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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING
From the Mountain to the City Lights
When my aunt
arrived home that Friday night, she found me lying on my bed with swollen eyes.
My face was wet
with tears.
I had been
crying for hours.
Even when my
grandmother passed away five years ago, I do not remember crying this much.
When my father died, I was still young and confused; I hardly understood what
death truly meant.
But this time
was different.
This pain felt
deeper.
Real.
Heavy.
My aunt came
closer and looked at me carefully.
“What is
wrong?” she asked.
For the first
time since coming to Windhoek, I did not lie.
“I lost a
friend,” I said quietly.
She sat next to
me and handed me a tissue.
“Life can be
difficult sometimes,” she said softly. “You have to be strong. It is the only
way to survive.”
Then she asked,
“Ouṋe ngwaṱu
hapo?”
(Who has died?)
“It’s Kenaa,” I
answered. “My friend… and Vemuu’s friend.”
Even as I said
her name, I could hardly believe it.
Kenaa was gone.
The thought
alone made my heart break again.
At that moment,
many questions filled my mind.
Why had
everything happened so fast?
Why did people
around me keep dying?
Why did life
suddenly feel so heavy?
If only my aunt
had known what we had been going through.
Maybe
everything could have been different.
Maybe Kenaa
would still be alive.
We had warned
her.
We told her the
plan was dangerous.
But once Kenaa
decided something, nothing could change her mind.
I walked to the
bathroom to wash my face.
When I looked
in the mirror, I barely recognised the girl staring back at me.
She looked
tired.
Broken.
Lost.
How had my life
become so complicated?
I came to
Windhoek with a dream.
A simple dream.
To study.
To become a
lawyer.
To make my
mother proud.
But instead…
I found myself
surrounded by secrets.
Danger.
Death.
I did not feel
sorry for Cota Ma-Cups.
He had tried to
rape me.
But his death
had opened a door to darkness.
And now people
were dying.
I cried the
whole night.
Sleep did not
come.
School was
supposed to start in two days.
I wanted to
focus.
To move
forward.
But my mind was
trapped in everything that had happened.
Even though I
had not known Kenaa for long, she had become close to me.
She had a
strong spirit.
A wild spirit.
But also a
caring heart.
Once she told
me something I would never forget.
“Sometimes you
must live your life the way you want,” she said.
“When it is
time to die… you die alone.”
At the time, I
laughed.
Now those words
haunted me.
Kenaa was the
most caring of the Ozondjona-ozo-Top girls.
She wanted to
become a nurse.
She wanted to
save lives.
Even though she
lived a reckless life, she still had a beautiful heart.
And now she was
gone.
It is strange
how people say good things about someone only after they die.
“Tjiri nu,” (Seriously.)
I whispered.
That night
changed something inside me.
I began to
realise something important.
My life was
more valuable than the chaotic lifestyle around me.
The next
morning, Ndjona-Top called.
Her voice was
weak.
Broken.
She was crying.
“I saw it on
the news,” I told her before she could speak.
There was
silence.
Then she
started crying again.
I went to
Tjipaa’s house.
I could not
mourn alone.
And I knew
Tjipaa needed support even more.
When I entered
her room, photos of Kenaa were spread across the bed.
Photos of
laughter.
Photos of
parties.
Photos of
friendship.
Tjipaa and
Ndjona-Top had not slept.
Neither had I.
“She was so
young,” Tjipaa said.
“So beautiful…
and full of life.”
Then she cried
again.
“I shouldn’t
have let her go.”
Ndjona-Top
finally explained what happened.
They were
waiting in the car near Aju’s house.
Suddenly…
They heard a
gunshot.
When the
ambulance arrived, they saw the body bag.
And in that
moment…
They knew.
Later that day
we went to visit Kenaa’s sister in Okatutura.
Tjipaa’s mother
drove us there.
On the way,
Ndjona-Top told me something.
Kenaa’s sister
had once chased her out of the house.
They had been
fighting.
Her sister had
said:
“Warira
omuryange waTjomuise tjinene.”
(She is always
moving up and down in Windhoek.)
Kenaa started
living with Ndjona-Top after that.
Trying to
survive.
Trying to live.
And that was
when she met Aju.
The man who
eventually took her life.
When we arrived
at the house, the atmosphere was heavy.
Kenaa’s sister
was sitting in the living room.
Her children
were crying.
She held
Kenaa’s baby pictures in her hands.
Then she began
to cry loudly.
“This is my
fault,” she said.
“She was young…
just a teenager living her life.”
“I was supposed
to protect her.”
She cried
harder.
“How will I
tell our mother?”
“Okangero
Kamama… Mukuru Wandje…”
(My mother’s
last born… my God…)
Tjipaa’s mother
held her tightly.
Trying to
comfort her.
Only then did I
understand something.
Tjipaa’s mother
and Kenaa’s sister had once lived on the same street in Okatutura when they
were both poor.
They were old
friends.
That was why
Tjipaa and Kenaa were so close.
They had grown
up like sisters.
Tjipaa’s mother
promised to help with the funeral.
She would even
help bring Kenaa’s body back to Kunene for burial.
“Motjiherero
kuza omuatje owo vandu ave,” she said.
(In Otjiherero
we say a child belongs to everyone.)
After we spoke
with the family, we went to Kenaa’s old room.
We sat there
quietly.
Remembering
her.
Talking about
her.
I realised
something.
Even though I
had known her for only a short time…
She had left a
mark on my life.
The
Ozondjona-ozo-Top girls were loyal to each other.
They protected
each other.
They kept
secrets for each other.
Sometimes
dangerous secrets.
But their
loyalty made them strong.
Today,
friendships break over small things.
Over boys.
Over jealousy.
But not them.
They were
sisters.
Kenaa kept her
promise.
Even in death.
She took the
secret of Cota Ma-Cups with her.
And she also
brought Aju down with her.
Through all
this drama, I learned many things.
About the
dangers of the city.
About money.
About loyalty.
About trust.
Men did not
like me for who I was.
They liked the
image.
The way I
looked.
The way I
moved.
But the
Ozondjona-ozo-Top girls taught me something important.
Loyalty.
Real
sisterhood.
I had already
sworn my loyalty to them.
Even though
this was not the life I had planned.
This life chose
me.
And sometimes
in life…
You either
adapt…
Or you
disappear.
So I chose to
adapt.
Because life…
Must go on.
The End of Chapter Thirteen
Wait for Part
Fourteen as A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING
continues…
