We convinced a tour company to just take the two of us to
Sossusvlei, which was a hard task as if you can’t find enough people to fill
the car they usually try to charge accordingly. The drive to Sossusvlei was
surprisingly mountainous, which I wasn’t entirely expecting. The land was
incredibly dry, and it was like being in a sauna. Even with all the windows
down, and being basically naked in the back of the van it was still not enough.
We stopped in the middle of nowhere where there was a lone tree for lunch and a
bit of shade. After a day of driving in the stinking heat we arrived at Sesriem,
which is the town at the entrance to Sossusvlei. We found out the camping
ground had a pool, so as soon as we got out of the car we made a beeline for
the pool. At sunset we headed to Sesriem canyon, which is where Sesriem gets
its name. When the area was discovered it took six (ses) ropes (riem) to get
water from the canyon.
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| Not my star sign but thought we'd better stop |
On the walk down to the water Juliet kept complaining about
all the flies surrounding her, it was the second time that day she’d complained
of flies attacking her. The flies in Africa are unlike any flies we’ve
encountered in the world, they are fearless and super fast. They will land in
your mouth, nose, even eyes, but they have a preference for ears. Anyway Juliet
came up with a million theories as to why the flies were attacking her and not
me, from them liking long hair, to her wearing moisturizer and sun block. The
real reason in my opinion was she hadn’t showered in days and in all honesty
she smelled a little funky; I try and shower at every opportunity because I’m a
shower connoisseur, and I like to rate showers according to certain criteria so
I’m usually sparkling clean, no flies on me.
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| Sesriem canyon |
We were warned to keep our footwear and clothing in the tent
because of jackals in the night, which I thought was a yarn until I was woken
throughout the night by jackals fighting over our food scraps. We were up at
the gate to Sossusvlei at 5am and were the only ones at Dune 45, the most
photographed sand dune in the world, for the sunrise. That climb was a battle,
as we were the first there we had to make our own tracks which meant walking
with your legs at two different levels as the sand came rushing down, 2 steps
up 1 step down. The view from the top as the sun changed the colour of the
dunes was unbeatable. We got to roll down the sand dunes when we were done, and
were off to Sossusvlei & Deadvlei. From what I gather from our driver and a
bit of googling “vlei” is the Afrikaans word for marsh, and “sossus” means
dead-end. There used to be a river thousands or millions of years ago (timescale
is pretty vague I know) that ran through the dunes into the Atlantic Ocean, but
for whatever reason the sand dunes blocked it off causing this phenomenon. You
aren’t allowed to climb Sossusvlei, but you can climb the neighboring dune. From
the top you get unobscured views of everything, especially Deadvlei, which gets
its name from all the dead trees in the driest area of the dunes.
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| Juliet stands atop Dune 45 gazing longingly into the distance |
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| Maxxing on top of Dune 45 |
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| Juliet straddling Dune 45 |
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| The view from Dune 45 |
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| Sand dunes in the distance |
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| Dunes around Sossusvlei |
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| Deadvlei |
That afternoon we drove to the town of Solitaire, which
consists of a petrol station and small hotel with a campsite; there is nothing
else there or around. There are a lot of rusted shells of cars that had broken
down there and the Solitaire sign has the population written underneath it
which has been corrected 3 times. There was probably a population boom when the
card game Solitaire came out, but since then it has leveled out.
The route back to Windhoek was not on sealed road, but it
was far more scenic, and quite a change to the long straight roads of most of
Namibia. The rock formations and mountains with the barren plains gave a real
prehistoric feel dotted with the occasional (tasty) oryx and (delicious)
springbok who have adapted to the desert environment.
When we got back to Windhoek we had to make a decision
whether to visit a Himba village up north, a culture I’d seen documentaries
about and dreamed of visiting one day, or visiting Luderitz and the ghost town
of Kolmanskop in the south. We eventually decided after a couple of beers to
visit the Himba village, and arranged it with our driver friend Ellis to pick
us up on our last day in Windhoek. While at the bar we got talking to a group
of Spaniards, three girls from the Canary Islands and three guys from the
mainland. We all decided to go out for dinner to Joe’s Beerhouse; Juliet &
I ordered the meat platter which consisted of Ostrich, Crocodile, Zebra, Kudu,
and Oryx. The only one that was inedible to me was the crocodile because it
tasted like fish, but Juliet enjoyed it. Ostrich was like an intense version of
chicken leg meat, Zebra was lovely, Kudu was tough, and the Oryx was delish.
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| From the left (on the spoke); Ostrich, Crocodile, Zebra, Kudu, and Oryx |
One of the Spanish guys, Reuben lived in Namibia and was
studying and collaring cheetahs. Namibia has a lot of farmland, mostly beef;
however a lot of the farmers also keep game as they are low maintenance and can
be quite valuable for meat & hunting. The most valuable of the game are some
of the smaller antelope (steenbok, springbok etc.) but these are also part of
the cheetah’s diet. So the farmers either have to shoot the cheetahs or sell
them to be hunted (about 3000 Euros which is also the price to shoot a giraffe).
Reuben and his team work with farmers by trapping and collaring the cheetahs,
releasing them and finding out on a map where the cheetah’s territory is, and
making a plan of action (i.e. moving livestock to other parts of the farm)
accordingly.
The following day we spent shopping around Windhoek, and
forgot about making a booking for a room at the backpackers so our place was
fully booked, but they had one campsite. So we gave Ellis a call to see if we
could borrow his tent, which was fine and we set it all up. Then as if someone
had set us up it was like a bucket of water fell onto Windhoek, with a
lightning storm included. Because rain historically has not been an issue in
Windhoek there is no storm water infrastructure in the city so it floods. Entire
roads can be blocked by “rivers” and early last week we heard that the roof of
one of the big malls collapsed under the weight of the rain. Anyway our tent
which was a very light desert tent was damp to say the least; and we had to get
up at 4am the following morning to head to the Himba village. The sleep was terrible,
and the sleeping bags were wet, you’d get the occasional drops of water on your
body as a wake up refresher.
Heading up north we were on extremely straight sealed roads
in the dark going the speed limit of 120kmph with desert grasslands on both
sides. In Namibia it is too dangerous to drive in the dark because animals
running across the road hitting vehicles is a common occurrence, these animals
aren’t small either and kill a lot of people. You’d occasionally see a pair of
eyes roadside, and just hope it didn’t bolt.
When we got to the Himba village we met an English speaking Himba
man, which is uncommon for the Himba because they don’t believe conventional education
is important. He took us around and introduced us to the culture and the people.
We came across some little kids as we entered the village building sandcastles.
When they saw us they were originally very shy, but as soon as we asked if we
can take a picture of them they opened up. I’ve got hundreds of photos of them
on my phone as they mastered the iPhone pretty quickly. I also have a 5 minute
video of them singing and dancing, that they watched on repeat laughing
hysterically.
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| Himba kids having a boogie |
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| Young Himba girl with a single plait; when she gets a bit older this becomes four plaits; then after puberty a full head of plaits |
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| Two Himba kids relaxing in the shade |
The Himba tribe has a lot of equality between the sexes; to
me that is usually the measure of a society. The men are the hunters and
farmers and are out in the fields for most of the day. The women look after the
children communally, make and maintain the huts as well as cook. Although the
men are stereotypically the leaders the women have a large influence. The
political system they have consists essentially of a monarchy, with a chief,
and when he dies it is passed to his oldest son. However, how it differs is
that if the chief is not up to the job (cruel, inept etc.), they will
democratically elect a new one, I guess it is one of the nuances of a nomadic
tribe, where the people can just get up and leave.
One of the telltale signs of equality between the sexes in
asking the mothers if they would rather have boys or girls. Every woman we
asked wanted at least 6 kids and would prefer an even split of boys and girls.
The Himba are big into animal husbandry, they keep animals
in a pen in the centre of the village with the door of the pen facing the
chief’s hut. Drawing a line from the door of the pen to the chief’s hut is
where the holy fire is kept and is never put out.
The Himba according to our guide are relatively progressive
in the sense that there are far more “love” marriages than arranged marriages
these days, and the concept of girlfriends/boyfriends was even thrown around. We
talked a lot about marriage with the guide, he said that if a man wants to
marry a woman he must pay 5 cows to the woman’s father, two of which would be
slaughtered for the wedding celebration and the other three join the father’s
herd. I enquired as to how much a cow was in Namibian dollars, and it turns out
to be around $N7000 which is about $700 NZD. So I’ve got a bit of saving to do
when I get home.
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| Putting in the groundwork for my future Himba wife; one on the right is playing hard to get |
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| Two Himba huns; the large ring around their neck means they haven't had a child yet |
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| Juliet and three young Himba woman; (left) little girl with single plait; (centre) dried goatskin is intertwined in her plaits symbolizing she is ready to marry |
There is an article going around about the Himba, about the
idea that a child’s age doesn’t start when it is born or even conceived. It
starts when the mother decides she wants to have a baby and she goes and sits
under a tree until she hears the song of the baby. Now I enquired about this to
our guide and I looked like a right muppet, he laughed at me, and said there
are no contraceptives in the village so babies are born around 9 months after
they are conceived. He said it isn’t a tradition that he’d heard about, but
further up north on the Angolan border they might practice something like that.
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| Juliet and a young Himba woman and her child |
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| Going for a walk |
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| A Herero (a separate tribe) woman has married a Himba man, so lives in the village but keeps her traditional dress; the hat replicates the cows horns as the Herero are very reliant on cattle |
When you see a Himba woman the first two things that strike
you are the claylike dreadlocks, and minimalist outfits that the women wear.
The substance that they put on their hair as well as their bodies is a
combination of red ocra and butter fat. This obviously makes it hard to shower
and clean, so they use smoke to “shower” as well as clean their clothes. They
use what looks like a giant egg cup that is filled with perfume, wood and mixed
in with butter fat then they burn it. As it smokes they put it under their
armpits, then through their hair and the rest of the body. The women wear a lot
of jewelry which all has specific meaning usually to do with puberty, marriage
and children. If you are wondering about Himba men, they dress “normally”, so we didn't bother photographing them.
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| Himba woman heating her "shower" up |
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| Himba woman using the perfumed smoke to clean her body |
I was talking to the guide as we were leaving and I said to
him that the culture and traditions are very similar to the Maasai culture in
Tanzania. It turns out that they are closely related. The Maasai made their way
across Africa towards the West coast and down through Angola and settled on the
border between Angola and Namibia and became the Himba. This explained a lot
about the architecture, animal husbandry, and their weaponry. The differences
in dress, and hair would be a result of the differences between the
Namibian/Angolan desert and the Serengeti plains as well as cultural influences
from neighbouring tribes and interbreeding.
That’s a little bit of cultural history for y’all anyway.
We are making our way back to Tanzania now, this time by
plane which is a hell of a lot quicker. Not long now.
