I can't believe I've been in Kwangali for nine months already. What a trip! You can't imagine everything I've learned from being appropriated by a homogeneous culture such as they have here in the land of the morning calm. The self- perpetuating state of rigid conservatism infiltrated by the cosmetics of Vogue and now Cosmopolitan and the fast food and rhythms of American Pop culture is out of this world. I don't know where to begin and I want to make sure I tell you everything because it's so different from what we are used to. 

First of all, the people here are actually happy. There is very little evidence of any kind of "woe is me against the world" existential defensiveness. In fact, the status quo, far from being an enigmatic societal regulating device that must be tirelessly criticized, attacked and transformed in order to satisfy an illusory sense of progress or coolness, has become something of a heavenly ideal here. A state of simple bliss seems to fuel the machine of society and breathe life into all its members. 

How is this possible you might be asking yourself? Of course, the people have an amazing sense of humour about themselves which is refreshing coming from that stiff necked- try too hard- wanna be- pit of despair we call home. 

Have I mentioned the women before? More than anything else, the women have the most to do with realizing the Kwangagalian ideal. What an incomparable breed they are? They are petite and delicate in both stature and nature. Even if they are bursting with that benevolent rosy Buddha smile from ear to ear, glistening with the wisdom of ages, there is still an element of fragility that prevails as the ultimate cast of femininity. They are prone to giving off this wonderful siren noise when provoked or embarrassed. If they are impressed they don't mind shamelessly oooohhhing and ahhhing in unison with each other. 

Mind you, most of their squeaking and squiggling is just for show since actually they are extremely patient and generous in giving both their time and effort towards reaching a calculated goal. Their only distractions seem to be the high technology hand phones, some no bigger than your ear, equipped with cute phone accessories and of course, it seems like no woman is complete without a compact and a supply of facial oil removal paper.

  Just the other night at a bar, one girl sat down and talked to me for over an hour without either of us knowing a single phrase of the others language. The language barrier didn't stop her from bringing to light some of the most essential questions of existence, discretely masked behind cute little phrases like, "my name is..." "where do you live?" and "how old are you?" 
It's so funny. This one girl called me ugly and crazy within minutes of our meeting, mocked everything I said, then asked me to marry her and go to Africa. She insisted that we dance to some celebratory techno anthem congratulations sealing our fate in each others arms. Given the relatively little information that is shared between a foreigner and a Kwangagalian you would be surprised to hear how many foreigners actually get married to local girls. The only pre-requisite seems to be meeting the parents and paying for the wedding portraits that are customarily hung in a visible place within the house to remind the married couple of their eternal union. You never know mom...

 Speaking of bars, you should see what they do with ashtrays here. It's quite clever. They soak a napkin with water and tuck it into the bottom of an ashtray. If you put your cigarette down than it immediately becomes water logged and unsmokable. Naturally no one here puts their cigarettes down so very little tobacco is ever wasted waiting around for someone to smoke it. Also, the ashtray can never catch on fire, which is a good thing too. 
As I was saying the women are beautiful creatures who do more than their fair share of fulfilling the Kwangagalian ideal. But you should see the street dogs! Potentially they are the most magnificent specimens of canine anywhere. Their coats are shiny and exquisitely well groomed. A thruvung population of all breeds prance freely throughout the streets enjoying all the love and attention they receive from the people. 

If there was ever a common objective within a group of people towards which every endeavour of the society aspires to it would exist here. That is, everything inclusive within the economy, the value system and the political structure is geared towards populating this dear little rabbit shaped peninsula with as many children as possible. You can't imagine how many snot nosed little kids are running around in the shadows of the apartment buildings. Countless numbers of these apartments stand as monuments, celebrating the co habitation of millions of families, erected to keep them all encased in a pretty little love nest of togetherness. 

This architecture I'm referring to is a marvel in itself and I often wonder if it has been a deliberate attempt by city planners to maintain a sense of togetherness or equality or homogeneity. Or perhaps it is just a coincidence that in their rush to provide homes for their ever- increasing population they accidentally created a state- wide utopia. All the buildings look the same, not unlike trees, sprouting from the land just as if nature had divined them herself. Imagine fifteen chalk white stories splattered with bits and pieces of colour, stacked on top of each other like lego and arranged together in small clusters or cells around the city. From the mountains these clusters look like complex molecules and give the definitive feeling of community as warm tender centers of peace and harmony. It's amazing what can be accomplished without the use of too much imagination.

One of my favourite past times is to take a seat in the stairwell of any old building between 7:30-8:30 in the evening and watch the opposing building as the lights are flicked on in the kitchens indicating the beginning of the evening festivities. One after another it seems like everyone gets home and starts cooking dinner at the same time. What a comfort it is to eating a bowl of kimchi chi gei, knowing that your 1000 neighbours are all doing the same thing. But maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit. 

I think you would understand the Kwangagalian spirituality best in light of two conversations I had recently. The first conversation was with a tenor singer/primary school teacher, and he really opened my eyes to the value system of this culture. I mentioned that I had taken philosophy in university and the peaceful rotund man smiled and said, "I think philosophy is a waste of time." I asked him if he thought it was important to question the values and norms of society in the spirit of progress and he said matter of factly that "too much thinking is unhealthy and gets in the way of your appetite." He demonstrated his point aptly by providing us with a multitude of different snacks and fruit drinks including everything from shrimp chips to milk soda.
I asked a girl who studied German in university what she thought the Kwangagalian ideal amounted to. She said while sucking her teeth, "you know! You want everything is good. The common life is best. I want to have a normal family but I want to have special thing. I just don't want to work to make money."  Needless to say I am at a loss for how to impose my own self- important opinions about what a good society requires to function. 

In Kwangali there is very little evidence of a cultural movement. Museums and galleries are few and far between, although there is one theatre where I saw a touching musical in which they had done away with the problem of making a symphony pit by not having a symphony. I often catch myself thinking that maybe there is no urgency for that kind of culture as we understand it. However, the absence of culture doesn't seem to inhibit the quality of happiness any. Even though it is nice to humbly confess that back home we have such and such a grand museum and a world renowned art gallery, aren't they just testaments to a stuffy nostalgia for things we may covet but never truly possess? I've told you before that everyone here is smiling and walking arm in arm, laughing and generally at peace with how things are. What more do you need? 

Interestingly enough, it seems as if a Kwangagalians sense of humour means laughing at the suffering of others and mocking anything they don't understand with long drawn out harmonious protests of contrived pity. One of their variety shows goes around the world filming the hardships of less fortunate places. They introduced a refreshing pre recorded laugh track over the entire thing. It's wonderful to be able to distance yourself from the face of pain and suffering, especially when it does not immediately affect you.  The sickening sentimentality that the west draws over the darker regions of the soul seem unnecessary here in this land of cotton candy fireworks frivolity. Anyways I don't want to bore you with my presumptuous speculations any longer so maybe I'll cut it short and leave you with some wisdom that I learned from an old man in the parking lot. 

He told me, "When it rains we just lie in the Ondol room, read comic books and eat pancakes." Isn't that funny?
 

Love your son.  

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