The Land Betrayed: How Kavangos Are Selling Their Dignity and Future

For generations, inhabitants of the Kavango regions have derived their identity, sustenance and dignity from the land.

The arable soil produced mahangu, the verdant pastures nourished their livestock, and the life-sustaining waters of the river were abundant with fish.

To identify as Kavango meant to be a steward of this land, a heritage that ensured self-sufficiency and commanded deep respect.

Yet, a profound transformation is taking place, jeopardising this long-held connection.

The very land that has defined our existence is being sold off, piece by piece, and with it, the Kavango people risk forfeiting an essential source of their esteem.

For many years, the pride of the Kavango people was anchored in self-sufficiency. During the era of Baby Boomers and Generation X, land was seen as the sole hope for a dignified life.

SELF-RELIANCE UNDERMINED

It served as the foundation for food production and grazing, allowing families to achieve self-reliance. This self-sufficiency was the cornerstone of their respect among peers countrywide.

Nevertheless, a troubling trend is surfacing: land is increasingly being lost, either through outright sales or conversion into conservancies.

This loss of a vital resource places the Kavango community, already recognised as one of the poorest groups in Namibia, on the brink of a social and economic crisis.

Losing the only asset that has historically commanded respect will have severe and far-reaching implications for future generations.

Land acquired through the traditional authorities, meant for homesteads, crop fields or farming units, is increasingly being sold to the highest bidder.

This desire for immediate financial gain disregards a fundamental and alarming reality: land does not multiply.

Kavangos are watching their future being sold from under their feet.

What took generations to build and protect can be lost with a single signature.

Our ancestors would be ashamed.

Kavangos were never a people who begged because the land provided. Now, they are begging for money by selling the provider.

A RECIPE FOR DEPENDENCY

The consequences of this trend are dire and multi-generational.

Losing their primary productive asset is set to plunge future generations into a profound, inescapable dependency.

The fear is not only poverty but a loss of dignity.

The children and grandchildren of today’s sellers risk becoming mere labourers, working for wages on the very same land that once belonged to their families.

They will till the soil and tend the herds not as owners, but as employees working for someone else’s profit.

This is not just an economic crisis, it is a full-scale identity crisis.

Once the land is gone, what will the Kavango people be respected for?

Their unique standing, built on their role as proficient food growers, will vanish.

In a country grappling with food security, the conscious relinquishment of its most arable land is a societal paradox.

The respect earned from cultivating the earth cannot be replaced by the transient possession of cash.

The rise of conservancies, while often framed as conservation, adds a complex layer to this loss.

While some models benefit communities, others can alienate people from their ancestral lands, restricting traditional practices like cropping and livestock grazing.

LOSS OF RESPECT

When land is turned into a conservancy, the direct link between the people and their livelihood is often broken, further eroding a self-reliance once a source of great pride.

The implications are stark. Once this foundational asset is lost, the Kavango people will have little left to command the respect they have held.

Their unique value proposition – a community rooted in productive land and self-sufficiency – will vanish and be replaced by a stigma associated with poverty and landlessness.

The Kavango regions are at a critical juncture.

Without urgent intervention from traditional authorities, and the community itself to safeguard this non-renewable resource, the prophecy of the land betrayed will come true.

Simultaneously, there is an urgent need for a renewed cultural conversation, a reminder, from elders to youth, of what it truly means to be a Kavango.

It is a heritage not of cash, but of crops; not of quick sales, but of quiet, enduring dignity drawn from the land.

* Faustinus Shikukutu is a teacher and a resident of Kavango East. All views expressed here are his own.

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