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Your Burnt Toast Is Not a Territorial Demon. And Other Hard Truths.

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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...
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From Boss to Drunken Master

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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...
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Location: Windhoek, Namibia
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The Year Namibia Could Have Been Independent Earlier: 1978 (And Why the West Stole That Decade From Us)

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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. ...
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Location: Windhoek, Namibia
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20 Years, $2 Trillion, and All We Got Was This Lousy Sequel: Taliban 2: Electric Boogaloo

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Well, well, well. Look who’s back. After two decades, thousands of American lives, and enough taxpayer money to buy Bezos a few more yachts, we have successfully completed the mission: Replace the Taliban with the Taliban. Genius. Absolute chess-master strategy. America never learns, because America is apparently suffering from the geopolitical version of amnesia mixed with a god complex. "This time will be different," we whispered, as we handed the keys to the same guys we kicked out in 2001. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t. And now, the real comedy show begins at home. Divided We Stand (Actually, We’re Sitting and Screaming) You’d think a common enemy would make people rally. Nope. Americans are so spectacularly divided right now that we can’t agree that water is wet without turning it into a partisan bloodsport. This is the magic of democracy, folks. Not the "liberty and justice for all" part, the part where we implode from within because Karen on Facebook thinks the en...
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Location: Windhoek, Namibia
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Namibia's Fight for Digital Freedom Starts with Tech and Tax Control

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In an era where data is often called the new oil, a pressing question lingers in the minds of Namibia's brightest young software engineers and computer scientists: Where does our nation's data go, and who truly controls it? As we eagerly adopt foreign apps and digital platforms, we must confront an uncomfortable truth about our technological sovereignty and the tax revenues slipping through our fingers. The concern is not just academic. It is personal for the young innovator in Namibia with a world-class software idea s but no funding, while foreign apps operating without a single physical office address in Namibia dominate the digital landscape. When a data breach occurs or a user has a grievance, where does one go? Which authority assumes responsibility? How safe are we, and how certain can we be that our personal and national data is not being exploited for commercial or strategic gain beyond our borders?  This is not merely a technological issue. It is a sovereignty issue....
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Location: Windhoek, Namibia
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We’ve Chosen Legality Over Morality, and Namibia Is Now a Spiritual Circus

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Let me describe the grave we have dug for ourselves. Namibia is bleeding moral flavour from a thousand self inflicted wounds, and we have decided that the best treatment is to smile, shrug, and say "but it is legal." We have taken the law, that cold and lifeless collection of paragraphs, and elevated it above every instinct for decency, every whisper of common sense, every ancestral memory of right and wrong. If the Constitution does not explicitly scream no, then we have decided to treat it as a heavenly yes. And in that swamp of lazy thinking, monsters are breeding. Look around you. Stop scrolling and really look. The churches have become a plague. Not a gentle spreading of faith, but a violent explosion of spiritual tumours bursting from every empty plot, every rundown shop, every plastic tent strung between a shebeen and a sewage drain. There is no corner of this country where you can escape the purple suits, the blinding gold shoes, the customised number plates that read...
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Location: Windhoek, Namibia
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Gyms in Ongwediva Are Just Tinder for People Too Proud to Try Facebook Dating

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 Let us be real for a second. Ongwediva is not exactly a paradise of romantic opportunity. The bars are the same three places. The shebeens have the same faces. Everyone already dated everyone else back in secondary school, and somehow half of them still live in the same neighborhood. Your ex is at the supermarket. Your exs new partner sells phone covers at the open market. Your cousins friend ghosted you last year and you still see her buying airtime every Thursday. So where does a desperate, lonely, slightly out of breath person go when their DMs are dry, their standards are somehow still high, and Tinder has shown them every emotionally unavailable person within a 40 kilometer radius? The gym. The brand new gym. The one that opened last month between a bottle store and a Chinese shop that sells everything including hope. Because nothing says I have given up on actual dating apps like paying N$850 a month to stare at someones calves for 40 minutes in silence while a slow jam remi...
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Location: Ongwediva, Namibia
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