Living for Disco

‘Tis a Christmas miracle. I have my CRB clearance. I won’t go into all the nonsense I had to go through, desperately phoning random Lewisham estate agents, my old boss, the CRB and VSO, sending snarly emails about the exercise in stupidity that is the Data Protection Act, and generally feeling stressed and teary, before everything finally resolved itself, because its too ridiculous to even talk about in more detail than that.

As long as it doesn’t go astray (touch wood touch wood) between Cambridge and the VSO offices in London, and as long as they send it by courier to VSO in Namibia, and don’t lose it, torch it, lock it away for a thousand years, or tear it up and use it as the labels for the office secret santa presents, things will be fine, and I will be allowed to stay here.

Which would be nice.

It’s December, in case you hadn’t noticed. Normally, when I am at home, this means that I am in a state of advanced Christmas-fatigue, which has been steadily worsening since the end of September. The sight of Christmas crackers on shelves in the height of an Indian summer has the same effect every year – nausea, followed by throbbing temples, and an urge to run screaming from the shop before they start playing Slade. I just thank God that he hasn’t seen fit to inflict Noddy Holder on an unsuspecting Namibian populace yet. As far as I can work out, Bing Crosby’s just about made it, so I reckon we’ve got another 20 good years.

About ten days ago the Namibian actually ran an article about the fact that Windhoek shopping malls are now displaying Christmas decorations, to remind people in the run up – a whole five weeks in advance! Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that it gets dark at the same time every night here, and so the town council can’t use darkening evenings as an excuse to combat a raging S.A.D. epidemic by putting up Christmas lights as soon as daylight saving ends.

Of course, waiting until it’s nearly Christmas before allowing money grabbing corporate opportunists to go insane and drive the collective population into a frenzy of acquisition means that everyone here goes Christmas shopping at the same time. And because everyone, but everyone, in Windhoek goes on holiday to Swakopmund for the month of December, they are all doing their Christmas shopping now. Shops are suddenly places of which to be wary.

Despite this sudden buzz of seasonal activity, I’m feeling very unChristmassy. I suppose the fact that it’s boiling hot here doesn’t help – tinsel just seems so very wrong in this climate. And at home, they’re all enduring blizzards and snow, and it’s set to be a white Christmas. It’s refreshing, in a way, to be away from it all, but also odd. Still, at least I know that on the day itself, I’ll be on the beach, chucking a steak on the braai and toasting everyone I know with a cold, delicious Windhoek lager.

Can’t complain.