So my site was announced today, and as it turns out, I will not have running water or a flush toilet, and electricity is questionable. I’ll be in a small village on the Kovango River that separates Angola from Namibia, teaching grades 8-10.
There will be hippos. And I will have my own place, so when y’all visit, I can accommodate you!!
One thing that many people don’t realize is that the Peace Corps is everywhere, and volunteers are engaged in many different aspects of education, and community and economical development. That means that yes, many PC volunteers end up in large towns, urban areas, and now in Nam, business sectors.
But alas, I will not be one of those volunteers. In fact, I will be fulfilling almost every stereotype of the PC volunteer in Africa. At the same time, I feel as if I have already somewhat started in that role; even though my accomodations are beyond exceptional for training, many of us are bucket bathing, we do laundry outside, can’t go out past dark, deal with racism, etc. But experiencing it and feeling so natural and perhaps even more natural than I did in my role in the States continues to remind me of the whole Other ordeal. Now that I no longer can idealize Africa to be what I thought it should be, for Nam to look like what I would expect southern Africa to look like, I am no longer able to pretend that Africa is some far-off land of suffering that needs the salvation of westerners. In fact, I feel quite the opposite.
Africans welcome our skills, our willingness to provide help. They do not consistently show praise of humanitarianism, and they don’t understand volunteerism persay, but every time you greet in Afrikaans or Rukwangali, even when a trainer greets me on the street and we are overheard by a vendor, the appreciation of integrating into the culture is on their faces. It is this kind of relieving feeling that, if even I am to make no concrete and sustainable impact during service, simply by being a white person showing up and taking interest, I have already made an impact. With the effects of apartheid everywhere, literally everywhere, bridging the gaps of racism even for a minute—even for one smile, is little victory enough to feel like I have a reason to be here. Not to mention, the people I have met are awesome, and fatcakes are both delicious and ridiculously easy to make.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Peace and Love
I'd like to throw a shoutout to PC Lesotho. As some have heard, there was what seems to be an attempted robbery in Lesotho, during which an amazing volunteer was fatally shot last weekend. My heart goes out to all of the PC family in southern Africa, and worldwide, as well as to Tom's family. As I understand, Tom was an education volunteer and became very close with his community as a coach, teacher, and leader. At times like these, I fail to comprehend how or why these things happen.
I am still at training in Okahandja. It's been a long week, and I'm currently curled up in bed, trying to decide what to do this weekend. I can hear the TV in the living room playing my Grey's Anatomy DVDs that my host dad put in. He's trying to catch up with Trace so that they can watch together by Sunday. They've both watched over 16 episodes in four days.
The kids started back at school this week. They go 7-1 then come home for the day. Don't interfere with a kid's lunch (two) hour(s). Those are sacred here. Otherwise, we've had extensive language training, today we went to an International Youth Day, where we embarrassed ourselves singing the US Nat'l anthemn off key, and the rest of our sessions have been largely depressing-- concerning rape, domestic violence in Nam, and corporal punishment. So it's been a trying week, but we ended it with pizza and beer at a local lodge that was way too nice for our volunteer stipend. Tomorrow might just top the week with a goat head (smiley) or at least traditional dancing with schoolkids OR even possible rugby practice with my 18yo cousin.
I had more stories but can't think of them now. Nam is pretty sweet. I get my site placement next Friday, and I am STOKED. I have also gotten some allergy medicine, but seeing as there hasn't been rain yet (so we're still in the dry/winter season), the air is paining me. But if that's all I've got to complain about, things are good.
Natulimoneni!!
SEND ME MAIL PLS!
I am still at training in Okahandja. It's been a long week, and I'm currently curled up in bed, trying to decide what to do this weekend. I can hear the TV in the living room playing my Grey's Anatomy DVDs that my host dad put in. He's trying to catch up with Trace so that they can watch together by Sunday. They've both watched over 16 episodes in four days.
The kids started back at school this week. They go 7-1 then come home for the day. Don't interfere with a kid's lunch (two) hour(s). Those are sacred here. Otherwise, we've had extensive language training, today we went to an International Youth Day, where we embarrassed ourselves singing the US Nat'l anthemn off key, and the rest of our sessions have been largely depressing-- concerning rape, domestic violence in Nam, and corporal punishment. So it's been a trying week, but we ended it with pizza and beer at a local lodge that was way too nice for our volunteer stipend. Tomorrow might just top the week with a goat head (smiley) or at least traditional dancing with schoolkids OR even possible rugby practice with my 18yo cousin.
I had more stories but can't think of them now. Nam is pretty sweet. I get my site placement next Friday, and I am STOKED. I have also gotten some allergy medicine, but seeing as there hasn't been rain yet (so we're still in the dry/winter season), the air is paining me. But if that's all I've got to complain about, things are good.
Natulimoneni!!
SEND ME MAIL PLS!
Hunhwa
I got blood on my Rainbows.
I’m a killer. A merciless blood hunter. A sinful, heartless murderer. Don’t read any farther if you become easily queasy.
Today, I killed a chicken.
It started out as a rumor. The Kavango kids were going to get their own chickens… but there are a couple of groups of us, plus we sometimes get mixed up with the Caprivians, and it was all speculation anyway. The chance that I’d get my hands on a chicken myself was unlikely. But rumor quickly turned into reality, and reality turned on its face and became fact. Not only were the Rukwangali students getting some chicken, but I was being called out as one of those chosen to commit the act.
I’m not one for saying no to a challenge.
They came in unassuming cardboard boxes. They didn’t make a fuss, just quietly awaited their fate in the brown shadows. First, a host country national showed us how it was done by grabbing up the first and seemingly effortlessly snubbing it. Then it was my fellow PCT Matt’s turn. Suddenly chicken squashing didn’t seem so effortless.
Apparently, in Kavango, it is considered inhumane to just chop a chicken’s head off and be done with it. No, to Okavangos, one should cut the artery and let it die before disconnecting the head.
Well, Matt got a dull knife. And he was not very efficient. Not only did it take him a while to tame the clucking chicken and position it, but he also made it look nearly impossible to get to the artery. And when he did, he couldn’t cut it. Needless to say, I became a little uneasy about being next.
But, I decided that if I was going to eat the chicken, and if I have spent all these years eating chicken, that I might as well make the effort to see how it gets to my plate. After all, someone has been doing it for me anyway all this time.
So, I stepped up to bat, grabbed the next chicken, steadied my feet on its wings and legs, and cut. And cut. And cut.
More proficient than Matt, I got to the artery fairly quickly, and I was told that I had cut it (as indicated by the great amount of blood spilling onto the sand and my feet). However, in my left hand, all of a sudden, the chicken’s head began to struggle, as if trying to swallow or cluck or maybe just get air. Now my hands were shaking, my stomach was curling, and my mind was shutting down. I snipped the artery immediately and put the bird out of its poor misery before continuing to snap off the rest of the head, place both in boiling water, defeathering, and cooking the animal.
Let’s just say it was an experience.
Other highlights of the day:
Eating a caterpillar. Ok, maybe a low of the day. It was disgusting, and I’m never doing that again. But when in Rome…
Starting the Namibian national anthem with a couple of people and having it turn into a boisterous group sing-a-long with over 60 people.
Being told multiple times that when I move to site, I’ll be living in the “real” Africa. AKA: hot, mosquitoes, hippos, hauling water from the river, etc.
Springboks vs Walabies live from South Africa at a bar with Namibian fans and a former Sharks player as a bartender.
Dancing to Katie Perry with Herero women.
Making fat cakes. Yes, they are as good as they sound.
I’m a killer. A merciless blood hunter. A sinful, heartless murderer. Don’t read any farther if you become easily queasy.
Today, I killed a chicken.
It started out as a rumor. The Kavango kids were going to get their own chickens… but there are a couple of groups of us, plus we sometimes get mixed up with the Caprivians, and it was all speculation anyway. The chance that I’d get my hands on a chicken myself was unlikely. But rumor quickly turned into reality, and reality turned on its face and became fact. Not only were the Rukwangali students getting some chicken, but I was being called out as one of those chosen to commit the act.
I’m not one for saying no to a challenge.
They came in unassuming cardboard boxes. They didn’t make a fuss, just quietly awaited their fate in the brown shadows. First, a host country national showed us how it was done by grabbing up the first and seemingly effortlessly snubbing it. Then it was my fellow PCT Matt’s turn. Suddenly chicken squashing didn’t seem so effortless.
Apparently, in Kavango, it is considered inhumane to just chop a chicken’s head off and be done with it. No, to Okavangos, one should cut the artery and let it die before disconnecting the head.
Well, Matt got a dull knife. And he was not very efficient. Not only did it take him a while to tame the clucking chicken and position it, but he also made it look nearly impossible to get to the artery. And when he did, he couldn’t cut it. Needless to say, I became a little uneasy about being next.
But, I decided that if I was going to eat the chicken, and if I have spent all these years eating chicken, that I might as well make the effort to see how it gets to my plate. After all, someone has been doing it for me anyway all this time.
So, I stepped up to bat, grabbed the next chicken, steadied my feet on its wings and legs, and cut. And cut. And cut.
More proficient than Matt, I got to the artery fairly quickly, and I was told that I had cut it (as indicated by the great amount of blood spilling onto the sand and my feet). However, in my left hand, all of a sudden, the chicken’s head began to struggle, as if trying to swallow or cluck or maybe just get air. Now my hands were shaking, my stomach was curling, and my mind was shutting down. I snipped the artery immediately and put the bird out of its poor misery before continuing to snap off the rest of the head, place both in boiling water, defeathering, and cooking the animal.
Let’s just say it was an experience.
Other highlights of the day:
Eating a caterpillar. Ok, maybe a low of the day. It was disgusting, and I’m never doing that again. But when in Rome…
Starting the Namibian national anthem with a couple of people and having it turn into a boisterous group sing-a-long with over 60 people.
Being told multiple times that when I move to site, I’ll be living in the “real” Africa. AKA: hot, mosquitoes, hippos, hauling water from the river, etc.
Springboks vs Walabies live from South Africa at a bar with Namibian fans and a former Sharks player as a bartender.
Dancing to Katie Perry with Herero women.
Making fat cakes. Yes, they are as good as they sound.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)