January 18, 2011
My birthday was not all glimmer and glitz, because I did not have a phone. Allie was generous enough to let me use hers. She even texted Will through skype, as a surprise for me, to ask him to tell all my friends to call her phone. Unfortunately, the phone’s battery would not last and I’m sure the frustration in the US was a bit unbearable. It was hard hearing Jaimegirl’s voice for one minute and then getting cut off; talking to Candice for 8 minutes was a pleasure although would have loved for it to be longer; I got cut off from Will after 45 seconds as well. Apparently, my family called in the middle of the night but I was sleeping. That is a major frustration over here, but it is a blessing that Namibia even has service at all and that I usually access the internet through my phone. Probably my greatest struggle is feeling dependent on others calling me, because it is way too expensive for me to call outside of Namibia or even in Namibia. Nonetheless, I try to keep a positive attitude, and even though the calls are dropped every 10 seconds, the 30 seconds of conversation make it all worth it.
On the 28th, about 20 of us rented two closed pickup trucks (!) and drove up the Skeleton Coast. We stopped at a shipwreck which exemplified why they call it the Skeleton Coast. We kept on going North to Hentie’s Bay which is a smaller, more local version of Swakopmund and got some fried fish and chips to go. It took about an hour for them to make 20 fish and chips but it was seriously worth it in the end. We saw some funny shops, one that had a picture of a seal that pointed saying, “Seal Shoes.” Then, we continued north to Cape Cross to see the seal colony there.
By this point, things are looking rather deserted (tehe). To the right, no life in site, endless desert sands. To the left, there is coastline and a seemingly infinite ocean. We pull up to the office where we pay for admission. It is 3 km or so away from where the seal colony is, and so we read up on the latest seal news. There is some controversy in Namibia over clubbing, and I ain’t talkin dancin. Apparently every year the government sponsors a mass clubbing of seals (meaning they beat thousands of seals to death with clubs), which results in a good profit from their hide and export of their innards (their genitals are shipped to China for reasons I am unaware of). I feel so much empathy for these innocent, beautiful, unique, harmless creatures that I just can’t wait to see them. I want to tell them that I’m sorry about their impending, brutal death and reassure them that someday we humans will suffer the repercussions of our cruel actions, that someday we too will be at the mercy of a creature that has surpassed us in intelligence, that our careless reign will not exist forever…
We pull up to Cape Cross and are welcomed by the large crucifix, a replica of one that was placed there by a Portuguese explorer, I believe. We step out of the car and are smacked in the face by the stench of the dead and dying seal population. Not having the upmost ability to breathe through my nose, I can take it, and I walk toward the viewing deck, which is long wooden dock raised about 2 feet off the ground that stretches all around the coast, about 30 yards inland from the sea. I take about 4 steps onto the viewing dock for my first image to be a dead adolescent seal lying on the viewing dock to my right, and another one just off the viewing dock with blood from its head drying in the sand.
“Well, I know this is one place that I am NOT taking my family, “says Ryan.
“Oh my God, look at this little guy! He’s so cute!” says Allie, also known as Fran from the Nanny.
A seal colony is the perfect way to describe it. It is like when South Africa colonized Namibia, or the Europeans colonized America, they came to a spot and claimed it. They pushed everything else back so that it is solely their territory and as a result, many more moved in. All you could see was black and brown slippery, slick, hairy skin throughout the coastline. 250,000 seals. That is when I started to have a panic attack.
I wasn’t just viewing them-- I am telling you, they were all around me. Seals and baby seals had overtaken the picnic bench area behind me and were using it for shade. So much for a picnic lunch. Seals and baby seals were beneath every inch of the viewing deck, so that every step you took, every plank you applied pressure on, you would hear a cry from a seal beneath you in response. I was stepping on the seals, or were they clipping at my heels? Which one of us was the aggressor? The sounds--the moans, the cries, the whimpering, the calling of their young, the fighting of two alpha males all blending together sounded like Dante’s 10th circle of Hell. The way they were itching their damp bodies on the rocks by rubbing against them and taking their fingerlike appendages and scratching their faces constantly started to make me itch. They all seemed to be looking at me and yowling. All the baby seals were scuttling and waddling in our direction to go underneath the viewing deck. Come on Jeannine, you are a ‘scientist’. How do you not appreciate the beauty in what you are seeing? How exceptional this experience is? This is something you may never see again. Take it all in. But that’s just it. You cannot take it all in. There are too many seals to comprehend, and it is when you start to grasp the nature of the matter, it’s overwhelming. The putrid smell, the wailing, and the overpowering sight was enough for me to calmly evacuate the premises. My friend, Dan, put my experience well when he said, “Yeah, I could tell you weren’t really into it when you walked as far as you could away from the area by yourself and faced the other direction until we were all ready to go.”
Later, we were all discussing our greatest fears, and that is when I realized I have a seal phobia.
We decided we would camp out on the beach by the shipwreck. We cooked food over an open fire, cooking pasta with a meat sauce and roasting marshmallows for desert. Allie and I slept out underneath the stars together. It was very cold by the sea, so we huddled together in our sleeping bags. We awoke at sunrise, ready to go to Walvis Bay and Dune 7.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
January 15, 2010
Back to the village! Back to the homestead. Back to my home. For the next two years.
It is insane to think I have been here officially 5 months now. My European extravaganza lasted a little longer than this, and that felt like eternity. This has felt very short in comparison. It makes me feel like these two years is going to go by fast.
The past few months have been crazy because it has been back and forth between American culture and Namibian culture. Surrounded by Americans and then surrounded by Namibians. Pre-Service training was 8 weeks, and we were practically surrounded by Americans the whole time except when we went home to our host families. One of those weeks we went to our homestead—site visit—all Namibians. Then we went back to all Americans, then we came to our sites to move in – all Namibians—then we went to Reconnect for two weeks—All Americans—then we went back to site for a week with all Namibians—then we went on vacation for almost a month! All Americans. Now I’m back and ready to feel settled. My head is spinning.
The end of the school year was interesting. Hotter than ever, and I had very little to do. The teachers were busy preparing exams and going to Windhoek to grade exams. I replaced teachers who were absent and who went to Windhoek to grade for two weeks. It was all “Revision” aka review, and it went well. They do not have substitute teachers here, and so if the teacher is absent, then the kids sit in their classroom alone. Sometimes the teachers will just skip class or be really late to class and a learner is designated to go and find them if they are missing. It was cool to have the learners run up to me…
“Miss Jahneen, Miss Jahneen! Come and teach!”
“Where is your teacher?”
“Excuse?” (Their way of saying pardon?)
“Are you all alone today?”
“…?”
“Do you have a teacher?”
“No, she is not here.”
“Okay, I’ll come.”
“Yayyy!” (Lots of jumping and running into the classroom.)
At the end of the year we had a 48% pass rate for our grade 10. We are a combined school with grades 1-10. The 10th graders take national exams that determine whether they will be admitted into another upper secondary school for 11 & 12 grade. All of our success is based on how many kids pass 10th grade. We were ranked 29 out of 60 in our region. We got work to do.
Reconnect with other volunteers. Nothing could be like it. We were on top of a mountain outside of Windhoek at an amazing resort with two in-ground pools. The mountains were so green and it starkly contrasted the endless flat plains of sand that we are surrounded by in the North. It was a luxury to stay there. Very relaxing and nice to see my fellow volunteers, but the conference was very pre-mature and we could have benefitted a lot more if it were later in the year like it usually is. It was nice to be able to go into the capital which is just like a small American city. The food was amazing and the tea times were plentiful. (We had two tea breaks a day, just like in Pre-service Training, and it gets addicting. You start to really NEED tea time after a while).
Then I went back up to my site in the north and went to two awesome Owambo weddings. Wow talk about fusion. The bride wears a traditional Catholic white dress in this desert-like climate. The bridesmaids all have matching dresses too! It looks like an American wedding from afar and then you walk into the church. Let’s back up.
I went on a Friday although the wedding ceremony was on a Saturday. I watched cows get slaughtered and cut up and I participated in lots of yelling and dancing and chanting every time we heard a gunshot go into a cow’s head. We would yell in this shrill that is like a Mexican shrill (ayayayayayy), maybe. It’s unique. I watched the cow get all diced up and they all laughed at my expressions, knowing I had never seen anything like it. I took pictures like a tourist. I have been giving up on “blending in” because there’s one major thing that stands in my way.
So they cooked this cow all night long and we drank lots of traditional beer which is acid reflux in a kalabash. My sister and I got really tired so we just laid down a mattress and went to sleep. We were awoken suddenly, as usual, at about 10:30, …
“Penduka! Penduka!” (Wake up, Wake up!)
“Mem?” (Mom or Ma’am. Meaning what do you need, Mom? If you are called by someone you always answer Mem? Or Tat? Like Meme or Tate, what do you need?)
“Magano, Take a meat.” (Magano is my Oshiwambo name. It means Gift. )
I get up reluctantly, knowing that I should take more beef, even though I had already eaten some earlier in the evening and the ol’ acid reflux is acting up. It is over within a half hour and in our haziness, my sister and I fall back asleep… and at 12 midnight.
“Penduka! Penduka! Magano, take a meat!”
“No thank you. I am okay, thank you!”
“OH! You are not going to take a meat? Magano, take a meat!”
I get up grudgingly. Do these people even care that I was a vegetarian before I came here? Do they even understand how hard I try to do what they do, eat their goat liver and small baby birds and cow intestine and fish heads and sand and…
I sit and eat that beef that had live blood flowing through it only hours before and go back to sleep with it crawling up my throat, as I lack a pyloric valve… and at 1:30 am…
“Penduka! Penduka! Take a meat.”
“Are you serious? There is more meat? When is this going to be over? What time is it?”
“Meat and porridge! Wake up and take!”
“No, sorry my stomach hurts, I can’t.” (half-lie)
But my sister got up and ate it whole-heartedly. When I woke up the next morning, I was asked if I was feeling better right away. I said I was fine. I spent at least 2 hours dicing potatoes for the biggest vat of potato salad I had ever seen and then later went to the church. My meme and sister did not want to go to the church so I went by myself.
There were three couples getting married, not just one, and apparently sometimes there are 10 or so. I went with some people that I did not know, but we arrived at least half way into the service. Obviously when I walk in, somehow all 250 heads turn to look at the white girl that just stepped into the church in the middle of the bushland. I’m not the one getting married people. Nothing to see here. To be fair, there probably was not another white person who stepped foot in there since the missionaries that set the place up. The service was like a funeral in that people were asked to come up and make statements about the couples. People went up there and were talking all about the marriage of the two and I believe anyone who wanted to go could go up front. Obviously I went up there… haha just kidding!
It was another 2 hours in Oshiwambo, so I am not very sure about what happened and no one was with me to help me understand… Exhibit A: We had to make an offering to the couples and there was a bowl in the center aisle. Of course I am in the innermost seat in the last row and I am nudged to be the first one to go forward. I didn’t have any money on me and the lady that nudged me gave me 15 Namibian cents. That’s like 2 pennies. I walk confidently down the center aisle with a big smile on my face to distract the fact that I am about to be the first one to put money in the bowl and they are going to know exactly how much the white girl contributed to their marriage, 15 cents, after all the cow meat they gave me (forced down my throat). I place the money in the bowl and turn the corner to walk away. The woman behind me pulls me back and shows me that we are to shake the hands of all three couples.
“Congratulations, that’s less than three Namibian cents I contributed to your future. Did I mention you look beautiful on this wonderful occasion?”
It turned out that we were not supposed to walk down the middle aisle at all, but the outer aisles. So half the church is following my lead and the other half is going to the outer aisle and they are meeting awkwardly in one mass in middle. Damn Oshilumbu (white person).
Exiting the church the members of the family wait for the wedding party to come out and then form a parade in front of them. We danced and sang and chanted and shrilled announcing the wedding party behind us as they walked with stone cold expressions on their faces, but hey at least we were happy. We went back to the homestead and the wedding march continued when the wedding party made it to the homestead. Then the bride and groom sat at a designated area while everyone gathered around. A prayer was said and there was a speaker and then a line up of people offering gifts. Then we all went inside the homestead and there was a special tent designated for the wedding party and other tents for guests. A wedding is much different here, because there is not a guest list. Anyone can come (example, me) and there is tons of food made for whoever shows up. The similarities were there too. The special tent for just the wedding party members and many outdoor tents (like those big ones used at events) were rented. We ate a lot of food and drank many, many sodas. Then a large group and the wedding party went to the groom’s homestead for another celebration with food. I don’t know how these people can eat so much. Then everyone came back late and danced well into the night. We stayed over again and I refused to eat meat in the middle of the night.
The next day my friend, Ryan, came and visited my homestead. He was the first to see it and it was exciting to show him around. Then we went to another wedding in my village which was great, because I knew a lot of people and could look really popular in front of my fellow PCV. I got to explain to Ryan all about how weddings work haha like I was an expert. I was given a towering plate of beef as a gift by someone at the wedding before anyone was even eating and I thanked them for being so generous. Then the food came out and Ryan and I ate a big plate under this one tent (including shredded beef mixed with mayo). Then my colleague came out with chicken and gave us a nice portion. We were stuffed but told we had to go over to the wedding tent, so of course we went. Then a woman came up to Ryan with another plate of food.
“Oh, no thank you. I already ate in the other tent!”
She gives Ryan, my meme, and me a confused look.
“I already had a plate at the other tent. Thanks!”
My meme then accepts the plate of food even though she had already eaten as well. Feeling like he had made a major mistake and did something insulting, Ryan requests another plate of food and I accept one as well. ( You are always supposed to accept food if it is offered, but we figured they did not know we had eaten.) I eat some and then share with the woman next to me, but Ryan, disregarding his physiological limits, determinedly finishes his plate. After that, he didn’t want to talk anymore and passed out early in sickness. Two days later, he was sicker than I’ve seen anyone yet. Oops!
Wow I just wrote a lot about weddings and really only skimmed the surface, and that was only one weekend!
Next day, Ryan and I went to meet all the other volunteers in the central Namibia. We stopped by Lake Otjikoto and chilled with many a-species. All types of exotic birds, ostriches, warthogs, some type of huge gemsbok-like thing, guinea pigs, an alligator… weird stuff going on there. We met up two days later and then we headed to Okahandja to take the overnight train to Swakopmund. This was a novelty in Peace Corps history, because you can pretty much go for free to Swakopmund if you find someone to give you a ride and it only takes 2 hours by car. It costs N$100 (about USD$15) to go on the train and it took like 9 hours to get there. Sounds like we made a dumb decision, but being on an overnight party train with Germans and Namibians with the train roaring at 45 miles an hour was one of the best nights of my life. SO much fun. A local climbed out of the window and re-entered from another window while the train was moving. It was that wild. My friends (Nick, Ryan and Allie) even got to drive the train with the conductor. At some point, the air changed from dry desert wind to a cool, seaside breeze…
And then there was Atlantic Ocean. The very same one seen in New York and Florida but on the other half of the world. It felt so good to feel the cold salt water wash up against my toes and the mist blow across my face. We settled at our camping site about 50 yards from the beach, right next to an awesome beach bar that had a DJ and cheap food. It was perfect. We stayed there for N$40 a night like $5.50 a night. It was amazing. Swakopmund is the Western world in Namibia, and I had not been around so many white people since being in the US. It was very strange. At one point we were at a restaurant and everyone eating there was white, and we all felt out of place even though we were all white. This is the prime time tourist location. The houses are amazing. You feel like you are in LA walking down Santa Monica Blvd. They even have a spectacular pier.
We spent Christmas there, about 30 of us. Some people brought decorations to put on a tree on our campsite and on Christmas Eve, I put on the Now That’s What I Call Christmas album on my iPod, despite the resistance of many, and then within minutes we all were dancing and singing Christmas carols loudly into the night. (The next day, the campsite owners told us that there was a curfew haha.) On Christmas, we woke up to cute little stockings that Santa put by all of our tents stuffed with candy. We listened to the Maria Carey Christmas album as we opened our “secret springbok” gifts from each other. It was my first Christmas without my family and it was truly very magical even without the snow. We all still had loved ones around (awwwwwwww). I had a Jewish Christmas with two of the Jewish volunteers *perhaps the only two in the country?* and a bunch of us went out to Chinese food on Christmas. It was the best Chinese food I had ever had in my life. Nothing like American-Chinese food. It was gourmet and felt like a real Jewish-Christmas feast. We sat there as the only ones in the place for like 3 hours, and then we saw two young girls eating and noticed their American accents. Two Peace Corps Botswana volunteers! Nice to meet new friends.
Speaking of meeting new friends, Allie and I called a South African guy on the street because his shirt said “F_c_book”, and we wanted to know what his deal was. He looked like a tourist. He was on vacation at his vacation house that he hadn’t been to in 13 years outside of Swakop, so he was kind of alone with his mom and aunt. He also was a world traveler and had stayed in the US on the West Coast for a while, so he loved American football. He invited us to a festival outside of Swakop in the area where his vacation house is and we agreed. Allie, Brian, and I all went to this festival and it was a lot of fun. It was like being at an American fair. Many beer tents, food vendors, tickets to get beer, live music, DJ and then we walked to his house and stayed over. Dylan was so generous. He picked us all up, bought and wrapped a gift for us for Christmas, let us eat a ton of food at night and make eggs in the morning, watched 2 hours of ESPN with me on my birthday morning, and drove us back on my birthday with a detour into the Namib desert, and dropped us off in Swakop. He said that Americans had treated him really well and he wanted to do the same for us, and he certainly did. We obviously invited him to my birthday party, and he also hung out with us on New Year’s Eve. We are definitely going to visit him in Capetown.
My birthday was incredible. I have had the best birthdays ever in the past three years; it’s unreal to recount. I bought myself two birthday dresses and was feeling great sipping coke out of my purple birthday wine glass that Allie and Ryan got me. Then I went out to eat at a fabulous Italian restaurant with my friends, had delicious Tagliatelle Carbonara and then a surprise birthday song came from sisters Julie and Lisa. They had a cheap xylophone, a whistle, and a tambourine I believe. They sang this song in bar area in the restaurant where we were sitting with Allie and Brian as backup:
Jeannine The Bean
She’s from NY, not the city but where it is green.
She sweats a lot but her armpits are clean.
She is an African Queen.
Jeannine the Bean,
She looks a lot like she’s Chinese.
She is not mean
On alcohol and basketball, she is real keen.
Jeannine the Bean,
Let’s put some wine into here Nalgene.
She’s smoking hot and super lean.
I really hope she doesn’t get gangrene .
Jeannine the Bean,
Just look at her in those skin tight jeans.
She’s got a diva cup in uterine.
She looks so fine she makes me wanna scream.
Happy birthday to the neen-er ween-er, neen-er ween-er, neen-er ween-er neen-er ween-er….
It was hilarious, thoughtful, outrageous, undeserved and more than I could ever ask for. In just 4 months, I have made some really amazing friends. The funny part was that an Italian couple sitting at the bar was so impressed by this spectacle that they came up to us and asked us if we could go up to their table of ten in the other dining area and sing the song again. Of course we did. I showed up at the table feeling like I was in Rome, “Buona Sera, Mi Amici!” And we pounded away at our Fisher Price xylophone and slammed spoons together in my honor. I wish I had it on video. The Italians were shocked but eventually joined it. We went back to the table and a chocolate mousse was brought to the table with a candle in it! Awww another happy birthday song. Then Dylan showed up with Jello shots and it was time to go to the beach and meet the others. We had a dance party on the beach with about 30 of us, including PCV’s from other groups. Later, a cake with candles in it was carried out to me and everyone sang happy birthday to me again. I received many presents from the crew and we danced until the stereo died at like 1 am. It was good timing because we had to go on an excusion to the skelton coast in the morning...
More to come...
Back to the village! Back to the homestead. Back to my home. For the next two years.
It is insane to think I have been here officially 5 months now. My European extravaganza lasted a little longer than this, and that felt like eternity. This has felt very short in comparison. It makes me feel like these two years is going to go by fast.
The past few months have been crazy because it has been back and forth between American culture and Namibian culture. Surrounded by Americans and then surrounded by Namibians. Pre-Service training was 8 weeks, and we were practically surrounded by Americans the whole time except when we went home to our host families. One of those weeks we went to our homestead—site visit—all Namibians. Then we went back to all Americans, then we came to our sites to move in – all Namibians—then we went to Reconnect for two weeks—All Americans—then we went back to site for a week with all Namibians—then we went on vacation for almost a month! All Americans. Now I’m back and ready to feel settled. My head is spinning.
The end of the school year was interesting. Hotter than ever, and I had very little to do. The teachers were busy preparing exams and going to Windhoek to grade exams. I replaced teachers who were absent and who went to Windhoek to grade for two weeks. It was all “Revision” aka review, and it went well. They do not have substitute teachers here, and so if the teacher is absent, then the kids sit in their classroom alone. Sometimes the teachers will just skip class or be really late to class and a learner is designated to go and find them if they are missing. It was cool to have the learners run up to me…
“Miss Jahneen, Miss Jahneen! Come and teach!”
“Where is your teacher?”
“Excuse?” (Their way of saying pardon?)
“Are you all alone today?”
“…?”
“Do you have a teacher?”
“No, she is not here.”
“Okay, I’ll come.”
“Yayyy!” (Lots of jumping and running into the classroom.)
At the end of the year we had a 48% pass rate for our grade 10. We are a combined school with grades 1-10. The 10th graders take national exams that determine whether they will be admitted into another upper secondary school for 11 & 12 grade. All of our success is based on how many kids pass 10th grade. We were ranked 29 out of 60 in our region. We got work to do.
Reconnect with other volunteers. Nothing could be like it. We were on top of a mountain outside of Windhoek at an amazing resort with two in-ground pools. The mountains were so green and it starkly contrasted the endless flat plains of sand that we are surrounded by in the North. It was a luxury to stay there. Very relaxing and nice to see my fellow volunteers, but the conference was very pre-mature and we could have benefitted a lot more if it were later in the year like it usually is. It was nice to be able to go into the capital which is just like a small American city. The food was amazing and the tea times were plentiful. (We had two tea breaks a day, just like in Pre-service Training, and it gets addicting. You start to really NEED tea time after a while).
Then I went back up to my site in the north and went to two awesome Owambo weddings. Wow talk about fusion. The bride wears a traditional Catholic white dress in this desert-like climate. The bridesmaids all have matching dresses too! It looks like an American wedding from afar and then you walk into the church. Let’s back up.
I went on a Friday although the wedding ceremony was on a Saturday. I watched cows get slaughtered and cut up and I participated in lots of yelling and dancing and chanting every time we heard a gunshot go into a cow’s head. We would yell in this shrill that is like a Mexican shrill (ayayayayayy), maybe. It’s unique. I watched the cow get all diced up and they all laughed at my expressions, knowing I had never seen anything like it. I took pictures like a tourist. I have been giving up on “blending in” because there’s one major thing that stands in my way.
So they cooked this cow all night long and we drank lots of traditional beer which is acid reflux in a kalabash. My sister and I got really tired so we just laid down a mattress and went to sleep. We were awoken suddenly, as usual, at about 10:30, …
“Penduka! Penduka!” (Wake up, Wake up!)
“Mem?” (Mom or Ma’am. Meaning what do you need, Mom? If you are called by someone you always answer Mem? Or Tat? Like Meme or Tate, what do you need?)
“Magano, Take a meat.” (Magano is my Oshiwambo name. It means Gift. )
I get up reluctantly, knowing that I should take more beef, even though I had already eaten some earlier in the evening and the ol’ acid reflux is acting up. It is over within a half hour and in our haziness, my sister and I fall back asleep… and at 12 midnight.
“Penduka! Penduka! Magano, take a meat!”
“No thank you. I am okay, thank you!”
“OH! You are not going to take a meat? Magano, take a meat!”
I get up grudgingly. Do these people even care that I was a vegetarian before I came here? Do they even understand how hard I try to do what they do, eat their goat liver and small baby birds and cow intestine and fish heads and sand and…
I sit and eat that beef that had live blood flowing through it only hours before and go back to sleep with it crawling up my throat, as I lack a pyloric valve… and at 1:30 am…
“Penduka! Penduka! Take a meat.”
“Are you serious? There is more meat? When is this going to be over? What time is it?”
“Meat and porridge! Wake up and take!”
“No, sorry my stomach hurts, I can’t.” (half-lie)
But my sister got up and ate it whole-heartedly. When I woke up the next morning, I was asked if I was feeling better right away. I said I was fine. I spent at least 2 hours dicing potatoes for the biggest vat of potato salad I had ever seen and then later went to the church. My meme and sister did not want to go to the church so I went by myself.
There were three couples getting married, not just one, and apparently sometimes there are 10 or so. I went with some people that I did not know, but we arrived at least half way into the service. Obviously when I walk in, somehow all 250 heads turn to look at the white girl that just stepped into the church in the middle of the bushland. I’m not the one getting married people. Nothing to see here. To be fair, there probably was not another white person who stepped foot in there since the missionaries that set the place up. The service was like a funeral in that people were asked to come up and make statements about the couples. People went up there and were talking all about the marriage of the two and I believe anyone who wanted to go could go up front. Obviously I went up there… haha just kidding!
It was another 2 hours in Oshiwambo, so I am not very sure about what happened and no one was with me to help me understand… Exhibit A: We had to make an offering to the couples and there was a bowl in the center aisle. Of course I am in the innermost seat in the last row and I am nudged to be the first one to go forward. I didn’t have any money on me and the lady that nudged me gave me 15 Namibian cents. That’s like 2 pennies. I walk confidently down the center aisle with a big smile on my face to distract the fact that I am about to be the first one to put money in the bowl and they are going to know exactly how much the white girl contributed to their marriage, 15 cents, after all the cow meat they gave me (forced down my throat). I place the money in the bowl and turn the corner to walk away. The woman behind me pulls me back and shows me that we are to shake the hands of all three couples.
“Congratulations, that’s less than three Namibian cents I contributed to your future. Did I mention you look beautiful on this wonderful occasion?”
It turned out that we were not supposed to walk down the middle aisle at all, but the outer aisles. So half the church is following my lead and the other half is going to the outer aisle and they are meeting awkwardly in one mass in middle. Damn Oshilumbu (white person).
Exiting the church the members of the family wait for the wedding party to come out and then form a parade in front of them. We danced and sang and chanted and shrilled announcing the wedding party behind us as they walked with stone cold expressions on their faces, but hey at least we were happy. We went back to the homestead and the wedding march continued when the wedding party made it to the homestead. Then the bride and groom sat at a designated area while everyone gathered around. A prayer was said and there was a speaker and then a line up of people offering gifts. Then we all went inside the homestead and there was a special tent designated for the wedding party and other tents for guests. A wedding is much different here, because there is not a guest list. Anyone can come (example, me) and there is tons of food made for whoever shows up. The similarities were there too. The special tent for just the wedding party members and many outdoor tents (like those big ones used at events) were rented. We ate a lot of food and drank many, many sodas. Then a large group and the wedding party went to the groom’s homestead for another celebration with food. I don’t know how these people can eat so much. Then everyone came back late and danced well into the night. We stayed over again and I refused to eat meat in the middle of the night.
The next day my friend, Ryan, came and visited my homestead. He was the first to see it and it was exciting to show him around. Then we went to another wedding in my village which was great, because I knew a lot of people and could look really popular in front of my fellow PCV. I got to explain to Ryan all about how weddings work haha like I was an expert. I was given a towering plate of beef as a gift by someone at the wedding before anyone was even eating and I thanked them for being so generous. Then the food came out and Ryan and I ate a big plate under this one tent (including shredded beef mixed with mayo). Then my colleague came out with chicken and gave us a nice portion. We were stuffed but told we had to go over to the wedding tent, so of course we went. Then a woman came up to Ryan with another plate of food.
“Oh, no thank you. I already ate in the other tent!”
She gives Ryan, my meme, and me a confused look.
“I already had a plate at the other tent. Thanks!”
My meme then accepts the plate of food even though she had already eaten as well. Feeling like he had made a major mistake and did something insulting, Ryan requests another plate of food and I accept one as well. ( You are always supposed to accept food if it is offered, but we figured they did not know we had eaten.) I eat some and then share with the woman next to me, but Ryan, disregarding his physiological limits, determinedly finishes his plate. After that, he didn’t want to talk anymore and passed out early in sickness. Two days later, he was sicker than I’ve seen anyone yet. Oops!
Wow I just wrote a lot about weddings and really only skimmed the surface, and that was only one weekend!
Next day, Ryan and I went to meet all the other volunteers in the central Namibia. We stopped by Lake Otjikoto and chilled with many a-species. All types of exotic birds, ostriches, warthogs, some type of huge gemsbok-like thing, guinea pigs, an alligator… weird stuff going on there. We met up two days later and then we headed to Okahandja to take the overnight train to Swakopmund. This was a novelty in Peace Corps history, because you can pretty much go for free to Swakopmund if you find someone to give you a ride and it only takes 2 hours by car. It costs N$100 (about USD$15) to go on the train and it took like 9 hours to get there. Sounds like we made a dumb decision, but being on an overnight party train with Germans and Namibians with the train roaring at 45 miles an hour was one of the best nights of my life. SO much fun. A local climbed out of the window and re-entered from another window while the train was moving. It was that wild. My friends (Nick, Ryan and Allie) even got to drive the train with the conductor. At some point, the air changed from dry desert wind to a cool, seaside breeze…
And then there was Atlantic Ocean. The very same one seen in New York and Florida but on the other half of the world. It felt so good to feel the cold salt water wash up against my toes and the mist blow across my face. We settled at our camping site about 50 yards from the beach, right next to an awesome beach bar that had a DJ and cheap food. It was perfect. We stayed there for N$40 a night like $5.50 a night. It was amazing. Swakopmund is the Western world in Namibia, and I had not been around so many white people since being in the US. It was very strange. At one point we were at a restaurant and everyone eating there was white, and we all felt out of place even though we were all white. This is the prime time tourist location. The houses are amazing. You feel like you are in LA walking down Santa Monica Blvd. They even have a spectacular pier.
We spent Christmas there, about 30 of us. Some people brought decorations to put on a tree on our campsite and on Christmas Eve, I put on the Now That’s What I Call Christmas album on my iPod, despite the resistance of many, and then within minutes we all were dancing and singing Christmas carols loudly into the night. (The next day, the campsite owners told us that there was a curfew haha.) On Christmas, we woke up to cute little stockings that Santa put by all of our tents stuffed with candy. We listened to the Maria Carey Christmas album as we opened our “secret springbok” gifts from each other. It was my first Christmas without my family and it was truly very magical even without the snow. We all still had loved ones around (awwwwwwww). I had a Jewish Christmas with two of the Jewish volunteers *perhaps the only two in the country?* and a bunch of us went out to Chinese food on Christmas. It was the best Chinese food I had ever had in my life. Nothing like American-Chinese food. It was gourmet and felt like a real Jewish-Christmas feast. We sat there as the only ones in the place for like 3 hours, and then we saw two young girls eating and noticed their American accents. Two Peace Corps Botswana volunteers! Nice to meet new friends.
Speaking of meeting new friends, Allie and I called a South African guy on the street because his shirt said “F_c_book”, and we wanted to know what his deal was. He looked like a tourist. He was on vacation at his vacation house that he hadn’t been to in 13 years outside of Swakop, so he was kind of alone with his mom and aunt. He also was a world traveler and had stayed in the US on the West Coast for a while, so he loved American football. He invited us to a festival outside of Swakop in the area where his vacation house is and we agreed. Allie, Brian, and I all went to this festival and it was a lot of fun. It was like being at an American fair. Many beer tents, food vendors, tickets to get beer, live music, DJ and then we walked to his house and stayed over. Dylan was so generous. He picked us all up, bought and wrapped a gift for us for Christmas, let us eat a ton of food at night and make eggs in the morning, watched 2 hours of ESPN with me on my birthday morning, and drove us back on my birthday with a detour into the Namib desert, and dropped us off in Swakop. He said that Americans had treated him really well and he wanted to do the same for us, and he certainly did. We obviously invited him to my birthday party, and he also hung out with us on New Year’s Eve. We are definitely going to visit him in Capetown.
My birthday was incredible. I have had the best birthdays ever in the past three years; it’s unreal to recount. I bought myself two birthday dresses and was feeling great sipping coke out of my purple birthday wine glass that Allie and Ryan got me. Then I went out to eat at a fabulous Italian restaurant with my friends, had delicious Tagliatelle Carbonara and then a surprise birthday song came from sisters Julie and Lisa. They had a cheap xylophone, a whistle, and a tambourine I believe. They sang this song in bar area in the restaurant where we were sitting with Allie and Brian as backup:
Jeannine The Bean
She’s from NY, not the city but where it is green.
She sweats a lot but her armpits are clean.
She is an African Queen.
Jeannine the Bean,
She looks a lot like she’s Chinese.
She is not mean
On alcohol and basketball, she is real keen.
Jeannine the Bean,
Let’s put some wine into here Nalgene.
She’s smoking hot and super lean.
I really hope she doesn’t get gangrene .
Jeannine the Bean,
Just look at her in those skin tight jeans.
She’s got a diva cup in uterine.
She looks so fine she makes me wanna scream.
Happy birthday to the neen-er ween-er, neen-er ween-er, neen-er ween-er neen-er ween-er….
It was hilarious, thoughtful, outrageous, undeserved and more than I could ever ask for. In just 4 months, I have made some really amazing friends. The funny part was that an Italian couple sitting at the bar was so impressed by this spectacle that they came up to us and asked us if we could go up to their table of ten in the other dining area and sing the song again. Of course we did. I showed up at the table feeling like I was in Rome, “Buona Sera, Mi Amici!” And we pounded away at our Fisher Price xylophone and slammed spoons together in my honor. I wish I had it on video. The Italians were shocked but eventually joined it. We went back to the table and a chocolate mousse was brought to the table with a candle in it! Awww another happy birthday song. Then Dylan showed up with Jello shots and it was time to go to the beach and meet the others. We had a dance party on the beach with about 30 of us, including PCV’s from other groups. Later, a cake with candles in it was carried out to me and everyone sang happy birthday to me again. I received many presents from the crew and we danced until the stereo died at like 1 am. It was good timing because we had to go on an excusion to the skelton coast in the morning...
More to come...
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