Local Destination: Namibia: A man of many parts

Being an Afrikaans-speaking, gay Himba chief is unconventional, but Jaco Burger has always dared to be different, writes Jonny Newton

Most Afrikaans-speaking Namibian farm boys would idle away their childhoods by day-dreaming of scoring a winning try for the Springboks. But not Jaco Burger ... his aspirations were always slightly unconventional.

Jaco was set on becoming an au pair in Germany, and it was only a twist of fate that sent his life spiralling in a completely different direction. Today, at 33, he holds a chieftainship of the semi-nomadic Himba people in Otjikandero, northern Namibia. Here, wealth is counted in cattle, wooden stools are used as pillows and lives are led as they have been for millennia.

My visit to Namibia, in the midst of the wettest rainy season in 120 years, threw up some logistical challenges. Roads were being washed away with impunity, flash floods were paralysing the capital Windhoek and dormant rivers were flowing for the first time in years. Namibians were applying a positive gloss to the mayhem. I can't recount the amount of times I heard "welcome to Namibia, you'll be seeing it at its greenest" - code for "you won't see any animals on safari, the roads will be dangerous, a state of emergency has been called and I'd rather stay at home".

Fortunately, unlike many areas of Namibia, Otjikandero is within relatively easy reach. It is a five-hour drive north of Windhoek and two hours southwest of Namibia's premier wildlife reserve, Etosha National Park. Crucially, it is one of the few Namibian destinations with tarmac laid virtually to its door.

As I drove up to Jaco's home, I was happy to be out of the car for a couple of days. It wasn't just the perilous roads; corrosive fumes leaking from my spare petrol can were also taking their toll. My head was pounding as I spilled from the vehicle to introduce myself.

My impression of Jaco is that he is an enigma, a man who knows exactly who he is, yet operates as if he has an identity crisis. He behaves with the unequivocal hospitality of a white Afrikaner, has the physical mannerisms of a black local and the flamboyance of a San Francisco queen.

As our time together unfolded, each of these distinct characteristics surfaced at various times. His identity is so deeply ingrained with these seemingly opposing identities, that he is genuinely all three at once, a poster boy for post-apartheid Namibia.

Born into an Afrikaans farming family, Jaco was raised primarily by a nanny from the local Damara tribe. The biggest influence on his early years, though - and one that left the strongest legacy - were the Himba cattle traders who would stay on the farm while venturing south from the Kaokoland region.

The Himba people arrived on what is now the Angolan and Namibian border, at the tail end of the human migrations from east Africa, a few hundred years ago. As semi-nomadic pastoralists, and like their Maasai cousins, cattle are a central part of their culture and economy. A stubborn refusal to integrate and assimilate has kept the Himba unique.

Enamoured by the Himba traders, Jaco would spend his free time with them, learning their language and customs. By his teens the Himba were treating Jaco as one of their own, and they adopted him into their tribe. Following the rights of passage as a Himba man, a wife was bestowed upon Jaco, despite him being in a relationship with a neighbouring farm boy.

Confident in his sexuality, Jaco doesn't believe he is being hypocritical. Neither do his Himba family who granted Makaja to him. Makaja can't bear children, and as such is viewed as "damaged goods" in the matriarchal Himba culture. For all concerned this is a perfect match: a man who doesn't want heterosexual sex and a woman who can't conceive. As a Himba partnership Jaco and Makaja have become strong and trusting, while openly fulfilling urges in other relationships.

In 2000, after spending two months learning how to build a traditional dwelling, Jaco and Makaja set up their first home on his father's land near Kamanjab. "I felt obliged to give Makaja a life she deserved" he said when I asked why he nested in this way, "and there is no way I could move her into my parents house ... it wouldn't have been fair on her".

Partly because of duty, partly because of guilt and partly because Jaco had no other concrete plans, they embarked on domestic Himba life together. Living in a purely traditional manner, Makaja educated Jaco further about their shared culture.

It didn't take too long for the couple to become broody, and after a visit to their tribal homelands, they adopted five Himba babies from disadvantaged backgrounds.

"It was hell; neither of us knew anything about kids, but we learnt pretty quickly," Jaco says with a wistful smile. So quickly in fact, that a mere two years later, they adopted another group of five. The trend has continued, so that today Jaco and Makaja are proud parents to 35 kids.

As the extended family grew, so did the village. More mud-walled thatched dwellings were built around the central cattle kraal to accommodate the influx of children and Jaco's two additional "wives", which consolidated his status as chief and benefactor.

Around this time, intrepid travellers who had heard of Jaco started visiting Otjikandero. It provided an exclusive opportunity to mingle with, and learn about, genuine functioning African tribespeople. As opposed to the numerous "cultural villages" that may be interesting but often feel like a performance.

I have a confession to make: this wasn't the first time I had met Jaco. I was one of those early visitors, swanning through on a hasty and epic overland trip from Victoria Falls to Cape Town. The experience trumped cruising the Okavango Delta, bungee jumping over the Zambezi and trekking the Fish River canyon. I clearly remember wanting to stay with Jaco and his family for a few days, and soak up this simple, pastoral lifestyle.

Since then I have on occasion tried to track him down, while half-heartedly thinking about making a return trip. This journey has become a pilgrimage of sorts, returning to a place that has long been on my mind. As with all repeat visits I wondered how much had changed, and worried if I had idealised the fading memories from my original trip.

I needn't have worried. Visits to Otjikandero are so authentic that they feel voyeuristic. Paying tourists wander through a functioning community, and are educated on the rituals, distinctive style, history and lifestyle of the Himba. Beyond that, they are encouraged to engage in village routine. As I had arrived in the afternoon when the goats are milked, I was expected to get down and dirty and help. Adept children, as comfortable with a goat teat in their hand as I was with a Gameboy at their age, squeal in delight as I clumsily express into a battered pail. If there is a child-naming ceremony, a funeral, a wedding or lunch, then a visitor will be invited. The inhabitants are happy to share their culture, but nothing is done for show.

Sitting on a dung-and-ash hut floor, eyes watering from the herb fire in the corner, and being molested by flies is a true African experience. It is here, in the presence of Makaja and several transient children, that Jaco explained the ceremony and traditions of the Himba.

Guests learn why women cover their bodies in red ochre, painstakingly dread their hair and wear goatskin crowns and iron anklets. The importance of livestock, the eternal ancestral fire, mopane trees and smoke baths are all explained. If invited, like me, visitors will share a toot of mind-numbingly powerful home-made snuff.

The Himba are incredibly photogenic people. As sacred body parts, barely clad women modestly cover their ankles and lower backs, and bare all else. Smeared from head to toe in red ochre paste mined in southern Angola, replete with adornments, they are a photographer's dream. As they are so used to being photographed, these Himba don't beg me for pictures while pulling ludicrous faces; they carry on as normal, and strike a pose if need be, generally looking disinterested and natural.

A few years on from the first visitors, Otjikandero Himba Project is becoming a regular fixture on travel agents' itineraries. The tours are slicker and Jaco and Makaja have moved on from being the principal educators. "It is so important for this to be a sustainable initiative, so we have handed duties to younger members of the village," Jaco says. "We still advise, but rarely lead tours anymore."

And sustainability is a real concern for Jaco; he constantly impresses upon village members how important they are, and their uniqueness. "People travel across the world to spend a day or two here. It is one of the last places that this experience exists, so I urge them to carry on and try not to assimilate."

This has its problems, of course. Encouraging a people to live a medieval existence so that their culture doesn't die poses a moral conundrum that Jaco is well aware of. As an indigenous tribal community, the Himba are exempt from mainstream Namibian education, which could hold their children back. Drawing the line between integration and preservation is a difficult one; yet the community collectively selects children whom they believe are best suited to formal education. These children ditch their goatskin coverings and adopt modern dress, gaining contemporary opportunity but losing tradition. A symbiotic educational experience has naturally developed among the Himba children, though, as on school holidays formally educated kids share the alphabet with their peers while learning how to birth a calf.

Since 2006, Jaco has taken a further step back from the community he was integral in establishing. Shortly after meeting his partner Joe, he started building a more conventional farmhouse near the village. Today they live a beautiful rural existence, surrounded by their favourite flowers, plants and exotic birds. Most of their time is taken running their farm and start-up travel agency, but Jaco visits his village regularly and, as chief, still leads on communal decisions.

By setting up the Otjikandero Orphans Trust, Jaco is hoping to secure the future of the community. Every tourist dollar is accounted for, and allocated to support the Himba with food security, education and to sustain livelihoods.

As we walk the worn path out of the village I ask Jaco about his future. Understandably, it is inextricably linked with his Himba experience. In the time he has spent living as a Himba, he has gravitated towards the path of a traditional healer, diagnosing and treating some ailments by massage and herbal remedy.

"All that is left for me to be a fully fledged medicine man is to head to the Kunene River on the Angolan border, and kill a crocodile with my bare hands", Jaco says nonchalantly. "Once dead, I will open it up and a gall stone will choose me, to pick it out." According to tradition, that is the precursor to Jaco being "opened up" to the rainmaking wonders of becoming a mystic medicine man.

As we say goodbye, Jaco excuses himself so that he can apportion a slaughtered cow among the villagers. He puts on a hat and canters swiftly down a muddy lane on his donkey cart ... just like a consummate Afrikaner farmer.

If you go ...

GETTING THERE: If you'd like to visit the Otjikandero Himba Project, booking is essential, so contact Jaco and Joe directly through their website, www.namibiajjtours.com

DRIVING: The best way to reach Otjikandero is by road. There are plenty of reputable car rental agencies in Windhoek, but if you want to hire a camper bakkie then family-run Aloe Car Hire comes highly recommended: www.natron.net/aloe/Home.htm.

Take care when driving as roads are unpredictable and often gravel. Bring a good map or GPS and take note of where there are petrol stations and fill up where possible. Make sure you have enough cash to pay; many stations outside Windhoek don't accept cards.

Always seek local advice on road conditions before heading off, and travel with plenty of spare water, a Namibian SIM card for your cellphone, and a spare wheel and tools.