During our last day at NamibRand, I became aware that the next step of my journey into understanding the Go(o)dman/woman was about to take me to the darkness of my deepest emotions and would provide me with the chance to understand myself a little better. It did not take long before the teachings began.
As we drove down a track between two fences that would take us to the Swakopmund road and the next campsite, Malcolm and I noticed a swirl of sand funnelling upwards from the ground. It was out of character and strange. The closer we got to it, the easier we were able to discern that there was something on the ground that was causing this phenomenon. Slowing the car down, we noticed that a Springbok was trapped. It had obviously tried to clear the fence, which they usually do with ease. However, this time, its usually graceful and well-timed leap into the air had obviously not been very well executed. The hoof of its right hind leg had become snared in the top two strands of the fencing. It lay on the sand with its leg awkwardly pointing skywards. The more that this Springbok struggled, the more trapped, dehydrated and tired he became.
Usually, in the wild, one does not interfere with the daily life-and-death dramas that naturally occur, but when a man-made interference is a contributing factor, man often needs to take an action. This Springbok was fated to die a long slow death – until exhaustion and a lack of water took him out of his misery.
Malcolm and I could not simply have driven passed. We walked to the fence where the buck now lay still. Malcolm donned a pair of protective gloves. It took a matter of minutes to assess the situation. I positioned myself to the left of my husband and tried to ease the vice-like grip of the wire on the trapped hoof, while he used force to separate the top strands that were wrapped around the Springbok’s hoof. “Stand back so that you don’t get kicked,” said Malcolm. With a twist and a turn, the buck broke loose and ran at speed away from us; its injured leg still splayed at a very awkward angle.
Perhaps, he would not survive anyway, but it was heartening to see this animal turn and look back at us. We climbed back into the car and headed for Namib Desert Campsite. The emotion of that encounter with the Springbok stayed with me for the rest of that day and reminded me of the many aspects of death and dying that I had read about and personally experienced.
In bygone years, the Egyptians, Toltecs and Templars regarded it essential for its warriors, some members of their royal houses, as well as the initiate priests and priestesses to be exposed to life-threatening situations. Their warriors were especially conditioned to fight fiercely…to the death if that was necessary. This type of training forged an unbreakable bond of brotherhood between them.
I have had my own close encounters with death. Each one has made me wonder about the purpose of my life. When I was still quite young, while at a meeting for the parents of a Scout Cub Pack that I ran, I spontaneously took a step backwards…a second before a heavy pillar fell from a high platform above me and hit the ground where I had, a moment before, been standing.
On another occasion, while on a trip to Spain, the driver of our hired car made an error of judgement and suddenly, I found myself mesmerised by the sight of a large black car, with elaborate headlights, careering towards me…there was nothing I could do. Inexplicably, a strong force seemed to catapult our car out of harm’s way and we continued unscathed to our destination.
Then, about five years ago, in the early hours of the morning, while sleeping on the upper deck of a houseboat on Kariba Lake, I felt very ill and rushed to take the steps down the steel stairway. As I placed my foot on the first step, I lost consciousness and somersaulted downwards. I awoke on the lower steel deck with the crew and friends about me. The next morning, the captain, in consultation with our group, decided to set sail for Kariba, where I was examined by a paramedic. He noticed that I was severely hydrated and immediately put me on a drip and administered two litres of saline. This medic also tested me for Malaria and within minutes it was confirmed that I required immediate treatment for this ailment too. It was likely that if my condition had not been diagnosed on that day, my organs would have slowly closed down and that death was probable. That dramatic fall, had saved my life.
I still had so many unanswered questions about death and dying. The ‘aha moment’ when it eventually arrived, was truly enlightening.
Through this journey of The Go(o)dman I would, eventually, be able to finally connect to the child of the Holocaust, my abovementioned near-death experiences and my recent RA diagnosis. Spitzkoppe Community Campsite would provide me with the means to heal and to celebrate a deep inner shift.
