The Dad Who Asked Why

(A Dad Who Asked Why — Kitchen Reflections) There’s something about Independence season that always pulls me back to that morning in Windhoek when I stood raising the flag, full of a young man’s hope. I remember the crisp air, the quiet pride, and the feeling — almost electric — that we were stepping into a future where fairness, dignity, and accountability would be the norm. Back then, I believed deeply in the promises our leaders made, especially the one that mattered to me as a consumer activist: Namibia would have a Consumer Protection Law. That promise was made in 2006. Today I’m 56. I’ve spent decades pushing, writing, advocating, explaining, and sometimes arguing — all in the hope that ordinary Namibians would one day have the protection they deserve. And I find myself wondering whether this law will arrive before I retire, or whether Junior will grow up and raise his own children before it becomes reality. But hope is a stubborn thing. It’s the same hope that keeps me cooking, ...

  This morning began with the usual Namibian chaos — the kind that would make other nations crumble but somehow strengthens our spine. I was meant to leave at 10:00. Junior must be fetched between 15h30 and 17h00. My girlfriend needs a new SIM card because she’s the one who keeps the clients calm and connected. And me? I had to get an original marriage certificate from Home Affairs — and, miracle of miracles, I had it in under an hour. But there I was at 09:55, opening the gate for the pool guys because the person who normally does it has been fired. Life has a way of laughing at our schedules. If you don’t laugh with it, you’ll cry. And crying doesn’t get Junior fetched. Yet even in the middle of this domestic circus, my mind drifted to the Middle East — a region where the stakes are far higher than a locked gate or a missing SIM card. A place where “things beyond our control” take on a scale we can barely comprehend. And still, I find myself strangely hopeful. Not naïve. Not blin...