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.