Tsunami Dog: Skirt Chasing in Oshakati

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.