Of Acacia Trees and Ungulate Dung
The black thorn tree\'s normally rugged trunk has been polished smooth by eons of antelope rubbing ticks from their hides. David, our guide, puts three pieces pf poo in my hand. It\'s a test. And I\'m about to fail. Each pellet is a different shape. He points to the largest; "eland," he says. The longer, sausage-shaped pellet is kudu dung. The smallest, a wee counter-sunk turd, was left by a gemsbok. I wonder that such huge animals can create such lightweight and tiny poo. And then I wonder that I even care, crouching here in the wilting heat of a Namibian afternoon. But the lessons continue. A surprise exam at the next midden tests my recall. This time I pass. And am strangely pleased. We\\\'ve ticked off faeces. The lesson moves on to trees. It\\\'s the black thorn tree again, Acacia reficiens. "What is it," David demands. "Please, no common names, only Latin." Unschooled but ambitious, David has learnt English, German, Afrikaans and a spattering of French from the thousands of tourists that pass through his land. He is working to memorise the universal Latin names of species, to better his chances of finding work as a guide in Namibia\\\'s flourishing but tight tourism industry. As he has learnt the Latin for our benefit, we must now learn it for his. To the uninitiated, acacia species look remarkably similar. My brain quickly fills but every honest attempt to recall Acacia hebeclada or A. karroo earns warm praise. All around us are the dry hills and valleys of Daan Viljoen National Park, on the outskirts of Windhoek, the capital city of Namibia, in southwest Africa. Herds of distant antelope and an occasional giraffe move across scenery heavy with antiquity. Namibia\\\'s basement rocks are older than two billion years; dates so big to be meaningless. But while its rocks are ancient and its noontime heat heavy, the politics of this country are fresh and hopeful. Namibia appeared in world atlases only 15 years ago, in 1990, when the shackles of South African rule were finally shed. Geographically, Namibia is flanked by Angola to the north and South Africa to the south. Its eastern border is Botswana, and the chill Atlantic Ocean forms its foggy western border. We\\\'ve abandoned our motorised transport at the park\'s gates and are under pedal power on mountain bikes. The wildebeest look bemusedly out from their shade as we go by, flicking their tails against the testing flies. An old kudu male jerks from his dose, spiralling horns twitching, before he decides we\\\'re more benign than the sun, and stays where he is. Cycling safaris are possible in Daan Viljoen National Park because lions are long gone and have not yet been re-introduced to the park\'s fenced environs. While cheetah and leopards are resident, to keep the antelopes on the tips of their hooves, we\'re told an encounter is unlikely. We\'re safe from all but heat stroke. Grinding up hill in granny gear, we pass acacia trees dripping with intricate grass installations, nature imitating art. These gourd-shaped yellow weaver nests are not just artful, they\'re cunning too. Two entrances give the egg-sitting female an out if a snake comes calling, and there\\\'s a built-in alarm. Long straws vibrate when an intruder slithers past, allowing the weaver to flee, leaving the (replaceable) eggs to their fate. Off in the distance a vague shape moves across a dry valley. Eland, says Shakar, our principal guide. Even with binoculars I struggle to identify the antelope. Shakar knows the animal from how it moves, knowledge borne of years in the African bush. Kudu and gemsbok move more slowly, hartebeest are jerkier. At an iced water and apple stop Shakar shares some of his story. He is one of 39 children born of his father\'s enterprise. "My father enjoyed many girlfriends." The extent of that enjoyment only came forth when a brother and sister began courting, unaware they were siblings. His father was forced to spill the beans, Shakar says, to ensure continued genetic diversity. Shakar is training David to be a guide, and David is ripe for training. It\'s on the QT, their bosses think David is just the driver. But Shakar recognises that this boy from the wrong side of the tracks has big dreams. When he\'s learnt all the trees he\'s moving on to birds. And in between polishing his German and Afrikaans, he\'s learning Herero, one of the 11 indigenous local languages. Soon, David says, he will know enough to study for his tourism certificate, buy his own Combi van and lead his own safari tours. And then maybe he will go to Europe. He\'s noticed that foreign qualifications seem to be more highly valued among the tourism bosses. Big, big dreams. For now, we\'re his focus. We dump our bikes for a walk along an ephemeral riverbed. The ground is strangely damp; yesterday the sky flashed with an unseasonal lightening storm. We surprise a group of female kudu with young. Kudu are the American Indians of the veld, white stripes like war paint mark their beautiful faces and flanks. David calls them Africa\'s \'Prince Charles\' - it\'s all in the ears. We walk to a man-made dam where Egyptian geese, avocets, dab chicks, plovers and dotterels dabble. We track giraffe and springbok, zebra and hartebeest. We learn the uses for various tree components. The roots of one acacia stop milk from separating. Bark from another cures whooping cough. Leaves of this tree make a great tea for reducing blood pressure. And once again we are tested about antelope droppings. David builds me a wildebeest - its body zebra dung, its legs and neck sharp acacia thorns. "We made do when our parents couldn\'t afford presents." With another couple of thorns, the wildebeest transforms into a horse and rider. "Horses, kudu, it can be anything you want it to be," he laughs. The sun sets on the hilly horizon as we pack up the remains of our post-ride picnic. Driving off, two kudu stand the water\'s edge. Our last test of the day. "Kudu is also known as..." "The ghost of the bush." "And...," prompts David. "Prince Charles." "Thank you, thank you," says David. His work here is done. Back at the backpackers I feel vaguely guilty chewing into barbecued kudu. And then go back for seconds. Ends Travel Facts Namibia was known as South West Africa until its independence from South Africa in 1990. It is physically huge, with few people (1.7 million). If the name Namibia doesn\'t ring a bell, think Etosha National Park, the Skeleton Coast, Fish River Canyon and huge red desert sand dunes. You\'ve probably seen it before care of the BBC. Although there are 11 different indigenous groups, English is the designated official language, the infrastructure is good and the going easy. If you speak German, you\'ll get on well with about 90 per cent of the other tourists. From Namibia it\'s very easy to tie in visits to Zambia (Victoria Falls) and Botswana (Okavango Delta). Seasons are on southern hemisphere time - summer around December/January, winter around July/August. Rain, if it falls, comes mostly in summer and autumn. Temperatures tend to be coolest around July and August, but it depends a bit on which part of Namibia you are in. It can get extremely hot from October through to March. South African Airways services Windhoek (www.saa.co.za/). For travel advice and bookings, contact the Cardboard Box Travel Shop (www.namibian.org/). We stayed at the Cardboard Box backpackers (http://www.namibian.org/travel/), and rode Daan Viljoen with Outside Adventures. © Marieke Hilhorst/ORIGIN NATURAL HISTORY MEDIA |