After a week of the village, I went over to Ongwediva to meet up with some volunteers for a night of burgers and beverages. In the morning, Nate, Paka, and I headed off to Oshakati to buy food and camping supplies for our weeklong-100km-dual-waterfall hike. We attracted many stares as we walked towards the hike point; three white people carrying monstrous backpacks with pots, tents, and sleeping bags hanging off in every direction. Over the next two days we hitchhiked our way to Epupa falls. In Okangwati, the last city before the falls, there were thousands, if not tens of donkeys. We struck up a conversation about how fun it would be to have a donkey for our hike. After waiting five hours we got a lift as the sun began to set. The driver was exceedingly kind and he let us camp on his homestead where we could hear the falls from our tents. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning and followed the roar of the falls to find some spectacular sights.
We spoke with our gracious host about purchasing a donkey after our jaunt around the falls. Unfortunately, his donkeys were very far and we would have to wait all morning for them to come back. So our hearts hung low and our packs heavy as we set out donkeyless. The trail is actually an old road that has deteriorated to the point where only a high clearance 4x4 could traverse its many bouldery sections. After an hour we ran into local and told him about our quest for a donkey. He told us of a small village ahead just a few kilometers off the road. After I was almost bitten by a snake, we reached the Himba village he spoke of and inquired about the purchase of a donkey. Our desire did not translate into Otjiherero that well and they thought we wanted a guide. Otjiherero and Oshiwambo are close enough linguistically that we could understand some of what they were saying. It wasn't until Paka blurted out, "Otwa hala ku landa ondongi! (We want to buy a donkey!)," that we got down to brass tacks. After a bit of bargaining and N$500($65 USD) later, we became the proud owners of Marc Olaf Granrud! What a sweet ass, eh? He lugged two of our bags along with our tents for the rest of the hike.
We moseyed on for the rest of the day until we came upon a Himba cattle post. Fortunately for us, it was the end of the rainy season, therefore the cattle post wasn't being used. We decided it would be nice not to set up our tents and just sleep inside the huts. We were instructed to tie one of Olaf's legs around a tree at night so he could graze on grass. We ate baked potatoes and then settled in for the night, cozy!
In the predawn we awoke, ate a quick breakfast, and then wrangled with Olaf until the sun rose. When we got the harness back on him, I decided to take him down to the river for a morning drink. As we stumbled through some bushes towards the river, something spooked Olaf. He took off galloping, dragging me through the thorns along with him. He eventually stopped right in front of the river but refused to drink. Just goes to show; you can lead a donkey to water but you can't make him drink.
The Kunene river is home to many crocodiles and hippos (surprising fact; hippos kill more people than any other wild animal). Along the river there are sections that a cordoned off with sticks by the cattle farmers where there are fewer crocs and hippos. At lunch we stumbled across one of these areas and were eventually joined by this guy, what's that on his hat?
Along the river, enormous palm and acacia trees flourish. In the surrounding veld, mopane, sage and other grasses dominate. The contrasting flora creates a wonderful sense of oasis as one approaches the river.
We found that it's best to have two people with the donkey, one for steering and one on the gas pedal (i.e. giving Olaf a few love taps on his rear). The third person would take the extra bag and march ahead, since Olaf could be quite lead-footed at times. In the afternoon Nate took the bag and set out at his own blistering pace (literally, you should have seen his feet at the end). Eventually the trail forked with one path going away from the river and up a hill and the other going back down towards the river. Going back towards the river made the most sense to Paka and me, the sun was sinking low and we needed water to cook. We came across a Himba man who was driving his cattle in the opposite direction. Paka asked him in Oshiwambo if he had seen a white person nearby. He explained that he saw one atop the hill we had just averted. Great, so we had overshot our companion just as it was getting dark. We quickly backtracked and met up with Nate. He explained that he never saw the fork and was waiting on top of the hill for us, doh!
The third day brought us many fantastic views as the trail headed into the hills. It's autumn here and there are gorgeous fall colors adorning the foliage.
Nestled in the above panorama is a Himba village, take a closer peek below.
We marched down into the valley and Paka struck up a conversation in Otjiherero/Oshiwambo with the locals. We eventually learned one of the women had been suffering from malaria and they were asking us for medicine. It just so happened that Nate brought some along, what a hardcore PCV. In exchange we asked if we could stay with them. I suppose that didn't translate well and they showed us a nice dry riverbed to camp at instead. On the way we met a guy riding a donkey and gave him the obligatory explanation we had been giving everyone else; that we were going to ruacana, had no car, but a donkey instead. The strange thing was, this guy spoke Oshiwambo! We were told before that there are some Owambos who live this far west. We learned from him that if your donkey gets injured in a donkey fight, you should put battery acid on the wound to cauterize it.
We asked our guide if we need to worry about crocs or hippos, in response we got a big laugh. We assumed that meant we didn't have to worry about a thing. After setting up camp and and starting dinner, I wanted to bathe so I tiptoed through some mud on my way to the river. When I was about two steps from the river there was a large splash as something submerged. It took my brain a few seconds to process, but then I was sure, it was a CROC! I slowly stepped back from the river and then ran back to our fire, close call. My traveling companions had found a much better place to bathe upstream in our riverbed that was croc free.
We started our trek again the next morning and received a nice send off from our companions. The fourth day we found ourselves going up and down in the hills. Along the way we passed many homesteads, most were empty. It's harvest season here, so most people were probably in their fields getting their mealies and mahangu.
At one of our stops by the river for drinking water, we made some friends. Paka put on a juggling show for them, which they were quite impressed with. He even gave them some lessons before we moved on.
Before leaving Ongwediva, I had printed out a satellite map from google. It proved to be invaluable on our hike, we usually had some idea where we were and how far from the river the trail was. We also knew that on the fourth day we should reach the town of Swartsbooisdrift, which we renamed smorgasbord. Around nightfall we reached a place called Otjimuhuka, which means asshole in Otjiherero. Much later we realized that it was actually Swartsbooisdrift. We bought some cool drinks for dinner and then bunkered down for the night.
The morning started off with a great sunrise on the river. It seemed like the day would be excellent, but it was not to be. Our faithful servant Olaf, in his old age, just couldn't cut the mustard that day. He fell down and was unable to rise with the bags. We became his Simon and carried the bags for the rest of the hike. At lunch it was decided Olaf was to be sold, but before that, we did this:
So it was off to find Olaf a new master, hoping for a Shelby or St. Clare rather than a Legree. We asked everyone, "Owa hala ku landa ondongi? (Do you want to buy a donkey?)" Most people just laughed or politely said no. Eventually we met a guy who said that his parents might be interested in buying a donkey and they should be coming soon. 'Soon' in Namibia means many things but it rarely means in the next few minutes. To our bewilderment, just then a bakkie came plundering down the road carrying his parents. They were teachers and owned a camp down the road. We told them our whole story and they asked us for Olaf's papers. We responded with a dumbstruck, "Uhh, papers?" Apparently, every time you sell livestock in Namibia you need a paper with signatures from buyer, seller, and village headman. So we might have bought a stolen donkey at the start of our journey! We agreed on N$200 since we had no papers and went on our way.
We eventually caught up with a Himba woman who was walking home. I just couldn't help myself and shamelessly snapped a few quickies. We pressed on until we reached a gathering of people. They were all meeting at a church for movie night and they allowed us to join them. As the sun set we awkwardly bathed in the river while some boys threw stones to scare off the crocs. Gathered under the stars, we watched an old school Jesus movie dubbed in Otjiherero. They had a film projector running on a generator in a bakkie. People sang and danced during the many intermissions as reels were changed and bugs cleared out from the projector. The whole situation struck me as incredibly odd; there we were in the middle of nowhere with a large group of Himba villagers watching pictures on a screen of white Jesus being crucified. I kept wondering if the people knew this was a theatrical movie and not a documentary.
As the sixth day dawned we set off donkeyless just like whence we came. We had no idea how much further it was to Ruacana since the map was fairly ambiguous as to how one actually gets to the falls. We were on a record pace that day since we had no Olaf to slow us down. We blistered through the morning on a steady climb uphill away from the river. Many tourists passed us by in their fancy overloaded cars and two of them gave us beer! At one point a large herd of cattle came storming down the hill, it was like running with the bulls in reverse.
By early afternoon we caught sight of the glorious falls from a ways off. However, we were in for one more killer hill before we had the sweet satisfaction of the falls. As gravel turned to pavement and the morning to afternoon, weariness started to set in. The last hill seemed as though it would never submit to my tireless tramping. When I emerged triumphant from my nemesis I turned around to take one last look at its dizzying grade.
In a few more kilometers I caught up with my compadres and we feasted on the sights and sounds of Ruacana. We hobbled our weary bodies to the base of the falls and rejuvenated ourselves in the mists. After a long dip in the rocky pools we made our way back to the top. Serendipity struck just then and a family pulled up and offered a ride back to Outapi for us. We celebrated with Pizza and beers in town before settling down in nice beds at a nearby PCV's house.
Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of River, Delta, Plateau.
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