Travelling to the ‘O’ regions from Hakusembe, I followed the Okavango River westward. People sold shiny fish on the roadside, well-made baskets and garden plants. Some households were busy pounding mahangu with a pestle and mortar for the staple stiff porridge. Long stretches of trees punctuated by villages flashed by, filling my car windows like travel movies.
I met up with the Gondwana team at Etosha King Nehale Lodge, just north of Etosha’s northern gate (a springboard into Namibia’s northern reaches), to attend the annual Marula festival and then moved on to Nakambale near Ondangwa. The peaceful tented camp has a sprawling century-old church and a museum, once the home of Finnish missionary Martti Rautanen. He was nicknamed ‘Nakambale’ because his hat resembled a type of basket or ‘okambale’ turned upside down. An Oshiwambo proverb in the museum caught my eye – and imagination: ‘Koima kwa tuka eedila oko ku na oshana kwa yola ongadja oko ku na eumbo’ - The place where the birds take off is an oshana and where boisterous laughter is heard, there is a house.
The camp’s open-walled King’s Den restaurant, with a crystal chandelier and chairs fit for a king, looks out onto mahangu fields and homesteads, transporting you into rural Namibia in simple comfort. I put my head down and slept the deep sleep of the guiltless and the content until the roosters heralded the day. Nakambale seems to do that to me.
I extended my stay at this sweet refuge, and as I had enjoyed their delicious pizza the night before went traditional, opting for a meal of mahangu porridge and wild spinach, eaten with the hands in African fashion. In the morning manager Maggie Kaanante walked me through the traditional display homestead and demonstrated how mahangu (a type of millet) is pounded in pestle and mortar, the women singing to keep their energy up and enticing friends with offers of chicken for supper to rally some extra muscle.
Neighbour Hendrina gave me a basket-weaving demonstration on the sand in the early morning light. I wandered through the cool thick-walled museum, taking a journey back in time, imagining Rautanen in his study translating the bible into Oshindonga and his daughter Johanna, who survived the rest of the family, growing old in in the back room until she too joined them in the graveyard next to the church, ending an era.
Then it was time to feel the wind in my hair again on the open road, passing shebeens with names like ‘Hot Stuff’, ‘Top Life’, ‘Curiosity Pub’, ‘The next page’, ‘Club the system’, ‘Comfort Zone’ and my favourite ‘Sky the limit’. New ones include ‘E-wallet’, Facebook and the like. I met some of the women who make and sell the traditional Owambo puffy-sleeved dresses and when I gave a small token of appreciation for a photograph, was gifted with one. It touched my heart deeply.
On my way to Ruacana, giant baobabs reached into the sky and massive woven granary baskets lined the road. As the sun was saying ‘sayonara’ or rather ‘karee nawa, Tjonkuvi Otjiruwo (Eagles Nest in Otjiherero) campsite overlooking the Kunene River came into view. I chatted to friendly owners Eben and Hilya for a while, then it was time to put up my tent, cook supper, shower and lie on the soft grass looking up at the stars until dreamland beckoned. With the Kunene singing softly next to me, life was indeed good.
I planned to take the gravel road along the river to Epupa Falls the next day. The road to Swartbooisdrift held some trepidation for me and as a friend would say, “I would need to put on my big girl broeks”, but if I would’ve known what I was in for, I would have put on an extra big pair.
Join me next week to continue our journey . . .