Rain, Subtropical Gardens And A Host With The Most

When rain falls, one can expect the vegetation to change, the dry air cools, and humidity takes over. Our travels in the desert were ending as we climbed the plateaus. Small wizened trees gave way to taller, leafed trees, and game farms made way for subsistence farming. Dry riverbeds started trickling and later became streams, and sluggish, fat, python-like rivers snaking towards the north. The earth was becoming richer and more fertile.

We pressed on to spend three nights in Tsumeb “TSOO-meb”—a small town with a considerable history and many natural wonders. The name derives from Nama, which means “Place of the moss” or “place of the frog”! The term has something to do with the enormous natural green hill of oxidised copper ore. A fraction of the copper pipe was mined in prehistoric times, with the most mined in the 20th century. The polymetallic ore included copper, lead, silver, gold, arsenic, zinc and germanium.

The Tsumeb mine is also renowned amongst mineral collectors. Between 1905 and 1996, the mine produced about 30 million tons of ore. It is noted for 243 valid minerals and is the type location for 56 minerals. Some of the germanium minerals are exclusive to that mine.

There are natural sinkhole lakes near the town, where a unique species of fish thrives, and the world’s largest meteorite was also found on a nearby farm. One of the world’s largest and deepest underground lakes lies east of Tsumeb.

Southwest of Tsumeb is the site of the final German troop surrender to South African forces in World War I.

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We stayed at the Kupferquelle Resort in town. The only other campers were like us, overlanders on an extended African Safari. One morning I woke up to new neighbours having coffee alongside us, they were travelling in their vintage blue truck. We later met and enjoyed a pleasant half-hour listening to their adventures. I also met a German Oma Jaele and Opa, who brought their grandson, seven, to Africa, he needed to experience the bush and how to mingle with people, she said he is an introvert. We did get a shy smile out of him.

Being conveniently situated in town made it possible to walk into the village to do shopping or, as we did, shop at the adjoining strip mall adjacent to the main gate—a lovely deli stocking all the necessities, freshly baked bread, fresh vegetables and fruit and some imported German treats.

We were able to get our laundry done, which was a treat. The ablutions were fantastic, spacious, modern and almost exclusively ours.

On our last evening, we splurged on supper at the restaurant, which was packed with local diners, tourists and us! A delicious meal on the large veranda overlooking the Olympic-sized pool is not to be sniffed at.

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We were heading towards the rivers and retracing our steps to the Caprivi where we were a year ago. We would not be turning back this time but heading off as the wind or chance blows us.

It is important to note that in Africa we have found that the main roads are living arteries. Many people live close to the roads and rivers. While flying past we often miss much of the culture, architecture and lifestyle local people enjoy. The essence of a place lies right there and not necessarily in the villages and towns, which are bustling. To slow down and take it all in is part of the journey and should be taken note of. In the Honey Badger I have an opportunity to be an observer and now and then I get a drive-by shooting in too. I love the colours of buildings, trees and the swept areas surrounding the homes which serve a dual purpose, cleanliness before godliness and makes unwanted snakes more visible.

Lunch was under a large umbrella tree after shooing a lethargic herd of cattle away. Unlike some picnic spots along the road in South Africa, we found the ones in Namibia spotless, with no garbage bins overflowing with beer bottles, Olof Bergh empties or Red Bull tins, and not a chicken bone or Kentucky Fried Chicken carton in sight.

Soon after, we started noticing huge swarms of black birds coming straight at us, we were driving into a Hitchcock movie. Black Kite-like birds in a feeding frenzy on the wing. It was quite extraordinary how these birds didn’t give a hoot whether you were on foot, driving a car, riding a bike, or, like us, in a truck. They were on a mission to gorge themselves on what we presumed to be insects or flying ants. We encountered this phenomenon on a few occasions but had difficulty in positively identifying the birds. One local called them “swart arende” (black eagles), which they ertainly weren’t. Butch eventually confirmed that they were yellow-billed Kites. Having a flock of birds making a B-line for you, squawking and flapping their wings manically, is pretty scary, and Alfred knew all about it.

The Caprivi is known for its excellent birding. Keen birders flock here to tick a myriad of birds which can be found in a relatively small area which thrive in the subtropical climate where large trees flourish and there's an active river system. We were in time to see a few eggs in nests and hatchlings too.

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Saved in my Notes, I had a recommendation for a camping spot near Hakasembe Lodge, where we’d stayed last year. Not one to return to old haunts when there are so many new places to visit, we decided to follow up on the tip and try our luck at Redfin Camp, situated just 15km west of Rundu on the Okavango river. The fact that the campsite is not publicised appealed to me, and the chances were it would be exclusive or not overbooked was also attractive.

The short review said, “A spectacular spot on the river banks,  it feels like being in Kirstenbosch Gardens. A well-maintained and pedicured spot it was.” Sheryl.

We arrived at the gate and were shown in by one of the staff, who directed us to a camping spot with all the amenities. While I went in search of the reception office, Butch set up. I searched in vain. There was not a soul around. I knocked, but only an excited mute of dogs answered my calls.

The property is magnificent, with subtropical gardens, rolling green manicured lawns, a lazy river to enjoy bird watching, and lovely sunsets. Other campers were friendly, the staff were excellent, and all the facilities were 100% perfect. We couldn’t complain about a thing. But, we never felt welcome or at home because we never saw or were introduced to the owners who live on the property.

Hendriena, the delightful housekeeper, did a sterling job, always friendly and willing to help,  making sure everything around us was spic and span. With parklike gardens, there would always be landscaping to keep the team of gardeners busy all day. Looking at my photographs brings back the spectacular sunsets we enjoyed, transforming the river into a red, orange and purple waterway.

I felt like a gate crasher. After two nights, we decided to move on. Paying our camping fees turned out to be a runaround in Rundu, where like rats in a maze, we searched for the owner’s panel-beating shop in the industrial area. Trying to draw cash from an ATM is impossible.

With relief, we settled our debts, and Butch reported that the owners were charming and very friendly. Redfin campsite will only officially be “open” to the public later this year and was created for the private use of family and friends. We were uninvited guests.

We did go cycling on occasion and were privileged to see the  landscape, a flood plain, come alive with new growth, green shoots were sprouting everywhere and the highlight was seeing the fields of bulbous plants coming into bloom. The flowers looked very much like our March lilies.

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We returned to iOverlander for our following recommendation—this time to Makuku Rest Camp 64km east of Rundu on the Kavango/Cubango River. There were many similarities to the Redfin campsite, rolling green lawns, a forest of indigenous trees, and a subtropical garden to get lost in. But the difference in our experience was like chalk and cheese.

Hannes, the owner, welcomed us with open arms. He was friendly, helpful, informative and delighted to have us stay. Our campsite was perfect, with the right amount of sunlight for the solar panels, yet we had a canopy of trees shading us too.

If I had to describe Hannes in three words, they would be joy, enthusiasm and kindness, which he embodies. He treated everyone with profound respect and showed benevolence towards his guests, community, staff and total strangers. He was the sort of guy who would patiently wait for a Francolin to eat from his palm, no matter how long it took or how messy the job became. We all say "you can call me in the middle of the night" but do we mean it? Hannes, means it.

We extended our stay and spent our days lazing at the pool, taking walks and riding our bikes. Guests constantly checked in who we would meet at the pool or on a walk. The stamp of approval was returning guests who couldn’t stay away!

Hannes took a morning off from his busy schedule to take us on an early morning boat ride on the river where we could photograph water birds and enjoy the quiet slapping of the ripples against the hull, watching the sunrise.

One afternoon, while I was wandering around the garden admiring the majestic forest of indigenous trees, Hannes dropped tools. He walked with me, teaching me the names and some of their medicinal properties, often used by the River People.  Trees have  been numbered and special specimens have wooden  boards giving the scientific name, plus English, German, Afrikaans and Rumanyo, the language spoken by the local River People. The magnitude of the trees forced me to look up to admire the canopies of leaves.In the citrus orchard, we picked a few lemons for gin and tonics later.

The saddest story he recounted was how his wife’s citrus orchard had been devastated by a hail storm shortly after she planted more than two hundred trees, and the few in the garden were all they could salvage.Not discouraged, she invested some of her savings in a peep of chickens. This would be a winner supplying them with fresh eggs, she reasoned. Unfortunately, they didn’t take the resident python into account. Will the proud peacock make enough noise to send the predators on their way? I think so.

During our boat ride, we sneaked to the Angolan side, which is customary and has been done for aeons. We disembarked at the Angolan border patrol encampment to be introduced to the two charming officials there. In broken Portuguese, (Butch thinks he is a linguist), we were able to have a short visit, and they enthusiastically sat for a few group photographs, which I’ll cherish. Hannes regularly visits his neighbours and often takes them a gift bag when he returns from Rundu. Being neighbourly ensures that Mukuku Rest Camp has never had any trespasses.

The recent life-giving rains moistened the soil and the abundant cow patties nourished the earth to such an extent that soon mushroom spores germinated and right before our very eyes we witnessed how the tops starting pushing through the earth. The force of nature never ceases to amaze. We have no clue about mushrooms and didn't pick any. As they say some mushrooms can only be eaten once.

Hannes refuses emphatically to fraternise with guests, but we persuaded him to join us for supper one evening. He only relented because his wife was visiting kids and grandchildren in the U.K., and the campsite was quiet. Admittedly he did ‘fess up that he was a terrible cook, and I’m sure the lonely evenings were getting to him.

We enjoyed having him as our guest, plus we got to hear all about their community and a little bit about his and Ansie’s shared history and life in Namibia. Hannes no longer felt like our host-with-the-most but a dear friend.

Our problem is that Hannes reminded us so much of another friend by the same name, equal in stature and equivalent in their zest for life, that we soon felt that we’d known him forever. We hope to meet your beloved Ansie one day too. You are a true inspiration. We know you and Ansie will go from strength to strength, and who knows, one day, your chicken coop will become too small for all the hatchlings, and you’ll have a roadside stall selling eggs.

Travellers, you can’t go wrong with a reservation at this delightful little slice of paradise. With heavy hearts and a lump in our throats, we bid Hannes farewell to head up to Shametu, where we had a dinner reservation.

P.S. We hope Peter John, a documentary filmmaker from Germany, who was undertaking the mammoth task of cycling from Swakopmund to Dar es Salaam, where he’ll meet up with his girlfriend, made it safe and sound without punctures or saddle burns. After a well-deserved rest and recovery, they plan to head off to Kenya, where his mother was involved with a school. So many people are doing amazing things, aren’t they?

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Shametu on the Okavango river overlooks the Popa Falls was a return visit to spoil ourselves and celebrate Christmas. Our three-night stay was short, but we managed to fit in a cycle, and we enjoyed a brief visit with Butch’s nephew and his family, who were camping nearby.

On our arrival, I first set up a Christmas tree. We might be Nomads, but we didn’t leave all our traditions in storage. Whether Santa would find our Christmas stockings was another story; if he passed by, I was sure he’d notice our fine tree with its twinkling lights.

Dressed to the nines, we joined other guests for a fun-filled evening of traditional music, singing and dancing by the talented staff. The ladies looked stunning and dressed beautifully, their hair styled and prettified in magnificently tied and draped traditional headdresses. Their makeup was applied delicately to enhance the look. The audience was touched by angelic voices as the choir sang and danced to celebrate Christmas. Our clapping rang out for more, and our encores were rewarded! Bravo.

A splendid three-course traditional Christmas buffet supper followed, which we all enjoyed. Josie and Hendrik, a retired Dutch couple we’d met at Makuku rest camp, joined us. We picked up where we left off, and soon Champagne corks were popping as we celebrated late into the night.

We hung our hammocks, and I enjoyed a nap nestled in the folds of my green hammock under the Mopani tree, waiting for my laundry to dry.

Josie, I bought the vintage dress, which cost R70, from the shop at Shematu. It is now one of my favourite dresses worn only on special occasions. Every time I pull it over my head, I think of you. I believe it would’ve suited you perfectly too, but I’m lucky to have bagged it.

With the celebrations behind us, we saddled up for a invigorating cycle and then we were ready to hit the road to meet up with Cat-‘n-the four'kin Aireys in Botswana.

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P.S do not, whatever you do, take my norths and easts as gospel I’m a terrible directionist and only today realised what I thought was East is North, I guess. I’m not a GPS.