Jonasi for President!

Netflix's The Polygamist has done what years of relationship seminars, church counselling and motivational speakers could not – uniting Namibian women in collective outrage.

From Windhoek to Swakopmund, ladies have been glued to their screens, reliving old wounds and sending lengthy voice notes to their friends beginning with the words: "You know, this reminds me of that bastard Tangeni…".

Or every second artisan who ever worked at Husab. They sleep around and waffle about it during lunch break. Nasty, nasty people!

The series follows Jonasi Gomora, a man so committed to living multiple lives that he deserves either a prison cell or a Cabinet portfolio. Depending on who you ask.

If the show has taught us anything, it is that one determined African man can successfully run four households, six lies, three side relationships, two funerals, a thriving business and a full social calendar without ever opening Google Calendar. The ancestors would be proud.

For years, women have claimed that men cannot multitask. Jonasi has destroyed that myth in one go.

The man is simultaneously a husband, boyfriend, father, provider, liar, counsellor, event planner, logistics manager and part-time intelligence operative.

The average Namibian man struggles to remember his anniversary with the main girlfriend. Jonasi remembers four.

The average Namibian man accidentally sends a heart emoji to the wrong woman once and causes a constitutional crisis. Jonasi maintains an entire network of romantic operations across multiple geographical locations with the precision of Air Namibia in its glory days.

Forget romance. Jonasi's greatest achievement is logistics. The man should be lecturing logistics and supply chain management at NUST.

Local women watched the series and immediately saw Amos – the guy who shattered their hearts with a never-ending catalogue of “cheatations”. The same Amos who sends a sweet “good night, my queen” text at 17:00, only for his WhatsApp status to remain stubbornly “online” until midnight. The same Amos whose phone battery is somehow always dead when you call but fully charged when he's liking photos and replying to mysterious contacts named ‘Cousin’.

The one who attends weddings with a different plus-one every year and still acts offended when people ask questions.

Meanwhile, men's contacts lists have suddenly become matters of national security.

Why is Selma saved as 'Mechanic'? Why is Maria listed as 'Pastor'? And who exactly is 'Cousin Johannes', who keeps sending heart emojis at midnight?

Questions must be asked.

The show has also exposed a glaring economic inconsistency. In a country where petrol costs an arm and a leg, data vanishes faster than government promises, and a loaf of bread now requires financial planning – how exactly is Jonasi funding four families?

Even corruption has a budget. At some point the man must have submitted a funding proposal to Treasury.

Social media, naturally, has been ruthless. Viewers describe Jonasi as toxic, manipulative and shameless. In other words, a man perfectly qualified to thrive in modern politics.

Which brings us to a bold proposal. Forget the next election. Jonasi for president!

If a man can coordinate four households without a spreadsheet, imagine what he could do with a national budget.

Of course, every empire eventually falls. And that is the real lesson of The Polygamist.

Secrets are like potholes on Independence Avenue. You can dodge them for years. Eventually, something breaks.

Netflix calls it entertainment. Across Namibia, from Noordoewer to Ruacana, women are treating it as documentary evidence.