Last Friday, I took my first trip out of the Kavango region
to a town called Oshakati.
Oshakati is about 300 miles west of Rundu. I caught a ride with a nice gentleman named Habit. Habit was on his way to Ondongwa, which
is the town next door to Oshakati.
Habit is a husband and father of 3. He’s a salesman, so we stopped a few places along the way so
that he could call on some of his accounts. We also stopped for every hitchhiker on the route, which
made our progress glacial. Most of
the people we picked up were just going a few kilometers down the road. The scene in the back seat was like a
hitchhiker slideshow; a lone traveler in a suit with a clip board, a man and
woman with three kids, two memes in dusty dresses with big baskets full
of something heavy, a pregnant woman who needed to go to the hospital (we had to
leave the main road to make that delivery), we were waved down by a man and his
young daughter who I was surprised to find out was looking for a ride for only
his young daughter (he paid for her and she jumped in the car and off she went
with two adult men, both complete strangers), two old men dressed in well worn
suits who we dropped off in front of a church, and many others.
Near the halfway point (Okongo) we had three men in the
backseat. Habit had some work to
do in Okongo and I followed him into the store to see what it was he was up to.
Two of the men were still at the car when we returned, but the third had
wandered off. We asked the
remaining men what had happened to #3, but they didn’t know. I jokingly said, “Maybe we should check
the bars”, which triggered a brief conversation among the men in some language I
was unfamiliar with. Habit told us
all to get in the car and off we went to the area with the bars. I stood watch over the car while the
three men went out into a large sandy roadside lot that contained some
permanent and temporary structures that contained small shops, restaurants, and
bars. The temporary places were
just stick frames draped with dirty, tattered fabric. I could see two of the men moving through the crowd and
sticking their heads into the store-cubicles. I then heard Habit yelling and turned to find him throwing
words into the patio area of a grocery store when our missing traveler emerged
holding a beer. Everybody returned
to the car and we all got in without comment and went on our way.
The only thing we stopped for more than humans on this trip
were farm animals. The entire trip
across the top of Namibia is through farming areas where herds of cows and
goats roam in great numbers.
Donkeys and dogs are also common reasons for applying the brakes. At one point we were at a dead stop
with an enormous bull right in front of our car. It’s massive head and horns
were turned toward us and though Habit was laying on the horn, the bull looked
at us as if to say, “what the hell are you going to do if I don’t move?” The sight of this enormous creature
staring us down made everybody in the car chuckle. Habit then said, “It’s the babies you have to watch for. You never know what they’ll do.” He then commented on how dangerous it
was to travel at night here. As a
PCV, I’m not allowed to travel at night and it’s a rule I agree with 100%.
Habit got a call shortly after we left Okongo. It was one of his work colleague and he
was calling to inform Habit that another colleague had died. Death here is part of the
landscape. Rarely does a week pass
that I don’t have somebody around me talking about a death or a funeral. I imagine many are AIDS related, but
those are the ones you never find out why. Others are accidents or sicknesses, such as Habit’s friend
who died from complications related to diabetes. Habit was a bit quieter for the rest of the trip, though he
still laughed every time he got a baby cow to run for its life. The site really tickled him for some
reason.
At 5:15AM the next morning, I woke up in a small studio
apartment belonging to PCV Ashley with two other PCVs; Pam, and Samantha. The reason for the early alarm was that
Pam and I would be running in a half marathon that morning. We were out the door at 6:00 and
encountered a woman and a gentleman who were staying next door. The woman was dressed to run and she
looked legit. I’ve seen some
serious runners in my life and she looked like a pro to me. We greeted each other and then they
jogged off down the road. It was
the first time that day that I wondered if we might be a bit out of our league
here, but I decided to keep my concerns to myself.
After the typical Nam-Style delay, we were at the starting
line with about 55 other runners at 7:10AM. I checked out the crowd and they looked serious, save for a
man in plaid shorts and a collared shirt and a meme in a long, heavy looking
skirt. I was somewhat comforted by
the meme. Along with the long
skirt, she was wearing a purple blouse, and pretty silkish hat. I arrogantly thought, “here’s one I should
be able to stay in front of”. Then
I got a glimpse of the technical running tights she had on under her skirt and
I got an “uhh ohh” feeling again.
As the announcer was warning everybody of the immanent start, the skirt
wearing meme began to rock back and forth throwing her balled fist into her
palm.
The starting pistol went off and the 55 runners surrounding Pam
and I immediately vanished. It was
as if we had been mistakenly entered into a greyhound race. I felt like I’d just been stripped
naked and was running for no other reason than get out of the stadium and away from
all of the spectators in it. The pack
of runners ahead of us exited the stadium about twice as quickly as Pam and I,
the skirt wearing meme with them. The
whole scene just plain confused me.
How could all of them be this fast? My hope was that everybody in the race was just profoundly
bad at pacing themselves.
I could see a few people up ahead, so I pushed myself to
chip away at their lead. I passed
one at 4km and then a couple more around 6km. I then had my new nemesis in my sights, her skirt bouncing
back and forth with each stride, mocking me. It took until the 8km mark to catch the meme, just around
the same time the front of the pack passed me going the other way. I yelled, “you’re going the wrong way!” None seemed amused. Race faces on all of them. My next goal was to pass the man in the
plaid shorts and collared shirt. I
caught him at about the 12km mark.
I was encouraged by how much the people I was passing seemed to be
suffering. I still felt pretty
good, so I pushed a bit harder. I
passed about 6 more people before pulling back into the stadium. I crossed the finish line and stopped
my watch at 1:33:13. Pam did great
too. Having started from zero
about 4 months ago, she finished her first half marathon in 1:54, well under 9
minutes per mile.
After the race we headed back to Ashley’s place where we
again encountered the woman we’d met that morning, this time with her bag over
her shoulder ready to travel somewhere.
We chatted briefly and asked how she’d done in the race. She said 1:08 (1:05:50 is the world
record for women). We noticed that
her bag had Olympic rings and the Namibian flag on it. I looked her up online a few days later
and found that her name was Beata Naibambo. She’s now in London to compete in the Olympics.
After some pizza, we headed off to Samantha’s village Ongha
where we would spend the next two nights.
Samantha’s living situation is pretty quintessential Peace Corps, so I
was excited to visit and finally experience village life. Her village is small. There are a few shops on the roadside,
but little else. Off the road
there are compounds spread about, each roughly a half mile from the other. The compounds are little islands among
sand, grass, trees, and mahongu fields. Her compound
consisted of about 10 to 12 buildings.
Some were brick and thatch roof living areas, some were small coops for
animals, one was cement walled cooking area, one was specifically for pounding
grain into mahongu (grain porridge), and a bird coup that they kept pigeons in (though
I’m not sure what for). Roosters
and chickens followed by baby chicks wandered about. A dog (Hoffa) and two puppies were also in the mix, though Hoffa
had run away from another volunteer’s homestead. Outside the fence wandered the occasional herd of cows or
goats. They had a small pig coup
out there too, with a not so big pig in it.
Samantha’s host family couldn’t have been nicer. When we arrived with the runaway Hoffa,
one of the first comments Sam’s host brother, Shakongo, made was “What have you
done to this dog?” Sam wasn’t sure
what he meant, but I knew he was referring to the fact that the Hoffa was a
boy, yet lacked testicles. Shakongo
knew that removing a dog’s testicles was something only a foreigner would do. It was the first time I saw a Namibian
look at, or speak about, a dog with anything that remotely approached actual caring. I guess Shakango saw this as a line you
do not cross. Not even with a
dog. I can appreciate that.
Pam, Sam, Ashley, and I settled into the cooking area and
made some lentil and pumpkin stew with porridge. The rest of the evening was just talking and laughing. We spent some time sitting around the
fire and then I slept like a baby.
The next morning, Ashley headed home, and Sam, Pam, Hoffa and I went for
a run. Our destination was the
homestead of another volunteer, Nick.
Nick is the owner of Hoffa. He greeted us at his compound gate in the worn out clothing
of a seasoned Peace Corps volunteer.
His time with the Peace Corps will be ending soon. 23 of his 26 months are now behind him. He told us how his hut had no roof when
he arrived, and about a job he was confident he would get in Gibraltar, and
about the freak-out moment he had after arriving to his site for good for the
fear that he wouldn’t be able to handle the situation, and about all of the
medical red tape you have to go through at the end of Peace Corps service. He said that since he was within 3
months of leaving Namibia that he wanted to stay close to his site, which I
thought was cool. I hope that I
have a similar feeling about Rundu in two years.
From Nick’s, we walked back to Sam’s. Nick cradled Hoffa like a baby so he
wouldn’t follow us. We got back to
Sam’s, ate lunch, and then I was invited to play soccer with Sam’s host
brothers. I was a bit tired from
the half marathon and the morning run/walk, but how could I say no? My first teammate was a 7 year old that
was far more soccer savvy than I.
We played Sam’s host brother, Shakongo. Later, other brothers and neighbors joined, all fresh and
ready to compete. It was a blast.
That night everybody ate together around a small
campfire. There wasn’t a moon, so
the Milky Way was like a cloudy river above us. The boys asked us to tell stories about home. I was impressed by how well Sam could
navigate the dark compound. She
said, “it’s only a problem when they plant new trees”. When we were no longer able to keep our
eyes open we left the fire and went back to our rooms and that was that for the
day.
We got up early the next day and headed back to the road to
catch hikes home. Pam and gracious
hostess Sam stood on one side of the road, and I on the other. We both found hikes simultaneously
after only a minute of waiting. We
all smiled and waved to each other and started on our various travels. After two short rides, I caught a hike
all the way back to Rundu with a man named Shame. Shame was a lab technician from Zimbabwe who took a
job in Namibia after his wife was killed in a bus accident two years ago. We talked about his work, and Zimbabwe,
and his two children, and music, and about how quickly time passes. He said he wanted to start his own
business and that he would visit me at my office. When we got to Rundu, he brought me to his work and showed
me all of the instruments he works with and he told me that after 22 years of
this work, he wanted to do something new.
He thought maybe an internet café that also does printing and copying. Hopefully, I’ll be able to help him
down that path.
Thanks for reading. Here are some photos from the weekend:
Pack Mule Jimmy. We're on the walk from the main road to Samantha's compound in Ongha.
Some shots from Samantha's Compound in Ongha;
At Shame's work after returning to Rundu. That's Shame with his hands on this hips checking out a malfunctioning machine.
