Author Archive for johan

African Sky

johan published on May 24, 2011 in zeitgeist. 1 Comment

Dear Superforest (2011-05-22),

I really don’t know why, but the sky here in Africa is a completely different animal from the sky in Europe. It is deeper, fuller, more intense and infinitely more variable than I have ever seen before. During the day the sky is the most intense shades of blue you can imagine, starting off almost white at the horizon and gently fading into deep, dark blue the further up you look. When there are clouds they spill out over the landscape like an ocean of swirling whites. At night the darkness is illuminated by thousands of stars, so clearly visible that the space between them appears to be gently lit by stars so distant that they look like a fine, glowing dust. The most amazing spectacle reveals itself when day and night gently brush shoulders with each other. Sunsets and sunrises here go by fast; you have to run to catch them. Ten minutes, and it’s all over. The sun is like a giant egg, splitting open when it meets the horizon to reveal orange light so intense that it makes the scenery below start glowing like burning coals. At twilight towering cloud formations turn pink and purple by the last rays of a dying sun. I love it, and I will miss it much when I leave.

 

Sand & sunrise

johan published on May 6, 2011 in transportation and zeitgeist. 2 Comments

Dear Superforest (2011-05-01),

An hour or so out of Windhoek we encounter the first sign that we’re in for an exciting weekend adventure. The gravel road is abruptly and impassibly interrupted by a large mud hole. We might have tried passing right through it, if it weren’t for the three vehicles standing testimony to the fact that this was very likely a very bad idea. To the right a large Volkswagen SUV was stranded radiator-deep in the thick brown mud. On the opposite side of the road was a large lorry that had made it about halfway through the mud pit. It had been carrying road bricks, but these were all unloaded in large piles on the side of the road to lighten the weight of this behemoth. In between these stood perhaps the most poignant proof of the road’s impassability; a small cart, drawn by two horses and pushed onwards by at least seven people. Hilarious, although somewhat discouraging for us. The lorry was stuck because of its tremendous weight, and unable to free itself despite its powerful engine and multiple tyres. The car was lacking the crucial force and momentum to push itself all the way through the brown barrier. And although the horse cart certainly had everybody routing for it, it simply didn’t have enough horse powers. I was told that the lorry had been stuck since yesterday. Well, our weekend was looking promising already – and we’d barely left home. Fortunately enough somebody had called a tractor. The tractor scoped up a big pile of earth to increase its weight and improve traction, and was subsequently able to extract both the VW and the lorry from their muddy prisons. The enthusiastic crowd behind the horse cart managed to push it out of the mud after leading the horses off to the side of the road. Great, our turn to take on the muddy challenge. Another car that had been waiting with us went first. It sped up and shot through the mud, jumping wildly up and down while doing it. We were next. Speeding up we charged straight into the mess, following the tracks of the lorry and the other car. We powered through with mud splashing up on the sides of the car. Unfortunately our driver was a bit too shy on the throttle, and consequently we also ended up stranding one mere car-length from solid road. Bummer. Luckily the tractor had not left yet, so it was able to pull us out. Fresh out of the mud, excitement filling the car we hurry onwards – heading towards the Namib desert.

I wake up a few minutes before the alarm rings, and we quickly get ready to leave camp. It is pitch black and the clock has just turned five o’clock when we start the car. We’re held up at the gates of the national park erected to protect this precious environment. We’re third in a line of approximately ten cars. A long row of gently humming 4×4’s. When the gates open at quarter past five we speed through the gates onto a vast, dark plain. It’s a bit of a drive to get to our destination, and I nod off once or twice. The car is quiet and dark shapes at the edges of the plain watch ominously over us as we pass through the gateway to the oldest desert on the planet. I have stopped wearing a watch since coming to Namibia, and have no idea how long we’ve been driving when we suddenly make a sharp left turn. Most of the other cars continue straight ahead on the tar road, disappearing into the dark. Our guide stops the car and lets us out a minute or so from the main road. I grab my daypack and we head straight towards the closest of the many shapes that has silently been observing us since entering the plains. Dawn is about to break, and it is getting ever so slowly brighter. Fifty meters from the car we get to the foot of a towering red sand dune; Dune 45. Named after the distance in kilometres which it lies from Sesriem (our camp) it is a gargantuan apparition in the dim morning light. I start climbing the ridge of the dune. Two steps forward and I slide one backward. I start taking longer strides. Some of these dunes are more than three hundred meters high, and getting to the top is tough. I push onwards and soon find myself on my own. The ridge is narrow and slopes on either sides of it are steep. I can barely look from my designated path without suffering vertigo. The large plain that we have been driving on looks like an old riverbed from up here, and small yellow lights in its centre tell of more cars coming our way. Clouds coloured yellow by the first stray beams of morning light spill out over the tar road below. It is a fantastic view. Panting heavily I finally reach the top. The first morning light has started illuminating the surreal scene surrounding us. If you’ve ever seen Tatooine in Star Wars, or read Frank Herbert’s Dune novels you have a pretty good idea of what the landscape looks like. The dried riverbed is a stretch of dry land in a sea of sand. Deeply red in the morning light, monstrous sand dunes cut like blades into the plain, their narrow ridges reaching hundreds of metres into the morning sky. When dawn finally breaks, spilling warm light into the early hours of this Saturday morning I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sunrise. It starts with a gentle orange glow that slowly sets the clouds above the horizon on fire in a magnificent display of every nuance of orange and yellow imaginable. It all takes place above a red sand dune directly opposite our vantage point atop Dune 45. When the sun ascends from its transient tomb it literally splits the horizon open in a brilliant display of intense orange light. The whole scene seems to darken somewhat when the sun breaks free from the dune below it, intensifying colours and concentrating all light. The sand dunes cutting into the plain below us start glowing in deep red. It all lasts a few short minutes before the sun disappears into the clouds above. The colours change again in the sun’s absence; turning into deep, cold tones of blue and purple. It’s cold atop the dune and we’re probably around ten people sitting on the ridge in silence. The whole landscape is alien, so unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. A rift in the clouds allows the sun the reappear, and its searing glow turns the landscape red again. This time it lasts a little bit longer, and the sun’s rise is concluded with a blinding white light washing over the plain before the day finally takes on its normal colours again. The ever-changing dunes turn into mild tones of rust-coloured orange.

 

After the spectacular sunrise I stand up and raise my camera into the air to try and take a picture of the dune sea to our right. Just when I’m about to take a picture, the camera emits a high-pitched noise. I curse the camera for failing me now of all times, but it quickly turns out that it is not the camera making the noise. I hear laughs and I see people’s hair starting to float upwards. Within minutes the whole group looks like Einstein, as their hair points in all directions but down. Static electricity is thick in the air. When I hold my hands up in the air I can clearly hear the current passing with the wind through my hands. It sounds like the purrs of a cat licking a wall socket; an electrified squeal of delight. Amazing. It lasts long enough for one guy’s dreads to start floating before rain discharges the air. Only a quick shower, but enough to create a rainbow on the plain behind Dune 45. Awesome.


After the rain I run down the side of the dune and I am greeted by a full breakfast prepared by our guide when I reach our car. We’re three people, including Tina and I on this tour. We all dig in. Halfway through our breakfast our guide says: “We came here in a self-starting car, but now it seems we have a push car”. I burst out laughing. Hearing him saying it in such a relaxed tone, without any worries whatsoever makes it all the more hilarious. True to the words of its master, the car only starts after receiving a push from a few strongmen on the parking lot. Close to Dead Vlei the guide searches long and hard for the perfect slope on top of which to park our car for an easy getaway. This is Africa (TIA).

Dead Vlei used to be a river or a lake, before the water was cut off by encroaching sand dunes. Now it is a dry white pan surrounded by orange dunes. Long dead trees are still standing and makes for a dreamlike scene. Walking the pan is highly meditative, and in spite of being one of Namibia’s top tourist attractions the place still manages to feel quiet and serene. White pan framed by orange dunes, smudged by the crooked shapes of long dead trees makes very scenic photos. At the far end lies Big Daddy Dune, the highest sand dune in the desert. I see people smaller than ants on top of it. This natural skyscraper makes an excellent frame and backdrop for the white pan. We spend the rest of the morning exploring the dunes and return to camp with our clothes and bags full of orange sand. There is more sand than feet in my shoes, and my previously white socks have turned orange. We break camp and start driving towards Solitaire; an aptly named outpost were we will be spending the night. Exiting the Namib, the sand dunes are replaced by dark mountains and the arid plain opens up to form golden savannah. We see a few stray springboks strolling in the grass. I’ve wanted to see a place like the Namib ever since first hearing about it, and the oldest and driest desert in the world certainly did not disappoint me. Like the rest of this country it more than lived up to my expectations. I only wish my camera would better be able to capture the scene and bring it to life for You all to see the spectacle that is the Namib.

Hopes and fears

johan published on May 4, 2011 in zeitgeist. 4 Comments

Dear Superforest (2011-04-25),

 

Boy, do we run a tight ship! The weekend has been spent in complete confusion, but has turned out to be our best weekend here by far. Because of all the banking holidays we thought we’d take the opportunity to go somewhere. The choice was either to board a plane to Cape Town, or get on a bus to Livingstone and Victoria falls. After reading up a bit we settled on Vic falls, and on Thursday morning I went to collect our bus tickets. This turned out to be a minor adventure in its own right, involving numerous phone calls, text messages and general confusion – all chaos stealing just over two hours of my morning. Note to self: In Africa, if someone says that something will happen ‘now’, it simply means that said thing will happen. It won’t necessarily be now, soon or maybe not even today but it’s probably been decided that it will happen. ‘Now-now’ on the other hand is the equivalent of the European ‘now’, meaning that it will actually happen now.

Seventeen hours and two brake-downs later we finally arrive in Livingstone, Zambia. We have not changed any money before getting on the bus, and we barely got away with paying the Zambian visa in Namibian dollars. That is why one of our first stops after arriving in Livingstone is an ATM across the street from our hostel. The hostel that we had forgotten the name of, and only found after another hostel gave them a call asking them if they had any reservations in our names. Oops… Turns out we’re staying at the Fawlty Towers. At the ATM a few quick calculations leads us to the conclusion that 200 000 kwacha should see us through the day. We grab a cab out to the falls, but arriving there we quickly realize that we’re short on kwacha. The taxi driver wants 40 000 kwacha for the ride. Apparently 200 000 kwacha is only just over 40 US dollars… The taxi driver tells us not to worry, and that we can pay when he comes to collect us later that day instead. He asks if we have a phone. We do have a Namibian phone, the only problem with it is that we forgot to charge it before leaving, leading to it quitting on us halfway through the bus ride. That would not have been such a big problem if it were not for the fact that neither of us knows the PIN-code, meaning that we can’t start the bloody thing again… A quick fix is achieved through the agreement that he’ll come and meet us when the Falls close at 6 p.m. That does not solve our money problem though, but fortunately enough there’s a hotel right next to the entrance of the falls which has an ATM. Unfortunately enough that very ATM is not working today, but we’re given strong reassurances that it will be up and running the next day (read: someone said that it might work tomorrow). Bummer. Seeing as how we haven’t eaten since leaving Windhoek, we decide to pay a visit to a part of the hotel that is in full working order i.e. the restaurant. Chicken burgers and smoothies. Yum-o. We savour the meal but after receiving the cheque we choke. The cheque is for 210 000 kwacha. We have 200 000. For crying out loud…! After contemplating making a run for it, but before actually doing it we notice that we’ve been double-charged for a muffin. A muffin worth 3 USD, or 15 000 kwacha. Phew! We hurry into another cab back into town to find a working ATM. It’s not often that you get to withdraw 1 000 000 of any currency from an ATM without your bank politely notifying you of the fact that no, you have not suddenly become rich overnight. This time however the ATM spits out one million kwacha in fifty-thousand notes without as much as a single protest. Brilliant. One million kwacha in hand we head back towards the falls again.

 

Seeing the falls the first time is an amazing experience. It is a massive display of white water and roaring thunder. The whole area is covered in the spray of water from the falls. We rent a rain poncho each and set out to explore one of the seven natural wonders of the world. Passing over Knife Edge Bridge, we are completely drenched, and coming around another bend we catch our first glimpse of the Victoria Falls Bridge, a gorgeous steel construct that looks like it’s been taken straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. We wander around the various lookout points and are able to stand just a few metres from the edge of the falls. With the clock soon to turn five o’clock we decide to try and get down to the bottom of the valley and see the boiling pot; a churning whirlpool at the bottom of the falls. The walk down brings us through a rainforested valley fit for the cover of National Geographic magazine. It is intensely green and the sounds of various animals inhabiting this stunning landscape echoes through the valley. Getting down to the boiling pot we are presented with a magnificent view of the Victoria Falls Bridge, with the setting sun forming the perfect backdrop. We watch the sundown in awe, before starting to head back up. The forest has turned pitch-black, and the stars shine brightly above us during our ascent from the valley floor. Reaching the top the clock has almost turned six o’clock, or at least so we believe. Funny enough Zambia lies one hour ahead of Namibia, thus making the correct time seven p.m. Since the park closes at six p.m. we’re let out by a guard. We pick up a few souvenirs before finding a taxi to take us home. At the hostel we get drinks (1 L water, 1 cider and a gin & tonic – 35 000 kwacha) and food (barbecue for two – 70 000 kwacha). I’ve stopped trying to convert this fantastically confusing currency into anything comprehendible and simply fork out this seemingly unreasonable sum while concluding that it’s probably cheap. Tina laughs uncontrollably at the obscene amounts, and the chef laughs at her.

 

Day two we decide to have a go at the Zimbabwean side of the falls, and opt for the hostel shuttle bus instead of a taxi to the falls. Having gone on a fantastic spending spree of minute proportions the day before, we have spent all of our kwacha. But correcting our mistake from the previous day we have managed to withdraw yet another million kwacha before getting on the shuttle. Sadly this doesn’t help us much. Coming up to the Zambian border post we are informed that we are only in possession of a single entry visa, and if we want to get back into the country again we need to shell out another 50 USD each for a new visa. Notice how the visa fee for Zambia is quoted not in Zambian kwacha but in American dollars. Great, we have a million of this bewildering currency and now not even the country’s own officials want it. Remembering that This Is Africa (TIA) and that Zimbabwe’s economy was recently dollarized we head over to the hotel ATM. Surprisingly enough both the hotel ATM and adjacent bureaux de change is open for business today, thankfully allowing us to get our hands some much needed US dollars.

 

A Zambian exit stamp later we are on the Victoria Falls Bridge, lying in limbo between Zambia and Zimbabwe. When we saw the bridge the day before we also saw people bungee-jumping off of it, and I had told Tina that I would like to give that a go. Seeing them up close, I am no longer sure of this. Tina is feeling ill at ease because if I jump, she feels compelled to do the same. “After Zimbabwe” she says. Alright, we cross the bridge and head towards the Zim border. Halfway there she has second thoughts and says: “I don’t like it, not one bit – but why not get this over with before it gets too late?” 120 USD and a signed paper saying that I’m aware that I’m going to jump off a bridge voluntarily later I’m weighed in and given a number in the queue. Tina reluctantly signs up too, but only after thoroughly questioning the previously mentioned paper that says that she is aware that there is a very small risk of getting killed while doing this.

 

We get out on the bridge and start queuing. Very unusual for her, Tina is quiet. Not a word escapes her lips as she fears the impending jump. I fall in with an American traveller and we chat away until finally I hear someone calling my name. I later find out that they were actually calling a Dutch guy named Jan, but happily unaware of this I get strapped into a harness and placed next in line to jump. They call my (read: Jan’s) name again and I climb out on the platform and sit down while they tie the bungee-cord around my ankles. The floor of the platform is a see-through metal mesh and I am very pleased that I’m not wearing my glasses – I really do not need to see how high up we are before the jump. Bungee-cord in place I am asked to hop on over to the ledge. I am scared to bits and reluctantly inch my way over. “On the count of five” they say and all I can think is “someone please get me away from here. I’m scared of heights, what am I doing jumping off a 111 metres high bridge in between Zambia and Zimbabwe?” “5, 4…” After four my memory goes blank and the next memory I have is of falling helplessly towards the Zambezi river below. I go mute and am absolutely horrified by the feeling of falling faster and faster. Imagine the sensation of falling you get sometimes just before falling asleep. Or the feeling of panic when you’re falling off a bicycle, knowing that this is going to hurt and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Take those feelings, combine them and multiply them by the amount of kwacha that this ridiculous stunt has cost me and you’ll get an approximation of what I’m going through. It is pure panic, all I can think of is that I want it to stop and I want it to stop now-now. I desperately flex my feet not to slip out of the bungee-cord. The first bounce is almost alright, but the worst bit comes after it. The first bounce has enough force to send me back towards the bridge head turned up. When that force is spent I spend a split-second in weightlessness before plummeting down again – head first. That mid-air flip or turn is enough to wake me from my paralysis, fill my lungs with air and quickly expel it again – only this time the air is carrying words. This is exactly when the usefulness of profanities becomes undeniable. Why the profanity leaving my mouth this time happens to be the worst swear word in the Polish language I have absolutely no idea. A loud “Kurwa!” echoes through the valley as I scream until I run out of air.

 

A few bounces later a singing bloke lowers himself and saves me from the upside-down nightmare I have put myself in. He welcomes me to “his office” and brings me up to the bridge again. I walk away on shaky legs and meet up with Tina a few minutes later on the bridge. Having jumped just after me she hated every single minute of the whole experience. It’s pretty cool to have done it, but I have to agree; that was definitely the first and last time I’ll ever do that. We spend almost all of our last US dollars on videos of our jumps and a soothing beer each.

 

Having just gone through an experience like that we didn’t really think twice about spending that bit of extra cash, but arriving at the Zimbabwean border we are starting to regret this. We’re down to 80 US dollars, and apparently a visa for Zimbabwe costs 55 USD per person. Unsurprisingly they don’t accept credit cards, and it seems that we are stuck in limbo between countries. Tina has MasterCard and I have Visa, but since MasterCard doesn’t work around here Tina suggests that I get a visa and go find an ATM in Zimbabwe and then come back for her. The price that we are basing this decision upon is the quoted price for British and Irish passport holders. I go over to the counter and ask if that is the same price as for Swedish citizens. Thank god the answer is no, for us the cost of a visa is 30 USD per person. Phew, we made it once again.

Zimbabwe offers better postcard-views of the falls, but altogether the Zambian side is a much more enjoyable experience. Besides watching the falls I am offered a necklace in exchange for the socks I wore yesterday. Interesting. We finish the day in a restaurant back in Livingstone, watching a Zambian Rastafarian interpret Bob Marley together with “The New Five Revolutionary Band”. A slightly less eventful bus ride lands us back in Windhoek the following day, concluding some of the most eventful 60 hours of our trip.

 

Big Five

johan published on April 20, 2011 in transportation. 1 Comment Tags: .

 

Dear Superforest (2011-04-17),

I am hypnotized by group of zebras standing a couple of metres from the car when Benjamin frees me from my trance using a single word of Afrikaans. Olifant. As I turn my head and look out the windshield a massive grey giant materializes from behind a tree. It steps out on the white gravel road and uses its impressive trunk to throw up clouds of dirt. Its wise eyes observe us. It has the look of time and appears ancient. We’re in Etosha. A national park in northern Namibia centred around a salt desert; the Etosha pan. Because of the intense rains lately the pan has filled with water, forming a shallow lagoon. There are animals everywhere. We stop to let small springboks cross the road and drive side by side with zebras and giraffes while dark wildebeests stare at us from the plains surrounding the car. It is simply amazing.

 

Benjamin, who picked us up at the airport when we arrived is also the driver assigned to us for this trip by the ministry. Ndiya has arranged for him to drive us around the park before we head back to Windhoek. Although somewhere around sixty years old, he has eyes like a hawk and spots wildlife long before we do. He speaks four different languages and frequently uses Afrikaans when identifying the different animals that we see. In spite of this he is a man of few words and the only time I’ve ever heard him speak more than a few sentences at a time is when he uses his mother tongue; Nama/Damara. The slash is there because from what I can gather they are more or less the same language and people always seem to refer to the language as Nama/Damara. Unlike anything I’ve ever heard before it is characterized by the use of clicks. It sounds almost alien and is extremely fascinating to listen to. For those of You that have never heard a click language before, I can recommend typing “click language” into YouTube and prepare to be amazed.

On the afternoon of day two it is not Benjamin’s keen eyes, but another car that first make us notice a very large animal in the distance. It looks like a greyish rock moving in the distance. The tall grass obscures any recognizable features, but it is clearly something big. Can it be…? Our hopes are confirmed when the head lifts above the brown and yellow grass of the savannah to reveal two magnificent horns in sharp silhouette. Gorgeous. Benjamin turns off the engine and we sit tight, waiting for it to move closer to the road. Within a few minutes two more cars have stopped right next to us. We all wait as the grey rock moves ever so slowly closer. As it nears the road I crawl out to sit in the window opening. I’m not missing this. Emerging into the shorter grass near the road an armoured beast appears. Grey hide enveloping a solid shape of weight and force. Its small eyes looks out over the road and after looking at our cars it steps out on the road. I can’t help but look at the horns. Everything is quiet, except for a few chirping insects. The rhino stands on the road for half a minute, rear end facing us. Great, I finally get the chance to take a close-up of this magnificent animal and all I see is the ass-end of business… Rhino or not, that is not a great shot. A moment later it returns the way it came and it is over.

Lion – check. Elephant – check. Rhino – check. And since I am completely sure we also saw a buffalo (also from behind frustratingly enough. All the other animals couldn’t seem to stare enough at us but the ones we really want to see keeps displaying their least favourable sides to our cameras) our Big Five checklist is only missing a leopard. Four down, one to go.

African time

johan published on April 14, 2011 in zeitgeist. 2 Comments

Dear Superforest (2011-04-06),

 

It is late in the afternoon and looking at me Kivi shrugs his shoulders, smiles and says “this is Africa”. I’ve been told that Namibia runs GMT +1, and what Kivi is referring to is the fact that this is not really the whole truth. Namibia is officially running GMT +1, but in reality there is another time zone that takes precedence over any concept of Greenwich Mean Time. This alternate time zone does not really alter the clock’s stalwart dials per se, but rather the way people move to their beats. Namibia follows the beat of African time. African time exists under a variety of names all over the world, some call it Paco time and others are simply content with the idea that most things seem to happen mañana. The whole thing is very similar to wait for girls to get ready to go out. They say they’ll only be ten minutes, but somehow you always end up waiting thirty… I’ve experienced similar concepts in the Philippines and much of the Balkans, but when you’re not just out holidaying but actually trying to get things done this can seriously hamper your productivity.

 

We’ve spent the day, and I really do mean the whole day trying to get our hands on a vehicle. Had we been looking for a tank, a limousine or a perhaps a submarine I would not have been surprised to face such intense bureaucracy. What we were looking for however was a simple, white (ninety percent of all cars in this country are white) 4×4 pickup truck. The point of the whole exercise was for us to be able to get out and start our measurements tomorrow. For this to happen we had to learn how the radiation measuring instruments worked. Yes, I know that the logic in this seems somewhat broken here, but bear with me and I’ll elaborate. This was needed because this is the purpose for which we intend to use the previously mentioned 4×4.

 

Ndiya drove us to the offices of the Ministry of Health and Social Services (MoHSS) on the other side of town where we would spend the morning with the ministry’s subdivision; the Directorate of Atomic Energy and Radiation Protection. We were introduced to Amakali and Kivi, the two gentlemen that would see to that we got to grips with the procedures of measuring radiation. We spent an hour or so doing this and once we were done it was time to decide where to do the measurements. After a few minutes we came up with three towns; Otjiwarongo, Otavi and Tsumeb. We would also be filling in a few blind spots in Windhoek and do a couple of stray measurements at a mining site just north of Otjiwarongo. In order to decide how many dosimeters we would need and where to place them we needed maps of all the townships. This being Africa, getting a hold of that was not as straightforward as one would expect. I say expect because mine and Tina’s office is at the Directorate of Surveying and Mapping, in the same building as the offices of the Surveyor General.. In spite of this the easiest way of getting a map of Windhoek was to go with Kivi to a tourist office downtown. Getting maps of the other towns proved a bit (and by ‘a bit’ I really mean a lot) harder. The Directorate of Surveying and Mapping had maps, but (there is always a ‘but’ involved) a small piece of text at the bottom of them made us question how much use they would be to us. “Area photographed 1969, Surveyed in 1972 and map drawn 1973”. Forty year old maps. Awesome. As if that wasn’t enough Otjiwarongo (the largest of the three) was not available and Tsumeb was spread out on two different maps. As luck would have it our office neighbour Andreas walked by and it turns out that he was sitting on orthophotos (a geometrically corrected aerial photograph) of all the towns we were interested in. After copying the files we needed it was back to MoHSS, where we got to present our plans to Mr. Tibinyane, Amakali and Kivi’s boss. He seems pleased, but concludes that we need a car – and tells us to get Amakali to talk to Ndiya about this. Ndiya is not answering her phone, so we get in the car with Kivi and drive across town to see her in person. Turns out that she is in a meeting and we need to wait. Although born in Namibia, Kivi has spent 18 years in the Czech Republic and is not too pleased with the concept of African time either. We wait. And wait. When we finally get a hold of Ndiya she says that since the project will fall under MoHSS, they should supply the car. Back to MoHSS and Mr. Tibinyane. He on the other hand thinks that since we are under the supervision and responsibility of Ndiyakupi we should get both a driver and a car from the Directorate of Surveying and Mapping. This is ridiculous. When we leave for the day we are still without wheels..

 

This is Africa, and I love it. I say this without irony because at the end of the day you really feel like you have done something. At home it is often hard to see the effects and sometimes purpose of what you are doing. You are forced to run back and forth just as much, but instead of something tangible (like a car) you’re out to get a hold of someone who’s authorized to sign something for some reason. Here you get to solve actual problems, together with the most relaxed and welcoming people you can imagine. Given those circumstances I can accept that most things are solved mañana.

 

When things finally get moving here they tend to go fast though. This morning when we came to work we had both a car and a driver. The driver even had to wait for us, because we had anticipated that we would be doing some more waiting and subsequently had a few more things to take care of before heading out. Some might say that this was an unexpected turn of events, but I just shrug my shoulders and conclude that this is indeed Africa.

 

Contrasts

johan published on April 10, 2011 in superforest journal and zeitgeist. 8 Comments

Dear Superforest,

My god what a day! And god was exactly what the day started with. Ndiyakupi, or Ndiya for short (our supervisor) invited us to come to her church this Sunday morning. The service started at half nine in the morning, and upon hearing the alarm ring I must say I sort of regretted that we had agreed to come. In spite of early morning sleepiness we managed to get there in time. Before telling you what the service had to offer I’d just like to point out one thing for you all to understand my reaction a bit better. I am an atheist, or agnostic at best. I’ve never really been to a Sunday service before, and I’m born and raised in a country where no one goes to church except for weddings and funerals. I can’t really say that I had any idea of what to expect, but I was surprised nonetheless. We thought we’d go just to have a look and see what things were like here. People there were really nice and friendly, but the ceremony itself was a bit overwhelming to say the least. There was singing, clapping and an old woman kept shouting amen or hallelujah every other time the minister said something. In between songs there was intense preaching, proclaiming that god was the solution to all of man’s problems. It was exhausting just to watch the whole thing – I don’t think I’ve ever met people that religious before. Three hours worth of communion, hallelujah and god-fearing service later we left the church. Interesting experience, but we’re not doing that again. Or as Tina put it; I think we’ve had our fill of religion to last us for the next couple of years..

True to a country of contrasts the evening was quite the opposite of our morning adventures. Before coming here we spent two days in Uppsala on a mandatory crash course in how to pull off a dissertation in a developing country. While there we met two girls that were also going to Namibia to write their dissertation. They gave us a call today, asking if we wanted to go on an evening safari with them. We left Sweden before taking the last exam of the semester, so we have to take it here instead. Tomorrow morning. When they called we had spent a grand total of about ten minutes studying. The only problem is that when one puts African wildlife head-to-head with academic bureaucracy the latter always ends up biting the dust. So off we went, into the bush. Half an hour out of Windhoek and we’re in cheetah territory. Namibia is home to roughly twenty percent of the world’s cheetahs and ten kilometres from Windhoek there is a small cheetah sanctuary. This sanctuary also happens to be one of the highest inhabited places in Namibia, at roughly 2 200 metres above sea level. Five minutes out of the car we spot our first cat. It is a big and slender beauty in spotted fur that prowls back and forth on the other side of a wooden fence. The sanctuary cares for orphaned cheetahs that are unable to be released into the wild. Every breath of this amazing sprinter is accentuated by a subtle growl.

We have to wait for a while because the truck that will take us on a tour of the area has already left the lodge. We hang back and watch a dog playing with two young warthogs. After a few minutes we get a call saying that the truck is here. We get into a smaller jeep that takes us out to meet the bigger truck. The truck is a beast. More than two metres tall it looks like it’s been taken straight from a warzone. We walk around the back to climb up and are greeted by a dude that looks just like Tarzan. He is tanned, has long hair and unfortunately enough he is also topless. All the girls in the truck are having a hard time focusing on the wildlife. When he starts talking it also turns out that Tarzan is French. He is pretty cool though and he stops the truck once in a while to describe what we have around us. The so-called road winds up and down and we get the feeling that the truck is going to tip over more than once.

After passing a couple of fence gates we come to a halt. One of the other passengers is about to hop out of the truck, mumbling something about going for a pee-pee. Our guide stops him, and says that “we’re in cheetah country now and that will be the last pee-pee you’ll ever make if you insist on going here”. Oops. Our guide takes the lead instead and brings us into a small circle, enclosed by a 1.5 m high wooden fence. After closing a small gate behind us he goes back to the truck and returns with the front leg of a zebra on his shoulder. He throws it on the ground and we wait. Within a few minutes four slender shapes descend from the hills around us. When they get closer we are face to face with four adult male cheetahs. One of them heads straight for our topless friend that is still outside the fence. Once the cheetah comes closer to him it slams both of its front paws into the ground with a sharp thump. Tarzan holds his ground and seeing this, the cheetah turns its attention to the zebra instead. Impressive.

We get back up on the truck and continue to an enclosure a bit further away. Climbing a long flight of wooden stairs we come to a platform opposite a rocky outcrop. After waiting a while a lioness comes into view, shortly followed by her 200 kg boyfriend – a massive lion with a black mane. We watch them eat as the sun sets behind us. They have been taken care of after being orphaned, and are unable to care for themselves. If they would be released they would either starve to death or get shot by farmers. I am in awe of what must surely be one of the most majestic animals in existence. Seeing him like this, a king dwarfed by captivity is an odd feeling. From the top of the rocks the king of the jungle roars in the sunset and even topless Tarzan seems impressed.

As the sun sinks beneath the horizon we are treated to champagne back at the lodge. We can still hear a distant roar. While smiling like never before Tina and I agree that the day could not have ended in any better way.

Hello Africa

johan published on April 7, 2011 in superforest journal. 2 Comments

Dear Superforest,

Africa. I have travelled to many places and seen many things, but I have yet to set my foot in Africa. I am filled with expectation. The clock rings and a shower, some last minute packing and a malaria pill later we are at the train station saying goodbye to Hanna.

Trouble starts right when we land, when I notice that the visa stamped in my passport only allows a ten day stay. A quick chat with the customs officer reveals that she misread my visa application. It said eight weeks, not eight days. Oops. An apology and a few quick strokes of an official pen later I am in possession of a 60 day visa.

A short and rather skinny man greets us in the arrival hall, carrying a “Johan Tina Sweden” sign. He greets us with what I will later come to know as the typical (Southern) African handshake. It starts out like a ‘normal’ handshake and then continues with us grabbing each other’s thumbs and then finishes with the return to a ‘normal’ handshake. It’s difficult to explain, but I hope I am getting the general idea across. I love it. He brings us to a white pickup truck with a government emblem on the side. The drive in to Windhoek is spectacular. We cross a vast savannah-like plain, with gorgeous mountains in the horizon. Rust coloured soil underneath a clear blue sky. We watch as a pack of baboons cross the road. I smile from ear to ear, this is absolutely fantastic.

Windhoek itself is an interesting town, mostly because I’ve never seen a place like this before. We have been told to stay indoors after dark, and only use friends and trusted taxis if we need to go somewhere after the sun has set. We live in a nicer area, and every single house in this area has an electric fence. There are walls, gates and bars – and on top of them there is electrified wire. You can hear it snap sometimes when you walk past it. Some houses even have massive downward pointing barbs and spikes on their fences, to keep people from climbing them. If there is a telephone pole next to the fence, then that has barbs and spikes on it too. It’s insane. Since there’s hardly any sidewalks either the streets become some sort of no man’s land. It looks nice and quiet during the day and we’re fine exploring the area while the sun is up, but all these fences and other security measures serves as potent reminders of the potential dangers here. A lot of places keep guard dogs. We passed a place the other day that had two big Rottweilers barking and growling by the fence. Our place has a dog too, but I don’t know if he’s much of a guard dog… He wags the small stump he has for a tail every time someone arrives, and he’s much too scared to attack any intruders. We are becoming rather good friends, since I am spoiling him with attention. Tonight we got to see the other part of Windhoek. We were invited to a braai, or barbecue in Katutura. The host was a Namibian guy living in a big house that also served as student accommodation/hostel. The braai was all good and fun, but what was more interesting was the drive back into town. We passed the slums. Haphazard houses and made out of metal sheets. Even bars and small restaurants made in the same way. Namibia has one of the highest GDP per capita in sub-Saharan Africa, but the wealth is extremely unequally distributed. Namibia really is a country of contrasts: the vast Namib desert, the oldest and driest desert on the planet lies right next the Atlantic ocean. The arid Kalahari desert in the southeast contrasted by the rainforested Caprivi strip in the north-eastern part of the country. Luxurious, gated communities protected by G4S lies a mere suburb away from extreme poverty…