Strip Pan Wrinkle Read online

  Brian and Sandra readily agreed. After all, they hadn’t yet discovered whether Ted was a loopaholic.

  Then it was food, a soupçon more to drink, and then bed. For tomorrow it was a visit to Etosha!

  2.

  The Etosha National Park is to Namibia what bacon is to a fry-up; without it, it would be impoverished and not nearly so attractive. And incidentally, the park is even saltier than the saltiest bacon… However, rather more prosaically, the Etosha National Park is Namibia’s largest and most wildlife-filled wildlife reserve. And it includes a giant salt pan, which gives it its name, as “Etosha” in the local lingo means “great white place”.

  Conveniently, its eastern gate is just ten kilometres from Mushara Outpost, which, of course, is why Brian and Sandra had chosen this lodge, and why they were now at that gate just a few minutes after finishing their Outpost breakfast (which, interestingly, was a small fry-up with bacon).

  They had been to this park on a number of occasions before and were therefore prepared for what they first encountered – which was a healthy dose of Namibian bureaucracy. For here, at the gate, they were required to complete a register and fill in a form, and then wait until the mobile-phone-distracted attendant in charge of the gate had decided that a sufficient delay to their progress had been imposed (in accordance with park regulations) and that they could now continue on their way. Yes, they could now drive on to the nearest park camp where they would be able to purchase a permit, which required a second register to be completed and a handsome contribution to park funds to be made. Indeed, so handsome that Brian wondered just how much of it was consumed by the less than streamlined entry procedures, which, if they were streamlined, could instead be applied to the upkeep of the park. And had they thought about a ticket machine or its permit equivalent?

  Well, Brian hadn’t been able to keep these thoughts to himself. So, when he vocalised them back in the safety of the Land Cruiser, he was immediately chastised by his wife who told him in no uncertain terms that access control to the park wasn’t just a matter of issuing tickets or permits, but also a matter of recording who had been let in and when. Didn’t he know that there were poachers in this country? And he’d be the first to complain if they let in a busload of them.

  Brian felt a little foolish. Sandra was spot on, and he had no response. So instead, he immediately changed the subject. He engaged her on their intra-park itinerary and, in particular, where they should go first. It was a good move, and soon Sandra had the park map across her knees and was pointing to the waterhole of “Chodup”.

  They were off – along a white gravel track and towards this famous waterhole, where in the past they had seen countless different animals and birds. And when they arrived there, it was essentially… well, deserted. So they turned around and drove to the next one they’d chosen, a place called Springbokfontein (which, Brian thought, held a cryptic clue as to what its name might mean in English). It also held a gang of pretty kudus and a couple of elephants. As they watched this pair of pachyderms, more of their type arrived. And then more and more. They had timed their visit perfectly and were now being treated to an elephant convention. Albeit, unlike most other conventions, this one had a purpose and it didn’t have any speeches, but just a lot of delightful behemoths, slaking their thirst and providing their observers with a stunning start to their wildlife diversions.

  Unfortunately for Brian, they also provided his wife with an opportunity. And this was an opportunity (through the use of an established “word challenge”) to chastise him again for his earlier foolishness over the entry arrangements for the park. She took this opportunity when Brian pointed out to her the big lady elephant in the middle of the group of elephants who had beneath her what must have been her very young baby. It was so small it could easily stand directly below her. It was charming, but its description by Brian as being “beneath” its mother was Sandra’s signal to launch her assault. She started:

  ‘Are you sure you mean “beneath” there Brian? You don’t mean “underneath”, do you? Or maybe just “under”?’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Well, it’s just that “beneath” suggests directly underneath or even extending underneath. And that young ellie certainly isn’t extending underneath and I’m not sure it’s quite big enough to be directly under its mother – as in the sense of it being intimately under her.’

  Brian turned to face his wife and launched his counter attack.

  ‘Do you mean directly under or directly underneath? Or maybe even directly beneath?’

  Sandra regrouped and, after a slight hesitation, responded to her husband.

  ‘Underneath that comment, Brian, is a despicable ploy to sneak below my original observation concerning the appropriate use of “underneath”, and accordingly it is beneath contempt.’

  ‘Or directly underneath contempt? If I was sneaking directly below your original observation.’

  ‘That, Brian, is below your normal standards, and I can only conclude that beneath that veneer of bravado is a tacit acceptance that you do not understand the difference between beneath and underneath. And that’s not below or under the veneer, because your non-comprehension extends underneath it – extensively.’

  ‘You’re right,’ admitted Brian, now grinning. ‘In respect of the correct use of beneath, underneath, below and under, I occupy a lower status than yourself. I am beneath you. But currently, of course, not underneath you. Or below you or under you for that matter. Or indeed prepared to continue this nonsense any longer. Oh, and I think the park’s entry arrangements are not in the least below standard and in no way beneath the standards of others… ’

  At which point, Sandra broke into a smile and appeared to be satisfied that she’d made her point, amiably, rapidly and effectively – and the two of them could now get back to looking at ellies. This they did – until the ellies finally moved off, which was Brian and Sandra’s cue to move off as well.

  So Brian started up the Land Cruiser and drove further on, and found further delights.

  The first of these were two (very rare) blue cranes at the side of the track. Then there were thousands of Cape teal on a stretch of the salt pan that still held water. And, after these, there were wildebeest, impala, giraffe, zebra and a whole assortment of animals and birds that would have sent Noah into a real flap. But that’s Etosha: wildlife made easy, wildlife in abundance, and wildlife that is usually safe – but not always.

  Brian and Sandra were now observing what they had been told about before they’d left Windhoek: a huge expanse of burnt-out bush where just days before there had been a bush-fire, big enough and fast enough to have caused a great loss of life. Many many creatures had been consumed by the flames. And whether this had been the result of a man with a butt or a god with a lightning bolt, nobody knew. Although Brian suspected it was an Act of Man. Any god would have had more sense.

  However, this disturbing interlude from the recent past was now… well, past, and it was time to move on – literally – and for Brian and Sandra to seek out even more of Etosha’s offerings. So that’s what they did – for the rest of the day. And, in doing so, they saw more and more of Etosha and more and more of its varied wildlife, so that when, in the evening, they had gathered for dinner back at the Outpost, they both felt satiated and very happy, and more than ready for a meal with Ted.

  In fact, it wasn’t just Ted (and his wife). For at the same table there was also one of his brothers, John, his wife Linda and their Namibian guide, Orla, who, for the sake of clarity, was a man with no female characteristics whatsoever. Indeed, quite the reverse. He looked like one of those sorts who could flip a spare wheel off the top of a Land Cruiser without even thinking, and Brian was convinced that at one stage of the meal he had bent his fork by simply looking at it. He also had a few tales to tell. And inevitably, they concerned some of his previous charges and their attendant national characteristics. Most memorable amongst these tales were those concerning his Italian clients
, and their all too predictable Italian characteristics. These included an inability to be quiet (so they saw less wildlife than any other visitors to the country – and never any leopards), an inability to be ready at an appointed time (so Orla always gave them a departure time that was one hour before their real departure time), and an unsurpassed inability to make up their minds. This, according to Orla, was their most reliable idiosyncrasy, and why he never ever gave them a choice. If he did this, his retinue of Italian travellers would still be debating the options an hour after they’d been presented, and Orla would eventually have to impose a choice on them himself. Brian wondered whether these features of the Italians’ make up might just possibly have some connection with the economic woes with which their country is now tussling and, if they do, who in the end will make the necessary choices for them.

  Ted, of course, had other matters on his mind and, in particular, the fact that he had at his table two people who had been to almost every place in the world that he’d been. Consequently, the conversation soon resolved itself into an exploration of where he’d been that they hadn’t and vice versa. The two lists were not very long, and included places such as Mongolia, Cape Verde and Belize. These last two were on the “Brian and Sandra had/Ted and his brothers hadn’t” list, and Belize’s inclusion spawned a debate as to where to go in that small country, as it was very near the top of Ted’s “next-to-visit” list. It was an odd conversation to be having in a lodge in Namibia, but no odder than the conversation that followed, which centred on where to visit in Arizona and New Mexico (one of the entries on the “Ted and his brothers had/Brian and Sandra hadn’t” list) and consequently of interest to the English duo. Indeed, odd conversations – with interesting people – were a consistent feature of lodges in this part of the world, and were as much a part of the holiday experience as the scenery and the wildlife. After all, how often does one get to chat to a bright Scot about rugby football, Scottish independence and the scourge of Health and Safety?

  This last topic was the last topic debated at the table, after all the wine had been consumed, and its detail was consequently a little “cloudy” in Brian’s recollection. But he did remember, after the event, that part of the debate had required the consideration of some of those heinous dangers on which the Health and Safety police had yet to descend. So, amongst other things, that was those razor-edged peaks on schoolboys’ caps, which, in these days of unbounded recreational nutting, were nothing less than potentially lethal. Then there was the inherent dangers in duvets, which, if swallowed, could cause all sorts of breathing problems and worse. And finally, the Fire Brigade, which has now been proven beyond doubt to have been associated with virtually every major conflagration in Britain over the past forty years. And surely it was now time to bring to an end this very dangerous and highly incendiary relationship…

  It was shortly after these contributions (mostly if not entirely from Brian) that Sandra suggested that they go to bed. She clearly not only wanted not to abuse the hospitality of their Scottish (and Namibian) hosts, but she also wanted her husband in bed in time to recover his sobriety by the morning. Tomorrow was another day, and a day when he would be required to take their Land Cruiser a further five hundred kilometres into Namibia. Yes, they were off to the Caprivi Strip, a distant stretch of Namibia to which neither they nor indeed Ted had ever been before. (Although, judging from their conversation at the table this evening, Ted wouldn’t be too far behind them. And it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that he might even appear in Brian’s rear-view mirror!)

  3.

  In the event, virtually nobody appeared in Brian’s rear-view mirror. He and his wife had embarked on another long drive, this time along some of the most traffic-starved roads in the whole of Namibia. First there was that B1 again back to Tsumeb, then a forgotten stretch of the C42 that took them to a tiny place called Grootfontein, after which there was a road called the B8 that ran precisely northeast for 250 kilometres (and had been built by someone with access to a giant 250-kilometre-long ruler). And on all of these roads, vehicles were the exception rather than the rule. Brian found it all quite delightful.

  There was, however, a particular point of interest on this B8 road, which Brian and Sandra encountered when they’d driven about one hundred kilometres beyond Grootfontein – and this was the “vet fence”.

  This is a fence that stretches across the entire north of Namibia (and into Botswana) and was originally erected to protect cattle (to the south of the fence) from Foot and Mouth disease infection from buffalo (to its north). Since and despite its erection, the number of diseases that affect cattle and that have to be considered as veterinary control problems has increased exponentially. And therefore the future of this fence is assured, even though its negative impact on the current elephant range is profound.

  But this clinical explanation of this barrier tells only half the story. For the vet fence, as Brian and Sandra were about to discover, separates two very different Namibias. To its south and all the way down to Windhoek and beyond, Namibia is an “ordered” place. Away from its deserts in the extreme south and on its coast, it is a land made up of a patchwork of enormous farms. Not farms as we would recognise them in Britain, but parcels of land measured in thousands of hectares, covered in scrub and housing just a scattering of cattle and other animals (some of them wild), and all contained within the bounds of huge wire fences. Therefore, even though it looks empty and beautifully desolate, what we have here is still essentially a “commercial” landscape – operated by big land owners and very much on a business-like basis. To the north of the fence, it is not like this at all.

  Here, and starting just yards beyond the B8’s heavily manned gate in the fence, is another world, a world of concession lands, roadside mud-and-straw huts, wandering animals (as there are no fences to prevent them wandering), peasants (in the true sense of the word) and, if not acute poverty, then at least a degree of real hardship. It reminded Brian of only one thing: Africa – and the Africa that was normally depicted on the news, an Africa where development was minimal and where most people still just subsisted, growing what they could and rearing whatever animals their overworked land could sustain. Only the arrow-straight metalled B8 belied this impression. Where there should have been a red-sand dirt road winding its way into the distance, there was still this undeviating strip of tarmac, the sort of road that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Lower Saxony.

  Well, that was not quite accurate, as it would be very surprising to find in Lower Saxony any thoroughfares that were so highly populated with goats and cows. They were everywhere here. And, as our travellers would in due course discover, wandering animals of both the domestic and the wild variety were now to become the established road hazard for the remainder of their expedition.

  Indeed, when they had driven through Rundu (the fuel-stop settlement at the head of that 250-kilometre straight line) and then turned due east towards the Caprivi Strip, this animal hazard grew significantly bigger – literally. For on this stretch of the B8 there were (wandering) elephant warnings all along its length. This was a little disconcerting, as Brian was well aware that a collision with an elephant could result in road-kill, but that the road-kill would probably not be the elephant. He therefore drove more cautiously than ever and, as he approached the very beginnings of the Caprivi Strip, he attempted to concentrate on his driving, and not on the peculiar nature and the peculiar origination of this slice of geographical nonsense…

  If one looks at a map of Namibia, it looks at first glance as if the mapmaker has made a mistake. He’s got the bulk of the thing right: a coastline, a series of more or less straight lines separating the country from Angola to the north, Botswana to the east, and South Africa to the east and south – but then he’s cocked it. He’s put some sort of pot-handle on it, a thin strip of land that runs east from its extreme north-eastern corner right up to Zambia and nudging even Zimbabwe. It can’t be right. It must be a flight of fancy. O
r maybe the mapmaker’s apprentice finished the job off and he just misread the instructions. Geographical protuberances of this sort and of this size simply do not happen.

  Only, of course, they do – if they originated in the colonial past of Africa. Yes, up to 1890, this pot-handle was merely the very top slice of the British Bechuanaland Protectorate (most of which ended up as modern-day Botswana) and German South-West Africa (now Namibia) had no claim on it whatsoever. But then in that year Germany did lay claim to British-administered Zanzibar. Now, Zanzibar has very little connection with anywhere in southern Africa, and its seizure by Germany should have had no impact on this sliver of Bechuanaland. But it did. Because the British were a bit peeved at losing Zanzibar and demanded a conference with Germany to sort matters out. And matters were sorted out. In essence, Britain ended up with Zanzibar again – and a strip of German South-West Africa that was appended to Bechuanaland’s western edge – for which, in return, the Germans were granted the North Sea island of Heligoland – and a strip of northern Bechuanaland, now known as the Caprivi Strip. It was an exercise in land swapping on an epic scale that could only ever have been done under the auspices of colonial ignorance and its associated arrogance, and ultimately it went down very badly with the Lozi people. These were the poor saps who happened to be living in the Caprivi and who only discovered they were under German control some twenty years after the swap. (It wasn’t until 1908 that the German government dispatched an “Imperial Resident” to oversee the place.)

  The Lozi’s reaction was to round up all the cattle they could find (including those of rival tribes) and then to drive them out of the area. The cattle were apparently eventually returned to their rightful owners, but the majority of the Lozi chose to remain in Angola or Zambia rather than to submit to German rule. Difficult to believe, but that’s quite definitely what happened.