How Etosha Got Its Name - A Lesson In Following Our Daydreams

Once upon a time, when pharaohs were building pyramids, a man named Noah from Goa (just kidding, Mesopotamia) decided to build a ship. Why? The message in a daydream was clear. “A flood covering the whole earth is nigh. Build a ship, Noah!”

Noah proclaimed it would be made from Gopher wood (I kid you not). His family thought he might’ve got it wrong. The message was probably “GO FOR… Cedar”, but he was stubborn and adamant. Nothing wrong with his ears.

If he was an Arab trader, it could’ve been a dhow; if he was Pi, it might’ve been a large oared fishing boat, or, as was customary, a ship rowed by a thousand enslaved people. Noah followed orders and didn’t build the Titanic. The long and short of it was that he was determined to see it through. He became a man possessed.

As soon as the Ark was complete, he herded his family aboard. He didn’t have the heart to leave the animals looking up at him, doe-eyed.

He was then ordered to ensure the boat carried both sexes of every land animal. That was a tall order, but he did it in double quick time because he also had to take the flood seriously. (There was no NR.com App.)

With help from his family and extended family, he got the job done. The rains came and flooded the whole world. His mother always said, "The sun will always shine, Noah, but first you need rain."

Soon the waters rose, and the Ark shed its stabilisers and scaffolding and floated off. Things went swimmingly until the fox got into the henhouse, the birds and the bees started giving advice, the tortoise and the hare raced on the deck, and the zebra and the tiger compared stripes. The Jackal, never a peacekeeper, egged them on.

This trip wasn’t plain sailing. The rain didn’t let up, and pandemonium broke out—close confinement and cabin fever. Boredom is the devil’s earpiece, and the snake didn’t need an apple to entice Adam and Eve. While Noah slept (fortunately, Rome was in deep water, so there were no fires), the couple was cooking up something terrible. Noah knew he had to pull a rabbit out of a hat to sort out his problems.

The next minute, birds were laying eggs; the cute Meerkats, mongooses, and rats as big as cats were all knocked up. Plans had to be made. The primates were out of control. They were swingers and social climbers, and he threw them off in Uganda. While sailing past Kilimanjaro, some birds, bees, and bushbabies were set free. He dumped the crocodiles and hippopotami along the Nile so they could fend for themselves.

Guess who was building a yellow submarine? Indeed, the beetles, they thought, were forewarned, forearmed. To teach them all a lesson, he made the Dodos walk the plank; it was meant as a prank, and now they’re history.

Eventually, green grass blades pushed through the fertile Serengeti soil. There, he let the Wildebeest go. They wandered along the never-ending figure-eight migratory paths. The chameleon was overjoyed yet envious.

In Zimbabwe, he let the elephants stand on their hind legs, convinced they would keep their heads above water. They were impossible anyway. Sadly, the wild dogs did too, because they hunted everything under the sun. It was September, and their pups would leave the den. Hwange would do the trick. He was sure they’d find their way home to Kruger and the Kgalagadi.

He noticed that every time he let a dove out through the porthole, it never returned. Truth be told, they were annoying him with their interminable Le-ta-ba, Le-ta-ba cries all day. Good riddance, he thought. “Go on, fly away home.”

The Springboks and the Lions always clashed. The poor Hyenas couldn’t mop up fast enough. At first, he could cope. He was impartial up to a point; secretly, he had a favourite. He lost it when the infernal Springboks outwitted the Lions again just as they bobbed past Ellis Park. He swore he’d had enough and kicked them all into touch in the Karoo.

Phillipolis, he declared, would be the perfect place to ditch the Tigers. They were ferocious carnivores, and his stocks were low. He'd have to employ the circling vultures to help. There, they would learn to walk softly on this earth.

Things were becoming much easier as the Ark turned without making a Kaapse draai (a turn in the Cape) and headed north. At one point, he realised the days were getting hotter and drier, and the Elephant, Rhinoceros, and Giraffe were still on board. With a sigh of relief, he remembered that Ellie’s gestation period was almost three years, but a Rhino’s was a little less.

He had to tack this ship and make haste while he still had water beneath him. The Kudu, Gemsbok, and Roan antelope let the wind out of his sails when they up-and-left him just north of the Orange River. Disappointed, he watched them head into the dunes as they disappeared.

The high-and-mighty Ostriches could get lost, too; they’d kicked him in the teeth once too often. With their heads held high and not a backward glance, they did. Noah was worried. He wasn’t even going to mention the Honey Badgers… they took no @#$% and tried to escape by any means.

One morning, while still in his hammock, enjoying his brew of weasel-poo coffee, his brother burst into the captain’s cabin unannounced and told him that the laughing dove had returned with a sprig of acacia in its beak. “Very funny,” he thought. Perplexed, he threw on his kikkoi, and as they hurried onto the deck, he grabbed the railing, peered over the edge, and lo and behold, a magnificent tree stood there.

The birds were delighted and flew off in a single immense cloud. Minutes later, they spotted the Secretary bird heading to his first meeting with Mrs Cori Bustard and gave chase.

Two days later, to everyone’s astonishment, the Egyptian Geese were back. “Bloody ducks in denial,” he told his brothers as the sun set. Fortunately, he’d dropped the Common Mynas near the Drakensberg. Less than a week later, they heard a mighty roar. Guess who'd made it back to the Ark? Sylvester. Bruised and battered, he lay watching the scene, ready to pounce.

A lightning bolt struck them, and they realised they were sinking. Not really. They were now sitting high and dry, like the camels—ships in the desert. That night, they would be high as kites.

They reckoned the land around their puddle of water was barren, stony, and inhospitable. Dumbfounded, Noah and his brothers lowered the rope ladders, set up the gangplank, and shooed all the animals off the boat. Fortunately, they were accustomed to droughts and deserts. Within days, they dismantled the ship and built a shelter beside the pond.

Then the most astonishing thing happened. Every afternoon, just before sunset and sunrise, the animals returned to the puddle for water, each species waiting its turn. In the days that followed, the same thing happened. Noah jumped for joy and announced, “From this day forth, it would be a watering hole.” His work was done.

He called his place Okaukuejo Camp. After all, he always told the Impala, “Ok, you queue here”, which became Okaukuejo. Because his allergies went through the roof from the acacia tree’s pollen, he sneezed eeee-too-shoo, eventually becoming Etosha. Oh, and Ark became Park... somewhere, something got lost in translation.

Noah was at the end of his tether and beginning to stutter like someone he knew from his previous life, but he couldn’t remember the guy’s name anymore; he’d broken his tablet.

At night, he’d lie in his kaross, watch the twinkling little stars, wonder how high they were, or listen to the call of a Pearl Spotted Owlet or the mournful cry of a jackal. His favourite was listening for the stealthy approach of a Rhinoceros or the near-silent march of an Elephant. 

Noah longed for home when the moon was a crescent, aligned with the evening star, a symbol of life and nature’s renewal in the old country. His days were numbered, for he knew he was not Methuselah. Yet joy filled his heart as he watched Daniel play with his lion cub or sit in the crook of the old tree, daydreaming as he plucked his Juice Harp, giving him hope that he would one day have the gift of interpreting his dreams.

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Part Two

Whether to go to Etosha is not debatable. You go. At first, Butch was reluctant, but after we reconsidered our options and routes, he agreed. Our destination was Okaukuejo rest camp, with the world-renowned watering hole, where we’d stay for seven nights.

A few kilometres before the park entrance, we stopped at the lovely farm stall, stocked up on a few treats, and spoilt ourselves with a freshly baked, homemade garage pie! Venison for Butch and mutton curry for me.  

We hurried to the gate; we had no reservation. There we had our first taste of bureaucracy. At the entrance, the gate official refused to call the Okaukuejo campsite reception desk “because the two Ministries don’t communicate.” Besides, they didn’t have a phone at the gate, and she didn’t have airtime. She folded her arms across her ample bosom. We could enter the Park, pay the daily rate, find out, and return if there was no vacancy. “Yes,” we were told solemnly, “all fresh meat from cloven-hoofed animals will be confiscated on your return.” Her hands were tied.

Frustrated, we returned to the Honey Badger and set about getting a signal so we could look up phone numbers, etc. Before long, we were connected and roaming. The receptionist was much more accommodating and assured us there was plenty of space and that we could stay as long as we liked.

After a quick registration, the friendly receptionist recalled speaking to us. We set off to set up our campsite at the fence. While we set up, we saw an elephant come through to drink, giving us time to grab our cameras and a drink, then hurry down to enjoy sundowners while it bathed and dust-bathed.

The next day, pandemonium broke out at the gate. A leopard was watching a young rhino calf suspiciously. Fortunately, the rhino escaped, and the leopard, tail between his legs, returned to his tree for a kip.

We spent our days in glorious bliss. We went on early-morning game drives, sat at waterholes, did recces around the Etosha pan, and lazed away in the afternoons near the Honey Badger or the watering hole, where there was always some action.

We’d wander down to the watering hole at five o’clock with our tripods, drinks and snacks. Seats filled quickly, and lively conversations would start as we recalled our sightings. Still, we mostly listened to other visitors’ exciting experiences from the day.

When we’d seen enough or night descended, we’d return to light our fire, watching the last golden rays as the sky turned purple, pink, and red, silhouetting giraffes as they cautiously made their way to the water’s edge.

When the lights go out at ten, Butch reads a new book on his Kindle while I watch one of my downloads on ShowMax or Netflix.

Butch celebrated his birthday on the twelfth, and I had twelve blue balloons, Woolies carrot cake and a few pressies lined up for him. His big smile said it all, and his limited space had to make way for new socks, boxer shorts, bright orange swimming trunks and a T-shirt.

On the last day of our stay in the Park, we packed up early to head north so we could exit via the Namatoni gate.

The largest herds of Springbok, Zebra, rhinos, and wildebeest greeted us as we headed out. We certainly ended our stay on a high note.

---oOo---

Fortunately, we could spend the night just a few kilometres outside the gate at the stunning Tamboti Luxury Campsite. The campsites are set within a Mopani and indigenous forest. We spent the afternoon relaxing at the pool, enjoying the warm water, which was still refreshing.

For supper, we wandered down to the main homestead, the grande dame, now upgraded with a reception, shop, and restaurant, and sipped cocktails while we waited for the giraffe to come down to the watering hole.

Supper was a feast we didn’t have to cater, and it was delicious. We were thoroughly relaxed and spent a few hours mingling with other guests. One couple returned to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary after honeymooning there.

A treat after our disappointing time at Okakeujo’s restaurant, where the staff were at sixes and sevens over the protocol for drinks on the veranda. I was told to order at the bar; the manageress evicted Butch from the bar, insisting the barman apologise to Butch for hashing things up. The prices were astronomical, and a Sprite Zero cost a few Rand more than a beer.

With the first summer rains gently washing away the dust, we fired up the old girl and headed north towards Rundu.