Ok, so I think I left off when we came into Nambia—keep in mind that I didn’t get much internet access in Botswana, so this is a bit staggered. We flew into the capital city of Windhoek (I think vind-hook is decent approximation) on May 28. The first thing that occurred to me was that Windhoek was developed and empty. There was a ton of development, as Namibia was actually a part of South Africa until 1994, and there are so few people that even the capital city does not seem crowded. To give you an idea of the pop. density, take all the people in Manhattan (about 2 million?) and put them in a country the size of California. Actually, this is not really a happy fact, because the low population is said to be the result of more than a few atrocities during Apartheid, but let’s move past that unhappy reality for the moment.
First thing we did was drive to Ami’s village in Northern Namibia, called Omuthiya. At some point driving North, we crossed a checkpoint called the Red Line, above which development was vastly behind that in the South. According to Ami, the areas above the Red Line were basically left to themselves during Apartheid, so the North has the largest population but very little of the country’s wealth. It’s a bit shocking to enter a foreign country where race is as present (if not more present) than the US, and even more shocking to be in such an environment where Indians are a part of the racial equation. Although they are less present in Namibia, a ridiculous amount of Indians have straddled the line between Blacks and Whites in South Africa for decades. Even bread consumption is racially charged. According to Ami, only whites in Namibia were permitted to eat white bread, while blacks ate wheat (or dark bread). Insane.
Omithuya Gui Iipundi, the formal name of my sister’s town, translates as “chair under the thorn tree”. Omuthiya emerged as a stopping point along a major highway, and residents from nearby villages have gradually occupied it to form a growing town. Ami doesn’t live in poverty, as she has electricity, a gas stove, and a friend in a government office who has DSL, but let’s just say that she’s learning to live in a way that most of us were not brought up. She can take baths inside, but has to go to the outhouse to use a toilet (in the loosest sense of the word). She walks everywhere, washes her clothes by hand, and keeps her room closed off in every way possible to avoid the cockroaches, flies, and mice that inevitably move through her “apartment” (her bedroom door is the only one that closes fully, so there’s a blurred line between inside and outside).
It’s not as bad as it sounds though. She’s made a comfortable life here, and what always shocks me is how important the background details can be to one’s life, the details that don’t really crystallize in periodic phone calls. Ami’s got four host sisters (mostly orphans who are given a home on the homestead and materials for school if they work on the farm). “Younger sisters” aptly describes the relationship, as they will do just about anything she says. She throws impromptu dance parties for the five of them in her living room, and when the two eldest pass their Grade 10 examinations in November, she’ll be the person cheering them in the audience. She has a cat and three dogs left by the previous Peace Corps volunteer. The previous volunteer named this cat Takamitha, which means Be Careful, because she got Takamitha after accidentally stepping on and killing her first cat. Sounds ridiculous I know, but she also named one of her dogs Cutie Pie, so, even though I’ve never met this woman, I wouldn’t put it past her. Ami’s officially a health volunteer, but when Ami actually got here and asked the community what they needed, she found that computer training for teachers and community development projects were what they needed. It’s an interesting situation. There’s an infinite amount of resources to solve the AIDS problem here, but when it comes to poverty, Namibia’s problems don’t quite get enough attention.
While we were in Omuthiya, we attended a fundraiser for a Microfinance group that Ami helped start to encourage small business opportunities. The fundraiser was selling meat outside of a bar. Let me remark that Namibians love meat. A lot. They were selling barbequed mutton with no veggies, no bread, no condiments…and not one person asked for any of these things. Some days later, when my mom told a woman at a café in the Windhoek airport that she didn’t eat meat, the cashier looked puzzled and responded, “But why? Meat is so good!” It might have been offensive if she wasn’t so sincere.
After some quality time in Omuthiya, we headed to Etosha National Park, where we got to see wildlife from a few more angles. If you read my previous post about the Boiling Pot, ditto for the Moringa Watering Hole in Etosha. If my life ever gets so complicated that I just feel like I can’t think things through, I need to save up a couple g’s and come to this spot. I feel like I could sit there forever. I also caught National Geographic Moment #2 on a nighttime game drive; we saw lions feeding on a freshly killed zebra. The park at night is a different world, but the feeding was actually pretty gross, so I’ll spare you details. If you’re interested, you’re a sicko (but don’t worry, I’ve got video).
Namibia is beautiful in the diversity of its landscapes, so when we finished at the game park, we headed to Swakopmund, the resort town where sand dunes meet the Atlantic Ocean. This is Angelina Jolie’s Namibian playground, and it was quite comfortable. We finally got to an internet café long enough to send an update, so that’s where I sent the first one. My parents went quad biking on some dunes, while I climbed one. I think the pictures are pretty epic. If not, I’ll be pissed because it was grueling. We also ate some amazing seafood, but I’m really looking forward to Mozambique for seafood.
At this point it is probably worth mentioning that I’ve been driving quite a bit here. At first glance, this might seem normal, but a few things are worth clarifying. First, our rental car was a stick shift. I didn’t know how to drive stick shift two weeks ago, but automatic rental cars are very expensive and my dad doesn’t like driving so much, so a brief driving clinic ensued. Second, Namibians drive on the left side of the road. If the manual driving wasn’t a problem, why should I let a small thing like different traffic patterns stop me? Third, the drive from Swakop to our next destination involved two mountain passes. I wasn’t afraid, but my mom may have thrown up a prayer or two in the car. Anyways, long story short, I can now drive a manual, but it may have cost that Toyota Corolla its transmission.
We couldn’t get too comfortable, as my dad only had about three weeks in Africa total, so we then drove to the Namib Naukluft Desert. The red sand dunes in Sossesvlei (am I the only one who thinks of Mars when I hear about red sand dunes?) are said to be some of the tallest in the world, and we got a workout climbing them. Otherwise, we just enjoyed being in the middle of a beautiful desert and finally relaxing after our three week race. After a short time, we headed back to Windhoek, where we saw my dad off on his return to America. BTW, let’s all let out a collective sigh for my father. He was originally planning to arrive back from his thirty-six hour trip home at 11 pm on Sunday night, only to start work on Monday morning in Richmond. Unfortunately, the last leg of his flight (Detroit to Richmond) was delayed three times and finally cancelled at 1 AM. He’s still in Detroit.
Wow, very very long again, but I’ve been implored not to cut down. So I won’t. Anyways, I’ve appreciated every email back, so please keep them coming!
Amar
P.S. Jed, I am laughing like a lunatic in a Ministry of Trade office in a small town in Namibia, particularly because I can’t explain this story to anyone around me. If I saw you in an airport, I’d do a lot more to you than take your seat. Punk.
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