THE HONEST IMPACT with Gideon Kapuka

Welcome to the modern relationship arena, where we have all somehow signed up for a comrade marathon without reading the terms and conditions. The question on everyone’s lips is whether someone’s mileage actually matters when two people decide to build a life together. The argument often starts with a very passionate declaration that a man should marry a virgin because no woman can ever tell you how many men have entered her if she isn’t a virgin. The logic, if you can call it that, suggests that a woman’s high body count is repulsive and detrimental to the future of a man. Period. End of discussion. Case closed. But let us pause for a moment of uncomfortable truth. If you do not want to marry a comrade, then you should probably refrain from participating in comrade activities yourself. You cannot fight to overwrite the innate nature of masculinity while simultaneously expecting a woman to overwrite her own lived experiences. The universe does not bend that way, no matter how loudly yo...

It is 11:47 PM. You are lying in bed, exhausted, but your mind is a crowded subway station at rush hour. A mistake from 2017 plays on loop. A worry about next Tuesday's meeting cuts in. A memory of someone's disappointed face flickers by. Your body is here, under the blankets. But you are scattered across time. This is what the mind does automatically. It runs. It runs into the past. It runs into the future. But it rarely stays here. The mind replays old conversations, missed opportunities, heartbreaks, regrets, mistakes, and the people we used to be. It whispers: You should have done better. You wasted time. You ruined your chances. And when it is done torturing us with the past, it jumps into the future. It tells us happiness is somewhere ahead. In the next achievement. The next relationship. The next version of ourselves. The next breakthrough. The next level. The mind constantly says: 'Once you become somebody, then you can finally feel enough'. Think about it. Have...

There is a quiet pressure many of us carry without even realizing it. We open the Bible, perhaps with good intentions and a weary heart, and somewhere along the way, we begin to feel like we have to become the people walking through its ancient pages. We compare our small, trembling faith to David's reckless courage. We measure our quiet obedience against Esther's royal resolve. We hold our clumsy prayers next to Paul's thunderous letters and wonder why we sound so small. But here is what I am learning, slowly and gently, like dawn slipping through the curtains. The Bible was written for us, but not directly to us. That single truth changes everything. When we read Scripture like a step by step manual for our exact lives, we start forcing our unique, messy, beautiful story into someone else's shape. We begin asking questions that were never meant to haunt us. Should I fight a giant like David? Do I need to wander in a wilderness like Moses? Am I supposed to confront a k...

A common sight in certain religious circles is the sincere believer who trips on a sidewalk and immediately begins casting out what they call the spirit of Stumbling Leviathan. One can often observe such a person whose car refuses to start in the morning. Rather than checking the battery or calling a mechanic, this individual spends 45 minutes binding what they term the spirit of transportation delay. When a boss delivers a mildly critical performance review, the believer begins fasting to break the jealousy witchcraft they believe is coming from the accounting department. And when a simple salad causes indigestion, it is immediately assumed to be poisoned by a generational curse. This is the trap of over spiritualization. In this mindset, the Holy Spirit is blamed for bad judgment, and Satan is blamed for a lack of budgeting. There exists a dangerous, exhausting, and fundamentally childish trap into which many sincere believers fall. They make everything spiritual while ignoring basic...

Oh, look at that. Another Monday, another high profile suspension in the Land of the Brave. My fellow Namibians, gather ‘round. I have breaking news that has shocked me to my very core (she says, while sipping coffee and staring blankly at a wall). It has been officially confirmed that Bra Joseph Shimweelao Shikongo, our beloved, untouchable, "I'll retire when I want" Inspector General of the Namibian Police Force, has finally been shown the red card. Twelve months of gardening leave, to be precise. Cue the world’s smallest violin. Now, before the comments section attacks me, let me make one thing painfully clear. I have been publicly, loudly, and proudly at the forefront of calling for his suspension since the Stone Age. But, and this is the part where I pretend to be a saint, Bra Shikongo, if there was any foul play in your suspension, you are more than welcome to report your matter to me. Yes, you heard me right. I will fight for you too. Because apparently, your right...

Let me tell you a truth that doesn't get taught in our schools loudly enough. Namibia should have been free in 1978. Not 1990. Not after eleven more years of waiting, suffering, and being treated like a bargaining chip by foreign powers who had no right to decide our fate. In 1978, the United Nations Security Council adopted Resolution 435. Read that name carefully because it was our ticket out. That resolution laid out a clear, legally binding plan for UN supervised elections. It was supposed to be the end of South Africa's illegal occupation. It was supposed to be the year we raised our own flag. Instead, we waited. And waited. And watched three countries play games with our freedom. The Three That Blocked Us The primary vetoes that weakened stronger UN action on Namibia came from the very same countries now smiling in our capital cities and signing "partnership" agreements with us. 1. United States – Vetoed multiple Namibia resolutions (1975, 1981, 1985, 1986). 2. ...