Thanksgiving in Namibia

For those wondering how the holidays are celebrated in Namibia, here's a list of what is happening at Thanksgiving time:

• We celebrated on Thanksgiving Day by going out to eat with our Fulbright friends, the Bates family. No turkey on the menu, and we realized it might be our last time at the Portuguese place that we've frequented in the past. So, we all ordered things we'd been looking at but hadn't ordered before. Larkin's monster beef kabob skewer was good. Kelly's grilled meat with beans and rice was nice. Reid wasn't sure what to make of his traditional dish that he ordered. When it arrived, it was garnished with a raw egg. Not in the description on the menu.

• The Windhoek holiday craft sale was in full swing last week. It reminded Kelly of the annual St. Mark's craft sale in Lincoln. Many local folks have craft businesses as a way to have some additional income, and Christmas was in the air.


• There is no Black Friday shopping day here. But, Kelly got a taste of Black Friday parking lot stand-stills when she delivered Tristan to a birthday party on Saturday. It was election day, and the party was held next to a polling place. And, next to a grocery store. It was the day after pay day. So, the election and pay-day combined to stop traffic in all directions.


• Turkey is not a typical thing to find in grocery stores here. We heard that the Spar, an up-scale local grocery, might have them. After searching for several minutes, we asked at the meat counter. They had them, but they were in the back. And, the only option was a 3-kg (about 6 pounds) turkey. But, nice birds.


• When Larkin was down south at Farm Namtib last week, he told his hosts that we were hosting a holiday dinner. They asked if we needed a turkey. Turns out these enterprising farmers, on the edge of the Namib Desert, raise a small flock of turkeys. So, just when we thought there might be no turkeys available in Namibia, we had turkeys running out our ears.


• We had the Nature Conservation department over to the house for Thanksgiving celebration on Saturday. The turkeys were cooked on the braai, and we added the braai 'doors' to make an oven. We compared two methods of cooking the turkeys. A favorite local method for cooking a chicken is to insert a 'tall boy' beverage can in the bird, so it roasts standing up with moisture delivered internally. One of Larkin's colleagues has taken this method to the extreme by welding a 'frame' to hold the can on the braai. We borrowed it. It turns out that the turkey's legs are a little longer than a chicken's, so the turkey appears to be relaxing as it grills, with the legs pulled out to the sides. We also tried the traditional roasting pan. We put a dutch oven with water beneath the birds to provide moisture and cook them with indirect heat (a suggestion from a turkey griller in the US...thanks, Brenda). The braai reached a fairly constant temperature of about 190 degrees F, and we cooked them for about 3.5 hours. The winner: tall boy. Hands down the fastest to the finish line. But, the turkeys were cooked well using both methods. Not quite as moist as the turkey bag/oven method, but quite nice.



• It is tradition at Namibian parties to bring your own meat. Even though we told folks that we were supplying hartebeest stroganoff, mashed potatoes, and turkey, our friends came laden with more protein. After the turkeys were cleared, sheep steaks and boerwors (sausage) were cooked up by respective braai-ers. We will miss the depth of the grilling custom that we've experienced in Namibia. It really is an art form, and worthy of copying the actual physical braai area, as well as spirit of gathering to socialize and enjoy an evening together.
• The rainy season has begun, in sporadic fashion. Late afternoon thunderstorms or showers are becoming more frequent.
• Windhoekers are preparing for the annual exodus to the coast, as temperatures rise. The whole town pretty much closes down as people move to their second homes or holiday rental homes at the coast. Kelly's preschool closes this next week, Tristan's school is out on Dec. 4 (no more baseball), Kelly's women's club had its last meeting until January, and many of Larkin's fellow lecturers are making plans for moving to the coast now that exams are over.
• We have much for which to be thankful. A great year. Now, off to pack.

The effects of trophy hunting on neighbors

Today, I visited the Seeis (pronounced "sea ice") Commercial Conservancy east of the Windhoek International Airport. I was at the farm of one of the leadership committee, where (ironically) I had hunted warthog earlier this year with our friends from Nebraska.

Commercial conservancies are groups of private landowners who come together in some form of agreement to share resources. The agreements vary, but often professional hunters can access land of various owners, and there are some projects funded by conservancies (wildlife research or marketing campaigns to encourage tourists to come stay at farms on the conservancy).

During my questions about how the conservancy was structured and what kinds of activities the conservancy offered, the wife offered an interesting perspective on the effects that trophy hunting has had on their neighborhood. I'll try to paraphrase her thoughts.

"Before trophy hunting began," she started, "we were all cattle farmers. We got together to braai, to talk, to socialize. Now, many of our neighbors have become professional hunters [a licensed status that enables you to guide hunts] and they are making lots of money from trophy hunting. It is quick money, and good money."

"But," she continued, "we never see them any more. They are always busy with their hunts. Every day of the week. We have trouble even scheduling one meeting a year for our conservancy, and even then some people don't show up. Cattle farmers had flexibility in their schedule. These trophy hunters do not."

"And," she said, "they don't really need us neighbors anymore. First of all, when things are going well, you don't need your neighbors as much. Things are going well for them. They are making lots of money. So, they don't need us. And, second, they have guests around all of the time. When we were all cattle farmers, we would get together just to talk to someone, because it's lonely on the farm. But, now they have hunting guests almost every day of the year, and they are tired of talking. So, we don't see them. It has ruined our neighborhood."

I have to say that I never thought of the social consequences of trophy hunting on neighbors in Namibia. Interesting, eh? This is why you go interview people....you can't make this stuff up.

On the edge of the Namib

Days of dust.
Dry days.
A cloud, and a smile.
Cattle. Counting the ribs as a countdown to death.
Crowding waterpoints.
An endless valley to search for good grasses.
A valley reminding every cow
It should have been born a goat or an oryx or a springbok.
Like a rabbit from a hat
Springbok pull greenness from dry grass that cattle pass.
And, then the springbok are gone.
Scrambling under fences
Away from cattle and goats.
Secreting to camps of pale green
Hidden where farmers don’t go.
The scent of rain, and springbok herds move.
Green grass will greet them.
Cattle watch behind fences as the horizon
Steals the clouds.
Dry days.
Good years, every so often.
A reason to stay.
A reason to push through droughts.
Years for growth and building
While there is money.
And then, without grass
The money goes away.
Survival.
Dry days.
Rocks make feet stronger
But shoes wear out faster.
Droughts make good neighbors
Who wait for rain together.
Bad years build stamina, character
And every drink of water tastes sweeter.
Miles from electricity
The stars tell bedtime stories.
The Namib makes men strong and smart
And makes smiles rare.
Lonely valleys build strong towns.
No churches but hotels
With big lawns and shade trees
And Saturday night dances.
Dry days.
Life on the edge.
Together.

L. Powell, in Helmeringhausen

Spending time in big, dry spaces

Last weekend, I ran down south to the Helmeringhausen area to interview some farmers about their commercial conservancy and private nature reserve. It's about 6-8 hours south of Windhoek and in the driest area of Namibia. Annual rainfall is 70-100mm, which is 3-4 inches.

You can't go through a space like this without having some admiration for the people who live there, and try to bang out a living on rocks and a little bit of grass.

Some photos from my trip are up on our Picasa site.

During the trip, I realized that Namibia, in general, makes you simultaneously want to quickly leave but also go back to examine what you just saw. It's a feeling we've had many times this year. Repulsion, but curiousity. Fear, but comfort. Anger, but contentment.

Here's how that feeling manifested itself for me on the way home from my trip south...

The Road to Maltahöhe *

Racing. My truck flies over stones.
Airborne as we come out of rainwashed ravines.
Towards Maltahöhe.

Uphill. All the way we climb
Through the wash plains of the plateau to the southeast.
The book says when Gondwana broke up and South America
Moved away from Africa
The edge of the continent lifted.
Free of Argentina. Free of Brazil.
Lighter. Floating on magma.
Then, the rains, eons of rains. And winds, eons of winds
Carved this lip, this newly freed land.
Now, plateaus make stairsteps toward the ocean
And rivers of rocks run to meet the sea.

Counting. I keep track of the years as I drive.
Layers in the plateau.
Ocean, desert, ocean.
Sand, limestone, sand.
Climbing. we pass through millions of years, surely,
As the road rises.
Towards Maltahöhe.

Contemplating. Why am I racing?
Isn’t this country to explore?
But, the rivers of rocks and carved stone suggest
What can happen if you stand still in this country.
The wind and the rain.
I listen to the rocks of the plateau and the wind gusting on my truck.
Still speeding
Towards Maltahöhe.

Aha, I say, as I see him.
I knew it, the rocks told the truth.
A farmer fixing the fence.
Living here on gravel plains beneath the plateau.
His forearms scarred like the cliffs, perhaps Acacia trees or barbed wire?
His face furrowed and tanned like sandstone. The sun and the wind.
His hands gnarled like a twisting, dead tree, grasping wire. Pushing posts through rock.
His leg misshapen like the valley. Perhaps a run-in with a leopard or a fall from horseback?
Look what this valley can do to a man.
I wave and push faster.
Towards Maltahöhe.

Escaping. I reach the town.
Atop the plateau.
Away from wind and rocks.
The streets are teaming with more farmers
Bartering for fencing and supplies.
Limping, twisted, slowed. The entire lot marked by the land.
I slow to watch.

Understanding. It is their way.
To push back against the wind and the rain.
To try to tame the veld.
To argue with Nature.
To stand in the middle of endless time.
To know your fate will be decided by the elements.
To shout at the cliffs.
Scarred, moved, and beaten.
A record of a life lived.
Really lived.
A life recorded on forearms, hands, and faces.

Envious. I want to go back
And drive slowly.
To stop and fix fence.
To stand under the plateau in the wind.
To live.
To live on the road to Maltahöhe.

L. Powell, near Maltahöhe

---------------

* "höhe" means "hill" in Afrikaans. Maltahöhe is literally "Malta's Hill", evidently named by an early Afrikaaner who had a wife named Malta.

Buying the election

All kinds of fun stories leading up the election on Nov. 27 and 28th. When your political party holds power, and wants to keep it, it seems like nothing stands in the way of making a few 'gifts' before the election.

1. Several Polytechnic students report that the SWAPO government has paid their student grants in full (usually half) and added money to cover transport and books. I must say that I noticed a marked improvement in the fashion sense of many students after these funds were distributed. Some clothing stores made out fairly well in the deal. But, ask any student who they are voting for (now), and there is usually no hesitation!

2. The Namibian newspaper has been slowly tracking a story of special student bursaries (study grants) provided to students in Namibia by the Chinese government to study in China. One of my Ecology II students dropped out of class during the first month of the semester and is one of the lucky awardees. Turns out that the awards were given to children of influential SWAPO leaders. Read more about it in the New York Times, as part of their series on how China is buying influence around the world.

3. Article in The Namibian newspaper today about gifts of Toyota double-cap pickups given to each traditional tribal chief in Namibia (48 of them!). There is a wonderful photo of a line of white pick-up trucks waiting for their new owners who are milling around like kids in a candy store. They are gifts from the SWAPO party. No, wait. They are gifts from the taxpayers of Namibia...each was purchased with taxpayer money. If the chief cannot drive himself, the government provides a driver for him, too. What a deal!

It is no wonder that when a watch-group presented their world corruption ratings this week, Namibia ranks as a highly corrupt country (56th most corrupt out of 180 rated countries; New Zealand and Denmark were the least corrupt). So, Namibia is not the worst, but still corrupt.

It's hard to imagine the little corrupt things that plague society getting cleaned up if these large blatant acts of corruption are front page news. Just for the record, Polytechnic lecturers did not receive Toyota trucks. Yet.

Christmas in November

Windhoek closes down in December, as everyone heads to the coast. Schools are out in the first week of December. For this reason, Christmas plays have to be presented in November. The tinsel is already hanging over streets, in parks, and in supermarkets.

This evening, we attended the Future Professor Pre-Primary School's graduation and Christmas play. Kelly's class of 16 students had 12 graduate...they will attend Year One in primary school next year. It was a happy night for parents and students.

The cutest part of the evening was when Teacher Sussie had the graduates explain what they wanted to be when they grow up. There were three answers from the 12 students. "I want be a doctor so I can save people." "I want to be a policeman so I can reduce crime in Namibia." "I want to be a singer so I can make people happy." 8 doctors, 3 policeman, and 1 singer. Maybe that is about the right proportion for society, eh?! They had obviously practiced their answers, as they were very emphatic and crisp answers.

For the Christmas play, the students all had memorized a line to shout into the microphone to describe the first Christmas, and they sang 6-7 songs.

Here are some really bad mobile phone videos of the somewhat chaotic, but enthusiastic and heartfelt renditions of some favorites.

Merry Christmas to everyone from Namibia!!!

Signs around Windhoek

It's a slow week for news from Windhoek, so we're stretching a bit for a new blog posting. Just a couple of signs that we've spotted in town.

It has been interesting to view advertising in Namibia. I wouldn't say that advertising has reached its full potential here, and there are lots of quasi-lousy attempts. Witness, the Namibia Tourism Board's problems with getting their message across (previous blog here): "Tourism unravels you [sic] spiritual wellbeing!"

First, from a church in Eros part of town:

OK, but survival beats mortality as a way of living, right?! Maybe you have to be a wildlife biologist who studies survival to grin at this one...

And, from a business in the Northern Industrial Zone:

Just in case you wondered where the chickens and fish were meeting, er, meating. What does a "meated" chicken look like, anyway? Especially when it's been meated by a fish...?

Katutura tour: Uapii-style

Our year in Namibia is beginning to wind down, so one would think we've explored just about everything we could have in the past 11 months. Think again.

Katutura is a 'township' in Windhoek where the black population was moved in the early 1960's under the apartheid program. It is a Herero word, meaning "The place you don't want to live," which should give you an idea of the history of Windhoek.

Katutura is on the north end of Windhoek. We haven't ignored Katutura. We've driven through it, we've visited Uapii (the Polytechnic agriculture student, the "Cattleman from Kunene" who has served as our tour guide extraordinaire this year), Kelly has volunteered at a couple children's centers, Kelly's visited women's craft centers, Larkin has dropped Polytechnic students off near their homes after field trips. But, we haven't explored it. We hadn't had a chance to see how people live.

Today, we did.

Uapii had invited us on a Katutura tour. He heads back to the family farm in the northwest portion of Namibia tomorrow, and he wanted to give us a personal tour of his surroundings in Katutura. While he attends Polytechnic, he lives with his cousin who is an administrator at Bank Windhoek. They have a wonderfully nice home in Katutura.

We started the day by picking up Aaron Price, a UNL graduate who is finishing up a 6-month internship with World Wildlife Fund in Windhoek. Aaron has had the "Uapii Tour" a couple of times before, and highly recommended it.

We have placed a good-sized series of photos with lots more description and stories on the Picasa photo site, but here is a condensed version of the day, with some photos. Things you won't see here, but will see on the photo site: sheep heads, lion heads, cow heads, SWAPO Tristan, and Herero Kelly,

We visited several markets. It was a Sunday, and early afternoon, so many people were lined up to get their lunch from people selling cooked meat (mostly beef). This is one of my favorite salespersons, creating a SWAPO-colored item while she waits for customers.


Uapii also showed us a local park, where many students were studying for exams. This park is called the UN Plaza, and (as you might guess) was created with funds from the UN.


We also had a chance to explore some back-roads in the 'informal settlements' of Katutura. While most of the homes in Katutura are small, cement-block homes with running water and toilets, the informal settlements really take you into a different world. As Uapii said when we entered the area, "Now you are in Africa!" The settlements consist of plots of land with tin shacks. There are communal toilets and communal drinking water points.


Although it is easy for a tourist to look upon these conditions in wonder, one must remember that the majority of Namibians live in very similar conditions on the communal conservancies, where their homes (similar sized and shaped) are made of trees and mud/dung. That is, the house does not have to be big to be a home. One cannot help noticing that the area is very clean and mostly orderly. Most people who live in the informal settlements have arrived from the north, looking for work, and work as security guards, gardeners, or house cleaners for less than US$15/day (many far less than that...security guard minimum wage is US$0.50/hour).

We stopped and talked to one group, and as often happens, Kelly ended up holding a baby.


We ended the tour back at Uapii's cousin's home, where they had prepared a meal of lamb, boerwors (sausage), green salad, sweet pap (corn porridge), and ice cream. A wonderful way to end the day. We sat around the TV trying to understand a cricket match on their cable TV. You have to go to the Picasa photo site to see what they convinced Kelly to do.

It was a great day, and we're thankful for friends like Uapii who have shown us 'their' Namibia. Travel safely, cattleman!

Future Professor Debutante Ball

Kelly has been helping at a local preschool called Future Professor Pre-Primary. She is the "English" teacher, and helps with their ABC's and special topics each week.

To raise funds, the School held the annual Debutante Ball. We were invited to come join the festivities.

We drove into the parking lot of a local hall to the chorus of "Teacher Kelly, Teacher Kelly, Teacher Kelly." The evening was 'formal' and the students were dressed in wonderful satin gowns and little tuxedos or suits. It was really amazing, as the students come from families that span the spectrum of economic status. The School has a sliding scale for payment, so some students don't pay anything to come. There are children of gardeners and housekeepers, and there are children of more middle-class families.

"Image" is very important for Future Professor, as they compete with other Pre-Primary schools for students. We were asked to join a lady from Germany to help hand out prizes during the evening, as the School wanted to show the parents that they had connections with American and German teachers. Likewise, the school has recently seen a large increase in students, mostly (the teachers report) because of a gift from last year's Fulbright family, the Conroy's. They shipped many books and educational materials to the school. Those books and materials are now displayed prominently so that prospective parents can see them when they visit.

Back to the Ball, however! The students had practiced dances for the program, and a Master of Ceremonies had been hired (we think it was a local radio personality). A band consisting of a drummer, saxophone player, guitarist, bassist, and a keyboarder provided music which, oddly, had a Cajun sound to it.

It was a great evening. There are more photos on the Picasa photo site, but here are a couple of the students.




It is easy to be blinded by daily examples of inequities of social status in Namibia. But, a common bond that ignores these inequities is the desire of parents to provide the best they can for their children. Here, for one night, satin covered everyone, and the students could live a dream.

A Debutante Ball. Who would have guessed?

Do you have your riot insurance?

Namibian elections are now less than a month away, and there are billboards everywhere. Well, yes, there are political billboards, but there are also riot insurance billboards.

Even in Namibia, insurance companies are experts at finding the weak spot in your confidence.

First, just so parents and other loved ones don't get freaked out....there is very little chance of any riot happening over the Namibian elections. The newspapers do report a few incidents of voter intimidation by SWAPO each day. There seem to be more than enough reasons to vote against SWAPO, but the competition is not well-organized. It is fairly certain that the SWAPO party will win the election, and all will remain as normal. In fact, SWAPO's motto for the election seems to be: "if you vote for us, everything will remain the same." Not sure that is good for economics and long-term prosperity, but in terms of general peace in the country, it's good.

But, it is Afria, and African elections can create chaos. So, the insurance companies have a good product. Riot insurance.

In addition to the billboards around town, there has been an advertisement in the newspaper every day. Yesterday's ad is at right.

Kelly has been having fun watching the different wording on the signs: "What if 'free-and-fair' turns into a 'free-for-all'?"

Then, yesterday at my final exam for Ecology II, I noticed about 5% of the student body wearing red t-shirts with the following logo:

"Would you be insured if I destroyed your stuff?"

From an advertising campaign perspective, I'm sure it is a success. If you want cheap advertising in Namibia, make some t-shirts and give them away free to students. They will wear almost anything. Even a t-shirt that suggests they might loot your house.

Funny, I wouldn't have guessed that about my students in Ecology II. Maybe I should go buy some insurance.

The lunch lady and the Sewage Board

Several people, especially folks writing 'newsy' stories about our year here, have asked me what my daily routine is like. Perhaps they wonder if we start the day by walking a mile to get our water. Or, maybe they wonder if we have to collect firewood to cook our meal. Unfortunately, neither of these are correct. Our life in Namibia is very similar to our lives in Nebraska.

But, there are some little differences. Just little things, too mundane to report to these folks interviewing us. But, funny enough to report here. Here are two little things that I will miss about my daily life in Namibia:

1. The lunch lady.
Almost every day, I walk downstairs to a little kiosk outside the office building, and I buy my lunch. The same young lady waits on me every day. And, every day I order a hamburger, a coke, and a package of Simba chips (like Ruffles chips, except my favorite flavor is 'chutney' over here ). The amusing part of this daily adventure is that the price is NEVER the same. Usually, it is either 19, 20, 20.50, 22, or 24 Namibian dollars. She uses a calculator to add up the three items. Perhaps Simba chips fluctuate like gold on the world market? Perhaps she just makes up the prices? But, it is really fun to guess whether it's going to be high or low. And, if I only have a 20-dollar bill, it's a question of whether I really have enough to buy my lunch.

Today, I added a large bottled water and a BarOne candy bar to my standard order (exams are over, and I'm celebrating). I was ready to pay 35 dollars. It cost 23 dollars...JACKPOT!

I'll miss this daily 'lottery'.

2. My office phone and the Sewage Board
As a temporary lecturer, my office phone number is largely unknown to anyone at Polytechnic. So, no one calls me to talk to me. They just come to my office. If the phone rings, it is usually someone calling for the person who used to have my number, or just a wrong number.

In addition, Polytechnic has no voice mail. So, that is a bonus! I may have to adopt that policy when I go back to UNL! But, it doesn't matter at Polytechnic, as no one calls me, anyway.

Today was special. Within a 15-minute time period, I received three phone calls. They were looking for "Mr. Bayes", "Mr. Mosuto", and "Mrs. Chikango", and each had been given my number by the switch board. Nope, wrong number. Sorry. No, I don't know how to forward your call. Haven't been trained in call-forwarding.

A few minutes passed and then, I got The Call.

"Hello," the lady said. "I'm calling from the Sewage Board."

Well, that's a new one, I thought. Why is the Sewage Board calling me?

"I'm calling to check your number," she stated. "What is your name?"

Now, in Namibia, when someone asks your name, they are probably about ready to sell you something. Like the little macalani palm nuts that people carve your name on. Or, in this case, perhaps some sewage?! So, I was on-guard.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"I'm at the Sewage Board. I have to check your number."

Well, my office does have a funky smell sometimes, but I thought it was mostly because of the bats in the attic.

"Ma'am, what is the Sewage Board...?" We went back and forth like this for about 2-3 minutes. I was refusing to give her my name, and she was demanding to know my name.

Finally, she said, slowly, "Sir, I'm calling from the Polytechnic Switch Board." Ah, 'suh-witch board'...'switch board.'

And, just like that, I felt pretty stupid. I'll miss feeling stupid, and I'll miss adventures with my office phone.