The Traveling Teacher: News from Namibia
VOLUME 1, ISSUE 5
Page 1
Languages of Namibia
English is the number one official language of Namibia. The dialect of Oshiwambo spoken here is called Oshikwanyama. There are many dialects of Oshiwambo, but the people
can understand each other, similar to other languages in the world that share commonalities. Spanish and Portuguese, Bulgarian and Russian. There are many official languages
here, like Oshiherero, Himba, Dhamara-Nama, etc. Some other languages in Namibia are
also very similar to Oshiwambo, but then there are others like !Xun (the language of the
San people, the Bushmen you often see on TV) are completely unrelated. Then you have
the colonization influence—in the capital there is still a German-speaking population,
complete with a German newspaper. And of course, Afrikaans. Many educated middleaged people everywhere will try to greet my in Afrikaans, as that used to be the language
of educational instruction before Independence and the official changeover to English.
Linguistically, it’s a regular old Babylon here. People often speak 3 or 4 languages, and
English is intended to also unite the people and business communication. Since the
Owambo people are the dominant group, I can speak it anywhere and be understood.
Here are some Oshiwambo words for you, all are phonetic, so enjoy!
(vowels: a=AH, e=EH, i=EE, o=OH, u=OO)
Dog— Ombwa
Cat— Okambishi
Snake—Eyoka
Elephant—Ondjaba
Cow— Ongobe
Duck—Ombaka
Inside this issue:
Welcome to My
Home!
2-3
Chicken— oxuxwa (oh-HU-hwah)
Ekoka C.S.
4
Giraffe—Onduli
Living Conditions for 5
Learners
Goat—Oshikombo
Flower—Ongala
Sun—Etango
Mother/Miss/Mrs.—Meme
Father/Mr.– Tate (TAH-tay)
When Tragedy
Strikes
6
THE TRAVELING TEACHER: NEWS FROM NAMIBIA
Page 2
Welcome to My Little Home in the Bush!
Here is the teacher house at Ekoka C.S. It is REALLY convenient to be able to roll out of bed and be
able to walk to work in less than 10 seconds. Of course, my roosters would never let me sleep in until
7:30 anyway, but it is definitely to be able to run home for lunch.
My Art Wall/Door
My Fort
(also commonly known as netus-mosquitoalis).
Since I was a kid, I‘ve had a fascination with building forts. My brother and I built teepees after the
Great Plains Native Americans in our back yard, we
had a tree house, and inside the house I would often
create my own architectural masterpieces out of
cardboard boxes, sheets, tape and/or thumb tacks
(much to the parents dismay). No where was safe
from becoming my construction zone— my loft bed,
behind the piano, my best friend‘s ENTIRE bedroom,
and, after a semester study abroad, my first college
apartment bedroom. So, I have quite taken to sleeping with a mosquito net. My own personal fort.
Whenever I need some ‗American time‘ you can find
me here, hiding out with some American TV shows
or music blaring, and a bowl of cookie dough.
I love art. Anyone who knows me
for about 2 minutes can tell you
this. I love to study art, appreciate
art, and create art. But what I
love even more is to encourage my
learners to study, appreciate, and
create art. And here, this is easy,
since most of the learners LOVE
to draw.
Most prominent in this photo are
the Valentine‘s I had my learners
create this year. I asked them to
make a Valentine for someone in
class, and I was honored when so
many chose me!
Here‘s the rest of my room—it‘s a rather large room. I am entitled to my own
room with a door that locks, a bed, a wardrobe, electricity, and windows with
burglar bars. And I am a firm believer that no home is complete without a
map and a musical instrument of some sort.
Page 3
VOLUME 1, ISSUE 5
Here‘s our tiny kitchen. I couldn‘t actually
get a picture of the whoe thing since it is so
small. But it has good storage and a gas
stove. Since moving to Africa, I‘ve gotten the
hang of using a gas stove without nearly having a panic attack. In fact, I‘ve gotten the
hang of using matches in general, since I had
rarely used them before moving here. My first
attempts to get the stove to work took almost
―Running‖ Water.– Ekoka Style!
So, as a WT volunteer, I am also required to have access to water. And, as you saw in the last issue of Namibia News, water can pose
quite an obstacle here. I do, in fact, have running water—when the pump is functioning correctly, when we have the petrol to run the
pump, and when someone is willing to trek out once to start the pump, and then once again to stop the pump after a few hours. The
water gets pumped to these two large containers up on the wooden platform. The running water in the teacher house for the shower
and sinks comes from these two containers. The water for all the hostel learners to wash themselves and their clothes, as well at the
water for cooking and cleaning also comes from these two containers. As you can guess water must be pumped frequently to meet the
demands of the school. And since the same pump also has to provide for the entire Ekoka community AND the resident health clinic,
the pump is over-worked, which leads to its frequent ‗out-of-order‘ status. The other container, in the middle picture, is for collecting
run-off rainwater from the roof of the house. I am very fortunate to have this clean, potable water pumped to my house, and I will
never take running water in America for granted ever again!
THE TRAVELING TEACHER: NEWS FROM
Page 4
Here the oldest building of Ekoka Combined
School. Please excuse the fact that I‘m pretty
sure ‗commited‘ is not a correct spelling. I‘m
However, the mission statement is a good
one—one that I am trying to uphold.
In the picture below you can see a bit more of
the school yard. It‘s set up like a horse-shoe
shape, with open sand in the middle and
buildings around the perimeter.
Above:
Here I am posing with couple learners
in front of the staff room. (I actually
don‘t teach either of the learners, but
they wanted to be in the photo.)
These are two of the four hostel
buildings we have, that house about
60 learners total. I always have good
company around!
Above and Right:
Welcome to my classroom! It consists of ALMOST four walls, a
floor a roof, and some desks, chairs, and a non-functioning shelf.
This is the most beat up classroom we have, since as you can see
above, part of my wall is missing, replaced by a thin chalkboard
(rendering my door useless). The other wall with the big chalkboard has two gaping holes I have to cover or the kids in the room
outside (a shack built for a classroom of 28 kids) will distract my
class. Our windows had some glass in them, but it has since been
smashed out by some drunk community members. Despite it all,
it is home. One project I want to complete is getting my desks and
chairs fixed, as some days we barely have enough.
VOLUME 1, ISSUE 5
Page 5
Living Conditions of Learners
I live in a nice house, with proper
walls and a roof, and I even have
running water (sometimes).
Let me tell you about the condition of many of my learners.
They all have brothers and sisters—here families are large, in
part because of lack of contraception usage, and also because more
children means more can help
farm and possibly bring income
into the family as they grow. However, when families have to pay
school fees, as well as buy school
supplies, education becomes expensive. Many learners just can‘t
afford to keep going to school after
a while. Technically, education is
a right and you can apply for
grants/waived school fees if you
cannot afford it. However, this
doesn‘t always solve the issue, as
some parents cannot fill out the
forms, or don‘t know about them,
or have too much pride.
Namibia just made school free for
primary and upper primary
grades, which is a step in the right
direction! The government is putting large amounts into education
and resources, and will improve
rapidly. This is a country full of
hope, despite the many challenges
it faces.
Other issues: many of my learners
are orphans. In my grade7 class of
27, I learned four of my learners
are orphans. Another five had a
father pass away. One boy lost his
mother. Some have parents that
abandoned the family and are living with a single parent. Other
rarely see their parents because
they are away working where they
can, so the children live with
grandparents or other extended
family.
Finally—poverty. My community
consists of subsistence farmers,
and it has been a dry year. It is
heartbreaking to hear your learners say it will be a ‗hungry year.‘
Some learners wear dirty/torn uniforms, unmatching shoes, or no
shoes at all.
Despite it all—despite poverty, despite if they have eaten anything
today, despite walking many kilometers to school, they show up to
learn, trying to improve their lives,
even if they never leave this village.
It is not their fault what they are
born into. And seeing the obstacles
they overcome is truly inspiring.
How many American children do you
know would walk 7kilometers to
school when they hadn‘t eaten
breakfast and had no shoes? Over
the rocks and thorns? Only to come
home and work in a field for hours?
The human spirit and sense of hope
is astounding.
One of my learners wears an old uniform. He lost both his parents, and
lives with one of the school custodians. But he also is one of my top
learners. He will always ask me how
to spell words correctly, and make
corrections to his work. For his project about goals for another class he
wrote about his goal of going to university, and a detailed plan of how
he will get there. When I asked this
bright young man what he wants to
do– what was his answer?
―I am going to be the Minister of
Education on day.‖
And I believe him.
When Tragedy Strikes...
Every morning when I get up at
5:30am, I go outside in the cold with
my computer to check my email, since
that is where I get the best internet
network. One morning, I went out and
it was particularly cold. I remember
thinking maybe I would just stay in
bed a bit longer and check e-mail
when it wasn‘t so cold. But, dedicated
as I am, I went outside. Usually I can
load my email inbox right away, having stayed signed in from the previous
session.
For some reason, I was signed out of
my account, a minor annoyance since
I had to re-load the main page first. (I
pay for my internet by the byte!) Then
I saw the news headlines: Boston
Marathon Bombs.
A shiver went down my spine, and not
because it was cold outside. I went on
to read about the tragedy occurred in
Boston. MY city, MY home.
I won‘t lie, I completely lost it.
I was quite a mess, and my principal
gave me the day off so I could go to
town where I could get decent internet, enough to use Facebook so I could
check on my friends, and send international texts.
The ride to town takes about 40 min,
over deep sand. It‘s a bit like riding a
rollercoaster—a rickety old wooden
rollercoaster, that you are afraid of
falling out of.
The ride seemed to take forever that
day. I‘ve always valued my vivid and
wild imagination, but not that day.
Images of people I love and care about
bleeding on the side of the streets, or
lying in a hospital with a leg amputation… Since the reports were only
preliminary, I had NO idea how serious the situation was at the time. I
was envisioning 9/11 all over again.
I was very fortunate that all of my
friends, and their kin were safe. One
of the victims however, went to my
university, and was a musician, which
‗struck a chord‘ with me. My heart
goes out to the family and friends of
all those victimized—I can only imagine their pain after what I went
through 12,000miles away.
I know tragedies like this happen
every day. In fact, the very same day,
333 were killed in the Middle East
from bombings at rush hour. To some
degree, while I am disgusted at how
desensitized we have become to violence, I understand that we can‘t live
our lives in constant fear. And, although it is unreasonable, I felt so
guilty that I was here, thousands of
miles away and not able to help my
city. Worse– the memory that I stood
near that finish line last year, watching the race with friends. That realization ‗it could have been me‘ really
stung, and I felt instant guilt.
The main challenge of living away
from home is learning to deal with
things outside your control, things
that are thousands of miles away.
Maybe some reading this who have
lived away will understand what I
mean—living so far away from home
magnifies EVERYTHING in your life.
In the positive sense, the highs you
get from new, wonderful and exciting
experiences is out of this world. But
on the flip side, even a minor annoyance can be a disaster. If you live so
far away, any chip on your shoulder,
insecurity, or obstacle can feel much
more like a mountain than a mole-hill
- so to say.
A lot of volunteer programs acknowledge this, and have strict rules to only
take applicants who are highly resilient and flexible. Newly married couples aren‘t allowed in the Peace
Corps—just in case the extra stress is
too much. Recently divorced? Absolutely not. Some people move away
from things that hurt in attempt to
run away or ignore. Worst idea ever.
Being far away will exacerbate every
problem. Maybe because you just have
so many more issues to deal with, plus
culture shock, or maybe because you
are lacking your support system from
home -the people who know and love
you, or understand you at least!
I consider myself independent, and
‗strong-willed‘ (aka stubborn as a donkey when need be). I‘m tough too. But
my greatest asset is my passion—
passion for life, for everything I do,
and compassion for everyone I meet.
Coming here has certainly been a
testament to all of this, a reassurance
of who I am.
But, as tough as I am, the day of the
Boston bombings was purely awful.
My home was violated. And I felt so
helpless—a feeling that is altogether
uncomfortable. Plus I could barely get
access to information at first, and
then it flooded Namibian news. Namibia has been a peaceful country for
23 years. My learners never knew war
and could not understand. My colleagues were very kind. My principal
bought me a newspaper, and my other
colleague had his TV in the library
and would tell me when Boston was
on the news. But for them, it was a
tragedy that happened on the other
side of the earth. They were empathetic and wonderful, but nonetheless
I felt extremely isolated. It was my
HOME. I could see places I shop at or
cafes I eat at in the photos, next to
sidewalks covered in blood. I know I
would have been distraught if I had
been home. But being so far away, so
out of control, and so unaware of what
was happening or where my loved
ones were was excruciating.
I am grateful Boston has since started
to recover; I am grateful that my
friends and family are all safe.
But that day will never be forgotten.
Next month—plenty of stories to tell after I
go on holiday for a month! Stay tuned to
hear about backpacking through Namibia!
NEWS FROM NAMIBIA