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.
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