another stream of consciousness

Grocery Shopping
Monday, 22 March, 2010

Have I ever told you what goes into a trip to the grocery store?

First. I have to get to town, 184km away. I either leave after school on Friday, in which case I have to first pay N$10 and hike the 16km to the nearest “town” which is really a big village where I will find a ride to town, now 200km away, and another N$60. Or I can walk almost 4km to the tarred road to town, but my principal doesn’t like when I do that, so I haven’t in over a year. He doesn’t think it’s as safe, and I understand his point. But I’d still prefer to hike on the side of the road where people can stop if they want to pick me up or just drive right on by, instead of approaching every single person at the petrol station where I end up hiking from. My other option if I don’t want to hike on Friday afternoon is to wake up before the sun on Saturday morning, walk the 6 minutes to the gravel road and wait for a combi or venture (respectively: a van of passenger size approximately 12 people but always carrying about 15 passengers when full and an SUV of passenger size 8 but carrying up to 10 or 11 when full) which I will pay N$60 to take with more passengers than seatbelts if they existed and loud loud Namibian music or American love songs blaring at 6 in the morning. Regardless of the day or type of transport, I spend most of the ride to town trying to sleep and ignoring any advances from men I may or may not know or kids trying to crawl in my lap or stare at the crazy which woman who pretends to be African.

Once in town, I take out my list of things to do: find somewhere to use the internet, for free if possible; buy any kind of thing I can only find in town before the shops close at 1pm on Saturday, most until Monday so they won’t open again while I’m in town; pens and pencils to sell to learners at a higher but still affordable price; cell phone recharge to sell to teachers at the normal price, but I buy it for cheaper, which anyone can do but most don’t because you have to buy in bulk and no one plans financially for that; probably go to the Peace Corps office to print things and use that internet if it’s working; find something to eat, like Oshikandela which I only treat myself to when I’m in town; buy bread and bananas, my go to foods when I need a quick pick me up at someone’s house and we’re all PCVs so we’re stingy with our food and sharing unless we shared the cost; finally find myself at an American’s house on their somewhat comfortable couch, reading my book and drinking cold water because I can’t afford to drink anything else. Anyone in town will usually eat together, so a trip to the grocery store and possibly liquor store for that occasion is in order. Then cooking, eating and cleaning up with the only American company I’ve had in the past couple weeks to a month. And sleeping wherever I can find a comfortable enough place to fall asleep - maybe a couch, a shared bed or the thinnest mattress in existence.

Then Sunday morning comes and it’s time to start getting ready to go back home. I wake up early because I’m not very comfortable sleeping wherever I am. I have no food but bread and bananas so I eat whatever I have and make sure I have everything I came in with and everything I’ve bought so far. I put on my bag and walk the 30 minutes to town to go grocery shopping to last me up to 4 weeks (usually it’s only 2-3 weeks). I go to the hike point where I find a group of combis, everyone trying to get everyone to ride in theirs. One time I couldn’t handle that stress and said, “I just want to know who’s going first!” They told me. And we did go first. I put my bag in the combi I’ll take and head to ShopRite (owned by Wal Mart I learned so I don’t often shop there) or OK Foods just next door to my ride. I bring my 2 shopping bags from America so I don’t get more plastic bags. I find some of the things I came for and many things are missing because it’s the end of the weekend, either pay weekend so everyone has bought all the good items already or the middle of the pay period so nothing is stocked because no one is shopping. I buy a treat for the ride, usually some chocolate or a cheesy roll. I usually get some treat to make last for the next couple weeks, knowing it’ll disappear as soon as I open it so I get two instead. Then I go back and sit in the combi for up to 2 or 3 hours before we leave (this last weekend, I only waited about 30 minutes to go once I did my shopping, it was amazing!).

And then we’re on our way. First a stop at the Shell station just on the edge of town to get petrol and fill in any spaces that might be left with more passengers. I always love it when the driver puts me in the front seat because I know I won’t get squished in sitting next to more people.

And finally we’re on our way home. On the way out of town, there are land marks that I always look for, that I also look for on the way in. But when I see them I know I’m going home. On the right, there are big orange trailers that serve as a used bike shop, “House of Love.” I once shopped there, bought a bike I wasn’t happy with and sold it a few months later, only losing N$50. Just past that bike shop, there’s a homestead on the left that always has several thatch roofs in various levels of completion. After 45km, there’s a “travel shop” that’s really a reed shack on the right, across from the turnoff to go to the Agricultural Institute, which I once visited on a hike to town and saw a lot of chickens, cows and goats. It’s closing down soon. After 75km, I know that I’ll pass the nearest volunteer to me from my group. The network will go out for a little bit and in the rainy season, like now, the valley that is there will be full of water, and sometimes that water will come over the road, bringing crocodiles with it. The whole ride home will be scattered with network outages as we go between MTC and CellOne towers. I know that the sign saying 100km to Divundu will look like it says 00km. I know that once we got to Tjova we are in Mbukushu territory and we can turn off the tarred road at any time. Now every turn that comes I pray we’ll stay away from the gravel road for at least one more village. By Mayara, if we reach that far on the tarred road, I know I’ll be home soon. I’ll see the sign for Mukwe Police and assume we’re getting off the tarred road to drop people at Max Makushe school in Shadikongoro. If we don’t turn, I know we’ll get off at the next turn, just passed the giant blue P on the left side of the road, going to Andara. Each land mark means I’m that much closer to the slow pace of life I’m mostly used to, but sometimes lose my patience and become frustrated with the lack of change. It means I’m that much further away from any kind of American contact or regular easy communication with anyone at home. It means I’m closer to the kids I love and the family I’ve created in the village and will miss when I leave for the last time in December.

But that’s what it takes to get any significant kind of food. Anything besides bread, old bananas, tomatoes and onions, expensive canned goods, rice, macaroni, flour, sugar, cooking oil and other staples.

Laughter is the best medicine
Wednesday, 24 March, 2010

Laughter is the best medicine for sure. And the best place to get that medicine is not at the hospital, but with kids. And the best place to find kids is at an elementary school. Funny thing! I teach elementary school!

Kids have been making me laugh more and more lately. Maybe because I’m less worried about teaching them everything they need to know given what they’ve remembered from last year. And maybe because we’re more comfortable with each other than we were a year ago. And maybe just because I’m looking for things to laugh about. If kids aren’t laughing my classes, I don’t feel good about my teaching. I don’t think they’re engaged then, they’re spacing out and not paying attention. At least if they’re laughing, I know they’re listening and learning English, if not math.

Example: Grade 6B was writing a test. Long division was on it. They’re all scared of it. I showed them how to check their answers by multiplying and right before the test, I told them, “Check your answers if you’re not sure!” AND JOSEPH DID!!! I stood behind him and watched him check his (wrong) long division. Unfortunately, he knew what he WANTED the multiplication to be, so he sort of just made that be his answer even though it shouldn’t have been. I picked on him the next day when we did the problems together as a class for corrections, and he knew I was referring to him when I said I saw someone do this, blah blah blah. But he laughed.

Example: Today in 6B (they really are a GREAT class for all the headaches they give me), they were finishing a group project of making tally charts, pictograms and bar graphs of a chosen topic. I grouped them by math abilities because last year I learned that grouping them by spreading out the abilities does NOT work. The high kids do all the work and the low kids are bored and sit back and let them do the work. The highest group of 5 learners was struggling with working together, they were arguing and no one was agreeing on ANYTHING. So I went to mediate. Joseph said no one was listening to him when he told them the right answers, as verified by me. Kathiku laughed and said he never said anything that I had just agreed was right. And Shitunda was fed up with it all and said, “Enough is enough!” And took the paper and pencil and graphs they had to copy from their exercise books and got to work. I walked away in hysterics.

Example: I teach all 8 periods on Wednesday and it is HARD! When I get to 6A for a double block period 7 and 8, we’re all exhausted and hungry and hot. Today was no exception. I walked in and could see that some of them were already dozing or chewing on paper to fill the craving for real food. So we did test corrections for the rewrite they did yesterday (the average is ALMOST passing now, that’s the one class I can’t seem to get through to on a large scale, I blame the lack of English). After making those corrections, we started on tally charts, pictograms and bar graphs; what we finished in 6B today. I knew I’d lost about half of them. So before getting too involved in data handling, I put my chalk away and told them to stand up. Now, I’ve babysat a number of kids, worked in several elementary classes in the states, been a camp counselor and been around kids for long enough to be a kid with them myself. But the other teachers don’t get that about adults. So I’ve always been a little self conscious of having another teacher see me being a kid when I’m supposed to be a teacher. I’ve also learned some great 3 minute games/songs/breaks from teaching. One is Simon Says. They love it. So we played a round of them. Got them jumping, touching their toes (after I showed them where their toes were), moving a lot. Then we did a song of “Bananas of the world unite!” No idea if that’s that ACTUAL name, but that’s how I learned it last summer (and by last summer, I mean summer 2008) on my bike. “Peel banana! Peel, peel banana! Peel banana! Peel, peel banana! Eat banana! Eat, eat banana! Eat banana! Eat, eat banana! GO BANANAS! GO, GO BANANAS! GO BANANAS! GO, GO BANANAS!” while making some near obscene gestures for peeling and eating a banana. The end is just going bananas, which doesn’t make sense to kids here, but today I needed a pick me up so I got really into the dancing/going bananas. It got them laughing and gave them the break they needed from school for the 2 minutes of singing, jumping, dancing and playing with their crazy American teacher who will take the time to take that much needed break instead of beating them out of frustration. Their laughter always makes me laugh.

Example: This is maybe the best example I have right now of miscommunications and kids saying the darndest things. Again in 6A today, after our great singing and dancing, I asked them to tell me about the kinds of graphs they know. Bar graph was the first one they remembered. Then a pictogram. I added tally chart. And then Kamana yelled out “PHOTOGRAPH!” I couldn’t keep it together. What’s a photograph? Like what I have in my classroom on the wall? That I take with my camera? No, Mr. Muthitu (grade 4) taught us about it, and by now more kids are agreeing with him. OK, well, we aren’t going to learn about photographs this year. Maybe a photograph is the same as a pictogram? I don’t think so. One boy described it as a “ka-small picture.” (Ka-small meaning that, yes, it’s just very small.) So I think it might just be a photograph. Not sure. But I laughed. Again. And again. And again. All day.

This rollercoaster
Saturday, 27 March, 2010

I keep thinking I’m off the rollercoaster. But I guess I won’t be off of it until I’m back in the states.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday were hard. There were the highlights, but most of them are in the previous post. So there’s probably weren’t many of them. I spent a lot of the week fighting with Dodo, the principal’s son in 6B, about why he didn’t have a star for doing the x7 flashcards yet. Because you took 3 minutes to answer 7x12!!! He did finally say 84, but it took far too long for him to figure it out. The point of doing the flashcards individually is that they don’t have to think, they just know them. For some learners, for MOST learners, they’re making huge improvements. And they’re very competitive about it. It’s exhausting to try to explain to them day after day why they don’t all get to have a turn everyday and that I’ll start where I left off the next day. They’ll never think I’m doing it fairly, but they’re learning and are getting excited about math, so that’s what counts right? My frustration level is irrelevant.

I had to go to a NANTU (Namibian National Teachers Union) meeting because it was advertised as all teachers, not all NANTU members or even all NANTU members and potential NANTU members. I almost cried. My subject advisor came from town and pulled all of the math teachers out of class for an hour. I also wanted to cry then. I wanted to yell at him and tell him this is why learners are failing! You’re not letting us teach! I’ll be gone in less than 9 months! I’ve never seen you before and I’ll never see you again! Let me do my job because I WANT to be teaching right now! I walked into 7A, whose class I was supposed to be teaching when I was pulled away from class, and asked them, How are you? We are not fine Madam. Why are you not fine? I am not fine too. We are not fine because you didn’t teach us. I know, I’m not fine because I didn’t teach you too.

But then Friday came. And on Fridays, I finish teaching after period 3 (I’m so happy I said screw it and made my schedule nice and let all the other teachers’ schedules come out the way the program said). So I taught my 2 periods after assembly, in which I again almost cried because of the things the principal will tell these kids, and had a really good class. I haven’t marked their project yet, making a bar graph and pictogram, but they were good while they were doing it. And then we played BINGO until the bell rang, giving me my expected freedom for the rest of the school day to get my other work done - setting end of term exams for grades 6 and 7 math, making a new report card format after pestering the HODs about what they wanted it to look like, helping whoever would dare interrupt me to show them how to do something on the computer and other various things I may or may not have actually completed yesterday.

But 6B’s next teacher was in town in the hospital after an anxiety attack and I’m never comfortable just walking out of a class if I don’t have somewhere scheduled to go and the next teacher isn’t in yet. So I stayed.

On Thursday, I was told that there were 10 learners in grade 4 who have boyfriends and girlfriends. So I was curious about my class. So I asked them. Who has a boyfriend or girlfriend. They all denied it. No one would tell on anyone else. We talked about it for a while, why they wouldn’t tell me. Because you’ll beat us! WHAAAT!!!??? Who have I EVER beat? No, you won’t beat us, but they will! Who would I tell? OK, I might tell someone, but I wouldn’t use their name. I would respect their privacy and advise them however I could. Maybe I’m just looking for more work for myself. But no one would still tell me about boyfriends and girlfriends, though some hinted who might have one.

So I started asking other questions - what would you do with your boyfriend or girlfriend IF you had one? Go to their house. It didn’t sound like much. So I asked if they would have sex with them. They all started laughing. I asked them, What is sex? They laughed even more. I asked if boys or girls like having sex more. The boys said girls like it more and the girls said the boys like it more. I got them talking. Boys said girls are always looking to have sex, that’s why they dress like they do and follow boys around. Then Joseph surprised me. He’s 14. And very vocal. Djami’s brother. He raised his hand and asked me, “But Madam, where do girls get breasts?” Turns out, everyone thought girls get breasts from having sex and/or getting pregnant. So we talked about puberty.

I asked if they knew the word puberty. No one knew what it meant, but Shitunda had heard the word and then found it in the natural science textbook. Oh, great! You’ve learned about it in natural science from Mr. Kutenda. No, not yet. Oh, ok, do you want to learn about it now from me or wait for Mr. Kutenda to teach you and learn about it from him. No, now, from you! OK, sex education. We started going through the chart of changes boys and girls go through during puberty, girls starting at a younger age and developing breasts, but then the bell rang. I would have loved to keep them for the next hour (their period 4 teacher was the same one as period 3 and still in the hospital) to keep talking, but I let them go. I didn’t try to start the conversation again. I’ve learned that you CANNOT force these things. They’re talking. They’re asking questions. They’re interested. And they’re willing to hear about it from me at least. Now I just have to have the energy another day to talk about it again when it comes up.

This roller coaster is still far from over.

Rediscovering my love for HERE
Sunday, 28 March, 2010

In the beginning, weekends scared me. Unstructured time where I had to entertain myself and avoid people because we don’t know what to talk about and can’t really understand each other?! Then they were what I looked forward to - either a break from everything by hiding in my house, time to connect with people outside the classroom by visiting homes of learners or a chance to visit other volunteers in town and restock my dwindling supply of food. Then they became a burden again. Not because I didn’t know how to talk to people, but more because I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to talk to people or use that time for a break.

Yesterday I used most of the day to plan for this week and get things done that the management had asked for my help on. But I found myself lonely and depressed after a day of no kids in my life. So I promised myself that today I’d finish my work (still haven’t finished) and go find some kids to hang out with. (I realize how creepy that sounds, but I assure you that it’s not.) And then kids came to find me.

I was busy washing my lunch dishes outside because it’s my only working sink when Joseph from 6B appeared. He didn’t want to say anything but was acting like I had to come and see something he had brought. So I went and there was Diketo! (Background, Joseph is the younger brother to Djami, who died in the fire last year, and Diketo was on of Djami’s best friends, the one I went to print photos with for the burial and memorial.) Back in January I’d asked Diketo’s friends and family where he was schooling this year. Some said Windhoek. Some said Martin Ndumba. Some didn’t know. He’s at none of those places! He’s home collecting money for school fees and came yesterday to visit me, but he must have come in the 30 minutes in the afternoon I went for a walk through the village before it rained.

So today I didn’t have to go find learners, Joseph and Diketo came and found me. Joseph is a really great kid - really smart, funny, a great sense of humor, tons of energy. And sometimes teachers, including me but less and less often, get very frustrated with him. I’ve given him extra jobs sometimes, like finding all of the x7 flashcards when I’m off doing the x8 ones so I can quickly change to the next set without a lot of wasted time. He’ll do anything you ask of him. He’s always willing to help and do his work. As long as he’s working, he’s great, it’s the downtime when he can be found making trouble. And I worry about how he’s dealing with his brother’s death. It’s come up a couple times in our conversations - on Friday 6B had an assignment where they had to make a tally chart, bar graph and pictogram of the boys and girls who are in their family. Joseph asked if he should include his brother who passed away. One time I was trying to figure out where Joseph stays so I can visit him sometime (I wanted to go and find him today to hang out with him before he came to me) and I asked if he stays where his brother stayed. Sometimes. But I know he’s bored in school sometimes and I want to make sure he’s not making bad decisions.

I don’t usually have boys visit me, so I wasn’t sure what we should do. Another volunteer had said that she would walk around her village sometimes with a learner and the learner would get to use her camera. And I’d wanted to do this with Joseph, so I used this opportunity to put my camera in the hands of both boys and learn what Diketo has been up to this year. They at first asked me where we should go to take photos, but I told them it was completely up to them. So we walked through the village to the hospital and to the shebeen, taking random pictures, mostly not so good, on the way. We were chatting about school and simple things. The first thing that blew my mind was when I tried to figure out how Diketo is related to Sawahenga, who he stays with. Ruth’s mother and my mother, they are sisters. OK, where are your parents? My mother she is in Katima and my father he is in Gcriku (no idea how to spell that, and can’t even say it because the c is a click). When was the last time you saw them? My mother I saw her in 2005. When did you last talk to her. Just in 2005! I don’t know even if she’s alive. WHAAATT???

Then Diketo asked about Mr. Mark. He’s in South Africa and will go back to America soon. Diketo told me that if he ever goes to America he will never come back. Joseph quickly agreed. I asked why. Without missing a beat, Diketo said, “It’s too much suffering here” and Joseph said, “It’s too much bad here.” OK, what do you suffer with? Clothes, food, house? Clothes. You have enough food? Yes. You have a bed? Yes.

Joseph said if he’s ever in Rundu, to never say, “Pick something you want” because he’ll pick a bicycle. I asked if he’s ever been to Rundu. I went alone to Rundu in December! So he started telling me about his trip to Rundu and Katima with his father. I had earlier told them that Nicky is on video on my camera telling me a joke and if they have a story they want to tell me I can put it on my camera. Joseph remembered that and said he wanted to be videotaped. OK. Back at my house, I recorded his story about his travels, ending with his arrival in Katima and his family asking what happened to his brother. He told them he couldn’t answer their questions because it was too hard to talk about it. That is the end of the story.

I stopped recording and asked if it’s still too hard to talk about it. Yes. But then he proceeded to tell me about the last day of his brother’s life from his eyes. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He wasn’t as animated. He wasn’t as confident. But he was talking. I realized this was exactly what I wanted on my camera, but it was too late to start recording. When he finished I asked if he’d tell me again. So I could record it because I think about his brother everyday. OK.

He wasn’t playing with the ball he brought anymore. He wasn’t looking at the camera. He wasn’t showing any emotion. He was telling just the facts. He saw the body of his brother when the police came to take it. He was woken by his brother screaming “I’M DYING” in Thimbukushu. He ran to the river to fetch water to try to put out the fire but it was too late, nothing could be done to save him. He gave a statement to the police. Twice. He’s 14 years old.

I don’t know if he was seeking me out to talk about this or if it just happened. I don’t know what his coping mechanism is, but he said he doesn’t think about his brother anymore. They don’t talk about him at home or with his friends. I asked how his mother is. She’s fine, but she’s at another burial today. For a learner from a nearby village who was stabbed to death last weekend. (Last weekend a grade 5 learner also was killed by a crocodile.)

If they think clothing is their biggest concern, they’ve become too accustomed to kids dying.

After talking about Djami for longer than they’ve probably thought about him in the past 4 months since the burial, I brought up the subject of boyfriends and girlfriends in grade 6 again, following up the conversation from Friday’s impromptu class in lieu of Life Skills, though I guess it was still Life Skills. This time he gave me some names. And it’s kind of scary which names he gave me. No one in 6B. But some from 6A who are girls having boyfriends in grade 8. I promised I wouldn’t tell those names. But now I know which boys to talk to. And to give condoms to before it’s too late and the girls are pregnant.

When they left, I sent them away with t-shirts that mom had sent for my friends in the village, but these kids are more deserving and desperate for anything. Their eyes lit up when I said they were for them. I’m sure that will bring more kids to my house, but I’ll be away on weekends for a while, so maybe I’ll be ready when I’m finally here for them. The shirts are from Adrian’s various soccer teams and they were excited about the numbers on them. I love that it’s something so simple as a t-shirt to make a kid feel important.

Marking
Monday, 29 March, 2010

Marking usually makes me want to cry tears of frustration and sadness. It makes me lose hope in the kids I’m here to help and who I love more than anything else in Namibia. It makes me fear that my being here is useless. It makes me want to give up and quit because I’m not making any progress in math, which is the only real qualitative data I have to go on.

But today I wanted to cry tears of joy after marking 7A’s test. I didn’t think it was so easy, and maybe it wasn’t. It was the start of fractions, which in grade 6, they didn’t quite master, so I’m not sure why it’s SO much easier the second time around. They were given a pie chart and a bar graph and asked to find things like “what fraction of the boys like math best?” and “what fraction of the kids who like English best are girls?” Things we’ve been doing for at least a week, but things most of them were still struggling with. A lot. Or so it seemed. They had to add fractions, something that in grade 6, everyone struggled with the whole time. But this year, this class is making it look easy. They had to find averages, something I didn’t realize was so easy, but we only spent about 2 days on it in total. And they didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

Usually the class average is right around 50%, a C here. Passing. So I move on. Even though mastering half of the material is nowhere near enough to ensure understanding and future success. Today’s average was 27/40, still a C, but a HIGH C instead of a low C. Two points away from a B. One GIRL got 38/40! Someone who I know gets it and would be in the top 5 if she put in more effort, but doesn’t usually try as hard as I know she can. Hers was the first one I marked and I was shocked. Only 2 learners failed, one by only 4 marks, the other by a lot. I told them before writing that I had high expectations for them, and explained what that meant, and they surpassed any expectations I had. That has NEVER happened before. But I hope it continues to happen again and again. Either I set a much easier test than I thought, I did a good job teaching, or they had a lot of lucky guesses today.

For the last 2 weeks, teachers have been talking about setting the exam question papers for April. I finally finished mine over the weekend, thinking I was one of the last ones to do it. I will never be the last one to do anything here. I was the first one finished. And everyone was surprised when I turned them in.

This week is off to a MUCH better start than the last few weeks. Thankfully it’s just a 4 day week so there’s less time for it to go downhill.

Where do people come up with these things?
Wednesday, 31 March, 2010

Yesterday, my neighbor, another teacher, came to me while I was teaching. Teachers do this all the time to ask a favor. It bothers me, but I’ve gotten somehow used to it too, knowing it won’t go away and will continue to contribute to learners’ failure. He was very apologetic, as most teachers have learned to be if I’m going to even acknowledge them if I’m busy teaching in front of 20+ learners. He told me that if he comes to me during a class, he’s given it a lot of thought and … I cut him off there. OK, fine, you’re here, tell me why. Those weren’t my words, but they were what I meant. I was hoping I could borrow N$100 until the end of the month when I’ll pay you back so I can put fuel in my car. Yeah, fine, I’ll see you later. First, he knows I don’t like interruptions. Second, he won’t be quick about anything he wants to say, ever.

Then today, I know he was joking, but I just can’t figure out a thought process to the joke even! We were at the school soccer game (one of the worst games of soccer I’ll ever witness at a high school level) and we were discussing our plans for the long weekend. Most people are going away to towns. I’m staying home. He’s staying home. Great! We’ll have company, even though we live next to each other and always have company. He said if he was having money he’d like to be drunk one of the good days on the weekend, would you like to sponsor it? Absolutely not, I don’t even sponsor that for myself! I just don’t know where someone comes up with that comment!

Wednesdays have turned into a very different kind of afternoon from all the other days of the week. Every Wednesday there is a soccer game between our school team and another team that comes to compete. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, I spend the 2 hours of study doing multiplication flashcards with up to 100 learners. I don’t see other teachers because they’re hiding somewhere for the most part, something I also participated in last year. On Wednesdays, I get a chance to hang out with the other teachers outside of the classroom, still with learners around, and it’s become a lot of fun. A lot of laughing, a lot of joking, a lot of talking in English, not so much Namlish. Their small kids are usually there and they love me and it makes the interactions a lot easier. One time, Tinu came and sat in my lap as soon as I got to the soccer field, and his older sister Ida followed. I’m just another person to them finally. Today, Tinu and Ida were playing with a netball ball and Tinu fell in the sand a couple times, once with his mouth wide open, getting sand all over his face and tongue. I probably wouldn’t notice these things with people who are easy to hang out with, but it’s an easy thing for us all to laugh about, since Tinu didn’t seem to be upset about it. I walked home with Matthew and his mother, who told me Matthew will go back to town this weekend until next term. So as I began walking to my house, leaving them to go home together, I said bye bye Matthew and he wanted to come home with me. The only people I’m just another person to are the youngest kids who see me everyday. Skin color will always been the first thing anyone else sees, anyone who knows what the social, historical and economic implications of that color mean. But for kids who haven’t been brainwashed by the media and education yet, I’m just another person who they can get away with more things with.

Why I’m Still Here
Thursday, 1 April, 2010

With the reopening of school after a really great holiday of traveling and then time spent in the village with learners, my love for being here and passion for staying had disappeared. I knew I’d come across the reason I still put up with all the crap I do to stay here, but I didn’t know when I’d find that reason, or what that reason would be.

I found it today.

I prepared for all 6 periods I was scheduled to teach today, but was pretty confident we’d knock off early and I wouldn’t see 6A after break. I was correct. 7B wrote a test and then I played a review game (loose use of the term ‘game’) with 7A for 80 minutes. But the bell never rang for break! I hadn’t prepared for more than the 80 minutes, so I was out of math questions and the chalkboard was not useable because the new ceiling pieces were piled in front of it. So I started singing louder the song that had been stuck in my head all morning…

My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the sun begins to shine.

Mwenyo noticed and started smiling. Tweya asked, But Madam, where did you learn that song? It’s the song they always sing at burials. Sometimes the school sings it at morning assembly. The whole class started singing with me. When that one finished, I got Yondo to lead the next one, she’s the singer in the class. (Her math skills have always left something to be desired, but she got a high five today when in her group of 7, she was the only one who didn’t start listing multiples when the question said to list all of the factors of 12.) So we spent the next 30 minutes until the bell finally rang singing church songs that I’ve learned over the last year. I love singing with these kids. There’s reason 1 - how much they love doing something when an enthusiastic adult will take the time to care about it (sometimes it’s like pulling teeth in morning assembly when the principal tries to get them to sing, resulting once, in all of the girls being punished by kneeling on the ground for about 30 minutes while some of the boys asked why only the girls had to do it).

The bell rang, I went home and thought about starting the long list of school and home things I want to get done this weekend. But a nap was in order first. I was only interrupted twice, the first time by Nicky and Seglinde, who I told I would find in an hour to hang out. And I kept my word. I found them outside playing butu with several other girls. After about 45 minutes, the three of us left when the game dissolved. Seglinde’s grade 1 cousin, Matumbo, came with us too. We walked into the village, got fat cakes and boiled peanuts with the N$6 of coins I had with me and sat in the shade of a building by a previous volunteer. When Seglinde and Matumbo were off getting the food, Nicky started telling me about school and the other kids in 7A. There’s reason 2 - how easy it is to hang out with kids because they’re craving the positive attention, feedback and advice I so willingly offer.

Then I heard things I didn’t want to hear and don’t know what to do with. Makushe is pregnant. She’s in 7A with Nicky and Seglinde. She’s 15. They don’t want me to tell anyone. I have to. We discussed what I should do, because as a teacher, I have to do something I told them. I respect their concern for their classmate and their concern for not having their names attached to the fallout of what will surely come of this. They asked that I talk to Makushe’s best friend Haimbiri first. OK, I’ll do that, maybe even this weekend. There’s reason 3 - these kids need someone who is willing to approach these difficult subjects and issues in a sensitive and constructive way.

From there, we walked around the village some more, found a grade 9 boy drinking, who got scared of the way I talked to him when I told him I never want to see him drinking again as he denied that the beer was his and his friend even covered for him. We ended up at my house, where we found Ndara and Mukoya waiting for us. There’s reason 4 - I’m the sister to so many of these kids, how can I leave my family here before they expect me to go?

We picked mudhika, went to Isolde’s house to pound, and cooked it back at my house with dimbombo. Kids came and went as they passed, seeing some kids outside playing games always brings a crowd. But as it got later, most of them disappeared and it was just Nicky, Joline, Karabu and myself to eat together. That’s reason 5 - there is nothing better than a “family” dinner, and a family dinner in a Namibian village with kids who cook for you and then you’re considered an equal and can eat from the same plate using only our hands is love.

The more I think about it, the more I feel home wherever I might end up in the world. I’ll be surrounded by people wherever I go. Yes, we’ll look different, and talk differently and think different things are normal. But we all have the same hopes and dreams and desires and needs. We all want to feel loved and wanted and appreciated. We all need to eat and drink. And we all want to be accepted by people who are different from us. I’ve accepted these kids and they’ve accepted me. I look at them in class and sometimes forget that I might never see them again come December 2010. We’re living the same life for now, so I forget that I just recently met them and they will soon disappear from my life. Everyday, a different face will stick out, where I feel like we have a common history, a shared past, when they couldn’t be more different.

But that’s why I’m still here. For moments like those and days like today.

Note to self…
Saturday, 3 April, 2010

Note to self: When you run on Saturday morning, wait until after 8am so the funeral processions don’t drive by you. Especially the one you SHOULD have gone to, but didn’t because it’s 3 villages away, but you’ve never been there so wouldn’t know which home to go to and don’t have transport there because the only person you know who’s going is the son to the woman who died and you aren’t close enough friends with him to ask for a ride or for him to arrange transport for you. If you hadn’t been running yet, you wouldn’t have seen that both the principal and another friend in the village were driving there and you could have gone with them.

Shoot.

Smile!
Wednesday, 7 April, 2010

I couldn’t keep the information about Makushe’s pregnancy to myself. Tuesday morning, at break, I went to the HOD and told him. I also told him how the information was disclosed to me and I would like it to be handled sensitively. So far so good, no other teachers know about it.

Yesterday I asked Makushe’s best friend, Haimbiri, about Makushe. She wasn’t revealing anything. Today my lesson with 7A went only half as long as I’d hoped, so I was stuck with 40 minutes to kill and nothing planned, as well as no chalkboard to work with. So we talked about how to prevent getting pregnant. Blah blah blah. USE A CONDOM they told me. So I asked if anyone knew HOW to use a condom. NO! WHAAAT??? Well, there’s something I can work on then. Everyone has to come to study today and we’re going to learn how to use a condom.

Study came and all the girls were in one class and all the boys in the other. We started with the basics: What is sex? I know some are having sex. I was not there to tell them not to have sex, that’s not going to stop anyone. I was there to teach them how to prevent getting pregnant, getting HIV, and getting STIs. The first mention of sex, vagina and penis brought loads of giggles, so I let them get it all out. Then I took the wooden penis from my bag and there were even more giggles. One girl is a mother already.

We went step by step how to make sure the condom is still useable, how to open the package, how to put it on and how to take it off. Then every single girl in grade 7 who came to study, 26 of them, got a turn to put their condom on the wooden penis.

Their embarrassment started disappearing about halfway through the 26 kids aged 13-17. When they’d all had a turn, we talked a little more, I asked for any other questions, which of course there weren’t, and I started naming other things they might not know about, but which will happen to all of them; getting breast, beginning menstruation, puberty in general. Madam, why do we bleed?

Another short discussion ensued, but I’d lost most of their attentions so I encouraged them to come with questions at any time and we’ll get back together as only girls. I sent those from 7B back to their class and the boys were allowed to come back in. Some had been peeking in the windows the whole time, making the girls get embarrassed and we’d chase them away.

Ngasia was trying to peek into my bag when they boys came back, wondering what I’d done with the girls (my bag is cut open because the zipper broke, closed, so it’s never closed anymore). I asked the girls if I should show them what I’d brought - I pulled out the wooden penis. Four of the five boys immediately fell into laughter, the fifth one couldn’t figure out what it was right away. When he did, the knowledge sparked even more laughter. Mwenyo told me that now the boys have to practice! I hadn’t wanted to inflict that kind of discomfort on boys I thought wouldn’t want to do that with a female teacher. But I’m all for it! Tweya even told me that he can bring a box of condoms so the boys can do it tomorrow.

A particular highlight was when Thikoka Kunyima (Nicky’s older sister) said to Thidjukwe, “Sara, SMILE!” while she held her Smile condom up across the room. I know I’ll be remembered for at least teaching them how to use a condom.

Sex education is more important than math here.

Yet I’m still off to finish my math preparation for tomorrow’s 3 double periods.

Thank you
Thursday, 8 April, 2010

Thank you to everyone who has shaped who I am today. Thank you for your patience in my lifelong education. Thank you for letting me explore the ridiculous places I feel drawn to. Thank you for supporting my world travels, whether financially or emotionally while I fall apart thousands of miles away leaving you feeling helpless to my tears.

But mostly, thank you for imparting a passion for life and others in me. Thank you for teaching me to respond to negative situations in a positive and constructive way.

I always assumed I reacted to things the way anyone would because I react the only way I know how, but it has become glaringly clear lately that, at least in my current location, my reactions are anything but normal.

There have been 2 really tragic events that I’ve witnessed and become very emotionally invested in since moving to my small Namibian village.

The first was the death of Djami, a 16 year old learner and friend, when his house caught fire with him inside and he was burned to death last November. My initial response, as I left my village for a weekend of Thanksgiving celebration, was that I had to stay around the people who knew him - his family and friends, my learners. When I came back 2 days later, I put all of my energy into his funeral and honoring him in any way I could. I reached out to his grieving friends and they became my support as I became one of the only adults showing them any support.

The second event that I’m still responding to is the pregnancy of my grade 7 learner, Makushe, who is only 15 years old. As teachers find out in their own way and time, they react with shock, or without it because of Makushe’s actions prior to this development, but without much show of concern for helping her or changing the situation or trying to prevent future learner pregnancies. Everyone’s response is to keep telling kids not to have sex. But words make only a small impression on someone, they won’t change anyone’s behavior. So instead of just talking to them and telling them not to have sex (which I know some will do anyway), I brought condoms and a wooden penis to school so all of the learners can practice putting on a condom.

It was today that I realized I’m alone in taking action. So thank you to everyone in my life who has given me the courage to do the things I know are right when everyone else sits idly by and watches and complains as the situation get worse.