The Day After "Tomorrow"

First and foremost, before my nearest and dearest start panicking that the title of my first Namibian blog entry is the same as a famous disaster movie, I feel I need to get a few things straight. No, there were no tidal waves at any point during the journey. No, there was no panic-induced sheltering in public libraries. Essentially, no, our journey did not resemble a disaster movie in the slightest.

After many hours in Heathrow's Costa with James and Jake (two other PT volunteers who will be based in the north west), we finally boarded our flight to Johannesburg and left British soil for the last time in months. The plane was only half full, so we were able to get away quite promptly and spread out a little bit to sleep overnight. A short flight to Windhoek followed this morning, which was no problem, but the process of boarding this flight only served to confirm what we suspected we already knew about African air travel.

African airports are a bizarre business. Where most airports are very strict about each specific plane having a very specific gate to pull in to for its passengers to very specifically end up in the right place at the right time, Africa simply doesn't work that way. Instead, the planes land, find room somewhere on the tarmac, and essentially tip everyone out in the middle of the space - how anyone actually gets anywhere within the airport is left up to a fleet of very dedicated but very squashed shuttle buses. Strange though it may be, it must work somehow, because I'm writing this from our hostel in Windhoek - arrival successful!

Albeit  that I am absolutely sure this country will teach me so much over the next few months, it's already made a real impression. The drive from the airport was quite unlike anything else I've ever seen- flat, dusty bushland contrasts with rugged orange hills and a bright azure sky, with only one straight road that stretches into the horizon. In the city, even the  red and green men on the pedestrian crossings have given up trying to fight with the constant streams of traffic that have little patience for anyone else; the beeping of car horns forms a continuous dialogue, almost like a language in itself; and already, it is quite clear that I have the pastiest, peely-wally-est legs ever known to sub-Saharan Africa. Hopefully the 30+ temperatures and constant sun can do something about that by the next time I update the blog!