First, on my journey to Cape Town. I
woke up at 4:15 A.M at my village, gathered my things, relieved myself out in
the bush under the moon and hopped on the combi going to Rundu. I’ve lost count
of how many times I’ve taken this combi but that day it was special, they were
playing an international news station! Usually they only play African music, I
had not heard any kind of news from the outside world for months and I was
jumping up and down in my seat out of excitement. The rest of the bus gave me
angry looks but I was past caring. The news was about designer babies, nuclear
war, and terrorist attacks. It only increased my trepidation about leaving the
village and returning to civilization. I had become a village rat and was not
prepared for the technology dominated world that was out there. But then I
thought about my grandma’s cooking and it was all good again.
I reached Rundu and went to the free
hike point and saw Kyla there, she’s another volunteer from the west side of
Kavango. Complete coincidence that I was really happy about since free hiking
by yourself is incredibly boring. We talked about her trip to Egypt, mine to
Cape Town, and how our students were failing our classes in spectacular
fashion. It was good to hear from another volunteer that their students also
weren’t doing well, made me feel like I wasn’t the worst teacher in the world.
Quick tangent about my students, their
exam grades were disgusting. My grade 9’s averaged 45% in English and 32% in
Geography while my grade 8’s averaged 42% in English. There was a few days there
while I was grading that I just wanted to give up teaching completely but I
spoke to the other teachers and the other volunteers and everyone was failing
so I pulled myself from the brink.
Anyway, back to the journey, Kyla and I
got a hike within half an hour and made it to Grootfontein. I was wearing a
hoodie, jeans, and a Brazil jersey. I walked in the gas station, took off my
hoodie, approached the sandwich station and ordered. While I was waiting I
heard the two ladies at the cash register talking about me. I walked to the
cash register to pay and greeted them. The lady in her twenties asked me if I
was from Brazil. I said yes. At this point I had not cut my hair for around six
or seven months so it was the longest it had ever been (although not as long as
I wanted, I was going for a lion’s mane but all I got was shag). The lady asked
me if I could cut my hair and if I could give it to her! A bit of a preface, it
is very fashionable for black women here to change their hair often, once every
two or three months most of my female colleagues will change their hair. And they
look good doing it to; I’ve seen beautiful braids, dreads, weaves, straightened
hair and everything in between. I don’t completely understand the process but
to change their hair as often as they do, they need to buy hair extensions.
Turns our Brazilian hair is the most expensive kind in Namibia! So I here was
walking around with a couple hundred dollars worth of hair on my head! I told
the lady at the cash register, no thank you I don’t want to cut my hair yet, I
want to see my parents in Cape Town first and scare them with my ridiculous hair.
She said alright its fine, and then she asked me if she could come live with me
at my village as my wife. I told her that I would whisk her away in a fancy car when I came back
up from Cape Town.
Following that encounter we went to the
highway, picked a spot, and started hitchhiking again. One guy stopped for us
but told us that we would have to pay 50$ to get to Windhoek. It was still reasonably
early in the day so we told him we would try our luckk for a free hike and let
him go. Fifteen minutes later another man stopped and told us he would take us
down to Otjiwarongo for free. We hopped on and enjoyed the ride down to Otji.
We got dropped off since our driver had
to pick up some of his friends. So we walked half an hour to the highway and
posted up again. We waited twenty minutes and an old raggedy car pulled up
stopped by us. The driver poked his head out, interesting looking guy, in his 40’s,
black gloves, a Che Guevara cap, at least ten bracelets on each wrist, and a
lazy eye. There was also a lady sitting in the front. We hopped on and got
going to Windhoek. The guy starts talking and you could tell right away that he
was incredibly intelligent, very well educated, and enjoyed conversation. We asked
him his name and what he did. He told us Sem and that he was also a volunteer.
We were a bit surprised and when we started asking more about his life we
started getting suspicious that he was messing with us. I asked where he was
born, he said Argentina. I asked him where he was going to and he said he couldn’t
tell us.
We keep talking and trying to figure out
who this guy was. He asked us where we are from and I told him my long story.
He then started asking specific questions about each place that only a person
that had been there would have known. I then ask him how many countries he has
been to. He replied, almost all of them. I tell him, you’re lying, you say you’re
a volunteer, you’re driving this tiny beat-up car, how could you have visited
most of the world? I then started asking questions about lots of different
countries and he is answering them all perfectly and even speaking in the
languages of all those countries. He even told us why he liked Havana, Cuba so
much and why Cuban women are better than Brazilian women. He spoke to us in at
least ten different languages and claimed that he knew twenty.
At this point Kyle and I were completely
confused as to who this guy was. We started guessing, I thought he was a professor
that had spent time teaching abroad. He spoke with us about several different
books that he had recently read, then we discussed Freud and his ideas, and
then sexism in general. I thought, with these kinds of topics he has to be a professor.
We kept talking and he kept telling us stories about the different countries
that he had been to and detailed accounts about those countries. It was clear
that he was not making up anything that he said. He even said he was a Yale
Associate. At that point I thought, this guy has to be some kind of spy! Maybe
he worked for some intelligence agency? He knew twenty languages, had traveled
everywhere, and was completely unwilling to tell us what he did or his full
name. We told him that and he said, “Yeah maybe, that theory makes sense.”
Kyla started guessing that due to his
clothes he was in some way involved with tourism or environmentalism. He said
with a mischievous smile on his face, “I am the Director of Tourism for
Namibia.” “BULLSHIT!” I yelled. Kyle and I started reasoning; “no way he’s the
Director of Tourism, look at this car! The Director of Tourism would never have
picked up to scraggly volunteers on the side of the road. He’s just been to way
to many places!” We convinced ourselves that he was lying and told him so. He
just laughed and we kept talking.
Turns out, he actually was the Director
of Tourism of Namibia. We dropped off the lady that was also giving a ride to
and he pulled his card out and gave it to us. There it said, clear and bold,
Sem Shikongo, Director of Tourism. My knees almost buckled and Kyla’s mouth hit
the floor. I clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Man, I am so sorry for
calling you a liar.” Then he let out a big belly laugh and said no problem at
all and told us that everything he had told us was true.
Sem then told us that he had just come
from Etosha and was driving this small old car so he could travel unrecognized,
He also told us that he usually picks up Peace Corps volunteers since he
appreciates the work that we do. Turns out he is also the head of the
International Environmental Conventions Unit for all of Africa. And he is the
first Namibian to be selected to the Yale World Fellows Program. Amidst all
these accomplishments he was still able to keep his spirit of friendship and
told Kyla and I that whenever we are in Windhoek we can call him to enjoy a
beer together. Incredibly remarkable man, Kyla and I were blessed to meet him
and I hope that we are able to cross paths with him at least once more. It was
obvious from the start that he was a man that cared deeply about his country,
the people of the world, and our wellbeing on this planet. Mr. Shikongo, if you
run into this blog, cheers for re-energizing me in this long road that is Peace
Corps and inspiring me to keep fighting for the people that can’t fight for
themselves.
