In the middle of Namibia, close to the Skeleton Coast ("Skedelkus"),
hovers the Burnt Mountain on the Namib dessert.
I do not know which is the driest, the Skeleton Coast or the Atacama
dessert in South America. But I know that every skeleton of every
shipwrecked person on this coast speaks out.
The Namib dessert is extremely rich in life for those who have learnt to
focus on it. A San (Bushmen)person can easily survive in that dessert. But
who will want to learn from them?
My first trip to the Namib dessert was in the late seventies. A thin
dotted line on the topographic map indicated that my dilapidated truck
("bakkie") might even make it to the mountain.
As I approached the mountain, the surface became blacker until it looked
as if the sand was covered with charcoal. I stopped to have a look. It was
small pieces of black rock. They were laying on what I thought to be like
the white sand of the Skeleton Coast. But it was a light skin coloured
silt (dust), almost like the ash of burntout wood. The wind has blown the
ash away. A thin layer of protection was left behind.
All along the road (if you can call it by that name), tracks were to be
seen of vehicles which had veered of into the dessert. Since I did not
have a fancy 4x4, I was too afraid to do the same. It pays to be cautious
("liewer bang Jan as dooie Jan").
Some distance from the brooding mountain was a ridge of black rock. I
stopped and walked along it to its end. There, in one of its last
crevices, a magnifent succulent plant grew -- Trichocaulon dinterii. Its
vernacular name is dog balls ("hondeballe").
A San will eat the mature balls when desperate. The balls are very bitter.
But a young shoot taste like sweet licorice -- quite delicious. Probably
safe for someone who has diabetes.
Several years later I took one of my best friends (the late Coert Grobler)
along to the Namib. The difference in our ages was almost 30 years. But I
was used to it. Many of my book friends were thousands of years older, Job
being the oldest.
We drove along the same path. For a fleeting moment I thought that much of
the vehicle tracks were the same as those on the previous trip. But there
was also new ones. By then I had no desire to make another couple myself.
Anyway, my vehicle was still the same one . But now I had to nurse it with
even greater care.
I stopped at the ridge and invited Uncle ("Oom") Coert to have a look at
the beautiful plant. In our Afrikaans culture the greatest respect shown
to another person old enough to be your father, even though not family, is
to call him Uncle.
Up to a few years ago some Afrikaans students still called me Uncle. Now
it is occasionaly Old Boss ("Oubaas"), another term of endearment which is
hitting the dust in the transformation of our country.
While we walked to the end of the ridge, I saw the tracks which I have
made several years ago as if I had made them the day before. The
Trichocaulon was still alive, looking exactly the same, sitting in the
crevice between the black rocks too hot to touch. Uncle Coert admired its
beauty.
I said to him I would meet him again at the bakkie. He nodded.
I walked to a big rock, climbed upon it and sat down. Its temperature did
not matter. I became aware of words in my thoughts like "the world outside
me" and "the world inside me". I began to think about the tracks which the
"world outside me" left on the "world inside me". Most of them simply
veered of my inner road (if you can call it by that name).
I thought about the tracks which I made by my 4x4 in the inner world of
others. I felt ashamed. The big black rock felt like hell. I made a
resolution that if I had to walk in those inner worlds again, I will leave
as little vehicle tracks as possible. But what about foot steps?
Suddenly I saw the tracks of an Orynx ("Gemsbok") next to mine. Why did I
not see it before? They seemed to swerve around the cool rock on which I
was sitting. I looked at my back and there the animal was standing,
looking back at me. What a magnificent beauty.
If you ever visit the Namib, try to see one from close by.
Since that trip I have learnt more about the Orynx. Take care because it
is extremely dangerous, even when fatally wounded and crippled. Should
you throw 100 pebbles one by one to any place on its body, it will flick
each one away with its horns -- 100 out of 100. No batsman in base ball or
cricket can do the same. That gigantic rapier-like horns and the noble
head which carries them form a deadly weapon. When a machine approaches
it, it becomes self a deadly machine of swift destruction.
I walked back to the bakkie. Oom Coert gave me a cup of coffee which he
had prepared in the mean time.
Only when we reached the Burnt Mountain, we resumed our delightful
dialogue.
Two years later, Oom Coert and I visisted the Naukluft mountains. South
of them lies the Namgorab, the most beautiful dessert in the world. But
first a side track.
~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear wife often asked me why I did not take pictures of the
Namgorab with which I am so infatuated.. I always replied that a
thousand pictures cannot say more than one experience.
Many years later she also wanted to see the Namgorab. I warned her that
only one complaint from her on what will be a difficult trip would make me
drive to the nearest airport along our journey. I showed her the money I
will keep specially for this purpose.
As we enterwd the Namgorab, she cried out: "At stop." I stopped, climbed
out and began to browse the sides of the Gorab pass. I also observed her
closely, sitting in new bakkie which had to replace the old one. After
half an hour she made her first move. I walked back and climbed into the
bakkie. She said; "I have now also experienced heaven". Our dialogue
ceased for the rest of that day's journey. ~~~~~~~~~~
Since I could move much faster than Oom Coert, our ways split as usual
early one morning. After some 6 kilometers, walking mostly on rocks, I
entered a gorge. Eventually I attempted to climb up its wall. I fell and
broke my ankle. Eight hours later at dusk I reached the bakkie. Blood was
oozing from my elbows and knees because of crawling. Oom Coert was nearly
crazy with anxiety.
We decided that never again will anyone of us roam alone any dessert
again. Fortunately, the most valuable of all my lonely trips was done the
previous year to Bushmanland. The rest of the trip my friend did all the
chores and driving. Can anything be more dear than friendship? Can it be
bought with money?
Emergent learning cannot be bought. One cannot buy a thing which happens
in "one's inside world". One can only self make it happen. But a friend
can assist as midwife.
Best wishes
--At de Lange <amdelange@gold.up.ac.za> Snailmail: A M de Lange Gold Fields Computer Centre Faculty of Science - University of Pretoria Pretoria 0001 - Rep of South Africa
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