Okahandja (Eng)

I need more patience for my trip through Africa next year.

 

I may be wrong but I always had the perceived idea that accommodation in Windhoek was too expensive. One paid more for what you got.

 

I spent two nights in a lodge about 20 km from the Windhoek airport and 25 km from Windhoek.

 

Late Thursday afternoon I saw the sign to the Airport Lodge and I decided to go there. On a hill with a beautiful view over the dry African landscape were a couple of thatched chalets. My stay there wasn't bad, but I could not connect to the place. Accommodation and food were good.

 

But:

 

I hate to pay quite a lot to have Ricoffy with my breakfast. An establishment calling itself a lodge must at least offer filter coffee. Even in Springbok in Namaqualand I got filter coffee. At home and at friends I would drink Ricoffy without a second thought, but as a paying guest …

 

In the future I will rather pitch my tent in a sandy riverbed close to the airport.

 

I left the lodge in a grumpy mood this morning. In Windhoek I hooted at a car waiting to turn off without its indicators on. I passed a slow pickup on the left. This is so untypical of me.

 

I decided to spend Saturday and Sunday in Okahandja. The town is also known as the Garden Town. I just love the town. The main reason for my visit was the Military Museum in the town. I passed there a couple of times, not having time to stop and visit. Today, Saturday, would be the day.

 

I spent many months on the border as infantry soldier many years ago. I am fascinated by the different views on the bush war. That was the reason why I went to see the Heroes' Acre south of Windhoek. The bottom line is: He who was politically correct may write the new history.

 

It was again scorching hot as I got to the Military Museum. At the gate a Namibian soldier lazed around in the shade. No, I wasn't allowed to visit the museum.

 

Why not?

 

It had still to be opened. (Since passing there the first time back in 2005 it was in the same state of readiness or un-readiness as it was today. Still to be opened / inaugurated?)

 

It is nearly 2008. The soldier suggested that I should come back next year. Then it should be open.

 

I asked whether I could walk around the building to see the old Russian weaponry that was used in the bush war and to take a few photographs?

 

With delight he granted me permission.

 

To the left of the entrance was a big camel thorn tree. I parked the bike in its shade. I was soaked in my own sweat.

 

The soldier strolled to me, he didn't walk. No, I couldn't park my bike there. I had to park it 70 m further down the street in the burning sunshine. One may not park in front of a museum that is not open.

 

I rode the 70 m further down the street, parked, and started taking off my riding clothes, helmet and gps. I have just finished stripping me and the bike of all valuables when our soldier friend strolled closer again. No, it was not possible to take any photographs.

 

You dear little ex-comrade imitation of a proud soldier! (or something similar) Again very untypical of me.

 

I know one has to shut up and smile in Africa. I was doing that for many years already. But this imitation of a soldier brought me to the edge of my patience. Not his error, mine.

 

My mouth was a bit quicker than my three burnt out brain cells. I asked him whether the world should not see how the SADF beat them up.

 

Error. Big error.

 

Fortunately also his brain was drained by the heat and he didn't register what I had said.

 

He strolled back to his lying place and didn't react.

 

My day was spoiled and my attitude irritated me.

 

Then I met Jan Jakobus and his family. They were busy doing there washing 7 km out of town at a small stream with clear water. Jan Jakobus introduced me to his wife and told me that he had a cell phone at his hut. They were glad to be photographed and asked whether they would be on NBC.

 

I had to disappoint him with the news that I was not an employee of the Namibian Broadcasting Corporation.

 

I took a few pictures and everyone was smiling. Their washed clothes were spread out on the grass, bright splashes of colour in the bush.

 

When I left them I had a feeling of unease in me.

 

I was complaining about Ricoffy at a lodge.

 

I was a moaning brat because I couldn't visit a museum.

 

Jan Jakobus and his wife were happy about washing their clothes in clean water, even if they had to walk two kilometers through the bush.

 

I wish I could have washed off my Western arrogance like Jan Jakobus had washed his clothes.

 

So, I apologize to the Road Lodge for complaining about the coffee. And yes, I apologize to the Namibian soldier for being so impatient.

 

"Wherever you go, never take an idiot with you, you can always pick one up on the way." – Billy Connolly

 

PS Do you want to complain about my English? Please speak to Jan Jakobus. J