Letter from Windhoek
By the time December rolls around, you should know where you want to spend your holiday. For Lloyd Zandberg, it’s on a farm near Maltahöhe with his family.
Come December, Windhoek grinds to a standstill. Everyone leaves. I stayed at home one December and I suspect there was more action at a puppet show in Ariamsvlei.
There you have it. The year is gone and it’s December again: the month of thinking about your sins (like your size 38 waist) and saying “thank you” for the things that went well. A cloudburst of nostalgia usually rains down on me in December. I’m tense, emotional, tired, in need of a holiday – like everyone else in the world. I crave laughter, watermelon and cotton candy. I want to braai saddle chops, lay tables, drink cold beer and eat galjoen cooked in foil. I want to be with the people I love and forget about all the things that went wrong. I try to avoid Windhoek during the festive season. The rest of the year, the Namibian capital crawls with taxis, court cases, fried food, protests, murder, corruption, global warming, exhaust fumes and economic woe. As a news journalist I owe my bread and butter to these things. We harvest headlines from the horrors of life, but still… Come December, however, Windhoek grinds to a standstill. Everyone leaves. I stayed at home one December and I suspect there was more action at a puppet show in Ariamsvlei.
This year, my whole family (we rival a symphony orchestra in terms of numbers) will gather on my brother’s farm in southern Namibia. He and his true love live about 110 km south-west of Maltahöhe, near the Namib Naukluft National Park. It’s beautiful there. The landscape looks like Pierneef created it with a few strokes of his paintbrush. The farm is not in the deep, arid south, but the earth is still thirsty and always seems to be on its knees. Their house is spacious, with high ceilings and four bedrooms, but even a small hotel would have a hard time housing all the Zandbergs. So we’ll pitch our tents – luckily I like camping. As long as I can plug in an extension cord to power my fan, I’m happy. Except for the heat, the time spent on my brother’s farm is always a highlight on my calendar. We play Jenga, Charades, 30 Seconds and Scrabble, but my favourite activity is the sundowner mission to a nearby dune – a ritual on the first day. Standing on that dune marks the official start of the holiday. (And it’s usually when I get my first sunburn.) The men pack the cool boxes late in the afternoon, plus the camping chairs and lights. The women make sure that the bakkies are loaded with pillows, blankets, smoked mussels and oysters, Salticrax, cream cheese and toilet paper. By sunset we’re all on the dune. Everyone is deep in conversation. The adults sip their beer. Boetman makes a short speech and we raise a glass to family, health and peace. I don’t love the long drive from Windhoek to the farm, but I would never miss out on this time with my family, even if I had to drive to Venus. December is when I want to be with my people, a time to shed my skin and start preparing for another 365 days of ups and downs. Until next year – happy holidays!