Life on the Farm

By: Camryn C.

Since the time I found out I would be studying in Southern Africa there was this anticipation in the schedule ahead for our rural homestay. This year the homestay took place on a farm in Khorixas, Namibia. The Center for Global Education and Experience (CGEE), does a phenomenal job in preparing us ahead of time for our stay, answering any questions or concerns we may have. This adventure that I embarked on was seriously a once in a lifetime opportunity. I got the chance to live in a rural setting for a whole week.

I am plucking and cooking a chicken for Easter.

During this week I got to prepare meals, enjoy fellowship with other neighbors on the farm, learn a new language, and truly ask deep questions about their lifestyle. As a Social Work and Political Science major it was so interesting to me to realize that due to the education here and where they  are located they don’t have a clear idea of politics in the United States let alone Namibia. Many of these families have lived on the farm for generations, and their lifestyle is really all they know. As a Social Work major I did find it quite interesting in the realm of adoption that they actually don’t believe in legally adopting someone else’s child in to their own family. However, there household often consists of much extended family due to where certain jobs are located. For instance, in my home my mom’s friend has 5 kids between the ages of 1 and 17 who she hasn’t seen in months because they live with her husband in the city for the purpose of school and work; but she did have some of her neighbors children live with her full time.

A living space at the Damara Living Museum.

I found it very interesting that although the gender roles at the farm are very traditional the father gets full custody of the kids during a married couples split. They believe since the children are under the males last name custody should go to him. On the other hand, if the two were not married the mother had to keep the children as the children were only seen as hers by the public. Education was also something that was discussed often in my house.

Completing 12th grade was rare but often the highest level of education from any one I had met. My mom attending stopped school in 10th grade but not by choice she was bitten by a deadly snake when she was 14, and was hospitalized and in a wheelchair for 4 straight years. She told me at that age it was very hard to go back and most people didn’t think a young girl had to focus so much on education when there were so many other roles she played. Such as, at age 10 most women were taught how to cook and clean and take care of their younger siblings. As well as taking care of the home, that was a big thing many women took pride in. It was much more than a home to the women, a lot of the times they had done work to the house or re-built it themselves.

I was very impressed with the encouragement my family gave me to learn. On the days that CGEE picked us up to learn outside the farm my mom always asked me questions about what I learned and related it back to the own personal knowledge she knew. For example, after coming back from the Damara Living Museum my mom talked to me about the indigenous people of Namibia, one being the San people. The San people have been touched on throughout my history class, my mom referred to them as the Bushmen. It was neat to see it all illustrated first hand; the hut and lifestyle of hunting and gathering that they lived in. Then to hear it from my mom first hand. She could even remember when there name got changed after Namibian independence from Bushmen to San, “rope making” people.

Me and my mom's friend on Easter.

The rural homestay took place the week of Easter Sunday, which was so cool to see their traditions lived out. I got to experience what my family wore, attend gatherings they held with other community farms, and their church services. It was truly so beautiful to see them worship in their own language, although some parts of the community may speak a different language they all come together to celebrate as one. I loved being included in the cooking preparation and conversations before the Easter celebration. They were truly so patient with me as I attempted to learn their language and practice holding conversations.

The rural homestay was unlike anything I could have imagined in the best way possible. This experiential learning not only stretched me as a person but helped me to expand my horizon outside the classroom. Additionally, there is so much I have learned to value and new perspectives I will take with me throughout life.

Life on the Farm

By Evan Carr

Following an amazing week with our families in the rural Khorixas area our homestay experiences for the semester are already over! While this is a sad realization I feel incredibly fortunate for the experience this past week, but also to be connected to three great families across the Southern Africa region. A huge thanks to Sarah, our Homestay Coordinator here in Namibia, and all of the staff for making this week a great success!

Returning from a trip into town.

Our schedule in the so-called “Damaraland” area allowed for plenty of time bonding with our families on the farms combined with ample opportunity to continue the learning process with our busy schedule during the day. Our homes for the week did not have plumbing or electricity so we quickly adapted to the local lifestyle of cooking over fire and open-air toilets, but we were also fortunate to experience stunning night skies thanks to zero light pollution. Daily activities on the farm ranged from playing with baby goats and donkey cart rides to games of Owela under the sun and hot cups of Rooibos tea around the campfire. Owela is a local game requiring strategy and wit that was traditionally played between chiefs to settle disputes in the community. Another highlight of my week was the opportunity to develop my Damara language skills. As my host grandmother, the head of my house, did not speak English it was important for me to pick up some phrases in order to connect with her. While mastering the four clicks used in Damara presented a significant challenge, I was able to hold very minimal conversation in Damara by the end of the week about things like how I slept or how hot the weather was. Our week on the farm wrapped up with a big party where all five homesteads on each farm came together to celebrate the week and eat delicious food to our heart’s content. We danced and the sang the night away as we exchanged American and Namibian songs and dances with our families.
 

While we ate breakfast and dinner and spent nights at the farms, we spent our days together as a CGEE family. Some highlights of the program included visits to Cornelius Goreseb High School and the traditional court of Khorixas. The traditional court operates under the jurisdiction of the local Damara clan and mainly deals with domestic issues and theft, while other matters are left to the municipal court. It was valuable to see how people in rural areas integrate their traditional community structures with those of the modern Republic of Namibia. We delved further into Damara culture with a visit to the Damara Living Museum. In order to preserve their culture, people working there run demonstrations on blacksmithing, natural medicine, and jewelry making. Our trip also included a visit to the Twyfelfontein UNESCO World Heritage Site, which is the site of many ancient rock art drawings, and to a petrified forest. These excursions helped us to put into context topics we’ve discussed in our History, Politics, Environment, Religion, and Development classes.



My family for the week. Grandma Christa was the head of the house and the farm.



Following our week on farms in Khorixas we spent two days at Etosha National Park. This visit was capped by the sighting of a leopard that came right up to our van and let us follow it down the road for a few hundred feet. We were incredibly lucky to see such a rare animal (there are only about 600 in Namibia) at such a close range. We also saw lions, rhinos, many giraffes, zebras, springbok, and more! A visit to Etosha is a quintessential Namibian experience and it was great to get out there and see it with our group. I’m looking forward to our Fall Break next week and to catching up with everyone once we return to hear stories of their travels.

 

Not Windhoek, Inhoek

By Maddie Dilday

This week we took on the rural homestay at 2 different farms outside of Khorixas. The farm that I was staying on is known as Inhoek Pos. I had 2 host sisters who lived with us, one being 6 and one being 5. They were 2 amazing highlights of the stay! Whenever I was home, the girls were with me. We would play games, and run around the farm playing with the other children on the farm. The girls were my guide for the week! One of our favorite games on the farm was called Owella. We learned Owella on the very first night at the farm. Here we also learned how Damara chiefs used to use the game in order to solve conflict. The first game ended in a draw, but by the end of the week, Adelina had become a pro! I on the other hand am still in training.

The girls would also often visit “the dam”. This was where they got their water, swam, and provided water for their cattle. The dam also provided water for the wild animals of the area, specifically the elephants that would often visit. The dam was peaceful at times, especially when we would just be collecting water for the day. But the dam could also be lively! For example when the kids went swimming! They would climb into the dam and splash around, cooling off in the midday heat.

This is one of the open areas located within
Cornelius Goreseb school grounds.

When I wasn’t running around the farm with my host sisters, the students would be exploring and experiencing Khorixas. Of these experiences, the best was getting to speak with the students of Cornelius Goreseb High School. Having the chance to speak to students slightly closer to our own age was something different and interesting that many of us had not had the opportunity to do yet. The students were exactly like a high school student in the United States would be! They loved to hang out with their friends, liked missing class to talk, and were just beginning to realize how exciting their future can be. Many of our students were physical science focused students (In Namibia, in 10th grade you pick either hard sciences or social/historical courses to focus on and then continue on those specific courses until graduation and often times after.), which I found very encouraging as a current university science major. Aside from talking about classes, the students really just wanted to compare everyday life between here and the United States, which I think they found to be surprisingly similar. Overall, the exchange allowed us to have a new perspective when viewing Namibia, and the world around us. While personally, it made me think on the United States education system, and the differences, both good and bad. 

A picture of my host family during the end of the week party we had.
We all dressed up and had a great time.

My favorite part of the week was every night when the entire farm would come together. During these moments, the kids would calm down, and the adults would all come together as well. We would talk about the Damara culture, sing songs, tell scary stories, and share constellations in the beautifully clear night sky. These moments are the ones that will stay with me through the rest of my life, because these are the moments when we all actually felt like a family. Laughing, sharing, and having a great time together.

Week Nine: Rural Homestay

by: Beatrice Misher, Dashawn Peterson, Molly Weilbacher

On Tuesday, March 22nd our group woke up at 5am, brushed the sleep from our eyes and tried to conquer our nervous energy, to depart for an eight-hour drive up north to Outapi, Namibia. As the hours went by, the temperature increased but so did our excitement. We finally got to meet each of our families and were welcomed with loving smiles and high energy, even though we were four hours late. CGEE students hopped in the beds of trucks as we departed into the sunset to see our families’ homesteads and what our life would be like for the next week.

We each found ourselves on homesteads, based off of the traditional Oshiwambo homestead structure. Each of our homesteads had a few man-made cement structures, but the rest of the homestead was set up in a maze of wooden fences leading to different huts that were each used for a distinct purpose: cooking, storing food, drinking tea, living and sleeping, and mahango pounding. Our families had common crops on our farms, including mahango—a grain used to make porridge, which is central to our families’ diet and can be found at all meals. Their farms also included watermelon, beans, and corn, and animals including cattle, donkeys, goats, chickens, dogs, and pigs. Our families all cooked meals over the fire. As the sun set, they would start preparing the food to put on the fire. Many of us experienced eating by torchlight, or guided by the light of the moon and stars, since there was no electricity. We would go to the bathroom in outhouses outside the homestead with a long drop toilet, and if we had to pee we would typically pee in the same area we washed. We would wash by dunking our hair in a basin and splashing water onto ourselves in a secluded area both blocked by the house and by a maze of sticks.  We would often be in bed by 10pm at the latest, due to exhaustion from the intense heat. 

After our first night with our families, we were picked up by the CGEE vans and all went to the Outapi War Museum—the museum was a converted bunker originally used by the South African Defense Force during their fight against the liberation struggle. Outapi has a rich history when studying the liberation of Namibia because it was where the bulk of the war for liberation took place. SWAPO (South West Africa People’s Organization) was the liberation party that fought against the South African Defense Forces against Apartheid in what was then South-West Africa, and has been the ruling party since 1989. PLAN (People’s Liberation Army of Namibia), the military arm of SWAPO had their military base in Angola, and Outapi being so close to the border of Angola meant that many civilians were caught in the crossfire between the South African Defense Force and PLAN. At the museum, we were guided by the director who joined SWAPO at the age of fourteen to help fight for Namibia’s liberation. We also got the chance to meet two women who were teachers during the war, who spoke to us about their duties and involvement with SWAPO and the equal gender breakdown within the SWAPO. It was very surreal to speak to people who helped Namibia gain independence, who reminded us how fresh this history still is—so fresh that many people are still dealing with PTSD from the war, and still have a hard time sharing this piece of loaded history with others. Many of our host families spoke of their involvement during the war, from hiding supplies in the fields for SWAPO members in exile, to getting tortured by the South African army. 

At the end of our week we all came together with our host families to celebrate and thank our families for their hospitality. They lent us traditional Oshiwambo dress for the occasion and we ate traditional food prepared by our host mothers. Both the students and the families expressed how grateful they were for this partnership and the chance to learn and connect with other cultures. The connections we made with each of our families allowed us to have varied experiences and reflections. In the paragraph below you will find a personal reflection from each of us about our homestay, as it is important to nuance the experience:

Bea: I stayed with Mame Naango and Tate Tobias, along with their children. My host family welcomed me into their way of life for the week, sharing their daily routines with me and family history. Something I struggled with over the course of my stay was the ethics of our homestay experiences. We as American students entered these welcoming homes ready to learn and broaden our perspectives, but what were we giving back in return?. Before both my urban and rural homestay this was something I consciously considered, and tried to carry out by sharing stories of my home and lived experience when they were gracious enough to share with me. However at times the inequality of the exchange became apparent such as the fact that we were sent to our homestays with boxes of food that the family would not normally keep in their house, or when I pulled out bug spray one night and realized it was a luxury to my homestay family, even though they are the ones living in a malaria-prone part of the world.

DayDay: Comfortability and access are things I take for granted, and was a big aspect of the rural homestay in my opinion. Living in an apartment building where water and electricity is included I took for granted that privilege. Going up north having to take a bucket shower with limited water and having very little electricity really pushed me out of my comfort zone but also made me reflect how spoiled I am to be living the way I do in America. I was able to experience the world through different lenses and realize that the way the American society believes life should be lived is not the only way to live.

Molly: My time at the homestead made me think about how we choose to qualify life. Watching my family take a break from 11am - 4pm, sitting under the tree together because it is too hot to do anything else made me anxious, as I was itching to do something. I realized that my discomfort came from the fact that I’m not used to just sitting and being with one another, as I come from an American mentality that is so focused on how much you do, how many people you see, how much you buy as a means of measuring how successful one’s day is. We view how much we produce and our outputs as a way of qualifying our daily lives, whereas in my homestead my family was content with sitting and letting the heat pass because there is a different emphasis on what the success of a daily routine means. I ended up loving sitting, eating watermelon, drinking cola, watching the sun move, and playing soccer when it got cool enough. It made me realize how important it is to constantly be checking our internal biases--even around something as abstract but real as the quality of life.

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 Nine: A Canvas of Understanding

By: Annie Dierberger

She had deep wrinkles that ran asymmetrically through her face like a thousand roads on a map, but the destination came together like a meticulous work of art. Each line etched into her skin seemed to hold a story or a memory that I desperately wanted to understand. Her eyes were lulled in the shape of half moons but held a sharp glint of youthfulness wherever she happened to look. Her name was Meme Albertina. She was the village headman, and yes, I had no idea what that meant and maybe I still don’t, but I thought of her like Yoda, full of wisdom and perfectly executed one liners. Now that last part I may have fabricated a bit, seeing that I actually had no idea what she was saying and it was evident from the start we had a language barrier. I spoke English, she spoke none. She spoke Oshiwambo, I knew how to say the How are you? and the word snake, making our conversation limited beyond the context of “the snake is good”, which it ultimately never is. The woman I am describing was my host mom for the week in the town of Outapi, a rural community about nine hours north of Windhoek. All of the students were living with various families and this was to be mine.

What inside the homestead looked like. Various huts for
different purposes surrounded by an endless maze of sticks.

After a few minutes of exchanging confused facial expressions and hand gestures, I ended up in a truck bumping along the gravel until a fenced off home came into view. Once inside the gate, I was given a tour around the homestead by one of the eldest daughters in the family who knew a few words of English. She led me outside the gate towards a tall circular enclosure of sticks and stopped just before to also show me where the pigs slept. To say it nicely, these pigs would not have been cast in the next Charlotte's web sequel as Wilbert. I saw them as beasts that wouldn’t hesitate to destroy me. My eyes stayed glued on the pigs until I was nudged by the daughter to indicate the bathroom beside them, which consisted of a pile of bricks in the shape of a triangle. I kept my face composed but I will readily admit that internally I was whispering, “oh dear god.” The next stop was the shower which was again an enclosed circle of sticks with a bucket inside. Now, at this point, I was extremely nervous that there wouldn’t be enough water for me to shower and that an eyoka (a snake) was going to bite me in the bathroom. I was out of element in a state of discomfort and I knew it, so I decided to do the only thing I could, which was to completely embrace it. To not only look at these lines that ran like roads on the face of my host mother but to travel them just as she had lived them.

Very quickly within the next couple of days I fell into a routine. I would wake up around 6:45am by either one of the children shouting, “Annie, wake up!” or a rooster sounding like it was violently choking. As I stumbled outside into the bright light one of the children would point to the shower and say, “Wash.” I not only learned that a bucket of water was more than enough for a shower, but doing so outside while peering over a fence into the dry abyss was wonderful. I loved being woken up to cold water and the smell of fire already circulating through the cool morning air. After the shower, I would make my way through the maze to the place where we ate our meals. My Meme would see me and say, “Wa­lelepo nawa?” which translates to “Good morning, How are you?”, to which I would reply, “Eeya, ove walelepo tuu?!” and then we would both exhaust ourselves with multiple “eeye’s”, which means “good” and is what I learned to be the key to the Oshiwambo language. When it doubt, just say eeye. People will either mockingly laugh or be extremely impressed with you, sometimes both.

As midday approached, so did the blazing heat. Almost every day the temperature would hit 100 degrees or higher. Shade became your close companion, and water was your new best friend. I was fortunate that my classmate Henrik lived close by, so most afternoons, we would meet up and endure the heat together. We would find a nice spot of shade that wasn’t overpopulated by donkeys and sip, no, chug on ice cold coke from one of the local shebeens.

Henrik, avoiding malaria at all costs.

When 6 o'clock approached, all of the neighboring children began running towards the soccer field for the nightly game. This, I got the impression, was my young host brother’s favorite part of the day. The goal posts were made up of two sticks with a line of cans strung together at the top and very rarely was there a goalie, if lucky a toddler sat distractedly inside the goalposts drawing pictures in the dirt. Some nights I played and other nights I preferred to just sit on the side and watch with amazement. The Namibian sunset would begin to fill the sky with a canvas of reds, oranges and yellows like something I had never seen before. The children would be laughing and doing hilarious after-goal dances and then there would be Henrik, passing out high fives and cheering enthusiastically in English like an elementary school gym teacher. The kids had no idea what he was saying but loved it anyway. Moments like these are what would bring tears to my eyes. Moments where we didn’t need a language to communicate because we had so many other things, things that didn’t need to be vocalized. As the sun completely vanished my host brothers and sisters held hands and walked home together, singing songs. It was a powerful connectedness of pure happiness and enjoyment of one another’s company.

At 8:00 pm the whole family would gather around the fire and watch enticingly as dinner was prepared. The little kids would climb on my lap and sing Amazing Grace repeatedly until flying into one of their own songs and dances. When we weren’t singing or dancing, I had my notebook out and was learning Oshiwambo from Tina, one of the eldest kids who was in school. I would write words or phrases, she would translate and then laugh at my pronunciation. Without any electricity or lights, the world would turn dark and to see my hand in front of my face I would take out my flashlight. There was one night when I took out my light to see where I was stepping and my grandmother looked at me and shook her head repeatedly. She then began speaking in Oshiwambo and pointing up to the bright stars that littered the sky magnificently. She kept pointing up to the stars and then took my flashlight and turned it off. We both smiled in understanding and looked up at the stars together.

Trying to make friends with the donkeys and not succeeding.

That night I sat studying everything like a priceless work of art, absorbing everything that I had grown to love so passionately in a week: the kids, their bright smiles as we played tag throughout the home, and how later they could help cook dinner or carry a baby on their backs with the strength of a teenager; my host mother, despite being at least seventy years old, dancing freely without care like she was a child again; the sky and all of its unity of contrast, completely defying everything we think we know in color and clouds; the stars and gazing up at them in awe, and an hour later realizing you are just as lost as you were before, and feeling content with that. During my rural homestay week, I have lived modestly in material but lavishly in everything else. It was a week that seemed like a year in what I saw and learned. I found richness in simplicity. I found love in silence. I found sacred art in normality. A picture that is worth a thousand words but remembered as a thousand moments.