The Following Day, the 13th of March, I was planning on beginning my travels back to our training town of Okahandja. The previous night, a fellow trainee, Paul, arrived at our house. The plan was that his driver would drop him off, spend the night in a nearby village, and then drive us the 200 kilometers to Rundu (the closest town) in the morning. We were supposed to leave around 6 am, so when that hour came and went, and several hours passed, we realized it was time to make other arrangements.
Chris and Lori (other PCVs) were planning on going to Rundu on that day as well, so luckily we had them to help us with the last minute chaotic travel plans. So we decided we would hike (hitchhike) to Andara, meet Lori, and then from there we would foot (walk) to the paved road to find a hike to Rundu.
I didn’t think much of the plans, I just threw on my flip flops, my heavy backpack, and my loaded duffle bag and set out to begin the journey. I decided against sunscreen initially because I didn’t think we would be out in the sun long enough for me to burn. We started by walking about 1 kilo from Frans Dimbare to the gravel road, a distance that seemed much farther with my hefty luggage. At the gravel road, we waited under a tree for about an hour for a car to pick us up and take us to Andara.
After we arrived, Lori joined the party and we proceeded onward. The way I pictured things when they were talking about the walk from Andara to the paved road, was that it would be a short distance. I did not realize we would be walking several kilos in the blistering African sun. After several minutes in, with no view of an end in sight, I realized that it was long past time for the sunscreen. So I used the moment to steal a quick break, I unburdened myself of my bags, lathered the sunscreen onto my sweat-drenched skin, and then reloaded the luggage back onto my tired and sore shoulders.
We walked… we walked… and then we walked some more. I kept praying that one of the small clouds in the sky would block the sun, even if just for a moment, just to give us some reprieve from the heat. I kept hoping that over each hill we were on would be the tire road. But there were few periods of shade, and there were many, many tiny hills. And what made the whole thing unbearable was the luggage that I had deemed an appropriate amount for this trip. If I had known I would be trekking through the blistering savannah during midday I would have packed very differently (one set of underwear and clothes would have sufficed).
Finally, the end came, as it always does, we made it to the road and my suffering was over. We found some shade by the paved road and waited for the first vehicle we saw to flag down. We were lucky and didn’t have to wait too long. A lorrie (a semi-truck) stopped and agreed to take us to Rundu for N$50. We climbed up into the back, into this long, open-topped flatbed, and then the driver took off for our destination.
It was such an incredible and exciting experience, hiking for the first time. The thrill of the unknown, of not having scheduled and reliable transportation, of taking chances and depending on others, was unique and completely unforgettable.
I lied on the rusted metal flatbed, hidden from the unrelenting sun by my dirty towel. I rested and took a nap during the 2 hr drive. I stood up while the lorrie was moving, feeling the wind blow against my skin. I looked around at all of the surrounding nature and the numerous villages scattered throughout. I waved to all of the small children walking alongside the road, who were jumping with excitement at the sight of a white person. I did something that I would never be able to do in the States…And I LOVED every second of it.
November 8, 2009
A Load of Croc
Because of transportation and other logistical problems, my week of site visit, where I was suppose to go around the community meeting all sorts of “important” people, including the Fumu (the chief) of the Hambukushu Tribe, was pretty uneventful. I spent most of the time reading, writing, and listening to the constant rainfall from the comfort(?) of my nasty room, or lying in the hammock next to the Kavango River (and being scared by the crocodiles). So on March 12, 2009, when Chris suggested that we go visit a neighboring village, Andara, I jumped at the idea.
We went to visit Lori, the volunteer there, whose group had arrived only 3 months before mine. She showed us around the village and the school she was working in. The village had a really unique feel to it since it was on a church mission, so there were some old brick buildings that are not common in the area. The school was depressing in some senses, the buildings were trashed and dirty, but at least the learners were used to it and it didn’t diminish their spirits much, at least from what little I was able to tell. (I’m not sure if the fact that the learners have adjusted to horrible conditions is a good or bad thing?)
After a while of walking around many long, sandy paths, Chris suggested that we go and visit his friend, the mission priest, Fr Andrew. I thought that would be a great opportunity to meet a community leader since I had failed to meet others throughout the week.
Meeting Fr Andrew was definitely an interesting experience to say the least. When we arrived at his house, we were almost immediately thrown into a crocodile hunt. Earlier in the week I had heard stories of people being taken by crocodiles, and apparently there was one crocodile that had taken a few children in the village. So right away we were told of the situation, and we followed Fr Andrew and a group of men as they raced to the side of the river where the crocodile had been spotted previously in the day.
It was exciting and terrifying at the same time, especially since we had to cross a bridge that was barely above water (I kept imaging Jaws-like scenes where the shark, or crocodile in this instance, jumps out of the water with its mouth wide open, surprising some unaware and careless victim). And then most of the time we were hunting, there was water on both sides of us, causing me to constantly look over my shoulder, fearful of some ambush from behind. We scoured over the area for a while, looking for the animal in question, but apparently it had already fled the scene of the crime before we arrived. All we managed to actually see was a foot long baby crocodile floating calmly in the water.
The hunt was called off shortly after we realized the crocodile was long gone, and we then began to chat with Fr Andrew for a bit. I don’t even know where to begin, I’m clueless as to how to describe, or do justice to what this man is like. All I can say is that I’m appalled that he is stationed there. I think it is sad that this man was chosen by any institution to represent God, to be a leader, to help these people. Every time I have interacted with him I have come away slightly disturbed in some way, and that first encounter was no exception.
It began with simple small talk, and while Fr Andrew was talking, he was smoking and swinging around his loaded shotgun. I HATE guns to begin with, but I felt extremely uneasy with it constantly being swung in my direction. Then slowly cuss words started to just flow freely from his mouth, and it wasn’t just the words, it was the way he talked. He talked with a certain tone and lack of respect that I felt was unbefitting of a leader, let alone a spiritual one.
I remember him telling one man that he should stay away from alcohol and avoid drinking because of the problems it creates. I could have appreciated what he was saying had I not felt that his words were empty and that he didn’t even believe in what he was saying. I just knew deep down that he was a hypocrite and drank as well (a feeling I later confirmed to be true).
All of this I could have merely disregarded as a possible misunderstanding, but then he confirmed the unsettling feelings I had been having since I first met him when I overheard him discussing “business” with a friend. He was talking about a few learners transferring from another school and mentioned something about how he would be making extra money, since their schools fees were more at the previous school and he would be charging them the same, even though the fees were suppose to be less. He was taking advantage of people that had very little to begin with, and that I cannot respect.
I even heard one story about how the learners, who put up with horrible conditions far beyond what we can imagine, and do so on a daily basis, went on strike one day because of the food that the mission was serving them. For learners to react like that, they must have been subjected to absolutely horrible conditions. Apparently, Fr Andrew (or his staff), who constantly has lavish braais (Barbeques), saw it fit to feed the learners porridge (ground up maize) that was infested with maggots.
This man, this “servant” of God is suppose to be serving these people, yet he lives like a king, on a level that rivals the Fumu. He has a huge house by the river, on a very large piece of property, with an orchard and garden and various livestock, he owns several cars, he has servants/workers, and who knows how much money he is skimming and profiting from various things such as charging people for power that is generated for free from the hydroelectric plant on his property.
I know it may not sound like it, but I don’t hate Fr Andrew, I don’t dislike him, and I try very hard not to judge the man for what he is doing. I feel sorry for him because I believe his actions are a result of how unhappy he is in life. And I’m absolutely sure that Fr Andrew has many good qualities, for he has on many occasions been generous and hospitable to me and others. I hope that one day he learns what it means to truly serve your community and is able to be a real leader to the people… but for now my concern is with the people and what’s best for them, and in my opinion, that means this “leader” needs to go.
We went to visit Lori, the volunteer there, whose group had arrived only 3 months before mine. She showed us around the village and the school she was working in. The village had a really unique feel to it since it was on a church mission, so there were some old brick buildings that are not common in the area. The school was depressing in some senses, the buildings were trashed and dirty, but at least the learners were used to it and it didn’t diminish their spirits much, at least from what little I was able to tell. (I’m not sure if the fact that the learners have adjusted to horrible conditions is a good or bad thing?)
After a while of walking around many long, sandy paths, Chris suggested that we go and visit his friend, the mission priest, Fr Andrew. I thought that would be a great opportunity to meet a community leader since I had failed to meet others throughout the week.
Meeting Fr Andrew was definitely an interesting experience to say the least. When we arrived at his house, we were almost immediately thrown into a crocodile hunt. Earlier in the week I had heard stories of people being taken by crocodiles, and apparently there was one crocodile that had taken a few children in the village. So right away we were told of the situation, and we followed Fr Andrew and a group of men as they raced to the side of the river where the crocodile had been spotted previously in the day.
It was exciting and terrifying at the same time, especially since we had to cross a bridge that was barely above water (I kept imaging Jaws-like scenes where the shark, or crocodile in this instance, jumps out of the water with its mouth wide open, surprising some unaware and careless victim). And then most of the time we were hunting, there was water on both sides of us, causing me to constantly look over my shoulder, fearful of some ambush from behind. We scoured over the area for a while, looking for the animal in question, but apparently it had already fled the scene of the crime before we arrived. All we managed to actually see was a foot long baby crocodile floating calmly in the water.
The hunt was called off shortly after we realized the crocodile was long gone, and we then began to chat with Fr Andrew for a bit. I don’t even know where to begin, I’m clueless as to how to describe, or do justice to what this man is like. All I can say is that I’m appalled that he is stationed there. I think it is sad that this man was chosen by any institution to represent God, to be a leader, to help these people. Every time I have interacted with him I have come away slightly disturbed in some way, and that first encounter was no exception.
It began with simple small talk, and while Fr Andrew was talking, he was smoking and swinging around his loaded shotgun. I HATE guns to begin with, but I felt extremely uneasy with it constantly being swung in my direction. Then slowly cuss words started to just flow freely from his mouth, and it wasn’t just the words, it was the way he talked. He talked with a certain tone and lack of respect that I felt was unbefitting of a leader, let alone a spiritual one.
I remember him telling one man that he should stay away from alcohol and avoid drinking because of the problems it creates. I could have appreciated what he was saying had I not felt that his words were empty and that he didn’t even believe in what he was saying. I just knew deep down that he was a hypocrite and drank as well (a feeling I later confirmed to be true).
All of this I could have merely disregarded as a possible misunderstanding, but then he confirmed the unsettling feelings I had been having since I first met him when I overheard him discussing “business” with a friend. He was talking about a few learners transferring from another school and mentioned something about how he would be making extra money, since their schools fees were more at the previous school and he would be charging them the same, even though the fees were suppose to be less. He was taking advantage of people that had very little to begin with, and that I cannot respect.
I even heard one story about how the learners, who put up with horrible conditions far beyond what we can imagine, and do so on a daily basis, went on strike one day because of the food that the mission was serving them. For learners to react like that, they must have been subjected to absolutely horrible conditions. Apparently, Fr Andrew (or his staff), who constantly has lavish braais (Barbeques), saw it fit to feed the learners porridge (ground up maize) that was infested with maggots.
This man, this “servant” of God is suppose to be serving these people, yet he lives like a king, on a level that rivals the Fumu. He has a huge house by the river, on a very large piece of property, with an orchard and garden and various livestock, he owns several cars, he has servants/workers, and who knows how much money he is skimming and profiting from various things such as charging people for power that is generated for free from the hydroelectric plant on his property.
I know it may not sound like it, but I don’t hate Fr Andrew, I don’t dislike him, and I try very hard not to judge the man for what he is doing. I feel sorry for him because I believe his actions are a result of how unhappy he is in life. And I’m absolutely sure that Fr Andrew has many good qualities, for he has on many occasions been generous and hospitable to me and others. I hope that one day he learns what it means to truly serve your community and is able to be a real leader to the people… but for now my concern is with the people and what’s best for them, and in my opinion, that means this “leader” needs to go.
A Legacy of Love
For the several days following my arrival at Frans Dimbare, there was an assortment of feelings that I experienced. I had many highs, and equally as many lows. It was a rollercoaster period that was draining and energizing all at the same time. I had met with various coworkers and organizations that I would be working with, and while I felt entirely encouraged and motivated by the energy and enthusiasm of the people around me, I was also afraid that I might not be able to live up to their expectations. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill the job and tasks that I had been assigned to do.
I had been given the title and responsibility of Acting Health Youth Officer for the centre. Basically what that means is that I am supposed to be in charge of all of the health programs for the Ministry of Youth in the region that the youth centre serves. That includes tens of thousands of people, spread over an enormous area of land (the size of a small state), where people are sparsely populated and not easily accessible. And all the while, I have to share unreliable and often incapacitated transportation, and I have extremely limited resources and language skills.
Had it not been for the incredible people that work at the youth centre, or the motivation of the local youth, or the support and encouragement from people back at home, I would have probably given up already. Because how can one person possibly manage to reach all of those people? By myself, what work can I really accomplish? Alone, I am limited. Alone, I am small. And alone, I am powerless to truly affect this world.
But thankfully I do not embark on this journey alone. I have many friends, family and even strangers, both here and abroad that stand with me. They have supported me with their taxes and money, they have assisted me with their donations and time, they have inspired me with their ideas, they have encouraged me with their actions, and they have strengthened me with their love.
I am a legacy of them all. I am a legacy of those who came before me to pave the way with their work, to lay the foundation for mine. I am a legacy of the support and encouragement from my friends and family, those closest to me that have shared with me in the journey of life, through good times and bad. I am a legacy of the great leaders of the past that have inspired me with their actions and the way they have chosen to live their remarkable lives. I am a legacy to the strength of the human spirit as witnessed to by the brave heroes of this world. I am a legacy of peace, for the boundless internal peace I have received in life I wish to share. And I am a legacy of love, from all those who share its miraculous gift with me freely.
We are all legacies of whatever light or dark we chose. We can perpetuate anger, pain, and hate as we have experienced it. We can hurt others and build upon the suffering of the world by adding our own suffering and that of the people we affect. Or we can summon up the indestructible spirits of the past, people like Gandhi, Peace Pilgrim, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, and countless others, and join with the courageous hearts of the present, and we can stand together as one. We can build upon what others have done and are currently doing to take the frontier of greatness further than it has ever been before. We can do more than we ever thought possible, more than we could ever do alone. Together, we can become a force more powerful than any one individual, a force with the potential to really make a difference in the world and in people’s lives. That is the legacy I chose carry on.
I thank those who have come before for their contribution, and their part in all of this, for everyone has their unique part to play. I stand here today with them, because of them, because of you… so thank you. Thank you for standing with me, enabling me to move beyond myself and my limitations as an individual. In tribute of my gratitude, I offer my life’s legacy, although still a work in progress, it’s a legacy that is shared with many, the legacy of love, for the future, for the now, for you and for all. I pass it on freely, as it was passed on to me, for all who would accept it and share in the infinite strength it provides. May it show you that when we stand united, for the sake of love’s purpose, that we can accomplish extraordinary things.
I had been given the title and responsibility of Acting Health Youth Officer for the centre. Basically what that means is that I am supposed to be in charge of all of the health programs for the Ministry of Youth in the region that the youth centre serves. That includes tens of thousands of people, spread over an enormous area of land (the size of a small state), where people are sparsely populated and not easily accessible. And all the while, I have to share unreliable and often incapacitated transportation, and I have extremely limited resources and language skills.
Had it not been for the incredible people that work at the youth centre, or the motivation of the local youth, or the support and encouragement from people back at home, I would have probably given up already. Because how can one person possibly manage to reach all of those people? By myself, what work can I really accomplish? Alone, I am limited. Alone, I am small. And alone, I am powerless to truly affect this world.
But thankfully I do not embark on this journey alone. I have many friends, family and even strangers, both here and abroad that stand with me. They have supported me with their taxes and money, they have assisted me with their donations and time, they have inspired me with their ideas, they have encouraged me with their actions, and they have strengthened me with their love.
I am a legacy of them all. I am a legacy of those who came before me to pave the way with their work, to lay the foundation for mine. I am a legacy of the support and encouragement from my friends and family, those closest to me that have shared with me in the journey of life, through good times and bad. I am a legacy of the great leaders of the past that have inspired me with their actions and the way they have chosen to live their remarkable lives. I am a legacy to the strength of the human spirit as witnessed to by the brave heroes of this world. I am a legacy of peace, for the boundless internal peace I have received in life I wish to share. And I am a legacy of love, from all those who share its miraculous gift with me freely.
We are all legacies of whatever light or dark we chose. We can perpetuate anger, pain, and hate as we have experienced it. We can hurt others and build upon the suffering of the world by adding our own suffering and that of the people we affect. Or we can summon up the indestructible spirits of the past, people like Gandhi, Peace Pilgrim, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, and countless others, and join with the courageous hearts of the present, and we can stand together as one. We can build upon what others have done and are currently doing to take the frontier of greatness further than it has ever been before. We can do more than we ever thought possible, more than we could ever do alone. Together, we can become a force more powerful than any one individual, a force with the potential to really make a difference in the world and in people’s lives. That is the legacy I chose carry on.
I thank those who have come before for their contribution, and their part in all of this, for everyone has their unique part to play. I stand here today with them, because of them, because of you… so thank you. Thank you for standing with me, enabling me to move beyond myself and my limitations as an individual. In tribute of my gratitude, I offer my life’s legacy, although still a work in progress, it’s a legacy that is shared with many, the legacy of love, for the future, for the now, for you and for all. I pass it on freely, as it was passed on to me, for all who would accept it and share in the infinite strength it provides. May it show you that when we stand united, for the sake of love’s purpose, that we can accomplish extraordinary things.
October 4, 2009
Cleaning up Messes
The following few days of site visit turned out to be a lot better than the first. I bounced back from the initial shock of my living conditions (temporarily at least). I even started to view the house and the condition it was in, in relation to the world. I had joined Peace Corps because the world is a mess, and I wanted to make it better. I was in essence sent to Namibia to help clean up an existing “mess”. This nasty, nasty house was not only a literal microcosm of the mess, but it was also a metaphor for the world at large.
All over the world, in every single country, there are “messes” that are created by self-absorbed, unaware, inconsiderate individuals and entities (governmental and business). Sometimes these people and organizations are completely ignorant to what they are doing and just don’t realize how they are affecting others (maybe they would change if they did?), but sometimes, as sad as it is, they know exactly what they are doing and are entirely aware of the harm and damage they are inflicting upon people and the planet that sustains them.
Sometimes the messes are more tangible. For example, when a person litters and throws a piece of garbage on the ground (or when a roommate is a slob and doesn’t clean up after himself). When a business, that doesn’t factor in the destruction of the planet into its cost-benefit analysis, pollutes the local environment and therefore, because everything is connected, is polluting the whole world. And when conversely, a business, that does actually include in its cost-benefit analysis the dignity of human life but deems financial profits to far outweigh that dignity, exploits human beings, including children, in sweatshop factories they have created in various parts of the world.
Sometimes the messes are intangible. For instance, when systems are set up, like health insurance, which prioritize making profits over improving the quality of life of the people for whom the systems were initially created to help. When minds are lost and confused from being constantly mislead, manipulated, and deceived with lies and false information from people and institutions they trust. And when people’s mentalities about themselves and others are shaped solely by negative experiences acquired while interacting with the world around them.
And sometimes, and I believe almost all of the time, the messes are a combination of both. Such as poverty, with its mental and emotional impacts on the poor, in addition to the systems in place that perpetuate the cycle of poverty and ensure that it continues for generations to come, along with its blatantly obvious problems such as starvation, homelessness, lack of education, lack of money and resources, and just altogether general lack. Such as crime, with its visible effects of vandalism, theft, rape, and murder, along with its less visible effects of terrorizing its victims, in addition to the underlying systems that perpetuate that cycle as well. Such as war, with all of its devastation and destruction, landscapes scarred, people injured, and lives lost, along with the equally traumatic mental devastation that it inflicts upon everyone.
These messes, and all other messes in the world, are the product of one thing and one thing only…selfishness. It’s the individual, “me” mentality that causes all of these problems (quite possibly all problems) in the world. Because if you are thinking in terms of everything being part of an interconnected organism or brotherhood of humanity, how can you even make a mess to begin with, let alone not take responsibility for it and clean up after yourself if you accidentally do make one? People need to start thinking about the consequences and effects of their actions, and about the people who will be the ones cleaning up the messes in the aftermath, instead of merely thinking about the self-reward that lies in their moment of decision.
I hope the day will come when individuals will no longer burden the rest of humanity by their self-centered choices and desires. Until then, the world will continue to be distorted with its assortment of messes. And while it’s unfair, and we should never have to live in these messes in the first place, we do have a choice to make… we can continue to live in the filth of others, OR we can begin to clean up this world, one small mess at a time, by trying to mend the wounds inflicted upon the environment, by trying to wash away the errors in the imperfect systems that continually fail us, by trying to wipe away the grime of deception imposed upon our minds, and by trying to polish and restore this magnificent planet and its remarkable habitants to their original luster.
I refuse to live in anyone’s filth. I came to Africa to clean up messes… and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
All over the world, in every single country, there are “messes” that are created by self-absorbed, unaware, inconsiderate individuals and entities (governmental and business). Sometimes these people and organizations are completely ignorant to what they are doing and just don’t realize how they are affecting others (maybe they would change if they did?), but sometimes, as sad as it is, they know exactly what they are doing and are entirely aware of the harm and damage they are inflicting upon people and the planet that sustains them.
Sometimes the messes are more tangible. For example, when a person litters and throws a piece of garbage on the ground (or when a roommate is a slob and doesn’t clean up after himself). When a business, that doesn’t factor in the destruction of the planet into its cost-benefit analysis, pollutes the local environment and therefore, because everything is connected, is polluting the whole world. And when conversely, a business, that does actually include in its cost-benefit analysis the dignity of human life but deems financial profits to far outweigh that dignity, exploits human beings, including children, in sweatshop factories they have created in various parts of the world.
Sometimes the messes are intangible. For instance, when systems are set up, like health insurance, which prioritize making profits over improving the quality of life of the people for whom the systems were initially created to help. When minds are lost and confused from being constantly mislead, manipulated, and deceived with lies and false information from people and institutions they trust. And when people’s mentalities about themselves and others are shaped solely by negative experiences acquired while interacting with the world around them.
And sometimes, and I believe almost all of the time, the messes are a combination of both. Such as poverty, with its mental and emotional impacts on the poor, in addition to the systems in place that perpetuate the cycle of poverty and ensure that it continues for generations to come, along with its blatantly obvious problems such as starvation, homelessness, lack of education, lack of money and resources, and just altogether general lack. Such as crime, with its visible effects of vandalism, theft, rape, and murder, along with its less visible effects of terrorizing its victims, in addition to the underlying systems that perpetuate that cycle as well. Such as war, with all of its devastation and destruction, landscapes scarred, people injured, and lives lost, along with the equally traumatic mental devastation that it inflicts upon everyone.
These messes, and all other messes in the world, are the product of one thing and one thing only…selfishness. It’s the individual, “me” mentality that causes all of these problems (quite possibly all problems) in the world. Because if you are thinking in terms of everything being part of an interconnected organism or brotherhood of humanity, how can you even make a mess to begin with, let alone not take responsibility for it and clean up after yourself if you accidentally do make one? People need to start thinking about the consequences and effects of their actions, and about the people who will be the ones cleaning up the messes in the aftermath, instead of merely thinking about the self-reward that lies in their moment of decision.
I hope the day will come when individuals will no longer burden the rest of humanity by their self-centered choices and desires. Until then, the world will continue to be distorted with its assortment of messes. And while it’s unfair, and we should never have to live in these messes in the first place, we do have a choice to make… we can continue to live in the filth of others, OR we can begin to clean up this world, one small mess at a time, by trying to mend the wounds inflicted upon the environment, by trying to wash away the errors in the imperfect systems that continually fail us, by trying to wipe away the grime of deception imposed upon our minds, and by trying to polish and restore this magnificent planet and its remarkable habitants to their original luster.
I refuse to live in anyone’s filth. I came to Africa to clean up messes… and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Nightmare on Frans Street
EEEEK EEEEK EEEEK!!! (pretend it’s old-style horror movie sound effects)
If my life was a movie, this would be one of the horror scenes. Where right as I’m walking into my house-to-be, I’m happy and smiling and everything seems fine, then out of nowhere, the moment I step inside…they cue the old-style horror music they usually play when one of the characters is surprised by the killer or stumbles upon dead bodies. The camera then does a close up on my face as my eyes widen dramatically and my face shows an expression of sheer terror as I bear witness to some unimaginable horror. Then the camera flies around the room as if in a panic zooming in and out at the scenes before me, then back to my facial expression, then back around the room, and finally back to my face. The music ends loudly and abruptly, the screen suddenly blacks out…AND CUT, End Scene!
Let me preface this all by saying that I wasn’t necessarily thrilled about the idea of living with a roommate from the beginning. When I found out that I was the ONLY volunteer from our group that would be living with another PCV as a roommate, I thought it was extremely ironic. My past is full of bad roommate experiences. They were all great people, but we just had very different expectations and ideas about respectfully living in shared spaces. Plus, Peace Corps never said anything about living with another person, let alone a volunteer. So I had been planning on, was even looking forward to, having my own place where I could go home to at night after work, mentally recharge, and reflect on my experiences and on life in general. I had already decided that my home was to be my sanctuary here in Namibia, where I would escape all of my problems and worries.
Apparently I was sorely mistaken, and my new roommate, Freddy Krueger, I mean Chris, took those dreams of a warm and happy home, chased them down a dark and scary corridor, cornered them, paralyzing them with fear as they realized there was no hope of escape, and then mercilessly and brutally tore into them, clawing them to pieces until they had ended, and all that was left was a bloody, unrecognizable shell of a dream.
This was how I felt when I entered my new “home” (if I could even call it that). Upon entering the dungeon (all the curtains were drawn and it was extremely dark as if a vampire was living there), I noticed the place was crawling with spiders and covered in spider webs. There was a layer of filth on the floor and garbage and other crap lying all around, and this was just the sitting room. In the kitchen there were cockroaches and ants to go with the spiders, and countless dead bugs stuck to the light, trash and messes galore, some mystery goo on the walls, counters, and cabinets, and hints of black mold here and there to add that special touch. I tell you, if I was starving and a piece of food touched any part of that kitchen, I would leave it, walk outside, and wait to die of starvation, it was that disgusting.
In my bedroom-to-be we had the typical spiders with accompanying webs, dust, some new type of dead bugs, and my personal favorite, lines of dried bat urine all over the walls and rather large piles of bat dropping that fell through the cracks in the ceiling. The shower was a collage of various browns, greens, yellows, reds, and black, and the drain was nicely clogged with plenty of human hairs. And the crown jewel, the toilet, was the most disgusting thing I had ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t tell what its original color was, it was hidden somewhere deep below the thriving bacteria colonies, the algae, the pee splatters, and the poop stains.
I was almost certain that I was in Hell, that I had fallen asleep on the drive up and the car got into some horrible accident, and here I was experiencing the absolute worst punishment that could be devised for me... EVER!!!
I finally calmed myself a bit. I figured I had seen the worst of it all and there couldn’t possibly be anymore surprises. I decided I would just get ready for bed, go to sleep, and hope that the following day would be better. I prepared my cot, which was right next to all the dead bugs and spiders. Then I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I placed my toothbrush under the faucet and turned on the water, brown muddy water engulfed my nice clean toothbrush. That was the straw that broke the camels back. I almost lost it completely, and was on the verge of either becoming catatonic or crying/laughing hysterically. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t live in this hell hole for two years (or eternity if my hell theory was correct).
WILL THIS NIGHTMARE EVER END?!?!?!?!
If my life was a movie, this would be one of the horror scenes. Where right as I’m walking into my house-to-be, I’m happy and smiling and everything seems fine, then out of nowhere, the moment I step inside…they cue the old-style horror music they usually play when one of the characters is surprised by the killer or stumbles upon dead bodies. The camera then does a close up on my face as my eyes widen dramatically and my face shows an expression of sheer terror as I bear witness to some unimaginable horror. Then the camera flies around the room as if in a panic zooming in and out at the scenes before me, then back to my facial expression, then back around the room, and finally back to my face. The music ends loudly and abruptly, the screen suddenly blacks out…AND CUT, End Scene!
Let me preface this all by saying that I wasn’t necessarily thrilled about the idea of living with a roommate from the beginning. When I found out that I was the ONLY volunteer from our group that would be living with another PCV as a roommate, I thought it was extremely ironic. My past is full of bad roommate experiences. They were all great people, but we just had very different expectations and ideas about respectfully living in shared spaces. Plus, Peace Corps never said anything about living with another person, let alone a volunteer. So I had been planning on, was even looking forward to, having my own place where I could go home to at night after work, mentally recharge, and reflect on my experiences and on life in general. I had already decided that my home was to be my sanctuary here in Namibia, where I would escape all of my problems and worries.
Apparently I was sorely mistaken, and my new roommate, Freddy Krueger, I mean Chris, took those dreams of a warm and happy home, chased them down a dark and scary corridor, cornered them, paralyzing them with fear as they realized there was no hope of escape, and then mercilessly and brutally tore into them, clawing them to pieces until they had ended, and all that was left was a bloody, unrecognizable shell of a dream.
This was how I felt when I entered my new “home” (if I could even call it that). Upon entering the dungeon (all the curtains were drawn and it was extremely dark as if a vampire was living there), I noticed the place was crawling with spiders and covered in spider webs. There was a layer of filth on the floor and garbage and other crap lying all around, and this was just the sitting room. In the kitchen there were cockroaches and ants to go with the spiders, and countless dead bugs stuck to the light, trash and messes galore, some mystery goo on the walls, counters, and cabinets, and hints of black mold here and there to add that special touch. I tell you, if I was starving and a piece of food touched any part of that kitchen, I would leave it, walk outside, and wait to die of starvation, it was that disgusting.
In my bedroom-to-be we had the typical spiders with accompanying webs, dust, some new type of dead bugs, and my personal favorite, lines of dried bat urine all over the walls and rather large piles of bat dropping that fell through the cracks in the ceiling. The shower was a collage of various browns, greens, yellows, reds, and black, and the drain was nicely clogged with plenty of human hairs. And the crown jewel, the toilet, was the most disgusting thing I had ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t tell what its original color was, it was hidden somewhere deep below the thriving bacteria colonies, the algae, the pee splatters, and the poop stains.
I was almost certain that I was in Hell, that I had fallen asleep on the drive up and the car got into some horrible accident, and here I was experiencing the absolute worst punishment that could be devised for me... EVER!!!
I finally calmed myself a bit. I figured I had seen the worst of it all and there couldn’t possibly be anymore surprises. I decided I would just get ready for bed, go to sleep, and hope that the following day would be better. I prepared my cot, which was right next to all the dead bugs and spiders. Then I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I placed my toothbrush under the faucet and turned on the water, brown muddy water engulfed my nice clean toothbrush. That was the straw that broke the camels back. I almost lost it completely, and was on the verge of either becoming catatonic or crying/laughing hysterically. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t live in this hell hole for two years (or eternity if my hell theory was correct).
WILL THIS NIGHTMARE EVER END?!?!?!?!
The Gated Community
After many hours of driving, and an exhausting day, both physically and emotionally, we finally arrived at Frans Dimbare Youth Centre. It really felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. We had been driving a long distance on the paved road without seeing anything but small mud hut villages and many herds of cattle. Then we had turned off the main road and drove a distance on a dirt one with even less to see. And then at last, there it was, away from any city or town, hidden in a remote corner of Namibia, in the African bush, my home for the next 2 years.
I have to admit that I was a little surprised at first. On the drive I had seen so much poverty that I didn’t expect the youth centre to be so nice. To enter Frans Dimbare we had to pass through an entrance gate and sign in with the security guard who was sitting in his booth. It all seemed very official. The rest of the perimeter of the rather large property was maintained by a tall razor wire fence.
After driving further inward, we approached what looked like the main building. Since it was a weekend, the offices were closed, and we were having difficulty figuring out exactly where I was supposed to go. So I texted my future roommate, Chris, the other Peace Corps Volunteer who was already currently working there, and then he left to come and get us.
While we were waiting I looked around at the place I had been assigned by Peace Corps. It really was beautiful, with lots of trees and lush vegetation; everything was so green (which definitely changed after rainy season ended). There were some Baobab trees towering above like giants. It was right on the mighty Kavango River which was full of many different and beautiful rock formations.
Frans Dimbare really is a special place and an extraordinary youth centre. It has a well groomed camp site, with bathrooms fully equipped with hot and cold running water. It has classrooms for computers, tailoring, hospitality, auto shop, and metal working. It has an extremely nice health clinic, which I am in charge of (Qualifications? ...Ah, who needs ‘em). It has a small cultural museum and library in the admin building. And it has an orchard of mango trees, guava trees, banana trees, and I think lemon trees, in addition to a massive garden where a variety of crops are grown and sold by the local youth.
Then there is my house. It is a somewhat western style house, with two bedrooms, two half bathrooms (one has a toilet and sink, and the other has a bath, shower, and sink) with hot and cold running water, a fully equipped kitchen (that includes a microwave), a large sitting room, a small courtyard with a small plot of land for gardening, and lastly, a patio with a hammock about 15 ft from the river.
This was definitely a place I could get used to. I was really looking forward to vacationing, uh, I mean working there for the next two years of my life. So when Chris arrived, I said goodbye to my driver and the PCT I was traveling with, Paul, and we began walking towards the house on the river, where I would be staying the first night of many in this gated community known as Frans Dimbare. Everything seemed so perfect…
I have to admit that I was a little surprised at first. On the drive I had seen so much poverty that I didn’t expect the youth centre to be so nice. To enter Frans Dimbare we had to pass through an entrance gate and sign in with the security guard who was sitting in his booth. It all seemed very official. The rest of the perimeter of the rather large property was maintained by a tall razor wire fence.
After driving further inward, we approached what looked like the main building. Since it was a weekend, the offices were closed, and we were having difficulty figuring out exactly where I was supposed to go. So I texted my future roommate, Chris, the other Peace Corps Volunteer who was already currently working there, and then he left to come and get us.
While we were waiting I looked around at the place I had been assigned by Peace Corps. It really was beautiful, with lots of trees and lush vegetation; everything was so green (which definitely changed after rainy season ended). There were some Baobab trees towering above like giants. It was right on the mighty Kavango River which was full of many different and beautiful rock formations.
Frans Dimbare really is a special place and an extraordinary youth centre. It has a well groomed camp site, with bathrooms fully equipped with hot and cold running water. It has classrooms for computers, tailoring, hospitality, auto shop, and metal working. It has an extremely nice health clinic, which I am in charge of (Qualifications? ...Ah, who needs ‘em). It has a small cultural museum and library in the admin building. And it has an orchard of mango trees, guava trees, banana trees, and I think lemon trees, in addition to a massive garden where a variety of crops are grown and sold by the local youth.
Then there is my house. It is a somewhat western style house, with two bedrooms, two half bathrooms (one has a toilet and sink, and the other has a bath, shower, and sink) with hot and cold running water, a fully equipped kitchen (that includes a microwave), a large sitting room, a small courtyard with a small plot of land for gardening, and lastly, a patio with a hammock about 15 ft from the river.
This was definitely a place I could get used to. I was really looking forward to vacationing, uh, I mean working there for the next two years of my life. So when Chris arrived, I said goodbye to my driver and the PCT I was traveling with, Paul, and we began walking towards the house on the river, where I would be staying the first night of many in this gated community known as Frans Dimbare. Everything seemed so perfect…
A Desert of a Different Kind
When I entered the Kavango, I had entered a desert of a different kind. A desert where resources are scarce, not water, where the landscape of opportunities is barren just like empty dunes, where the lack of a good education system hinders people’s efforts for advancement just as the sand absorbs footsteps, making it difficult to walk, where the venomous creatures to be vigilant for aren’t snakes and scorpions, they are businessmen or corrupt individuals looking to take advantage of and prey on the people, where the apathy and lack of care from the country and the world community at large burn and blister the souls of the people, depleting them of the water of hope as their dry spirits cry out for thirst that could easily be quenched… and a desert where the mirage, the true illusion, is that people really do care and are doing everything they can to help.
It was in this desert that I first lost hope. Upon seeing the conditions of the people, what difficult lives they lead, how the need was so great, my heart just broke. I sat there in the car, looking out the window with tears in my eyes as we passed by countless villages of people living in poverty. It was overwhelming. So many emotions and thoughts raced through me, until I had nothing left. I felt numb, empty, hopeless. I couldn’t imagine that after all of our time on this planet, we humans still had so many problems, and they just seem to be compounding and growing with each passing year.
At one point, I even recall wanting to die. All I want to do in this life is help others. I want to leave the world knowing that it is better off for having me in it, and that it is in better condition than when I came into it. But that day, I felt completely helpless. The problem just seemed far too great, and I felt far too small. What could one person possibly do? And what was the point of things if I couldn’t truly help people? It was in that moment of despair that I had given up. I had given up on the world with all of its problems. I had wanted it all to end, to leave behind the misery, the pain, the suffering, all of it.
However, just as there was darkness, there was light. Other emotions, other thoughts, started to pervade me. Things started to come together. I started to realize that I was here for a reason. I could feel a sense of belonging, that this was where I was meant to be. I could see some of the events leading to me being here. I had talked to two individuals, one here in the country and one working for Peace Corps back in the States, and both times that I followed my instincts and talked to them, both times my placement was changed. These events, along with many others had been leading up to this, I could feel it. And it was this feeling of purpose that renewed my sense of hope and my resolve to do the best I could, whether that made any difference or none at all.
So I embrace this desert of a different kind, this desert where I lost hope, this desert where I found it again, and this desert where I have been brought for a reason. I accept that I am but one person and that I might accomplish little if anything. I understand that the need is great beyond measure and there will be many challenges to come. I am aware that I will see suffering, experience loss, and witness the cruelty of poverty. Yet regardless, I am thankful that I am able to be here, and that I have an opportunity to try to make a difference in the world. For that, for the mere possibility of a brighter future…I am eternally grateful.
It was in this desert that I first lost hope. Upon seeing the conditions of the people, what difficult lives they lead, how the need was so great, my heart just broke. I sat there in the car, looking out the window with tears in my eyes as we passed by countless villages of people living in poverty. It was overwhelming. So many emotions and thoughts raced through me, until I had nothing left. I felt numb, empty, hopeless. I couldn’t imagine that after all of our time on this planet, we humans still had so many problems, and they just seem to be compounding and growing with each passing year.
At one point, I even recall wanting to die. All I want to do in this life is help others. I want to leave the world knowing that it is better off for having me in it, and that it is in better condition than when I came into it. But that day, I felt completely helpless. The problem just seemed far too great, and I felt far too small. What could one person possibly do? And what was the point of things if I couldn’t truly help people? It was in that moment of despair that I had given up. I had given up on the world with all of its problems. I had wanted it all to end, to leave behind the misery, the pain, the suffering, all of it.
However, just as there was darkness, there was light. Other emotions, other thoughts, started to pervade me. Things started to come together. I started to realize that I was here for a reason. I could feel a sense of belonging, that this was where I was meant to be. I could see some of the events leading to me being here. I had talked to two individuals, one here in the country and one working for Peace Corps back in the States, and both times that I followed my instincts and talked to them, both times my placement was changed. These events, along with many others had been leading up to this, I could feel it. And it was this feeling of purpose that renewed my sense of hope and my resolve to do the best I could, whether that made any difference or none at all.
So I embrace this desert of a different kind, this desert where I lost hope, this desert where I found it again, and this desert where I have been brought for a reason. I accept that I am but one person and that I might accomplish little if anything. I understand that the need is great beyond measure and there will be many challenges to come. I am aware that I will see suffering, experience loss, and witness the cruelty of poverty. Yet regardless, I am thankful that I am able to be here, and that I have an opportunity to try to make a difference in the world. For that, for the mere possibility of a brighter future…I am eternally grateful.
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