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.

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!!

Officially a Volunteer and Moving to Site

For as long as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a Peace Corps Volunteer. I’ve wanted to be a volunteer for so long, that I stopped asking myself if I really wanted to do it anymore or if I really thought I could do it. It wasn’t until I had already accepted and started preparing for leaving that I began the process of questioning my decision. Going through training, I found myself asking myself more and more, “Do I really want to be here? Am I wasting time and resources being here?” I wasn’t having a tough time or anything, I just felt like I needed to really think it over. On the 15^th we officially swore in as volunteers, and that childhood dream became a reality. And as that happened, I found those questions that had harassed me all PST were gone and I was so ridiculously happy. I walked through town that day in my Damara dress and thought I can do this. And now I’m sitting in my flat in Karasburg, typing this up, and thinking there is no place else I could possibly be right now.

On the 16^th, two other volunteers and I made the long trek to the deep south of Namibia, I however, went the deepest. Pull out your maps of Namibia folks, ‘cause here comes a geography lesson! In Namibia, most people only consider two regions north: Ovamboland and Kavango (Zambezi and Kunene seem to be in another category that I haven’t quite come to understand). Everything else is south. Windhoek is south. Okahandja is south. So saying I’m in the south doesn’t mean anything, hence the “deep”. Karasburg, where I now call home, is so far south, the nearest big city is actually in South Africa. I am living in a teacher’s flat at school here and so far really enjoying it. I went out yesterday to buy some dishes and what not. I don’t actually have a kitchen yet, so I can’t buy much food (no stove and no fridge). I get meals from the dining hall brought to my flat a few times a day by learners, which took some getting used to. Still can’t say I’m too used it, but it’s a good chance to get to meet some of them.

I made fast friends with the Afrikaans teacher, who is about my age, and came to introduce herself to me the first night. I’ll probably end up asking her to tutor me in Afrikaans since that’s what everyone speaks here. And while I can understand a lot of what’s spoken at me, I can’t respond and I understand nothing of what the kids are saying most of the time. At least picking up Afrikaans should be easier than Khoekhoegowab, although I still hope I can learn that as well.

Karasburg itself is a small town in the middle of nowhere. It’s on a flat plain with mountains just barely visible on the horizon. There’s scrub brush all around, but nothing very tall to obscure the view of the plains. It makes me think of old west movies. In town there’s an Agra (farm store), Shoprite (grocery), Spar (grocery), and PEP (clothing and house stuff). When I walked into PEP yesterday, “Love, Love, Love” by Of Monsters and Men was playing and it was the most surreal experience ever. Sometime later this week I hope to go to Agra and look into starting a garden in front of my flat. It would be something to do in my free time and help me save money on vegetables and herbs. However, the rainy season is rapidly approaching, so I’ll have to be really careful about when I start. I also have no idea how anyone gardens in the soil here. It’s pretty much sand all around, but they manage, so I’ll ask around and pretty soon so will I.

It’s tough to describe the land around here without sounding like I dislike it, which is horrible because I really love it. It has its own sort of sparse beauty that I came to love instantly, but when trying to describe landscapes that don’t resemble home, I find myself without the proper words. I hope I can get better at that over time, because it really is pretty here. In town and in the location, people have gardens and paint their houses bright colors. When I walk around later, I’ll try to get more pictures.

I’ve been spending some time meeting the students who live in the hostel as well. They are all really friendly and I find them hilarious most of the time. A few of them are really shy, so it can be hard to talk to them. Most of the older ones speak English very well, so communication is not a problem at all, but when they aren’t talking directly to me, they all speak Afrikaans. I did manage to find a handful of them who speak Khoekhoe, so I should probably see if they would be interested in letting me practice and learn from them.

That’s it for now! I’ll try to update with more about Namibia next time! There are so many small things that are different in how people speak here that I want to make a whole post on it, so look forward to that! I also want to talk about how the school system is set up, so maybe I can combine the two. Feel free to ask questions in the comments, because I would love to answer them!

I am grateful for...

I thought of trying to structure this post around the grateful game. For those who have never played, the game goes like this: people take turns saying things they are grateful for. When we play here, the woman that usually starts the game has a few extra rules she enforces strictly: no back-handed gratefuls, or don’t say something that is more negative than positive, and it has to be something you are really, truly grateful for, so don’t say something along the lines of being grateful for oxygen or something. So, in the spirit of the game and the extra rules, please read further.

Today I’m moving from Outjo back to Okahandja where we have training and I’m pretty sad about it. Not tears-streaming-down-my-face sad, but just sorry to leave. I’ve really come to love it here in Outjo. Even things that were difficult at first (mostly, figuring out how to navigate my host family) have become just normal parts of my life here. After two months in Namibia, I had finally gone from the numbness created by being unable to process all the changes happening around me, to a relatively functioning human being once more. While here in Outjo, I woke up at 4:30 AM every day with no complaints and a smile on my face for my 40 minute walk to work. And I loved it. I taught a class of 40 with no lesson plan on my first week, and I loved it. I learned how to make lesson plans and execute them effectively. I learned when the planned lesson is not working and how to change pace on the spot. I (hitch)hiked for the first time. 

I was a minor celebrity around campus, with kids from grades I had never taught greeting me every day. I made the best Irish stew I’ve ever cooked for my host family (and they ate it). I went to Etosha, the largest game preserve in the world. I got really good at braiding my hair in the morning. I figured out how to unlock the two doors and gate to get out of the house every morning. I had real coffee. I practiced Damara with people I didn’t know. My kids would greet me in town. I met half the town. I managed to live on hardly any money. I made friends. I found out one of the guys on my program is related to me (or that we have a recent common ancestor). I stargazed using the map my friend gave me. I saw a ton of bats flying around and listen to them echolocating every night. I finally found a place in my host family. I painted my host mom a picture and she loved it. 

The list goes on. 

For the past four or so years I was in school, I have been constantly stressed about a number of things. It eventually became so constant that I didn’t even realize I was stressed anymore until now. While there is obviously still a lot of pressure being here, I just don’t feel it the same way I did back in Minnesota. I don’t want to get too deep here, but I really want to emphasize how good a decision joining Peace Corps was for me. Even though I’m the one who is supposed to be the teacher, I’ve been learning so much from everyone around me, Americans and Namibians, young and old. I am so overwhelmingly grateful for the experiences I’ve had so far and I can’t wait to see where this journey will take me. 

I’ll briefly wrap up with an explanation of the photos scattered in this post, since there are a lot of them. I took all of these my last day. Most are of my students in the 5^th and 7^th grades. 7^th grade was by far my favorite class. Those kids are so awesome and I hope for the best for all of them. One is of the woman who sells us fat cakes every day. One of the good things about Okahandja is my access to fat cakes with disappear, so I hopefully I can go back to losing weight! Some are of the San kids from the cultural club. One of them was one of the orneriest kids we had to deal with, but we all loved him anyways because while he was a little brat, he was really smart and would usually try pretty hard. He’s also a fantastic dancer! We were thrilled he found an outlet for all of his energy! There’s one of me and one of the other Minas at school. Mina is a very common name in these parts. There’s one of me and our co-teacher Mrs. Kabajani as well. 

I guess I’ll sign off for now! In Okahandja I will not have reliable access to internet again, so I may not be posting pictures for a few weeks. On Monday I will try to briefly post about where I’ll be moving to (we find out site placement at last!) and on the 15^th is our swearing in ceremony. The 16^th is when we will move to our permanent sites. Hopefully by then I’ll have figured out a way to obtain semi-regular access to working internet so I can post some pictures! 

CBT and Getting in the Classroom!!

It has been a whole month since we arrived in Namibia.  Thus far, I could say I am adjusting pretty well. I lived with a host family for almost three weeks in Okahandja, which was really nice. Our family ranged from five to eight people on any given day as family members moved in and out of our house. Permanent members are my host mom and dad and my host brother. A week ago we moved, however, to our CBT. The way that our group 42 is undergoing CBT (Community Based Training) is slightly different from the way they have done it in the past. Now, we all move to a new site based on our language groups and undergo language as well as technical training. Seven of us moved to Outjo last weekend to begin this training. Ideally, we live with a family that speaks our language, Khoekhoegowab (KKG) or Damara-Nama. There have been some complications for me on this front as my KKG speaking family members have either been out of town the whole time (in the case of my host parents) or are around 10 years old and will not talk to me in English or KKG. The two people in the house who do speak to me do not speak KKG. One is my host sister, who speaks English, Otjiherero, and Afrikaans, the other is her two year old son who only speaks Otijiherero! My parents returned yesterday and a few other members of the family came over. We had a total of ten people in our house and it was a bit overwhelming!

Since coming to Outjo, we have also finally started working in a school. Our group was divided into two groups, four at the primary school, three at the secondary school. One member of the primary school group ended up deciding to ET (Early Termination) Sunday night, so only three of us started school on Monday. Though those teaching at the secondary school have been having a tough time, the three of us at the primary school are living it up. We get along well with our colleagues, who seem to like us. The student adore us and we have a lot of fun interacting with them. Our school is amazingly well organized, which is something I’m learning is quite special. For most of the week we have been observing classrooms at our schools. This has resulted in some amazing learning experiences, some positive, some negative. A few of the teachers are just amazing teachers. It’s been a real treat to watch their classes. Some of them are less interested in their students, and some seem to downright hate them. I sat through a class where the teacher did nothing but scream at the students, calling them stupid and all sorts of things. I was a horrible moment in my week. The next day we switched sides and we went to observe classes at the secondary school. It was very unwelcoming and there were multiple classrooms where teachers hadn’t shown up all week. I ended up in one of those classrooms and sort of filled in as the teacher. I had a good time with the students and got almost everyone to participate in one way or another.

The next day, we were back at primary school, except we weren’t. I got to school at my usual time only to have the principal pull me aside and ask if the three of us would attend a conference for novice teachers. I said it sounded like something we would benefit from since only one member of our group was an experienced teacher. I told the others about it when they arrived and we quickly came to realize that she meant for us to LEAD the workshop, not merely attend. In an hour we threw together a presentation and some activities on how to asses and incorporate different learning styles and ways of expression into our lessons as well as implement word walls to create a classroom environment that encourages reading across subjects. The teacher member of our group was amazing in organizing everything, but me and the other non-teacher helped out quite a bit and at the end of the day, everyone in the workshop was feeling inspired and like they learned something (including us!). Though ridiculously stressful, I felt so accomplished and inspired by the end. The teachers that attended were from rural areas and talked about some of the challenges but also rewards of teaching. Their concern for their students was powerful. It made me so eager to start teaching!

Now, let me tell you a bit about how my day goes here. I wake up at 4:40AM most mornings and get ready for work. At 6:00AM I begin my 2km walk to school in the dark. The moon and stars have been beautiful walking companions. I get to school around 6:40, just in time to greet people and be ready for the staff meeting at 6:50. School starts at 7:00 and ends at 12:00. We have an hour break for lunch, though we usually combine that with debrief, and then language lessons for an hour. Some days we get out by 2:00PM, others it’s closer to 4:00PM. Then I walk 2km back to town. I usually spend some time with the other volunteers after work and then head home around 5:00/6:00. Dinner is at 7:00 or 8:00. Sometimes I cook, sometimes I just help, others I do nothing. I usually try to get in bed around 9:00, but some nights I just have too much to do to make that a reality. Then I get up and do it all again! This week I’m going to push to get home earlier some nights so I can spend more time with my family.

Oh! I forgot one of the most exciting parts of my week! There are two Japanese volunteers in my town. One of them even teaches at my school. We had coffee earlier this week and will go again next week. It was such a relief to be able to speak Japanese again!! They also gave me the contact details for a Japanese volunteer in the other town where we will finish training.

Let me just say, while this week (or even this month) has been far from easy, I have had so many wonderful experiences. I know I’m not even an official volunteer yet, but I still can’t help but think that joining Peace Corps was the best decision for me. I hope that I can keep up this attitude in the future!