Every time I manage to fix a problem (read: get someone smarter/more experienced than me to fix it, or find it somehow felicitously resolved without interference, as so many things in my life often are), it gives birth to 2d4 new problems. Someone is rolling dice on the obstacles in my life, and it's not funny. For instance: I have internet in my computer lab! Huzzah! I type this on an actual computer. A giant unwieldy box with a keyboard that is an accessory. The screen is larger than my thumb. Truly, it is a wondrous age we inhabit. Especially when you consider that I'll step outside and have to avoid donkey carts as I walk around town.

So yes, I am appropriately appreciative of my good fortune's magnitude. However, that I have spent two hours trying to reconfigure the lab so that the clients connect to the server (which they did before- there was a clear and documented point in time at which they decided to try and forge on alone, and that was the moment the ADSL was plugged in). Not only is this bad in the general sense (ie, that things that worked mere seconds before should continue doing so), but it raises the specific issue that people have been clambering to use the lab in wholly reasonable, academic, edifying ways and just when I'm about ready to announce that, hey, they totally can...no. Just kidding. Let me poke around to no clear benefit for a while.

But that's life, right? If it was meant to be easy, well, it would be. Things are actually going incredibly well, but it's so much simpler to vent about stupid little annoyances than catalogue the vastness of positive experiences that typically characterise my existence. Also, there's plenty to write about, but I really need to get out of the lab for a while. And finally, the internet in Africa is not as well behaved as the domesticated North American version of which we are so fond. There's something feral about it. Trying to tame this beast is proving exhausting and frustrating beyond all reason. As an example, a random field of some sort just popped up in the middle of the post, which constantly refreshes itself, forcing me to type most of the last few sentences blind, since I can't read anything below the top of the post window. Technology: creating problems you never knew you would have to deal with.

Michael

An apparently dead organism was found in a 2000-year old geological stratum.

...the local barbershop, which charges the wholly usurous sum of 25 dollars for hair and beard. This comes to just over 3USD. But that adds up quick, and i planned to purchase an electric razor. Unfortunately, these are sufficiently uncommon enough to be unavailable in town. Many other things that are available are only so until the stock runs out, and even then, they are far pricier than their city-bought equivalents. Thus my trip to Windhoek was actually for the purpose of acquiring a hair clipper, pillow, pots and pans, milk, and eggs. I am happy to report the mission was an unqualified success. I now have neatly trimmed hair for the reasonable one-time fee of 200 dollars, a pillow of my very own, more than one frying pan, and enough dairy products to last through the summer. Yes, i had a single frying pan. Sort of made the 4 burner stove a bit superfluous. And yes, i have stockpiled milk. It's just over half the price in the city that it is here, and it's uht milk that, as long as it's unopened, will still be good long after my term of service is up. So while i wash my dishes and clothes by hand in a plastic bucket, read every night by the light of a candle, and only just acquired the means to cook two items at once or make myself presentable for public appearances, i still live a life of relative convenience. Some volunteers live in huts and use nature's vastness to answer nature's call. I am not one of them. But even so, this is not the USA. I can get what i need, but it takes careful planning, luck, and evidently a viral epidemic. Now if you'll excuse me, dear reader, i'm going to go make pizza with the cheese i bought and carried 250km. Michael. Call it sad, call it funny, but it's better than even money that the guy's only doin' it for some doll.

... I sleep on a double bed that is more comfortable, not to mention much larger, than any bed i've owned in the past. I even have a guest bed for visitors! There are two general stores in town that sell most groceries i need and even most i could want. I can get chocolate, apples, green peppers, crushed garlic, and frozen chicken without walking more than ten minutes. Plates, silverware, candles (recall, i live by sun- or candlelight now), most things a kitchen absolutely requires, i can find in my town. There is a post office directly between these two stores which obligingly sends and receives my mail, again assuming the ministry has paid them. Which recently, has not happened. And if any need should arise that i cannot address here, well, i just amble out a few hundred metres past the store and post office to wait by the side of the nicely paved, one-lane-each-way road that leads toward areas of greater population. Which is where we left me with my ludicrously overstuffed backpack. Don't worry, in the time we've been gone i've only seen a few cars, none of then willing to pick me up. We'll talk more about hiking in a later post, but imagine for a moment that you're driving along and see a large, very hairy, sweaty guy waving emphatically for you to stop, asking that you carry him elsewhere without any form of payment. Oh, and he has a backpack whose bulging might appear sinister. I know that the contents are harmless necessities, but passers by don't. This does not sound like the sort of person you'd just invite into your vehicle. I can't blame you, i probably wouldn't pick me up. But people here do, and with an altogether astounding frequency. But let's go back to part of the above description. I said very hairy. And i meant it. During training, i was able to enjoy periodic haircuts. Once i was on my own, forced to fend for myself, i discovered that cutting one's own hair with just scissors and no mirror is a tricky endeavour. I had no electric razor, and being the cheapskate i am, tried to stay away from...

I am not a fan of the flu. Generally speaking, viruses are things i oppose on principle. You can therefore imagine, dear reader, that when the peace corps contacted me friday last to mandate that i receive a flu shot to prevent H1N1, well i positively leapt at the chance for innoculation. Of course, the enthusiasm might have had more to do with a chance to head to Windhoek than the prospect of receiving an injection, but that's not the sort of thing you tell the medical office when scheduling your appointment. Owing to engagements that i foolishly believed would become actual events, i booked my trip immediately, for tuesday and wednesday, rather than the more popular and practical friday-saturday time frame. Thus did mid-day tuesday find me on the side of the highway with a ludicrously overstuffed backpack. This is not a travel pack, but the same venerable container that has carried books since my freshman year of high school. Which brings us to the point of today's discussion- things. Stuff. Goods. Material possessions. I realized months ago that i perhaps do not need but would certainly enjoy the use of a real backpack. One designed to carry loads further than 3rd period english. In this vein, there were plenty of other items that could vastly improve the quality of my life. The problem is getting them. Now, namibia is a modern, developing country. To make the state of my existence more clear, perhaps i should explain the degree of convenience available here. I hardly need mention my internet phone as a start. I have electricity. One light bulb and one outlet that work of a possible five and two, respectively, but still... I have a mini-fridge and electric stove/oven that actually bakes at the professed temperature. This is accuracy i only rarely enjoyed even in the states. I have running water, usually from 6-8 am, 12-2 and 5-8 pm. If the ministry pays our water bill, of course, which is uncertain. I have a toilet, sink, and bathtub, all three in separate rooms...

I don't remember quite where i left off. Last night turned out to be a sort of combination wake, funeral, and impromptu spiritual concert. It was an interesting experience. I can't help but feel it would have been more interesting if i'd had any clue what was happening at any given time and why. It is supremely confusing to watch people wail as a group in evident anguish, then transition immediately into rousing song, with nary a tear in the eye or tremble in the voice, when everything that might explain this rapid switch is in a language you don't speak. Actually, that's not quite true. Confusing, dear reader, does not begin to describe it. Anyway, to bring our discussion to a close, let us once more attend to that most persisten question: just what is it that i do as a peace corps volunteer? Well, the best answer is really that i do whatever is needed. You can't really set down a pcv's job description until close of service, because everyone's is different. So i am a teacher. I explain math and science at what are sometimes agonizingly simple levels. But every once and again, it clicks. And there is progress. I call that success. But just as much as that is my job, so too is every other aspect of my service. I dodge out on being an atm; i consult random home owners about how best to turn their dirt patch into a lush, verdant paradise; i futilely explain to (possibly, there's no way to be sure) angry old women that i don't speak afrikaans, backing away slowly without turning my back or breaking eye contact when my protests inevitably fail to make an impression; i help organise the dining hall for a formal, something for which i am ill-trained; i attempt to bring my beloved language to a group of people who spoke more tongues by the age of five than i will in my entire life; i dispel the idea that all americans are rich, know famous people, and think we're better than the rest of the world while creating a whole new brand of misinformation for my own amusement; but mainly, i learn. I love my job. Michael. Iyo!

... Arts periods have been spent entirely dealing with administrative duties, meaning i have yet to even assume my position as art teacher. I needn't point out that grade 6 is probably fortunate in this regard, as their artistic development is unlikely to be spurred in any way by my instruction. Only pe, a scant 2 periods of 40 a week, just 5% of the time i spend at school, is going as i'd like. We play soccer. Well, the boys play soccer. The girls do whatever it is girls do during pe (they play games the rules to which are far beyond my ken). I read. I do a lot of reading these days. There will be book reviews in the future. Given the snail's pace, it seems like i'd get discouraged. And i do. But only for passing moments, and then i'm once again consumed by the challenge and the desire to meet it. This is new, i rarely find myself possessed of an urge to surmount obstacles. My usual response in just to not care. But here, there's actually something worth doing and people relying on me. So this explains why every day i enter the classroom, invite (or command) my learners to rise and recite "i am clever, i can learn, i will succeed," and begin to explain almost the exact same concept i did the previous day. I may do this happily, eagerly, apprehensively, grudgingly, exuberantly, or dispiritedly, but i do it. Because these learners deserve a chance to get the education they've been promised since they were born. Yes, i often find myself explaining concepts that seemed old hat when i was 12 as though they're breaking news. I often explain them at a level of simplicity i never felt it necessary to examine for myself. But at least once every day, maybe for just a second, someone gets a look of dawning comprehension. These learners are smart. They've managed algebra in a few weeks. The reason it seemed so shockingly new is that to them, it was. It turns out that you have to be a natural of no small talent to understand mathematics or science independently and spontaneously. Certainly my modest grasp of the subjects...

...they've spent so many tax dollars providing, i'll also have afternoon computer classes, but more on those when i'm in a position to speak from experience rather than speculation. Stepping briefly aside from our current topic (which is unusual, i know) we are leaving the school now. It is 602. We're positively early. Mathematics being the focus of my studies and my intellectual passion, most of my effort goes into the maths lessons. And as they occupy just over a third of my course-load, that's not unreasonable. The ministry changed promotion requirements as of 1 january, mandating that students must pass english to move to the next grade. So yeah, maths is pretty deserving of the devotion, especially since learner performance is traditionally worse in exactly 0 subjects. Grades 8-10 are in the junior secondary phase. Junior secondary marks (we americans, for some inexplicable reason know these also as grades) range from U to A. U is 0-19%, G 20-29, F 30-39. These are the failing grades. E, at a seemingly difficult-not-to-achieve 40-49 is a pass. D at 50-59, C at 60, B 70, and A at an accomodating 80-100 are quality symbols. Marks are the points and percentages. Letters, again in a remarkably silly fashion called grades by we yankees, are symbols here. Oh, the colleague in question is one of the hostel staff whose last name i previously did not know. Being a super friendly fellow (he is) i'm quite glad i can offer him my sympathy. We rarely say more than hello, how are you, but it's a comfortable sort of friendship. So, my goal for the year is to bring 60-some learners to a 40% understanding of freshman mathematics. Sounds easy, ne? Oh, dear reader, to be young and naïve like you again. I've been working on basic (read: 6th grade) algebra for weeks. We moved into the grade 9 syllabus yesterday. In science, we still have not left behind what should be review topics. I have not even taught a satisfactory bis lesson, owing to the library's utility as a conference room and the computer lab's spartan furnishings...

...goes into being a teacher this side. Paying a group condolence call on a potential stranger is a staff activity. A mandatory staff activity. Compulsory. This immediately indicates two very important and borderline inevitable properties, which i call the Two Halves make Holes law- 1. It will begin at least half an hour late. We were scheduled to leave at 5, and now at 540 we are slowly gathering for departure. 2. At least half the involved parties will not show. Of 17 reported staff members, a frankly robust (compared to past events, at any rate) 6 people are in attendance. Admittedly, 3 have wandered off since showing up, but the night is yet young. There is a statistically significant chance they'll return. Anyway, this law indicates that any plan necessarily has holes if it relies on timeliness or respectable attendance. Anyway, moving on to more general aspects and for now leaving behind my current occupation as condoler-in-residence, being a teacher does actually, on occasion, involve teaching. Presumably, it's what i actually came this vast distance to do. I am a maths (maths is the conventional word in the queen's english, and is actually more correct than math as an abbreviate. I'd tell you why, dear reader, but you've been subjected to enough verbose distraction from the story already) and physical science teacher for 2 grade 9 classes. And basic information science for grades 8-10 (7 classes in total). And grades 6 and 7 pe. And grade 6 art. Anyone who would put me in charge of an art class is overly confident in my abilities, wholly unfamiliar with me as a person, desperate, or possessed of a perverse sense of humour. Bear in mind this is the mathematical, logical or, which allows for any combination of the options. So, 1 grade 6, 1 of 7, 3 8's, 2 9's, and 2 10's occupy my time. Maths is 5 periods per class per week, physci 4, bis and pe 1, arts 2. A grand total of 29 40-minute periods in a week, with 11 left for planning and the like. Assuming the ministry ever feels like setting up the computers...

When last i left you, dear reader, i was engaged in all manner of activities, variously turned to as resident banker, doctor, english language authority, and outdoor recreational area engineer. As none of these activities appear even implicitly on the job description for education volunteers, you can imagine my surprise and confusion at the frequency with which i am called upon to act in some unfamiliar and apparently official capacity. To give you a further bit of flavor, i'm currently waiting outside my school office to fill yet another novel role, that of philanthropic mourner. In what is perhaps the most foreign (and by this i mean unfamiliar) duty i have thus far performed, i am going to spend my friday evening clambering into the back of a backie (a pick-up truck, although if you call it as much, most namibians will give you a look of confusion and occasional sympathy at your provincial american ways. A truck, you see, is a lorrie- anything large enough to be industrial or commercial, semis and so forth- while a backie is just a car. Clearly things in the states aren't quite so sophisticated, so of course you'd think such a small vehile is a truck) and driving slightly off-center from nowhere (nowhere's center being roughly where i sit now) to pay a condolence call on someone i am told is a colleague. If i have met this person, i do not recall the occasion. That i am expected to bring 20 dollars in addition to my empathy, well, that just makes sense. Funerals are expensive affairs. I in no way mean to make light of this as-yet unnamed fellow's grief. The passing of his family member is sad and i do offer my condolences on general principle. But whether my presence will make any positive difference, i cannot say. Certainly i hope it helps, although the intrusion of a stranger does not strike me as comforting to a mourner. But perhaps it is, as i said, this is utterly foreign to my experience. The reason i even mention it, aside from illustrating the extent of Kamanjab's night life, is to show just what...

...the removal of stumps, or the planting of trees. All as though i were some sort of expert in the field. And then there was one instance in which my services were requested as a literal landscape architect, which is to say someone who gets all architecty with yards and stuff. If that definition did not make it clear, dear reader, then let me be explicit in saying that i know, at most, just as much about designing a yard and garden and then implementing the plans as someone who asks me to do it. At most. It's quite likely that their mere desire to have a well-planned garden puts them in a horticultural class far beyond my ken. I am, after all, content to live in an apartment where the only growth i have to worry about is the occasional bit of mold on bread left out over an out-of-town weekend. I would like to plant some herbs either in a window box or in the school garden (under construction), but that's a desire born of wanting for spices. Anyway, no one knows that but you and me, dear reader. But, evidently, i exude an agricultural aura. Go figure. Well, i've managed to skirt the issue of what i spend my time doing quite effectively, and it's now well past my bedtime (10, because it's saturday), so i shall depart the internets with a fond farewell and a pledge to return soon to actually make good on the promise of answering the question, "just what exactly do you do to earn my tax dollars?" Michael. What? Why are you here?! All these interruptions are enough to make one insane, hmm? *Mad cackle* Here, take this and...leave me to my work. Trouble me no more!

...role as personal moneylender. I've been asked- obliquely- on more than one occasion to loan (or donate) money to colleagues, community members, etc. Setting aside that i'm paid enough to live comfortably and travel a bit, but not much more than that and certainly not enough to support anyone else, and that teachers are some of the best paid people in namibia, but also that this country is filled with poverty and has the largest rich-poor gap on the planet (look it up), and one working person often supports an entire (extended) family- setting all that aside- being asked by people you hardly know to just give away a quarter or even a tenth of your paycheck that you probably won't ever see returned is super awkward. Now, dear reader, you may know that i tend to be fairly generous, but also fairly conservative with my money. As such, every time i'm asked, there is a furious internal debate over whether or not to lend. My conclusion thus far is that i'm not a rich man and need pretty much all i get. I do pay a smallboy every now and then to carry groceries or packages from town, but as that's only one dolla' and there's work involved, it's not really the same. It doesn't matter how close people are, once money changes hands, so too does the relationship change, and that's not what i want to have happen here. So, the last of the "but i'm a math teacher..." jobs is that of landscape architect. For some reason that i cannot begin to fathom, people here seem to think i am a landscape architect. And by this i actually refer to several distinct callings. No less than four times, by different people each time, i have been asked to help with yardwork. The request is always is afrikaans, which i do not speak, and the request-giving npc always thinks i'm a pastor. Why this bizarre coincidence? I can only guess another fellow who liked like me once lived here, preached in afrikaans, and raked a mean yard. Other people have asked me for help with the laying of pipe (i had to contain my giggling, as i am thirteen years old)...

...know much about medicine. Also, i don't make house calls. Choir director. Don't know much about music, nor have i ever indicated that i did (This is one that really confuses me. I'm a modestly gifted singer and my musical skills pretty much end there, while just about every namibian i've met can sing and dance like they were born to do it. So why ask the uncoordinated guy who knows none of your songs to lead your choir?) Computer technician. Not actually an IT specialist, but since your problem is either an easily removable virus or a fatal confluence of viruses, the only solution to which is formatting and reinstalling your pirated copy of XP, sure, i'll give it a look. But please, if it's a laptop, bring it to the school (house calls). Secretary. That i can use a computer does not make me your typist. There are two secretaries paid to do exactly this, go irritate them. Chaplain. I don't think you want me put in charge of your religious observances. Also, (though i do not say this) i tend to disagree with compulsory prayer in schools. It's the american in me, what can you do? Finally, as no one here has even the slightest clue about my beliefs aside from what they assume and the one time i quoted (and credited) kronecker's assertion that god created the natural numbers (the quotation of which demonstrates no affirmation of faith, but only a liking of mathematics and its history that may go beyond what could strictly be considered healthy), i have to suspect the recommendation that i act as school cleric comes less from my obvious piety than from my ability to open a book and discern meaning from its contents at will. That reading with comprehension is a green power (and only a minor action) takes us back to my position of school englishist, a mantle i assumed without knowledge of priestly duties. The two final additions to my nam honey-do list are, in the case of the former, the most uncomfortable, and the latter, the most bizarre. Then we'll get to actual teaching. The former of which i spoke is...

...the texts are often ambiguous or confusing in their explanations, and sometimes seem to require an idiomatic comprehension of english. This is something my tri- and quadralingual colleagues tend to lack, and understandably so. A pun isn't funny unless you understand all the intended meanings. Of course, dear reader, you might argue that a pun is not funny irrespective of your comprehension, but i'm sure you understand my point. Also, you're wrong, but we can still be friends. Anyway, barring the gift of tongues, the only way to really get at the meat of idiom is to ask a native speaker. There is exactly 1 native english speaker within 50 km of my school. Fortunately, his command of the language is passable at the least, and he do love the wordplayings. It's me, dear reader, please try to keep up. I've been called in to act as dictionary, thesaurus, poet laureate, writing coach, and phrasologist (even though my degree qualifies me to be a phrasiatrist) on several occasions. The most interesting of these almost always involve someone employing a colloquialism from some forgotten linguistic reliquary- like the 90's- or else misusing an idiomatic expression. Whether it's the right hand not knowing where the others are walking to, radical indicating that an idea is fun and interesting rather than shocking or novel, or good old-fashioned unintentional swearing, my job as resident linguist can be likened to that of a mother- never finished. Don't get me wrong, my colleagues' proficiency in our silly language falls in the range of acceptable to astonishing. But as i've been speaking it for twenty-some-odd years to the near-exclusion of all others, you'd rather hope i was the local authority, wouldn't you, dear reader? Moving forwardly, some of the more ridiculous elements of my ever-expanding job description, and how i responded to them, are as follows- Private tutor. I'm here to help everyone, and will happily spend as much time as necessary explaining things, but i don't make house calls. Doctor. I don't actually...

...and a questionable half-truth at worst. This is one of the "worst" situations. Yes, i am a math teacher. But as we discussed before, math teacher in the USA implies a fairly standard set of duties- teach math, help students during study hall, meet with parents, go to meetings, join committees, participate in some extracurriculars, endure the interminably repeated question, "why do i have to learn this?" This list is generalised and certainly not exhaustive, but will allow for an illustrative comparison momentarily. Thus far my job description has entailed (or is assumed by my colleagues to include) the following. Babysitter- this refers to the memorable week when i was told to supervise the grade 5's. For a week. No plans. No syllabi of any kind. My instructions were to "be with them," which i took (and fervently hoped) to mean supervise. After pressing for clarification, i was further instructed to "try and teach them, maybe you can revise the exams." This was delivered with a shrug conveying such indifference that i have spent the months since attempting to recreate it, meeting only with disappointment as even my most callous gesture suggests some hint of empathy. Anyway, having only the barest idea of what there kids knew, should know, and could learn, i attempted to gauge their progress by consulting both them and their textbooks. To explain how this fared, i need only say that we had liberal sections of pe, art, and "free study" for the rest of the week. And this brings me to my next apparent responsibility- translator/proofreader of textbooks. In fairness, the textbooks are mostly accurate. I've only found a few minor mistakes/omissions/lies, and those are easily remedied, at least on the school level. The one glaring instance- a physci text asserting that like charges always repel and so are never close together (they do repel, but this can be overridden by a stronger force, as in the case of protons held tightly together by the nuclear strong force) - was corrected in newer editions. Even so...

Freud asserted that good, hard work was one of the best things a person could do to be healthy, happy, and sane. I paraphrase of course, as he probably did not say this in english; at least not originally. Freud was correct in noting (and he certainly was not the first or the last to make the observation) that we as europeanish folk often describe ourselves, if not define ourselves, in terms of our occupation. 'Cross the pond, you, dear yankee reader, probably could answer the question of "what do you do?" fairly easily. Whether the answer is student, teacher, student teacher, marine, retiree, or professional conscientious objector to societal contribution (see student), listing out a job description is fairly straightforward. Students study (on occasion) and scam as much free food as possible. Teachers, well, teach. Typically some sort of subject or age group. Marines go marining, or so i am told. Retirees enjoy the fruits of their labours and reflect on how lucky they are not to be one of the suckers stuck in rush hour traffic. Or so i assume: never having been retired, i can't say for certain. But now we approach the burning question of the night - it's night here, and i'm typing this on my phone by candlelight, because after sundown i do everything by candlelight. I have electricity, but the single working bulb is across my admittedly spacious room, where most of the light is blocked by the armoire, and even that which does reach my bed/table/couch/desk/office is harsh and flickery, so candlelight i prefer - (we were discussing the burning question of the night before i so rudely interrupted) what do i do? I can give the obvious and manifestly unhelpful answer: i'm a peace corps volunteer. But the question i received most frequently before leaving was, in one form or another, "what exactly does a pcv do?" We can narrow the scope of the question a bit by specifying, "what does an education volunteer do?" The short answer is that i'm a math teacher. But the short answer is usually an approximation at best...

... Almost fit this into two pages. Oh well, there are worse things in life than trisected posts. Not many, of course, though we must try not to sink beneath our anguish, dear reader, but battle on! In closing, i beg pardon for my long hiatus. As penance, i have expanded on my usual postscript, including at least four quotes or references to quotes (there may be more, the limitations of my browser are severe, and those of my memory perhaps even more so) before my signature. And of course, there will be another immediately following. And so, dear reader, i am, yours most sincerely, Michael. And neither the angels in heaven above/ Nor the demons down under the sea/ Can ever dissever my soul from the soul/ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

... Anyway, i can't touch the computers until they're running. The ministry- that is to say, TechNA- must come set up the lab. In keeping with proud governmental tradition, it is nearly impossible to find a qualified, approved technician. That i'm in a sparsely populated area don't help none either. My principal, most likely in an effort to halt my constant harranguing, has called the ministry and other principals who have working labs. The answer to her questions is typically, "i will call you back." Which, as you may have guessed, hasn't happened. But there is hope, yet, dear reader! Tomorrow my principal journeys to the heart of dullness, the regional ministry office for Kunene. Yes, she will, in person and at great risk to life, limb, and career ask key ministry officials to do something about this. Such directness is frightening. I only hope the message can be properly diluted by speaking through intermediaries who communicate via semaphore across a hallway. After all, without observing the proper protocol, how could anything not get done?! The productivity would be devastating; people would work themselves out of their jobs in weeks! Yes, dear reader, that would be Trouble (p here stands for productivity, not pool). Ambling back to the path we'd originally planned to follow before losing ourselves in thickets of wildest guesswork about ministry policy (if you get both references in the last two sentences, i owe you a cookie), once the computer lab is set up, i can type up these posts like civilised human beings were meant to, without recourse to t9 on an admittedly stalwart but ill-designed-for-such-volume nokia. Also, having faxed in the application for internet service just this morning, my reunion with high technology should coincide with connection to the not-a-big-truck. And then, well, there will be nothing to stop me from flaying your minds with a frequency to make illithids proud. Or perhaps, dear reader, you find my ramblings edifying, amusing, or at least better than work. I certainly hope so...

In the last week or so, it has come to my attention that my readership is greater than i believed. Between that revelation and the free time now afforded me by the return to a work schedule (i'm one of those weirdies who is busier on holiday), i figured it was time to dust off the ol' blogski and post a few updates. This first shall be mainly a logistical meta-update. As you know by now, since i won't shut up about it, my school is due to receive a computer lab. Actually we have the computers. And the lab. But this particular set-up, which is a 20-station thin-client or think-client or something-or-other, is the baby of TechNA, a group contracted by the ministry to provide a certain number of labs each year for namibian schools. As such, they have strict requirements for the physical premises of the lab. My school meets those requirements. Has since september. We've had the computers even longer. But again, being the cherished progeny of a ministry-contracted organization, touching the computers is strictly forbidden by anyone not wearing (i assume) magical ministry-issued generosity suits. The suits protect the wearer from being overawed by the ministry's gracious largesse. I had volunteered (that being my job) to install the computers myself, not knowing about their beneficent aura. Had i so much as i opened the boxes, surely i would even now be lying in a hospital bed weeping with gratitude for the ministry's magnanimous donation of twenty glorious as-yet-paperweights. I shall remain ever thankful that the ministry representative said no, and graciously promised to call back with the contact information of someone who could enter the radiant presence of these bureaucratically blessed machines with minimal damage to their psyche. That this ministry representative (and five or so others) have yet to call back does nothing to undermine the ministry's clear, bold assertion that every school will have a computer lab by 2030. After all, no one said the lab has to function...

So, when someone does have a car and is making a trip, chances are they have been loaded down with errands by friends and family, and probably also have several objectives of their own. Driving to town just to see a movie doesn't happen. However, if you ask what is on the itinerary, perhaps when trying to score a free hike out of the village on the weekend, you will only be told the ultimate goal. Do not be fooled, dear reader! The namdriver is crafty in his ways, but you are forewarned. Yes, this driver is going to Windhoek, which is where you need to be. It's 9 am, Windhoek's 2 hours away, and you must (american must) be there by 3 pm. The car is leaving now now. Of course, we know that means by 10. Then you will make turns at a grocery store, bank, friend's house, other bank, petrol station, and shebeen before getting on the highway around 1115. Then you'll swing by another town on the way to drop off groceries, pay a bill, see a cousin, and pick up passengers, dropping off others in the process. Back on the road around 12. But...isn't Windhoek that way? Oh, we just need to make a turn over here to see your brother? But you must...never mind. Well, the meeting probably won't start until 5 anyway, dear reader, it is fine. Michael. Then clever Jack shall fall at last, and reave his crown in twain.

As far as i'm concerned, i needn't lend my learners pens. No one is going to burst through the door and announce that everyone without a pen is immediately going to prison. Without threat of calamity, i fail to see why i must do much of anything, let alone give up my few precious writing implements. But eventually you will realise, dear reader, that must is almost polite. Indeed, "sir must borrow me a pen," carries an implicit please. At least, i like to think so. The word is so divorced from its actual meaning, it can't hurt to add a bit of perceived courtesy, at any rate. So while i am constantly told things i must do, i'm rarely given an actual command. Must is a suggestion, and not even all that emphatic a suggestion at that. Finally in our discussion, coming and going. So far as i can recall, i have never heard of a namibian going anywhere. Mainly they're coming. And that is usually when they are, in reality, going. But they're planning to come back, probably now. Which reminds me, "i am coming just now," said as a person is very clearly walking away from you, might seem to imply they will be back immediately. Or in five minutes. Or ten. Nope. Anything happening now may, possibly, with luck, assuming conditions are favorable, happen this week. Maybe maybe maybe today. Now now, potentially within the hour. Now now now, shortly, fifteen minutes tops. And as you add nows, the projected time of the event asymptotically approaches (what we would call) now. Punctuality is not a concept easily crosses the language barrier, as the need for different degrees of now might indicate. And that does lead nicely into the other topic of this post, making turns. In much the same way that "we are leaving now," means something very different from what is said, "we are going to [place]," requires some creative translation. Cars are not uncommon, but neither are they abundant. Also, in the 2nd least densely populated country in the world, visiting people you know frequently entails driving 100's of km's. To be concluded.

The two concepts we will soon discuss are not uniquely namibian. However, namibians have refined their execution beyond a mere cultural quirk. I speak of namlish, to which i have previously alluded, and making turns, which is itself a namlish phrase best translated as "you don't need to be there now, ne?" I am wary of referring you to wikipedia without having seen the page in question myself, but i'm told there is an entry on namlish, so it might be worth investigating. Namlish is the namibian dialect of english, and it has a few, let's say, eccentricities. I have already said that most namibians speak english well, and they do at that, but you can't really expect any people to speak a language as their second, third, or fourth, which they learned from people who also speak the language as their second, third, or fourth, without irregularities cropping up. Notable among these is confusion of borrow/lend, come/go, time of day, and the imperative nature of must. It is always morning, i have discovered. Thus, good morning is an appropriate greeting all day. In fairness, it is alwys morning somewhere. Borrow is doubly removed from its strict definition. First, borrow here is permanent. Unless i expressly declare that i want my pen back at a certain time, that pen is lost, forever borrowed out of my possession. Second, and more irksome to a language enthusiast, borrow is used in place of lend. The sentence "sir must borrow me a pen," which i hear roughly forty times a day, translates to "please lend me a pen, sir," or even more precisely, "please give me a pen, sir." As i said, unless i take great pains to ensure its return, that pen is lost. This also highlights the different understanding of must. As used in the states, must expresses necessity. I must go to the hospital because i have a sword protruding from my back. I must go because i'll most likely die if i don't. There is something that needs to be done to prevent an unacceptable outcome. Not so in namibia. To be continued.

Webster's defines a wedding as the joining of two metals. Now that you know that, let's talk relationships. To begin, being single is weird. It's a state most namibians actively and assiduously avoid. People here like being in relationships, and serious ones at that. Casual dating isn't really done in these parts. Which suits me just fine, except that everyone thinks it's their business to find me a wife. You see, dear reader, it's not enough that a person has partner. Oh no, it's their responsibility, their solemn duty, to make certain everyone else is similarly be-companioned. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just a part of the culture, but it's difficult to convey that i'm quite alright by myself. People can't quite understand why i don't want to have a girlfriend. I made the mistake of trying to explain that i don't want to be single necessarily, i'm just waiting to meet someone who fits well with me and so forth and it really doesn't matter what else i said, because all they heard was "don't want to be single." Half an hour later, i finally managed to extricate myself from a potential arranged marriage with someone's sister's daughter. That was a fun night. Most unfortunately, saying you have a significant other back in the states (or even anywhere as far away as the next village over) doesn't usually deter avid matchmakers. The practice of Multiple concurrent partnerships is a national problem, and i'll leave it at that. So i've resigned myself to the fact that once a week or so, i'll have to turn down a marriage proposal. That said, peace corps's official position is that relationship with nationals can be a fantastic way to become part of the local culture, just be safe and responsible. After all, romance is tricky enough without the added complexities of cultural exchange. So i'm not wholly opposed to such a relationship. Still, it's disconcerting to receive an introduction and proposition in the same sentence. But maybe i'm weird. Michael. We climbed aboard their starship and headed for the skies!

Hello all, this will hopefully be the first in a series of posts over the next few days, most of them consisting of stories and descriptions of namibian life. This post however is more logistical in nature, and those who are distinctly uninterested in the day-to-day happenings may allow their attention to wander freely. First, in answer to a question about pictures, i am pretty bad about taking pictures to begin with, and the few i have, i can't post without computer-on-internet. So, for the first and likely only time, i will encourage you, dear reader, to get a facebook account. Other volunteers in my group have been much better about taking pictures, and there are many albums on facebook. I feel dirty. And if you also really want to hold out, i do have good news. My school is getting a computer lab, as i may have mentioned. Depending on when the IT fellow from the regional office makes it out, the lab may be up as early as next week. I will be administrator and will have the key to the room. Plus i get to use it as an office, since i won't have a classroom of my own. Great. The downside is that the school must budget for internet access, and that can be expensive. Given the other needs of the school, prohibitively so. But i'm looking at flexing my volunteer muscles and applying for some grant money to introduce my site to the rest of the digitally connected world. My principal's thrilled about the idea, and if it lets me update this blog without a phone and read penny arcade (at work, even!), then hey, i'm pretty stoked too. These things do take time, so there's no telling when it'll come to pass. Fingers crossed for soon. Anyway, once that does happen, i can upload pictures. In other news, the end of the year is coming up which means i'll be finishing my host family experience and moving into a one-room flat on the school grounds. There's also travel coming up, but plans are still in the works. And i begin actually teaching in january. Michael. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.

In my wanderings about town, i have discovered that there are evidently no computers with internet access within roughly 100 km. So that will make it difficult to update this blog without my phone, a most unfortunate development. Who would have thought joining the peace corps and coming to africa would mean sacrificing convenient wifi? I was ready for challenges, but come on! More seriously, exams have begun for the end of the year. My responsibilities are even further decreased, as now i just sit and watch students take tests. More time to read, i suppose. But there is good news as well. I'm looking at joining some other volunteers for an improvised thanksgiving celebration the weekend before. Between that and the new year's party planned just before reconnect, the two week training taking place in Windhoek with all of group 30, i have some fun activities to look forward to. In the meantime, realising that this is an information-light journal, i'd recommend looking up some other namibian volunteers' blogs. I'll get addresses and post them in due course, and you, dear reader, will be able to get a much fuller picture of life here than i've provided. So, again, a pledge to update more in the future and a hope that all is going well in the states will close this post. Leave comments or send me email! Michael. You cannot treat your learners like people (actual quote).

Let's talk food. The canvas upon which we will paint this picture that we're...talking about...it's a bit early in the post for a mixed metaphor. Anyway, historically, namibian people determined wealth by how much livestock you owned. Once upon a time, the herero people were quite affluent, and they were mainly cattle ranchers. So we have a nice background for the following statement: by and large, namibians love meat. It is a status symbol to purchase (or raise) and eat meat, the more frequently the better. This is frequently accompanied by a starch or three, the most common being porridge (typically made from maize meal), macaroni (sometimes other pasta), rice, and potatoes. With a relatively well-off family, it is not unheard of to have (and this is in no way exaggerated) a meal like this: goat steak, mac and beef salad (lots of mayo), rice with brown gravy, and squash swimming in butter and sugar. Yes, meat with a side of meat and three starches. I ate this meal. It was quite tasty, but i took some blood thinners afterward, just to be safe. Again, true story, people have asked for vegetables only to have their host family respond in confusion that they made vegetables, indicating chicken. Yes, to some, chicken is a vegetable. I am a dedicated carnivore and proud to be so, but even i, for the first time in my life, miss vegetables. Now that i have time to cook, i do everything in my power to include green things that once grew, things with cell walls, things that never ate other things. Don't get me wrong, the food is good, it's just super heavy on the heavy stuff. Oh, and oil. Tons of it. I was cooking during training, and out of respect for my host family, i used more than double the oil i would have normally. When the tomatoes and onions in my charge were done, my host dad came over, looked in the skillet, and said "it is not enough oil, i think. you must add more." and more than doubled again the oil. At which point he decreed that i could add the sausage as well. I wondered if he worked for exxon. Michael

Part 3, start below. Yes, everyone here learns english, english is the medium of instruction above grade 4. But, especially amongst the older people, i get the sense that they're proud to speak english as well, it's the language of independence, a symbol of unity. So, now my ultimate point, why don't we really have that in america? I mean, we're proud of our language, often so much so that we refuse to learn another, but we treat other people learning english as an expectation, a sort of prerequisite for interacting with us. And when someone is still learning, more often than not we get frustrated with their imperfection. I love my mother tongue, i'm in no way saying we shouldn't speak it. But i must say i prefer the namibian point of view when someone else tries to learn. I mean, people here speak at least 3 languages, the least we can do is dig deep and muster a smile and ten seconds of patience when someone asks "i go the bathroom where?" I didn't really speak much about kkg itself, i guess. If you're curious, and you should be because it's a fascinating language, check out youtube, there are some instructional Khoekhoegowab videos. Yes, the four clicks are identified by /, //, !, and a does-not-equal-sign sort of symbol, which looks like # with only one vertical line segment. They are all different, with a bit of practice you can distinguish them in speech. And if you think that's crazy, i'm pretty sure the San language has six clicks. So, forgive the linguistic proselytising, and !gâitsesa uha re! (Have a good day!) Michael. Awaken, my child and embrace the glory that is your birthright.

Character limit, part 2, read below first. Continuing, yes, black and coloured (mixed ancestry) are the correct terms, they are not slurs, so please no comments about political correctness. And anyone who wants to say "They're not black, they're african-american," should just never speak to me again. That happened once, true story. Anyway, we're finally getting to my point. Any time a white person treats a black person with respect, it's taken as anywhere from normal, "yes, thank you for your deference," to borderline miraculous. Learning a local language here is typically enough for the locals to accept you as one of their own. Because you're trying to be one of them, you're showing that they matter enough for you to meet them on their terms. Now let's make this more specific and bring in what we know about Khoekhoe. Even other namibians don't usually learn this language, and certainly not many white people. So the reaction when we try to speak is ridiculous. Smiles, hugs, professions that you are namibian, or even part of the family. One example, nikki and julie and i, three kkg students were walking around the craft market in our training town, just browsing and practicing the language. We met a damara woman who was so thrilled when we said hello i thought she might pass out right there. We couldn't say much, but even that was enough to become one (3, i suppose) of the family. Such joy i have never seen. Among other things, she invited us to stay with her if ever we visit her hometown. All because we could say hello, how are you, i'm well, have a good day! Seems simple enough, but here are three white foreigners making a concerted effort to learn and speak a language that even her fellow natives often don't know. It was one of those transformative experiences that people associate with the peace corps. But it also got me thinking (here comes the lesson). In namibia, language is a part of you. It is a source of identity and pride. Someone learning your language brings you joy. And we'll finish above.

I have not discussed my language at length, so i shall now. Part of peace corps service involves learning a local language, even in a country like namibia where the official language is english. I had originally hoped to learn afrikaans, which was the official language under south african rule, simply because almost everyone speaks it and its similarity to english makes it much easier to learn than the bantu or Khoesan languages. For instance, "My pen is in my hand," is a sentence in afrikaans. It's pronounced differently than in english, but you can see why this would be easier to learn than, say, "Ti penna ge ti !omdi !nâ ra hâ." And i'm not 100 percent that's the correct formulation of the word for pen, since it might be pen-e or pensa or half a dozen other things. Oh, the ! Is a click formed by placing the tongue on the top of the mouth, the palatal ridge, i think it's called, and pulling down, but without allowing your tongue to hit the bottom of your mouth, which would make a second, incorrect click. So, yeah, the the language i'm learning. Khoekhoegowab. And i'm very happy about it. Not only is it one of the oldest languages still around, it's widely considered to be so difficult that even natives don't learn it. The damara and nama people speak kkg as their mother tongue, but outside those two groups, people tend not to learn it. When damara/nama people interact with other groups, herero, owambo, what have you, they typically do so in english, afrikaans, or one of the bantu languages like otjiherero or oshiwambo. So for kkg in particular, anyone trying to learn their language is doing something fairly novel. Now let's switch gears and look at political history for a while. Namibia was under apartheid for as long as south africa, because it was part of south africa until 1990. As such, there's quite a bit of lingering racism even twenty years later. White people often keep to themselves, especially in the south, and friendships between blacks, whites, and coloureds is still kind of a big deal.

This character limit is incredibly annoying for someone as long-winded as me. You know, in writing. Long-scripted? If you're confused, see two posts previous, where this entry actually begins. All will be made clear. We were on cookies? Yes, seal them tightly, as post can take between 4 and 8 weeks. Alternatively, send me a recipe and i can make cookies, cakes, what have you myself. Send any esoteric non-perishable ingredients as well, the general store here has limited selection. In that vein, plain old chocolate chips would be very nice, chocolate chip cookies being an excellent go-to dessert. I think that wraps up the wish list. Email me or comment with any questions, or just to chat. Valairoen@yahoo.com. Or facebook me. Can't promise i'll respond in a timely fashion, but eventually i'll write. Also, another plug for snail mail. I'd like to send some honest-to-goodness pen and paper letters, if that sounds appealing email me your address and i'll respond with mine, i just can't share it on a public page. In closing, i'll share a funny story from about a week ago. As background, i resemble a Manchester United player, name of rooney, and half the students here think he's my brother, no matter what i tell them. So, i'm walking around the location (any neighbourhood where the black or coloured people lived was a 'location' before independence and the end of apartheid, the country is legally integrated, but economics keep most black people in locations. Also, since '90 any neighbourhood is technically a location, so context is necessary. But in this case, it's THE location.) so, walking around the location, greeting people and such. A group of maybe three kids, no more than ten years old, hail me. Good morning sir! It's quarter to 6 in the evening, but they're trying. Hello kids! Is sir's name rooney? No, i am not rooney. Help me one dolla', mr rooney. I don't have any money (i didn't), sorry (i was). And i'm not rooney (i'm not). Okay, goodbye mr rooney, sir. I'm- goodnight, kids. Michael. Inconceivable!

Okay, we've now encountered several of the downsides to internet phone posts. There's a character limit, for some reason, so the first thing you should do is stop reading here and go to the previous post, of which this is actually an extension. Also, phones die without much warning, so about two minutes after the low battery signal if you're not plugged in, be prepared to retype everything you just spent the lap ten minutes on. Because you can't save. Oh well, small inconveniences. Anyway, continuing where we left off, if you want to send a package, and i'm not saying you should, here's a wish list. If you want to get an item that i only need one of, leave a comment or email me and i'll post an update so that no one else gets it. Newlyweds only need one toaster, after all. Oh, and i believe lee has already claimed toaster. So, the list. Measuring cups, measuring spoons, one set of each. Things here are weird and metric. Great for physics, odd for baking. Mint and maple extract, one small bottle of each, a little goes a long way. Brita water filters, several of them. I'll also need one pitcher (the slim kind is fine) in which to place the filters. The water here is pretty bad. Pens and mechanical pencils (.7 mm, please) w/ lead, writing utensils are strangely difficult to acquire. Black pepper. Not a whole lot, but i've yet to find plain black pepper. It's in all kinds of mixes, but not by itself. A namibian flag, if anyone can find one cheap. You'd think this would be the place to look, but i haven't found one for sale. If no one can find a good deal, i'll look in Windhoek in january. It's just for decoration, not a big deal. Another moleskine journal or two would be nice, as i'm quickly filling the one i have. And of course, junk food. If it's full of salt/fat/sugar, i'll take it. In particular, look for the c's: chips, cheetos, cookies, chocolate. In particular, i love peanut butter, so peanut and peanut butter m&m's, reese's cups, peanuts themselves, and so forth are great. If sending cookies, wrap 'em tight.

Hello all, i know that this is my first post in a while, so you're probably hoping for a nice fat letter-style affair just brimming with news. Well, i'm sorry to disappoint, but i'm not quite there yet. Typing out news on the phone is, as i've said before, unpleasant at best, and should probably be limited to text-message length. But do not despair, dear reader! For there is, at my site, at least one computer that is sort of connected to the internet on occasion. So my plan is this: type up said detail-laden post, save the aforementioned to a flash drive, then use the guest house computer to upload yon entry to the series of tubes, more than likely infecting my flash drive with sixteen thousand viruses in the process. Evidently every computer in africa has been stockpiling every virus known to man, waiting to unleash them on an unsuspecting world. But i have good antivirus, and that's more or less irrelevant to you anyway, dear reader. Returning to our original purpose here, for anyone who's been looking to send a care package, now is the time. The reason being that all mail has to pass through johannesburg, which apparently shuts down very early for christmas, as in no one works during december. Jo-burg is also a notorious haven for light-fingered workers, so having a package sit in south africa for a month is not a great idea. Solution? If you're sending something, ship it by early november or after the new year. Now, i'm not asking for care packages, not least of which because they are ludicrously expensive to ship. But if you really feel like that's something you want to do, i don't suppose i can stop you. So thank you in advance. And i'm sorry about both the short notice and the lack of more meaningful correspondence in the last few weeks. So, if you are going to send me summat, here's a wish list. Feel free to ignore it, although it's pretty standard fare, i think. Otherwise, the easiest way i can think of to make sure i don't end up with six hundred teaspoons is to treat it like a registry.

Hello everyone. To begin, i will apologize for being remiss with information about my life in namibia. And that life is going well. I'm living with a host family during training, mom dad and three younger brothers. They're great people and i've come to care for them as part of my family proper. The five year old is fond of asking when he gets to meet his american family, which is a pretty good way to think about it: i have two families now. The food is...a story for another time. Training lasts another two weeks, after which i will be sworn in and begin service, again a story for another time. Once i get to site i will have more time and more reliable non-phone-based internet, so i'll be able to post a fuller account. On that note, i might have posted something a few weeks ago, but i can't tell using my phone, so if i've repeated anything, feel free to ignore it. Before closing this all too brief entry, i will say that my fellow trainees are wonderful. I've found common interests with almost everyone, and formed incredibly close friendships over the last several weeks. I honestly think it's going to be just as difficult to leave all my new friends and travel alone to my site as it was to leave my friends and family in the states back in august. Oh well, there are plenty of exciting challenges waiting for me at my school. I hope everyone is doing well across the pond! Drop me an email any time, i'll try to be more detailed in future posts. Michael. Klom? Klom's gone? Who'd want klom?

I'm on a phone is the original concept behind i'm on a boat. It was abandoned because giant yachts make for more compelling music videos than people typing. Anyway, i'm in namibia. I can't publically say where, per peace corps policy. I can tell people privately, i just can't post it in a publically accessible location. The policy is in place to protect the community and my position within it. That said, if you comment, please do not make explicit reference to the names of people or places here in africa. Slander americans all you like, they're under no such protection. For a similar reason, i won't post my phone number, but i can get that information to interested parties, as can my brother and parents. On an unrelated topic, i can't find the page break option on the phone, so against every instinct, i will be posting in one big paragraph and using archaic measures to indicate the desired break. STOP. We find out our site assignments tomorrow, but i won't be posting it here for the above reason. I'll happily email people, and certainly i'll maintain the blog, i just can't say the name. By the by, ignore the training schedule i posted earlier, it's some sort of insidious lie told to trick trainees, i assume to keep us on our toes. I am doing quite well, and will write again when i have more time. With regard to the quotes, they come from books, movies, etc. Or just funny things people say. I'll be more specific when my internets machine is not dwarfed by my hand. Hoping all is well, michael. Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak.

My flight departs at 7:30 AM MST, just over eight hours from now. I've spent the day packing, filling out paperwork, gathering my effects, and generally preparing to leave the country for more than two years. I've seen some good people, watched Wizard People, Dear Reader, and tried to soak up as much Americana as possible. Aside from the obvious of toothbrush, socks, and the like, I'm taking a few books (at the moment, I'm reading Dune and the works of HP Lovecraft), a few movies, my computer, and my Zune. While I won't have much time to relax in the coming weeks, there is always the promise of leisure media.

The next two months will be spent as a Pre-Service Trainee, and this will be one of the busiest times of my life. I will do my best to keep everyone posted about the goings-on, but I may not have time to go into detail until I settle into my service, which begins in October.

Goodbye, friends and family, wish me luck!

Michael

In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

I don't have any new information, but today marks the two-week warning. Technically, 7:30 this morning was the official two-week mark, so in less than a fortnight, I will be Africa-bound. Precisely speaking, I will be checking in at Staging in our nation's capital. Between this and saying goodbye to Anna last night, the weight of my commitment hit home in an emotional capacity. I suppose I should start packing? Over the next week I will post my packing list for those who want to know what I'll be taking with me.

Continuing on the topic of comments, my Aunt Leslie has kindly tested that particular function with no problems, so feel free to comment away. Secure in the knowledge that the contents of this blog will one day be transcribed as a portion of my best-selling memoirs, a text that will guide the young and old alike to a fuller understanding of life and their place in it, I will try to keep my vulgarities to a minimum. When commenting, I ask that you do the same.

My narcissism approaches cataclysmic levels, so I will close with a quick note. If you use RSS (even if you don't, you could always begin here), LiveJournal supports that service. Imagine a universe in which you are informed with near immediacy of each new written contribution I make to the body of human experience. My friends, this universe is our own.

Michael

Harry totally loses it, and frags Roast Beefy good with a Glass-be-Gone spell!

I have a bit of an update, this morning I received an email from the staging department of the Peace Corps directing me to call the travel agency. I confirmed my flight on the morning of August 18 to Washington DC. Once there, I will go through the staging activities with other prospective volunteers. On the 19th, I'll hit the clinic and be forcibly injected with Yellow Fever and all manner of other delightful infirmities. At 8:30 on the evening of the 19th, I go back to Dulles and board a plane for Johannesburg, South Africa. After a brief layover, I board a plane for Windhoek, Namibia, and my training commences. With just over a month left, the excitement is building!

On a look-to-the-future note, I think I managed to open my posts to comments from anyone. Of course, any time I check my blog I can check email, but if you want to just leave a quick comment on this page, feel free. In particular, any question or comment that you would like me to address in future posts would fit well here. Simply click the "Leave a comment" button and go from there. I do ask that you sign your comments, since that's the only way I can think of to identify who writes what. Peace Corps is quite clear that the most important service a volunteer's friends and family can provide is to write said volunteer. Leaving a comment, in theory at least, offers one more way for you to say a quick hello. So give it a try, and in just over a month, I'll look forward to hearing from everyone!

Michael

Shut up, Greg Miller, you pathetic liar. You always lie and lie and lie. Get to the hospital, and change your brain!

So, I finally have found a few minutes to go through elements of my assignment in higher resolution. The best place to start seems to be with the country itself. Namibia is north of South Africa, on the west coast of the continent. It is roughly twice the size of California. Namibia borders South Africa to the south and east, Botswana to the east, the Atlantic ocean to the west, and Angola to the north. Here's the Google Maps link.

Namibia declared its independence from South Africa with UN support in 1990. Two of the major results of independence were the cessation of apartheid and the declaration of English as the national language. There is obviously a great deal more to the story, but for convenience's sake I'll simply post a few links and move on to my particular assignment.

Wikipedia's Namibia page, quite informative.

The Namibian Parliament homepage.

The US Embassy in Windhoek, capital of Namibia.

The UN Cyber Schoolbus site for Namibia. This is a neat place allowing you to compare statistics from various countries.

Once you've sated your hunger for information about the nation in general, we can move on to a more targeted discussion. I will be teaching math somewhere in the grade 6-12 range. Although my focus will officially be on mathematics, the general population is still making the transition to English and part of my program will involve English education. Many of the secondary (high) school examinations are administered in English, so even learners with a firm grasp of the subject will find themselves at a disadvantage come exam time if their English skills are lacking.

With regard to the math itself, American and Namibian schools take a different tack when teaching higher grades. Younger learners will be presented with much the same material as American students, addition and subtraction, multiplication and division, equality, comparison, primality and prime factorization, and some basic algebra. Secondary education, however, has a broader focus in Namibia than in the US. Rather than taking a year of geometry, another year of algebra, and a year of trigonometry, as we do here, Namibian learners are presented with elements of each subject together. So far as I understand, the goal of this system is to focus on acquiring skills that work across disciplines instead of enoforcing the distinction and having to relearn certain methods several times. I know that in my own experience, I was forced to learn the method of partial fractions no less than four times, and each time it was given such a brief treatment that I had completely forgotten it within two weeks. This meant that I had to learn it anew the next year, when we used it again to solve similiar problems (and I would promptly lose the knowledge yet again). Bear in mind that I'm good at this subject. I like it. And in large part due to the curriculum, I still consider partial fractions one of my weaknesses. I'll be interested in finding out how the alternate method employed in Namibia fares.

Of course, there are deeper, more fundamental differences between Namibian and stateside schools. The prevalence of HIV/AIDS and other diseases has led to a high absenteeism rate among both the learner and teacher populations. To compound the problem, even healthy learners or teachers sometimes have to stay home to care for ailing family members. And anyone in a farming family may miss school for the harvest. Between truancy and the language barrier, mathematical learning can fall behind. Most of the literature I've read says that the ideal progression into trig/alebra/geometry for secondary students is frequently replaced with revision of multiplication tables, basic equations, and other "lower" mathematical facts.

Outside the school, I still do not know in which community I will serve. Two weeks into my in-country training, decisions will be made based on the needs of individual communities and the talents of each teacher. Only then will I find out exactly where I'm going, which will in turn determine my living arrangements. I will live with a host family for a portion of my two month training period, but once my service begins, I could be living in a single apartment, in a house with other volunteers, in a house with a host family, in a hostel, etc. The Welcome Book offers the following comforting statement (which I have paraphrased): The Peace Corps' expectation is that volunteers will have their own room, but exactly what manner of structure that room is built into, we cannot say. At least I know I won't be sleeping under the stars. Most likely.

During my term of service, I'll more than likely have access to the internet with some regularity. My school may have internet access, or it may only give me access to my email. Or it may have no internet access at all. Depending on how remote my site is, I might have internet access once a month or so, when I make a trip into the nearest city. And that isn't even assured, as roads can be washed out during the rainy season, or I might not be able to find transportation, or any of several other factors. So, again, I can't really reliably predict what the circumstances will be.

I hope this offers some insight into my future life. If anyone has questions, feel free to email me at valairoen@yahoo.com. I'm not always great about responding immediately, but I will do my best to offer what answers I can. I'll post more details as I learn them!

Michael

You're welcome to share, it's a roomy twin.

So, there it is. I will be working in the Namibian Secondary and Upper Primary education system, which means that I will have learners (the Namibian term for students) grades 6-12. I don't have a whole lot of time to go through the details, but once the internet turns its loving gaze back toward my parents' house, I'll go through the whole deal with excruciating care.

For now, at least interested parties have an answer: I'll be teaching older kids in Namibia. Oh, and I think I depart in the middle of August.

Michael

The base level of respect will do.

I suppose it's best to inaugurate with good news, so here goes: just yesterday the Peace Corps cleared my paperwork, allowing me to proceed to the Placement phase. Of course, I turned in all my paperwork at the end of March and the Medical Office processed it as received by April 7th. And it only took until June 9th to finalize the decision! In all fairness, the Peace Corps is on record with a prediction of 4-12 weeks for processing.

Anyway, I have a placement deadline of June 15th, which means that I will have more details (hopefully all the details) by, you know...June 15th. When I have those details, I will be sure to post them here for all to read at their convenience.

That segues nicely into a brief discussion of the purposes of this here weblog. [Quick aside: spell check does not recognize the term weblog, but does accept its amputated incarnation, blog. Weird.] I will do my best to use this blog to relay information about my African experience in the Peace Corps. This could include anything from the logistics of my assignment, travel itinerary, etc. to stories about the students and community where I will live and work.

That being said, I know myself well enough to realize I will be hard pressed to limit this to a journal of my experience at the exclusion of all else. I do promise to make every effort to post nothing of the form: "OMG 2day wuz teh suxxors!!1 duz ne1 no y gurlz r so crzy??!! let me no wut u think plzkthx!!1" I'll even try not to make posts of that nature written in intelligible English because you're not here to read about pointless ephemera. However, odds are high that I will log entries that are wholly unrelated to math education 'cross the pond, and for that I proactively apologize. I will attempt to mark out sections that have no bearing on Africa and my time there. And if I really do feel the need to vent or describe the boring minutia native to everyday life, feel free to ignore it entirely. I promise my feelings won't be hurt.

This concludes my first Livejournal post, and in true Livejournal fashion, it is duly christened with a distinct lack of meaningful information. Allow me to close with a pledge that future posts will be at least marginally more edifying.

Michael

Boom, roasted!