valairoen

I am not a fan of the flu. Generally speaking, viruses are things i oppose on principle. You can therefore imagine, dear reader, that when the peace corps contacted me friday last to mandate that i receive a flu shot to prevent H1N1, well i positively leapt at the chance for innoculation. Of course, the enthusiasm might have had more to do with a chance to head to Windhoek than the prospect of receiving an injection, but that's not the sort of thing you tell the medical office when scheduling your appointment. Owing to engagements that i foolishly believed would become actual events, i booked my trip immediately, for tuesday and wednesday, rather than the more popular and practical friday-saturday time frame. Thus did mid-day tuesday find me on the side of the highway with a ludicrously overstuffed backpack. This is not a travel pack, but the same venerable container that has carried books since my freshman year of high school. Which brings us to the point of today's discussion- things. Stuff. Goods. Material possessions. I realized months ago that i perhaps do not need but would certainly enjoy the use of a real backpack. One designed to carry loads further than 3rd period english. In this vein, there were plenty of other items that could vastly improve the quality of my life. The problem is getting them. Now, namibia is a modern, developing country. To make the state of my existence more clear, perhaps i should explain the degree of convenience available here. I hardly need mention my internet phone as a start. I have electricity. One light bulb and one outlet that work of a possible five and two, respectively, but still... I have a mini-fridge and electric stove/oven that actually bakes at the professed temperature. This is accuracy i only rarely enjoyed even in the states. I have running water, usually from 6-8 am, 12-2 and 5-8 pm. If the ministry pays our water bill, of course, which is uncertain. I have a toilet, sink, and bathtub, all three in separate rooms...