goodbyes and hellos

“Maybe it burned Cinderella”
Saturday, 27 November, 2010

Nicky came over after the party. I got hungry, not sure how. So I salted and roasted the rest of the ndongo that I’ll eat here, the rest are for bringing to America. She lay on my bed eating them and I was sitting on my blanket on the floor that acts as a chair. I turned the visualizer on in iTunes and she noticed the “Burn Disk” in the bottom right corner.

“But there’s no disk,” I told her as I opened the disk drive to check.

“Hey, maybe it burned Cinderella!” she had an explanation for why Cinderella doesn’t work anymore.

I laughed and explained, “It’s not the kind of burn like fire. It’s like to put something on the CD.”

She understood my laughter and joined in.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
Monday, 29 November, 2010

I thought everyone finished writing tomorrow. I got to school to find that grades 8 and 9 were finishing today. A whole day of normalcy and kids was stolen from me! We had to wait around outside until the office was opened, and in that time, I was brought more cards from learners wishing me a safe journey, a Merry Christmas and just telling me goodbye and they’ll miss me. I even got a letter from a parent, probably the best letter I’ve been given because it’s coming from such an unexpected place!

The staff briefing went extra long and it was extra awful, even knowing it was my last one. I had found that I was 11 question papers short for grade 6 so was busy stapling the last minute copies that were made for me. Finally we were told to go to assembly and I was hoping for extra singing.

I got no singing at all.

I stood and listened one last time while the principal talked away in Thimbukushu and English about things I couldn’t see the importance in anymore. Finally, I knew he’d started talking about me, surprised once again at just how much Thimbukushu I could hear. That’s the one speech about me from the last few days that I wish I had on video. I had kids remind me what was said later in Thimbukushu, and had them translate into English.

“Tumushimbere mu meho.” We will remember you in our eyes.

“Twakumuvuruma.” We will not forget you.

“Ndangi koyiwana tutendera pa shure.” Thank you for everything you did at our school.

“Ndangi thimumenena yingi two nakuhongera kukoye.” Thank you very much for everything you taught us.

Then I was given the floor to speak.

“Good morning,” I greeted them.

“Good morning, Madam,” they greeted me back.

“Like the principal said, I’m going on Friday,” my voice broke and the tears came. “And I’m going to start crying now because I’m sad to be leaving all of you. There’s a saying in English that goes, ‘Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.’ So with these tears, I have a smile. Because I’m happy for the last two years, I’m happy to know you.” I picked out the faces I needed to see – Kunyima, Nicky hiding behind Thidjukwe, Sawahenga, Kapapero. I continued, “Even though I look at all of you and you’re my learners, you’ve taught me more than I’ve taught you. Thank you for that.”

I couldn’t keep talking, my voice was too broken and the tears were threatening to come in full force. They sang a song instead.

Assembly ended and I had to invigilate another math exam. I walked into 6B composed and found Kapapero crying. I left to 7B and found Kunyima wiping tears away from her eyes, quietly. I walked into 7A and everyone was just quiet.

The exam went off smoothly enough and kids were released. I had to come back to mark, and found grade 8 preparing for their end of year party. Muhora invited me on the spur of the moment, so I spent the afternoon marking, with interruptions from learners to hang out and visit or see their marks, and sharing food with my friends in grade 8.

After eating with them, I went back to my classroom to finish the marking and Muwara, Yondo, Mukuva, Kapapero, Haushiku and Nicky showed up to hang out. I had my iPod, so put it in and started entertaining them with my horrible singing. Videos were made, photos were taken, Sophia learned how to use the camera, and eventually it was dark and time for everyone to go home.

That time of the day has become the hardest – when it’s just late enough to admit the day is over and I’m going back to my too full, empty house; when I can cross off one more day on my calendar; where I’m one day closer to seeing the people I love and miss in the US but one day closer to saying some of the hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had to say. It’s a funny place to be, caught between wanting so badly to go and wanting so badly to stay.

It’ll never change
Tuesday, 30 November, 2010

I always get to school thinking something will be different. But it’s always just the same.

Only grades 5-7 had to come today for their last exam – Agriculture. It’d make sense to write early, get it over with and release all the kids for the holiday. But what makes sense generally doesn’t happen. So after waiting around until about 8:30, an hour and a half after I got there, kids started asking me when we were writing. So I finally asked.

“The question papers aren’t here.”

“What?!” I asked, unbelieving, even though it makes perfect sense in some odd, twisted way.

“Someone went to get them.”

It took at least another hour until they showed up, and they were only 4km away. Kids were eating soft porridge, so the exam was even later than it had to be.

I used that time to continue in my quest to pay as many school fees for kids as I could. There’s always talk about how kids have to pay school fees, even though it’s clear there’s no parental support or income. I hate reminding my class to pay. So long back, I’d sent an email about sponsoring a learner for just US$25. Well, I had finally brought this information to my principal and he wasn’t thrilled about it. “But then next year, they’ll expect it again, I know my people.” WHY ARE YOU SO NEGATIVE ALL THE TIME?! So it was like pulling teeth to do what I wanted with it. He wanted me to pay to buy bricks for a school wall. Or to just give it to them. Or to buy new sports uniforms. The way I saw it was that if I paid for N$8000 worth of school fees, they’d have that money anyway, which they wouldn’t otherwise have, and then they could do whatever they wanted with it.

Finally, it was decided that I could pay for the top academic boy and girl in each class. This was about 3 weeks ago. Names were supposed to be submitted, but nothing ever came of that. So I paid for 7A, 6B and 5B, with approval, even though I’d already paid for one class without telling them that’s what I was going to do. Those were the “higher” tracked classes in each grade, so kids generally perform better. It had been announced that if kids hadn’t paid school fees, they couldn’t collect their reports. So if they wanted to transfer to a different school, they wouldn’t be able to. Now at least the kids who work hard to get a good education can have the option to transfer to another school for a better education.

When I paid for 7A, I walked into their classroom, closed the door behind me and gave them a scheming look. They didn’t know what to make of it. I hadn’t been given approval for this, so I asked them, “Do you know what is a secret?”

“Ghii, we know.”

“Can you all keep a secret?”

“Ghii, we can!” they were getting excited.

“I am going to finish paying your school fees for this year, with money that was given from my family and friends to keep you in school, but you can’t tell anyone. So I’m going to give you money to bring to the office and you have to tell them you’re paying. DO NOT TELL THEM I GAVE YOU THIS MONEY! You can make up any story you want, just don’t say my name.”

They laughed and understood. “Madam, you’re only paying for our class?”

“No, for 7A, Ms Shishanda knows, my class and for 5B, Ms Siyanga knows. I picked classes where the teachers won’t talk. What if I paid for Mr Mukoya’s class?”

“Hey! He can talk too much!”

I started giving the first learner money, when a teacher walked in. Everyone fell silent. After giving away my calculator so he could figure out his marks, learners jumped on a new task, “We need security!!” Nicky and Ngasia stayed at the door, closed, to make sure no one was coming and to warn us of any potential problems.

Then I got approval and paid for 6B, but I still gave each learner money with the instructions of paying at the office, whatever balance I told them, and to bring me the receipt and the change. No problems. Many smiles, many thanks, they’re happy to be given help in something so simple.

Then Ms Siyanga came and told me that 5A was owing, altogether as a class, about N$2600, could I help that? I’d love! But we have to do it without the principal or HODs knowing, how? She took enough money for the kids who did well but hadn’t paid and paid for them saying they were in 5B. No one will check. Then I even paid next year’s school fees for a few kids who need it and will school here next year.

Altogether, I paid about N$5500 in school fees. And the rest is going to sports uniforms.

Kids wrote, and I let them go as they finished. About half way through, Nyangana Michael gave me his exam and started walking toward the door. He turned around, came back like he needed something and said quietly to me, “Madam, goodbye.” I didn’t let myself realize the reality of that and reminded him to come on Friday morning to wish me a safe journey.

I was busy copying all of my learners’ names and birthdates onto the last form of marks that I’ll have to make, though it will probably still take me at least 4 more tries until I make it without many mistakes. I realized that it was Anton Haushiku’s 14th birthday today! So when he came to give me his exam, I whispered, “Happy birthday” to him.

He looked at me confused and said, “Yours?”

“No, it’s YOUR birthday!” I pointed to his birthdate on the form and said, “30 November, that’s today!”

He laughed shyly.

Mayira finished his exam, took his books and pens and handed me the pencil I had given him for the math exam. I hate when learners write in pen for math, so I gave each of my 98 learners a pencil last Thursday. I shook my head, it was his to keep.

Learners came to see me, but not really to say goobye. We visited for a little while, until I had to go do teacher things – try to figure out how to get Nicky to school in town next year without the proper documents; act as the principal’s secretary by typing his letter; finish figuring out my marks for my four classes so I can offload my work onto other teachers who aren’t leaving on Friday.

Finally I came home to eat since my stomach had been complaining for hours but one thing after another kept me at school. I looked in my fridge and realized my only food is mushungwa, so I made porridge.

Nicky and Kunyima showed up hungry, so they made some too.

My next item to cross off my list of things to do before Friday was to give away all my clothes. Christophine works with an HIV/AIDs support group who also helps some OVCs, and I’d promised her my clothes I won’t bring back to the US. She had told me she was at the VCT, so we brought my bucket of clothes there. I started out carrying it on my head, but it was too heavy and hurt, so Nicky and I carried it together.

Christophine and Peter were there and they looked through all the clothes, approved and I said my goodbyes to them, leaving my contact information and promising that I’ll find them when I get back to visit.

It was too hot so a trip to Dipupo was in order. We found only boys there. Even 18 year olds can get excited about a game of tag – koye kayendo! Shadrick was “it” and in Thimbukushu said he was going to give it to me. I didn’t hear it, and didn’t know I was part of their game, but everyone was laughing so I asked Nicky for clarification.

“He said he’s going to come here to give it to you.”

I egged him on, calling, “Wiye! Wiye!” Come! Come!

As he got close to the rock I was standing on, I jumped into the current and made it to the other side before him, easily out of reach. I got to the top of the rock to jump, but my confidence isn’t quite what theirs is, not having grown up on the river. I always have to mentally prepare myself to jump into the water. He caught me on the rock, before I was ready to jump.

On our walk back home, following our footprints the whole way, Nicky told me, “Your first day in America, you won’t miss me. The second day, you won’t miss me. The third day, you won’t miss me. The fourth day, hey!!! Then you will miss me too much!”

“And when will you start missing me,” I asked.

“When we get in the bus in Rundu to come back to Andara and you go to Windhoek.”

Back at my house, we found Matthew, nyimu to cook and eat and music to listen to. A calm afternoon with the three people I’ll miss the most – Nicky, Kunyima and Matthew.

What I set out to do
Tuesday, 30 November, 2010

Everyday marks some “last.” Today is the last day of November. When I wake up tomorrow I have just two days left in Andara.

I walked Nicky and Kunyima home after a very full afternoon with them. Before we got to Seglinde’s house, Nicky told me that she was going to Rundu tomorrow and then to Windhoek to stay with her father for school next year. I crossed in front of Nicky to say a proper goodbye to Seglinde. I gave her a hug and told her good luck in Windhoek and she told me good luck too. In 2009, in grade 6, whenever I called on her, she would cover her mouth and laugh with a look of terror in her eyes. Even if she’d raised her hand! I would get annoyed. I learned when I could and when I couldn’t call on her. She started visiting. We became friends. She got more comfortable in class and it no longer mattered when I called on her.

At the midway point to Nicky’s, I turned around and listened to the little kids greet me be name, and continued our chorus of “Hellohowareyoui’mfineandyou?” until we were out of ear shot. I passed the sports field where boys were finishing up their practice. I passed a passed out drunk woman on the ground, moved from where we’d seen her on the walk away from my house, so I was no longer concerned she was dead.

I got home to Matthew and Popay outside my gate playing and watching the dogs play. They saw me and Matthew was the first to start running toward me. I suddenly had two kids in my arms, one on either hip. I couldn’t face the inside of my house. It’s a disaster. I’ve been putting off packing, instead just giving everything away. I have two days to get rid of everything else I want to get rid of and fit everything into my bags that I want to take back with me.

I sat outside in the front of my house with Matthew and Popay. I knew people would be at the back and I didn’t want anyone to see the tears in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. I only get two more nights of this. Of Matthew stealing Fluffy. Of Popay screaming. Of Fortune, Mulela, Siyanga and Bweanie coming into my house looking for one of their little brothers or demanding something from me, when I have nothing left to give. Of being able to get annoyed with the noise, but somehow still enjoying the sounds.

I know everyone in the US will be happy to see me, and me to see them. But it’s somehow different to leave HOME to go somewhere than to leave somewhere to go to what used to be home.

I remember in the process of applying to the Peace Corps, three years ago, I had to write about why I wanted to come here. I ended up changing some of my answers, but some of my first responses were:

I want to grow up.

I want to prove to myself I can do it on my own.

I want to learn more about the world.

I want to learn more about myself.

I don’t know that I grew up; my best friends are 14 and 2 when I’m 24.

I proved to myself I can do it on my own, but I also learned that doing it on my own isn’t as much fun as sharing such a meaningful experience with someone else.

I learned more about the world; I’ll never see anything the same way I did before living here.

I learned more about myself; I’ve become a person who inspires others with actions I think are normal.

The end.
Thursday, 2 December, 2010

Yesterday morning I went to school hoping to finish my work, and knowing that whatever I didn’t finish, I’d find someone else to do. On my walk there, I heard, “Madam” but didn’t really think they were calling me. Mbamba Johanna had come with her brother, early, to say goodbye and to bring me two maghumi.

With a day left, people were still demanding things from me:

“Lori, give me your calculator.”

“Lori, bring for me a pencil sharpener.”

“Lori, go and work with Mr Muthitu on next year’s timetable.”

I satisfied those first requests, but the subject allocation wasn’t finished, so I couldn’t possibly make a timetable. I went home.

Nicky and Kunyima had told me they’d come over at 12. When they showed up around 2, I told them, “You’re late. I ate without you.” They made their own soft porridge and we all went to dipupo.

“How any people do you think will be there? My guess is 17.”

“32. No, 19.”

“13.”

We were all wrong, we found almost 40 people there. I’ve gotten a lot braver in the river recently and jump from places more confidently than I did last year. I even dove off of one rock that kids do all the time from, but I’m always a little nervous to plunge headfirst into the depths of the Kavango River.

I found Ndara there. And Omo. And Mukoya. And Beshi. And Isolde. And Elina.

All kids I’ll miss a lot. Omo had said goodbye to me quietly after he finished writing his math exam, so it was nice to see him again.

Ndara was schooling somewhere else, so it was also nice to see him again.

On one of my swims from the top of the rapids, I found, the hard way, where one of the submerged rocks is. My knee is a pretty bluish purple because of it. I considered making that my last time, but it ended up being nowhere near the end. I kept going, now knowing where to keep my feet and legs up higher.

Eventually, the kids were all leaving, so Kunyima, Nicky and I left too. I was about to run out of toilet paper, so we went to Nandu to buy some. We found the shop closed so sat and waited for him to come back from his resupply trip to Divundu. I got tired of waiting first, so we decided to go back to my house to finish our soft porridge and come back before 6:30. As I got up to go, Rustu, the security guard, called me, “Madam,” and brought out about a quarter of a roll of toilet paper from his pocket.

“I just have to get to Friday, give me half!”

He handed me the whole thing, laughing in a sneaky way. He pulled out another roll from his other pocket and handed that to me too.

Back at my house, we finished our porridge. Nicky and I were feeling a little sick and I blamed it on the milk. Can soy milk go bad? When it got dark, we walked home with many more things for them to keep – Kunyima with a nice nice nice blanket, Nicky with her spoils from the last couple months that she’s been saving at my house. We found their mom bathing from a bucket in the dark. I greeted, promised I’d come tomorrow and we walked back to my house.

I collapsed onto my bed, feeling even sicker, and eventually fell asleep, only to wake up and vomit everything left in my stomach.

This morning, I went to school briefly, passed off my paperwork to Mr Sihope and went to Nicky’s. I lay on my dikehe still feeling sick while they got the mahangu ready for pounding.

Kunyima and I pounded and sifted while Nicky started cooking. She also brought me another chicken to kill, this one from Mukoya. The knife was extra sharp, I didn’t shake, and made a clean cut. We plucked and cut up the chicken together before I finished pounding with Kunyima. I really thought my hands would be tougher by now, but blisters still came after the second time of pounding.

I fell asleep on the ground while lunch was finishing and we ate together on the ground.

I had the afternoon to pack, but Mr Muthitu didn’t think that was as important as making the timetable. I showed him the disaster that is my house and told him I won’t be able to help him. You are not allowed to leave something to my last day that really takes about 3 days to finish well, when I know it’ll just get changed anyway next year, when it’s much more important for me to say proper goodbyes.

Unexpected ending
Sunday, 6 December, 2010

I came to town on Friday morning after the staff briefing, where I just laughed about how nothing will ever change. The principal will state the obvious and expect people to be shocked. I laughed at how I still had to sit through it even though I was leaving immediately after.

Mr. Ndjunga got a lot of the teachers singing. My cheeks started hurting from smiling too much.

Then it was time to start saying goodbye. I hugged each teacher and everyone sends their greetings to everyone I know.

Some learners had come early in the morning because I’d been told I was leaving with the principal early, but then that changed at the last minute. Nicky and Kunyima had slept over, they had the bed because I couldn’t handle 3 people in a double bed so slept on the hard concrete floor, and were hanging out at my empty house.

The car got packed with my bags and all the people getting a free ride to town and we were off. Siyanga was the last teacher I hugged, with Mattew on her back. Luckily he was sick so wasn’t interested in me, otherwise she would have suffered with him wanting to come with me too.

And we were off. I rolled down my window and waved to the few kids who had come to school but were too shy to come and say bye with all the teachers there. Shimbaranda blew me some kisses.

By the time we reached Kangongo I had a headache and stomach ache.

By the time we reached Nyangana I had goosebumps and wanted my sweatshirt from the back of the bakkie.

By the time we reached town I could barely stand up.

I spent the rest of Friday sleeping off my malaria like symptoms.

Saturday morning I thought I was well enough to go to town from Kim’s house with Nicky and Kunyima, but we only got to Pep before I thought I was going to pass out. We took a taxi back and later Kim brought them to town.

We made Nicky’s favorite foods even though I couldn’t share them with her – chocolate cake and banana pizza.

Finally this morning I felt like I could eat again so had enough energy to go to town. The three of us left with the things they’d take back to Andara with them and walked to town. We went to Jet, Ackerman’s and Mr. Price before heading to the taxi rank to get a combi to Andara. We spent another 3 hours hanging out there waiting for it to leave.

Nicky had brought silver nail polish, which I’d let her use to paint my toenails last week. She was on a mission to find pink to finish them off. The closest we got was red. So she finished painting my silver toenails by putting a red stripe on each of them. Hers and Kunyima’s look the same. She also found yellow and her fingernails got painted red and yellow.

We shared mangos.

They got Oshikandela.

Some foolish men talked to me for too long in what was my last time with my best friends.

And suddenly the combi was full and started and ready to go. Nicky and Kunyima were sitting, crying. I was standing, holding it together because it still didn’t feel real. Nicky came over to me and whispered in my ear, “I want to get in the car.”

“OK. But I have one thing left to give you. Kunyima, tuyende.”

We walked near the combi and I hugged Kunyima first, letting my tears start to fall.

I hugged Nicky and took a bracelet from my bag. It’s white PVC pipe with red paint on it, with the word ‘MINANGE’ and a pattern. Minange meands my sibling in Thimbukushu.

“This is the last gift that I promised you, that I wouldn’t tell you the word that’s on it,” I started before I showed her the bracelet. “When I came here, I had one sister. And now I have many. But you were the first sister I got here so this bracelet is for you. And whenever you’re sad and missing, just pound mahangu and I’ll be there with you.”

We hugged again, both freely crying now, not caring who in the combi was watching, and Kunyima came to join us. There’s only so long you can put off the actual goodbye, so finally they got in the car, I told them, “I love you,” and I walked away.

Back in America
Monday, 20 December, 2010

41 hours. That’s how long it took for me to get from the hostel in Windhoek to my house in Ashby. Flight one was simple – Windhoek to Johannesburg. I was shocked at how crowded the airport in Windhoek was; all the people who had access to travel; the fact that I had the means to travel across the world. Flight two was just long – 17 hours across the Atlantic to Atlanta, GA. I’d been told I wouldn’t be able to borrow a cell phone even though everyone has them in America, people just aren’t friendly enough to lend theirs. I used a pay phone first and called Collect. Then I borrowed an iPhone and spent the next half hour talking to the woman who lent it to me. Third flight was short – Atlanta to DC. But then I hit a roadblock. My final flight was delayed and then cancelled, so I had another 5 hours to wait after I managed to secure a seat on a later flight to Manchester. I again borrowed a cell phone from a stranger, this time a Blackberry which I proptly returned and requested that the owner dial the number because I didn’t see the keys with numbers. Then we hung out for the next 5 hours. On the final flight, I talked to the person next to me, easily sharing stories about Namibia, and he OFFERED to lend me his phone to call my family upon touchdown.

I took the escalator to the baggage claim area and saw my whole family – the the additions since I left two years ago – waiting and waving. I quickly took the warm shoes Mom brought me and gave hugs to everyone I realized I’d been missing. Miles was there, finally meeting his only aunt. I got my bags – a China shop bag that my family told me made me look homeless – and in the context of a small American airport, I could see their logic that I was blind to when I bought, packed and duct taped it for extra security a week earlier.

“I can’t wait to hear what Lori is going to do next!” is a common thing I hear.

For now, I’m enjoying spending time with my family, reconnecting with old friends, eating more food in a day that I might have in a week in Andara, readjusting to the normal things I’ve lived without. It’s been easier than I imagined, so far, and have enjoyed every moment of it.

I’m sure life will take me down an unexpected, but exciting, path soon, and you’ll be sure to hear about it.

Thanks for the interest you’ve shown and the support you’ve offered over the past two years of this anything-but-normal life I’m living.

Merry Christmas!!