Float Like a Butterfly, Clomp Like a Donkey

One of my absolute favorite things about Namibia is running. It might seem odd to love running in a place with little water and temperatures that routinely get over 100 degrees farenheit. However, running here is my haven, my challenge, and my way to explore rural Namibia.

When I first got to Namibia, I was getting back to running after foot surgery six months earlier. My first runs were fairly tentative – 20 minutes here, 30 minutes there. But pretty quickly, my Peace Corps friend Robin and I started running together a couple of times a week after work. We always ran on a gravel road that headed away from the mission, and if we timed our runs correctly, we could sometimes catch a sunset on return trip. Those runs were also a welcome chance to process all the cultural adjustments that I was going through with a more experienced volunteer.

As I became more confident both in my running ability and in my navigation skills, I began to head off the gravel road onto the sand and dirt tracks that crisscross the landscape here. There are no maps of these tracks, but more often than not, following one eventually led to a small village. During these ‘exploration’ runs, I found four villages that don’t appear on any map: Ohamutsi, Oshipala, Okangombe, and Oshiputu. The locals know where all these villages are, of course, but to me each one was an exciting discovery.

When winter came, I got more serious about training for the Swakopmund Marathon, which I will run tomorrow, October 20 (wish me luck!). Grudgingly, I dragged my butt out of bed at 5:30 each morning to run, because there was never enough daylight to run after school. These morning runs became my favorite time of the week. Each morning, I left my room in dim light of dawn. The sky began to turn colors during the run, from pale bluish to a glowing stereoscope of oranges and reds. Then it faded nearly to white, and finally the sun rose, a giant fiery ball hanging on the horizon.

I’ve had many running companions during the year in Namibia. On one of my first morning runs the hostel dog, Lolly, came to the mission gate and asked to come with me. Lolly and I have become good friends, despite the bite she gave me during my first week here! She’s young and in pretty decent shape, so I thought she might be able to do 8k or so. However, after just about 3k, I turned around and she was nowhere to be seen. Oh shit, I thought, I’ve lost the hostel dog. What are the kids and the staff going to say? Panicked, I aborted my run and spent the rest of my time zigzagging back to the mission shouting her name. She knew her way around, however. When I got back she was there, waiting for me and wagging her tail.

On many runs, children and occasionally adults run along with me for a kilometer or two. In the morning, groups of young children on their way to school often join me. Despite their long grey slacks, button-down white shirts and dress shoes, those little buggers can keep up with me for over a mile! On these runs, I feel a little like Muhammad Ali. When he trained for his “Rumble in the Jungle” with George Foreman in Congo in the 1970s, local kids swarmed around him during his runs. I don't have a swarm around me, but last week I had a respectable group of ten tykes running with me for 40 minutes. Unlike Ali, however, I don't "float like a butterfly and sting like a bee." Let's just say that I'm a bit less graceful.

During evening runs, occasionally an old meme (an older woman) in traditional dress and head scarf runs alongside me for 25 meters or so, which her friends always think is a hilarious joke. Meme Relax, who I greet when I run through her village, shouts at me, “Hurry, hurry!” But my most faithful running companion is Gotard, who works in the hostel and loves running. He has shown me many new running routes. Two weekends ago, for my final long run before the marathon, he took me to a rural Angola border post which was just 12k or so away. Gotard has caught the running bug, and he plans to race in a half-marathon in Oshakati next weekend.

When I’m alone, of course, I have a lot of time to think on my runs. One thing that I’ve been thinking about a lot is trying to raise funds to start a scholarship fund at Canisianum. Our school is excellent: while the passing rates on the national exams hover around 30% nationwide, the passing rate at Canisianum is 99%. Unfortunately, not every learner who is strong academically can afford a school like Canisianum. I’m thinking of using the marathon (well, perhaps the ‘post-marathon’) as a fundraiser to establish a scholarship fund. A year’s tuition at my school is approximately US$100. If I could raise US$5,000, interest on the principle alone could fund five learners every year in perpetuity.

I’m curious to hear what you think of this idea – particularly if you have any experience with establishing scholarship funds or foundations. What sort of safeguards can you build to make sure the money goes to learners who need it most? How are such funds set up and managed? Would you – dear reader – be willing to part with $50 or $100 to allow more kids access to quality education?

Well, that’s it for running here in Namibia. Wish me luck on the race tomorrow!

The Funny Side of Fighting AIDS

The HIV/AIDS epidemic in Southern Africa is terrible. Most countries in the South African Development Community have infection rates ranging from 15-25% of the population; Namibia’s rate is just under 20%. Despite the seriousness of the problem, a half-page job advertisement in last week’s newspaper made me laugh, and I give to you here, almost in its entirety:

Ministry of Health and Social Sciences

Namibia Global Fund Programme
The Ministry of Health and Social Services (MoHSS), as the Principle Receipient (PR) of the Global Fund Grants, continues implementing the planned HIV/AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis activities. Given the existing staffing levels of the Programme Management Team, it is becoming increasingly difficult to ensure the smooth implementation of some aspects of the HIV/AIDS programme activities. It is against this background that the Directorate of Special Programmes (DSP), is looking for suitable qualified and experienced candidates for the following position:

Condom Logistic Officer

Duties and Responsibilities:
• Monitor condom stock levels countrywide by exploiting reports from the end-users distribution points;
• Promptly respond to logistic need whenever it arises;
• Identify causes of any shortage in condoms and report to the Condom Logistic Manager;
• Check condom stocks at all facilities in order to have an accurate starting point for quantities to distribute according to the population needs;
• Create, maintain and manage data of end-users distribution points for condoms;
• Promote condom use at any contact with end-users and monitor any increase in demand induced by that promotional activity;
• Anticipate any shortage of condoms at the end-user level;
• Compile annual plan and report and forward to the condom logistic manager on matters of condoms;
• Liaise with stakeholders for information and collaboration on condoms; and
• Submit reports on distribution of condoms activities.

The contract is valid until 31 March 2009, with the possibility of renewal. To start as soon as possible. All applications to be submitted: Global Fund, etc.

As you can see, America is not the only country where job titles become grossly overinflated! Come on, this job is for a glorified condom delivery person! Worse yet, there is also a Condom Logistics Manager to whom the Condom Logistics Officer will report. How many people work in the Directorate of Condoms?

The ad states that the Ministry of Health receives funding for this programme from western donors. I would bet that the Ministry has just received a large infusion of cash and, not wanting to lose the money, has created a make-work position. Although the job notice itself is amusing, it calls into question the effectiveness of aid given to poor countries. Does the money help to solve the problem, or does it merely give someone in Africa an easy job with a good salary?

Teacher Talk: Classes in Namibia

One important difference between school organization here and back home lies in the classes. In the U.S., most high school classes last approximately 40-50 minutes, with a short period between classes for students to move to their next room. Occasionally, some schools use a ‘block scheduling,’ which allows double periods for many classes, especially science classes that require a lab. Many teachers have their own rooms, but not all. Most students take English, Math, history, a science class, a foreign language, gym, lunch, and some type of elective.

In Namibia the classes are 40 minutes long, but there the similarity ends. Learners sit in the same class, in the same seats, all day long. Classes are designated with the grade, adding a letter for each different class in the same grade: 8A, 8B, 9A, 9B, etc. All the students in one class take all the same subjects together; learners who struggle in math but excel in English cannot take remedial math and advanced English. My school has made some provision, however, for additional classes for learners who want to push themselves.

More confusing is the wide array of subjects students take. At my school, learners in grades 8-10 take nine ‘promotional’ subjects: Oshindonga, English, Maths, Life Science, Physical Science, Geography, History, Agriculture, and Business Management. Additionally, learners also take once-a-week non promotional classes in Religious and Moral Education, Computer Skills, Life Skills, and Physical Training. That’s right, the learners have ONE PERIOD PER WEEK OF GYM. Now to some of you that might sound great, but young 14-year olds need to burn off energy more than once a week!

Back home at my old school, student schedules usually remained unchanged from day to day, from week to week. Period 1 was Math with Mr. Factor, period 2 was English with Miss Sym A. Lee, and period 3 was chemistry with Dr. Mole. Here, each class’s schedule changes from day to day. The schedule is so confusing that only in the third time have I begun to get my schedule memorized. On Monday, period 1 could be English, but on Tuesday it’s math, on Wednesday it’s history, etc. Moreover, some classes meet seven times per week, some five, some three, and the non romotionals meet just once.

Although this system seems ludicrously complicated, it does have its advantages. Let’s say that I taught the same topic to both 9A and 9B, but with 9B we didn’t finish because goats invaded the classroom and we spent some time kicking them out. Back home, I would have to cover that material the next day before I could move on. Here, I can go back to 9B during the afternoon study period and finish the lesson, because that same group of learners are still together. Also, teachers will occasionally ‘trade’ or ‘sell’ periods to other teachers who need extra time to finish a topic or give a test. The flexibility is actually quite nice. If I notice that many of my learners are struggling before a test, I simply teach an extra lesson to the class during the afternoon study time.

The rigorous nature of the schedule does not mean, however, that it is rigorously followed. Principals will often call teachers out of their class for meetings. Our principal, Mr. Kalipi, has occasionally called a staff meeting in the middle of the school day, leaving all the classes without teachers. Just this week, he called a meeting during our last period to discuss how we would make up the periods that were to be lost due to a field trip on Friday. I kept thinking, “How will we make up the periods that we have lost by sitting in this meeting?”

A glaring difference is in the amount of time that learners are left unsupervised. Back in NYC, our administrators drilled into us that we could NEVER leave a classroom unsupervised. “What if,” they said, “one learner stabs another with a pencil during the 60 seconds you are out of the room? Then YOU will be responsible for the lawsuit.” As a result, if I desperately needed to go to the bathroom, I had to flag down a passing teacher to watch my class while I ran to the can.

Here, the learners are frequently left to fend for themselves. There are no such things as substitute teachers here. If a teacher is sick, at a workshop, or merely sleeping in the staffroom, the class will simply remain without a teacher. When the principal calls a staff meeting during the day, the learners sit in their classes. If I need to use the toilet or make a photocopy during class, than I just do it. And you know what? When I come back in the room, they’re all fine. Oh sure, they might be talking to each other instead of reading, but not one kid has gouged another’s head out with a pencil yet.

It’s futile to talk about which system is ‘better’ or which one is ‘right.’ However, it is helpful to see that there are advantages and disadvantages to both, and to recognize that there really is no one ‘right’ way of educating.

Dunes, Wildlife, and Himbas

My father’s 11-day visit at the end of August was an adventure of wildlife, dangerous roads, stark scenery, and traditional lifestyles. In just nine days we saw the southern desert, the coast, a great wildlife park, and some remote Himba villages.

The trip started rather ominously, as we went through four rental cars in the first three days. The first two cars never even made it out of the capital, Windhoek. One car flashed a warning light as I drove to the airport, and the second had an air-conditioner which blew only sand and hot air. After those problems, the rental car company upgraded us brand-new Renault Magane that was so fancy it didn’t even have a key to turn for the ignition—just a button to press and the engine purred to life. Unfortunately, the Magane did not have a very long life expectancy. On the third day of the trip, I hit a sandy patch on a gravel road and the car fishtailed. I was able to slow down, but not before we went over some rocks which took out one tire, the bumper, and radiator. Oops. The fourth car, thankfully, made it the rest of the trip.

Besides talking to Europcar a lot, during the first two days we traveled to the Namib, the world’s oldest desert. It varies from rocky fields to scrubland to towering dunes, and has an impressive collection of flora and fauna that have adapted to live in the environment. For example, the western edge of the desert is frequently blanketed in mist coming off the ocean. Some beetles stand up in the mist and absorb the water directly into their bodies. My father was particularly captivated by a place called Dead Vlei, an area where an ephemeral river formerly flowed and thus trees grew. After the river changed course, all the trees died but still remain standing. One night in the desert we stayed at a ritzy lodge that had an enormous buffet dinner and a watering hole just 50 metres from the outdoor dining area. While we ate our oryx steak, we watched live oryx at the water hole. Very strange!




After a quick but uninteresting visit to Swakopmund, a westernized city on the coast, we headed straight to Etosha National Park, the jewel of Namibia’s park system. Etosha is a huge park, slightly smaller than the state of Vermont. In the center of the park is a huge pan, which is a shallow depression that in years of good rain will have a thin covering of water. By the time we got there, all the water had dried up so the animals congregated around the many watering holes throughout the park. At one point we parked near the edge of the pan, where a watering hole lay 150 meters away. From there, we could see perhaps 250 different animals: zebra, springbok, oryx, and blue wildebeest (also known as gnus), not to mention multitudes of birds. At night, we stayed in a compound that had a nightlit watering hole, where we saw a huge herd of elephants playing in the water, and even the elusive black rhino.

At Etosha, I successfully introduced my father to camping. Dad had trouble at first because there had been a bad camping experience when he was a kid that he had suppressed for 45 years. After a sleepless night of reliving that experience and getting through it, he slept like a baby. It helped that I broke out the classic Namibian camping barbecue over a wood fire: boerwoers and brochen (a curly sausage and a fresh bun); potatoes, onions, and feta cheese roasted together in tinfoil; and a couple of bottles of cold Tafel lager.



Our last ‘tourist’ destination was the dusty city of Opuwo. The city’s name means, ‘Finished,’ because it is the place where the Himba tribes finally decided to stop trekking. The Himba are probably the most traditional tribe that remains viable in Namibia. They have been able to maintain their culture because their territory is of little economic interest to outsiders and because their leaders consciously chose to avoid a western lifestyle. To this day, they are very suspicious of western institutions like schools. On average, Himbas only send one in six children to school.



While we were in Opuwo, we hired a guide to take us out to a Himba village, and it was one of the most interesting parts of the trip. As you can see in the pictures, they look markedly different from other Namibians. They still dress mostly in animal hides, both sexes wear jewelry and hairstyles that denote different stages of life, and the women go topless while covering their bodies in a reddish paste that serves as a sunblock. When we visited the village, in the middle of the Namibian winter, there were only women and children there. All the men were out with the cattle, roaming the countryside for weeks at a time in search of grazing and water.

Through our interpreter, at first we greeted the wife of the headman. Then the women and children sat in a circle and asked us a bunch of questions. My favorite was when they asked my father where his wife was. He told them he had no wife because he was divorced. Immediately, they suggested some suitable partners for him! Afterwards we went into one woman’s hut, which was made from a wood frame covered with mud. Inside it was surprisingly large, perhaps 16 feet in diameter and tall enough for me to stand straight in the center. She showed us how they make the red paste with which they cover their bodies. After grinding an ochre rock on a large stone, they mix it with some stinky milkfat and just rub it on the skin. It looks pretty, but it sure doesn’t smell that way.

What’s interesting about the Himba is that they have consciously chosen their way of life. Prior to the colonial era, the Ovahimba and Ovaherero peoples were basically from the same tribe. When white missionaries moved into their area, the two groups split. The Ovaherero leader chose to align himself with missionaries, and the Ovaherero adopted modern clothing, schooling, and technology. In contrast, the Ovahimba chief eschewed close contact with the missionaries and other colonizers. The Ovahimba today still practice traditional ancestor worship and have very little contact with modern technology, although the government has tried to bring them into the 20th century. They remind me of the Mennonites or the Amish in America, people who have consciously chosen not to adopt a modern lifestyle.



The final three days, my father visited my home on the mission and attended my classes. He was impressed, as I frequently am, at the intelligence and warm reception from the kids. He spent one period with each of my classes, answering their questions about America, his job, etc. At one point, kids from a class that I don’t teach wanted to talk to him, and he held court underneath a tree to a group of 40 or 50 learners. I came in at the end of it when he was comparing the German genocide of the Herero in 1903 to the Holocaust forty years later—well, at least they were learning something!

I think my father did pretty well for his first ever trip abroad, dealing with strange accents, money, and camping. He was very willing to try new things, like the pieces of cow stomach that teachers here often eat for lunch. Although it took me months to try one, Dad dug right in and seemed to like it. Me, there's one one of the four stomachs which I find palatable.

It was also nice to see my mission through the eyes of someone who knows me from back home. Dad could appreciate all the things I love about this place: the quiet sandy roads that I run on and from which I see all manner of beautiful sunsets and sunrises; the genuinely appreciative, eager, and intelligent learners; the challenge and satisfaction of trying to speak Oshiwambo. Hopefully you get to experience a little of that too in the chair your are sitting in right now.