Day 1: Windhoek --> Ghanzi, Botswana (600 km) – “Trekking the Trans Kalahari”

Over a quick Puccini House breakfast of yogurt and toast, Brooke and I said our goodbyes and spent the last few minutes stuffing supplies / goodies in one another’s bags. Her boyfriend Chad flew in from Minnesota the previous evening and they were heading off the same morning for a 14-day do-it-yourself tour de force of Namibia. It was a happy coincidence we left the same morning – we’ve grown pretty close the past few weeks and I would have been a little lonely here without her. Knowing I didn’t pack many winter / camping clothes, Brooke gave me a knit hat to wear – which ended up coming in really handy. I didn’t have any “practical” items for her, but I wanted her to enjoy some good music during the drive, and gave her my new collection of Namibian CDs (Gazza, Winnie Khumalo, and The Dogg).

The Wild Dog van was larger than I expected – the 14 people fit comfortably on the bus, and the large windows let us enjoy the beautiful views and some warm sunlight. The itinerary for today was a long drive east on the Trans Kalahari Highway – one of the major highways in Namibia, but you won’t see a car more than once every ten minutes, if that. We stopped for groceries and gas in Gobabis, the same town we visited on our weekend trip to Harnas, and one of the main livestock farming centers of Namibia.

Equipped with some plum ice tea and a Cadbury rum raisin chocolate bar, I was ready to hit the road after our allotted 20 minutes in town. Still sitting on the bus nearly 90 minutes later, our group was starting to feel hot and bothered. We were missing one of the Dutch couples, Bjorn and **, but I will refer to them as the money couple from now on. They did not have US dollars, which we needed for the border crossing in to Zambia, and for some reason, decided to search for a bank in town known for livestock farming without telling our guides. They showed up to the bus apologetic, but blamed the bank’s inefficiency and lack foreign currency for the delay – I think they forgot we were in rural Namibia? All that waiting and still no US dollars.

Back on the road, we quickly resumed our good spirits and soon reached the border with Botswana. We became quite familiar with the “border song and dance” over the next few days. First, you park the van, enter a small building, fill out a form to leave Namibia, wait in line, get a stamp. You drive maybe 400 meters to the next parking lot, fill out a different form to enter Botswana, wait in line while two employees at the station mill about while only one looks at passports (regardless of the line size), and you eventually get your passport stamped.

I was a little nervous about my visa and my stomach dropped a little bit when the large Botswana border guard placed my passport face down on his table and looked up at me with a stern face. Oh no, I thought, I’m going to get deported. Everyone in front of me in line had their forms stamped with no conversation or eye contact… All of a sudden he broke in to a toothy grin (half filled with gold teeth) and said, “OBAMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAA!” Oh thank goodness. I smiled back and said “Oh yes, OBAMA!!” He asked, “When do you go back to US?” stamped my passport and smiled again. Everyone here loves Obama!

After our grocery delay, we arrived at camp after dark. Not only was it dark, but it gets darn cold in the desert at night. Wearing two pairs of sweatpants, a tank top under two long sleeve shirts, a sweater, and Brooke’s hat, I still felt cold. Our guides made a delicious dinner over the campfire – a creamy chicken curry stew, mixed vegetables, and rice. While dinner was cooking, we heard some clapping and singing near the reception hut. Another tour group had apparently arranged for some tribal dancing as evening entertainment – no one seemed to mine Ellen, Mi-Mi, and I also watching the show. Ellen is an American who has been working in Congo for the past three years with wildlife conservation and Mi-Mi is a Danish student who has been working in Cape Town for the past six months.

The campground had “open air” bathrooms, basically a three-sided structure made of reeds without a roof, but with flush toilets and running water inside AND a towel to wipe your hands. Normally two out of four and you feel pretty lucky (toilet paper, functioning flush, hand soap, and something to wash your hands). To avoid an awkward encounter, you usually needed to sing, hum, or clap while on the toilet, which is a little awkward. What song would you sing on the toilet?