Meet Tjipenandjambi Nguasananongombe!
A friend of mine, Tjipenandjambi Nguasananongombe, just returned from a year’s stay in the United States - minus his sense of humour and his ability to speak Otjiherero, the language he used for over 30 years. In fact, the brother had insisted that I organise a welcoming committee at the airport as he touched down at Hosea Kutako International.
The man hardly recognised me as I ran up to him with open arms to welcome him to the land of the brave. He was encircled by three huge muscular dudes who he ordered to stop me from touching him. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.
Well, being the well-mannered boy my mother raised, I opted to play along just to see how far my friend would push this stunt. Oh, did I mention that his name changed to Shiznit Aka K.A.M.
Ja, the man says he has been liberated and has seen the light. He says his old name reminds him of how his people suffered in the village of Otumborombonga. By the way, that village is now also to be known as Tumboro City.
“So, broer what’s with the new image”, I asked him at one point on our way home from the airport.
“You see Charlie from Omaheke, you boys don’t get life. Life is about living and is for the living and not for those who are not living. So live your life like you are alive …”
I thought long and hard on whether I should really continue with the conversation, given the line of argument that my friend seemed to be advancing.
“So, you are saying that you now see things differently?’ I asked after collecting my thoughts for what felt like the longest three seconds of my life.
“Nah dude, that ain’t it. It is deeper than that bro ... this is some deep s***t right there. You know, I have a dream that one day this nation will be free …”
“Who said that … ,” I asked. “… Martin Luther King?”
“Nah dude … I just did. Man, you ain’t listen’ng my brother. Pssst, damn … ain’t gonna waste my breathing any longer,” he responded.
He probably meant ‘waste his breath any longer’ but I didn’t dare challenge him. As we approached the house, I saw his grandmother walking towards the car to greet us. ‘This is going to be interesting,’ I thought to myself.
“Muatje uandje (my child) omuatje uandje uakotoka (my child has returned) …,” she said, ululating as she opened the car’s door for the young man to get off.
The story of the prodigal son who returned home after wandering around the world crossed my mind. But one look at my friend brought me back to reality – this is no prodigal son. This is a man that has ‘forgotten’ his language in just over a month away from home and has stopped listening to Ongoro nomundu because the music apparently sucks!
After the family exchanged greetings in unfamiliar fashion, we were once again on our own. I politely asked if the body-guards can excuse us, as I had something I needed to share with my friend.
“Bro, I don’t think this new image of yours will be cool with the chicks … you might end up being a lone bro,” I said, knowing I ought to catch his attention being the ladies’ man that he is.
“Dude … what you saying man. That they won’t like all of this? I mean, look at me … who can say No to all of this?”
That was the last time I tried convincing him to get off his spaceship and touch the ground.
Just the other day I ran into him at the local eatery. He greeted me warmly in Otjiherero and offered me the juiciest piece of steak I have ever seen.
“So, what happened to the Obamaism broer?
“Who … ?”
I left it at that - was just grateful to have my friend back. From what I hear, the brother was not even studying in the states – he was picking ticks from pigs at paltry pay. But that remains a secret for now. If you must tell someone, let it just be one person and make him promise you to only tell one other person.
Until then…
[email protected]
The man hardly recognised me as I ran up to him with open arms to welcome him to the land of the brave. He was encircled by three huge muscular dudes who he ordered to stop me from touching him. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.
Well, being the well-mannered boy my mother raised, I opted to play along just to see how far my friend would push this stunt. Oh, did I mention that his name changed to Shiznit Aka K.A.M.
Ja, the man says he has been liberated and has seen the light. He says his old name reminds him of how his people suffered in the village of Otumborombonga. By the way, that village is now also to be known as Tumboro City.
“So, broer what’s with the new image”, I asked him at one point on our way home from the airport.
“You see Charlie from Omaheke, you boys don’t get life. Life is about living and is for the living and not for those who are not living. So live your life like you are alive …”
I thought long and hard on whether I should really continue with the conversation, given the line of argument that my friend seemed to be advancing.
“So, you are saying that you now see things differently?’ I asked after collecting my thoughts for what felt like the longest three seconds of my life.
“Nah dude, that ain’t it. It is deeper than that bro ... this is some deep s***t right there. You know, I have a dream that one day this nation will be free …”
“Who said that … ,” I asked. “… Martin Luther King?”
“Nah dude … I just did. Man, you ain’t listen’ng my brother. Pssst, damn … ain’t gonna waste my breathing any longer,” he responded.
He probably meant ‘waste his breath any longer’ but I didn’t dare challenge him. As we approached the house, I saw his grandmother walking towards the car to greet us. ‘This is going to be interesting,’ I thought to myself.
“Muatje uandje (my child) omuatje uandje uakotoka (my child has returned) …,” she said, ululating as she opened the car’s door for the young man to get off.
The story of the prodigal son who returned home after wandering around the world crossed my mind. But one look at my friend brought me back to reality – this is no prodigal son. This is a man that has ‘forgotten’ his language in just over a month away from home and has stopped listening to Ongoro nomundu because the music apparently sucks!
After the family exchanged greetings in unfamiliar fashion, we were once again on our own. I politely asked if the body-guards can excuse us, as I had something I needed to share with my friend.
“Bro, I don’t think this new image of yours will be cool with the chicks … you might end up being a lone bro,” I said, knowing I ought to catch his attention being the ladies’ man that he is.
“Dude … what you saying man. That they won’t like all of this? I mean, look at me … who can say No to all of this?”
That was the last time I tried convincing him to get off his spaceship and touch the ground.
Just the other day I ran into him at the local eatery. He greeted me warmly in Otjiherero and offered me the juiciest piece of steak I have ever seen.
“So, what happened to the Obamaism broer?
“Who … ?”
I left it at that - was just grateful to have my friend back. From what I hear, the brother was not even studying in the states – he was picking ticks from pigs at paltry pay. But that remains a secret for now. If you must tell someone, let it just be one person and make him promise you to only tell one other person.
Until then…
[email protected]
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