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.