Hayestack

If you go further north than Rundu you will find yourself in Angola. This is not to be advised as Angola is still covered in landmines. At any rate you would first have to negotiate the hippo and crocodile infested Okavango River. Only yesterday I was told of a girl who went walking along the river bank and was never seen again. The police were called and they concluded she was taken by crocodile. They will grab a limb, drag you into deep water, barrel roll until you are helpless or drowned, then devour you. The thing to do, apparently, and I will perfect this technique, is to cling onto the croc so that you spin with it, meanwhile sticking your fingers into its eyes. If it does not release you, lift up its tongue so that water enters its lungs and is in danger of drowning. If you have the presence of mind to do this you will survive with just a bitten limb. However, I know of only one instance when this technique has been successful. So, I suppose the moral has to be don’t go near crocodile rivers and banks. Unfortunately for us the Okavango is a prime site for recreation and pleasure. Only the other day we watched a sensational African sunset whilst walking along the river bank.Fortunately we saw no crocodiles.

Our first impression of Rundu was that it was built on a beach and was designed by a recalcitrant class of “A” level geometry students (ie. It has form, but no meaning). It is a town of right angles. Go north and you will reach the river (watch out for the crocs). Go east/west and you are parallel to the river. It has recently developed from a one horse to a two horse town. Soon, due to road development between Namibia and Angola it will be a town of a herd of stallions. At the moment it is building a new shopping mall. Though this will in no way rival Lakeside or Bluewater, it does have its own escalator. At the moment the locals step on and off gingerly as though they may be consumed by the monstrous machine. Soon they will be blasé about new technology and become just another westernised town. But, maybe their destiny will be different. Cuba and China helped Namibia a great deal to achieve independence, no doubt by selling them arms. There is a large Cuban presence in the hospitals and Chinese presence in diamond production and retail. The sad fact is that Chinese companies bring in Chinese workers. They do not employ Namibian workers who would improve the Namibian economy. I would not wish to see another Tiananmen Square in the centre of Windhoek nor Rundu. Hopefully, the Namibians are cagey enough to use communist money to develop their country, and ultimately, to retain human rights and the rule of law to join the roll call of truly civilised Nations.

Our journey from Windhoek ended as we approached the Ministry of Education compound. An armed guard at the entrance held up his hand for our vehicle to stop. We carried on regardless. Bullet in the head time, I thought. But the driver stopped and we completed our journey. The Deputy Minister of Education had expressly awaited our arrival. We were suitably impressed. Ignatius, a Zimbabwean from Birmingham instinctively furnished expected diplomatic niceties. Everyone was honoured and praised a couple of times if not more, and we were allowed to leave.

Exhausted, we arrived at our new home for the next two years. It was a large, low bungalow, surrounded by a sandy beach boasting a huge cactus, mango tree and exotic plants with profuse exotic flowers. Surely this would have been paradise had it not been for the air-raid shelter planted ominously in the centre of the garden. Rundu had been bombarded by Angolan rebels several years ago. The cold rains of Britain seemed a whole world away.

We were greeted by Linda and Rose, surely two of the nicest people in the whole wide world. They made us feel at home and were generous to a fault. This was now our home and we should make it so. Linda, from Lowestoft and older than us, was an amalgam of Gloriana and Ellen Orford, at once benign authority and caring mother. Educated, articulate and with her ear constantly to the ground, she proved an invaluable source of wisdom and knowledge. Rose, the enchantingly lyrical maid of Limerick, instantly brought to mind the Loughs of Yeats and Innisfree. Irish hospitality is legendary and Rose was truly and unashamedly Irish, thank God.

The established volunteers had organised a dinner at the lodge overlooking the Okavango River. There would be mosquitoes so we should wear Deet, the latest essential in fashion accessories. The meal was a delicious, meaty blur but we walked there and back without being mugged or eaten alive by mosquitoes. Life was so much more relaxed here. We felt at home.