One Reason Why I Love Peace Corps Service

I have learned over the months that being in PC makes one’s life rather unpredictable. One day you are incredibly swamped at work, the next you sit staring the computer with nothing to do. One month, I’m teaching people how to organize debate competitions, and the next, I’m scanning the computer for images of shit (literally) for materials on oral-fecal diseases. When traveling somewhere, I generally have no idea how I’m going to get to my next destination or when I will arrive, I just know that somehow, I will get there. Even though I might find the uncertainties of life stressful at times, I also find the unpredictability to be both amusing and refreshing.

One of my favorite things about being here is the randomness of the projects that my fellow volunteers and I find ourselves engaged in. Health volunteers in Namibia work on a vast range of projects; a random sample of some PCV projects – starting up fish farms, teaching preschool, running classes on culturally appropriate cooking methods, organizing support groups for HIV positive people, assisting jewelry groups to improve their products and expand their sales, planting gardens, leading workshops on a gamut of topics, and training people computer literacy.

In the beginning of my service, I found the unpredictability rather daunting. I was used to working in a structured environment where I at least had an inkling of what the next day’s work would bring. I was accustomed to having a job with a somewhat specified purview – if I was working at a childcare center, I knew I wouldn’t suddenly be expected to start teaching adult literacy or figure out to start a trust fund. But here, anything is possible. It doesn’t matter what organization you work for or what your job title is – here, you could be asked to work on just about anything. Back in January, I found that rather scary. I mean, I’d never visited child offenders in prison, I didn’t have much experience writing grants, and I certainly didn’t know how to build coffins. But over the months, I have discovered that my inexperience doesn’t matter, what counts is my willingness to learn and I’ve grown to love the unpredictability of my assignments. I mean honestly, at what other time in my life will I ever have the opportunity to start a library or organize a campaign for building pit latrines? Even if I don’t know how to do those things now, I know that if those are things this community needs, I can figure out how to do it. And that’s all that matters, right?

The Town of Opuwo

I’ve been out here in Opuwo for eleven weeks now – it’s hard to believe that it’s been that long – and am very much enjoying myself here. Life here is very different for me as opposed to that I experienced in Gobabis. I find Opuwo to be a quiet, relaxing and safe place – a much-needed change following all the stress of Gobabis. Opuwo is beautiful in its own unique way. It is one of the few areas in Namibia with mountains (or any elevation really); I love sitting on my porch and gazing at the mountains on the horizon.

Opuwo is also a unique place owing to its unusual mixture of cultures. The two tribes present here are the Himbas and the Hereros. Out of all Namibia’s tribes, the Himbas practice the most traditional lifestyle. Most of them still live in remote, outlying villages far removed from the influences of Western culture. They still wear traditional garments (both men and women are topless), rub red clay on their skin, and raise cattle and goats for subsistence.

Opuwo is much smaller than Gobabis. It is a little town in the middle of nowhere between nothing and nowhere. It is a very dusty place; in fact, in parts of the town, when you walk, dust flies up from the ground in little clouds – it reminds me of what I would expect volcanic ash to look like. Unfortunately for stemming disease outbreaks, Opuwo is also one of the dirtier places in Namibia. The streets are littered with rubbish, people defecate in public, and few are informed of the art of personal hygiene (Himba people never bathe but rather burn herbs and use other traditional methods to ‘cleanse’ themselves). Opuwo actually has a rather peculiar smell owing to the combination of the refuse and the clay the Himbas use to color their skin.

There are no paved roads leading directly into the town; this has kept the area rather isolated from the rest of civilization (the closest actual town is over three hours away on primarily dirt roads). Presently, the government is busy paving the road that leads south through the other towns in the region, Outjo and Khorixas. So Opuwo won’t remain so isolated forever. In a sense, I think this is a very sad thing as it will likely quicken the end of the Himba culture. Already many Himba children are opting to leave the villages and venture out into the more urban areas where there are greater opportunities; once the roads are paved, I would expect even more children to leave behind their traditions in favor of more a ‘modern’ lifestyle.

The isolation, sanitation concerns, and dust don’t really bother me though as I am still mesmerized by how special this place is. Truly, there is nowhere else on earth where one would find this mixture of cultures or this merging of Western customs with traditional practices. I feel really blessed to be able to live in such an extraordinary community, particularly knowing that the future will likely bring a great many changes to this remote, beautiful place.

Nights of Sheer Terror

Karen (the PCV I replaced here in Opuwo) and our Dutch neighbor, Jesse, co-owned two cats; since Karen’s departure I have inherited one-half of the cats. They roam through Jesse’s house and my house at their will. While I generally don’t mind them (they can actually provide some good amusement to help pass the quiet hours here), they have forced me to endure a few terror-filled nights.

A few weeks ago, as Karen and I sat relaxing and watching a film, I saw one of the cats prance by poking something that looked remarkably snake-like. Of course, Karen and I panicked and threw all the lights on. After much inspection of this creature, we decided that it wasn’t a snake but was in fact, a very interesting worm species; it looked like a necklace because it alternately shimmered gold and silver. Although I doubted it was of any danger too us, Karen was concerned so she swept it outside to be killed.

When Karen when outside, she discovered the cat engaged in a battle with a most horrifying creature. We weren’t sure what exactly it was but we were both terrified of it because it looked like a hybrid of two animals we don’t enjoy encountering out here – a scorpion and a spider. This “scorpion-spider” had the body of a spider but had pincher claws like a scorpion. Unlike most members of both species though, this lovely creature could jump a foot in the air and move as quick as the devil. I was so afraid of this horrific being that I barricaded myself in the kitchen and squealed like a startled pig while Karen bravely crushed the life out of it.

In informing our Namibian colleagues about this “spider-scorpion,” we have been unable to get an accurate account of what creature it is and how potentially harmful it is. General responses range from “those things will kill you” to “they just eat your hair while you sleep.” Either way, I truly hope never to see one of those things again! I cannot even begin to describe how horrifying they are.

In spite of the lectures I gave the cats on how they shouldn’t bring creatures into the house, they didn’t end with the worm or the “spider-scorpion.” The night Karen left to begin her journey back to America, the first night I was alone in Opuwo, one of the cats decided to welcome a live snake into my home! Needless to say, I really panicked this time! I contemplated running to my neighbors’ house for assistance but I was worried that the snake would get lost in the house which would have concerned me and prevented me from having a peaceful sleep. So, I decided that I had to suck it up and take care of the snake myself. After discovering my inability to kill it by repeatedly squashing it with a broom, I grabbed the nearest hard object (the paper towel holder) and forcefully crushed the snake under it.

Although some of its guts were spilled on my floor, I wasn’t entirely sure that it was dead so I left it there for a bit to see if it moved. Of course, when I wasn’t looking, the cat decided that the newly-dead snake would make an excellent snack. So she ate it. And then I spent the rest of the night worried that the cat was going to keel over at any minute for ingesting a poisonous snake. Fortunately, everyone survived the evening (accept the snake of course).

I still don’t know what kind of snake it was but when I described it to one of my colleagues, she said it was a “very dangerous” one – figures! I don’t think the cats have learned their lesson yet though for as I write this message, one of the cats is playfully bouncing a small lizard around the house. No doubt she will be chomping away at it shortly.