I’m pleased to have an update from Jen, who’s volunteering in Namibia. Jen previously contributed a timely piece called Peace, In April and I’m sure you’ll enjoy what she has to share this month.

“In spite of everything, I still believe people are really good.” ~Anne Frank

Is it really July already? June felt like stepping off of a five month roller coaster. I was wobbly on stable ground at first, but thankful as hell to be still. That’s some culture shock, man. Finally over the self-isolating solitude, I reached out this month and spent more time with colleagues, families, and even another volunteer or two.

A place as quiet and slow as this, seems like it never changes, like it has been the same for a century. Spending time at the homesteads, keeping warm next to a garbage can functioning as a stove, (it is unacceptably cold right now) it’s nice to listen to the old memes (women/mothers) chatter. It’s even sweeter when they occasionally try to fill me in through broken English, pantomimes, or a child/interpreter.

“Jenny, we get donkeys with wood before. Donkeys take men to town with goat and mahangu. I member tar road. I member no car … These people too fast now.” Yet another recent car accident spurred the memes’ conversation about life before the paved road. They remember when it got paved. They remember a lot. Many of them remember colonial raids or have family members who were kidnapped in the night and never seen again. Most of my learners’ parents were either not allowed to attend school or offered only limited education.

“…but now they follow foreigners more often than cattle, roaming between bars rather than beehives.”

Listening to the elders and hearing stories from various people, including students, about Namibia’s still very recent history, really made me realize how much the country has grown in just a speck of time – in my lifetime. There is still a lot of room for improvement and development, but sometimes I forget to give Namibia credit for what it has been through and its many accomplishments. I also forget about the shadows that accompany the bright lights of this desired “development.” “We belong to a time in which culture is in danger of being destroyed by the means of culture.” As the oral history recedes and the culture gets tweaked by the youth and the west, will the family also fade? How much will the pace pick up? Twenty years ago, in the northwestern town of Opuwo, the Himba people used to roam with cattle between beehive-hut settlements, their hair, faces, bare breasts all caked with red earth, ochre and animal fat. Must be great for the complexion, but they never wash it off, so who would know? Today, the Himba still roam Opuwo and they still dress traditionally, but now they follow foreigners more often than cattle, roaming between bars rather than beehives. Some still live traditionally, but a large number are trying to make money in a developing town, selling jewelry and photos or begging and stealing. In all of Namibia, (and most of sub-saharan Africa) alcoholism is a major problem and now, for the Himbas, so is prostitution. In 2006, the national newspaper reported the first ever suicide by a Himba woman. Coincidence?

The Owambos are the highest numbered tribe in Namibia though, and seem to be coping fairly well with their country’s changes … other than the alcoholism, car accidents, and HIV of course. On the bright side, HIV numbers are diminishing and drivers licenses are now accompanied by tests. Unfortunately, alcoholism is just as debilitating as ever. I would guess that all the drinking is a result of hopelessness or maybe isolation. Imagine living in a village of less than 100 people and you’ve never been further than 30 minutes away. They have no idea how much more is outside of the boundaries of “Owamboland.” And although I admire the African sense of extended family, I’ve mentioned before their atypical lack of affection and warmth between each other. I’d probably drink too.

“Her situation is infinitely more challenging than mine.”

This month, I also visited my friend Erica in her village. Erica is an inspiring Californian love child. She, unlike my cynical self, is what every volunteer should be. If I didn’t admire her so much, she might make me sick. But in the distant village where she was placed, her sugary-sweetness is exactly what those kids need. With a freshly painted school, reward store, clothes, books, organization, decoration, hugs and endless kisses, she tirelessly pours all her beautiful being into her kids, making every effort to give them some hope. Her situation is infinitely more challenging than mine. It is more remote (two hours by car from a paved road) and inhabited by a heartbreaking majority of orphans and vulnerable children, clothed – quite literally – in dirty rags and deprived of any shred of self esteem. Erica greets them each day and tucks them into their cots each night with the only reliable smile in their lives.

She had plenty of culture shock of her own, of course, and I remembered her struggling specifically with the emotional absence of her kids. She was discouraged by their lack of gratitude and shocked by how uneasy they were in an embrace, how they’d wince with a kind hand on their shoulder. So I instantly knew what an impact she’d made my first night at her hostel, when I walked in and was mobbed by barefoot girls hugging my legs and kissing my hands, pleading this stranger to pick them up. Most of the kids can’t stay in the small hostel, and so I looked at their skinny frames in awe, wondering where they sleep, who cares for them and how they get to school. But then, we’re just glad they come and now they smile too.

“Could the answer to all of society’s ailments be so simple?”

Someone smarter than me once wrote that the greatest truths reveal their wisdom in the guise of simplicity. Another person smarter than me once wrote, “All you need is love.” Could the answer to all of society’s ailments be so simple? Humanity has been suffering from, and punishing one another with a shameful case of love-deficiency? Can you think of a problem that doesn’t start there? No, baldness isn’t a real problem. You keep thinking on it…

In the meantime, I returned to my own village with a little more flower power in me and the kids responded instantly. The more smiles, conversations, effort and attention I give them, the harder they try to please me and the better they eventually perform. It’s just that simple.

Love,

~Jennifer White (See also Peace, In April)