228: Brandberg, Namibia's highest mountain

When you scramble up a mountain on all fours over boulders and through bushes behind the rest of your group, there is something really nice to it: You can smell all the exquisite fragrances from the broken leaves of wild herbs and grasses. I wish someone invented “photography of smells” to convey those pleasures of the nose.








For the recent super-long weekend our daughter Elsita and I attempted to scale Namibia’s highest mountain, the Brandberg with its peak the Königstein, variously reported between 2573 and 2606 meters high (8442 - 8550 ft.) – starting at the village of Uis in Damaraland a height difference of about 1800m (5900 ft). The Brandberg is an old volcanic massive outcrop rising from the surrounding flat Namib Desert and one of the less explored areas in Namibia, so much so that only recently a new order of insect was discovered there, the Mantophasmatodea ("Gladiator") (see: http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/03/0328_0328_TVstickinsect.html). Moreover, there are no marked hiking paths and no tourist maps – we hired a local guide, and even he got lost on the return.







On Thursday we stayed overnight at the comfortable Brandberg Rest Camp in Uis, from where they took us and our backpacks next morning to the starting point at the Southern side of the mountain. After the most important water check (2.5 liter per person) we hiked up on the side of a gorge, carefully staying in the shade as much as possible. It’s winter in Namibia with cool air but bright sunny days.

Aside from a few human-made rock piles and occasional footprints, we trusted our guide Angula to find the way – communicating in a mixture of Afrikaans, German, Oshivambo and very little English. He led us over boulders, through bushes and across steep rock faces. We did not have to climb seriously, but in many places hands were needed just as much as feet. But we also enjoyed watching the birds, the lizards, the dassies (rock hyrax), and even a few klipspringers (small mountain antelopes). At every one of the hourly rest breaks, we took deep breaths, shared snacks, and marveled at the view from higher and higher up. About lunchtime, it was time for another “Pause” (break) in the shade of a big rock – this time we found a surprise: beautifully preserved rock paintings, thought to be several thousand years old.








Becoming a bit tired now, walking became more and more challenging. And then another problem developed. Elsita’s hiking shoes, which had served her well in Europe’s Alps, on Africa’s Kilimanjaro, across the South American Andes, and on many hikes in Namibia, began to come apart, despite recent repairs. Some safety pins kept the soles in place for the day – to be repaired again with shoe glue and gauze from the medical emergency kit in the evening.







Late afternoon, we reached the first ridge and crossed over into several small grassy plateaus, passing by some giant aloes in bloom, and some traditional tombs of the San people who used to live here. Finally, after eight hours, we arrived at the campsite for the night, recognizable only by two important features (a) a small stream with sparkling clean water from the previous rainy season and (b) a ring of stones for a fireplace and a small wind-protected sandy area to unroll our sleeping bags. Soon our guide had lit a fire, and a hearty soup was cooking on the camping stove, all the while I was gluing Elsita’s boots and she was hobbling around in my far bigger boots. Delightfully, dinner ended with a rich cup of hot chocolate for everybody. Meanwhile the sun had set and the stars filled the beautiful Southern sky. As we crawled in for the night, I could discern the Southern Cross, the Jewel Box and Scorpio, a lonely satellite passing by, and even a few shooting stars promising good adventures.







The next day, I woke up at 4 am to a howling wind that even blew our pot off the rock on which we had left it. But by sunrise, it was calm again. Breakfast of oatmeal and tea, and off we went for the final ascent to the peak. This time we needed to carry only water, snacks, and the emergency kit as we would return to the same campsite afterwards. We still had to climb up, but in between we crossed several high plateaus, some of them even swamps from the previous rains. With much laughter, we sunk in ankle-deep several times, but the dry air and the long grasses cleaned the shoes quickly each time. Elsita discovered even a frog so high up. Mid morning, we climbed up a small incline to overhanging rocks – we thought for a break – but there we found the most exquisite rock paintings, protected only by a small sign as an archeological research site of the National Museum of Namibia. High on the mountain there are pictures of elephants, giraffes, and many more, even a giant snake. Either these animals could climb or the artists (San - bushmen) had come far to observe.







The final ascent looked daunting – it turned out to be much easier than thought.
By 1 pm we stood at the peak surveying the landscape far below in bright sunshine. It is amazing, how big the Brandberg really is and how many smaller peaks and valleys are parts of the mountain. For example, the famous “white lady”, another rock painting, is found in the North-Western valleys, however the path up from there is said to be extremely difficult. Well - our names in the book prove we were on the top – not many sign each year.








On the way back to camp we were elated: we made it – but also a bit sad: it signaled the end of this great adventure. But it was not the end yet: After another step too deep into the swamp, Elsita’s boot almost lost its sole again. More safety pins, more bandages in the evening – let’s hope we make it down the mountain all right. That afternoon some klipspringers came near, and we enjoyed observing their agility on the rocks. Later on we passed one other group of hikers, who even brought a dog, but they stayed in another place for the night. Again we enjoyed a simple meal and hot chocolate and the stars overhead at night – and talked of memories of past adventures.

Sunday – the final day, and we need to get down from the mountain. The guide estimated 5 hours from the camp, and we left at 7 am. Initially, we recognized the same path where we came up, but as we passed over the ridge, the guide took a turn – directly down and supposedly faster. No problem, we were game for another adventure. As we were nearing a ravine, the boulders become bigger, and more and more often we had to really climb over them. And then final disaster – the sole came off one of Elsita’s boots and the other one split partly. There we sat ¾ up the mountain, seeing the end of the path below, and were still bandaging shoes – luckily we had a good supply in the emergency kit. As we went on, Elsita had to walk especially careful not to slip, and my legs were just getting wobbly from the stress. Steps became shorter and shorter and increasingly we needed to hold on with our hands … and we noticed that the guide wasn’t sure anymore where he went. Straight down of course, but in a ravine the boulders are the biggest. Eventually he found the path again, but by now the 5 hours have become 7 hours.







But the driver was waiting and welcomed us with ice cold beer.

And as we sat in the old truck, we pondered what was so great? It was not the longest, but one of the roughest hikes. And we made it all the way up with great weather, great views, a big challenge, in an area little known and explored, and most of all it was a special adventure for the two of us, Elsita and me. And lastly, at the end we felt good knowing that every muscle was still in place (and aching) – better than any doctor’s diagnosis.

Bernd

227: Two secrets revealed

#1: dateline Botswana

Don’t tell anyone from Botswana, but this has got to be one of the most boring countries in the world. I recently returned from a two-week work visit (my fourth) and have never witnessed so much inactivity in my life. Given the choice, most folks in Botswana would spend every day sitting in the sunshine, cooking some pumpkin with millet-porridge and bits of chicken, and then taking a long nap. If you read any books in the Ladies’ Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith, you would also realize that page after page is devoted to much ado about nothing. The smallest incident can become the subject for an hour-long debate. This may make for pleasurable light reading, but the reality can drive you bonkers.

Botswana’s customer service makes Namibia look positively jumpy and that says a lot. My favorite story comes from a rural hotel along the Zimbabwean border where, as the restaurant’s only customer, I was given a menu for dinner. I asked for the vegetable curry, only to hear from the waitress ten minutes later that they didn’t have the ingredients. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll take the chicken salad.” Ten minutes later, the waitress came back with the same answer. Finally I offered, “How about a burger?” But sure enough, the waitress returned from the kitchen empty-handed. “We don’t have that either,” she said. “There isn’t any food from the menu.” With that, I marched into the kitchen and looked the chef in the eye. “So,” I posed, “what did YOU have for dinner?” The chef stammered a bit and then described traditional maize-pap with spinach that we often eat at home. “I’ll have that too,” I said firmly. Happily, the food was delicious (especially given the alternative). The next day, the chef explained that he had thought foreigners always want European food. Actually, I smiled stiffly, it’s just truth in advertising that we really want.

Why is Botswana this way? Perhaps the people are spoiled. Diamonds have made this country relatively rich, resulting in solid brick houses for almost everyone (even though many are small and still rely on an outside privy). Except for a single slum in the capital, Gaborone, I saw no signs of desperate poverty. The democratically elected government squirrels away its income during the good years to maintain their social benefits when times go bad, like now. Corruption is low and peace permeates the land. This part of Botswanan life is wonderful.

But with the government doing such a good job, there are few incentives for people to take their own initiative. Even where there is sufficient water, you see almost no gardens, very farm few animals (despite lots of open grassland), and almost no signs of private entrepreneurship. Whereas in my last e-mail I wrote about the benefits of giving very poor people in one Namibian village the equivalent of US$10 a month to stave off hunger and promote income-generating activities, here the pendulum seems to have swung the other way. By contrast: give the people too much, and folks would rather take a nap.


#2. Dateline Namibia

I returned to Namibia on Friday night. Lucas cooked maize-pap and spinach for dinner, and everyone is doing well. On Saturday morning, I had plans to meet Jozefina, a brilliant university student we help support. Six years ago, while still in high school, Jozefina had tested HIV-positive at the largest government hospital in the north. Shattered, she felt isolated and alone for years. But as we slowly got to know each other, I noticed that – despite an increasingly hectic schedule – she wasn’t showing any of the usual signs and symptoms of HIV that usually show up after four or five years.

“The virus is either progressing very slowly with you,” I said. “Or something else is going on.” Although I didn’t say anything to Jozefina, I knew that about 1% of all people tested for HIV initially come through as false positives. Since HIV testing began in Namibia, protocols from the Ministry of Health therefore require that all positive-results are tested a second time, using the same blood sample but with a more rigorous and expensive regimen that snuffs out this margin of error. (There is no such thing as a false negative.) Thus, positive results may only to be announced to the patient after both tests are completed and both turn up positive. But what if that second test was never done?

So a few months ago, I suggested to Jozefina that she get tested again. She went with a friend and told me afterwards that she couldn’t believe the result. Jozefina tested “Negative,” but the counselor told her to come back in three months’ time to make sure that she wasn’t in the window-period, before the HIV anti-bodies take hold and show up on an HIV test. This time, Jozefina asked me to come. “I won’t believe it until I get the result after this test,” she said. “And I’m scared…”

Nowadays there are many places to go for an HIV test in Windhoek, and Jozefina chose the newest one that opened, just down the street from the President’s residence. The test is free and anonymous. When we entered the building, there were 8 people in the waiting room – all young and good-looking, including two couples who sat holding hands. The staff counselors took each person in turn – first for a pre-test counseling session, then for the blood-prick, and finally for the results.

Back in 2001-2003 when Catholic AIDS Action opened its three Voluntary Counseling and Testing Centers (while I was still the national coordinator), I remember that each one had a TV in the waiting room on which we were supposed to show various health-related and HIV-prevention videos. No more: After repeated complaints by clients that they were nervous enough awaiting their results, the Testing Centers complied and started showing comedy. So last Saturday, as the probability ratio suggested that 3 out of the 8 people sitting with us were likely to find out within the next hour that they are HIV-positive, we sat roaring with laughter at the silly antics of Rowan Atkinson (aka Mr. Bean) on screen.

Finally, it was Jozefina’s turn to hear the results of her test. She trembled. “What if it is positive?,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can take this any more.” She went into the counselor’s room by herself, and a few minutes later asked me to join her. Then, her face impassive, she silently handed me the file. I looked inside and saw the stamped results in large black letters: “Negative.”

Whew!

I suggested we take a walk, and slowly Jozefina began opening up. “I guess I have to believe it now,” she said. “I know it’s good news, but I don’t feel happy. It’s like my whole identity has been changed. I don’t know who I am any more.”

In a way, my own reaction was equally tempered. While the news was great, I began to feel a huge anger swell up inside my gut. For six years, Jozefina’s life had been practically destroyed by the apparent failure of the government hospital to undertake the back-up test, simply because it is more complicated and expensive. Seeing how Jozefina fit the demographic profile of most new infections in Namibia in those days (i.e. young, black and female), some lazy nurse probably just said, “Why bother?”

Jozefina was also mad: “You know, I almost killed myself after hearing those results six years ago.” She said. “Just think: it would have been for nothing.”

Additionally, because the tests are done anonymously, no one can go back and prosecute. She just has to look forward and accept what’s done is done. I’m convinced that Jozefina will find her way: she is a strong young woman and is thinking about writing a letter to the local newspaper encouraging others in a similar situation to get tested again, just like she did. But we are also left to wonder, how many other people have been wronged in this way and may never find out the truth?

___
P.S. My colleague Marika Matengu drew the picture in this entry for a new guide we are writing for managers of programs for orphans and vulnerable children. More on that, soon.

226: Socialism and Sun-worship in Namibia

After we sent out our last “Namibia diary,” several readers expressed surprise that news of the devastating floods in Namibia’s northern regions had not appeared on TV or in any of the journals or papers they read. Being so isolated, Namibia often falls off the news-map, if only because there are no international reporters stationed here. Fortunately, the UN system conducted an investigation and has now officially declared an emergency, opening up the country to international donations. On Tuesday this week, the US government took the lead with a US$650,000 contribution. And Namibia’s bright autumnal sun has started to dry up the flooded oshanas (shallow pans fed by underground river flows), which is gradually easing access to hospitals and schools.

$10 for all:

Meanwhile, another Namibian news story has emerged, and we’re pretty certain you didn’t know about this one, either. Namibia is currently undertaking a socialist experiment in income redistribution, making sure that in at least one village, the poorest of the poor get at least a few dollars every month to ease their daily lives.

A year ago, the Otjivero settlement, 75 miles outside the capital of Windhoek, was little more than an agglomeration of corrugated iron shacks*. Hardly anyone lived there before 1992. The community grew as more and more people, evicted from the nearby white-owned farms, settled in the village.

Located near the two-lane Trans-Kalahari highway, Otjivero was a dead-end street. There was no industry, no work, high crime and disastrous levels of alcoholism. The term “dirt poor” could have been invented here. In a sense, Otjivero represented everything that was wrong with Namibia.

That was until a collation of non-governmental organizations started a project to distribute small cash grants to villagers in January 2008. Everyone under 60 years of age receives US$10 a month, regardless of his or her position or income. (Those over 60 are eligible for government social security, worth about US$40 a month. But given the national life-expectancy of 42, very few poor people live that long.)

This universal $10 grant is the only one of its kind in the world – at this point, a privately funded experiment to determine its impact on village life. Reverend Claudia Haarman, project director from the Namibian Lutheran churches, explains:

“Although cash grants have become an accepted way to alleviate poverty, (in other countries) they are always either means-tested or conditional. Often, this excludes the really poor. It also means very high administrative costs to test everyone and administer the grants. We are convinced that you don’t need pre-requisites to change behavior.”

Residents had to register with the Basic Income Grant (BIG) coalition to qualify for the grant. That was all. Disbursements are made automatically through a savings account with the post office. The coalition uses fingerprint verification to eliminate fraud, and to include illiterate residents the same as everyone else.

“Of course people are happy; they think manna is falling from heaven, “ Otjivero community leader Steven Aigowab told a local reporter. “But that does not mean they will squander their money.”

An interim evaluation by the BIG coalition confirmed this: Child malnutrition is down from 42% to 17%. Employment rose from 36% to 48%, and payments of school fees have doubled. The income at the local health clinic increased five-fold as villagers could afford the transport expenses and requisite co-pay, and consequently increased their use of clinic services. Village crime reduced by 60%. There is no evidence that alcoholism reduced, but contrary to many fears (my own included) it has also not gotten any worse.

Amazing!

Data from a second evaluation will be released officially this month, but according to the coalition, the positive trends are continuing.

Skepticism remains, however -- mostly among government leaders who say that without an additional tax, a national grant is unaffordable. (And this is an election year, after all – so who wants to raise taxes?) And even if a tax were imposed, you would have the peculiar notion of that the rich would also be eligible – and why should they get benefit?, people argue. (Of course, when it comes to Social Security and other old-age pensions, the system is similar…) Finally, some fear it will create a “give-me, give-me” dependency on the state and reward people who (according to popular interpretation) just don’t want to work. Yet at US$10 a month, the opposite has been proven: people are starting small businesses or traveling into town to look for work – and thus, employment has actually increased! By contrast, adding pre-requisites also adds administrative expenses – potentially costing more than the grants themselves.

“There is a school of thinking that you shouldn’t dish out money to people. That is is better spent on a project or something,” Reverend Haarmann said. “But show me one project that improves the living standards across the board for 930 people at a cost of about US$11,000 a month.”

The genius of BIG is that there are almost no staffing costs, no complex infrastructure, no bureaucratic delays. Significantly, too, the actual amount of money is minimal – just enough to keep people a little healthier, better-fed, in school, and able to find jobs or create their own. Thus, BIG provides an incentive to build from this money to earn more -- and to some degree that is what is happening.

Here and there, however, government support is building. “Empirical evidence indicates that as long as the poor cannot meet their basic needs, we cannot empower them, “the head of the National Planning Commission, Dr. Peter Katjavivi, told an international conference in Germany. “In this respect, BIG programs could be in the front of economic development.”

It’s not the stuff of G-20 economic summits, at least not yet – but let’s hope the time will come.

Now for the sun-worshippers.

This next story comes from the fact that I love hokey holidays – Jewish or otherwise. So you can imagine how intrigued I was to learn that the sunrise on April 8th would give Jews the opportunity to bless the sun’s creation via a special ceremony that occurs only once every 28 years. This is because, according to the Talmud (Berachot 59b), once every 28 years the sun returns to the exact same place in relation to the earth that it allegedly had on the very first Wednesday morning when God created the world. And, while most modern Jews no longer practice this ancient ritual, Orthodox Jews (and a few other hokey-types) take on the aura of sun-worshippers by rising before dawn and holding special outdoor sun-ceremonies along the beachfront or in beautiful natural settings. This year, some people also turned the event into an opportunity to advocate for solar energy.

Our celebration in Namibia was probably smaller and simpler than most, but with the arrival of two Lubavitch students for the Passover holidays, we awoke well before dawn, gathered outside to face east, and first learned all the rules: For example, “If it is cloudy but the outline of the sun can still be seen through the clouds, we can go ahead with a full blessing. But if the cloud cover is so thick that the sun cannot be seen through the clouds, then we should wait up to mid-day for the clouds to disperse before proceeding. And if at that time, the thick clouds still persist, then the rabbis would grant us the permission to nevertheless say the blessing, but without mentioning God’s name.” (Was that meant to punish God for bad weather, I wonder?)

Fortunately, with the passage of the rainy season, Namibia probably won’t see another serious cloud until October at the earliest. So we could go ahead with the full blessing and get on with the day’s work (and the evening’s Passover meal). We did add a final prayer at the end, however – one that I really appreciated: that we would all be around the next time that Birchat HaChamah (The Blessing for the Sun) occurs --- in 28 more years!

As for Passover itself, it went smoothly: we imported Matzoh from the USA and South Africa, and had 14 guests for the Seder-meal from 6 language groups and a wide variety of political perspectives -- including, but not limited to that of Andimba Toivo ya Toivo, Namibia’s most famous liberation-leader who was once imprisoned with Nelson Mandela in Robbin Island. As has become our custom, Andimba fittingly acted the role of Moses when we played a drama of our historic escape from slavery to freedom. The photos you see are of Andimba with Sofiana (one of the students who lives with us) and myself; also of me ransoming the afikomen (traditional dessert) with Andimba’s daughters for a decorative key-chain and chocolate.



One last holiday note that would surely make Barack Obama jealous: Today (Easter morning), Bernd and took our three dogs for an early morning walk in Swakopmund along the coast, only to be met by a small entourage heading the other way. There, in full view, was Namibia’s President Hifikepunya Pohamba, enjoying the beachfront alongside his granddaughter. Such public exposure couldn’t happen in many countries, I thought. It’s good to live in peace.

(We didn’t have the camera with us to photograph the President, but here are our three dogs.)


__
*Drawn in part from IPS news, Servass van der Bosch reporting.

225: Too much of a good thing

Remember how we always used to say that Namibia is a desert country, or at least highly arid?

We lied.

Northern Namibia is currently having the worst floods since weather records began in this part of the country (1961), and that comes after people thought that last year was the worst. By contrast in the center of the country – in Windhoek where we live -- everything is green and quite lush, with beautiful flowers and very tall grasses. We have had a few problems during February’s heavy rains (like half our appliances shorting and a huge mess in the yard), but we are definitely among the lucky ones.

International climatologists said that global warming would make this country even more of a desert than now, but so far we’ve seen the opposite.
The worst of the flooding has been in the north, along the Angolan and Zambian borders. As of yesterday, the Zambezi River rose by three centimeters to reach an alarming height of 7,82 meters (about 24 feet) at the far northeastern town of Katima Mulilo – the second highest level in 40 years. The town is virtually under water. And the river is still rising.



In the north-central part of the country, which is the most densely populated, last weekend found over 5,000 people in temporary reception centers. To date, 218 schools have been closed, 85 percent of all gravel roads have been damaged and are no longer passable, 45 clinics became inaccessible, and sanitation remains in a deplorable state due to overflowing sewerage systems and ponds. Over 85 percent of businesses, especially small and medium enterprises are affected. The Namibian army has been mobilized and is assisting with relocation from cut-off areas. Health professionals are being flown to affected areas to provide medical services. But resources are scant – for example, the last I heard was that this country’s entire air force consisted of two planes.



In addition to disruption of day-to-day life, the urgent need for relocation and relief, and destruction of and damage to infrastructure, more than 2,000 new malaria infections have been reported and 92 people have been reported drowned. Most people think the figure is much higher, though. (Almost no one can swim in this country, as the usual arid environment doesn’t give children the opportunity to learn.) One of the worst consequences is that people who need their anti-retroviral medications (against the HIV virus) can’t get to the hospitals to pick up their monthly refills -- and stopping the medications, even temporarily, is potentially life-threatening.

Predictions are that the situation in the north-central and north-eastern regions of Namibia may grow even worse. Although the heavy rains have subsided, water is flowing in from neighboring countries, and water levels are rising. This is an interesting ecological point: Most of the water in the area comes from alluvial rivers (that was a new word for me, too), which means that the rains fall in Angola and sink into the ground, but then form underground rivers that flow southward into Namibia and pop up through small depressions called oshanas. In a normal year, these oshanas fill up in the rainy season and supply a lot of fish and drinking water for the animals, and then they dry up later in the year. But now these oshanas have spilled over to the surrounding land, where people live, farm, go to school, and so on. And because of the soil composition and lack of “normal” rivers, there is no place for the water to flow any more.



To complicate matters, this is an election year, and those of us who remember New Orleans know what that means. Last week, President Hifikepunye Pohamba declared a state of emergency, and a Flood Emergency Management Office was established early this week in the country’s northern city of Oshakati to coordinate emergency relief efforts. It all sounds good, but nobody seems to have any clear idea of what that really means. The country’s Red Cross Society is pulling out all stops to provide emergency food, but supplies are scarce and transport is almost non-existent. I guess we’ll all get more information when the next wave of flooding arrives, as expected, in the coming weeks.

That said, the impact of the flooding will be felt well beyond the point where the waters subside. In addition to disastrous crop losses that have a direct impact particularly on orphans and vulnerable children, as well as the elderly, the entire area’s infrastructure has been damaged and will need to be repaired, and waterborne diseases, such as malaria that is already being felt, can be expected to make a resurgence.

It’s a mess – and a tragedy. We count our blessings.

(photos by One-Africa, 2009)

224: Travel Season

Travel season has begun again – every month a different country or two for Lucy, all for Family Health International. Meanwhile, Elsita is rapidly catching up in the travel sphere, and has recorded many adventures of her own (see below) and Sergio – from what we hear – is fine but bored in Japan. Bernd began teaching again and stays in Windhoek, accompanied by Lucas and Sofiana, both of whom are immersed in their studies. We’ve had unprecedented rain that permeated almost every modern convenience we rely on: last month our old cars didn’t start, our electric stove went on permanent strike, the alarm-system outside started bleating, the city’s drinking water had to be turned off for fear it would get infected with sewage, and our clothes (which we usually hang outside) haven’t dried in weeks. There isn’t much we can do except respond as other Namibians might: simply wait patiently until the sun re-emerges in this normally arid land.

From Lucy – In the land of Injera and Sheroh (Ethiopian bread with beans)

In Ethiopia last week I trained 21 local staff and led a planning effort on how to better serve child-headed households. A decade ago, the term child-headed household was virtually unknown, but today it has actually become an official census category in some countries, including Namibia. Due to Ethiopia’s tragic history of war, famine and AIDS, that country has more child-headed households than anywhere else in Africa (after Zimbabwe) – about 77,000 of them in 2005 and growing rapidly.

On the surface, this seems like a hopeless situation; yet with the addition of community-based supports – for example, regular home visits by trained volunteers plus some material assistance and access to education and health care -- many children from child-headed households can become productive, self-sufficient adults. (By way of success, we need only mention three of the students we are sponsoring in Namibia, all of whom come from a child-headed household. Now one is studying social work, another is in medical school and just delivered his first baby, and the third just graduated University and is working as an accountant.)

The next challenge in Ethiopia will be to get funding for a support-program focusing on Child Headed Households, based on the structures that already exist through local organizations. Fortunately, we have already identified some expressions-of-interest. No doubt this is important and exciting work, but after ten intensive days I decided to take a break. Then a local friend and I headed to Wonchi for a fantastic day of hiking and horseback riding at a magnificent crater lake, all at an altitude of 12,000 feet.









Hundreds of monkeys lived in the woods at the lodge where stayed overnight – both vervets (the little gray ones) and colobus, with their silky sleek fur. Some got very close and made for easy photography.









We ended our day at Wonchi with a traditional coffee ceremony and a vegetarian meal of Injera and Sheroh (my favorite) – all in sharp contrast to Elsita’s diet last week, about which you can read.


From Elsita: The Rough Guide to Research

For those of you who have been wondering how my work has been going since I started about a month ago at Integrated Environmental Consultants Namibia (IECN), I have many stories to share…

I have mainly focused on the evaluation of a coastal awareness campaign, by undertaking a survey in all of the coastal regions of Namibia. Basically, my coworkers and I have gone around and interviewed approximately 250 local citizens and members of affiliated institutions -- such as the provincial Councils and environmental Conservancies -- to assess the impact of the campaign since its commencement a year and a half ago. As the entire western border of Namibia is the ocean, you can imagine the incredible distances that we had to cover in order to carry out the survey. In one week we went south to the small German-style port of Lüderitz, stopping at various sites along the way for the interviews. Then last week we headed out into the unbelievably remote Kunene Region with the IECN land cruiser packed full with jerry cans, food, camping equipment, 2 spare tires, a toolbox and more.

We experienced bad roads like never before. At times sandy; at times stony; at times wet, steep and muddy (or some unbelievably messy combination thereof). It seemed like our car had seen it all when we drove straight down a dry riverbed composed solely of boulders, racing to catch up with our translator-guide who enjoyed driving his Government-owned truck as fast as he possibly could. (I’m talking 75mph on gravel roads.) And this was just the first day. That night found us camped next to the beautiful Hoanib riverbed. We were up late because we had decided to blend in with local culture and slaughter a goat for dinner. By dinner I mean that we ate the meat for the next 3 days straight. We were unable to buy purified water anywhere, but beer was available everywhere so we drank that for 3 days straight too.

The food and drink put us in high spirits even after we discovered that our car battery had died when we left the lights on in the dark and we had no jumper cables. The next morning we found ourselves stranded in practically every way you can think of. Our translator-guide had woken up early in the morning, drove across the riverbed and gone to the nearest small settlement called Purros to find jumper cables. When he did not return we suspected the worst – if not dead or maimed then drunk and gone forever. But soon we realized that the dry river to Purros had flooded overnight so he couldn’t have returned even if he wanted. It is the flash-flood season in Namibia -- a country with no permanent rivers within its borders -- so in the rainy season dry riverbeds in the desert can suddenly fill with water from rainfall miles away.

Certainly, the Hoanib was no calm stream that morning! It had become a raging torrent about 100 feet across with rapids, rocks, unreliable sandbars – altogether impassable by any sort of vehicle. So that was how we found ourselves trapped on the wrong side of the river from where we had to go next: Our car battery was dead, the car petrol (gas) was low; there was no cell-phone service and we had no food as our goat-meat and pots were in the back of the truck that our guide drove, and he had gone awol.

Somehow, we made it out of there. With the help of some tourists also stranded at the campsite, we jump-started our car. A nice British lady fed us breakfast and directed us to a nearby lodge where we could buy petrol. And then there was nothing to do but wait for the water level to drop. Around 3pm we heard honking across the river and looked up to see our guide on the other side. He gestured wildly and somehow managed to communicate to us that we should go to another spot further downriver. We felt we had no choice but to attempt the crossing before any new afternoon rains could catch up with us. We put the Land Cruiser into 4-wheel drive and ventured forward. Churning that car through thigh-deep water was certainly a sight to behold: The roar of the engine clashed with the sound of rushing water, as she swayed perilously from side to side. Somehow she finally made it across and we were able to continue on our way towards the coast.

I’m pleased to report that we ultimately survived the trip. We had a nice few days at Swakopmund on the coast and we’re now back inWindhoek where I’m writing up a final report. Next week I head to the United States for 14 days to participate in a follow-up retreat with the American Jewish World Service, based on my past year in El Salvador, and I’ll add a few days to visit friends.

My last big BIG news is that I have been offered a new 6-month job at Gobabeb Training and Research Centre in the Namib Desert, where I interned for a summer a few years ago. This exciting opportunity is funded by none other than NASA, and concerns research on a unique form of life called hypolithic cyanobacteria. They sound like a mouthful, but these little guys can survive the desert’s harshest hot-and-cold conditions by living underneath rocks. Moreover, NASA “astrobiologists” believe that studying these hardy organisms can inform their search for life beyond earth. You got it – this background research is a possible precursor to future studies of life on Mars and even beyond! I will begin working at Gobabeb by the end of this month, so look out for more good adventure stories in the future.

Yours truly,
Lucy and Elsita (and Bernd etc)

223: Sofiana’s rollercoaster

Since our last e-mail, the son of my oldest friend died tragically and as my heart grieves, I am again reminded that the hardest thing about living in Africa is being so far away from friends and family. On a brighter note, Bernd starts teaching this week (senior students in Information Technology at the Polytechnic) and I finally sent off a 250 page manuscript for review, hopefully to be published by Family Health International in July. (It’s a global guide for program managers who work with orphans and other vulnerable children.) Also, Sergio is doing well and Elsita got three job offers in Namibia within a week of sending out her resume. She currently works for a local environmental consulting firm called IECN (Integrated Environmental Consultants Namibia - www.iecn-namibia.com), initially on a project to test different methods of measuring desertification. Starting next week, she’ll be traveling up and down Namibia’s coast to evaluate the impact of a large environmental awareness program.

Namibia and its neighbor

Overall, we still feel very fortunate to live in this beautiful and politically stable country – especially in contrast to our Zimbabwean neighbors. As Zimbabwe’s politicians talk of a coalition government starting soon, the National Bank of the Zimbabwean government recently authorized foreign currency for local trading. But as our friends explain, this poses its own problems: Had you translated a doctor’s pay at a government hospital in January from Zim dollars back to U.S. money, he (or she) would have earned only 32 cents for the month. (For evidence on how worthless the Zimbabwe dollar really is, see the attached photo sent by an Israeli visitor to that country.) So it’s anybody’s guess how much Zimbabweans will get paid at the end of February – that is, if they get paid at all.

Back home, our main news concerns the students we’re sponsoring. One recent graduate (an accountant) got a wonderful job while another (a geologist) recently lost his, a consequence of Namibia’s plummeting mining industry. At the same time, a new pre-med student joined the group, explaining that she wants to help find a cure for the AIDS virus that killed her parents. Also, two weeks ago our other new student arrived from Namibia’s refugee camp. You may recall Sofiana from our last e-mail – she was born in Angola but has lived in the refugee camp (a truly dreadful place) since she was three. In our short time together, we have grown very fond of Sofiana – but she has taken us on quite a rollercoaster ride.

Sofiana arrives in Windhoek

Although Windhoek has only 350,000 people, it is Namibia’s largest city – and to a poor girl from a refugee camp, everything feels new and scary. It’s not just the multi-story buildings, the traffic, and the fast pace of activity. Initially, Sofiana was frightened of our dogs, scared of heights from our back-veranda, jumpy at the unfamiliar noises, and bewildered by a shower that runs hot water straight from the tap. As the sun set in the evening she didn’t turn on a reading light because, as she admitted later, it didn’t occur to her that electric light was available.

Happily, we could introduce Sofiana to two other Saving Remnant students who shared their own stories about first coming to Windhoek from a rural setting, and soon the house rocked with laughter. The three young people quickly became friends and within two days they were exploring the city together, visiting museums (I insisted: “No museum visits, no dinner”), and securing the administrative paper work needed to start their studies later this month.

As we got to know each other, we also discovered that Sofiana suffered from a history of serious stomachaches that included numerous hospitalizations, but Namibia’s State-employed doctors had never diagnosed the cause. She said that she didn’t get sick when she stayed in a government hostel (i.e. the school dormitory, while attending high school) but the pain always came back when she returned to the refugee camp. “So what was different in her diet between the two settings?” I asked. Unbelievably, none of the hospital staff had ever asked about her food-intake. By contrast, I learned that at the refugee camp they often drink un-pasteurized cows’ milk, while the government hostels rarely provided any dairy products at all. A few minutes on the Internet confirmed what I immediately suspected, that Sofiana has a serious milk allergy. So now she is on a milk-free diet and so far, she’s feeling terrific. (Of course, I’m fuming that this had never been uncovered before.)

The doors shut tight

The days passed quickly, as we looked forward to registration at the University of Namibia this week. Meanwhile, Sofiana even got to like our dogs. She also started reading some of our books, shared with the cooking, volunteered her hairdressing skills on the other students (literally sewing on the hair extensions with needle and thread), and generally adjusted well.

Then Thursday came (ten days ago) and the final results of the grade 12 exams were published in the newspaper. This is part of a crazy system in Namibia where students are tentatively accepted at the University based on their preliminary exam results (sort of like the PSATs in America), but the final exam results are released only 48 hours before the University actually starts. Even before I got the newspaper at a local shop, Sofiana came wailing to me — her sister called at 6:30 am and told her that she missed qualifying by three points (about 12%). What a shock! But there was nothing to be done — no University. Moreover, the system does not allow for second chances, except to possibly try again next year.

Sofiana’s family was furious, as they had pinned hopes for their own future on hers. And she – Sofiana – was terrified. Suddenly, everything went black before her eyes, and she saw herself living a beggar’s life – at risk of pregnancy and AIDS, like so many of the other young girls at the camp. Bernd and I quickly conferred and decided that we could not let her go back to her family empty-handed, so we needed think creatively. Then we put Lucas (the other student who lives with us) on “watch” that Sofiana wouldn’t cause herself physical harm, which turned out to be the right premonition.

Shortly after Bernd and I left for work that same morning, Sofiana asked Lucas for pills and said she would rather die than face this failure. Immediately Lucas took out his Bible and started reading to her about Job and Moses, and told her that what happened to her was a test to prepare her for life’s inevitable disappointments in the future. He tried every way he could to encourage her, insisting that she would eventually find a way to succeed. And for the next two days, for every moment that she was awake, Lucas wouldn’t let Sofiana out of his sight. (The remarkable thing about Lucas’ response is that he spoke at all, given his terrible speech impediment. Two years ago, when we first met Lucas, he would barely open his mouth. So as you can imagine, we’re very proud of him now.)

Another door opens

Meanwhile, Bernd and I investigated a range of options. Since Sofiana said she wanted to study computers (not that she knew anything about them), we looked for a vocational course that could give her a head start in this field. We found one and enrolled her, and that will last for two months. We also identified a correspondence course which will allow her to repeat some of her subject-exams next October and – as the best news – we found the only school in the country that will enroll her for a Portuguese language-exam that, as a native speaker, we’re convince she’ll “Ace.” All of this should greatly strengthen her chance for higher grades for 2010, when she’ll try for the University once again.

So that’s where we are. I guess Lucas was right – eventually Sofiana will make it and she’ll be stronger for the experience. Now Bernd and I look forward to calmer times ahead, but we’re happy with how things have progressed. And, as my friend Diane cheerfully signs off on all of her own newsy letters, we add joyfully: “Obama is STILL president!”

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.