Sneezes and Stew

I think people are at their most unattractive the moment a sneeze shoots out of their nose.

Eyes screw up, neck turns into a sleeve of Swiss cake rolls, nostrils flare in a frightening manner, mouth contorts itself into a number of embarrassing yoga poses. Not to mention if you fart or something.

Ever witnessed a sneeze fart? Not sexy.

Anyway, I say this because I am either horrendously allergic to something or I have a head cold. Regardless, I've been doing a lot of sniffling, sneezing, nose blowing, etc., and to try and cure my malady (since the medication you get here is as effective as herbal tea), I went to Village Cafe for some soup.

Village Cafe is a favorite amongst tourists and locals alike, mostly for the great customer service (an extreme rarity in this neck of the woods) and the funky decor. It's probably been in a few guide books.

I settled into an empty corner at the back.

Today's soup: vegetable.

Good, I could use some veggies. Maybe what I actually have is an allergic reaction to the lack of vegetables being processed in my body.

My soup comes, steaming and accompanied by a monstrous piece of homemade bread. I mean, it had the demensions of 2 bricks placed side by side.

Mm, veg-

...meat.

It appears vegetable soup in Namibia actually means lamb stew with bits of cabbage, potato, and carrot. The mere fact that vegetables were to be found along with the meat and broth was enough to celebrate it's appearance.

Don't get me wrong, my stew was good. And I didn't mind because I've become a lot more carnivorous since moving to the Land of Sand. But the misleading title of "vegetable soup" was just so typical of the Namibian diet that it made me smile.

Then the smile turned into a weird look of pain because I had a series of sneezes lodged up my nose that wouldn't come out.

The Nam-Diet, practiced by all ethnic groups to some degree or another:

A large mound of starch or grain, accompanied by meat if you can afford it and/or some sort of saucy business. Veg, optional.

Usually the option is met with a
"Um, no."
"Nee."
"Aaye."

As I've finished my soup and have awkwardly stuck wads of toilet paper up my nose, which was witnessed by a passing waitress, I should probably take my leave.

Have a good week, readers. Eat your soup.

To Give A Flying Frikkie

We have recently become full out pet owners.

"What kind of pet?" you may ask.

Well, he's gray. He likes to cause a ruckus and loves attention.
He gives the Boyfriend kisses and gives me bites (love bites maybe?).
He's been known to poo on the furniture.

Have you guessed yet?

We keep him in his house at night so he won't get into trouble. He likes eating peanut butter and keeping lookout from the roof of his house.

No, it's not snoopy.

But if anyone can make him turn into a dog, abracadabra that shit.


Ladies and gentlemen, meet the newest addition to our household.

 

Frikkie, the African Gray Parrot

Although his distain for me has continued throughout 3 weeks, after countless attempts to befriend him with treats and attention, perhaps I will learn to love him. Maybe one day in his long, long life he will decide I too am not the enemy.

In the meantime, I should probably buy myself some sturdy gloves.

Let the fun commence.

This Side of the Ocean

Things I should have written a blog post about:

1. Omaruru Game Lodge, an awesome weekend spent with Boyo, feeding wild elephants and patting rhinos.
2. My failed attempt to find the ingredients for my mother's brownie recipe.
3. My much failed and physically painful attempt to befriend a bird.
4. The day my hair went up in flames. Yes, the day finally came when I accidentally set fire to myself.
5. Quad biking in the dunes, and in conjunction, what to do if you have to take a pee whilst in the dunes with all males.

But no, I will not write about those things. You must just use your imagination. (However, I will post some photos of Omaruru Game Lodge. And for the record, merely popping over the nearest dune to take a pee is not as easy as it sounds.)

But to the writing part.

Yesterday I sat on the beach. Yes, a novel idea, as no one has dared do that before.

It's winter here, or the end of winter. So, due to the cold, I was the only person out there besides a few kids who, as we know, for some reason, do not feel temperature.

That was entirely too many commas in one sentence.

The kids were playing with something that looked to be alive at one point.
I climbed out onto some exposed reef off the shore and sat on a bit of rock.

Probably I killed a bunch of microscopic aquatic organisms with my jean-clad bottom.
Probably.

I apologize.

Gray mist hung over the ocean, the clouds casting down to grip the horizon in an effect that made me feel like I was stuck in a dome. Like in that scene in "The Truman Show" where Jim Carey reaches the wall of his little movie set world thing after going nuts and sailing across the sea or whatever.

Right. But moving on.

A flock of flamingos had congregated in the shallows, looking cold and out of place, a dash of pink in the monotony of gray.

It struck me as funny that as I sat on this rock out in the water at that moment, that I was just barely in Namibia.

I was at the edge of the huge continental mass behind me. If you looked at the map, I would be a point on the left edge of the black line that denotes the end of Africa and the beginning of the Atlantic.

I'm in land limbo.

It was interesting to me to think that I grew up on the edge of another continental mass just across this ocean. I've already spent years swimming in this ocean, just from a different side.

If I turned had around this day, I would see huge, 3 story houses, hotels, holiday homes. Many with slightly tacky seashore themes. Much like what you would see in Stone Harbor, NJ.

I felt a cold misty breeze blowing as if it were early March back home, winter still lurking in the heavy, salty air.

I watched as little tide pools formed in the rocky reef and tiny, transparent fish darted around them at frenzied angles. I thought about playing with the periwinkles on my Jersey beach growing up. Trying to catch them before they buried beneath the sand. Making a habitat for them in my bucket before an adult told me to go put them back.

It made me feel both connected to my younger years and detached from this current year all at once.

What once was distinctly foreign about this place has now blurred into a continuation of sameness.

It's actually the same story, this side. It's just translated differently.

Once you work out the translation, get past the accent and the intonation and the syntax, it's not so difficult to understand.

Upon sticking a finger in the chilly water and deciding against putting my feet in, I stood and awkwardly hopped my way back to shore in a way I imagine looked very like walking with bare feet on Lego bricks.

If you are waiting for a philosophical point to this story, I suppose I don't have one. If you've read this now and thought "that was a giant waste of my time," then again, I apologize.

After reaching solid ground, my mind again wandered onto other things. There was no epiphany. While calming, the ocean provided no revelation about humanity or life or belief or whatever. I didn't feel compelled to take a photo and attach a meaningful quote and post it to a social media outlet.

It was just an odd moment. A moment where I did not feel confined to one space. I wasn't fully in the present, nor was I lost in the past. I didn't feel as though I was in a distinct, name-able location. Both curious and mundane, disquieting and peaceful, occupying only a tiny piece of the edge of something.

In whatever form it may take, I think we all need more moments like that.

Omaruru Game Lodge

Each bungalow has 1 to 2 rooms

Inside

A deck area off of the dining room lets guests greet some of the more friendly animals...

...or you can just have a beer.

Bar area

Rhino and Goose: buddies for life. Every evening during feeding they meet each other at the gate and spend dinner together.

Giraffes all congregated around a feeder

Here we go safaring

where we made some wrinkly friends.

You can't tell in this photo, but I am the happiest gal alive.

Blog Botox

I've decided this blog needs a facelift.

I know.

It's the day you've all been waiting for, but try to contain your excitement because I've already had a dog pee on me in excitement today, so I don't need another incident like that.

To explain, I'm house-sitting for friends (quite literally, as I have been sitting in the house all day), and conjointly taking care of two bouncy Labrador puppies and a rather loquacious parrot that dislikes me.

So anyway, I was talking about my blog. After playing around with photo apps and Blogger for a while, I came up with what you now see on the screen.

However, after coming back from walking the dogs, I realized that the tape on my heading graphic actually looks like bacon.

I don't think I care.

I mean, I like bacon too. More than tape.

So that's it. That's my post. I just want to proudly say that I've got unintentional bacon on my blog, and I'm ok with it.

In other news,

The bird has now mimicked the phone noise and is having a conversation with someone on the other line. It's really bizarre to hear a bird laugh a person's laugh. Mental.

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be...

It seems to me that most people remember what they wanted to be as a kid. That's not to say their career dreams actually stay the same or are at all practical.

I mean my cousin wanted to be a piece of cheese. Which to this day I still think is a valid life goal.

But I don't remember wanting to be anything. Perhaps a veterinarian like my older sisters wanted to be. I quite liked to copy my sisters' ideas, even if I didn't know what they were going on about.

(Obviously that did not last forever as they are now in various science fields, and I am unemployed. With an art degree. In Namibia. The last two of which I am very content with.)

Perhaps deep down what I really wanted was to be a professional cookie eater or a permanent inhabitant of Disney World.

Let's not kid around, I would still like to be those things.

Then I got older and older and still could not settle on one thing I would like to pursue as a career. I think it really wasn't until my senior year of college that I was 95% committed to attempting a job in some sort of humanitarian relief. Now that still may seem like a broad area of focus.

Correct.

But it was, and is, broad for a few reasons.

One. There are more things wrong in this world than I can count. There are a lot of assholes that make life for other people (and animals, and the environment) really shit. And I would be happy trying to rectify any one of these problems in any way that I can. Because I can. And because I want to. (And not in a peace and love sort of way, in an angry way. Because I just don't understand why some people are so stupid and self-entitled. Anyway.)
Two. It's not an easy line of work to get into. It doesn't pay well. Sometimes it doesn't pay at all. And if it is a paid position, I am perpetually either over or under qualified, or don't have enough of the experience that no one is willing to give me.

And that last point is a problem for young Americans on all career paths. Which all seem to lead to The Cape of No Hope. Which is like the Cape of Good Hope, but everyone is cranky and has a shot of grain alcohol with breakfast.

Unfortunately, I am encountering the same problem here in Namibia. Sans drunken eggs and bacon. Rightfully, it is in the interest of the country to hire Namibians before out-of-towners like myself. That's great. It truly is. It also leads to me getting a lot of "We would love to hire you, but..."'s and dead ends.

And while I know this entry is quickly spiraling into a essay of self pity, I would just like to say this.

I, like everyone else in there 20s, understand that I must work my way up from the bottom. And I am willing to have that desk job, calling donors, returning emails for a few years. And I'm willing to work hard, in a stressful environment, with difficult people, and even more difficult environments...if I know that my work is important. I just can't seem to even really get on the totem pole in order to be at the bottom of it.

I'm totem pole-less.

Obviously I'm not throwing in the towel. I mean, seriously, there's so many opportunities, it's ridiculous. And also I'm broke and can't afford a new towel.

But in the meantime, I think I will open up a cafe/bakery that has some funky name like The Button Jar Bake Shop, where I can sell exciting cupcakes and brownies and my art and crafty nuggets and have big cushy chairs and lots of plants. With a painting studio in the loft, which you have to walk up a giraffe-shaped staircase to get to.

Because that, sadly (or maybe not sadly, but bizarrely) is more plausible at this point.

Happy Friday, my lovely friends!

That's NamTune-tastic

Not often does one hear the phrases "scouring the flatware" and "booty poppin'" in the same sentence, but in this precise moment that is exactly what I am doing. Simultaneously, but not well on either end.

I wasn't feeling too great about getting out of my duvet nest this morning to wash every dish that we own. Because as I have tried to explain, I have never been a fan of keeping up with the cleaning past putting all the dirty items into a haphazard pile and collapsing onto the floor in exhaustion.

Sometimes I wish I had just a touch more obsessiveness to my personality.

So I turned the TV to the channel TRACE, which plays exclusively music videos and is thus exceedingly superior to the disgrace that is now MTV.

Beyoncé is on. Hey, girl.

It is a well known fact that work always goes faster when there is music to dance to. It practically does itself. Or rather I am too busy shaking it in an impressively bad way to notice how many plates I have already cleaned.

I soon tire of being Drunk In Love and switch to music on a USB drive that is plugged into a sound playing device, which is the preferred method of music storage in Namibia, and is in this case plugged into the TV.

This particular drive has electro-trance-dance-house music on it. I have no idea what the difference between those 4 kinds of music is, but apparently strung out millennials in neon clothes can tell the difference.

I, however, just want to dance my pants off. Or pants on, rather, as I am clad only in well-worn athletic shorts from 8 years ago.

Which brings us to the topic of this blog post, which is popular music in Namibia. Not old shorts. Took me long enough to get there, but we've finally arrived at the point.

Like anywhere in the world, Namibia has different genres of music. Pop is big. In some places, you can even tune in to Ryan Seacrest counting down US chart toppers. South African music also has a big presence in Namibia, and is full of talented pop and rap musicians, like AKA, Mi Casa, and Goldfish. Of course, SA has a rich and diverse music scene that I know little about, but I'm just talking about pop artists here.

One Million Views-Goldfish

Namibian pop artists, though, are a very different breed. Whereas big time South African artists usually sound more polished, like what you would hear in the Western world, the sparsely populated country of Namibia has a more undeveloped music scene, being that there are no official record labels. Some of the more popular hip-hop groups are PDK, Sunny Boy, Gazza, and The Dogg. But a lot of what I hear in the Kunene region and beyond was music called Oviritje. All of which songs are heavy on the synthesizer, utilize the same tempo for every song, and share a similar backbeat that sounds like one of the 5 that are preloaded onto mid grade Yamaha keyboard. Music videos are usually full of dancing people in random public places and goats mulling about in the background.

For instance...

But the kind of dancing Oviritje produces is always fun to watch. It causes a normal man to turn into a bouncing African Gumby and produce quite bewildering dance moves.

You also get a lot of a capella gospel music here, this being a very Christian country and all. You know, some gospel is nice, serene, peaceful. But some sounds like the air being squeezed out of a badly broken bagpipe. I can appreciate it for what it is, but it's really not my thing. Not blasting through my walls at 6 in the morning, not any time.

And then there is Afrikaans music, which is a bit like pop country music with much less twang and much more...boer. If you don't know what I mean by that, then I do apologize, but I cannot describe it any other way. But it is widely appreciated by the white population, and after a few double brandy and cokes causes people to go utterly ape shit with the singing and the drunken swaying.

However, in the younger Afrikaans crowd, you often find an innate love of trance music. Or dance music. Or whatever the hell you want to call it. Hence why the TV in my bachelor flat is now pumping out music that should be in venue full of ginormous speakers and lots of light shows and DJs and...sweaty people. And stuff.

Can you spell MDMA?

It really gets you excited about housework, though. I, myself, am going fairly ape shit with these plates.

Obviously I don't entirely know what I'm talking about anymore, but I did manage to finish the dishes with only once slicing my finger on a cheese grater.

So, right. There's that.

I encourage you to search YouTube for Oviritje and Namibian music videos. It will be entertaining, I promise.

Cheers.

Travel, a la Lone Wolf

You don't know the character of a person until you've travelled with them. And seen how they handle tangled Christmas lights.

I'm fairly certain that's not how the phrase goes, but it's true nonetheless.

So, folks, sometimes it's more enjoyable to go it alone on your world adventure than with your type A friend Rick whom has a strong aversion to crowded spaces, nature, and doesn't like any lumps in his porridge.

Sorry, Rick.

Traveling alone as a woman has a negative aura surrounding it. It encourages gasps from non-travellers. This reaction is especially amplified for younger women who want to travel alone.

Side note: some cultures have serious respect for age, and that could perhaps be to an older woman traveller's advantage when traveling alone. (Any comment, ladies?)

But I often receive questions like:
"Aren't you scared to travel alone?"
"There is so much crime! How can you trust the people you meet?"
"Haven't you seen 'Taken'?"

No really, I've gotten all of those questions multiple times. Apparently Liam Neeson and his "special set of skills" have left a strong impression on the American populace.

Firstly, the world is not such a horrible place has you might think. In all my travels, I've had an overwhelming amount of kind people see that I was traveling alone, and choose to help me instead of harm me. And I've met many solo travelers, both women and men, that have had the same experience.

As a point of reference, let me explain my situation. I'm an American, 25 years old, currently living in Namibia (which is obvious, as it is the whole point of this blog), very nonthreatening in stature and appearance, and I've visited 15+ countries in Europe, Africa, and Asia. And North America too, I guess, if you count Canada. Not many people do. Which really, any country where you can ice skate up to a Beaver Tails stand to buy a large sugary piece of dough should not be discounted in my opinion. Anyway, I'm by no means an expert in this field, but I've acquired a bit of knowledge over my years of travel, and I want to share with you what I've learned in order to encourage women to travel more and simultaneously occupy my time on this boring Tuesday.

Two birds, one iPad-shaped stone.

So, to the tip section!

Mailin's Tip Section:

1. To both women and men, before you enter a new country, if you can, do a bit of research. What is going on in that country at the moment? What is the general societal role of each gender? And youth? Now, ladies, while I also disapprove of some of the societal restrictions set on women, the time to come out guns blazing is not when you are traveling alone. So, you might consider making sure Thelma and Louise aren't falling out of your travel-worn brassiere, while taking note of the cultural practices going on around you. Perhaps, although you don't normally do it, wearing something to cover your shoulders or head might make your life a little easier and the people around you feel more at ease. Not that you should go out and buy a full-out burka, but be sensitive to a culture's norms. Which brings me to my next point.

2. Observe to learn more, yes. But also to protect yourself and your things. I always try to be aware of my surroundings, not just the awe inspiring view in front of me. Of course, stay calm and relaxed, enjoy yourself, experience things fully--that's what travel is about. But have some idea what the people around you are doing and where your possessions are, i.e. If you are in a crowd of people, talking to someone, etc., don't let your attention fully wonder away from your surroundings. Humans have peripheral vision for a reason. This is a lesson that many people, myself included, learn the hard way.

3. Like I said, the majority of people are not out to get you, so don't be afraid to talk to people and get to know them. Be the intelligent woman you are, and "feel out" the situation. If something feels a bit dodgy, it probably is. You've heard the phrase "Hope for the best, but expect the worst," yes? Well, something I've always preferred to live by is "Expect the best, but be prepared for the worst." It seems to give a little more credit to humanity. But, anyway, play things by ear.

4. And if you feel it's time to make like a tree (meaning leave, not grow bark or produce maple syrup), don't panic. Be confident, calm, assertive, keep the language friendly. Getting upset and hollering or crying at people usually only escalates a bad situation. Attempt a graceful exit (says the very not at all graceful person).

5. Everything else is common sense. It's ill advised to get raging drunk or wander off the beaten path by yourself after dark. Duh. If you feel the need to let off some steam at the bar, ask for a suggestion as to where to go from the hostel or hotel or wherever you are staying, and find another tourist or trustworthy local for a drinking buddy. And probably nix Battleshots as the evening entertainment. Otherwise, wait until you are traveling with friends, you party animal.

6. Also, in some countries it's totally normal and legal to hitchhike, and it's a great way to get around. Obviously find out if you are in one of these countries before trying this. But if you feel uncomfortable getting into a certain car (that goes for taxis too), wait for a ride you feel good about. The point is that you shouldn't give yourself an unnecessary panic attack before anything even happens. There is no fun in that, and stressing before there is cause for stress causes even more stressful situations. So don't stress. Stress, stress, stress. Stress stress. If it makes you feel more safe, wait for a car that has another woman inside.

6. I guess the biggest suggestion that I can give you is to keep a sense of humor. Sticky situations, cat calls, marriage proposals, they occasionally happen. Turn that frown upside down, Sweet Pea. Life is good, and an adventurous life is the best you can have. Be smart, expect some bumpy times (those happen even when traveling with a group), and give people a chance to surprise you.

Traveling by yourself, as a dude or a dudette, is totally possible. So, if you want to give your independence a work out, give solo travel a go.

Does anyone have any other tips or questions about traveling as a woman or traveling as a party of one? If so, I'd love to hear from you. I always love hearing from you.

Happy day to you all!