Water under the bridge

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HAIL the Godfather of Boxing, Harry Simon, you proved once again that the laaities must pasopa.

They are dealing with a groot man! Your latest victory should be a lesson to all of us that even when life has dealt us the wrong cards, we can stand up with renewed hope and reach for the stars once again.

No matter how many mistakes we have made in life; no matter how beaten down we feel, as long as we are alive and as long as the sun rises, there is  always another day.

I am not a motivational speaker, nor am I a shrink, but if what this Ama Baainaar did is not a lesson for all of us, then I don’t know what is.

While in senior primary school, the shortest cut to school was creeping through a fence that had a hole in it at this one house in da Tura.

Every early morning as I passed by, I would see men and women with somber faces gathering there, hoping the Shebeen Queen would soon open her door so that they could nurse their babalaz with okaskala kotombo.

On my way back home from school, I would see more people filling up the place. Even when I came from afternoon studies, no one would have left to go chao something for lunch at home, go prepare food for the family, clean up the yard or just go do something at home.

This was the routine everyday – wake up before the chickens come home to roost and jaywalk back home at sunset under the most interesting conditions. At one point I almost knew all those customers frequenting that house.

From Aunt Mekere who would always sit in one corner sniffing oseni and talking to herself while waiting to be served her okaskala.

She didn’t talk much and just stared at you. To Aunt Ulukus who was probably the youngest in the crowd who would always have something to say when you passed by and some man threw you a compliment of how beautiful you are.

In her eyes, nobody could better represent her in the beauty department. You would hear snap, “Ai, etse, where is that girl beautiful?

“I was the Madam of Katutura and if I want I can become again. Diri me. No one holds the koek than me. Who is the queen at Gemeente Saal? Watch me.”

Then she would pretend she is on the ramp and give a show to the amusement of everyone. You would hear somemen, saying: “Ag man, you might have been beautiful those days but you are old now. Just shut up.”

Another wise toppie we called Tate Johnny would always talk about politics and how tired he is of this bleddie boer regime.

No one would pay him any mind but he would always continue to mobilize the “masses” about justice and freedom and workers’ rights. But then some zalie would awlays jump in, “Ai, I am tired of you and your politics. Just buy the skal.” Tate Johnny would continue: “I will become the president of this country one day. One day the people shall govern,” he would say, raising his fist in the air.

Another auntie, who had a chip on her shoulder although she would gulp a kaskala in a second when nobody was looking but then continue to look at others in a disgusting way, always talked about how her kastige husband-to-be was coming to fetch her to go to Amrika.

For some reason I never understood why she liked a malapyp place like that.

I mean, she was always squeaky clean, with a nice big Afro and jeans so tight they could pop out any time. I also remember people in later years, who in a conversation would say, “I was faster than Frankie Fredericks; I was more beautiful than Michelle McLean …”

I could have done this; If only I had done that …I would have …”

And so went the stories of how their lives passed them by. I didn’t get to watch Harry’s bout, but all I could hear on social media was how the judges “gave” the match to the boxer formerly known as the Terminator because of home advantage.

“Honestly, Harry was clearly moered by that guy” is all I could hear. Now, were the judges Namibian or were they bribed by the camp of the boxer now known as the Hurricane?

Whatever happened, I don’t care. A win is a win. Let the World Boxing Federation or that guy with the deurmekaar hair, something King, deal with the issue.

But since you have all decided to become honest citizens, let’s deal with honesty here. Who of you will honestly realise that your lives are kaka and you need to make a change?

Who of you realise that your mampara careers of breaking into others’ houses, snatching others’ cellphones and purses or killing others over a gwaai will take you nowhere? It’s time to be honest and make a change.

If it’s kama too late for you, then Sorry Ngo!

 

By Magreth Nunuhe