|Namibe's waterfront church and government building|
|Mountain view south of Namibe|
By the time we've returned to Lubango, he wants to deliver his catch to his boss first before it goes rotten. It's getting late, the sun's going down and it's time for me to assume a leadership role. No way, says I, I've paid $250 for the day and I'm gonna make my day. We drive on down an increasingly rutted track until we hit some rocks that our 4X4 does not take kindly to. Out we get to cover the rest by foot. HFK says he needs to take a right royal shit, and disappears among huge boulders, perched precariously every which way on top of each other as if by some titan's hand. I forge on ahead, leaving him to his business.
It must be at least a couple of miles among the boulders and then across an open mesa. The sun's rays are getting lower and lower. And then, there it is, awe-inspiring, the Tunda-Vala volcanic fissure, a narrow crevasse plunging like a dagger's jagged slash into the craggy escarpment, glowing like a bloody wound in the klieg lights of the setting sun. Some 3,500 feet below, a green carpet of trees unfurls to row after row of mountains disappearing into the golden-red haze.
|Tunda-Vala volcanic fissure|
|From the top of Tunda-Vala|
It is now virtually dark. We make our way back; a couple of couples are making out in the bushes. At last we reach the car. What’s that smell? The stench inside is strong, gamey, nay verily putrid indeed. Perhaps Mr. Five Kings had a point. We should have delivered the fish first after all.
|Sunset over Tunda-Vala|