Reflecting, Part 10: My Biggest Accomplishment

  Here we are, my final reflection post. Also, the start of my final week in Khorixas. Fitting that I'm writing it while taking a break from filling out my final VRF. What have been my biggest accomplishments? I put this one for last, because I thought it would be a tough one. Really, it's actually one of the easiest ones. Yes, I was asked for my biggest one, but, just like with all the other posts, I'm going to list a few. Why waste a post on just a couple paragraphs. In this case, the order will matter. While all of these have been accomplishments, the last of the four I list will, in fact, be the biggest one.

  Much of my first year was spent working with Grace getting the gym built. Much of my second year was spent getting the club itself going. Hours of work researching equipment available at different stores, exchanges with the German embassy, working with both my ministry and the ministry of health, but the gym got built. After that, it was a matter of recruiting the kids (a job, admittedly, largely performed by Taylor). My reputation as a soccer coach helped, as did the enjoyment of the first few sessions. Now, the kids have shown they've learned, teaching each other about lifting with proper form, checking each other, leading the stretches, rather than relying on me. They've even gotten the concept of spotters and proper hydration. The ones who've been there from the beginning can probably recite my gym safety lesson for me. And, they seem to enjoy. Best of all, they've shown improvements, meaning they are taking things outside of the two hours a week.

   One thing I've mentioned a few times is the difference a PCV can make simply by our example. The reason for that is trust. Over the past two year, learners have come to open up far more to me, asking actual questions, rather than just keeping it to the basic things. Asking me for advice with relationships, about sex, etc. Earning this level of trust has been, in my opinion, a huge accomplishment, and it's enabled a lot of my other successes.

  Not all my accomplishments have been work related. The fact that I've been able to adjust and survive has been just making it this far. Before me, Grace was the first PCV in Khorixas to make it the full two years without a site change. Sure, a number of PCVs would call my living conditions "Posh Corps". I have electricity, a shower, flush toilets, and access to internet. Most of my colleagues speak English. Still, I've had my challenges. Yes, flush toilets are nice. Except when the water gets shut off for weeks on end. Then, I'm stuck in the desert, begging people to let me in to fill my jugs (no rivers or streams). Electricity is great, but a lot of volunteers have some degree, and it goes out quite a bit (granted, I'm not sure PEPCO is much better). Then, I have no stove, no over, no fan, and my food all goes bad (though I can't complain too much, since, unlike many PCVs, at least I have a fridge). The internet is nice. Not going to paint this as being anything but a luxury. I just wanted to take a second to brag a little (though I don't simply use it for Facebook, having looked things up for other PCVs and worked it into the work I do to teach people how to communicate and all). Adjusting to life without family and friends has been tough. It's easier, with cell phones and Skype, than it was for my mom. Which is good. It means Namibia today is far more developed than Honduras was in her day (before Namibia existed). Adjusting to the foods here has also been tough, especially because I can't afford meat or the foods I liked back home. And, there have been the struggles with daily life, work, adjusting to cultures, etc. Despite what I tell people, there have, in fact, been times, when I wasn't completely sure I'd make it, especially when death entered the picture. But, I did. I made it. In a week, I go to Windhoek to start filling out paperwork. A few days later, I complete my service. A couple days after, I head back to the states. While nobody may have had me as their pick in the "who's going home early" pool, as my friend, Kellie, often says, every PCV is one day, one thing, one health problem, one straw away from heading home. It's just reality, so making it to COS has been a huge accomplishment for me.

  An, finally, my biggest accomplishment: my computer classes. I won't use any names here, since I don't have approval from the learners in question. When I first got here, I struggled. Part of it was a curriculum which was "one-size-fits-all". Working with my counterpart, were-worked the program to be more in line with the levels of our learners, better able to adjust. I offered one-on-one sessions. I also focused less on the step-by-step, more on the thinking things through. Encouraged them to ask each other for help before asking me. Imposed stricter attendance policies so classes weren't held back by people who couldn't bother to show up. The first time we ran the program, only a couple people passed. We revised slightly, and the second time around, more passed. By the final time we ran it, over half the learners passed. And that's with me requiring 60%, rather than the 30-40% most Namibian school require. They even learned to identify which types of graphs to use for which types of data and some of them even learned to come up with formulas on their own, rather than needing me to provide it for them. But, while that was a huge success on its own, it wasn't the biggest accomplishment. The last time I ran my class, I had a learner who had never used a computer before. Couldn't even turn them on. But, he took meticulous notes, asked questions (something I encourage, unlike many Namibian teachers, which has led to a bit of a culture clash), and ended up with one of the top grades in the class. Went from not being able to turn a computer on to being the one showing those sitting at the computers next to him how to do things. But, the real accomplishment came a couple months after he finished the class. I went into the post office to buy some phone credit, when I was greeted by the guy behind the other counter. Beaming, he proudly informed me that his new skills with a computer had earned him a new job. I have to admit, a bit arrogantly, perhaps, that it was one of my proudest moments of my service.

  I've had a number of accomplishments throughout my service. Some big, some small. In my opinion, those were among the biggest. However, it's easy to look back at the big ones. The real difference a PCV makes are the small accomplishments every day. Being able to greet people in their language. Remembering names (really hard when you meet literally hundreds of people, some of them only briefly, many of them while not sober). Learning to hand wash your whites. Your first successful hike. Figuring out how to work around the bureaucracy. Finally finishing a book (looking at you, Taylor). Making friends. While Peace Corps asked about my biggest accomplishments, the true success has been the product of hundred of little successes. For those of you considering Peace Corps or about to start your service, or struggling through your second year of service, or even those looking back and wondering if it was worth it, whether they made a difference, I recommend you keep that in mind. It may be cliche, but it's true. If you doubt me, look back at my reflection posts. Most of them are made up of the little things, the day-to-day. I highly recommend working through this sort of exercise at the end of your service. One thing it's allowed me to say: with one week to go, it's all been worth it and I've definitely made a difference.

  No, this probably won't be my last post. I'll be in Windhoek wrapping things up, and will hopefully get something written about my last few days, about saying goodbye, and all. But, if this is my last post from Namibia, I hope you enjoyed it. No clue what will come of this blog when I get back. Maybe, I'll keep it going during law school, to share those experiences, especially because I have PCV friends who, like me, are considering law school after they COS. We'll see. If Peace Corps has taught me anything, it's to take things day-by-day (okay, that really wasn't much of a change for me, but it really drove it home). So, until I write again, kai gangans, //khawa mugus, !gaise ha re.

Reflecting, Part 9: I Wish I Had More Time For

  Over the last two years, I've been able to accomplish a lot. I've had a number of incredible experiences. I've seen a lot of places. I have very few, if any, true regrets about my service. However, two years is two years, and it's impossible in two years to accomplish everything I wanted or see everything I hoped to see. So, here's a short list of things I wish I had more time for.

  The obvious first thing on this list is probably obvious, and on the list of every PCV, in every country, ever. I wish I had more time for traveling. Hiking Snake River Canyon would've been great. Maybe canoe the entire Orange River. See the Caprivi region, where I've never made it to. Spend more time in the north, especially the O-lands, where I've only spent short times. See more PCVs' sites and experienced the way they lived more. And, of course, while I'm in Africa, see more of the continent. After all, how long until I will be able to afford to come back here? I'd love to have seen more of South Africa, especially Kruger. I wish I'd been able to get to Malawi, or Mali, or Tanzania, or Kenya, or Cote D'Ivoir, or Cameroon (sorry I couldn't make that one happen, Greg). I definitely wish I had time to get away and climb Kilimanjaro, though that's largely related to my reading Kerouac's "Dharma Bums" and Krakauer's "Into Thin Air", both of which have reminded me of my love of being outdoors, even if I'm probably not in good enough shape for that climb. I realize I could've spent 5, even 10 years, over here and not been able to do all the traveling I wanted, especially on my budget, but that's still the obvious answer.

  Of course, not all the things I wish I had time for are selfish. My boss is currently taking classes to earn his law degree, and I wish I could stay here long enough to see him get it. I have friends here who are planning to get married soon, something I will miss. Tia, Tiha, and !Ge are growing up, and they have really become family to me. So did Brody and Peggy in Okahandja. Babies have been born to people I care about. An influx of new employees in the past year has brought new energy to my office. And now, I'm leaving. I won't see what happens next. Sure, I can stay in touch, and will definitely try to. And, it's time for me to move on with my life. I can't stay forever. That would defeat the purpose of the work I'm doing. But, as anyone who has ever had to leave everyone behind will tell you, it's hard not have regrets, to wish you could stay longer.

  Then there's Taylor. She's basically been my little sister for the past year. High times and struggles, we've been there, and I do feel a ping of guilt now that I'm leaving, almost like I'm abandoning her. I feel similarly about Den, though we aren't quite as close, since he hasn't been here quite as long and our work doesn't overlap to the degree mine and Taylor's do.

  And, of course, there's my work. When I came to Namibia, I had some grand ideas for what I would do for projects during my service. Then, I went through training. I came out with even more. And I go to my site visit, when my counterpart passed away, adding to my list. And, throughout my service, that list has grown. Grown to the point where it would be impossible to do everything on it. Here are a few of the projects I wish I had time to either make happen or finish:

• Designated Driver Project- this one was directly inspired by the death of my counterpart. He passed away in a car accident, just 3 days after I met him. It's never been completely confirmed to me, but it has been suggested that alcohol was involved. Even if it wasn't, I have experienced since then more than my fair share of alcohol-related driving deaths or injuries. My idea was to convince taxi drivers to provide free rides (or, at least greatly reduced) between Otjiwarango and Khorixas (or, at least Outjo in Khorixas) at night during weekends and holidays, and, in exchange, arrange with local bars to provide them free cool drinks and advertise in their bars the numbers of the taxis participating. I realize this could be costly on the drivers, which is why it never came to fruition. The other part of the plan involved having school children standing on the side of the road during public holidays and in front of bars on weekends and convincing the police to re-establish checkpoints on the very dangerous road between my town and Outjo. The kids would have signs with warnings like "A taxi is cheaper than a ticket" or "Hospital bills cost more than $150" ($150 is the cost of a one-way trip to Otjiwarrango) or "Don't make your mamma cry, don't drink and drive" or other messages along those lines. If I had more time, I think the second part could easily have happened.
• Gym Club- This club is going strong. Sadly, once Taylor leaves, I'm not sure there will be anyone else to take over. I had hoped to have time to train someone else, but the person we were considering left. I guess Grace and I got this going, so sustainability is on you now, Taylor.
• Resource Drive- Okay, this one isn't so much a time thing. My laptop broke the other day, so I lost a lot of the later drafts of the resource drive I've been putting together. Fortunately, I do have back-ups, just not the most up to date. I am now frantically working to finish it up. Things like the exams and practical assignments for my computer class, pre and post tests for life skills/condoms/alcohol abuse classes, a sexual behavior survey, a PowerPoint presentation on proper condom use (male condom only, at this point, since I don't think I'll have time to re-make both, and that one will be easier, given my personal resources), a list of common condom mistakes, a list explaining safe sex in soccer terms to help teach this stuff to kids, etc. I'm going to try and get together what I can, and it'll still be better than nothing. Something I can leave behind for the colleagues who take over my work or a future PCV who replaces me.
• Youth Environmental Club- Blind Mike and I have been working on this since my second week here. Sadly, the main issue has been money and ministry approval. The recent election means new people, and a chance to try again. I may not be in the greatest shape, but I hike a lot around the bush outside my town. It would've been great to take some kids out there, teach them about things like s'mores and campfire stories, play guitar, see the stars, etc. Like American, Namibia is moving towards a generation growing up in front of a TV. They aren't quite as bad as we are, but Namibia could definitely use programs like the Boy Scouts (political controversies aside).
• Youth Soccer League- I mean a weekly league, maybe 7-per-side, or something. Get parents and local community leaders to coach. Yes, the schools have teams, but it's hardly year-round, and the structure just isn't there. Especially for girls. Something similar to MSI would do wonders for keeping kids out of trouble, building skills like teamwork, and maybe even getting parents more involved in the lives of their kids (not to be culturally insensitive).
• Computer Classes- I had hoped to be able to run through them one last time so I could train Marge, the woman replacing me. She knows the material, but doesn't have my gift for public speaking or my confidence in front of a class. She's great one-on-one, but I wish she and I could have gone through two rounds of the class, rather than just one. Sadly, aging equipment and bureaucratic nonsense made that impossible.

That list is far from comprehensive, but I don't want to lose your interest entirely.

  Time is running out. Tomorrow is my first going away party. In about 2 weeks, I leave Khorixas. A little over a week after that, I leave Namibia altogether. My home for two years. The time has flown. It may be a cliche, but it's true. The days seemed to last for weeks, the months passed like days, and the years went by in the blink of an eye. I barely have time for my goodbyes. I'm sure some people are going to be missed, because I'll go to where they live or work and find they are gone. I could probably spend the entire rest of my life here and still not have time to get everything done, see everything, and do everything I want to. That's the reality of life. I don't regret what I did. I just wish I could do more.

Good Advice

“The little moments that I have regularly in places like Saudi Arabia, Palestine, Libya, Borneo, Barcelos in Brazil, Liberia, the Congo—the moment they’re looking at you and you put your hand in [a repugnant-looking offering] and you eat and you experience that thing with them. You share an intimate moment. You can’t say, ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll pass.’ If you blow that moment, it’s done. They’re not telling you the interesting thing they might have said afterwards. Because you’re rejecting everything they love. You’re rejecting their mom. It’s a simple thing. But openness to that, simply a willingness to say, ‘I’ll have that; I’m interested. Wow, where’d you get that?’ Then people tell you.”-Anthony Bourdain.

  A friend of mine informed me a few months back that she will be coming to Africa and wanted some advice. She is not coming to Namibia, so not everything I say will apply. However, there is some general advice. There's a reason Africans have dark skin, so bring sunblock, sunglasses, and a hat. As a white person, in most of Africa, you will stand out, especially because of your fashion.

  And as we were talking, I remembered that quote from an article in a magazine my dad left with me when he visited. And I think it's great advice. Not just in Africa, but in general. Anywhere you go, even in the US. Anyone you meet, even that couple down the road. Everyone has stories to tell. Everyone has their own culture to share. This is less reflection, and not so much advice for Peace Corps Volunteers, but something we should all live by. And it goes beyond food.

  Before I get into how this relates to my experience here, there is a New Orleans story I wish to share. As a member of Tulane's Community Service Scholars program, I did a lot with a student organization called SAFER. It was shortly after Hurricane Katrina and the rebuilding effort was still well underway. Katrina fatigue had not yet set in. One day, I was helping a women renovate her home. We stopped for lunch, and while we were eating, she asked if she wanted to see some old Mardi Gras stuff. Honestly, the answer was "no". After 2 years in New Orleans, I was getting tired of people pulling out boxes and reminiscing about parades long before I was even born. But none of us wanted to be rude, so we said "yes". She started showing us photos of her in parades (Krewe of King Arthur, if memory serves), old medallions, doubloons, and assorted other throws. And then she started in on the stories. And, not just Mardi Gras, but the storm, evacuating, seeing her home destroyed, what got her through it all, her favorite restaurants, music recommendation, etc. For about two hours, she talked, and this went on for future days spent working on her home. This woman's stories shaped my understanding of the storm, its aftermath, and New Orleans since. And, to think, had we said "no", we would've simply enjoyed our PB&J, gone back to work, and lost out on all of that.

  But, Bourdain talks about food, and it certainly applies to my experiences here. When I came to Khorixas for my site visit, I was welcomed with a plate of intestines. With everyone watching to see how the !uri would react. Without hesitation, I tore off a piece of the bread they gave me with it, dipped it in, and ate it. Of course, it helps growing up in DC with parents who love trying different foods (thanks, mom and dad). The family was a bit surprised, but that was the start of our relationship which quickly led to them "adopting" me as their own. They invited me to weddings, to funerals, to birthdays, and every time they introduced me as their son/brother. They served me dishes like smiley. My willingness to try their foods even made them interested in trying mine, like American style hot dogs and burgers on July 4th, having me prepare fish, making chili and jambalaya with meats like warthog, springbok, and oryx (as well as more traditional), etc. And, during our cultural food day during training, while other PCVs refused to try certain foods and complained a little (you know who you are), I wanted to try everything, no matter how "weird" or "gross". You learn so much by trying different foods and you ingratiate yourself to others. It's a simple thing, but my willingness to try foods was instrumental in my integration (along with my love of soccer).

  One question I am asked often when I tell people I live in Khorixas with the Damaras is "have you tried this donkey meat?" Damaras are well known for eating it. And the answer is yes, I have. In fact, I enjoy it quite a bit. Tastes like zebra. Though donkey meat smells awful, and you can't get the smell off you or out of your flat for days, which is why I cook it outside. But people tend to do a double-take when I tell them I like donkey. Strangers, I mean. My friends here know me better. On Christmas, when I came back from giving back candy (taking a break, actually, since I needed to re-fill my water bottle), I was offered some donkey meat by the security guards. Working on Christmas and not even making that much money, but they shared with me (and they weren't the first people that day to offer me donkey). I accepted. It was spicy, not common in Namibia. We spent the next hour just talking about food and Christmas and how holidays and eating go hand-in-hand. I told them the joke about Jewish holidays: they tried to kill us, we overcame, thank God, let's eat. By the end, one of them even invited me to come to his home the next day (he had to work the night shift). Food may just be the world's best icebreaker (alcohol is a close second).

  During training, the family I was staying with asked me to cook some Jewish foods. I made them chicken noodle soup, and told them the "Jewish penicillin" line, which got us talking about traditional ways of treating ailments and illnesses with foods and teas. So it goes both ways. Don't hesitate when someone offers you their food, but also be ready to share yours.

  Wherever you go, people are going to offer a small crack into their lives. You can either hesitate and risk the wind blowing it closed, close it yourself, or push it wide open. I advocate the last choice. You don't have to take a lot, just a taste. Even if you are full. Try it, and at least pretend to like it, or at least don't show any obvious signs of disgust. Food is a defining aspect of pretty much any culture. If you reject someone's food, as Bourdain says, you may just be seen as rejecting their culture. Food, stories, photos. People love to share these, because they see it as sharing a part of themselves. If you want to get the best of an experience, let them.

Fish Be Cray

Crayfish on the braai. Gonna have to give this a go with steamed crabs.

  "Hey, Jay, what's been going on in your life, lately? You've been sharing a lot of reflections, but not so much the current events." I realize most of my readers must be thinking that lately. So, I guess it's time to share. The main body of this post will be a story from my Easter weekend, but there will be some other stuff as well. One section may include language that will be offensive to some. I will make sure to give you proper warning when I get there so you can skip it.

Not super relevant, but I had to include this,
since it's the first trash truck I've seen in 2+ years

  A month from today I am scheduled to leave Namibia. I'm both sad to be leaving my home of the past two years and excited to begin the next phase in my life. I'd go into more on this, except I'm sick of this question. I'm wrapping up the work I have left, preparing people to take over some stuff, etc. Packing, cleaning, planning my going away braai. Crying a lot. Etc. I'm ready to see my friends and family back home, not ready to leave my friends and family here.

  This past weekend was the Easter holiday. I decided it would be fun to head down to Luderitz for their crayfish festival. What is a crayfish? Well, first of all, it's not the things we get in New Orleans. Those are crawfish, and anyone who calls them "crayfish" is wrong. Not an opinion, a fact.Crayfish, at least the kind I'm referring to, are a type of rock lobster found off the coast in Southern Africa. They look like this:

Our campsite on Shark Island

  Getting there was an adventure of it's own. On Thursday, after work, I made my way to Windhoek to catch a train. It left about 3 hours late. Shocker. It moved slow. How slow? Things faster than a Namibian train include the last 2 minutes of a basketball game, the rebuilding of Iraq, and my learning guitar. We spent nearly 15 hours on the train, enjoying watching some fairly illogical adding of cargo cars. Fortunately, it was a sleeper car. The beds weren't the most comfortable, but they got the job done and I got some rest. Eventually, we arrived in Keetmans, where we freshened up a bit at the home of some PCVs there, got some pizza, and boarded a combi to Luderitz. Shortly after sunset, we arrived. I was staying at the NWR campsite at Shark Island (home of Germany's first death camp). After setting up our tents and putting on some warmer clothes, we went to town to try (unsuccessfully) to find some dinner and meet up with other PCVs. Everything close early, so my fellow campers and I went back to the camp site, showered (unlike my flat, camping in Namibia means hot showers), and went to bed.

View of Luderitz from our sampsite

  The next morning we set out in search of coffee. It took a while and three stops, but we finally found a place where we could get coffee that wasn't too expensive or full. Of course, it took a while, as the coffee shop's coffee machine wasn't working ("tired" was the word they used). Those of you who know me know I was about ready to commit murder at this point, but, eventually, they got it working and I got my coffee. And then, it was time to hit up the festival. A group of PCVs went to Kolmanskop. I decided coffee and seafood were my priority, since I only had one day in town.

Fried up nicely in garlic butter with some epicly delicious muscles.
Not the healthiest, but melt-in-your-mouth yummy

  We started with some calamari, fried in butter. Probably the best I ever had. And then, it was time to start on some crayfish. Fried, grilled, steamed, in what Namibians call paella (and pronounce pie-el-lah), in pasta salads, kabobs, in seafood rice. Add in smoked angel fish, amazing muscles, really good shrimp, fresh shucked oysters (with Tabasco), and soooooooooo much more. And, of course, a few beers and wine. We chilled out there all day, eating seafood and drinking and chatting and hanging. Just a great day, though my face ended up quite burnt. Before dinner and going out for drinks, we returned to camp to change and clean up. I put on my festival t-shirt (I was apparently the only one who saw the lady selling them come by). The wind had blown our tents over (and killed one of my polls). God bless duct tape, we got everything fixed. We went back to town, grabbed some dinner (fish and chips for me because I clearly hadn't had enough fish). Then, we went to a bar to meet up with the rest of the PCVs.

  They had a guy playing guitar, and we drank Urbock (at N$15 each, we cleaned them out quickly), sang, danced, and chatted. As this was my last night in Luderitz and I was planning on leaving early the next morning, the reality that I was saying "goodbye" to several friends for the last time in Namibia hit me when the guitarist played Eagle-Eye Cherry's "Save Tonight" and followed it with Green Day's "Good Riddance" and I had a bit of a break down. Before it got to the point where I couldn't hold it in anymore, I said my goodbyes, and left alone to return to camp.

Sun coming up over our tents

  Got up the next morning before the sun, showered, packed, and, joined by the two other Khorixas PCVs and the Japanese volunteer from Khorixas (and two of her friends), went to grab a combi. We were hoping to get an early ride, because we had a possible free ride from Keetmans. Sadly, that didn't happen, but we did get a ride directly from Luderitz to Windhoek. Took all day, but we arrived. After several failed attempts to find room at various backpackers' lodges, we discovered one of the Japanese volunteers had a flat in Windhoek. It was small, but we were able to cram in. We got some Chinese food, hung out a bit, and the next day we returned to Khorixas, exhausted from travel but with some fond memories.

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  Okay, so, this is a bit unrelated, but there are a few things I have to talk about. Things which have been frustrating to deal with.

  (Note: this paragraph includes some offensive language, so feel free to skip it). One thing I just couldn't get used to has been the way Namibians use the term "nigger". Most of them have no concept of its meaning. They hear it in our rap music. Initially, I tried explaining it to them. Living in the south, I heard it plenty, but it's different here, because of the way it's used. It's basically used as a synonym for "buddy". However, knowing the racial history of Namibia, it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and it does bother me when people use it to refer to me. I hide it now (no use in banging my head against the wall), but still.

  Another phrase that annoys me is "This Is Africa". This phrase entered wide use because of the movie "Blood Diamond". However, here, it's largely used as an excuse, not simply an explanation. And people use it to shrug off things like not bothering to show up, people falling through on their obligations, things not working, etc. I won't harp on this too long, but still. Sooner or later, for Namibia to truly develop, they are going to have to get past the TIA attitude.

  "In Africa, we share". This one isn't too bad on the surface. It's more the context where people use it. Generally, it's people wanting my beer, or my food, or my money. Total strangers. Of course, were I to turn it on them, they'd completely blow me off. However, the worst is not that. That one is frustrating. But the most disgusting use is as a "pick-up line". As in, women should be sharing their bodies with any guy who wants it. It ties into an attitude that men have a right to sex. And if this sounds overly broad and negative, please note I'm not saying everyone has this attitude, but it is a widely held cultural attitude, and it's at the core of men saying "in Africa, we share" to women (mainly white women from foreign countries) who turn them down. And until this attitude, and the problems it causes, is recognized, nothing can be done to improve it, and issues like gender based violence will continue to plague this amazing country.

  There's more, but I'll stop there to avoid turning what started as an attempt at simply sharing my experiences gets overly negative. The rest should probably be saved for a less public forum.

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  So, that's what's going on in my life. I should go back to packing, or do something productive, but I just want to lie in bed and just reflect on these last two years and the next few. So, I'll leave everything there. Hope you found this entertaining and educational. See you in a month, America.

Reflecting, Part 8: People Who Have Been Special To Me

  I know I'm a bit late on this next reflection. Honestly, it's been probably the hardest to write. How do you pick the people who've meant the most to you after two years of completely uprooting your life, leaving your support network behind, and moving to Africa? And how do you keep it within a reasonable length, and not write a full novel? So, before I begin, I'm not including anyone back home. It would just make things too long. A bunch of you have been major helps to me and done so much to get me through the rough times, and I am so thankful for that, but I'm reflecting on my service, and while you were special to me during it, you were also special to me before it. My friends, my family, etc. You've all made it so much easier, with e-mails and Skype calls and Facebook, and I'm looking forward to seeing you soon. For those of you living outside the US, if I knew you from back home, you count as back home (I can think of at least two people this applies to who I could potentially include). On top of that, I will not be including any people dead or fictional, with one small exception. No historical figures I admire, no characters from books. And, finally, I will only be including people I know directly. Again, no people I admire. If you want to know who I consider my personal heroes, we can have that chat over coffee some time.

  There are only two people who could be considered to be first on this list. Really groups of people. They are the first two names which came to mind when I was first asked this question. I've lived with two host families in Namibia, but it was my Khorixas family I lived with the longest. Esna and Amingo took me in and gave me a home. I still remember the intestines when I came for site visit. Them inviting me over for a New Years Eve braai. Opening their doors after I moved out whenever I wanted to visit or my flat had no power or water because of unpaid bill. Watching soccer matches on their couch. Offering me puppies. And then there were the kids. Tia, Tiha, and !Ge. My little siblings. Teaching them to throw a Frisbee or an American football. Playing keep-away and soccer in the dirt yard. Their awe when I played guitar, not realizing how lousy I am. Evenings working on homework. Tia trying to mimic everything I did. Always trying to get into my room. Cooking together (yes, Esna, I will write down that recipe for potatoes before I leave). When my parents came, they slaughtered a goat so we could braai. They truly became my family. They were there when my grandpa died. They showed me around town. They excitedly stopped any time they saw me around town. And they made me feel like I belonged, in Namibia, in Khorixas, and in their home. Honestly, without them, I don't think I would have made it all the way through my service.

  I mentioned there were two families who could have been mentioned first. Martha and her family gave me a home during training. They welcomed me to Namibia. They tried to teach me Damara. We enjoyed playing my drum in the evening. I don't think I've ever had someone so thrilled by my cooking since Jill Book. I always chuckle when I remember being called a superhero. I had an American football, and the kids would mob me the second I got home from training to get it. We tried playing games, but they quickly devolved into rugby and then "tackle the fool with the ball" and finally "how many small children does it take to take down Jay?" My second or third night with them, I threw a deep pass. Nothing too impressing by QB standards, but these kids have never seen a throw so long. So then we decided to see if any of them could kick the ball further than I could throw (one or two could). Then, they asked me to kick the ball. So I punt it. Impressed, one of them claims I'd cheated because I was wearing shoes. So, I took them off and kicked again. This time, I made perfect connection, and the ball went even further. The kids determined I had super human strength (go ahead and laugh, Dan). From then on, weekends and evening were filled with football and the kids and I working out in the yard, doing crunches and using my resistance bands, always led by my shadows, Peggy and Brody.

  And Martha. A single mother, whose husband had passed away. A teacher in Windhoek. We had some awkward chats. She is a Born Again, and T.B. Joshua was playing on her TV pretty much all day. When she found out I was Jewish, she was genuinely interested. The problem was how to answer her questions without sounding like I'm not insulting Jesus (while keeping my English at a level she could understand, since hers was good, but not that good)? Despite these awkward exchanges, however, she made sure I always felt welcomed in her home. Even when I come back to visit, which, sadly, has not been nearly often enough. Peggy seems to have grown a foot since I left and Brody appears to have the build of a JV running back. So much for the scrawny kids who welcomed me (for pics, see my photo albums).

  Okay, looking at all of that, and realizing how much I left out, I should have probably given them each their own post. Still, there are a number of other people who deserve to be mentioned.

  I had two co-workers die on me early in my service. Ronald, my original counterpart, was killed in a car crash only a day after bringing me to Khorixas for my site visit. While he did not directly impact my service too much (we knew each other for less than three days), his loss was felt, and played a big part in my teaching computer classes. However, it was the other late co-worker I want to mention. Shaka. He was not in the best health and his English wasn't great. However, often with few words, he would often make my day. Sitting over a beer at Sunrise after work, inviting me over to his home so his wife could make me dinner, chatting in the office. When I heard he'd died, I was shocked and felt a great loss. He was one of my first Namibian friends here in Khorixas, and I still think about him.

  Then, there is Waylon. Probably my first friend in Khorixas. My first day at work, he asked me to help him teach the computer classes. Soon, we'd created our own syllabus and exams and were teaching 4 classes a day. However, the true bonding came over Chelsea Football Club, who we both support. When I came for my site visit, I found him in the computer lab, watching Ronaldinho highlights on Youtube. After a couple hours of exchanging clips of our favorite stars (Messi runs, Ronaldo finishes, Lampard shots, Zola wizardry, Drogba physically dominating the box, Toure masterfully distributing, etc.), a friendship had formed. We'd often get together on weekends to watch matches or grab a drink after work. We'd watch shows or movies during our lunch break. We kicked the ball around. We tried to start a GRS program, though the lack of actual soccer in their program led to that one falling apart. And then he left to become a police officer. He apparently recently finished training. Unfortunately, he no longer answers his phone, making it hard to arrange our plan to get matching Chelsea jerseys, each with the other guy's name and playing number on it. He tried to help me learn Damara, though generally his efforts failed since they occurred after the third or fourth drink.

  Hans, Blind Mike, Kapolo, Marge, and Thewalensia. Co-workers. I lump them in not to write them off, but because I'd just get repetitive. Hans is our sports officer, and he, Mike, Waylon, and I would spend our together in the gym. Blind Mike (a name Steve gave him) taught me a lot about failure with our early efforts to start a youth environment club. Kapolo, one of the newest guys to join our center, would have been an ideal counterpart had he arrived sooner. As driven as I am, loves soccer, A bunch of great ideas, and someone who gives me hope for Namibia going forward. Marge is the woman I am training to teach my computer classes when I leave. Thewalen is our office everything. Answering the phones, sharing my misery in our fight to get new mice for the computer lab, arranging with people to let me fill my water jugs the month it was out, finding me braii stands. Just everything you could ask of someone. These are the people I work with regularly, and they are the reasons for my success.

  Chief Okango. A Damara tribal chief at the Traditional Authority, it was his efforts which got my English classes started. But he's also been a friend. Helping me with some of the cultural issues. Ensuring no consequences early on when I committed a couple cultural taboos. Making sure I appreciated Damara culture and history. Giving me rides. A friendly guy with a booming voice. And overall great guy. The other members of the class were special, but he's the one who made it happen.

  Elffy, the guy who owns Sunrise Hotel, my favorite bar in town. Bringing me to the farm to braai. Making sure nobody bothered me, because he understood just how many people assume, because I'm white, I'm rich, and how annoying it gets. I'm not holding my breath, but I am hoping he gets me a bar shirt before I leave. He was the first person to call me a "citizen of Khorixas".

  Gideon, my boss. He is the reason I'm here. He put everything in motion. As a law student, he's also provided me with some of the most intellectually stimulating conversations I've had in Namibia. If he can't make it happen (the sad cost of this much bureaucracy), nobody can.

  Of course, there are hundred of unnamed people. It's not that I don't know their names (though I admit in many cases I don't), so much as they aren't individuals. The security guards at my center. Sure, they sometimes decide not to be there, forcing me to climb the fence (and ruin clothes in the process). The kids from the youth club. The many people at the supermarket and Engen. King, the bartender at the NWR lodge (and American style bartender who will listen to your problems). The people at Yummy Chicken. Many co-workers I just don't have space to mention. My computer class learners. The many people who have attended my life skills trainings. Without these people, there would have been no point in my being here. Andrew, Steve's former counterpart, who was always good for an afternoon of sitting around, hiking, watching the sun, listening to music, braaiing, and sipping on whiskey or beer.

  And then, there are the Americans. Karen at the Peace Corps office who helped find my lost bag, a sign of things to come. Dan, who, despite a rocky start, I could turn to for advice or letters of recommendation. The people I trained with. The PCVs I became friends with from other groups. Amy Larsen and Emily Rhoades, who tended to bring out the worst in me but were always good for a fun time. Alicia Martinez, my confident during the law school application process. And many others. I've made some really lasting bonds. However, there are four people I will give special note to: my sitemates.

  The most memorable human being I have met in Namibia was Stever Iverson. Everyone in PC Nam has "Steve Stories". He was still in Khorixas when I arrived, though he would transfer sites shortly after. The man was hysterical. However, he also did great work. And, he was a great mentor. When I first arrived, I was supposed to go to the hospital to meet Grace. I'd been there once, during a brief driving tour of the town, and I was completely lost. Steve spotted me, figured I was lost, and bought me a cool drink (a term Americans need to start using) and some cookies, and showed me how to get there. Over my first few weeks in Khorixas, he would continue to show me around. When I couldn't remember how to get back to Esna's one night (my first time going out at night on my own), he, in his "Afrikaans with a Texan twist" ("Hoo-han-dit, y'all"), was able to go door-to-door and help get me back (and immediately bonded with the kids). He, Grace, and I would often go grab a drink in those early days, and he'd take the opportunity to introduce me to everyone (especially the ladies). He could be crazy (that night in Otjiwarrango after my re-connect will speak to that), but he was a great guy for a new PCV to have as a sitemate.

  Taylor Whittaker. In many ways my younger sister. Yeah, she drives me crazy, but she's also probably my closest friend at the moment, and I will miss the hell out of that girl. Sipping on Savanas under the stars, long chats, hikes, travels, New Years at the rest camp, the gym club, keeping me sane during the law school application process. She's been there for me every bit as much as she'd say I've been there for her, even if maybe not in the exact same way. Girl, I love you and I'll be rooting for you.

  Den, my most recent sitemate. Certain things about him bother me. Boy, you gotta start being more social. Get out and just talk to folks. I basically hate the entire human race. If I can make connections, you can. However, given his story (I'll let him tell you it, if you ever meet him), he's definitely an inspiration, and not a bad guy to grab a beer with.

  And last, but certainly not least, Grace. She was my mentor. When I was homeless (a new baby forced me out of Esna's suddenly and my flat was still under construction), she gave me a place to stay. Weekly dinners. That dog. Getting the gym built. Showing me the ropes in this town. Advising me even after she left. A friend in the truest sense, and the PCV who's meant the most to me, because she's the reason I survived a rocky start, she's the reason I've been able to have success, and she's the reason I'm able to help others today. Looking forward to trying to see you soon.

  This list is long, but it could definitely go longer. A number of people I mention in passing or lump in with others deserve a longer piece. Like any such list, there is just no way to avoid leaving someone out, and I'm sure there are people I've forgotten. I know I've been promising this for a while. Law school applications, weather, and electricity issues are partly to blame for the gap between "Part 7" and this post. However, the bigger thing was that this was simply one of the hardest posts to write, and one I kept putting off. I'm leaving in just over a month. Many of the people on this list I will never see again. Thinking about that and how much they've meant to me was tough. It's still tough. Saying "goodbye" to my home and friends and family for the last two years is much harder than saying "goodbye" to my home and friends and family when I came over, since at least that time I had an idea when I'd be seeing everyone again. These have been a magical two years, and that is mainly because of the people, the ones on this list in the ones who didn't. I will never forget the people I've met, the friendships I've met, and the experiences they gave me. And I hope I can eventually make it back to see them all again.