The one person who could singlehandedly drive an entire nation to need chronic blood pressure medication is the speaker of our National Assembly. Why? Because she has developed this annoying habit of beating that little wooden hammer on every single syllable as she runs the house. Or rather, as she forcefully imposes her presence on every passing second of the house of lawmakers.
“Ho-no-ru-ble-me-mber, what-are-you-ri-sing-on?” which also reads “Doof-doof-doof-doof-doof-doof?” as she slams the hammer.
I am talking about the accurate beat of the mallet for every vowel, consonant and breath she takes. In fact, she occasionally hides a tiny, satisfied smirk on every beat, more like a toddler who just discovered the marimba.
This is the most irritating soundtrack ever produced in parliament. It annoys the living hell out of every member, and she knows it. Maybe it’s time somebody sends her a polite WhatsApp message to explain that it also irritates the peace out of every Namibian watching the proceedings live on national television. Please let her know that the hammer goes straight to our living rooms, and wakes up the sleeping babies. This hurts our feelings.
No wonder nothing gets done in that house, with all the outstanding bills, while we blame the rest of the National Assembly. Her commitment to that hammer is truly something to research. It is exactly like sitting in a Windhoek taxi where the driver hoots at every single pedestrian and dog on the pavement. You just sit there respectfully suffering in complete silence, while watching your soul slowly leaving your body.
For an honourable member who hammers away at rule this and rule that, could she kindly read us the specific standing rule on when to actually use the gavel? We all grew up thinking it was a tool to call the house to order. You know, to demand attention and silence so that she can finally speak. Or maybe to assert a final decision, seal a ruling, or announce an afternoon tea break. It is definitely not meant to be used to test the stability of the very furniture she sits on. Did we, as ordinary Namibians, completely miss a constitutional amendment where the speaker can now use parliament property to make annoying music?
Why does our speaker use that wooden mallet like she is standing in the kitchen trying to tenderize an old piece of donkey meat into fine mince? Tell me why it constantly sounds like she is auditioning for the snare drum section in the Namibian Police brass band? Oh well, we are not supposed to speak ill of an honourable member, right? But heaven knows we all wish the sound operator would just mute her microphone when she starts making music.
Imagine poor honourable Lukato rising to speak. Don’t laugh because he is not the joke here! He rises patiently because she actually calls his name, only for her to immediately shut him down the very moment he opens his mouth. Enter the tasteless comedy.
Tate Lukato stands up, adjusts his new jacket, and starts politely. “Thank you, speaker, for the opportunity. I rise to …”
Bang, bang, bang! “Eh, eh, what are you rising on, honourable member?” the speaker interjects loudly, coordinating a heavy strike of the hammer for every single spoken word.
“My relative sister, please allow me to …” Lukato tries again, only to be disturbed by the percussion instrument again.
“I am not allowing points of privilege anymore today!” she continues, hammering her decree into the mahogany desk. Bam, bam, bam!
That’s when Lukato loses his cool and shoots back. “How will you know what I am rising on if you do not just shut up for a single minute!”
Doof, doof, doof, doof. “That is it. I am adjourning this house right now because there is absolutely no order in here.”
And just like that, she ends it all right there and then, clutching her beloved hammer like a prized trophy.
Honestly, it’s as if someone recently scolded her for not being able to control the house. Or perhaps a caucus that decided she should systematically drain the opposition’s energy with endless procedural rules. But instead of just sticking to the rulebook, she decided to add the gavel as the ultimate psychosis-inducing weapon. It is psychological warfare, plain and simple.
Meanwhile, “We the People” become collateral damage watching it unfold in the soap opera. So, the next time you tune into the parliamentary channel, do yourself a massive favor. Use your remote and lower the volume when the speaker starts hammering and rather read her lips. No more Doof-doof.
