Etanga from last week

I wish that I could just chose without much thought, chose the tracks of the hours of recording of music, of hands clapping, feet pounding, stone grinding red ochre – Otjithe. Then I would move on and read my epidemiology and statistics and genetic aspects of Medical Anthropology. But it is exactly this anthropological interest that compels me to write now and break from my plan of reading that. I will read those later.

I just compiled a digital CD with a 80 minute sampling of the recordings I made during the course of six days before August 26 2008, when I left Etanga. I hear it every morning when I let the cold shower water spray onto my body and I belt out a roar as I dance – within that space – some of what I learnt there. I have been doing every since I left there.

Now I am writing about it.

Do you know how much though goes into selecting? This is what Danna Bullington, a missionary wife and a missionary in her own right, said to us all as she recalled what one of her close friends used to say whenever someone asked her whether she baked it herself “I selected it. Do you know how much thought goes into selecting?”

Baking. My dance professor Rebecca Lazier told us “I could be bake it for eight”, or did I just mishear and she meant “make it for eight.” Eight dancers, including me. But then again, she told me how technically challenging it would and in any case I was going to Africa, the place I am from, and I would my whole study that would be basis of my own senior dance thesis work. I would not need to be in her piece that was made for her professional company. I got over that, the desire to be in her piece, the fact that I did not make my own dance thesis and the consequences thereof – that I would not be a dance professional. At Etanga I met imwe at Mbunga’s shop while I showing and doing glissades to my translator Hoveka. Imwe had a swollen leg and he wanted to carry his plea for treatment back to Windhoek, because he had received no treatment so far. Then I knew something in public health had already pulled me away, piqued my interest such that I was never going to be the same again.

Last Tuesday was World Health Day. I was there at the march and at the ampitheatre where it was celebrated. I say celebrated because there was a lot of dance. Including a Herero speaking group called bullet, clad in animal skins around waist and on head, they danced with bent wobbling legs and bouncing steps while their behinds bounced and arms jiggled. It was amazing.

I wish I could have joined in (that was condoned as other people were dancing in the ampitheatre), but for me it was a performance. And so for me it was like at the proscenium stage, I just watched and absorbed.

Now I am going to write mini biographies or nanoethnographies of people who wish to be called “the Windhoek Urban Health Champion” as part of the “1000 Cities, 1000 Lives” campaign of World Health Day. I do not know how to do ethnography, but it seems that will be fine. They want “a brief description of activities (1 page) and their results” for each public health champion nominee. In any case, it will give me a sense of what this thing called qualitative research is and whether I want to purse it further…