It’s A Namibian Thing

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Here is a picture of where I was born. It’s beautiful. An oasis of green. Look at it. Take your time and see how many key community features you can pick out.

Answers at the bottom of the page.

Don’t scroll down because there are no answers there. How many of you immediatley scrolled all the way down to the bottom of the page? Be honest. You did didn’t you. Tsk tsk!

The brown sandy bits surrounding the town were my playground. My mates and I would spend hours in the desert and we learnt that being barefoot could be hazardous to ones health. Especially if you stopped walking and were stood beside an ankle high dried out shrub with a puffadder curled up beneath it. Its skin ended up being prepped as a band for my scout hat. But it was too short so languished at the back of my sock drawer until eventually almost a year later mom’s shrieks alerted dad and me to the fact that at long last she had found it! I smiled at dad. He grinned back. Its’ a Namibian man thing.

If you read Max’s interview of me, you will learn that the hospital patients, both human and animal, (situated immediately left of the point where the dirt road leading up from the bottom of the picture meets the outskirts of the town proper) featured a lot in my life from birth until I went to boarding school in South Africa. It’s a Namibian thing.

I have been away too long. I will be back. I need to get earthed again.

It’s A Namibian Thing