Update January 17th

Lets take a dive in my world, I want to throw you right in the deep end and see if you can keep up with what I am saying (I hope you will, otherwise you may end up clicking your way out).

I somehow received an appointment today. I have no job now, but still I am appointed, as the editor of the “Beacon”. It sounds more prestigious that it really is – the newsletter of our St Boniface Parish.
“The pudding (suliach) in Bulgarian was nice, why did you eat so little” asks my mom, asking about the rice pudding I made.
“ I did not want so much and anyway, I want to leave for you and Pikki [brother]”

Alright, back to the Beacon. It is a not even a newsletter that is sent to peoples mailboxes, but is instead a black and white printed leaflet that is distributed on special masses (that is services for you non Catholic folks). I got myself appointed by opening my big mouth and saying that it would be great if one of us started a newsletter for our youth group, which presents a critical reflection of any of the debates and discussion we will have in our incipient youth group. The parish council member, a plump lady called Auntie Jennie, then said “yes, indeed, we need our Beacon to come out in a new format, we want it to be like a booklet” said explained holding up the booklet for a mass to come in February. “Now you are the editor of the Beacon” she just declared and that was it.
Now I will meet her at Church every Saturday at 11. “Eleven when you are sleeping, we meet on Saturdays to do the Beacon” she told all of us sitting in front of her. “Eleven at night or in the morning?” I asked, stupidly, and got the answer expected “Eleven in the morning!” they all exclaimed. “I am awake then, 11 at night I am sleeping, but in the morning it is fine”.

I am glad about this. Really I am, it is hardly a burden. As we held hands and began singing afterwards, in a circle, I thought about the software I would need to learn to produce those leaflets – the formatting – but then I realized that it would probably be real easy – or a cakewalk (as Matt, the manager at Princeton University Dinning Service, Whitman used to say) – compared to LaTeX, the typesetting software I am using to type math notes for the Fulbright candidates who must take the GRE on February 6th. Phew, that was a lot to write about. Then again, I am entering this field of writing and it is really stimulating.

I sent my poster article , the one on “Bread and Health”, to the major press houses in Namibia. As for The Namibian, my number one bet, I am still waiting to hear back from them. They at least replied, through the editor,Gwen Lister, who said had to meet with the NewsDesk to decide what columns they would have for the year. I am still waiting to hear back from others, which include the HIV clinicians society – for their newsletter (if it exists) - , the New Era and Insight. M’kariko told me that Insight pays N$ 1 per word for the articles. She knows because she wrote for them and now she wants to do Journalism in the Stats, which is why she applied for the Fulbright and is studying Math with me. I taught what I learnt, that 1/7 is 0.142875 and that’s for all of you too. Memorize this decimal so that way you may know that N$ 1 is just under 14c in US$.

So how much more of this writing must I do now?
Well to tell you more, because there is indeed more, I am also looking for work. I stopped by the Namibian Institute of Pathology and I found out everything I could want to know about what research they are doing – next to nothing. The research that is, they are doing next to nothing research. Let me rewrite that sentence: I found out that they are doing next to nothing in the way of research. They do initially process the blood samples for HIV drug resistance studies, but then they send the sample to South Africa, where the RNA is extracted and sequenced for mutations. Which leads me to wonder, what is actually being done there? Good news is that they will be starting a research division. So far they have been measuring the viral loads of patients on anti-retroviral treatment and also doing early infant detection of HIV via PCR sequencing of any viral genome on a dried, brown, blood spots – the way of collecting the sample for the infant. Apparently, medical scientist – who do this work – are scare in Namibia and they are usually left to do these diagnoses while the Senior Medical Scientist, with whom I spoke, does the work for the HIV sentinel survey (seroprevalence) and drug resistance studies. I told him that I want to be involved in the aforementioned interesting projects rather than just doing routing lab work, but he did not reassure me that it would be possible. To work there, I need to be trained, because there is a big difference between working with tissues cultured in a research lab and human blood in a medical diagnostic lab. This, unbelievably, requires a two year internship with NIP, which I could start right away. Trouble is that I want to study soon, formally next year, and I don’t see myself in that lab, underground (literally) for two years. So I told him this in email and all my other expectations, but I found out he does not have time to reply. So I will go meet him on Monday to discuss again..

I need to find out how much I really want this.
On the other hand, I can keep on the writing track and go to UNAM and see if there is any medical anthropologist there (Dr Debbie LeBeau or Dr Tom Fox) or this man from University of Toronto that has been an HIV and social practices annual study since 2006, I believe, who could use my help.

Then there is this thing of me applying for the board of directors of the biggest and oldest AIDS support organization in Namibia. It seems rather ambitious (damm it is), but there is noting in the application posted in the paper that says I am ineligible. The announcement specified that clients with similar “professional backgrounds” were encouraged to apply. I have molbio background (one root of medicine) and I also worked for the health facility census. So hell ya , let me apply! Indeed, I went to Princeton and it may work out, that they accept me as someone who can type up more than just minutes of their meetings, but meaningful, retrospective, inspective, reflective, pieces on what is going on there.
I think I will apply. It will be a great experience doing so.
Hell, I was rejected by the University of Namibia, and that was really funny, I get rejected again I’ll fall to ground, as I used to, which always brought others to laughter too.

Yesterday I tried to cook Oshifima, our traditional cake like porridge. To me this porridge is part of my culture, yet is foreign, because I never grew up eating it, till I took an active liking to it when I visited my grandmother two years ago (I have visited her since then). I found out something I was expecting , following a recipe to the T just does not work with “ethnic” food. The recipe posted on the side of the packet was just wrong and I was pathetic in my attempts to use American style measuring cups to keep the proportions exact in my quest to cook this food made of a pearl maize flour and water. The pearl or mahungu, as it is called, is just unpredictable, really mercurial, when it comes to how much water it needs to make a nice porridge. Luckily, my dog snowy is here and she ate my failed porridge. Then the lady who works for us, Meme Ndeapo (Mrs “I have arrived” this is a really English translation) assisted me in cooking this and it worked. I think I will write an article on this, it was real funny.

Anyway, that’s all for now, all I can bear, I need to go do some math.
First I am gonna do some exercise and then some math. I need both of those things (exercise I get about twice daily, but math, I need more of)


Oh my dad filed for divorce, but that is just a sidenote. In any case, yesterday, his car came and pulled just a few meters away from the gate of our house, at angle to where my mothers car was after work. And my mother and brother were there. Doors opened with that distinct car sound and they closed. My dad spoke with them, gave them notes from his wallet, came up to the gate of the house, whose white bars I was clutching, grabbed onto my hand smiled and gave me pocket money to (just under U$14 dollars). That was pocket money. I pray for peace in my family.

Please pray for grandaunt who probably has a brain tumor. My mom said that if she undergoes the operation to remove it, she could die. But not removing is also certain death. There, she is caught in between a rock and a hard place, which are menacingly moving to mash her. Mash? Is that all that happens to us, we turn into mash potatoes in the ground?