230: Breathless moments

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the number of moments that take our breath away.
(Anonymous)

That quote stares you in the face in my friend Kathryn’s kitchen in Zanzibar. Bernd and I slept in her guest-room during our first two nights on this Tanzanian island, in her Arab-style penthouse apartment atop Stone Town’s tallest residential building. Welcome to Breath-away Moment Number One, with its golden-glow sunsets and vast rooftop views! (I’m cheating a bit: the roof was six flights up without an elevator. So even if it weren’t gorgeous – which it was -- we would have been out of breath.) Far below, we surged through winding streets, propelled through the exotic local market like a rivulet seeking deeper water. And we had that, too: the beautiful blue Indian Ocean was just a few minutes away, with its quaint fishing dhows, haunting Muslim prayer-music, and the beckoning smells of a hundred different native spices.









Twenty-four hours later, we experienced Breath-away Moment Number Two. This happened five times, in fact, as that’s how often we went snorkeling during our week’s “re-honeymoon” -- sometimes surrounded by throbbing puffball jellyfish (slippery to the touch and barely stinging), sometimes by schools of iridescent blue and gold swarms (so many fish, they looked like floating snowflakes), and sometimes by large groupers, slim trumpet fish, beautiful angel fish, spongy sea cucumbers, long-fingered starfish, giant clams, and the occasional octopus or lobster -- but always with the gorgeous coral below us, like the flowerbeds of a botanical garden.







If you can imagine heaven as the Baltimore Aquarium, all warm-water and a hundred-thousand times bigger, then we were in the middle of it, without any glass windows or heaving crowds to separate us from the incredible, other-worldly surroundings. We wanted to ooh and ah every few moments except then we would have swallowed gobs of water, proving (among other things) that we weren’t in heaven just yet. So we gesticulated wildly instead, pointing this way and that. The fish names conjure up the incredible variety of what we saw: crocodile fish, parrot fish, sweet-lips, sea-squirts, basket-stars, lionfish, zebra fish, squirrel fish, damsel fish, lizard fish, emperor fish -- a veritable underwater safari.

Breath-away Moment Number Three took place when found ourselves face to face with a huge underwater hawksbill turtle that we followed until it surfaced for a gulp of air and then slithered away into the ocean depths.

Breath-away Moment Number Four happened on Zanzibar’s Prison Island, full of history and crumbling buildings, and now a sanctuary for giant Aldabra Tortoises (the Indian Ocean cousins to the famed Galapagos Tortoises), to whom we fed fistfuls of their favorite green-leaves. The tortoises gravitated to the food like waddling puppies to their mother, but even better than feeding them is this: As we learned from the much smaller land-tortoises we used to raise and release in Namibia, all tortoises love to be gently stroked under their necks and around their heads as they can’t reach this part of their anatomy in the event of an itch or entrapped dirt. Amazingly, these Aldabra tortoises loved the scratching so much that their necks protruded by almost a foot and got stiff like a hard-on, heads emerging from their winkled neck-skin and bobbing to the touch. Don’t think I’m joking or over-sexed until you try this yourself; then I promise you’ll find it as bizarrely sensual as we did.








Breath-away Moment Number Five also involved communing with animals. We visited Zanzibar’s only national forest where extended families of endangered Red Colobus Monkeys have become habituated to tourists. You need only to stand amongst them and they come seek you out, rather than the other way around. We could have stayed for hours longer, but nevertheless we took almost fifty photographs.







If you do follow us to Zanzibar, however, the one place you must absolutely visit is Chumbe Island. It’s a jaw-dropping, breath-taking, magical sanctuary like none we’ve ever visited before. Chumbe Island is the only private marine reserve in the world, six miles off the main Zanzibar coast, with seven overnight cabins, delicious food, fabulous views, and a gazillion environmental awards for their low-impact habitat, go-green pit-toilets, environmental research, and commitment to local education.







On land you can relax on the sandy beaches, walk amidst a dense mangrove forest, explore the inter-tidal marsh, or seek out the island’s four species of local crabs (including the endangered coconut crab, the world’s largest). The guided snorkeling is the best, though. You’re so close to the reef that scuba diving isn’t even permitted. The island’s underwater coral park boasts 430 different species of fish and Bernd says he wouldn’t be surprised if we saw almost all: the diversity overwhelmed and delighted us at every turn.

The difference between a damaged and a healthy coral reef is like night and day. To further the conservation messages we absorbed, let us briefly share what we learned about why coral is so important:

Waves: Coral reefs cause waves to break far from shore. This means less erosion and calmer water for people to work in and live by.
Fish: Coral reefs are full of little holes and spaces, the perfect place for young fish to hide from predators. The reef is also an important fish-breeding ground and nursery. In Zanzibar, over 70% of the local dietary protein comes from fish, so it is vital for fish stocks to be maintained. By contrast, less reef yields fewer fish and less food.
Biodiversity: Coral reef is the home of a huge variety of animals and plants. Just think of it as the rainforest of the ocean.
Medicine: Scientists are discovering that many marine organisms contain powerful drugs. For example, the Caribbean Sea Whip Coral contains anti-cancer drugs, and can even be used to replace bone!
Tourism: Coral reefs are beautiful and stimulate the imagination. But because coral polyps (that is, the little animals that make up coral) like warm water, most reefs are found in tropical or sub-tropical areas. Therefore, a lot of reef is located in poorer countries, where it attracts visitors, generates jobs, and brings in much-needed cash.
Our camera doesn’t take underwater photos, so hopefully you can see this for yourself some day. We promise it will take your breath away!

229: Connecticut encounter

While Bernd and Elsita scaled Namibia’s highest mountain (see Namibia Diary #228) I was in the United States. Family Health International conveniently paid for my fare and I spent two weeks at their headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, and at a nearby conference. (This was the closest I got to President Obama, but it was fun anyway.)

Afterwards I added a few days’ vacation and a visit to southwestern Ohio where my undergraduate alma mater awarded me an alumni citation for professional achievement. Returning to Wilmington College after 37 years felt both strange and wonderful: This small Quaker school now aims for similar goals as ours in Namibia – namely to provide an opportunity for first-generation college students to get a degree and build a better future(40% of their student body). Although hard-hit like everyone else in the recession, the faculty voluntarily agreed to a pay-cut and several retired professors are offering their services for free (including several of mine from way-back) -- thus ensuring that the college will pull through without sacrificing the quality of their education.

In the New York and Washington areas, I was royally treated by friends and relatives, and I marvel that our family has not yet been forgotten – if anything, the friendships have deepened over the years. Thanks to everyone for their interest and hospitality. I feel spoiled and loved and eternally grateful.

That said, I hardly thought my stories of travels in the US could compare to the nail-biting adventures of the family’s mountain-climbers, especially Elsita’s Saga of the Shredded Shoes -- until I reached Connecticut.

Heading northeast by train from New York, I looked out the window for signs of wildlife. Just to the side of the tracks, I saw a gray heron, some egrets, a few chipmunks, two deer, and a loon. Once in Connecticut, my cousin announced the daily program: We would spend the first day near a local pond to go hiking and swimming and enjoy a picnic on a grassy knoll. On the second day we should look for wild orchids, hike in a nearby state part, and have another picnic. Everything worked out perfectly: The swimming was cold but clear, the food was yummy and fresh, and the hikes provided an incentive for more of the same. Sure enough, we also got to see some blooming wild orchids (here is Bob pointing at one), walk along the Appalachian Trail (you see cousin Carol and Bob by the sign-post), and enjoy some lovely views.







If it weren’t for my cousins’ cat, however, we would have missed the highlight of my stay. While the rest of us slept, he (the cat) started pacing at 5:20 in the morning, eventually waking Carol. As she got up to let the cat out, she looked outside the back door to the tin garbage bin that stores the household supply of wild bird food. Suddenly, Carol let out a hoarse whisper that she repeated three times, each time elevated in volume and alarm: “Bear! Bear! BEAR!”

The instant these magic words reached my ears, I jumped up and grabbed my camera. I needn’t have rushed, however. The object of Carol’s call was sitting placidly, nose inside his treasure trove, seemingly oblivious to the gawking humans just inches away on the other side of the glass door.

The scene took my breath away. I had seen bears only fleetingly before, and always at a distance. This bear was huge. And powerful. And very, VERY close.

With the rising dawn, I snapped some pictures. We didn’t want to frighten him, thinking that a scared bear might be more than we could handle. On the other hand, Carol lamented that they had just bought a large sack full of bird-seed. Would the bear eat it all? Trying to save his investment, Bob opened the bathroom window, just inches from the bear’s head. The bear slowly rose, sauntered across the lawn and turned back around, only to return across the little garden bridge two minutes later in order to finish off his object-of-desire. This dance took place twice more in the next half hour, as the lure of fresh sunflower seeds always brought the bear back. Here he is, in full glory.






When he finally had his fill, the bear stood up and left. Graceful and unperturbed, he was an object of great beauty. The rest of us talked about the bear’s visit all day. This was the first time Bob and Carol had seen a bear in over a year, and they had never encountered one this close. And only two hours from downtown Manhattan! It takes my breath away, just thinking of it. I’m still smiling.

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.)


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*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)