Invasion: Nam

I thought I could never breathe in actual heat short of a flame-blowing display gone smolderingly wrong, but Namibia quickly helps one re-evaluate what one holds as the physically impossible in nature, replacing your sentiments with an extended actual of what reality can be.

At first glance one would not understand why a European superpower like Germany would want to have the desert that is Namibia as a colony, but on closer examination and coming to learn of the rich pockets of mineral deposits that litter the otherwise arid countryside, one is called to re-evaluate their stance on this country.

I can just imagine rosy-cheeked Europeans, peering over ringed specs scouting out the countryside for the mineral deposits in the rough landscape, being introduced for the first time to the unforgiving African sun. It must have been quite a sight; litres upon litres of the amber-gold nectar of the gods consumed previously must have been sweated out to this end and a decision was made that this, out of all other areas of Africa, would be the best place to colonise the land, rape it of natural resources and massacre sixty thousand odd natives in the process of protecting said land – if need be from someone like say Britain who may also have had an interest in the same area.

Minor loss though — the sixty thousand odd natives — the Brits must have concluded in their strategy sessions back home up north as they sipped tea and had some sandwiches no doubt, since the natives would sommer just make new little natives who would then be put to toil the land for diamonds and life could continue; much improved under the new, progressive, civilised European rule and plunder for the betterment of life for all (Europeans) of course.

And the above is not a stab at any person who may or may not naturally have tea or whiskey as his favourite beverage and sandwiches as his favourite snack who may or may not have written a controversial statement in a column of a particularly large Sunday paper, similar to the statement I assume and who I believe was horribly misunderstood, who may go by the name of David Bullard … I swear! For Davie is a scholar and a gentleman, I proclaim.

I’m not too big on facts and research, as some of you may well know, but I’d rather gather my insights from the people who inhabit whatever habitat I find myself in for business purposes. I happen to be in Namibia as I clicky-de-Klerk away on my laptop putting my observations and experiences together for your reading pleasure and education, my ill-travelled reader.

Yeah, and speaking of that de Klerk character and his regime, which apparently ran this place concurrently with keeping the natives in check in the townships back home in the good old SA (this is news to me) they did a good job of changing the landscape irreversibly. Namibia, according to my source Ambrosius — a barman at the five star establishment I rested my head at last night — got it’s independence from the Afrikaner crew from across the border down south in 1990, ‘four years before YOU!’ it was proudly pointed out to me by my well-respected and no doubt world renowned historian, Ambrosius.

At every moment someone introduced themselves to me, I thought to myself that whoever is responsible for these okes getting these names should be dug up and shot, just by the way, but that is just fat, sensitive me.

So the English apparently roped in the Afrikaaners, whom history marks as always having been ever so willing to get into a good old brawl in the desert, from down south to fight their battle and drive off the enemy, which I think was Germany (either Ambrosius was fading into obscurity here or the beer was taking its toll on the Sumo) for a promise of land, I would think, after Zee-Germans had been driven off (And here I was, thinking that the English and the Afrikaaners never liked each other, or maybe I should stop getting such critical information from barmen).

And the plan worked and somehow Namibia fell under South African rule ‘until 1990, four years before YOU!’ as dear Ambrosius would affirm again and again.

I think the crowd here was more accepting of being colonised and especially after sixty thousand odd of them, mostly located in the south, had been massacred in the genocide during the wars that shaped this landscape.

The language most spoken in Windhoek, where I am based, is still largely Afrikaans. This was bit of a shocker for me. I didn’t expect EVERYONE to speak the language, which back home represented oppression and the apartheid regime; a language which basically calls up memories of strike, marginalisation, de-humanisation and atrocious human rights violations and one which sparked the 1976 Soweto uprising from which so many perished in the cause to rid themselves of it.

But here, Afrikaans is the language that business in done in, the chosen language, the language that was indoctrinated into the people for so many decades. Some even consider it as their native tongue. When your freedom fighter and liberator carries the name representative and common to your oppressor like General Witbooi and his mug-shot (clad in the garb of your oppressor) appears on your currency today, I would submit that the oppressor has won — even in his ultimate and inevitable defeat decades later due to pressure from the same Europeans who had, decades earlier, sought the same control that South Africa enjoyed over Namibia.

There is a Nelson Mandela named road though, that gave me faith as I drove in from the airport which may be named after some freedom fighter hero type of some sort or ex-president. And this was no pot-holed filled rugged stretch of road like we are used to in the RS of A. These are pristine roads, well kept with manicured wild bush bordering them – real gems of road which stretch for ever with wild bush that spreads for eons on either side as you hurry towards civilization, unaware of the impending and unexpected permanent, manned road-blocks or ‘security check-points’ as they are officially known in Nam.

But back to the struggle hero: ex Al-Presidente types who get airstrips in the middle of the desert named after them; I was thinking that he did a good job of avoiding a recall from the ruling party in Namibia for any alleged, and I stress alleged (lest I be called a tribalist Zulu, like there is any other kind, some would quiz) indiscretions against his own and ruling party. I noted that this is very much unlike Thabo who is alleged to have tried to oust the One, a.k.a. Jako-baas who is the current boss of the ruling party in Mzansi – the AN to the *freaky-freaky* C.

Speaking of tribalist dictators, I heard that Nam also has an other-tribe-o-phobic problem. Apparently there is one particular tribe, naturally in the majority and deemed not too smart and shelved to work as taxi drivers and miners etc, which is from the north and is naturally not particularly liked by the rest of the tribes in the country. They are proud people though, much like some other tribes in the majority in a country south of Nam. They are strong, mostly rural and pragmatic people who are unfortunately otherwise regarded as barbaric and uneducated by the other know-it-all natives of the country.

Misunderstood; this tribe has been branded as useless and futile breeding exercises by the others, I think they are called the Vembu (excuse my spelling, Ambrosius, that smart-arse, didn’t write anything down for me and he is not part of this tribe) and they are from the north of the country and are claimed to be in such high numbers because the war, which wiped out a large majority of the other tribes, was fought in the south, leaving these simple folk to procreate at will, and against the improvement of Nams national IQ, depending on which tribe your source comes from of course. Sad, this tribalism, isn’t it?

I was getting to a point here though, which is that Namibia is a great and diverse place to live from what I have seen and heard in the past two days that I have been here. It is great in the sense of its South Africaness, maybe minus the Afrikaans and close proximity of the sun to the earth. I could live here very happily in the winter months, migrating back to SA in the summer, to chill out at sub thirty-five degree temperatures and hook myself up with a proper BEE deal just to keep me going.

We should just open those boarder gates, stop the nonsense that one has to go through at the airport and let this just be Southern Africa. How I wish the honourable Mangosuthu (with all due respect;) “Gatsha – the Chief” Buthelezi would be president for another day, we could take over this piece of relatively uninhabited south-west corner of Africa with relative ease and little fuss. The natives would be cool with it too. I mean every other African wants to be South African; just take a look at Hillbrow.

On a serious note though, I like Namibia. It is a kwaai little place as the locals would say. It is still and constant, the people are genuine and the sun is honest about burning your skin.

In my next piece I will explore the deeper-seated issues that the country has and explore how good an idea it would be to invade or take over the country – I do not take this lightly and realise that ‘invade’ is a strong word taking into account the history of Namibia and the people who perished for the cause of the country, but humour me and I shall put a case to you. No blood need spill and no one need perish or be displaced.

I mean this in the most sincere manner. Borders are not an African idea; they were imposed on us along with Christianity and underwear, so also keep in mind that mergers and acquisitions are the way of the future, my dear friends. Why can’t this be done with countries as well? Britain has done it for centuries and if you think it ended with colonialism then how do you explain America employing the very same tactics, clad in Weapons of Mass Destruction as their sheepskin, in the Middle-East?

Be patient until my next installment.

I rest/bask in the heat
The Sumo