The Plot Thickens

February 9th and 10th, 2010 Sesreim, Namibia
In Swakopmund I noticed a distinct chill in the air from my fellow overlanders; no one would look me in the eye. Did someone, a public figure like the queen, or maybe a rock star, die? I wondered. Then it became clear: they had discovered my blog. A few girls confronted me--they were furious. Their feelings had been hurt. Possibly, tears had been shed. (Why is it that I'm always making silly girls cry? It's the same old story since high school. Jenny, do you know?) They had recognized themselves in my characterizations. Certain comments, including the characterization of one of them as a "tart," another as "doughy" and adjectives describing the group as "disheveled" with "jaundiced livers" from excessive drinking were particularly offensive. They were insulted that I was not thrilled to see them every time I met up with the group. "You have spoilt the trip!" exclaimed one tall Kiwi, nicknamed The Giraffe. I didn't apologize. I started my blog with a commitment to speaking freely. While I will not use friends' names or post pictures of them if they don't want me to, and I won't blog about work, of course (never a good idea, see Armstrong, Heather) I decided from the start not to censor my blog.

I was curious about how they found my blog. Blogs can be difficult to find and this one has a tricky name--I even occasionally screw up the name when I try to give it to someone--and it's not posted on facebook. One girl--let's call her Chubbs, because she is fond of wearing grandmotherly muumuus, which have the unfortunate effect of making her look squatter than she is--claimed she found it by looking up my Setswana name, which sounds implausible, to say the least (how many people can spell Kutlwano, pronounced KUKE-wano?). It became clear that this claim was a lie. In fact, I had sent the link to a fellow overlander before the trip (I met her online) and promptly forgot about it. Silly me! She was crushed when she found an unflattering description she surmised described her, and passed it on to everyone to read.

So what are they going to do, kick me off the island? "We've decided," said The Giraffe, "that we won't hang around you anymore. You can be around us, but we won't speak to you." I love it! It's a version of the elementary school chestnut "You can't be our friend anymore." It's a fifth grade shunning! And I couldn't have planned it better myself! I get to spend the last 5 days of the tour with the best of both worlds: I'm on the truck down to Cape Town, with transportation, accommodation and meals planned, yet I don't have to be a part of the silly group! No one to pester me to drink more, or to harass me to jump into the pool naked with everyone else!

It has been wonderful! I am totally free. We spent a night at Sesreim camp, near the famous red sand dunes. In the evening, I dropped by the camp bar for a Savanna Dry. The overlanders were clustered in an unhappy circle at a table. I settled at the bar and struck up a lively conversation with a group of Namibian guides from a nearby lodge. That's a part of independent travel that I miss; when you are with a group, you don't get to interact with locals--you chat mostly with your group. Clearly, I didn't come to Africa to talk with a bunch of silly soused Brits about who's shagging who! I've also met some warm, wonderful Canadians on an orange Geckos truck (who are not, admittedly, locals) that will parallel our route down to Cape Town.

So now, I'm shunned by the overlanders, unrepentant, and having a blast! I'm thrilled to be in Namibia, the desert is incredible, the sky is vast and the temperature is scorching! I'm probably the happiest person on the truck, except for the two dudes, who seem pretty satisfied. The girls seem unhappy & bitter. Their jokes are shopworn--even those telling them seem sick of them--and their laughter is shrill. There is a psychic burden that accompanies being a hater, I think.

Here is the incredible Sossusvlie near Sesreim.


Here I am watching sunset at Fish River Canyon, looking for all intents and purposes like a cat full of cream.