After some prompting from others, I have finally decided to
write a blogpost solely dedicated to transportation. You’re probably thinking
this will be a very boring post, and it may well be, but I’ve found that
transportation is one of the funniest things I’ve had to deal with in my time
here. When I was filling out my site preference form before coming to Namibia,
I first replied that my preference was anything from a large village to very
remote-no urban areas or towns for me. I figured if I was going to have this
experience, I wanted to really have an experience unique to Namibia and be a
part of a small, tight-knit community. After a few days, I became worried that
even a large village would be too urban for what I was looking for, so I
decided to write the director again and say that I strongly preferred a remote
location. I got my wish, and have learned to treasure my little village in the
bush. Along with my beautiful, real African experience (as one native put it)
also came many transportation issues.
Most villages are fairly easy to get in and out of on most
days if you know the correct place to wait for a hike…my village has maybe
three of four drivers that EVER go into town, and only on Monday, Wednesday,
and Friday…and only at certain times on those days if at all. Taxis that will
drive most anywhere, even to locations 30 km away, will not venture into the
crazy sand path into the bush that is my sole means of entering and exiting the
village. Thus, my life requires a bit more planning than is usual in the
typically very laid back Namibian lifestyle. If I need to get groceries, I have
to leave school two hours early to ride with Tate Mashimba at EXACTLY 1:50. One
minute past, and he’s gone without you, even if you’ve already spoken to him
about getting a ride. Rides with Tate often involve piling into the back of his
pickup truck with twenty other people. It’s funny because I actually now prefer
bouncing in the back of the truck in the fresh air to riding in an actual car
(air conditioning and tvs now freak me out a bit after living so long without
them). After about 45 mins, we’re typically pulling into Oshakati where you can
then shop and do whatever you want as long as you’re back at the Supa Dupa
grocery store back alley to wait for a hike back by 4:30. If you arrive much
later than that, might as well forget getting a ride and find somewhere to stay
for a while since the next ride won’t be until two days later.
Thus, when I was told last week that we would be traveling to
Etosha National Park in Ministry of Education transport for our Mid-service
that would actually pick us up from our schools, I was beyond thrilled that I
didn’t have to worry about making arrangements. More wishful thinking. The
Ministry then decided that it could only pick up a few of the closest
volunteers from the schools and the rest of us would have to hike to a
specified meeting point for them to pick us up. I became a bit worried. We were
expected to be in Ondangwa by 9:30 and hardly anyone ever leaves my village on
Friday mornings. After speaking to my director, she decided to describe the
situation to the Ministry in hopes that they would make an exception to come
get me. After a very long discussion, they relayed that they would if they
could but they simply didn’t have any transport that could make it safely down
the “road” to my village. Accustomed to this type of situation by that point, I
just hoped for the best. Friday morning, I left my house at six hoping to maybe
catch someone going into town for work…by 7:30 I was stilling waiting in front
of the aluminum shed that is our cuca shop and hadn’t seen a soul.
Finally, Tate Paulus, owner of the cuca shop, came to open up shop,and
of course took it upon himself to help me find a ride (even though he kept
telling me it would be impossible until two in the afternoon). Not much later,
a truck came bounding out of the bush with a ton of passengers. I was beyond
excited! They told me there wouldn’t be room for me, but I didn’t care and
needed to get to town so I clung to the back of the bakki with all of the women
in the truck sweetly fretting over me every time I almost fell out after flying
over bumps. After making stops in three other villages, I finally arrived at my
beloved Supa Dupa in Oshakati. I then had to take a taxi to the next town over
to Ongwediva to go to the petrol station with a hikepoint for Ondangwa, a town
30 km away. One hike and two taxis later, I finally arrived in Ondangwa, but
the driver didn’t know where the Ohangwena Regional Office at the UNam
Education Campus was that I was supposed to go to for my meeting point. So, I
got out of that taxi and tried to find a driver that actually knew where it
was. After lots of language barrier ridden discussions with many people, I was
told that where I wanted to go was Ohangwena, not Ondangwa, for the correct
office. Not knowing what else to do and totally out of phone credit, I got in a
taxi to Ohangwena. I didn’t know anything about this town, but soon found out
that it was 50 km away and in a totally different region than the one I was
currently in. After finally arriving there, while still in the taxi, my
director called and informed me I was in the wrong place and needed to take
another taxi all the way back to Ondangwa. I did this, and it all worked out
ok, as everything somehow always does here!
The morning of our return trip back home, my director once
again tried asking the Ministry if they could take me back to my village to
avoid the same chaos that happened before. They replied that they could not, so
she tried calling both my principal and other colleague that both own cars to
see if they could come get me after arriving in town. They both couldn’t
either, and it was a Sunday, so my chances of getting a hike were slim to none.
I was determined to just walk the 28 km to my village…somehow finding the
correct sand paths…and everything would be fine!
Things weren’t looking promising when the Ministry driver
failed to drop off the first girl that should have been dropped off, then made
the second volunteer get out and hike at the wrong location. With three
volunteers still waiting to be dropped off, he decided to stop at the ATM
first, get some gas, and make us wait forever while he did his own grocery
shopping (even though we were not even five minutess from where he should have
dropped us off)…as Alida and I were planning to just get out of his car and try
to get a taxi to her village where I could stay the night, the biggest Namibian
miracle happened! I spotted one of my sweet colleagues from school walking
through the grocery store parking lot. Setting myself up to be disappointed, I
assumed she would never be driving back to the village on a Sunday…but to my
extreme excitement, she was! Like I said, everything here finds some way of
working out, even hopeless transportation issues, and it is certainly a
beautiful thing :)
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| Roadside stand selling curdled milk on the way home from Etosha |
