Cultivating a prickly pear

Farming in Namibia is not for the fainthearted. Farmers of all races, colours and ethnic groupings have known this for decades and decades. The age-old rule is: you are farming in a desert country. Everything must be used very sparingly and no excesses are tolerated.

All extras gained must be saved for the future, to tie you over for when you the next drought comes. This can also be applied in a much wider, general context, as a rule for living in Namibia, but seems to only count for those without connections and not for the poor and downtrodden.

If you are well-connected and have government farmland, but you think it's not good enough for you, you can simply ask for more land for mahala.

This seems to be the favourite modus operandi for anybody related to and with connections.

In the case of the Namibian Defence Force, you can go about acquiring land - paid for with taxpayer money - and then hide behind national security or whatever excuse is the flavour of the day.

Another way to go about it, as the connected and political elite in this country, is to take out loans from state banks, spend the money on impressing side chicks, and still have the audacity to demand leniency when asked to pay the money back.

You must also learn to feign outrage when creditors come knocking and voice your disdain. It is then that you must march and parade, waving placards to stop any attempt to hold you accountable.

However, for most Namibians, sitting in their shack or rented flats for which they are paying extortionist prices, with no electricity, ablution or running water, life is indeed getting harder.

They are sitting further and further away from the table where favours are handed out like sweets.

And of course, when they vent and demand the lowering of rental costs or house prices, they are accused of threatening peace and stability.

Our people are dying for a small piece of land to call their own, but the powers that be seem intent to cultivate a prickly pear that will wound us all.