Lograr

No he logrado ligar con un chico que conocí mediante Facebook. También lo conocí mediante facebook y no nos vimos nunca. Es muy interesante y me divierto mucho cotándoles esta historía, pero antes de que la cuente, permiten que les digo porqué escribo en español en facebook.

Hace más de tre años de una tarde durante mi tercero año en Princeton cuando fui a buscar a mi amigo Zachary Marr. Hay gente que no tiene buenos recuerdos de sus años en universidad, pero para mi era un época buenísima porque llegué muchas cosas que me apasionaban excepto aprender español – era mi asignatura pendiente. Zachary no estaba en su dormitorio, pero la puerta estaba abierta y entré por allí (sin que lo supiera porqué soponía que no le importara – eramos buenos amigos). Y creo que al encima de su cama había unos cuadernos de español con fotocopias. Me encontré con una lista de verbos españoles y había el verbo “lograr” con su traducción en inglés - “to achieve or succeed” . Al pesar de que Zachary tiene una madre mexicana que por supuesto es una hispano hablante, Zachary hablaba más inglés que español – aunque estudiaba este idioma para sus estudios de literaturas comparadas nunca lo oí hablar este idioma. Quizás fuera solo una lengua académica para él y no como una lengua viva por la que se expresaba en su vida diaria. No pienso que le costaba hablar. Es más que le resultara extraño y artificial hablar este idioma. Ya que sabe que hablo y escribo español ¿vaya a escribirme en este idioma? ¿Zachary, vas a responderme a mi, por fin, el idioma de una parte de tu patrimonio cultura, aunque no te consideres como un “chicano?” Chico oye, ¡te extraño mucho, te echo de menos!

Por mi parte, también tengo una batalla con mi patrimonio lingüístico. Al principio del año he dado el salto de aprender Oshiwambo – el idioma de mi padre y he cargado un libro gratis desde el Internet para aprenderlo. Me ha resultado bastante útil aquel libro, como tiene las reglas gramaticales y las explica muy bien. También he aprovechado del hecho que hay una mujer Oshiwambo que viene limpiar nuestra casa dos veces a la semana y habla muy poco inglés pero mucho Oshindongo – el dialecto de Oshiwambo que mi libro enseña. ¿Porqué no la he ayudo a mejorar su inglés? Con respecto al español, quedo casi todos los día con un español que se llama Juan en café para hacer un intercambio de lenguas – hablamos inglés y luego español. Pero no hago este con Ndeapo – la mujer “alma de casa” (pero no es la esposa de mi padre que tampoco vive con nosotros – se mudó el año pasado) ¿Porqué? A lo mejor deriva de que todavía no me ha preguntado hacer un intercambio – le vaya bastante bien sólo hablar conmigo en Oshiwambo y charlar, porqué antes de que empezara estudiar este idioma muy diferente del español e inglés, solía callarse.

Por este chico que de Facebook, se llama Ruan y lo conocí porque se fijó en el “post” sobre la mutilación de dos niños en un pueble en el norte de Namibia, porqué han cometido el pecado de la sodomía, y Ruan respondió a mi mensaje expresando su pena y horror. Me solicité un artículo sobre este caso para la nueva revista del movimiento para derechos para los homosexuales en Namibia – LGBT network. Luego le mandó un intento escrito y mientras me enamoré del. Era como una obsesión – la de aventura – y he incluso escrito dos poemas para el pero no ha quedado muy impresionado por ellos, respondiendo en una manera equivoca al recibirlos. ¡Por fin me ha escrito algo concreto hoy! diciéndome “no te conozco y por eso no puedo ayudarte con las cosas personales. Es mejor que tengamos una relación profesional.” Se refiere a mi última carta en la que le dijo que quería conocerlo para poder enamorarme del.

En su modo, mi ha rechazado el intento de ligar con el. Bueno pero, prefiero que me diga simplemente “no puedo, tengo novio” y si no tiene uno solo “no puedo” , como la cantante en la canción “obesesión.” Durante todo esta búsqueda a una pareja, me he dado cuenta de ser un poco como el cantante de esta canción.

“… mi única esperanza es que oigas mis palabras…” canta el y ella responde enseguida “No puedo tengo novio” que provoca “no me enganches por favor” de su parte

I must write

I must write! A lo largo de un día, como hoy, domingo, paso horas pensando en las cosas que podría escribir en este blog, pero al fin no les escribo porque ¡hay tan mucho que escribir! Sería imposible escribirlo todo.

Je ne sais pas pourquoi mais au tours d’un jour tel qu’aujourd’hui je passes d’heures entière à penser à ce que je pourrais écrire ici au blog, mais je finis toujours par rien écrire, puisque il serait impossible de l’écrire tout.

Non lo capisco per niente pero tutti i giorni, come questo – è domenica – passo un ora all’altra pensanda a le cose che potrei scrivere in questo blog ma alla fine non ne scrivo niento perchè tutto mi viene troppo, mi sembra una cosa così dificile da fare che non la faccio. Pero qui scrivero qualcosa per mettervi al corrente della mia vita.

I do not understand it. The three paragraphs above all discuss the same thing, though the one in Italian expands upon the first two. I often feel overwhelmed by all of the things that happen to me, not because they are bad, on the contrary they feel my life with happiness. But because I feel the need to write them all this is impossible. Nonetheless, through writing at least I allow some of my memories to come back to life.

Today was a most wonderful day! I realized how blessed I am – again, but I was also convicted of how I take so much for granted. I spoke to my grandmother this afternoon, while I was alone at home. My mother has left to the coast for work and my brother, as per his habit since I got here from Princeton, is out on the weekends. In any case, my grandmother in Bulgaria lamented how none of us, neither me nor my brother, had even made a mention of the clothes they sent us via my mother who was in Bulgaria. I apologized and she accepted it saying “it’s ok this is just a critique from one friend (comrade) to another (how would you translate “drugarska kritika”?).

I feel this post must come to an end. But yes, I am grateful. For my family, for my ability to run to move as I did when I ran home this late afternoon from the cathedral, through town, through Windhoek West up the hill, past the open space set aside for our park – in Dorado Park (my “suburb” – but its just a stones through away from the city, so not a suburb in the American sense) and down the hill to my street. No I am going to give you my street name, next thing I know you’ll be stalking me psycho (actually if you are reading this you could only be a friend, because I give this address to friends only.)

I am applying for the Fulbright grant, at long last. I need to write a personal statement, but write now I am torn between two different directions. One will be to speak about AIDS and prisoners and how I want to do research that will contribute to our knowledge about people on the margins who are effectively “invisible”, João Biehl put in “Will To Live: AIDS and the Politics of Survival”. The other approach would be write about malaria and how it represents a problem that has to be approached from multiple aspects – population genetics of the parasite and people, statistical inquiries into indicators of disease and survival, medical diagnostics and diagnoses and of anthropological (sociological) aspects. But I do not yet have any experience with malaria in any way, while my job at the ministry of health last year brought me close to the problem of the marginalization of the prisons. But actually, I do have an experience with malaria! The two malaria professors at the University of Namibia! They both took me out to lunch on separate occasions.

The first time, the molecular biologist I spoke too (Professsor A) wanted me to volunteer in his group for his lab projects. This would have entailed doing Western blots and other lab procedures that take eons to do, such as knock out as well purification of certain plant matter in search of antimalarial activity. I turned him down because I am really more interested in the anthropological side and the very reason I am here in Namibia after Princeton is because I want to explore ways of research outside of the lab. Alright, he understood. So when Professor B (his name actually starts with B as well!) came and asked me if I would be willing to help him and A write a

review article about the anthropological aspects of malaria, for a pioneering Namibian academic journal, I was excited. But I soon realized I would need formal recognition – as member of their research group – for me to publish anything with them. When I asked them to give me formal status and a transport stipend (the cost of traveling to the University of Namibia each day from my house should be covered by them, since they approached me and I am volunteering, for Pete’s sake! – Do I know a Pete? Peter yeah, but no Pete, anyway). So Professor B said he would contact the head of the research group and he would come back to me. He never did, in spite of my calls.

I was then close to doing cool research on the primary literature – and looking at collected data from the ministry of health – for a malaria review article, but it feel through. Had I had my masters in epidemiology already, things would have been different, perhaps? So that is what I will write about for my Fulbright!

Dinner is ready! I baked rice with ground beef, carrots, peas and onions! I wanted to make really Bulgarian and ended up with something generic. Except there is 4ybritsa (Chubritsa) our signature Bulgarian spice in it.

I have switched off the oven, but I am not hungry. I had tarator (look it up) – a great Bulgarian dish – earlier and I feel somewhat full. Need to sleep!
Oh as for my GRE general test ! Maximum ponage, ETS will scarcely believe they were whopped by a test taker in Namibia! Perhaps both us whopped ETS’s ass, myself and this other young lady who took the test with me, it was just us too. She works for an American study abroad program that brings students to do a semester abroad in Namibia doing different social science research projects. I met three participating students – all lovely young ladies, Ruth-Anne Dohner, Jasmine and Jessica (do I remember their last names, no, but I pray they are doing well!). I may write to them soon.

Goodridance GRE, yes it is true what they say “third time’s a charm.”

P.S. I miss a lot of you my friends, at this moment, I am thinking of Christian Milan, Kate Poole (2D – co op people) and my wife Amanda Howard who more than three years ago proposed to me “ Do you want to have a facebook marriage?” after I remarked that so many of our peers at Princeton had hitched on the internet. Of course, I accepted to be her lawfully wedded wyfie.

I miss making bread – which I did not do much of at the co- op, except in the last few weeks of my life as student at Princeton. I made it about twice or three times and it was great!

Also, as for my aim to make Sunday a busy – normal weekday – where I am ultra productive: fail. This will not work, even if I do keep the Sabbath Friday- Saturday, in my own Jesus is my lover kind of way.

Languages

In discussing the way our indigenous languages are undervalued, I would like to begin with the following questions:

Why is it that indigenous languages are only offered for study at government schools in rural areas?

Why is it that there are events about the intricacies of the French language and culture (nuit de l’écrit – feast for the readers) but there are no events dedicated to Namibian indigenous language and their rich oral traditions?

Why is that we have to pay more than three times more (N$1700) to study a Namibian indigenous language at Polytech than we have to pay for Spanish (N$ 400)?

And most of all, why is that as a young Namibian, I am more drawn to learning Spanish than my own Oshiwambo?

I remember my experience at recent opening of an art exhibition at national art gallery of Namibia. As usual, there were quite a few foreigners at the event, and this time the majority happened to be Spaniards, as their embassy sponsored the exhibition. I recall being in the midst of Spaniards and also hearing two men speaking Oshiwambo nearby. I was about to gravitate to the Spaniards and continue to refine my command of the language of Cervantes, but then I opted to go over to the gentlemen. I tried to make out what they were saying, but it was just a stream of Oshiwambo, some of which I understood, to my ears. So I moved to look at the sculpture and speak with Spanish lady, who described her multiple interpretations of a large flint shaped rock with a hole in it, as a bird that was about to take off. Currently, I cannot describe an artwork in Oshiwambo – that is just beyond the level I have reached studying with the aid of a free book “Te ti! - a manual for Oshindonga” that I downloaded free of charge from the internet. Kudos to the Namibians who collaborated with American Peace Corps volunteers to write that book and then put online for all to access. But it is somewhat ironic that I am learning the language of my fatherland through a book designed for foreigners.

Why am I writing this piece? I need to find a way to express my fear that we, including myself, are mesmerized by European languages at the expense of appropriating our own. Indeed, there are benefits to learning those languages, including a successful career in the hospitality sector or access to foreign institutions of higher learning. But do we realize we are buying into the hegemony of these languages? Let me explain clearly. In my Spanish we had to comment to on following statement using the future tense:

Los expertos opinan que ingles, español y chino serán los idiomas dominantes del futuro y las lenguas minoritarias desaparecerán.

“Experts relieve that English, Spanish and Chinese with the dominant languages of the future while the languages of minorities will disappear”.

I guess that seems possible, at least in the case of Namibia, where we are still coming to grips with what means to be a multilingual society with only one official language, which by the way, nearly no one claims as their own. Perhaps this is just a phase in development and one day Namibia will be developed and English will be our forte. Welcome to the United States of Africa, where “ethnic languages” are mere vestiges of our primitive past.

Update after UNAM humanities and Social Science Conference

I went to the conference of the humanities and social sciences of UNAM on Thursday and Friday. It was deeply satisfying and enriching, I not only learnt a lot but I had a chance to network with sociologists who are keen for us to push for a scientific presentation of the sentinel survey results of 2010 – I am excited at the prospect!

Finally, I will have a chance to do something really epidemiological in Namibia. I think I have done quite a few med anthro things (at two published op pieces, which you will find in this blog). A rigorous treatment of the sentinel survey of HIV prevalence amongst pregnant women is what I need. Perhaps I will have access to the data and I will manipulate in R! How fun.

Rather than elaborating at length about the conference, I wish, for the sake of time, to speak about the work of a visual artist. She presented on her exhibition “Images of Fertility and Abundance”. A cross between a mandrake and an octopus with branching tentacles is what some of the works resemble. Then there are prehistoric like images of mother figures with burgeoning wombs and opened seed pods that resemble the female genitals. “Nature is fool of images that I find erotic” said the artist. Of course, she did not elaborate on exactly how they were erotic.

I enjoyed this exhibition, because of its earth-like references and how it valued the human body. Spirals of colored wind that flew all over a canvas comprised one of her paintings, in my perspective. It was also great to see how as an artist, she connected her works with sociologically relevant themes. She spoke of how she aimed to counter “the culture of consumerism and materialism” that is becoming dominant in Namibia: “We all want to live in a big house in Ludwigsdorf [affluent suburb of Windhoek] with a four by four car and many accounts, but I just want to question that – can everyone in Africa do that and what will happen if they did?” Her artwork – full of the colors in the wind – was inspired by abundance and it drew you in with the warm red, orange and yellows. To me it illustrated how consumerism draws people in.

Her references to alternative, pre-Christian, forms of spiritually were equally intriguing. She had an “earth altar” that she was inspired to create by the personal, home, Christian shrines that people employed in the Byzantine empire, at some point in time. Her shrine of an open white carnivore jaw – like an ivory serrated V – affixed to a brown earth background. Bones in the dirt, a fossil or the first human shrine in Africa tens of millennia ago? I really enjoyed this and I feel moved to explore the connection my own spirituality has to nature. Indeed, I feel I have been overburdened by patriarchal, heterosexist forms of Christianity. Apart from valorizing the inherent validity of homoerotic relationships, I need to also explore the role nature has in the sacred.

Alright, that’s it for now!

Pancho

Save Tonight (Zach you'll love this!)

I know that end of the Sabbath has come. For me, who is accustomed to keeping the Sabbath on Friday to Saturday, the working week has official begun. But remember, I am not Jewish in the first place, so I should be allowed some flexibility right? And more importantly I would like to savor these last few moments of evening – I want to save to night, though I won’t fight the break of dawn. I will post this letter, rather than writing my progress report of my life post Princeton to my former advisor or continuing in my search for admission to a Masters program. I will save the night, I will extend that one hour after sunset so that the Sabbath goes on until I finish this letter to you my dear readers. Especially for Zach Marr – this is for you.

It is from my friend Zach Marr that I learnt about music and how it connects to faith. On his blog, you’ll find it’s all about that. Now I am writing about how there is a song “Save The Night” by Lenny Kravitz which defies the dichotomy of “secular and Christian” music. It also defies the dichotomy of music that is “gay or straight” and the unison of the two former concepts the dichotomy of a “straight devout Christian or a disgruntled homosexual non-Christian”. In this song, I feel gay and Christian themes coming out strongly.

If you have heard this song you will know its about Lenny Kravitz singing :“Save the Night and fight the break of dawn, come tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll be gone”. It is insightful for me to say these lyrics are modern, hip version of the Gospel, where Jesus tells his disciples to keep the vigil as he goes to pray in the garden, the night his passion began. In the Gospel, it recounts how Jesus roused them to wake up when he came from prayer and they were sleeping. This occurred, according to the Gospel, moments before the guards came to cease Jesus. Now Lenny Kravitz is saying what Jesus would have said back then, but in a way that invites us to enjoy his company. But then there is an apparent incongruity that of Lenny singing “Girl you know I got to go” and that of Jesus speaking to his disciples who, as far as the gospel suggests were all men. Mary Magdalene was absent that night.

For me, this is where queer theory comes into play. Though Lenny may sing “girl” this term is broad enough to include both women and gay men. As gay men, we often call each other “girl” or “girlfriend” as we shun traditional genders that for centuries have been thrust upon us – the prerogative of being “men”. At first I never understood how this could be possible, but then one day at Wilcox dinning hall at Princeton, I meet Nour and he was wearing a generic rubber wrist band, except it was pink with the words “mamma I’m a big girl now.” “Nour, you are not a girl, are you, why do you have that wrist band,” I asked him, genuinely befuddled “I am a big girl Pancho, aren’t you?” he answered rather amused. I did not get it immediately, and I protested “no I am not a big girl, I am boy” and he insisted “One day you’ll realize you are big girl too.” The dialogue was somehow different, there are not exact citations, but let that not detract from my point: we are also girls as gay, bisexual and especially transgender wo(men). Later it dawned on me that I had a feminine side that I had overlooked. So Jesus or Lenny Kravitz could be singing to a man, a gay, bisexual or transgender wo(man).

I take you understand the complexity of it all. Well I hope you also understand the simplicity : The song, as the Bible, speaks to an individual who interprets it as function of his identity and circumstances. In this sense, I believe Christ encompasses all sexualities, because he invites us all, to partake in his supper just before his imminent departure. Indeed, the song also alludes to the last supper. Lenny speaks of saving the night with “me, you and a bottle of wine”. How much closer to the sharing of the blood can you come to now?

Alas, the one hour after Shabbis is over and I feel the need to conclude and go forth to do all the other things I need to do. “Girl you know I got go, Lord I wish it wasn’t so, save tonight and fight the break of dawn, come tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll be gone.” An call for us to carpe diem and live for Christ now. Christ is worth saving the night for and I have spent many a night in his presence, though his physicality eluded me, I have visualized him with me. Much like Madonna’s like a prayer “In the midnight hour I can feel your power just like a prayer, you know I’ll take you there”, I feel the deep thrusting of lovemaking in my mind. Like A Prayer, it goes without saying, is another of those songs that seems secular, but is actually a praise song. I realized this when I was 16 and I always dreamt of singing this song at my Christian youth group (run by wonderful Baptist missionaries, in spite of our divergence of views on homosexuality). Back then, I did not venture to contemplate the sexual overtones of Like A Prayer, but now I understand that subconsciously, the sexual and spiritual were one, which meant I could not distinguish one from the other. Do you think I can now?

God Bless

Pancho

Il Vangello per i Gay

To: Isacc Martinez-Perez, Sagrado Nova Flores, Angelo Castello, Diego Cominazzini, Coleman Conelly.

Carnissimi amici e fratelli in Gesù Cristo,

Volevo mandarvi questa lettera tanto tempo fa, ma non ci riuscivo per tutti gli altri impegni – quotidiani ed altri legatti alle mie ambizioni – che me sequestravano il tempo. Comunque, oggi mi metto a farlo. Spero che stiate bene e sapiate che voglio bene.

Ho scritto questa lettera quasi quatro mesi fa.

La lettera nasce del mio desiderio di parteggiare la mia fede e la mia esperienza come un cristiano gay con gli, soprattuto con voi, amici miei che ho conosciuto durante gli ultimi cinque anni della mia vita. L’uso dell’italiano è anche un modo di ricordarmi di voi, siccome siete italiani o italofoni (grazie al Collegio del mondo Unito o altre istitutuzione, ad essemip Princeton University, dove ci siamo conosciuti.) Tra l’altro sto imparando lo spagnolo è se non mantengo activamente l’italiano, sarà conquistato come fu l’America (in effeti, il verbo ser di spagnolo sta sostituiscendo essere)

Ecco la mia lettera:

Questa mattina è lucida qui Namibia e profito benissimo del sole di Agosto. Vi scrivo perchè mi sento davvero comosso, convinto dallo Spirto Santo che devo parteggiare con voi la buona novità del vangelo.

Magari, alcuni di voi vi chiedete “Ma che ne voglio sapere di Dio, non sono mica religioso” Io, invece, ho bisogno di Gesù. Il suo messagio ci ricopre della garantità di un more abbondante per la sua salvezza. Adesso potrei parlare della vita a venire – nell’alto dei cieli – pero penso che l’aspetto della vita vita attuale sia più importante.

Quante sono state le volte che noi – omosessuali o bissessuali – abbiamo perso la fiducia in Gesù? Magari siamo passatti per la mezonga che Gesù ci condanna a una tortura eterna del corpo. Tutta una storia di intoleranza che portiamo con noi nei confronti di qualunque cosa cristiana.

Adesso vi invito a accostarvi insiemi a Gesù. Chi bussa alla porta? Puo darsi Gesù che vuole cenare alla tua tavolla: “Ecco sto alla porta e busso. Se qualcuno ascolta la mia voce e mi apre la porta, io verrò da lui e cenerò con lui ed egli con me.” Apocalisse 3: 20 (Revelations 3:20).

Invece di constringerci ad accolgierlo, Gesù ci chiedi il permesso d’accoglienza. Questo è fondamentale perchè scelgiamo noi la fede.

Chi di voi possa pretendere di vivere una vita complettamente soddisfatta? Nemmeno io, posso dirvelo. Pero, piano a piano, il senso della mia vita appare. Più che camin accanto a Gesù più che provo un amore piena agape e eros – il quale nessuno mi pùo togliere. Considerate questa frase: Jesus in Love with Lesbians, Bisexual, Asexual ,Gay and Transgender people -JILL BAGT (Se facessi un giorni un spettacollo di drag, vestito da donna, questo sarebbe il mio nome alternativo). Tutti noi abbiamo bisogno di Dio o dobbiamo imparare a essere umili per capire quanto siamo bisognosi.

Volevo scrivervi una lettera ispirata a San Paolo, il quale (a proposit) era ‘gay’ secondo un blogger che tratta temmi sulla sessualità e il cristianismo (www.gospelforgays.com). Ho perfino scritto un contribuito in questo blog, si chiama “My comming out story”, è tutto in inglese. Vi devo una spiegazione, lo so, come mai vi scrivo tutto un discorso sul critianismo senza nessuna notizia della mia vita quotidiana? Controlate i mieie blog pmulonge.blogspot.com e writinghealth.wordpress.com se volete sapere un po’ più dei miei progetti e pensieri

Rispondetemi in qualsiasi lingua, se non la capisco che google a tradurla.

Attention à la tension!

Attention à la tension!

Le Blog « Pancho’s Brouillons » à été mis sur pieds pour m’aider à réfléchir à traves l’écriture. Alors, je vais m’en servir maintenant car je me sens au bout de quelque chose inévitable – la perte de ma motivation pour étudier la langue de mon père des mes ancêtres récents africains (je dis récents puisque nous sommes tous africains les hommes), le Oshiwambo. Je ressens que cela soit inévitable en raison du fait que je m’occupe de plus en plus de ma quête pour une bourse d’étude de master en France. Et voila n’est-il point ironique que j’écris ce brouillon en français ?

D’habitude j’étudie l’Oshindonga le matin chez moi en ma chambre (l’un de deux dialectes d’Oshiwambo que on peut étudier formellement en Namibie). J’ai trouvé un livre de méthode de langue, c’est-a-dire un texte complet pour l’apprendre tout seul y compris des exercices dans l’internet. Ce livre-là est aussi gratuit à chacun qui le désire, ce sont des américains volontariats de « paix de corps » à le mettre en ligne pour tout le monde. Ce qui s’est passé ce matin c’était que j’ai du aller voir le directeur du centre culturel franco namibien. Je lui a parlé de bourses pour faire un master en France et je suis tellement content que finalement j’ai la chance de préparer une candidature pour en master en France ! Quelle joie ! En effet, c’est lui qui s’est rapproché de moi une journée quand j’étais la dans le foyer avec mon amie Fabrice Laurentin et il m’a posé la question :

« Est-ce que tu voudrais étudier en France ? »

« Mais oui, » j’ai répondu, d’après ce que je m’en souviens, mais la citation exacte n’est pas importante. Ce qui je veux souligner c’est que depuis cet rendez vous informel, je me suis mis à écrire ma lettre de motivation vu que il m’a dit « ramène-moi une lettre de motivation et ton CV » c’est jour là et aussi et ce qu’il a répété ce matin au cours de notre réunion plutôt décontractée malgré je lui accordais tout le temps le ‘vous’ alors qu’il m’a tutoyé lors qu’il répondait à mes questions.

Effectivement, je ne me plains pas. C’est juste frustrant que je ne parle autant bien l’Oshindonga que français ! En outre, les enjeux autour l’apprentissage d’Oshindonga sont ceux de la famille, de pouvoir me communiquer avec ma grande mère, laquelle j’ai vu cette dernière fin de semaine au nord de Namibie. En revanche, quant au français je l’apprends toujours et j’intensifie mes lectures en cette langue parce que je veux capitaliser sur l’opportunité d’étudier l’épidémiologie en France. Par conséquent, je pense que je vais finir par vendre mon âme au français en oubliant mon patrimoine et en échangeant le capacité de manier bien l’Oshindonga contre la maîtrise d’une langue colonisatrice et hégémonique.

Par contre, l’Oshindonga est aussi hégémonique vu que tous les autres dialectes d’Oshiwambo sauf qu’un n’ont point de même les plus basique ouvrages écrits. Pas de publicités ni des labels en ces dialectes-là les. En Namibie, il n’y a que l’oshindonga et Oshikwanyama dans le domaine public, à la radio, en la télé, dans les journaux.

Alors, maintenant je pense d’avoir parvenu à un point que je peux dépasser, au-delà du quel je n’arrive pas à grimper. Ce brouillon s’arrête ici. Mes études d’Oshindonga vont continuer, mais pas au même rythme, celui du commencent, de la découvert de cette langue tellement différente du français, mais qui partage, d’autre côte, beaucoup de choses en commun.

Il faut que j’aille. Un jour, peut être, je vais reprendre ce brouillon-ci et mes études sérieux d’Oshindonga.

En commencent ce brouillon, j’ai voulu écrire sur la tension entre mon désir d’aller en France pour étudier et d’apprendre l’Oshindonga. Désormais, je me rends compte du fait que cette tension n’existe plus. Je l’ai cassée. J’accepte la domination du français et en l’acceptant je conquiers contre lui.