2008
[Sojourns, Namibia]

* * *
I never believed in the arbitrary. Six billion people on this tiny planet; none of them are an accident. I believe in some intricate God-made design—and sometimes I’m fortunate enough to see a glimpse.

I wake up, suddenly.
It’s morning, late August 2006 in Ithaca, NY—my last year of college—and for some reason, I am very excited.  

So excited, apparently, that I burst into my housemate’s room and exclaim, “I just had this crazy dream that I was in… Namibia!” Mostly skeptical but likewise in a barely cognitive state, Iris momentarily lifts her head and replies groggily, “Um, is that even a country? Maybe you mean NAM-bia?” quizzically looks at me for three seconds and promptly goes back to sleep.

My dreams usually don’t stray far from the realm of the unconscious or unremembered—and this one, too, is fleeting. I see a panorama of vast desert, empty burnt sienna and ochre, a blurry and decrepit schoolhouse in my peripheral vision. Namibia. It isn’t written anywhere or spoken to me, but etched somewhere in the depths of my brain. I just intuitively know I am there.

But no, I am not.
Namibia? Maybe Iris is right. Maybe I was mistaken, maybe it’s Nambia. After all, I am sure that Zambia exists, and Gambia too. Later that day working at Uris Library (my part-time job) idly surfing the internet, I think, Why not? I go to google.com and watch the blinking cursor wait for me in the search box. Hesitantly, I type “Nambia” and push ‘enter,’ something I mindlessly do at least a hundred times a day—but so much more weighs upon this one touch.
The moment stretches to an infinity.
To my surprise, google responds, “Did you mean: Namibia?” and I feel a strange sensation of something like certainty for the first time in my life.

* * *

Later that day (after I smugly inform her that Namibia does exist), Iris, whose field is finance, nonchalantly tells me she was web-browsing and that I should read an article she stumbled across—an article about art from the… Namibian Economist.

Maybe it’s the next day that I am again working at Uris, searching for a requested book from the shelves, Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel. Pulitzer prize winner—impressive; was this already on my to-read list? Flipping through the contents I see a section for Africa and go to Chapter Nineteen. Incidentally, the first paragraph is about—Namibia.

Just two months prior I had been living in Rome, Italy, interning for the public artist Kristin Jones. One of our lunch-hour conversations led to the inevitable post-grad-plan-conversation. “You should consider applying for the Fulbright grant—maybe you could go to Korea,” she had suggested to me brightly. “Let me know if you need a recommendation!” Her offer rang in my mind as I was browsing the Fulbright website that same week, constructing countless elaborate lives I could lead with the travel grant. An art installation on the North-South Korean border? Art therapy with victims of human trafficking in Thailand? I wonder if anyone goes to Namibia, I thought to myself, and clicked on the link. A scant list appeared, but to my surprise, the winner of the 05-06 grant happened to be from my own university.  I looked up the doctorate student in the directory and emailed her a short note asking about her experience—she promptly responded and told me that she was back on campus fresh from Namibia, and would I like to chat over coffee? So we did.

Mulling over this series of events (that happened in the concentrate of a few days), I contacted Kristin Jones again. I only had one month until the deadline and needed to make a decision. I’m going to try for the Fulbright, I wrote, for Korea or… Namibia. Her response baffled me: Let me get you in touch with a bright woman from Namibia I know in Rome!

And so, within the span of one week, I began this journey with a country I had never really known to exist. 

Call it kismet, call it fate, but at the bottom of it I am certain it has something to do with a God who knows me intimately. The following month was a sleepless one; I dove headfirst into research and scrapped my first ten proposal drafts, often frustrated and lost: How am I supposed to convince a committee they should send me to Namibia to do paintings…because of a dream?

Needless to say, at every plea for help I’d experience small assurances: An article on the Cornell main website (posted only for 24 hours) about an alumna who taught in Namibia and began an award-winning volleyball program, a compelling story about a Korean missionary to Namibia I heard at a church retreat, random Food Network advertisements…

Everything seemed to strangely fall into place, at just the right time. So at the end of September ‘06 I said to God, “This is Yours,” and sent my application on its way.

Five months later they told me I passed the first round, and it wasn’t until April ’07 that I received a big envelope in the mail.

I guess I’m going to Namibia.

 

* * *
...And this is only the prologue to the story.