Ondjiva to Lubango
June 18, 2024
The road, liberally potholed cuts through yellow savannah dotted with scrubby trees. Women carry bundles of hay on their heads and cattle and goats walked past with goatherds in attendance. There are plenty of people walking along the edge of the road. Hitching a ride is common here since most of the populace is poor with no cars. But not all is as it was eons ago. A tall cell tower rears its head between baobab trees. Everybody in the world now has a cell phone.
The similarity with Namibia ended with more greenery and lush foliage. The lushness is soon explained as I see small ponds dotting the land. Rainwater, says Joao. There are small concrete tanks along the road – the water pumped from wells I presume. Locals gather around them to wash, bathe and fetch water. The tanks are frequently placed so at least the women who carry buckets on their heads haven’t far to walk back to the village.
We pass several carcasses of rusted out tanks and armored cars – mementos of the civil war. I remember seeing similar ones in the Wakhan valley of Afghanistan . Joao was a lawyer and journalist before he retired and tries to explain but our mutual difficulties with language make it too difficult. He hands me a small journal and I begin creating a dictionary as we drive – pointing out things along the road and writing the English and Portuguese in his small journal. It helps us both. I offer to teach him English and we agree on a plan. This is going to distance education via email – not an entirely novel concept.
We go past plenty of villages with thatched roofs in the style in other countries in this part of the world. Some villages though have log cabin-like ones and some are rectangular structures made of corrugated metal. The more affluent have squat concrete ones. Like elsewhere in the world, before one can own a car, one owns a motorbike and there is a veritable army of them everywhere. Moto taxies that I have ridden in in many other parts of the world are ubiquitous here as well.
We come to a place roughly midway and Joao pulls to a stop. Across the road is a long open-sided shed with a row of women tending small barbeques. Roasted chicken! The streetfoodaholic in me delights as my mouth waters. I grin delightedly and hop out. The women call out to entice potential customers and we buy some chicken. It is delicious!
In a marked departure from most places in sub-Saharan Africa, the women here pose delightedly when I ask for photos. So, Angolans really are open and friendly I think to myself. How lovely! I wonder at the warnings I had heard from everyone in Namibia who had urged me to not visit this country. What a shame!
ITCHY FEET TRAVELS 