Comrades, we are living in revolutionary times. In the old days, prostitution operated with discipline. There were standards. There was shame. There was darkness. A woman would stand quietly behind Kalahari Sands Hotel wearing a leopard-print jacket and sunglasses at 23h00 like a respectable citizen.

Now? Full HD. Ring light. TikTok filter. Front camera. Confidence.

“My p*ssy is available. If you want premium services, slide in my DMs.”

Broadcast live like a Cabinet announcement.

The thing shocking me is not even the prostitution itself. That profession is older than mathematics. Humanity has always had two industries - farming and people selling coochie for survival. Ancient civilisation depended on both.

But at least our ancestors had the decency to hide a little.

Today’s generation is marketing vagina like they’re launching a new yoghurt flavour at Woermann Brock.

And these girls are fearless. Faces unblurred. Government names included. Some even add contact details and location pins. “Currently operating in Walvis Bay. Specials available.”

Specials. Like Hungry Lion.

One viral video this week featured a lady aggressively advertising her services while children were speaking in the background. Small innocent kids hearing auntie promising Olympic-level bedroom performances to strangers online.

Imagine doing homework while your mother is in the next room saying: “I give head better than Kim Kardashian.”

Now before the unemployed youth brigade attacks me, yes, times are hard. Namibia’s economy is moving like a donkey with asthma. Jobs are scarce. Hunger is real.

But comrades, must survival come with a beaming light in your face? If it’s that old gold tooth you want to show off, blur your eyes! Because life is very long. The internet is even longer.

Today you are online announcing “I can rotate on it.” Ten years later, you’re applying for a receptionist position at TotalEnergies during the oil boom.

HR types your name into Google. Boom - there you are in 4K talking about dancing on a married man’s d*ck. “I can do things to you that your boring wife could never…”

Shame on you, Josephine!

Then, just like that, the interview cancelled before you even sit down.

With age, the idea of marriage grips you. Poor Tangeni finally gathers courage, kneels down at Zoo Park with a small engagement ring bought on instalment…

Three days later his cousins send him your archived videos from 2026.

Now the man must choose between love and village humiliation.

Even worse is Junior. Poor Junior. Your innocent child, whose father is unknown. He just wants to pass Grade 6 mathematics in peace.

Instead, during break time: “Your mother said she gives the best bl*wjobs in town!”

Children are cruel. The internet is crueller.

Ladies, nobody is saying don’t hustle. Namibia itself is surviving through vibes and Chinese loans. We understand suffering.

But at least prostitute yourselves with strategy. Use aliases. Wear wigs. Respect future-you.

Because the internet never forgets. One day you’ll be a church elder, motivational speaker or deputy director somewhere, and suddenly your old video resurfaces like a forgotten corruption scandal.

Then you start begging: “Please delete it guys, I’ve changed.”

But the internet does not believe in repentance. It believes in screenshots.