This is something that the Namibian tourist authority tries to keep quiet - but, actually, I am a citizen of Namibia. Originally from Oranjemund, where my dad was a mining engineer on the alluvial diamond fields, we left soon for East Africa and then eventually South Africa.

Of all the countries in the world from which I would like to claim origin, Namibia is right near the top.  During the old days when holding a South African passport was quite a hindrance to travel (several countries did not allow South African passport-holders to visit), being from Namibia was a blessing.  Firstly, the country had no arguments with anyone; and secondly, no one knew where it was. This is rapidly changing.  The Namibia Tourism Board is working hard to raise the profile of our north-western neighbour, and the country itself is rapidly losing its tag of ‘Best Kept Secret’ as more people rave about it.  It is using the World Cup as an opportunity to showcase itself; there is an excellent tourism magazine published by Cape Media (issue 8 has a cover that deserves to be framed); and the country’s name keeps popping up in tourism news.  The most enthusiastic supporters of tourism to Namibia are the Dutch and Germans. When I asked a young Hollander why he was so enamoured with Namibia, he replied:  “I come from a very wet country. So when I go on holiday, I like to go to desert!” There is a fatalistic grandeur about the Namib desert and its strange denizens.  The landscapes are dramatic and highly coloured – a photographer’s dreamscape.  At first glance the countryside looks lifeless and dull but have a closer look and it teems with life.  Think about the lizards, with Elizabethan ruffs and windscreen-wiper eyelids, sitting on rocks and staring at the sky.  There are the intriguing stone flowers amongst the real stones, waiting for a drop of moisture so they can burst into bloom.  The accepted version of Namibia has startling red-gold sand dunes, the white fort of Numatoni in the Etosha Pan, the neat seafront of Swakopmund, the gnarled Welwitschia tree that grows underground, sunset behind the waving trees of Palmwag.  But there is a lot more to Namibia than that, and this is what makes the country more of a spiritual experience than a mere holiday. I have only been back to Namibia twice on long holidays.  It is not the kind of country to which one pays flying visits.  You can do it, I suppose, but it misses the whole point.  Namibia needs to be given time to seep into your bones where it will stay for the rest of your life. I did an off-road safari through the desert a while ago.  On the first day in convoy the driver stopped in the late afternoon in the middle of nowhere.  I got out of the un-airconditioned Landcruiser and looked about, wondering why we had stopped.  The land – an uncompromising flat stretch of small red stones – stretched out to the horizon.  There was not a bush, a hill, a tree, an undulation – nothing but small sharp red stones.  It gave one the strangest feeling, almost is if – if you weren’t careful – you would lose your footing and slide over the curve of the earth.  You were the biggest thing existing in that landscape and – conversely – this made you feel very small. ‘Why have we stopped?” I asked the driver. “We’re camping here tonight,” he replied. This was the strangest of all.  Usually when you camp, you look for a shelter, a tree, a stream, a river-bank – anything to give you a feeling of protection.  But here there was nothing at all and would be nothing for the following three days. It took a long time for me to get to sleep that night, lying in my sleeping bag on a flat earth, feeling like a huge bump on the planet, with nothing around but the biggest, brightest spine of stars overhead.  That was the first time that I began to feel the magic of Namibia, and it has never gone away.  It is the land of the unexpected.  The coast has shipwrecks miles inland; lions live on the beach; you can stand on the shore with the hot sun on your back and a cold salty wind in your face; freezing sea mist rolls over burning parched sand.  This is where you will find a rock-patterned giraffe who is as startled to see you as you are to see him; wild horses that graze on unexpected grasslands; desert elephants in dry riverbeds under huge acacia trees.  There is the desolate surrealism of Kolmanskop, the lush swamps of the Etosha; the Germanic towns that look like sets for the Nutcracker ballet. It is perhaps no wonder that I am extremely proud to be able to say that I come from Namibia, even if it is a tenuous and short-lived connection.  If you have ever been privileged to spend some time there, you will be wishing that you, too,  could claim it as your own.