September 1/Day 5: Sesriem to Mirabib Bushcamp

Frans and potential meal, originally uploaded by Andrew & Yvette's world travel.

Today, we woke at 4:30 to catch the sunrise at Dune 45. Though a long, difficult, trek to the sandy top, the views were absolutely rewarding. As the sun continued its ascent, the khaki ocean went from a dull blackish brown to magnificent shades of red as the dunes sparkled, illuminated by the sun’s rays.

After the sunrise, Richard and I raced down the dune together. The poor guy was in need of a good laugh as one of his sandals got stolen by a jackal at the camp we stayed at last night. Several miles away from Dune 45 was our next destination, Sousevlei National Park, where we had the most amazing, most entertaining, most informative simply the B-E-S-T-E-S-T guide ever: Frans. We learned a lot from Frans like how the dunes don’t move because at their base are tree roots that keep them in place. Using a magnet, Frans also demonstrated that the black sand corrupting the vibrant red color of the dunes was iron. We also walked to a petrified dead forest where we tried our hand at being Ansel Adams by trying to capture the eerie beauty of trees defeated by their harsh waterless environment

Frans also found for us all sorts of bugs, lizards and spiders that were hiding in the sand to escape the strong heat of the sun. He also taught us how to catch lizards so that if any of us were voted off the bus to stay in the desert, we would have an instant source of food and water. In addition to the fact that there are plenty of lizards in the dessert, Frans also stressed that out of all the sand crawlers, lizards easily beat ants and spiders in the raw taste department!

After the hike, we settled down in the cool shade of a tree to learn about Frans culture. Frans, like the titular character in the fantastic ‘The Gods Must be Crazy’ movie, is a Bushman. For the benefit of all the (still) single guys in the group, Frans explained the winning Bushman way of marrying a woman. First, he had to go in the desert to hunt for an Oryx, a large male antelope with 2 long, straight vertical horns. Once the deed was done, he had to cut the Oryx’s tail as proof and bring this to the father and mother. The father and other male relatives would then go to the Oryx to inspect the animal to check if 1) he hunted on his own and 2) if the Oryx was strong, powerful, young. If all was well, the whole village would celebrate, the oryx would be prepared and eaten, and the man and woman would marry and live happily ever after. If there were 2 men competing for the same woman, the two would first perform a special dance and then go out and capture an oryx. Whoever caught an oryx first would take the woman and then live happily like in the movies. To ensure this joyous union would last, Frans also doled out the Bushman’s key to happiness to us married females (myself and 60 y/o Sue). This advice was to stay sweet, keep smiling, and keep the talking to a minimum. We all share a hearty laugh at the novelty of the idea.

Next up on the one man F show was “How to catch your lover cheating.” First, Frans directed our attention to his bare feet and the sandy landscape. Now, if a man suspects his wife is being unfaithful, he can easily catch her by tracing her footsteps. Bushman, you see, are feet signature experts and they can easily distinguish their father’s, mother’s, wife’s, son’s, daughter’s, uncle’s, auntie’s (get the picture) footprints in the sand. They can even identify if a person is young or old based on the distance between steps and the depth of the imprint on the sand.

The best part about this tour however, was hearing Frans speak in his native language: the 4 click clicking (as opposed to the 7 click which Frans doesn’t understand whatsoever). It was crazy how they use clicks in between sounds to communicate. Afterwards, everyone tried to call everyone in 4 click (albeit incorrectly) and all you could hear on the bus was *click click click E click click click click VETTE* and so forth.

After the tour, we were back on the road to our next camp, Big Rock bushcamp in Mirabib. For the uninitiated, bush camping = no running water so no toilets & no showers. For the Aussies, English & Irish in the group, bush camping = no bar. And so before we got to camp, we made an emergency pit stop at a grocery store to stock up on a couple of essentials like the following: 12 6-packs, 1 Amarula, 1 Vodka, 4 5-litre wine casks and the odd single bottle of wine for the non-drinkers. Did I mention the bushcamp was just for one night??? Lol.

Camp that night was absolutely gorgeous. We were out in the middle of nowhere with nary a person in sight. For dinner, we all huddled around the fire underneath a massive slab of rock overhang. For storytelling, we listened to Matt talk about the glory days of overlanding in Africa. Like how in the late 80s, they used to camp right by the Ebola River or how a whole group once ended up in a Zimbabwean jail in the 90s because one of the guys took a picture of Mugabe’s front gate. Now, except for the bribery, everything is tameish. Take our bushcamp for example, p-e-r-f-e-c-t-l-y safe. In the old days, there were few and far campsites in between and camping at bushcamps were done out of necessity, not novelty. These camps were not always safe. For example, Matt has been w/ groups where drunk locals shot poisoned arrows at the group for fun. Most of the time, the locals’ drunkenness meant the arrows always missed. Once however, the result was deadly as an arrow landed on a guy’s leg. The group ended up traveling w/ a corpse (and a lot of ice) for 3 days (they sent his ashes home *so sad*). Drunken locals w/ poisoned arrows aside, even mosquitoes are no match for today’s (properly taken) anti-malarial tablets. In the early 90s, someone always came down w/ malaria and half of the African experience was the ‘will I get it?’ anxiety + the ‘we gotta hustle to the hospital before someone dies’ clamor.