How the desert renewed my national pride

| Friday October 8, 2010 00:00

The Kgalagadi Desert renewed my national pride. At 44, Botswana is a miracle country. Our forefathers, some of whom are still alive today, had the spirit of 'Yes, we can' long before the 44th President of the United States, Barack Obama, ignited America and the world.

I realised this from the desert. After over 1 500 kilometres of driving in the KgaIagadi, I now believe that in 1964 when Britain accepted Botswana's independence proposal, it was a relief to the European islanders.  Imagine a bunch of black men from one of the world's poorest nations with no tarred roads, no health or education facilities, 70 per cent of their country covered by desert without oil or any other minerals, presenting a proposal to be left alone to govern themselves.

'Very brave or very stupid,' Sir Ketumile Masire summed it up. In the 1960s, black people around the world were still a source of free labour.

They dug gold in Gauteng mines, built railway lines to Rhodesia and express roads in Johannesburg for white people. In Botswana, black men and women decided to build the country from scratch. In 1966 when the Union Jack was lowered down against the rising Botswana flag, this country had fewer than 10 kilometres of tarred road.

On the independence eve exactly 44 years later, I embarked on a trip from the capital Gaborone to Bokspits through the desert that deceived both the British and South African settlers into believing that Botswana was nothing but barren land not worth fighting for. I am with Jackson Rautenbach of the Sunday Standard who is going home while I am a tourist on a quest.

Fresh from our respective newspaper deadlines, we left the city at night. It is a smooth ride until we get to Tshabong. A few minutes after 4am, we stop at the closed fuel station. It is the dawn of the 44th Independence Anniversary.

After sunrise and a short wait for the fuel station to open, we hit the road again, the newly tarred Trans-Kgalagadi Road (TKR) to Bokspits that President Ian Khama failed to officially open because the airstrip was not prepared for the presidential jet to land.

The landscape is different. No doubt we are now driving through a desert. The barren Kgalagadi Desert. Not the 'desert' that the foreign race driver in the 1000 Toyota Desert Race talked about on Btv. The vegetation comprises a smattering of short trees and shrubs. The conspicuous black tar stretching and bending along the Botswana/South Africa border makes the road stand out from the pale brownish clay soil of the Kgalagadi.

We pass the spot where Khama failed to make history, and  I muse that Seretse Khama would have been disappointed by his  son's failure. Officially opening a tarred road in the desert village only 44 years after his father assumed the leadership of a country with fewer than 10 kilometres of tarred road could have been a fitting tribute for Ian Khama's predecessors.

Maybe he also shared the shame of his maternal grandparents who left us thinking we would self-destruct our way into a failed state and be annexed by the apartheid regime in South Africa. Just before we reach Gakhibane, there is a lonely monument by the roadside that lies to the passersby that the road was officially opened by His Excellency the President Seretse Khama Ian Khama.

As we pass through the villages of Rappelspan and Vaalhoek, I notice the sudden preponderance of a certain tree species on the sand dunes. Rautenbach informs me that the tree's dominance is a recent developmet in this area. This amazingly green tree seems to have adapted to the extremely harsh desert conditions and is completely changing the Kgalagadi Desert. The picturesque pale brownish sand dunes are vanishing under the blanket of these miraculous trees that grow incredibly tall by desert standards.

The new 260km tarred road ends in Bokspits in a rather anti-climactic manner. You could be mistaken that this long multimillion pula road leads to the country's important economic centre such as a mine or a tourist attraction.

But Bokspits is just a small village with  a few small brown brick houses and mean sand. It seems the residents have not yet used the new road for any entrepreneurial initiatives.

There is still no public transport between Tshabong and Bokspits. There is one bar and bottle store - without a fridge. Despite being a border post, Bokspits does not have immigration offices at the border. The Bokspits Police Station reception in the middle of the village is a makeshift immigration office even though South Africa has a fully furnished Gemsbok border post.

On this Independence Day, the colourful Bokspits Kgotla hosts the local celebrations. Few have gathered here, mostly being pupils in their school uniforms.

The youth are notably absent. Even Miss Independence and her princess look only 12- years-old in their makeshift manila crowns. The drive to Struizendam, about 25km between Bokspits and the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park on a gravel road, gives me a feel of how life used to be tough in this part of the country traversed by the Trans-Kgalagadi Road. Ironically, the gravel road runs parallel to the tarred road on the opposite side of the border line inside South Africa heading to the same location.

Later in the night, I get to taste the night life of Kgalagadi. In Struizendam, at around 8pm, we cannot find any alcohol to quench our hot desert thirst.

We leave for Bokspits before the 'dans' show commence at the Struizendam community hall. We are met with another disappointment in Bokspits as the only bar is closed and we are told that the nearest 'dans' show is at Vaalhoek Village.

The entrance fee at the Vaalhoek Community Hall is only P5 and the music is rock, country and doses of house. I discover that ballroom dance is the traditional dance here.

Being sober, the language barrier and fear of provoking a ferocious fight made it problematic for me to try my luck on the beautiful girls. After the 'dans' show closes at midnight, we went to a Vaalhoek VDC Guest House, which was asking for a meagre P20 per night, though you get only a bed without bedding.

The day after Independence Day, we cross the border into South Africa to Upington in the Northern Cape Province.

The Kgalagadi Desert is contiguous, and the Basarwa of the Northern Cape are in business. These enterprising San communities have set up shelters on the roadside with their traditional attire to make a buck from passing tourists. 

These Basarwa, I am told wait for tourists to stop and take pictures of them for a fee.  Their traditional attire has turned into a uniform because when they 'knock off' at the close of business and go to their proper homes, they put on regular clothes and count their money.

The Kgalagadi of the Northern Cape is different from the Botswana side. There are significantly fewer trees and plenty of short shrubs in vast open space.

It is like those Hollywood movies shot in Texas or Mexico. It is clear that Botswana's Kgalagadi is changing. The economy and the vegetation of the area are getting a new life.

After two days in Upington, we pass through Kuruman, Vryburg and Mafikeng in the swathe of land that was British Bechuanaland. 

I doubt that Batswana have nostalgic feelings about the 'loss'. Who would have thought that after only 44 years, Botswana would construct a tarred road extending to the farthest corner of the country over 800km from the capital city in a desert village without the luxury of cheap labour on which other countries relied?   Let us celebrate the courage of our statesmen.