close encounters

Whoops, time has wings and again I have neglected to keep the blog up to date.....not helped by the demise of my laptop and even more sporadic internet availability.

Highlights over the last couple of months include a visit from Alan's side of the family, Gail, Andy, Clare and Paul quickly follwed by his mum, Joy. Eilidh also impressed everyone in April when she was part of a three strong team who cycled on rough gravel tracks through the mountain passes from Windhoek to the coastal town of Swakopmund. Most of her year at school took part, sleeping under the desert stars (no tents) at night before checking their shoes for scorpions in the morning and setting out on the next leg of the 400 km journey.

At the end of April the schools close for 5 weeks so we took a couple of weeks in May to explore the beautiful and remote Kakoaland, more adventures covered in Alan's musings.

At least Alan still has internet in his office so here is a copy of his latest ramblings.......


The Kavango River rises in Angola before flowing through Namibia and on into landlocked Botswana, emptying into the vast Okavango delta, a mighty river that never reaches the sea.  From Friday to Monday we stayed at Ngapi Camp on the banks of the Kavango, in the region of Namibia that takes its name, a beautiful location. This was our VSO Global Education weekend, the subject of which was community conservation, an undoubted success in Namibia, where endangered species, such as the black rhino, now flourish. Ngapi falls at one end of the community conservation scale, the land owned by the community, the camp leased and operated by an investor/proprietor. Further up the scale communities are responsible for large scale conservancies, some truly vast, where they manage the land for wildlife (as well as for subsistence agriculture). Here the local people benefit from tourism, on occasion communities operating their own campsites and lodges, or receiving payment from trophy hunters, the latter's activities tightly controlled under licence. This whole area of community land ownership is fascinating and there is a resonance with our own community land initiatives many of which have breathed new life into Scotland's rural areas.

On Saturday night we sat around the fire, chatting, drinking, discussing the day's events, telling stories. One of the camp guides, Ernest from the nearby village, liked riddles and we were intrigued to hear a local version
of the 'fox, chicken and corn' conundrum where you have a river to cross and just one boat. How do you get them all across safely, taking just one animal or item at a time? - only in Ernest's version it was a hyena, a cow and a bundle of grass. Here's another of Ernest's riddles for you, answers on a postcard please. The man who makes it doesn't want it, the man who buys it doesn't use it, and the man who uses it doesn't know it.

We had a bit of a scare travelling back on Monday and our own close encounter with African wildlife. Ngapi is in the north of the country about 700 miles from Windhoek and we were keen to reach home before dark, leaving early and getting a move on - probably too much of a move on in fact. Approaching Okahanja the road was good, straight as a die, the tarmac smooth. We have a big beast of a car, a twenty year old Nissan Patrol, with a 4.2 litre diesel engine, tough as a Kudu steak. It's the only car I've ever really felt an affection for, not for what it is, for who can fall in love with a piece of metal, but for the quality of engineering, the
robustness of the design. It's a classic piece of machinery which you can maintain and repair yourself.  I like it.

As we hammered along, suddenly and without warning a huge warthog sprung from the side of the road. I braked hard, tried to swerve but there was no chance, we hit the hog hard. The bull bar and bumper took the force of the blow but as the front drivers wheel mounted the poor creature's body, the car momentarily lost contact with the road. The rear wheel struck the hog as the front of the vehicle came down and I struggled hard to keep control. With too much speed and track rods bent by the impact we careered off the road and down a steep embankment.  I fought to keep the angle broad, worried the vehicle would roll, and we cut a long arc through the waist high grass, bouncing over boulders before slowing. Remarkably we managed to steer back up the embankment and onto the road, parking neatly in parallel. For a brief moment I had thought we would lose everyone.

The following morning part of me didn't want to leave the house, wanted to keep all the family close. Eilidh on the other hand merely considered this all good facebook material! 

And of course everyone was great. Vehicles stopped, people climbed out and rushed over, shaking our hands and thanking God, helping me as I pulled the animal's body from the road heaving on a broken tusk. I suspect the meat wasn't wasted either. All of us are okay which is all that really matters, and our VSO colleagues, the Fab Four, Katy and Kev, Steve and Kat, who arrived soon after, couldn't have been kinder, ensuring we were fine and taking Eilidh and Cameron home with them to play the piano and watch Ninja Challenge on satellite TV!

And the car? Well thanks to Piet, a genius of a bush mechanic with a large club hammer and a 12 ton pipe bender, we straightened the steering rods and completed a repair any garage would have been proud of. Wheel alignment Tuesday morning and a bit of panel beating this weekend and the Big Blue Beast will be right as rain.

Cameron now wants to paint a warthog on the bumper and cross it out, just like the Red Baron...............Nissan Patrol 1 - Warthogs 0.

Kunene

I stood in the shade of the FNB bank in the pedestrianised Post Office Mall, central Windhoek, watching as Cameron and his cousin bargained for the best price on a model bent wire and bead giraffe, a present young Paul wanted to take home for his pal. Cameron was an old hand at this now, the proud owner of a menagerie of carved wooden and wire n' bead animals, he was sure to get a good price.

The Mall was busy, a direct route to the popular Fernhill shopping centre, and those walking past were an interesting mix of tourists and locals from the various Namibian tribal groups. One man caught my eye, dressed in blue workman's overalls he walked directly towards me, diagonally across the pedestrian flow. He grinned broadly, a smile which appeared just a little too wide and his bright white teeth just a little too big.  Approaching he held out his hand and grasped my own as if meeting an old friend. "Hello Taté" he said enthusiastically "how are you?" "I am well thank you" I replied in the standard Namibian greeting "And how are you?" "I am very happy" he said "a lady in Katatura is taking in mental people. I have my own bed and we are fed and there is water." "This sounds very good" I replied. "Yes, I am very happy. Look at my hands". He showed me the palms of his hands, then turned them over and waggled his fingers, the way a child does when pretending to play the piano. "Look" he said still smiling "They are clean. When I lived under the bridge they were always dirty, it was very hard to wash, but now I have water and I am clean." He hesitated briefly "There is no cost but I saw my brother give the lady some money, 120 dollars, he said it was for water". The man looked doubtful. "Perhaps it was" I replied "It is good your brother can pay." He smiled again. "Yes it
is good. I am very happy, very happy". I returned his broad smile with my own and the man rejoined the pedestrian flow. Meanwhile Paul and Cameron had bought the giraffe, 30 dollars, a good price indeed.

There is a large region of Namibia called Kunene, about the size of Scotland it is home to just 70,000 people and famous for desert elephants, black rhino and the Himba people, many of whom continue to live a traditional nomadic lifestyle. Often one see's pictures of the Himba, particularly Himba ladies on promotional tourist literature. This is not surprising as they give a striking impression, dressed in animal skin skirts and heavily ornamented, their bodies and tressled hair covered in a mixture of ochre, ash and butter fat, which apart from providing some protection against the harsh sun gives a deep red hue. The ladies look magnificent.

Driving from Opuwo, the capital of Kunene, we headed to Epupa Falls on the Kunene River which marks the boundary between Namibia and Angola. The scenery was stunning and although a high clearance four by four was recommended the gravel road was good. There were few cars so the Himba folk we occasionally saw hitching a lift, did so with much enthusiasm. The first lady we stopped for, carefully spread a cotton sheet on the seat, to protect the upholstery from the ochre - not that we really minded. The second was less careful and passed her baby to Eilidh to hold, red ochre quickly covering most of her 'California' top and skinny jeans.  Next there was a Himba gentlemen, also traditionally dressed and his young son squeezed in tightly, Cameron having now to sit on his mum's knee in the front seat, as the car was filling to bursting point. The man carefully placed his panga (machete) under the passenger seat and held his three dead chickens on a
stick above his head. Everybody smiled and although we only knew how to say moro (hello) and peri wee (how are you) and our passengers spoke no English, everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dropping off our first hitch hikers, apparently in the middle of nowhere, we quickly picked up another two Himba ladies, each with their babies, never crying, but wide eyed at these curious white people. The ladies laughed and rubbed Eilidh's hair between their fingers touched her pale white skin. 

Epupa Falls are just beautiful and the contrast between the broad fast flowing river, lined with palm trees, the greatest concentration of palm rees in Africa apparently, and the parched landscape around couldn't be
greater. Since this area was of little agricultural value and hence of little interest to the colonisers, the Himba were generally left to get on with their own affairs, their rich culture continuing, and whilst independence has brought schools, including mobile schools, and some development, many Himba continue their traditional ways.

During the liberation struggle the SWAPO fighters felt that the support from the Himba was limited and it has been suggested that there is an animosity between the SWAPO Government and the Himba people. This was brought to a head with proposals for a hydro electric plant on the Kunene River. The Kunene is very important to the Himba, not just for the water it brings, but spiritually, and many of the ancestors graves, with whom the Himbas converse through the holy fire, are buried along its banks. The Government, keen to bring development to the country wanted to tap the mighty Kunene at Epupa and potentially this could have met much of Namibia's electricity demand, but would have flooded a vast area. The project would be high profile, the huge dam symbolic of the newly independent Namibia. The Himba people objected, a tribal leader famously saying that they could no more flood the graves of their ancestors than drown their own children. There was a prolonged court battle, the Himba claiming the development was unconstitutional, the Government claiming over-riding national interest. The Himba won, there is no dam at Epupa.

Some years later Kunene was struck by three continuous years of drought. The Himba people losing most of their livestock, many having no choice but to move from the remoter areas to Opuwo and the other small towns.  A traditional way of life was seriously under threat, potentially, it was suggested, to be lost forever. What was to be done? Would traditional animosities cloud the SWAPO Government's judgement? Would resentment at the high profile defeat in the High Court limit action? No. The young democracy proved its mettle, every Himba household was compensated for the loss of each animal, new cattle were brought in, and all Himba were assisted in relocation to their traditional areas. The Himba way of life that has existed for thousands of years continues, and Kunene remains the only region of Namibia where SWAPO is not the ruling party.

Having pitched the tents on the banks of the river, under the shade of the makalani palms and just yards from the falls, and with Cameron content with a newly purchased wooden warthog and Eilidh having de-himbered, washing the ochre from her clothes, we reflected on the day's journey. Fleetingly it struck me that four topless women in my car within a twenty four hour period was something of a record, beating, in fact, my own previous personal best by about errhm..............four.

Alan

OYO comes to Scotland

Cultural differences make life interesting but can lead to misunderstandings. The British have a tendency to circumvention, the Namibians to literal interpretation. When I say to my colleague Fenny "It would be great if you could handle the visas Fenny" she hears this as a statement or an observation rather than a request. So when Leonard and Bizack, the Zimbabwean musicians, were due to arrive and we check the arrangements, there are no visas, we haven't applied.

The visa office say no chance, it takes weeks to process an application and I am told stories of visas taking many months. Leonard and Bizack are due on Sunday, just five days time. Fenny is eventually given some forms to fill in which state they can only be signed by those for whom the visas are required, and of course the applicants are in Zimbabwe. The clouds start to gather. A performance has been arranged for the National Theatre of Namibia in less than two weeks time, immediately ahead of a high profile event in Cape Town, OYO and the Zimbabweans performing before MPs from seven southern African countries. The musicians and the dancers need to rehearse.

Finally I manage to get hold of the mobile number of the Assistant to the Permanent Secretary for Immigration and Home Affairs, promising not to reveal who gave me his personal number. I call him on the Tuesday afternoon. Mr Kamati is very helpful, advises me to fill in the forms and sign them myself, get copies of passports, which I had done, and a letter from the VSO Country Director, explaining the situation. "Time is very short" he says, "but we shall see". He arranges for me to meet with the Permanent Secretary on the Wednesday morning at 8 am. Out comes the sun. I attend in my suit but Mr Kamati "is writing an exam" and the Permanent Secretary is not in. "He will come in and then go straight to a meeting" I am told by the brusque receptionist "a meeting all morning, maybe all day". I ask if I can wait.

I sit dissolutely in the Permanent Secretary's ante-office leafing through a translation of the Bhagavad Gita, curiously the only book on the highly polished glass coffee table. After twenty minutes, the previously frosty receptionist comes over to me and smiles. "Do you think you will sit here a long time?" she asks. "I think I may, Meme" I reply. And so she invites me into the Permanent Secretary's office, red carpet and walnut veneer desk. She sits in his large black leather chair and gently swings from side to side. "So tell me your story" she says, and I tell my sorry tale. Meme Kalungula leans forward across the desk and smiles "This seems very straight forward" she says "we must arrange the visas, without delay!" And off she goes. Ten minutes later Meme Kalungula returns with another lady, Meme Kalanga, who shakes my hand warmly, the African handshake, holding, clasping, holding. "We have approved your applications Tate" she advises.
Both ladies smile at my obvious elation. "Thank you Meme Kalungula, thank you Meme Kalanga" I say "this is very important to us". "It is important to all of us" says Meme Kalanga.

As I leave the office of Home Affairs that morning, I notice how incredibly beautiful Windhoek is.

The performance at the National Theatre was wonderful. The fusion of Leonard's Zim rhumba with the contemporary dance of OYO simply stunning. So then to Cape Town and a highly appreciative audience of southern African MPs congratulate the dancers and musicians on their outstanding performance. The
Swedish Ambassador is there and he speaks to our Director, it seems the Swedish Development Agency may be interested in supporting a roll-out of our work over other southern African states, training local groups in dance and drama as a medium for engaging, informing and empowering youth in the fight against HIV/AIDs. I send Memes Kalanga and Kalungula a fax to say thank you. Meme Kalanga phones me and laughs. "You are very welcome Tate Hobbett, very welcome indeed".

Plans are afoot for a Scottish OYO. An independent charity which will seek to build cultural, artistic and youth exchange between Scotland, the broader UK and Namibia, and to raise funds for the work of OYO in Namibia. We plan a launch at the Scottish parliament at the end of September and we are very grateful to Patricia Fergusson MSP for her support in this respect. The first project will be to bring an award winning OYO exhibition, commencing in the Scottish parliament building, to tour Scotland. Still Life is a deeply moving   photo exhibition showing that for people living with HIV there is still life, for it is often assumed that once a person tests HIV positive they are destined to lead a life of pain, rejection, loneliness and bodily
degradation. Developed in collaboration with VSO Namibia, Still life set out with the aim to challenge this negative image by training people living with the virus in the art of photography so that they could document the positive events that go on in their lives. 

We may need some financial assistance in arranging the touring exhibition and Highland Council have already agreed in principle to tour it through the Highlands. The sums required are actually quite modest and - queue sales pitch - the tour offers a unique, high profile opportunity for a patron or patrons to demonstrate their support for international cultural exchange, bringing for the first time to communities throughout Scotland this unique award winning exhibition........The Ecology Centre and Kingdom HA are already on board.

With kindest regards

Alan