Road to Ngepi

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Look After Your Man.

The truck spluttered once, twice and finally turned over. “Its just the morning, it doesn’t do it any other time,” Derick reassured. “I checked it last night and it turned over just fine, hey?” We lurched out of Fort Namutomi and said goodbye to Etosha.
“Could you do me a favour?” I racked my brain to what the favour could possibly be. Coming up with nothing that would require me to walk into the men’s toilet, I figure I could make it out with my dignity intact.
“I need you to get the gas bottle refilled. There is a hardware shop, just go in and ask for a refill and a receipt. You should have time to get all the things that you need to do,” he asked.
“Mm, hmm,” I agreed.
“I need to fill up the truck with diesel and do the shopping, so it would really help me a lot.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks Bek.”

Grootfontein ‘large fountain’ is one of the largest towns in North Namibia and is named so for its large tree springs. The main street was awashed with people. The Herero women stood under the faded awnings of cafes out of the direct sunlight in their 19th century missionary outfits. Their colourful elaborate turbans matched ankle length billowing hoop skirts with puffy sleeves. No matter how hot it is, they drape their heavy outfits on with pride. Interestingly enough the Herero speaking people derive from the Himba and the Tjimba tribes. The Himba’s traditional dress is a leather apron, a thong and clay. Actually it looks like clay but its ochre powder mixed with a generous helping of animal fat. Before we mock them, let those without the highest incidence of skin cancer cast the first stone.

It was bedlam at the service station. People were crowding around dull coloured cars with the rust polished over doing precious little but speak loudly to one another. It looked like the parking lot of Wollongong Maccas on a Friday night, just that these people were middle aged instead of teenagers. Derick dropped us off outside of Spar and gave us one hour to do our business. Buy junk food, alcohol and pee. “Don’t forget the receipt. Nigel will kill me if you forget the receipt.” Derick handed me the blue gas canister and some money.
“Where am I going?”
“First street on the right, about a hundred meters on your right hand side on the corner, there is the hardware shop. Oh, if you get back and I am not here, just leave the canister at the Spar checkout and I’ll pick it up so you can buy whatever it is that you need.”

I followed his instructions implicitly, took the first right, walked a hundred meters and on the corner there is an empty shop. Was that a hundred meters plus minus? What was his definition of a hundred meters? But surely, a corner is a corner. I looked at the signage of the empty shop - “Auto Gas, get your gas refill here” a friendly caricature of a gas bottle said. I walked to the end of the next block. Definitely no sign of a hardware store. I decided it was time to ask for directions, after all everyone was already staring at the Asian midget carrying a blue gas bottle with a daypack. Didn’t I scream lost camper? The friendly drycleaner owner pointed me in the right direction. I should have gone first right; one hundred meters to the corner, TURN RIGHT, and next to the empty shop is the hardware store.

Walking into Namibia’s version of Mitre 10, I entered the void of African time. A poor man was trying desperately to buy a tyre iron but due to unforeseen circumstances the highly complex computer infrastructure of Grootfontein had crashed. There wasn’t a price tag on the tyre iron but a barcode that the checkout mama would zap with her little red laser beam. She sent an idle assistant to go find a tyre iron with a price tag on it. Swimming in African time, the man trailed the assistant to ensure he would actually do what he was told and not nip out the back for a siesta. I saw my opening and went for it.
“Can I get this gas bottle filled?”
“Yes,” she replied and stood there.
“How much?” I said, dumping the bottle in front of another idle shop assistant. She conferred with a price list and pointed.
“Can I get a receipt?”
“Computer is broken,” She replied, just staring at me and the bottle which has not been taken away.
“Can you write one for me?”
“Yes,” She replied, and no one moved a muscle.
“Great, I really need to get this filled and a receipt or Nigel is going to kill Derick. Phew! Glad that’s not going to happen. Or is it?” I said in a cheery voice. She didn’t bat an eyelid. She just nodded her head to the assistant and he stood up, stretched and took my bottle away to be filled with gas. People came and went, I was approaching thirty minutes. The tyre iron man threw a wobbly, left without a tyre iron and forty five minutes of his life wasted. Eventually my gas bottle returned and she took my 100 rand note. She consulted the price list again and dragged out a calculator to work out the change. She gave me my change and stared at me. “Receipt please?” I reminded her. She smiled, took out a receipt book and thumbed the first page. Licked her thumb and turned the next page, repeat. I stood there, exercising a lot of restraint from ripping it out of her hands and turning to the next free page. The queue had grown down the entire aisle and I was the hold up. I was the little old lady trying to pay her gas bottle in pennies. Finally her stubby fingers made it to a fresh page and she painstakingly wrote out a receipt. She folded the page neatly, smoothed it, folded it again and before I could broker a deal with God to smite this evil lady, she tore it off with a flourish and handed it to me.

I lugged it back to Spar and dumped it with Carl and Harald and their finished shopping. “Where’s our truck?”
“Getting filled with diesel,”
“I want the truck,” he whined. Where are all the men?
Nicole and I were just about to head to the checkout when Derick came striding in.
“Girls can you do me a favour?” Nicole and I shrugged, sure why not.
“They couldn’t swipe my card at the petrol station, so they’ve made a photocopy and are trying to put it manually in. Now, if they have managed to do it, can you grab a receipt? If not, can you get another photocopy of the card photocopy? Just tell them it’s for the green truck they just filled up with diesel.” Sure that’s clear as mud.
“Okay,” Nicole and I agreed.
“Thanks girls.” And with that he dashed off to do the food shopping.
“Uhm, Bek, I kinda need to pee, so can I meet you up there?” Nicole pleaded with me.
“Sure,” I sighed. I looked at my watch, 20min. “Look, we only have 20min, just go pee. By the time you finish and walk up, there is no point.”
“Are you sure? Where is the toilet?” she asked.
“Behind the café, ask the lady at the counter for the key.”
“How did you know that?”
“I believe Derick told us when he dropped us off.”
“Oh!” An old man was standing listening to our conversation, earlier he was talking to Nicole.
“Hope you girls enjoy your trip,” he said as he gathered up his shopping. I thanked him politely and ran off to the petrol station.

People milled about and a large crowd was lined up outside the First National Bank around the corner. It was pay day. Anouk was buying some candy as I rushed in. I waited patiently to be served and told her my request.
“hhhmmm,” she pondered. I was willing her to ponder faster.
“Boss lady has taken key to office, she will be back in 10min.” I looked at my watch, 15min give or take. Factor in African time, I turned to Anouk and told her to go back and tell Derick that the boss lady has disappeared with office key and I will be about 10min late. She looked confused, but figured if she repeated me verbatim, he would understand. I stood around like an idle moron for 10min before I thought to ask where the boss lady was.
“Gone to bank,” the young cashier replied.
“WHAT?! There is an extremely long queue. I need to have that receipt now.” She pondered the level of urgency in my voice and deciding I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown, grabbed the photocopy and ran out to the bank. The old man from Spar turned up by my side.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted me.
“Yes, I’m just doing a favour.”
“For your guide,” he added.
“Uh, yeah,” I was a bit taken back.
“Well you should look after him,” he advised sagely. My jaw dropped a fraction in surprise.
“Excuse me? Why?” I asked politely.
“He’s a strong handsome young man, you should look after him,” he admonished me.
“If he’s so strong, handsome and young, shouldn’t he be looking after me?!” I pitched back at him. He laughed like I was chiding with him. I was dead serious. “You are so lucky to have him,” he patted me on the back and left. I stood there with my jaw wide open and a confused expression on my face. I didn’t even have the chance to tell him that I didn’t ‘HAVE’ anyone. I am about to tear my hair out and for that, I am the lucky one? How does he figure? Just because he’s strong, young and handsome he gets to have a bitch? What if he was an anaemic middle-aged man sliding towards male pattern baldness, does he have to fend for himself?
Derick walked in to see what was keeping me but all he saw was me standing there with a disturbed expression and jaw wide open. I explained the hold up. “Have you seen the queue for the bank?!”
A manageress came back just as the young cashier ran in with the original photocopy.
“Can you just write me out a receipt?” Derick asked. She pondered and said “Yes.” And with that we were out. Frayed nerves, I half ran to keep up with Derick’s long strides.
“Thanks for that Bek.”
Well, dignity compromised? You decide.

Long Drive - Very Long Drive

It was going to be a long drive. A long straight, boring, unexciting drive. Much like the drive to Canberra, just 3 times as long. The landscape wasn’t even that interesting. It’s a tar road with some trees and pastures by the side. Nothing more, nothing less.
“My father was station there when he was in the army,” Derick said, pointing to a near abandon camp.
“Why?”
“He was there during the Angolan war for two years or so.”
“When was that?”
“When I was about two, my brother was born while he was away,” he replied, shifting in his seat.
“That must have been tough for your mum.” He shrugged.
“I never really asked my mum about the war,” I said out loud.
“Why not?” he seemed surprised.
“It’s not like she never told me stories, its just that I didn’t want her to relive it,” I admitted. “But, I think now that I am I older, I appreciate it more.”

Quickie history lesson as we drive through the world’s most boring road. After Diego plunked down the padrao in 1486, the British took over Walvis Bay in 1878 (great century for the British colonialism). Germany muscled in by taking Luderitz and its surrounding areas in 1884. Hendrik Witbooi, chief of the Witbooi Nama, refused the Germans and after a bloody battle, he signed over his protectorate. With the Germans on the quest for world domination, Namibians were steadily displaced until Maherero decided it was enough. In 1904 tribes took on the Germans and lost. WWI was declared and the South African Union invaded and within a year, forced the Germans out. The gentlemanly sounding League of Nations gave mandate to the South Africans. But nothing changed with the white settlement ever expanding. WWII past and the League of Nations became the UN and turned down South Africa’s request to include Namibia/South West Africa as part of their own country. It became a lengthy custody battle. In 1945 Namibia and South Africa’s history became intertwined with birth of Apartheid. The resistance to the separation of races and eviction of non-whites from Windhoek is known as the Sharpeville Massacre. Like any conflict resulting in needless death a liberation group is formed, SWAPO (South West Africa’s People Organisation). So they gathered, mobilised, fought, died, held dummy elections, protested against elections, political illegalities occurred while the UN sat around their desks and discussed, right up until 1989.

What makes this complicated is that in 1975, the South African Defence Force was lending a hand to Angola during their civil war based out of northern Namibia. Losing this would give SWAPO the opportunity to mount an attack on the SADF. Well, inevitably it takes a bloody battle for everyone to realise that resolution will not come through arms. 1987 saw the largest land battle ever fought in Sub-Sahara Africa.
Resolution 435 (don’t know what that number represents, could be entirely random) came under affect. A little late to the party, SWAPO came charging through on April Fool’s Day no less, threatening to send Resolution 435 spinning off its tracks. SADF lost 27 men and SWAPO over ten times that amount. Back to the tables for the last time in Mount Etjo Lodge, Angola, South Africa and Cuba (yes, Cuba) set Resolution 435 on its path again.
Namibians in exile returned from Botswana, Zambia and Angola and went about picking up their lives under a new democratically elected government. Now, its all about who owns what land, distribution of wealth and unemployment. Oh, and Britain gave back Walvis Bay so no one but Namibia rules Namibia.

The Caprivi Strip is that long thin bit on the map of Namibia. It was supposed to be a trade route connecting west to east. Even the African’s became bored when building it.

End Destination - Ngepi Camp

Picking up an Australian traveller on the way into the camp, we pitched our tents up on the lawns by the bursting Okavango River. On the deck by the swimming cage, we settled down with a drink and discussed important matters with fellow travellers as the sun went down.
“The last Australian of the year was that chick that did that burn spray thing,” one of the typical Aussie guys said.
“Yeah mate, and who wos it b’fore that?”
“Steve Waugh,” I interrupted. “Which is the biggest joke in history.”
“Hey, you’re talkin’ bout an Aussie Legend here.”
“She was nominated that same year as Steve Waugh and he gets it because he was retiring. What the hell did he do? She revolutionised the entire way we manage burns, not only increased survival rate ten fold but less painful, aesthetically better AND cheaper!” I argued.
“Yeah, well, you’re talkin’ bout our cricketing captain here, come on, World Cup?” they jested.
“He caught a ball!! And for that he gets Australian of the Year?”
“Yeah, but what a catch!”

Turns out both were New South Wales boys. They asked me where I was from. “I was living in Newcastle for about 16months but my parents are living in Bankstown.” One was from Newcastle and the other from Yagoona. “I have Christmas with my family in Yagoona every year.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the Yagoona Chicken Shop had exploded and now in rotisserie heaven. Seriously, it had some damn tasty roast chicken.

‘I didn’t realise that there was so much driving involved. I thought it would be more active,’ Team America commented. This is nothing, compared to my last trip, at least at the end of every drive we camp at beautiful locations. “How else are you supposed to get around?” This continent is incredibly vast, to get to anywhere requires long driving days, besides why are they surprised? It was in the brochure, right underneath the motto “roughing it and loving it.”

Then again at Ngepi Camp, I hardly think we were roughing it all that much. There is a toilet with the best view in the house - the sunset over the Okavango River. It is seriously the loo with the view. There is the star bath, once again over looking the river and if lucky, a bit of hippo spotting. A swimming cage to let travellers dip in the river without being crocodile bait and a bar permanently stocked. Ngepi is definitely not an isolated rest camp, at its peak, trucks pull in with people all over the world ready to party into the wee hours. Out of season, there is a truck of plus fifties playing some Frisbee game. Later by the bar, we sat in horror as the plus fifties danced across the floor to Britney Spear’s ‘Oops I did it Again’ and they knew the words.

The boys settled in for a drinking session and it took them a while to notice that I was standing shoulder level to the counter. “Where are all the gentlemen? I have been standing for thirty minutes and none of you have offered me a seat.” Alex pats the corner of the bar. He is optimistic if the thinks I can jump onto it. Proffering my arms in the air, he effortlessly lifts me up and plunks me on the wooden bar. As the night wore on, every time I jumped off the bar and needed to get back on, Alex dutifully lifted me up. How much he struggled was directly proportional to the amount of Castle lagers he was knocking back.
Wanting in on the Alex elevator, Carl lifted his arms and with a wobble and some grunting Alex managed to get him up there.
“Aw, you’re like Papa bear, looking after these two aren’t you?”
“No, way! We have to look after him!” Harald and Carl replied. Alex hung his head in shame.
“In Thailand, we had to look after him. I got the girls and found the parties. One night we lost him because he drunk all these buckets of alcohol. Somehow he managed to break into our hotel. We were searching for ages and then found him inside snoring,” Carl argued.
“Yeh, I’m just the bitch,” Alex happily replied.
“The bitch with the credit card?” I added, thinking about how he paid for Harald’s sky dive. They all laughed and agreed.
“I’m the map reader,” Harald said proudly, “because I was in the Scouts, I was in charge of the map.”
“Hey, you know Scouts were founded where I live! In Mafikeng,” Derick interjected.
“Yes!! Colonel Baden Powell!” Harald yelled excitedly. Derick nodded in agreement.
“See man, I know my Scout shit!” Scouts and riddles? What a catch.

More drinks went down the hatch and the arguments started. Nicole finally fed up with Hendrik for teasing her about the amount of photos she had been taking was retaliating by making fun of his Danish accent. Harald threw a wobbly after many gratuitous poses with wooden elephants and left. I eventually pulled Nicole away from Hendrik and shuffled her off to her tent. “I am so fed up with Hendrik,” she said crossly. “I mean, I am not hurting anyone and I don’t mind being teased but its just that… its just…”
“He’s turning joking into an argument?” I finished.
“Yes! I’m just sick of them and I really needed some mature conversation, that was why I was talking to the bar tender all night.”
The same bartender who has a picture of him on the wall wearing a leopard print skin tight jumpsuit? The same jumpsuit worn by several other miscellaneous people. Sure, real mature. Also the same fellow believes the British can overland better than the South Africans. He had a few unkind things to say about Drifters as well.
But as I listen to Nicole have her rant and made sure the boys stumbled back into their correct tents, I know that by morning, everything will be forgotten. After all I out of all people understand the need to vent a little.

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Photos

Okvango River Sunset
End Destination - no point taking photos of the drive?

Swimming Cage
Stops the hippos and crocs from taking a bite...

View from the tent
Awesome view from my tent of the sun and the river.

Ngepi Bar
The group after a few - minus team america and plus bartender

Team Norwegian
Right - Party Boy Carl, Left - bitch with the credit car Alex, Middle - 'I know my scout shit' Harald

Biggest Bong On Earth
After a few - he'll smoke anything

Heaven on two legs?
Yes I am says Carl....

Bursting Okavango River
Flawless

Sunrise over the Okavango
Last Morning in Namibia - forever.