Hot in the City
Well, I made it. I haven’t had a chance to get to the internet before now, for a variety of reasons, not least of which is that people seem to be congenitally incapable of keeping appointments in this place. I’m not surprised; just boilingly frustrated. People have been promising to come at 8, at 12, at 2, before lunch, after lunch, before the end of the day, when hell freezes over and the camels come skating home…. On Wednesday someone did show up, but all he said was “Is it you I’m connecting to the network? Ah, right, good. That’s all I need to know. See you tomorrow.†He hasn’t been seen since. I’m using someone else’s PC.
The other reason I haven’t been able to get to the internet is because I can’t really get out of my house unless accompanied by someone with a car, because it’s so far to anywhere useful. Neither can I leave my office without being accompanied, or driven. Two of my colleagues were robbed at knife point in the last month walking across the scrubby stretch of bushland to and from Maerua Mall – the nearest shopping centre. As a consequence, one of them is utterly paranoid about going anywhere, and puts the wind up me every time I even talk about going out, although we did venture to another small supermarket today. I’m even having to rely on the generosity of a colleague to get to and from work, because taxis are impossible to come by and very expensive, at both ends.
If I was any kind of naïf, I’d think that the traditional Windhoekian greeting conversation goes something like this:
THEM: “Welcome to Namibia! Are you planning on buying a car while you’re here?â€
ME: “No, I can’t afford one. I’d have to sell a limb.â€
THEM: “[sucks teeth] Oooh, difficult. Difficult.â€
Windhoek is a strange place, and, initially, a nerve-wracking one. VSO managed to find me a shared apartment in a part of town called Ludwigsdorf. Anyone in the know will tell you that Ludwigsdorf is the Mayfair of Windhoek. Rent is extortionate, swimming pools compulsory, and each and every gigantic house is surrounded by electric wire, razor fencing, multiple alarm systems, electric gates and armed response signs. Our house even has two dogs, but one of them is too daft to bark, and the other one is only concerned with licking my feet. It must just love the taste of stale sweat. Sometimes we pick up other dogs. Every time I open the gate, some local mutt or other bounds joyously through, and starts yapping hectically with the other two. Yesterday it was a dachshund puppy with unfeasibly long ears.
My flatmate and I are ensconced in a little granny flat that I believe housed the domestic staff during the days of Apartheid. It’s very comfortable, but miles and miles away from anywhere, and as yet lacks any real cooking facilities. We’re using the two ring camping gas thing that VSO use for camping trips, and which welds all food irretrievably to the bottom of any pan you happen to be using. VSO provided us with some furniture, but in order to sleep, I have to sacrifice my supply of books – my bed only has three legs, so they’re they only things keeping me upright.
I’m a bit cheesed off with VSO, who said originally that I would be able to rely on public transport for all my needs. Taxis form the bulk of public transport in this city, and they act a little like buses, having designated routes and pickup points. If you travel along a designated route, it will cost you $6 (about 50p), but if you go outside that, they charge you at least double. I have to walk two miles from home to even find a taxi, because no one in Ludwigsdorf ever needs one, and if I walk to Maerua Mall from work, which is the only place I’d find one, I’m likely to be set upon by armed youths.
My flatmate is taking me to the Trade Centre tonight to buy a bike. Hopefully that will give me some modicum of independence. I’m trying not to think about the cycle to work every day, which is extremely pretty, and winds through groves of pleasant houses surrounded by the newly purpling jacaranda trees. Swallowtail butterflies drift flappily over head, and songbirds warble amongst the cacti. It does, however, involve riding up and down a series of large hills in blistering heat. I will be very fit at the very least. Actually, I’ll probably be moving closer to the centre of town at the end of October, which will make life a great deal easier.
It’s hot here. The sun begins to bake the dry earth as soon as it peeps over the mountains that ring the city. By midday it’s sweltering, the heat beating up from the tarmac, and crisping the yellow grass into sharp and crackling spikes. By four, all you want to do is hide in the shade, and rest your cheek against cool tiles. By six, it’s starting to cool, and I’ve been spending my early evenings sitting drinking ice cold gin and tonic and watching the lavender sunsets. The evening star is so bright here that it comes out far, far earlier than any other. It looks somewhat ethereal, burning up there while the sky is still darkening from lilac to deep blue.
It’s hot, and it’s going to get hotter. Apparently it’s only spring now – by December it gets so stifling that the entire city decamps to the seaside for a month. It’s dry too. So dry that you don’t even know you’re sweating. It evaporates immediately, offering not a speck of cool relief. My skin has reacted bizarrely, and I can tell already that my main expense here will be moisturiser – for my lips, my face, my body and my hair. I feel desiccated.
The altitude is another factor here – we’re at 4,500 feet, or thereabouts, which is the height of Ben Nevis. In my first week I woke up every morning with blood crusted to my teeth and tongue, and I immediately, being an inveterate hypochondriac, assumed that I had some terrible terminal disease. It is just nose-bleeds though, and they’ve more or less stopped now. Also on the plus side, the dryness does make for agreeably satisfying crusty bogeys.
Windhoek is a very pleasant place, despite the distances and transport problems. The streets are wide and almost empty of traffic, and there are numerous palm trees and jacarandas. Bougainvillea grows over everything, draping glorious oranges, reds, hot pinks and daffodil yellows across the whitewashed buildings. Everyone I’ve met has been wonderfully friendly and welcoming.
There’s plenty to do here too. Since I arrived I’ve been to the theatre, the cinema, a braai, spent a lazy Sunday at Katatura swimming pool, and last night’s crowning glory, the Putt Putt at Maerua Mall. Not the most inspired crazy golf pitch I’ve ever played on, but still, a pleasant diversion for a balmy Thursday evening. The Namibians seem to love it. The course was covered in couples and groups, shrieking and running about like maniacs. My burning ambition now is to reach the par, which is 36. Last night I scored 73, which I think is perfectly reasonable, even though we only allowed ourselves six shots per hole.
Another advantage is that although work starts early, it also finishes early(ish). I’m usually home by 5.15. Last night I managed to make a curry, hand-wash two weeks worth of laundry and eat a leisurely meal before heading off to the crazy golf. I know, I know. I’m going to be living such an exciting life! I’ll also have arms like Fatima Whitbread after two years of bucket laundry. Au revoir, bingo wings.
Life here, for me, will be very easy, and I’m sure, pleasant. Incredibly though, in a city so rich, there are an enormous amount people who have nothing to eat on a daily basis. Unemployment is a huge problem, as is HIV and AIDS. It makes me feel extraordinarily guilty, not that I can help that I am so lucky, or would if I could. At least I’m in a position where I can use my skills to make a difference, even if it is tiny.
Anyway, I’m sure that’s quite enough for now. Ciao.