Kaokoland and the Himba:
a visit to the past

The manager of the Oase Guesthouse, Johan, really feels sorry for us after we tell him about the theft and its consequences. To make us feel better about his country Namibia, he completely unexpectedly offers us to stay two nights for free in his guesthouse, full pension! This indeed softens the blow somewhat: he, Buffy and the rest of the staff really spoil us. Everything is relative, this theft as well, no matter how much we were attached to some of the things that are stolen. We realize this very much when we hear about the London bombings and see the images on DSTV the same day. We’re still alive and that’s the most important.

We have decided to dare the journey into the north western part of this enormous and almost unpopulated country (twenty times as big as the Netherlands, with 1.7 million inhabitants): Kaokoland; advised against by many, strongly advised by some. It’s a very desolate region in this ever so dry desert country. According to the Bradt-guide it’s an almost impossible task for backpackers to travel here, maybe that’s an extra challenge for us, to try and cross this rough area. We are not backpackers, but cyclists and hope to meet the legendary Himba-tribe on our own two wheels.

The Himba and Herero descent from the same tribe and originally come from Botswana. Some four hundred years ago they trekked to the north western part of Namibia, in search for fertile grounds for their cattle. The tribe that is now known as Herero trekked further south, the Himba became destitute after being violently chased and robbed by the Nama-tribe. Isolated in this godforsaken country the Himba concentrated themselves on their greatest ability, which originates in the old traditions: survival in the most difficult circumstances. Slowly they rebuilt their herds of cattle and goats, spread themselves over Kaokoland and … managed to survive. This in the most isolated part of southwest Africa, in a climatic zone where rain is as common as gorillas on Antarctica.

As one of the few African tribes they kept their traditions and rituals alive. Being nomadic cattle-drivers they trek to another place every three to four months, to where dried grass and brittle shrub has to provide food for the cattle and goats. Barefoot, only protected against the sun by some goatskins, covered with artfully made metal jewellery, the women half naked and their skins smeared with a mixture of cow fat and red ochre-powder, they build new huts and kraals four times per year. To trek on again, to new grounds that become less available in a country that westernises more every year and is being moulded into a tourist paradise. The Himba, a tourist attraction optima forma, are being threatened in their existence by the onwards going development of education, land reforms and the comfort and pleasures of the ever present and full supermarkets. And AIDS, of course.

We arrange a lift to Opuwo, an uninteresting and boring stretch of road 230 kilometres long, that we cover in a mere three hours, in road worker Jack’s bakkie. We use the second half of the day to ride into Kaokoland as far as possible, by bicycle. After the lift Peter’s back hurts like mad, his muscles probably caught a cold in the windy back of the bakkie. Cycling is alright; walking, standing and sitting are painful activities that make him look like an eighty-year old.

In- and outside Opuwo, the ‘capital’ of Kaokoland, we meet the first Himba-people: women and children who do their shopping and live just outside the village in clay huts. The women are unbelievably interesting: the body, only from the waist down clothed in goatskins, is completely covered with red ochre; copper bracelets, metallic tube-shaped rings around the ankles, thick rings of metal and ochre-coloured earth around the neck and hair that falls in long strings over their shoulders. They are living and moving pieces of art. Small boys, with just a tiny goatskin to cover their butts, carry a small braid to the back of their bald heads; two braids of the girls point forward. We don’t see a lot of men; most of them are on their way with their herds, sometimes for months on end.

The children and women negotiate before they allow us to take a picture: sugar, meal and snuff tobacco are their favourite items, apart from the Namibian dollars. We never pay with money to take a picture and our means of transportation are not suitable to carry large amounts of their favourite items. We try to negotiate with sweets and attention, which works wonders.

The last 75 kilometres of gravel road to utmost northerly Epupa are a crime for arms, legs and bicycles: corrugated surface, sand, bumpy rocks, climbing and descending. But, like usual, bad roads are synonyms for fantastic and beautiful surroundings. The rough half desert is coloured by baobabs, twisting trees with sparkling white bark, hundreds of rocky koppies, mountains and flowering hoodia-gordonii cactus. The graves of the most important Himba-men are situated right alongside the path and are decorated with stakes full of cow-skulls. The lesser gods only get some stacked stones on their graves.

Three days after our departure from Opuwo we reach Epupa. From the Namibian side of the Kunene-river that teems with crocodiles we look out over the Epupa-falls and Angola, which at some points is only five metres away. We stay in the rustic Omarunga Camp at the riverside and think about how we are going to escape from this rough and raw Himba-area.

Oase Guest House
Kamanjab
e-mail: Oase Guest House