December 13, 2012

By Miles and Annie (Oberlin College)

We sit, on this sunniest of afternoons, in an empty Windhoek. Really, it’s not empty. There are wealthy fashionistas shopping in the mall; pasty, swimsuit-clad European tourists by the pool; young men selling newspapers along Independence Avenue; postal workers in the post office; white-backed mousebirds in the palm trees; and Mano’s here somewhere, we’re sure of it.

At 0538 we bid a sleepy and slightly tearful goodbye to our compadres. They departed to parts unknown, although if we had to guess they’re probably raging hard at that ever-popular party spot – the Johannesburg airport. Our hearts go out to those poor souls. But we imagine joyous reunions with families, holiday celebrations, homecomings, all those profound HallmarkTM events – and our hearts become gladdened.

As of now, we are officially declaring this program over, checked, fin, done-zo, kaput, veni-vidi-vici’d, taken down, graduated from, crushed. This is probably where the feelingsy part of the post starts, so we’ll each write our own paragraph so as to not misrepresent the sentiments of the other.

Annie: I’m terribly eager to get home – having dreams of Oregon forests, winter, wood stoves, family, and other lives that are waiting for me back in the States. But despite anticipating the beauty of lichen-filled woods, I’ll miss the intimacy of the Kunene mountains, starkly open, exposed, in all of their myriad shapes and sizes. Unpredictable inselbergs rising suddenly out of the plains; hills wrinkled as though a finger was dragged through wet clay or smooth and rounded, full to bursting; mountains sharp and stony like cold palaces or gently tiered, inviting. And I’ll miss all those people who not so long ago stood together atop one of those high and fantastic mountains – and took the silliest, most spirited picture I’ve ever been a part of. When you’ve spent three months arguing (excuse me, discussing), giggling under the stars, trying not to fall out of trucks, sweating through your shorts, listening to Kristen’s stories, making trips to the euphemistically-named “long drop,” and pushing each other down on the soccer pitch, it’s kind of bizarre (Dulaney Miller, personal communication, 2012) to be only cutting up one tomato for lunch and eating it, sitting at an empty table in a quiet hostel, bags packed for the airport. On the plus side, we ate all y’all’s chocolate (Miles Pulsford 2012).

Miles mode engage: There’s a lot I could say, and much more that I couldn’t; I’m going to be meditating on and integrating this experience for a long time. But right now, I think what’s most important for me is to express my thanks. First to the students, though I don’t know if I have the space or emotional capacity to do this individually. You all have taken me places, physical and otherwise, that I could never have anticipated. I’ve learned so much from each of you, skills and facts and ways to think and ways to be. And, excitingly, you’ve given me so much to look forward to. All of you are going to end up doing marvelous things, and I can’t wait to see it happen.

I also have to thank the leaders. Bekah: you are an inspiration. Your limitless energy and focus set an example that I hope I can learn to follow. Amanda: your perceptiveness and teaching skills are truly impressive, and I feel lucky to have been your student and your friend. Vehi: Your knowledge is astounding, and so is your outlook. You meet any setback with a smile, and maybe a “that’s life in the desert.” Thanks, all of you.

Finally, I want to thank Namibia. This is perhaps a little silly, but this country has given me everything I could have asked for. I’ve seen enough for several lifetimes, and learned even more. I’ve truly fallen in love with the places and the people and the wildlife and the mountains, and I’m sure I’ll be back.

Time to leave for the airport. Peace y’all, it’s been real, thanks thanks.

Yee-haw!