Chapter 6 – The desert

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– Thanks a lot for your help! Sayowa said to the man driving.
– It’s normal, I finished my shift anyway, the employee of the service station replied.
He was wearing blue overalls and a hat branded with the logo of an oil company. His face was long, oval, simple, lit only by the dashboard’s lights.
– I mean, you worked all night, you probably want to sleep.
– Nah, there’s not too much work at night, I don’t get tired. And what would I have done Sunday at five in the morning?
– Sleep?
– We have all long for sleeping, when we’re alive, we need to enjoy it. And it’s been a while since I didn’t take myself on a trip to Damaraland. You’ll see who nice it is! This is where I’m from, I am Damara. Where are you from?
– Zambezi.
– Oho! You have water over there! You’ll see, here it’s the desert! But it’s nice!
– Yes, we have a lot of rivers and big trees!
– And we have small trees. What are you then? Your tribe? Lozi?
– Well… I mean it’s a bit complicated.
– Esh, these tribe stories, I don’t know if it is very important. We’re both humans right? And that’s why we should help each other out! You’ll see how nice is my region.
They were driving on a gravel road, the car was shaking. At that hour, the sun was already rising on Sayowa’s island. There, it was still night. She stretched her mind to remember why, the more west one was, the later the sun would rise. She remembered an experiment she had done with her grandfather, a football and a lamp. The lamp (the sun) would only shine on one face of the Earth (the ball). The Earth spun from west to east, so… yes well, it was something like that.
Anyway, how lucky had she been that that employee of the service station heard her conversation with the man in red, that he was ending work at that very moment and that he offered, on his own, to bring her to the coast! He had said he could not go all the way to Torra Bay, but he could bring her to Springbokwasser. From there she would not be far from the coast, she would probably find another transport.
Dust, whipped up by the wheels, was entering the cockpit through the half-opened windows. It was impossible to close them completely because of the smell of gas emanating from the man’s cloth. “I’m sorry for the stink” he had said when Sayowa had gotten in.

– It’s brave and all to travel alone like that. But you must be careful who you’re dealing with. Me I’m fine, but you shouldn’t get in a car with anyone.
– But you you are fine, Sayowa said with a smile.
– Me I’m fine!
The glowing of dawn was emerging, diluting the obscurity, unravelling the reliefs of the landscape. The outline of the Damaraland’s mountains surfaced.
– So what are you going to do in Torra Bay?
– Actually I’m going to Swakopmund, but I wanted to see the coast.
– Swakop? Woo, I don’t know when you’ll be there!
– It’s far?
– Quite a bit yeah! And it’s not a good road like the one your friends are taking, the ones you left in Otjiwarongo. It’s not possible to drive as fast, so it takes longer.
– But it’s nice the coast no? It’s where they make salt.
– I’ve never been, but I heard it’s nice, yes.
– Me, I’m going there, Sayowa proudly said. If I could drive and I had a car, I would go everywhere.
– And it seems to me that even without a car, you’re handling yourself quite well. From Zambezi until here, woo!
– I’m going to see a friend of my grandfather in Swakopmund. He is Italian.
– Italian? Where is that? Is it close to Germany?
– I think so. They are experts in pizza and mozzarella.
– Say! You know many things you. Me I don’t even know what it is mozzarella.
With a nod, he pointed at the window.
– Look at my region.
Behind them, the sun had risen. Its red rays were giving their tint to the hills and mountains. Sayowa, who only knew plains and the lush vegetation boarding rivers, discovered an arid country. In places, there were colossal pilings of rocks, as if a giant’s hand had gathered them and stacked them there, for some mysterious reason. A few trees, small, almost bushes, existed but must have felt quite lonely in that mineral kingdom. The mountains seemed alive, but not of the same life as the river. The river would change, evolve at every instant. The mountain on the other hand, lived of an unalterable life, as old as the Earth itself.
– So? the employee asked.
– It’s beautiful, Sayowa replied.
She was surprised to hear emotion in her voice.
– I feel so small.
The employee approved with a nod.

The sun was still rising, it had taken its golden colour. Sayowa then understood that the red tint of the landscape was not a consequence of dawn, it was the natural shades of the rocks. That observation increased her awe. The layout of the stones, the shape of the mountains, changed with every turn, every passing of a hill.
At some point, Sayowa saw two giraffes feeding off a tree. She was surprised to see animals that size in that region.
Cliffs were getting gradually closer to the road, forming a canyon that led them to an intersection. The direction of Springbokwasser was on the left.
They turned. The track became even more chaotic and briefly drove them away from the reliefs. They crossed a dry river bed, covered with silver grass which colour was changing with the wind.
Soon, the mountains reappeared. They gained altitude, went through a few turns, got to the top of a hill.
The employee stopped the car on a resting area set up inside a curve, equipped with a small table and four seats made out of stones.
– Breakfast time!
They got out, Sayowa found out what was hiding in their back for kilometres: they were on the edge of a precipice; the whole valley hollowed out by the river was visible, ringed by high rust-coloured plateaus. It was a magnificent sight, unreal, moving even.
The employee took out a plastic box and two spoons, laid down that set on the stone table. They shared a kind of porridge while they admired the view.

Then, the road went down and they left the mountains behind. They continued a while longer between rocky grey hills, surrounded by brown soil and sand.
After a few more kilometres, an obstacle impeded the way. Sayowa saw it from far away and distinguished the details as they got closer: a gate crossed the road. It was a simple metal frame covered with wire mesh. On its sides was a wall made of red and brown stones, brought from the mountains they had just left. A building was hiding behind that fence, only its pointy metal roof could be seen. Sayowa realised that was the first house she had seen since almost two hours.
Big white thick letters mounted on the wall announced: “Springbokwasser Skeleton Coast Park”.
– This is where I leave you, the employee of the station said.
– Springbokwasser is…?
– The entrance of the Skeleton Coast. There’s always people coming to visit the park. Wait here a bit and you’ll find a car going to Swakopmund.
– Thanks again for everything, Sayowa said as she opened the door.
– Hold on. Take this.
He handed her a one and a half litres plastic water bottle.
– Thanks a lot.
– And good luck! To find your Italian friend!
Without another word, he turned around and disappeared with a cloud of dust.
Sayowa waited for it to disperse. She placed the bottle of water in her chitenge which she was still wearing around her back.
She was now alone, the silence was intense. A faint refreshing morning breeze was striking her. She moved towards the gate, set about to open it. It was heavy, rusted and made a horrible grinding noise when she pushed it. She had to use both hands, and add the weight of her body to get an opening big enough to go through.
On the other side, she had a feeling that the scenery was different, even though she could not have said how.
Two big trees shaded a path outlined by large stones, leading to the entrance of the building. A man was sitting, or rather slouching, on a camping chair, in the shade. His face was concealed by a straw hat and a bushy beard. Sayowa could not see whether he was sleeping or not. He had not made a move since she had arrived.
She got closer, dragging her feet in the gravel, hopping the noise she thus produced would trigger a reaction from him. But if the gate had not woke him, the chances of those few scratches having any effect were slim.
He grunted.
– Yes?
He had spoken without moving a muscle.
– Err… is the coast far? Sayowa asked.
– You’re here. It’s written up front, he replied, still without a move.
– Oh, err, and are there cars passing by here?
– Sometimes.
– Oh.
She did not know what to add.
– And, err, do you think a car will come by soon?
– I don’t know.
– Were there many cars since the morning?
– No.
– How many?
– None.
– None?!
– It’s not the season.
– The season… for cars?
– The tourist season.
– Ho, okay, and maybe I can walk a bit, until a car comes. No?
– If you want to walk around, you can.
– Oh, well. Thank you sir.
She remained dumbstruck for a moment. She did not feel like staying in that man’s company for too long. It would probably be more enjoyable to walk until the coast and to wait for a car next to the ocean.
– Okay, well I’m going then, she said.
A final grunt answered her.
There was only one road, she could not go wrong. She was in the Skeleton Coat Park (named after the numerous shipwrecks that had happened on that part of the Atlantic Ocean). The man had attested to it, so no problem.
She followed the road, away from the gate.

She was walking in the middle of a ground and gravel path, compacted by the repeated passages of tyres. Tiny scattered angular stones flew at the slightest contact with her shoes. A bit of wind escorted her, strong enough to raise dust that would then enter her nose and mouth. She could feel it on her tongue. A sip of water quickly got rid of the sensation.
She had spent most of the last twenty four hours sitting in a car, soliciting her legs was nice. It was slower, sure, but it made it easier to enjoy the scenery.
After a moment she lost sight of the entrance of the park. She was all alone in that desolated world. She imagined herself as seen from the sky, through a bird’s eyes. She must have been a tiny black dot, minuscule in the blond vastness of this desert.
Sometimes she noticed a rock on the side of the road, bigger than the others, which shadow harboured a tuft of grass. She would then stop to observe it, admiring the obstinacy of vegetation. Rare small brown bushes had also grown on the hills running along the road. Beside those, and an occasional insect, all was dead. That observation made her philosophise. Her mind whirled with all kind of reflections about life, the universe and everything.

The sun, in her back, heated her neck. She took another sip of water and moved her chitenge to cover the exposed portion of skin.
She could only hear the crackling of the gravel under her steps, steady, like the beating of her heart. It was like the rhythm of a song.
She started singing, at the top of her voice, a traditional song of her tribe, which actual meaning eluded her, but of which she enjoyed the melody. Although her voice barely resonated on the small dunes, the silence was such that the echo would always come back to her ears. She felt free, alive, strong… extravagant to dare being out there.

Singing and walking rapidly exhausted the breath, opening the mouth meant more dust got in. She took a break and drank. She had finished half of the bottle.
She had been walking for a while, the ocean could not have been much further.
She resumed her stroll, restless, taking better care of her breathing.

The sun was right above her head. Her shadow was a simple dot under her feet. The hills were gone, rocks were little by little replaced with sand. She could see for as far as the eye could see. But there was not much to be seen. All was the same, in every direction. She had been walking for a long time, the ocean could not have been much further. And all that sand, there was sand next to the ocean right? That was a sign.
She was hot. Dust had made a thin layer on her skin which disappeared when she slid her finger on it. She wrote her name on her forearm.
She was hot, the ocean could not have been much further.

There was no more vegetation. She was alone, in the middle of the track traced in the desert. It had an apt name, the desert. It was truly deserted. She had sip of water.
The air was making waves all around her, because of the heat. The road, infinitely straight, seemed to be dancing.
She thought she saw something in the distance, something getting closer and closer. An elephant? No, a cloud of dust. Getting bigger. And bigger. A sound. An engine noise. An engine noise ringing out into the silence. Moving towards her. She saw a car, small at first.
The white 4x4 was going at full speed, bouncing off bumps. Unfortunately, it was not going in the right direction.
She stepped aside, because she doubted that the driver had seen her.
The vehicle stormed passed her, very fast, spraying her with dust, projecting small stones against her body. She had to close her eyes and turn around.
Strangely, the sound of the car which should have quickly been moving away, got closer.
As the dust cloud dimmed, she saw the 4x4 going backwards and stopping a few meters from her.
Four people got out: two white women and two white men. A young, tall, beautiful and tanned couple; and another couple, old, small, podgy and red.
They were all matching: beige shirts, beige shorts, beige hats and black sunglasses. They had pockets on almost every square centimetre, and each of them had something around their neck. The two old ones a pair binoculars, the young man a big camera, the young woman a green scarf.
That last one put her hands on her face when she saw the little girl on the side of the road and shouted something in a foreign language. She was majestic with her never-ending legs, her long, black, straight, smooth hair.
She came to Sayowa and crouched, minding that her knees did not touch the ground. She said with a big smile.
– Hello you, how are you?
– I-am-fine-and-how-are-you?
Sayowa had said those words instinctively.
– Hooo, you’re so cute!
She turned around and yelled something in her strange language, then continued:
– Tell me beautiful, do you like sweets?
– Yes madam, Sayowa replied, obediently, as if she was answering a question in class.
The other woman had come with a plastic bag in her hand. Close up, Sayowa noticed her skin was not only red, it was also shiny, covered with a kind of white cream which blotched in places. She said something and opened the bag. The nice lady put her hand inside and pulled out tiny pieces of caramel, wrapped in individual papers.
She placed them in both her hands and handed them to Sayowa, palm turned towards the sky, like an offering.
Sayowa hesitated.
– Go ahead, don’t be afraid, it’s for you.
– Thank you madam.
She grabbed the sweets and put them in her jean’s pocket, which was empty since she had given all her money to the man in red.
– You’re really pretty you know?
– Thank you madam, Sayowa repeated.
– Could we take a picture the three of us? You can see it after.
– Yes madam, okay.
The woman flipped again and shouted something to the men. The young one seized his camera. He had a few words and the two women placed themselves on both side of Sayowa: the nice lady, still crouched, put her arm around her shoulders, the other one remained on her feet.
The man put a knee on the ground, pointed the lens, closed one eye. Sayowa stiffened. She fixed the camera and held her breath. There was a light “click” and the man raised his thumb.
– Sehr schön!
Sayowa recognised those words. It was German, it meant “very good” or “very nice”. Her grandfather had told her.
The man walked to them and flipped the screen towards the three models.
Sayowa leant to see the small digital picture. She got disoriented. She recognized the two women well, but her own image was just a black silhouette. She could not even make out the traits of her face.
– Wonderful! Do you like it? the woman said.
– Thank you, Sayowa replied.
The woman laughed. Sayowa realised that her answer did not match the question. She was troubled. Was that really what she looked like? A black smudge?
– Okay, bye bye! Have a nice day! the young lady said as she stood up.
– Thank you.
That time it worked a bit better.
The two couples went back in their 4x4 and left the way they had arrived, in a cloud of dust.

Sayowa took a moment to think about what had just happened. She grabbed one of the sweets out of her pocket and undid the wrapping. She put the piece of caramel in her mouth, the wrapping back in her pocket (she remembered the speech of the two youngsters in the car: “don’t pollute our country!”).
The taste was sweet, she liked it. Everyone liked sweet things.
She started walking again, thinking of that family. If only she could be white too. She could do whatever she wanted in life, have money, travel. Being black was more difficult, it was not possible to make it as well in life. There were a few rich Africans, but not many. Even Inyambo was living in the village with them. He could have gone into politics, but he had not wanted to. Politicians could make a lot of money. But Sayowa did not want a lot of money, just enough to live well, like Muyambango. And to travel. Like that white family. Like the blond lady.
The caramel made her thirsty. She looked at her bottle of water, noticed that it was almost empty. As she was walking, she spat the sweet out and took a small sip.
It was not enough to quench her thirst. She put the neck of the bottle back against her lips and let a tiny ribbon trickle down.
With a brusque movement, she pulled it away from her mouth. There were only a few drops left.
Suddenly, reality struck her. The sun was burning her skin. Its rays were hitting the sand with such intensity that it was becoming white, blinding. The heat of the ground diffused in the air, surrounding her.
She kept on walking, but each step became more painful. She was still thirsty.
She panicked, her heart hammering away. It was more and more difficult to find her breath.
Everything around her radiated and waved. She got dizzy, rooted to the spot.
She looked at her feet, her respiration trembling. She remained motionless, taking time to regulate her breathing and her heartbeat, taking deep breath, forgetting everything else.
She calmed down. The ocean could not have been much further. She just had to keep going a little more.
She moved forward, trying not to think of the thirst, of the suffocating air that enveloped her, one foot after the other. One foot after the other.

Time made sense no more, she thought of nothing, she carried on, followed the road, she had no choice.
Sometimes a light shined in her head and she had to struggle not to panic again. She forced herself to empty her mind, to numb it. It was better like that.
She was still trying to keep a minimum of focus, because if she lost her consciousness, she understood she would not make it out. She had to go on.

She continued.
Her head low, she only saw her feet rubbing on the ground. Slowly. Again and again.
She had to carry on.

Her feet reached the end of the road. She lifted her eyes. That simple motion made her head spin. She thought she would fall, but held on.
She was at a T-junction. In front of her, a sign. She read it.
Torra Bay was on the right, far on the right. Swakopmund, very far on the left. She was in the middle. In the middle of nothing.
She wanted to cry.
She fell on her knees, the ground burned her through the fabric of her jeans.

A cool breeze came across her.
It was a breath of life. Her senses revived.
She heard something. The ocean! It must have been the ocean! Straight ahead!
She started running, stumbling on the rocks, sinking in the sand. She had left the road.
She could not run for long, she was completely out of energy. But the sound got sharper. It was the sound of the waves!
She walked with big steps, focusing all her attention on that noise, which was getting louder. The cold breeze supported her.

A dune stood before her. The sound of the waves was coming from there, right behind it. She had made it.
She climbed the sandy hill with her arms and legs.
She was crying.
She reached the top. A strong wind with a saline smell welcomed her. In front of her, as far as the eye could see, there was the ocean.
She admired it through her tears.
Her mind clouded. The plain of water vanished. She fell backwards.

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Excerpt from “Recette de pizza pour débutant” © (SACD) Thomas Botte