I woke up this morning to the smell of fried fish and the sound of gospel music. There’s still a lining of blood encrusted inside my right nostril. The air is dry and the ground is dusty. Kids in uniforms usually swarm the streets at this time, but today is Sunday, which means I am going to church.
Matias and I are living in Okahandja with a family of six: a mother, a father, three daughters around our age, and an eight year old cousin. They are from the Kavango region near Rundu (where Matias and I will be placed) and speak Rukwangali, which is the language we have been learning. Upon getting back from the training center every day this past week, we have helped cook dinner with our host mom and host sisters. I’ve had lots of fun dancing in the kitchen to the sound of our voices harmonizing okana kameme (a song we’ve learned in Oshikwanyama). Yesterday, Matias and I told our religious host mom about the day we got “married” in 2023 while I hid my left hand behind my back. The sitting room has three leather couches, four speakers, and a stack of bowls under the flat screen T.V. that say “love is what makes a house a home.” We are the family’s eleventh Peace Corps trainees. They know how to make me feel at home, and they’ve done a wonderful job doing so.
When I first got up this morning, my stomach still hurt from the night before. I’ve been anxious over how the new bacteria has been affecting my stomach and getting accustomed to a new way of living. Bucket bathing instead of showering is common in Namibia, and because we live behind a river, the bathroom where we bucket bathe is full of small cockroaches. I am quite spooked by insects, so the transition has been difficult for me. But after getting out of my mosquito net and making breakfast, I felt a lot better. Today was our first day off since arriving, and it was also our first time going to church with the family. We woke up two hours later than usual at 7:45am, and got into the car.
When we arrived at church, there were around one hundred empty chairs facing a drum set at the front of the room. About 15 minutes went by and extended family members started to show up. Culturally, greetings are very important. Matias and I shook everyone’s hand with our left hand placed at the crook of our elbows. Morokeni (Good morning in Rukwangali). Service begin a little after 9am. Harmonic sounds of gospel music in Rukwangali filled the bare room. In the moment, the pentecostal service felt like this…
Stand up, hum, dance, sit and pretend some more. Close my eyes and grasp my sweaty palms to the mummers of prayers and the hum of Matias’ voice beside me. Confusion. Out of place and right where I belong. I feel welcomed. Welcomed by the community as an observer to God. Matthew 26. Give what you can to Jesus and when I say hallelujah you say amen. Our host father begins to preach in Rukwangali beside an English translator. He is the pastor of the church! It was expensive perfume and it belonged to Jesus. JEALOUSY IS WITCHCRAFT. Hum, dance, get up and join the choir! I dance in front of the church with a small group of girls. It feels warm. Community and generations of love are within the walls of this church. “Thank you sister, thank you for getting up and shaking it for Jesus!”
My face was red when we left at 12:30am.
As I am writing, I feel excited. This is where I am meant to be. I have the support of Matias and 13 other volunteers our age who love spikeball (big win). I am very comfortable with our host family and extremely supported by the Peace Corps staff that have been conducting our language and cultural trainings from 7:30am-4:30pm. The future is very exciting. I’ll share more stories and pictures soon! Hallelujah..
