John Ekongo
Please by all means don’t be taken aback by the titling of this weeks column.
Apart from the fact that it will deal with the incredible idea of stench, it does have a hidden socio-morality question underneath. These range from, accident safety, to family planning, balanced nutrition and quite a number of hordes of other factors.
Nonetheless, I attempt not to cause uneasiness but just to do my civilian duty to highlight a few untasteful incidents, that I believe some of us have long been subjected to involuntarily or the other way around by some well needed service providers.
Everyone especially, all of us who somehow have a patrilineal link to the four northern regions have at one point or the other made use of the not reliable but effective public transport that plies between “Uushiimba no Oshitopolua” (Windhoek-Oshakati).
My biggest shortcoming is the inability to have my own ride. To put it mildly my tax bracket does not allow me to get the confidence of entering a showroom and listen to an Afrikaner -salesman with a probable name like “Doep Verneels” telling me all lovely details about cars. So in the meanwhile, I stare and watch from the windows only, and stay well clear from things I cannot afford.
Anyway, I got the opportunity to drive earlier than my colleagues from Ondangwa, after a week in sweltering heat. At the boarding zone, as soon as I step my foot out of the taxi, a swamp of long-distance operators got me and my partner by the grips. One bag of mine that side, hers this side and my limb “doer die kant”. “No get in my car, I will drive now I only have space let for three people get in. So it went like that. Eventual we made our choice and boarded a nice looking one, only to find out we are the first clients for the day. Welcome to Wamboland I humed.
Soon traffic started picking up, an old lady with her grandson joined us, not before she messed her “container of Ombike” on the floor. What followed next a vapourising smell of spirit that could render you drunk, by the ineffective breathalyser of the Windhoek City Traffic Police in their fancy Peugeots. Two hours later, we switched cars, and this became worse. No sooner the engine revved and we made way for the highway. A middle-aged lady one chair behind us decided to aerate her jersey, by lifting her arms, and waft of a stench so strong it goes straight to your brain filled the car. My well- educated degreed brain gave a shutdown; my crossword puzzle seems not challenging anymore. I am sorry to say this but the madam sure did give off a heavy atomic smell. A young weary mother clutching her baby, when she opened her “Okambago kondaku-Oshikundu” strengthened my discomfort further. Knowing well what this fermented cultural drink does, you want it nowhere near you in the smoldering heat of the north. The air of this drink travelled the length of the minibus so furiously I had the windows opened, but only to be closed by the lady with the smelly armpits. She felt cold apparently.
Again not to be outdone in the front row, a granny decided to open up her Tupperware full of the home-cooked marathon chicken, to help her swallow she had a Tafel Lager to gush off the bones. Pity it was not Windhoek Lager, had it been I would have probably joined her. I have no problem with the “kaxuxua” but when it is spoiled, I damn sure will have a pit of uneasiness.
For the cherry on top my experiences with the ‘smells from hell’ was crowned by a beautiful release of natural poof and gases by a baby. I swear I heard myself saying the Little Rascal.
And now for my morality lessons, a couple of things to note, first the minibus had 22 adults plus nine children that gives you 31lives at stake. No air-conditioner, meaning that vapours could pose a threat to any body including the driver. No kidding true as hell research has shown that awkward smell can cause uneasiness when you drive.
Lastly, all single mothers with their nine kids none of them are working will be cohabitating apparently with their boyfriends in Havana. That is urban migration there. By the way, six of them looked so younger than me, that made me ask the question, what happened to family planning. Oh almost forget also personal hygiene, five dollars gives you a huge soap bar similar to the ones we had in hostels.
“Ai tog” upon arrival six hours later, I thought well and deep that instead of ending just right at the showroom window, I perhaps should make an effort to go inside and make friends with Doep Verneels, maybe getting my own ride won’t be as smelly as hell as my Ondangwa experience.
Sorry Ngo.