Ostriches and Crocs in All Their Glory. Maybe.

Luckily my kids don't give me the wary eyeball when I announce we are taking an adventure trip in the car. Yet. To kick off holiday break, I picked out a rest camp an hour north of Windhoek that boasts keeping tame, hand fed ostriches and crocodiles. Seemed like a nice combination. We found the place easily and signed up for the "tour" led by a 26 year old employee who loves all things ostriches: their stupidity, their greediness, their color changing beaks during mating season.  After spewing out a few facts, she eagerly told us how a man snuck into their camp last year to steal a backpacks' worth of ostrich eggs and was killed by blunt force trauma. Cause of death: trampling by a 2 toed ostrich. Yes, she told this to Deets and Margo who were then offered to hand feed them. Needless to say, no one took her up on the offer. Those birds are legitimately crazy-mean birds! If they could flare their nostrils and thump their chests, they would. 

Continuing on with the tour, we met Rita the Warthog, who lived in the tour guide's house for several years and slept under her bed. She gave her up when Rita got too fat. We met a group of tortoises, one female and approximately 12 males all hell bent on mounting her shell. Skipping over to seek out Lucy the crocodile, we saw only a green pool of water from behind the cement fence- which, the guide insisted my kids should sit upon. She continued with her fascinating animal facts telling us how Lucy sometimes jumps as high as 2 meters out of the water. The guide said she likes to jump and catch a group of weaver birds who've set up a ton of nests on an overhanging tree. She tried to coax out the crocodile by whapping the surface with a long stick, but only succeeded in making Lucy sink deeper into the pond. Can't say I blame her. 

After a few more random facts about love birds, weavers, even the camp's resident dog, she tried to bid us adieu. However, the kiddos kept asking her about the giraffes who were shacked up with the ostriches. With only a passing glance, she shrugged saying nothing except "I dunno, they're just giraffes." Totally caught off guard, I could only laugh.  After all, we followed her for 20 minutes as she preened and pontificated about the other animals. I guess giraffes aren't for everyone.   

Having only spent about thirty minutes there in total, I felt we should drive through the nearest town of Okahandja and scope out the local craft market. There's no stop lights in the town, but it's full of activity as it is the water supply HQ for Windhoek, has a chic and modern military center, plus a hefty makeshift craft center that sells anything from wooden hippos, to jewelry, to kitchen stuff. We enjoyed a lively and accusatory encounter with the sales folks who "jokingly" called me mean mommy because I wouldn't buy the kids anything special. Had I been in the mood to haggle, I might have walked away with an 8 foot tall giraffe. Instead I spent my money on gas, thinking that might be slightly more important. 

Just a giraffe.

His ugly mug, all red and hyped up for mating.

Rita, the fatty.

Lady T finally getting a break to herself.

Waterbuck, another animal the guide cared not talk about.
They have distinct targets on their asses.