5 April 1986: Final Leg to South Africa

Saturday afternoon, April 5, 1986

Flying over Namibia and Botswana   


About 15 minutes ago, I noticed that we had just crossed a coastline and were now flying over a vast desert.  Since then we have been passing over a landscape reminiscent of southern Utah and the Mojave Desert.  Initially, it was rugged canyon and mesa country, dominated by an isolated mountain range covering an area of perhaps 100 square miles.  Now, the topography is relatively flat, quite arid, with scattered, jagged hills and a road here and there.  It can only be the Namib Desert of Namibia.  It is 5:30 PM local time and at last I am over Africa.  Earlier this morning, after we had made our refueling and crew change stop in the Cape Verde Islands (some 250 west of the coast of Senegal), I realized that I was now, for the first time in my life, south of the equator.  I’m not 100% sure this is all real, but my suspicions are that something exciting is going on, especially since I was earlier handed a South African customs declaration form.

One thing’s for sure.  If that is South-West Africa (Namibia) we’re crossing, ugly politics and civil strife can’t do much to detract from the beauty of a wilderness landscape.  You can’t write off a place (as many Americans have done with southern Africa) just because you don’t like its government.  Ah ha, the captain has just announced that we were passing over Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, and will be in Johannesburg in an hour and 20 minutes.


My conversations with the young South African fellow seated next to me have continued.  After he filled me in on what to expect in the way of entertainment in Jo’burg, we got around to the subject of the draft.  He admits he’s been postponing it by continuing his university studies.  Sounds like what a number of us in the States did about 20 years ago.  He notes that a number of families with sons nearing draft age are leaving the country because they don’t feel that the Angolan conflict is “their war”.  Also, some men are going to jail for refusing to serve.  It’s apparently tough to get out of the draft for medical reasons, and even ministers get drafted to serve as chaplains.  If you’re disabled (such as an epileptic), they give you a desk job.  The family that is picking me up at the airport this evening has two teenage sons, so I’ll be interested to hear what they have to say about the draft.  The family is involved with a holistic health center in the Johannesburg area, and I got in touch with them through the Denver Open Network.  I’ll be staying with them for a few days, assuming we hit it off OK. 

Now, I notice a few scattered lakes dotting the desert below.  It’s autumn here and the end of the rainy season.  By August (the end of the dry season), these lakes will likely be bone dry.

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