the first of many

“Lori hawadi”
Friday, 22 October, 2010

Yesterday, walking through the village with Kaitlin, the same small kids who usually greet me, greeted me. But they looked on in confusion as two white people walked by instead of one. Their only explanation was, “Lori hawadi,” or two Loris.

Remember Kapweke? I do. Before Nicky was the number one person in my life here, Kapweke was vying for that spot. Nicky and Kapweke weren’t friends, but because I was a mutual favorite of theirs, they hung out when we were all together. Kapweke and I were close first. She was in 7B last year and stood out academically, at least in math. I learned her story over time, which I’m sure I shared here in the past, and we were really good friends. Then she transferred to a different school in January and I just recently heard from her again.

I remember the last time I saw her in December. I was on my way hiking somewhere and she came to the road with me. When a car came for me, I hugged her and told her I love her and I left. She was hesitant with the hug – it wasn’t a natural thing for us to do. Neither of us knew if we’d see each other again. She didn’t know where she’d be schooling in January and she didn’t really even have a way of telling me.

A couple weeks ago, I started hearing from her via sms pretty regularly. She wanted to come visit but didn’t have money. I agreed to pay the N$20 hike both ways for her to come visit. We decided she should come this weekend.

Today I was exhausted after teaching, so I lay down to take a nap, holding my phone in my hand so if it vibrated with a message from Kapweke telling me to meet her at the road to pay her hike, it’d wake me up. That wasn’t what woke me up before I was ready – it was Nicky opening my door. I was not coherent in my half asleep state, so I told her I was going back to sleep. I have no idea on the reprercussions of that yet. About 10 minutes later I got a message to go to the road to meet Kapweke.

I only sat and waited about 5 minutes before an overflowing bakkie pulled up, stopped a short distance away, and a girl jumped out of the cab, pointing toward me. I came with the hike money, the driver a little surprised I’m sure, and the learners in the back even more shocked when Kapweke and I hugged each other closer than I’ve ever hugged a Namibian. Seeing a small bag with her, cleaner clothes than she ever had here last year, her face unchaged, the same innocent eyes seeking out my approval, and her big smile made me finally realize what it means to miss someone you never know if you’ll see again. Neither of us held back in that greeting hug.

We walked to her house, starting to catch each other up, or really havinig her catch me up on the last 10 months. I thought she was living with her dad who’s a teacher. Turns out her dad’s a teacher in the bush somewhere near where Kapweke is living, but she’s living with only her sister and her brother. They’re both grade 10 learners. So three learners are living together, going to school and struggling to survive.

We went to Kapweke’s house, looking to surprise her mom, but she wasn’t home. Her small neighbors were excited to see her, yelling her name the way they usually yell mine as I walk by. I sent her to go visit with her other friends for the rest of the afternoon and told her to come and find me anytime tomorrow and we’ll spend more time together. I told her I want to pound if there’s mahangu. I want to swim in the river with her. I’ll do anything she wants, it’s so good to have her back here again!

Walking home from her house to mine, a distance much shorter than from Nicky’s and less frequently traveled than this time last year, I got goosebumps and was near tears. I realized that this place will always hold incredibily important people for me. I had no idea how I’d feel seeing Kapweke after so many months – would we be able to understand each other? Would she look different? Would I see her differently? Would we still be friends? Yes, we understand each other. No, she looks the same. No, I see her the same. Yes, we’re still friends. Time is not going to be a factor in how much I love my friends here. The relationships I have with people here will last forever, just with long silences in them when I’m not here. Sunday is going to be an incredibly hard goodbye, the first of many.

And so they begin
Monday, 25 October, 2010

I had a great weekend visiting with Kapweke. She came to my house Saturday morning at 7:20 which wasn’t so welcome, but I would take her visiting early over no visiting at all. I was still in bed, so quickly got dressed, brushed my teeth and grabbed my water. We walked to her house to pound. There were 2 kakundhu and 2 muto, but when Kapweke asked if I could pound alone in my own kakundhu, I gave her a funny look and we pounded together in one. I’d brought my camera so we had fun taking pictures of each other, and even some videos of us pounding. We spent all morning pounding enough food to feed her family for a week.

Conversation was easy, food was bought with the little money she had and she happily and eagerly shared with me. We had some fat cakes bought from the market, where on the walk there everyone had to greet me and ask me for beer money. Later in the morning we ate freshly cooked beans with day old porridge crawling with ants, but most disappeared when it was transferred to another plate, and they were easy to pick around. The first bite tasted more sour than usual, but with the beans, the only indication that it was from yesterday was that it was no longer hot. It was great to be sharing food with Kapweke again.

We spent a little bit of time at my hosue, where I gave her several small gifts to remind her that I still love her even if we’re not in the same place. I finally returned the soccer ball that I gave her for Christmas last year and she was keeping at my house because it was safer than her house when she wasn’t around, several pages of stickers, 5 toothbrushes for her and her brothers, a notebook to write down things she wants to remember and to write me letters and two addressed and stamped envelopes so she can send me letters next year, telling me how she does in school.

We then went to the river so she could wash her clothes. I sat on the bank with the many kids under age 5 who kept laying in the sand in front of me and demanding, “HOW ARE YOU?” even though every time I was fine and nothing could have possibly changed in the 10 seconds since they’d last asked me.

Sunday morning I realized how much I enjoy church. Well, how much I enjoy that everyone ELSE enjoys church. After an early morning because it’s just too hot to sleep, I managed a great hour long nap when I knew no one would knock on my door and no kids were around making noise just outside my window. Silence is a beautiful thing.

Kapweke came looking for me after church and we went to the road to hike. It was 11. She hadn’t eaten all day and I was trying to hold out for Nicky to come over later so we could make fat cakes, but we both crumbled, taking a break from hiking so she could go and buy fat cakes and I came home to eat lunch quickly and bring cold water back so we wouldn’t dehydrate in the scorching sun. She came back with a friend and they played with Kapweke’s soccer ball and I sat in the shade trying to will myself not to sweat. Finally, a car stopped at 3 that would take her the 50ish km to her home and I paid the driver, gave Kapweke one last hug, held her arm as I walked back around the back of the bakkie, promised her I’d greet Pakella for her since they’d never met over the weekend, and came home, never knowing if I’ll see her again.

Nicky showed up and we finally got to hang out after several visits ending upon arrival when I was just too tired to do anything beyond lying on my bed in the blistering heat with my fan just blowing hot air on me. She wanted to watch Cinderella, but the disk was being funny, so we made fat cakes, per my request. We went to get firewood, I made the dough all by myself and we started a fire. I’d bought holey ladel long back for this specific purpose but this was finally the first time we tried it out. And it worked great! Of course, I think that’s its primary purpose in Namibia.

She asked me at one point if I’m going to Rundu this weekend and I said yes, knowing she wouldn’t be happy that I wouldn’t be around. She asked why and when I started to answer, she interrupted with, “Don’t answer that, I’m just joking with you.” Her English, and her understanding of English, has improved more than I ever thought it could.

There were several times that we found ourselves in hysterics and I thought to myself, I have to write that down, it’s too funny, but of course those specifics are gone now. They don’t matter. Nicky is an incredible person and her smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in the village.

When we tasted our first fat cake, to make sure I’d gotten the “measurements” right, I said, “These are really good, they might be our best ones!” She wasn’t so sure, but she agreed they were good enough and we could make the rest of the dough into cakes.

With enough dough left for about 6 cakes, she told me, “Go and bring the thing we put in the bread when the fat cakes wouldn’t get fat.”

“From when we made skinny cakes?”

“Ghii. But when we made that into bread.”

“Oh, the Italian seasoning.”

And we added some to the dough. We finished making the cakes and tasted our new creation. “Now THESE are the best fat cakes we’ve ever made,” I said, with full confidence.

A quick nod of the head, a sharp intake of breath to indicate her agreement, a big smile in her eyes as she happily chewed away on the Italian fat cakes.

Today was the final day for grade 10 to write their national exams. English. Two exams, morning and afternoon. I never taught these kids math. Or English. But so many of them have sought out my help in any one of their 9 subjects. I couldn’t always help them, but it was always great to work with them because they at least had some math background. In term 1 I watched TED talks with them in class, hoping to expose them to bigger ideas than exist in their text books or that adults bring to their attention.

So when their exams were collected at 4:30 and their classes erupted with yells of excitement at making it over one last obstacle in their way to getting out of their current poverty stricken lives, I couldn’t help but start missing them. Even if I didn’t know their name, their faces are etched in my mind, their places at assembly forever at the left, their seriousness in class always higher than that of the learners I have had the priviledge of teaching.

I was walking back from my house to drink some cold water when they fled their two classrooms on their way home one last time before they find out if they passed grade 10. Cado was one of the first leaving school and when she saw me, she yelled, “MADAM” and started running toward me. We hugged and she told me she got 25 points. They won’t know for almost 2 more months.

I watched quietly as they all left, one last time. Still kids because they’re learners, but almost my age. Some are parents already. One is pregnant. One boy came over and wished me luck in the rest of my time here. We shook hands and he told me he got over 30 points. He’s bright. I wished him luck at Max next year for grade 11.

I found Eunice in the office when I went to collect my things. She’s bright, one of the best. I put my arm around her and asked where she’ll school next year. “Maybe Windhoek.” Oh, I hope so. She’s from Angola and has always struggled with Thimbukushu since she just came in 2009 and didn’t speak a word of it.

Watching them leave is a preview of what it’ll be like when the rest of the school finishes writing, just 3 days before I leave. Only that’ll be immensely more difficult because it’ll be more kids I know, and kids I know more.

But it all comes with the job and those goodbyes are still 39 days away so now’s the time to enjoy their presence rather than dwelling on their absence.