Notes on Interesting Happenings and Learning Experiences

So with every new experience comes a learning curve, and while a majority of my learning experiences include trying to figure out how to discipline a bunch of grade 10 boys who are probably in love with you, there are also those experiences that include carving up a goat. It is pretty typical here for a family of four or five to purchase a sheep or a goat each month (about N$900 = 80 or 90 USD) carve it up ad eat it for about half their meals. A few weeks ago, before the funeral weekend my host dad was home as was other members of the family on a Thursday night. One cousin brought me a beer and told me that in this country Thursday was students night (Wednesday being women’s night and Friday and Saturday being for everyone else). My initial reaction was “oh honey if only you knew the days of the week in college.” So while I drank my beer my mom called me for dinner which was sausage and eggs all cooked in a ton of butter (I am shocked by the way that heart disease is not more common with the amounts of fat some of these people consume.) The little brother then runs in and says he needs a bowl for the goat. I stop eating look at my mom and say THERES A GOAT OUTSIDE? Knowing exactly that this was going to be the next 30 to 40 meals. She tells me Yes I forgot to tell you, and all I can say is CAN I HELP? While I first began by holding the light that was far too disgusting of a job so I held a leg for stability while skinning instead. I mean seriously, you try holding a fluorescent light in the dark of Africa over a dead animal carcass. Seriously disgusting. After the skinning the carcass was hung up on some metal contraption outside my bedroom window and one slit along the gut and plop it all fell out into a strategically placed bucket held by my host brother. It was pretty dang clean because the blood was drained over where the skin and head now lay across an old tree stump (yes, there are trees in Africa, shocking I know). The vital organs including heart, lungs, kidney, and liver were cut out and taken inside (which side note for those of you that saw my Facebook status a few months ago about eating lungs and watching Toddlers in Tiaras, I got the affirmation that they were in fact lungs now that I know what they look like.) My host dad then hacked the shit out of the hanging goat into two legs (which are still in my freezer usually next to my water bottles in an attempt to get cold water), some ribs, and I don’t know what else. The spine was taken inside and hacked up too. We then ate that for Friday lunch.

So I now know how to slaughter and carve up a goat. But here’s the best part – it was all done with a pocket knife. Even though I was raised in the Twp. I’m fairly certain my Survival Rating as seen on Naked and Afraid would increase by at least a few points. No doubt.

So after that excitement and the funeral weekend the following week was kinda dull. Well life is far from dull but it essentially included me telling students to be quiet and sit down. Thursday I reached a small breaking point. After two days of having a bunch of 16, 17, 18 year olds in the library all day with nothing to do but study out of their books. I had reached a breaking point, put the class on lock down and stared at them until they got uncomfortable and began studying.  I have two key trouble makers that have both confessed their love for me and class after class I try to reason with them about their behavior. I have actually confiscated a few toys and they two near-grown boys almost cried. The pleaded for their toys (which was a rubber duck and a half a Disney Princess watch) and begged me to just beat them instead. Some of the other boys in the class even asked why I was wasting my time with them and that I should just smack them. When I replied absolutely not and told them when they treated me and respected me like a teacher then they could get their toys back. One of the boys practically silently cried himself into a nap and then begged me to give his duck back to him at the end of the day because he was good the rest of the time. I told him sleeping in class was not treating me like a teacher. I unfortunately still have the duck and watch.  Anyway, when the class was on lock down these two boys told me they were going to dehydrate to death because this is Africa and they were thirsty and wanted a drink. After my refusal to let them go and reassurance that they wouldn’t die the poop heads and the rest of the boys tag teamed me and distracted me while some of them JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW. Like I now know why Malow and Ike 1) had no windows and 2) had screens and blinds on them that were required to be closed at all times. So yeah obviously I did not catch this but the lady who lives across the street from the school did and called the principal. He then showed up asked who it was. My dumbfounded look was enough for him to discipline half the boys in a slightly questionable manner in front of me. The kids were angels after that obviously but I almost cried three times that day. I’m really glad I didn’t though because just telling them I almost did prompted a slew of Miss give me a hug! I was promptly like No go away. If tears had actually flowed I am scared to think who would have wrapped their arms around me not let go.

The day ended with me supervising the hostel afternoon study. An hour and a half of total silence where the kids that live at the hostel are supposed to silent study. There are usually two supervisors but that day the other teachers had a meeting that I didn’t need to attend. I was still fired up from school so I said I would be fine. I knew I had no hesitation in calling another teacher for back up. About half way in, total silence mind, you someone farts and the whole room erupts into laughter. In my emotional state however it was all I could do to stifle my own laughter so no one got in trouble. Overall it was kind of a hard day but without the hard there would be no good.

Funeral Services and Stuff

Hello all,

I must apologize for my lack of posting. A lot has been going on, yet I often find myself with not doing a lot. I’m living in Africa and that is like super cool, but at the same time I’m thinking, why would people at home want to know that today I went to school, I supervised kids, and then I came home hung around my host families house, rinsed and repeated? I keep thinking to myself that I need to wait for something interesting to happen to write a post but then I think that maybe what I now see as day to day life is actually really interesting to the outside world. So please bear with me as I try to find a happy medium of interesting things to write to you all.

So continuing with the somber note of the previous blog post, two weeks ago I was able to witness my first full funeral. An extended family member of my host family passed away and the funeral was held here in the village. I was very surprised as to how similar the ritual of burying the dead was to what many of us experience in the United States. There were, not shockingly, some differences though. Many of the wakes were in the evening after dark (this could be traditional, logistical, or just because it is too fricken hot out when the sun is in the sky). While funeral wakes in the US I would say are a more personal experience (you go on your own time, visit the body if you want, say your greetings to whom you wish, and so on) here it is much more communal. Friends, family, and other community members gather outside the family house (no there is not a funeral home in the village) and a three hour service begins where there are sermons which lasted just as long or even longer than what I experience on Easter at the Romanian Orthodox Church on 8 Mile, songs are sung at least 5 times each (whenever there was an awkward length of silence someone would just start singing the first church song that came to mind I think), and a few people volunteered to speak. The family members then cook a meal (generally of some kind of stew and rice) and serve it to the guests. Not too different, but painstakingly long since everything was in Afrikaans and it started about an hour past my bed time.

The actual funeral consists of at least 24 hours. It begins a little before midnight, when guests arrive back at the family house and hold a service from midnight to 6am. From what I was told it is to honor the deceased person either by staying up all night, or singing for six hours, I am not certain – I skipped this part. Mostly because I valued my sleep schedule which has been hard to keep and also because at the previous wake I was “with the family” so I arrived early and left late with them and felt awkwardly out of place the whole time as they all spent time with each other as a family should in a time of grief. So anyway, the overnight wake ended at 6am and the family then has two hours to prepare for the day of the burial which begins at 8am. Everyone once again meets at the house and there is a short one hour service there where everyone (outside of immediate family I think) gets their first and only glance at the body. The casket is closed and then follows a church service. One interesting thing I noted was that every movement of the casket was done by different members of the family. From the house to the car, from the car to the door of the church, from the door to the altar, from the altar to the door, from the door to the car, from the car to the plot. One group was sons, another was daughters, then brothers, then sisters, aunts, church elders, anyone close to the deceased. I thought it was interesting giving everyone a part of the ceremony.

Another really interesting part of funerals was that the family actually digs the hole, lowers the casket, and fills the hole. I’m pretty sure that in most parts of the State’s at least the parts I am familiar with have the workers of the cemetery dig and fill the hole. To me it’s a deeply emotional action, digging the hole that you will bury your sister or mother in for 2 or 3 days. And then after  a whole day of sorrow and grief, picking up a shovel with your brothers and uncles, and nephews, and sons and burying your loved one in your dress clothes. I couldn’t imagine it. I am not sure if it is a traditional way they have been doing it for decades or a way of respect but its something commendable.

So yeah, then everyone goes and eats and is jolly. This was another instance where I decided to be taken home early. In my experiences with funerals its only the really close family and friends that goes to eat after the funeral service and I did not want to be awkwardly out of place there. However about 5 hours later for the after party I had 3 uncles banging down my bedroom door in my host moms house telling me I had to go to the house with them for the after party. We then dined on goat stew, porridge, and fat cakes with shredded coconut. It was delic. More details on the goat follow in the next blog post. J

  

It Wouldn’t Feel Like the First Week Without Uncomfortable Experiences

I have officially survived my first week here at my permanent site. While I am not yet living in my own place I am slowly but surely getting into the groove of things, getting comfortable with people and my surroundings. Let me tell you though, my time here has not been without those awkward experiences that come with being a blonde American in the middle of a small village in Africa. Let me preface by saying that I absolutely love where I live. While it is not without its challenges it is pretty much perfect. So perfect in fact that I must share this bit of info I just came across. When arriving to my village the current volunteer here was like Oh I saw that you went to Michigan State, I’m pretty sure the volunteer before me went there too so you might see some people with MSU gear around here. So I was all like okay MSU has roughly 50,000 students so heres a shot in the dark, whats her name? I don’t know her last name all I know is that she was Liz. Not much help but it was comforting to know I was in Spartan territory ;) So anyway flash forward to the most recent 5 days and my students constantly ask me do you know our teacher from grade 7 who was here 3 years ago and at the primary school? With only 5 different classes of kids I think I have been asked this question close to 20 times. No guys, I do not know nor did I know anyone who was or has ever been in this country, I’m sorry. Of course they only knew her last name and did not know what university she went to.  So this afternoon my boredom got the best of me and I jumped on the internet to search this person. Turns out she did go to MSU. Not only that she was also in James Madison also majoring in International Relations. On top of that her language of choice was Arabic and she had a Muslim Studies Specialization. Out of every Peace Corps site in the world, every site in this country that applied for a volunteer I end up at the one where I have a nearly identical resume with. If I was having any doubts before today they have disappeared. This is so cool and I can’t wait to contact her and tell her that many of her students are finishing grade 10 and moving to the capital city to work on their diplomas. Some point many students in Namibia never make it to. (If you fail grade 10, you’re out of school). So yeah that was really cool.

To begin with I get along great with my coworkers and my supervisor. There has been a lot happening in the past week that I have been trying to step up and help and they are responding with No! We don’t want to scare you away! I’m just sitting here like you are making me way to comfortable that liberal 22 year old white girl might be the one scaring you guys. The first few days I spent in the library with each of the 5 classes getting to know them, allowing them to ask me questions and me asking them questions. While I will have a full post called Shit My Learners Say I will just give you a teaser in that they literally want to know everything. They were so curious that on just my second day a teacher had to come into the library and say he has been looking all over for this specific class because they missed nearly his whole math lesson. I WAS SO EMBARASSED. I mean it was kinda the kids fault because they should know when their classes start and end (when actually they don’t in the least) however I should have been keeping track especially when I started feeling like Oh wow this sure is a long period. When he walked in I just stared at him so embarrassed and dumbfounded I felt like a student wanting to hide my shame for being mindless. He ended up giving me the benefit of the doubt though and we’re cool.

Another responsibility I have taken on if helping out with afternoon study. The students go to school until 1pm, then go home and eat lunch and come back for study hall in the afternoon. At the accompanying hostel at my school one of the supervisors recently quit and another had a tragedy in the family so now 100 kids are down to being supervised by like 2 people. Right now its just like reading hour for me because I can’t really discipline the kids acting out. SO instead of being an actual supervisor, I am the object of learners stares. Mostly boys but some girls. I mean you can’t blame them because these kids have 6 straight hours of school, 2.5 hours of silent time, and then 1.5 hours of quiet study time. The walls of this hall are barren and these kids live with one another. There’s nothing else to get lost in and let your mind wander in other than the new teacher. I mean that and the fact that I’m just beautiful. Anyways, I have had many awkwardly long eye contacts with plenty of boys this week trying to get them to stop staring.

Another thing I found out this week is that mosquitos in Africa absolutely suck. While I am blessed to have a body of water in my village, that means a breeding ground for mosquitos. I have also been warned that I am fresh blood in the village so I will probably be attacked. And boy attacked was I. I think one night I left my window open a little too long to allow one nasty little bugger into my room. I know it was in my room because I could hear it buzzing while trying to fall asleep. There was only one buzz. SO I tried to keep myself as covered as possible but it has been so hot that I just can’t keep a blanket on me so I woke up the next morning with bites all over my arms and hands. Now I don’t know if I scratched the hell out of myself while sleeping but these weren’t the normal raised bumps I was used to getting. These were like red welts. I seriously thought I had chicken pox for a bit till I realized it was just concentrated to one part of my body. So not only did they itch like hell like everyone can see them because there is no way I am wearing long sleeves here and I’m white and I don’t know why they turned red. I literally had my learners asking me how the mosquitos were treating me and warning me that its going to get worse. I CANNOT WAIT TO PUT UP MY MOSQUITO NET. Over the next few nights it continued to bite in various places which resulted in me having the urge to itch like my thigh. Just great. Good news though I did catch the motherbugger. I was so intense on killing it that I didn’t want to take my eyes away from it to grab something. So I used the only thing in my hand…which was a pair or khakis. Note to self in the future, Don’t ever use the khakis you were planning to wear that day to kill a mosquito that has been attacking you in your sleep. When you hit it and kill it, it will be full of your blood and thus you will get blood all over your light colored pants. Great…… I asked my host mom what I should use to clean it (i.e. if she had spot cleaner) She said oh I don’t know maybe use a little bit of shampoo and it will come out….. Okay so I might need new pants. Or just have to tell the tale of my battle every time someone looks awkwardly at my leg….

Go Me.

On a more sorrowful note, I experienced my first funeral here. A fellow teacher’s young son passed away. I do not know exactly what happened but he got sick with something and it rapidly progressed and he ended up passing away. There was a funeral held at the hostel the other night that much of the community came out for. Because I do not know much of the community at all and I only met my fellow teacher once I thought I would attend in the back and let the community do their thing. I’m just going to be frank, that. Did. Not. Happen. I started this whole event off on the wrong foot. To start I arrived at 620 because my supervisor was very serious about the event beginning at 630. I was the first person there…. The kids at the hostel weren’t even out of their rooms. As more people showed up and began greeting each other I felt like lost sheep. While I don’t like to admit it, I’m pretty comfortable with funerals having experienced a lot of loss in my life. But here I was like a lost sheep. Like I had no idea where to go. I think I walked in a small circle like 6 or 7 times just to look like I knew what I was doing. I eventually just found another teacher and latched on to them. As the ceremony finally started about a half hour another teacher came up to me and was just like “You could probably use a translator huh?” Yeah maybe thanks….. but like I’ll really be fine. I seriously just wanted to stand in the back with the students. I would still stick out like a sore thumb but at least I was in the back. I get ushered to a seat that a student grabbed for me and a nice lady sat down next to be and began translating every word. I was extremely grateful because these people said some beautiful things but low and behold everyone began turning around and giving that evil eye of Im not that mean to tell you to shut up but I really think you should shut up. One lady hushed us so I politely told my lady she could just paraphrase but she didn’t want to loose track of anything.

Every morning our school staff sings a few songs together. Actually, every morning it is my understanding that every Namibian sings, but anyway, for our colleague my supervisor wanted us teachers to perform a song. The songs were in Afrikaans and while I have been learning Afrikaans it’s a lot harder to pick up on lyrics if you don’t actually know the words. So about half way through the ceremony us teachers are asked to come up to sing. Well guess who is the shortest person and thus had to be front and center. Oh yep that’s me. J So now I’m thinking no one will expect me to know the words, I’ll just smile and swing along. Oh wait this is a funeral, and unfortunately a tragic one too, should I even smile? Oh look heres a family member taking a picture of us. What do I do? I just decided to move my lips. But when did I decide to move my lips? During the bass part when just the men sing and the women hum. Go Shannon. (When I told my coworker this he could not stop laughing for a good 10 minutes...)

I thought I was done after that. I was surely mistaken. As my translator picks back up with translating I am trying extremely hard to listen to the Afrikaans and English at the same time. I’m doing pretty good too until she repeats the same thing about three times. “Its Ms. Riley he wants to introduce you to the community” because it took her three tries to get this through my head I now have another person tapping my on the shoulder, my supervisor at the front smiling at me and rambling in Afrikaans, and half the place looking for me. I jump up and start apologizing, so entirely embarrassed having no option but to jump over a row of people and walk up to the front. Once again I am wondering if I should smile or not but that thought comes too late as I am already nervously grinning like a fool. Thankfully everyone received it well but as I try to retreat into my own mind I find out only too late that my supervisor is not only introducing me in Afrikaans but is now talking to me and asking me a question. Cue awkward default smile and nod….

My deepest condolences go out to this family as I unfortunately know families that have experienced this kind of sorrow. I am glad I was able to attend and at the end of it I felt a lot better than when I felt like I was in the spot light. Sadly I know I will most likely be attending more funerals during my time here, however I certainly hope I am more on my game.