Games of Namibian children I

One day, as I was walking in the village Kaluvi, Namibia, I had seen some girls playing. There were two teams: the hunters and the hunted. Two hunters were standing on each side of a rectangular playground that the children marked in the dusty soil. A group of girls were the hunted - they were playing the ducks. They had to move quickly inside the rectangle while attempting to avoid a ball that the two hunters were throwing at them. The game was very similar to one that I used to play in Romania when I was a child. In my country it was called Ducks and Hunters (Ratele si vanatorii). I noted some differences, though:

•  While in Romania we used a piece of chalk to draw the limits of our playground on the asphalt road, the children in Kaluvi, Namibia, were building their playground using the dusty soil. 
•  While we had colorful balls to play with, the children there had a ball made out of plastic bags that they tied together with ropes in a round shape. 
•  While we played this game boys and girls together, no boy had joined them in that particular game; during my stay there I have never seen boys and girls playing this game together although it is likely that they do. 
•  While we had shoes to protect our feet, Namibian children were playing barefoot or in simple plastic slippers.

Some things, however, were no different: their joy as they ran and ducked the ball.

I joined them in their game and became a child once again, happy that I could find playmates at other end of the world. I did not know their language nor did they know mine but games seemed to need no words. Just like a smile, many are a universal language that makes us feel at home wherever we are. 

PS. Our countries are wealthier than that of the children in my story and still we forget to smile, play and to be thankful for what we have.Why?

Story III: The Lion King, the Jackal and the Hyena (Harming others is harming yourself)

 It is said that long time ago the mighty lion got very ill. As he was lying ill, he asked that all the animals came to him. So, the animals quickly answered their king's calling. One only, the jackal, was missing. The hyena was among the animals who gathered to watch their king and he saw that the jackal had not came. He cunningly went to the lion king and whispered to him:
- The jackal is now looking for food and that is why he is not here with us, where he should be.
The lion then got very upset and he ordered the jackal to come. The king said to him:
-Jackal, you do know that I am very ill and that I have called all the animals to me! You alone were not here with me.
- My king, said the Jackal, I might not have been right here with you but I was very worried for you. I went to a witch doctor to ask for an advice that might help you get better . The witch doctor said that you need to have the skin of the hyena. His skin is the only cure for your illness!
- OK then! said the lion. I will do it; I will call all the animals here again and when the hyena arrives, I will take his skin.

Not knowing about the king's plan, the hyena came to join him again. He sat very close to the king, somewhere in the first rows of the animal crowd. The lion had then skinned him as planned.

Story III related by Nicholas the Treesleeper  in 2011

Story II The vulture and the turtle

Once upon a time the Vulture met the Turtle.

-"Say Turtle, we are having this great meeting on the other side of the river. Would you like to come"?
- "Sure I would, but I cannot get there. I can't swim. However, I need to ask you to take this bag that my wife sent and carry it to the other side of the river".
The vulture agreed but just before he lift the bag lying on the ground, the turtle slipped in. Soon after the vulture reached the other side of the river, the turtle quickly left the bag without letting the vulture the chance to see it. He was surprised to see the turtle had managed to cross the river and finally come to the meeting.
After the meeting the turtle asked him again:
- "Say Vulture, now that you brought the bag from my wife to this side of the river, would you be so kind to take it back?"
Still wondering how the turtle got there, the vulture accepted to carry the bag once again. As he flew, he began thinking that the bag was a little too heavy. More, he could not stop wandering about how the turtle finally managed to cross the river considering it could not swim. He thus decided to look inside the bag and see what he had been carrying. So he opened the bag and saw the turtle was hiding inside. Utterly upset about having been fooled by the turtle, he left the bag right there on the ground and flew back home alone. Still away from home, the turtle needed to find another lift over the river so he decided to tell his story to other vultures in hope that he would get some help. The vultures agreed to give him a ride back home; they gave the turtle a stick and said:
-"Turtle, you need to hold this stick tightly while I carry you over the river. Beware that you cannot speak. Just hold on to this stick tightly using your mouth. Should you make the mistake to speak, you will certainly fall."
While they were flying over the river some chickens saw the turtle and laughed at it:
-"Hahaha. Come and see a turtle flying!"
Annoyed by their laughter the turtle said:
-"Oh! Shut up!"

The Turtle then fell in the river where she remained up to present days. Today the Turtle is rarely seen leaving the water.

This is how the Turtle left the solid ground to live in the waters and this is another story related by Nicholas, a man from the Treesleeper Tribe. 

Monica A

Stories from Namibia I

They say the jackal is a very cunning animal...

One day the jackal and the hyena were sitting by the fire. While they were resting, the jackal said:
- Hear me, Hyena! Let's kill our mothers and eat them.
The hyena went home and killed his mother. The jackal, however, led his mother farther away in a cave, took an old animal skin and showed it to the hyena as a sign of his mother's death. As the two animals were eating the hyena's mother by the fire, the jackal burst into laughter.
- Why are you laughing, Jackal? Asked the hyena.
- Well, I was just thinking of how we both killed our mothers.
Days went by. The Jackal sneaked out every day to where  his mother was and brought her food. The hyena saw him going back and forth daily and he began to wonder: "What is the Jackal doing every day? Why is he going again and again to that cave with food"? So, he decided to follow the Jackal only to find himself  struck with great surprise when he saw the jackal's mother alive. He killed her and went back by the fire. When the Jackal returned to the hidden cave he found his mother dead  and cried bitterly. As he also arrived back to the fire, the hyena asked:
- Why are you crying, Jackal?
- I am not crying. My eyes are teary because of all this smoke! Said the Jackal.

This is the end of the first story as I have written it down after meeting Nicholas, the Treesleeper.

PS. Today I tried to remember this story as I was chatting with some of my colleagues. My memory slightly failed me when I named the animals in the story. It was a hyena not a lion...

Regards,

M
- 

Pe drum spre/ in Africa. Din paginile unui jurnal prea scurt

Am deschis un jurnal prafuit pierdut printre carti si am alunecat brusc printre sunetele trecutului. S-au scurs doi ani de cand tacerea a invaluit paginile acestui blog. Doi ani de cand sunt acasa, in Romania. A trecut prea mult timp, am uitat prea mult. Europa ucide suflete. Africa ucide trupuri. Nu stiu ce e mai rau.

Din Africa, multi ar vrea sa urce in Lumea Alba. In Europa sunt blocuri cu pereti grosi de beton, multe haine, prea multe, bani si mancare; toate acestea mentin trupuri, vieti. 

Eu vreau sa cobor spre sud, in Lumea Neagra, sa fug de locul unde cred ca viata e prea adesea moarta si sufletele se pierd intre lucruri desarte, uitand ceea ce este frumos si adevarat. Ciudat cum noi oamenii nu suntem niciodata multumiti cu ceea ce avem: eu as vrea sa cobor, ei sa urce sau poate e invers.

Imi amintesc adesea de lumea de acolo, din Africa. Am stat prea putin pentru a o cunoaste, dar suficient cat sa tanjesc dupa o revenire. Pana voi gasi drumul inapoi, las aici cateva pagini dintr-un jurnal prea scurt. Jurnalul celor 3 luni si jumatate in care am stat in Namibia.

Revin maine cu una dintre povestile lui Nicholas, un barbat din tribul Treesleeper (San/ Bushmen). Pe Nicholas l-am intalnit intr-o dimineata in timp ce faceam autostopul spre Grootfontein. (Da! Am facut autostopul insotita de un prieten si am intalnit oameni buni! Nu! Nu cred in mitul "bon sauvage"! Trecand peste vulnerabilitatea etica a termenului, cred ca oameni buni si rai sunt si aici si acolo). Pe Nicholas viata mi l-a scos in cale doar cateva ore. Pacat! As fi putut invata atat de mult de la el...

Sper ca in urmatoarele zile sa gasiti in aceste povestiri o faramita de intelepciune si un gram cunoastere. Caci cunoasterea fara intelepciune este zadarnica si nimiceste omul in loc sa-l inalte.

Pe curand,

M

I am a woman - Namibian poem

Good evening,

It is a long time since I have not written on this blog. I will not be writing one of my stories today. I am only inserting a poem I found in an art gallery in Swakopmund.

I am a woman

by Emmerencia !Haosemas

I am a woman

pretty as the desert rose

shining like a star in the Namib

my heart the golden hue

of the dunes

on windy days

when the sun flares up

obscuring our view

then I know

how to love

how to nurture and comfort

it's a precious gift

I am a woman

(published by Women's Leadership Centre/ 2007/Windhoek/ Namibia)

Summer Snow / Zapada de vara

Summer Snow

Dear friends, today I will not be writing in English much. I would only like to say that since I arrived here, I have had the time to explore who I am and what I want for my future. Among other things, I have written some poems. However, they are all in Romanian, just as the one below.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and I am dedicating this poem to a colleague here as a gift from his invisible friend -that sweet old game with anonymous presents-, and to my friends back home.

Zapada de vara

Prieteni, astazi nu voi scrie prea mult in engleza. Voi spune insa doar ca din ziua in care am ajuns aici am avut timp sa ma gandesc cine sunt si ce vreau sa fac in viitor. Printre altele, am scris cateva poezii. Toate sunt insa in limba romana, ca si cea de mai jos.

Maine este Anul Nou. Dedic deci aceasta poezie unui coleg de aici, al carui prieten anonim sunt –asta datorita vechiului joc cu daruri anonime- si tuturor prietenilor de acasa.

Zapada de vara

Nu vad zapada afara,

Iar fulgii nu-mi par ca iar zboara

Jucandu-se lin pe la geamuri

Printre turturi de frig si prin ramuri.

Nu-s oameni din nea pe alee;

Si nici in ograda inghetata;

Nu-s urme ascunse-n zapada,

Nici sanii n-alearga pe strada.

Şi uiţi ca-i decembre

Cand iarna omatul nu cerne

Si vara tot crede ca-i vreme

Sa arda in luna decembre.

Aici nu-s colinde de seara

Dar plina e seara de vara

De gaze si greieri de noapte

Ce striga cu zel printre soapte.

Si plin ii nisipul de-afara

De urme ce-ndat desfasoara

Un act ce din zorii de vara

Se-arata voios iar si iara.

Urme de miriapod si furnici,

De insecte si rame mai mici,

De pasari si fluturi si apoi

De ganduri ce zboara ‘napoi.

E liniste aici asta seara

Si Anul cel Nou ma-mpresoara

Incet, in lumina de seara

Cand cerne zapada de vara.