Swakopmund, Namibia – Before we left Swakopmund today, we spent the morning visiting the Mendosa township 1km from town. To understand townships, you must first understand the history of Namibia. Originally, a German colony, the South African government took control in 1945. Under the apartheid regime, blacks were moved out of the centre of town to newly built housing outside of the town. Here the three local tribes – Damara, Herero, and Himba – were given different types of housing. One tribe got three bedroom houses with indoor toliet, electricity and water. Another tribe got a two room homes, with an outdoor toliet. The last tribe was given a single room dwelling for a large family of nine for all their sleeping, lounge and cooking space. There was one communal toliet for a whole block of families. The SA government purposefully gave the tribes different housing to create conflict amongst them. Namibia gained independence in 1990. Still today, you have only 14,000 people living in the city centre of Swakopmund. There are 28,000 people in the Mendosa township (where these SA government housing was built). Then there are a further 7,000 people living in the informal settlements.

Our first stop was at a family home in the informal settlement area. These are the poorest residents in the area. Namibia has a 51% unemployment rate. (Imagine the outrage of a number like that in a country like America. We complain over less than 10%.). The average monthly wage in the townships is just 1800 Namibian Dollars. In today’s exchange rates that’s roughly £100 or US$150. I’m sure I spend more than that a day in London. And even on my trip, where my food and accomodation are mostly covered, I still need about 3,000 dollars a month just for water $15, the odd beer or coffee $20, a chocolate bar now and again $10, and replacing toiletries. And that’s a very tight budget. Most of my travelling companions are spending double that!

The informal township homes are built from leftover materials of wood, tin, cardboard, old signs, anything you could possibly cobble together. There is no running water. Each street had a pipe for water. To get water you had to insert a blue key fob, preloaded with money, into a slot before the water was dispensed. The cost was 10 cents a litre. I paid $7 a litre in the supermarket, so not too bad. There is no electricity either. Facilitates are basic. Despite this, I noticed people took pride in their homes. The sand was racked. Men were out washing their clunkers of cars if they had them. Old tires were used as flower beds. Fences were made from used, empty plastic bottles. There was a charm in the grime.

At the home we visited we were shown traditional herbal medicine and were taught a few words of the Damara click language. There are five different types of clicks. If you pair a click with a different ‘word’ you’d get a new meaning. One click at thee front of you mouth with the letters nam, and you get love. Pair nam wirh a deep back to tongue click and you get kill. Seemed impossible to me! Outside, I introduced Flat Stanley to two of the hosts children, Maria, seven, and Jonas, 2. Nearby, flies swarmed food lingering in the outside kitchen and an uninviting outdoor squat toliet was covered behind a sign that said Centre Kitchen. An unimaginable way of living.

Our next stop was a private primary school in the Mendosa township. Here we learned about the Herero tribe. Our group latched on to the intriguing fact that men can marry as many women as they like, and our guides friend was 1 of 42 children. Lots of questions ensued after that. I was intrigued by the daily school programme which consisted of several ‘toliet and had washing routines’ during the 7am to 5pm day. More bemusing was the traditional dress of our host. Apparently it was meant to resemble a cow. The red triangular hat representing horns, and the billowing purple dress a well fed cow. I think there was something lost in translation as. Didn’t quite get that.

Our last stop was at a traditional pub, where at just 9.30am we were each given a 750ml bottle of local Windhoek beer, and the opportunity to try a snack of Mopani worms. Their two inch bodies with big black heads starred out at me from the bowl. Yuck! The thought of eating them was physiologically repulsive. But a conversation with my brother a few months ago came haunting back to me. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve eaten on your travels so far?” He asked. I didn’t have an answer. So now I do! Actually they weren’t that bad. Although the slimmer ones were more chewy and just tasted of the spices they were fried in.

Our tour ended with an Acapelo choir singing some African songs. They were absolutely brilliant. Definitely final 4 Britains Got Talent group worthy. Beautiful tones and ranges. I couldn’t resist and bought a CD. 100 Dollars.

It’s an odd thing to visit a township. I feel like it’s going to the zoo, but to look at the poor people instead of the animals. Even though 40% of the tour costs go to the homes, schools, and businesses we visit, and even though our purchases of CDs and crafts from the local market, are all valuable income sources for this deprived areas, it still seems wrong somehow. Their level of poverty is shocking. And it doesn’t make sense. Namibia is one of the richest countries in Africa with its diamond mines and oil resources. You’d think more could be done to raise the standard of living for those At the lower end of the scale. All very difficult to see. Our guide mentioned that just two changes, introducing a minimum wage and providing free university would make a vast difference. I noticed that the third president of the country was just put into power a few months ago. Maybe, I hope, that with a new resident new changes will come soon and in the future townships tours won’t exist.