John Ekongo
Keeping up appearances – what appearances? I asked . The past week was not really one of the finest for me. Simply, I could hardly get to terms with what happened to me in Swakopmund.
A friend of mine from varsity is quite a devout Rastafarian and as such has come to harbour his strong bond with the order of Haille Sellasie and the theory of the king of kings.
To me his appearance never played a factor, but his contribution to the development of the fellow human being is all that mattered to me. He now teaches at one of the high schools here in Windhoek.
He would always tell me, “Kondjeni brotha, you see you are not the clothes you wear, you are a human being with the same characteristics as me that defines you, not what you dress or do, but what you are made of is what matters.” Unfortunately, there is still a few of us who ought to be re-educated and re-socialised to understand that appearance isn’t a factor when you judge a fellow human being. It bases itself on pre-conceived ideas, to say the least.
I was at Swakopmund the whole of last week. Before you get all driven up, I was on work-related duties.
Even though it was official, I must admit that my dress sense reflected nothing official at the time in question. In fact, a rather skewed bootlegged baggy pair of jeans, brown slip-on moccasins, oversized woollen khakish sweater (brought purposefully along because of the cold Benguela front) and a FNB-sponsored (thank you Cassius) black cap to cover my unkemmpt frivolous hair, was my intentional dress for the first day of my five-day stay in Swakopmund.
How I dreaded, by the nature of things my sense of dress could have earned me an arrest by the fashion police. Or better still, it made me look like an unemployed youth, out hunting for a job. And that is exactly what one white lady thought of me (I mention white, because that’s what she was, not because I harbour any prejudicial eliminative behaviour). To kill time, I idled in the car park, not looking lost, but just consumed in my own thoughts. And there she was approaching from the far end headed straight at me and in her well versed Afrikaans she goes “Eksuus hoor, hier is geen werk nie, ons stel nie aan nie.” I was shocked and enraged.
Tactfully but still angry, I ask her, “Sorry but do I look like I have an unemployed sticker stuck on my forehead?”
She had the nerve to answer back “Oh dan wat maak jy hier waarmee kan ek help?” I could have blown a fuse, but “aawe” all I needed was to get away from this very judgmental lady. So, again, I nicely pointed to a big “Kapena iilonga, now work, geen werk” sign placed right at the entrance and in my nice Miss Strauss-taught Afrikaans told her “Wil jy nou rerig waar vir my s???_?_’???_?’???_?