Sorry Ngo! – Indeed Queen Versus Country

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John Ekongo

I have always wanted to poke fun at some Namibians who some years ago took up the offers of au pairs and work for study programmes in England. The first time I heard that the only closest thing they did to au pairing was looking after a couple of pigs and McDonald’s greasy grillers, I had a laugh.

Some ten years ago when Tony Blair took office, ironically a couple of our Namibian brothers and sisters also left the country to be under the mantle of Blair and his Downing Street chaps. The appeal to sing “God Save The Queen” was tenderer than having to blur out in sheep fashion choir “Land of the Brave”.

Now our people apparently went for so-called study and work programmes and fancy au-pair nonsense. We all know that that was a pure hoax. At least that is what I was told, by this returnee friend of mine.

The only thing they were after was a couple of pigs, goats and genetically modified chickens as big as our average size ‘Nama bok’ south of Bethanie. Compared to our own Oshakati tarred road-raised marathon chickens, those British birds look like something of a David and Goliath story.

Now Blair is no longer, and some of the brothers and sisters somewhat also seem to be returning home from their self-imposed exile or capitalistic hunt, whichever way you want to look at it. I call it self-conscious modern day slavery, but then again who said that my views are always right.

But if I had to give credit, I do so. Now some of these guys did return home with a couple of riches behind their names. A trendy Golf hatchback (I opted to remain in Namibia and still don’t have a ride). Some colleagues returned with well-polished English unlike the Namlish they knew. Before they left for England, you would think twice is this the same Babalo (my friend) that went to England with an un-graded symbol in English. However, if you are lucky you might score a white girlfriend, with a fondness for a Yorkshire pudding
The trick is that you had to find the rich one, if you put into context the exchange rate and all. It might have been okay some five years ago when you were living in your mom’s house in Gemengte, but coming from London only to move back in your family’s box–shaped three bedroom house is an insult.

It is exactly for this reason why an affluent well-to-do British lady will come in handy, you relocate here and then you get yourself that fancy flat in Hochland Park.

But at least, if there is something the Namibians are known for, it is their ability to jovially enjoy themselves. Again my sources did reveal that after payday it is usually an array of Namibians partying the night away at the nearest joint. This I was told is also camouflaged as an exercise to hook some unsuspecting and not-so-innocent looking British ladies.

The only qualify criteria I am made aware of is your skin complexion – you need to be well burned and dark as in the complexion of pure dark. That way, you are guaranteed a score with no help of a pick-up line. Should you unfortunately not be blessed with a dark complexion, pretend that you do not understand a hint of English and that you are originally from the island of Cape Verde and not Block D in Rehoboth. The girls over there just simply love an African man.

The only worry that has me criticising my fellow brothers is when they tell you how wonderful England was, and the exciting jobs they had, meanwhile all what the colleagues were doing was to turn pigs into ham to be used on a toasty,cleaning stoves and grills in some fast food chain and looking after pensioners in old age homes.

While it might be a bit un-disturbing to your reputation, there is nothing wrong in admitting that you were cleanings pigs, washing factory boots and working in kitchens. Like they say, everyman for himself, but at least if credit is to be given, I say welcome back home gents.

I am sure you will pass on your well-learned knowledge in washing dishes to many of us. But for now …
Sorry Ngo

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