On My Way

These are the days I live for.

At 5:30am, I awoke to the soothing sound of raindrops beating on the tin roof above me. The daily ache between remaining in bed or getting ready for school was strong today, but I stumbled out of bed and faced my day.

Today was Day 3: a six-hour day with each of my five classes. My grade 8 learners would be wrapping up a two-day review of past tenses while my senior secondary learners would jump into an intense lesson about passive voice and its various formations.

The day was ordinary; certainly not extraordinary yet.

As I left my last class of the day, a learner ran out after me calling, “Miss! Miss!” I turned around to see what she needed, assuming it was either help with an assignment or a need for advice.

“Miss, when am I going to plait you? I tried to find you yesterday and what what but you were not there and...”

“Excuse me? Plait...?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Plait you. Plait your hair.”

I quickly remembered a brief conversation from the middle of yesterday’s class. During their individual in-class work, this particular learner called me over, as many were doing. Most wanted to ask me a question or have me check their work, but she pulled me close and whispered, “Miss, why don’t you ever braid your hair?”

“Uhh...well...” It was the middle of class; definitely not a time for discourse on the various styles of hair.

“I should plait yours. Can I plait yours?”

“Um...sure, sometime.”

Apparently sometime meant as soon as class was over that day. Oops, missed the memo. Usually Namibia isn’t that prompt.

So at our chosen time of 4pm today, I loitered outside the staff room, waiting for the learner to appear from study hours. Soon enough, she sauntered over. We awkwardly said hello and waited for the other person to bring up the hair braiding. Eventually she led me to the classroom, where we waited outside while the other learners finished sweeping. Several asked why I was there (why would a teacher be found near the classrooms after school hours? Crazy!). Some asked questions about America and why I was only here for a year. Eventually, we walked in and took a seat next to another girl whose peer was plaiting her hair.

What began as a one-on-one hair braiding adventure soon turned into five of my female students eagerly pulling at and styling my hair.

“Miss! Miss! What style do you want? Like mine? Or hers? Or hers? Or this? Or that?”

Clearly, I have a lot to learn about Namibian hair braiding.

All the while, I fielded questions and exclamations about the length, smoothness, and non-plaited-ness of my hair while they taught me words and phrases in Oshikwanyama and laughed at my clumsy pronunciation. They hummed and sang traditional songs while plaiting and asked me to teach them an American song (“Next time, maybe”). And they told me their conflicts between being so appreciative of the fact they’re hostel learners, but being uncomfortable about the less-than-ideal living conditions in the hostel (“What’s for dinner tonight?” “Bread. Only bread. Every time.”)

We laughed at how many hairs of mine fell to the ground, giggled about how funny it is to see an oshilumbu (white person) with braids, and they confidently reassured me that I could walk around in public with this style.

I’m wholly convinced that white girls cannot wear their hair braided without looking like they just returned from a vacation in the Bahamas. Fortunately, I don’t think Namibia has that context for braided hair.

For fear that I will completely destroy the respect I currently command from my learners, I will not be wearing my new ‘do to school tomorrow. But my Japanese roommate sure seemed to think it was cool!

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera today, so this funny MySpace-esque, Mac Photo Booth photo will have to suffice. Rest assured, they promised we would do it again – and I promised I will bring my camera.