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
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