Dear Bugs of Indiscriminate Nature,

When you scurry quickly out of my line of sight it makes me believe that either my home is infested with vermin and I will be soon suffocated in my sleep in a coup to rule my tiny domain or the tumor in my brain is playing insidious tricks on me. I beg you, please scamper more slowly across the walls, floors, and ceilings so I can maintain the shred of sanity I have left and use my infinitely limited motor skills to kill you.

P.S. The lizards already declared victory so I suggest you stage an uprising to beat them down… if you have to destroy the rat and the bat while you’re at it I won’t be sad.

Dear Tumor in My Brain,

Could you please play tricks of another nature? Pretending there are eight legged beasts crawling in the corners of my house is just cruel… NOT funny. You have a perverse sense of humor, which means you must have been living in my brain too long. Why don’t we declare a truce and return to the days of mefloquine when I simply heard voices and hilarity ensued. Ah, those were fun days weren’t they?

P.S. Just a heads up, I prefer sexy male voices with brogue accents… could you send me a Brit or Australian please?

Dear Sanity,

I know life is trying lately but maybe you could just go to your quiet happy place and think of all things good and wholesome for a while… You know, the tumor in my brain is going to hook us up with some sexy Brits and Australians to keep you company in there- how’s that for an awesome deal? Who needs mental stability when you have hot guys with whom to converse? I’m begging you, pretty please, let’s just hold off a bit longer on that whole nasty emotional breakdown… One of these days I’ll be an old cat lady and emotional instability will be expected, better yet a perk, of the job, so let’s just keep things together until then.

I am exercising my right to vote as an absentee voter.  I went online weeks ago, dutifully filled out my form, and mailed it in to my Elections Administrator.  Yesterday I was rewarded for my diligence with my first ballot a mere 2 days before the election and 7 days before my ballot is supposed to be in the hands of my official election representative. 

Really?  Do you think my ballot form is going to magically teleport itself from Africa? I’m not holding my breath that it will make it to an office thousands of miles away in a mere 6 days as it took 4 months for my last package to arrive in my hands beaten and tattered.

However, as I spent N$9 on postage for an envelope that has a better chance of ending up in Monrovia rather than walking across the street to Spar and splurging on an ice cold coke informs you of my commitment to the election process. 

So, in anticipation, I ripped open my official absentee balloting material excited to learn what propositions would be on the ballot vying for my yea or nay.  I read through the constitutional amendments once… twice… a third time and then began to question whether they printed the ballot in Greek. 

For instance, Prop 5 states, “The constitutional amendment authorizing the legislature to authorize a single board of equalization for two or more adjoining appraisal entities that elect to provide for consolidated equalizations.”  WTF?  What does that even mean?  I have two advanced degrees and I can’t even comprehend that sentence.  No wonder no one votes any more. 

I think they need to ditch this antiquated voting system and go the way of McDonalds cash registers and put pictures on the ballot. 

Do you want fries with that?  Picture of a box of fries. 

Do you want to start a fund to get Texas universities national recognition as research institutions?  Picture of a university. 

Do you want Rick Perry to steal your money and redirect it into corporate bigwig pockets? Picture of a pickpocket.

The idea is simple, direct, and to the point.  I don’t know why I have to be the one to come up with all of the ingenious ideas.  It’s tough being so brilliant sometimes that it hurts.  

Ok, I get it.  Obama is awesome.  Despite my lack of proximity within the past 8 months I hear he walks on water; he must if he is winning a Nobel Peace Prize after less than a year in office. 

I’m sure no one is jumping to conclusions and ASSUMING he is going to solve all of the world’s problems – like nuclear disarmament and peace in the Middle East.  Just because we have been dealing with those pesky issues for decades I’m sure he will have it figured out by the end of his first term in office… if not by then, at least by his second- that’s when everything gets done anyways. 

And, Zimbabwean Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai, I mean, what’s he done lately?  Other than ensuring that Zimbabwe doesn’t break into civil war by powersharing with megalomaniac President Mugabe while helping stabilize their rollercoaster economy… Who needs a Nobel Peace Prize for actual achievement when you can get one for your intentions? 

I hear that Miss America wants world peace; does that qualify her for a Nobel Peace Prize now?  

For your reading pleasure I thought I would share some "interesting" moments in my fellow Peace Corps volunteers’ daily lives. Voila…

There are horrifying things you are forced to do in life, which are regretful but you move on as you know you made the right decision and would do it again should the situation arise. Then there are things that you pretend never happened, you sweep them under the rug, and pray to God no one finds out.  This is the latter.

“Tess” joined Peace Corps with stars in her eyes and visions of mud huts in her heart.  However, life in the “bush” was not as anticipated as she moved into her first African home infested with a nest of lively bats.  Frequently she returned home to find her floors decorated in guano and her frustration mounted as the bats taunted her from overhead. 

As the infestation continued Tess’ tolerance decreased dramatically and she tired her thumbs SMSing fellow PCVs sharing her batty woes.  Then came the fateful day when Tess returned home to find an errant bat flying through her house.  Tess, suspecting a hostile takeover was in the works, did the first thing that came into her head.  She grabbed a Tupperware container, chased the creature, and captured him in a plastic prison.  Completely logical, neh?

Those of you who would like to think that Tess released the bat back into the wild so it could continue its fruitful existence should stop reading here.  Really, you’ve been warned… I wouldn’t want to tarnish your image of peace and puppy loving volunteers. 

Rather, Tess, a carnivore by nature decided against the PETA friendly route and chose the Gitmo course.  Despite the bat’s muffled protests Tess waited for its untimely demise to unfold in its miniature holding cell.  Or so she thought. 

Tess awoke the next morning to find that the strong willed bat held on through the night and was flapping weakly in the Tupperware container, praying for a miracle.  A dilemma was mounting, should she release the half dead animal and allow it to nurse its way back to health and perhaps back into her ceiling? 

No, she thought, perseverance is key… and defiantly dragged the objecting creature to work to solicit the advice of her colleagues on how to murder a bat.  Fortunately, Tess’ was in luck, her colleague expertly manhandled the animal into a plastic bag and tossed the bag in the garbage to ensure suffocation.  Clearly she was no novice. 

As one less bat infested Tess’ home, she returned to work without a care in the world.  However, her joy was short lived as she learned that she upset her colleague.  What’s more upsetting than murder on a Monday morning?  Apparently throwing away the Tupperware coffin.  TIA. 

Thus ends another day in the life of a PCV living in a shame spiral. 

P.S. This might be a good time to add that BJ is still alive and well as I’ve heard chiseling noises coming from the ceiling.  It can only mean one thing; BJ grew opposable thumbs, found a tiny pickaxe and is trying to chisel his way out of his prison.  Additionally, I blocked the hole in the ceiling with another rag to prevent BJ or his insurgent warm-blooded friends from crawling down my bedroom wall, however I returned home to find that BJ defiantly removed the rag in less than 24 hours.  If he is eating rags he is now the size of a small goat.  God help us all.

P.P.S. In breaking news, I learned today that BJ did not eat the enormous wall lizard as I had hoped.  Rather the lizard, Akkebif, has taken up residence in my front wall and is leaving me nightly “presents” in my shower. Awesome.  It seems as though BJ and said lizard are in alliance and have created an axis of evil.  They may have won this battle but the war is not over yet.  

Former President and Founding Father of the Namibian nation, Dr. Sam Nujoma, recently verbalized his xenophobia for Caucasians; specifically the British, American, and German people. Nujoma who allegedly made xenophobic remarks in the past continued this trend with the following comments at a recent election rally for ruling party, Swapo.

Nujoma accused whites of having “provoked us for too long”, having no respect for the truth, and being poisonous like a mamba snake.  Furthermore, he stated that the American and British people and governments are criminals, adding: “ngele mwa mono omwInglisa dhengeni komutse” which translates from Oshiwambo to “If you see an English person club him/her to the head.”

Dr. Nujoma urged Namibian youth to be educated in order not to be misled by American and British imperialists and called on Namibians to be ready to fight against imperialists.

I do not deny that the U.S. and England make unpopular political decisions that have a global impact however I find it amazing that someone of Dr. Nujoma’s position and influence could paint a negative portrayal of an entire race of people with a single brushstroke.  This situation reminds me of the adage, “with great power comes great responsibility.”  Clearly Nujoma would rather use his power to incite a nation to hate than reconciliation. 

I find it interesting that Nujoma’s comments are directed at white people that are essentially periphery players in Namibian politics.  Nujoma’s resentment seems misplaced as he is harboring malcontent towards the British due to their colonization of Zimbabwe, a nation, which earned its democratic freedom almost 30 years ago.  Additionally, his dislike of the German population dates back to the German-Herero War that took place in the early 1900s.  Yet, considering that Namibia won its freedom from an apartheid government less than 2 decades ago one would think that Nujoma might air his frustration with the white Afrikaner population who subjugated an entire population to apartheid policies, permitted human suffering, and repressed generations of Africans from realizing their full potential. 

Despite Nujoma’s irrational tirade I do agree that the Namibian youth should insist on education to promote free thinkers who seek the truth.  The time has come for a future generation to take control of their lives and persevere to get the best possible education that Namibia can provide them. 

Three weeks away from home and I return to find that the family dog, a midsize mutt, magically morphed into a toy dog. He raced up to me upon my return and jumped on my legs with such recognition that I stared down at him with suspicion. Could it be… Brave? Did he miraculously transform into a tiny lap dog?

Alas, no. This dog resides with the neighbor who also lives on the homestead and he has appointed me his newest BFF. After petting the dog, rubbing his ears, and giving him some much-needed attention I returned to my house. Moments later I realized that this attention resulted in a stalker of the four-legged variety. Despite my attempts to shoo him away I finally closed the door on his sad little whimpers. I began working at my kitchen table when I heard bizarre scratching noises outside the window.

My thought was that I would have to chase yet another donkey out of the yard, therefore I pulled open my curtains expecting to find a braying jackass, however, to my surprise, I found that the fracas was from the insistent dog. He ran around the house and was leaping in the air trying to get my attention at the window. I think he is even more persistent than some Namibian men, “No means no, buddy!”

Though his futile attempts were for naught, I can only suppose that he found another way into my house and is now burrowing in the ceiling with his newfound friend, BJ the rat.

As I am apparently Africa’s newest dog whisperer I am under the assumption that it is because dogs realize that a) I will not beat them and b) I am not interested in eating them for dinner; 2 strong qualities that place me high on the list.

Update on BJ the rat: The rag that acted as a barrier for a section of the ceiling mysteriously disappeared. I can only assume that BJ slowly ate the rag in a desperate attempt to escape. However, the hole is currently only large enough for lizards to enter the house as I learned yesterday when I entered my bedroom to find a large lizard lounging on my wall. He quickly scampered back into the ceiling and has not returned. BJ must have eaten him for dinner.

Ahh, the pleasures of a new home. There is nothing like moving into your own personal space, complete with your very own cold shower, finicky electricity, leaky toilet and sink, bed that belonged to an incontinent child, refrigerator… and pet rat.

I awoke after my first night in my new house, rolled over, stretched my arms, and looked up to find an enormous rat peering down at me from my unfinished wall. Fortunately, for situations such as this, my supervisor lives a mere 20 feet away… mere shouting distance. As the rat was not yet crawling down the wall and my presence startled him back to his lair I quickly dressed and calmly told my supervisor about my “friend”. Now, to his benefit, he quickly called someone to come finish the wall. However, as the rat was nowhere to be found, my little furry friend now has a permanent home in my ceiling and I have a new pet that will be tap dancing in my ceiling for the next two years. Hopefully I have a pet snake in the ceiling as well.

Farewell my sweet double bed. You were a blessing these past four months. While the other volunteers twisted and turned in their single beds I luxuriated within the confines of my vast cocoon. You doubled as a workspace in lieu of an office, you acted as a hideaway when I needed time alone, and now I must say goodbye, dear friend, and welcome your replacement… single bed. He was my constant friend in college and has returned to keep me company these next 20 months. Just enough room to say goodnight, switch off the light, and send another day into the night.

An afternoon in Windhoek is like a journey to Middle America. In essence you cease to forget that you live in Africa and your quaint town doesn’t have the most simple of luxuries as you slurp down a double thick chocolate malt with a side of nachos and cheese quesadillas at the local Spur. I know what you are thinking, ‘Tex-Mex in Namibia, impossible!’ Alas, it is true and there are many other pleasures in this land of plenty.

Where would Middle America be without the local mall to wile away the hours? Don’t say that America never gave the world anything. It has left its imprint on sub-Saharan Africa with the concept of shopping as a national pastime.

We can’t leave out Hollywood. How else would the world get their distorted view of Americans except through film? You can watch America through rose-colored glasses with a box of popcorn and a large coke at the local movie theater. Don’t think I didn’t enjoy it. I did. Immensely. I’m not ashamed to admit that I spent N$50 on a movie ticket to see the sixth Harry Potter movie and N$8 on two bags of sour gummy worms.

I arrived at the movie early and scoped out my seat. I found a great location, got comfy, and ripped open my bag of gummy worms. Life doesn’t get much better in the eyes of a PCV. Unfortunately my rose colored glasses were about to be ripped off my face and crushed by a group of 8 white Afrikaaners. The group trooped down the row to find only 5 available seats, turned, stared at me, and said, “You should move.” I responded, incredulously, “Are you kidding me?!?” Yet they continued to stand in front of me and stare as though this was a reasonable and appropriate request. As they clearly did not plan on moving and I did not want to watch the film with an Afrikaaner blocking my view I stood up, stomped over the chair, and moved to the EMPTY row behind me.

So, there you have it. My rose colored glasses were shattered by white Africans. One insignificant interaction with a group of Namibians opened my eyes to the undercurrent of entitlement and privilege that still runs strong despite the fact that the colonial era ended two decades ago.

A "friend" recently informed me that I am getting gray hair.  "No," I scoffed, "I’m still young and all of the hairs on this beautiful head are strawberry blonde."  To which he responded by plucking a hair from my head and presenting it to me with a certain amount of self satisfaction.  Bastard.  I still claim that hair was blonde.