And...I'm off!

This is my last blog entry, I am now officially a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer as of March 20^th, 2013. It's been an incredible journey, full of the expected ups and downs, some months more downs than ups. I can’t describe the feeling of saying goodbye to people that have become like family the last two years here. The going away party thrown by my center was so fun. There were lots of traditional singing, dancing and speeches made. You know it’s an important event when there is macaroni. Namibians for some reason love putting LOTS of mayo and ketchup with their macaroni. I know I have lived here for so long when I not only think this is delicious (carbs!), but that it is fancy. The macaroni combined with lots of cold soda made me feel like a big deal. To compliment the pasta was a smorgasbord board of meat; barbecued chicken gizzard, goat head, chicken feet, goat intestines and all the normal parts of an animal as well.

I realize that I am not only saying goodbye to wonderful people that welcomed me into their community but also to the lifestyle here. It is easier to describe the feeling of leaving my hut life rather than the people, that will be something I process for months to come. I am saying goodbye for it ever to be appropriate to dig a hole behind my hut and call it my bathroom. I am saying goodbye to all the interesting insects that build nests and come in through weird holes in my wall, goodbye to the mentality that every drop of water should be used efficiently, saying goodbye to my leaky thatch roof, the sound of roosters and goats every morning and my taco bed that I hate more than anything else.

Overall I say I am leaving just in time though, as my hut is sort of falling apart with the latest storm. I saw the biggest mamba snake I have seen yet slither out from under my bed last week and found the secret hole it came through. Plus I woke up to puddles on my floor this week due to the heavy rain. Time to go!

I want to thank you for sharing this experience with me, it was extremely therapeutic for me to write my emotions on here knowing that my friends and family were reading it back in RI and wherever. Tomorrow I fly off to Thailand, where I take a crazy five week trip with three best friends. I will see you all in May though!! Looking forward to some cheerios and cold milk every.single.morning!

the morning I left Kayanga

The Beginning of Goodbyes

The goodbyes have finally begun. This Sunday was my very last full weekend in the village, meaning my very last church service. I wanted to say a few goodbye words to the community: to the ones that taught me the seemingly mind boggling dance steps and with whom I mumbled my way through two years worth of gospel Thimbukushu songs.

After the two hour service that ended with a group prayer, I went to the front of the church to say my prepared speech in Thimbukushu. At the end of the speech there was the expected cheering and clapping. What was completely unexpected is what came afterwards. The priest and his wife, my friend Getu, instructed me to stay at the front. My dear friend Pakela started singing a song that loosely translates to ‘carry on, we will never forget you’. After one verse a man in the back came in with a lively drum beat then within seconds the whole congregation stood up from the hand-made benches and perfectly started in on the second verse. I awkwardly stood there for 30 seconds until Astrid, a member of my Women’s Group, slowly came up from the back bench to give me the traditional Namibian hug. It starts with a handshake then goes into a double hug, once to the right then once to the left. This prompted others to follow her lead. Before I knew it the entire room was lined up to hug me, all while still singing and dancing.

It only took until the fourth hug before I just started crying. I normally become embarrassed when my emotions get the best of me and when I am crying while no one else is. At this time and place, however, I found my emotions 100% appropriate. While still standing at the front and after hugging close to 75 people, I was able to take in what was really happening. I brought into focus what my last two years had been. Through all the lonely and sometimes difficult times, it was a beautiful thing. The most beautiful thing I have been honored to be a part of. Once they closed the song and I wiped my tears, I wrapped it up with the traditional, ‘ALALALLA’ call of celebration. I have always been to shy to start this call. It has the most contagious effect and right away the rest of the women followed suit in perfect harmony of the painfully high pitched shriek, all powered by the tongue and impossible to not smile while performing.

I say this probably because it is still so fresh in my mind and I am still on a little high from it, but it was one of my most favorite life moments. I hope to always remember this feeling of love from the amazing people of Kayanga.

A Tall Tale

This past Thursday word spread like wild fire that a man in the next village over, 4 miles away, was killed by an elephant. Elephants are known as very peaceful animals their ginormous size granting them a proportionately sized heart. I find death confusing in the village, as it is sometimes not treated as a big deal. However, when I was just as shocked as everyone else, I knew it was a big deal.

Elephants are known to bury their victims. People say they feel remorse for their actions, even if it was in self defense. They use their feet and trunk to dig a hole, then cover the body with leaves and branches. This body was found just like that, with elephant foot prints all around it. I'm told that this violent act is viewed as unforgivable from the rest of the elephant's herd, kicking him/her out forever.

Traditional Mbukushu beliefs say that when someone is attacked by an elephant, it is because they were wrongfully accusing someone of something. Or it could mean that this person's wife is pregnant (if this seems confusing...I'm right there with ya.)

Elephants seem to be very ritualistic beings. When one of their herd members dies (by natural causes or by man), each member takes turns touching the trunk of the deceased. Last year there was a baby elephant killed by a 18-wheeler truck on the tar road about 25 miles away from Kayanga. With a twist of fate the driver lived, while the ellie laid dead in the middle of the road. People heard the commotion and came out with their axes and bags to get a chunk of the rare and delicious meat. Even with it being a baby elephant, there was plenty of meat to go around. The meat was divided so fast that the baby elephant's mother and herd did not have time to come out to touch trunks and get closure. People said that consequently, the mother went on a rampage across the road, refusing to be scared away. I normally don’t believe everything I hear here, people have nothing but time on their hands to retell tall tales, but I believe this one.

My friend, Selma, got some of that meat during that event and invited me over. While we sat around the open fire and spicing the meat she dramatically and enthusiastically re-told the story of how she strategically got some of the meat without an ax on her (I believe it was her charming convincing skills). It ended up being my 24^th birthday weekend meal. And it was the best meat I have ever had.