Africa, My Passion

by Corinne Hofmann

  I laugh out loud at this and eventually he joins in too. Eventually he tells me his parents chose her and when she is old enough and he is earning enough money they will get married. It’s the custom among his people.

  By the time we reach Okangwati, we’re exhausted and I absolutely need to put my feet up. The trek back has only made the blisters worse, and some of them have filled up with pus. But I have no intention of giving up my adventure just because of a few blisters. And apart from anything else, I can still hear the expedition leader saying, ‘This is no trip for softies and we won’t stop just because you get a few blisters.’

  Once again, the German couple absolutely spoil me and I do a deal with the guide to let me stay here two days longer so I can celebrate my forty-ninth birthday with them, even if it does mean a slight delay in starting our trip. I spend the days in between walking the dried-up riverbed. While I’m there I come across a few Himba children who are digging a hole and using a cup to fill their plastic canisters with brown, brackish water. It’s more or less the same way I had to get water when I lived with the Samburu near Barsaloi. Many a time I would go down to the riverbed, dig a hole and wait for it to fill up so I could wash myself and bring water home to drink. In many ways my life back then resembled that of the Himba here.

  The children notice me and start giggling. I say, ‘Moro, perivi’ and they reply with ‘Naua’, which means ‘We’re fine’. They stare at my blonde hair and whisper to one another. I sit down next to them and start taking photographs, which I then show them. They’re a bit shy at first but soon they overcome their timidity and keep on at me to take more photographs. One of the girls starts dancing, another starts digging furiously so she can see herself doing it in my photographs. I get the impression that a lot of Himba may never have seen themselves in a mirror. Back in Barsaloi lots of the local women would come and squat outside my hut just for the chance to use my hand mirror.

  Playing with these kids like this, I’m amazed how happy they are despite their hard lot in life. They laugh together and their eyes sparkle with pure joy. The only one who still seems a bit uncertain about me is the littlest, who can hardly walk. After a while his mother arrives, sits down next to me and starts talking to him, fairly obviously about me. I greet this pretty young woman as I did the children and she smiles. Then she grabs one of the girls and readjusts her skirt to cover her private parts better. I notice that, arranged properly, these short skirts hang in a way that is never revealing, even when they are running and jumping around. She takes hold of the little one and starts washing him, which she does by taking a cup full of water, putting it in her mouth and then spraying it at him. I will never forget the wonderful few hours I spend with these carefree kids in that dried-up riverbed.

  To celebrate my birthday I buy a live goat from the Himba for it to be slaughtered and served up as a treat. The children who help out around the place are delighted to be getting some meat. We celebrate my birthday in a small group and enjoy a cold beer afterwards. Tomorrow it’s time to be off.

  ON MY OWN WITH TWO MEN AND TWO CAMELS

  The plan is to set off from Okangwati over Van Zyl’s Pass and travel from there along the valley of the Marienfluss River to Red Drum. From there we will go via Orupembe towards Purros to see the desert elephants, then along the Hoarusib River to Opuwo, which is our final destination. That’s quite some distance.

  We will be walking for six hours every day with just two twenty-minute rest breaks. There is general agreement with my suggestion that we set off around 4 a.m., just as the day dawns, aiming to reach our next campsite between midday and 1 p.m. We set a strenuous pace and I am glad I brought my trekking poles along as they make it much easier. They’re particularly useful in the dry riverbeds, where I need all my strength just to keep going. When I ask if we might slow down a bit occasionally, if only to appreciate the landscape more, it only lasts for a brief time. In time I gradually get used to our marching speed but it makes the whole adventure a lot less relaxing. The expedition leader is a big strong type who expects a challenge every day and already knows the whole route. And Lucas is only twenty-two years old and every bit as fit. It’s all new to me, though, and I’d prefer not just to be either charging along or falling behind.

  Along the route we often come across men with donkeys, which serve as the local equivalent of cars. Occasionally we even see a group of young men dashing along as fast as their beasts can carry them, as if they were showing off their sports cars. On another occasion we pass two old men who seem bewildered as to what we’re doing walking the route. One of them appears to be a local chief, or at least it seems like that to me from his proud manner and general appearance. His torso is covered with scars and he’s wearing a long necklace of animal teeth. Lucas stops to chat with the pair of them. Despite their age they both have a certain fierce look about them, and they’re clearly not happy with something or other. Later Lucas says to me, ‘You know what it was? They wanted to know what the camels lived on. They were afraid they would eat all the grass and there’d be none left for their cattle.’

  On the third day, just before we reach Van Zyl’s Pass, I decide I’m going to study the following day’s route and have a talk with the expedition leader as I’ve decided I want to set off half an hour early each morning, using a head torch if necessary, so I can find my own rhythm, take everything in and get the most out of the journey. Because the one thing that’s not in doubt is that the route is absolutely amazing.

  So from now on I get up at 3 a.m. and get dressed in my warm tent, which also lets me take the time to deal with my blisters. I put on new plasters every morning. I have two silicon pads, which I strap to my heels to protect them. Then I creep out of the tent, eat the obligatory bowl of muesli made up with powdered milk and dried fruits, and drink a cup of hot tea. I pack up the tent and stow it with the luggage, all still before dawn. As long as the day’s route permits, I set out using the head torch until eventually the sun slowly creeps above the horizon and the day proper begins. The extra time I gain by getting up early is the best part of the day. Now and then I disturb a small herd of oryx or other small wildlife. From time to time one thing or another nearly gives me a heart attack, but that just makes the whole experience all the more intense. If it weren’t for my experiences in Kenya and the number of times I’ve gone mountain walking on my own in Switzerland, I doubt I’d have summoned up the courage to set out alone in the wilderness.

  Van Zyl’s Pass is an adventure in its own right. It’s a hard climb up and takes its toll on the two heavily laden camels. The luggage on their backs keeps slipping and has to be readjusted, which takes up a lot of time. In places the gradient through the pass rises or drops by up to 40 per cent – guidebooks advise only the bravest motorists to attempt it, and in fact vehicles are only permitted to travel from east to west. We come across only two vehicles, both 4x4s, whose drivers look scared out of their wits. The entire pass is thirteen kilometres long.

  Climbing our way up the stony streambed is hard enough for us. The camels aren’t enjoying it at all, and there are times when I worry about them, particularly going downhill. If one of them were to slip and fall it would almost definitely break a leg. I can only hope and pray it doesn’t happen.

  At one point a man suddenly appears out of nowhere right in front of me. He’s wearing a woolly cap and a headband. His shirt is open, revealing his naked chest adorned with an amulet as well as the usual broad silver neckwear, and he has a stick in one hand and a machete in the other. There’s a scar across his face and part of his nose is missing. Obviously he’s been attacked and mugged at some point in the past. He just stands and stares as I say hello to him and walk right past.

  The vegetation is incredible. Here and there I come across a baobab tree, or something that looks like thick roots with red flowers blooming on them. As we get higher the stone is as dark as granite, but the few leafless trees are almost white. They look like the skeletons of trees.

  J
ust before reaching the top of the pass we pitch camp for the night in a dry riverbed. The camels are pleased and as soon as they are relieved of their burdens start rolling around in the dry sand. It’s funny to watch, not least because the frames still fixed to them mean they can’t roll over completely, but have to take turns in cleaning first one side and then the other. I go to gather wood for the fire while the two men go off to reconnoitre tomorrow’s route so we can work out how to load the camels.

  Wherever we pitch our camp it’s not long before we get visitors, usually children, but up here on the pass there are also shepherds with their herds of goats or cows. This time it’s two curious girls, who just stand there staring at me and, in particular, the camels. I’d like to talk to them but I can’t speak Himba and they don’t speak English. Instead I hand them some sweets, which brings a big smile to their faces. They take a cautious lick each before popping them into their mouths. Before long their father turns up to join them. He sits himself down on a stone and just watches me. After a while he shoos the girls away and moves closer, which makes me rather uneasy, and I can’t help hoping the two men will be back soon. There’s something about him that makes me nervous.

  I start wondering anxiously if there is something I can do or say to change the atmosphere. He keeps asking me something, but of course I don’t understand what he’s saying. He seems to be surprised to find me here alone. I’m getting really worried and start fussing about, fetching firewood and making a fire. I go to my tent as if to get the matches and for the first time reach for the pepper spray I brought along to make me feel safer. I slip it into my trouser pocket and come out of the tent holding the matches. This makes me feel a little bit more secure, although I know there’s not really anything I could do against a big strong man with a machete. I keep looking up the path towards the pass, praying that the other two will turn up. At last I hear the sound of voices and there they are.

  The Himba man who’s just been crouching there all this time jumps up. Lucas says something to him, they exchange a few sentences and he heads off in the same direction his children went earlier. I have no idea whether I was misreading the situation or not, but it’s the only time I ever felt unsafe in the presence of a Himba man.

  Next morning we all set off together and before long we’re at the top of the pass. It’s very bleak and windy, with only a few tiny trees managing to hold their own against the gale, but the view of the Marienfluss Valley is magnificent: a wide, yellow plain glowing like gold in the sunlight, with the dark silhouettes of the Hartmann Mountains in the distance. We’re proud of our camels, even though the hard part, the steep descent, still lies ahead.

  I can hardly turn my gaze away from the valley below. The vegetation on either bank of the river cuts like a green band through the yellow grass. Down there is where we’ll take our next rest. As we’re nearly down to the grasslands we come across a herd of cattle with huge horns who seem as bemused as the locals at the sight of our camels, not sure if they should be afraid or just amazed. Thankfully, the two sets of animals pass one another by without incident. I’m relieved that our two good-natured camels have made it down the steep slope safely.

  At the foot of the pass we come across a cluster of stone slabs. At first I think it might be a graveyard but as we get closer and I can read all the inscriptions, I realise they’ve all been carved by people who’ve come through the pass by car. The camels need a rest and in any case we need to readjust their loads. As the belt of greenery is our goal, I head down to the riverbed. It’s very hot and I can make out a group of ostriches in the tall grass. As I wander along it strikes me that there may be no more Himba this side of the pass, but then all of a sudden I come across two girls on donkeys carrying empty water canisters. It would seem they have to spend a day crossing the pass just to fetch water. Later, Lucas tells me that we’ll be lucky to find any water in the coming days, which is why we’ll need to ration our 150 litres. Thank God the camels can go for days without water.

  The tall thorny grass is so high that when the camels kneel down for us to load them up only their heads and the luggage frames are visible. But every so often we come across circular areas of five to six metres in diameter where there is no grass at all, as if they were UFO landing sites. We plod on and on, but the belt of greenery seems no closer. It is, however, becoming easier to pick out individual peaks in the Hartmann Mountains: flat table tops, soft round hills, and steep peaks.

  We spend the next three days walking in parallel with the mountain range without meeting a single human being. I fix upon a point in the distance and simply head for it, for hours on end. For the first time it feels as if I’m walking in a trance. As I plod along the simple sandy path with an unchanging vista of the mountains to one side and an endless emptiness in front of me it suddenly feels as if my body has split into its component parts. My feet move of their own accord and I no longer feel the pain of my blisters. My body sways in rhythm while my arms go up and down with my trekking poles. Bizarrely I feel remarkably happy and eager to go even faster. I’m not even noticing the passage of time. It’s only when I get to a place where the path splits and I don’t know which way to go that I realise I ought to stop and wait for the others. Even the expedition leader is astonished at the change come over me, and says so. Even when my heel is no more than one huge water-filled blister, once I start going I no longer notice the pain.

  Once again the vegetation around us is changing as the land becomes more barren and the ground beneath our feet sandier. The rocky hills are turning red, with great multi-armed cacti jutting out from between the rocks, making for wonderful photo opportunities.

  After several days of absolute empty wilderness we begin to come across the occasional settlement. Next to nothing grows here so it’s only when I spot some white goats that I realise what they must live on. As we have a planned two-day stop here, the word has already got about that white people are coming and want to ‘park’ some funny animals here. We’re something out of the ordinary for them and lots of the more curious ones just come and watch us for hours on end, which amuses me.

  By now we’ve done a lot of the total trek and I feel quite at one with nature. I could put my tent up and take it down again in my sleep. I only rarely imagine myself back home opening the fridge to take out a slice of ham or a piece of cheese or even a nice big glass of wine. I’ve lost five kilos, which won’t do me any harm.

  When we set off again it’s only 4.5 kilometres to the Red Drum, the most well-known landmark in the Kaoko Veldt. And in reality it’s just what it says it is: a red oil drum sitting out there in the wilderness that is the next best thing to a signpost. Anyone coming by car through here passes this way because it is the point where several of the dirt tracks all meet. Alongside the red drum there is a real signpost that says, ‘Marble Campsite: shower and toilet, warm water, 23.5km’. Despite the distance I’m in no doubt that’s it’s worth the walk just to get a shower. The idea of feeling running water on my body is enough to double my speed. Every now and then along the way a car passes us. Most of them stop briefly to gape at us. The people inside are mostly South Africans but there are a few Germans too. Several of them ask if they can take photographs of us; it would seem we’re a tourist attraction in our own right. They can hardly believe how far we’ve come on foot. For our part, we just plod on through the magnificent landscape, though the one thing in my mind’s eye is the shower at the end.

  Finally we get there. It’s my first shower in ten days. The campsite is in a wonderful location in another dry riverbed. We get to put our tents up in the shade of huge, broad-leafed trees. Even the camels seem to be in a good mood. Each pitch has a fireplace, running water and kitchen equipment. The toilets and washrooms are well kept and built out of local materials so they don’t look out of place. The only disappointment is that the cold drinks, much advertised at the reception, are already sold out for today. Still, I suppose you can’t have everything. Lucas is happy too because he gets
on well with the camp staff and ends up playing football with them.

  He’s a fan of games of any sort. One evening, as we’re sitting round the campfire wondering what to do to pass the time, I suggest a guessing game: each of us will think of an animal we saw on today’s trek and the others have to guess what it is. Whoever guesses right goes next. Lucas enjoys the guessing. When it comes to my turn, I think of a chicken we saw in one of the villages we passed through. Lucas makes one guess after another but simply can’t get it. Eventually he reckons he’s named every single animal we’ve seen. When I reveal it is a chicken, he gets quite angry and says, ‘That’s not an animal. A chicken doesn’t count. An animal has to have four feet, or else it’s not an animal.’

  We start laughing and I ask him, ‘What is it then?’

  ‘It’s a bird, not an animal,’ he replies.

  We fall about laughing.

  ‘What about snakes?’ I ask.

  ‘They’re not animals, they’re reptiles,’ he says. ‘Crocodiles have four legs but they’re fish because they live in water. And fish aren’t animals either.’

  For him, that’s the end of the discussion. I try to make him see that the word ‘animal’ includes all of them, but he’s not having it. We’ve spoilt today’s game as far as he’s concerned.

  On another evening we play Boccia together, a simple form of bowls. Lucas and I both select three stones: he has dark ones, I have white ones. We throw a little stone and whoever can land their big stone closest to it wins. He enjoys it at first but soon goes off it when I win, even though all the local Himba children come and watch.

  After our R&R at the camp, it’s time to set off again, this time for Purros via Orupembe. For much of the way we are walking in the dry bed of the River Khumib. There are lots of tyre tracks, which is good because it’s easier to walk in them as the sand has been compressed. I’ve gone back to getting up before dawn and starting out on my own. My senses are much more aware than normal. Here I hear the slightest noise, and my nose is much more acute. Most mornings there’s a trace of wild animal scent along the riverbed. I notice more and more tracks left by animals, giraffes in particular, and the expedition leader warns me that the camels might be frightened by them. He’s seen camels run off at the sight of them, taking the loads on their backs with them, and tells me it’s no easy matter to get them back again.