Homestay beginnings

August 25, 2010
So much has happened in such little time. Already the week has gone by, and I am not living with all the PCT’s anymore at the hostel location. I am in my homestay!
But before I get to that, we should review. I climbed the top of a mountain a few days ago, and it was a dry, handsome sight. The actual mountain itself was perfect to climb. The rock did not crumble and the only annoying thing were the thorns. There were nasty thorn trees that would get you if you didn’t pay attention. The air was hard to breathe because here in Namibia, we are already a mile higher than in the US, and when you continue to climb, it takes a toll on the old lungs. You could see flat land for days and mostly sandy savannahs ahead, but for the first time since I got here, I felt like I accomplished something. This summer was rough on me, because I did not feel like I had achieved much. Since I left for the Peace Corps, my hand has been held and I have felt like I was on tour. Especially when I was at the Herero ceremony, I felt like a tourist and out of place. It may have been the fact that there were only African women around me, wearing double pointed hats and full Victorian dresses speaking Otjiherero, but it also could have been the fact that I have been with Americans this whole time. There are Namibian leaders here, but it almost feels like we hired them to give us a tour of Namibia.
I went to the second day of the Herero ceremony and it was very meaningful because we saw the procession of the people and we visited the graves of the Herero chiefs. One of our trainers, Angelica, explained everything to us and introduced us to many Herero people. We went over to another graveyard area across the street and saw other Herero heroes that were buried next to German soldiers that the Herero had killed. It had previously been a graveyard only for the people that attended the Lutheran church (the Germans) but many of the Herero chiefs were buried there. On the tombstones (which looked like they cost a fortune), there were various Christian psalms written along with actual pictures of the leaders. One fact that is cool is that you can not point when you are at a gravesite. You have to bend your finger in and only point with the first knuckle closest to your palm or else it is a bad omen. After that we crossed the street and were all blessed by a Herero leader and touched the graves of the greatest leaders. It was my first true cross-cultural experience that I hadn’t felt like I was a showcase because we were in a small group.
Yesterday, I finally learned my language. The trainers (our teachers during Pre-service Training or PST) made a fun activity and gave all the language trainers an animal and those who were their students the same animal. We counted to three and all had to find each other making noises. I got Oshindonga which means that I will be in the North! That is where 60% of the population is. Knowing our language meant that we finally got placed with our homestay family and so last night I met my homestay “mother”. It turns out that I do not have a traditional family, but who does? I am actually staying with a single, 35 year old woman who takes care of her 12 year old little brother. My host mom teaches first grade at a nearby school and speaks perfect English. She told me that we will not be speaking English in the house, but Oshindonga, which made me very pleased.
Today, I arrived at my house, just about 3-4 hours ago. The woman’s name is Ndahafa and she speaks the same language as me! Many Peace Corps Trainees (PCT’s) do not have families that speak their language so I lucked out. We got home and she lives in a beautiful little place. I have a queen size bed and a nice sized room. Much bigger than whatever Cassie and Alex are living in, I am sure. She and her little brother are sharing her room. They have a full sized fridge, a stove, microwave, and satellite TV! Tonight we watched Gossip Girl while we ate dinner and talked. Haha! But there is a catch that proved that I was in Africa. I came out from packing and saw my little brother on the floor with a bowl of water & cloth to wash our hands with, so I did. Then, we ate with our hands. Dinner consisted of a traditional “porridge”, a chunk of sheep, and sauce on a plate. The porridge had the consistency of play-dough or something and you don’t bite it, because if you do, it feels like sand in your mouth. So you just swallow. The adult starts with the porridge and dips it in the sauce and then the kids can eat it. The adults cut themselves meat but the kids are not allowed any meat until the adults allow it. Her little brother did not eat any meat and I ate a little, although I did not know how to cut it or how to chew the cartilage. I was embarrassed when I put the cartilage back on the plate, because she had finished it but I knew I would not be able to chew it. The brother, Itana, did not eat any meat, but he was our servant. He picked up our dishes once we were done and poured us water when she asked him to. It is something I will have to adjust to. She said he was 12 but he looks like he is eight, he is so small and skinny.
During and after dinner, Ndahafa and I talked all about Namibian and American history, black vs. white relationships at home and here, affirmative action, American TV, and education here. I already got to hear a few stories about her experience with Apartheid, and they are so disturbing. She was about 15 years old when Apartheid ended, so she was taught that she was too stupid to learn math and science at a high school level, and that it was only for whites. It reassures me that I will have a serious role to play here as a science teacher and that hopefully I will make a difference in an African child’s life. I have to go to bed now, because I must get up at 5:45 am. The earliest I have been up so far. Tomorrow is Heroes’ Day, a national holiday in Namibia celebrating all those who fought for independence in this country, and already I feel more connected to Namibian holidays thanks to the few stories that Ndahafa has told me.