We Keep Burying Men Who ‘Looked Fine’

We sat together from Grade 5 until we finished primary school.

He had the worst handwriting in class but somehow always knew the answers before the teacher even finished a question. He always found a way to make everyone laugh.

During break time, we would sit under the trees and share lunch. We grew up together in the most innocent way.

We were homies.

He once told me he wanted to be a pilot, own assets and host me at his mansion.
The way he spoke about it, we all believed he would.

Although we ended up at different secondary schools, he kept the same energy.
When we met in town years later, he had grown taller and was quieter.

He smiled when he saw me, we fist-bumped, and caught up as if no time had passed. He looked fine.

We didn’t speak often after that. Now and then, we’d like each other’s posts or react to memes in group chats.

Then one afternoon, I saw a message that stopped me cold. Someone wrote in our group that he had died.
The message was short.

It didn’t explain much. It only said he had taken his own life.
I stared at my screen, thinking maybe it was a mistake. But it wasn’t. He was really gone.

He didn’t leave a goodbye. He didn’t send any messages.
He just disappeared from this world, quietly and painfully. And none of us saw it coming.

A CULTURE OF SILENCE

His is not the only story. Across Namibia, more and more men are quietly taking their own lives.

Some are as young as 19, others in their late 30s – many just starting out, finishing school, beginning careers, and raising families. 
Most men are raised in households where feelings are not discussed.

This isn’t entirely due to their parents; it’s a pattern passed down through generations.

They grew up in environments where emotional conversations felt foreign, and vulnerability was a language nobody taught them.
Hence, even when ‘fine men’ are overwhelmed, they just push through. They laugh. They go to work.

They drink.
Some try to open up but we often brush them off with phrases like “you’ll be fine”, “everyone is going through something”, or “be strong”.

SILENT BURDENS

My friend had dreams. He had plans. He had a life ahead of him.

I still remember the boy who wanted to fly. I think about him each time I pass our old school or every time I scroll past another funeral post with a young man’s face.

He should still be here. But he isn’t. And there are so many more like him.

To anyone reading this who is hurting but doesn’t know how to speak, please hold on.
You are allowed to feel.

There are people who care, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.
To the rest of us, please let’s do better.

We spend so much time reacting after it’s too late, arranging flowers, booking halls, posting their pictures with long captions.

But where were those conversations when it mattered most?

This isn’t about blaming families or friends. It’s about noticing things we have been trained to overlook and learning how to ask better questions.

WHAT NEEDS TO CHANGE

Dr Niobe Way, a psychologist and researcher on boys’ emotional development, said: “We are raising boys to be emotionally illiterate, and then we wonder why they suffer in silence.’’

Our homes need to allow boys to talk, to be vulnerable without punishment.
Our workplaces need to take stress and burnout seriously, especially among male workers who stay silent until it’s too late.

Churches, schools and youth groups should go beyond preaching toughness, they must also nurture compassion.

Our men need to see other men opening up without being laughed at or labelled.

We have buried enough good men already. It’s time we start listening to those still here.

• Ndinelao Nikodemus holds an honours degree in public health from the University of Namibia.
• She is a self-published author, youth leader and an emerging voice on emotional wellness and storytelling.
• If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, please reach out to Lifeline/Childline Namibia at 061 232221. Help is available.

In an age of information overload, Sunrise is The Namibian’s morning briefing, delivered at 6h00 from Monday to Friday. It offers a curated rundown of the most important stories from the past 24 hours – occasionally with a light, witty touch. It’s an essential way to stay informed. Subscribe and join our newsletter community.