It Takes a Village (...To Inflate a Soccer Ball)

My Aunt Connie recently sent a package with some of the most delicious Christmas cookies I’ve ever tasted and a deflated soccer ball I foolishly assumed we’d have no problem bringing back to life.

I knew our next-door neighbor, a teacher at Jessica’s school, made a habit of employing a bicycle pump and a handful of learners to fill the tires of his beat up four-door most Saturday mornings. Him being a friendly guy, and this being Africa, I knew he’d be more than happy to share.

So yesterday afternoon when Jessica stopped by to borrow a CD of Namibian tunes to take home to America, she asked if I might be able to use the bike pump for a couple of minutes to inflate my ball. I planned to take it to the orphanage this week, and knew a flat ball was a bit like a remote control car with no batteries—not a lot of fun.

I stood in the doorway waiting for his reply and heard, “They’ll be coming now!” from his window.

I figured my soccer ball would go from flat to fun in no time. But nothing’s ever so simple this side of the Atlantic.

It seems I hadn’t paid close enough attention on those weekend mornings when young boys lined up to take turns pumping the pogo stick-like tube of our neighbor’s bike pump, because when eight little faces showed up at my door, tool in hand, I saw one major problem.

There was no pin in their pump.

“It’s no problem,” said our neighbor, who was standing bare-chested and in boxers. “He’ll fix it for you now,” he added, gesturing towards one of the boys. Immediately his sister's son took off for the trash pile, and a couple of minutes later he returned, metal wire in hand, with a smile on his face.

The older boy grabbed the wire, doubled it over, and instructed another one of the children to find the barrel of a pen. A few minutes later the young one returned bearing a brand new pen, which the others worked with their teeth to dismantle. The oldest one looked up with a smile and inserted the barrel of the pen into the tube of the pump, clamped it on, shoved the metal into the barrel and inserted the metal into the ball’s hole.

It was so complicated it had to work.

But it didn’t.

One boy furiously worked the pump while the other secured the contraption in the ball with his hands. But still, air escaped on all sides.

“Celo tape!” one yelled. And moments later, another girl—one I hadn’t seen previously—appeared with tape in her hand. And so, as one child held the pen, another wrapped the tape. But when the pushing and pumping started again, air, sadly, continued to escape.

“It’s okay,” said our neighbor. “They will come now. Our power is too weak. They will take it to town.”

And out of nowhere, two men appeared—with a car, no less—grabbed the ball, and headed to town. “They will bring it for you,” he said.

About an hour later, the two men returned and our neighbor’s son, a small boy who speaks no English but has a huge smile, marched into our flat, airless ball in hand. It seemed even the petrol station pump was without a pin.

Sure the ball was deflated (still), but our neighbors weren’t defeated. They searched for other means of filling the ball, and even found a friend with a pump just up the road. (Sadly, his was also without a pin.) But after several hours and a few more failed attempts, we realized it probably wasn’t going to happen. At least not today.

But knowing our neighbors, and knowing this place, I’m sure we’ll still find a way.

Happy Thanksgiving! (Nam-Style)

Last year’s Thanksgiving was a pretty lame affair. Jessica and I had just arrived in Khorixas for the first time and were still reeling from what I can only assume was pure culture shock. We headed to a rest camp outside of town and feasted on chicken and chips. And as we did so, we made every effort to pretend we were somewhere else.

But this year I think we go it right. Mostly because this time, Thanksgiving actually felt like Thanksgiving—complete with mashed potatoes, gravy—and yes, even specially ordered turkeys! So maybe we weren’t with our families back home, but Jessica and I hiked up to Rundu (part of the way in the back of a cabbage truck in the pouring rain…) and spent the holiday with our “family” and friends here in Namibia.

Four generations of Peace Corps volunteers (Nam 25, 26, 27 and 28) spent most of Saturday cooking. Nam 27 was in charge of pumpkin pies, apples pies and vegetable side dishes (for 40!), Nam 26 had mashed potatoes (17 kilos!) and carrot cake, and Patrick, a member of Nam 12 who so graciously hosts Thanksgiving dinner at his rest camp each year, took charge of the turkeys (5!). Being newbies, Nam 28 just got to sit back and watch.

This was my first time cooking Thanksgiving dinner, and I think it’s safe to say I learned a few things: You can never have enough gravy (or enough mashed potatoes). It’s never too early to start cooking (which is good, because most of us wake up at 5 a.m.). It is possible to make cheesecake without cream cheese, shopping the day-of ain’t no big thang, and sometimes "fine china" is just paper plates.

Perhaps most importantly, I learned that when you’re PCVs, it doesn’t matter whether the food comes out hot, or whether it comes out at the same time. Instead, it just matters that we’re there, our friends are there, and the turkey’s there, too.


Nam 26, 28 & 27


Not Sure What to Make of it...


Me & Rachel


YUM!

Reflections of a Recreational Reader: Part III

I've never understood a society of want. We don't have a society of want--not on a general level. We have a society of total surplus: unwanted goods. Unwanted people.
--Studs Turkle, Hard Times

Finding yourself comes right after discovering your insignificance.
--Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

At the approach of danger there are always two voices that speak with equal force in the heart of man: one very reasonably tells the man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of avoiding it; the other even more reasonable says that it is too painful and harassing to think of danger, since it is not in a man's power to provide for everything and escape from the general march of events...In solitude a man generally yeilds to the first voice. In society, to the second.
--Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

Any action that has self-glorification as its end point is bound to be a disaster.
--Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Happiness grows in direct proportion to acceptance and in inverse proportion to expectation.
--Michael J. Fox

It's better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of someone else's life with perfection
--Bhagavad Gita

Some people say, 'New York's a great place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.' I say that about other places.
--Robert DiNiro

Whole foods and industrial foods are the only two food groups I'd consider including in any useful pyramid. We should simply avoid anything that has been processed to such an extent that it is more a product of industry than of nature.
--Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food

I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor--such is my idea of happiness.
--Leo Tolstoy, Family Happiness

Risk is the cost of aggressive objectives.
--Andy Grove

Goodbye Girls Club

School's officially out for summer, which means last week we said goodbye to our first ever African Stars Girls Club. It's been a pretty amazing experience watching these 13 and 14 year olds change and grow over the last year. So many of them have come into their own, developing stronger voices, gaining independence and finding new confidence.

We taught them about teamwork and self-esteem, oral care and public speaking, heart and reproductive health, self-esteem and future planning. And while the send-off party was a success--complete with stickers and songs, certificates and scented soaps (a rare combination, I realize)--I was still a little sad to see them go.

Sure, some of the Grade 6 leaners will be back next year, when our African Stars meet again. But a few of my favorites (like little Rosa, who over the past year has transformed from a tough and tumble bully to a kindhearted but no nonsense, smart and talented girl) are heading elsewhere for schooling.

It makes room for new girls to become African Stars, but it still leaves a bit of a hole where the original ones used to be.


Olivia Making Red Ribbons for World AIDS Day


Joancey Hard at Work


African Star Girls!


(Rosa's in the Red)

Confirmation: Fancy

A couple of weeks ago--after a long, hot and heinous hike--I came home to find four of our learners all dolled up in their Sunday Best. After weeks of classes at the local Catholic Church (some of which conflicted with Girls Club...ahem) these young ladies were confirmed.



Best of all? They were nice enough to stop by to show off their fancy dresses!