Beauty in Randomness

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Idleness.

Khorixas is in the heart of Damaraland. Apart from the Bushmen, the Damara are the oldest inhabitants of Namibia. In Khorixas there is a petrol station, a shop, a rest camp and for the upmarket, a lodge; so not much. In the distance somewhere was Brandberg Massif, Namibia’s mountain. We were heading to Twyfelfontein some 90km away from Khorixas to look at bush paintings which really aren’t bush paintings. The Bushmen did not paint on the rocks but carved the surface layer of sandstone to create pictures of mostly animals and their tracks. In fact they are petroglyphs but that is entirely pedantic of me. The bush so called paintings are one of the most extensive in the world and the valley of Twyfelfontein is declared a national monument. Haendrik was very excited to see them. The rest of us not so bothered but would welcome the walk through the land.

Local children were standing around a flooded section of our road watching with amusement at a shiny BMW stranded on one side while its more practical landrover companion was on the other. After two or three attempts, a broken grill and snapped rope, the BMW finally made it to the other side with the help of some man muscle and local children exuberance. Some twenty minutes later, Derick interrupted my landscape watching.
“I think we need to stop and check the truck over.” Something in his voice tells me that something was wrong. I heard no clunking or clanking and we were certainly not lopsided. I do like this we business, as I would be of tremendous help with my extensive knowledge of all things related to trucks. Still, I dutifully climbed out of the cabin. Derick must have had an idea what was wrong as he headed to the back of the truck to look underneath. He held up a bracket and some hoses. They looked like they once were attached to something of vital importance. Judging by the expression on Derick’s face and Albert’s who had come out to offer manly assistance, I was right.
“Rear brake booster has gone. Must have lost it at the last crossing.” He looked back at the road we had travelled, it could be anywhere along the 40 km stretch. A campsite was 5km ahead of us and we contemplated on whether to walk for help or drive ahead without brake boosters to it.
“Do we still get to see the bush paintings?” Hendrik asked hopefully, brochure in hand.
“Not likely,” Derick replied.
“We’re not going to see them? Are there any more along the way?” he asked desperately.
“Not really, but I can draw you some if you like?”
A well travelled four wheel drive with an illegal amount of stickers covering the rear pulled over. A gentleman with a handle bar moustache as long as his grey hair stepped out. He opened up the trunk to reveal our wayward brake booster. Having spotted it 15kms back, he correctly guessed he would find an out of order truck surrounded by tourists and picked it up.
Entirely grateful for his Samaritan actions we limped into the nearest campsite with the brake booster rolling around next to the freezer. Covered in grease and Namibian landscape, Derick was wiped down with wet ones before dumping us with lunch at an isolated rest camp.
“Where is he going?”
“To a workshop at some luxury lodge near here. If he gets back within a couple of hours, we could maybe see the paintings, but probably longer, we’ll go straight to camp. If he doesn’t come back before nightfall, well this is it,” I answered.
A handful of tents were left abandoned by their owners out on their drives and walks while donkeys grazed uninterested around the woeful patches of grass. Red dusty lawns so familiar here laid rest to a thatched roof bar. Spirits lined a cheap shiny wooden glass bar. A fridge not switched on displayed cold drinks, beers ciders and chocolate bars. Sebastian our bar tender gladly woke up for a slow induced slumber to serve us. Our misfortune is his blessing. Traditional built mamas swept the floor with two or three strokes before settling down in a wicker chair legs akimbo and resting their scarved heads in their meaty hands out of exhaustion. Both ladies would occasionally raise their heads, scan the emptiness of activity and resume their exhausted pose.
Sebastian enthusiastically played pool with Alex while Hendrik was left to write in his diary and mind the food stuffs. Harald attempted a tanning session but failed miserably under the searing dry Namibian sun and soon retreated to the shade. Carl and I sat at the bar to read our books. Both of us pulled out our mp3 players to block out the mindless chatter.
“You don’t have an ipod.” Carl commented.
“Why have an ipod? This plays more files, its cheaper, works as well, holds pictures, text, has a radio and records. I don’t have to convert to ‘itunes’,” I shrugged. “You have an ipod for the sake of having an ipod. Not because it’s any better.”
Carl nodded, “It’s an image thing.”
“Do you have R. Kelly on there?” Sebastian asked hopefully. I had no idea having downloaded miscellaneous files from my brother’s computer a year ago the possibility is there. He was the type.
“I have heard one of his songs,” he says proudly and looks forlornly at his dusty transistor to our shiny mp3 players. The girls had given up with Cosmo and idle chit chat and switched to playing pool.
“Can we go for a game drive?” Albert asked looking at nothingness. Sebastian thought about this.
“No. Animals far away, not much to see.”
“You could always ride a donkey if you are bored Albert,” I suggested.
“Can we ride a donkey?” Sebastian thought about this with a smile.
“You can. But you must catch donkey first,” he answered.
“Don’t do it. If you hurt yourself, I don’t have time to take you to hospital,” Nicole threatened.
“Perhaps, we can race them instead,” I suggested. For a split second I honestly thought Albert was going to round up the donkeys for a race when Carl began running around the pool table waving his pool cue and tugging at his shirt. Thinking perhaps he managed to lose the game without sinking a ball and with little respect had to do a nudie run. Turns out he was running away from a flying insect of some description with little respect. He swore in Norwegian and abandoned the dangerous pool game for the safety of reading his book. Hendrik joined us with his diary and I deserted mine.
Idleness was settling in amongst the group. Harald’s attempts of reading was short lived and resorted to riling up Nicole. Albert and Anouk decided to go for a walk and I went in the opposite direction, handing my finished book to Alex who was wandering around aimlessly and sleep deprived.
I left my shoes behind to walk across the gravel scattered path around the bar. A dark skinned Damara was laboriously throwing firewood into a pile next to his donkey drawn cart, clunking them down haphazardly. His face lined and weathered from working under the Namibian sun everyday. He was indifferent to my presence and he continued to work robotically like tomorrow wouldn’t be any different. Two young boys dragged a Hessian covered water bag by me. Leaning to one side with the effort one of them half carried and half dragged it across to somewhere. They didn’t look like they were walking towards anything with purpose. Both turned shyly to smile at me, a brilliant genuine smile in contrast to their faded western clothing. Innocence in their expression in contrast to the apathy of age.
If we are here to get away to a simpler life, are they wanting to be somewhere with more choices? Three hours and my fellow travellers have exhausted all their patience for idleness. Sebastian and the women continue to sit there and look past the landscape to another world. Heads down on the bar, he went back to sleep and both ladies fanned themselves in their wicker chair, eyes drooping with the unrelenting heat.
Derick drove back with a newly soldered brake booster and the group saw their escape from this inertia and scrambled on without a glance back. I looked back and saw Sebastian and his crew exactly as they were, looking into the distance for a world they can’t see but only imagine.

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Photos

Evolving Bushman
Apathetic. Its the all the same to him....

Not Again!
....holding up cables and hoses that used to be attached to something of importance...

Idlness
We may not have a flushing toilet, but there is always a bar...

San Boys
Carrying water in their hessian container, they are still the picture of innocence.