Drawn from the Plains

The diesel train engine, pulling effortlessly ahead, now and again let out its probing melancholy call. In two days it had transported Ken and me and our scant luggage (much of it in cardboard boxes) from the east coast to the west coast of southern Africa; from the mountains and an unseasonal snowfall of Natal in the east to the sun-baked semi-deserts, rigid grey horizons and strange rocky inselbergs of the north western Cape and Namibia. That evening the sun set purple on the last voluptuous rain clouds we were to see for months as we passed ever deeper into the arid lands. The sky crimsoned and darkened as mist curtains of rain fell remotely and delicately on the wide horizon. The sky seemed to take up so much more space here in these flat landscapes and imparted an atmosphere of purity and freedom.

We were to see a lot more sky and flat land as we travelled on, westward and then north towards the Etosha National Park and a new life. On awakening the next morning our eyes met a linear horizon that appeared to have been drawn with a ruler. Boulders, grey and brown, large and small, lay scattered on the uninterrupted plain and low clay-coloured bushes spiked up between them. In the first sunlight we saw an orange-coloured steenbuck; and further on as the landscape became even more barren a pair of camels, as grey as the dust, surveyed their piece of land with camelesque superiority. Their arrogance seemed fitting, as though they were indeed the only animals fit to survive and rule in this naked country.

Once arrived in Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, we changed to a train bound for the mines of Tsumeb. Through that night and the next day we travelled across thornveld and grassland to Otjiwarongo. Another change here and then on to Outjo. These were names to be wondered at, rolled on the tongue; no longer standing for pictures in our imagination but for reality and a new way of life. They were strange places to us and yet they were pervaded by an atmosphere typical of our southern half of Africa. The details were new but basically these towns and the railway stations that shot by were familiar to us by their very brilliant sunshine, by their spiky thorn bushes, and by the dark faces of the local people.

At Outjo, on the fifth day of our journey, we finally disembarked. The long platform and new brick building of the station looked as conspicuously out of place in the emptiness of the surrounding landscape as an ink blot on a clean white page. Mr. Blom, a motor mechanic from the park, had been sent from Etosha to meet us, and after packing our luggage into his truck we drove through the dusty streets of the small town which looked disillusioned and lifeless in the glaring sunlight of midday.

Heading north we sped along a limestone gravel road which was painfully bright to the eyes, the heat reflecting off its surface with the same intensity as from the sun. The road was wide and in good condition; we travelled fast, almost too fast to take in all that was new to us. The first mopane tree that I had ever seen appeared at the side of the road followed by many more, and soon the whole country was dominated by these grey-barked trees with their lime-green butterfly leaves. The mopane is well known in the drier areas of south-central Africa, and here in Namibia the Outjo district is its southernmost limit. Between the mopane stood bushy deurmekaar trees, hung with clusters of brilliant red pods. The Afrikaans people call this the ‘mixed up tree’, as its branches and twigs are very spiky and intertwined. Hornbills flapped across the road in their crazy swooping flight and flocks of shot-silk glossy starlings flashed up. Thin cattle walked the overgrazed farmlands and here and there a sharp-topped koppie broke the monotony of the flatness.

At last we saw far ahead of us a huge stone gateway with a thatched roof: the entrance to Etosha National Park, which was to be our home for the next three years. At that time Etosha was the largest game reserve in the world. It extended across most of north-western Namibia, and included all of the Kaokoveld mountains and the Skeleton Coast – a wide wild country of stunning contrasts and fierce seasonal changes.

Once we were through the gate, Blom slowed his breakneck speed and we began to take in our new environment. Our first impression was that there was not a blade of grass in sight. It was October, the height of the dry season. The landscape was utterly bleached and dry; white outcrops of calcrete rock showed like bones through the grey earth, and the remnants of last season’s grasses remained only under fallen branches or trees where the grazing herds and their trampling feet could not reach them.

Towering necks of giraffe jutted above the monotone of leafless thornbush; their faces with long upper lips and curious eyes turned towards us. Springbok crossed the road, and in the distance gemsbok antelope stood, pale forms against pale, bare ground. But despite the barrenness none of these animals was in poor condition: they looked fat and shiny. About half a kilometre away on the flats a herd of white elephant was feeding amongst pink and purple salt bushes. Their hides were whitened by the ubiquitous lime dust that seemed to cover everything in Etosha.