Seeing Namibia throug the eyes of a Born free

They walk in the streets. I saw them in my own neighborhood. Sauntering on the sidewalks, three boys who had their arms slung around each others shoulders. Friends. This may seem trite to you, but one of them was white and the other two were black. What were they thinking? Did not the mother of the white one never tell him that he cannot just stroll around with those things – those kafirs ? Do the black boys not fear of being questioned by stern faced white men about what they are doing in a white neighborhood? I gather that these blithe youngsters are completely ignorant of what it was to be Namibian before 1990, when the color of your skin and the texture of your hair predicated what you could and could not do. They do not believe in the lie of apartheid, the lie of people that should be set apart. They are born free.

With the dissolution of apartheid laws in 1990, Namibia adopted a policy of national reconciliation that in a nutshell acknowledges we are all humans under the sun. Young people born within these two decades of Namibia’s existence were born free of institutionalized discrimination and inferiority complexes that were imposed on the older generations. These so called “born frees” are indeed the incarnation of our young republic. I took to the streets to speak with some of these young men and women about what they see in Namibia.

“I see beautiful people full of life,” says Janine, a sixteen year old who I met at the Post Street Mall one afternoon. That was her first reply, but as we eased into the interview she dared to expand on her earlier answer, much to my delight: “Ok I see Namibia as a country where we live free – independence, there are no like in other countries – wars and stuff – in this country we are actually safe here...I feel safe here.” There was nothing rehearsed in what she said, she meant all of it. I also queried whether Janine celebrated the twentieth anniversary of Namibian independence by attending the concerts and lectures leading up to March 21^st – our independence day:

“I did not celebrate on that day, but that day I went to church, its like the people were praying and they were happy, not really celebrating, but people were thanking God for one more year of freedom in our country” I find it paradoxical that she claimed to have not celebrated though her Church community clearly acknowledged independence. On that Sunday morning, March 21^st, I was at Independence stadium where masses of people assembled to preside at the official (government sponsored) festivities. At the stadium we all prayed and listened to a Bible reading. Church and independence were one that day.

Unlike Janine, nineteen year old Christiano opted to go to the stadium that Sunday morning. Or did he? His father is part of the Namibia Defense Force that parades – Soviet style marching – every year at the stadium. Naturally, Christiano went, “sat down and listened to speeches”, just as he told me. However, when I asked him for his take on the speeches, I became aware of just how subjective listening is: “I don’t remember anything of what the president said, I went to the back of the tent and we started talking about cars, football.” Boys will be boys. I gathered that what the head of state said was drowned out by the chatter of his friends: “Those people keep on distracting you.” Christiano, though, concurs with Janine by saying “I see a beautiful country” when describing Namibia.

The Namibia of the born frees is beautiful and bright. But it would be inaccurate to portray it as just sunny, because it also has a night side. Christiano has experienced this darker side and related it to me: “There is no racism except at a local golf course[1]. Most of the…golfers are black. When you are there on the golf course, they act like they have never seen you before. It is like a totally different world there.” That peculiar feeling of not belonging is still experienced by some people at some places. If only we could be as color blind as the children I saw walking that day. The street they were on was the same one where I met Christiano and his friend, twenty year old Dee-Dee. We sat down at an outside table by the local petrol station and talked. Dee-Dee added to the talk on racism by saying: “I have never experienced racism anywhere. I have never been to a golf course,” just before she checks a message on her cellphone. Tech savvy and probably ever in touch with her friends, she experiences Namibia very differently from they way her parents did at her age. I came away with the impression that the racism they spoke of was not the evil apartheid of our collective memory, but a mere remnant of that sense of skin color we tried to efface.

I spoke to three young people. They all considered themselves to be born frees. Dee had no doubt that she was one, neither did Christiano or Janine. “Off course,” “yeah” and “yes” were the answers I got to “Are you a born free?” They understood what I spoke of immediately. Now I am left to wonder how they see themselves in relation to those who marched along the former Kaiser Willem Strasse twenty years ago and thereby baptized this central street of Windhoek as “Independence” Avenue. There is a mural of this in our parliament building. People from all walks of life, traditional and urban, black and white, young and old, fill the avenue to the brim. That was then. Now the born free are constructing their identity against these first steps taken by their forefathers and foremothers in streets of Namibia. They, of course, have a choice of destiny, because they are born free.

Epilogue:

I am standing on the side of independence avenue. It is the day after I turned in my article on the born frees, but it is the day of the Wika Carnival! Busloads of people have already passed waving at us from buses with no roofs. Others walk beside them, teenage girls in white and red shortsleved and short skirt outfits. Waving about their batons they march along with the masses of multicolored polyglots ( many of who speak German, English, and Afrikaans at least). The WIKA is a feast that Germans have done since many moons ago, before independence. Now I ponder if I can partake in the marching, because right now I am just a black person waving from the sidelines. Before I finish my thought, a curly green haired young man pulls me into the fray with his arm around my shoulder. Two other youths join us and we shout as we stride along with the parade. Underneath their green clown wigs, there are youths from our German yet Namibian community. I am now walking with them, irrespective of my reservations. These guys see me as a friend, since I met them during a clown training workshop for healing through humor at local high school. Of course, they are born free and they welcome to their world with glee!

P.S. THis post has been submitted for publication in a travel magazine, let's pray it is taken

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[1] The place he mentioned was Windhoek Country Club, but I have chosen not to mention this name. Do you agree?