“Remain dead still.”
JJ’s voice over the two-way radio was calm, but the undertone carried urgency.
“Engines off. No movement. No sound. Only silence.”
A moment later, the dry riverbed in which we stopped seemed to come alive. From the bush emerged a lone desert elephant bull – deliberate, immense, and impossibly close.
The majestic animal closed in on JJ’s vehicle at the head of the convoy. We held our breath. Each looming step pulled the silence tighter around us…
Venturing into a land that commands attention
Namibia doesn’t wait for you to settle in. It confronts you head-on, with scale and silence, awe and wonder – a land both untamed and deeply moving.
Earlier that week, in Swakopmund, we joined the enigmatic JJ du Toit and his Suzuki Safari team, along with the rest of the tour group. Ahead lay an eleven-day Forgotten Land Safari of more than 1 000 km in ten Suzuki Jimny vehicles through the dry north-western reaches of Namibia, where the ocean meets the desert, and with ancient land unbothered by time.
We knew, in broad strokes, what to expect – harsh desert, wide horizons, momentous mountains, wildlife in its natural habitat, long days in the sun, wild camping in dry riverbeds underneath the stars, and a test to our four-by-four driving skills.
What we could not anticipate, was how deeply the region itself would reach inside us – the hauntingly beautiful Skeleton Coast where the cold Atlantic Ocean arm-wrestles with the adjacent fog-shrouded desert; shipwrecks and rugged, windswept landscapes that feel both desolate and otherworldly; Damaraland’s barren granite hills and vast plains; Kaokoland’s remote, raw wilderness; and finally, the lush northern riverine corridor, where cascading waterfalls and dense vegetation contrast sharply with the surrounding arid landscape.
Looking back, that lone elephant bull became the epitome of our journey, a reminder that Namibia does not ease you in gently. It arrives, infinite and unmissable, from the very first moment. We had come for a safari holiday, but already a sense of pilgrimage stirred within us – a quiet anticipation of discovering our truer selves far from the hurried rhythms of everyday life we were now leaving behind.
A moon landscape, a bakery, and a playful prelude
Namibia’s place names have a ring of its own – part description, part riddle, part invitation.
During our tour, our convoy meandered through Wlotzkasbaken, a quirky little village where wooden holiday houses sit unfenced in the desert, the wild Atlantic their only neighbour. Driving the Skeleton Coast, we passed fishing spots named with either poetic flair (Bennie se Rooi Lorrie, Div se Gat) or with the imagination of a bored accountant – Mile 8, Mile 14, Mile 72, and the rest of the tally up the coast.
In Hentiesbaai we were treated to brunch at Skubbe Car Wash, Pub and Grill (all under one roof … well, sort of) where the saddest Country and Western songs leaked from a boom box at the bar counter. At Palmwag far north, we refuelled at what may be Namibia’s loneliest petrol station, standing proud and watchful, a sentry to the surrounding countryside. Later, we rolled through Swartbooisdrift, a border post so unassuming, it felt like we’d dreamed it up.
Our first two nights we camped at a place also with a distinctive name – Goanikontes Oasis, deep in the heart of the Moon Landscape, about 40 km east of Swakopmund. True to its name, it was an oasis in the middle of nowhere, and yet full of surprises, even attracting tourists from cruise ships calling at nearby Walvis Bay. Among the camping facilities, we stumbled upon a small treasure – a bakery! Perfectly out of place, and impossible to resist!
From Goanikontes we chased the call of the coast to Sandwich Harbour, 60 km south of Walvis Bay in the Namib-Naukluft National Park, one of Namibia’s most remarkable and dramatic sites. Here, towering dunes tumble abruptly into the Atlantic where desert and ocean collide in full force.
Our day out was a mix of driving long stretches along the beach, and forays into the dunes where the ocean left no room for vehicles. Before setting off, JJ had warned us that high tide around midday could make a return impossible if we weren’t back on safe terrain in time. I tried to shrug off his casual mention of “a death acre by noon” and the need to ensure no one or no vehicle was lost. Still, at the back of my mind a small voice kept whispering that caution was not optional as I negotiated thick sand, with the ocean uncomfortably close.
And what an outing it was – playful, exhilarating, unforgettable. A once-in-a-lifetime thrill that served as a prelude to the adventures still to come!
Tracing a thread along the Skeleton Coast and into the interior
From Goanikontes Oasis we followed the C34 north – a road that hugs the Skeleton Coast like a fragile lifeline.
Unlike most gravel tracks in Namibia, the C34 is a salt road – smooth, hard-packed, almost unnervingly sleek. Driving on it felt like skimming along a surface crafted by the sea, a strange luxury in surroundings so raw and unforgiving. Beyond the windscreen stretched a land stripped to its bones – a sharp boundary of sea and sand, each asserting its own vastness. To our left, the Atlantic rolled in, grey and cold; to our right, the endless desert wilderness stretched in silent expanse, two worlds locked in a timeless standoff. Every kilometre seemed to hum with the rhythm of this extraordinary land, the road carrying us steadily northward into the heart of remoteness and wonder.
We entered the Skeleton Coast Park at the Ugab Gate, its skull-and-crossbones emblem setting the tone for a region known as “the land God made in anger”, and the starkness that lied ahead – marked shipwrecks on the map, rusting into sand like forgotten props on a stage, gravel plains stretching endlessly to the horizon, and a sky so vast it seemed to swallow everything beneath it. The salt road carried us smoothly, but its very presence emphasized the fragility of human intrusion, a thin line across a land otherwise indifferent to travellers.
It was late August, the air crisp, and the mornings cool with fog drifting in from the Atlantic like a ghostly curtain. By midday, the sun returned, though without summer’s full ferocity. The contrasts were sharp – the ocean’s icy breath on one cheek, the desert’s dryness on the other.
Further north, the C34 yielded to the C39, winding inland through open plains and low mountains, solitude broken only by small game tracing their lines across the land. Later, veering onto the C43, we began the long climb towards the centre of Kaokoland, with Epupa and the lush, winding Kunene River further beyond.
It was a route that told its story not in words, but in moods – harsh and unrelenting along the coast, shifting to stark resilience inland, always reminding us that in Namibia, the road is never just a means of getting somewhere – it is part of the journey itself.
And then, the fesh-fesh!
On roads west of Sesriem, the surface would at times disintegrate without warning into fesh-fesh – treacherous, talcum-like dust so fine it seemed ground in a mill, the result of insufficient road maintenance and subsequent erosion. From a distance it looked harmless, just another pale stretch of gravel. But the moment the tyres touched it, the surface gave way, and the vehicle lurched forward with a choking cloud erupting, obscuring everything around us in a swirl of dust.
Off-road racers in the Dakar Rally fear fesh-fesh for good reason: It blinds visibility, clogs engines, and can trap even the heaviest vehicle. For us it was more thrill than threat, but the warning was clear – always remain alert to changing road surfaces and conditions.
Cliffhanger!
Nothing can prepare you for the impact of arriving at Cliffhanger in Damaraland. It felt like stepping through a hidden portal into an age-old world – a place outside time, mystical and surreal, and beyond imagination.
Our convoy made its slow way up a steep, rocky track to reach the dry riverbed of an Ugab River tributary, where we would wild camp for two nights. The many welwitschias scattered across the desert floor – some of the longest-living plants on earth, surviving for thousands of years – already set the tone for the primeval land we were entering.
Reaching the summit and descending into the riverbed felt like stepping into a space suspended between earth and sky, where time had no meaning, and where the soul could wander freely in an expanse untouched by civilisation which had now been locked out behind us.
The wide riverbed – flanked by cliffs guarding secrets from a forgotten past, their age impossible to measure – led us to the campsite. There, already pitched by JJ’s logistics team, tents and vehicles looked like toys at the base of a towering cathedral of stone – wild campsite Cliffhanger!
The thing about wild camping
Wild camping in a Namibian riverbed is not about comfort, it’s about immersion, a surrender to silence. It’s being surrounded by nature. No buildings, electricity, running water, or cellphone reception – just tents beneath the open sky.
On our tour, we had the best of both worlds. With JJ’s team managing tents, sleeping areas, and meals, we could simply exist in the moment, soaking up Namibia’s immediate beauty.
During our safari we camped in the wild twice: In Damaraland at Cliffhanger in the Ugab River, and in Kaokoland at Moonshadow in the Huanib River – both names chosen by JJ for his favourite camping spots. We spent our days exploring the surroundings and the endless riverbeds, watching wildlife in its natural habitat. In the Huanib, giraffes grazed nearby, we came across that lone desert elephant bull, and we were entertained by a herd of desert elephants gathered right in front of our eyes.
Between wilderness camping, we also enjoyed the comforts of more established lodgings. Overnight stays at Annetjie’s Sesfontein Guest House and the Kaoko Mopane Lodge outside Opuwo offered white linen and familiar comforts, while Camp Cornie on the banks of the Kavango River provided a fully equipped base for two nights’ camping. Across the tour, this balance between wild or assisted camping, and occasional luxury allowed us to experience Namibia fully, from its uncharted landscapes to the quiet refuge of its lodges.
The heartbeat of our journey
In the military it is called a parade – those public displays where soldiers march in formation to show discipline, pride, and unity, and where certain important formalities take place.
On JJ’s Suzuki Safari we also had parades – the campfire! Just as essential as in the military, but far more relaxed. No marching or formality here – only camaraderie, conversation, and laughter!
Without anyone being told what to do, a rhythm quickly took shape. Late afternoon, we would see the logistics team light the fire. JJ would take his seat, and one by one the rest of us would drift over until the whole group was gathered. That was the signal. The campfire was in session!
What followed was never scripted. We reflected on the day, shared bits of knowledge or personal stories, swapped jokes, and let the talk flow wherever it wanted to go, followed by supper. The real ingredients were simple – happiness, energy, and belonging.
Looking back, the campfire was more than a daily routine. It was the glue that held us together, and the spark that turned a group of travellers into lifelong companions.
The northern riverine corridor
After days in the expanse of Namibia’s interior, arriving at the Epupa Falls felt almost unreal. In front of us the Kunene River hurled itself into a series of cascades into the ravine far below, water plunging and tumbling in white spray. Tall makalani palms and dense greenery lined the banks – a lush oasis pressed against an otherwise dry and stony landscape. The contrast was striking, a reminder that even in the harshest of environments, nature can create moments of unexpected beauty.
From Epupa, our journey followed the Kunene’s northern bend, the road snaking beside the river’s edge. It was a drive of constant shifting scenes – glimpses of water glinting in the sunlight, silhouettes of baobab trees rising from the arid terrain, and stretches where the river broadened and shimmered against the backdrop of barren hills. Along the way, the route cut across numerous dry riverbeds, each one demanding sharp descents and steep climbs back out, terrain that tested both vehicle and driver.
At Ruacana, the river offered its final act, though in a different guise. The falls were all but dry, their rock face exposed, waiting for the season when the Kunene would again come crashing down in full force. Even with little cascading water, the expansive chasm spoke of power held in reserve – a reminder of the river’s ability to shape both land and life along its course. Standing there, one felt the immensity of a river that could be both lifeline and boundary, carving out beauty where none seemed possible.
Going full circle
Our safari ended at Ruacana. After a last evening together, the group exchanged farewells and set off on the long road home – some still in convoy, others breaking away on their own.
Back on tar, with miles unfolding beneath our wheels, the safari replayed in my mind. Of all the moments, none stood out more vividly than that elephant encounter. What could have spiralled into a crisis was transformed, through JJ’s calm instructions and steady guidance, into a memory etched into my mind forever.
“Remain dead still.” JJ’s voice over the two-way radio was calm, but beneath it ran an edge of urgency. But, sensing no threat, the elephant passed graciously alongside our vehicles before disappearing into the bush.
Just like the elephant, Namibia had revealed itself to us in ways both expected and unforeseen. Some encounters we had anticipated, most came as sudden gifts. And always JJ was there – with knowledge, foresight, and the quiet assurance of a true gentleman – to guide us safely, making the experience profoundly rewarding.
Namibia had been more than an adventure. For me, it became a journey of discovery that refreshed the mind, soothed the soul, and led me back to my truest self – far removed from the rush and noise of everyday life.
Vioolsdrif. Springbok. Citrusdal. Malmesbury. The names on the road signs driving back home in South Africa were familiar, but they sounded different now – renewed, fresher. I was not the same person seeing them again.
Thank you, fellow travellers, for your part in this unforgettable journey.
Thank you, JJ, and your outstanding team, whose support was beyond fault.
And, most of all, thank you, Namibia!
