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Gobabeb monthly payday is always a good day for the residents, and often a bad day for the local goats. Last Monday was true on both counts. I knew something was afoot the moment I stepped into the communal kitchen. The men, usually languishing in the periphery as the women ready their dinner, had undergone an impressive transformation. They were busy, scurrying about with bags and knives, and a great deal of blood on their hands. Occasionally lapsing from their native tongues into English, "Fresh meat," they boomed joyfully, "we're having fresh meat for dinner." A city-boy by birth, I approached the scene of carnage with curiosity.
I was soon informed that earlier that day, three (of five) of my 21 year old students had made a post-stipend beeline for the local Topnaar herdsman. Although I've never met the man behind the herd, I have weekly encounters with his comely livestock and their canine guide in the dry riverbed behind the station. When my students arrived to the homemade corral, they were given free choice among the animals. I heard tales of a young but broad shouldered billy, with ribs like a rhino and the odor of a warrior. Price: $33.00. The three students slaughtered and skinned the goat with a kitchen knife, and then carried their plunder to our house and slung it on the floor of the kitchen. As a matter of pride and Herero tradition, they quartered and prepared "everything but the hooves" for the imminent feast or the freezer. Special tonight: goat lung, boxed wine, and booty-shaking.
The Job
The Gobabeb Training and Research Centre is like a small and isolated pond in the Namib Desert, and it's no surprise that chucking a goat in its center creates quite the proverbial ripple. As with any crew united in extreme isolation, small changes can have large influence. With this in mind, it's a trip to be the newest chapter in the Grinnell-at-Gobabeb saga. The Gobabeb station seems ever on the cusp of big change, and educated and forward thinkers like us Fellows have the potential for serious impact. Indeed, I hear stories about past Grinnellians and can see their accomplishments on a daily basis. These range from spectacular (websites, hundreds of thousands of dollars in grants), to discreet (effective lesson plans, slick GIS maps). Diploma fresh in hand, I'm primed and capable to take the torch one year further.
Before running however, one has to learn how to walk. And in the case of the IT portion of my job, walking is actually kind of complicated. It involves lots and lots of Linux commands and network troubleshooting. It also requires occasional hand-to-hand combat with computer viruses. My first day after seeing Julia off in Namibia's capitol of Windhoek, one such virus attacked the Gobabeb computer system (of course it was my first day). It called itself, always in all caps, RONTOK.D WORM. In just over 24 hours, RONTOK laid 16,000 infected files on the server and backup server, and hapless me was solely responsible for the full retaliation. I was frequently reminded to "please be careful," because "fifty years of arid-ecology data" and innumerable scientific projects were in imminent peril. During desperate times like these, my mother's sage words rang true: "It is the fate of every IT support for people to attach themselves to you like drowning rats." After a stressful string of 16 hour days the virus was
safely eradicated, and my IT creds exploded through the roof.
IT work contrasts sharply with my other primary responsibility: Teaching. As opposed to the foreign landscape of the Linux console, academia is home turf, albeit from a teacher's point of view. I am sometimes called "Mr. John Guittar," despite being the same age as my five Namibian students. Just to avert any problems, however, I cultivate a healthy beard.
Fortunately, as long as I stay within the semester theme of Environmental Impact Assessments, and fulfill a few University requirements, I can teach when, what, and how I please. This has gradually morphed from burden to blessing. I've been able to instate things like the "GIST5 Battle for Typing Supremacy," victor yet to be determined. I can schedule field trips at will. For example, a few days ago I canceled the daily routine to escort my students to a public discussion in the nearby town of Swakopmund. An Austrailian Uranium company was proposing the development of a massive desalination plant on the Atlantic coast, which would theoretically yield twenty million cubic meters of clean water for their heap leaching process (an ecological nightmare). Both the mine and the desalinator were under heated public scrutiny. Upon our arrival my students quickly infiltrated the crowd of professionals, and their eagerness to engage local stakeholders about tailings, pipelines, lichen, and water tables was only
equaled by their appetite for finger sandwiches. This type of public interaction and practical experience lies at the heart of Gobabeb's role as a training center, and I am grateful for the opportunity to offer my help.
The Rest
I've always felt that the caliber of my relaxation is just as important as the integrity of my vocation. Following, I can assuredly say that Gobabeb Saturday afternoons are relaxing to the maximum, if you approach them lazily enough. The sun is firm but reasonable. The water tepid but sweet. Bare feet and shirtlessness are suitable accessories. There is a pool, for godsakes. Today, for instance, I slept in until eight, spent two hours making breakfast, one hour chatting over coffee, two hours leisurely working in the office, one hour contemplating the rare presence of a cloud in the northern vista...and that actually that brings us up to the present. If everything goes as planned, tomorrow will be of similar ilk. In fact, other than self-induced workaholicism (a Grinnell-at-Gobabeb tradition), little can disrupt my out-of-office days. When boredom threatens, entertainment can entail restarting a CD, culinary experimentation, ascending giant piles of sand, or mastering the "fey-de-lay-sa" dance from
Namibia's Caprivi region, which is done by standing on your head and wildly thrusting your pelvis around.
My students and I all moved to Gobabeb from a comparative city, so adapting to this newfound ultra-isolation was a serious step. At best, we only get one supply trip to the port-town of Walvis Bay each month, and it is rabidly anticipated for weeks in advance. Walvis, despite its fishy odor and incoherent tangle of roads, is a town of surpassing sweetness for at least three reasons: 1) There is a mailbox 2) There is an ice cream vendor 3) There is a pizza oven. After groceries, these are the required stops. If we have any extra time, we attend to our own personal shortages - for myself, the most dire being beer, pool tables, and green grass. Time is at a premium, so the moment we pile out of our minibus, manicured and steeped in perfume, it's all business.
Overlooking a few inconveniences, I embrace this lifestyle of feast and famine with hippie pride. It bears a striking resemblance to the hyper-arid environment around me, wherein bushes can wait years for a good rain, and I like this. Like most Americans, my life has been padded with a perverse availability of every conceivable good and service. It's downright refreshing to grapple with a little shortage. And as I presumed, life without boundless fresh milk, microwaves, and kegs of cheap beer isn't so bad. I've developed a fondness for canned beets. The local source of carbohydrates, a corn-based gruel called Pap, has its subtle virtues. I no longer miss microwaves or toasters. When my friend Kaarina, a Namibian studying for her university diploma, offers me a homemade vanilla muffin, I savor it tenderly. I have learned to cherish the available.
Already I can see a sweltering Namib Christmas looming on the sandy horizon. Somehow the first quarter of my stay is almost complete. In this preliminary report I've outlined a bit of my new life, but suffice it to say, I've left one or two surprises for the next installment (i.e. there is an animal called an Aardwolf). Until we meet again I will remain poised for rain (it's been 18 months) as I delve ever deeper into the Gobabeb web of feasts, lectures, and IT battles.
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