Accustomed to permanent greenery, surrounded by water, there is, nevertheless, a part of me that occasionally yearns for and romanticises the ‘big dry’.
Maybe because I know that on my return I will be delighted once again at the wonder of wetlands and ocean, maybe for deeper reasons unknown – but there it is, this desire to explore foreign soils and climates. The pull is strong.
And so, across the border, deep into the heart of one of the world’s oldest desert countries of all. From river to river, valley to gorge, mountain to dunes and all that lies in between.
Namibia, I miss you already. I miss the sky – larger, more luminous, more humbling and enveloping than anything I’ve ever seen anywhere else.
I miss the silence – the absolute absence of sound, where no matter how hard you strain your ears, there’s just… Nothing.
Pure nothing. I miss the light – ever-changing shape-shifting shadows, endlessly nuancing and altering reality in an all-day light and shade display.
I miss the trees – the gnarled white trunks of the shepherd trees, noble camelthorns, incredible paperbarks with their satiny flakes; the majestic quiver trees in full floral glory; rock-splitting figs and sterculias that spring unbelievably from any crack in the rocks, and the ancient, awe-inspiring dinosaur welwitschias.
All of these have withstood who knows what climatic punishments, and yet they survive. Life finds a way.
I miss the dry Hoanib River and the animals that find sanctuary there among the whispers of golden light filtered by majestic ana trees.
The desert elephants that silently appear through the powder dust like a dream spirit animal – and just as easily retreat into the shadows.
I miss the bugs, the beetles, the butterflies, the multicoloured agamas and geckos, and the birds – abundant even in this place of scarcity, incredible in their adaptability.
I miss the silken dunes, the jagged rocks, the myriad geological wonders that defy description.
The absolute barren bleakness that seemingly harbours no life – until, around that next mountain, a patch of soft green etched into the landscape where a lick of moisture touched the land; tiny flowers even. Mysteries and miracles that sustain life.
I miss the star-spangled nights, the eternal wonder of gazing upon the infinite universe, seeing the black holes, counting shooting stars and satellites.
The passage of the waxing moon that brightens nightly until at last its full roundness casts so bright a spotlight on the nocturnal landscape that sleep is impossible.
I miss the openness, the vast and endless expanses, the space, the freedom, the feeling of being on the very edge of the known world.
I miss the sunsets and the sunrises, and the natural palette of pastels.
I miss the feeling of living inside an ever-changing painting; the wonder, the heartbeat, the soul, the extremes, the assault on the senses – and the heart-hammering moments when you realise with exquisite clarity that if it weren’t for those precious tanks of life-giving water, we’d be there still – bones on the desert floor, like so many perished animals we encountered.
This desert country takes no prisoners but makes slaves of its devotees with its ability to captivate, mesmerise and enthral. In my dusty, star-filled dreams I still feel the pull of Africa’s ancient, earthbound soul.
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