September 27, 2023
The scenery was monotonous from Maun to Charles hill. A straight road go on endlessly, although you can see the animals from the windows. Safari are popular among tourists, but I did not go. I never do what ordinary people do. Buitepos Border had long queues of trucks. The sun was hot, and no wind stirred sand. It was the first time I had ever hitchhiked. The driver was so good and kind, that I did no worrying until I arrived at Gobabis.
Gobabis was a stop-over. A few supermarkets here and there. This is no longer Ethiopia or Tanzania or Malawi. I loved Ethiopian coffee a woman poured in front of a corrugated iron shack, which warmed my heart. I loved street food, the simple potato-egg omelette (Chipsi mayai) popular in Tanzania. And nice enough pubs, dimly lit old pubs, where the locals welcomed me. All of that was very nostalgic. I walked on and on toward the guest house, following footsteps in the sand. The concrete road shone like a mirror under the sun. SUVs passed on and left emptiness behind.
Namibia night was cold, but hot coffee compensated for that. The private room was sweet and comfortable; Netflix or Youtube were available on TV. There was no need to be stoic. However, idleness was a sin, and watching TV, which was laziness to me. I felt that people having a good time were wide open to mere mediocrity. Ordinary people go to tourist attractions, eat good food, and stay in hotels. When it is finished, they settles back to normal living. Some backpackers conquer every single countries in the world. That is it. A real man who achieves greatness can not afford to dawdle.
I cut connection with one person after another, because they intrude on my time. And it was significant to feel the world by myself. But after six months of travel, the extraordinary had become the ordinary. I knew how my insides were empty. It was time for change, so I started to search for flights from Windhoek to Japan on Skyscanner. It was similar to investment, for I was very happy when I got the ticket at the lowest price. On the other hand, I was ashamed that I could not buy instantly a first class ticket.
Windhoek looked like European cities. It was fun to visit new towns, where I loved aloneness and became a new person. However, I had been sick of seeing beautiful buildings, fancy restaurants and Westerners taking photographs. I should not have come here, feeling as though to flounder in generalities. It was not necessarily the local life that was important, nor adventure, nor getting out here.
Back at the hostel I had been looking for the flight again. I had an embarrassing choice of tickets. Since I had come all the way, I would have to have a go at Katutura to see the meaning of life. I tried to whip up my enthusiasm with thought of kapana (grilled meat), but I could not go. I had been traveling a long time, and perhaps my energy was low and my resistance down. It was high time I was making a restart. After all I decided to go back from Cape Town(100,000yen was very cheap). Then I booked the bus to Cape Town. Intercape turned out the best company in Africa.
Near the reception desk in the share longe two young Japanese men were always talking. The cool guy and the short legs man. Both of them were backpackers like me. Sometimes I was eavesdropping. The cool guy was a student at an Australian university and yearned a Chinese girl he met on dating app. “I wanna go out with her, but perhaps she thinks of me as a friend,” he said in a sweet sorrow. He was good looking and extroverted. I’m sorry I am different from you. I do not spend my time huddling in ordinary people talking about dumb things any longer. They would have noticed that I am Japanese, but I was too purposely aloof, eating alone, reading books and working out in my room. I never ever make a friend, regardless of races. That is to say, aloneness is the virtue that had built over the years.
At night I put on a down jacket drinking coffee, the guard stood listening to the wind rustling outside in the leaves, and there were none in the dimly lit lounge. When I seek for the solution of myself—for deliverance and for freedom—I find myself listening to music. My favorite is Robert Miles; Children. It has always been for me a deep consolation. It saturated my very being, which melted in tune into a world. I have had an aesthetic sense, unlike ordinary people in harmony who breathed stuffy air that causes to die. Kurt Cobain died alone in a beautiful world. I can not die simply because I must attain to perfection.
The morning, at breakfast, I enjoyed the fresh taste of tomato on a loaf of bread. A male staff carried the bowls, talking to one white woman after another with a fatuous smile. I finished and put my plates in the sink and then I noticed the male staff looking down on me. “You have to wash them clean,” he said icily. How dare you speak to me like this. You are just serving breakfast, cleaning the rooms, and doing the laundry, all day long. Don’t you know the women does not go down to your level? You had better try to hit on the bitch who follows any man.
After checking out, I stayed in the lounge; the bus departs at three thirty. Behind me I overheard a voice saying in Japanese: “The problem is how to maintain the relationship with Mari-chan after returning to Japan.” Turning back, I saw a young Japanese man talking with someone on his PC. The debate was going on. “Where does Yuri- chan live? I like Yuri-chan too, she is cute.” His round face and lazy body leaned over. He had black bobbed hair. Then this Japanese Busu (it means ugly monster) had named about ten woman, seriously comparing and carefully analyzing. Display yourself in the light! Not wishing to be distracted from an article I was now reading of The Wall Street Journal, I moved another area, where a football match was on TV.
There was the guard sitting across from me, leaning back in the sofa. He had watched the match and after a few minutes had made some light-hearted remark. As I felt the beauty of football when he put to me some question, something about Japan, I brushed him off somewhat coldly—it must be that all Japanese are alike in something. I do not eat sushi or ramen every day.
I found myself recalling the impact the players had had. Roberto Carlos’s free kick, and Zidane roulette. Each had its glory and its beauty, and it was truly art.
I went shopping to prepare for the long bus journey. And I came back after one and a half hours. “I think about meeting Rie-chan in Nairobi. Rie-chan is waiting for me to come.” This desperate fool has been arguing about women for three or four hours, which perhaps had made me sick with weary nausea. I was sure such bitches could not care less about him at all. If he chased after them, they would build the walls against him. I wished he would go to Kabukicho, where pretty whores has been awaiting him. They would never know a woman likes a man who likes being a man.
