Monday, October 30, 2006
Going to the source!
For some time Alisan has been encouraging me to go and stay with a local family for purposes of having a ‘language intensive’. Finally, I acquiesced. I came to Odibo as a guest of ‘Omwene mOmakunda’ (Village Headman), Johannes Haikwiyu. Odibo (which means ‘walking stick’ or ‘sceptre’) is about 60km north of Ongwediva as the crow flies, but by road it is a journey of about 100km. It is basically on the border with Angola, and the centre of Anglican activity in Namibia.
Odibo would amount to nothing more than another African village, except for the huge ‘Mission’ that is comprised of a school, a hospital, and a church. In fact, there was a mini ‘seminary’ as well, but that was destroyed in the war against the South Africans as was the school. The reason? They were considered a ‘hotbed’ of political ‘free-thinking’! Since then the school has been rebuilt at mostly government expense and will celebrate its official opening on the 4th of November. The seminary has not been rebuilt – and this, in some sense, epitomises the lack of training and upcoming leadership within the Anglican church here. Many ministers of the current government (the SWAPO party, who were the previous resistance movement) were educated at mission school at Odibo.
On day 1 I stayed overnight at the mission guesthouse. It was quiet and refreshing. I enjoyed an evening meal with Nancy Robson, daughter of one of the first missionaries there, Ian Robson, who was responsible for building much of the mission. She is a mine of information and history. On the first day I also met some white teachers from the States. They are volunteer teachers for a year. Initially, I assumed them to be Christians, but then discovered that he was Jew and she a lapsed Methodist. We had some good Christ-centred conversation.
On day 2, I waited for a long time for someone to collect me. I had forgotten to bring food for the day, as well as bedding, so Nancy helped me out with some sheets and snacks. Eventually found out where Johannes Haikwiyu lived, and began my walk. I had a shoulder bag of various books, and my sleeping gear. I walked about 2 km through the village before finding the appropriate homestead. One cannot help, as a ‘shilumbu’ (white person), standing out. It leads to many interesting exchanges.
My reception at the homestead was warm, and soon after I arrived I began watching members of the family play ‘Owela’ – which is a game you play with stones in the ground. It’s quite fun, especially if you don’t have the funds to purchase ‘Settlers of Catan’. One game can take 30 minutes so it is a great way to while away the hot afternoons in the shade.
The extended family at the homestead of Johannes (about 60 yrs) is as follows: His wife, Launa, 2 sons and 2 daughters of his 12 children (Philipus, Gabriel, Priscilla and Maria). Priscilla and Maria, both unmarried, have 2 children each. In addition, there are 3 grandchildren who live there, children of his deceased son. There was also an elderly uncle, who, because he had no papers, was unable to receive a government pension. So there are many mouths to feed. Nevertheless, I was given my own room (hut) with a bed. Very cosy.
The homestead is a collection of huts. Some made of bricks (hard sand) and some made of grass. All are thatched with grass, except one, which had galvanised iron, the main bedroom. It is very spacious! The huts are surrounded by a fence made from sticks and logs of various sizes tied together with a flexible kind of bark. There are also mini-granaries, sitting rooms, and a kitchen. Of course there is no running water or electricity, so the kitchen is just a hut with some food in it. All the cooking is done outside on an open fire.
Later that afternoon, I returned to the mission to collect my suitcase, with all my western necessities and clothes. I was not looking forward to the return trip – walking 2 kilometres with a suitcase on my head. However, less than halfway there, I was called aside to a cuca-shop (a sort of one-roomed pub-cum-corner shop) by someone with a car. We started speaking, and soon I was the beneficiary of a lift! It led to a great gospel conversation. Nominalism is rife in Namibia. People are baptised and confirmed, therefore presume they are Christian. There is not much concept of sin, its dire consequence of separation from God and the resulting eternal punishment. In almost every person I speak to, even if they are perhaps repentant, there is no assurance of salvation. Very sad.
Food at the homestead is more than sufficient. The bulk is always ‘oshifima’ – stiff porridge made from millet. The millet is “pounded” in a hole in the ground, so there is always sand in it – so don’t chew too hard! But it is usually served with some kind of tasty meat (just don't ask what kind of meat as even dogs are eaten around here). You eat out of the same bowl as your host – which takes getting used to – and you eat with your hand. You take a lump of porridge with your hand, dip it in the gravy and devour (you have all washed your hands before in a bowl of water). It feels very biblical – ‘“It is he to whom I will give this morsel of bread when I have dipped it.” So when he had dipped the morsel, he gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot.’ John 13:26.
What WAS hard to get used to, is the fact that I only ate with the host. The women and children eat separately in the ‘kitchen’ (an open area). I think conversation may have been more interesting if other people were around. Even the older sons ate in the kitchen – maybe this is because I am a white man and they are showing respect!
Sleeping was no problem, except for mozzies. I had bought a coil to burn inside the room, to keep them at bay. In the morning you wash in a big dish of cold water. It also takes a bit of getting used to, and I was glad it was not winter. We are so soft! Even compared to our forefathers, a generation ago! (By the way, all the water is fetched by the women and children of the house from a communal tap, 500m away. The buckets are carried back on your head!) I really expected to sleep badly – but due to the amount of walking I did, I slept very soundly.
The final evening of my stay was very warm, which did not bode well for me. Then, praise God, a wind started blowing which meant rain would soon fall. It did …. right through the thatched roof and onto my bed!! I moved the bed – and then it started dripping onto the bed in the new place. Again I moved the bed. And so on. Eventually I found a drip-free place for my bed in the middle of the room. The next morning, the subject of discussion was all about how we were all ‘rained on’ in the night!
On Sunday, I and Tate Haikwiyu went to church (the big Anglican church at the Mission). The boys are not interested in going, and the women stayed behind to do the washing (by hand, in cold water, in big buckets). Church is certainly falling away in terms of its importance to the culture. Perhaps in one generation Namibia will be no different from Australia – a ‘post’-Christian society?
Church was, unfortunately … interminable. The most enjoyable part is the singing, which puts us Westerners to shame with the energy, volume and variation. Still understanding little of rapid general conversation, one has to follow in a prayer, which can be mostly understood because it is in an Anglican format. However, the effort required is very exhausting and cannot be sustained over long periods. Church began at 10am and continued through to 1pm. I sat at the back with Tate Haikwiyu – at times I rested my head on my hands and my elbows were resting on my knees. I could doze like that a little, but soon Tate told me not to sleep.
Two of the occasions of the church service are the offering and communion. For the offering, you walk to the front with your gift. Without looking, you know that just about every eye in the church (of about 500 people) is trained on you as a shilumbu. As everyone has to walk to the front, offering takes long. You have to choose one of various baskets in which to put your money – each representing a different fund: Diocesan, your church’s fund and assistance of the poor, I think. On returning from communion, I walked down on the children’s side of the church. I smiled at them all staring at me, and winked at some of them, which caused much glee.
About an hour and a half into the service, fund-raising activities began for another church in Namibia – which involved auctioning the parish priest. Fun, I suppose, but maybe I had sense of humour failure at that point, and I found it irritating, and vaguely blasphemous. However, fundraising seems to be a very common thing in churches here. You generally have a choir who sing, and then get donations whilst they sing, in order to go to wherever they want to go, or for their new books or something.
In the afternoons, Tate took me with him either to collect his cows, or to visit his neighbours in other homesteads, which was all very interesting. He told me lots of things, sharing his life with me, his disappointments with his kids, and the lifestyle of Owambos. His father was the first wagon driver of the mission, and apparently its first convert. He was a good man to be with, because he knew everyone, and introduced me to everyone, wherever he was. Soon I was his ‘oshiveli’ (firstborn).
He seemed to enjoy having male company, someone who was genuinely interested in him and what he had to say. Much of what he said to me was in a mixture of English and Afrikaans. I had to keep asking him to speak Oshiwambo. And then when he did, I would often not understand. So then he would have to speak very slowly – and I was often still lost in my ignorance, he would have to revert back to pigeon Englikaans.
Monday (day 4) brought a new adventure. It was pension day. That means that everyone (past retirement age), from surrounding homesteads and villages (probably a 20km radius) come into Odibo to collect their government pension. Odibo is transformed into a hive of activity – a lively market outside the mission, and a hoard of elderly people within. Through the village I was on guard for ‘bochochos’ (lowlife who would generally bag snatch) – but I think there were very few there. As I walked through, people would greet me and ask what I was up to. I would respond that I was off to collect my pension. It does not take much to get the Owambos to laugh. They though it hilarious that this ‘rich’, ‘young’, white person would be off to collect his pension!
At the mission itself, there must have been at least 1000 people sitting around waiting their turn to collect their N$150 (about AU$30) for the month. Again, all eyes (which could see!) were trained on the young shilumbu. If you acknowledge their gaze as you walk past and exchange greetings, you have ample opportunity for conversation. Luckily, I had brought many Oshiwambo gospel tracts with me – and though my language ability leave much to be desired, at least I could sow some gospel seed in this way. Africans are very receptive to anything which is handed out. So if they see someone receiving something, they also want one, and so my tracts (at least 100 of them) disappeared very, very quickly. I was very flattered by the mission director, who came and joined with me for a while in conversation. “Oh you speak such good Oshiwambo – with such a nice accent and good grammar”. One of those little encouragements God sends me ……
Later that day I spent some time at a cuca shop (bar) – I played pool with Philipus, Tate’s son. Everyone, because of their temporary wealth, was enjoying their beer (purchased from brewery), omalodu (traditional beer made from Sorgum – quite disgusting – an acquired taste I guess), or otombo (Owambo liquor – very yummy – just like whiskey or some kind of liqueur). Many people here in the North are ‘enslaved’ to alcohol.
I asked Alisan to pick me up on Tuesday (day 5) – I missed my family too much. I made genuine progress in hearing the language and enjoyed learning more about the Owambo culture and traditional way of life. It is ideally something which should be done with my family – perhaps for a month or 2. Except that is a logistic impossibility at this stage. But still, I am thankful for my time, and the love and hospitality with which I was received. I hope to visit the Hiakwiyu household again.
I feel genuinely richer for the experience. I realise how far I am from the experiences of the original missionaries up here and in other parts of the world. Nevertheless, they have passed the baton on to us in some sense. May we be faithful to continue the work they have begun in training local leadership.
Odibo would amount to nothing more than another African village, except for the huge ‘Mission’ that is comprised of a school, a hospital, and a church. In fact, there was a mini ‘seminary’ as well, but that was destroyed in the war against the South Africans as was the school. The reason? They were considered a ‘hotbed’ of political ‘free-thinking’! Since then the school has been rebuilt at mostly government expense and will celebrate its official opening on the 4th of November. The seminary has not been rebuilt – and this, in some sense, epitomises the lack of training and upcoming leadership within the Anglican church here. Many ministers of the current government (the SWAPO party, who were the previous resistance movement) were educated at mission school at Odibo.
On day 1 I stayed overnight at the mission guesthouse. It was quiet and refreshing. I enjoyed an evening meal with Nancy Robson, daughter of one of the first missionaries there, Ian Robson, who was responsible for building much of the mission. She is a mine of information and history. On the first day I also met some white teachers from the States. They are volunteer teachers for a year. Initially, I assumed them to be Christians, but then discovered that he was Jew and she a lapsed Methodist. We had some good Christ-centred conversation.
On day 2, I waited for a long time for someone to collect me. I had forgotten to bring food for the day, as well as bedding, so Nancy helped me out with some sheets and snacks. Eventually found out where Johannes Haikwiyu lived, and began my walk. I had a shoulder bag of various books, and my sleeping gear. I walked about 2 km through the village before finding the appropriate homestead. One cannot help, as a ‘shilumbu’ (white person), standing out. It leads to many interesting exchanges.
My reception at the homestead was warm, and soon after I arrived I began watching members of the family play ‘Owela’ – which is a game you play with stones in the ground. It’s quite fun, especially if you don’t have the funds to purchase ‘Settlers of Catan’. One game can take 30 minutes so it is a great way to while away the hot afternoons in the shade.
The extended family at the homestead of Johannes (about 60 yrs) is as follows: His wife, Launa, 2 sons and 2 daughters of his 12 children (Philipus, Gabriel, Priscilla and Maria). Priscilla and Maria, both unmarried, have 2 children each. In addition, there are 3 grandchildren who live there, children of his deceased son. There was also an elderly uncle, who, because he had no papers, was unable to receive a government pension. So there are many mouths to feed. Nevertheless, I was given my own room (hut) with a bed. Very cosy.
The homestead is a collection of huts. Some made of bricks (hard sand) and some made of grass. All are thatched with grass, except one, which had galvanised iron, the main bedroom. It is very spacious! The huts are surrounded by a fence made from sticks and logs of various sizes tied together with a flexible kind of bark. There are also mini-granaries, sitting rooms, and a kitchen. Of course there is no running water or electricity, so the kitchen is just a hut with some food in it. All the cooking is done outside on an open fire.
Later that afternoon, I returned to the mission to collect my suitcase, with all my western necessities and clothes. I was not looking forward to the return trip – walking 2 kilometres with a suitcase on my head. However, less than halfway there, I was called aside to a cuca-shop (a sort of one-roomed pub-cum-corner shop) by someone with a car. We started speaking, and soon I was the beneficiary of a lift! It led to a great gospel conversation. Nominalism is rife in Namibia. People are baptised and confirmed, therefore presume they are Christian. There is not much concept of sin, its dire consequence of separation from God and the resulting eternal punishment. In almost every person I speak to, even if they are perhaps repentant, there is no assurance of salvation. Very sad.
Food at the homestead is more than sufficient. The bulk is always ‘oshifima’ – stiff porridge made from millet. The millet is “pounded” in a hole in the ground, so there is always sand in it – so don’t chew too hard! But it is usually served with some kind of tasty meat (just don't ask what kind of meat as even dogs are eaten around here). You eat out of the same bowl as your host – which takes getting used to – and you eat with your hand. You take a lump of porridge with your hand, dip it in the gravy and devour (you have all washed your hands before in a bowl of water). It feels very biblical – ‘“It is he to whom I will give this morsel of bread when I have dipped it.” So when he had dipped the morsel, he gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot.’ John 13:26.
What WAS hard to get used to, is the fact that I only ate with the host. The women and children eat separately in the ‘kitchen’ (an open area). I think conversation may have been more interesting if other people were around. Even the older sons ate in the kitchen – maybe this is because I am a white man and they are showing respect!
Sleeping was no problem, except for mozzies. I had bought a coil to burn inside the room, to keep them at bay. In the morning you wash in a big dish of cold water. It also takes a bit of getting used to, and I was glad it was not winter. We are so soft! Even compared to our forefathers, a generation ago! (By the way, all the water is fetched by the women and children of the house from a communal tap, 500m away. The buckets are carried back on your head!) I really expected to sleep badly – but due to the amount of walking I did, I slept very soundly.
The final evening of my stay was very warm, which did not bode well for me. Then, praise God, a wind started blowing which meant rain would soon fall. It did …. right through the thatched roof and onto my bed!! I moved the bed – and then it started dripping onto the bed in the new place. Again I moved the bed. And so on. Eventually I found a drip-free place for my bed in the middle of the room. The next morning, the subject of discussion was all about how we were all ‘rained on’ in the night!
On Sunday, I and Tate Haikwiyu went to church (the big Anglican church at the Mission). The boys are not interested in going, and the women stayed behind to do the washing (by hand, in cold water, in big buckets). Church is certainly falling away in terms of its importance to the culture. Perhaps in one generation Namibia will be no different from Australia – a ‘post’-Christian society?
Church was, unfortunately … interminable. The most enjoyable part is the singing, which puts us Westerners to shame with the energy, volume and variation. Still understanding little of rapid general conversation, one has to follow in a prayer, which can be mostly understood because it is in an Anglican format. However, the effort required is very exhausting and cannot be sustained over long periods. Church began at 10am and continued through to 1pm. I sat at the back with Tate Haikwiyu – at times I rested my head on my hands and my elbows were resting on my knees. I could doze like that a little, but soon Tate told me not to sleep.
Two of the occasions of the church service are the offering and communion. For the offering, you walk to the front with your gift. Without looking, you know that just about every eye in the church (of about 500 people) is trained on you as a shilumbu. As everyone has to walk to the front, offering takes long. You have to choose one of various baskets in which to put your money – each representing a different fund: Diocesan, your church’s fund and assistance of the poor, I think. On returning from communion, I walked down on the children’s side of the church. I smiled at them all staring at me, and winked at some of them, which caused much glee.
About an hour and a half into the service, fund-raising activities began for another church in Namibia – which involved auctioning the parish priest. Fun, I suppose, but maybe I had sense of humour failure at that point, and I found it irritating, and vaguely blasphemous. However, fundraising seems to be a very common thing in churches here. You generally have a choir who sing, and then get donations whilst they sing, in order to go to wherever they want to go, or for their new books or something.
In the afternoons, Tate took me with him either to collect his cows, or to visit his neighbours in other homesteads, which was all very interesting. He told me lots of things, sharing his life with me, his disappointments with his kids, and the lifestyle of Owambos. His father was the first wagon driver of the mission, and apparently its first convert. He was a good man to be with, because he knew everyone, and introduced me to everyone, wherever he was. Soon I was his ‘oshiveli’ (firstborn).
He seemed to enjoy having male company, someone who was genuinely interested in him and what he had to say. Much of what he said to me was in a mixture of English and Afrikaans. I had to keep asking him to speak Oshiwambo. And then when he did, I would often not understand. So then he would have to speak very slowly – and I was often still lost in my ignorance, he would have to revert back to pigeon Englikaans.
Monday (day 4) brought a new adventure. It was pension day. That means that everyone (past retirement age), from surrounding homesteads and villages (probably a 20km radius) come into Odibo to collect their government pension. Odibo is transformed into a hive of activity – a lively market outside the mission, and a hoard of elderly people within. Through the village I was on guard for ‘bochochos’ (lowlife who would generally bag snatch) – but I think there were very few there. As I walked through, people would greet me and ask what I was up to. I would respond that I was off to collect my pension. It does not take much to get the Owambos to laugh. They though it hilarious that this ‘rich’, ‘young’, white person would be off to collect his pension!
At the mission itself, there must have been at least 1000 people sitting around waiting their turn to collect their N$150 (about AU$30) for the month. Again, all eyes (which could see!) were trained on the young shilumbu. If you acknowledge their gaze as you walk past and exchange greetings, you have ample opportunity for conversation. Luckily, I had brought many Oshiwambo gospel tracts with me – and though my language ability leave much to be desired, at least I could sow some gospel seed in this way. Africans are very receptive to anything which is handed out. So if they see someone receiving something, they also want one, and so my tracts (at least 100 of them) disappeared very, very quickly. I was very flattered by the mission director, who came and joined with me for a while in conversation. “Oh you speak such good Oshiwambo – with such a nice accent and good grammar”. One of those little encouragements God sends me ……
Later that day I spent some time at a cuca shop (bar) – I played pool with Philipus, Tate’s son. Everyone, because of their temporary wealth, was enjoying their beer (purchased from brewery), omalodu (traditional beer made from Sorgum – quite disgusting – an acquired taste I guess), or otombo (Owambo liquor – very yummy – just like whiskey or some kind of liqueur). Many people here in the North are ‘enslaved’ to alcohol.
I asked Alisan to pick me up on Tuesday (day 5) – I missed my family too much. I made genuine progress in hearing the language and enjoyed learning more about the Owambo culture and traditional way of life. It is ideally something which should be done with my family – perhaps for a month or 2. Except that is a logistic impossibility at this stage. But still, I am thankful for my time, and the love and hospitality with which I was received. I hope to visit the Hiakwiyu household again.
I feel genuinely richer for the experience. I realise how far I am from the experiences of the original missionaries up here and in other parts of the world. Nevertheless, they have passed the baton on to us in some sense. May we be faithful to continue the work they have begun in training local leadership.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Land of sand
Greetings from a hot and humid land of sand! It is, on average, 35 degrees in the daytime and 25 at night. Humidity is 70% as there are lots of storms about. A boy was struck by lightning and KILLED in his hut this week.
I have covered the kitchen windows with tin foil to try and reflect much of the sun that streams in all day. Now the kitchen stays at about 31 degrees, 24 hrs a day (and hotter if the oven is on!).
Ondangwa, about 30 mins south of us, has a small airport and thus has daily weather reports for the area on-line. If you want to see how we are faring, go to:
www.wunderground.com/auto/virtuallythere_jan3/
global/stations/68006.html
(I had to split the address to get it to fit onto this posting but you will need to copy and past BOTH lines as ONE address).
There is a link to find the weather virtually anywhere!
Yesterday the children and I did a 300 km round trip when we dropped David off at Odibo, the old Anglican mission station (whose seminary was bombed during the war for independence). There is a hospital there and they have just built a school. Anyway, it is in the heart of Kwanyama country, and the capital of the people (I think I may have said before that Oshakati was the capital but I would have been incorrect. Oshakati is a sort of border town between three people groups and loosely means ‘in the middle’.) David has gone there for a week to be thoroughly immersed in the language and culture of the Kwanyama people. It is right on the border of Angola (literally) and I think most people will speak Portuguese rather than English as a second language. David is doing this to help him reach his goal of being able to preach in Oshikwanyama by the end of the year. The two difficulties here in Ongwediva are a. most people speak good or passable English and like to practice it and b. not that many people we speak to are native Kwanyama speakers.
It will be hot for him there, with no electricity for a fan or a fridge for cold water. He is reading a biography of Nakambale at the moment (see previous posting) and we realise how ‘easy’ we have it these days (cars, postal service, electricity, running water, medical supplies, etc). Nakambale was hit in the face with a heavy stick that broke his jaw and gashed him from eye to mouth. The nearest medical help was 2,000 away (by ox wagon to the coast and then a boat trip). On the trip his wife nearly died from repeated malaria attacks. Anyway, both survived. And I am sure David will, too!
As for language, I will post an excerpt from the newspaper in the Nama/Damara language. It is a difficult language with lots of clicks. We are glad we are learning Oshikwanyama!
I have covered the kitchen windows with tin foil to try and reflect much of the sun that streams in all day. Now the kitchen stays at about 31 degrees, 24 hrs a day (and hotter if the oven is on!).
Ondangwa, about 30 mins south of us, has a small airport and thus has daily weather reports for the area on-line. If you want to see how we are faring, go to:
www.wunderground.com/auto/virtuallythere_jan3/
global/stations/68006.html
(I had to split the address to get it to fit onto this posting but you will need to copy and past BOTH lines as ONE address).
There is a link to find the weather virtually anywhere!
Yesterday the children and I did a 300 km round trip when we dropped David off at Odibo, the old Anglican mission station (whose seminary was bombed during the war for independence). There is a hospital there and they have just built a school. Anyway, it is in the heart of Kwanyama country, and the capital of the people (I think I may have said before that Oshakati was the capital but I would have been incorrect. Oshakati is a sort of border town between three people groups and loosely means ‘in the middle’.) David has gone there for a week to be thoroughly immersed in the language and culture of the Kwanyama people. It is right on the border of Angola (literally) and I think most people will speak Portuguese rather than English as a second language. David is doing this to help him reach his goal of being able to preach in Oshikwanyama by the end of the year. The two difficulties here in Ongwediva are a. most people speak good or passable English and like to practice it and b. not that many people we speak to are native Kwanyama speakers.
It will be hot for him there, with no electricity for a fan or a fridge for cold water. He is reading a biography of Nakambale at the moment (see previous posting) and we realise how ‘easy’ we have it these days (cars, postal service, electricity, running water, medical supplies, etc). Nakambale was hit in the face with a heavy stick that broke his jaw and gashed him from eye to mouth. The nearest medical help was 2,000 away (by ox wagon to the coast and then a boat trip). On the trip his wife nearly died from repeated malaria attacks. Anyway, both survived. And I am sure David will, too!
As for language, I will post an excerpt from the newspaper in the Nama/Damara language. It is a difficult language with lots of clicks. We are glad we are learning Oshikwanyama!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Nakambale
I want to introduce you to Nakambale of Olukonda.
The former Finnish mission station in Olukonda is about 40 minutes from our house.
Olukonda was one of the first Finnish mission stations in Ovamboland and was founded in 1871. Throughout the German colonial time, Olukonda was the ‘capital city’ of the North.
From 1880, Olukonda was the home of the pioneering Finnish missionary, Martti Rautanen (Nakambale) until his death in 1926. He was called ‘Nakambale’ (little basket) because that’s what the locals thought his pith helmet looked like - you can see David wearing THE helmet!
He married Anna Kleinschmidt who was the granddaughter of Johann Heinrich Schmelen who himself had been a pioneer missionary to the nomadic Nama people. (He married a Nama woman and travelled with the tribe, learning their language and translating the Bible for them.). Her father, Franz Heinrich Kleinschmidt, had also been a missionary.
In 1889, Rev. Dr. Rautanen erected at Olukonda the first church building of Northern Namibia. A mission house was built four years later in 1893. Both buildings still exist, and in 1992 the Government proclaimed them National Monuments of Namibia. (You can see them if you come to visit us!)
He translated the Bible into the Ndonga language (Olukonda is just outside Ondangwa, the capital of the Ndonga people). He and his family are buried in the cemetery of the thatched mission church from 1889 together with many kings of the Ondonga Kingdom. The church building is now a National Monument under the care of the Lutheran church.
One of Nakambale’s daughters married a missionary called Tonjes, who laboured to produce a grammar book for learning Oshikwanyama. He wrote it in 1910 and we have a photocopied version of the hand-typed manuscript that was done later. Although some words are archaic, it is a great book and a marvellous legacy. Here we are, 100 years’ later, able to benefit from it in our own labours for the Kingdom!
Because of Nakambale and his fellow labourers, Nodonga are now ‘born’ into the Lutheran church. In general, it would not occur to an Ndonga to go to any other denomination. In the same way, due to the labour of Anglican missionaries among the Kwanyama people, they tend to grow up Anglican. (I think it is the Kwambi who are Catholics in the same way).
The former Finnish mission station in Olukonda is about 40 minutes from our house.
Olukonda was one of the first Finnish mission stations in Ovamboland and was founded in 1871. Throughout the German colonial time, Olukonda was the ‘capital city’ of the North.
From 1880, Olukonda was the home of the pioneering Finnish missionary, Martti Rautanen (Nakambale) until his death in 1926. He was called ‘Nakambale’ (little basket) because that’s what the locals thought his pith helmet looked like - you can see David wearing THE helmet!
He married Anna Kleinschmidt who was the granddaughter of Johann Heinrich Schmelen who himself had been a pioneer missionary to the nomadic Nama people. (He married a Nama woman and travelled with the tribe, learning their language and translating the Bible for them.). Her father, Franz Heinrich Kleinschmidt, had also been a missionary.
In 1889, Rev. Dr. Rautanen erected at Olukonda the first church building of Northern Namibia. A mission house was built four years later in 1893. Both buildings still exist, and in 1992 the Government proclaimed them National Monuments of Namibia. (You can see them if you come to visit us!)
He translated the Bible into the Ndonga language (Olukonda is just outside Ondangwa, the capital of the Ndonga people). He and his family are buried in the cemetery of the thatched mission church from 1889 together with many kings of the Ondonga Kingdom. The church building is now a National Monument under the care of the Lutheran church.
One of Nakambale’s daughters married a missionary called Tonjes, who laboured to produce a grammar book for learning Oshikwanyama. He wrote it in 1910 and we have a photocopied version of the hand-typed manuscript that was done later. Although some words are archaic, it is a great book and a marvellous legacy. Here we are, 100 years’ later, able to benefit from it in our own labours for the Kingdom!
Because of Nakambale and his fellow labourers, Nodonga are now ‘born’ into the Lutheran church. In general, it would not occur to an Ndonga to go to any other denomination. In the same way, due to the labour of Anglican missionaries among the Kwanyama people, they tend to grow up Anglican. (I think it is the Kwambi who are Catholics in the same way).
Monday, October 16, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
To market, to market, to learn Oshiwambo
David pitches up at the open market sometime between 9 and 10 am. There are very few customers. “Stalls” are just being prepared. Monica and Kerthu, two sellers of “oshikundu” are sweeping and wiping tables. Oshikundu is a fermented drink made of out of millet (mahangu) – it is very gritty, which takes some getting used to. Oshikundu is non-alcoholic and very nourishing – it can get you through a day without needing to eat anything else. It really grows on you – I don’t visit the market without having some. It is served in a jug, which people generally share – they drink from different sides of the same mug. Genteel David mostly brings his own plastic cups. A jug will cost you N$1.50 (AU$0.30). Monica and Kerthu are good people to know. They have been patient with my very poor Oshiwambo. And sitting at a table next to their “point of sale” means that you can get to talk to just about anybody coming for a drink of oshikundu. Most people will at the very least raise an eyebrow at the “Shilumbu” (white person) who is sitting drinking oshikundu and greets them in Oshiwambo. I seldom see another white face at the market.
Josef is the janitor and “manager” of the market (the market is “owned” by the local town council), and pays Josef N$500 per month (AUS100). He is disgruntled – but hey, it’s a job…….
Josef is very friendly and has also helped me a lot with my language. He is a native Oshindonga speaker (one of the many brands of Oshiwambo) – we are trying to learn Oshikwanyama. Josef switches easily between Oshiwambo, Afrikaans, and English. This makes him a bit of a pain, because one ends up speaking a lot of English with him. He was born in exile (Zimbabwe) during the war of liberation. One of the reasons for extensive conversations in English is that Josef is an adherent to a deviant form of Christianity. It holds that Jesus’ return is imminent, and that now, God is calling genuine Christians out of the church in preparation for Jesus’ return. Discussions about this have caused not a little frustration, with not a lot of progress to show for it.
Satana is a seller of veggies. Yes, I do business with him! His tomatoes are quite tasty, actually. He has no English, so I have to learn some more vocab before I request an examination of his body for tattoos of the number 666.
If you proceed around to the back of the market, you find Salmo Newete, a barber. He is an Anglican and is very friendly to me. He is just about the only person who has bought ME oshikundu. Near to Salmo’s salon is a table where Tate Paulus works, fixing shoes. He also is good value and we have good conversations. He is one of the few people at the market who are actually married (not de facto). One day I heard from him something very common expressed by members of the “mainline” churches – that if you are baptised you are saved. He was quite taken aback to hear me say “NOT TRUE” – and try to explain using the “wedding ring” illustration. Salmo’s brother, Mattheus, sells in the same neck of the woods – his commodity is sweets. He does not attend church. Apparently he reads his Bible – our plan is to do a Bible study sometime soon. All of these men communicate nicely with me, and try to teach me things in Oshiwambo.
On the other side of the market again, is a new, small, printing-cum-laminating-cum-photocopying shop. It is manned by Immanuel and Koneka, who are both rewriting some year 12 subjects to improve results. They often play a card game called “Omilongo Omhaadi” or “Oily Ten”. It is quite unlike anything I have played in my life, but is something between rummy and bridge, and takes some catching on. Koneka, a young lady very fluent in English, helped me translate a Bible study – and I realised she was a very good teacher. Her home language is Balantu, another dialect of Oshiwambo. We have taken her on as a language helper – cum baby sitter – she relates very easily to Etienne and Caris.
There are many others at the market with whom I have had dealings: There is Kamati (meaning “boy”), who is a plastic welder; Ndishimana (“I am finished” – obviously quoted by her mother when she was born), who sells drinks (alcoholic); Ndahafa (“I am happy”), who cooks meat and oshifima (porridge), and Ndapewa (“I am given”) to “name” a few. Actually, my first Oshiwambo joke was to Ndahafa. When I heard and UNDERSTOOD her name, and she asked me mine, I instantly responded “Ndahanduka” (“I am angry”). I have moments of sheer genius.
Jeremiah is a sweet seller. I have practised a faltering Oshiwambo version of “2 ways to live” with most of these people and many others. They are very patient with me, and enjoy laughing with (and usually at!) me. It is of course very serious in content, so I am totally at sea if it results in a question, or comment, which forces me to leave my “script”.
There are good days and bad days at the market. It is all too easy to get caught up with people who are English speakers (and therefore with whom one can communicate and “click”). When I get into an Oshiwambo “conversation” with someone, it usually leaves me absolutely exhausted. I reach saturation point: no matter how hard I try, I can no longer “hear” what they are trying to say. What is needed is a nice big jug of oshikundu, drunk whilst playing another hand of Omilongo Omhaadi.
I have been doing regular workshops with a few guys from CEN (Church of England in Namibia). They are very fluent in English, so we have been able to get straight into the content of the NETS booklet. However, one workshop I did with some guys who have next-to-no English, and though I came out intact at the other end, I know that the amount of content covered was limited.
The feedback one gets is mixed. As I have not been going to market so regularly of late, one day when I returned, Matteus said something which I didn’t understand, and then commented in Oshiwambo “Have you forgotten how to speak now?” Other people respond by saying things like “You are talking so nicely now.” The grace of God through them, no doubt ……
I have had many opportunities to share the news about Jesus and what he has done for us, but in a very faltering way.
Pray with me: “O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.” (Psalm 51:15)
Onda loloka paife. (I am tired now)
Ka nangala po nawa. (sleep well)
Josef is the janitor and “manager” of the market (the market is “owned” by the local town council), and pays Josef N$500 per month (AUS100). He is disgruntled – but hey, it’s a job…….
Josef is very friendly and has also helped me a lot with my language. He is a native Oshindonga speaker (one of the many brands of Oshiwambo) – we are trying to learn Oshikwanyama. Josef switches easily between Oshiwambo, Afrikaans, and English. This makes him a bit of a pain, because one ends up speaking a lot of English with him. He was born in exile (Zimbabwe) during the war of liberation. One of the reasons for extensive conversations in English is that Josef is an adherent to a deviant form of Christianity. It holds that Jesus’ return is imminent, and that now, God is calling genuine Christians out of the church in preparation for Jesus’ return. Discussions about this have caused not a little frustration, with not a lot of progress to show for it.
Satana is a seller of veggies. Yes, I do business with him! His tomatoes are quite tasty, actually. He has no English, so I have to learn some more vocab before I request an examination of his body for tattoos of the number 666.
If you proceed around to the back of the market, you find Salmo Newete, a barber. He is an Anglican and is very friendly to me. He is just about the only person who has bought ME oshikundu. Near to Salmo’s salon is a table where Tate Paulus works, fixing shoes. He also is good value and we have good conversations. He is one of the few people at the market who are actually married (not de facto). One day I heard from him something very common expressed by members of the “mainline” churches – that if you are baptised you are saved. He was quite taken aback to hear me say “NOT TRUE” – and try to explain using the “wedding ring” illustration. Salmo’s brother, Mattheus, sells in the same neck of the woods – his commodity is sweets. He does not attend church. Apparently he reads his Bible – our plan is to do a Bible study sometime soon. All of these men communicate nicely with me, and try to teach me things in Oshiwambo.
On the other side of the market again, is a new, small, printing-cum-laminating-cum-photocopying shop. It is manned by Immanuel and Koneka, who are both rewriting some year 12 subjects to improve results. They often play a card game called “Omilongo Omhaadi” or “Oily Ten”. It is quite unlike anything I have played in my life, but is something between rummy and bridge, and takes some catching on. Koneka, a young lady very fluent in English, helped me translate a Bible study – and I realised she was a very good teacher. Her home language is Balantu, another dialect of Oshiwambo. We have taken her on as a language helper – cum baby sitter – she relates very easily to Etienne and Caris.
There are many others at the market with whom I have had dealings: There is Kamati (meaning “boy”), who is a plastic welder; Ndishimana (“I am finished” – obviously quoted by her mother when she was born), who sells drinks (alcoholic); Ndahafa (“I am happy”), who cooks meat and oshifima (porridge), and Ndapewa (“I am given”) to “name” a few. Actually, my first Oshiwambo joke was to Ndahafa. When I heard and UNDERSTOOD her name, and she asked me mine, I instantly responded “Ndahanduka” (“I am angry”). I have moments of sheer genius.
Jeremiah is a sweet seller. I have practised a faltering Oshiwambo version of “2 ways to live” with most of these people and many others. They are very patient with me, and enjoy laughing with (and usually at!) me. It is of course very serious in content, so I am totally at sea if it results in a question, or comment, which forces me to leave my “script”.
There are good days and bad days at the market. It is all too easy to get caught up with people who are English speakers (and therefore with whom one can communicate and “click”). When I get into an Oshiwambo “conversation” with someone, it usually leaves me absolutely exhausted. I reach saturation point: no matter how hard I try, I can no longer “hear” what they are trying to say. What is needed is a nice big jug of oshikundu, drunk whilst playing another hand of Omilongo Omhaadi.
I have been doing regular workshops with a few guys from CEN (Church of England in Namibia). They are very fluent in English, so we have been able to get straight into the content of the NETS booklet. However, one workshop I did with some guys who have next-to-no English, and though I came out intact at the other end, I know that the amount of content covered was limited.
The feedback one gets is mixed. As I have not been going to market so regularly of late, one day when I returned, Matteus said something which I didn’t understand, and then commented in Oshiwambo “Have you forgotten how to speak now?” Other people respond by saying things like “You are talking so nicely now.” The grace of God through them, no doubt ……
I have had many opportunities to share the news about Jesus and what he has done for us, but in a very faltering way.
Pray with me: “O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.” (Psalm 51:15)
Onda loloka paife. (I am tired now)
Ka nangala po nawa. (sleep well)
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Rain, Rain come again ...
After a stifling heatwave, we have actually had some rain. In Malawi we called these ‘planters’ rains’ and it prepares the soil for the seeds. The main rains come at the end of the year.
One of the many benefits of working from home is having time with the children (this can also be a drawback, too!). We have time for craft (Caris and I have made a dolls’ house from a cardboard box. David is reading them ‘The Jungle Book’. When Étienne is at karate Caris and I make use of the Spar unloading area (concreted) to teach her to rollerblade (everywhere else is sand, sand, sand). Étienne takes his second grading today.
There are many interesting bugs here. However, I was not too pleased to be woken up by Caris with a fat, wriggly lizard tail two inches from my face. ‘Look, Mum!’ One simply smiles and suggests she find somewhere safe to put it!!
For want of something to read, I have been reading books we brought over for the children. Some are familiar from my own childhood and some are new. I confess a new appreciation of E Nesbit, having thoroughly enjoyed her Bastable books.
I am about 1/3 way through the Greek manual but have also done a lot on the appendix, dictionary and answer key. It is hard work but I do enjoy the challenge.
Oshikwanyama is also a challenge. Using words makes folk think you can speak well and they RATTLE off replies. Huh??? I am still looking for an educated (so as to have a grasp of grammar) Kwanyama person (with some spare time on their hands) to help me with the dictionary (correcting it). Koneka, who is helping us now (esp David) is not Kwanyama but speaks it very well. Many of our friends around here who have a good education are Ndonga. The church we attend in Ondangwa is Anglican and therefore Kwanyama, but Ondangwa is the captital of the Ndonga people so it is like a little linguistic island! I think we are very close to the Kwambi area, too.
I have downloaded some Photoshop tutorials off the internet and am enjoying doing one a week. David has bought a bike and uses it when working locally. This has a 3-fold benefit; I am left with the car so I can pick up Étienne from school, he gets some exercise, we save on petrol! Good or good?!
I will be putting up a few more pictures.
One is of the canal that brings our water supply from the Kunene River up on the Angolan border. People wash clothes in it, bathe in it, and draw water from it, animals drink from it and wallow in it. Hope they have a good purifying system this end!
Another picture is of an outhouse and ‘shower’ of a family. There is no running water and the shower is simply some stones to stand on (to prevent muddy feet) whilst you sluice yourself from a bucket. Meme Amalia has built her zinc hut on the property of people from church so that she can use their toilet and ‘shower’. There is also a pic of a woman bending over. She is washing clothes at a communal tap. This is very close to Meme Amalia’s place.
I will also post a photo of our post office so you can see where your letters come, and also our Spar.
There will also be posted the following: a child with a home-made wire car (very popular among the boys here), some pix from the market where David meets up with Joseph for language practice, and one taken in the Ondangwa prison when the CESA folk were here. These prisoners are very keen on workshops and those who have bursaries to study theological through NETS are hard workers. There is another prison further a field that David has also visited, where some folk are enrolled in NETS’ courses. One prisoner has just graduated with a diploma and it really has helped him as he was the ‘pastor’ of the other prisoners.
One of the many benefits of working from home is having time with the children (this can also be a drawback, too!). We have time for craft (Caris and I have made a dolls’ house from a cardboard box. David is reading them ‘The Jungle Book’. When Étienne is at karate Caris and I make use of the Spar unloading area (concreted) to teach her to rollerblade (everywhere else is sand, sand, sand). Étienne takes his second grading today.
There are many interesting bugs here. However, I was not too pleased to be woken up by Caris with a fat, wriggly lizard tail two inches from my face. ‘Look, Mum!’ One simply smiles and suggests she find somewhere safe to put it!!
For want of something to read, I have been reading books we brought over for the children. Some are familiar from my own childhood and some are new. I confess a new appreciation of E Nesbit, having thoroughly enjoyed her Bastable books.
I am about 1/3 way through the Greek manual but have also done a lot on the appendix, dictionary and answer key. It is hard work but I do enjoy the challenge.
Oshikwanyama is also a challenge. Using words makes folk think you can speak well and they RATTLE off replies. Huh??? I am still looking for an educated (so as to have a grasp of grammar) Kwanyama person (with some spare time on their hands) to help me with the dictionary (correcting it). Koneka, who is helping us now (esp David) is not Kwanyama but speaks it very well. Many of our friends around here who have a good education are Ndonga. The church we attend in Ondangwa is Anglican and therefore Kwanyama, but Ondangwa is the captital of the Ndonga people so it is like a little linguistic island! I think we are very close to the Kwambi area, too.
I have downloaded some Photoshop tutorials off the internet and am enjoying doing one a week. David has bought a bike and uses it when working locally. This has a 3-fold benefit; I am left with the car so I can pick up Étienne from school, he gets some exercise, we save on petrol! Good or good?!
I will be putting up a few more pictures.
One is of the canal that brings our water supply from the Kunene River up on the Angolan border. People wash clothes in it, bathe in it, and draw water from it, animals drink from it and wallow in it. Hope they have a good purifying system this end!
Another picture is of an outhouse and ‘shower’ of a family. There is no running water and the shower is simply some stones to stand on (to prevent muddy feet) whilst you sluice yourself from a bucket. Meme Amalia has built her zinc hut on the property of people from church so that she can use their toilet and ‘shower’. There is also a pic of a woman bending over. She is washing clothes at a communal tap. This is very close to Meme Amalia’s place.
I will also post a photo of our post office so you can see where your letters come, and also our Spar.
There will also be posted the following: a child with a home-made wire car (very popular among the boys here), some pix from the market where David meets up with Joseph for language practice, and one taken in the Ondangwa prison when the CESA folk were here. These prisoners are very keen on workshops and those who have bursaries to study theological through NETS are hard workers. There is another prison further a field that David has also visited, where some folk are enrolled in NETS’ courses. One prisoner has just graduated with a diploma and it really has helped him as he was the ‘pastor’ of the other prisoners.
Monday, October 09, 2006
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