In the midst of the Namib Desert, at the spot where the mighty Orange flows into the sea, a small town is home to charming stories, friendly people and a contingent of handsome gemsbok.
The former diamond mining town has piqued my interest for a while. Closed to the public until October 2017 and lying slap-bang in the Sperrgebiet - a 2.6-million-hectare area that was a forbidden diamond zone from the time of its proclamation in 1908 until 2008, when it gained national park status - the small town holds mystery and intrigue. Now that the gates to the town have been flung open and the 100km stretch north to Rosh Pinah has been tarred, becoming an easy and attractive route into Namibia via the West Coast, I decide to trundle north from the mist curtain that hangs above Port Jolly to see what all the fuss is about.
After crossing the Oppenheimer bridge, which straddles the Orange River between South Africa and Namibia, and driving the short piece through the tawny desert liberally peppered with ostrich and gemsbok caution signs, an oasis of green ushers me in.
It makes an (unanticipated) good first impression. When I imagine old diamond mining towns, I envision the abandoned diamond mining towns of the last century, now dilapidated ghost towns that are gradually being devoured by the hungry desert sand and visited by the whistling wind. The tree-lined road is a pleasant surprise, as is the friendliness of the locals. Jimmy Jones, the manager of Tom’s Cabin, where I am staying, takes me for a drive around the well-ordered streets with their many traffic circles.
“Is it today’s model?” he says, as we spot several gemsbok on the pavement with young that look like they have just taken their first breath. “Once when I went out of my gate to greet the morning and put the dustbins out I heard something next to me,” he tells me. “It was a new-born gemsbok in the flowerbed. Later on, I heard clip-clopping and the parents collected their baby and headed off down the street.”
Such daily occurrences are commonplace in a town that lies in the great arms of an ancient desert and is adjacent to a national park to boot. Oranjemund has its regular visitors, like the odd strandwolf (aka brown hyena), jackal, springbok and ostrich. And there is an array of waterbirds along the Orange River and the Orange River Mouth, which is a Ramsar site - a wetland of international importance. The calls of Fish Eagles ring through the air near the river and birds like flamingos and Great White Pelicans can often be seen.
In 1908 the diamond rush swept through the south-western corner of the country like wildfire. It began further north in the desert outside Lüderitz where at the peak of the diamond rush champagne cost less than water - which had to be shipped from the Cape Colony - and diamonds were so plentiful that they sparkled by the light of the moon. In the same year that the first diamond was discovered, the German colonial government proclaimed the area - 250km long and 100km wide - as the Sperrgebiet, a prohibited area to protect some of the richest diamond fields in the world. After WWII, larger alluvial diamonds were discovered at the Orange River Mouth and in 1936 Consolidated Diamond Mines of South West Africa (CDM), who obtained exclusive prospecting and mining rights, established the first settlement. Beginning as a collection of scattered houses, it grew over the years into the highly organised diamond mining town of Oranjemund. In its heyday it had thousands of workers, including construction workers, skilled workers and migrant workers. One of the popular things to do was to join a club – and there were up to forty of them. Sometimes that was based on the social benefits, as Jimmy, explains. The diving club had the best end-of-year function when they supplied massive crayfish, while the camera club got you access into the old ghost towns in the desert and the Bogenfels caves. “You were often a member of about ten clubs, maybe active in two of them and belonged to the rest for the party.”
With education, medical aid, schooling and housing provided, it was a good life. Jimmy, an ex-railway man, arrived in 1977 to work as a mechanic on steam locomotives and ended up staying on. “This was an oasis, we were often accused of living in la-la land.”
The small isolated town even set some records. Oranjemund made it into the Guinness Book of World Records in the 80s for the longest private tarred road. It also had the longest privately-owned bridge in the southern hemisphere and the second largest earth-moving fleet in the world - second to the American military. “People were gobsmacked by the size of the operation. It was a work of art.”
Skilled workers were recruited from across the globe, bringing in an international work force. Many of them ended up staying on, as did many of the Owambo contract workers from the north of the country. Today, Oranjemund has a diverse and integrated community.
Everyone I speak to points me in the direction of well-known resident Mike Alexander, one of the owners of the Spar supermarket. In the office at Spar, Mike kindly puts his work aside to offer tasty titbits of information about Oranjemund and his family’s time here. It began with his Scottish parents’ arrival in 1974. When they landed at Alexander Bay, his mother looked at her husband, shocked at the desolate desert that was to be her new home. “What godforsaken land have you brought us to?” she cried. “Don’t fret, lassie,” his dad consoled her, “we’re only going to be here for two years.” “Both are buried in the town’s graveyard under the sand dunes,” Mike says laughing, “and all of their seven grandchildren were born here.”
CDM (which became Namdeb Diamond Corporation after Namibian independence) made sure that their workers were well looked after. Everything was subsidised and the town was self-sufficient. It boasted its own dairy, butchery, farm, abattoir and cinema, and even its own soda-bottling plant. Mike says that on his parents’ arrival, they received a bucket of coupons. “They soon realized with amazement that if they hung the coupons on the back gate, when they returned from work at lunchtime they would find fresh milk from the company farm and fresh bread from the bakery.”
As the diamond deposits started to dwindle in the latter years, the likelihood of the mining town becoming a municipality and joining the ranks of the other towns in Namibia became increasingly apparent. Although the long-time residents are justifiably concerned about losing their crime-free Utopia as outsiders are allowed in, community organisations like OMD 2030 have been set up, for people to work together to ensure a smooth transition. After visiting the museum with its wealth of information about Namibian diamond history and its natural history display, I wander down the main street of town and stick my head into OMD 2030’s headquarters, The Hub. “OMD 2030 was created to assist Oranjemund make the transition from a privately-owned, one-dimensional economy to being multifaceted, publicly-owned and sustainable,” Debbie Virting explains. The year 2030 refers to the amount of time it usually takes to make the transition i.e. thirteen years. Debbie also informs me proudly: “Oranjemund’s been shortlisted for the small town of the year.” Returning to the town a few weeks later, I hear that it has won the title, further boosting the town’s morale.
I have a chance to chat to conservationist-environmentalist couple Sue and Trygve Cooper at their peaceful Oranjemund home with its lush garden protected from the east wind. Sue, who works both for OMD 2030 and the Brown Hyena Research Project, monitoring the brown hyena in the area, tells me how proud the residents are about their town – and its wildlife. “They refer to the gemsbok as OUR gemsbok,” she says. Sue and Trygve bring my attention to the fact that Oranjemund is not all about its mining history, it’s also one of the world’s biodiversity hotspots, has a fragile Succulent Karoo biome and has the fascinating combination of sea, river and national park. Trygve, who was the chief park warden for the Sperrgebiet from 2000 to 2010, and instrumental in the formulation of the land-use plan for it to become a national park, has a deep love for the area. He describes the Sperrgebiet (now also called the Tsau //Khaeb National Park) as something special, an area that has been kept pristine wilderness for over a century. “It has everything on a grand scale: diverse habitats ranging from sand dunes to vegetated inselbergs and vast plains. Its grandeur is overwhelming.”
As the late afternoon sun dips in the sky turning the desert sand into gold dust, the ultimate universal alchemy, I drive eight kilometres out of town to Op my Stoep lodge and restaurant to meet Fanie Smit. The restaurant attracts many townsfolk for supper in its warm interior – or for a drink at the wooden bar where the enticing smells from the restaurant hang in the air. Fanie came to Oranjemund in1980 as an auto-electrician, later turning to his culinary skills. Sitting at the bar with a colourful collection of caps (2370, I’m told), I tell him that I want to hear all the stories. “There are a couple of them; some good ones and some rough ones,” he replies, eyes shining mischievously.
Although the opening of the Sperrgebiet to tourism concessions is still on the cards, I meet Fanie the next morning to explore the area outside of the national park, in the Oranjemund surrounds. He keeps me busy, taking me out to the dunes for a mind-boggling view of the town - a verdant pocket in the vast desert; to the ruins of Hohenfels, a police station at the turn of the twentieth century; and to the Swartkops Nature Reserve viewpoint overlooking the Orange River Mouth, the end of the journey for the longest river in South Africa. Along the way, I am kept entertained with tales of the ghost of Hohenfels - a Nama woman murdered by her lover’s daughter (or so the story goes), the winds that buffet the town from different directions and the treasure from the 16th century Portuguese ship Bom Jesus, uncovered in 2008.
Fanie tells me what it was like to live in such a unique and extraordinary closed town, and the strong sense of community that existed. “We were all like a big family. Everybody knew you. If one died everyone cried; if it was someone’s birthday everybody laughed.”
Later on, when I drive around town, I disturb a herd of gemsbok that are wandering down the streets nibbling the green grass. It’s my last night in this unusual place, and I listen to the booming calls of ostrich as I drift off to sleep. It’s been a visit of surprises, in line with one of my favourite travel mottos: ‘Expect the unexpected’. A modern town that has been dedicated to diamonds is a new one for me. And so is the tarred road to Rosh Pinah, where I get a taste of the beauty of this pristine desert environment that has been out of bounds for over a century.
In the short time of my visit I have heard about the town’s intriguing history, have met a bunch of affable folk and have discovered some diamonds of my own, even if not the graphite kind. I leave, filled to the brim with stories – knowing that I’ve found a new route into Namibia, and that I’ll be back.
Welcome, Oranjemund.
Handy numbers and interesting websites:
Tom’s Cabin: +264 (0)63 234 207
Op my Stoep: www.opmystoep.com +264 (0)63 234 223/+264 (0)81 127 5837
Shepherd’s Lodge: www.shepherds.africa +264 (0)63 232 996/+264 (0)81 283 1481
OMD 2030: www.omd2030.com
Oranjemund Online: www.oranjemundonline.com