Living for Disco

We are standing in the biting cold, waiting for the Namdeb bus to take us into the mine at Elizabeth Bay.  We have all been up since 5 am, and are feeling frayed around the edges, but am quite excited to see what a diamond mind looks like.  When we get on, we are told what our little tour will include, and given a pep talk by the bear-like, bearded head of security, who goes by the fantastically appropriate name of Skulk.

“OK.  When we are in the area, you must not touch anything, you must not pick anything off the ground.  If you pick something off the ground, and put it in your pocket there is no excuse.  We will put you away for 20 years, or fine you N$1,000,000.”  I am instantly terrified, in case I forget, and see something I want to pick up, like litter, or something.  I am very conscientious you know.  Fortunately, I manage to restrain myself.

The mine is grey and very exciting in an industrial kind of way.  It is dwarfed by an enormous man-made dune, formed of the sifted and rejected sand.  We are not allowed off the bus, and it isn’t long before captivity palls, and we are taken to an old mining town that is disintegrating in the rough, salty air.  The first thing I see is a mural on a wall depicting idyllic palm tree fronded beaches, and soft Pacific surf.  Wishful thinking indeed – this is the Atlantic, and it’s harsh and cold; the only vegetation is sparse, and hugs the ground as if in fear of the wind.  Coconuts were never on the menu.

For some reason, I am fascinated by the doors in the houses, by the thought that almost 100 years ago, people opened and closed these doors, went through them, used them to get in and out of rooms where now there is nothing and nobody.  I can almost see them, those old German families, living on the edge of the earth, with only the sand and the rocks and the sea for company, and marvel at how much they were prepared put up with for the promise of untold riches, back when the diamonds were simply lying on the ground for anyone to pick up.

We arrive back in to chilly Luderitz with hours to spare for doing educational things like visiting the museum, and looking at Shark Island – an old prisoner of war camp where conditions were rank and people died in their hundreds.

Naturally, we decide to spend those hours in a coffee shop, eating cake.

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