Four immigration officers, one conveyor belt, a stamped passport which read ' U.N. dependent' and toilets offering sex education-my introduction to Windhoek, Namibia. While I survived the four hours to Perth, the eleven hours and five minutes to Johannesburg, the twelve hour halt in the transit hotel and the 55 minutes to Windhoek, I was fairly certain my backpack hadn't made it. I was completely prepared for this moment- I had packed a tooth brush, my runners and an extra pair of undies that would tide me over the lack of protective clothing for the next three weeks! Just to be absolutely sure, however, I did wait patiently till the aforementioned conveyor belt came to a screeching halt. No sign of my new Macpac. While I proceeded to fill a 'LOST LUGGAGE' form and made a mental note to charge my mother for my lost hair straightener, my family had deployed a search party in my honour. I found out later that my absence was open for discussion with the following scenarios (they had even roped in a Namibian security guard):
The last possibility is truly debatable and ridiculously fictitious. After much drama and teary hellos we proceeded to Klein Windhoek- the diplomatic suburb of the capital. What followed was a month of exploring the quietest city in Africa, the customary visits to Maerua Mall, $3 Hollywood movies and a particularly grueling 8 a.m. run with a hardcore runner. I also had the pleasure of experiencing knee-rehab at a Namibian physio clinic and met a very important person from the Namibian Ministry of Sport.
(a) Overslept in my hotel room in Joburg
(b) Skid and bumped my head in the shower and passed out in my hotel room in Joburg
(c) Just couldn't be bothered to get on the flight in Joburg
(d) Illegally entering and refusing to leave Joburg
(e) Put away somewhere inside the airport in Windhoek
(f) Possibly sitting on the toilet inside the airport in Windhoek
(g)Having undergone plastic surgery and hence becoming unrecognisable to loved ones and currently heading into the city in a local taxi
(b) Skid and bumped my head in the shower and passed out in my hotel room in Joburg
(c) Just couldn't be bothered to get on the flight in Joburg
(d) Illegally entering and refusing to leave Joburg
(e) Put away somewhere inside the airport in Windhoek
(f) Possibly sitting on the toilet inside the airport in Windhoek
(g)Having undergone plastic surgery and hence becoming unrecognisable to loved ones and currently heading into the city in a local taxi
The last possibility is truly debatable and ridiculously fictitious. After much drama and teary hellos we proceeded to Klein Windhoek- the diplomatic suburb of the capital. What followed was a month of exploring the quietest city in Africa, the customary visits to Maerua Mall, $3 Hollywood movies and a particularly grueling 8 a.m. run with a hardcore runner. I also had the pleasure of experiencing knee-rehab at a Namibian physio clinic and met a very important person from the Namibian Ministry of Sport.
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