One of Namibia’s leading Kwaito stars, Morocky Mbwaluh, aka The Dogg, recently published his autobiography titled,Ther Dogg: Untold Story. As part of the reading culture campaign launched by the New Era Publication Corporation (NEPC) in conjunction with the Minister of Education, Honourable Dawid Namwandi, Artlife is serialising this autobiography each Friday.
With a record of relocations from birth to this point, the village of Onayena became my first permanent residence in Namibia. The heads of the household were Uncle Vilho and his wife Ruusa.Uncle Vilho is an older brother of my late mother.
This was a typical extended family home in the village. It was crowded to the extent that now, more than ten years later, I can only recall a few of my family members in the house. Apart from Bruce, Magano and Ndiina, some of my cousins in the house were Daniel Kalambi and the late Kiljon Kalambi.
When I arrived from Oshigambo, I had a positive belief that I was finally coming to live with my mother. Deep down, I believe Magano shared this feeling with me. I arrived at Onayena from Oshigambo village after the death of my grandfather, a move masterminded by my father. My arrival there was marked by the unfortunate news that my mother had left the village to go to look for work in Windhoek. This news came to my attention through Uncle Vilho and some other family members. Given our unwillingness to settle with our father, Magano and I decided to run away from home and only return after his departure. As children, the point was just to go as far away as possible; we didn’t even know where were running to. As fate would have it, our return home from the temporary escape proved fruitless as far as our mission was concerned. Daddy was right there waiting for us. He did not want to leave without the two of us.
I remember him asking us if we were interested in returning with him. At this point, my father had found a job at the Oshakati State Hospital in his profession. It was his intention for Magano and me to go and live at my late grandfather’s place.
Fortunately for us, daddy let go this time and we were left in the responsibility of my uncle. Being the persistent man that he was, my father sent for someone two weeks later to come and get Magano and me. This proved fruitless. We remained in my uncle’s house, and ever since, this has been my home. To this day, I do not regret my decision to run away from my father. I was young at the time, but I could see the results of his violent behaviour, and the mere fact of him beating women, especially my mother, was too much to handle. His alcohol intake was too much as well. I didn’t like what he was doing at that time and to this day, my position regarding his way of doing things hasn’t changed, although he loved me.
Not only was Uncle Vilho destined to raise me, but I can always say he taught me how to be a man. Here is a principled man whom I have known to stand up for his beliefs and convictions. During the late 1950s, the political movement OPO (Owambo People’s Organisation) was undergoing transformation and changed to SWAPO (South West Africa People’s Organisation) and a lot of students joined the SWAPO party.
Uncle Vilho joined too. This led to most of them being suspended and eventually expelled from school. He went on to work in the West Coast Fish Factory, based in Walvis Bay, for about 20 years. Despite all of this, he still came back to Windhoek in 1982 to complete his matric. My uncle is a firm believer in academic education, this is why he still wants me to go and get a university degree. He also echoes the same for my brother.
Uncle Vilho states that Bruce started repairing tapes and other mechanical instruments at an early age. This prompted his decision to find Bruce a school in the city. He is one man not surprised by Bruce becoming an engineer.
When I was schooling in Windhoek, uncle would always make time to come and visit the family. Typical of him, he would always get hold of my school reports and assess my grades- a habit which lasted until my first few months at university.
Growing up in a family of Christians, baptism is a must. I define this as a time in your life when you give yourself to Jesus. This is why I believe it is only right to go for baptism when one is matured or old enough to understand what you are committing yourself to. Jesus himself was baptised at an older age, and so was everyone else in the Bible. I was baptised at the age of six or seven in the Onayena Lutheran Church, and I still remember reading the Bible myself that day. I was baptised on the same day as Magano, while Ndiina and Bruce were baptised earlier than us owing to their earlier arrival from Zambia.
In all fairness, I think growing up under Uncle Vilho’s care contributed to my music career. He is a Christian who forcefully encouraged us to attend Sunday school. In our days, Sunday school was more about singing, complemented with Bible studies. The singing guidance I received at Sunday school laid down the foundations of my musical career. Within the family, music hails from my grandgather, my mother’s father, known to me only as Kalambi. He passed away in the 1980s. I am told he used to play musical instruments such as the organ and sometimes the violin in church. He composed church songs for the Onayena Congregation. He was followed by the next generation of my uncles who sang in church. My family fully embraced Christianity and I think this resulted in a foundation for my music.
Having said that, at that point in my life, none of my family members or friends really thought of me becoming a musician, not to mention winning awards and gaining recognition. If anything, I can only agree with Bruce when he says, he seemed the most likely sibling of my parent’s children to seriously try it out in the music industry. Bruce attended good schools in Windhoek where he mastered the art of playing musical instruments like the guitar. During the school holidays, I remember him coming home to Onayena with his guitar, and the passion he had for music was overwhelming. Until now, he still has this love for music and every now and then makes time for his guitar. I am proud to say he has become an engineer by profession. Besides singing at the Sunday school sessions, music was not something I considered pursuing, let alone make a career out of. This remained so until my last few years in his school.
As you would expect from a strict disciplinarian, Uncle Vilho expected academic excellence and full participation in household chores from all children within the household. Believe me, laziness and being disrespectful spelled punishment, period. When corporal punishment was abolished from schools, it meant teachers could not give children a hiding. “ When my children misbehaved, I drove from the North to the People’s Primary School in Windhoek and gave them a hiding myself,” says Uncle Vilho. This was my uncle’s norm at home, and he was never scared to exercise this option in the name of discipline.
I got my name in his good books owing to my excellent passing rates.
Doing my part regarding household duties was never my strong point.
Luckily, cattle herding was not a regular activity in our home. Unlike other families in the village, our cattle were at the farm. The only chance to really herd cattle was during the school holidays.
During those days, the only media exposure we had was through the radio, which operated on batteries. We had no access to electricity, so TV was out of the question. The only other form of socialising we had was sneaking out of the house to go and play with other children in the village. Uncle Vilho was against us going out to play with other children, so we felt we had no other choice but to sneak out. Whether we understood the concept of pain at that time was immaterial, a hiding was quaranteed for all who misbehaved. (To be continued next Friday)