CHAPTER SEVEN 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 SEVEN

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

Before I could even take a shower, my cousin called again.

“Wa register hapo, ongwaiye tji uhina okutoora ongoze yandje hapo?”

(Did you register? Why were you not answering my calls?)

I started stammering.

“I… I… I just woke up now.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I called you this morning,” she said. “You said you were getting dressed.”

My heart sank.

I must have spoken while I was still asleep.

“Hikuvaze owazara meya nambano,” she continued.

(Can I find you dressed? I am coming now.)

Before I could think, I heard a taxi hooting outside.

She had already arrived.

We rushed to UNAM.

It was already after 17h00.

The campus was still full of students standing in long queues, trying to register.

My head was still heavy from the hangover, but I tried to act serious. I drank a Red Bull and a lot of water, hoping to feel better.

My cousin took me straight to the SRC office.

Inside, a young man was sitting in a leather chair, talking to some girls.

“This is Tusu,” she said. “SRC for Entertainment and Recreation.”

He looked confident. Calm.

My cousin asked the girls to leave because she needed to talk privately.

The girls left reluctantly. I could see it on their faces, they did not want to go. Tusu was attractive, like a prince in his own kingdom.

After they left, my cousin handed him my documents:

My admission letter.

My bursary letter from the Namibia Law Society.

And N$7500 for registration.

“Please help her,” she said.

He smiled at me and shook my hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

His eyes were beautiful, and for a moment, I forgot everything else.

As we were leaving, my cousin said quietly,

“Make sure you do it. You know I know where your room is.”

At that time, I thought she was joking.

As we walked around campus, I noticed how popular my cousin was.

“Hi NT!” people called out to her everywhere.

NT, Ndjona-Top.

Everyone knew her.

Everyone respected her.

But I still felt out of place.

The way people dressed…

Makuzu o swagga.

(Meaning they had style.)

I felt like a village girl.

But I tried not to think too much about it.

We went to the cafeteria to eat.

My cousin told me that this was where lecturers usually sit.

The place was calm. Clean. Quiet.

People looked older, more serious.

I felt nervous.

I was afraid my Otjihimba accent would come out if I spoke.

This place was different from Okambashu-kovahimba, where everything was loud, free, and wild.

As we waited for our food, my cousin looked at me seriously.

“Listen,” she said.

“That place, Okambashu-kovahimba, is for girls who pretend to have class, and boys who waste money.”

She leaned closer.

“We are not like them.”

“You met Kenaa and Tjipaa. We call ourselves 3 Ozonduna.”

(Ozonduna means the top girls.)

“We are the girls of this campus.”

“If a man wants you, he must treat you like a diamond.”

“And if he wants you, he must know he is dealing with something valuable.”

She paused.

“You have a free ticket to join us… because you are my cousin.”

“But you must keep up.”

“And remember, never give yourself easily. Unless he has something good to offer.”

I listened.

But deep inside, I felt confused.

All I wanted was to study.

To focus.

To become a lawyer.

But at the same time…

I could not lie.

The money.

The attention.

The lifestyle.

It was tempting.

Who gets N$4000 just for showing up at a party?

We finished eating and went to Tjipaa’s house in Klein Windhoek.

Her life was different.

Big house.

Luxury cars.

A Mercedes-Benz C63.

Range Rover.

Jaguar.

BMW X6.

More cars in the garage.

She lived like she had no problems.

Like life was easy.

Inside her room, they opened their phones and looked at pictures from the previous night.

I saw myself.

I looked drunk.

Lost.

Like I did not belong.

But they looked beautiful.

Perfect.

They were getting hundreds of likes.

Like celebrities.

“I chose the best pictures,” Tjipaa said. “The ones where you don’t look too much like a Himba.”

They laughed.

I smiled.

But inside… I felt something break.

“Do you have Facebook?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I only heard people talk about it.”

They looked at each other.

“We will create one for you,” Ndjona-Top said.

“And we will change your look.”

“New clothes. New hair. New life.”

“With us, boys will love you… and girls will envy you.”

Soon, everything changed.

New clothes.

New shoes.

New hair, 18-inch Brazilian hair.

A new iPhone.

A new identity.

We created my Facebook account.

My cousin posted pictures of us with the hashtag:

#MyCousinIsHotterThanYours

And the likes started coming.

Hundreds.

Just like that.

Windhoek was starting to feel like home.

Days passed.

I spoke like them.

I dressed like them.

I laughed like them.

Every day, I called my mother and told her everything was fine.

I did not tell her the truth.

My aunt also called often.

Sometimes, I wanted to tell her about Mr. Mbaa… Mr. Officer.

But I was afraid.

So I kept quiet.

By Friday, my aunt had been gone for five days.

She was coming back on Sunday.

But that night, the Ozonduna were going to an all-white party at Herero Mall.

I was ready.

I was part of the crew.

We arrived at around 02:00.

Me.

Ndjona-Top.

Kenaa.

Tjipaa.

And the men were there too.

Cota Ma-Cups.

Aju.

They always had money.

Bundles of cash tied with rubber bands.

This time, I noticed something.

Aju was Kenaa’s ex.

But he was also close to my cousin.

Nothing made sense anymore.

The party was big.

Music.

Lights.

VIP section.

Bottles arriving one after the other.

Cota Ma-Cups reserved the best place.

This time, he was gentle with me.

He spoke softly.

Told me about his businesses in Angola.

Complimented me.

“You are beautiful… u meu amor,” he said.

But now…

I understood.

My cousin pulled me away.

“That guy wants you,” she said.

I froze.

Everything made sense.

The money.

The attention.

The kindness.

It was never free.

I walked outside.

I needed air.

I needed to think.

But it was too late.

I was already inside this life.

I had taken the money.

I could not go back.

Suddenly, he came.

Cota Ma-Cups.

He grabbed my hand.

Strong.

Too strong.

Before I could react, he was pulling me toward his Range Rover.

I tried to resist.

But he was faster.

Stronger.

And before anyone could stop him…

We were already gone.

Driving into the night.

Fast.

Too fast.

And in that moment…

Fear took over me completely.

The End of Chapter Seven

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