RECENTLY I was in Windhoek, Namibia, “The land of the brave” as friends there fondly call it.
They call it so for a good reason.
Approaching Hosea Kutako International Airport from the sky, the place looks deserted and sun burnt.
You zoom into rugged terrain covered in sorrowful brown grass and acacia trees, the landscape occasionally broken by veins of dry rivers.
Not a single homestead is in view.
The plane makes a final turn and you catch a glimpse of human construction; that must be the airport.
Mind flashes back to primary school geography; Namib Desert and the San.
I started imagining two Bantu brothers caught up in the famous Bantu migration of over two millennia ago.
One and his family drifted southerly with the western stream finally settling in the land of the brave, for this is no match to the lush of Congo basin or Tanganyika. He ended his journey in Southern Africa, but within reach of the smell of Atlantic Ocean waters.
His descendants are today evenly spread among the likes of the Oshiwambo, Herero and Damara.
The other brother also drifted southerly, but as if attracted by the sun … ka‘langa’, followed the eastern stream.
He ended his journey on a lush plateau within reach of the smell of Indian Ocean waters.
Today his descendants are evenly spread among the likes of the Kalanga, Shona, Ndebele and Tonga.
By the time we touched down I believed my dreaming.
I was on a special visit to see my uncles and cousins, madzibaba nemadzikoma angu.
The welcome was warm, from the airport right up to the hotel.
Everyone warmed up to me as if they were my real brothers and sisters.
At nightfall one of my hosts, a Tonga from Zambia, took me to his favourite watering hole.
We were joined by a retired Namibian security officer.
He is a SWAPO veteran who has seen duty in Zimbabwe, Zambia, Angola and the DRC.
Only fond memories he has of Zimbabwe and its people.
Soon we were exchanging essential village notes.
The more we conversed, the more I became convinced that this one was my “real brother from my other mother”.
The conversation somehow led us to a Shona saying, “Chembere yonyangarika bere rorutsa imvi.”
After I translated, our Namibian friend burst into a loud laugh, screaming and jumping with joy at the richness of the saying.
His joyous response to the wisdom of the saying reminded me of my own response when I first heard the saying in the 1970s in Unyetu.
It was at night while we were seated around a fire roasting green mealies.
Just as well this had not been mbwire mbwire time.
I wondered what it was with this saying that must so exercise our lungs.
Days later I bumped into our Namibian friend and he immediately broke into an uncontrollable laugh as he said “shembere yo…” and asking me to complete the saying.
I wrote it down for him on a small piece of paper and he neatly tucked it into his purse.
Moments later, a Shona speaking Zimbabwean doctor colleague of the Namibian, who is living in Windhoek, joined our bar counter.
The Namibian immediately introduced me to the learned doctor who gave me cold acknowledgement.
Our Namibian friend probably missed this and proceeded to show off his new found Shona wisdom.
The doctor, sounding cold and disinterested, said he had never heard of the saying. I know when to take my leave.
The days that follow only proved to me that Zimbabwe and Namibia were one people, desert between.
My Tonga friend, a regular visitor to Harare took me to Katutura.
I carry sweet memories of my late friend filing a story from Katutura on Namibia’s independence eve.
First stop was the local Mereki for gochi gochi or kapana as they call it in Katutura.
Same nhomba (crave), but satisfied differently.
These are neatly constructed braai stalls.
Front is the public and ‘braaing’ counter while rear is the butchery.
There are several dozen such stalls.
Each stall is manned by one person.
After nzwisa (tasting) pieces of very fine fillet you select your stall, buy your meat and be ready to eat it served on the braai fire.
The place was teaming with locals and tourists.
From the kapana we were taken to the Horse Shoe Market, still in Katutura.
This is a cluster of neat low cost shebeens (for lack of better term).
Most of these are owned by veterans of the Namibian liberation struggle.
Very relaxed atmosphere patronised by both big boys and small boys in town. People group around these bars in a manner reflective of the cosmopolitan nature of the society.
It is a celebration of their cultural diversity.
From Katutura I was taken on a city tour.
We drove past the British Embassy, along Robert Mugabe Street.
I imagined the British High Commissioner giving street directions to the High Commission to a colleague!
On a vantage point we stopped to admire Windhoek.
I was shown the national heritage symbols of Namibia.
These include the imposing National Heroes Acre, National Library and new Museum.
Namibians speak fondly of their heroes, in particular Captain Witbooi and Hosea Kutako.
Captain Hendrik Witbooi born 1830 was King of the Namaqua people, a Khoisan group.
He survived the 1893 German massacres that nearly wiped out Namaqua women and children.
Despite this setback he led wars against Germans for two years before a tactful surrender.
In 1904 he launched a surprise and vicious revolt against the Germans.
He was killed in action in 1905.
A brave warrior indeed.
Hosea Kutako, born 1870, was leader of the Herero people and a veteran of the 1904 resistance war.
He played a key role in petitioning the United Nations to place South West Africa under UN trusteeship.
Kutako-co founded, with others like Sam Nujoma, SWANU, a precursor to SWAPO.
Namibia and Zimbabwe are two brothers whose histories are anchored in fierce resistance to colonial domination.