It’s especially hard when those you are compared to or measured up against are heroes and heroines who gave up so much to ensure we have the liberties and freedoms we now enjoy.
The annoyance has now turned into shame – a shame that I cannot rationalise away or wash away, a shame I feel I must wear for my shameless peers.
I spent the better half of the year having to turn down the endless invitations of my close friend to attend the Kapana Soul sessions held at the Garlic and Flowers restaurant on Saturdays from 12h00 to 24h00
Last Saturday I found myself at Garlic and Flowers and I was delighted, mainly because any of the art-related events in Windhoek, whether music, poetry, dance, exhibitions or a hybrid of either one, are always a success.
My delight soon turned into disappointment and misery as I drowned in a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.
In my mind’s eye before I came, I saw a large number of young people relaxing on a Saturday, meeting new people, exchanging information and ideas and entertaining one another with song and dance.
The only thing, which was accurate about my expectations, was the large group of people gathered there.
We are a nation of drunkards and druggies if Saturday is anything to go by. Not a single person, save for myself, seemed sober that evening.
I imagine if there was a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, that’s exactly what it would be like.
Maybe I’m not moving with the times or I’m just boring but how do you justify sitting at one place, from noon to midnight, indulging in intoxicating substances and being at peace with yourself?
The only thing missing to make it Satan’s breeding ground was people having orgies out in the open or on any flat surface they could find.
There is a saying that goes “Judge not lest ye be judged”, but I do this, as it is necessary to air the many indiscretions of my generation to the public.
I must judge, if we have to see the error of our ways and reform – become a better people, a better nation.
I can imagine how our fallen heroes are turning in their graves, most likely asking, “Is this what we paid for?”
Where are the days when a fun Saturday was spent go-carting or playing paint ball or hiking and ending the day with a milkshake or a tall glass of apple juice?
I’m sorely disappointed in my generation. I am disappointed that we would rather spend our lives stumbling around drunk and high as opposed to doing something productive with our time.
If this is the kind of Namibia we are building toward, then I don’t want to live on this planet anymore or rather I do not wish to be part of this generation.
Instead, turn back the hands of time so I can be born in the time of my fallen heroes.