Struggles

  So, it's been a couple weeks since I've written anything here.  The truth is, for possibly the first time in my life, I've been suffering from writer's block.  Beyond that, while things have happened, in some cases, to be honest, photos have been worth more for expressing things than any words can be.  I have some photos on Facebook of a Damara engagement ceremony that I will describe, but I'd recommend checking them out if you really want to understand what it was like.

  In some ways, the engagement shows signs of clearly having been influenced by Western culture.  However, there are also certainly a number of traditional element that remain.  I wake up that Friday morning and my host mom invites me (and Grace) to come to the engagement ceremony for her niece.  We go, and I'm immediately offered a chair.  As I sit, the chairs around me starting getting filled in by the family of the niece, while a second set of chairs remain more or less empty.  About half an hour later (most if spent playing with children), a line of people come walking in, greeting and shaking hands with all the people sitting down.  The family of the man asking to get engaged.  They sit down and cover themselves in blankets (at like 50F, it was cold by Khorixas standards (yeah, I've gotten pretty good at doing that conversion in my head, just one of the many services I offer for my American readers, but, again, I direct you to my photos to get the full picture, pun intended).  Then begins the ritual.  Or, I should probably say resumed the ritual.  Apparently this was the last night of this process, which had been going on for close to 2 weeks.

  What had been going on for 2 weeks?  The "asking."  Basically, this is a process of the boy's family asking the girl's family for permission to get engaged.  And when I say family, I mean mom and dad, obviously, but also brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents, and basically any extended relatives still alive (to the point where there were a few relatives connected on both sides), as well as friends.  So, they sit down and negotiate, and the night I was there was the last night.  After a while of sitting, I got a little bored (the whole thing going on in Damara far more advanced than my level), so I went into the house to talk to some of the people inside, including the girl.  Yeah, she was in the house. In fact, at no point did she or the boy asking to be engaged get to say a word.  As it got later, my host mom decided it was time for us to leave, so we got a ride and went home (dropping Grace off at the hospital first).

  As I mentioned, that was the last night of the ceremony, with the engagement party the next night.  Which led to a question for me: what happens if the girl's family says "no"?  After all, they had not accepted before I left.  So I ask my host mom about it, and what she tells me is the real asking happens before the ceremony, where the couple talk to their parents, and the ceremony at this point is really just a formality to keep with traditions, though there are occasions (very rare) where the ceremony ends in a "no" and the engagement gets called off.  But seriously, as terrifying as it might sometimes be for a guy to talk to the father of his girlfriend about letting him marry his daughter (arguably an outdated tradition in America), I can't imagine the thought of having to sit there while my family talks for me in front of my girl's entire family.

  The next night was the engagement party.  Speeches by a number of people, the close friends of the couple having it made clear to them that their relationship with the couple would now have to change a bit, and the couple exchanging rings, watches, and some other things, and finally champagne.  And then the meat and some music.  It was beautiful, but, again, my photos do far more justice to the night than my writer's blocked mind can.  It was a really fun cultural thing, but it really made some things clear.  This was not too different from how engagements get celebrated in the US (though on a larger scale, maybe), and it made me realize that there are some things that transcend cultures, one of them being love.

  So, what else has been going on?  In an effort to try and get the creativity going, I've been taking a lot of walks with my camera, just wandering around town, just going at random.  I finished my first VRF (reporting thing that is pure government; stupidly complicated to use and asks for a lot of the same information twice).  I'm working on getting my health club started.  I'm finishing my first round of computer classes.  I'm getting ready to go to re-connect and see some friends again.

  Finally, I want to take a moment to rant.  I love Namibia.  I love my work.  I love my town. I love my host family. However, like anywhere else in the world, there are things that drive me nuts.  Damaras just love to criticize.  I do the dishes, I did them wrong (as in wrong technique, not they were still dirty).  I get tired of being yelled at for doing the dishes, so I stop, figuring if I'm going to be criticized no matter what, I'm not going to do the effort.  A door slams, I get told not to slam the door (the most obnoxious ones being when I get an SMS about it while I'm at work, meaning I could not have possibly done it).  I'm taking my laundry outside to hang it, and as soon as I walk in, before I've even had a chance to do anything, I'm criticized for not cleaning up the bathroom.  They almost expect as soon as they ask me to do anything it'll be done, with no expectation of there being that time in between when I'm actually doing it.  Damaras are also loud.  All the time.  It's like the entire family are my mom, standing in front of my room at 6am, while I'm still trying to sleep, yelling through the house.  I'll be in my office and they always feel the need to shout my name, and don't have anything to even say.  I'm sorry, but noise for the sake of noise is okay at times, but at some point it just gets annoying.  And, finally, no, I do not have to give you money, nor do I owe you anything (money or my lunch).  So go fuck yourself.  Sorry for the language, but I don't care that I'm white.  I don't care that I make more than you (given I actually have employment).  No, I don't have any money to give you, and even if I did, I'm not giving it to you.  If you're begging me for money in a bar (or in front of it), you don't need my money, you need priorities.  Respect is one thing, but I don't care that I have money, or that your meat is good. I said no, so leave me the f*** alone.  I don't care that you're poor, if you're sitting in a bar at noon, I have my own needs and I don't get paid all that much, and even if I did, that doesn't mean it's my job to just give you some.  I have no problem paying taxes and having that money going to help people.  I do have a problem with people acting like they simply have some right to the money in my pocket or the food on my plate.  And I don't need you translating.  I know my host sister was saying I "must give her some of [my] chips," I just didn't care because I'm tired of people trying to take my food all the time.  Once in a while, it would be one thing.  But they have their own lunch, so demanding mine is just disrespectful, and while I understand that they are young, the adults have an obligation to not encourage it.

  Ok, so rant over.  as you can see, as much as I love this place, it has it's flaws.  and I'm sure this won't be the last time I mention them.  But for now, that's all I have to say. I gotta head over to the hospital for a braai with Grace and Nate (a RPCV from Namibia who's in med school but spending a few weeks in Khorixas studying at the hospital here during his summer).  So, I'll be leaving now.  Hope you all have a good weekend.