It stopped raining on March 7. I get to keep my Namdollar.

25 February

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


March 7
I wanted to tell you the good news! I’ve got two computers on the way from America as we speak. If you gave money to make that happen, THANK YOU! Really, really, thank you. I will let you know the second they arrive. And photos! I will take lots and lots of photos!

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

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

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

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


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

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