Independence is ours; it’s for all of us

Growing up with my cousins in my grandparents’ humble abode carved out of the dusty streets of Mondesa, there was always one thing we looked forward to: although the foggy mist stood thick, impairing our vision; although the future seemed bleak and uncertain at times; we always knew that beyond it, there lies one event in which we find hope – the Namibian Independence Day celebration.

While we might have contented ourselves with the debilitating four-bedroom house built in the apartheid era, our grandparents taught us that Independence was the magic paintbrush with which we could refurbish our home. While we were better off than our more unfortunate neighbours and contented ourselves to one meal of porridge a day, for seven days a week, our grandparents taught us and likened Independence to the Second Coming of Christ, a day we would all relish in the land of milk and honey, relinquishing the everyday ‘pap en vis.’ Although we might have contented ourselves to an everyday life without electricity and no running water, our grandparents taught us that Independence was like the Oshigambo River, while almost never carrying surface water, we must have faith that someday its banks will break, providing amply for us.

Independence means everything to us, the poor and underprivileged. Over the years, our leaders and decision-makers have taken plenty from us, we are very much aware of that, but most things taken from us are ephemeral and thus, easily forgivable. This time, what they did on Independence Day in my hometown of Swakopmund is a treacherous act so painful, it is irrevocably unforgivable. We have allowed you to take and squander our resources, but we will not allow you to take away the one thing that gives us hope in this country, the one place where we reinvigorate our dreams of a better tomorrow, the one place where the poor find essence in being Namibian, and shamefully, the one thing, if not the only thing, the rich and poor have in common in this country – the Independence of Namibia.

We are angry and we have never felt more betrayed. While you might use tenders around the event to enrich yourselves, the Independence Day celebration is not a private fiesta for politicians and diplomats. You have absolutely no right to not consider us, the poor, in the celebration of our Independence. Nauseatingly, the young deputy minister of ICT who was appointed on tokenism was quick to rush to Twitter in defence of this abomination, citing Covid regulations. When did we lose our sense of reason? When did we lose our sense of inclusivity that our president preaches? More importantly, when did this administration lose its sense of “Harambe” the “all pull together” spirit? Covid regulations are not reason enough to exclude the masses of the people from such an event; how should we judge parents who host a birthday party in their main bedroom while their kids watch through the windows? Deplorable, I tell you, it is dishonourable. If everybody in the Namibian house cannot partake in the festivity, then there ought to be no festivities at all.

My brother, Petu, took his two toddlers to celebrate Independence Day, only to be excluded by the same forces which persistently side-line him economically and socially. My grandmother’s great-grandchildren denied the very sense of hope she instilled in us. The ruling party obliviously continues to sever the last ties the people have to it. For many of us, cultured to love and raised within a tradition intricately linked to the ruling party, it seems like with each passing day that our grandparents’ corpses rot six feet under, the ruling party rots away too, and what ensues is the dwindling of the love the poor once felt for the ruling party. It’s a pity, but I am glad my grandmother is no longer here to see the demise of her beloved party.