“It’s about time you came to visit. I’m so glad to see you all!” she said between trying to plant kisses on both boys’ heads.
Chris was the first to get a word in. “Grandma, we got into a fight in Pretoria!”
“A fight? You mean with your brother?”
“No!” Traykie interjected. “With soldiers!”
Joyce looked at Sarah for some input to make sense out of what she was hearing. “It’s true. We’ll tell you all about it in the car.”
“Well then, let’s grab your stuff and follow me.” Joyce reached down and picked up one of the larger suitcases that Traykie had been carrying for his mother. He was surprised at the ease in which his Grandma lifted and carried the heavy suitcase. She did not look her age, nor show any signs of aging or weakness. He was impressed at his grandmother’s strength.
Joyce was a big woman, at least five-foot-eight, and had always carried some extra weight. She never let it get her down though. She was the first to go on long hikes or go camping, fishing, swimming or dancing. She was well proportioned and could have modeled mature clothing, as she always said, for ‘full-sized people’ instead of all those itsy bitsy half-sized people that most magazines cater to.
It was hot outside the terminal. Sarah liked it that way. It was a dry heat, which made it more bearable than that of Austin, Texas. Joyce stopped at a four-door brown car called a Hillman Vogue. Sarah opened the trunk and neatly stacked the luggage in order to get it to fit.
“Good job. I was sure that the boys would have to ride with at least one suitcase on their laps.” Joyce praised her.
“Mom’s good at packing,” Traykie said. “She always arranges the suitcases in the trunk cause when Dad does it we do end up having stuff in the back seat.” Sarah nodded in agreement.
Joyce laughed. She well understood Leo’s packing abilities. Once inside the hot car Sarah welcomed the air conditioner, as she could feel little beads of sweat forming at the base of her hairline.
“When last did everybody eat?”
Traykie spoke first: “It’s been a while now.”
Chris and his mother spoke at the same time, “Liar!”
Sarah looked at Joyce and said, “Mom, he’s telling tall tales! We just barely finished eating at the airport dining room when we met you in the lobby.”
Joyce looked at Traykie in the rear view mirror and shook her finger in the air at him. “Naughty boy. I suppose you have a hollow leg now?”
Sarah confirmed it. “He eats like a horse, and then some.”
Windhoek was a lovely town set in the foothills in a generally desert like terrain. It had beautiful, blooming jacaranda trees, which Sarah thought looked a lot like the Lilacs she knew. The flowering bougainvillea gave it a certain European elegance enhanced by its distinctive German architecture. Windhoek was the capital of Namibia and also the largest city in the country, although it still seemed very small compared to American standards. It had about the same population as Boise, Idaho.
They drove down Kaiserstrasse in near silence, just observing all the unique buildings. Joyce told them that what they were seeing looked much like some places in old Germany before World War II, but could scarcely be found in Germany any more. After the war, much of Germany had been demolished and was modernized when it was rebuilt. Many people had left Germany after both of the great wars, and some of them had come to make their homes in what was then called German South-West Africa. The country had been a protectorate of Germany after World War I. Since it wasn’t directly involved in the devastation of World War II, the architecture brought with the German people nearly a hundred years earlier, still remained. German was one of the three official languages along with Afrikaans and English.
Once they cleared Windhoek and started out on the road to Omaruru, the bush veldt started to look dry and uninteresting, and Sarah embarrassingly began to explain what had taken place at the airport in Pretoria. Looking back, she felt responsible for what had happened. It was she who took for granted the American way of going about your business. She had never once thought that the security, especially at the airport, might be beefed up during elections and that people would be stopped entering a shop and that it was expected to have their bags inspected.
Joyce did not pass judgment on Sarah or the boys, merely listened to their story in awe. She wasn’t greatly surprised that Sarah might have been mistaken for a South African. She explained that the color code was crossed every day by lighter-skinned people and some people from one family might be considered colored and another white. It was a tremendously silly system anyway. Things were changing and it wasn’t as important as it had once been. Different children from the same parents might be considered white, colored, or black depending on the hue or degree of pigment apparent in their skin. What a ridiculous idea. People were just people no matter what they looked like. On this issue Joyce had strong opinions and voiced them freely. She also had a few choice words for the behavior of the soldier that might have approached Sarah in a more civil manner and avoided the whole thing. That, too, made her angry, because in her opinion a soldier should be just as respectful to one person as to another.
Ordinarily, Joyce would have found their story a little exaggerated, for it seemed hard to believe, but since Sarah was the one telling it and both boys were confirming it, she had to believe it was completely accurate.
“When you get back home perhaps you should write the story down and submit it to the Reader’s Digest. Maybe you could prevent other naïve Americans from landing in big trouble when traveling. In a similar predicament, it could have ended much worse. You and the children could have been shot or simply disappeared and no one would have ever known.” Knowing all too well the history of South African police, Joyce was shaken by their experience.
Sarah, Traykie and Grandma were wholeheartedly visiting, making up for lost time while Chris, who was now tired and bored, complained about the heat, the lack of space, the dry terrain, being thirsty, feeling sick, and having nothing to do. The other three tried to ignore his complaints. Finally he succumbed to sleep, much to the relief of his companions.
Sarah was fascinated with the countryside they were passing through. Joyce took on the role of tour guide, pointing out the different vegetation; the ‘Vet Boom’ or fat tree, and the ancient Welwitschia with its long, seemingly dried-up, curled leaves that resembled strips of rubber from old tires. She explained that the Welwitschia plants had been living on earth before Christ was born. Many of them were over two thousand years old and could be some of the oldest living plants on earth. Traykie couldn’t believe that the clumps of vegetation he saw occasionally could have lived for so long. He wasn’t sure if Grandma was pulling his leg or not.
As Joyce eased off the gas to negotiate a corner, Chris suddenly awakened with a start and blurted, “Great. I suppose we have a flat tire now. I’m not changing it, Traykie can.”
Sarah glared at her youngest son with a stare that meant “Better knock it off, or I will!”
Traykie hollered, “Hey! What are those?”
“Look, ostriches.” A large flock ran across the road. Joyce tried to count them but found it nearly impossible. She finally estimated that there were close to seventy of them. The ostriches were kicking up sand on the far side of the barren tar road. Their dusty gray, brown, and black feathers looked rumpled as they sped across the dry, harsh Namib Desert. Small tufts of yellow grass became dislodged as their long, gangly legs tore at the dry dirt under their big feet. They resembled giant Road Runners moving at top speed as if being pursued by Wile E. Coyote.
Chris seemed more alert and interested for the first time since they’d left the airport two hours earlier. As the car came to a halt the last few stragglers crossed the road and ran after the retreating flock. The trailing ostriches were young, smaller ones, desperately trying to keep up with the main group. “I’ve been here a long time and have only seen this big of a group one other time. I’ve been told they live up to s
ixty years, can you imagine that?”
Just then it became obvious why they were running so hard. Sarah yelled “Look!” A cheetah which had been stealthily slinking on his belly on the far side of a giant milk bush darted across the road with such speed that his spots blended into a flash of yellow, orange, and black. Within seconds one of the trailing young birds was tackled. Dust flew up as cat and bird tumbled over each other in the dirt. Amidst the dust, two other colors joined in the collage, white and red. The young bird did not have a chance. It gave a final twitch with one leg as the proud cheetah carried it back behind the screen of milk bush. The remaining ostriches were just a dust cloud off in the shimmering distance to the right of the road.
Chris uttered his first positive word, “Wow.”
Grandma confirmed it. “That was a sight put on especially for you. It is not one that you would likely see again. As a matter of fact that is only the third wild cheetah I have ever seen. Don’t expect to see a hunting cheetah during the day again. He must have been very hungry.”
Chris was good for the rest of the trip. They talked about the scenery mostly. Everyone wanted to know why things in the distance seemed to shake and shimmer as they couldn’t see things clearly. Joyce explained that the heat rising from the ground sometimes gave the distance that shimmering affect. The terrain had changed several times from sparse grasslands to sandy ground with desolate occasional thorn trees, to rocky outcroppings with fat trees and milk bushes to dry salt pans. The heat created illusions. Mirages were evident for miles. The kids were certain that they could see the ocean.
In one such mirage the kids witnessed five lonely gemsbok miraculously emerge as the car moved in their direction. The gemsbok were walking through a dry salt pan with sparse tufts of yellow grass. They appeared to be shimmering in and out of focus as their brown, black, and white frames seemed to be sloshing through knee deep water. Their two-and-a-half-foot long black antlers spiraled backwards, in small tight curls at 45 degree angles over their neck and back, as they trekked slowly across the desert in search of food and water. Their white legs looked like they were wearing special knee-high boots in order to trudge through the mirage of water. They were gorgeous, almost magical-looking. Their size seemed comparable to the American elk, though Traykie thought that they were far more beautiful.
Later they saw a herd of springbuck that resembled American pronghorn. As Chris was beginning to ask why they were called “Springbuck”, it became evident, as one frisky male decided to show off. The young buck tucked his head down into his neck and chest and then hunched his back up like a scared cat and began to hop on all four legs. The hops were unreal. Each hop propelled the young buck higher in the air. It was remarkable how much distance would be covered by one such leap. The springbuck could easily clear the car with just one leap.
Soon two other springbuck began pronking and leaping through the air. Others quickly attached their springs and joined in on the frolicking. Since the terrain had once again changed to mostly thigh-high grasslands, the sight was fantastic. More than a dozen springbuck were leaping through the air trying to out-jump each other. They would virtually disappear in the high grasses and then leap way up in the air. They seemed to totally defy gravity, almost flying through the air, floating above the ground with hooves above the high grass, and then they would drop down on one of the many hidden trampolines to bound back up in the sky.
Sarah was intrigued with the performance and enjoyed seeing the surprised expressions on her boys’ faces.
Traykie blurted, “No way! How do they do that? Our antelope don’t do anything like that at all!”
Joyce answered, “I guess you now see why they are called Springbuck.”
When they stopped at a wayside picnic area with a single outhouse, they were able to inspect a Welwitschia plant firsthand. Joyce, the self-proclaimed tourist guide, explained the plant was first discovered by an early pioneer named Friedreich Welwitsch in 1859. Being one of the oldest known living plants, it had baffled scientist because it lived primarily in the driest terrain known to man. The long, rustic-looking, greenish-gray leaves stretched out like parts of rubber tires strewn along American freeways. The plant had peculiar red flowers. Sarah too, was in awe as to how the plant could survive in the heart of the dry Namib Desert without any visible signs of water.
Joyce explained that they were now protected and they shouldn’t be touched or bothered in any way. “It can’t be transplanted,” she relayed. “Whenever anyone tried to transplant one it died. Maybe it takes four hundred years before they come up – who knows? It could be that something someone planted would come up in a couple of hundred years if it was left alone. Something that lives two thousand years could take a long time to germinate. Our lives are too short to know for sure.”
“Why would anyone want to transplant it anyway?” asked Chris. “They aren’t pretty at all and I wouldn’t want anything that looks like that in my yard!”
“Well, because of their age and their rarity, they would be very valuable.” Joyce explained. “Sometimes a house needs to be built where one stands, or there are some in the way of a road or railroad right of way. They have tried to transplant them, and of course many people try just to have the novelty of one in their garden, but it just hasn’t ever been successful. It seems terribly wrong to disturb something that old when you know it would destroy it. I can’t understand people trying to do that just in the wild hope they might make some money.”
That made sense to Traykie. He looked at it but kept at a respectful distance.
Chris wasn’t convinced. “I’ll bet I could get one to live. All you have to do is dig a big enough hole around it so it stays in its own dirt. I’ll bet I could do it.”
Sarah let out a longsuffering sigh. “Christopher Ryan, you just touch one finger anywhere near that Welwitschia plant or any other while we are here, and I guarantee you, you will seriously regret your experiment.”
“Chris, they have huge fines in this country for anyone that tries to dig up or harm a Welwitschia. There aren’t that many of them left. Goodness, if you planted a seed right now it might not even germinate in your whole life time and when you died you wouldn’t even know if it was going to come up or not.” Joyce had a healthy respect for these strange plants and she certainly didn’t want her grandson to harm one.
Joyce shook her head and rolled her eyes. Chris was quiet and that worried Sarah. She certainly hoped he wasn’t seeing dollar signs and thinking of something stupid. Chris seemed to think he was exempt from all the normal rules of nature and man. He never thought he could get hurt, fall from a tree, fall over the ledge, or that he had to follow any rules he ever encountered.
She was relieved when they all got back in the car and headed due west towards the coast. The temperature became noticeably cooler, and Joyce turned the air conditioner off and they rolled down their windows. The country side had changed again, to small rolling sand dunes.
Grandma pointed to a distant town along the coast and said, “We’re almost home.”
A gentle fog bank trailed lightly over the town. Southeast of the houses, giant sand dunes could be seen dominating the southern horizon. As they entered the sleepy little resort village of Swakopmund, Sarah noticed that the same old-style German architecture was prominent. The evening sun, hanging low over the Atlantic Ocean was dimmed, as it was partially obscured by the heavier fog bank off the coast.
As they turned down Steckel Street, Sarah recognized Joyce’s business from pictures she had seen. It looked bigger and more impressive than she had imagined or remembered from the pictures. The main building was a light, peach-colored two-story stucco building with three covered balconies on the second floor. The trim was painted brown on the second floor balconies and around the windows and the roof line. Though the four large windows on the bottom level were trimmed in bright white, it did not look odd. As a matter of fact, it seemed to add character to the old building.
A typical European
-style sign protruded from above the main entrance. The gold lettering was already illumined by the night lights. Fine droplets of mist created a halo effect around the front light, circling the golden J’s on the sign. Under the two J’s, was the word RESTAURANT in bold letters. Although Joyce had bought her partner, Joan, out of her half of the business some years ago, she never changed the name. People were used to J.J.’s Restaurant and Boarding House. Even though the curtains were drawn inside, bright, warm light glowed welcomingly from the dining room windows. Several vehicles were parked on both sides of the street in front of the business.
Joyce pulled into what seemed like a little alley between the Restaurant and what appeared to be a deep row of connected apartments. She explained that they had six apartments and nine rooms with the Restaurant. The alley opened up to a large internal courtyard, with parking for the apartments and a small garden area totally enclosed by the six surrounding apartments. It reminded Sarah of the old American forts. All of the apartments were connected by a ten foot high stucco wall that spanned the entire perimeter of the property. In between the apartments were laundry facilities, clothes lines, parking, and an area which held eight large garbage cans in a small fenced-in enclosure.
They unloaded the car and Joyce took the boys and Sarah to their quarters. “I thought you’d all be more comfortable in your own apartment,” she said as she unlocked a door just off the courtyard. She showed them their two-bedroom apartment with its own kitchen, living room and bathroom. Joyce told the boys to consider themselves lucky to have the apartment with its own bathroom because all the upstairs rooms had to share two bathrooms, one located at either end of the long upstairs hallway.
Chris was delighted to see bunk beds in their bedroom and immediately spoke up, “I dub top bunk!”
Joyce said that she would leave them to unpack and freshen up, and when they were finished she would introduce them to her staff and after a quick tour of the rest of the place, they could have supper together in the restaurant. Sarah thanked Joyce profusely for the hospitality and assured her they wouldn‘t be long.
B.B.U.S.A. (Buying Back the United States of America) Page 17
