Enguwantale - Home Again

It is like a dream now. As quickly as I was whisked into the village on Sunday evening, I reluctantly left on Friday. Going in, I didn't know what to expect; what would I do with myself for a whole week, how would I be received, and would there be an awkward readjustment to be being there? My doubts were of course groundless and it was apparent the moment that I stepped back into the old homestead that one week would not be enough, that I would be warmly received back into the community, and no readjustment would be necessary - it was as if I had never left.

I was greeted by the warm embraces of my former host mother and brothers and sisters. For the most part, the same faces were still around at the old homestead, which was comforting, as they were the ones I missed the most. The sounds, tastes, and smells of being back were evocative, bringing back my fondest memories. There were so many things that I didn't even know I missed.

With the exception of a few new shops in the village and a few upgrades at the school, things were pretty much as I left them. I returned to school to find that many of my students had moved on but many were still around and those that I were closest with were eager to catch up. In the community, I felt as if I was more warmly received than when I was actually there and active. The village headman didn't hesitate for even a second before coming to me in his drunken stupor and shouting to me in untranslatable drivel. I have to wonder if he even knows I had ever left.

It was a bit unnerving to be repeatably asked about my projects that never stuck; what about the garden? And the biogas digester? These were projects I put my heart into, and although I had known that they didn't stick, it was still difficult to field questions about why they failed. The remarks were not of a spiteful nature, but were simple inquiries and a grasping of what went wrong. I am at peace with it; I went in there and tried my best to improve the community. In hindsight, I personally took a lot more out of those projects than the people they were meant to help. I have learned that what may be a good idea to me, doesn't necessarily mean that it is a good idea in that particular context. The ideas need not come from me, but from the community; they know better than me, or anyone else for that matter, what their most pressing needs are.

My mark has been left on that community and after revisiting, I now know that none of those marks were tangible. By simply being there, I left my mark. That hasn't been made more apparent than simply revisiting and making myself present.

 Brother and sister reunited. Magano, whose name in Oshiwambo means "gift", is indeed a gift to this world. With a fresh English vocabulary since I last left her, our fondness for each other was only strengthened.

 What a treat to drink again from the fly infested clay pots holding the slightly fermented Owambo traditional drink called oshikundu.

 My idyllic image from Enguwantale; open grassland sparsely populated with the makalani palm and millet fields.

 The voluminous setting African sun is such a staple to the Enguwantale evenings.

Back to my old ways; driving the goats and cows to bed for the evening.

 During my 2-year absence, Shehamanje hadn't changed a bit and was as entertained by his rolling toy as ever.

Another Enguwantale staple, song and dance.