Okavango Delta Mokoro Trip

           I returned to Onantsi a few days ago, rejuvenated and regenerated after a wonderful month of drifting around some of the most spectacular destinations in Africa. The break provided me the dose of adventure that I craved after four months in my village and gave me the opportunity to witness some of the continent's incredible natural beauty.
        Over the past month, I have encountered abundant wildlife, visited the greatest Medieval city in Sub-Saharan Africa and snorkeled with cichlids. I have glided through the shallow waters of the Okavango Delta in a dugout canoe and marveled one of the greatest natural spectacles on the planet at Victoria Falls.
             It will be impossible to capture the wonders of this part of the world in my blog posts but, I hope that over the course of the next few weeks I will be able to shed light on my May whereabouts and give my readers a glimpse of the beauty and diversity of the region.
_________________________________________________________________________________

         After two days of mid-service training in Windhoek, Rachel, Mailin, Abby and I set off on our term one adventure and headed East toward the Okavango Delta.

        Our drive through eastern Namibia and Botswana took us through the vast and endless scrub-land of the Kalahari desert. For hours, we zoomed across the desolate landscape, keeping our eyes peeled for the occasional kudu or springbok. The road we traveled on was virtually empty--very few cars made their way across this inhospitable and sparsely populated frontier. 

        We took a shared taxi from Windhoek to the Trans-Kalahari border post via Gobabis and hoped to arrive in Maun by nightfall. I had heard that the journey from Windhoek to Maun could be difficult, since there is no official public transportation that serves the route. Travel between the two cities involves a lot of patience and a bit of luck. Fortunately, luck was on our side that day. 

           We crossed the border with relative ease and waited for a few minutes on the Botswana side for a car to pick us up and drive us to the service station in the tiny outpost of Charles Hill. When we arrived at the service station, we were informed that the next bus would not leave until 5 o'clock and that our best bet would be to wait on the side of the road for a hike to Ghanzi. We heeded the advice of the station attendant and made our way across the road to where others were waiting for lifts. Within half an hour, a safari guide heading all the way to Maun decided to pick us up and take us the entire way for free. We thanked him profusely and hopped into the back of his safari truck, where we spent the next six hours flying by the Kalahari desert until sunset.

          That evening, we met up with two Peace Corps Botswana volunteers who graciously agreed to host us for the night. We compared our respective volunteer experiences and chatted with their friends who decided to pop in for a visit.
          The next morning, my travel companions and I got up early for an excursion into the delta.

         For the overland traveler, the vast waters of the Okavango come as a bit of a surprise. They spread across the parched Earth like the palm of a hand and create a blue and green patchwork blanket that covers a large portion of the Kalahari. The Okavango delta is the world's largest inland river delta. Its waters originate in Central Africa and flow southward into Botswana, where they seep into the Kalahari sands. The waters fan out for hundreds of kilometers and create what is likely one of the world's largest oases. These waters bring life to the region and create refuge for a host of birds and large mammals.
            We explored the Okavango by mokoro--a shallow dugout canoe that is the primary means of transport in the delta. In the past, mokoros were typically carved out of the trunks of sausage trees, but newer ones have been made out of fiberglass in order to help preserve the ecosystem.

Makoros in the Okavango Delta

Reeds in the Okavango Delta

           We spent a few hours in the canoes--gently gliding through reeds and past water lilies. My friends and I sat back in silence. The only sounds we could hear were the chirping birds and the rhythmic swoosh of the pole as it dipped in and out of the water. The excursion reminded me a bit of a gondola ride in Venice, though the setting could hardly have been more different. Each mokoro seats two people plus a poler. A poler is someone who stands in the back of the boat and propels it slowly forward by pushing a long stick into the sand below the water.

My Poler

           The ride was quite relaxing and a perfect break in our hectic travel agenda. In fact, it was so relaxing that at times I had to force my eyes to stay open--not because it was boring--but because the rhythmic swooshing and utter tranquility combined to create the ultimate environment for an afternoon nap. 

            For two hours, our mokoro weaved its way through papyrus swamps and tall, undulating reeds. Though we only made modest inroads into the delta, the enormity of the body of water was apparent. I could see it stretch out for miles, its maze-like pathways covered in reeds and interrupted occasionally by islands. 

Baby Crocodile!

            After a few hours in the mokoro, our poler took us to a secluded spot on a large island. There, we set up camp and spent a few of the hot afternoon hours reading and relaxing under the shade of the trees.

             When the hot sun began to subside, we set off on a walking safari around the extensive savannas of the island. 

             On our walk, we would come face to face with many of the wild animals that call the delta home.

End of Term One and Vacation Plans

         My vacation in Swakopmund provided me with a much-needed break from the routine of village life and, when I arrived back at Olukolo after my four adventure-filled days, I felt ready to conquer three chaotic weeks of exams. 

         Term one has been a rollercoaster of emotions for sure. There are some days that have dragged on forever and others that seem to have erased themselves from my calendar. At times, I feel so content in my decision to move to Africa that I have to keep reminding myself that the whole experience is real life and not a dream. Yet, there are other times when I curl up in bed with the fan blasting in my face,  wanting nothing more than the familiarity of home. Living here has tested my ability to live and work in a new culture in a foreign environment. It has stretched my patience, flexibility and endurance. It has showed me the beauty and tranquility of the countryside and revealed the intense loneliness that arises as a result of having little more to do than stare at the goats and palm trees. 

         Living in Onantsi has toyed with my emotions, played tricks on my mind and reduced me to someone whose happiness is fully dependent on the minor setbacks and achievements that occur every day. 

          Despite the challenges that accompany living in rural Namibia, I have come to love the tranquility of my site and the pace of life that surrounds me. I know that, when this year is over, I will miss the soundtrack of bleating goats and mooing cows. I will miss the villagers who walk by my house and greet me everyday with walalapo meme, or the kids at the neighboring primary school who write me letters and linger around my house after school hoping that "miss Erika" will show up and give them a piece of candy.

         Most of all, however, I will miss my learners. Over the course of the term, I have gotten to know my students and form relationships with them. I have witnessed their emerging personalities and watched curiosity overcome their shyness in the classroom.

           I have relished their successes and felt downhearted by their failures. I realized that much of my happiness during the first term was fully dependent on the performance of my students. If I gave them a test and they did poorly, feelings of frustration and helplessness would invade my thoughts. If they did well, I would be overcome by an overwhelming sense of pride in their achievements. 

       One of my favorite days in the classroom during my first term of teaching, occurred shortly after I returned to the village from Swakopmund.  It was the last day of normal classes before the ordinary teaching schedule would succumb to three dreaded and chaotic weeks of exams and, in honor of April Fool's Day, my school staff allowed all students to dress up for "Funny Day." It was the first time I saw many of my learners without their uniforms and I decided to commemorate the day by setting aside five minutes for pictures at the end of class. 

           Some students wore their normal clothing. 

8B boys (Petrus, Sakaria, Moses, Shapumba and David) 

Toini and Annastasia (8C) 

             Others took the occasion to dress up in funny outfits. In all of my classes, cross-dressing was a popular choice.

Group of 8B students (Ester, Jacobina, Timoteus and Anna) 

          Despite my the overwhelmingly positive lens through which I view my Namibian experience thus far, I am certainly ready for a break. I need time to unwind, to escape the monotony of Onantsi and to fulfill my overwhelming wonderlust. 

           Fortunately, the end of term one signifies the beginning of a month-long break from school. It will give me time to relax, to catch up with friends and to explore bits of this diverse and beautiful continent. 

           Though our travel plans are not yet set in stone, my friends and I have sketched the basic itinerary of our vacation. We are going to spend the first few days in Windhoek at mid-service training with all the other volunteers. At training, we will regroup and recap our experiences so far--sharing stories of our successes and failures and discussing how we can make the most of our remaining two terms. 

          After mid-service in Windhoek, we are planning on making our way to Maun, Botswana, where we will spend a few days relaxing in the Okavango Delta before traveling to the ancient Shona ruins of Great Zimbabwe. If all goes well, we will continue eastward, to the beautiful Lake Malawi before venturing back to Namibia via the legendary Victoria Falls and Chobe National Park. 

           The tentative itinerary has the potential to be a wonderful vacation, but we have decided to remain flexible and open-minded about the route. 

            After all,  this is Africa and, if I have learned anything at all in my time here so far, it is that  flexibility is paramount and that nothing quite goes according to plan. 

Sandboarding in Swakopmund

          Everyone who knows me is well aware of my undying love for the Pacific Northwest. They know how proud I am of Oregon's wild coastline, its perfect snow-capped mountains and its sparkling lakes and rivers. They know of my love for the towering coniferous trees and deep green forests that surround my home in the Willamette Valley. It is the beautiful shades of green that I miss most whenever I leave my home state. 

         Yet, those who know me best, also know that I am equally awestruck by a different kind of beauty--a beauty that is wholly different from that which surrounds me back home. It is a beauty that stands in sharp contrast to the verdant hills and lush vegetation of western Oregon. It is the bleak and uncompromising beauty of the desert. 

         For some reason, every time I go abroad, I am drawn to areas of the world that are primarily covered in sand. It began when I studied in Tunisia for the summer and spent a few months on the fringes of the Sahara, and continued during my academic semester in Jordan. I was drawn to the vibrant reds, yellows and oranges of the earth and mesmerized by their beauty. 

          There is little I find more awe-inspiring than the view of a great expanse of sand from the top of a dune. In 2010, when I first glimpsed the undulating sand sea of the Sahara on a trip to the Tunisian desert, I was enraptured by the scenery. I felt that there could be no place in the world of equal beauty. Then again, in 2011, I found myself standing on the fiery-red desert sands of the United Arab Emirates, enthralled by my surroundings. Later in 2011, I visited Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado and White Sands National Monument in New Mexico. Each of these destinations has left me speechless and awe-struck. 

          Given my enthusiasm for such natural environments, I was excited beyond belief for my venture into the vast expanse of the Namib Desert dunes.

          A day after our excursion into the lagoon of Walvis Bay, my friends and I scheduled a day of sandboarding on the outskirts of Swakopmund. When we woke up, the sky was mostly overcast and misty and I couldn't help but worry a bit that the weather conditions would once again put a damper on our plans. I could not imagine trying to sandboard in a rainstorm. 

         Yet, luckily, the worst of the weather conditions were behind us and we were able to enjoy the sand sea with little more than an accompanying sprinkle. Though the skies were mostly grey and the sand was still wet from the rainfall the day before, we found the cool temperature to be refreshing and wonderful. The conditions were perfect for a day of boarding, too, for the lack of sun and arresting heat facilitated our long and tiring walks to the top of the dunes.

Overlooking the Sand Sea

          Our tour company allowed us to choose between stand-up and lie-down boarding. I chose stand-up boarding, which is essentially snowboarding on sand rather than on snow. However, I soon realized that my experience snowboarding translated very loosely to sandboarding and, as a result, I found myself face-planting on numerous occasions. Nonetheless, by the end of the afternoon I was able to go down a few runs without falling and it was thrilling to wind down the steep dune faces, while marveling at my surroundings.
         I sandboarded down the dunes a handful of times before our guides suggested we try lie-down boarding down the steepest and longest run.
         The ride down was exhilarating and I sped down the hill--over bumps and around ridges, with my hair streaming behind me--at nearly seventy kilometers an hour until I reached the bottom. Every time I reached the bottom of the dune, I would unstrap my bindings, sling my sandboard over my shoulders and begin the walk back up the crest of the dune to the top. It was a tiring trek, but the damp sand facilitated our laborious climb.
          When I reached the top, I would hold my breath and gaze at the dazzling display around me. The dunes of the Namib Desert are the oldest in the world and they are amongst the tallest. The landscape is so immense and foreboding that it was difficult to imagine I was on the same planet as Swakopmund, let alone only a few kilometers away.
          From the top of the dune, I could see nothing but the oceans of sand that extend outward for miles upon miles in every direction. The sand sea stretches inland from the Atlantic Ocean for nearly 13,000 square miles. It is a seared and bleak landscape, with dramatic vistas and mirage-inducing panoramas.

Wind-Carved Namib Desert Dunes

        The great sand mountains of the Namib Desert have been chiseled by the Kalahari and Atlantic winds. They are ever-changing and transforming by the minute--their curves, ridges and crests carved by the elements over millions of years.

Spectacular Namib Desert

           I enjoyed sitting at the top of the dunes and staring out into the vast expanse of nothingness and dreaded the moment that our tour guide would shuffle us back into the vans.
           As I was leaving the desert, all I could think about was how much I looked forward to returning in August and how excited I was to show this awe-inspiring natural wonder to my family.