Saturday, November 6, 2010
Saturday night cabin fever
November 6, 2010. I am writing this entry on my phone so please excuse the spelling or grammar mistakes. Its saturday evening and the sun is about to set. Last night was friday night just as it usually comes before saturday. But it doesnt feel like it because there is very little change in schedule. We do not sleep in, because the mahangu still needs to be pounded and the animals fed. The only thing that is different is there is no school. I still help out minimally in the household chores because i am inexperienced and unskilled at these matters. I can hardly retrieve water myself because the barrels are so large and heavy to pour. Today is saturday and i did not leave the homestead. I washed 6 pieces of clothing and maybe 7 dishes. I am still recovering from one of the 5 colds i have had so i did not have the energy to run. I moved lethargically from hut to hut, watching my one sister sing to the radio, drinking some oshikundu, watching my other sister sew fake hair into my mom's head. Things have become a part of a routine and it is quite nice but for some reason when it is saturday night, of the first weekend i will not see any other volunteers, it makes one feel a bit stir crazy. No tv, just a few books and the internet on my phone. One of the books i was reading is the diary of anne frank but i had to take a breather because it started to make me feel a bit trapped, all joking aside. Many amazing things have happened though. I watched my 11 year old brother behead a chicken with a machete last night. As its legs were still kicking the body was placed in boiling water, it was plucked, excess feathers burned over the fire, cooked and consumed. When i visited a neighbor, i plucked about 12 small birds you would find in our trees at home. The small lifeless beings in my hand made me feel sorry. I dont know what for. Maybe for my ignorance that small creatures like those were consumed by large creatures like us. Maybe because i think that the birds were also unaware and unprepared. Anyway i asked how you cook them and my neighbor said just like a chicken. Assuming i knew that you pull out the intestines and give them to the children to roast in the fire and eat. We ate the small birds this week. I took one and popped its baby bird body right into my mouth and crushed its fragile bones like i didnt know it was that same innocent songless corpse i had plucked before. Like it was popcorn shrimp. And it tasted like flamecooked chili pepper, you guessed it, chicken.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Petrol powered TV
October 2, 2010 continued
I could not sleep because of the sounds out there. What the hell is that noise?! It sounds like a hippo mating with an elephant-goat. I felt isolation for the first time. I am in Africa. Those ain't no coyotes out there, we ain't in Kansas. For all I know that could be a Rhino ready to charge the cinder block fortress. But it wasn't of course. It's just the sound of donkeys. I do not know if you have heard donkeys, but it is indescribable. I can honestly tell you that once I found that out and talked about it with some of my other friends, I could not stop laughing every time I hear them. I had to explain to my host family why I have bursted out laughing on occasion and they thought it was hilarious also.
My sister who speaks English leaves and I am sad, but I know that I need to get more integrated into the family and stop speaking English with the girl my age. When we are dropping her off (yes we have a car!), we stop to say hello to many people. I am feeling euphoric, but lonely and then i see three white people walking down the street who are in their 20s. I do something weird, impulsively. I shout out the window, "Hey guys, what's up? Are you from America?" My host dad pulls the car over, and they answer reluctantly, "Nothing... No." My mother asks, "Do you know these people?" And I answer, "No, sorry." Even though they clearly were from America, they had to deny it, because who wants to converse with a stranger yelling from a car window?
So we go home. I get my book out and start reading outside. I look over and see my mom yelling at my brother to get this machine working. He is pouring petrol in it and pulling the cord to crank it into gear, just like a lawn mower. I see that it is a generator. Finally he gets it going, and it is as loud or louder than a mower. I'm still reading and trying to ignore what is going on. Then I get called into the brick building, "Jeannine, come." I go in, "Sit." I see two plastic chairs and I sit in one next to Meme in front of the old school static-y television She has the channel on Big Brother South Africa, which is basically the Real World here, except there is a channel dedicated to it all day in real time, like the Truman Show. I watch, even though i just want to read, as to not be rude. My mother thinks that I am enjoying it and then leaves. There I am, smelling the fumes of the petrol generator that was cranked up to power the TV to watch a bunch of drunk South Africans fight with each other, by myself.
I honestly love my site. The principal seems really determined and driven to make improvements and there are a lot of things that need it. They have a computer lab with new computers from 2003, but they do not have internet or anyone that understand how to work a computer well. Looks like I will be teaching some computer classes. Go figure, the girl who can not even figure out how to put pictures on Facebook will be teaching IT classes next year.
I could not sleep because of the sounds out there. What the hell is that noise?! It sounds like a hippo mating with an elephant-goat. I felt isolation for the first time. I am in Africa. Those ain't no coyotes out there, we ain't in Kansas. For all I know that could be a Rhino ready to charge the cinder block fortress. But it wasn't of course. It's just the sound of donkeys. I do not know if you have heard donkeys, but it is indescribable. I can honestly tell you that once I found that out and talked about it with some of my other friends, I could not stop laughing every time I hear them. I had to explain to my host family why I have bursted out laughing on occasion and they thought it was hilarious also.
My sister who speaks English leaves and I am sad, but I know that I need to get more integrated into the family and stop speaking English with the girl my age. When we are dropping her off (yes we have a car!), we stop to say hello to many people. I am feeling euphoric, but lonely and then i see three white people walking down the street who are in their 20s. I do something weird, impulsively. I shout out the window, "Hey guys, what's up? Are you from America?" My host dad pulls the car over, and they answer reluctantly, "Nothing... No." My mother asks, "Do you know these people?" And I answer, "No, sorry." Even though they clearly were from America, they had to deny it, because who wants to converse with a stranger yelling from a car window?
So we go home. I get my book out and start reading outside. I look over and see my mom yelling at my brother to get this machine working. He is pouring petrol in it and pulling the cord to crank it into gear, just like a lawn mower. I see that it is a generator. Finally he gets it going, and it is as loud or louder than a mower. I'm still reading and trying to ignore what is going on. Then I get called into the brick building, "Jeannine, come." I go in, "Sit." I see two plastic chairs and I sit in one next to Meme in front of the old school static-y television She has the channel on Big Brother South Africa, which is basically the Real World here, except there is a channel dedicated to it all day in real time, like the Truman Show. I watch, even though i just want to read, as to not be rude. My mother thinks that I am enjoying it and then leaves. There I am, smelling the fumes of the petrol generator that was cranked up to power the TV to watch a bunch of drunk South Africans fight with each other, by myself.
I honestly love my site. The principal seems really determined and driven to make improvements and there are a lot of things that need it. They have a computer lab with new computers from 2003, but they do not have internet or anyone that understand how to work a computer well. Looks like I will be teaching some computer classes. Go figure, the girl who can not even figure out how to put pictures on Facebook will be teaching IT classes next year.
Site Visit arrival
I'm going to retype some old blogs and hope it works. It's probably stupid b/c I am wasting money most likely but oh well! Thought you guys wanted some updates.
October 2, 2010
Today is the first day that I have been allowed to sleep in in ages. I just got back from my site visit on Wednesday and we had school all day Thursday and Friday. I was exhausted from traveling about 8 hours to the North. The North is like a whole different ball game. Sixty percent of the population lives up there and it is almost entirely black people that were pushed to live on 20 percent of the land during Aparteid. Maybe even less land, but something like that. There is a line called the Red Line that separates teh North and South. It is a checkpoint that you still have to stop at when you are crossing, unlike the Mason-Dixon. The Red Line ensures that there is no commercial trade across the border , specificallly with cattle and things like that. The claims is that there is a potential for disease transfer but I was told that it is simply so that the Northern cattle can't compete with the Southern cattle. Some things have yet to change since Aparteid.
A colleage of mine came to our training center to attend a workshop and me up to my site. We traveled in a kombi with our other supervisors and stopped about every 30-40 minutes. The Namibian people are so kind. they stop to visit their relatives if they are passing through town, even on public transport. We stopped to by "cool drinks" (onamunate in Oshindoga) because it gets soo hot that they need a word for a cool drink. On our trip, there were some male supervisors purchasing beer as their cool drink, kickin em back at 9 am and we had to stop every once and a while to buy more beer. Or to say hi to a child at a hostel school somewhere. Or to pick up something from a relative. Or to go to the bank. Or to the bathroom. You get what I'm saying.
I arrived and then showered and went to the school fundraiser. It was a weekend-long extravaganza that the school bases their budget off of. All of the families of school children donate one chicken, and the parents really worked hard at preparing the feast. There were even three families that donated a goat each. I arrived on school grounds and had an amazing welcoming. It was the most important I have ever felt in my life. I step out of the car and 30 adults start heading my way. Everyone wants to be the first to greet me. I put out my right hand and touch my right elbow with my left in order to do a traditional handshake, and I bend at the knee. As if we are all old friends, everyone pulls me in instead and partially embraces me on one side and then the other, like how the French kiss on both sides of the face to greet but instead we are hugging on both sides.
"Wu uhala po, meme?"
"Ee-ee."
"Nawa tuu?"
"Ee-ee.(Laughter at me speaking Oshindonga.) Ngoye wu uhala po, meme?"
"Ee-ee"
"Nawa ngaa?"
"Ee-ee."
"Opo wu li?"
"Ee-ee"
"Owu li nawa?"
"Ee-ee. Opo wu li?"
"Ee-ee"
"Owu li nawa?"
"Ee-ee. Onawa."
This is the formal afternoon greeting. You say the opo wu li part only if you have not seen each other for a few days, which I learned the hard way when a colleauge laughed at me for asking her two days in a row. Take this greeting and imagine saying it 100 times in a few days. I greet my principle holding my right elbow with my left hand and bending at the knee as he takes my hand. Then we pull our hand up as to squeeze each others' thumbs and then back down to a normal handshake. I bend at the knee and he nods his head as a sign of respect. We are two different genders greeting in two different ways.
Interjection: Ebba is playing the radio and I am listening to uptown girl by Billy Joel. Where am I?
We leave early because I am not supposed to travel after dark and I stay with my colleague Susan (eyes she is African), who lives in town. She was the one who picked me up. I stay up late with her children watching Namibian music videos on her TV in her nice modern home. I sleep in her bed with her, like we Africans do. I am tired but I am DYING to see where I will be staying for the next two years. What is my homestead going to look like? Will I like my family? What is my room like? Is it close to this huge town? Will it even be traditional? Will I have water or will I have to walk 1.5 km?
I wake up the next morning and we take our time making it back to the school fundraiser. Susan and I split a small chicken for breakfast and have some tea. The usual. I shower in cold water in a normal shower but yearn to see my new shower. What will it look like? Susan insists on doing multiple errands then we stop in at the school fundraiser because it is on the way to my house. I do not want to be rude so I agree, although I have a feeling that we are not "just stopping in for a cool drink." We are there for well over an hour and I become so anxious. I have to keep reminding myself that I am in Africa, and nothing is going to run on my schedule, but these self-criticisms do nothing but make me more anxious. Why am I so impatient? So American? Am I going to be able to handle this?
FINALLY I get to my homestead and it is awesome. It is surrounded by a cinder block fortress and when you walk in, there are sticks tied together as hallways, separating the men's half from the women's half. The women's half contains all the traditional stoves, which are big stones on the grownd that hold the cauldrons above the fire. The men's half has, I don't know, lounge chairs or something. How cross-cultural. There are multiple huts just for storage of food and mahangu (which is what they make oshithima, or sand porridge out of). There are other huts to just chill and relax. There is one that has tot be there traditionally, because it used to be fore the women and children to sleep in, even if they do not anymore. Just a small empty hut. There are three cement block buildings, one more Tate and Meme, one for the boys, and one for the girls. I am stayin in the girls' building. There is clean water from a tap in the homestead. s a nice cement block building where I can take my bucket shwoer and an outhouse only 20 meteres away or so. You just gotta travel past the pig pen, mahangu storage, and chicken coup. We have 27 goats, and 12 cows, no big deal.
October 2, 2010
Today is the first day that I have been allowed to sleep in in ages. I just got back from my site visit on Wednesday and we had school all day Thursday and Friday. I was exhausted from traveling about 8 hours to the North. The North is like a whole different ball game. Sixty percent of the population lives up there and it is almost entirely black people that were pushed to live on 20 percent of the land during Aparteid. Maybe even less land, but something like that. There is a line called the Red Line that separates teh North and South. It is a checkpoint that you still have to stop at when you are crossing, unlike the Mason-Dixon. The Red Line ensures that there is no commercial trade across the border , specificallly with cattle and things like that. The claims is that there is a potential for disease transfer but I was told that it is simply so that the Northern cattle can't compete with the Southern cattle. Some things have yet to change since Aparteid.
A colleage of mine came to our training center to attend a workshop and me up to my site. We traveled in a kombi with our other supervisors and stopped about every 30-40 minutes. The Namibian people are so kind. they stop to visit their relatives if they are passing through town, even on public transport. We stopped to by "cool drinks" (onamunate in Oshindoga) because it gets soo hot that they need a word for a cool drink. On our trip, there were some male supervisors purchasing beer as their cool drink, kickin em back at 9 am and we had to stop every once and a while to buy more beer. Or to say hi to a child at a hostel school somewhere. Or to pick up something from a relative. Or to go to the bank. Or to the bathroom. You get what I'm saying.
I arrived and then showered and went to the school fundraiser. It was a weekend-long extravaganza that the school bases their budget off of. All of the families of school children donate one chicken, and the parents really worked hard at preparing the feast. There were even three families that donated a goat each. I arrived on school grounds and had an amazing welcoming. It was the most important I have ever felt in my life. I step out of the car and 30 adults start heading my way. Everyone wants to be the first to greet me. I put out my right hand and touch my right elbow with my left in order to do a traditional handshake, and I bend at the knee. As if we are all old friends, everyone pulls me in instead and partially embraces me on one side and then the other, like how the French kiss on both sides of the face to greet but instead we are hugging on both sides.
"Wu uhala po, meme?"
"Ee-ee."
"Nawa tuu?"
"Ee-ee.(Laughter at me speaking Oshindonga.) Ngoye wu uhala po, meme?"
"Ee-ee"
"Nawa ngaa?"
"Ee-ee."
"Opo wu li?"
"Ee-ee"
"Owu li nawa?"
"Ee-ee. Opo wu li?"
"Ee-ee"
"Owu li nawa?"
"Ee-ee. Onawa."
This is the formal afternoon greeting. You say the opo wu li part only if you have not seen each other for a few days, which I learned the hard way when a colleauge laughed at me for asking her two days in a row. Take this greeting and imagine saying it 100 times in a few days. I greet my principle holding my right elbow with my left hand and bending at the knee as he takes my hand. Then we pull our hand up as to squeeze each others' thumbs and then back down to a normal handshake. I bend at the knee and he nods his head as a sign of respect. We are two different genders greeting in two different ways.
Interjection: Ebba is playing the radio and I am listening to uptown girl by Billy Joel. Where am I?
We leave early because I am not supposed to travel after dark and I stay with my colleague Susan (eyes she is African), who lives in town. She was the one who picked me up. I stay up late with her children watching Namibian music videos on her TV in her nice modern home. I sleep in her bed with her, like we Africans do. I am tired but I am DYING to see where I will be staying for the next two years. What is my homestead going to look like? Will I like my family? What is my room like? Is it close to this huge town? Will it even be traditional? Will I have water or will I have to walk 1.5 km?
I wake up the next morning and we take our time making it back to the school fundraiser. Susan and I split a small chicken for breakfast and have some tea. The usual. I shower in cold water in a normal shower but yearn to see my new shower. What will it look like? Susan insists on doing multiple errands then we stop in at the school fundraiser because it is on the way to my house. I do not want to be rude so I agree, although I have a feeling that we are not "just stopping in for a cool drink." We are there for well over an hour and I become so anxious. I have to keep reminding myself that I am in Africa, and nothing is going to run on my schedule, but these self-criticisms do nothing but make me more anxious. Why am I so impatient? So American? Am I going to be able to handle this?
FINALLY I get to my homestead and it is awesome. It is surrounded by a cinder block fortress and when you walk in, there are sticks tied together as hallways, separating the men's half from the women's half. The women's half contains all the traditional stoves, which are big stones on the grownd that hold the cauldrons above the fire. The men's half has, I don't know, lounge chairs or something. How cross-cultural. There are multiple huts just for storage of food and mahangu (which is what they make oshithima, or sand porridge out of). There are other huts to just chill and relax. There is one that has tot be there traditionally, because it used to be fore the women and children to sleep in, even if they do not anymore. Just a small empty hut. There are three cement block buildings, one more Tate and Meme, one for the boys, and one for the girls. I am stayin in the girls' building. There is clean water from a tap in the homestead. s a nice cement block building where I can take my bucket shwoer and an outhouse only 20 meteres away or so. You just gotta travel past the pig pen, mahangu storage, and chicken coup. We have 27 goats, and 12 cows, no big deal.
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