Windhoner of Leek

He’s so wealthy he pays people to hate what he hates,

It’s billionaire super nerd, Bill “gaters gonna” Gates

Who knew he was such a little saucepot back in the day? Melinda Gates, that’s who. The whole charity thing is another one of their mad erotic games. It’s just how they get off. Curing malaria.

So I left you as my flying tube touched down in Windhoek airport. The weather was seasonably hot as everything’s reverse ways with regards weather there. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they, if they… put salt on their desserts. Seasoning. Reversed. Jokes.

I got a lift from one of the local chaps to my agreeably swish hotel and proceeded to try and fight sleep for the afternoon as all I had succesfully done on my 11 hour overnight flight was stink up a blanket with sweat and altitude farts and watch 95% of Jurassic World. I assume everyone was eaten and processed into dinoturds.

The rugby was on soon after I arrived at the hotel and was showing in my room, so though I really should have napped I spent the run up getting anxious, the game itself shouting vowel sounds and afterwards I was angry at our high suck level. God we sucked. There was like 15 minutes where we didn’t. But then we sucked again.

Captain of the USS Enterprise, Jean-Luc Picard. Clearly an Irish rugby fan.

That evening I was brought to a restaraunt where my diet for the coming week was clearly etched out. My first meal consisted of 5 kinds of meat: kudu (curly-antlered deer), oryx (pointy-antlered deer), springbok (non-antlered deer), zebra (stripy-horse deer) and crocodile (underwater-lizard deer) all on a large skewer and flame grilled to deliciousness and ripe for my puny innards to struggle with. The food was super good, but my tubes were having none of it, forcing me to ask “why so little?” and then almost immediately “WHY SO MUCH!?” later that week as my meat gauge tipped over into full Maradona.

The rest of my time in the capital was a couple of work engagements and then a long drive south. A long drive through a flat dry land of flattest dry. I watched that new Mad Max movie on the plane, the one with Bane in it. It was like that. More Toyota pick-ups. Less water.

They are on the wrong end of 2 years of drought there. Let that sink in. Not that anything would as the ground is bone dry but you get me. If I don’t get my full quota of 42 cups of tea a day my wee turns Colmans mustard yellow. And once I set foot in the homeland my blood runs the terrible tar black of wet sloshy Guinness. I’m a guy who enjoys his fluids and drought is a particularly horrible fate in my moistened opinion. At some of the dandier hotels and even at people’s homes there are swimming pools, but they were either dry as a pink wafer biscuit or filled with the kind of water that likely breeds worms that  climb up your dink pipe and lay eggs in your appendix. Appendeggs they call them.

We were sitting around the hotel foyer, when someone got a phonecall. “What? Rain!?” The call went out that there was rain… 6 hours away. It had already stopped. When flying in, I saw what I thought were rivers. Though I couldn’t see the water itself, there were clearly trails of green trees. But when asked about these my guide flatly told me, “No, there are currently no rivers in Namibia.”

Despite the ground being pretty unforgiving, the people are really proud of it and now its vastness like we know our bedrooms. They have a few options for squeezing sustenance from the ground including farming some particularly well adapted and hardy animals, olives and the very occasional date. And that’s not just my social life in university… heh heh.

Women, were not attracted to me.

1505483_10155232361940422_512140756172585080_nStuck-up bitches…

As well as pride in their national agricultural products they also have pride in their national institutions. So much pride that they looked at the architecture of the free world and thought, “not quite.” With this in mind they opted for contracting North Korea to come in and build all their new national stuff for them.

Though you wouldn’t know it

Nothing says freedom from oppressive overlords like hiring some architects that have never seen daylight to build you your national palace of lies. Freedom!

While in Namibia I also got to see a game reserve with zebra, babboons and various (as I had learned super-tasty) deer-variants. There was even a chance to see some rhino up close including a baby and mother. Our guide spotted them maybe a mile off, at the point where they might well have been a gray pointy shrub. But sure enough as we approached it became clearer, the first baby born on the reserve. And we kept approaching. And a bit more. Approaching. Right before we dinged them (maybe 50 metres, I’m a bad driver ask my driving testers… multiple) he killed the engine and inquired, “Okay who wants something to drink?” He then told us to get out and laid out a tablecloth on the bonnet.

There is no kind of nature that can’t be appreciated more with a cold beer and the terror associated with staring at a living gray van with a sword for a face that might want to go crazy and trample everything it didn’t give birth to. To be fair, the whole thing was pretty deadly.

So that was Namibia. A better integrated, less mental South Africa where everyone was basically super-sound and all the meat, was double meat.

On the way back I got to see the full terror of urban Johannesburg as I bravely took the metro on my own, touristy backpack and all.

It was really nice. Didn’t die. Not even close.

In other news the rugby world cup has not brought out the most tolerant side of Meaghan. I got her to watch the New Zealand pre-game war dance, the haka once. I forgot this detail and while the final started I directed her to watch for what I thought was the first time. Her reaction was to angrily and loudly sing something which my closest reference for is the intro to Blue Swede’s Hooked On a Feeling.

You know…

She’s normally pretty tolerant, but I think the cultural diversity against a backdrop of hour 1008 of the rugby world cup (including a standing room only 3 hour train ride I made her take) pushed the boundaries of her love for the oval-ball.

Windhoner of Leek

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