Namibia Pt 2: T.I.N.

Alright, so I left off last time with a cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers. What would happen to our little VW Polo? Would Marta find a job? How did Captain Barbossa come back from the dead? Unfortunately I’m only able to answer the first of those questions – I don’t think anyone really knows how Captain Barbossa figured that one out.

We left that gas station and immediately began our journey through unpaved, gravel roads into the deepest heart of Namibia. Our trek took us through wild game reserves, across barren plains, up mountains, and into what Matt described as, “What hell would look like if it were found on earth”. Navigating this wilderness was difficult for us outsiders. The roads seemed at times to seamlessly blend into the landscape. It was a long journey. It was a hard journey. Surely this is what Frodo and Sam must have gone through on their quest through Mordor. The only thing to do was to roll the windows down and turn Dragon Force on full blast as we tore through the gates of Hades to our eventual destination: the hot springs of Ai Ais.

As we pulled up to the gates of the fabled city we were asked to register our car with security. It turned out this blip on the map was not a small town but a resort, also the only evidence of civilization for hundreds of kilometers. Instead of staying in the posh R1300 rooms we opted to take our chances and camp outside underneath the Namibian sky. We had packed blankets and were both experienced campers (read: Eagle Scout nerds) so this was no problem. As we were setting up our site a cacophony of voices began to rise in the distance. 60 kids from a high school in Windhoek (capital of Namibia) had hiked 85k from Fish River Gorge to Ai Ais, taking 5 days. I can only imagine the violent chaos that would erupt within the PTA meeting if this type of trip were proposed in the American school system. But no, this is Africa. These kids were tough as nails. Their chaperones, though, were even tougher.

Our night kicked off at the outdoor resort bar – the only tavern within 200 kilometers. I can’t begin to explain the circus of characters this bar (and we) attracted. We began by talking with a death-metal guitarist construction worker who helped build Ai Ais. He was the easily the most normal of everyone we met: the eye of the hurricane. Pulling out my guitar we started jamming. The actual stereo at the bar was broken so, between the two of us, the guitar took court. A raucous sing-a-long of Hotel California attracted the travel-weary (an inebriated) parent chaperones of the school kids. A car screeched to a halt at the foot of the stairs and up walked a 300 pound New Zealander who oozed testosterone out of every pore: the owner of the construction company. Our party had reached the point of overflow. We had had enough of this bar. It was time to head to the hot springs. By now all the younger hikers had gone to bed so we had the whole of the springs to ourselves. Stories and laughter ensured and the party continued well into the night.

The next morning we woke and began mentally preparing for the eight hour drive back to the relative normalcy of the Garden Center apartments in Cape Town. On my way out I happened to pass by the bar. It was as if no one from the previous night had strayed from their earlier positions. The chaperones were all sitting down enjoying their morning beer and cigarettes (breakfast of champions), the construction workers were performing maintenance on the outdoor furniture, and the manly New Zealander was stringing together a torrent of cusses I didn’t know was possible. Another day in Namibia.

On the way home my thoughts continually drifted to the countryside surrounding me. Throughout the whole trip I had asked myself how people could live here. What would they do for fun? What is life like for the average Namibian? Do they have the same hopes, dreams, fears, ambitions, as I do? Although I am always weary of drawing rash generalizations, spending that evening with those parents and construction workers brought me face to face with some of those answers. They’re just like me, and the exact opposite. That’s not a contradiction. That’s African.