I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

Don’t panic! It is out of season to mention that holiday so early on in the year (although the weather outside is indeed frightful at the moment) but there’s a good reason for it. On Tuesday, Sachi commented that she had forgotten to celebrate Christmas in summer as she’d meant to do. After I pointed out the 25^th was only 2 days away (albeit 2 days and 5 months away from the day itself), and we also realised that the 25^th marked the anniversary of Peace Corps Group 36’s arrival in Namibia AND 6 months since we arrived too, we decided to have a Christmas party. On a school night. In July. Of course.

We decorated Volunteer Towers with snowflakes and paper chains, and for one evening, the shrub by the front door became a makeshift Christmas tree. Hoodies and jumpers were customised to make festive jumpers that Bridget Jones would be proud of, and chocolate bars made ideal budget Christmas presents. Can you believe Sachi had never done Christmas crackers? Caitlin and I bullied her briefly for it, and then made crackers out of toilet roll tubes, complete with newspaper hats and bad jokes. She thought they were somewhere between bizarre and adorable, but still remains baffled by Christmas pudding. Crazy Brits strike again!

 Despite only having a toaster oven with two electric hobs, we managed a slightly culturally-confused, trans-Atlantic Christmas dinner with all the trimmings – roast potatoes, carrots, green bean casserole, stuffing, pigs in blankets, and apple custard pie for dessert. We also made gingerbread biscuits to go with our peppermint hot chocolates for afterwards. I would call them gingerbread men, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate: we had one gingerbread man and a collection of other shapes, including a giraffe, a dragon and gingerbread likenesses of each other. Caitlin even made me a gingerbread to-do list : quite worrying, but most entertaining. 

The centrepiece was, however, a little more of a challenge. Unsurprisingly, it’s not possible just to nip to M&S for a pre-packaged, oven-ready, no-hassle turkey portion any more: indeed, even if we could find any kind of turkey in Namibia, there’s no way it would be small enough to cook in our kitchen. Chicken seemed like an acceptable substitute. Even then, whilst we were sure it must be possible somewhere, none of us could recall ever seeing a whole chicken in the supermarkets here. Solution? Ditch the supermarkets.

Dinner turned up on our doorstep that night, tucked under the arm of two students with whom Caitlin had made a deal earlier in the day, and very much still squawking.

 After the chicken met his end at the hands of our security guard, the kids then sat on the floor, plucking the bird in a bucket, as the three of us watched in a mixture of fascination and utter hysterics. It was certainly a learning curve for all of us and although it required a lot of cleaning up afterwards, I think I do approve of understanding exactly where your food comes from. Absolutely a change from cling film and Styrofoam trays!

It was possibly the most ridiculous Thursday night in I’ve ever had, and I think we’ve definitely all gone slightly crazy out here, but we really, really didn’t care – we had such a laugh with good food, great  company and silly paper hats. I feel like I finish almost every blog post and email with this these days, but I really will miss Tses when I leave and our departure a few weeks’ time seems far too soon. Never have I been more certain that the friends that I’ve made here are for life, not just for Christmas.

Wedding Crashers

Those of you on Facebook may already have seen a few odd-looking pictures, but there's a tale too! Essentially, in what can only be described as being in the right place at the right time, Sachi, Jenita and I were asked along to a traditional Namibian wedding celebration. The brother of our friend Elden was getting married, and on a visit to his family's house, he mentioned that we should come along to the party. I went to the shops for a loaf of bread; I came back with a wedding invitation and now desperately in need of something a little smarter than standard volunteer attire. My own Nama dress is a work in progress, so I borrowed one from a friend. I’ve discovered that I am certainly not the right shape for these dresses, and the teeny tiny waists on them make getting in and out of the blessed things something of an aerobic challenge: nevertheless, the three of us donned our dresses and varying degrees of scarves and headed out.

The wedding itself had taken place the previous weekend in Windhoek. The couple had been living in a traditional domed house that the groom’s family have spent several weeks building out of reed mats and branches for the past week, and this was another ceremony to mark the beginning of their married life. Sachi and Jenita have been visiting every so often over the last few weeks to watch the house's progress- it's seriously impressive!

The house made by Ouma Katjito and the family

Most of the guests are kept outside the room, as close family gather to watch the newlyweds receive blessings and guidance from their family’s elders. Clearly, we were expecting to leave with everyone else, but much to our surprise, we were invited  - even encouraged – to stay. The couple receive blessings and encouragement from each of the family's elders, signifying their approval and their welcoming of a new couple in their family. One of the nicest moments of the evening was the groom’s address to the three of us; as part of his speech, he spoke in English to explain the importance of the proceedings. “We all know what is gold, what is a diamond,” he said, “but this here is my wife and this is more than that. When we are given something by our elders, it is like a torch for the future, because darkness is there when there is no light.” Afterwards, he said that he was honoured to have us there, wearing the dress of his people and witnessing his tradition. Although almost all of it was spoken in Khoekhoegowab and we barely understood a word of what was literally said, you wouldn’t have needed any language skills whatsoever to realise that we were watching something exceptionally special. In a tiny village in a foreign country, in a room full of relative strangers, dressed in other people’s clothes, we had been welcomed into the heart of centuries of tribal heritage. Privilege doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The couple receive blessings from one of the elders

The three of us and the groom

Sachi and some of her students

Elden, the groom's brother, and I

We sort of learned some of the Nama dances: apparently, for a white foreigner, I’m not too bad at this Namastap business, and I’m sure our skills will be put to good use at our constituency culture fair next weekend.  Either way, it was an honour to have been there and it was certainly a night I will never forget.

"Jenita, ek kan nie hardloop nie!"

This is a post I never thought I’d have to write. All ye parkrun participants, and particularly Stuart MacDougall, I hope you are reading this and can find a way to contain your disbelief.

Persuaded by another Peace Corps Volunteer, Sachi decided to run a half marathon in Keetmanshoop this weekend.  Jenita, not quite ready for the half marathon and knowing I was running again some evenings, asked if I wanted to join her for the 5km race. For some reason that still remains a mystery to me, I agreed.

At the ungodly hour of 7am, Sachi and three other PCVs ran the half marathon.  Theirs was a small race, largely entered by some very professional-looking individuals, but they absolutely held their own, and finished the race in some seriously impressive times. Sachi “I’m-not-fit-enough-for-this” Graber was the second of the PCVs to finish – very proud of dear ‘Murica!

Sachi, Laurel and Bryan about to start...

...and they're off!

 Almost straight after the half marathon, it was time for Jenita and I to stretch our legs and get going. Unsurprisingly, I brought no running gear to Namibia whatsoever, on the sensible assumption that if I don’t want to run in Glasgow, I certainly wouldn’t want to run in a tiny village in one of the world’s most arid countries.  Apparently not: Converse and leggings would have to do. Compared to the other volunteers, I looked as unprepared as I felt. I then realised that a lot of the other 5km competitors were school children, running in an even stranger array of clothes, wildly inappropriate footwear, or indeed, no footwear at all: perhaps I didn’t look quite so terrible after all. I should point out that I was beaten by several hundred of said schoolchildren, but I did finish and I didn’t come last: quite honestly the only two things that mattered. The fact that it wasn’t actually as terrible as I’d anticipated was simply a welcome bonus.

Not quite the worst photo of me on record, but it's up there. It's definitely up there.

L to R: Sachi, Gio, Laurel, Bryan, Jenita and I. Five real runners and  some numpty.

Much to my delight, even in Africa there were post-race freebies! The idea was that you got your medal, and then in exchange for your race number, the 5k runners got a bag and the half marathon runners got either a bag or a t shirt. I desperately wanted to keep my race number, and wanted a t shirt even more – neither of which I was entitled to. We have all found that The Volunteer Excuse works in almost any situation to get some kind of discount, favour or both from almost anyone in Namibia; I figured that race day should be no exception and it was certainly worth a shot. Shamelessly playing this card twice, with my very best “I’m-a-volunteer-and-I-love-Namibia-please-bend-the-rules” face on, I managed to walk away with the standard medal, a bag, my race number and two t shirts.

I should not own 50% of the items in this photograph.

Not fully recovered, but a little less red-faced and sweaty. 

The principle of participation being more important than victory is somewhat lost on most people here – most of those who knew we were running were willing us on to win the blessed thing, much to our bemusement -, but it counted for us and I’m surprised to admit that I almost (almost, not entirely, but almost) enjoyed it. Whilst I have no idea why Namibia’s making me do such ridiculous things, I love it to pieces all the more for it and hate to think about my imminent departure any longer than absolutely necessary. At least I have another t shirt to remember my time in Namibia by!

International Day of the African Child

This is a post woefully overdue, but absolutely necessary and, I think, deserving of its own entry. On 14th June, Nowak Primary School hosted a programme of events to mark International Day of the African Child, with Caitlin and I at the helm. International Day of the African Child is celebrated worldwide on 16^th June. It is, in part, to commemorate the thousands of protesting schoolchildren killed in Soweto on the same day in 1976; in the 21^st century, it serves to celebrate heritage and raise awareness regarding the challenges facing the children of Africa.

As has been variously mentioned in previous posts, Caitlin and I have set up contact with a school in Yorkshire as part of the school’s participation in the British Council’s Connecting Classrooms initiative. We have been exchanging letters and artwork, albeit at the will of Nampost’s inconsistency, but  working with staff at England Lane JIN School, we decided to organise parallel events of celebration in both schools on the same day.

Having spent a significant portion of my Sixth Year flying around school on an organisational rampage, I was met with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu – there were students to move, rehearsals to run, rooms to set up, programmes to distribute, and an entire school in a hall to watch an assembly for which I was to be MC. Those of you that know me, or indeed my dearest mother, well can appreciate that I almost enjoyed being back on familiar territory. Although perhaps I shouldn’t say that out loud, before anything else jumps on my to-do list for the last month...

Not to my credit, but to the credit of my students, the programme was a real success. We had songs from classes across the school, I had picked out a few students to help with my short speech, our choir did a fantastic job, and we also had a short play from one of our Arts classes. It should be said that this particular class are somewhat infamous at Nowak PS – the very mention of 7A is enough to strike fear, rage or even desperation into the hearts of most teachers here. Even I would have to say that, given their behaviour at times, this isn’t entirely unjustified. However, they are a class full of exceptionally capable performers and some great personalities; we took a risk and hoped that between their efforts and the old “it’ll be alright on the night” theory, something would work. It did, and volunteers and 7A pupils alike were beyond delighted with the results. Their ability to pull their socks up didn’t go unnoticed amongst the other staff either - another teacher commented on how good they were to their incredulous form teacher who missed the event. Brownie points won, methinks. As I said to close the ceremony, I may no longer be a child and I may not be African, but I felt privileged to have been involved in their celebration of their heritage and proud to call myself a volunteer in Tses.

Our off-centre, blury but very talented school choir

Careful, it almost looks like they're listening to me...

The four students who contributed to my speech, and one hiding behind his words.
We did give cameras to teachers, as we were busy on stage: all photographic evidence is varying degrees of blurry.

I think I should probably stop before this post gets too soppy and I am forced to admit that the end of our time at this crazy/stressful/all-engulfing/loveable/wonderful project is approaching at an uncomfortable pace. I notice I only managed one blog post last month before blinking and wondering where on earth all of June went! I am waiting for pictures of England Lane JIN's celebrations, and will update this post with a few snaps from them as soon as I can.  Things perhaps also worth mentioning from this last month include taking Afrikaans classes, giving computer classes to a colleague, two outdoor funeral services in one week, yet another beauty pageant (blog entry a work in progress!), a spelling bee and my attempts to become Nama for an upcoming wedding and culture weekend. More soon from one very, very busy but one very, very happy volunteer!