(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 |
