222: Two Weddings and a Funeral

Dear Friends,
Below is a summary of the last five incredible days: It’s a long e-mail (spanning 3400 km/2500 miles of traveling) but we hope you will agree it’s worth reading.

TUESDAY, 23 December

It all began last Tuesday night, when Elsita arrived in Namibia with three loads of laundry that hadn’t seen the inside of a functional washing machine since she left for El Salvador, almost a year ago. Our second-generation spinner in Namibia didn’t offer much relief, but we tried our best. Her visit back home made for a wonderful Hannukah.

WEDNESDAY, 24 December

The next morning we packed our Four-Wheel-Drive and headed north, stopping to overnight in the small mining town of Tsumeb, a couple hours from the Angolan boarder. Here, unbelievably enough, dinner on the hotel veranda brought back many childhood memories for Bernd -- complete with a German-language menu, imported German foods, German-language TV, and a track of German Christmas carols wafting in the background. Only Namibia can still pull this off, we figure (especially at US$6 a meal) -- where the casual visitor can be forgiven for thinking that this is still is a German colony even though the history books tell us that Germany officially lost its colonial grip over 90 years ago.

THURSDAY, 25 December

For Christmas day, we planned a 24-hour detour within Etosha National Park, before moving even father north to a traditional Owambo wedding (our main reason for the trip). Etosha looked different than during all our previous visits: The early summer rains turned the fields bright green with millions of yellow flowers and many standing pools of shallow water. Although the scenery looked beautiful, we expected it to be much more difficult to see the animals who could now forage at the far corners of the park, away from the usual watering holes that the tourists visit.

Wow, were we ever wrong!

The first thing that struck us was the intensity of the bird-life, with a new species almost every time we turned our heads. Most exciting to us was the endangered Blue Crane (we saw three) that are endemic to only this part of the country.

Zebra, wildebeest, impala, springbok, and giraffe abounded to the point that we didn’t even stop the car for them any more, and then felt guilty about how quickly we had become blasé. Elsita also got to see her favorite jackals, and we counted seven different antelope species, from the miniature dik-dik that twitches its nose from left-to-right, to the near-giant kuku with its majestic corkscrew horns. To crown the day, we saw two lions, their bellies swollen from an earlier kill.

FRIDAY, 26 December

Only elephants were missing. Although I wore my elephant earrings for good-luck, I really didn’t think we would see any. The next day, we drove on a road in the park that we had never taken before that ends in the newly opened Northern gate. After scores of more zebra, wildebeest and giraffe, I suddenly spotted a huge moving rock far ahead to the right of the road: Could it be? Sure enough!

But we didn’t see just one or two elephants. By the time the morning was through Elsita counted more than fifty pachyderms in six groupings, including several very tiny babies and three rather agitated matriarchs who started to charge our car when they thought we had come too close for comfort. (Fortunately, they didn’t do it all at once.) All of a sudden our Four-Wheel-Drive seemed very small indeed, in comparison to these huge beasts. We took over a hundred photos, but almost lost our presence of mind in focusing the cameras on the largest of the protective moms who came so close to our windshield (see below) that all I could do was whisper hoarsely was “Roll up the windows!!!” while Bernd jerked the car into Reverse.

All’s well that ends well, especially when it comes to wild animal encounters. Thirty minutes later we crossed into the communal farmlands of the north. Via another pre-arrangement, we stopped at a local after-school center for a Christmas party with 350 orphans that we had sponsored, thanks to some unexpected earnings earlier in the year. The children entertained each other with drama and song, received multiple small gifts, and had a huge meal with goodies to take home – an occasion that neither they nor we would easily forget.

SATURDAY, 27 December

Traditional Owambo weddings usually take place on Saturdays, preferably in December when most relatives return home for the festive season. The wedding of Lydia Hasheela and Pandu Amutenya aimed to be letter-perfect: They had known each other since High School and had been planning this occasion for almost a year. As the oldest of our “Saving Remnant students,” Lydia has now graduated and works in the field of communications, while Pandu -- the son of a headman -- teaches high school. Given our special relationship with Lydia, Bernd and I got to take on the role of Auntie and Uncle – complete with specially designed African outfits -- while Elsita joined as the unofficial photographer.

Several days of celebration were planned. The day before we arrived, friends and relatives gathered for a night of singing. On the actual wedding day, the invitations announced a church service, followed by a reception at the home of Lydia’s father. The next day a second reception would take place at Pandu’s family–home about 100 kilometers (67 miles) away. A week ago, we were told, the traditional spear-throwing ritual already occurred, where men from the extended family gathered around the bride-to-be and threw spears at her feet – each one representing a cow that she would be given for her marriage. Lydia ended up with thirteen new cows but agreed to sacrifice four for the wedding, as the entire village would be showing up at the receptions and everyone expected to bring home a basket of fresh meat to enjoy.

Early on this day, we first drove to pick up Helvi Shilongo, one of our more recent Saving Remnant members, to join the celebrations. Helvi has been raised by her grandmother (now 86 years old) in a very rural homestead, 30 minutes’ drive across sandy tracks to the nearest road. She showed us how each of the traditional round-huts in the homestead has a different purpose, with old wooden stockades serving as walls and fencing. The grandmother greeted us warmly with some ground millet and spinach-sauce, showed us their recently plowed field (the work of Helvi, a cousin, and the family donkeys), and proudly tossed away her cane to pose for a photograph. Helvi provided the translation as the grandmother – who has never traveled more than 90 kilometers (60 miles) from her home -- promised to visit Windhoek ("God-willing") in order to witness Helvi’s anticipated graduation from the Polytechnic of Namibia in two years’ time.

With Helvi and Elsita now in the back-seat, we drove to the wedding itself. The church service was meant to start at 10 in the morning, and we arrived just minutes before – only to realize that the church was already crowded with people singing hymns. Helvi and Elsita rushed inside to find seats and then Helvi – who suddenly grasped what was going on – turned to Elsita and whispered, “Are we supposed to be at a funeral?” Elsita looked askance and whispered back, “No, I don’t think so!!” Realizing that it would be rude to leave, they decided to stay through to the end. Meanwhile Bernd and I learned that the wedding had been postponed some hours to accommodate this unanticipated event, but since there hadn’t been time to inform the out-of-towners we were told to wait outside under a shade-tree.

Hurry up and wait, my mother always said.

Soon a new crowd appeared, and a very pregnant bride emerged from a car. A second wedding – obviously one that could not wait! The organizers eventually decided that each party would occupy one side of the church – to the left and right of the central aisle – and the two couples would get married in the same ceremony. Two hours later, Lydia and Pandu extended the service with a visiting choir and a series of small speeches just for them (Bernd and me included) and then we proceeded -- largely on foot -- to the home of Lydia’s father. To protect them from the unrelenting summer sun, the newly wedded couple had parasol-bearers – but progress was slow as they stopped every few minutes to make sure that everyone in the neighborhood knew they were invited to join the wedding feast.

Just outside the father’s house, the couple had to stand patiently for almost a full hour as family members and village elders sang and danced, alerting Lydia that this would be the last time she would enter the house as her father’s daughter, rather than as her husband’s wife.

More ceremonies continued as a long row of female gift-bearers offered traditional straw- baskets and small denominations of money. Then the couple – who had not eaten since morning – had to sample the father’s traditional (home-made) beer. Unfortunately, by this time it was approaching six o’clock in the evening and we still intended to drive Helvi back home before it got dark. Three other Saving Remnant students recognized our dilemma and gave us each a plate of salads and grilled beef that they had prepared for the evening feast. After the food, we quietly voiced our good-byes. Everyone else’s serious eating and drinking would only begin after sunset, we were told, and the next day pretty much the same was planned with Pandu’s family, except there wouldn’t be a second church-service. After witnessing the day’s events, Helvi quipped that she would rather elope or not marry at all.

SUNDAY, 28 September

Again we rose early, with one last side-trip planned before returning to Windhoek. As some of you know, in 2009 we plan to sponsor an additional student at the University of Namibia – a young woman living at the Osire Refugee Camp amidst 6500 other refugees from Angola and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Today we got to meet the student along with her mother, grandmother, pastor, and volunteer-coordinator of the Osire Boys’ and Girls’ clubs, who had nominated her as the recent high-school graduate “most likely to succeed.”

Angolan-born Sofiana Silva, age 18, has lived in the Osire Refugee Camp since she was two years old. Her family of 12 occupies three small windowless rooms made of mud-bricks with dirt floors and a bare-tin roof, surrounded by a vegetable garden that Sofiana tries to maintain as much as possible. Cooking is done outside and there is one pit toilet two houses down, which several families share. As part of our tour, I asked to see where Sofiana sleeps: She is designated a corner of one bare room (without a light or candle) where there is a narrow cot that she shares with her sister (they sleep one head at each end of the bed, with a shared blanket).

It's hard to believe that such a completely devastating place could produce such an outgoing and accomplished young woman! Two years ago, Sofiana won a U.N. High Commission for Refugees’ scholarship to finish her high school education through grades 11 and 12. (In the refugee camp, schooling stops at Grade 10.) Unfortunately, many fellow-students shunned her as a refugee and accused her of taking up a space in the school that could otherwise go to a Namibian. Eventually, however, she found two friends. What kept her going? Sofiana clearly clings to her faith as a source of strength, but she also explained that every opportunity she receives comes with the responsibility to do her best and then help others -- her family and beyond – as much as she can.

Sofiana's academic interests lie with computer technology, which she hopes to combine with Media Studies. She told us how, in September, her best friend had persuaded her to use her last dollars for an application to the University of Namibia, even though she thought she had no hope of being able to attend. By contrast, now everyone in the family was singing praises - they see this as truly heaven-sent.

So do we. It will be a great privilege to help a young woman like Sofiana. With thanks for your support – emotional and otherwise -- we wish you the best for 2009.

221: Sand, Sun & Serious Work

After almost 12 years in Namibia, I still can’t get used to the fact that it’s cold in June and July and boiling hot when the festive season rolls around in December. Fortunately, this year we have been blessed by some early summer rains, so the dry spell that began last April has finally broken with new grass and scattered flowers growing in the fields.


At least the farmers are happy. By contrast, the Namibian news is filled with horror stories about the failed neighboring-state of Zimbabwe (some of our Zimbabwean friends have relatives who were beaten up by the Mugabe forces), and about the teetering Namibian economy that -- even under the best of circumstances – wobbles dangerously on the triple legs of tourism, mining, and a diminishing fishing industry. But over the last six months, to no-one’s surprise, tourist bookings are down; uranium prices have fallen; and the diamond companies are saying, quite bluntly, that no one is buying. Already one third of Namibians are living on less than US$1 a day.


GOOD NEWS WE’RE GLAD TO SHARE:

Among the good news we can share is that all twelve of our local tertiary students that we help sponsor did well this year. By way of example, Lucas (who lives with us) scored amongst the best in his class for Mechanical Engineering, and we have two seniors who are about to graduate with good jobs awaiting them in geology and accounting.


Ten days ago Bernd finished teaching and I returned from 2 weeks in Ethiopia, so last weekend we took all the students to the coast for a massive camp-out and Braii (traditional Namibian barbecue). On Saturday morning, we booked a sand-boarding adventure that is a lot like tobogganing except that it takes place on huge sand dunes.





















True to its eco-tourism identity, there is only a cheap piece of bendable pressboard between yourself and the hot sand, onto which you literally have to hold on for dear life. Bernd and I joined the adventure and clocked 68 and 60 kilometers per hour respectively going down the step slopes (45 and 40 mph). The students overcame a lot of their own fears in doing this, which felt very empowering -- and all of us had a blast. (Sorry that our photos could only be “before” and “afterwards.” In between there was too much blowing sand that could have ruined the camera.)











Speaking of students, this past year Bernd and I also took on a double-orphan who is studying economics, and we’re hoping to add at least one more for the coming year. To make that possible, we’re willing to match all donations that come in from friends, dollar-for-dollar, up to US$2000 (meaning that we would provide an additional US$2000, for a total of US$4000). We know this is a tough time for everyone, but if you are stumped for a holiday gift for someone, why not consider a contribution in that person’s name, instead? Any amount will be gratefully accepted.*

Our own holiday plans this year are simple. Bernd and I will return to the Coast for some writing, reading, craft-making and long walks on the beach: Bernd indulged me with a third dog so that will definitely keep us running! Elsita arrives on December 23rd after her year in El Salvador; thereafter we head north for a traditional wedding (I promise to write about that in my next Namibia Diary) and finally we return to the coast for New Year’s. Come January Elsita will have to decide whether she wants to try to find work in the USA (where most of her friends live) or stay here a little longer (where, despite the economic woes, her job prospects are probably better). Meanwhile, Sergio will spend his holidays with the U.S. Marines in Okinawa, Japan – he says he is bored there but we are thrilled that he is safe.


AN ETHIOPIAN REVOLUTION, ONE NEIGHBORHOOD AT A TIME:

My own international travels are over for 2008, although the Family Health International (FHI) office in Ethiopia will definitely require me to return soon after the New Year. The work is fascinating: FHI has helped transform traditional Ethiopian burial societies (called “Iddrs”) into mutual-aid organizations that focus on living people rather than only on the dead. It’s one of those silver-linings to the AIDS pandemic that always makes me stop and think about what else we might be missing, underneath the mounds of tragedy that generally accompanies this disease.

By way of background, traditional Iddrs span the entire county as local voluntary associations for every 3,000 - 5,000 people. Based on a Government mandate, Iddrs have historically collected a small payment every month from all households in their catchment area, in order to provide financial and logistical support for burial expenses when someone dies. But with the start of the AIDS pandemic, some local Iddr leaders realized that their priorities were all wrong: So many people were dying, often for lack of medicine and healthy food. So they said, “Why not take a portion of the money allocated to each person for funeral costs and allocate it for medicine and food while the person is still alive?” If the person still dies, they argued, this amount can be deducted from the death-benefit; but if the person lives, then the amount provided can be paid back once the person starts earning money again.

Brilliant, isn’t it? From this starting point, several local Iddrs underwent a complete sea change: they asked to have local volunteers trained in home based care, and then in orphan-care (which is where I come in), and finally in resource-development, service-co-ordination, and even in monitoring-and-evaluation. One challenge will be scaling this model out to cover more and more neighborhoods, but the potential is obvious. It also amazes me that all Iddrs members are volunteers; moreover they span all religious groups (Christian and Muslim) with the mandate that each family’s own religious customs must be respected.

The world needs more of this, that’s for sure. With Obamania flying high around the world, we know that the possibilities for positive change are endless. Meanwhile we wish you and yours all the best for a safe and happy holiday season. We appreciate your friendship, your support, and your correspondence.


*Money can be sent directly to the Saving Remnant Program at Catholic AIDS Action (tax deductible) at: Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers; Controller's Office; PO BOX 302; Maryknoll, NY 10545-0302… Please state that this donation is for the MISSION ACCOUNT of Fr. Richard W. Bauer, Namibia and for the SAVING REMNANT program. If you need a receipt, they can provide that for you, and if you don't want to be put on the Maryknoll mailing list, please also state that in your letter (otherwise you’ll get a lot of Catholic-related mail). The alternative is to make a bank deposit into our account in the USA or in Namibia or send a check to our power-of-attorney – let us know what you prefer and we’ll send you details.

220: Election Day in Western Kenya

This US election is the biggest story to hit Kenya in decades. I’m in Western Kenya doing Stephen Lewis Foundation work, but everyone else, it seems, has only the US election on the brain. One cameraman said this morning, “All the TV crews are here from Nairobi. What happens if there is a bomb in the capital? No one will be there to report it.” Obamania is how the newspaper headlines called this over the weekend.

For the last several days, you could not find a vacant hotel room in Kisumu (the main town in Western Kenya), for either love or money. As a frequent customer, two weeks ago I had to beg for a room. Eventually I got bumped up to a deluxe-suite as the only option left, albeit at a discounted rate. The breakfast room each morning buzzes with reporters from Canada, China, Japan, Israel, South Africa, Mauritania (!), the USA, and various European countries, as well as nearby Nairobi. I got to talk with quite a few of them. In some parts of the city, one can almost count as many Obama tee-shirts and caps here as on an American college campus.

Beginning a few weeks ago, the Obama extended family started gathering at their ancestral homestead in Kogelo, about 90 minutes from Kisumu. The police are only letting certified media reporters into the area. I heard that relatives erected a wall around the compound creating a kind of garrison village. One local resident characterized it as Barrack’s barracks – all in keeping with the country’s favorite son. As it happens, I visited Kogelo village about a year ago. Even at that time, every other shop and school had been renamed for the American senator. As one would expect, relatives have been saying that they are confident that Barrack Obama will win the US election. But no one wants to take the chance: Local soothsayers are doing a good business, sending spiritual messages to underscore more traditional religious prayers. (Hey – I support whatever will help!)

The main pre-election event, one reporter said, is that most of the family is just hanging around getting drunk. Malik Abong’o Obama, Barrack’s half-brother, has returned from the USA to take charge at the family compound and gives a daily press conference. He made it clear that the media can’t report on the alcohol consumption or else he won’t grant any more interviews. But he did say that the fact that the Kenyan government had moved to grade the dirt road leading to the village was an indication of better things to come.

On Saturday, the family held an Obama Cup – a series of soccer matches for TV and local sponsorships. Apparently, they had the family widows playing against the cousins; the grandmother’s side of the family against the grandfather’s, and so on. One reporter said, “The people love it but the soccer has been truly awful. The ball was always in the air, going in all directions.” No matter: After the games, one local newspaper reported that the family enjoyed a “bull roast.” By contrast to the rest of the family, however, the grandmother and great grandmother have gone into retreat – apparently exhausted by all the fuss and they don’t want to talk with anyone.

Also over the weekend, eleven huge billboards with Obama’s portrait and campaign slogan suddenly appeared all over the town of Kisumu. Nobody is saying who paid for them but many local people suspect Raila Odinga, Kenya’s Prime Minister from the opposition party. Odinga claims to be Obama’s cousin – though I couldn’t find out what the connection really is. “It’s like all Kenyans are Obama’s cousin,” said one reporter. This is not all innocent fun, however: Rumors are also circulating that, to further his own political goals, Prime Minister Odinga has said that with his being an ethnic Luo and Obama being ethnic Luo, he’ll now have an “in” to the White House over his political rival, President Kibaki.

What about the story that one of Barrack Obama’s aunts – his father’s half-sister – has been living illegally in the US for years? “A conspiracy dug up by Obama’s detractors,” one person said. “No comment,” said another. What’s interesting is that, seemingly, no one is saying that Barrack should interfere on his aunt’s behalf, although that would likely be the Kenyan way of doing things – one relative helping another. Instinctively, they realize that such an approach runs counter to the way a real democracy works, and that is not the American way.

219: The impact of Cash Transfers

Two weeks ago, I met with 70 ancient grandmothers under some trees outside the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. All the grandmothers wore white cotton shawls and sat on the ground or on some cement blocks because there weren’t any chairs. I greeted each one formally with the few words of Amharic that I learned. In turn, the women proffered blessings onto the Stephen Lewis Foundation (www.stephenlewisfoundation.org) that provided for their sustenance and made my visit possible. All of these women were widows, desperately poor, who were nevertheless saddled with the care of grandchildren following the illness and death of their own children primarily due to war or HIV/AIDS.

This is not an unusual situation. Between 40 and 60% of all orphans in sub-Saharan Africa live with their grandparents – almost always with their grandmothers. These grandparents represent the last shred in the family safety net. If the grandparents also die, their grandchildren end up on the street or as Child-Headed Households – a new “category of family” that has tragically become part of Africa’s everyday language. By 2010, Ethiopia alone anticipates 225,000 Child-Headed Households! Obviously, it should be in everyone’s interest to keep the grandmother’s alive as long as possible in order to provide some modicum of stability, continuity, and support for these children. But very few countries in Africa have any form of state pension for the elderly, and once again, it is the poorest of the poor who suffer most.

Through the Destitute Elder’s Welfare and Development Association – the Ethiopian NGO I visited -- 1266 very-poor and very-old people receive the equivalent of $8 a month (less than 27 cents a day), one new set of clothes each year, and access to free nurse-assessments: literally drawing the line between life and death. In its first year of assistance to this organization, the Stephen Lewis Foundation paid for 100 of these grandmothers and added extra for their orphans -- including basic school supplies and a school-uniform. The reason for my assessment was to see how well the money was spent and to make a recommendation for a follow-up grant, hopefully of a larger size.

As is usually the case, I was asked to make a small speech to the beneficiaries (with translation). Knowing a bit about their background, I expressed appreciation for the grandmothers’ hard work and dedication. What these old women appreciated hearing the most, however, was how the money came to them through groups of older women in Canada who gather together regularly to hold fund-raisers, bake-sales, and craft fairs to help their counterparts in Africa – grandmothers to grandmothers. “Now we know we are not forgotten,” one beneficiary commented to me later. “Even far away, someone has heard our cry for help.”

Over and over I heard that the support given through the Destitute Elders’ Association has become an absolute lifesaver, “If it weren’t for this organization, I would be dead by now and my grandchildren would be living on the street. Eight dollars a day (75 Ethiopian Birr) comes to just one meal a day, but it keeps us alive.” one grandmother said bluntly. The others nodded in agreement. “What additional assistance do you want?” I asked. I was told that last year the organization had experimented with an income-generating project involving goats and chickens, but there was a drought so the animal feed had to be purchased from far away and this cost too much. Despite the grandmothers’ efforts, all the animals died. Those elderly women who are still able to work said that next year they would prefer to receive small loans for petty trading (for example, the buying and selling of vegetables or some cloth), the spinning of cotton, and the preparation of injera, the Ethiopian staple pancake.

On our way back to the organization’s small office, we stopped at two homes – hovels – headed by grandmothers. In the first, I met a very-elderly and partly blind widow who lives with her 7-year-old grandson. Some years ago, she also cared for an older grandson, as well, but he ran away and lost touch. “Now,” she explained, “The younger boy is my entire reason for living.” With the support she gets from the Destitute Elders’ Association, she ekes out the rent of her 1-room mud hut, in which she and her grandson sleep on the same single cot with just one blanket between them. Each month, the grandmother is able to buy a little salt, coffee, oil, kerosene (for cooking) and 5 kilograms (11 lbs) of tef (the traditional Ethiopian grain) and 5 kilograms of wheat-flour. The household meals never contain vegetables or protein – just the flour mixed with a bit of oil and salt. The grandmother said that she eats only once a day in order to give two meals per day to the boy so that he can concentrate at school and get good grades. Still, by mid-month they generally run out of food. The grandmother explained that food prices have nearly doubled since last year, so for these past few months they had to borrow from friends. Now they have a “guest” sleeping on a mat on the floor of the house – a younger woman with an infant – and this woman pays a few cents per month, too.

After we spoke for a while, the boy came into the house – his clothes threadbare and torn, but proudly carrying a small back-pack with this school materials. His face shone as he explained how much he loves school and that he has made many friends. “What did you learn today?” I asked through the translator. “I learned an English word,” the boy said proudly, pointing to his face. “Nose.” He smiled broadly and we did too, and I felt that a connection had been made. Then I decided to show him how to make his face look like a fish and other silly things. Soon he started giggling and the grandmother joined in, and then the two staff who had accompanied me started making silly faces and soon the whole room shook with raucous laughter. Seeing my camera, the boy asked to have their picture taken, and I promised to send a copy back, via the organization’s office.

Two weeks have passed since I visited this home, and I can’t get this grandmother and her grandson out of my thoughts. Amidst their hunger and material deprivation, they evoked incredible dignity, care, and even joy. Those of us facing our own tighter economic times and financial insecurity due to the Wall Street debacle can learn a lot from this tiny family. And we must also remember that they, and others like them, need our help more than ever.

The second home we visited included a 3-year old girl (see photo with Lucy) who was born with HIV. She currently receives free medicines from the government, through American foreign assistance (PEPFAR). Her mother is alive but still sickly, although she also started on treatment a couple months ago. One problem is that the medications don’t come with the extra nutrition that is needed for the pills to really work. And so, once again, that is where the Stephen Lewis Foundation steps in.

Before arriving here, the director of the Destitute Elders’ Association had told me that, if he had to choose a favorite child among all the orphan-beneficiaries, he would select this little girl. “She is all sunshine,” he explained, “even when she is not feeling well.”

To get to the family’s shack in the slum, we had to squeeze through some very narrow passageways that smelled of sewage and were slippery from the recent rains. The little girl caught sight of us and, recognizing the staff, came over to be hugged. But as we entered the one-room shack, we noticed that the grandmother wasn’t around. “Where is she?” the director asked. “She died very suddenly, just four days ago,” the mother whispered hoarsely. “We are now in mourning.” So our routine home-visit suddenly became something of a “shiva” call (the custom in Ethiopia is similar). After a while the mother spoke, “My mother’s welfare - pension from the Destitute Elders’ Association was all that we had to live on. I am young but ill, and can’t work. I worry now, how will we will survive?”

Whew!

This family, too, has been in my thoughts frequently, since we met. I know that “welfare checks” are not considered a progressive development policy because they create dependency, and they are not a quick fix. Most donors prefer to give one-time assistance, like a few goats or chickens, and then have families rely on themselves. But as we know, that doesn’t always work either. Sometimes there are situations where only direct, ongoing assistance will really make the difference. Without better nutrition and rent-money, this mother and child won’t make it. But if they are assisted, then eventually Mom may get better on the drugs and could start working again.

So why do we maintain a double standard and balk at giving cash or vouchers to the poor? In the industrialized world old people and folks with disabilities get their pensions or Social Security, and low-income children get assistance without having to earn it, so why shouldn’t the same system apply in Africa where the need is even greater? A recent study of cash transfers in Malawi, Zimbabwe and South Africa concluded that, in countries with a high HIV/AIDS prevalence, social cash transfer programs – whether paid by government or through outside donors – reduce death and have a substantial AIDS mitigation impact. They also found that, with rare exceptions, the money is spent to benefit the whole family, and isn’t wasted on alcohol or other excesses. Clearly, social transfers – that is, vouchers or cash-sustenance for basic needs plus access to free education and health care – make as much sense for the poorest of the poor in the developing world as it does in London or New York or Mississippi.

Yours truly,

Lucy

P.S. #1: Belated good wishes to our Jewish friends for a Shanah Tovah u’Metukah – a sweet and happy new year. Our own new year started off great: we heard from Sergio this week that he will be shipped to Japan (Okinawa) in a month, and we figure that any country that doesn’t start with a vowel is definitely good news! The rest of us are also doing well and send regards.

P.S. #2: Bernd became a member of the worldwide Rotary Club in Windhoek (Auas Chapter - receiving his membership pin in the photo).

P.S. #3: Finally, here are two other photos of typical Ethiopian street scenes – I especially fell in love with the Ethiopian donkeys that are much smaller than the ones we have in Namibia (and much harder working, too).

218: Namibia’s Matterhorn

I was recently asked to name my favorite place to relax and clear my head. In the old days before we moved to Africa, I would have answered immediately, “West Virginia.” But now, there are so many places to choose from. Eventually, I selected just one and it is Spitzkoppe, the Matterhorn of Namibia.

I’ll start by telling you a little about the geology and feel of the place and then you can understand more easily why we like it so much. Bernd and I went camping there this weekend (with the dogs) so we also have some recent photos to share.

The landmass of Southern Africa is very old and particularly rich in mineral resources. About 300 million years ago the region that is today known as Namibia was much closer to the South Pole and was covered by huge glaciers. Tectonic movement of plates within the earth’s crust caused it to move further away from Pole about 250 million years ago and then the ice melted, leaving behind glacial debris in valleys and depressions. The climate continued to change from cold and wet to hot and dry, and eventually a desert spread over large parts of the area known as Gondwanaland. Although the greater part of Namibia became covered by sand, outflows of lava emerged when Gondwanaland broke apart. Over time, heavy wind and water erosion sculpted enormous granite domes, twisted towers, and fissured outcrops all over the area, most dramatically along the rocks of Spitzkoppe (1728 meters or 5857 feet high).

Getting to Spitzkoppe requires a good car and a lot of patience, but it’s worth it every time. For miles you feel like you are in the middle of nowhere, until a huge rocky mountain range appears suddenly before your eyes. Almost tree-less, it looks like the entire mountain has been carved from one giant rock. It looks stark, forbidding, and inviting at the same time. A hotel is planned for the area, but right now the only way to stay overnight is to camp. The cost for camping is combined with an entrance fee that you must pay to the local community that manages the site as part of their communal lands. This concept of locally-run tourism aims to bring people into harmony with nature, by creating an incentive for the local population – otherwise very poor and largely unemployed – to make a small profit while preserving the land from overgrazing and hunting.

Our family comes here annually (previously with our children and now by ourselves or with friends). The equivalent of US$12 buys you the privilege of a clean campsite far away from anybody else, great hiking and one of the best views on earth. The harsh environment contains a unique biodiversity, so you must always be on the lookout for small mammals, birds, lizards and snakes – but you’re allowed to take your dogs with you, so for us this makes for a special treat.

The trick when finding a good campsite at Spitzkoppe is to locate one with shade. We’ve camped at about a dozen places around the area by now, and have several favorites. But ever since the Hollywood filming of 10,000BC at Spitzkoppe about a year ago, when the filming crew introduced several herds of zebra and springbok into the area (and consequently fenced off the mountains’ central valley), some of the campsites have been restricted. So this weekend we had to find a new site and eventually did, though the angle of the rock over Bernd’s head made us think that it could fall over any minute.

We arrived in the mid-day heat, so after unpacking we made ourselves comfortable with a stash of Stuart Kaminsky detective novels that I found in a second-hand bookstore in South Africa. (These make for great reads, intertwined juicy tidbits about the ironic contradictions of life in cold-war Russia.) When it cooled down around 4pm we hiked up the backside of Spitzkoppe, our 12 year old shepherd trailing somewhat behind due to his weak hips. We made it about a third of the way to the top (anything further would have required ropes and a climbing guide), and the view was breathtaking. Looking down, our car looks like a tiny speck of white dust.

Although it almost never rains at Spitzkoppe, we found ourselves greeted around sundown by a cold wind and a wave of fog that rolled in from the coast, 100 kilometers (61 miles) away. Whereas we were practically roasting at mid-day, by nightfall we had donned every article of clothing we brought with us – and still we were freezing. Yet, this coastal moisture is what keeps the Namibian desert alive, though it is rare to be seen so far inland. Desert plants and animals survive by absorbing the cloud-like droplets that land on rocks and waxy leaves, coveting every last molecule as the precious life-source that it is.

We crawled early into our tent, but around midnight nature called and I awoke to find a clear sky and full moon. Night-time under a full-moon is my favorite time at Spitzkoppe, so the dogs and I took a stroll in the moonlight, marveling at the mysterious rock-silhouettes, the height of skyscrapers, which surrounded the narrow dirt road. Bernd got up a few hours later for the same reason, but unfortunately for him the fog had returned.

Allow a short digression: Like many small countries, Namibia makes gorgeous postage stamps and sells them to collectors world-wide as a much-coveted source of foreign income. Elsita started our Namibian collection, and Bernd has continued it: we now have every stamp and every first-day cover that this country has ever issued. (That sounds bigger than it sounds but remember, Namibia is only 18 years old.) At any rate, to mark the Millennium, Namibia issued a dual-set -- sunset and sunrise over the Spitzkoppe. What was a great choice!! Usually we are able to see both of these when we camp, but this morning, all we had left was a cool haze. We took a second hike and returned for a late breakfast. Then we had to leave in order to get home in time to cook for fifteen: tonight is our monthly gathering for the Saving Remnant students. We have a guest speaker – a refugee from Rwanda’s 1994 genocide – who will speak about how to keep hope alive in the face of unspeakable terrors.

Other updates: Many of you have asked about Sergio’s new mailing address. Although we know he is getting trained for the Transport Corps someplace in Missouri, we have no address for him at the moment. Nor does he seem to have frequent access to e-mail. Elsita spent a wonderful holiday in Copan, Honduras (see http://moremotion.blogspot.com) and plans to extend her time in Central America by an additional 4-6 months (through May 2009) in order to get in another growing season for the native corn on which she is experimenting. Bernd and I doing well -- juggling our work, my travel and a busy home-life. (We have also started gathering our old diaries onto a blog: check out http://namibiadiaries.blogspot.com. All of our friends and acquaintances in Africa feel totally convinced that Obama will win (I even saw Obama buttons and bumper stickers in Cape Town); we only hope that they are right.

Work-wise, Bernd is teaching four courses at the Polytechnic and has developed quite a following of students who specifically seek out his classes. I recently co-authored a small book with two Namibian memes (traditional women from the north) that teaches orphans living without adults what they need to know about caring for their property, saving and spending money, accessing local services, and parenting younger siblings. It’s a dreadful sign-of-our-times that our assistance to “child-headed households” has come down to a manual (even one that will be translated into the local languages). But soon the memes will begin leading workshops with the young people on these issues, and hopefully they can be linked – at a minimum – to caring neighbors and volunteers for additional support.

This week, too, Catholic AIDS Action (www.caa.org.na) celebrates its tenth anniversary. Who could have imagined a decade ago, when Sr. Dr. Raphaela Händler and I teamed up together, that this organization would become Namibia’s largest non-governmental provider of HIV-related services? But as an indication of just how distorted local thinking has become as a consequence of our donor-driven focus on HIV, a research study was recently launched in Namibia’s far north-eastern region after it was discovered that some local women in their fifties thought they had HIV, when in reality their complaints (heat-flashes, etc) were all menopause-related. HIV was the only disease they were being educated about, so naturally that’s what they thought their symptoms revealed!

Obviously, there is still a lot of work to be done. We wish you well, Lucy and Bernd

217: Namibia’s New Diamonds

Uranium takes over: Namibia currently produces 10% of the world’s uranium – more than any other country in Africa except Niger. Soon, however, Namibia’s production will grow tenfold, with the effect of positioning this country as a major player in the global energy and political playing fields.

The irony is that three years ago, Namibia’s major uranium producer – Rössing Mines – practically shut its doors due to the falling market. But that was before the prices shot up in a year’s time from $16 per kilogram of yellow-cake (uranium that is partially refined) to $140, thanks to the world’s voracious appetite for alternative energy sources, nuclear included.

Who is buying most of this stuff? China, as you might guess, followed by Japan, India, and Europe. Soon uranium will likely outstrip diamonds as this country’s biggest income-producer and will create at least 10,000 new jobs (no minor consideration in a country with a 35% unemployment rate). But it will also irrevocably change Namibia’s pristine coastal and desert landscapes.

Uranium concentrates in the Namib desert (the oldest desert in the world), between 20 and 40 miles inland from the Atlantic Ocean. Extraction requires open-pit mining, in some cases very deep (with less damage to the environment), or else broad surface-mining over land that has never before been disturbed in history. For example, the next site to be opened, about an hour’s drive from our beloved town of Swakopmund, will span 80 square miles, to say nothing of the multiple roads and support structures to be built. It will also have its own desalination plant – Africa’s first – to supply the 12 million gallons of water that it needs per day to spray down the radioactive dust and clean the uranium before it is shipped overseas.

I got excited about the desalination plant when I first heard about it, because Namibia’s coastal towns are already using more water than comes in every year through underground rivers to refill the coastal aquifers. But at a lecture we heard earlier this week, it turns out that this desalination plant will be constructed to serve the mine first, and only the “left-over water” – if there is any – will be available for people. (This, despite the fact that Swakopmund may well double in size due to these new mines.) Moreover, the desalination process will likely absorb and then spit-out so much chlorine that much of the ocean wildlife (seals, dolphins and fish) could be negatively affected.

The impact of these mines on the coast’s human residents is an even bigger unknown, especially when Namibia’s famous East-Winds churn up huge quantities of desert sand towards the ocean, layering everything with a fine carpet of dust-particles (our lungs, included). To prove our concerns, we heard that a state-of-the art private hospital will be built soon, entirely focusing on radiation issues, largely funded by the mine-workers’ health-insurance.

What do we conclude? It seems that Namibia’s government woke up too late in terms of the secondary and tertiary impacts these mines will have. Initially, they saw only the benefits of jobs and taxes and consequently, issued ten additional mining licenses to overseas investors before engaging an environmental impact study. (From what we can gather, corruption has not been a major factor, but rather the innocence of government planners who felt pressured to act quickly.) But by the time the environmental impact study will be completed in about two years’ time, much of the damage may already be done.

Namibians tend not to hold mass rallies or demonstrations against the government; they prefer quite negotiation in the style of an old-time Elders’ Council. Moreover, given the fact that the average lifespan in this country has already dropped from 61 (when we arrived 11 years ago) to 42 (mostly due to HIV & AIDS), long-term public health concerns take a backseat to poverty alleviation and other, more immediate issues. Realistically, you can’t blame the Namibian government for grabbing the opportunity for massive foreign investment and jobs; yet one can’t help but wish that the planning had been better or, more to the point, that there had been any planning at all.

Diamonds in the Rough: One immediate benefit is that two of the orphaned students we help sponsor at the University of Namibia will benefit enormously. Both are studying geology and the older one has already got three job-offers by the mines, with a brighter future than he could have ever imagined.

Both students are part of the Saving Remnant Program, which is an initiative I started in 2001 as National Coordinator of Catholic AIDS Action (www.caa.org.na). The concept is Biblical and draws from an analogy with a large piece of patterned cloth. The idea is that, if you can’t save an entire society then at least you must save a large enough remnant from which the pattern – that is, the structures, culture and leadership -- of the society can be rebuilt, even better and stronger, in the future.

At Catholic AIDS Action, we first provided secondary school scholarships for the best-and-brightest students we could identify among the 18,000 orphans and vulnerable children that we supported every year. The cost per child averages US$350, and often includes hostel-living (for children in rural areas who can’t commute to high school), in addition to the requisite books, school fees, uniform, and exam fees that the government doesn’t pay. But soon a new challenge arose: what to do with those Saving Remnant high school graduates who beat the odds and meet the entrance requirements for the University of Namibia or the Polytechnic? Now the cost shoots up to between US$1800 and US$5000 per year, depending on the course of study and whether the student can get a government loan (which requires their putting up collateral -- something that, by definition, most of our students can’t do).

So by hook and by crook the Saving Remnant extended its reach to 10 tertiary-level students, for whom Bernd and I serve as volunteer “Uncle and Auntie.” To that end, we personally assist some of the students financially, while the others benefit from the generous donation of friends and three local businesses. More to the point, these students have become part of our family. We learned the hard way through a first-year student who failed that most need a lot of personal guidance and emotional support to successfully pass their courses. So, four years ago we started inviting these students to a monthly dinner at our home; then we added special study-sessions, assistance with computer-access, and periodic support in-between. We encourage peer-mentoring: student to student. When Sergio moved out of the house almost two years ago, we invited one of the students to move in.

This student is Lucas Mahoni, who is now a third year Mechanical Engineering student at the Polytechnic of Namibia, where Bernd also works. Lucas hails from Namibia’s rural north-eastern region. His father died when he was six and his mother when he was nine; then he was forced out of school for one year by an uncle who wanted him to become a goat-herder. When he insisted on returning to school, an aunt let him stay with her but without any financial support. So, while still in primary school, Lucas attended school in the morning and begged for food and school fees in the afternoon at a local petrol station (where he also washed cars and helped the gas-attendants). Finally, his maternal grandmother in another province heard about his plight and invited him to stay with her, but she lived 60 kilometers from the closest school that Lucas could attend. That meant that room-and-board also had to be paid-for. That’s when Lucas heard about Catholic AIDS Action’s Saving Remnant Program, and he graduated top-of-his class.

Lucas believes that God has a special purpose for his life. How else can he explain his difficult childhood and terrible stutter (which is the worst we have ever heard – despite a year of speech therapy that we arranged in Windhoek)? When Lucas’ grandmother died last year he felt he had no one left anymore, but slowly he has drawn closer to us – as we have to him. Now he has a girlfriend (a lovely young woman), and some weeks ago he made the decision to start talking up in class no matter how much the other students laughed at his speech impediment. In telling us this, he repeated the phrase we often use with him, that what he says is worth the extra time it takes to say it. He is also feeling positive about his academics: By contrast to the majority of the students who failed or dropped out during their first two years of the Engineering program, he is a survivor.

Lucas gives us great inspiration. So does Helvi, our latest addition, who studies Economics and spends every vacation in the north helping her grandmother farm their meager fields. Or Mirjam, who grew up with two cousins in what became a child-headed household when Mirjam turned 17. Amazingly, all three youngsters made it to University: Mirjam is getting top-honors as an accounting student and will graduate later this year (also with several job-offers in hand); her cousin Simon is studying social work, and the youngest of the three – Jason – got into Stellenbosch University in South Africa to study medicine (this being the Africa’s top medical school!). But where does the money come from for all that? In Jason’s case, a physician-couple we know from Baltimore are single-handedly paying for all his expenses, with the single condition that Jason stays in Africa and doesn’t join the brain-drain to the West. (No worries: Jason loves Namibia tremendously.) And then there is Kenneth, who became vice president of Namibia’s Young Accountants’ Society, and Lydia who graduated last year in Communications and gets married in December (we’ll be part of the wedding, as it turns out), plus several others. We’re so proud of these youngsters, and so full of admiration for what they have accomplished already, despite incredible challenges. These are Namibia’s true diamonds of the future, more precious than any mineral or any stone will ever be.

PS #1: Unfortunately, Keitometsi Abu Basuto, our “second daughter,” is moving back to Zimbabwe next week. Her visa runs out and she doesn’t want to risk staying in Namibia illegally. We’ll miss her and wish her all the best, and hope for her return one day.

PS #2: On a brighter note, we reveling in the visit from our dear friends Karen and Aron Primack, with whom we often stay when visiting the Washington area. Aron says that Namibia is so beautiful that you can’t even absorb it all. We’re delighted they are enjoying it so much and hope they will encourage others to visit, as well. (Here we are on a boat with Spotty the seal.)

216: Lucy’s Annual Elephant Fix

Every year I feel a desperate craving to head north and look for elephants. Usually that means going to Etosha National Park, Namibia’s largest (the size of Belgium), for the weekend. It is best to go between June and October after the rains have ended but before the summer heat sets in, as this means you can sit comfortably in your car by the watering holes where the animals gather to drink. It’s still hit or miss in terms of what you will see, but chances are that in two days, you’ll see a lot.

Bernd wanted to see giraffe, hyenas, and owls (his favorite bird), and Keitometsi, our Zimbabwean “second daughter” who has been living with us for the past few months, was hankering for lions and vultures. The latter comes from last year when Keito and Elsita lived together to do vulture-research at Namibia’s Rare and Endangered Species Trust (which is how Keito came to join the family). We decided to camp just outside the park to save money, and took off from work on Friday and Monday in order to make the most of the weekend. Bernd was in charge of the camping gear, I took responsibility for the food, and we told Keito that she was responsible for everything else.

When we left Windhoek on Friday morning, we were already feeling great. Sergio had flown into Namibia earlier in the week for a three day visit – he is now a full-fledged Marine, private first-class -- and looks great. As much as military life scares us, Boot Camp made Sergio into a man, brimming with knowledge and self-confidence. Every minute with him was precious, and we are swelling with parental pride. Sergio has two more bouts of training before he gets shipped overseas, so we are determined not to start worrying yet. We shall keep you posted as soon as we get his new address, as well as other information. (Above is a photo of Sergio - taken by Elsita, who was able to attend his graduation from Boot Camp.)

Driving from Windhoek to Etosha takes 5 to 6 hours, depending on which entrance you use. We arrived mid-afternoon, still in time for our first self-drive visit into the park. Our highlights were about 30 giraffe, seven species of antelope, lots of zebra and wildebeest, and a field of 200 banded mongoose -- but no elephants. The next morning it was the same and Keito started getting nervous. We teased her that, being responsible for everything else meant that she had to produce elephants or else we wouldn’t guarantee dinner. Finally, by mid-afternoon two lone bulls came forward and Keito breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she wouldn’t have to starve. We counted two more elephant bulls by the late afternoon but had stopped counting giraffe by then – we had surpassed sixty. Then came some bonus animals: two hyenas, a close encounter with a lilac-breasted roller, and a white-headed vulture that is quite rare in Namibia and never before seen by Keito. Unlike most vultures, this one is beautiful, with a slim red and blue bill and pink face and legs.

Shortly after our outdoor dinner Keito went to sleep, but Bernd and I checked out the lamp-lit water-hole at the far side of our camp. My eyes caught a large fluttering in a distant tree. I hoped it would be an owl, and sure enough – suddenly it lifted off in our direction and landed just to the right of the watering hole. Eleven species of owls occur in Namibia, and this was the biggest (almost two feet in height): the giant eagle owl, B. Lateus, a large gray bird with distinctive pink eyelids and dark brown eyes and ear tufts, not always raised. The male voice consists of a series of grunts while the females and young make a long, drawn out whistle that sometimes can be heard all night. Their favorite prey is hedgehog, which is eaten after peeling off and discarding the skin. Much as we hoped to witness the excitement of an owl-kill, we thought that something a little less gruesome would be preferable. But anyway, we sat and waited.

In the wildlife films you see on TV, the cameramen make you think that high-drama occurs every few minutes or so. In real life, we can attest that this is not so. After an hour, I became convinced we were watching a still life. Nothing moved – not the owl, not us, and not anything else. Then suddenly, in complete silence, the owl swooped down to the grass and started picking at something by its feet. Had it caught a mouse? A giant frog? We couldn’t tell, but in 30 seconds the meal was clearly over, and the still life returned.
We went to bed satisfied, only to be woken at 3 a.m. by a cacophony of deep-throated roars. If the owners of the campsite hadn’t told us that a protective fence surrounded us, I would have been convinced that the lions’ roars were just outside our tent. Sleep became illusive, so we just lay in our sleeping bags and enjoyed the concert. By sunrise the quiet returned, and we set off once again for the watering holes in Etosha Park. What would we find on this day?

Last week I wrote you about the rock-dassies in our backyard. Although these are the elephants’ closest living relatives, it is a distant relationship – as the evolution of both went separate ways about 6 million years ago. What ties the two animals together is that both animals do not ruminate (chew the curd). The organ they use to digest the huge amount of plant material they eat is not a true stomach, but part of the large intestine, namely the caecum (in humans, the appendix). One consequence of this system is that they are very inefficient eaters and must feed up to 16 hours a day to extract sufficient nutrients. This places a tremendous burden or their teeth, but in the case of elephants each molar-tooth is only expected to last a few years. As the teeth wear out and flake off, they are replaced from behind by a next set. The new teeth are always larger, so tooth size keeps pace with the expanding jaw. (I don’t know if this works the same way with dassies, but they don’t live as long, either.)

The evolution of elephants goes back more than 70 million years ago. It belongs to the order Proboscidea, of which just one family – the Elephantidae – is extant today. Etosha’s elephants are among the largest in Africa, the tallest measuring up to 4 meters (12 and a half feet) at the shoulder. Adult bulls have a mass of between 5500 and 6000 kg (12,100 – 13,200 pounds), while the cows measure about two-thirds that weight. Their tusks, on the other hand, are smaller than those of elephants elsewhere in Africa. This is probably due to breakages resulting from mineral deficiencies in their diet and genetic defects. The fact that Etosha’s elephants have smaller tusks is a distinct advantage, insofar as they are less likely to fall prey to ivory poachers.

Where a supply of clean, sweet water is normally an essential habitat requirement for elephants, in Etosha they have adapted to the water with its high salt content, the salinity of which sometimes exceeds that of seawater. Elephants are both browsers and grazers. During the rainy season, Etosha’s elephants will vacate the park and head into other areas of the country, causing much damage to fences and crops. Namibia’s wildlife service has developed a policy of compensating local farmers to the north and east of the park for damage these roaming pachyderms leave in their wake, which is how the government keeps the local farmers from killing these national treasures. By contrast, the elephants that head west for the desert during the rainy season earn back this money for the government in tourist dollars, as Namibia is the only place in the world where you can see elephants amidst sand dunes.*

So, off we went: The first water-hole we visited was dead as a doornail.
The second water-hole was the same, save for a Marshal Eagle and an assortment of wildebeest, springbok and black-faced impala in the distance. The third water-hole, once again, was empty. Just as we started back to the campsite, however, a beautiful oryx crossed our path, and then we hit a zebra crossing – literally: forty of these animals walking single file across the road, with babies in between, heading for the watering hole behind us. I looked back to watch them go. Omigod: A large gray hump was moving, as well. And then another and another: Elephants! Lots of them!

As if by magic, now the water-hole suddenly boasted about a hundred animals. They came from all sides: a herd of thirty female elephants with babies, about forty antelope of various kinds and finally, all the zebra whose fortuitous encounter caused us to hang a U-turn to see this teeming display of African wildlife. We stayed about an hour and a half, soaking it all in. Later in the day we came across another twenty elephants bathing in a deep pool of water and having a glorious time.

Our lives have been blessed in so many ways. Thirty years ago, this week, Bernd and I met each other while on a camping trip to Iceland. This weekend felt like a most fitting celebration.


* Reference: Notes on Nature by Amy SchoemanMacmillan (Windhoek Namibia, Gamsberg Macmillan, 2002)