DAYS 28 and 29: OUDRIF STRAWBALE COTTAGES, DORING RIVER

DAYS 28 and 29: OUDRIF STRAWBALE COTTAGES, DORING RIVER

On the gravel roads towards Oudrif, we were forced to take our time traversing large tracts of muddy and slippery ground caused by bubbling springs that were flowing for the first time in many years. Eventually, we reached our destination and it felt good to be back at this retreat and to get to know our hosts again. Malcolm and I were introduced to the other guests. We were a mix of cultures and it was good to share our stories and interests with our new acquaintances.

The next morning, Bill, our host, took us across the Doring River on his rubber duck to the old donkey wagon route that wound up the side of a hill. We stopped often along the way to study the flowers, insects and spider webs and learned so much. Bill, who used to conduct and guide river rafting expeditions in this area, had fallen in love with this land and eventually he was able to buy the farm on which he built five strawbale cottages and a bomo (a central place to entertain guests with both an open fire and a well-equipped kitchen). Jeanine, his wife, had come here as a guest and had never left. She is such a talented woman. Her catering skills are outstanding, her knowledge of plants and herbs rich, her love for all animals is passionate and her ability to put people at ease and make everyone feel as if they are part of her family, is remarkable. Both husband and wife made every moment of our second visit, a worthwhile and memorable detour.

During our dining times, it was fascinating for me to listen to the conversations, and observe how the culture into which we are born, imbued us with bias and judgements. Unbeknown to the other people present, some of those labels bandied around the table, applied to me and now that I am more comfortable with who I am, these comments no longer had the power to hurt or define me as ‘other’.

DAYS 30 and 31: THE BATHS, CITRUSDAL

Malcolm and I left Oudrif with a promise to return sooner than later. The day was partly cloudy and cool, so unfortunately the flowers had not yet opened their petals to greet the sun.

In the car once more, I allowed my thoughts to drift back to an unexpected tender gift that been given to me by Jeanine and Bill’s old, arthritic dog, Muftah. The tenderness of his gesture lingered within me and would continue to do so for many weeks to come.

Three years ago, Malcolm and I had both been bitten by a friend’s dog. On our arrival at his house, this dog had snatched and punctured my hand in several places and it had bled copiously. The following day before we left the farm, I was taken to a nursing sister in charge of the local clinic and given the necessary treatment, but the drama did not end there. While I was away and Malcolm was packing our car, he was also injured by the same dog and some hours later, when we passed through the next town, we were forced to find a doctor so that he too could receive treatment.

Since that incident, I have been very wary of dogs. Walking on the beach near our home, dog owners often let their charges off the leashes and allow them to jump up at one. My beach walks had become an obstacle course for me to negotiate. I was conscious of my fear, but unable to put it aside – neither rational, nor logical thought processes were helpful.

On the last day of our stay at Oudrif, the elderly dog, Muftah, took it upon himself to join us at our cabin. That afternoon he slept on a couch and enjoyed the winter sun. That evening, when he noticed that we were ready to walk down to dinner, he aroused himself painfully and nudged my right hand. Muftah, gently placed the one scarred by another dog into his mouth and led me slowly down the path to the boma. Around 22:00, once dinner was over, he nudged Malcolm, suggesting that it was time to go to bed. Malcolm, simply patted him, and then he came to me and insisted that it was time to go back to our cabin. We did so, and once again, the dog prodded my hand and led me back up the pathway. He did this with such love and gentleness, that unbidden tears came to my eyes.

Jeanine, told me that Muftah often chose which guests to visit and gave each one a special type of healing.

As we entered Clanwilliam, my thoughts turned to more mundane things. I was able to do some essential shopping and Malcolm refuelled the car. We arrived at The Baths, in Citrusdal around lunchtime. This is a favourite place of ours to visit. We usually camp here and always try to book our favourite site away from the hustle and bustle of the hot pools. The chalets, have also provided us with some happy family times, while the hot water spring have always been a welcoming balm to my body.

On our very last afternoon of camping, I thought back over the last 30 days and I remembered all the colours and textures of sand and dust that I had removed from the floor of our off-road caravan. Our car, both inside and out, was still layered with dust and the memory of the Namibian sky, laden with sand particles, could not be forgotten either. Each campsite that I recalled, brought back a myriad of rich memories. As I bent over the handheld broom, I said a quiet prayer of gratitude for all that this trip had provided.

This journey had been life changing. There is still much inner work for me to do. I have a long way to go before I can truthfully say that I have completed the Go(o)dman’s journey.

The authentic ‘me’, the beat of my soul has settled within me. Yes, there are ancient beliefs that have been exposed and I shall have to continue to reinforce my newly discovered feeling of being good enough and worthy. Self-judgements will, in time, drop from my being and be transmuted into wisdom. I am a work in progress.

The Go(o)dman had signposted The Way. As I write, I hear his direction to…“Be whom you were ordained to be, a unique creation of The Three-in One…Be at peace and know that you are worthy and that those who judge you, are simply dealing with a reflection of their own unworthiness”.

I know that in my uniqueness I have been called to accept who I AM.