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.

< day 5 

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

dig deep..

So the week before I met up with the Nomad for my Zambia trip, I participated in a leadership camp for kids. Camp GLOW (Girls and Guys Leading our World.)

Some of you lovely people who’d heard about it beforehand, were kind enough to give donations. Thank you all for your generosity!

I was tech person #2. This meant my job was to run about taking a thousand or so photos and make a slideshow video to show at the start of each day. I also facilitated on the side, and helped decorate all of the things.

Day of set-up, I was looking to avoid heavy lifting.

I’m strong, mind you, but they were hefting 4 meter solid wood dining tables up a winding flight of stairs. I’m not coordinated enough for that stuff. Either I or the table or both would be broken. I helped with the navigation and maneuvering of the first and quickly looked around for a project that would give the illusion of my being occupied.

Luckily for me, K— is sprawled on the floor making signs… ‘Whatcha doin?’ I ask. ‘We need dinosaurs,’ she says, as she thrusts butcher paper and markers toward me. ‘You can draw dinosaurs, right?’ (Our theme for camp was dinosaurs, and the 'Race Against Extinction'... Our motto? "Dig deep. Discover yourself.")

I eye the door where they’re grunting and shoving in a second table. ‘Yeah, sure. Dinosaurs. Which ones you need?’

For the next two hours K— ordered me about telling me what to sketch and we colored in dinosaurs. It was like second grade art class bliss. We took over other people’s projects too. It was a little rude. But we fancied ourselves art directors.

And then the children started to arrive.

Combi after combi.

It was a bit of madness. The whole week.

Each day was fully booked.

It was amazing and exhausting.

I got to work with some of the brightest kids from all over the country…

And I took thousands of photos.

Here are some of my favorite shots of Camp GLOW 2014:

kutakuta.

An ode to my old Nikon 18-55mm lens. This was the last photo before the old lens died. Finally. A kuta kuta.

I managed to get down south to the capital the next day to replace it.

Six hours there and six hours back.

It was a pretty great day, actually. I welcomed the unexpected break from school.

Somehow I was miraculously excluded from the invigilation timetable, and, with the HOD’s blessing I fled.

Got to know two of the curmudgeons in the upper management at NDC in my village.

Though the ride home was bit of a litany on grace…

Someone trying to convince the unconvincible for 4 hours is a bit much.

I should have put in my mother has been trying to steer me towards it my entire life.

I’m not going to give.

Anyway.

Got in and out of the Zambian embassy in under an hour with my visa.

They’re pretty fantastic there, in their rooftop office. Nice digs.

Afterward, inadvertently found myself where all the white people were, but by the time my quiche Lorraine and beer arrived, I opted not to care. I haven’t seen that many in one place in a long time. It put me on edge a bit. The beer helped. The manager giving me the stink eye for drinking beer at 9:45am did not.

At some point you get to an age where it is no use pretending that the arbitrary line of noon being the accepted drinking hour means anything to you. Then again, I gave up on that years ago. And, hell. I’d been up since three.

After that I roamed to and from Marurua Mall – intent on replacing my lens. The selection at the one store was crap. No I am not in the market for a telephoto lens that would not even begin to fit in my camera bag. Luckily strangers directed me back downtown. Ignored the constant honking horns of cabbies intent on giving me a lift.

Got pulled into yet another tourist trap by the lure of pumpkin cake. I mean, seriously. How am I supposed to resist pumpkin cake? Almost spent an idiotic amount of money on a green sun hat. Realized I was only attracted to it due to clever merchandising. Fought my way back to the cake.

Found the sought after camera shop in Windhoek I’d been given vague directions to – “Near-ish the Hilton, on Independence, near Markhams, I think..” Nitzsche-Reiter Cameras at San-Lam plaza. Worth it. New lens. Reasonable price.

Went across the street to lay on the grassy knoll in the park and nap while clutching my backpack with a death grip, when an impromptu engoma drum circle started taking shape. People from all walks of life joined in, and were given basic percussion instruction. It was pretty damn cool. Not the cheese you feel, say, if you’re on the Venice Beach boardwalk and there’s a band of white hipsters with Rastafarian dos and no rhythm going at it. There was joy in it.

Laying there, it was definitely an up moment. One of those hell yes, I live in Southern Africa - this is what modern urban Africa looks like. It may have just been the sleep deprivation, but I enjoyed the moment.

Back into the car. The ‘grace’ thing. After about four hours, I decide to launch in and use misdirection, distraction, and confusion to my advantage. And the fact he was speaking in a second language, Afrikaans being his first. Holy trinity semantics, Sodom and Gomorrah and Westboro Baptists, Adam, Lilith, and Eve, translations from the original Aramaic versus the versions in use now. The poor man didn’t know what he was up against when he started.

Finally worked the conversation back to the Namibian landscape. We started discussing underground lakes and rivers. The area I live in is rife with them. Not least of which is Dragon’s Breath Cave. It is about an hour away from where I live.

Dragon’s Breath Cave is the world’s largest non-subglacial underground lake. It is over a 60m descent underground, and the lake’s depth is over 100m. No one’s gone farther. Yet. It is also on private property, and in order to climb and dive, you need your own equipment.

So. New ten year goal. Not that I ever had one before.

Diving certification. And an abundance of climbing experience.

And I’m going to attempt it on a return trip.

2025.

I’ll be 39 years old. And hopefully still physically fit.

Though the ‘still’ is a bit hopeful now.

Anyway if you've never heard of Dragon’s Breath Cave…

Check, check it out.

Discovery

Discovery Tumblr

Discovery YouTube

Lake Scientist

If these links don't work... Well... That's the reality of being unable to open them on my end and check them, what with a 55kbps connection.

The plight of the PCV, unconnected from the world... And immersed in it.