Loss

  So, before I begin, I promise, things are going very well for the most part.  I will hopefully have a much happier post in the near future.  But right now, I needed to write this for my own sake.

  The Peace Corps has many challenges.  That's part of what you sign up for when you volunteer to be a PCV.  Living in different environments, smaller houses, a climate you're not used to, different food, a new culture, less technology, maybe no technology, you're gonna poop in a hole (http://tinyurl.com/6bbc9f6), language troubles, lack of personal space, the water, etc.  They call Peace Corps "the toughest job you'll ever love," and while I can say for certain about the second part (being less than a month into my service), I can attest to the first part.  However, while all those challenges I've listed make the job tough, one of the toughest things about Peace Corps is that you have to face them alone.  Sure, you have the staff support network, maybe a VSN, and you made friends during PST and with people in your town.  But you also left behind all your family and friends.  You are isolated.  And it can be tough at times.  However, what makes it even more difficult is when someone back home dies.

  A few people already know.  My family, some of my closer friends back home and here, and Peace Corps HQ.  A few days ago, I walked into my house after work.  Carrying my laughing host sister in one arm as my host mom joked about how I always seem to have energy, I felt my phone start vibrating in my pocket, and soon the sound of my ringtone was filling my ears.  I put my sister down and went into my room to answer it, noting that it was from my parents' home number.  Well, no biggie.  We haven't talked, other than by e-mail lately.  Maybe they just wanted to check in on me.  Yeah, it was weird timing, since they are never home on weekdays round noon, but who knows.  I answer it, and my mom proceeds to inform me that my grandpa had died a couple hours earlier.  After a few more exchanges with my parents, we decided that there was really no point in my coming home, since making it back in time for the funeral would be impossible, and I have responsibilities here, so leaving would only set me back.

    The truth is, the reality still hasn't sunk in completely.  Yes, I'm sad.  Yes, I'm a little different.  But I haven't really had any time to dwell.  This weekend will be the real test for me.  The day after my phone was constantly going off, with co-workers, people from the Peace Corps office, and the couple of friends here I'd opened up to checking in on me.  But the truth was, I had a class to teach and a youth group to help get started.  I had work to get done.  So, rather than helping, a lot of this just made it harder, forcing me to dwell on the pain when I really had things I felt were more important to take care of right now.  There will be time for grieving later, but my learners need me now.  But throughout the next couple days, things kept getting harder and harder, and I wasn't sure why.  It wasn't exactly sorrow, which surprised me.  It wasn't until I got an e-mail from my dad, telling me about his eulogy and how hard it was and how hard things hit him and my brother when it happened that I realized what was going on.  The reason things were getting so difficult was because I was so far away.  While I had wrapped my mind around the fact that I would likely not see my grandpa again, given his age and health, and had said goodbye to him before I left knowing it would likely be my last, my family had not had that mentality, that acceptance.  That, I feel, honestly helped me not break down.  But that realization also made me aware of the fact that I was not there for my family.  I was not with them at this tough time.

  From my end, I wasn't completely sure who to talk to.  Talking to HQ really wasn't what I needed.  I don't feel I need a grief counselor, though we'll see after this weekend.  I know that I have a number of people from PST I could turn to, but the last thing I needed were people trying too hard to help me or pitying me or anything.  I did have friends I knew would be able to give me my space while offering the appropriate level of support and just talk.  My host family has been great.  Knowing I love to cook, they got me stuff to cook stew with some super fresh (still sort or bleeding) oryx or springbok (my host mom said one, my host dad said the other).  The siblings, who haven't been told the details because they are so young, have still been very supportive and friendly, playing games and actually giving me some space sometimes when I'm trying to read.  My co-workers who know have been very kind, accommodating when I just needed a few minutes alone in my office to clear my head between classes, taking meetings for me when I need a second to catch my breath, and grabbing a drink after work the other day.  The little bits of normalcy definitely help.

  So has writing.  As some people know, a lot of Peace Corps volunteers write books about or during their service.  I've decided to work on one, though it is not really an autobiography or a journal of my service or any of that self-focused stuff (for that, you have this).  Instead, I am taking an idea that's been floating around my head for some time now and using my service and the Peace Corps model in general to write a book discussing the need to change how we look at foreign aid and development.  Because it's more than just helping other people.  It helps ourselves by opening markets, creating trade partners, developing cultural exchanges, and fostering a better relationship between the US and the rest of the world.  Indeed, foreign aid and international development, when done right, can do more for homeland security than any amount of defense spending, since it's a lot easier to defend yourself from people who do not want to hurt you in the first place.  Yes, a lot of my ideas incorporate Tom Friedman (and I will be sure to site appropriately), though I also feel his analogy is a bad one.  The world is not flat, it's just smaller.  I can't guarantee this book will be any good.  I certainly can't promise it won't have any parts that are self-serving (in fact, I'm almost positive it will).  But it will be a reflection of my thoughts, and I feel that's a worthwhile project.

  To be honest, this has not been easy.  I haven't exactly had an easy time these first few months, with my co-worker dying during site visit, my bag issues early on, and some other personal issues I won't get into now.  And losing a loved one is never easy, but it is especially tough when you are so far away from the people you love and care about.  My advice for anyone interested in Peace Corps who might be reading this would be to spend time with any elderly relatives before you leave.  Because they might be there when you get back, but 27 months is a lot longer for them than it is for you, and you might not get another chance.

  I realize this posting is a bit all over the place.  If I wanted to, I could hold off on posting it and re-work it to flow better.  But I feel that it is better that I publish it in my current state of mind, to give a real reflection of how I am feeling.

  So, with all that said, I just want to take a moment to thank those who have been there in this difficult time.  Because while the reality may not set in completely until I return to the States, and can't visit him, the truth is that it hasn't been easy.  So to my friends back home (or overseas), especially Courtney, Amanda, and Meaghan, who have given me encouragement these last few days; to my friends and PC staff and co-workers here, to many to name, though Ria, Emily, Kellie, Alicia, Denise and Steve especially, who have given me someone to talk to and a support structure to make up for the one I am separated from; and to my parents, for reminding me that it's okay to hurt, but that it's more important to keep going; thank you all, so much, for all that you have done and for just being there, and for not letting me consider, for even a second, the option of leaving.  It's good to now there are so many I can turn to for support..But life moves on, and there is no better way to honor the dead than to keep living.  People keep telling me to take time for myself, but the truth is, normalcy in my daily life seems to be helping me more than dwelling, and I have a responsibility to my community, y youth center, and to myself.  So, Grandpa, RIP.  I will still be sending the postcard I already wrote, as a final goodbye.  But now, it is time to get back to work.  And despite your reservations about my leaving, I can't help but think you would've wanted it that way.

Nobody Said It Was Easy

  So, here I am.  Starting my second week of work at the Khorixas Youth Center.

  I guess I'll start with the difficulties, just to get them out of the way.  On Sunday night, we had no electricity.  Honestly, that was no big deal.  A bit annoying since it suddenly went off while I was reading, but otherwise, not really a problem, just something I knew would happen from time-to-time.  The real problem came in the morning, when I needed coffee.  My host parents have been away for about a week, leaving me and the older siblings to take care of the little ones.  This meant that the gas tank for the stove hasn't been refilled.  So still, no coffee.  And to make things worse, Namibians have no concept of respecting personal space or not being loud at 1am, and when my host mom came in, the noise just kept me awake.  So, I lost sleep and no coffee. Awesome.

  I am also trying to teach a class on Microsoft Word at the Center.  After 3 classes, I gave my learners an assignment to see what they had learned.  Turns out, it was very little.  Very few of them had actually retained anything, and they just wanted me to give them answers, getting very frustrated when I tried to make them work out the steps instead.  It also didn't help that they'd spent a total of 1 day learning to type before I arrived.  Once we finish Word, before we move on to anything else, I am going to have to write up an instruction guide and spend a full week on typing, I think.

  Now, onto more interesting happening.  On my second day, a guy came into the Center to try and get help starting an Environmental Club for the youths of the local schools.  While he's all over the place and is struggling to comprehend the concept of coming up with a budget ("you don't just come up with a number, you have to make a list of what items and materials and other costs you need and get a price for them" "so, N$12750?"), he has some very good ideas, and once this gets more organized, I see it turning into a very good club.  Admittedly, some of the ideas and resources I am coming up with to help him are straight out of BSA materials.

  It also seems like GrassRoot Soccer is going to happen.  I talked to a co-worker who plays for the local club, and he and some of his teammates are interested, which is great, because that would mean it's the kind of thing I could start and then pass off after a while.  They also want to incorporate a tournament for youths of the town and nearby villages into the program, which sounds like a lot of  fun, but also a lot of work (getting the field, arranging to have the youths, getting food to entice them to come, getting water, getting people to referee, etc.), so we'll see.  That one may have to wait until I've been here a bit longer.

  The other thing I will be participating in will be starting a tourism center.  Our Center got a donation of computers, printers, scanners, and fax machines from UNESCO.  The guy I share an office with is trying to take those and start a tourism center in a nearby village.  The idea is to help the people keep some of the tourism money coming in from people going to Etosha and Skeleton Coast and Twyfelfontein.  So, I'm going to be helping him with the setting up and training stages.

  Khorixas is very dry, very dusty, and very hot.  I've been coughing quite a bit since I got here, not being used it breathing in this must dust.  The problem is, my host family just assumes I'm sick, and don't understand that no, I'm just not used to breathing air this dusty.  It's getting better, the more time I spend here (though it can be really brutal in the morning while I try to work out), and hopefully I'll adjust soon.  I played soccer with some Namibians this weekend.  It was a lot of fun, and our team had a massive advantage: rather than just trying to dribble past everyone, I was actually able to distribute the ball, making us harder to defend.  As much fun as it was, the pain in my knee that night and the next day was agonizing, so I mostly stayed in bed and did some reading or watched TV with the host kids (I can confirm that America's number one export is still the lousiest elements of our culture, like Hannah Montana and those tween Nick shows).  I did manage to get out for a bit and watch the Chelsea/Everton match at the home of  co-worker (also a Chelsea fan, unlike everyone else at the office, who root for Arsenal).  Also enjoyed seeing Lukaku spoil (sort of) Sir Alex's final match.  I may respect the man, but I still hate him and his club.

  So, all-in-all, it's been a challenging start with its share of bright spots.  Got to have dinner with some other volunteers in my town and one who was visiting.  I have a bar owner who wants to throw me and the volunteer leaving my town a braai.  I have some leads on projects.  I got stuff so I can soon start planting some seeds (I got peppers and okra, and when the season is right, I'll try some pumpkins and other squashes).  I got super tasty Russians at the gas station (a type of sausage).  So, sure there are challenges.  I didn't expect much less.  But a week+ in, and I'm ready to start moving past them.

This warrants it's own post, I guess

A friend of mine alerted me of this article about our swearing-in.  You can sort of see me (or at least my tie) in the photo, though I've posted a better shot of this very picture.

http://www.namibiansun.com/education/peace-corps-health-volunteers-sworn-in.52682

SWEARING IN!!!

  So, I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. In fact, I'm a card carrying Peace Corps Volunteer. And I have my permanent visa (I'm one of the lucky 2 in my group). I am now in Khorixas, waiting for it to be Friday so I can go have my first day at site.

Yeah yeah yeah, we look good. What else is knew?

Taking the pledge

Prime Minister giving his speech

Hammering that bass

[most of the] Group Photo with CD, PM, and Ambassador with the new PCVs

With my CD...Mr. Gilbert Collins

Thanks for the language lessons, JJ

This group be Khoekhoe

My mama during PST

As part of American cultural day, I had to deliver a speech I helped to write in KKG thanking our host families and for at swearing-in, one of my classmates from my language class had to read another speech in KKG which I wrote (well, I came up with the English version, my instructor translated it). I supposedly did well when I delivered it, though I think that might be because most people don't speak the language and were just impressed that I sort of had clicks in it. Here are those speeches:

Thank You Speech (written by Kaitlynn Jones with help from Jay Salus, read by Jay Salus)

!Gâi tses. Tita ge a Jayb.

Kai Gangans neba, netse has !aroma. ≠Gom da nas ge, !gâi //aeba, du nî u hâsa, sida /kha, neba. Tita tsî ti xrups ge, sado gangansa ra ma, sida di khoexagu, kais !aroma. !Gōm i ge ge i, sida di Amerika /hosan, tsî khoexaguna, khaos ai !gorosa. Xawe du ge, harase sida ge !kho !oa, tsî sadu omdi !na, de ū ≠ga. Tsî //khati, Namibiab !nâ hâ /gausa, //khâ//khâ das !aroma. Tsî /o-aisase, gowaga. //khâ//khâ dasa.

O gangans //nas !aroma. Kai gangans. !Gâi tsesa u hâ re. Khawa mûgus.

Swearing-In Speech (written by Jay Salus, read by Kaitlynn Jones)

!Gâi tses/ /Gam //khâ//khâ, !kharu-hâse, da ge Amerikaba, xu ge ha. Tsî da ge, sida omdi, tsî khoexan, tsî /hosana, khaos ai, ge //naxu. /Gam kuri !nā-hâse, da ge neba, nî sîsen, masenxa-sîsen-aose, ne isa !hub !nâ. O da ge, ne ra sao khoena, ra gangan ≠gao: sida di //khâ//khâ-khâi-aon, tsî /asa khoexan, tsî PCs, tsî kai-//khaes khoena. //în ge, sida tsēdi, tsî !oede, ge //khâ//khâ, tsî hui-≠ui. Sadu a se da ge sida, xu-e di //oa, ge i. Xawe da ge, ne //gōa-≠uide, îa da nî, hode, sadu dî //khâ//khâ-di, /kha nî !oa, tsî sîsen-u. Gangans, sadu si huigu, tsî ≠khâ-!nâdi !aroma. As tsesa, !gâi tsî //khoaxa re.

-Nes Ge Peace Corps Namibiab, Group 37s //khoresa.

So, because I'm sure most of you have no idea what I just said (by the way, typing that up was a pain in the butt), here is the English version of what I just said.

Thank You Speech

Good day. I am Jay.

Thank you for coming this morning, we hope you enjoyed yourselves. My group and I would like to thank you all for becoming our Namibian families. It was hard for us to leave our friends and family back in America, but you have welcomed us with open arms and open doors. You have given us a home, taught us how to live the “Nam” life, become our host families, and helped us learn the languages. We want to thank you for all that you have done.

Great thanks. Have a nice day, See you again.

(if the grammar seems weird, that's because it was reworked to reflect what was said in khoekhoe).

Swearing-In Speech

Good day,

Two months ago we left America, our homes, our families, and our friends to come to Namibia. Over the next 2 years, we look forward to doing our part as volunteers in this beautiful country. We would like to thank all those who have helped us during training: our trainers, our host families, the many Peace Corps staff who have spent hours and days helping us, and the people of Okahandja who have welcomed us and helped us feel at home in this new environment. Without all your help, none of us would have made it here. We welcome the many challenges we are about to face as we go to site and look forward to the wonderful adventures in front of us. Thank you all for your help and support.

-Peace Corps Namibia-Group 37.

Okay, so now that I've done that, I have one more round of personal thank yous. These last few weeks have been anything but easy. I have too many friends, both back in the US and here in Namibia, to name them all, but if you're reading this, you know who you are, and I offer you my gratitude and will reward you all in 2 years when I return. Your support has meant a lot and gotten me through the tough times. To JJ, for teaching us KKG and putting up with all our struggles. Without you, I could never have passed that LPI. To my host mother, Martha, and my wonderful host siblings, who kept me sane during PST and provided me with hours of joy and made adjusting so much easier. I will miss you and can't wait to come back and visit once the new house is ready. To Karen, who has had to put up with so much crap on my behalf, helping with my bag issues and getting us our visas. To Gilbert Collins and Dan Rooney, who despite your importance have always been there when we needed anything. To our amazing trainer Benna (and Uncle Bob for providing us jokes we never really got). To Meme Rachel, for teaching us to sing and being my guardian angel. To Efraem and Jackson and Thenga, who made sure a never went more than a couple hours without knowing the scores of the big matches. To Auntie Kate and Doctor Justin (though you really need to include lollipops with our shots). To the rest of our PST staff. To the resource volunteers, the VSN, and Grace and Steve, who helped show me the ropes. To all the children of Smarties. To the owners of the Garden Cafe and the various bars in town, whose hospitality (and wifi) were quite generous. To my mom and dad, who have done so much to support me, and to the country of Namibia, for making me feel so at home despite being so far from it.

Now that I am a Peace Corps volunteer, I am super excited to begin my work at the Khorixas youth center. But, before I go, I want to put in a shameless plug for Grassroot Soccer. Everyone should look them up, because they are awesome and I look forward to potentially implementing one of their programs at site.

And with that, I leave you so I can spend some time with my new Khorixas host family. Kai gangans. //Khawa mugus, ti /hosana.

One month down

First of all, for your viewing pleasure: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koUWaAr-itY

  So, as many of you know, I recently had my site visit. And many of you are also aware that this visit ended in a personal tragedy at the same as the US suffered a major tragedy of its own. However, this weekend was not all bad. In fact, there is a lot of good to talk about, and writing is the best method I know for coping with tragedy and stress anyway. So, here we go.

On Thursday we had our Supervisor/Counterpart/Host Organization representatives visit come for a workshop. It was great getting to meet my counterpart and get an idea of what my host organization expect from me. Over two days we sat through seminars and bonding activities. I was originally supposed to leave Friday afternoon, but my counterpart decided leaving Saturday would be better, since it would be a prettier drive and allow us to stop in a couple towns along the way. This turned out beneficial, since I finally got my cellphone fully working (especially the internet).

So, Saturday afternoon I arrived in Khorixas, in the Kunene region After a quick stop at the gas station (which I would later learns marks “downtown”, along with the MultiSave next door, the post-office, hardware store, bar, and Pep around the corner, and a church), I was driven to my host family, where I will be living my first 6 weeks at site until my permanent house is liveable. I was welcomed by 4 confused kids, some super cute puppies, and my host mom offering me a plate of goat intestines (not my favorite food, but not bad, though they could've used a little hot sauce). I took an hour to unpack and then my counterpart came back to give me a tour of the town. We drove around for a couple hours, with our first stop being a fried chicken place close to my homestay called Yummy Chicken where we got amazing soft-serve (ok, it was probably just normal soft-serve, but it was super hot out, so it really hit the spot). After that, he took me to his parents home to introduce me to his family (but really because he wanted to watch the Arsenal match). One the game ended, the tour resumed. He showed me how to get to the hospital, the youth center where I'll be working, the shantytown, hike points to Outjo and Otjiwarrongo (where I can go for groceries), camp ground with a swimming pool I might get to use, a few local ministry offices, local government building, the police station, and the soccer stadium, which will be next door to my future house.

Sunday was a slower day. I spent most of it watching TV and soccer with my host family, taking advantage of them having wifi for a bit, did some reading, and playing with puppies. In the evening I met up with the 2 current volunteers in my town for drinks at the nicest shebeen in town and to be introduced to just about every person they met.

Then came Monday. I was woken by a friend of mine, a fellow PST who graduated from Boston College, who was sad to be missing Marathon Monday. After a quick jog and a shower (I think I did maybe a mile before I ran out of roads I knew how to get back from), I proceeded to spend the next hour trying to contact my counterpart. I was supposed to have my first day at my future workplace, and needed to arrange a ride for the first day (since I didn't know how to navigate the town yet) and find out when I should come in. Then my host mom came in, telling me she had something to tell me. Turns out, the reason I couldn't get in touch was him was he had died in a car crash the night before and she was going into work and would arrange the ride for me (she works in a different office under the same ministry). I was frozen and barely remember the next few hours, when I was driven to the center by a co-worker, met people, got a tour of the center and the town from my boss, and read some folders on programs the center runs before leaving because I was feeling sick (the first time I've been sick since I got here, probably the result of shock and dehydration mixing at a bad time).

I stopped on the way home to get some chicken and a drink, but ended up only drinking the coke. By this point, I felt like I was going to vomit. I kept trying to call people at the Peace Corps office, but for some reason I kept freezing halfway through and forgetting how to make a phone call. I tried calling my training manager, but again, I kept freezing. I had told a friend that morning, and gave him permission to tell whoever he wanted, figuring with the rumor mill that is Peace Corps, eventually it would reach the right people. Eventually, I got called by training staff. After trying to eat some dinner (I managed to get a slice of bread and a spoonful of rice down), I decided to try and go to bed. I read for a bit and was about to fall asleep, when I got the urge to take advantage of having wifi to check Twitter. This was right after the explosion at the Marathon. I immediately SMS-ed my friend from BC figuring she would want to know. After exchanging messages for a bit, I fell asleep.

Tuesday, I went to the hospital to shadow the other health volunteer in my town (who I'd met Sunday night). She showed me around and was going to take me to her girls' club meeting at one of the local schools, but it was canceled because the schools had gone on break. So, I met everyone at the hospital and grabbing lunch, I went home to pack. I was supposed to leave Thursday, but since I didn't have to travel to my shadowing, and in light of what had happened at site, I needed to leave a day early. Turns out, this was fortunate, since my host mom was going to Windhoek Wednesday, so she was able to help me get back to Okahandja. Wednesday afternoon, I got back, still feeling sick, so I had a couple slices of bread and went to sleep it off. Thursday afternoon I needed toilet paper and some of my friends were returning, so I went into town for a quick stop at Spar and met them at a bar to catch-up, share stories, and down a couple beers.

Friday morning we were all back together, the whole group and our trainers, sharing stories, our trainers asking about our towns, comparing potential projects. We had a short session and then an informal morning with various staff there for us to chat with if we had issues or just wanted to talk about our sites. The morning had a shadow hanging over it with news from Boston, with those of us who know people there worrying (one person ended up having to go home for the day because she was so upset). After the tea break we had a couple short sessions on the different types of relationships we will experience during our two years and on coping during service. After lunch we got together briefly to write speeches in our language groups that we will be reading at swearing-in in a couple weeks (yup, I'm finally close to making it). When we were done, we went over to the nearby Garden Cafe to celebrate all the April birthdays in our PST and trainers group. Of course, the real reason we were doing this was that one of the girls had had her birthday during site visit, and her boyfriend had contacted the Cafe and bought her a cake. So, we hung out, celebrated, I took advantage of he Cafe's wifi to check in on friends back home. That night my host mom had family visiting, so the house was crowded to the point where I could not leave my room in the morning until everyone awoke because there was no space to open my door. Which was a problem because around 2:30am I received an SMS from my friend (the one who had left early that day) saying they'd finally caught the guy, and because Okahanja is a lot colder than Khorixas and winter had essentially set in over night the night before, I was freezing. So, I read, I wrote some of this, and I took some time to be grateful that these guys were caught before anyone I knew or anyone my friends knew became victims.

Saturday was a sunnier day. I don't know, I mean it's always sunny here, but it just felt sunnier. Maybe it was the news, maybe it was seeing my friend smile again, maybe it was that a few of us had gotten together at her house for a movie day and I finally saw Despicable Me, maybe it was the bottle of rum I'd gotten my hands on, maybe it was that another friend had coxsackie virus (yes, I did include Saturday in this post just to say “coxsackie” and because it's the first exotic African disease in our group that I an aware of).

So, anyway, as I mentioned, winter is setting in, so I need to held to town to buy stuff to cook chicken soup for my host family tonight (they wanted me to cook them something Jewish). We have an American cultural day next weekend, and I will probably be cooking jambalaya (because my American friends want me to). It's a chance for us to share our culture with our staff and host families and show of some of our talents, which in this group don't really exist. Once I move to site, I plan on opening a mailbox at the local post-office, so if any of you want to send me mail, you'll have my address. Later.

Halfway Through Training

  Before I begin, I just want to throw it out there that “Maybe Today” by Carbon Leaf might be one of the most beautiful songs written in my lifetime. That has nothing to do with anything, but I am listening to my iPod as I write, and the song is currently playing, so I have to be me. Now, back to your regularly scheduled program of my thoughts and experiences...

  So, the first thing I have to say is I love my host family. I know this may seem like something that goes without saying, given some of my previous posts, but I've realized this is something that I shouldn't take for granted. Because matching volunteers and families can't have been an easy task for the Peace Corps. And it doesn't always work out. In some cases, it's just a bad fit of personalities, or awkward exchanges with extended family, or a family who doesn't speak the language they're learning, or worse. But in my case, it's great. I love my host mom, and she's been really helpful for me in learning this language. I love my host siblings, who make me laugh and I get to have fun with. And unlike some of my friends, they don't simply sit around the TV all evening. I'm getting fed enough (which is less of a problem as my mom made me think it would be in Africa when I was little) and I'm not getting fed too much (which many of my fellow PSTs are having problems with). My room is small, and there is no AC, but my bed is comfy and I have enough space. Honestly, my only real complaint is the constant “praise Jesus” emanating from my host mom's room 24/7 and the fact that people are loud in the morning before I want to be awake. In the grand scheme of things, if those are my biggest complaints (along with the lack of vegetables in my diet, which gets covered by all the delicious fruits we always have), much less my only real complaints,other than being far from other volunteers, then I think Peace Corps did a d@mn good job placing me with a family.

  One of the more enjoyable parts of the last couple weeks was a class on sustainable gardening by a RPCV from Haiti (we've named him “Compost Peter” because we had a presentation a few days earlier from “Malaria Chris”). He taught us how to make compost out kitchen garbage. He taught us about things in a seemingly barren environment that could be used to improve a garden. And he showed us how to turn a patch of sand into fertile soil for planting. While some of this was stuff I knew already from my time at Fort Dupont, it was still very informative and enjoyable.

  Training is going very well. I sometimes feel like our instructors baby us a little (they give us a handout or put up a PowerPoint and then read directly from it, rather than trusting our abilities to read English). However, it's going well, and I do feel like I'm learning a lot. The resource volunteers they bring in have all been great so far. They know a lot and give us great advice. Last week, we got to participate in what I like to call our first “live fire exercises.” We were split into to groups and had to take turns leading classes to groups of youths at a school and with an NGO. The first course was a flannel-gram presentation on the dangers of unprotected sex and multiple concurrent partners. The next one was on puberty, gender, and healthy relationships. The third one was the one I was set to lead. It was proper use of condoms. And it went really well. For many of the kids, they knew what condoms were, knew why they were good, but had no idea of their proper use. So, after a few games and questions meant to deal with condom misconceptions (see what I did there?), we showed them how to put on a condom (both male and female, something I point out because a specific couple of you will be especially happy to hear about that). We finished with a Q&A and gave out post-it notes so kids could ask questions they didn't feel comfortable asking in front of the class. We didn't have time to answer them, so we're doing that as part of our fourth and final class. Of course, what I have yet to mention was that while the first 2 sessions were meant to give us a chance to practice, my presentation was the first evaluated one. And, like I said, I think it went really well. Which felt good.

  One issue I'm dealing with is balancing my duty as a “medical expert” with not trying to be a cultural imperialist. For example, when talking about things like multiple concurrent partners, making sure I share the facts about the risks without completely bashing their culture, while recognizing also that at times, there are cultural things (especially the gender inequality) that do need to be addressed, if for no other reason than I have been sent here to deal with the HIV epidemic here, and gender inequality is certainly one of the leading factors (along with multiple concurrent partners and unprotected sex).

  For those of you wondering, no, the positive tone of this post is in no way related to the previous one. The truth is, in spite of the event leading me to feel the way I did when I wrote it, I still love this country. It's not America, but that's neither a good or a bad thing. However, I feel like this I what I need, and really feel like I have a chance to make a real difference, even if only minor. Namibia has it's problems, but I am still extremely happy here so far (and if you don't believe me, just ask the former massage therapist in my training group who once tried to give me a shoulder massage, only to end up telling me how relaxed I was). However, I will say that while I have seen billboard and heard radio/TV ads regarding not drinking and driving, there is something missing. These ads never feature an alternative. Not once have I seen or heard anything referencing the value of a designated driver.

  I will say now that this post has been written over several days. By the time you all see this, class four (which I believe is about family planning) will have happened, but I'm only assisting that one, not leading it, so I probably won't focus too much on it. I would share this now, but I want to wait until after my midterm LPI and I receive my sight assignment so I could tell you more about what I'll be doing over the next 2 years. So, just know that everything after this came later.

  I have taken my LPI in KKG. I think I did okay, I certainly think I passed (granted, that just required a level of Novice High). While I struggled, I only said one word in English, and it was “um”. I did have to say “//nau!na tama ta ha” a few times and asked my interviewer to “khawa mi re, toxaba” a few times (“I don't understand” and “please say it again”). Honestly, I was a lot less stressed than everyone else, I think. I don't know, maybe it was just that I realized this was simply a gauging test so we knew how to improve for the real one at the end of PST. But I like to think it's just that I'm naturally a more relaxed person. With sight visits coming up, I think all of us are just going crazy waiting for our swearing in.

  We finally got our sight announcements (a week after Benna's April Fool's joke got everyone's hopes up a little early). So, before I begin, I guess I should make some things clear: Peace Corps wants their volunteers to be flexible. As such, we often get very little info on things and don't have much say. The other night I was studying language. My host mom asked me why I chose KKG, and I replied that I really had no say, that Peace Corps assigned the languages. Honestly, if I'd had a choice, I would've picked Afrikaans. It's the most widely spoken language in Namibia and would've been the most useful, honestly (it's also probably the easiest of Namibia's languages to learn, but that's beside the point). When we got here, Peace Corps interviewed us about what we wanted in our sight and what kind of work we wanted to do, whether we wanted to live in a village or a town, etc. Then they matched what we said with our resumes. And then they fitted us to the program that best matched us. Or at least so they say. Honestly, I wouldn't be too surprised to find a Namibia-shaped dart board in the office in Windhoek (just kidding). The way they announced the sites was actually kind of fun. They made a large map of Namibia out of rope and rocks and put a piece of paper and a rock in the rough location of each town. Then, one by one, we were called up and they said which town we were going to and who we would be working with there and we all walked to our spot. It was cool to see who would be close to us and who would be less close.

  And now, without further ado, it is time to announce where I will be living and what I will be doing. Sort of. I will be living in a town called Khorixas (this part should not be any surprise to anyone who is my friend on Facebook). It's a small town a little south of Etosha. It's got a small Wikipedia page (something I found out not all of our towns can claim). I will not be living in a mud hut in the middle of nowhere. Sorry for those of you hoping I would be. I will be living in a homestay for the first 6 weeks or so (which I wanted) and then (once they finish making it livable) I will be moving into a small flat with at least one co-worked (a female, according the info packet I was given). I will have electricity, water in my house, some form of toilet/hole in the ground with a seat (the form says a flush toilet, but this is Africa, so you never know), and a bath tub/shower (which will probably be closer to a hose and a bucket, I'm guessing). But, at least I have a door (suck on that, CJ). There are 2 other PCVs in my town, and both of the girls studying KKG are within an hour or so of me, which will be nice. My host mom says it's very nice and very safe (which should make my relatives happy to know). The father of her children was from there and much of his family is still there. It's mostly Dhamaras/Namas territory, though there are some Herero I believe. I think I'm the closest in our group to the Atlantic coast. Oh, and for those of you wondering how to pronounce the town, it's “Ko-ree-has”.

  So, what will I be doing? That's a good question. I'll tel you when I have a real answer. I will be working with a local Youth Center. The application for PCV came from the Ministry of Youth National Service, Sport, and Culture, and my position is listed as “Rural Youth Officer”. I'm thinking my experience with soccer might just come in handy here, and for those of you familiar with A's and Aces, there is a similar program called Grassroots Soccer based in South Africa. That's about as much as I know. I may get a better idea once I go for my sight visit, but honestly, it's really going to be my own initiative guiding the next 2 years. Still, it's very exciting. Like, super exciting. I don't think I can put into words how I feel, since it's finally getting real and I'm sooooooo close to finally being a PCV and getting to do what I've wanted to do for so long.

  One thing I want to comment on is the concept of volunteerism. I recently read an article in a newspaper by someone I respect (I will leave them nameless, this who they are is not important). They were talking about white privilege in America and were using the Peace Corps and similar volunteer programs as an example. And they were critical of how we get paid despite being volunteers. So, I want to clear something up: we are volunteers, not slaves. We don't get paid a lot, we are given a basic living allowance, enough to cover living expenses comparable to the average living conditions of the country where we are volunteering. I am not going to become rich as a volunteer. In the US, I wouldn't even be making enough to pay taxes. Certainly not getting paid anything close to what members of our all volunteer military make (which is a road I won't go down, since many of you know my opinion on the amount of money that goes to the military as opposed to foreign aid and development programs, and this is not the forum for that). And no, I'm not asking for more money, I'm just hoping people realize the reality of our situation before they go off on how the Peace Corps is a waste of money spent on satisfying the egos of whites (by the way, just under 50% of my training group are not white, and our country director is African American).

  Also, this past weekend we changed our clocks. We fell back, so I am now an hour closer in time to you all (in America, that is).

  And while none of you will get this, or even understand it, tita ge a JJb xa !gaibahe.

  So with that, I leave you. I go now now.

Changing lanes for a bit

  So, I'm going to get very serious. To be honest, this post has been very tough to write. It's took me over a week to come to grips with the reality of the subject, and a few more days before I could even begin to think straight enough to find the words to express what I want to say. The second is more recent, and I'm still very shaken up by it, and I'm only now starting to formulate actual words for what I want to say. I'm still not sure I'm doing justice to what has gone through my mind on either, but I am certainly going to try, because I think both subjects are things I need to get off my chest, and while I could make separate posts for each, I just feel more comfortable getting both out at the same time so I can maybe move on. Honestly, this post may be a bit hard for some people to read, and I will completely understand if you don't read through it, stop mid way, or just stop now. And I know my emotions may get in the way of my intelligence here, but that can't be helped, because right now, I need to stop holding them in.

Part 1

  The first thing I want to talk about is a stark reality of history. It's a major part of Namibian history, a under-told part of German history, a largely unknown part of Jewish and European history, and a part of history that if more people know about would make a certain 20^th century tragedy even more horrifying than it already is. A little over a week and a half ago (from when I started writing this post), Namibia celebrated its independence day. Its 23^rd independence day, to be exact (I emphasize that because, as most of you know, I am 23 myself, so I just want to put that in context). To honor independence day, our staff gave us a history lesson Namibia was a German colony for a while. The last thing they showed us was a film about the Genocide of the Herero people in the early 1900s. The German colonial period was a time of major oppression for the local populations, and there many who voiced opposition to German colonial rule. This finally came to a head when the German military opened fire on the Herero people living in a town (I believe Okahandja, which, if that place sounds familiar, is where I am currently staying). These people were eventually pushed into a part of the desert where they had no access to food, water, or shelter. The Germans then put up a fence. And thus began the Genocide of the Hereros (a misnamed tragedy, since it would result in the abuse and systematic slaughter of many local peoples, not just the Hereros, though that's where it began).

Millions were put in concentration camps and worked to death. Some of the camps were run by the local German authorities. Many more were owned by private companies based in Germany. These people were rounded up, forced into camps, and worked to death. The whole thing came from a German philosopher who said that for a powerful nation to maintain its power, its need to expand, and once it runs out of space within its borders, it needs to find somewhere else to expand. That somewhere else is what is now Namibia (then German Southwest Africa). On an Island they rounded up many more people, mostly Damaras, I believe, and performed experiments on them, the kind of experiments that would have echoes in a similar tragedy later that century. Experiments designed to prove that some people were simply born inferior to others.

  If this sounds familiar, then all I can say is you are on my page. All my life I've lived with stories of the Holocaust. Of the horror. Of the death. Of the tragedy of my people. As a Jew, it's always made me wonder how such a thing could occur and people not do something sooner. People knew of the camps, of the genocide being committed in Europe. And the only thing that I could say to make it seem “okay,” or at least justifiable that nobody reacted sooner was the thought that this was a blip on the map, a completely unheard-of concept. That this was completely out of character for Germany and something nobody could believe because there was no precedent to believe it. Then I learned about the genocide of the Herero people. This was NOT a blip of the map and it fit exactly with the character that Germans had shown earlier that century. I'm sorry to any Germans or people of German decent who may be reading this, but the Holocaust was not an aberration, it was simply a perfected repeat of what you did in Namibia. And that means that when the first reports of what the Germans were doing to the Jews, the gays, the gypsies, and other groups in Europe, anyone who didn't immediately believe them was at best pathetically naive or ignorant, and at worst an enabler. That's right. They had EVERY reason to believe it, and you should be absolutely ashamed of any relative who says they heard about these events and didn't. Maybe that's my emotions getting the better of me, but the Germans weren't acting out of character during the Holocaust, they were following their own evil pattern. 6 million Jews and millions of other people were killed because they allowed it to, even though they had no reason not to believe that a people who had done it once would do it again.

  Yes, I realize they didn't have the internet back then. I am very much aware that information wasn't quite as accessible as it is today. But that doesn't change the fact that it was available. In fact, the genocide was authorized by the German government and the companies running the concentration camps kept solid records. So did the German authorities in the colony. The Germans have a really bad habit of keeping super good records of the atrocities they commit. There were also photos and books being written based on the findings of the “science” they were conducting. The information was there. People knew what was going on. Except they didn't want to. They chose to be ignorant, and that makes them every bit as guilty for the genocide of the Hereros and later, it means that everyone who claims they couldn't believe the Holocaust was going on because it was completely out of the blue were also willfully ignorant, and that choice means they, in my opinion, are no less guilty than Hitler himself.

Part 2

  Now, there is no easy transition here for the second part of this post. All I can say is that the debate going on in the US regarding gun control, a similar one needs to be taking place in this country about people having the right to drive. Because Namibians are terrible drivers. To make things worse, a common sight are bars with car washes next door and bars with car washes attached. Drinking and driving is one of this country's biggest health problems.

  This past weekend, I had 2 events that nailed this thing home for me.

  I will pause to add a little context here. It was Easter weekend, and many people were off from Good Friday through Easter Monday (thought Peace Corps only gave us PCTs Sunday). For many, it's a family weekend. A lot of people go to church. Of those who don't, many of them drink. A lot. Alcoholism is a huge problem here. It's a huge problem in a lot of places, but this past weekend alone, I believe I read in the news that 16 people were killed in car accidents (it might be more, but I believe those may have only been the confirmed number, and I think I was told that this stat might only include alcohol-related driving deaths). I know of at least one. I'm pretty sure I witnessed a second.

  I'll start with the one I saw. A friend and I were walking to Nau-aib to meet up with a friend and then walk (or in the end cab) to meet some other friends. We were getting ready to cross a street when I saw a car coming. Fast. My friend didn't. She was about to cross when I got her attention. Seconds later, the car sped past us, turned a corner, and then it happened. The noise. I turned my head in the direction of the sound, one I can't put into words, and I saw it, a scene that my words can't do justice for: this car, that had just sped past us, was rolling. I saw it roll over 3 times at least. I saw it come to a stop. I saw a bunch of horrified people run towards it. And I paused. And I began walking the other way. As a former EMT, I was pretty sure I knew what I'd see, and I didn't want to see it. In an accident like that, the majority of the time death is the best outcome. I saw the car roll 3 times. I heard it a few more before it cleared the trees and came into view. It was crushed like a soda can. I didn't need to walk over because I knew what I would see and I knew there was nothing I could do for the person. So I just kept walking. As I walked, I turned back, hoping I'd imagined the whole thing, that I was just hallucinating from all the weird foods I ate the day before. I hadn't. I just kept walking.

  It's Tuesday night now. This happened Sunday afternoon. Every time I close my eyes, I see the whole thing on repeat. I'm still shaken. Even after spending a summer responding to these kinds of things, what I witnessed still haunts me, and I can't shake it.

  But that wasn't the end. I get home later and my host mom's car is gone. So is my entire host family. The house is dark. I go to my room, figuring it was just an Easter thing or something. I lie in my bed, grab a couple Khoekhoe notebooks and my bottle of scotch, take a few sips and begin to study. About an hour later, my host family returns and tell me the story. They'd had to drive to Windhoek. Our neighbor is hosting one of my fellow trainees. Her host father is a truck driver, and was home for the weekend, but was in Windhoek for the day. On the way home, he hit a person who walked in front of the car (I don't know the firm details, this is just what I've managed to piece together). He swerved and pretty much destroyed his car. The person he hit was dead before he hit the ground, from what I hear. Everyone else was fine. Everyone else includes my friend's host siblings, one of whom is 6, I believe. The driver was not drunk, but in Namibia they drive fast (the concept of defensive driving is unheard of here) and at night the winding roads ca be very dangerous. There's a reason Peace Corps tells us to avoid being on the road at night. This helped me finally realize it's not them trying to baby us, it's them trying to keep us alive

  I'm going to stop there. I would like to end on a positive note, but right now, I think it's better I just stay serious. I promise my next post will be more positive (my April Fools Day joke aside, I love this country and am very happy for the most part and have a lot of awesome things to share, including teaching my first HIV/sexual education classes). But for now, I am very shaken up. Very angry. Very confused. And I needed to get all this off my chest so I can begin to recover. So sorry for the dark tone of this article. Sorry for letting my emotions trump my brain. But sometimes things have to be said, and I believe this is one of those times. So I'll just end it with a cliché; please, people, do not drink and drive. You are not invincible. When you get drunk, you put yourself and many other people, people you don't know or realize are there, in harm's way, and when you drive, you make it even worse. Take a taxi. Call someone else. Wait until you sober up. Or just drink less. But don't drink and drive. I am horrified by the events of this weekend, and if I feel this way after seeing what I saw, I promise you, if the situation happens with you driving, someone else who saw it would likely be just as shaken. And your life is worth a lot more than a cab. So stay safe and remember, no matter how hard it can be to believe that something can be happening, no matter how horrifying it is, believe it first, or else we will never be able to claim “never again.” Not for genocide and not for drunk driving deaths.