Our squatter's camp. There are hundreds more like these.

Me. Awkwardly standing in front of Khorixas. It's my K town...

The view from our cellphone tower hill. Purdy!

March 8, 2008
I don’t know I why I never gave much thought to hard-boiled eggs before in my life. They are the perfect food. They are full of protein that didn’t come from a goat or a 40-dollar bag of chicken. They cook in their shell – which is clean, even if a cockroach was crawling in the pan. And they travel… just like me. The only problem is I can’t eat them in front of people or I feel like Anne from Arrested Development (“I’m sure egg is a very lovely girl”).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 13, 2008
Time here is an enigma. Time everywhere is an enigma. Some days just fly by and others are pulling my teeth out one at a time with no drugs. This week was one where I lost a lot of teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…IN AFRICA!!!

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


March 18, 2008
When I first arrived in Namibia, I didn’t notice a lot of weird or unusual bugs. Throughout training I saw the occasional scorpion, many mosquitoes and one or two freakish yellow-segmented “hair-eating spiders” (I think they made up the hair eating part, and frankly, the spider part too – they look more like miniature lobsters). Since I’ve been at site, I’ve changed my tune. I have become far more acquainted with Namibia’s insect life than I ever could have hoped for.

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

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

March 19, 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you in Swakop!

Today:

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