My last weekend in Windhoek was a treat. It in so many ways summed up my trip and by the time I made it to the airport, I was ready to go.
My drive back in to the city was relaxed, except for the moment when an Audi burst past me at over 200km/hr, and unbeknown to me there was a head on crash just metres behind me resulting in six fatalities. The roads are rough in places but ok, it is the rampant overtaking at speed that gives Namibia a terrible road toll.
I made it into the city and headed for the shelter of Joes Beerhouse where for 20 bucks I can have a couple of seasonal Urbock 7 percent beers, washed down with a delicious medium rare Kudu loin steak. I feel a little guilty at indulging in the flesh of this majestic animal , but it sure tastes great and just laps up those 7% beers!
Football in Africa is legendary and I love the style. I was chuffed to see a southern African tournament beginning in Windhoek. So into Katatura I headed , adorned in my shining All Whites top. Such a bad name for a team! As it turned out not only was I of course the only All Whites supporter in the ground, I was the only white supporter in the ground. It was a surprise, but I had suspected this, as when I asked a couple of my local cousies to accompany me the answer was no way!
I loved the football. Zimbabwe playing Swaziland with all the Namibians supporting Zim! I was in the right camp for what was an enthralling tough encounter with plenty of vocal support.
Things got interesting waiting for the second game of the night when it seemed pretty much the entire crowd got really drunk! It was a bit like the beerhall at Marchfest late in the evening!
I was ok not drinking but as a succession of fellow supporters started asking me did I feel safe enough and just saying to call them if anything happened, did I start to have some doubts of how to get to my car. It all turned out fine and my first real taste of football in Africa left me wanting more. It was interesting driving back through Katatura at night and seeing all the nightlife with the Shabiens everywhere as well as other night stores open.
My final day in Namibia was spent cooking a good bye meal for my cousies. It was a treat to be able to cook another meal as a farewell. I have enjoyed the chance to get to know my extended family and their hospitality has been great. Their brai was memorable with the closely guarded marinade recipe!
Before my flight to start my homeward trip, I enjoyed one last morning in downtown Windhoek, shopping for a mask for our son Willow. The masks are used in northern areas in times of seasonal celebrations, sometimes to boast about ones achievements in cattle rearing or , as a link to the ancestors or just as a disguise. I appreciated the stories of the masks, gives meaning to an object.
My flight out of Windhoek was delayed, but it was a fitting finale to fly out into the sunset, one last Namibian sundowner….
For now anyways:)
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My homeward journey began once I left Etosha. In my pickup, slowly making my way south, endless long straight roads through the African Savannah. Local music on the radio , setting sun turning the sky orange. Straight roads. It is pleasant stuff.
My first town out of Etosha was Tsumeb, a small mining town in the central north Namibia. Looking for a safe park, I followed a sign saying Arts Centre. I parked and wandered into the compound.
Through the gates I was confronted with a circular array of round thatch roofed rondavel huts. A large stage was set amongst a beautifully landscaped garden complete with lifesize sculptures of hunting San Bushman.
“Welcome” was the greeting and before me stood a small man with tightly curled hair. “ This is our local performing arts centre, can I show you around”. For sure :) My host proudly introduced himself as Heke, the Gardener of this beautiful oasis and a local San Bushman. Heke explained how each Rondavel hut was the teaching room for A particular instrument. He proceeded to take me from the recorder room to the clarinet room to the violin room and so on. I was introduced to each teacher. Initially set up with sponsorship from a Swiss benefactor, the project was to offer musical and art opportunities to the local children. Heke described how each afternoon over two hundred children participated in learning the different instruments and disciplines. I can only imagine the afternoon sounds.
I found Tsumeb to be a really busy and vibrant small town set in amongst green trees and watered lawns. A big street veggie and fruit market was underway with heaps of people milling around, a guard in front of the bank with a AK47 pointing down at his side. Plenty of elderly walking the streets dressed in traditional dresses and head scarfs.
I sat down with a grass bowl weaver and her small children. So cute , trying to sell me their wares. It worked , just too cute. They gave me some sweet berries from the tree, sort of like a tart passion fruit flavour with a large pip. The mother telling me their traditional Ovambo names.
Further down in the town I found a well known arts and crafts shop. Brigitte, the owner, told me how her parents had started the shop in the eighties to promote the work of the local indigenous groups and how the first Namibian President, Dr Sam Nujoma, had visited the store. It was filled with the usual assortment of crafts but with it came the stories of many of the makers which is the backstory I am always after. I could not help but collect more bits of carved wood to add to the grass bowls from the morning. Brigitte's mother, the originator of the store, came by. She was a similar generation to my Oma, and although she had not known her, she had friends in common and well remembered the hotel in Okahandja my grandparents owned. A small world.
At the back of the store sat an older women beading with grandkids hanging about after school.
I didn't want to leave this cute town.
The wild animals start darting across the road as the day ends. I saw Kudu, deer, foxes, and warthogs. Unluckily I collected a small warthog heading late into Waterberg. I couldn't miss it as it just ran across the highway, I swerved big time but still collected it and narrowly missed the large mother, which would have been another story for sure. I had not gone much further when another large warthog just barrelled straight across the road. It gets dangerous.
The wildlife is never far away here. It is part of this landscape.
Late on my second day I made it back into Omaruru. I relaxed here for a couple of days. I have made a point of not rushing! It is more enjoyable.
I had a great day in Omaruru. The local women in the Slagtery (butchery) and the supermarket all wanting to come to back to n.z with me. Traditional society here is not strictly monogamous, but I don't think I could handle it :) I promised to send postcards!
Anyway it was sweet to have fun with the locals.
I cooked a feast for my hosts and their guests, my infamous Tagine array, but this time with a wild game oryx curry as a side dish. It took me all afternoon to cook. My hosts housekeeper, Julia, helped me try this exotic dish. She spoke no English, but somehow cooking crosses language barriers. We had a great time before Julia and her groundsman son Colin returned to their township homes, another day's work done.
My hosts here in Omaruru, by opening up their oasis of a house to me, really allowed me the space to relax and enjoy my time in Omaruru.
Thanks heaps Wendy and Heine, I hope I can return the hospitality.
My final day in Omaruru dawned hot and sunny again. It is this way 350 days of the year. It is just so dry, that it is now getting into serious drought conditions.
One more stop in Omaruru was to visit the writer Jean Fischer. I had been given her number by the poet Mvula Ya Nangolo in Windhoek. I was hesitant but was so glad I did as it turned out to be such a positive afternoons conversation that I felt it was such a good way to finish the trip to my birthplace.
Jean, a journalist originally from Cape Town has lived and worked in Namibia her entire career. She has witnessed the transition from oppressive apartheid regime to independent liberated nation. A longtime supporter of the Liberation struggle she expressed such a sense of pride and elation at this fledgling country and how it has broken the shackles that imprisoned it. We shared so many similar values, it was refreshing. It showed me how in amongst all the old attitude which gave silent support to the apartheid regime, there still existed voices who opposed the status quo. Free thinkers who place their values as a statement of who they are. No silence needed. Not an easy task when surrounded by friends and family who differ in opinion. It was just such a refreshing conversation and we could have talked for hours. Thank-you Jean, it was a great way to finish my stay in Omaruru.
My last stop was to visit the graveyard to say my goodbyes to my Opa. I have been visiting for a sundowner each night I have been in town. The desert has long ago claimed his dust, but I still enjoy sitting and chatting over a Windhoek draught as the sun sets. Somethings don't need to change.
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My departure from Etosha yesterday was soul wrenching. I had really settled into the routine camp life, the daily excursions out into the Savannah on the edges of the salt pan. Spotting animals for close encounters. The nightly sundowner at the watering hole as the birdsong boomed and the sky turned orange and purple.
I have taken to doing life drawing with the giraffe, elephants, springbok. Any creature that will stay still long enough and is close enough for me to view well. My drawings are not very good , but every now and then I grab the gesture and it makes sense. I love the opportunity to closely watch the muscles moving , the twist of the of the neck , the munching of grass on the faces of elephants, giraffe, zebra. What has really struck me is just how tactile they are with each other. Resting heads on each other, staying in touching contact with their flanks as if is a game. It just has been such an fantastic time. The giraffe at close quarters are just so cute. They have a kind of cool swagger, like John Travolta street cruising in Saturday Night Fever! It entices you to follow. Of course if you make any move out of your car they run really fast. It's only for viewing.
No touching allowed!
I saw Lions again. Two huge Hunting males. The Batchelor males are dangerous and huge. They were lounging near the edge of the Rietfontain waterhole. I Knew something was up because there were few animals. I saw a zebra train heading nearby and stop. Similar a group of Impala come from the other direction. They went to the waters edge tentatively, far enough away. They can smell the lions. Then the two Lions stood up to move to the shade. They slowly meandered over to the trees, super chilled. However in threesixty every animal was poised facing the lions as if at attention. It was quite a sight. All facing forwards. As the Lions lay down , everything went back to normal.
Apparently later in the day, when the Rhino came in for a drink they chased the Lions out from their shady spot. Too close!
Horns facing forward.
I found a really small idyllic waterhole down a really bumpy road. No people, no animals. So I parked up with my book and waited. It's a low stress occupation waiting for wildlife. Africa Time.
I started to think about this small natural waterhole. Spring water showing small bubbles on the surface. How long has it been here. Fifty thousand years, Hundred thousand years, Hundreds of thousands of years? How many hoofs and feet have trodden the circumference of this small pool. Elephants parading around, ostrich, zebra, giraffe, humans. It starts to dwell on you this sort of thinking. Africa is a place like no other. It is the fountain of life. Where our very being has bubbled from the mud. Lived , died , evolved. I had this thought in the desert , how each grain of sand is a life lived and died. Dust to dust. How the dune is like a living organism , who need the dust of lives lived in order to grow itself. This place gets me thinking like this. How from this mud of Africa our seed have spread , washed, blown, carried global. How we have sprouted our lives in any piece of fertile soil, to become almost weeds in foreign lands. Yet the one thing that ties us all together is our common genetic source from the fountain of life that is Africa. It gets to you this place.
Back at the waterhole a giraffe slowly swaggered in , ever cautious, checking me out across the pool. It was just such a visually beautiful moment. Fleeting, for me important, for the giraffe just another slurp of water from the ancient waterhole.
The whole afternoon a train of Zebra had been lurking around the back of the pool. Unsure of me they stood and watched, pretended to leave , came back, left, came back , stood. It's Africa Time! Everything just takes the time it needs. I waited and waited, I love this low stress wildlife watching! Eventually the zebra came down to my little pool of Eden and took turns to drink as they probably have for all time.
I have been looking for The Leopard. I hear tales of , I saw it here, I saw it there.
I see it everywhere. When sitting at the pool of Eden I was out of the car, when I saw a dark shape in the long grass. It sure looked like a Leopard, pointy ears , mouth, spotted body. Just sitting and watching. Gave me a fright. I stayed in my car.
Just a rock with a bit of dead wood.
The camp attendants Keep asking me have I seen it and suggesting where to look. They tell me that ‘ you only see the Leopard when you are not looking for it’. I look into his eyes and I see the Leapord looking right back at me. He even has spots.
I see the Leopard everywhere.
But it is not my turn.
I had to wrench myself away. I want to stay, just one more night! But I know I have to leave sometime.
My friend Peter died today. I sat drawing a springbok at that time With tear filled eyes. The wind gusting huge clouds of dust off the endless Pan. I sat and drew the Springbok, sitting there looking back at me. I got out of my car and said ‘Can I name you Peter’. The springbok looked at me, got up and ran off into the endless vastness of the Pan.
It was hard to leave Etosha, every Giraffe I stopped by seemed to ask,’ where ya goin?’ ‘Why ya Goin? Stay here in the Garden of Eden.’ I turned back , I turned again. I was getting Dizzy. My heart in a twist.
Eventually I made it to the gate. The women in Uniform saw a sprig of daisy on my dashboard. ‘Did you get out of your Car?’ No , I lied. “You are not permitted to Leave your car. You must have left the car to get the Sprig.” She called the Police over to search the back of my ute. No I havnt a stash of wildlife to take home! Maybe they won't let me leave! But I was on my way and out of Etosha.
Even now sitting on the outskirts , I feel the pull to return. I have a million elephant , Zebra, giraffe and……. Pics. It is not the same. As long as I can remember I have wanted to visit Etosha, it shows something of life. I am so glad I made it here and had the time to slow down and get to appreciate this in 'Africa Time'.
Thank you.
R.I.P. Peter
6th June 2016
Etosha Namibia
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I am waiting to see a Leopard. They are definitely here, in numbers, but I am yet to see one. They are elusive, but they do come to the waterhole. Its just a waiting game. They don't drink every day. It depends how much fresh blood they have been drinking.
Last night I was again the last one watching. Again I happily fell asleep just sitting and staring at the floodlit dark pool. It's kind of relaxing as I mentioned earlier. Something about the expectation of some drama waiting to unfold is compelling. Even though nothing can happen. It's peaceful.
I awoke to see two new Rhino come into view. A mother and young calf. I was treated to the baby suckling right in front of me. They are like dinosaurs , the rhino. It is a view back into a prehistoric past. All the posturing. Always face forward with your horns at the ready. Face everything. I was thinking its kind of like that in Africa. It is important to always be facing what is coming at you. A protective readieness. Zen in the art of anticipated readiness.
I waited for the Leopard. Come on we have a date!! I'm here now! A half bottle of Namaqua Red. But actually there was just nothing , not even a hyena last night.
So I headed for bed around midnight. It's the thing when you are waiting for the Leopard, when I walk back down the path to the camp I sort of feel like I am being watched. Maybe the Leopard is waiting for me?
I really need some horns to face forward with.
I just finished reading ‘Things Fall Apart’ by Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe. It is one of the classics of African literature. The short novel tells of African Village lives and beliefs prior to the arrival of the Albino white man with his ‘iron horse’. The ability of the writer to get inside the African mind through the story and then tell of the crash of African society as colonialism takes hold, is powerfull, sadly disturbing and way too familiar. The devastating mix of religion and governance devouring traditional cultures. It sadly continues in the name of modern progress.
Today, my fifth in Etosha, has me taking up residency at a different waterhole. It's a wide open expansive area with a threesixty view of wildlife. I am close to the water and so as I write I have an endless procession of zebra, and wilderbeast taking turns to come in and drink. There is little urgency, everything just take its time. The occasional small whirlwind of dust races through out of the stillness. I think it gets whipped up on the salt pan, these small wind vortexes, and then they rip along the ground and engulf you in an intense cloud of sand for a minute.
Although all seems quiet and peaceful, almost idyllic, the slightest unpredicted movement, like a bird flying over casting a shadow, sets the animals off in a scramble. So the life flight awareness is constant. The lions and other cats will be here. I was told there was a Lion here with a fresh kill last night ,and a cheetah on the road. But no sign … So far. Maybe the areas in this landscape where I can see no animals is where the lions are chilling out. Somehow the animals just adjust to these life threatening possibilities. But you can't tell from afar. It's idyllic restfullness.
No one here is waiting for The Leopard.
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Well it's all gone quiet again this evening at the waterhole. It must be a nightly occurrence. We were just treated again to the dance of the Four Black Rhino. Mother and child teaming up against all comers. Four horns are mightier than two it seems. Earlier there was an altercation between a Rhino and an Elephant. The Rhino backed right into the water to escape the advance , but when threatened started it’s own attack at the Elephant on the shore , who quickly gave ground. It seems backing away is enough to end a confrontation, without any blood spilled.
Earlier I arrived to find twenty one elephants drinking, sumo wrestling, and generally mucking around. It was the second spell of elephant play today as I parked myself for the afternoon at the waterhole. The earlier group also had some really young ones who, when arriving at the water in the afternoon heat, plunged themselves fully into the pool. Submerging and then surfacing with much splashing. It looked like fun.
I was told to check out the early morning action on the roads. So after a restless sleep on a hard surface I was in my car and out on the road at 6.20 am when the gates open. The gates are closed from sunset to sunrise to keep the game out of the camping areas. It seems to work but I am not fully convinced. There is a lot of disrepair around the place and I am sure a determined predator could get through. Lucky with so much abundant springbok and other deer life, we humans are probably the least desired of the food on the menu.
Huge elephant just appeared on stage from Right. Now doing its two legged pose. They are amazing in the wild. And seemingly plenty of them around here.
Anyways earlier, was driving about seeing little, having a tear or two over Peter’s farewell email which I received early. I sat for a spell at a pretty spot, a large natural spring fed waterhole watching a parade of large deer and zebra and Impala walk right past my car for a drink. I headed past a basking hyena or maybe native dog, when I came upon my first encounter with Lions. Lionesses to be exact. They were sitting on the high ground watching over a group of zebra, Impala and wilderbeast, who were around a water hole in the distance. Nestled into the long grass they were perfectly camouflaged. I only just saw them. Three large females and three younger females to the rear. They looked dangerously powerful. I was not getting out of my car!
With Cats it seems it's all about waiting. At times they seemed very disinterested but mostly they were very focussed on the what was happening. At one stage as a group of wilderbeast ranged closer, they got really keen and one of the larger ones crept forward but still in cover. It was a stake out! I stayed there for a couple of hours but nothing changed. This Savannah game of cat and mouse is an end game! I was chuffed to hang with a lion hunting party.
As I drove back for an overdue coffee I saw another large flock of ostrich grazing as well as another peculiar looking foraging bird which I think is a Southern ground Hornbill. The bird life around here is as abundant as the animals are. I've seen plenty of hornbill with red and orange curved beaks, as well as Kori Bustards as well as others I still have to I.D.
I played hide and seek with a couple of giraffe as I reversed a couple of times to get in their path for a close up pic as they moved to cross the road. They eventually just sprinted around me but I got the pic. Another elephant crossing the road, and of course just springbok and wilderbeast all over the show.
It's just such a splendid experience.
In the arvo I was chatting to an South African Afrikaner couple who were telling me how in their opinion, “the only good boer is a dead boer as far as the Black Africans are concerned”. I could see her point but other than doom and gloom she had little answer to how the situation could change. It was one of the few times I have come up against the hard line Afrikaner attitude. On the whole the Afrikaner Boers I have met here in Namibia have been very genuine in their desire for a positive outcome in this part of the world. I have really been adjusting my opinion, but it shows the hardline attitude still does exist in places. She was hard out criticising the African intellectual capacity, but really I was left questioning hers. It is a difficult situation. I was glad to slip back into the waterhole experience where we sit like an audience watching the play evolve in front of us, mere spectators.
It was a suprise to meet a kiwi extended family touring Namibia and Botswana , but even more surprising was that the parents live in Parapara. I would never have found that out and met some new neighbours if I had obeyed the ‘Total Silence in the Temple of the Waterhole’ sign.
Anyways the elephant has departed, the Waterhole stage is once again empty and the audience are drifting away. I think I can handle another day or two of this even with the hard as ground to sleep on. I still havnt seen the Leopard, and the African sunsets here are just beautifully long and amazing.
P.s just after finishing this post, a Hyena ran through the undergrowth on the other side of the waterhole, there was a scream of an animal, then for the next hour or so loud chomping noises until I saw another hyena slink away with a bit of something in its mouth. The Hyena are busy.
So the show does goes on….
The waterhole has gone quiet. In fact nothing is happening. Except of course for the ever present hyena lurking in for a quick sip.
It was all action before. Rhino jousting, it is all about posture and seniority I guess. Amazing to see five rhino drinking around this floodlit waterhole. Then a family of elephants appeared for an evening soirée. The big ones chased the rhino out of the area. I didn't know how intimate they are with each other, the elephants that is. They rub and nudge and rub some more in a group. Taking in water with their trunks and spraying it into their mouths. I never knew! Three young elephants of different ages with their two I guess older much larger elephants. A family?
Then just as quick as they appeared out of the darkness they were gone.
The rhino moved back in , more posturing and positioning, the mother and young one squaring up against a really large male. Then leaving into the blackness only to reappear some minutes later just when the male was forgetting about them and having a drink. Rhino action is quite slow, but amazing to be witness to this play around the floodlit waterhole.
It has gone quiet now, in fact so quiet that nothing is happening. Maybe it's halftime. I lay down on the park bench and was instantly fast asleep. That's what happens when you bring a bottle of red wine to the show. It has been a long day.
This is my second day in Etosha, up in northern Namibia. I have always wanted to come here for as long as I can remember. It is a secret world. You pay your ten dollars at the gate and then you disappear into Animalia. A labyrinth of dirt roads which provide the setting for the African play of life. A postcard of a continent as the wilderness reigns supreme.
My first encounter were with a bunch of giraffe! They are so much larger and cartoon like than you can imagine. Their heads sticking out above the trees like straight out of Dr Suess. Their almost slow motion gallop. Then came zebra, heaps of them, so close. They are just unfazed by cars. Springbok just everywhere, sometimes in small groups, other times on mass. Tussling with each other or just sitting there looking. Sheep I guess. Not sure what they all eat. There is not much grass in areas. Just low trees over a very rocky landscape.
Today I spent much of the morning parked by a waterhole just inside the gates. The normal parade of wild animals just didn't cease as they all position themselves to take turns at moving in for a drink. Heaps of wilderbeast hung around the fringes, chasing each other or grazing seemingly non existent grass. The Kudu with their huge twisted horns moving in ever so slowly. They are a large beast, easy the size of a horse.
I feel a bit guilty for all the delicious Kudu and gemsbok biltong Ive been eating. Sure is tasty. I even tried a zebra steak. Not as delicious as a Gemsbok oryx fillet. Easy my favourite so far.
Oryx are everywhere with their distinctive horns and colouring. They hang about the waterholes in numbers with the zebra an springbok. Just hanging. A giraffe ventured in. It took ages to feel certain of going in for a drink. Wonder what attacks a giraffe? Then slowly came Ostrich. Their progress so slow that every time I looked they seemed to be standing still balancing on one leg, like the game the kids play where you move only when the back is turned. Maybe they think no one will notice them if they just go really slow. Blend into the background with their big black and white feathered bodies and really skinny long necks that bend whichever way. Sure no one notices. When they finally make it other hole that take turns in this dance of always having one with their head up. It is funny.
I can just watch all day in this surround vision drive in movie theatre. I keep looking for David Attenborough to pop up to explain. Every now and then a bus pulls up and instantly out the window come twenty or more really long lenses, all pointing and snapping. It's crazy this nature big business.
The thing about sitting in your car by the waterholes is that you are not allowed to step out of your car. The cats are in camo it seems and unaware tourists are fair game, so stay in the car the signs read. However I still need to stretch and can't help but sneak a quick exit even if I do have my back to the car and my eyes peeled. Apparently the cats are hard to spot, being in camo and all. So hard in fact I still havnt seen one, which is why I am still at the night waterhole.
After the waterhole in the morning I travelled through to Halali, the second camp in Etosha. The park itself is massive, situated around a salt pan that itself measures a hundred by eighty kilometres. It is bordered by huge grass plains as far as the eye can see, before changing into the low tree landscape I saw this morning. It was a fantastic sight in the late afternoon driving through this flat grass plain, with just the abundance of wildlife. It really must be a vision of another time and just shows the importance of these protected wilderness areas. A particular sight is that of small flocks of ostrich grazing the grass land. It must be somewhat how Moa must have been in Aotearoa at one time.
So here I am at Halali. It is reasonably quiet compared to the other main camp. You just pitch your tent on a sandy base! I am used to sleeping on the ground now. It took a few nights to get my camping fitness back! I love it and am glad for my hottie on some of the colder nights. I am eating simply, drinking simply and simply sitting by the fire. It is fun.
Well the waterhole is still quiet. The watchers with their multitude of telescopic infra red cameras have departed. The occasional jackal and hyena are coming by for a quick slurp but it seems the show is over for now. Bugger, I really want to see a leopard, but I guess they are not thirsty yet, or maybe they drink at another venue. The sign at the gate to the waterhole reads ‘Enter at Own Risk’ and I am now here all alone with a ten minute walk down a dark path.
Africa sure can be a scary place…
Independence has really stamped its mark on modern day Windhoek. The old street names have been changed to reflect the heroes of the liberation struggle. Fidel Castro, Sam Nujoma, Independence, John Meinert, Hosea Kutako. Names amongst others I also encountered on Robben Island and in the story of the liberation.
Notable is Robert Mugabe Drive, which despite its dubious current reputation, shows how the loyalties run deep. It is truly a liberation capital.
The imposing huge statue of funding leader Sam Nujoma towers over the former colonial symbols of German fort and church. It is a statement of triumph, and as seen the world over, the victors write the history.
My day in Windhoek began with a familiar pattern. Coffee in an open air cafe where I can see people. I love watching all the hustle of city life and all the characters that move through the city scape.
Here sharp power dressing rules the morning, but with a colour flare that is truly an African style. Sure it is not everyone, but the colour combinations and dress composition is unique. Big costume Bling offset by outrageous colour combinations that somehow just work. Some of the snappiest dressed men I have seen in ages, composed down to the T. Amongst the Namibian population you have a lot of really beautiful women. It is obvious. Just so varied and interesting with the different indigenous peoples that make up this nation. Maybe it is just the difference that grabs my attention, but I am captivated.
Hair is a big thing. The African scalp does not seem to grow thick hair, so plait extensions, weaves and wigs are just everywhere and I mean everywhere. In Windhoek here it is unusual to see an African women without some sort of hair piece. It makes for a kind of vogue glamour look. Once I realised this I really started to look and enjoy the look of women who actually used their natural hair to make a statement. Interesting. Men pretty much all have a #1 cut. There is a style that is definitely African and here I see the urban side to it.
Men and women in uniform here and there all through the city, just reminds one that the struggle for independence is still in very recent memory. Desert Camo fatigues with black boots. Here to have the title of freedom fighter is a real honour, respected without question. A freedom city.
The thing I notice the most is that I am totally the minority here, as a white male, and I feel it. I felt self conscious in my first days here and so my camera just stayed in its bag… Bugger. !
I ventured down the pedestrian boulevards looking at stalls , shops. Nothing really amazing other than pretty standard mall environs with brand shops. It is not the high point. That is left just to the diversity of people that inhabit the city. Walking the streets of Cape Town and now Windhoek you are fairly constantly bombarded by beggars. You are obviously an outsider and an easy target. I had been warned about it but I am uneasy when it happens as I find it hard to be harsh! It is not as prevalent here as in Cape Town but it seems best to avoid eye contact with people hanging about, or wear dark glasses.
I have been looking for local music and that is how I met Antonio. A Serbian draft dodger who has made Windhoek his home for the last fifteen years. He has made a business out of promoting local music artists and a concoction of tshirt designs with images as popular as Robert Mugabe to Osama Bin Laden. He has a sense of humour and really attracted quite an eclectic bunch of punters to his stall. We talked for ages. I asked him if he knew anything about the gem markets, to which he replied that his only knowledge was that I will get robbed. He said heaps of people are robbed all the time as they try and source gems. As this is one of my main tasks travelling in Namibia it was not what I wanted to hear. He went further, he said, “my friend , you are too friendly and the muggers will see that and target you”. “Be very careful”. Just what I wanted to hear. It is an unsettling feeling walking in a city where you feel vulnerable, imagined or not!!. I bought some great cd’s and headed back out into the streets.
Lunchtime downtown is busy , with vendors of all types, food, veggies, goods, beggars. Just such a multi media experience.
Seeking Refuge I made it to the National art gallery and from there to the national museum. The art Gallery featured some work exploring the themes of land ownership and how current landless Namibians are barred from land purchase by price for land they claim was never legally bought in the first place. Stolen they claim by colonial settlers. It is politically topical as there are many protests currently regards access to land ownership. The Museum similarly questioned the disempowerment of the tribal groups through the experience of colonialism with displays detailing the long history of the indigenous peoples, along with precious artefacts and discussion around the theft of intellectual identity. Something you find here is that the politics is very much alive with a lot of debate.
I visited the Liberation Museum. A huge North Korean built Monolith , it towers over the old symbols of colonial power, the Fort and the Church. Tiled in various shades of tan and brown to symbolise the differing tribal groups of Namibia. It is a monument to the struggle with each floor detailing an aspect of the quest for autonomy. From earliest German colonialism with gruesome photos of execution of the Nama and Damara leaders, to the most recent war with the forces of the South African Apartheid regime. It is a triumphant depiction of the victory. Almost Soviet era in its use of large sculpture showing the fight and liberation. I watched some Namibians interact with the museum and it was apparent what it means to the locals of this fledgling nation. I could see the wonder and pride of the African Namibians visiting the museum whilst I was there.
This in no doubt is a liberation city. There is opportunity if you have the initiative to make something of yourself. This does not come easy to all Namibians. After 150 years of slavery , initiative was drummed out of the African Namibian. Do what the Baas says!!
Even so there is an electricity that pulses through the streets of Windhoek which you don't see in other Namibian towns, it is an electricity of freedom. I guess the city attracts those who want to participate.
There is still a huge township area on the other side of the highway. Katatura is a sprawling mass of closely grouped small houses spilling out into shanties made from new tin, then huts from old tin, and then on its edges to small grass dome huts where the dwellers can just crawl in. You can drive down the highway and see the grass huts, people's houses, subsisting on the fringes from selling cut grass for animal feed. It is quite a place with these definite contrasts. Amongst these fringes live the baboons as the wildlife seeps into the edges of the city. Africa is a wild place.
In the local paper, 'the Namibian', there is a daily two page spread where you can SMS a question or statement or complaint. It is full of hard felt appeals to the president not to forget the plight of the people. It is touching and very real. As the apparent wealth of those in government and associated circles rises there is a definite class devide widening. It is hard to avoid as those with the skills and ambition make great strides in this fast growing new nation. There is wealth to be harvested as there always has been in this resource rich land. How this filters down to grass roots is a big issue. The hope is for those that govern and lead the way to stay in touch enough with their fellow Namibians. That their hunger is still felt in the belly of the President, so that the children of the nation are fed and resourced in the same manner as the blood children of the President. It is an utopian wish but surely in a new nation fuelled with the fire of revolution, this is where utopian dreams are real. I hope so.
It takes a while to get to grips with this place, but once you do it is exciting. Despite all the criticisms there still is an optimism that Namibia is progressing to be a high functioning liberated African Nation.
It is early days.
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My papers have always read born in Omaruru, Namibia, and so today a little over fifty years since that occasion, I once again find myself in this bustling small dusty town in the shadows of the Erongo mountains, north of Windhoek.
It bustles with activity, a few street sellers, a few kaffee stube, small shops in run down buildings. A newer supermarket and bank. It could really be anywhere. Except its Omaruru , central Namibia, town where I was born. This also is the town of my grandparents Anni and Daniel and of my mother Hildegard.
Not much actively remains of our families time here. The house is still there, recently renovated to be the office for a large garage workshop which now stands where my Opa’s citrus orchard once grew. The roof top verandah which was the scene of the nightly sundowners is still there. I still remember this from my last trip here as a six year old. From here I could see the coke fridge in the next door garage window, which held a strong attraction that hot summer.
We had traveled the long dust roads in our VW station wagon. The roads to us three children seemed long, straight, and endless as we flew at 140 km/hr. The desert roads have always had their own speed limits. As fast as you can go!
I still remember aspects of that summer here in Omaruru. Being sent to bed for a siesta in mosquito netting enclosed beds, the daily trip to the large swimming pool where it seems the whole community went for the afternoons. The white community that is. I have no recollection of the black children though they must of course have been here.
So little remains of this now. The pool empty , the domain a sandy patch of desert where once green grass grew.
Memory of our family time here does remain in the memories of some of its residents and it is into that domain I have been welcomed. Heine and Wendy open up their oasis of a house and garden with green lawns and an air of peacefulness. Heine fondly remembering Oma Grimm, who as a close friend of his mothers would help with the children once her own family had all left home. I feel at home in a strange way , two doors down from our old house.
My Opa, Daniel had first bought the house in the 1920’s. He had come from Germany at the turn of the last century and had lived his life in these desert environs, eventually denouncing his German citizenship as the atrocities of WW2 started to come to light. That was not the Germany of his childhood and heritage.
Back in the early century, after finishing his army contract, he had set about building his life here, working in the building of the railways, driving long haul trucks across the vast Namib plains. Losing a wife and child in childbirth. He had settled into the Hospitality trade in Windhoek. Managing the popular Thuringer Hof hotel , before buying his own hotel in Okahandja. Eventually he retired to Omaruru in the 1940's to the house he owned. It was a long life, never returning to the land of his birth. Our son Willow, carries his name.
My Oma Anni, always loved to travel. She told me that as a young girl from Hildburghausen, she was always intrigued by what lay over the next mountain range. This zest for travel had seen Anni, together with her friend, sent to German Southwest as young Red Cross nurses in the mid thirties. Her photo albums lay testament to the intrigue of this place as the young nurses were treated to a tour of the north upon arrival. Their means of transport, the back of a lorry , all together with their camping equipment. The photos show vast empty plains , with solitary trees. The local Himba covered in mud making things. A world away from her life in Germany. All roads lead to Omaruru in our family it seems.
So with Hildgard we did a tour of the Omaruru sights, the Turm, built to protect the white women in the early Herero uprisings, the Lutheren church of my Oma’s, where my sister Anne was baptised.
The hospital where I was born, abandoned , used now as low value housing. It had been built with community funding, but in a town which had a black and a white hospital, after independence the Black hospital became the town hospital. The doctors of my grandparents time had worked in both hospitals , it was only about the patients being separated. So it lies in ruin where fifty years ago my mother gave birth to her first son at the tender age of Nineteen. Delivered by Dr Ganschow and my Oma, Red Cross nurse Anni Grimm. I visited the elderly Dr Ganschow in Swakopmund and it is her family who welcome me here back to Omaruru.
My father away in the army as all males were conscripted to do. It was into my grandparents arms I was first held and nurtured in this desert town. I think now this is why amongst all the complex issues of this bustling town on the main road north, I feel a quiet settledness. A sense of completion to the promise I had made to my beautiful Oma Anni that I would return one day to visit the grave of her husband.
So with Hildegard and Allan there was one more stop on our tour of Omaruru’s few sights. We had been told it was in disrepair, the cemetery on the edge of town where the desert Savannah lies in wait. My mothers memory of it shaded in trees were dashed as the trees have long since died from lack of water. It is a hot place where now the the remnants of lives lived in this town are marked. After a period of abandonment and vandalism , the cemetery has been tidied and restored by a small group of residents, a relief to my mother, as she finally found the grave of her father, and my grandfather.
Our link to this desert town.
A long time alone between visits.
Enter stage right.
So I am in the African Art Shop talking gems with Oliver, the proprietor. He is telling me that my chances of finding quality gems are slim. The supplies are scarce and anyway the Chinese buyers are snapping up all the available gems.
And in walks Mr Nangolo and sits down in a chair. A youthful older African gentleman with a rounded face beaming with energy. Looking at me he says,”what makes you so friendly and full of love my friend”. Ok! … ‘I am a kiwi‘, I respond, ‘it is in our nature’. ‘But I am born here and am making a trip home to my birthplace, Omaruru’. What proceeds can at best be described as a torrent of spontaneous linguistic expression. A Jackson Pollock in words as Mr Nangolo unleashed a torrent of stories of recovered memories, about the simultaneous nature of time and the interconnectedness of kindred spirits. Coming from Golden Bay this is a language I can understand. I have met enough free thinking individuals to know a liberated spirit when I hear one. He told me how he was a freedom fighter for his people, spoke six languages, how in his years of exile from his Namibian homeland he had been educated in Germany, started an independent journalism career in Nigeria, and was now the official poet of Namibia.
It was music I needed to hear after earlier in the day hitting a low point where I felt I was not up to this African challenge and was telling Frith maybe I should come home.
As quickly as he arrived he left with his purchase, a DRC Mask, giving me his card and asking me to call him so we could meet the next day as he wanted to show me his book of poetry. His card read, Special advisor to the Minister, Government of Namibia.
Exit stage Left.
The next day I finally found a book shop to buy a selection of African writers for my trip north and was standing by the outdoor coffee shop thinking how I should ring Mr Nangolo to arrange to meet when a women from the cafe came over and said to me a gentleman was requesting I join him. And so sitting there was Mr Nangolo.
Enter again stage right.
He had a copy of his poetry book for me and asked would I join him for lunch. With the meal underway he had me reading out some of his poems as he told me the associated stories, of love, of revolution, of the importance of sensitivity. I was a spellbound, like I was sitting with my mentor J.K.Baxter, being treated to one of those events that reinforce what it means to be alive in this world. I showed him the selection of African stories I had just purchased and he set about explaining the interconnectedness of these stories with his work, “Watering the Beloved Desert”.
And as quickly as it began it was over. He inscribed my copy with a piece of original prose about the linking of oceans between Aotearoa and Namibia and with a parting nod said that all I need to do is think of him and he will understand my message……..?
Exit. Again stage Left…
So this voyage continues, I feel somehow amongst the ordinary that so much that is extraordinary is being exposed. I don't quite know how it works but it is fuel to the fire that keeps me on my journey.
Thank you Mvula :)
This place just keeps amazing me. It's just so other worldly. Today saw me tackle the red dunes at Sossusvlei. It is one of the gems of Namibian tourism and so I was a little scared off by hordes of tourists. But once you enter the dune zone it just takes on a world of its own. Every angle is just a wicked photo op! The backdrops just so dramatic with the snaking red dunes against the vivid blue sky. The white salt vlei’s dot the landscape with ancient dead tree stumps. It's crazy. The close ups of rocks and pebbles show an eternity of sand carving patterns into the surface. Almost mimicking the ripples in the sand.
We made it to the car park where you can board land cruisers to take the 4wd top to the base of Big Daddy.
Reputed to be the largest Dune on earth it sure looked impressive. It was a red flag to a bull as I set off at a pace. Hildegard and Allen protesting at how long it would take me, but…. How could I not do it? Of course I headed in completely the wrong direction!! Once a guide pointed this out and suggested I go over a dune in front of me I arrived in this large salt pan vlei which forms the base to the trek. By this time it was approaching midday and the heat was starting to build. I took a swig of water and set up the dune. It looked abit like 6:1, our favourite hike at rainbow ski field, so I felt confident.
It did not take long before I was heaving deep gulps of air as each footstep seemed to fall away on the sharply angled ridge. With the wind blowing it forms a razor sharp ridge which is like a pathway marker. I chugged on. I thought I could see the top only to find it was only the half way ridge! By this time the heat was getting to me big time, prob being just after midday and the peak of the heat. My head was hot, my feet were hot, I was chugging!! I swigged water but still could only do a dozen steps without stopping as the sand underfoot was so loose on the crest of the dune. I was thinking of my many treks up 6:1 with Jass and Dave. But in those treks the cold air helps to rejuvenate. None of this here , just heat and hot energy sapping wind blowing sand. I was feeling it. I noticed a small bug skuttling along just below the crest. How is that possible, then a bird swung low over me , probably looking for the bug. At two thirds point I noticed another venturer heading straight up the guts climbing a few steps and stopping. It was getting a bit gut wrenching for sure. But heck it's only a dune!!! I was thinking of being fifty , how I need to learn to give up! I always push to keep going, but it's not the best way surely. I was thinking of calling it! I was thinking of Peter in Amsterdam and I knew he would keep going!
I saw the climber up the centre was getting closer to me so took a rest to watch her slow ascent.
I called out and she said she was out of water, so I called her over which took ages. This allowed me to rest and regain some strength. So I met Che, an intrepid world traveller from South Carolina. She was on her second dune of the day and feeling it big time. She revived on my juice and water and we coasted the last quarter to the peak. The view from up top was just ridiculously amazing. Just so unreal in 360 degrees. This trip seems to be about the desert, my birth here, the lives of both my grandfathers whose lives where influenced by different deserts in different ways.It's always been in me. Somewhere just below the surface. So here I am sitting on top of the worlds highest dune in the driest desert on the planet. Sharing it with this beautifully gritty random women. A blast. But Peter Pontier, it was thinking of you that kept me going when I was sure I could not make it.
So it's for you my friend.
Downhill was a run down this super steep face , but little can go wrong it seems in sand. I'd love to do it on a sand board ! A trek out across the hot vlei, a goodbye to Che and into the land cruiser for a hell as fast and rough rally back to the car park. The driver was laughing as he dropped me off. My mother had sent him to find me, he asked for water. It was just so dammed hot. It had been four hours since I set off! Lucky Hildegard and Allan weren't too upset at waiting, but how could I not do it.
A postscript regards meeting Che up there. Peter Van der Meer always says how what he loves the most about travelling is all the random people you meet. And it's so true, it's amazing how it brings out such real interactions with strangers and how quickly they become friends. Somehow I am just more receptive and more willing to give. It's a journey. Lovin it !
Heading to Windhoek tomorrow.
Luderitz , a small busy town perched between the desert and the ocean. It has a long history with diamonds, and the fading grande old Germanic buildings are a testament to that. The grandeur is long gone but diamonds still remain and an industry is built around it.
Fishing is big with the Benguela current offshore but I suspect it is mineral ore exports that are the real driver of the busy port. Apparently it is uranium being shipped from here but there is little outward sign other than security.
I am camped out on shark island, a peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic. Quite a change from the desert interior. Nice to hear the crashing of the waves metres from my tent. Shark island is infamous as a camp in the early 1900’s where the German colonialists improsoned many hundreds of Nama insurgents and heir families. Hundreds died from disease on this barren rock. It is regarded now as a period of genocide by the Nama and Demara, where the Germans sided with the Herero to clear the local inhabitants from their land. The Nama fought back with a few rifles, mostly bow and arrows, spears and slingshots! A heap of Bravery. So Shark Island bears a memorial to Adolf Luderitz , the founder of the town , but more importantly there is a memorial to the hundreds of Nama who perished here including their leader Cornelius Fredericks.
I may have a connection here. I know my grandfather arrived here as a fresh faced young German soldier to assist the quelling of the rebellion. Family history says that by the time he got down here to Luderitz, it was all over, but he did live here for a spell, working on the construction of the desert railway, and my mother still has some inheireted diamond jewellery from this time.
So I feel I have some peace to settle at this memorial, make an offering as a token of recognition of the suffering the locals endured.
I would love to get some rough diamond , but I was warned not to ask about as people would mistakenly think I had money which could be a problem. It will be all super tightly controlled, with a mine to the south and a ship offshore sifting ocean floor sand. The diamonds are now mined by a mix of Namibian government ownership and De Beers, the S.A/Dutch mega crop who control the worlds diamond market.
The Nama and Demara still are the vast majority here, but it is obvious that the wealth is elsewhere. Sad considering these were some of the richest diamond fields ever discovered. Fairtrade diamonds not sure!
It is raining and camping in my tent gets challenging in the rain. I didn't really gear up for rain! A few small leaks !! I didn't even bring a raincoat. We are heading back into the Namib desert, so am sure I can dry out a bit. It never rains in Namibia !!
One last thing about this town. Every where I go people are so friendly, always saying hello. Guess I am just a tourist but the hospitality is great. :) and so are the fresh oysters!! $10/doz.
Afrikanerdom is well and truely alive in these parts. Afrikaans is spoken predominantly by both the whites and Africans. On the surface it does not look like much has changed since the New Democracy. It is a difficult issue. The Afrikaners never voluntarily gave up power. Their reign of oppression lasted over a hundred years and it is I imagine reluctantly that they have relinquished control to the new democracy. The S.A government is now requiring companies to relinquish 51% of their ownership to African ownership. This is controversial as the economy is already struggling to deal with many issues. But I can understand the intent, until the economic power base shifts then the change has not been fundamental. Here in Namibia, Afrikanerdom also still seems to have a footprint. From a cursory observation, the large firms that dominate the lower Namibian Savannah are still Afrikaner owned whilst the local Nama and coloureds still live in small settlements of tiny brick houses. It would be interesting to talk to these residents to see how things have changed post independence. Certainly in Northern Cape you could see the huge farmer houses, with the farmers in their flash Hiluxes and similar whilst the workers are still in very low cost housing. With wages at an equivalent $2.50/hr it is hard to see change coming soon.
No one disputes the hard yards put in by these farming families to establish this agricultural powerhouse of production in an often hostile environment, hard yakka for sure. I was told there are increasing conflicts between angry Africans wanting their ancestral land , with the outcome being killings of farmers in some areas. Not a suitable outcome, but a sign of the desperation of many.
I think this is where to Afrikaners and others the death defying walk through the Fish River Canyon has so much importance. Five days walking eleven hours a day in an environment inhabited by scorpions, snakes and baboons. It is so dry and geological with all the exposed rock strata and mineral deposits. It is like a mini recreation of the great Afrikaner trek into the unknown to emerge into the promised land. A spiritual rite of passage for a people who’s family values, devotion, and hard work are legendary. Whose legacy none the less will be the oppression, and suppression of generations of Africans in their own lands.
As we headed towards the Namibia border the landscape changes as the heat starts to become apparent. From the semi arid landscape it rapidly starts to change until you approach the border and the landscape just becomes barren.
It was with quite an emotional feeling as we encountered the small border town. It has been some 43 years since I last made this journey, a long awaited return and one which I was not sure when would happen. For my mother too it was a long overdue return to the country of her childhood and more importantly the country of her parents lives.
After leaving a very official but not very thorough border check, we entered the southern desert lands of Namibia. For as far as the eye could see in all directions were quite dreamlike landscapes of dark rocky hill mounds in amongst a blanket of cream sands. My camera can just not catch the immensity of the distances, they are truly awe inspiring dreamlike vistas. I he remember this vastness from travelling here as a child, sitting on sticky seats looking out at the seemingly never ending stretch of road ahead.
We travelled for a few hours though this silence until turning off the N7 we encountered our first stretch of dirt road where the cars bounce and drift on the sandy surface at high speed. Hard to imagine when all the roads here in Namibia were sand as in my mother's time here and my father's first forays here in his mini.
Eventually we reached the oasis of Ai-Ais. Palm trees and hot thermal pools in amongst the Death Valley of Fish River canyon.
]]>This little girl was so cute. I was with Jeanette my cousin and after my Robben Island trip we headed for a sundowner at Sea Point. This girl was helping her dad gardening. When I asked her if I could take her picture she picked up her pink watering can and washed her hands before posing for my picture . So cute and a nice way to finish my day on Robben Island. I just wish I had asked her name.
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First night in a tent and I am still feeling the ground. Drove through a big chunk of Namaqualand. Famous for its spring flowers, today we started through acres of citrus in really sandy soils. Small towns brimming with the workers in from the surrounds for a a Saturday in town. Through into the vast namakwaland plains, for as far as the eye could see, broken only by sparodic plantations of grapes in small sunken valleys. It is dry and dusty and a taste of what's in store as we approach the Namib desert.
In the middle of nowhere , came this guy on his bike. Nederburg range in the background!
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Heading out of the city today. Just starting at get at ease with it. Finding some cool spots to hang out. Questing to find the cool scene. Get glimpses of it with the young crowd, Africans so slick in their appearance, hair so beautiful manicured, men and women, confident. It's a confidence that has to give a heap of hope for the future. Interesting to see some of my similar generation , mid/late professionals , I can sense the similarity in attitude. I think you grow up tough around here, it's a kind of bush resilience . Guess it is why S.A and N.Z always had an affinity. Found a cool hangout up in gardens! Eatery and coffee in run down backwaters, wouldn't even know it's there. I'd like to be back check out more of this scene.
So heading out today. Have my supplies, got my coffee machine , gas cooker, cigars :) essentials ! Stuck in 5 lanes of crawling traffic. City of 10 million has its drawbacks.
Just passed a dead body on the freeway. Silver wrap sobers me. A person a day are killed on the freeways. You see the lost blacks walking on the edge of the freeways. Guess some on drugs and when they try and cross the fatalities happen. Tik is a menace here as P is in N.Z . People with little to live for . No jobs, no money, no home, it is still the underbelly of his place. Collateral damage. I’m sad now , can't help but feel affected by a body under silver wrap on the freeway. Driving by, heading north.