Chronicles of Namibia--Part 2

Note: It may be in your best interest to read the preceding post "Chronicles of Namibia--Part 1" before beginning this one.

"If there is one thing the history of evolution has taught us it's that life will not be contained. Life breaks free, expands to new territory, and crashes through barriers, painfully, maybe even dangerously." -Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park

"Hey, did you guys sleep alright? My stomach is killing me."

It took me a moment to detect where the voice was coming from. When my groggy eyes could finally process an image, I saw Natalie sitting on a mattress, bent over, grimacing, clutching her stomach.
"Do you think it could be the meat from the brai?" I asked.
"I don't know, but I have to hitch out of here and be at work in two hours and I feel like shit."
Doubled over, Natalie quickly gathered her things, stuffed her sack, bid us farewell, went out the door. Two minutes later, she was back. She needed to use the bathroom. And because there was no toilet paper available, I let her borrow my roll. After a second farewell she stood out on the main drag with her thumb out. Our group was back down to four.

Rob and I heard Nick and Karen stirring in the other room, so we went to check on them and to tell them we were going to pick up some food at the grocery store up the street. They said "Cool beans."
This was the first time Rob and I had walked alone in Africa without the security of Nick, our beloved bodyguard. So we were a bit wary, feeling the eyes on us, checking our money belts and patting our decoy wallets as we walked. We got to the store just fine and grabbed some provisions including a jar of peanut butter, three cans of jam, snack crackers, two large tanks of purified water, a bag of oranges, and two loaves of freshly baked bread in hand-tied plastic bags. Also, Rob bought a tub of powdered, dehydrated milk because his malaria prophylaxis prescription indicated that the medication is most effective when taken with milk. My malaria medication was a little different than Rob's and explicitly warned about the side effect of increased sensitivity to the sun. After we got back to Nick's, Rob and I rummaged through our packs for sunblock. The Namibian sun was up, it would not relent, and we could not run from it's shine.

Us and our stuff got in the car, and we were off! Cruising out of Usakos, the mountains were dry, brown, and all around. Before too long we pulled in at a rest stop in Okahanja, where we each bought a 1.5 liter glass bottle of Coca-Cola (the soda tastes better in glass than leachy plastic, and in Namibia it's made with real cane sugar, not high fructose corn syrup). Then Nick, who always has our best interests in mind, bought fifty NamBucks (approximately five USD) worth of spicy hot beef jerky, locally called "biltong," which we all came to affectionately call "chilli bites." In step with the meat at Carl's brai, the chilli bites were exceptional. In our vehicle we sat chewing on pieces of chilli bite fat as we sped across the open land. We passed through a few towns, some lush, some sparse, but each had its own feel and character. We also passed a slew of private ranches probably owned by rich German outdoorsmen (Namibia was formerly a German colony). Along the way we counted the tall termite hills scattered throughout the savanna landscape. We also enjoyed the company of a gang of baboons having a party in the road.

By lunchtime, we rolled into Otjiwarongo to meet Ginny, a 50-year-old Peace Corps volunteer serving in the town. As our Hilux halted in a Supermarket parking space, we saw maybe a dozen men roaming the lot perimeter, watching. We got out and locked each door manually with the key. When we could not get the back door to lock, indeed we were fretting some, but then Nick simply mimicked a lock-pull-check motion and we were set. Due to crime, it's common in Namibia for security officers to patrol the parking lots, so we sought out the designated officer for this particular lot and asked him to keep an eye on our vehicle. Then we met Ginny and bought some mango/litchi/guava juice cartons for the road before sitting down at a raw-looking wooden table in a pizza shop down the street. We had to speak loudly to overcome the chatter of the wobbly fan spinning above us, but we quickly learned that Ginny is retired and originally from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. While we all enjoyed the nourishment of two greasy, meaty, bacon-y pizzas, I was keen to quiz Ginny on her Peace Corps work: what's wrong with the Peace Corps, what things give her satisfaction, what things could be improved. Her answers were not the clearest, and my questions were not very clear either, but I have deduced what I learned down to a few points: 1) the Peace Corps bureaucracy inhibits progress, 2) satisfaction comes in small doses, helping one person at a time, 3a) to help causes associated with the Peace Corps it's best to send supplies & equipment (i.e. textbooks, pens) 3b) do NOT send money. Ginny was kind to cover the bill. We thanked her, emptied our bladders, and tanked up on diesel fuel before roaring out of town due north headed for Etosha.

THWACK!

"Holy shit!"

"What the fuck was that!"

"I think I hit a bird."

"What do you mean 'you think'?"

"What the fuck was that!"

"Okay, fine, I hit a bird."

"Haha! Did you see that? The carcass fell right out of the sky and flopped behind the car like a baseball mitt!" Nick said.
"Yeah Rob, you killed the shit outta that thing!" I said.
"Fuck! Look at the windshield! We didn't buy insurance!" Karen said with a degree of distress.

Rob had done all he could do to avoid the manic pheasant-like bird flailing about in the road. But he sure hit it, and it sure broke our fucking windshield. The bird crashed into the right side of the glass and left behind a coarse cluster of cracks. Extending from that cluster a long winding crack wrapped around the rest of the windshield in a sort of figure-eight. At least our crack was elegant. After the blow, we had no choice but to cope and keep our course.

Our bird-induced cursing had subsided by the time we arrived at the gate to Etosha National Park. The guard scribbled down our plate number with no acknowledgement of our wounded windshield and let us in. Etosha beckoned us at once. The grasses were emerald and the sun illuminated the land like a film set. Appropriately, as if on cue, Nick began to hum the theme from Jurassic Park. Suddenly, to the left, my eyes fell upon a most grand picture: under an explosion of white clouds in a meadow of yellow flowers a herd of sun-brightened springbok wandered before us with an almost utopian politeness. Like toothless infants, we were agape, wide-eyed, and smiling. We snapped happy photos as members of the herd crossed the road in single file and pranced to the green bushes on the other side. When our attention went back to the road, we saw a big spotty gangly thing up ahead with it's head up in a tree shaking up some leaves--GIRAFFE!! We snuck up stealthily making as quiet as possible the buzz of our diesel engine. The giraffe was so interested in the tree leaves that we rolled within a few feet of it virtually unnoticed. When I watched it, a sense of wonder swept through my body; the awe could escape only in the form of tingles on my skin. Like an ancient messenger from a time before humankind, this animal was a reminder of how old and precious life is. It radiated the age of the earth. And when it's legs eased into a slow gait what we witnessed was sheer prehistoric grace.

Rob parked us in Okahuejo next to the visitor center, and then ran off. He had to shit. He probably got the same thing that plagued Natalie that morning. Meanwhile, Nick was at the visitor's desk wowing the staff by speaking in Damara, a native African "click" language. His clicking eloquence granted him, and the rest of our party, Namibian status and therefore, a small discount. Literally, in the sign-in book, under nationality, we got to write down Namibian. When Rob was feeling better he maneuvered the Hilux past some RV's to the campground. There were no people there, just deep puddles. Without too much hesitation, Rob plowed through the water and carefully backed into our campsite. When we got out of the car we saw a trio of wild jackals skulking about the campground. I had seen warning signs about them inside the visitor center. Jackals seem to fit the same "don't-feed-them" niche as bears in the American northeast, except jackals are a little smaller and a little more rabid. Luckily, as Rob and I jammed our tent stakes into the hard soil, a nearby RV site roasted up some meat which lured the jackals away from us pretty much for good.

It was dusk now with dark clouds and loud thunderclaps booming miles away. Nick and Karen were scouting out the watering hole on the far edge of camp hoping to see some elephants. Since it was the wet season, there were plenty of other water sources elsewhere in the park, and thus no thirsty animals were to be seen. So, we all went to the bar. Nick bought us a round and we chatted and relaxed. Then a cell-phone-sized rhino beetle dive-bombed and crashed into our table. It was thrashing on it's back hissing like a mad windup toy. Before I knew what had really happened, Nick flicked the beetle away like a paper football, and our conversation resumed. Minutes later, SMACK! A rhino beetle had effectively bitched-slapped me in the face. Now these beetles had our full attention. We flicked them, flipped them, played table hockey with them, etc. They were humiliated perhaps, but they were not harmed. On the walk back to our campsite the beetles were everywhere, flying, crawling, hissing in the night. They had numbers on us, and there was nothing we could do about it.

After warm showers in the bathhouse (the only warm showers of the trip), we were all refreshed. At our campsite we opened a can of jam and a jar of peanut butter to make sandwiches before bed. Thankfully the jackals did not catch wind of our late dinner. Nick and Karen slept together on a blanket in the back of the Hilux. Rob crawled in the tent and fell asleep within seconds. He snored like a dump truck. I know Rob is naturally predisposed to excessive sleep, but he had been the sole driver of the trip so far and it was definitely taking its toll on him. Also, for Christmas, Rob received a new camera with superior zoom, but he had had few chances to take pictures with it since his hands were always on the steering wheel. So, even though I did not have much experience driving a stickshift, I decided right then that I would do the driving the next day. The enveloping hiss of insects was pierced by the howl of some far-away animal beyond the sturdy perimeter fence. I sighed, put in my foam ear plugs, and went in the tent beside the dump truck. There, lying horizontal on hard African soil, I did my best to pass out.