Hi friends! I hope you all had a nice Christmas. Mine was unique and enjoyable (but that’s a subject for another blog).
I received a prompt from Leah to write a blog answering a few basic questions:
1. What’s been the funniest thing that’s happened to me in Africa?
2. What has been my biggest challenge?
3. What has been my biggest achievement?
4. What do I miss most from the states/what would I like to have sent to me?
So here we go:
1. The funniest thing…
Funny/odd things happen to me everyday so not one single incident comes to mind. This morning the neighborhood kids came over to sell me a turtle. I don’t know where they got it or what kind of turtle it is. It must be some kind of desert turtle because there’s absolutely no water around here. We’re having a major drought, and 115+ degree heat. I considered keeping it for a pet, but I’m leaving for Cape Town tonight. Most of the things that make me laugh are things I just witness and may not be so funny to describe. The children in my neighborhood are always saying and doing silly things. I’ll get back to you on this one!
2. The biggest challenge…
The biggest challenge has been living in a post-apartheid society. Racism and tribalism is one of the major issues hindering the growth of this country. I can’t begin to describe how frustrating it is to try and convince people to make things better for themselves when all they can do is blame everything on another tribe or another race. Not to mention, it’s very difficult to work in groups that are divided into 6 different language groups.
3. The biggest achievement…
I’ve worked on a lot of project in this community, but probably the employment/entrepreneurship workshops have been the most successful. The unemployed, out-of-school youth, who are normally very elusive, showed up in droves for this workshop. They were noticeably more hopeful and motivated to improve their situation after the two-day workshop. I’ve run into a few of them around town and of the 15 that attended, I have hear of two that got jobs, one that has gone for an interview and five that have begun volunteering.
4. What I miss most….
Other than you guys (which is obviously my number 1), I miss the mountains and forests. I’m not really a desert person and Mariental is flat and dusty! As far as care packages go, I’ve got a few requests:
• Emergen-C
• Venus razor heads
• Lysol disinfectant spray
• Coffee beans (Peet’s if you live near one!)
• Iced Tea/Sun Tea (Peet’s Mango Iced Tea is my favorite)
• Reeses Pieces/plain M&M’s
• Luna Bars
• Small things to give as gifts (lip gloss, earrings,
• Clothing (cotton t-shirts, skirts, underwear)
• Things that smell like the forest
Thanks! I know I say this every time, but now that I have internet access at my office, I WILL be updating my blog more often.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Train Wreck
This morning around 4 am, as I was fast asleep under my mosquito net, a single train engine careened backwards into its detached passenger cars, derailing two of the cars and stopping halfway into the third car. The wreck happened in my town less than a kilometer from my house. I didn’t hear anything and had no idea about the accident until I saw a text from another PCV asking me if I had heard about it (he’s a teacher and gets up much earlier than I do for work). Since the train tracks are less than 300 meters behind my house, I immediately walked out to take a look. Up ahead I could see the usual people that cross the tracks on their way to work looking left. When I finally got up to the tracks I could see the train up ahead about 500 meters. It was stopped in the middle of town blocking the street that divides the two parts of town. When I followed the tracks to scene, I could see many people gathered around, but there was no sense of urgency and I didn’t see any ambulances, police or medical officers. I didn’t see any passengers either. There was some yellow tape around the scene, but no one paid any mind to it (this is Africa –there are no hard boundaries) and we all stood right up next to the train. I found my friend there and he informed me that the passengers had already been taken to the hospital. He wasn’t sure if anyone had been killed, but judging by the crumpled cars that were hanging over half into the ditch, it seemed likely.
Apparently the passenger cars detached from the engine somewhere in town and the conductor continued down the track without noticing for about 500 meters. Finally realizing his mistake, he puts the engine in reverse and, at a high speed, crashed into the waiting passenger cars. Four boys were in the first car as the engine hit. Only three of them survived after being pulled from the wreckage. Thirty other passengers were taken to Mariental hospital for injuries.
My heart sank when I heard this information. I imagined the scene and wondered if it could’ve possibly gone differently had I been there. The all too familiar feeling of guilt was starting to creep up inside me. What if I had been there to help? What if I had woken up and been able to put my EMT training into action and assist at the scene? We even did a train wreck scenario in my EMT class but I never thought I’d be so close in proximity to an actual accident like this. But I might as well have been back in California because I slept through the whole thing and by the time I arrived 4 hours later, the boy and the other passengers were no longer there. But this “what if” game could go on forever if I let it so I just have to trust that if I were meant to be there, then I would have been.
Shocking and disturbing things happen here on a regular basis and it’s hard not to be affected by what we see. I am finding new ways to deal with these emotions in a way that is not ignoring them nor letting them overrun me and I know that skill will serve me well throughout my life.
This tragedy has brought back to my mind the desire to teach basic first aid to some of the youth I'm working with as well as the staff at our centre. It will certainly be a challenge with the language barriers, but it's something I'd really like to do and I think will give everyone a little more peace of mind.
Apparently the passenger cars detached from the engine somewhere in town and the conductor continued down the track without noticing for about 500 meters. Finally realizing his mistake, he puts the engine in reverse and, at a high speed, crashed into the waiting passenger cars. Four boys were in the first car as the engine hit. Only three of them survived after being pulled from the wreckage. Thirty other passengers were taken to Mariental hospital for injuries.
My heart sank when I heard this information. I imagined the scene and wondered if it could’ve possibly gone differently had I been there. The all too familiar feeling of guilt was starting to creep up inside me. What if I had been there to help? What if I had woken up and been able to put my EMT training into action and assist at the scene? We even did a train wreck scenario in my EMT class but I never thought I’d be so close in proximity to an actual accident like this. But I might as well have been back in California because I slept through the whole thing and by the time I arrived 4 hours later, the boy and the other passengers were no longer there. But this “what if” game could go on forever if I let it so I just have to trust that if I were meant to be there, then I would have been.
Shocking and disturbing things happen here on a regular basis and it’s hard not to be affected by what we see. I am finding new ways to deal with these emotions in a way that is not ignoring them nor letting them overrun me and I know that skill will serve me well throughout my life.
This tragedy has brought back to my mind the desire to teach basic first aid to some of the youth I'm working with as well as the staff at our centre. It will certainly be a challenge with the language barriers, but it's something I'd really like to do and I think will give everyone a little more peace of mind.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanks for the phone calls last night. I didn't not get organized intime to put on my best version of NamThanksgiving, but I was thinking of you all and spent some quiet time reflecting on the many blessings I have in my life.
I have been workin'! A lot of what I do is on the computer (typing grant applications, sending emails, planning lessons for my life skills club) but lately, I've been "out in the field." A few weeks ago I was in Luderitz, a coastal town that was the first German settlment in Namibia. It still has it's funky old German style with bright colored buildings and big churches. I was asked to come by another PCV to do the same employment/entrepeneurship workshop I did for my youth in Mariental. The workshop went very smoothly (the first day we invited and entrepeneur to come and teach them about how to start a small business and the second day we taught the youth how to make resume, look for jobs and ace their interviews). The youth walked away seeming much more motivated to go make something of themselves. It's hard not to get discourage when unemployment is a staggering 60%. After the workshop was over, we got to hang out with the PCV's and explore the town a bit. I even talked Beata into going out on her first sailboat where we sailed around the harbor and saw dolphins, penguins, seals and orcha whales. It was a great trip and worth all 7 hours it took to get out there.
I am still working away on our garden project. I can't remember if I mentioned it in a previous blog, but Beata and I are trying to start a community demonstration garden at our centre. We will train youth volunteers to be leaders in the community and help initiate home gardens around our community. We will have a demonstration plot on the grounds of the centre to hold trainings. It all part of an initiative to increase food security in the community. Proper nutrition is especially important for people living with HIV because it can prolong their life and without it, their medicine can make them very sick (which in turn discourages them from taking their meds altogether). We have hooved it all over town talking to local business, regional council and all the regional branches of government in our town. Only recently did we secure a donation of seeds and fruit trees. We've written a few grants but are waiting to hear from the ones we haven't yet been rejected by. As things slow down towards the holidays and the end of the year, our patience really comes into play. In reality, we might not see anything popping up out of that ground until early next year.
The other thing I've kind of fallen into is this life skills/kids club. I originally formed the club to serve out of school/unemployed youth between the ages of 15-30, but turns out they don't think I'm as cool as the 11 and 12 year olds. I struggled to get much attendance at my first life skills club meetings, but one day this group of kids just started showing up. Most of them had met me because I came to teach them about HIV in their drama club. At the meeting, I mentioned that I worked at the Youth Centre and that my door is always open if they have any questions (like I always do) and these kids actually took me up on it. For the past few weeks they come every Monday and Wednesday and we play games and talk about how to communicate, make good decisions and how to avoid risky behavior. They have their exams this week and will be going on holiday soon so I may not see them again until next year.
Otherwise, all is well. It's summer and very, very hot. It's probably been around 95 outside and 115 inside my house. Now, I just come home, wet a rag and pull a chair outside in the shade of our front porch. There's really no reason to go inside that oven! I taped up some pictures of snowmen and christmas trees that I got from a previous volunteer, but the Christmas spirit is somehow elusive in the heat of summer.
I have been workin'! A lot of what I do is on the computer (typing grant applications, sending emails, planning lessons for my life skills club) but lately, I've been "out in the field." A few weeks ago I was in Luderitz, a coastal town that was the first German settlment in Namibia. It still has it's funky old German style with bright colored buildings and big churches. I was asked to come by another PCV to do the same employment/entrepeneurship workshop I did for my youth in Mariental. The workshop went very smoothly (the first day we invited and entrepeneur to come and teach them about how to start a small business and the second day we taught the youth how to make resume, look for jobs and ace their interviews). The youth walked away seeming much more motivated to go make something of themselves. It's hard not to get discourage when unemployment is a staggering 60%. After the workshop was over, we got to hang out with the PCV's and explore the town a bit. I even talked Beata into going out on her first sailboat where we sailed around the harbor and saw dolphins, penguins, seals and orcha whales. It was a great trip and worth all 7 hours it took to get out there.
I am still working away on our garden project. I can't remember if I mentioned it in a previous blog, but Beata and I are trying to start a community demonstration garden at our centre. We will train youth volunteers to be leaders in the community and help initiate home gardens around our community. We will have a demonstration plot on the grounds of the centre to hold trainings. It all part of an initiative to increase food security in the community. Proper nutrition is especially important for people living with HIV because it can prolong their life and without it, their medicine can make them very sick (which in turn discourages them from taking their meds altogether). We have hooved it all over town talking to local business, regional council and all the regional branches of government in our town. Only recently did we secure a donation of seeds and fruit trees. We've written a few grants but are waiting to hear from the ones we haven't yet been rejected by. As things slow down towards the holidays and the end of the year, our patience really comes into play. In reality, we might not see anything popping up out of that ground until early next year.
The other thing I've kind of fallen into is this life skills/kids club. I originally formed the club to serve out of school/unemployed youth between the ages of 15-30, but turns out they don't think I'm as cool as the 11 and 12 year olds. I struggled to get much attendance at my first life skills club meetings, but one day this group of kids just started showing up. Most of them had met me because I came to teach them about HIV in their drama club. At the meeting, I mentioned that I worked at the Youth Centre and that my door is always open if they have any questions (like I always do) and these kids actually took me up on it. For the past few weeks they come every Monday and Wednesday and we play games and talk about how to communicate, make good decisions and how to avoid risky behavior. They have their exams this week and will be going on holiday soon so I may not see them again until next year.
Otherwise, all is well. It's summer and very, very hot. It's probably been around 95 outside and 115 inside my house. Now, I just come home, wet a rag and pull a chair outside in the shade of our front porch. There's really no reason to go inside that oven! I taped up some pictures of snowmen and christmas trees that I got from a previous volunteer, but the Christmas spirit is somehow elusive in the heat of summer.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
I'm Back!
After receiving the fifth hand-written letter ending with a very commanding "UPDATE YOUR BLOG!" I've decided I better deliver (you can all thank Amanda Corbyn for being the straw that broke this camel's back). I really am sorry I've been such a bum about writing. It's a daunting task to write about my life here because there is just so much background to explain before any of my stories will really make sense. But here's my best attempt at a general update.
Lately, I've been on the road traveling all over this country (one of the perks of working for the Ministry of Youth) mainly to attend or to facilitate at workshops. We also get to travel to other PCV's sites to collaborate on projects and I also had a vacation in there somewhere. It's nice to have a home to come back to where everyone noticed you were gone and really missed you. So though I feel like an old hobo and I've sworn to quit these rambeling ways one of these days (did you catch that, Cathie?) I quite enjoy packing up my backpack every other week to explore more of the unknown. Sometimes when I'm crammed in the back of a backie sharing the ride with some goats, I look out over the scenary and think, "this is the best job in the world!"
I've been working on a couple of projects lately. Beata and I just finished doing an employment and entrepeneurship workshop for the youth. With unemployment at a staggering 70% in this community, you could tell they were starving for it. It took a lot of work and planning to put on this two-day workshop but it was definitly worth it to see the participants motivated and with a brighter outlook on their future.
Next week, I am going to Windhoek to be trained on micro-gardening (otherwise known as table-top gardens). Our hope is to open a demonstration garden at our centre so that we can train youth how to make these easy, affortable gardens at their own homes. It's part of a world-wide Peace Corps initiative to increase food security. With so many malnurished people in our community, this seems to be a great solution --however, the reality is that it's not easy to get people stoked about gardening, especially if it requires them to put down their beer-bottle for a few minutes (I'm not trying to be harsh, but when I walk through the informal settlements and see people stumbeling drunk out of the shebeens at 6am, I've become a little jaded). We've got nothing to lose by trying here, but the odds are stacked against us. The Nama tribe (the majority in Mariental) was historically nomadic and though they have westernized over the past few decades, it is not in their culture to garden like it is for the Oshiwambo tribe in the North. Anyway, I remain hopeful and will keep you updated with the progress.
I've lost count of how long I've been here, I believe it's been over 6 months. I'm really starting to settle in nicely. I often find myself saying or doing things in a very Namibian way. I don't notice I'm doing it until I'm called out by another PCV. All in all, life is good. I definity miss home and think of all of you frequently. I can't tell you how many times I've had a really rough day and when I find a package, postcard, or letter in my mailbox, my mood is instantly turned around. Thanks to everyone who has made an effort to stay connected.
Lately, I've been on the road traveling all over this country (one of the perks of working for the Ministry of Youth) mainly to attend or to facilitate at workshops. We also get to travel to other PCV's sites to collaborate on projects and I also had a vacation in there somewhere. It's nice to have a home to come back to where everyone noticed you were gone and really missed you. So though I feel like an old hobo and I've sworn to quit these rambeling ways one of these days (did you catch that, Cathie?) I quite enjoy packing up my backpack every other week to explore more of the unknown. Sometimes when I'm crammed in the back of a backie sharing the ride with some goats, I look out over the scenary and think, "this is the best job in the world!"
I've been working on a couple of projects lately. Beata and I just finished doing an employment and entrepeneurship workshop for the youth. With unemployment at a staggering 70% in this community, you could tell they were starving for it. It took a lot of work and planning to put on this two-day workshop but it was definitly worth it to see the participants motivated and with a brighter outlook on their future.
Next week, I am going to Windhoek to be trained on micro-gardening (otherwise known as table-top gardens). Our hope is to open a demonstration garden at our centre so that we can train youth how to make these easy, affortable gardens at their own homes. It's part of a world-wide Peace Corps initiative to increase food security. With so many malnurished people in our community, this seems to be a great solution --however, the reality is that it's not easy to get people stoked about gardening, especially if it requires them to put down their beer-bottle for a few minutes (I'm not trying to be harsh, but when I walk through the informal settlements and see people stumbeling drunk out of the shebeens at 6am, I've become a little jaded). We've got nothing to lose by trying here, but the odds are stacked against us. The Nama tribe (the majority in Mariental) was historically nomadic and though they have westernized over the past few decades, it is not in their culture to garden like it is for the Oshiwambo tribe in the North. Anyway, I remain hopeful and will keep you updated with the progress.
I've lost count of how long I've been here, I believe it's been over 6 months. I'm really starting to settle in nicely. I often find myself saying or doing things in a very Namibian way. I don't notice I'm doing it until I'm called out by another PCV. All in all, life is good. I definity miss home and think of all of you frequently. I can't tell you how many times I've had a really rough day and when I find a package, postcard, or letter in my mailbox, my mood is instantly turned around. Thanks to everyone who has made an effort to stay connected.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
24/7
I don’t think I’ve done a good job of explaining what it is I do here –that’s because it can’t easily be categorized. I am a health volunteer, but since health is so much more than the mere absence of disease, my scope is quite broad.
Last week, my Peace Corps supervisor came to visit me at site and to see what I’ve been up to lately. I was VERY nervous that morning. I think I brushed my teeth 3 times and I kept rearranging the spices on the top of the fridge. I guess Beata absorbed some of my nervousness because she spent the night before meticulously cleaning the house as if my supervisor was going to walk in, run her fingers along the baseboard, look at her dusty finger and say, “unsuitable living conditions. We must remove this volunteer immediately.” It turns out we were both nervous unnecessarily. Not only did my supervisor love my "cute little house" and Beata, when I finally sat down to talk to her, I realized I am actually doing a fine job. I have been integrating really well and have already made many of the contacts I need to for future success when both my community and I are ready to take on bigger projects.
When people call or write from home, I tend to brush off the,“how’s work going?" question with a simple, “you know. Same ol’ same ol’…I mostly just sit at the office…” but that’s not really accurate.
I have compiled a list of some of the “mini- projects” that I have been busy with for the last two and a half months in Mariental:
1. Gave a motivational speech on “why we volunteer” to a group of 4H Namibia volunteers (yeah it’s based on the 4H from the USA: Hearts, Hope, Hands, Health) whose enthusiasm has been waning since the launch of their program in Mariental about a month ago.
2. Revised and edited countless speeches, letters and notices for proper English –though I always argue that if people here communicate with this so called “Namblish” who am I to say that my English is the best one?
3. Photographed and printed photos of all the staff in my office, including the cleaners who were so grateful I wonder if it’s the first picture they’ve had of themselves.
4. Was a group leader (or more like a camp councilor) at the Southern Girl’s Conference – a four-day female empowerment camp for 7th and 8th grade girls.
5. Made friends with the security guard at my office (who happens to be from the same tribe as Beata and likes to teach me Oshiwambo phrases that I bust out at opportune times to make Beata laugh. My favorite: “you smell like onions!”)
6. Continue to help Brooke, an education PCV in Mariental, run her Girl’s Club and Reading Club which I will take over when she leaves in December
7. “Fixed” my co-workers laptop (twice) –thank you help menu!
8. Revised and edited my co-worker/friend’s business plan to begin his own life-coaching program for young people. This guy is pretty amazing! He saw it on Oprah and has gone great lengths to achieve his vision in a place where meets so many obstacles.
9. Organized a movie night for the youth as a fundraiser to buy a new printer for our youth resource center.
10. Let the NGO’s and Ministries know about each other and how they can possibly work together.
11. LISTENED! Most of the time this is all I can do, but it is still important. There are a lot of problems in this country and I’ve noticed that people really appreciate having a fresh and interested pair of ears listening to them.
12. Stood in at a CORD (Coalition on Responsible Drinking) executive committee meeting for my boss and left the meeting as the newest executive member.
13. Photographed CORD’s event on National Drug Abuse Day and organized a drama group to perform for the event.
14. Started teaching my Afrikaans Language Tutor to play the guitar
15. Taught Beata how to bake “Washington Cookies” and make pizza
16. Learned how to gracefully rebuff the daily marriage proposals from both strangers and colleagues –awkward!
17. Presented an HIV presentation to a group of 8th, 9th, and 10th graders (who, by the way ALL look like they are about 12 or younger) and, for the most part, kept a straight face when fielding questions about sexual health.
“Miss Lindsay, what is masturbation?”
–cough, cough….well girls…
18. Helped my friend with her laundry when she had a very stressful day and smiled at her little brothers and sisters who laughed at the "oshilumbu"(white person) trying to hand wash with the Africans.
I float around and help people where I can -which is the best job ever! At times, what I do seems small and insignificant, but one thing really does lead to another and I am slowly gaining trust in the community. I'm not sure what project I will get involved in next or what will be my biggest challenge in the next two years, but I ready to take it on whatever it is.
Last week, my Peace Corps supervisor came to visit me at site and to see what I’ve been up to lately. I was VERY nervous that morning. I think I brushed my teeth 3 times and I kept rearranging the spices on the top of the fridge. I guess Beata absorbed some of my nervousness because she spent the night before meticulously cleaning the house as if my supervisor was going to walk in, run her fingers along the baseboard, look at her dusty finger and say, “unsuitable living conditions. We must remove this volunteer immediately.” It turns out we were both nervous unnecessarily. Not only did my supervisor love my "cute little house" and Beata, when I finally sat down to talk to her, I realized I am actually doing a fine job. I have been integrating really well and have already made many of the contacts I need to for future success when both my community and I are ready to take on bigger projects.
When people call or write from home, I tend to brush off the,“how’s work going?" question with a simple, “you know. Same ol’ same ol’…I mostly just sit at the office…” but that’s not really accurate.
I have compiled a list of some of the “mini- projects” that I have been busy with for the last two and a half months in Mariental:
1. Gave a motivational speech on “why we volunteer” to a group of 4H Namibia volunteers (yeah it’s based on the 4H from the USA: Hearts, Hope, Hands, Health) whose enthusiasm has been waning since the launch of their program in Mariental about a month ago.
2. Revised and edited countless speeches, letters and notices for proper English –though I always argue that if people here communicate with this so called “Namblish” who am I to say that my English is the best one?
3. Photographed and printed photos of all the staff in my office, including the cleaners who were so grateful I wonder if it’s the first picture they’ve had of themselves.
4. Was a group leader (or more like a camp councilor) at the Southern Girl’s Conference – a four-day female empowerment camp for 7th and 8th grade girls.
5. Made friends with the security guard at my office (who happens to be from the same tribe as Beata and likes to teach me Oshiwambo phrases that I bust out at opportune times to make Beata laugh. My favorite: “you smell like onions!”)
6. Continue to help Brooke, an education PCV in Mariental, run her Girl’s Club and Reading Club which I will take over when she leaves in December
7. “Fixed” my co-workers laptop (twice) –thank you help menu!
8. Revised and edited my co-worker/friend’s business plan to begin his own life-coaching program for young people. This guy is pretty amazing! He saw it on Oprah and has gone great lengths to achieve his vision in a place where meets so many obstacles.
9. Organized a movie night for the youth as a fundraiser to buy a new printer for our youth resource center.
10. Let the NGO’s and Ministries know about each other and how they can possibly work together.
11. LISTENED! Most of the time this is all I can do, but it is still important. There are a lot of problems in this country and I’ve noticed that people really appreciate having a fresh and interested pair of ears listening to them.
12. Stood in at a CORD (Coalition on Responsible Drinking) executive committee meeting for my boss and left the meeting as the newest executive member.
13. Photographed CORD’s event on National Drug Abuse Day and organized a drama group to perform for the event.
14. Started teaching my Afrikaans Language Tutor to play the guitar
15. Taught Beata how to bake “Washington Cookies” and make pizza
16. Learned how to gracefully rebuff the daily marriage proposals from both strangers and colleagues –awkward!
17. Presented an HIV presentation to a group of 8th, 9th, and 10th graders (who, by the way ALL look like they are about 12 or younger) and, for the most part, kept a straight face when fielding questions about sexual health.
“Miss Lindsay, what is masturbation?”
–cough, cough….well girls…
18. Helped my friend with her laundry when she had a very stressful day and smiled at her little brothers and sisters who laughed at the "oshilumbu"(white person) trying to hand wash with the Africans.
I float around and help people where I can -which is the best job ever! At times, what I do seems small and insignificant, but one thing really does lead to another and I am slowly gaining trust in the community. I'm not sure what project I will get involved in next or what will be my biggest challenge in the next two years, but I ready to take it on whatever it is.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
I am in way over my head...
Note to future PCV's following this blog: there will undoubtedly be times in the beginning of your service when thoughts like these enter your mind –sometimes they are just a whisper in the back of your mind and other times you might just want to scream, “what the heck am I doing here?” Just hang on because one of those mind-blowing, awe-inspiring moments is right around the corner –Peace Corps life is chalk full of them!
I had a few days this week where I lost my confidence and found myself stuck in a slump of doubt. I forgot about all of the life experiences that got me here and fixated on the fact that I am “just” a recent college-grad whose first full-time job experience only lasted for the 3 months before departure and was at a sport company’s internet warehouse (www.porterstahoe.com --check it). Don't follow this doubt when it's calling you. It's a trap.
I'm still not exactly sure what my role is here. They say that health volunteers don't really have one, they have to create it. For the first few weeks I literally sat in the office doing nothing. I chatted with co-workers and read everything I could get my hands on in hopes for some small clue. Now, 2 months in Mariental, I spend most of my time meeting an interviewing important people/ heads of organizations and local leaders to let them know I am here and to offer my assistance. It’s like going fishing. I throw out my line and a lot of fish nibble but only a few bite. Sometimes the ones that bite are too large for me to handle and I am struggling to not get throw overboard!
For example, last week I heard about a man who has started a small health-related NGO in my community. I called him up for a meeting requesting to learn a little bit more about his org. When he stepped into the volunteer’s office and saw that I am American, he looked at me with dollar sign in his eyes (this happens a lot)! He emphasized the organization’s needs for funding and only a few minutes into our meeting was suggesting that I get involved in some messy dispute between his org and a funding source. I did my best to be supportive but told him I simply couldn’t do that because I didn’t understand the context of the situation. I figured that was it, he was no longer going to come to me for help, but he kept showing up at my office. We’d have meetings where he’d come to me for advice as if I was an expert on running NGO’s!
Situations like these are odd enough but add in the language barrier (though we are usually technically speaking English, Namibians tend to speak it's own version everyone calls "Namblish") and I know many things are getting lost in translation. Since I’ve been in Namibia, I can’t think of a time when I’ve felt like I know 100% what is going on.
It’s funny how life can sometimes supply you with exactly what you need during days or weeks like these. At the end of a long day, I really enjoy the simple pleasure of cooking dinner. The kitchen has become my outlet. If I feel like I haven’t done anything productive that day, I can at least be creative in the kitchen –or, if I can't handle anything else, I can hypnotically stare into the boiling pot of macaroni noodles and for a moment forget where I am.
One night, Beata was standing in the kitchen with me and we were chatting about the usual: the differences and similarities between our cultures. She brought up the other night when we were at dinner at another volunteer’s house. It was a fun night that turned into an impromptu karaoke session. We all took our turn at some of the songs (we thought) we knew best.
“I was surprised to see you guys didn’t know the words. I just thought you people heard a song once and could sing it perfectly.”
I laughed, “No, I’m always forgetting the words to my favorite songs.”
"So you're just like us."
“Ya, we’re all only human and we all have our fears and weaknesses.” We were both quiet and I could see she was thinking.
“Now don’t be offended, I’ve just never been so close to a white person before and I used to think we were so different –but really we’re just the same.I used to think that white people don’t care about us at all. So… you have proved me wrong.”
In that one sentence, the last four months of doubt and confusion were completely erased. Even if every one of my projects in the next two years fails, my time here has been worth all of it.
I had a few days this week where I lost my confidence and found myself stuck in a slump of doubt. I forgot about all of the life experiences that got me here and fixated on the fact that I am “just” a recent college-grad whose first full-time job experience only lasted for the 3 months before departure and was at a sport company’s internet warehouse (www.porterstahoe.com --check it). Don't follow this doubt when it's calling you. It's a trap.
I'm still not exactly sure what my role is here. They say that health volunteers don't really have one, they have to create it. For the first few weeks I literally sat in the office doing nothing. I chatted with co-workers and read everything I could get my hands on in hopes for some small clue. Now, 2 months in Mariental, I spend most of my time meeting an interviewing important people/ heads of organizations and local leaders to let them know I am here and to offer my assistance. It’s like going fishing. I throw out my line and a lot of fish nibble but only a few bite. Sometimes the ones that bite are too large for me to handle and I am struggling to not get throw overboard!
For example, last week I heard about a man who has started a small health-related NGO in my community. I called him up for a meeting requesting to learn a little bit more about his org. When he stepped into the volunteer’s office and saw that I am American, he looked at me with dollar sign in his eyes (this happens a lot)! He emphasized the organization’s needs for funding and only a few minutes into our meeting was suggesting that I get involved in some messy dispute between his org and a funding source. I did my best to be supportive but told him I simply couldn’t do that because I didn’t understand the context of the situation. I figured that was it, he was no longer going to come to me for help, but he kept showing up at my office. We’d have meetings where he’d come to me for advice as if I was an expert on running NGO’s!
Situations like these are odd enough but add in the language barrier (though we are usually technically speaking English, Namibians tend to speak it's own version everyone calls "Namblish") and I know many things are getting lost in translation. Since I’ve been in Namibia, I can’t think of a time when I’ve felt like I know 100% what is going on.
It’s funny how life can sometimes supply you with exactly what you need during days or weeks like these. At the end of a long day, I really enjoy the simple pleasure of cooking dinner. The kitchen has become my outlet. If I feel like I haven’t done anything productive that day, I can at least be creative in the kitchen –or, if I can't handle anything else, I can hypnotically stare into the boiling pot of macaroni noodles and for a moment forget where I am.
One night, Beata was standing in the kitchen with me and we were chatting about the usual: the differences and similarities between our cultures. She brought up the other night when we were at dinner at another volunteer’s house. It was a fun night that turned into an impromptu karaoke session. We all took our turn at some of the songs (we thought) we knew best.
“I was surprised to see you guys didn’t know the words. I just thought you people heard a song once and could sing it perfectly.”
I laughed, “No, I’m always forgetting the words to my favorite songs.”
"So you're just like us."
“Ya, we’re all only human and we all have our fears and weaknesses.” We were both quiet and I could see she was thinking.
“Now don’t be offended, I’ve just never been so close to a white person before and I used to think we were so different –but really we’re just the same.I used to think that white people don’t care about us at all. So… you have proved me wrong.”
In that one sentence, the last four months of doubt and confusion were completely erased. Even if every one of my projects in the next two years fails, my time here has been worth all of it.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Another Saturday at “the Chicken”
So I live in a bright yellow, two-bedroom house nicknamed “the Chicken” with my 31 year-old Namibian house-mate/coworker/ invaluable friend, Beata. We named it that because 1) it’s bright yellow 2) we are down the street from a take-away place called “Jenny’s Chicken” and 3) I have been telling Beata since we decided to move in together that I want to raise some chickens. We’ve lived here for less than a month and it shows because we have no table or chairs, countertops, or cabinets for our food or even a coach to sit on. Our sitting room is full of piles of tiles and buckets of paint (the house is still in the process of renovation). However, I really think I have the ideal living situation. I don’t have to live with an entire host family, which can be a little trying for those of us who have been independent for quite some years, but I am also glad I don’t live alone. I still get the cultural experience of living with a Namibian who can show me the ropes, so to speak. Plus, she is someone I admire and get along with very well (which is fortunate since we both live and work together).
I wake up to heat and brightness of the African sunshine on my face despite the fact my curtains are drawn tightly shut. It’s about 6am and regardless of the suns rays, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep because the neighbors are blasting their funky Herero music (I don’t know how to describe it –it’s heavy on the accordion, though). They are up cleaning or who knows what, but they are clearly making a party of it.
I got into the kitchen to boil some water for tea and then I just stare out the kitchen windows to see what my neighbors are up to. I know Beata won’t be up for another 4 or 5 hours so I try to move about the house quietly. Finally at around 8 or 9, I can’t help myself any longer and I pull out my guitar to just pluck some strings ever so quietly so that it might not be heard through the thin wall that separates our bedrooms.
My only real plan for the day is to cook dinner and to hand wash my clothes in time to lay them out on the fence for drying while the sun is overhead. Cooking has become my new hobbie –kind of accidentally. Before we moved in together, Beata mentioned that she liked cleaning and the sentence that followed was, “okay so you cook and I’ll clean.” She made this decision not knowing that I have a history of subsisting merely on microwaved quesadillas that one semester in college I tried to go without a meal plan. She sounded so excited, “I want to eat American food!” Somehow I fooled my Namibian roommate into thinking that eating the can of beans I dumped into a pot of spaghetti is a cultural experience. Don’t get me wrong, occasionally I go out on a limb and make things like calzones from scratch and peanut soup creole –God bless the Peace Corps for issuing us cookbooks!
Last Saturday was my first real hand-washing laundry experience. You may be thinking, how hard can it be? I was thinking the same thing but there is definitely a “right” and “wrong” way to do it. You’ll know you’ve done it right when your inexperienced hands and wrists bleed because they haven’t been toughened by a lifetime without a washing machine. First, we put one article in a soapy bucket at a time and scrub it -every inch of it! There is a certain sound produced when she rubs the clothing together against her hands that I just cannot seem to emulate. It took something like 3 hours (lengthened by the laughing at my attempts) to get through all of our laundry because we rinsed it multiple times, each time scrubbing and wring out each item. As we carried the heavy bucket of wet clothing out to the line to dry, I was so worried that I’d drop it. If it spilled across the Mariental red dust that surrounds our house and we’d have to start it all over again. Go kiss your washers and dryer because it was 6 hours from the time we threw the first jeans in the bucket to the time we pulled our dry clothes off the line.
I wake up to heat and brightness of the African sunshine on my face despite the fact my curtains are drawn tightly shut. It’s about 6am and regardless of the suns rays, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep because the neighbors are blasting their funky Herero music (I don’t know how to describe it –it’s heavy on the accordion, though). They are up cleaning or who knows what, but they are clearly making a party of it.
I got into the kitchen to boil some water for tea and then I just stare out the kitchen windows to see what my neighbors are up to. I know Beata won’t be up for another 4 or 5 hours so I try to move about the house quietly. Finally at around 8 or 9, I can’t help myself any longer and I pull out my guitar to just pluck some strings ever so quietly so that it might not be heard through the thin wall that separates our bedrooms.
My only real plan for the day is to cook dinner and to hand wash my clothes in time to lay them out on the fence for drying while the sun is overhead. Cooking has become my new hobbie –kind of accidentally. Before we moved in together, Beata mentioned that she liked cleaning and the sentence that followed was, “okay so you cook and I’ll clean.” She made this decision not knowing that I have a history of subsisting merely on microwaved quesadillas that one semester in college I tried to go without a meal plan. She sounded so excited, “I want to eat American food!” Somehow I fooled my Namibian roommate into thinking that eating the can of beans I dumped into a pot of spaghetti is a cultural experience. Don’t get me wrong, occasionally I go out on a limb and make things like calzones from scratch and peanut soup creole –God bless the Peace Corps for issuing us cookbooks!
Last Saturday was my first real hand-washing laundry experience. You may be thinking, how hard can it be? I was thinking the same thing but there is definitely a “right” and “wrong” way to do it. You’ll know you’ve done it right when your inexperienced hands and wrists bleed because they haven’t been toughened by a lifetime without a washing machine. First, we put one article in a soapy bucket at a time and scrub it -every inch of it! There is a certain sound produced when she rubs the clothing together against her hands that I just cannot seem to emulate. It took something like 3 hours (lengthened by the laughing at my attempts) to get through all of our laundry because we rinsed it multiple times, each time scrubbing and wring out each item. As we carried the heavy bucket of wet clothing out to the line to dry, I was so worried that I’d drop it. If it spilled across the Mariental red dust that surrounds our house and we’d have to start it all over again. Go kiss your washers and dryer because it was 6 hours from the time we threw the first jeans in the bucket to the time we pulled our dry clothes off the line.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Swakopmund
This past week I spent in Swakopmund, the famous coastal town because it is the birthplace of Brad and Angelina’s baby. Sadly I wasn’t on holiday, but rather on duty as a delegate for the Mariental Ministry of Youth at the National Youth Week Expo. The conference was terribly disorganized. It actually took us 3 days and 12 hours in the cue to even get registered! I couldn’t believe that people put up with it.
Fortunately, we found time in every day to get to the beach. There is something comforting about being at the sea because it looks just about the same from whatever side of the world you are looking at it. It’s a home in some ways because it’s always there and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.
We stayed in beach bungalows, four to a room for six nights. I learned so much from my roommates, all women around my age, during those days. Over the course of the week I found myself feeling either totally thrilled or utterly discouraged about what my future here holds. I was so lucky to have one of my closest friends from training, Peggy, in town. One night I even went with her to her host families house for a “braai”(basically a BBQ) and they were so kind they welcomed me back anytime. Their daughter lives in Mariental so I may have just found myself an easy ride between Mariental and Swakop.
Our journey back to Mariental was not an easy one. In ideal conditions, the trip between Mariental and Swakop should be about 10-11 hours by bus. Our last night, we went to bed early and planned to wake up and be at the bus at 8am, the time we had been informed by my supervisor. Sometime between when I went to bed and 3am, that time changed to 4am. So next thing I knew, the light was switched on in my bedroom and my roommate was yelling, “come on, pack your things the bus is leaving!” The whole week has been like this so at this point I’ve surrendered. I don’t even question or complain, I just do it, knowing that on African time, there’s no way we are leaving before 6am. I was wrong. We pulled out at about 7am. One hour into the journey, our bus pulled over and it was translated to me that we have broken down. We were on the side of the road in the Namib desert. Rumor had it that a bus would arrive for us, at 11am, one did, but it was full. At this point, some were walking the 5km back to the nearest service station, while others were just trying to get a hike on the side of the road. We were fortunate enough to get a hike from some people working for and NGO we work with. They took us about 20k when were were stopped at a police checkpoint. They said we were overloaded in the car and one of us had to get out. Beata (my roommate –remember) volunteered and I went with her for safety and we caught a ride with a nice fisherman and his wife in the back of their covered pick-up truck with his poles and smelly coolers. We were just laughing the whole way because it was such a ridiculous situation. We were dropped at a gas station in Windhoek to try and catch another hike to Mariental. After buying some water and stepping outside the mini-mart, we were so fortunate to see a bus we recognized from the conference that was heading in our direction. After a little pleading, they agreed to take us on board free of charge. It was truly a miracle that we rolled into town that evening. Even though I’d only been in this house for a day before leaving for Swakop, I was so happy to be home! What a day.
Fortunately, we found time in every day to get to the beach. There is something comforting about being at the sea because it looks just about the same from whatever side of the world you are looking at it. It’s a home in some ways because it’s always there and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.
We stayed in beach bungalows, four to a room for six nights. I learned so much from my roommates, all women around my age, during those days. Over the course of the week I found myself feeling either totally thrilled or utterly discouraged about what my future here holds. I was so lucky to have one of my closest friends from training, Peggy, in town. One night I even went with her to her host families house for a “braai”(basically a BBQ) and they were so kind they welcomed me back anytime. Their daughter lives in Mariental so I may have just found myself an easy ride between Mariental and Swakop.
Our journey back to Mariental was not an easy one. In ideal conditions, the trip between Mariental and Swakop should be about 10-11 hours by bus. Our last night, we went to bed early and planned to wake up and be at the bus at 8am, the time we had been informed by my supervisor. Sometime between when I went to bed and 3am, that time changed to 4am. So next thing I knew, the light was switched on in my bedroom and my roommate was yelling, “come on, pack your things the bus is leaving!” The whole week has been like this so at this point I’ve surrendered. I don’t even question or complain, I just do it, knowing that on African time, there’s no way we are leaving before 6am. I was wrong. We pulled out at about 7am. One hour into the journey, our bus pulled over and it was translated to me that we have broken down. We were on the side of the road in the Namib desert. Rumor had it that a bus would arrive for us, at 11am, one did, but it was full. At this point, some were walking the 5km back to the nearest service station, while others were just trying to get a hike on the side of the road. We were fortunate enough to get a hike from some people working for and NGO we work with. They took us about 20k when were were stopped at a police checkpoint. They said we were overloaded in the car and one of us had to get out. Beata (my roommate –remember) volunteered and I went with her for safety and we caught a ride with a nice fisherman and his wife in the back of their covered pick-up truck with his poles and smelly coolers. We were just laughing the whole way because it was such a ridiculous situation. We were dropped at a gas station in Windhoek to try and catch another hike to Mariental. After buying some water and stepping outside the mini-mart, we were so fortunate to see a bus we recognized from the conference that was heading in our direction. After a little pleading, they agreed to take us on board free of charge. It was truly a miracle that we rolled into town that evening. Even though I’d only been in this house for a day before leaving for Swakop, I was so happy to be home! What a day.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Sitting, Waiting, Watching
Where can I even begin? It feels like I’m starting from scratch. We were sworn in on Friday in Okahandja and after a few hours in the capital city and a four hour drive with my supervisor, we arrived in Mariental, my permanent site. Friday marks the officially beginning of my two years of service. Training is over and now I’m standing at the base of the mountain looking up. It is both exciting and scary to be away from the safety and comfort of the training staff, my fellow volunteers and my host family. I’ve been waiting and mentally preparing for this for years, and now it’s time to perform.
My housing is not yet finished, so I am staying at the landlord’s mother’s guest flat. It’s on the predominately white/Afrikaaner side of town and I’m pretty sure it’s the nicest house in Mariental. They are very nice people, but I have to be very careful with whom I associate myself. It is still very uncommon for whites to associate with blacks and I must be committed to break the pattern. Anyway, is very complicated and something I can’t explain well at this point.
“Just go-with-the-flow” has been my mantra as of late. I truly do not know what is going on or what is about to happen most of the time. The whole week before swearing, I was asking my supervisor about my housing and I was told, “not to worry.” It wasn’t until 2 minutes before I was dropped off at someone elses’ house that I found out it was still unfinished. I was told, “hopefully it will be done tomorrow,” and have heard that everyday since Friday.
On the bright side, I have some really great co-workers, most of them young females who have welcomed me as part of the office. One of them, Beata, will be sharing the two-bedroom flat with me. It’s really the best of both worlds to have my privacy with my own room but also to have the opportunity to get to know at least one Namibian very well. Plus, I have already made her promise to teach me how to plant a vegetable garden in our backyard, to which she replied, “of course, my dear, I am a village girl!”
Going to work at the Ministry of Youth building is very counter to what I pictured my PC experience to be like. The office has just recently brand new and many new employees have been hired so things aren’t up and running yet. Right now, there are no programs and no youth. We are still waiting for “phase two” of the building which includes a gym, a library, a computer center and quite a lot of other things, but for now we just sit in the office and stare out at an empty plot of land. Building was scheduled to begin this month and no one really can explain to me why it hasn’t begun. “It is the government, my dear.” It can be quite frustrating to do this from 8am-5pm every day, but I must remind myself to be patient, it won’t be like this forever. Everyone assures me that soon enough I will be too busy and I trust in that.
I have spent some time interviewing my colleagues about Mariental. I ask what the youth are like, what are the major problems, but I learn so much even if I’m not probing them with questions. I just listen to them chat with each other and I try to figure out what is important to them. They think I am so quiet and serious, but I assure them that is only a phase. The wheels in my head are turning constantly but I haven’t come up with much yet. For now, my job is to just sit, watch, and listen. I must gather information before I can go forward with any kind of plan.
My housing is not yet finished, so I am staying at the landlord’s mother’s guest flat. It’s on the predominately white/Afrikaaner side of town and I’m pretty sure it’s the nicest house in Mariental. They are very nice people, but I have to be very careful with whom I associate myself. It is still very uncommon for whites to associate with blacks and I must be committed to break the pattern. Anyway, is very complicated and something I can’t explain well at this point.
“Just go-with-the-flow” has been my mantra as of late. I truly do not know what is going on or what is about to happen most of the time. The whole week before swearing, I was asking my supervisor about my housing and I was told, “not to worry.” It wasn’t until 2 minutes before I was dropped off at someone elses’ house that I found out it was still unfinished. I was told, “hopefully it will be done tomorrow,” and have heard that everyday since Friday.
On the bright side, I have some really great co-workers, most of them young females who have welcomed me as part of the office. One of them, Beata, will be sharing the two-bedroom flat with me. It’s really the best of both worlds to have my privacy with my own room but also to have the opportunity to get to know at least one Namibian very well. Plus, I have already made her promise to teach me how to plant a vegetable garden in our backyard, to which she replied, “of course, my dear, I am a village girl!”
Going to work at the Ministry of Youth building is very counter to what I pictured my PC experience to be like. The office has just recently brand new and many new employees have been hired so things aren’t up and running yet. Right now, there are no programs and no youth. We are still waiting for “phase two” of the building which includes a gym, a library, a computer center and quite a lot of other things, but for now we just sit in the office and stare out at an empty plot of land. Building was scheduled to begin this month and no one really can explain to me why it hasn’t begun. “It is the government, my dear.” It can be quite frustrating to do this from 8am-5pm every day, but I must remind myself to be patient, it won’t be like this forever. Everyone assures me that soon enough I will be too busy and I trust in that.
I have spent some time interviewing my colleagues about Mariental. I ask what the youth are like, what are the major problems, but I learn so much even if I’m not probing them with questions. I just listen to them chat with each other and I try to figure out what is important to them. They think I am so quiet and serious, but I assure them that is only a phase. The wheels in my head are turning constantly but I haven’t come up with much yet. For now, my job is to just sit, watch, and listen. I must gather information before I can go forward with any kind of plan.
Monday, April 13, 2009
T.I.P.C.
This morning on our way to the training center, people we’re a little more jovial than usual on a typical Monday morning. People would climb into the combie, smile and say, “Four more days you guys!!!” This Friday we swear in and finally, after years of dreaming, we finally become Peace Corps Volunteers and our two years do service officially commence. Training isn’t terrible, it’s just not what we came here for. Day in and day out we have hours of training and technical sessions and after two straight months with no holidays, it’s getting old. Plus, now we feel sufficiently prepared with our newly acquired language skills, cultural understandings, and a steel trunk full of books on everything from the PVC-compiled cookbook to the riveting, “Monitoring and Evaluation of the Civil Society contribution to tackling HIV/AIDS in Namibia, 2006 Report.” We are ready.
So this morning we sang extra loudly to our PC training anthem and thought nothing of it when Linda, our very sweet and straight-laced Training Director, quieted us down for an announcement.
“Due to the national elections taking place this year in Namibia and the heightened concern for your safety, Washington has requested that we implement additional language trainings. Language is a key factor in your safety so we have decided to extend training for an extra week for additional language training.”
There was a huge uproar from the crowd. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me?! Linda, are you joking?”
“No, no. I have never been more serious.”
“What! This can’t be happening!”
“We will be informing your host families and supervisors this afternoon. I’m sorry, this is the way Peace Corps works. Please break for your language classes.”
People were fuming! T.I.P.C. This is Peace Corps (what we say when something has no other explanation).
I could barely pay attention in language class because I was just trying to reorient myself. I was so looking forward to moving to my permanent site this week, it would be just like PC to delay us at the last minute!
Language class ended and I was texting the other PCV’s at my site letting them know that I wouldn’t be coming this week, when Linda walked by. “Did you call your supervisor yet?”
“No. Do I need to? I thought you were going to do that? ”
“I was only joking,” she laughed.
I screamed her name like Jeff screams Garfield in the comic strip!
I never saw it coming from Linda of all people! She’s like our training mom. She takes care of us and makes sure we don’t go out alone at nighttime and that our host families are feeding us vegetables. Turns out one of my friends was the mastermind behind all of this and they got us good! We were so punk’d!
Oh man, T.I.P.C. We never know what’s going to happen next!
So this morning we sang extra loudly to our PC training anthem and thought nothing of it when Linda, our very sweet and straight-laced Training Director, quieted us down for an announcement.
“Due to the national elections taking place this year in Namibia and the heightened concern for your safety, Washington has requested that we implement additional language trainings. Language is a key factor in your safety so we have decided to extend training for an extra week for additional language training.”
There was a huge uproar from the crowd. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me?! Linda, are you joking?”
“No, no. I have never been more serious.”
“What! This can’t be happening!”
“We will be informing your host families and supervisors this afternoon. I’m sorry, this is the way Peace Corps works. Please break for your language classes.”
People were fuming! T.I.P.C. This is Peace Corps (what we say when something has no other explanation).
I could barely pay attention in language class because I was just trying to reorient myself. I was so looking forward to moving to my permanent site this week, it would be just like PC to delay us at the last minute!
Language class ended and I was texting the other PCV’s at my site letting them know that I wouldn’t be coming this week, when Linda walked by. “Did you call your supervisor yet?”
“No. Do I need to? I thought you were going to do that? ”
“I was only joking,” she laughed.
I screamed her name like Jeff screams Garfield in the comic strip!
I never saw it coming from Linda of all people! She’s like our training mom. She takes care of us and makes sure we don’t go out alone at nighttime and that our host families are feeding us vegetables. Turns out one of my friends was the mastermind behind all of this and they got us good! We were so punk’d!
Oh man, T.I.P.C. We never know what’s going to happen next!
Accidental Time Capsul
I was packing for the next leg of my journey when I came across my money belt, one of two that a brought. This one is pretty intricate with lots of pockets and I don’t usually carry it because it’s too bulky. For whatever reason, I opened up one of the tiny pockets in the front and was surprised to see a $5 US bill. I knew I hadn’t put it there, at least not recently. It turned out to be a miniature time capsule from almost exactly 6 years ago on my last day in Australia. There was a hard candy wrapper inside as well as a airplane shuttle ticket and a receipt from my stay in the “Yellow Submarine” youth hostel in Brisbane (only about $11, by the way). It brought me right back to that morning when I woke up at 4am because I was so worried I would miss the shuttle and then eventually my plane. I was seriously low on cash at that point and I was praying that the transaction would go through while I watched the sleepy-eyed front desk attendant run my debit card. I knew I only had exactly enough cash to pay the shuttle driver so I was relieved when this receipt printed out. I remember being so relieved to be going home from that difficult and transformative journey. It’s crazy how certain things can bring your right back somewhere. And it’s strange that my fingers didn’t touched that $5 bill until I was way over here. I’m going to keep it right where I found it and maybe I’ll use it to buy a coke in the Windhoek airport two years from now while I wait to board my plane home.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Perspective
Hi Blogfans. Sorry it has been so long since I’ve written. It’s been a long and hard couple of weeks that have left me exhausted at the end of each day. It isn’t one thing in particular it’s just the natural progression of life for a recently arrived ex-pat. The honeymoon phase has worn off and now things are beginning to get a little more frustrating. In fact, one of the volunteers and a friend of mine went home last week. She was the second person we’ve lost since our arrival so we are down to 20 from the original group.
Training is only 2 more weeks, fortunately, because everyone is on edge. There is a lot of pressure to perform. We are expected to get high scores on our language exams and if the afternoon we work in small groups on our community project (we have less than a week to plan and implement) and then when we get home, we have to be on our best behavior because we are in someone else’s space.
There’s no sure fire way to cope. We’re all trying different things because most of our coping strategies just aren’t available to us here. For example, I cannot afford to call home on the PC salary, so I must wait to be called. But once we move to our permanent site housing, we’ll have an opportunity to settle in and create a space that is our own and that we find comfort in. I so much look forward to that time.
Today, six of us went on a hike to get a little perspective and some much needed exercise. We had our sites set on the tallest peak we could see from town. We followed a dirt path until it became barely discernible cow trails and then eventually disappeared altogether. I wasn’t thrilled about bushwhacking in black mamba territory, especially since I knew my EMT skills would mean next to nothing if we couldn’t get an injured person to the hospital quickly. We made it out alive with mere cuts and scrapes from the loose rocks and thorny bushes and tress. We did see a baboon in the distance, found the quill of what must be a GIANT porcupine and nearly walked through the webs of some very gnarly looking spiders. It’s a great feeling to stand atop a peak where very few people have ever been or will ever go. This area of Namibia has a beautiful mountainous landscape, unlike the flat desert-land I’ll be heading to at the end of the month, but all that I’ve seen of Namibia is truly beautiful.
Training is only 2 more weeks, fortunately, because everyone is on edge. There is a lot of pressure to perform. We are expected to get high scores on our language exams and if the afternoon we work in small groups on our community project (we have less than a week to plan and implement) and then when we get home, we have to be on our best behavior because we are in someone else’s space.
There’s no sure fire way to cope. We’re all trying different things because most of our coping strategies just aren’t available to us here. For example, I cannot afford to call home on the PC salary, so I must wait to be called. But once we move to our permanent site housing, we’ll have an opportunity to settle in and create a space that is our own and that we find comfort in. I so much look forward to that time.
Today, six of us went on a hike to get a little perspective and some much needed exercise. We had our sites set on the tallest peak we could see from town. We followed a dirt path until it became barely discernible cow trails and then eventually disappeared altogether. I wasn’t thrilled about bushwhacking in black mamba territory, especially since I knew my EMT skills would mean next to nothing if we couldn’t get an injured person to the hospital quickly. We made it out alive with mere cuts and scrapes from the loose rocks and thorny bushes and tress. We did see a baboon in the distance, found the quill of what must be a GIANT porcupine and nearly walked through the webs of some very gnarly looking spiders. It’s a great feeling to stand atop a peak where very few people have ever been or will ever go. This area of Namibia has a beautiful mountainous landscape, unlike the flat desert-land I’ll be heading to at the end of the month, but all that I’ve seen of Namibia is truly beautiful.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Abstinence Only
Everyday I see things worth blogging about but when it comes time to sit down and write, I find myself resisting. It is daunting to try and wrap my head around whatever it is, let alone to assign words to the thoughts I am still trying to process. Not to mention, the conditions for writing aren't ideal. Right now, I can hear the twins screaming outside my window and a fly is buzzing around my head. But for you my friends, I'll try...
My jaw dropped as I watched the news coverage of the Pope's visit to Angola and his resulting comment, "condoms are aggravating the spread of HIV." I understand the Pope is not a simple man and that was not a simple statement, but taken out of context, it was damaging and my heart sunk. I watched to see if NBC (Namibian Broadcasting Corps --funny coincidence) would play more or his speech or perhaps explain it, but the next footage was of the resulting outraged Frenchmen and other rallies calling for the Pope to resign. I was eating dinner with my family at the time, but just sat there speechless, wondering how that one sentence would effect my work over the next two year and more importantly, the future of Africa and the fight against the pandemic.
Today, a presenter from Christ Church international came into training to introduce the faith based approach that some of us may choose to work with. Though I personally don't believe an abstinence only policy would be completely affective, I conscientiously reminded myself to keep an open mind. I put down my notebook (or rather doodle pad) and listened carefully. The organizations director, an American missionary, went through the program for us as if we were the Nam school children for whom the lesson is intended. I'm not sure she completely understood her audience, health volunteer dealing with HIV, because during her talk she laughed and said things like, "and some people think that condoms are actually going to help the problem, but they're not even effective are they?" Someone from the back spoke up, "they are actually 99% effective when used correctly."
"Well who's going to teach these children how to use condoms?!"
"We will," I said (perhaps in a more confrontational tone that I had intended).
"Good luck with that," she said somewhat sarcastically and continued her presentation.
Our training group 29 is a very diverse group so by the end of the session, tempers were flaring even from our Christian PCT's and many were feeling personally affronted.
Our trainers sensed this and brought us together for a meeting after the woman had left. Initially, many people were saying they could never teach this or even support it because using scripture would conflict with their personal beliefs. The jury was still out for me and the conversation that followed made not only this issue, but my purpose here much clearer.
Benna, a Namibian father of two boys, described watching the same news coverage as I had a few nights earlier, but what stood out to him was not the Pope's words but the protesters calling for him to resign. He said, "all of these people from the outside are telling us what we should not hear, but we are the Africans so isn't it our choice to decide the best way to eradicate HIV?" It's true, since the implementation of programs like Christ Church and the "Choose to Wait Campaign" that is all over Namibia, the number of HIV has fallen. The abstinence approach does make an impact. This is not to say they deserve all of the credit, after all condoms in Namibia are government issued for free and are ubiquitous. But at the end of the day 90% of Nambians (this is just totally base on my observations) would call themselves Christians and using scripture really resonates amongst a large population of the youth. Many of our trainers spoke up and said that they hoped their own children would go through this program at their school. Though the idea of teaching abstinence may make some uneasy, it should no more be eliminated than the use of condoms. It is going to take effort from all sides by as many means as possible to eradicate this virus.
It reminder for all of us that we are not here to push our own personal agendas, but rather to work with the culture and efforts that are already in place. We can't possibly know the best way to make an impact in our community until we actually live amongst them and get to know what their values are, and for many of them religion is a big one. After all, that's why we're here for two years, so that we might learn the needs of the community first hand and then rather than replacing their ideas we add what we can. My friend Shawn, closed the meeting with four words, "it's not about you."
My jaw dropped as I watched the news coverage of the Pope's visit to Angola and his resulting comment, "condoms are aggravating the spread of HIV." I understand the Pope is not a simple man and that was not a simple statement, but taken out of context, it was damaging and my heart sunk. I watched to see if NBC (Namibian Broadcasting Corps --funny coincidence) would play more or his speech or perhaps explain it, but the next footage was of the resulting outraged Frenchmen and other rallies calling for the Pope to resign. I was eating dinner with my family at the time, but just sat there speechless, wondering how that one sentence would effect my work over the next two year and more importantly, the future of Africa and the fight against the pandemic.
Today, a presenter from Christ Church international came into training to introduce the faith based approach that some of us may choose to work with. Though I personally don't believe an abstinence only policy would be completely affective, I conscientiously reminded myself to keep an open mind. I put down my notebook (or rather doodle pad) and listened carefully. The organizations director, an American missionary, went through the program for us as if we were the Nam school children for whom the lesson is intended. I'm not sure she completely understood her audience, health volunteer dealing with HIV, because during her talk she laughed and said things like, "and some people think that condoms are actually going to help the problem, but they're not even effective are they?" Someone from the back spoke up, "they are actually 99% effective when used correctly."
"Well who's going to teach these children how to use condoms?!"
"We will," I said (perhaps in a more confrontational tone that I had intended).
"Good luck with that," she said somewhat sarcastically and continued her presentation.
Our training group 29 is a very diverse group so by the end of the session, tempers were flaring even from our Christian PCT's and many were feeling personally affronted.
Our trainers sensed this and brought us together for a meeting after the woman had left. Initially, many people were saying they could never teach this or even support it because using scripture would conflict with their personal beliefs. The jury was still out for me and the conversation that followed made not only this issue, but my purpose here much clearer.
Benna, a Namibian father of two boys, described watching the same news coverage as I had a few nights earlier, but what stood out to him was not the Pope's words but the protesters calling for him to resign. He said, "all of these people from the outside are telling us what we should not hear, but we are the Africans so isn't it our choice to decide the best way to eradicate HIV?" It's true, since the implementation of programs like Christ Church and the "Choose to Wait Campaign" that is all over Namibia, the number of HIV has fallen. The abstinence approach does make an impact. This is not to say they deserve all of the credit, after all condoms in Namibia are government issued for free and are ubiquitous. But at the end of the day 90% of Nambians (this is just totally base on my observations) would call themselves Christians and using scripture really resonates amongst a large population of the youth. Many of our trainers spoke up and said that they hoped their own children would go through this program at their school. Though the idea of teaching abstinence may make some uneasy, it should no more be eliminated than the use of condoms. It is going to take effort from all sides by as many means as possible to eradicate this virus.
It reminder for all of us that we are not here to push our own personal agendas, but rather to work with the culture and efforts that are already in place. We can't possibly know the best way to make an impact in our community until we actually live amongst them and get to know what their values are, and for many of them religion is a big one. After all, that's why we're here for two years, so that we might learn the needs of the community first hand and then rather than replacing their ideas we add what we can. My friend Shawn, closed the meeting with four words, "it's not about you."
Sunday, March 22, 2009
One Month
*note* if you click on the photos in the above slide show, it should take you to my picasa web albums page where you can see larger views of my photos with captions.
A month ago today we arrived in Namibia, jet lagged and without bags (I did finally get all of my bags for those of you who haven't been updated). In the first week, we were so slammed with information and overwhelmed by our surroundings that on Friday, it felt like a month had gone by. Now that I've actually been here for a month and have begun to adapt, some things are actually becoming predictable again and I've almost developed some semblance of a routine. I'm not quite as exhausted after each day because I have shifted back down from "high-alert" mode.
My language is starting to come along. It must be funny for the cleaning staff to walk by our class and overhear us practicing our simple sentences. "My name is Lindsay. I come from America. I like socks and peanut butter. I do not like mosquitos." And I never thought the day would come that I'd be texting my friends and Nam family in Afrikaans! However, knowing Afrikaans and English still doesn't mean you're covered. There are 11 languages spoken in Namibia and most people speak 3 or 4 of them. Once they find out you are actually attempting to learn the "local language" (whatever that means because there is never just one) then they expect you to learn theirs aswell. I guess I should take it as a compliment that they are actually pitching the language to me since speaking the tribal language is supposed to be for that tribe only, and the esoteric language is particularly useful when they want to discuss the foreigner in their midst. Nothing's better than looking over at the gossipers and saying, "ya, I'm American, but I can undestand what you're saying" in their mother tongue.
At my office in Mariental, they mostly speak English because it is the Namibian Government and technically English is the nat'l language. The locals speak Nama to each other (clicking lang.), my new friend Beata, who recently moved from Northern Namibia speaks Oshiwambo so she's teaching me a little bit of that. So I only really speak Afrikaans in training and to my family in Okahandja. At first I was nervous about learning Afrikaans because I was afraid that people would think I was an Afrikaaner (white African whose native tongue is Afrikaans), but my accent is not that good. I asked Beata if people who don't hear me speak would look at me and think I'm an Afrikaaner and she laughed, "no, they won't think you are an Afrikaaner because you are with the blacks!"
Sadly, racism is still very alive here. I've gotten dirty looks from Afrikaaners when they see me riding in the same car as my black colleagues. It's so jolting to see this blatant racism first hand and on a daily basis. It is such a damaging thing that impedes the progress of every transformative effort and I fear that it is something I am bound to run hard into once I begin my projects. But for now I'm in training, a protective bubble, which at the moment some of us resent but we will surely long for it at times when we're on our own at our permanent sites.
A month ago today we arrived in Namibia, jet lagged and without bags (I did finally get all of my bags for those of you who haven't been updated). In the first week, we were so slammed with information and overwhelmed by our surroundings that on Friday, it felt like a month had gone by. Now that I've actually been here for a month and have begun to adapt, some things are actually becoming predictable again and I've almost developed some semblance of a routine. I'm not quite as exhausted after each day because I have shifted back down from "high-alert" mode.
My language is starting to come along. It must be funny for the cleaning staff to walk by our class and overhear us practicing our simple sentences. "My name is Lindsay. I come from America. I like socks and peanut butter. I do not like mosquitos." And I never thought the day would come that I'd be texting my friends and Nam family in Afrikaans! However, knowing Afrikaans and English still doesn't mean you're covered. There are 11 languages spoken in Namibia and most people speak 3 or 4 of them. Once they find out you are actually attempting to learn the "local language" (whatever that means because there is never just one) then they expect you to learn theirs aswell. I guess I should take it as a compliment that they are actually pitching the language to me since speaking the tribal language is supposed to be for that tribe only, and the esoteric language is particularly useful when they want to discuss the foreigner in their midst. Nothing's better than looking over at the gossipers and saying, "ya, I'm American, but I can undestand what you're saying" in their mother tongue.
At my office in Mariental, they mostly speak English because it is the Namibian Government and technically English is the nat'l language. The locals speak Nama to each other (clicking lang.), my new friend Beata, who recently moved from Northern Namibia speaks Oshiwambo so she's teaching me a little bit of that. So I only really speak Afrikaans in training and to my family in Okahandja. At first I was nervous about learning Afrikaans because I was afraid that people would think I was an Afrikaaner (white African whose native tongue is Afrikaans), but my accent is not that good. I asked Beata if people who don't hear me speak would look at me and think I'm an Afrikaaner and she laughed, "no, they won't think you are an Afrikaaner because you are with the blacks!"
Sadly, racism is still very alive here. I've gotten dirty looks from Afrikaaners when they see me riding in the same car as my black colleagues. It's so jolting to see this blatant racism first hand and on a daily basis. It is such a damaging thing that impedes the progress of every transformative effort and I fear that it is something I am bound to run hard into once I begin my projects. But for now I'm in training, a protective bubble, which at the moment some of us resent but we will surely long for it at times when we're on our own at our permanent sites.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Please Don't Tap on the Glass
If you ever want to know the feeling of overnight fame, move from the US to a small town in Namibia -or have a common name like Joe and do something common like plumbing as a profession. Everyone notices when I come outside my house. They notice what I'm doing, what I'm wearing, where I'm going and they're talking about it. It must be a lot like being a newly purchased fish in a fish bow. I'm confined by my limited knowledge of the area and I can't escape the stares, but eventually, just like that the fishbowl, as time goes on, I'll becoming less interesting and fade into the background.
One day, after hours of sitting on the front proch and staring at nothing with my grandparents, I decided to take a short walk around the block. Meanwhile, Ryan, another PCV in my town who has already been here a year and knows most of the town, started getting text messages,"Who is the new American girl? Why is she walking in location (the outskits of town)? I saw here with the entire city council!" He told me this story a few days later saying, "ya, they're watching you."
Who ever was watching me was right, I had met with the city council, I met the mayor and a number of community leaders. My supervisor drove me from church to church on Sunday morning and interrupted services, which made me very uncomfortable. This was all so I could stand up infront of hundreds of eyes and say, "My name is Lindsay. I come from America and I am a health volunteer. I look forward to becoming part of your community," and then I would just stand and smile as the pastor would translate this into the Nama tongue, a clicking language. Now, when I walk down the street, people are waving to me and when I meet others they say, "I saw you in church."
Having such little alone time and having so many people looking at me all the time, has been one of the most exhausting aspects of my experience. I used to spend time alone to recharge but without the ability to get away, I've had to adjust. Homestaying is great because it really gives you a good sense of the culture, plus it's just nice to have family here now, but the downside is that you have to do live on their terms and adjust your own habits. Though I have my own room, it's considered very antisocial for me to keep it shut, but if I don't I am inviting guest (i.e. the children and their grabby hands and a knack for breaking things.) I do shut my door, though for short periods of time to do things like write this blog, but they always look somewhat concerned that I have spent so much time in my room.
One day, after hours of sitting on the front proch and staring at nothing with my grandparents, I decided to take a short walk around the block. Meanwhile, Ryan, another PCV in my town who has already been here a year and knows most of the town, started getting text messages,"Who is the new American girl? Why is she walking in location (the outskits of town)? I saw here with the entire city council!" He told me this story a few days later saying, "ya, they're watching you."
Who ever was watching me was right, I had met with the city council, I met the mayor and a number of community leaders. My supervisor drove me from church to church on Sunday morning and interrupted services, which made me very uncomfortable. This was all so I could stand up infront of hundreds of eyes and say, "My name is Lindsay. I come from America and I am a health volunteer. I look forward to becoming part of your community," and then I would just stand and smile as the pastor would translate this into the Nama tongue, a clicking language. Now, when I walk down the street, people are waving to me and when I meet others they say, "I saw you in church."
Having such little alone time and having so many people looking at me all the time, has been one of the most exhausting aspects of my experience. I used to spend time alone to recharge but without the ability to get away, I've had to adjust. Homestaying is great because it really gives you a good sense of the culture, plus it's just nice to have family here now, but the downside is that you have to do live on their terms and adjust your own habits. Though I have my own room, it's considered very antisocial for me to keep it shut, but if I don't I am inviting guest (i.e. the children and their grabby hands and a knack for breaking things.) I do shut my door, though for short periods of time to do things like write this blog, but they always look somewhat concerned that I have spent so much time in my room.
Packages
For those of you interested in sending letters or packages, I can now receive them more directly if you send them to my permanent site in Mariental rather than to the Peace Corps HQ in Windhoek. Here's the address:
Lindsay McAuely
PO Box 908
Mariental, Namibia
Africa, 9000
Packages take anywhere from 3 weeks to 3 months to arrive (3 months if it's really big and ends up on a boat).
Here are some tips on how to send it:
*Make sure you write Africa in the address because some PCV's mail was going to Burma.
*Don't declare exactly what's in the box, particularly if it's an item worth stealing. The mail goes through Johannesburg before it get here and it very likely to be riffled through.
*It less likely to be opened if the address is written in red ink and religious notes like Bible verses are scrawled on the outside.
*label it sister Lindsay, so they think I'm clergy
*If you feel so inclined, it also helps if you pack the top of the box with feminine products (tampons, pads,ect.) so that the thief will open the box and likely close it again right away thinking it's not of interest to him.
Some suggestions of what to send:
*letters, newspaper, magazine clippings from home that I can use to decorate my house.
*ground coffee (it's all instant here, and thanks to Peet's I'm now an coffee snob).
*If you're going to send candy, I like gummy bears, m&m's, skittles, dots, dark chocolate, swedish fish, pay days, but I'd be happy with anything
*If you'd like to go the healthier snack route, I like dried fruit (cranberries, apricots, mangos), nuts, and granola.
*music
*movies
*books (this is a great chance to get me to read you favorite book and perhaps understand you a little bit better.)
*inexpensive bracelets or some token of the US that I can give to my new friends.
For the most part, I can get everything I need here. No need to send toilettries or anything like that. There's no Target here or anything like that, but I suddenly don't need as much as I used to.
Lindsay McAuely
PO Box 908
Mariental, Namibia
Africa, 9000
Packages take anywhere from 3 weeks to 3 months to arrive (3 months if it's really big and ends up on a boat).
Here are some tips on how to send it:
*Make sure you write Africa in the address because some PCV's mail was going to Burma.
*Don't declare exactly what's in the box, particularly if it's an item worth stealing. The mail goes through Johannesburg before it get here and it very likely to be riffled through.
*It less likely to be opened if the address is written in red ink and religious notes like Bible verses are scrawled on the outside.
*label it sister Lindsay, so they think I'm clergy
*If you feel so inclined, it also helps if you pack the top of the box with feminine products (tampons, pads,ect.) so that the thief will open the box and likely close it again right away thinking it's not of interest to him.
Some suggestions of what to send:
*letters, newspaper, magazine clippings from home that I can use to decorate my house.
*ground coffee (it's all instant here, and thanks to Peet's I'm now an coffee snob).
*If you're going to send candy, I like gummy bears, m&m's, skittles, dots, dark chocolate, swedish fish, pay days, but I'd be happy with anything
*If you'd like to go the healthier snack route, I like dried fruit (cranberries, apricots, mangos), nuts, and granola.
*music
*movies
*books (this is a great chance to get me to read you favorite book and perhaps understand you a little bit better.)
*inexpensive bracelets or some token of the US that I can give to my new friends.
For the most part, I can get everything I need here. No need to send toilettries or anything like that. There's no Target here or anything like that, but I suddenly don't need as much as I used to.
Monday, March 9, 2009
In Real Time
There is supposed to be a slideshow of some of my pictures at the top of this blog, but my connection is too slow to see them. Please comment and let me know if they are there. There are only 5, I think, because it takes 12min. to upload each picture.
My Namibian cell phone is nicer than my cell phone was in the US, namely because it has internet access. Since Mariental (where I am currently checking out my permanent site) doesn't have an internet cafe and my office doesn't have access, this is currently my only option. It's slow, but it's so nice to be connected. Internet is one of those things that I did not have access to all my life, but once I got used to it, I don't know that I could ever give it up completely.
Edward Abbey, author of the "Desert Solitair," (what I am currently reading right now) would probably sneer at the above comment. His book is about his time working for the park service and living alone in a trailer out in Moab, Utah. Though the deserts we dwell in are on opposite sides of the world and we are isolated under different circumstances, some of the lines in his book could have easily been written in my own journal. This one made me smile today:
I like my job. The pay is generous, I might even say munificient: $1.95 per hour (per day, in my case). The firinge benefits are priceless: clean air to breathe...stillness, solitude and space; an unubstructed view every day and every night of the sun, sky, clouds, stars, moon, cliffs, canyons ....the discovery of something intimate -though impossible to name - in the remote.
...What little thinking I do is my own and I do it on government time.
This evening I joined my grandmother out on the front porch in location (this is the outerskirts of town, what we might call a shanty town or the "slums.") to read. She had no reading marterial and seemed to be perfectly content staring at the sky and listening to the children play on the dirt roads. I put down my book and decided to join her in this silent meditation. We can not converse because she speaks the Kwe-Kwe, the click language and I have been studying Afrikaans. My host mother assures me I will be speaking both naturally by the end of the week. I doubt it. They have taught me some words but they are hard to wrap my mouth around. There are four different types of clicks and they are used just like letters infront, in the middle, or at the end of words. I can hardly differentiate between them, let alone speak them.
Mariental is a nice, small town. It would not even exist were in not for the nearby man-made dam that allows them to irregate their crops. Alcoholism is a large problem here (and in all of Namibia. Further, drunkness contributes to the spread of HIV, for obvious reasons). The youth complain there is nothing else to do. I used to complain of the same thing when I was in high school, but they actually mean it in Mariental. There is no cinema, no mall, nothing is open past 5pm except the bars. Most people have TV but no internet and it is unsafe to walk the streets alone at night, so come sundown, one stays at home and sits. I don't know how much people are interested in reading here, but I'm pretty sure there is not a library. There are many things I want to do for this community and I will see what I can do within the next two years, surely not everything I dream of now.
I am only here for a week to familiarize myself with the community and my work and I will be joining the rest of the group in Okahanja again for another month. I never thought I would miss training, but I do. I am really on my own now and I haven't seen a familiar face in days. This is just a preview of what my first few months will be like when I finally move her to begin my work.
My fellow PCT were giving me flack about being in "Posh Corps" because I live in a town and it's assumed I will have running water and electricity. When I got to my host family yesterday, I no longer felt robbed of the Peace Corps experience of washing from a bucket and fighting the bugs for space on my cot. My host mother is very kind to take me in and share what little she has. That has been one of the most inspiring things to see: people share here without a second thought. There is no sense of ownership over things like food as we do in the US. The idea that it's your box of Cheeze-its and someone must ask before taking, does not exist here. The house is two bedrooms. I have my own (because it is required by the PC) but 4 other people live here.
My battery is dying some I going to wrap this up. I am doing fine, but these next few months are going to be especially tough. Thank you all for your support. It's emails and phone calls from home that really get me through the rough patches, now that homesickness is beginning to set in.
My Namibian cell phone is nicer than my cell phone was in the US, namely because it has internet access. Since Mariental (where I am currently checking out my permanent site) doesn't have an internet cafe and my office doesn't have access, this is currently my only option. It's slow, but it's so nice to be connected. Internet is one of those things that I did not have access to all my life, but once I got used to it, I don't know that I could ever give it up completely.
Edward Abbey, author of the "Desert Solitair," (what I am currently reading right now) would probably sneer at the above comment. His book is about his time working for the park service and living alone in a trailer out in Moab, Utah. Though the deserts we dwell in are on opposite sides of the world and we are isolated under different circumstances, some of the lines in his book could have easily been written in my own journal. This one made me smile today:
I like my job. The pay is generous, I might even say munificient: $1.95 per hour (per day, in my case). The firinge benefits are priceless: clean air to breathe...stillness, solitude and space; an unubstructed view every day and every night of the sun, sky, clouds, stars, moon, cliffs, canyons ....the discovery of something intimate -though impossible to name - in the remote.
...What little thinking I do is my own and I do it on government time.
This evening I joined my grandmother out on the front porch in location (this is the outerskirts of town, what we might call a shanty town or the "slums.") to read. She had no reading marterial and seemed to be perfectly content staring at the sky and listening to the children play on the dirt roads. I put down my book and decided to join her in this silent meditation. We can not converse because she speaks the Kwe-Kwe, the click language and I have been studying Afrikaans. My host mother assures me I will be speaking both naturally by the end of the week. I doubt it. They have taught me some words but they are hard to wrap my mouth around. There are four different types of clicks and they are used just like letters infront, in the middle, or at the end of words. I can hardly differentiate between them, let alone speak them.
Mariental is a nice, small town. It would not even exist were in not for the nearby man-made dam that allows them to irregate their crops. Alcoholism is a large problem here (and in all of Namibia. Further, drunkness contributes to the spread of HIV, for obvious reasons). The youth complain there is nothing else to do. I used to complain of the same thing when I was in high school, but they actually mean it in Mariental. There is no cinema, no mall, nothing is open past 5pm except the bars. Most people have TV but no internet and it is unsafe to walk the streets alone at night, so come sundown, one stays at home and sits. I don't know how much people are interested in reading here, but I'm pretty sure there is not a library. There are many things I want to do for this community and I will see what I can do within the next two years, surely not everything I dream of now.
I am only here for a week to familiarize myself with the community and my work and I will be joining the rest of the group in Okahanja again for another month. I never thought I would miss training, but I do. I am really on my own now and I haven't seen a familiar face in days. This is just a preview of what my first few months will be like when I finally move her to begin my work.
My fellow PCT were giving me flack about being in "Posh Corps" because I live in a town and it's assumed I will have running water and electricity. When I got to my host family yesterday, I no longer felt robbed of the Peace Corps experience of washing from a bucket and fighting the bugs for space on my cot. My host mother is very kind to take me in and share what little she has. That has been one of the most inspiring things to see: people share here without a second thought. There is no sense of ownership over things like food as we do in the US. The idea that it's your box of Cheeze-its and someone must ask before taking, does not exist here. The house is two bedrooms. I have my own (because it is required by the PC) but 4 other people live here.
My battery is dying some I going to wrap this up. I am doing fine, but these next few months are going to be especially tough. Thank you all for your support. It's emails and phone calls from home that really get me through the rough patches, now that homesickness is beginning to set in.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
A Day in the Life (from 3/2/09)
Every morning I wake up to a rooster crowing (classic) and take a second to gather my thoughts. Much like the Saturday morning of many college students, I wake up confused and in a strangers bed. "Where am I?!" But this isn't the morning after a night at the bars, I've joined the Peace Corps and I'm in Namibia living in an 11 person household. The amount of time it takes me to realize this diminishes every morning.
I quietly make my way to the bathroom trying not to wake up my 7 year old niece or the 4 year old twin boys because if I do, I will never get anything done. They love to play with, or rather, on me, though we don't speak each others' languages.
We are lucky to have clean water flowing through the pipes in this house, but it only comes out cold. I kneel in the basin and wash myself with the shower hose. There is no drain so the water collects at my feet. Later on, my Ma will come and scoop the water out with a bucket. She won't let me do this myself, and I am perplexed because I don't know what she does with the water. After sharing my confusion with my friends, they teased, "did you have soup last night?" Gross.
Between my 3 days of language classes and my Ma's tv-learned English, I am able to communicate that I would like instant coffee this morning instead of tea with my eggs. Ma is always demanding, "Eat! Eat!" She told me she wants to send me back to the states fat because in Namibia, fat means healthy. Being heavy is also a status indicator, so Ma would be very proud to show off her plumped-up American daughter after a few weeks. Anyway, I'm always negotiating with her. She wants me to have 3 cheese and butter sandwiches, I only want one, so we settle on two before I'm off to the bus stop. Our PC driver, Shokwambe, picks all the PCT's up each morning and brings us to training. Just like in elementary school, we tend to get rowdy during the drive.
Class begins at 8, but most of us come in early to sing traditional Namibian songs with the trainers. Each morning begins with language classes. I'm in a four person Afrikaans class which is very difficult. Language class here is different than in the states --much less structured and much more throw-you-too-the-wolves. It's also difficult because our trainer has a thick accent and our language books are written with the expectation that we speak British English. This becomes difficult when it comes phonetics and the book describes the sound as "like the a in law" but what it's really looking for is the sound of the o in "low." Not to mention, the spelling totally throws me. The word "good" is spelled g-o-e-d and is pronounced "hoot"!
The rest of the day we do group sessions on everything from our own personal health to how to teach a condom demonstration. Sadly, no one got pictures of that event!
When I come home, I try to ask Ma if I can help make dinner with her, but she thinks I'm asking for food right now and moments later I am eating again -defeated. The next few hours I spend watching cartoons with the kids until "All about Camilla" the Mexican soap opera captivates the family via satellite (that's right, no working plumbing, but satellite tv. priorities.)
Before I turn out the lights, I check my bed and the walls for mosquitoes and other bugs. Before I know it, it's morning again and I can guarantee it won't be anything like yesterday.
I Have Arrived! (From 2/24/09)
I write this in the dark from underneath my mosquito net. My body hasn't adjusted to the 7 hour time change, so after 2 hours of restless tossing, I decided to be productive. There's so much to think about it's difficult to quiet my mind.
Before I go into that, I'll explain what's been going on these last couple of days. Our group of 22 community health volunteers arrived at the Windhoek airport Sunday morning to find mangled luggage or nothing at all. Many people were missing batteries, headlamps, leatherman tools, ect. My bags never arrived, along with 8 other PCTs. I feared the worst, but remained hopeful knowing these things usually get worked out (in the states...). Luckily, I'm with a group of compassionate individuals who have offered me anything and everything until my bags arrive. A shipment of luggage was transferred to our training site yesterday and I was happy to see my guitar case, but my suitcase is still somewhere between NY and Namibia (hopefully not literally, or it's in the Atlantic). If it never arrives, I guess I'll get the real PC "roughin' it" experience -but I am still hopeful.
Out training site is located about 40 min outside of Windhoek in a town called Okahanja. We are staying in what seems to be a church camp facility with dormitory style housing, a dining hall, and friendly staff.
Our Pre Service Training or PST (Peace Corps loves three letter abbreviations or TLA's) began on Monday. There is a large training staff, all Namibians, aside from the Program Director. They will spend the next 9 months teaching us everything from safety to how to purchase a cell phone (yes, pretty standard here).
What I've seen of the country so far is beautiful. It reminds me of Australia's Northern Territory with its large tracts of uninhabited land and small, sparsely populated villages. It's green now because it's the rainy season. That means, every afternoon, the clouds roll in on a perfectly beautiful day and start dumping rain like a shower with good water pressure! We're usually outside when this happens and just move under the overhang to continue our discussion.
Currently, my internet access is very limited because I can only get it at the town's one internet cafe when I'm able to sneak off at lunchtime. Remember, in the PC, no news is good news. Peace Corps has their eyes on us at all times and if anything were to happen, they'd contact home within hours. But no need to worry, I feel very safe here.
Friday, February 20, 2009
First Day on the Job
I'm writing this only moments before getting on the plane so please forgive the franticness and inevitable spelling and grammar errors. I'm a little distracted...
Yesterday was our first whirlwind day of training in Philadelphia. I spent the morning wandering around the old city site seeing and in search of my last cappucino with my room mate and new friend. It was very surreal to be standing in front of the Liberty Bell and Benjamin Franklin's post office.
Training started in the afternoon. We are a group of 21, all community health volunteers going to Namibia. Training was very ---US Government. It was fairly boring and most of it was common sense, but I figure we just need to grin and bear it for awhile. After training we went out for our last American dinner (chicken fingers for me) and spent the rest of the night making phone calls, sending emails and taking care of last minute details like student loan paperwork and health paperwork.
This morning we walked over to the Federal Building and got some vaccinations and our malaria pills. No one was too thrilled about those since they gave most of us an upset stomach.
Well, I have to go because I'm a group leader a need to make sure my fellow PCT get on the plane. There's no staff with us from the time we got on the bus and we get to Namibia (including a night stop over in Jo'burg). I will try to write once I'm actually in Africa because I assume that's what you're all most interested in (I know I am)! I'm not nervous, but I will be. I'm excited and happy to be going. I expect it to be challenging, but I think I'm up to it.
Yesterday was our first whirlwind day of training in Philadelphia. I spent the morning wandering around the old city site seeing and in search of my last cappucino with my room mate and new friend. It was very surreal to be standing in front of the Liberty Bell and Benjamin Franklin's post office.
Training started in the afternoon. We are a group of 21, all community health volunteers going to Namibia. Training was very ---US Government. It was fairly boring and most of it was common sense, but I figure we just need to grin and bear it for awhile. After training we went out for our last American dinner (chicken fingers for me) and spent the rest of the night making phone calls, sending emails and taking care of last minute details like student loan paperwork and health paperwork.
This morning we walked over to the Federal Building and got some vaccinations and our malaria pills. No one was too thrilled about those since they gave most of us an upset stomach.
Well, I have to go because I'm a group leader a need to make sure my fellow PCT get on the plane. There's no staff with us from the time we got on the bus and we get to Namibia (including a night stop over in Jo'burg). I will try to write once I'm actually in Africa because I assume that's what you're all most interested in (I know I am)! I'm not nervous, but I will be. I'm excited and happy to be going. I expect it to be challenging, but I think I'm up to it.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Stay Classy Sacramento!
I left California this morning as the sun was rising. It was probably before most of you awoke and it was definitely before I awoke (at 3:30am, I can be vertical, but I make no promises about being awake.) It has yet to hit me the immensity of who and what I've left behind and what I have ahead.
My travel to Philadelphia was uneventful and I droned through it like a zombie. It wasn't until I met my Seattle-based room mate at the hotel that I finally felt not so crazy for feeling (or not feeling) how I do. She is equally as excited and clueless about what awaits. We savored our last slices of pizza at a local pizza joint and have spent the last few hours on our phones and computers soaking up all the readily accessible technology we can while we have it.
How did I spend my last day at home in California?
Sitting on the floor against my stripped mattress in my bare room, doing my taxes while eating Eggo waffles and listening to techno music. In a few months, that might seem as foreign to me as Namibia seems to me right now.
Stay tuned. I will be in Namibia by Monday morning.
My travel to Philadelphia was uneventful and I droned through it like a zombie. It wasn't until I met my Seattle-based room mate at the hotel that I finally felt not so crazy for feeling (or not feeling) how I do. She is equally as excited and clueless about what awaits. We savored our last slices of pizza at a local pizza joint and have spent the last few hours on our phones and computers soaking up all the readily accessible technology we can while we have it.
How did I spend my last day at home in California?
Sitting on the floor against my stripped mattress in my bare room, doing my taxes while eating Eggo waffles and listening to techno music. In a few months, that might seem as foreign to me as Namibia seems to me right now.
Stay tuned. I will be in Namibia by Monday morning.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Love
In appropriate proximity to Valentines Day, today I realized that love really is what it's all about.
Be good to each other. That is all.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Is it time to retire the Blue Coyote?
I was in REI today picking up buckle to replace the broken one on my old backpack, a Royal Blue Kelty Coyote. It's a damn fine pack, but my mind and then my body wandered over to the back wall where they keep all of the new backpacks with the latest technology (no, a backpack is not just a backpack! Read and learn...) The new Osprey packs are designed with a special curvature to fit your back, pockets everywhere and even an internal water bladder, but it felt wrong to be looking at the new models when the Blue Coyote was just sitting at home ready and waiting to be packed full of gear and slung on my back for our next great adventure. It'd feel wrong to leave her at home. She was a gift from my father on my 13th Birthday and we've been off and running ever since. The Blue Coyote wasn't there for my first backpacking trip in 5th grade, but it was on that trip that we realized the old external frame military pack I was borrowing, was not suitable for a 10 year old.
Everywhere I travel I buy patches to adorn her, but never get around to sewing them on. Anyway, I know they'd just get dirty or torn off because even though I love the old lady, I'm not always that gentle with her. She's weathered rainstorms in Australia, been thrown under buses and above train seats all over Europe (twice), clawed by pesky squirels in New Mexico and Yosemite, strapped on a pallet by an Airforce flight crew on its way to Korea, used as a sled down Mt. Rainer, and lastly has provided me with a seat/pillow/"big spoon" at countless airports, train stations, bus terminals, and metro stations around the world. Maybe someday I'll retire her and put her in a glass case in my office next to a world map, but it's not going to be any time soon.
Everywhere I travel I buy patches to adorn her, but never get around to sewing them on. Anyway, I know they'd just get dirty or torn off because even though I love the old lady, I'm not always that gentle with her. She's weathered rainstorms in Australia, been thrown under buses and above train seats all over Europe (twice), clawed by pesky squirels in New Mexico and Yosemite, strapped on a pallet by an Airforce flight crew on its way to Korea, used as a sled down Mt. Rainer, and lastly has provided me with a seat/pillow/"big spoon" at countless airports, train stations, bus terminals, and metro stations around the world. Maybe someday I'll retire her and put her in a glass case in my office next to a world map, but it's not going to be any time soon.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Trust Me
I've had the pleasure of spending some quality time with many of my friends and family over the past few weeks in order to say goodbye. Last week alone, I dropped in on old work friends, mentors, high school buddies, cousins, aunts and uncles. A comment I have been frequently getting is "How can you just leave the country for two years and move to Africa? I could never do that." Well, I suppose I really took all of those NIKE commercials to heart because --I just do it. I close my eyes and jump off that cliff (even if my friends aren't doing it). For as long as I can remember, I never just stepped outside of my comfort zone, I climbed into a cannon and shot myself way over my personal boundaries. I'll admit, it's a strange tendency and I can't really explain why I am this way. I apologize to those of you who've had to watch me do this again and again feel some anxiety over my willingness to "just do it," but believe or not, I've learned a thing or two from all of these "cannonball" experiences. Each time I stop and think a little longer about what I'm about to do and how it will effect me and my loved ones. I weigh the pros and cons and sometimes I even consult the audience.
Case in point:
When I was in Australia I was out of it. I was pretty much a space cadet for an entire month, but occasionally I had moments of clarity.
One day when the boys were out rounding up the herd to bring into the yards, I was back at camp with Cathy, the boss' wife. Cathy had the fantastic idea that I climb up on the water tower to get a great areal view of the herd as they stampeded into camp in a cloud of dust (much like the tragic scene in the Lion King). I looked at the rickety, rusted slats of metal that I was to use as a ladder and looked back at Cathy.
"I used to do it all the time at farm school," she said to assure me.
"All the way to the top? That's like 3 stories!" not trying to sound too impressed.
"Ya."
Well I didn't want to look like a wuss so, hand over hand, I climbed up. The ladder shook every time I took another step. I stopped about half way up and pulled out my camera with one hand. It slipped and as I reached for it, I nearly fell backwards. I clung to the tower with both arms and shook while thoughts of my broken body on the ground bellow ran through my head. Cathy was at the bottom looking up. "Go higher!"
I thought about all the people who asked me to be careful and how angry they would be if my demise was in pursuit of a cool picture.
"No, I can't!" I said and started to climb down.
"Why not?"
I didn't answer and just walked away. I ended up getting a pretty cool picture from the roof of the barn, but Cathy continuously reminded me that it would've been better from the TOP of the water tower. So there you have it. It IS in me to walk away.
So to all of you worriers: I'm asking you to trust me. Trust that I have had plenty of time think through this one (much more time than I ever wanted). Yes, I have been reckless with my safety in the past but I have learned from those mistakes. Trust that with every decision I make, I not only think about how it's going to effect me, but also how it could effect those important people in my life. I promise I'll be careful.
Case in point:
When I was in Australia I was out of it. I was pretty much a space cadet for an entire month, but occasionally I had moments of clarity.
One day when the boys were out rounding up the herd to bring into the yards, I was back at camp with Cathy, the boss' wife. Cathy had the fantastic idea that I climb up on the water tower to get a great areal view of the herd as they stampeded into camp in a cloud of dust (much like the tragic scene in the Lion King). I looked at the rickety, rusted slats of metal that I was to use as a ladder and looked back at Cathy.
"I used to do it all the time at farm school," she said to assure me.
"All the way to the top? That's like 3 stories!" not trying to sound too impressed.
"Ya."
Well I didn't want to look like a wuss so, hand over hand, I climbed up. The ladder shook every time I took another step. I stopped about half way up and pulled out my camera with one hand. It slipped and as I reached for it, I nearly fell backwards. I clung to the tower with both arms and shook while thoughts of my broken body on the ground bellow ran through my head. Cathy was at the bottom looking up. "Go higher!"
I thought about all the people who asked me to be careful and how angry they would be if my demise was in pursuit of a cool picture.
"No, I can't!" I said and started to climb down.
"Why not?"
I didn't answer and just walked away. I ended up getting a pretty cool picture from the roof of the barn, but Cathy continuously reminded me that it would've been better from the TOP of the water tower. So there you have it. It IS in me to walk away.
So to all of you worriers: I'm asking you to trust me. Trust that I have had plenty of time think through this one (much more time than I ever wanted). Yes, I have been reckless with my safety in the past but I have learned from those mistakes. Trust that with every decision I make, I not only think about how it's going to effect me, but also how it could effect those important people in my life. I promise I'll be careful.
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