THE crowd around the bar was three-deep and the restaurant section was packed. It was our last night in sun-kissed Swakopmund. Bill and I had spent three wonderful days there with newly-wed friends and two intrepid travellers who had flown all the way from Cape Town to Namibia in an elderly light aircraft, a Piper Tri-Pacer. But lets back-track a bit. This was nearly two decades ago and we were visiting Namibia for the first time. We’d travelled to a remote corner in Namibia via the Caprivi Strip to attend our friends’ wedding at a training college in the middle of nowhere. What a beautiful wedding it had been, attended by the local population and friends and relations, of all colours, creeds and political persuasions, from all over South Africa, Namibia, Zimbabwe and even the United Kingdom. After the wedding we had travelled with the newly-weds and a party of wedding guests to Etosha National Park, one of the most magnificent game reserves in Africa. What a treat that visit had been. We’d spent five days there – way too short a time – and after that we’d said goodbye to most the other guests before making our way to Henkies Baai, then Swakopmund with the newly-weds and the intrepid pilots.
It would be the last evening we would all be together. The next day the Capetonians would fly home, the honeymooners would head north and we would spend a few more days exploring Namibia before heading back home to KwaZulu-Natal. The wedding invitation had been a surprise and we’d had to scratch together what little leave we could so our time was, sadly, very limited. We would all bid each other farewell tonight, Swakopmund style, with an excellent meal in one of the town’s many lively eateries. The owner was a friend of the honeymooners and he showed us to our table, then pulled up a chair and chatted about the menu after bringing the newly-weds up to date with all the latest Swakopmund scandal.
Our orders sorted out, we raised our glasses and wished each other safe and happy travels.We raised our voices, too. The restaurant was really buzzing. The only empty table was the large one next to ours, set for 12 people. It was apparently reserved for a party of Irish birders. We were surrounded by noisy, happy people so when the birders eventually arrived their decorum and quiet demeanour was a marked contrast to everyone else. Except for one of their party. A short, elderly, jolly little man, he was happily downing whiskeys as fast as he could. The birders patently disapproved of him. They were either glaring at him or doing their best to ignore him. This obviously irritated him. He kept trying to engage them in conversation but eventually gave up.
Instead he dragged his chair over to our table, smiling angelically at us as he made himself comfortable. What with his strong accent and the noisy surrounds, we didn’t understand a word he was saying. It didn’t seem to matter though. He smiled at us and we smiled back and we all carried on talking. Eventually, his voice melded into the general hubbub that is the hallmark of a good eatery. Soon we hardly noticed him at all. Now and then he would smile animatedly or laugh uproariously, waving his glass happily in the air. We would smile back and carry on with our conversation. He spent the rest of the evening at our table and seemed to like us a lot, looking quite downcast when we asked for our bill and said goodbye to him. For a few moments he was subdued, then he rattled off a barrage of verbage, smiling and toasting us with his now empty glass. Then he sat up straight and made what appeared to be a speech, one or two recognisable words floating through the general garble.
He seemed to be reciting some sort of poem. Or maybe, suggested one of our party, a bit facetiously, an old Irish blessing. He nodded his head vigorously and completed his speech, beaming. We all shook his hand and left him to return to his party. The honeymooners completed their grand tour of northern Namibia and returned home safely. The little aircraft reached Cape town without even a stutter and we travelled home safely and slowly and pleasantly. It pays to be kind to leprechauns, it seems. And as we travelled home, via desert roads and Sossusvlei dunes, Luderitz , the Fish River Canyon and the Northern Cape, we fell in love with southern Africa’s grand and arid places.
We have since explored the Northern Cape pretty thoroughly and have gotten to know our beloved Kgalagadi Transfrontier, one of our favourite places, very well. Unfortunately, though, we have neglected Namibia. It was only in 2008 that we returned to the fascinating country and then we were there only for a short while, spending a couple of nights on the Caprivi Strip, two nights at Popa Falls and a few days at Kadoum Game Reserve. We really need to get back there. When you live in this wonderful subcontinent of ours it is always a case of so much to see and do, so little time.
