Tag! (I'm It...)

My friend Frances recently “tagged” me to list six of my strangest quirks here on my blog. In America, this would have been easy, because in America, it felt like I had a million of them. But here in Namibia, those quirks and ticks just don’t seem so strange. (In fact, they appear to be more like survival skills or coping mechanisms.) But after a bit of thought, and a few SMSes to PCV friends, I’ve come up with the following. (And feel free to add any I've forgotten...I'm sure there are many.)

I have no problem wearing the same thing over and over and over again. Need proof? I spent two weeks wearing one black dress when my luggage failed to arrive in Namibia on the same flight I did. I still sported that dress—rather well, I might add—long after my bag was delivered.

I hate magic, cauldrons, wizards and gnomes. Therefore, I haven’t seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies (or read any of the Harry Potter books, for that matter) and have absolutely zero desire to. My favorite genre is reality.

I think the only two ingredients required for a party are cheese and crackers. Close third? This game.

People often tell me that I look confused or like I don’t understand. Really, that’s just the face I make when I’m paying attention.

I love the Olympics more than any other sporting event for the same reason I love March Madness more than any other tournament: Bob Costas. Oh, and the touching tales of triumph over tragedy. I live for that kind of stuff.

When I'm listening to my ipod, my fingers dance. Seriously.

Katie and Deanna, now it’s your turn!

...

Think of the small as large
and the few as many.
Confront the difficult
while it is still easy;
accomplish the great task
by a series of small acts.

-Tao te Ching

Just a Toothbrush: Welwitschia Primary

Grade 5


Grade 6


Grade 7

Knock Knock: Part II

The last time I answered the door on a Saturday morning, I was greeted by an aggressive drunk man with half a skinned donkey slung over his shoulder who was interested in getting friendly. So, needless to say, I was expecting something outside of the ordinary when I heard the voices of two learners yelling, "Miss! Miss!" at our window this afternoon.

I walked into the kitchen where Kennedy and Elvis, two Grade 5s, peeped through the burglar bars above our kitchen counter. "Hello?" I said.

"Hello Miss! We just wanted to show this bird!"

"Bird?" I said. "What bird?"

And from below the window ledge, two tiny hands lifted a broken branch where a small brown and very wild bird perched silently. Still alive, but paralyzed by what I can only imagine was pure fear.

"Is it real?" I asked.

(Sure, I could practically see its heart beating through its little feathered chest. But never in my life have I known someone capable of catching a wild bird with bare hands...But then, never in my life have I lived in Africa.)

"Yeah," they said. "It was flying in the kitchen and we just caught it there."

"Oh," I said...Of course.

Just a Toothbrush: Sunrise Center

These days, most of my Saturday afternoons are spent at the Sunrise Center. The three-bedroom orphanage is home to 20 children who are always excited about a chance to play games, kick a ball, or complete an art project.

It turned out, they were no less eager to learn about oral care.

After coloring pictures about healthy teeth and listening to stories about visiting the dentist, the kids lined up for their own toothbrush and tube of toothpaste.




They waited patiently while I wrote their names in black Sharpie pen, smiled brightly, then rushed off to practice brushing—just like they’d learned.

Back in the Saddle

When I’m not busy with work, I’m usually busy waiting.

Waiting for transport to come.
Waiting for meetings to start.
Waiting for teachers to arrive.
Waiting for funding to come through.
Waiting for learners to listen.

It’s one of those things that—until now—I’ve never been very good at. I like things to happen. And I like it best when they happen now.

But these days, I’m getting a lot of practice with being patient. And I think it’s safe to say, I’m definitely getting better.

The week before last was painfully slow. (And yes, you guessed it—all about waiting.) I had projects to work on and clubs to work with, but too many factors beyond my control meant there wasn’t much work I could actually do.

I was eager to host more primary school dental workshops. But materials were running low. Without transport to collect more toothbrushes and toothpaste, there was nothing to distribute.

My office space was cleaned and the shelves emptied as phase one of the transformation from workspace to hospital resource room. And while I was ready to file, label and organize, the materials I’d collected had yet to be delivered to Khorixas.

I’d organized activities for the Awareness Club at the secondary school, but Grade 10 exams meant the kids were too busy studying and preparing to attend much after-school anything. And Girls Club was supposed to be a lesson on physical conditioning and a healthy heart, but a last-minute awards ceremony was scheduled for the same time.

The beds of our community garden have been ready for weeks, but it was disappointing to learn that without funding, there’d be no food to feed the kids while they worked. So for now, not much more can be done.

In a week like this one it’s easy to feel frustrated and hard to feel productive. So while it seemed like my work life was on hold, I decided to focus on my own life instead. I picked up War and Peace, and plowed through half of the dense Russian text. And I took up a morning running program that gets me out in the streets well before the sun comes up.

It was my only way of feeling accomplished at a time when it seemed nearly impossible to be productive.

Luckily that’s changed.

This week the dental supplies were purchased and workshops have started once again. My office is now officially the hospital resource room. The learners in Girls Club know about healthy hearts and cardio kickboxing. And while the garden may still be on hold (since funding is always slow to surface), the OVCs and I are keeping busy on Saturday afternoons playing games, learning English and drawing pictures to decorate their walls. They’re having fun and just being kids.

And me? Well, I’ve got 650 pages left in War and Peace and I’m still heading out on those early-morning runs. But mostly I’m just feeling a whole lot more productive. And ultimately, a whole lot happier, too.

525,600 Minutes...

It’s been 365 days since I left New York City.

A year ago I was sitting on a stoop in Brooklyn with my closest friends, waiting with one massive duffle for a town car to whisk me away.

To JFK.
To Upstate.
Eventually, to Namibia.

I’d quit my job. I’d moved out. I’d spent two weeks couch surfing (an urban rite of passage) and filled my social calendar with more dinners and drinks that I thought humanly possible.

I’d even bought cargo pants.

I smiled through the tears when we hugged goodbye, mostly because I knew exactly what I was leaving behind: A city I loved. Friends and family I adored. A career I enjoyed.

At the time, I had no idea what I was heading towards: A place where everyone (including me) clicks. Where taps run cold and showers are a myth. To a town where families cook outside, teachers arrive drunk to school, and the color of my skin is the first thing people see. Where hospital patients have to sleep on floors, medicine runs out too soon and an old flatbed truck is the closest thing to an ambulance.

A place where most of what I thought I knew doesn’t make much sense anymore.

And even though I’m different from that girl I was a year ago today, sitting on a stoop in Brooklyn—naïve but certain, excited yet still somehow afraid—remembering her makes me smile.

Not because she’s gone. (Trust, I haven’t changed that much.) But because I’m certain that even now, given the same choice—between staying in a place she loved with the people she loved, or embarking on the unknown—despite the hardships, frustrations and sacrifices that lie ahead—she’d do it all again.

Without so much as a second thought.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!!!

I hope you have a fantastic day!

LOVE YOU!

-jnaw

Silver Linings

It’s been a trying week.

A friend was pretty seriously injured in a car accident. I saw a woman die. And I witnessed total disregard for human life by a man who had vowed to protect it.

This week made me question people.
It made me question authority.
And it made me question myself.

I’m not sure how I’d deal with this kind of adversity in America—mostly because I never had to. My life there—despite its stress and hassles—was, by comparison, pretty easy. When things got tough, I had outlets for clearing my mind and releasing stress. There were happy hours with friends, phone calls to vent or extra sweat sessions at the gym. But those things aren’t options here. And to be honest, I’m not sure they’d help, even if they were.

So I’ve adopted a new coping mechanism: Being thankful.

It doesn’t rid my mind of the things I’ve witnessed or enable me to forget the words I’ve heard ... that’d be impossible. Instead, it forces me to focus on something else. Something just as important and just as big:

The positive.

Rather than try to repress resentment, anger and fear, I can, through the simple exercise of making a list, remind myself that—even amid this sadness and frustration—there’s always something (or someone) to be thankful for.

Here are just a few:

Weekly calls from home. Sunsets. 355 sunny days a year. Prestick. Mosquito nets. Small kids with big backpacks. Five-dollar coins. Audio books. Little boys with plastic capes. New tar roads. The orange pitcher that makes my bucket bath feel like a shower. CATJAR. When people know my name. NAM post. Sipho. Speech. A phone that works (finally). American magazines. Round faces with big smiles. The Office (and the person who sends it). My education. Katie’s care packages. Dried fruit. Trail running shoes. Sunglasses. Sunscreen. Free rides. My ipod. Amazing friends (both here and in the states). Chick Flicks. Havaianas. Bruce Springsteen. Gaining patience. Handwritten letters. Free SMSes. Tracy. My Awareness Club. Gift, “Short for Present.” SMSes from the states. Feeling like I’ve accomplished something. Quiet walks. That kids yell, “I love you!” instead of “//Hosa!” Stationary with my name on it. Richel. Facebook Mobile. Love letters from learners. My mom and dad. Memories of NYC. Kiwi fruit on sale. Soy milk. A Sunday afternoon that doesn’t last forever. M&Ms. Electricity (when we have it). Running water (almost all day). Random hugs. Critical thinking skills. Catherine and Abigale. Bivy sacks. Kids reading to me out loud. My office becoming the new library. The little boy who blew me a kiss. Coverage of the Olympics. Perfect weather. Fans. Plans. Saturday pants in Africa. Mornings. Not having to worry about money. Unlimited time to think.

This experience and the chance to see all that I have seen.