smoke in the morning

The mornings here are smoky, so are the nights. The smoke is from the fires. The fires they make to keep warm. Each morning some of the students come to school smelling like smoke. It's their only heat source in this cold. Most of this isn't in Block B or C, it's block E. Block E is the location, as they refer to it. It's where the tin shacks are and broken down fences. It's where kids eat poridge if they're lucky and bread now and then. Mom and dad drink homemade brew night and day. Life comes one day at a time. The end of the month is the goal, payday. Payday doesn't always mean you get paid, but someone does. So you usually get something whether it's from a family member who made it out or from someone's pocket where you take it.

Income disparity is the largest in all of Africa here in Namibia. My family drives a Mercedes and the family down the street wonders where food will come from after drinking all the money away. It's a terrible collision of worlds. Color plays a part here too. I never would have thought so, but it does. The racism is a bit different but it is deeply embeded and strongly surviving. Once again it's 'the blacks' who are the object of it. They are Owambu and Nama, Damara and Himba. They are black and the coloureds and white Afrikaaners know the difference. They see the difference in lifestyle, in music, in dress, in so many ways. They refer to them as 'those people.'

Even though their skin is brown, having mixed with black at some point, they fail to see the resemblence. Maybe it was a Dutch grandfather who mixed with a Nama woman or a German man with a Owambu lady. It was long ago and now they are brown, not black. It's sad and all too familiar to our own prejudices. Maybe one day we can all just be people. Humans, loved, created by the same. Loved by One.