It is the middle of a typical warm sunny Namibian day.  I’m sitting outside on a learner chair, relaxing on this Sunday.  I’d actually rather be at sport right now, at a tournament a few towns over.  I feel quite invested in the teams, helping in the training and attending almost all the games. But, my stomach is killing me.  For the past three days, my digestive system has been a champion, taking on whatever food I shovel in. 

            We had an entrepreneurship day on Thursday, where learners set up stands, mostly of food, and sold them to other students and teachers.  I tackled all the traditional foods, enjoying them thoroughly.  This ranged from bread, which looks like a grayish rock and at times, you may be thinking you are chewing a rock because of the sand, but it actually has a slightly sweet flavor.  The beer is made for sorghum and had a sour yet pleasant taste.  The chicken as always, was delicious, smothered in oniony oil.

            My stomach did not quit on me though and continued feasting into the weekend, during the school bazaar.  Again, the bazaar is basically a large open market type fundraiser.  However, it wasn’t entirely organized, for many reasons that I will not mention here, so the school actually came out in the red. 

            I worked the bar inside a large vacant room with a chest freezer.  I also helped prepare salads (thanks Greers!) and attend to some organizational tasks.  The few teachers who showed up worked hard and made up a bunch of miscellaneous foods, like the ones I mentioned above, potato salad, coleslaw, etc.  The meat here is a bit different, not cut into fine cuts, but basically slabs.  So, you chew and take in a lot of fat.  Add the oil, mayonnaise, salt, and any other liquid besides water (there wasn’t any), and my stomach is knocked out. 

            You may be asking yourself, “Why didn’t you just stop eating or politely decline.”  Both of those things are very hard to do.  The Namibians love it when I eat their food.  Seeing some white person take a sip off their traditional beer makes them almost keel over with laughter and pride at the same time.  Each person with a different recipe wants me to try theirs, because theirs, of course, is the best.  In broken Oshiwambo, I cannot fully explain that my stomach is cursing me to hell right now. So I smile, take it, have a few bites, sips, and if I’m lucky can maybe pass it on to someone else.  Also, food is precious here.  I shouldn’t even be complaining of being over full.  It is a sign of appreciation when someone offers you their food.  Paired with their generosity and them thanking you for being here and teaching, it is difficult to turn them down.

            So, now I sit.  I did washing and when I say I, I mean mostly the girls did my washing, and read (currently, The Fiery Trial).  I’ll go for a walk soon on one of the thousands (no exaggeration) of paths that meander through the bush. Relax and plan out my last two weeks here and fall asleep once it gets dark.

-In addition

I was sitting outside the other night, doing some reading.  Another girl sat outside with me.  It was dark out, so the stars were bright as ever.  Then all of a sudden she said, “tala!” or “look!” I looked and saw nothing different in the night sky.  “What is it?” I asked.  “An aeroplane!”

In northern Namibia, it is not common to see planes in the sky.  I haven’t even really noticed, I’ve just been mesmerized by the beauty of the sky.  But I guess half the beauty is because it is almost like it hasn’t been touched.  You rarely see any blinking planes cruising over, leaving only the twinkling of the stars and maybe a satellite.  So for the Namibian’s here, a plane is something that is pretty amazing.  When I talk about how I got here, they always have many questions about the plane ride. Little things like these make me realize how different our lives and cultures are sometimes.