John Ekongo
A FORTNIGHT ago, during the Etosha centenary celebrations, a bunch of journos and technocrats were treated to a feast of plentiful enjoyment. It was remarkably a highlight of the year. I hasten to say celebration because of strict directives by the Old Man at State House, who quite fairly distanced the term celebration from the Etosha (or Etotha pu Amuntuni), the more culturally correct name in Oshindongo. As far as history has recorded, Etosha has been there for eternity, so there is no need to celebrate at all. I am no historian but I will accept that as a conclusive argument.
Nonetheless, my highlight of the whole camaraderie of feast during the two days was the campfire on the last day, adorned with all groups of life embodied being whaling and obviously boozing the night away.
Around the campfire I was particularly impressed by the presence of a Namibian musical icon, in my opinion unmatched by any up to this moment, Jackson Kaujeua.
I am not saying this because I am on an official public relations campaign roller coaster for any body; well it is simply an acknowledgement of talent.
JK took us back in time with rendition of his popular hits and sound full string of the guitar. Complementing him was Ricardo of “Elemotho” fame. Together they mesmerised the crowd of 100 or so as they churned sound after sound and it was very easy to resist sleep. The music spurred the mind, soothed the heart, nourished the soul, and most of all it was and up to now remained bloody good music.
A maxim goes “the Good live lesser then their Good deeds”. So I agree in sadness that the statement is true in its sense of the word.
Starting as from last week ago a good man will live less than his good deeds and it has heartened me most sternly.
To kill a man is cruel. To kill a harmless man is ruthless, to kill a man in front of his own children is despicable and sick. To kill a man like Lucky Dube is both disturbing and disconcerting.
How to get behind the loss of this man, is beyond comprehension and in as much as we are saddened by his death indeed his good deed in the form of music will live on. What saddened me is the manner at which a person of his calibre had to die. An uncalled for cruel manner indeed.
Strange though that all great Rastafarian legends have all perished around the age of 40, Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, and now Lucky Dube.
Through the wireless I learnt that he was posthumously awarded recognition of one sort or other.
Now to that I want to add something, in the way that Sorry Ngo loves to ramble. It is ridiculous that how we tend to elevate somebody or someone at status once he/she is no more.
Whereas when the person is well and alive, we forget his existence and could not afford him the respect he needed.
Our society is filled with many men and women of great stature that we need to acknowledge, especially in the arts genre of this country. Art is fundamentally a pillar of society it endows us with so many other things, the ability to celebrate to cheer life, respect and value our culture and practicing our cultures. I think of the likes of Tate Kwela.
I think of the likes of Samuel Fleermuys, an exceptional talent musician who can string a tone and song from any musical instrument. Samuel is now living in abject poverty begging for a dollar and a piece of bread in Zoo Park, with his guitar gently slashed across his back.
Not that I want to impose, but I rightfully believe, that we need to most definitely as a matter of principality recognise and reward this pillar of our society. If not then who will, there is no one else but us who appreciates what this talented individuals do.
If not we are left to mourn and posthumously say the entire nice thing about them. But like the Afrikaans word goes “Spyt kom te laat” meaning regret always comes late.
Lastly, to all Lucky Dube fans in this country, be strong.
I have nothing more to say apart from the deepest bit of my heart, truly and sadly Sorry Ngo. Like you said: “I am going back to my roots, Rasta man never dies.”
Sorry Ngo.