Afrikaans

Now, last year, the language to learn was Otjiherero, as that was the predominant language in Kunene. Swakopmund is more of a melting pot. Many ethnicities live here because of the opportunity for employment. Thus, the commonly spoken languages are English and Afrikaans. Because I'm white and not traveling in a herd of tourists, it is presumed I speak the latter, and people start rapidly speaking this foreign language to me. Because of this fact and because I would like to be able to communicate with my boyfriend and his friends in their first language, I need to learn Afrikaans.

This is difficult for a few reasons.

The first is that unless you made a habit of hacking up a loogie several times in the middle of a sentence during your formative years, the ability to pronounce the Afrikaans "G" will not come naturally. More easily adaptable, but still foreign to my repertoire is the rolled "R" and the necessity to open your mouth and enunciate while speaking. As I am from New Jersey, this is like asking a person with scoliosis to stand up straight.

Afrikaans is very like listening to Dutch or German. Gutteral, emphatic, and sometimes bewildering. But also like German, there are enough words that sound like their English equivalent to indicate generally what the conversation is about. By learning some key words, listening for the recognizable words, and watching body language, I can now decipher what is going on in about 1 in 20 instances.

Making progress.

But although directions to the nearest supplier of biltong or other meat products may often sound like an insult to your mother, Afrikaans can sound almost cutesie sometimes. What a language of strange contrasts.

Example: the word for sock is sokkie

Perspective: a big burly man in a safari shirt and seal skin shoes growling about where his sockies are

Example: the word for bread is brood. But as I gather, bread refers to anything from a loaf of bread to a piece of bread with things on it (I.e. A sandwich) and can be called a broodjie (said like broy-kee)

Perspective: in my mind, this is like asking someone "Are you going go eat that piece of bread-ski? I need something to wash down my pork choppy and chippies." Say this to your family with a straight face, and I will give you $5.

But I don't mean to diss Afrikaans. It's actually a fun and interesting, albeit difficult, language.

Side note: if anyone knows anything about South Afrikaans/Namibians and are able to effectively explain to me why "shame" is used as both a positive and negative response to something, I will be eternally grateful.
(A: "I baked some awesome brownies yesterday."
 B: "Oh, shame."
Conversely...
 A: "I just tripped and dropped my brownies in the ocean."
 B: "Oh, shame.")
...What?

Cheers, ya'll.

How To Cook African-Italian

I love food. Mostly, I love to eat it. Sometimes I like to cook it.
That said,

I am not Gordon Ramsey.

But, with the occasional flop, most of my food is edible, and some of it is even good. However, when your ingredients are not what you are used to, cooking can go awry.

Welcome to my cooking class: How to Cook Italian Food in Namibia.

Step one: If you are in a place other than Windhoek or Swakopmund, be prepared for your only option to be soggy noodles in a tin-flavored tomato sauce. No herbs, no cheeses besides the occasional cheddar, often no garlic or olive oil. But if you are desperate enough to eat something besides meat and porridge, this might do the trick.

Step 2: If you are in one of the two previously mentioned places, you can buy most of the things you will need. However, never count on the items you need to be in stock, count on going to 3 grocery stores to obtain said items, and expect to pay $11 for a small hulk of Parmesan cheese.

Or you can wing it. Like me.

I've finally found a brand of pasta sauce that's reliably good. Although it's no Rao's, it'll do. Plus, the name is Ina Paarman, which sounds like Ina Garten, and I've been watching a lot of Barefoot Contessa.

So, it's spaghetti and meatball day at our house! Allow me to give you detailed instructions on how to make a meal that will wow...you know, someone, at least.

1. Make your meatballs by putting together ground beef, Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, egg, a bit of mustard, a bit of ketchup. Obviously straying from Italian flavors.

2. Grate some onion to put in as well and then realize it's all stuck in the grater, and give up.

3. Pour yourself a drink, you've done well so far.

4. Decide you want to make your own breadcrumbs because you couldn't find any in the store and you are feeling creative.

5. Throw in the breadcrumbs and mush your mixture around like no ones watching.

6. Taste the raw meat to see if it's seasoned well enough. Then realize a year ago you never would have done that, it was probably a poor choice, and that's what happens when you date an Afrikaans man.

7. Rinse your mouth out, like that's going to help, and decide you don't care.

8. Form your meatballs and put them in a frying pan because your oven is broken and shuts off the power when you turn it on.

9. While that's browning, and after burning your fingers on a few things, throw some pasta into a pot of boiling water. You notice a few little insects floating around in the water, casually fish them out, and decide that the heat will kill off any bad things. For good measure, throw in some more salt. Why? I don't know, but salt makes things better. Tell to your boyfriend that tonight's menu will be bug poo with a side of meatballs, to which he responds with an unfazed "ok." You're good to go.

10. Put in your sauce and start adding random things to it like a mad woman until it tastes more normal. Go crazy.

11. Be surprised that it tastes quite good and not at all reminiscent of insects.


I hope with these helpful hints, you too will be able to cook like an African Mamma Cucina.
Bon apetito, amici.

What's This?

To those of you who read my blog from last year, A Girl, A Year, A Blog, and glimpsed into the ridiculous inner workings of my mind--welcome back! Prepare yourselves for round 2. To those of you who perhaps don't know what you are getting yourself into, welcome for the first time. To both parties, I'm so excited to have you, I could dance like Carlton Banks.

So, you've read the title, and now some of you are thinking "Oh, poor child. She thinks she's domestic."

Wrong. I know I'm not domestic.

I will start wearing bathing suit bottoms for underwear to avoid doing laundry.

But I am making an effort to be adequately like a...person. So, this blog follows what any person would do at this time in his or her life--the day to day nonsense--finding a job, cooking, cleaning, finding friends outside of college, organizing finances, pondering life,etc. However, since it's me we are talking about, I am doing it in the most spastic and inefficient way possible and in a country that baffles me so much, even after being here for 14 months.

"But..why?" I ask.
Namibia. That's why.

But I guess I will do a quick recap before I begin my real entries.

Pay attention.

Last year I left my house in New Jersey, and adjusted to living in the bush of Northern Namibia, teaching learners who apparently thought I was a ghost for a good part of the year.
Hello, my name is Professor Bins.
In that time, somehow this country became my home. I fell in love with this area, and also with an Afrikaans boy I met at a coffee shop and haven't been able to get out of my mind since. So, I finished out my year at school and moved to a coastal town to live with said boy. I've been here for just under 3 months now, and it is a 180 from where I lived last year. Gone are the bucket showers, the intestinal parasites, the spotty electricity, goats in my kitchen, and being able to wear gym shorts to the bar (that last one makes me sad). It is a weird and very Western oasis in Namibia, but do not be fooled--it is still Africa. Walk 1 kilometer out of town in any direction, and you will be smack dab in the middle of the Skeleton Coast of the Namib desert. Or in the Atlantic Ocean, obviously.

So, kick back, relax, and don't judge me too harshly.

Sometimes I do inappropriate things. But if I have to use a sock as an iPad case or tie my hair back with a plastic bag, who gives a flying...thing.

One last note. In an attempt to make this blog more family friendly, I will try to keep cursing and poop talk to a minimum.
Although I think it loses something. And I don't know how long that rule will last.

But enjoy, friends!