I Survived the Deep Bush!

by Abby Lane (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Namibia

Ok, survived is being dramatic…I came, I experienced, I enjoyed, I gained perspective, and I returned with a renewed sense of gratitude. It’s rare for Namibians to have any urgency, but the sun was setting, and in the bush one must arrive before dark. It took three taxis and a long walk in the deep sand, loaded down with groceries. When we arrived, Pena’s 77 year old, one-legged "granny" (grandpa) was there in his wheelchair, waiting for us. I dug up my most respectful greeting in Oshiwambo language and we chatted for a while under a sky with endless stars and the Milky Way. In Namibian tradition, the first person to see the moon gives it to another person. Pena’s cousin Veronica saw the moon and gave it to me, a small gesture that made my heart happy. She then said, “Abby, I would like to sleep with you.” I chuckled lightly before realizing she was not joking. I happily nodded, wondering just what I was agreeing to. After dinner, I found out that “sleeping together” meant sharing a bed with Veronica and her baby. Across the room, Pena, her sister, and another baby slept. We were six people in a concrete room 3x4 meters. Yes, it was hot. Yes, I feared squishing the baby in the night. And yes, the baby crawled over to me to try and breast feed during the night. The next morning, I received word that a goat was slaughtered for me- a huge honor. Every part of that goat was used: the hooves in the coals, the intestines tied up, the stomach lining washed, and the fur coat dried. All the bones and meat were boiled. Now, here’s the deal: I enjoy goat! However, a bush goat that’s survived a six-month drought and boiled in unseasoned broth is gamey, smelly, and tough to chew. I carefully choose muscular pieces, avoiding extraneous body parts. I faked fullness quickly, saying, “I know that goat is your best meat, I want to share.” We spent the afternoon at the bar, among locals who had never seen a white person in their village before. I kid you not. “Are you really from America? What are you doing here? Why are you in the bush?” I enjoyed some conversations, but soon there were too many men who wanted to touch me, touch my hair, and inquire about the ring on my finger. Usually, I am honest and explain that I am happy to be a single, independent, teacher, hence my year long teaching contract. But this weekend was an exception. I talked about my “boyfriend” back home who had to work instead of coming with me, and yes, my ring is indeed an engagement ring. Even Pena started to add her own embellishments, telling men in her own conversations that, “She doesn’t have a phone here, no you can’t talk to her on my phone, yes she has a boyfriend, etc.” In this culture, a woman of my age should be married to a local boy, with four kids already. Discussing cultural norms in Namibia, with men, over beer feels one-sided and defensive. Heading home to my host family, the next day, was a wonderful feeling. I stopped at the supermarket before coming home. I got my usual supply of apples, baked beans, raisins, and peanut butter. I felt a little guilty doing so, after experiencing such poverty in the bush. But, I was so excited to be back in my comfort zone, with people who like me for my personality (not skin color), and who respect my independent nature. I ate my usual ration of rice and porridge like it was cake! This weekend I realized just how blessed I am. It was such a profound difference of living style in the deep bush. People there are kind, happy and live in the moment. They use everything to their advantage. I never heard complaints or anger. Laughter is common and everything gets shared between everyone, babies included! They welcomed me like someone of their own family and even gave me a teapot upon my departure. It was an experience I am so glad to have “survived.”