By Cecilia Barnard

30 March 2019

Three days after I returned from the Kalahari, I was a kaleidoscopic daze. My senses were overwhelmed by the profusion of people, sounds, colours and voices after the week’s simplicity and silence. That is why I am taking courage for the first time tonight to write down what happened to my soul this week. I knew from the beginning that this hike would be a life-changing experience. But I would never guess exactly how wonderful it would be.

It’s impossible to gather such a variety of people – along with a huge load of wood and a tank full of drinking water – and expect everything to go smoothly. And yet, despite the bumps and knocks, quite a few abrasive marks and small injuries, strangers became family within a day. A family I will cherish until the end of my days.

There is something about the Kalahari sun that strips you of all pretence and reservation. Your humanness is exposed to the bone and your soul is bare to the people around you. This is one of the most frightening feelings, but also one of the most liberating. You will find joy in returning to the simplicity of this life, of small things that are so often lost in our everyday vexed life. The camaraderie that arises when people are thrown together without mercy is indisputable. No one is left behind, no one is forgotten.

This week was emotionally and physically exhausting. I pressed myself harder than ever and exceeded my limits time and again. There were times that I only concentrated on the sound of my own footsteps. I couldn’t think of more than putting one foot before the other, of keeping on moving, without thinking of the searing mileage that lies ahead. I was astonished by the perseverance and power in myself and others. Never have I been so proud of my ancestors and my compatriots.

Every second I spent on that piece of land filled me with gratitude and humility. The last evening, a few of us climbed the koppie above Van Rooisvlei. A sense of humility overwhelmed me when I finally made it to the top and looked down at the dizzying landscape around me. I sat on the rocky ledge until after sunset and marvelled at the unspoilt nature below me.

Nothing in this world can make you feel smaller than the realisation that you have walked in the footprints of ordinary citizens who decided to stand up for their nation, descendants and pursuit of freedom 105 years ago. In the end without shoes, without horses, without weapons, and without food. But never without hope. And with a determination and pride in their hearts that no union soldier could deprive them of.

This week, I learned to laugh like a child again, I learned to believe like a child again. Without worries and doubts. In the mornings, when the camp began to stir, long before the sun peered over the horizon, I knew better than ever who I am – as an Afrikaner, as a woman. And when the day was opened with prayer and every man and woman bowed their heads, I was sure of my place in the kingdom of my Creator.

I can go back and relate every moment in detail. But some experiences are better preserved in the hearts of those who have experienced them. Sometimes a moment is too precious to share with mankind or to put it in words, and it remains in the safety of your own memories.

Yours, and that of those who were there with you. You know. You understand.

Our hearts remained in the red sand of Bushmanland.

Read more about AfriForum Youth and the Rebels’ Endurance Route