March 24, 2011
As strong or as confident I may seem, people can truly intimidate me at times. I can’t tell what Meme is thinking or feeling by her demeanor. She is dignified and not entirely warm in general, so I cannot tell, is she being cold towards me? Is she mad at me?
My social life has been booming lately because I scored two friends at work. haha I have a 23 year old Namibian co-worker, Priscilla, who teaches Pre-primary at our school who lives in town, and I am able to stay with her overnight on some weekends. I also have another 28 year old counterpart, Iipinge, that I am good friends with that I meet in town at times. Both of these buddies of mine have introduced me to some of their friends and being the only white girl around, I feel pretty good about myself walking into town.
“Magano! Ongiini?” (Gift, how is it?)
“Onawa! Ongiini, Shikoyeni?” (It’s good. How is it, Shikoyeni?)
“Onawa! Where have you been?” (It’s good).
“Oh in the village, you know…”
But the excitement of staying in town is what we would call not sustainable but tempting. It sucks my bank account dry from spending money on food and drinks, and I have been feeling like people at the homestead are resentful of me. This has made me have anxiety, but what else is new. I can’t tell though, because it may just be all in my head. I could just be interpreting others' behavior completely wrong because I feel guilty leaving. But let me give you an example:
I came back to the village from a weekend away to celebrate my fellow volunteer, Lance’s birthday and I had a nasty chest cold that hindered me from being able to speak. All the mucous went into my chest and I couldn’t talk without sounding like a squeaky hamster wheel. Returning to the village was anything but delightful, because everyone accused me of drinking too much alcohol and refused to believe I had a cold.
“Ah-ah. Maybe you drink too many beer.”
“Aaye. Otandi ehama. Oshi li!” (No, I’m sick. It’s true!)
My meme heard me speak and said that every time I leave and go to the town, I come back sick. I think to myself, no this is the only time this has happened but whatever. Then she told me that the reason I am sick is because I drank too many cold drinks and it has given me ‘the mengles.’ I think to myself, mengles is not a word and I have not had this amount of room-temperature drinks in my entire life due to refrigeration so I don’t believe this hypothesis has a lot of support. I then decide that I cannot go to school on Monday, because you need to be able to speak to teach. She told me that if I do not go to school, it will look like it is a ‘blue Monday’. Here, a ‘blue Monday’ means you are too hung over to go to work. I don’t care. Think what they will, but I am sick, and my principal heard my voice and told me to get treatment. How can I prove that I am not an alcoholic like the majority of others? How can I explain that in my culture people do not even drink on Sunday so we have never had a Blue Monday?
I felt welcomed with negativity, but I couldn’t tell if it is just me being hypersensitive and worried. I am worried that the family or the village will think that I do not like it here, when in fact I love it. I would rather live nowhere else.
So I fight back by “killing em with kindness,” as Allie would say. I decide to cook dinner for the family the next weekend.
“Meme, I would like to cook for the family tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Blank face.
So we go to town together and I buy some ground beef. We have been eating catfish and porridge every single day for about two months. The flood waters have brought the catfish right up to our doorstep, and Tate is eager to make his contribution to the family by scooping them up in the net at night. Harvesting these fish is his pride and joy and just about all we talk about, because neither of us can speak each other’s mother tongue.
“Jeanniney, fish!”
“Ee-ee. Wow! Owa kutha eeshi othindji!” (Yes. Wow, you caught many fish.)
“Ya! It’s very nice.”
“Iyaloo, Tate!” (Thank you. It’s good, Father.)
“Ya, very nice.”
I buy all these ingredients to make spaghetti with a meat sauce since we hadn’t had meat since December ( and you know how I get when I haven’t had meat for a while). Also I bought ingredients to make a banana chocolate chip cake for desert. I have not tried out my oven yet and have only used the gas stove, so it was quite the experiment. I had heard from my host sister that Meme likes banana bread so I wanted to let her know that I was making the cake just to her taste (trying really hard to show her I'm a great daughter).
“Meme! I am making a chocolate chip banana cake for you, because your daughter told me YOU LIKE BANANA BREAD. So I thought I would make you a BANANA CAKE!”
“Okay.” Blank face. Walks out.
“Dammit.” I mutter to myself. Getting her to like me again is going to take more work than I thought.
So I was having all these insecurities that people on the homestead do not really like me. Maybe people think I am a drunk for not coming in on Monday. I am making this dinner and I don’t know if anyone really cares. I start to make the sauce early and the kids are all around. Four young girls that love to watch my every move and command me to stare at their every move.
“Look, Jeannina! Look! Tala! Look! Jeannina! Jeannina!!!!”
Well, at least some people are happy I am here, even if they are under the age of eight. So I whip out a box of crayons and paper that Will sent me. Twenty-four colors! The kids nearly pee their pants. They have never seen so many colors in their lives. I give them each their own piece of paper and tell them to draw me a picture to put on my wall. That will keep them busy. I got my speaker on my iPod and I am in my element. I start dicing tomatoes and start crying as a dice the most powerful onions one can come into contact with and the kids gaze at me in amazement. They do not understand why I am crying over onions. I sauteed the ground beef and the onion. I take out my can opener and open up cans of tomato past.
"Oh! Tala Jeannina," the kids stop drawing and stare at me again. They have never seen a can opener before.
"Jeannina you have nice things."
"Thank you very much."
I mix some tomato paste with water. Throw in a soup packet to make the paste mixture thicken and add a little flavor. Boil that. Throw in tomatoes and spices and oil and let it simmer forever because I added too much water. Whatever. And in walks my other meme in the house. Meme Selima has an infant, Nango. She has Nango strapped to her back and I tell her to sit down. Then in walks my 11 year old brother, Benhard. I ask him if he wants to draw. He starts drawing. I got eight people in my tiny kitchen, listening to music watching me cook. I start to bake the cake. Everyone is astonished by the way I crack an egg and put it in. Watching me mash up the banana and add mysterious white powders in various amounts. I chop up a bar of chocolate to fold in and give some of it to everyone. This was the first cake they had ever seen made, because they do not have an oven, so when would they see a cake made?
In that kitchen, I felt needed. I felt loved. I felt a part of a family. I truly shared my culture with them. They saw things they had never seen before and it was not an iPod or a laptop; I was not showing off the cool things that they cannot afford. I was showing them how to crack an egg to put in a cake or how to check on something in the oven or how to use a can opener without stabbing a knife through the top.
I cooked the spaghetti and then we all ate. I showed them how to twirl spaghetti on a fork to get it all in one bite, but since they struggle to use a fork being so used to using their hands, it was not the most effective lesson I ever taught. It was still fun to watch them try. One girl started using two forks to shovel the pasta in her mouth. Everyone ate until they were full and I said, “Don’t forget about the cake. Save room for the cake!” Benhard was like, “We are eating the cake tonight!?” “Yes we are!” “Yesssssssss!” Even had some claps. I explained how we eat dessert, because we like sweet things after a meal. They did not know anything about dessert.
We brought out the cake, which was perfectly undercooked I might add, and I re-tell meme why I chose to bake a banana cake. She says, “okay.” I feel stupid, but still confident that she has really enjoyed the meal. As she is eating the cake she says, “This tastes like banana loaf.”
“Yes! It DOES taste like banana loaf. I had heard from your daughter that you like banana loaf. That is why I chose to bake banana cake. Because I thought you would like it, because you like banana loaf. I made this for YOU!” (really giving it my all to make sure she knows I want to make her happy).
“Ohh!” she says, with a smile on her face.
That interaction really highlighted for me the idea that Meme likely does not understand what I am saying a large portion of the time but pretends to understand. The same way I pretend to understand Oshiwambo sometimes. I now realize she is not being cold or ignoring me, but rather she may be embarrassed that she does not understand. Now I am working harder at conveying my messages in multiple ways so we are sure we have an understanding.
I ended the night playing Uno and watching Homeward Bound on my laptop with Benhard. Wasn't the wildest Saturday night of my life but is sure up there with the best of em.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I'm a teacher?
February 22, 2011
So I have been teaching for about a month now and have much more appreciation for the work teachers do. It’s funny to realize that the whole teaching thing was really put on the backburner. I was so enthralled by the idea that I would be going to Africa, meeting new people, becoming a part of a new culture, learning a new language, breaking gender barriers and crossing racial stereotypes that I hardly ever thought about struggling with teaching. In fact, I really never thought about teaching. I just came here expecting the unexpected, but what I should have been doing is thinking about what is to be expected… you’re a volunteer teacher, darling.
So I go to school and teach too many different subjects. I teach computers 8-10 (six classes a week), English grade 7 (seven classes a week), Math grade 9 (5 classes a week), Physical Science 8 and 9 (four classes each grade a week) and 3 PE classes. I have to plan for many different subjects each day and it becomes a bit overwhelming. I have not been preparing properly, but I am doing what I can. I work from 7:30 am to 4 pm each day but I think I need to start asking to stay later because I can not get it all done. All the adults reading this are rolling their eyes like, welcome to my world. Between the creative planning and the marking and recording grades and writing tasks/tests and disciplining and remedial teaching for various subjects, I feel like I can not be the best teacher that I could be. I just keep reassuring myself that I am a first year teacher and this is my first month. In time, I will figure things out.
What is also difficult is the lack of background understanding that the learners have. We are given a syllabus to follow by the Ministry of Education and in many cases it is way too advanced. Specifically for my English grade 7 class and Math grade 9 class. In English, I am expected to be teaching them how to write letters and form appropriate essays, but the learners do not know what a subject or a verb is. They do not know any of the parts of speech so they do not know how to logically form a sentence. Some of them are decent at English. Do not get me wrong, but the passages they are supposed to read and listen to are much too advanced at this level. In Math, I started the year off teaching my grade 9 the multiplication table. None of them knew the multiplication table so I cut out flash cards and we spent 1.5 classes doing the table from 1 to 10. I spent the whole first week testing them and telling them to memorize the flash cards. They have improved a lot since day one, but are still not totally there. They also did not realize that division is the opposite of multiplication. I am not sure if they understand that now, but we had to move on. The syllabus has a lot to cover. They are allowed to use calculators at grade 8 and really depend on them because they were never forced to learn their multiplication table before then. I refuse to let them use calculators and they hate me for it, but their curriculum does not require it at all. They can do all the multiplication/division by hand if they need to. The other grade 9 class is using calculators, but we will see in the end whose class has a better understanding. (I’m praying it’s mine).
I am designing the computer class so the curriculum is all up to me. To anyone who as ever taught computers to amateurs, it is a grueling and slow process because you take your knowledge of the computer for granted.
“Okay class is over so you need to close the window you are working on. You need to close out! Close out! X-out! Close out by clicking the x in the top corner. No, go to the top right corner. Aaye (No), go up, up, to the right, kololyo (to the right in oshiwambo). Yeah, the x, click. No, not the box, click the X. Okay now Log off. Click Start and click Log Off. Again, log off. Log off!.. Okay Tuyenikelao (name of a learner) class is over so you need to close out. Click the x at the top right corner… Nyanukweni (name of a learner) I said you need to close out!...”
Many of the lessons that I plan are way too long, because it takes them a long time to enter their password. Understanding case-sensitive has taken a while but I think they are starting to get ahold of it. We have spent a few classes doing Paint and that has been good practice at gaining control of the mouse. My main goal is to fuel their interest in computers and inspire them to want to learn more. I don’t think I will be able to fully teach them how to type, but I want to teach them how to explore and figure things out on their own.
The language barrier is the hardest part. I stand up in front of the classroom like I am on stage. Cue the circus music…
“Verbs are action words. They are the ‘doing’ in the sentence, like jump (as I jump), or sit (as I sit) or punch (as I punch) or speak (as I point to my lips and my throat and motion outwards) or cry (with my sad face I wipe my fake tears)…”
I look like a sign language interpreter or a mime that can talk. The learners stare at me blankly or laugh at me. They will not remember what a verb is but they enjoy class anyway. I picture myself in their shoes, listening to someone try to teach me in Oshiwambo and how I would feel. Lost.
Sometimes I want to run out of the room I am so discouraged. Sometimes I just want to run. Get me out of here. In the words of Rachel Odhner, “I gotta go.” And I actually might, if my running shoes weren’t stolen in Swakopmund.
So I have been teaching for about a month now and have much more appreciation for the work teachers do. It’s funny to realize that the whole teaching thing was really put on the backburner. I was so enthralled by the idea that I would be going to Africa, meeting new people, becoming a part of a new culture, learning a new language, breaking gender barriers and crossing racial stereotypes that I hardly ever thought about struggling with teaching. In fact, I really never thought about teaching. I just came here expecting the unexpected, but what I should have been doing is thinking about what is to be expected… you’re a volunteer teacher, darling.
So I go to school and teach too many different subjects. I teach computers 8-10 (six classes a week), English grade 7 (seven classes a week), Math grade 9 (5 classes a week), Physical Science 8 and 9 (four classes each grade a week) and 3 PE classes. I have to plan for many different subjects each day and it becomes a bit overwhelming. I have not been preparing properly, but I am doing what I can. I work from 7:30 am to 4 pm each day but I think I need to start asking to stay later because I can not get it all done. All the adults reading this are rolling their eyes like, welcome to my world. Between the creative planning and the marking and recording grades and writing tasks/tests and disciplining and remedial teaching for various subjects, I feel like I can not be the best teacher that I could be. I just keep reassuring myself that I am a first year teacher and this is my first month. In time, I will figure things out.
What is also difficult is the lack of background understanding that the learners have. We are given a syllabus to follow by the Ministry of Education and in many cases it is way too advanced. Specifically for my English grade 7 class and Math grade 9 class. In English, I am expected to be teaching them how to write letters and form appropriate essays, but the learners do not know what a subject or a verb is. They do not know any of the parts of speech so they do not know how to logically form a sentence. Some of them are decent at English. Do not get me wrong, but the passages they are supposed to read and listen to are much too advanced at this level. In Math, I started the year off teaching my grade 9 the multiplication table. None of them knew the multiplication table so I cut out flash cards and we spent 1.5 classes doing the table from 1 to 10. I spent the whole first week testing them and telling them to memorize the flash cards. They have improved a lot since day one, but are still not totally there. They also did not realize that division is the opposite of multiplication. I am not sure if they understand that now, but we had to move on. The syllabus has a lot to cover. They are allowed to use calculators at grade 8 and really depend on them because they were never forced to learn their multiplication table before then. I refuse to let them use calculators and they hate me for it, but their curriculum does not require it at all. They can do all the multiplication/division by hand if they need to. The other grade 9 class is using calculators, but we will see in the end whose class has a better understanding. (I’m praying it’s mine).
I am designing the computer class so the curriculum is all up to me. To anyone who as ever taught computers to amateurs, it is a grueling and slow process because you take your knowledge of the computer for granted.
“Okay class is over so you need to close the window you are working on. You need to close out! Close out! X-out! Close out by clicking the x in the top corner. No, go to the top right corner. Aaye (No), go up, up, to the right, kololyo (to the right in oshiwambo). Yeah, the x, click. No, not the box, click the X. Okay now Log off. Click Start and click Log Off. Again, log off. Log off!.. Okay Tuyenikelao (name of a learner) class is over so you need to close out. Click the x at the top right corner… Nyanukweni (name of a learner) I said you need to close out!...”
Many of the lessons that I plan are way too long, because it takes them a long time to enter their password. Understanding case-sensitive has taken a while but I think they are starting to get ahold of it. We have spent a few classes doing Paint and that has been good practice at gaining control of the mouse. My main goal is to fuel their interest in computers and inspire them to want to learn more. I don’t think I will be able to fully teach them how to type, but I want to teach them how to explore and figure things out on their own.
The language barrier is the hardest part. I stand up in front of the classroom like I am on stage. Cue the circus music…
“Verbs are action words. They are the ‘doing’ in the sentence, like jump (as I jump), or sit (as I sit) or punch (as I punch) or speak (as I point to my lips and my throat and motion outwards) or cry (with my sad face I wipe my fake tears)…”
I look like a sign language interpreter or a mime that can talk. The learners stare at me blankly or laugh at me. They will not remember what a verb is but they enjoy class anyway. I picture myself in their shoes, listening to someone try to teach me in Oshiwambo and how I would feel. Lost.
Sometimes I want to run out of the room I am so discouraged. Sometimes I just want to run. Get me out of here. In the words of Rachel Odhner, “I gotta go.” And I actually might, if my running shoes weren’t stolen in Swakopmund.
Acceptance
February 12, 2011
I am beginning to believe that feeling blessed is a matter of recognizing what is around you. Each time I step out of my mind momentarily and become aware of that which is surrounding me, I feel blessed. I use the word blessed because I do not have the vocabulary to use another word to encompass this feeling of happiness, luck, sacredness, separateness, and support.
When I become conscious again of what is around me, I see a sandy bucket that I need to fill with water by lifting a heavy 4.5 foot barrel that is half-filled (not half-empty because it’s heavy!) in order to wash my dirty dishes. I see ant-hills in my kitchen and a can of corn that will be lunch tomorrow. I see my single bed with a china-shop mattress that is sunk in the middle permanently from sleeping in it the first night. I see the plastic bag filled with clothes that need to be washed which looks like five loads to me, and my hands start to itch in anticipation of the soap exposure they will undertake when I wash the clothes later today. I see sand covering my floor, my feet, my bed, and I smell the stench of our urine pouring through the window in the adjacent room. I hear the flies buzzing around those puddles of pee that we regularly form in the ‘showering’ area outside that room. I feel the sweat dripping down the sides of my face and down my sternum. I also see the sun high in the sky, the same sun that makes me squint, browns my skin and fills my face with acne. The same sun that I scorn each day and avoid under umbrellas and trees is the sun that tells me that I have all day. The sun does not move fast here. It slowly moves from the horizontal line to the right, above the flat dry savannah until it reaches the same horizontal line to the left, while the colors of the sky respond by blending differently after each degree of change.
It isn’t the awareness of how easy life is that makes me feel blessed. It’s being cognizant that I want to be a part of it. It’s knowing that I am able; I am able to not only endure but to enjoy life’s tediousness, especially with others. This feeling of blessedness emanates from realizing how much I endorse being in the environment that I am in. I chose this life and every day I wake up and participate in it, I do so volitionally, willing to face the hardships that I know will come. Never have I felt so free.
I am beginning to believe that feeling blessed is a matter of recognizing what is around you. Each time I step out of my mind momentarily and become aware of that which is surrounding me, I feel blessed. I use the word blessed because I do not have the vocabulary to use another word to encompass this feeling of happiness, luck, sacredness, separateness, and support.
When I become conscious again of what is around me, I see a sandy bucket that I need to fill with water by lifting a heavy 4.5 foot barrel that is half-filled (not half-empty because it’s heavy!) in order to wash my dirty dishes. I see ant-hills in my kitchen and a can of corn that will be lunch tomorrow. I see my single bed with a china-shop mattress that is sunk in the middle permanently from sleeping in it the first night. I see the plastic bag filled with clothes that need to be washed which looks like five loads to me, and my hands start to itch in anticipation of the soap exposure they will undertake when I wash the clothes later today. I see sand covering my floor, my feet, my bed, and I smell the stench of our urine pouring through the window in the adjacent room. I hear the flies buzzing around those puddles of pee that we regularly form in the ‘showering’ area outside that room. I feel the sweat dripping down the sides of my face and down my sternum. I also see the sun high in the sky, the same sun that makes me squint, browns my skin and fills my face with acne. The same sun that I scorn each day and avoid under umbrellas and trees is the sun that tells me that I have all day. The sun does not move fast here. It slowly moves from the horizontal line to the right, above the flat dry savannah until it reaches the same horizontal line to the left, while the colors of the sky respond by blending differently after each degree of change.
It isn’t the awareness of how easy life is that makes me feel blessed. It’s being cognizant that I want to be a part of it. It’s knowing that I am able; I am able to not only endure but to enjoy life’s tediousness, especially with others. This feeling of blessedness emanates from realizing how much I endorse being in the environment that I am in. I chose this life and every day I wake up and participate in it, I do so volitionally, willing to face the hardships that I know will come. Never have I felt so free.
Housekeeping, you want fresh towel?
February 11, 2011
The trip up the Skeleton coast was amazing and then we had some down time until it was New Year’s Eve. So much had happened in 2010 that I almost needed it to be over so I could begin grasping the fact that I am indeed going to live here. It was strange knowing that only months before that time I was living in New Baltimore sipping wine by the pool. Then to think that only a few months before that, I was at my Commencement with the Jungle and their families and my family and all of my best friends. Then thinking about how still that same year we were holding keg parties at the Jungle and going to Senior Nights at Tilt. At the same time I was taking my Electricity and Magnetism mid-term and scraping the ice off my car every day instead of sweating all night long. 2010 NEEDED to be over. I am not studying abroad; I am not missing one semester and then coming back. College is over. I am living and working in Namibia!
Some people went to Dune 7 and partied. It sounded like it was an unbelievable time, but I did not feel like spending the money. Swakopmund is expensive! So I stayed by the beach with a lot of others and partied at the Tiki Hut by our campsite. It was 30 Namibian dollars to get in and we did not want to pay so we went around the bar by way of the beach to where the bonfire was outside. Some late-comers were drilled by the thunderous waves and lost their footing and their phones/shoes in the process of sneaking over to the bonfire. At 11:48 pm I gathered Allie who had fallen asleep at the campsite and we ran to the massive bonfire which was ignited at 12 Midnight. So that was like watching the ball drop on TV in Newbie, except a little different because I watched a tower be burned to the ground on a beach with the waves crashing up against the bar and then snuck into a huge dance party in the bar and danced with random strangers until I backed up into Allie by accident who was also dancing with random strangers.
New Year’s Day was our last day in Swakopmund and so we tried to live it up. We relaxed and played ultimate Frisbee in the park , and then we made reservations at this nice sushi restaurant, knowing that we would not have sushi for a long time. We showered and went to this modern looking sushi bar and had pleasant conversation for about 1.5 hours and then we ate. It was a good last meal before we “went back to Africa” the next day.
Going back to the North was exciting. I got to visit Ryan’s homestead which was cool because he lives with Kwanyamas, which is another dialect of Oshiwambo. He is learning Oshikwanyama, I am learning Oshindonga but I live with Oshikwambi-speaking people, another dialect of Oshiwambo. He has the hook-up in comparison to my place (electricity, his own building, refrigerator, etc) but to each her own. Then my two friends Lisa and Brian came to visit my homestead for one night which was also so awesome. Having visitors is really exciting, because it gives you a very homey feeling. The next morning I left with them and went to visit Allie’s homestead which is also really nice. She has her own building with two rooms, one for her kitchen/dining room and one for her room, and she decorated it tremendously. It looked like home. She also has a shower and a flush toilet, which I do not have. Allie, Lisa, Brian and I made the best Pad Thai I have ever had. The mosquitoes were merciless, but the food and company made that concern dissolve.
Allie’s place really inspired me to come back to my room and start to make it my home. I still had pictures that my sisters had put up on my wall, my bed took over my room and I had all my clothes sitting in a suitcase and I really envied the work that she did. So I came back to the village and asked for help moving things around. I have one room for my kitchen in one building where the boys sleep and one room for myself where the girls sleep. My kitchen is still not nearly what I want it to look like but I switched my bed that was in my room with the bed the Ministry of Education got me, which is smaller and has a terrible mattress. However the space is what matters most! I put my big wardrobe in my room and now can fit all my clothes in my wardrobe! No more suitcase. Then I took down the pictures that were there before and only put up my pictures. I have twice as much room now. My mosquito net is not taking up my whole room and I can hang my clothes. I hooked up my gas stove so now I can cook! I bought some kitchen utensils to use as well, like a cutting board, a bowl, plates, knives, colander, pots, cookie sheets and essential items like flour, pasta, rice, salt, ramen noodles. The problem is that the Ministry has not given me the tables they promised they would give me. So I put everything on the ground or on the cardboard box the stove came in for storage. I have about 8 anthills in my kitchen that cannot be swept away but generally the ants stay away from my bowls and things. The ants just encourage me to push for these tables. Also it is not fun to eat off your lap once you cook something the way it is fun to eat off a table. Soon they will come though. Also, I might be putting an electric fridge in one of the bars that is like 0.5 miles away from me if it is approved by the Ministry who should pay for the electricity. Then my bag of tomatoes will not spoil in one day!
That is the update on my housekeeping. Sorry if it was boring but I wanted to share how I live because I have a hard time putting pictures online. Iyaloo! (Thanks!)
The trip up the Skeleton coast was amazing and then we had some down time until it was New Year’s Eve. So much had happened in 2010 that I almost needed it to be over so I could begin grasping the fact that I am indeed going to live here. It was strange knowing that only months before that time I was living in New Baltimore sipping wine by the pool. Then to think that only a few months before that, I was at my Commencement with the Jungle and their families and my family and all of my best friends. Then thinking about how still that same year we were holding keg parties at the Jungle and going to Senior Nights at Tilt. At the same time I was taking my Electricity and Magnetism mid-term and scraping the ice off my car every day instead of sweating all night long. 2010 NEEDED to be over. I am not studying abroad; I am not missing one semester and then coming back. College is over. I am living and working in Namibia!
Some people went to Dune 7 and partied. It sounded like it was an unbelievable time, but I did not feel like spending the money. Swakopmund is expensive! So I stayed by the beach with a lot of others and partied at the Tiki Hut by our campsite. It was 30 Namibian dollars to get in and we did not want to pay so we went around the bar by way of the beach to where the bonfire was outside. Some late-comers were drilled by the thunderous waves and lost their footing and their phones/shoes in the process of sneaking over to the bonfire. At 11:48 pm I gathered Allie who had fallen asleep at the campsite and we ran to the massive bonfire which was ignited at 12 Midnight. So that was like watching the ball drop on TV in Newbie, except a little different because I watched a tower be burned to the ground on a beach with the waves crashing up against the bar and then snuck into a huge dance party in the bar and danced with random strangers until I backed up into Allie by accident who was also dancing with random strangers.
New Year’s Day was our last day in Swakopmund and so we tried to live it up. We relaxed and played ultimate Frisbee in the park , and then we made reservations at this nice sushi restaurant, knowing that we would not have sushi for a long time. We showered and went to this modern looking sushi bar and had pleasant conversation for about 1.5 hours and then we ate. It was a good last meal before we “went back to Africa” the next day.
Going back to the North was exciting. I got to visit Ryan’s homestead which was cool because he lives with Kwanyamas, which is another dialect of Oshiwambo. He is learning Oshikwanyama, I am learning Oshindonga but I live with Oshikwambi-speaking people, another dialect of Oshiwambo. He has the hook-up in comparison to my place (electricity, his own building, refrigerator, etc) but to each her own. Then my two friends Lisa and Brian came to visit my homestead for one night which was also so awesome. Having visitors is really exciting, because it gives you a very homey feeling. The next morning I left with them and went to visit Allie’s homestead which is also really nice. She has her own building with two rooms, one for her kitchen/dining room and one for her room, and she decorated it tremendously. It looked like home. She also has a shower and a flush toilet, which I do not have. Allie, Lisa, Brian and I made the best Pad Thai I have ever had. The mosquitoes were merciless, but the food and company made that concern dissolve.
Allie’s place really inspired me to come back to my room and start to make it my home. I still had pictures that my sisters had put up on my wall, my bed took over my room and I had all my clothes sitting in a suitcase and I really envied the work that she did. So I came back to the village and asked for help moving things around. I have one room for my kitchen in one building where the boys sleep and one room for myself where the girls sleep. My kitchen is still not nearly what I want it to look like but I switched my bed that was in my room with the bed the Ministry of Education got me, which is smaller and has a terrible mattress. However the space is what matters most! I put my big wardrobe in my room and now can fit all my clothes in my wardrobe! No more suitcase. Then I took down the pictures that were there before and only put up my pictures. I have twice as much room now. My mosquito net is not taking up my whole room and I can hang my clothes. I hooked up my gas stove so now I can cook! I bought some kitchen utensils to use as well, like a cutting board, a bowl, plates, knives, colander, pots, cookie sheets and essential items like flour, pasta, rice, salt, ramen noodles. The problem is that the Ministry has not given me the tables they promised they would give me. So I put everything on the ground or on the cardboard box the stove came in for storage. I have about 8 anthills in my kitchen that cannot be swept away but generally the ants stay away from my bowls and things. The ants just encourage me to push for these tables. Also it is not fun to eat off your lap once you cook something the way it is fun to eat off a table. Soon they will come though. Also, I might be putting an electric fridge in one of the bars that is like 0.5 miles away from me if it is approved by the Ministry who should pay for the electricity. Then my bag of tomatoes will not spoil in one day!
That is the update on my housekeeping. Sorry if it was boring but I wanted to share how I live because I have a hard time putting pictures online. Iyaloo! (Thanks!)
Picture me rollin'
February 3, 2011
Dune 7 is the Sahara by the sea. In Owamboland, all I see is flat. Flat flat flat and land for days. Now I know why Christopher Columbus thought what he did. This world definitely ends over there, and I can fall off on ‘that side’. When you ask a Namibian where he/she is from, he/she will answer by giving a name of a village and pointing in the direction the village is and usually saying ‘that side of ___’. Oh New York? Oh that side. (pointing NW)
So for me, Dune 7 was something I had never encountered, having not been flat. Outside of Walvis Bay, next to the same Atlantic, lies this enormous sand dune that is a great tourist attraction. Allie and I were the last of the group to trudge up there and it was no joke. Under the steaming sun with the heat bouncing of the sand and stinging us in the face, 20 of us pushed our calves into the sand separately, counting the steps until it would end. Allie stopped at the bottom to pick up trash. While collecting the garbage I heard her say, “Really, people? Really?” I pretended not to hear and continued my trek. I had one goal and I wanted it to be over.
I climbed a dune. Haha! With my face wrapped with an oshitenge in Islamic-fashion and my sunglasses on, I pose for the camera while my friend is puking behind me. “Let’s pretend that Rob is not ruining this for everyone.” Then we walked along the ridge of the dune and onto the highest point. Miley Cyrus, “The Climb” came to mind.
In silence we all acknowledge what is happening around us. Looking out into the distance, whether you are from Nevada or Montana or have gone to South Africa, we know that we have never seen this before. And words are too trite for that feeling. So we gaze.
Time keeps on ticking into the future and it’s time to leave. With this cloth wrapped around me, I hear people discussing the prospect of rolling down.
“I was thinking about rolling down, but then I’d get my clothes all sandy and I don’t feel like washing off.”
“It looks too steep. I wanted to but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
So I wrapped that piece of cloth we call a oshitenge around my upper body and I start tumbling without joining in the discussion. Round and Round my head is spinning at rapid speed as I hear crazy Allie in the distance, “No, Jeannine! Don’t! It’s too muchhhhhhhhhhhhh!” But it’s too late. I am already rolling. And the only thing stopping me is myself.
Rolling down that hill was a natural non-pharmaceutical high. I felt like a kid on a merry-go-round! I spun so fast my brain could not keep up so joy was just running through my veins; maybe joy is my default feeling for when chaos ensues (we will see in 2012 when the world ends). I thought I was going to reach the bottom soon so I slowed myself down, the way you slow down when you are swimming with your eyes closed and you think you have reached the end of the pool. I stopped myself on the sizzling sand by digging my limbs deep into the sand. It has to be the end. My brain spun for another 10 seconds. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t think. I felt like I was upside down. I looked around and realized, I was only two thirds down the Dune and then Allie rolled up behind me. (pun) I was happy and surprised to see her trailing behind (another pun). We sat there in silence for a moment trying to grasp normal orientation, trying to see straight.
“Maybe we should walk down?” “No we gotta finish this.” “Yeah, you’re right.”
So we let our bodies fall into the hands of nature/physics and allow our brains and bodies to spin into oblivion down the rest of Dune 7. And wouldn’t ya know, our paths crossed. Two star-crossed lovers that had to pull handfuls of sand out of their socks, back pockets, front pockets, brassieres lol, underwear, hair, etc. on the verge of vomiting. But we wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Dune 7 is the Sahara by the sea. In Owamboland, all I see is flat. Flat flat flat and land for days. Now I know why Christopher Columbus thought what he did. This world definitely ends over there, and I can fall off on ‘that side’. When you ask a Namibian where he/she is from, he/she will answer by giving a name of a village and pointing in the direction the village is and usually saying ‘that side of ___’. Oh New York? Oh that side. (pointing NW)
So for me, Dune 7 was something I had never encountered, having not been flat. Outside of Walvis Bay, next to the same Atlantic, lies this enormous sand dune that is a great tourist attraction. Allie and I were the last of the group to trudge up there and it was no joke. Under the steaming sun with the heat bouncing of the sand and stinging us in the face, 20 of us pushed our calves into the sand separately, counting the steps until it would end. Allie stopped at the bottom to pick up trash. While collecting the garbage I heard her say, “Really, people? Really?” I pretended not to hear and continued my trek. I had one goal and I wanted it to be over.
I climbed a dune. Haha! With my face wrapped with an oshitenge in Islamic-fashion and my sunglasses on, I pose for the camera while my friend is puking behind me. “Let’s pretend that Rob is not ruining this for everyone.” Then we walked along the ridge of the dune and onto the highest point. Miley Cyrus, “The Climb” came to mind.
In silence we all acknowledge what is happening around us. Looking out into the distance, whether you are from Nevada or Montana or have gone to South Africa, we know that we have never seen this before. And words are too trite for that feeling. So we gaze.
Time keeps on ticking into the future and it’s time to leave. With this cloth wrapped around me, I hear people discussing the prospect of rolling down.
“I was thinking about rolling down, but then I’d get my clothes all sandy and I don’t feel like washing off.”
“It looks too steep. I wanted to but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
So I wrapped that piece of cloth we call a oshitenge around my upper body and I start tumbling without joining in the discussion. Round and Round my head is spinning at rapid speed as I hear crazy Allie in the distance, “No, Jeannine! Don’t! It’s too muchhhhhhhhhhhhh!” But it’s too late. I am already rolling. And the only thing stopping me is myself.
Rolling down that hill was a natural non-pharmaceutical high. I felt like a kid on a merry-go-round! I spun so fast my brain could not keep up so joy was just running through my veins; maybe joy is my default feeling for when chaos ensues (we will see in 2012 when the world ends). I thought I was going to reach the bottom soon so I slowed myself down, the way you slow down when you are swimming with your eyes closed and you think you have reached the end of the pool. I stopped myself on the sizzling sand by digging my limbs deep into the sand. It has to be the end. My brain spun for another 10 seconds. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t think. I felt like I was upside down. I looked around and realized, I was only two thirds down the Dune and then Allie rolled up behind me. (pun) I was happy and surprised to see her trailing behind (another pun). We sat there in silence for a moment trying to grasp normal orientation, trying to see straight.
“Maybe we should walk down?” “No we gotta finish this.” “Yeah, you’re right.”
So we let our bodies fall into the hands of nature/physics and allow our brains and bodies to spin into oblivion down the rest of Dune 7. And wouldn’t ya know, our paths crossed. Two star-crossed lovers that had to pull handfuls of sand out of their socks, back pockets, front pockets, brassieres lol, underwear, hair, etc. on the verge of vomiting. But we wouldn’t have had it any other way.
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