TRAVEL TALES

When a Snowboard in the Sand Changed the Path in Life I Was Taking

The story of how I became a sandblasting instructor

I was 21. I had my Bachelor’s degree in my hand and was sorted for life. Or so. I just wasn’t ready to start working yet. To get into the rat race. Just not yet. I only wanted to do this trip. 6 months. Africa.

And then everything changed.

The six months were almost done. I had about four weeks until my return flight from Cape Town when I arrived in Namibia. The country wasn’t even on my itinerary but I decided I had seen enough green countries and had never seen the desert before.

After a short two-night stay in the oldest desert in the world, the Namib, I enquired at the backpackers I was staying in where I could do “this” pointing at the flyer with a person snowboarding down a sand dune.

“You’ll have to go to Swakopmund.”

Half an hour later I sat in the minibus taking me to this weird coastal town where palm trees line the streets and piles of sand are towering in the background but you can order an “Eisbein mit Sauerkraut” in German.

Let’s not get distracted. I checked into my room in the backpackers and asked the lady at reception to book me in for the next possible sandboarding session.

It was 9:30 am when I got picked up the next morning and my excitement couldn’t have been any bigger. It was the first winter in my life where I hadn’t been in the snow. No skiing, no snowboarding. And now I was here. Basically still in season as it was March.

And they were handing me real snowboard boots and a board. I was very impatient during the instructions as I just wanted to strap on and go. But before diving into the sand, I had to wax my board with what I learned later was shoe polish. Yes, sandboarding has its weird habits.

And off I went. Smiling from within as I didn’t even feel a difference to snowboarding. I didn’t fall on this first run. Or on the second. I didn’t have to wait for the others, just unstrap, grab my board, and walk back up.

Then the instructors complimented me and said I should go over the jump. I laughed. Not me. I don’t do jumps. Not in the snow. And I certainly won’t go over that huge ramp. In the sand.

Guess what, I did go over it.

One of the other two girls struggled and was really scared for boarding down. While the other instructors just kept on giving her verbal instructions, I decided to step in and hold her hands sliding in front of her. It was fun. We even made a turn together.

And I was hooked.

Within the next few days, I went a couple more times sandboarding. I didn’t really have a plan on where to go next or how to continue my travels south.

When I asked the next day if I could return on Thursday, I was told no. They were fully booked. I was sad. And surprised. I had forgotten Easter weekend was around the corner.

But, the boss of the company was then offering me to come along and help her out as she had a big group. And so I did. For the following four days.

Every afternoon she’d asked me if I didn’t want to stay and work for her. I laughed. And denied. Until on the last night she gave in. She had seen through me.

“Alright Anne, continue your trip, fly back home and say hi to family and friends but then return one month later in June to work for me during the busy season. Only three months.”

Silence.

This was the first time she mentioned the job offer and I didn’t immediately respond with ‘no, thanks’. A holiday job for three months? Why not? Then I can still come back to Germany and live the life I’m supposed to live. Work, get married, have children, and so on.

Everything else is history. I still remember calling my mom. I was scared. Of her reaction. It was our first call since I left home half a year ago. After telling her I’d return to Namibia to work there as a sandboarding instructor she responded with

“Do you think I can sandboard?”

Silence.

“Mom, I don’t know if you can step into a plane to fly down here but I am certain you’ll be able to sandboard.”

And I was right. My mom’s first flight ever was an eleven-hour flight from Germany to Namibia. To visit her daughter and to go sandboarding.

But back to me. I returned in June. I got greeted by my new boss telling me I’d be running the company for her 7 days later as she’d fly home to the States to visit her mom. I had 7 days to learn everything from driving old, beaten-up VW combis, paying staff, where to pick up clients, writing emails and answering phone calls, and a lot more.

The sandboarding part was the easy one.

When she returned she asked “did you struggle a little?” as I had lost 12 kilos in three weeks without even noticing myself. I guess I did struggle. A little. Or climbing dunes is the best workout ever.

And no. I did not stay for three months. I ended up working as a sandboarding instructor in this company for four years. And yes, I was damn happy. Even though I was constantly being asked by family, friends, or tourists who had no say in my life

“When are you going to get a real job?”

If a real job means not smiling every day at work, then never.

I’d walk up that dune countless times a day. Sometimes seven days a week. Yes, I know working rights and so on. But this is tourism. We work seven days a week in the high season and two in the low season. Or so.

This new job and life of mine came together with a dog. The dog of my boss. A dog that healed me from my fear of dogs.

We became best friends. On duty and off duty.

Sometimes, I was having a lazy day. Watching people walk up while I stayed atop just giving instructions. I could do that too.

But some days were exhausting. Especially when kids were on the dune. They were always given in my care due to my education. Yes, I studied early childhood education and development.

Here I was teaching kids how to board down a dune in the sand. And if they were scared, I took them on my back. Zak, the dog, always on my heels.

Sometimes I screamed with the children. Out of joy. Only joy.

Or with friends.

I was mainly the instructor doing the stand-up boarding but occasionally also on the lie-down station. And ‘close your mouth’ was the best advice I could give the tourists. This isn’t funny. Snow melts in your mouth, sand doesn’t.

And if I wasn’t teaching newbies how to board down a sand dune, I was pushing them over the jump. Even beginners. It was rather easy, they just had to stand up straight. I’d hold and guide them.

There were nice days on the dune and there were not so nice ones. Cold ones. Misty ones.

And then there were Eastwind days. The days when the wind was blowing a gale coming straight off the desert. Yip, this is where my name as a sandblasting instructor comes from. Not directly though.

When I received my first working permit in the country, my passport returned from immigration with the stamp for the working visa and the job description stated “sandblasting instructor”.

I showed my friends and we all had a good laugh. I wonder what the person thought about issuing it. In the end, it was very true. I often got sandblasted out there. On windy days, I’d carry kilos of sand back home.

While we’re at it. Let’s talk about the sand. The sand will be everywhere. Not just on you but everywhere you go, you carry it with you.

And no, I did not mind the sand on my skin. Otherwise, I would not have lasted this long.

My job didn’t start on the dune. Every day we had to prepare the trips in the garage. Pack the boots, boards, and bindings and fit it all inside the vehicles. Sometimes a real challenge.

Sometimes I ended up having the door in my hand.

On other days I got stuck with the car in the sand. I just took the turn a little too wide and felt the tires not moving anymore. I simply stopped and let the clients out of the car acting as if that was the parking spot.

The crew laughed.

I learned how to jump-start, push-start and tow vehicles.

I did management duties whenever my boss was on holiday. Writing emails with the cat next to me. This was when I learned I was allergic to cats. At the age of 21 as I had never touched a cat before (a whole different story).

Oh, and I also did my first-ever skydive at the dunes. When my boss didn’t want to give me off that day, the owner of the skydiving company simply organized I’d be landing from the skies on my way to work. So I did. As a tandem passenger.

“Welcome to my office” was how I greeted the tourists every day.

My best friend Zak, always next to me.

And yes, those views are that magical. The Atlantic Ocean is right behind the dune field.

So, this is it. My story on how I became a sandboarding, or sandblasting, instructor. Not sure if there’s a second one in the world with that job description.

This is a writing prompt response to Globetrotter’s monthly challenge. ‘Action’ is the theme of July and today is the last day to submit your own entry. Read the submission guidelines and inspiration below:

These two are my first two responses to the prompt:

Believe it or not but someone else also submitted a story on sandboarding. Listen to Bell Dae.

Catherine Duchesne has a story to share from Namibia about hiking a trail I was on too. But there was a problem with water…

Shutterstock | Instagram | YouTube | Newsletter | Amazon | Redbubble