grey area...

I've just watched a chicken get slaughtered. (Not my first time). Soup to nuts.

I ate the heart. And a leg and thigh. That stuff was not tender. 

Inadvertently, I dipped pap (porridge) in pre-cooked chicken juices due to lack of sopa (soup). If I have salmonella tomorrow, we know why.

Also, as an aside, I chase chickens. 

Not for extended distances or anything, but they're everywhere. 

One can barely walk the distance of two city blocks without encountering a chicken. 

So, I chase them. I feel it is deserved retribution for roosters crowing at 3am, ne?

In Namibia, like all places, villages tend to spring up near water sources, or places where there are abundant natural resources. My village is at the centrally located on the Kavango Cattle Ranch (KCR), which is made up of a large number of farms. We are the second largest cattle ranch in the world (or so I've been told), only recently usurped by some meddling Australians, and their sheep...

My village is an unnatural one. 

It's like a suburb—hundreds of kilometres from anything else resembling civilization.

The village, itself, is only a half century old.

We live here because the jobs are here.

Whereas in Namibia, most homesteads are spread out—to farm, to establish land rights, to give space between neighbors; we are a settlement.

Not quite a Katutura. (Herero translation: 'place where people do not want to live').

Not forcibly located, like in the past, but still shoved together.

No privacy. Humanity on display. 
One can look in any given direction and glance about to see directly into another's homestead, into the gaps of their mud huts or corrugated shelters, witness a family unit in motion. 

Almost like an urban center, complete, with lights lining the streets. An anomaly in the bush.

My village is shaped in the figure of the number nine.

The loop is in the west, ringed around the school grounds.

My side, or 'that side' is the stem, shooting off to the south east.

I live in a cement structure with plumbing, electricity, and gas.

All provided by the Namibian government.

Mama J—, L—, V—, and C— are my host family and roommates (ages ranging from 45 - 8).

I live in a three bedroom house—four if you consider mine is the wet-room off the garage.

I have little to complain about.

While I am isolated, surely—I am four to five hours from my shopping town... 
There are certain 'perks.' 

We are anomalous in that while only a village for 2,500, we possess the following: 
—a gas station* (M-F only)
—a mechanic
—a butcher (for KCR employees)
—a shop that sells milk and eggs (a new and exciting development this week)
—access to high(ish) speed internet (150-300kbps depending on whether there are strong winds)
—we have a pool—and a 'clubhouse' (that only a couple of Afrikaner ladies use)
—two back-up generators (as the power goes out constantly during the rainy season—November to April)
—a network of bore taps in every yard; no walking necessary to gather water
—and the MTC (major cell provider) tower sits in my front yard approximately twenty feet from my door (I have the best service in the village. People point their phones toward my house just to transmit a text into the ether...).

We still do not have community showers or toilets (but they've just been repaired from some major vandalism, and they're working on housing construction, so fingers crossed, a number of people can utilize them soon.)**

I live in an urban village in the middle of... where? How do I describe it?

It is not desolate—we have plant-life and wildlife abounding (in the wet season). It is not 'uncivilized'—we are living proof. But, it often feels like a grey area. I live in not quite a village.

Tonight I spent the evening with a number of my colleagues at F—'s Sport Bar, also affectionately known as: the Teacher's Canteen. They listed many of these plus and minuses and numerous others. What entices them to stay here at this place they were not raised in, so far from their homes. What makes them frustrated with this almost village.

What I know is this.

I live on the Red Line. Straddled on the border of two regions.

Otjozondjupa, and Kavango West.

I am surrounded by goats, chickens, and oh so many bovine.

I live in a village, but not quite a village.

And it takes me a hell of a long time to get everywhere.

*Having the benefit of a gas station this far into the bush is unheard of—except that my village, hell, my entire region, is owned/managed by the Namibian Development Corporation (NDC), in which a major stakeholder is the Namibian government. We are a major cog in Namibia's beef production. That said, again, it is unheard of. This is a country where on every map, towns with gas stations are prominently shown so that you do not become stranded and die from exposure of the harsh elements... or wild animals. It's strange. Truly, truly weird.

**The Namibian President recently visited a dam which was run by the Namibian Development Corporation (NDC), and found substandard living conditions for it's workers. He brought along news cameras, so the rest of the country saw them too... In my village they followed the developments and repercussions of this visit very closely—villagers actually were passing around newspapers, which you see rather infrequently here... Soon after, construction commenced... Coincidence? Hmm..