Plan B: Mopane worms!

For generations in Africa, if a human dies, a cow must also die.

Because apparently mourners must eat. And beef is the best consolation – not water, not Bible stories about the dead going to a better place and not Bells whisky.

But now Charles Mubita has put an end to all that nonsense.

No more beef at weddings, funerals, parties, anniversaries and family meetings. Because foot-and-mouth disease (FMD) has entered the chat.

As a result, Mandume’s wedding this weekend in Onandova has been called off due to a lack of meat. So has Saima’s at Omuthitu Gwalwani. And the Namibian human race is in meltdown.

Namibians have just discovered that, all this time, we built an entire social system around the assumption that there would always be a cow available for slaughter.

No more.

Because in the north, slaughtering anything other than cattle at a wedding can be an omen – an abomination. A goat? Someone will die. A sheep? The ancestors will start asking questions. A chicken? You might as well cancel the marriage altogether.

And all this is a lie crafted out of selfish appetite.

For centuries, we have been told that a cow must die so that the marriage may live. Now the cow is alive. And the marriage is dead.

Namibian cattle owe the Swapo government a debt of gratitude.

Now, because of FMD, government has slammed the doors on the beef-eating industry. Local supermarkets have run out of stock – meaning there will be fewer people limping around with gout. A silver lining.

And for the first time in Namibian history, cattle are waking up every morning without wondering whether they are destined for the Meatco guillotine.

The news is so good for cattle that People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) has reportedly issued a congratulatory message to the local cow population. Co-signed by Sir Paul McCartney, the vegetable-eating former Beatles bassist.

But the human appetite must be fed. And so, in the absence of beef, the nation has been advised to turn to mopane worms.

Yes, that delicacy from Kunene and Omusati has been selling like fat cakes at Okuryangava open market this week. Every household is stocking up the crunchy caterpillars.

People who spent their entire lives saying, “I don’t eat worms,” are now leading the queue and asking: “How much for a packet?”

This is what FMD has done to us. It has turned Namibians into caterpillar connoisseurs.

The real victims, however, are the unsuspecting newcomers. Because northerners have perfected a particular form of culinary psychological warfare.

“Eat, my brother. It tastes like Wagyu beef.”

It does not. It tastes like a mopane worm. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. A mopane worm does not need to impersonate a chicken to deserve respect.

But the sales pitch is always the same. “Tastes like chicken.” Then you bite.

And somewhere between the first and second crunch, your brain remembers that this was once a living creature with a head, eyes and an entire future ahead of it.

Wolfgang from Swakopmund reportedly says this is the worst part. Not the taste. The crunch.

Because there is something psychologically devastating about hearing your dinner break into pieces inside your own mouth.

Mr Hoogenboesem from Otavi, meanwhile, apparently saw a bowl of mopane worms and fled the premises.

He reportedly said he would rather starve until Inge Zaamwani makes another announcement.

I understand him. There are some national emergencies you participate in. There are others you observe from a safe distance.

But the real war has now begun online. Because Namibians cannot simply agree to eat the worms. We must fight over how they should be prepared.

One side cooks them in tomato and onion. Another adds peanut butter. And now we have a culinary tribal confrontation.

The argument is no longer whether we should eat mopane worms. That battle has been lost. The question is whose recipe has constitutional supremacy.

Bon appétit!