Again, the weather worsens. The wind is blowing coldly and the clouds close off the sky, but this does not spoil the beauty of the landscape. Big stones, made round by erosion, lie scattered across the ground. The surrounding area is enchanting, as described by Veronica, and we understand her enthusiasm for her home area. Between Garies and the next place, Kamieskroon, a subtle green carpet has grown after the recent rains. This is unusual for this time of the year and just a few days of radiant sunlight will burn this cheeky green in no time.
Springbok, the capital of Namaqualand, at 1.000 metres altitude, is named after the small quick antelope which used to be frequent here. This town is not only perfect as a base for visitors who come to see the wild flowers blooming, it is also the pivotal point for the neighbouring copper and diamond mines. The former governor of the Cape, Simon van der Stel, significantly supported these mining activities.
Counting a population of 15.000 and lots of shops, life in this modern town seems to defend itself against the rural lethargy. In the main street, in front of the large shops, there is a great clutter of makeshift stalls, offering a large diversity of products. I snake my way to the shops past belts, baskets, suits, bras in bright colours and plastic toys. The alluring fragrance of barbeque makes my mouth water and I look around to locate it. A woman with a baby strapped to her back catches my glance, points at my worn-out slip-ons and with a smile shows me a pair of elegant high-heeled strappy sandals. Their artificial leather has faded and grown hard already in the sun; the high heels wouldn’t be suitable for our journey, so no bargain is made. As in all of the larger settlements in this region people from the different ethnic groups in the vicinity congregate here. People are hopefully pursuing their dreams and trying to find out where and how to make them come true.
This is our question as well, since we won’t make it now to the Orange River. So we put up camp behind a hill, between some granite boulders, not far from Springbok. During this leg of the trip we are travelling in two vehicles. Our group comprises: Heiko and his girlfriend, Anke, who will, however, only join us in Walvis Bay, Uwe and myself. An ice-cold wind blows over the rocks and we sit at the bonfire wrapped in thick layers. Woolsack erosion is working on this rock as well – chipped-off pellets of granite are lying in the red sand as if they have been left behind.
Camp close to Steinkopf
Acquiring the Visa for Angola
I am cold; an icy wind blows through the zippers of the tent. The fasteners get blown about all night, playing their unnerving tune. Sleep doesn’t come to me anyway, as I am busy wondering whether TransNamib will work out as planned.
The itinerary is dictated by the exciting interaction of high and low tides and the full moon above the Angolan coast. We want to get as far as possible along the coast, up to the northernmost extension of the Namib Desert, the town of Namibe.
But before this, we’ll visit the “Heart of the Namib”, the desert strip between Lüderitz and Walvis Bay and – our immigration to Angola hasn’t been sorted out yet. A phone call with Mr Schulze pops into my mind again. He had been doing business in Angola for some time and the passport of one of his employees had been sent to us, by accident. He had already made a number of fruitless calls to the embassy, trying to trace the passports. Quite often, the calls weren’t answered and the staff hardly spoke English. It was clear that patience was needed to acquire visas to Angola. The ordinary tourist required an invitation. We had applied to the Flamingo Lodge successfully. Now, we had to tackle the bureaucratic hurdles. The application forms were available from the Angolan embassy, which sent them as Word documents. The invitation had to include the names of those who wished to visit, completed application forms, two passport photographs, a photocopy of valid certificates of vaccination for yellow fever and, if applicable, photocopies of previously issued Angolan visas along with administration fees of 60 Euro per person. It had to be handed in at the Angolan embassy in a prepaid and self-addressed envelope. It took 15 working days to be processed. Visas are issued by the embassy up to 60 days ahead of the trip but on Wednesdays only – and are valid for 30 days from the date of entry.[2]
Since our trip, the rules have changed and an invitation is no longer required but in order to obtain the visa you still have to provide a bank statement.
Due to inexplicable delays by the authorities, Uwe had to travel in advance to South Africa on his second passport. I only took his passport with the Angolan visa in it later on when following in his footsteps. In spite of all his efforts, even Heiko had to travel without an Angolan visa in his passport. He received it only some days later from Anke, who had brought it along to Walvis Bay. Thus, at the very last moment, all the passports had been returned to their owners. I was just hoping that the officials at the Angolan border would not find anything to complain about.
Mr Schulze asked me why we were going to stay in Angola and when I told him about our dream of TransNamib, I guess he was shaking his head in disbelief. He mentioned the danger of land mines. I had read about all the horrors of land mines on the internet. In southern Africa, Angola is one of the most affected countries. Although intensive de-mining has been going on for years, every year thousands get mutilated or killed by these mines which were deployed during the civil war. Not only Angola is affected – in 87 countries worldwide about 60.000.000 land mines are still lying in the ground. Up to 100.000 children each year are mutilated or killed by exploding mines. People have to dig up the soil and to graze their livestock for a living. Thus, everyday life in the former war zones becomes an “Angolan Roulette”.
I climb down the ladder from the rooftop tent and am exposed to the cold morning. Shivering, I watch the sunrise. TransNamib has only just started, we have been on the road for just one day and I have already been brooding and freezing for half a night. A cup of hot coffee does me good, blowing the sorrow-stricken clouds out of my mind.
Little Lie-Big Lie – Statistics
Closing in on Steinkopf, the landscape gets boring. It is flat and uneventful, the road cutting dead straight through the barren area. Few feeder roads lead to mines and farms. Farmers share the country with mines, which fence off their areas, visitors not being welcome. There is little official information about the mines in this area, the Blue Mine being the most well-known locally. It was the first commercial copper mine in South Africa, and started working in 1852. South Africa is the biggest supplier of commodities in Africa. Apart from copper the most well-known mineral resources are platinum, gold, chromium, diamonds, iron ore and palladium. The latter being a precious metal, so to speak in the same family as platinum and silver. Palladium has the lowest melting point within the nickel group and doesn’t tarnish. The range of its applications is remarkable. The nib of the fountain pen, known to all of us from school, is made from this material. This metal is also used for dental applications, for the production of white gold and in applications of nanotechnology.
A few kilometres from the Namibian border, on a small elevation in the middle of the river bed, is an old cemetery. In the rainy season relentless floods of water pass it by, on the right and on the left. Death is thus kept at a safe distance from the village. The graves are unkempt, except for that belonging to the Liebenberg family which has recently been repainted. Nearly all the gravesites show modest mosaics made of the local light and dark stones. Personal items like marbles and folded written notes have been placed in jam jars. All is exposed to decay, many grave borders have already collapsed and their jars have been broken. The wind has long since taken their notes and blown the marbles about. The last funeral took place in 1950: the date is scratched into the stone, with an additional reference to psalm 19-20. Automatically, I ask myself aloud, how and where my life might end. Uwe doesn’t approve of such topics, today. He is right, aren’t we living here and now and not yesterday or the day after tomorrow? The new cemetery is set up some kilometres further north, protected by a high fence. The graves are adorned with gaudy plastic flowers and are safe from