To the lungs of Africa
Ifind it hard to dissociate the name Angola from the 27-year civil war in which South Africa played a significant part. Most of my generation were called up “vir volk en vaderland” in the eighties, but for the majority of the current, young population of Angola, life has simply moved on and it’s easy to just go with the flow.
Tourism is encouraged here (South Africans don’t need a visa), the officials are helpful and, in the towns and cities, people are sweeping the streets. The two biggest changes we must adapt to in Angola, however, are that the local time zone is one hour behind home, and we have to ride on the right-hand (wrong) side of the road.
Along the way Anne garners a fan club. Women don’t seem to drive anything around these parts, let alone a motorcycle. Speaking of motorcycles, the reason why we are on Honda XR250 Tornados for this trip is because these lightweight bikes are economical, simple to maintain, easier to manoeuvre and still have enough capacity to carry our usual kit. They turned out to be a great choice.
Just outside Ondjiva we come across a disabled T54 tank standing sentinel, its large gun now pointing skyward at nothing – a relic of the war that ended only 17 years ago.
It’s hot – hotter than in Botswana. A hundred kilometres northwest of Ondjiva, the EN 105 road crosses the Cunene River at Xangongo. Although the water level is low, it is clearly a huge river, with a bridge to match.
We pass a freedom memorial with a quote by Fidel Castro; the paint is as faded as the message, the structure and uhuru chains are rusted, the plaster is patchy and overgrown with weeds – reduced to a footnote in history.
The scenery gradually changes; the mopani bush and palm trees give way to succulents as the landscape turns more arid and the soil more sandy as we enter Cahama.
Clouds gather overhead as we approach Lubango just before dark. Our Tracks4Africa map on the GPS directs us to the campsite at Casper Lodge. The ‘campsite’ is actually a lawn between some chalets, and our toilet and kitchenette look suspiciously like staff facilities, but we have a corner of the garden to ourselves.
