Not for the faint hearted

I’ve been here for ten months now, and although my reason for coming is to work in a developing area, improve services for people with disabilities blah blah blah, it also seemed like a fantastic place to come to work on improving my pasty tan and pulling myself into shape a bit more. Unfortunately as you’ll see from the selection of hand picked photos, so far not everything is going to plan.



Granted, I could have chosen a slightly more pasty person than my friend Michael to pose for some pictures with, but even so I’m disappointed with my efforts. Look at this next one:

My arms are looking a good tanned shade, but clearly I’ve been wearing a few too many wife beater tops. Either that or my chest is now so white that it merely reflects the sun straight off it.

I unfortunately have to admit that these pics were taken a couple of months ago, and things have only gone downhill since then. At that point we were just coming out of summer, so was at my prime colour level. These harsh winter days have forced me indoors or at least donning clothing when out and about, My exercising routines has taken a bit of a dive since then too though now I’ve finally sorted my bicycle problems I’m getting on it again.

So all in all, those of you who have been expecting me to return a bronzed Adonis with Greek God’s body may be slightly disappointed. On the flip side, I’ve got to eat a fair amount of goat.

Good bye UUJ, Hello (Cherry 7) UP

A friend of mine, Deb, came out in March and brought with her one of the very few things I’ve been craving since being out here – Cherry 7up. Strange, I know. When she brought it, the car was imminently due to arrive in South Africa – meaning I was about to get my hands on it. We decided that I would keep the Cherry 7-up and drink it with the car once it was in my possession – surely only a matter of days…

Two long, painful (and quite thirsty) months of staring at that pink can in my fridge each day have finally ended. Hurrah. Man, it tasted nice.

So my car has arrived!! All 1510 kg of it. Cars are classified as up to 1500kg in Namibia, which means I actually officially own a truck (or at least it’s a truck when I leave the car loaded when I go to have it weighed. Doh). It means I have to pay slightly elevated prices for truck driving, but between you and me, I think its worthwhile just so I can say “I’m taking the truck out” to anyone who’ll listen. It makes me feel like a man in a world where at times I’m not feeling too manly. You see I’ve started to do yoga once a week with some of the female volunteers in Okahao. Bugger, did I say that out loud?

To tell the whole saga of bringing the car out may take longer than War and Peace and I think I’ll save it for another blog story, probably when I’ve stopped rocking in the corner. Its been a hassle and may or may not have lost two people their jobs (through no fault of my own), but its here and is thriving in the sort of terrain it was designed for. Lets face it, Cheltenham is for sporty saloons or school run 4x4’s. Namibia, with its three or so actual tar roads and the remainder gravel, sand or no road at all, is for my Jeep. I’ve just come back from a weekend in a town called Opuwo, about three hours away on one of these gravel tracks and I have to say both I and my car loved it. There is a whole network of off-road trails around there, and although I didn’t get a chance to do any this weekend, the thought of taking my camping gear and finding some wild desert elephants in the remote bush makes the whole saga of bringing it out here a lot more bearable. Anyone tempted to join me?

Whilst I don’t want to go all Jeremy Clarkson on you (and I’m not getting any commission from Jeep. Unfortunately) I’m discovering even more than when I had it in the UK how much I like this car. On top of the roof coming down, doors coming off and windscreen folding abilities – clearly a more important aspect of an car than other unnecessary things like fuel economy or safety (which aren’t too bad either by the way, just in case Mr Jeep is reading this page) - the fact that I can remove the back seats and convert them into a makeshift sofa in my room has been an unexpected bonus. The “open back” jeep as I’ve now coined it can fit at least five more people in the back after a party (as long as you have a non-drinking designated driver going to the party too). Or so I’ve heard. My dad put a few tools in the car too – a fire extinguisher, torch, battery charger and, errm, de-icer – which more than made up for the fact that they couldn’t ship the car with lots of goodies (I‘d requested a crate of Cherry 7-up).

The British plates have gone (hanging in my room) and have been replaced by the rather snappy reg of N 4011 UP, N being Namibia and UP being Uutapi – the town where it was registered (I could have chosen to register it in Oshakati – SH, Ondangwa – ND or Windhoek – a rather dull W). It would have been perfect if the number prior to UP had ended in a 7, but we can’t have everything can we?

So all in all I’m very happy. If anyone did fancy sending me a can of Cherry 7-up though I’d be most grateful. You might find one in a crate I’ve heard is knocking around Southampton harbour somewhere.

Fear and Loathing in Oshakati

A sudden thought struck me the other day. I’ve not written anything on my blog in ages and ages, I wonder if anyone is even checking it anymore. I then met up with Isabelle, another VSO out here (see link on right – nice plug), and she told me she kept checking and kept being disappointed not to have been reading my exhilarating stories anymore (or words to that effect which may not have been quite so flattering – “why aren’t you writing anymore you lazy arse” may be more accurate). Therefore I’ve decided to take the plunge, the bull by the horns and a deep breath and get back in the game again. So this blog is dedicated to her and anyone else who has continued to check my blog of late, but to no avail.

One of the reasons I’ve not written of late is the sudden and unfortunate loss of my best buddy out here, Mr Vaio. My laptop, you see, was cruelly snatched from me in Oshakati a couple of months back (May 22nd at 17.56. Not that I’m counting) and with it went my zest for life, my yearning to keep you informed with comings and goings, my passion for scribing. Actually I was just pissed off and couldn’t be bothered. I now feel it would be good therapy for me to open up again, so here we go. Apologies if its a bit rusty.

In fairness my laptop was getting way beyond its prime, the speakers didn’t work, headphone port was crackly, it would select at random if it wanted to play a DVD or not – usually not – and reserve the right to change its mind at any given point, but usually just as Jack Bauer is about to be shot (again) or some other crucial moment in a plot. I was down to one single USB port which could only be for a mouse as the ousepad gave up the ghost a long while ago. In short, we had our differences. But he was a good friend, and I miss him lots. This blog story is dedicated to him, therefore.

Correction: The next blog will be dedicated to my laptop. Someone already has dibs on this one.

I want to impart to you therefore, what not to do when stopping at a service station in your Jeep at 5 to 6 on a May evening in a slightly dodgy area of Oshakati with a laptop in a bag on your front seat. Valuable and relevant advice to you all I’m sure you’ll agree.

Firstly, why oh why do you need to take your laptop into Oshakati anyway? Come on, don’t be a fool man. Take a pad of paper and pen.
Secondly, never ever get out of your car to try to do something helpful like undo the petrol cap. No one else does. Let that be a warning.
Third, if a man who looks shifty and moves like he has ants in his pants approaches you. Don’t begin an open dialogue with him with your back turned away from your car. He’s bound to be up to no good. Or has ants in his pants.
Fourth, if you realise an accomplice of ants in pants man has jumped into your car and is running away with your bag and then you get into a streetfight with ants in pants man, let go of him once he starts biting hard into your hand.
Finally, and if all else fails, try to save face. Don’t fume around shouting at people saying “I’m just here to help you people” and by no means kick your car so hard that you are forced to limp away with your tail firmly between your legs.

So there you have it. A lesson learned for us all I feel. If anyone sees any good deals on a laptop, let me know.