ROAST: We are all kukus!

Somebody has been counting Namibians visiting mental health facilities, and the figures being thrown around are enough to make even a calculator request counselling.

We are told that more than 100 000 mental health service contacts were recorded during the 2024/25 financial year. But who counted these people? Were they different patients, repeat visits or the same person returning because the first visit did not sort out whatever was happening upstairs?

And who checked the figures? Because in Namibia, numbers have a habit of multiplying, disappearing and return wearing new clothes, depending on who is holding the microphone.

But forget the figures for a moment. Who among us is still completely right upstairs?

Sankwasa James Sankwasa says some of our honourable members behave 'like dogs' inside the House but become normal human beings once they step outside.

These are educated dogs with university degrees, government vehicles, housing allowances and travelling benefits. Some even have master's degrees. Imagine spending all those years at university only to graduate into barking.

If a person behaves like a dog in parliament and becomes human outside, what happens at the door?

Perhaps that explains why parliamentary sessions sometimes take so long. Somebody must first finish barking before another honourable member can begin growling.

Have you seen how Namibians drive these days?

A man overtakes five cars on a blind corner, misses an oncoming truck by the grace of God and then has the audacity to show the other driver his middle finger. He arrives in Windhoek and announces that God has protected him. Protected you from what? Your own head?

And then there are our young ladies who proudly announce that they will never date a broke man. Never! A man without a car, a house and a healthy bank account must not even greet them.

But wait, my sister. Your father raised six children on a salary that could barely buy groceries. He walked to work, borrowed money for school uniforms and sometimes went to bed hungry so that you could eat. Now you are announcing that broke men are not human beings?

Imagine your mother applying your standards when she met your father. You might still be somewhere in heaven waiting for a rich man to marry your mother so that you could be born!

Meanwhile, the lady demanding all these things is still living in her mother's house, where the electricity is bought by her retired father. She wants a man who is financially independent while she is still financially attached to the family refrigerator.

And then there are those Namibians whose salaries and rent have never been properly introduced to each other. A man earns N$8 000 but rents a flat for N$9 500. Every month, his salary arrives, looks at the rent and immediately faints.

Our brother borrows to buy groceries, borrows again to buy electricity and, when payday comes, borrows from another microlender to repay the first one.

This becomes a relay race in which the baton is a loan application form.

Of course, genuine mental illness is no laughing matter. People who need treatment deserve care and understanding.

Because judging by what happens in our relationships, on our roads, inside parliament and at the microlenders, the queue for that examination might stretch from Katima Mulilo to Oranjemund.

And the man paying more rent than his salary would probably borrow money for transport to join the queue.