Showing posts with label life abroad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life abroad. Show all posts

Sunday, 31 May 2015

road trip — a detour

day 6

I think I killed Ali.

I hadn’t, but sleeping in an unfamiliar place is difficult, and when you add the way a car accident jerks you about, it’s neigh impossible. A little past midnight, I found myself peering through the darkness to the adjacent bed for movement.

While we both escaped mostly with bruises and stiff muscles, Ali’s head had smacked against something, causing a lump. Guilt and discomfiture were keeping me awake.

Unbeknownst to me, Ali, was awake, too.  Finally, the wench batted something from the front of her face. Whew. Alive.

The next morning, Titus awoke us with Calvin (the gent who gave us the tour of the cats) and apprised us our Peace Corps driver, Jefda had called ahead – and that breakfast had been prepared for us.

Seriously, Hammerstein Lodge. You are amazing.

The drive out on that same stretch was a little tense, I admit it. We learned—after the incident—that another car, a 4x4 bakkie driven by someone who lived in the area, had overturned about 100 metres from where we had—the week before. Not comforting.

I spent most of the drive asleep, slumped over the backseat, clutching my seatbelt, drooling.

Two memorable moments with the Maltahohe police… After a while, I realized that the glassy eyed man in the cage was not some unkempt officer, but conspicuously drunk. A second, far more bedraggled inebriate joined the first wavering on his feet, and it clicked. A public shaming in the town square.

The other was, upon hearing where we lived, they started hollering for their ‘Kavango’ and ‘Herero’ speaking colleagues.

While the gentleman speaking Herero was able to communicate with Ali, the man who approached me was not speaking Rukwangali. My Ruk is, admittedly, terrible, but I know if you’re speaking it or not. Hell, I even usually know what’s being said. Unfortunately, he started off in one of the seven languages spoken in my region that are not Rukwangali, and while a native speaker could sort it out, I am no such thing.

Turns out, he’s speaking Nyemba, a language spoken in Northern Kavango, but primarily in Angola. He then enquired if I spoke Chokwe, another Angolan language. I’m afraid I was nothing more than a disappointment to them all, but Ali, as she had with the English to English translations, covered for me and rocked a conversation for about ten minutes.

See, not all Americans bungle languages – just me. Pffftt.

Eventually we made it to Windhoek, were x-rayed by astoundingly attractive radiology techs, after being checked out by the Peace Corps medical officers. Ali’s took too long (by about five minutes), leaving me to a pissing contest with the PCMO, Lyn. (Figuratively).

Lyn has been working with the Peace Corps for… 29 years? I think. She’s lived in, at least, 26 countries. During the course of my physical exam, it turned out I have minor hearing loss in my left(?) ear.[1] The woman is in her sixties with perfect hearing. I had to trounce her on the eye exam just to show her up. Second to last line at twenty feet with my left eye. Beat that, woman.

[1] Considering that I am struggling to remember details now, perhaps the memory loss should be at the forefront of my mind rather than the hearing…

day 7

Don’t you celebrate Ascension Day in your country? No?
While our x-rays showed no injuries—to our unpracticed eyes—other than the whopper on Ali’s skull… We had to be cleared by the radiologist at the Catholic hospital, whose MRI department was closed for the religious holiday. So. An extra day of medical hold. Joy. [2]

Prepared for the idle of holiday (and the eminent temporary closures of most businesses), we entertained ourselves by dying Ali’s hair. I’ve never made an assist apart from my mother’s hair, which, though she attempts to hide it, is shock white. You know if you’ve missed the roots. Not so, on a brunette punching up the colour to an auburn. Just another thing to be paranoid about, I guess.

[2] So we never got to Sousessvlei, but at least I’d gotten a full night’s sleep.
Ali tells me I fell asleep mid-sentence.

day 8

Get me out of here.
The thought hounding my brain, for though while I’ve been idle with friends in the capital, and we’d been gorging on yummy Indian cuisine at Garnish, and sushi at Nice… the purgatory of medical hold is not an acceptable holiday alternative.

Made worse was someone had let it slip… (A— you’re the worst, I love you). And we had been on the receiving end of frantic enquiries as to our health.

They mention the rumor mill during your pre-service training.
It’s like high school. Equally un-formed, half-coherent tales abound about all manner of situations.
It’s easy to laugh off the idea of adults participating in a specious rumor mill, until a series of your acquaintances get fresh meat in their teeth.

By mid-morning, we were medically cleared and free to go.
My next move? Get to the hazy coast, and sunny Jacques, now, now, please.


For photos of this leg of the trip, check out my google+ album, here.


Saturday, 30 May 2015

road trip — the Maltahöhe plop

day 5

Look, the trip odometer flipped back to zero. We were at 1900+ yesterday.. 
We’re at 19 now, plus, I assume 2000, plus the first hundred before we remembered to track it. Nice. [1] 

It was our second to last day with the car, and we were headed to Sousessvlei.
Ali had lost her sunglasses, as one is wont to do during travel, and we procured a new pair, purchased food to braai, gassed up the car and headed out toward Maltahöhe—our final destination to be Sesriem.

By this time, I’d learned that Ali, while spectacular in many realms, is not always positive of her geography. It's not that she gets lost. Its the tone of uncertainty in her voice as you head in the right direction. It makes you scramble for the map. Just to make sure you're right, and that you can prevent her from swinging into a U-turn preemptively before you've gotten to the mile marker you're aiming for..

It doesn't help, though, that the tourist maps of Namibia have giant dots to indicate cities and villages, but are so large, they often block intersecting roads, and locales will be designated by their relative location, but sometimes on the opposing side of the road, or even a road over—according to the map, should the graphics prove too overpowering. (The reality is, though, it’s pretty hard to get lost in Namibia, even with a map that is lacking.)

Anyway, we hit a snag.
After the fact we designated it ‘the Plöp.’
Well, take a look for yourself. Do you see the problem?

the Plöp


A decidedly unfortunate turn of events.
One minute we’re slowly chugging down the road, the next, I’m cursing: Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Trying to correct the slide, but we've slipped through deep sand, and, upon spinning, encountered a ridge of sand that proves too great for the combined force and low wheel base.

Ali exits first, crawling through the back, and out the door. I’m hanging there, upside-down, attempting to process the fact I've just flipped a rental car that is, one, on my friend’s credit card. And, two, that we’re alive. Then I’m handing her sandals through the broken window.

I had trouble finding words.. Minor shock, I suppose.
Staring dejectedly at the car for a moment, I looked over at Ali. 
Shit. I am so fucking sorry..

Random snippets from my travelling companion immediately following the overturn:

At least I found my sunglasses.

The wine didn't even break. [2]

Hope, I know you don’t believe in God, but I had just taken my knees down from the dash. My legs would've broken.

Don't worry. We have no cell service, but we've got plenty of food. And a tent. ... I've got to pee. 
And off she went. A whirlwind, that one.

In my perturbed state after flipping a vehicle, while staring at the car, I for some reason pulled out my left earring and chucked it away from myself, only to realize my behavior was spastic, and then set to looking for it (to no avail), while gathering other random debris that had been evacuated from the car during the plop.

I tried to rescue the leftover pizza from the day before. 60-second rule, right? We were in the bush—desperate times, you know? (Ali will never let me live this down, so I must own to it, though at the time, I was attempting to be surreptitious. It was ham and pineapple pizza. Worth a salvage attempt, one would think.)

And, though we overturned in the middle of bushveld, with no cell service, it was almost midday – and halfway to Sesriem; within five minutes three vehicles had stopped.

One of the more excited tourists kept voicing, Surely, together, we could turn it over.. 

The Namibians on hand were of a more practical nature. I was whisked to a nearby lodge—Hammerstein—by a Mr. Opperman to deal with the immediate aftermath, and necessary phone calls, while Ali sat on a camping chair with Mrs. Opperman in the bush, waiting with the car.

I think she may have processed the whole thing better than I, as she had to sit staring at the thing for the better part of an hour.

By the time Ali reached the lodge, I’d managed to have the car arranged to be towed with the rental company and recovery service, had dealt with the mild (yet reasonable) hysteria from the Peace Corps office, confirmed for the eighth time that, ‘yes, we were wearing seat-belts.’ The morning pick-up to file a police report and for the obligatory chest and neck x-rays that follow any auto accident had been scheduled, and I had been head-butted by a rogue springbok. [3]

Unbeknownst to me, though, was that not only had the lodge staff stowed our bags in our room for the night, they’d done so in the intention of comp'ing our stay.
Hammerstein Lodge is wonderful. Full stop.

I will say, that such prompt assistance, and ending up at a place with such a warm staff was great luck in a bad situation. Titus (one of the nicest men in Namibia) plied us with espresso and hot chocolate, then insisted we dine with the other guests, but that first, we should rest before the nature walk to see the cats. Pardon, wait, what? Did you say cats?

She's braver than I am.
I'm not into petting animals I'm not acquainted with. Wild or not. I stood nearby the guide, Calvin..
The last cheetah I encountered was decidedly bad tempered.

In the end, that rental car bill will cost us—but, we’re alive, and it’s only money.




[1] If you count the additional 80 km from Maltahöhe, and the 100 or so from Mariental... We made it about 2299 kilometres before calamity struck. Ali has made the joke that we've now fully integrated as Namibians.

[2] I would later break this same bottle of wine, by swinging the mini-fridge door open too quickly.

[3] That particular springbok later stood about a half metre away, chewing its cud, staring me directly in the eye, while taking a hefty dump. I guess he told me.

For photos of this leg of the trip, check out my google+ album, here.



Thursday, 28 May 2015

road trip — Keets/Mariental

day 4

Brought to consciousness early—by the industrious sounds of camp being packed all around us, I stumbled over Ali and out of the tent, my bladder compelled in the cardinal direction of the ablution block.

Arriving back at our campsite (no. 11, picked for its proximity to the toilets and it's relative privacy), Ali was standing sleepily looking over the remnants of the previous night's festivities.

We agreed to breakfast at the canyon, and began to pack up camp.
The fire pit was easy work, as I’d cleared most of it the night previous, apart from the coals. It was the tent which proved to be moderately vexing.
When I said we flung it open the night previous, I wasn't joking.
You pop it into the air, it opens up, et voilà.
It had been a while since when I’d packed the sucker last, but my memory served to remind me that the five step process suggested by the pictorial instructions, was in reality three steps that harbored very little similarity to those on paper.
We figured it out, threw it in the back, and trundled out to the rim for breakfast before we would head to Keetmanshoop for our next stop.

Due to some miscommunication, once in cell service we found ourselves without a place to stay for the night, so we decided to take in all Keets had to offer, then head north to another volunteer’s site in Mariental.

It turns out Keets has a thing or two to offer, those things just differ greatly from person to person. In Ali’s mind, I think that offering came in the shape of the tripod pug at the Quiver Tree forest site. She reacted with the same wonder and joy I would witness the next day upon her interaction with cheetahs.

For me, the hyraxes topped the Kokerboomwoud (Quiver Tree forest). Hyraxes are thick, furry and rounded herbivores, usually around the size of a household cat. Once pegged as harmless tourists – and therefore no threat – the mother of the hoard opted to ignore us, sunning herself atop a mound of stones. The adolescents scrambled at any sound, and the babies, curious, peered from the rock crevices, less adventurous, and more likely to take cues from their matriarch.

After we downed the bulk of a couple pizzas under observation of an encroaching flock of birds, we hop, skipped, jumped down the road to Giant’s Playground... which was for me, a bit meh.. But, Ali is down for bouldering, likely due to her geographic origins, so off she went exploring the odd and random geometric patterns effected from wind erosion, while I would occasionally holler to ascertain her location, trying to figure out if there was anything to see here, other than a tourist’s trap..

Midday, we headed up to Mariental to hang with Sinthu and Evie.

I think in the end, it was better all the same for the change of overnight locale…
Oh, and I finally took a picture of this: 




Namibia is host to a large number of ephemeral rivers. Though most of the year they are dry basins, they are never-the-less marked at each bridge along the highway. In the north, the names of these dry tributaries are varied—in the south, such imagination isn't evident. Aub, for example is, I'm told, a Herero word for watering hole. Wasser is, well, wasser.

From day one, we'd taken to calling out the names of the river placards as we passed them. 
Aub, Aub, Aub, Wasser, Fish, Aub... 

This was day four, yes? 
We'd gotten to the point we'd just call out: 'Aub, aub, aub, fish, aub' at random.

For photos of this leg of the trip, check out my google+ album, here.



Monday, 25 May 2015

road trip — Luderitz

day 1

My camera is in the trunk. My coat, too.
These are the thoughts skimming my brain as Ali and I ease back in our seats, on our final approach to Luderitz.

Ali, in the driver’s seat, turns to me and asks if I’m seeing it, too.

The sunset; a hazy technicolor dream.
Chalky and brilliant.
The sun permeating the haze, making the air appear to shimmer and move.
Gold deepening to amber, a deep carmine flooding toward the horizon.
The landscape, a dark and shifting backlit horizon—ever-changing mountains, ridges, and hills as the road wound through.

In the end, I rationalized no pictures, no words can express the scene.  Also, that, since my coat was in the back, I’d be cold fetching it and the camera… after driving continuously throughout the day, comfort was king.

notable absurdities:
—A very kind lady at a petrol station agreed to fill up my Nalgene water bottle, and asked if I wanted cold water. Um, sure, I replied – it doesn’t have to be cold, it can be a little warm. Strange, I thought, I've never had that question, before… And she seems to be taking an awful lot of time for the tap.

Turns out, due to my miscommunication, this obliging woman took the time to boil water and proceeded to fill my Nalgene.

Never will I not say ‘tap water’ again. My mistake, absolutely. Oh, my poor warped Nalgene.

—That night, tired and snuggled under the covers in the next room, we listened as marginally inebriated PCVs discussed Himba culture and the industry of tourism that their tribe engages in, and the startling contrasts evident now in their culture from such interactions, with a fully intoxicated German tourist.[1] 

While they meant well, the conversation didn't lend to fully informed discourse, but I've got to applaud them for trying to rally—and engage in a third goal conversation (essentially) with a semi-hostile German.



[1] Levels of intoxication are approximated. It was a conversation through a wall, after all. We didn't rouse them to our arrival until morning, because, hey – it was late, and we were warm and comfortable under our blankets, having a lively conversation about relationships and sex at an audible level in the next room. So, maybe the onus of responsibility was upon them to recognize our voices…

Though, as it turns out, I was on the receiving end of a minor bed-bug attack at that particular back-packers… So immediate karmic retribution for avoidance, maybe?



day 2

For photos of this leg of the trip, check out my google+ albums, here and here.

With luck, and the local PCV's assistance in finding the tourist bureau, we made the last tour of the weekend at Kolmannskopp.

Loved Ali all the more for it. One, for submitting to my enthusiasm, and secondly for actively engaging intellectually. We tramped along the dunes from structure to structure. Myself, mostly silent, photographing faded stencils and accumulating sand—Ali voicing her observations and thoughts on the tour introduction and the realities of the DeBeer's Co. practices.[2] Echoing my own thoughts, and expanding on them.[3] 

We stayed until the last possible minute, then headed back into town. I had my first turn at the wheel of a manual transmission in… a decade. I stalled that mother. A lot. Those next thirty minutes were comical. Also, pedestrians do not cross the street in the same type of fear you witness in the north of Namibia. In the south, they stroll. Evidently ‘right of way’ is an acknowledged right of pedestrians. Culture shock, for this northern Namibian transplant.

Kolmanskopp, Namibia

Kolmanskopp, Namibia


Kolmanskopp, Namibia

Afterward we picked up the local PCV, who we’d previously (unceremoniously) dumped at the tourist bureau to scramble to the NamDeb tour. Before we headed to a braai at Griffith Bay, we decided to head to Agate Beach and try our hand at spotting washed up agates (diamonds embedded in rock) on the shore.

‘Smooth, and oh they can be any colour’ wasn't the most illustrative expression of the object we sought… With a questionable description on what we were looking for, exactly, and after rambling a ways down the beach, we had given up. I hadn't cared much to begin with, and had actively been picking up shells and keepsakes as if I've never seen an ocean before. (My purse pocket was filled, and by then possessed the salty smell of decay particular to such treasures).

Finally, I looked down, and saw one rock that was not like another.
Success. An agate. Embedded in rock, beaten by the ocean floor, until the hearty strength of the stones within were exposed by a softer stone, layer by layer. Upon holding out the stone for inspection, Ali pounced upon the smoothed encrusted stone, and I knew I’d need to find another if I hoped to have one for myself.[4]

Can you spot the agates?

Diaz Point, Luderitz, Namibia


Then off to a braai held monthly by the international volunteers in Luderitz. (First with a detour to Diaz Point, of course). All quite young, and mostly recent transplants, it was a fun, but interesting dynamic to observe the conversation amongst them. I may just be jaded, and though I am absolutely thrilled by their spirit of service, it is hard to relate, at times, with newer volunteers—and those who have not experienced the cultures of the Namibian north. I hope they make their way from the coast, and above the Red Line. [5]  



[2] It reminded me of E— + E—’s wedding. When R— was shushing me for quietly commenting on (dissenting) the vows the minister was employing.

[3] Namibia bought a 50% share in the DeBeer’s diamond mining industries in the nineties, and as such, the controlling interests are ‘NamDeb.’ This means the government is able to participate in and profit from mining their own resources. This is, of course, after the great bulk of diamonds have been harvested from the sands of the coast over a centuries’ time. In some places, like in Sperrgebiet, the diamonds were so plentiful, they could be gathered, essentially, by the shovel-full from the dunes in which they resided. The tour guide, of European descent, gave the introduction a level of incredulous humor in stark contrast to the gaping realities of the subject matter. Especially in reference to the smuggling attempts, and southern Africa’s first and finest x-ray machine. The NamDeb tour needs to be rethought, and a cultural curator employed. Stat.

[4] I did, of course, once we knew what they looked like, but my favorite catch of the day is a nearly perfect orb of clear quartz reminiscent of a pearl.

Much of my rock quarry was abandoned in the courtyard at the back-packers. I’d like to lie and say I artfully arranged them to some end, but really, I just dropped them in a half moon around a potted succulent and then laughed at the absurd number I’d acquired, then discarded, in an afternoon’s time.

[5] One particular volunteer was highly offended by my using my knee to gently push back the face of a waist high dog that was nosing for food near the fire. She gave an insulted cluck, and snidely remarked ‘That’s rude...’ Americans and Europeans, you are this close to driving me nuts with your treating dogs like humans. And the expectations that others should do so, too. Curb your damn dog.

Oh, my. I could go on this rant for ages. I won’t.


Friday, 13 February 2015

remember, when...

(The bulk of this was originally handwritten—in green ink—during the long combi ride home last Sunday).

I just did something I swore I wasn't going to do.
But, there I was, digging in my pack. Excavating in search of my pen like a wild person.
Just after I’d completed a previous dig for my lip balm. I’d unloaded half the damn pack the first time, too.

People always do that.
The frantic, urgent search for something, because in a moment you’ll forget it and it won’t be vital anymore.

I've changed my mind about what I said in Otjiwarongo.

I've friends there, situated in a five room flat, who play host to a never-ending, revolving intake of guests. Because they’re good hosts—and it’s fun to keep track—they have a log-book. Each page has a simple form: Name | Random question | Follow-up question/comments | Dates of Visit.

They humor me, and twice I've pushed for a new line of inquiry/random questions regardless if the last page isn't quite full..

This last time, the random question, and the follow-up were, “What would you do in Nam that you wouldn't do in the states?” With the follow-up question, “What would you do in the US, you wouldn't in Nam?”

This was prompted by the realization that the act I’d been currently engaged in was far from polite behavior. What would I do in Namibia and not in the States, you ask?

I was picking at my nose. At a table. With other people present.
Would I do this in the states? Probably—but not so blatantly.

That I realized my behavior was atrocious table manners—and then vocalized it—brought on a conversation amongst ourselves of other strange, and previously dormant or slight habits that have popped into the noticeable realm since we've been living here. Things considered acceptable in our current culture.

The second follow-up question was scribbled in over what was previously the “other comments” section, when I realized former's inadequacy, and that the line of thought needed to be completed.

What would most of us never do in Nam that we would back home? The general consensus of the women ringing the table? Date. We followed this unanimity with our own personal horrors stories… Even those fresh to the country (two months in service) had a wealth of tales to tell.

And since we’d all come to consensus, we needed to come up with our own response on the log. Mine? Enjoying bar culture/drinking in public.

I don’t enjoy partying in clubs crowded to stupid proportions in Chicago, to be fair… But in Namibia, the shebeen culture here is one mostly rooted in binge drinking. There are exceptions to that rule, and for that I’d like to belatedly rescind my log-book statement.

When you don’t know the proprietor, it’s easy to have an opinion on someone else’s set up. A faceless entity is easier to criticize. And, though even though the set-up is often one of ramshackle nature, there are, again, exceptions.

Around payday—it’s hard to see around the village binge-drinking culture, what with the throbbing amps pouring Afro-pop into our village lanes, and ranch hands stumbling in and out the doors—still in their blue work overalls, 'KCR' emblazoned on their backs. Some are propped up on crates—leaning against the walls made of mud from softened termite mounds. Others, still, are asleep in the shade in the street out front of the bars in the center of the village, while more pass in and out of the doors exchanging unopened bottles of warm beer for cold, or looking for friends, conversation, gossip, or a decent fight.

All that said. On any given day, in the middle of the month—when the money has run out, and there isn't a steady stream of customers roving from bar to bar—one might find scenes more familiar to what one could find in the states.

Whereas the image at home might be of persons tuned into one of the multitude of sports channels flickering at the front of the bar.. Or of two old cronies on a park bench playing chess or checkers with the board between them—here we have 'bao.' Played by teams or in solitary face-offs, the [male] old-timers of the village hunker down in the shade and wait semi-patiently for their time at the board, watching the game as closely as one might follow a professional sports game. Focused concentration with bursts of verbal abuse, or praise, for an ill-considered, or a clever move, respectively. They've got big bottles of beer at their feet, and they’re steadily drinking, sure—but their main focus is the game.

Another reason I want to rescind my assertion? They’re sitting right in front of me in the combi. Two of my colleagues have a shebeen. One that I frequent about once a month. We play pool, I make my other colleagues buy me beer, we braai chicken.

Whereas in a larger town (one that shall not be mentioned), people are more likely to sidle up and try to run their fingers through my hair… Or, alternatively, smash bottles against the posts in the streets and start brawls—and, in this case you get either locked out of the bar in the cross-fire of flying glass – or you are locked in with those too drunk to care to witness the insanity... Or they’ll just stand and stare at me, because what the hell is this pale woman doing in this bar in the rukanda?  

In my own village, where people know me, I've got less to worry about... I can hang out and few people bat an eye at my presence. And really, I’m not fond enough of bar culture in the states to make such a statement (excepting the now-closed Bluebird wine bar... moment of silence, please).

But, back to the original general consensus on what we women—in particular—would do in the States, but not Nam. Date.

Namibia—Southern Africa in general—is a culture stuck in a lock-step of antiquated ideas of gender that have no legitimate place our evolving world. Will this change in our lifetime? Probably, towards the end of it… Now, though, we’re struggling. People (usually men) will frequently say, “It’s our culture.” To which I tend to respond, “Bullshit. It’s your sexism.” Probably not an appropriate PCV response, but damn, if you ask a learner to sweep up a mess he’s just made, and he tries to refuse because it’s a “woman’s” job to wield the broom... Well, you want to forget that corporal punishment is illegal and cuff them on the side of the head for their stupidity.

Men are coddled in this part of the continent (probably other areas of it too, but I’m not living there, so I can’t speak from experience). They have it pretty good. Sure, they’ll be called in for manual labor from time to time, but the bulk of the menial work is done by their mothers, their aunties, their sisters, and their daughters. Boys and men take it as a foregone conclusion that women and girls are here to serve their needs. They feel they have the right to the upper hand domestically, socially, and—ultimately—economically.

What happens when a women holds a job in a field that is traditionally held by men? I live in a country of over two million. We have countless male truck drivers. Hundreds. Thousands. As of December 2014, there were four female truck drivers that operate out of Walvis Bay. I've never been there, to Walvis Bay. How do I know there are four females currently behind the wheel—and that one drives an American-style cab that has the steering on the left instead of the right? Because people talk about it. All the time. People who've never met them know their names. It’s an ‘exceptional’ thing for a woman to have a ‘man's’ job here. And, being on the road is a mobile workplace, it’s visible. Even female police officers shake their heads in surprise.

With that mentality in mind… You think you've seen something in a Hollaback NYC video? Friends, take a gander at gender relations down this side. Whistling, stalking, shouting, harassing, whining, begging, snapping, honking, groping, serenading. Whatever it takes to get the attention of a woman pointedly ignoring you, because here, as they say—“No means maybe” (and they wonder why rape, assault and domestic abuse are such problems). A woman may be half a block away, and they’ll start hounding her. How such behavior has produced results, I’ll never know, but half of the population in this country is under 18... So, all I can say is either the women here are either far more forgiving to the pathetic way men behave… Or they just don’t know any better. (More's the pity).

While this is a solid reason not to date the bulk of Namibian men (this includes Afrikaaners/Boers as their behavior is no different than native Namibians), my reasoning to the dating bit was along a different line of thought.

Dating an ex-pat living abroad is an equally frustrating experience. You think when travelling abroad you’d meet independent, adventurous souls open to change, right? Sometimes, occasionally, sure..

More likely? They’re less independent, and more self-involved than they first appear. And adventurous? Open to change and experiencing culture? At the initial glance, yes. And why not, they're experiencing other cultures, and stepping outside of their comfort zone.. Unfortunately, many get to a point where they break. They want home. They want their normal. They get angry and frustrated at little things. They’re monstrous to be around.

There are exceptions, but let’s talk briefly about the dominant ex-pat profiles:
Foreign aid-worker: They’re often fresh out of college, a retiree, or if not, on a specialized career path with certain short-term and long-term goals. Dependent on their integration, there may not be a great deal of wiggle room for a changing perspective. (Maybe when they've had more life experience?) And if they've left their sweetheart/girlfriend/wife behind, only to engage in a fling overseas, they prove their lack of worth/staying power right off the bat...

Perpetual travelers: There is a large variety of these, dependent on age, experience, mode of travel and personal wealth, but I’m speaking to both extremes of the spectrum. The wealthier ones, who flit from place to place with a massive chunk of id, and a blindness to their surroundings… and the ones on a shoestring budget, who tend to mix a bit better in their surroundings.. At times it seems as though they'd prefer the landscape without the inhabitants.

Permanent Ex-pats: Often in a hotelier or tourist driven line of work, they tend to surround themselves with other 'western' compatriots. A bit of home, abroad; sometimes this isolation of themselves from the culture they're living in can turn a bit nasty.. In the form of racist diatribes they assure you 'aren't racist, they've just lived here long enough to know...' 

As to exceptions. Yes, they exist. They've either fallen in love with the culture they lived in, or with a host country national, and found a way, together, to make it work.
The bulk? They’re headed home. They’re dabbling. They’re tourists.
It’s hard to date here. It's hard to date abroad. Southern Africans, and ‘fellow westerners,’ alike.

And bar culture? Forget everything I said. I’m headed off to the shebeen, shortly.
We’ve got a braai on tonight.

The view from behind Feb's Sport Bar Shebeen | the Kavango Cattle Ranch, Namibia

Monday, 17 November 2014

journals, diaries, letters, blogs.


Writing, for myself, is a therapeutic tool.
Then again, so is sitting and wool-gathering.
But when I do that, I wish I’d brought a pen and pad along.
I've forgotten some of the best prose I've ever dreamed up for lack of a writing device.
I can never remember those clever turns of phrase.
They’re a one off.
My old phone held hosts of audio notes. Ramblings I’d listen to later on and laugh at.. Scribbling down the droll quips in the process.. Deleting them to make room for the next..

Back home I’ve a large quantity of journals.
Housed in safe keeping, a world away, in my pop’s spare bedroom along with the other few things I’ve held onto…

I’ve written essays, and plenty of pure drivel.
Philosophical quandaries, delusions of grandeur, occasional rants..

Journals are an excellent place to expel the toxicity in one’s life.

Occasionally one goes back to re-read the idiocies scribbled down..
Some encounter with an ex, a disagreement with a sibling, memories, or infuriating conversations, desires, and fantasies.

They’re private, wild thoughts. Intimacies meant only for one’s self.
A cloistered purge of words. Written and ensnared on the page, shackled in ink.
Where they won’t haunt you anymore.
At least until you've re-read them, musing as to how you could've been so foolish.

There are few things more dangerous than reading another person’s diary.
What you find held within is another version of the diarist.
A private expulsion of all of those secret thoughts and deeds.
Real and imagined.
Half-finished thoughts or entries.
Full pages of rants.
Scrawled notes without context.

As someone who keeps a journal, I have only once been tempted to read the ramblings of another without permission.

It sat there, on the table, in plain view after a disastrous weekend in the country.
I was, admittedly inebriated, and tried to reason with myself.
Attempting to absolve myself in advance for cracking the spine.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
This gross invasion of privacy and betrayal of trust that seemed so tempting to my addled brain. I knew the friendship was over anyway, so what was the harm?

I knew better, though, the representation of a person on the page—is not a representation of the writer, but of the thoughts that they grapple with.

I knew, also, that I couldn’t keep it to myself.
There are good reasons to keep secrets, but they are few in number.
I admittedly have a handful, but, they tend to be the private sort.
Ones that don’t affect anyone but myself.
Or those kept on behalf of others. Things that do no harm.

Had I opened even the first page, I knew I’d have to admit to it.
First to myself, the sojourn I knew better than to embark on…
And messy aftermath of losing someone’s trust permanently.

Now, though, we have blogs.
Online journals, shared without such concerns.
All written with various motivations, with differing results, our private thoughts splashed about the internet. Is it vanity that makes us choose to do so?
An idea that what we have to say is important, perhaps?

I like to pretend that no one reads this blog.
That mine is hidden amongst the hundreds of thousands of blogs that populate this online network.
Though I know better, I still feel as if I am writing in my moleskine to myself.
Working out a problem as I tap at the keys.

Letters, too—and emails—provide an outlet.
But those are written with the recipient in mind.
Private, still, but a shared thought, fear, frustration or happiness intended only for one other.

Much to the dismay, I am sure, of the late, great Bobby Britain, I write the bulk of my ramblings without an audience in mind.

This note, however, is not one of them.

Sister mine,
Please desist in the excavation of pages contained in chronicles left crated and dusty.
Those thoughts are mine, and they were not written with distribution in mind.
You will not enjoy what you find within... Some things are, and should remain, private.
Yours truly,
The author



The above image has been borrowed from Notebook Stories, as my SD card, now unable to transmit data, has gasped her last breath in Africa. 

Friday, 17 October 2014

distractions.

I didn’t so much ditch the last half of school today.. As much as I fled.

Fridays are my favorite day of the week. Not only because of the obvious. All of my classes are within the first four periods of the day.

Which means I’m done by 9:40am. Three solid hours of work and class time, and my obligation has ended for the week. I’m free to beg off and bolt.

Today, instead of heading home, I made for the government(ish) office in my little village in the middle of the bush. They have wi-fi. Mostly, it works..

Here’s the thing about our little arrangement on my borrowing their broadband..
I refuse to sit in the office.  They offer, nicely, every time I stop by..

This is the government(ish) office where the four other persons who could be referred to as pale in my village are frequently found (well, at least three of them). They manage the cattle ranch which employs the vast majority of the population in this odd little cattle region..

Except for the clinic nurse, myself, and the other teaching staff at school (and most of the 386 learners); everyone in my village is employed by the ranch.

It might not make sense, but something just feels wrong treating those offices as if they were my own personal space, to come and go as I pleased... Even when I’m given leave to do so...

Anyway, I’m off early.
And since the internet – the real internet, not the achingly slow connection provided by my 2G USB adapter – is a rare treat, I had things to download, update, and install. Pressing things. The constantly warn you the digital apocalypse is about occur if you don’t update your operating system alerts, because you’re still working a few versions or plug-ins back.

And did I do any of that before my computer died?
Nope.

Like an impressionable child distracted by a shiny object within their field of vision, I was distracted by skype. How funny to have a video chat on the lawn as people are streaming around you. An unexpected treat for this Friday.

Sixty some days till Malawi?
Sixty days…

Lake Nyasa, Nhkata Bay, Malawi


Thursday, 9 October 2014

this is africa, ne?

It doesn't always feel like I live where I live.
Despite the mud huts, the donkey carts, and epic tracts of sand traversed..
It’s surprisingly easy to forget..

Yet, something about wading amid deep hippo footprints and elephant
dung, pushing aside papyrus looking for a private spot to piss, on an island in the middle of the oKavango, really does trigger a realization as to one's current locale.

The weekend was spent near the mouth of the Zambezi [Caprivi] Strip around Divundu.
A couple of nights sleeping next to the oKavango River in an old hulk of an RV camper, with the sweet grunts of hippos as a lullaby through the night.

It was beautiful.
The icing, though, was the boat ride, piloted by an experienced guide, and an abundance of wildlife.

Palms | Kavango River

African skimmers | Kavango River

Bundled papyrus | Kavango River

Carmine bee-eater | Kavango River


Look closer, they're shy.. A lesser jacana. | Kavango River

Kids fishing | Kavango River

Pod of hippos | Kavango River


Crocodile | Kavango River


Fish Eagle | Kavango River


That shadow there? Its an elephant. | Kavango River


African skimmer eggs | Kavango River


Fishing | Kavango River


Bird in flight | Kavango River


Goliath Heron | Kavango River


Lily | Kavango River



Wednesday, 8 October 2014

vultures, and eagles, and parrots, oh my.

Well. Just when I thought I'd be spending a lazy day in the capital...
I found myself, instead, on a birding adventure at NARREC — a non-profit organization whose primary focus is to provide professional care and rehabilitation facilities for injured, orphaned and misplaced wildlife in order to facilitate their release back into the wild. 

We showed up a little later than we anticipated.. According to the directions on their site, take every unmarked left... They meant all but the third (fourth?) one, one could assume, as we found ourselves in the hills at a dead end originally. 

There are a host of birds currently at the centre; among them, various eagles, falcons, vultures, owls, parrots, as well as a number of mammals and reptiles... My favorites were two birds in particular. One, an injured White-backed Vulture, was a sweetie that would swoop over to the fence for a nuzzle. The second, a rescued African Grey Parrot, was capable of throwing its voice to sound as if it was speaking Afrikaans, which was a little jarring at first. Ek praat nie Afrikaans nie. But then we realized he was just trying to convince us to stay longer at their enclosure. I admit, I'm a sucker and stayed for a while with this last flirt. There may have been an Eskimo kiss or two.. Nose to beak. He was a spunky bugger. I considered thievery briefly. 

Visiting Windhoek? Check out the NARREC site for more information. Also, more here.

White-backed Vulture | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia
Cricket or Grasshopper? | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia


Black Eagle | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia



African Grey Parrot | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia


Flora | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia


Deceased Fauna | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia


King of the Ants | NARREC | Windhoek, Namibia