Day 6: Somewhere outside of Solitare to Swakopmund

Now we know what it was like to travel on the old western stage coaches.  It is over 90 outside, there is no wind except from the speed of the truck.  Windows are open to get the air, but this road is unpaved, covered in white dust and rock.  The dust from the road has become a part of the African experience.  We are descending down a steep hill into a small river canyon.  Fortunately it is dry now for there is no real bridge. This road is the major Namibian road leading us out of the desert to Walvis Bay and Swakopmund.   It is a double red line on the map.  Only freeways are rated better.

We know we said it was hot.  Did we said how dry it is?  Imagine late spring and summer in the high deserts of North America.  This part of the Namib desert is very reminiscent of our deserts with the dry yellow grasses and shrub bushes, and only occasional small trees.  But this was an exceptionally wet year.  They got over 13 inches of rain.  That is 10 times the standard rain fall!  And because of that massive, yet actually minuscule, amount of the rain, this desert blossomed.  In a standard year there is no grass.  All that one would see would be the red sand dunes identical to those that we visited yesterday.  Some animals here (the Oryx) can live its entire life and never drink water.  Like many other desert  animals, it gets its moisture from the things that it eats.

Last night, we camped on a “farm” that was the best of the campsites yet.  It was extremely isolated.  The site itself was dust and rock.  But the cook site was well done with lots of area for cooking and cleaning.  Everything was blessedly clean.  There was abundant hot water for showers, heated in a 55 gallon drum set over rocks and a hot fire.  The Farmhouse was pleasant and cool, serving drinks on the patio, lit only by the moon and stars and a few kerosene lamps. 

This morning we met a man who hasn’t worn shoes in 17 years.  A Namib citizen, but a veteran drafted into the South African army during the Namibian war for independence, he fought alongside bushmen trackers during this guerrilla war.  Namibia was granted its independence, but not all who fought with SA were allowed to return home.  Boesman, of European descent, came home and went into a normal civilian life.  At some point in his career as an insurance agent,  he came to detest that life.  One day, he took off his suit and tie, and his shoes.  He gave up his names and went into the desert to better learn the lore of the Bushman or San people he had known during the war.  And that is how Bushman, or Boesman in the Afrikaans language, came to be.

It is not yet sunrise and we are up barely in time for coffee, before meeting Boesman who will give us a tour of the desert.  It is a beautiful, and somehow peaceful morning.  Boesman is a tall slim, middle-aged man in a light colored afrikaans cap, and is wearing only green khaki shorts and shirt (with no shoes).  He tells his story, then we clamber into his open Land Cruiser and head out onto the farm.  Boesman first talks of the climate and shows us a picture of the same grassy scene we are viewing, but it is instead red sand dunes and hills.  He explains how the east wind and the west wind are correlated to the seasons and how it is rare for either wind to bring rain.  He points to the far mountains and explains that they are not mountains formed as we know them, but escarpments.  Climb to the top of the “mountain” and you will be on a plain where there is vegetation, rain, and good soil for farming.

Boesman then takes us deeper into the desert to an area that is more dune and less grass.  He begins to show us how the desert is filled with life, and how each of its inhabitants has adapted to life with little or no water.  He shows us how many of the bugs and animals live underground, and how they all can feel the vibrations of any other creature as they approach.  It is a phenomena of the sands that they can transmit vibration so well.  Each creature can be identified by its “vibration”.

And now he begins to talk of the his namesake peoples, the Bushmen.  He talks of how the infant was taught to find his mother by her footprints.  To the San, each person’s footprint was unique and was used to identify each other’s trail in the desert.  Then the child was taught to follow animals and to use a small bow to hunt.  When he was older, the boy child was given to the father to be taught all that the father knew.  Depending on the severity of the particular desert, the San restricted their group to between 4 and 30 members.  The tribe had to be able to run quickly to downed game as they move over the desert.  Aged and infirm members often had to be left behind. If they had a successful hunt, they would each eat over 20 pounds of  food in one sitting.  But then they could live for 5 or more days on that one meal.  Their skin was yellow to blend with the bush.  And up until the early twentieth century, they were considered game animals who could be hunted by other people!  They were hunted with rifles by both black and white.  Whites saw them as game animals and the blacks feared them as predators.

But until their children were taken from them and put into the government’s schools, the San were the ultimate survivors in the most desolate environment imaginable.  They found their mate by walking far away from the home group until they saw a set of footprints that seemed beautiful to them.  Then they followed those prints to find the love of their life.  There was no crime since it was impossible to hide the story of the crime.  How can that be?  It is because any movement on the desert left trail sign, and all footprints were immediately identifiable.  All trail sign could be read quickly to understand who moved when and how. 

And now they are no more.  The San descendants have lost the desert lore.  They have, through intermarriage with other tribes, lost the distinctive skin color that was their desert camouflage.  But Boesman remembers.  And he studies all that he can find of their history and lore.  And he teaches to anyone who will listen.  We were some of the fortunate ones to be able to hear him and to see a little through his eyes as he looks over this beautiful desert. 

Today’s experience alone was enough to make this Africa trip worthwhile.  We will never again look at a desert as a lifeless wasteland.  And we will never forget the story of the San.

After another long day’s drive, we arrived in the ‘big’ city of Swakopmund, an old German town, on the coast of Namibia where we will spend two nights in a bungalow - not in tents for once.  It’s good to feel clean.

Officially in the Tropics