Road Trip!

My Thursday started at 4 am when I rose and staggered across town to the Treesleeper office for breakfast and coffee. Moses and I were leaving at 4:30 for Omaruru, a town 400 km south of Tsintsabis, to pick up five solar hot water heaters and 2500 reeds. Transporting the heaters and the reeds required a truck, which we were supposed to meet in Otavi at 6am, necessitating our early start. I arrived at the office and, still groggy, hopped in Stasja’s car.

 

We watched the sky turn from black to indigo to orange to translucent blue as we rocketed through the bush on a gravel road toward Otavi. With Stasja behind the wheel, we had the pleasure of spending the prettiest part of the day spotting kudu and watching the sun rise over one of the most scenic parts of the drive. We covered the 150km to Otavi easily and met out truck at a gas station.

 

The truck was on old Mercedes freight truck from the early ‘70s with an open bed that from the look and smell of it was used mainly for transporting cattle. Moses and I met the driver, Desmond, and his copilot, 16-year old John. The four of us squeezed into the cab and started the loud, slow drive toward Omaruru. Because of the roar of the old truck, we didn’t do much talking for the first leg of the trip. I mostly looked at the bush and contemplated what methods I would use to endure the next three hours sitting with my shoulder wedged against the door and only one butt cheek touching the seat.

 

The road south out of Otavi is comparable to US highways in Texas: flat, straight, and surrounded by rangeland. The first town we came to was Otjiwarongo where we stopped for diesel. It was about 8:30 and I was hungry - because I am always hungry - and because I hadn’t eaten since 4:30. I was in the mood for a certain local delicacy, so I looked around the gas station parking lot for vendors and spotted them near the road. I was looking for fat cakes (fried dough) to eat with some jam I had in my pack, so I approached them and scanned their bins for some cakes. The first woman was selling mopani worms out of an old oil can. I have tried mopani worms (roasted caterpillars) before and they taste like, well, roasted caterpillars. I passed on the worms. The next woman was selling chicken in some kind of sauce. I was actually tempted by the chicken and when I mentioned (more like motioned) to her that it looked good, her response was “hahnvleis,” which means chicken meat in Afrikaans. That much was already clear to me and knowing that it would take more energy that I had this early in the morning to get a more precise description of the dish, I just responded. “Leker,” (tasty) and moved on. I spotted my fat cakes a few vendors down, but first I had to decide whether to buy some oryx meat (antelope) from the next woman down. She tempted me with a free bite-sized sample and won me over.  I bought enough for the guys, picked up my fat cakes, and returned to the truck, my wallet one dollar lighter.

 

I put the food in the truck and when I climbed down from the cab, a smiling young African woman holding a white shopping bag and a young man with a digital camera approached me. She reached into her bag and pulled out a fistful of condoms. “Are you in the truck?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said. She began giving her spiel as Desmond and John walked up behind me with quizzical looks on their faces. “I work at an NGO that is trying to fight the spread of HIV. Truck drivers are one of the highest-risk populations for HIV and AIDS since they travel so much, so we’re making an effort to reach as many truckers as we can,” she said as she handed us condoms from her bag. We dutifully accepted her gift. “Do you mind if we take your picture?” she asked. We didn’t mind, so holding up our condoms and smiling, we posed for the man with the camera. “Here,” the woman said, handing me a huge, brown, wooden penis. With the condoms in one hand and the penis in the other, I smiled as enthusiastically as I could as the young man took our picture. Assuming the phallus was a gift, I thanked the girl for the work she was doing and turned to walk back to the truck. Just as I was about to hop in, she yelled, “Hey, I need my penis back!” At this Moses and the truckers cracked up. It was a phrase they repeated over and over for the rest of the day.

 

We got back on the road and turned west toward the desert and Omaruru. As we drove sparse bush gave way to volcanic hills and orange granite outcroppings. Omaruru sits in a stunning location on banks of a perennial river in a natural bowl on the eastern side of a jagged volcanic mountain range. We skirted the town on our way to a Catholic mission and school to pick up the reeds.

 

The Mission is also situated on the banks of the river and sells reeds that grow in the riverbed. We arrived at the mission around 10. We crossed a cattle grate onto the compound, which consists of a dilapidated school, a hostel, and a church that surround a huge sandy courtyard that is dotted with gardens and towering eucalyptus trees. We continued along the driveway past the church and through a collection of small bungalows. Kids sat in the shade of scraggly bushes and under makeshift porches topped with corrugated metal and peered at our truck as it passed. A couple of men stood beside a workbench around which were scattered pieces of reeds. Women hung laundry to dry in the blazing sun. Beyond the bungalows was a soccer field where we were supposed to pick up our reeds.

 

We pulled up to the field and met the parish receptionist who was in charge of our order. Stasja had talked to her on the phone a number of times and had arranged the terms of our order: 2500 reeds cut to 2 meters and bundled for loading in the truck. Curiously, there were no reeds in sight. We got down from the truck and introduced ourselves. After a bit of small talk, she informed us that the boys cutting the reeds had only cut 1600 so far and the ones that were cut had not yet been cut to size. Over the next 3 hours, Moses and I stood counting and loading the reeds as they were brought to us. By 1:30, we had only loaded 1500 reeds, so Moses decided to go into Omaruru to pick up the solar hot water heaters. As an assurance that he would not run off with the reeds, the receptionist insisted that I stay behind.

 

I was dropped off at the parish office, which was locked. The receptionist had disappeared, so I just decided to sit down under a tree and have lunch. A bald, pot-bellied man walked past my tree and greeted me, asking who I was and if I needed anything. I introduced myself and was about to say that, no, everything was fine, but on a whim I decided that I needed a tour of the mission. He told me that he was busy with work, but that he could spare a few minutes. He showed me around the school, the church, the hostels, and the offices. The receptionist appeared again and offered me some coffee. We all had a cup of coffee and some peanut butter and jelly I had brought along for lunch.

 

After lunch, the receptionist introduced me to Fr. Hermann, a small and spacy but hospitable man from south of Munich. He offered me a tour and coffee, both of which I had already had. Undeterred, he insisted that I join him for a walk in the riverbed. He changed from his Birkenstocks into black leather walking shoes, donned a wide-brimmed hat, and led me through a wire fence into the riverbed. We walked for probably 45 minutes and then he dropped me off where the reeds were being cut. In the two hours I had been gone, they had only cut 300 more reeds. I was getting more and more irritated with the whole situation, but I realized that only one thing could make the situation any better: I grabbed a machete, got on my knees and started chopping reeds.

 

After about an hour, Moses was back with the truck and the heaters. I stopped chopping and started loading. We agreed that we would leave at 5, regardless of how many reeds we had. At 5 we left with 2100 reeds and started our trip back to Tsintsabis. My stress level was pretty high, but seeing the sun set behind the volcanic mountains west of Omaruru eased my mind a little. As the sun set in the West, a nearly full moon rose in the indigo-blue eastern sky.

 

Our return trip began in Omaruru with food and jokes; after a couple of hours, our supplies of caffeine were running low and we were beginning to nod off. Car-sleep delirium set in soon after and was only interrupted by the strain of the truck’s engine as it climbed the hills south of Tsumeb, the last town before Tsintsabis. We passed through a deserted Tsumeb and I began to fall asleep again. This time my rest was interrupted by Desmond’s cursing as the engine began to smoke and make knocking sounds. He and John got out and lifted the hood releasing a plume of smoke. They checked the engine oil and the water level in the radiator but couldn’t figure out what the problem was. Luckily, the truck had broken down on the last hill before cell phone reception ends and the bush begins. I called Stasja to pick up Moses and I; John and Desmond slept with the truck. It was 11:30. It had gotten cold and the moon cast an icy glow over the landscape. Staja arrived and we left ghostly-looking shipwreck of a trick for home around midnight.

 

The drive home was uneventful except for nearly hitting a porcupine the size of a small German shepherd. Being back in Tsintsabis felt strange after such a wild day, but my bed felt as comfortable as always. I closed my eyes at 1am and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

 

 

African Humor

I heard this joke from a talkative Indian doctor in Diani Beach, Kenya:

 

A Japanese, an Indian, and an American doctor were having coffee together one day and were trading stories from their medical careers. The Japanese doctor began: “ A couple of years ago, a guy who had had his leg severed by a bullet train showed up in the emergency room. My team of surgeons and I reconnected it and now the man can walk.” The doctor sat back proudly and sipped his coffee

 

“That’s nothing,” said the Indian doctor. “A woman came into my emergency room after her arm was torn off by an elephant. It was very badly mangled, but my team of surgeons and I re-attached it. Today she is a champion tennis player.” The Japanese doctor was impressed.

 

The American doctor chuckled. “If you think that’s impressive, then I have a story for you. Back in my early days as a doctor, I was attending at the hospital when a baby was born without a head. As a last resort, we sewed a coconut on top of his shoulders where his head should have been. And wouldn’t you know it, today he’s the president of the United States!”

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The following is one of my co-workers’ favorite stories about former Namibian President Sam Nujoma. It occurred during commencement ceremonies at the University of Namibia:

 

Nujoma: “Education is very important for Namibians. You see the Americans – they have gone to the moon. But we Namibians, we will go to the sun.

 

Student: “But the sun is very hot. Won’t we burn up?”

 

Nujoma: “Ah, yes, that is true. So that we will not burn, we will go at night!”

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Paul to Will while working on the camp:

 

“You see a Kudu [large antelope] and you think ‘conservation’ and ‘sustainability,’ but I think ‘I want to eat it!’”

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The most self-contradictory product that I’ve ever seen in a grocery store:

“Monkey Gland Sauce” made by C’est Bon! (It’s Good!)

Serpentarium Tsintsabis

Some of you may not know, but I have a newfound interest in snakes. It started innocently enough with a trip to the Cape Fear Serpentarium in Wilmington with my friends Bill and Kat to watch the snakes be fed. The serpentarium houses a world-famous collection of snakes from all over the world, which includes king cobras, bushmasters, Gabon vipers, and fer-de-lances, among others. It is also home to some non-serpents: water monitors, crocs, beaded lizards. The reptiles are housed in enclosures designed and built by set designers from Wilmington’s film industry. Each display is accompanied by a detailed description of the snake’s habitat, by interesting facts about the snake, and sometimes by gruesome anectodes, including first-hand accounts of what it is like to be bitten by the snake on display. Interestingly enough, “Southwest Africa” (read “Namibia”) appears in the “habitat” descriptions for many of the snakes.

 

Windhoek in the dry season (the conditions when I was there in 2004) was a snake-free zone. But this year a little rain has turned Windhoek and the bush into a snake paradise of sorts. During my first weekend in Windhoek Stasja and I visited a women’s empowerment project, Penduka, located near a dam and some wetlands in Katatura, the township outside Windhoek. We arrived to find a group of women throwing stones at a smallish snake that turned out to be a spitting cobra. Fortunately for the women (and for me) it was small and had been incapacitated by a big rock to the head. It was not the only cobra the women had seen; earlier in the week the cook had come face to face with a much larger one in the kitchen. When she saw it, she fainted immediately and had to be taken to the hospital and treated for shock. Imagine seeing a giant cobra slithering behind your sink as you wash dishes. I think I’d faint too.

 

On the drive north from Windhoek to Tsintsabis, Stasja told me more stories about snakes – mainly about black mambas that live in the village and puff adders that lie in the middle of his running route. The first evidence I saw of snakes in Tsintsabis was a python track across the sandy main road in the village. It looked like a huge ball had been rolled from one side of the road to the other. Moses examined the track and explained that, the snake had just eaten, probably a mongoose, and had crossed the road in the middle of the night. Judging by the track, the snake was probably about 8 feet long. I haven’t seen the python, but I did see its tracks again recently, this time on the entrance road to Treesleeper. Every once in a while, I hear the birds on the camp go wild, probably because of tree pythons. Maybe its our python is looking for its next meal.

 

The next snake signs I learned to read were black mamba tracks, which Moses and Paul showed me one day when we were doing some roadwork on the camp. They taught me to tell how old the tracks are and to tell which way the snake was moving. Since then I’ve seen a few tracks and one dead mamba that was killed by villagers in the road in front of the bottle store. The mambas are out right now because people in the village are burning dry grass around their homes to drive the snakes from their dens and to give their prey less cover. The first live black mamba I saw was on the entrance road to Treesleeper. I just saw its steely gray tail as it disappeared into the grass. I have seen a couple more since then, but never very close. I think a black mamba is living in the tree next to the reception of the camp, so the next sighting could come soon.

 

Since Stasja first told me about puff adders on his running path, he has seen a couple more and actually had to jump over one to avoid stepping on it (they’re incredibly lethargic). I saw another yellow-bellied sand snake last week, but it ended up dead the next day when our neighbor got her hands on it. Besides snakes, I have seen innumerable lizards and skinks as well as a handful of chameleons (“verklermanikie” in Afrikaans), which hold some sort of mystical power over the locals. When I decided to move one from the middle of the road one day, a crowd of people who had gathered around watched in rapt anticipation as if I were playing with a hungry baby cobra. They made sure they didn’t get within 30 feet of the animal as I coaxed it onto a branch and deposited it into a bush. I’ll have to ask Moses why people are so afraid of them.

 

As winter nears and the bush dries up, snakes move around less and spend more time in a state of semi-hibernation. Unfortunately, the changing seasons heralds the closing of the Tsintsabis Serpentarium, which will make life in the village just a bit less exciting.

Tsintsabis Night Life

We have had a computer problem here in Tsintsabis, so I haven't been able to access email for a couple of weeks. That means that I haven't posted in a while. My last post may have also been eaten byour server, so this post really is long overdue.

 

In the last two weeks, I have not left the vicinity of Treesleeper and Tsintsabis. I thought it would bee nice to get into the flow of life here and to enjoy local diversions. It only took a few days to get into the flow of village life, and enjoying the local diversions only took an afternoon. That's why last Saturday I decided to do what the locals do when they're bored: drink.

 

Stasja and I had an early dinner on Saturday and the idea of doing Soduku puzzles or reading a book didn't appeal to either of us. While brainstorming ways to keep ourselves entertained, we had a glass of cheap South African wine, and as we relaxed slowly we began to notice mellifluous Afro-beats drifting through the still night from the direction of Tsintsabis' combination club and bottle store. It had been a while since either of us had gone out on the town, so we grabbed our wallets, prepared our livers for a jump-start, and started walking.

 

The bottle store is the first building one sees on arriving in Tsintsabis from Tsumeb, the larger city to the south. It's a low brick building with bars across the window and a large mural over the door showing a smiling, healthy bull cow, which I suppose refers to the myriad farms in the area. There are actrually two entrances to the bottle store, one strictly for buying stronger drinks and the other for buying beer and groceries. A listless Owambo woman who speaks little of the local language and even less English staffs the store along with her tall, cute, gap-toothed daughter, Julianna, who is probably about my age. The side of the store with stronger beverages is divided in two by a waist-high counter topped by a section of fence that stretches to the ceiling. In order to pay for and receive your drink, you have to reach through little holes that have been cut in the fence. There is quite a selection of drinks behind the counter. You can get Greek liqueurs, rum, sherry, mint punch, and other exotic drinks for less than two dollars a bottle. cheap wine and a few types of beer (in 1L bottles!) are also available. There is enough alcohol in stock to fuel a week of drunkenness for the entire population of Tsintsabis.

 

The Club is connected to the bottle store and has an identical facade with similar bars and a mural depicting a couple of smiling fish next to a small tray of French fries. If the Club actually sold fish and chips, it would be legit, but alas the only attractions are pool and music. Fortunately for the Club, there is no other competition in town and the peoples' standards for entertainment arent too high. the Club consists of a single room, maybe 10 feet by 30 with a pool table and jukebox on one side and an open space to dance on the other. Another fence-topped counter runs along the back wall and flourescent bulbs light the space meaning that a keen observer is able to see clearly the drunken exploits occurring within.

 

Friday had been payday for most of the people in town, so Saturday they did the logical thing: take advangage of being flush with cash and get drunk. Drinking excessively is a problem for people all over Namibia, but according to Stasja, it has been an especially big problem for the Bushmen. It's sad to see so many thin, hungry people falling on the ground drunk and to know that at the end of the month they will likely be coming to the Treesleeper office to try and borrow money to buy food to last them until their next payday. Drinking does serve a social purpose, but I doubt its benefits outweigh its costs.

 

Stasja and I arrived to see people dancing outside the Club, playing pool, and drinking. I recognized a man who had come to the office during the day to sell a mobile he had made from plants and nuts collected from the bush. It looked like he had sold the mobiler and bought a drink. He was dancing like ther was no tomorrow and was mostly oblivious to what was going on around him - I'd say he was "in the zone." Another man, about 5 feet tall and weighing probably no more than 80 pounds, came up to me babbling, smiling, and giving me the thumbs up. I returned the thumbs up and quickly taught him how to high-five. He seemed pretty excited about the high-five and left smiling and bouncing to the music. Women hung out mainly in groups outside while guys congregated around the pool table and on the dance floor. The women who ventured onto the dance floor took the risk of being grabbed, swung around, groped, or propositionedby one or a few of the drunken dancing men. I saw one woman escape from an overzealous guy who then chased her outside and tried to kick her. Unfortunately, that's representative of how many women are treated here. When he missed, he cocked his cap to the side and stalked back into the Club, maybe to find his next target.

 

The highlight of the night was a fight that broke out between local guys and a few visitors from a nearby farm. Stasja exlained that fights aren't uncommon, but we experienced an exceptional fight that escalated until a few guys were weilding machetes, big sticks, tire irons, and broken bottles. Fortunately they were too drunk to know what to do with their weapons, and things died down as quickly as they had flared up.

 

With the fight over, the club-goers lost their desire to party and everyone headed home, Stasja and I included. I went to bed soon after tha, exhausted from over-stimulation. Next time I'm in the mood for more excitement and social observation, I know where to go.