Thanksgiving: What it Means To Me Now

Today is an important day because I'm told it is. The calendar, as it does every year, lands upon the fourth Thursday of November and forces from people obligatory expressions of gratitude. The giving of thanks - not because I don't any other day, but because today I must. For most of my life, I was cynical to the values assigned with the holiday. I didn't buy into it. Not really until this past year.

To me, there had never been any special significance of this day beyond the feast. For most of my teenage and young-adult life my family has traveled down to Georgia to meet up with members of my mothers-side at my Grandparents house. The weekend was spent as most family gatherings are - checking in, touching base, and filling in the gaps since last year's Thanksgiving. But the crown jewel, the heart of the trip, hit your nose as you walked through the front door. That smell. Grandma's cooking to me was always more than a cliché - it was provable. A lot changed from childhood to my twenties - schools, jobs, personality traits, hobbies, and interests. A lot changed. But not that smell. That smell was a time-machine - the buttermilk fresh biscuit aroma sneaking out of the oven, blending with the no bake cookies drying atop the counter, alongside the cinnamon and nutmeg apple filling that was heaped in a bowl waiting to find its final resting place in a fresh, floury pie crust being rolled out on the island in the middle of the kitchen. All of these incredible scents fought for attention as they arrived at my nostrils. Every year the same combination of smells and every year the same ear-to-ear smile draped across my face as I considered the gluttonous future I had ahead of me. There's something to be said about that kind of consistency.

I fasted for a solid day before this meal just to clear space (for me that fasting really only meant not asking for a second pack of peanuts on the flight down). Meal time came and we split time telling family stories and memories with shoveling food into our already full mouths (maybe that was just me). The pattern from then on was predictable - eating myself into an early evening coma only to wake up, wipe my brow of the sweat that had formed during my turkey-induced slumber, and trudge to the kitchen grabbing left-overs.As if the sun setting on the previous meal some how erased the shame I should have felt for gorging myself to the point of inebriation. It's the Super Bowl of meals though - are you really going to sit out with a tummy ache? No shot. Push yourself off the couch, add a notch to that belt loop, and get back in there. It didn't hurt that Grandpa was right there next to me making another turkey, gravy, and stuffing sandwich in a biscuit. Respect your elders and do as they do, I thought.

"Your Grandma is trying to put me on a graham cracker diet", he'd say with a smile, still making his sandwich on the counter but looking out of the top of his glasses to see my grandma's reaction.

"Ooooh, Robert...", she'd say with a sense jovial criticism as she rolled her eyes.

Grandma, of course, always supported it. Her cooking was true, thick, and American - with her culinary skills influenced by residences in Iowa, Texas, and Georgia. Dishes that Paula Dean wouldn't hate. Each year it seemed each side got a little heartier and more gratifying. And for the same reason, each year the continued eating that made up the later part of this day of excessive consumption became increasingly appealing. She likely considered it a failure if you left the same weight as you arrived. Their house was, during this holiday, as warm, full, and filled with love as it would be all year. And for my grandparents, who spent their days thinking about how to keep an impressively large family together, this was when they were happiest. Generations eating, playing, and joking together.

And as I recount the schedule of each Thanksgiving I realize that my cynicism was generated by something that ran counter to the reason for the season. I showed little true thanks because I took for granted what for much of my life I assumed was permanent - the people around the table. There was no acknowledgement in my mind that this privilege of family ever could change. For a majority of my life I consider myself to have been fortunate - bad health or any other undesirable circumstances ceased to exist in my immediate family members. Thanksgiving was my anchor - while everything changed around me, this would always be the same, I'd thought. It didn't ever register that, looking around the table, seats could be empty.

When we lost my grandfather 2 years ago, the table had a gaping hole in it. We ate and chatted and prayed and recounted stories and loved in his memory. We still watched Johnny Carson re-runs as he would have insisted, and we still had cinnamon rolls and coffee the morning after like he would have requested. It started to hit me then. This feeling of permanence was protected by a wall that was built on lack of exposure to significant familial challenges and was slowly starting to crumble. Last year, when my grandmother passed, we didn't make the trip down to Georgia. The holiday, for the first time in m life, was changing. Ready or not, impermanence makes itself known to you when it matters most.

And now, when I'm further away from my family than I've ever been at this time of year, I think I finally understand it. I understand not just what it means to give thanks, but where my neglect to realize it earlier came from.

We celebrated the holiday at our house in Jersey that year. As I descended the staircase from my room to the kitchen the morning of Thanksgiving, a familiar scent returned to my nose. Grandma's cooking. My mom and sister were in the kitchen following her exact recipes. The same dishes we always ate hit the table for yet another year and I, yet again, stuffed my face like a rescued Tom Hanks in Castaway. The family that could make it still gathered together (and the ones that couldn't celebrated in the same way). Table talk consisted of family memories and stories. And as I sat, ate, and listened, I smiled and realized - my grandparents built this much in the same way that their parents before them, and theirs before them had. Our Thanksgiving wasn't changing, but sustaining. Our traditions may have morphed aesthetically, but they maintained in a way that would make my grandparents proud. If I use the past to inform the future, I see what this holiday means not just for my portion of family history, but for the generations that came before and will follow. Eventually titles will shift - parents becoming grandparents, children bearing their own, and new souls to take up the role of youthful neglect.

I was wrong. This holiday isn't an obligation. It's a choice. You actively choose to surround yourself with the people who, for your entire life and theirs, will provide you with unequivocal support and appreciation. You surround yourself with the memory of the people whose presence cannot be touched, but are fully felt through a smell, a song, or a television re-run.

Maybe my youthful too-cool-for-school attitude was right about something, though.  Maybe we aren't meant to spend a considerable amount of time during this holiday attempting to grasp the rarity of a table full of loved ones. Instead, we should spend that time existing in it. Life tends to move at a rate that my consciousness and appreciations struggle to keep up with. Value is found in scarcity or impossibility - the economics of the spirit, I suppose. Catch up with that value and see it as it is now. So as you sit around your table today, look at the faces of those who chose to join you in this annual feast, and try, for just today, to be present. Lock in this moment. Capture the smells, the colors, the smiles, the stories. Because, while life happens, you can't erase a memory.

Happy Thanksgiving to my family (both blood and chosen), friends and acquaintances.

My First Month in Swakopmund

I’ve been at site coming up on a month now. I’ve taken my time to adjust to my neighborhood, work place, and town – that being the goal of this stage of my service. In some ways this place already feels familiar. Understanding my way around Swakopmund – a small, fairly well planned town – took only a week or so. I once surprised myself when successfully giving directions to a tourist searching for the Post Office. But knowing my way from A to B is a far cry from truly understanding this town. Its people, history, industry, and complexities that follow from the interplay of those variables, and many more, still seem to me a giant puzzle – I feel this, naturally, as I also feel that no one should suggest they know a place in a month or any such insignificant amount of time. The heavy emphasis on community understanding during this phase of service, and the tools and processes Peace Corps has employed me with to attain such understanding makes me question whether I’ve fully grasped the intricacies of any place I’ve ever lived. Questions I’ve never asked, and reflections I’ve never considered are daily functions of true community appreciation. Insights that are often unexpectedly revelatory.

And as much as I value these tools, I hope not to install them in such a way that leaves me from the outside looking in. I am not a fly on the wall of Swakopmund. I am a member of this community now – or at least I should hope to eventually be accepted as one. I hope to define Swakopmund not as an anthropologist would, but as a participant.

At NCCI I’ve had the pleasure of working with  really helpful people. I work in the office with my colleague Danielle. The rest of the Executive Committee that comprises the Swakopmund branch of NCCI are business folk themselves and operate on the board as volunteers. For my first couple of weeks here all efforts were focused on preparing and marketing the first ever Swakopmund International Trade Expo that was run by the NCCI. Now that it has ended, I’ve been spending my days meeting with SME’s, the municipality, ministries, and other regulatory bodies that play a role in the SME/business community in Swakopmund. I’m really focusing on getting a lay of the land in these early stages. It has only been a month, but I already see some exciting potential opportunities.

The front view of my house.

My housing is more spacious than I imagined it would be. It’s a two bedroom, concrete, tin-roofed house in Mondesa (Google Map it, if you please, so you can see its nearness to the town), one of the many neighborhoods in Swakopmund. The other bedroom belongs to Mike, the owner – a 25-year-old art student in Windhoek. That being a 4-hour drive from here, I will very rarely share the space with him. There are two other rooms in the house – a kitchen and dining/living area. The kitchen has a refrigerator and stove. Since electricity is rather expensive, and the massive oven with a stove top consumes so much of it, we leave it unplugged. There is a mini, electric, two-burner stove that is placed on top of two of the built-in stove-top burners that suffices. To the right of that is my washing area. It’s a two bucket system. Since there is no running water in the house, I get my water from the tap a short walk from the house in the back. I fill my main bucket and sit it next to my wash bucket/tub for dish/food washing. When the water in the wash tub fills up, I carefully (a full tub of water is deceptively heavy and there is nothing more unpleasant than a misstep, resulting in a drenching of yourself in dirty dish water) bring it to the back, by the tap, where there is a drain. It’s an incredible exercise in water usage reduction – and maybe less for environmental reasons and more for the hassle of having to shuffle with a stinky tub of water.

And as I scoot by to the drain, I pass by the smirks of what I’ll call my plot-mates, who seem, always, to glide to the drain with effortless eloquence with their full buckets. It works in Mondesa, and many other townships in Namibia, that formal housing will also host some informal settlements on the same plot. These residences are often constructed of wood, metal, aluminium, or any other materials that can be sourced. It is affordable housing as residents are either renting from or are family of the main landowner. So immediately, when I moved in, I had people to help me acquaint with the area. We share the toilet in the back and the water tap. Bathing is done from a bucket inside the outhouse. Every morning before preparing breakfast I fetch water and boil it. Lately though I’ve just been using the water unheated for bathing. I’m sure this is a combination of built-up tolerance and laziness, but I’m telling myself it’s just the former.

I’ll admit that the language barrier is a bit tough when trying to connect with my most proximate neighbors. Most of my plot-mates speak Oshiwambo and a little Afrikaans. I have enough Afrikaans, I feel, to introduce myself, buy things, identify animals & foods, get directions, report a crime, go to school, and understand the context of most, slowly spoken conversations. But I can’t, yet, rely fully on my Afrikaans to build relationships (I have, though, found an Afrikaans tutor who I will be seeing everyone MWF for one hour). My broken Afrikaans and their English seem to get us by just fine though. As time has gone on though, I feel more connected with my plot-mates. One of the boys, Oscar, is a 3^rd grader with shy demeanour but an insatiable curiosity. Whenever I get back from work at a reasonable hour, him and his friend Ali come to my main room and go over with me what they learned at school that day. I then quiz them on some basic math / reading / spelling. Whoever gets the answer right first gets a cookie. Oscar, being a bit older, usually takes the cookie. Being the renaissance man that he is, he usually splits his spoils with his trusted playmate.  I enjoy those parts of my day and am realizing how I’m slowly becoming my father.

When it gets a bit later, I usually start to cook some dinner. I’m trying to save up for some travels so most dinners consist of parboiled rice and the addition of one the following: canned beans, curry vegetables, mashed potatoes, steamed onions/peppers/tomatoes. A novel idea was imparted on me by a fellow Swakopmund volunteer, Justin - occasionaly buy this loaf of bread at the grocery that resembles a personal pizza (everything by the sauce) and make some marinara sauce to dip it in. Then I smother it in sweet chili sauce. Dining is simple in my kitchen, but Sweet Chili Sauce is where my culinary joy comes from. Holy cow is that stuff delicious. I could spoon eat it. I haven’t. But I would. Okay I did. But it was just once. Judge me - I dare you.

Going out after the sun goes down isn’t necessarily advisable. Mondesa and Swakopmund in general are pretty safe places, but no need to take a chance in a place that doesn’t really have many street lights. Speaking of crime though – had my laptop stolen the day before my birthday. It was a pretty big bummer. I had all of my pictures and videos on it. But, hey, at least it can’t get stolen again, right? I had it covered by insurance – still waiting to hear back from them, but I’m hoping for the best. But I digress. So, nights are typically spent reading, writing, or watching my recent addictions – The Wire or The West Wing. I’ve had a fair amount of literature about the economic environment in Namibia that I’ve been familiarizing myself with, but I’ll save those findings for another post so as not to bore you away, assuming you’re still with me.

Walking about my street, I do feel warmly received. Initially, I get quizzical looks, often accompanied by giggles. People seem to think I’m either a lost tourist or one on a township tour. But everyone is hospitable and welcoming when I introduce myself. There’s a collection of people here who insist that I’m an actor on a popular Telemundo show that airs here. Yes, Telemundo made its way out here – dubbed in English. They’re called ‘Soapies’ and they’re amazingly entertaining for all the wrong reasons.

This town is fascinating. Swakopmund is really quite unique. A town that is so close to the dunes that a strong enough wind can cover the cobbled streets with a fresh sandy coating and close enough to the ocean that sea salt scents and a surprisingly chilly breeze hit you right as you square yourself up with the shore,  Swakopmund is a geographical juxtaposition.  Immediately, when you pull into the city limits, after about an hour and a half ride along the B2 from Usakos, you notice change. The air is a bit lighter, the architecture different, vegetation – whether indigenous or transplanted – unlike what I’ve seen in Namibia yet, and depending on the time of day the overcast is a massive change. It’s a bit to adjust to, but the line from the national anthem rings true – “Contrasting, beautiful Namibia”.

End of PST & Swearing-In

As of Thursday I will officially swear-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. We’ll return to Kukuri Center where we first started our two-month training for a three-hour swearing in ceremony that will feature speeches in target languages, cultural dances, and speeches from our Country Director and the US Ambassador. We’ve spent the past two months in bubble – now they’re popping it. As we take our oath, swearing allegiance to both the United States and the people of Namibia, we solidify our commitment as Volunteers. For me, in some ways, this is a dream realized. The privilege of serving my country in this way has become increasingly clear to me over the past two months. I am proud to be representing America and proud that America has chosen me as one of it’s representatives.

Photos from Swearing-In

From left to right: Dan, Me, Oskar, Zach, Bryan

From left to right: Kaitlin, Me, Oskar, Janet, Zach, Bryan

From left to right: No shot

Saying goodbye to Okahandja will have its difficulties, though. The PC trainers here have become some really close friends. They are extremely hard working people who have sacrificed a lot of their lives to come teach a group of Americans about their country. Imagine taking a 3-month position with the objective of teaching a swarm of foreigners the details of American culture without making sweeping generalizations and avoiding using the phrase it depends. Sound like a challenge? Add in the difficulty of being away from your family and friends because you are living in a homestay that is likely many hours away from your hometown. Without the hard work and genuine passion of these trainers, we’d be shipwrecked volunteers floating on a raft of assumptions in a storm of cultural confusion. Sharing and exchanging has made for some unique friendships with the training staff. I hope to stay in touch with many of them. But, as many of them continuously remind me, I’ll likely see many of them as they visit me in Swakopmund.

Parting from my host-family will be tough too. I’ve been lucky to have the textbook experience. I can honestly say that I am leaving them with no complaints and gratitude that seems impossible to repay. In the past few weeks we’ve all let our guards down a bit. I’m able to act like a fool, discuss my frustrations, make jokes, or just relax. And I see them doing this more too. We have become less “host-family” or “trainee”, and more human. I can see their personalities shine through. And it’s refreshing. This last week especially, my brother Johnson has had me in tears. He just clowns around with Ouma and the two of them go at it. They can be themselves. They can be family. The other night, Ouma was giving Johnson a hard time because he was monopolizing the TV remote, as he tends to do, to watch WWE. After yelling at him for a bit saying that the news takes priority, she was silent. Fifteen minutes into the fight, one of the fighters was dramatically knocked to the ground. Rolling my eyes, (but not removing them from the screen) I hear Ouma yell, “STAAN OP! STAAN OP!”. She had picked a favorite. And he was leaving. And I was dying of laughter. What a sight. She noticed me laughing, looked at me, and began to laugh too. I was in stiches, man. Early on, I felt there could have been a filter. But the more they call me family and the more they act like it, the harder it is to deny. This is my new family. I feel it. I really do.

But I don’t think that ends with my departure. I know they’ll visit me and that I’ll be back to see them. I’ll take with me from Okahandja a new family, a belly full of PB&J, a killer t-shirt tan, and a head full of theoretical development, technical, and language lessons. Off to Swakop, where I’ll start work for the Chamber of Commerce and Industry. My job will consist of working with the Chamber and my counterpart to connect business resources in the community. Through trainings, consultations, and creativity, I’ll look to assess the business climate and the needs of my community. If it sounds theoretical, that’s because at this point it has to be. If I knew exactly what I had to do in my community before I got there, I’d be doing it wrong. But what I do know is that for me to be effective in my community, I need to first understand it.

The next step of service is what Peace Corps calls Phase 2. This will last until my group has our re-connect in 2 months. At the beginning of December we will meet up to review our first months at site. So until then, I’ll be tasked with a technical book report – read, analyze, and summarize my community by communicating with every relevant subset of people. I’ll also look to continue practicing my Afrikaans. It’s a language I’ve really grown to love. It’s creative and exciting.

Some might suggest that true service begins Thursday. As I hop on my transport to my new community and say goodbye to the Peace Corps as I know it, I’ll start my new life. I’ll say goodbye to my new friends and hello to my new friends. Thursday will be the end and the start. It will also be the start and the end. A clear divide exists. Manufactured or not, there is an official oath taken, and a new title assigned. I welcome this transition, as it does not much feel like one. Just another step. Isn’t that how steps work though? When your hands are full and your sight is blocked and a staircase approaches, you only need to find the first. Then your body knows. It trusts that gravity, physics, and geometry are all working in your favor. And unless the stairs are unevenly built, you find your way down those stairs without a hiccup. Lets hope my stair builder was a gifted one. I trust the next step is there, but have no idea where its bringing me.

So For The Next Two Years I'll Be In...

SWAKOPMUND

After a blind folded reveal at the training center, I was walked to my space on a giant namibian map made of rope and stones. Under each stone was a different city/town/village. I was walked over, handed an envelope, and left at my stone. I was instructed to take off my blindfold (ripped up trash bag) and look at my location. I was in Swakopmund with my fellow CED volunteer JP. My job: working with the Namibian Chamber of Commerce and Industry. More info to come soon when I go through the details of the folder.

If you're interested in checking out more about the town, you can check out the Wikipedia page.

My Life Until Site

So I'm realizing that PST is much like a semester of college with a few exceptions (namely, I am only taking 3 classes and I pack my lunch). The next 2 months of my life will consist heavily of Afrikaans classes, economic development seminars, and PB&Js. I'll do my best to outline the day-to-day below.

This all leading up to a few notable days. My site announcement will be next Wednesday, August 27. Wild that it's only 8 full days away. PST is all about balancing our training and newfound skills with the anticipation of a 2-year assignment. Think of site announcement day as getting your college acceptance, but having no idea where you applied. Some volunteers have a vague idea due to their language. But with Afrikaans, it could be anywhere below the red line (the southern 80% of the country). Expect to hear from me then next. It'd be hard for me to imagine not posting given the excitement surrounding the day.

My PST Day-to-Day

6:00 AM:

My travel alarm clock blares in my ear. I'm mad at it for yelling at me, but am glad I bought it. I roll out of bed and head to the kitchen. I throw my eggs into a pan, and start boiling some water for a cup of Five Roses Tea. I'm trying to stay quiet out of courtesy, but I know the whole house will be up in a few minutes.

6:30 AM:

I'm sitting in front of the TV watching Good Morning, Namibia, chowing down on my pre-birds and toast. I swallow my last bit of tea with a delicious malaria pill. I bring my dishes to the sink and head to my room.

6:30:30 AM:

I grab a collared shirt and pair of khakis (PST dress code) and head to the bathroom for a quick wake-up shower.

7:00 AM:

Tidied up and ready for the day, I sit in the living room and practice my Afrikaans with Ouma for 10 minutes before class. She's really patient and lets me know when there is a better way to say things. It's a nice prep for the day.

7:10 AM: 

I live across the street from another volunteer (Sarah). We meet outside her house and walk to the pick-up point in Smarties.

7:15 AM:

Uncle Joe picks us and up and drives us to the Okahandja Community Hall where we have all of our classes. It's a quick ride, and an opportunity for all the volunteers to talk about entertaining/interesting host family happenings. 

7:30 AM: 

Morning assembly. We sing the Namibian, African Union, and American anthems along with a few other traditional Namibian songs. Namibians start singing young, and it forever remains a big part of their lives. It shows when all the trainers belt out beautiful harmonies while the trainees sound like a heard of tone-deaf hippos.

8:00 AM:

We get our morning announcements and break into our language classes. There are 7 different languages studied by Group 40, and a few groups within the languages. My Afrikaans class is me and five other business volunteers. Our teacher is Mike. He's a 6'1" Herero man who has a deep voice until he starts teaching us. He's a great teacher. Very kind, patient, and assures us of our progress even when we're butchering our "baby-dutch".

10:00 AM:

Tea time! It's a daily savior. Mornings are actually pretty cold here. It's definitely winter (yes, even in Africa). Layers are crucial. So some snacks and hot beverages save the day. I get my Mocha Café Latte on a good day (which is fancy way of saying that I blend powdered coffee, chocolate powder, and powdered milk with some hot water). We also get some peanut butter, bread, and apricot jam. I have eaten more PB&J in the past 3 weeks than I did in my entire elementary school packed lunch career.

10:30 AM:

Next slot of classes. This is usually a tech session (which for means Economic Development classes) where we touch upon some important volunteer skills / resources. So far we've gone over the broad overview of Peace Corps' view on development (which was a really exciting session for me), bookkeeping, marketing, and a few other business functions. 

At the end of our first session we were given an analogy of our jobs as volunteers. It helped me put into context the importance of my position. I'll summarize:

Individually, my works is important only in that it contributes to the overall mission of the project. My work is just small raindrops, but it allows the river to flow harder. Alone, we evaporate. Collectively, our raindrops can help change the landscape.

Our APCD's Linda and Gisella are awesome. Two very experienced people who are always willing to clarify, reclarify, and provide the appropriate responses to our inquiries. I'm excited to be working with them and think that I can learn a lot from them.

12:30 PM: 

Ek es honger. Lunch time. If I didn't pack a PB&J (I'm telling you, I am single handedly keeping the Namibian Jam companies in business) or leftovers from the previous nights meal, I head over to one of the local supermarkets to buy some eats. I usually pick one of two options: Spar or Spes Bona (careful pronouncing that one). Spar is a big super market chain based out of South Africa - think Stop & Shop. I either grab a sandwich or a meat pie from there. It's next to impossible to leave without getting some chocolate too. Spes Bona is the option down the street. They have, what I'll loosely call a grill, in the back. They make the worlds most delicious chicken there. It's rotisseried and then deep-fried. The oil for that deep-fry is changed once a month (I'm told). I'm imagining this is out of a desire to preserve flavor and not out of laziness. Regardless, it's amazing.

I usually use my lunch break doing some errands in town and chatting with other trainees. After lunch there are two more sessions before the end of the day.

1:30 PM

Post lunch blues are the same everywhere. Sluggishly, we make our way back to our seats. Thankfully, PC does a great job of breaking up monotony with practical applications of the curriculum. Lately, CED Volunteer's afternoon sessions have been focused on a small business partner. All 17 of us were each paired with a local SME (small-to-medium sized enterprise) who is looking for a little extra clarification on good business practices. It's a fair trade off as they can educate us on the business climate within their industry, Okahandja, and Namibia. 

I was paired with Ismael - an entrepreneur who manufactures and sells his own, homemade soap. It's crafted in a way that allows it to claim the distinction of "Boer Seep". He does very little marketing, so I doubt you'll find Okahandja Soap Manufacturing anywhere on the web. It's a very promising business. Mostly word-of-mouth exposure with a heavy emphasis on bringing the product to the customer (every sale is done door-to-door). We'll be working together over the month of August while we gear up to sell his product at Peace Corps' Market Day (a day when all of the CED volunteer's SME's promote/sell their products to the community in a expo style outing). 

4:30 PM

Sessions usually end around late afternoon / early evening. We have shuttles that bring us back to our neighborhoods, but, after sitting all day, most of the Smarties folk elect to walk home. Some days we have events planned - Ultimate Frisbee game, Lion King screening, social night. Honestly, except for the Disney Movies, think of it as your work's happy hour. Regardless of the evening, curfew is 8 PM, though I'm usually home well before that.

7:00 PM

Maggy gets home later in the evening, and Ouma has made food. There have been the days where I make a little something for the family (tacos one night, and Mac and Cheese with mince and garlic another), but typically it's Ouma's cooking. Every meal has been delicious so far. I'll likely post an entire blogpost about food soon, so I won't get you too hungry now. But we eat our meals together in the sitkammer. The TV is usually on, though the entertainment is always Waldo. The kid is a performer. Put on a song, watch him dance. Give him a ball, he'll take off running. Give him your cards, he'll lose the 3 of diamonds and the king of clubs (I'm still searching). So dinner is always fun.

The rest of the night is spent either studying, reviewing notes, watching a movie, doing dishes with Johnson, sharing music with Johnson, freestyling with Johnson, and sneaking some chocolate from the fridge with Johnson. He's super inquisitive and always looking to learn a little bit more about me. I appreciate his company.

9:30 PM

Yeah, you read it. Bed time. I tidy up and head to bed for my Peace Corps' bed time. I think I haven't fully adjusted to the time difference if I'm going to bed at this hour. Either that or the day has me wiped. I set the dreaded savior of an alarm and roll into bed.

6:00 AM

Repeat.

Settling In - Okhandja and the Start of PST

Time to catch you all up. I made it! Although I’ve had pretty reliable internet access at a few places in my current town, PC is keeping us trainees pretty busy during PST. So I’ll do my best to fill in the past two weeks without droning on about details.

Also: I got a phone number. Anyone who wants to have it should just shoot me a message on Facebook, and I’ll happily share it with you. I’d just rather keep it off the web (don’t want crazed iSoDope fans or Edward Snowden copycats calling me).

Where to start? From the beginning, perhaps. After an early wake up in Philadelphia (2 AM), we drove straight up to JFK airport. Neat thing was that we drove right through the heart of Manhattan and got a perfect look at Times Square. I think I needed that. 4 AM in the city with no traffic. Went right through the Lincoln Tunnel. Nice way to say goodbye to the US. At 11:15 AM, we all (deliriously) boarded our flight. I was completely out of it. As was everyone else.

When we boarded the plane I was one of the last ones to board - mostly because I made a mad dash to Hudson News to by some ZzQuil. I quivered with excitement as I looked to my seat (64 A) and the seat next to me (64 C) was empty. Nothing like a 15 hour flight with some leg room. Unfortunately, my excitement was short lived. My row-mate for the journey joined me. He wasn't much of a conversationalist.

“So are you from South Africa?” I asked.

To which he, without even looking at me replied, “yes”.

So that was that. Fifteen hours later Dr. Introvert, Group 40, and I touched down in Johannesburg. The city looked massive. I’m excited to get back down there. A four hour layover, a quick two hour flight (in which I was upgraded to business class due to a ticketing error), and we were finally in Windhoek.

As you can tell from the video, there is nothing for kilometers (forgive my choice of unit as I’m trying to make the change). It’s easy to see how this is the 2^nd least densely populated country in the world. But we were here.

And what a feeling it was. I had trouble identifying what my primary emotion was. Jetlag, excitement, exhaustion, anxiety? But we still had 1.5 hours of travel to get from the airport to our new home of Okahandja. We were all zonked from the trip. It’s an interesting feeling when your excitement is dueling your body’s urge to shutdown. A mental and physical tug-of-war.

By the time we got to the training center in Okahandja it was dark enough for us to be disoriented. I’d moved around so much in the past 30 hours, that I wasn’t sure where the hell I was. But I tried to understand that I was home. I tried to understand the magnitude of what had just happened. I left the states behind for two years in the unknown. I knew I was traveling, but it took me a minute to recognize that each leg of the trip pulled me deeper into something entirely unfamiliar. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the gauntlet of twenty LCTs singing to us as we arrived, but I realized all of this right when I stepped off that bus. I had signed many forms and said my goodbyes, but stepping off that bus was my own personal agreement and acknowledgement that this was all real.

The next few days were a blur. Getting settled was pretty difficult when you are living out of a bag. We were staying, temporarily, at a training and conference center that was a short walk away from the Town Hall where we would be having our training for the next three months. I had 5 roommates. The accommodations were great! No snoring roommates and a comfy bed to boot.

We would be staying at Kukuri Center for 7 days until we got our host families arranged. The days leading up to that were filled with shots, medical and site interviews, presentations, and warm welcomes. I was jet lagged for most of it, and overwhelmed during all of it, but I felt the excitement of new beginning.

The day came where I would 1) receive my language and 2) meet my host family. Peace Corps seems to like to pile all the excitement on a single day. They dished out the language information with a local twist. We were all handed pieces of paper with animals native to Namibia. We were to make the noise of that animal until we found the LCT (Language and Cross-Cultural Trainer) with the same animal. I got the desert fox. Great. An animal with no universally understood sound. So I did what anyone would – I barked. After meeting a lion, 2 horses (I assumed zebra), a host of elephants, and what I thought could have been a whale, I changed my tactics. I began just listening to the animals of the volunteer world, to see if I could filter out a fox-ish sound. No luck. It wasn’t until my LTC came by me and just showed me his picture. Remsy flashed me his fox and I had to ask: “What language do you teach?!”

Otjiherero. Spoken by the four clans of the Herero tribe. I knew absolutely nothing about the language or the people who spoke it. I’ve since done some research and will definitely throw a post up as soon as my language skills improve.

And I moved in with a family the next night! I said by to the other 48 trainees and hopped into my host mothers car. I would be living at her house with her two sons (Johnson 17, Waldo 5) and her mother (Ouma) until September 26^th. They live in a neighborhood in Okahandja called Smarties (because each of the houses is painted a different bright color).

I’ve now been living with them for about 5 days. They’re wonderful. I felt immediately welcome in their home. Waldo is a ball of energy. He loves playing cards (specifically the game ‘War’). I taught him the rules, but he changed them a bit.

Waldo’s Rules for the Card Game War

1)    He can look at his cards.

2)    He can play any card he wants whenever he wants.

3)    I have to play my card first.

4)    If I have two Kings after he deals, I have to give him one. (This rule does not apply to Waldo).

I’ve not yet beat him. I have hope.

Johnson is a super smart kid. He’s in Grade 10 and is in the middle of his exam period now. He loves African House music, hip-hop, and R&B. He’s already shown me so many sweet songs.

As for my host mother Maggy – she is the best. She organized a BBQ yesterday that her sister, brother, and their families could come and meet me. I appreciate, so much, her hospitality and generosity. It’s an amazing feeling to be welcomed, unconditionally into a home. I feel so comfortable here.

It’s a strange feeling waking up, every day, with a smile on your face. I love it here. I’m happy here. I know I’m new. I know that this is just the beginning, but what a lovely beginning it has been.

I’ll be sure to check in soon. The next 2 months will likely be a lot of the same – training, training, and more training.

(Post-Script)

So uploading this business is harder than I originally imagined. And the longer I wait, the more there is to update. So I’m no longer studying Otjiherero. My CED Placement Officer pulled me and three other volunteers out of the class to tell us that our languages would be getting swapped (this usually happens with either site switches or medical considerations – in this case, the former). I’m now studying Afrikaans. Which is awesome for two reasons – 1) Words like brood (bread), kom hir (come here), and telefoon (telephone) & 2) my host family speaks it. Either way – I’m excited for the change, and although it's a bit discouraging to have to start over, I know it was for a good reason.

Taking Inventory

Packing for 27 months is a task. The absence of a packing list or a concrete understanding of my living situation doesn't help too much either. Thankfully we, as invitees, have been contacted by PCV's currently in-country with packing advice. They've listed their own packing lists (some volunteers already in country for a year, others only a few months), as well as what they wished they had and hadn't have brought. I'm realizing that I'm going to end up packing fairly light.

Packing has asked me to take inventory - of what I have, and ask what I really need. It seems like a basic exercise, but the the latter portion of it is what's really taking some thought. What do I need? Needs come in various forms. Truthfully, it's difficult to predict what needs I'll need before I even start my service.  Different situations may call for different needs. Yes, I'll need a toothbrush, Nalgene, clothing, etc. These things I know. The quantity of each is still up in the air, but thankfully the current PCVs are helping out with that. Basic needs are understood. But what about electronics, remembrances from home, luxury items? How much and which of those do I actually need? And how many are just glorified wants? Can another person's wants (aside from food, water, shelter, clothing, medicine, etc.) be another persons needs? Before I put an item on my packing list (I have two - one for tentative items, the other for definites), I ask myself these questions. But it's these questions that are blurring the distinction between the concrete and tentative packing lists (to the point where I don't know which is which anymore).

I imagine that these questions are a part of Peace Corps service. I bet that I'll ask myself, over the two years, to challenge my notions of wants and needs (if it doesn't happen organically). In the end I realize that anything I don't pac,k or choose not to bring, will not be forever removed from my life. If I forget a picture at home, chances are I can ask someone to mail it over to me. But for things that aren't easily mailed, I'll likely adapt. Going into my service, I've tried to outline some skills and weaknesses that I have that will either enhance my experience or cause potential challenges. I've always felt that adaptation was one of my biggest strengths. Not unchecked adaptation, which asks someone to assimilate or else, but, instead an evolution through understanding. Challenges and discomfort are often seeds of growth. Rather than removing the seed by unsustainably feeding and appeasing these "needs", I'll (hopefully) look to water it it by attempting to understand what the true need is - at its root.

I know it's just a packing list. I know I may be giving it way more thought than I should. But these questions allow me to step back from my possessions and genuinely ask what's important to me. And in taking inventory, I've realized that what's really important to me, and what I really hope to take with my to Namibia are my relationships. The beauty of packing these? They take up far less space than a sleeping bag and 15 packets of taco seasoning (don't ask). So, for the two weeks I have left at home, I will try to fortify every important relationship in my life. Whether its dinner, coffee, or a phone call, I hope to leave knowing that I effectively reached out to everyone who is important to me and let them know how their love, encouragement, and teaching have advanced me as a person in their own unique way. These relationships will be pushed to new, uncharted depths - depths that can only be reached with two-years of communication at an uncertain frequency. I am so eternally grateful for the flexibility and support of family, friends, and everyone in between. Thankfully, I had orientation at URI to help me start the goodbye process. Saying goodbye to forty, incredible friends was hard to do, but I'm glad I had the chance to do it. And people have reached out to me. Their love and support has been so important. I've heard from people who I didn't expect to hear from, and others I wasn't even aware knew I was leaving. For that I am so incredibly flattered. But the rest is up to me.

So when taking inventory, I've realized that it's not necessarily what I bring, but the mindset that I bring it in. A current volunteer said it best:

Hey group 40, you'll be arriving in Namibia THIS month!
Just wanted to share with you the best and most important advice that anyone gave me before leaving.
Take a couple deep breaths. Eat all of your favorite foods. Drink your favorite beer and wine. Surround yourself with the people you love.
See you guys soon! 

Chipotle here I come.

And So It Begins

It was March 20th at around 4:00 PM. I had just gotten done with a pretty nice run at URI's campus gym. After turning into the locker room and starting to change, I decided to check my e-mail. Refreshing my iPhone feed, I saw the subject line that I had been waiting 10 months to see: Peace Corps - Invitation! My heart stopped. I had already been sweating, but I swear my sweat started sweating. I clicked open the e-mail and saw this:

I had been invited to served as a Community Economic Development (CED) volunteer in Namibia. After a few obnoxiously loud onomatopoeias I asked what the average person would ask, "Where the hell is Namibia?" Shirtless, sweaty, and still in the middle of the locker room, I typed 'Namibia' into Google. It was about 5:00 PM when I realized I had been sitting on the same bench for about 45 minutes. Learning every thing I could about this country would become my primary goal for the next 4 months (not the best timing with final exams approaching).

But my excitement was so raw. I felt so privileged to have been invited to a position that combined so many of my passions and interests right out of college (economic development, language, travel, and cultural immersion). It'd be difficult to call it my dream job because, with it being a strict 2-year commitment - that would be unsustainable. But it is definitely my dream. And now its a dream realized. In 21 days I'll be leaving for staging. I'm so excited for the eventual lessons, challenges, growth, and adventures I'll experience. I'm excited to meet my fellow invitees. I'm excited, hopeful, anxious, and curious. I'm a mixed bag of emotions. But mostly I'm grateful. Grateful to have been given this opportunity to live and work in such an amazing part of the world.