Dear friend,

Today I moved in to Africa.  I live back a dry dirt road surrounded by sandy fields, goats, donkeys, cows and baobab trees.  The road continues on beyond my exploration to more fields, mud huts and carefully constructed homes.  Between the start of the dirt road and its continuation into the unknown, lay the grounds of the mission on which I live.  The sun is vast and the daytime sky is offensively bright.

Dear friend,

The people here are friendly.  They are always amazed to see a white girl.  They sing beautifully, dance amazingly and though it seems they have little to celebrate, they are content.  They are perfectly content with exactly what they have.  Quite simply, they cannot ask for more.

Dear friend,

Namibia is hot.

Dear friend,

I teach eighth grade English to a classroom full of Namibian learners.  Today I taught them a lesson about the difference between fact and opinion.  I read statements and they were to shout out which one it was; fact or opinion. It went something like this… Statement:  I love chicken, response; OPINION.  Statement: There are 100 cm in a meter, response;  FACT.  Statement: Life is hard, response (the right answer according to my lesson plan was, of course, opinion)  but they chose fact.  Without hesitation, life is hard, that’s a fact.  I went on to explain why it is actually an opinion; the look of disbelief remained on their faces—they were not convinced.

Dear friend,

Henri Nouwen writes: “When we dare to care, then we discover that nothing human is foreign to us, but that all the hatred and love, cruelty and compassion, fear and joy can be found in our own hearts.”   I agree.

Dear friend,

Yesterday a meme under a tree with wrinkly hands, sold me a fat cake.  It is a sweet, fried dinner roll-like snack.  Delicious!

Dear friend,

This afternoon I was out walking.  There are four guava trees lining the path by my house.  I picked a guava and took a bite, fascinated at the color and goodness of something growing in my front yard.  Pink and yellow, sweet and crunchy.   A fence separates the path from a parallel path that leads deeper into the village.  Three small boys ran by and saw what I was doing.  GIVE ME GUAVA, they yelled at me.  And I threw a small yellow fruit over the fence to each of them in turn.  Only a fence separated us.  We had everything else in common at that moment.

Dear friend,

Today my young friend Emelie knocked on my door.  She was crying.  Her nine year old sister, Rosalinde, died.  Will I please come to the funeral tomorrow?  Because the family has no car we were in charge of getting Rosalinde to the church.  We picked her up from the mortuary at the hospital.  There was a short prayer and her small coffin was placed in the back of the pick up.  Once there, shuffling feet and down turned heads followed Rosalinde and the young pall bearers into the church.  The hard pews were not filled, the frequency of funerals makes for sparse attendance.  The coffin sat alone on the hot stone floor.  A large Namibian meme, dressed brightly but with a sad face, occasionally rose to spray the bright pink bottle of air freshener around the edges of the coffin.  The funeral was brief and matter of fact.  Men on one side, women on the other.  The cemetery glowed white from the hot sun.  The hollow sound of dirt being thrown on top of the coffin, echoed painful truth and made my stomach hurt.  Even though her family is being taken from her one by one, Emelie stood strong, her lanky arms clinging to the branch of a tree as she looked on and did not shed a tear.  This is a part of life, she said.  Today I cried for Africa.

Dear friend,

There was a giraffe.  Tall and graceful.  It ate a yellow flower from an acacia tree.  Gracefully.

Dear friend,

This past weekend I visited a friend and her family in the village.  Their homestead is a windy maze of hand-made fences and small round huts.  On Saturday morning we woke at 4:30 to pound the mahangu, the grain.  In a candle lit hut with a hole in the ground we stamped heavy poles and made flour.  Just the girls.  A young and able bodied male sat outside the hut.  I asked him if he wanted a turn, no, no he doesn’t even know how to do this.  It is the women who get things done in Namibia.

Dear friend,

They gave me a pink shell necklace.  They turn the small round shells pink with a dye from a berry.  And they string them together.  It is a sign of wealth.  It is a lovely necklace and given only when friendship is established and true.

Dear friend,

Today Kauna called.  She got her test results back.  She is positive.  Fortunately her little girl (who wears pigtails) is not.  They are coming to visit me this weekend.  I hope I know what to say.  I hope I know how to respond.

Dear friend,

I just got over a three day sickness.  I thought I would die.  I ate some beef at a party for orphans, beef from a cow that was butchered in my front yard and then left to sit where flies could fly before it was cooked.  And even then there were flies.   It is so nice to feel healthy again.

Dear friend,

Today I waited for 2 hours at the post office.  I got your package.  The Swedish fish you sent are like a rare treasure!  It was worth the wait.

Dear friend,

Tonight the donkeys outside my window were so loud in their braying that I could not sleep. 

Dear friend,

It’s hard to be a white English teacher in Africa.  One of my learners wrote this:

English is very important because if someone look for the person who is going to look after his children but he want the person who know to speak English, what can you do now?  You are just going to be quiet because of your English.  And somebody came into your house he don’t know how to speak Oshiwambo what can you ask him if you don’t know how to speak English?...the person that know English he is just thinking that you are stupid.  Your stupidness is just came from uneducated.  Without education we cannot survive because its nice to know how to speak many languages.

It shames me with guilt that they think they are stupid if they cant speak English.  Do I help to make them feel that way?  Its like Ngugi said, ‘what is the difference between a politician who says that Africa cannot do without imperialism and a [teacher] who says that Africa cannot do without European languages?’ 

I hope they have learned more from me than just English grammar and vocabulary; it is the only way I can justify having taught here at all.

Dear friend,

Today I saw a waterfall.  And I felt the waterfall.  And I smelled it.  I tasted the waterfall as it fell.  It was loud and beautiful.  Do you think it’s bad that I took a photo of it?

Dear friend,

Remember t.s. eliot?  He wrote this: ‘we shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.’

Dear friend,

Africa isn’t just a far away dark continent anymore.  It is names and faces and friends and death and life and days and love.  How can I possibly come home now?  But oh dear friend, I have missed you too.

From Megan
From Africa

Selected as Honorable Mention, WorldTeach Spring 2006 Journal Contest.

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On Friday night I was at the local cuca shop (bar) with a few teachers and some of their friends. We were sitting and talking over a beer when one of the teachers, Dalia, got a call on her cell phone and started chattering away in Oshiwambo. After a few minutes, she jumped up and said in her beautiful Namibian accent, “We’re going to the bush!” We all looked at her, a bit puzzled. “What? We’re going somewhere?” She looked back at us and said, “We’re going to the bush to eat meat. Let’s go!”

So we piled into two trucks and drove on the paved road for about five minutes before veering off to the left into the wilderness. We off-roaded with absolutely nothing around us except trees and bushes and sometimes an uneven dirt road. Interestingly, while this was going on, the tough-looking Namibian guys driving us chose to put their favorite artist on the tape player: Celine Dion. It’s funny, Celine Dion is huge here, and guys in their 20s and 30s absolutely love her. So it’s 11:00 on a Friday night and we’re driving through the wilderness listening to Celine sing “It’s All Coming Back to Me.” Unbelievable.

After about 45 minutes of bumpy terrain and nothing but nature in sight, we suddenly turned left and saw some lights. We pulled up to a shebeen in the middle of nowhere and found an entire village of about 100 people drinking, eating, and dancing. There were mothers holding newborn babies, school-age kids dancing, and older memes and tates (terms of respect for older Namibian men and women) sitting with their families. It turns out we had arrived at Dalia’s home village. To the right were the mahangu (millet) fields, to the left was wilderness, above was a sky full of stars, and all around us were Namibians from Dalia’s home village having a wonderful time on a Friday night.

We walked in and Dalia introduced us to her mother, sister, and brother, and sat us down with some drinks. We ate barbequed goat (which is delicious!) from a communal bowl, and sat and talked. At one point a group of the teenagers in the village wanted to talk to me and Britt since apparently we were a novelty. A few tried to speak to us in Afrikaans, and they were astounded to find out that we speak more Oshiwambo than Afrikaans. They wanted to shake our hands and touch our hair.

Finally Dalia led us back to the table and we sat and talked with her family and friends until 3am. It was such a wonderful night, and so much fun to hang out in a remote village and meet these warm and lovely people. The later it got, the more Dalia seemed to be in her element, and every time we would do a toast, she or her friend Rauna would yell, “To the bush!” It’s nights like this that make me truly love being in Africa.

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Fiona was a year-long volunteer at the Rössing Foundation in Arandis.

I can't believe how quickly second term is passing.  It was a rude awakening when I realized the Grade 12s would start exams in just over three weeks.  I am so glad the primary classes don't all have exams.  This gives us so much more time for lessons.

Despite the speed by which it is passing, I am feeling so positive about this term.  Teaching continues to be a big challenge for me, but I am starting to see the fruits of my efforts.

My favorite part of the day is when I teach remedial reading at the local junior primary school.  This term I was able to split up my kids into different levels.  The advanced kids are speeding through letter clusters and their reading vocabulary is increasing daily.  The light bulb has finally gone off in the heads of the kids in the slow learner's class.  They (most of them) are no longer guessing, but actually reading the words I put in front of them.  I also have a special class of three little kids that don't speak a lick of English (as Shannon would say).  The other day one of them turned to me and said in perfect English, "Miss Fiona, I just don't understand."  I nearly fell of my chair. I'm sure she had no idea why I was so happy after that.  It is wonderful to see the self-confidence building in these kids.

By the end of each week, I have taught every child attending the local senior primary school.  I am a guest teacher once a week in their English classes.  We are focusing on some listening skills with some phonics and reading lessons thrown in for good measure.  Mostly, I am reading Charlotte's Web (John's suggestion) to them and asking them lots and lots of questions, tricky ones too.  At first I was staring at blank faces.  These days, I have a sea of hands in the air from which to choose.  The other night the head of the English department at that school stopped by for help on her noun/pronoun lesson.  She told me that she could see a difference in the kids already.  She says she finds the kids more engaged in her other classes.  It seems like a small thing to read to kids and ask them to answer questions about what they have heard.and it certainly seems like a small thing to hear that the kids are listening more attentively to their teachers.  I am learning however, that teaching, at least for me, as all about small wins.

Teaching the Grade 12s is by far the least enjoyable part of my week.  They are a surly and bad tempered bunch and they walk around with permanent scowls.  But even these guys have put a smile on my face recently.  I see each Grade 12 class (there are two) once a week for a double period.  My proposal to the principal at the beginning of term was to focus solely on listening comprehension during these classes.  The class averages were 45% and 47% on April's listening exam, so it seemed important to address this problem.

Since then we have been doing weekly practice tests.  One listening test after another until they learn what they should be listening for and how to answer questions properly.  After each test we go over the mistakes.  To break the monotony, but to continue improving listening skills, we are reading The Outsiders together.

I put out a challenge to the Grade 12s at the beginning of term.  My challenge (baby steps only) was for the two classes to improve their listening exam average by 10%.  Little by little the averages are indeed going up.  I am confident we will at least surpass the 50% mark this term.  On one practice test recently, both classes scored an average of 79%!!!  Such a score, other than delighting their teacher, gives them the confidence to set higher than usual goals for themselves.  Maybe it will also turn that frown around, if even for only a few hours!

As for the Grade 11s.I teach each of the two Grade 11 classes once a week.  I am attempting to teach them critical thinking by teaching a section on debating.  Thus far I am not seeing much more success.  One of them argued in a debate recently that pregnant girls should be suspended from school because if she is in class when the child starts kicking, it will disturb the class.Where to start???

For some reason when we boarded the plane from Johannesburg to Windhoek a wave of panic hit me.  A year is a very long time.  These days I am realizing a year is really not that long at all.  Especially as I start to see results, I start to think of more and more and more things that can be done.and what could be achieved in two years.in three.  I will definitely be going home at the end of this year and much will be left undone.  However, I have great expectations of what can be achieved by December.

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Megan was a year-long volunteer at the Canisianum Roman Catholic Combined School.  Canisianum is located in Northern Namibia, Omusati Region.  The school is located around 3km from a small town called Uutapi in a rural setting with many farm animals strolling across the school grounds.  The majority of people living in this part of the country are from the Ovambo culture.  Megan taught English and Computer classes to grades 8 and 10 school children.  When she was not busy with teaching, she was active with the HIV/AIDS club. 

I just got back from throwing guavas to some Namibian boys over a fence. It seemed normal to me until I realized it seemed normal, then it seemed something worth writing about.

There are four guava trees lining the side of the Cheshire home. I was picking one for Galasius because he couldn't reach it from his wheelchair. Meanwhile some village boys walked by and asked me to throw them some. 'Give me guava!' they shouted. ok.

A routine is emerging for me. Life is normalizing. I wake daily to one of five sounds. Either it is my annoying alarm clock, dogs howling, roosters crowing, or feet scuffling by as the Cheshire kids ready for school.  Regardless, I wake and untangle myself from my mosquito net to begin the day.

When I leave my room, I receive a series of disinterested and obligatory, yet friendly greetings from those who are pumping up the tires of their wheelchairs. Eye contact and real conversational engagement are certainly not a priority for Namibian youth! And yet a greeting that may typically be thrown aside due to morning drowsiness becomes a formal must from a child to an elder.

I eat breakfast on a blue bench outside the kitchen and confront the morning which generally already promises heat. Instant coffee and museli with long life milk have become the usual sustenance.

Being the sole possessor of a staff room key necessitates that I arrive to school on time (7:45). I do, even though many of them don't, and I open the door where the bustle of class preparation and more obligatory, yet increasingly sincere hellos take place amid the array of Namibian, Indian, and American staff. Upon entering the classroom the students rise to greet me with a unison 'good morning miss.' The incessant greeting gets somewhat irksome but is one of the ways of the Namibians to which I am learning to comply.

If lesson plans are not a clear cut, black and white presentation, there is rampant confusion from the learners. If I allow room for creativity or self-expression, I am met with the blankest of stares from the majority. I tried deviating from what appeared to me a boring textbook and instead tried poetry-only a few understood. It took me a whole class period to properly convey to them the purpose of a journal. I gave an entire week of lessons on capitalization and punctuation-they still don't come close. I tried basic formats for paper writing and speech giving that I was trained with at this age- very little success.

So now I teach to them as it seems they need to be taught, with simple life applicable uses of the English language: how to take a phone message, how to write a recipe, how to write a letter, how to spell the days of the week etc. Suffice it to say my classes must have been equally frustrating to them initially with my ignorance of the type of teaching to which they respond well.

At 10:40 there is a twenty minute break at which time meme's (Namibian women) emerge from the villages to sell fat cakes. This is a highlight of my day. Fat cakes are sort of like an elephant ear (funnel cake for you easterners)-a sweet doughy thing. But they aren't ears and they aren't funnels; they are in the shape of a dinner roll. And they are so good! You can get two for N$1.

I am called on throughout the day to edit dissertations for teachers working on additional degrees, state the difference between the pronunciation of non and nun, spell unfamiliar words, write letters of request for donations and fix computers. My background as a native English speaker seems to imply omniscience. It keeps me busy, though I can't always meet all their requests with the skill they anticipate.

School is out at 1:40, there is a break for lunch and then the learners return to the classroom to study until 4. It is during this time that I keep the computer lab open and without fail it fills with eager inexperienced hands who remain entirely fascinated by their luck of having access to a computer (on April Fool's day I told all my classes that the computers were being taken back by the bishop who donated them because he needed them for the church. They were devastated and relieved that it was a joke).

Also during this time I have been opening the small library, which is entered with equal joy. Evening offers another study session and more time for computer work. During this time, I focus my efforts on those who are working with me on the school newspaper. It will be primitive, but we will have a newspaper in the end.

If there is free time I sleep or read or go to town and wait in line at the post office or go to Catholic AIDS Action (an organization that facilitates care for AIDS patients and looks after the orphans and is on the grounds of the mission) and put vitamins and other medications in little yellow bags for the patients.

And that's the day. I return to my room for a little calm and preparation for the next day and go to sleep.

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Daimar was a volunteer at Waldfrieden Primary School in Omaruru.  She is a retired teacher and journeyed to Namibia at age 66.

If teaching school involved nothing more than implementing a single, rigid set of rules and an inflexible set of lesson plans from which no one was allowed to deviate, anyone could do it. But being an educator means being responsive to different learners--who learn in different ways under constantly changing conditions. That is, of course, what makes education a true profession. When a person is an educator, he or she is calling upon the unique knowledge and background in his or her experiences and, at the same time, utilizing the prior knowledge and background of the learners in each particular class.

WorldTeach offers an opportunity to do this, which may not exist in any other program of its kind. The very fact that WorldTeach welcomes young adults who may not necessarily have a background in education, and permits them to develop their own teaching style to fit the school and environment in which they serve, encourages them to be confident, creative, and resourceful educators and to nurture a teaching style that works for them. Consequently, they learn about themselves in the process of teaching others and, if they take advantage of the opportunity they are given, truly contribute to society.

Because it extends for a full school year, the WorldTeach program in Namibia offers to its volunteer teachers an opportunity that is particularly valuable in this regard, and if it ceases to exist, the loss would be truly tragic--for the Ministry of Education, for the volunteer teachers who participate, and, most of all, for the children who will become the future citizens of Namibia itself. The program opens the door for the volunteers to gain a firsthand understanding of a culture unlike their own, to discover that there is more than one way to learn and live and contribute to society--that learning to cooperate with and respect the rights of others is more important than money or power.

As a newly independent, still developing country, Namibia has at heart a spirit of tolerance and forgives mistakes. The Continuous Assessment Program encourages teachers to observe the performance of learners in many different contexts and to use a variety of ways to give each of them an opportunity to excel. This allows the volunteer teacher to develop his or her own methods and hopefully to build a valid set of criteria for learning. Both teachers and learners can thereby have a chance to explore their strengths and weaknesses and build confidence for the future.

Because WorldTeach lasts for an entire year, there is ample time for the volunteer teacher to build on the inevitable confusion that occurs at first in a new environment. During the winter break, when classes are not in session, the teacher can plan productively based on knowledge of the needs of those particular students. Thus WorldTeach Namibia is an in-depth teacher training experience unmatched even by most teacher training programs in America, which often extend for only one or two trimesters and rarely provide enough time for the novice teacher to build upon his or her classroom experiences.

As an alternative to service in the Peace Corps, WorldTeach is by far the best of the many other service opportunities for the cost. Most other programs charge as much as WorldTeach for only three months or for six months at the most, and never for a whole year. Any WorldTeach Namibia volunteer will come away with an experience worth far more than the investment of money that is required. If education is really our hope for the future, WorldTeach Namibia is a vital resource that builds productive lives, productivity, and economic well-being.

In today's unstable world of terrorism and uncertainty, it is good for Namibian children to be exposed to adults who come from other places, other cultures, and other ways of life. At the same time, it is valuable for young adults from America and Europe to discover that people can lead happy and productive lives without all the devices and aids so easily taken for granted in places where technology is more fully developed. Much of the teaching and learning that happens at WorldTeach sites in Namibia happens outside as well as inside the classroom.

Harvard University, the institutional sponsor of WorldTeach in America, ought to reevaluate and strengthen its financial support for this outstanding program, particularly for Africa. There is an atmosphere and a beauty in Namibia that wipes away the stress of modern life and nurtures caring between student and teacher. WorldTeach Namibia has the potential to become the showcase, premier teacher-service/public service program in America of which Harvard University should be proud. It is an investment that Harvard cannot afford to abandon.

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Christina served two years as a volunteer at the Okangwati Combined School.

When I was in grade eight, there were times I would fake a stomach ache, dodge classes, or beg my mom to let me stay home for the day. I didn't mind school, but the thought of just staying home was more compelling.

That's why I'm astounded when I listen to stories from some of my grade 8 learners, like 25-year-old Mukwena. When he and many other Himba learners like him discussed going to school with their parents, it was quite different from the conversations I had with my parents.

Mukwena remembers seeing tourists come through is village. He was always taken by the small children and how well they spoke English. After observing these people for much of his life, he concluded that school was very important and that he wanted to go.

As a young teen, he asked his father for permission to take a step way from his traditional lifestyle of cattle herding in order to attend the nearest government school. His father strongly denied his right to education, claiming he had responsibilities in the village and that there was no value in schooling. After many failed attempts at begging, Mukwena ran away.

Not long after he enrolled in school, his father appeared at the classroom door raving with anger. He dragged his eldest son home and severely beat him. Mukwena stayed home for several weeks, until his determination recovered. On the darkest night of the month, brave Mukwena snuck away.

The second beating from his father was even more severe. Wire was strapped around his neck and wrists, and he was dragged behind a whipped donkey. This time Mukwena stayed home for two full years.

At 19 Mukwena felt his age brought extra power and weight in his family. He approached his father about attending school again. He was both elated and concerned over his father's response. Mukwena was told he was old enough to do what he wanted, but that he would receive no support whatsoever from the family. Mukwena was forced to work long hours at a shop in a neighboring village to make money for the school fees; but shoes and a uniform were lingering issues.

At 19 Mukwena entered grade one a very happy man. He has since progressed to grade eight. He visits his village, which is 25 kilometers away, only three times per year. His relationship with his father is not what it used to be. His father continues to speak to him with such anger.

Mukwena is determined to work hard in school so that he can graduate and become a history teacher. And what's he planning to do with all the money he makes? Give it to his family.

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Kawai was an HIV/AIDS Resource Teacher at Martin Luther High School, Okambahe.

The problem is not a lack of information, because the capital city and many other parts of the country are plastered with billboards and signs talking about condoms and safe sex. The newspaper is always running HIV/AIDS stories, and they have a column called Open Talk, which deals with youth issues and sexual health. The problem isn't "too little information."

The problem is that no one thinks that it will happen to them. Many of the students date, many of them drink, and many of them have sex. But I don't think very many of the students really believe deep down inside that they could get HIV. It's always someone else, the person down the street, or the people who aren't in school anymore, the farmers in remote communities. It's a difficult problem to fight, because students at this age don't ever listen to adults, and as a result it's almost impossible to get through to them.

But I'm trying. I keep telling myself that I'm trying. And I'm not going to stop, as long as I'm here. We have an HIV/AIDS group on campus, and although I try not to take too much credit for it, the fact that it even still exists is due in part to me. When I came to Martin Luther High School, the HIV club was embroiled in constant in-fighting and disorganization. Now that I have started to help organize, things are changing. I think that the group is finally learning to put aside some differences and work towards a common goal. We're planning to go to other schools later this year and help spread the word, and I'm trying to get all the students to take HIV tests, although that's a personal choice and so I don't push too hard. I'm also going to make it a point to bring an HIV-positive speaker to campus, to help destroy the stigma that currently surrounds HIV-positive individuals.

The problem is enormous here. If behavior doesn't change soon, Namibia will be missing an entire generation of people due to death and illness as a result of the virus. But I'm glad WorldTeach has provided me that opportunity to understand what it's like to take part in trying to solve the problem. Of all the different roles that I provide to this community, my role as the HIV/AIDS resource teacher is my personal favorite. Not because of the subject matter, which I would just rather have disappear. It's because I really feel that it's possible to slow the spread of the virus, and I think I can help achieve that. It's a good feeling.

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Letters from the Kuk, by Britt Horton

Adaptation is a powerful phenomenon…how did this village suddenly become my home? I knew it would with time, however I am a little surprised at how simple and subtle the transition was. I am sure it was made easier by the friendly and curious Oshikuku community, the dedicated Mupewa staff, the explosive personalities of each of my learners, the unbelievably synchronized relationship I have with my roommate, the peaceful skies, my mp3 player, wearing flip-flops year round, and the overall welcoming and diverse cultures of Namibia. My daily routine seems so normal now and I have difficulty pinpointing the obstacles I struggled with early on. Although I have become good friends with the pace and way of life here, the “wow (or shall I say whoa), I am living in Africa” moments are still generous. One day that stands out was when I visited a Himba community near the border of Angola. The Himba are one of the last tribal groups in Southern Africa that still lead a semi-nomadic life. They are most definitely eschewed from the modern world, wearing goatskin to cover their lower body and bare breasted on top. They do not bathe, instead they smear their skin with a natural concoction of butter, ash, and plant material to protect it from the sun and keep it youthful looking. And wow does it work, this stuff would be gold in Hollywood! The Himba are some of the most physically and spiritually beautiful people I have met in my whole life and being among their presence for even just a short amount of time was an experience I will never forget.

My Learners… “Miss Britt, how do I not get the pregnant?” this question from one of my grade six learners during a healthy choice club I started represents why I love them. Always engaging and honest! The only way to describe my learners is to create a salad bowl of adjectives…they are curious about everything and anything from my hair to Kangaroos to why the White House has 19 bathrooms, their intelligence and intuition shines through when given a patient ear and comfortable environment, their naivety and innocence emerges when discussing healthy life choices such as sex and disease because these issues are not spoken about openly at home in this culture, when discussing any other geographic location other than Namibia because travel is rare (many of them want to know how long it took me to drive here and if I have been to the moon) and when discussing technology (out of my 180 grade five and six learners ONLY THREE had heard of the internet), scrumptious and extremely adorable with their bright smiles and eyes against their dark skin, the fact that they are always holding hands and shy away when I give them an extended smile or glance, provocative…they could dance circles around Usher and Beyonce (I am fascinated with their moves yet torn and feel like an overprotective parent who does not want their child growing up to fast), mature because they have dealt with more pain and suffering than many of us will in a lifetime.

If someone had told me six months ago that I would be spending Easter in Botswana I would have never believed them. Over a recent ten-day holiday I traveled to Windhoek for the Independence ceremony to witness history as Namibia’s first President Sam Nuuyoma (fifteen year term) handed over the Presidency to Hifikepunye Pohamba. It was a valuable day exploding with joy and true admiration among the Namibians to be living in a free country. After the ceremonies I headed to the Okavango Delta (an enormous national park where the rivers of Angola, Namibia and Botswana meet) in Botswana with four other volunteers…what a splendid and serendipitous road trip! We camped out deep in the bush under the most magnificent stars, heard lions roaring at night, saw elephants, makoroed throughout the day (a makoro boat is a dugout canoe that one sits in and glides peacefully along the delta water by the push of a pole) and went on crazy nature hikes. Ready for the cliché?…I felt like I was in a movie for most of the journey. Apart from the absolute beauty of it all, while hiking our guide would pick up giraffe or elephant droppings, smell them, rub them between his fingers, ponder for a few moments and then relay the exact coordinates of the animal… “female giraffe, north-west, three hours ago.” I thought this kind of stuff only happened on the Disney Channel!

Back to The Kuk…one of the extra curricular activities I am really excited about is my start up of a “Healthy Choice” club at Mupewa. The purpose of the club is to further educate learners about HIV/AIDS, nutrition, drugs and alcohol, peer pressure, and how to make healthy life choices. The school did not have an AIDS club (for that matter any club)…which is crazy considering one out of every four people is HIV positive in northern Namibia, so I got permission, put some things together, informed my grade five and six learners, picked a day and over 70 learners showed up. It was one of the best days I have experienced so far in Namibia! Due to the high attendance I hold the club twice a week. So far it has been great, yet emotionally draining because of the personal stories my learners share with me.

As I conclude this letter I leave you with a flow of consciousness of the simple yet my most favorable things about life in Namibia, here we go… the immense satisfaction of doing all of my laundry by hand and allowing the Namibian sun to dry it within minutes leaving it with one of the purest smells my nose has experienced, navigating through my village or other camp sites by the light of the moon and stars (I seldom bring or need a flashlight), the enormously flavorful mangos, how the little ones in the community call me Meme Britt, eating the Mahangu porridge with my fingers, watching the beautifully bold women in the village conduct intense labor with a newborn baby slung onto their back with an oversized sarong, the laugh of my Namibia neighbor Dalia (who throughout the months has become a brilliant friend), the amazing and highly fashionable ever-changing hairstyles of the Namibian females (detailed braids to trendy afros), leaving my shoes outside before entering my home so I do not bring in sand and thorns (I love being barefoot), the card wall in my house where I post all of your fabulous letters and think of you as I walk by, paying $5 Namibian dollars for a beer, equivalent to .80c in the U.S. (the kicker is that the beer is really good), passing an enormous Baobab tree everyday on my walk to school (it reminds me of the talking trees in “The Lord of The Rings,” except more obese), THE CLOUDS, THE CLOUDS, THE CLOUDS! (while sitting, walking, or driving I tend to just stare at them in amazement, some days they go on forever and some days it is as though my world has become two dimensional and I could just reach out and touch them…this happens everyday and never gets dull), the daily visits from the cows, goats, pigs, chickens and communal dogs, Namblish (English with a Namibian twist), the sight of the women carrying huge bundles of sticks or jugs of water on top of their heads…they make it look so easy, and finally the pace of everything over here. Outside of my classroom activities, there is a lot of breathing room…

It has been a while and it is hard to know where to begin, so I decided to just jump right in...

"Miss, I will eat your dog!" demanded Nicodemus…"Nicodemus, don't you dare eat Stompy!" Once again another collaboration of words I never dreamed would come out of my mouth. Let me clarify by backtracking about two months. It was a warm Saturday morning in Oshikuku and all of the Mupewa learners and staff met at our school for a day of beautification and to clean up the school grounds. After the younger learners started painting the trees (paint is a rare occurrence, so obviously the learners started painting everything in sight…at one point I looked down and was receiving a green pedicure) the teachers realized we must strictly monitor where the paint goes. I was stationed at the school gate with my grade six boys and not even five minutes into our task, Nicodemus (a lovable troublemaker) started painting his body blue. After reprimanding him in a playful yet serious tone and a strong explanation that the blue paint belongs on the fence, he looks up at me disappointed by my demand and boldly sates "Miss, I will eat your dog!" Hell of a comeback, right? Loud laughter broke out among all the boys and I too start laughing because I am pretty sure he is joking with me. However, a brief and unpleasant mental picture of Nicodemus eating Stompy flashed in my head and just incase he was not fully joking I sternly commanded him not to eat my dog. This exchange in dialogue was certainly unique and utterly funny, but also comforting. It is common for traditional Ovambo people (large tribal group of the north) to eat dog, however, I know that most of my learners do not partake in this. Nicodemus also knew that it would be foreign for an American to eat dog (I have shown him pictures of Baxter), so this scenario actually demonstrates a brilliant understanding of our cultural differences. Secondly it represented progress and confidence on behalf of my learners to joke around in English and a level of comfort to be sarcastic with me.

Although cultural awareness and understanding has strongly developed between me and my learners, there are still many bumps in the road. Just this past Monday I had my grade 6B perform dramas. I was teaching them about morals and life lessons. One of the groups was performing a drama with the moral being "do not steal." Halfway through the drama one of the girls playing the role of the wife loudly shrieks at a boy playing the robber to "Fock Off!" My head shoots up and I ask the girl to repeat what she said… "Fock Off Miss Britt." My inner monologue is all over the place at this point… ok, how do I handle this situation as a professional, I mean the worst thing I have ever heard any of my learners say in English is diarrhea, did the words "Flock Off!" really just come out of that tiny body in a Namibian accent all the while keeping a straight face? So, using every ounce of will power I could gather not to break into laughter, I explained that "we do not use the F word in this class." Big mistake…being that English is the second language for all these kids obviously they are not familiar with certain terms, in this case "the F word". In response to my request I got "Miss Britt, what's the F word?" before I had time to get around this one, various learners decide to take it upon themselves to help their fellow learners understand the "F word" and start yelling out "Flock" and "Flock Off." For a good 30 seconds all you heard in my little cement classroom was a "Flock" here and a "Flock Off" there and so on. At this point I am at a loss so I hide my head in my lap and face the corner for a moment. Finally, things settled and I explained that "the F word is a very bad word that should never be used because it can hurt feelings." Obviously this girl and most of my other learners did not understand the severity of the F word. This situation and so many others similar to it are a good and constant reminder that I am living in a country where English is a second language so I must remain open to surprise and cautious of my explanations.

Other than threats against my dog and being told to "Flock Off!" by my learners, village life in Oshikuku has been very kind to me. My relationships with my fellow colleges are stronger than ever and although the learners can be a handful, their innocence, curiosity and big hearts keep me motivated. My healthy choice club is running smoothly. During HIV/AIDS awareness week last term the club members performed a skit demonstrating how the immune system fights off other disease, yet cannot prevent the HIV virus. It was great to witness the expressions of the younger learners…something in their heads finally clicked by observing the club members act out the roles and relationships of white blood cells, the body and the HIV virus. They knew people died from AIDS, but after the performance now they understand how and why. The Mupewa library continues to grow, (thanks to many of you) and is a tremendously beneficial tool…we now have six shelves filled with books and the learners have been soaking up every paragraph and illustration to the max. Another enormous development and vital addition to Mupewa that transpired last semester was the purchase of a brand new SHARP photocopy machine. The machine has made a world of a difference and has marvelously contributed to the school in ways I did not even anticipate. Sharing four textbooks among 39 learners in no longer a disturbing issue because now teachers have the ability to make copies.

Unfortunately the climate here has not been as kind to me as my school activities. Honestly the last time it rained was in March! My skin has never been so thirsty and the surrounding colors of the fields and palm trees have faded from vibrant green to an ocean of oatmeal. Water and power shortages occur often which disturbs the flow of life and hygiene becomes a challenge. But, as with any obstacle one adapts and the lack of concern from my Namibian community and slow pace during the hottest hours of the day rubs off and eventually the sun sets. The drought, famine and locusts raids presently taking place in Niger also put things into perspective and although it is all-relative, I realize it could be so much worse here in Oshikuku.

As for adventures beyond northern Namibia, I have had amazing travel experience and exposure to new and magnificent cultures. Halfway through the second semester I venture west to the coastal Namib Desert to go sand boarding on the marvelous brick red, rolling sand dunes. It was definitely a unique experience that can only be tasted in a handful of places throughout the world.

In between second and third term I had a three-week holiday and trekked across Namibia and Zambia to spend two weeks in Malawi. We packed flip-flops, a few tank tops, a sarong and hit the road. It took four days by public transportation to reach our destination, Nhakata Bay (located on the western shore of Lake Malawi). The journey consisted of buying most meals through the windows of the over packed buses (by meals I mean ripe bananas and biscuits), meandering through markets exploding with color while hordes of vendors shoved everything from meat to g-strings to cheese graters in my face, and paying a few cents to use the toilets (which in most cases was a plot of earth behind a decrepit wall…the first time this happened I asked myself "did I really just pay money to pee out in the open dirt with no toilet paper while five older traditional Malawian women watched in entertaining disbelief?...yeah, sure did"…by the end of the trip this exercise was routine). The first day on the road I was hurled forward in my seat as the bus swerved and braked…I turned my head and looked out the window as an African Elephant thundered out of the road and into the bush…other than me and my friends, no one flinched, it was like a squirrel in the middle of the post road for them.

Once we reached our destination it was impossible not to fall in love with the people (who are hands down the friendliest I have ever met in my life), the culture of colors, smiles and feeling of peace, as well as the beautiful crystal clear lake (many people compare this enormous lake to parts of the Caribbean). We slept in thatched huts overlooking the water, soaked up the sun and the contagious relaxing vibe, showered with geckos, met friends named "Happy Coconut," drank the local beer called Kuchi Kuchi, and when the sunset watched as hundreds of fishermen gently paddled in perfect synchronicity towards the middle of the lake in their dugout canoes guided by dim lanterns, to drop their nets and make their living. This ritual is conducted every night and has been for centuries. As the sun begins to rise and the lake starts to shimmer the fisherman slowly return to their village beaches…such a beautiful and extraordinary life. I also embarked on an amazing five-day kayak trip 90km north up the lake towards Tanzania. It felt wonderful to be on the water again! We paddled throughout most of the day stopping along the villages beaches only accessible by boat, to eat lunch, swim with the most adorable kids and cliff dive off the surrounding rocks. I am so pleased that I got to sample life in a country so different from Namibia. Despite its magical feel, Malawi is one of the African countries in the worst shape when it comes to AIDS, agricultural struggles, overpopulation and economic devastation. Although my holiday overflowed with enjoyment, observing the differences and the severe struggles Malawians face was all together difficult, educational and thought provoking.

After the holiday I lunged right back into school mode and have been busy since. This upcoming weekend our school is hosting a fundraising bazaar in hopes to raise money for a grade seven building. Being that this bazaar is the first for the Mupewa community and I am one of four members on the social committee planning the event, every free moment is dedicated to making this weekend successful. I am in charge of activities and entertainment. It has been really exciting to introduce events like the tree-legged race, musical chairs and potato sack racing. The entertainment and activities planned are nothing far from a fair at home…just a few Namibian twists. However, the budget and funding to get this bazaar up and running is a completely different story. At most social events, money is allocated and planned for in an annual budget or donations are made in the form of a check. Here at Mupewa, goats, chickens, and traditional beer take the place of currency. As of yesterday, there is a goat tied outside my classroom donated by the Oshikuku councilor, eight chickens and two ducks from parents with their feet tied huddled right next to the new photocopy machine and large cow is expected any day! All of this is quite normal for Northern Namibia, but every time I enter the office to retrieve a book I must leap over the growing heap of live chickens…definitely an obstacle that would not occur in primary schools at home. Recording donations was certainly a trip… 'Mr. Ashipala's mother's neighbor donated one live chicken, one goat head and a beer bottle full of marula oil'…imagine the thank you letters… 'Dear Mrs. Ashipala's neighbor, we thank you tremendously for your goat head…' Although these procedures are foreign to me, I have complete confidence in my staff and community. There are some great business minds among my colleges and what it comes down to is that instead of dollars, we are dealing with domestic animals.

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