With less than a week left in Windhoek, the semester is coming to an abrupt end. As often as I have wished to be home and with friends and family, I am left now with a feeling of understanding of how lucky I have been to have this experience in a foreign land. My Father came and went in a flash although he explained, “I feel like I have been here for a month.” I understand his feeling and have found that the heaviness and in-your-face experiences of Southern Africa can be both taxing and mentally straining. I do not mean to over-dramatize my experience, but do want to convey that many days are very intense while others are relaxing and spent by the pool in our enclosed and well-manicured CGE home.
My father was welcomed to PAY by Chacooley limping outside, bleeding from his ears and forehead. Chacooley, a really bright and friendly 10th grader, had gotten in a car accident earlier that day while on an errand for his mother. He was alone driving, in the ever-busy and always dangerous roads of Katutura. I asked Chacooley if was ok and replied with a sound yes and clarified that he was just going to go walk to a private doctor because the public hospital wouldn’t help him with any medication or even clean his wounds. My father was left silenced and saddened and I quickly assured him that standards are just different here. That said, I learned very early on to leave my western solutions and mindset at the door. “People are always bringing foreign solutions to an African problem” is a lasting quote from one of our many speakers. The rest of my father’s time at PAY passed with smiles on each of our faces. He had some great discussions with a few of the students and even held his own as a right-back on the soccer pitch. After a whirlwind tour of Windhoek and some great meals, we headed to Cape Town for a too nice and too luxurious weekend. After a Santos soccer game, a hike on the Cape of Good Hope, bike rides and drives up the coast (on the left side of the road) I was back on the plane to Windhoek. Cape Town was the most stunning city I have ever seen, yet everything seemed to be a step up from Namibia. These increases are seen in everything from division of wealth, retail opportunities, food, and violence. I loved the city but am a bit apprehensive about returning there in week with my group.
This week will be spent sharing and performing our Integrative Projects, which are creative projects that “integrate” all of our classes and experiences. Topics and ideas include documentaries, websites, constructing a Namibian flag out of beer caps, and of course Sam and my spoken word. I am very excited for all of them and hope that my years of listening to hip-hop will aid me in my first public lyrical attempt.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
South
We just returned from a short trip to the south of Namibia where we focused on sustainable development. We did this by staying at a government-run, community-run, and private-run campsite. The different ways in which these campsites were managed was a great window into Namibia’s ever-present development and internal turmoil. The first night we spent at a National Wilderness Resort (NWR) about 3 hours south of Windhoek near Namibia’s largest dam. Hardap dam is an odd place where we often felt like we had been dropped on Mars to explore our newfound territory. The campsite was run down and had nothing to offer other than a few cold Tafels (beer), which we enjoyed while watching mysterious and enormous fish feed of the surface of the lake. The government shovels large amounts of money into NWR’s sites, yet nothing improves. The money is lost somewhere (think corruption) and the prices rise at the sites making them unaffordable for the locals. Between these problems and the lack of anything, Hardap campsite is closing shortly.
The community run campsite sat at the base of Brukkaros Mountain, which was at one time an active volcano. Not many communities would choose volcanic rock and thorny African bush for their visitors to sleep on, but the lovely people of Berseba did. The community is working hard to improve this campsite from what little is there now. Finances are tight and they are barely creating enough revenue to pay the man who works at the gate. We spent the day in Berseba visiting a school where we planted trees, cleaned, and shared a lunch with the students. As usual, the students and faculty greeted us with beautiful traditional songs as we watched clapping and moving our feet to the beat. Once they finish their set of songs, we, the Americans, are left choosing between “Take me out to the Ballgame” or “The Star Spangled Banner” to belt out of tune to smiling onlookers. Needless to say, American culture is lacking in certain departments.
We spent our last night at a privately owned, and well recognized, campsite called Kalahari Anib lodge. As you may guess, this one was clearly the nicest and most well operated. My group of friends and I were in charge of cooking dinner for the group this night. Trying not to be boastful we created a great chicken stir-fry type dish, which we put inside toasted pita rolls. And for dessert we made chocolate fondue over the fire! The meal was very well received. We had the chance to hear from a fifth generation Namibian who was a manager with the Kalahari Anib group. He shared with us the great achievement of Namibia in the world of conservation, but also the struggles of finding a sustainable way to grow a tourist business. “If it pays it stays,” he kept explaining. He elaborated on the Namibian wildlife numbers being higher than ever due to the tourism and hunting industry. Sort of ironic to think about I know, but since the hunting and tourism industries are so valuable to the country, Namibia has been taking care of and managing animals more than ever before. He also shed light on the reassuring fact that Namibia has only been around 25 years, making them sheer novices in everything from the tourism business to an educational system compared to those of European countries or even Northern Africa. Sam and I spent each of the three nights sleeping outside although often urged otherwise. The stars were magical and certainly some of the brightest I will see in my life. I often looked to the stars as I fell asleep and was reminded that I have experienced such a tiny fraction of Africa, and am already overwhelmed. With two weeks left of class I have learned enough to know that I wouldn’t begin to pretend I know anything about Africa. It is easy, even when here; to get trapped into thinking Africa is just one homogeneous place, whereas it is more rich and diverse than any chunk of land on earth.
We are on to soccer ball number 6 of the trip and still hop out of every van with the same vigor to share it. Not a trip or day goes by where we aren’t juggling and exchanging tricks with a group of children on the street. Joga Bonito!
The community run campsite sat at the base of Brukkaros Mountain, which was at one time an active volcano. Not many communities would choose volcanic rock and thorny African bush for their visitors to sleep on, but the lovely people of Berseba did. The community is working hard to improve this campsite from what little is there now. Finances are tight and they are barely creating enough revenue to pay the man who works at the gate. We spent the day in Berseba visiting a school where we planted trees, cleaned, and shared a lunch with the students. As usual, the students and faculty greeted us with beautiful traditional songs as we watched clapping and moving our feet to the beat. Once they finish their set of songs, we, the Americans, are left choosing between “Take me out to the Ballgame” or “The Star Spangled Banner” to belt out of tune to smiling onlookers. Needless to say, American culture is lacking in certain departments.
We spent our last night at a privately owned, and well recognized, campsite called Kalahari Anib lodge. As you may guess, this one was clearly the nicest and most well operated. My group of friends and I were in charge of cooking dinner for the group this night. Trying not to be boastful we created a great chicken stir-fry type dish, which we put inside toasted pita rolls. And for dessert we made chocolate fondue over the fire! The meal was very well received. We had the chance to hear from a fifth generation Namibian who was a manager with the Kalahari Anib group. He shared with us the great achievement of Namibia in the world of conservation, but also the struggles of finding a sustainable way to grow a tourist business. “If it pays it stays,” he kept explaining. He elaborated on the Namibian wildlife numbers being higher than ever due to the tourism and hunting industry. Sort of ironic to think about I know, but since the hunting and tourism industries are so valuable to the country, Namibia has been taking care of and managing animals more than ever before. He also shed light on the reassuring fact that Namibia has only been around 25 years, making them sheer novices in everything from the tourism business to an educational system compared to those of European countries or even Northern Africa. Sam and I spent each of the three nights sleeping outside although often urged otherwise. The stars were magical and certainly some of the brightest I will see in my life. I often looked to the stars as I fell asleep and was reminded that I have experienced such a tiny fraction of Africa, and am already overwhelmed. With two weeks left of class I have learned enough to know that I wouldn’t begin to pretend I know anything about Africa. It is easy, even when here; to get trapped into thinking Africa is just one homogeneous place, whereas it is more rich and diverse than any chunk of land on earth.
We are on to soccer ball number 6 of the trip and still hop out of every van with the same vigor to share it. Not a trip or day goes by where we aren’t juggling and exchanging tricks with a group of children on the street. Joga Bonito!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Happy Halloween
I hate Halloween. Having to justify my distaste, and lack of costume, every year to a group of loud, camera happy, plastic mask smelling, hair sprayed friends, I have gotten pretty good at explaining my feelings. Like most deep-rooted hatreds, I had a bad experience. I was seven years old, Halloween night. We had just bought our current house, which looks over a nice park. My Father, in cahoots with my mother, walked us through the park looking towards our new home. Inside running through the large arching windows was my mother in an enormous white dress. I can’t remember if she was screaming but I always associate the memory with high pitched moans running through my head. Her hair was long and sprouting in every direction as her candlelit silhouette ran through our new house. My sister and I immediately began to cry and my dad quickly realized it was not humorous and he would potentially need to get the down payment back on the house. Little did we know the house was and still remains one of the scariest houses in the greater metro Denver. The second reason I detest Halloween is because I am allergic to peanuts. Unfortunately this has never hindered my consumption of candy, but on Halloween it does. At least 80% of the grub on the streets Halloween night contains peanuts or peanut butter. At the end of the night, I would be forced to shovel away nearly two thirds of my merchandise in return for flavorless Dots or something of the sort. This is most certainly not to be confused with me being deprived of any candy or food for that matter throughout my whole life, but one night every October, I was left to starve. I enjoyed some moments, it was just the idea of going out and dressing up like somebody I wasn’t and then asking for candy of all things, only to end up with 31 packs of Dots, a rogue Snickers and some Nerds at the end of the night wasn’t my idea of fun. Finally, I have an immense fear and disgust towards hair die. The smell makes me want to vomit and the appearance of a crusted vibrant color in someone’s hair has always deeply haunted me. I do not mean to put a damper on anyone’s Halloween, just wanted to say I didn’t like it. I find Namibia one of the more enjoyable places to not celebrate Halloween. First of all, there aren’t many people here, and I don’t think they know what Halloween is. Unfortunately, I live in a house with 22 Americans…
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Big O
Fall break came just at the right time and with an abundance of relaxation. It all began with the roomy and surprisingly comfortable accommodations of the Intercape Bus Service. Our Sleep-Liner bus had two levels and we each (6 friends) slept comfortably in our own row on the top deck. After a half an Ambien and some Cadbury Milk Chocolate I was at the South Africa border. We were picked up by our young yet weathered 25-year-old guide, Dylan, in a rickety Land Rover and taken to the Umkulu base camp. The base camp was beautifully situated between other outfitters, farms, and vineyards along the bank of the Orange River. The remainder of our week went by as perfectly as one could imagine. We paddled about 45km total over three and half days which resulted in lots of laying on the back of our inflatable boats and swimming when we felt warm. The river itself runs through the incredibly rugged, uninhabitable, and striking Richtersveld Mountains. We passed by hundreds of wonderful birds, including Fish Eagles, Goliath Herons and Giant Kingfishers. We also were lucky enough to see several wild horses, baboons, and plenty of sheep and goats. Our guides prepared superb vegetarian meals for us all week and we never had problems finishing our first and second servings. We spent our afternoons napping, reading and hiking and our evenings sleeping under the stars. Now back to my last few weeks of class…
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Watering Hole
Etosha National Park
• Throwing up 5 times on the way there, twice in a grocery store (bad)
o Getting to sit in the front seat of the air conditioned van to “heal”
o Front seat means great pictures on the game drive
o Getting sick all part of a photography plan
• Last van ride home from an incredible, exhausting, challenging, and unforgettable two weeks
• Throwing up 5 times on the way there, twice in a grocery store (bad)
o Getting to sit in the front seat of the air conditioned van to “heal”
o Front seat means great pictures on the game drive
o Getting sick all part of a photography plan
• Giraffes
• Rhinos
• Oryx
• Springboks
• Wildebeests
• Elephants
• Hyenas
• Jackals
• Leopard
• Lions
• Lots of Birds
• Rhinos
• Oryx
• Springboks
• Wildebeests
• Elephants
• Hyenas
• Jackals
• Leopard
• Lions
• Lots of Birds
•Our beloved soccer ball being stolen and ruined by Honey Badgers despite Passat running and yelling after them. RIP Soccer Ball, it was a good run…
• Last van ride home from an incredible, exhausting, challenging, and unforgettable two weeks
Fila
From our home-stays and Outapi, we drove a few hours towards the ocean and into the land of the Himba. The Himba people are one of the oldest groups of humans and remain almost how they were over 900 years ago. Many of you may have seen pictures of these beautiful people covered in a red paste with braids of thick red clay. CGE had worked out a complex deal with a chief, for only the second time, that we could camp next to his village if we brought some food and supplies for his people. This resulted in us staying within throwing distance of an ancient community for 3 days. First and foremost the Himba are the most beautiful race of people I have ever seen. The women, bare-breasted, wear ornate belts and anklets according to how many children they have and the girls wear brighter colored beads around the chest and hair. The boys wear loin clothes and minimal coverings but the modern dress is beginning to creep in as many boys wear torn shirts and shorts. Each night we would light a fire and eat dinner beside it as the Himba children and women would appear out of the darkness only to sit down peacefully next to our fire. When we gave them food, the peace was quickly put on hault and it turned into a scene of aggression and fury. The boys were responsible for all of this chaos, while the girls sat quietly and politely and would even wait for the boys to arrive to eat their food. We communicated with each other through body language and our hands and taught each other words in our respective languages. I spent both nights sitting and talking with a beautiful and bright 12-year-old girl named Fila. We exchanged words for star and the moon and told each other of our families. Fila will remain one of the main figures in my memory of this semester and I apologize for not being able to elaborate on that further. The experience of sitting with this community by firelight was nothing short of surreal and in that sense very hard to describe. I took walks at night and early in the morning guided by the fires of the different families and realized that this thousand year old community will be gone, certainly in this form, before I turn 50 and most likely sooner. We discussed as a group if this modernization is an avoidable, negative, and necessary thing? We didn’t come to any conclusions, but how could we, and most importantly how could they?
Eyalo
Eyalo - "thank you" in Oshivambo
The task of summarizing or capturing my last two weeks strikes me as very daunting and even silly. That said, I am off for a week long canoe trip down the Orange River in South Africa so I feel I must write something. I spent my first week in the wonderful and loving home/village of my Meme (mother) Albertina. The village was just a few minutes drive from Outapi, which is in very Northern Namibia, close to the Angolan border. The home consisted of this beautifully enclosed maze of traditional huts and fireplaces all surrounded by head high sticks and posts. Also living within my home was my 22-year-old host sister Loide and cousin Valentine, my 17 year old brother Simeon, a 9 year old Oteale, and a 2 year old Eyalo. Eyalo was far and away the cutest and most beautiful child I have ever seen. Each and every one of them could not have been more quizzical, welcoming, and loving during my stay. None of them spoke English but my Meme and Loide knew enough to get me through the day and a few simple questions. Somewhere along the line, before i got there, they decided my name was Nicky and the removal of the “y” just seemed like too daunting of a conversation, so I went with it. Before I go any further, it was 110 degrees during the day and probably 85 degrees at night. The hottest I have ever been. No water or electricity, but I was given my own little jug of water to drink and wash with, which worked out just fine. The food was incredible and the best I have had since arriving in Namibia. The older women would spend most of the day cooking on the open fire and always prepared large amounts of everything. My favorite meal was freshly killed (in front of me) goat and chicken cooked with tomatoes and onions along with delicious pasta with home-ground nut oil from a local tree. To drink was the home-brewed beer, a thick and tangy concoction that sat bubbling in a clay pot with a plethora of bugs swimming on the surface, each trying to escape the taste of my nightly challenge. Not as bad as it sounds but it was no Stella Artois. The culture is very focused on males and their superiority, which manifested itself in the women not being allowed to touch my food and the rest of the family only being allowed to eat what I didn’t finish. Being the oldest male in the home was a very odd and uncomfortable situation for me. I felt immediately empowered while all I wanted to do was fit in. That said, when I was eager to share the meat and food with everyone in the family they were surprised and very appreciative.
The initial sight of these villages and collection of huts screams poverty, yet it is only once within the community and lifestyle that it shifts from lack of wealth to an abundance of tradition. What I mean by that is I viewed my home-stay family as traditional as opposed to impoverished. In fact, I found the lifestyle quite uplifting and humbling. Cooking everything over the open fire, eating by candlelight or no light at all, and no dependence on electricity. From a mere week of observation, my family and surrounding community was one of the happiest and uplifting ones I have ever experienced. The question, which I don’t have an answer for, is what does one busy electricity dependant American take from all this. No, you or I can’t just turn all the lights off and squat by the fire, but we can all spend a few nights under the stars talking with family and friends, escaping from our own heat of the day. I understand that cultures are different, it is what makes them so intriguing and important, but when you spend time in one that seems to have its priorities so in perspective, it causes you to question your own.
One experience that sticks out from my home-stay was driving a rickety pick-up truck full of young boys and water jugs to the closest tap. We drove in and out of the trees weaving past makeshift soccer pitches, nowhere close to a road or town, to a small cement structure with a faucet. We filled seven or eight 25 liter water jugs and then an entire trash can while all the boys stared at me wondering what I was doing there. I asked Simeon how much they paid and he said 20 bucks for all of it, roughly 3 US dollars. Another great “male” experience was walking with Simeon and usually a few other boys to go gather our cattle and goats, which were usually uncomfortably far away considering the heat. We herded them, Simeon and gang always barefoot, back towards their corrals and they always complied, filing into their respective pens quite smoothly. Simeon would often laugh at me if a cow got slightly out of the pack on my side but he also knew that he was eating whatever I didn’t, so he held off. I spent the nights sitting outside my room looking up at the brilliant stars and Milky Way, waiting for my room to dip below a hundred degrees. This waiting period was only followed by climbing into the cage that was my mosquito net covered bed. I would leave the door open against the wishes of my Meme, if not I may have passed, and would wake up very early in the morning to close it before she could notice. Our home-stays ended with a massive party of all the students and their families gathered under a tree eating, exchanging stories and songs. I left the next morning arms filled with everything from a traditional bow and arrow to a full cooked chicken and Papaya for my journey. As I left I received my last broken English exchange from my Meme and sister who explained, “we love you too much my child from America, do not forget us.” I am quite sure I won’t and hope I showed them half of what they showed me.
The task of summarizing or capturing my last two weeks strikes me as very daunting and even silly. That said, I am off for a week long canoe trip down the Orange River in South Africa so I feel I must write something. I spent my first week in the wonderful and loving home/village of my Meme (mother) Albertina. The village was just a few minutes drive from Outapi, which is in very Northern Namibia, close to the Angolan border. The home consisted of this beautifully enclosed maze of traditional huts and fireplaces all surrounded by head high sticks and posts. Also living within my home was my 22-year-old host sister Loide and cousin Valentine, my 17 year old brother Simeon, a 9 year old Oteale, and a 2 year old Eyalo. Eyalo was far and away the cutest and most beautiful child I have ever seen. Each and every one of them could not have been more quizzical, welcoming, and loving during my stay. None of them spoke English but my Meme and Loide knew enough to get me through the day and a few simple questions. Somewhere along the line, before i got there, they decided my name was Nicky and the removal of the “y” just seemed like too daunting of a conversation, so I went with it. Before I go any further, it was 110 degrees during the day and probably 85 degrees at night. The hottest I have ever been. No water or electricity, but I was given my own little jug of water to drink and wash with, which worked out just fine. The food was incredible and the best I have had since arriving in Namibia. The older women would spend most of the day cooking on the open fire and always prepared large amounts of everything. My favorite meal was freshly killed (in front of me) goat and chicken cooked with tomatoes and onions along with delicious pasta with home-ground nut oil from a local tree. To drink was the home-brewed beer, a thick and tangy concoction that sat bubbling in a clay pot with a plethora of bugs swimming on the surface, each trying to escape the taste of my nightly challenge. Not as bad as it sounds but it was no Stella Artois. The culture is very focused on males and their superiority, which manifested itself in the women not being allowed to touch my food and the rest of the family only being allowed to eat what I didn’t finish. Being the oldest male in the home was a very odd and uncomfortable situation for me. I felt immediately empowered while all I wanted to do was fit in. That said, when I was eager to share the meat and food with everyone in the family they were surprised and very appreciative.
The initial sight of these villages and collection of huts screams poverty, yet it is only once within the community and lifestyle that it shifts from lack of wealth to an abundance of tradition. What I mean by that is I viewed my home-stay family as traditional as opposed to impoverished. In fact, I found the lifestyle quite uplifting and humbling. Cooking everything over the open fire, eating by candlelight or no light at all, and no dependence on electricity. From a mere week of observation, my family and surrounding community was one of the happiest and uplifting ones I have ever experienced. The question, which I don’t have an answer for, is what does one busy electricity dependant American take from all this. No, you or I can’t just turn all the lights off and squat by the fire, but we can all spend a few nights under the stars talking with family and friends, escaping from our own heat of the day. I understand that cultures are different, it is what makes them so intriguing and important, but when you spend time in one that seems to have its priorities so in perspective, it causes you to question your own.
One experience that sticks out from my home-stay was driving a rickety pick-up truck full of young boys and water jugs to the closest tap. We drove in and out of the trees weaving past makeshift soccer pitches, nowhere close to a road or town, to a small cement structure with a faucet. We filled seven or eight 25 liter water jugs and then an entire trash can while all the boys stared at me wondering what I was doing there. I asked Simeon how much they paid and he said 20 bucks for all of it, roughly 3 US dollars. Another great “male” experience was walking with Simeon and usually a few other boys to go gather our cattle and goats, which were usually uncomfortably far away considering the heat. We herded them, Simeon and gang always barefoot, back towards their corrals and they always complied, filing into their respective pens quite smoothly. Simeon would often laugh at me if a cow got slightly out of the pack on my side but he also knew that he was eating whatever I didn’t, so he held off. I spent the nights sitting outside my room looking up at the brilliant stars and Milky Way, waiting for my room to dip below a hundred degrees. This waiting period was only followed by climbing into the cage that was my mosquito net covered bed. I would leave the door open against the wishes of my Meme, if not I may have passed, and would wake up very early in the morning to close it before she could notice. Our home-stays ended with a massive party of all the students and their families gathered under a tree eating, exchanging stories and songs. I left the next morning arms filled with everything from a traditional bow and arrow to a full cooked chicken and Papaya for my journey. As I left I received my last broken English exchange from my Meme and sister who explained, “we love you too much my child from America, do not forget us.” I am quite sure I won’t and hope I showed them half of what they showed me.
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