Open Letter to Namibia: Please Help My Family Save Our Home

To any kind lawyer, any brave civic group, or any good soul who still believes in fairness in this country: I need someone to ask a court why I can live in a cow dung house 200 kilometres away, enjoying its natural comfort, but the moment I cross that ‘Welcome to Windhoek’ sign, my very home becomes a crime.

Is there a magic border that makes cow dung suddenly offensive?

My name is Tomas Haufiku, and I live here in the informal settlement on a piece of land the City of Windhoek itself gave me.

Yes, they handed me a paper saying it’s mine, legally.

For too long, like everyone else, my family lived in a shack of corrugated iron and flimsy wood. It was a proper oven in summer, a freezer in winter, and when the wind coughed, we prayed the roof wouldn’t become a kite.

We were thankful for the land, but that kind of living? That’s not a proper life.

Back in the village, my mother and father, their mothers and fathers, we all lived in houses made of earth, mixed with cow dung. Strong houses. Warm houses. Houses that stood for generations. So, when I got this piece of land, a thought sparked in my head: Why suffer in expensive, useless tin boxes when my ancestors perfected a better way?

So, I began my grand project.

Every weekend, I’d march to the farms outside Windhoek, begging for cow dung. People stared. Some whispered about my sanity. Bucket by bucket, I brought it home. I mixed it, I worked it, just like my father taught me. Slowly, I replaced the noisy, leaky iron sheets with thick, smooth walls of nature’s finest insulation.

My neighbours laughed and shook their heads. But my family saw the dream of a real home.

Now, my house stands. The walls are thick, cool in the scorching sun, warm when the winter bites. My children sleep soundly.

This house? It feels like a home, one that respects this land and its weather. And the smell? Oh, the famous cow dung smell!

That’s only for the first five days while it dries. After that, it smells of nothing but fresh earth.

Is that truly worse than the open drains and neglected rubbish heaps the city seems perfectly content with in our very same settlement?

But now, the City of Windhoek, the very same genius planners who allocated me the land, want to break my house down.

They want to evict my family. They say it’s “not allowed”.

Not allowed? What twisted logic is this? They give me a piece of land, tell me to build, then tell me what I built is illegal?

They claim: “It will spoil the look and feel of the city.”

Is a cow dung house somehow more offensive to the eyes than a shack perpetually on the verge of collapsing?

So, it’s only expensive concrete and shiny iron that grant a city ‘good looks’?

Funny how the fancy rich folks, when they visit their villages, happily live in beautiful mud houses. No complaints there.

But step inside that ‘Welcome to Windhoek’ sign, and suddenly earth is bad and expensive metal is good?

It’s a comedy show.

Then they hit me with: “It does not comply with the city’s building codes and standards.”

Building codes? The ones that say a flimsy, fire-trap iron shack is perfectly fine, even if it costs a fortune and offers zero protection?

My house is stronger, warmer and far safer from fires and floods than any iron box – just like the houses I grew up in.

Yet, somehow, my safer, better home doesn’t ‘comply’.

It’s a cruel joke that these ‘codes’ seem designed only to enrich hardware stores, not to actually help us.

I am a family man. I work my hands raw. All I want is to provide a decent, warm, safe home for my wife and children on the land I was lawfully given.

I didn’t steal. I didn’t trespass. I used what was available, what I know works, what is best for my family.

And now, they want to snatch it all away. They want to demolish my beautiful home, the very symbol of my hope and hard work.

This isn’t just about my cow dung house. This is about all of us poor people struggling to find a place, to build a life in this city.

These laws, these ‘codes’, they’re not helping us; they’re padding the pockets of rich companies. They are keeping us poor, keeping us dependent.

I am pleading. I need a lawyer, a fierce lawyer who isn’t intimidated by the city’s absurdities.

I need someone to help me fight this in the courts. This case could expose the utter absurdity of Namibia’s urban planning.

It can show that the real problem isn’t always a lack of land, but the unreasonable rules, the sheer blindness of the city council to common sense, to tradition, and to what is truly good and safe for a family.

My house is a symbol. It’s a symbol of hope, of tradition, of common sense against regulations that serve nothing but profit.

Please, if you can help, reach out.

My family and I are depending on you.

Sincerely,

Tomas Haufiku

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