OddGodfrey: The Oddly Compelling Story of a Sailing Circumnavigation of the World

View Original

Internet Tour of Namibia - The Sour Milk Mission

…continued from the previous post. If you want to start from the beginning of this series, start here.

(Apologies in advance. I failed completely to get good pictures. Which is shocking given the adventurous nature of this day. I was just too “off-foot” to focus on my camera. I hope you enjoy the story, anyway. It’s one I won’t forget anytime soon.)

———————-

The next morning, we took the scenic route out of the Etosha park, driving from one end to the other. While we had achieved our master plan to see Rhinoceroses, and gained a bonus view of giraffes drinking water, we still had one elusive African animal we wished to see:

The illustrious dung beetle.

We were on a schedule. We had four hours to drive through Etosha, acquire sour milk, and reach Namibia’s “big city,” Windoek, where I assume internet will be operable again. And so, we drove a reasonable clip between piles of elephant dung. We stopped to inspect each, unfortunately finding no dung beetles, but appreciating the largess of each pile.

Dung. But no beetle. Isn’t that a giant poo, though?

The Sour Milk Mission

You may recall this whole internet odyessey started with the formation of a new friendship with Mattias. Well, when he invited us to dinner at his house, naturally we asked him: “What can we bring?” Mattias thought for a minute, but when we explained our route he said “it would be wonderful if you could bring some dried meat and sour milk. You will be going right past the area where it is made and sold as you come from Etosha to Windoek. It would be wonderful if you could stop there to pick it up.”

Done! Sold! Sounds like an adventure!

And so, the moment had arrived for us to make good on our promise.

Mattias has texted us one single clue on how to find this sour milk: “Look for the gas station on the right. My friend Lucas sells the sour milk in the parking lot next door."

“On the right” was a bit vague when driving a four hour route, and so Andrew had hoped to text back to ask a bit more detail. But, service did not allow it. And so our eyes were trained on the right side of the road for anything that looked like it might involve purveyors of sour milk.

uncertainty leads us to greatness.

A few miles down the road from the exit to the Etosha park, the terrain shifts to farmland scratched between the cracks of desert. We come upon a purveyor of a beautiful array of vegetables. We pull into the road side market and we are immediately met with several operators, each vying for a share of our road touring funds. Little do they know we need to stock up for our 14 day route to St. Helena! We leave with a truckload of the freshest pumpkins, potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, and oranges we have found anywhere in our travels. They will be perfect for some long term storage.

“Well that was unexpectedly productive!” I say.

“Yeah, it was, but...”

“But what?"

“They either didn't understand my question or do not know anything about the possible acquisition of sour milk.”

“Oh, you asked?” I said.

“Yeah.” Andrew replied.

“They don't know Lucas?”

“No, they didn't know Lucas.”

I “hmmpph" and continue driving. “There really is only one road between Etosha and Windoek. It has to be ‘on the right’ somewhere. I'm sure it will be obvious."

Andrew nods and continues to look off into the distance.

We pass a few gas stations, and eventually come upon one with a plot of land next door. There, we find stalls built from wood logs and blue tarps, and decorated with women wearing brightly colored patterns like smiling bouquets of flowers.

"Maybe this is it?"

“It has to be." I say. We park and exit the truck.

Lucas has to be here, somewhere.

Each stall has its own set of people. In the far back and left, a woman is stirring something inside a cast iron pot. Dried meats hang along the rafteres of her little stall.

Along the right side of the “L” shape, men take refuge under shade, napping in hamocks hung across their stalls. Large, 50 gallon rubbermaid vessels we typically use for garbage cans are lined up in the sun in front of the men's set of stalls. They are filled to the brim with a white liquid.

Context clues tells me this must be the sour milk. But having been instructed to find "Lucas" specifically, we stand awkwardly in the center of the "L" shape debating how best to locate Lucas. One of the men nudge another one of the men and point at us. They select the man most likely to be able to communicate with tourists. He has a wide smile and sparkling brown eyes.

“My name is Caleb. Can I help you?" He asks. He has an accent, but perfectly strong English.

“We are looking for Lucas.”

“Lucas?" He repeats, scowling. “Lucas, lucas, lucas...” Caleb turns back to the men in the stall and speaks to them in another language. They all scowl and puzzle for a moment, then shake their heads. "We don't know a Lucas." He tells us.

Andrew deflates and makes a move to return to the truck. But, really? Really?! They must know a Lucas, and this has to be the place to buy sour milk.

“We are picking up sour milk on our way to visit a friend in Windoek. And he told us to find Lucas. Is this sour milk?” I ask, pointing to a large pail.

“Well,” Caleb says, “yes. Cream and milk. Would you like some? I don't know Lucas, but we can sell you sour milk.”

We tour the available sour milk related products: butter, cream, milk are all on option. All held in various containers warming in the sun. Andrew is hesitant to buy from someone other than the person we were directed to. There is a lot of local knowledge involved in acquiring food, fremented milk products especially, I would assume. Andrew explains how Lucas really must be here based on the description of the location from Mattias. Andrew explains that Mattias sent us. Caleb puzzles more, says something again to the team, and all of them puzzle.

A thin, small person on the end puzzles along with them, shaking his head.

Andrew shows a photo of Mattias around to the group. "This man sent us." Everyone puzzles and puzzles, shakes their head. “Lucas? Lucas, lucas....”

We show the small thin man the photo of Mattias and he smiles and points back at the phone. Our guide says something I can only surmise is “you know Mattias?" and the small thin man says something that seems positive back.

They all start laughing, “ooahhh! You mean Lucas! This is Lucas!" The small thin man raises his hands to pat his own chest.They say “Lucas” exactly like I thought we were saying “Lucas”, but apparently, there is a nuance to the name we didn't quite capture.

We all have a good laugh, relieved to have found Lucas. Lucas shows us the text message he received on his flip phone from Mattias telling him friends were coming to pick up sour milk. It was obviously in another language, but from Mattias. Our guide translates, “Lucas knew Mattias's friends were coming, but...we didn't expect that to be you.” Mattias neglected to give them a full description of the friends he was sending over!

With that mystery solved, Caleb helps us gather up various types of sour milk products.

Testing OUt the Bear-Pig-Dog

“You want dry meat, too?” Caleb asks, and when we nod, he leads us over to the woman's sector. He speaks to the woman stirring her cauldron. This particular woman was dressed in jewel toned blue, black, white, and yellow pattern. Her clothes were clean and beautiful. Her smile was bright beneath a round cheerful face. I lean over and sniff the cauldron. Slices of meat simmer in a glaze of spices. She reaches in and pulls out a slice for us to try. Caleb nods and says, “it’s delicious, you'll love it.”

I take it from her and pop it into my mouth. My policy is: if the locals line up for it - its usually safe. And several rounds of locals had pulled up to this woman's stall in the time we’d been loitering.

“What is it?" Andrew asks, leaning cautiously away.

The guide speaks to the woman and she speaks back. Our guide scratches his head, at a loss for the English word for the animal she is offering. “Mmm....I don't know the English word. It's like.... bear-pig-dog."

Andrew's eyes widen and he looks at me. I slow in my chewing. “Bear-pig-dog?”

The woman extends the piece of meat she had been holding out to Andrew further in his direction, and he leans so far back that he could almost tip over.

She swings the piece of meat in my direction, instead.

I consider. “It is really tasty.” I comment, my hand reaching toward the meat on offer pulled by the social expectation and the admittedly delicious flavors.

I pop it in my mouth and think. What could this be?

“Would you like to buy a packet?” Caleb asks on behalf of the woman.

“Sure!” I say while Andrew responds simultaneous with concern, “No...thank you.”

To be fair, I'd had the benefit of a taste before I knew it was being referred to as a bear-pig-dog. The taste led me to believe it was a pig related product. It tasted like a delicious cut of pork loin. It melted in my mouth it was so tender, and the glaze was sweet with local desert honey and some mix of spices.

“Yes,” I say again, and she starts packaging it up along with some dry meat hanging above her head.

“It is a wild game, here in the desert." Caleb says, still trying to come up with the English word.

“Bear-pig-dog.” Andrew puzzles. He continues refuses to try it.

More for me!

We cash out and our guide helps us carry everything to the car. “Now,” Andrew considers, “I won't be able to see Mattias until tomorrow. Should I refrigerate this overnight?"

Caleb stifles a smile and looks over his shoulder at the pails of milk basking in the late morning sun, one of the men scooping the cream from the top into an old plastic jug to shake it into butter. “No, it's fremented. It will be fine out of the refrigerator.” Caleb says, as he closes the door behind us and waves goodbye.