CHAPTER SIX 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 SIX

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you only have two choices, and both of them are wrong?

That was where I was.

It was no longer about choosing what was right. It was about survival.

Do… or be destroyed.

Mr. Officer walked into the house like he belonged there. He sat comfortably on the couch, relaxed, as if this was his own home.

He was not wearing his police uniform this time. Instead, he wore a slim polo shirt, neatly tucked in, with shining black shoes. He looked clean, well prepared — like a man who had just come from church.

But I knew better.

He was not here for church.

He was here for me.

He looked like a man in his mid-thirties. But there was something about him that made me uncomfortable. I did not want to sit close to him.

And then I realised something.

If my aunt trusted him enough to check on the house, then she would also trust him more than me.

If he spoke against me…

I would lose everything.

This house.

My place in Windhoek.

My dream.

And if I lost this place, I would have no choice but to follow Ndjona-Top’s lifestyle — moving from one man to another just to survive.

That was not my dream.

I tried to remain calm.

I offered him juice.

I tried to talk about normal things, hoping to keep him distracted.

I asked him how he knew my aunt.

He smiled and said,

“We have known each other for a long time. When she was still studying at the Polytechnic of Namibia, now NUST, she used to stay at my sister’s place in Katutura.”

He spoke as if everything was normal.

But nothing was normal.

After more than an hour, he became bored.

Before I could think of something else to say, he stood up and came to sit next to me.

Too close.

He put his arm around my shoulder.

“Let us go to the room,” he said.

My heart began to beat fast.

I begged him.

But the more I begged, the more he seemed to enjoy it.

I felt trapped.

I tried to explain.

“I am not ready,” I said. “I have never been with a man. Please… give me time.”

I was saying things I had never imagined I would say to a stranger.

But he became angry.

He pushed me back onto the couch.

“You are wasting my time,” he said harshly.

“Me, I can do whatever I want.”

He warned me not to scream.

“No one will help you,” he said. “Even if you report me, the case will disappear.”

At that moment, I understood something very painful.

The person who was supposed to protect me…

Was the one hurting me.

In my village, a police officer is respected. He is seen as the law.

But here…

He was using his power against me.

I was afraid.

Deeply afraid.

I realised I needed to survive.

I needed to think.

So I told him,

“Please wait. Let me prepare.”

I needed a way out.

Anything.

After some time, I managed to break away from him and rushed to the bathroom. I locked the door.

I stood in front of the mirror.

I could not recognise the girl I saw.

I brushed my teeth.

I washed my face.

And I cried.

Silently.

I felt empty.

As if something inside me had been taken away.

“Open the door!” he shouted, knocking hard.

“You are taking too long!”

I wiped my tears.

I forced myself to breathe.

Then I opened the door.

He was waiting.

He smiled.

“I will consider our agreement done,” he said.

Then he left.

The house became quiet again.

But inside me, there was no peace.

I went to my room and lay down.

I was tired.

Broken.

All I wanted was sleep.

Then my phone rang.

It was Ndjona-Top.

She was laughing.

Talking about how much fun she had the previous night.

How I had ruined the party by wanting to leave early.

For a moment, I thought she would ask me if I was okay.

But she did not.

When she heard my voice, she noticed something was wrong.

“I am coming,” she said.

When she arrived, she looked at me carefully.

“Hey, sissy,” she said softly.

“I know you are far from home. Life here is crazy. Omwano mbo uriri motjirongo tjokakambe.”
(It means: it is just like that in the city.)

“After a few days, you will get used to it.”

I wanted to tell her everything.

But I could not.

I was ashamed.

Then she said something that surprised me.

“Get ready. We are going out. You need a drink, mundu wa mama.”

(Mundu wa mama means my sister.)

“Today, it is just us girls. I will introduce you to the Hot Girls of UNAM.”

I looked at her.

Does she ever get tired?

Does she ever stop?

But I did not have the strength to argue.

My aunt was not around.

I had money.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

I needed to forget.

As I got dressed, I gave Ndjona-Top her purse.

“Do you want to count the money?” I asked.

She laughed.

“I already know,” she said. “Yours is N$4000. Mine is N$6000. I am the queen.”

I stayed quiet.

But inside, I was asking myself:

Is my own cousin using me?

We went to Okabashu-Kovahimba in Katutura.

The place was full of lights.

Music.

Young people.

Everyone looked stylish.

The boys wore tight jeans and slim shirts.

The girls wore short dresses and heels.

They looked confident.

Beautiful.

I looked at myself.

I did not look like them.

But I did not care.

Tonight, I wanted to forget.

We danced.

We laughed.

For a moment, I felt free.

Ndjona-Top introduced me to her friends:

Kenaa.

And Tjipaa, also called Tjipa-Tjipa.

They were beautiful.

Confident.

Strong.

More girls joined us.

Soon, some men noticed us.

They bought champagne.

More bottles came.

Music became louder.

People started singing:

“Started from the bottom, now we here!”

Money was thrown into the air.

Some girls picked it up.

But Ndjona-Top and her friends did not.

They took pictures.

Posted them online.

Smiling.

Living their best lives.

By the end of the night, I was drunk.

But happy.

Or at least… pretending to be.

Later, Tjipaa dropped me home in her Mercedes-Benz.

Before leaving, Ndjona-Top said,

“Do not forget your admission letter. Ove ngu meraere nao.”
(It means: I am talking to you.)

I said, “Alright.”

And went inside.

The next thing I knew, the sun was shining in my face.

I woke up in panic.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

I checked my phone.

16:45.

Five missed calls from Ndjona-Top.

And a message from my mother:

“My child, wake up. Remember to take your admission letter. You must register today. I love you.”

The message was sent at 07:00.

My heart dropped.

I had missed registration.

I sat there in silence.

What have I done?

If I do not register, I may lose my place.

If I lose my place…

I lose my dream.

My bursary.

My future.

Was my dream destroyed…

Because of one night?

Because of money?

Because of this city?

My heart became heavy again.

Tell me…

What would you have done?

As I looked around the quiet room, I whispered once more:

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

The End of Chapter Six

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

 

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

 

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

Continue Reading…

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…