It's hot

Most people who know me know that I am a cold weather person. I like snow, I like the cold. A few years ago in Minnesota it dropped down to -40F and I remember loving the thrill of walking to work in weather so cold it could kill me.

Most people who know me know that I am not a hot weather person. 75F is the hottest temperature I can generally tolerate. Anything about that and I cease to exist. I burn easily and overheat even easier.

Most people know that I moved to Namibia just over a year ago. Saying it's hot hear does not begin to cover it. Late spring and early summer bring the hottest weather to this country. It becomes so hot that sitting in front of a fan does nothing but blow hot air in your face (but you do it anyways because at least it feels like you're doing something). At night, you can't sleep because it's so hot. During the day, it's hard to eat, hard to move because it's just so hot. There is no boredom like heat boredom, where you can't do anything because everything requires moving and moving raises your body temperature. The only relief is to soak in cool water long enough drop your body temperature.

Though I am not in love with this part of veld life, I still am grateful for the experience. I now know that I'm missing nothing by aspiring to move to the Arctic Circle. On the plus side, I finally managed to get wifi in the village. I supposed I'll have to start walking a bit more to use the internet, even though it's hot.

Radio Nowhere

It is a well known fact around these parts that my village doesn't have radio. I’ve heard the neighbors occasionally get a Nama station to come through, when the weather, wind, and dust are at the appropriate levels of not debilitating, but I felt it would be a pointless purchase. I have a deep love for radio – something to do with too much NPR growing up, no doubt – so when a friend recently offered me one that they didn’t need, I couldn’t say no even though I knew it was mostly useless at site. It’s new and nice but has that old school feel of a portable radio that is only a radio. Five bands, all of which play nothing but static.

The other day I was spinning round the dead dial, hoping to hear a little rhythm and I stumble upon the strangest sound. It was not a thousand guitars or pounding drums, but a voice speaking in a tongue I hadn’t head in a very, very long time. There is a Japanese radio station here in Namibia. Etse! I tuned in again a few days later to listen to a hearty, American voice tell me Hillary Clinton has pneumonia. Apparently only one station can come in at a time, only one language can be heard on a given day. You have to fight with the static to hear. Something about nuclear tests, South Sudan, civil war, a cyber attacker, and a bunch of other news bites are lost because those were the only words that won out against the drone of fragmented waves.

There might not be any saxophone solos coming my way, but sitting out here in the wild blue I do feel like I have a purpose here. Some days it’s harder than most. I spin that dial round and round and think is there anybody alive out there? But then, in the smallest ways, at the oddest times, I finally find that MAKE THE CONNECTION.

I love radio. I love my radio nowhere as I sit, looking for a world with some soul. IT’S A WORLD RECIEVER! it tells me right on top. Good. 

                                                                                                          

UPDATE: We have radio now!!! I wrote this about two weeks ago and suddenly, out of nowhere, BAM! Radio! But it shuts off a lot... I did manage to hear a few waves about the debate! 

Some Laundry

Imagine: It is nearly 11PM, the clouds are starting to break up and the moon and stars are shining so bright you don’t need a flashlight. The door to Ms. Sheldon’s flat opens, first the wooden one, then the metal bars, quiet like. Somewhere across the bush, a child giggles. Goats stamp. A dog barks. The hostel is dark. Ms. Sheldon darts for the clothes line where a single blue and green comforter hangs, blowing gently in the breeze of a spring night. Ms. Sheldon checks for wet spots. A bit damp, but fine if another blanket goes underneath. She quickly pulls the pins from the line and hauls the blanket off, careful not to let it touch the dusty ground least the process of the past evening be repeated. With one last glance across the open bush, she dashes back towards her door and slips in. The night settles in around her.

Lately, Lalli the Cat has taken to peeing on everything (because I changed his cat litter). The above scene took place the evening after I caught him in the act and managed to spare the rest of my just washed bed set (after having washed it two days before when he did manage to soak the thing). I was having trouble sleeping so I decided to be productive and check the line again. Amazingly, once I had my comforter again I went right to sleep. 

The View From the Road

Despite being banned from driving and other restrictive travel regulations, Peace Corps volunteers spend a lot of time on the road. Back in the States, my brothers and I used to complain all the time about being forced to sit in the back seat together for any drive at all. Now I'm used to being crammed into over stuffed cars, bakkies, and kombis, expecting multiple hour trips that usually end with something breaking. I spend so much time on the road, that I figure it's about time I learn how write about it.

The most common trek I make is the one to town. I think most people by now know that I live in a farm village in the middle of nowhere. I am so in the middle of nowhere that when my dear friend Emma, who lives in a northern village without running water or electricity, came to visit, she felt the need to comment that I live in the middle of nowhere. I'm 100km from the nearest town and there is nothing but a lodge and a few houses to cover that distance.

 

I make this journey about once every two to three weeks to get groceries. I've made it in the back of a posh BMW and the back of a covered bakkie sitting on a foam China shop mattress. The latter is infinitely more common. Sometimes I have a scheduled ride from a teacher or one of the owners of the tuck shops (small shops that sell basic necessities, often for inflated prices). Other times I go to the community designated hike spot and I wait for someone to drive by. I try to avoid the second option because it often requires getting there by six in the morning and waiting for a few hours in the sun. There's not a lot of trees or tall bushes to hide under. 

Sometimes I get to sit in the front of whatever vehicle I'm in. This is sometimes really great because I tend to know the driver and we might chat a bit. It also means getting to sit in a relatively comfortable position for the next hour or so as we cruise over the dirt road. More commonly, however, I'm in the back of a pickup, leaning against the canopy with some headphones in. I particularly love the rare times I'm alone in the back because then I can sing to my heart's content. Playlists range from a mix of punk to folk to pop rock.

 

Getting the ride out, however is less important than getting the ride back in. I have spent days at the designated hike point in my shopping town, flagging down cars and asking around for rides. If no one is going to to the village, no one is going to the village. There's only been one time when I missed school because of a lack of transportation. I ended up catching a ride back on a Monday afternoon and after that vowed to never again leave the village without a plan to get back in. I have failed to uphold that vow because I'm currently enjoying a long weekend in town with no ride back on Sunday. 

Half of my trip is on a dirt road. Everyone complains about it and one time I even had someone go the extra 30km south to take the slightly better one. It's one or the other though, and most people prefer the short term save on gas to the long term save on suspension. Somewhere in the middle of this dirt track in the middle of nowhere is a dead zone. No cellphone service. Just dying grassland. When I first moved out here, I was terrified of this zone. If we got stuck out in the dead zone, we had as much as 20km in any direction to walk until we got out of it. The chances that someone else would come by were pretty slim. Now I don't care as much. When you have so little control over transportation, it helps to not care. If the car breaks down, it breaks down and me stressing that the driver is only doing 80km/h instead of 120 isn't going to get me anywhere. You learn to make your appointments flexible.

 

The other 50km is on a tar road, the B1, one of the most dangerous highways in the world. When I first moved here, I was terrified that something would happen on that stretch of road. Now I know there's no use worrying because there's nothing I can do about it except tell my students why it's important to follow the rules of the road and hope for the future generations. My favorite part of driving the B1, other than how smooth it is to drive on a tar road, is crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. Hi everyone, coming to you live from the tropics. 

Back home, I was one of those people who never really drove a lot. I was either studying, living in a city, or living abroad. This past summer saw a huge hike in my driving time, largely because I loved my mom's new car and wanted to drive it everywhere. I started learning stick from a cousin and had a brief affair with the Subaru BRZ that made me realize one day I might be one of those people with a sports car. It's hard, sometimes, being on the wide open roads of Namibia and knowing that you aren't allowed to travel them yourself, but it's still an experience that I want to share. 

August Wind

Happy August all!
Wow it's been a long time since I updated this. I have reasons, most of which are just excuses for not writing enough, but I'm turning over a new leaf!

It's August here in central Namibia and I have learned very quickly that that means the end of winter and the start of the August wind. Last week I was freezing cold. I woke up every day and put on five layers of clothes and wore them all day. I was so cold I got a heater. Over the weekend it got a bit warmer and then, yesterday, the wind started blowing. The wind brought with it a 20°C temperature change. This morning was easily around freezing, but as the sun rose and the wind picked up, the temperature rose to 23°C. That's around 75°F, for those of you who aren't my dad.

The August wind has brought more than just (dry) heat. It's kicking up clouds of dust and sand. Mrs. M promises a complete lack of visibility in the coming month. I'm both really excited to be living in a perpetual sand storm and silently morning the sad future this presents for my laundry. Oh dear! There is also this word thing the dust is doing to the afternoon sky. Though visibility is still good, the sky has turned a grey blue that makes it look like it's going to storm, except it won't because there's absolutely no moisture in the air.

When the sun goes down, the temperature begins to drop against at an alarming rate. Today, however, I hot the sweet spot. The sun was gone but still had just enough presence to turn the sky a purplish pink and as I walked home from my friends' house the wind turned cool. It was not some sort of pleasant little breeze but the same powerful gusts that blow off the prairie back home, making trees of the Forest creak and moan like they're taking to each other. There is no prairie here and there are nowhere near enough trees to constitute a forest, but as I walked home, I felt the same power and awe I feel in a good Kansas gale.

Exam Time and a Book Recommendation

              I feel like I start every blog post apologizing for not being able to update regularly. The reason behind it this time is that I don’t have internet at site and finding it in town tends to be totally hit or miss (until this weekend). So, I'm sorry. From now on I plan to start writing out blogs ahead of time then post them when I get net. I wonder if I could even start a queue…

For now, I will just talk about how things have been changing since exams started. My usual day is a teachers’ meeting at 6:45 (including morning prayers and songs) with classes starting at 7:00 and ending at 1:00. I teach between five and seven classes a day for three different grade levels (see the last post). Now that its exams everything is the same but instead of teaching classes, one class is sitting in my room for to study from 7:00 to 11:30 when exams start. Each class has one exam a day that they study for during the beginning of the day. As you can imagine, studying for that long is a bit much for teenagers. So I’ve made a deal with the kids who sit in my class. If they behave, we study for, say, 20 minutes, then take a short break where they can get up and stretch or draw or read a book. Then we study for 30 minutes and take a longer break. And so on. I also play Two Steps from Hell music, which they LOVE. It’s been great because not only are they getting studying done, but it’s also given us time to bond more.

A few weeks ago Jaye Shaer sent us some books, which I will properly display once the term is done and I move them into the library, but for now they sit on my desk so the kids can read them during break. A girl named Esmie and I read one of the books together, Akata Witch buy Nnedi Okorafor, and I really recommend it for middle schoolers everywhere. It’s about a young Nigerian American girl named Sunny whose family moved back to Nigeria. She’s albino so she really sticks out and has to deal with the social stigma of looking different. One day after school, she has a chance encounter with a classmate who introduces her to another girl in their neighborhood. Sunny finds out that like her new friends, she is a Leopard Person, a witch, and with her friends she begins to explore the world of Nigerian and West African magic. But not everything is as calm as it seems. There’s a ritual serial killer on the loose and Sunny and her friends are tasked to stop him. The book was really fun and Esmie and I both loved it. 

Long time, no write!

I have tried writing blog posts for months now, but it just never seems to work out. Most of you who read this have probably heard that the whole Karasburg thing didn’t work out. I’ve moved to village closer to Windhoek, but on a dirt road the middle of no where. I actually really love it here. I walked to work this morning listening to goats bleating and rosters cock-a-doodle-do-ing. It’s super green and there are tall trees along the riverbed (pictures soon, I promise!). I’ve made so absolutely fantastic friends in the community who really take care of me. I now have a friend I buy fresh bread from, a friend I buy meat from, and another I buy seeds from to grow the vegetables I keep meaning to plant.

My daily life changes quite a bit as I’m adjusting to my new responsibilities. I’m now officially a teacher. I teach English and girls’ PE for grades 8-10 (junior secondary school). My kids are smart, funny, and creative as hell. They are also little demons when they are all in a class together and drive me crazy. One on one, or even in small groups, they are really fun to be around, but when the class has 44 students and at least 5 of them are competing for class clown with another 25-30 who just want to chat, it makes it absolutely impossible to get control. I’m struggling a lot with this. But I’m going to keep going. I’m alternating between being the horrible woman who gives detention and the awesome teacher who gives out rewards for good behavior. Lately I feel like the former is the most common side of me. My grade 8Bs were actually really good today though. I promised them rewards tomorrow. Same with one of the grade 9 classes. I teach five class groups in total.

Last night we had the school athletics tournament and it was really nice. Participation in athletics is mandatory for all able-bodied students (and some who lie and say they are, which caused a lot of drama last week!) and after a few weeks we have a school wide athletics tournament and the top three in each event become the official school team. I got to judge high jump, which, as most people don’t know, is by far my favorite athletics event. Some of the kids stayed around to help with raising the bar up and down and keeping everyone lined up. It was a great chance to get to meet some of the students who don’t usually come and talk with me, so despite having to sit in the sun for a few hours, I actually had a lot of fun!

Despite that, my favorite part of the athletics tournament was the community support. Thinking about it now almost brings tears to my eyes. Even though our tournament was rescheduled for a week day, tons of parents and community members came to support the kids. I talked with the parents of a few kids and the level of pride and investment in their kids was amazing. Back down in Karasburg, this just wasn’t a thing. Almost no one came to support the students at the girls’ soccer tournament and the few that did weren’t really there for the students. I talked to some of the teachers here afterwards and they said that this level of participation is typical and it warmed my heart to see that some of the kids really have a good support network at home. It’s probably because this is more of a farming community while the other school was in the Location. It makes me hope another volunteer will get to go back there and work with community development because those kids really deserve it (I obviously miss my K-burg kids a lot).

I’ve only been here a few weeks and it has been a crazy, roller coaster of a time, but as my principal asks each day, I’m still swimming. I’ve made more mistakes than I can count but I’m going to keep trying. I want to be a good teacher because I know no matter how naughty these kids are, they don’t deserve the disorganized wreck I’ve been the past few weeks. Right now I am open to any suggestions on classroom management and planning interesting and engaging lessons!!