By Catherine Sasman
OSHAKATI
It is 5 o’clock on a Sunday morning. A group of blurry-eyed young men stop early morning motorists who have come to fill up at a filling station, duck their heads inside the cars’ open windows, argue with the travellers inside.
Some sit drunkenly on the pavements, smoking. They laugh out loud and push each other around aggressively.
They have “sunrised” at one of the shebeens, they say. This is a word often used by young people in Oshakati. It simply means to stay up until the sun rises. And “sunrising” means staying up drinking the whole night until the next day.
Unable to go home that time of the morning, they prefer to hang around open public places until the sun is high enough – or they have sobered up enough – to return home, which they in all likelihood share with their parents and siblings.
At four in the afternoon on the same day, young women and older men sit under a shade close to a shebeen.
One man gets up, throws spent beer bottles on a dump heap nearby and staggers to the shebeen after having collected some notes and coins from his companions for more.
“I think there are too many shebeens in Oshakati,” says a 25-year-old Jennifer, wiping spittle from her chin. Her lips seem raw from either smoking or drinking.
She goes on: “These shebeens should kick out all children that go there. There are rubbish guys hanging around cuca shops. They are undisciplined. But I feel safe most of the time.”
Jennifer has lived in Windhoek for a short stint while employed as a receptionist at a reputable company.
When she lost her job, she returned to Oskahati, but has since been unable to find a job.
“I have gone to every place and I cannot find anything to do,” she says, asking for a job in the same breath. “I can do anything,” she says, as she sways back and forth unsteadily.
“I can do ironing, cleaning, sales, anything.”
To kill boredom, Jennifer has become a regular visitor to the shebeen near her parental home.
“I like coming here,” she says, pointing to the shebeen behind her.
“I like to hang out with my friends.”
And shebeens in Oshakati seem to be about the only places where young – and increasingly old – meet in the absence of any other entertainment facilities.
Upon entering Oshakati – from any direction conceivable – shebeens line up unendingly one after the other, sometimes literally three to five metres apart.
These establishments are usually small square concrete structures of not more than 30 square metres. Often, roof-high beer and Coca-cola crates stand in front with new deliveries.
And the shebeens are usually branded with the most outrageous names.
There are the Sox For Life Bar, New Celebrations Bar, Welcome Mary Bar, Together Bar, Ma & Three Sisters Bar, or the Three Sisters in Beer Garden Bar, the Hot Stone Bar, the Rescue Bar, or the Time to Time Bar, the Permanent Peace Bar, the Charity Given All Bar, or the Baby Care Bar, the Unit of Africa Bar, or the Famous Lover Bar. The possibilities are endless.
The composite picture that emerges is that alcohol is sold practically every hour of any day of the week by just about any person of any age.
“There are always small children hanging around inside the shebeens,” says Jennifer. “People must handle their shebeens and kick out these children to defend them. Shebeens do not have security guards. If something happens, the police must be called in.”
The strange thing, says a business woman originally from Windhoek, is that one rarely finds drunken people on the streets, “unlike Windhoek, or Rundu, or Khorixas”.
‘Business Ok’
Trucks loading and unloading beer and other beverages is a daily sight along the Oshakati/Ongwediva highway.
The Spotman Depot along that route and one of many usually orders three truckloads of 750-millilitre beer bottles per month. Each truckload, says 18-year-old John Kandenge, taking stock at his grandfather?s depot, is 2???_?_’???_?’???_???