Ndee, rich kids are exhausting

Aupa Indongo's children have declared that enough is enough. They want their father to release what they believe is rightfully theirs. This, while the mandala is still alive.

The Indongo family dispute is, of course, none of my business. Which is precisely why I have decided to make it my business. This is Namibia. We all have honorary PhDs in other people's affairs. If your neighbour buys a new microwave, by sunset the entire lokasie knows whether it was cash or lay-by.

Besides, I also invested in that empire.

The amount of sugar, mealie meal, rice, cooking oil and unsliced brown bread my family has bought from Continental Supermarket over the years qualifies me as a minority shareholder. If there are dividends flying around, my banking details are available upon request.

One thing, though...

How old are these people?

If your father is 90-something, chances are you've already attended enough school meetings as a parent yourself. At some point, "Daddy's boy" must expire.

At what point do you stop introducing yourself as "Aupa's child" and start introducing yourself as an adult with responsibilities?

The legal age of adulthood in Namibia is 18. It was lowered from 21 by the Child Care and Protection Act because lawmakers realised that by 18 people were already expected to vote, work, pay tax and make life-changing mistakes all on their own.

So, Aupa's children, with all due respect, grow the f*ck up!

Go get a job. Banda Shilimela seems to be recruiting security guards every second week. Report for duty and ask to be posted at Supa Dupa – your father's other supermarket in Oneshila. That way, at least you'll be protecting what you're fighting over.

Or grab a wheelbarrow and head to Chico Building Supplies. If you don't have Chico's number, call the Naloba office and ask for Kanu Amadhila. Nothing teaches you the value of wealth quite like sweating for someone else's.

If all else fails, go wash cars at Indongo Toyota.

Honestly, inheritance disputes have become our unofficial national sport. Old age is the ticket to redeem our inheritance vouchers.

The old man is still alive. Of course he doesn’t know what day of the week it is, but that’s besides the point.

Now, before anyone accuses me of lacking sympathy, let me confess something.

I actually admire Aupa. Deeply.

The self-help industry has lied to us.

Every motivational speaker tells us women are a distraction. They tell young men to stay single, eliminate all "noise", wake up at 4am, drink black coffee, read five business books a week and focus relentlessly on the hustle.

Aupa looked at all that advice and said, "Nah, screw that!"

This man built supermarkets, hardware stores, shopping centres and who-knows-what else while simultaneously producing 48 children. The man somehow found time to conquer both the boardroom and the bedroom. Diversification par excellence!

The rest of us can't successfully run one relationship and remember our Netflix password at the same time.

But here was Tate Frans, scaling businesses and family meetings simultaneously.