That is a quote from an anonymous PCV. I'd like to think its true. Only because its hard to be nice all the time... In any country.
Oh, and PS (pre-script): Jill is no longer in the Valentine's Day play. Bummer. I'm going to need something to do on Valentine's Day now... And I hope that will be reading all of the loving emails you all send me :)
January 30, 2008
Before I left the States, I read a few blogs from current volunteers in Namibia. They were helpful, but I don’t think I fully understood them until now. Only natural, I suppose. One thing I remember reading was about a PCV who started walking with an umbrella to and from school. She felt a little silly but didn’t want to get burned. Now that I’m here, I see many women carrying umbrellas and only one has been American. I think they want their skin to be lighter… but that could be a myth. I also remember reading about learners mocking American accents. I thought, “That could be cute”. No! It’s maddening! When will the novelty wear off? I don’t remember reading much about the language. This is odd because – It is Huge! I do remember reading about the unnatural pace a PCV goes through books. Jill proves this one true at a rate of about a day to day and a half per book. And, most recently, I’ve remember reading about the January and February sporting chaos. When I first read it sounded like just another hoop the PCVs had to jump through. But today, I experienced the magic of it all.
My primary school took the Kudus and the Orics to a stadium on the way out of town. Yet another corner of Khorixas I “footed” it to (their word, not mine). The kids were asked to come after lunch break to begin at 2:00 and they were asked not to wear dresses. The learners showed up between 1:45 and 3:00… some of them in skirts, some in boxers and some in tank tops I would have made them go and change out of if they lived in my house (meaning: it didn’t have enough fabric for a 14 year old). But, there were no dresses.
First, the kids met in the stadium. This stadium has a soccer field – with real grass!!! It also has a dirt track, covered stadium, bathrooms with running water and a few shade trees. When I got there early (what was I thinking) I sat and pondered the grass and shade trees and felt a little like I was back home. Then the learners started showing up. These kids, who live in houses made from 30 different pieces of corrugated metal and cook outside on a fire in the one pot their family owns, were now spending the afternoon running around a western-style stadium. It was cute and I wished I had cotton candy and peanuts to give all of them. While waiting they played and rolled in the grass. There were butterflies too… how could you not see magic in that? I mean seriously.
When most of the teachers and learners had arrived, the teams were split. Then, they started with team cheers. I’m pretty convinced they made up most of them on the spot. But the great thing about having fifty kids with rhythm is that they can get behind any clapping/singing game pretty quickly. The bad thing about having fifty kids with rhythm is that they have a lot of enthusiasm about it and forget to stop sometimes. “Oh, numbah, Numbah one. Kudus ah Numbah one” was chanted for approximately half an hour on repeat. Cute, but in a if-you-were-someone-else’s-kid way (and, at Eddie Bowe, “we’re teachers and parents” and that “makes us tougher” – I’ve been told). Annoying or otherwise, I was really happy to see them take ownership over their teams. I have this theory about building character by owning something you put work into.
When the track meet began it had a lot of whatever-meter runs… I can’t remember because I don’t belong at track meets. The kids who weren’t running cheered on their teammates from the stands. At one point in time, a child collapsed on the track right before the finish line. One teacher cleared the other kids away and tried to wake up the fallen learner. He was unsuccessful and called over another teacher to help carry the learner off the track. The second teacher picked up the collapsed learner and started to carry him away. The whole stadium had stopped to watch… about that time the kid cracked a smile and jumped out of the teacher’s arms and ran away. It reminded me a little of the Sandlot. I laughed, but then took a quick second to reflect on how much trouble that learner has given me in Science and stopped. It’s the creative ones that get you.
In the whole afternoon, I literally did nothing. I sat with the Grade Ones and enjoyed the scene. Sometimes, I show up and have to run the show and sometimes and show up and sit with the Grade Ones… it’s all about being prepared for anything… or not caring that you’re not prepared and going with the flow. I was ok with it though because the Grade Ones are excellent companions despite the fact that they only speak 9 words of English: How, are, you, am, fine, I, love, you and bye-bye. Technically, “Haullo” is KK too.
1-31-07
Did you know Khorixas and Chia Pets are made out of the same substance? I just went for a walk on a familiar path and got lost because so much greenery has sprouted in the past week. I’m trying not to appreciate it too much because I’m sure it will all fade very quickly. But I did take pictures so I can prove that greenery does exist in semi-desert areas (thank you Ecology for that practical knowledge).
I borrowed a book today called “Dear Exile”. It is a book full of letters written between two friends. One is in New York and the other is a PCV in Kenya. I spent the whole afternoon reading the adventures of the two and laughing out loud to myself like a crazy person. The PCV describes the first days of school… and I laughed. They waited three days for their staff meeting to start. She describes the staff room at her school… and I laughed. There was a flood and roaches in it while she wrote that letter (writing letters at school? I’ve done it. And I only wish our school had enough water for a flood). And, when the PCV attempted to burn dental floss and instead burned his hand… I laughed. Some of the scenarios seem a little too close to home.
Today, I have been in Khorixas for exactly three weeks. Two years has never felt longer. But on the plus side, approximately half the city knows my name. On the downside, they only know my name because of gossip.
Real teaching has only been in my existence for this past week. And in these precious few days I have concluded one thing: I will never be a middle school teacher. My grade six “Maths” (why is everything plural here: hellos, good mornings, maths, sciences…) classes have been ok. They listen well and are willing to answer questions. We are currently working on whole numbers and expanded notation. I’m a little surprised that they don’t know that the 5 in 56 means 50. I find myself struggling to remember 6th grade and what I knew about math. Anyway, grade 7 has been a bit of a handful. Teaching those two classes everyday is just asking to be made fun of. It is literally like I am back in middle school again. It’s really hard to balance the novelty of being from America and being a new strict teacher (strict – that’s me! Actually, I just chant that to myself before I walk in the classroom. Don’t smile before Christmas, they say. I think here it’s Easter, though). They want to mock my accent and ask me questions about American money and Eminem but I am insistent that we learn science. In real life, I’d rather just talk to them about whatever interests them. That could be one of the reasons they describe the first three months of PC teaching as “a disaster. Ha, a train wreck!” in training.
Another first: Today I checked out the first two books from the library for the year. One kid wanted a book on sports and the other wanted information about animals. I helped them find some books and fill out their library cards. They are my guinnee pigs for the whole process. I’ve been told to not let learners take books home because they get wet in floods or parents in the squatter’s camp use the pages to build a fire. But I stressed the importance of keeping the books safe and I am hoping for a safe return. I am also hoping that instilling small trusts in them will make them more responsible and worthy of trust. Responsibility! Ownership! Leadership! Be an Example! Am I sounding too Western yet?
Tomorrow is a sanity trip day. The volunteers will exodus from Khorixas and travel to Outjo. There we will hide from our semi-desert troubles, make a lot of no-bake cookies and commiserate. Also on the to do list: search for and recover a new trashcan. It seems un-assaulted rubbish bins are in short supply in K town.
2-5-08
I feel like my blog is a safe place. I feel this for a lot of reasons but, mainly, I feel this because I can still write the date month-day-year. Sometimes I have mini panic attacks when I turn to write the date on the board every morning – year-day-month, wait… month-day-year, no… um, day-month-year. Yeah, that’s it. Really, it’s quite a pitiful sight.
For lunch break today I had a liter/litre of fruit juice. I think that’s weird. Is that weird?
I didn’t find a rubbish bin in Outjo. I feel kind of bad about this. But I did succeed in eating a lot of cookies and commiserating.
Jill is going to be in a play that some youth in Khorixas are putting on for Valentine’s Day. She is going to be a nurse. The play is about the first time an original tribe heard the real facts of HIV/AIDS, I think… the explanation is weirder every time I hear it. I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve looked forward to Valentine’s Day. Don’t worry about Jill’s moral though; I’ll sit in the back so she can’t hear me laughing.
Today, I took a page from an old high school teacher of mine. The first day of calculus class, he kindly passed out note cards for us to write our name, age, favo(u)rite color, food, subject and what we wanted to be when we got out of school. We spent the whole time filling out the cards having warm fuzzy feelings that this man genuinely wanted to know about our lives. Then, he collected them and dismissed us. When we came back the next day, we had a lecture where he asked us the answer to numerous trigonometry and calculus questions. But, in the beauty of his plan, we did not need to raise our hands to answer these questions. He called on us! By flipping through our note cards! Then, at the end of everyday, he’d shuffle them! This painful set-up meant I had to pay attention for all of class and be ready with an intelligent answer because I never knew when my name was next in the pile. Well, as you can imagine, this plan is more difficult when the names have clicks and you are a clicking dunce, such as myself. But, willing to make a fool of pronunciations, I enacted the Note Card Plan today. It went over really well in 6th grade. I giggled to myself a little at the collective “gasp” from 6A when I turned their note cards against them. Grade 7 will have to experience that joy tomorrow. Oh, the satisfaction of classroom management.
Behavior management has been a bit of a nightmare since I’ve started teaching. I’m not exactly sure why this is. I’ve never had a behavior problems with a group of kids that I had NO idea how to solve. After all, working with and leading groups of kids has been my job, as a volunteer or otherwise, since I was a kid myself. I feel like that amount of training should have given me enough tricks to start off this year. But these kids are a different breed. I won’t go into the details of the problem because, well honestly, they’re all too middle school-ish. But I will say, I started the note cards today and have an elaborate reward system worked up for next week. I think the trick in all of this is to just keep showing up. Their weakness is an underestimation of American persistence… or, at least, Miss Jessica’s persistence.
Well, in the mean time, between now and then, just for kicks, a few things I’ve been wondering:
- Does speaking three languages affect the mental development of a child? How? What if they don’t learn how to read and write in any of them?
- Can a human run faster than a donkey?
- Can tans become permanent? Am I going to have perma-shirt sleeves?
- Is Mefloquine severely detrimental to my health?
- How to I get scones crumbly?
- What are some recipes I can use mealie (corn) meal for? (Moto, I think it was a typo/misunderstanding in the recipe I gave you. Fat cakes call for flour – not corn/mealie meal)
- Excessive cravings for cheese is like a brain-tumor thing, right?
- What’s going on in your lives?
2-9-08
I was using the Note Card Plan yesterday in science class. It works really well. But sometimes the kids just freeze when I call on them. This is understandable for a couple of reasons. First, kids here don’t get singled out for anything except when they do something wrong. So obviously they would look like deer in the headlights when I call on them. And second, English is not their first language and, I know from experience, speaking a foreign language in front of large groups is scary… really scary.
Anyway, it’s understandable that they freeze. So, I’ve taken to walking over to their notebooks and looking at the answer they have written. Usually, it’s correct. At which point I say, “perfect”. Yesterday, I noticed the bold ones started to freeze also. This is the opposite of what should happen. I discovered the cause in the last period of the day. One of the louder boys in class gave me the deer in the headlights look when I called his name. Then, he held out his book for me to look at. I looked and said “perfect. Say that out loud.” But instead, he turned to his friend, straightened his shirt, brushed it off in an I’m-awesome manner and repeated “perfect”.
Sheesh. Someone praise these kids please.
Over the past few days, I reread my blog posts. How is it that so much perspective could be gained a three and a half months? During site visit I remember Jill and I were totally disgusted with out respective housing situations. But, I can’t lie; they’re both quite posh (minus Jill’s overwhelming need to mop). I remember thinking also that a lot of the people I met were kind of rude. I’ve re-met those people since being back at site and, to be honest, they’re really pleasant welcoming people. I also remember while writing some of the posts I was really worried that they would come off as cynical or too serious. While re-reading I found that none of them were really that bitter.
I say all of that because I was debating whether or not I should write about corporal punishment. Do they really need to know? Will they understand? I think you will.
Corporal punishment is illegal in the United States (that’s a bit of an understatement, huh? In truth, you can’t really even touch a child). Well, it’s illegal in Namibia too. But, the catch, it’s only illegal if you get caught. Beating children is still accepted among colleagues as a good form of discipline. I knew this before I got to school. And I understand that it is still a new law and it may take a few years to see the full effect. But, it’s still a shocking sight.
Don’t go overboard with imagination. The people I work with are good people. And kids aren’t beaten to a pulp. Beating means the learner has to hold their hand out while the teacher hits it repeatedly with a stick. The stick is usually about the same diameter as my pointer finger. After each hit, the little ones jump around with their hand tucked under their armpit or between their legs. Then they hold out their hand again for another hit.
I’ve only seen a few kids being beat but learners are more than willing to share their beating stories with me. “Oh, miss, I failed a test and I was beat by Mr. So-and-so…” I know from experience that kids like to tell stories. But I also know those stories are usually rooted in truth. I’m not starting an all out witch-hunt. I’m just sayin… there are stories.
I’m not trying to underplay the fact that kids are being beat here either. The problem comes from the fact that I don’t belong. I am an outsider. I can’t just come into these schools, pull out my soapbox, stand there and preach “In America… Beating children causes fear… Discipline should be balanced with reward…” This country is still trying to figure out who it is. That can be a rocky process.
Since we’re being so honest about being in the Peace Corps in Namibia, I think I’ll let you in on another [superficial] cultural difference. Oddly enough, this cultural misunderstanding puts PCVs in as much of a foul mood as the beatings… really, just the female PCVs, though. Let me explain:
Here, it is good to be fat. Being fat can mean a few things. It can mean that you are rich enough to afford food, you are all around healthy and, most importantly, you don’t have AIDS. It is a common compliment to say, “You are fat!”
Well, let me tell you, this does not go over well. It doesn’t matter if the person is actually fat or not. One volunteer I met from NAM26 is approximately the same size as Mary Kate Olson. She lives with a family and teaches in the north. Her host family was so pleased one morning when she came in for breakfast wearing a large shirt. “Oh, you are fat today!” They were so excited for her. She was less than pleased though.
Our trainers tried to warn us. They explained that sometimes it could mean that you look happy, healthy and well adjusted. This, as you can imagine, doesn’t help. Yesterday, I put on a sweatshirt between our morning staff meeting and tea break. One of my favorite colleagues came up to me as I was waiting for the tea water to boil, patted my hip and said, “Oh, yes. You are getting fatter.” Gosh, this freaked me out. I went home and tried on some pants I haven’t worn since the Sates to make sure they still fit. They do. Don’t worry. I prefer to think she was referring to the sweatshirt and the fact that I was actually smiling during tea break and not dreading the awkwardness.
Which brings me to the sweatshirt. It’s cold here! Just yesterday and today. The rain came on Thursday night. This time it’s not the patchy downpours that alternate with intense sunshine to ensure misery. It was almost similar to Oregon spitting rain. We have been sitting a cloud for the past two days and it is glorious. Bleak. Gray. Wet. Cold(ish). I love it. I’m not crazy, just homesick.
And since we’re flowing so nicely between topics, you all need to know: I am a wimp. I am a wimp because I am homesick. I hear from reliable sources that it is common to be homesick when you move to Africa… or, generally, the other side of the planet. But, I have a period of everyday dedicate to being homesick. I don’t choose these periods of the day or how long they last. They usually choose me. Sometimes, my tears well up at very inconvenient times – like staff meeting or while explaining STIs (STDs) to 7th graders. It’s actually a little pathetic.
I have faith, though, that this is what we like to call an “adjustment period”. And, hopefully, it will pass. I am finding each day to be better than the day before it. Each week, I am becoming more comfortable. It would all be so much easier though if I could just get a cup of coffee at Chapters, curl up on a friend’s couch, watch TV and drive to my parents’ house on the weekends…
All those things will be there when I get back, though? Right? Friends, reserve those couches for me now. Got it? Mom, Dad. Car? House? Elmer’s? Ok?
Well, this is “Goodbye”. Wait. I already did that in October. So that means this is a “See you later”. But I won’t see you for a while. So this is really a “More later”. Which I am sure to be true. Because, here, there is always more to tell. Always.
More Later. Love, J
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Some words are light
January 22, 2008
I’ve given up trying to get the water any color but grey when I rinse my laundry. And, I found out I like running… but only down hills…
I haven’t been writing the past week for two reasons. 1) I’m pretty sure someone stole a couple of hours from each of my days and 2) I’m a little embarrassed that I haven’t started teaching yet.
Last week was the first week of school. Monday was a cluster (district) meeting. I think I wrote about that one already. We got a pep talk. This past year the Kunene schools jumped from 13th, last, to 5th. The Khorixas cluster scores, however, remained the same. This means that we did not contribute to the 8-place jump. Our pep talk was shape up or… shape up. I was told to arrive for this meeting at 8 in the morning. When I arrived at 8, the secretary was there to point me in the right direction and a social studies teacher was there to offer me a chair outside of the meeting room. The social studies teacher and I then proceeded to sit there until 10:30, when everyone else showed up (including the colleague who told me eight). Wrong time, you may guess? The agenda they handed out when we all finally sat down – “Khorixas Cluster Meeting. 14 January 2008. 8:00 am”. Welcome to Namibia.
Tuesday was registration. I’m sure I wrote about that. Still a conundrum. Wednesday was the first day learners were in classes. In class, they corrected the spelling and information on roll call, dusted their desks and harassed the new American teacher. Really, it was just one who seems like he’s going to be trouble. I was given grade 7A to entertain for the day. We read a lot of stories, hoping it would get them used to the accent so I wouldn’t have to talk as slow when teaching actually started. Then we had silent reading time. It was a long day but a good one overall. Thursday, they changed the lock on the library and gave me a key! Woot! A few cleaning supplies later, I’ve got all of the book donations unpacked and dusted. These are the books for the kids in the hostel. I want to use them for an after school reading program… but that feels a little too ambitious right now (Maybe, after I actually start teaching). Also in the library is a closet full of old papers and posters. I know you all have the wrong idea of Namibia because I have running water, electricity, a gas stove and a phone that can get me on facebook, but you have to realize, this is still Africa and that much paper in one room is like a gold mine. I spent part of Thursday going through the boxes of old AIDS posters (seemingly, an ineffective way to educate against the epidemic – just judging by how new the posters are, the lame slogans and the 3 inches of dust on the box) to look for ones with clean white backs I can write on. I had enough that I decided to make a poster for the library. I wanted to write a poem because I have a feeling knowledge about poetry isn’t that widespread in Khorixas. I would’ve written one of my own but I’m a shy poet. So, I pulled the only poetry book off the shelf and found this gem:
Feelings About Word
By. Mary O’Neill
Some words clink
As ice in a drink.
Some move with grace
A dance, a lace.
Some sound thin
Wall, scream and pin.
Some words are squat:
A mug, a pot.
And some are plump:
Fat, round and dump.
Some words are light:
Drift, lift and bright.
A few are small:
A, is and all.
And some are thick
Glue, paste and brick.
Some are sad:
“I never had…”
Some are gay:
Joy, spin and play.
And some words cry,
“Goodbye… Goodbye.”
I’m not really sure why I shared that with you, but I am sure it’ll make you a better person in the long run.
Friday, I spent about an hour at school before I left for the weekend. I let my counterpart and supervisor know that I had plans to go to Okakarara on Friday for a friend’s birthday. I was planning on leaving after school but they came into the library on Friday morning to tell me they had called a taxi and it would be there in an hour. Sweet! Permission to skip work and a ride! More about the weekend a little later, though.
Monday, the kids finally got last year’s timetable (schedule of classes). Currently, they’re making the new timetable to include me and Natural Science (or so they say). Since they are using an old timetable, I am the only teacher without a class. So, I trudged, dejectedly, to the library again. The only thing I have left to do in the library is re-shelf all of the books because they’re all out of order. But, I don’t want to do an overhaul like that yet. Instead, I remade a few labels, hung some posters, (and I can’t lie) worked on my personal budget and surfed facebook (Hey, I’m there from 7:00 – 1:30 by myself.).
Today has been more of the same. I remade the Feelings About Words poster for Jill, the Health PCV in Khorixas, to hang in her apartment. She’s a writer and I know she would appreciate such fine workmanship. Plus, I chose a particularly special Anti-AIDS poster to draw on the back of (I feel like there’s got to be a better way to educate the general public about AIDS. I can’t think of what it is. At least they’re trying something, I guess). Also, this afternoon, I’m coaching track. Don’t be so shocked… well, ok, you can be shocked. I didn’t volunteer to run with the kids; I was just standing in the wrong place when all the other teachers decided they didn’t want to… Personally, I don’t think it’s fair to play “not it” in Damara if not everyone speaks Damara.
The upper primary kids were divided into two teams – the Kudus and the Orics. I get to train the Kudus. Poor kids. This afternoon is the first official (if there is such a thing in Namibia) practice. Then, at the beginning of February the Orics and Kudus will compete to see who gets to go to the Khorixas cluster competition, then to the Kunene regional competition. I’m still not sure what’s involved in these competitions but I’m assuming a lot of running because there’s no equipment for anything else. Either way, I think the kids who run without shoes should get seconds taken off of their time.
That about sums up life at school. Just add super awkward tea breaks where I don’t understand a word for half an hour, a bell that sounds like a fire alarm, the sweetest cleaning crew on the planet and hiding in a dusty library closet so no one knows you don’t so anything for six and a half hours and you’ve got the starting-work-in-Africa experience in a bottle.
Outside of school has been a roller coaster. I prefer to think that it’s my circumstances and surroundings that change so often because otherwise, I’m a bi-polar train wreck. I’m pretty sure I mentioned the cooking and baking that’s taken over my life. I don’t think I’ve gotten any better, my standard have just getting lower. Monday-Wednesday I was settling in, cooking and taking walking tours of Khorixas. Thursday night I started packing for my weekend in Okakarara. Since I am still unsure about who has keys to my room and what little kid is going to be walking through, this also involved cleaning my room and locking up anything valuable.
I had to take out my trash too. Now, let me just preface this story with a few things. First, don’t try this at home. Second, I burned my trash through all of CBT and shadowing successfully. And, Third, I are a college grad-ge-ate… So, you’re probably wondering by now. I took my bag of trash out to the can but you can’t leave trash outside in the can because people will go through it and scatter it. Residents solve this problem by burning their trash. Or, in semi-urban settings, like Khorixas, they just don’t put their trash out until the morning it’s going to be picked up (Monday). But, when you’re on a cleaning spree, why wait? So, I put my trash out and, as I have done before (I promise) I lit it on fire. There was just one problem with this foolproof plan and that was: our trashcan is plastic… I know all you scholars out there are wondering how I didn’t foresee the huge flames that engulfed the entire trashcan and melted it to the pavement and, honestly, I have no idea why I didn’t. Just know I was lulled into a false sense of security by the metal lid and handles. Never assume anything in Africa - Of course the sides were plastic. Why not? So, after my tiny bag of trash had started a neighborhood bonfire, I ran inside to get water to put out the flames. But, welcome to the roller coaster, our kitchen had a flood earlier in the day and we had turned the water off. Luckily, the teakettle and a pot on the stove were full. I ran those outside and used a combination of water and sand to put out the fire. About the time I got the flame down to a manageable smolder my housemate’s car alarm starts going off. Within seconds, I’ve got an audience consisting of a just-woken-up British VSO, a street kid and a dog I think is rabid. Also about that time, a freak rainstorm finished putting out the fire (I couldn’t make stuff like this up if I tried). Personally, I think the scene was pretty self-explanatory: me, drenched, holding a teakettle, standing next to a melted trashcan. Nonetheless, I explained myself the best I could to my housemate as she was turning off her car alarm and then went inside to finish packing. The next morning I woke up early (4:45. Normally I wake up at 5) to scrape the plastic off the pavement… along with my pride.
When I got to school my colleagues had called the taxi so I gathered my bags and took a turn by the hospital to pick up Jill. After a half hour tour in the location as the taxi driver ran errands, we left for Outjo. In Outjo, we picked up another NAM 27er and headed for Otjiwarongo. Super Spar stop! We bought coffee and garlic bread and continued to Okakarara (detailed trip schedule for dad – Google Earth it!).
It was rainy and dreary when we got to Okakarara. And I loved it! There are two PCVs in Okakarara and four who live outside. When all of us had arrived we went to the local restaurant to relax and recover from our respective taxi rides. That evening we made pizza, enjoyed free SMS Friday and played Outburst. It was a great evening, except (roller coaster) the oven exploded in the birthday girl’s face. Luckily, her eyebrows, her primary concern, were still intact (mostly). Her right arm and face only looked sunburned but her right hand was covered in blisters. Her solution? Drink a lot of Vodka. Peace Corps? Hard Core.
The next morning we hired two taxis. They were both VW Rabbits and we practiced our clown car skills out to Waterburg Plateau. Waterburg is a nature reserve between Otjiwarongo and Okakarara and it’s beautiful. When we first arrived, the tour guides told us about game drives. It sounded tempting but we were shut down at the N$350/person price tag. We opted for a walking tour instead. About ten minutes later, two were covered in mud, four were annoyed at the mosquitoes, one was distracted by the German tourists and Sabrina and I were the only ones actually interested in the first stop, a German cemetery. My pondering the cemetery (and what, in 1904, made 22-year old Fritz decide to come to Namibia. And did he know he would die there… hmmm) was interrupted by The Plan. The Plan was to flirt with the rangers until we got a better price on the game drive. Clearly, this was not my area of expertise, so I waited outside. I did see through the window that the blister, burned hand was hidden away during haggling – hmm, maybe a technique I’ll have to keep in mind. The Plan was successful and we got a 50% discount.
When our safari vehicle arrived it was equipped with two quirky tour guides who claimed they had only been working at the park for two days… a joke, I think, but after a whole afternoon with them, I’m still not entirely convinced they didn’t just highjack the vehicle and decide to give tours that day.
The vehicle was an open-air truck. With the rain, the first couple minutes of the trip were spent convincing ourselves that the cold was a welcome change. Then, seemingly from nowhere, our self-claimed novice guides pull out these fleece-lined heaven-sent ponchos. My day was suddenly the best on the planet (roller coaster). I found a bag of peanuts in my bag and sat back for a beautiful ride with friends.
Along the way, we stopped at two hides surrounding a watering hole. We didn’t have any luck. The only animals we saw were butterflies, a chameleon, springbok, a stomach left over from a lion kill, beetles eating the stomach left over from the lion kill and a domestic buffalo (A cow. I told you they were quirky). The whole trip put us in high spirits anyway. At the end it also turned out one of the guides was the cook. So, when we got back to the main part of the park he opened the restaurant for us. The birthday girl’s mom sent money to pay for our dinner… and… it… was… fabulous!!
After dinner (with an amazing view of the plateau and deciding Brad and Angelina probably rented out the whole place) our taxis came to pick us up. We made it back to the house safely and our resident chef (chemist = chef) made a birthday cake. The evening was quiet and relaxing. In the morning the three of us from the West (Outjo and Khorixas) caught a taxi to Super Spar. After we had acquired 50 extra pounds of canned tuna, five different blocks of cheese and some spices, we continued on our way home. By the time I got to back to Khorixas I was slightly miffed (roller coaster). On the way home, our taxi almost ran out of gas. The gaslight was on with 65Km to go. Apparently, the approved solution for this is to drive at 80km/hour, which, in the middle of nowhere, feels like I could run faster (but only downhill :) ). I stopped looking at the clock but I’m pretty sure it took us about two to two and half hours to from Outjo. The entire time, Jill and I SMSed about the coming predicament – running out of gas in the textbook description of “nowhere”. Anytime something bad is about to happen in PC Namibia, you have the consolation that you may become a scenario to train the next group. So, we imagined our little transportation nightmare typed on a 1/2 sheet of paper with 15 NAM 28ers sitting around discussing it. And, I’m sure, their conclusion would be a brilliant revelations like, “just don’t get in the car in the first place.” Which all sounded great when I was staring at my slip of paper… but in real life, in the middle of nowhere, it doesn’t always fly. But, it was not our time for fame and we made it back to Khorixas safely. Thank goodness! …and gas.
January 23, 2008
Today was a good day. I think. I’m at least due for a good day anyway. Monday and Tuesday I was super homesick. I know home is safely waiting for me. But I think homesickness is encouraged by frustration at the problems (real and imagined) I deal with here and wishing I could just leave them. I know at home I wouldn’t have to deal it. But we call that quitting and I’m not fond of it. Peace Corps Namibia is what we like to call a “challenge by choice” (thanks Tilikum, for the terminology) and sometimes I’m not entirely sure why I keep choosing it. The good news is: I survived Monday and Tuesday and today has been better.
I am still not teaching. But, today I met with my supervisor. She explained a little more about the school and some the learner’s reaction to me. It was really helpful, if, for no other reason, to at least remind me that they know I’m here. Also, the timetable is in the works (I saw it with my own eyes so I know it exists). Right now, the plan is for me to start teaching 6A and 6B Math (I think they feel uneasy about this because I tried to find 70 percent of 39 today and got it wrong… it was the 7 times 9 that got me… 63, I know, I know, but I had just got done running around in the sun with the kids) and 7A and 7B Natural Science on Friday. With the way things are going, it’ll probably be Thursday instead. Living here is all about patience and being on your toes – seems like opposites, neh?
Track practice has been fun these past two days. The kids like to make fun of my accent. It was a little annoying at first so I made a game out of it. They have to repeat after me in their best American accents (which are actually terrible but make them giggle). Words they think sound particularly silly are “lower”, “raise”, “ok” and “good job”. I believe in Namibia they say “low-ah”, rolled “r” for raise, “ow-kay” and… I’m not sure why “good job” is funny… maybe it’s just not said enough around here.
Jill joined me today for practice. I was really grateful. I have enough knowledge to fake a track practice but Jill was actually in track so she’s got some real exercises. We had them doing high knees, butt kicks, lunges and walking on toes out to a tire and then they had to sprint back. They were over-enthusiastic and sprinted in both directions no matter how many times I told them otherwise. So, on the lunge round I went with all five teams out to the tire and sprinted back. Then, oddly, I decided to run their final laps with them… at three in the afternoon, in a desert. I’m such a white girl – I have to wear shoes and I think the desert is hot. The cleaning ladies were a little concerned about my health and red face afterwards (as I was multiplying 39 by 0.7) but I assured them it was normal.
When I got home, as per a young single person’s prerogative, I decided cookies were for dinner. Yum – especially with the cocoa powder I got at Spar. While the cookies were cooling I went on a hike in my backyard. So great and so Africa. I live on the edge of town (the opposite edge of Khorixas from the school where I work. Just FYI), so out back is a hill with a cell phone tower. The hill is probably half the size as McDonald forest loop 36 minus pine trees, mud and pups. The top is a great view and a cool wind. I like to call it the Khorixas escape route (I’ve been up there three times since I’ve been at site. I’m going to have to start exploring other hills around. Heaven knows there are enough to climb around here).
When I got back, I had my cookies for dinner, a lukewarm shower and a few styling from the Cranberries. An alright day all around, I suppose.
January 26, 2008
Yesterday was the last free SMS Friday *sad face*. I think I’ll survive though. I got a Christmas tree in the mail (thanks Heather). Facebook hasn’t been down all week. Sweet! And, I’m going to a mopping party at Jill’s house in a few minutes. She doesn’t know how to mop and, with the vast amounts of empty floor space available in PC housing (due to lack of furniture), it is extremely important. Some kids from Khorixas offered to help (they are sympathetic to American weirdness because they had the two previous PCVs as teachers in their Secondary school).
Yesterday was the semi-first day of teaching. I taught my math classes but the science ones were interrupted by a meeting… in the middle of school? Math went over really well, though. The kids got a kick out of the slow-down-you’re-talking-too-fast-and-I-don’t-understand-you thumbs down I taught them. I told them a story about flying from America to Namibia. Progressively, I would talk faster and faster until they would all throw the thumbs down when they couldn’t understand anymore. I don’t think they get to tell teachers what to do often… probably not a good way to start off the year but whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?
I tried scones again this morning. They keep coming out squishy. If anyone knows how to get them flaky let me know. Random request, I know. Well, I’ve got a mop and bucket calling my name. I love hearing what you all are up to – Facebook messages work best but email works a lot also.
January 27, 2008
Well, I thought I was posting yesterday but I didn’t get a chance to yet. It’s ok though because if I had posted I would have to wait a really long time to tell you about my amazing day today. Actually, most of it was pretty terrible.
I woke up this morning to a mean case of homesick and a power outage. It had rained last night and had caused the power to go out. Since the morning was cloudy and there was nothing to do at home I decided it would be a good morning for a hike. Little did I realize that cloudy, raining weather in Khorixas is like dumping a bucket of water on Hell. I was dying halfway up the hill I had decided to explore. I may be exaggerating, but I think it was worse than a Louisiana summer. By the time I got home I was looking forward to the cold shower that I usually dread but the water was out. I think it wanted to steal Electricity’s thunder. I was going to SMS Jill to see if the location was having similar problems but I was out of Tango (phone minutes) and, about that time, my phone battery died anyway. Sheesh. How am I supposed to cope in Africa, without any coping mechanisms? Luckily, my ipod still had some juice, though one side of my headphones had gotten squished in my lock box. So, I put the good side of the headphones in and some still functioning pieces of the other side. It looked a little silly but it got the job done.
In the afternoon, the power and water came on at about the same time (I think it’s a conspiracy to make me think I’m bi-polar). It was just in time to get a SMS from Jill inviting me to hang out in the donkerhoek (squatter’s camp). The SCORE volunteer in town takes soccer balls over there every weekend. The basic plan is just to wander in and look for kids… and sure enough, the kids come. Everyone gets to play. The teenagers started a serious soccer game, with shoes outlining the goals. Some younger ones started a game of catch and “tegu te” (I’m not sure how it’s spelled, or said really, but it’s similar to duck duck goose). Then, they decided to switch to net ball. Net ball is like basketball but you don’t bounce the ball. Jill and I found a purpose during all this as the nets. We held out our arms anytime a team came near to make a basket. The faces that you make when you’re a net, I think, have got to be priceless. I was thinking my nose was not going to make it out of the net ball game intact. But it’s fine… This could be because my team lost miserably and, consequently, made fewer threats on my face. Down time during my net experience was spent convincing some little boys that my thumb was detachable. I have never seen so much awe and wonder and the thumb removal trick. I think kids in the States have lost their awe… or I’m just less able to trick them.
When we left the donkerhoek it was about to rain again but I felt pretty good about life in general. If nothing else, at least I discovered a new coping mechanism. Who knew it would be hanging out and playing with kids who never have electricity and water. Which is good to think about tonight as I work on my lesson plans to the tune of thunderstorm and the glow of candlelight. That’s right, the power’s back off. But, don’t be grossed out, the water came back on long enough for me to get a shower.
I’ve given up trying to get the water any color but grey when I rinse my laundry. And, I found out I like running… but only down hills…
I haven’t been writing the past week for two reasons. 1) I’m pretty sure someone stole a couple of hours from each of my days and 2) I’m a little embarrassed that I haven’t started teaching yet.
Last week was the first week of school. Monday was a cluster (district) meeting. I think I wrote about that one already. We got a pep talk. This past year the Kunene schools jumped from 13th, last, to 5th. The Khorixas cluster scores, however, remained the same. This means that we did not contribute to the 8-place jump. Our pep talk was shape up or… shape up. I was told to arrive for this meeting at 8 in the morning. When I arrived at 8, the secretary was there to point me in the right direction and a social studies teacher was there to offer me a chair outside of the meeting room. The social studies teacher and I then proceeded to sit there until 10:30, when everyone else showed up (including the colleague who told me eight). Wrong time, you may guess? The agenda they handed out when we all finally sat down – “Khorixas Cluster Meeting. 14 January 2008. 8:00 am”. Welcome to Namibia.
Tuesday was registration. I’m sure I wrote about that. Still a conundrum. Wednesday was the first day learners were in classes. In class, they corrected the spelling and information on roll call, dusted their desks and harassed the new American teacher. Really, it was just one who seems like he’s going to be trouble. I was given grade 7A to entertain for the day. We read a lot of stories, hoping it would get them used to the accent so I wouldn’t have to talk as slow when teaching actually started. Then we had silent reading time. It was a long day but a good one overall. Thursday, they changed the lock on the library and gave me a key! Woot! A few cleaning supplies later, I’ve got all of the book donations unpacked and dusted. These are the books for the kids in the hostel. I want to use them for an after school reading program… but that feels a little too ambitious right now (Maybe, after I actually start teaching). Also in the library is a closet full of old papers and posters. I know you all have the wrong idea of Namibia because I have running water, electricity, a gas stove and a phone that can get me on facebook, but you have to realize, this is still Africa and that much paper in one room is like a gold mine. I spent part of Thursday going through the boxes of old AIDS posters (seemingly, an ineffective way to educate against the epidemic – just judging by how new the posters are, the lame slogans and the 3 inches of dust on the box) to look for ones with clean white backs I can write on. I had enough that I decided to make a poster for the library. I wanted to write a poem because I have a feeling knowledge about poetry isn’t that widespread in Khorixas. I would’ve written one of my own but I’m a shy poet. So, I pulled the only poetry book off the shelf and found this gem:
Feelings About Word
By. Mary O’Neill
Some words clink
As ice in a drink.
Some move with grace
A dance, a lace.
Some sound thin
Wall, scream and pin.
Some words are squat:
A mug, a pot.
And some are plump:
Fat, round and dump.
Some words are light:
Drift, lift and bright.
A few are small:
A, is and all.
And some are thick
Glue, paste and brick.
Some are sad:
“I never had…”
Some are gay:
Joy, spin and play.
And some words cry,
“Goodbye… Goodbye.”
I’m not really sure why I shared that with you, but I am sure it’ll make you a better person in the long run.
Friday, I spent about an hour at school before I left for the weekend. I let my counterpart and supervisor know that I had plans to go to Okakarara on Friday for a friend’s birthday. I was planning on leaving after school but they came into the library on Friday morning to tell me they had called a taxi and it would be there in an hour. Sweet! Permission to skip work and a ride! More about the weekend a little later, though.
Monday, the kids finally got last year’s timetable (schedule of classes). Currently, they’re making the new timetable to include me and Natural Science (or so they say). Since they are using an old timetable, I am the only teacher without a class. So, I trudged, dejectedly, to the library again. The only thing I have left to do in the library is re-shelf all of the books because they’re all out of order. But, I don’t want to do an overhaul like that yet. Instead, I remade a few labels, hung some posters, (and I can’t lie) worked on my personal budget and surfed facebook (Hey, I’m there from 7:00 – 1:30 by myself.).
Today has been more of the same. I remade the Feelings About Words poster for Jill, the Health PCV in Khorixas, to hang in her apartment. She’s a writer and I know she would appreciate such fine workmanship. Plus, I chose a particularly special Anti-AIDS poster to draw on the back of (I feel like there’s got to be a better way to educate the general public about AIDS. I can’t think of what it is. At least they’re trying something, I guess). Also, this afternoon, I’m coaching track. Don’t be so shocked… well, ok, you can be shocked. I didn’t volunteer to run with the kids; I was just standing in the wrong place when all the other teachers decided they didn’t want to… Personally, I don’t think it’s fair to play “not it” in Damara if not everyone speaks Damara.
The upper primary kids were divided into two teams – the Kudus and the Orics. I get to train the Kudus. Poor kids. This afternoon is the first official (if there is such a thing in Namibia) practice. Then, at the beginning of February the Orics and Kudus will compete to see who gets to go to the Khorixas cluster competition, then to the Kunene regional competition. I’m still not sure what’s involved in these competitions but I’m assuming a lot of running because there’s no equipment for anything else. Either way, I think the kids who run without shoes should get seconds taken off of their time.
That about sums up life at school. Just add super awkward tea breaks where I don’t understand a word for half an hour, a bell that sounds like a fire alarm, the sweetest cleaning crew on the planet and hiding in a dusty library closet so no one knows you don’t so anything for six and a half hours and you’ve got the starting-work-in-Africa experience in a bottle.
Outside of school has been a roller coaster. I prefer to think that it’s my circumstances and surroundings that change so often because otherwise, I’m a bi-polar train wreck. I’m pretty sure I mentioned the cooking and baking that’s taken over my life. I don’t think I’ve gotten any better, my standard have just getting lower. Monday-Wednesday I was settling in, cooking and taking walking tours of Khorixas. Thursday night I started packing for my weekend in Okakarara. Since I am still unsure about who has keys to my room and what little kid is going to be walking through, this also involved cleaning my room and locking up anything valuable.
I had to take out my trash too. Now, let me just preface this story with a few things. First, don’t try this at home. Second, I burned my trash through all of CBT and shadowing successfully. And, Third, I are a college grad-ge-ate… So, you’re probably wondering by now. I took my bag of trash out to the can but you can’t leave trash outside in the can because people will go through it and scatter it. Residents solve this problem by burning their trash. Or, in semi-urban settings, like Khorixas, they just don’t put their trash out until the morning it’s going to be picked up (Monday). But, when you’re on a cleaning spree, why wait? So, I put my trash out and, as I have done before (I promise) I lit it on fire. There was just one problem with this foolproof plan and that was: our trashcan is plastic… I know all you scholars out there are wondering how I didn’t foresee the huge flames that engulfed the entire trashcan and melted it to the pavement and, honestly, I have no idea why I didn’t. Just know I was lulled into a false sense of security by the metal lid and handles. Never assume anything in Africa - Of course the sides were plastic. Why not? So, after my tiny bag of trash had started a neighborhood bonfire, I ran inside to get water to put out the flames. But, welcome to the roller coaster, our kitchen had a flood earlier in the day and we had turned the water off. Luckily, the teakettle and a pot on the stove were full. I ran those outside and used a combination of water and sand to put out the fire. About the time I got the flame down to a manageable smolder my housemate’s car alarm starts going off. Within seconds, I’ve got an audience consisting of a just-woken-up British VSO, a street kid and a dog I think is rabid. Also about that time, a freak rainstorm finished putting out the fire (I couldn’t make stuff like this up if I tried). Personally, I think the scene was pretty self-explanatory: me, drenched, holding a teakettle, standing next to a melted trashcan. Nonetheless, I explained myself the best I could to my housemate as she was turning off her car alarm and then went inside to finish packing. The next morning I woke up early (4:45. Normally I wake up at 5) to scrape the plastic off the pavement… along with my pride.
When I got to school my colleagues had called the taxi so I gathered my bags and took a turn by the hospital to pick up Jill. After a half hour tour in the location as the taxi driver ran errands, we left for Outjo. In Outjo, we picked up another NAM 27er and headed for Otjiwarongo. Super Spar stop! We bought coffee and garlic bread and continued to Okakarara (detailed trip schedule for dad – Google Earth it!).
It was rainy and dreary when we got to Okakarara. And I loved it! There are two PCVs in Okakarara and four who live outside. When all of us had arrived we went to the local restaurant to relax and recover from our respective taxi rides. That evening we made pizza, enjoyed free SMS Friday and played Outburst. It was a great evening, except (roller coaster) the oven exploded in the birthday girl’s face. Luckily, her eyebrows, her primary concern, were still intact (mostly). Her right arm and face only looked sunburned but her right hand was covered in blisters. Her solution? Drink a lot of Vodka. Peace Corps? Hard Core.
The next morning we hired two taxis. They were both VW Rabbits and we practiced our clown car skills out to Waterburg Plateau. Waterburg is a nature reserve between Otjiwarongo and Okakarara and it’s beautiful. When we first arrived, the tour guides told us about game drives. It sounded tempting but we were shut down at the N$350/person price tag. We opted for a walking tour instead. About ten minutes later, two were covered in mud, four were annoyed at the mosquitoes, one was distracted by the German tourists and Sabrina and I were the only ones actually interested in the first stop, a German cemetery. My pondering the cemetery (and what, in 1904, made 22-year old Fritz decide to come to Namibia. And did he know he would die there… hmmm) was interrupted by The Plan. The Plan was to flirt with the rangers until we got a better price on the game drive. Clearly, this was not my area of expertise, so I waited outside. I did see through the window that the blister, burned hand was hidden away during haggling – hmm, maybe a technique I’ll have to keep in mind. The Plan was successful and we got a 50% discount.
When our safari vehicle arrived it was equipped with two quirky tour guides who claimed they had only been working at the park for two days… a joke, I think, but after a whole afternoon with them, I’m still not entirely convinced they didn’t just highjack the vehicle and decide to give tours that day.
The vehicle was an open-air truck. With the rain, the first couple minutes of the trip were spent convincing ourselves that the cold was a welcome change. Then, seemingly from nowhere, our self-claimed novice guides pull out these fleece-lined heaven-sent ponchos. My day was suddenly the best on the planet (roller coaster). I found a bag of peanuts in my bag and sat back for a beautiful ride with friends.
Along the way, we stopped at two hides surrounding a watering hole. We didn’t have any luck. The only animals we saw were butterflies, a chameleon, springbok, a stomach left over from a lion kill, beetles eating the stomach left over from the lion kill and a domestic buffalo (A cow. I told you they were quirky). The whole trip put us in high spirits anyway. At the end it also turned out one of the guides was the cook. So, when we got back to the main part of the park he opened the restaurant for us. The birthday girl’s mom sent money to pay for our dinner… and… it… was… fabulous!!
After dinner (with an amazing view of the plateau and deciding Brad and Angelina probably rented out the whole place) our taxis came to pick us up. We made it back to the house safely and our resident chef (chemist = chef) made a birthday cake. The evening was quiet and relaxing. In the morning the three of us from the West (Outjo and Khorixas) caught a taxi to Super Spar. After we had acquired 50 extra pounds of canned tuna, five different blocks of cheese and some spices, we continued on our way home. By the time I got to back to Khorixas I was slightly miffed (roller coaster). On the way home, our taxi almost ran out of gas. The gaslight was on with 65Km to go. Apparently, the approved solution for this is to drive at 80km/hour, which, in the middle of nowhere, feels like I could run faster (but only downhill :) ). I stopped looking at the clock but I’m pretty sure it took us about two to two and half hours to from Outjo. The entire time, Jill and I SMSed about the coming predicament – running out of gas in the textbook description of “nowhere”. Anytime something bad is about to happen in PC Namibia, you have the consolation that you may become a scenario to train the next group. So, we imagined our little transportation nightmare typed on a 1/2 sheet of paper with 15 NAM 28ers sitting around discussing it. And, I’m sure, their conclusion would be a brilliant revelations like, “just don’t get in the car in the first place.” Which all sounded great when I was staring at my slip of paper… but in real life, in the middle of nowhere, it doesn’t always fly. But, it was not our time for fame and we made it back to Khorixas safely. Thank goodness! …and gas.
January 23, 2008
Today was a good day. I think. I’m at least due for a good day anyway. Monday and Tuesday I was super homesick. I know home is safely waiting for me. But I think homesickness is encouraged by frustration at the problems (real and imagined) I deal with here and wishing I could just leave them. I know at home I wouldn’t have to deal it. But we call that quitting and I’m not fond of it. Peace Corps Namibia is what we like to call a “challenge by choice” (thanks Tilikum, for the terminology) and sometimes I’m not entirely sure why I keep choosing it. The good news is: I survived Monday and Tuesday and today has been better.
I am still not teaching. But, today I met with my supervisor. She explained a little more about the school and some the learner’s reaction to me. It was really helpful, if, for no other reason, to at least remind me that they know I’m here. Also, the timetable is in the works (I saw it with my own eyes so I know it exists). Right now, the plan is for me to start teaching 6A and 6B Math (I think they feel uneasy about this because I tried to find 70 percent of 39 today and got it wrong… it was the 7 times 9 that got me… 63, I know, I know, but I had just got done running around in the sun with the kids) and 7A and 7B Natural Science on Friday. With the way things are going, it’ll probably be Thursday instead. Living here is all about patience and being on your toes – seems like opposites, neh?
Track practice has been fun these past two days. The kids like to make fun of my accent. It was a little annoying at first so I made a game out of it. They have to repeat after me in their best American accents (which are actually terrible but make them giggle). Words they think sound particularly silly are “lower”, “raise”, “ok” and “good job”. I believe in Namibia they say “low-ah”, rolled “r” for raise, “ow-kay” and… I’m not sure why “good job” is funny… maybe it’s just not said enough around here.
Jill joined me today for practice. I was really grateful. I have enough knowledge to fake a track practice but Jill was actually in track so she’s got some real exercises. We had them doing high knees, butt kicks, lunges and walking on toes out to a tire and then they had to sprint back. They were over-enthusiastic and sprinted in both directions no matter how many times I told them otherwise. So, on the lunge round I went with all five teams out to the tire and sprinted back. Then, oddly, I decided to run their final laps with them… at three in the afternoon, in a desert. I’m such a white girl – I have to wear shoes and I think the desert is hot. The cleaning ladies were a little concerned about my health and red face afterwards (as I was multiplying 39 by 0.7) but I assured them it was normal.
When I got home, as per a young single person’s prerogative, I decided cookies were for dinner. Yum – especially with the cocoa powder I got at Spar. While the cookies were cooling I went on a hike in my backyard. So great and so Africa. I live on the edge of town (the opposite edge of Khorixas from the school where I work. Just FYI), so out back is a hill with a cell phone tower. The hill is probably half the size as McDonald forest loop 36 minus pine trees, mud and pups. The top is a great view and a cool wind. I like to call it the Khorixas escape route (I’ve been up there three times since I’ve been at site. I’m going to have to start exploring other hills around. Heaven knows there are enough to climb around here).
When I got back, I had my cookies for dinner, a lukewarm shower and a few styling from the Cranberries. An alright day all around, I suppose.
January 26, 2008
Yesterday was the last free SMS Friday *sad face*. I think I’ll survive though. I got a Christmas tree in the mail (thanks Heather). Facebook hasn’t been down all week. Sweet! And, I’m going to a mopping party at Jill’s house in a few minutes. She doesn’t know how to mop and, with the vast amounts of empty floor space available in PC housing (due to lack of furniture), it is extremely important. Some kids from Khorixas offered to help (they are sympathetic to American weirdness because they had the two previous PCVs as teachers in their Secondary school).
Yesterday was the semi-first day of teaching. I taught my math classes but the science ones were interrupted by a meeting… in the middle of school? Math went over really well, though. The kids got a kick out of the slow-down-you’re-talking-too-fast-and-I-don’t-understand-you thumbs down I taught them. I told them a story about flying from America to Namibia. Progressively, I would talk faster and faster until they would all throw the thumbs down when they couldn’t understand anymore. I don’t think they get to tell teachers what to do often… probably not a good way to start off the year but whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?
I tried scones again this morning. They keep coming out squishy. If anyone knows how to get them flaky let me know. Random request, I know. Well, I’ve got a mop and bucket calling my name. I love hearing what you all are up to – Facebook messages work best but email works a lot also.
January 27, 2008
Well, I thought I was posting yesterday but I didn’t get a chance to yet. It’s ok though because if I had posted I would have to wait a really long time to tell you about my amazing day today. Actually, most of it was pretty terrible.
I woke up this morning to a mean case of homesick and a power outage. It had rained last night and had caused the power to go out. Since the morning was cloudy and there was nothing to do at home I decided it would be a good morning for a hike. Little did I realize that cloudy, raining weather in Khorixas is like dumping a bucket of water on Hell. I was dying halfway up the hill I had decided to explore. I may be exaggerating, but I think it was worse than a Louisiana summer. By the time I got home I was looking forward to the cold shower that I usually dread but the water was out. I think it wanted to steal Electricity’s thunder. I was going to SMS Jill to see if the location was having similar problems but I was out of Tango (phone minutes) and, about that time, my phone battery died anyway. Sheesh. How am I supposed to cope in Africa, without any coping mechanisms? Luckily, my ipod still had some juice, though one side of my headphones had gotten squished in my lock box. So, I put the good side of the headphones in and some still functioning pieces of the other side. It looked a little silly but it got the job done.
In the afternoon, the power and water came on at about the same time (I think it’s a conspiracy to make me think I’m bi-polar). It was just in time to get a SMS from Jill inviting me to hang out in the donkerhoek (squatter’s camp). The SCORE volunteer in town takes soccer balls over there every weekend. The basic plan is just to wander in and look for kids… and sure enough, the kids come. Everyone gets to play. The teenagers started a serious soccer game, with shoes outlining the goals. Some younger ones started a game of catch and “tegu te” (I’m not sure how it’s spelled, or said really, but it’s similar to duck duck goose). Then, they decided to switch to net ball. Net ball is like basketball but you don’t bounce the ball. Jill and I found a purpose during all this as the nets. We held out our arms anytime a team came near to make a basket. The faces that you make when you’re a net, I think, have got to be priceless. I was thinking my nose was not going to make it out of the net ball game intact. But it’s fine… This could be because my team lost miserably and, consequently, made fewer threats on my face. Down time during my net experience was spent convincing some little boys that my thumb was detachable. I have never seen so much awe and wonder and the thumb removal trick. I think kids in the States have lost their awe… or I’m just less able to trick them.
When we left the donkerhoek it was about to rain again but I felt pretty good about life in general. If nothing else, at least I discovered a new coping mechanism. Who knew it would be hanging out and playing with kids who never have electricity and water. Which is good to think about tonight as I work on my lesson plans to the tune of thunderstorm and the glow of candlelight. That’s right, the power’s back off. But, don’t be grossed out, the water came back on long enough for me to get a shower.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
when it's ok to swear
January 13, 2008
Wow. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. This past week was really busy… and, yet, still very African.
Sunday and Monday were our LPIs. LPI stands for Language Proficiency Interview. We had a mid-LPI in the middle of CBT – on which I scored a NL. NL stands for Novice Low, and it is as bad as it sounds. Novice Low is the lowest you can score. It’s just above not knowing any of the language. The next scores are Novice Mid, Novice High, Intermediate Low, Intermediate Mid, Intermediate High and Advanced. For Peace Corps service you need to score an Intermediate Low. However, in Namibia, language is not critical to your assignment (though it is still a touchy topic among natives. There is a lot of pride in a tribe’s language. Also, most Namibians (sans Afrikaners) know at least three languages – Mother Tongue (Khoekhoe, Otjiherero, Oshiwambo, Thimbukishu, etc.), Afrikaans and English (for school). So knowing only one of the three, four, six, ten… that others know, you feel a little out of the loop. Not to mention a little stupid). In Namibia, if a trainee doesn’t score an IL they can retake the LPI at reconnect (a meeting three to four months down the road)(Actually, they just changed the policy and you have to retake the LPI at reconnect, mid–service meeting and at close of service no matter what you score the first time. I think they are trying to see if the language training is paying off in the long run). This is generally good news for people learning Khoekhoe. Most of us scored a NH. There were a few IL and one IH... but we just pretend she’s a genius. In our whole group only one person received an advanced score. She is learning Afrikaans. I’m a little bitter about this seeing how you can generally just talk funny and sound like you’re speaking Afrikaans. Example: “Wat es jou naam?” “ My naam is Jessica.” “Ek kom van Amerika af.” Should I translate, or have you figured it out? I don’t mean to discredit the people learning Afrikaans. It’s still a challenge. It’s just tough that we’re compared. Also, in Namibia, scores are not private. Grade 10 and grade 12 national exam scores are printed in the newspapers. Everyone knows if you’ve failed or passed. So, they stuck with this tradition and printed all of our LPI scored on one paper and passed it out to everyone. Cultural integration at its best!
I had my LPI on Sunday. In memory of GFU, I got up early sat down at the dinning room tables in my PJs and studied until my test. About mid-morning I found a sympathetic local who was willing to practice with me. Also, I was expecting the same break-neck paced mumbling I got during my mid-LPI so I memorized a few key phrases, such as: “speak slower” “Wait, I know” “I know but I forgot” “I don’t understand” “wait, I do understand” and “speak louder”. My interview was after lunch. I was so shocked when I got in there that it was actually fun to muddle through a conversation! Some things I had to literally translate into KK, which was no fun and terrible grammar, but other times I felt like I had a good grasp on the conversation. At one point in time I even used past, present and future in the same thought. I believe I said, “I like science. I wanted to be a doctor but I am going to teach science.” There were other times though, that I lied because I didn’t have enough grammar to tell the truth. I told her that my dad was a doctor, my mother was a banker and my brother was currently studying computers. Not far from the truth… it was the best I could do in KK.
It was nice to get the LPI out of the way so I could regroup on Monday. Since we got to Namibia, we’ve literally been ferried, taxied, bused and sent ten different places. It gets little tiring and disorganized. I have been living out of a suitcase since I packed it in October. Granted, it looks like my suitcases and their contents were put in a huge dryer, tumbled and dumped back into my retreat center room. Luckily, my seven roommates seem to be having the same trouble. I believe we won the messiest room award… if it actually existed. Anyway, Monday was spent packing and running around Okahandja looking for replacement clothes and toiletries.
I also got a chance to visit the craft market at the end of town. The craft market is a mini settlement of tents and tables filled with all things African looking. It was a lot of fun to visit because I wasn’t looking for anything. However, some of my friends who were haggling for real got a little frustrated. I was just haggling to see if I could get a good deal. In the end, I guess I got dooped though because I bought a bracelet I got a good price on. One particular conversation was pretty memorable. One of the merchants came up to my friend and said, “come to my tent, I have something to show you.” Well, I don’t know if I need to tell you, but we get a little protective of each other, and my ears pricked up when I heard him talking to her. A third friend came over also and said, “So you think you know what American women want?” The man said, “why yes, I think I do.” So we decided to see what was up. First, we were offered candlesticks. Um, no. Then, we were offered beaded dolls. Not quite. Then, getting desperate, we were offered a traditional mug (used to scoop the beverage out of it’s fermenting spot in the ground). Eww, no. And, one last final pitch – “How about a traditional bow and arrow?” Oh, and a line-up full of losers. But I was laughing so hard by the time I left the tent it was worth the spiel.
On our walk back from the craft market, a PC vehicle drove by. We literally jumped on it and asked for a ride. This was just a sign to me that we’ve changed in the past two months. At the beginning, it was good to walk. Good exercise. Also, why would I ride in an iffy combi with a grumpy driver when I could just walk for a few extra minutes? Well, since then, I’ve realized that PC has got some of the best rides in the country… not to mention seatbelts. That, coupled with the fact that days average 110F, makes you jump on PC vehicles (literally) when you see them in action.
Tuesday, we were bused to Windhoek to spend our settling-in allowance (money that should be used to buy household items to use during service)… but (welcome to the Peace Corps) that money wasn’t put in our accounts. The day was spent doing one of two things. One, people spent savings from their American accounts to buy toasters, tea kettles, blankets, sheets, pots, pans, pillows and fans. Or, option number two, spend N$350 dollars (somewhere around $60 American) from of our walk-around allowance and then wait for the buses to pick us up at the mall. I opted for the second and spent my $60 on a fan, speakers, a pillow, the tiniest plate I’ve ever seen and a spoon. These were all chosen in the midst of mid-isle breakdowns induced by 1) being overwhelmed by the sheer size of a superstore in the middle of Africa and 2) being completely exhausted. This ended up working out in my favor, though, when I got to site.
Wednesday was our swearing in ceremony. We got all gussied up for the event. It was nice to wear clothes that hadn’t been exposed to dust, sun and sweat and still smelled vaguely of my parent’s washing machine. The program was supposed to start at 10am (African time). The audience was made up of some of our supervisors, some host families, the local news and our trainers. First, there were some speakers. Then, we said our pledge of service where we promised to serve the people of Namibia to the best of our ability for the next two years. Then we said the same pledge of service in Afrikaans, KKG, Oshiwambo, Otjiherero, Rukwangali, Silozi and Thimbukushu – whichever we had been learning over the past couple of months. True to my form, I was laughing by the time we reached the end of the pledge. It wasn’t how we sounded that got me laughing; it was the response to our pledge that I was giggling at. The end of each sentence was followed by the audience gasping, ooos, awes and clapping. You would’ve thought we were juggling fire while standing on a bed of nails. It was cute. I think they were proud. Yay! We made it to PCV! There were 69 PCVs sworn in. We started with 70 PCTs. That’s got to be one for the record books, I think. I’ve got a lot of NAM 27 pride.
After our pledge a volunteer from each language group gave a thank you speech in the language they had been working on. These were equally as impressive to the audience. For KK, my good friend Nick gave the speech (with permission to use his name online!). He did a good job… as far as I could tell… Hey, I don’t speak the language. It’s hard to tell if you speak KK well because locals tend to laugh. Sometimes they laugh because you just said a lot of gibberish and sometimes they laugh because they’re overwhelmed with joy that an American would care to learn their language. I’m sure it was the second but our pledge and speech were reciprocated with snickers.
I was forewarned about what would happen next, but that didn’t make it any easier. People were literally whisked away by their supervisors and transports to site. Some of them didn’t even change out of their dress clothes before they were driven away. I didn’t think it would be hard. After all, I came here to work with Namibians not to make friends with Americans… or so I thought. In the past months, I’ve made some good friends. There were only two who knew each other when we arrived in DC, and they’re married. In DC, they gave us all pink yarn for our bags, told us to look out for each other and put us on a plane for Africa. Ten weeks later, that’s what we’ve done. I don’t think I’ve had a single problem that at least three people didn’t try to help me solve. Obviously, there are politics and, obviously, we’re not all best buds for life… but they’re my Namibian support system. Luckily, they’re all still in country and saving the world at their respective sites. And, as a bonus, we all get back together at reconnect with awesome/absurd stories to share!
Again, true to my form, I was one of the last to leave. I got to stay another night at the retreat center and then left for site on Thursday morning. All of the volunteer teachers in the Kunene regions rode together. Everything went really smoothly until we had driven an hour or so north. We stopped in Otjiwarongo, one of the last big towns, for shopping at Super Spar (I love that place!). When we were about to leave our driver noticed that something had gone wrong with the tire. This was no big deal, since we weren’t actually moving when he discovered that something was wrong. But it did lend itself to us sitting in a broken down car with all of our groceries waiting a couple of hours for the Ministry of Education vehicle secretary to get back from lunch and give us the keys to another (older) combi. By the time we got a new car and drove the next hour and a half (two hours or more by slow old combi) to Khorixas, it was 5pm. It had taken seven and a half hours to drive what would normally take four hours. This is when I realized I actually love and hate life in Namibia, at the same time. On one side, I got to hang out with all the Kunene volunteers for a few extra hours and the roadblock guard said he wouldn’t let anyone into Khorixas who looked like they would give me trouble (How many of you have your own personal Namibian road block, huh?). But, on the other hand, it took all day to get a simple trip done. The five other PCVs who were supposed to make it to site couldn’t keep traveling because it is not safe to drive at night – elephants, warthogs, kudu, dikdiks… you name it, it’ll prance in front of your car. So, they all stayed over in K town. The sleepover was fun.
Before I got to Khorixas, my supervisor called to let me know my flat wasn’t ready. My flat is attached to school hostel in the location. However, the ministry of education has a house in town that education volunteers live in. When I got to town, they gave me a set of keys to this house. The house has a living room with three extra mattresses, two unoccupied bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, toilet room, bathroom and washroom. I’ll be staying in this house for… well that seems to be the question of the day. Some say I’ll be here until Monday, others say a week, others two and some even say a month. The volunteer house is a bit of a luxury because it is fully stocked with furniture, dishes, bedding, hangers, fans… all of the things I should have been buying with my settling in allowance. The downside, according to Namibians, is that I have to walk half an hour to school. Despite all the perks, I look forward to living in my flat because it will be easier to work with the hostel kids (I’m interested in starting a reading club, girls club and, if its not too nerdy, some sort of science club). Also, I can unpack into my own space and be my own American self – loud emo music, funny food and isolative ways. I think it also helps me relate more to the kids I’m teaching if I live in the location with them. The kids, the roosters, the drunkards and me…
Khorixas is very different than I remember it. It feels HUGE! I think this is because I’ve just spent so long in Otjimbingwe. The first place we stopped when we got to the city was the ministry building. It is in the center on a big hill. From there, you can see the entire location in one direction and the town in the other. I was shocked by how huge it looked. The site description says “semi-urban” but I was beginning to doubt that in my time away. When I first arrived in Khorixas, during site visit, I had only been to Okahandja. Okahandja, at least the part we’re allowed to stay in, is western and paved. Khorixas was dusty and small in comparison. After visiting Khorixas the first time, during shadowing, I was put at a farm school and then, Otjimbingwe; both tiny places. Now, anything bigger than 500 people feels like New York. Last I heard there are between 5,000 and 10,000 people here (It’s hard to get a good measure because some don’t really work or have homes… they just drink). All I can say is that 40,000 people in my “small” hometown is going to be quite a shocker two years from now.
I start work tomorrow. I’m a little nervous for the chaos that will consume my life after that. I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, though, I’m just kickin it in my new digs in K town. I live with a British VSO who works in the Ministry of Education office. The past couple of days have been great! I sleep! Ten hours last night! Until 8 in the morning – what?! I cook! Sometimes pancakes, sometimes tortillas, sometimes no-bake cookies… hey, I’m scared to light the gas oven on my own. Friday was free SMS Friday – always a pleasure. I know I’ve SMSed too much when I am typing on a computer, get to the bottom of the page, press down and expect it to take me to the top again. Ai. Saturday, the other PCV in Khorixas cooked dinner for the SCORE volunteer and me. And, today… Today, I don’t think I’ve done a single thing. Thank Goodness!
January 15, 2008
I’m gliding. Really, that’s just the only way to get through the chaos of Namibian meetings… Just glide over it all with a little caffeine, a lot of patience and a good phone equipped with internet and wikipedia. Yesterday was the cluster wide meeting. We went over a lot of technical things like exams, pass/no pass requirement (to pass you need 3Ds and 2Cs. I kid you not), sports and transportation. Today we registered learners. This means I got a table and chair and sat outside from 8 am to 1pm and waited for anyone who wanted to register for grade 7. Not that this means I got to register them – oh, no. I said, “Wait here” and then went to go get someone else to register them. Make sense? If so, please explain it to me, because I don’t get it.
Life outside of school has been good also. I spend some time cooking. Last night was potato night. Today, we’re trying fat cakes. You use the sun to help the rise. Sounds fun. Also, the reception around town has been interesting. It’s been mostly good, which, I suspect, is a result of the large number of volunteers who have preceded me. I think I have the best of both worlds because there have been many volunteers in the city but there has only been one at my school. This minimizes the comparison boat and I greatly appreciate that.
Well, more later – as always. I’ve got to scoot because sunlight is fading and I still need it for my fat cakes.
Wow. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. This past week was really busy… and, yet, still very African.
Sunday and Monday were our LPIs. LPI stands for Language Proficiency Interview. We had a mid-LPI in the middle of CBT – on which I scored a NL. NL stands for Novice Low, and it is as bad as it sounds. Novice Low is the lowest you can score. It’s just above not knowing any of the language. The next scores are Novice Mid, Novice High, Intermediate Low, Intermediate Mid, Intermediate High and Advanced. For Peace Corps service you need to score an Intermediate Low. However, in Namibia, language is not critical to your assignment (though it is still a touchy topic among natives. There is a lot of pride in a tribe’s language. Also, most Namibians (sans Afrikaners) know at least three languages – Mother Tongue (Khoekhoe, Otjiherero, Oshiwambo, Thimbukishu, etc.), Afrikaans and English (for school). So knowing only one of the three, four, six, ten… that others know, you feel a little out of the loop. Not to mention a little stupid). In Namibia, if a trainee doesn’t score an IL they can retake the LPI at reconnect (a meeting three to four months down the road)(Actually, they just changed the policy and you have to retake the LPI at reconnect, mid–service meeting and at close of service no matter what you score the first time. I think they are trying to see if the language training is paying off in the long run). This is generally good news for people learning Khoekhoe. Most of us scored a NH. There were a few IL and one IH... but we just pretend she’s a genius. In our whole group only one person received an advanced score. She is learning Afrikaans. I’m a little bitter about this seeing how you can generally just talk funny and sound like you’re speaking Afrikaans. Example: “Wat es jou naam?” “ My naam is Jessica.” “Ek kom van Amerika af.” Should I translate, or have you figured it out? I don’t mean to discredit the people learning Afrikaans. It’s still a challenge. It’s just tough that we’re compared. Also, in Namibia, scores are not private. Grade 10 and grade 12 national exam scores are printed in the newspapers. Everyone knows if you’ve failed or passed. So, they stuck with this tradition and printed all of our LPI scored on one paper and passed it out to everyone. Cultural integration at its best!
I had my LPI on Sunday. In memory of GFU, I got up early sat down at the dinning room tables in my PJs and studied until my test. About mid-morning I found a sympathetic local who was willing to practice with me. Also, I was expecting the same break-neck paced mumbling I got during my mid-LPI so I memorized a few key phrases, such as: “speak slower” “Wait, I know” “I know but I forgot” “I don’t understand” “wait, I do understand” and “speak louder”. My interview was after lunch. I was so shocked when I got in there that it was actually fun to muddle through a conversation! Some things I had to literally translate into KK, which was no fun and terrible grammar, but other times I felt like I had a good grasp on the conversation. At one point in time I even used past, present and future in the same thought. I believe I said, “I like science. I wanted to be a doctor but I am going to teach science.” There were other times though, that I lied because I didn’t have enough grammar to tell the truth. I told her that my dad was a doctor, my mother was a banker and my brother was currently studying computers. Not far from the truth… it was the best I could do in KK.
It was nice to get the LPI out of the way so I could regroup on Monday. Since we got to Namibia, we’ve literally been ferried, taxied, bused and sent ten different places. It gets little tiring and disorganized. I have been living out of a suitcase since I packed it in October. Granted, it looks like my suitcases and their contents were put in a huge dryer, tumbled and dumped back into my retreat center room. Luckily, my seven roommates seem to be having the same trouble. I believe we won the messiest room award… if it actually existed. Anyway, Monday was spent packing and running around Okahandja looking for replacement clothes and toiletries.
I also got a chance to visit the craft market at the end of town. The craft market is a mini settlement of tents and tables filled with all things African looking. It was a lot of fun to visit because I wasn’t looking for anything. However, some of my friends who were haggling for real got a little frustrated. I was just haggling to see if I could get a good deal. In the end, I guess I got dooped though because I bought a bracelet I got a good price on. One particular conversation was pretty memorable. One of the merchants came up to my friend and said, “come to my tent, I have something to show you.” Well, I don’t know if I need to tell you, but we get a little protective of each other, and my ears pricked up when I heard him talking to her. A third friend came over also and said, “So you think you know what American women want?” The man said, “why yes, I think I do.” So we decided to see what was up. First, we were offered candlesticks. Um, no. Then, we were offered beaded dolls. Not quite. Then, getting desperate, we were offered a traditional mug (used to scoop the beverage out of it’s fermenting spot in the ground). Eww, no. And, one last final pitch – “How about a traditional bow and arrow?” Oh, and a line-up full of losers. But I was laughing so hard by the time I left the tent it was worth the spiel.
On our walk back from the craft market, a PC vehicle drove by. We literally jumped on it and asked for a ride. This was just a sign to me that we’ve changed in the past two months. At the beginning, it was good to walk. Good exercise. Also, why would I ride in an iffy combi with a grumpy driver when I could just walk for a few extra minutes? Well, since then, I’ve realized that PC has got some of the best rides in the country… not to mention seatbelts. That, coupled with the fact that days average 110F, makes you jump on PC vehicles (literally) when you see them in action.
Tuesday, we were bused to Windhoek to spend our settling-in allowance (money that should be used to buy household items to use during service)… but (welcome to the Peace Corps) that money wasn’t put in our accounts. The day was spent doing one of two things. One, people spent savings from their American accounts to buy toasters, tea kettles, blankets, sheets, pots, pans, pillows and fans. Or, option number two, spend N$350 dollars (somewhere around $60 American) from of our walk-around allowance and then wait for the buses to pick us up at the mall. I opted for the second and spent my $60 on a fan, speakers, a pillow, the tiniest plate I’ve ever seen and a spoon. These were all chosen in the midst of mid-isle breakdowns induced by 1) being overwhelmed by the sheer size of a superstore in the middle of Africa and 2) being completely exhausted. This ended up working out in my favor, though, when I got to site.
Wednesday was our swearing in ceremony. We got all gussied up for the event. It was nice to wear clothes that hadn’t been exposed to dust, sun and sweat and still smelled vaguely of my parent’s washing machine. The program was supposed to start at 10am (African time). The audience was made up of some of our supervisors, some host families, the local news and our trainers. First, there were some speakers. Then, we said our pledge of service where we promised to serve the people of Namibia to the best of our ability for the next two years. Then we said the same pledge of service in Afrikaans, KKG, Oshiwambo, Otjiherero, Rukwangali, Silozi and Thimbukushu – whichever we had been learning over the past couple of months. True to my form, I was laughing by the time we reached the end of the pledge. It wasn’t how we sounded that got me laughing; it was the response to our pledge that I was giggling at. The end of each sentence was followed by the audience gasping, ooos, awes and clapping. You would’ve thought we were juggling fire while standing on a bed of nails. It was cute. I think they were proud. Yay! We made it to PCV! There were 69 PCVs sworn in. We started with 70 PCTs. That’s got to be one for the record books, I think. I’ve got a lot of NAM 27 pride.
After our pledge a volunteer from each language group gave a thank you speech in the language they had been working on. These were equally as impressive to the audience. For KK, my good friend Nick gave the speech (with permission to use his name online!). He did a good job… as far as I could tell… Hey, I don’t speak the language. It’s hard to tell if you speak KK well because locals tend to laugh. Sometimes they laugh because you just said a lot of gibberish and sometimes they laugh because they’re overwhelmed with joy that an American would care to learn their language. I’m sure it was the second but our pledge and speech were reciprocated with snickers.
I was forewarned about what would happen next, but that didn’t make it any easier. People were literally whisked away by their supervisors and transports to site. Some of them didn’t even change out of their dress clothes before they were driven away. I didn’t think it would be hard. After all, I came here to work with Namibians not to make friends with Americans… or so I thought. In the past months, I’ve made some good friends. There were only two who knew each other when we arrived in DC, and they’re married. In DC, they gave us all pink yarn for our bags, told us to look out for each other and put us on a plane for Africa. Ten weeks later, that’s what we’ve done. I don’t think I’ve had a single problem that at least three people didn’t try to help me solve. Obviously, there are politics and, obviously, we’re not all best buds for life… but they’re my Namibian support system. Luckily, they’re all still in country and saving the world at their respective sites. And, as a bonus, we all get back together at reconnect with awesome/absurd stories to share!
Again, true to my form, I was one of the last to leave. I got to stay another night at the retreat center and then left for site on Thursday morning. All of the volunteer teachers in the Kunene regions rode together. Everything went really smoothly until we had driven an hour or so north. We stopped in Otjiwarongo, one of the last big towns, for shopping at Super Spar (I love that place!). When we were about to leave our driver noticed that something had gone wrong with the tire. This was no big deal, since we weren’t actually moving when he discovered that something was wrong. But it did lend itself to us sitting in a broken down car with all of our groceries waiting a couple of hours for the Ministry of Education vehicle secretary to get back from lunch and give us the keys to another (older) combi. By the time we got a new car and drove the next hour and a half (two hours or more by slow old combi) to Khorixas, it was 5pm. It had taken seven and a half hours to drive what would normally take four hours. This is when I realized I actually love and hate life in Namibia, at the same time. On one side, I got to hang out with all the Kunene volunteers for a few extra hours and the roadblock guard said he wouldn’t let anyone into Khorixas who looked like they would give me trouble (How many of you have your own personal Namibian road block, huh?). But, on the other hand, it took all day to get a simple trip done. The five other PCVs who were supposed to make it to site couldn’t keep traveling because it is not safe to drive at night – elephants, warthogs, kudu, dikdiks… you name it, it’ll prance in front of your car. So, they all stayed over in K town. The sleepover was fun.
Before I got to Khorixas, my supervisor called to let me know my flat wasn’t ready. My flat is attached to school hostel in the location. However, the ministry of education has a house in town that education volunteers live in. When I got to town, they gave me a set of keys to this house. The house has a living room with three extra mattresses, two unoccupied bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, toilet room, bathroom and washroom. I’ll be staying in this house for… well that seems to be the question of the day. Some say I’ll be here until Monday, others say a week, others two and some even say a month. The volunteer house is a bit of a luxury because it is fully stocked with furniture, dishes, bedding, hangers, fans… all of the things I should have been buying with my settling in allowance. The downside, according to Namibians, is that I have to walk half an hour to school. Despite all the perks, I look forward to living in my flat because it will be easier to work with the hostel kids (I’m interested in starting a reading club, girls club and, if its not too nerdy, some sort of science club). Also, I can unpack into my own space and be my own American self – loud emo music, funny food and isolative ways. I think it also helps me relate more to the kids I’m teaching if I live in the location with them. The kids, the roosters, the drunkards and me…
Khorixas is very different than I remember it. It feels HUGE! I think this is because I’ve just spent so long in Otjimbingwe. The first place we stopped when we got to the city was the ministry building. It is in the center on a big hill. From there, you can see the entire location in one direction and the town in the other. I was shocked by how huge it looked. The site description says “semi-urban” but I was beginning to doubt that in my time away. When I first arrived in Khorixas, during site visit, I had only been to Okahandja. Okahandja, at least the part we’re allowed to stay in, is western and paved. Khorixas was dusty and small in comparison. After visiting Khorixas the first time, during shadowing, I was put at a farm school and then, Otjimbingwe; both tiny places. Now, anything bigger than 500 people feels like New York. Last I heard there are between 5,000 and 10,000 people here (It’s hard to get a good measure because some don’t really work or have homes… they just drink). All I can say is that 40,000 people in my “small” hometown is going to be quite a shocker two years from now.
I start work tomorrow. I’m a little nervous for the chaos that will consume my life after that. I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, though, I’m just kickin it in my new digs in K town. I live with a British VSO who works in the Ministry of Education office. The past couple of days have been great! I sleep! Ten hours last night! Until 8 in the morning – what?! I cook! Sometimes pancakes, sometimes tortillas, sometimes no-bake cookies… hey, I’m scared to light the gas oven on my own. Friday was free SMS Friday – always a pleasure. I know I’ve SMSed too much when I am typing on a computer, get to the bottom of the page, press down and expect it to take me to the top again. Ai. Saturday, the other PCV in Khorixas cooked dinner for the SCORE volunteer and me. And, today… Today, I don’t think I’ve done a single thing. Thank Goodness!
January 15, 2008
I’m gliding. Really, that’s just the only way to get through the chaos of Namibian meetings… Just glide over it all with a little caffeine, a lot of patience and a good phone equipped with internet and wikipedia. Yesterday was the cluster wide meeting. We went over a lot of technical things like exams, pass/no pass requirement (to pass you need 3Ds and 2Cs. I kid you not), sports and transportation. Today we registered learners. This means I got a table and chair and sat outside from 8 am to 1pm and waited for anyone who wanted to register for grade 7. Not that this means I got to register them – oh, no. I said, “Wait here” and then went to go get someone else to register them. Make sense? If so, please explain it to me, because I don’t get it.
Life outside of school has been good also. I spend some time cooking. Last night was potato night. Today, we’re trying fat cakes. You use the sun to help the rise. Sounds fun. Also, the reception around town has been interesting. It’s been mostly good, which, I suspect, is a result of the large number of volunteers who have preceded me. I think I have the best of both worlds because there have been many volunteers in the city but there has only been one at my school. This minimizes the comparison boat and I greatly appreciate that.
Well, more later – as always. I’ve got to scoot because sunlight is fading and I still need it for my fat cakes.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Round 'em up. Move 'em out.
It's official. I am now a PCV and not just a wimpy PCT. I am going to my permanent site tomorrow (maybe... this is African transportation we're talking about here). I am so excited to unpack my suitcase from... what is it now... eleven weeks ago. This past week has been a blur and I am sure it will not slow down anytime soon. I start school on Monday. Ahhhh! I'm slightly scared, slightly excited and slightly exhausted. Anywho, I just wanted to pop in and let you know that I am still here but things are a little hectic. I'll let you know all the juicy details about our Swearing-In Ceremony today and also about my new site (if/when I get there...). Also, I have a new mailing address for those of you who telepathically know packages and letters make my day/week/month.
Jessica Royer
PO Box 261
Khorixas
Kunene, Namibia
Africa
Jessica Royer
PO Box 261
Khorixas
Kunene, Namibia
Africa
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Bing-a-ling
I'm just walking my beat... Namibia's my beat and I'm walking it :)
My host mom and dad at the appreciation dinner.
Modal school. I'm on the left in the green (to the right of the PCT with the black shirt and head scarf). Bat boy is just in front of me and one to the left (in front of the PCT with the pink shirt)(he looks a lot more scary in this picture than he really is).
Me teaching some learners how to take self portraits.
The nine PCTs in The Bing! Christmas Eve in the grade 7 classroom.
Well. These are some thoughts from the past month... These are some un-proof-read thoughts from the past month. I hope you won't judge me... I can usually spell. Um, usually.
December 7, 2007
Every Friday in December and January is free SMS Friday. SMSes are text messages with MTC (my phone company here). You can message anyone in Namibia for free all day Friday. Well, you can imagine the frenzy this causes. And it is only multiplied by 10 between technology starved Americans. We send SMSes across the classroom, from the front seat of a taxi to the back seat or even play SMS tag…. We send them anywhere! Today, the name of the game was lame pick-up lines Namibian style (Actual Namibian pick up lines usually go something like “Marry me” and “Take me to America” and similar such romantic ideas) (Ours were much more unrealistic… but hilarious) (to us…).
I got an SMS pick-up line from a fellow trainee friend this morning that I thought was funny. I shared it with my friends who all thought it was equally funny. I said something about saving it for my blog… but luckly, my fellow trainees stopped to reason with me. They said I couldn’t send it to the states. They said there was no way it would make any sense in the states even with half an hour of explanation and so on.
But, alas, I will attempt the explanation. You must realize, however, that this will suck all hilarity out of the situation… but here it goes:
- People eat goat here. A lot.
- People eat all parts of the goat.
- Goat heads are the most valuable part.
- Goat heads are put in a pot of boiling water to cook them.
- As goat heads boil, the skin shrinks back and reveals the teeth.
- Since the goat’s teeth show after cooking they call cooked goat heads “smileys” because they look like they’re smiling.
You’ve got to be wondering how this relates to a pick-up line by now… and with the proper background, you are ready for the lame pick-up line SMS:
“If you were a goat I would put your head in a pot and boil you just to see your smile.”
See, funny, right?
Contrary to popular belief and logic, all of this is not to educate you on the shrinking skin dynamics of goats but is really an odd attempt to appreciate you for reading about my adventures in Namibia. I realized that the longer I spend in seemingly absurd situations, the more confusing I sound. Hopefully, by explaining some things… like goat heads… I’ll sound a little less crazy in the long run.
It’s working, right? Sanity is the first thing that came to mind when you read this post, yes?
December 9, 2007
A fuzzy puppy just pounced on my foot. And I’m starting to like (read: tolerate) instant coffee. It’s been a good day.
Last Tuesday, we met our host families. We will be staying with these families for one short month (during modal school). I am staying with a Lutheran Pastor in the small village, Otjimbingwe (we call it The Bing). The house is very very nice and big, by African standards. My room is decorated with dolphins and blue. All blue. Everywhere. It makes me laugh. In the house there is also my host mother, her two daughters, two nieces, two sons, one guard dog (Shakira) and four puppies. Tomorrow, though, all but the oldest son and father will travel to the farm for Christmas. The remaining three of us have been charges with protecting the house from theft over the holiday. A noble cause, I suppose, but it makes for a quiet Christmas.
Most of the kids (teenage girls mostly) were nice to me. They were very cautious of me at first and spent a lot of tome whispering. Today, though, they would wander into my room to ask me for my phone number, my sister’s name (the only one brother thing is a shocker to everyone) or how my school prep was going. I’m not sure if those are friendship questions but I felt better about the whole situation. Then it was time for Christmas. Most of the gifts I brought for the host family were pink. This was problematic seeing how all potential pink-lovers are leaving. I gave the girls some hair-ties (good for school uniforms according to mom), a purse, heart socks, a coin pouch, barrettes, and, of course, Tilikum carabineers. I let them duke it our as to who got what. Today, I also received free access to the kitchen. Sweet! “Be creative,” they said, “you must cook for yourself.” To an over-independent kid like me this was great news. So, off to the kitchen I trot to be creative. Apparently, this meant be creative tomorrow, though… fish is on the stove right now and I wasn’t the one to start it.
This will be the 5th night at homestay and things are going pretty well but they didn’t start out that way. On Tuesday night, I ate the wrong part of the goat, got laughed at and put my self in my room for the night to cry and text my mom (thank God for technology). Wednesday was much better because I could focus on modal school. I got to spend the morning with the 8th grade class. They basically threw me in a classroom and said get their names and ages and dismiss them in two hours… Distracting kids? I’m trained in that. I started out with the line up log… without the log. They had to get themselves in alphabetical order without speaking. I though it would be too easy for them. But it wasn’t. And nobody knew what to do with names that started with clicks. So, we downgraded to a spelling and math bee. The kids were so competitive (the good kind)(it was cute). I was also joined by one of our TRC (teaching Resource Center) Trainees. She drives in every day from Omaruru to work with us. She thinks we’re the best modal school. Mostly because we are… She’s a retired teacher from the Southern US. It’s been a lot of fun to work with her.
After we dismissed the kids, we started planning more for modal school. Basically, “planning” means constructing from scratch. Luckily, I’m working with 8 PCT girls from the states with no experience, lots of opinions and good old-fashioned American work ethics. It turns out I will be teaching grade 7 Natural Science, grade 8 Maths, and grade 10 Physics for the next three weeks. I am very excited about all of my classes (even though vectors are still a little fuzzy in my memory).
After our first day at work our language lesson for the afternoon was cancelled. All of us were still skeptical of the homestay situation so we got cooldrinks (it is one word and encompasses all drinks except alcohol) from the only store in the village – they sold out after the nine of us left. Then we escaped down to the riverbed to hide with the goats.
All that to say, I made it through the week and I am feeling more and more comfortable in my host family’s house (minus occasional cow heads in the kitchen sink). I think shopping with my host mom yesterday for some groceries and making tea and watching the news every night with the family has helped a bit. I also learned that “you must learn Nama [KK]” means “we wish you could hang out and be more relaxed” not “you suck because you can’t figure out our secret code”. I’m sure that sounds obvious to you rational-thinkers at home but it took me a few days to figure out… and. I think the paranoid side-effects of the Mefloquine is kicking in… or maybe that’s just me being paranoid…
I have so many more things to write about – like, my lesson plans, being addicted to cell phone facebook, and stories about quirky trainers with gold teeth who try to help you hang up you moss-quite-o’s (mosquito) net and get lost in your house while carrying a huge garbage can (actually… that’s the whole story…) But, all of these things will have to wait for another day. It’s 9:45 and that means way past my bedtime. Hey. Give me a break. I wake up at 4:30.
!gaise \om re! (sleep well)
\Nam (love), Jessica
December 13, 2007
Yesterday was mail day! The PC drove our mail out to the village; I got a Christmas box from my parents and a card from Bethany… Seriously. It felt like Christmas morning.
November to March is “rainy season” in Namibia. My PCT friend from Seattle and I brought rain jackets because of this. Um. No comment on how stupid we feel about that now. It really just means that the 10 days with 30 minutes of rain will fall somewhere in these five months. I do “miss the rains down in Africa” though because when it actually rains it’s beautiful. However, I also do not like the rain because before it rains it has to get ungodly hot. Yesterday was ungodly hot and in the evening clouds appeared. I was hopeful but there was no rain. This morning I woke up and it was a little cool and some of the clouds had stuck around.
I took advantage of the familiar weather and the fact that I had a tiny stocking hanging in my room. I woke up about an hour before my alarm (I can’t help it). I put my ipod on a Christmas mix and downloaded the Oregonian headlines on my phone. It was great! But then I had to come back down to earth, realize I was still in Africa, and get out of bed to go to school.
I was given creative license in the kitchen a few days ago but this morning was the first morning I actually got to cook for myself… not that this means I cooked for myself. I had cornflakes (I’m my father’s daughter).
Modal school starts at 7:40 in the morning with an assembly. The Americans usually get there about 7:05 but the keys don’t usually wander in until about 7:44. Most school classrooms here open to the outside. The hallways are the sand pits in between the buildings. We sit around in the sand pits comparing notes about learners, lesson plans and host families. At 7:40, the learners stand in lines under the big tree in the yard. They sing and then say the Lord’s Prayer. When they are dismissed they have to go to their classroom and stand in lines outside the door. The 9 American (women) teachers then let the girls in the and then the boys to find their seats. Every class must begin with “Good morning, class” “Good morning, Miss Jessica” “How are you, class?” “We are fine, Miss Jessica. How are you?” “I am fine. Thank you. You may have a seat.” It’s really still creepy to me but I’m not here to change the Namibian greeting policy. Then I take attendance. I know that you all were worried that I wouldn’t be able to take attendance, but, alas, do not worry. We got half an hour and diagrams on how to take attendance. All schools in Namibia take attendance one way. No other way is acceptable. On tally means that the leaner is there. This tally must be in the same color that the name is written in. Learners who are absent must have a lower case “a” written in red. The red is not as important as it being lower case but both are preferable… oh, gosh.
Anyway, 1st period is grade 7 (not 7th grade) Natural Science. We are learning about matter and it’s three phases. Today, we tried to talk about melting/freezing temperatures but it totally bombed. They got that melting and freezing happen at the same temperature. But when I tried to do an example with a thermometer they had never seen one. Then, once I explained a thermometer they didn’t have any experience with negative numbers and temperatures. The whole lesson downgraded to a lecture on number lines and negative numbers but they weren’t getting the connection. I’ll have to figure out what to do with them tomorrow.
Period 2 is grade 8 Maths. I really like this class. They are the worst behaved but I think that makes them more interesting. They talk all the time but it is mostly about math so I don’t really see a problem with it. We are going over the order of operations (BODMAS here, not PEMDAS). I did have a few normal examples then I did a really long equation that took up the whole board. Then I asked them to come up with an equation they thought would stump the class. All of theirs were way harder than mine. We’ll finish those tomorrow. I had to work on one of their long division problems for them because it involved decimals. Other than that, they are pretty up to par (which means they can add, subtract, multiply and divide – yippee!).
Period 3 is grade ten Physical Science. I decided to do Physics with them. I decided this when I found out that they were only adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing in grade 8. Little did I know that “grade 10” meant “anyone in the village who happens to be bored during summer break”. We’ve had grade 12, we’ve had university students and, I swear, some guys wandered over from the shebeen (she-bean) (bar) across the street. I would love to teach them physics but I don’t know if I’m the most qualified. They ask really great questions but some of them are making me stretch all the way back to my General Physics class at college.
Period 4 I’m off. And period 5, I become a lunch lady. We feed the kids everyday. It’s a perk of coming to school in summer. Today some small kids wandered into the schoolyard during fourth period. I was speaking KK with them and they weren’t making any sense. The PC driver who brought our TRC friend from Omaruru let me know that the kids were street kids who weren’t always there mentally… I guess I should have known… one of them had a petrified bat. Anyway, after all the learners finished getting their food, these kids were lined up so they could pretend to be school kids. They filed through and got food. It was cute… petrified bat or no…
The point of modal school, according to the PC, is to evaluate our teaching. This means that we will have evaluations everyday – surprise! They’re here to rate your class! Sort of visits. I don’t minds and have done well on most of my evaluations so far (today, I accidentally said the sun and moon rotate around the earth… er… oops). They only problems that arise are the differences between the American school system and the Namibian. In the Namibian school system, the ministry of education makes the syllabus. The ministry also makes the tests at the end of the year. I understand why they do this. They are trying to get all of the regions up to par. This wouldn’t be a problem id the syllabus (and subsequently, the tests) were good… but they are not. They syllabus requires, let’s say, grade 5 to go over topics 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Then grade 6 should cover 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Then grade 7 gets 2, 2.5, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10.5… and since tests are national, they have to get through the entire syllabus. There’s no time to get through the syllabus! Teachers have just enough time to do an introduction to every topic and them move on. My grade 8 class can do long division but if I threw a side-ball at them like decimal division they couldn’t do it. They have gone over division for five years but have never gotten more then an introduction. If the syllabus went more like: grade 5 is 1, 2, and 3. Grade 6 is 4, 5, 6 and grade 7 is 7, 8, 9, 10… it might make more sense, right? These kids don’t need to know about circuits and mirrors in grade 7. I didn’t learn about them until college… where I actually got to learn them and not just the vocabulary.
A lot of Namibian teachers push to get through the syllabus to stay on schedule without checking to make sure the kids get it. Today, we were told “a good teacher makes it through the syllabus” and “you all must work on time management”. I understand not wasting time but making sure the class gets the idea – important, right? And, by the way, I marked (graded) some national exams a couple of weeks ago in natural science. 20/100 is average, 30/100 is good, and 50/100 is downright impressive. You’re not allowed to mark an exam 0/100 so the lowest one I marked was 2/100.
I felt a little like crying after that conversation. You may think, well, the kids in my class will do better on the exam when I get done with them. But volunteers who have been here see little or no improvement in their learners scores compared to other teachers. The bogus syllabus coupled with students speaking a second (or third) language in school have done most of the damage before we get here…
After a whole afternoon of being immersed in Namibian logic I wanted to scream. And come up with a reason for being here.
I can’t end on a bitter note. And I’m not bitter, just American. So I will tell you about my favorite puppy. There are four – Vital, Shasha, Dangerman and the un-named one. The un-named one is my favorite. He came in the house today to watch me eat. At first he sat there wagging his tail. Then he stopped and one eye started to droop. Then he started to lean. Then he fell down asleep… which woke him up and his tail started wagging again. This whole thing happened about 4 times before I finished eating. It was so cute and I was laughing so hard my host family probably though I was crazy. Ai (my new favorite Namibian expression of exasperation).
A Few quotes from The Bing – you don’t have to understand them but they make me giggle.
“Alright. The kid's riding a donkey to the bar. We’re in Africa.” – general observation
“Well, TIN, I guess” –Me (This Is Namibia… watch Blood Diamond…)
“No, TIML.” –PCT friend (This Is My Life)
“I’m going to chillin’” – our trainer
“No… it’s ‘I’m going to chill’ or ‘I am chillin’’” – PCT
“Oh, I am chill…” – Trainer
“’Just for kicks’ means ‘just for fun’” – me
“Oh, just for kicks.” – Namibian, proceeds to make kicking motion while mumbling phrase to himself
“In America, are you having goats?” – Namibian
“Yes, for milk and cheese.” – PCT
“Do you think they would ship the meat when they are finished?” – Namibian
“I think that he can’t read. Maybe he should be in grade 8 instead.” – PCT with a problem
“Will he then be able to read in grade 8? No. He will stay in grade 9.” – Namibian solution
“I think my grade ten learner winked at me today” – PCT
“I just got a shot in a gas station parking lot. All my dreams have been fulfilled.” –PCT
“Hey-O.” – Me
“Oh, what does that mean?” – Namibian
“It means ‘hey’ or ‘hi’” – me
“Oh. In what language?” – Namibian
“English. It’s a song.” – me
“Hey-o… this is what I say-o” – another PCT helping me out
“Oh, I see, Hey-o” – Namibian, clearly not getting it
“We are closer to the city center now.” – Trainer
“There are 500 people here. There is no city.” – me
“Miss, where will you live while you are here?” – Grade 10 learner
“Khorixas in Kunene” – me
“Oh. You know what they have there?” – Grade 10 gets up and writes “KFD” on the board
“I do not know KFD.” – me
“Miss, it’s Kentucky Fried Donkey.” – learner
“Where are you from?” – man on street
“America” – me
“I want to marry someone with white skin like you.” – man
“You’d probably be better with a Norwegian. They’re whiter.” – Me
“No. They must be American.” – man
“Oh. Well. Good luck with that.” – me
*PCT friend walks up
“How about you instead.” – man
“Um, what…?” – PCT friend
*In a car
“Hey, Steve…?” – me to my language trainer
“Oh. Hallo my sister.” – Steve
*10 minutes pass in car
“Hey, Steve…?” – me asking another question
“Oh. Hallo my sister.” – Steve
*5 minutes pass in car
“Hey, Steve…?” – yet another question about language
“Oh. Hallo my sister.”
* laughing * - me
“Have I shocked you with my overly friendly nature?” – Steve
“That. And you’ve answered every question with Hallo” – me
“Is your brother bigger than me?” – grade 8 four and half foot tall learner
“Yes. He’s 24.” –me, laughing
“Oh. Miss, I am 25.”
“And your [PCT] friend, how old is she?” –Host dad
“24” –me
“Oh! Older than you? But she is shorter than you.” –host dad
“Um… yup…” –me
*Arib means dog in KK
“I have two aribs. How do you say two dogs, Steve?” –me
“Ariba means ‘up! Get up!’” –Steve
“In Khoekhoe, Steve, not Spanish.” –me
“Oh. Aribkha is two dogs.” –Steve
“I think it’s best to think of Christmas in Namibia like bottled ice tea. It tastes fine if you pretend it’s something else.” –PCT
“Hi Jessica. I am running out of vocabs. Kindly download some onto my human CD.” – Language trainer asking for impressive English phrases
“My host brother is a whiz with the saw. William-Sonoma should jump on the gourmet saw bandwagon, no?” –PCT
December 23, 2007
Right now is the most normal I’ve felt in weeks. It was the first Sunday of CBT that the Peace Corps didn’t plan anything for our group in the morning. I’m staying with a Lutheran Pastor and I was sure this meant I was headed for church. Normally, I love church. But… It is the middle of the summer, they put about three more people in each pew than actually fit, their services are three to four hours long and its all in Khoekhoe… And as tempting as all that sounded I really didn’t want to go. But I got up this morning, put on one of my two skirts I have with me and my bright green flip flops that don’t match anything and sat on the couch waiting for the other shoe to fall. The Pastors wife and his three daughters returned home yesterday unexpectedly (they did not say they were coming back until the 28th) but they were all going to church. It was about 20 minutes after the service was scheduled to start when the wife came in to tell me they were going to church and that I probably shouldn’t go. I don’t know what that meant but I didn’t argue. But I did make chocolate chip cookies. And Macaroni and Cheese… from scratch. I’ve figured out the white sauce… I’m awesome. Alfredo? Cheesy sauce? Garlic Sauce? I’ve got it down. I made cookies for the whole family but I didn’t make enough mac and cheese. I felt bad so I saved some for them to taste but I think it didn’t have enough meat for them… or any meat… so its still sitting in the fridge. When the family came home from church, they brought some members of the congregation with them. There are a lot of people in this village who just don’t have anything… nothing… There’s this one kid – I think I wrote about him earlier. He was the one with the petrified bat after school. Since then, this earned him the name “bat boy”. I even sing him his theme song any time he shows up for food in the afternoon. It’s the batman theme song, except at the end I say bat boy. I don’t think he’s caught on that it’s his song mostly because he doesn’t speak any English and the locals keep telling me he’s crazy. I think they’re wrong though. This kid’s got it together. I see him around town and he’s always got food in his hands. He knows how to work the system. Anyway, he walked in with my host family after church. So, what was I to do? I sang him his song and gave him a cookie. There were some other kids that came too. My host family gives them a tiny chore to do – like mop the front porch or coil up the hose – and then they get food. Since I’ve been in this village I’ve seen the decency of people more than I ever have: 28 year old drunkards with no future split their candy bars with street kids, the peace corps driver passes his newspaper on to the old man who always sits on the street corner, all of the grade tens (They weeded out all those who were older than grade 12. So now it’s just the nice mannered ones left. It’s turned into my favorite class.) walk me home because its sunset and similar such things. It makes me think that people are mostly good (I had never really decided before). Anyway, these kids all got a piece of the goat that was killed in the yard last night. The spinal column was on the menu today. I think this is a great system. It lets them get food but they’re not getting it for free. They come knowing they’re going to have to work for their food. It’s good because it gives them some dignity.
It’s really hot today (real hot. Not the average hot that it is every other day). But I braved the heat and came to school to work on my lessons for this week. But I brought my computer too. When I got here. I turned on some tunes. It’s been so long since I’ve heard American music out loud (not headphones). I missed it. Bad Mamma Jamma? Yes please. A little American Idiot? Alright. Some A Boy Named Sue? I could handle that. The combo of cookies, mac and cheese, some time to myself and my music at my volume (everything is always three times louder than necessary) made me feel human.
I’ve got exactly one week of CBT left. I think I can make it. I’ve finally decided on the reason I go through some of the hard things I do… when the lows are low, the highs are even better. For example, there’s a reason 3AM is the best time during finals week in college. It’s because you and your friends have gone crazy. That’s when the memories are made. During CBT, memories are made when all 9 Americans are fed up with their host families. They cram into their trainer’s tiny tiny living room, cut up one apple and candy bar with a Swiss Army knife and sit on the floor so no one can see white faces through the window. I laughed so hard I was crying. When the lows are low, the highs are high.
CBT isn’t that bad though. It’s just hard. Everything is permanently awkward. You’re always wrong… wrong way to wash clothes, cook, brush your teeth, go to bed, wake up, etc. Your host family knows exactly what you are doing at all times of the day. And American humor doesn’t fly most of the time in Namibia. The lows are low. The highs though, are bat boy, puppies, when your host dad finally chuckles at one of your jokes, trying to figure out your host family’s printer with your host brother and making him laugh at a spooler (if you know what a printer spooler is, let me know, because I hate them :] … ), having them name Chocolate chip cookies “Jessica’s specialty”, and getting invited to your learners’ soccer game. When the lows are low, the highs are high. That’s all I’m saying.
December 27, 2007
Here I am. Three more nights in this house. They just gave me ice cream and fruit. I should love them forever, no? Secretly, I am super duper looking forward to getting on with this process. On Sunday we go back to Okahandja to meet up with the rest of Nam 27. Then, on the 9th we have the swearing in ceremony and move to our permanent sites. It will be so nice to get to Khorixas because I won’t be living out of a suitcase anymore. I can cook for myself and clean for myself and shower when I want. But it will be kind of sad too because I’ll be away from some new friends (American and Namibian) and traveling to them is hard in this country.
CBT (Community Based Training) had a lot of ups and downs – I’ve covered those already. But things have been so nice since the whole family got back. They talk a lot about me, in front of me, in KK. But other than that things have been kind of relaxing… and surprisingly not awkward. We looked up horoscopes the other day. I translated phrases like “put your money where you mouth is” and “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. We watched “Once Upon a Time in Mexico” on Christmas and spent a few hours going through my ipod. I still can’t fix the darn printer though. More people in the house means less attention on me – which I greatly appreciate. I’m just sad it couldn’t be this comfortable the whole time.
Christmas was really nice. I unwrapped some presents from home that came in the mail. Then, I made some cookies (bat boy showed up again. I swear he’s got a radar for food). I visited some friends and learners around the village then hung out at the house. It was actually a cold night too. So nice.
Wednesday and Thursday I gave finals for summer school. And tomorrow we’re handing out certificates. Tonight is the first night in awhile that I haven’t had anything to plan… I’m kind of lost and confused. I don’t remember free time. The Peace Corps has owned all of my time lately.
January 1, 2007
Ai. I don’t know if I can explain this past weekend without sounding completely crazy. Though, you have made it this far in my CBT ramblings. And I like you. I will try.
Friday morning was our last day of modal school. Some of the learners’ parents came to watch the certificates. Each of the grades (5-10) performed a song. Then we gave them their certificates. It was cute… and chaos… We took a whole school picture. I am sure I will post that at some point in time…. Someday when I have a lot of patience for Internet.
After the ceremony the other teachers and I were cleaning up the school. We had locked up all the classrooms and were about to go relieve the local store of all their cooldrinks. As some of the teachers were gathering things, I was standing waiting with another PCT in the schoolyard. Bat Boy was there. This was not a surprise. He came to almost every day of school and would sit in the yard waiting for food. I also found out from my host family that he is about 11, though he looks 7. This day he was cutting up a roll of tape. My PCT friend told him to stop because it was a perfectly good roll. This didn’t really fly because, well, he’s crazy and because he doesn’t speak English. I said that he had a knife (read: some sort of sharp object) and to not mess with him. My PCT friend thought this was sound advice and started walking away. In slow motion, I saw Bat Boy wind up to make a huge stabbing lunge at my PCT friend. Ai. I started screaming No. He stopped before he hit her. He thought the whole thing was hilarious. I was so angry. All the other teachers heard the screaming and came to see what was the matter. This only provided an audience for Bat Boy and he tried it again. This time he chose a poor target, though. One of our PCTs is from Chicago and she swore she would “beat him down” if he “weren’t a 6 year old”. We left the schoolyard quickly and a few of the grade ten boys were standing there. We asked them to ask Bat Boy to leave (this is where learning the local language would have come in handy). They went into the schoolyard, picked up Bat Boy, took his knife, carried him out of the schoolyard and told him to go. The whole situation is so absurd. It’s still a little surreal… and it kind of makes me laugh. We’re all fine. Don’t worry. I know to be more cautious of the one’s they tell me are not right in the head.
Friday night was birthday party for one of the PCTs. We made brownies and then walked up to the hill in town with the water tower. The view was gorgeous. Those pictures, I’m sure will make it to the Internet someday too. On the way home, the janitor at the school stopped me and asked me where I was coming from. He asked in KK… so I asked for a translation of the question. Then, I promised that I would have an answer in KK for him the next day (this usually works on ridiculous requests for anything. By tomorrow, they have usually moved onto another problem to solve). Anyway, I walked rest of the way home. When I walked in my host mother asked me in KK where I was coming from. I said the water tower and smiled at them all. Usually, they have to repeat a sentence in KK about 10 times and gesture a motion that indicates the word in order for me to understand. They were all so impressed that I didn’t want to give away my secret. Yet another absurd situation that made me laugh. I hope it made them more cautious about what they say in front of me… they never know what I’ll catch from their conversation… like my name. I always catch my name. Go figure.
Saturday morning we met at the secondary school’s home economics kitchen at 8:30 to cook for our host family appreciation dinner that night. We spent the day making American cookies (my job), baked beans (warmed in the can in the sun. Namibian sun is good for that), rice, chicken, sausage, American salad (the “American” just implies that mayonnaise was not involved) and punch. I think we did a really good job.
We started our party about 4:30pm. Each of the language groups got up and gave a speech in the language they are trying to learn. In the Bing, there were only two language groups. Mine was the KK group. There are three other girls that meet in my language class. The other 5 trainees in the Bing were learning Oshiherero. In our speech, we each said a line or two in KK. We had to apologize at the beginning for any mispronunciations. It is far too easy to swear in KK. If you forget to make a nasal sound instead of an alto sound… or if your tick sounds a little too much like a pop… you could suddenly offend someone’s mother. Then, when we finished our speech, we had our language trainer translate from KK to KK. The host families all laughed at this. Which was really good because it was a joke and they actually got my humor. Yippee.
After all our thank you speeches and we had passed out the obligatory certificates to the families, we served our dinner. Wow. That food got tackled. They like food here in Namibia. They like it a lot. And they like meat more. All that to say, our dinner went over well. It was actually a really fun party. And I think our host family felt appreciated.
Sunday morning a 40 passenger bus came to pick up the 9 of us. I don’t get it. But I did like the air conditioning, the free ride and four seats to myself. Saying goodbye to the host family was just like I was leaving for school in the morning. I will see my host mother and father at swearing in though. This is good because I left some pictures at their house and they will bring them to me at swearing in.
When we got back to Okahandja on Sunday we got to just hang out at our training center. This was so nice. I bought some cheese from Spar (my favorite Namibian grocery store. Only second to Super Spar). My PCT friend from Seattle got a package in the mail and didn’t want her Triscuits. I ate cheese and Triscuits and absolutely no meat for lunch. It was great.
Monday (New Year’s eve) we had a regular day of getting lectures from the Peace Corps on various topics. After it got closer to midnight, we had a little New Year’s Eve party in a dried riverbed nearby. An uneventful New Year’s Eve but it was good. At midnight, we had a hug circle and everyone got a hug from everyone else. Yet another absurd situation… I’m getting used to them, I think.
This morning, some of our group got up early and made an American breakfast for us and for our trainers (for a thank you to the trainers). They made pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, baked apple toppings and real coffee. It was so good. The trainers who were with us in the Bing kept joking that the eggs needed more mayo but I think they really liked the meal. I said next time we can make it an integrated American meal and put mayo and chopped up meat in the eggs then top it all with a little sprinkle of MSG (it comes in its pure form in a “spice” bottle here. Yum). The rest of today has been really chill. It’s been nice to recover from CBT. There was a poker tournament. I didn’t take part but I did laugh at the usage of “Deuce” “River” “Flop” and “Rainbow” (All worthy of a laugh, no? If you don’t think so maybe the movie “Lucky You” is for you). Then, we had a gift exchange. We drew names before CBT for secret pals. Today, we revealed who had and gave gifts. I got a bag of cookies and a candy bar from my secret pal. A trainer had me. I got my person lotion and some pens. It was fun. Also, we set up the Peace Corps’ projector to watch movies. Love Actually is playing right now. I can hear “All I want for Christmas is You” coming from the lawn. I just couldn’t sit in a big group anymore.
Well, I hope I don’t sound too crazy. It’s just one ridiculous situation after another. One minute you’re cutting up 400 Namibian Dollars worth of sausage for you host family and then you’re trying to explain to the trainers that not all Americans form hug circles on New Year’s eve and then you’re fending off a crazy child with a petrified bat and a knife… oh, gosh. Just know that I’m safe, clean, happy (when hysteria hasn’t taken over), well fed, too well fed, and did I mention well fed… More later, I’m sure. Love, J
My host mom and dad at the appreciation dinner.
Modal school. I'm on the left in the green (to the right of the PCT with the black shirt and head scarf). Bat boy is just in front of me and one to the left (in front of the PCT with the pink shirt)(he looks a lot more scary in this picture than he really is).
Me teaching some learners how to take self portraits. The nine PCTs in The Bing! Christmas Eve in the grade 7 classroom. Well. These are some thoughts from the past month... These are some un-proof-read thoughts from the past month. I hope you won't judge me... I can usually spell. Um, usually.
December 7, 2007
Every Friday in December and January is free SMS Friday. SMSes are text messages with MTC (my phone company here). You can message anyone in Namibia for free all day Friday. Well, you can imagine the frenzy this causes. And it is only multiplied by 10 between technology starved Americans. We send SMSes across the classroom, from the front seat of a taxi to the back seat or even play SMS tag…. We send them anywhere! Today, the name of the game was lame pick-up lines Namibian style (Actual Namibian pick up lines usually go something like “Marry me” and “Take me to America” and similar such romantic ideas) (Ours were much more unrealistic… but hilarious) (to us…).
I got an SMS pick-up line from a fellow trainee friend this morning that I thought was funny. I shared it with my friends who all thought it was equally funny. I said something about saving it for my blog… but luckly, my fellow trainees stopped to reason with me. They said I couldn’t send it to the states. They said there was no way it would make any sense in the states even with half an hour of explanation and so on.
But, alas, I will attempt the explanation. You must realize, however, that this will suck all hilarity out of the situation… but here it goes:
- People eat goat here. A lot.
- People eat all parts of the goat.
- Goat heads are the most valuable part.
- Goat heads are put in a pot of boiling water to cook them.
- As goat heads boil, the skin shrinks back and reveals the teeth.
- Since the goat’s teeth show after cooking they call cooked goat heads “smileys” because they look like they’re smiling.
You’ve got to be wondering how this relates to a pick-up line by now… and with the proper background, you are ready for the lame pick-up line SMS:
“If you were a goat I would put your head in a pot and boil you just to see your smile.”
See, funny, right?
Contrary to popular belief and logic, all of this is not to educate you on the shrinking skin dynamics of goats but is really an odd attempt to appreciate you for reading about my adventures in Namibia. I realized that the longer I spend in seemingly absurd situations, the more confusing I sound. Hopefully, by explaining some things… like goat heads… I’ll sound a little less crazy in the long run.
It’s working, right? Sanity is the first thing that came to mind when you read this post, yes?
December 9, 2007
A fuzzy puppy just pounced on my foot. And I’m starting to like (read: tolerate) instant coffee. It’s been a good day.
Last Tuesday, we met our host families. We will be staying with these families for one short month (during modal school). I am staying with a Lutheran Pastor in the small village, Otjimbingwe (we call it The Bing). The house is very very nice and big, by African standards. My room is decorated with dolphins and blue. All blue. Everywhere. It makes me laugh. In the house there is also my host mother, her two daughters, two nieces, two sons, one guard dog (Shakira) and four puppies. Tomorrow, though, all but the oldest son and father will travel to the farm for Christmas. The remaining three of us have been charges with protecting the house from theft over the holiday. A noble cause, I suppose, but it makes for a quiet Christmas.
Most of the kids (teenage girls mostly) were nice to me. They were very cautious of me at first and spent a lot of tome whispering. Today, though, they would wander into my room to ask me for my phone number, my sister’s name (the only one brother thing is a shocker to everyone) or how my school prep was going. I’m not sure if those are friendship questions but I felt better about the whole situation. Then it was time for Christmas. Most of the gifts I brought for the host family were pink. This was problematic seeing how all potential pink-lovers are leaving. I gave the girls some hair-ties (good for school uniforms according to mom), a purse, heart socks, a coin pouch, barrettes, and, of course, Tilikum carabineers. I let them duke it our as to who got what. Today, I also received free access to the kitchen. Sweet! “Be creative,” they said, “you must cook for yourself.” To an over-independent kid like me this was great news. So, off to the kitchen I trot to be creative. Apparently, this meant be creative tomorrow, though… fish is on the stove right now and I wasn’t the one to start it.
This will be the 5th night at homestay and things are going pretty well but they didn’t start out that way. On Tuesday night, I ate the wrong part of the goat, got laughed at and put my self in my room for the night to cry and text my mom (thank God for technology). Wednesday was much better because I could focus on modal school. I got to spend the morning with the 8th grade class. They basically threw me in a classroom and said get their names and ages and dismiss them in two hours… Distracting kids? I’m trained in that. I started out with the line up log… without the log. They had to get themselves in alphabetical order without speaking. I though it would be too easy for them. But it wasn’t. And nobody knew what to do with names that started with clicks. So, we downgraded to a spelling and math bee. The kids were so competitive (the good kind)(it was cute). I was also joined by one of our TRC (teaching Resource Center) Trainees. She drives in every day from Omaruru to work with us. She thinks we’re the best modal school. Mostly because we are… She’s a retired teacher from the Southern US. It’s been a lot of fun to work with her.
After we dismissed the kids, we started planning more for modal school. Basically, “planning” means constructing from scratch. Luckily, I’m working with 8 PCT girls from the states with no experience, lots of opinions and good old-fashioned American work ethics. It turns out I will be teaching grade 7 Natural Science, grade 8 Maths, and grade 10 Physics for the next three weeks. I am very excited about all of my classes (even though vectors are still a little fuzzy in my memory).
After our first day at work our language lesson for the afternoon was cancelled. All of us were still skeptical of the homestay situation so we got cooldrinks (it is one word and encompasses all drinks except alcohol) from the only store in the village – they sold out after the nine of us left. Then we escaped down to the riverbed to hide with the goats.
All that to say, I made it through the week and I am feeling more and more comfortable in my host family’s house (minus occasional cow heads in the kitchen sink). I think shopping with my host mom yesterday for some groceries and making tea and watching the news every night with the family has helped a bit. I also learned that “you must learn Nama [KK]” means “we wish you could hang out and be more relaxed” not “you suck because you can’t figure out our secret code”. I’m sure that sounds obvious to you rational-thinkers at home but it took me a few days to figure out… and. I think the paranoid side-effects of the Mefloquine is kicking in… or maybe that’s just me being paranoid…
I have so many more things to write about – like, my lesson plans, being addicted to cell phone facebook, and stories about quirky trainers with gold teeth who try to help you hang up you moss-quite-o’s (mosquito) net and get lost in your house while carrying a huge garbage can (actually… that’s the whole story…) But, all of these things will have to wait for another day. It’s 9:45 and that means way past my bedtime. Hey. Give me a break. I wake up at 4:30.
!gaise \om re! (sleep well)
\Nam (love), Jessica
December 13, 2007
Yesterday was mail day! The PC drove our mail out to the village; I got a Christmas box from my parents and a card from Bethany… Seriously. It felt like Christmas morning.
November to March is “rainy season” in Namibia. My PCT friend from Seattle and I brought rain jackets because of this. Um. No comment on how stupid we feel about that now. It really just means that the 10 days with 30 minutes of rain will fall somewhere in these five months. I do “miss the rains down in Africa” though because when it actually rains it’s beautiful. However, I also do not like the rain because before it rains it has to get ungodly hot. Yesterday was ungodly hot and in the evening clouds appeared. I was hopeful but there was no rain. This morning I woke up and it was a little cool and some of the clouds had stuck around.
I took advantage of the familiar weather and the fact that I had a tiny stocking hanging in my room. I woke up about an hour before my alarm (I can’t help it). I put my ipod on a Christmas mix and downloaded the Oregonian headlines on my phone. It was great! But then I had to come back down to earth, realize I was still in Africa, and get out of bed to go to school.
I was given creative license in the kitchen a few days ago but this morning was the first morning I actually got to cook for myself… not that this means I cooked for myself. I had cornflakes (I’m my father’s daughter).
Modal school starts at 7:40 in the morning with an assembly. The Americans usually get there about 7:05 but the keys don’t usually wander in until about 7:44. Most school classrooms here open to the outside. The hallways are the sand pits in between the buildings. We sit around in the sand pits comparing notes about learners, lesson plans and host families. At 7:40, the learners stand in lines under the big tree in the yard. They sing and then say the Lord’s Prayer. When they are dismissed they have to go to their classroom and stand in lines outside the door. The 9 American (women) teachers then let the girls in the and then the boys to find their seats. Every class must begin with “Good morning, class” “Good morning, Miss Jessica” “How are you, class?” “We are fine, Miss Jessica. How are you?” “I am fine. Thank you. You may have a seat.” It’s really still creepy to me but I’m not here to change the Namibian greeting policy. Then I take attendance. I know that you all were worried that I wouldn’t be able to take attendance, but, alas, do not worry. We got half an hour and diagrams on how to take attendance. All schools in Namibia take attendance one way. No other way is acceptable. On tally means that the leaner is there. This tally must be in the same color that the name is written in. Learners who are absent must have a lower case “a” written in red. The red is not as important as it being lower case but both are preferable… oh, gosh.
Anyway, 1st period is grade 7 (not 7th grade) Natural Science. We are learning about matter and it’s three phases. Today, we tried to talk about melting/freezing temperatures but it totally bombed. They got that melting and freezing happen at the same temperature. But when I tried to do an example with a thermometer they had never seen one. Then, once I explained a thermometer they didn’t have any experience with negative numbers and temperatures. The whole lesson downgraded to a lecture on number lines and negative numbers but they weren’t getting the connection. I’ll have to figure out what to do with them tomorrow.
Period 2 is grade 8 Maths. I really like this class. They are the worst behaved but I think that makes them more interesting. They talk all the time but it is mostly about math so I don’t really see a problem with it. We are going over the order of operations (BODMAS here, not PEMDAS). I did have a few normal examples then I did a really long equation that took up the whole board. Then I asked them to come up with an equation they thought would stump the class. All of theirs were way harder than mine. We’ll finish those tomorrow. I had to work on one of their long division problems for them because it involved decimals. Other than that, they are pretty up to par (which means they can add, subtract, multiply and divide – yippee!).
Period 3 is grade ten Physical Science. I decided to do Physics with them. I decided this when I found out that they were only adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing in grade 8. Little did I know that “grade 10” meant “anyone in the village who happens to be bored during summer break”. We’ve had grade 12, we’ve had university students and, I swear, some guys wandered over from the shebeen (she-bean) (bar) across the street. I would love to teach them physics but I don’t know if I’m the most qualified. They ask really great questions but some of them are making me stretch all the way back to my General Physics class at college.
Period 4 I’m off. And period 5, I become a lunch lady. We feed the kids everyday. It’s a perk of coming to school in summer. Today some small kids wandered into the schoolyard during fourth period. I was speaking KK with them and they weren’t making any sense. The PC driver who brought our TRC friend from Omaruru let me know that the kids were street kids who weren’t always there mentally… I guess I should have known… one of them had a petrified bat. Anyway, after all the learners finished getting their food, these kids were lined up so they could pretend to be school kids. They filed through and got food. It was cute… petrified bat or no…
The point of modal school, according to the PC, is to evaluate our teaching. This means that we will have evaluations everyday – surprise! They’re here to rate your class! Sort of visits. I don’t minds and have done well on most of my evaluations so far (today, I accidentally said the sun and moon rotate around the earth… er… oops). They only problems that arise are the differences between the American school system and the Namibian. In the Namibian school system, the ministry of education makes the syllabus. The ministry also makes the tests at the end of the year. I understand why they do this. They are trying to get all of the regions up to par. This wouldn’t be a problem id the syllabus (and subsequently, the tests) were good… but they are not. They syllabus requires, let’s say, grade 5 to go over topics 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Then grade 6 should cover 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Then grade 7 gets 2, 2.5, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10.5… and since tests are national, they have to get through the entire syllabus. There’s no time to get through the syllabus! Teachers have just enough time to do an introduction to every topic and them move on. My grade 8 class can do long division but if I threw a side-ball at them like decimal division they couldn’t do it. They have gone over division for five years but have never gotten more then an introduction. If the syllabus went more like: grade 5 is 1, 2, and 3. Grade 6 is 4, 5, 6 and grade 7 is 7, 8, 9, 10… it might make more sense, right? These kids don’t need to know about circuits and mirrors in grade 7. I didn’t learn about them until college… where I actually got to learn them and not just the vocabulary.
A lot of Namibian teachers push to get through the syllabus to stay on schedule without checking to make sure the kids get it. Today, we were told “a good teacher makes it through the syllabus” and “you all must work on time management”. I understand not wasting time but making sure the class gets the idea – important, right? And, by the way, I marked (graded) some national exams a couple of weeks ago in natural science. 20/100 is average, 30/100 is good, and 50/100 is downright impressive. You’re not allowed to mark an exam 0/100 so the lowest one I marked was 2/100.
I felt a little like crying after that conversation. You may think, well, the kids in my class will do better on the exam when I get done with them. But volunteers who have been here see little or no improvement in their learners scores compared to other teachers. The bogus syllabus coupled with students speaking a second (or third) language in school have done most of the damage before we get here…
After a whole afternoon of being immersed in Namibian logic I wanted to scream. And come up with a reason for being here.
I can’t end on a bitter note. And I’m not bitter, just American. So I will tell you about my favorite puppy. There are four – Vital, Shasha, Dangerman and the un-named one. The un-named one is my favorite. He came in the house today to watch me eat. At first he sat there wagging his tail. Then he stopped and one eye started to droop. Then he started to lean. Then he fell down asleep… which woke him up and his tail started wagging again. This whole thing happened about 4 times before I finished eating. It was so cute and I was laughing so hard my host family probably though I was crazy. Ai (my new favorite Namibian expression of exasperation).
A Few quotes from The Bing – you don’t have to understand them but they make me giggle.
“Alright. The kid's riding a donkey to the bar. We’re in Africa.” – general observation
“Well, TIN, I guess” –Me (This Is Namibia… watch Blood Diamond…)
“No, TIML.” –PCT friend (This Is My Life)
“I’m going to chillin’” – our trainer
“No… it’s ‘I’m going to chill’ or ‘I am chillin’’” – PCT
“Oh, I am chill…” – Trainer
“’Just for kicks’ means ‘just for fun’” – me
“Oh, just for kicks.” – Namibian, proceeds to make kicking motion while mumbling phrase to himself
“In America, are you having goats?” – Namibian
“Yes, for milk and cheese.” – PCT
“Do you think they would ship the meat when they are finished?” – Namibian
“I think that he can’t read. Maybe he should be in grade 8 instead.” – PCT with a problem
“Will he then be able to read in grade 8? No. He will stay in grade 9.” – Namibian solution
“I think my grade ten learner winked at me today” – PCT
“I just got a shot in a gas station parking lot. All my dreams have been fulfilled.” –PCT
“Hey-O.” – Me
“Oh, what does that mean?” – Namibian
“It means ‘hey’ or ‘hi’” – me
“Oh. In what language?” – Namibian
“English. It’s a song.” – me
“Hey-o… this is what I say-o” – another PCT helping me out
“Oh, I see, Hey-o” – Namibian, clearly not getting it
“We are closer to the city center now.” – Trainer
“There are 500 people here. There is no city.” – me
“Miss, where will you live while you are here?” – Grade 10 learner
“Khorixas in Kunene” – me
“Oh. You know what they have there?” – Grade 10 gets up and writes “KFD” on the board
“I do not know KFD.” – me
“Miss, it’s Kentucky Fried Donkey.” – learner
“Where are you from?” – man on street
“America” – me
“I want to marry someone with white skin like you.” – man
“You’d probably be better with a Norwegian. They’re whiter.” – Me
“No. They must be American.” – man
“Oh. Well. Good luck with that.” – me
*PCT friend walks up
“How about you instead.” – man
“Um, what…?” – PCT friend
*In a car
“Hey, Steve…?” – me to my language trainer
“Oh. Hallo my sister.” – Steve
*10 minutes pass in car
“Hey, Steve…?” – me asking another question
“Oh. Hallo my sister.” – Steve
*5 minutes pass in car
“Hey, Steve…?” – yet another question about language
“Oh. Hallo my sister.”
* laughing * - me
“Have I shocked you with my overly friendly nature?” – Steve
“That. And you’ve answered every question with Hallo” – me
“Is your brother bigger than me?” – grade 8 four and half foot tall learner
“Yes. He’s 24.” –me, laughing
“Oh. Miss, I am 25.”
“And your [PCT] friend, how old is she?” –Host dad
“24” –me
“Oh! Older than you? But she is shorter than you.” –host dad
“Um… yup…” –me
*Arib means dog in KK
“I have two aribs. How do you say two dogs, Steve?” –me
“Ariba means ‘up! Get up!’” –Steve
“In Khoekhoe, Steve, not Spanish.” –me
“Oh. Aribkha is two dogs.” –Steve
“I think it’s best to think of Christmas in Namibia like bottled ice tea. It tastes fine if you pretend it’s something else.” –PCT
“Hi Jessica. I am running out of vocabs. Kindly download some onto my human CD.” – Language trainer asking for impressive English phrases
“My host brother is a whiz with the saw. William-Sonoma should jump on the gourmet saw bandwagon, no?” –PCT
December 23, 2007
Right now is the most normal I’ve felt in weeks. It was the first Sunday of CBT that the Peace Corps didn’t plan anything for our group in the morning. I’m staying with a Lutheran Pastor and I was sure this meant I was headed for church. Normally, I love church. But… It is the middle of the summer, they put about three more people in each pew than actually fit, their services are three to four hours long and its all in Khoekhoe… And as tempting as all that sounded I really didn’t want to go. But I got up this morning, put on one of my two skirts I have with me and my bright green flip flops that don’t match anything and sat on the couch waiting for the other shoe to fall. The Pastors wife and his three daughters returned home yesterday unexpectedly (they did not say they were coming back until the 28th) but they were all going to church. It was about 20 minutes after the service was scheduled to start when the wife came in to tell me they were going to church and that I probably shouldn’t go. I don’t know what that meant but I didn’t argue. But I did make chocolate chip cookies. And Macaroni and Cheese… from scratch. I’ve figured out the white sauce… I’m awesome. Alfredo? Cheesy sauce? Garlic Sauce? I’ve got it down. I made cookies for the whole family but I didn’t make enough mac and cheese. I felt bad so I saved some for them to taste but I think it didn’t have enough meat for them… or any meat… so its still sitting in the fridge. When the family came home from church, they brought some members of the congregation with them. There are a lot of people in this village who just don’t have anything… nothing… There’s this one kid – I think I wrote about him earlier. He was the one with the petrified bat after school. Since then, this earned him the name “bat boy”. I even sing him his theme song any time he shows up for food in the afternoon. It’s the batman theme song, except at the end I say bat boy. I don’t think he’s caught on that it’s his song mostly because he doesn’t speak any English and the locals keep telling me he’s crazy. I think they’re wrong though. This kid’s got it together. I see him around town and he’s always got food in his hands. He knows how to work the system. Anyway, he walked in with my host family after church. So, what was I to do? I sang him his song and gave him a cookie. There were some other kids that came too. My host family gives them a tiny chore to do – like mop the front porch or coil up the hose – and then they get food. Since I’ve been in this village I’ve seen the decency of people more than I ever have: 28 year old drunkards with no future split their candy bars with street kids, the peace corps driver passes his newspaper on to the old man who always sits on the street corner, all of the grade tens (They weeded out all those who were older than grade 12. So now it’s just the nice mannered ones left. It’s turned into my favorite class.) walk me home because its sunset and similar such things. It makes me think that people are mostly good (I had never really decided before). Anyway, these kids all got a piece of the goat that was killed in the yard last night. The spinal column was on the menu today. I think this is a great system. It lets them get food but they’re not getting it for free. They come knowing they’re going to have to work for their food. It’s good because it gives them some dignity.
It’s really hot today (real hot. Not the average hot that it is every other day). But I braved the heat and came to school to work on my lessons for this week. But I brought my computer too. When I got here. I turned on some tunes. It’s been so long since I’ve heard American music out loud (not headphones). I missed it. Bad Mamma Jamma? Yes please. A little American Idiot? Alright. Some A Boy Named Sue? I could handle that. The combo of cookies, mac and cheese, some time to myself and my music at my volume (everything is always three times louder than necessary) made me feel human.
I’ve got exactly one week of CBT left. I think I can make it. I’ve finally decided on the reason I go through some of the hard things I do… when the lows are low, the highs are even better. For example, there’s a reason 3AM is the best time during finals week in college. It’s because you and your friends have gone crazy. That’s when the memories are made. During CBT, memories are made when all 9 Americans are fed up with their host families. They cram into their trainer’s tiny tiny living room, cut up one apple and candy bar with a Swiss Army knife and sit on the floor so no one can see white faces through the window. I laughed so hard I was crying. When the lows are low, the highs are high.
CBT isn’t that bad though. It’s just hard. Everything is permanently awkward. You’re always wrong… wrong way to wash clothes, cook, brush your teeth, go to bed, wake up, etc. Your host family knows exactly what you are doing at all times of the day. And American humor doesn’t fly most of the time in Namibia. The lows are low. The highs though, are bat boy, puppies, when your host dad finally chuckles at one of your jokes, trying to figure out your host family’s printer with your host brother and making him laugh at a spooler (if you know what a printer spooler is, let me know, because I hate them :] … ), having them name Chocolate chip cookies “Jessica’s specialty”, and getting invited to your learners’ soccer game. When the lows are low, the highs are high. That’s all I’m saying.
December 27, 2007
Here I am. Three more nights in this house. They just gave me ice cream and fruit. I should love them forever, no? Secretly, I am super duper looking forward to getting on with this process. On Sunday we go back to Okahandja to meet up with the rest of Nam 27. Then, on the 9th we have the swearing in ceremony and move to our permanent sites. It will be so nice to get to Khorixas because I won’t be living out of a suitcase anymore. I can cook for myself and clean for myself and shower when I want. But it will be kind of sad too because I’ll be away from some new friends (American and Namibian) and traveling to them is hard in this country.
CBT (Community Based Training) had a lot of ups and downs – I’ve covered those already. But things have been so nice since the whole family got back. They talk a lot about me, in front of me, in KK. But other than that things have been kind of relaxing… and surprisingly not awkward. We looked up horoscopes the other day. I translated phrases like “put your money where you mouth is” and “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. We watched “Once Upon a Time in Mexico” on Christmas and spent a few hours going through my ipod. I still can’t fix the darn printer though. More people in the house means less attention on me – which I greatly appreciate. I’m just sad it couldn’t be this comfortable the whole time.
Christmas was really nice. I unwrapped some presents from home that came in the mail. Then, I made some cookies (bat boy showed up again. I swear he’s got a radar for food). I visited some friends and learners around the village then hung out at the house. It was actually a cold night too. So nice.
Wednesday and Thursday I gave finals for summer school. And tomorrow we’re handing out certificates. Tonight is the first night in awhile that I haven’t had anything to plan… I’m kind of lost and confused. I don’t remember free time. The Peace Corps has owned all of my time lately.
January 1, 2007
Ai. I don’t know if I can explain this past weekend without sounding completely crazy. Though, you have made it this far in my CBT ramblings. And I like you. I will try.
Friday morning was our last day of modal school. Some of the learners’ parents came to watch the certificates. Each of the grades (5-10) performed a song. Then we gave them their certificates. It was cute… and chaos… We took a whole school picture. I am sure I will post that at some point in time…. Someday when I have a lot of patience for Internet.
After the ceremony the other teachers and I were cleaning up the school. We had locked up all the classrooms and were about to go relieve the local store of all their cooldrinks. As some of the teachers were gathering things, I was standing waiting with another PCT in the schoolyard. Bat Boy was there. This was not a surprise. He came to almost every day of school and would sit in the yard waiting for food. I also found out from my host family that he is about 11, though he looks 7. This day he was cutting up a roll of tape. My PCT friend told him to stop because it was a perfectly good roll. This didn’t really fly because, well, he’s crazy and because he doesn’t speak English. I said that he had a knife (read: some sort of sharp object) and to not mess with him. My PCT friend thought this was sound advice and started walking away. In slow motion, I saw Bat Boy wind up to make a huge stabbing lunge at my PCT friend. Ai. I started screaming No. He stopped before he hit her. He thought the whole thing was hilarious. I was so angry. All the other teachers heard the screaming and came to see what was the matter. This only provided an audience for Bat Boy and he tried it again. This time he chose a poor target, though. One of our PCTs is from Chicago and she swore she would “beat him down” if he “weren’t a 6 year old”. We left the schoolyard quickly and a few of the grade ten boys were standing there. We asked them to ask Bat Boy to leave (this is where learning the local language would have come in handy). They went into the schoolyard, picked up Bat Boy, took his knife, carried him out of the schoolyard and told him to go. The whole situation is so absurd. It’s still a little surreal… and it kind of makes me laugh. We’re all fine. Don’t worry. I know to be more cautious of the one’s they tell me are not right in the head.
Friday night was birthday party for one of the PCTs. We made brownies and then walked up to the hill in town with the water tower. The view was gorgeous. Those pictures, I’m sure will make it to the Internet someday too. On the way home, the janitor at the school stopped me and asked me where I was coming from. He asked in KK… so I asked for a translation of the question. Then, I promised that I would have an answer in KK for him the next day (this usually works on ridiculous requests for anything. By tomorrow, they have usually moved onto another problem to solve). Anyway, I walked rest of the way home. When I walked in my host mother asked me in KK where I was coming from. I said the water tower and smiled at them all. Usually, they have to repeat a sentence in KK about 10 times and gesture a motion that indicates the word in order for me to understand. They were all so impressed that I didn’t want to give away my secret. Yet another absurd situation that made me laugh. I hope it made them more cautious about what they say in front of me… they never know what I’ll catch from their conversation… like my name. I always catch my name. Go figure.
Saturday morning we met at the secondary school’s home economics kitchen at 8:30 to cook for our host family appreciation dinner that night. We spent the day making American cookies (my job), baked beans (warmed in the can in the sun. Namibian sun is good for that), rice, chicken, sausage, American salad (the “American” just implies that mayonnaise was not involved) and punch. I think we did a really good job.
We started our party about 4:30pm. Each of the language groups got up and gave a speech in the language they are trying to learn. In the Bing, there were only two language groups. Mine was the KK group. There are three other girls that meet in my language class. The other 5 trainees in the Bing were learning Oshiherero. In our speech, we each said a line or two in KK. We had to apologize at the beginning for any mispronunciations. It is far too easy to swear in KK. If you forget to make a nasal sound instead of an alto sound… or if your tick sounds a little too much like a pop… you could suddenly offend someone’s mother. Then, when we finished our speech, we had our language trainer translate from KK to KK. The host families all laughed at this. Which was really good because it was a joke and they actually got my humor. Yippee.
After all our thank you speeches and we had passed out the obligatory certificates to the families, we served our dinner. Wow. That food got tackled. They like food here in Namibia. They like it a lot. And they like meat more. All that to say, our dinner went over well. It was actually a really fun party. And I think our host family felt appreciated.
Sunday morning a 40 passenger bus came to pick up the 9 of us. I don’t get it. But I did like the air conditioning, the free ride and four seats to myself. Saying goodbye to the host family was just like I was leaving for school in the morning. I will see my host mother and father at swearing in though. This is good because I left some pictures at their house and they will bring them to me at swearing in.
When we got back to Okahandja on Sunday we got to just hang out at our training center. This was so nice. I bought some cheese from Spar (my favorite Namibian grocery store. Only second to Super Spar). My PCT friend from Seattle got a package in the mail and didn’t want her Triscuits. I ate cheese and Triscuits and absolutely no meat for lunch. It was great.
Monday (New Year’s eve) we had a regular day of getting lectures from the Peace Corps on various topics. After it got closer to midnight, we had a little New Year’s Eve party in a dried riverbed nearby. An uneventful New Year’s Eve but it was good. At midnight, we had a hug circle and everyone got a hug from everyone else. Yet another absurd situation… I’m getting used to them, I think.
This morning, some of our group got up early and made an American breakfast for us and for our trainers (for a thank you to the trainers). They made pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, baked apple toppings and real coffee. It was so good. The trainers who were with us in the Bing kept joking that the eggs needed more mayo but I think they really liked the meal. I said next time we can make it an integrated American meal and put mayo and chopped up meat in the eggs then top it all with a little sprinkle of MSG (it comes in its pure form in a “spice” bottle here. Yum). The rest of today has been really chill. It’s been nice to recover from CBT. There was a poker tournament. I didn’t take part but I did laugh at the usage of “Deuce” “River” “Flop” and “Rainbow” (All worthy of a laugh, no? If you don’t think so maybe the movie “Lucky You” is for you). Then, we had a gift exchange. We drew names before CBT for secret pals. Today, we revealed who had and gave gifts. I got a bag of cookies and a candy bar from my secret pal. A trainer had me. I got my person lotion and some pens. It was fun. Also, we set up the Peace Corps’ projector to watch movies. Love Actually is playing right now. I can hear “All I want for Christmas is You” coming from the lawn. I just couldn’t sit in a big group anymore.
Well, I hope I don’t sound too crazy. It’s just one ridiculous situation after another. One minute you’re cutting up 400 Namibian Dollars worth of sausage for you host family and then you’re trying to explain to the trainers that not all Americans form hug circles on New Year’s eve and then you’re fending off a crazy child with a petrified bat and a knife… oh, gosh. Just know that I’m safe, clean, happy (when hysteria hasn’t taken over), well fed, too well fed, and did I mention well fed… More later, I’m sure. Love, J
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