Goats in my yard, bugs in my sheets, and water?...most of the time...I'm so confused.

(Scene: I am sitting in my room. I'm on a green chair with a wooden structure, a very sturdy chair, I actually have 2 in my room. The chair and the foot of my bed touch so when I sit here I kick my feet up on the bed, kinda like my make-shift recliner if you will. My bed is sort of a mess. Both of my sheets are brown, as in the color, they're not dirty. My pillow case is also brown. My favorite color is brown. I have a pile of todays clean laundry on my bed. When I'm ready to go to sleep I'm just gonna throw those clothes on the chair I'm currently sitting on. I have on my LMU alumni shirt with my LMU pajama shorts, they look like blue plaid boxers though. I have a black satin rag on my hair to keep it tamed while I'm loungin around. I don't have any make-up on. I usually don't wear any on the weekends, unless I'm going somewhere and even then its usually just eye liner. The fan is a standard sized one. Its white with green trim. Its directly on me, on low. My laptop is sitting on top of my brown pillow. Its playing The Miles Davis Quintet in NYC Philharmonic Hall at Lincoln Center, February 12, 1964. I like playing this when I need to concentrate on something else. I never listen to just listen. Maybe one day I will.)

FYI: You are welcome to visit the other Dirty Thirty blogs listed to the left. They also have interesting stories and post pics frequently.

I believe my last blog left off at the end of training. Since then a lot has happened, the good, bad, and ugly depending on who you ask.

I will start chronologically, then fade into Namibian randomness, Vocab and phrases, tell you what I miss, and hit you up with a list of what to send (us), that is of course, if you are a good person that truly feels like donating items out of the kindness of your heart, to both a volunteer teacher and Namibian learners who lack supplies because 70% of the education budget goes toward paying the very people that abuse them with sticks, water hoses, and belts on a daily basis, but lets touch on that in later paragraphs. Please keep in mind that I am remembering events off memory alone cuz some schmuck has my notebook with all details that were supposed to make it to this blog post, but again thats a later paragraph. Enjoy.

Back at Site:

First week at site I was teaching all week because the volunteer I was replacing was out of town doing her close of service (COS). The teaching was relatively easy. She had everyday and every period mapped out for me. It was basically a chapter from the text book. I lectured a little and had discussions with the class about the importance of learning English. They seem to already have the understanding that they can go all over the world with English. This is good for me, then I won't feel so bad making them speak only English when I have my classroom. I understand that it is important for them to know their mother tongue, however they will be limited to parts of Namibia only. English equals mobility, period. The important thing is that they understand the importance, if they don't then I am merely a colonizer imposing my language upon them. In my defense, however, English is Namibia's official language.

So here's the deal: our group (The Dirty Thirty, aka PC Namibia Group 30) is the first to come to site before the school year starts,(which is in January, the beginning of the new school year). This was changed as a response to volunteer recommendations that we should be able to settle in and have a chance to integrate instead of just hitting the ground running. Sounds good. But now most of us are feeling useless. We do not yet have classes of our own, no actual job to do, and many are at sites where there is still a volunteer. But of course Peace Corps gave us this obnoxiously large packet filled with week-by-week assignments designed to help us integrate into our communities efficiently. I found most of the activities to be rehearsed and unnatural. For example, a way to get to know teachers was to interview them with a set of questions provided. Blah. Week 2 at site I attempted to tackle some of these activities. Others I've delayed indefinitely because I believe that certain relationships will come naturally, I don't want to force them. I mean, I'll be here for 2 years, no need to spit it all out in the first 3 months. Week 3 I co-taught English with grade 5. And by co-taught, I mean taught by myself. Fifth grade is really difficult because they have just started to have all instruction in English. And thats not even entirely true cuz the teachers still speak mother tongue to them in class, thus making my job much more difficult. Thanks. (Background: Learners receive instruction in Otjiherero, their mother tongue, from grade 1-4)

After looking at my calendar, this puts me at the first week of November. Honestly, I have no idea what happened in the following weeks. Seriously, like 3 weeks of no recollection. Aaaand thats how boring the village life can be, you lose weeks at a time, yet feel every second go by like days. I do know, however that elections were the fourth weekend in Nov and thats when I went to town. I went on a wednesday because there isn't transport out of here on thursdays and elections was on friday. Peace Corps felt like there may be some political unrest in these elections and put us on alert mode. So what that means to volunteers is a free, and extended, weekend in town for “safety reasons.” =] So the big deal about elections is that this year was the first time anyone has actually challenged the ruling party and had even the slightest chance of winning. Inside scoop: One of the leaders of the ruling party didn't like the 'dirty work' going on, so he left and started his own party threatening to expose the ruling party in the process. Results: The ruling party still rules.

Being in town for 5 days was awesome. I must inform you that 'town' simply means a street thats about 2-3 miles long lined with shops, grocery stores, restaurants, clothing and accessory, library, interneting, post office, supply stores among other things. But after being in a village with practically nothing, I'll take it. The volunteer house is about 3 blocks from the main street. After I've put my stuff down, greeted those in the house and chilled for about 15mins I'm ready to hit the street. I usually have a list of things to take care of so I like going by myself. I always wear my old navy flip flops cuz they make me feel more casual and at ease, its probably a comfort of 'something from home' also. And I always have my sunglasses on (which I hope some beautiful young lady is now sporting looking o'so fierce). At this point its my second time in town and people are recognizing from my previous trip.

The Hair Fiasco:

I decide that I need to get my hair done(wash and blow). For the last few weeks I have been wearing it down. There's a little shopping center with all these little suites, most of which are hair salons and are about the size of a small walk-in closet, or standard sized bathroom. I walk into the only one that looks like an actual salon and tell them that I just want a wash and blow. They tell me that they will wash, but they don't have a blow dryer and that I will have to walk to another shop if I wanted it dried. I smiled. Said Thank you. I left. I then walked to said shop where there was a blow dryer. In this place you can get a fade from the barber station, get your clothes hymned by the tailor, buy hair, get a loosey (single cigarette), buy phone minutes, and inquire about a small business workshop. It was big and seemingly more legit than the other sardine cans of the strip mall.

I walk in and ask them if they offered said services. To which they affirmed and proceeded to gather all necessary materials to complete the task. By gather “necessary” material I mean large 2 liter fanta bottles to fill with water from some outside unidentified source. I wandered curiously wondering where on earth my hair would be washed, rinsed, and blow dried as I saw nothing that could tackle any of these tasks.

Then, lo and behold, I see a wash basin. Its blue, about 8in deep with a diameter of maybe a foot and a half. As she poured boiling water, accompanied by the fanta water bottles containing room temperature water, she asked me to come to her. I did. I walked up to her and stopped. She motioned for me to bend over. The basin is now sitting on a stool no higher than my knee caps. I am not a gymnast, nor is this a Lil'Jon video. I cannot bend over, straight-legged, and make my knees touch my forehead. So I squat and bend over. Extremely uncomfortable. The shampooing wasn't that bad. But after the application of shampoo I wondered where we would rinse. Would she have a surprise fanta bottle waiting its turn to be used? False. We will rinse in the same dirty water used to get my hair wet in the first place. Then comes the application of conditioner. This is usually when hair dressers comb out my hair to remove tangles and such. She made one brisk attempt and opted out. Perhaps she decided that it would be easier to comb it out after we wash it, in more dirty water. We proceeded with the rinse of the conditioner, to which I'm sure was not completely out of my hair.

She sat me down behind the counter in one of those white plastic lawn chairs everyone has. You've seen them. There was no station with a mirror or hair supplies. There were, however, shelves under the counter with random items used for hair. She towel dries my hair then immediately starts to blow dry it, UNCOMBED. WTF?! This time she made several brisk attempts. She clearly doesn't know how to deal with my hair. The woman doing it is no older than 17, has a perm, and hair just barely past her ear lobes. Not that this should have any baring on her abilities to deal with my natural hair, but she is really having a hard time and her lack of skill is extremely apparent. Starting from the back of my hair she makes her way about an inch up, just blowing it out. I tell her that she needs to put something in it like a detangler, leave-in conditioner, or some type of moisturizer that will allow the hair to be more manageable. My recommendations went ignored. She began speaking Otjiherero to the other lady, and due to my novice language skills I couldn't tell what she was saying. I kept hearing the word hair, but that all I could make out. The other girl, at least a few years older and obviously the one controlling the shop, comes and decides to take over. She starts combing it out in sections. Now I'm thinking like, ok she knows what she's doing. Then she gets to the middle of my head, which is where the hair is most course and the least dealt with, and says, “Your hair is too natural.” (Side note: Yes, I am in Africa. Yes, she was black. Yes, I was appalled. Yes, thats what I get for assuming.) I didn't respond. I didn't know how to respond. Thats the last thing I expected to hear during my stint in Africa. Then every time she came across a section of hair that she couldn't comb out easily she would repeat those very words.


The dynamic became interesting when the men entered the shop to see the new face. They would walk up to me, touch my hair, and compliment me on how nice and beautiful my hair was. We would exchange greetings in Otjiherero, to the surprise of the women of course. Then came the questions about where I was from, what I'm doing here, how I find (like) Namibia, and where I live. (Side note: in Africa, there is no such thing as personal space. So someone walking up to you and touching you is not rude or abnormal. It definitely takes some getting used to.) One of the men is a barber in one of the suites across the way, he invites me to his shop. I tell him that I will be there because I need my neck and side burns trimmed. After 3 long treacherous hours she is finally done. She tells me to come back to get a perm with a bob cut. Really?! It cost N$50 (about $6.77USD, so that makes it a little better)

I walk over to the barber. He is cutting someone's hair and has 2 guys waiting. He sees me and I tell him I'll just wait outside til he's done. He says no, come in and in Otjiherero, tells the guy to get up (secama). I kinda felt bad, But not really, I had other things to do. He starts to wrap a dirty towel around my neck then notices my nape piercing. This becomes a 5min spectacle, I have to quickly tell everyone not to touch. He spends about 15mins shaving my edges off, he gives me the mirror, I say its ok. Pay him a N$20 and I'm on my way.

Thanksgiving:

I end up going to a few different stores buying things for my house that I need. Mostly kistchen stuff and cleaning supplies. The next day is Thanksgiving, not in Namibia. I decided that I would make corn bread from scratch along with honey butter that Marie Callendars has. I made both from scratch and everyone loved them. Along with that we had lentils with vegetables and rice that Mariko made, Dasha made cauliflower soup, Nikki made stuffing and sweet potatoes, and Cathy brought fruit salad. It was a really good and healthy Thanksgiving. Out of the 5 only 2 of us are carnivores, but neither of us felt the need to buy meat, whatev. We spent the rest of the night drinking wine and watching movies on the computer.

This was my first holiday away from home, ever. I thought I would be ok, but the people I was with are either not close with their family or have spent numerous holidays away from home and were ok about it all. The day of Thanksgiving I was alright. Then my friday morning, your thursday night my mom calls me and passes the phone around so everyone can say hello to me. I made it through the phone call, but afterward I couldn't help it but to breakdown and cry. I missed everyone so much. I couldn't help but to think about what I was missing, which was nothing according to Kishaun. And within a few hours there were pictures posted from the dinner, All of them were nice and I got through the album until I saw a picture of my mom which again, made me cry. It doesn't matter how much I get to talk to her on the phone about family goings on, seeing her makes me cry.

The elections were on Friday and Saturday, nothing in my area happened. They were quite and peaceful.

The Going Away Speeches:

In the first week of December the staff threw a going-away party for the departing volunteer I would replace. While the details of this party are a blur at this point, there are a few things I remember. First, it was supposed to start at about 7pm and we didn't begin until almost 10pm, on a Thursday night, and yes we had school on Friday 6:40am morning meeting still on. The DJ played some of the hottest joints from 90s boy bands, and not necessarily N'sync or Backstreet either, to Micheal Bolton, to karaoke versions of popular music. Imagine this playlist on repeat for hours. Then there were speeches. While I don't remember them in detail I remember one that went like, “Love is like a booger, you just keep picking at it, and you don't know what to do with it.” Yeeeaaa, not sure exactly what that means, but hey English is not their first language. The other one was something about how Lance Armstrong landed on the moon. Hmmm.

Bad Goat:

That Friday BriAnne and I were invited to the principals house for dinner. Probably like a departing dinner for her and welcome for me. The principals wife has a philosophy whereby because I don't yet know her I shouldn't come and eat her food not knowing how it was prepared. So with the invite is actually cooking with her. It was a nice idea. Her kitchen was like 98 degrees, but whatev. The menu: frozen veggies, lasagna, goat ribs. BriAnne was assigned to veggies. I was to cook the lasagna layers. Wife to cook the goat. My layers didn't turn out great because half the time the burner was not actually o and the rest of the time they were merging with each other beyond my repair. Apparently, here lasagna just means layers. The meat that was to go inside the lasagna was just regular ground beef (here they call it minced). She added cucumbers and I believe onions to the meat, some basic seasoning, and not actually marinara sauce, but ketchup. Fuck me. So these were not layers that compare to the juicy Buca di Beppo (I wasn't impressed, lol yo girl!) lasagna, but rather a dry, meaty version, or NamStyle if you will. Then she had me add these thick pieces of mystery cheese. It didn't have any flavor to it. I was hoping the flavor would change and be better once it was melted. The goat ribs had been sitting is a bowl, marinating I suppose, for hours in this hot kitchen. By the time I went home that night my stomach was hurting and feeling queasy. I figured it was from the bad meat or something like that. By the next morning I was vomiting and had sever diarrhea. It was awful. I literally didn't eat anything on Saturday, I just stayed in bed, only getting up to release fluids from all 3 places. I felt like I was gonna die. I kept asking myself who I fucked with to have to go through this now? I'm still puzzled. Monday came, I didn't feel any better. I wasn't vomiting anymore but I was still scared to eat anything as my stomach felt like it didn't want anything for at least a month. I was able to eat 2 apples and a slice of bread and keep it down. Monday came and I couldn't get out of bed. I still felt like shit and could only really eat apples and bread. My host mom had the kids go get me a coke, then she dropped some medicine(they call it 'tablets) in the coke and had me drink that. Then she gave me about 5 different bottles of random shit. It was all written in Afrikaans so I didn't know what any of it was. I really didn't care, it didn't matter, I took all of them having no concept of dose or anything. Tuesday, same story. Wednesday I'm able to get up and out of bed. I had to pack because we were leaving for the holiday. We get a venture (suv public transport) and make it about half way to my shopping town when we run out of gas. We pull over at this shop and are flagging down cars seeing if they have an extra tank we can buy from them. So ridiculous, but normal.

Swakop!!!:

School was out by the second week in December. Since October my host mom and her brother had been planning to take me to Swakopmund, the tourist town of Namibia. On the day we were supposed to leave her brothers wife decided she didn't want to go because she wanted to go to a funeral. According to him, we were supposed to withdraw our reservations for the trip as well. I think not. My host mom was like, “he's not the only one with people on the coast.” I love her for that. Slight change in plans but we were definitely going. She had a taxi pick me up from the volunteer house in my shopping towm and we met to take the combi to Windhoek. (N$100)(Combi is like a van, supposed to seat about 15 people, but in Namibia there's atleast 18, or more easily. Windhoek is the capital, we have to go there because there isn't transport that goes straight to the coast.) So we are jam packed inside this combi with a 2 hour drive to the capital. I'm surprised we didn't crash as often as the driver was looking at me in his rear-view mirror, thankfully my glasses shielded where my eyes were. We arrive at Rhino Park, a place that has transport going to the coast. We each pay N$100 and put our names on list, go to the bathroom, and go up to the snack shop to get junk food for the ride. I get a few bags of chips, flavored sparkling water and a russian, which is a sausage, its really good. Buying stray pieces of meat here is extremely common. By stray I mean not accompanied by bread or anything, just pieces of meat. They like it to the point. We cram into yet another combi for a 3 hour, or so drive. Our driver however had absolutely no where in the world to be so it took like 5 hours.

The air starts to get cooler the closer we get and I know we have arrived at the coast. We get dropped off at some open air bus station looking place, but can't really tell as its night time. A friend of my host mom(named Alvee) comes to pick us up. He takes us to where we will be staying to drop off our stuff. The houses are pretty nice inside. They have obviously been built by the inhabitants, but nice nonetheless. It's Alvee's aunt's house. She cleans the houses of the rich people, her husband is a firefighter and there are a questionable number of kids that live there. They sleep where ever there is space, hallway, kitchen floor, couch. They gave us their master bedroom for the weekend. We sat a talked for about 10mins then we left to see some of the city. Benja, the friend and now official driver, takes us directly to the coast. We drive through the wealthiest communities in Namibia. These beach homes are definitely comparable to ours. Huge, beautiful, modern. Then we drive to a local Shell gas station thats known for the best chips (fries) because they season them with vinegar and some special mix of saltiness, they were BOMB! Fries out here are not crisp at all, I don't think they would like McD's fries at all. They are very soggy and oily, guaranteed to give you a stomach ache every time. You know like a McDonalds breakfast, its hella good, but you always feel like shit afterwards. They drop me off at the house and they leave to get beers at a local shebeen (sketchy ass bar made of whatever materials they can find during its construction.). So I'm like, damn, why can't I have a beer? To myself of course.

The next morning I get breakfast in bed, ramen noodles. Then we get dressed and head out for the day. When Benja arrives he introduces me to his niece Beverly (Bev), and there's another lady with her son with us. He has a little hatch back vw that is super small. They give me the front seat to be nice, but by the time we arrive at the gas station the lady says she's too fat to sit in the back seat. She's dying laughing about it so I don't feel so bad chuckling as I get out the front seat and cram into the back. We go to a grocery store but since no one is telling me what is going on I'm not sure why we're there. We just end up getting 2 big things of juice and a large cup of yogurt. Then we start driving for at least an hour. I see that we are at the sand dunes, but instead of climbing any sand dune we go to climb dune7, the highest in Namibia. We arrive and it is huge. They tell me to roll up my pants and take off my outer shrt cuz i'll get hot. I just roll up my pants. We attempt the dune. It was so difficult. I would take 3 of 4 good strides and stop and rest. Unless you have quads of steel, you're gonnna catch hell climbing this. Benja has already made his way to the top. That lady is probably about 8 feet from the ground, too big to get any higher. Me, Bev and Alvee are about half way before we decide this is entirely too hard and we go down. We sit at the picnic tables and open the juice. We all drink directly out the carton with our own straws. Then after about 30mins we decide to give it another go, this time at an angle, only slightly easier to climb. We finally reach the top. I was so exhausted I don't think I actually got to enjoy the view. We sat for a while, drank more juice, took pictures, went down. Going down is pretty fun because with every stride your leg falls 2-3 feet into the sand, but somehow your still floating all the way down.

We drive back into town and I inform them that I am hungry. Instead of pulling into a restaurant or a quick sandwich spot, we go to a grocery store where there is a take away filled with greasy fried meats, breads, and chips. They all look at me and ask what I want to get. “I'm confused,” I tell them. They ask again what do you want? My stomach can't take anymore greasy bull shit, I need a fruit or vegetable in my system or I'm seriously going to die. So I leave the bunch and grab a salad, 2 tomatoes, yogurt, cheese, and a large water.


We take the food to the beach and lay out picnic style. I have my bag that I'm eating out of. They pull out a large brown bag of chips that is completely now transparent from the grease, another bag of brochens(bread rolls) and one large juice. Now I'm thinkin what the hell can you do with that? They each grab a bochen and poke holes in it with their fingers, then stuff the fries into the holes and violla, lunch. Hella dry, no condiments, that is not lunch! Now I realize they asked me because they expected me to pay on everyone's behalf, since ya know, I was the hungry one after all. Ha, smash that plan.

Me and Bev decide to walk down the beach and since she grew up there she was able to give me all the history about the place. Swakop looks like a little Germany. Its architecture, street design, store themes, overwhelming love for Jagermeiter among other things. Bev is a 19 year old college student who was educated with all the rich white kids in German speaking schools. She speaks 7 languages and is a pretty sharp girl. Her mom works for the rich so she's always had access to their lifestyle by default. It was refreshing to be with a peer who spoke perfect English, understood the value of education, especially in a place like Namibia, and who has hopes that exceed this country. (Please understand, most the women I meet are very traditional and fully accept their place as 'women' in this society.) Bev is Herero, but a very progressive one. Its obvious she was raised in an urban area, she's been exposed and influenced by western culture and its totally working in her favor. She wants to be a lawyer. (She told me her uncle brought her cuz he was tired of having to speak English so much.) Thank god for Bev.

By the time we get back to the rest of the group they've decided to do other stuff so me and Bev decide to hang for the night. We get dropped off at her house(the name of her street is: Hella, lol that is so Gangsta) where I meet her older sister and brother. The sister doesn't speak much so I spend most of that time talking to her brother Simon, another forward thinking Herero. Not sure of his education background, but obviously very smart. He starts asking me questions about Americans and how we're not interested in the rest of the world. I confirmed that there are many people not concerned about anything beyond their circles, but that I was a perfect example of an American that clearly cares beyond the boarders. We then sat in silence when Lorenzo's Wife came on.

By about 8 o'clock Bev and I walked over to her friends house, Scooby. Then the three of us went to a semi-sketchy bar. You can hear the music from her house its so loud. As we approach I see a gang of people standing outside beers and/or cups in hand. Its mostly men. We walk in, Buy beer and sit. There are huge burglar bars all the way to the ceiling protecting the bartender from the people. And when I say bar, I mean a place where you can purchase alcohol, but they don't make cocktails or anything. You can buy hard liquor and the stuff to mix it with, but thats pretty much it. You can also get phone minutes, looseys, and the occasional Knorrs soup packet. There are bar stools bolted to the ground, there's only about 10 of them. There are two slot machines by the door, and 1 music jukebox. And by jukebox I mean a small electronic box that you feed with dollars to play your favs. Guess that explains why we heard the same 8 songs all night. It still early and kinda lame, but the music is slappin and the beer is flowin, its all good. Within a few hours a billion more people show up. Its crackin. People are anxiously trying to talk to me, Bev and Scooby are acting as bodyguards for the ones too drunk to get near me. Benja shows up to check on me and see if I'm ok. I tell him I am and send him on his way. It was a blast. The rest of the night is a complete blur so lets move on.

Next morning I am again blessed with ramen noodles in bed, ya know, the cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast. Alvee tells me that Benja is dropping Bev off so we can go to town. Me, Bev and Alvee take a taxi to the Snake Park, why we went there I'm not sure. Apparently since we went there for my entertainment I was expected to pay. WTF? Whatever. So we go in its just three little rooms with snakes, scorpians, and turtles. I really didn't have to come here. I did, however, get awesome video of a snake eating a rat. We left and walked to the grocery store for food, of course. I get my usual and they get theirs, I also picked up about 15 post cards with pics of Swakop. (Some random Namibian now has these. I don't have a single clue what they're gonna do with them.) Then we walk to KFC. I'm pretty sure I have voiced my opinion about how awful the KFC is here. A real joke. So we go in, its jam packed like its the Grand Opening or some shit. We wait in this long ass line and all they got was 2 street wise meals (2 wings and small portion of fries.) Mind you, they alredy got fries from the grocery store. Really doe?! Ya'll had me in this lonnng ass line for 2 raggedy ass wings? Then had the nerve to sit down there and eat it with the brochen and fries from the other joint! I'm so embarrassed and there's not much I can do at this point. A serious OM(F)G moment. (My brother however, he would've just left, pretended not to know them until well after this incident.)

Then we leave Bev there to apparently fin for herself as we are whisked off by a taxi to take us to the next town over, Walvis Bay. It was about a half hour drive. We get dropped off at Alvee's sisters boyfriends house. Its pretty nice. Its in a newer community where it seems as though all the houses are both inhabited and under construction. I walk in the house, greet the sister, meet the 5 year old son, and greet the friend. I walk pass the kitchen over to the next room and what do I see: a flat screen tv, atleast 50in WITH SATTILITE!!!! I damn near fainted. I haven't seen more than 2 channels since August. They had it on the style channel and I simply didn't want to move. Alvee called me into the kitchen, I assume because she didn't want me to feel left out or lonely, but little did she know I had a slice of heaven in the other room. After 10mins of awkwardly sitting in the kitchen while they DON'T speak English I ask to go back to the tv. I sit back on the nice leather couch and fall into the trance (If I gotta go blind I'mma do it for the love of all television kind, and thats fine.--Aesop Rock).

Let talk about the television for a moment. I see that even people with tv's don't necessarily watch them that much. Back at Alvee's I was basically the only one to watch the tv. Funny enough, at Bev's the family gathers in front of the tv, just as we do it in America. Its like the tv is so secondary here. It seems as if they'd rather sit on the porch and stare into the yonder, then watch tv. I find this completely insane. I freakin LOVE tv. I would say its pretty much the best thing mankind has contributed to this world. And while I'm at, I really hate people that say, “I don't really watch tv.” BullShit. That sounds good and perhaps you think it makes you look smarter, but it doesn't. In fact, it make you look like a closet tv fiend just waiting to get your next fix. You're not fooling anyone.


K, back to the story. Some other guy with a car shows up to get us and take us around town. First we go to the shore. Beach front houses are amazing then there's a grassy area, perfect for a lovers picnic. There's a pile of rocks, then the water. There was a huge amount of jelly fish all over the place so naturally I was snappin away. We took a few pics here, got back into the bakkie (truck) and went to the other side of the bay. There were a lot of people surfing and parasailing. Then we go to this huge restaurant over the water. The first thing I see is this big Jagermeiter sign on top, totally awesome. And I'm thinkin like, finally we are going to eat at a nice restaurant. We walk in, circle around the bar and ask to go to the back room. I'm confused, yet again. The back room had some nice African art there, it seems as though it was like a gallery during certain times of the day. I take pics of the ocean view from here. I'm wondering why we aren't sitting down with menus but I assume they know something I don't. We then go back to the main dining area, circle around the bar again and gracefully leave the restaurant. You have got to be effing kidding me?! Did we really just walk in and OUT of this place without ordering a damn thing?! (Upon noticing that we were leaving, my brother would have quietly walked back in, ordered a cocktail, and dare them to say ANYthing about it.) So damn Embarrassing.

But unfortunately, it didn't stop there. We began to walk inland to a hotel. As usual I am confused, but give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that we are going to this hotel for some good god damn reason. Its the Protea hotel, Walvis Bay. This is a pretty good hotel chain throughout Namibia and I believe its in South Africa as well. Its very nice, modern, elegant. As we approach what looks like their restaurant Alvee attempts to open the door thats locked. I tell her that I believe you have to enter from the front. Duh. We then walk around to the front. There are limo's and nice cars parked in the circular valet area. (Before I proceed, let me recap who I'm with: Me, wearing a brown flower print dress, Alvee, looking decent, her sister, wearing a shirt 2 sizes too small and tights, her friend, wearing an oversized shirt with tights but cute, the guy, wearing a polo and cargo shorts, and the kid, looking like a kid.) We approach the lobby area and all I see is white people dressed elegantly, probably for a wedding in another part of the hotel. Then here we come. Hella deep and clearly out of our element. Yes we are black and they are white, shouldn't define whose 'element' but in this case it does, loudly. Everyone in there looked like they were supposed to be there. We didn't. Alvee walks to the concierge and asks for a nightly quote. Yep thats all, a quote. Five adults and a kid walk into a hotel and ask for a quote. I almost died. This whole day I just kept thinking about what my brother would do in these awful situatons. Honestly, I don't think he would have even walked in this place. He could blend well, but thats not the point. Guilty by association ya know. Then the lady tells her that she can get info about other locations to our left on the wall. I stay at the desk area waiting for the shenanigans to stop. The wall has pamphlets for each Namibian branch of this hotel. The three women all went to the wall like there were food stamps hangin out for free. I mean they were snatching every single pamphlet for every location in the country. Then, it happened. She called my name to come over and get a pamphlet off the wall with her. There it is. I died. I mean, by the time they were done there were empty slots all over the wall. We walked out like it was nothing. Words can't begin to express my embarrassment. I felt cheap, like a peasant scratches the fence that divided me from the rich. Like we were so desperate to be a part of their world, we were bold enough to walk into their place just because we could. The nerve.

Subsequently, however, Kish I think you would approve and they are relatively reasonable (N$900-1100=$120-150USD/night)


We piled back in the truck a went to another beach. It was a popular beach area with a boardwalk. We're standing in the water for a while when Alvee walks up and tells me that she heard ocean water was good for the skin, she was asking me for confirmation. Never hearing anything about this theory I blurt out that maybe it is because the sand can act as an exfoliant. They freakin ran with that and immediately started to wash themselves in the water. They rubbed the water on their faces, arms, legs. WTF?! I had to take pictures of this, it was too funny. I can't stand how I feel after being at the beach with sand sticking to you and feeling all salty, and here they are rubbing it like a St. Ives body scrub. SMH

The next stop is in the location. A location is simply what we would call a ghetto. Literally, here it means the community that lives outside of town, but almost always these communities are made up of make-shift homes used with scrap materials. In the location we go to the infamous “Herero Mall” in every town that has a community of Ovahereros there will always be a Herero mall. This is simply a bar where all the Hereros in the area hang out. By the bar there are usually outdoor food vendors cooking meat. They all tell me that if you can't find a Herero, just come to the Herero mall and they'll be there. We park and put down the truck latch thingie and sit on the edge. They go in and buy some beer. We're just hangin on this narrow street with all these other people, half of which are drunk. People keep coming up to the truck talking to me in Herero. The people I'm with always inform them to speak English to me. They know as much English and I know Herero so it becomes difficult to communicate past the basic greeting and 'where are you from.'We stay here for about an hour, just sitting, they are thoroughly entertained by the men trying to talk to me, I'm not bothered by it as much as I am annoyed. How many more lame attempts at English are you going to make? No I will not marry you. No I do not love you. And No, I would not like to stay in Namibia longer than my contract reads.

As we are leaving the location we pass by the “Get Rich or Die Tryn Car Wash.” Totally hilarious, I tried to catch it on camera but its really blurrry. Its basically an open space with buckets and people wanting to make a little money. These types of car washes are all over Namibia. Most of them say 24hours under their signs. I've rarely seen cars in these places.

We head back tot he community where the sister lives. We 'make a turn' (this means we stop somewhere first) at this lady's house that supposedly sells lotions and stuff. All she has at her house is a catalog. So we make another turn to her shop in this super sketchy strip mall that is basically all bars with tons of outdoor meat vendors. Her shop is decent. I ended up buying a foot scrub and lotion (that I never actually got to use). We get dropped off at the sisters house and Alvee starts cooking fish. I ask if its ok to go watch tv. I'm in heaven for at least 3 hours. Then a taxi comes for us. The taxi's here refuse to just drive you, they want to fill the car before they start dropping people off. So we are in this taxi, late at night, in some sketchy ass location waiting for more people to pile in. They never come. About 11pm we finally leave for Swakop. When we get home we're exhausted so we go straight to sleep.

The next morning I have my staple breakfast and get ready to go. That big lady from before, her boyfriend has a taxi and they have agreed to take me around for the day. For a fee, of course, and of course I am only told this when we are at the gas station. So its the lady, her man, and their baby, me and Bev. The first place we go is the salt factory for some god forsaken reason. Its this place miles out of town that is completely closed to the public. We get there, its in the middle of no where, literally. Its just this mountain of salt and these huge rocks of salt. We climb through the side gate, since the main gate is closed and locked. After being there for about 15mins some people drive up and simply tell us not to go pass a certain point in the factory. We take a few pics and leave. They then take me to Swakop's worst location/ghetto. I mean, this place is the bottom of the bottom. It was so poor. Its a pretty large location and as we're driving through Bev is explaining to me that the government has these grants for people living in these locations to build their own houses, but that the people here are simply too lazy to do it and that they try to get the money but not build with it. We stop at this community center donated by Miss Angelina Jolie-Pitt. Its pretty nice, not sure what its actually for, but nice nonetheless. They take me to the water source and show me how the people here get water. So there are a few faucets throughout the locaton. You put in a dollar and it will release a certain amount of water at a time. So people just bring a bucket, put the money in and carry it back to their homes.


Then we go to this guys house. He's like some well known artist in the location. His house is pretty big, made completely of scrap materials, but decorated nicely. He has painted his house all kinds of colors. It was pretty cool. I have pics of it ill try to upload. We go in and talk to him for a while. By the looks of his house I expected him to be a little weird, but I wasn't expecting what I got. I greeted him and put my hand out to be shaken. He had meat in his hands. I dropped my hand because his were occupied. I think he thought I was offended so he puts his meat down and sucks on each and every finger. Not just the tip, he puts his entire finger in his mouth until there is nothing left to suck on and with those same fingers he extends his arm for a hand shake. Fuck me. He was saying all kind of random shit to me about being in Namibia and taking things but not giving anything. It was really pissing me off and I didn't have the patience to explain to him why I was in Namibia in the first place. Turns out on top of his obnoxiousness, he was drunk. His speech was English and Herero back and forth, in and out. I kept looking at Bev expecting her to translate and she couldn't even make out what he was saying. I was noticeably uncomfortable and motioned to leave this effing place. As I got up he tells me to go in the next room and greet his wife. I walk into the room and she's completely passed out on the bed. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

Then we walk across th street to the shebeen. Its day time so there isn't anyone there. Wait, that doesn't mean a damn thing here. I don't know why there weren't more people there. That lady and her dude were drinking beer. They offered us some, but it was a little too early for me. We get in the car and drive back to town to go to the aquarium. It was ok. I don't ever need to go back. Me and Bev decide to stay in town and the rest of them left. Thank GOD. Now I can go to a restaurant. I ask Bev where there is some good food. She tells me the Lighthouse on the beach is pretty good. Let's go. I was so noticeably happy to be at a restaurant. I explain to Bev that in the states, at least with my family, when you are on vacation eating out is a huge part of the experience. We even design our days around when and where we are eating. We know to plan ahead and find the best places to eat. I told her I couldn't keep eating greasy take-away food every time I'm hungry. It was a nice place. We sat on the top deck and had direct view of the beach, the weather was nice, overcast and breezy. I ordered a seafood pasta and she got spaghetti. She drank a Southern Comfort while I had Jager and Red Bull. I felt like the vacation was now complete.

We went back to where I was staying to find out what was going on for that evening. My host mom had plans so I would be with Bev again for the night. Sweet. I got my clothes together to do some laundry when the aunt asked if she could help me. (Help here means, I can do it for you.) Ab-so-lutely. I then took a taxi to Bev's house. This evening we go back to that same bar for another night of amazingness. It closed at 1am so we walked over to the other bar that closed at 2am. At that point we were about 8 deep walking me home. We had a freakin blast!

Monday morning, departure day. This sucks. I've had so much fun hangin out with Bev and her people, I'm sad to have to leave. Her and her friends are texting their good-byes. Something tells me to go hang out til we absolutely have to leave. I ask my host mom whats going on and she says just to be back by 1pm. So me Bev and Simon go into town to run some errands and see Scooby at work. It getting closer to 1pm and my host mom tells me to grocery shop here for the food I will eat at the farm, where we would be going for the rest of the week. I replied ok and when are we leaving? She ever responds. So we hang out for a while, go back and eat at the Lighthouse again. Chill on the beach for a few hours and head back to her house. We're all tired so I go in the room and take a nap. Still haven't heard from Alvee. I wake up in time to watch the soapies. Simon brings me a Black Label that I apparently didn't drink the night before. Awkward. Everyone is in here chillin and here I am with a Black Label, but it was all good. I tell them I want to go out again since it appears we aren't leaving today. They're down, Scooby is completely burnt out from the previous nights. We go back to my place to drop off the groceries and all my important belongings. We head out for the third night. This time Bev wants to take me to the clubs that are in town. I'm skeptical about it on a Monday night, but I go with it. We get there and it is wiz-eak! It was lame, hardly no one there, drinks were overpriced, and they were playing wack shit like Ashlee Simpson, not cool. So we leave to head back to the location and do the usual: Bar #1 crackin, bar #2 same people from #1, still crackin, then we were going to hang on the beach but the guy with the car wanted us to buy more beer so we were like, never mind.

We were just hangin in front of some random persons house(one of them knew the person, but they weren't hangn with us or anything) for hours. There was about 10 of us there. Everyone spoke Herero so I was speaking it alot throughout the night. It was me, Bev, Simon, their friends Blondie and Kevin, Hafeni about 4 or 5 other people that didn't speak much. The conversation was crazy this night. Hafeni is a 20 something, black, hates white people, hates Americans, hates south Africans, hates Mandela, hates Bush, loves 2pac, loves 2pac's mom, loves the taliban, and is strongly opinionated. We spent most the night going back and forth about all these topics. It was hilarious. I'm pretty sure after talking to me for hours he has a new found love for Americans, some anyway. After explaining to him what I was doing there, along with 7,000 of my American counterparts serving as Peace Corps Volunteers around the world, he appreciated what we were doing, especially for Namibia. However, he claims PC made a mistake in sending me here because of my love for Black Label, a South African beer and because my personality and ability to challenge him and put him in his place, didn't make me look like a 'teacher.' It was so much fun. Now this is integration. Goals 2 and 3 of the PC mission, check.

About 4am or so we were about to wrap it up and go, but none of us really wanted to leave so we decided to stay. About 6 that morning I was starving. I told Hafeni to make me something to eat. To which he replied, “Oh, now who's the Red Cross? I'm the African and I gotta feed this hungry American?” Yes, this is how he talks. So he sent someone to his house around the corner to get food. They come back with cold ox and macaroni salad. We ate out of a communal bowl, we tore it up. But I was still hungry. So I went to his house and was given words to say in Herero to whomever was there. It ended up being someone I was dancing with one of those nights, he was totally caught off guard by me entering his home hella early asking for food. He fixed me the bowl and walked me back to the spot. By about 730am Benja comes in this garbage truck looking thing. I go over to him and he tells me to get in the truck cuz I will be leaving soon. I go over to the gang and hug everyone, thank them for a good time and assure them I'll be back next holiday. When we get back to the house I start to pack up, my clothes are clean and folded for me.

We leave and get dropped off at the open air bus station where people get combi's. I'm on no sleep and little food, I'm so drained. After a quick 3 hour drive to Windhoek my host mom decides she has errands to run. We are all over town stopping at every hardware store, every grocery store, ugh it was ridiculous. Then we squeeze into a venture that will take us to the town in our region. There isn't any room in the back so for some reason I have to sit in the front. In the front in the middle. I'm between this old ass driver and this old ass drunk man that has a bottle of Tassenberg (like the cheapest wine) between his legs. In a combi, there isn't technically a middle seat so my legs are straddled “African Style”, one leg on the passenger side, one leg on the driver side, which means, yes, the stick is between my legs, soooo uncomfortable. Then the drunk guy keeps falling asleep and putting his head on me. The driver was horrible at passing so we would be behind a big rig for like 45mins before he attempt to pass and even then his predictions were way off. We came close to head on collisions several times. After the third time I just laughed cuz all the people behind me were cussing him out in Herero each time. Somehow we arrived safe and sound. I stayed at the volunteer house overnight. The next day we would leave for the farm.

Off to the Farm:

Alvee calls me about 3pm and tells me to get my stuff ready cuz our hike is on his way. They arrive in a truck with a jam packed bakkie (the back part with the shell top) and somehow me, a little girl, and an adult man are supposed to fit here. We manage. We stop at a grocery store to get some last minute things. Out front I am approached by someone who recognizes me from Okahandja. Alvee tells him that I am going to the farm, they are impressed. They also seem a little worried about me being there with the lack of amenities and all. I start texting Bev and Simon for tips about farm life as they are also on their way to the farm for a few weeks. Simon tells me to adapt as quickly as possible and not let the people see me uncomfortable and that if I look like I'm doing ok, it will put them at ease. Next stop, bottle shop (liquor store). Everybody riding with us has already gotten their alcohol for the trip, this was just for me. I decide to get 2 six packs of Black Label. I bring them to the counter and Alvee takes me down the isle with all the hard liquor. I tell her I don't need it. Then I decide i'll get Jack and Coke too. I just want to get a little of bottle of Jack, I mean I'm not tryin to get blasted or anything, just something to sip on and take the edge off. They tell me its not enough. So then I say i'll get the bigger bottle of Jack. The lady at the counter tries to get me to buy 2, I say no one is fine. But then I decide another 6 pack of Black Label won't hurt considering I usually drink 750s. So here I am with 3 six packs, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a 2l coke. The damn lady behind the counter argues with me telling me that this is not enough alcohol for the farm, my host mom and the guy with us agree with her. Who does this? You are not getting commission for selling alcohol, why are you arguing with me? Amazing. I told them no, bought my stuff, we were on our way.

So me and the guy in the bakkie are exchanging 'getting to know you' information to both break the uncomfortable silence and to pass the time. He tells me that he already has 2 kids but that he wants the next ones to be by someone white, he says, “you know a woman from Sweden or Australia or any type of white girl, like you.” Wait, What?! So I replied that I wasn't white. He says yes you are, your color. So apparently here, light skinned is just lumped into white also. Weird. Already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear him say it I ask why his next kids need to come from a white person? To which he replied, “yo cala is much betta.” I am consistently challenging people with their light skin/dark skin complexes. By default I'm empowered and a voice of influence being American and light skinned so I try to use that to inform people about the ridiculousness of that way of thought. I can't disprove the realities that lighter skinned people have more access to white privilege, but I can try to change the way of thought amongst the people themselves. I mean, he's trying to have babies with someone hoping they'll be better looking than the previous ones, and seriously how do you think he will treat them compared to their darker skinned siblings. I spent a good hour explaining the beauty and dominance of darker skinned people. Yes, yes I know, just reversing the theory. But seriously, in a post-apartheid nation going to extremes is necessary.

Probably feeling uncomfortable or annoyed, or both he changed topics. Then I have this long conversation about my ring tattoo and its symbolism for the commitment of Max and I. No one here considers that to be marriage or anything close to it so I am therefore single as far as they are concerned. Then comes the next predictable question about finding a husband in Namibia and since I was single I should let him “come inside.” Yes, exact words. I calmly replied that NO ONE would be coming inside of anything because I am spoken for. He chuckled and let it go.

Irritated and uncomfortable, literally and figuratively, I nod off to sleep for the duration of the ride. The whole trip was about 5 hours crammed into a bakkie filled to the top with alcohol and 3 bodies. It was about 10pm when we reached our destination. When we arrived it was pitch black, the only lights were coming from the truck. Apparently we had the generator so they were pretty happy to see us. I check my phone, no service. We unpack the car, by we I mean teenage boys in the vicinity, and take our stuff to Alvee's house. The house is dark so I can't really see anything. Alvee takes me over to see the brides and greet the elderly of the village. And I do:
Huenda—Good Evening
Ii, Huenda—Yes good evening.
Wa tokerwa nawa?--Is your night ok?
Mba tokerwa nawa. Na ove?-- My night is well. And yours?
Wina mba tokerwa nawa.--My night is also well.
Okuhepa Tjinene—Thank you very much.
Pe ri nawa—Its ok. (Take leave, its like saying bye)

So I say this like a billion times, then go inside the house to greet the brides. (Background: There is to be a wedding this weekend. Hereros combine their weddings often. The women must stay inside the house for usually about three weeks leading up to the wedding. They must wear the traditional Herero dress everyday while they are in the house. They are not to move. If they talk people in the next room should not hear them. If someone enters the room they must cover their faces with a veil, not to be seen. All three women are in one room. Each has their own bed and belongings.) We enter their rooms and Alvee introduces me to them, then tells me to sit on the bed of the middle one, I'm assuming because she spoke petty good English. It was kinda awkward to just sit there and figure out what to say. So I started asking her about sitting in this room and how long and why, blah, blah, blah. Btw, the why questions were usually answered with a frown and the explanation that “its the tradition.” We left them and sat outside with the other women.

(Background: this farm belongs to the family of Alvee's husband. When you marry you leave your family's farm and are now a part of your husbands farm. As a wife you are responsible for cooking, cleaning, looking after the cattle, the children, and hosting events like this one. So the three women getting married were raised on this farm and after saturday they will officially be a part of their husband's farm. They won't get to see their family again until she has a baby and her father is required to name the child. So she(they) may go years without seeing her family or hearing from them.)

When we sit outside I am given a little cup of water and told to drink and spit. It part of the tradition for 1st timers at the farm. I just thought it was weird, they were all laughing. We soon went in for the night. Their house was just 2 big rooms. There was a gas stove and shelves and a bunch of other crap in the first room, then the second was the bedroom. Alvee and her daughter slept on the bed and they fixed me a cot. It was so freakin hot and mosquitoes were in full force, but there was no place for me to hang the mosquito net and my repellent was not working at all. The night was miserable. Still, no service.

For some reason my host dad walks into the room around 630am of so and starts calling my name saying, “Esly, wa rara?...Esly, wa rara?” In case you were wondering, wa rara? Means are you sleeping? WTF?! You see me on this cot, sleeping. Are you really gonna ask me that shit?! Seriously, something Pam would do. And like I do to her, I laid there not budging hoping he would get the point and leave. Then at 7am some teenage girls walk into the room and tell me I need to go with them. Here I am again, confused. I ask why I'm supposed to go with them and where, ad their English is so bad its not worth the interrogation. I tell her i'll be ready in a half hour. She says ok and stands there like I'm about to change in front of her or something. I tell her in the nicest way possible that she can go and when I'm ready I'll be out in the front. Once I'm dressed I'm at the mirror applying make-up. Host dad comes in again, greets me then does the same shit to his daughter who s still sleeping that he did to me. I tell him to be quiet because she's still sleeping. I am about ready to go with them but am puzzled about where to use the bathroom. No there aren't any bathrooms or toilets anywhere, there is no running water inside the houses. Its just the bush. I'm sorry I don't like just squatting in the bush while its daytime and all these people are waking around. So, I hold it.

I go with the girls only to find out that we are going to milk cows. Fawwwwwk. You woke me up at 7am for this shit? So as we go into the area where the cows were they are all just staring at me. I guess they were waiting for me to jump for joy. I asked them to show me how to do it first. Then I was ready to start, but there was a calf on every cow. They told me not to worry about it. I'm like, okay, I am not about to get my hand bit off cuz some calf sees me stealin his food! They think it hilarious. Then they started to kick and hit the calfs so that they would move out the way. Then I yell at them about abusing the animals, which apparently I'm crazy for doing. Eventually there was a cow and they were able to move the calf in a calm way and I milked it. It felt disgusting cuz it was all slimy from the calfs mouth being on it. It was too much concentration to milk 2 nipples so I just did one. I made sure there were pics for proof and went back to the house. I made myself noodles for breakfast and sat on the porch to eat.

It was a slow day, not much really going on. I got a book and started to read it on the porch. It was getting really hot and I began to feel sick. My host dad and brother set up a tent for me inside the first room, for privacy i suppose. It was easily 110 degrees, no breeze, no shade relief, just hot ass Africa. The girls kept coming up to the house to talk to me, but I wasn't interested. I think my host mom thought I would be ok like I was in Swakop if she hooked me up with girls my age, which they weren't. You can't compare the 19 year old progressive college student to these teenage farm girls. I call them farm girls cuz they grew up on the farm. All they know is Herero tradition, they don't know what life is like beyond the farm. A teaching moment, I know, but I wasn't in the mood. My feeling of misery got continuously worse throughout the day and I decided to go inside and sleep.

I woke up around 5pm drenched in my own sweat. I realized the tent became an oven and it was much cooler outside. Plus now I was feeling a little better about being there. All the girls were sitting under the tree right outside my house peeling potatoes. I cooked more noodles, pulled up a chair and started to talk to them. We had basic conversation. I started to ask why they were doing all the work while the boys were doing nothing under another tree. The tradition. I asked why they didn't speak up for just tell the boys to help? The tradition. I asked when they can get a break from all this work? I got looks of confusion. Then the following two hours were basically complaints about how hard the Herero women have it and how the men never have to do anything. I asked them why they chose to follow something that belittled them, didn't respect them, or recognize them as valuable additions to the family? The tradition. Some of the girls said they would be disowned if they chose not to follow the tradition. I started to get frustrated. I didn't know what to tell them. I can't disrespect their culture and tell them to abandon what they've been taught since birth, but how can I feel like I was doing anything to help if I just sat there shaking my head and saying nothing? I still don't know what to say to women like that. They're just stuck. Most of them don't know life beyond the farm so this is it.

Two of the girls there were raised in Windhoek with their grandparents and they make it well known that they don't agree with Herero tradition. They tell me that they most likely won't marry a Herero man, they definitely won't marry their cousins, and they don't plan on staying on a farm. We immediately click for a number of reasons. 1. I appreciate their ability to reject whats expected of them. 2. They speak good English. And 3. They just made sense. Its like they had explanations for why they would or wouldn't do something. The farm girls, its like a cult chanting “the tradition” without any knowledge as to why it was that way or why they are following it. Because these two girls grew up in the city they've had western influence. They see how the rest of the world lives, acts, communicates, and reasons and they are responding accordingly. We exchange numbers and now every few weeks I text them to see if they are ok.

One of my host brothers walks up and tells me that he wants to show me around. The farm girls are trying to make it out to the bar and they want me to come. I'm not really up to it. Then they tell me that Alvee says I'm staying with them tonight so they can get to know me better. I'm like, no can do. I realize Alvee is trying to set me up with peers like with Bev, but this is in no way the same. So I am all the more happy to go off with my brother to wherever the hell he was trying to take me. (The brother(s): Alvee has a daughter (8), son (16) and twin boys that are in college in Zambia, they are here at the farm for the holiday) He takes me around the houses and introduces me to everyone. He's clearly drunk, but since I'm his 'sister' I'm off limits and thus have nothing to worry about. (Hereros can sleep with their cousins. They learn all too early the power that a male cousin has over the female. He can tell her what to do, where to go, and how high to jump. They flirt with them and flex their power at a very young age. Subsequently, when I meet Herero men I make sure they identify me as their sister so there's no confusion as to where we stand and what he's 'allowed' to do in my presence.) Its starting to get dark and everyone is drinking. I find it the appropriate to break out my cup. (Everyone in Namibia has a damn cup. You rarely see people drinking out of bottles. I don't know if its a discretion thing, or respect, I have no idea I just caught on early to purchase a cup. :)

Its thursday night so I decide to just chill with Black Label. There is a truck playing music and a few of the older drunk men are dancing. Everyone else is standing separately, by gender. I absolutely hate that. I know its because at the schools here they always separate by gender and blending is not encouraged. This is awkward for me because all of the men, at least the ones my age, that are at the farm are very modern, progressive (relatively), and obviously influenced by western popular culture. Yea, I know I came out here to meet with a different culture, but I can't help when I fnd people similar to me, to gravitate toward them. Isn't that human nature? Peace Corps warned us about this in training. They said we would always have better relationships with the men because they tend to leave the farm and go to urban areas for education. These urban areas are microcosms of everything thats NOT the farm. The men are more exposed and thus easier to talk to, easier to understand, and overall more fun to be around. For example, I'd much rather sit around with the men under a tree drinking beer than sitting with the girls peeling potatoes complaining about how awful their lives are. It's the same thing in my village. I often get invited to the homes of other teachers. The husbands and I are usually drinking juice or tea out in the yard, while the wife is inside cooking and/or cleaning. This is every single time. Its hard to develop the relationships with the women when we have nothing in common. I often find myself defending them and attempting to be a voice for their frustration, but am often shot down by the men who, with a smug tone say, “its the tradition, she's supposed to do that.”

So attempting to be an agent of change I go chill with the guys, and though it took a while, within a few hours the girls and boys were mixed. All hangin together, having a good ole time. One of the guys there , named Tjiruka (she-ru-kah) 25, starts explaining some of the cultural aspects of the Herero tribe. I can't remember how this conversation started but he officially became my cultural guide for the rest of the week. He was explaining to me what would happen on the next day for the wedding. The wedding is nothing like ours. Since they are at the farm of the women, then mens families must stay way back in the bush, geographically behind their wives, but wayyyy back. Its a 2 day process with the exchange of money and cattle on day 1 and further confirmed by the elderly in both parties on the second day. He wants me to see the whole procedure so he says he'll pick me up the next day aroun 3pm to take me to the proceedings. We spend the rest of the night listening to music, enjoying the entertainment of drunken disasters from our 'role models.'

The next morning there are a few of the girls waiting on the porch for me. I come out with my noodles and hang out for a while. They drift of sparatically and there is one little girl left, Suko (omusuko means little girl in Herero. You will find they call any little girl Suko, but this one is actually her name.) She ends up hangin with me for the rest of the weekend. I'm not entirely sure why, but she was so adorable and completely glued to my hip. I wanted to go see the brides and take pics of them so me and Suko went three houses down to see them. They looked so beautiful. They were in the traditional Herero dresses, but these were specially made and a beautiful neon green color with perfect sequence. They were required to sit Indian style on their beds while a huge heart-shaped pillow rested in thheir laps. There were a lot of women crowding their space and making it unbarribly hot. I wanted to see if they needed anything. I asked the one in the middle and she tells me that they are hungry and thirsty. Now why, or how, is it that there are tons of women in here to “help” them, but these women are starving and parched. I go to the guy holding the keys to the storage room and told him the brides needed drinks and fat cakes. Me and Suko carried 6 sodas and 9 fat cakes over to the house. When we walked in the other women got all wide-eyed, I quickly informed them that this was for the brides only. I asked if there was anything else. They were very appreciative. I told them I would be back in a few hours to check on them. I decided to make a habit of making sure they had whatever they needed. (In retrospect, I think the women didn't want to help them on purpose because they probably felt like no one help them when they were going through this, so why should these women be the exception.) After snapping pics of the people out on the farm I went home and got dressed for the cattle exchange. Its kinda funny, getting a dolled up to stand in dirt and on manure so a cow can just run past you while the men are exchanging thousands on the other side of the fence.

As he said he would, Tjiruka comes to my house at 3pm to take me across the field for the cattle exchange. All of the women are wearing their nicer Herero dresses and patiently waiting for the groom's family to show. We are physically inside the barn with the other cattle. Each family comes at different times, back to back, within 15mins of each other. The first truck pulls up, we open the gate for the cattle to run in, they release the two cattle from their truck and throw their arms in the air as if to say its out of their hands. Once the cows run into the barn with the rest of the cattle it symbolizes the acceptance of the exchange. Usually the brides family will 'talk shit' to the grooms family and tell them that their cattle are too skinny, ugly, and not worthy, just to put on a show. This is normal and expected. After the cattle run in, then men from both families go in the barn and exchange the money. In this case each bride was worth 2 cattle and N$3,500. The payment is in cash and on the spot. This happened two more times and we were done. I have pics of this, i'll try to post those also. The rest of the day was sort of hectic, I couldn't really tell what was going on, but I know the elderly from the groom's family kept going in the house to speak to the brides.

Then Tjiruka took me into the bush to meet the grooms families and take pictures. Each family had about 40 people camped out in bakkies and large tents. The brides families donate one cattle to each family for them to eat for the weekend. So, in essence, they only had to give up one cow considering they immediately get one back. Tjiruka is explaining all the familial relationships between al these families. Basically, everyone is related, and necessarily by marriage. In between families I ask him about his life and goings on. I'm always interested to know why Herero men are single even though their 'applicant pool' is so large and easily accessible. He tells me that his ideal girl has to be a certain way. He says he can't be with women with short hair because it means they have short thinking. What?! He meant that they lack critical thinking skills and don't know how to plan for the future. This was hilarious and sad in the same breathe. He said he wanted to marry a girl from Angola because they are mixed with Portuguese. She had to be tall and lighter than him. He wanted her to be smart and in some type of professional position. She has to have nice breast and a “butt you can see as she's walking away.” I just couldn't stop laughing. I asked about how his parents felt about him not marrying a Herero woman for following the traditional pattern. He says he's been up front with them so it ok. He didn't want to marry at a farm, but rather a church or the like. Then every time he would introduce me to a family, the older men would tell hm in Otjiherero(probably assuming I can't understand) that he better stop playin with me and just marry me while he still has a chance. So this further explains the gender separation, if you're walking together, you're probably involved, at the farm anyway.

By the time we get back its dark and people are starting to drink again. Friday night, I'll beak out the Jack and Coke. We finally got the youngsters to get up and dance. When they put on something I liked I danced with a few people and sat it out for the rest of the night. We had fun. Tjiruka asks if he can introduce me to his girlfriend. I say sure, slightly caught off guard considering he didn't mention her when describing this dream chick earlier. She sorta fits the description, she's tall, thin, light skinned, shoulder length hair, she's pretty. He introduces us and leaves us to talk. I find out she's an 18 year old 10th grader hiding this relationship from her dad. So I start asking questions about her parents and the whole tradition thing. By the end of this conversation she tells me that Tjiruka is very traditional and she will be subject to traditional standards when they get married. I'm shocked cuz he told me a different story a few hours ago. I tell her everything he told me and she was shocked. So now she wants to call him over to discuss said topic. He comes, sits on her lap and we start therapy. She learns that he doesn't want to get married at the farm, and that in their house being a woman does not necessarily mean more work for her. She tells me that if the car breaks down, she is supposed to get out and push. So I look at him like wtf?! I tell him he is obviously bigger than her and logically it makes no sense to have her pushing a vehicle when the person with the strength is just sitting in the car. He agrees. She looks so relieved. Then I asked about cooking and cleaning. He says he can help her. I said no, it needs to be split down the middle. What makes you think she has more time and energy on her hands than you do? He couldn't answer. I suggest that they split the responsibility by what each can do best. Like maybe she can really cook, but then he can clean well. He wasn't thrilled about this one, but he seemed open to it and again she looked happy. It was the same when we addressed who tends to the child when the other is busy. Then she tells me that she's not allowed to hang around the guys, she must stay with the women the whole time. This is just his insecurity. He says its not right. I explain that there was nothing wrong with us hanging out today even though both of us are in relationships, right? He agrees and I said, plus everyone around here knows you guys are together, and you know that she only wants you so why are you trippin? No answer. He says that she's his best friend, but oddly enough she looked surprised to hear that. So I suggested some tips for him to inform her on a consistent basis how he feels about her and why. She seemed so head over heels for him, she would obviously settle for whatever kind of life he gave her. I hope I improved their relationship, and therefore her life even if its just a little bit. He left us. She was so appreciative. I told her to be open with him and not keep things inside because she will hate herself later for settling for bullshit. I think she felt more confident with him and secure about a future. See I try to do good deeds when I feel up to it. ;) For the duration of the night we were hangin with the guys, she had a blast. 11pm lights out.

Saturday morning. There's a lot going on today. Its not as hot as its been, but starting to get windy and blowing sand all over the place. Suko and I walk around and greet everyone, go check on the brides, and chill on the porch for a while. By 1 o'clock the ceremony is starting. I hurry up and change into my dress and get the camera out. The brides are finally able to walk outside for the first time in weeks. They are escorted by their younger, unmarried, cousins to the circle where the married women from the groom's family were singing and welcoming them. Thats all. Thats the wedding conclusion. Then the cars pull up and take the women and their husbands to near-by farms for a 'honeymoon.' By 3 o'clock they are gone and people only there for the wedding start to pack and leave. The sand storm is getting worse and really annoying. It rained a few times here and there. Those of us still at the farm are just sitting around, drinking and listening t music. Then this really drunk man starts harassing me, but Tjiruka and Vitapi act as pretty good bodyguards so he wasn't able to touch me, but this shit went on for like an hour. So ridiculous. I wouldn't mind the entertainment of the drunk, but they always want to touch me with their disgusting hands that have been god knows where. We hang out pretty late on this evening. The older people have gone to sleep. I'm told that Suko is sleeping with me tonight. We head in about 1am.

Sunday. There is like no one here compared to how its been for the last couple of days. I'm ready to go. I ask Alvee if there are any cars leaving for Gobabis (ho-bob-ess, my shopping town) today. She says yea, and tells me to pack up right now. Me and Suko go around and I tell everyone that I am leaving. All the people I've been hangin with want a photoshoot so we all go back into the my yard and take hella pics. Some of these have been posted on my fb. There are about 9 of us leaving. Me, Tjiruka, his girlfriend, her parents, the guy I came with, Tjirukas little brother, some random guy. We take one car out of the village and get dropped off at some random house in Tallusmunus because the combi needed repairs. Oh god. Tjiruka's girlfriend and I got bored so we walked to a soccer game that was down the street. After about an hour we walked back. She and her mom left for their farm, its was her dad that is our driver. So therefore hugs and kisses goodbye could not take place for them. Then we wait. I'm sitting in some rocks in the front yard and I just see like goat skin laying on the rocks in front of me. Naturally, I got the camera out and everyone thought it was funny. The owner of the house comes to the front, they tell him what I just did. He laughs and apologizes for leaving such materials on the porch like that. Me and the dad go across the street to get food. I go inside a take-away and just order chips to go. I gave her a 20 and she needed to go the the shop next door to get me change. While she was gone a San (bushman) lady, super small, comes in, looks around, and steals this large ass bag of uncooked french fries. I mean, the bag had to be as big as her. She runs across the street with it to meet with the rest of her group, within seconds she was gone. This was the funniest shit ever. I paid, got my chips and left without saying a thing. She didn't notice while I was still in there. I meet up with the dad and he introduces me to the guy that owned this strip mall. I tell him my name, where I'm from and what I'm doing in Namibia. He is absolutely thrilled. He starts telling me that he loves seeing Black Americans coming to Africa because he feels like its a real homecoming for us and when he sees us he thinks that maybe we are actually related. He was so sincere. It was a heart touching moment. It made me feel proud to be here as he felt proud that I was back 'home.'We said our good-byes and went back to the house. We were just on the porch for hours moving in the shade with the sun. By about 3pm the combi was ready to go. My host dad shows up and brings me a liter of coke. He says to tell my family in America that I have parents here that will always look out for me so they don't have to worry. We got in the combi, this is like the first time I'm in a combi thats not jam packed. As we are leaving the dad picks up a lady that also needs to go to Gobabis, but cannot afford to pay him today. He tells me that it wasn't fair that I was the only woman in the car so he picked her up for me. Very thoughtful of him. I honestly didn't even think about the fact that I was in a car with all men, most of which I'd only met in the last few days. However, I knew that at lease a few of them were related to my host family and they wouldn't let me go with sketchy people. Within 3 hours we arrive in Gobabis. I get dropped off at the volunteer house. Thank god for electricity and running water!

TMI: I was able to move my bowels twice, in the bush, in the 5 days I was at the farm. Both were late night and only after a few drinks, probably not the safest time to go, but there was no alternative in my book.

X-mas/New Years/Windhoek for training:

I spent Christmas in Gobabis with the other two volunteers in my region. It was pretty cool, it didn't feel like Christmas so no big deal. Dasha made cinnamon rolls that were awesome and Peach Schnapps with real peaches and champagne. That was all.

I went to Otjiwarongo for New Years and to see some of the other group members. I arrived on a Wednesday and was greeted by a large group of people. We all decided to go to the other volunteers house for a few hours. When we returned I went to set my sweater down by my stuff. My stuff wasn't there. I looked around the house, it was possible someone moved it to another room. Nothing. I see the curtains blowing, but couldn't believe that that was possible. I walked over to the window and saw broken glass and blood all over it. There was a burglary. Everyone began to look around and check their stuff. Out of the group only 4 of us were affected. I lost everything I packed with me for the holiday: laptop, ipod, camera, all my nice clothes, jewelry, sleeping bag, passport, id, bank cards, money, keys, everything. All I had left were the clothes on my back, my cell phone, and N$60. We were able to skype to cancel our cards, and get online to report to our insurance company. The next day was New Years eve. We went to town attempting to put things back together. First stop, police station. Could have easily been a bar by night, it was strikingly similar with the burglar bars going up to the ceiling at the counter. There are no computers so all reports are filled out by hand and thus, duplicated by hand. You can imagine how long this took. Then a group of people file in behind the counter and form a half circle. The cop says, “which one?” I have just witnessed a Namibian line-up. Wow, so much for protecting the witness. Then we go to the bank with our police reports to get money out. Somehow they gave me money without any identification, crazy. I bought toiletries and one outfit that I would need for Peace Corps training the following week. We head back.

That night was crazy. We played a bunch of drinking games and had a blast. We even had a pretty nice spread of food cooked at the other volunteers house which included veggie skewers, salad, chicken, sausages, and some other stuff I can't remember. It was hilarious eating because Sarah G didn't have any kitchen supplies so we ate in shifts out of saucer sized plates, tupperware tops, and cups. Made for an interesting meal. It was awesome. We had a blast.

On Saturday we hiked to Okahandja to stay with Catie for the night. She has a very small flat, 2 bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. That night 14 of us somehow crammed ourselves in there to sleep. The room I slept in there was a foam mattress on the floor and 4 of us slept there short-ways so we only had mattress basically to our knees then our legs just hung off. There were about 3 others in that room with us, 2 slept in the hallway, and the rest in the other bedroom. You can imagine the bathroom situation that morning, crazy. Sunday we all hiked to the capital for Peace Corps training. We went to the mall first, then to a restaurant, then tot he Peace Corps office to get in the combi's. We arrive just outside Windhoek at a resort in the mountains, could easily be a rehab center. The next morning PC took me into town to get my identification stuff worked out, new bank card, and to see our Safety and Security officer. The rest of the week was a series of boring sessions, not all of which were helpful, while there were others I wish we had. The following Sunday we get a hike to Gobabis. I get there and contact Alvee because they said they would wait for me before they went to the village. She didn't wait. Now I have to pay for a ride back and not leave until tomorrow.

The next day I go into town to recover keys for my house and bedroom. In this country they are stll using skeleton keys so all I have to do is go into a hardware store and ask for a certain model number. We go to PEP, a very condensed version of wal-mart. It is crackin in there. It always is. They have a huge boom box that they constantly blast music on. Plus they are selling all the back to school stuff fom the uniforms to supplies. The line is literally to the back of the store. The idea of personal space is nonexistent here. As we stand in line the people behind us are so close that they are touching us with both their bodies and their merchandise. This is not ok. Background: in school they make the kids line up body-to-body, there is no space between the person in front nor in back, nor on ether side, they are all touching. People carry this with them into adulthood. Not ok. I try to render this issue by standing to the side and put my foot out so there isn;t space for them to move up unless they step over me. It was so ridiculous.

Back Home:

I get back to the village later that evening. It felt really good to be 'home.' It felt to be surrounded by all my stuff, the things I didn't pack with me over the holiday. I was happy about the things I left behind that are from America. I started to think about how I would design the room considering I would be living there officially. Tuesday I go into the teachers meeting at 640am. They aren't really talking about anything important. I'm really confused about why the meeting is this early if we don't have class yet. The housing committee was meeting right after the general meeting so I decided I would stay because I needed the keys to the other house so I could get my fridge and the other stuff left for me. The committee told me I couldn't stay in the meeting and that they would be deciding where I lived not me. Peace Corps encourages us to stay with our host families because of both integration and safety purposes. I knew they would have my back if push came to shove.

I went and told Alvee and my principal. Alvee suggested that I call PC and let them now what was going on. My principal said it was ok as long as it was alright with Alvee and that she needed to put burglar bars on the doors. She said it was ok and she would do the burglar bars within a week. Then I get called into the meeting. I am told that they decided to put me in the original volunteer house and the new teacher in my room in Alvee''s house. I said no and that I wanted to stay. I argued with them for a good 10min til they started speaking Herero and I left. PC called me back and spoke to my principal. Long story short, by the time I went back to the meeting my host mom decided to take in the other teacher. She wouldn't even look at me. I told them to give me the keys to my house so I could go. I packed in about an hour and had the kids take all my stuff next door for me, I gave them cookies. I spent the rest of the week unpacking and cleaning my room, avoiding every inch of school. Now I live in an identical house with another teacher.

The official first day of school was January 13 and we didn't actually begin instruction until last week (Feb 8), wtf? So apparently is because alot of the kids don't show up in the first few weeks, a few teachers were gone at workshops, among a bunch of other ridiculous explanations.

The following week there had been storms that were pretty bad. The thunder is crazy loud and vibrates everything. On thursday afternoon the power went out. Its normal for it to go out during storms cuz lightning usually hits the power lines. The problem with that is the water here is pumped electronically, so if the power is out for long enough, like 6 hours, then the water is shut off. By friday morning both of my phones were dead cuz I was using them out of boredom and assuming the power would be back on sooner than later. It sucked because I had to eat at the hostel with the kids because I have an electric stove. My meals from friday to sunday: Breakfast, oats(oatmeal), piece of wheat bread. Lunch, plate of porridge. Dinner, piece of wheat bread and bologna (equivalent to 3 slices of sliced bologna). Thats all. I had some canned foods that I finished by friday night. It was awful. Btw, ths is what the kids always eat, they never get full. So no water nor electricity for 4 days. I wish I was better prepared for this. Like having more canned foods, extra phone battery, better flashlight/candles, gas stove, battery operated radio, and a mini-generator, all of which are available in town.

The Pop-In:

So about two weeks ago another teacher and I went to he next village to help this company with their computers. For some reason they were under the impression that I was an IT specialist. There was no helping their situation, the computer simply didn't work. The two people working there were asking me why I never hung out in their village. I told them I kinda just got here and I should be invited, I wouldn't just be walking around by myself. The other teacher suggested I give them my number so we could hang sometime. Seemed harmless, the girl was probably in her 30s and doesn't drink, and the guy a 20something and clearly, but not openly, gay, so cool yea I'll hang out. Within an hour of me leaving the sms's(text messages) from him began to pour in my inbox. Hellos, what are you doings and what are you up tos. Aww c'mon really?! I really thought he was gay and I really wanted to have cool people to hang with when the village became too much. Initially, I responded with simple replies and a cordial attitude. But then it was like 2 and 3 times a day. By day 3 I responded but never wrote an “and you?” By day 4 I stopped responding. It was really annoying and then he started contacting me from a different number but with exact messages like I'm some kind of idiot. Day 8: I receive a series of sms's and phone calls, most in consecutive order. As its been for the past few days, I never respond. Within about an hour I hear men walking down my hallway, in my house, curious yet nonchalant about it I get up and lock my door. And of course they begin to knock on my door....and continued knocking for 10 long minutes. Now, getting in wasn't difficult because my roommate is often sitting outside with the front door wide open. After they decide to finally leave a small boy begins to knock. After about 5mins I open the door ad because the child's lack of English abilities I couldn't find out who it was. After I put a bra on and attempt to look halfway presentable I walk outside and who do I see? Under my breath I say, “you've gotta be fucking kidding me.” I only go to the front door looking extremely annoyed and confused by his presence. He walks up and introduces me to his friend. I ask why he's there and he says “I've been phoning but I get nothing.” Where I come from ignored attempts means not interested, or at least unavailable. I said I wasn't feeling well and basically just walked back to my room. So annoyed. I don't want to be rude or disrespectful because he lives in the next village and I don't want bad blood, but that was a bit much. The sms's have decreased, but not stopped.

First aid, with no aid:

Feb 11: Track training. So i'm all dressed up for a normal Thursday of work when I see a bunch of other teachers wearing sweats. Confused, as always. I ask whats going on and they tell me they are doing athletics today, thats what they call track and field. I go home, hella mad and irritated because why can't we do this on the weekend? Why would you do this on a weekday when we've already started late? So I decide to take my sweet time changing and I make myself breakfast. Within the hour they sent a small boy to come get me, ugh. So I go and get a packet of the day's schedule and duties of each teacher. I am scheduled to be in control of first aid, great. I ask for a first aid kit. Nothing. I ask if we have any supplies to which they reply, No. So what am I supposed to do?! Get them up, pat them on the back, see if they're ok. There's not a whole lot I can do about any of this so I'm like whatever. Then third race: a girl faints at the finish line. They yell, “first aid!” I go, with little sense of urgency considering there wouldn't be much that I could do. We all stand over her, others are moving her legs, but nothing. She's hyperventilating and can barely move. We get her up and off the track, and by track I mean dirt with line drawn on them with sticks. Eventually we get water and a bottle of “tablets.” These kids are running barefoot in the hot ass sun for hours and don't get any water. The day was crazy to say the least.

What I'm Eating these days:

 Namibia has taught me how to eat decent food on a budget and make it stretch for a while. My meals usually consist of rice or macaroni, with a Knorrs soup packet (flavors: minestroni, tasty chicken, creamy chicken, chakala) then I add some type of vegetables to the soup packet like: green bell peppers, onions, fresh or stewed tomatoes. Thats it! Depending on how much I make it should last for 3-7 days as lunch and dinner. Breakfast is either skipped, frosted flakes, or oatmeal.

Namibian Randomness:
 Nose picking and wedgie removal are not things to be discreet about.
 Bugs are effing huge, for no reason. And many of them fly. Wtf
 The word love is used loosly, you can get seriously caught off guard not knowing this.
 They don't like grass so they pick it out just leaving dirt. And they call grass weeds.
 The word 'yes' can mean any effing thing. Really.
 Heinz is not the leading ketchup brand, however they make ramen noodles and their version of chunky soup. Both of which are pretty good.
 All the men wear these blue jump suits, similar to a dickies or ben davis fit.
 One of their cultural greetings: hug on one side, hug on the other side, kiss on the lips. Totally gross and very common.
 Cell phone etiquette: a ringing cell phone in a meeting means you're important so you should definitely leave the ringer on. People will “miss call” you expecting a call back because they don't get charged if you don't pick up so they will let it ring once or twice. They will send an official “call request,” a free service offered to those who don't have enough airtime to make a call nor send text. People will frequently sent you a request to transfer money to their account if they are low. Btw, all of these things are not cool.
 Odd-ball flavors: you can buy cheese and chips in the following flavors- ham, biltong(jerky), chicken. There is pine-nut soda, which is surprisingly good. And everything is just on the sweet side like potato salad. A lot of food items have an obnoxious amount of sugar.
 Radio stations play about 90% American 90s R&B, its lovely.

NamVocabulary:
 small boy= errand runner (child)
 Running stomach= diarrhea
 rubber(s)= erasers
 question paper= exam
 coukie pen= markers
 toilet= bathroom
 wardrobe= closet
 tablets= medicine, usually a one-pill-fits-all kind of deal
 fat spread= butter
 Fok mann!= an Afrikaaner phrase they use when they're mad, phonetic spelling
 shiit ove!= “ “ like saying “damn you!”
 Fukuv= fuck off
 Too much clever= smart
 Learner= student
 can I find you a beer?= Let's go get a beer
 Borrow me a...= Give me a...
 That side= In another town
 Iz it?= Is that right?
 This is a problem.= We got issues.
 I'm coming now.= I'll be back.
 Its too hot.=Its really hot.
 We will struggle= It will be a problem

FB Status Explanations:
 Goats in my backyard: So one Saturday I had my back door opened because my clothes were out on the line drying. All the sudden I heard all this ruckus on the burglar bars (screen door). I go to check and see what it is and its some damn goats trying to bust through my door. Not cool. They were hella deep too!
 Advantages of being Black in Africa: My experiences in Swakop was a testament that being Black certainly has its advantages. I couldn't have had such a great time or hung out in those places with those people. I still stand out, people know I'm different, but I'm Black nonetheless. Its made relationships so much easier to build because its like we already have a lot in common. There are so many people here that remind me of people from back home. Its like there are universal truths with Black people. For example, there is a male teacher here that reminds me of Joyce in so many ways. He's absolutely hilarious. I frequently have many things in common when it comes to attitude toward certain things, or reactions. I think people appreciate who I am and take well to me.
 Allergy: Still not sure what this is about. Every time I'm in my room I can't breathe and I'm constantly sneezing.
 FML(IA): Fuck My Life (In Africa)
 Corporal Punishment: So the teachers walk around with water hose pieces, and long sticks all the time for no damn reason. Corporal punishment has been outlawed by the Ministry of Education (dept of edu). But obviously, they don't care. I've seen kids get hit for answering a problem incorrectly, coming late to dinner, and getting up for seconds on tea. Its ridiculous and it needs to stop. I've decided, instead of confronting teachers directly, I will empower the kids by giving them the protocol on what to do if they are hit by a teacher. Ie: who to call, how to report.
 Self promotion: So, needless to say, tracking paperwork can become difficult around here because its all hand written. Very few records are kept electronically. A failure of grade 6 promoted himself to grade 7 and since no one can find any documentation of his actual scores, he will probably just stay in 7th grade. Fawwwk. Update: records are still missing.
 NamAqua: A pretty cheap, but very good boxed wine, i prefer Rose. Quite a few of us had this as our drink of choice during the training last month. :)
 Lucky Star: This is a canned fish brand. The fish are pilchards in a tomato sauce. When you eat them you're supposed to take out the eggs first, but some people just eat it that way. They're hella good.



What am I missing these days?
 Taco Bell
 Hangin at the Marina with Max
 “Event” nights at Kishauns. (That first Pacquiao fight was a little difficult for me)
 Lazy Sunday's at my Dad's
 My mom calling 5x a day
 Washing Machine
 Late night runs to any grocery store to quench my thirst...or whatever I'm craving
 Roscoe's, Pink's, El Chollo
 Mexican food, damn
 Driving down the streets of LA


What to send (classroom stuff):

 Any type of classroom decoration: borders, signs, contact paper
 Supplies: pens/pencils, lined paper, erasers, tape, colored paper, markers, color pencils, crayons
 Materials: books about English, activity books, learning books: school, sanitation, safety college.
 Blank certificates and reward material for learners
 FYI: The dollar tree has a pretty awesome teacher section.

What to send (for me):


 Chapstick (cherry)--Burt's Bees (original)
 Jolly Ranchers
 Nature Valley Peanut Butter Granola Bars
 Magazines (gossip/fashion/black)
 Soy sauce packets (its on the sweet side here, not cool)
 Incense
 Lusters Pink brown gel
 Novels (Black authors)
 Taco Bell seasoning packets (or any product in the store)
 Lawry's Season Salt (this is a factor)
 tank tops (old navy, or whatever)
 Victoria's Secret 36B bra(s) (I'm now down to 1, this is not ok)


Thanks a bunch for reading. For more frequent updates on my life add me on FaceBook. There are a few albums of photos on there also.

Deuces.