This morning, Namibia greets us with an overcast sky. Could it actually rain today? A quick look at the forecast on wetteronline.de shows some patchy clouds across the country but a 0% chance of rain. So yes—shorts it is!
As we finish breakfast, our guide Cecil arrives at the guest house. Today, he’s taking us out in search of desert elephants. Desert elephants? That sounded absurd to us at first—after all, elephants love water and wallowing in mud, as every frequent zoo visitor knows. But yes, elephants do live in the desert, and Cecil is determined to help us find them.
So off we go. We hand over the keys to our trusty Toyota Fortuner and hit the gravel roads heading north, passing the Brandberg Mountain and crossing the Ugab River, which still holds a bit of water—just low enough for us to drive through.
Along the way, Cecil shares all kinds of knowledge: desert elephant theory, stories about Uis, and more (more on Uis at the end of this blog).
We learn, for example, that there was a recent period of substantial rain—something we’d already heard—but that it followed years of intense drought. Many trees and shrubs still show visible signs of damage. Even the ever-present crickets follow a cycle that depends on rainfall. As winter approaches, these countless crickets will die, but not before laying eggs in the soil—waiting for the next rain and the next cycle of life.
The desert elephants are genetically regular elephants that fled southward from Angola during the civil war in the 1970s. Many didn’t survive Namibia’s much drier climate, but those that did adapted: they can now go up to five days without water and have changed their behavior to suit their harsh surroundings. For example, instead of uprooting entire bushes to eat, they now only break off branches—giving the plants a chance to regrow.
It takes Cecil just 30 minutes to spot our first wildlife. After over a week in Namibia, we’d seen little more than crickets, cows, goats, and birds—so actual wild animals feel exciting! In the distance to our left, two springboks appear. We need a moment (and some help) to spot them, but there they are—the first true wildlife of the desert. Too far and fast for phone cameras, but the memory is locked in.
A few minutes later, a group of ostriches makes a quick dash across the plains. Again, too far for a photo, but thrilling nonetheless.
Cecil takes us off-road toward a spot where he saw elephants two days ago. We’re still in two-wheel drive the whole time—as if we weren’t bumping through the Namibian bush but cruising down a German autobahn. We’ll stick to four-wheel drive when we’re alone though—Cecil’s skills aren’t ours.
Suddenly, a few ostriches cross directly in front of us—close enough for some frantic photo-snapping. These birds are fast! Zoom definitely recommended.
We’re genuinely bouncing over rocks and rough terrain, grateful for Toyota’s solid engineering. Cecil suddenly stops—he wants to show us something. We step out and, following his direction, spot elephant tracks in the sand. The toes point forward—they’re heading the same way we are. We pass a few other tourist vehicles following the same lead. Could we really be getting close?
Left and right of the trail, we now see fist-sized fruits that look like melons. “Bitter melons,” says Cecil. Inedible for humans, but desert ground squirrels love them. Apparently, they even roll them onto the road, hoping cars will crush them open.
And then—it happens.
A herd of elephants!
About 15 in total, mostly females of different ages, accompanied by a large bull who’s joined them for mating season. Male elephants are usually solitary, only joining the herds during this time. The bull is enormous—even larger than the already-impressive females.
The herd moves slowly and calmly through the desert, completely at ease. They form a gentle procession, veering this way and that, tugging branches off bushes to eat. We tell Cecil how elephants at the Berlin Zoo get fed Christmas trees during the holidays—he laughs.
Unlike the skittish springboks and ostriches, the elephants don’t care at all about the small crowd of vehicles nearby. As Cecil explains, it’s important to give them space and respect their direction of movement. Do that, and they remain peaceful and non-aggressive.
Watching these giants in their natural, unconfined habitat is something truly special. We’ve seen wild elephants before—in Sri Lanka—but there, “wild” meant something more limited due to the dense population. Here in Namibia, their range feels limitless.
Eventually, the herd disappears into the bush, and we begin our journey back. On the way, we come across something more mundane than elephants: a herd of cattle, also roaming freely. Cecil explains that the cows return to the farm by themselves, drawn by access to water. Elephants, however, often help themselves to that same water, causing friction with farmers. That’s why local youth groups are working to ease human-wildlife conflict—for example, by reinforcing water troughs so the elephants can’t break them.
Further along, we spot another ostrich standing perfectly still near the road. Cecil suspects it might be a mother with nearby chicks.
Then, as a final wildlife encounter, we see a highly venomous puff adder. It first hides in the tall grass, then slowly slithers across the road and under our car. Cecil and Michael keep a safe distance while trying to track it. We now fully understand why sturdy shoes and caution are essential when walking through the bush.
On the way back to Uis, we see more ostriches—though they already seem less impressive than earlier. Funny how quickly the extraordinary becomes ordinary. Back in town, we say goodbye to Cecil (after snapping a photo). He was arranged through the 3 Aloes Guest House, did a fantastic job, and earns not just our praise but also a generous tip.
Next: lunch and a fuel stop. The alcohol-free Windhoek beer arrives in chilled glasses and hits the spot. At the restaurant, we notice a sign from the new management asking visitors not to encourage begging. Similar signs appear at the supermarket and gas station—but they’re not totally effective, as we’re still approached. This time, we resist the temptation to buy yet another stone souvenir. In the parking lot, we spot another Fortuner with nearly the same license plate. With all the dust on our car, it’s hard to tell them apart—but thankfully the remote unlocks the right one.
After lunch, we explore Uis a bit more. This settlement owes its existence to a tin mine, once one of the major employers in the area. Huge white spoil heaps are visible from miles away and have become something of a local landmark. The mine was shut down in the late 1980s by South African authorities—officially due to falling tin prices, though unofficially (so Cecil says) to remove competition.
Uis declined until 2014, when an investor bought up much of the town and began revitalizing it through tourism and events. The mine reopened in 2019, now also extracting lithium and tantalum. It’s been modernized: water is recycled, and the clay-rich waste sludge is used to make bricks. These distinctive, slightly shaded clay bricks are now sold across Namibia—and maybe even beyond.
Back in town, we cruise through the residential areas. The houses look great—many built using bricks from the local factory. You can tell by the signature pattern: not uniform in color, but lightly shaded. We love the look, and we’re curious to see if we’ll spot them elsewhere on our trip.
And finally, a photo of our guesthouse up on the hill.
Back in our room, we take a well-earned siesta. Later, we sit on the terrace writing this blog post. In the background, children’s singing echoes through the village—it’s music class time, and the voices are full of joy. After a few hours, it becomes a little much, but it’s still sweet to hear. Some distant dog barking joins the mix—the first barking we’ve heard in Namibia.
All in all, this guesthouse is beautifully located and very peaceful, but we miss a bit of that personal touch. There’s one staff member handling business matters, but no real sense of someone “looking after” the guests.
We close this beautiful day with a sunset photo taken from our room—Brandberg glowing in the background, the pool in the foreground, and the warm desert light bathing everything in gold.
