The View From the Road

Despite being banned from driving and other restrictive travel regulations, Peace Corps volunteers spend a lot of time on the road. Back in the States, my brothers and I used to complain all the time about being forced to sit in the back seat together for any drive at all. Now I'm used to being crammed into over stuffed cars, bakkies, and kombis, expecting multiple hour trips that usually end with something breaking. I spend so much time on the road, that I figure it's about time I learn how write about it.

The most common trek I make is the one to town. I think most people by now know that I live in a farm village in the middle of nowhere. I am so in the middle of nowhere that when my dear friend Emma, who lives in a northern village without running water or electricity, came to visit, she felt the need to comment that I live in the middle of nowhere. I'm 100km from the nearest town and there is nothing but a lodge and a few houses to cover that distance.

 

I make this journey about once every two to three weeks to get groceries. I've made it in the back of a posh BMW and the back of a covered bakkie sitting on a foam China shop mattress. The latter is infinitely more common. Sometimes I have a scheduled ride from a teacher or one of the owners of the tuck shops (small shops that sell basic necessities, often for inflated prices). Other times I go to the community designated hike spot and I wait for someone to drive by. I try to avoid the second option because it often requires getting there by six in the morning and waiting for a few hours in the sun. There's not a lot of trees or tall bushes to hide under. 

Sometimes I get to sit in the front of whatever vehicle I'm in. This is sometimes really great because I tend to know the driver and we might chat a bit. It also means getting to sit in a relatively comfortable position for the next hour or so as we cruise over the dirt road. More commonly, however, I'm in the back of a pickup, leaning against the canopy with some headphones in. I particularly love the rare times I'm alone in the back because then I can sing to my heart's content. Playlists range from a mix of punk to folk to pop rock.

 

Getting the ride out, however is less important than getting the ride back in. I have spent days at the designated hike point in my shopping town, flagging down cars and asking around for rides. If no one is going to to the village, no one is going to the village. There's only been one time when I missed school because of a lack of transportation. I ended up catching a ride back on a Monday afternoon and after that vowed to never again leave the village without a plan to get back in. I have failed to uphold that vow because I'm currently enjoying a long weekend in town with no ride back on Sunday. 

Half of my trip is on a dirt road. Everyone complains about it and one time I even had someone go the extra 30km south to take the slightly better one. It's one or the other though, and most people prefer the short term save on gas to the long term save on suspension. Somewhere in the middle of this dirt track in the middle of nowhere is a dead zone. No cellphone service. Just dying grassland. When I first moved out here, I was terrified of this zone. If we got stuck out in the dead zone, we had as much as 20km in any direction to walk until we got out of it. The chances that someone else would come by were pretty slim. Now I don't care as much. When you have so little control over transportation, it helps to not care. If the car breaks down, it breaks down and me stressing that the driver is only doing 80km/h instead of 120 isn't going to get me anywhere. You learn to make your appointments flexible.

 

The other 50km is on a tar road, the B1, one of the most dangerous highways in the world. When I first moved here, I was terrified that something would happen on that stretch of road. Now I know there's no use worrying because there's nothing I can do about it except tell my students why it's important to follow the rules of the road and hope for the future generations. My favorite part of driving the B1, other than how smooth it is to drive on a tar road, is crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. Hi everyone, coming to you live from the tropics. 

Back home, I was one of those people who never really drove a lot. I was either studying, living in a city, or living abroad. This past summer saw a huge hike in my driving time, largely because I loved my mom's new car and wanted to drive it everywhere. I started learning stick from a cousin and had a brief affair with the Subaru BRZ that made me realize one day I might be one of those people with a sports car. It's hard, sometimes, being on the wide open roads of Namibia and knowing that you aren't allowed to travel them yourself, but it's still an experience that I want to share.