Happiness is: The Creepy Crawlies

I’ve learned a lot since arriving in Khorixas. And while little to none of it has to do with why I’m actually here, it’s still part of adjusting to life in the Peace Corps, in Namibia, and in the smallest place I’ve ever called home: here.

For starters, it seems even gentle rain means no electricity. No light. No cooking. No dinner. No cell reception. Sometimes for days—like say, the last three, when gale force winds and torrential downpour knocked Khorixas out of commission. Sure, back in the states summer rains meant cool breezes and fresh air. But here they mean moths the size of your face gathering on hallway walls, flying ants with helicopter wings, creepy crawly cockroaches and the biggest, grossest bugs I’ve ever seen climbing all over my bed net while I’m trying to sleep. (I thought the mice in 2R were bad!)

The good news is if I don’t kill the ants, they’ll haul off dead cockroaches and I don’t have to do clean up duty. Which is perfect, because I didn’t buy a mop. Maybe it’s because I spent college with roommates who loved brooms and sponges and used cleaning as a reward. Or perhaps it’s more that I just wasn’t thinking. But it seems this non-essential-in-my-past-life device is absolutely essential here because the thing is, I live in the dessert and that means not just dust, but dirt. Lots of dirt. All over everything, including, but not limited to: my floors.

Along similar lines, I now realize that when living on a budget, there’s no need to purchase two kinds of soap. Dish liquid works fine on clothing and washing powder is perfect for dishes. Sometimes, you don’t even need soap. The bathtub can also do double duty as a giant sink when your kitchen was built without one. What seemed strange during site visit is now just, well, normal.

With 24 of sometimes the longest hours in a given day, things like flossing have become part of my daily routine. Not because hygiene is important (though it is) but because it takes time and time is something I have a lot of. Baking bread took perhaps too long in the states, but in Namibia I find it takes not nearly long enough. I’ve perfected my raisin bread, white bread and pizza dough over the last two weeks, and have an entire cookbook to tackle over the coming two years. It’s lonely to cook for one, but my dad always told me in a new place, food helps make friends.

Here’s hoping.

I’ve already polished off a library’s worth of literature and can now safely say there is no such thing as a bad book when it’s the only book left to read. My old editor at the Daily Local included a Sunday Times in the last package he shipped. I’ve been reading it section by section when I need to feel normal again. It’s easy to forget that old news is still news when you haven’t had a chance to see it. And here in Namibia, I rarely see it.

Mail day is still the best day of the week because it holds the promise of letters from home, packages from friends and general contact with the outside world. Jessica and I take turns rushing our P.O. box (which is often guarded by one of those face-size moths) on Friday mornings. Thursday’s delivery is supposedly dropped and sorted by then. But we’ve noticed more often than not, our correspondence comes when NamPost finds it convenient. That can be Monday or Saturday. It can mean leaving empty-handed six days in a row, but walking out with an armload of packages come day seven.

The good news is, sooner or later, it’s all arriving.

But perhaps the best news of all is that I’m settling in. I may not be sure about my job or my duties—and the fact my supervisor announced today he’s moving back to Nigeria probably isn’t going to help that—but I’m getting comfortable where I am. I’m making friends with Namibians and finding ways to occupy my time without taking on too much responsibility too soon. I spent Sunday in the squatters’ camp (which looks a little like the kind of place you’d expect to see Sally Struthers) playing soccer and netball with the kids. I helped coach Jessica’s track practice last week and lead an HIV support group today. Our after school leadership program kicks off next week and I’ll have my acting debut (Danielle would be proud) in a drama about HIV testing on Valentine’s Day. (Romantic, isn’t it?) Sometime soon I’ll also be putting those journalistic skills of mine to work editing the OYO publication, which I’m really looking forward to.

Sure the transition from city to village, America to Africa can be rocky at times, and slow and frustrating at others. But I’m getting the hang of it. And despite the gross bugs, huge moths and the possibility of a rat as a roommate (did I fail to mention that?), I’m without a doubt happy to be here.

In Namibia. In Khorixas. In the Peace Corps.

I’m happy.

And it feels good.