GRAHAM GUY BARRATT

Eyes from another life stare at me from the Himba man on his way to shelter as grey columns of rain draw near and nearer leaving their thread vein rivers across the surrounding desert scrub. In their dress the Himba express their love of ornament and preoccupation with cattle. Proudly in evidence his neck dress displays the ears of heifers probably killed by his father and presented to him when initiated into manhood. The Himba are a minority group in Namibia making up less than one percent of the population and live almost entirely in their traditional areas here in the Kaokoveld.

Steilrandberg District in the Kaokoveld at the fork junction entering from the north on the D3602 into Epembe, Namibia January 2003.

Tyre station repair men resting in the shade during the intense heat of the mid-day sun. Could it be coincidence that in the middle of this vast country six and a half times the size of the UK that a tyre repair station exists in the middle of nowhere at a cross-roads in an area infamous for tyre blow outs. Spotted by a passing driver these locals deny any knowledge of air rifles and laugh loudly a little later when one of them mentions his nephew is a pretty good shot when trade has been slow.

In the Damaraland bordering The Skeleton Coast
20°13.58S 14°03.54E 04th January.

Owamboland 40km N/W of Tsintsabis. Mother at the age of 14 and her child. Never having gone to school herself she hopes that with the new Namibian national rhetoric of education for all that one day her child will receive the education she so sadly missed out on.

40KM N/W of Tsintsabis Northern Namibia.

The Himba women of northern Namibia are famous for their use of 'Otjize', a paste of butter, fat, ash and red ochre which they apply to their skin and carry when on the move in these small cylindrical pots fashioned from leather and horn.

Paul the bushman home at the garden gate where I first stopped and met him.

Leaving early in the morning the rhino man armed with only his pipe takes his donkey out on the road into the desert riding through the rising morning heat to arrive at the relief station early in the afternoon. Here he changes his mount to a camel making the return journey arriving back at his original starting point by dusk to then sleep and repeat the circuit early the next morning.
Post Script; As of the 10th November 2011 the West African Black Rhino has been classified as extinct.

Himba father and his son roadside high up in the dense jungle hills so suited to partisan warfare during the recent conflicts. With the exception of a small section in the northwest, along the Kunene River, the Angola/Namibian border ran in a straight cartographic line for 270 miles dividing tribal kinsfolk with surgical precision. Today now that peace has returned to the area the Himba can once again roam either side of the border and are among the last traditional and freely roaming tribes now left in todays rapidly modernising Africa.

High up on the 8KM West of Ruacana Falls on the D3700 and the Angolan Border, New Years Day 2003.

Himba boy waiting beside Epupa Falls to do clothes washing in the slip waters of the falls away from where the ripping river and the crocodiles lurk. Soon if the Namibian and Angolan governments get their way the surrounding area will be flooded if proposed plans to build a hydroelectric dam on the Kunene River go ahead. Swelling the locality with an estimated 5,000 foreign workers and displacing the 25,000 Himba people living in the arid regions of Southern Angola and North Western Namibia the dam will cover their ancestral homes, graves and heritage in this rather single sided proposal.

Epupa Falls on the border with Angola in the Kaokoveld.

The skulls and horns of cattle mark the graves of a Himba Chief and his Wife. During the process of burial the deceased body is wrapped in raw hides and then lowered in the crouching position together with all their personal possessions. To ensure that the ancestors are welcoming on the other side to the new member cattle are sacrificed and offerings of raw meat made. To ensure the spirit of the sacrificed animal doesn’t escape the body it’s nostrils are filled with a mixture of grass and clay and it’s mouth held shut before the mourners gather around the animal and break it’s neck together using the strength of their bare hands.

6 Miles south from Epupa Falls on the C43 approaching the junction with the A2 Northern Namibia.

Locals look on as a group of triumphant 4x4ers celebrate crossing another river on the rapidly flooding plains of the Kaokoveld turning their in-car music system up for everybody within miles to hear ’We all live in a yellow submarine’. Meanwhile I, like the guy on the other side to the right will wait a little longer before having a go. He’ll wait with his cattle and I’ll wait with my Toyota as his brother waits here also with his four-wheeler to help his older brother home. Amazingly the river level dropped another two feet within minutes and I made my crossing stopping and waving back to the group of cheering locals who egged me on with my crossing. My bush guide Reiner meanwhile was glad he had gone before me wading in to test the river depth to ensure a safe crossing, even though he had fallen and promptly swept into the water he greeted me on the other side still sodden and congratulated me on my bush driving.

Roadside near Okahu in the Owamboland.

In this wilderness area of a country six and a half times the size of great Britain it never cease to amaze me how you can travel hundreds of miles without seeing a soul until you stop in the middle of nowhere, turn off your 4x4’s engine and wait. Within minutes there always seems to be voices from the bush followed by a smiling or inquisitive face shortly after.

After staying longer than planned at Epupa Falls we now head south earnestly trying to beat our expected storm. Then lightning cracks through charcoal sky heralding the predicted storm and locals begin to run out from the bush, they know they have a way to go to their homes and may now also have a long wait in hand if their path should be blocked by rivers rapidly created as water streaks down from surrounding mountain’s. Within minutes the plains are awash with swelling rivers where minutes before they had created a dusty roller coaster landscape.

The cycle repair dude. I don’t quite know if this was a legitimate business or just some guy trying to make a few cents. He had some tools and certainly the attention of the locals as he bound the tyre and wheel repairing the puncture. It’s just when he came to inflating the tyre he made the fatal error of continuing to pump long after the tyre was full until BANG!, now he really did have a repair job on his hands.

Aunty shows up. Owamboland 40km N/W of Tsintsabis.

San village out and far off map in the Kaokaveld north east Namibia.

Players concentrate in the shade of the sun as they play 'Oware' or 'Ouril'

An Owambo (sometimes called Ovambo) grandmother and her grandchildren shelter in the shade as a scorched sun beats down evaporating the surrounding countryside. She’s lived through the years before independence when the existence of half a million indigenous Namibians seriously perturbed the South African administration, when by investing money into the region the South African government hoped to establish a protective buffer here in this area against Angola protecting the interior of the country. Needless to say the policy backfired and Owamboland became the heartland of SWAPO through the struggle for independence. Harassment from the South African Defence Force along with an increased population rapidly exacerbated by the influx of Angolan refugees has left the area overpopulated, over pressurized and severely underdeveloped, SWAPO still pledge to redress the balance.

Alex the Herero Farmer. Sitting with us after his afternoon loading goats on a lorry to take and sell at market. Soon he has decided to sell up the farm he and his brother own and go back to somewhere nearer his tribal homeland near Grootfontein. Alex comes and sitting with us accepts a beer keeping it for his young San farm hands to drink later in the evening.

On his farm 3KM East of Tsintsabis.

In a way off land there's a Polaroid hopefully sitting in a frame, on a self or sitting above a fireplace that belongs to the other half of this rip. Making sure the light was right for Alex's portrait I ripped a Polaroid which Alex gratefully received with a gleaming wide smile.