What was I thinking?

This is a long one, but I have a lot to say!

It came time for Georgia to go to her hotel room and for me to go home with Samuel, my host and supervisor for the next month.  All of a sudden I was incredibly nervous about spending the night with a Namibian family. I had no idea what to expect.  Georgia suggested that I spend the night at the hotel, to give Samuel time to prepare.  She was my savior until Samuel said that his children were excited to meet me, and that they were prepared for me.  And so we left, making awkward small talk.  My anxiousness grew as we drove off the paved road onto a very bumpy sand road, past metal shacks and bush and fields of kids playing soccer. 

We drove up to a tile and concrete house, and parked.  The yard was completely sand, because everything is sand here.  Once inside, the house seemed perfectly comfortable.  Samuel showed me my room, and mentioned they had polished it for me.  It smelled like fresh paint, and I was sure that they had.  It seemed like he was a little uncomfortable with the room, but it was fine for me- honestly, I’m used to a dorm room, and this is not far from it.  Later, his wife made a point of showing me that both the wardrobe and the door had locks for me to use.  I hope they did not install locks just for me, because if I don’t trust my possessions in their house, I really should not trust my life or stomach there either.  I don’t want to seem like I don’t trust them, because I do.

Anyway, the kids came home, and I met them.  There is a boy, Innocent, who is 9.  The girl, Lanternia, who is 8, had to write down her name before I could begin to pronounce it correctly.  Luckily, they both have nicknames- Morning and Tourchy, respectively.   After awhile Patrina, Samuel’s wife came home and I met her as well.  They are all very nice, and speak English.  The kids are more comfortable with it, but everyone can communicate.

I showed them the pictures I had brought of snow and my family, and they all gathered around me to see.  They can’t imagine the cold, but they put on blankets for 50 degree weather, and they do not heat their homes.  I gave them my gifts- maybe syrup for everyone, a piece of pink woven fabric for the girl, and a football picture frame for the boy.  I had to explain everything, but the girl put the fabric on, the boy put his picture in the frame, and the maple syrup is half gone the next day.

They sat me down to tell me that they had discussed my living with them as a family, and that they welcomed me into their home with all their hearts.  I am free, and should not feel shy or weird about things, because we are all people.  Just thinking how Samuel said it, with such depth and sincerity and ceremony, warms my heart.  Samuel also said he had met an American Peace Corps volunteer who did not eat meat, and asked if there were foods that I did not eat. 

They served me first, starting with a bowl of steaming hot water with towels on the floor.  It must be polite to serve your guest first, but it’s a lot less embarrassing when you can copy what other people are doing instead of admitting that you have no idea what to do.  Somehow I washed my hands, and then they gave me a plate and flatware as Patrina told me she was giving me a knife and fork, for the way I eat.  I soon realized that they eat their traditional porridge and beef with their hands- some food is easier to eat by hand.  In the end, I just ended up getting my hands AND silverware all full of food.  I spent half the meal trying to figure out how to eat the fatty part, and wondering how wise this whole Africa trip really was. 

Patrina also made a point to show me where the toilet was.  Samuel asked if they should prepare my bath water, and I said no- more out of a desire not to put them to any trouble than not wanting to bathe.  That gave me the impression that they did not have running water.  Well, that and the fact that the house and everything around it was built on sand. 

I was dreading the moment when I would have to use the toilet.  I went to my room, with a inner monologue of, “I’m a terrible person and I have too many things.  I’m a terrible person and I have too many things.”  There incredibly nice people had gone to such lengths to welcome me, and I was so uncomfortable.  They painted my room, bought locks, and bent over backwards.  Only Samuel has met an American before; they had never had one in their home.  I have a grant to pay for room and board, but I don’t know how much to give them because I have no idea what things cost, but I for sure do not want them to spend money on me.  They would never ask for any compensation.  I obviously have so much more stuff than they do, it’s embarrassing. 

What was I thinking?  To waltz into Namibia, with only the slightest of knowledge of it?  I do not know the language, customs, normal living conditions.  I was so naïve, and so brazen and arrogant to think of this experience as intercultural and educational.  It certainly will be educational- an education in how silly and rash I can be. 

Before dinner, Lanternia and Innocent taught me some basic phrases in Oshivambo.  Looking over them makes me feel better.  First nights are usually the roughest.