The guide turns the gameviewing vehicle off the C43 and we follow a barely visible jeep track into the veld. Everything around looks faded and lifeless. I notice long tears of resin seeping from the trunk of a corkwood tree, as if it too has given up. How do you survive in this remote corner of the Kaokoveld? I'm with photographer Sam Reinders and two German tourists and we're on our way from Epupa to visit a Himba kraal. The guide introduces himself as Vincent. He's a Himba himself but went to school and got a diploma in tourism.
The Himba are a nomadic people, but their trek routes are being cut off by fences, and the grazing land available for their cattle is limited. That's why outings to this "living museum" - as he calls the settlement where he grew up provide a much-needed income. My heart hurts every time he says it. How painful to have to talk about your own people as if they're already an artefact from the past.
When we arrive at the kraal, people run to get into position. Apparently this is a show they put on every day. A few boys bring a cow over so a woman can demonstrate the milking process. We watch as white liquid froths into an enamel bowl, while dusty toddlers watch us. The German lady swats at flies while her husband asks Vincent a question.
"Pasteurisieren?" he tries again. I intervene with the remnants of the German I learnt in school: No, they drink it straight from the Kuh, no pasteurisation.
The Frau purses her lips. She's offered a sip from the full bowl first. "Nein, danke!" she says sternly. The milker looks so forlorn.
Impulsively, I decide that today I'm a fellow African, not a tourist. Unlike the Germans, I know that this cow won't have a drop of milk left tonight when it's actually time to milk the poor thing. I also know that the children around us might be watching with interest, but they're also watching with hunger.
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Esta historia es de la edición February/March 2025 de go! - South Africa.
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