So, I finally went to Tallismanis this weekend. Aaaah. I think I’ll tell this blog more as a story than a reflection. A long story. Let’s start by stepping back a bit.Some of you may remember the host family I had when I decided to extend in Peace Corps and they made me repeat training. It was a mom, her daughter in grade 10, and sometimes her 1 year old baby. The mom was wonderful and very well intentioned, but had a problem with alcohol, budgeting and a violent boyfriend. I was supposed to be learning Afrikaans from her, but my Otjiherero was better than her English, so when we actually needed to communicate, or just plain got sick of Afrikaans (which was often) we spoke Otjiherero, which of course, made me feel cool. The house was infested with cockroaches – I found them in my bed, food, you name it, but I really bonded with this family more than most. Anyway, I wrote them a few letters after I got back, and never heard anything. I heard through the grapevine that my sister had not passed her grade 10 exams. In Namibia, this basically means the end of your educational career. So, a few weeks ago, I sent a letter to the school where my host mom had been a cleaner, hoping that one way or another I would track her or someone who knew her whereabouts down, all the while bracing myself for the worst.
Quick sidenote. I know the statistics about HIV infection in Namibia. Since I’ve come back, I’m always sort of nervous when I’m talking to someone and asking about people that we knew in common. But, I just keep hearing, “Oh, they are great. They are working at such and such a place, etc.” There are two people that I have learned that died while I was gone, one from a car accident and one from complications associated with working in an asbestos mine earlier in his life. (Another sidenote for those of you who were in Peace Corps with me. Brace yourself. I ran into Simon and was asking him about people. The person who died in the car accident was Eugene. Apparently he was driving to Cape Town, the car overturned killing him, his wife and kids. I can still hardly believe it.) So, I keep thinking that my luck is bound to run out sooner or later, so I was curious to see what I would hear from my host mom, given what I knew about her lifestyle, etc.
So, last Wednesday I got a call from her. She sounded fantastic. She is still a cleaner at the primary school. She sounded super excited to know that I am back in Namibia and can’t wait for me to come and visit. The 1 year old baby is now in Grade 1. She gave me the phone number for my host sister. I gave her a call. She’s living in the north and working at a grocery store. It was incredibly fantastic to talk to her on the phone, now I just need to find time to take a trip up north. She’s just an awesome human being and she makes me feel like a big sister.
So, on Friday morning I had the US ambassador speak to my students. Afterwards, I rented a car and headed out to Tallismanis. "What a crazy life" I couldn't help but think. "One minute hanging out with the ambassador, the next going out to Tallismanis." I was still super excited about the news from my host family and couldn't wait to see who I found in Tallismanis. I arranged to stay with my friend Mbanjanda, and had spoken to my friend Matuipi a few weeks ago, but couldn’t get a hold of her more recently. She was in a bad car accident a few months ago and said she would just be at her farm recovering, so I assumed that would still be the case. I went into the weekend excited to see Mbanjanda and Tallismanis, hopeful to see Matuipi, and optimistic that I would run into other people. Most of the other teachers at the school have now transferred to other schools or other employment, so it was difficult to say if I would see anyone else or not.
I have spoken to Mbanjanda several times while I was in the States, but he has recently shocked me with several new developments in his life that he forgot to mention. For instance, as I was planning the trip, I asked him whether he thought I could travel out there with a tiny little car or if I should splurge and rent a pickup. He said “Sure, get a little car, we’ll just take my pickup when we go to Matuipi’s farm.” He had never told me that he owned a car. We used to bond in our car-less “poverty” together.
He had some errands to run in Gobabis, so he came into town without his car so that he could accompany me on the way back, which I really appreciated. I can’t even tell you how excited I was getting as I approached Gobabis. Here I was passing all these places that I had google earthed so many times, that were so familiar to me for so long, and I could hardly believe I was back. I found Mbanjanda in Gobabis, talking to Katuuo. Katuuo used to teach at my school but has since transferred to a school in Gobabis. I can’t even tell you how amazing it felt to be standing on the street in Gobabis chatting with Mbanjanda and Katuuo. It felt so normal, like no time had passed, that maybe we were all hanging around, looking for a lift back like in the old days. But no, Mbanjanda hopped in my car, Katuuo went home, and we were off. Then Mbanjanda remembered that he forgot milk for his baby. “Which baby might that be?” My favorite girlfriend of his, Ri, had a baby when I was there before, but surely she was no longer a baby. Oh, he forgot to mention, she had another baby 15 months ago. Ah details. I’m quite certain that for more than 2 years now he has been telling me that he and Ri have been broken up. Funny how people have babies more than 9 months after they breakup. Whatever, that’s my Mbanjanda. He loaded all kinds of shopping in the car, including a big bag of tobacco.
“Um, what’s this for?” “The guy working on my farm.” “Oh, of course. Mbanjanda! Since when do you have a farm???” “Oh, I didn’t tell you that either? Yeah, I’m farming out here now, I moved my cattle fromOtjozongombe (where his father farms) about a year ago. You mean I never told you?” “Nooooo. So how many cattle do you have now, if I can ask?” (Asking how much cattle you have is like asking how much money is in your bank account. It always used to crack me up to ask Mbanjanda that cause he was always so embarrassed by it. He had like 8 or something and felt emasculated by my knowing that, even though I couldn’t care less.) He now has over 50. He was much more confident telling me that. I was quite shocked that he had gone from 8 to 50+ in such a short period of time, and I’m embarrassed to admit, was actually fairly impressed. “You know you’ve been in Namibia too long when you are impressed by the number of cattle a man owns, even if you are a vegetarian.”So, it felt amazing to be driving out to Tallismanis, chatting with Mbanjanda. I just forgot how long the drive was. Damn its far on that gravel road. I was going crazy just wanting to be there. But we finally arrived and I can’t even explain how it felt. Very little had changed. We parked the car at his place (he’s living in the school hostel) and walked over to Ri’s place to bring the milk for the baby. On the way, we passed my old house. Walking past the school, my house, everything, it just felt like I could start teaching tomorrow. Like I could walk in my house and find all my stuff there. After that, we went to the shop to get some dinner. The same drunks were hanging out in front of the shop. They remembered me and asked me to buy them a cigarette. One of them made extremely indecent proposals. In stead of being angry, I felt incredibly sentimental and bought them cigarettes. We went in, ordered dinner and then I kept knowing people coming in and out. Former students, drunks, etc. It felt amazing. The guy working at the bar in the shop was the same, and remembered my “usual”. Even though I don’t really drink anymore, sitting there with Mbanjanda being offered my “usual” I couldn’t help but take it. It felt so normal.
There was a big SWAPO (ruling party) meeting in town on Saturday. There were rumors that Tate Sam (first President) was coming to speak. Mbanjanda and I made a plan for the day. Visit Matuipi (if she isn’t coming to the SWAPO meeting), see Mbanjanda’s farm, visit Vesora (Matuipi’s daughter) but come back to Tallismanis whenever Sam arrives. Not that either of us are big fans of Sam at all, but I’ve never seen him in person.
So, we start cruising around asking people whether Matuipi is in town or not. Nobody has seen her so we stop at the shop, to get a “gift” for her on the farm. We ask what she’s drinking, they tell us and we buy a liter of it. You just have to love it! The bartenders know what everybody drinks, even if you haven’t been there in 5 years! It seems that Tate Sam isn’t coming after all, so oh well. We show up at Matuipi’s farm at about 10 am. Even though she had the car accident she looks pretty good. (That's her and her daughter Vavi in the picture. The picture below shows her daughter Waku in the center and Vavi on the right. Some of you met them when they were tiny babies. They aren't babies anymore.) She is still recovering but she’s moving around. She is thrilled with our gift, as she can’t get those things on the farm. She says she is just about to make lunch and we should just stay and eat lunch. Sounds great. She’s bummed to learn I’m still a vegetarian, but whatever. Anyway, lunch takes longer than expected and we eat around 3pm.
In the course of the day, some other old friends stop by and its all just awesome. Of course, the first thing everyone does is comment on my appearance. Whether its, “Oh you are so fat!” or “Oh, you’ve now become thin!” or “Oh, you look exactly the same!” or “Oh, I wouldn’t have recognized you if someone hadn’t told me it was you!” It was pretty funny. Of course the next thing after that is, “So, are you married now?” and then “And why not?” Now, how in the world are you supposed to answer that question? “Because I’m so fat?” or maybe “Because I’m so thin?” or “Because I have a fear of commitment?” or “Because I’m looking for perfection.” At 
first Matuipi was not too talkative about that. She kind of said how impressive it was that Mbanjanda was driving me around all weekend and that he was looking at me with huge admiration and that women are always chasing after him, but she has never seen him treat a woman the way he is treating me now. She claims that he is usually just alone without a woman at all. I reminded her about the fact that he has a girlfriend, not to mention the whole story with him not marrying Ri (Matuipi’s cousin). “Whatever” she tried to convince me. But later in the day, her lips got looser and looser. Finally, I think she was basically trying to tell me that she was married to a loser and its not the end of the world if you marry a loser, especially if you have your own paycheck. I’ve always thought Matuipi’s husband is a royal loser and wondered what she was doing with him. I couldn’t quite figure out exactly what she was trying to tell me, but I had the feeling she was telling me to marry Mbanjanda and just be silent and accepting about the fact that monogamy is not in his vocabulary. Not that Mbanjanda is exactly 
proposing or anything. Anyway, by the time we finished eating and saying good-bye, it was about 4:30. Too late to go to Mbanjanda’s farm, so we go to see Vesora. Vesora lives in Matuipi’s house by the primary school. Waku and Vavi are in grade 1 and 2 now so Vesora is staying there while her mom recovers on the farm. Vesora was 12 years old when I was there before. She is now 19 and has a baby. (That's her baby in the photo above. The other people are other friends. That's Vesora in the hat in this picture.) She looks exactly the same to me. She certainly doesn't look old enough to be a mother to me. On the way back, we see a group of people hanging out at a bar. Mbanjanda sees that one is Kambatuku (one of the teachers at the school who is now working elsewhere) so I stop. (see photo below of Kambatuku and Mbanjanda) He was one of my favorites so, I have another big celebration. Finally, we head back into town at dusk. Somebody gives us the message that Ri had made lunch for us, but since we weren’t there at that time, we can still come over 
and have dinner. So, we head over for dinner. As a gift, she gives me a bottle of Amarula (available at the state stores in NH and elsewhere) I loved that stuff, and figure, “Ah heck, I had a Savannah last night, I’ll drink some Amarula tonight.” So, with our tummies full and our minds a little goofy, we finally head back towards the school, but stop at the shops first. Where we find my friend Kazarako! Another teacher from the school who is now a principal at another school. She didn’t know I was back. It was just so exciting to see her. She was one of my other favorites. Finally we call it a night after I get good and tired of drunk men harassing me, and other men debating the merits of Obama vs. Hillary with me
when my mind is too goofy to think about such things. (See Mbanjanda, Kazarako and two drunk men in photo.)The following morning at 6:30 am, Mbanjanda gets a message that the wife of the guy that works on his farm delivered a baby. So, he runs off to pick her up and take her and the baby to the clinic. After yoga and a shower, I wander around town checking out the changes and reminiscing and running into people. For the most part, we can easily say nothing has changed. There is a new small shopping center, with a bunch of new houses behind it. But
please understand I’m using the term “shopping center” loosely. As well as “new houses”. There is a new kindergarten also. There is some crazy structure on the old soccer field and so there is a new soccer field. There is cell phone access and grid electricity. Otherwise, its pretty much the same. The people were mostly the same. I ran into just about everyone I was hoping to, and then some. I went into my old class room and saw this on the cabinet in there. It almost brought tears to my eyes. That’s not my handwriting.Finally, I ran into Mbanjanda in town. The mom and baby are doing well and almost ready to go back home. So we head back to the clinic. I hop in the back of the truck with some boys who want to come out to Mbanjanda’s farm for the heck of it. The mom, baby and neighbor come out of the clinic and get in front. I can’t help but think about how this baby was born about 5 hours ago and here she is riding in the front of a pickup truck on a gravel road. I think of my friends in the States that I have visited recently when they had babies and how different their first trip
home was. But since this baby was born at home, I suppose its not really her first trip. Anyway, along the way, we see Kandondo driving the other way (another of my favorite teachers who has left teaching to go into full time farming. Rumor has it that he has well over 600 cattle.) We can’t really chat, but anyway, its good to have seen him and make a connection. The boys in the back of the truck are cracking me up and pointing everything out to me that I should know about, so I decide to take their picture. Although it may look like a still-photo, this is more like a 50 mph photo. We get to the farm, the mom and baby go in their house. Mbanjanda very proudly walks me around his farm, showing me his cattle, shows me which ones are about to have calves, makes fun of me for not knowing the difference between a cow and a bull without looking really hard. He shows me all the improvements he’s made to the farm since he took it over and all the improvements he plans to make over time. During this time, the boys are catching the calves and smearing some sort of insect repellant on them. Catching them is a bit like a rodeo show and pretty amusing to watch. They really wrestle with them. One time, one of the boys falls and the calf rolls on top of him. Everybody cracks up. I ask Mbanjanda if they ever get hurt. He looks at me like I’m such a dumb city person from the States. “Mbue, Linda, this is what these boys grew up doing. This is why they haven’t learned to use computers, or ski or whatever. This is what we know how to do.”Anyway, that was about it. The trip back was super long again. Mbanjanda had two friends who had girlfriends visiting for the weekend that I gave lifts to on the way back. They were fun to chat with, and in a very subtle way told me the same thing Matuipi did. One of them was telling me how she used to always look for equality in relationships, but then men were always looking for superiority, so there was always this clash. So, she finally decided to let him feel like he had the upper hand and since then her relationships have all gone smoothly.
It was funny hanging out with Mbanjanda. I always thought of him as a fairly westernized guy. But there were a few really funny moments. Like Saturday morning. He asked me what I wanted for breakfast. After a bit of discussion, we decided on eggs. He sent a boy to the store for eggs. When the boy came back, he handed them to me. With a half joke but mostly serious, he told me that I had to cook cause I was the woman. Then there was the constant joke about my driving. Whenever we met someone and the subject came up that I had driven out there, they always looked at Mbanjanda and asked how I did on the gravel roads. He told them that he was
really nervous at first, but completely prepared to take the wheel if it became clear I didn’t know what I was doing. He said that I actually did quite well, except for my sound effects. (I have a tendency to say, “Weeee” when we hit deep sand and the car swerves when I didn’t plan for it too. Apparently it makes him uncomfortable.) I had no idea he was hatching this little plan to take the wheel from the woman who couldn’t drive on gravel roads. Fortunately, I can drive on gravel. But the funniest was probably the day we spent hanging out at Matuipi’s. Matuipi quickly enlisted me to make the salad. She got me an apron and put me to work. Her husband put a mattress in the shade for Mbanjanda. He proceeded to take a nap most of the afternoon. Here are the pictures we took of each other in our respective roles. She let me keep the apron in case I’m asked to cook at a party again and I’m not prepared.One more reflection. I asked Mbanjanda about how it seems like the stories about HIV/AIDS paint this horrible picture, people are always talking about how everyone is dying, cemeteries are filling, etc. but that it just really didn’t seem like anyone I knew had died of AIDS. He said that yes, people are dying, but from a variety of causes: murder, car accidents, various diseases, old age and AIDS. He said that he has been to 3 funerals so far for someone who had died of AIDS, and although it seems to be a big deal in the news and stuff, really he hasn’t been terribly personally affected. He knows a few people that he suspects are on anti-retroviral drugs (they were super sick for a while, but then miraculously got better).
Now the other thing. I’ve been depressed today (Monday). I’m not sure why. Is it post-had-a-great-weekend-now-back-to-the-grind? But my grind isn’t such a grind, so that doesn’t make sense. Is it that my body just isn’t use to alcohol and its taking a while to detox out the Savannahs and the Amarula? (Incidentally, I went to an Iyengar yoga class tonight and couldn’t help but crack up about how one day I’m hanging out on a farm in Tallismanis (Mbanjanda hasn’t heard of yoga) and the next I’m hanging upside down on a chair with a bunch of white people in Windhoek. What a life.) Is it because it got tiring being asked 50,000 times why I’m not married and having people look at me like I’m some pitiful old maid whenever I answered again that I’m not married? Was it because that all happened while I was hanging out with Mbanjanda who frustrates me to no end because I consider him a great friend who is extremely attractive but that also has no idea what monogamy means, and is dating someone 8 years younger than me and the mother of his children. Who knows. Anyway, I’m hoping a few good nights sleep will make it all better.
