Notes From Namibia

It began on the morning of the 30th May.1

I was lying in bed wide awake with a cold, which was annoying me because of its extraordinarily bad timing. It must have been the anxiety of leaving which had weakened my immune system, allowing the bug to sneak in by the back door. 2

I was sleeping in the spare room downstairs because my bed and entire bedroom and been invaded by an army of booklice which would not give me a moments peace, even crawling on me at night and preventing me from sleeping. Booklice are the size of pinheads, and they love to feed off of the starchy glue which holds books together. They are so small that when they crawl on your skin, it feels like a tickling sensation which is indistinguishable from any other small movement.3

This was driving me insane. It was an invasion of my sacred space; my inner sanctum – my bed, where I sleep and dream. All I wanted was one decent night’s sleep before I left, because of the stress of travelling. Nonetheless, I didn’t sleep very well. I was wired, and aware of the huge potentiality of the journey which I was about to undertake.4

I rose early, because it is best to get as much time in for preparation as possible before any trip. I managed to get everything packed and ready in time, and we had begun the long drive to Manchester airport having plenty of time to spare. The plan was to fly from Manchester to Gatwick and from Gatwick to Windhoek (the capitol of Namibia). My mother drove me to the airport, and my grandmother decided to come along for the ride. I had asked mother many questions about the ‘airport procedure.’ My memories of airports were all from childhood, and I remembered them as very busy, stressful places which I didn’t have to worry about until I was much older, because my mother would do all of the worrying for the present. And so, this preconception of airports was causing me some anxiety.5

Mother tends to have a confusing way of explaining things, but I managed to gather together the following information: first, you ‘check in’, which has to be done two hours before the flight leaves. This is when they take your suitcase off you and prepare it for being loaded on to the plane. This is also where you receive your boarding pass. Secondly, you go through security, where they check your person and hand-luggage for sharp items and liquids and such like (in case you’re clever or motivated enough to construct a lethal bomb from a few innocuous-looking toiletries. Personally, I found the assumption quite flattering).6

After this, you’ll find yourself in a waiting room where you wait for the ‘gate’ of your flight to be announced, and where there are lots of ‘duty-free’ shops to entice you into buying things which you don’t really need out of sheer boredom. Finally, when you’ve made your way to the ‘gate’, you’ll be allowed to enter the plane once you’ve showed your boarding pass to the important-looking officials on duty.7

We arrived at the airport and parked in the designated car park for terminal three, and as we made our way to the check-in area, it began to hit me that this was ‘really happening.’ The first iffy moment came when I was asked for my passport before I joined the queue to check in. I rummaged through my bag for some minutes, completely bemused because I remembered distinctly having it with me in the car, so I knew that at worse, it was back in there. Even so, I had a moment of illogical panic as I struggled to find it before eventually locating it stuck in-between some folded documents, and I remember thinking how typical it was that it should slip into such an elusive and awkward place. Besides that hiccup, everything went fine, and I had my bag put on to the conveyor belt and was given my boarding pass. Then, we went through and had some lunch at one of the cafe's.8

Eventually, it was time for me to pass through the security gate, through which my relatives could not follow. It was time to say goodbye. We hugged and said our parting words, and I went through the gate. I could still see them for quite some time afterwards, as it was an open entrance.9

They stood there waving at me and cackling at some joke or other, and it was a strange concept to me that I would not be able to see them again for over a month. Finally, we exchanged our final waves and I was forced to turn my back on them and walk away. It was a strange feeling, but I had other things on my mind. I had not set off any alarms at security, and I found myself in a lounge surrounded on all sides by shops. I know now that it was relatively tiny, as I have since navigated the monolith that is Gatwick, but it still seemed big to me then.10

I sat down in one of the scantily-padded chairs and began to write in my journal, feeling too saturated to read. My flight was pushed back several times, causing me some anxiety that I would be too late to catch my flight to Windhoek, but eventually a definite time was settled upon. The delay had been due to some engine trouble. I sat there quietly for a long time, and I began to get very bored. So, I engaged in something called ‘people watching.’ Here is an extract from my journal:11

‘The woman next to me has been on the phone for ages. People’s capacity for gibberish never ceases to astound me. I think there is an equally garrulous woman on the other end of the line, with an equally garish floral pattern on her skirt, and perhaps she’ll have an ostentatious lime-green jacket to contrast against this woman’s luminous pink. She looks to be around fifty.12

The woman opposite me has a very long, tanned face. She’s wearing casual business-wear; smart black trousers and jacket with a maroon top underneath. When she sat down, she was eating a snack and smiling into empty space. Her hair is thick, with blonde-brown streaks, falling past her shoulders to either side of her face, and she has a bushy fringe which covers her forehead. She has dark eyes, and her skin is a little leathery. She makes me think ‘Leo.’13

The man on her left looks like he’s from London. He’s a young man with a kind of ‘soft gentry’ look to him, although he’s wearing sports shoes.14

The man to my right is also on the phone. He’s talking in a very distinct, high-pitched Irish accent, and he’s swearing a lot. He reminds me of a leprechaun. He seems to be about 60/65. He’s just got off the phone. Now he’s on it again, and I just overheard why he’s swearing so much: he’s missed his flight.15

There is a very large woman on the seat to my left who has just been talking on the phone whilst spooning up a chocolate mousse. I suppose that’s why she’s so big.’16

Eventually, the gate for my flight was announced, and I boarded the plane. I enjoyed the sensation of flying; especially the take-off. I also liked being by the window. I looked down at the houses and the cars and the trees below, and as usual, they looked toy-like. I could see how the towns and the cities below me had been constructed and the logic behind the placements of the buildings and the roads. I was reminded of the city-building computer games I used to play. Everything seemed so simple from so high up. Then, we broke above the clouds, and there was a white, frothy ocean below us which seemed solid in its immovability. It almost seemed as though one could walk on it.17

Whenever I fly, I love looking down at the clouds. They present such a strange, surreal landscape which looks like a panorama of twisted, spiralling marsh-mellows or cotton buds. It is beautiful, especially when the light from the sun plays on them and casts them in yellow, orange and red relief.18

The flight was over in about half an hour and I wished that it had lasted longer. However, I was about to embark on a much longer flight of nine and a half hours, and I knew that I would be heartily fed up of flying by the time I had reached my destination. After a descent during which my stomach seemed to rise into my mouth several times, we touched down, and I found myself in the maze that is Gatwick airport. I followed the signs for baggage reclaim, and the corridor seemed to stretch on forever, with many turns and moving floors.19

It took me about ten minutes to reach the baggage-reclaim hall, after which I made my way to the airport proper. There are two terminals in Gatwick: North and South. My flight to Gatwick arrived in the North, and my flight from Gatwick was departing from the North, so I didn’t have far to go. I read the signs, and all I had to do was get in a lift which took me up to the next floor for ‘check-ins and departures.’ As soon as I stepped out of the lift doors, I was greeted by the sight of the check-in queue on my left. It has all been surprisingly easy, and I was grateful for that.20

Before joining the check-in queue, I waited for another expedition member who was catching the same flight as me. Her name was Alex, a 22-year-old Libran. She had been delayed because of a fatality on the railroad tracks, so the queue was quite diminished by the time she arrived. I stood there by the rail of the escalators and waited, keeping an eye on the girls and wondering which one was her.21

Eventually, a tall girl with long brown hair and a slack chin walked into the hall, took out her phone and pressed a button. Almost immediately afterwards, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I walked over to her and said, ‘Hi. My name’s Sam.’ We exchanged greetings, and joined the queue for check-in. As we joined it, we were handed a slip of paper by a woman, informing us that the flight had been delayed to 2:30am, which was a nightmare. I had seen pictures of people sleeping on lines of uncomfortable-looking airport chairs on television, but I had never imagined that I would one day be one of them.22

As we queued, the man in front of us began to make conversation with us. As he said, Gatwick airport is like a mutual hell; a place for the commiseration of the damned. After check-in, we parted, only to meet him again in WHSmiths. I was queuing with a bottle of water when he joined the queue behind me and said that he and his family were going for a drink at the pub around the corner, and that I and Alex were welcome to join him. Knowing that we had nothing better to do, I said that we would be there.23

After a while, I and Alex made our way to the pub. He wasn’t there yet, so we ordered some drinks and waited. Shortly he and his family arrived, and we sat down at a round table by the entrance. The man introduced himself as Hugh, and we began to buy each other rounds. Hugh was a very skinny man with short black hair over which he always seemed to wear a cap. He had friendly, dark eyes which sparkled with mirth whenever he smiled his wry smile.24

He also introduced to us his Japanese wife, Midi, and their daughter, Annabel, who was four, and ‘the youngest journalist in Namibia,’ he said jokingly. When we boarded the plane, I picked up the May issue of ‘Flamingo,’ Airline Namibia’s free magazine, and located an article written by ‘Annabel, the youngest journalist in Namibia.’ It was about the diamond trade in the Namib Desert (just to clarify, it was actually written by Hugh). 25

Annabel was a beautiful little girl, and I could tell by her large, sparkling eyes that she was precocious. She kept gravely offering us breadsticks dipped in cream cheese, as if solemnly making a point of being generous with strangers. Annabel is a Gemini, and her birthday is in June (like mine), so she has since turned five.26

Hugh was an Englishman living in Windhoek. He was also a writer, which meant that we immediately had some very important common ground. I find it hard enough finding other people who read – and by this, I mean people who devour books, rather than merely reading a few popular books on holiday – let alone people who write. And so, it was a pleasure. Midi worked for the Department of Environment and Tourism, so there was also some common ground there, seeing as we were both travelling to Namibia for conservation purposes.27

It seemed, I reflected to myself, that I had met some very interesting people, and all before I had even set foot in Namibia. Was this to set the tone for the rest of the trip, I wondered?28

I spent the next few hours getting to know these people. I and Hugh discussed many things, and it seemed to me that we clicked very well. It also soon became apparent that Midi had organised a camp for the refugees of the Rwandan genocide. Obviously, I had met two very politically active and involved people. We talked for some time before it was time to go through security, where I was stopped for having insect repellent and sun cream in my bag despite several warnings to remove all liquids. What can I say? Sometimes, I’m ‘dippy’ like that, although it is strange how I got through Manchester with them in my bag.29

Then, we sat down on those horrible chairs which seemed to be designed for discomfort, and Annabel wanted to watch a video on the laptop. Hugh said they should go somewhere else and watch it because it might be disturbing other people, and Annabel began to cry. Hugh took her away, and I and Alex stretched ourselves out on the seats and attempted to sleep. I was so tired that I did manage to snatch a few hours, only to wake feeling stiff and groggy. When I looked around, I saw that Hugh and his family had left.30

Eventually, we were permitted to board the plane. When it came to my turn to board, I accidentally gave the stewardess my Manchester pass, only to have her say to me, ‘You are on the wrong flight, sir,’ with a kind of sadistic glee. But then I fumbled around in my pockets for a moment before producing the right pass. I think that all of the other passengers would have found it entertaining if I was made to walk all the way back. People take a certain degree of pleasure in other peoples misfortunes, even if they don’t admit it. They think, ‘Oh, I’m glad that wasn’t me,’ and they get a little warm glow inside.31

The flight wasn’t very enjoyable, but that was to be expected. It was nine and a half hours long, and by the time we were settled in, it was past 3am. Alex was by the window, and it was dark outside. I was too tired to read or write, so I mostly listened to music, although eventually that started to give me a headache.32

Sleeping on planes is always ghastly, because there is nothing to support your head, and the pillows they provide are stuffed with air. The food wasn’t so bad, though. It is a nice feeling, tucking into a meal ten thousand feet in the air whilst on your way to an exotic destination. 33

At one point there was some very bad turbulence, and I saw a flutter of panic pass over a stewardess’ face as she was thrown off balance. The woman in front of us uttered a soft kind of scream and I thought ‘Dear God, I’m too young to die,’ before everything settled down again. It is easy to have a fatalistic attitude when flying and think, ‘Come what may, it’s the risk I take.’ But when the plane starts to struggle, you don’t half brick it (unless you have a death wish).34

After a while, it began to get light outside, and we could make out the ground far below us. It was very desolate, and there were roads running across it which seemed to go on forever and ever. I had never seen such straight, long roads before. 35

Near the end of the flight, Alex got up to go to the toilet, and I shimmied over to her seat by the window. When she got back, she asked me to move. ‘You can sit by the window on the way back,’ she said. This was my first inkling that I and Alex weren’t going to get along very well. Why she couldn’t allow me to sit by the window for the last half hour of a nine and a half hour flight was beyond me. And we were booked on different flights on the way back, so how on earth could she know that I would be by the window? To avoid argument, I moved back to my own seat, and soon afterwards we touched down on African soil.36

My first impression was that it was very bright, and one of the first things I did was to reach for my sunglasses. I also noticed the thick palm trees growing beside the pavements.37

On the plane, we had been asked to fill in forms about why we were visiting Namibia, where we were staying, who we were, how much we intended to spend, etc, etc. Well, I had forgotten to put down where I was staying, so the woman at security asked me to write it down in the space provided. This would’ve been fine if I could have understood her accent, and if she had spoken a little slower. It would also have helped if she’d looked at me for more than a second instead of staring off somewhere with a bored expression on her face. After saying ‘Excuse me?’ a few times, I finally understood what she meant and wrote my accommodation down on the form, after which she stamped my passport and I was free to go through. As a side note, Windhoek airport is even smaller than Manchester airport.38

We met the Paxton family again in the baggage reclaim hall, but Hugh was separated from us on the way out by an official for some bizarre reason, and I didn’t get a chance to ask him for his contact details. I was only able to get in touch with him later through Midi.39

There was a stout black woman waiting for us, holding a card with our names on it. She drove us into Windhoek, and one of the first things I noticed was a huge billboard advertising Amarula, a drink which I love. The drive lasted for about half an hour. Windhoek airport is located so far away from the city because it needs flat ground, and the city is in a very hilly area (which soon becomes obvious when you drive around in it).40

The woman dropped us off at the shuttle which was booked to take us from Windhoek to Swakopmund, a four hour drive. I handed over my strange currency and got into the bus after my suitcase was loaded into the trailer behind. I sat at the back on the left hand side and read a book. 41

We were waiting for one more person, who turned out to be another expedition member. Her name was Liz, and she came strolling casually up to the shuttle and climbed in. It turned out she was from Arkansaw, USA, the verity of which was soon affirmed beyond any doubt by her accent. She was an Aquarius, so she and Alex were soon getting on like a house on fire. She had grey-green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair which she was wearing straight at the time. Her facial features were masculine, but she had a very womanly figure. She was 24, and she had very flexible feet. All of this, I would find out later, of course.42

After what seemed like a long time, we were on our way to Swakopmund. After we left the city, the landscape was very barren and monotonous for the entire drive. Rolling, rocky hills broke the horizon to either side, and straggly trees and bushes pushed themselves tortuously out of the hard, unforgiving soil. It struck me how orange everything was.43

After a while, we got talking to the gentleman sitting in front of me. His name was Frank, and he was a local of Swakopmund, fourth generation German. He was about sixty, and had long white hair. It was interesting listening to him as he told us about the area, and he recommended the Tiger Reef Bar for people of our age.44

When we got off the bus at Villa Weise, we shook hands and I was expecting a good, strong, masculine handshake. But he didn’t give me his hand. He gave me his fingers instead, like a woman expecting them to be kissed. After a moment’s hesitation, I gripped his hand and shook it, but I’m afraid I almost broke his fingers. Nonetheless, he managed to walk away like royalty. This was to be a recurring theme in Namibia – the native Africans give you three-way handshakes, while the German colonists give you soft ones. And then, whenever you meet another Brit, you simply shake hands. It was all very bewildering, and I was never quite sure how I was supposed to greet someone.45

My first impressions of Villa Weise were favourable. It was built in the early 19th century, but has been renovated since then, its walls being painted bright colours of orange, blue, green and red. It has a big gate at the back entrance which always has a black man standing by it to slide it open and closed for visitors. Past the gate is a small, open courtyard with a patch of garden in the middle with tropical bushes, plants and trees, including the trademark fat palm trees. The building enveloping this courtyard is two stories high, and there is a balcony running around it which leads to all of the rooms. Everything is constructed of a dark, varnished wood. Like Swakopmund as a whole, it is a bizarre mixture of Germany and Africa.46

We arrived at night, and we walked into the lounge through some glass sliding doors to the left of the courtyard. As we walked in, there were some spiralling stairs to our right which led up to the bar. There was a piano in the far left corner of the room, and there was a boy sitting at it, playing a strange tune which cast a kind of haunting surrealism over the scene. We went to the desk and rang the bell. Soon afterwards, a rotund black man came creaking down the spiralling stairs and plonked himself down in the chair behind the desk. We signed in, and the girls were given room 10 while I was given room 9. 47

When I walked into room 9, I met Huw and Dave, who were both big Welshmen in their mid-twenties. Huw had dark brown hair which seemed to be very flexible, always taking the position which he most desired. Sometimes, he ended up looking like Ace Ventura. I often envied the flexibility of his hair, as mine is thick and stubborn. He had an oval-shaped face with thick stubble which would soon develop into a beard. Dave was obese, and he had black hair which he’d shaved to a very short length. He had globular eyes. Huw was a Leo and Dave was a Libra, and they would both turn out to be big personalities.48

I quickly decided that I liked them both. Huw was very ingenuous and open, and while Dave was a little quiet at first, he seemed affable enough.49

I dumped my bags in the room, which was small and shoebox-shaped with two bunk-beds and little else. We shared a bathroom, toilet and shower, which I utilised, but when it came to shave, I noticed that the plug provided was too large. The next morning, I asked if I could use the sink in the girls’ room to shave, and Liz said yes. However, the plug there was too large, as well. It seemed as though there was some kind of pluggage conspiracy going on, as I also remember that on the second weekend we spent in Swakopmund, a woman yelled up to us from the courtyard and asked us if we had any spare plugs. All of this struck me as a little bizarre, and I only got around the problem myself by clogging the sink with toilet paper. As for Huw and Dave, whenever they did eventually get round to shaving, they used electric shavers.50

After we had all showered and freshened up, we decided to go for a meal. The thing about the centre of Swakopmund is that it’s basically all built around one big road called Sam Nujoma Ave., so its layout is very simple and geometric. Huw and Dave had been there for a few days already, so we followed their lead to an ‘Italian’ restaurant.51

I remember distinctly that as we walked up the steps, Huw walked up the wrong side of the railing before realising that it led to an immovable part of the door, and turned around again, which served to break the ice and make us all laugh. When I walked in the door, I was hit by the most delicious aroma of grilling game meat, although I didn’t realise what it was at the time. I remember for that weekend especially, the smells were very surreal, because they were augmented and distorted by the effect of my cold, and my surroundings seemed even stranger to me than they would have done otherwise. 52

When it came to order, I had a steak burger, which was absolutely delicious. I, Huw and Dave also ordered pints of draught, which came frothy in big, thick glass mugs. It was a wonderful meal, and I quickly decided that the steak was the best that I had ever had up to that point in my life (including Scottish steak).53

But none of us had realised how huge the portions were going to be. I have never known a place where they give you such vast quantities of food, and it seems pretty ironic, when you think about it. Huw had ordered a ‘meat feast’ pizza, which was, simply put, massive when it arrived, and there also seemed to be a lot of gristle on it. It must be said that he struggled heroically, even exclaiming at one point, ‘Ah! I’ve got the meat sweats!’ However, he was eventually defeated after having only reached halfway, and I teased him about how badly it reflected upon his masculinity. ‘Oh! Now I’m having my manliness insulted, by an eighteen year old, no less!’ he exclaimed, in his lilting Welsh accent.54

When we were almost done with our meal, someone mentioned that the previous expedition members were also in the restaurant, having a celebratory meal. We looked over in the corner to see a large table with a lot of people around it. After a while, they came over and introduced themselves, and this was the first time I met Curtis, who was a vegetarian guy from California. I didn’t meet his girlfriend Colette until some time later, as she seemed a little reclusive. They were both in their late twenties, but they seemed much younger. They were staying on for another two weeks.55

The group invited us to join them in a bar around the corner, and we acquiesced. They left us, and we continued to drink and chat for a while, and I distinctly remember thinking to myself after my third pint: ‘Right. That’s enough. If I have anymore, I’m going to be sick. I’m tired, ill and now I’m tipsy.’ But Huw turned the whole ‘manliness’ joke around on me and cajoled me into having another pint, after which I thought ‘Fuck it,’ and the number of drinks I had afterwards can only be recalled as a vague blur.56

That night was wonderfully surreal for me, and it will always have a special place in my memory. We made our way to the bar, ordered drinks and sat down in the lounge area with the former expedition members, who we then got very drunk and merry with. As the night wore on, more and more people flooded into the bar, and the atmosphere seemed to get more and more vibrant. There I was, surrounded by these people whom I had only known for a very brief time, in a very strange and exotic place, getting extremely drunk and having a very good time while the local Africans danced, talked and laughed around us. I was in one of my charismatic moods, feeling very confident and happy, and I was able to interact with the people around me very easily, which isn’t always the case.57

I talked to a guy called Owen who was from America. He filled me in on some of the details of the expedition and gave me an idea of what to expect. ‘Do they work you hard?’ I asked, because I was enjoying the ‘holiday’ feel of the moment, and was starting to feel a little reluctant when it came to the thought of hard grafting for a month. ‘Yeah, they work you pretty hard,’ he said. ‘But try to be on the rock-collecting team in the morning and in the wall-building team in the afternoon, because the mornings are cooler.’58

So all in all, it was a great night – possibly the best of the whole trip, and it was a good note to start the expedition on.59

That night, I slept in the girls’ room because I’d heard that Huw was a terrible snorer. As a result, we missed out on sand-boarding, but I was far too hung-over to care. While the guys were sand-boarding, I, Alex and Liz decided to go and explore the town. I thought it would be a chance to get to know them better. We went on a long walk down to the beach, where they took some pictures of the sea. The town seemed very strange to me – very dry and colourful.60

After we reached the sea, we walked along the coast until we came to a little seafood restaurant (‘we cook da feesh, you eat da feesh’). We sat down outside, right next to the sea, and were served by an African woman with a pretty, soft face. She was a very gentle creature, full of smiles. Not feeling particularly adventurous, I ordered fish ‘n’ chips. We sat there and talked for a while and, in retrospect, Liz and Alex were extremely demure for the first couple of days compared to how they would later reveal themselves.61

The meal cost us about N$60.00 each, which was just a couple of quid, and we’d had plenty of food. Everything over there was incredibly cheap. As we sat there, it struck me, as I listened to the steady susurration of the sea, how tranquil everything was. Even the footsteps of the passers-by seemed muted, and everything had a dream-like quality.62

After the meal, we walked around some more and found ourselves in an open market-square. There were rugs laid out on the floor upon which were displayed various souvenirs. The square was absolutely full of local vendors selling these goods, and as we sought to pass by discreetly around the edge, one of them came up to us and said, ‘Ah! Why do you walk so far away? Come and look!’ Being naïve, I decided to oblige him, and wandered closer to the rugs.63

I stopped to look at some weird, abstract African paintings on pieces of canvas, and decided that one of them would look good on my bedroom wall. I saw one I liked, pointed to it and asked the man, who was by now hovering very close to me and staring at me intently, how much it was. ‘Four fifty,’ he said. He had spoken very quietly. My brain having slipped back into English-mode, I took my wallet out and held out to him an N$10.00 note. He looked at me very long and hard with his round, white eyes, and I was glad that I was wearing my sunglasses. I think he was trying to work out whether or not I was mocking him.
‘Four hundred and fifty,’ he said, after a tense moment.
‘Oh!’ I said. ‘Ha-ha! I thought you said four fifty.’ He smiled. ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s too much.’
‘Three fifty,’ he said.
‘Sorry, no. Too much,’ I said.64

While it was a nice piece, it was still something which I would only pay a couple of quid for back at home, seeing as it was a print. The thing with the local Africans in any country is that when they see white people, they automatically think ‘rich.’ The man was trying to rip me off, and he thought that he was perfectly justified in doing so, because in his view, I was rich. But, I am not rich where I live, and I can’t afford to throw money at people who have some misguided notion that they have a right to it because of our respective skin colours. To put the price in perspective, we later went quad-biking across the dunes for less than this man had asked me for a scrap of canvas.65

I began to walk away, as the man was beginning to disturb me. I could see barely-concealed hatred and resentment burning behind his eyes, although he kept his tone simpering and barely above a whisper. I kept walking until I reached the stairs leading out of the square, where Alex and Liz were waiting for me. ‘There’s someone following you,’ Alex said. I well knew that, because I could hear him shouting after me, but I wanted nothing to do with him. However, he caught up with me and I turned around. ‘I have spoken with my brother,’ he said. ‘Two hundred.’ I suppressed a sigh. ‘OK,’ I said, and handed over the cash. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. He gave me the rolled up piece of canvas and jogged away.66

Turning around, I was more than a little irked to find that Alex and Liz were quite a way ahead of me, and that they weren’t walking slowly, either. There was something half-frantic to their gestures, and I couldn’t help but get the notion that they were trying to accelerate away from me. After some hard walking, I caught up with them, and, seething, said nothing.67

We spent the rest of the day just wandering around town. Shortly after the market-place incident, we came across a flight of steps leading up to a church. Alex climbed halfway up, wondering whether it was private property or not. Liz whipped her camera out and said ‘Quick! Do somethin’ funny!’ Alex immediately struck a pose which was reminiscent of a demented squirrel, at which point I thought, ‘Oh, God,’ and Liz snapped the shot. Thankfully, she didn’t ask me to do anything funny.68

We climbed the steps, and I saw some kind of freakish, exotic turkey-like bird strutting around in the shrubbery, but apart from that, there was nothing interesting. After a lot more pointless wandering, we returned to the lodge, to my relief. When I returned to room 9, Huw and Dave had returned, and we got to chatting out on the balcony. ‘Hey dude, how you doing?’ Huw said.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘We’ve just been exploring the town.’
‘Oh, cool.’
‘How was sand-boarding?’
‘Yeah, it was awesome, man. Dave had a wipe-out.’ Dave came strolling onto the balcony. ‘That fuckin’ hurt, that did!’ He said. ‘The guy with the camera was grinning at me and sticking his thumbs up, and I felt like saying to him, ‘You bastard! That hurt! But they like it because it makes good videos.’ I found the thought of Dave having a wipe-out very amusing. It would probably look something like a whale thrashing about in the sea. ‘Weren’t you a little hung over?’ I asked.
‘Nah,’ said Huw. ‘It wore off, except for when we had to climb back up the dunes. That was exhausting.’69

We spent what was left of the day just chilling out around the lodge. Later that night, two more expedition members arrived. I made my way to the bar and introduced myself, and we sat down around a low table, ordered beers and chatted whilst watching the rugby. I watched a lot of rugby and soccer while I was in Africa, for some reason.70

I may as well mention here that there are only really two beers in Namibia: Tafel and Windhoek, both of which have small percentages, but both of which are brewed without any artificial additives whatsoever, as Namibia Breweries is very proud of reminding everyone. If you were lucky though, you could occasionally find some Heineken or Carling Black Label. A lot of the women drank cider, which I think is disgusting.71

The two new arrivals were called Jen and Catherine. Jen was an Irishwoman living in New York. She was very pale, and had a frame like a beanpole. She had dark hair which she often tied back in a ponytail. She had a shiny forehead and a nose like a ski-slope. In fact, her face was a cause of some fascination for me during the following fortnight, due to its strange irregularity.72

Cat was very different from Jen. She was a little older, and she had much fairer hair. She seemed quite quiet, and I only really got to talk to her outside on the balcony before we left for dinner, when I discovered that she loved poetry. Instantly, I knew that we were going to get along. She often braided her hair, and her features were very Celtic, especially when seen in profile. When I mentioned this, she said she did have a lot of Irish heritage. She was a scientist, and lived on the Moors, where she loved to walk her dog. She was in Africa for a little soul-searching after the collapse of a marriage.73

We sat around in the bar for a while, waiting for Dave, who was the expedition leader, to arrive (note: I will henceforth call this Dave ‘Dave’ and the other Dave ‘Welsh Dave’ to avoid any confusion). I remember sitting around idly just sipping beer as the others chatted, when I happened to look up and catch a glimpse of a man walking along the balcony behind the glass screen doors whom I immediately envied because of his casual, grinning good looks.74

He entered the bar and after a minute or two approached us and asked, ‘Are you guys here for the expedition?’ When several of us said, ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Cool, man!’ and sat down. He then continued to thoroughly brief us, and we were also introduced to Andy, who was a Spanish-Italian American who had been with the expedition for twelve weeks already. He perched on a stool and grinned at us. He was nineteen but he was extremely muscular. He had a shock of black hair, a strong, straight nose, dark eyes and a tanned complexion.75

We were also introduced to Ollie, who was the Base Camp handyman. He hailed from London, and had shaved, black hair and eyes which I can only describe as Egyptian. I didn’t like him at first because I thought he had an overly-expressive way of communicating, but I soon warmed to him, and we had many chuckles over the base campfire.76

I would later find out that Dave was also originally British, but that his family was from Zimbabwe, which I never openly questioned him about because I knew that it would open up a whole can of worms. I would also come to realise that he reminded me of Clint Eastwood. He had those same sharp, keen eyes, that same wiry frame and that same easy sureness to his manner. If I ever told him this, I’m sure he’d be extremely flattered, and who can blame him?77

I may as well mention here that the organisation who we were going to be working with through GVI (Global Vision International) was EHRA (Elephant-Human Relations Aid), and that they are in very capable hands as long as Dave is there, in my opinion.78

After the briefing, we went for a meal at the same restaurant (there weren’t many in Swakopmund), and I had another steak which seemed even more delicious than the last one, but I was very tired due to last night’s excursions, and I could barely keep my eyes open at the table. As a result, I was glad when we left, and when we got back to the lodge, I sat on my bed and wrote my second journal entry of the trip:79

‘This is the end of my second day in Africa, and I’m feeling a little homesick. While diving into the world alone like this certainly has its advantages, it still makes one realise what it means to have people care for you. And I guess this realisation is an advantage, too.
I still feel saturated, although I have definitely been having a lot of fun. I’ve barely been here two days, and I’ve already met so many people. But then, I don’t know who I am. My self is struggling to be defined. This feels like a real baptism of fire.
I had few expectations, so I can’t say whether or not Africa meets them, although it is not as hot here as I had expected it to be, but then I hadn’t realised it was winter here. I have put myself in an entirely different environment, and my thoughts are very scattered.’80

The next day was Monday, and we had to be ready to leave for base camp by 12:30. After a lot of faffing about, we were eventually all ready on time, and I walked into the breakfast area to notice a new arrival: a big, bronzed, blonde woman of about middle-age. I didn’t introduce myself to her until later, but her name was Thekla (I think), and we called her T for short. She had a habit of calling everyone ‘precious’ and she had a crazy laugh which went something like this: ‘hya hya hyaaaa, hyuk, hyuk, hyuk!’ She had recently left the army, whom it became apparent had molly-coddled her for her entire life, as she didn’t know how to cook or drive. And yet, she was very rich, and had a villa in Cyprus. Oh, yes. She was British, but her father was German. Due to her time in the army, she didn’t like Germans very much.81

Somehow, after securing our luggage on the roof of the bus, we all managed to pile in – that is, I, Andy, Welsh Dave, Huw, Dave, Alex, Liz, T, Jen, Cat, Colette and Curtis, with Ollie in a truck behind us with Kiki the dog on the passenger seat. I was sat between Jen and Catherine, who both had window seats. I sat there listening to music for most of the trip, which was about four or five hours long.82

As we left Swakopmund on the road which lead out into the rolling dunes, I thought, ‘This is it. We’re finally embarking on the real journey.’ Again, the landscape was very stark, orange and arid, but we had a view of the distant sea on our left for some of the journey, which relieved some of the monotony. I love the sea. J’adore la mer!83

The drive went by without incident, and I was, by then, well used to having a numb bum. We arrived at base camp just as the light was turning a deeper, more golden hue.84

After we’d unloaded everything, Dave gave us the guided tour. On the way into the camp, there had been a hut built of loose bricks, with a semi-outdoor area attached to it by means of four poles stuck into the ground and a tarpaulin stretched over them. This was Dave’s residence, although it wasn’t included in the tour.85

The tour began with a brick dome on the left of where we’d parked the trucks, wherein all of the equipment and tools were kept. Dave stepped inside and tossed us all our bedrolls, which he explained we would have to roll our sleeping bags and everything into, so we had our ‘beds’ ready every night. Next, he showed us the kitchen area, which was basically some wooden work surfaces around the edge of a square space, in the middle of which sat a large, high table. There was a sink built into one of the work surfaces, which was supplied by a water tank.86

To the right of the kitchen, there was the ‘bar’, where all of the booze was kept. There were shelves beneath it, and a fridge was placed upon it. There was also a pair of speakers, into which people would plug their ipods in the evenings. I think of it as a little ironic, but I discovered a hell of a lot of music while I was out there.87

The next area he showed us was immediately beyond the kitchen, in a sandy clearing which could only be described as the ‘living/dining room area.’ There was a large, flat, circular, brick-and-concrete platform in the middle of the clearing whereon the fire was lit every night, over which the food was cooked. There were chairs around the fire, where everyone would sit in the evenings while we drank beer, chatted, listened to music and ate, if we chose. To the left of the fireplace, there was a dining table, with benches arrayed alongside it. I usually ate around the campfire, even though the food was often extremely hot, and the plates were made of metal, so they were very warm on my lap. But I put up with it because I was always reluctant to leave the fire.88

About twenty feet away from the campfire, there was a huge musasa tree with a multitude of thick, spiralling branches which often grew almost horizontally. This made it possible for platforms to be built upon some of the branches, whereupon we were to lay our bedrolls and spend the night. There were wooden ‘steps’ nailed onto the trunk which, although a little risky, allowed us to climb up. But for those who claimed them, there were also two open, wooden, tent-like structures about forty feet to the left of the tree. I think Andy, Curtis and Colette had already claimed them.89

Next, we were taken past these structures by about another forty feet, and rounded a corner to the right of some bushes, where there was a kind of ‘symbolic door’ – a log lay horizontally across two other vertical logs. Beyond this ‘door’, there was the toilet, which was built in the port-a-loo fashion. Tall sticks were stuck into the ground, and a kind of clay-like mud was plastered over them, covering the gaps. There was a roof of corrugated iron. The toilet its self was really just a big metal bucket over which a wooden toilet seat had been placed. There was a tall vestibule placed alongside it for people to put their toilet paper in, because it wouldn’t dissolve. Every now and then, I gather someone would come along and drop a match in it.90

The smell from the toilet was often atrocious, but this was something we were going to have to get used to, as it is a basic element of communal living in the wild. If the horizontal log was laid across the two verticals, then it was ‘closed’, and the toilet was occupied, meaning you should wait.91

The last items of the tour were the showers, which were built some way up the cliff wall to give a degree of privacy, and there was a screen built around them in the same fashion as the toilet wall. The shower area was split in two by a screen, so two people could shower at the same time. The water was always freezing.92

After the tour, Dave sat us round the table for a briefing, in which he outlined the general rules and procedures of daily camp life. One of these was: ‘Never walk around without your shoes on.’ However, I couldn’t help but notice how neither he nor Andy were wearing any, so I was happy to disregard this rule around base camp. He also outlined how two people have to go on ‘duty’ every day, starting with washing up after dinner. They then got up at 5:15am, started the fire, made some hot drinks for the others, and prepared breakfast. After that, they were responsible for making lunch and dinner, and then the next pair on duty would wash up, etc. By default, my duty-partner ended up being Jen.93

While we talked, Andy, Colette and Curtis were busy cooking dinner. After the briefing, we brought out some beers, sat around the fire and began the process of getting to know each other. I ended up talking the most to Catherine and T. 94

Soon enough, the food was ready, and it turned out to be a delicious spaghetti bolognaise. While we were eating, a tall, native beanpole of a man wearing a green coat, shorts and a blue thermal hat, walked into the camp. Dave introduced him as Heindrich, and said that he would be working with us on building week. Dave told us to ‘go easy on him,’ and I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not, because Heindrich kept tripping over things, and it was hard to tell whether or not he was doing it on purpose. In retrospect, I think it was something he did intentionally to break the ice. I didn’t know what to think of Heindrich at first, but he turned out to be one of my favourite characters. He was a very kind, goofy soul, full of smiles and laughter.95

After dinner, we gradually retired to bed one by one. I lay there on the platform, staring up at the stars through the branches and listening to the calls of exotic birds and the staccato chirruping of the cicadas. Sometimes, it seemed as though something was crawling on my skin. I would go to brush off whatever it was, only to realise that there was nothing there. It took me a few nights to realise that the wind was a very strange one, in that its density seemed to change at whim. In other words, it seemed to be stroking and caressing me, and it was a strange sensation.96

Despite frazzled nerves, I slept very well that night, and every night after. I think it was the pureness of the air which allowed me to sleep so deeply and so easily. Indeed, I have never slept so well in my life, even though I was often on the bumpy, hard ground. I often slept so deeply that upon waking up it took me some moments to remember where I was.97

The next morning was a bustle of activity as we hurried to get everything ready for the drive to the building site. When I say ‘we,’ I really mean ‘they,’ as we, the volunteers, mostly sat around talking, reading or writing after we were packed. But before we left, we had to decide how much beer we were taking. This involved a trip to Dave’s hut, which was where a load of booze was stored (conveniently for him).98

While I was in his hut, I noticed a large sheet of paper laid out on the floor on which a charcoal sketch of the desert landscape was in progress. I asked him about it, and he said he had studied fine art in university before coming to work for EHRA. ‘Ya,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to capture the harshness of the desert. When you’re out there, the rocks really glare at you.’ Looking at the drawing, I thought he was doing a pretty good job. It was done with very harsh strokes, and everything was very angled and jagged. I was glad to discover that he had an interest in art, as it added another dimension to who he was.99

As we left the camp, he waved to us and shouted after us to ‘go easy on Heindrich.’ I remember looking at Heindrich, who was driving, and wondering whether he was some kind of village idiot or something. I also noticed another squatter, native guy sitting on his left in the passenger seat, holding a guitar.100

Andy, Curtis and Colette were staying at camp, and Dave G and Ollie were permanent residents, so out of the volunteers, it was I, Cat, Jen, Huw, Welsh Dave, Liz, T and Alex who left with our native chaperones to build the wall. Andy, Curtis and Colette would be building a new platform in the tree house, as building walls had become a little monotonous for them.101

The drive was very long – at least three hours, due to the fact that we were going very slowly because we were towing a trailer-load of stuff. There was a very cold wind blowing at us, and I only had my shirt on, so I was uncomfortably cold. But we had plenty of opportunity to study the landscape to either side, being in a very open truck.102

Again, it was a stark contrast of orange and blue, although the barren earth was covered with a tall, yellow grass due to the unusual amounts of rain which had fallen earlier that year. I was told that the permanent members of EHRA found this very strange, as everything was usually absolutely barren. The grass was also strange to me, because it was not what I had had in mind when I had read the word, ‘desert.’ This, coupled with the cold wind combined to leave me feeling a little bemused.103

However, everything was beautiful in its own way. Incredible rock formations punctuated the landscape: boulders resting precariously one on top of the other, as though placed by some gigantic hand. Huge, smooth, slow-sloping hills in the distance looked as though they had been sculpted into existence by the wind, as they tended to spiral upwards into blunt, curved summits. As they spiralled they alternated in tone, becoming lighter and darker in turns, reminding me bizarrely of multi-flavoured ice-creams. Again, there were patches of shrubbery dotted here and there, and they all had a ragged, desiccated look to them.104

The ride was very bumpy, especially when we turned off-road. At one point, we heard a metal clang, but we weren’t sure what it was. When we arrived at the campsite, I checked my pocket and found that my silver pen was no longer there. That was the last time I ever left anything in an unzipped pocket, especially while in a vehicle and sitting on the edge. I had cause to regret the loss of that pen greatly, because for the rest of the trip, I had to write in my journal using these horrible cheap black biro pens which were very erratic.105

There were hundreds of locals camped on either side of the main road, squatting in stick-and-mud shelters, the crudity of which was often embarrassing, flogging their hand-crafted wares, all of which were very basic and childlike. Nonetheless, we often went past tour buses that had stopped to let the passengers out. I suppose they liked to think that they were taking home a part of the ‘real’ Namibia. The natives were very friendly, and always waved and smiled.106

Eventually, after about half-an-hour of very bumpy off-road driving, we made it to the campsite, which was situated about two hundred yards away from a metal windmill and a large, circular well. Beside these, there was a fenced enclosure wherein the farmer kept his cattle, and a long trough from which the horses and cows drank. We chose a site behind some ledges of rock and under a few trees which offered rudimentary shade. We pulled up and unloaded everything, and it there seemed to be a surplus of people for the tasks on hand. But no one wanted to appear idle, so everyone was trying to lend a hand, and generally getting in the way. It is a strange thing to watch people who don’t have a clue what they’re doing, trying to pretend that they do. The men, especially Huw and Welsh Dave, were always trying to prove a point.107

In a short time, we were done. There were two tents set up: one for storing all of our bedrolls and backpacks during the day, and another for storing all of our supplies. A canvas was stretched over the ground underneath the trees, where we would sleep, and some tables were set up directly under the trees, where we would cook. The truck was parked to block the wind, which I think mostly blew from the West, and a bio-hole, where we would dump all of our organic waste, was dug next to a tree behind it. A plastic bag was hung on one of the branches of this tree, where we would put all of our non-degradable rubbish to be taken with us when we left. The idea was that we would ‘leave only footprints behind.’ The only thing left to do was to dig a latrine. There was a tall, dome-shaped slab of rock quite a way off, which people decided was adequate screening.108

When the time came, I was astonished to see about five people heading off in that direction, all wielding picks and spades. I could just imagine them all getting in each others’ way and impeding the progress of the task. It began with Welsh Dave and Huw, and they soon had three helpful female volunteers. I think most of them went out of boredom.109

Once we’d set everything up, Heindrich led us over to a ‘milk-bush,’ which he explained to us was lethal. He told us that if we ever collected firewood from a dead milk-bush, then the fumes from it would kill us all. He broke one of the rubbery, green, tendril-like ‘branches,’ to show us the thick white sap which was inside. Apparently it had the potency to burn the skin, so Heindrich told us that he was going to wash his hands after touching the branch. It occurred to me that the bush had a deceptively innocuous name.110

After this demonstration, Heindrich led us over to a rocky slope and showed us the best way of picking up rocks, which involved flipping them first, without placing your fingers underneath. This was a precaution against scorpions, who liked to burrow underneath.111

After these basic lessons, we were led to the site of the farmers’ water-source, where the other native, who introduced himself as Gurson, demonstrated how to use a pick-axe. Gurson was a kind of opposite to Heindrich. He was far more muscular, had dread-locks, whereas Heindrich was bald, and was of a more sullen disposition, even though he often burst into surprising fits of laughter like only the Africans can laugh. He often wore reflective sunglasses, and had a second layer of front teeth. Whereas Heindrich was from Hereroland, Gurson was from Damaraland, and spoke their strange language which consisted of clicks of the tongue. I never quite figured him out.112

Using the pick-axe was simple enough once you got the hang of it. I find that picking up a skill like that requires a certain physical ‘looseness,’ and a disregard of whether or not you look foolish. But as I often do, I disregarded my own advice, and was quite stiff with it at first, before eventually getting much better as the tool began to feel more natural in my hands.113

After Gurson’s demonstration, Heindrich stepped up to have a try. As he took the pick-axe, he immediately tripped over in a very comical way which made us all laugh. Again, it goes to show how he acts the fool to break the ice, and it is something I admired him for. He had a kind of paradoxical, foolish grace.114

We worked for about three hours, from two to five, by the end of which we had dug the foundations for the wall. I remember during the work, I had been told by Heindrich to ‘slow down,’ and then asked by Alex, while I was resting, whether I was ‘doing anything.’ I was most annoyed by Alex’s comment, and it wasn’t the last time she would grate on me. It was one of her peculiarities that she often acted as though she was some kind of authority whom one needed to justify ones self to. Heindrich, on the other hand, as I would find out, was just fond of the phrase, ‘slow down,’ as he had seen many people grow ill from over-working themselves in the heat. 115

As the light faded, we got into the truck and drove around looking for dead trees from which to collect firewood. This was a messy task, and often involved splinters and scratches, and we would always emerge sweaty and covered in little bits of bark and sticky leaves.116

When we returned to camp, Gurson spotted a huge, grey tic crawling on our sleeping area. He made a startled exclamation, and his features assumed an expression of extreme disgust. He picked up a stone and crushed the creature savagely. I have heard that most native Africans have an intense hatred of such dangerous creepy-crawlies and creatures, and if Gurson’s reaction was anything to go by, then this is definitely the case.117

The sighting of the tic was not reassuring, but despite my anxiety, none of us were to get bitten throughout the duration of the trip. However, it was easy to be paranoid. I dreaded finding a tic buried in my groin, and I would examine myself thoroughly whenever I had the rare opportunity of a shower. To me, it was invasion, pure and simple, and I found the thought revolting. So, I am very glad that I was fortunate enough to escape any such discomfort. Heindrich and Gurson explained to us that if we ever found a tic in us, then the best thing to do was to cut it in half, causing the rest of the tic to withdraw its self. If you pull it, then the chances are that the head will stay in, causing infection and ‘tic-bite fever.’ This can be lethal. The worst thing you can do is to burn the tic, as it will cause it to regurgitate into your system, making tic-bite fever a certainty.118

We built up the campfire and sat around it, drinking beer and talking. I mostly remained quiet, staring into the fire. The people on duty busied themselves preparing dinner, which was usually ready for around 7, by which time we were all thoroughly starving. That night, I stared at the constellations and the Milky Way as people told riddles and talked about music. As the expedition wore on though, I would often retire earlier, as I have never been good at ‘chatting shit’ with people.119

That night was freezing, and I and some other people woke up covered in condensation and had to drape our sleeping bags over the rocks to dry in the sun. That’s how cold it was. Andy later told me that he’d actually woken up covered in frost because the condensation had later frozen. Thankfully, for most of the time we were there, the East wind was blowing, and was bringing a lot of warmth with it. Looking back, we went at a very good time.120

That first week was the hardest. It was gruelling, and they worked us very hard. As Owen had said, we were split into two teams: one would collect rocks from the surrounding slopes, while the other would build the wall and mix cement. We would also drive a short distance away to shovel sand into the trailer, which was actually the hardest task due to all of the stooping, and the sheer volume of sand which was needed each time. There was certainly no lack whatsoever of either rocks or sand in that place. As Hugh would later say to me when I met him again in Windhoek, ‘There is nothing to stop those farmers from building the walls themselves. They have the man-power. I didn’t want to say anything at the airport, but it makes no sense to me having people come over here to build other people’s walls.’
‘Bah,’ I said. ‘I did it for the elephants, not the people.’ For that comment, Hugh shook my hand. It’s a politically incorrect thing to say, but it’s true that a lot of the native farmers are simply lazy. I have no problem with admitting that I put my work in while thinking of the elephants, and not the people. The prevalent attitude amongst the natives of Africa is that everything is the white man’s fault, and that the white man must set everything right.121

I was careful with the sun, because I have experienced ‘prickly heat’ before, and it is very unpleasant. I have always hated sun cream, so I simply kept myself covered up. I was also very embarrassed by the state of my hair, so I wore my sunhat even at night. Sunglasses were essential because of the glare of the sun. Here is a journal entry which will give an idea of the daily routine:122

‘It’s ‘siesta’ at the moment. It’s currently 12:21. We had some lunch around 11:30, and now the idea is that we sleep until around two to avoid the worst of the heat. I’m lying in the sleeping area, and the flies seem to be harassing only me, even though I’ve put repellent on my arms and neck.123

We’ve been working on the wall all day. The day began at 6:00, although for Huw and Dave, who are on duty, it began at 5:15, when they were up making tea and coffee for everyone. I had a large helping of porridge because, contrary to popular belief, the body actually seems to burn it very quickly.’124

And, on a more philosophical note:125

‘I have realised that I care far too much what others think of me, which has the effect of freezing me and making me very un-spontaneous. I need to relax and be more ‘natural,’ but it is very hard for me. I am also coming to realise the extent to which perception influences our reality: in other words, the subjectivity of reality.’126

The ‘flies’ were actually ‘mupani bees,’ who were very small and lacked stings. They were attracted to the salt in our sweat, and came out in the late morning, when they would buzz incessantly in front of our faces, as though fascinated so much by our appearance that they couldn’t help but stare. These creatures nearly drove us insane, and they are something which I have definitely not missed since my return. I had to ask myself, ‘What do they do when they’re not bugging us? Where do they go?’ They would always find us, and the only thing that got rid of them was smoke. For this reason, many people who work in the wilderness are smokers, and the damn things sorely tempted me to start, too. Instead, we often burned elephant dung, which kept them at bay. But when we were in the trucks, I relied on other people’s cigarette smoke. It was the lesser of two evils.127

As the week progressed, some of the people began to annoy me more and more. Alex, and Liz especially, were grating on me. As I have said, Alex had a tendency to say and do obtuse things, and Liz just had an incredible surplus of energy which I found very draining. I can handle such people in small doses, but when you have to spend all day, every day with someone, and your only escape is sleep, then it is a very hard thing. I would like to say the trip taught me something about tolerance, but it didn’t. The communal living aspect was the hardest for me, and I will have to think long and hard before I engage on anything similar again.128

It had also become apparent that Huw and Welsh Dave were very conscious that they were indeed, men. They would compete against each other over who could lift the heaviest rocks, and I joked around the campfire about rewarding them ‘macho points’ for their efforts. Whenever someone told Huw that it wasn’t a competition, he would invariably reply, ‘Of course it is. Life’s a competition!’ I suppose this is the attitude of the Leo.129

On Thursday, we saw our first scorpion. Gurson found it under a rock, and trapped it in a container, provoking it to use its stinger by poking it with a glove. For a native, Gurson was very excitable when it came to such things.130

The scorpion was big and black and hairy, and its sting was huge in relation to its pincers, which meant that it was deadly. As I wrote in my journal, ‘It met my expectations.’ Gurson ended up putting it on the ground and chopping its tail off, which I thought was a little unnecessary, even though apparently they can grow their tails back. A little yellow scorpion had scuttled out of the fire the previous night, but it was nowhere near as impressive. Gurson had thrown it back into the fire. I suppose when you live in Africa, you just act on necessity. It’s either them or you. As Gurson said one time, ‘I don’t understand why when some of you people come over from the West, you say, “No, no! Don’t kill it!” Just kill it! Kill it!’ It wasn’t very eloquently put, but it illustrates the attitude of the natives – and they should know best.131

Speaking of creepy-crawlies, there were little lizards which scuttled over the sand and rocks, and there were these slow-moving ‘armoured crickets’ which were as big as mice, although luckily they were benign. They were often seen all over dead trees, or clutching blades of the long, yellow grass. They were very numerous, and were attracted to our crumbs and leftovers. Huw said they ate each other, too. Huw also said he found a fat spider crawling up his leg, but I didn’t have any such experiences, thankfully.132

It may have been Thursday when something happened which I found quite disturbing. While we were working, some of the local farmers came over to the pens where the cattle were kept, and grabbed hold of a juvenile bull, bringing it to the ground with ropes. During this process, there had been much noise and commotion, and the curiosity of the volunteers was roused. Some volunteers walked over to see what was going on, and the farmers invited us all to come and watch what was soon revealed to be a castration.133

I decided I didn’t need to see it, so I went and lay on my back in one of the seats of the truck, while the others crowded round the fence and watched this bull have its testicles and horns cut and sawed off, all the while bellowing in agony. I lay there in the sun, listening to its cries mixed with the incongruous chatter and laughter of the volunteers, and it struck me how strange it was that I was the only one who was not interested in watching the spectacle. I was extremely disappointed with the other volunteers for viewing such a thing as entertainment, and I was baffled as to why I was the only one who was not interested in watching it in the slightest.134

I thought the bull deserved a little more respect. If it was to have its testicles sliced off, then surely at least it deserved a degree of privacy instead of an audience. Or is it just a slab of meat, utterly unworthy of such consideration? The point is moot, because my focus was more on the people watching so jovially. Why did they have such a morbid fascination with that mutilation, and why were they so desensitised to it? I find it hard to express the extent of my consternation over such a thing, which will probably seem very trivial to most people. Suffice to say that it disturbed me greatly. It is a matter of perspective. If we can watch the mutilation of an animal so callously, then how could we complain if beings who regard us as cattle, did the same to us?135

Later that night, we ran out of water. The water supply was kept in tanks, which were kept in the truck. A tap next to one of the tyres was turned to release a trickle of water. On Wednesday evening after work, someone must have forgotten to turn the tap off after filling up their water bottle, because the tank leaked all the way from the building site to the campsite, leaving a wet trail behind the truck. Because of this, we were critically low on water by Thursday evening, and Heindrich decided that it was necessary to drive to Uis, a nearby hamlet, to refill. It didn’t take many of us to do this, but as usual, there was a surplus of volunteers, and I decided I would go along for the ride. It was I, Heindrich, Alex, Liz, Welsh Dave and Huw in the truck. Catherine and T stayed behind to cook dinner, and Gurson and Jen weren’t bothered about coming.136

It was a long drive to Uis, and I enjoyed it immensely. There was something about bumping over the rough terrain in the dark which was exhilarating, and we were going much faster without the trailer. Also, there was a warm wind coming up from the East, so we weren’t cold. When we arrived at Uis, we made our way to Brandberg Rest Camp, which was run by a man called Basil. We met him and his partner Petra by their swimming pool, and they offered us a BBQ. They didn’t know it, but this was almost a cruelty, as we couldn’t stay. We would have loved to dive into the pool and have a burger and a beer (not at the same time, obviously), but that would have to wait. And besides, as Huw said, ‘I can just imagine leaving an oil slick behind me when I dive into that pool.’ We really were very dirty by that time. My first impression of Basil was ‘larger than life.’ He was a big bear of a man with long hair and a short, grizzly beard. Speaking of beards, my own was coming along nicely, but I had yet to decide whether I liked it or not.137

Unfortunately, we had to be content with buying cokes and filling up the tank at Uis. On the way back, I saw a golden crescent-moon low in the sky over the hills. It was a beautiful sight. After dinner that night, I and Jen washed up, as we had begun our round of duty.138

The next day, we rose at 5:15, which is never a particularly pleasant experience, and took our turn at making the hot drinks and porridge. We also made lunch, and as I wrote in my journal, I would rather be let go thirty minutes early to lay out food than spend that thirty minutes building walls.139

Lunch consisted of the same sandwiches every day – salami, tomato and cucumber, with mayonnaise if you wanted it. For the Americans, there was also peanut butter and jelly. Oh, and there was Marmite, which I told myself I would try, but never got round to doing. The stuff looked like tar. At mid-morning too, there was usually a snack of either apples or oranges, and they were also available at lunch, some of the time. 140

Dinner that night was quite simple. It was Springbok, butternut squash and baked potatoes. The Springbok was delicious, although I had to eat all of my meals in the dark because I had put my head-torch in the baggage tent on Tuesday, only to have someone carelessly throw water over it immediately afterwards. I never found out who it was.141

During the day, I had hurt my shoulder lifting rocks. Later that night, Catherine gave me a massage, which was wonderful. She had a very gentle, sensuous touch, and, as she said, she ‘likes making people happy.’ But, as I wrote in my journal one day, ‘There is a pain to Catherine’s eyes.’ Because of this, I felt I could relate to her all the more.142

The next day was Saturday, and time to leave. We were packed and away by about 9 in the morning, and I confess to being glad to see the back of that wall, even though I knew I would be coming back to finish it in two weeks time. It looked half-done already.143

On the way out, we drove past the farmer’s settlement. His house was a mud-hut with a corrugated iron roof. It was about the size of some people’s closets. There were goats in pens made of scrap materials – basically, anything he could find. Sticks, tyres, scrap metal. It was a depressing sight. Heindrich pulled up and talked to the farmer, who had a fit of coughing as we drove away.144

We made our way over the bumpy terrain and joined the main road on the way to Uis again. It was the closest thing to civilisation for miles and miles, so the idea was that we would have some hot food, a shower, a swim and some drinks, all of which we did with relish. Dave, Ollie, Andy, Colette and Curtis met us there, and we all sat around a big table chatting, eating and drinking. It was pleasant, and for the first time I had the feeling that I was a part of the team. The first building week kind of acts as a ‘baptism of fire,’ and when a group returns from it, they feel a little more at home around camp.145

Before lunch, I had a shower, and after that, I jumped into the pool before climbing right back out again because it was absolutely f-f-f-freezing. After we’d eaten, one truck left for base camp while the other stayed, because some people (most especially Huw and Welsh Dave) wanted to watch the Wales vs. S. Africa rugby match. I stayed with them because I wasn’t quite ready to return to base camp. Wales lost, much to the disappointment of Huw and Dave. However, there had been much general interest and excitement over the match, and as I reflected upon this, I realised that once you boiled it all down, we were really watching a match of Britain vs. Germany.146

As we sat there in that clean lounge, it hit us all, individually, how truly awful we smelled. You don’t really notice it in the bush, but when you come back to a place where there’s a contrast, it’s much more noticeable.147

I drank quite a few pints of that lovely, frothy draught before and during the match, so I was a little tipsy during the ride back to base camp. I put my earphones in and listened to Eurhythmics ‘Sweet Dreams’ while sitting on the edge of the open truck with the wind in my hair. I had a sense of euphoria. Everyone was happy and having fun, and I was in a beautiful location with these people who had been complete and total strangers only a week before. The wonderful bizarreness of it all struck me in a rush and left me feeling buoyed and heady. It was one of the many moments of the trip which will always stand out for me and have a special place in my heart.148

When we returned to base camp, we had a party round the camp fire, and we played various games. One of them was the ‘rake dance’ which involved twisting your body tortuously around a rake, so that it goes behind your back and ends up in front of you again, and at no point are you aloud to let go of it or even shift the position of your hands. Most of the girls could do it quite easily, but the guys really struggled. Dave was the only one who could do it, but I was the closest after him. It was funny watching Andy attempt the rake dance, because his body was like a block of wood.149

One thing that hit me during the trip was how physically flexible I was. My physique was more that of an athlete or acrobat than a body-builder or anything like that.150

After the rake dance came the ‘box game’ which involved placing a piece of a cardboard box on the sand and bending down to pick it up with your mouth without ever letting your hands touch the floor. I got to the very last stage, when there was just a small piece of cardboard lying flat on the sand. At that point, most of the other guys had given up (not including Dave, who is of a like physicality to me), before falling on my face and eating sand. It was a fun way to end the week.151

The next day was Sunday, our day of rest. We had a local woman come and wash our clothes for N$10.00, which works out at something like 75p, and she did a brilliant job. It was nice to be wearing clean clothes again, even though I knew they would very soon become filthy again. I was looking forward to returning to Swakopmund on Friday and meeting the new volunteers.152

I spent most of the day sleeping and writing. Here are a few extracts:153

‘I lay in bed for what seemed like ages this morning, only to look at the clock and find that it was 7:30am. So much for a lie-in…’154

‘Time moves more slowly here in Africa, probably because of the heat. I don’t think these people can afford to push themselves too much in such extreme conditions, which is why Heindrich kept telling us to relax and ‘slow down.’155

‘Speaking of Heindrich, I recently learned that he was part of the country’s liberation force, which means that he was a guerrilla soldier. When he told me, I caught a hard glint to his eye which assured me he was not joking. He also demonstrated some martial arts moves with Huw. So, I guess it’s another example of why not to judge a book by its cover. Heindrich looks harmless. When I first met him, he was tripping over things left, right and centre. He is also very jolly, always laughing and joking. I would guess being in the army is what taught him not to take life too seriously…’156

‘During building week, it soon became apparent that Gurson could only play one very repetitive native song, which we refer to as ‘the song’ or ‘the hit.’ The rest of the time, he just plucks at random strings. He strikes me as someone who would like to play, but can’t, which is a little sad. It made me wish that I could play. A little competent playing around the campfire would’ve been nice. He was also understandably very shy about his guitar. He would go away from camp with it during siesta and sit under a tree, where he plucked at the strings wistfully…’157

‘One thing I’m learning about on this trip is the sheer diversity of people. Although we come in relatively similar shapes, our personalities could not be more varied. And actually, to the critical observer, even our physical attributes differ greatly. In my time, I have seen posteriors the width of which I had not previously imagined possible, for example.’158

On Monday, we were joined by a Dr. ‘Bettsy’ Fox, who was going to be jeeping around with us in order to observe the elephants. I think she was on some kind of break, or maybe she had retired. Apparently, she was quite eminent in her field (although I forget what that was). She was a small woman of about sixty years of age. She had short, grey hair and twinkling eyes, and I came to regard her as a very wise woman in my short acquaintance with her. She was a very spiritual person, and believed in ‘the power of love over hate, and the ascension of light over darkness.’ She was a Taurus, and we had several discussions over the camp fire during the following week. I don’t know why, but she took an especial liking to me, and would often seek me out for a deeper conversation. 159

Monday marked the beginning of week two, which acted as a kind of counterbalance to week one. Whereas week one was all about hard work, week two was a lot more leisurely. It was when we finally got to see the elusive elephants. We rose early in the morning as usual, and made sure we had everything packed and ready while the EHRA team assembled the trucks. When they were ready, we all piled on, and the jeeps rumbled their way across the bumpy ground. 160

We travelled like this for hours, and every now and then, Heindrich, who was the driver of our truck, and Dave, who was the driver of the lead truck in front, would get down and search the ground for signs of the elephants. These were usually footprints and dung. The fresher the dung, the closer we were. We would also stop at farms and shanty villages every so often to ask the locals if they had seen any sign of the ‘oliphaunt.’ The locals called us ‘the elephant people,’ because wherever we went, the elephants seemed to follow, and vice versa.161

The bed rolls were strapped to the roof of the trucks, and two or three people would get up there to have a better view of the terrain, but would be constantly dodging overhanging branches of trees, which was always very funny.162

After a few hours of driving, we pulled up on the sand of an underground river. About sixty feet away, there was an elephant digging in the sand with his feet and sucking up the water beneath with his trunk, before squirting it into his mouth. We sat and waited for a while, as more and more elephants came out of the bushes to the right and joined the lone elephant in drinking. Eventually, the whole herd was assembled there; over a dozen in total. The herd was called ‘Mother Africa.’ At one point, an elephant took us all by surprise when he walked past us from behind, about five feet away from the truck. Huw mouthed, ‘I shit myself when that elephant walked past!’163

The mupani bees were very bad due to the late-morning heat and our being stationary for so long. Eventually, we decided to retire for lunch, and began to reverse slowly.164

We rounded a corner several hundred feet away and set up camp under the shade of some trees and bushes. We had barely finished our meal when we were told to mount the trucks again because there were some elephants approaching from the foliage. We climbed onto the trucks, many of us still holding half-eaten apples, and watched silently as a juvenile elephant trudged slowly into the small clearing beneath the largest tree. He stopped and regarded us for a while, and we watched him back. Then, a much larger elephant entered the clearing. They stood there, seemingly at ease for some time, spraying themselves with sand and keeping an eye on us.165

Before long, an even bigger elephant entered the clearing, moving with that peculiar, ponderous grace which defines them. He was massive, and the size of his head alone was very impressive. He joined the other elephants in eyeing us. I was perched on top of the left truck, staying as still as possible, with an apple core in my left hand, and covered in tickling little mupani bees. I was dying to move; to slap them all away and get into the shade, but the moment was very tense, and no one dared to move a muscle. We all stood like statues, covered with these horrible little mupani bees with their soft, pear-shaped bodies.166

Then, the largest elephant started scooping up sand with his trunk and throwing it at the truck on the right – Dave’s truck. He did this about five times before throwing sand at us once. Was he saying hello? Was he inviting us to join him in a sand bath? Was he maybe even showing us how to rid ourselves of the mupani bees? Who knows? The elephants were ten feet away at most, and none of us, except Dr. Fox, even dared to take a picture. It was an amazing moment. But the elephants were obviously much more relaxed than us, because at one point the juvenile actually laid down and rolled in the sand.167

The whole time, I was desperately fighting an insane urge to laugh. I kept thinking of something Andy had said over lunch on Sunday: ‘Oh, we were charged once. It was hilarious, actually. We were sitting in our trucks when this big elephant charged over to Dave’s truck and just farted. It was so funny because there it was, trying to be all intimidating, and it just let out this squeaking, high-pitched fart. I couldn’t stop laughing, even though Dave was telling me to shut the fuck up.’ So there I was, picturing this scene, trying with all my might not to laugh. It was one of those situations which are only hilarious because they shouldn’t be, and I couldn’t put this image out of my mind. Looking at the elephants just made it far too real for me.168

I was saved when, eventually, they retreated and started tearing at the bushes around the left corner, out of sight. After waiting some long moments, Dave got off the truck and he and Heindrich started very quietly packing all the gear away. Eventually, we were ready, and drove away. As Catherine put it, ‘I just had the most amazing morning of my life.’ I think we had just experienced something which not many people have the privilege to experience in a life-time, and this resonated with me very keenly.169

After siesta, we climbed a rocky escarpment which was raised high above the plains, and sat on the summit, watching the elephants as they fed upon the trees below. They reached up with their flexible trunks and tore branches off before shoving them wholesale into their leathery mouths. I sat on a sloping rock as the sun set, turning the light orange and casting long shadows behind every object. Gradually, I began to feel a burgeoning sense of calm, and I straightened my posture into a pose of meditation.170

Normally, I find holding such a posture difficult, but for some reason I was able to maintain it for a very long time up there. As I sat motionless, not moving a muscle, I felt that I was becoming accustomed to the slow, steady ‘rhythm’ of the elephants’ movements. I felt at peace, connected to the earth. I felt the hot, jagged rock beneath me, and recognised that it was a part of Gaia.171

That night, after we settled down to sleep, we heard the farmers blowing horns in the distance. Dave said it was to scare the elephants away, but unfortunately they were being scared in our direction. So, it was with a vague sense of anxiety with which we all settled down to sleep that night, and I hastily moved my sleeping bag, which had been on the outer edge of the camp fire, into a more secure position close to the jeep and behind Heindrich. ‘If de elephants come, dey will tread on me first, and I will scream to give you warning, OK?’ said Heindrich with a chuckle.172

Before long, they began to pass en masse mere feet away from our camp, through the brush behind us. Dave had been sitting up there reading with his headlight on, which he quickly shut off. He was extremely close to the elephants, and when I later remarked on how huge they were, he replied, ‘Ya. You should try seeing them while you’re lying down!’ While the elephants were trundling past, Heindrich was watching them, unbeknownst, with his headlight turned on. Dave shouted to him in a harsh whisper, ‘Turn that fucking light off!’ It was one of the few times we saw him angry.173

So, the first day was a very intense one, and our best experiences had ironically occurred when we were least expecting them, and were not looking for them.174

Tuesday was a day of more close interactions with the elephants. In the morning, we drove off a trail into a clearing where they stood feeding off of the bushes and trees. After a short time, some of them came very close to our jeep; especially a juvenile who stood less ten feet away from us and opened his ears and mouth whilst stretching his trunk in a bizarre display of facial distortion. I think it was his/her way of saying hello.175

A mother with her baby also came very close to our jeep, and the baby reached up and wrapped its trunk around its mothers. I found their movements fascinating, especially those of the trunks. They were so dextrous and flexible, even more effective than hands. And then there was the weird gesturing with the facial features – what did it all mean? I felt as though they were speaking to us in an ancient language which none of us could understand, and I found it vaguely frustrating.176

At siesta, I reflected upon ‘the situation.’ In the whole, wide, teeming world, I was there in that particular moment with those particular people. I had never met any of them before just over a week previously and yet I was on my second week of complete isolation from the world with them. What were the odds, the tiny nuances of fate, which allowed for all of us to be thrown together in that singular space in time? It was very strange to think about. It was transitory and it was fleeting.177

Unfortunately, the rest of the day was spent in fruitless tracking as we attempted to find the other herd in the area – G9. I spent that night talking to Bettsy around the campfire about all manner of occult and arcane things, and I found myself glad that the group had been joined by someone with a little depth to them. Bettsy recommended some books to me: ‘The Ringing Cedars of Russia.’178

Wednesday, was another day of reflection:179

‘I find most of the people here superficial and bizarre, just like everywhere else, and living in such close proximity with them is beginning to grate on me.’180

‘Again and again, I find myself wondering, ‘How will this affect my view of home?’ I find it hard to imagine.’181

During siesta that afternoon, I was horrified to see the tell-tale red blotches of prickly heat on the backs of my hands. Prickly heat is a shock reaction by the skin which involves the swelling of the sweat glands. I had had prickly heat only once before, when I went to Tenerife as a child, and it was a horrible experience. I remember how my whole body itched throughout every second of the day, and how much of a torture it was, trying not to scratch it.182

The only relief I had been able to find was by swimming in the hotel pool, but looking back, I think this only magnified the rays of the sun and made it worse. Either that or the chemicals in the pool weren’t helping. Whatever the cause, we didn’t know much about it at the time, so I just had to endure. It was only at the end of the holiday that my skin began to show visible evidence of the rash, but shortly after I boarded the plane home, it vanished almost instantaneously.183

I knew that I must have developed the rash on the backs of my hands because, as the jeep was trundling along, I often sat on the outside and held onto the bar with my hands, which meant they were the only part of me which was directly exposed to the sun. Knowing the dangers, I had been very careful, so it was with great consternation that I saw the rash. However, I was determined to contain it and stop it from spreading or growing any worse, so I rubbed sun-cream into the skin to moisten it up, and kept them in the shade. Also, when we stopped in the evening, I dug a nice cold beer bottle out of the fridge and rolled it up and down my hands and arms, which brought blissful relief. On Dave’s recommendation, I also took some rehydration salts, even though they nearly made me gag.184

That night, as we sat around the campfire waiting for dinner, I had a heated discussion with some of the guys about global warming and whether or not it really exists. It struck me how firmly they believed, not just in the existence of global warming, but in the certainty that they were right, beyond any doubt. I found it galling that they were not even willing to consider the possibility that they might be wrong.185

Have any of us ever seen any evidence of global warming? We’ve seen a few shots of the ice caps melting, but then this happens every year. Images are beamed at us of natural catastrophes, but these have happened throughout the history of the planet. When they happen to hit cities (which are always growing and increasing the risk of being hit) then the message ‘global warming’ is always attached, generating fear and hysteria. So they say CO2 is responsible for global warming? CO2 is a natural element of which humanity only generates a fraction. The vast majority of it comes from the land and the ocean. So, the climate is changing? The climate has changed naturally throughout history. In Roman times, Britain was so hot, the Romans grew vineyards in the north. In the middle-ages, people set up market on the Thames during the ‘mini ice-age.’ It exasperates me when people are so sure of themselves that they are unwilling to listen to reason. For me, it highlighted the uncompromising idealism of the young, and it was a disconcerting experience.186

My annoyance was banished when once again the elephants stumbled upon us at night when we were least expecting them. We were sitting around the campfire on the banks of a wide plain after dinner, when Heindrich’s super-human ears picked up a sound. He hushed us all and we sat there in the dark, listening. Before long, he and Dave were telling us to scramble up the bank, which was rocky and littered with scree. Heindrich and Dave were telling us all the time to be quiet, but we were climbing in the dark on extremely unsure footing, so I’m afraid we made quite a lot of noise. Heindrich and Dave stayed at the bottom of the slope, by the trucks.187

As we sat upon the slope, a whole herd passed us by in the darkness, and we could see their giant outlines lumbering along. Luckily, they took no notice of us. As they passed in the dark, I got a sense of how truly huge they were. The first one to come was about as big as one of our trucks, and at one point we heard an elephant trumpet and charge in the distance. The noise was phenomenal, and I imagined being on the receiving end of it. It was not a pleasant thought.188

Unfortunately, for the whole time I was sitting there, my bladder was fit to burst, so I was very uncomfortable. It often seemed that being in a state of physical discomfort was a necessary price for living so close to the elephants, as often we were simply too cautious to move.189

The next morning, I found to my relief that my prickly heat had subsided. Thursday was to be our last day in the wilderness, and because the elephants had passed by us so closely during the night, we were able to locate them easily in the morning. We climbed another escarpment and looked down upon three elephants standing on a rocky slope, devouring a dead tree between them. I didn’t know elephants could eat dead wood, but there they were, ripping it apart with their trunks and chomping it up like candy.190

We stayed there for hours, perched on the escarpment in the sun, watching them. Unfortunately, in the glare of the sun, my prickly heat eventually reappeared, and I tried to keep my hands covered up to prevent it from worsening. And soon, the mupani bees came out, as they always do, and began to buzz around us, favouring some more than others.191

After the elephants had wandered away over the crest of the slope or behind rocks one by one, we retired back to the jeep and made our slow way back to base camp. We had wandered far in our travels, and it was a long ride, and we stopped by ‘Johny’s Super Save’ on the way to stock up on booze and snacks, etc.192

We made it back to base camp for about 2pm, and I went for a shower. When I returned, everything was dead quiet. I walked into the central clearing to find Curtis and Andy crouching by the boundary. When they saw me, they put their fingers to their mouths as a gesture of ‘silence’ and pointed to where a whole herd of elephants were grazing about five hundred yards away. So, they had found us even at our own base camp. As I stood there with my towel wrapped around my waist, all but naked, with mupani bees swarming around me, I couldn’t help but ruefully reflect upon how they tended to show up at the most awkward times.193

Friday was a very busy day. We rose early and prepared everything for leaving, and Jen, Catherine, Curtis, Colette and Andy said their final goodbyes to Heindrich, as they would not be coming back. When everything was packed, we got into the jeep which had driven us down, and faced the four hour drive back to Swakopmund along the same long, straight stretch of road. I talked to Colette for some of it, and it struck me, not for the first time, how pretty she was. We talked about reading and writing, and she recommended a book to me.194

When we got back to Swakopmund, we went for lunch at the Lighthouse, a restaurant right by the sea. We sat on a terrace with a soothing breeze and a brilliant view of the sighing, sparkling sea. As I sat at table with Huw, Andy and Cat, and drank that lovely, frothy draught again with the sea breeze in my hair, it struck me how much I had missed something as seemingly simple as eating out at a restaurant. It was luxury to me, and I truly appreciated every minute, every gulp of draught and every bite of food, not to mention the service and the location. I also realised how much I loved the sea. This is one of the many advantages of doing such an expedition: appreciation.195

However, it also struck me how all of the people sitting down and relaxing were white, whereas all of the people serving were black, and I found this disparity jarring. In fact, it had struck me sometime before, that perhaps the European ‘ex-colonies’ were really just places where anachronistic Europeans went in order to live their lives as though it were still the 19th century, wherein they could be treated like virtual royalty. I found the thought disturbing.196

After the meal, some of us decided to go to an internet café. On the way there, we had to pass through the same open market square I mentioned earlier, and we were harassed as we walked by people who wanted to shake our hands, have a toke on a cigarette or generally be our best friends, all in preparation for selling us something. It was very unpleasant. The key was not to make eye contact with them; not to give them any opening, because then you wouldn’t be able to shake them off. They followed us up the concrete steps and halfway along the street and this one guy kept asking Huw for a cigarette. Huw just kept saying, ‘No. No, dude,’ but he would not be deterred for a long time. 197

Women especially, should not walk around alone, because they are more likely to be targeted, and are more inclined to be sympathetic, which is actually one of the worst things you can do over there. It sounds cynical I know, but once you show any kind of inclination like that, they will use it as a lever. They are very good at trying to guilt you into giving them things, and they will have the clothes off your back if you let them.198

They are so used to being given things that they have almost forgotten how to help themselves, and it is quite pathetic to see. There is a conscious, shameless kind of supplication to their manner as they implore you to buy something from them, or give them something. They must scare most potential customers away. From that day, I decided to skirt the marketplace. It wasn’t worth the harassment.199

It was nice, but a little strange, to go on the internet again after a fortnight’s hiatus of sleeping under the stars. But when I was done, I was very annoyed to turn around and find that Huw and Dave were no longer there. My memory of the route we had taken was sketchy at best, but I managed to make it back to the Lighthouse restaurant. Unfortunately, this is where I got lost, and I spent some time wandering the streets and trying not to panic as the sun sank lower and lower into the sea. Eventually, I asked a local German couple who were walking their dog on the beach, and they gave me directions. It was actually ‘Go to the car park and follow the road for about one and a half kilometres.’ It was a straight line, and afterwards I had to laugh at myself for getting lost in such a simply-structured town.200

I returned to the lodge to profuse apologies from Dave and Huw, who claimed they had been so busy with what they were doing that they had forgotten I was there. They seemed so genuinely sorry, that I decided to let it go.201

We chilled at the lodge for a few hours and then went to what passes for the ‘town centre’ in Swakopmund. We went for some drinks at what must have been our favourite club, only to find that Rachel had booked us in for dinner at the Lighthouse (Rachel was one of the office-people working for EHRA). So, we ate at the Lighthouse, again, and returned to the club for more drinks.202

This is when I made the mistake of trying a few glasses of Jameson’s whisky, which made me gradually drowsier and drowsier. I sat there, feeling more and more abstracted, becoming lost in daydreams and feeling my gradual isolation from that group of people, who, it seemed, had formed bonds without me. I did not resent this, and I still don’t. It is often a natural process. I find that 90% of the time, I simply have nothing in common with the people around me, and it has ceased to surprise me.203

It is hard to be tired or thoughtful when the people around you are getting more and more boisterous and rowdy, as their alcohol has the opposite effect on them as yours does on you. And so, it was only a matter of time until my relative reticence was noticed. When asked why I was so quiet, I said that I was ‘daydreaming,’ and Andy said that I should ‘work on that.’ I refrained from telling Andy that he was asking me to change the basis of my personality.204

Andy annoyed me at the time, but I was more concerned about the presence of the butch blonde girl by his side, who seemed to be one of these surface people who find people like me offensive instantaneously. I think it is because they feel threatened or disturbed by what we represent – the unknown; the abstract and the dark. It is anathema to them. She was a pugnacious, outspoken type with a blunt face and thick arms, and when she had introduced herself to me, she had said, ‘I’m the most awesome person you’ll ever meet.’205

The tension passed, although really, I don’t know where it came from. If a man wants to drink whisky and stare into space, then that really is his own affair, isn’t it?206

Andy said he could see I was tired, and offered to buy me some Jagerbombs to wake me up. After several of those, I was feeling more energetic, and I and Andy got into a heart-to-heart conversation.207

I said I liked him, and I thought he was a really nice, genuine guy. That was when he gave me his opinion of me, which blew me away (keep in mind he was drunk). ‘Dude, you’re amazingly articulate, and you have an amazing vocabulary. You’re intelligent, and so deep. So deep. And when you talk, people listen. But dude, you’re too reserved. I just want to see you talk shit, and just be yourself, you know?’ I told him I admired how spontaneous and good with people he was, and we both concluded we could learn a lot from one another. It was as though we had instantly become best friends.208

That night, I and Andy, on a mission to get to know one another better, decided to go to another club after that one was closed. Unfortunately, no one wanted to accompany us, all heading for bed instead (it was very late), so we went alone, only to find that the other bar was closed also.209

So, Andy had this brilliant idea that we go to this club in the township. ‘It’ll be a fucking experience, dude. Think about it. It’ll be something you can say you’ve done that no one else can: “I have grooved in the most ghettoest, badass club in Namibia!”’ This seemed like an excellent idea to me at the time, being in a state of extreme intoxication, just like my friend. He also said I would have to act like Eminem, which suggestion I barely refrained myself from laughing at. But then, people who think they know me back home would be surprised by how flexible my personality can be.210

We met a couple of South African women and a butch, bald Irish guy who were also going, and we caught the taxi after them because there wasn’t enough room in the one for all of us.211

That club certainly was a crazy experience – one of the craziest of my life, if not the craziest. We five were the only white people in the entire place, and because we were white, we had to pay an entry fee of N$10.00, which we let slide because it’s nothing in sterling or dollars. 212

Almost as soon as we entered, these two middle-aged black women latched themselves on to us. One was fatter than the other, and she sat on a stool with her back to the bar and her elbows resting upon it, facing the dance floor. She kept hooking her arms around our necks and telling us to ‘Be careful. Those guys you are with, they are very bad. They mean you harm.’ She would say this very closely to my ear, and her voice and accent were amazingly clear, which is more than I could say for most of the locals. The thing was that I could imagine her slipping a knife between my ribs while whispering to me solicitously all the while to ‘Be careful, be careful.’ There was something false about her.213

The second woman was slimmer and a little younger, and she would often ask us for sips of our beer.214

I and Andy gradually attracted more and more attention. At one point, the second woman sat down beside me when we were in the bar area, and told me to look into her eyes,’ which I did. I looked into them for a long time as she stared at me with those orbs of white in a face of ebony. But her eyes were weak, and I held them easily. I don’t know what she was trying to do – hypnotise me? Show me her pain? Communicate some kind of message? Andy had disappeared at this point, so I was a little worried, as he had spelled out to me before entering to ‘Never separate.’ I was wondering if something had happened to him – perhaps he was held up, like me. Thankfully, he came back in a few minutes, to my relief, and I disengaged myself and went to talk to him.215

But the woman was persistent. She kept hooking her arm around our necks and whispering viciously in to our ears. But her message was unclear. For one thing, she was very vague, and for another, the music was loud, and I was having trouble with her accent. I think it had an ethnic tone to it, however. It was not pleasant. Like I said, we became the centre of more and more attention, and after a time, Andy agreed that it was time to leave. A taxi had been called for us. On our way out, people kept clutching at my clothes and addressing me. It was as though they were pawing me. It was almost pathetic. If I ignored them, then they did not persist.216

But my heart nearly stopped when we came to the door. After Andy had passed through, the doorman put his hands upon the doorframes to either side and blocked me in with his back. Panicking, I exerted a lot of force and broke my way past him, hoping this act of force would not provoke more in response. I had had no other choice. There had been no reason for him to block me in like that. Once I’d broken past him, he grabbed me by the wrists. I broke free from them as well and held my hands up in a gesture of ‘peace’ – palms forward, not the hippy sign. I then backed away, ‘slowly but with purpose,’ turned around and walked toward the waiting car, all the while expecting to be stabbed in the back. As I said, we were the focus of attention. It was important not to run. I knew that much.217

There was only one taxi for the five of us, with the same driver who had taken us there, and I found myself wondering if it was the only damn taxi on duty that night in the whole city. Because once I got in, the taxi was full, Andy volunteered to stay behind, but I told him to sit on my lap, which he did.218

I closed the door, only to have it fly open again immediately afterwards, and to have hands from at least four different people shoot into the car and start fumbling at Andy’s baggy left pocket. Andy is a feisty character, and he immediately began punching these arms away, but somehow they managed to flip his phone out. After that, I managed to reach out and slam the door closed. And so, that was how he was mugged, although fortunately it had been an inexpensive phone.219

The experience made me appreciate the fragility of what we consider ‘stability,’ or ‘the norm.’ When the doorman had grabbed my wrists, the ridiculous thought had occurred to me that I might never hear Huw snore again, or see our lodge or my family in the mediocre little England which seemed another universe away. The situation had had the potential to get so much worse, and I was grateful it had not escalated. Looking back, I think I had some kind of guardian angel looking over me. It was only afterwards that Andy said to me, ‘Dude! I didn’t tell you before, but people have been stabbed there!’220

When we arrived back at the lodge, I collapsed gratefully into bed after yanking Huw’s foot for snoring. ‘Are you havin’ a laugh, mate? I was awake,’ he said, in that Welsh lilt of his.221

On Saturday, we decided to go quad-biking across the dunes. It was very fast and very noisy and very dangerous, the truth of which was demonstrated to us when, near the end, we crested a dune to see an overturned quad-bike lying on the sand with a person sprawled next to it with a drip in his/her arm and an ambulance standing by. Apparently, one person from another group had bitten their tongue in half, while another had fallen off and broken an arm. I found this unsettling, especially considering we were only wearing loose helmets. Also, I almost fell off and/or had my bike overturned countless times, so I had to be very careful. I did not want to be the one stretched out on the sand. Although seeing the accident put a damper on things, we drove past it and finished the course.222

I had put sun-cream on beforehand, so I ended up being plastered with sand, but I also ended up catching the sun noticeably, which was good. At one point, we crested some dunes which gave us a beautiful view of the bright blue, heaving sea. So, that’s another thing I can add to my list of experiences – quad-biking in the desert.223

It was a very eventful weekend for me, what with the township episode and the quad-biking, and it occurred to me that I was living closer to the edge than I ever had done before. But then, I remember something which Peter Godwin says in his book: its constant proximity to death is what makes life in Africa so precious.224

When we got back, we met a new arrival called Daniel, who was a 25 year old law student from Washington DC. We seemed to click pretty well, and he lent me a book he’d just finished called ‘When a Crocodile Eats the Sun’ by Peter Godwin, about the plight of white farmers in modern Zimbabwe. This was good because I had given up on the book I had brought with me – ‘The Elephant’s Secret Sense,’ by Caitlin O’Connell – after two chapters because I found it false, superfluous and pretentious.225

Dan seemed to latch on to me at first, but within a few days, he had integrated himself into the rest of the group. He had shaved his hair before coming, and he was very much into keeping fit. He did so many push-ups every morning, and often went for jogs around town. He also had the meticulous organisation of a Virgo. Oh, and he could play guitar, and had brought a queer-looking travel-acoustic with him. Did I mention he was rich?226

That night, we went to dinner at the Lighthouse again, which I confess I was by that time a little tired of. It was wonderful to eat lunch there on the terrace, but when we were shut inside and it was dark outside, it was nothing special.227

We met the other new arrivals on Sunday. Jen and Jess arrived almost together. Jess was a British girl in her early twenties who had spent most of her life living in various parts of Africa. She had an extremely posh English accent which I thought was a little over the top. She was a short girl with stooped, rounded shoulders and thick, tanned limbs. She had a stubby nose and small, brown eyes, and her hair was neck-length and brown. Oh, and she had a tiny mouth, and was often very quiet. I find it a funny coincidence how people with small mouths are often quiet, whereas people with big mouths are often loud.228

Jen was a Scottish woman in her late twenties who was living in London. She was huge, in a big way, not in the width, although she wasn’t exactly a beanpole, but in the height. She was easily 6’3, and dwarfed most of the men around her. I don’t know if this had caused her any issues or anxieties in the past, but she seemed to have gotten over them by the time I met her, because she wasn’t exactly quiet. I remember she had the most annoying habit of injecting the most inane and stupid comments into any given conversation with that irksome accent of hers, and that I often had an almost irrepressible urge to say, ‘What the hell are you talking about? What relevance does that have, at all?’ 229

She also had a weird idea of flirting, which basically involved being ‘cheeky.’ What she didn’t realise was that she often over-stepped the line into being just plain insulting. She had a pert mouth and big blue eyes which tended to go all starry whenever she stared into space, as though she were thinking of princes and dragons. I remember how I found her size mixed with her girlish, naïve femininity somehow monstrous. She had an obsession with two things: getting pissed and getting tanned. So, I asked myself: why had some come on an expedition? She would have been much better off in Ibiza. She also had tiny feet, which I found bizarre.230

The fourth addition to our little group was Erin, a plump woman in her thirties from Australia. After her briefing, she went straight to bed because of jet-lag, which Huw remarked upon as being a little anti-sociable. ‘If I were her, I’d make a bit more of an effort,’ he said. Ah, the wisdom of Huw! Erin’s face often reminded me of a mole’s, due to the inward-slanting set of her teeth and the sharp angle of her nose. However, she was a nice, caring woman with a passion for animals.231

She also had the most peculiar voice, in that it tended to waver in pitch as though it could never quite make up its mind about where it stood. This, mixed with her accent, meant she had a very distinctive voice. She carried many books in her suitcase, and was always reading one. Her books were remarkable for their size, as they were almost as big as two bricks set side-by-side, although the type was very big. I often wondered how she could fit them all into her luggage. She had at least four, and managed to get through them all during her time in the desert. It seemed to me that she spent more time reading than experiencing.232

The next addition to the group was a surprise one. She appeared on Monday morning, and Dave introduced her as Ilana, and told us she would be supervising the wall, which we didn’t realise was a joke until much later. Ilana had red-brown hair which was cut short at the neck and fluffed thick and wavy around the rest of her head. Somehow, she always managed to maintain her style, even in the bush, often wearing a bandana to keep her hair in order. She had a lean frame and magnificent legs, and she also had the Afrikaans-English accent which is so alluring. She had grey-green eyes and a tanned complexion, which was only slightly marred by a scar over her left eye-ridge. 233

After the expedition, there was some reflection amongst us ‘lads’ that she was in Swakopmund during the revolution, and that perhaps something had happened to her then. She certainly did not view the natives in a very friendly light.234

Ilana worked with a rival charity which focused mainly on older-generation Germans, and she was spending a couple of weeks with EHRA as a kind of diplomacy mission. Her charity, because of its target age-group, had more of a focus on luxury, so she often complained about how rough we lived. She was very outspoken, and, as I thought to myself one day after she offered me some of her wine and said, ‘Ach, but we will have to drink them out of these horrible mugs,’ clearly a woman of taste. She was also, obviously, quite generous. I liked her because of her strength of character, and got to know her better than most due to her being my new duty-partner. Ilana was a Leo.235

Before we left for base camp that day, the goodbyes had to be said as well as the hellos. I embraced Andy, Colette, Catherine and Jen, and shook hands with Curtis, wishing them all the best and promising to keep in touch, etc. I would miss Catherine, Andy, Curtis and Colette in that order, but I wasn’t much bothered about Jen, as her excessive flirting with Huw had gotten on my nerves during the trip. 236

The truck was much fuller this time. Although there was the same number of people, there was a lot more luggage, and I, Dan and T ended up being crammed very uncomfortably together in the back. We stayed that way for two hours before we stopped for a break, at which point I swapped with Alex and sat in the front, between the two Leo’s, and I and Huw listened to his ipod together.237

We stopped at Uis to stock up on petrol and supplies, and, as usual, as soon as we stepped from the bus, we were swamped by these impetuous little men begging us to buy their rocks. Their merchandises were these little colourful rocks which they had splayed out on a cloth over a cardboard box lid. They claimed they were precious, but I’m sure they had many more stashed away somewhere. Every time we went to that supermarket, one of us was harassed, and I was thoroughly fed up with it by this point. I was fed up with the whole supplicating attitude of the place. I don’t think those people understood the meaning of the word, ‘No.’238

As a side note, the supermarket was called ‘OK Value,’ which I and Dan had a bit of a joke about. It doesn’t exactly sell its self, does it? ‘Come here for average value. It’s alright, you know. Nothing special. Just OK Value.’ Some things about that place were bizarre.239

Because it was the middle week, week three was really the most uninteresting one, but there were a few things worth mentioning.240

When we arrived at base camp, Bettsy was already there, and we said our goodbyes to her. She invited any of us to come and stay at her residence for a few days if we wanted to, but I wasn’t able to take her up on her offer, unfortunately. Nonetheless, it had been nice knowing her.241

That night after dinner, Dan got his guitar out and started playing around the camp fire. All of the women had gone to bed, and it was just him, me, Huw and Welsh Dave sitting there. I’m sorry to say that Dan had a very limited repertoire, mainly consisting of cheesy American folk and love songs, for example ‘Tennessee Bar.’ They all involved a woman and a bar and usually a betrayal of some kind, and they all had very indirect, generalised, impersonal lyrics like ‘Only she knows how much I have lost.’ Yeah, Dan could sing, too.242

Because base camp was situated right next to a wide, dry riverbed with a high escarpment opposite, everything tends to echo because of the ‘bowl-like’ effect which is created. Because of this, Dan’s music had an almost ethereal quality to it. There was also a full moon at the time, so everything was washed in bright, liquid silver which added to the effect. Once again, I took a moment to appreciate the strange beauty of the place. The moon was so bright, it wasn’t necessary to use your head torch whenever you wandered off. The only bad thing about the moon was that it blotted out all of the constellations.243

After Dan had finished playing, he asked me how I was finding the book. ‘It’s good,’ I said. ‘I’m really enjoying it. Godwin is a good writer. But some parts of it are really disturbing.’244

‘Yeah, they are. Which parts are you talking about, particularly?’245

‘Well, there’s this government guy mentioned called Secretary of State Banana who has been accused of sexually molesting a male employee. The trial is being followed in the newspapers, and the accuser is quoted as saying, “One night, I woke up after being passed out on the floor to find my trousers around my ankles, and Banana and his goons standing over me, gloating. Banana said to me, ‘While you were asleep, we all had our fun.’”’246

‘To be honest, I’ve been to parties like that, mate,’ said Welsh Dave. ‘And I wasn’t the one lying on the floor, either.’247

The comment took us all by such surprise that we were laughing for a long time afterwards. I, especially, couldn’t get the image of Dave lying on the floor, drunk and at a party with his trousers round his ankles, out of my head. The sheer rid