Take a Hike

Hike: A ride back to the village from town with whomever you can find that's willing to take you.

I'm going to take you on an adventure. This is a fairly typical Saturday hike back to the village after morning errands. Ready?

You get in the taxi and tell the driver to take you to Okamini, which someone told you is the nickname of the hike point that everyone knows. Of course the driver has no idea what you're saying. You struggle to explain where you mean until one of the other passengers takes pity on you and chuckles while telling the driver, "she means oka-meenie". Oh, ok. You pull up to the mini-market and haul all of your bags on your shoulder while fumbling for change for the taxi fare. The driver takes off and you amble awkwardly up to the tree outside the market that is the official hike point for your village.
"Wa uhala po" you say to no one in particular, butchering the local greeting.
"Eehh" someone says back, the typical response.
"Anyone going to Onamutai?" you ask the group gathered around the tree.
At this point, usually one of the small boys (any unmarried male) that runs one of the fruit carts will sympathetically tell you that no one is going.

You drop your bags because you know it'll probably be a long wait. You stand there awkwardly, hoping that one of the two bakkies you recognize will pull up soon. They don't. You keep your ears peeled, hoping to hear the word 'Onamutai' amongst all the unfamiliar Oshiwambo chatter, but you don't. People are staring. Some whisper (or shout) "oshilumbu!", the not-exactly-PC word for 'white person', at you. You ignore them.

After about 45 minutes, one of the fruit vendor guys tells you that "that tate is going to Onamutai" while pointing in the general direction of about 3 bakkies. You finally figure out which one and walk over to it.
"Wa uhala po, tate" you greet him "You are going to Onamutai?" "Eehh" "Can I come?" "Eehh" "Thank you."
No one seems to be getting in, so you continue standing there with all your stuff until someone tells you otherwise. Finally people begin piling in and you hop in the back. This is where the fun begins. At first, there are only a few people in the back and their assorted belongings, but this quickly changes. Foodstuffs are being added by the second: a rack of frozen fish, 3 10kg bags of mahangu flour, a giant plastic bag of snack bags, 10 cases of Tafel, grocery bags, and more people. 'We must be going soon, we can't possibly fit anymore in the back of this truck' you think to yourself each time something else is added. And each time, someone shuffles things around to add more while directing you in Oshiwambo. You give them your best apologetic look and try your best not to look like an idiot while everyone else performs this well choreographed dance of rearranging.

Finally, 45 minutes after you first climbed in the back of the truck, with the sun beating down on your pale Irish arms and the bag of cold food tucked somewhere under your legs, the driver gets in the truck and precariously makes his way onto the road. You assume he's taking the new gravel road, since that's the fastest way back, but to your chagrin, he turns down a side street and you know you'll be taking the alternate, longer, sand road home. At the end of the road, you pull into the bar where the driver stops for what he promises will be a "small beer". For a reason unbeknownst to you, he makes you get out of the truck to wait while the others stay in the back and then proceeds to order a 750mL Tafel which he shares with a friend. When he finishes, he motions for you to get back in. You do as you're told.

You take off down the sand road, stopping every 15 or so minutes to let other passengers off. You and the others dig around for a while to find everyone's belongings before setting off again. Eventually you are the last person left, and you realize that the driver probably lived in the last village, and only is taking you all the way to Onamutai because you're white. That also means he'll charge N$15 instead of N$10. He tells you to come sit in the front now that you're the only one left, and you gear up for what is likely to be an awkward last 10 minutes. Sure enough, you're only in the truck for about a minute before the driver, who is old enough to be your father, starts hitting on you. It starts out innocently enough: he asks where you're from, then responds that he's always wanted to go to America, but it soon turns into him asking to come back to America with you, and if you don't have a boyfriend, can he be your boyfriend? You reject his proposal several times and avoid answering his questions of "why not?" You know he's harmless, but it's still slightly uncomfortable. He drives you to your door (even though you never told him where you live-- everyone just knows where the white girl lives) and you thank him for the ride, pay him the fare, haul all of your belongings out of the bakkie once more, and go inside where you promptly collapse from exhaustion. All you did was grocery shop and go to the bank, but it's already 3:30 (despite leaving at 8AM) and you're exhausted. You decide it's time for a nap.

T.I.A. (This Is Africa)

Pretty sure I've seen this truck
in my neighbor's yard in NH...

While teaching a Namibian class for the first time was certainly an exciting aspect of our week up north, for me the memorable highlights happened outside of school while exploring Omungwelume (ohm-gway-loom-ay) and getting a taste for Namibian culture.

Because it had been getting dark when we arrived, Monday morning offered my first real look at the village of Omungwelume. Jessie and I sat on the back steps planning our lesson, and I snapped the following picture of the farm across the street. Not entirely unlike NH, actually.



That afternoon, after our sessions, a group of us took a walk around the village and enjoy the peacefulness of that beautiful afternoon. We found a massive fig tree that was fun to take pictures under (the shade circle was probably about 100 feet in diameter), got to see the traditional homesteads a bit closer, and encountered the biggest bug we had yet seen in Namibia: a millipede that was about 10 inches long and about 3 inches around.

How's that for a bug?

 After wandering around a bit, we started to make our way back to the school, but right outside the gate, we were stopped by a couple in a bakki (a pickup truck) named Ruben and Monica. They asked about us, where we were from and what we were doing in Omungwelume. They invited us to one of the local bars in town to meet some people, and then offered to drive us there. With a few glances at each other, we figured 'why not?' and hopped into the back for our first bakki ride- a major milestone. We picked up a couple more people on the way, and a few minutes later, we arrived at the village center and got out. We had been taken to a restaurant that Ruben and Monica's friend had just opened, and they invited us in for dinner, but we had to turn them down because some of our group mates were cooking for us back at the house. We decided to explore 'down town' a little before heading back though, and let me tell you- I have never felt like such an outsider. Because it was just before dinner time, it seemed like the entire village was sitting outside all the various bars, shops, and houses along the main road, and here we were, a group of ten white people walking down the street like some sort of parade. People stared and whispered  but it wasn't malicious. Most seemed excited and curious, and nearly everyone said hello. I started getting really excited about meeting the people in my own village. 

One of the side streets in Omungwelume.

The hospitality continued throughout the week; on another afternoon stroll later in the week, we saw many of our learners eagerly waving at us as we passed them cultivating in their fields. Several ran up to us and invited us back to their house to try cultivating for ourselves. We followed and got a mini lesson before trying for ourselves. Essentially cultivating entails going at the land with a hoe, pulling up all the weeds and getting the dirt ready for planting. While it wasn't extremely strenuous, it is definitely not something I would want to be doing for hours in the sun before going to school, which is what many of our learners must do. We stayed and chatted with our learner, her sisters, and her mother for a bit and they introduced to a local treat: frozen custard. These were not only delicious (vanilla custard frozen in plastic baggie), but were also the first frozen thing we had seen our whole time here- we were very thankful for them!

Another amazing treat that is readily available in Namibia are mangoes. They have juicy, fresh mangoes in every store, and we were even able to buy some that our learners were selling one afternoon, fresh from being picked that day! Not only are mangoes cheap and available, but every kind of mango juice one could ever want as well! I am going to be in mango heaven all year. =)

Angelina's homestead. You can see one of the
huts, and one of the concrete rooms in the
 background. Also, a murala tree.

Thursday was our last night in Omgumwelume, and we went to Bret's, girlfriend's parent's house for a traditional Oshiwambo meal. We drove to their homestead and had to wade through some ankle deep water that had accumulated due to the rain in order to reach their gate. Homesteads are pretty cool. Basically there's a big square fenced area, this is considered the "house". Inside the fence are a bunch of smaller building, some concrete, some traditional wooden/clay huts. Each of these is considered a room in the house. While traditionally all of the rooms were huts, most people have cement buildings for the various living quarters, and the huts are used for food storage, beverage storage, cooking, pounding grain, etc. Also inside the fence are various gardens for growing herbs and spices. Outside the fence are the fields where they grow maize, sorghum, and mahangu (pearl millet), and/or raise cattle or pigs.

Mahangu porridge and chicken.

After getting a tour of the homestead, we sat down outside to try the oshikudu, which is a weak fermented beverage made from millet flour and sorghum. It tasted like liquid bread, carbonated with a hint of lemon- definitely an acquired taste. Pretty soon, dinner was ready. Out came clay pots with chicken cooked in a stew with murala oil, and plates with mahangu porridge. This porridge is like bread dough, but made with mahangu. In this meal, there no plates or silverware, everyone eats from the communal pots with their hands- pretty cool if you ask me! The food was delicious. The porridge had a texture like bread dough but with a little sand in it (I later found out this is exactly the case, hey, T.I.A. right?) so that took some time to get used to, but it tasted good. After we ate, we talked with Angelina's family for a bit and then headed back to the school (Bret wanted to get us back before dark because the roads are dangerous at night with all the animals on the roads). We settled back into the hostel for our last night, preparing for the long trek back to Windhoek the next day.

The ride home was interesting. Because I knew what to expect, I was able to see past the initial looks of the towns. Driving through Oshakati a second time, I saw some larger stores and modern strip malls that I had missed on the way up. I could see dirt roads extending deeper into villages, I could look at a homestead and have an idea of what it was like on the inside. A few hours outside of Windhoek, we stopped to get fuel, food and to stretch our legs. We had stopped in the same town on the way up and I remember thinking it was small and not nearly as nice as Windhoek. Driving into town on the way back however, everything seemed so big, and really nice. The supermarket we stopped at seemed massive, and the selection incredible. It's amazing what a little perspective can do.

Well I think that's as much as I can write for now. I'll try to post again when I get up to my village on Friday (let's home my Netman works!)

Till then,
Jamie

First Impressions

Last Saturday we packed up our teaching clothes, put our extra bags in storage and piled into two vans for the near 10 hour trek north. It was hot and cramped, but the scenery was gorgeous and the sky was brilliant blue. After a few pit stops, we crossed the Red Line. Officially, this is a veterinary disease control mechanism and protects southern commercial cattle farmers by prohibiting northern farmers from selling their meat south of the line. Unofficially, this servers as a separation from more affluent  Afrikaans  southern Namibia from poor, native, black northern Namibia. Crossing the line, the striking difference is apparent immediately. Driving through the north was a continuous check of my privilege, as each squalid village we passed through left me thinking "what have I gotten myself into". Going into this experience, I of course was expecting to see extreme poverty, but nothing can quite prepare you for seeing it first hand, especially when you know it is your home for the next year. The cement and aluminum buildings seemed hardly big enough for people to fit in, never mind to be homes, bars, or markets (essentially the only three types of buildings I have seen in the villages). I started to get really nervous about my coming year, and wondered if I was cut out for this after all. I was afraid that I was the only one thinking this, and hated myself for being so judgmental.

About an hour away from our destination, we stopped in the largest city in the north to pick up supplies for the week. This is the city that I will be going to to buy groceries, clothes, school supplies, and anything else I need to buy while I am here. Once again, I was shocked at how underdeveloped it was, considering it's the second largest city in the country. Everything seemed so run down. Another privilege check. We got out at the local grocery store to do our shopping. We had been broken into groups of four to do the cooking for the week. Each group was in charge of one dinner and my group decided to do a stir-fry. After adjusting to the smaller size, I was pleasantly surprised by the selection at Spar. Although I did not have 10 brands of orange juice to choose from, the shelves were well stocked with familiar food items, and I breathed a sigh of relief to know that I would still be able to make some of my favorite foods. (No dill though, this may be an issue...) We managed to locate almost everything we wanted for the stir-fry, with the exception of soy sauce, so we settled for curry and were on our way. 

We drove on for another hour on a dirt road to the village of Omungwelume, where we would be doing our teaching practicum. We would be staying in the dorms of the Eengadjo Secondary School and cooking in the on campus house where two of the volunteers who are placed in this village would be living. As we drove away from the city, the scenery changed a bit from the more barren desert landscape to one that was much more reminiscent of NH/VT farm lands. Trees lined the road and behind them, traditional homesteads sat like islands among the vast fields of wheat, sorgum, and murala. The vans slowed periodically to allow herds of cattle and goats to cross the roads and before long, we pulled into Omgwemlume. The town was a larger version of the villages we had seen on the drive up, but as we drover further off the main road, the houses seemed a little bit bigger and more sturdy. When we got to the school, we first went to Jessie and Ted's house to drop off the groceries. After a sentimental moment of our Field Director (Bret) handing his old keys over the Ted and Jessie, we opened the door and stepped inside. The house was an absolute MESS, to the horror of the new occupants, but after an hour or so of 15 person teamwork, we managed to throw out all the trash and dirty underwear (yup, yup) and had scrubbed the kitchen so it at least resembled a place where food could safely be cooked. I started attacking the oven, which was covered in about five layers of grime, and that became my project for the week. It actually became a bit of a joke amongst the volunteers- whenever we had some free time, I could always be found scouring away. It looked pretty good by the end if I do say so myself. 

When dinner had been cooked, my group cleaned up by candlelight and then we made our way back to the dorms to get ready for bed. We would be arising early the next day to begin our teaching, so I took a quick (cold) shower and climbed into my homemade sleeping bag (thanks mom) and fell asleep. 

Coming soon: our week teaching in Omungwelume, a traditional Oshiwambo meal, and the trip back. Stay tuned!

Peace,

Jamie