Knights of the Round Desert Moon

[This was written by Fran Siebrits and published online by Wild Magazine http://www.wildcard.co.za, 2012]

A very warm thank you to Marion Siebrits, Rochez O'Gardy and Dean Harrison for their kindness!

Mountain-biking in the desert sounds like a crazy idea. But when done at night, in the luminosity of the full moon, it becomes a surrealistically pleasurable experience. The five-day Desert Knights Mountain-biking Tour takes place in the spectacular ruggedness of the /Ai/Ais-Richtersveld Transfrontier Park.

CAMPFIRES, March '08

CAMPFIRES

7 March 2008

CAMPFIRES … primitive peoples use them as a means of survival; heating, cooking and fending off potentially dangerous animals. Modern man makes use of a campfire for the odd bit of enjoyment; a weekend braai or winter warmth accompanied with a glass of red wine. I prefer to think of them as a way to interact with people from all walks of life. Unlike other public places where groups of people socialize, a complete stranger will be accepted in the hospitality of the flames. It is in such warm environments that I have met some indescribably interesting people who have left a lifelong impression on me. However, due to a desire I have to share with others just how beautiful a moment can be, I shall attempt to expand on a few of these personalities and occasions.

I began reminiscing a few minutes ago when I made myself a cup of tea from the last of the tea leaves in my camping box. Now, this is not just any tea … it was given to me by a particularly eccentric character I met around a campfire one memorable night while living in Namibia. I realized that I have met some of the most interesting people around the fire. One in particular happens to be this gentleman, Fredrik. I had heard about him from some colleagues and his peculiar reputation intrigued me. Being a vegetarian, almost unheard of in a meat-eating society, he travels around with a huge basket full of fresh fruit and vegetables in the back of his Land Rover. Apparently, his vehicle can be easily identified in the desert by the trail of fruit-flies in his wake, not the average dust cloud which follows others. Having spent an evening in his company around the campfire at Puros, north-west Namibia, I feel privileged to have met him. Not only because he gave me a container of his tea concoction, but because he has the ability to give off part of his endless energy, to enlighten all who listen to the wonders of nature and to make one realize how grateful we should be for this gift of life.

It was by accident that Fredrik ended up camping with us that night. The Hoarusib River near Puros had been in flood for a few days, obstructing the track which ran through the normally dry river bed. The options during the rainy season are to attempt a river crossing further upstream, which took a few days due to the route, or to wait in the hope that the water would subside to a crossable level. After the excitement of someone getting stuck in the river and almost having their vehicle washed away with the current, Frederick decided to wait it out. His Land Rover, along with another two heavy-weight vehicles, came in handy for the rescue operation which took place to pull the submerged 4X4 from the muddy torrent. The fruit-flies, however, missed the whole show as the basket had been offloaded before the action began.

Once everyone and all vehicles were safe, we retired to the campsite alongside the river. Under the cover of Acacias we made a fire and the kettle was immediately placed next to a cozy flame. Before thoughts about what tin should be opened to flavour the staple pap, Frederik was fluttering about the fire place with a one litre tin mug. I approached the fire, my own humble-sized mug in hand, and asked if the water was boiling; to which he tossed a teaspoon of what looked like dried herbs and sticks into my mug, topped it up with steaming water from the spout of a singing kettle, and smiled a triumphant voila. This, he informed me, was his own brew made from different local plants and spices. I sipped the flavoured water through gritted teeth to sieve the insoluble pieces floating around in my mug, of which there were many. I was skeptical, but first impressions aside, it was one of the most delicious warm beverages I have tasted to this day (and this is coming from someone with an adventurous pallet).

The star-filled evening continued until eyes had to be rested. We had touched on topics which were beyond one’s average campfire conversations. Every time Frederik spoke, even if he was voicing a humble opinion, his audience was captivated by his enthusiasm and passion. The tea leaves never quite settled on the firmness of the mug bottom as mugs were continuously being topped up. If I were that kettle I would have taken a well deserved retirement package after the tea-soaked conversations we enjoyed. I finally had to lay my mug to rest after I had stayed up long after the others gazing at the remaining glow of the fire, content.

The river had subsided during the night, making it passable for 4X4 vehicles. Frederik was off at first light, taking his loveable ambiance and basket of fruit-flies with him. I was not to see him again, but he had left me an old jam bottle filled to the brim with his tea. Even as the last of my tea supply dies, the memory of that night around the campfire will live on.

On a more primeval encounter, there have been the many faces and names I cannot pronounce of the Himba people whose fires I have shared in north-west Namibia. Not being able to communicate on a verbal level presented an interesting challenge, one which embellished humility upon my life.

MY VIEW FROM A KOPPIE, ONJUVA, NAMIBIA; Jan '08

Going back in time a bit, but here's a little note on "My view from a koppie: Onjuva, Namibia"

20 January 2008

It is sunset time once again. I am perched on a rock, viewing the changing light from the top of the hill near Onjuva Village in the north-west Kunene region of Namibia. The rain is incoming and it is the first time I have had to cover up since I arrived as the temperature this time of year is swelteringly hot. The coolness is a welcome change from the draining, dry heat. I wrap my dust-covered kikoi around my fly-infested shoulders. The sky turns from pinks to moody blues. My eyes struggle to stay open…life has been so fascinating since my arrival two weeks ago, but tiring too. There have been new people, places, concepts, cultures, languages… the list goes on. Working for a non-government organisation supporting local conservancies, I find myself living out in the open bush as one of the field-based staff. A roof of stars houses me each night. I am at peace with the simplistic life as the locals live. The only material possessions I keep are my camera and the odd bits of clothing and literacy which make my life a little easier.

As I take a moment to gaze above at the intimidating clouds, it seems as if one is uncharacteristically green… or lilac. This phenomenon would not surprise me as out here it seems as if anything is possible. Recently I have had the privilege to witness a rainstorm blow in across the mountains of Angola, over the bordering Kunene River and onto the plains of the Marienfluss in the desolate north-western corner of Namibia. The preceding calmness, followed by violent wind and drops of much needed water were all too exciting. As storms are unpredictable, extremely localized and more often than not a non-existence, they are appreciated even more so by the people and the land when they occur. The few drops that fell teasingly kissed the dry earth only to depart too soon, making way for the unforgiving sun once again.

To add to the list of experiences I am working and living with the Herero and Himba communities in this isolated north-western area. These are some of the most patient, humble, peaceful people I have been in contact with. They are furthest from Western societies’ influence out of all the people in Namibia, and it shows in the manner of most of these peoples. Here, traditions and cultures are still intact. I find the ‘harsh conditions’, as would be described by Western standards, in which these people survive to be fascinatingly intoxicating. Life occurs here, as it does everywhere else; but to the untrained eye it is missed. It is through the ‘harshness’ of the environment that appreciation and respect evolve. People abide by the unwritten laws. Communities are small enough for the traditional authorities to receive and dispatch information in order to manage the people.

A NAMIBIAN SCENE, Dec '06

A NAMIBIAN SCENE

Part One: 23 December 2006

The sun is baking down on my back, the sweat jogging down my forehead, the miggies biting all sorts of places – it is on a small rocky outcrop that my companion and I are taking a short power-nap and lunch break. We have been exploring the crevices and shapes of the granite hills all morning and, thanks to the Namibian heat, are drained of most of our energy. The wind is a godsend. The ever-increasing cloud cover is to me like water is to the desert. We are surrounded by giant-sized boulders in a land where only the fittest survive. As we headed off yesterday for the areas surrounding Aus in southern Namibia, with no plans, our only concern was be back at work in Luderitz in a day’s time. The first day off in three weeks and we are taking full advantage of it.

After checking out two potential camping spots yesterday in Aus, we got chatting to a local man who pointed us in this direction. Onto yet another dirt road, in yet another jaw-dropping setting, we camped in the open for the night. The sunset always takes priority, and so we climbed up the back of what seemed to be the equivalent of Ayres Rock, fully loaded with cameras and leftovers for supper. Almost two hours were dedicated to capturing one of the most spell-binding day’s ends I have experienced. After clicking away enraptured, I christened the moment ‘the orgasm sunset’. But it was more then that. The moment was there, we were living it, and that is as much as anybody else will be able to understand.

With the fading colours came the contrast of the white-on-black, star-filled African sky. Lying in my sleeping bag looking up, at that moment I was at total peace with everything. If contentment could be personified, it would have been me.

This morning began with flicking a fly from my face, something which occupied one hand continuously for the entire day. Peeking at the day through half-open eyes, the early colours passed on the gardens of boulders surrounding me. Not one to attempt sleep with the buzzing of increasing number of flies, I sleepily put on my shoes and met the path for a run. Forgetting how unforgiving the land can be, I found myself straining in the early morning heat. Nature’s grace diverted me with some good-humoured consolations: a herd of springbok playfully nuzzling one another; a diversity of fresh spoor running in all directions; a few birds of prey following in my wake. All creatures busily going about their duties before the heat set in … nature’s logic. The bathing-from-a-pot episode to follow was something which brought memories streaming back. The family holidays camping in the Richtersveld, in the north-western corner of South Africa, were also characterised by a limited supply of the precious commodity of water. Now I find myself without the people who mean the most to me, in a place that we all would love. So as I sit here now in the sweltering heat, sweating what seems to be a little river onto this thirsty environment, nostalgia places her hand on my shoulders as I count my blessings and give thanks for all I have been given in life.

Part Two: 28 December 2006

To my right, Cookie (the little fuel-burning stove which a friend and I bought some time ago for our European travels) spits and burps while attempting to boil water for yet another cup of tea. To my left, the onion and sweet potato cosily bedded in tinfoil hiss on the coals as the flames dance behind them. In front of me is the raw openness of the Namibian grass planes, soon to be mere sand if the rain forgets to fall.

I am camped out on a huge slab of rock, raised like a muffin from my view of shimmering gold. As the sun sinks, Cookie gives one last splutter as the fuel burns out, leaving me with luke-warm water for my tea. To compensate for this half-hearted effort, the ‘grub’ on the red hot embers begins to let off the sweetest of smells. The wind is still warm and the dusk colours settle over the horizon. In the distance, the goat herders collect the remains of fallen trees for their fire after rounding up their stock for the night. Theirs too will be a meal from the flames. In the boulders of magnificent size behind me, a call echoes from the throat of yet another bird I wish I could identify. At least I can point out the pale-chanting goshawk and it’s foe, the grave-looking lapped-faced vulture.

Thinking back on the day’s events, I have to laugh at myself and my sometimes over-eager spirit for adventure. It has been a few weeks since I was last in this giant granite-strewn landscape near Aus, and I turned off onto the same dusty track leading into the endless stretching space. This time I travel solo, keen to explore more of this environment which previously whetted my appetite. This over-eagerness of which I speak resulted in my small Corsa bakkie spending many hours unwillingly perched on a thorny Acacia bush. I attempted to drive over this particular obstacle at speed instead of veering around it. I now realize why off-road vehicles are rather more raised than your average motor car, or smaller light-weight bakkie, as in my case. The situation was ironic, as my reason for not leaving the tracks in the first place was for fear of getting stuck in the soft sand. For about an hour I tried, in vain, to solve my sticky situation. This included a lot of laborious cutting, digging and sand removing. Eventually I gave in to the realization that I was not Super Woman and I may need some help. Luckily, I was not too far out of Aus so I put on my running gear and back-tracked. This time on foot, my gung-ho attitude was completely squashed, as if it were the bush on which my vehicle burdened its entire weight.

In town I found the gentleman who had recommended the giant boulder gardens to me a few weeks prior to my current visit. With a bottle of the local Tafel lager accessorising his left hand, he greeted me warmly as if we were old friends. I sheepishly recalled the events of the past few hours and he was determined to play the part of knight in shining armour. If I were living in a fairy tale, my rescuer would have been tall, well-toned and exotic looking. Instead, I got an aged, short, round-bellied garage owner with a thick Namibian-German accent. Well, I guess he could also be described as exotic. Then again, he might also have preferred to have his damsel-in-distress cut out from a glossy magazine, not looking and smelling like someone who had just run for an hour-and-a-half in the merciless heat. So with beer still in hand (and a few more loaded on the back of his bakkie … just in case), we made our way towards the pitiful little vehicle, with an even more pitiful bush of thorns beneath it.

Once again, I refer to off-road vehicles and how important it is to have the correct one for certain areas. My knight in his 4X4 took a mere 45 seconds to attach a tow rope to my 2X4-posing-as-a-4X4 vehicle, relieve the bush of its unwelcomed gazebo and open another beer (celebratory purposes, of course). To add to my gratification, he informed me that the track we were on became extremely sandy further on and eventually dwindled out. He pointed me in the direction I would want to head for more exploring. Luckily, I was able to thank him with my last two Tafels, as he would clearly run dry on his return at the rate he was quenching his thirst. Even though he did not leave on horse-back as I would have my fantasy evolve, it was unfortunate to see him leave. However, this allowed me to roam the entire area by myself, selfishly luxuriating myself in the beauty.

Another echoing bird-call rips me back to the present. My sleeping bag is inviting. The sky, still touched with a bold blueness, begins to fill with white pinpricks. My eyes become heavy. As the minutes pass I drift in and out of sleep, fighting to keep my eyes open to imprint the beauty above me. But when the body has been exposed to the harsh desert sun and wind all day, the eyelids choose to close, despite the unwillingness of the determination of the mind. The sun will show its face in the morning, touching each exposed surface of the now-darkened stretches surrounding me.

Another day brings opportunities and experiences to which I am excited to wake up. I might even cross paths with another exotic knight. But for now, the damsel rests her head. The k-less night will suffice.