Angola - Crossing Borders From Namibia To Namib

When the word “Angola " is mentioned, many people of my generation experience profoundly overwhelming emotions. The intertwined South African Border War, the Namibian War of Independence, and the Angolan Bush War were conflicts in Namibia (South West Africa) and Angola, from August 26, 1966, to March 21, 1990.

This war, which was part of a broader struggle, had a profound impact on Angola, ultimately leading to its independence and subsequent civil war. Despite these challenges, the Angolan people have shown remarkable resilience and determination.

Minutes after my firstborn son was born in 1980, an overpowering sense of fear took hold of me. The thought that this perfectly miraculous human lying swaddled in a crib next to me was destined to be conscripted was overwhelming. My beautiful blue-eyed, 58cm infant was perfection personified, and I made a solemn vow that he would not be used as cannon fodder for the apartheid regime's senseless border war in Angola.

The South African Border War left an indelible mark on our society, both culturally and politically. The country's apartheid government invested significant resources in portraying the war as part of a containment programme against regional Soviet expansionism, using it to fuel public anti-communist sentiment.

Most white men of my generation served in the army and have many tales to tell. Both my brothers were conscripted, and one of my best friends died shortly after returning from the border after overdosing on drugs, having suffered PTSD.

These firsthand experiences, shared by many of us who lived through that era, serve as a poignant reminder of the human cost of war. Years ago, while sitting on his roof waiting to spot Haley’s Comet, my neighbour, Bernard, told me about his horrific experience in a military hospital after their tank was blown to smithereens by a landmine and the subsequent treatment of veterans after the war.

We, the children of the 70s, had the musical genius of little-known Rodriques, who put to music what was happening in the world and questioned war and disruption and Forces Favourites, a radio programme broadcasting messages from mothers, wives, girlfriends and sisters to the boys on the border on Sundays. While my mother sang along to the car karaoke, I sat glumly in the back seat, the weight of homesickness drowning me, on my way back to boarding school. Later, when South Africa hooked up to television broadcasts (or propaganda machines, as those grey men in secret offices slashed and banned books and movies, saw the onset of TV), we were further entertained, or, some might say, influenced by programmes like M*A*S*H.

---oOo---

 

When we mentioned our forthcoming foray into Angola, most South Africans we knew or met had not visited. However, some had recently embarked on self-driving group tours along the southwestern coast, and a few had even dared to venture further, doing business or working in the oil fields.

All the reports we received were peppered with remarks like bribery, exploitation, and skyrocketing inflation, highlighting the economic challenges that Angola is facing. The country's economy has been significantly impacted by mismanagement and sleazy corruption, resulting in high inflation rates and widespread poverty. The exploitation of natural resources, particularly oil, has led to a concentration of wealth in the hands of a few, exacerbating the economic disparity in the country.

One name that frequently reappeared was Isabel Kukanova dos Santos, currently a persona non grata. She is allegedly responsible for many of Angola’s troubles and may have contributed to the country's ongoing economic recession.

Isabel Kukanova dos Santos was born in Baku, Azerbaijan, Soviet Socialist Republic, the eldest daughter of Angola's longtime President, José Eduardo dos Santos (1942-2022), and his first wife, the Russian-born Tatiana Sergeievna Kukanova, whom he met while studying in the then-Soviet Republic of Azerbaijan. Isabel’s paternal grandparents came from São Tomé and Príncipe. Isabel attended an all-girls boarding school in Kent, Cobham Hall School, and St Paul’s Girls’ School in London. She studied Electrical Engineering at King’s College in London. By all accounts, she’s a privileged, smart cookie. However, her privilege and influence have been marred by allegations of corruption and mismanagement, making her a controversial figure in Angolan politics.

These random discoveries serve as a reminder of the insights gained through such journeys, reinforcing the importance of thorough research and preparation before embarking on a trip.

---oOo---

We were determined to keep an open mind.

A few hours before entering Angola, I called Andrew Joe, a tour guide and assistant who will accompany tourists through the various stages of the immigration process, which includes document verification, vehicle inspection, and fee payment.

Andrew sent a list of requirements via a WhatsApp message, which included all the necessary documents we needed, such as our passports, various vaccine certificates, vehicle registration papers, and current photographs of the vehicle.

Andrew met us once we had passed through the Namibian immigration port and accompanied us to the immigration at the Oshikango-Santa Clara Border Post.

It's worth noting that the official language is Portuguese. All forms and officials communicate in Portuguese. We would have been lost without Andrew's guidance, negotiations, and assistance in this process. His presence was a reassurance in unfamiliar territory and crucial in our successful border crossing, underscoring the importance of local guides at specific border posts where English is not spoken.

Like all ports of entry, this one also had its protocols, which we would have found baffling. To get the Honey Badger’s paperwork done, we were sent from pillar to post, running the gauntlet of paying fees, being inspected, and double-checking by different officials who all had a plethora of questions. When we were cleared, we had to wait our turn in a queue for a good while before being issued the stamp of approval. Angola, like Mozambique, allows South Africans a 30-day tourist visa.

We had negotiated a fee with Andrew beforehand, and we could exchange Namibian Dollars for Angolan Kwanza from his brother at an excellent rate. We then purchased SIM cards and Data from his colleague; although convenient, they were expensive. Andrew is a one-stop shop for all your entry needs and comes highly recommended. I’ll post his details at the end of the blog. Andrew can be found on Instagram and Facebook.

---oOo---

Once we were on the road again, the first order of business was to fill our tanks with affordable Angolan Diesel. At approximately R3.68 per liter, it was a steal deal, and long queues of vehicles lined the forecourts of the filling stations as Namibians filled their tanks before returning home after a weekend in nearby towns.

Like most African countries, some random buildings along the road were startling, such as this unfinished IKA Hotel in Onjiva. It is part of a chain of hotels, all skyscrapers painted canary yellow, which can be found in almost every town and city throughout Angola. The unique architecture and vibrant colours of some buildings along the road were intriguing.

It is rumoured that on 9 September 2020, “Angola's Attorney General seized buildings and hotels belonging to a AAA company, including IU and IKA, as part of the Coercive Repatriation and Expanded Loss of Assets and Law Regulating Searches and Apprehensions.

PGR also seized 49% of the stakes held by AAA, Lda. in the Standard Bank of Angola, S.A. (SBA), under the management of Carlos Manuel de São Vicente.”

Like Mozambique, we saw abandoned, shelled homesteads that have never been occupied or restored after the original owners evacuated them. This was a nostalgic reminder of the conflict.

---oOo---

The landscape was reminiscent of the roads we’d travelled along the Zambezi in Namibia,

And then we saw them. Dotted along the road were the infamous rusted war relics. Burned-out tanks and armoured vehicles reminded us of a long, protracted civil war and South Africa’s contribution to it. We could not identify these combat vehicles, but I understood these skeletal hulks belonged to the SADF.

In late August through early September of 1981, the entire area came under intense attack by the South African Defense Force (SADF) in what was known as "Operation Protea."

Locals who have lived in the area since the 1980s and veterans of that period confirm that the tanks and convoy remains in Cunene are, in fact, from Operation Protea. There is a small, nondescript monument to the lives lost in the conflict near the center of Mongua, a small community midway between Onjiva and Xangongo. 

Today, most of what's left are rusted-out carcasses along the roads of Cunene. They’ll slowly sink beneath the windblown sand, silent and brooding testimonies to the battles that once raged around them. Some sites are eerily abandoned, with no signs that anyone has been there in ages.

The young boy seated on the tank is particularly emotive; I hope his generation will thrive in the new, liberated Angola.

---oOo---

Handsome Baobabs, once spectators to the conflict, stand like Phoenixes, risen from the ashes, and are dotted all along the road; they, along with the rusty tanks, are a testament and silent witness to the past and a beacon of hope to the future.

The exploration of rock is a lucrative business in Angola. Throughout our journey, we saw large blocks of black, grey, and white granite, marble, and limestone ready for transportation from quarries to factories. The final products, including tiles, countertops, headstones, mosaics, and other decorative objects, are produced and exported worldwide.

For our first night in Angola, we would wild camp along the road. Using iOverlander, we soon found a lay-by where we pulled off. It was time to relax and reflect on everything we’d experienced.

While I found a frozen pasta sauce for dinner Butch set up our small table and chairs. A colourful tablecloth, our dinnerware, and our red and white checked linen napkins brightened up our rather drab spot; previous overnighters hadn’t left the area in good nick. Butch would prepare our drinks he said while my pasta boiled. We had a few minutes to knock back our cocktails in tall glasses.

After a very restful night, we set off, hoping to have brunch in Lubango, the first large city on our route.

---oOo---

Lubango

In approximately 1882, 1,000 Portuguese settlers arrived from Madeira to establish a settlement. They began farming and founded the town. Soon, the city grew as more settlers arrived, and in 1932, a railway was constructed connecting the town to Moçâmedes, on the coast.

Several Rehobothers emigrated from Namibia to Angola and settled in Lubango, where they were known as the Ouivamo. The South African government later forced many of these folk to return to Namibia (between 1928 and 1930).

After Angola's Independence from Portugal, following the events of the Carnation Revolution on April 25, 1974, in Lisbon, and the repatriation of the Portuguese, the city was once again renamed Lubango. During the Angolan Civil War (1975–2002), Lubango served as a base for Cuban, SWAPO, and government troops. Its once-thriving economy plummeted.

Lubango has one of the highest elevations in Angola. The city experiences a subtropical highland climate with hot, humid days and cool nights with heavy rainfalls between December and March, and the warmest months are September and October.

We were informed that Lubango hosts the Lubango International Festival of Culture in July. This ten-day extravaganza showcases the country's diverse cultural heritage, featuring traditional art, dance, music, and cuisine. Music and dance fill the air and streets as locals dress up and perform colourful parades, celebrating Angola's identity and encouraging unity and pride among participants and spectators.

Colourful buildings lined the street, reminiscent of the Portuguese style of architecture. There were a cathedral, municipal and governmental buildings, schools, banks, a hospital, and a post office.

The city became a vital hub for agriculture and transportation, boasting an airport and a well-developed railway system. All major maintenance and repairs can be facilitated here. On our return, we would have the Honey Badger’s wheels realigned at Tren Tyre!

From my vantage point on the mountain overlooking the city, I could see the vast spread of the commercial and residential sectors.

From a distance, one can spot the Christ the King Statue, perched on a hill overlooking Lubango. This prominent religious monument stands as a symbol of faith and cultural heritage. Erected in 1957, the statue offers panoramic views of the surrounding landscape.

It was inspired by the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, one of only four worldwide. At approximately 30 meters in height, it is one of the tallest statues of Jesus Christ in Africa.

The monument was designed in the 1950s by a Portuguese engineer from Madeira, Frazão Sardinha. On April 18, 2014, the country's Ministry of Culture declared it an Angolan World Heritage Site.

The statue is a popular pilgrimage site, attracting visitors like us who admire its impressive stature and serene surroundings. The site also serves as a reminder of Angola's colonial history, as it was constructed during the Portuguese colonial period.

Unfortunately, the hydraulic lime face and hands of Christ bear the battle scars of the war, and bullet wounds pockmark his serene face.

Later, we met a South African couple, tourists, who were intimidated and harassed by a carload of opportunists who wrangled a bribe. They had been falsely accused of causing a fender bender; they paid a hefty “admission of guilt” to avoid further harassment and, feeling unsettled due to this unpleasantness, returned to South Africa, their journey marred by the incident—such a shame.

---oOo---

The streets were quiet on Sundays, and few Pastelarias were open, but we discovered Bica Café on the main road.

While Butch ordered our coffees I perused the freshly baked pastries and cakes on display and of course couldn’t resist the Pasteis de Nata still warm from the oven.

After securing our camping spot at Flor de Lis – Pousada, a small space in a lodge's backyard with surprisingly good facilities, we had the afternoon to explore our surroundings. We needed to stretch our legs and set off on foot.

We enjoyed a late lunch in the suburbs, listening to a duet that featured a sublime selection of tunes, ranging from Tracy Chapman to various traditional songs. At the same time, we nibbled on the local take on samosas with a spicy fish filling. Delicious.

---oOo---

After visiting the Christ the King statue, where we admired the craftsmanship and took in the views, we contemplated our next step. Then we set off toward Namibe, where we hoped to see some magnificent landscapes, mountains, ravines, cliff faces, a pass, the Namib desert and a hairpin bend or seven, the hidden gems we've only heard about in passing, for which Angola is renowned.

 

---oOo---

The Serra da Leba

At last, I can tell you all about the Serra da Leba, one of the highlights of our journey. I have had to contain my excitement until now, otherwise I might've spilled the beans earlier. What's more, the extraordinary Serra da Leba pass is said to be named after a Portuguese engineer, a lady, who designed and built the road and died on the day the project was completed.

Twenty kilometers west of Lubango, while travelling on the paved Estrada Nacional 280 (EN280), we first saw the breathtaking 7-hooked mountain pass, which was built in the late 1960s and completed in the 1970s.

This national landmark needs to be savoured from every angle and deserves a few stops for photographs and for us to take in the spectacular landscape.

We turned left at the security barrier/toll station and headed for the communication masts as instructed. At the end of the track, we were told there was a viewpoint where we could enjoy views of the steepest section of the road as it descended and disappeared into the lush vegetation below.

A small bar is located near one of the most popular sightseeing spots.

After oohing and aahing over the views, the engineering feat of the road’s construction, the zigzags, and our forthcoming 29.7km drive from Renato Grade to Leba, the spiral from the “plano alto” (the high plateau) with an altitude of 1845m to almost sea level in just over 10km, traversing 3 or 4 different climate zones during the descent, we needed a refreshing drink at the nearby bar.

We decided, sipping our coffees, that this was not a drive to undertake at night or on rainy days. The restaurant was still closed, and all we could coax from the youngster hanging around was a cup of coffee. Anyway, I think alcoholic beverages are out of the question here and should not be considered.

We buckled up and ensured we were in low range, with tyres at the correct pressure, air brakes engaged, and in top gear; we set off. (I silently asked for travelling mercies.)

Although the going was slow as we crawled along the road, it was so well-engineered that, after my initial fear, I relaxed and enjoyed the ride. Please note there are no shoulders, hardly any barriers, and keep in mind this road was built when buses and trucks were much slimmer!

This would be one of many exceptional surprises Angola had in store.

It is surprising how slowly a 10km drive is and how much one sees in that time. If we'd been in a Lamborghini, I'd not have seen any murals, cliffs, twists, or turns. I might've had my head in a paper bag. Two things flashed through my mind: 1. my nauseating experience flying in a Cessna over the Okavango swamps, 2. my friend Jocelyn, who would’ve walked.

Once we’d passed the mountain ranges, the landscape changed once again. I suppose we were approaching close to sea level and the desert, as trees and shrubs became hardier, settlements were fewer, the road quieter and straighter, and we could glimpse the horizon many kilometers into the distance.

Temperatures soared in Namibe Province, where we travelled westward through the flatlands en route to the coast and the red and ochre earth of the Namibe Desert.

Shortly after midday, we entered Moçâmedes or Namibe, a colourful seaside town with avenues of palm trees, colonial buildings, tiled roofs, and Government buildings sporting all shades of pink.

We passed a large harbour where fishing boats were moored and even a large container ship lay waiting for cargo.

At first glance, the fishing industry appeared to be among the main occupations in Namibe, alongside the usual suspects, such as banks, shops, markets, restaurants, and hotels, which cater to the growing tourism market.

Our destination was the beach and Oasis Camping, where we set up. We could hear the waves rolling in and breaking on the shore. That was all we needed to slip into our bathers and head in that direction.

The charming manager, who gave up a promising career in London to manage a resort in Angola, soon had us seated at one of the dining tables. On a hot afternoon like this, she said it’s much better to sit on her deck, overlooking the aquamarine sea, with a beer and some delectable seafood. I couldn’t agree more. It was lunchtime, and this was precisely what we came for. We returned to the deck for supper, who could resist the seafood or the view?

---oOo---

Another surprise awaited us when we dipped our toes into the water. Unlike the numbing bite of our freezing West Coast waters—think Clifton’s 4th beach—the water here was refreshingly temperate even I would swim here I told Butch.

Water temperatures are higher along the Angolan coast because warm air flows over Lake Nakuru, in Kenya (we’ve been there!), Due to its proximity to the equator. This air flows down along the west coast, heating the water along the Angolan coast.

The air loses its heat on its downward path to Antarctica and becomes cold on its return up the west and east coasts of Southern Africa. The cold currents will gradually heat as the air heats on its upward path back to the equator. We found this to be fascinating.

The cold Benguela current is responsible for the abundance of fish on our west coast.

Like most African sunsets, this, our first proper sunset in Angola, did not disappoint.

---oOo---

As a Cancerian, I am always drawn to the ocean, it's tides and sunset where I feel the most comfortable, one claw in the water and the other sifting sand, my eyes fixed on a mountain top or the horizon. We decided to stay for three nights.

Butch and I explored the city on our bikes riding miles and miles along the coastal road, winding our way through the city streets. We stopped to enjoy the views, take photographs, have a coffee, have a bite to eat, and enjoy the views.

Our route took us along the promenade, the CBD, the seafront, and out of town. The most frequent question is "Didn't you feel unsafe?" and I can unequivocally say NO. We've been travelling for almost three years and have never felt vulnerable or endangered. Our reception has always been welcoming.

We would always stop for coffee or gelato to take in our surroundings, enjoy everyday life on the street, and experience, albeit vicariously, local people going about their daily lives battling the tides with grace and acceptance.

While back at the campsite, we met some interesting people: a couple from the Netherlands exploring Angola and then venturing south to Namibia and a girl hitching through East Africa and Angola. Now, that takes courage. She has never been disappointed, unsafe, or insecure and loves learning about their environment from locals. She said her little white tent is all she needs and has served her well.

We met Roumaissa, an Algerian girl in her twenties, cycling solo around southern Africa. She speaks a smattering of English and is fluent in French and Arabic. She is a delightful young lady on a mission to grow physically and mentally and will soon be streaking past all her contemporaries.  Accompanying Roumaissa was Brahim Mohammed, a young entrepreneur from Mauritania seeking his fortune in Angola, where he believes there’s an opportunity to trade.

From what we understand, he met Roumaissa recently and would escort her and accompany her until she leaves to resume her journey to Lubango. She will ride her neon orange bike from sea level up the seven hairpin bends—remarkable. She told us she is pretty au fait with maintaining her bicycle in tip-top condition, and the climb does not faze her.

My admiration for her grew daily, and we kept in contact until recently, when life took over and the mundane chores of daily life fill my days. I did catch up with her recently, and she said she’s home safe and sound with her family. Now this is an "influencer" I can recommend.

---oOo---

Seafood, Butch said was all he was interested in and so we did just that. Lunch or dinner would be seafood. Sundowners on the promenade, watching the sun set golden on the faraway horizon, was a far cry from our adventures on the East African coast. It was good to be back on the West Coast.

We decided to splurge on our last night and reserved a table at the renowned Club Nautic Restaurant.

For our convenience, the owner allowed us to park and sleep in the Honey Badger across the road from the restaurant, where his night guard kept an eye on us!

The night was ours to enjoy, one course after the next, indulging in the freshest, plumpest seafood dishes.

Relying on Google Translate for a menu is not recommended. Their literal translations are mind-boggling enough to put one off one’s food. One of my favourite Portuguese desserts, Baba de Camelo, a traditional baked custard pudding,  will forever be “camel drool.”

The restaurant filled up as we enjoyed our desserts. Here, as in the Mediterranean, dinner is served after 22h30. We decided to take a long walk along the promenade and stopped for gelato. We spotted Roumaissa and Brahim at a sidewalk café, where we joined them for mint tea. Later, we stopped for coffee on our way back to the Honey Badger.

 

I had missed these continental evenings where palm trees sway gently, cooling the earth from the day’s heat. Occasionally, we heard the bang of a door, the laughter of children still outside and the buzz of a motorbike. There was a pleasant hubbub as locals went out to dine or walk along the water’s edge, and in the distance we heard the thump of a diesel engine as a fishing boat went out to sea. The string lights hoisted up on boats danced on the flat sea, reflecting a colourful rainbow on the gently lapping waves.

Angola was casting a spell on us. We’d entered Moçâmedes at the colourful roundabout, and now it was time to exit there and take the road north. Our plan was to hug the coast, and we expected the unexpected.

---oOo---

For more information about the enigmatic Isabel dos Santos, visit Isabel dos Santos on Wikipedia.

 

My firstborn is 6'5", has salt-and-pepper hair, and a long (Canadian-style) grey beard. He's got a lovely sense of humour, talks the hind legs off a donkey, and runs further than Forrest Gump every day. He's creative and enjoys surfing, travelling, and Pearl Jam. He was not conscripted. My prayers were answered.

Forgive me, but I can't resist sharing these street scenes.