Goodbye, Ohangwena

Hope you sang the title of this post to “Sweet Home, Alabama.” It makes it a lot more joyful. I surprised myself by feeling emotion as the taxi drove away from school. Apparently so much so that the driver had to tell me twice that we’d arrived at the tarred road.

Though I’m gearing up for a post on horrid travel experiences, today’s travel went surprisingly well despite the number of times things fell through leading up to the day. A 9-hour combi* ride sure does give you a lot of time to think and reflect, which I suppose is especially fitting when it comes right after taking the first step towards huge life change. As I sat in the middle of the front row (to me, an ideal seat – great airflow and a full view out the front window), my stream of consciousness went everywhere it could. Here are some thoughts from today.

“I have not showered for six days. But I get a hot one in Windhoek! Shoot...once I return to America, I’ll have to start showering a lot more regularly. And shave my legs.”

“I never took a picture of the front gate at school...or a traditional homestead...or...” (the “I didn’t take a picture of...” regrets went on for many kilometers)


"Wow! It looks like fall!" The hills around Tsumeb were covered with trees in soft brown, yellow, and auburn colors. Guess fall does happen here!

“I’m going to order pizza for dinner!!!”

“I wonder what it will be like to see this friend from home...so great! Or this one...even better! Or...” (dreaming of friendreunions is the bestest)

“I love watching Namibia.”

Many minutes wondering what initially arriving in America will feel like.

“I wonder how many times this man next to me [who was wearing a winter peacoat and scarf...since it’s winter here, dontcha know?] will tell me about what he sees or when we’ll get to Windhoek. It was sweet at first but is becoming patronizing. Just because I’m white doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What the heck am I going to do in Windhoek alone for five days??” and subsequent planning of my time.

“Does Namibia even know about the supposed impending rapture?” conclusion: no.

“Can I live in Africa again? What would make that possible, given how things went this time around? Different professional focus? I would definitely want to go with a husband or good friend. Less isolated location? Or would that be okay if I were here with someone?” I could write a whole post about this...hmm.

It’s funny how you forget your thoughts almost as soon as they happen. I had so many on the combi that I thought, “hah! I should blog these.” Too bad that turned out to be a kind of lame post. Sorry, guys.

Now, I’m lying on my bed at the backpacker’s hostel. Sharing a dorm bed room with two older men. It smells like boys. Getting the earplugs ready and dreaming of a delicious complimentary cinnamon sugar pancakes breakfast.

* A combi is a Namibian mini-bus with a variety of spellings. It typically holds 14-20 passengers (although can hold many, many more than the number of seatbelts if the driver does not have to pass through any security checkpoints). They are about as diverse as the people of Namibia. Some have funny names like “The Good Life” or “The Obama Bus.” Some have nice, new seats with high backs and others have super uncomfortable, old, cheetah-print seats. Some play the music at an appropriate level while others blast bass-thumping, brain-boiling Namibian beats. Some stop only once for petrol and others stop at every medium-sized town along the way. Always an adventure.