Little Defining Moments and Teachable Moments (feat. The Animaniacs)

  Okay, I have more important things I should be working on at the moment. However, I'm getting tired. Not quite enough to fall asleep, but enough to get in the way of my focus. (Editor's note: going to delay this posting, so I can quickly glance and review when I'm more awake). So, I've been doing a bunch of reflecting lately. However, I've also still been doing work. This blog has been a bit light on the day-to-day goings on in my life. With that in mind, I guess I should share a little story from today. It's a bit of a cliche story.

  We've been having electricity problems in my town. By that, I mean we've barely gone a full day in the fast couple weeks without losing it at least once. Around 9 this morning, it went out today. After about an hour of dicking around the office, reading and chatting, I decided to go for a walk. After all, how much more time for them will I have? I get barely a football field's length from my office. I'm passing the old UNAM campus, when I'm greeted by a couple youths I know. They were digging post holes to build a small greenhouse for a garden. They asked if I wanted to help, and I said "yes."

  So, for the next couple hours, we hang around, digging and chatting. Anyone who's served in the Peace Corps knows the ability to adapt is one of the most important skills for a volunteer. Funny enough, when I noticed they had no shovel, they comment that "out here, you gotta adapt or die." They were using the top of a cool drink bottle as a scoop and a metal pole to break up the tougher ground. We took turns, one pounding, one scooping, and one resting. And we got to chatting. Mostly, they asked about America. I told them about DC and Louisiana, how I missed the manual labor of construction sometimes (it fits my energy level), and the likes. Turns out, these boys had heard of Katrina, though they were sort of blown away when I pulled out my iPad and showed them some photos from the storm. They asked me about American football and how it's different from rugby. They said I should have tried to start an American football league (note: I actually did with some kids, but it only lasted 2 weeks, before the thorns killed my ball, and we didn't make it past explaining the most basic rules and throwing/catching).

  One of the boys recently finished his grade 12 and is taking a gap year before hoping to attend university next year. One thing that's well known about me in this town is my love of reading and we ended up talking about books, ways to get more kids to use the library (like free use and contests with small prizes), and how something needs to change about the culture of education here, since something isn't working (our region consistently ranks at or near the bottom of the country). They even asked me for some e-books (they have no e-readers, but they do have computers).

  They tried to return the favor, with an effort to teach me how to tell Damaras from Ovambo from Herero people by sight.

  They were impressed by all that I've done in my life, especially when they realized I'm only 25 (one of them is 27).

  Eventually, power came back, and I had to head back to the office to get back to the work I should've been doing but couldn't. I told them to swing by my office in the next couple days with a USB stick so I could give them some books, said "goodbye", and went on my way (we got 2 post holes dug in roughly an hour).

  So, why am I writing about this? Because it's a perfect example of the little ways a person (PCV or anyone else) can make a difference and how little teachable moments arise all the time, so long as you don't let them pass. Sure, I have my projects and general work, but much of my success has come from moments such as these.

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  So, I'm about to leave Namibia, and everyone here is asking what I'm going to do next. Often, this leads to questions about the various states. A number of Namibians are under the impression the US, Canada, and Mexico are three states of a big country called America. Just in case any of you are reading this, I give you a little blast from my childhood.

  Thanks for the DVD, T-James.

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  There you have it. Counting down the days until I get home. 41 days until my COS, 44 until I'm scheduled to land in DC. See y'all real soon..

Reflection Bonus: My Happy Place

So, I still have a few more posts to go in my "Reflection" series, but they've had to take a back seat briefly as other things have taken priority and weather has limited my electricity. In fact, this post was inspired by one of those power outages. I've been a bit under the weather lately, and, along with hindering my work, it's completely wrecked my sleep schedule. That was fortunate, last night, I thought, as it allowed me to "watch" the Terps NCAA opener online. And then the power went out. Dark, hot, humid, no electricity, no fan, loud thunder, unable to sleep, a but frustrated, still a bit sick. I could easily have been miserable. Only, I wasn't. I briefly tried going to sleep. After basically sleeping through the last couple days, that wasn't happening. I read for a bit, did a couple Sudoku puzzles, and then sat outside with my guitar, strumming and watching the lightning. And it hit me, I was actually kind of content. Maybe not happy, but happy enough. So, I started writing down a short list of things which have made me happy these past two years. Little-to-no explanations, just a list. There are a couple people, though one of my upcoming posts will heavily focus on people who have been meaningful to me. So, here's what I wrote down at 2am:

• Popsicles, because you never realize their true value until you spend a summer day in Khorixas without a fan
• Books
• My guitar
• Drumsticks, the wooden things
• Soccer, playing and watching
• Small children, they can be really annoying but in small doses they can make your day
• Fresh coffee, when I can get it
• Showers, they may be cold, but in this town, that's fine
• My sitemate luck, I hit the PC jackpot and love you all
• My host families
• Cold beer
• A nice piece of fruit
• Condom classes, which are never dull
• Hikes
• My camera, an outlet for my creative mind
• Occasional Skype sessions
• My iPod and my awesome taste in music
• My speakers, which allow me to blast that music
• The gyms
• The term "cool drink", which I think needs to be a thing in the US
• Movies/shows on my laptop, when I just need to be alone
• Walking around town
• The shirts I see people wearing
• Have I mentioned a fresh cup of coffee?
• A simpler, more peaceful life for two year

  No, this is not a comprehensive list. I wrote it by headlamp light at 2am-ish, but I think it's a pretty accurate one. Every PCV who makes it to COS has told me the same thing: it's the little things that get you through the day. Find something small to be happy about every day, and even the worst days of my service can be manageable. So, there you have it.

  On a separate not, happy Independence Day Namibia. The new president is being inaugurated today.

Reflecting, Part 7: Something I'll Never Forget

  Tomorrow marks two years since I arrived in Namibia, my bag missing, jet lagged, nervous, excited, and camera in hand. I will never forget that day. Walking out of the airport, onto the Peace Corps combi, and driving to Okahandja for training. The sun was coming down (there had been a slight delay in our J-burg to Windhoek flight). The view was incredible. It would be the first of a long list of unforgettable moments from these two amazing years.

  Okay, so, most of training was forgettable. Probably because I found everything but language classes so dull and slow paced that I, er, slept through it. Probably shouldn't be admitting it, but oh well. Most of what I remember is my host family. A couple memorable interactions. I had brought an American football, which the kids quickly fell in love with. I impressed them not only with my arm (keep in mind that it's a lot more impressive when you throw 30 yard if the person catching has never seen a a 70 yard pass before), but with my punting. I was accused of cheating because I had shoes on. So, I took them off and punted barefoot, even further. From that night on, I was "Superman" to the kids. My host mom was a very devout Born-Again Christian. I had let slip that I was Jewish, and she once asked what that meant, while, in another room, a televangelist shouted about praising Jesus. I did what I could to give a tactful answer. She as actually fairly accepting of it. At least she, unlike one of my trainers, didn't as me "what's the difference between Jews and other types of Christians." Namibian cultural food day will always stand out. Of course, that might have something to do with it being the day my clothes arrived in country. However, I think it was all the foods. From the weird (mopani worms, smiley, and stomach) to the delicious (fatcakes, donkey meat, and braai bread). And then there was swearing in, when, in front of the man who is now Namibia's head-of-state, I officially became a Peace Corps Volunteer.

  And, let's not forget my first "how to put on a condom" demonstration. Alicia just couldn't stop laughing as she tried to blow them up like balloons. I learned that it's really hard to do a lot of things with hands completely covered in lube. This would be the first of many memorable condom demonstrations and safe sex education programs, including women asking me to help them test out the female condoms.

  One moment I could never forget was my arrival in Khorixas. It was my site visit, and my expected counterpart (who, sadly, would pass away in a car crash the next night) dropped me at the home of the people who would be my family when I arrived for good. While on the phone with my parents back home, I was offered lunch. A plate of intestines and bread. "Welcome to Khorixas!" Actually, I quite enjoyed it. And then there was Tia. She as terrified of me. Kept running out of any room I entered. And then, we got stuck together, and we traveled back to Okahandja with my host mom (Tia's grandma), Esna. Esna had gone to buy some food, and had asked me to watch Tia. At first, she as terrified. And then I let her use my iPod and gave her a piece of gum. I instantly became her best friend.

  My first few months at site were a blur. I remember Waylon, my new counterpart, and I starting our computer classes, which would become one of my main projects. I remember my boss taking me to Terrace Bay to go fishing. I remember moving in with Grace and I remember her dog and the puppies. I remember going to bars to watch soccer matches with colleagues and playing soccer on the weekends. Maybe not big stories, though they certainly use up a lot of the memory in my brain's hard drive.

  I remember my first night in my own flat. Going immediately to the store to buy a burger and chips, a beer, and some toilet paper (I didn't have pots and pans), taking a shower, and eating dinner, for the first time in a place that was all mine. Then, I remember going grocery shopping to cook my first meal in my own place. It reminds me of that scene in "St. Elmo's Fire," when Mare Winningham is talking to Rob Lowe about getting up in the middle of the night and making herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "...it was my kitchen, it was my refrigerator, it as my apartment...and it as the BEST peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I have had in my entire life." Okay, so I made red beans and rice, not PB&J. Still, I think you get the point.

  New Years Eve, I was at Esna's home again. We had a braai. We watched the celebration in Windhoek. We had some drinks. We watched the town's firework (yes, you read that correctly). And then around 2am I returned to my flat. And found the gate locked. It would be the first of many times I would have to climb it and it did not go well. The barbed wire destroyed my jeans. Eventually, I would get the technique down to where I could do it in the pouring rain with no light, but that would happen over time.

  I will never forget Sossusvlei or my parents' visit. I've discussed both of those previously, so I won't go into the details here.

  Grace's going away party and last night (two separate events) are etched firmly in my memory. She as such a big part of my first year, how could they not be? And soon after, Taylor would arrive, first for a site visit, when I would make a braai happen in the pouring rain, and then for good, when too many memorable things would happen to begin listing them.

  I will never forget the feeling of victory when the gym at the hospital finally got built and the club began. Or when I finally had a computer class where over half the learners passed. Or my learner getting a job because of my class (more on that in the future).

  I will never forget my first Damara wedding. Okay, that's a lie. I remember the ceremony, alright, but the party, not so much.

  I will never forget, belatedly, celebrating my birthday in Khorixas. My parents were visiting and my Khorixas family took us to the farm. We brought a cake. I'm not even a fan of cake, but it was still a great time.

  I will never forget my trip to Epupa falls, which I can't really talk about for a couple more months, for personal reasons. Some of you know what I'm talking about.

  I will always remember my hikes. Solitary, peaceful, often with a bottle of whiskey, usually with a copy of Kerouac with me.

  The election was certainly an experience.

  I will sadly never forget the bureaucracy nightmare. Ugh.

  But the list of what I will never forget goes beyond events. My many friends (more on that in  the coming days). My new family. The smell of the braai stands. That orange glow Khorixas gets just before sunset. Fatcakes. The site of a giraffe running (just ridiculous). The awesomeness of a pack of elephants. The penguins in Cape Town. Living out my life-long dream (or at least the part of my life since I first saw "Jaws") of swimming with great white sharks. Gemsbok steaks. The beer. The wine. The drive to Otjiwarango. The dirt road to Swakop. Those guys trying to sell me nuts, and me not feeling an ounce of sympathy at them going to waste when they would write my name on them before asking if I had any interest in buying them, as if I'm going to feel guilty about their waste. Why did the ostrich cross the road? List goes on and on.

  There is plenty more I will never forget. However, for the sake of others involved, I will leave those stories for a more private forum. We're almost done with my reflections. Just like 3 more. Hope you've enjoyed them. They've been a meaningful experience for me, a great way to look back on 2 amazing years which I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Reflecting, Part 6 Something I'd Like To Forget

  Sorry for the negative tone of this post. However, reflecting on my service also requires looking at the bad. Namibia's a gorgeous country and my service has been an overall wonderful experience. These past two years have featured some truly unforgettable moments. On the other hand, that's not always what I want. As Xavier Rudd once said, "There are things I would like to remember/There are things I'd prefer to forget". On that note, some things I'd like to forget:

  The first thing I have to mention is "Owe me". I've discussed this several times, but it's honestly reflective of so much of what is wrong with Namibia, all wrapped in two words. No, I don't owe you a darn thing, unless you have provided me a good or service or I have done something to put myself i your debt. And don't give me that "in Africa, we share" line. If that's true, the how about giving me some of your money? And stop teaching your kids to beg. It's not okay. It's actually quite disgusting the way you've trained them to the point that it's almost an instinct when they see a white person that they drop what they are doing and ask for money. Oh, and no, it's not just $1. Do you people have any clue how many people seem to think my white skin and American accent means I owe them some debt? If I gave $1 to even half the people who ask me for money, I'd be broke in less than a month. No, not all Americans are rich. I fact, America has more people living in poverty than the entire population of Namibia. It doesn't matter what the exchange rate is, I still only make around $2000-$2500 a month, in Namibian dollars. This idea of expecting handouts is pretty reflective on Namibian society as a whole, but I'll stop there, rather than going into a whole rant on fiscal politics. If I never here that sentence again, though, it'll be too soon.

  Another thing I'll never forget, but wish I could, is the food. Now, that's not entirely true. For the most part, I love the food here. Especially when I cook it. What I wish I could forget is the amount of salt and mayonnaise Namibians cook with, as well as all the oil. The there are the mopani worms. Sure, I'm glad I tried them. But the texture, even when cooked nicely, is something that just doesn't sit right with me. And the stomach. Bleh. I don't mind intestines. Some of it tastes pretty good, actually (some of it tastes like shit because, well...). But stomach just does not do it for me. On the other hand, the meat here, I wish I could bring it back with me. Definitely going to miss springbok and gemsbok meat.

  I wish I could forget all the frustrations of dealing with my ministry's head office. The electricity bills being so far behind that it would regularly get cut off for whole weeks. It's been over five months we're been trying to get new mice for our computer lab. Paperwork get lost, "oh, you needed this person to sign the form before that person, now you have to start over," and programs getting canceled because transport of cash was denied at the last second. Ugg. Bureaucracy just sucks. Sadly, I have a hunch this won't be the last I have to deal with it.

  And then there is hiking. No, I'm not talking about long walks in the wilderness. Actually, I love that. I go on hikes almost every weekend. The "hiking" I won't miss is "hitchhiking," which is how we get around. Namibia doesn't have great public transportation, so you rely on people driving between towns. Cramped cars. Waiting hours while they drive around because they won't leave until they car is completely full. People putting their crying babies with poopy diapers on your lap when they get tired of holding them. Car breaking down. The sneaking suspicion that I'm paying slightly more than the black people in the car. The same three songs (all lousy to begin with) being on repeat for two hours. Makes me miss the Metro.

  Oh, and don't get me started on that trip on the dirt road between Khorixas and Kamanjab, in the bed of a bakkie whose windows didn't close. And coming home to the water being cut off. Fortunately, it rained a couple hours later.

  I really wish I could forget two years of instant coffee. It does the job, but it tastes awful.

  There are a few nights where alcohol as involved that I wish weren't so memorable (those involved know what I'm referring to, but I won't go into any more details, for their sake).

  Oh, and, continuing the joke from COS Conference, CJ.

  Okay, so I know after reading this post you're going to think I have a not so great attitude. I assure you, the rest of these reflection posts will show how not true that is. I'm ready to home, to see family and friends, and enjoy some of the luxuries of the US (hot showers and better beer, for instance). However, I love Namibia and hope I can get back here soon.

Reflecting, Part 5: Something I Learned

  I've learned quite a bit as a PCV. New skill, new knowledge, new insights into myself. So, what did my two years as a PCV teach me?

  I want to say the number 1 thing I learned as patience. But that would be a lie. Sure, I'm more patient than I was before I came here, but I still think showing up late without a valid excuse should get you a lethal injection. Or at least jail time. Especially if you don't have the courtesy to call ahead. I get it. You're going to say something about cultural tolerance, and that's probably a valid point. Still, it's incredibly rude to not at least call. Ad never mind all the drivers who take your money, but don't leave for another three hours, and drive around doing their errands, getting you to your destination two hours late.. So, if patience is not something I've learned, why mention it? Because it goes hand-in-hand with something I did learn: never, ever, under any circumstance, go anywhere without a book. Doesn't have to be a book you are reading. Sudoku books work also. Sketch pads or notebooks to write in. Or, if you're like me, all three. One of the best things to happen to me since college is rediscovering my love of pleasure reading. E-readers have made that even easier for PCVs. In my pocket, I have a couple hundred books with me. Though, given my town's tendency to lose power, paper books are good to have a few of also.

  Another thing I've learned is that there is a difference between "knowing" the information and knowing the information. I run condom demos and life skills programs, and everyone seems to know the answers. And then I see them around town, doing the very things they told me were wrong just yesterday. One of my biggest criticisms of Namibia's education system is that it's based on memorization. I view memorizing facts, figures, and dates a waste of time. There are only three things you need to learn in school: how to read, how to research, and how to think. Okay, a fourth one: math. Sadly, none of these are really taught in schools here (not even the math). Kids are discouraged from asking questions and expected to just copy notes (I have my theories on why this is, largely stemming from teachers whose educations were no better). So, they can regurgitate the info with no problem, since they've memorized what words to say after which question. However, it turns out, when put into practice, many people have no clue what those words really mean. And, given the field I am working in, that can have major consequences.

  On a brighter note. here's something I learned about kids: no matter where you go, no matter what the circumstances, kids are always the same. They love candy and toys, want to watch too much TV whenever they can, have no desire to sit in a classroom, will spend every second they can playing, and want some attention from adults. I complain a lot about the kids who say "owe me money" or beg for money. The truth is, it upsets me because this is what their parents have taught them to do when they see white people (the result of tourists and lazy missionaries/aid workers). Sure, it would make them happy if I gave them money, because then they could go buy some candy. In fact, when I first arrived, I gave each of my host kids a set of American coins (quarter, dime, nickle, and penny). First thing they do? Ask me how much it's worth and whether I would walk them to town to buy candy with it. However, when these kids ask for money, it's not the money they really want (unlike the adults). The kids just like the few seconds of attention when I respond, since their parents rarely give them enough. My solution as simple. If a kid asked me for money, I'd pick them up, flip them over my shoulder, swing them around a bit, and put them back down. I realized the fatal flaw pretty quickly: they actually went out of their way to ask for money so I would swing them around, and that got exhausting pretty quickly. So, I switched to giving them high fives and jokingly asking them to give me money.

  One thing I've always taken for granted has been water. I may have to pay for it, but back home, it was always there. Not the case here. I am fortunate. Unlike many PCVs, I have running water. Sometimes. Unless the ministry forgot to pay the bills again. Or town council decided it's time to conserve and didn't bother to tell us first. You never really think about how much water you use until you find yourself going door-to-door, begging people to let you fill you jugs, to use their toilet, or let you into their shower. Khorixas is a semi-desert environment. No rivers or lakes or streams to fetch water from. It rains only occasionally (at which times my bathing suit comes out and I enjoy the fact that nature provides better water pressure than my crappy shower). Having the electricity go out is annoying and frustrating, but survivable. Not having water (say, for over a month), that's a very different story.

  People are going to talk. Having lived all my life in fairly large cities, a small town like Khorixas is a very different experience. One thing I learned early on is that rumors are going to fly, and you have to either nip them in the bud or find a way to turn them into a joke. You can't, however, let them get to you or drive your life. Yes, my reputation is important to me. I've carefully cultivated it so people would trust me and come to me and want to work with me. Still, the number of white people in my town is quite low. It gets even lower when you narrow it only to men. Never mind making it young men. And the beard. And the hair. And the American accent. No way I can blend in. So, when people start a rumor that I'm a spy (because of my iPod headphones), better find a way to laugh it off. I've had three girlfriends and a wife since I got here, none of whom I was actually romantically involved with. It was annoying at first. Now, laughing about it at the end of the day is how I decompress.

  There is nothing better on a hot day than a cold beer. Enough said.

  The refrigerator is God's gift to mankind. Again, enough said.

  A fan is generally enough. No need to spring for aircon, though it makes a nice treat from time-to-time. Plus, the fan, unlike aircon, keeps the bugs away. Yay.

  Lizards and spiders are your friends. They eat the mosquitoes and biting ants.

  Bureaucracy sucks. Seriously, there is nothing polite I ca say about it, so I'll leave it at that.

  Family is important. My Namibian families, both in Khorixas and Okahandja have been a big part of how I've gotten through these last two years.

  It's okay to be alone. Embrace solitude. Knowing yourself is a lot easier when you spend extended periods by yourself, and it's an important part of personal growth. Living alone in my flat makes this easy. Artificially creating alone time with my hikes is good also, as the change in setting sparks a certain creativity.

  At the end of these two years, I'm the same guy I was coming in. But very different as well. I know that's a contradiction, and I'm sorry I can't express it any better than that. I've experienced quite a bit. The ups, the downs, the emotions, the successes, the struggles. I've learned from them. I hope I've grown from them. It appears I will be going to law school when I get back to the US. I received my first letter of acceptance (first school I've heard back from) this evening, so I know at least one place will have me. For those of you wondering, it is Northeastern, and, in the theme of this post, I learned that hearing back from a school less than a week after applying is not always bad news. Am I going to Northeastern? Not sure yet. Waiting to hear back from the other schools I applied to, and cost will be a factor. Still, having at least one acceptance is a major weight off my chest, and it's definitely a school I think I could be happy at. Hopefully, the skills I've gained during my service will help make me better prepared for this than I was three years ago, when I first applied and was rejected from the only school I applied to. However, I know they won't hurt. Living abroad, in a completely different environment, with a totally different culture has taught me a lot, and I am grateful to have been given this opportunity, as frustrating as it has been at times.

Reflecting, Part 4: Souvenir I'd Like To Take Back To America

  Let's get one thing out of the way: a souvenir I'm not bringing back and don't have the slightest desire to bring back is a child. So, for any of you Namibians reading this, please stop offering me yours.

  So, what do I want to bring back? Well, there's the obviously cliche answers. These are intangible. My memories. My experiences. The lessons I've learned. The skills I've picked up. The friendships I've made. However, there's no need to want to bring these back. After all, they're in my head and par of who I am after these two years. So, instead of trying to be deep and all, I'm just going to be straight forward and list some things.

  Sadly, it doesn't look like the first one is going to happen. Despite my best efforts, it does not look like I'll be bringing a Namibian National Soccer Team jersey to add to my collection. I did get a decent consolation prize: a nice NFA sideline jacket. And I've found a store which sells African Stars and Black Africa jerseys (two of Namibia's most popular clubs). And, I can get a South Africa, and maybe Kaizer Chiefs (the club my friends here support, and thus so do I) or Orlando Pirates. Maybe even a rugby jersey or two. The reason I really like soccer jerseys as souvenirs is that, along with being cool things to collect, the are also functional. After all, I can wear them around, and they make nice conversation starters, from time-to-time.

  And there are coins. I'll be bringing plenty of those back. Anyone interested, let me know. No problem of a complete set (five dollars, one dollar, fifty cents, ten cents, and five cents), but I should have a bunch to bring back, so let me know.

  Jewelry and nick-nacks aren't really my thing, but at least they make nice gifts. And they're small things, so why not. Shitanges, especially.

  A nice patch to sow onto a backpack would be cool, and no too expensive.

  Some of the materials I've picked up in the course of my work. I mean, condom info is the same in the US as it is in Namibia, right?

  I've got a few t-shirts, mostly work-related. Still waiting for my Sunrise Hotel (the bar I frequent) shirt to come in. Same with the PAN hat I've ordered. Hopefully they arrive in time. Fingers crossed.

  Oh, and if possible, a couple bottles of nice South African wines (for me) and, despite being sick of them and ready to get back to the choice selection in America (dad, you better have some Magic Hats, Abita, Heavy Seas, and Flying Dog waiting in the fridge for me), I would like to try and bring a couple bottles of beer back for my friends to try.

  And, I guess some packs of braai spice and those nut keychains the men in my town sell are cheap, small, and easy things I can bring back, and they'd make nice gifts.

  Of course, there are two "souvenirs" I'm hoping not to bring back: malaria and parasites. So far so good on that front.

  Okay, so this post was a tad silly, I realize. I'm sure when they asked, they were hoping for deeper answers, the kind I alluded to earlier. So what? I mean, these were two very significant years for me, where they not? I think wanting something tangible to serve as memories, beyond the thousands of photos I've taken (yeah, I fancy myself a bit of a photographer now, though I'm not too fond of my "skills" yet), is not something you could hold against me. Of course, my drum already made it back (hopefully in one piece, if my parents packed it nicely), so even if I don't bring anything else back, I got that.

Reflecting, Part 3: I'd Like People In My Community To Remember Me For

  Disclaimer to start: this is how I'd hoped to be remembered. If I'm being totally honest, this is a bit hopeful. The partying and some of the mistakes I've made will certainly be left in the memory of some. I'm far from a perfect person. The good news, this one will be shorter than the last few posts. So, here we go.

  Obviously, I hope I'm remembered for my work. There was a volunteer here a few years back named Jill, who people still ask me about, even though I've never actually met her in person (we're Facebook friends), and I hope people talk about the way they do her. People ask about Grace all the time- another PCV remembered fondly. I'm sure my computer classes will leave at least some with good memories of the work I did. Same with a few of my HIV-related trainings. When I told some of the kids from our gym club I won't be here too much longer, several expressed disappointment. My boss is still trying to find ways to get me to stay a third year. I am a hard worker, efficient, dependable. Diverse skill set. Creative. And so on. And I definitely people in my community remember me for it.

  One thing I've done has been try to also further my work through the examples I set and the life I live. I really hope a few people learn from the examples I've set during our nights out. Alcohol abuse is a MASSIVE problem in Namibia. No point in denying it or sugar coating it. Namibians, practically without exception, fall into one of two groups: people who never drink a single sip or people who can't have a sip without drinking until they get blind, stumbling around, no control over their choices drunk. Sure, I drink. I've even drank a little too much once or twice. But, generally, I have a beer or two and stop. I don't have to get drunk, drink away my entire paycheck on payday. Hopefully, a few of my friends will follow that example. A lot of efforts to resolve other health issues (like HIV, youth pregnancy, and violence against women, for a few examples) would be greatly furthered if Namibians would simply learn to drink responsibly. It's not difficult. It just takes a little self-control. Hopefully people remember me for being a responsible drinker.

  Hopefully Den and Taylor, the two PCVs currently in town with me, will remember me as a good friend. I try to be a support structure. Maybe even a bit of a mentor. After all, I'd been here over a year before them. I knew people, the way things worked, and some of the things the community needed. I also knew some of the struggles they would face, and I've tried to help them through them. Hopefully, they remember me at my best, as their friend, and as someone they could, and still can after I leave, always turn to.

  Of course, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Or, in this case, Jay. Fortunately, I'm a guy who likes having fun. And no, despite the way New Orleans has infected my personality, that doesn't have to include alcohol. God knows I'm always quick with a joke, and hopefully a couple of them were found funny. I love soccer, and I know people will remember me for that (after all, I'm trying to raffle off a few of my jerseys, since people were getting a little aggressive in trying to convince me they deserved them more than other people). Maybe one or two of the people who have seen me reading will realize it's okay to turn off the TV every now and then, put down the bottle, and just pick up a book. Who knows? Maybe our town's library will finally get some use. Oh, and then there is the braai master side of me. Yes, some of us white people are able to make a fire. Sure, I prefer to use firelighter instead of plastic bags. It's just quicker and better for the environment. But, if that's not available, get me some grass, a cardboard box from the trash, empty egg cartons, random scraps of paper, or anything which burns, and I can make it happen. And, of course, I grill up some good meat. Not an opinion, a fact.

  And then there is my host family. Hopefully they have fond memories of me. I'm sure my host mom, Esna, will think of me every time she enjoys trying to make my hot sauce (I left her the recipe, since she likes it so much). I definitely hope they remember me as a good "son" who, while not a eat freak, did his part around the house, with some cooking, laundry, and watching the little ones. I'm sure the kids will remember me fondly. We've had a lot of fun, after all. Teaching them to throw a Frisbee, playing soccer, my one card trick, my camera, Skyping my mom, dad, and Dan, my hair (they loved playing with it), the guitar, and the candy I used to buy their love.

  Overall, I think people will remember me fondly. I may be no saint (despite the hat I occasionally wear), but I think I'm a decent person, a good friend, and not too bad of a role model. Perhaps in a few years I'll get a friend request on Facebook from someone I've never met, telling me they're the new PCV in Khorixas, and a bunch of people say "matisa". Even if the projects themselves die out, maybe I've left a legacy (no, Gideon, not the kind of legacy you keep telling me I need to leave) which will have a lasting impact. Sustainability and success in development work, after all, sometimes requires changing the definition and scopes of the terms.

Reflecting, Part 2: My Funniest Moment

  Throughout my service, there have been some wonderful moments. There have been some great successes. And there have been some low moments. And some spectacular failures. And everything in between. There have also been a number of moments that I still can't recall without breaking into hysterics. For some of these memories, I'm sure you'll find them funny. For others of them, you just had to be there. So sorry when I just burst out laughing and my reason makes no sense. I once again could not pick just one moment to write about. So, here are a few of my funniest moments, stories, and memories of my two years in Namibia, in no particular order.

Free of what? They couldn't tell me. But, by God, we will be free of whatever it is.
The ind of silly "activism-inspired" things Namibians put on shirts and signs in front of their houses. 
I'm gonna miss this place (this probably won't be the last time you see this photo)

  As I've mentioned many times, Khorixas is in the heart of Damaraland. Damaras love their donkeys, especially in cart and meat form. So, here are two memories, of sorts, involving donkeys. Actually, the first is not really a memory, it's just a thing, and sadly, it would be better if I had a video for you to truly appreciate it. In Namibia, animals roam free. It's not unusual to have cows or goats or chickens or donkeys or horses wander into your home/office/pit latrine. In order to avoid having their donkeys wandering off, people big their front feet with either what are essentially tougher versions of handcuffs or ropes. With their front feet bound together, the donkeys are forced to kind of hop around. I know this will sound cruel, but few things brighten your day like a donkey hoping around like a bunny. Sorry, Eyore. The other memory involves donkey carts. Think those hay rides from when you were a kid, except less cumfy and pulled by 2-4 donkeys, instead of a tractor. There was once guy who has decided to paint a Toyota logo on his cart, and I remember breaking into hysterics when I saw this, joking with Grace about how much safer I feel in that cart, and how it will probably retain it's re-sale value a lot better then those other models. I realize most of you won't really find that one more than mildly amusing, but even my Namibian friends found it ridiculous.

  This next story begins with a bit of an apology. Amy Larsen, I hope you aren't too embarrassed by my sharing this one. On our way back from our first re-connect, I, along with two other volunteers, Amy and Emily, decided to stop in Otjiwarrango to visit another volunteer, Steve, who had just moved there from my town, Khorixas. Of course, this meant to out drinking. A few hours, several beers, and God knows how many shots of how many different alcohols later, I go to the bathroom. When I come back, Amy is holding a BB gun. Amy, who was quite drunk (she remembered that at some point she'd shot the gun, but that's as close as she got to a firm memory of that night) is going off on how she's from Baltimore, murder capitol of the US, and how she's not the anti-gun liberal hippie she looks like. She then proceeds to shoot the gun at a paper target on the wall. Fortunately, at no point did it go off while it was pointed elsewhere (like, say, my face). One of those nights that always makes me smile to remember. She apparently went back on a future night, and the gun had been stolen from the bar. But that night will always be one of the memories that defines her to me. Oh, and where was Emily while this was going on? Initially, at the bar, with no clue what was happening, and then later, being smarter than me and keeping some distance between the drunk girl with the BB gun. Oh, what a night. And then the four of us crammed into Steve's tiny room for a couple hours of sleeping it off.

  This next story didn't actually happen in Namibia. When my parents visited, we spent my birthday camping on the Okavango Delta in Botswana. That night, I found myself having to relieve myself, so I stepped out the tent and did my thing. When I got back, Daniel was horror-struck. "Didn't you hear that?" or something like that. "No." "There were hippos out there." "You're just imagining things, go back to bed." Of course, in the morning, there were definitely signs of hippo tracks around our campsite. Oops.

  One of the biggest impacts a PCV has is one they don't think about. We often stand out in our community. I am, after all, the only American male in my town, and one of the very few white males in town. The children of my host family ended up looking up to me. In their efforts to be like me, they began wearing baseball caps and sunglasses (generally mine), and pointing to lighter parts of their skin to show they looked "like Jay." Absolutely adorable.

Tiha, being me

  On Christmas day, I decided to put on a Santa hat and hand out candy this year. Less than an hour in, the hat was gone, stolen by a friend's toddler (I didn't feel like fighting with a 2-Year-Old over a Santa hat), but there was still plenty of candy left. So I continued with my Santa Jay adventure. A group of kids came up to me, showing off some new toys they'd been given (even though I'd never interacted with them before), and I gave them candy, at which point they asked me to take their photo. When they left, I found a shady spot to sit down and have a little drink to cool off (I'd been walking around for over 2 hours, and keep in mind, this was Summer here). After 20 or so minutes of resting, I got up to start passing out candy again, and the same kids approached me, claiming they hadn't gotten candy. Sadly for them, it was one per kid, and I had photographic evidence (which they'd asked me to take) showing they were being little liars. Oh well.

Silly kids. If not for this pic, they probably would've gotten away with it

  This one is short. It's not really a single memory. However, whenever I walk around town, groups of kids will say hello to me. It always goes the same. "Hello, how are you?" (in my Namlish accent). "I am fine...I am fine...I am fine..." Each kid answering individually. "How are you?...How are you?...How are you?..." "I am fine." "Where are you going?...Where are you going?...Where are you going?..." "I am going to {insert destination}." This will continue for a bit, until they run out of English, at which point the conversation end either with "Goodbye...Goodbye...Goodbye..." or "Oh me candy/money...Owe me candy/money...Owe me candy/money..." It's always the same, and right up until they ask for money, it's always adorable, especially in those little kid voices.

Kind of like this, except small children

  And speaking of the kids saying "owe me" all the time, it gets really annoying (though not nearly as annoying as when the adults do it). In response, I began picking up children, flipping them over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and swinging them around. Sadly, rather than discouraging them from asking for money, I got the distinct impression they began asking it more often, just so I would swing them around.

In the middle, in the 'Zards hat

 A few weeks ago, I was forced to move back in with my host family for about a week. As it was start of the new school term, I got up early and walked the kids to class, and then continued on to town to but some eggs for lunch later that day. Patience, the youngest, decided to come with me. Since she was too young to go to school, she instead came to town with me, holding my hand and all. Because she's lighter in complexion, and ended up on my shoulders (I figured it would be quicker that way), everyone in town felt the need to ask if she was mine. To those of you who know me well, this is super funny.



  You know how Brad and Angeline keep adopting more and more children from Africa? Well, not a week goes by without someone either offering me children or telling me at my age I need to get on it. Seriously, having one Jewish mother is enough. I'm only 25. I don't need a whole country telling me to get on those grandkids.

  A couple stories about goats. First of all, Taylor has to be the only person in Khorias incapable of getting a goat for a braai (but I love you anyway). Oh, and before you ask, yes, I have slaughtered a goat here. And all the Namibians were shocked I didn't pass out. Now, for the more amusing stuff. A few months back, I was getting home from a workout, when I realized I'd left my door open. I get inside, and it's a bit of a mess. Figuring someone was trying to rob me, I entered cautiously, with my phone out and the number of a police officer friend ready to go. Then I heard a bleating noise. As I entered my room, I was met with the sight of a baby goat, eating my trash. Most adorable break-in ever. Same goat came wandering into my office a few days later. Sorry to my neighbors back home, but, in order to counter homesickness as I re-adjust, don't be surprised if I buy a couple goats and let them wander freely around the neighborhood. And then there is one of my funniest stories of those first few months. I was getting ready to leave for my first re-connect, when the person who'd promised me a lift to Windhoek bailed on me (I would soon learn better than to expect people to actually show up and be reliable and timely). As I panicked, Grace called Lucky, a taxi driver between Khorixas and Otjiwarrango. Lucky and I  would go on to become very good friends, but at this point, I'd never met him. He shows up, and I go to put my bag in the trunk, when I realize it was full. But not with luggage.

As you can sort of see, I did eventually get my bag in. Oh, and that plastic bag on the right corner of the trunk? There's a chicken in there. Oh Lucky.

  And, finally, no reflecting on my funniest moments in Namibia could be complete without a Sasha story or two. And, it so happens, that two stick out. The first one is not so much funny, and I could save it for a later post on things I will never forget, but I'll include it here instead. So, before Grace had a chance to get her fixed (guys, don't procrastinate with your pets), Sasha got knocked up. It very well may be my fault, but I won't go into that part. A few months later, Sasha is about to burst. Grace was traveling, and had asked me to check in on Sasha, let her out to poop, and feed her. Of course, I obliged. So, that night, I put some food in her bowl, and went back to my flat. The next day, shortly before lunch, I returned to re-fill the food and all. Sasha, who normally assaulted me ant chance she got, stood tentatively in the doorway instead. It was weird, but I was hungry, so she was going to poop on my schedule, not hers. I drag her out of the flat, and she starts whimpering, and as soon as I let go, she bolts back into Grace's bedroom. A little frustrated, I follow her in and hear a squeaking noise. I look down, and there's Sasha, with something in her mouth. I look closely, and realize, held by the scruff of it's neck, she was proudly presenting me with one of her brand new puppies, the rest of which were rolling around on (or falling off of) Grace's bed, which was a mess. Sasha had given birth overnight.

Clio and Grace playing with Sasha and the pups.

  A slightly funnier Sasha story to cap this post off. Grace and I were hanging out, when I received a phone call. I won't say who it was, but it was from someone in the States. So, we're talking, and I step outside so I wouldn't bother Grace. All of a sudden, Sasha, who had been running around outside, "attacks me". I push her away, she comes back. I push her away, she comes back. Jokingly, I exclaim "DOWN, LITTLE BITCH!!!" (my playful nickname for Sasha from when I'd lived with Grace during my homeless stretch). The person on the other end of the line, having no clue what was going on, decides to lecture me: "How dare you talk to your sitemate like that. Especially after she took you in. Etc." Dang dog, always causing problems.

  Now, don't be fooled. This is not even close to a comprehensive list. These were just a few stories which really stuck out. For those of you I will talk to in the future, expect to hear so many more stories like these you'll want to kill me. Sorry, but I'm not sorry. It's been a great two years, and I can't help wanting to re-live it in any way I can. Stay tuned. Next reflection will be coming out tomorrow or the next day, depending on time and my motivation to write.

Reflecting, Part 1: What I Liked Best

  Here we go, the first serious reflection post. Today's topic is what I liked best. Trying to answer this one, like most of these, is going to be tough, so I've decided to break it down into a few things: thing I liked best about my service, favorite place I traveled to, thing(s) I liked best about about Namibia, and thing I liked best about Khorixas. Yes, I could add more categories, but these seem like the most meaningful.

  So, let me begin. The thing I liked best about my service has to be the freedom. This had its drawbacks, as I will discuss, but it also allowed for most of my successes. Teaching volunteers and volunteers paired with more formalized roles at their host organizations do have some advantages. It's easier for them to figure out where they fit in, to figure out what their role is, to know how they will be making a difference in their community. In the US, most employers hire you with certain expectations, filling a specific job posting. For a creative person, like me, this can actually be a big disadvantage. Fortunately, Peace Corps hired me for their community health sector, and I work for the Ministry of Youth, National Service, Sport, and Culture. While that long name may be annoying to write out on forms, you'll notice it covers a range of topics. This has given me the freedom to, within the basic framework of my Peace Corps assignment, to branch out. Sometimes it worked out well, sometimes it didn't.

  During my training, we focused on HIV. Ways to teach people about condom use, activities for working with youth clubs, which groups were most at risk, other dangers increasing the risk of HIV, getting tested, etc. It makes sense, seeing as our program is largely funded by PEPFAR and HIV is one of the biggest health issues stemming inflicting Namibia. So, if you had told me, coming out of training, that the vast majority of my first year was going to be spent teaching computer skills, I never would have believed you. Of course, that's exactly what happened. I show up on my first day of work and I am asked to help teach these classes, and soon after became the head computer instructor, designing the curriculum, creating the exams, etc. While it didn't exactly fit directly in with Community Health and HIV/AIDS, it certainly made a huge impact, as I will talk about in an upcoming post.

  Another advantage of this freedom has been that, while I am paired with my ministry, I am not actually a full time employee. I am really employed by the whole town. This has given me the freedom to branch out and do work coaching community soccer teams, partnering with the hospital on programs, such as our health club, or teaching English at our town's Traditional Authority. I have the freedom to make my own schedule. While my supervisor expects my work for the ministry to come first and get all that done, I do not have to keep regular hours. I can work from my flat. I can go to other parts of town and work with other ministries and NGOs. This freedom has allowed me to make far more of a difference than I otherwise would have, had I been forced to work 8-5 at our office only.

  However, my Peace Corps experience is about far more than just what I do work-wise. In fact, Peace Corps has 3 stated goals:

  It is in the spirit of that third goal that I feel I should write about my favorite place I traveled to. This one is not difficult: Sossusvlei. Absolutely beautiful. The massive dunes, shifting slightly as the wind blows the sand. Watching the sun rise from the top of Dune 45. Deadvlei. Sesriem Canyon. Camping out in the shadow of the dunes. Honestly, trying to put it into words can never do it justice, and even my photos can't fully capture why I loved it there so much.

  Of course, Namibia is a country of contrasting beauty, and nothing epitomizes this like going from Sossusvlei to Swakopmund. Swakop is a beach town full of gorgeous German architecture. The road between them is almost lunar. I have had several enjoyable trips to Swakopmund. It's a nice place to get away, enjoy some seafood, enjoy being close to a body of water, even it's too cold to swim in.

  And, of course, I can't leave out Etosha. I loved it so much I took a group of school learners out there. While it's about the "luck of the draw," the site of a pack of elephants at a watering hole, or a pronking springbok, those ridiculous looking pajama donkeys, or, if you're lucky, a lion is amazing, especially in a far more natural environment than the zoo. If you make it to Namibia and don't get to Etosha, you wasted your trip to Namibia, in my opinion.

  Outside of Namibia, I'd say Cape Town was the place I liked best. The only truly big city I've been to in a while, with diverse food options, the chance to dive with great whites (a life-long dream fulfilled during the two years I've spent fulfilling another long-term personal dream).

  What do I like best about Namibia? This one is tougher to answer. Certainly not the music or traveling, though I will discuss these in the future. However, there is a lot to love about this country. When they are sober, the people can be quite wonderful. The food, while perhaps not as diverse as I am used to and a bit saltier than I like, is very good. Gemsbok is probably my favorite meat. The beer isn't bad and the wines here are excellent. However, I'd say the contrasting landscapes and cultures are what I would have to say I liked best.

  Oh, and the fact that I'm actually in a country where people enjoy soccer as much as I do.

  And, finally, the thing I liked best about Khorixas. This is the easiest to answer. The people. I've made some very wonderful friends. I was taken in by an amazing family who have taken me in as one of their own (more on that soon). If I come back in five years, or even ten years, I know there are people here who will take me in. Nights at the bar. Weekends playing soccer. Weekend nights watching Chelsea be awesome. The playful (and sometimes not so playful) position of being "Enemy Number One" during the World Cup, especially during the group stage when the US topped Ghana (suck on that one, people at "Package Shop Bar," or whatever it's new name is). The braais. The beers. The last-second pulling things together after everything fell apart and it seemed like the program was going to have to be cancelled. People letting me into their homes to use the toilet or do dishes or fill my jerrycan when my water was cut off. And many more memories. As Elfy, who runs my favorite bar has called me, I feel like a welcome "Citizen of Khorixas." So, thank you all. I could not have been nearly as successful or had the meaningful two years I've had without you, and I hope I can eventually make it back. I will miss you all.

  On a personal level, probably the thing I've liked best has been the change to read. There is plenty of quiet alone time. Nights when there is no power. Days when there's no power. Hitchhiking (in enclosed cars from official hike points, always, obviously...please ignore the blog's title, reader's from head office). Weekends. Days when I have no work to do. Sure, I've taken up some guitar. I go to bars. I watch movies and soccer matches. Or dick around online when I can. But I also read. A lot. And I love it. After 4 years of high school and 4 years of college, during which there was minimal opportunity for pleasure reading, these past 2 years have given me the chance to read all I want. Some books I should've read in school but simply Googled the cliff notes or watched the movie. Books I'd been meaning to read. Books useful to my work. Soccer magazines. Books I enjoyed and wanted to re-read. Some I've read multiple times in that stretch (every time I read Kerouac, I get something new out of it). Thank God for e-readers. It's a chance to escape, to connect intellectually when the language barrier sometimes prevents that with locals, or just to unwind and relax. Hopefully future jobs won't deprive me entirely of the time and energy for this.

  Okay, so, those are my favorite things. Or, at least a few of them. This list could continue from now until I COS, and I'm sure those of you back home reading this will soon be like my dad, sick of Peace Corps stories. So, I apologize now. Honestly, even me, I am tired of Peace Corps stories, and I'm living one. So, stay tuned for tomorrow's post on my "funniest moment." It may take some thinking to narrow it down, by I have a few in mind, and I'm sure some of you will get a kick of it.