Lives of Wander

Southern Namibia is pretty much utterly devoid of people. But it sure is full of landscapes and amazing scenery. Here are some of our favorite pictures from Fish River Canyon, the Quiver Tree Forest, Aus and Sossusvlei.

Between Tsumeb, where we spent the night after our last day in Etosha, and Rundu, which is near the beginning of the Caprivi Strip, the tiny northeastern part of Namibia that squeezes in between Angola and Botswana, we crossed the Red Line. This line, marked by a veterinary control fence, prevents the north-south crossing of animals, or the passing of animals from the northern communal subsistence lands to the commercial cattle farms of the south. The goal of this fence is to protect the southern animals, which are sold for meat both inside and outside of Namibia, from instances of foot-and-mouth and other diseases.

For us, the fence wasn’t so interesting in regards to its role in keeping cattle disease-free, as much as it amazed us how different life was on the two different sides of the fence. South of the fence Namibia was either wide-open spaces that seemed to be occupied by absolutely no one or small cities that were generally of a fairly modern (and sometimes quite German) design with supermarkets, banks, clothing shops, and Western-style housing (or shanties).

North of the border, Namibia suddenly and very dramatically became Africa as most of us non-Africans probably picture it. We entered a world where life centered around the village, and where villages consisted of rondavels constructed of mud and clay with thatched roofs and small enclosures for animals. The villages were surrounded by stick fences. A communal water spicket was usually also available, and women and children walking from the faucet to their homes with large containers of water balanced on their heads was a common sight.

Animals–goats, donkeys, and huge cows with prominent horns, roamed freely, grazing on the side of the road, or standing stubbornly in the road daring you to approach. Occasionally a small boy with a stick walked alongside them, doing his best to herd them.

In between villages, maize, sorghum, and other crops grew. On occasion, you’d catch a glimpse of women grinding up the maize into meal, using stone pots and a stick.

We were a novelty it seemed. Though we were driving on a paved national highway, every single person we passed stopped and stared at us. All the children would wave frantically and burst into huge smiles when we waved back. Some tried to race our car; others yelled at us to look at the snake they had caught. Though life was certainly not easy, there was obviously much joy.

Outside some of the villages, crafts had been set out, apparently to sale to the few tourists like us who passed by. There were enourmous clay pots and giant masks, wooden airplanes and helicoptors, and carved animal figurines. Wanting a closer look, we stopped at one of the larger stands, which seemd to be manned by absolutely no one. The village was perfectly quiet. But as we all know, appearances can be deceiving, and as soon as we pulled over and got out, seemingly the entire village emerged to stare at us. We moved through the goods, checking out the various items for sale, and greeting the people, most of whom just continued to stare. Jeff, finding a cheetah he just had to have, began to bargain with the guy selling it, and I moved off to say hello to some children who had gathered in a group to gawk.

As soon as I spoke to one girl, all the others moved in, and I was soon surrounded by kids. They told me their names and ages, where they went to school and what grade they were in. We talked about football and netball, and they stared, stared, stared at me.

Finally, they asked me a question: How old are you? This apparently interested the parents too, who were gathered in a cluster a bit further away, as they yelled to their children to find out what my answer had been. I could only wonder what they thought. At 28, I was certainly older than many of them, yet I did not have any of the things that they, at my age, would have: a hut (or house) of my own, children, the weariness of having to physically work hard every day. My life was pretty much as incomprehensible to them as theirs was to me. But we shared a smile, some laughs, and I think, a wonder at the beautiful strangeness of this thing we call life.

When we entered Etosha, there were two big cats we’d yet to see: cheetahs and leopards. Both are notoriously hard to spot. In fact, one guide at Etosha said that in eight years he had yet to see a cheetah. And leopards, while the most numerous cat in Africa, are hard to find because they are primarily nocturnal and spend their days in the top of trees. Well, remember how I said we were lucky? We were at Etosha. On our second morning, we went out in search of cats and spotted three cheetahs prowling across a field. We followed them a bit and saw them scratch up a tree before heading off where no road ran.

Then on our third and final morning, we were out and about, this time in search of leopards specifically, when we spotted two more cheetahs. We watched them prowl a field, and then we watched a bit incredulously as they were actually scared off by a herd of oryx.

Unfortunately, we never did find that leopard, but we did end up spotting four more lions in addition to the one we saw at the watering hole.

If you look closely, you’ll understand the title. We witnessed a whole lot of foreplay going on between these two giraffes. It amounted to rubbing necks, ramming heads into butts, and walking in a lot of circles. As far as the actual action goes, well, we didn’t see anything. A few times it seemed as if they were trying but couldn’t quite figure it out. And as the sun was setting, we couldn’t wait around forever but had to race on to camp to make it before the gates closed. Maybe in the end that’s all they were waiting for…a little privacy.

Etosha is Namibia’s premier game park. Stretching along the edge of the enormous Etosha pan, a salt flat that occasionally fills with water after the rains, Etosha is spectacularly beautiful, with views seeming to stretch forever across broad plains. Morning and evening light are spectacular (though not long lasting because in open space like that the sun is up quickly and down just as fast). But the real highlight of Etosha is its camps. No, the sites aren’t as nice as those at Kruger (though plenty fine), and the amenities aren’t nearly as extensive as those at South African parks (though prices are certainly higher), but it’s all made up for by the watering holes situated at each camp.

The campsite watering holes are situated on the edge of the camps and are partially ringed by seating areas, from where campsite visitors can safely view the wildlife that gathers there. And with Etosha not having too many watering holes, those that do exist are usually pretty frequented. Best of all, however, is the fact that the waterholes are floodlit at night, meaning that campers get the rare opportunity to view nocturnal wildlife and their activities.

We had our greatest success on our first night at the watering hole at Okaukuejo, which we also found to be the nicest site. (When we get rich, we’re definitely going back and splurging on one of the chalets with private balconies overlooking the watering hole!). Settling in at the hole after dinner, we first spotted two rhinos hanging out on the edge of the light. We also saw a number of jackals, running all around the hole and yapping like crazy, as well as many owls and other large birds.

But the coolest sighting was that of a lioness hanging out at the hole and going down for a drink every now and then.

At one point, while she was resting under a bush, a lone zebra ventured down to the hole.

This peaked the lioness’s interest and she began to stalk toward the vulnerable zebra. But before she could get close enough to launch an attack, the zebra caught wind of her and quickly scuttled off, the lioness not following. It was pretty exciting to witness even though there wasn’t a kill.

Not too long after that the lioness retreated from the hole. It seems she went just out of sight, to an area where the rest of her pride was located as we could for the rest of the night hear them roaring, usually in response to the annoying barking of the jackals. We checked back a few more times hoping they would come out from their hiding spots to visit the hole again, but our luck wasn’t ever again as great as it was at first. But really, we can’t complain. I’d say that all in all we’re pretty darn lucky.