Blog - ABCs Part 2

Blog 6 – June '13 - Namibian Rebecca's ABCs Part 2

Here is part two of my ABC's blog. It is a little larger than I would usually like but when you get to J you'll work out why. So here is I to P...

I is for Interest. I admit that most tourists who wind their window down do it to ask “what are you looking at?” (a group of 50 wildebeest just 20m away is quite hard to see apparently) or “are there any lions?”. However, there has also been interest in the project. Most of these have either been Aussies wondering how a UQ student ended up in Etosha or people intrigued by the name ‘eat without being eaten’. It has been great to have people interested in what I am doing and also good to see that having a more-fun, less-science project name has garnered interest as hoped.

J is for Jackal. When I decided on the alphabet blogs I knew instantly that J would be for jacka, mostly my amusing camp jackals. But times have changed, and jackals have attacked so now J must be two parts:

Part A- The Good. We have 2 gorgeous jackals that frequent our research

camp. At first I couldn’t tell the male from the female so when I was told

that I would be remiss not to name them I thought I should play it safe and

use androgynous names. Naturally, my mind went to David Bowie. By the

time I had a moment to think about names I could tell their sexes apart. As

the female has a pattern of star-like spots on her tail, she became the Bowie

-inspired ‘Stardust’. And really there was no way I was not calling her mate

‘Ziggy’. It was just too easy. They run around camp at all hours trying to hunt.

Unfortunately while I am sure they would rather project a look of savvy jackals

hunting birds they actually look like a pair of 8 year olds playing piggie in the

middle and they’re the pigs. They also seem to have a contest to see who is

game enough to get closer to people. So far Ziggy at, 2 metres, is winning.

Although, one time while working I turned around after hearing an odd noise

at my tent opening only to find Stardust with one paw in the door and a

second on its way. This seemed like the most brazen act I’d seen, until I moved

my arm and sent her in a panicked flee right out of camp. I don’t think she realised I was in the tent until I moved. Not so brazen after all.

Part B- the Bad (and the Ugly). Only a couple of nights ago I was halfway to sleep when scratching and pounding started at the corner of my tent, right behind my head. No doubt, if there was a video it would have captured my eyes springing out of their sockets like a cartoon character’s and the soundtrack would have been of bongos, courtesy of my beating heart. It was pitch black and something wanted to join me in my tent. I had a feeling that whatever it was (I didn’t know at the time) was best left outside. My efforts at scaring it through, noise, vibration and light only resulted in it moving to the front of my tent and ripping a foot-long stretch of my tent door’s zipper off in an attempt to get in. It then went away long enough for me to realise my heart was pounding and calm down a little, then it returned for round two. It eventually left for good and I sat in my tent trying to work out what it was. Its complete lack of response to my yelling made me think it was one of two things: a rabid jackal or the least funny prank I have ever had played on me. It needs to be noted that I am still the ‘new kid in camp’ and Namibians seem to have a very Aussie sense of humour so a prank wasn’t entirely out of the question. My dignity had me wishing it was a rabid jackal but my brain, knowing it isn’t wise to wish for a rabid jackal, had hoped it was a prank. The next day I woke- is it really waking if you didn’t really sleep?- and found out that a rabid jackal had bitten a tourist, and then been shot that morning. So with my dignity in check, if a little shaken, I set about fortifying my tent against future attacks, namely covering the gaping hole at the back. Pre-jackal attack the hole was covered with bricks to keep snakes from getting in. However when I checked on the hole that morning I discovered four of the five bricks had been scrapped away leaving the larger-than-a-jackal hole wide open.

K is for Kindness. While much of this project is self-funded I have been lucky enough to get sponsorship through corporate channels and through crowd funding. Surfers City Holden, BJ Ball Paper and KW Doggett’s Fine Paper have been generous with sponsorships adding to sponsors mentioned in previous blogs. The following amazing friends, family and complete strangers have donated to my project through Pozible and UQ: Susan Baker, Fiona Bell, Jac Burgin, Taryn Crispin, Amy Edwards, Sally Green, Susan Heaney, Natasha McGowan, Neal McLary, Isabell Misfud, Takuyeah Okamoto, Tom Orth, Ken Rasura, Jasier Reehal, John Stangeland, Lukas Steinert and a number of anonymous donors. THANK YOU TO ALL MY KIND SPONSORS!

L is for Laundry (catastrophes). If I have learnt one thing it is this: hanging out your washing in gusty winds is not advised, even with the foresight of putting an extra peg on each item, unless you want to spend half an hour extracting your sheet (and then yourself) from the nearby acacia tree. That was four weeks ago and I am pretty sure I still have a thorn lodged deep in my thumb. In hindsight I should have taken a photo of my mishap, but I was too busy trying to retrieve the sheet to think about taking a photo and I am not stupid enough to put a sheet in the tree for the sake of a photo so here is a photo of the culprit.

Not the greatest

clothes line

positioning of

all time

M is for Morning Person. Somehow I have gone from being a night owl to getting up before sunrise every day, much to the surprise of some. My one indulgence is a Sunday sleep in of 7.30!

N is Nightsky. Every time I come to Africa I marvel at the nightsky- the stars are so numerous that they seem to be packed like sardines into the nightsky and it is oddly comforting to stare up at the sky when you are over 12 thousand kilometres from home and still see the Southern Cross. It also comforting that that is the only Southern Cross to be seen and that for the next 7 months I am unlikely to see a Southern Cross tattooed on bicep of an uber-original twenty-something.

O is for Outfits. One of the larger changes that I have made has been my wardrobe. I have gone from work suits and summer dresses to cargo pants, polos, hiking boots and my trusty akubra and soon, thermals.

P is for Parking. On a few occasions I have parked my bakkie ready for 5 hr waterhole stake out only to have to get the bakkie on, in gear, and moving, so as not to find out who would win out of my bakkie or an elephant. Out here I don’t have to contend with those people who sneak in a park you’ve been waiting for, just elephants who seem to know you’ll move and let them in.

So with my dignity in check, my alarm set to a time that surely can’t be counted as morning and my eyes ever-peeled for an oncoming elephant, I sign off until next time when I will bring you Q-Z.