Getting Re-Acquainted With America

  Every Peace Corps Volunteer, no matter where or where they served, has to re-adjust to the world post-service. Some do so by continuing to travel. Others, like me, go back to school. And others lie on their couch watching TV and eating takeout Chinese food until a girl convinces them to get on with their lives (you know who you are). With that in mind, here are some things which I've noticed, dealt with, struggled with, or loved since getting back. There is no real order, other than which order they popped in my head I was writing.

  Hot showers. God, I love them. And, I actually end up feeling clean. However, after semi-bucket bathing for two years while living in a desert, it's also hard to deal with all that waste. Still, hot water does feel sooooooooooo nice.

  Coffee shops. They're everywhere. Some meant for sitting around working. Some meant for a quick cup. Some with drive-thrus. Some Starbucks. All with options for big cups of non-instant coffee.

  People are a lot more competitive. I'm about to fly to New England to check out a couple law schools as I make my decision. People keep asking me about rankings. People at the schools keep emphasizing rankings of different programs or aspects of the school. In Namibia, things were a lot less competitive. There are benefits to being competitive, obviously. It drives innovation and creativity, and can bring out the best in people. It can also bring out the worst. Regardless, America is very grades-driven, rankings-driven, and I'm going to have to get used to that again.

  White people. No, this isn't racist. However, I no longer stand out the way I did. I no longer have that quasi-celebrity status. I'm just a bearded white guy with weird hair, not THE bearded white guy with weird hair. There's also less sense of community. Largely because the DC-area has so many people. Still, it's weird going down the street and not having everyone recognize me. On the other hand, I enjoy the anonymity and being able to walk down the street without constantly being stopped. And, I do occasionally get stopped by people who recognize me.

  Weather. For two years, I lived in the desert. It got hot. Very hot. But it was dry. And there were like no plants. I came back to DC during the transition from Spring into Summer. That means humidity and pollen. And, holy crap, it's been brutal. Breathing has been a struggle. I'm slowly adjusting, but still, my lungs feel very uncomfortable.

  Sports. It's not just soccer with an occasional rugby match worked in to change the pace. We have hockey, we have basketball, we have baseball, we have pre-season football talk. Oh, and there is some soccer. However, it in on at a far less convenient time than it was back in Namibia.

  One thing everyone warned me about: grocery stores. It's tough. So many choices. So many aisles. So much food. So much other stuff. It can be overwhelming. I've avoided that one so far. However, I needed to replace my razor. So, my dad took me to Rodman's, a drug store. We go to the razor counter, where I had like 15 razors to choose from. And, right next to it, toothbrushes. And deodorant. Oh, and I need toothpaste for the toothbrush. And, some mouth wash. Ooooooh, and melatonin pills to help me get my sleep cycle back. And...And...And... Yeah, it was a bit brutal. Definitely got more than I needed.

  Getting around is weird. Buses, a Metro system that is reliable (at least, compared to what I dealt with in Namibia), taxis that actually pick you up and take you directly where you are going. And cars, everywhere. So many cars. Every house has one. Some have more than one. Everyone drives everywhere. So many cars we have to build special buildings to park them. And all the roads are paved. It's crazy.

  The internet is soooooooooooooooooooooooooo fast. Like, those of you complaining, you seriously have no clue how much worse it could be. Oh, and phone service which can handle everyone's calls. However, it also costs more. I don't get 100 texts per day. I have to pay for data up front. Same with minutes. And none of this not getting paid for incoming stuff.

  TV is weird. All of these PSAs. For anything you can think of. And some I'd never thought of. Or pills for things that I didn't even know were health issues. And commercials which don't actually tell you what they're selling, just company names, in the hope you'll look them up. That wouldn't work in Namibia, where not everyone has internet access.

  People care about such stupid crap. The cost of that internet thing. No, I don't which celebs are sleeping together. No, I couldn't care less about so-and-so-was-in-that-movie gaining so much weight. Or who just went to rehab. So, please stop talking to me about celeb gossip. Yes, I do judge anyone who cares about that garbage, and no, there is nothing favorable about that.

  Reliable utilities. Those are nice. The toilet actually flushes, the power doesn't randomly get cut. I don't have to worry about rushing to get dinner cooked before the electricity goes out when it rains.

  Reliable people. When people say something starts at 1pm, you can bet it may start a little late, but no more than 20 or 30 minutes. Certainly not hours. And, if people are coming late, they call. Or text. They at least let you know. And, they generally apologize. There's a degree of respect for the people you make commitments to that isn't found in Namibia, where everyone runs on "Africa Time" (and excuse I hate, since they have phones and watches now, so there's no longer a valid excuse for not being late, or at least letting me know you are running late). I'm no longer living in a whole country of people with my mother's sense of timeliness.

  Politics. There are multiple parties. And, as it's an election cycle, everyone has an opinion. Most don't have an educated opinion, but an opinion nonetheless. In Namibia, there was no question. It was SWAPO. They are, effectively, the only national party. So, you didn't get the attack ads. None of the "gotcha journalism."

  Beer. So many choices. I've been to bars with more IPAs on tap than my town had for total beers and ciders combined. And, they have much higher alcohol contents. It's been super nice.

  However, I miss walking down the street and smelling those braai stands. America, we need to make street meat a thing. Food trucks and hot dog stands are nice, but they're not the same, and don't have that amazing smell of grilling meat.

  Finally, spicy food. Damaras don't like their food spicy. Just salty. I'm the opposite. I like heat, but not salt. So, that's nice about being back in the US. Food more to my taste. However, portion sizes are huge. I mean, just massive. I don't think I've finished a meal yet. Not one I didn't prepare for myself, at least.

  Okay, I have a plane to catch, so I'll stop there. Got UNH and Northeastern this week. I'll let you know how that goes and if there are any re-integration issues on this trip. Until then, I hope you enjoyed my random, rambling thoughts and observations on the things I'm dealing with since returning to America.

Edit: some additions

  Public urination. Apparently, it's not cool in the US to just drop your shorts wherever you happen to be, whip it out, and just let it go. Actually have to hold it in until you find a bathroom. Otherwise, you may be a sex offender. Good to know.

  No animals wandering. Seriously, where be all the goats and cows and donkeys and chickens wandering around town?

My Journey Home

Note: I realize by the time you read this, I will have landed, seeing as I have not internet access on the flight, meaning I can’t post until I land. However, the urge to write hit me during the flight. It may not be a bakkie, but there are some thoughts than only come to you kilometers high.

  Here I am. SAA Flight 075. Namibia-to-Johannesburg. After two years, I am actually leaving Namibia. I’ve commented on more than one occasion how beautiful Namibia is. It’s also a very sparsely populated country. One of the smallest populations per space. I know this. I’ve seen it from the ground. I kind of noted it flying in. Now, after two years, as I sit in a window seat and look out at the country I’ve called home for the last two years, it’s remarkable. I can see small villages off in the distance. I can see long stretches of road. I can see towns. I can see farm land. I can see hills. And, I can see how far everything is from everything else. Now, it’s true, there are parts of the O-lands where you have towns/villages right next to each other. But, most of Namibia is not like that. It’s incredible to look out. No clouds right now. Sunny. Massive visibility. When the Namibian national anthem mentions “contrasting beautiful Namibia” it is referring to both the people and the land. From up here, the people all look the same. The diverse landscape, however, is incredible. Yes, I am feeling a tad sentimental. I think I’m entitled to a little of that right now. Okay, we’re descending. Got to go.

Note: Now in Jo-burg Airport

  Okay, it’s official. I have left Namibia. Sitting in the Mugg & Bean, sipping all the coffee I can drink. I got a couple bottles of wine at Duty Free (2 red, one white) so I can maybe do a tasting. I was debating getting a nice bottle of scotch, but the truth is, they may cost more, but I know where to get good bottles of scotch back home. South African wines? Not so much (granted, I’m sure 5 minutes on Google would even that one out).Besides, South Africa is known for its wines. They came with these little animal things you put on your glass so you can know whose glass is whose. Think my mom will like that gift. I also got a beautiful painted ostrich egg and traditional style shirt, as well as an SA soccer jersey for myself.

  Flying into Jo-burg was weird. Looking out at a big city; population: more people than all of Namibia, multiple times over. It was massive. Honestly, it blew my mind. Just imagine how the US is gonna look. Not so spread out and all. Chatting now with a man from Mozambique about it (and about how Namibians are frickin’ wimps when it comes to spicy and need to learn to enjoy more kick in their food).

  I guess not is as good a time as any to write about my last night in Namibia. Shortly after writing the blog post about leaving, I went to the Peace Corps office to drop off my guitar for Den and say some last goodbyes. After that, I took a last trip to the braai stand outside of that Standard Bank. Damn, I’m going to miss Namibian street meat. Honestly, street foods might be one of my favorite parts of traveling. You learn so much about people and a culture from the cheap eats on the streets (okay, I admit I’ve had a couple free shots in the airport, some wine on the plane, and may still have some of last night in my system).

I interrupt this story to announce my chicken and avo wrap has arrived. The lady asked if I wanted any sauce for it, and I obviously asked if they had hot sauce (for my wrap and the side of chips). She brings me a bottle of Tabasco, 350ml. I think that must be heaven right there. Or, at least, heaven must have them on every table. Sorry for the sidetrack. Now, back to the non-hot-sauce-related story.

  So, after getting our meat, Shayna and I went to the Old Brewery. They no longer brew beer there, but it is filled with craft shops. She had no idea about the upper part, so I showed her that NamCraft and Diamond Works (so she could look for something for when her parents come). We got some gifts, me for my friends and family I will soon be seeing, her for some people getting married. Shayna is an interesting girl. We were joking that she’s basically lived her life a year behind me. She joined Year Course, working for MDA, the year after me, getting back to the US around the time I was arriving for my summer with MDA after my freshman year. She’s a health volunteer a year behind me. She wants to go to Tulane, my alma mater, for her masters. I gifted her my mezuzah when I left. When Taylor found out I’m Jewish, she spent a couple weeks trying to play matchmaker, even singing wedding songs. Sorry, kid, not happening. But thanks for the laughs. Anyway, I got a solid haul. I already had some makalani nut keychains and kapana spice for people, a couple wood carved animals, some shitenges, and (for myself) a springbok horn bottle opener. I got a second horn for my dad, some Himba bracelets (over-priced, but I didn’t have a chance to get back to Opuwo). I got an adorable bushman hand-knitted doll (a mouse with a little backpack). I could lie and say I’m planning on bringing it back and giving it to one of my younger relatives, but let’s be honest, it’s for me. It’s adorable, and it’s something I can maybe give to my own kids, if I have any, and start telling them my story. I got some jewelry for Amy (I had both Shayna and Alicia approve the purchases, and they feel you’ll be satisfied).

  After dropping Shayna back off at the Peace Corps office, I returned to Chameleon Backpackers’ Lodge to gather my things. They didn’t have any room for me that night, so I was to move to another backpackers’ lodge, the Cardboard Box. The Box’s bar is a bit nicer and open later. They have whiskey and they have Hansa on draught. After trying to call the taxi driver the Chameleon people gave me, I got impatient, ran out to the road, flagged down a taxi, told him to come around to where I was, and went from there. About 5 minutes later, I was on the road to The Box.

  After arriving, I took about an hour to go through my bags. I tried to lighten everything as much as possible, tossing what I could, making sure nothing in my carry-ons were illegal. I knew my bags were overweight, but f*** it, two years’ worth of stuff was in there. When I was done, I SMS-ed some friends and took a quick shower and nap while waiting. Around 5:30-ish, a group of friends arrived, some for the beer, some to see me off. Shayna, Alicia, Sachi, Oskar, and a friend of Oskar’s who was actually staying at The Box for the night. It was my kind of night. The beer was flowing, but it was low-key. No clubs, no terrible music; just good conversation and reflecting. We got some pizzas for dinner. Around 10 (maybe a little after), I went to the fridge (backpackers’ places tend to have somewhat decent kitchens and large fridges, as the cater to people trying to save money while backpacking across a continent or country; most even let you stay in tents, rather than your room). I came back down with what was left of the herbal liquor I’d purchased at the Kristal Kellerei winery all those months back (about a year-and-a-half) during my second reconnect. I poured a round of shots for my group of friends and pretty much everyone else in the bar. We toasted me. A little later, I took the last three shots on my own. A little after midnight, we said our goodbyes. I’ll admit that while I actually liked everyone in the group, Alicia, my little buddy for the last two years, since the day we met in Philly, was the hardest. Which makes sense. She’s been an amazing friend to me. But, she’s got an amazing third year project coming up.

  This morning, I woke up, had breakfast, and headed to the airport. There was some stress caused by someone at the lodge having been robbed and demanding the place be locked down and everyone searched by the police. Sorry, but I was in a rush. I finally got the airport, but paying for my overweight bags took some time. I made it through security in time to use the can and buy some coffee just before they called for boarding. After taking a call from my mom, I made sure to call Taylor one last time and send messages to Esna, Martha, and Den (the clock had run out on time for calling).

  So, that’s where I am so far. Gonna finish up one last cup of coffee, hit the head, pay my bill, and make my way to my gate. We board in about half an hour. Next stop, Dakar (well, the tarmac; I don’t think I leave the plane), and finally, DC, family, friends, certain comforts I’ve been without for two years, washing machines, fast Wi-Fi, and, of course, DC sports. So, I may add to this during those two legs, or maybe not. Anything after I land will probably get its own post, as I begin the next chapter (think of this post as the interlude, a short story linking books one and two, not part of either story, but important to bridge the gap).

Note: Layover in Dakar

  This is a tad weird. I’m hearing American accents all over the place. Other than the Peace Corps trainings and conferences, this is the first time I’ve been in a situation that seems to be predominantly American, and for some reason it’s more striking than those PC situations.

  We’re in Dakar. A little after midnight right now. For some reason, I’m super f***ing wired. Haven’t had much caffeine since Joburg (or, any I can think of). Watched a few movies/shows during the flight, listened to some music, busted out the iPad to read. Saw the pilot episode of “The Flash”. I’m thinking that one and “Arrow” might be my new shows this summer (any other recommended shows, those of you who know what I like? I have taken a couple sleeping pills out so I can pop them for the Dakar-DC leg. I think sleeping will be smart.

  Every time I land and takeoff, this all gets more real. Met a couple other Southern Africa RPCVs on the flight. Like, from years ago. Zambia, South Africa, and I think one other, but I forget. It just hit me that this flight is the first time I’ve had both my passports on me at the same time. A certain someone tried to give me advice about pillows and long flights. Looking at the passports and realizing I’ve had one since my age was single digits, she may have seen more countries recently than I have, but I’m no newby to international travel.

  Got that Carbon Leaf song “International Airport” running through my head right now. Not sure why lyrically, but the title certainly fits my life at the moment. Still got about 45 minutes until the next takeoff. At least I get to stay on the plane this time. I’ve been through security twice so far, and I still had to have my bag hand-checked before boarding this flight. I think America might be getting a tad paranoid, no?

  Vuvu, the wood-carved elephant who spent the last year-and0a0half or so on my windowsill, protecting me, is in my carry-on. For some reason, that does make me happy. Okay, time to do a Sudoku. Maybe listen to some music. Hopefully we leave on time for this final leg. I’m ready to be done being in transit.

Note: Over the Atlantic

  They’re about to serve breakfast. Got a little sleep. Very close to America, though not sure exactly, as the flight map is no longer working. However, based on what they said at the start of the flight and the estimated time of arrival from the beginning, I’m guessing about 2 hours. Not looking forward to how long security will take, and a little nervous about my bags (I had to pay extra as they were about 5kg overweight, total, and the woman was having issues printing my receipt. Hopefully they made it. If I have to fight with SAA to find my clothes going both directions, I’ll be a tad pissed. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see. No use getting worked up about hypotheticals until they happen. Gonna finish eating and change soon. Red Peace Corps polo (yes, Taylor, with my pin), safari hat, aviators, and jeans. Or, as the girl who picked the outfit for me called it, “Afrikaans Dundee”. I’ll worry about trying to readjust later, for now, I’m gonna get off the plane being me.

  Do wish this cold would’ve gone away. Windhoek was much colder than Khorixas, and I got a little sick there. Being on a plane, with the cycled air, not moving around much, etc., hasn’t helped.

AMERICA!!!

  I made it. When I first saw the morning lights of DC, I almost cried. I’m going to miss Namibia, but home is home, as OAR has sung about. My luggage made it this time. It was pretty quick through passport control and customs, and my dad was there waiting for me. Now, to head home. Not feeling super great, exhausted, stomach feeling a bit ravaged, and the DC humidity is killing me. Give me a couple days, and I’ll get into the re-adjustment to life in America.

This Chapter Comes To A Close

  Well, here we are. My last day in Namibia. My home of two years. Tomorrow morning, I fly out. I am now considered an RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). Over the last couple days, I've been doing my finishing up process. I had my blood work (no HIV, Rob). I pooped in a cup one last time (because a hotel cleaning lady threw out one of my samples back in February). I met with my APCD and Country Director for my exit interviews. And yesterday, Karen Mappin, Peace Corps Namibia's amazing admin officer, took me out of the system, officially ending my Peace Corps service. It honestly hasn't sunk in completely yet, though I've met a couple PCVs around Windhoek since, and I have been introducing myself as an RPCV. I think it will get a bit more real tomorrow, when I board my flight, and even more so when I land in the USA.

  So, what's been going on since I left site? Peace Corps put us up at a backpackers' lodge in Windhoek. It's been an interesting few days. Friday and Monday were holidays, and everything is closed on Sundays, so I mostly hung around here. Met some really cool people. A couple from the US who quit their jobs and are spending about a year traveling, a French chef who takes up jobs in kitchens to fund his travels, a group of South African deep sea divers, a French woman, and a changing groups of people have formed the core of our hangouts, along with myself and two PCVs (now an RPCV and a third year PCV, who left last night for Cape Town). Nights have been spent with beer and wine and braais and fire and music. We introduced the South Africans to the game "Would You Rather?" and it's been lasting for several nights now. The other night, Johanna, the third year PCV, pulled out her guitar. A songwriter who lived in Nashville for a while, she got things going a bit. However, the couple proved to be incredible. The guy was a fantastic guitarist and she is a classically trained vocalist. They harmonized perfectly and were just so in sync, the way only people who have known each other for years can be. They did a rendition of Bob Dylan's "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" that floored us all and further proved my theory that there is no Bob Dylan song that hasn't been played better by someone else (certainly sung better). Not to knock Dylan, but when your songs get so widely covered, that's what happens.

  Got to enjoy watching my Blues win the Premier League (COME ON CHELSEA) and spent most of the night traveling. So many people from all over the world here has made for some fun soccer watching. Not because Americans are so dense about the sport, but you get such a diverse perspective and set of opinions. The other night, I was watching the Champions League semi first leg between Real and Juve. A few friends of mine went out to a sports bar, but as it was the last night in Windhoek for a few of my friends, I chose to go out for dinner (Indian food) and watch at the backpackers while hanging out. There was a Spanish man watching with us, who turned to me and asked "what is with an American liking soccer?" Stunned for an instant by the silliness of the question, I recovered and retorted "I've been playing since I was young, coaching and refereeing for years, and watching most of my life. You know, the same way you Euro's come to know the game." The French chef, who was watching with us, just started to laugh at the silliness (he and I decided to support Juve, since the Spaniard is from Madrid, and got fairly obnoxious throughout the evening).

  After the match, I returned to my friends (okay, I'll admit, despite my intentions, my love of the game did win out a little, but I was at least close enough to hang out at halftime and immediately after the match ended), just in time to witness a dreadlocked Aussie play one of the most incredibly beautiful guitar pieces, using an interesting slap technique, combining finger picking and strumming with a percussive element. Meanwhile, an Israeli man had pulled out a ukulele, so I ran back to my room, grabbed a drumstick, and tried using some empty beer bottles and yogurt tubs (for about a song, until the lodge staff complained about the noise, saving me from showing just how badly my technique and overall play has suffered from two+ years of minimal practicing). And yes, I did even pick up the guitar briefly, laying down a lousy rendition of "Saints", "Liza Jane", and some random strumming, before handing it off to people with actual talent.

  Last night was probably my most emotional night since I said "goodbye" to Esna and her family. It wasn't so much because of my COS-ing; like I said, that hasn't really sunk in. However, after lunch I caught a lift to Okahandja to see my host family from training one last time. It was incredible seeing how much Peggy and Brodie have grown. Odia is preparing to attend UNAM next year, she hopes. When I kept my promise and gave Peggy my jump rope, she was just ecstatic. They took photos with me and ate some chicken I'd picked up for them at Hungry Lion (I'd let them choose what I got them). Sadly, Martha, my host mom, has been quite sick recently. She's lost a lot of weight and had trouble eating and did look considerably weakened. It was hard to see. She did say she is slowly improving. She spent some time in the hospital, but it home now, and is able to eat a little and drink a bit. We exchanged contact info and I added Odia on Facebook so they could stay in touch with me. We hugged, and then I had to return to Windhoek after a few hours. It was a tough night, but I am certainly happy I was able to see them again.

  Today, I am planning to do a little last-second gift shopping with Shayna, a PCV about a year behind me who apparently did Year Course the year after me. I had one last beer with Taylor yesterday while she was in tow for an HIV committee meeting. Saw the Samaniegos one last time, who have invited me to Austin. In a bit, I'm heading over to the PCN HQ to make one last round of saying "goodbye" to the people who have supported me on the ground over the past two years, and I'm planning to do a little re-packing this evening, see if I can get rid of a few more things. If she's around, Alicia and I are supposed to finish off the last of the herbal liquor I found while cleaning out my freezer, around from Reconnect Part 2.

  So, that's where I am. During my exit interview with Danielle, the Country Director, I was asked what advice I have for future PCVs. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, as cliche as it may be. Find something you enjoy. Reading, playing an instrument, running, working out, cooking, whatever. Find that thing. And, for one hour, every day, do it. Lock your door, shut off your phone, and just focus on you, for just one hour. If you can do that, it will go a long way to helping your service be less stressful. Focus on the little things, the small successes, because the big things tend to be negative, but for every one, there will be a number of small victories. Oh, my project fell through? Well, my host sister is no longer afraid of me. There's no electricity? Well, I now have time to climb that hill? The transport didn't come? At least the beer's cold. Don't take things too seriously. You'll never survive if you do. Enjoy it. It's an experience you may not appreciate until the end. You often won't realize the impact you had until you reach the end. It can be tough. PC bills itself as "The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love". At 25, I don't have the experience to confirm or deny it. But it was tough, and I love it. In many ways, I'm the same guy I was two years ago. But, as Karen pointed out when we chatted as fellow RPCVs after she punched my card, we all change in small ways. Hopefully for the better. They may not be obvious at first, but I do feel slightly different, and I am grateful for the experiences I had. Do I regret not living in a mud hut in an isolated village with no electricity or water? It certainly would've been different. But I enjoyed my service, and I do feel like I made a difference, and I can get on the plane tomorrow knowing I put everything I had into helping my community, even when I failed. And, in the end, I wouldn't change my PC experience (other than maybe having head office actually pay their bills).

  So, that's it. Probably my last post from Namibia. Time for the next chapter in my life. I do plan to keep this blog going, so, if you enjoy my writing and want to hear about what it's like readjusting, feel free to keep reading. And, with that, I wish you well. Hope you enjoyed hearing about my experiences in Namibia. Stay well.

Update on Jay

Nothing long here. I'm in Windhoek. I'm taking care of paperwork, exit interviews, etc. Ditching whatever I can. Getting some last minute gifts. Finishing my last VRF. Made the following addition to my collection of soccer jerseys.

On the left is the jersey of South African club (with tie
to American soccer) Kaizer Chiefs. If only they still sold this
old one.

Today's a public holiday, so I don't really have anything to do. Took a walk to the mall with a friend just to give me something to. Probably spending much of the afternoon by the pool at Chameleon Backpackers, where Peace Corps is putting us up, sipping tea and relaxing. After the emotional drain of the last few days, I'm needing a recovery day anyway. Oh, and I got some yummy biltong. So, I'm pretty happy.

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.