Life Overseas is a Canoe Lie – An HR Practitioner's Confession

Yoh, my people! Welcome to my blog. Sit down, relax, and grab a cold one. Let me tell you something that will make your ancestors laugh.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Gideon. I have paper. I am an HR Practitioner. A whole Human Resources expert with a Bachelor Honours Degree framed on my wall like a trophy. When I walk into the office, the interns start updating their CVs. When I call a disciplinary hearing, people start sweating like they're in a sauna. When I speak, even the CEO listens. I AM THE HR. Kapish?

So why am I standing here in my kitchen, stirring oxtail for my pretty Nangula, while my past life keeps blowing up my phone with nonsense? Let me tell you. Hou vas.

There was a woman. Her name was Ndapandula. Mama Ndapandula. The one with the loud voice, the even louder mabalaya shoes, and the headwrap that could cover half of Ongwediva. I, Gideon, the catch of the century, the man with a silver Land Cruiser V8, a Rolex that costs more than her parents' house, a Bachelor Honours Degree in HR Management, and enough swag to fill a stadium, asked for her hand in marriage. And what did she say? "Ai, Gideon, give me six months to think about it. Let me pray. Let me consult. Let me ask my grandmother." A whole six months! Six months of "I'm not sure." Six months of "Let me fast." Six months of "Let me check my Bible." For a man who owns three cars, two houses in Klein Windhoek, a generator that runs 24/7, and a Bachelor Honours Degree that cost more than her uncle's entire kraal? Eish, mos! As an HR professional with Honours, I know a thing or two about probation periods. Six months is a probation period, not a relationship! I overruled that matter faster than you can say "Voetsek" and I married my pretty Nangula. The most beautiful woman in Oshakati. Case closed. Punt. Or so I thought.

Now, Mama Ndapandula eventually settled for Tatekulu. Tatekulu, she told everyone with chest, was taking her overseas. Oh, the drama! The WhatsApp statuses with aeroplane emojis! The airport photos at Hosea Kutako with oversized suitcases and sunglasses at 5 AM! She was already practicing how to say "Cheers, love" in a fake London accent while standing at the taxi rank. But wait for it. Kyk hier. Tatekulu took her to the Okavango River. Not across the Atlantic. Not even to Swakopmund. Just… on top of the river. Because Tatekulu is a fisherman. A whole visvang man. The one who wakes up at 3 AM to check his nets, who smells like fish even at church, who has more fish scales on his clothes than money in his pocket. I'm pretty sure his highest qualification is a Grade 7 certificate and a canoe paddling license from the river. He promised her a life overseas, but he meant life on the sea, or rather, life on top of a rickety mokoro canoe, surrounded by tilapia and catfish, with no electricity, no Wi-Fi, no MTC signal, and no running water. Just water everywhere but none to drink. Lol!  Hm hm hm hm hm.

Let me tell you, as an HR Practitioner with a Bachelor Honours Degree, this is a classic case of misrepresentation of job duties. Tatekulu advertised "Overseas Relocation Manager" but the actual job description was "Canoe Paddler and Fish Cleaner." That is false advertising. That is a disciplinary offence. That is a dismissal with immediate effect! In my HR training, we call this "breach of contract" and let me tell you, the Labour Commissioner would have a field day with this one.

You see, my grandmother, Meme, used to tell us stories under the marula tree when we were children. She would say: "A person who is desperate will accept anything." There was once an old woman who wanted to cross the river. She met a crocodile who said, "Let me carry you across." But the crocodile said, "You must give me your goat first." The woman was desperate. She gave the crocodile her goat. The crocodile carried her halfway, then said, "Now give me your dress." She gave her dress. Then he said, "Now give me your shoes." She gave her shoes. By the time she reached the other side, she had nothing left. She was naked, barefoot, and hungry. That is Mama Ndapandula. She gave her life to a crocodile in a canoe. She gave her youth to a fisherman. She gave her dignity to a promise that was never real. She failed to do her due diligence before accepting the job offer. No background check. No reference check. No site visit. She didn't even Google "Tatekulu Fisherman Reviews." She just packed her bags based on a WhatsApp status with aeroplane emojis. A Grade 7 dropout with a canoe tricked an Honours level woman. Yoh!

And now, Ndapandula is sitting there at the riverbank, pregnant with child number eleven, looking at her two and a half husbands, don't ask me about the half, I think it's just Tatekulu's left leg that still works after the crocodile incident at the river, and she is blaming ME. "Gideon, you bewitched me!" Ag, please! She is blaming my pretty Nangula! 

Mama Ndapandula, my dear, let's call a spade a spade. Let's call a fish a fish. You wanted a fisherman, you got the fish. You wanted overseas, you got the river. You wanted London, you got Okavango. You wanted a passport, you got a canoe paddle. It is simple maths. Even a tokoloshe could figure that out. Even a primary school child in the village could calculate it with their fingers. But you? With all your "six months to think about it," you couldn't figure out the difference between an aeroplane and a canoe? Ag, shame! If I were the judge in this case, which I am not, but I AM THE HR with a Bachelor Honours Degree, I would rule in my favor. I would issue a formal warning. I would put her on a Performance Improvement Plan. I would write her up for insubordination, defamation, and gross misconduct. I would recommend immediate termination. I can lock her and her fisherman husband inside that mokoro canoe. I can lock the fish inside the canoe. I can lock the river itself if I feel like it. I can even lock the crocodiles too, just for kicks. But I am a merciful man. Ek is 'n goeie ou. I believe in second chances, but not for people who confuse a canoe with a Boeing 747. That is just poor decision making. Even my first year HR students know better.

I will simply focus on my pretty Nangula. She doesn't ask for overseas. She doesn't ask for canoes. She doesn't ask for London or New York. She doesn't even ask for a bigger house. She just asks, "Gideon, what are we eating?" And that, my people, is the value of a good woman. Wa nawa! She has the right attitude. She has good character. She passes the culture fit test. She understands that a Bachelor Honours Degree doesn't buy happiness, but it does buy a nice house and a full fridge.

My grandmother also used to say: "A man will only be happy if he stays with someone who values what he has, not what he doesn't have." She would tell the story of Shikongo and Nakale. Shikongo was a poor farmer. Nakale left him for a rich man from the city. Years later, the rich man lost everything. Nakale came back to Shikongo. But Shikongo had married a woman who stayed with him even when he had nothing. That woman, she was the one who built him back up. Nakale? Sy sê, she had no path back. That is Nangula. My Nangula. She stayed when I was still a young HR intern with nothing but dreams and a student loan. Now I have everything, the cars, the houses, the Bachelor Honours Degree framed on the wall, and she has everything with me. Ndapandula? She is in the middle of the water, holding onto a canoe that is sinking. Her career plan was flawed from the start. Her strategic decision making needs serious improvement.

Life overseas is actually, life on top of the river. Money is like water. It flows, it disappears, and sometimes it smells like fish. The truth is the biggest thing. And Ndapandula? She is just *bitter* because her fish is fresh, but my money is fresher. *Tjo!* She failed to read the terms and conditions of the relationship contract. She ignored the job description. She didn't ask for the organisational structure. She didn't even check the employee handbook. Now she's stuck in a canoe with no exit strategy, no severance package, and no HR representative to advocate for her. Where is my pretty Nangula? The stew is ready. I made extra kapana on the side. The meat is ready. Come and eat, my love. Leave the drama for the river people. Tatekulu can keep his fish. I'll keep my gold. And my Bachelor Honours Degree.

Overruled. Case Dismissed. Appeal denied. The ancestors have spoken. HR has spoken. Bachelor Honours Degree has spoken. Period. Punt. Volle stop.

Or so I thought the story was over. But guess who walked into my office this morning? Kyk hier.

I was sitting in my fancy HR office in Windhoek, sipping my coffee, reviewing some disciplinary files, and admiring my Bachelor Honours Degree on the wall, when my receptionist buzzed me. *"Gideon, there is a woman here to see you. She says her name is Ndapandula. She looks… tired. And she smells like fish."* I nearly choked on my coffee. *Ag, shame!* Before I could say *"Tell her I'm in a meeting,"* the door flew open. There she was. Mama Ndapandula. Wearing the same headwrap from five years ago, now looking like it had been through a war. Her *mabalaya* shoes were covered in mud. Her eyes were red from crying. And yes, she smelled like a fish market on a hot Friday afternoon. "Gideon!" she screamed. "Gideon, I need a job! Tatekulu has left me! He ran away with another woman from the river! A younger one! With less children! Can you believe it? Eleven children and he runs away with a girl who has no kids! Where is the justice?" I sat back in my chair, folded my hands, and smiled. "Mama Ndapandula, welcome. Please, have a seat. But first, tell me, how is the overseas life treating you? How is London? How is New York? How is the canoe?" She burst into tears.

I decided to have some fun. I pulled out a blank piece of paper and pretended it was an official job application form. "Okay, Mama Ndapandula, let's do this properly. I am an HR Practitioner with a Bachelor Honours Degree. I follow processes. I do things by the book. So, let's start with the basics. What is your highest qualification?" She looked at me with confusion. "Qualification?" "Yes. What did you study? What certificates do you have?" She paused. "I studied… Tatekulu. I studied the river. I studied how to clean fish. I studied how to paddle a canoe. I studied how to survive with no electricity and no Wi-Fi. I studied how to give birth in a mokoro." I wrote down on my paper: "Qualifications: Canoe paddling. Fish cleaning. Childbirth in water. Grade: Unknown." "Okay," I said. "Tell me about your previous work experience." Her eyes lit up. "I was a full time wife to Tatekulu! I cooked fish. I cleaned fish. I sold fish at the open market. I carried water from the river. I gave birth to eleven children. I did everything!" I wrote down: "Experience: Fish wife. Fish seller. Fish cooker. Professional baby maker. Skills: Surviving on nothing." "Interesting," I said. "Now tell me, why do you want to work here?"  She leaned forward. "Because I need money, Gideon! I need to feed my eleven children! Tatekulu took everything! He even took the canoe! I am left with nothing! Please, Gideon, I am desperate!"* I nodded slowly. "Mama Ndapandula, let me tell you something. Desperation is not a qualification. Desperation is not a skill. Desperation is not a Bachelor Honours Degree. When you had a chance to choose a good man with a good job and a good future, you said, 'Give me six months to think about it.' You chose the fisherman. You chose the canoe. You chose the river. Now you are here, smelling like fish, asking for a job. Ag, shame!"

I looked at her application form and shook my head. "Mama Ndapandula, let me be honest with you. As an HR Practitioner, I have to assess your suitability for this organisation. Let me give you my feedback." I pulled out my official HR notepad and started reading. Strengths: You can survive without electricity. You can paddle a canoe. You can clean fish with your eyes closed. You are very fertile. Weaknesses: You have no qualifications. You have no work experience outside of the river. You smell like fish. You made poor life choices. You blamed me for your bad decisions. You didn't do your due diligence before marrying a fisherman. Recommendation: Unfortunately, we do not have any canoe paddling or fish cleaning positions available at this time. Your skills do not match our organisational needs. We wish you all the best in your future endeavours. Please do not contact us again. She looked at me with wide eyes. "Gideon, are you serious? You are rejecting me? After everything we went through?" I smiled. "Mama Ndapandula, in HR, we call this a 'failed probation period.' You failed the interview. You failed the background check. You failed the reference check. And most importantly, you failed at life choices. I am sorry, but we cannot hire you."

You see, my grandmother, Meme, also had a story about this. She used to say: "A person who is desperate will accept anything, but that doesn't mean it's good for them." She told a story about a hungry dog that saw a bone in the river. The dog reached for the bone, but it was actually a crocodile's tail. The crocodile grabbed the dog and pulled it into the water. The dog lost everything. The dog was desperate, and the dog paid the price. That is Mama Ndapandula. She was desperate for a man. She didn't do her research. She didn't ask the right questions. She didn't consult the ancestors. She just jumped into the canoe with the first fisherman who promised her overseas. And now she is here, in my office, crying, smelling like fish, asking for a job. Ag, shame!

I looked at her one more time. She was crying. Her eleven children were waiting at home with no food. Tatekulu had abandoned her. She had nothing. I sighed. I may be sarcastic, but I am not heartless. "Okay, Mama Ndapandula. I will not give you a job. But I will give you some advice." She wiped her tears. "What advice, Gideon?" "First, go back to the river. Find Tatekulu. Take him to the traditional court. Get your canoe back. Get your fish back. Get your dignity back. Second, stop blaming me and my pretty Nangula for your bad decisions. We are not the problem. The canoe is the problem. Third, if you ever meet another man who promises you overseas, ask him for his passport first. Ask him for his plane ticket. Ask him for his bank statement. Do your due diligence. And finally, if you ever decide to get a real job, go back to school. Get a qualification. Get a Grade 10 at least. Then come back and see me. But please, take a shower first. The fish smell is affecting my office morale." She stood up, nodded slowly, and walked out of my office. I sat back, sipped my coffee, and looked at my Bachelor Honours Degree on the wall. It was shining like gold. "Nangula!" I shouted. "Where is my lunch? I am hungry!"

Life overseas is actually, life on top of the river. Money is like water. It flows, it disappears, and sometimes it smells like fish. And Mama Ndapandula? She is still in the middle of the river, holding onto a sinking canoe, with no job, no man, and no qualifications. But hey, at least she has eleven children and a fish smell. Tjo!

Overruled. Case Dismissed. Job Application Rejected. The ancestors have spoken. HR has spoken. Bachelor Honours Degree has spoken. Period. Punt. Volle stop.

Signing off, Gideon (HR Practitioner, Bachelor Honours Degree Holder, Certified Stew Master, Disciplinary Hearing Expert, and OG of the Streets)

P.S. If you see Mama Ndapandula at the open market selling fish, tell her to submit a formal grievance in writing. I will review it within 30 working days. But I can already tell you the outcome: l"Grievance dismissed. Fish is not a valid currency for overseas travel. Please refer to clause 12.4 of the Relationship Contract." And tell Tatekulu to bring me some fresh tilapia next time. I'll pay. With real overseas money. Ha ha!

P.P.S. And to all the beautiful ladies out there: if your man promises you overseas, make sure it's not a canoe before you pack your bags. Ask for a job description! Do a background check! Consult your grandmother! Check his qualifications! If he doesn't even have a Grade 10, run! Don't end up like Ndapandula. Yoh! Remember: due diligence saves lives. Also, a Bachelor Honours Degree in HR is not just for the office, it is for life!

P.P.P.S. Know your worth, know your man, and know the difference between a plane and a canoe. Mooi so! Always read the fine print. Even in love. Especially in love. Tjo!