For my final project I choose to do a spoken word performance of a poem I wrote integrating all of my classes (Religion, African Political Science & History) as well as my internship at Physically Active Youth. The writing was enjoyable and the performance was a bit nerve wracking but tons of fun. I feel it is a good closing post as it incorporates a lot of the issues I was faced with this semester. And although it doesn't answer many questions, that is because I have yet to answer them myself. Thank you to all those who read and followed my journey!

Is It Worth the Airfare?

Is it worth the airfare,
To impose on someone’s life?
To bring what I know, what he or she or we know
Into the light?
The answer is no more often than yes,
My money may be better of with a U N I C E F across its chest.
Yet who is to say, does the amount I learn,
He or she learns,
Outweigh what we might bring back someday?
It is so easy for us, the kids of wealth,
To visit Africa and return with this misguided passion,
Almost like a change in health.
Although our ideas may seem impossible and sometimes flight-less,
Screaming help at the top of our lungs just isn’t cons-cious.

Beneath the immediate emotions of missing home,
Missing family and girlfriends and boyfriends
We can’t text from the phone.
We must stay focused on what we want to know,
For we often learn the most,
When we are alone.
Speaking of phones, thank you MTC.
The signal was great,
I even got service under the baobab tree.
We did learn a lot, its in here somewhere,
I just hope I don’t leave it on the laundry line
Stuck in Jimmy’s underwear.
Forgive me if this is too wide, or I brush things aside, even misguide,
But please let me summarize what we learned from Outapi,
To Swakopmund’s tide.
Starting from the beginning, with Romanus as our source,
We learned of the colonizers and when the country changed course.
With the Germans came violence and new views of god,
Seemingly with no one to stop and say,
This is odd.
This is not our land or our traditional way,
But they felt confident enough to wipe the whole system away.
The sad truth and one often filled with hope,
Is Namibia’s past is right here,
You don’t need a telescope.

The turn of the century came like a tornado clearing the way,
With the only difference being, the oppressor just wasn’t as far away.

But are things better? In a serious way?
A multi party system? Bullshit to me,
Can no one see we’ve gone way past just the majority.
All the false hopes and lies they feed you,
Embedded in promises of a future that seems feasible,
To some an average income and a nice home seems just unreasonable.
So SWAPO, where is Namibia going?
Or are you all just waiting in line for the next showing?
Sorry to say, but when the curtain opens and the programs read,
Vision 2030, an epic disgrace,
People are gonna be looking around the theater for someone better to run this place!

Where Nikons vanish and Canons disappear,
In desperate efforts to simply persevere.

What happens when the place we don’t want to live,
Becomes the place we don’t want to go.
Its all luck of the draw,
Just don’t take a photo.
I love Katutura with all of my heart,
PAY taught me that success and failure are not far apart.
The children are screaming education, education, education!
While the only ones responding are the churches
With salvation, salvation, salvation.
It’s not my place to say,
I’ll be the first to admit that any day.
But do all the kids want to be Christian,
Are they even shown another way?
Christianity,
Constantly putting people’s morals to the test.
But it seems that most of the country
Only uses it on the day of rest.
I don’t know much about Paul,
But I would guess that’s not what he had in mind at all.

The North brought heat and the tempers to match,
Sam and I even learned those honey badgers are damn hard to catch.
Outapi, oh how to explain?
Oh wait I have a whole lineup of kids,
Ready to complain.
Beyond my family’s immense love,
And the food I was served,
The simplicity of life,
Is what I so attentively observed.
So, thank you meme, or should I say mama,
Until next time,
Kala po Nawa.

Illness took over and nearly shattered the group,
Then came Pick n’ Pay, oh my god “I have to Boot.”
Ya ya being sick is a good story and all,
But we almost lost Alissa before she got to the bathroom stall.
We returned home with bow and arrow and basket in hand,
And even with a better understanding of this land.
Upon first glance,
This place doesn’t have much,
But when one looks deeper,
Its rich to the touch.
Very few have wages they’d call sufficient,
I’m sorry did someone say GINI Coefficient?
With so much to share and so few to use,
Why don’t we see Namibia more often in the news?

Every season is a season of change,
And Namibia’s in her spring,
Even if my analogy is strange.
What she needs is a leader and somebody to watch,
Or we could start by getting everyone a Swatch.
Maybe I’m wrong or you simply can’t stand me,
But how come I can count the number of good speakers we’ve had
On less than ten phalanges.

“If it pays it stays” a speaker explained,
But where you do you draw the line between a loss and a gain.
For those who can pay and have paid are gone,
Leaving the country with no more than a welcome song.
Namibia is left in this grey area I guess,
Filled with pawns who don’t know the first move in chess.
This lack of knowledge in board games and such,
Leaves time to learn from the best, whom we trust so much.
When I say the best I mean the rest,
Those countries who have been through this distress.
They’ll send their love,
And maybe even a soccer tournament for motivation.
Until they find what they want,
Like minerals and diamonds and an oil foundation.
We are left behind with this burning sensation,
Of a country left,
With no occupation.

Why are we so lucky, as a group I mean,
We may not realize, what we have actually seen.
Being in the trenches of a country in growth,
Has been uncomfortable,
For you and me both.

One last attempt at poetry in motion,
And I thank you all for your attentive devotion,
August 14th, imagine us all dropping a pebble,
Into this lake we’ll call Namibia, filled with rubble.
Circles move outward, ripple after ripple,
Until the surface sits still,
Perfectly level.

We falter in trial, and in trial we grow,
We decolonize our minds from moving too fast to just slow.
We learn that our feelings should not be toyed,
Or void, and most certainly not destroyed,
But instead, employed.

Experiential is what they said,
At the beginning and end of the trip,
And with that I’ll agree,
For in between is where the memories sit.
So is it worth the airfare?
The last question I’ll pose to you.
Cause I don’t know the answer
And don’t think you do too.