What's the point of travelling through the Kalahari at 120km/hr on a perfect, pot hole free tarred road  ?  Unless, of course,  you're in a rush.

Nyati wasn't.

At the first possible opportunity, we turned left into the Kalahari, deep desert country. Headed for Noenieput, Koopan Suid, & all points desolate. Here we go again… WOW, wow wow.

Everybody should see this place… Of course, you're going to need a company car to drive it without flinching. The family's new SUV will shake itself to pieces. It's an ancient, tough land with only a scattering of very tough people living out here.

One of those, is Johann Bekker, on the farm "Ka Kolk"… 30km from his nearest neighbour.

Johann & his beautiful wife Monique, took Nyati & me in &  gave us an overnight stop, not to be forgotten.
Another example of the level of hospitality people out here consider normal.
There's simply no way to refuse it without offending. So why would you ?
If only we all had such a strong spiritual grounding.

Watching the Springboks prevail from the comfort of a lounge sofa, whisky in hand, smell of the braai being prepared was wonderful, therapeutic… Aaaah life might be great afterall.

Johann had recently completed almost 58km of electric fencing around his sheep. No, not human poaching, jackals & Caracals.
He reckons he's been loosing 2 or 3 lambs every day to them so IF he can stop them, he'll recover his capital expenditure very quickly.
While we stood around the braai, there was lightning in the distance all around us but no rain.

I told them that I had passed through several kilometres of bloody tricky driving… Deep red mud roads with standing water either side. Actually, Nyati was covered in mud which had dried to a delicate pink. How do you reconcile that with one of the driest periods experienced here in decades  ?
Johann said that the area I had passed through received about 50mm of rain in under an hour, but it was very isolated.

So there we were, sitting under a huge desert sky, the soft Souti & the tough Kalahari farmer gobbling down platefulls of delicious lamb. The very lamb he spends so much time & effort to protect…
It's okay, I'll reconcile that one. "Nog een" ?  "Ja, dankie".

I met two of his bushman trackers. They rode in just before sunset, empty handed, their quarry had escaped into Namibia… Most unusual.
These guys literally follow the animals spore, ride ahead, run them to ground & then smoke or dig them out. It often takes days.
Nights spent sleeping at the burrow or digging… It's never a happy ending for the quarry, unless they emigrate.
When they tell of their hunt, it's all body language. Mesmerising. You're transported there, the man almost shape shifts, he's moving like a Caracal, tired now, fear in the eyes, the end seems enviable, salivating & sly, the cat jumps from rock to rock leaving no trace of spore… Aha, but there, & there, look, tiny traces of spittle. Eish, it goes on & on.
I watched, fascinated, like a child.

I asked how the trackers survived & hunted for so long without supplies… Simply answerd… "They're bushmen".

When I stopped outside "Ka Kolk" my body & soul had been at an all time (in the context of this expedition) low.
Diesel had started dripping out of Nyati's front tank. From a drip, the pounding  we'd taken over these Kalahari "roads" encouraged it to run like a tap…
Nyati was hemorrhaging fuel at a startling rate…
I stopped to see if there was anything to be done. The big 325litre tank had started to split about halfway down a seam… There was simply nothing to do but wait for it to reach the level of the split… About 150litres down tank.
A gut wrenching disaster.
Oh, but that's not all… The other essential in long range desert travel, had, as if in sympathy,  joined the diesel… The centre, stainless steel water tank was unceremoniously squirting its load onto the road… Nyati looked like a goat standing there, frozen in fear, pissing into the sand. So undignified.

"OhmyGod, no, not now,  not now."

"So when then. ? When would be a more natural time for the tanks to leak, than now, here, after hundreds of kilometres of pounding over really bad, corrugated "road". Whatcha expect… angels, miracles"  ?

"Yup, fuck it, we've got 2 fuel tanks & 3 water tanks… So stop moping & get moving"

Sort of like that, you know, tooing & froing in the mind.  Nyati (& I) were in the shit again, & there was absolutely fuck all to be done about it here & now… Yes, gut wrenching.

So finding sanctuary at "Ka Kolk" was a Godsend. Not only did Johann help me decant a lot of fuel, he & Monique gave me the reassurance of companionship.

www.rv-nyati.com