The Joys of Travel Are A Mata of Taste – Mata Mata

We have to own our retirement, make the most of it, see the adventures, challenges and be unapologetically thrilled by all the opportunities thrown at us. You say. I say, who would’ve thought it possible that we could sit here, on a fine Sunday, my fingers flying over my keyboard, while my photographs download. Under a tree, a mere six hundred meters away, four lionesses are catching up on some shut-eye while a large male guards and tussles with the Oryx they hunted during the early hours of this morning? Unbelievable, and yes, we will own the privilege. Refired and refined we'll eventually be!

One lioness keeps watch, occasionally getting up to chase the cheeky black-backed jackal back a few yards. Her pregnant belly bulging from the recent snack she enjoyed. Restless, she paces. With her powerful paws, she digs a hollow clearing in the sand for a comfortable, cooler, lie down. With all the power lions wield, they never let their guard down, all eyes are on approching danger or an opportunistic scavenger who lurks waiting in the wings. Being able to witness, for a few hours, their interactions is fascinting, there's even time to play, but, the lioness soon tires and resumes her watch.

Engines stopping and starting are the only sounds I’m aware of, besides the occasional bird twitter, jackal natter or wildebeest snort. There’s no technology to rob us of the silence around us. Except our technology and our fridges ticking on or off in the heat. 

The herd of Wildebeest checking out the scene took off over a knoll to find grazing in a more peaceful field. They knew instinctively a pride of lions was not to be trifled with. When we’re sure there’ll be no more action until sunset, we'll return home to set up our campsite and get supper going.

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The drive to Mata-Mata surfing the red dunes never disappoints does it? Like a ship in full sail we dipped and crested waves of golden, dry, grass covered dunes. The blue sky dotted with puffy pink-tinged clouds. The usual suspects trotted over the road or grazed on the verges. The tortoise took his sweet time while a pair of ostriches cantered like Lippezaners in their quest to avoid us. I always love spotting a tiny klipspringer and the Kori bustard reminded me to send my friend Val a message to recap some of our safaris. My first trip to Namibia was with her and seven other friends. She never forgets a thing and can accurately recall events to the letter or cent.

One or two gemsbokke stood photo ready on the crest of a dune and the Gabar Goss hawk kept us guessing. At last, once we were back in the river bed we spotted the ever faithful nest of giraffe grazing quietly while giving us the once over with those big brown doe eyes. This is the Mata-Mata I love. We recalled previous sightings and people we'd met. We wonder where they all are now.

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Colossal acacia trees shaded us as we set up our campsite and enjoyed conversations with youngsters interested and committed to conservation. Astonishingly they were all foreigners. While Dane set up hurricane lamps around the perimeter of their campsite, creating the romantic setting he’d planned for his Wiezke, Butch lit our fire, and I went off to photograph the “littlies” working around the perimeter fence.

A massive cloud of red-billed Quelea was building up. They’d swoop up and swoosh in a huge wave to sit in a tree for a few seconds before skiddaddling off to feed on grass seeds. While I waited for them to set off again, a family of banded mongoose came foraging while a couple of ground squirrels groomed. The female became over-familiar with her mate, who lay there spread-eagled while she nitpicked fleas. I gave them the privacy they deserved and moved on to the onlookers sitting like musical notes on the fence.

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Last week my son Joe posted a comment crediting his driving abilities to his Dutch heritage (Verstappen-inspired, I’m sure). With this thought in mind, I realised his tongue-in-cheek idea was not far off the mark. Our neighbours in Nossob and Mata-Mata were young men with their partners from the Netherlands. Tall, athletic, fair-haired and chatty Stefan and  Dane reminded me of my sons in many ways. Butch and I, before introductions, would refer to them as Jaco or Joe. The most uncanny resemblance was that their partners were much like my daughters-in-law. Caitlin, from the USA, reminded me of Erin, petit with a chestnut braid swaying down the length of her back. 

The similarities brought out my maternal instincts, and I recalled, how in Nossob, I had Butch reluctantly march over to them and suggest they use our Oz tent. I couldn’t bear the thought of them sleeping in their vehicle. Far too uncomfortable. Butch, quite rightly, thought they were old enough to decide and didn’t push the idea when they assured him they were okay.

At Mata-Mata, they were our neighbours.  I again agonised over them, worrying about their whereabouts. It was late, and there was no sign of them by the time we sat down for supper. Again Butch wagged a finger and told me it was none of my business, but I was relieved to see them later. They’d been on a game drive. Too little time and too much to see, they assured us.  They were packing in as much as possible before returning to a cold, bleak Amsterdam.

I asked Butch whether he thought there might be any possibility of finding three South African families in a remote park in The Netherlands. We doubt it very much, yet they were here enjoying our natural heritage. We have a commodity loved by so many people.

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Butch likes to get all his ducks in a row to avoid surprises at the border post. All the advice he’d been given suggested that the border control on the Namibian side was ruthlessly confiscating all dairy products, raw meat, wood and even fruit and vegetables. Sometimes referring to the possibility of “affirmative shopping” by some officials.

Our stocks were low, and our extended stay from ten days to fifteen nights depleted our supplies. Nevertheless, we were not going to be robbed of our delicious goodies. Forewarned is forearmed, and we set about braaiing four portions of meat to adhere to the foot and mouth rules. For supper, we enjoyed a Smorgasbord of vegetables and fruit.

Once we decide to move on, our heads turn, and we eagerly await the next dirt road. At last, we were leaving South Africa and entering Namibia, and now we’re really on our way on this fantastic African adventure.

The police officer at the border advised us to get rid of all our wood supplies before entering Namibia. With a heavy heart, we did so. He did promise he’d think of us every time he braaied. With passports stamped we exit South Africa, we enter no-man's land. Namibia, here we come.

Before stepping on Namibian soil, we had to dip ALL our shoes in a foot and mouth disinfectant. Rows of shoes turned upside down lined the footpath laid out to dry.

The road tax issue was frustrating, with us explaining that the Honey Badger is not a commercial vehicle but registered as a motorised caravan. The flummoxed official eventually phoned her boss, who confirmed we had to pay the tax for a delivery vehicle over six tonnes. We agreed, of course, we were not going to cause any ripples on this pond.

Fortunately, all the doomsayers were wrong. We were waved through without any hassles and no inspections, and we were not even questioned or asked whether we had anything to declare. A very pleasant experience indeed.

 We were granted leave to stay for six weeks and we're going to squeeze every bit of juice out of this lemon.

First things first of course would be to find a spot to stop for the night. 

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Tucked under a tree we found two raptors licking their wounds, why they were there we couldn't fathom except to think one was injured. They were beautiful and a good subject to photograph.