On the cliffs above the river, I sat with longtime resident and former hydroelectric plant shift-supervisor, Eben Kleinhans, to learn more about this fascinating part of the country. As the water sparkled below and the mountains of Angola glimmered across the river, he recounted the colourful stories of yesteryear. They tumbled out in a stream of words that bubbled out in laughter. I soon discovered that Eben was a real Ruacana raconteur.

I had overnighted at his campsite, ‘Tjonkuvi Otjiruwo’ (Fish Eagle’s Nest), at the start of the gravel road that continues to Swartbooisdrift and Epupa. With a few sheep grazing on the rocks next to us and a family of vervet monkeys hopping through the trees, I sat with Eben and his wife Hilya, sipping hot coffee and eating vetkoek, at a table on the grass with a true-blue Namibian sky above.

Eben’s time in Ruacana began in 1984 after he was transferred by SWAWEK - South West Africa Water and Electricity Corporation (NamPower today) - from the Van Eck power station in Windhoek. He arrived with his family and belongings on Christmas day and their holiday meal was ‘waterblommetjies’ (water lilies) and mince, a meal his wife never forgot to remind him of. From the campsite, adjacent to the hydroelectric plant, Eben is still aware of the daily workings of the power station, watching old watermarks to see how many generators are operating. They are usually in full swing during the summer rainy season that begins at the tail end of the year and lasts for several months, their operation decreasing as the water level drops. In his many years in Ruacana Eben has witnessed floods, seen crocs and hippos, and even experienced mortar attacks before Namibia gained independence in 1990. Wearing a Hell’s Angel t-shirt from one of the motorcycle rallies he has participated in, Eben shared the colourful moments of his life in this northern swathe of the country.

Some of the stories pre-date him, but have lived on in the telling. “There are a lot of stories,” he told me as he glanced across to the Angolan side of the river where a bridge and a pontoon once connected the two countries and provided easy access to a cuca shop and a motel, until they were bombed. “They had some beautiful ladies there,” he elaborated. “When they were building the power station, the Canadian and European workers used to go across the river at the end of the week on pay day. On Monday they would be standing in a queue for a penicillin injection. We still call this back road ‘Penicillin Avenue’. That was a little before my time.”

During wartime, Eben explained that Ruacana didn’t see much action. “It had a nice swimming pool, there were enjoyable braais, the wife of the last commandant organising food and dance occasions and including the SWAWEK staff, and they had a popular bar, ‘Adders Nes’ (Adders Nest). It was so named by the ‘dominee’ (pastor) because ‘die kerk en die bar sit langs mekaar’ (the church and the bar are next to each other). And as the saying goes ‘’n tickey vir die kerk en ‘n pond vir dir bar’ (A tickey for the church and a pound for the bar).”

In the few years that Eben was in Ruacana before independence, there were only two major attacks and neither were serious. The most serious was when their own troops received the incorrect instructions, shooting into the town rather than over it, with one person mortally wounded from the shrapnel. Mortars fell in the open spaces between the houses and Eben instructed his wife and children to go into the smallest spaces in the house, the shower and toilet, that were lined with mattresses and stay there. Although each house had a bomb shelter, in a mortar attack there was not enough time to run out. 

He told me of a maintenance worker, based in Ruacana, who managed to set off two landmines, one on the road to Kamanjab. He survived them both, although nearly lost his right foot and walked with a limp afterwards.

Times were more harmonious after 1990 when peace resumed and everyday life could adjust to a level of normality. Eben recalled natural incidents quite vividly as well, like the floods of 2011 when the water level was unprecedently high and a hair-raising hippo encounter. He had built a rustic dwelling on the island near the hydroelectric plant and when he finished his shift at 11pm he pulled himself over the water on the pontoon to join his wife. As he hauled his canoe across the water, he heard a hippo blowing behind him. “I don’t know where the power came from,” he recounted, “but the next moment I was skiing and skied to the sandbank on the island where I fell against the wall of the house. Never, never, never again did I go over there at night time.”

Eben cautions against overfishing and not thinking ahead to preserve our natural environment for tomorrow. Although there are not many big crocs left and no hippos, he did see the legendary 6.2 metre croc three or four times. He’s also seen all the species endemic to the area like the Angolan dwarf python, the Kunene racer - a rare snake which he saw only once when it visited him while he was braaing with a friend, the palm thrush (found in the nearby makalani forest) and the near-threatened Cinderella waxbill. A few years ago, he took an elderly couple to look for the waxbill. It was the last bird they needed to tick off in their birdbook. Eben pointed out several and they departed happy and fulfilled.

But, it is the hydroelectric power station and its workings that occupied most of the hours of Eben’s days and nights, and he can talk cubic meters and megawatts until the waxbills snuggle up for the night. He told me how the digging of the tunnels started in 1969 and the first machine was commissioned in 1973. The technology has advanced so much since then that the difference in machinery is like comparing a Volkswagen and a Mercedes. The water runs from Angola to a diversion weir and into a pressure tunnel before dropping into a turbine, generating 11000 volts and being conveyed to a step-up transformer, and then to an overhead line to the Omburu substation from where it is directed around the country. But for the details, you’ll have to join Eben at Tjonkuvi Otjiruwo or on one of his tours to the plant on Fridays and Saturday. (“Book a week in advance,” he informed me. “Wear long pants and closed shoes and don’t imbibe beforehand because NamPower has an alcohol test on entry.”)

While working at the power station Eben started to build the campsite, preparing for his retirement. He removed stones and created tiers of level land for campers overlooking the Kunene River. He retired in 2018 after 37 years of service and besides the bike rallies that he partakes in, winning the Ruacana to Lüderitz long-distance trophy in 2019, he can usually be found at the peaceful campsite with Hilya. His fondest memory of the rallies is that of handing over the funds generated to the senior homes, orphanages and SPCA.

As the road to Swartbooisdrift was calling (with a stop at the graves of the 1928 Dorsland Trekkers) and the lovely Omarunga Epupa-Falls Camp, my destination for the next few days, I packed up my tent, waved goodbye and hit the gravel. The multicoloured stories flowed through me like reflections bobbing on the river as I made my way westward.