The Joy of Giving: The story of Vyf Rand Kamp As you travel to the north or to Swakopmund on holiday this season, you might notice Vyf Rand Kamp to your left as you near Okahandja. The camp had its beginnings at Christmas time in 1982 and has a fascinating story, apt for this special time of the year. A light rain washed the mother city as I made my way to the Cape Town suburb of Durbanville to visit Mr Andries Pretorius. It was a long way from the Namibian town of Okahandja but Mr Pretorius was a crucial link and main protagonist in the story of its informal settlement, Vyf Rand Kamp. After several wrong turns in the leafy suburb, I eventually located the street, buzzed at the gate and drove in. Eighty-eight year old Andries and his wife came out to greet me. In 1927, when he was two years old, Andries Pretorius’s family moved to a farm east of Okahandja. When Andries was older he bought two farms at the foot of the Omatokas, the two mountains named after the resemblance to a woman’s buttocks, north of the town. He would continue in his father’s footsteps until 2001 when he moved to the Cape, passing the family’s farming tradition on to his son. But, Andries was not always a farmer. He originally studied to be an engineer. When he lost a leg in a land mine accident in Italy during World War II, he made the decision to return to the land and farm. His policy of not exceeding the carrying capacity of the land and carefully rotating grazing pasture for his cattle was revolutionary for the times and was highly successful. He bought a plot on the outskirts of Okahandja, planning to use its three hectares of arable land to create feed lots for his cattle to fatten them up before market. He was fixing his well on the plot one scorching day in December of 1982, when a group of fifteen Oshiwambo-speaking men and their families arrived. They held their children’s hands and carried their babies and meagre possessions. Having worked as construction workers on the nearby Von Bach dam, they had found themselves without a place to live when their contract ended and everyone closed shop to prepare for the festive season. Andries realised he wasn’t allowed to let them stay on his plot but offered to take them to the municipal offices to ask for assistance. Their pleas fell on deaf ears and they were turned away. Unable to leave the families homeless during the festive season, Andries gave them permission to stay temporarily in the old warehouse on his property. Happy to know they at least had a roof over their heads for the period, he decided to approach the municipality again at the beginning of the year. This he did but it once again proved unsuccessful. He also approached the Ministry of Water Affairs (now called NamWater), who had employed the workers. Although sympathetic, the officials were unable to offer any assistance. Eventually, after approaching the municipality numerous times, even inviting the mayor and councillors to visit, Andries allowed the group to stay on his land permanently. After a while, he requested R5 per person to cover the cost of supplying water. People soon started referring to the place as Vyf Rand Kamp and the name caught on. More people in need of a place to stay heard about the camp and the small settlement began to grow. One of these people was a man called Martin Benhard. He became the leader, spokesperson and organiser of the camp. He worked closely with Maria Paulus, head of the cleaning department, who was respected for her strict but encouraging manner. Martin and Maria played complementary roles, keeping Vyf Rand Kamp residents on their toes. The peaceful camp was a crime-free, organised and well-kept settlement. Andries remembers feeling safer there than anywhere else and came to love the residents of Vyf Rand Kamp. He soon gave up his idea of establishing feed lots. It was still the apartheid era, however, and Namibian independence and democracy were several years away. A group of farmers objected to Vyf Rand Kamp, calling it a breeding place for thieves and calling the residents ‘’n klomp rondlopers’, a group of vagrants. The citizens of Okahandja took it even further and began a court case, opposing the informal settlement. They lost the case on the grounds that Andries had approached the municipality to ask for assistance before allowing the people to stay on his land. Vyf Rand Kamp continued to grow. When Namibia gained its independence, the residents of Vyf Rand Kamp were invited to move to Okahandja but they were reluctant to leave the homes they had made. This led to the council approaching the Ministry of Housing for funds to purchase the plot. Andries stipulated, as a condition of sale, however, that the people who he had become so fond of could remain on the land. He eventually sold the plot in 2001, leaving his farms near the Omatokas to his son and retired to the Cape. His active mind could never settle on retirement even at his advanced age, and he dabbled in property development. He is still planning to retire. On the walls of his office are several photographs of the many committees he was active on during his lifetime. He was president of the Agricultural Union and served on the Agra and Meat boards, amongst others. He even has a photo taken in the mid-90s with Namibia’s first president, Dr Sam Nujoma, at the opening of the maize mill in Otavi. But, on the wall revealing his busy professional life, there is no photo of Vyf Rand Kamp and the home he gave to so many people. When he sold the land there were 2000 people living there. Little more than a decade later there are 5000. I had located Martin Benhard living in Okahandja’s Nau/aib township, now an activist and current employee of the municipality. He remembered Andries Pretorius fondly and the friendship that developed between the two when Andries visited the camp at the end of every week. He told me the municipality was considering changing the name of Vyf Rand Kamp and were hoping to name a main street after the benefactor who had opened his heart to strangers during the time of good will. As I drove back towards the city with Table Mountain and Devil’s Peak crowned in puffy white clouds, brightened intermittently by patches of sunlight, I thought about Vyf Rand Kamp, the act of giving and the absence of a photo on Andries’s wall. And I came to the conclusion that’s what true giving is about after all, giving generously from the heart with no expectation of rewards or accolades. I felt reassured that although times had changed, the small settlement had lost its original charm and the Rand was now the Namibian dollar, the story was not going to be lost and the inspirational act of generosity would be remembered over time.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 09:06:05 +0000
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