The area is filled with limestone and asbestos deposits. The result is clearly shown by the many blind Africans who are blinded by the lime dust, and others suffering from breathing problems from breathing asbestos dust. I learned there that "Tiger's Eye," semi-precious stones, are really asbestos ore. A beautiful polished gem that can cause serious lung cancer if you breathe the dust from cutting and polishing it. Water being scarce, the uneducated resident Africans often neglect proper protection and sanitary practices. The result is that they end their lives blind or suffering from lung cancer.
Farther to the west, a mountain of iron ore adds its rusty dust to the air. I understand that magnetic compasses are totally unreliable when flying over that area.
At this point one is travelling parallel to the great Orange River and south of the Kalahari Desert, a waseland of sand dunes, just to the north of the river. I do not have good memories of that area. The road I was travelling was filled with large sharp rocks and my new heavy-duty tires I had fitted to the Chevrolet didn't survive even the first day. We managed to limp into Upington with no spare tire at all, and it was there that I unloaded our heavy trunks and shipped them by the narrow gage rail to my self to be collected at Windhoek. Upington, on the Orange River, is a thriving town, even though the summer temperatures often reach 110 degrees or more. One of their major irrigated crops is the growing of fruits for packing as dried fruit, especially rasins and prunes, but also figs, peaches and other types. The hot dry air is ideal, and the water from the near by Orange River is plentiful. The sheep of this area cease to be breeds used for wool or meat. Instead they are Karakul. The lambs of the Karakul sheep are killed when they are just born to make fur coats from their tightly curled black pelts. If they are not killed very young, they lose the tight curls and they turn to a dull grey. We skipped Augrabies Falls, mainly because we had never heard of them at that time. Not long after that we crossed the border into South West Africa, (German West Africa, now called Namibia). There was no border post there as South Africa had been given mandate over that country by the League of Nations following World War One. From there on, the roads deteriorated until they were simply trails that threaded through the scrubby thorn trees. There was often no pretence of a road being gravel or even having been planned or maintained at all. There were no signs, except perhaps at very obvious forks in the road. This is where we turned north again. Gasolene, called "petrol" was usually obtained from a steel barrel with a measuring pump that was stuck in an opening on the top. That would be standing in front of rare trading store and there might be no sign of life other than the manager of the store or perhaps an isolated farm house. He would certainly not speak English, possibly Afrikaans, but most likely German. They all had one thing in common. They hated Americans. This was 1953! and the Second World War was not long past. Toward evening we came to a small village that had a proper petrol station and a hotel. They also actually had a room available in the hotel, so we could all bathe, scrub the red dust off, and get something to eat, but they had no petrol anywhere in town. Delivery was expected only the next morning.
Much to our surprise there was petrol after we had breakfast and we were able to continue our journey. This time we were driving between the Kalahari and the Namib deserts. The Namib is famous in that diamonds lie scattered on it's surface in places, but do not stop and pick any up or even look! It is illegal to stop here, or to possess a rough uncut diamond anywhere in South Africa. If you happen to find one, it belongs to DeBeers Mining Corporation, and you are required to take it to them. They will give you a price, a price they set. There are still licenced diggers, as the old licences can be passed down in the will of the original holder to his family members. Because of that, there are still private diggers working in some areas even today, especially near or in the rivers.
We made one more interesting stop on the way. That was at Rehoboth. The residents of this community proudly refer to themselves Bastards. They are of mixed blood, German and Namas primarily. We were warned to count our change and watch our belongings if we had to stop there. We needed petrol, but had no problems, even with the unfamiliar money. There was a wide dry sandy river bed to be crossed. No problem, as long as you kept the car moving and stayed on the right path, but some time previously a heavy truck had been lost in a flash flood there. The owners filed an insurance claim for it's loss, and were refused because that was usually a dry river. In time, the company sent a crew who was instructed to dig the truck out of the sand and recover it. As the story goes, they had the truck nearly clear when the cry went up, "The water is coming." Everyone ran for their lives and all made it with their equipment to higher ground, but the second time they tried to dig it out, the same thing was repeated, and the truck was buried again. This time the equipment was lost as well, and the insurance company paid out the claim in full!
Late in the afternoon, tired and dusty, we rounded a curve, and there was Windhoek, with it's German Castle; one paved street, street lights, and even a stop light (robot) or two. It had two, or perhaps three hotels. We stopped at the very first one. There was "No room in the inn." I know how Joseph and Mary must have felt. We had a tiny baby and no clean bed, fresh water, or supper. They did, however temporarily, squeeze us into a tiny room in an alley behind the hotel. I know now it must have been used for their black staff, but it was clean, we could, and did use the communal bath, and we did get food in the dining room. Praise the Lord. We had arrived at the end of a very long journey. We would have to go "house hunting" immediately.
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