Village Royalty

This morning, I woke up to some of the familiarity of the life I have been living for the past five months; the grunts of cows and goats parading through my 'yard' in my tiny, precious, one room hut in the tiny, precious village of Kayanga. It is located in the far North Eastern region of Namibia, just a stone's throw across the river to Angola. On this particular morning, I took my two buckets and went to go fetch my water for the day. It is one of two daily trips I have to take at the borehole pump. The pump is usually surrounded by mothers and children, so I wait my turn and chit chat a little with the kids, some of whom are in my morning classes. My hot pink and lime green buckets scream foreigner, much like everything else I do. On my ten minute walk back to my hut, my friend Pakela exclaims, “oh you are so fat my dear!”. This is a common and totally well-meant comment people say to me about three times a week.

Once I get back to my hut, I take a 20 minute breather. After this many months of fetching water, I still struggle. Yesterday I did the whole thing with the jug on my head and had to take an hour nap after. After attempting some exercise in 100 degree weather, because I am “so fat my dear!,” I took a seriously refreshing bucket bath in my bathing station that is located right behind my hut. It has a reed fence for some privacy and good thing I am short, because any taller and my head and shoulders would peak out over the top. After that I got to work, because it was not like any other day, today the Headman was coming to my hut for lunch. The Headman, or the Fumu, is the traditional leader of the whole village. I was notified yesterday when he sent his messenger to give me a heads up that he would be meeting with me, for us to formally meet. As the messenger was leaving he nodded towards my two chairs made out of tree stumps, that were a gift, and told me I needed to provide real chairs. 

After getting dressed in my shetenge (the traditional cloth, as my attempt to blend in), I spent an hour and a half trying to locate someone with real (aka plastic) chairs. Then I started on lunch. I am a nervous cook...especially if it is for foreign village royalty. I pulled out all my best stuff; rice, beans, sweet potatoes, carrots, onions AND tuna fish that was sent from America. After nervously and patiently waiting, rehearsing the formal Thimbukushu greeting for occasions like this, I was told he was not coming. He rescheduled for the next day. The meal tomorrow will be much less tasty since is no grocery store to run out to here and I have no refrigerator option to keep this meal until tomorrow. There is a shop about the size of a bathroom (called the Kuta shop) that sells cold soda which I can provide and will hopefully impress him :)

the chairs made out of tree trunks 

The left hut is my sleeping hut (made out of mud), the right is my kitchen hut (made out of reeds)--door soon to come!

an example of the cow stampedes that come through
. 

snapped a pic of the headman himself