Bushmanland: a journey into north-east Namibia
Can a stay with Namibia’s Bushmen help to preserve their fragile culture? One pioneering traveller struggles with his conscience, his malaria pills and some very challenging terrain
My torch had definitely worked earlier. I remembered using it to check my tent for snakes, scorpions, baboons or anything else that might have been lurking – just as I always do when I find myself camping in the middle of Bushmanland, 200km from the nearest main road and quite possibly at the furthest point in Namibia from anything remotely resembling a bedside light switch.
Being a hardened, savvy traveller I remained calm while weighing up the most sensible course of action. Then I banged the torch on the frame of my bed, only to hear a pinging sound, followed by the depressing thud of two AA batteries falling to the floor and rolling into some spider-infested corner.
By now the pain in my stomach was becoming unbearable. Malarone pills always do this to me. I reckoned I had approximately ten seconds to unzip my tent, stumble outside into a moonless African night, dodge innumerable slavering hyenas and find the en suite – a thatched affair out back where there was bound to be something nasty hiding in the shower.
The guide’s view
I don’t think I’d made a very good first impression when I’d met him earlier that day. The burly Namibian was built like Desperate Dan – not that he was in any way desperate or dandy. In fact, forget I even mentioned that. Stubbled chin, sun-pinched eyes and forearms that resemble mating pythons, Arno doesn’t suffer fools (particularly those who can’t take their Malarone). I made the mistake of engaging him with small talk and possibly the worst opening line ever heard this side of the Sahara: “So, what brought you here originally?”
“My car,” Arno replied, flashing me a look that made me giggle nervously like Mr Bean. Of course, I was hoping for some deep and meaningful insight into why he now organises trips for tourists to visit the Bushman, or San, group known as the Ju/’hoansi (pronounced ‘Dju-kwa-si’) who live in this remote north-eastern corner of Namibia. But as I sat on the toilet, it occurred to me that I should be asking myself a similar question – why had I come here?
