Tonight I spent the evening with my colleagues at F—'s Sport Bar, also affectionately known as: the Teacher's Canteen. Peppering them with questions, as a number are transplants, though as many have a familial connection here too. What enticed them to the post—or to remain? (The bush-pay-salary-bonus rated pretty high.)
As it seems in so many places, villages tend to spring up near water sources, or places
where there are abundant natural resources, or tar roads. Most homesteads are spread out—to farm, to establish land rights—space between neighbors. In Mangetti, homes are tightly constrained, in a manner that evokes the long-gone tree line that might have pinned in a fledgling village in 15-20 years prior. It has the effect of a suburb at the edges of cattle ranch—a school, soccer pitch, maize fields, a colonial military outpost.
An outpost and airstrip intersect the very end of the gravel road, physically north of the invented *Red Line*, entered from the South. A massive state-owned cattle ranch, fenced in its entirety, with very deep wells and the remnants of its original purpose of colonial control in the neighborhood of spacious cinderblock homes with heavy-grade security bars and anti-grenade mesh window boxes.
In its current state, the village is decidedly lopsided. The neighborhoods are west and slightly north of the school grounds. Dense and compact. A combination of cinderblock and termite mud homes with thatched or corrugated roofs or metal cylindrical single dwellings, and near the heart, larger metal dwellings akin to converted shipping containers. Sand paths and gates wind between, at times wide enough for the combi to lurch through, in other places narrowing to a footpads' width between homesteads. Glimpses of family units in motion through the gaps. Half circles of chairs, around the fires, the television (at the doorway); the perpetual meal prep. In the center near the stressed old trees, shabeens where a few massive bao boards are in perpetual play. The school grounds are fenced in just east of the main village, with a soccer field to the south. A new group of homes are destined for the far side of the school, turning the village into a shape of a sideways and flat-topped A (or a crescent wrench?)
A small dusty town complete with lights lining the sand roads. I live 'that side,' on the far end of the road running parallel to the redline. I live where the colonial outpost village ends and the fenceline continues. In the land above Mangetti—on the other side of the several-meter-high fence—cattle abound too, but not with the ability to export to European consumers. My host family lives in an old cement structure, with a big green metal roof—plumbed, wired and with a gas stove. A garage sits empty, apart from choir practice for my mother's church; the windows are equipped to deter grenades.
Called by another name, but 'that side' is the one where the Boers (still, but to a lesser degree) occupy. Mama J—, L—, V—, and C— are my host family and roommates (ages ranging from 45 - 8). I'm in the mudroom. My mother runs the store, and the accounting for it, as a large number workers have a need to borrow against their future pay through the month, for supplies and food.
Some anomalies of convenience in the bush:
—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)—access to high(ish) speed internet (150-300kbps depending on whether there are strong winds)—a pool—and a 'clubhouse' (that only a couple of Afrikaner ladies use and I would f*n never.)—two back-up generators (as the power goes out consistently in the rainy season—November to April)—a network of bore taps in every yard; no walking necessary to gather water—the MTC (major cell provider) tower sits in my front yard approximately twenty feet from my door (our yard has the most powerful signal in the village (apart from the satellite at the ranch office)
—community showers or toilets (except they are not in working order and what is the point of building them and then locking them up?)
—1 to 2 combi services on Fridays and Sundays (6 hours trip to shopping town)
A hairsbreadths from the so-called red line, straddled on the border of two regions—Otjozondjupa, and Kavango West. I live in a village within a fence, along a larger fence that runs the across of the country. The call and response of neighbors can be heard through brush from one leg of the village to the other. We hop over and under the gates of fences that box in goats, and oh so many bovine; chickens forever dart in the yard, the herald of morn is often at 3am, for the 6am sunrise. Moments of pastoral beauty in the wet season are balanced with the starkness of drought, as goats mow the maize to survive.
Established more than a half-century prior, the former South African outpost is only beginning to construct more substantial housing for the workers (not nearly enough) on the Mangetti-Kavango Cattle Ranch (KCR). The imbalance in housing availability is quite stark.** Most marked though, is the lack of housing for the school (both teachers and learners). While most learners reside within their parents' and guardians' homesteads, they are largely unsupervised for long stretches, as their parents are stationed throughout the ranch. It's a much discussed concern that such a remote post that draws people from regions all over the country hasn't been prioritized by the NDC to ensure the housing, safety and sanitation needs of the village.
**The Namibian President recently visited a dam which was run by the Namibian Development Corporation (NDC), and found substandard living conditions for its workers. As he brought along news cameras, so the rest of the country saw them too... The residents of Mangetti followed the developments and repercussions of this visit very closely. Soon after, construction commenced here... Coincidence?
