The first day I was traveling with the missionaries through Kaokoland we stopped in a small village called Warmquelle. This was the location of their first community discussion informing the local people what the goals were for their new organization, Kunene for Christ. The meeting was in Afrikaans, translated into Damara and Herero, with no English. After about an hour my mind started to wander and I decided to leave the protective shade of the fig tree to explore the village. Not long after leaving the tree I spotted a group of children playing on a hillside not far away. I made my way over to them and was amazed at what I discovered: four little boys using a three inch black plastic pipe as a sled on about four or five layers of jagged rocks. I can remember growing up sleigh riding on nice powdery snow complaining when it turned slightly icy but these kids were half naked running up and down the mountain from rock to rock barefoot and appeared to be having the best time of their life in the process.
The three inch plastic pipe was used as the sleigh for all four boys to ride. One would go first on his butt to make some semblance of a path to follow. The main objective of this boy was to remove the numerous rocks blocking the way. Just remember that this mountain is like one giant rock heap where nothing can grow because it is just layers and layers of loose rock. Once a vague path was cleared, the boy would scurry back to the top to join the others for the ride. I assisted then with a push but was gentle, not wanting to propel them to their deaths. They didn’t even make it halve way down the hill and even though I could not understand what they were saying, I could tell they were not pleased with my lackluster pushing. So, the next time I pushed them as hard as I could and they went flying down the hill screaming and yelling with laughter. They were pleased and I continued to push them many more times. What amazed me most was how fast they were able to ascend the mountain after their ride was over. They were all barefoot but could run up or down the rocks faster than I could with hiking boots. Just watching them ride down the mountain bouncing off of rocks ending up in one big heap of mangled body parts was painful for me but then again, they loved it.
This is not an isolated case of African children’s resourcefulness. Instead of going to Toys’R’Us or Wal-Mart to buy toys, kids use anything from discarded plastic pipes from failed irrigation projects to empty Kiwi shoe polish cans and even scrap metal to make their own toys. Find any trash pile and give a couple of kids ten minutes and they will come out with some toy or device to amuse themselves. What is even more amazing is that the same toys are made by different children across Africa. I have seen the same toy trucks made from scrap metal, bottle caps, and random other pieces of trash in small towns in Tanzania, Namibia and everywhere in between. These trucks are no laughing matter either. They are very detailed in their construction having gas pedals, gear shifters, steering wheels, small pieces of paper with made up license plate numbers and a long pole extending up to the desired height of the creator to push, “drive”, it around. I didn’t fully appreciate this similarity until I put my trip into perspective. I realized that I have been traveling thousands of miles throughout most of Sub-Saharan Africa, seeing vastly different cultures and landscapes, but still seeing the same underlying human spirit represented by children turning trash into toys. If kids that are thousands of miles apart can each independently construct identical toy trucks from trash, what does that say about what we really need to make us happy -the latest industrially manufactured Tonka dump truck with its toots and whistles or scrap metal to make our ‘truck’?
December 11, 2007
The Art of Rock Sledding
Rock Art Hunting on Brandberg Mountain
After travelling through Kaokoland for a couple of weeks, I was dropped of in Windhoek. I had 10 days and nothing to do. That problem was quickly solved after the first night. I went to a restaurant called Joe's Beerhouse, a very nice local place that serves wild game and local dishes. I devoured my Oryx fillet, hung out for a while at the bar and then planned to go home early. Standing in front of the restaurant trying to wave down a cab, a rickety old lime green VW minibus pulled over to give me a lift. The driver's name was Mark and he was a local Nambian of German descent. He was a great guy and offered me a ride back to the hostel. I was more than happy to catch a free ride and go to bed but then he invited me to a private party at the local club. I couldn't say no to such an offer and went along for the ride. It turned out to be a great night and it soon turned into something much more. At the bar we were making small talk when he invited me to go hiking with him in the desert for a week. Seeing how I only knew him for a total of 2 hours, I was a little cautious. He then informed me that Brandberg Mountain would be our destination. Brandberg is the highest mountain in Namibia with over 50,000 documented cave painting scattered across various caves and overhangs. The most famous cave painting on Brandberg is the ‘white lady’. Its name speaks for itself. I half jokingly asked him, ''are there any cows in the paintings?'' He informed me that numerous paintings depicted nomadic herders with their livestock. That is all I needed to hear. We made plans that night to leave two days later into the desert.
The two days preceding our departure, I was still a little wary about our plans. Mark was either the nicest guy I have ever met or a serial killer trying to isolate me in the desert. Before we departed into the desert, he let me stay at his parents place for a day to save money. This really set my mind at ease because after spending a whole day with his parents showing me countless baby pictures and recounting their entire lives to how old Mark was at the time. I scratched the serial killer option, a good feeling to have.
We set off in his 1974 Range Rover equipped with all the camping gear we could possibly need for a week. We camped in a cave for the first night on the way to Brandberg. Once arriving at the mountain, we set up camp in a dried up river bed using a tree to aid us with protection from the sun. We would hike very morning and evening using the middle of the day to rest and hide from the sun. I was amazed at the number of painting we were able to find. Mark was very experienced in looking for the paintings and was able to just look at a feature on the mountain to locate the paintings. They were usually located under an overhang or in a cave. One painting pictured a snake, animals and people. I had no clue what it meant and I don't think anyone can be exactly sure what it means because we don't know exactly who even painted them in the first place. But, Mark told me that the snake represented water and the direction of the livestock told the direction to find it. It sounds reasonable enough. Out of curiosity, we decided to hike in the same direction the animals were facing to see if our assumption was correct. Further up the canyon we were able to find a spring. It could be a coincidence, most likely, or we have found our calling in life, interpreting thousand-year-old rock paintings. Who knows???
I was always a little on edge during the hike due to the numerous leopard tracks scattered across the mountain. Seeing how we were usually camping in and around caves and overhangs, a perfect den for a leopard, we were always on guard. The hike was exhausting and after a week we decided to head to the coast and camp on the beach for a couple of nights. It was a great way to relax after the unbearable heat on the mountain, reaching close to one hundred degrees most days. It was a great excursion and experience. I soon realized that Africa has many different climate and landscapes. Namibia is basically one huge desert with many different features within it. I have been told it is the oldest desert in the world but I have not been able to confirm that yet. The coast is a big tourist destination spot, especially Swakopmund. Swakopmund is an adrenaline junkies dream come true with skydives, quad riding on the sand dunes, sand boarding, and just about every other extreme sport you can think of.
A I have said many times the global culturization is taking place all over the world. I have been shocked to come across it throughout Africa and Namibia was no different. The first day I was in Swakopmund I was in a coffee shop with Mark when the waiter realized I was a foreigner. The first thing that could come to her mind was not “welcome to Namibia” or even “what do you think of our country.” It was, “Did you know Brad and Angie had there baby here?” “No, I didn’t know that and thank you so much for telling me” She was pleased with herself and scurried away without taking our drink order. That was almost as bad as when I was on Manyara ranch in Tanzania riding with a local driver to get supplies for the night. The driver was Maasai and could barely speak English. To my surprise he was able to name every nominee and winner of the 2007 MTV music awards that happened the previous night. So, there I was looking out the window at zebras, giraffes, and acacia trees and this guy is telling me how Justin Timberlake is his idol now. Go figure…
The Drowning
Not long after we arrived at Swapooisdrift a man disappeared in the river. They did not know if he drowned or taken by crocodiles because the body was still missing. The headman of the village came to our camp just before sunset to ask if we could give him a ride into the bush to inform the missing man's family. Jacob, the head missionary of the trip, agreed to take the headman and a few others. I quickly jumped on the back of the truck as well. It would soon be dark and I did not know where we were going or what even happened to the man, but I tagged along anyway. We drove about thirty minutes on a small trail parallel to the river. We finally came to a single mud hut hidden amongst bushes and rocks. The headman went inside to inform what I thought was the family. It turns out that it was just a friend but he joined our party in the back of the truck. We then took another small road away from the river over a mountain. By this time, it was pitch black outside with stars beginning to dot the night sky. We travelled for what seems like ages over mountains and through dried up river beds where we luckily didn't get stuck. We finally arrive at a sodalite mining camp where the family lived. (Sodalite is a semi-precious blue stone used for tiling)
During the trek into the bush, I seemed to lose sight of the purpose of our venture into the bush. The family came outside to greet their headman. He informed them of the bad news and the emotional outcry was immense. Many people broke down in tears immediately and some screaming in agony. I did not know what I should do or if I was even supposed to be there. I just stood very close to Jacob hoping not bring any attention to myself. The family was traditional Himba covered in red ochre and barely clad with animal hides. The family climbed into the back of the truck and we were off. The truck was now very full with half of the people being traditional Himba. The ride back was filled with emotional tension and again I did not know what to do or if I was even supposed to be there.
That night reminded me of a similar experience in Tanzania. One night, I was eating dinner with my friend, Faraja, when he was summoned to take a man to the local laboni (witchdoctor). Faraja was the most well-known driver in the village so they came to him for transport. An elder was deathly ill and he did not believe in modern medicine. Everyone crammed into the back of Faraja's truck and we were off to the laiboni about 20km in the bush. After dropping the man off at the laboni, we quickly left not knowing the fate of the sick man. I never found out.
The following morning back in Kaokoland, we held the community meeting on the bank of the river as planned. There was a single boat searching for the body of the missing man throughout the day. As soon as they meeting was over, as if it were planned, the men in the boat began screaming to inform everyone they had found the body. Everyone quickly gathered on the bank awaiting the boat and the body. I, again, did not know what to do or where my place was. A local man grabbed me by the arm and told me to come. He took me by his side and we joined the masses by the riverbank. When the pulled the body from the water, there was mass hysteria. Many women had to be carried away from the water by fellow onlookers, but most stayed by the body to await the arrival of the local police. I was still fuzzy on the details of what happened to the man. The local man that told me to accompany him filled me in with the details. It turns out that the man was mentally handicapped. Many people would tell him to fetch them water, in a sense, taking advantage of him because of his mental state. The man did this quite often but this time he was drunk, fell into the river and drowned.
Death is part of everyday life throughout Africa. The Himba have a very different approach in dealing with death. The actual burial takes place only for one day but aftermath takes weeks and sometimes a month. There is no living will on record for the deceased. The local people will not work or carry out their daily routines in order to discuss what will happen to the belongings of the deceased. Like anything in Africa, the people are not in a hurry and there is no urgency or timeline to these talks. Between AIDS, TB, crocodiles, drowning, starvation, snakes, numerous other lethal diseases and unknown dangers, death is a part of everyday life. Because of this, almost 50% of their life is consumed with death in one form or another. It has got to be terribly depressing.
Kaokoland Trip
My string of good luck and good timing has continued in Namibia. I didn't know it but the contact I made was a missionary and they were planning an extensive trip through Kaokoland (NW Namibia where the Himba live). The focus of the trip was on agriculture. The group, Kunene for Christ, was composed of two missionaries, three farmers and an EU project manager for developing agriculture in Namibia. I arrived on the same flight as a mission worker and was picked up at the airport. They even had a sign with my name on it which was a first for me. I had to laugh at my good fortune.
The original plan was to tag along and then stay in a Himba village afterwards. I seriously underestimated the transport issues in Kaokoland and the climate. From about noon to 4PM, it is the worst place on earth due to the heat, but the mornings and evenings are spectacular. In the middle of the day, any sensible person or animal is huddled under a shade tree for protection from the sun. It is unbearable. We all have limits and I reached mine after a week in Kaokoland. There is a saying that when you are in your twenties you think you are going to live forever and can do anything. I definitely think that sums up my attitude, but I was quickly humbled. It was an amazing experience but I was ready to leave the stony-hearted, dry world of Kaokoland.
The trip started in Outjo. We headed north to camp in Ongongo Gorge in Warmquelle. Warmquelle is the unofficial border between Damaraland to the south and Kaokoland to the North (both are regions affiliated with the tribal homelands). The campsite was incredible. There was a natural pool with a small waterfall supplying warm water to swim in. The first evening was one of those moments when I had to pinch myself because it was surreal. I watched an incredible sunset over the mountains and then took a swim in the pool under the stars. It was a great night. We had a meeting the next day with the local people to discuss the goals of the agricultural program. I was out of the loop because it was spoken in Afrikaans, Herero and Damara (No English).
On the third day of the trip, we headed further north through Opuwo, the unofficial capital of Kaokoland, and camped at Swapooisdrift on the southern bank of the Kunene River. The Kunene forms the border between Angola and Namibia. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be or even want to be camping 100m from Angola on the banks of a crocodile invested river. Angola is often labeled the worst place to live on Earth due to its roughly 40,000 active landmines strewn across the country. A mine costs twenty cents to install but twenty dollars (US dollars) to remove. It is a solemn reminder of nearly forty years of civil war the plagued the country only ending in 2002 with the assassination of the opposition leader. The meeting the next day was in English so I was able to follow the conversation. The objective of Kunene for Christ is to improve the knowledge of the local farmers and help them establish sustainable agriculture. This is not an easy task because of many reasons; climate and cultural obstacles being the main ones. Kaokoland is a dry, rocky desert that any foreigner could not survive for a week. The other still debilitating factor is trying to change the mindset of the African people to make the transition from communal agriculture to commercial. As the old African axiom goes, ‘It’s a wise man who cultivates just as much land as his wife can conveniently hoe.’ This mentality is still very much held today. This communal mentality does mix well with the concepts of commercial agriculture. It is a great cultural divide.
Kunene for Christ was just recently established with this being its inaugural trip. The meeting was mostly introductory, laying out the objectives of the project. The local people were cautious and wary of the program. This is understandable due to the countless programs that have made empty promises to the people. This is common throughout Africa. An organization has good intentions but short term planning. Many people think that giving a community a generator, pump or even solar panels is a great thing, which it is. The problem arises when they do not train the local people to operate or fix the machines. I have seen the remnants of countless failed programs throughout Africa. For instance, we visited a village called Ehomba. They were given a very nice pump to provide water for the community. The pump has been broken for years. No one was trained how to fix the machine and programs don't usually last long enough or have the funding to provide maintenance for the equipment they provide. The pump is still there. It just doesn't work.
I like Kunene for Christ's approach to agriculture. They are trying to fight the handout mentality that dooms many projects. The local people said they need a fence. Instead of just building a fence for free, Kunene for Christ will provide the wire if the people set the fence posts. They are trying a different approach, to meet in the middle and not just giving everything away for free. This is hard because the solution to so many of Africa's problems has been to throw money at it. This may solve the immediate problem but fails to solve it for the future. This program is trying to show the people how to create sustainable agriculture and curb the overgrazing of animals without actually doing it for them. Ultimately, the responsibility will lie on the shoulders of the local people to succeed. I think this is where the responsibility must lie if they plan to make lasting change.
All of the people on the trip were Afrikaners. I have been living in Afrikaner communities in South Africa and now traveling with them through Namibia. Needless to say, I have been getting an education about their history and culture. Our trip through Kaokoland traced the route of the Dorslandtrekkers. The word 'Dors' means dry in Afrikaans. This is very fitting because Namibia is extremely dry. It was a group of Afrikaners that left South Africa in 1876 instead of being subjected to British rule. There were three different treks north into Angola and we visited many of their historic sites. In Kaoko Otavi, we visited the remains of a church. At Ehomba, remnants of dams are still evident. Just above our campsite at Swapooisdrift was a monument commemorating the location the trekkers crossed the Kunene River. This was a constant theme of the trip because two of my travel companions were direct descendants of the Dorslandtrekkers. One travel companion, Bertus, was born in Angola before his family migrated south to Namibia during the unrest in Angola. It is an interesting story and worth a little more reading if you like history.
