THAT this could happen in the heart of Windhoek I could not imagine.
Not when this land of ours has earned itself the accolade of being a peaceful and stable country. But this specific night such accolade seemed to be temporarily suspended, if not evaporated, at least to my mind because for those living in this specific street this is a daily occurrence. It was not until this specific night that I was rudely awakened to the fact that the much-trumpeted peace and stability seem to be only confined and exclusively enjoyed by some privileged areas of the land, and only to some isolated islands of the capital for that matter.
These are the remote gated communities. But to some mainstream communities, those on the fringes of our social living, such terms as peace, tranquillity, you list them, and even security, remain but only a pipedream.
For every hour, of especially the night, what might have seemed a calm neighbourhood during the day, is transformed into killing fields reminiscent of the movie by the same name.
Very recently in this street in Katutura, Aaron Tjatindi to be specific, I ran into a group of youngsters, about 20 of them.
First I thought it was one of those street football teams from which many a football hero has emerged, and that a grand finale was on. But only to notice that what was supposed to have been the makeshift goal posts, the stones, were way too many as the street was literally littered with such stones.
And this is when I realised that “football” of a different kind must have been on. Actually what was unfolding was one of many street pitch battles that residents of this particular street have become reluctantly accustomed to.
In a way many of them have come under siege of these pitch battles, pitting gangs against one another that come sunset an undeclared curfew somehow descends as the residents fearfully retreat behind closed doors, lest they are caught in the crossfire between gangsters.
But retreating to the comfort of their homes rarely offers a good night’s peaceful rest, let alone safety and security. With stones from the crossfire between the gangsters raining on their houses, unleashing explosive sounds as the stones reverberate on the houses’ roofs, oocupiers of these houses can by any means not be guaranteed any safety and security in their homes.
And this seems the fate and lot these residents are condemned to since the advent of a few watering holes at the nearby mini shopping complex, down the eastern end of the street. Ninety nine percent of the patrons of these drinking places are teenagers, both out-of-work school dropouts, and most worrying and disturbing, learners still at school.
Unknown to the parents of these youngsters, while safely home in their exclusive secluded neighbourhoods, their children seem to have become the source of fear in other neighbourhoods.
And most consternating, these are the fruits of our very homes that we seem to be delivering to our schools, expecting schools to make hay while the sun shines turning them into would-be citizens of tomorrow.
Certainly from what I saw this particular night, I cannot but now have a complete understanding of the crisis of discipline that our schooling institutions are left to grapple and tussle with, with such rotten elements.
What a dreaded situation our teachers and administrators in these schools must be finding themselves in. Not only this but emerging from these homes under siege, their occupiers are expected the following day to be gainful at one or the other instance of productive endeavour.
I was made to believe this particular night the turf battles had reached feverish proportions with most of the youngsters who recently wrote their Grade 10 and 12 examinations idling, if not rotting away in our equally decaying neighbourhoods if not broken homes, swelling the ranks of the gangters.
How, otherwise, could one describe the homes from which these youngsters hail than being broken?
Welcome to a section of the Land of the Brave! Our avowed land of peace, calm, tranquility and stability. And mark my words, this is not an isolated occurrence confined to this particular street and neighbourhood. This is a common and widespread activity among our youths, and in many if not most of our neighbourhoods, sometimes in full gaze of adults, and the law enforcement agencies that be. Because, believe me, if this, as by the testimonies of the residents, has been a regular occurrence, what else can one say other than that it has been taking place in the full gaze of officers of the law.
I shall not be convinced that the so-called strong arm of the law is not, and has not been aware of the goings-on, and around this particular mini shopping centre. And everything sinful, vile and evil going along with it.
Drunkenness of the highest order, profanity, you name it all, are germinated and in this environ and contaminated beyond.
And sadly is not the only one of its kind, be it in Katutura. Not long ago in this very column I commented on some youngsters in the capital of the Cattle Country patronising a watering hole, in the full guise of the elderly. And not long ago the media was abuzz with Namibia as a country of drunkenness and drunkards.
Sadly it seems youngsters are in a fierce competition with adults, and their parents. Who shall and should be keeping an eye on who, as well keep who in rein? Surely Aaron Tjatindi, an impeccable community leader in his time, must be turning in his grave seeing his street has now rotted into gangsters’ land!
Kae Matundu-Tjiparuro