Mr. President

I visited my first cemetery in Namibia this past week. It was an old Herero graveyard in Omaruru that the summer volunteer and I snuck into Saturday at dusk. The cemetery was lovely – a large plot retreated from the main road—as peaceful and secluded as any of the ones my best friend Leslie and I used to explore around Dahlonega. There were tall trees, cacti, marked and unmarked graves. We were fenced in by an ancient looking wrought-iron gate, and for once the barrier did not include barbed wire. I felt safe there, and calm. As kids, Leslie and I used to study the details on the tombstones—trying to discern what we could about the peoples’ lives—filling in the gaps with our own imaginations. Gasping when we found someone younger than us who had died. Faintly pondering the moment when two girls might be staring at our own graves with our expressions.

Maybe because of Leslie and mine’s excursions, I’ve never been afraid in cemeteries, but always at peace. The graveyard in Namibia was no different. In fact, it was strangely like home. Faux flowers donned the stones, the rows were orderly, neat, well taken care of, and there was green everywhere. (Clearly, at times, the dead receive more water than the living).

Here, the water has been on sporadically since I last wrote. One a week mostly which before would have seemed terrible, but now comes as a relief. Gives new meaning to the phrase, “It’s all relative.”

Term two is over. After a series of painful exams and many hours of tedious, not to mention depressing, grading, it’s over. It ended with a bang today as we received a visit from Namibia’s President Hifikepunye Pohamba. How did he arrive, you might ask? Why he landed a helicopter in the middle our soccer field, of course. No, I’m not joking (and I have pictures to prove it). The kids, teachers, and I stood and watched a small helicopter sail over our houses—I thought for a second it was going to land on Ms. Kahaanga’s roof—and land gracefully in the middle of our dusty soccer field. As it touched ground an enormous cloud of sand headed straight towards us and everyone scattered. Kids were clambering under me for shelter. I’m just thankful that I have enough water to bathe tonight.

A few students were allowed to greet him, but I had to remain behind to supervise the rest (lucky me) so I didn’t really see the President. He was extracted from the helicopter, and after shaking a few hands, was put into the back of an SUV and driven across the road to the community hall. I asked what the meeting was about, but all anyone would tell me was that it was private. I can only hope they aren’t planning to add a SWAPO Bar and Grill next to the SWAPO office site.

All except three of my students failed the seventh grade math exam (this news gets worse when you realize that to pass in Namibia you only need 30%). And about ¾ failed the seventh grade English exam. My sixth graders did much better, but their exams weren’t nearly as challenging. It took great concentration not to burst into tears while grading. Sometimes I really wonder what I am doing here.

Friday I am heading off to Victoria Falls with a group of volunteers and Ken—who gets here tomorrow! After a few days at the Falls, Ken and I are setting out for Chobe National Park in Botswana and a trip to the Okavango Delta—also in Botswana. Everything I’ve read and all the pictures I have seen of these regions sounds incredible, so I’m sure I will have plenty to write about when I get back. And it will be a nice change for you all not to have to listen to my water rants or grading laments.

After the President disappeared into the community hall, Tjizakuje came to my house and we sat on my concrete stoop and talked for a little while. The helicopter was resting out at the soccer field, guarded only by one man, so close we could see the propellers just beyond the policemen’s house. “I say we steal it and fly somewhere, what do you think?” I winked at her. She grinned back, “Okay, yes. Let’s go.” “Where do you want to go?” I asked. She thought for a fraction of a second and then said, “America.”

I smiled, “You read my mind.”