I am trading my weekend farming boots for politics. I am forming a new political party.
I mean getting 700 names does not seem too daunting a task!
I plan to use my popularity among the farming communities, the Oviritje union and the meat-eating population to advance my interest. At the last working committee meeting (that is what we call ourselves at the moment until the Omaheke Institute for Development of Marginalised Communities grants us starting capital), it was decided that I become president of the party. The poor souls – they have little understanding of what I intend to do with this whole new party thing.
In fact, on that day, I spoke in tongues. If you can’t convince them, confuse them, I thought – and that is exactly what I did. I said something like: “My dear comrades, you should all take cognisance of the fact that it is virtue and not at all pedigree that characterises nobility…”
My poor comrades delegated by their branches from the Otjozondjupa and Omaheke regions had, of course, no idea what I was talking about. At the end of my sermon, I could hear them all saying “Ijaaaa!” and “Viva Ngomrande Sharles Viva!”
I reassuringly smiled to myself – I did it … I polluted their pure minds with the most senseless words.
Now, the next step was to get the 700 members that will spin the magic for me.
I remember my father telling me of a wise shoemaker from the village. He is this old man that divorced his wife two decades ago and now lives alone in his huge homestead. He has a small radio that is permanently tied to a tree, which he uses to keep abreast of developments. I made him number two on the list – he has a lot of cattle that could come in handy when holding those watershed congresses and extra-ordinary meetings! As a token of appreciation for enlisting him on my new party, he presented me with three cows.
Man, politics is good!
After enlisting a few more cadres from little Texas, I decided to take the urban route. I simply called people up, made promises and told them how boring their current jobs are.
“Do you want to do something with your life … do you want to reach for the stars … then join my party,” is what I told them.
Buae, I was surprised at how many people are actually tired and bored by their jobs. The rest of the list I filled by telling a domestic worker that she deserves more than simply raising the kids of other children… the security guard who is expected to weather strong winds literary deserves better. Now that I have completed the list, I plan to silently register my new party and quit my job.
At the rate things are going, top politicians are expected to leave their parties for my new political haven. If I become president, I will fence the Herero mall and punish anyone who leaves the place before 03h00 on a Saturday.
Horses will replace taxis – just like in the times of Kahimemua Nguvauva and others. Parliament will move to Gobabis and the Waterberg will be declared a holy shrine.
That, my dear friends, is my dream. As of now though, I have to snap out of the dream and run to another hastily organised press conference. Eish! Please keep my dream under wraps for now – don’t let my boss get wind of it or else it will remain just that – a dream. Eewa.