A Visit to N/a'an ku se Lodge

Yes, I am still here. Over the past 6 weeks I've had a lot going on between Halloween, International Day, Election Day, Veteran's Day. We've had the Marine Corps Ball, a mess of birthday parties (including Margo's), a job interview, car drama, and a regular stream of people coming to our house for a huge landscaping project that couldn't wait any longer (retaining wall/safety kind of thing). The latter has tremendously impacted whatever shell of a routine I managed to carve out since our arrival to Windhoek. I restarted teaching yoga and have signed up for other self-education projects. In short, I've been busy and I found myself without the ability to express pride, joy, angst, confusion, or sadness about these events. I didn't feel like I had any rhythm. Also, I didn't want to sound like a humble bragger or whiner. It's very unbecoming. 

After a pity party and a good dose of STFU, I made reservations to visit an animal sanctuary and lodge to get out of the city limits for the day. The inspiration morbidly came from my friend who took her family the week before, where a lion (the same one we would see), charged the fence in the direction of her five year old kid. Our guide would inform us, it was his way of establishing dominance and had he really wanted to attack, no fence, electrified or not, would stop him. It piqued my motivation so I signed us up for the Sunday 10:00am carnivore feeding at N/a'an ku sê Lodge and Sanctuary. I figured we all could use a bit of savage animal therapy.

Even the car ride out was therapeutic. Though sluggish, rainy season has arrived and the thirsty brown landscape took on a new look with green trees and bushes against a never ending sky and dirt roads. The kids couldn't help themselves. They screamed with discovery when they saw scrappy wild baboons, warthogs, and herds of oryx and zebra from the back seat, losing any hope to take picture. Once we checked in (the customer service here is very good), we explored the premises and not-so-silently tracked colored lizards to the edge of a cliff that houses marmots, turtles, and weird bugs. 

The tour was pretty good. The guide gave the standard wildlife monologue, but also kept the kids engaged. They delighted in his collection of juice box offerings and his bucket of animal meat. He spoke about how the sanctuary's baboons are all vegetarian orphans, no longer able to assimilate in the wild; how cheetahs behave like domesticated dogs; that the African wild dogs always hunt in packs, and will tear an animal to pieces in less than 5 seconds, ensuring a quick death.

At each stop our guide diligently reminded us to be aware of the electrified fences.  Some places we could hear electricity humming, others not so much. Anxiety raged through my body only once or twice when the kids walked too close to the fences as they enthusiastically waved sticks around. Visiting the caracals, one lady announced that she had touched the fence and found it wasn't electrified at all. She seemed royally disappointed, and the guide seemed to not quite register her declaration. I decided ignorance was bliss on this matter especially when we got to the lions. After a few minutes of calling the kitties over, the same lion that charged our friend's son, sprinted toward Mark as he wandered up the dirt road, separated only by 2mm thick wire. Feeling that was probably a good end to the tour we finished up unharmed and exhilarated. 

We returned to our car dusty and hungry. Thank goodness for intelligent design- the lodge has solar panels built on finely lashed wood supports, which double as shaded parking spaces. It saved us from hot seats, warm water bottles, and spoiled turkey and cheese sandwiches. Normally I would pack heat durable PBJs but the kids don't like them! They are so weird. But the children devoured their meals like the wild animals they are and passed out in the merciful air conditioning for a quiet rode home.  

Coming up over this hill literally stopped us in our tracks. 

A crabby, screeching marmot and his sidekick.

Lunch 

Waiting for her brother and sister to join the party.
As siblings, they cannot and do not mate in the wild or captivity.

Spotted leopard.

Full of attitude: a hissing caracal. 

After calling for several minutes, the dogs were a no-show.
We headed to the other side of the property where they appeared
out of nowhere and rapidly closed in on their object of affection: meat waiting to be tossed overhead.

Taking his sweet time to get lunch.

Backyard Fauna

According to my mother-in-law, you know you're old when you own a bird book. Well I joined the upper ranks of adulting when my very own Photographic Guide to Birds of Namibia arrived in the mail. I spend an inordinate amount of time paging through the pictures and practicing my bird call enunciations. But only when I am alone- or does that make it sound creepy? The rest of the time I sit watching the birds devour their bird feed during peak hours and try to get the hang of being stealthy with my camera. Usually I buy the cheapest food I can find because we can go through 5 kilos per week, but we do reap the rewards. One time I mistakingly bough fancy bougie feed and a flock of lovebirds came and emptied the feeder in 2 hours, but it was enough time to take pictures. 

Birds aren't the only thing visiting our yard. We have a mess of wicked fast lizards too. Most of them are drab brown. One in particular caught my eye with its bright yellow head. I scared it by accident and followed its path to the roof of our braai area where I mentally willed it to come down. When that didn't work, I climbed up to get a better look and chased it around the chimney like a ridiculous game of peek-a-boo. Turns out this resident lizard is missing a foot, and either has good luck or is crazy tough: last weekend we had our first snake experience when a 2 foot snake hunted this lizard around our yard. The snake literally jumped from rock to rock, and spiraled up a tree trunk before giving up the hunt. I sat freaked out and glued to my seat, imagining it crawling up my pant leg. Mark sensibly Googled the snake first to determine its lethalness (not for humans) and then grabbed his camera to capture footage before it disappeared for another day. 

Today I spied the same lizard still as a statue amongst the same rocks he scaled to escape the snake. He must like it here. I think I do too. 

Redbilled Francolin

Bird. Book proving unhelpful. Perhaps a lark?
My super smart (and adorable) friend Laurie says: English Sparrow
She's definitely right.

Another bird. Maybe a bishop?

Rosy-faced Lovebirds

Blue Waxbill

Striped belly sand snake that chased and
failed to capture a three footed lizard in our yard.

The victorious 3 footed Namibian Rock Agama
(aka common lizard)

Windhoek: The Dog Has Landed!

On this cool quiet Windhoek morning, I paced back and forth, nervous about when the dog would get here. The flight from Frankfurt to Windhoek landed at 5:24am, an hour earlier than scheduled, so I calculated perhaps by 8:00 he'd show up at the door step. Should I take a shower for him? What should I wear? Should I pull out my real camera to capture the moment?  God. Seriously. I envisioned his drop off to be like those tear jerker videos of reunited pets and owners, the ones we see on Facebook. 

Literally seconds after Mark left work, Jim's transport pulled into the driveway, delivered by two lady knights in shiny armor. They cut off the zip ties and opened the crate door for final liberation. Instead of a tail wag, lick and immediate demands of a good butt scratch, I got a dog who immediately ran to a tree for relief. And to a bush. And to another tree. And into the dirt, desperately trying to, well, poop. He just couldn't knock one out! For the rest of the day, forlorn, my dog kept his space but at the same time wouldn't let me out of his sight. I am certain he will come around, especially with a healthy dose of steamed pumpkin to motivate his system. He might be annoyed by his lengthy travel (Recife -> Sao Paolo -> Frankfurt -> Windhoek) over the past week, but I have confidence he will come around.

I did force him to take a selfie with me to show the people who pooled brains, resources, and time to get him here. Just from my email alone, I collected over 150 emails, corresponding to get him to Windhoek dating back to June 12. I can't imagine the number of other emails extended out of my sight- all for the love of a dog. Even with missed deadlines, incorrect paperwork, and original copies getting sent to the wrong country, I never once worried about Jim's overall well being mostly because Airpets Transcontrol (who are based in Brazil) monitored and corrected these errors for me and at times unbeknownst to me.

Our friends in Recife cared for him like their own, even after doubling the commitment time it took to get him out of the city. The energy spent by the U.S. Embassy staff in Namibia, orchestrating relationships between pet companies and foreign ministries, and the amount of miles accumulated across the city hand carrying documents- blows my mind. And the pet service company that functioned on several time zones, never once gave me reason to doubt their dedication. I am indebted to their attention to details, to pick up what others neglected to do.

Indeed the process was pricy, a little painful and at times frustrating, but he's home at last. After making several laps around the property and coating himself in thick layers of dirt, Jim has settled himself reasonably well. The Schlink family is finally at 100 percent!

Recommended Pet Travel:

Brazil: Airpets Transcontrol, http://airpetstranscontrol.com.br/?lang=en
Germany: G.K. Airfreight Service, http://www.petshipping.com/en
Namibia: Pet Travel Namibia, http://pettravelnamibia.com/

Cold shoulder selfie. 

Going through his paperwork, some which
mistakingly showed up to Windhoek.

Happy campers.

Making it snow in Windhoek

My kids want it to snow. So much so, they claim balderdash to any scientific explanation; it simply must snow in Windhoek. For the time being they settle on making sand angels, even if it means sand in their underwear and gritty bed sheets. We did discover something bittersweet: we have a row of trees that have not endured the lengthy drought. They seem to be ash trees with tattered leaves and skinny seed pods bunched at the ends giving the branches a heavy, droopy look. Inside the cracked brown pods are papery white seeds with dark centers and they look like the enlarged white blood cell drawings from biology class. 

Testing out their sturdiness, I shook the dead trees totally oblivious to the idea of knocking off resting spiders or bugs and falling down my shirt. I lucked out and instead received a mess of seeds falling like fat snow flakes. Of course this amused my children to no end and begged me to make it snow.  So I shook those trees as if I were strangling skinny bird necks, all for the love of kids. I wonder what the neighbors must think?

Let it snow!

Sunrise in Nambia

In Brazil, the Atlantic ocean sunrise was so strong it penetrated the "blackout" curtains, and it was always around between 5:00 and 5:30am. We were awake before we ever wanted to be. Nowadays we don't get light in our windows until well after 7:00am, but it's so intense it bleaches out the sky before settling back into a looming cloudless blue. Needless to say, hats and ridiculous hat hair make regular appearances around my house.

Rising with the sun, 7:24am

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.

A Good Home Leave Part II

The second half of home leave brought us to Springfield, Missouri where my in-laws could enjoy quality grandchild time. This was also their opportunity to show me their favorite parts of Missouri. But before we could kick back and relax in the "Queen City of the Ozarks," we took a road trip to St. Louis for a mix of birthday parties, mini family reunions, and good old American sight seeing. We got to enjoy the radiating humidity at the St. Louis Museum of Transportation and the muggy drip of the St. Louis Zoo. While they stole the kids for a day at the air conditioned Magic House, I treated myself to an oppressive steam bath by wandering the colonial streets of St. George. HUMID. But enjoyable too. 

Back home to Springfield, the kids left little time for relaxation. They were too excited to ride Grandpa's speed boat, work in his wood shop, and camp in the back yard. They were keyed up for Grandma's tea parties, movie dates and MANY trips to the parks. Deets and Margo obsessed over their Uncle Danny, eating their way through his cooking. 

After all these years, I finally had my in-laws to myself. Obviously I ached for Mark's hugs and company, but I never had quality one-on-one time with my in-laws.  It was a great chance to get to know them better and watch them shine in their hometown element.  I hope it was a good opportunity for them to know me better too. My time in Missouri left me wanting "just a few more days." I felt empty and anxious as the kids and I passed through airport security for our first of 3 legs over 48 hours to get to our new home. But I left feeling totally supported and loved despite the massive miles between us. That's what I call a good home leave. 

 

Transportation Museum, St. Louis MO
Knobs and dials too hot to touch. 

Doing science experiments with cousins at the hotel.

Sharing a St. Louis Zoo popsicle that matches the pond.

Gloriousness of boating in Table Mesa.

Trying not to pee my leggings.

The sweetness of reunions!

Playground master. 

I tried not to look up, fearing what was crawling up there.
I looked up.

My best friend putting me to work.

Two men and their rope.
Firefighting training center.

Taking lead for a fire rescue.

All day long. Seriously.

Beer with a view- at THE Bass Pro.

More please.

Just a small woodcarving habit.

 Outside Uncle Danny's restaurant.

And inside his bar. The pic is of Deets at 3 months.
This exact seat is reserved for him July 7, 2021.

Biding our last minutes few minutes together.