looking back to Septembers 2015 and 2016:
I have celebrated two birthdays in Namibia. The first was in 2015, about 10 or 12 weeks
after I settled in ‘at site’, in my small desert town. I had heard that in Namibia, the celebrant
is responsible for his or her festivities, though I’ve since seen plenty of
evidence that’s not always true. However, no one in my small circle of acquaintances at that point would
know it was my birthday, and I had a hankering for yellow cake with chocolate
ganache.
Coincidentally and happily, my Peace Corps boss and her assistant, the
magnificent Linda and Ephraim, planned a site visit for the day, to see how I
was settling in to home and work. So
that worked out very nicely indeed.
I arranged to meet them at the Ûiba Ôas Crystals Market, with which I
consult, as they headed from a colleague’s site to mine. I was hoping that Linda, who bedecks herself
in PC volunteers’ projects’ products, would pick herself up a few aquamarines
or amethysts. She decided she would
wait, however, seek out advice, and return for a real investment purchase – so
we just toured the market and met a few of the miners and merchants there. Then we headed home, where we toured
Dreamland Garden (“I love this place,” Linda exclaimed. She had seen it when she first vetted my
project’s potential, and was delighted to visit again.) and then headed to my
office.
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| I wasn't in photo-taking mode in 2015, given the newness and company and all, so this is 2016's cake, which was just the same as the year before. |
At the office, I whipped out the cake I’d baked the night before,
jabbed in the candles, jogged to the libraries to invite colleagues, and set
the thing alight as the colleagues and bosses serenaded me with the standard
birthday song. That’s when I discovered
Gideon’s lovely singing voice. Ephraim and he reminisced about their childhood birthdays and the lust for cake. “Now I just ask, ‘Where’s the meat?’” Ephraim
confessed to much laughter. Later Ester stopped by, and I demanded a song from her before handing over a slice. “I love you with my heart,” she told me, and
I have never heard a nicer birthday sentiment. Later another colleague came by and discussed politics whilst munching,
and finally two little girls, Kasey and Marisa, poked in looking for crayons,
spotted the mostly-hidden pan and exclaimed, “Cake!” So I demanded my vocal tribute and unloosed
the last two slices. It all made for a
lovely birthday
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| Eunice sings for her slice of supper - or dessert. |
The following year, in 2016, dear friends in the US sent an e-mail
saying they wanted to send me a chunky cash gift that I could use for a
Swakopmund spree. As I read their
e-mail, I was mentally composing my response:
“You’re so very kind, and I am entirely grateful. However, it’s just too much – my life here
isn’t one of any significant sacrifice, I’m enjoying myself and I would just
feel like a charlatan if I were to accept...” Then I got to the final line of theirs:
“Don’t you dare say you can’t
accept!” I could hear L’s voice
especially in my head, and she can get a bit ferocious. So I re-composed: “Thank you so much! I’ll book a fancy hotel and spend a night or
two.”
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| View from my birthday room - semi-clear sky on birthday eve. |
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| View from the fancy roof deck - cloudy sky, birthday |
Which I did. The day after the certificate ceremony, I headed for the Beach Hotel, six stories of moderate luxury capped
with a roof deck with ‘swimming pool,’ which is actually a small-ish, unheated
hot tub. The view is amazing, and the
staff are professional yet friendly, and I had a balcony over the beach, and I
just flopped onto that crisply-linened bed with the slider ajar and listened to
the waves. Bliss. Bliss, with a more-than-brisk wind slicing
off the Atlantic, but you only need the slider open a smidge to hear the waves,
and I’m okay with cold.
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| I take many, many photos of flamingos. I love them so. |
On birthday-day itself I woke early for a beach walk and marveled at
the flamingos in their lagoon, and the slamming waves and dramatic wind. Then I walked the beach to the fancier hotel,
which has a spa but no roof deck, and got myself professionally scrubbed and
oiled. Limber and shining with
emoluments, I headed back to my hotel to watch the sun set over the ocean. This isn’t necessarily a thing in the desert,
where sunsets are most often gentle, nor yet in Swakop, where the heavy fog
over the Benguela current usually obscures light and color. My PC vol friends A. and S. were joining me
for dinner, and I urged them on to catch the last of the glow.
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| Grey skies, rough seas, high winds - perfect celebrating conditions for the desert-dweller. |
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| Rather a good sunset for Swakop. |
But not the last of the wind! Or
the cold! A. lives well inland, in
savannah country, where it gets hot and stays hot. (My desert setting gets at least cool for at
least a few very-early-morning hours even in the hottest part of the year.) In Swakop, real heat is rare. S. is a Swakopmunder, so she was bundled up,
and we’d reminded A. to bring scarves and jackets, but really none of us were
prepared for that high-level gale scrubbing the cold out of that Antarctic
current and blasting it across us on the deck. We laughed and laughed, and scurried down the stairs to warm up (though A. and I both tried to store some of the cold inside our bones, to release when the home weather hits its baking worst). Then we had a fine dinner at the hotel’s
fancy restaurant, with a lovely South African Bordeaux-blend. Definitely not one of the sacrificial-service
experiences! (A. and S. were both most impressed by the multi-ply toilet paper at the hotel -- seriously, screaming from the bathroom.)
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| From Arizona; first saw snow at age 24, in DC. |
Back home, I made myself a repeat of 2015’s cake and brought it to the
office Monday, and extorted lots more songs. Everyone was generous and tuneful. I do love candles and singing for birthdays. (And luxury hotel stays with fancy wine! Thank you, L & G!!)
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| Anneline, Petra (who had her own birthday cake a few days later), Rita and Ndategelela |
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| Ester and Valerie |
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