Namibia - Sundowner

The score was tied nothing each at halftime. I looked at the sun: a brilliant maroon and gold disc now less than an hour from setting. Peter and Theresa sat beside the truck on collapsible camping chairs at the sideline, waiting. We would need to leave now to catch sunset in Rundu, twenty K from the field.
Although tomorrow would be my last full day in Namibia, over half that day will be spent driving to Windhoek. Today, I considered, would conclude my seven-week journey.
I did not like to think about it. Two months is a lot of time. A lot of time to explore, experience, and build relationships. Relationships that I know will and already have impacted my life. The feeling is nostalgic—to the letter of its definition.
I jogged from mid-field to the sideline, joining the team in huddle.
“It’s time for me to go. Thank you for letting me play and all the best this season.”
Leaving at halftime was never my intention. We arrived just past three to an empty field and yet another example of  “Namibian Time”. This punctual flakiness was more frustrating to Theresa than myself, and she would have to deal with it for the next nine months. We talked about watching the sun set overlooking the Kavango River and surrounding flood plains the last two days, but changing plans and a never-on-time/laid-back approach left this evening as our only chance.
The game would not start until a quarter to five; almost two hours after the team was scheduled to arrive.
“Let’s all be here on time at three o’clock tomorrow. And let’s make sure we get here before Mr. Frank and show him we’re ready to play,” Andrew the team’s trainer mandated the day before at practice.
“Andrew. If the team wins their first game, I will pay for the season,” I offered to
the team’s excitement.
The players are a mix of ages from maybe eight to twenty-something. They have no jerseys, and one soccer ball for practice. Each player is expected to cough up a dollar to cover the $30 Namibian league fee. Doesn’t sound like much, but even a dollar carries a lot of value and makes winning that more important. The sum gathered from all teams is awarded to the season champions a couple weeks later.
The players have talent, perhaps a function of playing on an inconsistent surface, but regardless of their age differences, they play like a team. Discipline is not a problem, but punctuality is an issue. I thought a lack of timepieces was the reason, either by a watch or cellular phone, but no, “Namibian Time” means anytime an hour or so after a scheduled appointment. Incidentally, pay as you go cell phones are very common and make up for the complete lack of landlines. A cell tower is much easier to construct than laying kilometers of wire. Government patience paid off.
“So how did I play? …I know, you don’t have to tell me, I sucked.”
“No, you played well, just off-sides a lot,” Theresa noted loading into the truck. “Peter would say, ‘He’s off-sides again.’”
Coming from a hockey background, getting behind the defense is key. No wonder soccer’s goal counts are so low. Then again, so are hockey’s, just not as bad.
“Erick, are you coming?” I invited.
Erick is a 14 year-old from Zambia and a sponsored student finishing holiday before returning to class in Rundu. He was found living with his aunt by a couple from Florida and brought to Valerie Peyper, n’Kwazi Lodge’s owner and community foundation organizer. Valerie and her husband Weynand, sponsor several students at various ages and levels through lodge profits and visitor donations. Only self-motivated and academically driven learners are given scholarship, and in exchange must return and better the area’s community. At present, two students are studying abroad, one as far away as Moscow, and several working their way through secondary education (high school).
I read about n’Kwazi in Lonely Planet’s guide on Botswana & Namibia. The brief but touching article painted an accurate representation of Namibia’s and most of southern Africa’s third-world education and living environment. In the months leading to my trip, I would collect several hundred U.S. dollars to sponsor a student’s education and living expenses for a year. An effort I hope to continue well after returning to the States.
School runs year-round on a trimester system with breaks in August, December/January and April/May. My timing was impeccable for the holiday, although I never did get to visit a school in operation. Something I wish I could have filmed and experienced.
The government supports a child’s education until form (grade) 10, and on to form 12 if a learner’s marks warrant continued learning. Otherwise, he or she is dropped out—if family needs have not already commanded that course of action. The ability to attend school may be paid for, however school funds and materials like uniforms, textbooks, pens and stationary are left to cover by a learner’s family. Doesn’t seem unreasonable, however even these taken-for-granted items are a needed commodity throughout public schools in an almost all-rural Namibia.
The Mayana Primary School caters to a student body of almost 600 from grade 1 to grade 7 with only a staff of 18. Many children are orphans reared by families in the community, yet they still attend class, sometimes malnourished—an issue being addressed by the school. Although wired for electricity, the last couple years brought potable well water to the school and a block fence restricting wandering animals; all through donated, typically foreign support.
“It doesn’t look like I’m going to play, so yes, I’m coming,” Erick answered.
“Are we going to stop at the lodge and pick up your camera?” Theresa inquired.
“We don’t have the time. I think this’ll be one picture for the memory and not the camera.”
I would wish I brought at least one of the cameras. The town of Rundu rests atop a shallow mesa. Not far from the gate crossing into Angola is a bluff facing the west and a flat countryside sinking distantly below the horizon. The Kavango River defines this part’s border between Namibia and Angola, and during the rainy season spills into the adjacent plains quite some distance from its present banks. The sun was just minutes from disappearing behind thickening haze, and reminded me of a color stamp used on Bingo cards at the casino. I thought how cool it would be to witness a partial or annular solar eclipse near sundown from this location, but for now a normal sunset would be my last scenic vista of the country.
“This is great, Mrs. Tha-ray-see-a. Thank you.” That’s not how her name is pronounced in Germany or back in the States, but it is here. Apart for aiding in community education project building, Theresa tutors Erick and the other sponsored learners over holidays and weekends by their choice. As Erick and Elias, my sponsored student would tell me, “Education is the key to success.” And they believe it.
We sat on the edge of a stone pit. The sun had by this time disappeared, although the sky was just as bright as when the sun was visible. Peter left to walk into town leaving the three of us admiring the view.
“You don’t mind me asking about your parents, do you?” I asked Erick knowing only a little about his history through Valerie.
“No, it’s okay. You can ask.”
Erick is always smiling, always seemingly happy. It’s hard not to be the same around him. He speaks softly, and sounds both humble and accepting. His English is very good for a second language: articulate and proper. I could speak to him with speech no different than I would to someone back at home.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen your parents?” I asked.
“For many years now.” I think he said since 2002, five years ago for one parent.
“Why aren’t you with your parents now?”
“I don’t know why my parents aren’t taking care of me.” Erick explained about his father’s alcohol abuse, his parents’ separation, and tossing between aunties before being found by the American couple. He does miss his family very much, but that doesn’t appear to affect his behavior or goals. All the while, working in a smile.
I couldn’t help feel piteous for the all-too-common situation, but at the same time inspired by the drive to overcome adversity. No complaints, no excuses, just action.
Elias is opposite only in that he doesn’t smile as often as Erick (that’s changed with the nickname of “Smiley II”, a former hockey player reference). Orphaned at an early age after both parents passed away, Elias, now fifteen is independent and very self-motivated especially with his studies.

“How was your last report card?” Theresa asked Elias at the conclusion of an on-camera interview the following morning.
“I would say it was good as the way people saw it,” Elias began somberly, “But then to myself, it was not good, ‘cos that was not what I supposed to get. But when the people saw it, people like my relatives, my friends, all the people that saw it, they said it was good. For myself, I wanted more than that … For example, I will say that if I want to achieve maybe a B in science, of course I must get that. I’m not happy when I get lower than that,” Elias explained. In fact, he is a lot stronger student than he credits himself.
Independence is a quality I noticed with many youths at a young age, perhaps a function of living in the bush. I do not know how the level of education compares with the States, but from what I briefly saw during a tutor session, some subjects appear on par.
The day was getting late, well past “Namibia Time” for my departure to Windhoek. The time was one o’clock with a six-hour drive ahead, and we still needed to pick-up Peter’s daughter, Anna (nickname: Dik-dik for the world’s second smallest antelope).
I dropped Peter off to visit a day earlier and captured the reunion on video. I don’t know what surprised Anna more, a long overdue Daddy or the white man with a big camera.
“See that man over there,” Peter told his little Dik-dik in Oshivambo pointing at me, “That’s your Daddy.” I had no idea.
“No. No,” Anna cried.
At the conclusion of Erick and Elias’ interviews, I asked if there was anything they’d like to say before switching off the camera.
“How about we interview you?” Erick requested.
I work behind the camera and not in front, but in this case… “Fair enough since I put you through it.”
We reversed places. I connected the microphone to my shirt and sat in the hot seat. As part of the scholarship deal I put together for the students, both Erick and Elias are required to write a letter every couple months and take pictures with the three disposable cameras I brought from home. The night prior was spent teaching Erick how to handle a camera and compose pictures using my digital camera—a challenge after a previous sponsored project left virtually every picture unusable I was told.
Behind the HD camera, Erick smartly composed the frame then asked me the following questions:
“Why are you in Africa? Did you enjoy Africa, and what did you like the best? You’ve been to places where those places are not developed and the people are not wealthy, what ideas would you give those people besides working that those people can change things and get a better living? When are you coming back to Africa?”