Spiders in Namibia

I didn't want to write about them. I didn't want to read about them, nor did I want to study the detailed pictures of them. But I did because learning stuff is good: spiders and all their spidery parts. And, whether we like it or not, they are part of everyone's lives no matter where we live. A few months back we found two dead black widows outside our house. One was floating in the dog's water bowl, another swaying in the breeze, caught in it's own webby mess. Mark and I mentioned these appearances to a few local friends, each of whom were surprised by the thought of them existing in Namibia.

Last week Deets found a similar spider loitering in his bedroom, and Mark and I realized it was time to educate ourselves on who else might be lurking around. It took me several trips to the bookstore to find my courage and purchase a book on spiders in Southern Africa. I placed the book on top of the microwave and for a few days I could only leer at the cover, unwilling to open it up. It took the realization of seeing suspicious clusters of creamy-white, spiked balls hanging on our fence that I needed to get my act together and find out just what other types of spiders we were dealing with.

Indeed, we were staring at latrodectus egg sacs with a very pregnant spider gearing up to make more. Latrodectus: of the black widow variety. Turns out they are very prevalent here and while they all have the telltale red-orange markings, not all are black. Some are brown, some are gray, some are striped. More importantly, these kinds of spiders have potent venom capable of inducing intense neurotoxic reactions if bitten. Symptoms such as anxiety, palpitations, sweating, abdominal and chest pain. Oh- and burning site pain that lingers. According to my spider guide, no one in the past 60 years has died in southern Africa which is great news, but it doesn't keep me from feeling overwhelmingly paranoid for my family's safety.

Mark and I scouted our yard and found more widow spiders than I was comfortable with: two shacked up on the fence, one underneath a table chair, and a few more underneath our lounge chairs. All of them with several egg sac trophies chilling in their messy, nonsensical webs. We showed the spiders and eggs to the kids and gave them a fun-filled pep talk on leaving these creatures alone. The entire ordeal was educational and calm for everyone. 

In the book, we also looked three other highly venomous species that are endemic to this region: violin (brown recluse) spiders, 6-eyed sand spiders, and prowling sac spiders. Brown recluses have that extra dark marking on the upper back segment and prefer dark spaces to do their roaming. The sand spiders love the deserty stretches of Namibia. They are flat with big butts, and hilariously bury themselves into the sand- luckily the book shared no reports of documented sand spider bites in humans.  Lastly the black faced, hideously semi-translucent prowling sac spiders: super aggressive creepies that lay disc shaped sacs in curtain folds and inside cupboards. Each of these spider's venom is cytotoxic: the bite will likely start off a painless red bump, but 24 hours later the tissue becomes inflamed, ulcerative, and painful, leaving impressive scars. Anyway. I finished writing about these fine specimens and managed to forget about them. Then I went to bed.

I went to a dark place, feeling every itch on my skin and shift of the bedding to mean these spiders were on the move. I tossed and turned, gasped and flopped my way through the night. This morning I woke up exhausted and sore, and I have spent the first half of my day overreacting at the flies and moths flying by. Logically, I understand spiders are useful and don't want to be bothered, and I am working on anxiety management, but it's an uphill battle. At least I can take solace in the fact that we all learned about what do to just in case someone does get bitten by a spider...

Oh great. A spider got me. Now what?
With luck, you saw the offending spider and can determine which one it was. Without luck, immediate or delayed symptoms will tell you whether the venom gives neurotoxic or cytotoxic symptoms. Either way, if you have no idea what bit you, seeking medical attention is the safest course of action.

First Aid: 

1. Stay calm. You need to keep the heart rate low which aids in slowing the spread of venom.

2. Clean the sting area with soap and water and remove all jewelry. Tissue swelling may impede circulation if not allowed to expand. Never cut into the wound or apply suction. Nor does urinating on the wound help - this is an old wive’s tale. 

3. Apply a cloth with ice or cold water over the sting site: 10 minutes on and 10 minutes off. Repeat as necessary. 

4. While busy with first aid (washing, covering the wound with a bandage) organize transport to the nearest health facility. If possible, call ahead and alert the doctors on duty. Take this step seriously, especially if you don’t know what spider bit you, or the victim is less than 5 years old.

5. Take acetaminophen or ibuprofen for pain management.

6. It bears repeating, especially if you are freaky about spiders like myself: STAY CALM. 

For anyone curious, below are photos of the latrodectus/widow spiders we found in our yard:

Super pregnant. Found underneath our lounge chairs.

On our fence.

Orange marking: bullseye! Stay away.

Farm Windhoek

Every now and then Jim (the dog) looks at me with such hope and yearning that he's going on a walk. "Every now and then" really being every time I put on running shoes, so I feel a little guilty when his hopes are dashed. But the thing is, Jim is ten years old and shows signs of aging. It's weird. When we hit the neighborhood pavement, he only lasts about 20-30 minutes.  Like always, I keep him on a leash, but there's something involved on these walks that tweaks his body wrong. I suppose it is a joint instability or a pinched nerve thing. More than once I've been spotted as the whack job lady staggering down the street carrying a 60 pound dog. People point their cell phones at me as they drive by and no one ever stops.  And course, once we get home, the symptoms disappear. Nearly a year ago, Jim got a blood infection from a tick bite which that nearly killed him. I wonder if his weakness issues are residual from that ridiculous episode? 

Anyway. Off leash, Jim is a different dog. When I let him run free, he sprints and explores for a good hour before slowing down enough for me to catch up and give him water. If it weren't for the dry climate, I imagine he could go even longer. Yes, Windhoek is a small city with a good dose of nature trails that offer up stunning views. Beyond, there's thousands of acres of farmland, wild bush, and mountains that are perfect for exploring. Unfortunately, robberies are commonplace and hikers are easy prey, frequently handing over pretty much everything on them: cell phones, cash, sunglasses, watches, wedding rings, even shoes. Especially shoes. And the land here isn't forgiving on unseasoned feet either. Because of this, hiking in and around the city is highly discouraged unless you are part of a large group with a well practiced escape plan. And never, ever hike at night, including twilight when you think everyone is still sleeping.

Despite the risk, this girl and her dog has got to get out of the house sometimes. Not fifteen minutes away (though nothing in the city is more than 15 minutes from anything else) is Farm Windhoek, a privately owned cattle farm that allows hikers and mountain bikers to explore the bushveld (a sub-tropical woodland eco-region) in relative safety. It's the only city farm out of five that allows public access. The trails within the property are studiously maintained, and are of varying degrees of difficulty so it's a great place all abilities. They have outdoor fitness equipment and obstacle courses for bikes. Plus, dogs are allowed.

$30 Namibian dollars (2.30 USD) gets you entry and the reassurance that there's at least one guard on watch at the main entrance during daylight hours. Well... for the most part. These guards are given bikes in lieu of transport money, cycle to work everyday from the Katutura. They rack up at least 30 km/day, and work 12 hour shifts with a 2 hour lunch break. I made the mistake of hiking at 11am once. I returned 2 hours later with an exhausted and thirsty dog, to a deserted entrance and parking lot - anyone could have "snuck in." Another time, I had arrived to the gate at 7:30am where I learned that people were robbed at gunpoint not an hour earlier. During this time of year, 6:30am is still pretty dark.

Regardless of those disconcerting experiences, the trails are fun, the air is always fresh, and the sounds of nature, even if it's the sound of giant beetles buzzing by your ear, is a welcome break. But, I guess I am not a fan of the spiders who spin webs across the trails. Nothing induces a panic attack better than to walk into a sticky web with the prospect of a spider falling down the back of your shirt. The fear results in frantic and uncoordinated shedding of hat, backpack, and shirt, whilst sprinting blindly up the trail and slapping body parts to flick off the spider. I'm just saying. Honestly, spiders are grown big here, and harmful or not, calmly extracting myself from a buggy situation never flies. Pun intended.

Anyway, when spiders and their webs don't ruin the solitude and peacefulness of hiking, there's views and cool flora to enjoy. Sometimes the farm's two black bulls can be sighted, but you will likely hear them first. The guttural bellowing sounds of an un-castrated cow really takes the imagination to weird places. Same goes for the birds: there's tons of species for bird enthusiasts but you most likely hear their songs and chatter before seeing them. I made friends with the couple who manages the admin/membership/events side of the Farm and they've seen TONS of animals, including aardvarks and leopards. An aardvark?! So jealous. Jim has run across blue headed guinea fowl several times, scaring them out of the grass, each one running in non-sensical directions, the same way I imagine dodos must have done. 

Jim and I: we hike together about once a week and we are both so much better off each time we do it. I realize that it's not the safest to venture out "alone." I quote "alone" because I always see 3 or 4 other people doing the same thing at FW. I bring nothing I'm not willing to lose, put on my don't-mess-with-me-game-face (though really, it's more for the spiders and insects), and we go for it. I hate to admit it, but my mental health doesn't fare nearly as well as it should when I am not keeping busy or working - so these opportunities are essential to keep me in check. Thank goodness for a place like Farm Windhoek where I can let my sh*t go while the dog gets a taste of freedom. 

View of the Auas Mountains
before a storm blew in.

An aloe variation

Future moth bodies were all over the trail. 

Catching his breath.

Electric yellow. No filter.

Arnhem Cave Bat Adventure

Sure, the dark was darker than dark. Sure, the potent scent of ammonia made my eyes water and the dusty guano covered the ground making the rocks slippery to hike on. Of course, the 50 foot long section of low clearance made my innards churn, and the cave humidity + 27C (80F) underground made my sweaty skin extra grubby and itchy. And those blasted bats, thousands and thousands of flying mammals, darted through the cave disrupting my calm demeanor. They dodged heads and flashlights, eager to get away me as I was them.  Yet, I persisted.

For a long time I wanted to visit Arnhem Cave, a place thought to be the longest cave in Namibia at 4.2km, according to the polo shirt our guide wore. I imagined the educational glee we'd all experience, and the exhilaration facing my fear of flying creatures head on. Claustrophobia was also a factor, but I refused to even acknowledge it. I signed us up for a 9:00am tour, and we took off on a 90 minute drive involving 3 major turns to get there: onto the highway, onto the county road, and into the camp's entrance. We arrived to Arnhem Resort and Cave in plenty of time to be told our tour would be delayed by a half hour; plenty of time to go into denial! 

With indemnity forms for death and injury signed, we met our fellow hikers. Two of whom were Czech veterinarians here to collect test tubes of bat poop and a few bats close enough to bag (and tag). The vets were conducting an investigation on white-nose-disease, a fungal infection that infects only bats that hibernate. I was unaware that bats hibernate at all. The infection has been on the rise in recent years and has hit Europe's (the United States as well) bat population hard. They spoke very little English but had a translator on board who also carried the biggest camera lens I have ever seen. It was fantastic to see people so excited about caving, I couldn't help but to soak up their enthusiasm. Good thing I did, because almost immediately, one of our flashlights ran out of batteries. I suppressed the urge of an impending heart attack and continued on, using my phone's flashlight (at 50%) to guide the way. 

Margo and I hiked down, hand in hand. Mark and Deets were ahead of us, and the rest followed behind with their fancy lab equipment. Our guide told us this cave was once a cash boon for exporting guano to the United States for making explosives. He pointed out various bat species that were clinging to the ceilings and showed us mummified porcupine remains. Air circulation is quite stagnant inside the cave, so corpses do not decompose at a normal rate.

I am certain he said a myriad of other interesting facts, but I missed quite a bit. I mostly concentrated on keeping Margo distracted from my inner turmoil. At one point the cave split into two: the right was reserved for people who enjoyed walking through underground water and the left side for the rest of us. We continued on, where the smells of ammonia went from a whiff to full on saturation. Margo asked at this point why we needed flashlights in the cave and we proceeded to turn off all the flashlights for educational purposes. "Yeah, I guess it's dark," was her unimpressed remark. 

Beyond our guide, I spied a rapidly narrowing passage that dropped almost straight down and overhead was the saturation point of bats. The ceiling was literally moving. The group crowded together when one of the veterinarians produced a radio that picked up sonar, and we could hear the bat's tiny "voices" crackling through the speakers. He filled his tubes with guano which looked like innocuous, mushy Grape Nuts, and bagged a few live specimens. He held one up to show all of us the bat's tiny mouth filled with tiny yellow teeth before tucking him away. The vets were obviously in their element, so we left them to play while we headed back to the surface. I all but ran with Margo, in the lead. Fifteen minutes later we saw the light and I was safe again. While we waited for the rest of the group to return, I basked in the brilliant sunlight, grateful for my mental rebirth while I dripped ammonia laden sweat all over the place. 

In total we spent about 30-40 minutes in the cave which was more than plenty. Sometimes guests book tours for three hours and it makes me wonder about health ramifications of breathing in the pungent air- especially for the guides who conduct tours up to twice a day, 7 days a week.  I asked the guide if he knew of anyone contracting histoplasmosis, (a fungal lung infection contacted by inhaling microscopic particles of bat or bird poop) and he just looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. I guess it's gauche to speak of such atrocities.  

Arriving back to the lodge, the kids were legitimately hungry and begged for food. Before any of that could go down, we had to change clothes and wash hands. The clothes were tightly bagged, but I could still smell the off gassed ammonia, or at least I imagined I could. We wolfed down PBJs and made an anticlimactic return to Windhoek. Overall, I am thrilled we went despite the danger, the stink, the dark, the flying animals.  It was cool to try something different, and I will encourage anyone who's remotely interested to see bats to give it a go. If anything, perhaps cave dwelling builds character? 

The inviting foot path- though not far, would have taken us at least an hour to arrive.

Going down.

Grabbing his specimen. All that sandy stuff: poop.

A low hanging bat.

A victorious Margo, first out of the cave.

Baby Rhino at Gocheganas

Two words: baby rhinoceros. A couple of friends shared the news of a two week old white rhino running around the Goche Ganas Nature Reserve, so naturally I had to see him for myself. (I wonder sometimes if game drives will ever get old living in Namibia, but right now that'd be a big fat nope.) We arrived to the reserve with enough time to drink a beer before piling into the truck. I packed nothing but my camera and a container of blueberries, much to the guide's horror. He was unimpressed when he realized we didn't pack warmer clothes for the kids, as we'd be making our return to HQ after dark. For children who are accustomed to running around barefoot here, I found his comment peculiar, but reassured him my kids could manage.

We drove hardly 2 minutes before seeing animals all over the place. They were awesome enough that Mark had to admonish Deets, Margo, and myself to keep quiet. Steenbok, kudu, wildebeest, hartebeest, and giraffes all stared us down, before bolting as we passed by with our cameras plastered to our faces.  They were impossible to miss. Seeing the first batch of rhinos was a bit trickier because they were situated across the hill. I figured we'd take the long route around, but Mateus shifted into low gear and proceeded directly across the valley, driving over shrubs and jolting over rocks. We crossed the dried, steep river bed and BOOM! Four adult white rhinos eating grass, barely casting glances our way. My only distraction was Deets who kept trying to sneak off the vehicle to get a closer shot with my camera phone. An incredulous eyebrow raise from me promptly fixed that faux pas. 

Our drive continued, full of wild jackal, oryx, and the tiniest deer species I'd seen yet: steenbok. Had I not already known about the baby rhino, I could have died happy. The air was thick with pending rain, greenery, and a brilliant sun pasted across the sky.  We passed warthogs, rabbits, ostriches, and the weirdest squirrels with long, skinny bristle brush tails. Eventually, we made our way to the second batch of rhinos: a pregnant mom with her 2-year old baby giving themselves healthy scratches against telephone pole support wires. 

Sun was setting faster and faster so I had internal moments of anxiety that I wouldn't get to see the baby.  But as all grand finales go, Mateus saved the best and cutest for last. The little guy was loaded up with thick, saggy skin that promised how big he would get (5,000 pounds). His feet were too big for his body, tripping him up as he shyly ran after his mom. They are never far from each other, and will stay a an adorable duo until he's three. So. Cute.

Finally our game drive ended with a "sundowners" (what southern Africans call happy hour) during a wickedly magical sunset. And ants. Side note: professional journalistic investigation revealed that wearing flip flops are not the best choice of footwear on game drives, even with minimal walking involved. Never mind the thousands of thorns that went through my cheap sandals. I'm talking about the tiny angry ants that defended their homes to the ninth degree when I had an emergency bush break and ended up peeing on them. I drank my gin and tonic, dancing with ants literally in my pants. I'd like to say I learned my lesson, but who can really predict the future when it comes to this kind of common sense? 

Lady Kudu! 

Oryx

Baby Jeorge!

Jeorge and Jolly

Springbok
Credit: Mark

Inspecting thorns and ant carcasses against the dusky light.
Amazing photo credit: Mark

Untouched, unfiltered. 

You Never Forget Your First

Grabbing onto the "oh shit" bar, up we went on the 4x4 trail, its last use being something like 8 months ago according to hotel management. Ever since we bought our SUV, Mark had been determined to get his money's worth, eager to venture into the bushveld like the professionals do it. So when we spent an overnight at Midgard, a resort/gaming lodge with an intense 1963-Poconos feeling, he was stoked to try out their self-driving 4x4 trail. The manager only agreed to this when Mark promised to follow the game-drive guide in their vehicle to the entrance.

Once we passed through the gate, energy was high with four adults and 2 kids chattering away. Thirty feet in we were stopped by a huge camel-thorn branch that covered the road. Trees in Namibia are serious business, thick with thorns and tough bark that can sustain drought. They can puncture a tire in no time, so it wasn't a simple as shoving the tree out of the way. Extreme times called for extreme measures.

Mark busted out our cargo straps, a friend whipped out his Leatherman and the other circled them up to discuss the plan of dissection. Being the documenter that I am, busted out my camera. The guys were joined by the guide and another tourist wearing sweatpants and Havaianas.  His girlfriend, impressively dolled up for an evening in the bush, stayed in the truck. She didn't take her eyes off her iPhone the entire time. Anyway, one of them set to cutting through the main branch while the others noosed up another.  The "ax man" stopped a 1/3 of the way through, and the men used traction to split the branch safely. Solemn manly nods were exchanged, and we hopped back in our respective vehicles. From there, the game drive veered left and we went right.

Rather, we went up. Up and through overgrown brush and low hanging tree branches, which scraped off the car's paint job like fingernails on a chalkboard. Luckily, it was only secondary noise to the roar of the engine, the blaring music, and me yelling out "Mark! Mark! Mark! Mark! Mark!" while I pressed my imaginary brake pedal, clinging onto the window bar. But really, he drove well despite the uncertainty of the road, which at certains points was totally washed out from previous downpours. We jostled up the trail and ended up at a clearing to drink beers and watch the sun fade.

It might seem like the story stops there, all romantic and cozy. But of course, we needed to head back as the echoes of our friends who stayed back at the lodge couldn't be ignored any longer. That, and rumbling stomachs. Mark skillfully navigated down the trail onto a dried out river bed were we witnessed about 20-30 zebra dashing across our path. Everyone thought it was super cool except for the kids who saw nothing because they were stuffed into the 3rd row. No matter, because once we returned to flat ground, instead of heading back to the lodge Mark suddenly turned into the game reserve and were immediately rewarded with giraffes.

We finally broke our giraffe cherry, and it was every bit as good as we imagined. Those creatures are so weird looking, yet unbelievably beautiful. Magical, even. Margo and Deets crawled into the middle seat and onto the laps of our friends, enjoying the improved view. Our friends smiled knowingly as I squealed like a stuck pig, hanging out of the window with my camera. "You never forget your first," they said, having seen more than their share of hypoxic colored tongued animals. Indeed. I won't. I wonder if I'm too old and nostalgic for the power of these moments, but damn- I teared up! Someone hand me a cigarette.

Mark toured the river bed for a few more minutes, and we watched the other animals doing their evening machinations: hartebeest sprinting and bucking, oryx stoically giving us the stink eye, warthogs and foxes dodging between bushes. During all this activity, we managed to drive past a bleached out oryx skeleton with its 2.5 foot long horns in perfect condition. Like porcupine quills and exotic bird feathers, oryx horns are a great collector's item. They are sold at craft markets, usually made into super awkward, quirky bottle openers. 

The excursion came to an end with the rapidly fading sunlight so we headed back to the lodge- a mere 60 seconds away. We huddled up for dinner, dumped the kids in bed (FYI, bunk beds!) and proceeded to indulge with a bottle of wine underneath the stars. I could get used to this. 

Teamwork. 

Celebrating teamwork.

Roof-time juice box sundowner. 

Shy AF.

Father-son.

Skittish red hartebeest.

Caution.

Unfiltered, untouched photo. Seriously.
I thought it was a fake flower at first.

Cape of Good Hope

Mark and I promised ourselves there would be no hiking today. Who were we kidding? We ended up doing a 90 minute hike to sit on the edge of the world, at the Cape of Good Hope.  At least the hike was easy, consisting of 95% wonky boardwalk and 5% rocky trail, but at the end I was still sweating like a pig. I guess coastal humidity and wearing jeans didn't help. But oh, the views of churning waves, resident birds, and the rock faces made it all worthwhile. (If you could ignore the pregnant wife and shirtless husband trying to kill themselves taking selfies on the cliff edge.)

Upon our return, we had the option to hike up to the official top where the famous lighthouse sits and funicular stops but unanimous votes went to eating at the Two Oceans Restaurant. Mark and I were pretty convinced this restaurant, though with a spectacular view, would have food only "meh" at best. Boy were we wrong. Between ribs, roasted chicken, and sushi, we went to town. The food was absolutely amazing. My only advice, (and this goes overall for visiting Table Mountain National Park where Cape of Good Hope is situated) is to get there early. By the time we left the restaurant at 1:30pm, the line grew to over an hours' wait and at the park entrance, the line of cars to get in was 1/2 mile long.

Prior to this touristy adventure, we took the kids to Boulders Beach to see penguins. Here we could stroll the boardwalk and admire those adorable creatures do their bird thing from a distance and we could swim among them at a tiny public beach on the other side where there's a second entrance. Margo was convinced she'd be the first Schlink in the ocean. She packed her swim suit and towel and couldn't stop talking about it until she put her feet in and realized how cold the water really was. The icy water didn't stop a lot of people though, and by the time we got there around 9:30am, the beach was nearly packed. The park with the beach section closes their gates when it's filled to capacity, so: get there early if you plan to stay.

Overall, the penguins were cute and I am always glad to pay fees to support public parks. But. Our first experience of seeing penguins in the wild was last year in Ushuaia where we had to drive 2 hours, boat for 20 minutes, then hike to the rookery. The effort of arrival was real which made the whole journey feel magical. Here in South Africa, we walked past the entrance sign that said: Welcome To Boulders Beach, The Easiest Way To See Penguins In The Wild! Well I can't deny that statement. 

Cape of Good Hope.
Down below: Dias Beach. No swimming is allowed due to riptides
but you can descend a long staircase to get away
from camera toting tourists like myself.

View of the original lighthouse.
A second more useful lighthouse was built
farther down the cliff after a Portuguese liner named
Lusitania was wrecked in 1911.

Waiting for us at the end of the world.

Father daughter. The family that's
dirty together, stays together.

Mother son. He was telling me a story about  mutated
 seagull-shark with bomb hands.

You've been warned.

Hanging out.

Going for a swim.

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.

A Visit to N/a'an ku se Lodge

Yes, I am still here. Over the past 6 weeks I've had a lot going on between Halloween, International Day, Election Day, Veteran's Day. We've had the Marine Corps Ball, a mess of birthday parties (including Margo's), a job interview, car drama, and a regular stream of people coming to our house for a huge landscaping project that couldn't wait any longer (retaining wall/safety kind of thing). The latter has tremendously impacted whatever shell of a routine I managed to carve out since our arrival to Windhoek. I restarted teaching yoga and have signed up for other self-education projects. In short, I've been busy and I found myself without the ability to express pride, joy, angst, confusion, or sadness about these events. I didn't feel like I had any rhythm. Also, I didn't want to sound like a humble bragger or whiner. It's very unbecoming. 

After a pity party and a good dose of STFU, I made reservations to visit an animal sanctuary and lodge to get out of the city limits for the day. The inspiration morbidly came from my friend who took her family the week before, where a lion (the same one we would see), charged the fence in the direction of her five year old kid. Our guide would inform us, it was his way of establishing dominance and had he really wanted to attack, no fence, electrified or not, would stop him. It piqued my motivation so I signed us up for the Sunday 10:00am carnivore feeding at N/a'an ku sê Lodge and Sanctuary. I figured we all could use a bit of savage animal therapy.

Even the car ride out was therapeutic. Though sluggish, rainy season has arrived and the thirsty brown landscape took on a new look with green trees and bushes against a never ending sky and dirt roads. The kids couldn't help themselves. They screamed with discovery when they saw scrappy wild baboons, warthogs, and herds of oryx and zebra from the back seat, losing any hope to take picture. Once we checked in (the customer service here is very good), we explored the premises and not-so-silently tracked colored lizards to the edge of a cliff that houses marmots, turtles, and weird bugs. 

The tour was pretty good. The guide gave the standard wildlife monologue, but also kept the kids engaged. They delighted in his collection of juice box offerings and his bucket of animal meat. He spoke about how the sanctuary's baboons are all vegetarian orphans, no longer able to assimilate in the wild; how cheetahs behave like domesticated dogs; that the African wild dogs always hunt in packs, and will tear an animal to pieces in less than 5 seconds, ensuring a quick death.

At each stop our guide diligently reminded us to be aware of the electrified fences.  Some places we could hear electricity humming, others not so much. Anxiety raged through my body only once or twice when the kids walked too close to the fences as they enthusiastically waved sticks around. Visiting the caracals, one lady announced that she had touched the fence and found it wasn't electrified at all. She seemed royally disappointed, and the guide seemed to not quite register her declaration. I decided ignorance was bliss on this matter especially when we got to the lions. After a few minutes of calling the kitties over, the same lion that charged our friend's son, sprinted toward Mark as he wandered up the dirt road, separated only by 2mm thick wire. Feeling that was probably a good end to the tour we finished up unharmed and exhilarated. 

We returned to our car dusty and hungry. Thank goodness for intelligent design- the lodge has solar panels built on finely lashed wood supports, which double as shaded parking spaces. It saved us from hot seats, warm water bottles, and spoiled turkey and cheese sandwiches. Normally I would pack heat durable PBJs but the kids don't like them! They are so weird. But the children devoured their meals like the wild animals they are and passed out in the merciful air conditioning for a quiet rode home.  

Coming up over this hill literally stopped us in our tracks. 

A crabby, screeching marmot and his sidekick.

Lunch 

Waiting for her brother and sister to join the party.
As siblings, they cannot and do not mate in the wild or captivity.

Spotted leopard.

Full of attitude: a hissing caracal. 

After calling for several minutes, the dogs were a no-show.
We headed to the other side of the property where they appeared
out of nowhere and rapidly closed in on their object of affection: meat waiting to be tossed overhead.

Taking his sweet time to get lunch.