Ghosts On The Lüderitz Peninsula

I don't believe in Ghosts but, for this post, let's just pretend I do.


The Lüderitz Peninsula is an eerie place. To the West, the icy Atlantic Ocean, to the East the forbidding Namib desert.

Dull pastel shades predominate and these are even more subdued when the frequent mist rolls in, creating a very strange atmosphere indeed.

There are a few derelict buildings around, like the one above, likely one of the first Lighthouse Keeper's houses at Diaz Point, dating from the early twentieth century.


This house was probably built before 1910 and, my guess is that at one time it was the Lighthouse Keeper's residence.

The lighthouse is automated now and the house is rented-out as a self-service accommodation - I slept two nights here.

As soon as I stepped into the door I felt the Ghosts - of people who in bygone years had lived at this bleak and isolated spot, in a time when transport and communication were very difficult and clumsy.

I didn't feel uncomfortable in my Awareness. I was at peace but the vibe in the house caused me to have a heightened 'sensitivity' for the whole time I was here.


After settling in, I took a walk along the rocky shore and came upon four graves on a beach, just above the tide-line - only one was marked with a headstone.

The inscription in German reads: 'Here Lies The Lighthouse Keeper Theophil Piechaczek, Born 23/4/1873, Drowned 13/5/1905'.

I later discovered that in those times, when the Lighthouse Keeper needed supplies, he was obliged to row across the bay to the town of Lüderitz, a distance of more than 5 km.

Theophil Piechaczek and his assistant had drowned in rough seas upon their return from town that day.


The spooky aura was enhanced by the skeletons of Cape Fur Seals scattered along the shore.

There is a large colony of Seals on a nearby island and it seems that many had come here to die.

I had to remind myself that no massacre had taken place and that the ghosts I was seeing had accumulated over a number of years.


The next morning I climbed the small rocky outcrop on the edge of the ocean, up to the Diaz Cross

It was on this spot in 1488 that the Portuguese explorer Bartolomeu Diaz, having rounded the Cape Of Good Hope, had erected a stone cross on his homeward journey.

The present cross is a replica but, I was aware of the ghosts of the intrepid seafarers who had passed this way in their flimsy wooden ships more than 500 years ago - what had they thought, how did they feel as they gazed upon this awesome desolation, so far from their homes?


Later, on a drive around the peninsula to visit the numerous bays and fjords, I came upon these two graves on the beach at Knochen Bucht.

Any writing on the wooden crosses has long been erased by the abrasive weather.

Who were these people, how had they died and how did they come to be buried here? Their Ghosts did not answer.


At Wit Muur - White Wall - the magical spot mentioned in an earlier post, The Sea, I found another grave.

There was no writing on the stone and, barring human interference, it will probably still be standing there thousands of years hence.


At Sturmvogel Bucht my heart became heavy for the first time.

I came upon an old Whaling Station with a bleached Whale-skull lashed to a wooden post, bleak testament to the horrific slaughter which had taken place here in years gone by.

American, British and French whalers had hunted Whales to near extinction here early in the last century.

I stood on the causeway where hundreds of thousands of these magnificent creatures' lifeless bodies had been dragged from the sea up to the processing plant, there to be rendered into lamp oil for the hungry European and American market.

Whale numbers have slowly been recovering in recent years but, the damage has been done.


A pet cemetery at Messum Bay - some residents of Lüderitz have buried their beloved pets on the beach.

One grave marker, in German, reads: 'Gypsy Please Come Back' - this plaintive expression of grief caused me to recall how, as a child I had cried for the first time in the face of Death, when my Sausage Dog, Hans, had died.


And then there were my personal Ghosts.

A few days after my 21st birthday in 1972, I had arrived in Lüderitz with my buddy Brian (left in pic) aboard a small wooden Fisheries Research Vessel.

Brian had gone ashore one night and got badly beaten up by some local knuckle-draggers because he had long hair.

I ended up staying in Lüderitz for a year and Brian returned to S Africa - we lost contact shortly afterwards.


There are other Ghosts in Lüderitz but, the horror of their story deserves a separate post.


So, were any of these Ghosts real, or were they just figments of my imagination?

I guess I'll only know for sure if I become a ghost myself ...

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