For me, tonight, it occured when we entered the Kang restaurant for dinner and a very loud bang alerted me to the fact that a white single cab bakkie had almost run my husband over, luckily halted by the sliding glass door it smashed into. From what we can gather, the driver started his vehicle in first gear without putting his clutch in, so it jumped forward into the restaurant's front door. Even everyone from the bar in the back went outside for a look, much to the annoyance of the driver. He was eventally reduced to a shouting match when the manager showed up to discuss the cost of fixing the damaged sliding door.
Eventually the hullaballoo died down, and we were able to look over the menu and place our order. It was only at that point that I realized this is the first time we've dined at a mostly local restaurant. Having stuck to the tourist hotspots thus far, we've shared all our meals in Namibia with a mix of foreigners or South Africans. As the only real stop on the Trans-Kalahari Highway, though, Kang restaurant attracts all sorts. Two other whities completely decked out in camo gear showed up before we'd paid our bill, one with a very stylish Percy Montgomery hairstyle (lovely shoulder-length blonde locks). As they walked in, we assumed by their silly getup that they were touries in their safari outfits, but our perception changed when we overheard them conversing in afrikaans. Our guess is that the AWB has moved their base to Botswana where they can plan their resistance without arousing suspicion. This intricate theory is based entirely on the fact that the percy-wannabe kept checking up on their bakkie every few minutes, as if he'd double parked in a dark alley in hillbrow. His buddy, who we've dubbed Eugene (can you guess his namesake?) kept the waitress on toes.
Not that there was anything about her service to complain about. So far, it's been much speedier than what we started getting used to in Namibia. We also had a suprisingly good meal. We'd placed our usual order, which has become the game steak for Kevin. You could hear them pounding it in the back while we waited. It's quite funny how a dull banging sound always eminates from the kitchen soon after he's ordered his dinner - every single time. I'm glad my veggies don't need to be beaten into submission.
Back at our bungalow, Kev's watching the athletic controversy unfold, where a female South African's gender authenticity is being called into question because she's outrunning the Europeans by suspicious distances. Gripping stuff. Hopefully the tension will wear me out and I'll sleep nice and late tomorrow. Kev, on the other hand is going to get less sleep than he needs because he's stayed up so late watching tv (thank goodness we don't have one in our bedroom back home).
He's just asked me what time it is, so I suggested he guess. He thinks it's 9pm. Only when I read this entry to him before I post it will he find out that it's actually 11. It's my way of getting him back for ignoring me in favour of sport... ;)
