A Tribute to Philip Tjeriye

On 3 July, one of Namibia’s finest brains stopped to think.

Philip Tjeriye and I shared friendship and comradeship that spanned over 50 years. His sudden death was therefore, for many of us, not easy to handle.

Philip was one of the central pillars of what was then known as Swapo’s home front before independence and he served, inter alia, as the chairperson of the Windhoek branch and later as the deputy secretary for information and publicity at the national level.

He was also part of an underground network of activists who received People’s Liberation Army of Namibia combatants, smuggled young activists out of the country, as well as assisted African National Congress cadres to pass through Namibia to Angola. His activism drew the wrath of the security police and he was harassed, arrested and tortured a few times.

As a holder of a master’s degree in history, Philip was a refined scholar who could, apart from his native Otjiherero language, shuttle between English, Afrikaans, and German with relative ease.

Philip grew up at Omaruru, in the Erongo region, that multi-ethnic ‘belt’ where many people can communicate across the ethnic divide in both Otjiherero and Khoekhoegowab in almost equal measure without blinking an eye. As someone who grew up in that region, he did not have a single bone of ethnic bias in him.

As a devoted member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Namibia, he was, at one point, the editor of their monthly publication called ‘Immanuel’.

Philip was from the Kambazembi Royal House, which had played a pivotal role during the battle of Ohamakari near Kaondeka (Waterberg Mountain) against German colonial forces in August 1904. Humble as he was, Philip never boasted about his royal lineage.

Despite his known history of activism and his razor-sharp intellect, Philip was unassuming. At independence in 1990, when people were jockeying for positions, he simply took a back seat until Jerry Ekandjo roped him in, much later, to serve as his adviser when he was the minister of local government and housing.

The low-key lament (omutamba), remembering the brave exploits of the deceased and the history of the clan, cannot be rendered in a Western language. That is why I have settled for the following poem:

Tell the Children the Truth

Tell the children the truth,

That there was once a man,

Small in stature, but with big strides.

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye was born in colonial Namibia,

And he chose the road less travelled,

Of freedom fighting; when it was not easy to do so.

Tell the children the truth,

That when social injustice was visited upon his people,

By apartheid colonialism,

Philip Keripuu Tjeriye fought from within the belly of the beast.

Tell the children the truth,

That in the words of Andimba ya Toivo: The struggle was long and bitter,

But Philip Keripuu Tjeriye was in the eye of the storm.

Tell the children the truth,

That Namibia was birthed in sweat; blood; and tears,

And Philip Keripuu Tjeriya was one of the midwives.

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye never wanted the limelight;

Always taking the back seat in the shadows.

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye

Does not want to be remembered as a hero.

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye wants to be remembered in the words of Amilca Cabral:

“I am just a simple African trying to do my duty for my country in the context of our times.”

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye was a blue-blooded Prince

From the Kambazempi Royal House.

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye didn’t want to claim royalty,

Because, for him, doing so would be out of character.

Tell the children the truth,

That Philip Keripuu Tjeriye

Is now looking His Maker in the eye,

With a soft whisper: “I tried!”

Tell the children the truth,

And ask them this question:

Children, can Man die better?

– Gerson Tjihenuna

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