Ats, and I thought Windhoek was the place with the most mal people until I arrived here in Onguari (Otjinene) on the day of ofandisa, where everyone was Mr Kamariva (Mr Cash) after cashing in nicely at the cattle auction. The main road that has now been tarred was lined up with people enjoying toe moer toe. Not that it is a rare sight because you know how we Namibians do when we get paid. Whether it’s in Okalongo, Onderombapa, Usakos, Vaalgras or Tsumkwe, the behaviours are all the same. But what shocked me the most was just as I drove into the little sleepy town, a crazy-eyed, half-naked woman assailed me with a bottle of 061.
Etoo, I have never seen so much craziness in my life. I mean, I have seen half sewes at weddings, in shebeens and along Independence Avenue, but they were mostly speaking to themselves, asking for a dollar or recognising you from somewhere.
Nothing could have prepared me for things that I have only read in Bible studies about people who have been overpowered by demons, but lucky as I may have been, bystanders overpowered the chika and all I could think was, Mukuru uandje!
But that did not perturb me from socialising with the people. As a matter of fact, I grew up in the area and people would think I was ‘High Society’ for not mingling with the locals.
Then someone asked me to give them N$10 for a taxi. I said, huh? I thought this one was taking chances as I have never seen a taxi in Otjinene, unless it’s one of those long-distance mini vans that transport people out of town.
Everybody started laughing, “You don’t know Taxi?” I said I don’t know of any other taxi than those driven by our notorious drivers that we must dodge like kudus on Windhoek’s roads. It wasn’t long before someone arrived with a small yellow powdered box and everyone was excited to “consume” the content. Before you knew it, everyone had a running nose and they were speaking in tongues. Mind you, it’s not an illegal substance like dagga, ecstasy or gafif (don’t mind the spelling) that would have the gatas knocking at your door in no time.
I don’t know whether it is just this one particular kambashu in the little town where Taxi is famous, but everybody was just so happy like they have been injected with some jolly drug, until as usual, someone had to spoil the party.
Now, it’s no laughing matter, but as you know us Namibians after a few doppies, nothing is more attractive than mimicking The Terminator’s punching blows or pulling out a gwassa.
Before you know it, two kamashonas were rolling on the floor beating the living hell out of each other. No one was allowed to join in or break the fight until one of them lay lifelessly on the ground, but before long he was up again. He changed his bloodied shirt and continued with the makiti like nothing happened. I said, Sorry Ngo!
Magreth Nunuhe
mnunuhe@newera.com.na