Arrival to Windhoek, Namibia

Knowing me, one would expect that a lengthy stretch of travel over several time zones and airlines, combined with two young children, that something would go amiss. I prepared for the worst on this move from the United States to Namibia but all things considered, it was one of the most boring life events to date. Other than the kids commandeering the airplane bathroom lines announcing their urgencies and charging head-on to the front, they didn't cause a ruckus nor complain. We landed in Windhoek very tired and covered in food stains, but intact and on time. We arrived to our house and thanks to overwhelmingly supportive social sponsors, we had a bit of internet and a whole lot of cable TV to get us started. A few days after that, the kids started school and I was left to set up house.

The landscape of Windhoek in a nutshell is: dry and quiet. I walk around the house like a creeper with my giant bottle of Lubriderm, drinking liters of water that never seem to quench my thirst. With a 6+ year drought, most of the landscape has varying shades of brown though a few species of drought resistant plants and trees flourish with blinding color. The sky is huge and the wind blows high, so that you hear it causing mayhem in the branches but it never really seems to touch the ground. 

I'm told that during rainy season (January-April) the entire landscape is absolutely mind blowing with neon vegetation growing overnight. For now, there’s a huge variety of cactus, as well as succulents, perfectly waxed to hold in slivers of moisture. Looming palm trees have the thickest trunks I have ever seen, and the spiny aloe plants are unmoving, unswaying as they belligerently stare the sun down.

There is a single resident bird in our yard who has set up a mess of real estate in one of our trees, moving from one nest to another. His spread is impressive, homes with bottom entryways, carefully domed using nothing but grass wrapped around a branch. I see why the yellow bird hangs out in our yard: we have shudderingly huge grasshoppers here. Down low, instead of squirrels, mongooses dart up tree trunks and drain pipes. Instead of stray dogs, baboon troops roam the streets and what passes for sidewalks. Sometimes they make unwelcome entries into homes or dump over trash cans, rioting for free finds.  

The kids are recognizing their school-focused routine, getting up at the crack of dawn for a 6:20am bus pick up. Combine that with springtime day light savings and we’ve got the perfect brew of crabby pants. They start and end early due to warm temperatures, so they do get home around 2pm. Deets has been launched into a lot more reading and writing than he cares to do, but he counters that frustration in his Portuguese class, where he gets to relax and answer easy questions. I question whether this was a good idea. At least his homeroom teacher has solid footing on her curriculum, so I have confidence he will adjust. Margo, our chameleon, adapts to anything- she’s off and running, happy to be here getting filthy every day (did I mention it’s dry and dusty here?) For both of them, getting dirty is a point of pride.

For me, I have yet to shape my own routine. It’s been a stop and wait kind of lifestyle when people come by to make repairs, sign papers, or attempt to install internet. It’s not bad, I’ve learned to bake bread and have put forth an effort to cook meals half as good as Mark’s. Turns out I make decent daal, pizza, and bagels. I even made hamburger buns. I tried grilling for the first time. It didn’t go well. In between those times I get tangled in my TRX straps, or take walks around the neighborhood which is full of intimidating guard dogs. I inspect left over remnants of the people who lived here before us: snakes of fat pool tubing that explodes with dirt and dead bugs; neglected furniture that collapses when I place a cup of water on it; gathering up of forgotten, rusted herb planters and random tied up socks across the yard. I found about 20 so far and they keep popping up. 

However, I am happy to be here and ready to make scary decisions like buying a car- if I can. More often than not, spouses of the officer are limited to decision making because they are the “official” ones who can sign things, not us. It’s infantilizing, but I will make the best of it. That is what affordable South African wine and gin is for, right?

The ridge behind our house.  

Bougainvilleas

Resident Weaver.

His newest remodel.

Tiny and spiny orange tree.
The kids drew Halloween faces on the oranges.

An acacia type derivative, next door.

Up close with purple spikes. If the tree wasn't surrounded
by razor wire and an electrified fence,
 I would have tried to feel the puffs.

Socks. Everywhere.

They grow them big here.