Welcome, Father!

Today I attended most of the priestly ordination of Father Boniface Benedictus Mwahindange (please don’t me how to pronounce that!). I didn’t really have much choice about whether I would attend or not, because the ordination happened about five feet from my door.

Last night, I went out with about 10 of my friends and colleagues for my birthday. We gathered at a local bar. After two or three large bottles of Tafel, the excellent local brew, I felt like I was speaking Oshiwambo fluently. At the very least, when newcomers arrived I was able to make the introductions in Oshiwambo. Eventually we moved to a second bar, which was one of the nicest bars I’ve been to in Namibia. It was large, well-lit, and clean. Outside of the bar itself, there was a formal outdoor seating area in the form of a poured concrete porch. Behind the bar, a nice buffet of beef, goat, oshifima, carrots and butternut squash was available. After a late dinner and a few more drinks, I headed home around 11:30 and feel into a deep sleep.

When I awoke Saturday morning with a slight hangover, I threw on my nicest clothes, a tie, my dress shoes, and stumbled out of my room, vaguely hoping that the ordination would not be too big of a deal. I was wrong. When I opened the door, I saw between 500 and 1,000 people sitting and standing in the courtyard of the boys’ hostel. Tenting had been erected to provide shade over much of the crowd. A small platform, not more than three feet from my bedroom door, had been transformed into a ceremonial altar, replete with flowers, a podium, and white draping. At least five hundred chairs from the mission, the school, and our neighboring school were arranged around the courtyard. Right in front of my door sat about 30 Catholic priests. I said a quick “Baruch ata” to myself and sat down to watch the ceremony.



This ordination was a big deal for several reasons. First, the Archbishop of Namibia was there to officiate. Secondly, the priest being ordained was from the Benedictine order, and was the first native Namibian Benedictine priest ever to be ordained. Finally, father-to-be Boniface was a local boy from the Ombalantu region. It was a case of local boy made good.

The most interesting part of the ceremony was how in many ways it resembled a wedding. At the beginning—well, only one hour into the ceremony, which technically still counts as the beginning, as the whole thing lasted five hours—the initiate was presented to the Archbishop by his proud parents. They gave him away just as in a traditional wedding. I think the Archbishop may even have asked if the parents had any objections, but because the whole thing was in Oshiwambo, I’m really just guessing here. After some singing by the nuns and girls from our school, there was a long ritual where the initiate prostrated himself completely before the Archbishop while a variety of prayers were said. The initiate may have lain there for 30 minutes or more, which emphasized the submission to God’s will. Once Father Boniface was formally ordained, the Archibishop presented him to the audience. Each of the thirty Catholic priests in attendance came up on the altar, hugged the new priest and said a few words to him. It was as if they were welcoming him into his new family, which I suppose they were. The Archibishop and the new priest then walked, arm in arm, around the crowd to much singing and celebration.




Despite my best intentions of sticking it out for the whole time, three hours of hot sun, Oshiwambo, and a mild hangover got the better of me. Anyhow, it seemed like I’d seen the good part already. Unable to go back to my room, I went over to Robin and Nicola’s house and took a nap. Fortunately, I woke up in time to catch the end and the food. There were so many people attending that food was served in four different areas of the mission; depending on a person’s importance, they were served different food in different areas. Priests and government ministers got the primo chow in the boys’ dining hall, nuns and community leaders got the next-best food in the girls’ hall, regular folks ate in the main hall, and children were served something outdoors under a tree. I was heading to food area #3 when Sister Daisy, my colleague, pulled me into nuns’ dining hall. All the salads were gone, but I did eat a piece or two of meat from the bulls which had been chased around the school the day before. I didn’t exactly enjoy it, but by the time I was done eating at least my headache had disappeared.

First Day at the Mission

I have been at my site, the Anamulenge Mission, for one full day now. Life at the mission requires an adjustment after the urban, totally westernized feel of Windhoek. In a day, we moved from the comfortable training environment into our job sites.

For myself and the 11 other volunteers in the northern portion of Namibia, known as Ovamboland, our transition started with a day-long ride in a ‘combi.’ A combi is simply a tiny van into which the Namibians cram a few more people than we would feel comfortable. Most of the ride was hot, cramped, and uneventful until we crossed the ‘red line’ which divides the northern 1/8 of the country from the bulk of Namibia. This line is a holdover from colonial days. It roughly corresponds to the malaria zone, and it marks the northern extent of white settlement. It is also divides the free-range grazing areas of the north from the commercial farms of the south, whose meat is certified for export.

At first glance, the north didn’t look like much. It consisted mostly of sparse fields, as the rains had not been good so far this year, and many goats, cows, and donkeys were grazing everywhere. We drove through Oshakati, the north’s big city, which seemed to be a collection of sandy, run-down strip malls. The roads were good however, and the biggest driving hazard was goats and cows wandering into the path of traffic.

When I finally arrived at the Anamulenge mission, it also looked grim. The mission is just about 300 metres off a small tarred road. It has the same sandy soil and sparse grass of Ovamboland, a modest two-story church, and perhaps a dozen single-story buildings and houses scattered around. My first thought, after spending 10 hot hours in a combi, was “I’m going to live here for a year?!?” A small but energetic Indian nun strode out to the combi and introduced herself as Sister Annie. She showed me to my room; the outside of my housing block is pictured, and I am currently in room 2. It’s basically a dorm room, long and narrow, but with its own bathroom and shower; I had been told to expect a house with a TV and A/C, so I was a little surprised. The first night was hard. The place was empty, without students, teachers, or the rest of the missionaries. A dog wanted to be friendly, but I held back because its scars suggested fleas or some other nasty beasts. I was hot. I wondered how I would survive a year here. The room was stuffy, but I didn’t open the windows because of the bugs. Thanks goodness that I got calls from my parents, my godmother, and Lynn that night!

When I woke up the next day, I resolved to explore the town which was two miles away. Outapi, my nearest town, is big by Namibian standards. It has two tarred roads, several markets to buy food, three banks, a post office, two gas stations, many shebeens (bars), and a hospital. Very little was open because it was Sunday, but I was able to buy a fat cake, a yummy piece of fried bread, from an outdoor vendor.

You can actually see Outapi if you go to Google Maps. You can find the town and then look at it with a satellite overlay so you can see houses and roads. The hospital is at the southern end of town, viewable on Google with a big cross. There are numerous sand streets where new government houses have been built, just north and west of the hospital. Each is a brightly painted concrete box, with a small yard and usually a fence. As you go north on the tarred road from the hospital, there are a variety of shops until the road comes to a T at another tarred road. On Google you can see a big building just north of this intersection; that is a ‘supermarket’ which sells everything from hats to noodles to bicycle parts. If you turn right at the ‘T’, and then follow the first left turn off the main road, you will be able to see the Mission. It’s just beyond the end of the tarred road.

Towards the end of the first day, though still a bit unsettled, I went running with Robin, a Peace Corps Volunteer who also lives at the mission. As usual, running set me right. We ran through open fields in the late afternoon’s sun, fading but still hot. A few animals wandered near our route as we ran through fields of grass and by small, seasonal ponds called oshanas. By the end of the run, having had some companionship and sweat, I felt ready to for the first day of school.