Honey, I'm Home!

This post is long overdue, as I have been back in..ahem..sunny Scotland for just over three weeks now. However, yesterday was my first official outing as a Project Trust Returned Volunteer, and so I feel like I should fill you in on my last weeks in Namibia and, at least as far as the blog is concerned, mark an official end to my time as a volunteer overseas.

Cast your minds back to the 5th August, where we pick up from last time (I feel guilty even for having to write that sentence, it was so long ago). With exams looming at Nowak Primary School and a promise of a fun, stress-free week, we spent most of our last week revitalising their rather tired-looking mural, and spending time with the people we'd miss most. When Jenita mentioned quickly visiting a friend from the youth group, I figured that jeans, a jumper and a quick wash of my hair to remove the most obvious paint would suffice. What we didn't know is that we weren't just popping in to Mrs Kruse's on the way - the Nowak staff had organised a surprise leaving braai for us. After Friday morning's exams, we had a leaving assembly organised for us, featuring the whole school and even some people from the youth group. It was absolutely fantastic, and each grade had prepared something as a farewell performance - we cried, the kids cried, Mrs Kruse cried. We really were leaving, and we really were leaving so much behind.

I spent the weekend visiting the local hot springs with some of the staff and having a leaving party with our youth group, before spending Sunday night welcoming the new German volunteers and saying goodbye to Sachi, Pia and Jenita. Leaving the three of them, the staff, the kids and the community was difficult - Caitlin and I cried for at least half an hour afterwards - but we left to join the rest of our country group in Windhoek. After lots of catching up in our hostel, the four Particip8 volunteers decided that we needed a proper send-off : the answer was a visit to the Skybar on the roof of the Hilton. It was a far cry from our backpackers, but indulging in overpriced gins & tonic and champagne looking over the city lights of Windhoek in the company of  friends was a perfect end to our time in Namibia. After safe flights from Windhoek via Johannesburg and London, I can finally consider myself a Returned Volunteer.

Since coming home, I have attended Project Trust's Debriefing weekend, done my first promotional school talk and have started to come round to the mystical world of Tesco and Starbucks. Settling in again has been rather mixed, as I try to balance the 'old' life I've always known and my 'new' life that I've left in Tses, but I'm thoroughly looking forward to university and will keep my experiences overseas close to me for as long as I live. I'd like to thank all of my friends, family, sponsors, readers, fellow volunteers and Project Trust staff - your support throughout has been utterly invaluable, and I can't tell you how grateful I am for what that help facilitated for me.

Until the next adventure, folks.....

I'm Nama And I Know It...ish.

On the last Saturday in July, Tses was host to our constituency’s annual culture festival. Groups from Berseba, Vaalgras, (you might have to get Google Maps up to help at this point) and even as far as Bethanie came to compete. Participants performed traditional dances and plays from their tribes, and competed to advance to the regional competition later on in the year. The performances were just fantastic – from the youngest groups to the eldest competitors, they seemed exceptionally proud to be representing their villages and certainly performed with great skill and diligence.  As hosts, it was great to see both the community and the schools turn out to show their support for the event. The secondary school’s Oshiwambo culture group were phenomenal, and all of Nowak’s female staff had matching Nama dresses made for the occasion. Although I’ve never worn anything like it, and it is a somewhat unusual patchwork contraption with a super-skinny waist and a positively enormous skirt, everyone was very impressed with our efforts and it is a dress that will forever remind me of our time here.

 The weekend was an explosion of colour, music, singing, food, dancing, and of course, plenty of time for a party. There was a dance in the community hall the night before the main event (supervised by Nampol Special Forces - how bad did they expect my dancing to be?!). Despite having no idea what the done thing is at these events, or entirely what we were supposed to do, my Namastap credentials received nods of approval, several looks of sheer surprise and even received a sort-of compliment:  “Ah miss, you dance like an old person!”. Eh, thanks.

My dancing bore little to no resemblance to this. Oh dear.

 For the first time ever, I will make an attempt to abide by the old adage “a picture is worth a thousand words” and simply show you some of the better pictures from the weekend - making this possibly the longest blog post known to Internet-kind at 15,325 words!

The Nowak Culture boys trying to look as badass in Nama gear as possible.

Nowak Primary School's culture group performing - they were brilliant! Proud teacher moment.

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!

Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life* (*Monty Python whistling optional)

Oh dear. I've done it again. I've let blogging slip down my ever-increasing to-do list, and am now resisting the urge to start a post with an apology: the very thing I said I shouldn't do.

In my defence, the last four weeks of term since we returned from our holidays have been completely and utterly hectic. One of our teachers was on study leave - apparently in Windhoek observing Grade 12 teaching and not the infamous lounging-around-at-home-watching-sitcoms-on-E4 kind - and for whatever reason, Caitlin and I were left to cover his classes. Last time I blogged, this was a challenge. This was character building. Character building, I thought to myself, I can do.

This is what happens when you leave me alone with an empty classroom and new stationery...

Exhibit A: the 'Spelling Superstars' wall, the cause of much intrigue, excitement and hysteria

What happened in between posts was something I don't think I had ever anticipated. Another of the teachers disappeared on study leave for one week, and again, for whatever reason, C and I found ourselves juggling 2 full-time teachers' timetables and our own work. This, I thought to myself, I am not sure whether I can do- at least, not with the energy and enthusiasm that I'd like to. I freely admit that it was, at times, exceedingly frustrating and, at times, it felt like Namibia had never pushed us so hard. Fortunately, it was, at times, great fun and. I figured that if there were no rules, there were none to break: I did the work with them that I wanted to do. I'm reasonably sure my kids think I'm mad as a box of frogs, but I gave up caring - eccentricity was inevitable. We had wall decorations, grammar posters, and the introduction of weekly spelling tests, dreaded by most UK students across the board, went down bizarrely well. The 'Spelling Superstars' wall became the single most controversial square metre of wall space in the entire school; I found myself giving up at least 5 minutes of my lesson on a Thursday morning to let each class scrutinise their scores and the names on the wall. Certificates are another ball game all together. Have you ever tried unleashing certificates on a class of 10 year olds? Oh my giddy aunt. Grade 6A got so jealous of the three students that won them that I had to invite them back to talk to me after school about their complaints! Apparently, one girl is so angry, she is going to write a letter to the Minister. However, I also have a dedicated fan club of 19 certificate winners, and despite the raucous I may have caused, I had classes that cared about their work, classes that were motivated to win, and ultimately, classes whose spelling test scores were largely excellent. Lily - 1, Rest of the World - not quite 0, but I think I won anyway. Moral victory, or something.



Much to my delight, all of our staff have returned and I have had two brilliant days at school this week. That to-do list is being well and truly obliterated! I have finally joined in with Grade 6 and Grade 7 Afrikaans classes, and I'm having my Nama dress for our upcoming culture weekend in July fitted today with one of the other teachers. The nature of our work is due to change slightly, with us teaching less of our Arts/BIS lessons and taking on learning support for the students that have serious literacy problems - quite a startling number, even in the upper primary grades. This is a challenge; but this, I think I can do.

Time is flying uncomfortably quickly, and I am struggling to believe that it is mid-June already. However, if I get too bothered by it, I remember that I found Pimm's (of all things in all places) in my local Spar last weekend, and suddenly all is well with the world again. Bright indeed.

Bana ba Metsi

I remember being told at school that one should never begin a speech with an apology of any sort: I would like to apply the same principle to blogging, only I really have let it fall off the radar and have been sitting with this post in the Drafts folder for at least a week. Sorry!

Where were we? Holidays, and I believe I last wrote about Victoria Falls. After our Zambia trip, we spent the last week of our holiday in the Okavango Delta in northern Botswana, visiting the two Project Trust volunteers at Bana ba Metsi school. I'm really hoping that I get this right - Bana ba Metsi is a school for boys from vulnerable backgrounds that aims to enable them to improve their prospects for the future. Many of the pupils are orphans, and some have never received a full, formal primary education; attending the school offers respite from very difficult circumstances and the opportunity to obtain their primary school qualifications. One of the most ingenious aspects of the school, however, is that alongside their education, the boys are also taught practical skills like joinery, carpentry and agriculture, and they use these to contribute towards the school community. While we were there, for example, the students were working on the plumbing for the new toilet block, and had already thatched the roof themselves. I dread to think what would happen if you let a power drill loose in one of our classes, but they were brilliant with it - by the end of the session, we left with all members of the group, all digits in tact and a decent start on the project.

It was fascinating to visit the school, and it is particularly interesting to see a country from the perspective of the volunteers: while most visitors to the Delta flew in expensive planes over our heads, we spent a day travelling on a bus,a  combi, a ferry and a truck with one loose door to find ourselves right in the middle of the bush and surrounded by the world's greatest inland delta. We did end up staying one more night than originally planned (perhaps a foolish decision given the 3 day trek back to Tses that was to follow), but it was certainly worth it. In the company of two more Scots and a German, all of whom are musically talented and have a small orchestra of instruments with them, we had a rather bizarre music evening after watching the sun set by the river and before a wonderful braai featuring fillet steak and...just fillet steak. A fantastic end to a truly wonderful holiday.

And now we're back in business here in Tses! Last week was nominally the first week of the new term, but it was a strange start: Monday was the first day for the staff; Tuesday was the first day for the few kids that turned up, only to be sent home at 9am; Wednesday was the first full day of school, but the kids had neither books nor pens; Thursday was our first real attempt at actually trying to do some schoolwork;and then on Friday, we had a condensed timetable to make way for an Africa Day celebration. School is also somewhat chaotic, as one teacher is on study leave for a month and so Caitlin and I are covering his classes as well as our own timetable. We are both exceptionally busy, and perhaps I am mad to say so, but I'm quite enjoying it. Most of my timetable is now consumed by his English classes, which I do like teaching, and I have only Grades 5 and 6 for that (sorry Grade 7, I'm assuming none of you have found this blog yet!). I'm still flying around at 100mph with a to-do list as long as my arm, and I can see that this term could become stressful in a way that Africa typically isn't, but I have never enjoyed a challenge more. More soon!

Three Volunteers, Two Nations and One Giant Waterfall

After Sossusvlei, it was time to leave Namibia for the first time and head off to Victoria Falls. For the trip, Caitlin and I met up with Lorna, another Project Trust volunteer, who has a cracking sense of humour and an even better Yorkshire accent. After several hours waiting in a Wimpy restaurant, 17 hours on a coach (including an hour of gospel television as entertainment : I kid you not, it’s as weird as it sounds), we had arrived in Zambia.

Our first day was spent in Livingstone, getting to grips with Zambia and relaxing after our bus journey . We did decide to take a trip to the local orphanage that our hostel seems to have a link with that afternoon. Bit of a mistake. Listing a trip to a children’s home next to safaris and rafting trips under the guise of volunteering set my ‘volun-touirsm' alarm bells ringing. Sadly, I was right. Whilst it was interesting to see the home, I just didn’t feel like our presence contributed anything valuable or that we were providing anything worthwhile. A controversial point of view, perhaps, but the distinction between goodwill and mere gawping is one that I feel is worth considering. (Please note: all views published on this blog are solely my own, and do not represent the opinions of Project Trust or any other organisation I represent here in Namibia).

Zambia, however, certainly did not disappoint: it was a truly incredible trip to a fantastic country. The Falls themselves are simply magnificent.  You can see the spray from the falls for kilometres around, and the noise hits you as soon as you step out of the bus – they don’t call it Mosi-Oa-Tunya, The Smoke That Thunders, for nothing. Walking around the trails, it’s impossible not to be overwhelmed by the force of the water, the enveloping spray and the density of the rainforest. They do rent out ponchos for visitors walking around the Falls, but waterproofs are for sissies: we were determined to get absolutely drenched. Crossing Knife Edge Bridge in the pouring rain (? spray? not totally sure which direction the water was coming from, but there was lots of it) was invigorating, and although we were pointed at and conspicuously laughed at by a group of Asian tourists for being so soaked, we had a fantastic time. There’s going to Victoria Falls, and there’s wearing Victoria Falls; we had a great laugh doing both. After exploring the park and drying off a little on a walk through the craft markets, we headed to the Victoria Falls Bridge where Caitlin and I did a zip slide across the river, temporarily ending up in Zimbabwe for all of 5 minutes, and Lorna did a bungee jump of 111m over the Zambezi. Turns out Lorna is an absolute scream in more ways than one, but exceptionally brave.

"Is it really that wet?...."

"....yep, definitely soaking."

After an early morning elephant back safari with Caitlin and yet more time in Livingstone’s craft markets on Tuesday, we finished our time in Zambia with a sunset cruise on the river. Some labelled it as a booze cruise, which sounds a little more debauched-6^th-year-holiday-in-Malia/Zante/some-other-Godforsaken-Greek-island than Central-African-Wonder-of-the-World, but it turned out to be more like a floating barbeque, and a lovely evening as the sun went down over the Zambezi: simply stunning.

Me?! Carried away with Zambian souvenirs?! Never.....