John Ekongo
I have always shied away from a fight, no matter how one tried to corner me, trading a few good old natured gentleman blows was definitely outside my comfort zone.
“Fighting will take you nowhere but straight to the slammer,” my bespectacled granny would say as a form of encouragement (or discouragement).
So you can say that rather be a coward than a hero. Sorry Ngo, it is by no fault of mine that I ended up that way, but three things here you should bear in mind, are that, I was raised by ladies; secondly, the old man was not there most of the time so there was no one to teach me the finer points of clenching a fist; lastly, I was as thin as Pinnnochio, so imagine the consequences.
It was unheard of when I was growing up (I am not yet old by the way, but I do qualify to become Prime Minister so said the party’s constitution) to have unbecoming, ill-mannered small boys wanting to fight adults.
Seeing that of late I am on a moral fabrication crusade with this column, I could not wonder but ask what the hell is wrong with these Windhoek boys, who think they can break bones of any one they disregard or underestimate.
Aye I have seen a dozen of them boys chasing after big old men, and the geezer is sprinting away at the pace of Frankie Frederick’s unofficial record.
I got angered recently, when an obviously ill-mannered boy stepped on my shoes, somewhere at a shebeen in Katutura. Alright let me be precise, I will tell you the location but not the place’s name – Dolam, yeah it was Dolam alright.
At the first step I played it off, it can only be a genuine mistake. The second one I ignored and 30 or 40 minutes later, the dude found a permanent dislike for my feet and as such stepped on them every so often.
I am a man now right and a man has got to do what a man’s got to do. I proceeded to ask gently, how come and why are you stepping on me so religiously. To be honest, I was scared out of my pants. These guys in Dolam don’t like being approached, especially by conspicuous looking fellows with glasses like mine. So all the time I was wary that he might pull a fast one on me with a knife or something, so I kept my space while trying to be macho.
The gentleman accused me of being drunk and I was the instigator, and for that I had to pay. He would mess me up, come outside then we will show each other … he yelled.
Right there I figured if I go outside I would be plummeted with a few nice fists, some knife wounds and probably a couple of broken ribs, because there was no way that my bully was operating alone.
Thank goodness for diplomacy all I said, “Oh I am sorry I did not see you man, my bad.” And I proceeded to sit at a far away corner from this Butch Cassidy.
I’d rather be a brave coward. This incident reminded me, when as a testosterone opposite female chasing adolescent in Walvis Bay, my childhood friend Lysias once stepped on the toes of heavily intoxicated Harry Simon Crocodile skin shoes in the club. Imagine a drunken intercontinental super flyweight about to box Bernard Hopkins – Harry Simon (well at the peak of his career).
What do you do, you say I am sorry he smacks you, if you keep quite he goes amok. What do you do … RUN man, RUN for dear life…this is Harry Simon we are talking about.
Now you would wonder why seven young guys took to their heels (I first) because of one man. This is it, no sane individual armed with nothing but an apology will stand by and watch as a blood hungry Harry Simon approach you with the sublime mind of a boxer in a ring. You will not survive and you might end up requiring plastic surgery after that. I am saying this because I have seen the size of Harry’s fist.
In the end if you step away, you get to live for another day, you get to be a coward, rather than brave. So long you are not harmed in any way, like my Dolam bully.
Later that night, a bullet grazed through his body, his spine and brains might be affected. So walking again might not be an option, the paramedics tell me.
Had he walked away, he might have been lucky.
So what are you, a brave coward or a brainless hero? I would rather be brave than brainless in the true sense of the word.
Sorry Ngo.