It’s a funny thing to be stuck. You keep doing what you always do – talking, laughing, breathing. And yet you know that something is obstructing you, keeping you put. And when you suddenly decide to accept that you’re stuck, you begin to look around and realize what you’re actually stuck in.

This is the story of 17 students, one professor, and one bus driver, “stuck” in the great expanses of the African savannah. We had just spent the day driving through Etosha National Park. This 22,270 square kilometer park in northwestern Namibia is home to 114 animal and 340 bird species, and encircles a salt pan so large it can be seen from space. Most of the group had been particularly looking forward to this visit, and many of the sights, not to mention the wildlife we witnessed were the most beautiful of our entire trip.

And yet it was at that moment when we were just 15 minutes away from the park exit and our tire popped, that something different happened. By that point, most of us were (or at least I was) hungry, tired of spending the day on the bus, and anxious to get home, so the news that our tire had popped was not met with great delight. Despite being advised to remain in the bus, as the clock ticked on, several of us went out to get some fresh air. We got off and continued our follies – laughing, talking, taking pictures, writing S.O.S. in the sand (jokingly of course).

But after a bit, it hit me that we were actually stuck – even if temporarily so – in one of the most magical places I’ve ever been to. Even though we were meant to have left the park before sunset, we were lucky enough to have had a reason to stay and see the park’s transformation from day to night.

Far off into the distance I watched the sun, a large ball of fire slowly lowering itself down on the horizon until it kissed the grassland plains. And then, after what seemed like just a few seconds, it was swallowed up and gone. I walked around myself in a circle, mesmerized by the kaleidoscope skies changing from orange, to red, to yellow, to blue, to purple, and finally to pitch black.

Even after leaving Namibia, this is the moment that stays with me most vividly. Something that I feel I learned from Namibian culture was that nothing is really a big deal. Being punctual is unheard of, and things going wrong is actually the name of the game. But throughout our two-week road trip across the country, we stopped being frustrated with logistical setbacks and started to embrace, even take advantage of them, always saying that “the only difference between an adventure and an ordeal is your attitude.” That moment in Etosha park doesn’t just remind me of the country’s beauty and magic, but of the idea of embracing the unexpected, the state of being stuck in a place that’s not so bad after all.

(note: couldn’t upload pictures because the website said storage quota has all been used.)

Because of all the CHEETAHS!

But actually…

Namibia has the highest population of cheetahs in the world, at around 3,000 of the estimated 12,000 left. That’s about 25% of the world’s cheetah population. However, 90% of Namibia’s cheetahs live on privately owned farmland, which creates conflict between the farmers trying to “save” their livestock and the cheetahs who need habitat. In reality, only about 3% of the cheetahs’ diet consists of livestock. Cheetahs, being a daytime hunter, gets largely blamed for nocturnal large cat kills.

The CCF has made wonderful progress with educating the farming community about the cheetah, as well as with cheetah interaction prevention. By keeping large guard dogs on the farm, cheetahs will stay away from the livestock. Cheetahs are made for speed, not confrontation. In 1994, CCF started an Anatolian guard dog program, where they breed and teach puppies to protect livestock. With the help of the guard dogs, farmers can be assured that cheetahs will not be interfering with their livelihood.

In Namibia, farmers can legally kill any cheetahs that they believe have killed their animals. Cheetahs are very tame creatures that keep close to their play trees (a tree with low branches/ a bent trunk which cheetahs can jump on), and thus are very easy to capture with a cage trap, making them easy to kill. Although Namibia is getting much better with their conservation efforts, as seen with the Etosha Natural Park for example, there is much more that can be done. Changing this law is the first step for the cheetah’s survival in Namibia. Fortunately, CCF has been extremely successful in offering farmers alternative livestock management techniques by setting an example of coexistence with cheetahs.

To learn more about CCF and its volunteering opportunities, visit cheetah.org.

You can even sponsor a guard puppy or a cheetah!

“Olie, olie.”

Laban dips a toothbrush in an old Stork fat spread container filled with chain oil and motions toward the bike chains. He then hands me both items.

For the first three weeks of the seminar, I, along with one other student, volunteered at the King’s Daughters bicycle shop in Windhoek. On the first day, I went in eager to learn about bikes and ready to practice the elementary Oshiwambo I had picked up from language classes at the University of Namibia.

But there was a slight problem. The head bike mechanic, Laban, spoke neither English nor Oshiwambo. He could only speak Afrikaans. So Laban would demonstrate the task – fixing brakes, changing tires, or lacing wheels – and we would copy him. The hands-on nature of the work made the language barrier less of an issue, but there were moments – like looking for the correct wrench size – when communicating with words would have been far simpler.

Although English is the official language of Namibia, more than eleven languages are spoken in a relatively small population of 2.3 million. Volunteering at the bike shop provided a glimpse into the highly multilingual character of Namibian society. Customers would start speaking in Herero or Oshiwambo only to realize that they could not communicate with the bike shop workers. Then some would switch to Afrikaans or English. There was also a group of primary school boys who would routinely bring their bikes to the shop and race each other on the sandy terrain, shouting in Damara.

Once the task is finished, I turn to Laban.

After inspecting the chains, he grins and gives me a thumbs-up. And that is enough.

King’s Daughters Bicycle Shop in Katutura, Windhoek

When telling my family and friends that I would be going to Namibia over the summer, one of the first things that always came up was “Isn’t that country a complete desert?” And without fail, after I had more or less affirmed their suspicions, they would ask about water. How would I get any? How do people live in such an arid place? Why do people live in such an arid place? At the time, I couldn’t answer their questions well because I really hadn’t given it much thought before actually arriving in the country. But, as expected, after arriving in Namibia it became clear to me that the country’s history with water conservation was a long and complicated one. One which was still in the process of being written- which was evidenced by the severe drought that had been ailing the capital city of Windhoek since the end of the rainy (or not so rainy in the case) season of 2015.
As a class, one of our first encounters with water conservation came during our lecture class. This may seem surprising because we had been living in the country for a while already by that point- wouldn’t we have come in contact in some way with the shortage of water? The answer is pretty much no. We were stayed in a fairly touristy and very nice guesthouse, which was fitted with private bathrooms in most rooms as well as an outdoor pool. These things caused me to not even realize there was a severe drought going on in the city until I researched the topic more, and talked to some of the local kids. Even as we travelled more, it was evident that there was an unspoken agreement that any “nice” accommodation would not bother the tourists about the drought more than maybe a sign in the bathroom asking politely to not leave the sink on while brushing teeth. This lack of a communication was one of the major issues with water conservation that the country was still experiencing.
As I mentioned previously, we discussed the history of water scarcity in class before we were even able to experience it ourselves. Since the indigenous peoples had inhabited this land, they had decided where to live based on the availability of water. This caused many of them to live nomadic lifestyles. They also utilized (and still do) boreholes, which are deep holes in the ground that are often dug near or on dried riverbeds during the winter (dry) season. We encountered one of these holes on our way to Etosha National Park, however it was not functional (or possible the water was not high enough quality to drink) because water was being allowed to pour out and create a watering hole for nearby animals. (Pictured below).
The scarcity of water was also utilized as a form of combat in the struggle between colonial powers (Germany) and the indigenous peoples. For example, in 1904 in the midst of the German struggle to control Namibia and suppress its indigenous peoples, the German commander Von Trotha took into consideration the fact that they were fighting near the Omaheke desert. When surrounding the Herero people, who were gathered at Watergate, Von Trotha purposely left the south-eastern part of his army weaker because if any Herero were to escape that way, they would be driven into the desert and most likely killed due to a lack of water. More people ended up escaping via this route than Von Trotha anticipated, however, and after only a couple of days in pursuit, his troops were forced to turn back due to a dearth of water. A very few number of the Herero people were able to survive the journey due to their experience of living in the aridity- however, vast numbers of them were killed due to the conditions.
Moving back to present day, it was possible to understand the water situation in Windhoek, where we stayed for most of the trip. The city has developed many technologies to aid in the combating of the almost constant water shortage, and the government has become more diligent about correctly informing the city residents of how dire the situation is at any given time. Currently, there are four main ways by which Windhoek fulfills its water needs. Surface water can be obtained from the Von Bach, Swakoppoort or Omatako dams, ground water can be gathered from over 50 municipal boreholes around the city, or water can be reclaimed through one of the cities three famous water reclamation facilities. While the system they have in place is effective in delivering water to the population, it is not perfect. As mentioned before, the biggest problem I experienced with the water shortage was that tourists were not explicitly made aware of it (and tourism is one of the country’s more profitable industries). More often than not, when our seminar all went out to dinner together (~16-20 people depending on the night), we were brought individual water bottles, and if someone wanted more, they were given multiple without any question. The waste was painful to watch, and one of the only indicators of the water shortage in the country was the fact that water was not free with any meal.

The watering hole that was created as a consequence of this borehole.

The borehole itself.

For the first three weeks of the global seminar, we were based out of Windhoek, the capital of Namibia. The fifteen of us were divided amongst four different volunteer internships where we went three afternoons a week after our seminar class. I, along with four other Princeton students, volunteered at KAYEC Trust, a Namibian non-profit that provides an after-school center for middle and high-school kids. The program is designed to keep kids off the streets after school, as well as to help them with their school subjects.

KAYEC facilities

The first day at KAYEC, the kids were extremely welcoming and curious. They had many questions about where we were from and what we were doing in Namibia. The next day, we were directed to help the kids with English. English is the official language of Namibia, but many of the teachers are still Afrikaans-speaking and thus the level of English instruction is not great. The kids were split into age groups and we were each assigned to one. None of the kids had brought their school books with them, so we had to make a lesson plan up on the spot. The thing that struck me most was how much the kids’ English skills varied within the same age group. Some of the kids were way ahead of others, so it was a challenge teaching them all together with no material to work from.

The next day, we led a Spanish class and a salsa dancing class. The kids loved both activities and soon all of them were joining in. The boys were definitely more reluctant to join in on the dancing, but some of them did with a little encouragement. When we were done salsa dancing, the kids showed us some Namibian dances.

Jorge leading a salsa class

The next week, we were invited to celebrate the Day of the African Child at KAYEC. It is a day celebrated on June 16 (every year since 1991) to commemorate the Soweto Uprising in 1976 (a student-led protest against Afrikaans instruction in schools), as well as to spread awareness of the need to improve education for African children. We watched a variety of performances put on by the kids including traditional dances, songs, poems, and skits. There were also several discussions about what can be changed in the education system to improve Namibian schools. The kids brought up the fact that some teachers still teach in Afrikaans, which the kids don’t understand.

Jorge surprised everyone with a salsa performance!

Surprise salsa performance for the Day of the African Child

Over the course of the three weeks, we worked with kids on English and math, Spanish and salsa dancing (and even some Bollywood dancing). The kids expressed many times how much they appreciated our help. We were the only volunteers at the time, so the program was definitely very understaffed. While the program was not the most efficient in helping kids with school work, it more importantly provided a safe place for kids after school and was something they really looked forward to daily. The kids were really sad when we had to leave and many of them asked for our autographs and emails.

While I learned a lot through the seminar itself, I learned a lot about Namibian culture from KAYEC that I could never have gotten from the classroom. The kids were amazing to work with and I really hope someday to go back.

Charles and Indira

Shihepo and Matt

Traditional dance at the Day of the African Child

Downtown Windhoek bustles on most afternoons. The sidewalks are crowded, store doors flung open, scents and sounds propelled by the people in motion. It is hard to take it all in at once; the city moves with people come in from the widely-splayed residential sectors of the city to conduct their business in the middle.

But then the sun sets, around 5:15. And a calm sets over the city as the darkness does. Hurried people disappear with the sunlight, reckless taxis evaporate with the warmth, store windows lose their bright color with the sky.

And by six o’clock, night is full and the city is empty. Or, almost, except for a few stragglers or late restaurant-goers. It is eerie how quickly the place clears out. I’ve never seen anything like it. The setting is the same, but it is not the same city as an hour before. The energy is entirely different.

The stillness descends on the center of Windhoek even earlier on weekends: in the afternoon on Saturday, virtually all of Sunday. But come early Monday morning, the place throbs with energy and motion and activity again.

I appreciate the cycling of things: Still water to clouds, clouds to rain, rain to still water (this is more of a theoretical cycle right now in both where I’m from (CA) and where I am); summer to fall, fall to winter, winter to spring, spring to summer (another cycle that is more imagined than real in California—and one that I appreciated so much this year in Princeton); student to teacher, teacher to student; sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset; full city, empty city, full city, empty city—these rhythms that mark our passing days.