How not to do public speaking

If there is one thing Namibians like doing more than any other thing, it is talking and yapping the night away as if their lives depended on it. It does not really matter what you say; what matters most is how you say it. If you are a prominent figure saying it – even better!

If talking were in the Olympics, Namibia will take the gold, hands down. Say, for instance, you are in a meeting and everyone is listening to the boss boring people out of their skulls with how grateful you all ought to be for your jobs. At the end of his sermon he asks everyone in the room to contribute to the theme colour of the company’s new image.

Having been extensively trained in marketing, you rise and suggest that the theme colour should be blue. Everyone is staring at you as if you have just insulted a man of the cloth. You return to your seat, filled with embarrassment.

After a few more deliberations, the boss finally has an idea. He suddenly jumped off his seat and with a figurative glowing light bulb at the top of his head, he exclaims; “I have it, I have it (his version of Eureka, Eureka). Our colour should be like the colour of the sky…it will be perfect,” he said.

Everyone clap their hands in admiration. Some are even heard whispering, “Oh what a wise leader we have.”

Everyone in that meeting seems to have forgotten about your first suggestion. What the hell – everyone knows the colour of the sky is blue! Well, some say it is black. According to them, it is the light reflecting on dust particles that gives it a blue colour. But we shall stick with blue; the last time I tried telling my people in the Omaheke region that the sky was black I was almost lynched!

We are a nation that likes the sound of our voices. Ever listened to a minister trying to push through an agenda in parliament? Those people would talk for hours and you will still struggle to grasp the content of their speeches.

I once witnessed a minister during a budget debate attempting to motivate spending on a very simple and elementary item.

“Honorable members, let me remind you that this item is of great importance. We are required, by virtue of the laws of human existence and compassion, guided by socialist principles that we ought to visualise the extremes of any situation. What I am trying to say is that…”

I usually stop listening at that point. I meant no disrespect to the honourable member of that August house, but his speech reminded me of those toppies from the village who would stand up at funerals just to be noticed.

Yeah, for these aged comrades – most of whom participated in one or the other battle during the liberation struggle such as Ongulumbashe, Soetrivier, or even Ohamakari – attention and recognition is everything.

Their speeches, when given the platform, go something like “Dear fellow mourners, I do not have much to say… in fact, I do not have anything at all to say… so because I have nothing to say, I will not be saying anything….”

When such people take to the podium I always look at them in astonishment. Why do you get up if you have nothing to say? But you gotta love my village people – without them life would be so dull.

My goat herder is one such person that never ceases to amaze me. That man would join in any conversation – from farming to astronomy. Not only would he join the conversation, but he will always throw in one or two trivial facts of his own making.

The other day I asked him to collect some ‘wet wipes’ from the car after sharing a decent meal. Not wanting to sound illiterate, he calmly stood up and walk towards the car. That must have been the longest short walk in the history of mankind. Move aside, Madiba!

After spending some minutes at the car, he returned to where we had been sitting.

“Tjikondavirongo, where are the wet wipes,” I asked.

“Mbuae, you know mos how these kids of yours like food especially those ‘wet wipes’. Eish, I think they have eaten them all up….”

Until then,

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