Rundu’s primary importance is as a strategic point to access the rest of Namibia; a city at the cross roads of the very north connecting the main highway headed southwards from Angola. Your average traveler has probably never marked it off on their list of must-see cities in the country. However, due to its being the first major town once a traveler exits the Caprivi Strip in the north, coming from safari or crossing in from Botswana, Zambia or Zimbabwe, it is more than likely that most travelers along this route will end up visiting Rundu at some point during their stay.
The Caprivi Strip is one of those great geo-political anomalies; a territory which jets into land the way a peninsula might the sea, still belonging to Namibia but bordering four other countries. It maintains a different time zone than the rest of Namibia, aptly called Caprivi Time. The strip is also one of the largest tourist destinations in all of southern Africa for two reasons: the Okavango River which floods the deltas (of the same name) drawing some of the most exciting wildlife and bird life in southern Africa to drink from its rich pools north of the swamp lands south in Botswana. Here the villages are huts on stilts to protect themselves from the flood seasons. They are surrounded by gigantic stick and reed fences to protect their livestock from migratory predators such as leopards, lions, and brown hyenas. The second reason is its strategic location. You almost have no choice but to go through Caprivi wherever you want to go in any direction. Aside the highway and the movement of metal bodies, the strip is nearly deserted. Just a couple hundred kilometers away in Rundu, in one of the most densely populated regions of Namibia, the sun rises an hour later in Namibian Time!
Rundu is the capital of the northern Kavongo region. The majority of the population here are the Kavongo who speak Rikwangali. When you glide into Rundu, the first impression of its landscape is one of vast flatness stretching from the tips of your feet in every direction as far as human vision permits it to. You have the feeling that you are as far from everywhere else as you could be. Welcome to Namibia. The horizon is low and dusty feathering the city with some of the most picturesque shadows cast from the handful of short shrubs across the whole of the town at sunset. Each passing truck tosses clouds of beige pigment into the stale air obscuring the landscape momentarily, before quickly resettling covering the tracks attesting to the presence of any vehicle ever coming this way. I would say Rundu could in fact be an archetype of your meta-Namibian city. One road to get out, marked by the major gas station or pull-offs. A centrally located business district highly developed, complete with malls, super-markets, one prominent café/bistro, and ten thousand makeshift independent “car washes”. Then nothing. The settled dust of expectation covering the once celebrated tracks of “plans for industry in the region”. A postcard from Rundu could read, “nothing to write home about”.
Most of the large trucks coming through Rundu are simply passing through for an evening, from as far away as Congo or as illogically de-routed as South Africa. If you are looking to get out of Rundu, simply wait by the gas station. Anyone leaving the gas station, is likely going far from Rundu all together, because there’s nowhere else to be going to.
Buildings hug tightly the wistful grounds beneath their foundations, preferring never to impede the horizon, nor its sharp gaze. Though there is one arcade in town which rises as high as three storey’s, everything else remains humble in this country of excessively unused space. Cities such as Rundu and Katima Mulilo on the Caprivi Strip are not left out of modernity, as nearly anything available in the country is available at one of their impressive supermarkets. Yet somehow, in Rundu, it is still possible even if increasingly limited, to buy from a small local street market where local fruits, vegetables, and cloth are on display. You can even still find the local eateries if you ask around for them, serving mahengu (a local variety of millet in Namibia) porridge with vegetables, beans and meat. Eateries such as this are all but lost in Namibia everywhere else. Still, fast-food such as fried chicken and chips with Coca-Cola have made a beautiful staple in the malls. There’s a gigantic Chinese store in town, a building resembling a pagoda with heavy brown walls. Across the road is an Egyptian mall made to look like an old Arabian palace of sorts. If construction continues this trend, it’s likely the future of Rundu will be a dry theme park lacking the laughter of children.
The streets and roads in the downtown are, as they tend to be in Namibia, flawless without the slightest pothole or wrinkle. Residential neighborhoods are generally lined by dirt roads, but of the highest condition and quality as it rains too little in the country and region to significantly erode the pathways as it would in countries in equatorial East Africa. Another feature generally common amongst Namibian cites is the low density of population. It is a country of 2 million people, 300,000 of which are Angolans, and nearly 100,000 South Africans included. This aids cities in remaining clean and generally unflustered by its daily goings-on. The weekends, when most of the workers leave to visit their families in the bush-lands or south to Windhoek, Rundu literally sleeps in surreal calm waiting for Monday to come around. Sparse collectives of children play in the sand mounds which accumulate along the broad streets, pushing home-made tin trucks or helicopters through the chalky grounds. The homes along the same roads are small but pleasant, equipped with small trees shading their patios in tattered curtains of shadow. This is where people will hide from the intense midday sun, as buildings are too low to cast enough shadow in the center.
Carwashes are speckled between every two or three homes, a big commodity business here as it is inexpensive to start up, carries little risk, and are aided by the incessant dry-land spurts of wind which blow the dust around quicker than someone could wash it. That being said, the likelihood of making profits on car washing with such an inundated market is small. The shops are large, though their shelves quite empty excepting the days when big shipments have come from South Africa. Outside you can by small handfuls of mutete, Namibia’s version of sour dark greens, or fried donuts glazed in honey called yikuki here. The north is the only region you can still buy panels of imported African fabrics so popular in every other country we’ve visited. Zambian pop music rattles ineffectively from Frankenstein-ish speaker systems near to the pirate CD vendor, providing buzzing soundtracks to the monotonous days of all sellers who sit with their rotting cabbage in the hot sun. Just behind are the small bar stands which are never full, but always “involved” in activity. It is on the outskirts of Rundu, in the remoter moments of the rivers beauty where visitors on their way between the Caprivi Strip and the Etosha National Park to the south are most likely to stay. Gently perched among one of the dozen or so lodges overlooking Angola’s striking beauty at sunsets.
Rundu is the mediator, ambassador, and handshake of sorts between Namibia and Angola on the other side. Even during those years when Angolan rebels were pushing over the border, Rundu remained relatively peaceful, due in some part to its equally beneficial relationship shared by both parties. Namibia has benefited from the economic improvements of their increased Angolan labor force. Angolans came sometimes escaping violence and fear during the years of conflict. Some came for work or education, while some sought any refuge they could find after the years of fighting and hardships. Today many Angolans move fluidly between the two worlds sharing products, business, and attitudes of new forged community. In Rundu you’ll hear Portuguese spoken on every street corner. Many young men and women you pass on the streets boldly display the Angolan flag across their T-shirts. There is no hostility here between Angolans and Namibians since the two still benefit and work towards profitable futures in tandem. Those Angolans who learn to speak English are in positions to become great success stories back in Angola. Businesses in Namibia sell huge quantities of goods to Angolans who then re-sell them across the river for profit, but at a cheaper price than people could buy the same goods for if imported officially. Namibia needs laborers, particularly as more and more of the rural communities have suffered great exodus for the false hopes of making it rich in the capital.
The beach which extends west of the city, simply referred to as “the picnic place” in one guidebook map we looked at, offers the complete picture of this cohabitation between these two worlds. On the one side is Angola, while on the other side of the Okavango is Namibia. The few people that remain in town during the weekends will be found on this small beach with their families and friends from both sides mingling and laughing. It isn’t the most elegant of designated picnic areas. It’s surrounded by barbed wire linked fences. What appears at first a public sculpture is upon closer examination an electric pole and dumpster upon a concrete slab which has long since been engulfed by the rising waters and clay. Children play upon the remains of a few abandoned home constructions whose owners had fled when the conflicts across the river had become too dangerous to remain. The tall grass has overgrown the once trimmed walkways while the once spotless concrete picnic tables and the paths to the wooden pier are littered with broken glass. But despite its upkeep, this is one of the most lively and festive places in the whole region. The sun warms the air and your skin tingles as the rush of the mighty currents bring a breeze across your shoulders. Families walk the rocky sands pointing out bird species to their children as family dogs splash about playfully. Small children in their underpants wade along the water’s edge under the watchful eyes of caring parents. Teenage girls sunbathe giggling on the grass while teenage boys walk by over and over again.
Now that Angola is living peacefully and is increasingly prosperous, the small boats jetting back and forth between the two sides have resumed their transits and increased their runs. A dozen or so boats moored on the beach waiting for passengers take turns with the impressive groups. On Saturdays in particular this water taxi business flourishes as Angolans wish to return to visit friends and families. Namibians pay small fees to the chauffeurs to treat their children to tours up the river and back again; quiet picnics on grassy banks or nature outings. Some Angolans coming from Namibia leave full of bags intended for the street markets just across the river. They return thirty minutes later empty but for their stretched pockets. Groups waiting in line for a water stroll for twenty minutes have the time to first explore the forest trails along the river in either direction. Passengers board with a soda or a beer in hand. Children board with small packets of crisps.
No one does their laundry here, or washes their trucks, as in other similar places we’ve visited. The beach here is respected as a place for children to swim, and families to care for. It is a place of delight for delights sake! A rarity in the continent. A few children spend the day with their feet in the mud, helping the fishermen harvest the fruits of their fishing trapped in the nets sunk beneath. On the wooden pier which overlooks a small and picturesque grove to the west you find intimidating gangs of flirtatious teens co-mingling, courting, teaching each other Portuguese or English and teasing each other with wild blushing cheeks. Some have even crossed the border to spend the day here the way teenagers back home meet at roller-skating rinks or bowling alleys. The boys dressed in sports jerseys bulge chests mightily to impress the girls with slender voices and English proficiency which humbles me until I notice they’ve invented words for which they have yet to learn, and teach them to the others who sit amazed by their peers high culture. The scene is simply fun. There is always something to do in the space between. Around 4 pm the adults gather and settle at one of the picnic tables which are cemented between barbeque racks and trash bins. The charcoal grills sizzle as the meat of the braai and fire fill the air with savory aromas, ambient smoke, and echoes of gaiety reverberating through the tunnels of the high lipped banks of the Okavango. By sunset, the beach will be fuller than it has been all day.
Suddenly, a giant 4x4 pulls to the water’s edge. It’s full of white people. Two adults and three plump blond children of various ages. We imagined that they too had come to share this beautiful beach scene, walking the shore or lounging with a book in hand and a picnic at the side amongst the joyous community. But not one left the locked vehicle. “maybe they’re waiting to meet a friend?” Eugénie conjectured sweetly. They never looked around, and kept their unyielding focus straight ahead of themselves towards the small cinematic windshield, through dark sunglasses. It only suddenly occurred to us, they were afraid to leave the car. They sat for thirty minutes unmoving, not speaking, never turning off the engine, when they suddenly and swiftly pulled into reverse and sped out of the vicinity.
In Namibia there’s an imaginary line colonists had drawn long ago just above Grootfontein. Anything north of that line, called the “red line”, became black Namibia in the land referred to by German colonizers as “wild, rural and primitive”, where Afrikaners didn’t go. Over 80% of Namibia’s small population lives in the north above the red line. Rundu is as far north as you can go. Here, white people are all but completely absent. The red line has remained a deep gash in Namibia, knowing that despite the population in the north, it is only 8% of the wealthy whites south of the line that own and manage most of the major industries and land in the country. We were told that some 4,000 white farmers own about 43% of the country's farmland. And while we were visiting the north, all the North's agricultural products were blocked from exportation as the fear of a Rift Fever epidemic was controlling more populated agricultural regions. The region waits desperately for opportunity and industry to come, but it never does.
On the other side of the river, the twilight has arrived early. Angola is illuminated in lush greenery framing the small villages on the other side with their huts and shacks and slow moving bodies. The light becomes a warm spectrum of honeys and finally falls into the glistening rivers mouth somewhere downstream. We remain still, here at the space between, dreaming of possibilities ahead of us. Is this the gift of Rundu, or their curse in a country stubbornly stagnant and unresponsive to the potential the north possesses for a new economy that benefits them more than it does their benefactors in Windhoek?
Parce que Rundu est avant un point stratégique, une ville de passage sur la route qui relie le nord au sud de la Namibie, le voyageur n’en gardera probablement pas un souvenir immémorable. Rundu est la première ville située à la sortie de cette longue bande de terre, la région Caprivi. Cette dernière ressemble grandement à une anomalie géo-politique, un territoire qui s’étend tout en longueur entre la Namibie, le Bostwana, l’Angola et la Zambie. La région compte au mieux trois localités de très petite taille. Ces dernières se limitant parfois à un simple carrefour, leur statut de ville pourrait d’ailleurs être débattu. Les villages sont quant à eux composés de huttes souvent groupées au sein d’une petite muraille de bois dans laquelle on enferme aussi le bétail, à l’abri des prédateurs. En cette saison, les cultures sont plutôt rares le long de la route, la bande de Caprivi semble bien déserte. Le territoire qui dépend de la république namibienne a gardé quelques particularités, elle est par exemple en décalage horaire avec le reste du pays. Alors, pour parler de l’heure en Caprivi, les habitants de Rundu évoque le temps de "là bas", sur cet étrange territoire.
Rundu est la capitale de la région septentrionale Kavongo, la population a majorité issue de la tribue Okavongo parle le rikwangali, l’un des très nombreux dialectes utilisé dans le pays. Rundu est une ville plate, elle apparaît au loin comme sortie du néant. L’horizon y est toujours bas et sableux. A chaque passage, les véhicules soulèvent un nuage de poussière qui brouille le paysage. Rundu est une ville typiquement namibienne. Les points d’entrées et de sorties sont implicitement indiqués par les stations services où s’arrêtent les véhicules au réservoir vide. Les gros camions venus des différents pays d’Afrique Australe y passent souvent la nuit. Les habitants vous diront toujours que c’est à coté d’une station essence qu’il faut faire du stop, tous les véhicules quittant la ville n’ayant d’autre choix que celui de passer par ce point incontournable. Aucun immeuble ne dépasse à l’horizon, les bâtiments sont tous petits, les plus imposants atteignent au maximum trois étages. Seuls les centres commerciaux ayant poussé dans le paysage ces dernières années brisent cette dynamique de platitude. Rundu, comme Katima Mulilo "l’autre" grande ville située dans la bande de Caprivi, est un nouveau paradis de la grande surface. Vu le nombre d’enseignes que la ville abrite, le marché à conquérir semble immense. Les fast-food faisant la promotion d’un menu spécial poulet-coca-frites se sont fait une belle place dans les malls. Leur présence est encore limitée, ce qui permet aux petits restaurants de quartiers de survivre. La ville compte un certain nombre de constuctions extravageantes. L’une d’entre elles est un grand magasin chinois, le bâtiment ressemblant à une pagode aux couleurs pâles et au toit pointu fait face à un palais de pacotille faussement égyptien. Il est bien difficile de trouver une explication rationnelle à la présence de telles constructions. Les rues et les routes du centre ville sont absolument parfaites, au moindre nid de poule c’est tout le tronçon qui est condamné pour être remis à neuf. Les quartiers résidentiels sont plutôt paisibles. La ville qui abrite une très petite population à de toute façon toujours l’air calme, vide. Alors le week-end devient par moment inquiétant, à croire que toute la population s’est volatilisée.
Des maisons sont alignées dans de larges rues poussiéreuses où les enfants s’amusent sur des monticules de sable avec leurs jouets fait de fils de fer. Les demeures sont modestes mais plaisantes, un ou deux grands arbres couvrent le jardinet d’une chape d’ombre. Les cours des maisons donnent en général sur la route, ici personne ne se protège de 
quoi que ce soit. Dans l’après midi le soleil assomme la ville, les coins ombragés sont rares, les constructions ne sont souvent pas assez hautes pour protéger la rue du soleil. Les ateliers de mécanique et les "car-wash" sont partout. Ici comme au Soudan, il est bien difficile de garder un véhicule propre. Le marché situé juste derrière une ligne de supermarchés n’est pas très achalandé, la ménagère qui a pris l’habitude de faire ses commissions dans une grande surface serait ici un peu déçue. Installées sous un grand hall, les marchandes du classique trio tomates-oignons-choux n’ont pas grand chose d’autre à vendre. Les bouquets de verdure, base de l’alimentation quotidienne changent ici de nom, en Namibie la plante devient mutete. Les beignets frits couverts de miel se nomment à présent yikuki. Le marché abrite quelques vendeurs de tissus, qu’il est plaisant de revenir dans une région ou les tissus colorés se vendent mieux que les pantalons slim. La pop zambienne qui se dégage des enceintes des disquaires égaye le lieu. Les stands les plus fréquentés sont incontestablement les petits bars, même si il n’y a pas foule, la tenancière trouve toujours quelques clients pour lui tenir compagnie. La rive de l’Okavongo qui longe la ville est bordée de lodges et de restaurants, c’est ici que les visiteurs passent en général une nuit avant de reprendre la route vers le parc national d’Etosha, l’attraction principale du pays.
La paix qui règne depuis de nombreuses années en Angola voisine est partiellement responsable du développement de Rundu. La très grande communauté angolaise ayant fui le pays pendant le conflit compose à ce jour une partie non négligeable de la population. Le portugais est parlé à chaque coin de rue et le nombre de passant portant t-shirt arborant fièrement le drapeau national est impressionnant. Namibiens ou angolais, personne ne se plaint de cette cohabitation qui bénéficie à tout le monde. Alors que les réfugiés ont trouvé ici la paix et de l’espace pour s’installer, les locaux ont su tirer un certain profit économique de cette présence. Le pays dont la population atteint difficilement 2 millions d’habitants compte environ 300 000 résidents angolais. La plage qui s’étend au nord de la ville offre une parfaite image de cette cohabitation entre deux mondes, entre l’Angola de l’autre coté de l’Okavango et la petite Angola, ici, en Namibie. Si le centre ville de Rundu est désert durant le week-end, c’est en partie parce que toute la population se retrouve sur cette petite plage. Le lieu n’a rien de très élégant, alors qu’un poteau éléctrique et une dalle en béton ont été engloutis par la montée des eaux, des maisons abandonnées sont les seuls constructions environnantes. Le soleil réchauffe l’air et les peaux. Des familles se promènent sur le sable parsemé de cailloux. Les petits enfants dans des culottes trop grandes pataugent au bord de l’eau sous le regard des parents attentifs. Des adolescentes discutent sur l’herbe tout en se remaquillant à l’ombre de gros rochers sur lesquels quelques garçons profitent de leur journée. Parce que l’Angola vit aujourd’hui en paix, les allers et retours entre les deux rives ont repris. Une douzaine de barque amarrée sur la plage attend les passagers.
En ce samedi le buisness est florissant, il y a du monde pour traverser la rive. Pour les angolais venus faire leurs commissions en Namibie où les produits de consommation courante sont moins onéreux, il est temps de rentrer. Les bras chargés de sacs d’huile et de sucre, les dames embarquent sur les petits navires qui quittent aussitôt la rive. Certains transportent même un déménagement et des étagères en pièces. Des familles et des groupes de jeunes attendent leur tour pour une promenade d’une vingtaine de minutes sur l’Okavongo. Pour rendre l’instant plus agréable, les passagers embarquent tous avec un soda ou une bière à la main. Pour les enfants ce sera un paquet de chips. Le véhicule d’un groupe de jeune installé au loin diffuse de la musique dont les notes populaires envahissent le lieu. Ici, contrairement aux rives de certains lacs est-africains personne ne vient laver sa voiture ou faire sa lessive dans le fleuve, l’Okavongo est avant tout un lieu de délectation. Seuls quelques enfants-pêcheurs n’ont pas vraiment l’air de profiter de ce plaisant après-midi. Les pieds dans la boue, ils récoltent le fruit de leur pêche pris au piège dans les filets. Sur le ponton situé de l’autre coté d’un petit bosquet se retrouvent d’autres jeunes adolescents, certains ont même franchi la frontière que représente le fleuve le temps d’une journée. Les garçons en tenue de sport bombent le torse pour tenter d’impresionner les jeunes filles aux voix fluettes et bien coiffées. La scène est amusante. Il y a toujours quelque chose à faire entre la Namibie et l’Angola. Vers 16 h les adultes installés sur les tables de pique-nique décapsulent les premières bières sorties des glacières. Le charbon grésille et les grillades sont mises sur le feu, le braai (nom donné au barbecue en Namibie et en Afrique du Sud) sera prêt avant le coucher du soleil.
Une grosse voiture occupée par une famille de blancs s’arrête sur la plage, peut être sont-ils venus rejoindre des amis pour le diner ? Le temps passe et personne ne bouge, les passagers restent dans le véhicule, cloitrés. Ils observent la scène et les promeneurs, personne ne mettra le nez dehors. Rundu comme le nord du pays est en général une zone où les populations blanches sont quasi absentes. La Namibie est fictivement coupée en deux par une démarcation, la ligne rouge. Cette dernière tracée par les colonisateurs allemands est avant tout une frontière véterinaire censée séparer le nord "rural et sauvage" du sud majoritairement occupé par les fermiers blancs. Cette ligne marquait aussi implicitement la limite de la colonisation, et, rares sont les blancs à être venu s’installer ici, au nord de la ligne. Aujourd’hui encore cette démarcation demeure comme une vraie plaie ouverte qui sépare un nord rural et occupé par les populations locales d’un sud très blanc. Ces derniers exploitent encore la grande majorité de l'espace, quelques 4000 fermiers blancs possèderaient environ 43% des terres agricoles du pays. Avec la découverte d’une récente épidémie de fièvre du Rift, le transport de bétail et de viande du nord au sud est aujourd’hui plus que jamais contrôlé.
De l’Angola nous ne verrons qu’une rive verdoyante et un petit village qui disparait avec le crépuscule.
