Welcome to Absurdistan!
Namibians don’t do straight, narrow and uncomplicated, ever! I stumbled across this Facebook post this week.
“Are you a 063 baby? Born and brewed in 063 and concerned about the rate young females become mothers at an early age? Then you must enter the Miss 063 Beauty Pageant, because Miss 063 will be the voice of young females all over 063.... If you are between 16 and 30 and has what it takes, please enter Miss 063!!!”
Born and brewed? Toemaar it’s from the south. It probably means something that the rest of us don’t get, otherwise it qualifies as the Freudian slip of the century.
OK, for the uninitiated; 063 is the telephone code for the south. It has become quite fashionable for Namibians to be proud of their area codes. What should never be fashionable, is to dress young women up, install an expensive weave on their heads and put them on a soapbox. Catering exclusively for the male gaze, in order for them not to fall pregnant. Southern logic will astound you!
We all need a saviour!
Cometh the hour, cometh the man!
Tate Phil of Human Rights this week turned into the messiah of a special breed of Namibians. Only two weeks ago they were hailed as special and the true heirs of the struggle. This week they received a thorough beating from the Special Field Force. How special is that? Or maybe they were not included in the special class.
What really boggles the mind is that these ‘kids’ were thrown off Swapo headquarters’ premises. Etse? Right into the dark side, into the welcoming arms of a man who has left no stone unturned in his quest to prove his undying love for all things Swapo, one Phil ya Nangolo.
I wonder how they will react if Tate Philemon Moongo would again offer them food, like he did a few years ago. These ‘children’ were then so hardegat that they threw his stuff back in his face, saying that their Swapo would look after them.
Things change ne.
If you’ve lost your mind trying to figure that one out, how about this?
Namibia, this week almost won against the rugby might of Madagascar. We know that our rugby is on an eternal quest to outdo their previous lows but this one must go down as the ultimate clincher.
How do you get bliksemmedby a cartoon country? Madagascar is the rugby equivalent of Ndeshi and Jakes in cartoon land.
This is the same country that not so long ago got pumped 112 - 0 by... wait for it... Namibia! If Namibian rugby found itself bloody, bruised, legless, without arms and nursing an epic arse itch while lying in ICU after the last World Cup, it is probably now booking space with Tommy Jaarman. The tag is already hanging from its toe. Worst still, we had to rely on a last ditch kick, from a guy called Worsie, a few days prior to the Madagascar mauling, against that other rugby superpower, Uganda.
I know the NRU president is a hot-shot lawyer but neither him nor Dirk Conradie, Bennie Venter, Leah Shaanika, Slow Murorua or that other fellow, Thersius Biermann would ever be able to sell me the notion that there’s light at the end of our rugby tunnel.
But then again we have a sports minister who doesn’t really give two shits about sport but who’s on his way to the Olympics.
It’s a long and winding road to a semblance of sanity. Good luck!
rambler@namibian.com.na
– rambler@namibian.com.na