Welcome to Tsumeb
Christmas with the Kids
My Little Brother, Cecil
Ashley and Her Brothers
My Cousins on Christmas
The Kids Playing on Christmas
The Drunk Balloon Demo at Our Health Workshop
Amanda Cooking Outside
Me, Cecil and Geraldine
Me and Amanda on Family Appreciation Day
Christmas Eve
Dancing in the Streets
Community Service Day at the Old Age Home
Another Sunset...
Lake Otjikoto
Colleen's Christmas Present to CATJAR
We have just a few days left in Tsumeb. It’s hard to believe we arrived here nearly three weeks ago, but a lot has happened in that short amount of time. We organized a successful four-day community health workshop for area youth, as well as a community day at the local old-age home. We all "passed" our initial language assessment tests. We visited Lake Otjikoto and the world’s largest meteorite (which, for the record, is the Namibian version of the Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota). We were locked out of our bathroom for two days, and a couple of nights ago, I narrowly escaped death when our fireside dinner was interrupted by a location-wide dogfight. I turned 27. We taught our trainers “Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer.” And for most of us, we spent our first Christmases away from home.
But the biggest thing by far is that after twenty-some days, the 13 of us have become members of a Namibian family. I’ve got a mama, two cousins and the cutest baby brother ever to visit when things in Khorixas get tough and I just need a break. Lucre told me (sort of like my own parents did) that my room is always waiting, and that when I return, it will be the same as when I left it.
That’s nice to hear, even a few thousand miles from home.
My first Namibian Christmas was certainly one to remember. There was no build up to the big day like there is in the States. No feverish preparations of huge meals, special dishes, or cutout cookies. There was no wrapping presents or visiting family and friends. Instead, we spent Christmas Eve practicing Damara with yet another language lesson, and coping with the idea of being so far from home. Homesickness, which had been non-existent to this point, seemed to be at an all-time high with most PCTs. But a last-minute mail run to Windhoek meant unexpected surprises. For me, a box from Darby and a packet of letters from family made it feel a bit more like the holidays.
Amanda and I opted to attend the 7:30 Catholic Mass on Christmas Eve, despite the fact out Lutheran families would attend church the following morning. We needed at least one familiar thing at a time when nothing at all felt the same. The two-hour service was in Afrikaans and the only song we recognized was “Silent Night” (sung in German, no less), but there was a tree on the altar and that alone meant it felt a bit more like Christmas. As it turns out, 7:30 is a lot like Midnight Mass (which my family usually attends back in the states) when your new bedtime is 9:30 and you’re rarely out until dark. I had a bowl of Cornflakes for dinner and then was off to bed.
Lucre’s cousin brought us a small tabletop Christmas tree, like the one grandma used to have in Rochester. But aside from that, there wasn’t much in the house (or Namibia for that matter) that felt like the holidays. Amanda lives only a couple of houses away, so while our families were at church we attempted to back her grandma’s chocolate chip cookie recipe with Namibian ingredients. (They were a big hit with our mamas, but not so much with us.) We watched the BBC and listened to the music blaring from the yards in the location. As it turns out, Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable,” Chris Brown’s “Wall to Wall,” and Justin Timberlake’s “Sexy Back,” are more than just the songs that I run to. They’re big holidays hits in Namibia, too.
Amanda’s mama found us a last-minute ride to Etosha—an ambulance driver from her hospital. But when he arrived drunk and suggested we make a detour for more drinks along the way, we decided it might be best to wait on experiencing the sixth-largest game park and instead opted for a more traditional holiday celebration. The braai.
We headed to Caravan Park, a patch of grassy land with grill pits and shade trees on the edge of Town. There were dozens of families with boom boxes blasting, drinking Windhoek and Tafel, grilling goat, chicken and any other meat imaginable. They were eating watermelon and dancing. Sand and snow may cover the ground in similar ways, but this was different from the White Christmases typical of Upstate New York. Add sparklers and America and you’ve easily got the Fourth of July.
But back at Lucre’s house things felt more like the holidays. Half of Tsumeb (and about 30 kids) were crowded into our yard, laid out on mats, relaxing in lawn chairs, playing soccer and dancing to traditional Damara music. (I promise, there are pics to come.) Being around so much family meant it finally felt like Christmas—even if it was 90 degrees and my cousin Phil wasn’t around to dress like Santa.
With the holidays over and our workshop and community service out of the way, the last thing to focus on is our family appreciation day. Rumor has it we’ll be killing a goat and braaing at the same park where I celebrated my first Namibian Christmas. It will be tough to say goodbye to my family here, especially because that’s what these past few months have been filled with most: Goodbyes. But Sunday morning I’ll be on my way back to Okahandja for a CATJAR reunion. And just 10 days away from becoming a real Peace Corps Volunteer.
We’re in the final stages of planning for our weeklong workshop. From the sounds of it, the 60-odd participants who have already signed up should be more than entertained when we cover topics like alcoholism, condom use, the biology of HIV/AIDS, grief and goal setting. Because they told us during the needs assessment that they like games and dramas, we’ve managed to incorporate at least one of each into every session. The last day will include certificates of completion (which are a big deal around here), several plays and of course, a big party with lots of food and cool drinks. (That’s the local term for soda, juice, or anything that’s not water.)
With 13 people each trying to take a turn at the planning wheel, this could have been disastrous. But as it turns out, people who were eager to criticize were also equally willing to step back and observe. We’ve got a pretty solid group of volunteers with a good dynamic that makes even work an okay time. So after a plate of fat cakes and a couple of hours we were well on our way to workshop success. Each of us is responsible for teaching one session each day, but seeing the games and materials others use will be beneficial in running our own workshops down the line.
In the meantime I’ve been practicing for my language exam. My mama doesn’t speak as much Damara to me as I’d hoped, so Jo-Ann, the neighbor, has been helping me practice in exchange for grilled cheeses, lasagna and other American treats. But we hit a wall yesterday when she realized I’d been learning the language for nearly a month, rather than just one week. She went from thinking I was coming along to instead feeling like I was a lost cause.
It was the self-esteem boost I needed with less than 24-hours until my exam.
As for the test, well, it went as expected: terribly. I know more vocabulary than I thought, but I’m nearly incapable of forming complete sentences. (At least for now.) I’m confident that with time (lots of time) I’ll come around. My goal is to be proficient in what I should know by now by the time I leave Tsumeb. I’m literate in Damara, but can’t always hear the difference between //a and a and /a. Since my work in Khorixas will rely mostly on verbal communication, that’s bound to be a problem.
But the good news is that so far, there haven’t been many of those—major problems, I mean. Maybe that’s because we haven’t really had to adjust to life in Namibia quite yet. Although the 70 members of Nam 27 are split between six cities for CBT, we still haven’t had to contend with being totally alone. Because of that, I have a feeling those first few months at permanent site will be filled with the types of challenges we haven’t yet faced. We’ll contend with loneliness and isolation, language barriers and cultural misunderstandings, confusion over jobs and god knows what else.
That’s not to say I’m dreading swearing in. In fact, it’s just the opposite. These are the reasons I signed up for Peace Corps. Sure 2008 will bring more challenges all at once than I’ve faced over the course of the last several years, but that just means more personal growth and greater understanding—of Namibia, Damara, and ultimately, myself.
Matisa! It’s been exactly a week since we arrived in Tsumeb for one of the final steps in our technical health (and of course language) training: Homesteads. Peace Corps says this is our best chance to understand the community and day-to-day life in Namibia before swearing in. Plus, it’s a dry run in adapting to new cultures. Only this time, it’s under the expert guidance of a local family.
We spent the two weeks leading up to homesteads visiting our permanent sites and shadowing current volunteers. We returned to Okahandja for three days. Apparently that’s just long enough to regroup, repack and contract some heinous stomach virus.
Sure, Nam 27 was the first group in years to have all its trainees return from site visit to continue PST. But when more than 40 and the 70 volunteers (myself included) fell ill before Community Based Training, we weren’t sure whether that trend would hold. Truthfully, I’d expected to get sick much sooner than this (it’s the Peace Corps, after all). Luckily the cramps, the fever and the vomiting were short lived. And while the three-hour bus ride to Tsumeb seemed forever, we managed just the same.
The city is unique. It sits in what’s called the Emerald Triangle: a part of Namibia just north of the desert, known for its regular rains and lush greenery. It’s no African jungle, but Tsumeb certainly offers more color and contrast than dusty brown Khorixas. Most people have at least one mango tree in their yard, and I’ve been told the fruit should be ripe in time for my birthday. A perfect gift for my first summer celebration. My Damara mama, Lucre, says we’ll go to her Auntie’s house in town at harvest time to pick them. I’ve already tasted some of the smaller fruits and they put those available in stateside supermarkets to shame.
The level of education here seems remarkably high. Many of the residents of Tsumeb are fluent in English and the majority of them are proficient in five or six local languages. Unemployment is still a problem though, as it is throughout Namibia, but there are enough shops to keep people working, and a copper mine where many residents find employment.
My mama teaches grade two at a nearby school. Her cousins, who also live with us in the Location, work at the local mine. My little brother, Cecil, is just three years old. While he can count in English, we still can’t really communicate. He laughs at my attempts to speak KhoeKhoe. But then, most people do.
According to the calendar, we’re been learning the language for over a month now, at what feels like breakneck speed. Our twice-daily sessions on vocabulary and sentence structure have covered in four weeks what it took me three years of Spanish classes to master. Still, I’m not sure I’m really retaining it. My neighbor, Jo-Ann, is on holiday from school, so she’s been helping me practice for our initial language assessment this weekend. It’s a 30-minute conversation about God knows what using whatever words I can muster to describe my day, clothes and job. I’ve got the greetings down pat, and hopefully after a few more sessions with Jo-Ann, I’ll be better prepared for the test.
And language feels like a full-time job, it’s not the only thing keeping us busy here in Tsumeb. The 13 health volunteers here have been charged with developing and executing a community health workshop for local youth next week. In typical Peace Corps fashion, that bomb was dropped just two days ago. We’ll have only Thursday and Friday to plan and prepare for a four-day, 20-hour workshop that starts Monday.
We spent yesterday conducting a needs assessment—an informal Q & A with area youth. (Here in Namibia, that’s anyone between 14 and 35.) As you might expect, drinking, drugs and unprotected sex are major issues here, just as they are for teens in the states. Participants listed boredom, poverty, hunger and unemployment as the major causes of risky behavior.
While most of us expected to spend the next two years educating community members about HIV/AIDS, healthy nutrition and proper hygiene, it seems one of our biggest projects as health workers may in fact be developing organized sports leagues, recreation centers and income generating programs to keep kids busy, motivated and having fun. While our approach may be new, the problem isn’t.
The first case of AIDS was reported in Namibia in 1986. Since then the rate of infection has been steadily growing. The country has made some serious strides in preventative education, from PSAs on local TV and radio stations, to a comprehensive health curriculum that starts as early as grade one. Free condoms are available almost everywhere, yet the majority of sexually active Namibians admit to rarely using them.
More than two-thirds of the participants in our needs assessment sessions know someone who died of AIDS. While most youth claim to know the facts, we’re quickly learning that misconceptions are as prevalent as the disease. One teen in our assessment said people who know their HIV status die faster than those who don’t. Another argued men live longer than women once they’ve contracted the disease. In a culture where women are expected to say no (even when they’re interested), on guy argued that when a woman says she’s HIV positive it means she wants to be pursued harder. Others claimed the disease made the carrier more attractive to the opposite sex.
So while the information is out there, it seems false information is, too. That, I can only assume, is why we’re here.
Today was the official one-month anniversary of our arrival in Namibia. We celebrated with a bonfire at the river basin last night and burgers and fries at a local lodge this afternoon.
It's hard to believe just 30 days have passed since we landed in Windhoek after the longest flight on record. Here are a few pictures to document the adventure. (Apologies in advance for the layout and design--it's too expensive for me to actually SEE what these images look like after I upload them)
Also, for those of you who've asked about sending letters and packages, my P.O. Box in Khorixas is ready for action. I've heard from other volunteers that it's a reliable site and parcels are rarely tampered with. "Holy-ing it up" with "Sister Jill" etc. is still probably a good idea. We have been warned that NamPost can be somewhat unreliable during the holidays, so if you have plans to ship anything it may be best to wait until after the first of the year. 
African Sunset in Okahandja
Chicken Plucking on Cross Cultural Day
The CATJAR (Amanda, Tina, Ashley, Colleen, Rachel and Me)
The Namibian Version of Beer Pong (AKA: The Cup Game)
Namibian Sky
Tina, Me, Ashley & Rachel (Members of the CATJAR)
My Namibian Bedroom (With A Namibian Paint Job)
The Kitchen in Khorixas
Tina Hiking in Okahandja
Riding 11 Deep in a Kombi from Gobabis
"Shade" Tree
Happy Thanksgiving from Namibia!
It’s been nearly a week since the members of Nam 27 arrived at their permanent sites. It goes without saying that as a PCT I’ve done more adjusting in the past six days than I have in my entire life. It’s been difficult at times and heartwarming at others. (It takes only a minute to realize visiting the third world is a far cry from actually living in the third world.) Most every day has been filled with one type of challenge or another and coming from a comfortable place, that alone has taken some getting used to.
I’m living in a small village called Khorixas with another Nam 27 volunteer. It’s in the Kunene region, about three hours northwest of our home base of Okahandja. Khorixas is a quiet, dusty town with a post office, a Multi-Save, and very few resources. While the other 12 regions of Namibia are known for exporting diamonds and uranium, or producing beef, lamb and goat, the Kuene region has no exports and no real source of commerce. The unemployment rate in Namibia is high, hovering above 50 percent. But here the number is even greater. Of the roughly 20,000 residents, only an estimated 400 have regular work or a continuous source of income.
I’ve been assigned to work with the Ministry of Health and Khorixas State Hospital on community outreach and preventative education. My supervisor is a Nigerian doctor, and in fact, the only doctor permanently stationed at the 120-bed facility. I report directly to the principal nurse, who has been working at the hospital for 35 years. The facility is a far cry from the one I candy striped in more than a dozen years ago. The equipment is dated and there are just two working computers for the entire compound. (There’s no Internet.) Nurses tend to some 3,000 patients each week. Those in need of advanced treatment or further attention are sent to Windhoek, four hours away.
The hospital has just one ambulance to serve an area that stretches as far west as the coast and as far north as Opuwo. But as I learned Monday, that ambulance has been out of commission for some time, and there are no plans for repair. Instead, one of the hospital’s all-terrain vehicles is now being used to collect the injured.
I arrived at my site on Saturday and since then have spent most waking hours getting to know my colleagues, neighbors, roommate and community. I met my Kenyan roommate and was introduced at five churches on Sunday; given a tour of the hospital, introduced to staff, the mayor (who asked me if I knew Oprah or Bill Cosby) and the tribal leader on Monday; shown the preschools, the Ministry of Education, the Craft Center and introduced to a pastor on Tuesday; and taken to the orphanage and the teacher resource center on Wednesday.
These meetings served as more than a way to get to know the people in Khorixas. They helped to identify potential secondary projects for the next two years. During training a number of health volunteers discussed creating a web-based business for local artisans with the help of our IT team to generate income. The women at the craft center, who carve nuts, string beads and design jewelry, would be perfect candidates for this. The orphanage, which houses 18 children in three bedrooms, is in desperate need of new beds, mattresses and more space. As of now, nine girls share just two bunk beds in one room. The woman who runs it also feeds 33 other hungry school children from the squatter village every day. The hospital needs a resource room so that nurses and patients can easily access information about TB, HIV, family planning, childcare, hygiene and proper nutrition, and the teachers’ center in town is in desperate need of materials for classrooms and educators.
We aren’t supposed to tackle anything in our first three months at site (I’ll be returning for two years in a month or so). Instead, that period is for observation, discussion and research. But at least this brief visit has given me the chance to feel more comfortable with my surroundings, to interact with the people, and to identify some of their needs.
It seems, from where I stand, there are many.
This past week has also given me a chance to grow accustomed to what will soon be my day-to-day life. It’s one that involves a 6:02 wakeup call from the neighbor’s rooster, no hot water, no working sinks, washing dishes in the bathtub, using a flashlight to navigate the hallways and a diet of almost exclusively peanut butter & jelly sandwiches.
Strange as it may sound, I still cannot wait to return to Khorixas.
The good news is I’ve arrived safely in Namibia. After a week of waiting and a one-hour shopping spree in Windhoek, my luggage has finally arrived, too. I survived my first days here with one dress, a pair of pants, some worn-out flip-flops and a t-shirt. When my bag finally arrived I couldn’t help but wonder why I packed so much stuff in the first place. Two weeks in Namibia and I’m already reevaluating the essentials.
The country is amazing. Open plains and clear blue skies. But there’s also a lot of nothingness. In a place twice the size of California with a population of just 1.8 million people, I guess that’s to be expected. The days are warm and dry and the nights are cool and comfortable—the best of both worlds. The mornings are perfect for runs. November and December are considered the “rainy season” but that’s happened only once since we arrived.
We landed in Windhoek on November 2 after the world’s longest flight and nearly a week’s worth of travel. PCVs from Nam 25 and Nam 26 met us at the airport with a giant banner, two massive buses and a bowl full of fat cakes. These simple yeast rolls are made with a bit of sugar and fried in an iron pot. They’re best served warm, but even day-olds were a delicious welcome to a country we’d heard so much about. The ride from the airport to Okahandja was about an hour—long enough to see a bit of the countryside before sunset, plus baboons, giraffe and warthogs. This is Africa, after all.
There are about 25 trainers from the 13 regions in Namibia working with us on our language and cultural skills before we depart for our official sites in January. (We will do a temporary site visit, which includes our first experience “hiking,” next week.) They lined the walkway of our compound the night we arrived and sang songs in Afrikaans, Silozi and Otijiherero—music and voices like I’d never heard before. It was the warmest welcome I’ve ever received, and a feeling I hope to never forget.
Since then, it’s been 10-hour days of cross-cultural training, Peace Corps rules and regulations sessions, near daily vaccines and a whole lot of “getting to know you” time. I’m living in a room with five other girls: a teacher, a public health worker, and three recent grads. They are all absolutely hilarious and have made the ups and downs up this surprisingly stressful experience easier to handle. So far we’ve been able to keep each other sane and laugh at the things that might otherwise make us cry.
Last week the members of Nam 27 were interviewed by our program directors about potential posts, desired living conditions and expectations for service. From what I can gather, I’ll be working in a small town putting together health training materials and developing community outreach programs to disseminate the information. We were placed in our language groups last Thursday, so many of my fellow volunteers have an idea of where they’ll be heading based on what they’ll be learning. I could still go anywhere.
You’ll all be happy to know I’m learning Khoekhoegowab (kway-kway-kovab). And yes, that’s the clicking language. There are about 15 of us trying to perfect the four basic clicks. So far it’s been a struggle. We were told from the start that it’s unlikely we’ll master the language, but despite that, we’re trying.
One of our trainers took us to the Location, a part of Okahandja where black Namibians were forced to live during Apartheid. As it turns out, many of them still live there today, too. We listened to a Khoekhoe choir practice, and then performed a song with them. We learned a dance that none of us were really all that good at, but I’m still convinced we’ll leave this country with more rhythm than when we arrived.
This week we began twice-daily language lessons in preparation for our permanent site visits next week. On Tuesday, my three-man class actually took to the streets to practice with the locals. It was a reminder of how little you can learn in three days. Unless I was asked my name or where I was from, I was useless. But the women were slow and patient and the little boy, Quinton, got a kick out of our trial and error. I’m sure next week will bring more of the same. I’m anxious, and at the same time, can’t wait to see where I’ll be spending the next two years of my life.
For now, half of our days are filled with language and cultural education. The other is technical training. Workshops and lectures teach us more about the health system and the major health concerns in Namibia. From the looks of it, there are many. The sparse population, rough terrain and lack of transportation mean a majority of Namibians have little or no access to public or private medical care. There are just seven surgeons, five pediatricians and two psychiatrists in the entire country. The university has no PhD program, so doctors must be trained outside of the country. Work permits are hard to come by and it’s nearly impossible to find qualified professionals willing to work for next to nothing in the rural areas where the need is greatest. Here in Okahandja more than 100 people are on the waiting list for antiretrovirals at the local hospital. The facility services about 36,000 people, and while the drugs are in stock, a shortage of qualified doctors able to administer the medication means patients can still wait upwards of six weeks for treatment.
We met with one of the two doctors that serve the town on Tuesday. His patients come from as far away at the Botswana border to the east, Windhoek to the south, and more than 400 km to the west. Nearly 40 percent of his patients are HIV positive and at least two or three more people test positive each week. He told us that health information is widely available throughout the country. Namibia even offers free condoms to residents to prevent the spread of disease. But people are still failing to put what they learn into practice. It happens in the states, too, but after talking to trainers and healthcare professionals—even a traditional healer at the Location—it’s clear there are unique issues and challenges at play here.
Gender roles are a reality in Namibia. Men are the decision makers and women tend to be the more submissive partner in a relationship. Males have the final say in all things related to sex: from where and when it happens to whether condoms are used. Sex is often a display of power rather than an act of mutual satisfaction. If a woman voices her opinion on these matters she’s seen as loose. Rape laws were only recently introduced in Namibia. One current volunteer told us that men in his village were actually unsure how to date after this happened. He said before, they just took what they wanted. Courting didn’t exist. But then, neither did rape. It was expected that women would say no, and it was almost understood that that didn’t really matter.
But there are other obstacles facing health education and AIDS prevention in Namibia. The vast landscape, sparse population, and lack of jobs mean that hospital workers, teachers, policemen and miners are often sent to work in areas far from their families. Wandering men can bring the disease home and pass it on to their wives, who in turn, risk transmission to their children during pregnancy and even after birth. Men are rarely tested. At a clinic in Okahandja 1,200 women tested positive for HIV. Of that number just 12 had husbands who volunteered to be tested, too.
As it turns out, the number one risk factor for AIDS in Namibia is marriage.
Although the country offers health care at a relatively low rate, just two percent of the infected population is getting the drugs and treatment they need for advanced HIV/AIDS. In the states, that number is upwards of 80 percent. There is just one ambulance in Okahandja to service more than 35,000 people. And while a visit to a national health center costs around N$6 (about one dollar in the US), an unemployment rate of 50 percent means even that nominal fee can be prohibitive.
It’s been a lot of information to digest and this past two weeks has served as an incredible eye opener. As a westerner, I know it will be difficult to navigate a system of beliefs and a worldview that’s unfamiliar to me. As a volunteer, we’re taught that the information is out there and that many of the resources are widely available. But even so, many residents, including some of our trainers, are still unsure of just how HIV/AIDS is transmitted. While it can be frustrating to hear, it’s a good reminder of why I’m here: to educate, assist, and ultimately, to learn.
The members of Namibia 27 have finally met. We are 71 strong and come from all over the U.S. (but California and Oregon are both representing pretty hard). There are four seniors, one married couple and one married man among us. But the majority of volunteers are somewhere between 22 and 38. There are far more educators than health workers. We are recent college grads, computer techs, massage therapists, retirees, farmers and teachers.
No one smells like patchouli and only a few people wear Birkenstocks.
While staging has been boring—eight-hour days in a hotel conference room with flip charts and workbooks—the experience has been nothing but positive. Even the 51-question icebreaker wasn’t so bad. After all, how else would we know Rashid can make bagels?
Maybe it’s still the initial excitement, but everyone seems great—kind, sincere and surprisingly hilarious. Sarcasm lives here, which makes someone like me feel more at home.
We spend breakfast, lunch and dinner together. We spend the time in between together. We even room together. For the next two years, the 71 of us are all we have.
And from the looks of it, we couldn't have gotten any luckier.
For the first time in my life I won’t be home for Christmas. Not just this Christmas, but three Christmases. It’s an idea that’s hard to swallow, particularly with a mom who takes the holiday so seriously and in a family that’s never been apart come December 25.
I knew going into the Peace Corps that I would miss a lot of things—many of which I’ve already written about here. But I was still hoping to spend one last Christmas at home with my family. 
Luckily, my parents planned accordingly.
This weekend my aunt and uncles, cousins and even baby Julian, rented a van and drove from western PA to Roc City to help us deck the halls and trim the tree. So what if it’s October? I’m leaving tomorrow.
It was a chance for us to see each other one last time and to celebrate the season (and the birthdays) I won’t be here for. We caught up over glasses of wine and plates of food. It was a reminder of what the holidays are really all about—family.
Sure I won’t be home for Christmas. Already I know it’s going to be hard (does Namibia even have pine trees?). But my mom, dad, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends have given me a 365-send off with enough memories to last me until I make it back in 2010.
Thank you.
It’s official. After some trial and a bit of error my bags are packed and I’m ready to go. It’s slightly more than I hoped to carry, but at 43 pounds, I’m confident I can haul my pack all over Africa if I have to (and, well, I plan to).
Just what does two years worth of supplies look like? Here’s a random sampling:
o Four bottles of SPF 45
o Three packets of macaroni and cheese powder
o 750 Ibuprofen
o Six packs of Imodium
o 200 Tampons
o Eight Razor blades
o 30 pairs of underwear
o Nine tank tops
o Six pairs of socks
o Iodine tablets
o Two Nalgenes, a collapsible water jug and a lifetime filter
o Five sticks of deodorant
o Uno
o Two Frisbees
o One Jump rope
o 500 hair ties
o Three tubes of toothpaste
o A ball of twine
o Two headlamps
o Two adapters
o A Leatherman
o 120 wet wipes
o One roll of toilet paper
o 12 passport photos
o One stick of Deet
o 10 gigs worth of memory cards
After months of waiting, Namibia 27 finally has its training itinerary. We’ll spend two days at staging in Washington, D.C. Then, after a 15-hour flight to Johannesburg, we’ll hop a plane for Windhoek on November 2. I’m trying to imagine what it will be like to touch down in Africa—a dream I’ve had since the eighth grade. I expect that it will be nothing less than amazing.
We’ll spend our first two weeks of training at the Andreas Kukuri Center in Okahandja, about 45 minutes north of the capital. We’ll be living on approximately $3 a day (this really puts that Starbucks habit in perspective, no?). Most of our time will be spent learning about the culture and the language. Since 60 percent of Namibians speak Afrikaans (mostly those in the south), it’s likely what many of us will learn. But around one percent of the population speaks native languages, so there’s still a chance we’ll be speaking something else entirely. In addition, we'll have technical training, too. This covers the basics of our assignment. In my case, HIV/AIDS work. We’ll talk about project plans, Namibia’s history, health interventions and the available resources.
During week three we’ll visit our permanent sites. I’ll finally be able to answer all of those questions about running water, electricity and proximity to other members of Peace Corps. We’ll spend time shadowing current volunteers, and after a week, we’ll move in with our homestay families. I’m excited to find out what day-to-day life is really like and anxious to see how well I acclimate.
For those of you who are interested, the Peace Corps also provided us with a calendar for our first few months in country:
Days 1 & 2
November 02 Trainees arrive in Windhoek and travel straight to the Training Center in Okahandja
November 03 Initial Orientation Session at the Training Center in Okahandja Individual interviews with the APCDs, AO, TM & PCMO
Week 1 & 2
November 05 -10 Orientation @ Andreas Kukuri Center-Okahandja(Training Center)
November 12 - 15 Language Intensive training / Technical training
November 16 Site Announcements
November 17 Meet your Supervisor & sessions
November 18 Travel for Permanent Site Visits
Week 3 & 4
November 19-23 Permanent Site Visits
November 24 Return from Site Visit/Travel to current PCV sites for Shadowing
November 25 – Dec 02 Shadowing
Week 5 – 8
December 03 Discussion of Permanent Site Visits
December 04 Travel to CBT sites
December 05-29 Language, cross-cultural and technical training, including Health related mini workshops (and my birthday!)
December 29 Host Families Appreciation Day
December 30 Travel back to Andreas Kukuri Center - Okahandja
Week 9
January 01 - 05 HIV/AIDS Workshop; PC Policies; Embassy Presentations, & Wrap-up
Week 10
January 06 - 08 Final Language Proficiency Interview, PST Post Mortem, Visit PC Office & Courtesy call @ Embassy, Shopping & Packing
January 9 Swearing-In Ceremony @ NIED, Okahandja
January 10 Depart to Permanent Sites
Strict vegetarians may want to consider modifying their diets or adopting other copying strategies since vegetables and other vegetarian foods are not readily available in the villages.After 13 years I'm not that excited by the thought of eating meat. But I did see this coming. Even with that news in mind, all I can think is T-minus two days and I'm ready for the adventure to begin!
My college roommate Molly gave me a card when I left New York. In it, she predicted not just where I would be 26 months from now—finishing up my Peace Corps service and heading on a trip through Eastern Africa—but where our friends and classmates would find themselves, too.
Ilana, of course, will be married. Maybe Darby will have a baby and Dan will probably be engaged. Molly will be attending some top-tier grad school and Alisa will be a doctor.
We will finally be grown up.
It’s exciting to think about where the next two years will take us and what sort of adventures I’ll find in Namibia. But as I struggle (quite literally) to pack my bags, tie up loose ends, and say goodbye to my family, I’m reminded of all that I’ll be missing here, too.
My cousin Paul just got engaged and he’ll get married next October. Once Lilly and Claire learn to walk, they’ll be running circles around my cousins. And the newest addition to our extended family, baby Julian, will be talking by the time I return. He’ll have no idea who I am.
I’ve been thinking about the Peace Corps since I graduated from NYU. And now, four years later, after eighteen months of paperwork, interviews and doctors appointments, my departure date is almost here. I’m not anxious or afraid, just excited and ready. Really ready.
But I’m also a little sad. Sad because of what I’ll miss: the big life events, face time with family and holidays at home. Still, I can’t help but think I’d be missing out on more if I’d decided to stay here, instead of finding out what it really feels like to get sand in my shoes.
Temperatures were in the 70s on Sunday with lots of sunshine, so we decided to head west and check out Niagara Falls. I haven't been to the natural wonder in more than a decade (and Anthony had never been), but it was just as beautiful as I remembered it. Maybe even more so.
We grabbed lunch at the Anchor Bar, home of the original Buffalo Wing (and yes, even I ate some), then headed to Niagara State Park.
The American Side
The Canadian Side
The Dock at Crescent Beach
Niagara was great, but I still plan to visit Victoria Falls while I'm living in Africa. I want to get in all of the Natural Wonders I can--especially while I'm there.
I'm pretty sure Namibians don't celebrate Thanksgiving, and who knows what us volunteers will be able to throw together when the holiday rolls around. So my mom cooked a traditional dinner with all of the fixings while Chip was in town. It wasn't November but lucky for us, there was still a football game on TV.
All of the Fam Together
The Meal (That's my Nalgene)
Chip After the Delicious Dish
Anthony is in Roc City for the weekend (and for one final goodbye). Since Namibia 27 will be spending Halloween getting a dozen vaccines at the Peace Corps clinic in Washington, D.C., then on a 15 hour flight to Johannesburg, we decided to celebrate the holiday a little early. Turns out at five bucks a pop, pumpkins are a heck of a lot cheaper here than in New York City.
Anthony Carving it Out
The Leading Pumpkin Carving Experts
The Final Product (Mine's on the right)
Not Our House (But some people in the 'hood know how to do it up)
Now what's on tap for the rest of the weekend? A family photo and of course, Thanksgiving.
My one-pound sleeping bag arrived yesterday, so I did a dry run of packing to see just how much stuff I could fit in my hiking sack. The answer? I'm still not really sure.
With my sleeping bag, liner, camp towel, Leatherman (thanks ALM!), long johns, deodorant, a pair of socks, a dozen journals, a winter hat and a pair of gloves, I'm about a third of the way full. But I still have two years worth of toiletries and a season worth of clothes to get in the mix. When I look at the piles of odds and ends stacked next to my sack, it's clear that some things won't make it to Namibia. But when you're not sure where you're going, it's tough to know what's essential. Typical Peace Corps, there's no real packing list. That's probably because us volunteers are headed to such very different places. We won't know exactly where until the end of December, when our training is complete.
My brother was a boy scout and my dad is an outdoors man. Their motto? Travel light and always be prepared. But how do you pack for two years in another country when you could be living in the desert or on the coast? In a modern-day cement block house or a mud hut in the bush?
So far as I can tell, the best thing I can be prepared for is to not really be prepared at all. It's an idea that, after a few weeks of preparations, I'm finally getting used to.
According to the latest email from the Peace Corps: Namibia is a land of wonderful contrasts and untouched beauty. Game parks, giant sand dunes, flood plains, deserts and waterfalls all call Namibia home. Approximately fourteen tribes inhabit this land, and life here can be as varied as the landscapes. Namibia is a vast country, with very few people to fill its spaces, but those that do represent a wide range of cultures, ethnic backgrounds, and languages. Volunteer life can be extremely varied as well. Some volunteers will live in the flood plains of the north, some will live along the barren but striking coast, others will live in the desert of the south, and others in the lowlands north of Botswana in the Caprivi.
Not knowing which of these varied volunteer experiences I’ll have makes trying to pack a bit of a hassle (especially since I have to carry it all on my back). Knowing other members of Namibia 27 are facing the same challenge, and that volunteers before us have too, makes it seem like just another step in this heinous and hilarious process.
Latey I’ve been doing my best to learn all I can about the country where I’ll be spending the next two-and-a-half years of my life. I’ve always thought that you learn more, appreciate more, and retain more when you have some kind of context for how experiences and information fit into the bigger picture. With that in mind, here are a few interesting things I’ve learned so far:
o Namibia gained its independence from South Africa in 1990
o It was the first country in the world to incorporate environmental protection into its constitution (This makes Al Gore very proud)
o Namibia is the second least-densely populated country in the world, with just 2.5 people per square kilometer. Only Mongolia ranks higher (or lower, depending on how you look at it)
o English is the national language, but it’s spoken by just 7 percent of the population. About 32 percent of Namibians speak German. Afrikaans is the most common language. Namibia is also home to the "clicking language"
o 86 percent of Namibians are literate
o Less than one percent of the country’s land is suitable for growing crops
o Namibia has one of the highest infection rates for AIDS and HIV in Africa. More than 30 percent of the population lives with AIDS
o The life expectancy for the average man is 45 years old. For the average woman it’s just 41
o About 55 percent of the population lives on only $2 per day (From what I hear we'll be making $24 a month)
I haven't left yet, but my ever-thoughtful friends and family have already begun to ask about the best ways to stay in touch, and eventually to send supplies (old US Weeklies, election and Olympic coverage, too). Because the Peace Corps operates on more of a need-to-know basis, I don't really have all of the answers and doubt I ever will. But our group has been fortunate to connect with some current volunteers, and this is the advice they had for those shipping packages from stateside:
"The best method for sending a care package is by simply using the US postal service. I've found that packages sent in a big padded envelope get here much quicker than a box. Boxes take anywhere from 1 month to 5-6 months. It really varies on this one. I think as a rule of thumb, keep it small. My experience with packages has been diverse: 1 padded envelope sent from California got here in 10 days using regular ground mail. Another package sent from NYC using the more expensive way to send it, got here in exactly 1 week. Other packages took anywhere from 1 month to 2 months. If for some reason you need something shipped that is expensive or important, I know people have used DHL (there is a DHL office in Windhoek)
...the only other thing I wanted to add is that in sending packages via the post office, we've found that it's helpful to "holy"them up -- address them to Father Joe Schmoe, or Sister Jane Smith,and say that they're coming from the Sister [whatever] at BlessedChurch of Jesus. Writing holy phrases ("Thou shall not steal," "Jesus is watching," "We miss you at church, Sister Jane!" etc.) on the package helps too."
Jill Nawrocki PCTEnvelopes don't need special international stamps, since two standard first class ones will do the trick. Current volunteers recommend numbering letters, just in case they arrive in a different order than they were sent. As most of you know, I always write back--but it may take a while (even 20 days) to decipher my handwriting.
Peace Corps
PO Box 6862
Ausspannplatz,
Windhoek, Namibia
The Ladies of 3A
The Girls of 2R
The Last Day of Work Drinks
The Vegetarian's Big Bite of Burger
The Coworker Couples
The Last Shot with Rick Wong
The NYU Boys
The Best Friend
The Favorite Singer
The Coolest Cousin
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