My Global Family

In the Johannesburg airport, the hunters are easy to spot. They wear camo and big hiking books. High and tight hair. They even have the knock-off military backpacks, also camo style, and filled with all manner of who knows what.

They talk of killing. They dream of it. They yearn to kill some big beautiful animal and they are paying handsomely for that experience. That’s all they can think about. They have no interest in the people or history of this land.

They act tough, but anyone can see they are small. Their guides will take them to within a 100 yards of whatever animal they have taken a ticket for and they will end that animals existence with a high powered rifle. It’s senseless. They travel half-way around the world to kill an animal that they cannot take home to eat. 

They have no connection with the land. No understanding or interest in the culture. They just want to kill something big.

They will tell their friends a far more exciting and frightening story when they are back home. And they will hang the kudo or oryx or eland head on the wall of their house and they will be proud of it. It will make them feel more than what they are. And they will know that too. They will know their existence here is a net negative to the planet so they can satiate their ego. So they can pretend to be something they are not. 

I dream that the animals will stomp them out of existence.  Fair and balanced. 

Last two days in Namibia, Brittany and I were both very sick. She had bronchitis which required a trip to hospital and then by the time we got home she had pneumonia. But we are healed now. My episode came later so I did not get to the doctor.  The flu season there is bad and we happened to intersect. No surprise given our constant interaction with kids and all their bugs.

The visit was good. As always, confusing for me to try to reconcile my love for Namibia with my other responsibilities. Brittany turned 40 enroute to Namibia. I turned 40 living in Namibia the first time. 

Since I have the manuscript open, as part of my re-write and re-publish effort for ‘Silicon Valley to Southern Africa’, I found the relevant text from celebrating my 40th birthday.

I completed my birthday weekend by taking a tourist flight over the big dunes at Sossusvlei and then spending a night at Omaruru Game Park. 

At the game park, I had another nice dinner and then sat outside on the deck and read my book and watched a few of the animals. A white rhino crept up to the water hole just as the sun was going down. They are hard, tough, intimidating animals with a distinct prehistoric presence. I was not inclined to trifle with those magnificent beasts.

The flight over Sossusvlei was spectacular. We flew over the desert for two hours and still saw only a tiny portion of the Namib. The big dunes have a different perspective from the air. The shapes and textures are magnificent. The dunes roll across the desert for as far as one can see. Shadows formed by the angles of the sun streaming across the dunes forms uniquely subtle color variations which contrast against the deep red sand and the brilliant blue African sky and creates a stunning visual effect. 

At one point we were flying two hundred feet above the pan between the dunes, which towered high above us. 

We flew from Swakopmund’s little airport and immediately turned south. The colors below went from the drab tan of the desert floor, to the green of the river basin, and then to the deep ochre of the big dunes. The color changes were not gradual transitions—they were dramatic and occurred within a range of only a few hundred meters. 

In the dry river basin, goats and cattle grazed among the trees and occasionally we would see game tracks heading out of the basin and into the dunes. Young boys followed behind the herds, keeping to the shade as much as possible. After crossing the riverbed but before reaching the dunes, we looked down and saw a donkey cart chugging slowly towards town with a couple in the front. They were at least 50 miles from anywhere, surrounded completely by desert.

After flying over Sossusvlei and Sesriem Canyon, we headed west to the Atlantic and followed the coastline home. There are no roads on this section of the coast, so the cold Atlantic waters come right up to the hot sand of the dunes. As we headed north along the shoreline, we passed over the ruins of a wrecked passenger ship that ran aground in 1909. I don’t know the fate of the passengers but a miraculous recovery that deep in the desert seemed doubtful. News of the wreck probably didn’t reach Walvis Bay for days or even weeks. 

We also flew over a group of abandoned, squatter-like diamond camps. The buildings were several kilometers from the coast and hundreds of kilometers from the nearest roads, so the miners must have come in by boat. The buildings are now piles of sticks, each with a tin roof. There must be a lot of history and many tales buried in those camps. 

I remember those activities like they were last week instead of 23 years ago. Such is the passage of time. 

Brittany and I took Felicia, Johanna, and Ndeshipanda with us to a beautiful desert bush camp. Namibians almost never get to experience these safari camps or see the amazing animals. They are too costly. They went for all the activities including a late afternoon game drive, and early morning game drive, a cooking class and horseback riding. It was fun to see them enjoy themselves. We met for breakfast and dinner and sat by the pool and goofed. 

Later, in Windhoek, we met with more alumni and did some more interviews for the movie Frieda is making. Then it was time to go. The long flight home and re-entry into a world that was so far away for just two weeks. 

---

Internal investigative reports show the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) sent undercover agents to community meetings in the Twin Cities and New York City, infiltrated Signal chats and obtained financial records of mainstream unions and left-leaning non-profit groups.

Nobody should be surprised that the government would use these authorities to target political opposition rather than target criminals, particularly so under this administration.

Welcome back to America.

Baby, I’ve been down
But never this down

I’ve been lost
But never this lost

This is my confession
I need your heart

In this depression
I need your heart

Baby, I’ve been low
But never this low

I’ve had my faith shaken
But never hopeless

This is my confession
I need your heart

In this depression
I need your heart

And I’ve always been strong
But I’ve never felt so weak

I am back at Black dog Ridge. All the major construction is done but much work remains for me to do. The place is acceptable, beautiful even, but loads of smallish projects are waiting to be completed. It has been raining and storming. The cistern is full but so are the gutters clogged with leaves and sticks. When Marti and I walk, I pick up all the branches that have blown from their tree and put them beside the road. Later I will come with the jeep and take them back for kindling. 

I am reminded daily, when I watch Marti running or just walking and exploring; Sniffing this and that; raising her nose into the air to get a far off scent – I am reminded how beautiful she is. Dogs are the very best. Far better than humans. I could watch her for hours. And I do. Dogs just have a grace in movement that we do not possess. They are pure. Where our movements are unwieldy and uncoordinated, theirs are intentional and instinctive. 

The list of things I want to do in life is ever-growing and already too long for the time I have left — constrained as I am by the need to work. So much time and emotional energy given to someone else in return for cash. Many of the things we do require money though. So there’s the rub. I could sell BDR and take my lifestyle down to bare minimum and trade money for time. 

Not today. But maybe someday in not too distant future. 

I’ve been here now for 8 days and already dreading having to go back. The only drawback is it’s too long for us to be away from Brittany. But such are the circumstances of our lives. Nearly all big decisions are centered around employment. The need for income and health insurance. It’s been over 100 years since the 40-hour workweek was established. In that time, due to technology, productivity gains have gone through the roof — but we remain rooted in 40-hours per week. All those productivity gains show up as shareholder value. So companies, executives and large shareholders pocket all that extra cash while we toil away. Daily draining our physical, intellectual and emotional reserves so those assholes get richer.

Everyone knows we need a revolution, but where is our leader?

We took a million pictures in Namibia so I can only include a small sample.

No other news of note.

Humbly Submitted
Robert Myres – Flanker, Portneuf Valley (ret.), writer, comic genius