Between Two Deserts

The land between the dry sands.

For any descriptive writer the challenge of writing about scenes, landscapes and people lies in finding fresh and original ways to describe them. Clichés are the dreaded and tricky enemy. Like any physical exercise, writing is taxing on the brain; and like any muscle, it seeks out every opportunity to take the shortcut home. Clichés are as hidden and treacherous as quicksand, and as luring as the hissing whispers of temptation – they are the Big Bad Wolf waiting for Little Red in the dark woods. It is hard to avoid clichés because they are, so often, spot-on. They seem to nail the image. But after a while, the image they paint does not seem to capture the real thing anymore. Time affects the image. The reader’s or viewer’s sentiments change and the popular saying does not quite capture the new feelings. The thing itself changes – this is inevitable. Eventually, the cliché becomes tired. It falls short. It fails to represent the real thing, or the whole thing.

When writing about Namibia it is quite easy to fall into clichés. The high summer sunsets which go on for hours (with all of the various shades of red, pink, orange, purple, violet and blue) are a common theme. They almost define the country as much as the excruciating heat of the deep south and the far north. There are numerous references to dusty conditions, an unavoidable aspect of life in the country. And, of course, there is the ever-present wind. The dryness, the scarcity of rain, the pedestrian nature of small towns, Swakopmund and the cold seaside, the slow gears of life in Windhoek – the list endless. No matter the subject, the clichés catch up with the unwary writer to bore and annoy the everwatchful reader.

I am not immune to clichés. No writer is. Before I am even aware of it, I find myself comparing the sand dunes to ocean waves, or saying that a day’s temperature was as hot as an oven. These are the clichés I can admit to. There are others that are much worse. Diagnosing the cliché issues is a lot like fighting the current spread of the coronavirus. There is no known cure, there are only preventive and cautionary measures. Read as much as you can, and try not to reach for the description which seems the easiest (comparing mountains to loaves of bread, or clouds to cotton buds, or – worse – calling everyone friendly, as if you were a tourist).

But there is an easier way to fight clichés. I am certain I am not the first person or writer to stumble across this cure: cliché lives can only be described in cliché terms. To avoid being generic, you have to take the path least travelled in life. (Yes, yes. Cliché. I know. I will do better next time.)

But it is as true as the pronouncements of a mountain hermit, even if it comes from a writer writing between two deserts.

Life in Namibia, like life anywhere in the world, always gravitates towards sameness and ordinariness. Statistically speaking, all outliers eventually move towards the mean or average. It is very rare for them to continue being the norm. Much like life, then. Comfort, stability, predictability – these are things that pull towards the cliché. They are everywhere in the world, but I think they pull much harder in Namibia. When I was younger it seemed as though they were all there was to this place. In some ways I was right. But in others I was pleasantly wrong.

You see, when you live between two deserts – the Namib and the Kalahari – you are told that you live in an unnatural place, a place that exists against all odds. Who in their right mind lives between two deserts? Namibians. That streak of madness already hints at uniqueness, at the desire for a life on the path least travelled. Of all the places where people could have settled, they chose this place with all of its hardships. I am certain there were easier places – I wanted that when I was in my teens. Now, though, I wonder whether easier and boring are not the same thing.

To be quite honest, life in Namibia is not easy. It never was. I do not think there will come a point when it will be. The climatic setting and geographic moods of this place are constant reminders that paradise is a pipe dream. Easy and Namibia do not stride on the same path. But that is fine, I guess. Easy and boring might be the same thing. And while I might sometimes yearn for easy, I reject boring and cliché as much as possible. My choices, then, are quite simple. To tie the shoelaces, adjust the hat, slather on some sunscreen and squint towards the horizon because wherever things are headed, they sure as heck are not going to be business as usual. And when I have to write something, I am thankful that I have a strange place to draw inspiration from.

Rémy Ngamije is a Rwandan-born Namibian novelist, columnist, essayist, short-story writer, and photographer. His debut novel The Eternal Audience Of One is available from Blackbird Books and Amazon. His short stories have appeared in Litro Magazine, AFREADA, The Johannesburg Review of Books, The Amistad, The Kalahari Review, American Chordata, Doek!, and Azure. More of his writing can be read on his website: remythequill.com Who in their right mind lives between two deserts? Namibians. That streak of madness already hints at uniqueness, at the desire for a life on the path least travelled.