Boerboel

When I lived in Namibia (South West Africa) many of my neighbours had such dogs patrolling their fenced compounds. These creatures were very aggressive--though, not towards me. What I was told is that they were trained to respond aggressively to the wood-smoke scent of Africans. As events progress in the US, these dogs will become more popular.

Windhoek

On my first visit to Windhoek, Namibia, about fifteen years ago, I saw dozens of blonde-haired German children and their parents milling around this church one afternoon. African traders were lined up across the street selling tourist trinkets. I stayed in a small German hotel in the centre of the city, within walking distance of the research institute. At night I drank in the bar, next to large bearded men who downed glass after glass of white wine. I visited the luxury hotels to meet up with pretty local girls or cute-but-naive American Peace Corps women, the latter type a distressingly common occurrence throughout my travels around Southern Africa. I met representatives of the local German community, who told me increasing numbers of young Germans were coming to the country and running hunting farms for the tourist trade. Namibia sports a bleak, desolate landscape, beautiful in its spareness, reminiscent for me of Arizona and Southern California, and it occupies a special place in my memories.

Surf Windhoek

Source: Riviera Club



Windhoek, Namibia

On my way up the southwest coast of Africa I stayed with an English-speaking South African couple living in Windhoek, Namibia. They had fled South Africa in the early 1990s during apartheid. They felt welcome in this country. The land here resembled Arizona or Southern California. They owned a large, gated house in the suburbs. It was a compound. Their neighbourhood was one of dusty streets, big fenced-in villas, and enormous guard dogs, trained to bark at blacks, called Boerbulls . Every morning when I awoke I would explore the library whilst they sipped tea and watched CNN. The conversations proceeded smoothly, until one day I asked about Namibia under Sam Nujoma. I figured the Nujoma regime would go the way of Zimbabwe under Mugabe. They stopped talking to me after that and ignored me for the rest of my stay. Soon afterwards I moved to a German guesthouse in the centre of the city. At night I sat on leather sofas in front of the stone fireplace, sharing beers and Cape wines with local farmers and businessmen. On the walls, there were several mounted heads of various antelope and a framed portrait of General Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck. I dozed off to the sound of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf singing The Four Last Songs by Richard Strauss.