Homeward Bound

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.