Dad's diary

We had an amazing visit with my parents. They came to see us in Namibia for almost three weeks. They left yesterday and I'm really sad that they're gone.

We spent the first week of their visit in our village. Dad kept a diary and I will paste excerpts below. The last week and a half is not included. Highlights include: camping in the area where wild desert elephants migrate through (yes we saw some), viewing ancient rock paintings, and sitting around chatting by the fire at our campsites. Did Dad tell any of you the story of their last night in Windhoek, when he was mugged by a guy in a wheelchair? I will add more soon, with photos.

Sunday, Aug. 13, 2006
Odibo, Ovamboland
Republic of Namibia

There is no sign to Odibo off the B1, the north-sough federal highway that bisects Namibia, the new nation in southwestern Africa between Angola and South Africa. Odibo is right smack on the Angolan border and a small village of the Ovambo peoples. This area is the most heavily populated area of the Republic, with about 85% of the population of 1.8 million.

We arrived just after nightfall following a ten-hour drive from Windhoek—the last leg of a three-day journey that started in Boston on Thursday at 5 pm. We awoke Thursday to the news that the British government had uncovered a terrorist plot to blow up nine or so American flag-carrying aircraft en route from London to five US cities, including Boston. We quickly repacked, transferring all carry-on to checked luggage. We can only carry passports, boarding passes and critical medicines (with prescription documentation) on to the planes. Our scheduled flight from Boston is canceled, but we get two of the last three seats on another flight (a different carrier) that left at midnight. Heathrow in London is worse; we can enter the terminal two hours prior to a confirmed flight. Most have been canceled. Until then everyone waits outside on the tarmac sitting on foam pads –kind of like a refugee camp. We did not dare to go to the Globe theater as we were warned that it takes four hours to get back into Heathrow during the bomb scares. Strangely enough, the ten hour wait on the tarmac was relaxing and people just chilled – probably just relieved that no planes went down.

We eventually got to Johannesburg in South Africa and then to Windhoek, the capital of Namibia.

We discover that Windhoek is the center of what seems to be a de facto European/Afrikaans zone. It's ruled by the new indigenous government, but the economy is still dominated by the old order. There are huge commercial farms in the zone, mostly cattle, but some featuring ostriches and wild game as well. The European zone looks nothing like what you would expect Africa to look like. There are beautiful highways, very few people, and an extreme sense of order. It's Arizona with an accent.

Until 16 years ago, this area was part of a police zone, originally established by a German colonial military government in 1910 and enforced after 1918 by the British and then South African governments. South Africa enforced apartheid in Namibia and had wanted to annex Namibia as a province, but was stopped by the League of Nations. A war of liberation, aided by the Angolan government and Cuban troops, succeeded in overthrowing South African rule in 1989.

Odibo was ground zero in many ways. Its heavily armed tribal armies fought the Portuguese (in Angola), the Germans and the South Africans. The battle for independence was led in the 1970s and 1980s by SWAPO, the South West African Peoples Organization.

As we pass into Odibo on a heavily rutted dirt road and swells of sand, we can see "homesteads" off to the side. These are fenced-in areas in which family groups live together in mud thatched huts. Fenced in areas for livestock are called "kraals" and are comprised of poles (really branches of trees) about six feet high. The people who live in the homesteads own cattle, goats, chickens, pigs and raise a local food staple called millet. The grazing and farming often takes place on community space, which is common to the northern economic zone.

The two economic zones are separated by the "Red Line", which is not identified on our road map. We know we arrive there because there is a police roadblock, where papers and the car are examined. The Red Line is the former demarcation point for the old, and no longer extant, police zone. Today it exists as a veterinary control point. Farms south of the Red Line subscribe to international standards for disease control in animals. Meat from cattle raised on the controlled area can be exported. Animals raised in the North cannot be exported or transported. It is a source of great local controversy, as it limits the economic potential of the native farmers, as opposed to the European commercial farmers.

Monday, Aug. 14

Nancy and I get a great night's sleep after missing sleep for two straight nights on the trip here. We are staying at Laura and Inbal's home at the St. Mary's mission compound, which is much larger than I had imagined. There are many new buildings here and the compound comprises maybe 20 or more structures. It includes an Anglican Church, a medical clinic and an important regional school. The compound was established by the Anglican Church in 1925, and recent capital projects have been funded by the Anglican Diocese of Manchester, England, and the Namibian government.

Prior to independence, St. Mary's Odibo School functioned as a private prep school for the more motivated local residents, and during apartheid was the premiere school for black Namibians. Prior to independence, very few families sent children to school. The principal and the now-retired Anglican bishop tell us that now about 85% of children are sent to school. Education is a top priority for the new government. Parents can decide whether or not to send children to the school, but in the 16 short years since independence, almost all have grabbed the opportunity for the next generation. The Bishop tells us that there is a severe shortage of schools for children after the 10 th grade. He said he is aware of 800 students in the region who want to attend 11th or 12th grade, but can't.

The current school term started here in early January, when Inbal and Laura first arrived. Laura said there was a lineup of several score students at the principal's office of prospective students in their 20s who were still trying to enroll to finish secondary school. They could only accommodate a handful and the rest were sent home to try again in another year.

Operational funding for this particular school comes from the Namibian government and in part from the families of the "learners". The fees are steep for many families, and we hear at the morning assembly that many students still have not paid and cannot receive their Second Term report cards as scheduled Friday until they pay.

Each Monday starts with an assembly in which the students line up single file by grade. The Bishop leads a service that includes prayers, hymns and Bible readings. Today his prayer is for peace in the Mideast. He is particularly interested in Israel, and has asked many questions of Inbal. This is finals' week and many learners are absent. The country is more than 90% Christian. More than half are Lutherans. Missionaries played a major role in Namibia in the last 150 years, but many Christians here are said to retain aspects of tribal religion, such as ancestor worship. The Bishop says tribal religion was not a doctrine, but a way of life.

All day, there is a stream of eager students to the front door of our house as students want to collect their grades. Today is Inbal's day mostly; he has finished grading his ninth grade geography papers. Students are more eager to get their geography grades than their biology grades.

We spend much of the day being introduced to learners, teachers, administrators and others. We are treated with great deference and respect, which is probably a sign of their culture. It is also a sign of how much they like Laura and Inbal. As we leave a teacher's meeting, there is talk of an end-of-the session goat barbecue (a "braai") on Thursday evening, held at the public house where many of the contract (non-Namibian) teachers had gathered on many nights to watch their only video—"Prisoners of Sorbibor", a movie about a World War II concentration camp.

3 pm

We receive a visit from Julia, who is the AIDs educator at the school. She is a young woman from the village. This area of Africa is one of the most severely affected by AIDs. About one in five Namibians has AIDs. She tells us about one in three people in Odibo have AIDs. She teaches the young people the ABCs: abstinence, be faithful to your partner, and condomize.

4pm

We head out for a stroll through the compound and village. We pay our respects to the headman of Odibo as new arrivals. He is already friendly with Laura and Inbal, whom he has nicknamed "Sir Baldy" in a local dialect of Ovambo. In Ovamboland, much of the local administration is conducted through the old tribal system. Most headmen report up through royals who run the tribes. When we arrive the headman is still in the fields tending his cattle. We kill time walking around the homesteads. Women and children are busy fetching water at the local pump, which they carry in containers on their heads. The men are starting to return from the fields. The headman finds us, and greets us with great warmth and friendliness.

He rubs Inbal's head and then apologizes to us that his English is not good because his father required him to help in the fields rather than attend school. His English is very good. It's the official language of the country, but in Ovamboland the dominant spoken language is the local dialect. Many people also know Afrikaans. Many children know three to five languages: the dialect, English, Afrikaans, Portuguese (if from neighboring Angola) or other dialects. The headman returned a few days ago from a local city where surgeons from California performed successful cataract surgery on his left eye. He had been blind in that eye for eight months he tells us. I smile because my own surgeon from Boston spends a month in Ethiopia every three years doing pro bono eye surgery. The headman is fully recovered and very grateful for recovery of sight in the eye. I know the feeling.

The headman seems to fill a role as local social safety net. We are quickly surrounded by four happy, laughing children aged three or younger. The headman introduces us. Two are his grandchildren and two others are orphans he and his wife are raising. He invites us inside his homestead, which is quite large and beautiful. We walk inside the wooden post fence into a gated area around a fire. He describes it as the men's "lunch". It's where men from the area conduct business, trading animals and discussing issues, such as the drought that has affected local agriculture. The headman has lost six of his 34 cattle because of the water shortage. He also has given up his goatherd. He shows us four attractive thatched huts with neat mud and straw blocks. These are for sons numbers one, two, three and four. In the center is the hut for his wife and their children. Each homestead features large pot where food is stored off the ground. An old man walks up to greet us. He is an 87-year old given a home by the headman. He's a wonder because the average life expectancy in Namibia is just 40. In the front of the entrance to the homestead, the headman shows us logs arranged in a U shape under a beautiful tree. This is where local disputes are discussed and settled. The headman tells us he tries to achieve a resolution as a consensus with the parties and other local leaders. Sometimes, it's decided to send offenders to jail in Oshikango a few miles away. Other times, the headman tells parties to settle disagreements with some type of payment or other restitution. There are no police here, but it seems orderly except for drunks at the many local shabeens (bars).

The headman invites us to return Wednesday at 4 pm.

Tuesday, Aug. 15

The day starts with a teachers' meeting at 7:30. Inbal is on the discipline and entertainment committee. Plans for the Thursday party are discussed. Laura is on the sports and religion committees, and she ends the meeting with a prayer.

The school has about 350 learners in grades eight to twelve and 13 teachers. During apartheid, black learners were not allowed to study science and mathematics and there is a critical shortage of native Namibians who can teach those subjects.

10 am

The headman visits to change the date of our get-together. He asks for me, as business is conducted by the male elders. It's a good system.

1pm

The Anglican bishop, Shihala N. Hamupembe, arrives at our home for lunch. He is particularly fond of Inbal. Inbal begins lunch with a Hebrew prayer, and the Bishop tells us he is a great supporter of Israel, and is confused by the Hezbollah. Who are they? What do they want?

Bishop Hamupembe is a greatly respected man in the village, and probably in much of he country. He began is career as a lay preacher in St. Mary's in 1972. He tells us he was a evangelized by his brothers and sisters, and that his parents became Christians later. He also wanted to receive an education, and the only source of education for blacks was the Christian schools. As a boy he herded his families goats and cattle, often in distant pastures. He also worked in the mines and in the fishing industry. He attended school in St. Mary's and later seminary. He became a teacher at St. Mary's in the late 1960s, and became principally in 1972.

The timing was not good. The South African protectorate had required that black students be taught only in Afrikaans, a move that allowed them to only get news and other information from South Africa. St. Mary's, established by the Church of England, bucked the trend and continued to teach in English. It was the only school for blacks in Namibia that did, and in fact was one of the only (and possibly the only at times) secondary school for black students in the apartheid era. Ovamboland was the hotbead for SWAPO organization, as most of the remainder of the country had been overtaken by Europeans. Almost the entire Herrero tribe of central Namibia, had been killed by the Germans under a military edict. The Namas in southern Namibia fared almost as badly. St.Mary's was seen by the South Afrcian army as the flash point of the freedom fighting movement.

One night in 1979, Principal Hamupembe was told by SWAPO guerillas to immediately vacate the premises because of an impending attack by South African soldiers. Everyone immediately evacuated in combis, the local buses. A few days later, Mr. Hamupembe heard loud noise from the Odibo area and saw the sky light up in bright red flashes. South African soldiers blew up the seminary building next to the church and burned a building that housed the pastor of the church, who is remembered as an extremely brave man for his defiance of the military authorities. The school was bombed a few years later.

The school buildings, already in bad shape, were badly damaged. The school was closed for many years. Mr. Hamupembe assumed Anglican administrative duties in other areas, and in 1998 was named Anglican bishop for all of Namibia, a post he held until recently. After the new state was formed in 1990 (Namiba had been the last colonial government in Africa), he worked hard to regain funding for St. Mary's School. He's been the Pastor her for about 18 months and has a parish of 4,000 to 6,000. "They don't all come to church," he tells us. Most live in Angola.

It has been a tough haul for the school since reopening about four years ago. The government's emphasis is now on public schools so that all blacks can receive a free education. St. Mary's, as a private school, still charges tuition. The Bishop convinced the Anglican Diocese of Manchester, England, to make an important capital grant. He also convinced the government to supply significant capital funds to rebuild the school.

Today, there are more than a dozen constructions workers here. Buildings seem to rise almost overnight. The classrooms are clean and new, and built in a style common to California. One or two classrooms are built as standalone structures, with no halls. New dormitories, called hostels, are being built for the students and the faculty. The principal lives in a rebuilt home. The classrooms still suffer from a lack of books and supplies. There are no science labs. The school has established a computer center for the students, and it's named after a prominent local artist. Inbal teaches computer skills to the students, and not surprisingly, it's one of the most popular classes here. There is no Internet access at the school, but there is a downloaded Wikipedia that functions as an important new study resource for the learners.

Bishop Hamupembe not only lived through the enormous change, but was the principal player. Our lunch and discussion goes much longer than expected. He is an impressive and important person, and I wonder, if deep down, he wishes he had lived in a less traumatic time.

Wednesday, Aug. 16

10 am

We work with Laura and her eighth grade class to dig six compost pits that will be used for a garden when the third term starts in September. The ground is like alabaster – the consistency of the infield of Forbes Field in 1960 when the Bucs hit "alabaster blasts" through the infield. Nancy and I collect cow pies and chop them in the holes.



Thursday, Aug. 17

9 am

Laura takes us on a walk through the clinic, which also re-opened a few years ago. Its focus is on malaria treatment, pre-natal care and birthing. Many pregnant women are around. There's a large crowd on benches waiting to be seen. There is some AIDs testing here, but treatment takes place at a nearby hospital. I'm told that treatment is now widely available, but many of those afflicted do not seek help because of shame.

There are no medical schools in Namibia, and there is a shortage of doctors. Cuba has sent many doctors here, and in fact, the house we're staying in was home to two Cuban doctors last year. There are no doctors now at St. Mary's clinic.

There is a huge, beautiful piece of artwork on one of the walls. It was done by John N Muafangejo, who went to school at St. Mary's and later worked here on his artwork, which are a combination of engravings on wood and rubber plates. They are celebrations of Namibian life, past and present, including scenes from the reign of King Mandume, the last tribal kind who had real power.

10 am

Laura walks us next over to the computer center and library, Inbal's kingdom. A Namibian instructor is working with four students on one of the five or so PC workstations. St. Mary's sister school in England (Trinity High School in Manchester) is shipping 10 laptops to the school, an event that merited national TV attention here. Next door is a library that was largely organized by an American volunteer who worked here last year. There aren't many age appropriate books, but Laura says a church group from Connecticut sent two boxes of excellent books recently, and has promised eight more.

11:00 a.m.
We drive into the nearest larger settlement, Oshikango, which is smack dab on the Angola border, to buy food for our camping trip. Oshikango assaults the senses - it is filled with people with HUGE boxes and baskets on their heads and babies on their backs, and with multiple languages being spoken – Portuguese and Oshiquinyama (which Laura is learning to speak amazingly well). It pulses with life, noise, motion, and although not a pretty place, it is fascinating. One area has goats that are being killed right next to the open fires where they are roasted. One person has to stay in the car to guard it while the rest of us go shopping and to the bank.

1:30 p.m.
We set off for the head man's house for "lunch"- a traditional meal of oshifima and a large mug of homebrew. We discover they have killed several chickens for us, which is a big honor. The head man (the tribal leader of the village) gives us a fascinating tour of his homestead, and then brings us to a special round thatched roof hut for the meal. There is a big pot on the floor covered with a basket – with a big flourish he takes off the basket and shows us a brown brew which is moving around – large gas bubbles escaping. His daughter ladles out an enormous carved wooden mug full of the brew for each of us. It's made from sorghum and mohungoo (millet grain) which is fermented overnight. It smells and tastes like yeast. It goes down without too much trouble but would not be my drink of choice. We were all really tired before drinking it though, and afterwards felt really refreshed. It is supposed to be loaded with protein –a Namibian energy drink! The oshifima is eaten every day, I think at every meal, by the Ovambo people. It's a solid porridge made from the mohungoo grain, with sand mixed in. It's bland and often served with a dipping sauce. We used the chicken gravy which helped a lot. Laura has learned to love oshifima. I'm glad I tried it for the experience.

We spend close to three hours with the headman, as he shows us around the homestead and farm. He goes into detail on many local customs. He ends the visit with a prayer for the Kwanyama, the local people. He asks us to pray for him.
Friday, Aug. 18

Eight days ago, we woke to news of a terrorist plot to blow up nine planes en route to the USA. Today we wake to the sound of children singing peacefully in Oshiquinyama. It's dream like. First I worry I missed the final school assembly, and then I realize the singing is coming from the girls' dormitory next door. They are so happy they're going home today. Many travel huge distances to come here, and only see their families every three months.

At the assembly the principal tells the students that most did very poorly. How could they spend so much time here and learn so little, he asks? They struggle mightily taking the courses and tests in English. Also, virtually all are first-generation students. Their families never went to any school for the most part. Children of the native elite (pastors and teachers) go to private schools in South Africa. The principal pushes hard. Namibia wants to catch up.

The headman—Tattay Josephus Epui—stops by to say goodbye. He thanks us for the presents we gave him.


Nancy and I take a last stroll around the compound. No one yells oshilumbu! (white people) at us. There are no giggles. No stares.

We are starting to fit in here. And this place is also a little less strange to us.


Friday, Aug. 18 (Start of roadtrip)

We pack for the traveling part of our vacation. Laura, Nancy and I have a bag each, and have enough room in our rented Corolla for Inbal’s bag (plus all of our camping and cooking gear). Inbal comes to the car with eight bags, including a duffle with enough clothes to last a month. He ditches some and claims photographer’s privilege for the remainder. We drive through the the new "Nehale lya Mpingana Gate" gate to the Fort Numotomi Lodge in Etosha National Park, which covers an area of 8.600 square miles. Etosha is called "Great White Place" because it contains a huge mineral pan, which is part of the Kalahari Basin. The Etosha Pan covers around 25% of the National Park. It was originally a lake fed by the Kunene River. The river changed course thousands of years ago and the lake dried up. The pan now is a salty dust hole. Springs along the edges of the Pan attract large concentrations wildlife in the dry, winter season (July & August),
A San legend about the Pan tells of how a village was raided and everyone but the women slaughtered. One woman cried until her tears formed a lake. When it dried only the pan remained. .

Saturday, Aug. 19: Drive through Etosha, stopping at waterholes, where animals feed during the dry season. It hasn’t rained here for two months, and the wildlife viewing is incredible. We see elephants, giraffes, zebras and even a rhino as we drive through the park. We come too close to a bull elephant, which starts to charge before I pull away, ruining Inbal’s shot. Ethosha is the only African game reserve where there is no incidence of the feline autoimmune deficiency disease. As a result it has become a breeding ground to provide lions throughout Africa. We camp at the Okaukuejo Rest Camp and are surrounded by jackals and warthogs at night. A fence about 60 feet away protects us from lions and elephants.

Sunday, Aug. 20: In the morning we come across two lions resting right on the road. One appears to have a badly bloodied paw. We come within five feet and stop. We then drive south through the Andersson gate to the town of Outjo, where we stay in a campground and eat dinner with the cat baby.

Monday, Aug. 21: We drive west to the heart of San country (“Bushmen” is not PC here) to see prehistoric rock engravings at Twyfelfontein, which means “doubtful spring” in Afrikaans. The first stop on the walking tour is the abandoned home of David Levin, who gave this arid spot its name. Yes, David Levin. He immigrated here from central Europe in the 1930s, but had no luck farming because the spring was not consistent.
The engravings are a highlight of the trip for me. This is the largest collection of rock engravings in Africa. There are hundreds of them on huge blocks that cover the landscape. Mingled with depictions of rhinos, elephants, giraffes, antelopes, lions and ostriches are human hands and footprints.. There are also plenty of abstract symbols and designs: dots, lines and circles. We are told these are ceremonial sites, where shamans went into excited frenzies through intense concentration. In their minds, they became transformed into animals and then back into humans while prehistoric evangelists clapped and sang. The events are recorded into the stone. The symbols show the change in the mind and physical presence. Why did they do this? Our San guide said the shamans might transform into a giraffe as a way to encourage rain, as giraffes were viewed as harbingers of rain. The San people seem to know, but we can only guess. The coolest, and most famous engraving at Twylfontein is a lion whose tail turns into a hand. Good luck for hunting? I don’t know. It’s a magical place – a view into a very different world and time.
We camp at Aba-Huab, a site next to a dry river bed (of the same name), and home of the desert elephants. It’s a beautiful site, with large trees. After I help pitch the tent and head to the outhouse, a black man runs toward me screaming, “The elephants are here!” There is a famous herd of elephants that migrates through the Skeleton Coast Desert, to our west. During the dry season (which we are in –it hasn’t rained here for more than two months), the desert elephants move farther east to find water. We hear the elephants and see their silhouettes against the night sky. The camp site is owned by a school principal from Swakopmund – he knows one of Laura and Inbal’s teaching colleagues. Water in the showers is warmed by “donkeys”, boilers heated by wood fires.

Tuesday, Aug. 21: We drive to two nearby sites: the “organ pipe” rock formations and Burnt Mountain. The organ pipes are located in a gulley and are columns of dolerite rock magma pushed up through the surface of the earth. Burnt Mountain is made up of blackened shale mixed with manganese and iron, resulting in a dark red tint. In this area, we have also seen a petrified forest, dating back some 280 million years. Our San guide tells us these trees were washed here in a flood. The guide shows us that the stone that replaced wood even shows the rings of the trees,
We drive next to another ancient art site in Damaraland—the White Lady paintings in Brandberg Mountain. The drive along the omnipresent gravel roads is spectacular. The landscape here features reddish rocks and flat gravel plains. The roads are deceiving. You can hit a good stretch and hit 120 km/hr, and then you hit a dry river gulley and smash bottom. “It’s a rental car,” says Inbal as he puts the pedal to the metal. Soon we see the Branderg Mountain, Namibia’s highest at 2,573 meters above sea level. We head to the Brandberg White Lady Lodge, built 18 months ago by a South African entrepreneur on Tsiseb conservation land. He tells us he has bought a 20-year lease on the land – after that all is returned to the conservation agency. They give us a deal on a “luxury campsite, a tent on a concrete platform, with a private shower. Inbal swings us a discount because they are Namibian residents for the year. This is also called the home of the desert elephant, and we hear another herd is moving this way. We eat dinner in the lodge, and are entertained by the wait staff, including a song called “Toyota Cressida” – the most prized car here. An African man must have the three Cs: car, cell phone and cash. At the conclusion, the entertainers ask groups at each table to sing their national anthem. A large Italian group touring on Kawasakis gives a spirited rendition of the Italian anthem. At the next table a woman bravely sings the German anthem solo. We are then asked to sing the Namibian national anthem. We pass.

Wednesday, Aug. 22 We tour the White Lady rock painting site with a guide named Gwen.. The round trip is almost four hears into the mountain. Gwen bends our ears on the dangers of cell phones to relationships, and other issues. Inbal politely listens while the rest of us escape. There are some 45,000 paintings at the site. The themes are somewhat similar to Twelfontain, but these are paintings not engravings. The focal point is a drawing called the White Lady, which is believed to be 1,800 years old. The figure was originally thought to be a white female, but experts now believe it is a male warrior with white paint. The penis protective device is an important clue.
We stay a second night at the White Lady Lodge.

Thursday, Aug. 24: We head west to the Atlantic Ocean, almost completely circling the Brandberg Mountain. First stop is the Cape Fur Seal Reserve at Cape Cross, where a Portuguese explorer first set foot on Africa. The seal reserve is jammed with seals – it’s described as the largest mainland seal breeding colony in the world. There are some 80,000 to 100,000 seals here. The first thing you notice is the stench – apparently from dead seal carcasses that litter the area. Jackals wander through the reserve, eating the carcasses. . The other thing you notice here is the cold – Namibia is swept by a current from Antarctica. Plus it’s winter time here. We’re almost at the Tropic of Capricorn. Until now, the weather has been warm and sunny at day, and pleasantly cool at night.
We head south along the coast on a salt highway. It’s harder and smoother than the gravel roads. We pass huge salt fields where salt is harvested via solar evaporation. We arrive soon at Swakopmund, described as an important tourist town. It’s very German; Namibia was first colonized by Germans. .We pull into the tourist information office to find a place to stay. It’s a holiday weekend coming up –Heroes day is on Saturday. The Heroes are the SWAPO freedom fighters. We find lodging for three nights at a backpackers lodge in town.
We run into Mike, a Peace Corps worker from upstate New York who wants to meet later. We also get text messages from a World Teach group in Swakop. We meet the World Teach group for dinner in two days, and it’s a highlight of the trip. Fun, energizing people. The stay in Swakop is mostly a recovery time for me. I’m tired and over-stimmed. Another highlight is a visit to the Swakop museum. It includes detailed descriptions of the five or so major tribal groups in Namibia. It shows some of the German colonial history. It also has a large exhibit on the Rossung uranium mine to the south. This single mine supplies 8% of the world’s uranium. One barrel of uranium ore provides an equivalent amount of energy to 25,000 barrels of oil. Fourth generation Germans and locals seem to co-habitate well. Swakop features hopping bars and many fine restaurants. To me, it’s the Cuzco of Namibia.

Sunday, Aug. 27: We hit the road again, this time heading south to Soussesvlei, a desert area of huge red sand dunes. We pass a lodge area on the coast where Brad Pitt and Angeline Jolie stayed, putting Namibia on the map for many people. Not impressive. Soon we head east again. It’s amazing how you can drive for hours in this country and never see a person, a home or car. The landscape is flat, with beautiful small, flat trees and mountains in the distance. The gateway to the red dunes is a campground called Sesrium (six thongs in Afrikaans). We have another great site, with a huge tree over the tents. At night, Laura says the stars sparkling through the branches look like a decorated Christmas tree. It’s magical.

Monday, Aug. 28: It’s another 45-minutre drive through conservation land into the dunes. We head in at 5:30 am, anxious to see the effect of the early morning light on the dunes. We’re in the Namib Desert now, and these are said to be among the highest sand dunes in the world. Two of the dunes are open for hiking. The four of us begin to trek up one that must be 700 feet or more above the flat surrounding ground. It’s a tough slog. The sand just gives way, particularly as the dune gets steeper. I look up, and am stunned by the height and steepness of the sides. My right knee is acting up, and I’m already far behind. I head for a ridge a little more than half the total height. I lie down and peer over the side. My God. What a sight. Laura, Inbal and Nancy are still heading for the top. I don’t really envy them. It’s too high and too steep. They rest a while and then walk along the ridge.
We next hike together 1.1 km through the sand (mostly flat) to a dead vlei – a stand of trees that died over a thousand years ago and never rotted because there is no water here.
Leaving Soussesvlei, we have a flat tire. It’s amazing this car has survived this well on these roads. We put on the spare, and get the tire repaired quickly at a local service station.
It’s mid –afternoon, but I prevail on the group to head back to Windhoek. I want a day to pack and recover before we head back home. The maps are bad here, and we miss a key route through a mountain pass. The pass we go through is spectacularly beautiful, however. It’s my favorite scenery so far. We find a turn, and get moving the right way again. There is no traffic here, but soon we are in a farming area and see children on donkey carts. They wave excitedly as we pass. This isn’t the tourist route, obviously.

Tuesday, Aug. 29: We have a great last day in Windhoek, the capital city. We visit the art museum in the morning and the tourist stands in the afternoon.

Wednesday, August 30: We fly back to Boston.