Hitching North

Chris had claimed that he was a magnet for good luck. I defended the belief that I too had attracted a lot of good luck on this trip. What I learnt within the first hour of travelling with Chris, was that when we took his good luck and added it to my good luck, we would have a phenomenal amount of good luck.

The plans we had made to get out of Windhoek were as complex as ‘find main road, stand on side of road with hand out, get ride going north’. We thought if we made it the 250km  to Otjuwarongo we would be doing alright, though we dreamed of making it as far as Outjo, an extra 100km north of that. Namibia is one of the least densely populated countries in the world, and it was not yet tourist season (though tourists are renowned for ignoring hitch-hikers anyway) so we were realistic enough to be prepared to spend most of the day, and the next few days after that, standing on cramped legs in the sweltering sun in the exact same spot, probably feeling defeated.

My walking shoes had been stolen the day before and my back pack and I had just one thing in common – we were both steadily gaining a couple of kilos each week. This had only become a problem because the main highway north was 5km away, and it was already over 30 degrees.  Before we had even reached the 1km mark of our 5km walk, Chris decided he needed to stop at a petrol station to buy a soft drink. I waited outside only to be approached by a young white guy who asked where I was headed. I pointed out Chris and told him we were heading north and he said that he can drive us as far as Outjo.

I was dumb-founded! We barely had to do any work to get this lift and he wanted to drop us exactly where we had dreamed of getting to!

I wondered, was it Chris’s luck for having to stop right then and there to get a drink, or my luck for standing in the right spot outside and having an angelic (or just sweaty and tired) enough look to attract a sympathetic offer? I did also wonder if it weren’t too good to be true… was he going to beat and enslave us and make us work at gun-point in Namibia’s infamous diamond mines?

Our driver’s name was Daniel, and before we could hit the highway he had to make a few stops. One of the stops was at his large three story house where we sat on the veranda drinking tea while he showed us his Nazi magazines and books from pre WWII, now illegal in Germany, but a collector’s item. He bragged about his gun collection. His pregnant wife was in her room and would occasionally yell out to him, to attend to her for some reason or other – we never actually saw her.

We also stopped at his business which was in the process of being closed down and cleaned out. It was a computer/game place in the shopping mall which, as he explained, was designed to give local kids something to do other than drugs and trouble-making. Apparently a party there one day got out of control and so the mall closed him down, Daniel said that whilst he was trying to do right by the community, the owners of the mall did nothing but screw him over. Daniel had lots of stories like that – about him trying to save people with his grand ideas while big businesses and the people kept screwing him over.

He told us how he had approached car manufacturers in Germany because he had designed a car that ran on air pressure. He had also approached the Namibian government because he had figured out a way to power the entire country by burning wood chips (not that that sounded at all sustainable to me) and apparently he had also had meetings with the big banks… he had single-handedly figured out a way to solve the countries economic problems.

However no one wanted to buy his inventions or implement his strategies… “the whole country is run by idiots” he tells us. I’m sure he was right about that at least – most countries are run by idiots, but I was starting to worry about Daniel, and the fact that I was sitting in the front seat beside him and had to hear these stories for the next 4 hours or more, while Chris sat in the backseat pretending to sleep.

He also talked about Namibia. He is from Germany but moved to Namibia when he was 18 (ten years ago), his parents own a safari lodge in Outjo, though they still live in Germany so they hired full time staff to take care of it. He said Namibia is the place to go if you need to “disappear off the grid”, he said there a lot of white people here in exile from other countries, and they’re either running away or fresh out of prison. He told us about his friend that worked for the German intelligence, that he let it slip  that the German government knew 9/11 was going to happen before the disaster occurred, and now both the US and German government were after him so he’s hiding in Namibia.

He talked about the staff on his fathers lodge. The managers are white Germans and the rest of the staff are black locals. When his father took over the lodge he built the staff proper houses for them and their families to live. He said they get paid very little, but they get given their food and health insurance and that if they didn’t do that “they would drink all their pay away and their families would starve”. It is hard to know what is blatantly ignorant racism and what is the unfortunate and ugly truth.

We stopped at a small village along the way so Daniel could visit one of his friends. The village reminded me of those in Ghana. People loitering (read: beer drinking) out the front of small tin shacks, children running barefoot, chickens pecking at the feet of jittery goats, music blaring, people trying to pull us over to talk, and sleazy men asking me for my contact details and giving me that hand shake eluding to sex: when they wiggle the tip of their index finger against the palm of your hand – that always grosses me out!

The friends in the village Daniel had stopped to see were in the middle of building their house. A house made of brick, with two bedrooms, a kitchen and separate lounge room and a fenced off garden. A house that once finished will bring them a sense of prestige and will no doubt be the envy of the village. Some of what Africans have adopted from their colonisers is outlandish. Traditionally, African’s have congregated outdoors; they eat, bathe, socialize and dance outside on the streets, it isn’t like Europe where the weather is so intimidating you need to stay inside. It is yet another commodity introduced by whites that is bigger and ‘better’ and reeks of false displays of superiority and yet now, here in this little Namibian village of tin shacks, stands one big oddball house, which its proud owners obviously feel they need… But then again, maybe they do? Who am I to make judgements on what people in Africa do and don’t need?!

Daniel drove his Alfa Romeo at 180km/hr (60km above the legal speed limit) and talked non-stop. We got to Outjo and he kept driving. He seemed to assume, without asking, that we would stay at his parent’s safari lodge.

We arrived at Sophienhof Lodge… and it was beautiful But it looked expensive.

Chris was the first to ask how much it costs. A dorm room was usually 200 Namibian dollars ($20 AUD) a night – that was twice our budget. Daniel shrugged and said he didn’t mind, he would make it cheap for us.

He then asked if we wanted to go on a private game drive. Duh! Yeah!

One of the staff joined us and we headed off in an open safari car in search of animals – it was nearly sun-down and nearly feeding time.

We got out to feed the ostriches pellets. They strutted up to us (at a speed over 50km an hour!) and snapped them right out of our hands with their strong, sharp looking beaks. Every time one made a sudden movement I shrieked like a little girl.

The next stop was to feed the cheetahs. They were rescued cheetahs but caged none the less and although it was poignant spending those sunset hours up close to three beautiful cheetahs, it was sad to see them captive, regardless of how big the cage was (it was big enough to not be able to see the surrounding electric fences).

On the safari drive we saw warthogs, zebra, wildebeest, springbok and the majestic kudu.

After the drive I was starving and wondered how we’d go about finding food. We seemed to be the only guests at the lodge except for a family of campers that had their own supplies and cooking equipment. I wondered if it would be rude to ask Daniel to drive us in to town.

But Daniel led us to the outdoor dining room, and shortly after the manager appeared with zebra and lamb steaks, rice, salad and of course beer. Chris and I devoured our meal, as well as seconds, and we continued to listen to Daniel’s stories. All around us was pitch blackness and the eerie sounds of unfamiliar bush lands.

In the morning we woke to be greeted by breakfast – eggs, cold meats and toast, tea, coffee and juice. We were living the life! Chris and I were feeling giddy – high on the realisation of our luck. Daniel invited us to stay another night and of course we could not decline.

Sophienhof Lodge had beautiful green manicured lawns and a swimming pool. Daniel showed us the entire property including the managers hut built in 1904, with walls covered in the heads of prized animals. At sunset we sat in relative quiet rocking in chairs on the veranda of the ‘honeymoon cabin’ which overlooked the distant mountain ranges.

We were served dinner again that night and again the next day we woke to breakfast.

I told Chris that it was my dream to own and live and work on a lodge similar to this. In the Australian bush though, where I would grow my own food and rent out holiday cabins nestled alone in the corners of the property. For those two days at Sophienhof Lodge I felt like I was living in my dream.

Daniel only charged us 200 Namibian dollars each for both nights – that included all the food and game drives and he did get us this far north as well. Daniel may be a bit of a tool, but he is a generous guy that’s for sure. And he showed us a hell of a good time.

Daniel dropped us into town and I had to get cream for some spider bites which were irritating as hell (probably should have mentioned those in an earlier blog, as they stuck around for days) and we wanted to buy Daniel a thank you present. Part of his present was some biltong. Biltong is dried, salty meat that is hugely popular in Southern Africa and Daniel loved the stuff. I got to the butchers right before it was about to close but the owner (white) invited me in anyway and we had a lovely chat. As I was leaving a black woman came in and the owner, no longer so friendly, abruptly told her he was closed.

I stood there awkwardly stunned and uncomfortable. Was I really the absolute last customer or would he have let her in anyway if she was white? It was a situation where I couldn’t be sure. Maybe he had already done a favour and let me in and that was where he drew the line and I was just being super sensitive and paranoid… or maybe I was let in because I was white.

I didn’t know what to say and she left before I said a single word.