Lüderitz

The bay was known to Europeans long before anyone settled it. Bartolomeu Dias landed here in 1487 on his voyage around the continent and set up a stone padrão at what is now Diaz Point, and the Portuguese name Angra Pequena — 'small bay' — stuck for centuries. Whalers, sealers and guano collectors used the anchorage, but the waterless desert behind it deterred settlement, while Nama groups held the country inland.

In 1883 Heinrich Vogelsang bought the bay and the land around it from the Nama chief Josef Frederiks II at Bethanie, acting for the Bremen merchant Adolf Lüderitz, and in 1884 Germany declared a protectorate over the territory — the beginning of German South West Africa. The port that grew here was the colony's first foothold. During the war against Nama and Herero resistance after 1904, prisoners were held in a camp on Shark Island between 1905 and 1907, where large numbers died of exposure, disease and forced labour; these killings are recognised as genocide.

The town's fortune changed in 1908, when a railway worker found a diamond in the sand at Kolmanskop. A rush followed, Germany closed a vast stretch of coast as the Sperrgebiet, and Lüderitz became briefly rich, building the churches and villas that still define it. When richer fields were found further south towards the Orange River, the boom moved away; Kolmanskop was abandoned in the 1950s. Fishing, rock lobster and later oyster farming kept the town going. In August 2013 the government renamed the surrounding constituency ǃNamiǂNûs, a name it had borne before 1884, as part of removing colonial names from the map; the town itself is still known as Lüderitz.

Lüderitz feels unlike anywhere else in Namibia: a German seaside town of gabled and Art Nouveau houses, painted in pale colours, set on bare granite against the desert and a cold sea. That architecture is the town's calling card, and its preservation, in a place with almost no rain but constant salt wind, is a matter of local pride.

The population is mixed. Nama and Damara families, Oshiwambo-speaking workers who came for the fishing industry, Afrikaans-speaking Namibians and a small German-descended community live in a town small enough that people know each other. Afrikaans is the common street language, Khoekhoegowab is widely spoken, and church life — Lutheran, Catholic and Pentecostal — anchors the week.

The colonial past sits uneasily alongside the tourism it generates. Shark Island, now partly a campsite, is a site of mourning for Nama and Herero descendants, and debates about memorials, about the German street and building names, and about the 2013 renaming of the constituency, are part of local conversation rather than distant politics.

The wind shapes everything else. It blows hard and steadily from the south for much of the year, has made the town an international destination for speed sailing, and dictates when boats go out, when people walk and how buildings are laid out. Fishing, rugby and football, seafood braais and the crayfish season are the ordinary pleasures.

About 16,100 people live in Lüderitz, counted in 2023, most of them in the newer suburbs on the rock and sand behind the old town rather than in it. The place has the feel of an island: the nearest town of any size is Aus, more than a hundred kilometres inland, and everything from vegetables to building materials arrives by road across the desert.

Work comes from the sea and the port. Fishing companies and processing plants handle hake and other catch, rock-lobster boats work the coast in season, and oyster farms use the cold, clean water of the bay. Diamond mining continues offshore and further south around Oranjemund, employing residents on rotation. Tourism — Kolmanskop, the old town, the boat trips — provides the rest, and large green hydrogen and port projects proposed for the area are the subject of much local hope and some scepticism.

Daily life is shaped by wind, fog and water. Fresh water is piped a long distance and is expensive; gardens are rare and the town is mostly grey rock and painted walls. Unemployment is high, especially among young people, and informal housing has expanded on the edges. Mornings are cold and often misty, the wind picks up in the afternoon, and the streets empty early.

Seafood is what the town is known for. Rock lobster, taken along this coast in season, is the local luxury, usually grilled and served plainly; oysters farmed in the bay have long been rated among the best anywhere and are exported as well as eaten here. Line fish from the cold water — kabeljou, kingklip, steenbras and snoek — are grilled, fried or smoked, and mussels and calamari appear on most menus.

The German inheritance is the other half of the kitchen. Bakeries turn out Brötchen, rye bread and cakes; schnitzel, sausages and Eisbein appear on menus beside the fish; and Namibian lagers brewed to the old purity law are the usual drink with them. Afrikaans farm cooking supplies the rest: lamb from the dry south grilled at a braai, potjiekos stewed slowly in a three-legged pot, roosterkoek baked on the grid and biltong from game and beef.

Everyday food in the suburbs is simpler — pap with a tomato and onion sauce, stewed meat, fish and chips from a takeaway, vetkoek filled with mince, and kapana, thin slices of beef grilled over coals and dusted with salt and chilli, bought near the shops. Rooibos tea, strong coffee and South African wines round things off.