To the Spineless Sync-Button Junkies of Namibia

You walk into Brewers Market on a Friday night, expecting the ‘Year of Namibian Music’ to actually sound like Namibia, right?

No, instead, you get hit with a wall of South African amapiano you already heard three years ago.
So you look up to the DJ booth and the person is sweating as he pretends to move knobs, but you know it’s all rubbish.

He touches the earphones as if they will fall off, looks at the laptop screen like he is solving a major mathematical problem, but it is all a facade. He is only there because he is not a DJ. A real DJ would turn that dance floor into a dance orgy with local music.

I’m talking about those DJs who press play and then stand there waiting for the progress bar on a recycled DJ Maphorisa set to reach the end so they can hit the sync button again.

I’m talking about those who are not sure why they even call themselves DJs when they are only there because they used to work at Nicky’s Durban on Eveline Street 20 years ago.

It’s 2026, and Namibian artists are dropping heat every week, and the fans are screaming for it on TikTok.

I just saw another video of a normal Namibian online venting their literal chest pain over this issue. Yet, our local DJs act like playing a Namibian track will cause their equipment to spontaneously combust.

You have to wonder if these guys even know how to use a search bar. Do you even scope through your library, or do you just download ‘Best of Lagos 2025’ or ‘DJ Shinsky Afrobeat and Amapiano’ and call it a career?

This level of laziness is impressive. It suggests a lifestyle of minimum effort that probably extends to basic hygiene.

If you can’t bother to find a local track to plug into a three-hour set, you probably don’t bother to change your underwear either. You are wearing the same crusty boxers from Monday while playing the same crusty playlist from across the border. It’s pathetic. Sies!

Look at the smart DJs in South Africa. When they perform, they sample their local catalogue. They weave their own culture into the mix. Not because it is the best but because the DJ is the one who makes the track hot by how they stitch and present it.

They create a vibe that belongs to their soil. That is how they win followers. That is why they get booked in London and New York.

But our local ‘talent’ seems to think being a human jukebox for Nigerian superstars is the path to greatness.

You are still playing for that little crew of parasites who only scream for you because you get them free drinks at the bar. The others aren’t your fans; they are just too high to find the exit.

Imagine the loss to those who actually paid to enjoy themselves. Oh no, feel sorry for the owner who is stuck with the same crap that doesn’t make a difference even if ten of you are booked. No wonder you get paid peanuts and drinks.

Have you wondered why nobody hires you to play in Berlin or even Lusaka? Hell, you can’t even get a gig at Khorixas right here.

Here is a hint: Why would a promoter in another country pay for your flight and hotel just to hear you play music they can get from a Spotify playlist?

If you can’t find anything good to play from your own country, you have no value. You are a middleman with no taste. You are a delivery boy who keeps bringing the wrong order.

There are exceptions, of course. We have DJs who actually have a spine and a pair of ears. You see people like DJ Paulo, DJ Ambizi and DJ Kiki actually doing the work. They find the local gems. They take the risk. They build the energy using Namibian sounds, and the crowd at Pharaohs or the Social Club goes wild for it.

These are the professionals who understand their job is to curate, not just to repeat. They actually respect the craft.

We won’t mention the names of the ones who refuse to play local music.

They clearly feel anything Namibian is inferior, which is a direct reflection of how they feel about themselves. If you think your country’s music is ‘too local’ for your set, you are essentially saying you are too mediocre for your own audience.

You are currently a parasite on the culture. You take the booking fee, you use the local electricity, you drink the local beer, but you refuse to support the local sound.

You are the reason people are complaining.

You are the reason the ‘Year of Namibian Music’ feels like a struggle instead of a victory lap.

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