A Glass Cage of Emotion (Anchorman)

January 28, 2010

My mood swings here are akin to those of a woman in her third trimester, complete with, but not limited to, concern and confidence; tears of joy and of sadness; utter appreciation and harsh judgment. And these emotions don’t fluctuate daily, but minute-to-minute. It is, so I’m told, common in the early stages of a cultural adjustment period or, as I refuse to call it, “culture shock”. I write this post in the spirit of a recent mood swing of the auspicious variety. Today, however, before that upturn, with the temperature in the high 90s and the air sodden due to a nine day respite from rain, we lost our electricity and our water – two apparently unrelated problems. When all I wanted to do after six hours of teaching was wash the chalk and sweat from my body, I had neither water with which to wash nor a fan with which to cool down. Thus began my emotional downswing that made the subsequent upswing that much more wonderful.

I sought solace in a book – “The Ballad of the Whiskey Robber” – and submerged myself in the plot-driven, nonfiction tale of a hapless Hungarian who becomes Eastern Europe’s preeminent 1990s bank robber. A couple hours later, I peeled myself off my bed sheets which, by then, were nearly grafted to my body, and headed to afternoon study – a mandatory hour and a half between 4 and 5:30 during which the students must return to their respective classrooms (yes, each class has a classroom…the teachers rotate) and work on whatever work they have; some partake in a select few clubs. Mr. Siteketa, Sitopogo’s English teacher for grades 8-10 and one of the kindest people I’ve met since arriving, runs an English dialogue and debate club and today, he invited me to watch their debate over the following Namibian law: when pursuing a suspect or known criminal, police officers must fire three times in the air, or warning shots, before they can aim directly at the offender. The opposing sides presented opening arguments, rebuttals and closing arguments replete with Bible references. This began a marked change in my mood.

Those participating in the debate are in my grade 10 math classes so I was finally able to see them not only out of context but fully engaged in something they’d worked on assiduously – in English. All the kids are beginning to come out of their shells for me but this was a particularly open forum with about 40 student spectators in the grade 10A classroom. During the presentations, several girls from my 9B class asked me questions about their homework and I saw, for the first time, the fruit of my relatively brief labor: seven problems on number sequences completed almost perfectly. I was elated. I left feeling a sense of accomplishment and, after seeing the debate, further integration into this small village. Then, as I walked home to get a pen for lesson planning, two girls from my 9A class chased after me saying “please, Mr. Ari, we need help!”, referring to the same homework on number sequences. For the next 45 minutes, I sat in the 9A classroom helping many groups as others huddled around to watch. At 6pm – 30 minutes later than afternoon study normally runs – I walked home having helped over 30 of my students at different times and in different groups.

The cool wind smacked my face as I returned home, a more than welcomed weather shift, but I was more titillated by drinking about 15 glasses of water from the recently fixed tap. And so, after a shower and some food, I sat down to write this blog, reflecting on my mood swings, which I see simply as symptoms of adaptation, and ultimate contentment.

Pictures: Because I have four classes of 45 kids and two of about 30, I’ve resorted to taking pictures of each and labeling those pictures with names so I can do some name memorization. Magnus, who is in grade 8, upon learning that he’d soon be getting an individual picture of himself, promptly tucked in his red shirt and hiked up his pants. Thaddeus, in the blue stripped polo, is my favorite student of that grade…and perhaps the shortest. Picture in middle is out my front porch yesterday, with a view of Julius’s hut, which reminded me of a certain Georgia O’Keefe painting.

On name recognition: one terribly helpful (for me) but sad thing about these students is that they have about two shirts each – their school-issued blue polos and another – so remembering their names sometimes means recalling their ‘other’ shirt.

Ramblings on Cattle and Staff Meetings

Farm animals. Though solitude and, consequently, boredom characterize the slower days here, I’m always able to peer out the back door or window and, for a few moments, watch in wonder as a pantheon of long-horned cattle and goats ravage the field adjacent to my house. Grazing seems too gentile a word to describe this all-day activity. Sometimes, the long-horned variety, caught up in tunnel-vision munching, stray too close to my house, causing the meek chain link fence separating the field and my ‘yard’ to buckle under their harpoon-sized horns. If I grew up in Texas or on a ranch, this daily event might not impress me. But I didn’t, and so it does.

Perhaps more impressive than the multiple contingents of 40+ cattle are those steering the herds: scrawny boys no older than 8 or 9 with long whips. The only reason this post began as it did is because I just returned from a short-lived trip to the river to read. The field I speak of also serves as the path to the water and so after nearly reaching the tree under which I usually read, I noticed I was surrounded by enormous, wandering cattle. So, I fled like a scared child, making me feel particularly pusillanimous given that the overseers of those beasts were, in fact, children. But whatever; those things are huge and I like my ribcage intact – not shattered by a stray hoof.

That was far more detail than I’d intended. This post, when I sat down to write it, was going to be about the interminable staff meeting that took place this morning/afternoon. As advertised during WorldTeach orientation, school staff meetings are long, seemingly unproductive and hilarious. During the 3 ½ hours we spent in the library sitting on wooden chairs, we covered: 1) why staff members should go to class on time and teach full lesson plans and 2) the scores for grade 10 subjects from last year. All relevant details raised during the course of that meeting were either anecdotal or general examples of one of those two topics. Josef, the friendly grade 5-7 Maths teacher, sat next to me and thankfully translated when the meeting slipped into Rukwangali, as it increasingly did as the hours wore on.

One primary school teacher, Dennis, was absent without having notified the principal, so he got the brunt of the negative comments. “Here is another example,” said Principal Sikongo, “of what a teacher should not do. Last year, Dennis added 20 points to his students’ grades after they received only 1 or 2 points on assignments and tests.” The room exploded with laughter. “I asked Dennis,” continued Sikongo, “where are these numbers from? You fabricated them!” More laughter. Then Josef, who I’ve begun to view as a young sage of the school, stood and, in passionate oratory, proclaimed “You talk about Dennis, for example, and others who neglect their duties, but you do not call them to order!” Cheers and applause. “Yes, it is true,” Hakusembe, my roommate, said in support. Maybe this meeting wasn’t so pointles. Maybe it’s just a venue for identifying, albeit indirectly, wrongdoing and weaknesses at the school. And it is for that reason that I left the meeting feeling strangely satisfied.

Pictures: Some of sunset on Saturday night, taken from my doorway, and a self-timer of me at the river earlier tht day.

Sitopogo: First 48 Hours

January 20, 2010

So my first day at school got off without a major hitch and the second was downright fantastic. Mildly disconcerting was, during a torrential rainstorm at 7 am, watching 800 kids walk 3-5 km to school, some of whom were barefoot. But it’s important for me to get used to that reality and work within it – not try to change it. Sitopogo is beautiful. While poverty is often characterized by profuse refuse and dilapidated, or even dangerous, infrastructure, poverty in rural Namibia is of a more pristine variety. That’s not to say hunger, disease and misfortune do not all run rampant. They do. Rather, because work is often agrarian and residences are mud huts, there isn’t the sort of copious garbage and crumbling infrastructure common in urban poverty. I’m trying my best to paint a picture without saying what most Americans would say in this situation, but what the hell: it’s just simpler here.

I live a few hundred feet from the school and my roommate, Hakusembe, is the head of the Junior Secondary School – grades 8, 9 and 10. I teach math to all three grades and so he is not only my roommate, but my supervisor. His authority status, however, could not be any more relaxed. He is a quiet, thoughtful man who has been at Sitopogo since 2005 and cares deeply for the kids. The ins and outs of the school are mysterious (there is a five day schedule, so each day of the week follows a different agenda, but the one devised in the first week of school, which was last week, has already been overhauled) but he has been more than willing to answer all of my questions. And I have many of them. For example, when taking attendance, why must I use the same pen (including the same black pen instead of a different type of black pen) for every day of the year? Because, he said, the register (attendance list) will look messy and it is an official document. The attention to surface-level detail here is astounding. Still, I am the one coming to help teach math. I’m not here to upend the system; I’m here to work with it.

I have over 200 students in six different classes: two for each grade. Some of the classes thus far have been train wrecks; others have been relative successes. This week, I am focusing solely on introductory and interactive lessons. It’s difficult enough for the learners (word used instead of student) to understand my English accent. It would add insult to injury if I were to begin course content the first or second day of them meeting me. One of the most encouraging parts of Sitopogo Combined School is how helpful the staff is. Pohamba and I share a storeroom that acts as our joint office and we already have plans to go to Rundu – the nearest town to shop for anything, which is two hours away – on Friday. Julius shares the kitchen and bathroom in my (and Hakusembe’s) house and is a talkative man who is in charge of the Primary School and spearheads all fundraising efforts.

This post has gone on too long but I haven’t yet mentioned the river. Today, I walked down to the river, which is only a few hundred feet past the school and can be accessed through a field behind my hosue shared by goats, cattle and chickens. As corny as it may sound, I don’t know if I’ve had such a peaceful experience in years. Sitting under a tree on the banks of the Okavango River, I watched as six girls helped each other boost 50 gallon buckets of water they had just fetched on their heads, laughing all the while. They giggled as they passed me by. “Hello”, they said. “Metaha (good afternoon)”, I responded, to which they nearly dropped the water with laughter. “Metaha none (good afternoon to you, too)”, they responded. Then, around the corner of my line of sight came three boys paddling a traditional carved out canoe, yelling at one another in Rukwangali. Then, I heard a loud CRACK as two boys, no older than eight, ran down to the river with their very, very long twine whips they were using to heard cattle back to pasture. They were running to dip the whips in the river, making their tools of encouragement that much more potent. At the bank, each took turns cracking the whip on the ground, which sounded like gunfire. Afterwards, delighted, I walked the five hundred or so feet back to my house. Amazing.

pictures: (1) the Okavango River with a boy washing himself in the distance. (2) 180 degree pivot from taking a picture of the school...where some teachers live. The mud huts. (3) my school: Sitopogo Combined School, with my classroom building on the right.

An Unavoidable Issue...

January 14, 2010

It’s difficult to live in Africa and avoid being steeped in the insidious prevalence of HIV/AIDS. Roughly 25% of Namibians are HIV positive – a rate that is consistent throughout southern Africa. There are several reasons, however, why I (and others who visit Namibia) can be optimistic. Beginning in 2003, USAID (the United States Agency for International Development) and UNICEF began an initiative called New Start to offer testing and counseling to anyone on a voluntary basis. This program continues (currently in 17 locations around the country: three in Windhoek and at least one in each province) and is now a free service. We just returned from the New Start clinic in Katatura, where counselors see between 70 and 90 clients every day.

Though I’d only done cursory research on HIV/AIDS in Namibia prior to arriving, today’s visit to New Start confirmed all that I’d heard. While free, the stigma attached to infection and denial preclude many Namibians from getting tested while myths surrounding different “cures” run rampant. There are commonly misconceived “cures”, such as having sex with a virgin (variations are with a baby or an old woman), for HIV that New Start endeavors to eliminate. Still, these myths persist and help facilitate the epidemic. If someone goes to New Start and tests positive for HIV, they receive counseling, which is required regardless of the test’s outcome, and are referred to a government hospital for antiretroviral treatment. Another wonderful aspect of this otherwise bleak and traumatic process is that the Namibian government subsidizes ARV drugs for those who seek help at a government hospital. So, while today’s visit was an overwhelming experience, I was not only happy to learn of the measures available for addressing HIV/AIDS but also comforted somewhat by knowing that if someone is willing to seek help and, if needed, treatment, there are supportive mechanisms in place. And they are free.
It’s important for me to be aware of this system because it is very likely, per stories told by past volunteers, that I’ll have at least one experience this coming year with a student, coworker or friend that will require such awareness.

The pictures are obviously unrelated…some old and some new: (1&2) New Years…dancing, I think, and champagne at midnight. (3) Statue of Sam Nujoma, the first president and a primary figure in the independence struggle,(4) the Parliament of Namibia, taken after a lunch on the lawn, (5) our Field Director Jocie’s husband, Moses, holding two enormous mushrooms we found in Etosha and at the next day.

A Few More from Etosha...

Top to Bottom: (1) Chameleon crossing road, (2)largest of three elephants seen in distance, (3)close giraffe...one of probably 20 seen over the course of the day, (4) giraffe carcass close up, and (5) one of 40 or so zebras seen all day.

Early Morning in Etosha

Jan 10, 2010

From Top to Bottom: (1) Wilder Beasts and Zebras sharing a graze, (2) Giraffe behind white flower bushes that were everywhere, (3) several Oryx at the edge of the Etosha Pan, (4) Hyena, which are fucking huge, munchin’ on a giraffe carcass, and (5) Kudu after running across the road.

I wish I could write a vivid enough description of what we saw at Etosha National Park today, but I can’t. I’ll allow pictures to cover most of the detail. Etosha, considered among the preeminent parks in Africa, lived up to every account I’d read before visiting. And apparently it’s even more spectacular during the dry season when animals are forced to congregate by the hundreds at the intermittent watering holes throughout the park. For this reasons, I’ll probably return.

The Etosha Pan, an expansive salt deposit, is the focal point of the park and can be seen in satellite images of Namibia. To the east of the pan runs a series of gravel roads on which visitors drive in order to weave in and out of the various locations of a litany of wildlife. Today, we saw (don’t worry if you don’t recognize some names…I learned many today) Springbok, Dik Dik, Kudu, Elephant, Oryx, Giraffe, Hyena, Jackal, Zebra, Chameleon, Monitor Lizard, Wilder Beast, and numerous birds of different shapes and colors. Driving in the Ministry of Education kombi that drove us from Windhoek to Tsumeb a week ago, we spent about four hours seeing the most breathtaking array of animals I have ever seen. Because so many of the Etosha animals are aggressively territorial, most notably the Lions, Rhinos, Oryx and Wilder Beast, we needed to stay in the kombi for the duration of our trip. This did not impede the experience whatsoever. Enough of my chatter. Enjoy the pictures, all of which were taken from an open window of the kombi. The best moment was watching the hyena chew on a rotted giraffe carcass. Amazing.

Teaching Maths in Tsumeb

Jan 8, 2010

Yes, mathematics is somehow abbreviated to "Maths" in Namibia.

Today marked the final installment of a four day “Summer School” program hosted by WorldTeach for ambitious secondary school students in Tsumeb – a town five hours north of Windhoek. Advertised as a special certificate program for math, economics and English, this program was really only devised to give us Volunteers a glimpse into teaching our respective subjects and grade-levels. There isn’t a whole lot to say about this week of teaching. While I appreciated the opportunity to experiment with different math lessons, the context in which we taught in no way reflects our teaching placements for the next year, for the following reasons:

Tsumeb, as a holdover from German colonization, is a relatively large (~30,000) town with excellent infrastructure and a somewhat well-off population, whereas Sitopogo, where I’ll spend this year, is a rural village of about 200 people where most buildings lack running water and electricity. Also, because of its status as a “town” (sizes of Namibian communities are village > town > city), the level of English among students in Tsumeb is very high, as opposed to Sitopogo, where few students will have heard English outside of school. Moreover, the facilities available at Tsumeb’s Etosha Secondary School are reminiscent of some classrooms in the US; the Sitopogo Combined School only recently installed running water in their buildings and many lack electricity, so I’ve heard. That being said, my first exposure to the English accents of young Namibians was helpful so that my first week of teaching in Sitopogo can be more effective given what can be the confusing, difficult to understand intonations of Namibian English. So with my inaugural math lessons in Namibia under my belt, I am looking forward to a relaxing weekend here in Tsumeb. We plan to go to Etosha National Park – only about an hour from our hostel – on Sunday before we head back to Windhoek on Monday. Stay tuned for pictures from there…

Disclaimer

As this is my first experience writing a blog, it's sometimes difficult to know which approach to 'blogging' is best given the spectrum of readers. My audience consists of family, friends, past coworkers, fellow volunteers and anyone else who stumbles upon this site. In these initial installments, I have sought to summarize experiences, offer interesting anecdotes and familiarize readers with the culture. This amalgam of approaches has proved conflicting and cumbersome so I may begin focusing individual entries on one approach over another.

Please, if anyone has any advice or feedback, let me know so I can provide a more redeeming blog. Thanks!

Oh...picture is of Hango (host in Katatura) and Tobias.

A Night in Katatura

January 3, 2010

I have just returned from spending Saturday night and today with Hango and his friends Comsesao, Katiti and Tobias in Katatura – by far the best experience thus far. Kyle and I were picked up by Hango in his bakkie (pickup truck), which became our tour vehicle for the next day, at about 5 pm. En route to Katiti’s place, the rain picked up so much that we were forced to pull over at a shabeen (local bar) because when you sit on the bed of a bakkie to travel, rain can be quite painful. There, we shared a large Windhoek Lager as we waited out the rain.

After putting our bags in our room, Kyle and I joined Hango and his buddies across the street at a large bar/club for another few Lagers, where we met many people infinitely interested in what we were doing in such an area. To explain, while Windhoek has a notable white population, many whites live in downtown or the rich suburbs and tend to retain racist tendencies left over from the apartheid era so Hango’s friends were curious why we were there. After explaining that we were going to be teachers in the northern provinces of Owambo and Kavango, people flocked to us, asking questions and telling stories. I looked at my watch, which read 8:00 pm, and realized we hadn’t eaten dinner. Hango took us to eat Kapana around the corner, a food that can only be described as such: a butcher takes a cow and after removing the more desirable cuts, slices thin vertical slabs of the remaining organs, fat and meat. These strips are then put on a braai and sold in bit size pieces by the handful to passersby for about $Na 5 (70 cents). Hango, Kyle and I sampled several types of Kapana by walking up to individual braais, dipping the meat in some salt, and then moving to the next. In all seriousness, it was absolutely delicious.

When we returned to the bar we had left to get food, we met Wes and Kevin, fellow volunteers whose hosts had canceled at the last minute. So the four of us, plus Hango and his friend who only gave us his DJ name, piled into a 2-door car and went to The Kitchen – apparently a local favorite – where we again feasted on fantastic meat that was new to us. Along with Oshifima, a staple thick porridge eaten your hands, we dined on pork ear, small and large intestine and liver before returning to the same bar. The rest of the night (we returned around 9:30pm) consisted of lots of carousing and explaining what we were doing and who we were, until retiring at about 3:00 am.

When I woke up at 9:00 am today, I assumed Hango would give us a brief tour of the surrounding area called Katatura and bring us back early. I was mistaken. Kyle, Wes, Kevin, Hango, Katiti, Tobias, Comsesao and I piled back into Hango’s bakkie and set off for the poorer area of where we stayed the night, which we soon realized was on a wide spectrum of poverty. Suddenly, upon entering this neighborhood, we realized the relative comfort of our previous location. Set against the rolling hills outside Windhoek, communities comprised of corrugated metal houses that doubled as shabeens, barber shops and car washes sprawled as far as the eye could see. To our delight, we didn’t simply drive through these areas but rather stopped about five times at different shabeens and houses for one to two hours each time. When we entered a new shabeen, the residents’ hospitality overflowed as they bought us coke, more Windhoek Lager and proudly introduced us to their friends and family. This was my first experience in a place without electricity, potable water, sanitation facilities or plumbing. Still, while it was apparent that nobody had clothes except for those they wore, we were treated with inordinate kindness. We were initially hesitant to whip out our cameras to capture the experience but when kids flocked to Kyle when they caught sight of his, we figured it would be okay. What ensued was a series of introductions to Hango’s friends and family, playing with and taking pictures of the nearby kids (my digital watch was a big hit) and lots of loud Namibian music in the shabeens. Afterwards, about six hours since departing, we headed to a rec park, which was the location of Windhoek’s biggest dam; the reservoir was beautiful, significantly so during the current rainy season. There, we again met some of Hango’s friends, who were relaxing in the park and reiterated the point that they were surprised to see white people in that area due to what they perceived as endemic racism amongst white Namibians. After much laughter and conversation, we reminded Hango that we had to be back…an hour ago – our first real introduction to what has been termed “Africa time”. We once more piled into Hango’s bakkie drove back to our hostel in Windhoek West.

Note: While at one shabeen in Katatura, Kevin and I commiserated on the fact that English lacked a non-pejorative term for the type of place Catatura is. One could say shanty town, ghetto or slum but all of those connote distinct negativity and when discussing Katatura with a Namibian, it’s rather rude to take such a tone.

Ari

The New Years Braai

January 1, 2010

As promised, our New Years braai offered some much needed relaxation. To prepare for what we saw as our first big night in Namibia, we walked around the corner to the bottle store (liquor and beer shop) to peruse our options for local beverages. The standard Windhoek Lager was purchased in excess along with some of the less popular Tafel Lager, and some local licorice-flavored hot stuff (liquor). Everyone has gotten along rather well but New Years was an important time for more casual conversation. After we finished our beef and boers (sausage), everyone collected outside the hostel (yes, we stayed in…a little lame), the drinking commenced and I was finally able to get to know my fellow volunteers a little better. In addition, Moses – our field director Jocie’s Namibian husband – brought several of his friends to the party so we were able to splice an introduction to Windhoek residents into our efforts to strengthen group camaraderie.

One fascinating experiment of the evening was lighting fire starter, which is some composite of wax and a flammable chemical, and tossing it to one another because evidently, it isn’t hot to the touch for the first few seconds you hold it. The attached picture shows one of many failed attempts at fire starter hot potato as Megan drops it into the braai. Anyway, up until this point, I had been having a difficult time letting go so it was much appreciated. The next morning, however, was not so appreciated. Somewhat bubbalus (hungover), we awoke for a 9:30 am start on some more training. This was a distinct turning point for me. On Saturday night, Kyle and I are staying with Jocie’s friend Hango on the outskirts of Windhoek in a place called Katatura, which is essentially the outlying slums area.

Ari

And So it Begins: My First Trip to the Southern Hemisphere

December 30, 2009

It turns out that the rumors about 15 hour flights are all true, particularly when sitting next to a man much too large for his narrow economy-class seat. Though very kind, the South African who shared row 76 with me must have weighed 250 lbs, which forced me to lean to one side for the duration of my flight from JFK to Johannesburg. Upon arriving, we learned that our connection to Windhoek, Namibia had already finished boarding – a small hiccup that would have been far more disconcerting without the solidarity of 13 other traveling WorldTeach Volunteer companions with whom I found comfort and confidence. About five hours later, when we landed in Windhoek, there was a pervasive euphoria amongst the group precipitated by jetlag and the overall prospect of this coming year. We collected our checked luggage (yes, all of it) in good humor and traveled 40 minutes to Windhoek, spotting our first wildlife of the trip: a fat baboon eating on the side of the road.

At seven time zones ahead of New York, the piercing 4 p.m. sun of Windhoek seemed cruel for a group of weary travelers. We ordered pizza, cracked open a Windhoek Lager and began discussing our respective expectations and trepidations for the next year. We are staying at a backpackers’ hostel in Windhoek West with full days of orientation that encompasses a crash course in culture and teaching-specific information. These days have been a tad overwhelming but a welcomed training-wheels sort of transition to living here. After all, it’s everybody’s first time in Africa, let alone living here.
Much of our time is focused on this training with little time for exploring. Luckily, we can look forward to a relaxing night on New Years, when we’ll have a braai (barbeque) and enjoy some social lubrication. Until then…

Ari