Namib Desert teaches you to appreciate life

TO SPEND time in a desert is to learn gratitude – all over again. We went into the Namib Desert two Saturdays ago and have just emerged, after five nights. Leaving Luderitz, we entered the wilderness in the south, and headed north. And almost immediately, we realised we were alone.

Not from each other, but from almost every conceivable human essential.

In the world awaiting us, there was no shelter, no food, no water. No electricity, no fuel, no communications. No medical assistance, no mechanics, no entertainment. No hot showers, no private space, no warm beds. The desert provided none of these.

Entering this bleakness, we drew a line in the sand: we started afresh, assuming nothing, expecting nothing. Taking nothing for granted. Ground zero.

And from that moment on, we began understanding self-reliance. Starting with each drop of water, dripping from the tanks in our dusty 4x4s.

On our second night, we camped in the lee of a giant primary dune, sheltering us from the inbound waves of cold sea air.

As we set camp, we were joined by a new fellow-mammal – out of the desert came jogging a black-backed jackal. We were astounded to see this creature – wondering how the hell it survived. But alive it was, now sniffing the hope of a few tasty tidbits from the campfire, once we slept.

By mid-last week, we’d fallen into a rhythm, a desert dance – rise, eat, travel, rest, shade, move again, settle for the night, rise.

We were led by an exceptional team of guides. But we still hoped we’d each earned the title of an “Honorary Jakkals”, after our days in the desert.

We arrived in Walvis Bay unshaven and stinky. Our cars and our bodies grinding gritty sand grains in every conceivable hiding place, from door-hinge to armpit and eardrum.

We emerged from the desert a hell of a lot lighter – running dry on water, diesel, and every other supply.

But who could have predicted how richer we now were.

In the desert, we found astonishing reward – in an emptiness so expansive, so all-encompassing, that it seemed entirely complete.

And, as important, we found new gratitude, now ingrained in us – for every luxury, for every pillar of support, for every essential which keeps us alive in our “normal” daily lives. For our health, for our strength, for our loved ones upon whom we rely. All of which we often take for granted. And without which so many of us must somehow survive, deprived.

As one fellow “Jakkals” said this past weekend, as the Skeleton Coast shimmered into a mirage behind us: “You know, gratitude actually starts in that split-second when you wake up each morning, and realise you are still alive.”

The desert reminded us of life’s two most crucial words: “Thank You.”