Firstly my apologies for taking so long to get this post up. Secondly I hope my readers (yes both of you) are having a good summer.
OK, 'nough of that. I didn't travel through countries risking the chance of catching bizarre diseases - that simultaneously make you itch while your cuticles fall out so you can't scratch, or giving you lock-jaw and chronic urge to yawn which, well I don't have to describe the potential horrors, - just to send you good wishes.
Our first stop in Namibia was actually still in South Africa, along the Orange River. Although the river is the official border, South Africa still maintains control of the cultivated swath of land on the other side. Apparantly, Namibia only really begins at the barren, deserted land too far from the river to be effectively cultivated. I guess that means some of the produce imported into Namibia has to first leave Namibia for SA where they can put that little "Proudly South African" sticker on it, and then send it back again where it's probably sold back to people who work on those farms in the first place. Ahh, the wonders of international trade!
There's not much to see along the Orange River, so as any good overlander keen maximizing their sensory stimulation so as to absorb the very essence of the place which surrounds them, I went to the bar.
I began talking to a local guy, who wasn't really a local guy. Originally he was from the Cape but had to leave when he lost his job in 1994. He was in the military but was not allowed to continue because of some of the various roles he had, none of which he could tell me about. How could I resist talking to someone with such a rich and vibrant history?
The question though, is what to talk about: Quantum physics? Near East religions? No, those were to prone to endless debate and almost violent visceral responses. I needed something more mundane; the conversational equivalent to elevator music. I know: social and political changes since 1994 and how they have helped/hindered South Africa.
It would promise to be an entertaining night.
It started off PC enough. Black empowerment was a long time incoming and now that it's here, everything must be done to promote and nurture it. There's profit to be had by all in the New South Africa.
Fair enough...a bit more prodding and poking about his farm, his workers and how he views them and that started a little trickle of truth. After his 5th or so drink he very seriously and carefully pointed out that the old regime, as bad as everyone made it out to be, had actually built South Africa's modern infrastructure which rivals even Europe.
'Yeah, but it was built practically on the on the back of slave labour.’, says I.
Long pause.
'So what if it was? That's the natural course of things when one society comes to dominate over another. It happens all the time all over the world, but nobody seems to mind except when it applies to South Africa'
'And another thing...'
And then came the flood. This was the same 'And another thing' thing I've over and over again whether it was on the subject of Africans, Asians, Indians, the poor, the left handed, the early morning risers...anybody who was not "like us". Names and particular details were changed, but were essentially the same half-truths, anecdotes taken out of context and empty sayings disguised as wisdom. As disturbing as it was, I left with a perverse sense of gratification so that if I was prone to talking to myself - Larium induced conversations spoken to in Esperanto excluded - I could say "See, I told you so". Although, admittedly, I wouldn't reply so as to not give myself a swollen head.
What really struck me was the obsession with "land", who had it, who had to give some up, who it was given to and what was being done with it. Fair enough, this guy is a farmer and land is important. But every time he said the word it got sharper, more abrupt and more intense, to the point that he hissed it through clenched teeth. I was reminded of Gollum from the Lord of the Rings, mainly because I am a victim of pop culture and couldn't think of a more intellectual comparison. It might have helped the comparison if this guy would have at least looked like Gollum, but then the conversation may have been steered in the direction of the difficulty in finding really large contact lenses or the virtues sushi, and I never would have had a chance to ask the other questions.
But of course, it wasn't all serious talk..there was room for some lighter subjects as well. Like fashion, for example. I noticed that unlike high-socked, mullet-wearing porno-stache sporting boers I met when first entering South Africa, this guy sported no socks - his friends had no shoes at all - and if anything his thin little stache belonged more on a pimp...or the singer from The Kinks.
When I asked about this rather huge discrepancy, he began chuckling and pointed out that these people were the subject of ridicule for the Afrikaaners as well. After all, what can be expected from those backwards English South Africans? I wanted to point out that the people in question spoke Afrikaans to each other and the barmen and their dogs, and only spoke English for our benefit.
But I was happy enough just not to have to see another mullet, so I let it slide.
