The Pumpkin Curry Project

I could dump every superlative in my vocabulary (which, as those of you who have had to listen to me tell a story can attest, comprises the vast majority of my vocabulary) into a story describing how incredible it is to see the wild animals of Africa up close and personal--and still not quite do it justice. This past week has been an incredible ride, and I finally feel like I have arrived in Africa.

Cape Town was wonderful, but as I said before, it felt more like a European city to me than an African one. I’m glad I started my trip there as it made for an easy adjustment. But after five days I was itching to get out. Plus, as hip and cosmopolitan as Cape Town is, there’s this weird undercurrent to the city where the wealthy drive around in nice cars and go to nice restaurants and wear posh clothes, but return home to houses that are better protected than Fort Knox. I’m not kidding you, even people I met of the “middle class” in Cape Town live behind a large wall with an electric fence and guard dogs and signs posted everywhere that private security services are only moments away and bars on the windows and just about every other security measure you could think of. They described it as living in a cage, and that’s exactly how it would feel to me. I feel so fortunate that (by and large) we don’t have to live that way back home, and saddened that so many Africans do. Somewhere between the crime that causes people to feel the need to protect themselves, and the intense measures that people take to do so, some element of humanity seems to get lost in it all.

I really did like Cape Town though; don’t get me wrong. I spent one day there climbing to the top of Table Mountain, which confirmed the observation of someone who shall remain nameless that I have both gained weight and lost shape since injuring my knee last summer. The climb was well worth it though—the views from the top of the mountain are incredible. I spent an entire afternoon up there by myself, just relaxing in the sun and enjoying the view (and, frankly, napping).

(That's not sweat, it's rain - top of Table Mountain, Cape Town, South Africa)

I spent another day with some friends I made at the hostel at Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was infamously imprisoned for 19 years. Once again—twice now so far on this trip—I found myself wishing I had started this autobiography of Mandela earlier. I would have both not made an ass out of myself with the South African President, but would also have enjoyed the Robben Island tour quite a bit more. Nevertheless, the tour guides were former inmates and thus provided their own unique perspective to what life was like as a political prisoner there. Rather, how shitty life was as a prisoner there.

After another day spent at a few of the wineries in Stellenbosch and Paarl (where the vast majority of South African wines are made), I left Cape Town with Pam and Gina for Windhoek, Namibia. Given that the bus ride was 20 contiguous hours, it was actually quite manageable, except for the endless Disney movies that they insisted on playing and blasting throughout the entire bus. I don’t know how they do it, or whether Disney has exclusive distribution rights to every developing country I visit, but somehow the worst goddamned movies get played on public transport and tourist haunts. So you find yourself forced to watch yet another story of good triumphing over evil, but only after first overcoming adversity. The latest installment was played by Lindsay Lohan (good), Matt Dillon (evil), and Herbie the car (adversity? I’m not sure…you’ll have to tune in to fill in the rest).

(Tasting wine the way I was taught in Silverdale - Stellenbosch, South Africa)

(After *one* glass of wine in Paarl, South Africa, with friends from left Pam [Richmond, VA], Caroline [Holland], Jeffrie [L.A.])

I felt great on arriving in Namibia though. The sun was shining, it was warmer, and I generally felt the people to be nicer. It didn’t hurt that my travel partner had lived in the country for nearly two years, but despite that the vibe was just generally better. This place is about the opposite of Seattle in every regard. Here it’s sunny 90% of the time, they drive on the wrong side of the road, and the scenery is red, arid, and quite barren. It’s damned beautiful though.

They also seem to love meat. I mean, LOVE meat. Lunches here basically consist of meat pies, meat on a stick, or meat not on a stick. For snacks they have cured meat in a bag, known as Biltong (which, incidentally, is incredibly good and quite addictive). Dinners I’m not sure about yet because tonight is our first night not camping, but I think it’s a safe bet to assume it’s going to center around meat. Pam is even organizing a meat party, also known as the Pumpkin Curry Project, also known as a Poiku (I have no idea if that’s the correct spelling, but it’s kind of like a luau with lots of Namibian meat). I’m really looking forward to meeting more of Pam’s western volunteer friends, and also all of her Namibian friends, of which there seem to be many. As an aside, for anyone who heard me glibly say “I’m going to come back from Africa as lean as a greyhound”, I would like to officially retract that statement. There is no way that’s going to happen.

I’ve basically spent the last week living out of a Volkswagen Golf, which here is known as a Volkswagen Citi. It’s called a Citi because most certainly it was never intended to leave the city, let alone be taken on an off-road driving safari, but that’s neither here nor there. We picked it up in Windhoek, Namibia and drove immediately north to Etosha National Park. Etosha is unique in that it’s one of the only parks in Southern Africa that’s accessible without a hired guide. You can drive yourself through the park on self-guided safaris, as long as you make it to camp each night by sunset so that you can sleep behind the protection of fences.

Etosha is basically the lakebed of an old, dried-up inland lake known as a pan. The soil is gone from the lakebed, so no plants can grow, and thus no animals can survive. So it forces all of these animals to watering holes on the fringe of the pan, and thus makes them relatively easy to find. In three days at the park, we saw herds of zebra (TONS!), giraffe, elephant, rhino, lion, impala, had some food stolen by pernicious jackals, and had two beautiful nights of camping out in the wild under the most incredible starscape I’ve seen in quite a while. Each day we would be up to watch the sunrise, and back in camp to watch the sunset—and the sunsets here are incredible. It’s so flat and arid and unpolluted that you never lose sight of the sun as it falls into the horizon. And there’s always wisps of high clouds to pick up the color.

(Sunset - Okaukuejo Camp, Etosha National Park, Namibia)

(Yield for Zebras [prounced here Zebb-bras]- Etosha Pan in the distance)

(Late to a self-portrait with Pam (center) and Gina - Camping in Waterberg, Namibia)

I can’t describe how weird it is to be lying in your tent, and hearing elephants fighting or rhinos grunting just hundreds of feet away at the watering hole. You never feel threatened because you know the fences are there, but you still feel how incredibly vulnerable you would be in the wild. In two days of safari driving, I think I saw more wildlife than I’ve seen cumulatively hiking in the Cascades. I’ve heard of people doing “walking” safaris, where you are out there camping without fences and just the protection of an armed guard. I’m going to try to do one of those before I leave.

The thing that’s cool about the watering holes is that every animal has to come there to fill up for the day, usually in morning or evening. So all of the game comes in to drink, and the lions and other predators stalk them out there. Think of the last Discovery Channel show you watched on Africa, and that’s exactly what it’s like. We didn’t see any kills, but you get a sense for how every time these animals go to take a drink of water, it’s a matter of life and death. It’s sad that so many people come to this continent to observe this struggle in wild animals when so many millions of humans on the continent face the same issue every day. I guess that is what hit me about the townships in Cape Town—that the basic elements of life that we take so for granted are so unavailable to many of these people. It really seems to be is a struggle to live, which makes life cheap, which makes it easy to turn to violent crime to get what you want. It’s really, really sad.

The other thing that Etosha exposed me to was this wild sub-culture of African car camping. I have never, ever seen more intense gear than what the South Africans bring up to these national parks. You watch them come in on their 4x4 rigs, with gear stored on every possible square inch of the car and towing trailers, and they descend upon a campsite exhibiting a mastery of logistics and unpacking that even the military would admire. I’ve always thought of myself as something of a gearhead, but I’ve got nothing on these peeps. The people camping next to us had a kitchen tent, a closet tent (with shelves!), their tents for sleeping, mats for the entire campsite to keep the dust down, and windscreens surrounding the entire monstrosity. We looked utterly pathetic next to them in our VW Golf and solitary tent, all the more so because our stove didn’t work and we had to approach these expert campers every morning shamefully begging for hot water. The other sub-culture that goes on in South Africa, by the way, is braai. Braai is basically BBQ, but it’s been elevated to the status of national sport in South Africa, and is a common topic of conversation (I bet my braai’s bigger than yours).

I’m now in Swakopmund, on the Atlantic Coast of Namibia, where Pam lives and works. I’m staying with her and her roommates from the Congo and Colorado, and will probably spend the next few days here before renting a car again and heading south to see the famous sand dunes of Namibia, then north to see the Himba people (boobs!), before making my way to Botswana, probably sometime next week.

(With [from left] Pam, Gina, her roommates Jeremy [from the Congo] and his wife Lindsay [from Colorado Springs], Swakopmund, Namibia)

If any of you are still reading by this point (thank you, Mom) I applaud you and marvel at your span of attention. I apologize for the incredibly lengthy post, but Internet access is quite scarce here, and when you do find it, utterly painful to use. I’ll do my best to send shorter updates more often. Hope you are well.