Confessions of a transport geek.....

Dear Friends

To tell the truth I’m a bit of a transport geek…..there I’ve said it…… but don’t get me wrong I’ve never stood at the end of the platform, note pad in hand or anything like that, it’s just that I like, I mean, really like, trains. And it’s not just trains, there’s trams, boats, even buses do it for me, double-deckers of course, and there’s something almost poetic about the turning circle of a black cab.  Anyway the point of all this is that until recently I thought it was just me, well maybe me and a few others (Nicholas Gubbins) who hid our anoraks under a bushel, until a chance conversation with some of my colleagues this week.

Most Namibians won’t have been outside of Namibia, and for those who have, very few will have travelled beyond southern Africa. It was particularly exciting therefore for some of the OYO staff and the young people we work with, to be given the opportunity to travel abroad.  A collaboration with a Berlin youth dance group, supported by the German government, German and Namibian youth working and performing together, both in Berlin and Windhoek. And on another occasion a Dutch based funder, invited OYO staff to Amsterdam to share their experiences. Interested to hear of my colleagues impressions of Europe, I asked Evelina, our very bright PR and Operations Coordinator, what she thought of Berlin. “Ohhh” she said as if she was remembering biting into chocolate “the public transport, it was amazing…”. And then there was Alfa, our unwaivingly cheerful and polite Regional Coordinator, who when telephoning his OYO colleagues will always say “Hello Mr Lesley” or “Hello Miss Grace” before slipping into the more familiar “brother” or “sister”, who replied when I asked him about Amsterdam “Ooh Mr Alan” his eyes literally sparkling “the trams…”.

These were bright, talented and, frankly, ‘cool’ young people.  Maybe, I thought, maybe I’ve been ‘cool’ all these years! The delusion didn’t last, clearly this was not so much a transport love-in, as a comment on the contrast between public transport systems here and those in the wealthy nations of Europe. The vast majority of Namibians don’t have a car, you see. Of the twenty one people working for OYO there’s only one, me, who owns a vehicle, so other than travel by bicycle there are limited options.

Within the city, apart from a limited number of diesel belching municipal busses, which travel irregularly across town, the only public transport is the ubiquitous taxi.  Now these aren’t taxi’s like the black cabs we know, these are small saloon cars which have generally seen better days plying up and down the main arterial routes, charging a fixed fare of seven dollars fifty (about 60 pence), picking people up and dropping people off along the route, the drivers tooting at every pedestrian encouraging them to take a lift.

It can be quite interesting as you find yourself squeezed in beside all sorts of folk. An early taxi ride saw me sitting beside two Herero ladies, their traditional dress based on that of the German missionaries of the nineteenth century, unfeasibly layered dresses with lacework edges and starch stiffened head scarves, shaped to resemble the horns of a cow, extending horizontally from each side of the head by some two feet. In the front seat a workman, who appeared to be carrying a dozen bricks, neatly stacked on his lap. “Nice bricks” I said trying to strike up a conversation. “Yes, these are good bricks” he replied. Some folk like trains I guess, others bricks….

In our first week I had taken a few taxis so I fancied myself as an old hand by my first day at work. We live on the main road to Katatura, the large township in the north of the city so there are streams of taxi’s in the morning heading into town. Sure enough as soon as I stepped out of the front gate a taxi stopped. “Can you take me to Saiderhauf?” I said to the driver, referring to the neighbourhood in the south of town where OYO is based. “Oh no, no” he said and drove off. I tried again, a few times, but it was always the same. I changed tack. “Can you take me to town?” “Where?” “Fidel Castro” I said, giving the name of one of the main streets in the city centre.  “Yes, yes” and we were on our way. Most of the taxis from Katatura run into town and then back out again, repeating the process until they run out of passengers. To get to work I needed to take a cab into town and then another out again. Not knowing, however, where the taxis running south left from, I made my way up Fidel Castro (Namibians always seem to drop the ‘Street’ from addresses) picking up my step as I went, worried I would be late for work on my first day. I reached Robert Mugabe, (ironically home to the British High Commission), which is a main road running north to south, and looked anxiously for an approaching cab. There was remarkably little traffic. Almost jogging now I was relieved to see a battered old taxi wheezing and coughing its way up the hill. I enthusiastically flagged it down. There was just one passenger, a rather large gentlemen sitting in the front seat beside the ageing, smartly dressed taxi driver, who addressed me, like older Namibians often do, in Afrikaans. ‘Could you take me to Sauderhauf?” I panted, in English. “Yees, yees” he said in his Afrikaans accent “but first I go clean window”, I was a little surprised “First you go clean window?” I repeated. “Yees” he said. The large gentlemen smiled. “Okay” I said.

The cab turned off Robert Mugabe and headed east, the driver frantically slipping the clutch up an incline. I looked at the car windows, they were spotless, in fact, in contrast to its mechanical state, the whole car was spotless. Something here didn’t feel right. We’d been warned about pirate taxis preying on unsuspecting tourists, taking them out of town and robbing them of their belongings, but the large gentlemen passenger, and the ageing taxi driver? They certainly didn’t seem likely pirates. “Where do you go to clean window?” I said. “Not far, nearby, clean window” replied the taxi driver “Not far, nearby” repeated the large gentleman. “Service station, clean window service station” added the driver. This seemed to make some sense, petrol stations in Namibia all being called service stations and when you fill with fuel, the attendant always washes your windscreen. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes we pulled into a service station. The passenger paid his fare and stepped out, the elderly driver immediately pulling the wheel around and heading back the way we came, slipping his clutch as we entered the stream of traffic. There was to be no window washing here. “But you were going to clean window” I said. “Yees, yees” replied the driver pointing to the large neigbourhood sign, the type of sign that marks the boundary to every neighbourhood in the city. The sign read Klein Windhoek, (little Windhoek), which to novice ears, sounds in Afrikaans rather like clean window…

I was late for work. I told my colleagues why, they laughed like drains. Later I told my friend Iita, the tears streamed down his face as he repeated over and over again clean window, clean window….

Some weeks later I was commenting on the ability of my colleagues to speak numerous languages, they all speak at least two local languages, often more, as well as English and Afrikaans. “I’m afraid I only speak one language” I said. “Yes, but Mr Alan we are generalists, you are a specialist” said Selma kindly, and then as she left the room without turning her head.. “Clean windows, Mr Alan”……..

Have a good weekend everyone.

Alan

(editorial note: Alan actually cycles a 10 mile round trip to work every day... the car is all mine...mwah ha ha ha)

Etosha National Park

Last Thursday my Mum, Dad, sister and I all went Etosha National Park and stayed at a camp site called Okaukeujo. The second night and third we stayed in a place called Halali. When we got through the gate we immediately saw springbok, impala and two giraffes. We all pitched the tents in number 9 site and headed straight for the waterhole. Our first sighting was a huge African elephant and later on that day 37 elephants came. At night we saw two black rhinos and then we came back a bigger white rhino too.

We went swimming in the pool there and then went to Halali where we went swimming again because it was so hot. I got a hat in the the shop there and this is a picture of it. It keeps the sun of my face so I do not get sunburnt. I also got an Etosha t-shirt with my own money.




This is a list of all of the animals I saw: elephants, black rhino, white rhino, maribou storks, great african owl, secretary birds (we called these fancy pants), kori bustards, impala, sprinboks, giraffes, ostriches, ostrich chicks, red hartebeest (one with a day old calf with wobbly legs), two kinds of zebras, kudu, elands, wildebeest, oryx, two hornbills, lots of ground squirrels and lot of birds and lizards. My Mum nearly walked onto a black mamba which is a deadly thin black snake. On the second day we saw over 1000 zebra and 200 sprinkbok gathering at the edge of the Etosha pan. When we saw zebras crossing the road I always called this a Zebra Crossing.

We were really hoping to see lions all the way through etosha but we didn't see any. On the last day though on the drive home we spotted a giant male lion and a lioness so we stayed and watched them for 25 minutes. Then we went to a waterhole and we saw 11 lions, 1 male, 4 lionesses and 6 cubs.

I really enjoyed Etosha and want to go back with my Gran when she comes out to visit. I hope my Mum and Dad get me a camera with a 10 or more zoom lens for Christmas so I can take my own photos.

Cameron H.

Reflections on in-country training

All the recent VSO volunteers have just been for a weeks in-country training . It was exceptional, with some really inspiring presentations.  One in particular sticks in my mind.  Mr Ben Boys was a SWAPO (South West Africa People’s Organisation) leader during the liberation struggle, eleven years in exile, first as a soldier with PLAN, (Peoples Liberation Army of Namibia), the military wing of SWAPO, then as a member of the Central Committee.  He’s now Head of Education in Hardap Region, (having turned down the opportunity to become the Namibian Ambassador to China, “after eleven years it was time to come home”) and committed, as so many of the former fighters are, to a new Namibia for all Namibians – regardless of race, creed or colour.  “Ours was a national liberation revolution founded on principle” explained Mr Boys “One Namibia, One Nation” the policy of national reconciliation adopted by the first government of this young country.  Somehow, growing like a phoenix from the ashes of apartheid, ‘inclusive education’ takes on a whole new meaning.

I had my first close encounter with African wildlife on Saturday. I inadvertently walked under a ‘social wasps’ nest and got attacked by a rather ‘anti-social’ one.  It was huge…..well, at least three inches long and stung me right on the cheek. Apparently the sight of me diving for cover while whacking the glasses from my nose, was quite comical. I woke up the next morning and looking in the mirror I saw Joe Bugner (remember him, the boxer from the eighties?) looking straight back at me!! – It looked like I’d gone ten rounds solid. The children kindly likened me to the Elephant Man. Insects 1 Hobbett 0.

We were joined on the training course by some new volunteers from Kenya. I got talking with Raymond, quietly spoken and a little older than most of us, maybe 55 or so. He told me he’d be going home in December as there was an important circumcision ceremony for the boys becoming men. Raymond is from the Masai tribe, and I asked him how Masai boys became men, and this incredibly gentle and modest man told me the story of how he became a Masai Warrior. There are lengthy rites of passage, including, Raymond explained, a  requirement to fight a fierce animal, kill it and carry it back to the village. So at sixteen, Raymond with two ‘age-friends’ set out from the village. They headed out in the hope of finding a lion, which although fierce, apparently offers the relative comfort of remaining on the ground during a confrontation, a leopard although smaller, is quicker and more agile. After some time, the boys came across tracks, leopard tracks, and using all the skills they’d been taught, tracked the animal to a small wooded area near a water source.  Keeping low they crept forward, breaking cover just yards from their prey.  Raymond’s friend threw his hunting club, catching the leopard a clean blow on the side of the head. The big cat, shaken and wounded, sprang up into a tree. Raymond came forward, spear in hand, and the leopard leapt from above, directly onto him, a claw catching Raymond’s forehead, before cleaving  the flesh on his forearm in two, from wrist to elbow a clean cut, right down to the bone. The boys struck at the leopard with their spears, killing it swiftly. The three men then carried the leopard back to the village they had left as boys. Badly wounded Raymond knew warriors don’t cry. “I could only cry on the inside” he told me. The elder men attended to his wounds, with herbs and traditional medicine. The scars remain, as neat as any from a surgeon’s knife.  Raymond 1 leopards 0.

The Chinese Ambassador is coming this afternoon. I’d contacted the embassies to see if any would support our magazine OYO, young, latest and cool. (naturally, I’m the centre fold in the next edition) and the Chinese have agreed a donation, so Her Excellency, Ambassador Ren Xiaoping, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Peoples Republic of China is coming for tea. Should be interesting. The Dutch have sponsored an edition already, the Germans like the sound of us too, but the British High Commission reluctantly declined, “due to economic factors in the UK”, explained Mr Lesley, the Assistant High Commissioner from Coatbridge “we’re stony broke”….

I’ve a few days off now and we are heading to Etosha National Park for a short break.  I think I’ll stay away from the leopards….

Have a good weekend everyone.

Alan