From Cape of Good Hope to the Orange River
The desire to traverse the Namib Desert was awoken during our first visit in 1999. At that time, the civil war in Angola and the high-security status of the diamond mining zone (“Sperrgebiet”) made it impossible to travel through the arid part along the Atlantic coast. This situation has now significantly changed. The Angolan civil war was terminated in 2002 and, a short time afterwards, Sperrgebiet 2 was opened to a concession holder. Even parts of Sperrgebiet 1 have been open to visitors since 2004. Thus, “TransNamib” could be realised and an old dream could be made real.
All preparations for the journey have been completed. I’ve only got to wait for the passports from the Angolan consulate, then I’ll be on my way to trace a way through the Namib Desert. A desert is exciting, and, as with human life, it incorporates both all beauty and all horror. The specific feature of the Namib Desert is its fascinating diversity. This desert is not even just one landscape. On the one hand, it comprises areas with a rich diversity of flora and fauna, on the other hand it presents extreme living conditions for humans, animals and plants alike. Its southernmost fringes are to be found in the South African province of Northern Cape. From here, it extends 1.600km north into southern Angola to the town of Namibe. Namibe translates into “empty space” or “a place where there is nothing”. However, the dimensions of the desert host many small treasures, to be discovered and unearthed during the TransNamib.
This journey is about encountering the desert as a whole and a way to make this happen will be outlined. Since the planned route in Angola is very remote and the “Killing Zone” along the coast is not recommended for single vehicles, the journey is undertaken by two vehicles.
Cape Town – Mother City
The travel destination South Africa – promoted worldwide in high-gloss brochures – also has a tough working day face. The sun is just about to rise but, since summer is still reluctant to come, a cold north-westerly blows the clouds, heavy with rain, across Table Mountain. A day like any other – to everyone. Even to those who live under the bridges, in the ditches, in the slums of Cape Town. A day like any other, full of worn-out hopes and revolving disappointments. In Milnerton suburb the weekly garbage collection is on. Have-nots browse the dustbins of the haves, looking for something useful, even edibles. The houses around don’t rise high, and you can spot Table Mountain even from far away. This panoramic view of Table Bay and the mountain is free to all. But who can look upon and rejoice, when reduced, at 6 a.m., to eke out a survival from dustbins?
Those who are better off, people of all skin colours, are driving to their jobs in polished cars, walking their dogs to the beach or jogging for fitness. The divide between rich and poor is large, but the different skin colours are losing their significance. In between you find more and more average people, inconspicuously being like everybody else. In front of the detached houses, perfectly trimmed lawns extend up to the respective garden walls. Enraged dogs bark behind the high perimeters, topped by electric fences. They evoke the Wailing Wall, mutely expressing the fears and concerns of their owners, for their lives and their belongings.
Over and over again, between the shrubs alongside the highway, clapboard huts keep emerging. The police come to remove these desperate dwellings, the residents of which are outsiders, with neither money nor jobs. The newcomers from up-country or refugees from other African countries haven’t yet been able to establish themselves in proper housing areas. They left behind dire living conditions in their home villages and ventured out, hoping for a better life.
On behalf of Portugal’s King John II, Bartolomeu Dias embarked on a journey and, in 1488, rounded the Cape of Good Hope. He sailed on until dropping anchor off Mossel Bay. Vasco da Gama, nine years later, followed in his wake on his way to India. Focused on the legendary riches of the Orient, no one gave it a thought to anchor in this bay below the distinctive mountain and to explore the surroundings. This happened, nevertheless, when, in 1647, the Dutch vessel “Nieuw Haarlem” was wrecked in Table Bay. The castaway newcomers explored the area, discovered fresh water and bartered with the local Khoikhoi. Survival of the Dutch was ensured by the meat supply from the cattle breeders. Today, about 2.400 members of this indigenous group still live in the Cape Region, no longer cattle breeders, however.
For an entire year, the castaways waited for rescue, while erecting a makeshift settlement. Once they were back in the Netherlands, they praised the advantages of the Cape. The Dutch East-India Company was convinced by their descriptions of the virtues of a post in the pristine conditions at the Cape. On 6 April 1652, the first ships dropped anchor in Table Bay. Under the leadership of Jan van Riebeeck eight women and 82 men disembarked. They started setting up a provisioning post, thus laying the foundation for European settlement.
Tenderly, Cape Town is called the Mother City, but in lurid headlines also Cape of Fear. At the same time, South Africa is described as “One World in One Country”. This reflects the huge diversity of this country and is underpinned by the term Rainbow Nation, a term heavily exploited by the tourism industry. Everybody has seen a rainbow. The term refers to a spectrum of many colours underneath one sky, jointly shining as something unique. In South Africa, it means the different nations, tribes, skin complexions, traditions and cultures, after Apartheid and under the leadership of Nelson Mandela, peacefully standing for the new South Africa. Mandela devoted all his life to this vision and it became reality. Mandela’s struggle of a lifetime, his total commitment to his principles and the circumstances of his life are impressively described in his book “Long Walk to Freedom”.
Cape Town is said to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world. For more than 10 years I’ve been visiting the Cape and, from here, we’ve been embarking on our travels. During all these years, I have seen, over and over again, and in constantly changing order, progress as well as regression and stagnation.
Last view to Cape Town and the Table Mountain
While we are leaving the city on the highway, people are flocking to their jobs in the industrial areas. Hundreds are walking, hundreds travelling by minibus taxis, the ways of which are only discernible to insiders, or using the rickety Golden Arrow urban buses. Nowadays, there is a huge divide, even in the black population, between rich and poor. The ones stuck in the morning traffic jams have already made it, to some extent, since citizens cannot easily obtain even a small amount of credit from the banks. In preparation for the 2010 Soccer World Championship the roads are being upgraded in order to put an end to the eternal jams. These construction sites add to the congestion. Nevertheless, the lorries keep on pushing into and out of town in never-ending queues. Cape Town harbour, trading port for all the important shipping companies, lies in the very centre of the city, from where their containers get hauled all over the country.
Just a few kilometres out of town, the area is almost deserted. Hustle and bustle is to be found only around the villages. In the centres of bigger places, everyone hopes to get connected to the spirit of the time and to score a big deal there.
The rain is pouring down. An old Ford is overtaking us at hell-bent speed, with six passengers huddled on to the load bin. The men have donned yellow rain wear, they wave at us, their laughter showing the gaps between their missing front teeth. In accordance with the traditional initiation into manhood, in some ethnic groups, these teeth have to give way. A short time later, I spot these workers again in a huge acre of cabbage. They resemble big yellow flowers amongst the regular rows of cabbage greens. They cut the soccer ball-sized vegetables with cutlasses and carefully stack them into crates.
First Day – First Mishap
There is a funny smell in the car. What is going on? While Uwe is still relaxed and wonders, again, what I might have smelled, a mordant stinking stench of smouldering