Leslie in Ovamboland

The Desert is Deep, Part II.

Day 4 continued (26 Nov ’11):

(At this point, I (Leslie) have enough photos of the Tiida in rough conditions to complete an awesome ad campaign for Nissan, “Tiny. Tiida. Tough.” I hope I take a marketing class where it will come in handy one day.)

(Himba village.)

We continued along the B3700, the non-road to Kunene River Lodge, with similar boulders, rocks, water-over-the road conditions.  A couple of motorbikes, a pickup truck met us from the opposite direction, answering our query as to whether or not our little Tiida would make the trip with, “Yes, you can make it.”  Good news! It seemed like a very short while when Pete attempted the impossible swerve to miss a soft spot when, there we were, unbelievably, STUCK IN THE MUD.  No joke.  We had just passed by a bushman walking the path, so the girls went back to see if he could possibly help us through this dilemma.  He agreed to recruit some friends, and eventually made it to our location.  The friends included one guy with a machete and two women, one of whom had a baby strapped to her back!  “…Okayyy…..,” as they say in Namibia.  I, for one, was NOT getting into the mud. Leslie, Sarah, Peter, they all dove right in, knowing there would be no escape without all hands being on deck.  My silent mantra was, “This will be okay. We will get out of here somehow. What in the hell are we doing here? Why didn’t I insist this road was impossible? This will be okay. We will get out of here somehow.”  As dark prevailed, Machete Man was hacking branches from the trees, placing them under all four tires, making a road where there wasn’t one for the car to be backed out of.  Um, great idea, but IT DIDN’T WORK.  Now it is nearly dusk.  There must be some other alternative.  Leslie and Sarah decide the only option is to start to walk/run ahead to the Lodge, which we have no idea how many kilometers there are to go.  In a little while they return with new friends, who say even if they ran, they couldn’t make it to the Lodge before 2 a.m.  But these people have cell phones and the impression that perhaps if they all walked far enough in the opposite direction that they may find some service.  Fine, I think, you go right ahead; sure; good luck!  Sarah was gone for quite some time, and returned with the bad news of no cellular service.  But these are legit bush people, they are solid and have promised that we can camp at their homestead for a good night’s sleep and then possible road assistance in the morning.  My answer to this: you go ahead and camp if you want to, Dad and I will stay with the vehicle.  Kisses, hugs, good night, good luck, see you tomorrow, LOVE YOU!!!  Oh, and let’s everyone go rinse off in the river, since we’re in mud up to our thighs.  “NO!” the helpers admonish, “there are crocodiles in the river!”  I heard those tails flapping in the water all night!

(Sludge Hotel, hour 1.)

Pete and I settled into our “Sludge Hotel,” he on the low side, I on the driver side, seats reclined, and pretended to sleep.  It could only have been 9:00 or so, TOTALLY DARK, windows cracked in hopes of some air circulation.  Some time later we hear the voices of several people coming toward us, beautiful singing, happy voices. What in the world are these people doing walking in the middle of the darkest night, singing?  We didn’t open our eyes to ask.  They passed the car, stopped singing, and had a little conference about our situation.  (Amazing what you can infer by tones of voice, they were not speaking English!)  After a couple of minutes, they continued on and resumed the beautiful singing.  Okay, we’re still safe.  But if none of us gets out of this alive, KYLE INHERITS EVERYTHING.  I don’t know why that was the thought that kept rising.  A while later, Peter purring soft snores, but I wide awake, there is another group approaching, but they’re not singing, they’re joking, talking, and when they come upon us they also have a little conference about the situation.  Then they continue on their way.  I’m wondering what the name of this movie might be.  By the time daylight arrived, there was another pedestrian approaching, then another and another.  We could no longer pretend to be asleep.  Finally we exited the vehicle and tried to converse with this team of helpers, who insisted finally that we must give them the opportunity to help them, and “by the grace of God, perhaps we can do it!”  Well, “…okayyy….” If you’re going to bring God into the equation, then by all means, let’s see what you can do.  8 – 10 guys, all up to their thighs in mud/sludge, digging out first all the branches that the previous team had cut and placed under the tires, then digging out all the wet mud, down to solid sludge, before asking me to start ‘er up and back out of it all,  DAMN, it worked!  We were saved!!  Paid them the asking price (NAM $50 each, a total of $1000 – Leslie said we should have negotiated it down to half of that) and went on our way.  About one km ahead, “There’s our tent!” and the woman who had tried to find cell service the night before.  Laughing, she explained the girls weren’t up yet, and poked around to rouse them.  Two little heads peeped out; “You’re OUT!!”  Yep, pack up your stuff, let’s get going.  While they broke camp, left gifts of apples, we tried to make friends with the hosts.  Soon, the Rescue Team showed up and we took their picture.  A couple of days later I realized, they were perfectly clean, no mud on them at all!  They must have known what part of the river they could use without crocodile threats!

(Team Himba: the car-digger-outers and the Kwanyama family the girls spent the night with.)

We continued carefully the remaining 26 km to Kunene River Lodge, arriving around 9:15 a.m., looking just a little the worse for wear, I’m sure.  One nice thing about these parts, if you don’t make it in time for your reservation, there is forgiveness, a bottle of water, and an offer of a good breakfast!  I’m sure the other campers took a look at us and were glad they had other destinations for the day.  We were a mess.  Not to worry! We decided on appropriate accommodations, unpacked, scheduled a rafting trip for the afternoon, sent the car off to be washed, and regrouped. From here on, there was promise of less adventurous travels.  Well, we’ll see about that!

(Finally: Kunene River Lodge! Sanctuary in the middle of nowhere.)

(Sarah and Leslie pray to Mother Namibia from the lovetent for her blessings in further travel.)

The Desert is Deep, Part I.

a guest blog for Leslie Williams by her mother, after visiting her in Namibia.

Me, I am not a writer of the caliber of my daughter, but she has assigned me the task of sharing our experiences and impressions of our 2-week visit.  I’m sure she will edit out anything she finds superfluous or unnecessary to the story, as well as add photos from her collection where appropriate.  I will try to avoid all my journal entries regarding airline travel, and stay “on topic.”

General impression as I recount the experiences: “Choirs of Angels,” sometimes intended, other times not, but welcomed nonetheless.  The whitest, brightest, most perfect toothy smiles, contrasted by the darkest, richest skin.  Friendly greetings from every passing person, help from anyone and everyone.

 Arrival in Windhoek, 23 Nov ’11:

Leslie and her friend Sarah Goose met us with a Namibian Welcome Basket, which included Peri-Peri sauce, edible worms, biltong (jerky), Windhoek lager and various camping supplies.  We were late, so had to hurry to obtain the car before they closed and exchange currency for our travels.  We had to get on the road to Otjiwarango for our first stop, at “Out of Africa,” somewhat misnamed because we were definitely IN AFRICA.  The drive there was just the beginning of getting conditioned to the driver sitting on the right and driving on the left side of the road.  It took almost the whole two weeks to adapt to that.  We were hungry and tired, and fortunately able to get a light meal and room for the night.  The girls described it as “the nicest place we’ve stayed in Africa.”  Breakfast was included (almost everywhere we stayed had breakfast included in the price of the room), so we enjoyed that before heading back onto the road for Ohangwena, Leslie’s home for the past six months.

(the welcome basket also included mopane worms, toilet paper, kapana, fat cakes, sunscreen, candles, amarula, and The Namibian newspaper)

We stopped at a nice grocery and got gas in Otavi, then drove on to Tsumeb, where there is a local craft center, the only city park in the country, and a self-tour of “Harmony,” the home of Leslie’s friends Graham and Judy Commerford.  Graham has built a beautiful stone home; also a home for some rescued baboons, surrounded by lovely plants, shrubs and trees.  When we got to the “Red Line,” the division between north and south Namibia, we were stopped by a police roadblock.  The guard saw that I was taking photos of this phenomenon, and came around to my side of the car to INSIST that I delete my picture of the “control building.”  This seemed rather comical, as the check appeared to be mere protocol, but Leslie being the youngest, female, and driver is rather unusual in this culture.  Moving on, we traveled farther north, picked up a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) who needed a ride back to his location near Oshikango, and then on to Leslie’s house at Ponhofi Secondary School.  It was Leslie’s RED BIRTHDAY, and Thanksgiving, so the four of us sat down in her shared space and had a celebratory drink while she could open a few gifts.  Her brother Kyle called; her friend Imms came over; her dog, Shekupe, found her way home; and her roommate Olivia was there to meet us.  We visited some of the classrooms on our way out, where learners were doing their evening studies.  We got introduced in each room, and the looks on the kids’ faces indicated that perhaps they doubted that “Miss” really had parents!  All of them politely said hello, never moved from their stations, and looked at us as though it was impossible for us to actually be there.

We found a room in town at the Country Lodge, “Gateway to Angola,” then ate at “Hong Kong Restaurant,” where no English was spoken and it took a few minutes to explain that we were there for a meal.  (There were no other customers.)  We enjoyed several dishes, as this was our Thanksgiving dinner, and then the girls dropped us back at the Lodge before heading out for some birthday drinks at a local shebeen.

(Skekupe gets in on the birthday celebration at Okahafo)

I did not sleep much or well (and as of this writing, several days home, I am still not sleeping much or well!), so I got up, showered and read outside the room while Peter continued his sleep.  Leslie joined us for breakfast, and then we got busy shopping for groceries for her big birthday feast.  We visited three markets, not much unlike American groceries, and took them home to be prepared for the big party: defrosting the chicken, peeling potatoes, meeting colleagues and learners stopping by to check on progress. 

(Author gets a tour of Ponhofi courtesy of a few of Leslie’s learners)

While the preparations were being made, Pete and I drove to the village of Ohaingu to meet Leslie’s friend Jen and get a tour of a homestead owned by a woman entrepreneur named Cornelia.  It was here that we got our first up close glimpse of real life: huts built from homemade bricks held together with cow dung, children pounding open marula nuts, straw being gathered and tied for thatched roofing, with full explanations from Cornelia, all questions answered completely, and full permission to take whatever photos we wanted.  Cornelia is considered quite the entrepreneur because she not only has this homestead, where she is from, she has built other living quarters (where Jen lives) and owns her own shebeen.  Quite remarkable for a Namibian woman!  She is also a teacher, having come from the area as a top scholar who was able to travel on exchange to the sister city of London and had even been to New York City.

By the time we returned to Leslie’s, most of the food was prepared, and soon guests started arriving.  We met so many people! PCVs Nick and Spencer; colleagues Katundu, King George, Mari; friend Biggie; WorldTeachers Kyle and Jen, all enjoying the American foods and birthday celebration.  This was a night I was able to sleep well!

(the menu included green bean casserole, stuffing, mashed potatoes, some Asian eggplant treat brought by friend Frank Li, cranberry sauce, chocolate cake, funfetti cake, watermelon, steaks, and many kilos of chicken)

On Saturday, we left in the late morning to continue our tour of the country.  We stopped for a traditional lunch in the huge market in Oshakati (porridge and what I believe was donkey meat), and then drove to Ruacana Falls, a huge waterfall on the border of Angola which had NOT ONE DROP of water in it, as Angola has the power to decide when to share that resource.

This is when the real fun began.  I double-checked the road to our next stop, the Kunene River Lodge, and redirected the current driver (Peter) to a dirt/rock/boulder/water road that within the first 100 meters I had GRAVE misgivings about.  I didn’t say anything, however, because I had the map and could see that this was the only plausible route AND I didn’t want to appear to be the old meme in the back who couldn’t hang with the brave young folks.  Maybe I should have listened to my inner voice and spoken aloud, but then we would have missed the adventure!

(seemingly un-passable ”puddle” that people assured us the Tiida could manage)

Despite the slow, deliberate manipulations and Sarah and Leslie getting out of the car every few meters to move large rocks out of the way of our little Nissan Tiida, Peter went a little too fast at one points and blew out a tire and bent a rim.  There is only one way to put it:  “SHIT!!!!”  Leslie had rented a Tiida before, with Sarah and another friend, and we had already heard about their bent rim and blown-out tire escapade.  So here we were with the same circumstance.  Only one thing to do, and the girls knew exactly how to do it: empty the trunk, get out the jack and spare, and change the tire.  As they were doing so, little children dressed in only their native attire approached from their homestead to watch.  This was where I felt surrealism set in.  Was I watching a movie? Was I in a movie?  These beautiful children! And then there were four, then five, and finally six, ranging in age from about 2-3 to about 11.  Leslie found it unusual that they didn’t offer to help, just watch, and no adults ever made themselves apparent.  Finally, the tire was changed, the trunk repacked, and we made it back onto our route to Kunene.  Peter was quite put out with himself for having the flat.  Little did we know that our fun had just begun.

(Tiida troubles part 1 or “our first Himba experience”)

Stay tuned for more!

Shilumbu Saturdays

Sometimes as a traveler you know that you’re doing something really, really incredible. And by incredible I mean random. Today was one of those days.
My housemate Mari is Japanese. She meets lots of Chinese people who live in Oshikango (the Chinatown of Namibia). One of said people is Frank Li.
Frank Li has been a part of a few remarkable days in Nam, including, mostly, amazing traditional Chinese food. One time he invited us to a billion-course dinner complete with handles of liquor and 6-packs of beer, sushi, and REAL sweet-and-sour pork, which, let me assure you, is nothing like what we think of as sweet-and-sour. Another time we just sang kareoke and talked about what he was lookng for in a village girl.
Today, we saw where Frank Li lives.
He manages Omega, an electronics store serving mainly Angol(i)ans and dealing in USD (I bet you didn’t know I can do my grocery shopping in American money, did ya?!). He picked us up at the Hong Kong Restaurant where we had been watching Occupy Wall Street coverage on Chinese news stations (yep, even the censored are reporting on that shit) and took us to his shop at China Village, another sort of Dragon City (you know its a Chinatown where there is more than one Chinatown within the Chinatown).
Holy crap — speakers, televisions, radios, solar panels, and generators everywhere. WOW. No wonder the Chinese run that place.
Walking through the back door, we walked through the storage warehouse to the little living space in the back, where his “auntie” (read: domestic helper) was waiting to teach us how to make dumplings.
We drank Singaporean “Hello Beer” (yes, that’s the actual name), made three kinds of dumplings, a fruit salad, and used a huge cleaver the likes of which I had never seen before. We drank more and ate shrimp tofu, eggs with scallions, a soy-sauce and garlic concoction that reminded my sinuses of horseradish, and doused our dumplings in Tobasco straight from Louisiana. We ate, and ate, and ate. It was all DELICIOUS. I want to eat there every Saturday.
In between bouts of cooking, we played with a monkey (who stole my sunglasses and ate bugs out of all of our hair) named Momo and watched the E! True Hollywood Story of Holly Madison (kill me, but worth noting for the randomness and diversity and the DSTV). After we were done eating (or, alternatively, stuffing ourselves), we cranked up all of the speakers in the front room and blasted some Shukusha. To our delight, the speaker was complete with a lightshow - for the low low price of 130usd. Eventually I felt as though we had worn out our welcome and we all made our way back to our respective villages.

Needless to say it was an epic Saturday and I can’t wait for the next.

Holiday Journal, continued.

8.23: Waking up in Mariental, we had a mission: fix the first tire, so we didn’t have to pay the rental company a bunch of money that we didn’t have. We went to the gas station, who called TrenTyre about a rim for the Tiida. They claimed not to have any. We went to the Nissan dealership (honestly, probably the only one in the whole country. There are no car dealerships in the North); their mechanics weren’t in yet, since we awoke at about 5 and we were there around 7 (the North will make you think weird things, like that everyone gets up at 5). We went to ShopRite, which was also closed. We ended up at TrenTyre, where we asked about a rim. It was there, and shockingly affordable, though it was ‘pearl white’ and wouldn’t match the rest of the car. Then I pulled the tire from the trunk and rolled it over to the garage, where a guy just grabbed it and took it into a work area and started to mess with it. I asked if he could fix it. He said yes, and sure enough, not more than half an hour later they had it banged out, completely fixed, resealed, and back in the trunk. Best part? It was free. We were once again, saved by the mercy of humankind and a lack of American business sense. We got back on the road and decided to head for Keetmanshoop since Luederitz was no longer within reach and we were guaranteed a night in a bed and a free place to stay since Sarah lives at her school there. Before we headed out, though, we wanted to see what Mariental had to offer, namely, Hardap (which means nipples, by the by) Dam and Game Park. After getting lost for about an hour, singing on stage to dear old Mother Namibia, and seeing some really ugly lake, we ended up at the maze/compact car obstacle course that is Nipples Game Park. We drove up some mountains, saw some crazy running kudus, intimidated some gemsbok, hunted some ostrich, and made our way to what we called ‘Dam Vlei,’ which looked a lot like Dead Vlei but there was still water there. There, Sarah and I picked up kudu antlers and we all got awesome pictures. We also had probably the best bathrooms we’ve had in Namibia: outdoor little huts with no doors. What a view for doing the do! We left having seen a pretty small amount of game but having recovered from the panic and stress of the previous day and the hectic morning. Since we were once again on paved roads, I took over driving, and we made it to Keetmans without incident. We walked around town a bit, bought some meat, cooked it, and ate in Sarah’s empty dining room. We once again lit our candles and sang to Mother Namibia and ended the night with a few beers at the local shebeen. Our luck had shifted.

Low: feeling like the drive to Keetmans would never end… but I’ve since figured out it’s just because there aren’t entertaining shebeens, etc. to gaze at on the side of the road in the south.

High: having the tire returned, fixed, free! and knowing that we wouldn’t owe the rental company tons of money, sleeping horizontally, and seeing a kudu cross the road.

Holiday Journal, continued.

8.22: We wake up at 5am to try and see Soussusvlei as the sun rises. We stop at Dune 45, which is 45km into the park and therefore the most accessible dune, and climb about ¾ of the way up because we want to save our energy for the rest of the day. Sarah rolls down and we take some pictures of how the hazy morning clouds seem to hang between the top and bottom of the dunes. Then we get back into the car and head to the parking lot, where we see that there will be a 5km hike to ‘Dead Vlei’ and Soussusvlei itself. Being (practically) the only ones without 4-wheel drive, we trek in. When we’re almost there, the park guides tell us to hop the fence and go towards ‘that dune there’ to find Dead Vlei – something we find comical as it would never ever happen at a park in the States. Regardless we take their advice and end up having a nice brunch picnic overlooking Dead Vlei, which has recently become well known due to a stellar National Geographic picture that I posted here a few months back. It was indeed an awesome sight – but nothing in comparison to what was coming. We hiked back out to the parking lot and talked a guide into driving us over to Soussusvlei, where we started the hour climb to the top of the world’s highest dune. Sarah and Julie followed the path, while our picnic and some delirium gave me the idea to take the shortest route – the vertical climb up the dune, that is!! It was awesome; hard, obviously, and a great workout, and got a lot of dirt in my boots, but it was excellent to reach the top and look out over the other side and just sit in wonderment at all that I could see. 10 miles in every direction you could look out and see the reddish-orange dunes juxtaposed with the blue, blue sky with water below and a few clouds and animals – it was absolutely incredible. We relax a bit at the top and then make our descent, hitching a ride back to the starting point with a really rich South African couple in a Land Rover who utilized momentum and drifting to make it through all of the loose sand. I took over driving and we decided to try and make it to Luederitz since Soussusvlei had been kind of a quick trip (we had allowed 4 days for it and only used 2). On the way south, we ran across some great stuff – some Earthship-style houses in the middle of nowhere with !Nama melon (yes, that word contains a click) patches, a great rock cliff that we climbed and gazed out over the savannahs from (and had an encounter with a scorpion on!), and saw some herds of ostriches (ostri?). As we made the turn towards Maltahoehe, I spied a hazard sign in the road, and was looking for what it was supposed to be for. As I was looking, I drove directly into a huge (and I’m talking huge) rock; immediately I knew there was something very, very wrong with the car. (Don’t forget that we had already used the spare the day before). Julie and Sarah got out to inspect the damage and revealed that not only was the tire flat, the rim itself was completely annihilated. We then realized we were also in an area with no cell phone reception whatsoever, and then Julie spilled our second bottle of water, so we had only one. We had seen no other cars on this road, and were about to panic when two cars happened by, going in the other direction. German tourists to the rescue again! After quite the conversation (in German, yes Dad, it has been useful in Life!), they agreed to take the tire we had flattened the day before with them, along with us, to the lodge where they were spending the night, about 20km down the road. We grabbed a blanket, a bottle of water, and our purses and left the rest with the car. At the lodge – Hammerstein Lodge – we were warmly received, and they told us to sit and wait in the lobby (Tea! Coffee! Hot chocolate!) for news on the tire, which they thought they would be able to fix. After two hours of nervous laughter, moments of panic and doubt, and even a few tears, they brought the tire out looking as good as ever. The helpful young men even took us back to the car, changed the tire in no time flat, and sent us on our way right before dark with instructions on where we could safely spend the night in the car in Mariental since we would no longer have the time to get to Luederitz. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Sarah climbed back into the drivers’ seat and we continued on our way, watching the sun set gloomily behind us as clouds rolled away from the savannahs and the blanket of night come over the sky (we had seen rain twice that day! It was my first time seeing rain here). We drove under 80 almost the entire time and screeched to a halt for a huge porcupine only once. We made it to Mariental, ate at Wimpy’s, had nice, tall vodka drinks, and settled in for the night after lighting candles and seancing around a screechy version of the Namibian national anthem, in an effort to please Mother Namibia and turn our luck around.

Low: hitting the damn rock and blowing out tire number 2.

High: Finding out the tire was fixable, and taking the ‘shortcut’ up the tallest dune in the world and having a moment alone to meditate on all of that epicness and just the vastness of Soussusvlei.

To check out Sarah’s version of this segment, click here.