August 25th - September 6th School Holiday Travel Adventures

1.) Fish River Canyon, the 2nd largest canyon in the world. Chloe, Chris, me, and Will at the start of our 85 km trek. 2.) View of Fish River Canyon before our descent.

3.) Beginning our 550 meter descent, with only a chain to occasionally guide us down the cliff-side.

4.) On the wrong side of the river, trying not to plummet to our deaths as we scale boulders.

5.) I'm looking guilty as I take the best bath of my life in the canyon's hot springs.

6.) Purple and orange scorpion, tail full of venom, crossing my path in the defensive position.

7.) Will and I and our disconcerting skeleton friend.

8.) Chris, Chloe, and I on a loose sand stretch leading to a field of rocks.

9.) After the canyon, we camped next to the highest point in Namibia. Chris and Will are by the tents with Spitzkoppe mountain in the background.

10.) At Spitzkoppe in deep, contemplative thought on the boulders.

11.) Will, me, Chloe and Chris striking a pose as we explore our rocky playground.

12.) Will and I looking "petrified" at the Petrified Forest. The fallen tree between us is actually not a tree at all but a rock, compressed over millions of years.

13.) 2-6,000 year old rock engravings by Tweylfontain. From the 5 fingers on feet and tail, we know that the lion is actually a shaman who transformed into a lion to speak to the Gods.

14.) The irate bull elephant that entered our campsite at the conservancy like he owned the place.

15.) I am thrilled to be so close to a my favorite animal!

16.) Will and I and Stampy as he marched through the camp. He found us again at 12:30 am about 20 meters outside our tent, ripping branches off of trees for his midnight snack. We hid in the car.

17.) One of the ostriches that ran in front of our car with its comical yet powerful legs.

18.) One of many graceful giraffes we've spotted on the roadside.

19.) A wild cheetah cub at the Otjitotongwe Cheetah Farm. (They can't live in the parks because the lions are too competitive and they just die out.)

20.) This wild male cheetah is leaping for his dinner which has been tossed at him from the back of our bakkie. (I believe he ends up making the catch.)

21.) Will and I petting a "domesticated" cheetah (we had to stay at arm's length). The purr was really loud! Note my UVM Track and Field shirt, meant to be a challenge to the cheetahs.
22.) A wild cheetah with hungry orange eyes.

A Taste of Opuwo

1.) Celebrating my birthday with a cake made by Ayoola!
2.) Me, Erica, Lindsey, Jen W, Ayoola, Chloe, Norene and Evelyn at the Opuwo Country Lodge the weekend we had many visitors
3.) A view on the way to the lodge
4.) Front porch, braiding extensions into Loryn's hair
5.) Ayoola, ever the teacher, showing Tjiuee some new words
6.) Tjiuee giving her mischievous-face on the porch alonside Mickey and a bowl of the Namibian staple food of porridge
7.) Dune (pronounced Doo-nah) after we covered her in fairy glitter...it was stuck to her for days, oops!
8.) Himba women on the walk to Will's place
9.) One of the many churches in Opuwo; this one boasts a lot of pretty greenery outside
10.) The sun setting behind the mountains; view from the Opuwo Country Lodge

"I am Smile!"

I have been feeling blue for a long while; acting anti-social, becoming easily annoyed with learners, and even counting down the days until I go back to America. I decided yesterday that this sulkiness needed to stop and that part of my problem has been my lack of involvement in the community and culture.
As a runner, I’m grateful for the experience of being able to see more than the average person. My favorite run has become a long, straight, dusty road; as written about in “Road to Sesfontein.” The village I run past is called “Katutura.”
Yesterday I took the side road lined with mounds of garbage. It was dark and the trash was burning high in two places. As I ran, I passed two groups of boys ranging from about ages 6 to 9. One boy in each group had a piece of lit cardboard and both groups asked “where are you going?” I said I didn’t know. In fact, I had to turn around soon after I met them because my path was blocked by a thick wall of smoke. (I found out later it ends in a canyon filled with trash. The town dump. I asked a man what would happen when it filled up. “Don’t say that….Opuwo.” The end, he said.)
I turned at the end and on the way back came upon all the boys together, about 10 of them, huddled around a small pile of burning cardboard like a camp fire. I then noticed they were wearing no more than tattered shorts and T-shirts, all ripped and threadbare and dirty. “Are you cold?” I asked. I was warm from running but I recognized that it must have been about in the 40’s or 50’s. “Yes,” they all nodded. (I’m impressed at their level of English comprehension already.) I asked where they go to school. They asked me where I was coming from. I told them my name and asked for theirs. They gave me their nicknames. I only remember the ones I could pronounce like Simon, Beckham (after the famous footballer), and the little one sitting on the ground who said his name was Smile.
The headlights of a car turned onto the road and they began excitedly, “that car is coming for us! It has food for us in the back!” Curious, I watched as the white hatchback stopped and the boys tussled with each other to get in the back of the car first. A man got out, someone I know, a man who works with my friend at the grocery store. He had warm clothes and a hat on, but rubbed his arms just the same. We exchanged hellos and I asked about the boys. They were presently helping to unload garbage from the back. The garbage was from the grocery store, and behind it was food that hadn’t sold and would otherwise spoil (and hopefully wasn’t already spoiled, it was too dark to tell). He told me about how he had seen a decrease in programs helping children like them in Opuwo in the past few years. I asked if they were orphans. “Some of them. Some of them have a parent, or an Aunt.” He told me about a shining example of a man he knows who adopted a small boy and how the boy was living well in the town now.
After a bit more conversation, I turned and ran home. I called goodbye to the boys, twice, but they didn’t hear me. They were too busy eating.

Running in Opuwo

The Road to Sesfontein

The footpath is lined with desiccated brown shrubbery and thick yellow brambles. My steps are light but they kick up puffs of dust and cause something to rustle in the underbrush to my left. I peer into the brush, half expecting one of the many large spotted pigs to come barging out. It smells vaguely of feces; and not just from the pigs, donkeys, and cattle. The bush is the toilet for those living on the outskirts with no plumbing, a lifestyle dependent on what nature is willing to give them.
The path ends and I am on a road of gray Earth and walnut-sized rocks. To the left are the fields from which I emerged, and, behind them, a hill dotted with concrete shacks and topped with a water tower. To my right are tall stick fences and round thatch-roofed huts. There is the faint squabbling of chickens and children from somewhere inside.
A pickup truck grinds past with its bed full of Himba women, their ochre-red skin aglow in the light from the fading sun. The wheels cough up a maelstrom of dust in its wake, filling my eyes and lungs as it hangs in the air. I pass the branching road where mounds of trash are dumped and later burned. It is constantly smoldering with blackened cans and shards of glass.
I hear rapid footfalls behind which eventually fall into cadence beside me. It’s a tall Himba youth with a loincloth and a long, carved wooden stick. We run with the hanging silence of our separate worlds, bound together for those few moments before it’s time for me to turn around. I wave as he continues down the road to Sesfontein.
On my return I spot four children, all boys who reach a bit higher than my waist. They are barefoot and waiting for me. When I get close enough, I shout “Indjo! Tupuka!” (Come on! Run!). They chatter excitedly and swarm around me, running proud with concentration, often surging ahead to their own cheers. I point to each head and count to four in Otjiherero. They nod to indicate that I am correct and then stop suddenly, melting back into their homesteads. “Kara nawa!” I call and fall back onto the footpath that leads to my home, just as the stars are beginning to peek out from their indigo blanket. In the distance I can hear a drum and the voices of men and women, chanting and singing, to which I match the cadence of my steps.


Bull Run

My frayed shoes pound the dust; it feels and looks as if I’m jumping in bowls of gray baby powder. Two boys are crouched by a polluted trickle of river, and watch me guardedly as I pass. “Moro!” I greet them, and they grunt a response.
I pass two Himba women with bowls on their heads, monochromatic in red dreadlocks, skin, jewelry, and animal hide skirts. They stare unashamed at me, stopping and turning in their tracks, and then jogging a few steps while laughing to let me know that I’m the duck out of water, the one who is looking and acting odd. High-pitched children’s voices shouting “Otjilumbu! Otjilumbu!” (roughly translated as “white person”) can be heard from somewhere inside the thicket of trees.
I round a corner and find a small herd of bulls, their horns and ear tags gleaming. They are closer than I wish and I have to pass within ten feet of the biggest one, the one in the lead, who lifts his head from munching yellow weeds to watch me. I look down quickly, realizing with relief that I’m not wearing my red shirt. However, I become wary of the bull’s eyes following my every move. When I am a short span past them, I begin to hear the faint sound of beating hooves. I look back to see the lead bull jogging, the others joining him, a wall of raised dust at their rear. Panicked that I have started a stampede, I take off through the trees to my left, across jagged terrain and dried up river beds.
I keep one eye out for spitting cobras in the grass, and the other for following bulls.

Brandberg

A couple weekends ago, Will, me, and another WT volunteer Aleks all went to Brandberg, the highest mountain in Namibia. While there wasn't enough time to hike it, we were able to see some gorgeous landscapes and ancient rock art. We battled through a long Kombi ride crammed into the back with 8 people, camped out with goats, and generally had a grand old time!

Blog? What blog? I have a blog?? And I’m supposed to – update it?

First off, my apologies for not updating this blog in forEVER. Secondly, my apologies for not having a clever and singular theme for this entry, as there is just too much that goes on in over a month’s absence that needs to be covered without worrying about literary aesthetics. Now, why haven’t I blogged in so long? Well, at first it was my resistance to all things positive, as I passed through the worst of the negative culture shock phase. I didn’t want to discourage my readers with more complaining, but I also couldn’t force myself to produce any sort of cheerful, sunshiny depiction of life at that point. Currently, I’m more up and down, but the downs are much less severe, and the ups are lasting longer. In addition, I have become super busy in the past month, insidiously, especially with the winding down of the first term. I only teach class six times a week, but I feel like I’m teaching constantly, and I often put in almost twelve hour days keeping the library open. This is the first year this school has had a real librarian, the first year everyone can come and check out books whenever they want, and the first year they have been encouraged, as a whole, to read, read, read! What I’ve discovered about myself is that I don’t particularly enjoy teaching (although I suspect this just has to do with the circumstances here such as huge classes, discipline problems, extreme ranges in ability, the visible effects of the learners’ quality of life, and lack of resources), but I do enjoy one-on-one or small group ‘informal’ teaching very much. That’s when I feel like I’m making a difference. They lack individual attention, and while this is somewhat draining for me at times as the sea of learners is never-ending, at least I feel like I’ve had a real connection with some of them at the end of the day. And, like the hokey-pokey, that’s what it’s all about! (For me, at least. And my apologies, one more time, for using the hokey-pokey to illustrate a point.) This wasn’t the situation I was expecting going in to this whole adventure, but you make whatever you can out of what you have, and then create your own meaning from there. And I’m quite happy with my situation, and the freedom it gives me to pursue extracurricular creative projects. For some reason, in the midst of my busyness, I up and announced to the school that we would be doing a play during term two, and try-outs would be next Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Which just created a whole new chaos of things for me to do, of which I care not to list right now, but include the challenge of the fact that very few of them seem to know what a play is (there isn’t a satisfactory translation in Otjiherero). I can’t help taking this one on, though—the prospect of a group of learners memorizing and performing a piece of creative fiction drama for the community is a bit of an earth-shattering concept that I know will excite, boost confidence and the sense of purpose for my learners as well as enlighten countless others. That is, if I can pull this off. It’s a short Namibian play I found in the library about a post-independence school with many problems both with learners and teachers. I’m also in the midst of a reading contest I created, which is measured by the number of pages individuals read. The classes are battling with each other, and 12A is currently in the lead with 11A close behind. I’m throwing the participants of the winning class a mini-party, and there are other prizes to be won by individuals. My mom sent a box of children’s books, which the grade 8’s read, while grade 12’s often bring more advanced young adult fiction to the table. They have to prove they read the book by giving me an informal book report where I ask them to give a plot synopsis as well as quiz them on characters and events in the book. Some of them prefer to really challenge themselves (I have a grade 9 learner who is brilliant in English and does this quite frequently,) while some of them prefer to stick to books they know they will understand in its entirety. Their reports are very fun to listen to, and give me a chance to correct the more glaring errors in their oral English syntax. There are a few of my learners who get so into it that it will take them about twenty minutes to explain a relatively short story. (I usually don’t have the heart to tell them to stop unless I’m really busy or have a long line of learners, plus, it’s good practice for them and good for the crowd of listeners to hear.) I’m also excited for computers that are, allegedly, coming soon. There’s a company here that donates computers, and my school is supposed to get eleven, with rumors of internet access. (That’s anywhere from 2 to 4 learners per one computer in my classes, but hey, we’ll take what we can get!) My primary concern is, despite the welded bars on all the windows, double doors with locks, and high fences surrounding the school, that these computers won’t last the year without being stolen. (I secretly hope that they will be bulky and not so brand-new). A few days ago, my principal came bounding into the library. “Carmen! Carmen! Come quick! They’re here!” He was calling. There was a big truck pulling up alongside the building, and we both starting acting like kids in a candy store, kind of leaping around in excitement. Turns out it was the ‘first installment’—the desks on which the computers will sit. They’re nice desks, really, and they were piled into the library and stacked on the tables. They are very heavy, and they are very much in my way, and I have no hopes that they will be moved any time soon without my employing the help of several strong learners. Also, I observed, they have no legs. I don’t know if we’ll be getting the legs. I don’t have a clue how they are to be assembled. I also don’t have any idea when the actual computers are coming, and once they come, how long it will take before they get set up so they are functional. Either way, I will have my hands full, because I hope to teach everyone in the school (I’m estimating about 360 learners) at least some basic computing. Keyboards are entirely unfamiliar to almost every single one of them, but I know the internet will blow their minds and really change their lives, so it must be done. In the words of one of my learners, “I want to see the internet, because I want to know what’s inside.” Who could put it better than that? Well, my wrists are sore from typing, and I think you’ve heard enough out of this blog. Stay tuned for my recounting of ‘the goat that was killed and eaten in my front yard,’ ‘the mishap with the stolen cell phone,’ and ‘the giant man-eating insect that took over Opuwo.’ Just kidding on that last one. So far, anyway. The eerie alien-bodied insects here keep getting plumper every day …

Proof that I'm not writing this blog from a closet in Montpelier

1.) Will, me, Moses, and Jocie during Orientation
2.) My principal is the one in the crazy print shirt, and the woman to his left is the US Ambassador to Namibia. Sussy, the secretary of Mureti and the owner of the house I am staying in, is to my immediate left.











3.) Mureti learners changing classes














4.) An athletics meet at the Opuwo track. My house is on the hill in the background somewhere.
5.) The green picture is at Ruacana Falls, where we descended and climbed over 500 stairs to view the water fall.
6.) Me at Ruacana
7.) My favorite animal, the elephant, at Etosha National Park.
8.) A storm in the distance, with a view of Ruacana Falls from the top.
9.) A rainbow over the house where I am staying, with Will and Ayoola in front. The school is to the right in the background.
10.) Tjiuee, me, Will, and 11th graders Tjimmy and Scala in my room.
11.) The final picture is one of the glorious sunsets. I took that picture from the front steps of Sussy's house, and the view greets me every morning.