CHAPTER FIVE A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

 

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

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CHAPTER FIVE

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

Sunday morning came, but I had not really slept.

How could I sleep after everything that had happened?

How could I ever forget my first weekend in Windhoek?

Part of me wished I was back home in Ehomba, kOndundu yetu mbwae (at our mountain, my dear). Back in my small hut made of thatch and cow dung, where I had a simple wooden bed but at least I had peace.

But then I remembered something I did not have back home.

Money.

Ovimariva ovitenda mbyari pomwinyo wamuhona Jesu!!

(The kind of money that feels like it was present at the death of Jesus, meaning a shocking amount.)

I took out my handbag and also Ndjona-Top’s purse, which I had kept safely because she was too drunk the previous night to carry it herself.

I began counting.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Ten times.

In my purse alone, N$4000.

In Ndjona-Top’s purse, N$6000.

Ten thousand dollars in total.

My hands were shaking.

What if Cota Ma-Cups came back demanding his money because I had not done what he expected?

Before I could think further, my aunt called me into the sitting room.

I quickly pushed the money back into my backpack.

She said that if we were going to live together peacefully, I needed to tell her the truth.

My heart stopped.

Did she know I had sneaked out again?

But no.

She wanted to know about Friday, about how I arrived and how I ended up at Vemuu’s place.

So I told her everything.

The full story.

She was not happy.

“You were foolish to trust strangers,” she said.

But she accepted that I was a village girl who had been taken advantage of.

Then she said in Otjiherero:

“Imwi omumukutu mburi Kavangarutjindo… andakuzu Kavangarutjindo okeri kouye etje kuraera okutja murivi.”

(This city of Kavangarutjindo, if Kavangarutjindo himself were here, he would tell you what kind of city this is.)

She warned me.

“Windhoek is not safe for young girls like you. Avoid Ndjona-Top. Do not become like her.”

Then, to my surprise, she showed me a proper room.

My new room.

She told me to eat breakfast, clean the house, clean the windows, and that it was punishment for lying.

But I did not even hear the punishment properly.

All I could think about was:

A real bed.

She also said,

“You look untidy. Your eyes are red. Go bath.”

If only she knew.

I bathed in warm water for the first time in my life.

Warm water.

I felt like I was being reborn.

Then I went to eat.

I ate like a goat, without shame.

For the first time, I started to feel like maybe… just maybe… I could survive in the City of Lights.

Later, I wondered where my aunt was going so early on a Sunday. She was not dressed for church. She looked like a businesswoman.

After breakfast, I lay on the couch.

I slept deeply.

The sound of her car returning woke me.

I panicked.

I had not cleaned the windows.

The mattress was still in the garage.

I rushed to pretend I was cleaning.

She stepped out of her Audi Q7 with the private number plate “Ngarix Q7 NA.”

Then something terrible happened.

She picked up my backpack.

Inside were the two purses.

My heart was beating so fast I thought I would collapse.

If she saw the money, what would I say?

She asked why I had not cleaned.

This time, I told the truth.

“I fell asleep.”

She did not seem angry.

She simply said,

“Next time, finish your duties before sleeping.”

Then she spoke in Otjiherero-Tjautua:

“Ami shirishiri hivanga, ovandu mbe havanga okuungura shiri, sharwe poyandje mozupo shiri.”

(I do not like people who do not work hard. If you do not work, you leave my house.)

She went into her room.

She had not found the money.

I breathed again.

Then she told me something unexpected.

She had an urgent flight to Brazil.

She would be gone for one week.

She handed me N$500 for emergencies.

She gave me emergency contacts.

She said Mr. Mbaa would check on me.

Then she left.

Her friend drove her to Hosea Kutako International Airport.

For the first time since arriving in Windhoek, I was alone.

Truly alone.

I sat quietly and thought.

Maybe my aunt was not the devil my family had described.

Maybe she was just strict.

Maybe she was protecting me.

It was around 17h00 when I realised I had not spoken to Ndjona-Top all day.

I needed to tell her something important.

That dragging me into her lifestyle was a mistake.

I went to the shop and bought N$100 airtime.

As I walked back, I counted the money again.

N$300 from my mother.

N$500 from my aunt.

N$4000 from Cota Ma-Cups.

N$6000 from Ndjona-Top’s purse.

N$10 800 in total.

I had never held that much money in my life.

My mother’s N$300 had been saved slowly in wrinkled N$10 notes.

This money felt powerful.

Was I becoming addicted?

Or was I just feeling what rich people feel every day?

Instead of shouting at my cousin, I texted her:

“I miss you, beautiful.”

“Thanks for last night. Best cousy in the world.”

Her phone was off.

I was not worried.

She knows how to survive.

I called my mother instead.

I told her only the good things.

That my aunt was kind.

That I had settled well.

I hid the truth.

Then the intercom rang.

“Hallo,” I answered.

“Hallo Muuax,” a man’s voice said.

“Yes, how may I help you?”

“Your aunt told me she is travelling. She asked me to check on you. My name is Mr. Mbaa.”

My heart skipped.

“Yes sir, she told me,” I replied.

I opened the gate using the remote.

I watched him walk in.

Then I froze.

It was him.

The police officer.

The same man who had taken my picture.

The same man who had blackmailed me.

Mr. Officer.

He smiled.

“May I come in?” he asked.

My legs felt weak.

“It is good your aunt is out of town,” he said softly. “Now we have time. Did you think about my offer?”

My heart felt like ice.

Then it began to melt into fear.

Life was just starting to feel balanced again.

And now this.

Christmas had arrived too early, but not for me.

For him.

And I stood there…

Like a snowman under the sun.

The End of Chapter Five

Wait for Part Six as A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING continues…

CHAPTER FOUR A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

 

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

Continue Reading…

CHAPTER FOUR

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

I had only been in Windhoek for 24 hours.

In just one day, I had already travelled with strangers, been drugged, and nearly lost myself. My head was still aching, my stomach was painful, and I could still feel the effects of whatever had been put into my drink. If the police had tested me, I am sure they would have found drugs in my blood.

And now, I was in my aunt’s house, or rather, her garage.

I had not eaten anything in her house. I had not even been offered water. Instead, I was cleaning her kitchen like a servant.

“Is my aunt turning me into her maid… or her slave?” I asked myself.

I went back to the garage and lay down on the thin mattress, covering myself with a small blanket. Then I remembered the food in my bag, otjisema and omaere.

(Otjisema means porridge, and omaere means sour milk.)

At least, I would not sleep hungry.

I only had two days left before I had to register at UNAM.

And already, I felt like I was living in hell.

As I lay there, trying to rest, something suddenly moved.

I jumped.

It was the vibration of the small phone, okasaru or okandotja, that my cousin had given me.

It was Ndjona-Top.

I answered.

She asked how I was coping.

When I told her I was sleeping on a mattress in the garage, she became quiet for a moment.

“Living with Aunty Ngarii will not be easy,” she said.

I told her the truth.

“If I do not get a place in the hostel, I will be stuck here. I cannot afford to rent a place in Windhoek. I will have to live in this house… and face your aunt every day.”

I also told her that my aunt had found out I was not with her the previous night.

“A security guard told her,” I said.

She felt sorry for me, but there was nothing she could do. She already shared a small flat with Kenaa. There was no space.

Suddenly, I heard my aunt’s car.

I looked through the small garage window.

She was leaving.

I quickly told Ndjona-Top.

She asked, “Has she gone to sleep?”

“No,” I said. “She just left.”

Then she said something that shocked me.

“Get up. I am coming to take you out.”

I was afraid.

After what had happened the previous night, I could not risk it again.

“No,” I said. “I will sleep.”

But Ndjona-Top is not someone who takes “no” for an answer.

As my mother says, “ngu hari ovikurya mbya rara.”

(It means she does not eat yesterday’s food, she always wants something new.)

She convinced me.

She said she had lived in this house before. She knew everything. She knew how to move without being seen.

I fell asleep for a short time.

Then suddenly, she woke me up.

“Get dressed,” she said. “Let me take you out of this pitiful garage.”

I was shocked.

“How did you get in?” I asked.

She smiled.

“I know this house,” she said. “When Aunty leaves, she does not check the garage. We will make it look like you are sleeping.”

She arranged pillows under the blanket.

Then she gave me a short dress and high heels.

“Wear this,” she said.

Before I could think twice, we had already left the house.

Outside, a black BMW was waiting.

Inside were two men.

They were older. Well dressed. Wearing gold chains and expensive watches.

“These are businessmen,” Ndjona-Top said. “They like to be entertained. They have money.”

I looked at them and felt uneasy.

“Come on, hurry,” one of them said. “We will be late.”

We got into the car.

As we drove, I started to get angry.

“What if my aunt comes back and checks the garage?” I asked. “What if she finds I am not there? I will be homeless.”

But then something happened that changed everything.

The driver handed Ndjona-Top a bag full of money.

N$200 notes.

So much money.

More than I had ever seen in my life.

Then he looked at me and said,

“Como estás, bonita?”

(How are you, beautiful?)

“My name is Vintolinio,” he continued. “But you can call me Ma-Cups. You look beautiful. We will have a good time tonight. This money is yours.”

At that moment, my fear changed.

Into excitement.

I forgot about the garage.

I forgot about my aunt.

The truth is, I had no money.

Only N$300 that my mother had saved for me.

And it was clear that my aunt was not going to support me.

So even though I knew it was wrong…

It felt good.

Ndjona-Top showed me how to sneak in and out of the house. She still had copies of the keys from when she lived there.

When we reached town, I asked where we were going.

“Avani Hotel,” she said. “One of the best places.”

And truly, it was beautiful.

The place looked better. It smelled better. It felt different.

Nothing like the bar I had seen the previous night.

When we entered, people greeted the man.

“Cota Vintolinio Ma-Cups! Como você está?”

“Tô bem,” he replied.

(I am fine.)

“Tá fixe,” someone said.

(It is good.)

He was clearly important.

I thought about my mother.

If she could see me now…

She would be heartbroken.

But I was also seeing another side of my cousin.

A side I had never known before.

The way she walked. The way she spoke. The way she smiled at the men.

She was confident.

Like a lioness.

I wondered about the man from the previous night, the one with the Golf 7 R. But I did not ask.

Ndjona-Top disappeared for a while.

I sat alone in the VIP section.

I did not drink alcohol. I did not behave like the others. My hair was simple. All the other girls had long Brazilian hair.

I felt out of place.

Around me, people were laughing loudly.

A girl was sitting on a man’s lap, kissing him.

I felt uncomfortable.

So, for the first time in my life, I tried alcohol.

Just to fit in.

After some time, I went outside to look for my cousin.

I found her with one of the men.

I returned inside.

Then Ma-Cups held my hand.

“We are leaving,” he said.

We drove to a place called Academia.

A rich neighbourhood.

There were many cars following us.

When we arrived, I was amazed.

The house was huge.

There was even an indoor swimming pool.

I had never seen such a place before.

For a moment, I forgot everything.

The music.

The drinks.

The money.

Everything made me feel like I belonged.

But deep inside, something did not feel right.

People were disappearing into rooms.

Coming back.

Laughing.

Touching.

I realised that the money we received… was not just for nothing.

Fear returned.

“I want to go home,” I told my cousin.

But no one opened the doors.

I felt trapped.

“What have I done?” I asked myself.

Then suddenly,

Police lights flashed outside.

My heart came back to life.

The police entered and told everyone to leave. The neighbours had complained about noise.

I begged them,

“Please take us home.”

One policewoman looked at us and said,

“You are drinking too much with those men, and you are dressed badly. You are bringing shame.”

Her words hurt me.

But another police officer agreed to take us home.

He knew my cousin.

But she was too drunk to recognise him.

He dropped her first.

Then he drove me to my aunt’s house.

“You know,” he said, “I know your aunt. She would not allow you to be out this late.”

I answered quietly,

“No… she would not.”

When we arrived, he took a picture of me at the gate.

I was shocked.

“Why?” I asked.

“It is procedure,” he said.

Then his voice changed.

“If you want me to keep quiet about tonight… you must be with me.”

My heart stopped.

He reminded me of the picture.

He gave me his number.

“You have until Wednesday,” he said.

Then he drove away.

I stood there in silence.

Life was becoming too heavy for me.

I had a choice to make.

My dignity.

Or my place to stay.

I entered the house quietly using Ndjona-Top’s method.

Everything was silent.

My aunt’s car was in the yard.

I went to the garage.

My body was tired.

My head was aching.

My legs were painful from the high heels.

But when I opened my bag and saw the money…

For a moment, I smiled.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message.

“You have until Wednesday :-)”

It was the police officer.

Even a smiley face.

He was serious.

I lay on the mattress.

Alone.

Confused.

Afraid.

What would you have done?

As I closed my eyes, I whispered again:

“Welcome to the city… A Girl from Ehomba Mountain.”

The End of Chapter Four

Wait for Part Five as A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING continues…