​(English translation below)

Dag 8: Ruacana na Lubango
 
Drie dinge vandag: 'n Gebreekte drukker, diksandpad en donkerry in Afrika.
 
Ons was vroeg op en gepak om douvoordag op die grenspos te wees. Om in Angola in te gaan het gevoel soos om nou werklik die onbekende te betree. Het ons al die regte papiere?
 
Immigrasievorms: Stempel! Paspoorte: Stempel! Sjoe dit gaan vinnig. Nou net die tydelike invoerpermit vir die motorfietse uitdruk. Maar die drukker wil nie werk nie...Sug en wag en neem fotos saam met die motorfietsbewonderaars buite vir twee ure...
 
Uiteindelik is ons deur. Toe lê 80km diksandpad voor ons. Ek het binne die eerste 5km drie keer omgeval, maar met elke omval darem geleer wat ek verkeerd gedoen het, en daarna darem bogebly. Daar is net een manier: Kyk ver voor jou, hou die stuur liggies vas, en gee sous!
 
Omtrent 10km voor die einde van die sand het De Witt omgeval. Ook maar goed! Want toe hy omval, en ek stop, kom daar iemand van agter af aangehardloop met een van my sakke wat toe net afgeval het. Die sak met my paspoort, papiere en geld in nogal!! 'n Bestiering.
 
By Xangango het ons stokflou langs die locals op die sypaadjie neergesak en Coke gedrink. Ons was in 'n nuwe land. Afrika musiek wat mens aan Kuba laat dink. Die winkelman in Portugees waarvan ons niks verstaan nie.
 
Maar die paaie is mooi en die dorpies is skoon, en ons besluit om deur te druk Lubango toe. Ons kon die rugby daar kyk (Springbokke teen Ierland), maar ons moes 'n uur of meer in die donker ry. Fout!! Ligte in die nag is bloot opsioneel en klein motorfietsies met twee of drie mense op skiet verby. En mens ry aan die verkeerde kant van die pad!
 
In elk geval, ná 'n lang dag kon ons genadiglik op twee Suid-Afrikaners se grasperk kamp in Lubango. En rugby kyk.
 
 
Day 8: Ruacana to Lubango
 
Three things today: A broken printer, a thick sandy road and driving in the dark in Africa.
 
We were up early to be at the border post at dawn. Entering Angola felt like truly entering the unknown. Do we have all the right papers?
 
Immigration forms: Stamp! Passports: Stamp! Wow it went fast. Then just to print out the temporary import permit for the motorcycles. But the printer wouldn't work... Sigh. Wait. Take photos with the motorcycle admirers outside for an hour or more...
 
Finally we were through. Then 80km of thick sand. I fell over three times within the first 5km, but with each fall I learned what I did wrong, and thereafter it went smoother. There is only one way: Look far ahead, hold the steering wheel lightly, and open the throttle!
 
About 10km before the end of the sand, De Witt fell over. Also good! Because when he fell over, and I stopped, someone came running from behind with one of my bags, which had just fallen off. The bag with my passport, papers and money in it!! A godsent.
 
At Xangango, we sat next to the locals on the pavement and drank Coke. We were in a new country. African music that sounds like Cuba. The shopkeeper Portuguese. We didn't understand a thing.
 
But the roads were nice and the villages clean, and we decided to press on to Lubango. We could watch the rugby there (Springboks against Ireland), but we had to ride for an hour or more in the dark. Big mistake!! Headlights at night are merely optional and small motorbikes with two or three people on them shot past. And we had to ride on the right (wrong!) side of the road.
 
Anyway, after a long day we were able to camp on two South Africans' lawn in Lubango. And watch rugby.

​​https://www.backabuddy.co.za/expedition-h2o-back-to-basics

​(English translation below)

Dag 7: Die dans van ons suster
 
Vandag het ons Eugène Marais se vaal karos oor die koppies sien aanrol. Met woedende wind en stof en blitse. Ons moes ons spoed verminder van 110 na 80 om te keer dat ons nie van die pad gewaai word nie. En bid dat die blitse die ysterkoppies bly klits en nie afbeweeg na die pad toe nie.
 
Nodeloos om te sê, toe ons deur die storm is, was dit skaars 'n halfuur voordat alles weer droog en warm was.
 
Die pad van Kamanjab na Ruacana was weereens pyl-reguit. En hoe nader ons aan Ruacana gekom het, hoe valer en stowweriger het dit geword. Bokke en donkies en waaiende kindertjies langs die pad. Breë, vrygewige glimlagte.
 
Die oggend het ek amper in die stof gebyt toe my motorfiets in die diksandpad van ons kampplek af oppad teerpad toe begin slinger het. Gelukkig kon ek bo-bly. Maar die waarskuwing was in die lug: Oppas. Die teerpad stop vandag. En môre, anderkant die Ruacana grens, wag daar nog baie sandpad.
 
Hoe gaan ons 300km per dag in sand en modder aflê as ons tans, op teerpad, min of meer soveel vermag? Hoe lank gaan ons sin vir humor hou? Is ons opgewasse hiervoor?
 
Hierdie is die vrae waarmee ons in ons tentjies, op 'n klein polletjie gras, gaan worstel vanaand - hier aan die oewer van die Kunene rivier.
 
 
Day 7: The dancing rain
 
Today we saw Eugène Marais' grey blanket of rain roll and unfold over the hills. With raging wind and dust and lightning. We had to reduce our speed from 110 to 80 to avoid being blown off the road. And pray that the lightning continued to beat the hills and not move down to the road.
 
Needless to say, once we got through the storm, it was barely half an hour before everything was dry and warm again.
 
The road from Kamanjab to Ruacana was once again arrow-straight. And the closer we got to Ruacana, the bleaker and dustier it became. Goats and donkeys and waving children along the road. Broad, generous smiles.
 
In the morning I almost bit the dust when my motorcycle started to swerve hard left then right in the thick sand road from our campsite on the way to the tarmac. Luckily, I was able to stay on top. But the warning was in the air: Watch out. The tarmac stops today. And tomorrow, beyond the Ruacana border, there is still a lot of sand road waiting.
 
How are we going to cover 300km a day in sand and mud when we currently manage more or less that much on tarmac? How long will our sense of humor last? Are we up to it?
 
These are the questions we will wrestle with in our tents, on a small patch of grass tonight - here on the banks of the Kunene river.

​https://www.backabuddy.co.za/expedition-h2o-back-to-basics

(English translation below)
 
Vandag was nog 'n dag van lang, warm, reguit teerpaaie. Hier moet mens nie vaak word nie. Of 'n band bars nie. Ons het so 110 km/h bly handhaaf. Met die motorfietse op spoed-beheer, het ons verskillende maniere van Kalahari joga-en-strek ontdek om die stywe bene en boude en rugspiere sommer so in die ry te oefen.
 
Skielik, êrens in die middel van nêrens, doem daar 'n verlate winkelstoep uit die 36-grade Celsius hittegolwe voor ons op. Ná omtrent 'n uur se afkoel en padkos-eet (gepak deur Yvonne, ons gasvrou op Okahandja) en op die naat van ons rûe lê en ontspan, durf ons weer die hitte aan. Maar ons durf nie aan die hitte of die reuse-Afrika dink wat voor ons uitgestrek lê nie. Ons hou ons koppe by die hier-en-nou en die volgende stuk pad tot by Kamanjab.
 
En daar, in die hitte wat die horison smelt, voor ons kon windgat raak, kom twee fietsryers ('n man en 'n vrou) van voor af. Swaar gelaai. Seker van Europa af oppad Kaapstad toe. En herinner ons aan die ou wat tans in die Kongo trek, al draffende van Kaapstad af...
 
Daardie aand, nadat ons met 'n groep Duitse toeriste gekuier het, en moes skarrel om droog in ons tente te kom voor die storm-reën (wat toe nooit gekom het nie), weet ons dat Afrika onmeetbaar groter is as ons. Môre ry ons tot by die Kunene-rivier, reg op Angola se drumpel.
 
Day 6: Okahandja to Kamanjab
 
Today was another day of long, hot, straight tarmac. One mustn't fall asleep. Or burst a tire. We continued to maintain about 110 km/h. With the motorbikes on cruise control, we discovered different ways of Kalahari yoga and stretching to exercise the tight legs and buttocks and back muscles while riding.
 
Suddenly, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, a deserted shop front loomed out of the 36-degree Celsius heat waves in front of us. After about an hour of cooling down and eating our food parcels (packed by Yvonne, our hostess on Okahandja) and lying on our backs and relaxing, we braved the heat again. But we dared not think of the heat or the giant Africa that lies before us. We focused on the here-and-now and the next stretch of road towards Kamanjab.
 
And there, in the heat was melting the horizon, two cyclists (a man and a woman) appeared before us. Heavily packed. Probably on the way to Cape Town from Europe. Reminding us of the guy who is currently in the Congo, running all the way from Cape Town to London...
 
That night, after hanging out with a group of German tourists, and having to scramble to get into our tents before the rain-storm (which never came), we knew that Africa is immeasurably bigger than us.
 
Tomorrow we will drive to the Kunene river, right on Angola's doorstep.

https://www.backabuddy.co.za/expedition-h2o-back-to-basics

(English translation below)
 
Dag vyf. Eenduisend vyfhonderd kilometer van die huis af. Tyd om af te saal en uit te span sodat ons siele ons lywe kan inhaal voordat ons verder Noord beweeg. Vriende van De Witt, en hulle honde, het ons met ope arms ontvang - en die honde het ons gewys hoe om behóórlik te ontspan.
 
Die dag het begin met media-onderhoude. Eers regstreeks met RSG en daarna met die Namibiese koerant, Die Republikein. Dit voel vreemd om mens se naam oor die radio te hoor en in die koerante te sien. Waarom die ophef? Is dit die water-projek? Die mid-life avontuur? Of is die grootsheid van 'n motorfiets-tog deur Afrika werklik van só 'n aard dat dit hierdie tipe media-aandag regverdig?
 
Dié gedagte maak ons effens benoud en ons gebruik ons rus-dag om ons motorfietse te versorg. Ons maak kettings skoon en wend smeermiddel aan en maak seker alle boute en skroefies is mooi vas. Ons blaas die bande bietjie af. Ek verstel my motorfiets se rat-hefboom se hoogte met twee millimeter af, dan weer op, dan weer af. Die onbekende wink en ons harte begin vinniger klop.
 
Gelukkig kon ons toe modderpad-bande opspoor in Luanda! De Witt se neef het 'n oud-kollega in Luanda wie se man die hoof van die plaaslike motorfietsklub in Luanda is.
 
Môre ry ons Noord. Al nader aan die Angolese grens.
 
Namibië is 'n skoon, veilige, Afrikaanse plek. Maar dis hard. En dit kan eensaam raak.


​Day 5: Taking a breather
 
Day five. One thousand five hundred kilometers from home. Time to de-saddle and stretch out so our souls can catch up with our bodies before we move further North. Friends of De Witt, and their dogs, welcomed us with open arms. The dogs showed us how to properly relax.
 
The day started with media interviews. First directly with RSG and then with the Namibian newspaper, Die Republikein. It feels strange to hear one's name on the radio and see it in the newspapers. Why the fuss? Is it the water project? The mid-life adventure? Or is the immensity of a motorcycle tour through Africa really of such a nature that it justifies this type of media attention?
 
This thought made us a little anxious and we used our rest day to take care of our motorcycles. We cleaned and lubricated the chains and made sure all bolts and screws were tight. We deflated the tires a bit. I adjusted my motorcycle's gear lever height by two millimeters down, then up again, then down again. The unknown beckoned and our hearts began to beat faster.
 
Fortunately, we were able to locate off-road tires in Luanda! De Witt's cousin has an ex-colleague in Luanda whose husband is the head of the local motorcycle club!
 
Tomorrow we will drive North. Getting closer to the Angolan border.
 
Namibia is a clean, safe, Afrikaans place. But it is hard. And can get lonely.

https://www.backabuddy.co.za/expedition-h2o-back-to-basics

Vandag was nóg 'n klopdisselboom-dag. Die weer perfek. Die pad mooi. Die fietse in 'n rustige 110 km/h ritme.
 
Ons het die dag in Gobabis Guest House begin met 'n boerewors-en-eiers ontbyt, waarna ons die Trans Kalahari Hoofweg toegelaat het om ons sekuur na Windhoek toe te korrel.
 
Die dorpe is skoon en die paaie het nie gate in nie - selfs in die klein dorpies!
 
Net anderkant Windhoek is ons by 'n padblokkade voorgekeer om ons papiere te wys, maar toe die goewermentsman besef ons moet eers aftrek, stop en afklim om by ons papiere uit te kom, het hy ons maar laat ry.
 
Ná 'n broodjie by 'n Duitse bakkery in Okahandja, het die dag geëindig op vriende van De Witt se plaas buite die dorp.
 
Nou-ja. Makliker as dit kry mens nie, maar ons besef dat ons al hoe nader aan die werklike onbekende beweeg. Met nog 'n duisend kilometer tot by die Angola grens, het die wolke vir die storm ná die stilte dalk reeds stadig begin aanpak: ons het vandag uitgevind dat ons plan om rowwer bande vanaf Trax Moto per courier na Luanda te stuur (vir die modder wat ons by die ewenaar inwag) ons 'n arm en 'n been gaan kos.
 
So ons is besig om Windhoek en Luanda warm te bel op soek na "knobblies" wat op ons fietse sal pas.
 
Die onbekende kom nader. So ook Portugees. Dan Frans. Intussen geniet ons dit om vir oulaas Afrikaans te kan praat.
 
 Day 4: Smooth riding
 
Today was another smooth riding day. The weather perfect. The road beautiful. The bikes in a relaxed 110 km/h rhythm.
 
We started the day in Gobabis Guest House with a boereword-and-eggs breakfast, after which we allowed the Trans Kalahari Highway to aim us straight towards Windhoek.
 
The towns are clean and the roads have no potholes - even in the small towns!
 
Just beyond Windhoek we were stopped at a roadblock to show our papers, but when the government official realized we had to pull over, stop and get off to get to our papers, he just let us drive on.
 
After a sandwich at a German bakery in Okahandja, the day ended at friends of De Witt's on a farm outside town.
 
Well, yes. It doesn't get any easier than that, but we realize that we are moving ever closer to the real unknown. With another thousand kilometers to go to the Angolan border, the clouds for the storm after the lull may have already begun to slowly set in: we found out today that our plan to send rougher off-road tires from Trax Moto to Luanda by courier (for the mud which awaits us at the equator) is going to cost us an arm and a leg.
 
So we are busy calling Windhoek and Luanda, looking for "knobblies" that will fit our bikes.
 
The unknown is approaching. So is Portuguese. Then French. In the meantime, we are enjoying being able to speak Afrikaans while we can.

​https://www.backabuddy.co.za/expedition-h2o-back-to-basics

Yesterday we rode from Lobatse to Kang, and today from Kang to Gobabis. The straightest, longest line of tar we ever encountered. The excitements were limited to sudden speed reductions (which we religiously adhered to), ostriches darting off or alongside the bikes, as well as cattle, donkeys, goats, sheep and horses next to, or in the middle of, the road.
 
In Kang I had a long conversation about San and Tswana tribes with a guy named "Super" in a leopard onesie, while De Witt was buying groceries. Super had to steady himself (from laughing and other intoxications) when I told him we are going all the way up to Spain. He thought we were crazy.
 
We stopped at the local Shebeen to buy two quarts of Black Label for ourselves, as well as two more for the group of guys hanging out in the shade outside the bar, who were very impressed and promptly helped us to push the bikes back through the thick sand onto the harder gravel. Those Zamaleks were straight from heaven!
 
The kilometer or two of thick sand to the Kalahari Rest Lodge where we stayed, just outside Kang, made us realise that we still have a long way to go. Sand is tricky and we suspect that Namibia and Angola have plenty in store for us.
 
Anyway, we are now in Gobabis. All went well. Tomorrow we continue our journey, realising how much we have to be grateful for.

After six months of planning, we finally departed from Pretoria today. An eager crowd of family, friends, colleagues and sponsors gathered at Trax Moto, and a couple of bikes rode with us through Pretoria and around the Fountain's Circle. From there we took the N14 towards Krugersdorp, off at R512 towards Magaliesburg, Derby, Koster, Swartruggens and Zeerust.
 
In Zeerust we stopped for a hamburger at the Wimpy and decided to push through to cross the border before nightfall, crossing our fingers that the border wouldn't be too busy.
 
In spite of the kilometer or two long queue of trucks waiting in line at the border post, things were quiet, and we passed through the South African side without a fuss. (We luckily didn't have to wait in line behind the trucks!)
 
When we reached the Botswana side, De Witt's heart stopped for a second or two until the officials accepted that this Australian South African is in fact a South African Australian but promises to be a South African South African hence forth through Africa...;-)
 
Grateful to be able to do something like this. In Derby the onlookers of our smoke break, high on Nyaope, barely 16, reminded us of our immense privilege. And responsibility.