Oops, they did it again: At GIPF, oshimaliwa oSatana!
The Weekender's Roast
Apparently, in 2025, losing N$815 million is now just... admin. Oopsie, and that’s it. The Government Institutions Pension Fund (GIPF) this week announced – with the calm of a monk and the confidence of a man who’s never checked his bank balance – the loss is “below the materiality threshold”.
Translation: “Yes, we misplaced N$815 million, but don’t panic – we’re still balling.”
Imagine pulling that line at home. “Honey, I lost 0.4% of our savings – you know, about enough to buy a few farms and a small island – but it’s below the threshold. Kom ons braai.”
According to Tate Martin Inkumbi, the head honcho, GIPF only starts sweating at N$1.78 billion. Anything less? Mere pocket change. Unless someone literally sets fire to two billion in pension money, we’re apparently expected to yawn and move on.
He even reassured us that the fund made N$18 billion in returns last year. That’s like telling your friend, “Yes, I crashed your car, but don’t worry – I still own a helicopter.”
Meanwhile, the South African Revenue Service (SARS) is demanding nearly N$1 billion in taxes from the Signal Structured Finance Fund – that mysterious outfit GIPF trusted with our pension zak. One can only hope “Structured Finance” isn’t code for “Structured Excuses”, because right now, the only thing structured is the disappearing act.
GIPF says their relationship with the fund manager has “deteriorated”.
In normal Namlish: “We can’t find them, they’re blue-ticking us, and their office phone is playing ‘user not available’.”
And, like a bloodhound smelling braai smoke, PDM leader McHenry Venaani has already called for a parliamentary grilling. He’s right. This isn’t Monopoly money – this is the sweat and tears of teachers, nurses and office aunties who stretch their salaries like airtime at month-end.
“These funds belong to hard-working Namibians,” Venaani thundered – calculator in hand, battery still full.
And for that, we salute him. Because pensions aren’t abstract numbers – they’re future goats, retirement beers and grandkids’ school shoes.
Old-timers will remember the Development Capital Portfolio saga of the early 2000s – that legendary investment safari where GIPF poured over N$600 million into “companies” that had more PowerPoint slides than business plans. Even the prosecutor general eventually shrugged and said tracing the money was “problematic”. Translation: “Gone, finish, end of story.”
Now, history seems to be moonwalking – same rhythm, bigger numbers.
At this rate, GIPF might one day announce: “We lost another billion, but don’t stress – it’s below threshold. To celebrate, we’re unveiling a new headquarters shaped like a giant shrug.”
Until then, dear pensioners, for the few hours that you’re awake, remember that your money is perfectly safe – unless it’s not “material” enough to notice.
Translation: “Yes, we misplaced N$815 million, but don’t panic – we’re still balling.”
Imagine pulling that line at home. “Honey, I lost 0.4% of our savings – you know, about enough to buy a few farms and a small island – but it’s below the threshold. Kom ons braai.”
According to Tate Martin Inkumbi, the head honcho, GIPF only starts sweating at N$1.78 billion. Anything less? Mere pocket change. Unless someone literally sets fire to two billion in pension money, we’re apparently expected to yawn and move on.
He even reassured us that the fund made N$18 billion in returns last year. That’s like telling your friend, “Yes, I crashed your car, but don’t worry – I still own a helicopter.”
Meanwhile, the South African Revenue Service (SARS) is demanding nearly N$1 billion in taxes from the Signal Structured Finance Fund – that mysterious outfit GIPF trusted with our pension zak. One can only hope “Structured Finance” isn’t code for “Structured Excuses”, because right now, the only thing structured is the disappearing act.
GIPF says their relationship with the fund manager has “deteriorated”.
In normal Namlish: “We can’t find them, they’re blue-ticking us, and their office phone is playing ‘user not available’.”
And, like a bloodhound smelling braai smoke, PDM leader McHenry Venaani has already called for a parliamentary grilling. He’s right. This isn’t Monopoly money – this is the sweat and tears of teachers, nurses and office aunties who stretch their salaries like airtime at month-end.
“These funds belong to hard-working Namibians,” Venaani thundered – calculator in hand, battery still full.
And for that, we salute him. Because pensions aren’t abstract numbers – they’re future goats, retirement beers and grandkids’ school shoes.
Old-timers will remember the Development Capital Portfolio saga of the early 2000s – that legendary investment safari where GIPF poured over N$600 million into “companies” that had more PowerPoint slides than business plans. Even the prosecutor general eventually shrugged and said tracing the money was “problematic”. Translation: “Gone, finish, end of story.”
Now, history seems to be moonwalking – same rhythm, bigger numbers.
At this rate, GIPF might one day announce: “We lost another billion, but don’t stress – it’s below threshold. To celebrate, we’re unveiling a new headquarters shaped like a giant shrug.”
Until then, dear pensioners, for the few hours that you’re awake, remember that your money is perfectly safe – unless it’s not “material” enough to notice.
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Namibian Sun
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