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

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

Continue Reading…

CHAPTER TWO

A GIRL FROM EHOMBA MOUNTAIN WHO WANTS TO ACHIEVE SOMETHING

From the Mountain to the City Lights

The next day, I travelled to Windhoek.

Before I left, my mother cooked goat meat from our neighbour’s house and maize porridge for me. That was our daily food. It was simple, but it was home. She wanted me to eat well before my long journey.

It was my first long trip away from Ehomba Mountain. I was excited, but also tired. The journey felt endless. When we finally reached Windhoek, I was asleep.

A man wearing a brown jersey with the words Big-Boys woke me up.

“Wake up, we are in Windhoek,” he said.

I opened my eyes slowly, and there they were.

Lights everywhere.

The city of lights.

My heart jumped. The buildings, the noise, the cars, everything felt big and fast. It was nothing like Ehomba or Opuwo.

Because I did not have a phone, my mother had given the bus driver, Mr. Mai, my aunt Ngarii’s phone number. The plan was simple: once we arrived at Windhoek–Okabashu-kovahimba, he would call her to come and fetch me.

The driver started calling.

No answer.

He called again.

Still no answer.

He tried ten times.

Then he became angry.

“I am going,” he said. “I was not hired to wait for your aunt.”

And just like that, he left me there.

Alone.

I had no phone.

I did not know where my aunt lived.

I did not even know where Pioneers Park was.

The man in the brown Big-Boys jersey looked at me carefully. I could see he had noticed something, maybe that I was lost.

He spoke English in a deep voice, using difficult words. The only words I clearly understood were “Windhoek” and “Okabashu-kovahimba.”

He came closer.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

I told him everything.

He offered me his phone. I suddenly remembered that I had written Vemuu’s number somewhere in my notebook. My hands were shaking as I searched for it.

I called.

No answer.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I felt confused. I did not know whether to cry or to stay strong.

I sent messages telling them to meet me at Okabashu-kovahimba.

The man in the brown jersey said,
“Stay here. If your aunt calls, I will tell her to come and pick you up. If she does not come, I will fetch you after I get my car from my younger brother.”

It was around 21h00.

That was when fear started to enter my heart.

I remembered the stories I had heard about Windhoek, about people being robbed, about young women being beaten, about phones and bags being snatched by force.

Next to me were some boys speaking a language I did not understand. I thought it might be Afrikaans because I heard words like “jy.”

Suddenly, stones were being thrown.

Municipal police were trying to stop the fight. One stone hit a taxi.

My heart began to race.

What if they turned and came for me?

What if this was how my life in the city ended?

I went inside a bar nearby because I was scared to stand outside.

Inside, a man started disturbing me.

“Give me your number,” he said. “If you give me your number, I will take care of you. This is Windhoek, do not joke.”

His voice made me uncomfortable.

I asked him if I could use his phone to call my aunt.

He said,
“I will only give you if you give me your number.”

I had no phone.

So I gave him a wrong number just so he could hand me his phone.

But when he gave it to me, the phone was off.

“I want to talk to you tomorrow,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”

I did not care about his words. All I wanted was to reach my aunt or my cousin.

I tried again.

My cousin’s phone was off.

My aunt did not answer.

Again.

And again.

At 23h00, two hours later, the man in the brown Big-Boys jersey returned.

This time, he came in a Volkswagen Golf 7. Another man was sitting in the passenger seat.

I did not know his name, so in my heart I called him Mr. Brown Jersey.

He stepped out of the car.

“Baby-Girl,” he said, as if he knew me. “They have not called yet. Just come with me. I will drop you home.”

When he came close, I hoped he would say that my aunt or my cousin was on the way.

But he did not.

He said we would drive around for a while, and if my aunt called, he would drop me off.

I told him, “My aunt stays in Pioneers Park.”

The truth was, I had no idea where Pioneers Park was.

I know what you are thinking.

Why did I get into a stranger’s car?

He was older than my father.

But what choice did I have?

The boys outside were throwing stones.

The man in the bar was harassing me.

I was alone.

At least this man had travelled on the same bus. Maybe he had seen that I had no option.

Sometimes, when you are far from home, you are forced to put your life in the hands of strangers.

Tell me,

What would you have done?

That was my welcome to the city of lights.

As the car door closed and we drove into the bright Windhoek night, I whispered to myself:

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

The End of Chapter Two

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