3 Days ago we returned from Angola. It seems like 3 weeks ago. It seems ages ago that we departed on the 22 August 2003. What a trip! But let me start at the beginning. At the end of 2002 we thought of going up to Lubango. After hearing from Caesar that it would not be the heat that would get us (Urda becomes miserable when exposed to inescapable heat), but rather the rain, the trip was postponed. Rain, motorcycles and potholes do not go together. There are street-races on the last weekend in August in Lubango, as well as a trade fair; we decided to do it then. We took Portuguese lessons at the Polytech and I started making enquiries. 

A few things became obvious- corruption and the fact that quite a few people venture up there. Either for business (to make a quick buck) or to go on an organized safari to Iona Park. I bought a Garmin Legend (I am now an Agent) and proceeded to get Waypoints. Most people though are unaware of the different Mapping systems etc. Also I tried to talk to as many Angolan travellers possible. Thanks Allen, for the great map you gave me. My bike was stripped and meticulously reassembled (dankie Ryan vir ‘n uitsteekende job). Tyres were organised well in advance, though Motorcycle Centre did not come up with the Sirac I wanted, but rather a Sahara 3 (for far more Money). I have tried most and found the Sirac in the rear the best value for money, with the TKC 80 up front being a vital in sand. The Angolan Embassy was contacted for a Visa and with a written information request (more on that later), amongst others a Letter of Accompaniment. At the last Minute we decided, a satellite phone would be a nifty piece of insurance. There SatCom really dropped us (promising one and then incapable of delivering), but Rich from Chel-C pulled through. Why doesn’t MTC allow their network to be called from Iridium? 

We decided to enter through Ruacana or Calueqe and travel via Oncocua, Tombua, and Namibe to Lubango. From there we wanted to either return through Oshikango, Ruacana or Calueqe.
Urda, myself and the trusted but modified BMW R80GS.
Before you want to Attempt a similar “Tour de Angola”, be warned! It is not easy, nor safe or conventional. If you are not very fit, have years of experience riding/racing off road, can speak some Portuguese + Kwanyama and Herero forget it! Furthermore you will have to get used to the idea that you are going to sleep exhausted next to the road or voetpaaidjie in the middle of nowhere. Food must definitely play a minor role in your diet and your dependency on water + other creature comforts should be minimal. Oh yes, a course in survival is a necessity. Being a mechanic, doctor, land surveyor/ geologist would be a definite plus. Dealing with corrupt or ignorant officials should be second nature and drinking a warm Pepsi or Tafel should count as a culinary delight. Did we enjoy and appreciate it? Yes, yes and again yes ! Would we repeat it ? Ask me in a few months when I walk normally again and when I stop drooling every time I spy water somewhere. 

Herewith part of our letter to the Angolan embassy on a Nick’s Racing letterhead, explaining what we wanted to do, dated 11 August 2003: 

Urda Bohn & me want to leave on Wednesday morning (20/8/3) to drive up to Ruacana. 

1)             Would it be possible for you to grant us Visa’s please ?
2)                Furthermore I would appreciate it if the Angolan Embassy could give us an accompanying letter, to ease our passages through Border Points, roadblocks etc. Our Portuguese is very bad.
3)             We also heard that one has to purchase a permit to be allowed to use the roads (Roads authority permit). If our sources are correct, this is not available at Ruacana, but only in Lubango, where the Offices close Friday Lunchtime until Monday morning? What should we do? Or can we obtain this through your Embassy?
4)             Do we need any Vaccinations?
5)             Would you know the Dates and location of this Fair and of the Races?
6)             Will an International Drivers License, Namibian/German Passport with Visa and a Police Clearance suffice as far as paperwork is concerned?
What further official permission must we obtain, and what further regulations are there to be followed?
7)             What Currency regulations are applicable (what Currency & how much may we take in & how much out)?
8)             What is the time difference between Angola & Namibia & what are the Border opening & closing times?
9)             Where can we obtain a Map of Southern Angola or complete Angola, alternatively GPS routes or waypoints?  

Please excuse all these Questions. 

We never received an answer to abovementioned letter; apart from that they were not able to furnish us with a letter of accompaniment. I then asked Roberto to translate a self-written letter (of what we planned to do). His dad did that in record time- thanks. This proved most useful. I think it would be great for the Angolan government to publish a little guideline booklet on rules & regs for their country. Their immigration & police would also benefit. (They would appreciate maps too). 

Originally we wanted to leave on Wednesday morning the 20’th, but were informed that was unlikely due to Urda’s Passport not being ready at the Embassy. On Thursday it was my passport that could not be found. When it was found, I was advised that I needed a translation of my vehicle’s Police clearance into Portuguese. I ran around like a headless chicken trying to get that organised, until Jacque told me that it was a k.. story. I am until this moment, still waiting for a Portuguese official to ask me for another document apart from my passport. So we then relaxed and decided to leave on Friday morning. We left rather late due to not really being organised. Sadly Urda left me with the entire planning etc. until finally taking of on Thursday to help pack etc. 

We took along the following:
Clothes
Cooking Utensils
Sleeping bag & Tent
Ricoh KR-5 Super II Camera
2 Objectives: a +52 and an 80-200
National PE-2016 Flashlight
Garmin Legend GPS
Binoculars
Torch Magligte & Mini Maglite (I sell these)
5 Litres of water in a used Winebag
a front & rear tube, which we thankfully never needed (a puncture could have broken this Camels back)

The trip to Kamanjab via Otjiwarongo was uneventful and gave me chance to fine-tune my handlebar mounted eTrex GPS. It was a civilised stay at Oppie Koppie, with a mid morning departure towards Ruacana. Here we ate a Chicken burger and bought a few tins of food (Survivalists need not mail me) as well as  1.5 Litre of water. The border crossing was approached with trepidation as we had heard horror stories. This was not so, with the Namibian beaurocracy actually taking longer (usual time we are accustomed to) than the other side.  At 16h00 we were on our way to Chitado. At 17h00 I convinced Urda to camp and we had a hearty meal of Spaghetti & Meatballs, drowned with 3 beers bought in Nam. I believe in cans as they can be crushed and taken along when empty. The breweries should be ashamed of allowing non-returnable bottles in Angola, as they litter the wayside. 

Next morning we found the loja (shop) closed and we were still too ignorant to replenish the little water we had consumed. The trip then went north looking for the elusive turnoff east to Oncocua.  Along this way we also passed a new shop. We missed this turnoff landing up in thick sand. The maps & the GPS determined that we were right, but the locals told us differently. Don’t trust 30-year-old info. So we returned and found the point described by Jacque & Allen and further Y & T junctions along the way. Travelling next to rivers meant that occasionally a 10m or so long stretch of  sand was encountered, making the front wheel wash. Somewhere we came across a well-refurbished house that seemed to serve beverages as well, but was closed on a Sunday. The big sat dish seemed to indicate this to be a Portuguese dwelling- Portugal televisao we were told later. Then going over mountain passes with boulders in the road that occasionally clanged sickeningly into the sump guard, made us toil and sweat – sometimes with fear. Finally we made camp (I have a rule of setting up camp 1 hour before sunset) in a river a few Km’s before Oncocua. Another tin of Spaghetti & Meatballs was wolfed down (understandably the Ruacana service Station did not have the grandest selection). 

 Next morning we met a Himba crew cutting the bush on the sides of the road and travelled a reasonably well-maintained road (according to Angolan standard) to the groomed Oncocua. There a Policeman wanted Gasoza (port. for cool drink and nowadays describing a bribe). When we told him that a cooldrink was an excellent idea, and where could we have one, he wildly gesticulated to our bedroll strapped to the rear of the bike. No we do not carry cases of coke in there! Fernando (a policeman that went to school in Grootfontein) then helped us with aplomb, being charmed at meeting Namibians and practicing his English & Afrikaans. Since the heavy going taxed our fuel supply we bought 3L for 450Kwanzas (A litre normally cost 12 Kwanzas). We then replenished our water and left, after finding no coke or beer for ourselves and our new found friend.  The water in all these Villages is pumped with an ingenious (and obviously new) pump, consisting of a large flywheel that can be spun by 1 or 2 people and that is attached to the casing rods. 

Thereafter we cruised on to Moimba that is demarcated on the map as a split in the road, where we wanted to turn right. Before we left I asked all whether the route encompassed any longish stretches of thick sand. I can ride the Beemer over rocks and up mountains, but found nobody to this day who can handle such a Behemoth in thickish Sand. I was informed that it would only be the few metres in the river where the gorge spat you down to where you had to climb back up the steep hill face again (sounds pretty doesn’t it?)

On one of these uphills I found the Bike wanting to do a flip, this was accompanied by a terrified Urda using my tits as a grab rail. On another longish uphill the bike stalled and with all of our might we could not stop it from keeling over slowly. Our only “drop” and luckily without consequences. 

As is with all villages, they move as the water supply moves, Moimba was not where it was supposed to be. So when we hit the hint of a split, I asked Urda to investigate due to me being exhausted by wrestling this Mammoth of a motorcycle. She came back with tidings that this was unlikely to be our turnoff as what followed was a goat trail. This made us scoot off on a road that was a beauty to ride. Kilometres later the sickening reality dawned on us, that this road probably led to Iona. So back we went to the village asking in broken Herero where the right split led. Yep right it was. So off we went along a goat trail (that was shown as a main road on our 30 year old map) to Otechifengo, where some villagers along the water greeted us. We were invited to sleep in the kraal, which we did out of politeness/inquisitiveness, although the sand along the river promised to be a lot softer. We proceeded to wash our vitals and filled the long  empty 1.5L bottle with the brackish water found there. 

That night we were supposed to be called by Rich, a test on how the Iridium worked. Out of respect to the villagers, who had never seen a motorbike never mind a Radio, we left the Sat phone off. We feasted on an apple and dozed off amidst the singing of the crowd. Next Morning saw us bouncing of to Pediva. We now understood why the road was not used- all tourists (1200+ since January 03) used the maintained road to Iona park. Pediva saw the motor running weird- Oh sh.. no more fuel. Thank goodness it was a stone jamming the left carb linkage. Struggling through the river we looked for the castle with warm water, we must have taken the wrong route as this saw us dumped in the desert heading for Tambor. Somewhere along this road I had to readjust the clutch as it had taken a pounding. A few unknown turnoffs later we were back on the route exiting Iona, and traversing the most heavily corrugated road I had ever travelled. 

After a few hours of being shaken so badly that I thought the steering handles would slip my iron grasp we entered a riverbed. These were miles of me pushing the bike in the midday sun while Urda walked (and sometimes had to push too). I found myself plopping down exhausted under any clump of brush that promised shade. Standing up again a few minutes later made my head spin so I collapsed again. I don’t know for how many hours we did this cooling our body with a few drops of brackish water. The 5L H2O container ran dangerously low, but finally we exited the powder sand. On a bike you are closer to nature and people, also you are and feel more vulnerable, but that is why you experience more and people are more approaching. I muttered foul curses in this sand about city slickers in their airconned 4X4’s who never mentioned this potential death-trap to us. 

We then hit a plateau full of Welwitschias, larger than our biggest. This shows how little our geography teachers knew at school. Finally we were led down into the Curocua River again. Fear filled our minds as we realised that we were unable to push the bike further + the water was nearly finished. We then faced about 50 Metres of thick sand ending in a sandy uphill stretch, which would phase a 4X4; leading where…? We entered the sand, the bike sputtered and I blanchingly turned on the reserve taps. Here we camped next to a salt-water lagoon amidst a howling wind and the sure knowledge that a heavy mist would descend on us that night. As I prepared our customary New Years dinner (Vienna’s with baked beans), I knew that the wet sand would be a blessing the next day, but after our drive up the sand dune, how many Km’s of Gas guzzling sand would be next? 

The morning sun quickly displaced the mist and found me cruising up the sand dune and onto a road skirting the river with breathtaking vista’s surrounded by lush vegetation. Had I found a well, I would have surmised that I had died and entered heaven. An hour later we hit the tar road leading to Tombwa. I cannot describe the feeling; maybe I should read some old Western’s with the parched hero crawling out of the Mojave? We hit Tombwa after being stopped by some friendly policemen (most MPLA soldiers are now working for a pittance as policemen) and poured 33.7 L into our presumed 29L Fuel Tank. 519 Km’s on the Clock. The GPS spat out the following info, since the Ruacana border crossing:
475 Kilometres travelled in a horizontal plane
19H49 Minutes on the move
31.08 Hours on the road
69.1 Kph was the maximum speed attained
24 Kph was the average velocity maintained

While looking for Jopab ( the local hotspot for the movers and shakers), we were stopped by a polite policeman asking for our papers. Again Roberto’s writ did the trick and we were sent off to the Imigratione after a hearty breakfast consisting of n’Gola and Churizo. The gent at Immigratione advised us as to the way to Jopab, where we met Mariano who helped us with accommodation at a pensione and to exchange some Rand's to Kwanza’s. We relaxed at the pub with a great chicken dinner (I don’t eat fish). The next day we should have stayed, as they had caught a huge tortoise. This was the first larger Angolan town we experienced and we realised the extent of their not being able to maintain their infrastructure for close to 30 years. The sewerage doesn’t work and there is no water to flush. Cruising this Art Deco town that must have been a stunning Holiday Resort for the wealthy, made us appreciate the solid structures in this once very wealthy country. 

We wanted to be in Lubango by the weekend, so we headed north toward Camp Flamingo. A quick trip to the Arches saw the heavily burdened rear rack crack, so we then decided to go straight to Namibe’. Some Oil people advising us of 20 km’s of beach sand to Camp Flamingo also strengthened this decision. Since the bike ran sick on the local fuel, I decided to go for a richer idle jet next to the road. A street garage stick welded the chrome moly tubing as best as could and then we asked for accommodation. Hotel Mocamedes in tasteful 60’s livre’ charged US 40, so we went to the camping ground, that was inaugurated a day earlier on. A listless policeman told us it was now closed for repairs. 

Must have been some inauguration! But there was a modern looking pub on the beach where we immediately made friends with 3 Lubangeans. They had bought a Venture in Namibia, which they now had to get through customs.  After plenty of broken stories etc.  they organised us a cheaper hotel. 1 of the chaps swung himself on the pillion and took me to; his sister who expressed she could not house caravanes, to his wealthy friend, to mud huts that housed his various girlfriends… When I became suitably concerned for Urda being left in the accompaniment of his 2 fast drinking friends, we returned at sunset. Beers later saw us pulling into his sister’s house. 

A spectacular dinner was served with Urda beaming (she loves these big Family things) and me wishing that I were beamed to bed. I need to make this observation: in Angola you have no racism, and from what I have heard, never had in the past. You do get discrimination between the very wealthy and the very poor though. Everybody we met was very friendly and always smiling. I suppose, I would act the same way after a 30-year war finally ended. 

That night saw us sleeping in a lovingly made bed, what a change to a sleeping Bag on rough terrain!

Next morning we were treated to a Fish soup with patat and n’Gola. I got scrambled eggs with warm milk! Then of it was for a final tour of Namibe with us landing on the Blacktop to Lubango.
This was smooth, recently repaired and only about 100 km’s of potholes. Just before the oft mentioned Italian built pass leading up to Humpata we hit the old tollgate, now a police / emigration affair.
Police perused our papers without a hitch, but emigrations advised us we were missing a cambrio (stamp) from emigrations of Namibe and would therefore have to return the 90 Kilometres. Obvious to this being another attempt at “Gasoza” we turned ignorant. I argued we had been to all relevant “Immigratione’s “ offices without them wanting to give a stamp and Urda advising them that we could only give them aqua instead of gasoza. After telling them we had no $’s because I paid with credit card, one official let us go while the other mumbled things about jail etc. 

Off we went up a pass that was breathtaking (must be even more so after the rain), hewn out of the mountain until we hit Humpata. No monument pertaining to the Dorsland trekkers was heard of here, so we pressed on to hit Lubango before dusk. Here we booked into the splendid rest camp of Andrea. We met quite a few Namibian’s inclusive of Steve, who was to race that weekend. For the first time in over a week we had a warm shower and a splendid meal. Being used to retire shortly after the sunset and waking at daybreak, we retired early. The next morning we were awakened by the coughing of cold race motors being started. Watching Ze’ taking his lighty for a spin on a R1 without a helmet brought us back to the Angolan way of life. We proceeded to town were we exchanged some more Rand's and had some cakes at the local Pastelleria. Street kids there had learned to beg and the bullet holes in most buildings brought back the reality of close to 30 years of war. Most people are glad it’s over and Zawimbi’s death shows the tribal mentality: that a leader is elected for life, no matter what. Namibia’s forthcoming elections will show whether my assumption is wrong. 

We saw the statue of Christ on the mountain surrounded by derelict Stalin organs. After a few more scenic views we returned to Samitour. The races/practice were held in an unorganised fashion, with nobody knowing what was about to happen. But to see these guys race their Ducati’s at all was most interesting. Sadly Tomanek’s motor blew a bearing in the first lap of practice, due to the low grade Samangol he was fuelling on. Our evening’s effort to get him back into the race, proved to be of no avail. So we went for a scrumptious meal. Why not go to an Angolan disco for ½ an hour? Two things became apparent; their ½ an hour does not match mine and whisky gets ordered by the bottle (Johnny Walker, Vat 69 no less), not by the glass. 

The next morning we awoke to the howl of race engines in practice. You have got to experience this at least once in a lifetime and if Le Man’s is out of your way, try Lubango during the last weekend of August.
A bleary eyed crowd of friends went to watch the proceedings from the comfort (and close proximity of the bar) of the campsite. If you are not competing, it is worthwhile watching a lone Porsche compete against Souped Clio’s. If you want to compete, read on. Steve ran a good and steady 2’nd position until a yellow Clio (2 laps behind) pulled out of the pits. The guy furiously tried to catch up with Steve. Being an experienced racer and a gentleman, Steve made ample way for the Clio to pass, but instead the yellow devil decided to bump into Steve. This was an obvious foul and Steve rightly protested against this. The protest was turned down with the reason “There is no reason for a protest”.  Angola had won again! 

After this hectic day Urda went to sleeping bag early while I still chitchatted with the manne. All of a sudden Isaiah arrived (another racer from Nam), with a Trophy for Steve for his being so sporting. This was an obvious slap in the face, or rather a misguided attempt to please, that the Trophy was sent right back. These organisers are clueless about rules, racing as a sport, sportsmanship and fairness. Obviously the Namibian camp was upset about the way the race turned out, but I have heard rumours of them being back next year. I might even be there too if I get to do a car or two. I still had a late night “tour de Lubango”, before retiring. 

Monday morning saw us pack and don freshly washed clothes before leaving for home/Namibia. The road from Lubango to Cahama was clumps of tar interspersed with gravel and sand and cluttered with potholes. 200 km’s took us 4,5 Hours of concentrated riding. Therefore I did not heed the warning of red sand surrounding the road.  Some 50 Km’s before Cahama the GPS’s on board power unit gave up the Ghost, but we did take batteries along. We bought some Pepsis for our cooler and then proceeded towards Otchinjau. This was reasonable going with corrugations so bad that my second indicator fell off my wristwatch. Whenever the road was jarring the GPS also switched itself off. 

From Chilau the road was well maintained for a few Kilometres ending at a smart but desolate farmstead. There the road turned into thick sand and tired, we decided to sleep in the next riverbed. We were confused; did we take the wrong turnoff somewhere? Urda’s Herero is not that good and the GPS could not track anymore due to the “auto power off” situation. Tuesday morning saw us rise at daybreak and press on until 2 pm. Urda walked most of the time while I pedalled in thick sand. If we saw Okanjette bush then it would be thick sand, while a clump of Mopane offered a hitch for Urda for a few 100 metres on dark, fertile, clay soil.  What made the going even more tedious was that the sides of the track had not been cleared of bushes etc. This way riding at a trot felt like being at a Bazaar with lots of little children snatching at your sleeves. With more speed it became a lashing at my upper torso. Somewhere we found a water pump to refill our containers, but it was ugly going. 

When we hit Techipa, we were in survival mode. Here the police realised we were English, as I had my dictionary along wanting info on a road with “pouco areia” to Calueque. Aha , there was an English speaking person to be found in Chipa. His fellow colleagues seemed to be so stoned that they only rolled on the floor laughing. This person was not found, but we did replenish our Aqua and bought a few more Pepsi's, giving two to the cops. They immediately exchanged them for Tafel. But we did get an explanation of a reasonable road going east and later turning south to Calueque. As we hit this trail sand greeted us. Urda asked me with a quivering voice, whether we should not just walk the shorter road down south for a few days, instead of taking this long way about. I argued that we should trust the locals. They were right and after 200 metres the road became hard enough to travel 2 up. It was luxury interspersed with an occasional stroll for Urda. 

Further south we saw fenced in Fazenda’s. And it again became apparent how rich the soil was and how little water problems they had. Maracuja plantations etc. greeted us with straight roads that must be impassable once it rains. Fertile soil, oil, diamonds and willing workers will let this hell turn into heaven, if they don’t experience another setback. I am willing to bet, that we will be Angola’s poor neighbour within 15 years, if not sooner. Yes,  their sewerage is broken and you are lucky to see water drip out of a tap. Their roads are hell to transverse (even in a Hummer) and their buildings are pockmarked by war. 30 years of war and zero maintenance does leave deep scars.  But we in Namibia have few people willing to work and a state that is bankrupting us, where can we go ? 

 That night we slept near a village a few K’s short of Calueque. We elected not to make a fire, as we had nothing to eat apart from an apple and a few crackers. Anyhow, we tend to lose our appetites when in survival mode and toiling. But hoping that the exertions were over, let us celebrate with a JD (I carry a medical reserve along in a hipflask) and Pepsi. Peering into the starlit night with deep thoughts on our brains, we realised how lucky we are. 

Early the next morning we crossed some scary dilapidated bridges (I have a fear of heights) and entered Calueque. It was too early to cross the border and I was hoping for some bread, as well as wanting to investigate this place a bit. Urda just wanted out of the filth. Vincent made the border crossing pleasant. The police then wanted a Carnet du Passage or 400 odd Rand import duty. We were ignored after we looked at them blankly, the cops probably realising that the two of us had survived so much, that what we surmised to be another Gasoza attempt,  was of no interest to us. Namibian officers had clean rooms, uniforms etc. They were lucky that we did not hug and kiss them! 

Ovamboland!  Heaven ! Water, shops with cold beer, petrol, phones and appletizer ! Even Ryan sounded glad on hearing my voice. In Oshakati we stormed Nando’s. Those who know us well, know what this means, as I would normally treat any fast food joint with contempt, being a hobby chef. Of course this resulted in a rebellion of our malnourished stomachs. On we pushed for Otjiwarongo to enjoy some Culture at J&M’ place. But I realised the clutch was slipping when I overtook an Interlink. At Oshivello we realised that our butts would never make it etc.  so,  we visited Juergen & Johanna in Tsumeb. Cold wine, braaivleis… Isn’t life great ? Who cares about diarrhoea? 

The next morning saw us being pulled off the road by the traffic police, as we did not have our lights on. I didn’t know about this Law, but we were shown it in a tattered book. In Namibia the Police know the law, in Angola they enforce their opinion. The Namibian Police showed no manners, while we always found the Angolan counterparts friendly. I oppose the light law on Motorcycles, as the rear light often “hides” the brake light coming on, as well as my flashing lights at fellow motorists, advising them of my presence, is not noticeable anymore. 60 kilometres before Okahandja on the temporary road, a red Jetta 2 coming towards us lost control, broadslided and nearly took us out, but luckily landed in the fence beforehand. 

In the Okahandja Reitclub we shared a meal and a beer. A short while later a beaming Ryan greeted us in my workshop. At my Mom’s we were greeted by a smiling mother and smiling cats. To finish this article off, don’t bother complaining to me about Namibia anymore. Are you doing your best ? 

A few comments:
I would do a similar off road trip again with some bushwhacker friends on XR 600’s or similar, and at least 2 well-stocked 4X4’s.
Angola needs to debeaurocratise its embassies and provide more info. With time, hopefully, its officials will get less corrupt and “tar” roads will be more easily passable.
Us 2 would more than appreciate info & background on Angola’s past
Lobito & Benguella will definitely be on my list for a future Christmas vacation- but how to get there ?
After all this, our problems seem puny and we should be thankful for what we have and the fact that we are alive.
Before you bug me for waypoints, tracks etc. be advised that the admission fee is a GPS purchased through Nick’s Racing and an indemnity signed by our family doctor and psychiatrist showing that you are aware what you are letting yourself in for. OK this is written in jest, but I hope you get the gist.