Southern Africa

From the Horn to the Cape

April 24, 2007 Thursday   Agoura, California   Preplanning

It has been months leading to this day. False starts, missed appointments, plan changes, altered commitments, all coaxed me, haltingly, along to reach this very moment. I’ll try to accurately tell the events pulled from a faulty recollection. Before the seeds of this adventure to southern regions of Africa had been planted, I was irritated by the failed launch of my first intended journey to Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan with my brother, Steve. That trip would be too difficult for my wonderful wife, Marcy, whose injury of years past prevents her from long walks. Steve had never gone on a very exotic trip so these three eastern countries would have been a formidable accomplishment for him and me.

My business demanded my immediate attention.  It always calls loudest, especially when I purchase non-refundable tickets, or lay out big bucks for special, hard-to-get visas. There would always be something to inhibit the fulfillment of a new adventure. Why or how is a deep mystery to me, but it happens with such alarming accuracy that I proceed anyway, I expect it. My goal is clear so I buy the tickets. Steve couldn’t go because other issues arose in his life that required him to stay.

I started to find problems of getting visas from each of these near eastern countries.
While this is another difficult but surmountable task I chose to end this adventure before it began. I must consider, among other factors, the changes of weather, I chose to travel to southern Africa. This region is in the southern hemisphere so the climate is roughly opposite of that here in the northern hemisphere. It is approximately equidistant from the equator like my base of Los Angeles.  When these three issues converged at a senile moment in time my knees buckled and I closed my plans for my Tibetan journey till another time.

I had to make new plans. Some countries were excluded from consideration because of horrendous civil wars with fractional chiefs fighting for dominance of small areas, not too different from the gang violence in major U.S. cities. Whatever the cause, I would eliminate countries as possible travel destinations if they were in the throes of unpredictable turmoil. My vivid recollection of children with machetes and rifles like I saw in Sudan would do nothing to abrogate my fear of such scenarios. A friend of mine who moved to Brazil, Shawn Wilk, was interested in joining me for this adventure; the first part, before my wife Marcy arrives. Shawn should already be in Cape Town.

We started with a small misunderstanding which was totally my fault leaving at 9:00 p.m. I projected my arrival for the following day (that would be April 25.)  I was in error about my arrival date. It will be on April 26 at 7:00 a.m.  This further complicated our departure because after going through the Customs and Immigration booth, I would be late for the 8:00 a.m. flight leaving Cape Town to Windhoek a journey of more than 800 miles. It is where we need to begin the travels according to my guidebooks.  

Our friends, Paul and Karen, had just spent two weeks in South Africa and brought back glowing reports of great travels there.  I had heard other good things about this region of the world. As I began researching countries around the world, I saw that this held the potential to be another spectacular adventure. The general target was established and plans began to gel. Marcy had some initial interest ignited by Karen who raved about the wonderful time they had. Karen chose to have the trip partially planned by a travel agent. The way I enjoy traveling is without plans or fixed places where I must arrive at a specific time. I shun reservations.Slowly, almost laboriously I judiciously tried to select a region where I would be able to see as much important (to me) sights and collect data for the website.

LAX Security required that I get to the airport at 6:00 p.m. My brother Steve drove me the forty-mile trip to Los Angeles International Airport. Of course we stopped at Tito’s Tacos, our childhood favorite fast food joint, which we frequent when we can.  The hot beef, bean and cheese burritos were safely wrapped in tin foil then tucked into my carry-on luggage. I was required to go through a metal detector like all other travelers. This security measure took an hour because there were few travelers on international flights now. Usually this step is the most tedious and time-consuming. Checking in and checking my luggage took just a few minutes. Unfortunately the security of LAX seems to be run by poorly trained people who have impressed me as borderline-employable. The flight itself, was long and uneventful. It was my first time to take British Airways and I was left unimpressed with their service, especially when those of us in “economy-class.” We were asked at the end of the Los Angeles to London flight, to “clean up around your area because that would really help us (meaning the steward and stewardesses.”) Most other passengers felt, like me, that this is part of their job. The result was contrary to the desired response elicited of the tired and worn passengers for the benefit of the stewardesses; just little things smeared on the floor or used tissues left, wadded, on the seats. The change of time announced mid-flight caused me to lose accurate measure time of this leg of the flight because I sleepily changed my watch and forgot the time difference. In London Heathrow, the airport covered a huge area and had a wonderfully interesting mall.  Walking around and through the shops helped pass my three-hour layover much more quickly.

April 25, 2007 Friday     London Heathrow Airport.      Mid-Trip

This leg of the flight will take about eleven hours and arrive 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning and I will have skipped an entire day!

April 26, 2007    Thursday     Cape Town, South Africa

The black driver identified himself as James but as we crawled slowly into and with heavy morning commute traffic on the modern freeway, he went deeper into his dreary existence. He, almost enthusiastically, revealed intimately painful details about his thirty-one years in Cape Town. James was a name assigned to him by a parish priest.  He had a different name, a Zulu name, at birth, which, after three attempts, I couldn’t pronounce even approximately correct. The minivan he drove was mired in traffic as this is midweek and we were heading into a metropolitan area.  Not further than five kilometers outside of the airport I could see a huge shanty town, which almost abutted the freeway. The perimeter of this is pointed out to me by James, who told me that “It is a black township” that he lives in. The edges of that area, although seen from a distance of a thousand yards through a misty rain, looked to me like a slum really and it appeared little better than the outskirts of Tijuana, Mexico. Ramshackle living boxes built tightly together, several pyres of brown and black smoke twisted oddly toward the heavens. Hundreds of blue plastic tarpaulins, each held down with large stones or bricks, served as the most common way the roofs of each dwelling were made waterproof. Children could be seen from my highway vantage point, dancing in and through the shit brown ponds of water. I gulped, imagining that this was what I would see. Before me, the distant horizon was broadly painted with the huge city. It was not far away but one could quickly assess that this was no “little town.”

I was delivered to the Blue Hostel where Shawn was waiting for me. The hostel pays the driver to take me here. Going back to the airport is my responsibility.

After a quick shower I was ready to go, I was very tired from the long flight but loss of time will catch up to me tomorrow. Shawn had rented a small car. It seemed to me to be a dangerous situation, but Shawn took it upon himself to do that.  We started out on our journey to the Cape Point where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans collide. But I would find out soon enough that at this point there are other things that also collide.
           
Almost from the very start it was apparent that having Shawn driving a rental car was a risk to which I was uncomfortably committed. Naturally, the steering wheel is on the right side of the car, not the left as it is in the U.S. This only presenteda small reoccurring problem to us where driver and passenger kept getting in on the wrong sides of the mini car.

I could hear small whooshes of air as we came dangerously to parked vehicles on my side of the road. Not without comment did my fears pass. We struck no cars; instead our car sliced the cut-stone curbs twice, each time making contact with the silver-colored plastic hubcaps. The first time it happened the wheel cover shattered, leaving a tangled mass of silver colored shards tenaciously clinging to the wheel. The second moment of contact happened after the fortieth time I yelled “HEY!” Sitting stoically in the car, I was resigned to the fact that we’ll strike the curb again. Ckrrack!! There went the second hubcap, which had been deeply scarred from contact with the curb earlier, now was dislodged and careening along the road on its own journey. Striking the rear of a parked car, it bounced high in the air then disappeared from sight. My stoicism melted into a steady level of fear, heavily laced with an acidic premonition sitting deep in my stomach; I had clear visions of a crash. We continued toward the Cape of Good Hope sometimes called the Cape Point.  We were now more than eighty miles from downtown of Cape Town. I was comforted to see so few cars travel this area. With seldom seen autos, I reasoned, the likelihood of an accident is diminished. Momentarily I relaxed.  In the light rain Shawn reached over to change the radio station. Then...just at that moment........ KKKRRRAASSH!!!  I looked out the front windshield just in time to see a maroon-colored Japanese pick-up veer to the left as we did to the right. I cannot commit to paper the look of fear and consternation I saw on the other driver’s face. Shawn reacted as he would in the U.S. by pulling further to the right and the other driver, a young South African white man reacted as he has been taught and pulled to the left but since he was coming from the opposite direction it was a head-on collision! Immediately after the accident we looked for any bodily injury. We were all surprised that with the massive force nonetheless nobody was hurt, not even a scratch. Both vehicles had the front fender ripped off as a result of this mishap and, even worse, neither vehicle was drivable. Other than the damage to the cars we were no worse off. However, we were stopped short of reaching our objective, the Cape Point, by six kilometers. The distance remaining was almost walkable, less than three miles, along the flat landscape approaching the Point. To reach our desired destination we tried to cajole the tow truck driver with an offer of fifty dollars just so we could see it.  It just wasn’t something he felt allowed to do and refused the cash. That surprised me.
 
The other driver called his friend, who showed up quickly. They tied a rope from the crumpled undercarriage of the front of his car to the rear bumper of his friend’s old white pick-up truck. The idea was to pull the vehicle out of that desolate area, but two miles up the road we saw the old white pick-up parked on the side of the road but now its rear fender was laying at the edge of the road still tethered to the rope.        

The rain continued, moderately, till we arrive in Cape Town.  Then it really began to pour heavily, coming down harder than ever.  The sixth and final stop of this short train trip was at Cape Town.

Shawn had called the rental car company while we were on the train. He arranged to have us delivered to the airport at six a.m. tomorrow. He tried to get a replacement car brought to where we were but that the company wouldn’t do that. This was an acceptable alternative. We departed from the train station, battered by heavy rain. We decided to hire a cab for the short distance. Although the station had many people walking this way and that, few seemed to have plans to leave the station. It was like this was a place for blacks and coloreds to have social gatherings. We quickly caught a taxi to bring us the three kilometers to the Big Blue Hostel. Ten minutes passed before I fell sleep after an exhausting day and the time change adjustment.  We had lots to do tomorrow.

April 27, 2007     Cape Town South Africa to Windhoek, Namibia
The morning came slowly. I had been waking frequently because I didn’t want to miss our early flight to Windhoek in Namibia at 7:45 a.m. The airline clerks asked that we arrive at least two hours earlier so I kept checking my watch throughout the night. Shawn seemed reliant on a clock alarm built into a small camera he had recently purchased. The alarm proved to work well but I was already up. The biggest drawback of hostels is that the bathrooms are communal and “down the hall.” 

I miss Marcy a lot. I am certain my phone bill will be huge when I get home to look at it. I was told it was $6 per minute when I make a call in Namibia to the USA. I brought my other cell phone, the one that I bought in Malaysia; buy a local cell chip for it so local calls will be cheaper to make and there is no charge to me for incoming calls.

I checked in, said good-bye to Shawn and took the flight. As I passed through Customs, several facts revealed themselves. First, the customs immigration officers never asked from proof of a return ticket but did ask how long I might stay. Second, she stamped my passport twice on the same page with another entry stamp for Venezuela, so that debunking the “two pages left blank” in the passport theory as a requirement. It looks like we just got a “ball buster” ticket agent.
 

I took a minibus with several other passengers, and each paying 120 Namibia dollars to the driver, and each of us will get delivered to the address of their choosing in the small city of Windhoek. I walked back into the downtown area of the city after arranging to have a bunk at the Cardboard Box Hostel. It was a simple fifteen-minute walk down one main street, Robert Muggabe Blvd. to Independence Street. Independence Street runs two miles from the modest black area into a region of fancy high-rise hotels for tourists. I stopped at a market to buy bottled water and some local fruit. Surprisingly, the prices were not very cheap, even for the basic staples.

Before starting this trip I read that an average Namibian with a clerical job makes about $75 U.S. Dollars per month. The prospect of them being able to afford prices that compared to those in L.A. was amazing to me since there seemed to be no shortage of buyers. Carrying a small bag of groceries I began the short walk home. I was wearing a light shirt and durable but very light nylon pants. It was very hot and these clothes are great for such weather. Suddenly I clearly felt a man’s hand slide into my pocket. I dropped the bag of water and fruit as I grappled with the man who had been holding a rolled newspaper to conceal his failed attempt to pick my pocket. My reaction was swift; I grabbed the middle-aged man around the neck and was prepared to toss him either to the ground or into the street. He pulled back to get his head free but feebly. Two black men wearing blue “official-looking” uniforms hurriedly approached us.  The taller policeman pulled the heavy man by his belt until he was facing the policeman, away from his face by a mere inch. Both policemen beat him as they roughly marched him down Independence Street to the police station two hundred yards down the street. I stood at the edge of the street and watched them beat him as he argued his innocence. There were twenty or more people watching this scene play out. I stood still, surprised by the whole thing and saw several fresh spots of blood on the sidewalk. I examined myself, looking to see if I had any extra holes or blood but nothing more than a red bruise on my forearm. It is common for regions that heavily depend on the tourist trade to treat a petty criminal with brutality. A passerby must have picked up the fruit and liter of water then carefully placed it upright on the curb where it sat waiting for me. Back at the hostel I laid down for what I thought would be a ten-minute rest but I didn’t open my eyes until 4:00 a.m.

April 28, 2007  Saturday         Windhoek, Namibia
Namibia is largely Lutheran from an earlier time in the twentieth century when Germans maintained a presence here. There is a strong Catholic presence too. This is the earliest religion of this area is a mystical knowledge of animals and strong faith in the wisdom of their ancestors. The dangers of big cities exist here in spite of strong religious beliefs. Although this is a small city, it is the largest city for hundreds of miles and it is built largely on tourism and that attracts criminals.

After a light breakfast, I walked into town then back.  I spoke with the owner of this hostel to ask about a private tour around Namibia since the structured tours being offered are not for me. I don’t want the focus of my adventure to be geographic wonders or animals. I want to see African cultures and how the primitive tribes people live. Separate and distinctive different tribes still exist and carry on traditions, their lives are touched and being bastardized by Western influence. From my reading, prior to the start of the journey, I think that there is a great amount of emphasis for the tourist on unusual terrain, natural wonders, and wild animals. Certainly that is interesting to me, but I feel that the members of primitive tribes are dwindling and may disappear soon. Certainly it will never be the same for the children of my grandchildren to see. This is what I think now; what will I think after this leg of the journey?

Coordination of this trip with Shawn will be difficult. I stopped a taxi driver to ask for a tour of this city. My travel book mentions a few recent structures built in the last five years. Only two buildings, constructed by the Germans, shortly preceded the twentieth century. The new buildings look well designed especially for this environment. The driver said he spoke English, but I’d soon find out how very little he really spoke. He and I agreed on an hour-long tour for a hundred Namib. He brought me to the edge of town, then wanted to pick up two friends and drive them to another point. Instead I got out of the taxi and arranged the same deal with another driver who spoke even less English but who claimed to know the town well. After sixteen minutes he said that we have seen everything! I paid fifty Namib for this shortened time, even that was too much. 

April 29, 2007   Sunday         Windhoek, Namibia

The businesses of this city closed at 5:00 p.m. Places of interest, like libraries, museums and internet cafes are closed too. I laid around, read and relaxed - really bored!!!! I went to sleep early. During the day I was organizing my equipment and reading my books to establish plans based on my goals.  I caught up on the lost travel sleep; it had finally caught up with me.  I called Marcy, then Shawn.

April 30, 2007   Monday         Windhoek, Namibia

the local language is “the place we do not want to go.” Not mandated by written law, this is where the lowest on the social ladder (who endeavor to not be transient or revert to tribal life in the brush) find themselves, usually blacks or coloreds.  Alcohol, physical or mental disabilities have crowded these unfortunates together in even worse conditions than was set when Katura was forcefully established during years of apartheid rule. . Drugs have not been a problem because the cost has put them out of reach for most people. The tin roofs are held down by a random pattern of head-sized stones over thin black plastic tarp.

Leslie brought me into his sister’s house in Kutatura. He introduced her to me and her family. Immediately I took notice that there were four children and no father lives here.
I began to examine her home after Leslie described it as not the worst nor the best of this unsettled settlement.                                  
The tiny shack was large enough for the mother and her five daughters to take refuge at night, but not to stay in during the day.  They had a front yard enclosed by a wire mesh fence where they would spend part of the day, especially in the roasting heat of midday. Along the perimeter stood a small room containing a toilet and washbasin. A wooden and wire mesh pen stood in the shade of the house. It might hold a chicken or rabbit until it met it’s fate in the family kitchen. Outside this fragile barrier stood the social ills that the children especially would be forced to confront and endure. Thousands of homes better or worse than this one dotted the rolling landscape for miles in every direction.

Facts of history should best be read in history books, not here. The very essence of what he said is that the tribes had been moved out of other areas that they may have lived on for centuries but forced to move to this large hilly area outside of the city by several miles. To prevent organized unrest and discontentment by the blacks, they kept each of the tribes geographically separated and at odds with each other. Although the dejure separation of blacks and coloreds from the whites was banned by law ever since Nelson Mandela, the defacto system still continues.  

May 1, 2007   Tuesday         Windhoek, Namibia

We met Leslie who introduced us to Charles and Freddy we went over the details of the trip plus costs. 15,000 Namibian dollars translated to about 102 USD daily. If add the extras like special foods or day trips Leslie said that may add another 200 Namibian per day.

After getting groceries to last a few days local Windhoek grocery we loaded the mini van and off we were. While in the market  we met Charles’ wife and their wide-eyed, ebony-skinned three-year-old daughter. The little shy girl was intimidated by our white skin. Some of the food we purchased required refrigeration in our cooler. Others would be fine even with the warm dry weather of Namibia’s high deserts at 3700 ft elevations. We traveled for six hours, largely on gravel roads until we entered the campsite and found a campsite but with little shelter from the late afternoon heat.

After the camp was set up Shawn and I took all our gear into the tent and sat around a small fire. Charles and Freddie had cooked a chicken dinner. I didn’t` care that it wasn’t a gourmet meal, but I loved every bite. There was just something about cooking outside and having our guides, Charles and Freddie prepare dinner for us while we took a refreshing dip in the chilly water of the clubhouse pool.

We were expected to get up early because the sunrise from Dune in Nauctluff is a sight visitor should experience, we were told. We drove many miles to get here. I don’t want to miss it. We met Leslie who introduced us to Charles and Freddy we went over the details of the trip plus costs. 15,000 Namibian dollars translated to about 102 USD daily. If add the extras like special foods or day trips Leslie said that may add another 200 Namibian per day.

After buying groceries to last a few days at a local Windhoek grocery we loaded the mini van and off we were. While in the market we met Charles’ wife and big-eyed three year old daughter, The daughter was bit intimidated by our white skin. Some of the items we purchased required refrigeration in our cooler. Others would be fine even with the warm dry weather of Namibia’s high deserts at 3700 ft elevations. We sped over long stretches of gravel roads for six hours, stopping for a few moments along the desolate road. We entered the small park after a few dollars were collected at the entrance gate.  All the good campsites were occupied. All we could find was a site with no shade and little shelter from the late afternoon heat.

May 3, 2007   Wednesday    300 miles north of Windhoek, Namibia

Shawn and I woke up about the same time and smelled breakfast cooking. We ate and put all the gear together quickly at a very early hour, not even 4:00 a.m. yet. We out everything together and left camp.

About one kilometer away was a line of seven 4x4 Toyota style trucks and a very unusual all-terrain bus. Like us, each of the other vehicles sat in the darkness while a guard walked from vehicle to vehicle to confirm that the park fee was paid. A line of ten trucks and cars quickly formed behind us. The gate for our wagon to pass was opened and we drove three kilometers to the base of a sand dune. From here Shawn and I began an arduous walk to the crest. It was difficult because there was little cohesiveness of the sand so with each step my foot would slide until it was buried two inches in the sand. Quickly I learned to step on the footprint left by the walker before me because his step compacts the sand momentarily.

The Sun peeked over the distant dune with just one dim ray, then, quickly, I was bathed by thousands. Going down the dune was considerably less effort. I didn’t need to take short breaks. Shawn just ran, slipped, and slid down the hill.

Shadows and light seemed to change the colors of each dune. Remnants of desert rivers, waiting to spring alive with the first rains threaded across the valley floor. Oceans of sand so fine and so dry I wondered how life could gain an adequate foothold to survive this unforgiving environment. Somehow it did because surrounding the dune was vegetation primarily scrubby green, white, or tan bush.  In the desert, streams of water often run underground. The bushes survive only when they are successful in finding a source of moisture. The trees are strangely similar to California’s redwood trees in several ways, the root system is complex and goes down deep. The bark is the most notable in that it is soft and thick which insulates the tree from searing heat. The core wood is termite resistant.  Dry lake beds often hold trees that wait patiently for the next rain, sometimes longer than a year. Charlie says these trees are called “Camelsaw.”

We had to pay a separate fee to ride a specially outfitted 4x4 jeep to cross the loose sand that twisted along the valley floor to more dunes.  The drive onward was a skyline that was all drifting desert sand latticed with rocky outcropping of small bushes and, very rarely, trees.
This was very similar to the Mojave desert except for an eclectic assemblage of indigenous animals like the tan, black and white oryx which looks like a small antelope and it has a pair of long straight ribbed horns that could spear or cut another animal viciously. There was a line of four ostriches trotting, evenly spaced, along the horizon of the warm desert plain. All the animals looked very healthy. Sick or injured quickly became prey to the next species one rung higher on the food chain.

Our truck stopped alongside a dusty, dry riverbed. Charles and Freddie set up portable folding tables and chairs, then cut some fresh vegetables and put it on plates for a simple lunch of cheese and vegetables on bread. Amazingly, the dry, intense heat was bearable, but just for long moments before I retreated into the sharply defined shadows of a cliff that overhung our table. I walked around while I ate since we dispensed with most social amenities such as table manners. Bits of food escaped my mouth and fell to the sandy soil. Within moments large ants had discovered these remnants and began to make off with whatever they could carry.

Another vehicle had stopped nearby because it had some mechanical problem. The German tourists had rented the jeep but had used their cell phone to get someone out here to fix the Jeep. Shawn looked at it, saw a wire was loose, then tightened it. They were happily back on the road again with great appreciation to Shawn.

Walvis Bay / Swakopland

After many hours of driving we entered the town of Walvis Bay. According to Charles we are supposed to stay here today. Flamingos dotted the wide muddy banks of the bay eating the algae. They sifted the murky water through their fluted bills, The cement walkway that traversed the shore was pleasant except for the sulfuric smell emitting from the bay. The flamingos enjoyed the cool morning air and the fresh strained spinach-like vegetation that drifted in the shallow. Numerous tide pools that stretched for more than one hundred feet from the lapping waters edge at low tide.

We drove around the simple, untouristy town of Walvis Bay for a couple of hours before meeting Rudolf Dausab. He is the self-proclaimed leader of Leslie’s tribal family, the Topnar into the 21st century. The tribal grounds were twenty graveled miles outside town and since we traveled after dusk we had only the light of the full moon to shine on the road for headlights alone would have not been adequate to distinguish the road from the sandy embankments. Rudolf said since there was no night watchman here, he had to track down the possessor of the keys to unlock the grounds gate. We waited for thirty minutes in the dark, wondering what will happen next while he was gone?

Rudolf talked to us about the plight of the Topnar tribe; its decimation by the AIDS/HIV epidemic which has claimed the lives of the otherwise able-bodied young women and men. The consequence has left the grandmothers to care for the children. The fees required for each student to stay in school exceeds the stingy stipend supplied by the government. The children are often used to collect wild melons that grow in an area about six miles away. Although the area is flat, because of the loose, sandy soil few vehicles can get there. The children must walk there or, if fortunate, ride a donkey. Although the melons are easy to grow, no family has made the effort to cultivate a plot of land even though they have occupied these otherwise barren regions for thirty years. So, without organization, each family constantly struggles to retrieve the maximum number of melons they can find.  It is a race against their equally distressed neighbor because the melons are cultivated commercially elsewhere and sold for pennies at markets in Swakopmund or Walvis Bay. They’ll often pick the melons long before the optimum time on the vine. The consequence of this is that each melon is slightly larger than a baseball rather than like a head of cabbage. Once collected, the flesh of the melon is dried and often powdered to be used as a main ingredient for “pap.” Pap is the main staple of their diet and eaten by every member of this tribe, infants to the oldest senior. It is similar to oatmeal except it is somewhat smoother and whiter. I touched a small dollop to my tongue and discerned a very slight bitter taste. He opened the gates and showed us around the barren village. Each family lived in a hutch no larger than a stable might be for two horses. Like other blacks in South Africa and here in Namibia, the homes were assemblages of excelsior that had been discarded or lost by others. Rudolf continued to tell more of the woes of this tribe. He is certain that the Topnar tribe is unseen by Namibian government, at best, ignored by them. Most noticeably, Spain has helped them most significantly, followed by a few other European nations.
Once the gate was unlocked, it was revealed that this motel was very plain to put it kindly.  It did have a hot water shower. Shawn was invited into the interior of one of the shacks and compared it, quite unfavorably, to the favelas of Rio.

As night fell Charles and Freddy made dinner using fresh vegetables and a one-pound chunk of beef we had bought at a market in Walvis Bay. Shredded and seared meat mixed with broccoli and other fresh vegetables thrown into a bowl and eaten in the dark of the night air was exotic. It tasted like Chinese stir fry when mixed with rice.

May 4, 2007   Thursday   Outside Walvis Bay, Namibia
Before the Sun could be seen as a full disk, we packed and left early in the morning without talking to anyone. We headed into Swakopmund a short distance away, maybe twenty miles, but it was mainly on a narrow paved road. The town was heavily influenced by Bavarian style architecture. I could see strong German influence of the people. The town was small but well developed.

The grocery store carried products of Western European origin but the fresh produce mainly came from South Africa. The cuts of meat were unique to Africa because they were prepared by German-taught butchers, especially for the locals. I’ve selected some groceries, but many others were favorites of our guide and driver. Interestingly, one of the beverages they chose for children were milk and orange juice mixed together.  Of course, beer and South African wines were the choice of the adults. Windhoek makes a brew that is found throughout southern Africa.

Our night was spent at a small seaside cottage. That night we went to a restaurant called the “Cape to Cairo.” I had crocodile (tastes like chicken), ostrich kebabs and tabouli. The restaurant had no flat bread, like pita bread, that would have gone well with the exotic middle eastern food. The meal was the best of this trip (so far) and helped end the day on a high note. We had some early problems when we tried to sort out what this adventure should cost. Shawn and I both can see the expenses exceed what was planned. I expected some excesses but not an extra thousand dollars.

Before we arrived at the rocks, we stopped along the way to buy from roadside vendors.  While in Swakopmund, I visited a shop to buy some clean tee shirts. I usually can find new ones for two or three dollars and use the old dirty ones to pack fragile items I bought. The stops included a few visits to roadside artists. Shawn and I bought a couple if stone carvings and miscellaneous items made by the local tribes people.

Today is Kassanga Day which commemorates a 1978 massacre at the border of Angola. This morning, we discovered that the place we had hoped to visit to ride camels won’t happen because of this holiday closure. Instead we headed north to Cape Cross which is inhabited by many seals. The rocky coastline stretched for miles as we drove North. We decided, at last moment, to forego visiting the huge seal population further north along the coast.  Instead we chose to see the petroglyphs carved into sandstone two thousand years ago by nomadic tribes that frequented the valley. Twyfelfontein is pronounced ‘tway-fill-fon-tain’. It means the ‘doubtful fountain’, or The Fountain of Doubt. There are more than three thousand rock etchings scratched everywhere including cave ceilings. While they didn’t record the existence of the tribe by showing tribe strength or number, they did record animals they hunted and killed.

Understanding that, evolutionarily-speaking, that wasn’t so far in the distant past, just two thousand years ago the aborigines were jumping around these rocks scratching odd drawings into the sandstone walls. About primitive cultures that existed here but because they had no obstacles or challenges present there was no reason to invent or create. Adequate food meant little reason to domesticate or cultivate to disturb the semi-tranquil life of semi-nomadic tribe’s people.

A number of lodges have sprung up in the area, but the community run campsite on the banks of the Aba-Huab is very pleasant. Communal showers, toilets and water faucets make the campsite much more habitable.

At camp, once we were told there is now hot water. I was the first to shower. There was one room for everyone, man or woman, containing four toilets and four shower stalls. The toilets had no doors for privacy, but each shower stall was graced with a flimsy transparent plastic curtain that could partially cover the stall. The curtain was there to keep the precious water channeled properly not to foster the slightest degree of modesty.  The communal sharing might have dampened Marcy’s ardor for this trek. On the plus side, there was warm water to use and the warm breeze of the evening brought a myriad of bizarre insects.  Numerous times the little invaders made eye contact with me. We telepathically agreed that the lilliputian monsters would not attack and I would not swat. The armistice was tense but held until I was out of the shower.  Without more than ten seconds of towel use I decided that this was good opportunity to simply air-dry as I hurriedly made the fifty steps back to our lantern-lit campsite. We considered sleeping outside the tent but huge one-inch long black ants have a reputation for being irritated easily. The consequence would be tiny welts as they would bite into tender skin.

Shawn has the misfortune of a bug crawling under his tee shirt and in the bug’s frustration to escape to freedom, bit Shawn’s back in a central zone that was unreachable by Shawn. His attempt of relief looked more like a cocaine-induced epileptic seizure.  I watched in amazement because I didn’t understand, until it was all over, except for the nursing of his wound. I did nothing not because I was unwilling, but because he didn’t relate any part of this incident during it’s occurrence.

May 5, 2007 Friday  Northernmost  Namibia (at the Angolan border)
In the morning I woke early and spent a few moments thinking about how much I miss Marcy. It is almost two weeks since I started but more than two weeks till Marcy joins me. Shawn and I are doing well together but I feel burdened with the responsibility to make certain our guides follow the original plan made with Leslie and don’t try, once again, to ‘trim’ some items off the “to do” list.

After a simple and quick breakfast of cereal mixed with yogurt, we broke camp. We’d drive a quick forty miles to the petrified forest. The “visit for a fee” park is located inland on the broad desert floor.  A number of trees had washed down twenty thousand years ago as a consequence of a huge flood in Angola. Angola is the country at the nothern border of Namibia. Goaded by Charles, I reluctantly paid the fee then Shawn and I walked around. I would have been happy to have never come. Before we paid the equivalent of three US dollars each as an entrance fee it was incredibly simple to look out over the fairly flat two-acre park and see that there is little to astound or amaze.  The best part was the “gift shop” which consisted of several unidentified stones and minuscule bits of petrified wood that was of a perfect size if one wanted to make earrings. The semiprecious gems sat on three rickety planks supported by a few bricks under an open sky. We left after a wasted hour.

The van smoothly sped along for endless hours on the desolate super-hot gravel road then, BLAM! A blow out! The smell of burning rubber enveloped our car. The interior was already sweltering and the thick smoke made the air unbearably noxious. Even before any one of us got out of the vehicle, we all knew that the tire was destroyed. Freddy angrily put on the spare, a ragged thread-worn tire. The way he looked at us made me feel guilt for the road hazard.  Once the tire was replaced, Freddy drove the car to the tiny town of Kamajab. It was the closest town nearby. This was Freddy’s car and he was paid to assume such risks, so it was his job to find, bargain for, and pay for a replacement tire. Namibians are content to purchase a used tire, often willing to pay twenty US dollars for a passenger vehicle tire.

The town of Kamajab had only one garage and two gas stations. Used tires were not available in the right size at either of the black-owned gas stations where used tires were a commonplace commodity. A new tire was, however, being sold at the garage, but at an unreasonably high price (according to Freddy.) The garage keeper, a white man, wanted a thousand NAB dollars for one tire but Freddy argued he could get four tires for $3,800 NAB, so no sale! (Freddy’s math skills were not sharp.) Freddy drove to the next town and saw another station. This store sells a little bit of everything, including new tires, according to a large sign painted on an exterior wall that listed many items that might be found in this store. Twenty blacks were loitering in front of the shop. They sought some shade from the searing heat, but most had a bottle or can of beer in their hand. The Africans were dressed in clothes that must have come as part of a relief package from elsewhere in the world because several of the men were clothed in worn dress slacks and polyester shirts. There were remnants of a broken bottle on the cracked cement pavement. The Africans that hung around this bottle store were clearly interested in getting another drink, or worse, but definitely nothing good. 

Charles said that this racially oppressive town was run by Boers who have tried to control the town like a separate nation. They sought support from the government of Namibia to retain a white-dominated town. Namibia used to be part of South Africa. When that bid for autonomy was unsuccessful, they approached the government with a new plan. Namibia’s black-dominated government was unwilling to finance the Boers’ attempt to move to South Africa. Many whites moved to South Africa and elsewhere, but those that stayed imposed their own defacto apartheid community.

Four hours of driving on a narrow rocky highway road that hugged the baseline of a mountain chain spelled danger for any moment. The four of us were constantly on alert for any danger around us. Although rocks would break free and tumble onto the road, the shade that the cliffs of these hills provided was welcomed.  We turned away from the hills and headed northeast over the baking flat sands of the desert. We were often eating huge clouds of dust stirred by oncoming traffic, but those cars were equally punished as they devoured our dust.

After a long, long drive we reached a reclusive village. I was surprised to see some paved streets.  I soon learned that this town was governed by two chiefs and their iron rule was enforced by tribesmen who desire to maintain their old ways and have endeavored to stay apart from the rest of the world. The women have coal-black skin and their hair was shaped with a thick reddish ochre paste.

The girls and young women were usually slender and well-portioned with uncovered smallish breasts. Most older women either carried a child blanketed to their back or looked as though they were well past their childbearing years with wrinkled skin, and breasts that point to their toes. While the tribespeople were very suspicious of outsiders, there was always an extra layer of caution when the stranger had a white face. Leslie said few travelers complete the journey to these more remote corners of Namibia. The preponderance of those that come from “outside” are usually from Windhoek or nearby African towns. Several tribes converge to meld into one large tribal family here. Each tribe is akin to an extended bloodline family. Marriage introduces other women into the bloodline because men can have four or five wives. The men must provide each wife with a house and other basic necessities. The men and boys dress in more western gear. Few girls or women wore western clothes. Clothing for the women was a parochial dress of ochre panels that draped from the waist to the knees. Those that walked shoeless were greatly in the minority. Most wore short boots that rose high on their ankle.  Shoes were made of durable and utilitarian leather. Canvas shoes were very popular too, but only the affluent could afford the luxury of possessing them.

On the outskirt of this town we suffered another flat tire. Our first experience came with a lesson taught to me by Freddy who, ever so reluctantly, purchased a good used tire because getting stuck without a spare would put us at the mercy of so many desert risks. We could break down in the middle of an unlit gravel road thirty miles from any town on a Saturday night. Sunday, in many places, finds almost every business closed.  Lutheranism had permeated African life but no western religion was potent enough to dispel every thought of animism. Religion becomes a complex toxic blend of new and old mysticism. The local custom is to shutter every business on Sunday.

penned before I fell asleep. Throughout the night I could feel the heat of two or three small welts built where some mosquitoes have found their mark.  The most troubling to me was as constant stinging burning sensation in my groin. I found no relief throughout the night except when I’d sleep in one unique fetal position. In the morning when I got out of bed I realized I had the large ring of room keys tucked in my front pocket.

May 6, 2007 Sunday  Northernmost Namibia (at the Angolan border)

diet. A few bags of groceries were the price that we agreed to pay to intrude on the tribe’s very private daily lives. We were not here for any performance.

Large forty-pound sacks of maize topped our list, but there were other things a chief desired for his tribal group. We tossed two twenty-five-pound sacks of brown sugar and three huge tubs of Vaseline into the wire shopping cart. Queen Elizabeth sat in the hot van, fanning herself while leaving the car door open and dangling her thick legs over the edge of the seat. Freddy turned on the engine and ran the air-conditioning while we loaded the supplies.  The tribal grounds were remote and would have been impossible for us to have found without the aid of a knowledgeable guide . . .

It was truly an amazing sight to see. They are semi-nomadic, but outwardly gave us the impression they were very social. They maintained an austere social distance from tribal members who had moved to town and changed their ways, like Queen Elizabeth had done. The difference was that somehow she had ingratiated her way with the chief and the tribe.

though there is a government-supported free medical clinic less than eight miles away, they would do nothing until aid was delivered to their village.

Later that day we joined a group of six German travelers on a large bus, specially-constructed for this rough terrain. Although the bus LOOKED more comfortable than our much smaller van. Instead, as we traveled across some rugged terrain, the bus jolted and jerked. I compared this rocky travel to the bus ride I took from Bombay to Goa, India on a bus that should have been in a salvage yard instead of being driven on the road. Both Shawn and I were tossed about the cabin of the bus along with the others. Seatbelts might have added to the comfort of the passengers.

Queen Elizabeth served as the guide for this small group of travelers. She directed the bus driver off the short stretch of asphalt road to a wide gravel path that rode the high bank of a dry riverbed.  We turned onto a smaller unmarked dirt footpath that cut through a low grassy savanna. Herds of goats and smaller herds of cud-chewing cattle were our view for another six miles until the bus slowed to a squeaky, metal-to-metal, stop. The passengers were relived to disembark and stretch muscles misshapen and bodies oddly contoured and buffeted about by the difficult and rocky journey.

Note about the Himbas

• Women have the bottom four front teeth removed when they are ten years old.
• Women wear their hair in a special style to indicate whether they are having menses and can bear children. There are specific haircuts to show ranking and status among the adult men.
• Women use ochre, a thick, reddish-brown paste mixed with Vaseline, to shape their hair
• Men can have several wives but he is obligated to provide a separate hut or house for each wife and must support the family he creates.
• Men usually wear jeans or casual western-style clothing. Women wear an ochre colored loincloth accompanied with much jewelry.
• Women smear ochre on their bodies to protect their jet black skin from the intense sunlight. Seldom would someone seek the protection of shade.
• Women never bathe. Instead they would ignite dampened wood chips, like incense, in the interior of hut when they anticipated the company of a man. She might wear a heavy studded belt around her waist to arouse the man.
  

The Herrero camp was small and very sparse. A dorf of eight single-room homes is in one area with a wide expanse of a hundred yards from another small enclave of similar size. The eight we were shown included permission to open any tin from door and peer inside. The chief was a gaunt man of sixty. He stood almost six feet tall and was casually dressed as though he expected us.

Queen Elizabeth has excused herself from the group to talk to the chief privately. As with the other tribes, we brought gifts of food to the chief as the price to enter as welcomed visitors. Diets are very much the same for each of these tribes. I was told by Charles that this pap is similar throughout all of Namibia and remains the same evening for those that move into cities, except Windhoek (unless they move to the rickety slums of Kutatura). Pap is excruciatingly omni present except in the heart of Windhoek where fried foods and highly processed cereals are favored over fresh fruits, vegetables. The ingredients for pap are always easily found in the supermarkets.

The homes looked western-style when compared to the easily moved thatched roof assembled for the Himba. Each married woman maintains a separate home and is responsible for the maintenance of that dwelling. These homes have a roof of tin sheets for protection from heavy rain but, (compared to thatching) they allow for absolutely no sunlight to penetrate to the interior, so it is eternally dark. This probably helps maintain a cooler home.

The squared walls are built using cement-like material that is a mix of sand, clay or mud, then for a cohesiveness and availability it is hard to beat cow dung. This composite is folded together and applied to the exterior and interior of the boxlike home.  Only half of the homes have strung dangerously unprotected electric wire for television and lights.

Notes about the Tzemba

• Women thread many colorful beads in their hair to show availability.
• Women slather Vaseline to slick their hair into stiff shapes.
• Single men obey the king but they often live or spend their days in huts outside the main community, without female companionship until marriage.
• Their economy depends heavily on cattle and other livestock. This tribe cultivated plants like corn and other easily vegetation.
• The basic ingredient of their diet was “pap” a gruel-like porridge that smelled like white glue but has a slightly sweet taste. Youngsters will eat this frequently, but babies are given a non-stop diet of it.
• The oppressive heat and unsanitary conditions, the lives of every member of the tribe is seriously affected. Beyond a serious AIDS/HIV epidemic, medicines and modern treatment. In times of drought, wells are quickly dug .and water is pulled up.

We interacted with the members who appeared before us with all dialogue channeled through Queen Elizabeth.  After an hour the chief disappeared to his hut taking his snuff box with him. The drive back was equally difficult, measured in painful minutes.

Charles and Freddy had made a delicious noodle concoction. I never questioned them about the ingredients. I was just happy to have a pleasant meal.
 Everything tastes good in this environment. I prepared for sleep early, for tomorrow we head to Etosha National Park. As with every night, my last thoughts are of Marcy.
While writing a few words in my journal, a dispute arose between Freddy and a local African to whom he had given a hundred Namibian dollars to gather wood for a fire. There was no change, no wood and no guy.  The local didn’t appear until late in the evening when our guide Charley jumped on the guy and brought him to the police station. The man acknowledged getting the money, but said he was robbed.

May 7, 2007  Monday   Etosha National Park, Namibia

We were not able to confirm campground for two nights because we had made no advanced reservations however we were able to get a spot on the campground for one night.  The clerk, a cousin of Charlie, said there was a very good chance we’d get a cabin for the second night. After setting up our tent, we drove out of camp and traveled about thirty kilometers to view some animals before the sunset. 

I carried two phones with me. The mobile phone I bought a year ago in Malaysia would let me put a chip, purchased in whatever country I was in at the moment, to make and receive local calls at a low cost. The second phone was the only phone available to have quad-band, a technology that supports use of foreign telephone signals. To the best of my knowledge, at the time I made this trip it was still the newest technology out there except for Blackberries which allow for texting messages. By contacting my provider, T-Mobile in the USA, they’d open it so I could get and send calls from most cities worldwide that have cell towers and there are very few that do not. Even on travels to remote areas I like to have some contact with home. My cell phone rang, but we had to search for where it was hiding in my bag of stuff. After a few minutes, success! Shawn panicked because he was expecting a call.  Recovering the phone, the signal was so weak so we had to travel back into the village where he was able to get a signal again. It was the airline calling about his return trip to Brazil. Because of earlier delays the trip extended into extra days not originally planned, so Shawn was trying to connect with the airline to find out what they could do to reschedule his return flight.

darkness. On first looks, the pond was populated with thirty skittish zebras. Okandeka was the name applied to a water spring. Zebras drank and played, all the while lions lurked casually in a sprig of taller grass only sixty meters away.

May 8, 2007   Tuesday    Etosha National Park, Namibia

Shawn’s Special Challenge of Adventure

As I see it an adventure is a challenge of some adversity resolving itself somehow but a resolution must be reached. So it was with Shawn in the begining days of our journey. I’ll try to tell the true tale here without embellishment. His travel was tarnished many numerous missteps. Many, but by no means all, were accountable to actions he either took or neglected to take directly. And it also must be said that Shawn extricates himself, like Houdini, from the most inexplicable predicaments and bizarre situations. He, amazingly, always lands on his feet. This is why I find Shawn such a spectacular creature, a funny guy, a great traveler, and a good friend.

1. The trip was planned so we’d meet at the airport on April 25th but I didn’t realize that although I’m leaving on the 24th I will lose hours and actually land on the 26th. Shawn’s flight left on the 24th and landed on the 25th so he was stuck here for a day in Cape Town . This, I admit, was my miscalculation, not his.

2. He rented a car a day before I arrived and had already struck the curb and lost a hubcap.

3. He drove out to Cape Point about sixty miles outside Cape Town. Another hubcap was lost after impact and it flew away at high speed, after contact with another curb.

4. A little later (maybe another hour) he smashed head-on into another car. Both cars were totally destroyed.

5. At the airport we were prepared to fly to Windhoek, Namibia. When we arrived to deal with the tickets the South African Airline clerk said they could not release tickets to Shawn because he didn’t have two blank pages in his passport. I went ahead and would wait for him in Windhoek. I would make arrangements for the safari for us.

6. The two tickets were at different prices. His was the last “discounted” faire available. Had his ticket been issued at “regular” price he could have changed the time without penalty. Discounted faire cannot. My ticket was purchased at regular price. When he couldn’t depart he lost the cost of his ticket and had to buy a regular one.

7. He wasn’t able to go to the U.S. Embassy to do this now because the Embassy is closed on South African holidays. This day, Friday, was Independence Day. They were closed and would stay closed in South Africa until Monday.

8. Shawn said his worst fear was realized when, while waiting till Monday he couldn’t find his passport. This he found it but not before a great deal of angst and worry until he poked into his bag of dirty laundry and discovered the passport had been shoved into a pocket of his pants.

9. Our tour was for ten days, any shorter and Shawn would have to make different plans. It was shortened from fourteen to ten days for Shawn. His plan was to negotiate a different flight and pay the difference, if necessary. In the most remote place we visited (by the Himba tribal grounds) was where Shawn asked that we wait a half hour so he could make the flight change. He hoped that they wouldn’t try to gouge him for an additional hundred US dollars for the flight. I waited (not too patiently) because we’d gotten up early and I had no time to shower or shave. It seemed amazing that in fact, he had successfully finished his mission to change the flight date. But he had the receipt that it was done but he still needed a confirmation sent to him. In the future there would be numerous calls and endless times our safari would get stalled. The phone calls required him to stay in a confined zone near the base camp of Etosha, but his waiting bore no fruit. He did get calls from South African Air saying that he has to fax proof and that when he finally was able to do so they said it was too late. Now there was no flight space at that price available . Shawn couldn’t believe his bad luck and talked to several people but he kept getting “no way to do it” as an answer.

10. At Twyfelfontein Rock Etchings Shawn casually complained that a bee crawled under the back of his tee shirt and stung him. A large, circular, red welt was in the middle of his back .
Today in the very first minutes of the day, just after midnight, the man-made watering hole was encouraging the animals to visit, because here was life-giving water. The floodlights were lit so there was never a problem seeing the animals visit here and interact. Rhinos were especially interesting bathing in the spring in very early hours the rhinos showed their quick temper when the two rhinos deterred a herd of twenty zebra from getting a drink just by staring them down with unblinking eye contact. Zebra are wide-eyed, always nervous, but very social within the strict hierarchy rules. Any breach of herd etiquette is punished immediately.

Back in the truck we head out to view morning wild life. Even this late in the season (a high season is August to February.) There are animals scattered everywhere.

Etosha National Park, Namibia
Air temperature is heating up quickly, by 8:30 a.m. is 85F, rocketing up from 40F just three hours earlier.  Namibia and Etosha National Park is largely desert. The reflective qualities of the sand reverberate the satanic heat of the day.  There is only slight relief for us with a cooling breeze blowing from the West. Without the wind there would be no refuge from the incessant waves of flying insects. The abundance of these flying pests that congregate by beast and fowl would be with us now if we were not saved by the breeze.

Dinner was spaghetti noodles, fresh boiled greens and long carrot slices topped with a thick slice of cheddar cheese. This was served with what they call  “bockvers” (we call it knockwurst.)  The ground meat was pan grilled with onions and peppers creating an enticing aroma that let me know it was time to eat.  Our plates were put on a wooden table outside where we could enjoy the temperate night air.  The comfortable yet exotic setting was enhanced by the animal roars coming from the watering hole area, not more than a hundred yards from our front door. The cottage has a kitchen and shower besides two bedrooms. There was enough hot water to go around. After the shower I scratched more notes in my journal, then drifted off to sleep under a mosquito net thinking of Marcy, Carol and Mark and all of my wonderful grandchildren and Maestro. I’m happy that while I’m not at the office, Gio is in charge, doing a great job which I can see because he is sending reports to me often.

May 9, 2007   Wednesday    Etosha National Park, Namibia
First at 5:00 a.m., then 7:00 a.m. I visit the nearby watering hole. For my earlier visit there was no wildlife activity, but at 7:00 a.m. everyone in the wild kingdom is awake. Zebras and wildebeest enjoy the morning water by the dozens. Behind me I heard what sounds like a thousand birds in a cacophony. I interpret the noise as an angry wake up call to the plentiful residents of the giant bird nest. Startlingly, as I stood underneath the huge tree mounted communal nest, squeaking and tweeting of the weaver birds quickly built into a loud crescendo, then they burst out! In fifteen seconds, more than two hundred of the tiny birds quickly exited the bottom of the nest in a gigantic swarm. Each bird seemed to know his mission whether it was to gather food or add straw and twigs to strengthen this huge birdland city. Although most of the birds stayed in the growing flock, scores of them shot out and away on other missions.

The nest of the Weaver birds resembles an upside down ice cream cone with two score holes, all at the bottom, the widest part of the cone-shaped nest. For each bird family had its own entrance and knew not to enter the wrong one or face a miserable pecking as punishment for the error. I filmed these creatures nosily busy themselves for an hour before I turned away.

Shawn and I walked back to the little cabin. Charles and Freddy had already packed the gear and set out some breakfast items.  I ate some granola mixed with strawberry yogurt and a cup of coffee.  Charley returned the key of the cabin as we left the park. We had only traveled two mile when Shawn realized that he left some rented gear, our pillows, back in the cabin. Finding help to open the door to recover our stuff turned out to be much more complex than we’d imagined, costing more than an hour till we could resume our travels.

We are back on the road again traveling south toward the bushmen. This primitive tribe exists with daily struggles against all big city difficulties. Alcoholism, HIV/AIDS seem to affect the tribe of this wiry people even more than the other tribes we visited. Their costume is sparse with two small, strategically placed squares of cloth, hung with one in front and a square in back, held in place by a leather thong around the belt-line.

We met this tribe at Leslie’s camp “Aabani” (if properly pronounced, there is clicking sound that precedes the name, that is if you want to say it as the San people say it). Our van pulled in around 3:30 p.m. after many hot miles on gravel paved roads. We were greeted at the main building. A large stone-paved patio, covered fully with a huge pitched roof, thatched with massive palm fronds, but lacking walls.

I put a few things on my bed and met the employees of the lodge.  They introduced me to the Bushmen (and ladies). These people were distinctly shorter in stature but with more angular cheek and jaw than members of the other primitive tribes that I’ve visited.  They seemed well adapted for this harsh environment. I was reminded that they do not like to be called Bushmen, but prefer, instead, the tribal label of San.

The San walked ahead with Charles. Shawn and I followed them through the bush to learn how they catch food by hunting and trapping. The poisonous caterpillar which is the most lethal when in the process of metamorphosis as a cocoon is harvested from certain bushes and strained of its life liquids. When congealed into a poisonous brown purple paste it is applied to the tips of their spears and arrows. If an animal is wounded the poison cause a numbness in the limb until the hunter can catch the animal and spear it.

As early practitioners of birth control, the San found if a woman drank a tea made of a certain berry immediately after the birth of a child she would no longer give birth to more children. They recognized that the harsh environment could only support a small tribe if they were to live together. The alternative choice would be for a man and his wives (he could have several) to move more than four miles away and start a new community. Birth control was the favored alternative usually with herbs grown locally. The San practiced animism as a religion. The night would be lit by a communal fire to relieve the night chill in the sparse clothing worn.

The Shaman would shake and dance touching ashes to the throat of a tribal member and, in my case, holding a small blackened can to his ear, like one holds a seashell, to communicate with their ancestors for predictions of the near future. Mealy pap was a staple of their meat-based diet. There was no cultivation of vegetation or cattle that I saw of was told of. Simple hunter-gatherer peoples who chose to continue with that life. Mealy pap or “pap” for short, is used like Italian polenta. It is usual to find small infants taking pap from a small bowl as they tottered around.

After some discussion with the shaman I had asked to trade for his spear but he wanted nothing I had brought. He asked for money and we negotiated a price for about twenty-five U.S. dollars. This, to him, is a lot of disposable income which some of the camp employees admonished the shaman to not use the money for alcohol.

May 10, 2007 Thursday Central Namibia

The night was a very chilly but I had the forethought to retrieve my sleeping bag from the van and opened it out like an extra blanket. I was thankful to have done so. It was a very quiet night like many of the evenings recently spent. I woke long before dawn so I would have an opportunity to bring my journal current. Soon the other three guys were awake so we prepared to depart this camp after breakfast. Less than a hundred miles away we stopped at a communal art center situated a few miles outside the northern edge of Windhoek.

Here I traded a few small items, but it was money they wanted, only willing to trade as a desperate measure to acquire goods that they want and need.

I spent about fifty U.S. dollars on a mask and other trinkets. Here, the craftspeople had an opportunity to sell directly to buyers. The hawkers have honed their craft precisely. Often they would strategically stand in my path to force me to detour and enter their shop. Being aware of this tactic, it seldom worked on me. Sometimes it did, just seldom.

Perplexing to me, each vendor had many items similar to those of their neighbor. The mystery existed because I saw several craftsmen at work diligently carving original items, but following a general design laid out by others.  Several middle-aged women sat in a semicircle, on the dusty dirt floor of a hut. Uniformly, they threaded tiny beads together, making intricately designed jewelry. Each tended to their babies in a very casual fashion, it looked to me that they ignored the first demands of the infants, responding with some level of fulfillment to the most insistent pleas. The smallest of the children groveled through the earthen floor. The older children were walking in underpants occasionally. But I guess that’s not a far cry from diapers which I have never seen on a black Namibian baby.

Within an hour we had purchased many things. Shawn traded items he didn’t expect to take home, like articles of clothes, unused cosmetics like toothpaste, shaving cream and a toothbrush. After an exciting hour we drove the remaining thirty miles into Windhoek. All four of us tried to get Shawn set for his flight which he has worked so hard to arrange. Copies of the pictures were made on a disk and he had to change money into US dollars because it is difficult to convert Namibian dollars in Brazil. Shawn was mistaken about where to meet so he was running from one corner to the next.

Charles found me casually walking and asked “Where’s Shawn?” I said “He was at the other corner looking for you.” I stood out on a street overhang where I thought Shawn might see and sure enough, he hollers, “Mike!!” from two busy blocks away. He starts to run because his flight is leaving soon and, especially after all that work, he doesn’t want to miss it! He runs as fast as he can, out of breath, up the top of the long stairway. Now, meeting Charles, he had to resume running to the car where Freddy sat, waiting impatiently, for Shawn.

I walked to Air Namibia to arrange the flight to Botswana and specifically the city of Maun which is the center from which most tours originate. It is not Gaborone which is the capital and main city of Botswana, but especially for industry. The flight was expensive, but necessary if I wanted to see the Okavango Delta.

I got a flight reservation to leave on Sunday the 13th. I didn’t have to pay the $6,600 NAM dollars yet.  If I arrange a tour, I will have the flight arranged as part of a package. Botswana was exceptionally difficult to arrange stuff through at a cheap rate. Everything seems expensive there. . I walked through the small downtown and took some photo and videos for the website. Then I went to an internet café just off the main street and I checked my mail or replied. I spent the rest of the evening reading about Botswana and Namibia. There seems to be tension between those two neighboring countries. I’ll explore that later when in Botswana because Namibians say “There is no problem.”

I took a taxi back to the hostel and changed into shorts before I caught another taxi to the animal park twenty miles away. Although this park allows total freedom to come into this protected zone, it is fenced to discourage carnivores therefore safe for children to roam. There were tribespeople, mainly women, selling carvings, masks and typical wares sold everywhere. Later I sat on my bed at 7:00 p.m. I shut my eyes to have a short nap. When the nap ended it was 3:00 a.m. I got up to shower and shave. Windhoek, like Los Angeles, is a city built in the desert so water is always conserved.

Chapter Two  -  Solo Traveler

May 11, 2007      Friday          Windhoek, Namibia              

I walked the three miles to Air Namibia to purchase my tickets to Maun. Botswana has tried to inhibit excessive tourism by making certain tourist services expensive. I will endeavor to look in tourist lodging and a ride through the Delta. This is supposedly the big tourist draw to Botswana. I purchased a few items to make the three-hour flight go quicker. I can’t figure out why what appears to be only three hundred miles should take so long. I bought some supplies, like a very light sleeping bag and hard candy. I checked to make sure I have all the bug protection spray because I can recall being in Florida’s Everglades involuntarily sharing my blood with gnats and “no-see-ums” (mosquitoes.) I don’t ever want to repeat that again.

I’ve acquired so many mementos and art objects that I’ve put all the stuff going home in the duffle bag with dirty clothes used as a cushioned protection against damage. I selected some things that I’d like to take to Maun I’d like to leave the rest of my things at the airport.  I showered and shaved, and found clean clothes to wear, so now I am totally ready to board the small plane with a single seat per row. I should prepare for an uncomfortable flight.

May 12, 2007   Saturday   Maun, Botswana                
Leaving for Botswana on this international flight and the flight lasts for three hours. My plan was to wake up at 6:30 a.m. and just go since I have finished all preparatory stuff last night. I woke at 5:00 a.m. If I sleep more I could oversleep and be in a panic to get to the airport with enough time. So I got up and finished the final packing. The spear was the most difficult to store or, if things cannot be left at the airport, transported with me to my new destination. Last night I arranged with a cab to take me to the airport at 6:00 a.m. He wanted $180 NAM that’s about thirty US Dollars for the sixty-kilometer drive. He was not willing to negotiate because it was the weekend and that’s when most people fly. Instead I went outside at 6:10 a.m. to wave down any passing cabby. I asked him for the cost. We agreed on a hundred Namibian Dollars. He interrupted the long drive by a quick U-turn into a gas station. He asked for money to buy gas otherwise, he surmised, we wouldn’t have enough to get to the airport. I gave him twenty of the hundred to pay for the petrol.
 

At the airport I was directed to the Lost and Found where they offered to hold my spear, canes and other South African and Namibian mementos packed, securely, in my green duffle bag.
This airport has only commercial South African Air and Namibian passenger service. The process to check in, especially because I was so early, only took moments with no lines like when I was going through ‘customs’ coming in. Yesterday I had contacted four tour operators in Maun because according to Lonely Planet that’s the easiest way to get around. To go up the Okavango Delta I needed a guide and navigator. In Botswana they are usually referred to as polers because they use a long pole to navigate the often shallow streams and push upstream along the inlets. I could contact ‘polers’ as they are called, to make a deal. ‘Polers’ are the guys on the bottom of the tourist food chain, so they get only an unfairly small percentage of the fees charged to tourists. One of the lodges, Back to Bridges, offered to pick me up at the airport. If they do then I’ll go there, if not I can already see that waiting until I am in Maun am the way to get a tour/safari at the best price once again. Buy it local is a good creed to use.

The flight was very cramped. The turbo prop held a crew of two and twenty-five passenger and nobody had room to move around . . .  I climbed the twenty steps to enter the plane. As I boarded, I was handed a cellophane-covered tray containing our lunch bread and a small pat of yellow butter, three chicken nuggets, a cardboard box of orange juice with a tiny straw designed to pierce the aluminum-covered hole on top and a small bottle of water, just about a coffee cup full.
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In Maun, Botswana I walked in the terminal and identified my luggage. The process of going through their customs and immigration was all in English but the officials were slow and had antiquated equipment. Almost everything was manually recorded.

Back to the Bridge Backpackers Lodge had a small booth at the airport. There were a few travel services available at the Maun airport and right across the street maybe two hundred yards there were more tourist services to be found. I was offered some assistance by a young black girl who, after she kindly helped me to get a taxi. She explained that her job, at the tiny airport, was to assist travelers so she refused my offer of a tip.

The exchange rate was 6.5 Botswana Pula to the US Dollar.  It has, like most other world currency increased in value compared to the dollar.  I am surprised to look around everywhere and see that all of Maun seems more primitive here than Namibia’s Windhoek, but then again that’s what I am seeking in the Okavango Delta. At the encampment I meet a few of the staff then they ask me to pay $26 US for a nice large tent with a bed. The weather is agreeably warm and daylight lasts long. The oceans of waterways are at a low right now because the heavy rains in Angola haven’t washed down here yet. The locals expect that to happen in ten days. They watch weather in Angola to track the incoming flood. Game animals must always be near enough to a source of water. It is essential for all living creatures.

Martin, the manager and repairman for anything broken around here, says that the owners of this site are normally here but there is Southern African tourism promotion in Durban and that’s where they are now.

Smoking is quite popular with all the men regardless of race or age. Martin, a third generation Botswani, originally of Irish descent, has an interest in many things like running fishing safaris, developing properties and just fixing anything but we’re talking ‘fixing’ not just replacing. Botswana like Namibia has stuff but they find it so more economical to make a replacement that just buying a new piece. Martin typifies the Boer feelings about indigenous races. I suspect those thoughts are really accurate. The blacks, generally, are less industrious than their white counterparts. Fortunately Botswana made a large discovery of diamonds twenty years ago and as a consequence they have been able to fund social programs to encourage tribal life, assist the tribe people who gravitated to Gaborone, the drab capital of politics and industry, such as it is, for this country.

The waterways travel fairly close to this town. The main part of town consists of fifty single-occupant buildings, mostly focused on transient tourist services. This place, Back to Bridges, is about twenty miles outside of town.

The bed in tent #1 was 170 Pula. Pula is the monetary unit here that about 6.5 to the USD so my tent on the river bank of the hippo pool set me back US $25 app per night. There is very limited internet access here but I was able to call my wife, Marcy in Agoura, California while sitting at a small wooden table lit by dim candlelight and the cacophony of jungle sounds echoing in the distant night, it was morning back home on Mother’s Day. Outside my tent several people had gathered. Local whites had come together for a few drinks and to tell stories of their outings. Photos showed the whole story of leopards, elephants, lions, and the other creatures that live in this environment. Insects, snakes and vegetation are yet to be examined closely. Survival techniques are often astounding how plants and animals can adapt to changes and difficult environments.

One popular bush which is a favorite of herbivores protects itself from over grazing by producing a more distasteful and toxic taste as it is more heavily grazed. On the expedition I intend to take tomorrow Martine suggested a trip to the market and possibly yo the bank for what needs I have. Since Back to the Bridge Backpackers Lodge wants payment in Pula I must go to the bank. While Pula is roughly equivalent to the Namibian Dollar/South African Rand, it is strange that Namibia and Botswana, neighbors, refuse to exchange the currency of the other.
The ordeal at the lodge, setting up for tomorrow was an issue to entirely re-pack, just now, I must use a much smaller bag.

I woke early as is my custom, quickly dressed having showered and shaved late last night. I only would have to brush my teeth in the cold early morning. The evenings stay warm until very late. This is the cusp of their winter with shorter days of light time I broke camp and was ready to leave with Martine so we could drive to Maun where all local commerce is entered. The bank