On our first night of our first safari, we headed out of Windhoek, due for the Sesriem campground in the Namib Naukluft National Park. When we arrived at the stunning campsite - dunes all around, shaded by a large acacia tree, sweet braai - we dutifully set our tents up within the stone walls of the site.
During set-up, foolish neophyte that I was, I asked our guide Uanne, "do we need to put our rain fly on the tent?" To this, he answered, "Definitely, it's the most important part of the tent." Were this a movie, the score would turn decidedly ominous at this point.
Ever the positive person, I cheerfully complied, thinking the rain tarp was just some tourist thing to keep the guides from jumping awake during a nighttime shower. At this point, there was not a single cloud in the sky, and a lovely, refreshing, cooling breeze was rustling the leaves above us.
Fast forward a few hours. The cooling breeze has turned to a sand-churning, tent-shaking howl. Erin and I were having a fitful nights rest as sand rained down upon us - inside the tent. While it is possible the rain fly was keeping some sand out, it certainly didn't feel that way. Literally, drifts were forming in our tent. For Erin, who requires that I wash my feet before bed to keep the dust out, this was a bit of a trauma. At one point, I blew my nose and found enough sand to time a hard-boiled egg.
Needless to say, we didn't get much sleep that night. At least we were spared the fate of our safari-mate, Ellie from England, who's tent blew away with her in it.
At 4am, I had had enough. We were getting up at 4:30am anyway to watch the sunrise from the dunes at Sossusvlei, so I decided to get up and take a (cold and refreshing) shower. All part of camping in the desert.
[NOTE: I am testing email posting capabilities here. I will post photos from this epic at some later date.]
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