" To inquire into the intricacies of a distant landscape, then, is to provoke thoughts about one’s own interior landscape, and the familiar landscapes of memory. The land urges us to come around to an understanding of ourselves.” ― Barry López, Arctic Dreams
When I was 18 years old I took a gap year from my studies and volunteered with an organisation called Project Trust, teaching English to farm school kids in the Khomas Hochlands, the highlands outside Windhoek. I hadn't planned on going to South West Africa, infact I was hoping to be sent to Brazil. But as it turned out Namibia was where the organisation chose to send me.
I was not looking forward to spending a year in what appeared to be a huge expanse of desert. All the research I did had only produced a few books with images of empty landscapes, a barren dry place. Remember that this was in the days before the internet and I had to search the local library for any reference books on South West Africa which was to become Namibia in the year I was living there.
I came up with one book, a photographic book that enthused about the amazing light over the Namibian landscape with quotes from a man named Barry Lopez. His delight in the power of the land was catching and my fear about spending a year in the middle of nowhere slowly turned into my own desire to explore and understand this empty wasteland.
I have chosen a photo of the wildcoast in South Africa to open this post, because it is the closest I could get to an image of the way the light falls across the land as it did in Namibia. ( Wild Coast - Amapondo, Christopher Rimmer)
So much happened in that year that I ended up writing a book about it. If I am still writing this blog in the next year or so I will write a few of the stories down. They include the incredible privilege of watching a nation be born, going from years of rule by Germany and then South Africa, to Independence. Being arrested under suspicion of being a spy & crossing illegally over the border into Angola. ( If you really want to read more I think the book might still be available on Amazon - A Namibian canvas, ISBN 062 028714 - 4)
The map above shows some of the journeys we made while living and working in Namibia. Here is a little passage written about the time we went hitch hiking in the North of the country and ended up meeting a tribal chief who had never met a white person before .... On this occasion we were in Owamboland, far North near the border with Angola. We caught a ride in a minibus and it had just pulled in to a tiny village in the middle of nowhere to drop off customers and pick up more. A talkative young man came over and asked me to get out of the taxi and follow him. He informed me that they had never seen any white people travelling in this minibus before and someone important wanted to meet me ...
' I am looking into a pair of deep brown eyes and holding the dry papery hand of a dignified, elderly gentleman who declares through a translator that he has never seen a white person before !
I stand before him like a startled deer, caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, unprepared to represent the 'white race' to this tribal chief.
His eyes look me over, an unreserved inspection, slow and deliberate. My hand held firmly in his, I am unable to step back and establish a comfortable distance between us. He raises his free hand and takes a handful of hair between his fingers. This phenomenon above the blue eyes and fair skin seems to fascinate him the most. Rubbing my sunbleached, frayed hair between forefinger and thumb, it looks very fragile in his strong hand. I look down at his loincloth, then his feet in rubber sandals with a metal ornament at the toe.
I look at my admirer's greying, spring tight curls, like a field of white peppercorns on a mahogany stand and mentally step back to look in on this encounter. A collision of two cultures, two distinctly different societies represented in this one moment in time.
I am wondering what he is thinking? The stories he must have heard of 'the white barbarians,'the evil ghost that so many African children think I am on first sight. It is not to cries of joy and curiosity that I have entered many African children's groups, but to alarm and fear. A white ghost touching down intruding into their world of dark skin.
For five minutes I stand before him. Five minutes that seem to last an eternity. Five very long self-conscious minutes, squirming beneath such a penetrating look, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
To me he is an intriguing, wise old man, but who am I to him? Friend or foe? An ambassador bearing glad tidings or ill? An historic moment? He has never seen 2 white girls step out of this minibus before!
He is smiling, his eyes twinkling beneath a brow furrowed in concentration. I think I have passed the test. He seems content, his questions answered. He turns and walks away. No farewell. He is followed by his inner circle of advisors. As if nothing has happened he returns to his village not wishing to pursue the acquaintance. It hurt.
Jess and I ponder the strange encounter. She had been watching from the minibus, it seemed that he didn't need to meet more than one of us.
" You know, we in the West subconsciously think that we are the saviours of the modern world. But really he wasn't that interested in us .... ! "
We turn to look at the figure of the old man one last time out of the window. He is now a small dot in the distance. We watch him go, a dark shape growing smaller as he disappears into the tall dry grass.
Sadly I don't have any photos of this encounter. It all happened too quickly and these were the days before digital cameras or smart phones. I doubt I had much film left in my camera to even contemplate taking a photo. I regret that now, but never mind. Here are a couple of photos taken with Nick & Lotti when we drove back up from South Africa and into Namibia.
They were taken around about February and Nelson Mandela had just been released from decades of prison on Robben Island. These pictures make me laugh because Lotti took them and I am always eating in them and Nick is always smoking. I did put on loads of weight in that year. This may have been me nervously eating just after we had a tyre blow out with the tyre exploding while we were driving at high speed. Fortunately Nick managed to pull the car over and not roll us into the ditch.
Precious images and words. Despite the lack of photos I am so glad I kept journals during my year in Namibia. I will write a few more adventures down in future blog posts.
I wish I could do a better job of conveying how magical the African continent is. but for now I will leave it to others to inspire your imagination. Here is a photo taken by Pieter Hugo, A South African photographer.
And to finish, 2 photos of the Herero tribe in Namibia taken by Jim Naughten. Not what you would expect, a left over of Victorian missionaries encouraging the locals to cover up !
When you look at the man above, think of my tribal chief, in simple loin cloth. On his feet old tyre rubber has been sculpted into sandals. And then think of me, sunburnt and frazzled , the first white person he had ever seen !