Flipside – Chris Jacobie
NAMIBIA is a dry country, with more lean years than rainy seasons. When it does rain in abundance, it is not only unpredictable but also scattered – and often still not enough.
Yet, generations of Namibians have overcome the challenges of climate change. They adapted, tamed it, survived, and even thrived through sheer resilience and grit.
They cannot be blamed for being mesmerized by rain, oversized floodplains, and roaring rivers – but neither should they be hypnotized by it.
Lest Namibians be tempted in this age of information carpet bombing, they should remind themselves: less than five months ago, these same flooded plains were killing fields, strewn with the bleached bones of dead livestock. The iconic, life-sustaining Hardap and Von Bach dams were dustbowls. The mighty Kunene, Zambezi, Kavango, and Orange Rivers could be crossed on foot – and in places, even the footprints remained dry.
Government drilled emergency boreholes, rehabilitated earth dams, and communities dug wells in search of water for man and beast.
In most households, rain on tin roofs is a symphony of nature, and the abundance of water easily mesmerizes. Though Namibians cannot be blamed for their enthusiasm – especially after enduring the worst drought in recorded history – they must be careful not to be so hypnotized by the abundance of water that they forget the dust devils of drought.
Floods also expose a darker side of the nation, one often ignored – especially in good times.
The government and its agencies, particularly Defence and Agriculture, must be appreciated and congratulated for their quick emergency response.
But the current floods also revealed an ugly side of ignorance that Namibians cannot take pride in. Reports of drowning citizens and flooded fields of subsistence farmers present a national crisis that demands immediate intervention at the grassroots level.
Subsistence farmers feed nearly a million mouths from their humble mahangu and maize fields. They consume and share what they produce – as a matter of culture and pride.
This is true from Ngoma to the mouth of the Kunene. Moreover, households in remote areas do not resemble those in towns. A typical household often consists of a grandmother sharing a house or homestead with young children – children of their own absent children.
Angolan domestic workers and cattle herders are seizing the opportunity, and crime statistics – particularly robbery, rape, and assault of the elderly – are skyrocketing.
This is the sad reality of frontier communities in the northern, southern, and eastern parts of Namibia. Even towns like Okahandja, Dordabis, Groot-Aub, and Rehoboth now resemble daycare centres that only come alive on weekends.
Homes with elderly people and the babies of strong men and women need additional assistance in difficult times. Government, regional and local authorities, and traditional leaders should consider establishing an emergency three-month internship program to ensure help and protection reach the most vulnerable – those who cannot, but must, care for one another.
Namibians are fortunate that the President, Dr. Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah, the Vice President, Madam Lucia Witbooi, and the Prime Minister, Dr. Elijah Ngurare, all hail from these communities and understand their challenges. It is even more fortunate that the emergency response is spearheaded by the Office of the Prime Minister, Dr. Elijah Ngurare, who is an expert in rural water supply and development.
The recent Usakos tragedy – in which a grandmother, a young woman, and four toddlers were killed – is gruesome, but it highlights a stark reality: 80-year-olds are often left to care for entire families.
In flatter areas, water pans become death traps, concealing wells beneath deceptively shallow waters. A short journey of a few hundred metres in the dry season can, in the flooded season, become a trek of tens of kilometres.
In the mountainous Kaoko area, floods sweep people away in low-lying villages – some with names few can even pronounce.
This daily life must be acknowledged and addressed. When a seventy-year-old grandmother and her ten-year-old granddaughter die fetching water, alarm bells must ring. When it happens often, it signals a life-threatening culture and lifestyle.
Helicopters and boats are ferrying people to safety, and emergency food is being delivered.
It might surprise many, but firewood is even more important than food. With what will maize be cooked, or frogs and fish prepared? In this regard, thousands of charcoal burners can be mobilized to deliver discarded branches and twigs to communities – where for kilometres, there’s no dry wood in sight.
With malaria and cholera threatening frontier communities – and clinics and hospitals along Namibia’s borders with Angola, Zambia, and Botswana flooded by humans in distress – we must be prepared. Not just for our own people. Water purification tablets and mosquito repellent, once seen as luxuries, are now life-saving necessities.
Lastly, roads in northern areas are overwhelmed by animals and people seeking higher ground. Accidents involving pedestrians and livestock are already on the rise.
In many parts of the north, from Ngoma to Ruacana and as far south as Kamanjab and Outjo, roads now double as dam walls.
Namibians must remember that the beautiful image of floodplains stretching to the horizon, or makalani palms casting shadows across vast pans, is also someone’s harsh reality – someone who must cross it, hoping to survive and praying that their last possessions are spared.
That life isn’t on social media. Influencers should remember: they can’t influence the weather. The real task is to change our own behaviours – rather than expecting others to change theirs.
