they won’t do anything to me? Nope.

I hadn’t seen my gecko friend in a few weeks so thought maybe Ziggy had killed it or chased it out. The other night I came home late from a staff party and found it lazing on my wall. OK, he’s still around. Good to know.

This morning I wanted to make eggs. But my stove has a bad connection and wasn’t working. So I pulled it away from the wall so I could look behind to make sure it was still connected in the back. Yes. And there, looking up to find out what was disturbing its peaceful morning snooze, was the gecko. I got another fright seeing just the face without the body to know it wasn’t a snake. I should name him.

I leave my doors open until I go to bed so I can cool off my house for more optimal sleeping conditions. The other night I came inside from washing my dishes in my basin because the water in the village wasn’t working. I turned on my light to find a very small snake on the floor. I again screamed and ran outside. My neighbors had already gone inside after eating, but I had no qualms about knocking on their door for this one. Again, Hendricks was the one to come to my rescue. There’s a snake in my house! A snake? Yes! He came over where we found the tail end of the snake sticking out of a small hole in the wall near the floor that I’d never noticed before. I took toilet paper and stuffed it in the hole after the snake. The next night I was outside eating dinner while my neighbors were playing. Thiyoka! That’s a word I know, and will grab my attention. Snake! Fortune in grade 5 said it. I came running. It was the same size as the one in my house the night before, skinnier than a pencil, but potentially nonetheless. Hendricks killed it.

Last night I got a phone call at 9:30 and went outside to talk because that’s the only place the network is good enough to hear each other. After about 25 minutes, I came back to my house to go to bed. I’d left my outside light on, inside light off, and front door open with just the burglar bars locked to keep people out. There’s a big plastic bag of games for kids when they come over sitting just inside the door. As I approached my house, I could hear a noise that was coming from inside. It sounded like someone was in there going through my things in that bag. But I knew there couldn’t be someone in my house, the back door was locked. Twice. And the burglar bars in the front were locked. And I’d kept an eye on my house the whole time I was on the phone. There had to be someone in my house. I unlocked the burglar bars, ready to run if needed. I reached cautiously inside the door to turn on my inside light. Nothing. But still the loud rustling. I couldn’t tell if there was something IN the bag or if it was outside the bag somewhere. I considered looking inside the bag, without touching it or putting my hand in it. But I could only think of spitting cobras and going blind. I got my broom, which I’m, thankfully, borrowing from my classroom for the holiday. I poked the bag. Nothing jumped out. I poked it again. Nothing still. I pushed it a little away from the wall. The noise grew MUCH quieter, now just a slight scraping noise. I pushed the bag some more. And found a HUGE beetle that had been crawling between the bag and the wall, trying the climb the wall. It was probably the size of a toddler’s fist. I’ve seen them before, but OUTSIDE. There’s a BIG difference between seeing these things outside where they live and inside where I live.

Saying Goodbye

Sunday, 22 November, 2009

Just 13 months ago I was in the US, saying goodbye, or see you later, to everyone I knew there. To my family, who I’d never spent more than 4 months without seeing. To my friends, some from college, from high school or Bike and Build. To my pets, only 2 of whom are left after only one year. To everyone and everything that was normal to me then.

Now I find myself in a similar situation, a mere one year later.

On Friday, Djami Gottfried, a grade 7 learner, died in a fire at his house. I wrote about him on 9 June, 2009. Here’s what I said…

Djami. Djami Gottfried Djami. I want him to be a good kid. He’s another grade 7 learner. He started coming to me early on for extra help. Then he stopped. He used to come to my house sometimes to play games. He would ask about Ziggy. He was applying to the Windhoek scholarship too until he failed math. And the day he told me he failed math, he looked like he was going to cry. I asked him if he was OK, that he didn’t seem like himself since school had reopened this term. We were sitting outside his classroom during study last week, when I wasn’t on duty, but was still there everyday. He looked depressed and like he’d done something terrible. All he said was, “I think I might fail.” You think you might fail!? At this scholarship application? That’s always a possibility! That’s part of trying! That’s why taking that chance is so scary! Because realizing your dream is almost as terrifying as not getting it at all! But being picked out of the whole school as one of four learners to be able to apply, that’s not failing. Giving it a shot is not failing. The odds are stacked against these kids so high that they’re set up to fail. Just barely passing is amazing. I wish these kids knew English so they would understand the feelings in these pep talks!

I got to school on Friday morning at 6:50, early, like I do everyday, even now when I have nothing to prepare for because the learners are writing exams and I’m not teaching anymore. Kayoka walked into my classroom before any other learners got there. Usually Nicky is the first one, but not today. Kayoka and I greeted each other the way I would any learner on any normal day. I was in the middle of replying to an sms from Kaitlin that she’d sent the night before when I was already asleep. I wasn’t too into the conversation until he said, “Madam, there’s a problem today.” OK, what’s going on? Djami got bumped in his house last night. Huh? Djami got bumped in his house last night. (In namlish, bumped is when you’re hit by a car.) How? By a fire. Oh, he got burned? Yes. Um…he died? Yes. [Silence.] I was speechless. I can tell you what Kayoka was wearing. Some moments will remain clear forever, I think the moment I started realizing Djami was dead will always be there like it was yesterday. I started asking stupid questions that don’t matter because I didn’t know what to say and it didn’t make any sense. I didn’t think it was real. It’s like when you see something so out of context that you can’t make sense of it. My brain refused to tell me it was true. When did you find out? When did the fire happen? How did the fire start? Are you ok? Was anyone else killed? Lots of short answers and silence. Eventually Kayoka told me he was going back to the grade 7 classrooms. I thanked him for telling me, and I’m so grateful he’s the one who told me. A 17 year old grade 7 learner had the sense to know that I’d care, I wouldn’t have heard and I’d want to know. I don’t know how I’d have found out otherwise. Probably inappropriately and having to ask a lot of questions to people I’m not as close to.

Throughout the day I learned that Djami stayed in a house on his homestead outside the courtyard by himself. I don’t know when or how the fire started, no one really knows how it started. But he would lock his door from the inside and probably in the terror of realizing his house was on fire, he couldn’t get the door unlocked in time. He yelled loudly for his family to come help him and they came, but couldn’t help. His sister and mother were both treated the next morning for badly burned hands. By the time they could do anything, the roof had fallen on him and he was dead. Burned to death. Those words kill me a little bit every time I think of what it means.

The day before Djami died, he was sitting in study in a blue button down t-shirt, in the front of the class right in front of the door, because he’s first alphabetically. He called himself the gate keeper and wouldn’t let people in sometimes. He was banging his feet against the closet door and I told him to be quiet. He just laughed. He had a spot just above his forehead that didn’t grow any hair. It was almost exactly in the middle from left to right. (Found out from Diketo that he swam into a rock when swimming in the river last year.) One time at the river, he showed up in a canoe that he was sitting in the back of with a bunch of papayas in the canoe. Every few minutes he’d have to stand with his feet on either side of the canoe and use his paddle to get all the water out because when he was sitting in it, it would fill with water. He was soaked in a blue and orange striped shirt that I’ve always considered his. Probably the shirt he wore most often. One time I found him on a Friday night at the shebeen with another learner, Ndjemena. I’d told my friends I wouldn’t drink because I didn’t want my learners to see me drinking. They were confused and thought it should be the other way around, that my learners shouldn’t want to drink in front of me instead of me not wanting to drink in front of them. Djami and Ndjemena tried to sneak away without me talking to them, but I caught up to them and tried to figure out if they’d been drinking. I couldn’t smell any. And they didn’t have any. But they were acting suspicious. I don’t know if they were. But last week sometime, 7A learners asked me if I could also drink beer. I don’t like it, but I can, I just choose not to. But Djami and Ndjemena, they like to go to the shebeen too much! I told the class. Mark told me he thought Djami was spending time with me because he had a crush on me, and the more I got to know him in class, the more I think that was true. A harmless one, though. Every time I’d ask a question or make a request of 7A learners in class, he’d respond with a loud and enthusiastic, “Of course!” Did you do your homework? Of course! I always try to greet them with a different adjective when they say, “We are fine, and how are you Madam?” The one that every class picks up on and turns into their own is Super or Super duper. But Madam, what is duper? Djami changed it into super glue. How are you? Super glue! He always looked a little guilty in class. He was one of the learners who would always come and get me to bring them to PE if I was even 30 seconds late. In term 1, Djami and a grade 9 learner gave me a test in Thimbukushu. They told me all the answers, and definitely did not stick to the vocab I knew. We would walk home together when I was living on a homestead in the village. And he’d talk super fast to me in Thimbukushu. He almost refused to speak English to me. I can hear him blabbering away in Thimbukushu to me, not having a clue what he’s saying, trying to make him understand he needs to speak slower, but just repeating it at the same speed. He knew English, but wanted me to know Thimbukushu, or was being lazy or stubborn.

After hearing from Kayoka the basics of the tragedy, I had to go to the staff room for our daily briefing. Some learners had come into my room by then and I could tell they knew already and I couldn’t even greet them the way I usually do. I could only say Morning, with no How are you. They would tell me fine even though they are anything but fine. So finally I went to the staff room but didn’t know what to do and got really frustrated when some of the teachers who didn’t know Djami were treating it like any other Friday and were laughing and joking. I was the first teacher to get up and walk out, but others followed as they needed. We weren’t doing anything yet, so it didn’t matter anyway. I walked back to my classroom to be with the people I’m closest with - my learners. There were a lot in my room. No one knew what to do. They moved out of the doorway so I could pass to get to my desk, but I was just going to stand with them and watch the younger kids playing jump rope. Finally Nicky said, “Madam, don’t you need to go to the staff room?” Yes, but I don’t want to. “Why not?” I’d rather be here with you guys.

And Elizabeth from Djami’s grade 7A class stopped by my classroom. “Madam, there’s sad news today.” I couldn’t take listening to it again, so I said, “I know, I heard.” Are you ok? How are you feeling? Bad. Yeah, we all are missing him. How are the other grade 7 learners, I wanted to know without going to the 7A classroom where Djami sat right next to the door for exams. They’re crying. Kangapi, Kapira, Sherenyi, Nangura, Diketo.

I went back to the staff room.

Nothing was happening yet. So I went to 7A to see how bad it was. Nangura was violently cleaning the classroom. Sherenyi was helping her. Thondo was standing with Kapira. Everyone was in groups just crying. No one was saying anything. There are no words. I stayed for only a couple minutes until I knew that it was real and my brain was finally starting to accept that. And the tears started coming.

I went back to the staff room.

I asked Siyanga, “Do they have to write the exam today?” Yes. “They can’t write today. Have you been to 7A?” No. Should I go? “Only if you want to fall apart again.” She went. They later wrote their natural science exam.

When the principal finally addressed the staff, he first told us who all of the teachers were who were not present. Thanks sir. I think we can figure that one out though. Then moved onto how we had to keep our learners in our classrooms and quiet so they could write. Then finally said, “And we’ve all heard the sad news.” Just say it damnit! In my opinion, he addressed the tragedy in a completely inappropriate way, as I kind of expected him to do.

And we went to assembly. I took the first couple minutes to answer a phone call from Kaitlin trying to figure out what I meant when I said a learner had burned in a fire.

At funerals here, the women make a sound that I’ve never heard anywhere else. It’s wailing. But not crying. It’s wailing with their entire being. I don’t care if you didn’t know the person who died, when you hear that sound, it makes you want to cry with your whole body. Silent tears are an impossibility. Bawling is the only option. Especially when the people making that sound are 15 year old girls because their brother died the night before. The school is singing a funeral song. And the girls of 7A are wailing. I walk in front of the lower primary classes to stand in front of my 6B class, thinking that I’ll be ok. But as soon as I get there, I feel the tears coming in full force. I look at my learners in 7A and 7B and they’re all just standing in clusters of tears and wailing. Some of the older boys take some of them away to try to calm them down and help give them strength, the same way the men take the wailing women away at the funerals. It’s their mourning process. It’s public only at those brief moments. If I was only going to silently cry, I’d have stayed in front of the school with the tears streaming down my face. But I realized quickly that wasn’t going to be the case. I walked back in front of the lower primary learners off the “stage” the way I’d come on. I was bawling before I left.

Life is not fair.

After assembly, the learners went to their classrooms to write an exam. I walked into my 6B class like I did everyday for the last 10 months. But I couldn’t greet them the way I normally do. Morning. Good morning Madam. But it ended there. My voice had cracked in the one word I’d said. Their faces said it all. They were not fine. And I couldn’t ask How are you when I already knew the answer. So I took my book and went to 5A where I was proctoring the exam, and where Djami’s brother is. That class is never quiet. They were silent.

During the exam, I was smsing with Parker, who I’d also looked to for help because on Monday of that week he’d told me a grade 5 learner had died at his school. I wanted to know what to expect. Not only is every school different, but every death is different too. He asked if I was close to Djami. My response…Ya. In term 1 he asked me to write him a rec to apply for a scholarship. He ended up being pulled out of applying by the principal when he got a D in math, but I’d started writing it. I was joking around with him at my house the other day while he was waiting for someone to cut his hair. He used to come to my house when I lived somewhere else and play with my cat. He was my only learner who still flinched when I pretended to go to beat him. He once even opened up to me and told me he was scared of failing. Ya, we were close…

After writing, we had another assembly. I took the opportunity during the disorganized beginning to talk to one of Djami’s best friends, Shadrick. He was standing in the doorway to 7A. I asked him, “How are you?” And he told me “fine” the way I knew he would. I hit him gently and told him not to tell me he’s fine when he’s not fine. I asked again, “How are you feeling?” Bad. Yeah. And it’s normal to feel that way. I know you were his best friend. We all lost a friend. What are you going to do when you feel bad like this? “I don’t know.” I want you to find something this weekend to make you happy. I told a lot of my learners that. I could tell he didn’t want to talk, and assembly was starting, so I didn’t force it. But he’s the one I was most worried about this weekend while I was in town celebrating Thanksgiving.

The learners were released to go home for the weekend. They were told not to go to Djami’s home if they weren’t able to be strong, to only go if they would be strong enough to help the family without crying or asking what needed to be done. I heard later that a lot of learners went.

I got to town just after noon to find about 7 volunteers already there. I’m thankful that no one asked me to talk about Djami right away. They all knew. Everyone knew. I’d told 2 people. But I knew everyone would know. I got some good hugs. And finally it all came out. Several times. The first time wasn’t the hardest. It was the facts. It didn’t feel real again. No one knew him there. Kaitlin told me later that she wanted to cry when I was talking, but didn’t because she knew I’d lose it then. Their strength gave me strength just to talk about it.

I didn’t want to be in the big groups I knew I’d find myself in. I wanted to visit with the pcvs I’m closest to, but not everyone all at once. I considered skipping the Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday night. But by then I’d been able to talk to the friends I needed to, and could go, and even have fun.

I found myself away from the party on Saturday night with Kerri and Mark. Mark knew Djami at least as well as I did, but probably better. He was teaching at the same school for the two years before I came here. We hadn’t intended to talk about Djami when we were apart from the party, but it came up. I wanted him to know everything that I knew. It felt only right that he knew what school was like on Friday. I talked for at least half an hour straight without Kerri or Mark saying anything. Just crying with me. At least Kerri was. I wasn’t looking at either of them.

Finally Kaitlin came looking for us because a pcv was leaving who is going back to the US soon and it was my last chance to say bye. So afterwards I went back to the party and made it through the rest of the night fine.

This is a final goodbye that is still in the process of being a goodbye.

Djami was one of the learners who was selected to go to EWA, the gender conference. It ended up being cancelled because of funding problems, but the learners are still getting the t-shirts we had made for it. I had to pick them up this weekend. I needed 6. When I saw the box, I had no idea what to do with that “extra” t-shirt. A seemingly little thing made me cry again. I took the t-shirt. At funerals, people one by one thrown dirt onto the coffin. I’m going to throw the t-shirt in there.

He was a good kid. He did well in school. He was going to get out of the village and make a life for himself. Not that someone deserves to live or die any more or less than anyone else, the fact that he had a bright future and was hard working to secure that future, and was such a happy person who made everyone around him happy, makes it harder to accept that he won’t be able to see where he could have gone.

I can’t help but think of Nick.

In a completely different way, I had to say bye to Kerri today. She’s leaving the region on Tuesday and then Namibia in a couple of weeks. I won’t see her again in Namibia. In term 1 when I so desperately wanted to not be here, she was the person who helped me get through all those low moments. In term 2 when I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to be happy here, she was the person who helped me see the positive things between all of the frustrations. In term 3, when I realized I’m loving it here and want to stay for a third year, she’s the one would encouraged me to keep doing what I’m doing so I don’t lose that “fierce love” I’ve found for a place that I never thought I’d ever like, never mind fall in love with. Her presence and friendship shaped my time in Namibia to be a much more positive and enjoyable one than it would have been without knowing her. It was really difficult to say bye, which is really just a see you later, but a longer later than either of us want, when she’s been such a huge part of keeping me here, and keeping me here happily. She’s a wonderful person and I’m thankful that I’ve been given the last 10 months to get to know her and to share such an incredible journey with her. It’s a much different kind of goodbye than the one I’m still trying to say to Djami, but still was very difficult. I’ll feel it again for sure the day she leaves Namibia and I can delete her number from my phone because she won’t be back while I’m here.

Life is funny. Nothing is permanent. I came here knowing it was a temporary life. But I guess I didn’t know I’d get so connected to different aspects of it. Not only the other pcvs I’ve met, but the Namibians who change me because of our simplest interactions. Nothing is permanent. And at this time next year, when I’m at least leaving the village, if not the country, I can’t imagine the overwhelming feelings that will consume me.

But that’s for another time. For now I’ll focus on those 2 really hard goodbyes, and the many slightly easier ones to the other pcvs who are also returning to the US, to lives that most people I know right now can’t comprehend.

Monday, 23 November, 2009

Sometimes titles don’t come to me, so I skip them.

This morning I was nervous to go to school. I didn’t know how hard it would be to see kids who are still mourning the loss of their friend and brother. I didn’t know how sad they’d be, and showing it. I didn’t know how the teachers would be acting. But I went, just like I go everyday.

And most kids are acting normal enough. The first day was the hardest. The shock was incredible. The hurt isn’t gone, but they’re working through it in the ways that they know how to.

Immediately after the all school assembly, Diketo, one of Djami’s good friends, came to me and said, “You don’t have a photo of Djami?” I do. We can go and print it later today. Turns out the family needed a good one for the burial. There’s always a full page photo of the person being buried, and their photo goes on the program for the memorial service and burial. I’d looked through my photos last night and found 4 with him in them, one of which was really good for this occasion.

After the exam, I told the principal what I’d been asked to do to help the family, and he let me hike to print the photo with Diketo just then instead of after lunch. We were walking to the road and I was asking how he’s doing when he replied, “I just miss my friend.” Yeah. His honesty was killer. The simplicity of the feeling doesn’t do justice to the pain he feels. I asked him to tell me about Djami because I’ve only known him a year. I told him to just talk, even in Thimbukushu if it was easier. He started talking in Thimbukushu and I was surprised I understood. I couldn’t translate back to Thimbukushu, but he told me how much Djami liked laughing and how he didn’t like to fight.

After printing the photos, we hiked back to the village and went to Djami’s home to bring the photos to his family. His sister started crying as soon as she saw them. I spent lunch there, not really knowing what I was supposed to do. There were several older women sitting under a tree and talking. There was discussion at one point about whether or not I understood Thimbukushu. When I looked at them and laughed, they knew I could hear. I can hear enough to know when I’m being talked about at least!

Then my learners who were there came and sat with me and we talked about Djami and school and exams. It’s so much easier to be with my learners than people my age! I walked back to school with Ingrid and Sherenyi and I asked them to tell me about Djami too. Just to get them to talk. They told me they were sad. I asked how they’ll get happy again. They said they have to forget Djami. I advised against it. They told me he always made them laugh, that he liked to make jokes. And it was true. He was always smiling and the people he was with were always smiling too. They also told me that he would drink with Diketo and Ndjemena. That didn’t make me feel good, but now I know who to talk to about drinking! I asked who of Djami’s friends have been going to his home. They said some names I expected to hear, and left many out. I asked about Mukoya and Shadrick. They haven’t been going. I tried to explain that everyone grieves differently, after I explained what to grieve is. That maybe Shadrick and Mukoya have to grieve alone at first when it’s so hard to accept the loss we’re all dealing with. I asked them too what they do when they go there to help. Everything they’d do at home - cook, clean, fetch water, pound mahangu. I’m planning to pound with them on Friday for the food everyone will eat after the burial.

If I could make Djami come back for one day, I wouldn’t even talk to him. I’d just follow him around while he was with his friends. He was always happy and seeing how happy he was made me feel good. I’d just want to give him a hug and make sure he knew I cared about him. But I’d want all of his friends to smile and laugh with him again. It’ll be a while until they smile and laugh as freely as they did before last Friday.

Djami

Tuesday, 24 November, 2009

Yesterday I gave out the tshirts for EWA, the gender conference Djami had been invited to attend, got cancelled, and I got the tshirts 2 days after he died. One of them was for him and I had to do something with it. Today I brought the tshirt for Djami to his 7A class. I walked in, saw their faces, knew they were not fine, and asked How are you? No one said fine. Only Not fine. I asked, why are you not fine? You know madam. I asked if they wanted to talk about it. No one said no. Only yes. I don’t remember what I said first, but I started crying a little bit, maybe showing them that we’re all suffering. I told them about why I had the tshirt. And what I wanted to do with it. And that I wanted them all to write on it if they wanted to. A place to say goodbye to their friend. No one knew what to say out loud, but as soon as I left the shirt in the front of the classroom with the markers to write on it, learners went and started writing. They were completely silent. For the longest I’ve ever seen them be silent. I let them take as long as they wanted. And I waited until everyone had written and they started awkwardly looking at me for some guidance. I was hoping in the awkward silence someone would just say something. No one did. Finally I asked if anyone wanted to talk about what they’d written. Silence. I talked some more, and cried some more. I encouraged them to talk about it. Not necessarily in 7A with the whole class, but with their friends. And if they ever felt like they needed to talk to someone and wanted to talk to me, that I’m always here for that. And if they’re worried that one of their friends isn’t getting better, that they can also come to me to help their friend. I have no idea how I can help other than listening and trying to get them to talk. But that’s more than any other adult is doing for them. Because the adults are suffering just as much as the kids are. Or have their own issues outside of school that they’re also dealing with besides Djami’s death. But I came here for these kids, and I never wanted anything like this to happen to feel like I’m being useful, but I’m trying to help them find better coping mechanisms than what they might already have - drugs, alcohol and sex are my guesses. Some are going to the family to help with normal house things, but not everyone. I really pushed that they should find someone they trust that they can be sad with so they’re not just alone.

Before I’d brought the shirt into 7A, Miss Ndundu was coming out of the classroom. I asked if she was busy with them. No. She asked who the shirt was for. Djami. I told her my plans and she wanted to sign it too. While I was in 7A, the class teacher, Miss Shishanda, sat outside and listened the whole time. She came in and asked if she could sign it. Yes. Most learners had written a message. Did she have to write a message? No. Write whatever you want. After finishing with 7A (not that this will ever really finish), I brought the shirt to Miss Siyanga and she signed it. She must have gone and told Miss Mughongora because she came looking to write too. I was in my 6B class when she wrote, so now all of my learners there want to sign it too. If so many want to write to Djami, I’m going to donate my EWA tshirt for this and that one will go in the grave too. Teachers don’t have coping mechanisms, so how can they be expected to help the learners? I never thought of myself as having good coping mechanisms, but compared to this culture, I got something right before coming here.

By the end of study today, I had 3 learners come to me and ask me to type the letters they’d written Djami. One of the letters was from Shadrick, Djami’s best friend who you’d never see apart from each other. Shadrick is the person I’m most worried about. He isn’t smiling ever. He isn’t talking at all. I’d gone to him specifically last Friday when we were all in shock. I had just talked to Miss Ndunda about how he’s struggling too much. When he brought me the letter, I asked if I could give him a hug. I did. Hugging isn’t the same kind of comfort here that it is at home. I asked who he’s talking to. He gave me one name. At least there’s one learner he’s talking to. I made sure he knew that I’m worried about him and if he needed ANYTHING, I’m here to help him.

I’ve cried about 5 times writing this over the course of the day and typing the letters that Djami’s friends wrote him. And it’s partly for Djami. Yes, I miss him a lot. And his death was nothing but tragic and avoidable. But I’m also crying for his friends. I miss them too, and they’re right there in front of me! They have to put up with and deal with so many hardships, and the death of such a good kid is so unfair! Last year another of their classmates died. They went through this just over a year ago. This is too much for them, for anyone!

I’ve talked to a Namibian friend a lot about this. We talked about the mourning process in Namibia, or at least the village. I said it didn’t seem like anyone can properly mourn for someone; that in the middle of the process, someone else will die and the process starts again at the beginning without fully finishing the previous one, or ones. And today he told me how true that is. I saw evidence of it too. A teacher lost her aunt over the weekend. And one of the cleaners at school lost her nephew this morning. I’m overwhelmed with all of these sudden deaths! I only knew one of them, but I know 2 people affected by the other ones.

After reading the letters from my learners to Djami, I also understand a little more why people are so religious here. Believing in God gives them strength to mourn in a faster way, a way I don’t necessary prescribe to, but one that works here. All of the learners who wrote so far mention “God’s plan” and how God is the only one who knows why Djami died so young and that now he’s in a better place without any suffering. They have to believe that because someone is ALWAYS dying. If it’s Djami’s death now, it’s someone else’s in a week. If they didn’t have that to cling to, how could they ever continue living?

And as hard as this is, there’s no part of me that wants to leave the village or Namibia right now, to be with my family to grieve in a way I know how to. I need to be here more than ever. I’ve been to the funeral (funerals last over a week, the burial is what we’d call the funeral) twice now, and have already promised one of my learners I’ll go with her tomorrow too. To just be there, with all the people missing him and loving him, even though I can’t talk to most of them, and I have no idea what I’m usually supposed to be doing, makes sense somehow. Being here, where everyone is hurting helps. Being here, where I knew him helps. Being here, helping his friends helps. It sucks, but I can’t leave. Even though PC is telling me I can’t be here this weekend for the election, I’ve told them I have to be here for a burial of a learner, and I’ve made arrangements to stay with a friend in the village for a night instead of at my house where the voting will be taking place. I can’t leave.

It also blows my mind that I have friends good enough to ask to spend a night at their house! Apparently that’s not a big deal in Namibian culture, I should have asked to stay for all 3 nights instead of just one I was told, but to me it’s big.

I just miss Djami.

Women

Wednesday, 25 November, 2009

I’ve always been proud to be a woman, I’ve never wished I was a man. I might have said it in a moment of frustration at some point at the general lack of respect women can receive, but I’m happy to be a woman.

And this afternoon I was that much prouder to be part of the group of women at Djami’s home.

I mentioned that the funeral for someone here lasts over a week. It starts the day someone dies and ends the day they’re buried. So this funeral - yifa - started last Friday and will end 8 days later on Saturday. It’s at the home of the deceased and the family is always there, surrounded by friends to keep them strong. When I went on Monday, my learners did a much better job of telling me who everyone is than any adult has done in any social setting. I learned who the sisters are, where they stay, who has kids, whose kids are whose running around the homestead, who Djami’s mother is, and maybe some other random things I forget now. But there are always several women sitting around his mother. Talking away in Thimbukushu.

Yesterday when I showed up with a male friend, we’d talked about what I could expect on the way there. I always like to have an exit strategy for anything social, so we talked about that too. And how he’d sit with the men and I’d sit with the women. It was fine since when I got there I knew several of the women. (I think I could walk into almost any social gathering and know someone, male or female, well enough to sit with them, which surprises me.) And I ended up staying longer than he did. Which was also fine.

Today, Sherenyi, a learner in 7A, told me they were pounding at Djami’s home today. On Monday I’d told a few girls that I wanted to help pound when they needed to pound. Even when I tell someone I want to know something, they usually forget to tell me when the time comes, so I was happy she did actually tell me. I asked Nicky if she was going to pound there. Yes. Bring me. OK.

So we went just after 12 and stayed until 4:30. There were 22 learners there. All girls. Mostly from grade 7. A couple from grade 6. And me. A teacher. I got many laughs from the older women sitting around. And many laughs from my learners. I was told that I pound like a boy. I don’t think that’s good!

At one point, 3 other teachers from my school came and when they saw me pounding, they came over to view the spectacle. They were impressed that I knew how to do it, and also told me that I’m slow. There’s no winning here! And one of them even pounded with me. I asked if she would have pounded if I wasn’t doing it. No.

But women here are so strong, it blows my mind. The way they can laugh with each other while they’re pounding mahangu, even when they’re pounding for the funeral and burial of their 16 year old brother, son, cousin, uncle, nephew, best friend, somehow Namibian relative. Sure, staying busy is a really great coping mechanism, but even when they’re busy at school, I can see the pain in their faces. We laughed and joked and talked about so many things this afternoon - mostly in Thimbukushu, and I again surprised myself at how much I understand especially when everyone was laughing at something and I even knew why and would laugh with actual laughter instead of the forced kind that comes out in moments of frustration at not knowing what’s going on - and it didn’t feel wrong. At school it almost feels wrong to not be thinking about Djami.

And women are always doing the work. Not only are they mourning, but they’re feeding upwards of 50 people everyday. That means starting by fetching water, cooking (outside on a fire), serving, washing, pounding, killing animals.

I thought that my going would actually be a help. But all I can hope for is that I wasn’t getting in the way! I do know enough at this point to be about 99% sure that I wasn’t in the way. But the learners WANTED to pound. So did I. I can relate to that need to do something physical to avoid the emotional pain of being idle and thinking about Djami. I certainly didn’t do as much pounding as any of my learners, but I loved being there with them the whole time.

At one point, Nangura paused in her pounding and looked at me watching everyone and smiling. She laughed at me and said, “Madam” in the voice I can hear as hers. Everyone turned to see what I was doing so the pounding stopped. I was making a point of remembering exactly that moment before she looked at me and ended it. The sound of 14 teenaged girls pounding mahangu in 7 tukundhu was just like drums. The smell of freshly pounded mahangu. Those are two things I love and two things I won’t hear or smell or be able to experience in any way once I leave this place. It’s something I want to bring back because it’s a different kind of home, but a home nonetheless.

Twenty two girls age 13-16, pounding mahangu for their friend. Djami’s female relatives age 5-75, helping with every process of the pounding. It’s a powerful place to be, surrounded by so many women of varying ages, doing something that’s so natural to them for someone we all love and miss, and being easily incorporated into the process, as another woman working for the same purpose.

It’s a prime example of the strength of women. I’m proud to be a woman, and part of that strong(er) gender, even if it means I have to talk louder to be heard, repeat myself a million times before someone listens, fight harder for what I think is right, do more to get recognized for my abilities. I’m willing and ready to talk, repeat, fight and do for all the girls and women who aren’t doing it for themselves because they don’t know any other way of life.

Thank God for Learners

Sunday, 29 November, 2009

Thursday I went to Djami’s again. I was hoping it’d be like it had been on Wednesday when I was there. But everyday I went was so different from all the other visits that I shouldn’t have expected it to be the same as anything else. Luckily I again showed up with learners - Nicky and Muhura. A 13 year old grade 6 learner and a 17 year old grade 7 learner who is a mother of a 2 year old. Both girls who I’m very close with. Nicky immediately went to where the kids were sitting and playing, Muhura went with me to where the women were sitting. All of Djami’s sisters, who are in their 20s and 30s, were sitting in the shade with the other women of their generation and singing songs quietly for Djami. They were mostly in Thimbukushu so I would just hum along when I figure out the tune. There’s one sister who had a much harder time all week keeping her composure than the rest of the family, and she was laying on a mattress with her eyes closed and crying. Looking at her made me want to cry - with the songs I know are sad and the pain that she’s going through - it was almost too much to handle.

I’d gone with the purpose of asking permission to bury the t-shirt that all of Djami’s classmates and grade mates signed that week. Muhura asked me quietly a couple times how I was going to ask, but I had no idea. Finally, when we were ready to go after 2 hours of sitting there, she called the sister who is organizing everything to escort us out. I gave her the two letters I’d been asked to deliver, and then explained briefly about the t-shirt. She at first was fine with it being buried, then asked that I give it to the small brother instead. I said fine because I didn’t know her and it’s a much harder loss for her than for me so I didn’t want to make it more difficult for her than it already was. But I didn’t feel good about it and I told Muhura I couldn’t do that. She didn’t really know how to help me.

Luckily I ran into my friend Spenye on my walk home. We hadn’t seen each other in a few days and the first thing he asked after we greeted was, “Why are you so angry?” I explained I was stressed out about what to do with this t-shirt and told him the meaning of it to me and all of the grade 7 learners who wrote on it. He read what they’d written - things like “Dear my best friend Djami, May God hold you in his right hand.” “I will never forget you, my best friend Djami.” “May your soul rest in peace.” “Only God knows why this happened.” “I will always remember you, my one best friend.” - and he agreed that no one could wear it. We decided to explain it to my friend Esszy who is good friends with Djami’s older brother and they could discuss as a family what would be ok. In the end, they let the t-shirt be buried with him.

Thursday night I had to hike to a youth center near me to stay with other volunteers while voting took place at my school, which is about 100yards from my house.

Friday came and I spent the morning trying not to think about the weekend meant to me. I finished marking the exam my learners had written, and they did significantly better than I’d expected. Not great, but ok. Then it was time to hike back to my village for what I knew would be an emotionally draining two days.

I got back and went to drop my bag at my friend Ritha’s house where I’d stay for 2 nights so I wouldn’t be at the school. I started asking where certain learners were who I usually spend a lot of time with. Ku yifwa. At the funeral. So I started walking toward school hoping to run into learners before I got the teachers’ house I was going to. I found Kapweke. We went together to the memorial together with a few other learners. I sat in the back with about 15 other learners. Kamana, who ran in the marathon, sat next to me. Before the memorial started, we easily chatted about anything not Djami. Another white woman walked in and I asked anyone near me who heard, “Who’s the makuwa?” They all laughed and I got many funny looks. Appartently a white person can’t ask who the white person is, at least not in the local language.

The memorial finally started. Programs were passed out and Djami’s photo was put on the table. I couldn’t look at the photo without nearly falling apart. It was a photo I took. I had printed it on Monday, which seems like a lifetime ago.

The memorial was opened with a prayer in Thimbukushu. Then someone from Djami’s father’s side of the family spoke. Then the mother’s sister. Then the principal. And even though the principal spoke in Thimbukushu, I know that he mentioned the essay Djami wrote the day before he died, or really the day he died, for his English final exam about how his family was going to allow him to spend the holiday in Windhoek with his brother. Less than a day later, those plans were gone, along with everything Djami. Then one of the LRCs from school. Then Djami’s sister. Then the letters were read that I’d brought. That was the only English part. Then another prayer. And between each person who spoke, there was a song by the school choir. I knew some of them. But sometimes couldn’t sing because I was crying.

Kamana was the first person near me to really start crying. She did it quietly folded in her own lap toward me. I put my arm around her to comfort her, but found that I couldn’t offer any comfort. I put my head on her back and cried with her.

Songs here sometimes make me cry even when they’re not at memorials or burials or anything sad. There’s just so much more HEART in it. So sometimes I’d cry quietly when the choir was singing.

Kamana was surprised at how much I could cry. When I letters were read I cried again. One of them was from the previous volunteer. He’d emailed it to me, I’d read it, written and then listened to it. I cried every time. It mentioned how much “spirit and personality” Djami brought to the classroom. And it’s so true. How he was a “ray of hope for the future of Namibia.” I saw him exactly the same way. It was a Namibian letter written by someone whose mother tongue is English and there probably weren’t many there who understood the letter the way I did.

When the memorial was over, after 2 hours, I was happy I wasn’t going home to my empty house and that I’d be spending the night with Ritha.

That night didn’t come until 2am, something I don’t do often, but I was happy to be there the whole time.

Saturday morning started at 5:50am when my alarm went off to get me out of bed to go to the mortuary. On my walk there, I met Muhura. Thank God for Muhura. I brought with me a shitenge (which I recently learned is not the proper word in Thimbukushu, but I should call it dikehe), the t-shirt everyone signed and toilet paper in case I had to use the bush toilet in the morning that I knew would be very full of activity. Somehow, Muhura ended up holding all of these things early on and I didn’t see them for a while sometimes.

There were two burials this Saturday. So two bodies were being prepared. And there were two coffins in the mortuary. If that gives you any idea of how often people die here. When Djami’s coffin came out to be loaded into the Namibian equivalent of a hearse, Muhura said to me, “Madam, we can go to the home. Tuyende.” Let’s go. We went. It’s easily a 10 minute walk, and there were not enough cars for everyone to catch a ride. We were some of the first people to leave the mortuary to walk there and got there before the cars, but there were already many people at the homestead. We sat in the front on the ground.

The coffin was brought in, and again his photo was put on top of it. Burials are usually open casket, but given the circumstances of Djami’s death, this was a closed casket. So we were not at the home for very long. But we were there long enough for me to start crying. Muhura, sitting to my right, was dry eyed and looked over when I sniffled to find tears silently going down my cheeks. She said, “Madam, don’t cry,” and rubbed my cheeks dry with her hands. I told her, “I have to. It’s part of how I’m saying goodbye.” She put her arm around me and I pulled myself together knowing she had the strength to keep it together.

We left the homestead and were some of the first again to walk to the church, just near the mortuary. At one point, I looked behind me on the gravel road before turning onto a dirt path through the village, and saw more people behind us than I knew lived in the village. There were crowds of people 4 deep on either side of road and cars packed to overflowing between them. Imagine the biggest parade you can and scale it to the size of a Namibian village. It was a really powerfully emotional sight to see so many people coming together because they love Djami and are saying goodbye to him. It, again, brought tears to my eyes. To see a whole village come together. A village that’s spread over a country twice the size of California. And no one has a car, so they spend a day or two hiking to get home to say goodbye to a really great KID.

At the church, I stood with my learners. We were near the front of the crowd so expected to get a seat inside. Finally everyone got there and the choir sang for at least 20 minutes before Father Andrew came outside to bless the coffin. Miss Mughongora, the English teacher, found me in the crowd to get the t-shirt and it was placed on top of the coffin. One of the songs that was sung had the words, “My home is very far away…” I cried for Djami. I cried for his family. I cried for his friends. I cried for the people who will never know him. And I cried for the people who will never know THIS. The feeling of getting attached to a community I never thought I would be able to tolerate for two years. I cried for the people at home who will never know me again. The people who will fall out of my life because I will never be the same as I was before. For the people who will not be able to understand my need to come back here again. For the people who will never be able to relate to this part of me. But mostly I was crying for Djami.

Muhura was standing next to me. This time she didn’t tell me not to cry. She took my toilet paper and for the next 10 minutes at least kept wiping my tears away.

This is a 17 year old learner. A mother. With a 2 year old son. Who once told me that her father’s family doesn’t want her staying there anymore and won’t feed her or her son. She’s my learner, but there was the single most important person for me on Saturday. Her son is only 2 years old and she has probably wiped away his tears countless times. On Saturday, she was wiping away the tears of her 23 year teacher from the United States.

When we were finally entering the church after Djami in his coffin went in, I found myself holding the hand of Kamana and fighting just as much as everyone else to get inside. We got inside, but stood in the back. I couldn’t handle listening to Father Andrew for more than about 10 minutes so went back outside, where there were at least as many people as inside. I sat with, but apart from, my learners. I wanted to be alone for a little while in this emotionally draining experience. Ritha showed up with Penny and we chatted a little bit about the night before and how tired I was. Miss Mughongora showed up with her 2 year old son Tinu. He happily sat next to me and for the next hour tried his hardest to get me covered in sand.

When the service ended, Muhura told me, “Tuyende.” Let’s go to the cemetery. We walked in the front of the huge crowd again and found ourselves with many other grade 6 and 7 learners. Pakella was there with us. I hadn’t seen her all day, and her smiling face was a happy sight. She said to me, “Madam, remember that time Djami showed up at the river in a boat?” Oh man Pakella. You have no idea how much I remember that. I hope it’s imprinted in my mind forever! I laughed and told her yes. Then proceeded to tell how funny I thought it was when he had to push the water out of the boat and reenacted it. We all had a good laugh.

At the cemetery, we found what will be the final resting place for Djami, a 16 year old jokester. We were lucky to be near the grave. Again we waited for the coffin and everyone else to show up. Finally the coffin, with Djami inside, which is still hard for me to wrap my mind around, was put at the top of the grave. Songs were sung. And he was lowered into the ground.

Muhura was standing a little away from me when she started crying when the coffin arrived. I went over to hold her the way she’d held me earlier. We cried together while the choir sang. When the coffin is lowered into the grave, there’s one song that’s always sung. And the family usually starts wailing and trying to get into the grave with their family member who they’ll never see again. This happened. And everyone was crying. Muhura threw her body into mine and was wailing with the family.

There’s no way to make it better. There’s no way to fix this. I sat with her on the ground as our bodies convulsed with the pain of saying bye to a friend through tears.

Thank God for learners.

More letters were read. Songs were sung. People spoke about the greatness of Djami. And then it was finally time to bury him. Everyone is allowed to put dirt into the grave. The family goes first. Followed by men. Then women and learners and kids and anyone and everyone. Muhura and I got at the end of a very long line of people who love Djami. Nicky was with us. Kamana was with us. My body shook with my tears. I haven’t cried that way in a long time. We were trying to comfort each other, all of my learners and me, as we fell apart ourselves.

By the time I got to the grave, the coffin, and t-shirt with so many messages of love, were already almost completely covered. So many people loved, and love, Djami. That love doesn’t stop just because he’s been gone for 10 days. There were some teachers at the grave with the choir. Everyone’s eyes were swollen with tears. I couldn’t look at the other teachers. I don’t think of my relationship with learners as a teacher. I see it more on the friendly level of how learners are friends with each other. I had been warned that going with my learners to the memorial and burial would be harder, but I can’t imagine having experienced it any other way. My learners know me as a friend, even if they call me madam and wouldn’t admit that I’m their friend. The way we communicate and laugh together and I don’t make them do things for me. I see myself as their equal. I see them as people.

Djami was no exception. Even if he thought I’d actually beat him, he had to know I would never do that. When I told him to stop making noise by banging his feet against the closet door on Thursday, 18 November, hours before he died, he turned to me and laughed. And continued making noise. He knew my threats were empty, even is he flinched violently if I raised my hand to pretend to beat him.

I told Ritha, as we walked home from Djami’s home after we ate lunch there with over 100 people, that I hope I never have to bury another person I know in Namibia. She chuckled and said, “You will.”

I repeated that to another volunteer at night on the phone and he told me, “Lori, the longer you’re there and the closer you get to people, the higher the chances are that you’ll have to do that.”

Another volunteer offered better consolation to that and told me that she and 2 other volunteers each had one very difficult burial. Well, I hope my time here is no different.

Looking around at the people at the memorial and burial, I realized how many people I deeply care about here. How many people I’d cry just as much for or more if I have to bury them. How many people I’ll miss when I leave. How many people I want to never leave. How many people I would call my sister, or brother, or mother or father. Not that I want to replace anyone in my family, but in Namibia, family is different. There’s a community here that I’ve created for myself. It took some time, and most of them are learners, but I care more than I ever thought I could. I let myself finally get invested and getting out will be even harder than saying bye to Djami this weekend.

For many, the burial will be the final time they show any feelings of loss for Djami. By next weekend, many of them will have lost another friend or brother or cousin or parent or somehow Namibian family member. For some, they will continue to mourn quietly and alone. And for even fewer, they will share those feelings of loss with someone close. I’m not sure what to expect at school tomorrow. The burial acts as the final goodbye for a lot of people, and today felt very different in the village. Djami is buried and people are getting ready for the next person to say goodbye to.

I still miss Djami and half expect him to show up ready to write an exam in the front of the doorway tomorrow. Even though I know he won’t ever be there again.

Care Packages

Monday, 9 November, 2009

A week ago I went to the home of Kapweke to pound mahangu so she and her family could eat. I was really upset by the fact that she doesn’t get to eat regularly. There’s never food around. I told her to come to me when she didn’t have food next time. That next time was today. I’m so torn by how to proceed from here.

I gave her N$8.50 to buy a loaf of bread. I made it clear that’s all the money was for. I also gave her an orange I’ve had around for a while waiting for it to turn orange instead of the green that it is. I want her to eat. But I can’t afford to feed every kid in her situation. She’s just lucky that I know she’s not lying to me and that I love her.

I’m happy that she’s comfortable enough with me to come to me to tell me this problem, but it also scares me about how to deal with it. If I do end up buying food regularly, she’ll become dependent on me and when I leave she’ll be in the same position, if not worse, than she was in before I came. If I do nothing, she’ll probably start doing worse in school, and doing things outside of school to try to make money to buy enough food to survive. Don’t use your imagination too hard to figure out what that other thing will easily end up being.

She’s 15.

After I pounded at her house last week, I came home and ate dinner. Today after I gave her N$8.50 for a loaf of bread, I came home and ate lunch - a burrito with black beans, rice, green pepper, tomato, onion and cheddar cheese. I’m always self conscious eating in front of other people because of what I choose to eat, but more because of what I can afford to eat. Not having kids, or any kind of family here, makes a huge difference in the financial prosperity of a person, even living on a volunteer stipend. Then I opened my cupboard and found the yogurt container full of peanut M&Ms I’d hidden away last week. I ate a few and all I could think of was how Kapweke is lucky to be eating just bread today.

Stop sending me care packages. I can’t handle the guilt anymore. I love these kids, especially Kapweke and Thikoka, as much as I’ll love my own kids. Thikoka has a support network, if not comparable to that which she’d have if she grew up like I did, at least a Namibian level support network. Kapweke has no one she can count on. It kills me a little bit every time I hear more of her life. No one should have to live like that.

I want to help her get a better life, but I’m not really sure how to do that. If you have advice, I’m all ears. Things I know I cannot do: give her money, buy her food. She is part of a family, no matter how connected or disconnected they are, and she’ll give most of it to the other people in her family. She’s the only daughter, thus, the last one to “deserve” anything. Yes, her brothers and her mother also deserve help, but from my perspective, she’s the hardest worker in the family and shouldn’t have to give away the help she receives.

I plan to talk to other teachers to find out how I can help. Help from the states would be much appreciated, I’m just not sure how that help should come.

An investment

Thursday, 12 November, 2009

Kids are an investment. Usually we invest in our own kids, at least that’s what I’ve always assumed. I’m starting to get way too invested in these kids here.

Today at break, Kapweke came to my classroom and said she was hungry. I asked if she ate yesterday. No. Tuesday? Yes. I gave her a dollar to buy fat cakes so she’d at least be awake for the second half of the school day. Then her friend came to me and told me she had a problem. The bell rang for the end of break while she was telling me her problem, which involved a lack of food for herself and her son because her father’s family didn’t want to support her anymore and her mother lives somewhere else but doesn’t work. She’s 17 with an almost 2 year old son. She wrote me a note about this problem. I don’t know what to do about it.

I told both girls they had to go and eat the food the school provides after period 8 and bring it to my house to eat so I’d know they were eating. They did. With two other girls, who both ate yesterday and food doesn’t seem to be as big of a problem. Three of the four girls went home after they finished.

Kapweke stayed. Yesterday I told her, quietly aside from everyone else, that I want to help her stay in school by helping with her school fees if she helped me wash my clothes once a week. She wasn’t really sure how to respond, so I told her to let me know today. I asked her what she thought about it, turns out that’s not a phrase she knows. Kadiko. Nothing. Words just come into my head. Yeah! That’s what thinking is! Our conversation went in circles for a bit trying to figure out what she wanted to do about my proposal. I’ll come on Saturday. OK. Good.

But then more things came out that I wasn’t really ready to hear. She had shared the loaf of bread from Monday with her brothers. Each got 3 slices for lunch. I knew she’d do that. She found her mother sleeping there. Half of the food from lunch today was also brought home for her brothers. She said she couldn’t eat again at home because she ate at school. Her brothers had to eat.

Her mother makes baskets and I had tried to talk to her about selling them. But she doesn’t want to sell them because she needs to give them to friends so friends will help her out when she needs something too. Guess what, she needs something. Her kids aren’t eating. And I’m pretty sure she’s just drinking the traditional beer instead of eating.

Kapweke told me that her mom told her to stop walking with one girl. I asked why. Because she can take things. OK, translation. She has to stop hanging around with a certain girl because she steals things from homes. We talked about how that made her feel and how she wants to deal with the situation with the girl. She’s just going to stop talking to her even though the other girl follows her around still. Do you want to say anything to her about why you’re not walking with her anymore? I can’t tell her what my mom said! No, but you CAN tell her that you don’t think it’s ok to take things.

This girl also told Kapweke that she also wants to be friends with a makuwa, a white person. She didn’t like that she used the word makuwa instead of my name. Apparently a lot of people are telling Kapweke that she’s too close to me. That she likes to borrow things from me too much. I told her I want to change the color of my skin so I don’t look any different. Her mom even thinks she’s too close to me. Everyone only notices because I’m white.

Then we talked about how she needs help. She was looking at her flip flops. She said she needed new ones. Those belonged to a friend. I asked about the ones from the marathon, those also belonged to a friend. OK, that’s something I can handle. An expense that isn’t frequent. She also said she needs more clothes. With any learner, I can identify whose clothes they’re wearing - if it’s their own, a sister or brother’s or from a friend. I could walk around to any grade 6 or grade 7 learners’ house and know whose home based on the clothes hanging outside to dry. No one has a lot of clothes. Everyone could use more. She usually goes to the river on Saturday to wash her clothes. So when she said she’d come Saturday, I asked about that. There’s no soap, so she’s not going to wash. She needs soap.

But the most important thing is by far food. Buying a loaf of bread doesn’t go far. She told me about a 50kg bag of some kind of mahangu that costs only N$100. How long does that last? Even 2 months. But she’s also told me that her uncle steals food from them and they don’t have any doors that lock. And her mother will talk too much. She doesn’t want to tell her mom what we’ve been talking about. So she told me she can’t bring it home. We don’t have a plan, but we need one.

The things that come out of her mouth, you wouldn’t believe she’s 14. Her insight into how people see me and how they see her relationship with me is unbelievable. They all talk. Her friends ask her, what were you talking to madam about? And said she lies to them. She commented that her friend came for help at break only because Kapweke was already there asking me for help. She wouldn’t have come otherwise, and she knows that more will come if they know what we talk about.

I told her, I just want to send you to America to live with my mom! She laughed and said, but madam, where will I get the money? That’s why I’d send you.

I asked her today if she’s ever had sex. It made her a little uncomfortable, but she said no. I told her that no matter how hungry she is, to never have sex for money. I later discussed this with another Namibian and asked him what he would expect her to do in this situation. Sell her body was his answer. I need to make sure she doesn’t do that.

As we sat and talked outside my house at lunch, basically an hour long counseling session, I watched at least 100 kids running around and hoarding whatever food they could get from the school feeding program. Their parents have no idea where they are, or what they’re doing. Parents have no input into their kids’ lives. That’s why kids come to me with these problems. I hate the parents for being irresponsible about their sex lives and having all these kids they didn’t want or didn’t plan for.

Spend 5 minutes really talking to Kapweke and you won’t ever think that your life is hard again.

Eat your vegetables because there are starving kids in Africa and I found one that I won’t easily give up on.

Shame

Saturday, 14 November, 2009

I’m not sure what shame is in Namlish, because I don’t think it’s the same in American English. Or you don’t feel it for the same reasons in America and Namibia.

Kapweke and I had talked about her mom making me baskets and I’d get them food. A fair trade in my mind, I don’t even care how many baskets I get. I just want her to eat. Sure, there are 5 of them, usually 6, and I don’t want to support a whole family, but if there’s an exchange of something, I’m more ok with that. So yesterday after we finished eating lunch together and were talking, she told me that after study she wanted me to go with her to get the stuff to make a basket. I’d love to.

We got a hoe and went to collect mbare, the plant that is used for the basket. Then we went to her house and sat and ripped it up into smaller pieces so it could be used. After that it has to be boiled to make it soft and then dried for over a day. We can start making it even Sunday she told me. She was worried that it’d be dark before we finished and she wouldn’t have time to fetch water from the river, but then her brothers and mother came back from the field with some fruits that have hardly any food on them and firewood and went to the river while we finished.

Kapweke kept saying how hungry she was and that she’d sleep with hunger. So we went to my house, got N$10 and went to find bread. It was about an hour search through the whole village because most things were closed or were out of bread. We finally found some at another learners’ house and went back to Kapweke’s home where her mom was just finishing cooking porridge and a mixture of some vegetable and ground nut of some sort. Not too bad.

And then I got a look into this crazy culture and backwards country that makes no sense to me.

I came here for many reasons, one of which was to help people. And I’m trying my best to do that on a large scale at school, but I find it way too overwhelming, so focusing on one or two learners makes more sense to me. And it’s really just by chance who I get close to. I don’t connect with a lot of people, but there have definitely connected with a few, Kapweke being one of them.

Kapweke has told me that she feels shame when she comes to my house. And I’m not sure why. A lot gets lost in our conversations because of language. Her English is good, but she prefers to talk to me in Thimbukushu, so I hear most things in both languages. A good way for me to learn, but I don’t get the full meaning of her words then. When asked what she does on weekends, she said, “Kadiko.” Nothing. What do you WANT to do on weekends? She’d also told me that it’s better in the week when there’s school because she’s just with her friends then and on weekends she sees the pots and feels more hunger. I asked who she’d want to spend her weekends with, which friends she can visit. Not to eat with, but to do something that makes her happy instead of just staying home where there’s work to do if there’s food, but nothing to do if there’s no food. “Yowe.” You. OK, but who else, from grade 7? Kadiko. And she hasn’t ever visited just to visit, the way other learners do. Because she feels shame. She said when she walks toward my house to visit, she’ll see me and make a turn to another home instead.

And then during dinner, her mom asked her why I keep visiting. Because I like to! She can also feel shame when I’m there because of how they live. Sure, it’s not the way I live, and not the way anyone I know in America lives, but Kapweke is a good friend to me and I want to know how her life is before I do anything to change it too much. But people can talk. And what do they say? That we like being too close to makuwa.

Everyone says how important it is to visit families. So that’s what I’ve been doing. And now it feels like I’m doing the wrong thing. The first time I went there, Kapweke’s mom told me how proud she was that I was there. And now I’m hearing that she has shame.

Why do you want to be close to orphans? Why not? We’re all just people. You can put any label you want on anyone, but we’re still all people. Makuwa. Mbukushu. Orphan. American. Namibian. We still all need friends, food, shelter, water, sleep. We might look different, and even here, where no one is white, white is good.

I asked if I shouldn’t visit anymore. I didn’t really get an answer. But I was told that I need to eat with other people. That eating with Kapweke once or twice is ok, but going there 4, 5, 6 times isn’t ok. People will talk and I need to go to their houses. Then when I eat somewhere else, they’ll put something in my food and I’ll get sick and they’ll say it was Kapweke’s family.

I’m not sure if they’re saying I shouldn’t be eating their food because they don’t have enough, so they’re mad at me, or if they’re saying I shouldn’t be eating their food because it’s “not good enough for me.” Kapweke told me I should be eating rice and macaroni because those are for white people. But they just eat porridge. I didn’t know any of this. And she couldn’t really make a distinction between the two reasons I see for people talking and not wanting me to eat there.

I don’t know what to believe, and I don’t know what people are saying, or what they will say, but I don’t like that the whole family feels this shame when I’m around. I’m trying to help them because I can see they need it and I can help them at least a little bit. But it seems like it’s overstepping cultural barriers I can’t see and don’t know where they are.

Another PCV offered some advice about how to proceed from here though. When she lived in a village, there was also a learner she was worried about, who wasn’t eating enough, so she would visit with food. Then she was contributing so it wasn’t so hard to eat with them. So today after she helps me wash my clothes, I’ll send her home with some food, but won’t join them for dinner. Then next week after a visit to town, I’ll come back prepared to make a weekly visit so I can eat with them but with food I bring. I’ll see how that goes and reevaluate.

I didn’t expect to care this much. I didn’t expect it to be so hard to show that caringness too. I didn’t expect to try to take on someone else’s problems as my own. I don’t know if I’m helping or hurting for the long run, but right now I’m doing what feels right to me and what I think is right.

Tuesday, 17 November, 2009

I wish I’d write exactly when I think of all the things I want to say.

You know how Africa is a land of extremes? Maybe. I think it is anyway. The heat and the cold. The sun and the rain. Nothing in moderation. Well, so are the highs and lows, I know I’ve said that a million times already.

The things that matter seem like they matter so much more and the things that wouldn’t get you down in the US can change a day. Today nothing happened. Which somehow makes it a bad day. I didn’t feel like me today. Maybe just because nothing exciting or good or somehow big happened.

Yesterday Kapweke came for lunch again, still getting food from the school feeding program. She stayed for the whole lunch break. I always want to lay down for a little while, but it’s more important to stay and hang out with her, so I don’t when she’s around the whole break. She said to me, “My mom asked why you didn’t visit yesterday.” At least I know I’m welcome and expected to keep coming. She also brought me a basket. A basket that I collected the materials for.

On Sunday Kapweke and I collected more mbare to make even more baskets. On Saturday I got to learn how to make a basket a little bit. I think there are many coming my way.

Yesterday I spent a lot of the teaching day in grade 7B. I told them I’d help them study for any subject except Thimbukushu so they asked questions from natural science and social studies. From social studies: what is gender equality? Talked about that for about a half hour. It’s always the same learner asking the thought provoking questions, and the same few taking part in the conversation, but at least someone is doing it! A question from natural science and social studies together: how can you get tested for HIV without your parents going with you? Hmmm… the questions from one learner in particular made me think she really wanted to get tested but wanted to go alone. She’s 16. At the New Start volunteer counseling and testing centers, you have to be 18 to be tested without a parent. So we talked about the confidentiality and your rights as a minor. After class I asked if she wanted to be tested. Yes. Later in the day I asked a friend working in the lab in the hospital about it, and jokingly asked if he’d do it. He said yes, but can only do it on a weekend. I told the learner today, but she wants to wait until she’s 18 instead.

The reason she told me for wanting to get tested is because she went to a traditional healer when she was much younger and everyone used the same needle there! But if she tells her parents she wants to be tested, they’ll think she was doing other things that were unsafe. I asked her if she’s had sex. No. I wonder about all of them though.

I’m helping Kapweke get a birth certificate so she can register with the government as a vulnerable child and get support from there. I’ve met very little support at school with helping her, so I’ve looked in the community. The person helping me now, is somehow an aunt to Kapweke. But she tells me the aunt is corrupt. I never know what to believe.

I want to get all the learners a birth certificate. That way they at least have some form of identification when they need it. When they want to switch schools. When they want to run in a marathon. When they want to go to Botswana. Anywhere. For anything. Get a job outside of the village.

Yesterday I was the only teacher who went to more than one class. Sure, the principal told us to stay with our homeroom, but how does that help anyone? So I went to mine and taught. Then a learner from my homeroom came and told me the principal was looking for me. He was in my homeroom class. He asked me where some of my learners were who were missing (they’d gone to cut their hair because he’d made a HUGE 20 minute speech about it to the whole school how they all had to cut their hair before exams) and tell me there were too many papers on the floor. I wanted to hit him.

I’ve spent the last couple lunch breaks eating with Kapweke and just being with her. She gave me a list of words in Thimbukushu that she wanted translated to English so she can learn new words. I did that for her after school with a friend whose English is basically perfect. She was psyched about them today. I never really know what to expect when we eat together. I won’t eat in front of her because I feel guilty about what I’m eating. There’s a limit to how much I’ll help her with that. Helping her with Mbukushu food is one thing, but makuwa food is a whole new level. And eating at my house, and my food, is pretty much off limits. For learners at least. Then everyone will know about it in 5 minutes. And the conversation can be light hearted or really serious.

But I’m glad she’s talking.

Haves and Have Nots

Wednesday, 18 November, 2009

Hanging out with Kapweke is so unbelievably different from hanging out with Thikoka, who I now call Nicky, like all of her friends.

When I hang out with Kapweke, she is nervous because she isn’t sure why I’m so happy spending time with her.

When I hang out with Nicky, she rules the conversation because she isn’t sure why I don’t spend more time with her.

When I hang out with Kapweke, I ask about what she ate last.

When I hang out with Nicky, I ask what she’ll eat next.

When I hang out with Kapweke, she wouldn’t dare say anything about going to America, never mind Rundu.

When I hang out with Nicky, she tells me that I’ll take her with me to America, and then I offer to take her to Rundu.

Kapweke is a have not. Nicky is a have.

Nicky was the first learner who dared to really get to know me and spend any significant amount of time with me outside of class, and even outside of school. For that, I call her my first born. We decided today that she’s actually my sister. She’s 13. She uses my phone to sms my friend Esszy, and then accidentally calls him and puts it on loudspeaker during study. She knows who my friends are in Andara and she makes it a point of having them be her friends too.

Yesterday she asked why Esszy (she calls him Stoma) stopped visiting me. I said we hung out on Monday, just not at my house. She told me she missed him and she wanted to visit him. She used to tell me that she didn’t want to hang out with him, that he wasn’t allowed to visit me because she wanted to visit me instead. Yesterday and today she used me phone to sms with him, making a time and place for us to go and meet him after study. We brought water balloons. They’re friends now because I’m friends with both of them. The three of us hung out for over an hour. Nicky is still possessive of me, and wants me to like her more than Esszy, but it’s really great to see them be friends too, without me having to be there to make the conversation continue. Esszy is 27. Nicky is 13.

Kapweke came over today to bring me a second basket, a flat basket that she made herself, and I got to learn a little bit on. I made sure she had a bowl to get food from the school for lunch. Once other kids come for study, she goes to play with them, not really sure what our relationship is. Yesterday she told me that her mom cried the day before and I was worried about what would come after that. Everything ended up being ok. As I left my house today with water balloons and Nicky to soak Esszy, Kapweke walked by on her way to the river to fetch water.

Nicky has the time and the family support to be able to have fun with me. She didn’t want to go home early because then she’d have to help her sister make dinner, but at least she has dinner everyday.

Kapweke is the only daughter of her mother, living with 3 small brothers. If there’s food, she cooks it. She told me last week that when she sees people playing soccer, she wanted to join them. The explanation she gave of the word she was looking for sounded like she was craving it, that everything about her wanted to go and have that fun. On Monday, I got the word she used in Thimbukushu translated and it was “to admire.” She doesn’t have time to have the kind of fun I can with Nicky.

With Nicky today, something came up about pizza. She doesn’t know what it is. I told her I’d take her to Rundu and we’d share a pizza at a lodge. She asked, “How will I get there, where will I get the money?” I said I’d pay half. Esszy said he’d pay the other half.

Money is the worst thing that was every created. It separates us into the haves and the have nots. Last weekend, a Finnish volunteer from another village was visiting the game park and he made the comment that life in the US, or Finland, is harder because you always have to be working so you can heat your house and that’s too expensive. That here, you just sleep outside year round because it’s not cold. Clearly he was not here in the winter. But it’s true that you don’t have the opportunity to heat your house here. But life here is not easy. Things to worry about: Where is your next meal coming from? Where will I get the money to travel to town to buy food? Why isn’t is raining yet, I need to plant my crops? HIV and AIDs. Maybe I’ve lived a much more privileged life than I imagined. Or maybe I shouldn’t compare my childhood to the way kids grow up here. But sometimes I feel like I’m careless with my money, and others I feel that I don’t care in the least because I don’t want money. I don’t want to have the thing that separates me even more from these kids. I already look different, and that difference will never completely go away (a learner walked by me sitting outside my classroom at break today and did a double take saying, “Madam, I didn’t see you there!” and it made me smile). But I don’t want to use my money for traveling, what I thought it’d be a good use for. I’ll use some sure. But I want to give these kids the opportunity to grow and experience things. If me traveling less gives a kid the chance to get to Rundu and eat pizza, or another kid the chance to just eat a normal dinner every night instead of every other night, that’s a better use of it in my mind. I don’t want my money.

There’s this really great thing called TED. Look it up online. They’re short talks about new ideas and research. I’ve watched a couple about Africa and what’s going on in Africa. It gets me excited. There was one, not about Africa, called “Can kids teach themselves?” Experiments were conducted in Indian villages where computers were installed in random places and internet was connected. No one taught them how to use it, but kids figured out how to search the web. They figured out what words meant, like save and file. And this has been something I’ve thought about in the past 10 months as a math teacher in Andara. Kids learn through experiencing more than any other way. Through doing things in their daily lives and finding patterns in them. But these kids do the same thing in the same places every single day. Their experiences are so limited that they’re not given real chances at growth. Taking the 12 kids to the marathon really cemented that idea. Seeing them outside of Andara in an environment that was completely new and experiencing things they hadn’t ever thought of before changed them, at least for a weekend. But there’s no way for them to do that regularly.

There was another TED about education somehow and it was mentioned that after learning about magnetism and gravity in a formal educational setting, students would perform worse on a test than before they were given any education but just used their prior knowledge. What is education then? Is it as important as we think it is, the formal education that everyone is supposed to receive?

Intentions

Friday, 9 October, 2009

Over the holiday in August/September, one learner from my school went to Camp GLOW in Windhoek. This is a program in many countries run by the Peace Corps. It’s Girls and Guys Leading Our World - a leadership, gender and HIV workshop for learners. Sounds pretty awesome.

So I had a learner go this year. And she came back talking about it all the time. She loved it. And she wanted to share her experience with her peers. So she asked me to help her start a club. Sort of. She wanted to start a club and needed a teacher to be there. So she wanted my role to be “just there.” But I didn’t think the way she was going about the meetings was so great, so I took a more active role - planning with her the day before, and then after she finishes, doing an activity that I run and she’s a part of. Worked pretty well on Wednesday.

But she still needs the limelight, so added things at the end without me knowing. She asked the questions, “Where does HIV come from?” And the second answer someone gave was “God’s punishment.” Well I took that one and ran!

How many of you really believe that? At least half of the 18 learners there.

Just to get an idea of the mindset. I started asking questions: What did people do to deserve such a punishment? Is it the whole human race being punished or individuals?

Unfortunately the bell rang soon after that conversation started, but some kids wanted to stay and keep talking. So we did for a few minutes until they had to meet up with friends.

Thursday. I walked into 7B to teach math and one of the boys, Kayoka, was talking in Thimbukushu with everyone else silent and two teachers listening to what he was saying. Apparently it was about the conversation from the previous day. I asked for a translation and then I said, “OK, no math today, I want to keep talking about this. Bring those teachers back.” So for the next 20 minutes or so (we did have math after that), we all discussed creationism basically. Some of the questions I asked: I understand where you’re coming from with being punished for adultery, but what about when a baby gets HIV from the positive mother? Why would God punish someone for sins they did not commit? If God is all loving, why is he punishing us with something so bad? Some of the questions I got: How did we end up with white people and black people on earth? If Adam and Eve were white, where did black people come from, baboons? (The whole concepts of evolution and mutations are not taught and therefore not understood.) There were to other teachers there as part of the conversation, but it seemed like a lot of the questions were directed at me because I don’t see things the way they do. I had to make a point of saying “This is what I believe” or being biased toward one theory over another (evolution/science vs. religion). I sometimes told them I couldn’t answer that question. Or they could ask me outside of school, but I couldn’t talk about it here.

I hadn’t really intended for the HIV issues we’d discussed on Wednesday to morph into a debate about how the world was created, but kids are talking. And they’re interested. And excited about knowing the “other side.” I’m excited they understand what I’m telling them. And they’re asking questions, even if it’s not about math. Especially if it’s not about math! They got me riled up and it’ll probably only continue as we get more into these issues.

Religion

Wednesday, 14 October, 2009

Yesterday I was interrupted while teaching so missionaries from South Africa could distribute Bibles to everyone in my class. Great. But don’t you think there’s a better way to help people? Like teaching them to read first? Just a thought. And not just to read, but the actual language so they UNDERSTAND what they’re reading. That concept is lost here.

But I got a Bible. Now I’m going to learn about “the other side” I hear so much about.

Oh yeah, and note to self: never eat meat again, unless you have something you really need to get out of by being sick. Even if it’s a few days away. You’ll spend at least 4 days not being able to eat without running to the toilet. Today yogurt is going down ok, and staying inside me for more than 5 minutes too.

Lucky Star Marathon 2009

Sunday, 18 October, 2009

There are so many ways to remember the past 4 days. I hope in the end it’s the good parts that stay.

Waiting…On Thursday, I went to town with 12 learners to get another transport to Walvis Bay. Altogether it’s about a 16 trip. We waited for almost 12 hours in town before we left again, because something was going on with transport that I don’t even know about. Because I’m a woman. I paid for the combi, but for some reason, even 6 hours later it still wasn’t squared away to go.

Food…Finally we got to the coast. We needed food! And I was the only teacher, so I took 12 learners from a rural village with me into a grocery store. “Madam, I’ll push the carriage for you.” OK, no big deal, right? Well, as I’m running around trying to figure out how much food and what kinds of foods to get for who knows how long, she followed me everywhere. So we talked about etiquette when it comes to grocery shopping. Stay on the side, and just wait for me when I go to get something unless I tell you to come with me. This was while tourists passed by staring and smiling at the scene that we were. At the checkout, the cashier asked me if I was feeding all of them. Yes, they’re running in the marathon tomorrow. I had Kapira with me, and the cashier wouldn’t talk to her. She asked where we were from - Kavango. Oh, so she’s not from Namibia? Huh? Yes, she’s from Kavango. Learn your regions!

Ocean…Watching them all be the kids they are was one of the best things of the trip. I see them mostly when they’re in school, and semi-serious. So to see them running and playing in the waves was great. It was the first event that made me think, “Maybe this is worth it.” When they swim in the river in the village, the girls will sometimes take off their shirts. And it’s totally acceptable. I think it’s a little less acceptable in Swakopmund, but I wasn’t about to stop them from being comfortable with themselves in a new environment. So there were a few girls swimming topless. They don’t think twice about it.

Toilets…Lana asked me, “Where is a toilet?” We were in the middle of town. I had no idea, so I told her to wait. They don’t complain, so I kind of forgot about that need. Until I had to go too. We were in the aquarium and I found the toilet. So I went to the kids and told them that if they had to go, to use the toilets here. So they all went to the toilets. There was a sign for the men and a sign for the women. But who puts signs on a toilet anyway? So Kayoka almost walked into the women’s room before I turned him around and herded him into the men’s room. I followed the girls into ours. Kamana asked me, “There’s no bathroom here?” A bathroom has a bath. This was just a toilet. Lana didn’t close the stall door, so I started peeking around to see if someone was in there. She was standing as she used the toilet. This is how they go outside. I asked her why she did that here too. “Because it’s too wet there!” pointing to the front of the seat. Maybe someone had done that before her.

Fish…There’s a big tank of fish in the aquarium, and a space where you can walk under it. That’s where I first found many of my learners, staring at the fish that was sucking on the glass just above their heads. “Madam, it’s talking to me!” Is it? Maybe it’s trying to eat things off the glass. “No, look, when I say something to it, it says something back!” [Proceeds to talk to the fish.] At the top of the tank, it’s open. I found more learners up there. As soon as I walked up the steps, one learner comes running over and says, “I touched it!” and is very proud of himself. You touched what? He was off before he could answer. I walked over to where he came from and the floor was wet. What’s that from? “Muhunguko. He touched the fish,” I was informed by Ndara. I had to start telling them all not to go fishing. Many times. Turns out, at least 3 learners touched the fish before I told them not to go fishing.

Sleep…Who needs it anyway? Two nights sleeping in a combi, one night sleeping in a room with at least 100 people. Wow, I’m tired!

Running…I’m so proud of my learners. Sure, I had pretty much nothing to do with their training, but they still wanted to share their triumphs with me, and I was happy to be that person. Kayoka stepped in a hole in the road in the first leg for his team, so they were far behind the whole race, when they had a real chance of winning some money. Oh well. I had to talk Anton into running hard, when he was defeated by how far back they were before he started running. He dominated his leg, even if it meant still not placing in the top 5. I was really proud of him for coming back from looking depressed just before he ran to finishing in smiles and laughter and wanting to keep running. When I was out looking for Kayoka with some of the officials, he’d already been picked up and taken to see a doctor, just a rolled ankle, nothing serious, Lana finished her leg and I missed taking a photo of her running. But as soon as I got to her checkpoint, she came over to me and gave me a hug and said, “I was the first one!” And was all smiles. She’d passed several runners in her 10km and was glowing! Kangandjo was the third runner in our strongest team. He didn’t think twice about how far back they were. When Muhunguko got to him, he took of sprinting. He just wanted to run. Kapira was the first one of our teams to start the final leg and she was nervous. When Kapweke came into sight, I asked if she was ready. “But Madam!” She didn’t want to be the first one to go. I love pushing her to do something that makes her uncomfortable, because she’s always so proud of herself after. When one of the officials drove me from the first checkpoint to the second, we passed two of my runners - Muhunguko first and then Jecki. When we passed each of them we honked and I waved, but I was on the wrong side of the car for them to see me well. Jecki flipped out and ran off the edge of the road - a very natural reaction from living in a village. We all laughed. I made sure to tell him later that it was me who was in the car that honked.

I know that’s not all of my runners, but those are the moments that stick out - how happy they were and how proud. When they accomplish something and get recognized for it, they glow! And it’s great to see them in that state of mind, with so much enthusiasm and pride! After they all finished the race, and cheered for each runner as they finished, they got to just hang out as a team. And I’ve never seen such positive interactions between learners. Usually there’s a lot of conversation that stresses me out, not because I understand it, but because of the tone of voice and lack of patience. But they were on a high and all communicating a much healthier way. And joking with me in ways we haven’t been able to before. They got a new level of comfort with me - even calling me Miss Lori at times instead of just Madam. I was really happy to be a part of the team, instead of with all of the other peace corps volunteers who had come to run, watch, support or bring other learners.

Driving home…We spent another 16 hours in a combi. And we were all excited and happy. I taught them random songs and they loved them and that I was singing. But it was so nice to get home to be able to sleep even if it was the morning and my body doesn’t know when it’s supposed to sleep right now. I took a nap all morning, even with the runners outside my house hanging out not wanting to go home for a few hours. I was woken up by my runners needing to borrow a pot for their party. They organized a party at the river on their own - with chicken and macaroni. They’re amazing. They have no idea how happy that makes me. So I spent another afternoon with them. They’re just fantastic people.

I can’t believe tomorrow is Monday and I’ll be back in the classroom. I’m so tired, and would much rather just hang out with a few learners instead of over 100 who I teach. I guess that’s what weekends are for.

When study ends early

Tuesday, 3 November, 2009

When study ends early, the best things happen. Yesterday we knocked off an hour and a half early. So I asked Thikoka what she was doing. Kadiko! Nothing. Or course. So I said, “Let’s go to dipupo!” This time? Why not? It’s still hot! So we went to the place where the crocodiles don’t go and we went swimming. Three of us at first. We found some more grade 6 learners on the way. There were maybe 8 of us. I was one of them for the 30 minutes we spent there. Another 12 year old grade 6 learner. Funny how I fit that role so much better than being a teacher. The swimming was really fun without so many other kids there staring at the wonder that is Madam doing the things other Madams won’t do. And I don’t even find it weird anymore when they all take off their shirts without thinking twice about who will see them. And then I swam into a rock. Bruised my shin pretty good. Thanks for not telling me it was there. But I’ll get over it, still totally worth the pain if it released me from the scorching heat of the day.

Today in school, before study, I was frustrated once again. Yesterday too, let’s start there. First thing Monday morning after having missed the last 3 days of school for some personal time, a grade 3 learner has a seizure in front of about 30 other kids, then more once the ones in classes start realizing something interesting is happening. No one does anything. So I left my class, something I don’t do often, to see what’s going on. Of course I’m considered an expert on the issue, which in this case I guess compared to everyone else I was somehow, and tell them to make sure he doesn’t bite his tongue. Finally he stops seizing and all they want to do is move him to the shade. THERE’S A HOSPITAL NOT 10 MINUTES FROM HERE BY FOOT, LEARNERS CARRIED AN OVEN FROM THERE TO MY NEW HOUSE, I THINK THEY CAN CARRY A GRADE 3 LEARNER!!! And there are a couple cars at the school that belong to teachers. But no one thinks of the hospital until the makuwa (that’s me) says, “Maybe he should go to the hospital.” Now, I hate it when learners tell me they’re sick and have to go to the hospital. But a learner has a seizure? I think that’s a little more serious. So they call an ambulance. Why no one drove him, I’m not quite sure. But he finally went. The day finished fine.

This morning, in the staff briefing, the teachers made a joke of it. Screw you all. And then I spent the rest of the day feeling like I was the only one doing anything. I went to 6A period 1 to teach a double period, 80 minutes, of math, and the first 15 minutes had been used by the useless staff briefing which told me nothing. But I walked into the classroom and it smelled like pee, which turns out, made sense. Some kids had peed in tins and thrown those tins into the classroom! I didn’t want to teach in there as much as they didn’t want to learn in there, so I sent one learner to get the buckets I use for washing to fetch a lot of water, they got about 6 brooms, I brought my own soap powder, and they spent about an hour washing the classroom. Now it smells like soap. Oh, and while they did this, they were making a lot of noise. And I would have been annoyed if I was teaching in 7B or 6B, the two adjacent classrooms, but surprise surprise, no one was teaching in there. So when the HOD (kind of like assistant principal) yelled at them that they were making too much noise, I just stood there and looked innocent. No one was teaching, so I’m not sure who they were disturbing.

I’d also spent part of my morning signing forms for kids to go and call their parents about stealing things from trailers as they dropped passengers from town. I didn’t know the learners, but no one else was gonna do it.

Later in the day I found out that I was the only teacher for 6A and 6B all day. And the 7A and 7B classes had only me and their natural science teacher who had them write a test. Exams start in 2 weeks, what are you doing? I got really frustrated with them, the other teachers that is, not the learners. When I’m their only teacher and it’s period 6, I can’t expect them to pay attention when they’ve been free to make noise all morning. It’s pathetic really.

When study let out early, because of rain somehow and no one wanted to be there, I walked around the village and ended up finding one of my favorite learners, Dimbu Kapweke. Madam, where are you going? I’m coming to you! I didn’t have a plan, so that seemed like a good enough one! She also had nothing to do, so we started walking. She hadn’t eaten all day. Let’s go pound mahangu so you can eat! But madam, if we start now we won’t finish until tomorrow! We started anyway, and pounded for about 2 hours. And I will never forget those two hours.

This is what happens when study finishes early and you get to bond with a learner…

At Kapweke’s house, her older brother who just (hopefully) completed grade 10 was home, so we did a lot of talking in English. Kapweke, a grade 5 learner she’d been with when I found her and I started pounding. They laughed at my technique, which is worse than a 4 year old’s but improved as I went along. It always takes some time for me to remember how to do it, and it’s always easier for me when there’s someone else pounding in the same one that I’m in. And we started talking.

She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but she was out foraging for berries. Not what she’d call it, but how I’d translate it into our language and culture. I asked if she ate lunch at school, where it’s provided now (and worse than anything we were ever served in a cafeteria). She told me she doesn’t go there anymore because everyone is too jealous (I think that meant competitive and greedy in this case) and she’d gotten burned, she showed me where, twice last year from peoples’ porridge.

Her mother wasn’t home. Her drunk uncle came by and acted drunk. I ignored him. He wants to kill her mother. I don’t really remember why, something about food. He stole their mahangu earlier today.

Then her drunk small mother, her mother’s younger sister, so her aunt, came by with her drunk husband. The aunt is blind. We pounded together. It was pretty incredible how she could pound as well as Kapweke. I was impressed anyway. It’s their life, what keeps them alive, their ability to pound food out of something that is basically inedible otherwise.

And then Kapweke and her brother started telling me about their father. And asking for my advice. Not my help financially, which means a lot that they didn’t ask, but for my advice with how to deal with their father, which I have no idea how to give. Their father lives in another village, kind of far away. The brother, don’t know his name, walked there recently to get money to pay for exams. Their mother doesn’t work, that’s who they stay with. They have no money. I asked how they pay for school fees. Kapweke got 100$ from her father and she put all of that into school fees. That’s the only money she’s gotten from him this year. And this is only the third year she’s gotten anything from him. Her brother did random work to get 60$ to pay for the first term, and didn’t pay the other two terms. That means he might not get his certificates if he passes grade 10. Kapweke doesn’t have the other 80$ to pay for the rest of the year. That’s money.

Last week Kapweke told me that she wouldn’t come to study because she had to pound because they had no food. And she hadn’t eaten since Sunday. This was Tuesday around 1pm.

Later in our conversation today, the brother told me he thinks of what he wants to do to his father. He asked me how should he approach his father for money. I have no idea, honestly. Kapweke told me that he’s dead to her. That he left her before she was even born so when he’s old and needs her help, she won’t help him. But now that they are in higher grades, he wants them to be his kids again. They don’t like that and want nothing to do with him, except get the financial support that they need. Fair enough in my opinion!

The other thing that they told me about is how people are jealous when they see that I’m close to someone and not them. Even the principal at my school. The first time I pounded with learners was a Thursday when we got permission to not go to study so they could teach me instead of me teaching them. Muhora and Kapweke walked me home after and as they left, the principal, who lives next door to me but spends most of his time in another village where his homestead is, told them that he didn’t like how I spent my time with them, that I should spend my time with his kids. Well, his kids scare me. And I love the kids I spend my time with, that’s why I spend my time with them. Kapweke was telling me tonight that he is jealous. And later on, she asked if I was going to tell him that. No. That’s why I love you madam. Because other people, I hate them when they tell someone what you told them. No, what you tell me stays with me (and goes on the internet for everyone in the world to read, but I won’t tell the principal). She also told me that whenever I spend time with just her, or her and a couple other learners, and anyone sees us together, they will ask her later, “What did Madam tell you?” This all upset me because as hard as it is to make friends here, I feel like I’ve made some real ones, Kapweke included, and this can complicate it. Maybe only if I let it, but that option is still there somehow. I guess everyone is jealous if you’re friends with a white person. I asked her, “But we’re all people, and I’m the only white person here so all of my friends are black, if I’m not friends with black people, then who can I be friends with?” I think she got the absurdity of the situation, but maybe only because we’re friends.

We talked about how my mom and aunt are going to visit. Her face lit up. She’s excited to teach more people to pound.

And as we walked back to my house, where she collected leaves in the dark from one of my trees so she has a relish for her porridge tomorrow, I put my arm around her and she said, “And miss (no one EVER has called me miss in the village), I just need to see your house too.” I told her, “My house is right there,” as we approached it. No, not that one. The one in America. If I could, I would bring her there in a heartbeat. Never before have I been so sure about that with any of my learners. There are plenty that I’ll miss, but no one has told me so many things about the place they live, and so many negative things about their life. I’m sure if each learner opened up to me the way she did tonight, I’d be coming home with a whole army of kids, but I guess that’s one of the benefits of getting to choose who you get to know and spend your time with.

She told me tomorrow she’ll make the leaves (I forget the name of course) so I can try them. She tried to feed me maghumi (which I LOVE) just before we left, but I refused it (kind of a big faux pas) because I told her, “I’ll go home and eat, you’re hungry, you eat it, I can’t take your food today.”

Last week I called her aside to ask how she does in her other classes. Not as well as in math it turns out, so I told her to work on getting those grades up and we’ll talk about a better school. She works so hard and she’s given nothing to work with. I love her. And I don’t throw that word around.

I just got off the phone with another pcv to get these feelings (how I hate that word) out of me and get some feedback on it. This pcv is leaving in a month. She’s been here three years, and how glad I am that she stayed for that third year! But we talked about how hard it is to leave the kids, and people, you get close to as a volunteer. There are two learners, who thinking about saying bye to in another year, makes me cry. One is Kapweke, the other is Thikoka, who I’ve written about plenty of times before now. I once asked Thikoka if she’s been out of this region. No, who would take me? She then told me that her mom has been to Malaysia. Those are the learners who don’t ask me for things. Those are the learners who light up when they see me outside of school, or even in school. Those are the learners I’m always looking for when I need someone to teach me something. Those are the learners I will remember for the rest of my life. Those are the learners who really know me. Those are the learners I’m getting to really know. Those are the learners who want to spend time with me because I’m me, not because I have things and am white. Those are the learners I want to spend time with because I want them to be happy and I want to give them everything. Those are the learners I want you to know. Those are the learners I want to bring home with me because saying bye to them will be the hardest thing about my volunteer experience.

Starting Over

Sunday, 6 September, 2009

Or “Take 3.” Tomorrow term three starts. The final term of the school year. Of year one. Of the first half.

I just got back from traveling with 40 learners and 9 other volunteers. We brought 40 learners from all 13 regions on a tour of Namibia. We started in Windhoek where we visited the airport, Hero’s Acre, University of Namibia, and the mall where they got to see G-Force.

From Windhoek, we traveled to the coast - Swakopmund. We went to the snake park (where some learners didn’t even want to enter, I guess they do get to see enough snakes at home), Dune 7, the beach and the aquarium. At the beach, they all ran toward the water, and some ran into the water in their clothes. They rolled around in the waves. It was really fun to see them there.

Our next stop was Etosha, which wasn’t really a stop, but a day long drive through the game park. We started off by seeing one giraffe and all the learners started screaming in excitement. We had to remind them that noise would scare the animals away. Then we saw 2 male lions!! They were just hanging out minding their own business, until our bus driver started honking the horn at them. The only reaction he got was to have them get up and walk away. We stopped at a watering hole early in the morning and saw lots of zebras, a few jackals, lots of impala, oryx, wildebeest and kudu, many different kinds of birds and maybe some other animals that I don’t remember without looking at pictures. Then we continued on the drive through the park and saw a lot of ostriches, giraffes, a couple elephants, tons more zebras, more kudu, and a lot of oryx. A worthwhile place to visit.

After Etosha we went to Opuwo. We weren’t told that the water turns off from 9pm to 7am so we were without breakfast the first morning. We got to go to a Himba homestead far away from town, so tourists don’t generally get to see that particular homestead. We might have been the second group of white people they’d ever seen. It was a really interesting place and our guide could give us a lot of information. For example, it’s taboo for Himba women to bathe. They apply ocher instead - a reddish mud almost that they have to buy and is expensive. The Himba people in general have avoided modernization on purpose.

After Opuwo, we traveled to Ruacana Falls, which currently has no water flowing over it. But the rocks were cool. I guess I’ll have to make another trip that side in the rainy season. That was our last stop on the tour and then I made my way back to Kavango with 10 learners from Kavango and Caprivi.

It was the most exhausting vacation I’ve ever been on. Although it wasn’t technically a vacation because I was working. But the kids were really great. Their English was a level I didn’t know existed in large groups of learners. They understood sarcasm because their English was so good. They knew riddles. They had critical thinking skills. They were wonderful.

The random thoughts that enter my head while in Africa

Monday, 7 September, 2009

Gifts…When I came to Namibia, I brought a lot of little things to give kids - my host siblings if I had a lot, learners which I knew I’d have a lot of, village kids, really just anyone. But then I couldn’t really figure out a way to give them out without everyone else asking for something too. So I haven’t really given much away, but I don’t want all these things in my house taking up space that I don’t really have. After this past holiday, which ended today and I got back yesterday, one of the teachers came back with one more kid who had been staying with his dad. He’s maybe 5. And intrigued by me. Not afraid, but nervous. We immediately started a game of peek-a-boo while I was in my house and he was just outside trying to decide if it was safe to join the other kid in my house with me (I was testing a grade 4 learner on where different countries are in Africa using the map on my wall). He couldn’t quite get the courage to come inside, but had a lot of smiles for me. When the other kids were gone, maybe for lunch, and he was still hanging around (we’re neighbors), I took out my candy bracelets. Oh, another things, he speaks NO English. Only Silozi, which I can only greet in. Anything past how are you, I’m fine is lost on me. So our smiles are our only way of communicating (I think I’ve kind of become used to that). There are 5 bracelets in a pack, but I can’t give one kid 5! So I showed him 1 finger and started pointing to each one and saying the colors. He picked yellow. Then I had to show him how to wear it and somehow communicate that he could eat it. Charades. He got it. And then more peek-a-boo through my open window and drawn curtains to let in the light. He’s a cute one.

Toilets…Have you ever noticed that toilet bowls never fill? Sure, in the US we flush them a lot more often than is necessary, but I never see a rise in level after I use it. Then I didn’t have running water, but I had a flush toilet. I always fill the tank once or twice a day to flush in, but still never saw a rise in level even after multiple uses. Then someone told me that I could pour the water straight into the bowl. And it goes down. There’s some set level that the water doesn’t go past. Things I learned in Namibia: the toilet will never fill up (unless something is wrong with it or it is somehow clogged). Oh learning experiences!

Time… I’ve never noticed the passing of time so much as here. I’ve been here for 10 months. Today. But it’s not even the 10 months that gets me. Every 10 days I’m surprised. The start of each month seems overwhelming. The first?? How will I ever make it to the 31st?? Or even the 30th?? Or just the 28th?? The end always seems so far away. But then when I make it to the 10th, when we reach the double digits, it’s a small goal met. And when I reach the 20th, barely 2 weeks later, the end of the month is in sight. And then suddenly, or it seems suddenly because I don’t dwell on the passage of days, this breakdown just somehow happened in my brain, the end of the month is here and I’m starting over again at the 1st. And I’ve been there 10 times already, so what another 16 more? Breaking down 26 months into 10 day increments seems like overkill, but somehow it makes teaching in a sometimes backwards seeming place almost make a little more sense.

Kickball… I was just fetching 25 gallons (I doubt that’s the actual amount because they measure using liters, really litres, here, so maybe it’s only 25 liters, but it’s heavy, and a lot of water) and there were 6 kids playing outside who I watched while I was waiting for my container to fill. Two of them were at the tap with me, one with a big horn that people have at sports games, and he wanted me to play it after it’d been in his mouth. He’s only 2. I indulged him. The other wanted a drink of water, but our common language is Thimbukushu, his mother tongue being Silozi and mine English, so it took a while for him to communicate that to me. So fetching water took extra long while I let them drink. Then the older one without the horn returned to the ball game taking place nearby. Five kids were playing what I thought at first was kickball. One kid had the soccer ball and it looked like the others were in the outfield, or some equivalent. Then she kicked the ball toward them and they quickly got in a line with the legs wide to let the ball through. I laughed out loud. No one was close enough to hear me. I guess that’s Namibian kickball. I think they must be all working together because they wanted the ball to get through all the legs. In the 3 tries I watched, it didn’t work.

Pizza… I walked back from fetching water, not far, and could smell my dinner cooking as I got close. Oh pizza, how I love thee.

Gender

Tuesday, 8 September, 2009

Getting out of bed this morning was as hard as any day during term one. It’s just hard to end a holiday and start a job again that you’re not sure you really enjoy or if it’s worth your time.

Term 3 started much the same as any other term. We came to school, mostly on time, had a long meeting much later than I would have expected given that we were told to come about an hour earlier than necessary, followed by an all school assembly that is also much longer than necessary where many unnecessary announcements are made. One caught me off guard, given that I’m usually silent during these, and busy trying to read the faces of learners for understanding or if they think it’s as ridiculous as I do. I don’t usually see either of those expressions. But suddenly, I was brought back from my daydreams, which almost turned into sleeping dreams because this was taking much longer than necessary and about half of it was in Thimbukushu, when my principal asked who the learners were who’d come with my to Windhoek. They were called onto the “stage” to tell the school about where they’d gone. The principal thought they’d both gone on the tour, when they had actually attended very different workshops. The boy came on the tour and the girl had stayed in Windhoek for a week long conference called GLOW (Girls and Guys Leading Our World). But it was the principal’s comment that began their sharing their experiences that made me chuckle because I thought he was kidding. “You’ll start [shaking the boy by the shoulder] because males are superior to females, so we always start with the males.” I looked up to see if anyone else thought that was funny. Nope. I was once again alone in the shock of what comes out of his mouth at these all school assemblies. Or at the teacher’s meetings. Those are really the only times I see him because I can’t put up with those comments more often.

Since this was day one, I had to cheer myself up after the rough morning, although it definitely got better since the assembly, it usually does. But after a quick trip to get a package that’d been waiting for me for almost a month, which had a solar shower so washing my hair just got a hundred times easier, I came home and got really dirty digging, watering and planting my second garden. I’ve been eating fresh lettuce for a couple weeks now, although it’s probably JUST getting big enough to really have a substantial salad, and I decided I needed to start the next round of vegetables in my life. So I redug a plot I’d dug a month ago, planted onions, carrots, tomatoes and 4 kinds of squash. Maybe the rains will come earlier than usual so I don’t have to fetch water for 2 gardens for too much longer? Haha. Yeah right. When I started working, the 6 year old next door who only speaks Silozi stood at the fence with his mom and started naming colors in English. He told his mom that he wanted to help me. So he came over and helped me water, then helped me transplant my basil (I hope it survives! I tried to do most of the work, but how do you tell a willing kid no when that’s probably all he ever hears?) and then helped me plant my new garden. I made holes and then gave him the bigger seeds, all the squashes, to put in the holes. He was quite excited. Then he even helped me water my other garden. This is going to require more fetching of water. I expect to be able to carry my containers on my shoulders soon!

Thus begins term 3 of 3 for the year, and 3 of 6 for my time in Namibia. And I do enjoy it, or enough to keep coming back to it. And it is worth my time, especially when I get the biggest smiles from learners of all the teachers, and learners come to me to tell me [not so good] news as I’m about to go ask them about it, or when somehow, learners actually work well in a group on the first day back, or when the learner from GLOW comes to tell me all about her week and she’s full of smiles, when I could tell she was a nervous wreck at the start of the trip, and heard from another PCV that she was having a tough time on the first day. It was, overall, a good day in Namibia.

Saturday

Saturday, 12 September, 2009

The first week of anything is a little hectic. The first week of the term while teaching in Namibia is indescribable. And of course there are certain events that stand out in my mind more than others - both good and bad.

If Tuesday was weird, then Wednesday turned even weirder for me. I have this thing about teaching, where I actually want to teach all of the periods I’m scheduled for. It’s not normal to do that here. But the principal makes a point of telling us to teach all of our periods every morning. (Big difference it’s making.) And people like teaching even less at the beginning of the term. But I was going to all of my classes, planning to teach for the whole 40 or 80 minutes I was scheduled for (without preparations, but I was still going to keep them busy somehow, really just by reviewing the horrendous exam from last term). But then just at the end of the tea break (why it’s called tea break is beyond me, there’s no tea), a learner came to my classroom and told me the principal was calling me. I was thinking, why didn’t he call me during break (because that wouldn’t be a break if he was working) and that it was probably computer related. But then I found him outside. The ministry of works had finally come to fix my house (he’d put in a request 2 months ago and they wanted to come over holiday, which in hindsight, if I’d had somewhere to put all my things while I was gone, it would have been a lot better, but instead I got sick and spent the last few days before holiday back and forth to town trying to figure out why I would have diarrhea and vomiting every 3-5 days). So I missed the next 2 periods to move things around in my house so they could start painting. I didn’t even know they were going to paint! Sure, the walls and ceiling were gross - almost black - but it just doesn’t seem NECESSARY. I’d rather have the water problems fixed so I can have running water. Or the 2 electrical outlets fixed so I don’t have to use an extension cord from the one conveniently placed working outlet. Or a new toilet so it’s not cracked and leaking when the water is on. Or the ceiling lights fixed so I don’t have just one working light. Or even the counter replaced so it’s not rotting and a breeding ground for cockroaches. You know, the more essential things. Even new linoleum would have been higher on my list to fix than new paint! But now it’s day 4, and he’s almost finished painting my “studio apartment.” Day 1 was the ceiling. Day 2 was the main living part. Day 3 was the bathroom with the afternoon off. Day 4 is the closet. Maybe he’ll do the linoleum this afternoon? Doubtful. But this event has been overriding in my first week back. And will probably continue to be so for the next couple weeks. I have a man camping in my backyard?

So Wednesday had started off great with groupwork in grade 7 and then that happened and I couldn’t quite get myself back into school mode for the last 2 periods with grade 6. But Thursday was great with grade 6. Again, I hadn’t prepared anything beyond reviewing the exam. The day before, they’d worked in groups to rewrite the exam hoping that in groups, they’d teach each other. Because I was already so off from missing 2 periods, I didn’t take the time to EXPLAIN thoroughly how to work in groups. So it kind of bombed. So I wanted to do each problem as a class on the board. Well, after 20 minutes of the first of two 80 minute class, I could tell they were getting antsy and were not going to make it to the end. So I ran to the office to get more chalk - of 4 different colors. I had them get into 4 groups of their choosing, with minimal monitoring. I told them not to sit at their desks, to find a space on the floor. Then I gave them each a different color chalk and told them the floor was their “chalkboard.” I took time to explain that I didn’t want the person who knew how to do the problem to take the chalk and do it. I wanted them to give the chalk to someone else and help them work through the problem. And if they didn’t understand, to ask someone who might. I actually saw that happen! Checking 4 problems, on the floor, is a lot easier than checking 25 problems in a notebook that is more disorganized than my house while it’s being painted. It went over better than anything else I’ve tried. How many times do you think I can use that teaching method? I’m going to hope it lasts another 2½ months!

And Friday was Friday. The morning is usually OK, but after tea break, which is still technically the morning, but somehow feels like the afternoon already for me, is usually too laid back to be able to teach anything of importance. But I always try anyway. I spent all 4 periods after tea break with 7B. I was scheduled to teach them period 5, but then I was off for periods 6, 7 and 8 - the rest of the day. And they weren’t going to have any more teachers come in because one was away at a workshop and they don’t have an agriculture teacher. Somehow. So I stayed and working with almost every person on the homework - finding discounts of items in a store given the percent off. It went OK. But I don’t have time to dwell on that topic when we have about 5 more things to do. We’ll see how that goes…

But Friday afternoon was fantastic. Somehow all of the learners knew there was no study, but I didn’t. I think I spend too much time in classrooms so never hear about these scheduling changes that take place in conversations in the staff room. And in Thimbukushu, so I wouldn’t know it was happening anyway. But I’d heard rumors study was cancelled in the afternoon, but it was never confirmed. So I came back at 3 anyway. There were two groups of learners around - a groups boys playing soccer, and a groups girls playing ooma (a different kind of jump rope). And a few girls sitting and watching, also not sure if there was study. And most of them were in grade 5, 6 and 7, so I knew them better than if they were in higher grades that I don’t teach. So I sat down and started talking to the ones who were just hanging out, waiting. We stayed and talked and laughed and joked and learned about Namibia and the USA (Madam, would find a place like this village in America? No… Madam, is your mother coming to visit? Yes, but she doesn’t have a plane ticket yet… Madam, when she comes, you must tell me and buy a lot of food for Christmas… And you’ll come and cook it for us? Yes… Madam, what do you have to prepare to come to Namibia from America or to go to America from Namibia? A passport, a visa, a plane ticket, injections [vaccinations]… Madam, what’s a visa? The government’s permission to you to come into the country… Madam, why wouldn’t they let you in? I don’t know… on and on with jokes thrown in that I never know if they get or just laugh because I am).

Later, after spending a lot more time with learners while they trained for a marathon they’ll run in teams of 4, but before eating dinner, I went to my neighbor’s house - where 5 teachers live with all of their kids. One boy, Matthew, is about 1½ years old and hasn’t ever REALLY liked me. He’s always been a little skeptical, he knows something is different about me. Yesterday was the first time I visited since coming back from holiday, so I expected all of the progress I’d made in becoming friends with him to have disappeared. But it was the COMPLETE opposite. Something happened over the holiday it seems to have made him like white people. He was sitting in the sand and when I came around the corner, he was all smiles to see me and lifted up his hands like he wanted me to pick him up! That’s NEVER happened before. We spent the next 45 minutes or so practicing walking (he still isn’t walking). He took about 3 small steps on his own, and then returned to crawling. But he kept laughing at me and smiling and following me. It was really strange. Great! But strange.

And now it’s Saturday and I’m spending some quality quiet time alone in my classroom while my closet gets painted. I just want to put my house back together! And know that Ziggy isn’t going to disappear because of all the chaos. But that day will come soon enough, and then my house will be so much better than it was!

Kids

Sunday, 13 September, 2009

What do you do when little 6 year olds don’t speak English more than “Give me” and tell you that 15 times a day? There are 5 school age kids who live in the houses next to me, their parents are teachers, and only 2 of them speak English. The others don’t even all speak Thimbukushu. But they are constantly coming to my window or door or to me when I’m outside and demanding things. Give me that - which can refer to anything within sight. Sometimes it’s just pointing until I guess what they want. Usually a game or some kind of food. One time, one of them asked me why I eat inside. Well, I prefer to eat outside, especially now that’s it’s really hot, but when I’m outside, they’re all there asking to eat my food. If I give them each a taste, what am I going to eat? There are 5 of them. They don’t get that. They don’t get English. So what happens when your patience reach the limit with kids, but they don’t understand English?

Learners

Thursday, 17 September, 2009

You know how teachers are supposed to have favorites? Well, I do. Is it like this in the states too? Some learners are just more fun and make you happier than others.

Or is this just a country of extremes - those who know English and those who don’t, those who are 11 in grade 6 and those who are 16 in grade 6, those who talk and those who don’t, and outside the classroom where in the winter you can see your breath in the morning but the summer where you have sweat dripping down your back while you sit in the shade.

So as my register class (homeroom, one of my least favorite things about teaching here) continues to be the loudest class in the school (who wouldn’t make noise if their teacher failed to show up to teach and you have nothing to do as learners?) and I continue to feel like I should do something about it, but continue to have no idea what to do, another teacher took the matter into her own hands. She took the duster and his each learner on the palm of their hand once but threatened to come back and hit them each on the back of their hands. She told me she wouldn’t actually do it because they could actually get hurt then. I got so frustrated with the noise they make and lack of listening they do to me, that I asked her how to beat. She told me not to because I would do it when I was angry and could hurt someone. Wow. That was a very perceptive observation. More logic was used in that comment than anything I’ve heard in Namibia. From a Namibian. But I still threatened my class with beating. And they took me seriously for once, and were quiet.

I probably won’t sleep tonight because of that threat. I just like them too much to do that to them. And if I did beat, I definitely wouldn’t sleep that night. Or for the next week.

And no matter what some of them did, I could never hit them because I just like them too much and wouldn’t know what to do if they stopped spending time with me.

In each class, I have a group of learners who make me look forward to teaching them. For any teacher from the US, Elizabeth from 7A would without a doubt, be the favorite. She asks questions when she doesn’t understand (which is rare that she doesn’t understand), she asks for corrections and wants the explanation of why, she does her homework, and does it well, she aces the tests and always wants to do her best. But somehow she drives me crazy. Maybe because she’s always knowing the answers and wanting to answer before other people get a chance to really think. Or because I can’t teach to her level because she’s the only at her level. I love her, but in class she drives me crazy. There are 2 boys, Ndara and Muremi, who sit in the front, and work their butts off, who make me want to go to that class everyday. Muremi is way too serious for grade 7. So most days it’s my goal to get him to smile. He’s not unhappy, just the most respectful learner I have. Ndara has a sense of humor that I don’t see often here. I started asking, “How do you know?” after any answer learners would give - right or wrong. One day, before I got the chance to ask, “How do you know?” Ndara shouts, “But how do you know?” Everyone started laughing. For the next couple of weeks, every time I asked that question, the whole class would start laughing, and I’d stare at Ndara as I asked it. At least they were having fun while they were doing the Namibian equivalent of learning.

The other grade 7 class, 7B, has more learners I am friends with and the energy is such that it’s usually my favorite class of the day - which might also be because I usually teach them after 7A, so I can make adjustments to my lesson if it didn’t go very well. There’s a group of 5 girls who want to teach me anything Namibian - Pakella, Kapweke, Muhora, Katembo and Dikuwa. Some of those are surnames, some are first names, and sometimes I call them by their Christian name. But those were the first names I learned for each of them. Pakella and Kapweke are smart and could definitely work harder. Although, on the quiz today, Pakella was the only one to get 100%. She was psyched when I announced that. Kapweke got 90%. One day during study, Muhora came to me and told me she was taking me to her house to teach me to pound (see earlier entry). All 5 of them came. It was a lot of fun. They are also most of the girls who I was running with, when I was running. Since spending time with them outside of class, they’ve become more comfortable with me in class and are more willing to ask questions than most of the other learners I don’t know as well.

There is also a group of boys who I enjoy in 7B - Mbambo, Anton and Kayoka are the three that stick out, but there are 3 more who work really hard and are smart, and they are nice to have in class to make sure I’m actually teaching, not just standing there speaking gibberish. Mbambo is the son to the chief and has the best English of any learner I teach. He’s also more serious than a grade 7 learner should be so I try to get him to laugh everyday too. Anton is probably the learner equivalent of Adrian. He’s not so serious about his classes, although he does take them seriously when pushed a little bit which is more than other learners do, but he’s serious about athletics. He runs. And plays soccer. And if he could make a living doing that, he would in a heartbeat. Last week when I was at study when there was no study, Kayoka was playing soccer with the group of boys there, until he got tired of that. Then he went into his classroom and got his dictionary. He sat outside his classroom looking up words to learn. When Muhora was leaving to go home, she hadn’t learned about the no study either, so had shown up expecting to spend 2 hours more in her classroom, Kayoka called her over to “teach her one word.” I thought that was great.

Then there’s grade 6. They’re harder to really connect with, overall. But some of my favorite favorite learners are in there. 6A has some good ones, but somehow I haven’t gotten very close to any of them. It’s 6B that has its gems. Even though 6B is my register class and they are loud loud loud, I love some of the girls in there more than anyone else I’ve met here. Thikoka, Ruth and Seglinde are my 3 favorites in their group of 6 girls who hang out. Ruth was the one who, in front of the whole school back in March, told everyone that “We don’t understand what Miss Lori is saying.” Thikoka likes to test the limits of how much I’ll put up with before beating. She’s the one who told me, “But madam, you don’t know how to beat!” At the beginning of the year, Seglinde would raise her hand every time I asked a question, but whenever I called on her, she would start laughing and cover her mouth in embarrassment. It drove me crazy! So I stopped calling on her. At some point, I figured out when she actually knew the answer and calling on her would get an answer. Another one in their group of friends is Haushiku, and she’s a good one too. I try to get her to at least smile everyday because she does not look happy. And one of the amazing things about this group of girls is that they have learned the game Set. I take it out every morning during the tea break and we play. For the most part, I pick out 2 of the 12 cards on the table and they race to find the third. But twice, they have found a set before me and I was so excited! Probably more excited than they were!

All of these learners I’ve written about probably see me more as a friend than any teacher they’ve had, except maybe Mark. And I don’t see that as a bad thing. It’s a relationship they’re not used to, so take advantage of it a bit. They test their limits with me as a teacher in class, and I haven’t really figured out how to deal with that. I’ve always been friends with my students, but I’ve never been in this position before either. It’s new for me and it’s new for them, especially the girls. I’d much rather just hang out with them and be a friend and role model than their teacher. This whole discipline thing is for the birds. I don’t like punishing kids. That’s why I don’t do it. And that’s why they continue to get louder and louder as the year goes on.

A month in an African Village

Tuesday, 22 September, 2009

A month ago, I didn’t think I’d be able to spend a solid month in the village. I’m about to do just that. I was planning to leave this weekend, but was then invited to a party on Saturday night and I really wanted to go. So I actually changed my plans to stay here another week before going to town and seeing my American friends. Never thought that’d happen.

Last weekend I went to my second funeral. This time it was someone I knew. I didn’t know him well, but I also know a lot of his close friends. And he was big in the community. He was the mechanic. The one person to call when something is broken.

The first funeral I went to, after living here for a mere 10 days, was more of a test of cultural integration than anything else. I didn’t know anyone. I’d never met the old man who’d passed away. He was my host mother’s father and died the day I got to the village. It was a very overwhelming experience and I felt the whole time like crying, not for him or his family’s loss, but for me and all that I’d given up for the coming 2 years. And I made myself not cry because of how selfish that was. The whole time I felt like I was just barely treading water in a sense. I kept looking around to see if I was doing the right thing. Looking for someone to talk to, about anything and nothing. Someone to stand next to so I didn’t look, or feel, so lost. I had no idea at all what to do or what was expected of me. And I was afraid to let people know that and ask for some guidance.

Last Friday was the memorial service. I knew that was going to happen. I assumed it’d be busy (I actually thought it’d be bigger than it was). I told another teacher to bring me when she went. I don’t know how people find out about these functions, but I never know anything about when or where they are. So right after I lay down to take a nap, thinking I had about an hour, my neighbors came to get me. What do I wear? Anything. They were all wearing shitenges, so I put one on too. And I had my hair plaited (in corn rows, but plaiting sounds so much nicer!), so I was almost pure Namibian. Or Mbukushu even.

At the memorial, unlike the other one I went to, or at least more obvious here, the men and women were separate. All the women were sitting under tent in chairs and the men were on the other side of a fence, sitting mostly on the rocks that were there. Several people spoke about him. He was only 31. I’m not really sure what caused his death, but there are a few different stories going around about what happened. If I think it’s hard to find anything out, finding out what’s true is almost impossible then.

The funeral was the next day, Saturday. I again told my neighbor to bring me with her. So she sent an sms when she was ready. She’d said 10:30 the day before, so I was a little rushed at 7:15 when I got her sms. We went to the church, where we spent the service outside because the church was full already. There were probably as many people outside as there were inside. Then walked to the graveyard where we took a short detour first to use the bush toilet.

At the burial there were even more people than at the church service. You can attend all or part of a funeral. No one will really know. [Side note from the burial: There was voter registration at my school that weekend, so the police came to the burial looking for teachers to lend them keys to their classrooms. Somehow no one knew about this setup before it actually took place, so we hadn’t made arrangements for it. They found my neighbor and me. So they pulled us out of the burial to go open our classes. After I’d opened mine and was ready to go back to the burial, the driver of the police car actually asked for my phone number. I’m completely comfortable now to tell someone no. And continue to tell them no, you don’t need my number, when they ask why. But I was appalled that he would pull us away from a burial and then hit on me by asking for my phone number. Jerk.]

But the whole experience was a lot more real. I really kept expecting him to walk in holding a beer at any moment. Especially later when we were all fed at his homestead. He owned a shebeen and at the beginning of my stay here, I spent a lot of time there with my host mom. He was always holding a beer. Or to have him come speeding up in one of his old cars. I once told a learner to never get in a car with him because he was usually drunk, thus driving drunk. He built the latrine and shower at the homestead I stayed on. I spent several afternoons just sitting there, watching, being hit on and not really knowing how to get out of the situation. He was probably the guy hitting on me the least of all of them who were working there.

The two funerals I’ve been to couldn’t really be more different.

But life continues, and no one talks about his death anymore (at least not to me in English) now that the funeral is over. For the week right after he died, it was all anyone talked about. But the day of his burial, a woman was found dead in the river after she’d been missing a day and screaming had been heard in the middle of the night (still don’t know what that was about). People will continue to die. And babies will continue to be born. My learners will continue to fail math. And they will hopefully continue to learn English. They will continue to talk when I want them to be quiet. And they will continue to amaze me when I least expect it. I will continue to hate teaching. And I will continue to love my learners. I will continue to want to go home to the US. And I will continue to stay and love it here too.

Today I hated teaching, but I loved being here. It’s quite the contradiction, and something, for the past 8 months, I never expected.

Making do with what you’ve got

Wednesday, 23 September, 2009

Today when the bell rang for lunch, Kamwanga and Ruth both told me they weren’t coming back for study. I asked why and they just laughed. They tell me this pretty regularly. Sometimes they don’t come back, but they usually do. Thikoka told me that they wanted to go swimming. I agreed that going swimming would be more fun. And I told them that I had to wash my clothes, but I was still going to come to study (although I really wanted to go to the post office 15km away to get the package I know is waiting for me!). And I added that washing my clothes takes me a lot longer than it takes them because I’m not good at it, but I would see them at study.

They came back.

After study, I rushed home to start washing my clothes, which I knew would take me more than an hour since I hadn’t done any laundry in about a week and a half. Things get a lot dirtier faster here because of all the sweating and dust. And I let things get a lot dirtier than I would if I had a washing machine, so some things were beyond wearable until a good washing. I was getting the water in my bucket to start washing, when I heard the laughter of Thikoka and Ruth - both recognizable to me at this point. I Thikoka disappear around the corner of my house and my neighbor, Mulela, tell me that some of my learners were here. I saw Ruth’s arm around another corner of my house so I snuck up on her and we all had a good laugh. I asked them, “What’s up?” Nothing. I know they’re a lot shyer when they’re at my house than when we’re in the classroom, so I asked them in Thimbukushu, “Yinye ghunashana?” What do you want. Letting them talk in their mother tongue usually makes them more talkative, but Ruth relied in English, “We don’t want anything.” So I asked a better question, “Yinya ghunashana kutenda?” What do you want to do? I didn’t quite catch the whole answer, but I got enough of the words to know that they wanted “kuyogha yitere yoye.” To wash my clothes. I asked them if they were serious. Yes. “You told us you don’t know how so we want to wash them for you.”

Now, in term one, I paid someone to wash my clothes a couple of times. But I just don’t like doing that. Maybe it’s me wanting to be independent, or just stubborn about living like everyone else is here. But I’ve been doing my own washing for months, or bringing it to town where another volunteer has a washing machine. And I didn’t want my learners working for me. So I told them they could teach me.

Well, that turned into about an hour of the three of us washing twice as many clothes as I could have, and being twice as clean in the end. And Thikoka went to the hospital today with a nasty cut on her index finger! I gave her a glove and a rubber band to try to keep it dry, but it didn’t really work. I told her to stop working if it was paining. She didn’t, and it was. They did a lot of talking in Thimbukushu and I did a lot of trying to understand what they were talking about. They translated some of it, but I let them be the grade six twelve year old girls that they are. We had some good laughs, mostly at my inability to do a good job washing my clothes. And in the end, I ended up with some extra clean clothes for having washed them almost alone, and two very happy girls when I gave them colored pencils and coloring books to take home for helping me.

I think I found a good way to give the gifts that I have (and continue receiving, thanks!) away. It’s impossible to give something to every learner when I have about 100 of them, but when 2 of my favorites help me wash my clothes for an hour after spending all day in school, they deserve something fun from America.

The other highlight I had today was making corn muffins. I have all these wonderful mixes, but no muffin pan, just a small bread pan! A few days ago, all I wanted to do was bake (must have had a bad day, right?), but I didn’t want to waste the wonderfulness of muffins on a bread pan. So I was content to wait until the next time I went to town to buy a muffin pan. But then I remembered all the empty cans I’ve saved, thinking I’d find some use for them eventually. Well, I found my use. Who needs a muffin pan anyway? I have empty cans! So instead of 12 normal sized muffins, I have 4 extra large ones and 2 almost normal sized ones, well, 1 now that I’ve eaten one.

Oh the pleasures of clean clothes and freshly baked corn muffins. Now off to take a cold shower so I can fall asleep not in my own sweat.

Nothing is perfect

Sunday, 27 September, 2009

Weddings are so much more fun than funerals.

On Friday, 9 of 24 teachers were absent. And then 3 others disappeared at some point during the teaching day. I don’t know where they went or when they left because I was teaching. Weird. I taught 3 extra periods so I was always busy and kids were at least entertained and supervised instead of getting yelled at for making noise when they had nothing to do. This involved playing a game in math class with 7B for two and a half periods instead of one and then taking 6B to the sports field with Frisbees and jump ropes for phys. ed. It was a lot of fun and I didn’t even care that other teachers didn’t show up to their classes.

When the day ended, I wasn’t ready for some of my favorite learners to go home, I wanted to spend more time with them. Two of the last 3 girls to leave the classroom were Thikoka and Ruth, my favorite learners at the school. I discretely asked if they wanted to come watch a movie at my house. They said yes, but they didn’t want the other girl to come. So somehow they ended up at my house without her. We even waited for the rest of the school to empty so other learners wouldn’t see the prize they were getting.

We watched Beauty and the Beast with the 4 other kids who live in the other teacher houses. I’m not sure how much they understood, but they looked happy and their eyes didn’t leave the screen. Part way through the movie, my neighbor called me over because her one and half year old son, Matthew, was calling me. Or Ziggy. No one ever really knows. But he saw me and tried to get out of his mom’s arms to get me to hold him. He spent the rest of the movie walking around my house, outside my house, looking for Ziggy, wanting to touch the computer, and causing little kid trouble.

It was nice to have something for them to do with a definite end point.

On Saturday, I had been planning for a couple weeks to go to a game park for the weekend with a few other volunteers. But on Monday of this week, before I’d finalized the plans, I was invited to a wedding in the village. I was honored to be invited, I like the family a lot, and being invited is a big deal here where you kind of just show up to visit. (You don’t just show up to a wedding I think.) So on Monday I cancelled going to the game park and planned to spend another weekend in the village (all of September without leaving!). I’m really happy with the decision to go to the wedding instead!

I had been told to be at the church at 9am and then the party was at 5. I thought it was just the two events. HAH! It was the whole day! At first I was a little concerned with trying to figure out what I was supposed to always be doing all day, but I stayed for everything anyway. After church, I ran home to get my camera, and then met everyone at the homestead to go and take pictures, 15km away.

There were a few bakkies and a few cars that everyone piled into. I didn’t really know where I belonged, so I joined the school choir in their bakkie, singing with them, at least the songs I could understand and figure out.

When photos were taken, learners started asking for their photos from me. And then everyone was asking. I have about 300 photos from this one event! It was a lot of fun though. I had a job, something to do in case conversation didn’t work out.

After the photos, we went to the youth center nearby to eat and enjoy the party. I told two on my learners I had to sit between them because I don’t eat meat and they had to take it off my plate. I’m still concerned with offending people with that part of me because it’s so different from what they eat! I ended up sitting with 5 other women who I don’t know well. Conversation was limited. Speeches were given in Thimbukushu so I had no idea what was said. Someone gladly ate my meat. Then people started going outside, walking around, talking, dancing. I spent a while observing trying to figure things out, when finally I decided to just hang out with my learners. And I had so much fun with them. They danced to a few songs. I danced with them. Everyone was just so happy!! There was so much more laughing than at a lot of the other events I’ve gone to because no one had died!

The last month has been a different world from any other month I’ve been here. I was once told that each term has a very different feel from the other ones. And so far, that couldn’t be more true.

Term 1: Get out as often as possible and feel guilty about it because I know I should be spending time in the village getting to know people and the place; spend as little time as possible in the classroom because I can’t figure out how to talk to these kids or teach them in a way we both understand.

Term 2: Spend more time in the village, but spend a lot of it alone because at least I’m in the village then; start enjoying the learners more and figuring out how to teach them, but not very creatively so I’m not happy with my own teaching.

Term 3: Haven’t left the village and going to town next weekend stresses me out because I’m sure I’ll miss something fun here and traveling is exhausting. I’d rather just stay here. But the beginning emptiness of my fridge is forcing me to go get more food. Spend my free periods at school teaching because there’s always something more to teach. Hang out with my neighbors, my learners, happily attend all day functions, accept more invitations, and offer more invitations! Fewer things phase me. They still surprise me, but they just are. (For example, the power just went out and will probably be out for the whole day, if not longer. There are only a few things in my fridge that will really go bad, so I’ll just eat them today.)

One last thing… The rainy season is almost upon me. On Friday morning, I woke up early to hurricane strength sounding winds. They were blowing things on my tin roof, making it sound like trees were falling on it. Then it started raining!!! For only a couple minutes, but I went outside after to water my garden (it hadn’t even soaked the ground) and THE SMELL!!! It rained in June for 2 days. And before that it rained in early April. It smelled like spring! Wet dirt. Another volunteer told me the smell is unforgettable. It’s delicious! It rained again early morning on Saturday, but I didn’t go outside soon enough after it to get the overwhelming smell of rain after the dry season. But it’s coming! (And I’ll complain about that too!) And it’ll be a lot nicer here. The grass will be green. The trees will have leaves again. It’ll be as humid as a sauna. Hahaha. Nothing is perfect.

Teaching High

Tuesday, 29 September, 2009

Today I taught grade 7 about circles. We don’t have compasses. And our only measuring devices only go up to 30cm. And more than half of them have inches on one side so I have to make sure they’re not using inches.

But last week I got a great idea after watching a grade 6 learner invent his own compass. He took a piece of scrap paper, poked 2 holes in it, for two pencils - one to draw with and one to hold in the middle - and made a perfect circle. I thought it was ingenious. So last night I tied 8 pieces of giant sidewalk chalk (thanks mom!) to different length pieces of rope. In groups of 4 or 5 learners, they each had to draw 6 circles and measure the radius and diameter of each. And record the color circle with their measurements. (Tomorrow we’ll hopefully notice that the diameter is twice as long as the radius.) But they were really loud, and seemingly out of control even though I saw a lot of good things going on. So when a teacher walked in to see what was happening, I was a little self conscious of my teaching style. (On another loud occasion, when learners were working in groups measuring each other in cm and meters in grade 6, she came in and said, “Since you’re not teaching, can I buy recharge [for her phone]?” I was annoyed about that one.) But today, I explained what they were doing, and why, and she said, “I hope there’s another volunteer here when [my son] is in grade 7.” Even though I already thought my lesson was going well, that was the icing on the cake.

At least I had the one class today that went well, because the morning with grade 6 certainly did not. I had to keep 6B, my problem class in general (I think I’m actually the one who broke them with my lax rules), 10 minutes into break because they talked so much during class that we didn’t get through the whole lesson. They learned nothing today.

And unfortunately I ended the day in the other grade 7 class where the same circle lesson was not nearly as successful. It didn’t quite bomb like other lessons have, but it didn’t go nearly as well as with the first grade 7 class. There was a lot more talking, in the form of yelling, and fighting and running around. Some of them still took it seriously, but there were a lot of learners who were just enjoying the freedom out of their chairs as well.

This afternoon I met with 20 learners who are part of a club they’ve started - Congeniality Club. There are 3 learners who are the leaders of it, and one of them randomly left the classroom for about 20 minutes. I had no idea where he went, but when he came back, he whispered in my ear, “The meat is kicking my stomach!” I had to ask a second time what he said, and then I cracked up! He’s one of the learners who was supposed to eat the meat off my plate at the wedding. I told him he has to eat like I do! It was so random, and loved that he shared that with me.

Rain

Thursday, 1 October, 2009

For the rest of my life, I will never see rain the way I did for the first 23 years. You know when it’s a nuisance and you just want one sunny day because it’s been raining for weeks? At least that’s what it sounds like the summer was like at home this year. Let me recap my previous 5 months for you…

May… Sun everyday, not so hot, pretty great.

June… Starting to get colder than I thought possible for Namibia. Two days of rain and lots of partly cloudy days.

July… Sun.

August… Sun.

September… Sun and hot!

Tuesday, 29 September, 2009… About 2 minutes of downpour in the morning and then clouds the rest of the day.

Wednesday, 30 September, 2009… My day started at about 5:15 when I was rudely awakened by thunder and lightning. I lay in bed and watched as my house was regularly lit up by the lightning. Around 5:50, the rain started. It was unbelievable how much it rained. The thunder and lightning lasted for about 2 hours - into period 1 even. The rain kept coming. And coming. And coming. I went outside to go to school and my front yard was a pool of water. My plants were drowning. I had to empty my bucket of basil twice so it wouldn’t drown completely. I ran to my classroom and got wet - who needs an umbrella anyway when you haven’t felt rain in 5 months? It rained all day. I had 5 learners absent because of the rain, I expected more. I waited 20 minutes in my first period of teaching because only about a quarter of the learners were there when we were supposed to start.

I thought I was the only one who liked rain as much as it turns out I do until I got an sms from a Namibian friend… “Are you enjoying the weather as much as I am?”

Having rain all day was like the first day of sun after the long cold winter. Everyone was alive again. All my learners were more out of control than usual. They were extra psyched when I told them there was no study because all the teachers had to go to a meeting (since most meetings don’t apply to me, I asked my principal if it was something I should attend and he gave me the afternoon off). I planned to spend some quality time in my house reading and being alone, but that concept is lost on anyone from Namibia. By 2:30 I had a knock on my door and a wet learner, Thikoka, wanting to play games. So we played Set, looked at a lot of the photos I’ve taken since coming to Namibia, and then went to find another learner, Seglinde, at her house.

The three of us borrowed hoes from another family and came back and dug up my wet yard to plant maize. My whole yard is turning into a garden. (I’ve been eating lettuce for over a month, ate my first carrot the other day, but will wait for the rest to get bigger, and have a couple tomatoes on my one small plant). But it’s better that way than as the chunk of hard sand it is otherwise!

After planting, and the rain having stopped, I took out some jump ropes (thanks Jess!) and the three of us and 4 other neighbor kids played for another couple hours. Eventually another friend showed up and my learners went home, just to be replaced by the small kids who live here and are not yet in school. So in the afternoon that I’d planned to have a few hours to myself, I had only a few minutes to myself between the end of school (12:30, almost an hour early) and 7. I think that’s a good sign - people like me and visit me, which is a sign of wanting to be someone’s friend, the opposite of being invited somewhere like in the US.

Today I woke up to an overcast sky, but the sun was making an effort to be seen. It won the battle with the clouds and evaporation started early. After period 6 I walked out of the staff room to be greeted by a feeling I haven’t had in a long time - a flashback to term 1. And it was all because of the weather. The feeling of yesterday’s rain evaporating and the sun shining brought back all of the difficulties I had with adjusting. I don’t feel the same way, but I was reminded of those feelings - walking out of the office toward my classroom and having that be the last place on earth that I wanted to be. That’s not here anymore, thank goodness!