Travelling the Trans-Kalahari Highway

You're nuts... Why don't you fly? Take more time off and do it at your leisure. These were the reactions of colleagues upon hearing that my wife and I were to drive from Johannesburg to Windhoek and back in the space of three days - so we could attend a wedding.

And they were all quite correct, but three days is all we had, and more than R5 500 was way too dear a price to pay for the privilege of flying SAA to Windhoek for a day. We would do a 3 000km round trip through Botswana on the Trans-Kalahari Highway, and save two-thirds of the cost of air travel.

The Trans-Kalahari Highway (which, funnily enough, is signposted as such only on the Windhoek end) is nothing short of a hell run: long stretches of mind-numbing sameness and no signs of human life, no such thing as an Ultra City along the way, and heaven help you if you get into trouble - especially after dark. Our road map wasn't much help either, except to point us in the right direction and give us distances. What it should've done is warned us: Here be beasts.

A colleague who recently used the highway had warned me not to drive on it at night. There are cattle, donkeys and goats everywhere in Botswana, and no fences, he said.

I took note, but hey, what's a couple of donkeys when you're driving as a team and keeping your eyes peeled? That was the kind of attitude that nearly got us killed - more than once. The same colleague also advised us to take lots of padkos, given the lack of oases, and to top up our petrol tank every chance we got; you don't know when you'll see a filling station next, he said.

He also admonished us not to speed, especially in the section just into Botswana from Zeerust, as traffic cops love speed-trapping there - and they're not averse to soliciting bribes from South Africans, as he had found out.

So we packed victuals into a frosty cooler bag, hooked the iPod up to the car stereo and set off on the Friday morning. Our first mistake was to not stick to our 6am starting time; our second mistake (thanks to the first one) was to get stuck in a huge traffic jam on our way to the N4, which would take us to the border. Forced to turn around and get to the N4 via the Krugersdorp highway, we lost about two-and-a-half crucial hours.

The trip to Zeerust was uneventful - but then we made our third mistake: trusting a local's directions to the Skilpadhek border post. Before we knew it, we were heading northwards towards another border post closer to Gaborone - but that would have meant a huge dog-leg to get back to the Trans-Kalahari. So we headed back to Zeerust - adding another 100km, and another hour, to the trip. Duh.

Crossing the border wasn't a problem. The South African immigration and customs people were friendly and helpful; their Botswana counterparts surly and unco-operative. After paying a 50-pula (R70) road tax, we set off on our way along the well-tarred, single-lane A2 (as Botswana calls the road) - thumbing our noses at the speed-trappers we soon encountered.

The town of Kanye, the biggest town we would see until we reached Windhoek, slipped by, then Sekoma, then Jwaneng. We tittered when we saw a sign saying the next refreshments would be 238km away, in Kang. Two hours later we sniggered again when we passed the Kang Lodge. It and a petrol station were all we could see of the town, about halfway through Botswana. Who on earth would want to stay there, we wondered uncharitably.

Now our earlier mistakes would haunt us. Night fell after we left Kang for the Namibian border, 350km away, and the nightmare began. It was bad enough dodging the raptors which now settled on the warm road to hunt for mice, and which flew up frighteningly at our windscreen. After one of the birds clipped the top of the car, we took to hooting if we saw any, which worked. But the mammals were the big problem. Herds of donkeys and cattle dotted the road all the way, looming suddenly in our headlights. There was absolutely no way of anticipating where they were in the pitch dark, and we were forced to slow down to about 80-90km/h - and even that was a little fast.

Three times we nearly came to grief. To be fair, there were lots of warning signs about livestock on the road. But all I could think was: surely fencing the road would be better than dealing with remote traffic accidents - and where were the animals' owners? If they were mine, I'd be inclined to make sure they were in a safe place, particularly after dark.

We eventually arrived, freaked out, at the Namibian border around 10pm. The indifferent staff waved us through after we paid a NZ$140 (about R650) road tax, not even asking for the required polio certificates, and we set off on the final 300km leg - on what was now the B6 highway - through Gobabis to Windhoek.

We thanked heaven for the fences now running alongside us, but worried about the signs warning of kudu and warthogs. By the time we reached Windhoek after 18 hours we hadn't seen any, but a meerkat had died under our wheels. The split second it flashed in our headlights before we struck it with a sickening thud still haunts me.

The wedding over (it was lovely), we headed for home bright and early on the Sunday morning. We dreaded the return leg, but at least we had daylight, and our goal was to pass Skilpadhek by nightfall.

Namibia was beautiful, with orange grass licking at trees filled with birds' nests. And we spotted a herd of kudu and five warthogs rooting for breakfast - all on the road side of the fence.

We topped up at Gobabis and again 450km later at Kang, and made our dash for the SA border. Again, the road was excruciatingly monotonous, with nothing but road, trees, the ubiquitous livestock - and lots of birds.

Hornbills, crows, iridescent blue and green starlings, red-billed helmet-shrikes - we could at least have had fun playing "spot the bird", if we'd thought to bring our bird book along.

The sun set just before we reached Skilpadhek, and it was with elation and relief that we crossed back into South Africa.

The friendly police inspector checking cars waved us through with a warning to watch out for the cattle on the SA side, but we knew that nightmare was already over. Fifteen hours after leaving Windhoek, the welcoming lights of Johannesburg finally guided us home. Shortly before drifting off to sleep, we talked about the trip and decided: never again. Not like that.

If we ever took on the Trans-Kalahari again, we'd have a third driver - and we'd drop our cocky attitude and doss down for the night at the Kang Lodge...

- This article was originally published on page 17 of The Star on September 02, 2006