Week Seven: Nujoma and the Namib

by Lolita Schalekamp and Hannah Johnson

Reflecting back on the week that just ended, we have to appreciate the various ways in which we’re able to learn here at CGEE. This week alone, among many other field trips, we had the opportunity to visit one of Namibia’s most important monuments and think critically about the problematic ways in which a nation’s history can be represented. Before the week’s end, we also got to travel into the world’s oldest desert to learn about sustainable living.

At beginning of the week, our group had the opportunity of visiting the Heroes’ Acre outside Windhoek. This monument honors the heroes and heroines of the liberation struggle in Namibia, and operates for the purpose of “fostering a spirit of patriotism and nationalism, and to pass on the legacy to the future generations of Namibia.” We learned that this site is not only a memorial, but also hosts many events, particularly army demonstrations. Heroes’ Acre currently contains 174 tombs for the courageous men and women in the fight for independence. Not all of the tombs are filled, but as the heroes pass away, spaces will be reserved for them.

One of the questions that arose from our tour was what are qualifications in choosing who gets to be buried at Heroes Acre? As our tour guide explained, the criteria was not always transparent, as many families of leaders in the liberation struggle would like for their loved ones to be buried at the monument. Indeed, this process has sparked controversy within some circles.

Statue of the Unknown Soldier at Heroes Acre

The monument itself consists of a marble obelisk and a bronze statue of the “Unknown Soldier.” Upon seeing the statue, its resemblance to Sam Nujoma is striking. Although our guide stated that the soldier is not modeled after anyone in particular, the statue has come under criticism for being a tribute to Sam Nujoma himself. Since Nujoma is the founding president of the independent nation, along with being the initiator of Heroes’ Acre, this theory seems relevant.

Another one of the group’s iniquities regarded the architecture of Heroes’ Acre. Compared with other monuments in Namibia, the architecture felt foreign. The grandiose nature of the obelisk is characteristic of Stalinist Empire style or Socialist Classicism. After some research, we learned that North Korea was given a N$60 million contract to build the monument. This has rightfully made many ask: where were the Namibian architects in the construction of their ‘national’ monument?

This leads to the next point: the collaboration of world leaders in the struggle for Namibian independence. As a part of Racism and Resistance class, we became increasingly aware of the parallel development of the SWAPO/SWANU political ideology alongside the PLAN military wing. North Korea’s support of the liberation movement is not as surprising as one might perceive. In fact, many communist nations such as the USSR, Cuba, and North Korea contributed aid to the Communist Party in Namibia, which in turn has strong ties to SWAPO’s formation. This could be interpreted as geopolitical strategy of Communist countries in the context of the Cold War, or from the Namibian perspective, a lack of support from international governing bodies such as the United Nations.

Namib Desert Environmental Education Trust (NaDEET)

As the weekend approached, we packed our sleeping bags, lathered ourselves in sunscreen, and trucked our way toward the desert where we had the privilege to stay at the Namib Desert Environmental Education Trust (NaDEET) Centre. NaDEET lies in the dune valley of the Namib Desert and serves as a place for people of all ages, but more specifically school children, to properly practice eco-sustainability. NaDEET is a non-profit, non governmental organization whose mission is to protect the natural environment of Namibia by educating its citizens to practice sustainable lifestyle. We were immediately greeted by the warm sun and soft sand, where we hiked over a few dunes to reach our base.  

Spectacular sand waves in the Namib Desert!

The entire weekend was full of fun and hands-on learning. We discussed sustainable energy and water, where we monitored our water use and discovered that the centre was fueled by solar energy, discussed waste management and nature conservation. Water conservation was one of the largest topics of conversation. It is undeniable that water is the basis of all life on Earth, however Namibia has a limited freshwater supply and labeled one of the most dry countries in sub-Saharan Africa. Being in Southern Africa, we have learned to be more mindful of our water use and waste. NaDEET introduced a variety of ways to reduce our water use, including implementing bucket showers. The bucket showers reduce shower time and water waste. We have returned to CGEE house with the mindset to take shorter showers and investigate what it would take to have dual flushing toilets. In fact, the average toilet flush uses over ten litres of water per flush. If we introduce a low flush or dual flush toilet in our home, we would reduce our water waste by 2-3 liters of water each flush. As discussed at NaDEET, in a five person household, this can lead to saving nearly 200 liters of water per week!

The delicious end result!

Our homemade pizzas cooking
in the solar ovens! 

The true fun began around lunch time, where we prepared food as a community and made homemade pizzas in the solar ovens. The fierce Namibian sun fueled the solar ovens and naturally, eliminates the use of gas, electricity, or wood and produces zero pollution (solar cookers baking our homemade pizzas and the end result shown in the pictures).

After a walking tour of the dunes, observing the tracks and droppings of the diverse ecology and wildlife in the desert, and sand boarding, we finally caught the breathtaking stars!  Namibia’s NamibRand Nature Reserve, which is one of Africa’s largest nature reserves, remains one of the naturally most dark places on Earth. NaDEET aims to protect the environment and educate guests, and this includes understanding how we have contributed to all forms of pollution. Attached is a link shared at NaDEET of a short video called “Losing the Dark” by the International Dark Sky Association regarding light pollution and solutions. https://youtu.be/dd82jaztFIo

CGEE students after a successful evening sand boarding
in the stunning Namib Desert.

Our group was split up along three different houses, therefore when the weekend came to a close we were elated to compare our water and electricity usage with our friends (a good ol’ competition was a great way to spark environmentally sustainable habits!) Upon returning to Windhoek, we reflected on ways we can promote sustainable living but also practicing what we learned. Some are proposing solar cooking to their internships to combat the issue of expensive electric bills as some of us are researching dual flush toilets. The program was the perfect balance between educational and entertaining!

In short, during our visit to Heroes’ Acre and NaDEET, we learned to think critically about issues of memorializing a country’s history, in addition to more contemporary questions on how to build a sustainable and environmentally conscious society. In both cases, there is an inherent politicization that is ultimately involved in the process, whether that be foreign outbidding in the construction of a national monument or access and availability of environmentally friendly practices. As we learned at NaDEET, the only way to truly make a difference as a socially conscious community is to actually practice what we learn; through an increase in knowledge comes a responsibility to create spaces of dialogue that address these issues.

Week Six: Realities of Reconciliation: Acknowledging complicity amidst a deafening silence

by Kitty McGirr & Emily Owens 

Between 1904 and 1908, German colonial forces conducted a massacre of 110,000 Herero and Nama people in Namibia—the scale and sheer brutality of which constituted the first genocide of the 20th century, and the practices of which laid basis for yet another genocide 30 years later in Holocaust Germany. More than a 100 years after this systematic extermination occurred, Germany has only recently agreed to recognize the genocide in a formal admission of historical guilt. 112 years for an apology. 112 years for acknowledgement. 112 years for no trials, no truth commissions, and most pertinently, no reparations for an annihilation order that wiped out 70% of the Herero and 50% of the Nama tribes’ entire populations. Our first speaker of the week, Uruanaani ‘Scara’ Matundu, a local lawyer and scholar on the Ovaherero genocide, shared with us his conviction that reparations remain the most suitable political response to the mass violence perpetrated by the Germans in Namibia. His was an advocacy radically inclusive in nature. Indeed, as a Namibian born in exile in Botswana himself, Scara was keen to underline to us the necessity of justice being instituted to all Herero and Nama people, irrespective of whether they were living in Namibia or were still residing further afield in the countries to which they had been exiled.

Mural displayed at the Independence Memorial Museum
in Windhoek— a space dedicated to the acknowledgement of
Namibian historical events such as the genocide and the
commemoration of Namibia’s journey to independence. 

As it stands, Germany is refusing to enter into discussions about the payment of reparations to Namibia, proposing that it provide developmental aid packages as an alternative form of redress for past atrocities instead. The allure of foreign aid has tended to quell any contributions by the Namibian government in furthering reparation initiatives on the ground due to the widely held belief that demanding redress in any other form would threaten the country’s preexisting dependence on foreign monetary support. To compound this lack of official support on an institutional and governmental level, Scara lamented the distinct lack of white, and specifically German, allyship in his and other Herero and Nama-speaking people’s struggle for economic recompense. I felt especially galvanized by the fact that not one German person sat on the reparations committee with Scara. Namibia, in contrast to its South African neighbor, chose to engage in a policy of silent forgiveness subsequent to the overturning of apartheid. No Truth and Reconciliation Project was conducted within its borders after independence. Instead, the common refrain has been one of unity and forgiveness, of inclusive rhetoric that asserts with the utmost conviction “we are all Namibians now.” Yet in spite of black Namibia’s almost supernatural capacity to forgive centuries of white racial violence, the majority of white Namibians have yet to truly earn that forgiveness by struggling to secure justice for their fellow citizens. I am struck by the audacity of white silence and inaction in the Namibian reparation struggle, but I am perhaps more confounded by the sheer consistency of complicity with injustice that whites continue to exhibit in other global contexts, including that of my own home.

As difficult as it can be to admit, we as individuals grapple with these same issues on a daily basis- and oftentimes, we fail to meet them with integrity. We lie complacent in our circumstances of relative privilege and comfort, while simultaneously remaining complicit as beneficiaries of a network of systems that deny so many others the same comfort we enjoy. Communities in the States, particularly white communities, equally fall into Scara’s categorization of inaction: we deny, we sometimes empathize, but very rarely do we act. What do long overdue reparations for communities of color mean for us on an individual level? What do our claims to support racial equity truly mean if our “support” is contingent on our own sense of security in an unwavering systemic advantage? What effect would recognizing the significance of these reparations for ourselves—to move past denial and empathy, into a trajectory of intentional action and solidarity—have on our communities, our societies, our national and global interactions? And beyond clear instances of marginalization and visibly unjust circumstances, just how often do we commit this disparaging complicity within our everyday lives?

Herbert Jaunch, an active force in the promotion of equity within Namibian trade and labor unions, provided our group with yet another avenue for critical thinking on this topic through his presentation on the influence of Chinese foreign investment on both the Namibian economy and labor force. Jaunch cited numerous instances of unethical wages, exploitative practices, and an overall lack of concern for the wellbeing of Namibian citizens enacted in the name of profit and economic growth. These human rights violations are not unique to the case of Chinese investment; when we choose to examine our own government’s foreign investments and even our individual purchases, we easily uncover an ongoing history of corruption- a history which we continue to write through our everyday capitalistic entanglements. Yet again, we are forced to acknowledge the significance behind our silence—while we can profess our disgust toward injustice and exploitation, we are concurrently supporting corporations and labor practices that drive this inequality through actions as simple as visiting the grocery store. 

So where does it ever end? How can we even begin to detach ourselves from what seems to be an inescapable network of chaos?

The reality of reconciliation is that none of us truly know the right way to reconcile. We glorify the concept of reparation without ever pausing to acknowledge or attempting to repair the broken perceptions that exist within ourselves. It is when we not only recognize, but push forward through our silence that we begin to combat our own complicity—in turn, ultimately coming to terms with the vital role we each must occupy in shaping a more just global society. 

Sources: 

Uruanaani ‘Scara’ Matundu, Namibian lawyer and scholar on the Ovaherero genocide; conversation on September 20, 2016 in Windhoek, Namibia. 

Herbert Jaunch, trade and labor union activist; conversation on September 23, 2016 in Windhoek, Namibia. 

Week Four: Hooked on Windhoek: Introduction to Namibia

by Jeremiah Chamberlin & Hannah Johnson

At the beginning of the week, the CGEE group had the opportunity to engage with students from the University of Namibia (UNAM) in an informal discussion. This became an invaluable experience; for many of us, it was the first time we were able to interact with Namibian peers and dually analyze some the experiences that have shaped our lives as students. The topics of discussion ranged from our favorite hobbies and involvement in campus life, to deeper issues such as racism and discrimination on campus.

One of the topics that emerged from conversation are the barriers to accessing education at the collegiate level. For many of us at CGEE, we echoed the idea that financial considerations present the largest challenge in the United States, compounded by the realities of institutional racism and economically diverse backgrounds. From the perspective of the UNAM students, race did not play as important a role in college choice and acceptance rate. However, they did emphasize the role of the education system in Namibia, especially concerning regions outside of Windhoek. It was surprising to learn that the quality of teachers and curriculums is low in many regions, and this has impacted the demographics of students that attend college. For example, particularly in the Northern regions, teachers are underpaid and schools are understaffed. From both the US and Namibian perspectives, we were surprised on how many similarities we were able to draw between education systems.

On Tuesday, our group spilt into subgroups to explore the various facets that Katutura, a former black township in Windhoek, has to offer. We received itineraries for the day and were accompanied by guides from Young Achievers, a local youth organization. On this ‘Katutura Quest,’ we visited a diversity of both government and non-government organizations and programs that are involved in the community. One such program is the Katutura Community Arts Center, which is open to the public. Within the arts center is the College of the Arts (COTA).

During our tour, we had the opportunity to sit in on a staff/student meeting where the changing financial policies of the college were discussed. Many of the challenges that small colleges face while moving forward are connected to some of the topics we discussed with the UNAM students on Monday regarding education. Among the concerns is the increasing cost of tuition as a government-subsidized college, which has put pressure on many students of low-income backgrounds.

In our interview with Joost Van de Port, head of the Media Department at COTA, he explained that the college and students need be able to gain more agency to receive national recognition from the state. Currently, COTA is not listed under the Ministry of Education, and therefore, not seen as a priority. As Van de Port explains, the college is in the process of gaining status to be listed under the Ministry of Education, which allows greater funding for the college, particularly from the National Arts Council. Van de Port claims that media literacy, particularly under the department of the Media, Arts, and Technology, is crucial for all Namibians to learn. 

Those of us with internships began officially on Wednesday, with a full day at our individual organizations. These included The Namibian Chamber of Commerce, Planned Parenthood, Namibian Women’s Health Network, Friendly Haven (for victims of domestic violence), along with a number of others. Because many of these organizations work with vulnerable populations, these first few days of interning were emotional for some individuals. For a few of us this meant hearing heartbreaking stories of domestic abuse; for others, it means coming face to face with the inadequate funding and understaffing of specific educational institutions. Naturally, it’s not all negative; there are organizations like Sister Namibia which are doing incredible work to empower Namibian women in surprising ways, while simultaneously challenging gender stereotypes. Collectively, these shared experiences are giving us a fuller, more complex understanding of the Namibian story.

One of the highlights of this week would have to be Thursday’s ‘Community Day’, held at the Elisenheim Guest Farm. While we may have complained about waking up early, the day became an insightful opportunity to reflect on our experiences. The day also gave us the chance to get closer to those we are sharing our experiences with, especially other members of the CGEE staff (specifically Evelyn, Jenobie, Sarah, and Passat). Initially playing games like ‘Seven’ (learned from our Katatura tour guides), the day began on a relaxed, informal note. We shared simple secrets about ourselves, like facts about our families or our favorite memories. It was a welcome reprieve from the emotionally intense schedule of Johannesburg. 

Elisenheim Guest Farm on Community Day.
ables are set up for our various identity stations.

However, as the activities progressed, the subject matter became much more personal. Entering ‘identity stations’, individuals were asked to share in small groups their personal feelings on aspects of their identity, such as race, religion, sexual orientation or gender identity, class, and nationality. Many of us were reduced to tears in the process of hearing each other’s deeply held thoughts and emotions, yet the overall sentiment was one of openness and acceptance. 

Friday marked the first day of actual class: Race and Resistance in Southern Africa and the US taught by Albertina. This included a field trip to the Owela Museum, which records the lifestyles, cultures and practices of Namibia’s indigenous tribes. The museum also addresses some of the injustices faced by these groups, like those suffered by the San people. Dubbed ‘Bushmen’ by early German colonizers, members of the San were considered evidence of the ‘missing link’ theory connecting apes and humans. In an effort to record data on what they considered an evolutionarily incomplete group, German ‘scientists’ made molds and casts of San people’s faces and body parts. Skewed information was then published, propagating racist narratives of white supremacy which are sadly still influential even today.

Molds of actual San people created for the Germans'
racist interpretation of the 'missing link' theory.

Despite the tragic reality of colonization and discrimination, the Owela museum remains an important place for appreciating Namibian history and heritage. Named after a board game common among many Namibian tribes (similar to Mancala), Owela stands as both a tangible and symbolic representation of the larger Namibian identity. The shared story of the nation is as beautifully haunting as the unique communal experiences which are braided into its past. As we acclimate ourselves to this new environment, we begin our journey backwards in time to the tumultuous formative age of disillusionment.

Week Ten: Confronting Contradictions

by: Sydney Wipperfurth, Rich Wehman III, Emily Simpson

Following our rewarding weeklong rural homestay, the CGEE students were off for another Namibian adventure! Our group had the privilege of visiting Etosha National Park, which is located in northwestern Namibia and widely considered to be one of the world’s finest game reserves. In the company of Ovambo traders (who probably discovered this region before the Europeans, but who writes history amirite?), Europeans Charles Andersson and Francis Galton “first discovered” the region in 1851 (http://www.etoshanationalpark.org/history). Etosha is loosely translated as “Great White Place” in the Ovambo language because of a massive mineral pan, part of the Kalahari Basin that covers around 25% of the national park. Renowned as one of Africa’s finest conservation areas, Etosha serves as a refuge for large herds of plains’ animals, several rare and endangered species, and richly diverse birdlife. This beautiful national park has a plethora of springs and waterholes where an abundance of wildlife typically congregates. The animals of Etosha are of the southern savanna plains of Africa, and large herds of springbok, zebra, gemsbok, blue wildebeest, giraffe, and elephant roam the plains. The numbers of animals can vary considerably depending on factors such as migration patterns, the condition of the veld, and the availability of water. 

One highlight of the trip would have to be when our group visited the Okaukuejo waterhole, noted as one of the best watering holes during the dry season. All of the students saw elephants, springbok, Burchell’s zebra, and giraffe, amongst others, during our short, yet eventful visit to the site. Perhaps the most exhilarating moment of the game drives occurred when the group spotted a cheetah far off into the distance. Although Namibia boasts one of the world’s largest populations of free roaming cheetah, there are a relatively small number of them found in Etosha. Our group was fortunate enough to witness this beautiful animal gracefully trot towards our vehicle, truly a breathtaking experience!

Etosha National Park during the drought in Namibia

After our game drives, we arrived at the Mokuti Lodge, where we would be staying for the night; our group was welcomed with wet towels and glasses of grape juice (the wet towels were welcome relief from the brutal heat making us feel like we were melting). After entering the front doors, we discovered the lodge was outrageously extravagant. A vast juxtaposition to our experience a week prior, when we got off of the vans in Outapi, Namibia to the warm and welcoming smiles of our rural host-families. This juxtaposition stemmed from the extreme differences in resource availability and resource accessibility. Our rural homestay families, while there was variance, had significantly limited access to basic amenities like running water or electricity, if any at all. The Mokuti Lodge had air conditioning, running water, electricity, television, a pool, and a full, expensive, buffet for dinner, to name a few.

The differences in these environments stirred many conversations, questioning and critiquing the privilege that each of us possess. Although we understand that the program usually stays at a campsite in Etosha and that there were no spots open, the fact that we had the ability to stay in the lodges shows the mobility and privilege we have access to. We were able to choose to live the life of our families in rural Namibia, however, a week later, were able to leave that environment and exchange it for a much more excessive lifestyle in Etosha. The ability to make this transition felt heavy as we reflected our incredible experiences at our homestays and on the stark contrast between the two lifestyles we were living. 

Richard taking a little nap
so he has enough energy to
look at the beauty of
Etosha National Park!

Furthermore, our stay at the lodge highlighted an excessive use of resources, namely water, providing a dramatic contrast between our previous week at our homestays. For instance, during our homestays, many students noticed that their families use water extremely sparingly, ensuring that every single drop is being used. Given the current drought that is affecting Southern Africa, our families did not have much of an option for their water use. However, we were surrounded by water when we arrived at our lodge. All of our rooms had large, luxurious showers, seemingly enticing all visitors to take lengthy showers (tip to the folks back home: shorten your showers!) Additionally, the lodge had TWO pools, filled with the same water that had been so precious and valuable to us just one day ago.

However, we did not experience a dramatic ecosystem change from our homestays to Etosha. If anything, Outapi, with its green grasses and trees, seemed to have more water than the dry landscape of Etosha. So where was all this water coming from? I cannot even begin to imagine how much water is consumed per day at the lodge, and consequently how quickly the groundwater is being depleted. Given everything we have learned about the drought severity in Namibia, this groundwater depletion is especially concerning. Yet this resource depletion is the reality for many tourist destinations, where lodges are focused on ensuring that visitors are comfortable- even at the cost of the environment. 

An intentional community of elephants in Etosha National Park

In the context of Etosha, this reality is especially frustrating, since Etosha provides visitors with an opportunity to appreciate nature and all the wildlife diversity it has to offer. Etosha itself is notable for its conservation efforts, and yet visitors oftentimes live in a contradictory manner. This inconsistency makes it seems as if we are only focused on protecting ecosystems when it is for our own benefit, such as the recreational opportunities provided by game reserves.

These spaces we were existing in were complicated and contradictory. They forced us to reflect on and complicate our environment. But doing so is never an easy task. Although our environment was physically comfortable, confronting these contradictions is extremely uncomfortable and emotionally heavy. But it is also important to acknowledge these feelings, so that we are better able to understand our role in this world.

Week Fourteen: Coming Home

By: Rachel Briegel

Today I decided to go into town, both to do some last minute souvenir shopping for friends and family and, more importantly, to figure out how I am ever going to leave this incredible country, and the people I’ve come to know as my Namibian family. With some money, a book, and my journal in tow, I headed to one of my favorite areas of Windhoek, The Craft Center. Here I perused the shops and made some purchases before settling into a café to think over the upcoming week, our last here in Windhoek.

As I nibbled on the piece of carrot cake I’d ordered for my breakfast, I looked over the balcony of the café at this lovely city I’ve become so familiar with. I thought about the handful of people I recognized on my short stroll through the shops, of the woman who greeted me with a “Wa la le po nawa” and smiled as I responded with an “Eyeh”. I thought of how I hailed a taxi to cross the city, something three months ago I would have been completely uncomfortable doing; of the blanket of heat that stuck to my body, once so foreign, now a familiar companion despite my constant state of sunburn. Slowly, my mind starts to withdraw deeper into itself, and my fork pauses midway through the soft cake.

Before I came on this trip, I was told by various friends and family members that I would have predicable bouts of homesickness- that I would look at a map and see how far from home I was and panic. Looking back, I realize that never happened to me. It’s probably for a combination of reasons, but besides feeling so at home in Windhoek, I think it’s because I just haven’t had time to be homesick. Ever since we got off the plane in Johannesburg, we have been constantly learning and engaging with this community. I’ve been on rooftops discussing Southern Africa’s history, in churches that stood up for social change (and against it), and in communities where whole neighborhoods share a single water pump. I’ve felt my eyes sting with tears listening to children sing about Universal Children’s Rights, and an activist for HIV/Aids survivors discussing the inhuman acts committed against these people. I’ve been on top of mountains and waterfalls, and frolicked through oceans and sand dunes. For these three short months I’ve felt more fulfilled that perhaps the past twenty years. My whole world view has changed, and I feel as if Namibia has molded me into a completely new person.

I thought I was very privileged to not have to battle homesickness while on my trip, but recently I’ve found out I had prejudged myself. Just a few nights ago I wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t sleep so I started walking around the house. I ended up on our balcony looking up at the dark sky speckled with stars, and suddenly sank to the floor clutching the railing, overwhelmed with emotion, wondering how I was ever going to leave this place? I had finally gotten hit with homesickness, but it was for a home I hadn’t even left yet.

A group selfie with some of the gang in front of Parliament.

This morning I had purposely set off by myself in the hopes of thinking through these things, and although I am normally a fairly independent person, it was very strange being alone in this cafe. For the past three months I have been constantly surrounded by a group of intelligent, compassionate, and extremely thoughtful individuals. I can’t quite remember what my first impressions of them were, but thinking back before I knew any of them, my only hopes were that they would be kind, and interested in the things I was interested in. My hopes have been tremendously exceeded. With this small group I have witnessed both human tragedies, and some of the most beautiful sights in the world. Together we have cried and raged, laughed and danced. We have shared our inner demons, and future aspirations. Because of these people, their wise observations and our late night conversations under the stars, I have become a better and stronger person. Undeniably, another reason I’ve become so painfully homesick for Namibia is that when I leave 5 Simpson St., I will also have to leave behind these wonderful individuals.

Despite these troubling thoughts, I know I must return home. It would be selfish to remain in this country, where I have learned an immense amount and contributed only slightly. Namibia does not need me here as much as I wish it did. I have learned throughout this semester that the best way I can help this country, any area of the world that has a terrible history of oppression, is to return home and tell my friends, my family, and my classmates about all I have learned and seen. And I know I will not be alone with this quest, as I will have six very good friends off in their separate areas of America spreading the same message.

Our home for the semester.

I quickly finish scribbling my thoughts in my journal as the waitress comes to pick up my plate with the messy remains of the carrot cake. Getting up to pay the bill, I smile genuinely as I am now able to see not just my present state of bliss, but my entire future much more clearly. With a new found resolve and heavy bags of souvenirs, I return back to my home at 5 Simpson St. ready to fully embrace this final week of the semester that changed my life. 

  

To my dear friends, and others who might be struggling to figure out how to conduct their lives in this harsh world we live in, I’d like to end our semester’s blog with a quote from Maya Angelou: “My wish for you is that you continue. Continue to be who and how you are, to astonish a mean world with your acts of kindness. Continue to allow humor to lighten the burden of your tender heart.”

Just keep on keeping on, kids.

Peace.

Week Thirteen: Finding an Antidote to Hopelessness

By: Emily Campbell

Three months ago, we sat in a large Methodist Church in the center of Cape Town, transfixed by the words of Reverend Alan Storey. The insights he shared have stuck with our group throughout our time in Southern Africa and this week, his idea that we are “addicted to hope,” ran through my head again and again. Right now, I feel pretty hopeless. Every time I read a headline, I seem to lose faith in the world we live in. Terrorist attacks in Paris, civilians taken hostage at a hotel in Mali, dozens of American governors refusing to accept Syrian refugees, people denying the existence of racism on college campuses, and close to home for many of us, the shooting of Jamar Clark in Minneapolis. The world didn’t give me much to be hopeful about this week.

As all of these events continue to fill my newsfeed and consume my time as I read about them. I have felt stagnant. I’ve spent the semester learning about social change, about development, racism, and resistance. And yet I couldn’t seem to find any way that what I’ve learned here could create meaningful change in a world that seems so broken.  Maybe Alan Storey was right. I am addicted to hope, and without it, I struggle to see any path to progress. 

On Tuesday, we had our final development class in which we read “Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence” a speech Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. gave in April, 1967. The speech seemed incredibly relevant to our present day situation. And instead of giving me hope, the speech only seemed to further push me into the spiral of hopelessness. Why, nearly 50 years after Dr. King so poignantly warned us about “being on the wrong side of a revolution,” do we continue to make the same mistakes? King wrote, “this is the role our nation has taken, the role of those who make peaceful revolution impossible by refusing to give up the privileges.” When I read this, I wasn’t thinking of Vietnam. I was thinking of each of the headlines I’d read that morning and asking myself why we aren’t moving forward. 

As my knowledge of South African and Namibian history has grown, I’ve learned about two countries that have made a lot of progress in only a few decades. Both countries have grown significantly since freeing themselves of apartheid rule in the early nineties. But as we’ve learned how much things have changed, we’ve also learned how little things have actually changed. Both nations exist in a state of “economic apartheid.” While racially biased laws are no longer in place, little has been done to change the economic situation of formally oppressed people. As such, I could probably replace the term “formally oppressed people” with the phrase “historically and presently oppressed people.” I want to take the title “Rainbow Nation” at face value, but my time in Southern Africa has shown me how similar Namibia, South Africa, and the United States are in their inability to truly establish racial and economic equality.  

Annie and I attempt to overcome hopelessness by working with
a coalition that seeks an end to gender-based violence.
[Designs by Annie Dierberger]

In my search to rediscover hope, I sought out local activists. Annie and I began volunteering with Women’s Solidarity Namibia, an organization that we visited for class a few weeks earlier. They’re currently preparing for 16 Days of Activism, a worldwide event that draws attention to gender-based and sexual violence. We designed promotional materials and prepared a newsletter for the organization. As I did research for their newsletter, I read statistic after statistic that told me that gender-based violence both in Southern Africa and worldwide is not dissipating, but rather growing in its prevalence. Despite the hard work of people the world over, this devastating problem continues to worsen. Reading these statistics slowly chipped away at the hope I held in a system of grassroots activism. 

And so as we sat in development, discussing Dr. King’s speech, current events, and the inevitable reality that soon we’ll be boarding a plane back to the United States, I reflected on my inabilities to see the positive in a world that seems to continually highlight the negative. But, as they have every other time I’ve dramatically claimed the world is falling apart, my classmates reminded me that this world is not hopeless. For every heartbreaking headline I read and every racist post I saw on Facebook, there was a headline about activists promoting justice and change, a classmate who had chosen to take action where they saw injustice in our world. Women’s Solidarity Namibia may not have ended gender-based violence, but through a staff of two people, they have managed to provide shelter to survivors of violence, to educate men and women alike about preventing violence, and to lobby in parliament for legal change. Small things like these began to pour some light into the darkness that had consumed my worldview. Maybe these people are clinging to the hope I seem to have lost or maybe they too feel a little hopeless, but have refused to let their hopeless justify inaction. Ultimately, I don’t think being addicted to hope is a bad thing. Without hope, we may all end up in that spiral of hopelessness and inaction in which I have felt trapped. 

We attempt to overcome hopelessness by standing with
protesters back home, even when we’re 12,000 miles away. 

I had intended to end this blog post with a hopeful and somewhat cheesy story of finding hope in a broken world. But instead, I’d like to end it with a call to action. If you’re feeling hopeless, do not succumb to the darkness in the world around you, but find hope through action, through surrounding yourself with people who truly seek to address the problems they see. March with Black Lives Matter. Write your representatives about taking in Syrian refugees. Design promotional material for an NGO about which you feel passionate. Allow yourself to occasionally wallow in hopelessness, but do not let it trap you. As Gertrude Stein once said “the artist's job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.” Whatever your antidote may be, it’s time to start pursuing it.

Week Twelve: Here and Now

By: Amanda Knipple

To start out the week, we had our Community Meeting on Sunday evening. Grace and I were this week’s community leaders and we (okay well, mostly I) requested that everyone come dressed as a political figure of their choice. This combined some of my favorite things about our group: our knowledge of and willingness to discuss politics, and of course our sense of humor. With very short notice and very limited wardrobes, our group pulled together a lovely hodge-podge of political figures. It’s been a running joke among our group that I’ll be running for president in 2044 so we all laughed when Grace showed up dressed like me.

Left to right: Former Presidents Bill Clinton, Jimmy Carter
and George W. Bush, Future President Amanda Knipple.

We’ve reached that point in the semester where we’re beginning to look towards home. Obligations call us away from Windhoek as we busy ourselves with picking next semester’s classes and housing, and as we try to apply for spring or summer jobs in the ever competitive US job market. It’s a struggle to remember to be present in the here and the now when life so constantly demands that you keep moving forward. Among the barrage of 'what’s next for you', there lies the pressure to constantly know where life is taking you and what your next step is. But there’s a beauty in not knowing and a peace in admitting that you don’t need to know right now.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the future, but I am convinced that this trip has changed the way I see it, and the way that I approach it. I’ve had all my power taken away while at the mercy of my rural homestay parents, in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by a language that I don’t speak. I’ve seen problems that have no easy solutions, as well as well-meaning solutions that not even begin to address the true problems. I’ve learned that it’s not always my place to have an answer. I’ve become content with not knowing.

One of the highlights of this week was a panel that our lovely internship teacher Linda put together for us. She searched all over Windhoek for Americans that are living and working here and rounded them up so they could tell us their stories. What they had to say really solidified the idea that there is no right or wrong way to go about living your life. Everybody on that panel had a different story, took a different path, and wound up doing amazing things over the course of their life (and are still going!) Sometimes a normal course of action won’t be the one that fits into your life. It’s okay to chase that outrageous dream you have. It’s okay to not go down the road that you are expected to. It’s okay to not know what’s next, because you still have now.

It’s a topic that has come up a few times before this: being present in what you’ve been given and not taking things for granted.  We all know how lucky we are just to be here.  It’s an opportunity that we will most likely never have again. Many of us don’t know what we’re doing next. Of course, we could probably tell you what classes we’re taking next semester, and that we plan to graduate college, but that’s probably about it. We have issues that we care about, and I can tell you that we’re all passionate people, but the paths that we are going to embark on are still a mystery.

But that’s okay.

In 2044, you might see me running for president. Maybe I’ll be married with kids. Maybe I’ll follow the lead of the panelists and work overseas somewhere. The world is full of possibilities and I’m glad that we’re choosing not to limit ourselves. Let me tell you, this group is going to do amazing things. They’re change makers.

But for now, we can’t focus on that. We can’t lose sight of the small amount of time that we have left together. There are projects to finish, conversations to be had, places to go, and jokes to be made. Windhoek will be here forever, but we won’t. In the wise (or not so wise-you decide) words of our resident philosopher/advisor Attila: “this is the future.”  With only three weeks left, I plan on living out every moment and not letting anything go to waste. Next semester can wait. The rest of my life doesn’t have to be planned. I’m content to just pass the time with these amazing people that I’m surrounded with.